Zero World (24 page)

“Oh,” was all Melni could say.

Director Clune squinted at her, turned, and went to the doctor. They began to converse quietly.

Melni cleared her throat. “What about the items he requested?”

Clune glanced back at her. “We cannot allow him access, not to any of it. You were right to be suspicious. They will remain in the deconstruction lab, just like any other Valix-produced artifact we wish to unravel and comprehend.”

“No, I meant…they go against the insanity explanation. He’s insane and also just happens to have brought a bag of supplies unlike anything we’ve ever seen?”

“You blur your words, Sonbo. You are starting to talk like him.” Clune studied her, waiting for a reply that did not come. She shrugged. “Prototypes. He made them, according to Valix. You of all people should appreciate the depths of their invention process.”

“Using materials we’re—we are—completely unfamiliar with?”

“We are completely unfamiliar with many things Valix’s labs produce. Especially now.” She looked down her nose at Melni to drive the point in deep. “But you are right. It is more plausible that he is a spaceman from planet…what did he call it? Earth?” Clune laughed and returned to her discussion with the doctor.

“What are my orders, Director?” Melni asked, interrupting them once again.

Clune thought over the question and made a casual gesture toward the exit. “That is for the Council to decide. Remain close. If he wakes, you will keep him talking. Even if he is insane he may still be able to provide useful information about the Valix apparatus, yes?”

“Are you going to give him back to them, in Fineva?”

Clune’s lips curled back in a wicked grin. “That will be discussed at the summit in four days’ time.” She glanced at Caswell. “Scientist or space traveler, Valix wants him back very badly, and I plan to exploit that leverage to the fullest. It will be a very interesting summit, I think.”

Despite the unease in her gut, Melni offered her director an obedient nod.

“Until it is time to leave, remain close. When he is lucid you are to keep talking to him. Insane or not, we might still get something useful out of him before the summit.”

“Yes, Director.”

“Dismissed. Where will you be?”

Melni thought about it. “Analytics.”

Rasa Clune nodded. “You will be summoned when he wakes.” With that she waved Melni away.

As Melni walked through the decaying halls of Riverswidth and out into the sunlight along the bridge’s edge, she searched in herself and found nothing but dread at the prospect of what was to come. Caswell was no insane scientist, of that she felt sure. The place he’d taken her, the things she’d seen within, were not just prototypes from some advanced Valix lab. He’d been truthful with her. And more to the point, she found very deep within herself that she agreed with the logic behind his mission. Victory would not come in changing which side Valix’s inventions benefited. Gartien would still be no better than a child led by the hand. How could she get Clune and the Presidium to see that? Here, on the eve of their chance to finally turn the tide, how could she hope to convince them to let Caswell do what he’d come to do?

Only one answer made sense.

She needed proof. No matter the risk to her, no matter how treacherous her actions might seem, she had to find proof before it was too late.

IN ANALYTICS THEY QUESTIONED
her for almost two hours. A pair of “researchers,” both native Southerners, came at her in rapid succession with questions that bordered on the ridiculous. How did he smell? Did he snore when he slept? What hand did he use? “The right, are you sure, Agent?” Hardly anyone used their right hand exclusively, but Caswell had. Yes, she was sure.

She felt pure relief when a nurse came to tell her that the patient had awoken again.

In the observation room Melni had seen only a lone analyst monitoring the reel recorder with little enthusiasm. Clune had gone, summoned to a working dinner with the Presidium. The doctor was
off duty as well, though he gave strict instructions that he could be found sleeping in his office two floors below if anything changed.

Melni made only cursory salutations and then pushed through into the hospital room beyond.

“My medicines? My food?” Caswell asked in a gravelly voice the instant she entered.

She shook her head.

He slumped back into his pillow. “Do me a favor at least and rub my temples?”

Nothing in his tone implied this was some kind of ruse. Besides, he was still strapped securely to the bed. So Melni leaned over him and pressed two fingers against each temple. She made slow circles with increasing pressure until, after ten seconds or so, he waved her off.

“What will happen to me?” he asked, the words clear and sharp now, as if a new man lay on the bed before her.

Melni glanced over her shoulder at the mirror on the wall, then leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I want to believe your story. But Valix has offered a compelling alternative. What you told us sounds crazy in comparison.”

“What did she say?”

“That you’re some kind of genetics expert. That you experimented on yourself, then escaped from a secret lab in the mountains. A lab you set up after Valix declined to pursue your inventions further.”

To her surprise Caswell snorted a sharp laugh. “That is pretty good. Clever lady, no doubt about that.”

“Caswell, I cannot help you unless I can prove your story. Is there any way to do that?”

Caswell shook his head. “Short of taking you to Earth, not that I can think of. Even if my landing craft survived that airship falling on it, Valix will have it destroyed. Or hidden away, at a minimum.” His face scrunched up.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

“No. No, I just had a thought.” Caswell looked at her. “It’s a long shot, though.”

“That is an unfamiliar phrase, but it resolves. Tell me anyway.”

“Alia landed in a craft identical to mine. And whereas an entire battalion of soldiers are probably surrounding even the charred remains of my boat, I’m guessing nobody’s ever seen hers. It would pull back the curtain on her true origin. Yet I don’t think she would destroy it, either. Perhaps she can’t, come to think of it. I’d bet my life it’s still out there, somewhere. Wherever she landed.”

“She would not destroy it? Why?”

“In case things didn’t work out here. Also…” He trailed off.

“Tell me.”

“It might be where she keeps all the knowledge she brought with her.”

Gooseflesh rose on Melni’s skin. She tried to mask the sudden excitement. She’d been so focused on the Think Tank, it never occurred to her that Alia’s source of invention might be hidden somewhere else.

Caswell’s voice drew her back to the moment. “Where does she claim to be from? Where was she first encountered?”

Frowning, Melni said, “Valix first appeared at a border checkpoint in Cirdia. A
desoa,
like me. A refugee out of the Desolation, claiming to have been raised by Dalantin parents.” At Caswell’s confused expression she explained. “Dalantin was a nation before the…well, you know. By treaty it is ungoverned land. The whole of the Desolation is this way. Very few people live between those borders now, and none of the old nations are recognized.”

“Cirdia,” Caswell whispered, as if trying on the word for size. “Show me on a map?”

Melni rushed back to Analytics. A room there held scrolled maps of all sizes, detailing every last corner of Gartien. At the confused expressions of two surprised clerks, she selected one of the Desolation that spanned between Cirdia on the north end and Marados on
the south. She tucked it under one arm and returned to Caswell’s room. She had to lie beside him and hold the map above so they could both see.

“This is Cirdia,” she said, pointing, “where Alia Valix was first encountered. They have a record of her requesting citizenship there, and she stayed for a full month before passing the security checks.”

“France,” Caswell said, deep in thought.

“France?”

“What we call that area on Earth.”

“France,” she repeated, trying out his version.

Silence. The wall clock ticked away the seconds.

“Hmm,” Caswell said.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered something. A place Alice mentioned, before she came back here, called Olargues.” He traced his finger along a narrow valley right in the middle of the crater fields of the Desolation, south and west of Fineva. “My geography isn’t great but I believe it’s around here.”

“There are more detailed maps in the archive taken from survey gliders. They might be old.”

“As long as they’re from after she arrived. Can you get them?”

Her recently adjusted access level was too low. To be caught would mean grave punishment. Procedure called for her to request such things formally, so a paper trail existed. Clune would have to approve it. “I’ll try.” Melni stood and went to the door.

“Hey,” Caswell said.

She turned.

“I can tell from the look on your face that this is a big risk,” he said. “Thank you.”

“We say ‘gratitude’ here.”

Caswell grinned. “Yeah, well, I’m not from here.”

Melni returned his grin and left.

In the observation chamber the analyst sat facing the gently whirring reel of tape. He wore headphones and sat slouched in his chair,
only half his head visible over the back. Melni came to stand behind him and considered the recorder. If Caswell had indeed just told her where Alia Valix first landed on Gartien, this man in the chair knew it now, too. He may have already sent off a cipher to Clune.

“The ramblings of a madman, hmm?” Melni asked.

The man said nothing.

“Valix really did a job on him.”

Still nothing.

Melni leaned around to look at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing even.

The access badge clipped to his shirt caught her eye. With each beat of his heart the laminated square bounced slightly, catching light from the indicators on the recorder. To her surprise he had archive access, all three levels. Exactly what she’d had taken away. Exactly what she now needed. A short path to the information required. No requests, no Clune signature. Her stomach tightened, as if her body knew what she was going to do before her mind had reached the conclusion. This was the point of no return and Melni swayed on the precipice, battling her instincts until a plan could form.

She breathed, brought her pulse under control. She weighed options against consequences, benefits against risks. She thought of what she’d say if they caught her. It could work. It just might.

Delicately she plucked the access card from his shirt pocket and replaced it with her own. They looked nothing alike, but if she moved with confidence she doubted anyone would notice. Not between here and the archives, at least.

The analyst stirred. He sniffled and rubbed absently at his nose. Then he went still again, breathing evenly. Melni leaned over him and changed the direction of the reel. She let it roll back for two full minutes, long enough to cover the important part of her conversation with Caswell, then clicked it back to wind forward once again. The man did not move. His eyes remained closed.

Melni fixed the stolen card to her blouse, on the right just above
her heart, which pounded beneath it. To do what she’d just done over some minor intrigue might mean prison for years. To do so now, with everything that had happened, with armies and warships poised to clash the instant orders were issued, would surely mean torture and death.

But she had to know. If Caswell had told her the truth, she could prove his story and unravel Valix’s empire. Moreover, she might prove the existence of another world.
All right,
she thought as she descended the stepwell, realizing how silly the idea sounded.
Maybe nothing so grand as that, but at least Clune and the Presidium can call the enemy out on their lies
.

A warm rain fell outside. Tiny droplets swirled and danced on the evening breeze, catching the setting Sun like little gems.

Analytics, and the archive they maintained, occupied the entirety of Building Nine. The square plaster monolith stood third tallest on the bridge, soaring two hundred feet from the middle of the span and another thirty below toward the water. Only the top floor had windows. The rest was a solid, unbroken surface freshly painted in the Dimont style of blinding white.

A clerk at the desk just within the entrance glanced at Melni. “Blue and yellow levels only,” the fresh-faced young woman said.

Two men stood off to one side of the lobby, sipping cham from paper cups and talking in low voices.

“Red has been restricted to black until further notice,” the clerk added, nodding toward Melni’s access card.

Melni glanced down. Her borrowed card had the blue, yellow, and red squares that denoted access to the entire archive. In certain extreme situations the red level, where sensitive information was stored, required an extra black square. She knew of this, they all did, but she’d never heard of it actually happening. They probably had Caswell’s gear down there, and Garta knew how many agents studying it. “Thanks,” she said absently.

“What?”

“Gratitude.” Melni attempted a smile. She shuffled past the clerk and the two chatting men.

The archives took up all three of the sub-bridge floors. They were gigantic, dimly lit rooms consisting of row after row of filing cabinets and bookshelves, along with a small army of clerks who sorted, filed, checked, and rechecked the contents. In the center of the middle floor was a space devoted to research. Nothing could be removed from the archive without written clearance from Rasa Clune or a senior member of the Presidium. Nothing on the very bottom floor, the Red Archive, could even be examined without the proper access. A red square. Except on a day like today, when the addition of the ultra-rare black was required.

She’d hoped to find herself alone, or nearly so, within the frigid basements. Garta had other plans, however. Dozens of people were working within. Plain-clothed analysts and perhaps even agents like herself. Officers from the military intelligence branches.

Even, and much to Melni’s surprise, a Hollow Woman. She sat at a reading desk in the far corner, dressed in an all-black outfit with the hood pulled up. A massive book was spread out before her, and the woman jotted notes on blue paper with hasty motions of her wrist.

The section for maps spanned all three levels, connected via an old spiral stepwell set in the southwest corner. Melni descended from blue to yellow, the floor that contained “sensitive” information, including unannotated detail maps of the Desolation and both the Southern and Northern frontier zones. Red, Melni guessed, would contain chiefly the annotated versions: which routes were known good, which routes were watched, and which were currently or recently in use for travelers going either direction. Also, most likely, the latest and most detailed maps would be stored there. She hoped she wouldn’t need them.

High-level maps were easy. She jotted coordinates of the valley Caswell had indicated and returned them to their drawers. The photographic
maps, taken from high-altitude balloons and, in some rare cases, low-flying gliders, were much more difficult to find.

It took all evening to sort through the information. By tenth hour, with few others working and most of the overhead lights off, Melni had covered four worktables with pictures taken in and around the valley. It was a lush place, carpeted with trees and smaller shrubs. A river wound its way down the center, pooling in several craters left from when the rocks fell. She saw signs of destroyed towns and abandoned villages, all desolate and fully embraced by the regrowth of vegetation. Typical of the region. She pored over them anyway, looking for any signs of life.