Authors: Al Robertson
The late evening street was half-empty. Dim spinelight painted grey shadows across the road. Andrea was at the end of the street, facing away from Jack. She no longer wore a cowl. Her skull was moon-white in the darkness, seeming to shine with its own light.
[Let’s go see what she looks like!] said Fist. [ You won’t really miss her, Jack. 3! 2! 1! Go!]
Jack stood by the club exit and waited. After thirty seconds or so, Andrea moved away round the corner. He followed.
[ Run, Jack, run!]
Prayer Heights gave way to Kanji District. The streets became busier. For a while they were on a main road. Throngs were enjoying a night out, chasing after entertainment that ranged from the virtuous to the vicious. Andrea moved ahead of Jack, a dissonant presence in the festive crowds. Jack remembered how she’d dragged him out to explore Docklands. She took a hatchet to what he now recognised as snobbery, forcing him to find ways of enjoying his birthplace again.
He wondered if their favourite bar, the Vista Club, was still open. It had always been a specialised taste. It was set deep in the meteor gash that gave the Wound its name, showing views of the distant, broken Earth. They’d spent some great nights in there together.
Jack had spent hours alone there too, watching storms tear at the dead lands below, mulling over the past and the future. His thoughts had often drifted to the war machines that still ravaged Earth. Sometimes there was a sharp burst of light beneath the clouds – some war-machine battle reaching a climax that resolved nothing. Sometimes the light would be higher up, nearly in space – one of the Rose’s satellites neutralising an attempt to escape Earth’s gravity well. East would soon trumpet her success. Most of the bar would applaud, then turn back to drinks and quiet conversations.
Jack’s thoughts drifted away from the dead Earth towards other, subtler struggles. It was easier than he’d thought to be walking towards Harry. The affair ended because Andrea had rejected Jack. That helped Jack feel he’d not at last taken anything of any real significance from Harry. Guilt settled in him, almost falling away entirely. Then Jack thought of Andrea’s passing. It struck him that he’d barely mourned her. He wondered if, with that realisation, grief would come. But there was nothing. Jack looked ahead to the woman he was following. Through her fetch, Andrea was such a vivid presence in his life. It was impossible to feel any real sense of loss.
The streets became quieter. Jack should have been able to relax a bit, but he found that he was still tense. In Kanji District, the buildings were carved from asteroid shards, creating narrow passages edged by sharp rock fragments. Years ago, Jack had found these buildings comfortingly substantial, the streets snugly enclosed. Now their high dark walls seemed oppressive. Each shard was pierced with silent windows. To Jack they all seemed empty, but some of the street-level ones must be bright with music and movement, catching at the eyes of the woven. Small crowds gathered round them, staring into darkness.
[ If I was uncaged,] remarked Fist, [ I’d be able to make those windows show them whatever I wanted. I wonder how many people I could make scream? Or vomit?] Jack ignored him. Fist chattered on nonetheless. [ This cage, Jack. I hate it! Held back like this. It’s like working for you, only worse. At least we wiped a few minds before you trapped us in that prison.] He was silent for a bit, then, [So many people at that window! It’s got to be shagging, that’s the only thing that draws a crowd like that. I’d crack the shop front style sheet and replace them with – I don’t know – dead bodies? Two corpses fucking. Mind you, they’d probably lap it up. Never underestimate the masses, old boy. Oh, I forgot. We’re off to visit a dead man ourselves, aren’t we? The social whirl, Jack, the social whirl …]
The Kanji shards receded. At last Jack found himself in a quiet backstreet of compact multi-storey housing units. They were built from rectangular oil tanks, piled up seemingly at random. A light breeze forced resonance on them, creating a strange, low moaning sound. One of the units had been painted with bright, geometric designs. Andrea stopped at it and pressed her hand against the door. Jack stopped too, wary of getting too close. He could just see small squares flashing beneath her fingers. The tiny lightshow ended and Andrea vanished. [Lost her again!] giggled Fist.
Jack walked towards the house. The door opened, revealing darkness. And then the dead came out to meet him. Soft light shimmered in the shadows of the doorway. It flashed and sparkled and slowly began to coalesce into something coherent. Jack imagined drives somewhere humming with activity, sifting through a lifetime’s worth of carefully managed photographs, family films,
CCTV
footage; picking out just the right self to display. A pair of shoes appeared, beautifully polished, and then the rolled up bottoms of two trouser legs. He recognised the shoes – handmade to a strictly limited design, stitched together from pseudo-cowhide grown in one of the farm stations hanging in close orbit to Station. Harry once boasted that the five year lease on them had cost him six months’ salary. ‘Take that to Homelands and show it to your posh friends,’ he’d said. ‘Even they’d have to admit – quality.’
The reconstruction stopped for a moment, halfway up Harry’s legs. It was as if the rest of him was lost in shadow. Normally fetches didn’t appear in such a theatrical way. Jack wondered if this was an artefact of Harry’s self-managed status. A belt buckle gleamed in the darkness. Then there were two arms, then a chest, then more. At first, Harry’s face was little more than a soft blur. The weave ground through more life data and it sharpened into focus. The imprecision of his soft, slightly overweight face was perfectly caught. Two sharp eyes appeared. There was a moment of stillness as the fetch found a language that was uniquely Harry’s, then it opened its mouth and spoke.
‘Jack!’ He still had his strong Docklands accent. ‘Great to see you, old man. And your little friend, too. I’ve heard so much about him. Come in, come in, where it’s warm and safe.’
Jack pulled the front door shut behind him. A harsh, metallic clang reverberated through the apartment as Harry bustled down the hallway. ‘Andrea,’ he shouted, his voice a collage of memories, ‘how could you leave him standing out in the cold?’ Harry’s warmth made guilt pang in Jack. He followed him into the sitting room. A sofa and a couple of armchairs faced each other across a little coffee table. They had the unused freshness of a publicity image for one of Silver’s furniture brands.
‘Cold night out there,’ said Harry. ‘Tea? Coffee?’ He waved at a dusty glass. It became a clean white mug, full of steaming liquid. ‘It’s only virtual, but you’ll get the taste.’
‘I’m offweave, Harry.’
‘Even for a cuppa? Shocking. And where’s Andrea?’
Harry shouted again, but there was no reply. ‘I’ll go and find her,’ he said, bustling out of the door. A minute or so, and he was back. ‘Just putting her face on.’ He sat down heavily. Jack was facing a dead man. ‘So, let’s see what all the fuss is about,’ said Harry. ‘Show us your woodentop.’
‘Woodentop?’ said Fist, shimmering into view. His wooden mouth clacked with outrage as he spat the words out. ‘This from a zombie.’
‘A pseudo-mind. Just like you.’
‘Not like me, you ghoul. I’m rooted in a living brain. You – you’re just a database with pretensions.’
‘Fist, please,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sorry. It’s late and he’s tired.’
‘No problem, Jack. Woodboy’s got a point, after all. I’m a little bit database, a little bit memory stack. Not a parasite like him.’
Fist leapt to his feet. ‘I’ve gutted sharper minds than yours, Devlin.’ Jack reached out tired thoughts and let them wrap around Fist. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Back in your box.’
Fist battled Jack’s attempts to shut him away, shimmering in and out of existence, his muffled voice squeaking out swearwords. Harry looked on with interest, his sharp eyes entirely focused on the little puppet. At last he vanished. Jack slumped back with a sigh, exhausted.
‘A tough little nut,’ commented Harry. ‘Those Pantheon bastards shafted you far worse than me. Dying you get over, but that little shit – it’s beyond a joke, Jack.’
‘He’s getting worse.’ Jack wondered how much longer he’d be able to stay patient with Fist.
‘You should let
me into him sometime. I’ll see if I can
soften him up for you.’
There was a muffled [ Up
yours!] from deep in Jack’s mind.
‘I don’t
think he’d let you, Harry. And there’s the
cage.’
‘Ah well, you never know. Anyway, to business. With
you back, we’ll find out which of those sods
is behind all this and fucking have ’em. With or
without the little bastard’s help.’
‘Don’t be too
rude about Fist,’ said Andrea, appearing in an armchair. ‘He
’s in demand. Our Pantheon friend’s after him. Wants
a new weapon to play with.’
It was the first
time Jack had seen her face in seven years. He
was profoundly glad that she continued to talk, bringing Harry
up to speed on his visit to the Panther Czar
and conversation with Akhmatov. He felt a confusion of pain
and joy as this new Andrea fused with his memories
, his past. He so wanted to touch her, to hold
her, but that was impossible. And then he remembered where
he was and who he was with, and forced his
concentration back into the conversation just as Andrea finished her
explanation.
‘You did right coming to me,’ Harry told him
. ‘We don’t need InSec. There are more direct ways
of sorting this out. Besides, you can’t trust them
. Not like we can trust each other.’ Jack winced, hot
memories of Andrea burning at him. Harry reached forward and
slapped him on the shoulder. ‘And it sounds like you
’ve already been getting results on your own. Grown some
real balls while you were away, haven’t you? Stick
with me, numbers boy. We’ll keep Yamata and her
Pantheon boss away from Fist.’
‘Do you think so, Harry
?’
‘I know so. Because we’ll prove that they were
involved in the Penderville murder and they killed Andrea and
me. We’ll bring ’em both down before they can
get their hands on the little shit and do any
more damage.’
‘Now I’ve told you what Jack’s
been up to,’ said Andrea, ‘I’m going to leave
you both to it.’
‘You don’t want to help
?’ said Jack.
‘Music calls,’ she said from the door. ‘Can
’t let that slip. People might start wondering what else
I get up to.’ Then she was gone.
‘Don’t know why she bothers rehearsing new stuff,’ said Harry. ‘She could just play back old gigs, the punters’d still love it.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Jack. He was profoundly relieved that he and Andrea were no longer together in front of Harry. Music whispered into the room from upstairs.
‘Anyway, Andrea’s a mystery we won’t crack just now,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s do something easier. I want to hear what you’ve been up to. In your own words.’
It felt like an interrogation. Jack was reminded of case conferences at InSec HQ, intense conversations about Akhmatov’s affairs. He could have been at one, but for the occasional glitch that made Harry shimmer for a second, static blurring his face and body, or repeat a word or sentence, unaware that he was doing so. Jack went through everything he’d experienced, sharing all the details of his encounter with Akhmatov and his conversations with Corazon and Ifor. Harry was, up to a point, impressed. ‘You’ve done excellent work. But you’ve made life more difficult than it needs to be.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve approached it head-on. Just walking into Akhmatov’s club – he’s on home ground there. Imagine if you’d found Yamata. She’s a killer. Just one shot to end you. Bang.’ Jack winced. Harry didn’t notice. ‘And you’ve talked to Corazon. You can’t trust InSec, Jack.’
‘Corazon’s honest. And Yamata may be a killer, but I’m untouchable.’
‘You didn’t know that when you walked in there. And you don’t know what might happen if you keep on pushing.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘You need to be more subtle with people than with minds or spreadsheets. We’re going indirect.’
‘How?’
‘Remember how much trouble we had tracking Yamata? She’d shift in and out of being, on and offweave all the time.’
‘That’s what made us suspicious of her.’
‘She was working with a Skinner called David Nihal. He’d drop her into different weaveselves or pull her offweave entirely whenever she needed. He’s one of the best, he’s still around.’
‘You think she’s still with him?’
‘I’m sure of it. And you know why? He dropped out of sight just before you got back.’
‘You think that’s because of me?’
‘Their backer’s afraid, Jack. Nihal disappearing like that – he must be the weak link. We put pressure on him the right way, at the very least he’ll lead us to Yamata’s home base. And we’ll find a way of breaking into her systems and seeing who she’s working for.’
‘Sounds sensible.’
‘Good man. We’ve got a plan.’
‘And who do you think the backer is?’
‘Could be any of them. Sandal runs docks and transport, he’s a natural smuggler. It’d be a very profitable sideline for the Twins, easy enough for them to cook up a bit of sweat in their pharma labs. Kingdom says he’s anti-drugs, but his boys and girls work much harder when they’re sweated up. And after a day working so hard, they just go home and collapse. Less crime, great for the Rose, she just ends up with a few sweatheads to sweep up and that’s easy enough. Even East might be in on it. Gives her news anchors something to get all moral about.’