Neal Asher - The Gabble

…

Simoz.

“Good morning Mr Chel,” said the two and a half metre tall two hundred kilo monster who worked as security guard for Darkander. I gave Jane a look of long-suffering and stood still while I was scanned for comlinks or any of the other equipment Darkander considered an unfair advantage.

“You are clean, Mr Chel.”

My chip card was next and the monster took it from me between a finger and thumb like the grab on a cometary mining ship. After a moment he returned it.

“Your credit is good, Mr Chel.”

After she too had been checked out Jane joined me. I smiled mild approval at her cool.

“Is it always like that?” she asked, tucking her card into one of the many pockets of her coverall.

“Always. No extra information access. No comlinks and no AIs. Darkander is very strict about it.”

“Isn’t that a bit discriminating?”

“Some free AIs once took him to court on those grounds. They lost out on a protection of antiquities law about two centuries old. He then pointed out to them that should they bring another action and win he would be forced to close down. They left him alone. Anyway, what do you think?”

Darkander’s is an anachronism. It is a huge scan-shielded warehouse where all manner of items are stacked haphazardly and sold by lot. There is no computer bidding, no microsecond business transactions. Starting from lot one everything comes under Darkander’s wooden hammer. It is a place for human experts with a relish for competition, an eye for bargains and deals, and a dislike of paying taxes. People like Jason Chel. Me.

“Now, I’m not going to point anything out to you, as I’m often watched. Anything that takes your interest mark on the list, then come back to me when you’ve finished. I’ll tell you how high to go.”

Jane smiled then swayed off amongst the chaos of goods. As I watched her go I felt a degree of discomfort. I’d promised her this visit some time ago, when I’d been drunk, and had since tried very hard to get out of it. Well, now she was here. Hopefully she wouldn’t cause too much harm. I slowly followed her in and allowed my gaze to wander casually to the objects I was after. There was a box of what looked like pre-runcible tiles, probably from the belly of a shuttle, a Thakework sculpture of Orbonnai skulls, something that looked like the shell of a mollusc — I hadn’t a clue what it was, but was prepared to risk a few credits on it — and finally there was the Golem Six android, which after my cursory inspection the day before I felt sure had the mind of a three or four. This last item was the one I really wanted. Made before the twenty third revision of the Turing test these Golem were much in demand. Of course, now the auction was starting I did not look too closely at it, I instead showed a great deal of interest in some chainglass blades which were quite obviously faked to look like Tenkian’s.

The bidding started off with the usual lack of alacrity as Jane rejoined me.

“Let me see,” I took the note screen from her and studied the items she had marked. To my annoyance I noted she had marked the tiles. “I think we’ll have a cup of coffee. These — “ I tapped the stylus against the lot number of the tiles. “Won’t be up for a while, and they are the first on your… list.”

I had decided to be generous.

We sat sipping our way through a cup of coffee each as the auction progressed. At the lot before the tiles we sauntered out. As soon as this was sold we moved into Darkander’s view. The short bald-headed man who was reputed to be a multimillionaire flicked a glance in my direction and tried to start the bidding at five hundred. I caught hold of Jane’s arm before she could raise it. The figure Darkander suggested dropped in fifties until it was fifty, then started to rise again in twenty fives. Jane began to bid and as she did so I looked to see who she was bidding against.

When the figure reached four twenty-five I nudged her.

“Drop it.”

“Why?”

“You’re out of your league here and that’s about all they’re worth.”

The bidding continued to the figure of five seventy-five.

“See the fat little guy over there…” Jane nodded. “He’s the agent for the Ganymede runcible AI. It probably wants to give its containment sphere that old-world look.”

The mollusc shell was next but no one made a bid. It went into the next lot which appeared to be a collection of all sorts of junk, but I’d seen a really old digital watch lying in there and not expected a chance at it. I swore to myself for not going for the shell straight away.

I just wasn’t paying attention. On this next lot the bidding was tried at fifty then dropped to ten.

No one went for it so I gave Darkander the nod. “Going once,” he told me. “Going twice.” I couldn’t believe it. I saw the runcible agent glance at me suspiciously and begin to raise his hand. He was too late. The hammer went down. “Sold to Mr Chel.” I managed to keep a straight face.

“Good?” Jane asked.

“Yes, very good… I think.”

The Thrakework sculpture went to the woman in black. She’d always had a taste for the macabre. I bid against her a couple of times, but when I saw that wild look come into her eyes I gave up. I knew her of old.

There was half an hour before the Golem was to come up for auction, so with a nod to the lady — she didn’t see, she was fumbling with her death’s head charm and staring at the sculpture with a horrible avidity — I went to authorize the credit transfer for my buy, and leaving Jane to her own devices, took the boxes out to my Ford AGV.

The mollusc shell was interesting. I noted that the box it came in had the same shipment marks, stamps, and tape, as the packing strewn about the Golem. This told me no more than that they’d come from the same world. I wanted some hint as to value. I did not relish the prospect of initiating a computer search to identify this shell. Life, in its unbelievable abundance in the fifth of the galaxy thus far explored, had often used this sensible method of self-preservation. There were probably more types of shell than excuses for taxation. I put the shell aside and opened the other box.

Most of the contents of this box I could justify the price paid with resale through my shop, but no more. The digital watch was a dog. The case and the strap, which I thought to be ceramal greyed with age, turned out to be one of the later matt ceramals. There was nothing inside the case. I swore and was about to sling the box to the front of the van compartment when something caught my eye.

It was a bracelet set with jewels. The jewels were manufactured diamonds and therefore of little value. It was cheap costume jewelry, yet something gave me pause. Something wrong with it… I glanced back into the auction room and saw that it would soon be the Golem’s turn. I’d have to find out later. In a rather distracted mood I returned, after another scanning, to Jane’s side in the auction room, and bid two hundred over the odds for the Golem. Only as Jane and I were leaving did I notice the desperate gaze of a late arrival.

Chaplin Grable is the kind of man you learn to avoid at Darkander’s, the kind of man who’ll sidle up beside you and start asking the kind of questions you really don’t want to answer if you’re after anything in particular. Then, he’ll give you his jaundiced opinion on various objects in the warehouse, and sidle away. After he’s gone you feel the immediate urge to check your pockets, your credit rating, then go home for a shower. That day he stuck to me like a piece of dog shit on an instep.

“Look, all I want is a copy, downloaded copy, it’s easy money.”

I glanced towards Jane who was then involved in bidding for an arty looking mobile made from genuine fossil-fuel-based plastic, if the label was to be believed. I felt a certain relief that she was not at my side then.