A Night Without Stars by Peter F. Hamilton Page A

information Corilla could hold in her macrocellular stores. Was a hundred times the memory of an ordinary brain enough to hold the files around him? Had she even been telling the truth about that? What if it was a thousand? Or ten thousand? He was fairly sure his memory, wonderful though it was, couldn’t hold anything close to the stacks of information he was walking through. It was a shame. Having so much knowledge just a thought away would give him a phenomenal advantage over the Fallers. For a start he wouldn’t have to pander to the whims of a belligerent old woman who should have been retired decades ago.
    The index office had floor-to-ceiling metal shelving that held hundreds of Rolodex drums. Ashya Kukaida had been true to her word. Two of the black-suited clerks were there, helping Lurvri—checking the Rolodexes for file numbers, then bringing the requisite folders to the table where he sat. They’d clearly had a busy afternoon. Files formed a half-meter tower beside Lurvri, their cardboard folders old and creased, faded to a uniform brown. The desk’s Anglepoise lamps cast a bright pool of light on the sheets of paper and old photos he was studying.
    “What have you got?” Chaing asked as he slid into a spare chair beside his partner.
    “Elyse had two brothers and a sister,” Lurvri said, waving his hand over some of the files. “The Geale family was right; they all left Opole. The sister went to Varlan, married a captain in the marines. We don’t know where the brothers went. I’ve sent out a priority-three request to other PSR offices to check residency registration—which is a long shot, given they left damn near two hundred years ago. But I talked to the Opole city land and buildings bureau. The so-called cousins, Valentin and Rashad, applied for an ownership continuation certificate for Xander Manor three years ago. Their residency permits were issued by Gretz County.”
    “Have you contacted the Gretz office?”
    “Yes. Their records hall promised to get back to me before midday tomorrow.”
    “Good work.” He signaled one of the clerks over. “I want Opole’s missing persons statistics for the last fifteen years, and the files of everyone reported missing during the last three years.”
    The clerk hesitated. “The chief sheriff’s office hasn’t submitted their returns for the last six months.”
    “Oh, for— Get me what you can now, and call the chief sheriff’s office. I want their paperwork here by tomorrow morning.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    Chaing looked around. “We’re going to need a command office. This is too small.”
    “Building management has the allocation forms,” Lurvri said. “That’s on the second floor.”
    “Yaki promised me more people.”
    “Good!”
    Chaing glanced out of the office’s window. At the far end of the records hall aisle, jail-style metal bars protected the restricted files section. “I want another file,” he told the clerk. “An Eliter called Corilla. She’s an active informant, handled by the political division.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    Lurvri was giving him a curious look. “Problem?”
    “I just want to know how reliable she is, that’s all.”
    “Right.” Lurvri lowered his head to study the spread of paper on the table, but not quickly enough to hide the knowing smile elevating his lips.
    Chaing let it go.
    Within minutes the clerks had checked the Rolodexes and started bringing the files. Chaing was surprised by the number of missing persons—more than twenty-five a year from the city alone. The county statistics were a lot higher. And this in a world where someone vanishing was always a cause for concern. Then starting three years ago, the numbers had risen. “Does no one ever check these?” he demanded.
    “Statistics aren’t terribly accurate predictors,” Lurvri said with a shrug.
    “They’re an ideal way to monitor possible nest activity.” He forced himself not to voice any more criticism in front of the clerks;