• • •
The sensenviron ended, leaving Dr Gilmore alone in his office. He did nothing for several minutes while the last part of the
meeting ran through his mind. A man who prided himself on his methodical nature, the embodiment of the scientific method,
he wasn’t angry with himself, at the most he felt a slight irritation that he hadn’t reasoned this out earlier. If Laton was
correct about souls moving on, then the beyond was not the static environment he had assumed until now. That opened up a whole
range of new options.
Dr Gilmore entered the examination room containing Jacqueline Couteur to find the staff on an extended break. Both quantum
signature sensor arrays were missing from the overhead waldo arms. The electronics lab was rebuilding them once again, a near-continual
process of refinement as they sought out the elusive transdimensional interface.
Jacqueline Couteur was being fed. A trolley had been wheeled in beside the surgical bed, sprouting a thick hose which hung
just over her mouth. Her black head restraint had been loosened slightly, allowing her to switch between the two nipples;
one for water, the other a meat paste.
Dr Gilmore walked through to stand next to the surgical bed. Her eyes followed his movement.
“Good morning, Jacqueline; how are you today?”
Her eyes narrowed contemptuously. Little wisps of steam licked up from the electrodes pressing against her skin. She opened
her mouth and circled the plastic nipple with her tongue. “Fine, thank you, Dr Mengele. I’d like to speak to my lawyer, please.”
“That’s interesting. Why?”
“Because I’m going to sue you for every fuseodollar you own, and then have you shot down to a penal world in a oneway capsule.
Torture is illegal in the Confederation. Read the Declaration of Rights.”
“If you are in discomfort, you should leave. We both know you can do that.”
“We’re not discussing my options at the moment. It is your actions which are in question. Now may I have my one phone call?”
“I had no idea an immortal soul had civil rights. You certainly don’t show your victims much in the way of autonomy.”
“My rights are for the courts to decide. By denying me access to legal representation for such a test case you are compounding
your crime. However, if it bothers you, then I can assure you that Kate Morley would like to see a lawyer.”
“Kate Morley?”
“This body’s co-host.”
Dr Gilmore gave an uncertain smile. This wasn’t going to plan at all. “I don’t believe you.”
“Again, you take the role of the court upon yourself. Do you really think Kate enjoys being strapped down and electrocuted?
You are violating her basic human rights.”
“I’d like to hear her ask for a lawyer.”
“She has just done that. If you don’t believe me, try running a voice print analysis. She said it.”
“This is absurd.”
“I want my lawyer!” Her voice rose in volume. “You, Marine, you are sworn to uphold the rights of Confederation citizens.
I want a lawyer. Get me one.”
The captain of the marine guard looked at Dr Gilmore for guidance. Everyone on the other side of the glass partition was staring
in.
Dr Gilmore relaxed and smiled. “All right, Jacqueline. You cooperate with us, we’ll cooperate with you. I will raise the topic
with the First Admiral’s legal staff to see if they consider you are entitled to legal representation. But first I want you
to answer a question for me.”
“The accused have a right of silence.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Clever, Doctor. Ask then. But don’t insult me by asking me to incriminate myself.”
“When did your body die?”
“In 2036. Do I get my lawyer now?”
“And you were conscious the whole time you were in the beyond?”
“Yes, you moron.”
“Thank you.”
Jacqueline Couteur gave him a highly suspicious glance. “That’s it?”
“Yes. For now.”
“How did that help you?”
“Time passes in the beyond. That means it is subject to entropy.”
“So?”
“If your continuum decays, then the entities within it can die. More pertinently, they can be killed.”
• • •
“She wants a
what
?” Maynard Khanna asked.
Dr Gilmore flinched. “A lawyer.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid not.” He sighed reluctantly. “The problem is, while ordinarily I would dismiss such a request as sheer nonsense,
it has opened something of a debate among the investigating staff. I know the Intelligence Service has extremely wide-ranging
powers that supersede the Declaration of Rights; but personality debrief is normally conducted by another division. I’m not
saying that what we’re doing to Couteur and the others isn’t necessary, I would just like to establish that our orders were
drafted correctly, that is: legally. Naturally, I don’t wish to bother the First Admiral with such trivia at this time. So
if you could raise the matter with the Provost General’s office I’d be grateful. Just for clarification, you understand.”
• • •
In appearance, Golomo was no different from any of the other gas giants found among the star systems of the Confederation.
A hundred and thirty-two thousand kilometres in diameter, its ring band slightly denser than usual, its storm bands a raucous
mix of twirled vermillion, pale azure, splashed with coffee-cup swirls of white strands. The abnormality for which it was
renowned lurked several hundred kilometres below the furrowed surface of the outer cloud layer, down where the density and
temperature had risen considerably. That was where the Edenists whose habitats colonized the orbital space above located life;
a narrow zone where pressure reduced the speed of the turbulence, and the strange hydrocarbon gases developed an easy viscosity.
Single cells like airborne amoebas, but the size of a human fist, could survive there. They always clustered together in great
colonies, resembling blankets of beluga. Why they did it, nobody could work out, none of them were specialized, all of them
were independent. Yet to find singletons was unusual, at least in the areas so far observed by the probes, which admittedly
was a minute percentage of the planet.
At any other time, Syrinx would dearly have loved to pay the research sites a visit. The old curiosity was still itching when
Oenone
slid out of its wormhole above the gas giant.
Other days, other priorities,
the voidhawk chided.
Syrinx felt a hand patting hers; affinity was filled with if not quite sympathy, then certainly tolerance. She gave Ruben
a droll glance and shrugged.
Okay, another time.
She borrowed the voidhawk’s powerful affinity voice to identify them to the Golomo Consensus; SD sensors were already locking
on.
The routine for each system they visited was identical: impart a summary of the Confederation’s strategic disposition, then
there were accounts of new developments in neighbouring systems, which asteroids and planets faced the possibility of takeovers.
In exchange, the Consensus provided an intelligence update on the local system.
Oenone
could cover two, sometimes three star systems a day. So far the picture of conditions they were building up was depressing.
The Edenist habitats were managing to stay on top of the situation, remaining loyal to the designated isolation and confinement
policies. Adamist populations were less observant. Everywhere she went there were complaints about the hardships resulting
from the quarantine, Edenist worries of local navies falling short of their designated duties, stories of illegal starship
flights, a steady trickle of asteroids falling to the possessed, of political manoeuvring and advantage-trading.
We are generally more law abiding than Adamists,
Oxley said.
And there are more of them than us. That’s bound to produce a weighted picture.
Don’t make excuses for them, Caucus said.
Lack of education, and fear,
Syrinx said.
That’s what’s doing it. We have to make allowances, I suppose. But at the same time, their attitude is going to be a real
problem in the long term. In fact, it might mean there won’t even be a long term as far as they’re concerned.
Apart from the Kulu Kingdom, and one or two other of the more disciplined societies,
Ruben’s suggestion was infected with irony.
She delayed her answer as she became aware of a growing unease in Golomo’s Consensus. Voidhawks from the local defence force
were popping in and out of wormholes, filling the affinity band with an excited buzz.
What is the problem?
she inquired.
We are confirming that the Ethenthia asteroid settlement has fallen to possession,
Consensus informed
Oenone
and its crew.
We have just received a message from its Confederation Navy Bureau concerning the arrival of a CNIS captain, Erick Thakrar,
from Kursk. According to the bureau chief, Thakrar had obtained information of an extremely important nature. A voidhawk was
requested to carry the captain and his prisoner to Trafalgar. Unfortunately there is a fifteen-hour delay to Ethenthia. In
the intervening time the possessed appear to have…
Along with everyone else attuned to Consensus, Syrinx and her crew were immediately aware of the incoming message. Habitat
senses perceived it as a violet star-point of microwaves, shining directly at Golomo from Ethenthia.
“This is Erick Thakrar, CNIS captain; I’m the one Emonn Verona told you about. Or at least I hope he did. God. Anyway, the
possessed have taken over Ethenthia now. You probably know that by now. I managed to make it to a starship, the
Tigara
, but they’re on to me. Listen, the information I’ve got is
vital
. I can’t trust it to an open com link; if they find out what I know, it’ll become useless. But right now this ship is totally
fucked, and I’m not much better. I’ve got a partial alignment on the Ngeuni system, but there’s barely anything about it in
this almanac. I think it’s a stage one colony. If I can’t transfer to a flightworthy starship there, I’ll try and slingshot
back here. God, the SD platform is locking on. Okay, I’m jumping now—”
Ngeuni is a stage one colony,
Oenone
responded immediately.
Syrinx was automatically aware of its spatial location eleven light years away. When correlated with Ethenthia’s current position
the alignment must have been very tenuous indeed. If Thakrar’s ship was as bad as he implied .. .
The colony is still in its start-up stage,
Oenone
continued.
However, there may be some starships available.
This is something I should follow up,
Syrinx told Consensus.
We concur. It will be another day before Thakrar returns here, assuming his ship remains flightworthy.
We’ll check Ngeuni to see if he got there.
Even as she spoke, energy was flowing through the voidhawk’s patterning cells.
• • •
Stephanie heard a loud mechanical screeching sound followed by a raucous siren blast. She grinned around at the children sitting
at the kitchen table. “Looks like your uncle Moyo has found us some transport.”
Her humour faded when she reached the bungalow’s front porch. The bus which was parked on the road outside was spitting light
in every spectrum; its bodywork a tight-packed mass of cartoon flowers growing out of paisley fields.
LOVE, PEACE
, and
KARMA
flashed in nightclub neon on the sides. The darkest areas were its gleaming chrome hubcaps.
Moyo climbed down out of the cab, busily radiating embarrassment. The doors at the back of the bus hissed open, and another
man climbed down. She’d never seen anyone with so much hair before.
The children were crowding around her, gazing out eagerly at the radiant carnival apparition.
“Is that really going to take us to the border?”
“How do you make it light up?”
“Please, Stephanie, can I get inside?”
Stephanie couldn’t say no to them, so she waved them on with a casual gesture. They swarmed over the small front lawn to examine
the wonderment.
“I can see how this should help us avoid any undue attention,” she said to Moyo. “Have you lost your mind?”
A guilty finger indicated his new companion. “This is Cochrane, he helped me with the bus.”
“So it was your idea?”
“Surely was.” Cochrane bowed low. “Man, I
always
wanted a set of wheels like this.”
“Good. Well now you’ve had it, you can say goodbye. I have to take these children out of here, and they’re not going in that
thing
. We’ll change it into something more suitable.”
“Won’t do you no good.”
“Oh?”
“He’s right,” Moyo said. “We can’t sneak about, not here. You know that. Everybody can sense everything in Morton-ridge now.”
“That’s still no reason to use this . .. this—” She thrust an exasperated arm out towards the bus.
“It’s like gonna be a mobile Zen moment for those with unpure thoughts,” Cochrane said.
“Oh, spare me!”
“No really. Any cat catches sight of that bus and they’re gonna have to confront like their inner being, you know. It’s totally
neat, a soul looking into its own soul. With this, you’re broadcasting goodness at them on Radio Godhead twenty-four hours
a day; it’s a mercy mission that makes mothers weep for their lost children. My Karmic Crusader bus is going to shame them
into letting you through. But like if you hit on people with a whole heavy military scene, like some kind of covert behind-the-lines
hostility raid, you’ll waste all those good vibes your karma has built up. It’ll make it easy for all the cosmically uncool
redneck dudes running loose out there to make it hard for us.”
“Humm.” He did make an odd kind of sense, she admitted grudgingly. Moyo gave her a hopeful shrug, a loyalty which lent her
a cosy feeling. “Well, we could try it for a few miles I suppose.” Then she gave Cochrane a suspicious look. “What do you
mean, us?”