Читать книгу The Gate of Lemnos - Francis Jarman - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

A MATTER OF IDENTITY

“Do let me apologize,” the Goddess rather unexpectedly began, “for the, er, robust way that you have been treated. It is connected with the nature of the charges against you. Our lower-grade colleagues are good-hearted but simple people”—Burk thought he heard Cruella behind him grunt ever so slightly—“who, confronted with behavior of a particularly despicable kind, find it difficult not to give vent to their feelings in a direct and physical manner. We don’t condone that, but we can understand it.”

She paused, then looked down at one of the papers in front of her.

“I have here a Form 26a, if you wish to make a complaint?”

That too had been printed out!

Burk shrugged. It was widely believed that asking for Form 26a could easily led to Form 27b being needed soon afterwards, and with no detour that took in Forms 26b (“Verification of Complaint by Interrogating Officer”), 26c (“Staff Affidavit / Complaints”), 26d (“Witness Statement / Complaints”) or 27a (“Mental or Physical Heath Issues during Interrogation”). Form 27b was the one that documented the details of an “Accidental Fatality during Interrogation”.

She looked up again.

“No?” Form 26a was put to one side. “It remains your right, of course, to register a complaint at any time during this meeting if you believe that someone has overstepped the mark. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then perhaps we should get down to business. I am Guardian Grade III Sousanna, from Crime and Security. I will be leading this investigation.”

Guardians were always referred to by their first name, as if that in some inexplicable way made them nicer.

She nodded in the direction of her effeminate male colleague.

“This is Guardian Grade III Adriyan, from the administration.”

Adriyan leaned forward towards Burk, with an insinuating smile.

“I believe that we’ve already met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“At the Commander’s dinner, the night after we launched from Terra? Before we went into the pods for high slide out of the solar system? We were at the same table. Surely you remember?”

Burk did remember him after all, though they had barely spoken to each other. Guardian Adriyan had spent most of that evening chatting up a handsome crewman, whom he obviously found more interesting. That had been fine with Burk: he had sat nursing his drink, desperately unhappy, trying not to think of Milliya and almost looking forward to a couple of light-years of unconsciousness in the pod.

“Yes, I do remember now.”

“Colleague Adriyan is in the Social and Recreational Department. Which is why he is taking part in our enquiry, you understand.”

Logical enough, since that was the section that Burk worked in on the Starstretcher (although he’d had no further contact with winsome Colleague Adriyan); otherwise, unfortunately, Burk didn’t understand at all. However, what he had noticed was Guardian Sousanna’s apparent unwillingness to use the ominous word “interrogation”. Which could only be a good sign, he thought.

“And this is Guardian Grade III (Senior Level) Rebek’a. From Ideology.”

She gestured politely towards her huge colleague, who acknowledged the gesture by turning her basilisk gaze on Burk.

“It is slightly unusual to have someone of her rank participating in an initial procedure of this kind, but it was felt that the investigation would benefit from her experience and expertise.”

Oh yes, Burk thought, looking at the huge forearms and muscular neck. I wonder what her special area of expertise just happens to be? At which point she smiled, a smile which made Guardian Sousanna or even Slabface look like an angel of mercy, and said quietly:

“Now we want to know who you are, little man.”

She had a deep voice, and spoke in the measured tone of someone who was used to being obeyed.

Before Burk could answer that, Guardian Sousanna rustled the papers in front of her, cleared her throat, and began to speak.

“Burk, John. No further names. Thirty years old. Birthplace, parents, nothing of particular interest there.”

Guardian Adriyan interrupted her.

“‘John’ is spelled in the old-fashioned way. That’s interesting, I would say. Indicative perhaps of an unconventional, rebellious family background?”

Guardian Rebek’a: “Or that he had stupid parents?”

“Well, yes, Colleague, it would be stupid behavior in the sense that it would draw attention to the boy in later life, and for no good reason.”

“He could have changed his name, though. But he didn’t. Perhaps our friend wanted to be seen as a non-conformist. A sentimental traditionalist. Out of step with the established order of things in our modern universe. A trouble-maker.”

“Colleagues, colleagues….” Guardian Sousanna was now visibly exasperated. “This sort of speculation isn’t very helpful. I’d like to continue if I may?”

Her colleagues both nodded.

“Very well. School. Regarded as intelligent but unconventional. Media Studies at college. Minor in Literature. Pretty straightforward stuff.”

Now all three of the Guardians snorted. And they were right, of course. Burk’s college had been famous, but only for its fantastic social scene, and Media Studies was a notoriously cushy option. Career Guardians, on the other hand, tended to study useful subjects like Advanced Cybernetics, Inormation Technology or Administration. Or Ideological Theory. Or Politics and Law.

“Good but not exactly spectacular grades. No application was submitted for Guardian training, despite recommendations made by the school and by the university. Interesting, that…. Various jobs, journalism, public relations, including the present posting to the Starstretcher. A few run-ins with the Government censor. No excessively long periods of unemployment, given his rather unpromising qualification profile.”

She paused.

“Quite good references. For the most part.”

She wasn’t reading, but extrapolating the relevant information from the documents. What could they be looking for? What would be “of particular interest” to them?

At this point Guardian Adriyan chimed in with: “Are you related to Ciaran Burke?”

Pause.

Burk feigned ignorance, pretending to be racking his brains.

“You mean: Kieran Bourke the football player?” (Though it was Kieran Brake, as he well knew.)

“No, I don’t mean Kieran Bourke the football player. I mean Ciaran Burke the terrorist.”

Guardian Adriyan was clearly a history buff. Ciaran Burke (“the terrorist”) had organized what little resistance there was to the mass triaging in Africa during the last great Water Crisis. Burk—no relation—hardly thought of him as a terrorist. Dr. Ciaran was an obsessional, unstable idealist, a man of noble intentions and zero effectiveness who had come to a predictably sticky end. Not a person that Burk would normally want to find himself associated with.

“No. And it’s Burk without an ‘e’.”

In his recreation hours, Burk had researched high and low in the genealogical archives, hoping to find a “Burke” in the family, more aristocratic, more intellectual-sounding, more Irish than just plain “Burk”, but he could only come up with Buerks, Börks and similar plebian variants.

“Burk is classified as AdPop, Lower Executive Level. Various minor entitlements, but no particular priority rating that we need to take into account. Private life: no partner or known long-term relationship. At least, not according to his file. Off the record, however—we know that he puts himself about in a rather tasteless and inappropriate manner.”

“Really?”

Guardian Adriyan was all interest. Guardian Rebek’a gave him a withering look.

“But not in your direction, darling!”

Then she turned to Burk, leaning forward to give her words more intensity.

“You’re a good-looking boy, John. Very good-looking, in fact, albeit in a rather predictable way. I expect that you’ve always been able to find some poor little low-grade to rut with. I don’t find that as disturbing as Colleague Sousanna here seems to. However, what does interest me is this: with your job and salary, your physique, good genes no doubt, too, why haven’t you ever been chosen as a Consort?”

She laughed nastily.

“Or could it be that you’re programmed like my sweet Colleague Adriyan here?”

More rustling of papers, as Guardian Sousanna looked through the information on Burk that was spread out in front of her.

“There is indeed no indication in Burk’s record of an application for Consort status ever having been submitted.”

Consorts were the males chosen as breeding partners by the females who made up the “useful” part of the Useful Population. Since fertilization by synthetic sperm was the normal procedure, and had been for more than a century, Consorts—who were given honorary UsePop status—were males who had something very special to offer as a reason for bringing them in to fulfill what was, after all, an outdated and superfluous procreative role. Perhaps charm, or looks, intelligence, sexual sophistication, excellent parenting or homemaking skills, any or all of those qualities. Whatever it was, a Consort would need to have it in spades to make some Breeder prefer his sexual company to that of a pleasure android.

“No Breeder seems to have noticed him, though.”

“And he is not (as far as I can tell) ‘programmed’ like myself, as you so charmingly put it.” He tittered slightly. “Unfortunately, I would even go so far as to add. But one always lives in hope, I like to think.”

Burk remembered how crudely Guardian Adriyan had eyed him up at the reception. Receiving no encouraging body-language signals in reply, he had quickly transferred his attention to the crewman, Dhavid, a lad who was well known on the ship for putting out with lusty enthusiasm to alpha males who were that way inclined.

“So, John doesn’t particularly go for girls or boys, then? Well, well!”

Burk didn’t much like the way Guardian Rebek’a used his first name.

“The documentation that we have on Burk is still incomplete. Much of this information, additional to the personnel material that was in his shipboard file, had to be extracted from his Main File and transmitted from Terra. As you can imagine, the communication channels on a people transporter in interstellar slide tend to be choked with transmission data, and the present investigation is, after all, hardly a matter of high priority.”

“I beg to disagree. John is very high priority with me, Colleague.”

“What do you mean by that? If you have any information that you are withholding from this investigation, Colleague….”

“I am authorized to withhold whatever I like, as you well know.”

“True. But let me remind you that I am the officer in charge of this investigation.”

“There are some matters that your rank doesn’t qualify you to investigate, Colleague.”

“Don’t forget that you are here on my initiative. As a gesture of politeness.”

“And we will all be very polite to each other,” it seemed to Burk that that probably didn’t include him, “although I am here because I was sent here, and I will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it. At the appropriate time. Colleague.”

The two women were now glaring at each other, bristling (or the nearest thing to bristling that women can manage) and breathing heavily. Burk wouldn’t normally have backed anyone against Guardian Rebek’a, who was just about the most fearsome human specimen he had ever seen. But there was something hard and determined about Guardian Sousanna—here was a woman who wouldn’t back down easily if she believed that she was in the right.

Hey, this is almost fun, he thought. Apart from the tasering of course. More importantly, by losing their cool the Guardians were dropping hints about things that he desperately wanted to know. Such as—what was this whole business all about? Why did he have to be locked up, shouted at and frogmarched around like a SurPop addict with withdrawal symptoms? What “particularly despicable” thing was it that he was supposed to have done?

To keep it all going, he thought, what would now be ideal would be for some mere man to stick his oar in, and, sure enough, this is exactly what happened. Before Burk himself could think of anything clever to say, Guardian Adriyan decided to join in the action.

“Ladies, ladies, please.”

Clang! Disaster! The two female Guardians rounded on their colleague in fury. He couldn’t have chosen his words worse if he had tried. “Ladies” was the contemptuous, euphemistic term that (female) Guardians used for female AdPops (just as useless AdPop males like Burk were referred to sneeringly as “Drones”). Burk couldn’t help smiling. Had dear Adriyan been dozing when they covered these topics in the Interactive Skills module of his Guardian training?

At this point there should really have been a three-way rough-house between the Guardians, which would have been most entertaining to watch! But it never even started, because quite suddenly all hell broke loose.

The ship’s alarm sirens went off, and the lighting began to pulsate in sync with the alarm. Feet pounded in the gangway outside. Loud voices shouted excitedly. All three Guardians at once withdrew into themselves, completely ignoring each other—and Burk. Eyes narrowed, hunched and deathly still, they concentrated on the messages that were already being channeled through to them on the personal communicators attached to their wrists. Other messages—doubtless with the same information—were probably flickering on the screens in front of them.

Guardian Sousanna motioned to Cruella, or whoever it was who was standing behind Burk. “Get him out of here! Now!”

A few seconds later, Burk was knocked out by a sedative taser. But just before he felt the shock, he heard one of the three Guardians say, to the others, not to him, and in a voice of dumbfounded amazement: “This can’t be happening! The ship is under attack!”