Then he felt a sudden and strong movement of air.
For a short while, there was nothing to indicate what had caused it. The roof was still intact, and nothing of any size was moving in the square. Others noticed it as well, and began to look up Second Avenue towards the dam wall. The wall was miles away, down the winding avenue, well out of view, but it was obvious someone had raised the whole thing. Something too bulky to use the road at the Loop entrance must be entering the city.
They didn’t need to wait long before what caused it came into view. In the distance on Second Avenue, and gliding along at second and third floor level above the street, there appeared a long procession of strange, black and windowless vehicles.
There was a wave of excitement along the street. The Trevons had been waiting patiently for this. Customers stepped out of the shops and onto the street. C-Pods pulled over and doors opened, heads peering out. Office workers opened their windows and leaned through them, to wave at the vehicles as they swept past below them.
As the cavalcade stopped in front of Trevon House, it hung in the air, motionless, appearing alien, remote and intriguing at the same time. They certainly didn’t seem to be of this world: none of them was pushing thrust down onto the street; there was no wake, no dust.
Then a large number of local police and Lynthax security vehicles pulled noisily onto the traffic circle, as if to emphasise the fact that the 20 or so vehicles in the alien cavalcade had made no noise at all.
As the transports hovered and then settled gently to the ground, the crowd forming at the end of Second Avenue made its way excitedly into Trevon Square. Up on the House steps, a small group of Trevon Representatives appeared, wearing their ceremonial gowns and waiting in welcome. Other Reps hung back, dressed for a normal day at work. They looked just as surprised as the people down below.
As everyone waited, little black globes sprang up from the vehicle roofs: some to hover, others to flit about the square: again, making no noise, and neither pushing out thrust, nor leaving a wake.
Eventually, and in unison, the vehicle doors sprang open, the passengers alighted, and they made their way on foot up the steps to the House.
The Earth Delegation had arrived.
45
Nettles was not in his office so Scat introduced himself to his assistant. She wasn’t sure where he was, nor was she paying much attention. Like everyone else, she was gazing out of the window at the Earth vehicles, or transports, that by now were empty of their passengers and hung suspended 15 metres or so off the ground, leaving the road around the traffic circle open to traffic.
They looked like solid black opals; the shine was extraordinarily deep and looked wet. Scat noticed that the vehicles reflected the front of the House off their sides and that there were no noticeable trim or door jams to cause any distortion. If there were windows, they were seamlessly integrated, as must be the doors, wheels, and propulsion system.
As he looked at them, Scat became aware of a slight oddity: the undersides flickered, almost imperceptibly, just like ... Jeeze!
‘Ever seen the like before Scat?’ Nettles asked as he entered the room.
Scat swung around.
‘Yes. On a starflyer,’ he replied.
‘Eh?’
‘The beggars are using ftl technology. Take a look!’
Nettles crossed to the window and looked up at the line of vehicles. He saw the flickering under one of them, and his face lit up.
‘Well, I’ll be a whore’s uncle! It’s distorting the air below it,’ he said, looking harder at it. ‘And it’s probably doing the same above it too, to keep it suspended.’
There was nothing like a huge leap in vehicular technology to enthuse a man. It was a guy thing: it had been ever since the invention of the internal combustion engine – or was it the chariot.
‘Terrestrial ftl, eh? At least a derivative of it. They’ve obviously mastered it,’ Nettles noted, ‘and now they’re showing us that they’ve made the leap. Not a bad production, if you ask me. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be run over by one of them. It’d knock you into the next universe!’
‘I doubt it. The space-time distortion doesn’t reach out very far,’ Scat observed, ‘—a few millimetres, perhaps? And they’ll have fail-safes. But I wonder what it does to the elements they do touch: the air for instance?’
‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough,’ Nettles announced. ‘I’ve just come back from a briefing by the House Secretariat. The Earth Delegation arrived in orbit last night and asked our chaps to keep the details of their arrival quiet. They’re claiming there’s a terrorist threat—it’s either that or they’re laying it on already, to remind us that we’re the unruly cousins. Anyway, there’s a reception tonight in the Main Hall. The invitations are going out over the housenet now. You want to come?’
‘Yeah, sure. I would,’ Scat replied. Then something occurred to him. ‘Tell me, do you think Petroff will be on the list?’
‘Petroff? That blowhard from Lynthax Security?’ It sounded like Nettles didn’t have much time for him. ‘I guess so. He’ll make sure he is; if he can’t get in as a guest of the Lynthax Rep, he’ll wangle a spell of diplomatic protection.’
‘They do diplomatic security as well?’
‘Not on their own, they don’t. They joint-own the contract with Raddox, and we manage it through a local company. We insisted on it. And we insisted on oversight.’
‘What don’t they do?’
‘Why do you want to know? About Petroff, I mean.’
Scat shrugged.
‘No reason. I just need to know if I should watch my back,’ he replied, quickly returning to the reason for his visit. ‘Thanks for arranging my security pass, Terrance. Is there anyone in particular I should talk to first?’
‘Yes, me.’ Nettles said, as he pushed a stray strand of hair back into a well-groomed slick-back. ‘It’s clear I’ll now need a third pair of hands for the next few weeks. Cheryl, here, is just the ticket for the office stuff, but she signs off before midnight and can’t do any heavy lifting: she’s married. If things go how I think they will, I’ll need someone who doesn't think kids, or husband, or needs to feed the dog. That’d be you.’
‘OK. So make me an offer.’ Scat suggested, wondering what heavy lifting there might be.
‘24 hour, seven days a week, for as long as these people are in town. For your current rent, free House meals three times a day, and the equivalent to what Cheryl is earning now. It’s as far as my House budget will stretch.’
It was more than Scat had hoped for.
‘I'm in. When do I start?’
Nettles glanced at the black opals one more time and then walked into his office. He reeled off a series of orders.
‘You’re free until four pm, Scat. Meet me here wearing something half-decent. Get rid of the boots. Cheryl! Put Scat on the payroll. Rolling one-week contract—researcher—grade three. Thanks.’ By the time he had finished, Nettles was sitting at his desk and had his back to the door.
The audience was over. Scat looked down at his boots as Cheryl looked up from her desk and smiled.
‘Welcome to Bedlam, Mr Scatkiewicz!’
46
Xin padded down the temporary corridor towards the field hospital’s reception area. He was angry that N’Bomal had brought the damned thing back to Prebos. He thought he had made it clear that station security was against hosting it. They should have left the capsule, craft, alien space ship—whatever this thing was—high in space. But even Williams was backtracking on his previous unease and now declared himself less concerned than before:
‘Bradbury knows what he’s doing,’ he had said. ‘More so than Petroff and Makindra.’
Xin was not so sure.
‘Everything OK, Ha?’ he asked, almost whispering as he entered the reception desk area. ‘No more outages?’
‘None, sir. It’s been real quiet,’ he replied. ‘Mr Makindra and Bradbury are in with it now. Shall I l
et them know you’re here?’
‘No. Not yet. Let me see the monitor.’
Ha, the only the ethnic Laotian on the company’s security roster, and possibly the only Laotian in the Greco system, swung the screen around to face him. Xin looked at it for several seconds.
‘Do they have a lock on it?’ he asked, referring to the light-tug.
‘They do, sir,’ Ha replied, then added, jokingly. ‘It’s the reason I’m still sitting here and not running for the elevator!’
Xin smiled and offered reassurance:
‘Mr Bradbury assures me that it’s dead, or as dead as makes no difference. It should be quite OK. I think the light-tug is just an extra precaution. We wouldn’t want to be sending condolences to your mum back home, now would we?’
‘No, sir, you wouldn’t. She’d be up here and in your face if you did, sir. She’s not to be messed with!’
Xin laughed. At least the lads have regained their sense of humour. They would need it.
N’Bomal had sent a full report by buoy to Lynthax’s Earth head office, which included Bradbury’s request that the company make the craft their top priority. Earth’s response had come within two days, an exceptionally fast turnaround.
They had already received a large consignment of research equipment from Trevon, such that the field hospital was feeling decidedly small, claustrophobic, even. Nonetheless, Prebos was to prepare itself for the arrival of a large group of researchers and a further delivery of equipment within a day, this time from Earth. That nagged at him as the new head of Prebos security. It was frightening just how quickly the company was moving things around the Grecos system, and now from Sol. Sooner or later, someone was bound to notice Lynthax breaking all the rules, and that would attract ISRA’s attention.
In the meantime, Bradbury was not to do anything more to the craft: he was not to touch it, wave a light over it, or even breathe deeply in its presence. Nor were they to deactivate the light-tug—as though they needed telling.
Still, even with the restrictions, Bradbury had managed to collate all the information gained during the craft’s last outing. It looked as though he was working on that now. Both he and Makindra were sitting at a console running through a programme. The craft sat on its cradle behind them.
Xin gently pushed the main ward door open and attracted Makindra’s attention. Makindra touched Bradbury on the shoulder and nodded towards Xin.
Bradbury mouthed a silent, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ gesturing towards reception. Xin closed the door and walked back to the management desk.
‘Why aren’t you playing Dungeon and Dragons in the research room?’ Xin asked quietly so Ha couldn’t hear him. ‘Why are you in there with that thing, whatever we call it?’
Bradbury stood next to him and turned his back on Ha.
‘We have been working in the research room, Ryan. We’re only in the main ward to compare some data.’
‘You could have downloaded the data remotely, Todd. For Jeeze’s sake! Do I have to throw a light-tug around you two as well?’
Bradbury sounded cocksure of himself.
‘Earth is being overly precautious, Ryan. It’s dead, and it’s inside a light-tug. It isn’t going anywhere.’
‘It may not need to go anywhere, Todd, that’s the point. You’ve no idea what it is, why it was where it was, what caused it to be there, or what it could still do, dead or not.’
‘Don’t get yourself worked up,’ Bradbury said, throwing his hands up as though Xin was overreacting. ‘If you think we’re being too familiar with this thing, we’ll move back to the research room. I’m sorry.’
‘Good. Let’s just wait until Earth sends us whoever and whatever they’re sending, and we’ll take it from there. It’s not as though you and Makindra won’t get credit for it when it’s made public. But screw it up, and you’d be famous for the wrong reason.’
‘As I said, I’m sorry.’
‘And what the hell are we going to call this thing anyway?’ Xin asked, looking back at the main ward door.
Bradbury followed his gaze.
‘Ah! We’ve already named it The Thing! Sums it up, doesn’t it?’
‘The Thing?’
‘Uh huh,’ Bradbury confirmed. ‘We’ll give it a proper name when we’ve cracked it open and found out what it does. There’s no point in calling it The Generator if it doesn’t actually open real wormholes, now is there? Or The Alternative Universe Transporter, or The Alien Spaceship, if it does turn out to be alien space junk.’
‘I get your point, Todd. Just leave the damn thing alone. We’ve been warned to receive the first LM-V delivery tomorrow.’
Bradbury swung around.
‘You’re kidding me?’
‘Nope. Someone thinks it was worth breaking all the rules. They’ve equipped the LM’s with a military grade SG so it’ll be jumping past most of the Outer-Rim buoys. What surprises me is how quickly they’ve put the cargo together.’
‘What is it?’
‘A small town.’
47
The Main Hall was the only ornately decorated room in the whole of Trevon House. For a while, at least, one could imagine an earlier time, when aesthetics once trumped ergonomics and economics. Grecian, Roman? A large, enclosed courtyard, anyway, with exceptionally high walls and an action-projection of the sky on an opaque glass-domed ceiling. It was changing from day to night and stars were beginning to emerge. Behind the illusion would be the usual prefabricated plasterboard, and metal frames, but the artwork, drapery and craftsmanship appeared real enough.
Spoiling the picture were several black globes orbiting the room at head level, ducking in an out of the various gatherings, stopping for a moment, then moving on. Nettles explained that they were network news cameras, referred to by their operators as bugcams. The technology they employed was the same as used by the Earth transports. He flicked a handkerchief at one. It darted out of the way.
‘Apparently they are safe, Scat. There’s not a lot of space-time distortion involved. NBC demonstrated one to us. You can try swatting one if you like, but you’ll not come close. They’ve been swarming all over the building since the Ambassador arrived. Impressed?’
‘Of course I am, Terrance. Or do I call you ‘Sir’, now?’
Terrance waited until the bugcam had eased away to annoy another group.
‘Terrance will do nicely. Now, look. I’m going to be flipping around the Earth delegation this evening, trying to get to know who the real negotiators are. You’ll keep score.’
‘Notes, you mean?’
‘Yes, notes. The ambassador represents Earth. He’ll have brought two types of negotiators with him. One lot will engage our boys across the table, as you’d expect. The others will get to our most influential citizens and Public Reps less formally: possibly with gifts, but not always. The thing is, they’ll do whatever it takes to smooth the way for their official negotiators. If they can get to anyone with influence over our people, they will.’
‘Bribes, threats and blackmail—that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, you’re catching on fast. And our mission tonight is to identify the ones we need to be careful of. Then we can head them of at the pass, so to speak. To be forewarned is to be forearmed.’
‘So you’re taking the cynical view?’
‘My dear Scat, it’s the only view. Diplomacy isn’t for saps. It isn’t all smiles. It’ll get pretty cutthroat once the dance starts. And given the stakes, I wouldn’t expect anything less than an all-out attempt to undermine the House, discredit the leading independence advocates, that sort of thing.’
‘Fair enough. And what underhand tactics do we use?’
‘None,’ Nettles replied, with a wink. ‘It would be most impolite for the host to inconvenience its guests! Let’s start with the Ambassador and work our way outwards. Oh, and yes, pay particular attention to anyone Petroff speaks to. He’s over there.’
Nettles pointed to the end of the room where
two lecterns stood on a low stage, bordered by deep blue, floor-to-ceiling curtains, in front of which were the flags of Trevon and the Inter Space Regulatory Authority. Petroff was already mixing with a couple of ISRA employees who were talking to some civilians. He was wearing his Lynthax Security uniform of grey half jacket and darker grey trousers. The elegant braiding suggested it was his dress uniform. A glance down at his footwear confirmed it: high gloss shoes, not the usual plain, black boots. So, the Lynthax Rep had invited him, and he didn’t have to man the door.
‘OK,’ Scat replied, not noticing that Nettles had already walked across to the Ambassador’s circle.
Marvin, April, Reggie, Jenny and Thomas arrived at the entrance to the Main Hall together with some grey-haired colleagues, all male. They had been meeting with a large group of independence supporters at the Sports Club on Third and Sixth. Reggie wore a dinner jacket, while Marvin and Thomas were less formally dressed in day suits. The three people who Scat didn’t recognise were also in day suits, but of an older style.
He tried to commit to memory the faces of the guests he did not know. Several bugcams were also paying more than a passing interest, crowding around them as they walked into the room. Reggie, surprised and looking a little hostile, tried to drop his coat over one, but Thomas shooed it way.
When Reggie had calmed down, Scat beckoned Thomas over to the centre of the room. Around 250 guests filled the hall and more were arriving at the door each time he looked. The noise they made was now reaching deafening levels. Scat raised his voice:
‘Thanks for hooking me up with Nettles, Thomas. I’m working for him now.’
‘Great, so that’s why you’re here. Father was wondering how you had managed to get an invitation when our lot was left to kick their heels across town.’
‘Yeah. I know. The ambassador didn’t want a face-full of confrontation on his first day in town, so they’re playing it careful. Actually, I’m surprised your dad was invited. Is he planning to buttonhole him?’
‘Count on it. Father’s building up a head of steam as we speak. Germaine and Jenny will do their best to hold him down, but it should still be a decent firework show.’