All Fall Down (14 page)

“Please access the construct on my ship, file ‘Djembe AI Three’.”

Djembe felt his feet come to rest on a hard floor, as a spaceport dissolved into view. He waited a few moments to allow his senses to become used to the environment. He stood in the middle of a spaceport passenger terminal, with observation windows running around its circumference. There were check-in desks, public information displays and private information terminals. Bundles of luggage lay around. People appeared across the terminal floor, representing a hundred different races, all in their cultural clothing styles, frozen mid-step or walking in slow motion on the spot. A low murmur became apparent, the sound of someone mumbling to themselves just at the edge of hearing. Through the observation window, Djembe saw a black sky, devoid of stars, except for one bright spot. Spacecraft hung in the air below the horizon line seconds into lift off or from landing, or rested in docks covered in clamps, hoses and coils of cabling.

 
“Computer. My construct specifically requires you to input live comms traffic into this environment. The MI override protocol is on my profile. These avatars should be moving, talking.”

The cat jumped up onto an information terminal, its tail waving behind it. “I have a name you know. It’s Verigua, if you need it. I must say, this is quite a staid environment. Really, couldn’t you think of something more imaginative? It’s rather a prosaic metaphor. Spaceport, spaceships, people, stars.” The cat licked a paw, “Yes, yes, they’re internal system communications and extra-system comms, I get it. Each person represents a personal comms account, the spaceships are off world communications. The bright light in the sky the Administrator’s link to MI. It’s all so obvious, Commander.” The cat blinked, “I have some much more stimulating constructs if you want them. I can have you whizzing in protein soups, surfing on quantum foam, or if you’d prefer some fun whilst you work we can make this into an orgy. You’d be amazed how well you humans say that works.”

“Computer, please…”

“Verigua.”

“…sync your live comms traffic with my construct.”

“Dear Commander, it already is. What do you think I am? A level five AI?”

“Then please explain what’s going on. Why is no one moving or talking?”

The cat jumped from the terminal onto the shoulder of a Sagittan woman: a willowy, light-skinned Medé figure just over two metres tall, she bore the inner knee and elbow grips on her clothes that natives of Sagittarius Prime used to climb the kilometre high algal trees on their home planet. “It’s quite simple. As soon as the incident occurred we locked down all traffic. We’re not idiots, Commander.”

“What is that murmur, then?” Djembe looked at the Departures and Arrivals display hanging in mid-air between a large group of people, whose dead gazes and mouths made them look like zombies.

“There is still some operational traffic of course. Lifts, building services. Researchers interacting with each other. Many things stop with death, but life carries on. Though you won’t find it out here on the public concourse of your spaceport construct.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Could you please take me to the comms archive for the past five days?”

“Why certainly. Your spaceport appears to have a library. How about we use that? Shall we walk? I’d like to explore.” The cat jumped to the floor, landing several paces away, looking over its shoulder at Djembe.

“Computer, just place me in the library, please. Time is precious.”

“Well, before we go, you should note that the Arrivals and Departures board shows all flights as delayed. That was a hint.”

“Computer. Verigua.” Djembe was used to people being awkward, but AIs were supposed to be efficient. Perhaps this AI's isolation was affecting it?

“Very well.”

Around them the concourse shifted out of focus until it became swatches of blurred colour, out of which a wood panelled library resolved. Book shelves surrounded Djembe, with reading tables at the end of each row, lit by small lamps. The cat disappeared between a row of shelves, re-appearing as an old man, white hair growing in tufts from above his ears. “Well, here’s your library. I found this librarian avatar in your file, hope you don’t mind if I use it. Not sure what I think of these tweed trousers though. Do you like them? Say you like them, be a good chap. Still, I like the waistcoat and these clip things on my arms. Very, hmm. Traditional?” The librarian avatar wandered to the librarian’s desk, passing a comment over his shoulder, “Still a bit clichéd though, Commander. Sure you wouldn’t like something else in here?”

In the library’s central area, surrounded on all sides by shelving, was the main reading table. Djembe took a seat, “I like my library. It has small holo terminals, if that’s what you mean, set into the desk here. Could you please show me the comms logs starting a day before the incident, presented graphically, time, volume, colour coded by type.”

The desk lit up with a three dimensional array of charts. The librarian sat down at his desk and explained, “Black, grey, white charts are services; blues and greens are personal communications; and the reds and oranges are work related, principally mining operations and scientific research. I’ll be over here if you have any questions. The time of the incident is marked on all of them, and you’ll notice that the personal communications logs all go to zero within one hour.”

“Thank you, computer. I would like to work undisturbed for a short while. Can you please tell me when forty minutes has passed. ” Djembe pulled a chart over to his chair and plunged his hands into it. He broke the chart line open, revealing the computer code and information contained inside. From a pocket on the MI uniform he wore in the construct, he took out a small tool that looked like a cross between a syringe and a marker pen. “Now, let’s inject some system mapping tools inside, and see how leaky you are.” He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, and set about investigating the Colony's communications protocols.

           
The librarian shook his head slowly, picked up a date stamp, reached for a pile of books about babies, opened the first one, stamped it, reached for another. “I do so wish people would listen to me.” And louder, “Forty minutes it is, Commander.”

“Yes, General Leland, please come in.”

           
“Doctor Currie, how are you? Nice to meet you.”

           
Masjid, half risen, returned to his seat, “Administrator Daoud told me you’d be visiting today. We don’t get many MI colleagues visiting. For all the great things we do, we receive so little attention.”

           
Kate settled into a chair at Masjid’s desk, crossing her legs. “Thank you. I head up Military Intelligence’s Incident and Disaster Management Unit. I’ve been appointed to investigate and manage the incident with your researcher.”

Masjid nodded, “Can I get you a drink? We grow some fine teas in our farming pods.” Kate nodded. Masjid stood and walked to a drinks unit. “This is a… regrettable incident.” He sat back in his chair, placing the two cups on his desk.

Kate pulled a cup towards her, “What do you need from us?”

“People aren't used to MI being here, General. The most I can ask is sensitivity, if there are criticisms to make about our procedures.”

“I understand. I'd like to make a first attempt at controlling rumours.”

“Rumours?”

“The colonists are saying it's a vendetta killing.”

“Ven..,” Masjid started to respond, then fell briefly silent, “I see. Do you believe that's what's actually happened?”

“The Colony's report says exposure. I don't have any reason to doubt that.” Kate picked up her tea, blowing vapour across the still surface. “Have you a remembrance service planned? “

“A service? No, it hadn't crossed my mind. Why?”

“They can prove useful in keeping people busy, distracted. Emotions are no doubt raw.”

Masjid appeared to consider the idea, “Yes, I agree. Morale is low. A remembrance service.” He nodded to himself, “Yes, let's do it. I'll put Peter on it.”

           
“I’ve read over your research programmes,” Kate glanced at her datapad. “Cancer, radiation sickness, limb regeneration, stem cell therapy, cellular regeneration. As well as some novel plant research. It’s an impressive list. The results could be invaluable for the disaster management my team undertakes.”

           
“Thank you.”

           
“Have I missed anything? Any of your biological research?”

           
“I would say that covers everything, General.” Had he replied too quickly? Perhaps, thought Kate.

           
She changed tack, “My first doctorate was in biology and xenobiology. I’d be very interested to hear where you’ve got to with your research.”

           
A message holicon appeared above Masjid’s desk. He looked at it, his brow creasing, “Computer, turn off message alerts.” He looked back to Kate, “How about a tour?”

Masjid suggested they tour the Research Facility while they talked. He had a sound field
 
put around them, so they could talk in private even while among staff. While they visited the labs and interactive research suites, where the staff were wired into full body and sensory immersion tanks, Kate wondered, like Djembe had done, what would cause someone to stay virtually a prisoner in one underground Colony for so long.

Staying on a whole planet she could understand. Most of the planets settled in the last eight hundred years had a range of environments, and provided more than enough interest for an average citizen. But this planet, even though it offered the initial excitement of being classified, had little else going for it. Its corridors, though charming at first, were quickly starting to look unfinished. As if the Colony was temporary. The quarters, hers at least, were sparse, functional. The communal areas may be more fun, but with artificial lighting everywhere, where in any of the Colony was the pleasure of sitting under a sky to watch the stars. Or of simply going for a walk? The surface was deadly, inhospitable. Connection to SysNet was heavily censored and there were few visitors. Much of the work was in mines or in sterile laboratories or AI suites. Kate wondered if the people had grown so distant from a natural environment that they could only relate to artificial worlds. Then she thought about the amount of time she spent on Habitats, and as Masjid talked to her of the work and breakthroughs the Facility had made, she wondered if she wasn’t all that different from the people who had come to Fall.

She turned the conversation back to the death. “Your researcher, Huriko Maki. What was she working on?”

They walked passed a number of plants growing in sun tubes. They were twisted, black and barbed. “A couple of programmes. Principally these.” Masjid pointed at the plants, “We are trying to modify plants so they can grow on the surface.”

“I saw that in the research profile. The water table is seventy kilometres down.”

Masjid shrugged, “An engineering problem, solvable in a matter of months. The biggest issue is growing plants that can withstand the surface radiation and the storm.”

“You want to terraform the surface?”

“We want the option. We are dependent on some food imports and mechanical air scrubbing devices. And we are trapped underground.”

They want independence and improved shelter, thought Kate. Her mind raced through the consequences. A classified installation wanting to break free from MI oversight. It could hold the Settled Quarters to ransom, withhold the minerals.

They walked through a laboratory where giant holograms of molecules rotated. Researchers used holicons to manipulate electron flows across their surfaces. She watched Doctor Currie sidelong as he described research progress. Was he so totally absorbed in his research that he couldn't see the dangers it brought?

She raised an issue about terraform, “Even if you grew vegetation topside, we are still susceptible to the radiation. You'd still be trapped underground.”