Exurbia: A Novel About Caterpillars (An Infinite Triptych Book 1) (11 page)

14

“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”

- The last recorded words of François Rabelais, Old Erde word artisan.

Jura -

The laboratory would be empty all night. He had laid the tools out on the workbench an hour ago or so, but had paused just to watch the machine a while as it worked.
It isn't supposed to happen like this. A gunfight, a desperate struggle, but not like this
. The rivets and screws would come apart quietly and without incident, the burning orange would die in a sudden flash, and that would be the death of it then. He would report the parts to the demolition team and they would come to the laboratory in the morning with their techne-glitzes. The components would go up in a single flash of blue smoke. There might be other rigs in the future, other Ixenites smart enough to actually get the recipe right, but it wasn’t likely.
Besides
, he thought,
the tersh will have an entire security detail watching my back from now until the day I die.
Nebulous shapes formed in the heart of the orange orb: a naked human figure, a pyramid, a roaring lion. 
God's egg.

He took a spanner and started on the larger nuts. Whichever Ixenite faction had worked on this had been a smart one. He hadn’t seen a design quite like it before. The outer casing came away easily enough. The orb pulsed on, undeterred. The vent plates came next, and finally the heat exchange. There was only the sensor matrix now, and the spinning rings, still furiously gyrating. He tuned the sensor matrix over in his hands. There was writing on the underside of the main plate, initials: A.H. Anna? Aldwin? Whoever it was, the poor bastard would be in the Bureau of Rehabilitation now, getting whatever it was they did in there done to them.  

Sorry A.H. I suppose everything was in vain, for you. It may well have been the most important thing you ever did with your life, and now I get the chance to disassemble it. And if I don’t, A.H., they’ll disassemble me
. There was still half a bottle of laboratory-distilled zapoei in his assistant’s spare parts cupboard. He took a glass, poured a finger, and raised it in the dark of the laboratory and the orange glow of the t'assali and tried to imagine A.H.’s face. She would be a woman, dark haired and with a strong brow, freckles, her face set always in a playfully sardonic smirk.

He finished the zapoei and gave a last long look at the orange orb. It was ridiculous.
Miss hell-haunted Butterworth probably has detection equipment on her boat anyway. And she doesn't seem like the sort to brush off a potential Pergrin crisis. Another day perhaps, years from now, when some intrepid and gifted youth devises a way to cheat the system. Another day perhaps
. He cut the main power couplers and orb dissipated like steam. Then he sat in the dark a long while, picturing the grand tersh’s face with vivid hostility, imagining each and every cruel line that ran through his forehead.
I should kill you, for what you’ve done here. I should take a glitz to your belly the way your prized lieutenant almost did to me. I should rip you open.

Then, almost entirely driven by muscle-memory, he called out an ID string to the stream feed. A grainy image of a women in her forties appeared on the laboratory’s far wall.

‘It’s late,’ she said.

‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘Red’s good on you.’

‘Can we do this tomorrow? Whatever this is? It’s past midnight and you’re drunk.’

‘I’m not drunk.’

‘You only call when you’re drunk.’

‘That’s not true, and I’m not drunk.’

'Well, just call back tomorrow.’ The woman went to gesture the feed dead.

‘Wait,’ Jura said.

‘What?’

‘Just talk to me. A few minutes. What’s wrong? Are you going to get in
trouble?’

She checked behind her shoulder guiltily.

‘Heeeee’s behind youuuu,’ Jura said.

‘You piece of shit,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve got two minutes, and the only reason you’ve got those two minutes is because you’re never desperate enough to stop me hanging up. So I know it must be bad.’

‘Did you see me on the streams?’

‘Yes.’

‘And were you proud of your dear ex-husband? For standing there at the tersh’s side?’

‘You know what I think of him.’

‘Well, you know what he thinks of you, after that nonsense you pulled at the faculty dinner.’

‘What do you want, Stefan?’

‘I see you kept my name. Jura sounds much better than whatever his is anyway. I forget. Sawdwitz? Sadwitz?’

‘What do you
want
, Stefan?’

‘I bet he’s pretty irate, what with -’

‘Gnesha’s gallstones, so help me, I’ll hang up this second if you don’t -’

‘I think they’re going to come for me.’

She eyed him through the stream for a few moments. ‘For what?’

‘You know what.’

‘But they don’t know. Do they?’

‘They know. The
tersh
knows.’

‘You’re just being paranoid.’

‘He told me. Personally. He took me up to his tower and he made me drink zapoei and then he told me all about it. They’ve known for years, I don’t know how, but they have. And they’ve been keeping me around because of my work. But most of the new kids at the faculty know the technology better than me now anyway. And I’ll give it about a week before
His Holiness
finds that out which means I’ll give it about a week and a day before they come for me.’

‘But this syndicate woman, they wouldn’t arrest you while she’s here, surely? It’ll look terrible.’

‘What, are you mad? She’s the biggest Pergrin nut there is. Didn’t you watch her speech?’

‘Sure, but I just assumed it was all gassing.’

‘It isn’t. She’d glitz me in the back personally if she didn’t think it’d make a mess of her dress.’

She cradled her head in her hands. ‘Oh Stefan…’

‘I miss you Annie.’

‘Stefan.’

‘I feel like a lion, a big Old Erde one out on the plains about to die. They always knew when they were about to die.’

‘Do you remember that place,’ she said, ‘where I spilled stakliovatz down my dress?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Meet me there on Goetheday, just after moonup. Don’t say it aloud, there’s always the chance they’re listening.’

‘If they’re listening Annie, you’ll be implicated in all of this too.’

‘But at least they won’t know where we’re going. Buy new clothes in case they’ve put trackers in the ones you own. Take a strange route. Watch for anybody following. Keep under the awnings and the geo-orbiters won’t be able to trace you.’

He nodded solemnly. She had aged, but only around the eyes. The freckles were still there, her skin still deathly pale.

‘What should I wear?’ he said. ‘Something suave? Do you still like a man in a suit?’

‘Goodnight Stefan.’

15

“The true journey of discovery lies not in the search for new lands, but rather in seeing with new eyes.”

- Marcel Proust, Old Erde word artisan

261 -

There was a man at the end of the bed when 261 woke. He was perhaps in his early thirties, dressed casually, and with dark features. His hair was kept in cluster bunches, a style apparently typical for Exurbic men. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he said.

‘It was adequate,’ said 261 and sat up.

‘Please, don't rise just yet. There isn’t much of a schedule for the day. Ah, but I suppose you’re rather partial to that kind of life, getting up at a specific time, spending all day in front of the quandary globes?’

Strong probability: this is a leader of some kind, or the associate of one.

‘Yes. That was my routine.’

‘Tell me, didn’t you ever tire of it?’

261 considered the question a moment. ‘No.’

‘Or get bored, anxious, claustrophobic?’

‘No.’

‘Gnesha, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?’

‘Who?’

‘Governance really went to the wall when they created you, I mean.’

He squinted into 261’s eyes with a detached curiosity.

‘Except they obviously screwed up in places. It can’t be easy, ripping out the humanity like that.’

261 was in a sleeping chamber of some kind, all four walls bearing wall-to-floor bookshelves. On a brief scan he recognised a few of the authors’ names. Old Erde literature, mostly.

‘I’ve brought you a present,’ said the man, handing him a bag. Inside was edible matter of some description, bright blue orbs.

‘Snullubs,’ said the man. ‘They’re delicious. And even better, I thought they could, you know, replace your quandary globes.’

Strong likelihood: he is testing my capacity for humour. This is some form of elaborate ritual.

‘The quandary globes in the cave were made of light,’ said 261. ‘Not fruit.’

‘Well, beggars can’t be choosers as the adage goes. Are you feeling well?’

‘I’m not in pain.’

‘That’s excellent news. Positively
refulgent.
’ He offered a hand. ‘Seer Fortmann,’ he said.

‘Yes, I'm aware who you are. I was set a number of quandaries in relation to you.’

Fortmann took 261’s hand and manually put it in his, then shook. ‘What kind of quandaries?’

‘I’m not able to disclose that.’

Fortmann made an exasperated face for a moment, then let out a gleeful rolling laugh.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. That’s just wonderful. With the upmost respect friend, I don’t think Governance is coming for you. They’ll try, but this is one of the last places they’ll look.’

‘Why?’ said 261. 'Where are we?’

Fortmann laughed again, louder this time. ‘
I’m not able to disclose that.
I suppose we both have secrets to keep. Are you feeling any better after your, shall we say euphemistically, episode?’

Yes, the last moment he remembered being conscious, the hot stab in his neck - a transquilising needle in strong likelihood, the sensation of nausea, the girl watching in apparent displeasure as he fell.
She may prove to be an excellent resource in my escape, given her obviously maternal regard for me.

‘I am feeling fine.’

‘No anxiety?’

‘I am anxious, yes.’

‘Angry?’

‘I’m unsure. Since I was infected with the testosterone synthesiser, I have been experiencing an array of unfamiliar emotional states.’

‘And I suppose you blame yesterday’s outburst on it.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, if I had to put my money on a square, it wouldn’t be the synthesiser. But no matter. I should be clear about a few things that Our Sister in the Up may have neglected to mention. You will be treated well here, but you can’t leave unless under supervision, and not without discussion beforehand. You’re welcome to read any book you wish in the apartment, but at no point will you be given access to the streams or a skript.’

Inflated confidence in his intellectual abilities, probable likelihood of habouring a superiority complex.

‘Understood. I have a question,’ said the imp.

‘Of course.’

‘What exactly are you expecting of me?’

‘You assume we’re expecting
anything
of you.’

‘You’re implying that I was freed out of some kind of moral compulsion, that it was done with good will in mind.’

‘Certainly. What’s wrong with that?’

‘A great deal. Firstly, your female associate was quite explicit that I’m here for some specific purpose. Secondly, your freeing of me almost perfectly coincides with the syndicate visitor’s arrival.’

The man nodded respectfully and looked the imp over.

‘You’re not wrong, friend,’ Fortmann said. ‘I won’t lie. We have certain expectations of you, expectations that aren’t unreasonable considering that we have granted you your freedom. A fair exchange, I think. I suppose Our Sister in the Up mentioned our plan to distribute free anti-Pergrin technology to the masses?’

‘She did.’

‘But that is only a fraction of our intentions. Ultimately, we want to create a wiremind. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Governance has some kind of technology that can detect sentient t’assali patterns before they go critical, giving them plenty of time to storm our hideouts and steal our rigs and imprison Our Brothers and Sisters in the Up. The obvious answer is to go to the root of the problem.’

‘To dissolve Governance,’ said 261.

Fortmann laughed delightedly. ‘Oh no, that would be
anarchy.
Nothing like that. Just a redistribution of power.’

‘By killing the tersh.’

‘Removing him however needs dictate, yes. Only then will we be in a position to finish our project undeterred. Better still, in the wake of his death, we will take the syndicate woman hostage and demand only that the hub stay out of Exurbic affairs for a while, else we execute her. That should be enough leverage.’

Ultimate estimation: far too many variables to guarantee safety. The syndicate hub would likely refuse to give in to such pressure.
‘The plan is a good one,’ said 261.

‘I doubt you mean that, but it’s not of much importance. I’m going to need some details about the tersh’s personal security. For example, how are the gungovs controlled?’

‘I have never been privy to that information.’

‘Then what are they?’

‘I have also never been privy to that information either.’

‘Come on 261, do you really expect me to believe that?’

‘I was consulted on political, ethical, and social matters. I had no reason to request schematics or design builds. I know very little about the technology of Exurbia, and even less about how that technology works.’

‘Ah, then the gungovs are machines?’

‘I have absolutely no information on the matter.’

Fortmann smiled. ‘That’s all right. I think you’ll come to trust me in time, I know it’s only early yet. Does the tersh use some kind of protective field device?’

‘Governance has no such technology, as far as I’m aware.’

‘Does he carry concealed weapons?’

‘The tersh is wildly overconfident about his safety, if the reports I have seen are to be believed.’