Gary Gibson - The Thousand Emperors

‘The Temur Council?’

He didn’t reply, and her eyes darted towards where Cripps’ data-ghost had been standing until just a minute ago.

‘You have to be careful when dealing directly with the Temur Council,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘Very, very careful.’

‘Believe me,’ he said, reaching out to her, ‘I know.’

By the next evening the walls of Luc’s apartment felt as if they were closing in, and he decided to head into Archives rather than spend any more time on his own.

He could have simply data-ghosted himself there – some of Archives’ employees spent their entire careers working remotely, via transfer gate on other Tian Di colonies – but there were certain questions that were best asked face-to-face. That meant a trip to the Pioneer Gorge facility, and to Vincent Hetaera, the Archives Division’s Head of Research.

He travelled by overhead tram, watching as the wafer-thin buildings bordering the north-east quadrant of Chandrakant Lu Park gave way to the classical architecture of the Old Quarter. The tram carried him past the crescent shapes of biomes that preserved the planet’s original flora and fauna, then down into the Gorge itself, before leaving him at the entrance to Archives, a vast, truncated pyramid of a building more than two centuries old.

He found Vincent Hetaera standing by the window of his office. ‘It’s wonderful to see you whole and well,’ said Hetaera, stepping over to Luc with a wide grin on his face.

He stopped and regarded him with a shocked expression. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, his tone apologetic.

‘What?’

Hetaera’s grin grew wide once more. ‘I should have addressed you as Master Archivist Gabion, shouldn’t I?’

‘Luc will do just fine. And I’ll have the same as you’re having,’ he said, gesturing to the glass in the other man’s hand.

Hetaera glanced down at the glass he held as if he’d forgotten it was there. ‘It’s just kavamilch,’ he said. ‘Sure you don’t want something stronger?’

‘Kavamilch will be fine.’

Hetaera shrugged and picked up a pot, pouring some of the warm brew into a second glass and handing it to Luc.

‘I got your request,’ said Hetaera as they sat down opposite each other on couches by the window. ‘But there might be a problem,’ he added with a grimace.

‘What kind of problem?’

‘The author of the book you’re looking for,’ Vincent explained. ‘Javier Maxwell. He never wrote a book by that name, at least not that we know of.’

‘ A History of the Tian Di ?’ The book Vasili had taken hold of in the last moments before his death. ‘How sure are you about that?’

Hetaera raised an eyebrow. ‘ Very sure. Where did you hear about it?’

‘I saw a copy,’ Luc replied, ‘a physical, printed copy, with my own two eyes. Is it possible we just don’t have records of it?’

‘I suppose it’s possible, but ever since Father Cheng locked Maxwell away and took control of the Temur Council, his name’s had restricted access flags attached to it wherever it turns up in our files. Even with your recent promotion, I doubt you’d be able to get permission to find out if it ever did exist without petitioning Father Cheng himself directly.’

Luc nodded tiredly. He’d come across any number of such restricted access flags during his years of researching Winchell Antonov’s endless tangle of connections with terrorist groups scattered far and wide across the Tian Di.

‘May I ask,’ said Hetaera, ‘how you came across this book?’

Luc had been dreading the possibility he might be asked precisely this question. ‘It’s a confidential source,’ he replied carefully.

‘Then if the book ever existed, it’s more than likely been wiped from the official records.’ Hetaera spread his hands. ‘If it was a printed book, how old would you say it was?’

‘I couldn’t begin to guess.’

‘Pre-Schism old?’ Hetaera hazarded.

Luc shrugged. ‘Maybe. I guess it could have been.’ He studied Hetaera, wondering just how much he could get away with telling him. ‘It was part of someone’s personal collection.’

‘Well, there you go,’ said Vincent. ‘We all know how much turbulence the Tian Di went through following the Schism. A lot of things were lost forever back then, and not just books.’

‘But I saw this book. It exists .’

‘Yes, but not as far as Archives is concerned, unfortunately.’ Vincent gave him an apologetic smile. ‘Seems to me that your life hasn’t got any less interesting since you got back from Aeschere.’

‘Yeah,’ said Luc. ‘That’d be an understatement.’ He’d almost forgotten about the kavamilch in his hand, and swallowed it down. It tasted sweet and warm.

‘And what about Archives?’ asked Hetaera. ‘I know you turned down a promotion to the Security Division before. Now that Antonov’s gone, do you think you’ll change your mind and move upstairs?’

The corner of Luc’s mouth twitched. ‘We’re on the top floor, Vincent. There is no upstairs.’

‘You know what I mean.’

Luc sighed. ‘To be honest, there’s nothing to stop me retiring right now. Never do another damn thing for the rest of my life.’

Hetaera watched him for a moment. ‘Sitting around and doing nothing isn’t your style.’

‘No.’ Luc played with his empty glass. ‘Staying in Archives feels like the best option. I feel at home here, and now at least I can pick and choose what work I do.’ His eyes flicked towards his superior. ‘Right now, I’ve been asked to consult on something on behalf of a member of the Council.’

‘Ah.’ Hetaera nodded, regarding him shrewdly. ‘That would explain the sudden interest in officially non-existent books, so I’ll ask no more.’ He gestured with his drink. ‘There are a thousand jobs in Archives needing investigating, once you’re done with this. Tying up the loose ends from Antonov alone could take a lifetime.’

Luc nodded. ‘Is Offenbach in the usual place?’

Hetaera laughed. ‘Where else would he be? Good to have you back, Luc.’

Luc smiled. ‘Good to be back, Vincent.’

‘There you go,’ said Jared Offenbach, leaning forward in his chair. ‘Dummy corporations, black market accounts, traceable and currently non-traceable funds, as much as you could want. A lot of it doesn’t even go anywhere: it’s chaff, designed to lead you far away from where the real money is going. Which is Black Lotus, of course.’

Cascades of colour-coded financial information filled the office of Senior Archives Librarian Offenbach, swarming around both men. The office itself was only dimly visible with the windows opaqued, but Luc could just about make out shelves filled with antique reading devices used to recover legacy data from obsolete hardware.

Luc shifted in his own seat, causing nearby strands of information to ripple in the air as they attempted to maintain their integrity. He watched Jared pull yet more data from out of deep virtual stacks. Flags indicated that some of the information flowing around them hadn’t been accessed, in certain cases, for more than a century, perhaps longer. Offenbach gestured expertly with his fingers, untwining dense braids of data into finer and finer branches, rapidly surrounding himself in a glowing tapestry of light. His nearly hairless pate gleamed under the constant assault of visualized data.