System Seven (26 page)

He headed for the
elevators. Spots of energy drew his eye; every time it was either a person or a
hotel security camera.
Could meta energy
be seen? Transmitted via electronics?
The questions he’d forgot to ask
piled up.

He entered his room on
the thirteenth floor where full length windows revealed a sunrise breaking over
central London. In the mirrored wall of the entry he saw the face he’d chosen.
Handsome but not striking. Average but not boring.

He unpacked and took a
shower. All his little scars were absent, replaced with new ones. As amazing as
their body crafting expertise was, it all paled compared to the timeframe in
which it had occurred, including the healing. No incision lines, no suture
marks of any kind. The doctor had declined explaining how, saying only, “You
are in fortunate company, Austin, in fortuitous times. However, I recommend not
getting hit in the face in the next couple of weeks.”

The meeting at a pub
in the Epping Forest on the outskirts of London wasn’t until dinner time. They
presumed he’d sleep but for the moment the thought wasn’t desirable nor were
the instructions to stay put in his room. Instead, hunger and visions of a big
English breakfast led him to the door for a walk. The hotel restaurant couldn’t
be too much a travel violation.

The phone rang on the
night stand. He went to answer it.

A stranger’s voice
said sternly, “Tsk, tsk. Use room service. Check your pillow, now.” The line
clicked off. They were with him, then. He had to tear open a pillow to retrieve
a cell phone from its center. It booted up and within seconds rang.

“Greetings, program.”
The same stranger’s voice, now clipped from encryption. “I know I suggested
Germany or Thailand but I suppose London will have to do.”

“Ramaet?”

“Not a name you should
repeat, but yes. I couldn’t resist being the one to call. Heard you’ve been
through hell. Again, I’m sorry for that. Can’t say I didn’t try to warn you,
though.”

“Why did you send it
to me?”

“Got to save something
for tonight. Order up breakfast, take a nap, watch the tube, but don’t leave
the room until quarter of five and keep the phone with you. See you at dinner.”

The sheer enchantment
of the forest rolling past the cab’s windows mesmerized. The woods suspended
energy, lingering with memories that spanned centuries. Austin almost expected
a band of knights on horseback or a king’s hansom under escort to appear up the
road.

Despite the mansions,
cottages, and small stores dotting the countryside, the woods dominated with
their aged splendor and stories. They quietly tolerated the artificial growth
around them. A shady glade surrounded by a dense thicket of trees came into
view, its opening like an arch formed by Arthur’s magician. The desire to enter
the glade and process the energy nearly made him halt the cab. Things had
happened in that clearing. A great many things in time. It was sad to see the
driver oblivious to it all. His mood was that of civilized irritation at having
to drive so far from the busywork of the city. All the lost tips.

The cab slowed in
front of an old four-story hotel with the words ‘Kings Oak’ lettered across the
second story. The pub was on the first floor with a crowd packed in, visible
through windows. A parking lot brimmed with people coming and going. A wedding
reception was underway somewhere on the grounds, evidenced by a decorated limo
in the lot. Half a dozen touring motorcyclists pulled away as Austin paid the
driver. He enjoyed the driver’s surprise and relief at the remarkable tip.

“Hey chap! Yes, Allen,
isn’t it?”

A pudgy Brit stepped
forward, hand out – the kind of Brit that looked out of place without a
butler’s uniform. “Don’t think me daft but I’m up from the residence down the
road, sent to fetch you. Martin Williams.” They shook hands. “The pub’s full
and while the restaurant’s a muster at Mexican food, the steak is sometimes a
tad naff. If you’ll come with me, there’s a proper English dinner scheduled for
you and friends.”

“I think you’re
mistaken, I’m to meet someone here for dinner. Perhaps you’re thinking of
another Allen?”

His red cheeks rounded
in a smile. “
Back in
the day... I’d
have thought maybe. But no, I am well acquainted with your face. Please,
dallying won’t do. Maybe this will help.”

The cell phone in his
pocket vibrated with a text.

“Might want to check
that.”

Go with him. -Edward

He could only nod.
“Lead the way, Martin.”

“Please, call me
Williams.”

They set out in a
sleek brown Jaguar XF. Williams pointed to a sweeping open space the size of a
football field as he drove.

“High Beech,
birthplace of the British Speedway.”

“Car racing?”

Williams shook his
head. “Motorcycles. Dirt track racing, 1928. Imagine thirty thousand people
crushed in and around that expanse. Yes, thirty thousand. ‘Twas all the rage.
They’d only expected about four thousand. Oh the crashes! Bloody marvelous
times those were.”

Dense forest lined the
road on their left, manor houses to their right. A formidable estate loomed,
surrounded by wrought iron fencing. A spiral tower rose from the third story. A
mansion sprawled in an L-shape to cup the grounds in a cozy manner. Williams
steered towards the already swinging gate. A stone driveway led to a roundabout
with a water fountain in the center. To the left, the driveway split off
towards a shaded garage area. Williams pulled up in front of stairs that led to
a pair of oversized doors inlaid with stained glass.

“And welcome to
Shamrock,” he said, climbing from the car.

“Shamrock?” He paused,
aware of a gathering sense of enigma. Almost physical, the flow took its place
amidst other impressions.

“Aye.” Williams opened
the stained glass doors to a foyer with another, much smaller fountain at its
center. “They’re gathered in the gazebo down back, enjoying the snacks Edward
insists upon. He’ll spoil his dinner, filling up. Often does.”

Four wide steps led
down to a great room with a fireplace fit for a beach bonfire. A wall of
windows revealed an expanse of lawn so green it seemed to make its own light,
even in the shade.

Williams opened a pair
of French doors to a brick patio. The mansion sat atop a hill with the back
lawn rolling down and then out to a fence of trees and bush surrounding the
property. At the edge of the patio Williams indicated the gazebo below. “What’d
you like? An ale? American beer? Dinner’s about half an hour out.”

“Ah, whatever you’d
drink, thanks.”

“Trustin’ lad, aren’t
ya? Me personal? I’d be drinkin’ what they ‘ave down there.”

One thing was clear:
fairytales weren’t based solely on imagination. Shamrock could give rise to a
hundred such tales, as beautiful and mysterious as it was. The air itself held
the enigma, so different from the rest of the woods. Driving in, he’d sensed
the history in the forest, the stories bound in the spaces. Here it was
different. It actually drew out more from imagination than it gave. He’d never
visited a place so neutral yet so full of possibility.

He started down the
steps with a rising pulse. Eyes were upon him, featherlike brushes of scrutiny.
Staying passive, he soaked up enough information to know a mix of trained and
untrained minds lie ahead.

The gazebo had a table
surrounded by a dozen chairs, nearly half of them occupied. Two faces stood
out. Edward’s was a welcome sight – the other belonged to a blond woman,
sensually magnetic but far more noticeable for one reason: he could no more
read or manipulate her than he could a rock. Holding her hand was a mellow guy
without a ripple of ego. Sitting next to Edward was a wiry, reserved fellow
with cropped hair and mirrored oval shades. Beside him sat a rough looking
hombre of Spanish descent, clearly untrained.

Edward stood to greet Austin
as he topped the stairs.

“Good to see you
again, Mr. Crichlow.” His grin was genuine, as was the warm handshake.
“Compared to our last visit, you look like a new man.”

“Coincidentally I feel
like one, too.”

Edward gestured to the
wiry fellow with the shades. “Austin, this is Sean, our chief technologist.”

He could have guessed;
Sean exuded a measured and precise vibe like he thought in code. Sean said his
welcome with a slight nod.

Edward went on to
introduce Soldado. “He is a professional associate of this gentleman,” he
indicated the man sitting with the blond, “whom you’ve had contact with but I
believe this to be your first meeting. Austin, meet Johan.”

It was him. Older, not
what he’d imagined at all yet inexplicably familiar. The hacker came around the
table to greet him.

“They say the stiffest
tree is most easily cracked, while the bamboo or willow survives by bending
with the wind.”

Austin shook his hand.
“Bend to not break, yes.” A teaching of the Tao, it embodied all the lessons
and sacrifices so far. “I’ll admit that at one time I imagined quite a
different meeting.”

“I don’t blame you. I
only knew it could be important and should live beyond what I did with it. You
appreciate that now, no?” He returned to sit by the woman. “This is Anki, my
very good friend.”

They exchanged nods.
She said, “I know so much has happened. I hope things will turn out okay.”

She meant his dad.
“That makes two of us. Nice to meet you.”

Edward offered Austin
a glass of wine and raised his own, calling for a toast.

“To new family and
friends. To change.”

• • •

Anki followed Edward
towards his study, more winded than she should have been thanks to her pounding
heart. They’d just finished dinner and he’d asked for a private talk before
they rejoined the others.

Her hopes soared.

He knew something
about her, had to. Her hyper-empathy was a mystery, as much a curse as a
blessing. No one got away with feeling anything without her feeling it too, or
at least sensing its charge. Long ago she’d learned to segment from it, to
preserve her sense of self. Little by little, she’d learned to use it but only
sparingly as it could be a most uncomfortable gift. She hoped they would help
her with training as they had Johan.

“Please, sit down.
Relax,” he gestured.

She settled into a
leather chair before his desk.

He sat down and
regarded her. “How are you feeling?”

He referred to the
modifications and surgery. “More sensitive, as if that’s possible. I wasn’t
expecting it. Some advanced notice would have been nice.”

“I’m sorry for that.
It does take some getting used to.”

A spell of silence
grew awkward.

He said, “So, tell me,
what am I feeling?”

It wasn’t hard to
realize Edward gave off no feeling. Rare was the person who wasn’t emoting
something
. Since he wasn’t, she tried to
probe him. At first there was a sensation of calm and contentment but then she
caught something more, a sense of anticipation. Hidden, suppressed, but having
glimpsed it, she had confidence it was there.

“You’re feeding me.”

“What exactly?”

“That you’re expecting
something. Something great. You’ve waited a long time for it.”

Edward looked down at
his desk and smiled before looking up again. “Very good. Not many people can
read at that level.”

“Okay...”

He turned his computer
monitor around to face her. “Watch this video. Which of the people in the crowd
is unreadable?”

Before she could
reply, a scene at an airport appeared, the footage from a handheld camera
pointed at a boarding line. About two dozen people were in the frame. “It’s not
reliable–”

“Try. You’ve got less
than a minute before they start to board.”

Once she managed to
forget the screen and focus, the passengers were fairly easy to read. There was
one, a male, that couldn’t be read – flat as the screen itself. “Third from the
last, in the tan suit.”

“Now probe him.”

“It’s a recording!”

“You’re already
reading the recording. Try probing him.”

She did, despite the
awkwardness. It lacked the give and take, the live response, but surprisingly
there was something – the same kind of block that Edward had shown. Now,
though, it felt hollow, as if through a tunnel or tube. Still the reading came
through the recording, which meant through time, an even more surprising
experience. She managed to sidestep past the block and press forward to find a
murderous rage.

“Oh hell. He’s going
to kill someone. He’s about to go ballistic.”

He nodded, releasing
satisfaction for her to feel. “Let me rewind it a bit. Now, who in the line is
serving up a fake emotion?”

Emoting on purpose.
“Ah. Okay, wow. The woman? Fifth from the front. She’s bored on the outside but
really very agitated, I think. I don’t know how I missed that.”