“Drink?” the Agent asked. It was part of their ritual.
“What have you got?”
The Agent smiled and went over to the wall. A long block of granite swung out silently to reveal a brightly lit drinks cabinet. “Let’s see. We won’t bother with the Talotee wines, even though they’re all the rage. How about Impiricus-blue, a local copy, but in my humble opinion better than the original.”
“Hit me.”
The Agent made a show of pouring the thick purple liqueur into a chilled cut-crystal shot glass. “And one for me.” He returned to the desk and slid the shot glass over to Adam. “Salut.”
“Salut.” Adam drained it in a single gulp. A sensation like cold flame burned down his gullet. “Woho, boy,” he grunted, there were tears in his eyes. “Good stuff.” His voice was harsh, as if he’d come down with flu.
“I knew you’d like that. You have class, which most of my customers are sadly lacking. I deal with so many gangsters; bigger guns and nastier viruses are all they know. But you: I was most proud to see the names which came up in court after the attack on the Second Chance, knowing I had provided most of them. Now that was a truly stylish operation, conducted with verve. There are so few of those mounted these days.”
“The ship survived, though.”
“Alas, yes. But to have dreamed the dream is to have flown above the mountains so high in all but deed.”
“Keats?”
“Manby. So now, what can I do for you?” the Agent asked.
“I need some assistance for a new project I’m putting together.”
“Of course.”
“Mostly blunt end troops,” Adam told his e-butler to transfer the list file to the Agent’s desktop array.
“No technical specialists? That’s a shame. I’ll certainly see what I can do to find you the requisite people. I should tell you half of my B-list is currently serving with the navy behind enemy lines. Not all of them were taken out of suspension, either; a lot of them volunteered. It’s the kind of job which appeals to their more base instinct. They’ll come back covered in glory and medals determined to be upright citizens, then in a couple of years they’ll be hammering down my door for a job. In the meantime, I’m embarrassed by such a poor inventory. Is there any way you could delay your project?”
“Not indefinitely, no. If it’s question of money…?”
The Agent looked genuinely aghast. “Good Lord, no. I’ll probably wind up waiving my commission for you. I do value the challenges you’ve given me over the years, and you bring a much appreciated amount of business my way. I’m confident I can rise to the occasion once more. Professional pride and all that.”
“I see.” Adam smiled his best false smile, feeling his abused facial skin distend. It was always about money with the Agent; criminals were the worst capitalists of all. “I will be offering the usual re-life insurance bond in the event of premature bodyloss.”
“That’s good to hear. Right now, the Commonwealth clinics are overflowing with re-life procedure requests from the families of bodyloss victims from the Lost23. The swine are charging extortionate fees. Seller’s market, I’m afraid.”
“After the revolution we’ll put them against the wall and shoot them, eh?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be happy to supply the firing squads free of charge. Until then—”
“Until then, put my list together and send me the bill. There’s a onetime address code in the file.”
“Did you have a time frame in mind?”
“You’ve got one week.” Adam didn’t care how big a disadvantage that put him at. “I will pay a handsome bonus for delivery.”
The Agent raised his eyebrows. “I always welcome incentives. However, given the state of the Commonwealth right now, that might be a little difficult.”
“One week.”
“I see you’re not going to be moved. Very well. To aspire nobly is its own reward. I won’t let you down.” He leaned forward abruptly, and held his hand out.
Adam shook, trying not to let the sneer of disgust appear on his face.
“Excellent.” The Agent walked back to the open drinks cabinet and poured another two shots of Impiricus-blue. He waved a hand, and ten tall slabs of granite pivoted through ninety degrees to reveal a picture window behind. “We’re safer than most here, you know,” he said. “One rich city is easy to defend. And City Hall has spent a great deal of money upgrading our force fields on top of the navy shielding. Yet still the doubt gnaws at my soul. I am blessed to live amid such beauty as only God and nature can create.”
“What doubts?” Adam asked. He was looking past the Agent at the extraordinary vista through the window. Tridelta City shimmered in the midafternoon sunlight, a flat reclaimed island that used to be the flood zone where three rivers merged; the Logrosan, the Dongara, and the Upper Monkira, each large in their own right, united to become the impressive torrent of water that was the Lower Monkira, flowing to the ocean five hundred kilometers away.
Before humans came to Illuminatus, the tridelta area was a sandy marsh that flooded five or six times a year whenever the rivers rose, their torrents ripping out any vegetation that had rooted among the low saturated dunes since the last deluge. With the Commonwealth Council placing an absolute conservation order on the forests and jungles of Illuminatus, preventing any form of clearance, this was the one patch of land other than the mountains that had no trees. CST built a protective three-kilometer-wide groyne wall in the center, and constructed their planetary station amid the tropical heat and moisture. As more construction crews arrived, and the travel companies began to invest heavily, additional walls were built. Huge pumps drained and stabilized the boggy sand, new soil was either dredged out of the rivers or shipped in by train, raising the artificial island’s ground level. Foundations were sunk deep, and big high-rise blocks assembled. From that beginning, Tridelta City had mushroomed impressively, first outward, then when the limits of the flood marsh were consumed: upward.
Everywhere Adam looked he could see skyscrapers: towers of concrete, metal, composite, and glass producing a gothic landscape of sharp pinnacles rising out of the darker conurbation of low buildings. Most were a kilometer high, with the newer skyscrapers reaching even farther into the misted air. The Kinoki Tower, so far just a massive slender pyramid of scaffolding on the Logrosan’s east bank, was due to top out at three kilometers. Nearly every skyscraper had an airship docked to it; the taller ones had several at varying levels. The craft were all big, over two hundred meters long, with observation decks running the length of their undersides. None of them flew during the day; they just sat on the end of their docking gantry arms, rocking slightly in the misty gusts that swirled across the city.
“I deal in the underside of civilization,” the Agent said mournfully, keeping his back to Adam so he could face the window. “I look out at my city every day and I see how inspiringly high we can climb, yet in this room I also witness how low we can go as a species. I never involve myself personally, you understand, I merely survive by making arrangements. Out of this I live the life I want. I have the constant excitement which is the twin of danger; money, women, the thrill of being engaged at levels of politics and corporate enmity which the ordinary citizen doesn’t even know exists. Yet here you are, independent of all this, planning some act of violence on behalf of the Guardians of Selfhood. I find myself wondering if for once I should involve myself.”