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CHAPTER XV

CHILDREN AND ANCIENTS

“I worked with the ER crew yesterday,” I told the police officer guarding the co-op site. Motioning at Angel, I said, “She worked today.” I indicated the screen on his comm, which had lit up with our names. “You can see us on the rosters.”

“Yes. And we appreciate your help.” He spoke with obvious regret. “I’m sorry. I still can’t let you in.” He reminded me of Captain Duane Ebersole, one of the top police officers on the Majda force. Duane was brilliant at his job, and Vaj Majda, for all her Traditionalist leanings, was no fool. She promoted excellence when she saw it. Selei City bustled with diversity, new ideas, and modern culture the kids took for granted. It even had a male police chief. So meeting a male cop was no surprise. But I could tell he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by breaking rules.

It might have been different if we were the only ones here; he’d probably have let us in. However, lights glowed closer to the building as crews continued to search the debris, looking for any signs of life they might have missed. Numerous experts had done endless scans, located the dead, the injured, and at first the living. They found pets, too, many still alive. Other crews, like the one Angel worked on, worked on cleanup or ran the machines doing the heavy work.

“Any luck in the searches?” My voice caught. “I lived here. Some people I know are still missing.”

Sympathy showed on his youthful face. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry. It’s awful, what happened.”

I tilted my head at Angel. “My friend thinks my house EI tried to contact her. I’d assumed the version here was destroyed. My apartment was above the blast.”

“Goddess,” he said. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”

“Yah,” I said softly. “I was leaving the building when it happened.”

He blew out a gust of air. “All right, listen, I can let you three look around a bit.” He glanced at Ruzik. “You look familiar. Were you on the crew, too?”

“Nahya,” he said. Then he added, “No, I didn’t do anything with the crews.”

The guard motioned toward Angel and me. “Stay with them. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

Ruzik nodded. He didn’t bristle at the implication that he knew less about how to conduct himself at a disaster scene. This guard had no way to know Ruzik grew up in a slum that qualified as a continual disaster, at least according to Skolian norms.

“Thank you,” I said. We all nodded to him and walked on, into the site.

The debris was mostly gone. What little remained of the building stood within scaffoldings that kept anything else from crumbling. Residents like myself could go to the Kaz Center to reclaim our stuff if we could prove it belonged to us. I’d had some trouble with the proof because I’d been away so long, but Max kept excellent records. Although he’d found what I needed, it didn’t really matter. Almost nothing of mine had survived.

Angel motioned to a cleared area. “High Cloud talk to me there.”

“It’s odd,” I said as we went to where she indicated. “We found Evan Majors there.”

Angel walked right into the space where rubble had buried Evan. “Cloud here.”

“Was anyone with you?” I asked.

“Nahya. Just me. Cloud talk. Scratch. Talk.”

I looked around, trying to understand why she picked up Highcloud here of all places. It couldn’t be coincidence.

“Bhaaj, what?” Ruzik asked. “You know this place.”

I turned slowly, surveying the area. “No more than anywhere else in the building.”

“You know this place,” Ruzik repeated.

I stopped turning to face him. “Why think that?”

He answered in Flag. “I’m not sure how to say it. Part of you is here.”

“If I dropped anything here, it would be gone now, cleaned away by the crews.”

“Not drop thing.” Angel looked at Ruzik. “Drop a—a Bhaaj shadow.”

“Yah.” Ruzik paused. “Nahya. Not shadow. Like shadow?”

“Not ken,” I told them.

“Bha . . . aaj.”

I froze. “Ruzik, what?”

“Not me,” he said.

“That High Cloud,” Angel said. “Cloud not high. Low. Down here.”

“Highcloud?” I asked. “Can you hear me?”

Static greeted me, faint and broken.

“Cloud talk like that,” Angel added.

“It’s in the ground,” Ruzik said.

I peered at our feet. Blue and pale-pink tiles had once paved this area in geometric patterns that pleased the eye. Those were gone now, with only dirt under our feet, along with scattered debris, pebbles, and bits of broken tech. I looked up at them. “In dirt?”

“Nahya.” Ruzik thought for a moment. “Yah.”

Angel gave him an exasperated look. “Nahya or yahya?”

He smiled at his irate lover. “Angel stand on Cloud.”

She blinked at him, then moved over several steps. “Still?”

“We all stand on cloud.” Ruzik switched into Flag. “I don’t know how to say it right. It’s as if Highcloud is part of the dirt here.”

“Max,” I asked. “Could some remnant of Highcloud have survived as tech-mech dust?”

“Maybe,” Max said. “It would be a bit like smart dust.”

I thought of the weapons we used during space combat, tiny drones that could link together, forming a simple AI. That dust exploded on contact. “Something less dramatic, I’d hope.”

“It could explain how you found Evan Majors,” Max said. “I’ve wondered about that.”

“I heard Evan call for help.”

“Are you sure?” Max asked. “According to my records, it was almost impossible to hear him even when you and Lieutenant Silvers were right next to the debris.”

“Then who did I hear? Highcloud sounds even softer.”

“You synched my system with Highcloud,” Max said. “The link worked whenever you were close enough to reach the co-op mesh. Then I’d link you to Highcloud. If any remnant of Highcloud exists here, I might have picked it up. You were in combat mode when you caught that cry for help. So if I detected something, you might have ‘heard’ it through your biomech link to me.”

“Are you getting anything now?” I asked. “And how did Angel get it without a link to you?”

“You’re second question is easy,” Max said. “I sent a beetle with Angel. After René Silvers gave Angel a comm, I linked to that, too.” He paused. “For your first question—I’m trying to make contact—” He paused. “I may be getting something, just the barest signal. Like a ghost.”

I shivered, though the night was warm. “The ghost of my EI?”

“An intriguing thought,” Max said. “I’m investigating.”

I gazed at the lights across the site, too far away for the crew there to hear us. They weren’t that far from the bistro where Ruzik had spent the afternoon. I turned back to him. “Did you see anything today that seemed odd?”

“Nothing.” He watched the crew working under the lights. “They weren’t set up over there earlier. They were working here.”

“Yah,” Angel said. “Most of today I helped the bots cleaning up here.” She snorted. “Bots slow. I lift, carry faster.”

I was getting used to her pastiche of our dialect and Flag. “Bots have safety routines that slow them in regions deemed unstable. You should follow their lead. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She nodded, acknowledging my words, which didn’t necessarily mean she accepted them, but she’d at least heard.

“Bhaaj, I think I’ve made contact with your ghost,” Max said.

A familiar voice ragged with static answered. “My greetings, Bhaaj.”

“Highcloud!” I gulped in a breath. “You’re alive.”

“Barely . . .”

“How much of you is here?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice.

No answer.

“Highcloud?” I asked.

Static scratched, not even enough for words, and then faded away.

“Max, can you get Highcloud back?” I asked. “Maybe you can recover whatever survived in the dust. If enough remains, you could rebuild the EI. Blend it with the older version at the townhouse.”

“I’m trying to download what I can from the dust here,” he said. “It’s difficult. Not much remains of the tech-mech that contained Highcloud’s brain. Angel probably heard more because more of it was out here earlier today. I can barely make a connection.”

I turned to Angel. “What happened to all the debris you cleared away?”

“We put in trucks,” she said. “They leave.”

“Max, can you locate where the trucks dumped the debris?”

“One moment,” Max said.

“Evan Majors lucky he here,” Angel said. “You not find High Fluff. You find Evan.”

“That boy just happened to be near Highcloud’s remains,” Ruzik said. “Coincidence?”

Good point. “Max, can you find where Evan Majors lived relative to me in the co-op?”

After a pause, Max said, “He lived on floor nineteen, not directly below you, but close.”

I gave a whistle. “Could the bomb have been set for him?”

“Perhaps.” Max paused. “He was lucky. At the time of the explosion, he was under the mesh console with Highcloud’s brain. It isn’t coincidence you found him. I suspect you would have located whoever stood there, if anyone.” After a moment, he added, “Assuming they survived.”

I thought of my conversation with his father. “Is Ambassador Majors a Tech?”

“He’s a Modernist,” Max said. “So is his son, Evan.”

“Huh.” Although I’d have expected Evan to go Tech, given his background, nothing required anyone to pick any party. Most people registered with one, but you could vote however you wanted regardless of whether or not you registered. When I felt civically minded, I registered as a Tech, but I often forgot to renew my membership. So most of the time, I wasn’t anything.

“What about the people who died in the explosion?” I asked. “Are they Techs?”

“A little less than half,” Max said. “Quite a few Mods, too, and a few unregistered. Three of the fatalities were Progs, one was a Royalist, and one Trad.”

“So the whole spectrum.” It didn’t surprise me a building with so many university students had more Progs than Royalists or Trads. “The assassins seem to be targeting tech geniuses rather than people with any particular political leaning.”

“It does suggest the motive goes beyond political.” Max then added, “I’ve located the dump site with the debris. If I’m going to recover anything from the remains, we need to go now, before they start recycling it. I can’t do it from here; if any part of Highcloud ended up there, the signal is too weak for me to detect.” Before I could respond, he added, “Have Angel and Ruzik take me to the recycling center. You go home and sleep. Tomorrow you have to speak to the reps for Progs, Mods, and Trads. You also have a meeting with Colonel Majda.”

I doubted I could sleep, but he was right, I should try. I unfastened the gauntlet on my right arm and handed it to Angel. “Take Max. He’ll give you directions.”

Angel looked at the gauntlet, then at me. “I take Max? You need.”

I lifted my left arm, with its gauntlet. “Max.”

“I’m here,” Max said from Angel’s gauntlet. “And here,” he added, from mine.

“Eh.” Angel blinked, then fastened the gauntlet onto her right arm and nodded with respect. She understood. Lending her my gauntlet ranked on the same level as telling her my personal name: an expression of great trust.

“The two of you can probably reach the debris without anyone stopping you,” I said. “Garbage dumps don’t have much security. If anyone does ask you what you’re doing, tell them—” I stopped, not sure of the best story.

“We say child here lost toy. Child cries. No one finds. So we look in dump.”

“Yah,” Angel murmured. “Happen a lot today. Many cry.”

I nodded, feeing subdued. “Yah. Good.”

We headed out then, looking for fallen clouds and sleep.


I didn’t realize, before I met the Prog rep, that I’d formed a subconscious picture of him. I expected someone who acted quirky, abrasive, radical, or aggressive. Gig Bayer, the soft-spoken young artist who met me at the Selei City Concert Hall, fit absolutely none of my preconceptions.

“I hope this place is all right.” He motioned at the spacious lobby that formed the first floor of the Concert Hall. We were sitting in a secluded corner with holo-paintings of dancers glowing in front of the walls. “I couldn’t leave the hall. I only get forty-five minutes off from rehearsal.” He spoke wryly. “My duties as a political spokesperson don’t endear me to the higher-ups in the dance company. They don’t want the ballet associated with any one party. So I try to be as discreet as possible with my duties at the Prog speaker.”

“It’s fine.” I’d always loved the concert hall, a building dedicated solely to producing art, including the Selei City Orchestra, the Metropolitan Choir, and Gig’s calling, the Parthonia Ballet. The galleries here, like this small one, displayed exhibits by renowned artists, their work celebrating the best in humanity.

Few people understood when I said this place reminded me of the Undercity. To me, both offered the love of art in all its forms. I’d seen works of genius by Undercity artists, heard music unmatched anywhere else, admired tapestries beyond even what the Majdas owned, seen dust sculptures that would put the best sculptors to shame. I was helping our artists become known, but it was a struggle. So far, we’d only managed to get licenses for several to sell their work on the Concourse above the Undercity. Of course the slicks who sold fake goods protested when genuine Undercity vendors showed up. They made money off the novelty, selling marginal goods from our notorious “slum” because supposedly we couldn’t do it ourselves. When my people turned up and showed their true artistic brilliance, the city slicks balked. Their stuff paled in comparison to the real thing. Even so. We’d made headway. I dreamed that someday I’d see an Undercity artist featured here, in a gallery of the concert hall.

Gig and I sat on a smooth, curved bench by the wall. I indicated a holo-painting of three dancers, two women and a man sailing through the air, their arms and legs outstretched in leaps with lines so perfect, they looked sculpted. The holo moved, the dancers landing in slow motion and turning in perfect synchrony. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Gig nodded, looking self-conscious. “That’s right. The artist based these holo-paintings on several shows we did on the world Foreshire’s Hold.”

“It’s beautiful.” I considered him. “I have to confess, I didn’t expect the spokesman for a political party to be a ballet dancer.”

“Ah, well.” He smiled. “I’m used to being on stage.”

“Is that how you got the nickname Gig?” According to his bio, his personal name was actually Grigory. “Because you do dance gigs?”

“Not exactly. A gig is a music thing. I used to play morph-guitar in a band, before I tried out for the Parthonia Ballet. I don’t have time to do the band anymore, but the nickname stuck.”

“Dance always seemed a silent art to me,” I mused. “I mean, not the music. I love that part. But the dancer almost never speaks. Your art is movement.”

“It’s true, as dancers we often find our voice through motion.” His face relaxed into a smile. “Public speaking doesn’t bother me, though. It seems easier. You don’t have to be as perfect or spend hours a day working on your technique.” He motioned at the holo-paintings. “You should come to one of our shows. We’re in residence at the concert hall right now.”

“I’d love to.” I enjoyed dance, not only because I found it beautiful, but also because it made more sense to me than abstract art. Modern paintings often left me going Huh? “My EI said you wanted to talk to me about the technocrat case.”

Anger flashed across his expressive face. “All this business about how the Progressive Party set up the killings and framed the Royalists is a lie.” His gaze turned wary. “You’re former military, right? I looked up your record after I saw you on that holocast.”

So much for my low profile. “That’s right. I retired as a major in the Pharaoh’s Army.”

“To say Imperial Space Command distrusts the Progressives,” he told me, “is like saying a few important people live in Selei City.”

“I don’t know if distrust is the right word.” I spoke carefully, aware of the unstable ground we’d reached. Some ISC officers considered the Progressives barely a step up from the devil. “Leery, maybe. They aren’t comfortable with any group that seeks to upset the status quo.”

He snorted. “They think we’re a bunch of radical troublemakers. Sometimes the Trads plant agitators at our rallies so we’ll get blamed for the violence.”

I’d wondered about that myself. “If you have proof, you could discredit the Trads.”

“Sure, right.” He spoke tightly. “We have given the media proof. News about violence always gets more play. People don’t remember—or don’t want to remember—something they hear after the fact, that the agitators weren’t really Progs. That claim from the Royalists that we tried to set them up got way more news time than our denial.”

He had a point. I’d seen the clip of Spokeswoman Akarad making the accusation far more than Gig’s response. At the time, I hadn’t believed Akarad’s accusations for exactly the reasons Gig described. With a lead pointing toward the Templars, however, I needed to tread carefully.

I started with his comment about my military background. “You believe ISC links to this?”

“The military has a vested interest in seeing our party discredited.” He regarded me steadily. “And you’re army.”

For flaming sake. First Chief Hadar accused me of bias or worse because of my Majda link. Lady Akarad didn’t even try to hide her belief I was inferior due to my Undercity background. Councilor Knam and the Trads had me followed because who the hell knew why. Half the people I worked with considered me a publicity hog instead of a bona fide investigator because of that blasted news holo. And someone kept messing with my EI, not to mention trying to drop balconies on me. Now the Progs thought I had ulterior motives because of my military background. Was there any person on this planet who actually believed I had just come here to do my job?

“That’s bullshit.” I stopped myself before I said any more. I didn’t want to make Chief Hadar right in his suggestion that my style would antagonize people in this case.

“My apologies,” Gig said. He even sounded genuine. “I don’t mean to offend.”

I took a moment to let my pulse calm. “Spokesman Bayer, I understand your concerns. I’ve had similar said to me by people in authority, the Majdas in fact.” I stopped, considering, then plunged ahead. “I grew up in a place called the Undercity on Raylicon. Are you familiar with it?”

“Only vaguely. I don’t know anything about the place.”

“People consider it one of the worst slums in the Imperialate.” Anger edged my voice. “Many consider us subhuman. They call us dust rats.” I took a moment and then spoke more evenly. “To us, our home is unique and treasured, with incredible beauty. But it’s true, we also struggle with crime and poverty.” I took a breath. “Vaj Majda once told me that I was the nightmare of any leader who dealt with a disenfranchised population. Why? Because I made it out of the Undercity, then returned and took on a leadership role. The success story who came home with the tools to upset the status quo. I’ve never intended to rile up anyone; I just want better lives for my people. But I make those in power uneasy when I seek change. So yes, I know how you feel.”

Gig stared at me. “You know the General of the Pharaoh’s Army?”

That’s all he got out of my story? Then again, it was a pretty big deal. “I’m on retainer to the House of Majda. They hired me to investigate this case.”

“Even though you come from one of the worst places to live in the Imperialate?”

I regarded him dourly. “‘Worst’ is a subjective word. But yes, most people who don’t live there consider that true.”

“Yet the Majdas hired you. The most powerful family alive after the Ruby Dynasty.”

“I get their cases solved. They also need someone who can go anywhere, even the Undercity.”

“Goddess.” He shook his head. “That’s amazing. You must be incredibly good at your job.”

Well, that was refreshing, to have someone make a positive comment. “Thanks.”

“So you’re here to prove the Royalists have nothing to do with the technocrat case?”

Oh, well. So much for making progress. “No, I’m here to do my job. Do I believe the Progs are trying to frame the Royalists? Hell if I know. Why should I not believe the Progs are involved?”

His gaze never wavered. “Because we didn’t do it. Because those murders and the bombing are vile, stupid acts and we are neither vile nor stupid people. Because no evidence supports that accusation. Because we don’t use violence. You need more reasons?”

I spoke more quietly. “No. I’m aware of all those.”

“And yet you still think we might have some involvement?”

I spoke carefully. “What do you know about the Templars?”

His forehead creased with puzzlement. “Their members help raise money for us. I can’t imagine they have a link to this. They certainly have no interest in violence.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Don’t you know the origins of their name? It’s from an Earth group, the Knights Templar. They formed as an elite fighting force during religious wars over a thousand years ago.”

He shrugged. “It’s not the same. Yes, our Templars ‘fight,’ but not armed combat. They’ve taken the battle to improve the status quo to the meshes and corporations.”

I thought of the history I’d browsed last night, trying to understand this latest clue. “They have a nonsecular component, though, don’t they? That’s why they chose the name, because it implies they fight in support of a religion. Except they worship the ancient pantheon of goddesses and gods from the Ruby Empire.” It offered a reason they might target Techs. Adherents to the Ruby pantheon believed science sought to replace the ancient codices with heretical explanations for natural phenomenon.

“In this day and age?” Gig laughed. “Of course they don’t fight for an ancient mythology. The Templars aren’t all Progs anymore, either. Some are New Techs.”

That was a twist. From what I understood, New Techs referred to young entrepreneurs with highly successful start-ups who supported the Tech Party. Did they seek to manipulate the markets with these killings to benefit their corporations? It was an ugly idea, but not without precedent.

Gig was watching me closely. “The Templars have no ill will toward scientists or techs.”

I chose my words with care. “They have come up as persons of interest.”

His look turned incredulous. “You think the Templars committed the killings in the name of a religion that fell out of use thousands of years ago?”

“I’m not making any assumptions.” I wondered more about Trads, given how much they hated the Progs. They hated the Templars a little less since that group had once looked askance at technology. From what Gig said, though, that had changed.

Max, I thought. Can you get me more info on the New Techs and their relation to the Progs?

Will do.

I considered Gig. “So you’re saying the Progs don’t have a fringe edge?”

He spoke wryly. “Our entire party is considered fringe. Given our insistence on nonviolent protest, though, we don’t tend to attract violent types. They find us annoying. Sure, we have outliers, but we’re the smallest party, so just by numbers, we don’t have as many as other parties.”

“I thought your numbers passed the Trads in recent years.”

Gig shrugged. “It fluctuates. Overall, we’re gaining. We get a lot of young people, college kids, innovators. Some can be hotheads. But assassinating prominent scientists? No way.”

I thought of the attacks on Max. “Have you had problems with disruptions to your meshes?”

He looked taken aback. “Do you mean me, or the party more generally?”

“Either.”

“As far as I know, nothing with the party. Have I had problems? I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” He spoke awkwardly. “I thought a cybernetic cyclist was following me a few days ago. Then that stopped. It was probably nothing.”

Ho! Max thought.

When did you start using slang? To Gig, I said, “What do you mean?” I spoke as if it were a mildly interesting factoid he’d just dropped, instead of a bombshell. “How do you know they were cybernetic? Did you see them?”

“Not well. I caught glimpses through the trees when I was walking through the woods around this concert hall. It looked like their body was part cycle.” His face reddened. “Probably someone just went for a ride and I saw something that wasn’t there.”

Human slang is a useful short hand, Max said. Ask him about the appearance of the cyclist. The one that followed you had a gray-and-blue cycle.

“Did you see any colors on the cycle?” I asked Gig.

“Silver, like chrome. And blue, not clothes, but also like chrome.”

I wondered about the timeline for our experiences. The cyclist had followed me two days ago, in the evening. “When did it happen?”

“Three days ago, around dinner time.” He hesitated. “You think someone did follow me?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look into it.”

Interesting, Max thought. It happened before you arrived on Parthonia.

Have you identified the cyclist?

Possibly a name, if it’s the mountain biker. Kav Dalken. However, he doesn’t have anywhere near the financial resources needed to change his body as we saw. Also, he identifies as male. He species the pronouns he and him. The cyclist looked female.

Maybe he changed his mind about his gender. See what you can find out. To Gig, I said, “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate your honesty.”

He smiled. “You seem like a fascinating person, Major. I hope you do come to one of our performances. Stop by backstage after the show. I’ll introduce you around.”

“Thank you.” I hoped I could take him up on the offer. “I appreciate that.”

He’d given me a lot to think about.


The café where Lavinda and I met looked the same as yesterday, the last time we came here to talk. I arrived first and chose a secluded table hidden among the trees with their yellow and white bell blossoms. Not only was no one else around, but the tables in this area stood so far apart, I could barely see others through the foliage.

Max? I thought. Any suggestions for how I approach this discussion?

Nothing. I’ve already said too much. Please don’t implicate me.

I’ll be careful. I looked over my gauntlets, both of them. This morning Angel had returned the one I lent her. Any success with rebuilding Highcloud?

The microdust we found at the dump last night is scrambled and fragmented. I’m doing my best, but it will take a while.

All right. And thanks for working so hard on it. I know Highcloud isn’t your favorite EI.

I have no reaction toward Highcloud. After a pause, he added, I admit, I don’t always find our interactions positive. However, I would regret being unable to pursue those differences with the real Highcloud, the unit I grew up with while you lived here.

That he “grew up” with. Interesting. Maybe he had daddy issues with Highcloud. Mommy issues? What were the issues when your elder didn’t have a sex? That subject would have to wait for another time. Lavinda was walking toward the table, dressed like a civilian in a pale blue tunic and trousers that ruffled in the breeze. I lifted my hand and she nodded her greeting.

“Any news on the case?” she asked as she took her seat.

“Some. I’m leaning away from Royalists or the main Progressive Party as the perpetrators.”

“What about the Templars?” She regarded me from across the table. “The lead pointed straight at them.”

“Yah. It does. And many of them are extraordinarily rich. Could they be trying to manipulate the markets and blame it on someone else, like the Royalists or the Traders?” The idea, as much as it bothered me, wouldn’t stop tugging at my mind. “No matter how you look at it—whether they committed the crimes to game the market or just benefited from someone else’s actions—they’ve done phenomenally well from the economic volatility caused by the violence.”

She gave me a sour look. “So has the House of Majda. You think we’re involved in this crime spree?”

Ouch. I’d better get out of this one, and fast. “No, of course not. No clues point to Majda.”

“What about this lead pointing to the Templers?”

I waited as a server placed our kava on the table, along with two mugs. After she left, I said, “I’m not sure. The rep for the Progressives claims the Templars have links with the New Techs.” I poured kava for both Lavinda and myself. “Max and I looked it up. The Templars not only welcome New Techs, they actively recruit them. So why would they murder the same people they want to attract?” I took a swallow of kava. Ah, yes, that was good, rich and strong, just hot enough to give me a jolt. “I told Chief Hadar. His people are looking into it.”

Lavinda sipped her kava. “Do you have any other suspects?”

“Actually, I wondered about the Trads.”

“Why? The Trads like the Royalists better than they like any other party.”

“They also have the most to gain if people turn from the Royalists.” I set down my mug. “Why would the Progs set up the Royalists? If people turn from the Royalists, they are far more likely to go with the Trads than the Progs.”

“The accusation about the Progs is circumstantial, though,” Lavinda said. “Or have you found evidence?”

I grimaced. “This case continues to have a remarkable lack of reliable evidence.”

She spoke quietly. “Except the dead bodies.”

“Yah,” I said softly. “Except that.”

She regarded me with concern. “How are you doing? It’s only been a day since you lost your home.”

“I’m fine.” Realizing I’d just given her my stock answer to any inquiry about my health, even when I was bleeding to death, I added, “I appreciate the townhouse that your family provided. I don’t know where I would have gone otherwise.”

“We had actually planned to offer it to you before we knew you still kept a place here.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. So I changed the subject. “What do you know about Councilor Patina Knam?”

“Knam? I’ve seen her in Assembly.” She thought for a moment. “We both attended a reception at the Sunrise Palace last year held by the Ruby Dynasty to honor Ambassador Majors when he arrived from Metropoli.”

Ho! Coincidence? “Ambassador Majors’ son is apparently a tech-mech genius. I wonder if that reception is how the assassins found out about him.” Another reason they might have chosen the co-op for the bomb.

“What makes you think Councilor Knam is involved?” Lavinda asked.

“She sent a PI to spy on me. Eja Werling. And two agents who tried to look like school kids at the starport. The PI was so clumsy, Angel and Ruzik caught her. I made those two ‘kids’ within a few minutes.” I thought about what I’d just said. “That doesn’t fit with the technocrat assassins. They know what they’re doing.” To put it mildly.

“Knam is about as traditional as they come,” Lavinda said. “She always goes by the book. I can’t imagine her even jaywalking, let alone being involved with a case like this one.”

Yet Angel and Ruzik had run into the Trads at Greyjan’s tavern. “Councilor Knam knows something about this case, I’d bet on it.”

“You think Trads might be setting up the Progs by making it look like the Progs set up the Traders who set up Royalists?” Lavinda gave me a look that translated into Seriously?

I gave a wry laugh. “Yah, it’s convoluted. I’m meeting the Trad spokeswoman later today. That ought to prove interesting.”

“I’ll see if I can dig up anything useful about Councilor Knam.”

I spoke with care. “How about the other situation we discussed? Are you making headway on figuring out what you found at that space station?”

“Nothing.” She sounded frustrated. “Absolutely nothing. It’s as if it disappeared.”

Something existed, but whether or not it originated at the space station was another question. Given all the mistakes the baby EI made with its clever ideas, I wouldn’t be surprised if it figured out how to jump into space, then got trapped on the space station. A starship crossed interstellar distances by making its speed complex, with an imaginary component. In special relativity, that circumvented the problems with the speed of light. Using complex speeds allowed ships to “go around” light speed like a cyclist riding around an infinitely high pole that blocked their path, but it meant the traveler had to enter a complex universe. An EI couldn’t do it alone. However, if it hid in the mesh of a starship, it could go wherever the ship went. And if that included an ancient station full of alien tech floating out in space? Yah, that would be a toy worth exploring. It probably didn’t realize until too late that it had ridden a military ship out to its new playground.

“Bhaaj, where are you?” Lavinda asked.

“I was thinking about EIs.” I took a careful swallow of kava. “When Pharaoh Dyhianna fought Oblivion, two giant EIs helped her. One was the Lock on Raylicon, an ancient mechanism built by our ancestors. The other was the city Izu Yaxlan, a conglomeration of all the EIs from our ancestors who lived on Raylicon before the fall of the Ruby Empire.”

Her face took on a shuttered look. “The Pharaoh is the Assembly Key. The Key to the mesh. Her specialty is dealing with the interstellar meshes and how they relate to the Assembly.”

That was certainly evasive. “I just wondered about those two EIs she worked with. Maybe the new one you all found is similar.”

“I don’t think so.” Her voice had become so guarded, I could practically see padlocks.

“I’ve always assumed humans created those EIs,” I said. “But the EI in the Lock on Raylicon didn’t feel that way.” I actually had no way to quantify how “human” felt, but this let me introduce the matter without implicating Max.

She paused. “We believe humans designed the Lock and Izu Yaxlan EIs.”

I wondered at her hesitation. “Is it possible something else created the Lock?”

Lavinda went so still, she looked like a statue. “I wouldn’t know.”

I recognized her tells. She wanted me to shut up. I couldn’t back down, though. “If I’m going to help with this new EI, I have a need to know.”

She watched me for a long moment. Finally she said, “You understand you cannot reveal anything I tell you to anyone. It would be treason to do so, Major.”

“I understand.”

She took a breath. After a moment, she said, “Three Locks actually exist, one on Raylicon and two others we found on ancient space stations. Although we think our ancestors built them during the Ruby Empire, we aren’t sure. Another race may have created them. We don’t understand a lot of that ancient science.” Dryly she said, “Our ancestors didn’t, either. It’s probably why the Ruby Empire fell after only a few hundred years.”

Three Locks? No wonder Max had suggested I ask her. “Can’t the Locks tell you?”

“They don’t talk to us. Only to their Keys, the Ruby Pharaoh and the Imperator. From what I gather, the Locks don’t talk to them much, either, at least not in words.”

I tried to fit this new information into my view of our existence. “What do they think about the origins of the Locks?”

Her face took on the inward look she had when she talked to Raja, her EI. Then she focused on me again. “I have no record of them talking about it.” When I opened my mouth to protest, she held up her hand. “I’m not putting you off. I really don’t know. I can tell you this: we think the Locks evolved on their own during the millennia of their separation from humanity. They interact with us and access Kyle space for their Keys—the Pharoah and Imperator—but we don’t know what else, if anything, they do.”

“They must have done something all those thousands of years they existed.”

“They slept. They seem quiescent most of the time.”

A chill walked up my back. “Like Oblivion.”

Not like Oblivion. The only similarity is that we didn’t create the Locks. Someone did, either our ancestors or another race of beings we don’t know.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what the Locks might do if they ever fully wake up?”

“The Pharaoh trusts the Locks. I trust the Pharaoh.”

That put one hell of a lot on the judgment of one person. “We ought to turn them off.”

“That would be akin to murder.” She met my gaze. “Also, without them, interstellar civilization as we know it wouldn’t exist.”

Murder? I’d feel that way if someone destroyed Max. I did feel that way about Highcloud. I wasn’t so sure about interstellar civilization. “The Traders have an empire larger than ours and they have no access to Kyle space. They send messages from system to system using starships.”

She spoke dourly. “They steal time on our Kyle mesh. Not much, which is why our communication goes faster than theirs, but their army is also bigger than ours. Better armed. If we lose the advantage of speed we get from the Kyle, we’re done. They’ll conquer us.”

I had no desire to live in a nightmare created by the Aristos who ruled the Trader empire. Unbidden, a memory rose in my mind, one I’d have preferred to banish forever. Fifteen years ago, I’d served on a covert mission to a border world of the Trader empire. Several of its citizens had contacted ISC, asking for help to escape the planet. They’d become too outspoken in their challenge to Aristo authority and feared for their lives. They were right. The Traders didn’t know we were there when they came to make the agitators pay for their resistance.

They incinerated the entire human settlement on the planet.

I’d been among the soldiers preparing to bring out the agitators. Instead, we snuck down hoping to find survivors. I’d never forget that day we walked through the ashes of a once-thriving metropolis where nearly a million people had lived. Nothing remained. Gone. All of it. The Aristos who owned the planet had massacred every last person as a lesson to would-be freedom fighters. Later on newscasts, they crowed about how their valiant troops had protected the empire from the vicious attacks of rebels. It was so far from anything resembling the truth, I got ill and wretched.

“I understand,” I said. “But don’t you worry that a Lock could turn into another Oblivion?”

Lavinda sighed. “I suppose subconsciously we all do. But here’s the thing. In the many thousands of years the Locks have existed, they have never once acted against humanity. They serve our interests when they work with us and otherwise sleep, at least relative to us. I’m not sure we could turn them off even if we wanted to. We don’t know how. They don’t just exist in space-time, their intelligence extends into Kyle space.”

Could the child EI be an incipient Lock? If the three ancient Locks acted on behalf of humanity, it gave me more reason to hope this new EI might as well.

“Does the new EI you found resemble the Lock?” I asked.

“Goddess only knows.” Lavinda made a frustrated noise. “It’s hiding from us.”

That sounded like the child EI. I wanted to say more, but I’d given Max my word. Just as Lavinda trusted the Pharaoh about the Locks, so I would trust Max about his adopted child. If that could truly make a difference in how this EI viewed the human race, I had to give Max more time.

I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake.


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Framed