‘No need.’ Sunadomari’s eyelid gave the faintest of flickers. ‘Just wondering if we had mutual acquaintances. Please have a pleasant trip home.’
‘Thank you.’
Roger followed his parents, knowing they would have seen what he had: Sunadomari accessing private logs while talking to Dad, using peacekeeper privileges. Checking Dad’s story, and fast-viewing the meeting logs.
This might have been worrying, but as they walked on he could hear the superintendent having a similar conversation with a newly arrived couple, asking about some other acquaintance they might have in common. At certain levels of commerce and society, connected-world thinking applied: on Fulgor, you were rarely more than three ‘handshakes’ removed from any chosen person.
Their descent through the shaft of Barleysugar Spiral was slow and steady: the capsule lightly scented with roses and playing soft baroque music; their conversation apparently free - wondering what the peacekeepers were up to, and whether there had been a reason for Sunadomari’s particular questions. But their choice of words and tonality - and visual expression - formed an elegant masterpiece of subterfuge, every nuance designed to convince watchers of their innocence.
Roger’s inward preoccupation would appear natural, he hoped; but no one would guess what he was thinking of: strange half-seen dreams, soundbites from odd conversations, all involving people he knew closely, yet whose names were lost to him.
Maybe I’m turning psychotic.
It could happen, though he was careful in his choice of study methods. On Earth, Dad had told him, research on ‘logotropes’, a kind of viral alternative to Luculentus plexwebs, had caused disaster. Their most able designers had fled to the world of Nulapeiron, adopting new identities among the founding colonists, hoping to continue their work. It was one of the few pieces of covert intelligence Dad had shared - dated, but still secret - and it had been to discourage Roger from trying out certain new thoughtware for Fulgidi who were desperate to enhance their minds.
‘Mindhacks are dangerous,’ Dad had said. ‘Especially one designed for a different kind of neurophysiology.’
‘Meaning an ordinary human.’
‘You’re human enough for me, son.’
Now, in the descending capsule, they were chatting like normal folk; but it was an act, therefore underlining the difference between Roger and his college friends. They would be worrying about academic assignments, granting them an importance that seemed nonsensical to him. Even Alisha, who should find everything easy, seemed tense about her studies.
His tu-ring chimed, and he accepted the incoming call.
‘Hello, Alisha,’ he said.
Dad raised an eyebrow, clearly visible beyond the virtual head-and-shoulders image of Alisha in Roger’s smartlenses. So Roger had just been thinking of her. It wasn’t as though he thought about her all the time, was it?
Was it?
‘Roger, did you have a nice holiday?’
‘It was, um, relaxing. I guess.’ He switched to subvocalizing, as his parents smiled. ‘Is everything all right with you?’
‘I guess. I talked to the Luculenta woman, Rafaella Stargonier.’
‘Er . . . Right, the one Helsen needs as a guest speaker. How did that go?’
‘A bit weird. Wants me to demonstrate my knowledge of the subject. Show her some original research, which she’ll incorporate in the talk with full acknowledgement.’
‘That is weird.’
‘Actually, it’s the sort of mindgame Luculenti like to play, and it’s her real fee for making the effort to come visit in person.’
‘You so don’t need my help in researching anything.’
‘I do, even if it’s just someone to talk to. And it’s not just that. My father’s been acting odd, even asked about you. Er . . . I didn’t mean to say that, actually.’
‘So you don’t plan everything you say?’
‘Hardly. So, do you want to just go for a walk or something when you get back?’
In his mind’s eye, nothing to do with virtual holos, he saw himself holding hands with her.
‘Yes. Let’s do that.’
A feeling of lightness meant the capsule was slowing; or perhaps it was something to do with the promise of Alisha’s company.
‘And if you have any original thoughts on realspace hyperdimensions ’ - her image smiled - ‘I’ll make sure you get a mention, too.’
‘All right. Deal. Um . . . We’re just reaching ground level now.’
‘Then I’ll see you soon?’
‘Sure.’
‘Good.’
Her holo faded. Roger blinked at Dad.
‘Just someone I know,’ he said.
‘Right.’ Dad glanced at Mum. ‘You know my expertise is in diplomacy, don’t you?’
‘Er, sure, Dad.’
‘So just how is your love life, son?’
‘I—’
Mum laughed, and in a second so did Roger.
‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ he said.
Once on solid ground beneath a clear green sky, they called for separate aircabs: one for Mum and Dad to go straight home, the other for Roger to return directly to Lucis City. They hugged and made smart remarks before climbing into their respective vehicles.
Then Roger’s aircab ascended, giving him a nice view of the great braided quickglass mass of Barleysugar Spiral reaching straight up through the atmosphere. Seconds later, he was at altitude, speeding towards the city.
Original thoughts on hyperdimensions?
He pondered this.
Is that the way to your heart, Alisha Spalding?
If it was, then he, Roger Blackstone, had insights other people lacked. Because it was not only Pilots who traversed mu-space - there was one other realspace species who had that capability . . . plus they could manipulate realspace in a way impossible for Pilots. They were part of the reason that Pilots maintained an intelligence service.
There was a resource right here in Lucis City that could help Alisha, a research institute that was theoretically not secret, but whose lack of public interfaces meant it was hidden away as if invisible. It was only because Dad kept an occasional watch on the place that Roger knew of its existence, dedicated to studying the aliens who no longer kept an embassy on Fulgor, though they once had. At some point they simply stopped coming - removing trade competition for Pilots - for no reason that anyone knew. Well, perhaps intelligence services had secret information, but one thing that was public knowledge was the impenetrability of the aliens’ motives.
Zajinets were strange.
TWENTY-FOUR
EARTH, 2146 AD
There were going to be repercussions for bringing Sharp back to Earth. Rekka had known that since she first had the idea. In orbit around EM-0036, when the so-called pre-contact team assembled in the passenger hold, her colleagues were eager to meet Sharp - Mary Stelanko, as team leader, was the first to converse with him - but their raised eyebrows and wry faces were a clear signal. Everyone was used to interpreting dry regulations on the ground, in the messiness of real situations. They might be envious of Rekka’s work with Sharp; but they were glad they would not be facing the same bureaucratic grilling.
Luckily, this ship carried the new delta-bands instead of injecting anaesthetics. It took a few minutes to reconfigure a band for Sharp’s use. His neurology, while not even DNA-BASED, had emergent structural similarities to Terran evolution; and his species slept after a fashion: more like dolphins than humans, shutting down different parts of the brain at different times. It was Rekka who placed the band on his forehead beneath his antlers, as he lay back on a morphed couch big enough to hold him. His amber eyes narrowed to horizontal slits, then closed.