Chapter Seventeen
“You tell that lazy bum to get his pasty ass back to Titan or I’ll sue!” Mei Hsi-mou, the chairman of AbyssCon, fumed over the comm window. “You hear me? I’ll sue!”
“For the last time,” Isaac seethed, “I do not represent Neon Caravaggio! I’m with SysPol Themis Division!”
Isaac’s response took four seconds to cross the 1.2 million kilometers from Saturn to Titan, and Hsi-mou’s reply took another four seconds on the return trip.
“Yeah, I heard you! And I don’t give a shit! I’m a taxpaying citizen, you hear, which means you work for me!”
“No, I don’t! I am not a civil servant, and even if I was, that’s not how it works!”
“Then I’ll sue both of you! Him for breach of contract, and you for not doing your damn job!”
“Mister Mei, on behalf of Themis Division, this conversation has been most informative, and I thank you for your time.” Isaac closed the window before the irate chairman could say another word. He rested his head against the train cabin wall. “Good grief!”
“Well, you did confirm the AbyssCon story,” Cephalie said. “There’s that.”
“But why’d he have to be so difficult!” He put his face in his hands and massaged his temples. “What a day!”
“At least I don’t look like an electrified bumble bee,” Susan chimed in brightly. “In that sense, today’s been all right.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel that way,” Isaac grumbled. “How’d your chats go?”
“Ito Tomoe checks out,” Susan said. “No surprises.”
“DescentCon hasn’t gotten back to me,” Cephalie said, “but I got in touch with Citizen Services and let them know about the Caravaggio alias. Trinh set up the ID, so they’re the ones getting fined. Drop in the bucket for them, but poor nervous Doug’s in the clear. His record’s still spotless since leaving prison. Won’t even get fined for this, though he’ll have to deal with his ‘secret identity’ going public.”
“I’m sure he’ll manage somehow.” Isaac eyeballed the Singularity shirt crumpled next to his seat. He snatched it up and rolled it into a cloth log. “What a day.” He walked over to the cabin’s reclamation chute and shoved the log in. It disappeared with a faint whirring sound.
“But…” Susan reached toward the shirt being mulched then lowered her arm with a forlorn expression.
“Here.” Isaac held out his hand. “Toss me yours.”
“Do I have to?” She tucked her star seer shirt behind her back.
“You want to keep it?” Isaac asked.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess. But why?”
“I like it.”
“But it’s just a silly sh—”
Cephalie jabbed her cane into his cheek. He hadn’t noticed her climb up.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, rubbing his cheek out of reflex even though the pain was fake. “What was that for?”
“You’re acting grouchy.”
“I think I have a right to be.” Isaac shooed her off his shoulder, and she floated back down to the LENS. He sat back down and gazed out the cabin window as the train descended past the Pillar Palaces.
“What’s our next move?” Susan asked.
“Not sure,” Isaac admitted, then let out a tired breath. “We should take a second look at the evidence, especially Delacroix’s files on that tower. Maybe there’s something we’ve missed.”
“I can get started on that,” Cephalie said. “But you”—she jabbed his thigh—“need to take care of yourself. You’re hungry, and you get ornery when you’re hungry.”
“Do not,” he said, a moment before his stomach growled.
Cephalie raised an accusing eyebrow.
“Okay, yes, you’re right, I’m hungry. Let’s talk about where we go next over some food.” His stomach rumbled again.
“In the mood for anything in particular?” Cephalie asked.
“I could go for the Meal Spigot, actually.” He turned to Susan. “You all right with that?”
“The meal what?”
* * *
They found the nearest Meal Spigot franchise outside the New Frontier train station on Shelf Six. A few cars and copters dotted the parking lot outside the squat, homey building, and a large abstract marquee animated overhead, featuring a cheerful man in coveralls working the lever on a waterspout. Pizza, burgers, noodles, beverages, ice cream, and all manner of other food poured out of the oversized nozzle to fizzle out above the open, inviting doors.
“The Meal Spigot,” Susan said dully.
“Uh huh,” Isaac replied.
“Food any good?”
Cephalie shook her head.
“Oh, how would you know?” Isaac said.
“I’ve read the reviews.”
“You can’t trust those.”
“Wanna bet?”
“It may not be fancy, but it’s fast and filling,” Isaac told Susan. “Personally, I love the food. There was a Meal Spigot near my parents’ old apartment, so I grew up on this stuff.”
“Are those SysPol drones?” Susan asked.
“Where?”
“Over there.” She pointed to the parking lot where a pair of conveyor drones sat, heavy crates held tight in their flexible arms.
“Could be.” His stomach grumbled. “Come on.” He urged her inside with a hand on her shoulder. A hostess in a T-shirt and denim coveralls guided them to their booth, and Isaac opened the abstract menu and filtered through the selection. “I’m thinking pizza today. How about you?”
“I wouldn’t mind a taste of whatever you’re having,” Susan said, dismissing her menu with a wave.
“All right then.”
A waitress in denim coveralls approached their booth.
“Hello everyone!” she said with a touch too much energy. “How are you— Oh! You’re with SysPol!”
“We are.”
“Are you here about the…” She nudged her head to the side twice.
“And what would”—Isaac mimicked her double head nudge—“be, exactly?”
“Oh, umm…never mind! My mistake!” She put on a forced smile. “My name’s Melissa. Can I take your order?”
“Yes.” Isaac traced through the menu with his finger. “I’ll have a personal pizza with sausage and banana peppers. Oh, and an order of fried pickles. And a bottle of the Spigot’s Tongue Melter, please.”
“Very good, sir. Anything else?”
“No, that’ll be all.”
“And for you, ma’am?”
“Just an empty plate. I’ll try some of his food.”
“Got it!” She jotted their order down on her interface and transmitted it to the kitchen. “Your order”—her eyes flicked to the side and back to them, and she smiled once more—“should be up momentarily!”
Susan waited for her to leave.
“Are they always like that?”
“Like what?”
“Overly cheerful.”
“Service with a smile,” Isaac said. “I’ll have to remember to give her a good tip.”
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask about the service here in SysGov.”
“What about it?”
“I haven’t seen much automation. Why does a place like the Meal Spigot need hosts and servers? In most places in the Admin, the food would be delivered by automation.”
“Well, it’s because of the Two Pillars,” Isaac said, confused by her question.
“The what?”
“Don’t they have the Two Pillars in the Admin?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we call them by a different name.”
“They’re the cornerstone of our post-scarcity society. Surely you have them, too.”
“Maybe not. Post-scarcity is still new to us. So, how do these Two Pillars work?”
“Basically, the Two Pillars are a guiding philosophy for how to be happy in a post-scarcity environment, where the need to struggle for necessities like food and shelter no longer exists. But humans with nothing to do, nothing to struggle against, aren’t happy.
“Hence, the first Pillar is work. The pursuit of goals and the joy of achievement. Without something to struggle against and to strive for, life degrades into simply existing for the sake of existing. We view work as not only necessary for happiness, but also as a basic part of human dignity. That’s one of the reasons why you see so many people gravitate to the service industries and why you don’t see automation used in those industries as freely as it could be.”
“Huh,” Susan said. “Never thought of it that way. And the second Pillar?”
“Love, which many in SysGov pursue not only through conventional relationships, but also through integrated companionship.”
“I hate to break it to you, Isaac,” Cephalie tittered, “but I barely like you sometimes.”
“I mean in a broad sense,” he snipped back. “Love. Companionship. Fellowship. The basic need of humans to be with other humans. Or, at least, other sentient intelligences.”
“The Two Pillars came about as a response to a period called the Great Depression in the late twenty-sixth century,” Cephalie added. “It’s a pretty dark time in SysGov history. That’s when the post-scarcity effects of our technology really began to take hold, and a large percentage of the populace no longer performed any work at all. At the same time, high-fidelity abstractions gave people the chance to live out their lives completely free of normal human interactions, and both of these issues led to massive societal problems. Mass suicides, epidemic levels of depression, and rampant criminal activity, just to name a few highlights.”
“Ouch.” Susan grimaced. “Yeah, we don’t have the Two Pillars.”
“This explains so much,” Isaac mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, nothing. We should really get back to business.” He leaned against the booth’s prog-foam. “Where do we go from here?”
“Not sure. What are you thinking?”
“We could interview more people from Gordian,” Isaac suggested. “Maybe speak to the Negation Industries engineers who worked on that impeller. Perhaps interrogate those other three gangsters.”
“Sounds like you’re grasping.”
“Because I am. There’s also DescentCon and any surveillance video they might have of Caravaggio.”
“That’s going to be a long shot.”
“I know, but if our leads dry up here, then that’s all we have left.”
“There may be a third option.” Cephalie walked down the table between them and twirled her cane. “I ran through Delacroix’s tower again and came across an interesting coincidence.”
“A new lead?” Isaac asked.
“Not sure. I’ll let you be the judge of that.” She waved her arm, and a pair of reports appeared for Isaac and Susan. “First, the lead-up. Based on SSP’s analysis of the Fanged Wyverns’ wearables, Ōdachi contacted the gang through FR3G8, more commonly known as Free Gate. It’s an abstract domain built on a RealmBuilder gaming seed. Now the coincidence. Delacroix has a RealmBuilder account.”
“That’s…rather tenuous,” Isaac warned.
“Ah, but wait for it,” Cephalie continued. “I scoured through Delacroix’s files, and he’s not much of a gamer. In fact, the only gaming account he used while on Janus was for RealmBuilder, and he acquired it two months ago. Furthermore, the login record on his tower shows he played exclusively on the Free Gate domain, and he was logged in shortly before he and Andover-Chen left for Earth at the end of their previous trip.”
“Perhaps he was in touch with Ōdachi?” Susan said.
“Or, more specifically, whoever’s behind that alias.” Isaac rubbed his chin. “As far as leads go, it’s a stretch, but I think it’s the best one we have right now. Good work.”
Cephalie took a bow.
“Okay, let’s assume Delacroix was in touch with Ōdachi through Free Gate.” Isaac leaned in with an elbow on the table. “How do we put this to use? Is Delacroix’s RealmBuilder account still active?”
“Maybe,” Cephalie said. “It might have been deactivated when his death certificate was posted. I’ll have to check.”
“Start there. We need to know what we’re working with first. If Delacroix was using Free Gate to communicate with criminals, we could be on the verge of busting this case wide open.”
His stomach growled again.
“I thought you said they were fast.” Susan twisted in her booth and looked for their waitress.
“They normally are,” Isaac said. “Maybe they’re having problems.”
“It’s a Meal Spigot,” Cephalie stressed. “It’s having problems by merely existing.”
“Oh, hush.”
A spherical drone about the size of a LENS left the kitchen and floated out to the parking lot.
“Never a good sign,” Isaac muttered.
“That drone looked familiar,” Susan said. “Was it…”
Nina Cho ran out of the kitchen, two more drones behind her, and rushed over to her conveyor drones in the parking lot.
“Yep,” Isaac finished. “It’s one of Nina’s.”
“Sir?”
Isaac twisted around to face their waitress, only to find a gray-skinned, blue-eyed synthoid in coveralls beside her who he assumed was the manager.
“Sir, I’m very sorry!” the waitress said. “I tried printing your order four times, but this is the best I could manage.”
Isaac peered at the tray held up by a floating remote the size of a fist. Steam rose from a cheese pizza covered in apple cubes and thin strips of apple, complete with tiny dark glyphs, and his fried pickle order appeared to be apple-based as well. He picked up the bottle of Tongue Melter, twisted the cap off, and sniffed.
“Apple juice,” he breathed.
“I’m so sorry!” the waitress said. “At least this one has some bread and cheese! We tried our best, I swear!”
“Sir. Ma’am.” The gray synthoid placed a hand to his chest. “On behalf of the Meal Spigot, I hope you’ll accept our sincerest apologies. There is, unfortunately, nothing more we can do with your meal at the moment. One of your SysPol specialists just shut down all our printers, and we’re not sure when she’ll bring them back online.”
“Oh well.” Isaac shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“Sir?”
“Trust me. This isn’t the worst problem we’re dealing with.” He grabbed a fried apple slice, bit into it, and chewed. “It’s edible, and I’m hungry. You can leave the food here.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“Then, can I interest you in some virtual flavors to make your meal more…palatable?”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He sent both the waitress and manager larger-than-usual Esteem tips. “We live in apple-blighted times. It’s all right.”
The waitress looked to the manager, who nodded to her. She then served Isaac the corrupted pizza and fried “pickle” order. Isaac picked up an apple cube off the pizza and tried to tug it free of the cheese strands.
The waitress and manager walked off, and he overheard their quiet conversation.
“It’s nice, you know, every now and again,” the manager told the waitress.
“What is?”
“To get someone who doesn’t scream at us over every little misprint.”
“I know what you mean. I feel like I met a unicorn.”
“Aww,” Susan cooed. “That was nice of you.”
“Mmhmm.” He put the cheese-coated apple slice in his mouth and chewed slowly. Then he shrugged. “Eh. I’ve had worse.”
Nina raced in through the front door with a trio of drones tailing her.
“Nina!” Isaac snapped at her.
“Wha!” She turned toward them with a start.
“There’s apple in my pizza!”
“I know!” she snapped back. “I’m working on it!”
* * *
“I give this meal two stars out of five,” Isaac declared, then wiped his mouth daintily with his napkin. “There’s clear room for improvement.” He gestured to Susan with an open hand. “And your judgment?”
“One out of five. The apple juice was refreshing. That’s about it.”
“I see.” Isaac nodded thoughtfully then faced Cephalie. “And from our abstract judge?”
“Zero out of five. It’s a Meal Spigot.”
“That seems a bit harsh.”
“It’s a Meal Spigot, Isaac. It’s fast food. Your meat suit works on the same principle as database analytics.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Garbage in, garbage out.”
“And not very tasty garbage at that.” Isaac tossed his napkin onto the empty plate. “Back to business. Find anything on Delacroix’s account?”
“Not much,” Cephalie said. “But what I have is golden. The login records from his tower include the Free Gate coordinates of his last visit.”
“Then we can use Delacroix’s login to go to the same location,” Isaac said.
“Not quite,” Cephalie cautioned. “His account won’t work in Free Gate anymore.”
“Could we ask the publisher to switch his account back on?” Susan asked.
“It’s not the publisher who’s the problem,” Cephalie explained, “but the Free Gate administrator, a reclusive AC named Gate Master. He’s the one blocking Delacroix’s account, probably in response to the death certificate, and the publisher won’t meddle in how he runs his domain.”
“Then we ask Gate Master to switch the account back on,” Susan said.
“Sure, if you can find him. ‘Reclusive,’ remember.”
“He’d have to respond to a search warrant, right?”
“Eventually, yes.” Isaac leaned in. “But perhaps there’s another approach.”
“What’s on your mind?” Susan asked.
“Free Gate is built on a RealmBuilder seed, which means there’s a communal spawn point at the center of the domain. Sure, we could use Delacroix’s login to go directly to his last position, but there’s nothing stopping us from logging in with new accounts and traveling there ourselves. How far are those coordinates from the central spawn?”
“Not far,” Cephalie said. “Might take you an hour or so to get there on foot with entry-level gear.”
“Then this approach could work.” He paused in thought, then began a slow nod. “Might even be better this way. Faster, too. Using Delacroix’s account could let the wrong people know we’re coming, and who knows how long it would take Gate Master to respond to our warrant.”
“Sounds solid to me,” Susan agreed.
“I’m not so sure,” Cephalie warned. “How much do you know about Free Gate?”
“Never heard of it until today. Why?”
“I’ve been inside before, about twenty years ago. Gate Master runs it as an anarchy domain.”
“Meaning?” Susan asked.
“No rules. All he does is prevent cheating and enforce the realm conditions, which are baseline physics for Free Gate. He’ll also load the occasional balance patch or update, but the rest is left up to the players.”
“So?” Isaac asked.
“It can get a little wild in there.”
“It’s a RealmBuilder domain,” Isaac dismissed. “People play because they like gathering resources and building stuff. It’s a creative outlet. How bad could it be?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Cephalie pushed up her glasses. “Also, I won’t be joining you. I…may have cheated the last time I logged in. I’m on Gate Master’s ban list.”
“Cephalie!” Isaac said with faux shock. “You? Cheat in a game? Why I never would have guessed!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Where should we settle in to connect?” Susan asked. “Back at the precinct?”
“We could,” Isaac said, “but I’d rather use a public gaming lounge. Less chance we’ll draw attention that way.” He opened an interface and performed a search. “Perfect. There’s a lounge called the Gold Split not far from here. We could easily walk there if we wanted…”
He trailed off as Nina lurched over to their booth. She sank into the booth next to Isaac, plopped her forehead down on the table, and let out a long, agonized groan.
“Nina?”
“Isaac.”
“Are you okay?”
“Sixteen.”
“What?”
“I have sixteen sites left in my queue. I’m never leaving this damn city.”
“Wait a second.” Isaac thought for a moment. “Didn’t you have thirteen sites last time we spoke?”
“Uh huh. But more keep coming, and I can’t work through them fast enough!”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll manage.” He patted her on the back.
“I wish someone would crack this stupid glyph code,” she moaned into the table. “Even if the perp is crazy, we need to know what the code says so we can better track the bastard down.”
“Doesn’t Raviv have a team working on decryption?”
“Yeah, but no matter what cyphers they apply, the glyphs always come back as gibberish.”
“You ever consider it might actually be gibberish?”
Nina looked up, a sudden gleam in her eyes.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She pushed her up off the table. “Oh. Hey, Susan.”
“Specialist Cho.”
“How’s life in SysGov treating you?”
“It’s going well.” Susan shrugged. “More or less. I’d say it’s been a nice change of pace so far.”
“Change of pace how?”
“I get shot at less over here.”
“You’ve been shot at before?” Nina asked with bright-eyed interest.
“Oh, yes. Tons of times. This has been…pleasant by comparison.” She smiled. “Nothing like my last assignment where I had my head blown off again.”
“Your head?” Nina recoiled in horror. “Again?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Oh, come on!” Isaac snapped. “How many parts of you have been blown off?”
“Quite a few, actually.” Susan turned to Nina as if it were nothing. “Thank you for asking, by the way. I think you might be the first person to ask how I’ve been since I got here.”
“Oh, really.” Nina turned to Isaac with ire flaming in her eyes.
“What?” he asked. “Why you giving me that look?”
“Isaac?”
“What?”
“You haven’t asked her how she’s handling all this?”
“Well…”
“Not once?”
“We’ve been busy, and I assumed if there was a problem, she’d let me know.” He gestured toward Susan. “Isn’t that right?”
“Of course. You can assume no news is good news when it comes to me.”
“See?”
“Isaac!” Nina snapped. “She is literally living in another universe, and you haven’t asked her how she’s doing? What is wrong with you?”
Isaac opened his mouth to speak, but Nina placed a finger against his lips.
“No, no. You’ve done enough. I’ll fix this.” She faced Susan with an air of formality. “On behalf of the Cho family, I apologize for my idiot twin brother.”
“Hey!”
“I’m okay.” Susan’s cheeks reddened. “Really.”
“So, how’s the murder case going?” Nina asked, ignoring her irate twin brother’s glare.
“Most of our leads have dried up,” Susan said, “but we have one left that looks promising.”
“Hey, sometimes one is all you need.” Nina nudged Isaac. “Am I right?”
“We think one of the victims might have been in contact with a criminal while in a RealmBuilder domain. We’re heading to a nearby lounge to investigate further.”
“Wait a second.” Nina faced her brother. “You’re telling me that while I’m slaving away with one defective printer after another, the two of you are going to be chilling out in a gaming lounge?”
“What’s so strange about that?” Isaac protested.
“Isaac?”
“Yes?”
Nina narrowed her eyes at him. “I hate you.”