down there.”
“And why do you care?”
“I told you. I’ve met him. I know what he’s like.”
“Worse than ordinary possessed; yet you seemed to have survived. How did you manage that, Louise?”
“We were helped.”
“By Fletcher?”
“No . . . I don’t know who it was.”
“All right, so you escaped this fate worse than death, and you came here to warn us.”
“Yes.”
“How did you get off Norfolk, Louise?”
“I bought tickets on a starship.”
“I see. And you took Fletcher Christian with you. Were you worried there were possessed among the starship crew?”
“No. That was one place I was sure there wouldn’t be any possessed.”
“So although you knew there were no possessed on board, you still took Christian with you as protection. Was that your idea, or his?”
“I . . . It . . . He was with us. He’d been with us since we left home.”
“Where is home, Louise?”
“Cricklade manor. But Dexter came and possessed everyone. That’s when we fled to Norwich.”
“Ah yes, Norfolk’s capital. So you brought Christian with you to Norwich. Then when that started to fall to the possessed, you thought you’d better get offplanet, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Christian was a possessed when you bought the tickets?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And when you bought them, did you also know Dexter wanted to come to Earth?”
“No, that was after.”
“So was it dear old samaritan Fletcher Christian who suggested coming here to warn us?”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed to help him?”
“Yes.”
“So where were you going to go originally, before Fletcher Christian made you change your mind and come here?”
“Tranquillity.”
Brent Roi nodded in apparent fascination. “That’s a rather strange place for a young lady from Norfolk’s landowner class to go. What made you choose that habitat?”
“My fiancй lives there. If anyone can protect us, he can.”
“And who is your fiancй, Louise?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Joshua Calvert.”
“Joshua Cal . . . You mean
“No, Joshua.”
“The captain of the
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Let’s say, the name rings a bell.” He sat back and folded his arms, regarding Louise with a strangely mystified expression.
“Can I see Genevieve now?” she asked timidly. No one had actually said she was under arrest yet. She felt a lot more confident now the policeman had actually listened to her story.
“In a little while, possibly. We just have to review the information you’ve provided us with.”
“You do believe me about Quinn Dexter, don’t you? You must make sure he doesn’t get down to Earth.”
“Oh, I assure you, we will do everything we can to make sure he doesn’t get through our security procedures.”
“Thank you.” She glanced awkwardly at the two female officers standing on either side of her chair. “What’s going to happen to Fletcher?”
“I don’t know, Louise, that’s not my department. But I imagine they’ll attempt to flush him out of the body he’s stolen.”
“Oh.” She stared at the floor.
“Do you think they’re wrong to try that, Louise?”
“No. I suppose not.” The words were troubling to speak; the truth, but not what was right. None of what had happened was right.
“Good.” Brent Roi signalled her escort. “We’ll talk again in a little while.” When the door closed behind her, he couldn’t help a grimace of pure disbelief.
“What do you think?” his supervisor datavised.
“I have never heard someone sprout quite so much bullshit in a single interview before,” Brent Roi replied. “Either she’s a retard, or we’re up against a new type of possessed infiltration.”
“She’s not a retard.”
“Then what the hell is she? Nobody is that dumb, it’s not possible.”
“I don’t believe she’s dumb, either. Our problem is, we’re so used to dealing with horrendous complexities of subterfuge, we never recognise the simple truth when we see it.”
“Oh come on, you don’t actually believe that story?”
“She is, as you said, from the Norfolk landowner class; that doesn’t exactly prepare her for the role of galactic master criminal. And she is travelling with her sister.”
“That’s just cover.”
“Brent, you are depressingly cynical.”
“Yes, sir.” He held on to his exasperation, it never made the slightest impression on his supervisor. The anonymous entity who had guided the last twenty years of his life lacked many ordinary human responses. There were times when Brent Roi wondered if he was actually dealing with a xenoc. Not that there was much he could do about that now; whatever branch of whatever agency the supervisor belonged to, it was undoubtedly a considerable power within Govcentral. His own smooth, accelerated promotion through the Halo police force was proof of that.
“There are factors of Miss Kavanagh’s story which my colleagues and I find uniquely interesting.”
“Which factors?” Brent asked.
“You know better than that.”
“All right. What do you want me to do with her?”
“Endron has confirmed the Phobos events to the Martian police, however we must establish exactly what happened to Kavanagh on Norfolk. Initiate a direct memory retrieval procedure.”
Over the last five hundred years, the whole concept of Downtown had acquired a new-ish and distinctly literal meaning in New York; naturally enough, so did Uptown. One thing, though, would never change; the arcology still jealously guarded its right to boast the tallest individual building on the planet. While the odd couple of decades per century might see the title stolen away by upstart rivals in Europe or Asia, the trophy always came home eventually.
The arcology now sprawled across more than four thousand square kilometres, housing (officially) three hundred million people. With New Manhattan at the epicentre, fifteen crystalline domes, twenty kilometres in diameter, were clumped together in a semicircle along the eastern seaboard, sheltering entire districts of ordinary skyscrapers (defined as buildings under one kilometre high) from the pummelling heat and winds. Where the domes intersected, gigantic conical megatowers soared up into the contused sky. More than anything, these colossi conformed to the old concept of “arcology” as a single city-in-a-building. They had apartments, shopping malls, factories, offices, design bureaus, stadiums, universities, parks, police stations, council chambers, hospitals,
