All Fall Down (23 page)

           
This ever changing environment, in which cafés faded from view and submarine engine rooms blared red and hissed in. In which giant chess sets with Escher-angles wrapped themselves around cool solar flares, which acted as bridges over alien waterways teeming with fractal lily pads. Where beach huts covered in years-dried palm fronds baked under skies wrapped into saddle shapes; where the insides of
 
cruiser-class ships, all sleek lines, passenger comfort and efficient lighting, seamlessly and impossibly bloomed into the cloud layer algal-tree habitats of the seventh moon of Puck. And everywhere, in every environment, scores of holograms of Jonah Kingsland, endlessly discussing everything that was happening, had happened, might happen on Fall. Djembe thought it was utter chaos. Everywhere he looked, no matter how forced and distorted the perspective, he saw holo after holo of Jonah, talking to itself, the details slightly changed, the shirt blue instead of green, the trousers short instead of plaid; dark, pale, animated, reflective. Sitting in cafés, hanging from trees, relaxing in hammocks, parachuting through clouds and shouting through the onrushing air to Jonahs one metre away skating on frozen lakes. Everywhere was Jonah. Everywhere was discussion of Fall. If he listened in to the conversations, he would hear wild gossip and scurrilous rumour: of who from Mining Colony #1 was seen drinking with whom from the Teaching Floor of the main Colony structure, and what this meant, and who might be affected; of how a holo emitter was broken and showed only two dimensional entertainments; of where a locket had gone that was put on a vanity table just two hours ago; why there was a pressure surge in a wall panel in a disused maintenance corridor on the bottom floor of the Colony. Suppositions were made, theories and opinions were posited; holo coffees were slurped and glasses of wine chinked, weaving a fabric of sound through the retina-warping visual environment. Each environment was augmented with aromas created by chemical packs in the room's walls. The sizzle of bacon from a café. The earthy forest tang of humus turning to soil. Ripe fruit. Talk chirruped like fresh water over small stones in brooks, fresh and clean, burbling to unseen oceans.

           
Djembe was surrounded by this great opera of Babel, where every line was spoken by one principal actor: Jonah Kingsland, hologrammatically copied, each copy allowed to evolve as a distinct personality, time after time after time. Each copy retaining the essence of the original, then developing its own interests. This one fascinated with mining statistics, that one with the weather. This one with bleached hair an expert on the drinking habits of the second floor workers, that one loudly exaggerating the successes of the Colony's children in their exams and how they might be inspired by more SysNet entertainments.

           
“How do you track it all? It seems like chaos.” Djembe sat at the pavement café across from the two Jonahs.

           
One of the Jonahs pressed a pad on his wrist; the environment dimmed, the babble receded to a distant conversation. “Better not to hear it all at once, eh?” Next to him the other Jonah, as if seen through a haze of gauze, checked his watch, stood and walked over to a Jonah wearing a sandwich board. The smells faded, and the Colony's underlying aroma returned: a metallic tang mixed with cleaning agents.

           
“It is chaos, that's the point. I realised long ago that you couldn't keep this place classified, like the way they want it, by using what you use. No offence.”

           
“None taken.”

           
“If this mining facility was discovered it would be a target for any remaining subversive elements out there. They may've been quiet for a long time, the Nihilists, the Anarchists, the NuLuddites, but they're out there still, and it only takes one idiot to screw things up. And you know what consequence planning's like. You have to track everything, you never know where a tipping point might start.”

           
“It is difficult at times, I admit.”

           
“It's alright with one off, large scale things, responding to earthquakes, crop growing and distribution. Asteroid impacts.” Jonah waved a hand, “There's hundreds of years of data and experience for that stuff. But not with people. Miners, teachers, kids, doctors, nurses, canteen staff, mechanics, pilots. It's all too unpredictable. The human mind,” Jonah tapped a finger against his head, “even in the dimmest of people, is too clever, makes too many strange connections. Too much paranoia, too many emotions, too much speculation and too many loose tongues.” He picked up his coffee, took a sip, “And with Fall, you don't want anything leaking out. You never know how a conversation or mood's gonna cascade through the systems.”

           
“So instead of trying to constantly work out all those data points, you made your Consequence Map-”

           
“Out of the system itself” Jonah interrupted. He stood and walked to a nearby scene where his hologänger was sitting in a bar staring into a whisky. “Every single holo in here is linked into the blogs, personal diary spaces, work records, maintenance systems, recorded conversations on security holos, transmissions, from and within Fall. They talk about everything. They gossip, speculate, surmise, predict, they fall out with each other.” Jonah pointed at another hologänger, wearing sunglasses and lying on a beach of blue-tinged sand, “They go on holidays, they dream away the hours, they stare into space, they rave at the stars. And out of all that we can track dangers, risks, tipping points, either as or before they happen.”

           
“And they look like you because?”

           
“Cos I thought of it, of course!” He smirked. “You don't get much reward here, you know. And no one else comes in, so why not?”

           
Djembe drank his coffee. Jonah cycled past quoting from Old Earth literature, through a team of Jonahs playing zero-
g
ball sports and discussing the benefits of revenge.

           
“Come on mate, let's have a look around. Drink up.”
    

           
Djembe pushed back his chair and stood. Jonah adjusted his wrist pad. The haze flickered, melted into the mossy gloom of forest light. Jonah led the way, stepping up onto huge tree roots, splashing down into streams. “You get lots of references to forests in here. Never quite figured out why. Reckon Verigua has a thing about information ecology. Little joke, see? Though you never see any animals, of course. Just me.”

           
“I don't understand how you know when a consequence path has reduced in risk. On a traditional map it shrinks, changes colour, shortens. What happens here?”

           
Jonah pushed back some ferns, “People just stop talking about it. Kinda depends. Lots of the way this works we didn't program, just let the thing evolve. We had to figure some of it out when it was running.”

           
“So how do you know it's a real risk reduction? Maybe your Jonahs are distracted or bored? Could they not misjudge the importance of something?”

           
“Could be,” Jonah ducked under a vine, “don't have any evidence of that though. We follow up on anything that seems a risk, investigate it more.”

           
“What do they say of this scientist who has died?”

           
“Pretty strong signal. Vendetta. Some exotic technology on the surface.”

           
“Exotic technology? What do you mean?” Djembe tried to stay nonchalant.

           
“Ah, there's no actual evidence. Not sure where that came from, actually.” Jonah scratched his head and paused by a liana-wrapped tree.

           
Djembe thought quickly, “In my experience, assassins are good at covering their tracks.”

           
“Must be some tech I've never heard of. Any ideas?”

           
“My colleague is investigating.” Djembe found a professional smile. He was starting to get used to being in the environment. And Jonah Kingsland, despite his lack of formality, was growing on him.

           
A Jonah hologänger jumped off a tree branch to their side, “Hello you two! Just been investigating what's inside this tree. It's dead. The tree. Shame, it's a mighty specimen. Have you seen Jonah? We were on a hunting expedition. Thought we had a lead on a juicy rumour,” the Jonah from the tree wiped his forehead with his forearm, “something about children playing hide-and-seek, and where they're hiding. And secret recordings.” He looked around with a big grin on his face, “Sounds fun, doesn't it? Have you seen Jonah? We should compare field notes.”

           
Djembe and Jonah looked at each other, then back at Jonah from the tree. They both shook their heads, made their excuses and left. “You get that, too. Usually refers to people having affairs.” Jonah was becoming reflective, “Always nice to know that normal things are happening. SysNet stuff comes in here, sometimes. You get interpretation of events out there. Might not be what you'd immediately think of to put in a map, but like I said, in a facility like this, you never know what's important, do ya?”

           
“Do you miss out there? I presume you are not a child of Fall.”

           
Jonah took a moment to reply, “Dunno, mate. Dunno. Your mind's wiped. Most of it, anyway. I'm not exactly sure what I'm missing.” He shrugged.

           
For a while the land went uphill, and they talked about the mechanics of the consequence mapping. Djembe thought over the rumours he'd heard from the different Jonahs, real and simulated. Exotic technology. Hidden children and secret recordings. It was too close to their mission to ignore.

           
They climbed in silence over a cascade of tree roots covered in fungal rot, pulling themselves up by hanging vines and plants. At the top Djembe put his hand against a tree trunk and looked over the brow of the hill. The possibilities of this place enervated him.

           
Ahead, a school room merged into the forest, where one Jonah was sweeping the floors and muttering about children, another was sitting on a desk gazing out of a window at a passing ocean-going ship, and a third looked to be asleep, his head hidden in his arms, leaning on a desk.

           
Jonah changed the subject, “We should go and talk to Verigua. You wanted to investigate this anomaly, didn't you?”

           
“Yes. Which way is it?”

           
“You're never more than five metres from the door in here. You just have to ask for it. Door!” In front of them, a dark gap opened in the school room. Jonah walked through first. Djembe straightened and followed.

           
In their discussion of consequence mechanics, he'd forgotten what Jonah had said about the room's ecology. It never occurred to him to mention the butterfly resting on the tree trunk where his hand had rested.

Kate sat opposite Daoud, whose mouth had pinched. His eyes were cold, as if they'd been replaced by black diamonds. “Murder?” Daoud blinked, once. Although her eyes were dry, she forced herself to match his demeanour.

           
Kate had taken a risk, to see if she could push this man into giving something away.

           
“I think so. Doctor's Maki biotag signal is very unusual.” Kate took a silent breath, while she concentrated her gaze between Daoud's eyes on the bridge of his nose, “I'd like to interrogate Doctor Currie. The culprits are usually those who know the victim best.”

           
“He won't take kindly to a murder charge. This sort of thing doesn't occur on Fall.”

           
“You've had a vendetta killing before, I checked. I'll also need to talk to any spouse she had.”

           
“Why not take a ship, scour the planet? Her body is out there somewhere.”

           
“Too slow. Pressure on the people closest to her is the quickest method.”

           
“But you said this was a vendetta. That implies an external force.”