‘I remember,’ I said. ‘Here’s a tip. Referring to me as a “floating box” is not all that personable.’
‘Right ho,’ he said.
‘However, there is a problem,’ I admitted. ‘Carl’s in place, so are Kys and Zael. But Kara and Nayl are experiencing difficulties.’
‘So intervene. Help them,’ Wystan said.
‘Carl’s so anxious to run this show and make it work. He wants to prove himself to me. If I intervene, it’ll dent his confidence. It’ll look like I don’t trust his abilities.’
‘So?’
‘So I’m supposed to be training him. Making an inquisitor out of him.’
‘If he screws up, he screws up this entire operation, right? I thought you told me it was important.’
+It is important?+
Wystan stubbed out his lho-stick and immediately lit another. ‘Hello?’
Sometimes I forgot that Frauka was deaf to my mind.
‘It is important. Very important. I’m impressed, Wystan, I didn’t think you were even listening at the briefing.’
‘You wound me, inquisitor. I listen. Quite often, actually. I just don’t care much.’
We were holed up together in an empty hab on the sixtieth floor of a stack two kilometres from the Informium. The place was a dank wreck, rain pelting hard against the smeary window. Wystan was sprawled on a sofa that looked as if it had been used as a practice target on an artillery range and then given to hungry rats. He was my untouchable, my psychic blank, the real outsider of my team. Most of the time there was very little for him to do, and he sat around with his limiter activated, smoking and speed-reading his dreary pornography.
I cast my psi wide, and summoned a picture of Kara on the roof of the Informium, Nayl hanging from the slowly tearing vines below her.
‘You said they were experiencing difficulties,’ Frauka said.
‘Yes.’
‘What sort of difficulties?’ he asked.
‘The falling off a tall building to certain death hundreds of metres below kind,’ I said.
‘Bummer,’ he remarked casually.
‘Any time you like,’ Nayl murmured. The vines were really starting to give way now.
Kara played out the filament line down to Nayl.
‘Grab it and hook it up!’
He got hold of the end, swaying out as he did so on the bending boughs. Frantically, he cinched the carabiner to his belt.
She tightened the line and braced her body against the stonework.
‘I’m having a sodding ball, you know,’ Nayl mumbled.
‘Try and stay rigid. I’m going to lift you now.’
‘Rigid. Not a problem.’
‘Here we go.’
It took thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of effort that almost broke Kara’s back. Nayl dragged himself up over the lip of the roof.
‘Ahem? Are you there yet?’ Thonius voxed.
‘Two minutes more, Carl. That’s a promise,’ Kara replied.
Kara got Harlon to his feet and together they hurried up the slope of the donjon’s domed metal roof towards the branching radiator vanes that rose like a metal forest from the summit of the dome.
Most of the data storage in the Petropolis Informium was beneath the ground in colossal vaults, or housed in crypts in the building’s massive outer walls. The sheer quantity of cogitator activity in the donjon was so great that it generated a staggering amount of bleed heat. Superconductor nets, laced throughout the Informium’s superstructure, channelled the heat waste away to prevent the files from corrupting or combusting, and it was vented into the central flues of the building and out through the roof vanes.
Harlon and Kara hurried in amongst the acid-gnawed trees of the radiator array. Despite the screaming winds and heavy rain, they were both sweating profusely in their sealed suits thanks to the exertion.
They began powerdriving open the inspection plates of the radiator vane, one by one, and packed each thermostat with insulation felt. In short order, six of the vanes were packed and resealed.
‘Carl… We’re in place and the vanes are lagged,’ Kara voxed. ‘You’re good to go.’
‘They tell me the internal vaulting is really worth a look,’ Thonius said. ‘They say, Lingstrom, they say, for that is my name… did I mention that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the docent. His mind was still a little punchy from the essay the visitor had delivered on ouslite dressing and the miracles of ornamentation the Informium’s original architect had managed, despite a lifelong battle with scrofula and ‘a testicular asymmetry’.
‘Well, I should so love to see the internal vaulting.’
‘The building’s about to close to the public,’ the docent said. ‘In just a few minutes, in fact.’
‘That’s all I’d need,’ Thonius said. ‘Just a peek, you understand.’
‘Very well,’ the docent replied. He led Thonius across the marble floor to the silver podiums of the public interlocutors.
‘What is your business?’ asked the nearest.
‘A visitor expressing interest in the architecture,’ the docent explained. ‘A very knowledgeable man. He’d like to see the internal vaulting. He understands that public access will finish in a short while.’
‘Very well,’ said the clerk.
‘Thank you, dear sir!’ said Thonius, bowing.
The silver podium chattered quietly and issued a yellow pass ribbon from a slot in its side. The docent took it and pinned it to Thonius’s lapel. ‘Visitors’ permit,’ he explained. ‘Public areas only.’
Carl smiled. The docent wore a pass ribbon of his own, but his was scarlet instead of pale yellow.
They passed between the podiums, pausing to let the optic scanners read their permits. Then the docent led Carl through the broad archways onto the wide marble terrace that ringed the ground floor of the inner rotunda. The cavernous vaulted roof rose above them, a kilometre high.
‘Oh, now that is quite magical!’ Thonius cried.
‘I’d like my diversion now, please,’ he whispered into his vox.
Kys grabbed Zael by the wrist.
+We’re on.+
She led him back to the interlocuter’s podium and handed over the forms, along with the payment.
The clerk painstakingly read and stamped each form in turn. ‘All in order,’ he said. He wound on a brass handle.
Part of the silver podium’s front slid open to lever out an articulated glass palm reader.
‘Place his hand on the plate, mamzel.’
‘Do it,’ Kys instructed the boy. Zael did as he was told.
There was a pause. A light on the podium flashed diffidently. ‘Now that can’t be right…’ the clerk began.
Klaxons started to howl on full alert. Screamer alarms started to shrill. There was a hollow series of clangs as security hatches slammed closed around the Informium, sealing every exit shut with portcullis cages of electrified bars. The guards looked at each other, raised their weapons, and hurried forward.
‘One diversion, as ordered,’ whispered Patience Kys.
‘What in the name of Terra is that awful ruckus?’ Thonius cried.
The docent turned, unnerved at the screaming alarms. Guards and other staff members were hurrying back to the podiums behind them. The outer doors of the building had auto-caged.
‘A security breach!’ the docent said. ‘You’ll have to come with me. Back into the atrium. We’ll need to do a head count and permit check.’
Thonius grabbed him, fearfully. ‘Are we in danger, my friend? I can’t abide danger!’
The docent gently undid Thonius’s grip and ushered him on. ‘You’re perfectly safe, sir. Just head for the exit over there and join the other visitors assembling in the atrium. The guards will tick you off the list. I can assure you, you’re perfectly safe. The guards are very professional, and this kind of thing hardly ever happens.’
Thonius blinked at the young man. ‘You’re not going to leave me, are you?’ he
said.
‘You’ll be perfectly safe, sir,’ the docent assured him. ‘Just go to the exit over there and wait. I have to check in at the staff muster point and await instructions.’
‘But–’
‘Really, sir, there’s nothing to worry about. That exit there.’
‘Bless you,’ said Thonius, and began to walk in the direction the docent had pointed. Ahead, a guard was waving visitors out through a barrier gate into the atrium.
The docent hurried off in the opposite direction.
As soon as the docent was out of sight, Thonius changed course and turned back into the main body of the building. He passed a security point, and let the optic scanners read his permit ribbon.
A permit that was now scarlet.
‘Now let’s be nice and calm about this,’ the lead guard said, though he kept his weapon raised. Zael was doing a fine job of cowering in terror between Kys’s legs. Kys was staring at the guards in disbelief.
‘What is this?’ she stammered. ‘What the Throne is this?’
The guard looked up at the clerk as his comrades closed in on the woman and child. ‘What’s going on?’ the guard asked.
‘The reader’s posted an extreme crime link,’ the clerk said, as if he didn’t believe it himself. ‘It’s sealed the building, and sent an automatic response to the Magistratum headquarters. Units are en route. We have to secure the premises and… and detain the malefactor.’
‘The what?’ asked the guard. ‘Him?’
He looked at the teenager crouched beside Kys. The other guards had all aimed their weapons at Zael.
‘Him? That’s ridiculous!’
Up on his podium, the clerk shrugged. ‘I just do what the system tells me. He’s a malefactor. Wanted on seven worlds. High profile, max security case.’
‘You’re bullshitting me!’ the guard cried.
‘This is outrageous!’ Kys cried indignantly. ‘He’s just a subsist child–’
‘Calm down, ma’am,’ the guard said. ‘There has to be some mistake here. You men! Shoulder your weapons, you look like idiots.’
Reluctantly, the other guards raised their aim and hit the safeties on their firearms.
‘This has to be a glitch. Just a glitch,’ the guard was saying. ‘What does the system say?’
The clerk peered at his screen. ‘Palm scan identified as Rinkel, Francis Kelman. Eight counts of rape-murder, five counts of wounding, three counts of public affray.’
‘Him? That kid?’
‘It’s what it says. The system is never wrong,’ the clerk said.
‘He’s just a kid!’
The clerk shrugged.
‘How old does the system say this Rinkel is meant to be?’ asked the guard.
The clerk consulted his display. ‘Sixty-eight.’
‘Sixty-eight?’
‘He’s had work done–’
‘My ass he has!’
‘Juvenat drugs?’ suggested one of the other guards.
‘He’s just a kid!’ the lead guard repeated.
There was a long pause. The clerk shrugged again. ‘You’re right. It’s a mistake.’
The lead guard nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Let’s scan him again and sort this out,’ the clerk added.
‘Right,’ the guard said. He turned to Kys and the boy. ‘Come on, son. We have to read your hand again to sort this out.’
‘No! I won’t! I saw what happened last time!’ Zael’s voice came out from behind Kys’s legs.
‘Be a good boy now,’ Kys said. ‘This nice man is trying to help you.’
Zael had already peeled the moulded plastek glove off his hand, removing the fake hand print. He had tucked the peel into Kys’s trouser pocket.
‘Come on, kid. Up you come. We can sort this out nice and simple,’ said the guard, holding out an armoured hand.
‘Vanes are cooking off nicely now,’ Kara voxed. ‘Overheat in two minutes.’
‘Excellent,’ Carl responded.
Zael placed his hand on the reader plate.
There was a pause as the system considered the findings.
‘Hoffman, Arap Behj,’ said the clerk. ‘Fourteen years old, registered to the scholam in Formal H.’
The alarms suddenly cut off. The silence was shocking. ‘System re-enabled,’ the clerk said. There was a series of whines as the security gates and cages began to retract into their wall slots.
‘I told you it was a mistake,’ the guard said.
Carl Thonius heard the alarms shut down. ‘Well,’ he whispered. ‘I do love it when a plan comes together.’
He had run down a wide flight of steps into the deserted inner rotunda, and along a hallway to the arch doorway of one of the Informium’s seven thousand clericulums. It was empty. The clerks had evacuated at the sound of the alarm. The rows of abandoned cogitator desks winked and flashed. The optic scanners at the doorway simply accepted his permit as he went inside.
He sat down at the first desk. The system was still running, open. In their hurry to evacuate, as Carl had predicted, none of the clerks had shut down their cogitators. No user codes to break, no passkeys.
Carl punched up some data gates, and the screen showed entry to the main banks. Then he opened his document case and took out the compact codifier concealed inside. Carl connected it to the desk’s out-ports, and the little machine began to murmur and sigh.
Carl cracked his knuckles and prepared to type. ‘Any minute now…’ he said.
Simultaneously, red warning lights lit up on every desk. A box appeared on the valve screens announcing a system overheat. The sabotage Kara and Nayl had performed on the rooftop radiator vanes was finally registering.
The Informium’s vast data system was programmed to hibernate if an overheat was experienced. It was automatic. The databases shut themselves down, and subsystems also disengaged, to try and compensate for the problem. The first routines to close off were the activity records. Which meant that any operation conducted during hibernation would not be logged. When the system came back up, there would be no trace at all of any tampering or adjustment.
Carl delicately loaded the graft program from his codifier. It sank into the Informium’s oceanic mass of data and vanished. Literally, without trace.
But it would stay there, and through it, Carl would be able to access any material he needed.
‘We’re done,’ he voxed. ‘Extract yourselves.’
‘Thank you. Sorry for your trouble,’ Kys told the guards as she led Zael away across the entry and out into the night. They nodded goodbye.
The rain had eased a little. Zael was stripping off the second plastek palm, the one he’d worn under the first.
A transport pulled out of a side street opposite and drew up at the kerb. The cabin door popped open. At the wheel, Zeph Mathuin nodded to them.
‘Good job, kid,’ he said. ‘Get in.’
Kara and Nayl slithered down the metal roof. They had removed the insulation felts so the vanes could resume their normal function.
‘Wanna try batting out?’ Nayl voxed.
‘Not in this wind. We’ll go over the wall on the fasteners.’
Nayl pulled out the climb anchors and fixed them to the inside lip of the roof balustrade. He handed a line to Kara.
‘One sec,’ she said. ‘Carl? We’re about to drop the east facade on fast gear. What’s the situation? Everyone out?’
‘Just me inside still, and I’ll be out in a sec. Off you go.’
’Understood.’
Kara turned to Nayl. ‘Let’s drop,’ she said.
They took their lines in their hands, double-tugged to make sure the anchors were locked, and walked backwards over the lip of the wall. Then they kicked free.
As they fell down the wet stone face of the Informium, the miniature winding gears took up and carefully moderated their plunge.
The alarm was over. The guards in the north portico of the Informium were thanking the visitors for their compliance
and sending them on their way.
‘Everyone’s accounted for,’ one of the guards called to the chief clerk.
‘All the visitors?’
‘All of them, every one.’
‘Good job,’ the clerk replied. ‘I’m scanning only one anomaly. Docent Wiggar did not check in or out during the lock down.’
‘Where’s Wiggar?’ the guard yelled out, his voice echoing across the marble space.
‘Here, sir! Right here!’ the docent cried, running forward.
‘System says you didn’t check in or out,’ the guard said.
‘But I did, sir,’ the docent replied. ‘As soon as the alarms went off, I went through the barrier to my assembly point.’
‘With that?’ the guard said, pointing.
The docent looked down. The ribbon pinned to his robe-front was pale yellow.
‘Oh crap!’ the docent said.
‘Lock down! Lock down!’ the guard yelled out, turning. ‘We have an intruder!’
The alarms began to bay again. The cages came down.
The Informium depository, for the second time in the same night, locked up tight.
Five
Carl Thonius heard the alarms shrilling. He sat up straight.
‘Oh, no,’ he whispered to himself. ‘No, no, no, no…’
He began to unclip the codifier from the desk ports and put it away.
+Carl?+
‘Everything’s fine. It’s fine.’
+It’s not. This isn’t part of the plan.+
‘These things happen. I can deal with it.’
+The building’s on lock-down. You need help.+
‘No!’ he snapped. ‘Honestly, sir. I’m on this. I can handle it.’
Carl closed the document case and realised his right hand was shaking. The tremors were intense, and he could only stifle them by grabbing his right hand with his left.
+Carl?+
‘I can do this!’
Carl got up. Then he punched himself in the mouth. It was easier than he’d imagined. His right arm hadn’t seemed like part of him since Flint. It was like someone else hitting him. It wasn’t shaking any more.
He took off his permit and tossed it into the wastebasket. Then he went out into the corridor, purposefully dribbling the blood from his split lips down his front.