All Fall Down (28 page)

           
“Verigua, how far is it to the wall, on the corridor that crosses the end of this one?”

           
“Three metres eight from my perch.”

           
“Before you noticed me behind you, where was I? What was I doing?” Djembe's feet slid apart. Involuntarily, he dipped his head and watched Verigua from under his brow. The AI was corrupted. Or if this wasn't part of its infection, then something was amiss. There was a filter, a barrier it couldn't pass. Either way, Djembe was worried.

           
“You were just walking ahead of me, just there.”

           
“How far ahead?”

           
“Well, you shouted at me, most rudely I might add, just as I reached the crossing corridor. But from there, you were two metres forty six away.”

           
“And how wide is the corridor crossing this one?” He eyed the owl carefully, looking for flickers in its holo, something which might give away what was wrong.

           
“The crossing corridor is one metre fifty exactly, standard width. I don't see what that... Oh my. That can't be right. How were you over two metres in front when the corridor is only one point five metres wide? My internal map must be out of date. Excuse me, I'll just fly it and measure it again.”

           
“No!”

           
“My word, Commander.” Verigua's head snapped round, its wings at full stretch. “You've turned rather vigorous. You must be a hit with the ladies, eh? Moody, quiet, and then rather forceful.” The owl
coo
-ed.

           
Verigua's frivolity was turning Djembe's worry into annoyance again, “Listen to me. Twice I have found you stuck at the corridor junction, talking to yourself about a red giant solar system, thinking you are moving and talking to me. There's some sort of barrier there that you cannot cross.” He painted the air with his hand, “Beyond it, if you turn down the corridor to the left, there is a door, with heavy security features, and of a different design to all this around us. Where the fault line intersects the corridor.”

           
The owl flowed into a violet mist, pooling into the corridor, forming the Librarian. It doddered a moment, looking back and forth from the corridor junction to Djembe, “I don't sense anything. And look here, in this book, the diagnostics for the corridors contain no such information.”

           
Djembe stepped around the Librarian, “I'm going down there and I am going to record my passage with my wrist communicator. Can you record me, too? I'll show you the results after.”

           
He walked to the corridor's end and back.

           
The Librarian looked amazed when he returned, “Well now, young man, there's quite a parlour trick. However did you manage that! I must say you Military Intelligence types are rather aptly named, aren't you?

           
“What happened? Play me your recording.”

           
“I think you've made your point, Commander, really.” The Librarian adjusted its shirt cuffs, which poked out from under its jacket's sleeves.

           
“OK, I'll show you my recording, then.” Djembe held his wrist. An image showed Djembe walk from Verigua, to the wall on the crossing corridor, then back. The Librarian was mute, motionless in the holo. “I really think you need to show me your recording.”

           
The Librarian sighed, “Very well,” and took an ancient, millennium-old box camera from within its waistcoat. A flickering image sputtered into life, in grainy black and white, identical to Djembe's for the first couple of seconds. When Djembe reached the corridor end he disappeared. The image showed the Librarian turn around and start stacking shelves which suggested themselves out of pipes and shadows and overly detailed conduit panels.

           
“We have a problem, Verigua.”

           
“I fear you are correct, Commander Djembe.” Verigua's Librarian stiffened, adjusted its waistcoat and ran a finger around its shirt collar. “You should run along to your General, I need time for a think. This,” it motioned towards the corridor end, “is not without consequences, eh?” It walked a few steps along the corridor and turned back, “Please, Commander. I need some time. I suggest whatever's round there, it may not be somewhere you want to be caught. Be a good chap and run along.”

           
“Very well. I will have to follow procedure and report this. I'll be in the Operations holo suite.” Djembe re-traced his steps to the service lift. When the lift doors opened, a small automaton rolled out, weaving around his legs as he stepped over it. He watched it trundle away as the doors closed on the bowels of the Colony. The lift doors closed on his last comment in the depths, “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

“Open door.”

           
Doctor Currie appeared in the doorway, the room's white light spreading thickly over his face, painting a temporary look of wonder over his irritation.

           
“General Leland, hello again. I understand you wanted to see me?”

           
The room was ghostly. White light obscured its walls, its floor. Gauzy wisps of holos on standby suggested some form, some feature, but were difficult to see. When Doctor Currie stepped in he looked too solid against the light.

           
“Doctor.” Kate glanced at the dull matte of her MI uniform, contrasted against the narcotic light. She must also look hyper-real. She adjusted her seating position in the supporting antigrav field. “Thank you for sparing me more of your time. I won't keep you more than a few minutes.”

           
Masjid stayed quiet as he walked into the room. The wall became a seamless veil, a diaphane ivory.

           
“Interesting meeting room,” Kate looked around at the blank nothingness, “you'd never get away with stylistic features likes this on a Hab. Or an MI Hab, at least.”

           
“Computer: chair.” Masjid sat in hard light chair, styled around a half-sphere, and pulled at one of his fingers, “I remember all too well. Fall may be isolated, but it has its attractions to compensate. A semblance of comfort, some style,” he motioned to the room, “freedom from interference.”

           
Typical colonist, Kate thought, always have to mention interference. She stayed diplomatic, and laid the bait of flattery, “So I hear. I'm starting to understand how significant your work is. I think isolation has served you well.”

           
She watched him relax, take the bait, “You have no idea what meddlesome controls MI places on research out in the Settled Quarters. My research puts us on the brink of the next level of human evolution. It took me years to convince the Cadre to allow me to direct the programme, even though I conceived it.” He smoothed the strands of white hair on his head, “This place is liberating. Have you ever had true freedom, General? To create your own work and be left alone to
 
pursue it?”

           
She shook her head, “No, Doctor. My job is to respond to other people's emergencies.” As soon as the words were out, she saw the look on his face: pity. She couldn't bring herself to be upset. It was exactly what she'd been thinking before they'd been assigned to Fall. She wanted some space, some freedom to pursue her own work. Kate slipped off her chair, went to a transparent suggestion of movement. In the air a molecule coloured out of the whiteness, rotating.

           
Masjid looked over. “Ah yes, my neurocomputational protein. They call it Compound X. I imagine you want to know why it's never made it off Fall?”

           
She looked back, considering her answer, “I presume an agreement with MI. That's not my area of interest.” She walked around the molecule, “The compound was in Doctor Maki's blood.”

           
“Yes, they all use it.”

           
“There were unusually high concentrations in her blood stream.”

           
“Am I being interrogated?” Daoud narrowed his eyes. Kate noticed he was still pulling at one finger, which was covered in something.

           
“I just need an understanding of certain aspects of the molecule, to rule out drug-induced psychosis, suicide or nano-control by external agents. That sort of thing.” Masjid was nodding now. Kate was framing her questions carefully, putting him in the role of teacher. “For example, these methyl groups in this side chain, and the partial protein cluster here, they share characteristics of some hormones and gene activation molecules, the kind parasites use in their reproduction cycle. Could you describe how they work?”

           
Rising from his seat, Masjid walked over to the molecule, put his hand in his lab coat pocket and stepped past Kate, reaching into the image, “A common question, General. Well, common amongst my better students. I'm impressed. If you look under the guanine chain...” Masjid described the molecule's structure. Kate watched him carefully. She was only asking to get him comfortable and used to talking, so she could bring the interrogation proper.

           
“Is there anything else, General? Or was it just this compound?” Masjid returned to his seat.

           
“I need to talk with you about why Doctor Maki was on the surface. Specifically why no one came to pick her up at the end of her work.”

           
Masjid gazed at her and was silent for some moments. She allowed him the time and waited patiently. Eventually, “Is this interrogation room classified?”

           
“Yes. Article Seven of the Colony Defence Code.”

           
He nodded. “And your training and biology training. Does it extend to procedures like memory erasure?”

           
Kate frowned. She wasn't sure where this was leading, “I am rated, yes. I have to perform them occasionally. My pilot will have to undergo one after we leave Fall to ensure the installation remains classified. I prefer to do it myself, out of respect.”

           
“Do you know what this is?” Masjid held out his hand and showed her the covering over his index finger.

           
“It's a dermal patch. Usually used to deliver an instant anaesthetic.” What was going on?

           
Masjid raised the finger and put it to his throat.

           
“Doctor Currie, what are you doing?”

           
“I am tired, General Leland. Tired of lies. So I am going to tell you some truth. And then you are going to wipe my memory, so that I have no idea. It's better I don't know. Do you understand?”

           
“Did you send the coded message?”

           
He laughed bitterly, “No, I'm too weak to send such a thing. Peter did. My colleague, Doctor Cassel. You should know he's dead.”

           
“Dead? How?”

           
“Underneath this Colony in an uncharted tunnel is a secret facility. Inside are twenty three biological specimens.”

           
“What? Specimens of what?”

           
“Human DNA mixed with something... non-human.”

           
“Animal?”

           
“Alien.”

           
“Impossible.” Kate felt the colour drain from her cheeks. First contact had been made? How was that possible?

           
Masjid smiled weakly and put the dermal patch to his neck, “The Compound X in my bloodstream gives me some resistance to this, so I have a few seconds left. Bring your wrist pad to me.”