Evening's Empires (Quiet War 3) (11 page)

‘I will.’

A butterfly landed on Ma Sakitei’s cheek. She closed her eyes and said, ‘Were you ever employed as a librarian or an archivist by your family?’

‘My father maintained our records.’

‘I see. Perhaps you worked as a courier.’

‘I have been trained in most aspects of running a ship. And I helped Dr Gagarian construct the machines he used in his experiments.’

The butterfly flicked into the air. Ma Sakitei opened her eyes.

‘Everyone in Fei Shen must pay for their time,’ she said. ‘Even refugees. You will be able to obtain a little credit here. Enough to support you for a short time, not enough to
buy passage elsewhere. You will need to find work, sooner or later. When you do, come and talk to me again.’

‘I will,’ Hari said again.

But he’d already decided that he wanted to leave Fei Shen as soon as possible. He’d reach out to Dr Gagarian’s colleagues for help. He’d work his passage if he
couldn’t buy it. He’d smuggle himself aboard a ship if he had no other choice . . .

He said, ‘May I ask one more favour? You have taken custody of my pressure suit and Dr Gagarian’s head. Also a book that’s important to me. I would like them back.’

‘You may have the head and the book, but we cannot allow the pressure suit to enter the city. Its eidolon confessed to us that it is weaponised.’

‘It is naive, and often does not know what it is saying.’

‘Nevertheless, your suit will be stored at the docks until you leave the city. Fare well, Gajananvihari Pilot. When we meet again, we will discuss how you can repay our
hospitality.’

Dressed in leggings and a plain jerkin issued by the commissars, the cryoflask that contained Dr Gagarian’s head slung over one shoulder, Kinson Ib Kana’s book in
his pocket, Hari walked out into Fei Shen. It was as scary-strange as his first foray across the surface of Themba. His bios couldn’t handshake with the antique protocols of the city’s
commons, so everything he encountered – the wide corridors (called avenues), the buildings, street furniture, bots, drones, avatars, people – was naked and unreadable. Alien and
mysterious, thrilling and terrifying.

Fei Shen, the flying mountain, sometimes called Wufen Shan, the Fifth Sacred Mountain, sometimes First New Shanghai, was an old city. Earth’s Pacific Community had built it inside an
impact crater at the prow of a small, wedge-shaped asteroid some fifteen hundred years ago, in the early years of the Great Expansion. At the height of the True Empire, it had been shifted into
orbit around Vesta to serve as a platform for crews tending the ongoing terraforming project, and as an interchange for highborn Trues on their way to Vesta’s hunting grounds. It had been
largely untouched by the wars that had brought down the Trues; the Free People had demolished the palace inside the tent of the new section and replaced it with a gardened forest, but had changed
little else.

The Pacific Community had used Fei Shen as a centre for trade with the gardens and settlements of the Belt, and now it was a trade centre again, although much diminished. There was a bazaar that
sold half-life carpets in every colour and pattern and texture, another that sold vacuum organisms, genetic templates, and facsimiles of animals and birds from the long ago, from legends and sagas,
and from the single extrasolar world that possessed its own biosphere. One avenue was dedicated to the repair and refurbishment of gardens and other enclosed biomes. Two more were crowded with
life-extension parlours and chop shops advertising every kind of tweak and augmentation, many related to exotic forms of sexual intercourse.

Because he couldn’t call up a map or a helpful eidolon, Hari had to ask a passer-by to direct him to the city’s bourse. It was in the ground level of the big rotunda at the hub of
the starburst of avenues, beneath the apex of the city’s dome. Inside, individuals and gossipy little groups of baseliners, avatars and eidolons studying empty air (no doubt packed with
picts, sims and windows that Hari’s bios was unable to detect) were scattered across the bare, white, circular floor. As he looked around, a pale-skinned man drifted over and said, ‘I
know you. The kid who crashed on Vesta, with dacoits in hot pursuit. More fun than I ever expect to see in my humble life. I’m Gabriel. Gabriel Daza. One of the proctors. I know, I look far
too young to be a proctor. That’s because I
am
young. But I’m also a proctor. The son, grandson, and great-grandson of proctors. Whether you’re here to buy or sell, I can
help.’

‘My ship has credit on deposit with the bourse at Tannhauser Gate,’ Hari said. ‘I need to access it.’

Gabriel Daza studied him. His sharp, clever face was framed by the high collar of his white, silver-trimmed tunic. ‘You aren’t connected to the commons,’ he said.

‘I need to fix that. But first I need to be able to draw on my ship’s credit.’

‘You have a tag, an embedded licence, some other form of a guarantee?’

‘A card,’ Hari said, and took it out.

It was a small rectangle of plastic that displayed a pict of
Pabuji’s Gift
slowly rotating against the star smoke of the Milky Way.

‘Fabulously old-fashioned, but I can make it work,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘You understand the terms?’

‘Perhaps you could explain them.’

‘Of course. You lack connectivity. You are purchasing a limited credit line, drawing on a reciprocal arrangement between Fei Shen and Tannhauser Gate. The fees for the arrangement and the
exchange rate are fixed; so is the amount available. Penalties apply if your guarantee misrepresents the amount of credit deposited, if there is a legal challenge to the transaction by a third
party, and so on and so forth. Do you want to hear the penalties? There are an awful lot of them.’

‘My ship’s credit is good.’

‘No one ever wants to read the fine print,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘Let’s confirm your identity.’

A drone dropped from the high ceiling and verified the card’s qubit watermark and confirmed that Hari’s DNA profile matched the profile embedded in its memory; Gabriel Daza opened a
window so that Hari could check the credit available to him, and the services he could buy. It seemed to be a useful amount, but the young proctor explained that the city had suffered a recent bout
of what he called stagflation. The credit line, with its alluring rows of zeroes, would purchase no more than two hundred hours’ residency.

‘That’s at ordinary rates, of course,’ the young proctor said. ‘You’re paying the refugee surcharge, so you have less than fifty hours. After that, unless you find
a way of earning your keep, the city owns you.’

Hari did his best to hide his dismay. ‘Does the surcharge apply to everything I buy?’

‘Only to consumables. Per diem quanta of air, power, water, use of the commons . . . Speaking of which, I recommend the Almond Pit, on the Avenue of the Elevation of the Mind. Tell Rong
Che that Gabriel sent you. She’ll give you a good price for a trait that will let you access basic functions.’

‘I have a set of files I need to open. Would she be able to break their encryption?’

‘She could certainly try. The head doctors in Fei Shen draw on centuries of tradition, and Rong Che is the best of them all.’

Hari thanked the young proctor, asked if he had enough credit to pay for data searches.

‘The city’s databases are open access,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘After you get yourself fixed up at the Pit, you’ll be able to ask anything you like.’

‘But I’ll have to pay the surcharge.’

‘That’s true.’

‘So it would be cheaper to have you do it for me.’

‘I see that you are a quick study.’

Hari explained that he was searching for one of his relatives, Tamonash Pilot. ‘I believe he traded with the Free People, or had some other business with them. And he may be living in
Ophir.’ Aakash had been born in Ophir, had refurbished
Pabuji’s Gift
in its docks.

‘I would also want to send messages to Ophir, Chavez Labyrinth, and Greater Brazil,’ Hari said. He wanted to find out if Dr Gagarian’s colleagues, Salx Minnot Flores, Ivanova
Galchan and Ioni Robles Nguini, were still alive. He wanted to ask them for help.

‘Sending a message to anyone on Earth is a problem,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘The cost of negotiating its security would exceed your credit. Also, the Free People have a
long-running dispute with several nations, including Greater Brazil. You would have to contact your friend via back channels. More expense.’

‘But you can send messages to Ophir and Chavez Labyrinth,’ Hari said.

‘Of course. I can do everything for the special price of eight hours fifty minutes.’

‘How much do I already owe you?’

‘For accessing your ship’s credit record? One hour ten. It’s the standard fee.’

‘Take the hour and ten minutes. I’ll do the other things myself.’

‘It will cost you far more.’

‘Or I could ask your colleagues for a better deal.’

‘You won’t find a better deal, but rather than waste your time I’m prepared to reduce the price further. Let’s say six hours thirty.’

‘Let’s say a round six hours.’

‘For the query and the message?’

‘For the query and the message, and for access to my credit.’

‘I have already put myself out,’ Gabriel Daza said.

‘I don’t think so, since you charged me the standard fee.’

‘Six hours it is, all in. And I’m giving my time away.’

Because the proctor had agreed so readily Hari suspected that it wasn’t much of a bargain, but he didn’t intend to stay in the city long enough to exhaust his credit. He had places
to go and people to see.

Gabriel Daza’s attention went away for a few moments; then he told Hari that Tamonash Pilot, a trader from Ophir, had purchased samples of rare vacuum organisms from a scavenger more than
three years ago. Before that, he’d been involved in a transaction with the Free People of Fei Shen and their cousins in Tivoli Wrecks, a reef that orbited between Earth and Mars.

‘Does the scavenger live here?’ Hari said.

‘She is away on business. I won’t charge you for that information, by the way,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘Do you want to contact this long-lost relative?’

‘I’d like to confirm that he is still living in Ophir. And send those messages.’

Gabriel Daza called up three djinns, gave one a query about Tamonash Pilot, gave the others Hari’s messages to Salx Minnot Flores and Ivanova Galchan.

‘It might take a little while,’ the proctor said. ‘Signal lag and security protocols and so on. Especially security protocols. Business would be so much easier if cities and
settlements trusted each other. Best come back tomorrow.’

Hari asked where transients stayed, in Fei Shen; Gabriel Daza told him that there were caravanserais in the parkland at the city’s edge.

‘Any that have room will take you in. Fees are fixed, so don’t waste your time trying to muscle anyone into accepting less.’

‘Would I find ships’ crews there?’

‘Of course. But if you are hoping to work your passage you’ll find thin pickings. The city is no longer the hub it once was.’

‘I am thinking of reivers.’

‘You want to become one?’

‘I want to hire one.’

‘Good luck with that.’

‘ “Hire” is the wrong word for the arrangement I have in mind, perhaps. “Go into partnership” might be better.’

‘Again, good luck with that. The city doesn’t allow reivers to dock here.’

‘Reivers have been known to become traders when it suits them. And vice versa. If you know of anyone who sometimes works on the dark side, it will be worth your while to introduce
me.’

‘I doubt that,’ Gabriel Daza said. ‘But perhaps I can ask around.’

‘I have one more question,’ Hari said. ‘Is there anyone in the city who deals in salvage?’

‘If this is about your lifepod, I believe the city has claimed it. You landed on Vesta without permission. Not the best idea.’

‘I was forced to land because I was attacked,’ Hari said. ‘The lifepod is my family’s property, and I need to sell it as soon as possible. Can I contest the city’s
appropriation of my property?’

‘You could. If you don’t mind risking your refugee status.’

‘Perhaps someone else would like to try, then. I’ll be happy to sell my claim to them.’

‘I think you have a better chance of finding a reiver.’

‘Is the city’s government bound by the same laws as its citizens?’

Gabriel Daza said that it was.

‘And are those laws and their interpretation ever disputed?’

Gabriel Daza allowed that the city’s codex was neither infallible nor static.

Hari smiled. ‘Find me someone willing to buy my claim on the lifepod, and I’ll give you five per cent of the price.’

‘Fifteen would be more realistic.’ Gabriel Daza was smiling too. They were both having fun. ‘Given the difficulty of finding someone who loves unusual and high-risk
ventures.’

After some equitable to and fro they settled on eight per cent.

‘You are no innocent in this game,’ Gabriel Daza said.

‘I had good teachers,’ Hari said, and felt the familiar ache of loss and loneliness.

When they parted, Gabriel Daza reminded Hari to pay a visit to the Almond Pit, but it was late in the day and Hari was tired, and decided that he could manage without access to
the commons for one night. He had managed for far longer on Themba, after all, and believed that he was beginning to make sense of the city. He was making progress. He felt, for the first time
since the hijack, an unqualified happiness.

The caravanserais were scattered through a belt of parkland that girdled the edge of the city. Some were defined by posts or lines of black stones; others were enclosed by flowering hedges or
low walls. Hari chose one whose wall was decorated with fierce faces with red and gold skin, staring eyes, and elaborate headdresses: representations of the gods of his distant ancestors. He hoped
that he might have something in common with the people who lodged there.