The bubbletruck bumped to a halt. It took several seconds for the inner bubble to stop swaying then Alkemy opened her eyes. ‘Are we there?’
‘I guess.’ Ludokrus raised the slit in the front of the carton, but all they could make out through two layers of clear plastic was a grimy alley and a loading dock in deep shadow. There was a small, faded sign on a nearby wall, the paint peeling and the lettering indistinct, but they could still make out what it said: Macet Upholstery Services.
Machinery clanked and the view bumped and shifted as the bubbletruck was directed through a square opening in the side of the building and into a lighted room.
Ludokrus closed the slit again.
They felt movement; a sideways roll, more bumps and clanks, then a whirr as the outer bubble was opened. More rocking as the inner bubble was aligned, then the top of that too was unlatched. Mechanical claws gripped the packing carton, lifted it clear and set it on the workshop floor.
The machine sounds stopped. Ludokrus risked another peek.
Around them they could see a loading dock rather like the one they’d left at Concordance. The design and layout were similar, but this place was considerably smaller, considerably older, and bathed in the yellow light of ancient incandescent bulbs.
It was also occupied.
Two elderly synthos appeared. One shut down the hoist while the other scanned the bubbletruck’s shipping tag and consulted a manifest. Then a small man with a shaved head hurried in behind them, pulling on an over-large and rather shabby smock as he did so. He dismissed the synthos then stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting till a door in the side of the building closed. Once they’d gone, he took out a pocket knife, stabbed it into the top of the carton and cut a neat circular hole through the cardboard and foam.
Lifting out the plug of packaging, he said, ‘Calming Blue, wasn’t it, Alb––?’ He stopped, looking down at two unfamiliar faces looking back at him.
It took less than a minute to cut away the front of the carton, then he stood back, regarding them warily, casting any eye over the discarded packaging as if he’d been expecting someone else.
‘Who are you, and how did you get one of our emergency evacuation sequences?’
‘Our uncle is ... was the director of the Science Council,’ Ludokrus said. ‘Polky Krilen. Not real uncle, but that is what we call him. And the sequence was given to us by our syntho, Albert.’
‘He didn’t come with you?’
Ludokrus glanced at his sister, recalling Albert’s insistence they say nothing to anyone.
The man saw the look and nodded. ‘Ah, right.’
‘Who are you?’ Alkemy asked. Something about him was vaguely familiar.
‘My name is Andop Scolyfol. I’ve worked with your uncle – and Albert – for a good many years.’ They tapped palms in local fashion as they introduced themselves. He added, ‘I won’t ask if you had a good trip, but at least you’ve arrived in one piece.’
‘You have tried this?’ Ludokrus gestured at the bubbletruck.
‘Once or twice in my student days, back when I was young and foolish.’ He smiled. ‘Now I’m old and foolish, but not that foolish.’
He glanced at the shipping tag as he bundled the packaging into a recycler. ‘You’ve come from the Science Council at Concordance, I see. Did you leave Albert behind?’
Alkemy coloured, not knowing how to respond.
Ludokrus started to make a stumbling reply, but Andop just laughed. ‘I understand your caution. Very wise. You don’t know who I am. But let me assure you,’ he pointed to the incandescent lightbulbs overhead, ‘like them I have all the right connections. Which is more, I suspect, than our mutual friend has right now.’ His emphasis was slight, but underscored by a whimsical flick of his bushy eyebrows.
‘You may be right,’ Ludokrus said cautiously. ‘But else what can we do?’
‘Get to know each other better, I suppose. Come up to the office.’
They followed him out of the loading dock and through a work area containing antique furniture in various states of disassembly and repair. There were wood-turning machines and spring-coiling machines and industrial sewing machines of various types. A second room was lined with bolts of fabric in every colour under the sun.
He led them up a staircase and through a series of wood-panelled rooms that might have come from a museum display.
‘Charming, isn’t it?’ he said, directing them to an office at the end.
Inside, they found heavy wooden furniture and a worn but richly patterned carpet on the floor. There was an old iron safe in one corner and a dark green filing cabinet with brass handles in the other. A bookshelf sat against one wall and several other items of furniture lay under dust covers. The far wall contained a line of narrow casement windows made of lead-lighted glass cut in diamond shapes. Alkemy moved closer and looked out to a street of crumbling brick warehouses that might have come from another century. The only indication they hadn’t stepped back in time was an elevated section of the discontinuous highway in the distance.
‘This place used to belong to my grandfather,’ Andop gestured to a portrait on the wall, ‘but my father wasn’t much interested in taking it over when he died, and nor was I. Which was lucky for both of us as nanomachine fabrication and total recycling wiped out a lot of firms in this area. I mean, who would bother getting a sofa re-covered or repaired when you can simply scrap it and get a new one delivered for next to nothing?
‘Still, we do get a small but steady stream of requests. Genuine ones, I mean. Not like yours.’ He picked up a clipboard and flicked through some of the pages. ‘Heirlooms, keepsakes, historical pieces from museums. This place is kept ticking over by Wible and Thrum, a couple of old synthos who work here part-time. Which gives me the perfect cover for situations like this.’
‘Situations?’ Alkemy said, still trying to work out why the man seemed familiar.
‘I’d prefer not to say more. But you can rest assured that Krilen, Albert and I are what one might call partners in crime.’
She looked at him holding the clipboard. Something in the angle and the way he held it brought the memory flooding back.
‘The projection!’ she exclaimed, turning to Ludokrus. ‘Back on Earth. Remember how Albert replay for us scenes from memory?’
Ludokrus scowled, trying to caution her to be quiet.
After Albert’s demise, Alkemy had retrieved his memory bulb and they’d plugged it into a receiver he’d modified shortly before his death. Once connected, it played key scenes from Albert’s past, explaining his situation and his mission. One of those recollections detailed the secret enhancements he’d undergone.
‘The room where he wake up and looks at the wave,’ Alkemy said. ‘Remember?’
One of the clips showed Albert recovering from surgery to implant beads that would eventually grow to form a brain-enhancing neural lace. Just hours after they’d been injected, he was already showing remarkable abilities. They’d seen the world from his perspective: the image of a breaking wave, analysed and broken down as he calculated the trajectory of every speck of foam and drop of water in the seconds before it hit a rock.
‘Uncle Krilen does not believe. Think maybe there is fault with his equipment. He call someone in to check.’
A second man had entered, carrying a tablet-like computer, holding it exactly the way Andop was now holding the clipboard.
‘You!’ Ludokrus exclaimed. ‘You bring in a second screen to compare it with our uncle’s.’
Andop studied them gravely. ‘You seem to know more than I expected. Well, it should make the explanations easier.’
* * *
The weight of the hand on Tim’s shoulder felt like an iron bar and the grip of Walis’s fingers was like a mechanical claw. He struggled, as did his sister, but the grip tightened, the fingers dug in and they both cried out simultaneously.
‘Stop squirming and you won’t get hurt,’ Walis said conversationally.
‘You’re already hurting!’ Coral said.
‘I can do a lot worse.’
He gave them both an extra squeeze. They cried out again, but the message got through and they stopped struggling.
‘Let them go!’ Norman shouted.
‘Or what, squib?’ Walis grinned down at him. ‘What are you going to do? Bite my ankles?’
Norman kicked him instead. It was like kicking a concrete block and he hopped away on one foot.
Walis laughed. ‘Oh no. Stop. I can’t stand it. I give up.’
‘Leave us,’ Tim told Norman. ‘Run for it. Save yourself.’
‘Yeah, go on,’ Walis said. ‘I could do with a bit of sport. It’ll give me an excuse to break the legs on these two and come after you myself.’
‘Ignore him. Just go – aaarrgghh!’
‘Might have to break some arms first too,’ Walis said.
Norman looked around helplessly for a weapon, not that he could think of anything he could use against the augment, unless someone had left a rocket launcher lying around.
‘Come along now.’ Walis spun them around. ‘I have someone very keen to meet you all. And you, squib,’ he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Better tag along or it’ll be the worse for your friends.’ To prove the point he gave both Tim’s and Coral’s arms another squeeze, making them cry out again.
Norman fell into step behind them, his hands in his pockets. He felt something there. Something he’d forgotten about. Not exactly a rocket launcher, but then again ...
‘How’s your brother?’ he called. ‘Have they chipped him out of that alley yet?’
‘Nearly.’
Norman laughed. ‘What an idiot.’
He wrapped his hand around the sauce bottle. The complimentary one the serve-bot had given him in Basic Foods. The one with the warning label on the side.
‘I don’t think you should call him that,’ Walis said. ‘We’re clone-brothers. We share everything. If you insult one of us, you insult all of us.’
‘Really?’ Norman’s hand closed around the bottle. ‘And there I was thinking wall-boy got the dumbest third of the brain.’
‘Oi!’ Walis turned and glared at him.
Norman whipped out the sauce bottle, held it in both hands, aiming it at Walis. ‘All right, that’s it. Let them go and back away. Now!’
Walis looked at him and laughed. ‘You’re a trier, I’ll give you that, squib.’
‘I mean it. Back away or––’
‘Or what? You’ll give me a serious dry cleaning bill?’
Norman aimed and squeezed the bottle, hard. A jet of dark red plimp sauce shot out and hit Walis in the eyes. The effect was better than he could have wished. Walis released Tim and Coral and began clawing at his face. And screaming. He had a surprisingly high-pitched scream.