Crystal Heat tst-3 Read online

  Crystal Heat

  ( The Shadowsong trilogy - 3 )

  Jo Clayton

  Jo Clayton

  Crystal Heat

  Prologue: Rumblings Before the Game Begins

  A conversation by letter, or how to keep your thoughts away from a ubiquitous and apparently omniscient employer.

  … so that’s over. I really didn’t want to send the disruptor back to Sunflower Labs, but it was Digby’s call, so back it went. I believe he managed to duplicate it first and his techs are market cream, so could be he’ll have a defense out before that thing becomes too much of a problem.

  I’ve been called in tomorrow. It seems that there’s another investigation that can use my talents. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this job, Lee. And just maybe about Digby himself. Which is why I’m writing this, not just giving you a call.

  Anyway, I’ll see how this one goes.

  Any Hunts on the horizon? Lilai should be old enough by now for you to leave her without worrying too much. Selfishly, I rather hope you’ll be home when this new business is finished. I need somebody to talk things over with without prying little electronic ears straining to hear what I’m saying.

  Aleytys dropped the letter on the table beside the drone capsule where it coiled up into the tight cylinder it’d been when she took it out of the capsule. She poked it with her finger, watched it rock back and forth till, it settled to stability again.

  “Was it worth the expense?”

  Aleytys lifted her head. Grey stood in the doorway looking tired and cranky. She suppressed a sigh; she didn’t want to deal with his crotchets, but she’d asked him to come. “Just a note from Shadow. She’s got a new investigation. I want a Hunt, Grey. I don’t care what it is.”

  “So that’s what this is about. Every time that woman shoves her nose in here, you get all stirred up.”

  “No. This is me talking. It’s been two years, Grey. It’s time I was out again.”

  “There’s nothing suitable. I told you. When something comes in that’s right for you, I’ll call you. Is there anything else?”

  “No.”

  Without trying to protest further, she watched him turn and leave; it was only after she heard the whine of the lifting flier that she dropped her head in her hands.

  1. Shadow on the Job

  I refuse to be intimidated by a spook. Shadith folded her hands in her lap and smiled politely at Digby’s simulacrum.

  He’d been fiddling with it again. It was solid now, with the weighty feel of real flesh though it was nothing more than colored light she could walk through if the thought didn’t revolt her. He sat at a real desk (a broad battered stretch of dark wood), in a real chair-an antique leather thing that swiveled and had micromotors installed to make it creak and tilt as if it moved to the shifting of his body. The instrumentation, though, was simulation. He had no need for exterior connections to the kephalos buried deep beneath the building, the kephalos which created the simulacrum and controlled all functions in here. In a sense, he was the kephalos.

  Today he was being the academic in conference with the wayward student. He wasn’t wearing the fez with the gilded tassel that he affected sometimes, but had gifted himself with silver-gray hair flowing in thick waves from a noble brow and a severe expression that went well with that beak of a nose.

  Odd how recognizable he was in all his incarnations… hm, incarnation was not precisely the right word since whatever flesh he’d once worn must have long ago rotted back to the earth it was born from.

  The simulacrum looked up… no. Digby looked up, laughter in his eyes, a sly self-mocking twinkle. He always puts a twist on things, she thought. He knows just how much this isn’t impressing me.

  “Hm.” The voice he was using was a rough tenor. “Your little Ghost Yseyl is profoundly insane in terms of her culture. Quite at home in ours, though, perhaps more than you are.” With a twitch of non-lips into an ironic smile, he lifted a simulated sheet off a nonexistent pile, pretended to read it, then looked up. “The disruptor is on its way back to Sunflower. The rep was delighted with the swiftness of the retrieval. And most impressed.” He turned another page. “I begin to think Ginny Seyirshi was right when he called you a catalyst. By the time you were through with them, the Ptak world was thoroughly chewed up, their commerce disrupted, one war winding itself down through attrition and, a new one fruiting. The place is probably going to be chaotic for years.”

  He dropped that last sheet, fitted his hands palm against palm, and contemplated her. “You managed with admirable discretion to keep any mention of-Excavations Ltd. from notice. However, in other areas, discretion was… hmmm… noticeably lacking. The peripheral effects of your activities are… hm disconcerting. Added to your tumultuous romp through the assorted worlds:during the Dyslaera affair, there’s a pattern that… hm… shall we say, limits your usefulness.”

  “So I’m fired?” Shadith slid forward in the chair, irritated, prepared to get to her feet. She was getting rritated and saw no need to listen to a bunch of painted light scolding her…

  “Jump jump, hat Stop acting like a startled flea, Shadow. No. Of course you’re not fired. It just means I have to be careful to use you in places that I wouldn’t mind seeing trashed in your inimitable fashion. As long, of course, as we are not visibly engaged in that trashing. The areas in which I can use you are limited but they do continue to exist.” He leaned back, laced his non-fingers across his non-belly.

  She watched his careful mimicry of the gestures of the flesh and wondered about it a little. Is he trying to be sure that he doesn’t lose that self which comes so pungently through his poses? Odd how that chimed-with what she’d written to Aleytys. Maybe it’s because he is like me, like Swardheld and Harskari, that I don’t trust him. Immortal and immaterial in that his essence lived in a matrix of forces with even less to hold his self intact than she’d had. At least she and the others from the Diadem had the body of the wearer to remind them what they were and the limits of the field that preserved-them. Digby was, in a sense, scattered across half a hundred worlds-maybe more-with no limits, nothing but his will to avoid dissolution. What’s he up to? I see this manifestation of him, but how much of that is construct? How much is meant to reassure me and his clients?

  She pulled her attention back and saw Digby waiting with exaggerated patience. “So,” she said. “Why am I here?”

  “The Kliu Berej have hired Excavations Ltd. They’ve lost a Taalav Gestalt array from Pillory. The prison planet they run. Hm. Not a prisoner, a life-form native to the world. One of the weirdest I’ve ever come across. An assemblage. The various parts reproduce and grow to adulthood as separate forms, then in the last Change grow into each other to create the Gestalt. Which means to breed and grow a Taalav you need an assortment of smaller parts. Which is why they call it an array. I’ve put the information the Kliu provided in your packet, you can read the details later. Always remembering that clients have been known to lie their brains out, So don’t trust it too much.”

  “They want the array returned? Sounds complicated.”

  “No. They want to know where it is so they can destroy it. The Taalav extrude a crystalline substance and shape it into complex forms. The Kliu have a monopoly on those crystals and mean to keep it. They wanted the thief, too, but weren’t willing to pay double to include him in the deal, so all I, contracted to do was locate the array. And to keep the search quiet. You can see why. Once something like that happens, every jack and smuggler with delusions of grandeur will be out trying to find it himself.”

  “Do they know who the thief is, or are we supposed to discover that also?”

  “They know. He was one of the xenobiologists studying the Taalav. Making sure they
stay healthy and producing crystal. Not a Kliu, a prisoner. A Cousin working in an exoskeleton because of Pillory’s gravity. Don’t know why he was sent there; they won’t release his files or tell me anything about him, not even his name and description. I suppose they might have to refund some of their, fee if his planet of conviction discovers he’s gone missing.”

  “Just how much cooperation are we going to get?”

  “As little as they feel they can get away with. We can’t trust the Kliu, Shadow. I’ve had clients like them before. Letter of the contract and that’s it. Keep that in mind. And there’s this-the theft was almost a year ago. They’ve been using available resources to search for the array. But they’re a cautious species and have decided on backup just in case their hands slip. That’s us. You. If they spot you as my agent, they’ll put a trace on you and as soon as you look to be getting somewhere, they’ll zip round you and scoop the pot under our noses. Then they come round saying sorry, we found the smuggler ourselves. You get your one-percent kill-fee, no more. That’s extrapolation, but you can be sure the conclusion is solid. If you need cover and can’t arrange it, call me. I expect you to use your ingenuity, though. That is one thing you have plenty of.”

  “I think I’d better see an array in place. Flakes don’t do it. And I want to question the people who knew the thief. Spla! If I don’t know his history, how am I supposed to find the smuggler who took him offworld? I presume that was how it was done?”

  Digby nodded, a lock of shining gray hair dropping into his eyes. He brushed it back with a flick of his hand. “Thought you might, so I’ve arranged for you to go to Pillory. There’s a light exo ready for you in the equipment room. It’s been tarted up with a few extras including a visor which you are to keep in place as much as possible. If anyone tries to take a template, what they’ll get is hash. How much they know about my prime agents I couldn’t tell you. There might be descriptions circulating already. How much good these precautions will do is not something I’d like to guess about. Nevertheless, get that fitting done as soon as you leave here. And pick up your Trick Kit, have the techs run through it with you, there’ve been additions since the last time you went out. Just one thing, Pillory’s security is fierce, Shadow. Don’t try anything with their kephalos. They have redundancies on that system that would frustrate a ghost.”

  “Speaking of ghosts…”

  “No. Yseyl isn’t ready yet. And this is too complicated. After the fitting, go to Briefing Room Three. I’ve set up a feed that will give you all we know about Pillory. Eyes only, no duping, hm? Doesn’t go beyond these walls except in your head.”

  “Discretion is us. To hear is to obey.”

  “Hmp. Watch your back, Shadow.”

  “You’re a careful soul, Digby.”

  “You better believe it. I always get full measure. Keep that in mind.”

  2. Danger. Run for Home

  1

  Lylunda Elang rode the shuttle along the linktube that led to Marrat’s Agency node, contriving to look bored and mildly stupid, as if she were a low-level worker in an office like the one she was planning to visit. She was short and broad across the shoulders and to her sorrow across the hips as well, with a round guileless face that had proved its worth more than once. The neat small waist she was proud of, she’d concealed under a loose tunic that hung in soft gray folds from the elaborate tucks of the smocking, the looseness concealing the Taalav crystal taped beneath her left breast. She’d brushed in temporary coloring to hide the white streaks at her temples, pulled her coarse; springy hair into a tight bun that tugged up her eyebrows and gave her a look of continual astonishment.

  So far she hadn’t seen any faces she knew. And she was happy about that. She didn’t want anyone recognizing her before she reached the broker’s office and shed the crystal.

  She stared out the window by her seat, past the ghost images of the other riders reflected in the glass, watching the pewter glitter of the translucent tube walls slip quickly by. Though you could see nothing worth looking at, she was glad of the windows, being uncomfortable hurtling along in a capsule she didn’t control without access to the outside, however illusory such access might be.

  After a short while, though, she used the mirroring effect to study the other riders. Innocuous as they looked, this was Marrat’s Market and any of them could be predators or scam artists.

  The shuttle had twenty rows of seats, four seats in each row with a narrow central aisle passing between the middle pair. She was sitting on the left side in the first row, and there was no one in the seat beside her. The rest of the capsule was about half full. The others riding with her seemed to be shift workers heading for their jobs, some sleepy, dozing in their seats, some staring at nothing, a few busy with notepads; they were mostly an assortment from the Cousin worlds, though there was also a pair of Tocher femmes chattering in Tochri gutturals and a lanky Lommertoerkan male immersed in whatever it was he was reading off his sheet screen.

  A small wiry man sputtered awake, met her eyes in the window mirror before she had time to blank her gaze. He took this for an invitation, grinned at her, and moved up to the seat beside her. “Haven’t seen you before. Me, I’m Exi Exinta, I work at the Nut Tree, it’s a food place over on the Barter Strip. Lots of people who work the AgentNode eat there. Be seeing you?”

  She gave him a bovine look, blinking slowly as if she had to take time to process the words. “All right,”.she said finally. Then she turned away to stare out the window again.

  Exi Exinta shifted-nervously in his seat; after another stretch of silence, he got up and went back to where he’d been sitting before. Lylunda kept the apathetic look, but she wondered about him. His had been a very nice performance, but alarms were going off inside her. It wasn’t the first time she’d trotted out this persona, and she knew well enough what reactions it got. Moving in on her showed a kind of blindness on his part, as if he thought that she’d be so flattered by the attention she wouldn’t question the reasons behind it.

  She was annoyed because it meant she had to drop deep into the role she was playing; if you were supposed to be dull and self-absorbed, you couldn’t let an experienced op catch you peeking. There was something else to worry about. This could be a double up. Mr. Ex-the gall of the man, playing that kind of names game-Mr. Exi Exinta might be the throwaway, the one she was supposed to watch while his partner got inside her boundaries and dropped the sack over her head.

  Which brought up another problem. She must have tripped an alarm that her ship’s sensors missed because the Kliu tagged Dragoi just before she ’splitted with Prangarris and his catch. Probably got enough for an ID. Were these two or maybe three working a standard scam, or were they setting her up for a snatch? Marrat’s OverSec ran a tight Pit, stomping hard on industrial spying and any physical violence beyond the drunk fight and the one-on-one duel, but they weren’t set up to guard against the one-off, the quick snatch and scamper.

  When the shuttle sighed to a stop and the exit slid open, she walked out, moving with a heavy stolidity meant to underline her lack of curiosity about the world around her. She climbed aboard a chainchair, tapped in her destination, and went clanking off, tensely aware that Exinta was behind her and that she still hadn’t identified his partner. If he had a partner.

  The chair’s back curved up round her shoulders and head, a not so subtle reminder of the possibilities of backshooting. The composite wouldn’t stop a cutter beam, but cutters would bring peacer ’bots swarming and trigger a shut-off of the Node gates. Didn’t do much good if the shooter was a berserker intent on suicide, but it tended to discourage the less committed.

  It’d been a while since she’d been along here. There were some changes, new signs on the restaurants and the other small shops on the lower floors of the buildings, but the broad squat structures with their complex of offices were much the same as always; there wasn’t a lot you could do with prefab office stock except stack it and paint it and maybe squirt a fe
w curlicues about if that was your taste. I’m dithering, she thought. Jaink! Get your mind back on the job, Lylunda my girl. Almost there. Moving between the Chain and the door, that’s going to be the tricky time. Let’s see… how do we handle this…?

  The Chair string clicked to a halt outside Jingko iKan’s building. She stepped down, moved at a heavy jog across the walkway, and reached the deeply inset door without any trouble, something that bothered her rather a lot. She wasn’t mistaken about Exinta, she was sure of that. But…

  “Lylunda Elang,” she told, the small Blurdslang when he opened the shutter and blinked at her. “By appointment with Desp’ Jingko iKan.”

  One of the Blurdslang’s large watery eyes slid to the left, then he thrust a hair-thin fingertip into a receptacle and the door slid open.

  Lylunda glanced over her shoulder as she moved inside, but what she could see of the street was empty. She shrugged, walked at a brisk clip toward the lift tube, glad to shuck that bovine covet

  * * *

  “I’m carrying,” she said. “Block.”

  Jingko iKan sat mantis still, his eyes expressionless as obsidian marbles, but the two short feathery antennae that served as eyebrows twitched into a nervous dance. He tapped a sensor with the tip of a polished claw, and a shimmercone sprang into being over the desk area. “You said it’s good.”

  “Taalav crystal.” She reached up under the smock and jerked the packet loose, brought it out and laid it on the desk, a grubby wad of tape and blancafilm the size of her fist. She took a pin from the hem of her sleeve, pricked her finger, and dripped some blood on the seal. It shriveled and the packet began opening itself until it lay flat on the desk, exposing the thing it had contained.

  The crystal was an intricate lacery of the clear resin secreted and shaped by a Taalav Gestalt. As it woke from its shielded sleep, it began a series of faint but exquisite chimes in response to the whispers of air that passed through its interstices; pulses of pale light flowed through the twists and turns of the shimmering threads.