Chapter 21

 

Euclidean Industries. The name was too much of a coincidence for Jimmy. Someone there must be able to fill the gaps in his knowledge. The name made it hard to write his experiences off as a delusion. He was sure the first he’d heard of the name was from the guard’s ghost. Learning it’s links to Mayweather seemed to confirm the ghost’s story.

While identifying senior members of the company was easy, knowing whether or not they were also part of the cult supposedly behind it was less so. The guard’s ghost was no help, having been too low in the hierarchy to know the bosses. It seemed likely anyone high up in the company could be involved in the cult, the ghost making it sound like the two were pretty much inseparable.

He settled on the Chief Technical Officer, a Jake Weatherly. He looked like the kind of smarmy executive who’d have his fingers in everything. Not exactly a face Jimmy wanted around him all the time, but he’d decided to view this as a temporary problem, and he needed honest answers to find a solution.

It was easy enough to find a concealed location from which to spy on the office of his selected information source. An empty room in the adjacent office block. The floor had been owned by a property developer who’d gone bust. The furniture remaining was the stuff that wouldn’t sell for much, and the paper and other debris still on some desks said the building’s owner wasn’t optimistic about the chances of renting the place out soon.

It was near enough that he could be sure of hitting his target rather than a bystander, assuming the bullets passed through glass.

The windows weren’t tinted, but he’d chosen a time of day when the sun’s reflection should obscure him. He didn’t want anyone seeing him pointing a gun their way. He set up in one of the smaller offices, kneeling behind a desk. Using it as a brace should steady his aim.

Weatherly’s office was a floor up from his vantage point, but the higher floors in Jimmy’s building were too occupied.

Jimmy didn’t even need to do much information gathering to find Weatherly’s location. His profile picture on their website made sure to show him standing before the view from his office window, making direction and approximate distance easy to establish. Which floor had been harder to pin down, but the information was helpfully displayed in the lobby. Then it was a matter of watching a few offices to see where his target turned up.

It took maybe an hour’s wait, with no telling when his target would be out to another meeting.

The angle wasn’t the best, but Weatherly sat near the window.

Jimmy waited to make sure Weatherly was ensconced in his work, then attached the suppressor to the Ghost Gun. He took aim, sighing as the ghost bird perched atop the Gun’s barrel. Why couldn’t it be as lifeless as the other idiots? He aimed for the centre of Weatherly’s body. Where he shot them didn’t seem to matter.

Jimmy fired, and Weatherly slumped forward onto his desk.

The silent bird flew away at the shot. Removing the suppressor, Jimmy calmly put it and the Gun away, stood, and walked out.

No one paid him much attention as he left the building - mid-morning lethargy aided him as everyone eased into their day. He was on the street and walking away without any disturbance within a few minutes. Weatherly’s body might not even have been found yet.

His entourage had a new member by the time Jimmy reached his safehouse. The time it took them to appear seemed inconsistent. After a sweep cleared the area, he sat down, placing the Gun on the table in front of him.

‘Please sit, Mister Weatherly.’

Weatherly remained standing. There was no requirement for obedience built into the Gun’s ghosts, outside of forcing honest answers. The vague sneer Weatherly wore seemed ingrained by habit, and barely dulled by his condition.

‘Do you know what’s happened to you?’

‘You killed me,’ said Weatherly, nothing in his tone to betray emotion. ‘With the Anima Legere.’

‘Correct. What do you know about the Gun?’

Weatherly gave a brief precis of its abilities and dubious origin.

‘And what do you know about removing its link to a host?’

‘Death should do the trick,’ said Weatherly.

‘Apart from that?’

Weatherly shrugged. ‘I’m unaware of any other means of permanently severing the link.’

Not what he’d hoped for - but neither was it unexpected. Nor, necessarily, a complete answer. ‘What about temporary means?’

‘Certain materials can prevent the item from following its linked wielder. Securing it in a faraday cage does so.’

‘Do these methods prevent the ghosts from appearing?’ asked Jimmy.

‘I don’t believe so.’

‘Does linking it to another wielder prevent the ghosts appearing?’

‘According to some claims. Though by that point the psyche of the host was too far gone to tell whether he really saw nothing, or was simply trying to convince himself. You no longer have much of a lifespan. Certainly not a comfortable one.’

This one was chatty when vindictive. If uninformative. Jimmy had little more information than yesterday.

‘What is your role at Euclidean? Are you high up in the cult’s hierarchy?’

‘The Euclideans are not a cult,’ said Weatherly.

‘Then what’s your role in the organisation?’

‘I am senior within the front organisation’s hierarchy.’

‘But not the organisation proper?’

‘I am further down in that,’ Weatherly said with a sliver of reluctance.

‘And your role in both?’

‘I oversee the study and technologization of the artifacts.’

‘What does that entail?’

‘We study how the artifacts work, reproduce the results, then determine technological applications that will provide income to support our work.’

They used these things to make new tech? He’d never heard of anything like the Ghost Gun. ‘What about the Gun? Have you made any tech out of that?’

‘Some trinkets, though little of real value.’

‘Why not?’ asked Jimmy.

‘We have yet to understand how it works. The Torch can simplify the mechanisms for us, but certain things remain beyond our science.’

‘The Torch?’ said Jimmy. ‘The artifact you didn’t recover?’

‘Correct.’

Was that why it alone among the artifacts had been taken? Because it paralysed Euclidean’s research, and could let others do what they had done. They’d need other artifacts to do so. Or at least access to the technology derived from them.

‘Do you know who stole your stuff?’

Weatherly glanced at the Gun. ‘I assumed it was you.’

‘On behalf of?’

‘We know your owners.’

‘Any reason you can think of that someone would claim we’re potential competitors?’

‘No.’ He sounded as though he’d take affront, if he could muster the enthusiasm.

‘Who would want us to think that?’

‘One of the splinter sects. We shut them down when we find them, but they’ve become good at hiding.’

Presumably a survival technique. Mentioning Singularity would hardly escape back to Euclidean, but it might change how Weatherly answered other questions.

‘Was it agents of Euclidean who stole the bodies from the morgue?’

‘Yes,’ said Weatherly.

‘Why?’

‘To destroy them.’

‘Why? What was on them?’

‘Nothing. They simply needed to be destroyed.’

He seemed evasive, but Jimmy wasn’t clear how far they could distort the truth. ‘What were you afraid would happen if you didn’t destroy them?’

‘The hollowed could get them.’

‘Who are the hollowed?’

‘The reanimated bodies of those who had their essence absorbed by artifacts before their death.’

‘What?’ asked Jimmy. He was hardly likely to get a decent response, but this was getting entirely too weird - even more so than interrogating a ghost. Now he was supposed to believe in zombies, too.

No response. The question had been too vague. ‘How can bodies be reanimated after death?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Weatherly.

‘But the hollowed do this?’

‘I presume so. Or whoever’s behind them.’

‘And all artifacts absorb the essence of people? Like the souls the Gun takes?’

‘In a way. Soul might not be the correct term. Each item costs some form of essence or identity from the user. Some, such as the Gun, also take something from their target.’

‘Also?’ asked Jimmy. ‘You mean the Gun is taking something from me?’

‘Yes,’ said Weatherly, with a slight smile. ‘Every time you kill with it, it takes a portion of your soul.’

Jimmy stared at him a while, digesting this and trying to make sense of it. He Couldn’t even frame a question to clarify what Weatherly meant. Or what he believed. Jimmy wasn’t sure he believed in a soul, and it’d take more than the word of an idiot to convince him they existed. Even if they did, he wasn’t sure losing it would affect him. Though that might have been what hurt when he shot the ghost.

‘You said soul might not be the correct term,’ said Jimmy. ‘What would be the correct term?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not? Aren’t the artifacts your business?’

‘I handle researching how to monetise them. As I said, we haven’t worked out all the secrets.’

‘Who would know more?’

‘One of the senior members might.’

‘A senior member of the corporation, or the organisation?’

‘The organisation.’

‘And where might I find one of them?’

‘I’m not senior enough to know who they are.’

‘Is there anyone in the city who knows more about the research on the artifacts? Anyone I might be able to approach without having to kill them for information?’ Just for variety. And possibly to avoid risking any more of his soul before he had more concrete answers.

‘Yes,’ Weatherly said grudgingly. ‘Evangeline Dubois. A former member of the organisation. She retired a decade ago, but still undergoes regular screening to ensure she poses no danger.’

She might be his best opportunity for some proper answers.

‘Where can I find her?’