CHAPTER 16
A few hours later I was sitting in a holding cell, something that was becoming an all too regular occurrence. It was maybe ten feet by twelve, with a cot on one end and a latrine on the other. The toilet a built-in sink and water fountain like the ones in prison. There was a shower nozzle on the wall above a drain in the floor. A camera, surrounded by a protective bubble, was trained on me at all times. I could use the can or wash myself at my leisure, but I got no privacy.
The walls were eggshell-white ceramicrete and the door was reinforced metal. Most workplaces don’t include a brig in their floor plan, but a company like Ascension has different priorities. They took away my clothes and shoes, scanned me, searched me, and confiscated all my possessions. They even took my jacket and hat, the thieving bastards. At least they didn’t leave me naked; I was given a blue coverall, undergarments, socks, and a pair of shoes, all fresh from the fabricator.
I was in that cell for quite a while, nearly two weeks, I think. Every night (at least, I assume it was night, I didn’t have a window) the lights would dim, and they’d come back maybe eight hours later. A loud air circulation fan ran constantly. The white noise helped me sleep, but it also meant that I couldn’t hear anything from outside the cell. There was nothing for me to do, so I slept a lot, at first from exhaustion and then from boredom. There was a compartment in the wall that would open up every so often and supply me with rations to eat and, once, a fresh set of clothes identical to the ones I was wearing.
When they loaded us onto that aircraft, I figure their plan was to get us away from Cassandra, put a bullet in each of us, and toss our corpses into the volcano. The executioner never came, though, and neither did an interrogator. As a matter of fact I didn’t so much as see another human being the entire time I was in that cell. I called out sometimes, but no one answered. My cell seemed to be soundproofed.
I was being taken care of better than I had hoped, but it begged the question: why? After a while it started to wear on my nerves, and I wondered if that wasn’t the plan: keep me in that hole until I cracked, then milk me for information. I wasn’t sure if I believed Blanche Delacroix when she said that Carmichael’s dead bodyguard was an SIS asset, but he was obviously a mole who had been feeding them information. The only information he wouldn’t have had access to was the identity of the Baron, but Deitrik himself told me that they were already onto him.
What was the point, then? If they were trying to get me to talk, what did they think I knew that they hadn’t already figured out? If they weren’t trying to soften me up for interrogation, why were they keeping me alive at all?
More importantly, what had they done with Dagny? Was she okay? What was going on with the Seraph? I had no way of knowing and there was nothing I could do. I tried my best to keep calm and levelheaded. Whatever was going on, my situation wouldn’t improve by me losing my cool.
I didn’t get to see much of Site 471 on the way in, but I was able to learn a few things. Not much of the originally planned terraforming plant had been built when they discovered the Seraph and construction was halted after. As we were being escorted in from the landing pad, I caught a glimpse of a huge structure built into the base of the volcano. That was probably where the dig site was, where the Seraph was entombed. What little else I saw consisted of dozens of buildings connected by a tram system. The whole site was surrounded by twelve-foot walls, and there was a lot of security present.
Well into my second week in that cell, something new happened: the lights went out and I was plunged into darkness. It wasn’t the normal evening dimming of the lights; it was a power failure. Even the fan stopped turning. A few seconds later, a red emergency light came on, but the main lights and the fan stayed off. It was odd, because a place like that had to have emergency backup generators in addition to their main reactor. Why weren’t they activating? Whatever the reason, I sat in the dark for at least an hour before the power was restored.
A short while after that, the wall compartment that supplied me with my meals hissed and beeped, the little light on it turning green. It didn’t feel like it was mealtime yet, so it had me curious. I opened the door and slid out the tray. Instead of food it was a change of clothes, but not another coverall like the one I was wearing. It was a suit, charcoal gray, with a white shirt and a plain black tie. Included was a pair of synthetic leather shoes.
Curious, I lifted up the suit jacket. It was double breasted but unlined, and with plastic buttons. The material felt cheap and, like the coveralls, I could tell it was rapidly fabricated. What I didn’t know was why in the hell they were giving me a suit to wear, but I didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“Please get dressed, Mr. Novak,” a synthesized baritone voice ordered.
“Gah!” I exclaimed, every muscle in my body tensing up. I hadn’t heard a voice other than my own in over a week and it startled me. The voice emanated from the camera in the corner of my cell; seems it had a speaker on it, too. Setting the suit jacket on the bed, I walked over to the camera and looked up at it. “What’s this all about?”
“Please get dressed,” it repeated. The artificial voice was flat and dispassionate. “You will be having dinner with Mr. Taranis.”
“Wait, what?”
“You will be having dinner with Mr. Taranis,” the voice said again. “Please get dressed.”
“Why does he want to have dinner with me?” There was no answer. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I also hadn’t been out of my cell in days. If the old man wanted to talk, it couldn’t hurt to hear him out.
It only took me a couple minutes to change. They had scanned me when I was brought in so the suit fit pretty well. The door buzzed and slid open just as I finished buttoning the jacket. Two security men entered my cell, and it sounded like there were a couple more in the hall. They were wearing gray fatigues, body armor, and helmets, with their faces concealed behind polarized visors. Each was armed with a shock baton.
I backed away slowly, raising my hands. “I got dressed as fast as I could, fellas. It takes me a little longer to do a Windsor knot without a mirror.”
“Come with us,” one of the guards ordered. His voice was distorted by an electronic modulator. “We’re taking you to see Mr. Taranis.”
“Where’s Dagny?” I demanded.
The other guard held out his shock baton and hit the switch. It crackled loudly in the cell. “Be quiet and come with us.”
“Alright, alright,” I said. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Lead the way.”
I was marched out of the cell and into a corridor. The two guards with the shock batons fell in right behind me. Behind them were the other two, both armed with shotguns. There were four cells in total, two on each side of the corridor, with a security office at the end. Dagny and I had been separated after arriving and I didn’t see which cell they’d put her in, or if they’d taken her somewhere else. How many prisons did one corporate worksite need?
Past the security office was an indoor station for the tram system that interconnected Site 471. The cars were small, each having only eight seats, but there was enough room for me and my surly entourage. I was shoved to the back of the car and told to sit down. My escorts sat nearby and didn’t say anything as the tram left the station.
I looked out the window as the tramcar followed its track around the site. It wasn’t very fast, maybe twenty-five miles per hour, but the site wasn’t that big. The sun, dimmed by the black smoke rising angrily from Mount Gilead, hung low in the western sky. It was late afternoon, then. As we passed into the shadow of the mountain, I got a closer look at the huge structure at its base, the one I assumed they built to conceal the excavation site. It resembled a giant aircraft hangar, easily big enough to contain four football fields at once. There were large vehicle doors at its base and rock tailings piled into massive heaps behind. Heavy earthmoving equipment was parked nearby, currently idle. Had they dug it up completely, then?
The site was arranged in a large, uneven ring at the foot of Mount Gilead. The cone of the volcano marked the western end while a smaller, rocky plateau stood at the east. In the center was the landing pad, hangars, and a yard full of stacked cargo modules and parked vehicles. A single road led out of the site, to the south.
The plateau on the eastern end of the site was dwarfed by the volcano, but still appeared massive and imposing. It had to be a couple hundred feet high, with an elevator running up the rocky face of it, and more buildings at the top. The tram pulled into a station at the base of the plateau and came to a stop.
“This is where we get off,” one of the mooks escorting me said. “Move.”
I didn’t make a stink as they pushed me out of the tramcar. There was a security checkpoint at the tram station, manned by four more armed guards and a hulking, bipedal combat robot. It had digitigrade legs and walked like an eight-foot, armored chicken. Two stubby arms protruded from its main body, each equipped with a gun pod at the end.
Past the checkpoint, the five of us piled into the elevator. I was shoved into the back corner and told to face the wall. The elevator took only a few seconds to make the climb, and sounded a chime when we reached the top. The doors opened and the guards filed out, never taking their eyes off me, never giving me a chance to make a move.
From the elevator station there was an enclosed walkway with an arched, transparent roof. Snow was blowing in the cold wind outside, but the passage was maintained at room temperature. That’s when I first got a good look at the building on top of the plateau. It wasn’t just another utilitarian structure; it was a large, multistory house, surrounded by several smaller outbuildings and with a nearby landing pad. The house had been assembled from prefabricated sections, probably the only practical way to do it, given where it was built, but looked as nice as anything you’d see in Delta City. I guess when you’re an old trillionaire with more money than you can possibly spend in your remaining lifetime, you spare no expense for your own comfort.
The interior of the mansion was palatial. The floors were polished wood—real wood, from the look of it—covered by fancy rugs. Paintings and sculptures decorated the foyer and hallways, and it seemed that old Taranis had brought his personal housekeeping staff with him. I was led up one wide staircase then another, to the third floor. The quartet of security men marched me down the hall toward an ornate set of double doors.
There were three people waiting for us at the end of the hall. Two men, both wearing black suits, stood by the doors, one on each side. Their faces were concealed behind tinted smart glasses and filtration masks. They watched me in silence and regarded me wearily. Taranis’s personal bodyguards, I thought.
The third man stood in the middle of the hall, hands folded behind his back. He stepped forward as I approached. “Good evening, Mr. Novak,” he said, politely. He was a tall, slim fellow, maybe in his fifties, and he was a sight. He was dressed traditionally, in a waistcoat and vest, with pressed slacks and polished shoes. He was the baldest man I’d ever seen; he not only lacked hair on his head, he didn’t have eyebrows or eyelashes, either. “Thank you for joining us,” he said, stiffly. His breath had an antiseptic smell to it, like he’d just gargled a mouthful of cleaning solvent.
I glanced at the baton-wielding, armor-clad men on either side of me. “How could I say no to an invitation like this?”
He ignored my sarcasm and looked to the four men escorting me. “Thank you for fetching Mr. Novak, gentlemen. You are dismissed.” The guards nodded and left, and the man in the fancy coat turned his attention back to me. “I am Mr. Wainwright, Mr. Taranis’s majordomo. You are one of his dinner guests this evening. A member of my staff will show you to your seat momentarily. Drinks and appetizers will be served first, followed by the main course of the meal. When Mr. Taranis enters the room, you are to stand and remain standing until he has taken his seat. You may talk with the other guests but do not use inappropriate language. Do not address Mr. Taranis unless he addresses you first.”
“Okay . . .”
“I wasn’t finished,” he snipped. “At your seat, you will find a disposable filtration mask next to your napkin. If you feel the need to cough or sneeze, you must don the mask first. Under no circumstances are you to cough or sneeze without covering your face. After you have used the mask, a member of the staff will collect it from you and provide you with a replacement. Do you understand?”
Seemed like the old man suffered from mysophobia. “Sounds like a real fun party.”
“Dining with Mr. Taranis is an honor. There are many wealthy and powerful people on this planet who would kill for such an opportunity. It is in your best interest to be respectful. Now,” he said, turning toward the doors, “you may enter the dining room.” The heavy wooden doors quietly swung open. Wainwright stood aside and gestured for me to enter.
Beyond the double doors was a large, ornate dining room, with a roaring fireplace on one end and wide, floor-to-ceiling windows on the other. A half dozen more bodyguards in dark suits were posted along the walls. I couldn’t see their faces through the glasses and masks, but I could feel their eyes on me as I entered. A comically long dining table was positioned in front of the windows and was lit by two low-hanging chandeliers.
A servant approached me from the back of the room. He was a young man, dressed in a spiffy white jacket. His eyes were visible but, like the security men, a filtration mask covered his nose and mouth. The entire staff, except the majordomo, had their faces covered like that. “Right this way, sir. I’ll show you to your seat.” I followed him to the table. There were a handful of people already seated on either side, clustered near one end of the table, though the big chair at the head was still empty.
There were three men at the table, all of them facing me, but I didn’t recognize any of them. Blanche Delacroix was there, too, seated with her back to me, wearing an ugly gray pantsuit. I only realized it was her when she turned to speak to the woman next to her. The other woman wore a black dress and had her hair done up in a tight bun with two sticks shoved through it. She noticed me as the servant led me to the table, looking over her shoulder.
“Easy?”
“Dagny!” I said, heart suddenly racing.
She stood up, hurried over to me, and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Easy,” she said, “I’m so happy to see you.”
I held her tight. “I’m glad to see you too, beautiful,” I said, quietly. She was wearing a long, black dress with a slit that went up the leg. It looked good but felt like it was made of the same rapid fabrication material as my suit. “Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”
The servant cleared his throat to get our attention. “Sir, madam,” he said, “if you’ll both take your seats, we’re about to begin serving drinks.”
“Alright, alright,” I said, stepping back from Dagny’s embrace. “I’m getting hungry anyway.” The servant held the chair to the right of Blanche Delacroix as Dagny sat back down in it. He pulled out the chair to her right and indicated that that’s where I was supposed to sit but didn’t hold it for me as I sat down.
The table being situated by the windows made for a spectacular view from where I sat. Almost all of the site was visible from up there, including the giant structure covering the excavation site. The cinder cone of Mount Gilead stood like a smoldering monolith against the failing light.
I leaned over to Dagny as more servants appeared, pouring glasses of water and wine. “Have they been treating you alright?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Where were they keeping you?”
“In a prison cell.”
“This whole time?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“They put me in a dormitory near the dig site. It’s where Cassie’s quarters are.”
“That hardly seems fair,” I grumbled. “How come you got the luxury treatment and I got to sit in the cooler?”
“It was all Cassie’s doing. She demanded that she be able to see me, and they need her to cooperate, so they went along with it. I’m sorry, I couldn’t get them to let you out.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t sweat it. How’s your sister?”
“She’s . . . managing,” Dagny said, but didn’t elaborate further.
“You know what this little dinner party is all about?”
Blanch Delacroix leaned forward so that she could see me and spoke up before Dagny could answer. “Mr. Taranis simply wanted to meet you, Mr. Novak. He thinks you’re an interesting person and wants to meet the man who caused him so much trouble.”
“You know what?” I said. “I think I’d like to meet him, too.” I took a sip of my water.
The man across the table from me sipped his wine and leaned in closer. “I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance as well.” He looked to be about the same age as me, but had more of a slick, polished look to him, from his expensive suit to his neatly styled hair.
“And who might you be?” I asked.
“Leonard Steinbeck,” he said, with a smug grin. “I’m the Security Intelligence Service station chief for Nova Columbia. I’d like to sit down with you one of these days, go over a few things.”
I sat back in my chair, chuckling, and took another sip of water. “And here I was worried that this dinner party was going to be boring.”
His smile was impeccable but his eyes were hard. “It’s not like that,” Steinbeck said. “Oh! I’m being rude.” He indicated the man sitting directly to his right. That fellow was an older man with a wild shock of white hair sticking out of his head, bushy eyebrows, and an even bushier mustache. Instead of a suit jacket he wore a black-and-purple robe, kind of like the ones you get when you graduate from college. He looked like a wizard. “This is Professor Zephram Farseer, Distinguished Scholar of the Cosmic Ontological Foundation.”
The man with the crazy hair and silly robes bowed his head to me. “I am intrigued to have you among us.” Around his neck, in place of a tie, was an ornate amulet, several inches across, hanging from a gold chain. It was a golden disk with a triangular section cut out from the middle. Inside the triangle was a representation of an eye, the iris made up of a small black stone surrounded by a larger blue one. All around the triangle were four-pointed stars made from laser-cut diamond. This was the symbol of the Cosmic Ontological Foundation.
Steinbeck leaned farther forward so he could see around the space wizard, and held out a hand toward the man sitting closest to the head of the table. “And over there is Dr. Arjun Mao Sarkar, head of the Advanced Research Division for Ascension and lead scientist for Project Isaiah.”
The scientist looked over at me, gave me a curt nod, then went back to ignoring us. He was a stern-looking guy who didn’t seem any more excited to be at this party than I was. He clasped his gloved hands together and rested his elbows on the table, like he was brooding over something. His eyes were hidden behind a smart visor that plugged into neural links grafted to his head, just above his ears. The visor was tinted red and made him look angry. He had black hair and a matching black goatee.
“You’ll have to forgive Dr. Sarkar,” Steinbeck said. “He’s been working very long hours recently.”
Appetizers were served, an odd but tasty mix of hors d’oeuvres and sushi. Nobody said much and I got the impression that all the people at this table didn’t necessarily like one another. I had a lot of questions that I wanted to ask Dagny, but this wasn’t a good time. The food was better than anything I’d had in days, though, so I took the opportunity to stuff my face.
A set of doors behind the head of the table swung open and Wainwright, the majordomo, strode in. He touched a control on the big chair at the end of the table and it quietly slid back. He put his hands behind his back once more, then addressed the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the master of the house, the honorable Xavier Taranis.”
The cronies at the table all stood at once. Dagny did, too, leaving me as the only one seated. The majordomo loudly cleared his throat and shot me an angry glare, so I stood up. This seemed to please Wainwright, who stepped aside and bowed.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew what Xavier Taranis looked like, at least, what he used to look like. The only publicly available photographs of him were decades out of date. He became a recluse after his retirement and, from what I’d heard, hated having his picture taken.
Heralded by heavy, mechanical footsteps, he appeared in the doorway and entered the dining room. The 131-year-old man got around by way of a full-body, robotic exosuit, under which he wore a blue velvet jacket, white shirt, and a formal ascot. A clear plastic tube ran from under his collar to his nose, likely supplying him with additional oxygen. His face was wrinkled and aged, his skin covered in liver spots, and he only had a little gray hair left on top of his head. His eyes were sharp, though, piercing. It took me a second to realize they were prosthetics.
Taranis positioned his exosuit in front of his chair and gently lowered himself into it. The chair, a mechanical contraption built to accommodate his robotic frame, slid forward to the table. “Please, everyone,” he croaked, “take your seats.” As we all sat back down, the old man looked over at his majordomo. “Mr. Wainwright, we’ll be taking dinner now.”
“Of course, sir,” the majordomo said. He bowed and disappeared back through the double doors at the end of the room. Dinner was served promptly after, and it was probably the most expensive meal I’d ever had in my life. There was more food than the handful of us at the table could possibly eat: roast duck, filet mignon, and plenty of sides. Taranis himself only ate a little. A man his age can probably only take so much rich food, I thought.
I was told not to speak unless spoken to, so I didn’t say anything as I ate. Taranis made a little small talk with the people at the table but ignored Dagny and me. They didn’t discuss anything significant, and I got the distinct impression that everyone in the room was afraid of crossing the old man.
Everyone except the SIS man, that is. Steinbeck ran his mouth almost constantly, laughing at his own jokes, oblivious to the fact that the other guests weren’t interested in what he had to say. The old man seemed to like him, though, and they chatted about the politics of the Terran Confederation for a long time. Taranis’s wheezing voice started to give out after a little while, so he activated an amplifying voice modulator that allowed him to speak easily.
More drinks were poured after the remains of dinner were cleared away. Taranis surprised me by acknowledging my presence for the first time. “I hope you’ve been enjoying my hospitality, Detective,” he said. You could just barely hear his actual voice, little more than a whisper, over the one projected by the modulator. “I’ve been impressed by your work and am pleased to finally meet you face-to-face. Have you been well taken care of?”
I’d had about enough of this dinner party charade. All the expensive food on Nova Columbia didn’t change the fact that I was being held prisoner and that Dagny had watched her stepfather die just days before. I kept my cool, though. The only hope I had of finding a way out was to humor the dusty old mummy until an opportunity to escape presented itself. “The food was outstanding, of course. I, uh, don’t mean to complain, but have to say my accommodations are a little lacking.”
He laughed at that, and as soon as he did, so did everyone else at the table except Dagny. “That’s one of the things I want to discuss with you this evening. Your arrival here was unpleasant and contentious, I know, but I believe we can come to an understanding that benefits all of us.”
I smiled. I was at his mercy but would be damned if I gave him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated me. “An understanding, huh? I’ve watched two of your employees get murdered in the past few days, Dr. Ivery and Arthur Carmichael. I think you’re used to being able to buy whatever you want, including people. When you can’t, it offends you so much that you’re willing to kill over it. We just met, Mr. Taranis, but I think I understand you pretty well already.”
Everyone in the room was instantly silent. Dagny looked over at me, wide-eyed. “Easy,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. The other dinner guests shuffled uncomfortably. Taranis looked shockedfor a moment and didn’t say anything. He was clearly not used to being talked to like that. He stared me down and I stared right back. A few seconds later he laughed, showing a bright white set of perfect artificial teeth. His flunkies at the table nervously laughed along with him, except for Steinbeck, who was watching me intently. The color had drained out of Dagny’s face.
“Do you know how refreshing it is to have someone talk to me without fear or flattery?” Taranis asked. “The only other person at this table who will tell me what he truly thinks without censoring himself is Mr. Steinbeck. It’s an endearing quality to me.”
“I have a way of growing on people,” I said.
“Allow me to address your concerns, Detective. Mr. Carmichael’s death was not my intent. In fact, I had very strict instructions that all of you were to be brought back here unharmed. Arthur was a valuable member of this project for a long time and a dedicated employee of more than thirty years. I deeply regret his murder and I’m glad you dispatched the thug responsible. Rest assured, his daughters will receive his full pension and assets. As for Ocean . . .” Taranis said, his voice modulator lowering to a somber tone. “Her death was a tragedy. She was the most brilliant mind on Nova Columbia and her absence is sorely felt.” Dr. Sarkar, who had barely said a word this entire time, twitched at that comment but remained silent. Taranis continued, “It’s unconscionable, such a mighty intellect snuffed out by petty street criminals. Believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with that.”
He sounded so sincere that I almost wanted to believe he didn’t have that woman killed. Was he a master manipulator or did he really not order it? I noticed that when he said that he very briefly glanced over at Blanche Delacroix. Was she the one who was responsible?
Taranis continued, “From what I understand, you and Miss Carmichael both risked your lives trying to protect her. I thank you for your courageous efforts.”
He was shrewd, no doubt about it. I couldn’t get a read on him at all. Not surprising, considering he’d been practicing his word games for longer than I’ve been alive. “What’s this all about?” I asked. “Why are we here? What is it that you want from me?”
“I like this guy. He’s a straight shooter,” Steinbeck said to Taranis before turning to me. “The truth is we could use your help.”
“My help? What could I possibly help you with? More importantly, why should I?”
Taranis nodded at the SIS man. “Mr. Steinbeck, will you fill him in on the why, please?”
“Happy to,” Steinbeck said. He was a smooth talker, like a salesman or a con artist. I’d met the type before. “You see, Mr. Novak, you’re in a bit of a predicament here.”
“I figured as much when I was kidnapped at gunpoint and thrown in your private jail,” I said, flatly.
Steinbeck leaned in, elbows on the table, gesturing with his hands as he talked. “Trust me, you’re better off here than where you would have ended up otherwise. Your friend Deitrik Hauser? The Baron, as he likes to be called?” He made finger quotations when he said the word Baron. “He’s in SIS custody now. We’re going to ship him back to Earth to answer for his crimes.”
“Is that so?” I said. “What crimes are those?”
“Aiding and abetting a kidnapping, illegal misuse of Confederation property, abuse of his office, theft, and conspiracy to obtain and release classified information. If you’d been with him, you’d be looking at some pretty serious charges yourself. Kidnapping. Felony trespassing. Impersonating a Confederation officer. Theft of intellectual property. Illegal disclosure of classified information. Armed robbery. Shall I go on?”
I glared at him and didn’t say anything.
“However,” the SIS man continued, “I believe there to be some seriously extenuating circumstances in all of this. You were lied to and manipulated by a public servant, an adjunct inspector general of the Security Intelligence Service. You had every reason to believe what Mr. Hauser was telling you. His specialty used to be turning people into intelligence assets, knowingly or otherwise, and he was damned good at it. One of the best. Given your personal history with him, I can easily see how you’d have fallen for his game.”
I didn’t believe what Steinbeck was saying and I was pretty sure he knew it, but that wasn’t why he was giving me this spiel. He was offering me a way out in exchange for whatever it was he wanted, and this was the cover story he’d use.
He kept on. “Despite what he may have told you, his office didn’t grant him access to every classified program. Project Isaiah is sanctioned by the SIS and Ascencion Planetary Holdings Group is a trusted industry partner. The government of the Commonwealth of Nova Columbia knows as much as they need to know and they don’t have jurisdiction here.”
I didn’t bother bringing up the Conventions on the Discovery and Control of Alien Technology, Organisms, and Remains, which said otherwise. Hell, he could be telling the truth about that part—intelligence agencies always have ways of circumventing the letter of the law, and the secrecy they operate in allows them to get away with it. The legality of the matter was irrelevant at the moment.
“I’ll ask again,” I said, bluntly. “What is it that you want from me? What is the point of all this?”
Dr. Sarkar spoke up this time. “There’s no need to further mince words. Mr. Novak, Cassandra Carmichael insists on seeing you. We’re making incredible progress in studying the Seraph, but that progress is contingent on the bond it has formed with her.”
“At first she wished to have her sister with her,” Taranis said, “but now she is quite insistent on your company as well.”
“This was her way of making sure they kept up their end of the deal,” Dagny said to me.
So that’s why they hadn’t just put a bullet in me. Cassandra had a little bit of leverage over them and she was using it. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
Steinbeck looked at Taranis with a smug grin. “See? A real straight shooter, just like I said. No nonsense, right to the point.”
The old man tried to speak but had a coughing fit. An aide approached his seat but was waved off. “Please excuse me,” Taranis said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.” He looked at me. “Detective, I will be blunt with you if that is your preference. What Cassandra is doing is unprecedented. No human has ever had a direct neural link with an alien before, much less a life-form as incredible as the Seraph. There is so much we can learn from it.”
Professor Farseer piped up, interrupting Taranis. “We need to prove to it that we are worthy of its wisdom.” There was reverence in his voice.
“We need it to talk to us,” Dr. Sarkar said. “We can only glean so much from observation. At first it seemed content just to have someone to communicate with. When our test subject—”
“That’s my sister,” Dagny said, sharply, interrupting the scientist. “She’s not a test subject.”
“Yes, yes,” he replied, dismissively. “When Cassandra had to be hospitalized, the Seraph refused to communicate with anyone else. It will talk to her and her alone.”
“How do you know that it won’t talk to anyone else?” I asked.
“Because we tried,” the scientist said. “Several different individuals attempted the neural link and received no response. Instead it sent a message to our computer system demanding that we return Cassandra.”
“It was imperative that we got her back,” Taranis said.
“Let me guess. You keep it happy and it keeps talking?”
“Essentially, yes,” Dr. Sarkar said. “The Seraph has been requesting information from us just as we’ve been requesting information from it. After we resumed communications sessions with Cassandra Carmichael, everything was going smoothly until this afternoon.”
“You mean the power outage earlier? Is that why I’m here?”
“Yes,” the scientist said. “Our probes and sensors allow us to both send and receive information in binary code. Today it used that linkage to temporarily take over the Verdant-646 supercomputer that manages this facility and cut off the power supply from the reactor.”
“You gave it unlimited access to your network without isolating it?” I said. “That seems sloppy of you.”
Dr. Sarkar frowned. “Its access was limited to the database by a series of encryptions and firewalls. They didn’t work. The Seraph is capable of quantum computations beyond our understanding. A Verdant-646 is one of the most powerful supercomputers on the market and the Seraph overtook its AI on a whim. Encryption and firewalls mean nothing to it.”
“That’s something,” I said.
“Oh, there’s more,” Dr. Sarkar said. “After software isolation failed, we physically disabled the wireless network relays, completely cutting off its access to anything but the monitoring station. This will suffice for the time being, but real-time AI analysis of its signal output is crucial to our research, and for that we need the supercomputer.”
I chuckled. “Sounds like it’s got a temper. What did you do to piss it off?”
“Surely a being so ancient and unfathomable is beyond such petty primate impulses,” Farseer said.
“You sure about that, Professor?” I said. “Even God has wrath.”
“The incident earlier today was not the doing of the Seraph, not entirely,” Dr. Sarkar insisted. “It’s Cassandra. She’s been wanting to see you since you got her. As an experiment, we’ve been denying her request, to see if the Seraph would react or if she was bluffing. You saw how that went.”
I chuckled to myself, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s incredible,” the scientist continued. “She’s reached such a level of synchronicity with it that she was able to use its power for herself. Through it, she cut off the power to the facility until we acquiesced to her demands.”
Blanche Delacroix spoke up for the first time since the conversation began. “This is why I insisted upon the security systems being controlled on a separate network, Arjun. I told you this could happen from the moment it started accessing the Verdant-646.”
“Yes, Blanche, you were prescient,” Dr. Sarkar sneered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Thank you.”
“It does put us in a spot, doesn’t it?” Steinbeck said to me. “That’s why you’re here, Mr. Novak.”
I realized then that they were scared. They woke that thing up and now they weren’t sure they could control it. “What is it you want me to do, exactly? Tell the Seraph to simmer down? If it won’t listen to all of you, why would it listen to me?”
“The Seraph isn’t the one who needs to listen, Easy,” Dagny said, quietly. “It’s Cassie.”
I looked back at her. “What?”
“Miss Carmichael is correct,” Taranis said. “The issue here isn’t with the Seraph, but with Cassandra. She does not agree with how we’re handling the project, and we’re concerned that she may be attempting to influence it in a negative way.”
“ ‘We’?” I looked over at Dagny. “Are you in on this?”
“It’s not what you think,” she said, averting her gaze. She then looked me in the eye. “You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen. You haven’t seen it. This is bigger than us.”
Her answer hit me so hard it was worse than when the clanker kicked me in the guts. Was this a ploy, or had they really gotten to her? I shook my head. “I get it, now. You want me to help you keep Cassandra under control so you can keep milking the Seraph for information.”
“It’s not like that!” Dagny insisted.
“It’s not like that at all!” Farseer said. He was flustered and fidgeted with his gold amulet. “This is a test, don’t you see? Before the Seraph will impart its wisdom upon us, we must prove to it that we are more than ignorant, squabbling apes. It has chosen Cassandra as its Avatar for a reason. We must first prove our worth to her, one of our own kind, before we can prove our worth to a higher form of life.”
“That’s not how your avatar sees it,” I said. “She warned me that the Seraph is not, quote, a genie that grants wishes. She seemed to think that you all are screwing around with something you don’t understand. That’s how it looks to me, too, and you could be putting the whole damned colony in danger.”
I think they were surprised by how much I knew. “We have taken every reasonable precaution,” Taranis said. “Cassandra believes, or is being led to believe, that we should remove the second Spear. Doing so, she claims, will fully resurrect the Seraph and free it.”
“If that’s what it wants, why don’t you just do that? Maybe it’ll be more inclined to talk to you if you help it out?”
“Cassandra is suffering from moderate-to-severe psychological contamination,” Dr. Sarkar added. “You can’t take everything she says literally or at face value. We record her neural interface sessions with the Seraph and have both a team of scientists and the Verdant-656 AI analyzing the data we receive. Her subjective interpretation of the communications is only one factor that we must consider.”
“You went to a lot of trouble to get her back,” I said, “and you’re not even listening to her because she isn’t telling you what you want to hear.”
“It’s not that simple!” the scientist insisted. “This isn’t like you and I having a conversation. We’re dealing with a radically advanced and completely alien life-form that’s unlike anything we’ve ever encountered before. The data we get from it is often fragmented and disordered, sometimes contradictory. Its mind, if you want to call it that, is orders of magnitude more complex than ours. It thinks on a quantum level, and seems capable of dividing and its consciousness in a way that we don’t fully understand. We don’t even think it was really aware of us when we first started receiving signals from it.”
“Cassie said it was dreaming,” Dagny said, distantly. She gazed out the window and didn’t look at me.
“I think Cassandra has a better understanding of that thing than you’re giving her credit for. You didn’t hesitate to pull out the first Spear.”
“That was before we were aware that it was somehow still functional,” Taranis said. “We thought we were conducting an autopsy, but removing the Spear was the key to accessing its mind.”
“Then why not do what she says it wants and pull out the second one?”
“Because we have no idea what those Spears actually do, what they’re made of, or how they work,” Dr. Sarkar said. “For all we know, the Spear is the only thing sustaining it and pulling it out will kill it.”
“There could be other unforeseen consequences, Detective,” Taranis said. “This is why I am asking for your cooperation. Cassandra trusts you, just as she does Miss Carmichael. She will listen to the two of you. You help us convince her that we have her best interests, and the best interests of humanity, at heart.”
“Sure,” I said flatly. “What is it you hope to learn, exactly?” I asked. I’d heard the speculation of others but I wanted to see what Taranis would admit to.
Dr. Sarkar spoke up first. “We believe that the Seraph is powered by an internal vacuum-energy engine, and this is another reason we’re hesitant to remove the second Spear. If the Spear is interacting with or stabilizing the engine, there’s a possibility that removing it could upset that equilibrium and trigger a catastrophic resonance cascade.”
“A what?” That was a new one for me.
“That’s what we believe happened at Medusae Fossae,” Taranis said. “It was indeed catastrophic.”
“There are risks,” Dr Sarkar said, “but those risks can be mitigated by caution and further study. If we could learn how to construct a functional vacuum-energy engine, that in of itself would be the biggest technological breakthrough since the warp drive, the internal combustion engine, or maybe since the invention of agriculture. Unlimited energy, anywhere in the universe.”
“Think of what such an ancient and immense mind could teach us,” Professor Farseer said, wistfully. “It may be the key to unlocking the history of the cosmos, of understanding the true origins of life itself.”
“There are even greater possibilities,” Taranis said. “The Seraph is at least sixty-eight million years old, likely far older. It must be capable of nearly infinite self-rejuvenation.”
There it was. “So Arthur Carmichael was right,” I said, flatly. “You’re dying and you think that thing will grant you immortality.” I looked around to the others at the table. “That’s really what you’re all after, isn’t it?”
“Is that so wrong, Detective?” Taranis asked. “It’s no secret that I don’t have much time left. I have pursued the science as far as it will go, thrown billions of dollars into medical research, and I’ve exhausted the capabilities of modern medicine. For all of my efforts, all those years and all that money spent, death is still coming for me, as it does for us all. But . . . what if it doesn’t have to be this way? I have always believed that death itself is akin to a disease, a biological failing, nothing more. The Seraph’s very existence proves that it can be overcome. Don’t you see?”
I glanced over at Dagny. She was looking down at her lap and didn’t say anything. “I see, alright,” I said. “All this, all the violence, the deaths . . . it’s all because you’re afraid to die.”
“Everyone is afraid to die!” Taranis snapped. Raising his voice sent him into another coughing fit. After regaining his composure, he lowered his electronically enhanced voice to a more conversational tone. “Lives have been lost. I regret that, I truly do, but you must keep perspective. This has the potential to save not just my life, but every life. All of humanity stands to benefit. For the first time since our earliest evolutionary ancestors crawled out of the ocean, we have the opportunity to conquer death itself. There is no greater good one could hope to achieve. It must be pursued, no matter the cost.”
The old man took a few seconds to catch his breath. “I know how this must sound to you. I assure you I’m no madman. This truly is the single most important endeavor ever undertaken by the human species. We are close, so close, to achieving it. We’ve gotten such promising data. I don’t want anyone else to die, ever, and I’m asking for your help. You can be assured that you will be rewarded for your efforts. I can make you both very, very rich. If Project Isaiah is successful, I promise you that you will reap the full benefits of any breakthroughs it achieves.”
“Or,” Steinbeck said, “you can refuse. Your choice, but if I were you, I’d choose potential immortality over a long prison sentence. Make no mistake, if you’re not going to be useful here, then you are going to prison. You and Miss Carmichael both, actually, probably for fifty years.” He shot me a grin that made me want to knock his teeth out. “Maybe for life.”
Dagny looked me in the eye again. “Please, Easy . . . I don’t like it either, but it’s the only way.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. If I wasn’t useful for them I was nothing but a liability. I wasn’t even worried about going to prison—if they decided they didn’t need me I doubted I’d live long enough to ever see the inside of a cell. A choice like that is no choice at all. I sighed, heavily.
“Fine. I’ll do what you want,” I said.