Hannu Rajaniemi - The Quantum Thief

Mieli nods quietly.

I look at Raymonde. It is only now that I realise she looks different from my memories. Less vulnerable. Older. In fact, I’m not sure I know this new, strange woman at all.

‘This is really important to you, isn’t it?’ I say.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes, it is. I’m sure it is a completely alien sensation to you. Doing something for other people.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It has been a… confusing time for me too. I was in a very nasty place for a very long time.’

Raymonde gives me a cool look. ‘You were always very good at coming up with excuses. And there is no need to apologise, it won’t help. In case it is not completely clear, there are few people in the universe who repulse me more. So, if I were you, I’d go and find them, as discussed. Perhaps then we can at least make a favourable comparison.’

She stops. ‘Your hotel is that way. I have a music class to teach.’ She smiles at Mieli. ‘We’ll be in touch soon.’

I open my mouth, but something tells me it is wiser to let it go this time.

That afternoon, I sit down to make plans.

Mieli is turning our quarters into a small fortress – q-dots are now patrolling the windows – and is still regenerating some of the damage from the tussle with Raymonde. So once again I can indulge in relative solitude – apart from the awareness of our biot link. I sit down on the balcony with a pile of newspapers, coffee and croissants, put on my sunglasses, sit back start going through the society pages.

As with everything here, they do not skimp on craftsmanship, and I find myself enjoying the exaggerated reality drama of the stories quite a lot. The tzaddikim feature heavily, tone depending on the publication; some outright worship them. I note a story about a kid working on a gogol pirate case with the Gentleman and wonder if this is the detective the Cockatrice mentioned.

But the real meat is the list of upcoming carpe diem parties; supposedly secret, of course, but the journalists put an admirable effort into finding things out.

That looks like too much fun to be called work, Perhonen says.

‘Oh, but it is: serious business. I’m coming up with a plan.’

Care to explain it to me?

‘What, you are not just a pretty face?’

I look up at the clear sky. The commlink shows me the ship a dot, invisible to the bare eye, somewhere above the horizon. I blow a kiss at it.

Flattery will get you nowhere .

‘I never explain my plans before they are fully hatched. It’s a creative process. The criminal is a creative artist; detectives are just critics.’

We are in high spirits today, I see .

‘You know, I’m finally starting to feel myself again. Fighting a cabal of planetary mind-controlling masterminds with a group of masked vigilantes – that’s what life should be all about.’

Is that right? the ship says. And how is the path to self-discovery going?

‘That’s private.’

To quote Mieli-

‘Yes, yes, I know. Raymonde caught me too early. I didn’t get anything except flashes. Nothing that useful.’

Are you sure?

‘What do you mean?’

Someone suspicious might think that you already know how to find what we are looking for. That you are just stringing us along to amuse yourself, to get into that flamboyant thief persona of yours .

‘I’m insulted. Would I really do something like that?’ The ship does have a point. I have been stepping around the memories like they were eggshells, and yes, perhaps a part of that is because in spite of myself, I’m having fun.

I have another theory, too. You are trying your damnedest to impress this Raymonde girl .

‘That, my friend, is in the past. Allowing such things to cloud my thinking would be more than dangerous in this profession.’

Uh huh .

‘As much as I enjoy your company, the sooner I can get back to the things I do best, the happier I’ll be. Speaking of which – I could use some peace and quiet. I’m trying to think about breaking into the land of the dead.’ I lean back in my chair, close my eyes and cover my face with the newspaper to hide from the sun and the ship.

See? That’s exactly what I mean , Perhonen says. You have been waiting to say that all day .

Mieli feels tired. Her body is in the process of checking and rebooting its systems. She hasn’t had her period for years, but vaguely remembers that this is what it felt like. When they return from the meeting with the tzaddikim, all she wants is to lie down in her room, play gentle Oortian songs and drift to sleep. But the pellegrini is waiting for her. The goddess is wearing a deep blue evening gown. Her hair is done up, and she is wearing long black silk gloves.

‘Dear child,’ she says, planting a scented kiss on Mieli’s cheek. ‘That was delightful . Drama. Action. And such passionate conviction on your part: convincing the people in their funny costumes that they need you. A custom-made gogol persona would not have done a better job. I’m almost sorry that you will receive your reward so soon.’

Mieli blinks. ‘I thought we were going to let the thief-’

‘Of course, but there are limits. A few vasilevs here and there, that is one thing, but there are aspects of this place that we do have to consider in the context of the Great Common Task. The cryptarchs are one of them: a balance that we do not want to upset just now, for a variety of reasons.’

‘We are not going to… destroy them?’

‘Of course not. You are going to meet with them. And coordinate activities. You are going to give the tzaddikim precisely enough to get what we need. And then – well, we are going to give the tzaddikim to the cryptarchs. Everybody wins.’ The pellegrini smiles.

‘Now, child, I think our thief is going to talk to you about his new ideas. Do humour him. Ciao.’

Mieli touches Sydän’s jewel, just to remember why she is doing this. Then she lies down to wait for the knock on the door.

On the evening of the carpe diem party, the garden has the hushed tone of a performer holding his breath, muttering his lines.

There are tables with champagne glasses in orderly rows, little pavilions for more exotic offworld vices, and foglet fireflies still unlit. A Quiet orchestra test their instruments – parts of their body – creating a gentle brass cacophony. A fireworks expert, wearing a tall hat, is laying out multicoloured rockets in a device that looks like a miniature pipe organ.

‘So, what do you think, M. Detective?’ Unruh asks. He is dressed as Sol Jovis, the last day of the Darian calendar week. The colours of the long-lost gas giant blaze across the fabric of his tunic. In the shadows of the trees, it glows faintly in hues of bright red and white.

‘It looks like one of the old Kingdom parties,’ Isidore says.

‘Ha. Yes. Not a bad way to spend a few hundred mega-seconds, in any case,’ Unruh says. He holds up his Watch, attached with a chain to his waistcoat, surprisingly plain: a black disc with a single golden dial. ‘When do you think I will be robbed?’

‘We are as prepared as we can be. Le Flambeur or not, we will make him work hard for his loot.’

In the end, the security arrangements consist of a few carefully placed agoras and additional Quiet servants hired from the Voice by Odette – assault anti-phoboi Quiet with a variety of specialised sensors and weapons. Isidore hopes it will be enough. He considered a variety of more elaborate options involving black market tech, but in the end, he concluded that they would introduce more vulnerabilities than strengths.