Julia-Dragon paused on the mountain track and stared out over the lands of Vendredasir, at the hills, forests and dales growing dark with the encroaching dusk. The great winding river Manarun was a shining ribbon which was turning bloody red as the sun dipped to the horizon. She sniffed the air then shook her great head and resumed the trudge to the summit.
Harry was already there when she arrived. His exter was that of a paladin of the Order of the Dawnflower and was clad in an elaborate suit of armour, all silver, yellow and blue. Julia’s exter was a Great Red Drake of the Damynel Nightclan, who just happened to be mortal enemies of the Order of the Dawn-flower…
‘How much longer will this take?’ she said, slumping down, taking up most of the summit’s flat, pebbly area. ‘Your drone friend said that all we needed to do was spend some of the credit and this Nicodemus would easily track us when the account flagged up. We’ve been in here for nearly two hours and still nothing.’
For Julia the entire situation had turned sour. They had translocated from Reski Emantes’s data refuge aboard the airship to the Glow lobby at the Medafrique multiportal, and soon after received a glownote from the AI telling them to buy player tickets in a sagaverse called ‘The Chronicles of the Black Throne’. Even as they wove through the immense crowds she felt she was being watched. Harry had laughed and said that was because everyone was being watched–visual feeds of every part of the open concourses were streamed around the world and across the solar system. Thus her initial experience of the Glow had been hectic and rushed, a dash through masses of wildly variegated avatars and exters, past the roaring neon flash of impossibly grand virtual stores, beneath the towering shapes of advertising goliaths scattering handfuls of groundcars and hoverbikes like confetti.
The ‘Black Throne’ sagaverse was a hugely popular story braid comprising scores of major plotlines and hundreds of minor ones in addition to the thousands of side quests, as well as those conspiracies and intrigues set in motion by the players themselves. The setting was a vast pseudo-medieval domain populated by a staggering array of fantastical creatures and species and fleshed out with detailed histories, customs, rivalries and superstitions.
Most of which Julia disregarded as they hurried through the character-induction process which they’d both set to Random-Fast… and ended up with exters whose story roles were diametrically opposed. After a few unsettling incidents they left Kadyni, the hill-town they started at, and headed for the mountains. Where they ran into a band of masked horsemen who said not a thing, just attacked them on sight. After Julia had flown them both away, an exhausting task, Harry was sure that they were only a preset bunch of encounter mooks but she felt there was something more to them.
‘Do you know anything about this Nicodemus?’ she said.
‘A little–he’s supposed to be the greatest living netmole, aka the Trapdoorman, aka the Karpetkrawler, aka Obscuriel.’ Harry laughed. ‘Moles do like their akas. Well, if anyone can help us get the Farag report to our Sino pals it’ll be him.’
‘Assuming that he comes for us,’ Julia said, glancing at the dimming sky. ‘And now it’s getting dark… what’s wrong?’
Harry was standing and peering back the way they had come. ‘It seems that our horse-riding friends have caught up with us…’ He paused as the leathery sound of flapping wings came down from above.
Looking up, Julia saw three winged, lizardlike creatures circling overhead, icy blue eyes staring down. Their wingspans were nothing like her own but together they could be effective against even a Great Drake. But only if she actually decided to stick around and get involved.
‘Harry, this is a waste of time,’ she said as she laboriously got onto her clawed feet. ‘We should leave and try one of the other sagaverses. Perhaps this Nicodemus will find it easier to find us elsewhere.’
He grinned. ‘I detect a certain determination.’
‘I just feel that I’ve seen enough.’ She paused, recalling the exact trigger phrase given to her at the induction stage, then said, ‘Angel Boxer Campus.’
At once a big red button appeared and she leaned forward to nudge it with her dragonish snout as the masked horsemen came charging up from the mountain path…
The scene before her quivered, blurred, dissolved and resolved into the bright extravagance of a huge, horseshoe-shaped foyer lined with player portals. Light from glowing orreries lit up the busy crowds that streamed to and fro across a glass floor inlaid with lacy white patterns, or came and went on the helical slides that spiralled down to the level below. The foyer to ‘The Chronicles of the Black Throne’ sagaverse had over two dozen entryway levels to cater for the throngs eager to sample its fantastic domains, and that was just at the Med-afrique multiportal. Julia saw numerous adbanners floating around, some claiming that the average daily player numbers were equal to the population of one of the larger South American nations…
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Harry, who was back in his gaudy Tiger-Duke exter, as provided by the drone Reski Emantes. Julia’s was similar, Lioness-Lady, a marvel of golden velvet, amber satin and black lace highlights. ‘Where shall we go next?’
‘The nearest sagaverse to this one,’ she said, leading the way out to the canyonlike concourse. Halting at the threshold, her eyes alighted on an immense, pillar-flanked entrance with an archaic bas-relief frieze above and wide white steps sweeping up towards it. Solid-looking black letters hung in midair, spelling out Welcome to Magnum Imperium.
‘That one,’ she said.
Harry obtained a swan-shaped jitney which they rode across the concourse, weaving through the frantic swarms of players, tourists and other Glowfolk. Some moments later they were climbing the white stair to a towering hall that was all obsidian columns, gold statues and immense mirrors.
The mirrors turned out to be the means by which their in-saga exters were chosen, after which Harry used the credit account to pay for an all-day access. This time Julia gave more attention to the milieu–an alternate Roman Empire that had developed steam power–and her options for choosing a character-exter. She settled on that of a female military praetor of middle years called Placidia. The exter’s attire was a combination of military practicality and feminine delicacy. There was a bronze breastplate and over it a loose patterned blue robe. A kirtle of scales, and a pale yellow sash tied about the waist. Shoulder pauldrons with long pegs from which little fealty pennons hung, and a muslin scarf wound about the head. And at the waist a long dagger in a plain scabbard. Once she had settled on her preferences, she only had to walk forward and through the mirror to emerge on a sunlit colonnaded arcade overlooking the river Tiber.
Rome was a hazy, smoky cityscape spread out beneath a mid-morning sun. The river was busy with vessels, single- and double-funnelled galleys steaming up to the docks or down to the sea. Tugs hauled lines of covered barges to and fro across river-spanning viaducts while bulbous dirigibles flew overhead, trailing smoke and steam.
‘Quiet view, eh?’
Harry joined her at the stone balcony. He had on a mixture of battered grey armour and red-stained leathers, with the symbol of a black wolf clearly visible. He wore a long sword at the waist and carried a large satchel on his shoulder. He gave a flourishing bow.
‘Quintus Cornelius Vibiano, centurio-evocati of the Sixty-Third Legion, at your service, lady!’
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance–apparently I am Placidia Murcius, praetor and trader in fine wines. So, here we are, or rather here we still are.’ She frowned. ‘When should we…’
‘Return to the Glow and try to reach the representatives ourselves?’ Harry shook his head. ‘I may be a cunning AI with friends in low places but in this place I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘But time is not on our side,’ she said. ‘If this Nicodemus doesn’t show up we may have no choice.’
Harry arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, if it does come to that there is at least a sizeable amount in that account…’
A crash and a rumble from somewhere close interrupted him. Leaning forward on the low balcony, Julia looked down ten floors to a cobbled street lined with small shops and odd kiosks on stilts. A steam-powered wagon had collided with the corner of the two-storey building opposite and tipped over, spilling its cargo of oranges across the street. A shop front was demolished and a stilted kiosk had also been knocked over. Some traders were arguing with the driver and his two loaders and before long harsh words led to shoving and thrown punches.
But before things got out of hand, several men in dark green cloaks and leather armour arrived and pulled the antagonists apart. They were armed with cudgels that were waved about or ostentatiously rested on shoulders.
‘The Vigiles Urbani,’ Harry said. ‘City police, basically.’
As she watched, Julia heard an odd metallic creak behind her, like hinges. When she glanced round she was stunned to see a skinny man in a long, grubby coat and wearing antique-style goggles emerging from a trapdoor in the floor of the arcade. For a moment they stared open-mouthed at each other, and he seemed about to smile and beckon to her when a red light started flashing on his wrist.
‘Dammit, they’re here again!’ he said in a strangled whisper. Lithely he ducked back down and pulled the trapdoor shut with a muffled thud.
‘Harry, it was…’
‘Ah, I think we’d best be on our way,’ said Harry. ‘Our pursuers are back.’
Julia peered over the balcony and saw that the green cloaks, now wearing pale, blank stage-masks, were leaving the scene of the accident and crossing the road.
‘Who or what are they?’
‘Can’t imagine that it’s the netlaw–they would land on us in overkill numbers and with a brass band playing.’ He frowned. ‘I fear they may be those who tracked us to Earth and assassinated the original Reski Emantes. In any case, we can’t stay here.’
‘But he was here a moment ago, the Trapdoorman…’
Harry stared at her for a second. ‘Okay, but we still need to move–tell me about it on the way.’
The arcade was the topmost floor of a large building occupied by a mixture of offices and residences. It was also built into the side of one of Rome’s hills, so at the rear of the arcade was a set of marble stairs that climbed past walled gardens and homes to the crest of the hill. There was a temple of Hephaestus there, next to a small observatory, and a park from which they finally gained a view of the full magnificence of the imperial city.
Steam power had allowed the emperors of this sagaverse-Rome to build on a godlike scale. An immense palace with sloping walls sat atop ranks of huge pillars that stretched out along the Tiber. Banners flew from the towers and battlements and fabulous ornamentation flashed gold and silver in the sun. At ground level, however, shanty towns had clustered around the shaded bases of the great pillars, grey beneath veils of smoke. Other nobles and aristocrats had sought to build extravagant, similarly elevated villas but none could match the imperial residence’s dimensions.
Harry and Julia paused to take in the view for just a moment before descending the other side of the hill, hurrying down a winding cobbled street. At the foot of it a large bridge crossed a deep smoky vale crammed with lower-class houses, two- and three-storey buildings packed in close together. They were fifty yards or so from the bridge when three Vigiles Urbani stepped out into the street, faces masked, cudgels at the ready.
‘This way!’ Harry said, ducking left along a narrow alley.
Julia was only feeling a slight strain as she dashed after him, doing her best to avoid puddles and decomposing garbage.
‘Where are we going?’ she said as he slowed at what looked like a dead end and hurriedly peered into several lightless doorways.
‘I’m sure I saw a building with a platform where a basket balloon was anchored… further up and round the hill. If we find it we can cross the river and hope that Nicodemus catches up with us before those hunters. Or we just pull the plug and go look for another sagaverse… ah, knew there had to be…’
Julia glanced back and saw their pursuers loping down the alley towards them.
‘Lead the way.’
One black passage led to a steep, winding rack of stairs that passed through arches and beneath overhanging floors and small connecting footbridges. After a frantic climb they finally reached the building in question, complete with a railed platform jutting out over a cliffside and a pair of basket balloons tied up and swaying in the fitful breeze. Harry paid the surprised-looking attendant a handful of sesterces and five minutes later they were aloft in one of the baskets, holding on to the thick wicker sides as the pilot, a taciturn, grizzled man, adjusted the burners and pulled on vent cables from time to time.
They were halfway across when there was a thud from the basket’s wickerwork floor. Julia and Harry moved to one side and a hitherto invisible hatch creaked open.
‘Quickly,’ came a voice from the dimness below. ‘Before they realise.’
Julia went first, smiling at the stunned balloonist as she climbed down, hastily followed by Harry, who pulled the trapdoor shut after him. They were in a small grey-walled compartment with the skinny, long-coated and begoggled man from before, who had to be Nicodemus. Weirdly, the low ceiling looked just like the underside of the balloon basket and Julia could still hear the balloonist shifting about above them, muttering to himself.
‘Here we go,’ said Nicodemus. ‘The big switcheroo!’
From a coat pocket he took a little box with an old-fashioned rocker switch which he pressed. Abruptly the wicker ceiling dissolved into flat grey while one of the compartment walls vanished, revealing a long narrow room with metal rack shelves on one side and a couple of desks sitting beneath more shelving on the other. A pair of archaic bulbs hung from a high ceiling but the only light came from the rows of small screens sitting on the shelves over the desks.
‘Mr Nicodemus, I presume,’ Harry said. Julia saw that he was back in the Tiger-Duke exter and she was Lioness-Lady again.
‘Just Nicodemus,’ their host said. Pushing the goggles up onto his dark bristly hair, he busily retrieved a couple of grubby wheeled office chairs from the room’s shadowy far end. Once they were seated, he leaned back against a desk edge, folded his coat shut, crossed his arms and regarded them both with wide, intense eyes.
‘My zetetic feed tells me that you are both code entities although one of you is a fractal simuloid, highly recomplex with a non-bounded sentience.’ He paused to regard Julia with fascinated eyes. ‘You should realise that while I am a living, breathing organic Human, and therefore prey to all the failings of the flesh, this image of mine is no more than a remote exter. I’m not neurally linked therefore cannot be wet-hacked or mindseared in any way. If either of you were considering such gambits.’
‘Nothing could be further from our minds, I assure you,’ Harry said. ‘Were you able to identify our contact? If you know anything about his origins and allegiance you would get some notion of our reliability.’
Nicodemus gave a bleak smile. ‘Sure, I know about the Construct and your drone patron was able to satisfy me that he is the genuine article. I just had to be certain about you two, especially with those zazins on your trail.’
‘Ah, so that’s what they were,’ Harry said, his features suddenly serious.
‘A little background would be helpful,’ Julia said.
‘Code-specific hunter-killers,’ he said. ‘Whoever is behind them managed to get hold of full or even partial scans of our code cores. Zazins don’t stop–they just keep regenerating.’
‘So we’re in danger… anywhere?’ she said. ‘Out in the Glow, for example?’
‘Yes, which makes our task just that much trickier.’
‘Okay, I admit it, I’m intrigued,’ said Nicodemus. ‘What kind of mischief do you have in mind?’
Harry laid it out for him, the dire predicament of Darien, the Earthsphere fleet journeying to join a Hegemony armada, the arrival of the lost Sino colonists, who then vowed to fight for the Darien colony, and the riveting report by Kaphiri Farag. Nicodemus listened, breaking in a few times for clarification on this or that point. When Harry was done, their host sat there on the edge of the desk, one arm across his chest, his other hand clamped across his face, beneath his nose. After a few moments the hand fell away as he let out a bark of laughter.
‘Yes, you’re right!–getting into the private homenets of eight such high-status individuals would be like trying to crawl into a shark’s mouth undetected. Add to which, an intruder alert would certainly bring the netlaw down on top of us like… a ton of boots. No, we have to get them to leave reality, leave their virtual citadels and enter the Glow with the aim of seeking us out!’
‘And they would do this… because…?’ Julia said.
Nicodemus’s smile was all narrow-eyed cunning.
‘Because, dear Lioness-Lady, they will be compelled to do so. This… falls within that arena of instinctive talents and persuasive genius known as ego-engineering. It would be a demanding task to carry out against just one person but you’ve brought me eight targets!… with the added bonus that we only have a matter of shours to make it all work!’
‘I see,’ said Harry. ‘Is it too steep a problem?’
‘Did I say that? Did I say it was too steep?’ Nicodemus was staring maniacally. ‘Too steep for me?… well, actually it is but I haven’t survived this long in the Glow without accumulating a posse of workaholic wannabes and savants… behold.’
He raised a hand to point at the shadowy end of the room, which lit up to reveal that the room now stretched on for another similar length, with desks lining both sides. And at the desks sat another six or seven Nicodemuses: one was female, one was tall and burly, while the rest were variations on squat, stocky, flabby and bald. But they all wore long grey coats and black rubbery goggles. A couple of them waved.
Nicodemus’s grin was a mixture of fatherly pride and energised anticipation as he faced them.
‘My emulating offspring,’ he said. ‘Your dedication is noted. I am pleased to tell you that we have been set a well-paid task that will require every sweat-faraday, every elbow-tesla that you can muster. This, my febrile progeny, will be a brainburner!’
The Nicodemoids broke into fervent applause and whoops of delight. Harry and Julia exchanged a nonplussed look.
Nicodemus turned back to them. ‘We now have to get down to it, so in the meantime amuse yourselves with any of the screen stuff. If you say “music” it’ll offer a selection of toe-tappers old and ancient; if you say “veeshows” it’ll show you something involving serious amounts of guns, and if you say “pretty colours”–well, I’m sure you catch the notion.’ He started buttoning up his coat with theatrical élan. ‘This may take some time but not so much that you should start worrying.’
So saying, he marched off to join his posse, and a moment later that half of the long narrow room was swallowed in shadow once more.
Julia was in the grip of both unease and irritation. ‘Can we trust this man? Is he even sane?’
Harry gave her an amused look. ‘I would have thought that eccentric characters like our host would have been a regular feature of the Enhanced subculture.’
She shook her head. ‘The emphasis was always on rational behaviour since it determined how we were perceived by the ordinary people. It was ingrained into us over and over–don’t frighten the norms.’ She glanced at the dark end of the room. ‘Anyone openly eccentric was generally seen as a danger to the project’s profile.’
‘Well, the Glow is the ultimate metropolitan culture,’ Harry said. ‘Since anyone can look like anything, eccentric behaviour isn’t so much accepted as positively expected. But remember–all exters are masks in one way or another…’
Abruptly, the far end of the room lit up again and Nicodemus came staggering towards them, leaning on the desks for support. Head down, he seemed to be panting and shaking.
‘Is something wrong?’ Julia said, halfway out of her seat.
She paused when she realised that Nicodemus was laughing almost uncontrollably.
‘Those… crazy little phreaks!–even when they’re on down time their scarred brainpans are frying up some mélange of delicious loonery. A choir of lab mice gentekked up with the president’s face, indeed!’
‘Nicodemus, I don’t understand,’ Julia said. ‘Why are you back so soon?’
‘So soon?’ Nicodemus loomed over her with wide staring eyes. ‘My dear lady lion, my minions and I have been hard at work on this conundrum for eight stark shrieking hours! Show some gratitude, if you will…’
‘Eight hours…’
‘Eight subjective hours,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Hence brain-burner!’
‘Correctamundo, tiger-boy,’ said Nicodemus. ‘This is my own little citadel in the Glow, well, not strictly speaking part of the Glow, more a handcrafted extension built onto the side of it.’ He struck a pose, outstretched hand sweeping around. ‘Here I determine the limits and the depths and the heights, so when I took my meme-kids into the crucible of your predicament we cranked up the subjective ratio and really got our neural oatmeals simmering!’
‘So you have a plan,’ Julia said, keeping her annoyance from showing.
Nicodemus held up his fingers, thumbs hidden.
‘Eight individual targets, eight individualised profiles, eight separate and distinct campaigns tailored to winkling them out of their hidey-holes and into the Glow.’ As he spoke he flicked a forefinger at a series of screens, which lit up one by one with the eight Sino-Asian delegates who had to see the Kaphiri Farag report.
‘So what’s the first step?’ Harry said.
‘It’s already happening.’ Nicodemus reversed a chair and sat down, arms leaning on the backrest. ‘Every one of those iiber-politicians has a homenet with an AI to manage his mail, filter out the trash, send out mods of the standard template replies, and prioritise staff assignments. So the initial eight messages have been designed with them in mind, the AIs, which meant research into their softhouse origins, what model, what upgrades, what custom tweaks if any. We got lucky–one of our Glow consultants let us have the cue-phrases for two of them, for a price. With those we can get the AI to prioritise any message we like for the eyes of two of our targets.’
‘I see,’ said Harry. ‘So assuming you get messages through to the representatives, how will you persuade them to come to the Glow? And where will we be putting on the show?’
‘This is where the techniques of ego-engineering come in,’ said Nicodemus. ‘Two will be inveigled into thinking that they are each the subject of a flattering biodocudrama being made under conditions of great secrecy and they need to meet with the director in the Glow without delay. Two will be intrigued by offers to sell certain rare artefacts relating to their personal hobbies, dependent on their meeting an intermediary in the Glow. One will be led to believe that he’s on his way to a secret meeting with a recently escaped Sendrukan political prisoner. One thinks she’s been warned that secrets from her past will be depicted in a stage drama about to open in the Glow. And the last two will be labouring under the mistaken belief that they’ve been invited to Optimi-level VIP parties by their favourite Glowmo celebs.’ He grinned, all bare teeth. ‘Yes, that’s the level of detail that we’re working with.’
‘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 skyscrapers–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 Catling’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 minionmessages 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 low-ceilinged, 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…’
‘Sorry, I don’t follow…’
‘Look, I’m 109 years old so I’ve had a few modifications done to the old brainbox, enough capacity to run two or three fractalised sentiences like you if I wanted. Anyway, the main event is about to begin–oh, I took a copy of the Farag report, by the way, while we were in transit, so to speak. Okay, he’s almost here so keep watching.’
The image of the old man dissolved into a view over rocky slopes and sheer mountainsides sheathed in icy white while wind-driven snow whirled and streamed past outside. There was a glass surface, Julia realised, between the observer and the raw elements and she speculated that this was some kind of research station, high in some range of mountains.
The observer (who Julia took to be the elderly Nicodemus) looked to the right, revealing that he stood in a glass-covered walkway which curved out of sight around a strange, brick-built edifice. There was the sound of a mechanical door opening and closing and Nicodemus turned the other way to see a diminutive figure in a dark coat approaching. As he drew near Julia realised that he was familiar, a Chinese man with grey hair and glasses–a name came to her, Tsu Chung Ho, Earthsphere overcouncillor of Shandong-Jiangsu co-territory, a senior representative of long standing.
Tsu Chung’s deliberate pace did not vary until he halted before Nicodemus. Smiling, he wagged a finger.
‘Thirty years go by and you wait till I am on holiday before coming to see me. Shocking behaviour, Nicholas, especially since my travel plans were supposed to be secret!’
Laughing, the two men shook hands.
‘Shameful, yes,’ said Nicodemus/Nicholas. ‘But to such a data-nibbler as myself there can be no secrets. I heard about the legs.’
Tsu Chung made a dismissive gesture. ‘Undetected preaneurysmic condition, minor stroke, and my legs… well, brain surgery has been recommended, but there are risks, you know? I do not feel I can take small chances at the moment.’ He shrugged then gave Nicodemus an amused, considering look. ‘You’re looking very well, Nicholas, ageing gracefully, one might say. But why would my old teacher leave his electric citadel to hunt me down? Did I forget to hand in an assignment?’
Nicodemus shook his head. ‘No, Tsu Chung, quite the reverse, to be frank. I assume that you know about the Earthsphere ships currently heading to join the Hegemony armada.’
The overcouncillor gave a sad nod. ‘Indeed I do, old friend, my grandson is serving aboard one of them. There is deep disquiet about this, even more than there was over continuing the Yamanon deployment. But the coalition is still holding, still backing the president.’
‘Darien is going to be punished, Tsu Chung,’ Nicodemus said. ‘That is what the Hegemony does.’
‘I know.’
‘What if I could–no, what if you could offer up proof that the potential tragedy is far, far greater than anyone thinks? That the survivors of a lost Sino colony have reached Darien to fight alongside the planet’s defenders?’
‘Wait… you’re talking about that joke clip that went around earlier today. Is that why…’
‘No, Tsu Chung, what you saw was a grey intel hatchet job. The original is very different.’ He took a small silvery card from an inside pocket. ‘Can I show you?’
Tsu Chung Ho smiled and gestured for him to proceed.
Nicodemus stuck the card to the inside of the glass enclosure, unfolded it to a hair-thin screen about a foot square, then thumbed a symbol on its lower-right corner. At once, Kaphiri Farag’s report began to play. The overcouncillor remained outwardly impassive all the way through. When it was over he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a piece of fine tissue which he then used to dab lightly at the corners of his eyes.
‘It appears authentic,’ he said.
‘Tsu Chung, I assure you…’
The overcouncillor stopped him with an upraised hand.
‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’
‘Your trust is not misplaced. The question is this–will this be enough to persuade your regional colleagues to back a call for the Earthsphere contingent to either withdraw or stand down?’
Tsu Chung spread his hands. ‘I would have to be able to prove that this report is genuine. Can this be done?’
Julia nodded–this was the sticking point.
‘Well,’ said Nicodemus. ‘This much I do know–the Security Director’s own netlaw division believes it was genuine. They deployed a fully remoted cohort of agents into the Glow a couple of hours ago, instituted a full lockdown on the Electric Theatre City and detain-tagged 104,761 citizens, including four of your own Sino colleagues from the Overcouncil. Now it’s true that I lured them there with the intention of springing the Farag report on them, and it’s also true that a certain amount of second-order circumstantial evidence was leaked to netlaw contacts. But this is incidental next to the ripple effects–go online and you will see the outrage that’s gripping the Glow right now, the endless analysis cycles and the voxpop aggregates saying that Glow freedoms were savagely crushed. When you call a press conference and reveal the Farag report, the surge of popular support should be… considerable.’
The overcouncillor looked thoughtful. ‘One moment, Nicholas,’ he said, his eyes glazing over as he accessed some kind of Glow-linked implant. A moment or two later he blinked, gave Nicholas a wide-eyed look and began to laugh. Nicholas joined in.
‘It’s… better than you say,’ he said eventually. ‘One of the netlaw subministers has already resigned! But I shall have to move with this immediately…’ He glanced around and beckoned to one of his bodyguards. ‘I will see if the management of the Jungfraujoch can extend the use of a private room where I can conduct some Glow politics…’
‘Interviews?’ Nicodemus said as he took down the little screen and refolded it.
‘Spot commentaries, group declarations, and all the other features of my rebellious campaign. You know, the way things are I may be able to get the president to have our fleet take control of Darien, under some kind of diplomatic legacy. That should help safeguard the colony, and the new arrivals.’
‘Thank you, Tsu Chung. Some people I know will be heartened at this news.’ He handed over the folded screen. ‘So… now it’s time I made myself scarce and let you work.’
The two men shook hands.
‘And Nicholas,’ Tsu Chung said. ‘Please don’t wait another thirty years until next time, hmm?’
‘I guarantee it!’
As Nicodemus turned and walked away from the overcouncillor, the screen picture faded away to grey.
‘My apologies for deceiving you about the Electric Theatre City. It was a necessary part of the ploy.’
Back in the cramped little study, the older ponytailed Nicodemus was now sitting in the armchair Julia had occupied.
‘You used us as bait,’ she said.
‘And we succeeded.’
Frowning, she glanced at the unresponsive Harry. ‘How can we be sure? How soon before we find out if your Sino friend has got the president to rescind her orders?’
Nicodemus chuckled. ‘The Glow is all afroth with anger at the moment–I’ve never seen it so volatile! If President Castiglione attempts to defy Tsu Chung’s demands, she could well find herself swept away… we’ll know in about an hour.’
‘What about Harry?’
‘His internal activity continues, but there are indications that the self-check may have hit a cyclic block.’ Nicodemus shrugged. ‘I made contact with your sponsor, this Emantes, and he says to just erase it since he has a copy.’
Startled, she stared at him, a suspicion forming in her thoughts.
‘Is that what you’ll do?’
‘Hmm, not sure. Perhaps I’ll tinker with his code, see what turns up.’
‘I understand. Well, since our business here is concluded, I am keen to return to my sponsor. Are you able to translocate me?’
The elderly Nicodemus smiled. ‘You don’t feel like sticking around to watch the political fireworks?’
‘Thanks, but there is somewhere else that I have to be very soon.’
‘Of course–places to go, ungodly villains to smite…’
Questions to ask, missiles to stop…
‘… okay, you’ll be going via several net-junctions–are you ready?’
But before she could answer the translocation kicked in and her world folded up into tightly packed darkness.