They headed out of the hotel into that bright morning. “We’re lucky with the weather, so far,” Mellie said, throwing Lee a thoughtful glance. She also had not missed the choice of tour guide. She’s a spook, Mellie had said. Lee had always known in a general way that they would all be watched when they got here, but now she found it hard not to look at everyone they passed as if they were spies or informers.
Dil’Hemrev smiled that cool smile of hers with its faint edge of superiority, charming but very much there. “It’s summer here at the moment,” she said, as they headed out of the main street in front of the hotel; “we don’t get a lot of wet weather until the fall. Even if we did, many of the streets we’ll be going down this morning are arcaded. Come along this way…”
She led them down streets that grew steadily smaller in scale, compared to the taller towers that seemed to encircle the harbor proper. Lee looked around in some admiration as dil’Hemrev talked easily about the history of the Alfen who’d first settled here, the industries they practiced, the trade routes they’d established. The city itself, at least in its older buildings, had a look of both antiquity and calm prosperity, its architecture featuring both sharp and curved arches, and a great deal of what looked like a soft green sandstone, the delicate carvings pleasantly blunted by time.
Lee walked along behind the others and let dil’Hemrev’s narration wash over her as she looked at the buildings—apartment houses and shops, rarely more than three or four stories high, with an odd tendency for windows and flights of steps to come in groups of eleven. Something cultural? she wondered. Something to do with religion, or superstition?
She resolved to ask dil’Hemrev about it later. But as they walked through the mild, pretty morning, passing various Alfen in the streets and being courteously saluted by them, something began to itch in the back of Lee’s mind. The color of the sandstone started to look a little strange to her: watery, somehow. She would glance at a worn, charming old building that from the corner of her eye had seemed to waver slightly, as if submerged, only to find it perfectly steady when she looked at it. I’m not trying to See… she thought. Yet that was the effect she was getting… as if she was bringing judicial Sight to bear on something, and being resisted.
Or as if this whole place was under a glamour, Lee thought. Initially, the thought was laughable. There were ways to lay a deceptive seeming over physical objects for short periods—appearances generated by mind or by mechanical instrumentality—that could deceive people without the Sight easily, and those with it with more difficulty. But these required a considerable outlay of energy and couldn’t be maintained long. If what she was perceiving here was indeed a glamour, it was one of a complexity and power Lee had never seen before. And if it is a glamour… why are they doing it? Are we being shown some kind of Potemkin village?
What for?…
Lee tried to keep herself from showing any unease and followed along behind their guide, who was talking again now about parts of the city that were said to have sunk under the sea. “There is an earthquake fault not far from here,” dil’Hemrev was saying. “Every thousand years or so it tends to slip; that may have happened in prehistory, and so the legend persists.”
Lee was refraining from using the Sight just now, if only because it tended to make her walk into things. But even as she and the group turned another corner into yet another tiny street, lined with small and cozy buildings, Lee began to wonder whether the innate “fragility” of Ys she had perceived yesterday was just that: perception, no more, well divorced from reality—or from any reality that mattered here and now. For a psychoforensicist it was always a question: were you doing physical reality a disservice by constantly prying around underneath it, trying to find out what it meant? And here more than usual, the physical reality was so arresting—
But that was the problem. Lee trailed her hand idly along a building’s stonework as she passed, looking at it as she did: looking, just for a flash, judicially—though not very deep, and not long enough to be caught at it. And then she glanced away again, as casually, for what she’d seen was at odds with what she’d felt. The stone under her hand was stone, right enough: but it was being misrepresented by what Lee saw. It was not a small building, but a tall one, possibly even a skyscraper. She was certain of that, without even looking.
I’m being had, she thought. We all are.
And at all costs, I mustn’t let them know that I know it.
Lee kept on walking along with the rest of the tour, and thought, looking casually at everything, trying not to be seen looking at any one thing terribly hard, storing away details for consideration later. In one of the main shopping streets into which dil’Hemrev led them, Lee spent a while playing the witless shopper, staring in store windows which were admittedly full of wonderful things, clothes and appliances and furnishings and art the likes of which she’d never seen. All her credit plates itched. It was the better part of an hour before she again dared to touch the corner of a building as the group and dil’Hemrev turned into a side street. But by then, Lee was ready for the difference between what she felt and what she saw.
It was not a difference in anything so simple as texture. It was the attitude with which the building had been raised. It said, I am the matter of eternity: I will last forever: I am permanence, hewn. It said the exact opposite of what the skyline had said. There was no tug at the heartstrings here. This was careless strength, unconcerned beauty spoken in the Alfen accent that Lee already knew quite well. These stones wore in spirit the same expression that Lee had seen on a dead Elf in the street, on Omren dil’Sorden’s face in the Ellay County Morgue, belying the fear of a few moments before.
So we’re being shown the beauty that moves…but as a weapon. Or as something to put us off our guard, to keep us from seeing another truth. The question was, was that truth necessarily important?
Or does it just seem so to the Elves? That was going to take a while to determine. But as far as Lee was concerned, she had had enough of having her heartstrings tugged. What’s behind the façades? she thought.
They had been on their feet for nearly an hour and a half now. “We might sit down for a little while, if you like,” dil’Hemrev said, again with the slight smile that suggested a touch of pity for humans, who tired, as compared with Alfen, who didn’t, or at least not so easily. “There’s a café near here with a nice view of the parklands behind the city…”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Lee said, if only to break her own silence; she’d been quiet while the others had been oohing and aahing over the surroundings. “It’d be pleasant to sit and have a glass of something and look at the mountains, in such nice weather…”
Dil’Hemrev turned to look at Lee. The shocked, suspicious look sealed over almost instantly, leaving dil’Hemrev’s face serene again; but seeing it, Lee knew immediately that she’d made a mistake, and she had to concentrate on keeping her own face innocent…for whatever good it did. Oh, God, we’re not supposed to see the mountains, either!
But why?
Dil’Hemrev didn’t deal with what Lee had said, and as she led them to the café, Lee did her best to concentrate on seeming harmless. There was no way to call the word back, no way to cover, and no way her guide was going to forget. What else have I seen that I’m not supposed to? Lee wondered in near panic. This is going to mean trouble…
Dil’Hemrev ordered drinks for the group, and they shared them uneventfully enough; and afterwards their guide led them back to the hotel. But all the while, Lee could feel dil’Hemrev’s attention on her, if not actually her gaze. The Alfen was playing it cool. Lee did her best to do the same, at least until they got back to the hotel.
She was somewhat surprised to find Gelert lounging around in the suite when she got back. “You finished early,” she said.
“It’s just that there weren’t a lot of us still standing after yesterday’s transit,” Gelert said. “We’ll have to do tomorrow a lot of what we thought we’d be doing t
oday. But we got some preliminary work done.”
“That’s good,” Lee said. She keyed her implant on, and said in Palmerrand, I think their bug is active in here now…
I heard it, Gelert said. Those relays make a teeny, tiny noise when they shift states. He flicked one ear back and forth. E-flat above C above high C, minus a quarter tone.
Lee avoided giving him the amused look she would have at home. The opera fan speaks.
“So how was the architecture?”
“Extremely beautiful,” Lee said. “There are some patterns that repeat…”
“The elevens thing?” Gelert said, sounding idle. “I noticed that in passing.” What’s the matter with you? You look rattled.
Partly that I heard more history from dil’Hemrev today than I think I’ve ever heard or read, Lee said silently, and I’m still trying to digest what I remember of it. But there’s another problem. I mentioned the mountains.
He looked at her oddly. What mountains?
Lee’s heart seized. Have you looked out the window lately?
First thing this morning. Lovely countryside, I thought.
But no mountains.
Gelert looked at her strangely. Lee, this is the flood plain of the Seine, or what would be the Seine if we were at home, which I’m really beginning to wish we were. Mountains are in short supply here. Or they should be.
I’m not arguing. However, I am seeing mountains. And I don’t think our hosts expected me to, or any of us, for that matter.
You think this is going to be a problem?
I think maybe it already is. But there’s nothing I can do about it.
Gelert looked thoughtful. And your implant’s been working a little strangely since we got here. Picking up things it wouldn’t normally. Is it some effect on the machinery…or are our own sensitivities being sharpened by our presence here?
It could be both. Something to watch out for… Lee said.
You mean, besides dil’Hemrev. Well, we’ll see what comes of it.
There’s still the problem of what I overheard last night.
I just wish the ice machines had been closer to the elevator, Gelert said. What you got was tantalizing. And I have one easy guess which Senator he was discussing. Milelgua. He’s widely known to be scraping the bottom of his campaign chest.
What I want to know is what the ‘goodies’ were that they were discussing, Lee said.
Gelert let out a long breath and rolled over. Not enough data… he said. Meanwhile, can you spare a few minutes? I’m chary of getting into long conversations inside the hotel, and Sal wanted a word before we move on to our next location.
Already? Lee said.
Yes, Gelert said. The records we’re investigating, after all, aren’t physically located here. They’re going to run us up to Aien Mhariseth tomorrow. There’s some weekly, or tenday-ly, meeting of the Alfen Grand Council tomorrow; they want to bring us up there and give us the official seal of approval. I don’t know whether we’ll be reconvening down here again. But this is either a big honor, or an attempt to keep us from getting comfortable in any one place.
If they try to take us over to their version of North America, I guess we’ll know for sure, Lee said. Meanwhile… we roll with the desires of our hosts, I suppose. Where’s Sal going to meet us?
He’ll be down in the bar. We’ll go for ‘a walk in the park.’ They may have that bugged, but we can at least pick the least buggable parts of it, and Sal’s carrying a changeable-frequency multispectrum surveillance-buster. We’ll find but soon enough if it works…
Lee changed into something more casual than she’d been wearing, a loose tunic and light pants suitable to the nearly tropical weather, and wandered out with Gelert, for all the world as if they had no plans. The people working behind the desk looked at them curiously as they passed, but seeing that they were heading straight across the main road into the parkland by the lake, did nothing else.
Lee and Gelert went out across one of the paved paths that led through the perfect lawn running to the perfect lakeside. There they found a bench to sit down on, and did nothing for fifteen minutes or so but admire the perfect view out across the water. “Would this be the Atlantic,” Lee said at last, looking out into the rainbowed mist, “or the English Channel?”
“I have to confess that geography is not my highest priority in life,” Gelert said. “Especially Alfen geography, which is half-classified anyway. But this should be central France, not the coast as it occurs in our own world…I think. The cognacy with Paris in our world is supposed to be fairly close.”
Lee heard a step on the nearby walk, turned to see Sal coming. “Have you ever noticed,” she said, “that Elves don’t make any noise when they walk?”
“A whole lot less than humans of your type, anyway,” Gelert said. “And a ton less than Sal. Hi, Sal…”
Sal lowered his considerable bulk to the bench beside Lee. “Gelert,” he said, “you bad-mouthing me again?”
“Somebody’s got to do it.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not the skinny runt you used to be, either. It’s those expense account dinners. Look at the gut on you—”
“If you two could stop slagging each other ever so briefly,” Lee said, “who knows how human knowledge might be increased.”
“Huh,” Sal said, a world’s worth of doubt in the word.
“Your widget working?” Lee said softly.
Sal nodded just once. “Far as I know. Let’s keep it fairly brief, though.”
“So did your team have a good day?” Gelert said.
“Huh, huh, huh, huh,” Sal said, laughing, and went on in that vein for so long that Lee became seriously concerned. That much laughter from this man usually indicated a disaster in the making.
She leaned back on the bench and waited, while Gelert lay down on the ground and rolled his eyes at the impossibly blue sky. “I take it,” Lee said when Sal paused for breath, “that your initial findings have been positive.”
“Oh yes,” Sal said. “Everything very much on the up-and-up… if you have about as much math, or networking expertise, as a high school graduate. I’d be really insulted, if I didn’t find it all desperately funny.”
“So they’ve showed you the ‘not so public’ version of their books,” Gelert said, “as regards their mining records, and the data that suggests how much FG they release to the markets of the other worlds, and when, and in what amounts to which markets.”
Sal nodded. “There are some holes in the numbers already,” Sal said. “Nothing we can authenticate from the information they’ve let us see so far. But what really interests me is the details they’ve let fall about their accounting computers’ connections to the worlds’ computer networks… which may present some possibilities for authentication from our side of things. Whether they like it or not.”
Lee gave him a look. “I thought there were no direct connections between their home computers in Alfheim and the subsidiary computers in other universes,” Lee said. “Privacy concerns, territorial ‘information sovereignty,’ and all that.”
Sal sniffed. “That’s what they want everybody to think,” he said. “But it’s operationally impossible. Oh, they go on in public about their secured data transfer, but it’s just more obfuscation designed to direct attention elsewhere and make their own lives easy.”
He leaned back and folded his hands over his ample stomach. “They have direct transfer, all right,” Sol said. “They squeeze the data down to packets, and transmit it at unpredictable intervals using a randomization paradigm, using standard ‘tween-universe protocols and comms channels. How better to cover their tracks than to blend in with all the other traffic between the worlds? And I can’t believe they think we’re so stupid as not to have seen the comms calls in some of their code. Yes, their cryptography is of a very high order. Not unbreakable; as usual, what the mind can devise, the mind can break. But in terms of anybody cracking their traffic in real time, which would be their main worry
, they’re safe enough.”
Sal looked thoughtful. “What does seem to be very secure is access to their machines from outside their universe. They can get into our networks anytime they want to: but since they’re the ones who control information flow, by controlling the ‘ring time’ that permits it in the first place, they make it almost impossible for anyone to get at their machines from outside.”
Gelert’s ears went up. “‘Almost’ impossible?”
Sal got a dreamy look that Lee found most provocative. “When a data ring here gets in contact with one in one of the other worlds,” he said, “they have to exchange authentication information first. Now, there are, oh, fifty different ring systems in our six worlds with which the Alfen rings at Ys and Aien Mhariseth communicate on a regular basis.”
Gelert’s eyes narrowed in sudden amusement. “But only two Alfen data rings.”
“Three,” Sal said. “There’s a comms-only ring at Ayehmendeh, at the foot of Manhattan Mountain: their Brookhaven. Their first ring, I think—they keep it around for sentimental reasons. Or some other.” He frowned, his usual look when he suspected an answer to a question was hiding itself from him. “Anyway, each of their rings is programmed to generate a new ID herald each time they ‘call up’ another machine. Yet they can’t change it too much: it’s simpler and much more secure to change the cryptography in the message, rather than in the transmitter.” Sal smiled. “But this allows us to compare all the login heralds from the small number of Alfen machines against the large number of heralds from the machines in the other five universes, and deduce—though very slowly—how to fake an Alfen herald that’s likely to occur in a future cycle of communications. After that it’s just a matter of sending it back to them, over and over, from all those other machines, for a long time. Sooner or later the Alfen machine at the other end of the linkage hears its own newly generated herald echoed back to it by the other machine, then goes on to the next step of the process, which is spilling its guts. Or at least, letting us capture the whole message it would have sent to that machine, without raising any warning flags.”