The Thousand Year Fall

Chapter 1-2

“Welcome, Prisoner Sotash,” Lincoln started. “We are here to talk to you before your lawful sentence is executed. Just to clarify there is zero possibility that your sentence will be rescinded, you are headed for indefinite servitude as an IPS. The only question remaining is the conditions of your service. What I want is some information regarding the Hartigans, information that will lead to a successful prosecution of any member of the top tier. I am not bothered who you decide to offer up, any one of them will do fine. I could wait a little and simply pull the information from you using the implied consent of your IPS status, the problem is that I cannot use this information in a public case. For that I need information provided by a living informant acting under reasonable pressure of circumstance but not direct duress. In short, someone who is about to start their IPS transition and is actively negotiating on their own behalf.”

Lincoln paused to give Sotash a chance to speak. He remained silent. Lincoln continued, “Good, I see from your complete lack of expression that you understand this in full and the record will support this. Now, Prisoner Sotash, I can see that you have no fear of me, and that is good since I am not someone you should be afraid of. My companion here…” Lincoln put her arm across my shoulders in a friendly way, “is a different matter. He does not like you at all and has arranged with the Red Halls that you serve your IPS sentence half-cut. He can do this because he is a fully authorised PR agent and he has been given jurisdiction over your case. He was particularly upset by the way you acted with the Shahama family. He has a daughter and he had to keep her at home with him for two days just to recover.”

Some of this was true, the details of the Shahama family had torn my heart to bits. Sotash had sold the daughter to a Freesian factory and she was beyond recovery when she was reclaimed. I had worked from home for two days while Petra, my daughter, ordered me around like the autocrat she was. I had never suggested that Sotash should be half-cut, not even a lifeform like him deserved to spend an indefinite time with a flickering consciousness of their state. The sole positive aspect to being an IPS was that you did not know it. Still, from the fleeting expression on Sotash’s face, it was clear that he could easily imagine doing it and considered that someone in my position would be willing to do so also.

Lincoln started speaking again, “Now that we are all on the same page, let me give you the rest of the relevant details. If you provide information that leads to the desired result, you will undergo a full transition and be posted to service in the Standing Committee Public Chamber where everyone will be able to see for themselves that you are now out of circulation and stop trying to find you. If you decline to provide the information, you will have a half-cut transition and be posted to the Red Halls where your status as an informer will be confirmed. This will lead to concerned parties conducting a search that will not cease until your replacement body is found and disposed of. You have until they knock on the door to decide.”

Lincoln had left the real squeeze until the end, giving Sotash less time to decide. Half- cut was bad news, but Lincoln knew that it is what you really value that makes you vulnerable. Sotash had taken out an insurance policy, a contract with a body broker somewhere. He would have been sending a steady stream of personal downloads so that if he died ahead of schedule the replacement body would be loaded up with his information. In every system such a replacement was recognised as a legal heir if the contract had been set up carefully enough. The replacement would inherit Sotash’s carefully accumulated stash. This also made Sotash vulnerable to an action against the replacement as Lincoln was making plain. There was a footfall outside the door, and just ahead of the knock, Sotash gave Lincoln the coordinates for an information dump that would give her what she wanted. As the controllers took Sotash away, Lincoln reminded him that if the information was stale then he would lose a lot more than just his life.

Lincoln was jubilant in the transport on the way back to the office. “We needed something to prove our worth and get us some room for manoeuvre, Screw Top, and this will fit perfectly. They have been trying to put a touch on the Hartigans since the dawn of time and no one has been able to deliver. Now they will see that I keep my promises.” When Lincoln said that, something else then made sense to me.

“It was you that pulled me into the PRA, wasn’t it? They would have no use for me, but they really wanted you and the price for you agreeing was taking me. You need a big score to smooth that over and get us properly settled.”

Lincoln made a deal of consulting her time piece, a beautiful antique piece of work that sat quietly on her wrist telling everyone who knew that Lincoln had resources as well as a uniform.

“Well, Screw Top, you are almost on schedule. I had you down to figure this out tomorrow. Yes, the PRA wanted me, they are sure I had something to do with that outburst of trouble a few weeks ago while you were tramping around the s**t pots enjoying yourself.”

Lincoln, her mother, and Asher had gone on a rampage that led to a partial mobilisation of the Mengchi Defence Forces to deal with the fallout while I chased the lifeform who had kidn*pped my daughter.

“Of course, they cannot prove anything. The easiest way to keep me under scrutiny is to bring me into the fold. I could not leave you where you were, Screw Top, that was too exposed, so I told them it was the two of us or nothing. That had the drawback of bringing their attention to you as well, but I think that the result is worth the risk. You are adjusting better than I expected. Now with this in the bag, we are important to the PRA and they cannot move against us as freely as they hoped. I just need a little freedom of action; I have some plans that need my attention and it is hard to do so and keep my trackers satisfied.”

Now it all made sense and I had to say it, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Remember, food at eight, arrivals at seven-thirty.”

Lincoln had stopped the transport so I could get out and go home while she went to check on the information dump. It would be guarded, and she was happier to deal with that without having to worry about me getting in the way or worse.

Petra was sitting at the kitchen table doing something that might have been educational, so I decided not to pursue it. Instead, I asked, “Where is Mum?”

“She said she needed to go to blow up some sh…stuff and she would be back soon.”

While Asher and I swore like unlicensed revues at a spaceport drink and drop, I was still going to try and prevent Petra from following the same route. Asher is a Tracker and she only takes hot targets because “when I kick in a door and lay down some fire, a civilian will just sue me, the hot ones will fire back and that is when the fun starts.”

“Have you eaten?” I asked Petra who could eat a mountain and still say that she was hungry while looking well-fed rather than overfed. I knew where the energy went and that was another path that I felt best left untrodden.

“Yes,” said my honest daughter. “I would eat whatever you are making though.”

“Ok, I will see what I can do for you. I will not be joining you. I am going over to Lincoln’s for dinner.”

Petra did not comment. She had returned to the task in front of her and stopped only to eat the sandwich I had made for her. She filled me in on her day, and it was wonderfully ordinary: meeting friends, doing assignments, thinking about what to do for a party she was invited to. I had missed the first ten years of Petra’s life, and she happily included me now as naturally as I could ever have hoped for. She was deep in a discussion about whether she should move her desk as part of some schoolroom politics playing out when Asher came into our space. The smell of explosives preceded her into the kitchen, and when she walked in, her suit had a scorch mark running from her right shoulder to her waist. It must have been a ferocious blow up to have even left a mark on the suit. Asher seemed entirely unbothered, and I took my cue from her.

“My loves, how nice. Let me scrub up and you can tell me what you have got up to while I was not here to stop you.” Asher was letting us know that questions about her day would have to wait for a better moment. When she turned and headed for the wet room, Petra rolled her eyes at me with a smile. Asher returned nicely cleaned up I told her about the day leading with the dinner date at Lincoln’s.

“A natural? No wonder she wants a suitable distraction. Hiral dotes on you and will not say anything while you are there, good play.”

“I am going to get the lecture.”

“And you will smile nicely and hug Hiral and make her happy. She trusts you to look out for Lincoln and keep her safe.”

My eyebrows made a desperate attempt to climb into my hairline as I heard this, and I goggled at Asher. Asher simply goggled back at me and said nothing more, choosing to pick up with Petra instead. I washed and put on my best robes for the impending disaster, kissed my family and headed out. At least the journey over was entirely uneventful. The fun started a little after I arrived to find Lincoln and Hiral by themselves. Hiral smiled, hugged me, and we started to chat. Hiral was the closest to a parent I had, I had hero-worshipped her long before I met her and had moved to cherishing her.

The entrance rang and Lincoln went to answer it. From the murmurs it clear that it was her partner of the moment who had arrived. I was expecting a natural; I had never ever imagined or had been expecting the natural who came into the room ahead of Lincoln. It was Reyan whom I had met previously when she was working on the campaign office for the United Platform for Citizen Respect. They were a political party representing bottle born free citizens who had scored a notable success in the recent elections to the Standing Committee. Reyan was taller than I remembered, her long hair was now dark brown, her eyes still grey. She was smiling hugely as she held out her hand to me. Wearing a beautifully and expensively tailored suit that fit her full figure very nicely, she said as we shook hands, “The hero of the revolution himself, the modest hero of the revolution, I should say.”

She touched the version of the Shoshone Circlet that she was wearing, black with silver script on it. “Reclaiming the Power” was the motto of the UPCR that I had devised. I could feel the shadow I shared my body with was amused at what Reyan was wearing. I was wearing the original of the Shoshone Circlet and it was not the manufactured charm that it was always thought to be. It was a lifeform, and ever since the confrontation in the labyrinth it had extended itself into my body lying just under my skin all over my body.

“No modesty,” I said. “I had signed the rights to the UPCR and have a job that keeps me busy. Once the campaign was over, I thought it was easier to simply step back to my life.”

My time delivering almost information at the Mengchi Centre for the Promotion of Historical Knowledge had not been wasted at all. Hiral was standing beside me, and as Reyan tuned to greet her I could see the lines of tension in her posture. I saw them only because I knew what to look for and was looking for them. We went to the food that Hiral had organized. She had quizzed Lincoln earlier about what Reyan would like so her favourites were present along with mine and Lincoln’s. There was silence while we set about eating with a will. Hiral enjoyed seeing her guests eat and be happy doing so; neither Reyan nor myself disappointed her in that.

After sufficient food had been eaten to allow for conversation, Reyan explained that she was a political operative for one of the UPCR members of the Standing Committee. She was really enjoying it; it was very hard work. There was a lot of quiet opposition to the UPCR and her work was to overcome it equally quietly and more effectively. Then she said, “Lincoln, Shakbout, do either of you know Thobald Ivton the Third? I believe that he worked in your area at one point.”

“The Knob?” I asked before I could hold my tongue.

“Is that what he is called?” Reyan laughed, a nice genuine laugh. “That does not surprise me. He is the centre of a knot of difficulties that is proving to be very difficult to resolve. I have had several meetings and no idea how many messages, calls, and updates. Nothing changes but he is very pleasant and polite. Do you have any suggestions how to handle him?”

“The reason nothing has happened is because he does not understand what you want. There is no malice in him, just unplumbed depths of incompetence. The malice was in putting him in the position, he is very effective at ensuring that nothing changes, as he would never take enough coherent action to change anything. Who is his front support? Change them to someone you can rely on and you will get what you want. They will present him with the documents to sign and ensure that he is always happily otherwise occupied when his presence would be a drain on a meeting. You will have to ensure they are paid well above their grade; they will earn it all,” I replied.

“Rosby would be an excellent choice, she has some experience there too,” Lincoln suggested with the merest hint of a sly smile. I barely stopped myself from emptying her food plate onto her lap and ruining the little orange dress that she was wearing.

“No, that would not work,” I said quickly to stop Reyan from pursuing the matter. “I am sure there are other campaign staff who would be much more appropriate.”

Rosby was bred directly for the Public Service and was determined and capable at moving within it. She had been The Knob’s assistant before she arranged for me to replace him. I relied strongly on her to prevent me from being too stupid at work and did not appreciate Lincoln’s intervention. Reyan nodded at my suggestion and said that there was someone now that she had the idea who would be very good and was available right away.

The rest of the dinner was much easier, and at the end of the meal Lincoln announced that she and Reyan had to leave, they had seats at the hot live performance of the moment. After they left, I helped Hiral clear away and waited for what was to come while hoping that it would not arrive. Hiral dashed those hopes when standing in the kitchen, she put a hand on my arm and looking at me said, “She seems very nice,” paused, and then plunged in.

“Lincoln looked so happy at dinner. I hate to be worried, but Reyan is a natural and I am afraid that Lincoln will find herself getting hurt. Shakbout, Lincoln looks up to you, would you talk to her? I would talk to her, only Lincoln would charmingly brush me off, tell me I was right to be worried and she loved me for it, and she would pay no attention to me. She listens to you, if you would just make sure that she understands what she is doing. We stick to our own for good reasons, I have never seen any cross over relationship have a happy ending; the problems are just too great. Lincoln likes to put a hard surface to the air, but she is a soft child inside. Promise me you will speak to her.”

Lincoln looks up to me. Lincoln listens to me? Lincoln a soft child inside? How a smart, sensible woman like Hiral ever got hold of such insane ideas I have no idea. I promised. f**k.