"For the embodied, because the virtuals are trying to absorb all of us. Most of the time they just move in and take over. Some of us, they makes their 'offer' to." He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but suddenly stopped dead.
At first Leal thought her words had stung him overmuch--though she fully intended them to sting. But Chen's head was tilted, his eyes focused on nothing as though listening intently to something.
"Don't panic," he said--not to her, she judged. "No, no, I mean I'm pretty sure I know what that was. Oh, stop it! I'll explain when we get there."
He began walking, then stopped again. "Yes, we." He turned to Leal, his mouth twisted in annoyance. "It seems I've offended my brethren again. They beg me to stay, then get angry when I do."
Chen hurried ahead, his fireflies practicing formation flying over his head. "Um," she said as she followed. "What did you do?"
"The ornithopter I built--my flying machine--it's missing."
"Missing? But who could have--?"
Even as she spoke, Leal realized who it must be. They'd reached a T intersection; without another word to each other, Leal turned right while Chen went left.
When he was out of sight she began to bound along as quickly as the low gravity would let her. Rounding a final corner, she entered the chambers the Renaissance had given her party. For a moment, everything looked fine: Piero was playing cards with two of the airmen, while two more were trying on new shoes that the Edisonians had customized for their feet. They all looked up in surprise as she bounced to a halt in the doorway.
"Ma'am?" said Piero. Leal counted heads, and her suspicion was confirmed.
"Where," she shouted, "is Eustace Loll?"
5
MAYBE THIS INSTITUTIONAL mint-green paint had once made the offices of the Abyss Ministry of the Interior inviting. Now, cracked and begrimed by the ages and lit only by flickering gaslight, it was merely depressing.
"It's an honor, truly an honor," the midlevel official behind the desk was saying. (Was he a subminister? An attache? After so many referrals and re-referrals, she couldn't recall.) "Always an honor to meet a member of the legendary Virga Home Guard, Ms.--?"
"Argyre. Antaea Argyre." She had promised Crase--not to mention herself--that she wouldn't use that name, or this uniform, again. It was a measure of Antaea's desperation that she was here today, smiling and shaking the hand the subminister (or attache) held out. She'd skulked here through alleys and understreet tunnels, and changed into the uniform in a downstairs washroom; still, Crase might yet discover that she was continuing to impersonate a member of the Home Guard. For that reason, and because this was her last lead, she would have to leave Sere after today.
The subminister gestured for her to sit, and for a moment there was silence punctuated by the clatter of typewriter keys in the outer office, and the rumble of a passing trolley in the street below. Then he held up the forms Antaea had filled out in the other room.
"Let me tell you, it's always a delight to meet a member of your race, Ms. Argyre." She did not return his smile this time.
"I'm just a little surprised," he went on.
"Oh?" She kept her expression neutral, and leaned forward indulgently.
"Well, I only mean," he said with a shrug, "that when your compatriots, ah, visited us a few months back, they demanded--I mean, requested--all our records pertaining to the incident you're referring to. The one in which the fugitive, this 'Leal Maspeth,' was centrally involved. You already know everything we know," he finished. Then he steepled his hands and smiled at her again.
"Maybe," she said to buy time. "But our copies have flown halfway around the world by now. It would take me months to lay my hands on them, and, well, I'm here, aren't I?"
He sighed. "I'd like to help, really I would. But it's not up to me. Your request is unusual enough, and, frankly, sensitive enough that it will have to be vetted at the highest levels. I can send it on--" He paused at a knock on the door. "Pardon me." He stood and went to open an inside door a crack. Gaslight shone off his bald spot as he bent to say, "What is it?"
Someone started to explain something through the narrow opening, but the subminister interrupted with a scoffing sound.
"What do you mean, Loll's back?"
There were more mumbled words; then, with sudden energy, the subminister turned and said, "I'm sorry, Officer Argyre, I'm going to have to cut this meeting short. Something's come up. If you will--?" He indicated the other door.
"Ah," she said. "Of course. Thank you for your time."
He ducked through the interior door and Antaea heard him talking to someone on the other side. She leaped out of her chair and put her ear to the door. Loll. That name had come up again and again in connection with Leal's case. He was an important man, by all accounts, and he'd disappeared at the same time as she had.
The thick imported wood of the door muffled the voices; she couldn't hear what was being said. They seemed to be moving away. There was no keyhole through which to peek; she couldn't just risk following them.
She eyed the window. It was narrow, there more for ventilation than the view, which meant it opened. She pushed it up and verified that there was a ledge outside. With only a glance back, she climbed out onto it and edged along to the next window.
Antaea didn't glance down, but even if she had the view wouldn't have daunted her. She was used to the yawning vistas of gravity-free air. Even if a fall from this ledge would be fatal, she had long ago become conditioned against a fear of heights.
She knelt carefully, holding the slick bricks with her fingertips. Now she could hear the voices better.
"--a city, he says." That was the voice of the man who'd interrupted the subminister. "Two hundred miles from the Site."
"And he was alone? What about the ships--and the Home Guard escort?"
"Something's not right," continued the subminister. "That was a Home Guard inspector in my office just now! Asking about Maspeth. Haven't they debriefed Loll themselves?"
"He slipped by them! Got himself smuggled through the Site on one of our regular supply ships. He was flying some little one-person aircraft, seems he was able to sneak on to one of our cruisers without the Guard noticing."
"Well, obviously the Guard suspects something. And all of these resources he's asking for?" scoffed the subminister. "TC-34s? And he's fast-tracking the gravity ships? How are we going to pay for all this?"
There was a pause. Then the other man said, "Would you rather ignore the request? See what happens?"
The subminister cursed, and then Antaea heard the scraping of chairs against the floor. The voices continued but were moving away again.
A glance through the glass showed that this smaller office was now empty. Antaea climbed back through the window she'd come out of, and left the subminister's office by the correct door. She was thinking hard, and ignored the gaze of the secretaries in the outer office as she stalked past them. No doubt there would be whispers once she'd left, or maybe even loud conversation: a winter wraith had visited them! Who cared; she had more important things to think about.
She didn't forget to change out of her uniform in the main-floor washroom. People in the lobby stared, but no one accosted her as she passed them. She kept her eyes forward and acknowledged no one.
She was out of options. All her money was gone, and her only possessions in the world were the clothes on her back, and the jet bike currently parked at Rowan Wheel's dock a mile overhead. All manner of revelatory conversations and events might be taking place in the offices above, but she had no access to any of them. There was only so much ledge-balancing and skulduggery a girl could do on her own.
She stopped at the taxi stand to think. The ragged remains of protest posters hung in strips from the lamppost next to it. The secret service had been by again, evidently, but the poster-printers kept just a step ahead of them. Although the crudely printed papers were gone, she--and everybody else in the city--knew what they said. In big bold letters, they asked, "WHY IS THE GOVERNMENT LYING TO US?"