Exurbia: A Novel About Caterpillars (An Infinite Triptych Book 1) by Alex McKechnie
Authors: Alex McKechnie
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build a functioning wiremind and further advance the evolution of intelligence in the cosmos by creating self-perpetuating machine successors.’
‘You make it sound so dry. It doesn’t matter. I think you’ll understand it all in time. All that Governance propaganda has probably skewed it all for you anyway.’
He felt an involuntarily surge of something then that made him want to raise his voice and release her hand and move frantically, though he knew not where to.
‘What is the likelihood,’ he said, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the helical tower, ‘that I was abducted for political reasons? What is the likelihood that I have been removed from the cave on account of my intimate knowledge of interior Governance workings? What is the likelihood,’ his pulse racing then, his brow creased, ‘that I have been reappropriated not on account of your concern for my wellbeing, but for use as a utility, or a conduit, or an appliance? Leverage: the act of using weight for an intended purpose, physically, or figuratively. Manipulation: the act of contriving events or invoking deception to realise a specific goal. Conspiracy: the -’
‘261,’ said the girl, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Calm down.’
‘- act of organising in secret, to the detriment of -’
‘Calm down. Nobody’s trying to manipulate you, or use you as -’
‘- another political body. Furthermore -’
He pulled his hand back from hers, his face flushed red then, breath frantic and irregular, the steely gleaming city beyond the transparency beating like a failing heart.
‘- masking a secret so as to deceive an individual, or public majority at large.’
She took a handheld device from her pocket. 261 heard the apartment door open behind moments later.
‘Coercion: the act of -’
Something hot and sharp and pointed entered his neck and a muscular hand came down like a clamp on his shoulder.
‘You see?’ said a male voice. ‘It’s too early. What in Plovda’s name did you say to him?’
The girl looked glum now, keeping eye contact with 261 as he sank to his knees, his vision and hearing dying quickly.
‘You can’t just pull a fish out of water,’ said the voice from behind. ‘You’re overloading him, for Gnesha’s sake.'
The imp thought of the unimposing features of the cave, of the vacuum tubes, of his futon, of the strange forces that had pulled him from the habitat and deposited him here. A world of towers and chrome, of glass, of half-truths and needles in the neck. And then, the dark closing in, he thought of nothing at all.
14
“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”
- The last recorded words of François Rabelais, Old Erde word artisan.
Jura -
The laboratory would be empty all night. He had laid the tools out on the workbench an hour ago or so, but had paused just to watch the machine a while as it worked. It isn't supposed to happen like this. A gunfight, a desperate struggle, but not like this . The rivets and screws would come apart quietly and without incident, the burning orange would die in a sudden flash, and that would be the death of it then. He would report the parts to the demolition team and they would come to the laboratory in the morning with their techne-glitzes. The components would go up in a single flash of blue smoke. There might be other rigs in the future, other Ixenites smart enough to actually get the recipe right, but it wasn’t likely. Besides , he thought, the tersh will have an entire security detail watching my back from now until the day I die. Nebulous shapes formed in the heart of the orange orb: a naked human figure, a pyramid, a roaring lion. God's egg.
He took a spanner and started on the larger nuts. Whichever Ixenite faction had worked on this had been a smart one. He hadn’t seen a design quite like it before. The outer casing came away easily enough. The orb pulsed on, undeterred. The vent plates came next, and finally the heat exchange. There was only the sensor matrix
‘You make it sound so dry. It doesn’t matter. I think you’ll understand it all in time. All that Governance propaganda has probably skewed it all for you anyway.’
He felt an involuntarily surge of something then that made him want to raise his voice and release her hand and move frantically, though he knew not where to.
‘What is the likelihood,’ he said, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the helical tower, ‘that I was abducted for political reasons? What is the likelihood that I have been removed from the cave on account of my intimate knowledge of interior Governance workings? What is the likelihood,’ his pulse racing then, his brow creased, ‘that I have been reappropriated not on account of your concern for my wellbeing, but for use as a utility, or a conduit, or an appliance? Leverage: the act of using weight for an intended purpose, physically, or figuratively. Manipulation: the act of contriving events or invoking deception to realise a specific goal. Conspiracy: the -’
‘261,’ said the girl, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Calm down.’
‘- act of organising in secret, to the detriment of -’
‘Calm down. Nobody’s trying to manipulate you, or use you as -’
‘- another political body. Furthermore -’
He pulled his hand back from hers, his face flushed red then, breath frantic and irregular, the steely gleaming city beyond the transparency beating like a failing heart.
‘- masking a secret so as to deceive an individual, or public majority at large.’
She took a handheld device from her pocket. 261 heard the apartment door open behind moments later.
‘Coercion: the act of -’
Something hot and sharp and pointed entered his neck and a muscular hand came down like a clamp on his shoulder.
‘You see?’ said a male voice. ‘It’s too early. What in Plovda’s name did you say to him?’
The girl looked glum now, keeping eye contact with 261 as he sank to his knees, his vision and hearing dying quickly.
‘You can’t just pull a fish out of water,’ said the voice from behind. ‘You’re overloading him, for Gnesha’s sake.'
The imp thought of the unimposing features of the cave, of the vacuum tubes, of his futon, of the strange forces that had pulled him from the habitat and deposited him here. A world of towers and chrome, of glass, of half-truths and needles in the neck. And then, the dark closing in, he thought of nothing at all.
14
“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”
- The last recorded words of François Rabelais, Old Erde word artisan.
Jura -
The laboratory would be empty all night. He had laid the tools out on the workbench an hour ago or so, but had paused just to watch the machine a while as it worked. It isn't supposed to happen like this. A gunfight, a desperate struggle, but not like this . The rivets and screws would come apart quietly and without incident, the burning orange would die in a sudden flash, and that would be the death of it then. He would report the parts to the demolition team and they would come to the laboratory in the morning with their techne-glitzes. The components would go up in a single flash of blue smoke. There might be other rigs in the future, other Ixenites smart enough to actually get the recipe right, but it wasn’t likely. Besides , he thought, the tersh will have an entire security detail watching my back from now until the day I die. Nebulous shapes formed in the heart of the orange orb: a naked human figure, a pyramid, a roaring lion. God's egg.
He took a spanner and started on the larger nuts. Whichever Ixenite faction had worked on this had been a smart one. He hadn’t seen a design quite like it before. The outer casing came away easily enough. The orb pulsed on, undeterred. The vent plates came next, and finally the heat exchange. There was only the sensor matrix
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