Gary Gibson - The Thousand Emperors

‘Not even with Black Lotus’s resources to help him?’

‘But that’s just it,’ said Luc. ‘Apart from that CogNet piece you produced back up there, I’ve not seen any evidence of him having access to any such resources. There’s no evidence he even had so much as a weapon in his possession.’ He let out a sigh. ‘The whole thing feels . . .’

‘Like a set-up,’ she finished for him. ‘Frankly, I’m inclined to agree. With that in mind, I want you to take another look at Falla’s CogNet piece.’

Luc stared at her. ‘You stole it?’

She sighed irritably. ‘No. It’s been taken along with everything else as evidence.’

‘Then how can I—’

‘I copied its complete contents to my lattice – all the data and hacks Falla supposedly used to pass through the Hall of Gates without being detected.’

Luc looked at her, surprised. ‘That could get you into a lot of trouble if Cheng found out,’ he said quietly.

‘Then let’s make sure he doesn’t,’ she said, a hint of steel in her voice.

‘So why don’t you think Falla did it?’ he asked.

‘For the same reasons as before. Even though Cripps insists on telling Father Cheng there’s some flaw in Vanaheim’s security networks, I can assure you there is no such flaw.’

‘I remember you said that before, but it’s starting to look like—’

‘What you don’t know,’ she said, interrupting him, ‘is that every one of the Eighty-Five, Cripps included, has override privileges for those networks.’

Luc ducked his head back in surprise. ‘You mean . . .’

‘I could never say it in front of Father Cheng or Cripps, but the more time passes, the more convinced I am that it had to be someone from amongst the Eighty-Five who killed Vasili.’

‘And the rest of the Council? What about them?’

‘I think we’ll soon be able to rule pretty much all of them out.’ She laughed softly, her expression suddenly bleak. ‘Not that I’m crazy enough to say so to Father Cheng’s face.’

‘If that’s the case, then is it possible one of them could have used those overrides to sneak Falla through the Hall of Gates, then had him carry out the murder on their behalf?’

She gave a tired shrug. ‘Like you said yourself, he’s not exactly anyone’s first choice for a deadly assassin.’

‘But surely having such override privileges defeats the point of even having the security networks?’

‘Power has its own privileges, Mr Gabion. Most of the Eighty-Five prefer to keep their movements entirely private, even from the greater part of the Temur Council. Any one of them could have covered their tracks if they were of a mind to frame Falla – or commit murder.’

‘So all this time you had your suspicions? Why didn’t you say anything before?’

‘Because I don’t want to make an enemy of the most powerful men and women in the whole of the Tian Di. It might be one of them, or several of them, or for all I know they all had a hand in Vasili’s murder.’ She shrugged. ‘It would be tantamount to suicide to accuse them, collectively or individually, without rock-solid, unassailable proof.’

Luc stared at her, scandalized. ‘Surely you can’t be the only one in the Council who came to this conclusion?’

‘If any of them did,’ she said, ‘they’re keeping their mouths shut and waiting to see how things develop.’

Luc licked dry lips and tried to ignore the thumping of his heart. ‘They’re not the only ones who can override Vanaheim’s security,’ he pointed out.

She smirked. ‘You still haven’t ruled me out as a suspect, have you?’

‘No,’ Luc admitted. ‘Even if I wanted to, how could I? The circumstantial evidence against you is still strong.’

‘Why,’ she asked, ‘would I get you to carry out this investigation, if I’d killed Sevgeny myself?’

‘To try and make yourself look less guilty,’ he replied. He nodded towards the tower. ‘The question is, what can I do now? Cheng just said the investigation is over, and . . . I still have this thing squatting inside my skull.’

De Almeida shook her head, keeping her eyes fixed on Luc. ‘I told you I’d do what I could to help retard its growth, didn’t I? And as for the investigation, it isn’t finished until I say it is.’

‘If Father Cheng doesn’t want me on Vanaheim, I’m not sure just what you expect me to do,’ Luc protested.

‘I run the security networks, remember? I can get you onto Vanaheim without anyone else knowing.’

He stared at her. ‘Do you realize what you just said?’

She nodded stiffly. ‘Of course I do. And yes, I could easily have delivered Reto Falla to Vanaheim without Cheng or anyone else knowing – but I didn’t.’ She paused, her gaze flickering across his face. ‘Why don’t you put your fabulous gut instinct to work and tell me if you really think I had something to do with it?’

Luc sighed. ‘No, I don’t think you did.’

She arched her head. ‘Why not?’

He hesitated, wondering just how much he really did trust his instinct. ‘Because you don’t act like guilty people usually do,’ he explained. ‘Now I’ve got a question for you.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I don’t get it. Why do you still need me? Surely if you want to carry out some private investigation behind Father Cheng’s back, you could do it yourself.’

‘Why are you so desperate to get out of this?’ she demanded. ‘Don’t you want me to fix that thing in your head before it kills you?’

He felt like a butterfly squirming as it was pinned to a board. ‘Of course I do.’

‘There are places that I may ask you to go, and people I may ask you to speak to, that might present me with problems if I tried to do it myself.’

‘What people? What places?’

She smiled enigmatically. ‘The less you know for now, the better. There’ll be a funeral service on Vanaheim for Sevgeny tomorrow, and I want you to be there.’

Luc glanced in the direction of the White Palace, mostly obscured by a tower on the opposite side of the street. ‘If Cheng or Cripps found out, they’d have me killed.’

She nodded. ‘For now, you’ll data-ghost through one of my private channels. That way I can make absolutely sure no one finds out you’re there, although you should still be able to communicate with me in secret.’

Luc winced as the street lights became suddenly brighter. He pressed his fingers against his eyes and stared down at the ground.

‘Mr Gabion?’

‘I . . .’

A high-pitched humming filled his ears. He thought he heard a voice, but far away, and lost in the noise. There was something familiar about it. He staggered slightly as a terrible, throbbing pain consumed his thoughts.

‘Gabion? What is it?’ demanded de Almeida. ‘Another seizure?’

He managed to nod, and she reached up with her other hand, pressing gloved fingers against his scalp. Her touch was softer, more delicate than he’d expected. She was close enough that he could smell her, and for some reason he found himself thinking of Eleanor spread beneath him, her skin painted with perspiration.

‘What are you doing?’ he mumbled.

‘Pulling data from the neural taps I put in your skull the other day,’ she said distractedly. ‘The growth-rate of your lattice is accelerating.’