slow and closed. “An interesting question. One that would require time to answer. I don’t have time. But I do have a query for you. Did you know Eirik 9968?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
“Not to me.”
“Well, I didn’t know him. Not to speak to.”
The lie slid easily off his tongue. It occurred to him that if he said it enough times, he might begin to believe it, that knowledge of another person was as frail as mist.
“He was wrongly numbered, I believe. Assigned a 68. He should have been a 65, for Tasmayn. Not that it makes a difference now. Funny the way that our origins are disregarded nowadays.”
The snippet of information could only have been dropped as a test. Vikram kept his face impassive.
“What’s the name of that stone, inside the Chambers?”
“Stone?”
“Yes. The pillars.”
“Oh. It’s called marble. Rather beautiful, isn’t it. Mined in quarries over a century ago. Finally shipped across from Patagonia. Quite a feat.” Linus paused. “Ah yes. This might help you—I won’t need it.” He handed Vikram a card. “Good luck. Don’t freeze out here.”
The door closed on him before Vikram could reply.
Find yourself a patron. Linus’s turn of phrase rang oddly in his wake. Not someone like my sister , but someone like Adelaide Mystik . As though Adelaide were a completely separate entity. It didn’t sound like a recommendation. Then again, what did Vikram know about these people?
He recalled the Rechnovs, gathered on the balcony to watch the skadi execute Eirik. Their family portrait seemed even stranger now than it had done last week. There were four fourth-gen siblings, he knew. Vikram wondered if that had been calculated prescience in light of the later population control laws. Linus was evidently on the Council. There was the other brother, and then the infamous twins. Axel, the ex-jet set boy who’d disappeared. And the daughter. Beautiful, catastrophic Adelaide, who refused to use her family’s name and headed up socialite group the Haze in a whirl of parties and social misdemeanours. Crazy Adelaide, mad like her brother, mad in the way that could only end badly. Last famously captured necking from a bottle at Axel’s remembrance service, or whatever the feed had called it, because the kid was surely dead. And Linus was suggesting that Vikram solicit her help?
Vikram looked at the card. It sat snugly in the palm of his hand, about the size of a playing card, but thicker. The card was red with a pink rose motif, and running across it in gold type was the inscription.
Adelaide Mystik invites you to Rose Night at the Red Rooms, to be held on the second Thursday of the month, attendance after the hour of twenty-one.
The back was watermarked. It had an Old World feel to it, pre-Neon, even.
Something struck him on the cheek. He looked up. Hail. Cursing the weather’s erratic switches, thrusting the card into his coat pocket, he retreated indoors.
Two guards were approaching down the corridor.
“Time’s up, kid. Out with you.”
They marched him back to the lift. Hands folded in front, eyes averted, they accompanied Vikram down the hundred floors, across the mosaic-tiled lobby, past the evergreen trees and down again through the flood control floors. They opened the doors for him to go outside. As he passed, one of them grabbed his collar.
“Hey—don’t forget to check out your picture in the newsreel.”
The other grinned inanely.
“We don’t have your damn newsreel in the west,” Vikram flung back. “Don’t you know anything?”
The doors hissed shut. Vikram was left at the waterbus terminus, watching the next load of passengers embark in the freezing hail.
5 ¦ ADELAIDE
T he Rechnov offices were quieter than she remembered. Through doors left ajar or windows with the blinds half drawn, she caught glimpses of her father’s employees. They were smartly but plainly dressed, their workstations clean, uncluttered. These days, amidst
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
“Not to me.”
“Well, I didn’t know him. Not to speak to.”
The lie slid easily off his tongue. It occurred to him that if he said it enough times, he might begin to believe it, that knowledge of another person was as frail as mist.
“He was wrongly numbered, I believe. Assigned a 68. He should have been a 65, for Tasmayn. Not that it makes a difference now. Funny the way that our origins are disregarded nowadays.”
The snippet of information could only have been dropped as a test. Vikram kept his face impassive.
“What’s the name of that stone, inside the Chambers?”
“Stone?”
“Yes. The pillars.”
“Oh. It’s called marble. Rather beautiful, isn’t it. Mined in quarries over a century ago. Finally shipped across from Patagonia. Quite a feat.” Linus paused. “Ah yes. This might help you—I won’t need it.” He handed Vikram a card. “Good luck. Don’t freeze out here.”
The door closed on him before Vikram could reply.
Find yourself a patron. Linus’s turn of phrase rang oddly in his wake. Not someone like my sister , but someone like Adelaide Mystik . As though Adelaide were a completely separate entity. It didn’t sound like a recommendation. Then again, what did Vikram know about these people?
He recalled the Rechnovs, gathered on the balcony to watch the skadi execute Eirik. Their family portrait seemed even stranger now than it had done last week. There were four fourth-gen siblings, he knew. Vikram wondered if that had been calculated prescience in light of the later population control laws. Linus was evidently on the Council. There was the other brother, and then the infamous twins. Axel, the ex-jet set boy who’d disappeared. And the daughter. Beautiful, catastrophic Adelaide, who refused to use her family’s name and headed up socialite group the Haze in a whirl of parties and social misdemeanours. Crazy Adelaide, mad like her brother, mad in the way that could only end badly. Last famously captured necking from a bottle at Axel’s remembrance service, or whatever the feed had called it, because the kid was surely dead. And Linus was suggesting that Vikram solicit her help?
Vikram looked at the card. It sat snugly in the palm of his hand, about the size of a playing card, but thicker. The card was red with a pink rose motif, and running across it in gold type was the inscription.
Adelaide Mystik invites you to Rose Night at the Red Rooms, to be held on the second Thursday of the month, attendance after the hour of twenty-one.
The back was watermarked. It had an Old World feel to it, pre-Neon, even.
Something struck him on the cheek. He looked up. Hail. Cursing the weather’s erratic switches, thrusting the card into his coat pocket, he retreated indoors.
Two guards were approaching down the corridor.
“Time’s up, kid. Out with you.”
They marched him back to the lift. Hands folded in front, eyes averted, they accompanied Vikram down the hundred floors, across the mosaic-tiled lobby, past the evergreen trees and down again through the flood control floors. They opened the doors for him to go outside. As he passed, one of them grabbed his collar.
“Hey—don’t forget to check out your picture in the newsreel.”
The other grinned inanely.
“We don’t have your damn newsreel in the west,” Vikram flung back. “Don’t you know anything?”
The doors hissed shut. Vikram was left at the waterbus terminus, watching the next load of passengers embark in the freezing hail.
5 ¦ ADELAIDE
T he Rechnov offices were quieter than she remembered. Through doors left ajar or windows with the blinds half drawn, she caught glimpses of her father’s employees. They were smartly but plainly dressed, their workstations clean, uncluttered. These days, amidst
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