“He’d be furious. But then he’d shrug and say welcome to a sociopath’s world. Enjoy. And you can buy me dinner.”
Greenaway shook his head. “Kara. You know that we have to use whatever we can to win.”
Kara nodded, even if using Marc’s memories felt close to betrayal. “There’s a place where he lay on the ground for a while, during his hallucinatory experience. We’ll try there.”
He wasn’t there. It was early afternoon when she called a halt.
“Maybe it was just important to be here,” Greenaway said. “Or have the SUT brought here.”
“Maybe it’s time you showed me how this SUT works.”
“Your own AI already knows.”
“Even a Wild SUT?”
< The knowledge transfer happened when we arrived.
> Should have said.
< Don’t worry, Kara. I’ll look after us.
* * *
Back at the mill house they found a tall woman waiting for them. She was enveloped by a long grey cloak, wore a skull cap over blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes were a pale blue like a late afternoon sky in winter.
“My name is Cleo.” She spoke directly to Kara, her voice commanding. “I represent the Exchange. Might I help?”
Kara sensed formality was needed. “You might, and I would be grateful.”
Cleo smiled. “That’s the equivalent of inviting a vampire inside. It’s a contract, can’t be undone, yadda-yadda.”
Kara looked surprised. “You’re not...”
“What you’d expect?” She took off the skull cap and scratched her scalp. “Bloody thing itches like a bitch.” She fiddled with the bun and hair cascaded down in waves. “Anson been telling you how cold and unfeeling I am?”
Anson opened his mouth. No words came.
“He said you’d always been helpful,” Kara said carefully, wanting to laugh at her lover’s stricken face.
Cleo blinked hard and her eyes became a much deeper blue. Shook herself then let the cloak fall to the ground. Beneath it she wore a simple business suit with a ruffed white blouse. Now she was an attractive woman in her forties, with a definite sexual allure.
Greenaway found his voice. “Why? For fuck’s sake, why!”
Cleo’s smile was of amusement and power. “Kara understands. I think?”
Kara did. “Hiding one’s true self so others don’t feel threatened. Oh, yeah. I’ve done that. But with you, with I guess the Exchange, to impress the natives.” She paused a moment, staring hard at Cleo who held her gaze, the smile now watchful and guarded.
< She’s data dumping! Ishmael sounded panicky. < I can’t stop it!
> Don’t try.
She had it then, and staggered a little as information poured into her mind. The world appeared to slow and she saw it as if through thick glass as her mind went into overdrive.
The pre-cogs from Altai were not the only psy-gifted human tribe. Others existed who had an affinity with nature elementals. These last were entities from netherspace but not the boojums Kara had experienced. They owed nothing to human or alien emotion. And their human contacts would go on to cause the legends of the Irish Tuatha, the Fir Bolg. Would be seen and feared as nature spirits by other humans until, like their pre-cog cousins, they learned to hide in plain sight...
“You’re Fae,” Kara all but whispered and rejoined the world outside. “The Exchange...”
“I’m also here,” Greenaway said, sounding angry. As anyone would when a mentor shows no contrition for being fake.
“Devas,” Cleo said, turning to him. “Nature spirits. Fairy folk. You must have heard.”
He had. And understood. “So why the admission? Just for us?”
Cleo shook her head. “The world’s changing. It’ll need to grow up, with a new type of leadership.”
Kara told Ishmael to file the rest of the data dump under pending. “Why are you here?” she asked Cleo.
“To see that you go Up safely.”
Kara barely heard her. The dam that had contained her empathy burst and she knew Cleo’s emotional life. The deep pride, verging on arrogance, of the Fae. Also the fear of discovery. Understood they were very long lived, and the sadness at burying so many partners, so many children...
“For fuck’s sake!” Greenaway burst out. “If the Earth could accept aliens, then surely...”
“Only because they are alien,” Kara said. “They don’t look like us. Do pre-cogs have an easy life? Do they mix?” Haven’t I always been an outsider? She had Greenaway’s emotions now and hid a smile.
> Can you filter this somehow?
< I can try. But you already guessed...
> Just do it.
Cleo’s emotional torrent died away and Kara was left wondering what had triggered the release. Then she knew. “You’re telepathic,” she accused.
“Somewhat,” Cleo said. “Probably not the way you imagine it.”
“Makes sense.” Greenaway sounded sour. “Be good for trade.”
Kara thought for a moment. Was telepathy any more strange than pre-cognition or extreme empathy? Any more strange than quantum entanglement, which also seemed to be mirrored by time itself? Weren’t they all aspects of information exchange, and wasn’t that what the universe was supposed to be? “Whatever, this can wait. Important thing, vital thing is to find Marc. Any ideas?”
Cleo shook her head. “I’ve only been here a few times. Never saw much except the main room, while Jeff plied me with wine. What?” as she saw Kara stare at her.
“Wine,” Kara said.
“It’s a bit early...”
“No!” Greenaway all but shouted. “Not what Kara means. It’s his wine cellar!”
They had to go outside the mill house to find the entrance: a trapdoor that at first seemed to be part of a lumber pile next to the old mill wheel. It opened easily enough, showing a flight of steps that vanished into gloom. As soon as Kara set foot on the stair a light came on. She moved slowly down, unaccountably nervous instead of feeling the excitement and relief she’d expected.
They reached a dimly lit room – too much light is bad for some wines – about fifteen by fifteen metres square and four metres tall. There were eight rows of floor-to-ceiling wine racks, with enough room for an elderly, portly man to walk between in comfort.
< Portly – I like that. Too much port. Clever.
>
