Haze and the Hammer of Darkness (18 page)

“Magic is impossible, too, but an old Anglo scientist—I think he was a scientist, but maybe he was a writer—said that any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.”

“How does this coherence work?” When Lyvia didn't answer and continued walking westward toward the central square, he added, “I know. It's not your field, and you don't intend to give me a simplistic and misleading reply.”

“Exactly.”

“I could use a few simplistic but misleading answers.”

“You only think you could.”

“Where are we going now?”

“We'll take the local subtrans south three stops to Coventral.”

After they reached the southeast corner of the square, Roget was surprised at how long it took them to get down to the local concourse. Unlike the regional concourse, the local concourse was shaped like an L, with the north-south section a good fifteen meters below the east-west section and joined by another tunnel ramp. As far as appointments went, both sections of the local concourse looked almost the same in layout as did the regional one. When they stopped before an archway, waiting for a train, he asked, “Why are the local concourses so deep?”

“They all aren't, but it makes a certain sense here in Skeptos. That's because we get more regional travelers, and if they have luggage, it's easier for them. Also, it puts the local concourses on the same absolute level.”

The concourse door opened, and Lyvia waited for a man and two women to leave before stepping through the archway. The local subtrans train had cars that looked to be the same dimensions as the regional subtrans, but the seats, if made of the same material, were slightly smaller and definitely closer together.

Since the car wasn't crowded, Roget sat across from Lyvia. “What about the agent on the other side of the world?”

“I haven't heard anything. I wouldn't. Not for a while. I'm assigned to you.”

“What have you learned from me?”

“You're comparatively perceptive and well-integrated with your internal monitors and sensors.” Lyvia's voice was low, barely carrying to Roget. “You represent a dangerous but passively aggressive culture that is looking for an excuse that will allow itself to justify an attack against Dubiety on almost any grounds. You're not entirely in sympathy with your own culture's objectives, and you were sent on this mission because your superiors feel that you need to understand the danger we represent and because if you don't return, the difficulty posed by the combination of your abilities and attitude will be resolved. If you do return, they will find some way to discredit or retire you. Or they might promote you to a comfortable but meaningless and powerless position.”

“You're so encouraging.”

“You asked.” Lyvia glanced toward the doors as the train came to a stop.

One woman who had been sitting at the end of the car left. No one entered.

Neither Lyvia nor Roget spoke again until the train made the third stop.

“This is where we leave,” said Lyvia.

Roget followed her out onto a nearly empty concourse and then up a tunnel ramp. About fifty meters up the ramp, the tunnel split, with a maroon tunnel curving to the left away from the standard gray and green tunnel. Lyvia took the maroon tunnel, and Roget kept pace with her. None of the half-dozen other passengers followed them.

“There aren't any signs or indications,” Roget said.

“Haven't you noticed? We don't use them, except for places like restaurants in public spaces.”

Roget hadn't, but as he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't seen any, except for the restaurants around the main square of Skeptos, and not even all of those had borne signs.

“Anyone who's linked to the commnet can find out where they want to go,” Lyvia continued. “Posting signage is another waste of resources.”

“I suppose everyone is linked.”

“All except very young children and those few who have proven untrustworthy.”

“And foreign agents.”

“You're presumed untrustworthy. I don't think that's an unfair presumption, do you?” She smiled as she spoke.

“No. I can't dispute that.”

After a less than ninety degree turn, the tunnel straightened, stretching ahead for what looked to be a good quarter klick.

“Do you people walk everywhere that the subtrans doesn't go?”

“Yes, except for people who are temporarily disabled. They can use individual powerchairs.”

Before long, Roget saw an archway on the right side of the tunnel. As they walked nearer, a couple appeared and walked toward them at a good clip. They smiled and nodded as they passed. Roget returned the smile. “Are we taking the archway?”

“Yes. That's the entrance to CPInd.”

Beyond the archway, outlined in maroon, was a narrower corridor that ended after twenty-odd meters at a shimmering metal composite door. Lyvia pointed her belt-tube. After a moment, the door split into two halves, each retracting into the wall. As soon as they were inside the squarish and empty chamber, the doors closed behind them.

Before Roget could say more, a door to his left opened, and a tall woman in a flowing red skirt and a skin-tight, black, short-sleeved top stepped through.

The angular woman studied Roget, then turned to Lyvia and spoke. “There isn't that much to see. The constitutors are sealed processors.”

That was what Roget thought she said.

“He'll get an idea.” Lyvia turned to him. “Did you understand her?”

“Something about not seeing much because the units are sealed?”

“Good. I told you it wouldn't take long.”

Something about her tone bothered Roget, but he couldn't have said why.

They followed their guide down another ramp and out into a massive enclosed space, one large enough to hold several attack corvettes, Roget suspected. The constitutors, if that happened to be what they were, were shaped like rough half cylinders with annular rings set at unequal intervals, and with various large protuberances in other places. Each rose a good twenty meters above the floor and looked to be fifteen meters wide and a good hundred meters long. There were five, set side by side, with ten meters between each. At the far end of the chamber at the output end of each cylinder was a maglev freight car, one end opened and swung up. Two men guided the sheets of composite into the car.

Roget walked slowly along the side of the constitutor. Again, he could sense no energy emissions. Nor did he feel any heat radiating from the enormous machine.

Lyvia said nothing as he came to a stop near the end and watched the loading process.

Large as the chamber seemed at first sight, Roget realized that it was but a fraction the size of the works he'd seen outside Parachute years earlier—and far cleaner. The output rate was far greater as well.

Finally, he turned. “How do you do it?”

“It's standard molecular reassembly. Each unit handles a different type.”

“You have, what, three of these for the planet?”

“Five actually, but one is always on standby.”

Roget glanced back at the loading area as a freight maglev glided away, only to be replaced by another.

“Have you seen enough? There's not much else to see.”

“How many people work here?”

Lyvia looked to the angular woman.

“Sixty-seven. Most are loaders.”

“Why do you need human loaders?”

“They work better, and they're more flexible. Also, composite is hard on scanning perceptors.”

“Why?”

The woman just shrugged.

Roget asked more questions, but most of the answers he got were either meaningless or consisted of shrugs.

“We need to go,” Lyvia finally said. She turned to the woman. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure and interest.”

Once they were outside CPInd, Lyvia stepped through the maroon archway and turned right.

“We're not headed back toward the subtrans.”

“No. We're going to take a private tube to MultOp.”

“Is it subsurface as well?”

“Of course. When you insist that everything is underground and below much of the water table, it becomes easier to assure that there aren't any harmful emissions. We also insist on unified ventilation systems.”

“So that the supervisors and owners breathe what everyone else does?”

“It works better that way.”

“They could just move their administrative functions elsewhere.”

“They could, but there's a heavy surtax on nonintegrated facilities, and that makes it hard to compete and stay in business.”

“Do you people charge for everything you don't like?”

“No. Just those things that would otherwise harm people and the environment.”

“What if people pay to pollute?”

“Some have. They haven't stayed in business long. They lost customers and employees because they had to pay more in production costs and because they had to pay the employees who stayed even more to keep them. Some people don't like buying from polluters, especially when their goods cost more.”

The next archway from the maroon tunnel was on the left, and it was a bluish gray. After taking a short ramp and a left turn, Roget and Lyvia found themselves in a small concourse. The doors to a car that might hold twenty people were open. Once they stepped inside the private subtrans, the doors closed. Several minutes later, they opened onto a slightly larger blue gray concourse.

Roget stepped out alongside Lyvia. “What do they make here?”

“Everything. We don't operate along the old models. Basically, any manufacturer can fabricate anything once they receive the specs. Designers create prototypes or new versions, and all those are available on a royalty basis to any assembler.”

“How does the assembler know if the specs work?”

“There aren't many single designers. They're businesses that have a number of designers and engineers. Designing is just part of what they do. They have the responsibility for product design and specifications … and the legal liability for them.”

“So the designer really takes the place of the old multilateral, at least in terms of name identification or make or brand? And legal responsibility?”

Lyvia nodded.

The tour of MultOp was about as useful as the previous tour. Roget saw machines that essentially sprayed matter into predetermined shapes and colors … and functions. The finished products were covered in a thin biofoam and shipped.

As he watched the last stages of loading and shipping, a thought occurred to him, something that he should have picked up earlier. “How does all this get delivered? People can't cart dining tables or anything else large home on the subtrans.”

“There are freightways under the walkways in all towns and cities. Intelligent lorries take goods to the various buildings, or to common points in those places that allow individual dwellings. You can rent a delivery vehicle as needed, and some manufacturers or designers include local transport rental in the price.” She rubbed her forehead. “You look hungry. I know I am. I'll answer any more questions you have about the day while we're eating. There's no place that's all that good out here. Do you mind if we head back to Skeptos?”

“No. How far south are we?”

“Twenty-one klicks.”

Neither spoke except in pleasantries and short comments on the way back to Skeptos, but Roget did keep listening to the others on the regular subtrans train, which was far more crowded than it had been earlier. He was definitely understanding more, just enough to be even more frustrated.

Lyvia picked another restaurant within four blocks of the central square, except to the northeast. Classica was the almost invisible name on the tinted glass. Unlike Dorinique, it was small, and the decor was spare, with white plaster–finished walls and pale blue tile flooring. The table linens were a blue so deep that it was almost black.

Roget sank into the chair across from Lyvia. He was more than happy to order another lager, along with a chicken and broccoli feta pie and a Mediterranean salad. His eyes were burning slightly, but he didn't know whether that was some allergic reaction or just because he'd been straining to see and pick up anything that he could.

Once the lager arrived, he took several swallows before speaking. “What's the point of all this?”

“All what?”

“You show me around Skeptos. You give me a general idea of how your society works, but no details and no real information. If you intend to let me report back to the Federation, no one will believe me because I can only provide generality after generality and my own unsupported observations and calculations. If you don't intend to let me return, why bother? I'll either be dead, or I'll have plenty of time to learn.”

“In time, and that will not be that long, we will provide you with proof. Proof that even senior security officers should find convincing.”

Two salads appeared. Roget took a bite, discovering that the brownish olives not only had pits, but were strong and salty. Still, the tangy bite of the salad was refreshing.

“What's the nature of that proof?”

“We'll send you off with a certain amount of documentation.”

“You know the dropboat is in no shape to lift off, and that would be so even if Dubiety didn't have orbital shields.”

“That has also been considered.” Lyvia didn't look up from her salad. “You will return.”

The certainty in her voice wasn't totally reassuring.

As soon as they finished their salads, the server took the plates away and presented their entrées.

Roget had no trouble eating every bite of the creamy chicken and broccoli sandwiched between baked phyllo sheets. As he waited for Lyvia to finish her skewers and rice, he ventured another inquiry. “I've just assumed … but do you have traditional marriages here?”