Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1) (2 page)

2

Centria’s crystalline architecture changes regularly. Somehow, the Basis is able to calculate the layout without crushing anyone or removing allocated space and each morning the view is slightly different, as if Centria needs a million different ways of admiring itself. My apartment for instance is in a slim, elegant thirty-storey tower which hangs like a spindle between six walkways that radiate out from the middle to connect with other chambers and platforms. Yesterday, the walkways were at the bottom.

The ifarm lets me know Security is here by opening a little window in the bottom right of my vision that shows four armed guards outside. I cross the room and open the door. There’s a momentary dislocation as I look at both the ifarm window and the guards themselves, then the window closes and I stare fixedly at the nearest guard in a way that seems odd even to me.

“Please come with us Miss Freestone,” the guard says.

I follow them, giddy with fear as we walk down the short corridor to an opening onto a docking platform. We walk through and I see myself reflected in the mirrored exterior of a spherical Centrian Security cruiser. The hatch between two of the vehicle’s four pyramidal Basis interaction pads slides open and I step on board. From inside I can see out in every direction except down through the flat, opaque floor.

Ursula sits by the door in one of the six inward-facing seats. Her physical similarity to Mum, always a reminder of my difference to them, is even harder to cope with today. Both have very dark hair, slightly absurd long legs and improbable but real curves. They share an offbeat beauty: part dominatrix, part girl next door.

As Ursula gets up I can tell she has been crying. I throw myself at her, she catches me and we hold each other so tightly neither can breathe. Finally, we let go and I look up at her.

“It’s Mum and Dad,” she says.

I’m out of breath with apprehension. Ursula sits, pulls me down next to her and grips my hand. As the soldiers settle into their seats the ship takes off.

“Mum’s in a coma,” she says finally. “They don’t know how it happened. And Dad…” A strange guttural sound escapes her throat. Fresh tears run down her cheeks although she still manages to speak. “Dad has gone missing.” She seems to writhe with grief and I fight an urge to do the same. “He isn’t dead though.”

“Y-you can’t be sure of that,” I say.

“I would know if he was.”

I just nod, suddenly remembering a long-ago Harvest Day when Ursula and I were quite small, about seven and five respectively. It was evening and most of the decorations were up. Mum took our hands and led us into the big bedroom, where she got a box from a cupboard and carefully lifted out two plastic gold stars on frayed pieces of string. We knew immediately they were precious objects even though they were quite battered even then. ‘These’, Mum said, ‘are from the Old World.’

Ursula and I stood open mouthed. Objects from the Old World are almost priceless. The Basis cannot make them because they are not constructed from kilos so Old World items are in short supply and there will never be any more. Mum handed one star to Ursula and the other to me so we could put them up, trusting us with the most valuable things she had…

Ursula watches me.

“We’re going to see Mum,” she says.

I don’t want to see Mum; I want to remember her as she was although something in Ursula’s voice stops me saying so. The cruiser lands but the guards stay where they are as Ursula gets off and I follow.

Mum and Dad live in a large two-storey house that stands alone on a promontory overlooking Centria. The garden around it is a simple arrangement of pools and plants in different shades of green. There are no flowers, which keeps the incongruous patch of land steady and soothing.

A little floating island hangs in the air nearby like a piece that has broken away. When we were small we would grow bridges across and run over to play there. The stream running around the island spirals down from steep grassy sides into a central pool with a transparent base so the enclave floor can be seen far below. I realise with a little shock that although the rest of Centria changes daily, the house and its surroundings have always stayed the same.

I push open the door and walk in to the main family room. It feels uncomfortably still. The sofa is the same tatty cloth one that’s always been there, as if waiting for someone to come and jump on it or slouch across it or spill something on it. There are pictures of Ursula and me everywhere. The ones of Ursula are glamorous and provocative, all odd angles, red lips and outrageous poses. In the ones of me I look thoughtful and intense.

Between the pictures are cupboards full of objects Mum and Dad could gif on a daily basis but don’t, preferring to re-use their possessions so they accrue in value. It’s the same smart, sentimental oddness that compels Mum to grow actual ingredients like vegetables and cook with those instead of the stuff Ursula and I eat straight out of the Basis. My mouth waters at the memory of Mum’s dinners.

I follow Ursula upstairs, feeling strangely formal. We pass my old room and then Ursula’s, both kept as they were in case we come and stay which, I realise sadly, we never do. As Ursula enters Mum and Dad’s room my nervousness turns to dread. Ursula stops. I move past her and stop as well.

Anton Jelka turns towards us and I stare at him. It’s not just the Head of Security’s unexpected presence. I cannot get on with a man so tense his face looks like it’s being strangled by his expression, while he can’t get on with a girl he regards as chaotic but who has sufficient influence to ensure her chaos becomes his problem. Ursula shifts impatiently beside me and I turn to the bed.

Mum looks asleep. Her chest rises and falls. I hesitate as I reach for her as if whatever it is might be contagious and then touch her forehead anyway. She feels the same; no warmer or cooler than normal. One of her arms is outside the cover and a tiny tube from the floor goes into it. There’s a small crease between her eyes, as if she is frozen at the point of pretending she’s not in pain.

“It’s some kind of artificially induced coma,” Anton Jelka says.

“Induced how?” Ursula says.

“We don’t know,” Anton says.

He seems defensive.

“Via the ifarm,” Ursula says.

I look at her in surprise.

“That’s not possible,” Anton says. “It could just as easily have been a beam or a projectile.”

“Did you see anyone fire a beam or a projectile?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“You watch our every move,” I say. “What’s the point of that if someone can knock out one of your best agents without you knowing?”

Anton shakes his head in exasperation.

“What about Dad?” Ursula says.

“We last heard from Connor at the same time… this happened.”

“It happened at exactly the same time?” I ask, astonished.

“Yes. It’s as if whatever hit her affected him as well.”

“Is he in the same state as Mum?” I say.

“If he was we would probably have found him,” Anton says.

“Probably?” Ursula says.

“He may have been taken.”

“By-?” I say.

“I don’t want to speculate Charity,” Anton says. “It won’t help.”

Ursula starts to cry; I put my arms around her and she bends her head down so her face rests on my shoulder.

“What…?” I try to think of the right words but my mind has become infuriatingly slow. “What is Centria doing for Dad now?”

“We sent ships to his last known location,” Anton says, “but there was nothing.”

“Where was that?”

“MidZone.”

“Yes but what coordinates?”

“You’re not going out there Charity.”

I glare at him. Ursula stops crying and looks up. Anton shakes his head. His lack of officiousness is disarming; he looks like he is considering what to tell us and what to leave out.

“We sent our best troops,” he says finally. “They scoured the surrounding area and utilised our contacts there. And then…” He looks away. “They were attacked. We don’t know who by. We nearly lost two soldiers. Investigations will continue of course but… It doesn’t look good for Connor. I’m sorry.”

“Oh are you-?” Ursula starts.

“Yes Ursula, I am,” Anton says. “I admired both of your parents, more I think than…” He stops himself. “Will either of you be staying here?”

The question is unexpected. Ursula and I look at each other.

“I thought not,” Anton says.

I stare at Mum without really seeing her.

“Julie will be monitored by the ifarm’s medical facility and if there is any change in her condition the three of us will know about it immediately. Security Control will seal the house. Only the three of us and Connor will be able to enter. We should leave now.”

I don’t want to go but I don’t want to stay either. My mind is a jumble of confusion, rage and icy calm.

Ursula leans over Mum and cuddles her. Anton watches as I wait behind Ursula, conscious of being second in line. Ursula finally lets go and moves aside. I look down at Mum. I have never felt closer to her, or so far away.

A small, cold voice tells me that if Mum dies I won’t find out who I am. Sick with guilt, I quickly kiss her on the forehead and pick up her familiar smell; slightly spicy and with remnants of the perfume she wears to complement it. Ursula smells the same. Again I am utterly different; I smell sweet like biscuits, or so I’m told.

I straighten, turn and walk quickly out of the bedroom. Ursula follows me downstairs with Anton behind us both.

“She called you,” Anton says.

I pause by the front door, relieved my back is to Anton so he doesn’t see me swallow nervously.

“She told you to log out of the ifarm,” Anton says, “which you did. Why?”

I turn to him.

“She said she was worried about Dad,” I say.

He watches me. I look back at him evenly. Ursula stares at us both.

“Is that it?” Anton says.

“Yes,” I say.

“It is an offence to log out of the ifarm Charity. Under the circumstances I will let the matter go but don’t do it again.”

I nod as we step out of the front door. Anton walks past, glances back and I turn to see diamond flow up over the family home. As the shield hardens so does part of me: a violent, dread purpose I can feel in my limbs like a quiet hum. Anton looks at me closely as if he can see this change but leaves without another word.

“Company,” Ursula says thickly.

I turn back to see four cruisers fly over the little island. The cruisers are much larger versions of the one that brought me and Ursula here and they reflect four distorted sliding realities as they descend past the front of the house. Once each cruiser has come to rest on its mirrored underside a hatch opens in the nearest and Ellery Quinn steps out.

Centria’s Communications Director is a well-built woman who would not look out of place in the army. Her arms, which are proudly exposed as usual, are strong but retain their total femininity. Her walk is an unapologetic heavy-hipped waddle, as if she carries the richness of the world between her legs. In a place where beauty is easily affordable there is something endearingly true about Ellery’s lined face and long, thick, crazy red hair. However, despite her dense physicality Ellery seems removed, like a watcher above the world. I imagine her real self is in another dimension with the body I see a grudging emanation into our crude universe.

I don’t recognise her expression as she walks up and seizes me. I’m so astonished I go rigid. Ellery tightens her grip until I have no choice but to relax. When she turns her face to kiss the side of my head her lips touch my temple.

“Hn. Sorry,” she says.

That’s a lot of words for Ellery. The so-called Voice of Centria is the most taciturn person I’ve ever met. Most of her communication takes place on levels unimaginable to the rest of us. She will be juggling twenty conversations even now and her eyes are hard to meet. They seem to vibrate in a blur of bright green as she reads and processes a document every second.

I put my palms on her sides. I think this is the first time I have ever touched Ellery in four years of working for her. I wait for her to say something else but instead she lets go and extends her arm to Ursula, who slots herself into an embrace. Ellery strokes Ursula’s hair. They seem far more comfortable with each other.

I sigh, turn and see who waits patiently beside the furthest ship. I am so astonished my mouth drops open. For a moment I forget everything that has happened.

Keris Veitch stands with her hands in the pockets of a richly embroidered long green dress. She wears Old World light brown boots with wooden heels and there are bangles with unfamiliar designs around her wrists. Her hair is a thick yellow braid with emeralds and flowers woven into it. Bright and lush, it coils over her shoulder and down between her breasts to her waist. She is tall, as tall as Ursula. However, Ursula, who until now I had thought the most beautiful and charismatic person I knew, is a wisp compared to Keris. Keris is like the lost sun.

Five warships hover behind her as if conjured from her sleeves. Roughly triangular with the flat plane uppermost, the warships are huge airborne fortresses capable of disgorging a hundred troops or a terrifying array of heavy-duty weapons. Each is dull red, presumably to signify danger although it’s not necessary.