The Ascendant Stars (40 page)

‘And where?’

‘At the utterly magnificent Electric Theatre City,’ said Nicodemus, who swung his brittle smile round at Julia. ‘Which you’ll have heard of, of course.’

‘Who hasn’t,’ she said, expression unchanging, ‘heard of the Electric Theatre City?’

Nicodemus arched an eyebrow and chuckled.

‘Good, because that’ll be your station, the pair of you. I’ve already booked a display area for the show – and I assume that you have a copy with you … ’

They nodded in unison, then Harry said:

‘What about the zazins? They’ll still be out there, hunting for us.’

‘Uh huh, which is why I’m giving you these.’ One bony hand came out, holding a pair of red dice. With red dots. ‘Temporary rewrite orgs – they go in your pockets. They don’t alter any root or dynamic functions, they just add junk data to certain marker files so that the zazins don’t get a match if they scan you.
Capiche?
’

Julia pocketed the red die but felt nothing, which made her wonder if that was good or bad.

‘All righty,’ said their host, getting to his feet. ‘Now that we’re slip to the slide and code to the mode, as it were, it’s time to move on out. We’ll get to Electric Theatre City by stages so that our start point stays hidden, and on the way … show you babies some of the sights!’

This last was accompanied by a lascivious waggle of the tongue as he led them back to the grey recess by which they had arrived.

*

‘Some of the sights’ didn’t really do it justice. The virtual continuum of the Glow was a riotous flow of spectacle, or at least this zone was. It was an enormous fusion of clubland and theme park, of carnival and racetrack, of partyland and destruction derby. There was the Horn of Plenty, an immense pink and sparkly golden cornucopia full of Big Prize game shows, some of which were on continuous veecast. There was the Atmosfear Race, a twenty-lane speedway that soared, looped and spiralled across the virtual heavens, on which drivers raced vehicles the size of sky-scrapers – some even looked like skyscrapers. Then there was the Marilyn Monroe Bar & Grill, a kilometre-high simulacrum of the pre-atomic-age vee-star, within which there were levels of restaurants, lounge bars, karaoke jousts, and bowling alleys. Also striding around and looming over the gaudy megatropolis were the Jackie Chan martial arts arena and assault course, the Chairman Mao casino and Möbius floorshow, and the Melissa Takeru theme emporium, concert hall and biog-ride. The last was a Filipina teenstar whose image was currently selling everything from jaunty little caps to garden rakes, going by the flashverts Julia had seen.

The Electric Theatre City actually was the size of a city and was encircled by half-kilometre-wide perception panels (or rather the virtual presentation thereof), each running a vee-epic. As they swept into the ETC by hovertram, Nicodemus named some of them:
Casablanca 3: Rick’s Revenge; Lord Gatling
’s
Gun; Hot Larvae: The Dissolution; Conqueror: The Quest for Mario
…

Dropped off at a spidery tower platform, they followed Nicodemus along gantries to a strange midair intersection of speeding walkways, or fastways. One by one they stepped on and were whisked away in a streaming blur through tunnels and passages between brightly coloured buildings of every shape and size. They came to an abrupt halt at a roof garden overlooking a bright neon-orange castle that sat between a noisy sensorium emporium and a smallish establishment called Leather Experience. Its towering frontage looked like stitched leather and was well provided with huge zips and studs.

‘Welcome to the Otranto House,’ Nicodemus said with a dark laugh.

Another fastway deposited them next to a curved shiny desk at the edge of an enormous, cavernous hall. Monumental pillars marched across its emptiness, half-lit by glowing lamps that floated just above head height. Nicodemus was not pleased.

‘By the beard of Baron Frankenstein, this is not what I ordered!’ he growled.

‘Is there a problem, sir?’

Unseen by anyone, a yellow-uniformed attendant had appeared at the desk. Her smile was ferociously unwavering.

‘The ceremonial amphitheatre, the red and gold carpets, the full-height perception screen, the ushers, the glittery lights … I ordered them, so where are they?’

‘As stated in your contract, sir, the Otranto House reserves the right to initialise booked content only in the presence of an actual audience.’

‘That would be me,’ Nicodemus said. ‘And my associates here.’

‘But—’

‘An audience is made up of those who view a show: we three will be using our sense of vision to view the show, ergo we are part of the audience. You may now remodel this interior to the specifications I have ordered and paid for … or must I now contact my lawyers, Fleam, Goad and Gimlet?’

‘That won’t be necessary, sir. Otranto House is now satisfied that the contractual terms have been met.’

Alteration raced across the surfaces of the great hall, a frantic wave of rerendering. The walls turned dark blue, hung with drapes, adorned with light sconces. The carpet became a rich red expanse patterned with elaborate letter Ns. Most of the pillars vanished and banks of plush seating appeared, and a vast opaque panel filled one entire wall. Last, a partition wall descended, creating an arrivals foyer, with a black-velvet-draped entryway.

‘Good,’ Nicodemus murmured, looking over his shoulder. ‘Wondered where he’d got to.’

Julia glanced round and saw a tall, broad-chested bulky man
standing where the walkway had dropped him, swaying on the spot and blinking. He wore a formal black suit, which looked thoroughly incongruous for someone of his build. After a moment his gaze settled on the three of them and he approached.

‘Urm, Mr Nic, I followed yore ’structions … ’

‘And here you are, Alfred, well done!’ Nicodemus looked to Harry and Julia. ‘This is Alfred, formerly the Mad Mangler of Moneytown, the contact-sport zone – he used to be the most fearsome thing on two legs … ’

‘Dem days is over now, Mr Nic. I got my pottry biz to run now.’

‘Glad to hear it, Alfred. Now these are my friends, Harry and Julia, and I want you to look after them for me, just as I explained in my note, okay?’

‘I got yore note, Mr Nic.’

Nicodemus regarded Julia and Harry. ‘Because you’re such a distinctive pair – when you consider the contrasting data profiles – I asked Alfred along to foil anyone scanning on that basis. I am going to leave you for a short while – I’ve had minion-messages telling me that two of our VIPs are away from their chief residences and not responding to our exquisitely worded blandishments.’ He snapped his fingers and a datapad appeared in his hand. ‘Here’s the original list you gave, along with up-to-date pix of the exters they’re likely to be wearing, as well as their appointed times.’ He swivelled his gaze round to the yellow-garbed desk clerk. ‘I assume that the eightfold multi-occupancy is now in operation?’

The clerk nodded. ‘Exactly as you requested, sir.’

‘Better be,’ Nicodemus said to Julia, handing her the datapad. ‘So when they arrive, verify what they’re here to see, usher them through and Buttercup here will switch the door onto the next stratum, and so forth.’

Harry laughed suddenly. ‘So all eight of our Sino reps will be present in the auditorium yet unaware of each other.’

‘Give that AI a tune-playing, self-lighting cigar!’ Nicodemus cackled. ‘Right, time I wasn’t here.’ With that he stepped onto the
walkway and a moment later was an upright blur zipping up and away. Harry looked at Julia.

‘I think that means that we’re in charge,’ he said.

Julia tapped the datapad. ‘And our first guest is due any moment.’

A little under a minute later a small group arrived in quick succession, three white-robed monks led by a cardinal in black. Julia quickly matched the exters to a name, Jirawat Pamang, over-councillor for the VietLao–ThaiCam co-territory. The cardinal drew near and in a low voice said:

‘I am here for the Amelia Borjan installation.’

She nodded, then gestured them towards the draped entrance.

‘Please proceed.’

He passed through, followed by his monk escort.

The next VIP was due four minutes later but was a no-show. The following three were punctual, arriving exactly five minutes apart. The sixth was a no-show and when the seventh likewise failed to appear Julia began to wish they’d agreed some method of contacting Nicodemus. She was about to ask their muscly companion, Alfred, if he knew of any way when she started to hear laughter and voices from beyond the drapes. Then came a man’s voice, shouting to be let back through. She looked at the yellow-clad clerk.

‘Can you turn this partition wall transparent but only for us?’

A nod, and the wall duly became see-through, like a misty veil. One of the VIPs, a man in the garb of a prosperous Victorian, was rapping the wall with a walking stick while groups of garishly dressed people ran around in the background, between and over the seats, pelting each other with fruit which burst into sprays of tiny flowers on impact.

‘Where did all these people come from?’ she said to the clerk. ‘There’s not supposed to be any other entrances … ’

There were more voices from behind. Turning, she saw more people starting to arrive by the walkway in a continuous stream. In moments there were a dozen, then a score, then more. At her side the imposing Alfred looked on impassively, arms crossed.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked Harry.

‘Whatever it is, I think we’ll have to let our guests out,’ he said, pointing at the wall where all four of the VIPs were now demanding an exit from the auditorium. Paralysed with indecision, Julia stared at them, gradually coming to the sickening realisation that the entire complicated ruse had failed. But before she could speak to Harry the growing crowd surged towards the draped entrance and several people at the flank pushed her to the side, scarcely even apologising.

‘Julia,’ Harry shouted from the other side of the sudden mob. ‘Wait there – I’ll go around … ’

He broke off as three brightly dressed people in masks rushed at him from the side. He dodged the zazins’ tackles and launched himself up onto the crowd – voices cheered and hands came up to catch him and bear him along. But the zazins leaped into the press, knocking people aside as they chased after Harry. Others pushed back and punches got thrown.

Suddenly there was an insistent, high-pitched whooping from above as quivering holes opened up in the ceiling.

‘Dat’s the netlaw,’ said Alfred. ‘S’gonna be trouble … ’

Without hesitation the big man lunged into the crowd like a tuxedoed battleship. People moved aside like a bow wave as he charged in, grabbed Harry by the collar and dragged him back to where Julia was standing. The next thing she knew, Alfred had grabbed her round the waist while still holding on to Harry.

‘Sorry Miss Julia, Mr Harry, but I got my ’structions … ’

The chaos all around them seemed to merge into a yowling, roaring surf of sound as everything Julia could see turned ash grey and swirled into nothing.

Awareness returned with the suddenness of a thrown switch. She was sitting in a leather armchair in what looked like a lowceilinged, dim-lit study. Then she saw Harry in a similar chair, hands resting in his lap, head lolling forward and still. Like her, he was wearing the old-fashioned trench coat from their first
encounter. Julia whispered then spoke to him but he did not stir.

‘I’m afraid he will not wake,’ said a male voice, sounding hoarse, slightly gravelly, an elderly voice. ‘The zazins must have reached him with some kind of short-range attack. Like you he is running on base system, and there is some kind of activity going on, a self-check perhaps, but he won’t respond to stimuli.’

She got to her feet and looked around her at dark shelves crowded with books and files, a couple of cabinets, more boxes with labels arranged neatly under the lowest shelves on every wall. There was no door. A solid wooden chair on castors was positioned at a desk lit up by a flexi-necked lamp. Above the desk, sandwiched between large, heavy books, was an archaic CRT-style vee screen, glassy and grey, deactivated.

‘Who are you? Where are you?’

The old screen blinked on and a wrinkle-faced old man with a grey ponytail gazed out at her.

‘We’ve actually already met,’ he said and for a moment the image switched to a manically grinning face adorned with black goggles. Then back to the elderly man.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Nicodemus?’

‘Everything that you see in the Glow is illusory, by its nature. A dance of masks and marionettes in rainbow colours.’ He shrugged. ‘Which includes that whole spectacle that we just put on.’

Pangs of unease passed through her.

‘I think I’m due an explanation,’ she said. ‘I explained to you what was at stake – are you saying that was all for nothing?’

‘Far from it, young lady sentience,’ said Nicodemus. ‘As you’ll see very shortly. In the meantime try to relax.’

She looked around her. ‘But where am I?’

The face on the screen chuckled and a skinny finger tapped a silver-grey temple. ‘In here, as am I, strictly speaking. Although my I is as much a visitor to the base-system sim I’ve got you running in … ’