Demiurge

By J.C. Gemmell

Desperate people will do anything to survive. Could a new god be enough to save them?

The world survived for a millennium without gods until the devastation and disconnection became unbearable.

Heikapu has attained Tion’s surface but needs biotechnology to preserve the behaviour regulators who live there. There is only one guaranteed source, but she cannot locate it in the barren wasteland. In the levels below, an army of fanatics seeks the same thing, but they may have a way to recreate it for themselves.

The flood has devastated Tion’s infrastructure, and the central processing facility has failed. Billions of people are disconnected for the first time in their lives and have lost all sense of hope. One faction has a way to provide data to the masses, but it means exploiting the people they depend upon; they have no choice because, without a replacement processor, they cannot recreate Caitlyn’s bioapp.

Somewhere on the surface of Tion, a new god is protecting the uprisers. His power may be great, but is the price too high?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Gemmell
• Release date: Mar 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781838072841

J.C. Gemmell

J.C. Gemmell was born in Falkirk, Scotland, and received his B.A. in Computer Studies and a Master’s Degree in Applied Science from the University of Portsmouth, UK. Before turning to science fiction, he worked as a software engineer for a number of multinational organisations. He lives with his partner on the south coast of England.Tionsphere and The Uprisers are the first novels in the Tion series, and will be followed by Demiurge in 2022. He is currently working on a novella tied to this series, which will be available for free at Easter.Visit J.C. online at www.jcgemmell.com and @JcGemmell

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Cristóbal

অতীতে

KATHY IDLY COUNTED the sides of the octagonal antiprism as she turned the sapphire glass in her hand. Cristóbal had cut the pathfinder from Rabindra’s ruined donjon, ejected onto Tion’s surface, and she had always assumed he had keyed ⁠ it to that location. ⁠ Its solidity soothed away her doubt, and for the first time, Kathy knew why he had given it to her. She pushed her body into the couch to find a comfortable position from which to observe her investment ⁠⁠ . Cristóbal had needed staters to keep his declining business afloat, and her seemingly unsuccessful wager allowed him to retire with his pride intact. Although each of the past four years’ results had been slightly worse than its predecessor, she was reluctant to relinquish her interest and be the cause of his failure. Kathy still considered herself one of the best data capitalists in the Threes, so she already knew his disinterest had started with the trafficking of Danesh Ne-Baluda-Va-Wa and the subsequent interference by the Odyssée team. We are all bound together within Tion, she observed, but sometimes we have to sever the ties, no matter how painful.

The Lisboa Pit was unusually quiet for the late afternoon shift. Cristóbal’s remaining men were out on a job, which would likely cost her rather than secure a return, and he was consoling himself online. Doha sat nearby, eyes shut and slumbering, while her quiet kona deftly used a needle to repair the torn hem of the old woman’s dress. It was time to remove the dependencies in Cristóbal’s life and force him to focus on what remained. Kathy created a fresh ve-package and filled it with bogus details about Shu-fen’s unforgotten boyfriend. She did not include details of his current identity or pictures of his new face; she implied he had negotiated up-levelling to the Ones and was waiting for his childhood friend. Several bogdos , the undocumented passageways between Tion’s levels, were appropriate for Shu-fen’s journey, and Kathy selected one rarely used by unaccredited couriers. A short visit to the Beurs would provide someone to deliver the package and tidy Shu-fen away. Giving Shu-fen to Doha had been a mistake.

Cristóbal opened his eyes and looked straight into the imager. He knew she was watching, and he was undoubtedly watching her. She smiled at him from her Kilometre-Three office suite and sent him a summary of his assets. He shook his head to reject her intent before taking Doha’s dusky hand in his. His devotion to the eldri-kona had trapped him in a forgotten moment, and each day Kathy waited represented further loss. He had previously refused to obtain a caching voucher for Liang and had allowed him to die as he slept. Cristóbal probably planned the same for Doha. Kathy hoped the old woman would choose for herself once Shu-fen had left, so she hacked into the global caching register to create an outline request and left it for Cristóbal to find. While she tongued through the day’s outstanding authorisations, she thought about her friends who lived on contentedly within the FMP. It was not something Kathy relished for herself, yet when she queried her TUID, she was unsurprised that traders had purchased several open chits for her caching. Fólkið should have the courage of their convictions, she mused.

The majority of the requests were spam, submitted by people hopeful of acquiring her assets should she accidentally accept their invitations, but one of the oldest was quite specific, and its originator had carefully masked every identifier from the transaction. Kathy closed down her feed from the Fours and set about identifying her assailant. The Pallial Truth contained a cascade trigger that would enact the caching at the slightest investigation, although none of the online forums recognised the process’s efficacy. Kathy messaged several cachiers, but her associates could not recall any similar intrusions; one even recommended she contract an elucidarium to find her answer. There was no reason to risk her professional reputation as a data trader; indeed, the only time she had ever outsourced to a freelance information house was when Cristóbal mentioned his contract with Pazel Sad-Tet-Ain-Resh. She leafed back through her records and compared date stamps. Cristóbal had told her about the surface breach, what had become of Grace, and her relationship with one of the Odyssée magnates. Was it possible that Caitlyn had issued the voucher on his behalf? Cristóbal had not been the same when he had eventually returned to the Pit. Kathy wondered if he was aware and requested routeing to Fourth to see for herself.

The mid-life man who issued her one-seat pod did not stop speaking. He told her that inter-level transits were back on the rise but would never be as popular as they were before the Fall because most people could not justify the cost. Sometimes no movements occurred during a shift, and as an experienced professional, he needed something more to occupy his working hours. Kathy tried to avoid engaging with him, offering curt replies, but he persisted. Almost all of his comments were inconsequential, and he seemed content with her limited attention until he mentioned that fólkið of her status only travelled to the Sixes. ‘I expect you want to know why,’ he suggested and did not wait for her reply. ‘It’s because of the profit.’

Kathy was uncomfortable with the nature of their conversation and paid twenty staters to secure his discretion. She told him it would not do for him to discuss her with any of his other clients.

The pod slowed so much that Kathy could easily pick out the construction of the Lacuna tunnel. ‘About once a month, there’s a routeing to K6 for an important person such as yourself. Someone with hundreds of kilostaters to spare. We are supposed to prioritise them in the pipe, although it hardly matters any longer, so I try to personalise the experience. They never discuss business on the way down, but when they return, it’s the only thing they want to talk about.’ The router paused, and she imagined him leaning forward to bring her into his confidence. ‘Tion’s population is optimal, and the decommissioning of the megagestoria is imminent. These people are buying them up. I have no idea what for.’ He then shared his theories, but she muted his stream and primed some data miners.

The Odyssée konurnar had been working on the Pallial Decline even before the Fall occurred, and Cristóbal had been one of their registered suppliers ⁠⁠ . Traders were exchanging factories full of children, and there would be nowhere for the unsanctioned new people to go. She found transactions for batches of a thousand or more, but Kathy wasn’t interested in the buyers. There were rumours of a catastrophe once Tion reached capacity, a devastating attack on the FMP or the compulsory caching of entire kays. She messaged the router and told him to recover her lost transit minutes.

The Lisboa’s doorman app belligerently informed her that Cristóbal Hie-Ngo-Sharp-Damaru was not receiving visitors. She was welcome to try her luck, but she would have to leave if she interrupted him. Kathy did not enquire about Cristóbal’s retinue and walked straight from the entrance to his table. The Pit’s publicity filter had clearly enhanced her monitoring: the gaming club had become run down, and there were almost no high-stater customers.

Kathy had not spoken with Shu-fen after Feliu had taken her to Doha but had observed her emptiness mature as she strived to become an engin-kona . There was a desolate acknowledgement in her eyes as Kathy sat down, but all the same, she leant across to wake her owner.

‘Are you tired?’

Doha made no effort to smile and closed her eyes again. Constantly, but I cannot leave him , she replied. Cristóbal is destined to outlast us all. There is nothing anyone can do to help him.

‘I have a way. Tell him to come back.’ Kathy did not trust herself to explain. Cristóbal needed to let Doha go on his own terms, and she had to persuade him. A waiter ambled over with a small glass of wine, but it was not one from her published preferences. She studied the smears on the glass and wondered why Cristóbal had not up-levelled his crew. The Fall’s influence on her business had not been detrimental: people were struggling with inadequate Pallial response times, so were turning to stochastés to process their information and her profits were up. Cristóbal’s services were physical by nature and independent of the FMP and should have remained unaffected. He needed to re-engage.

‘Whatever it is, I’m not interested,’ Cristóbal said to her as he offlined. ‘I’m busy.’

‘No, you’re not,’ she said and pointed at a booth on the other side of the baiting pit. ‘Come with me. I’m buying.’ She walked past the bar to retrieve the rest of the bottle and waited for him to join her. ‘Doha can’t go on much longer. What you’re doing to her is cruel.’

Cristóbal shook his head. ‘It’s her choice. She wants to see how things turn out,’ [ data ]. Kathy looked at him blankly. ‘Caitlyn told me Pazel would ultimately force Tion to evolve. The Pallium won’t survive, so if Doha were cached, she would never know.’

She opened his ve-package and spread its contents across their shared eyesight. The sweeping, black sky above Zero vied for her attention, but it failed to move her, so she focused instead on the steady stream of people flooding from a spoke lock. ‘No one is influential enough to trigger an exodus to the surface. People cannot exist without the FMP to administer their lives. Whatever Pazel is planning won’t be permitted because there are safeguards. The forfeður protected Tion in innumerate ways and documented very few of them.’

‘I’ve met one of the konservatorer ,’ he reminded her. ‘They’re no different to us.’

‘I doubt the forfeður would agree.’ She continued to rummage through his ve-package until she selected a dossier. ‘This kona from the Sevens. Did you know she was working for Pazel when she engaged your services? And that she was also part of the Odyssée team. What’s going on, Cristóbal?’

He swept her eyesight away and poured himself a glass. ‘Caitlyn won’t take my calls, so I can’t ask her. I suspect Grace and Youssef followed me to the surface and are still there. Everything else I can share is conjecture. Data isn’t my speciality.’ He passed her an encrypted package. ‘I took this from Caitlyn, but I can’t open it.’

So he’s found something more interesting than his work, Kathy decided. Perhaps Doha doesn’t matter after all. She looked across at the eldri-kona and tried to imagine her surviving this unlikely future. ‘You should still encourage Doha to let go,’ she said. Cristóbal had not drunk any of his wine, and she briefly considered taking it from him. ‘It could be a decade from now if it happens at all. I’ve decided to sell my stake in your outfit. The last five years have been somewhat disappointing for everyone concerned. I’ll give you until tomorrow to tell me if you want to buy it.’ She kissed his stubbled cheek and left.

Caitlyn’s data shimmered in Kathy’s hand as she sifted through her contacts for a suitable thráfstis . Most of the decryption specialists she worked with refused to accept jobs remotely yet still tried to obscure their identities during physical interactions with her. There was no need to rush back to the Threes, and she thought she might enjoy a leisurely trip across the skyplate. The narrow roofcar was empty when she boarded, so she placed the data under the seat behind her. It might be entertaining to see how the thráfstis managed to collect it without being observed. No one got on at any of the first three stops, but Kathy was content to gaze out of the window at the masses of people going about their lives a few metres below. The FMP refused to grant her access to the carriage’s internal imagers, and she fought to restrain herself when the first passenger embarked. The new man sat near the door, and at the next station, two more men joined him. A miðaldra-kona chose a seat behind Kathy, but she did not turn round to see which one. The woman left at the following stop. People came and went, and eventually, Kathy tired of them. She dozed until the roofcar announced it would be attaching to a high-speed chain to cross a quarter of Fourth. When she got up, pretending to stretch, the ve-package was gone. Kathy hoped it was still onboard and paid for eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

◆  ◆  ◆

People occasionally told stories about gamblers who descended to the Fours to wager their last staters on genuine bloodsports, but Thibaut had seldom witnessed any outcome other than a total loss. At least once a month he was summoned to escort a broken persónan to his or her default caching, and he had never heard of the club paying the fees. Thibaut reached an agreement with a cachier called Yuuto Zhar-No-Wo-Epsilon, but Thibaut rarely profited from their arrangements. Anyone smart enough to realise there was no incorporation without payment begged him to let them go; he always told them that what happened inside the cacherie’s door was none of his business.

Thibaut was supposed to return to the sitting at the end of his shift, but he was near home and was painfully aware of his dwindling finances. He found it difficult to hold anything in reserve, especially staters. Each assignment earned him less than the one before, and his rating was dwindling as fast as his account. While he knew he was a terrible assize, it was all that separated him from the unjoined or even the end of his existence. He decided to chance the cost of his daily beltway ride on the tables and headed for the Lisboa Pit.

Cristóbal nodded an unenthusiastic acknowledgement as Thibaut walked onto the gaming floor. Every few months, Thibaut tried to strike up a conversation with the trafficker, but he had begun to think he had misplayed his only opportunity to make a suitable impression. They had both used Grace that night. After Liang’s death, he had blundered through his condolences, and Cristóbal had asked why he was trying to apologise. All Thibaut wanted was guaranteed work without too many questions, and he was watching his only prospect slowly shut him out. The quiet kona , Shu-fen, was missing from Doha’s side, and as Cristóbal murmured to her, Thibaut could tell the old woman was also ready to go. Her wisdom influenced everyone who met her, yet she had not shown him any interest. Thibaut offered her a smile as Cristóbal helped her to her feet and held out his arm.

One of Cristóbal’s men sauntered over. ‘You should go somewhere else. He’s not recruiting. So we don’t need you.’

Thibaut thought Oriol had little decency in him. ‘Even without Yash? I know what happened to him. ⁠⁠ ’

‘You are as ignorant as you are brazen,’ Oriol said. ‘His caching doesn’t concern you.’

Feliu shoved him to one side. ‘We need someone,’ he hissed. ‘Cristóbal isn’t himself.’

‘Don’t be a cony . The boss wants to be upset.’ The two men turned and headed to the central pit.

Thibaut watched them debate the lists and resigned himself to his final days as an assize. He felt constrained and despised himself. Regulations did not matter, and he was fed up with being penalised for his disinterest. It was time to take control, and he did not care if he lost his future. He requested a one-hour deferral, as was his right, and converted all of his staters to chips. The Pallium forced him offline just as he approached the busiest table. The emptiness made him feel alive for the first time in several years, and he elbowed his way to the front. ‘Your call,’ the ný-maður to his left said. He would play evens three times, and if he survived, he would have enough to utilise a gamer app. As the third win came in, he considered reinstatement and playing for himself, but he saw Oriol discretely frown, so he agreed to the fifty per cent fee and headed to the bar.

At the end of the evening, he had earned slightly more than two thousand staters.

Come back tomorrow, cunt , Oriol messaged.

He wanted to celebrate, to convert his winnings into gratification, but that was his default reaction, and still, he remained a shitty assize. Taking control meant precisely that, so he strode home, waited for a public cleantube to become free, and once he had settled in his tiny room, Thibaut submitted his resignation.

He returned to the Lisboa in the late morning and drank coffee while he waited. All he could think about was his new wealth, and although it was nothing compared with serious gamblers, it was the most he had ever accrued. Of course, Oriol had known. The club was quiet, and most of the tables were closed. He watched an eldri-maður place bad bet after bad; there appeared to be no limit to his staters. Two of the staff were sluicing out the pit, and the lists were empty. A waitress, seemingly distracted by more than online, wandered over with a fresh cup. She refused to engage with him, other than saying that it was going to be a slow afternoon. A chime: his supervisor had returned his resignation with a comment that said he was only a shift or two from termination. Thibaut was about to post his response to Sodality when the evening’s schedule appeared in his eyesight.

For Doha.

Thibaut rubbed his eyes with his thumbs as if to push the unsolicited text to one side. He did not need to study the Pit’s events because he knew where to place his stake. It would not be a long wait.

When Cristóbal arrived, he was alone and cut off. He sat at Doha’s usual table and waved a barman over. Thibaut glanced at the waiter. Allow me , he said and tongued through Cristóbal’s preferences. He collected two wide-brimmed glasses of pacharán and sat without being invited.

‘Not now,’ Cristóbal spat.

Thibaut was not swayed. ‘Is Grace well? I didn’t see her again.’ It was a cherished memory in many ways. ‘She liked you a lot.’

He watched as Cristóbal re-focused. ‘She’s safe, and she will always be safe. She doesn’t require my protection. There’s nothing for you here, nor has there ever been.’

Thibaut sipped the dry liqueur and nodded. ‘There’s nothing for you either. Let me offer you a way out.’ He presented his stater balance in exchange for his organisation.

‘You little coño ,’ Cristóbal spat. ‘You don’t understand. If I hadn’t taken responsibility for Doha, someone else would have. She wasn’t ready.’

‘Have you spoken to her since the caching?’ He wondered who had received Doha’s assets.

Cristóbal reached for Thibaut’s offer. ‘Fuck. Take it. I don’t want the hassle any more. Look after my mennirnir .’ He left the liqueur untouched and headed for the door.

Thibaut opened his purchase and smoothed it across the table. As an assize, he had grabbed the next job from the stack. He had never competed for new assignments, and it seemed that for the past few years, Cristóbal had not fought either. There was no work scheduled, the order book had been empty for weeks, and the balance was a fraction of what Thibaut had paid. The only recent transaction was a nominal payment to Aikaterine J-Omega-Oo-Beta in return for complete control of the business, and it appeared Cristóbal had not paid his staff in months. Thibaut sat in silence and considered contacting Kathy, yet he had nothing to contest. Oriol must have known this too, so Thibaut summoned his new workers. The anger that smouldered deep inside threatened to erupt, but he forced himself to be calm. Yesterday, Thibaut had been an assize with almost no future, but today he owned a business, and it did not matter that it held little worth. It had been successful in the past, and he would surely find a way to revitalise it.

The Pallium made personnel profiles available to employers, so Thibaut glanced at their mutual relationships and professional engagements. There was nothing to indicate why they remained loyal to Cristóbal, other than a lack of alternative options, yet it was unlikely they would renege on their contracts, no matter what he asked.

Thibaut assumed Oriol and Feliu both came from the same gestorium and, by the look of them, possibly shared some of their heritage with Cristóbal. It didn’t matter. The output from the genoreps had been homogeneous for centuries. Thibaut summoned both men and nodded at the eldri-maður as he lost again.

The old man is wasting his staters. Persuade him to stop and bring him outside.

Oriol clenched his jaw. He won’t leave, boss.

Tell him there’s a better way to invest [ K4 location ] .

But he’s not desperate enough to give up.

He doesn’t have to agree to a three-to-one caching.

I don’t understand , Feliu said. We can’t match his assets.

Thibaut took a deep breath and looked from man to man. Tell him to grant us half of his holdings before Yuuto invokes the caching voucher. That way, we can match his assets, but you must ensure the transactions are unremarkable. Afterwards, the cachier will return our staters as an arrangement fee, less a reasonable cut for himself.

Why would the eldri agree? Feliu asked.

Find a reason , Thibaut said. Imply that it’s his stake. Persuade him.

What about the cachier?

‘That’s my responsibility. Be ready to go in half an hour.’

It was surprisingly simple and only required one lie. Oriol had earnestly talked to the maður for fifteen minutes, during which time he had lost almost two hundred staters more. Thibaut didn’t observe the conversation nor engage with their mark as they walked together to the transit hub. Feliu had submerged himself online, but when they arrived at Yuuto’s cacherie, he presented a menu to all three men. A glorious dance of iconography and videos surrounded them.

‘The most you can stake is half of your balance, while we will hold the remainder in escrow to protect you from becoming unjoined. There are five clients represented inside. Talk to their epitomes and choose. You’ll have to make a wager within the hour, and then we shall see who is cached first. Of course, you can bet again.’

There’s no one for him to choose from, and Yuuto hasn’t had a customer in over a week , Thibaut said as he waved the door aside, trusting Oriol had created sufficiently robust quantum people.

The men refined their patter as the weeks turned to months, and they rarely failed to achieve a caching. ‘If we’re going to make real progress,’ Thibaut resolved, ‘we’ll need more frontmen. Countless bored assizes will join our crew, and they all know how to go unnoticed. Then the store will be the bottleneck, so tell Yuuto to hire enough cachiers to keep up with the future demand.’

Ichirō Yat-Rha-Sigma-Kappa entered the Lisboa on the night they celebrated their first ten thousand staters. Things had not expanded as fast as Thibaut had promised, but he maintained he needed to be selective with their recruits. Thibaut bounded across the floor and grasped his former partner’s hand. ‘It’s good to see you. We need men like you.’

Ichirō regarded him coolly. ‘I’m on duty. We should talk.’

Thibaut led him to one of the curtained booths and handed him a fibre. Hear me out , he said.

Not this time. It is easy for someone to observe your scam, and my sitting has instructed me to shut you down. Ichirō opened a ve-package onto the table and shuffled various dossiers, videos and psychometric evaluations with both hands. He picked one up and passed it to Thibaut. You couldn’t get this kona to sign because she’s part of my team. She told me she’d have to be desperate to agree.

Fólkið are desperate.

I came with a caching voucher for each of you. You’ve been incredibly careless. Get the others.

Thibaut studied a clip of him talking with Ichirō’s associate. She didn’t engage the way other marks usually did, so he requested her profile. The kona worked as a threader a degree of arc from the Lisboa; he would have recognised an assize. I don’t care how you got the chits because you won’t be using them tonight. I’ll tell you what: leave the sitting and come to work with me.

Ichirō shook his head. I requested this assignment as a courtesy to you, but I admit I was curious. He studied Thibaut’s face carefully. While all this presents me with an opportunity, if I don’t terminate your operation, some other assize will. It’s inevitable unless you reorganise. He deleted the ve-package and onlined for a moment before producing a fresh contract. This agreement includes a physical purge of the surveillance data and a guarantee that the sitting won’t obtain any more. It also provides for two of the three chits to be invalidated.

‘No.’

You will also transfer your balance to me because I will have to forfeit my stipend.

‘I said no.’

‘Then let a cachier have it. Your time is running out, and I have nothing to lose.’ Ichirō opened the curtain and beckoned to Feliu and Oriol. You must decide and tell them either way. It really is up to you.

The two mennirnir tried to engage Thibaut as they sauntered over. They could tell something was wrong, but he was reluctant to respond to their pokes. Thibaut considered his options. Feliu knew how to obscure their stater transactions, but it was Oriol who always managed to close the deal. Thibaut signed the contract and clasped Feliu by the hand, waiting for his caching to occur. ‘Cristóbal always appreciated you,’ he whispered as he carefully guided the newly-empty māsadā-sarīra onto the bench. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ Oriol demanded and pointed at Feliu’s body. ‘For this? What did you get in return? Feliu’s caching won’t release any staters. You’re a fucking idiot.’

‘For giving Ichirō everything except ownership of my business, but bringing him on board means he won’t shut us down. Feliu made some mistakes, and we all have to pay for them.’

Oriol was at the end of the table and glazed over for a second. ‘I’m practically worthless, and so are you.’

It’s a one-off security , Thibaut messaged. Ichirō will make it easy for us to extend our operation. You’ll get your staters back and many more after that.

And what about my friend?

He’s cached, not dead. You can meet him in Sodality.

‘Don’t waste that merda on me. Save it for your clients.’ Oriol knocked his beer from the table and stormed out of the club.

‘You need to put him back to work,’ Ichirō observed.

‘It takes three people to register an enforced caching. You better figure out how Feliu made this work, and pretty quickly. I’m going home.’

They recouped their earnings in a few short weeks. During the first year, Ichirō introduced several reliable people to the crew, and Thibaut had to concede that he was the better judge of character. They invested in Yuuto’s operation and eventually secured a unit in a busy K4 transport hub, which he converted to a cacherie on a massive scale. Most of the former assizes became junior partners. Within three years, Thibaut was considering up-levelling the whole outfit, but Ichirō adamantly refused to discuss anything that might jeopardise their quiet export of unclaimed māsadā-sarīra to the Ones ⁠ . ⁠ As their first decade of trading came to a close, they owned retail space in every ten DoA in Fourth and had no interest in leaving. Thibaut ultimately used a splicer to erase his regret so that Feliu and Cristóbal were near-forgotten associates, and had his years as an assize edited into training for his rightful life.

◆  ◆  ◆

A polite alarm informed Kathy the carriage would detach from the chain in thirty minutes, and the attendants were handling no more requests for food. Nestled in her ve-box was a message from the thráfstis thanking her for her business. The data was re-encrypted with the passphrase Kathy had provided and virtually tucked into her hand. She set it to one side while she retrieved her data miners, cherishing her anticipation. Most of the genorepositories in the Sixes were reducing their output as Tion reached its optimal population, and several prominent lines had restricted themselves to premium product or ceased manufacture altogether. Transfer of ownership was routine but was mostly between automated fund agents. Several citizens previously handled by her router had documented purchase enquiries; however, the FMP had sealed the transaction records.

Press Here to submit an offer.

Kathy walked through the terminus towards its Lacuna lock. The wide corridor was dirty and smelt of fólkið and their full complement of bodily functions. They sat on makeshift beds, just thin sheets of insulation protecting them from the cold groundplate, crammed against one another but seemingly content. How could entrepreneurs benefit from factories scheduled for decommissioning? The crush of people comforted her as she enquired about the population that needed replacing each day. Cachings were generally lower than she expected, and the number of accidental deaths higher. The Pallium reassured her that there was always balance between the boutique gestoria, cultivators, and a few essential facilities. She retrieved her inter-level permit and joined the queue leading to the demarcators. The megagestoria were capable of manufacturing people in vast quantities, and each one could readily release three thousand ny-fólkið each day, assuming low wastage. There were several in the Sixes for her to choose between if she could only understand their worth.

The same router welcomed her to the cab and immediately asked if she had made a purchase. Kathy politely thanked him for his interest, said he should respect her privacy and closed down his access. Her twelve-ex transfer gave her about an hour to decide, so she submitted Caitlyn’s ve-package to a précis app, selecting an interactive output. A generic epitome registered in her eyesight and smiled. She turned its emoticons off and picked a one-minute outline.

‘Pazel is a post-Forming rehosting lifer with a semi-permanent base of operations,’ [ K7 location ]. ‘He has a sizeable entourage, although his personnel are appropriate for his business. Do you require a summary of his commercial interests?’

Kathy shook her head and waved the hugbúnaður along.

‘Pazel is driven to destroy the things he once valued and is obsessed with a notion of communal isolation. There is considerable evidence that he is preparing for a catastrophic failure of the FMP and a significant likelihood that he will be the catalyst. For example, he refused to relinquish ownership of Cistern 11,200, suggesting it would be invaluable should the oceans be returned to Tion. Do you require a summary of his recreational activities?’

Kathy shook her head and paused the app to consider how she could prepare without the Pallium to manage the intricacies of her world. She would require a multitude of offliners to handle her queries because even in a world without processing services, people would still want someone else to solve their problems. Kathy refreshed the hugbúnaður . ‘How long?’ she asked.

‘Fifteen years,’ it estimated.

Cristóbal, you can have my stake for a token fee. Kathy deleted the app and Caitlyn’s encrypted data. The FMP considered her requirements, and the transaction was approved, including the redistribution of the gestorium’s existing stock. The contract included an end-of-production clause with a one-year option, which she purchased. She logged into her gestorium and told it to stop providing freshly conceived börnin with datrix. It cited several violations, which she ignored. There would be other ways to educate them.

It was an hour before Cristóbal called. ‘I don’t understand you, Kathy. You tell me to sort myself out and then do this. The dossier says reconstruction crews will ultimately convert the facility into a conurbation. All you’ve bought is a lease, and there’s no way you will recoup your investment.’

‘I’ve already sold the unfinished product on to another party. I consider it human collateral,’ Kathy pointed a finger at him, ‘and it’s no different to what you do. You treated Shu-fen like a commodity.’

‘My line of work calls for discretion. You can’t exploit an entire crop of brand new tánin-fólkið because the Pallium won’t allow it. I presume you decrypted Caitlyn’s ve-package.’

‘I glanced at a summary and discarded the rest. Caitlyn forecasts considerable change, and we have to prepare. We can discuss the specifics later, but you must realise we’ll need something other than staters to use in trade. It’s going to be several years until I’ve established a secure enclave, and while I’m unavailable, I suggest you sort your shit out. I’m sorry about Doha.’ Kathy closed the call and rubbed her face with her palms. She would nurture a crop of new people to triumph over the coming waters, and they would become the definition of a reborn mannkynið .

CHAPTER ONE

Tāne

বর্তমানে

UXÍO COULD NOT stop laughing. His cheeks ached so much that the tears must have been a response to his hurting face. As he looked out over the sandy plain, hands resting on his hipbones and belly taut with each shaking breath, he could not believe it possible. The Pallium’s stuttering text in Uxío’s eyesight declared that Tion had eradicated the last of the mutable hypervirus ⁠⁠ outside Vínculo, and there could be no further outbreaks. Nobody locked within the samfélag would care because they were already infected; Vínculo was where you came if your datrix were compromised yet somehow remained secure ⁠ . No one understood the immunity that enabled Vínculo’s residents to retain their data connection with the Pallium. The hypervirus should have permanently offlined each of them, yet none of them had become unjoined. Uxío wanted to run from celebrant to celebrant and tell them their festivities marked nothing of importance.

—originated in virohyping, used to target consumer interactions with [ garble ] attacks the security structures that protect—

Two miðaldra-fólkið bounded up and pressed their warm hands on his sweating chest. Uxío did not know either of them, but they were also laughing, and their joy was infectious. The mid-life woman ran her fingers over the dark hair below his collarbone, and the man placed a hot hand on his shoulder. Uxío did not want to have sex. He wanted to run across Vínculo’s expansive terraces until his feet bled, and his heart threatened its betrayal, but their every touch warned of hesitation. People surrounded him, as they always did, but today they offered themselves unreservedly to one another. New women dipped their hands in clean water, carried in broad buckets by pairs of ný-mennirnir . They washed the dust and sweat from the adults’ bodies while grinning at the adolescent men who sheepishly tried to hide their arousal. They did not understand the change in the world outside, or perhaps for them, the hypervirus had actually lost its meaning. Uxío welcomed the new people into the gathering but eased himself apart before his own awakening could make its commitment. He was soon enjoying the dry, faint breeze stirred by his running. All that interrupted him was the insistent newsfeeds that he had insufficient staters to turn off.

—therefore, the forfeður released several control [ garble ] protect the interface between datrix and synaptic—

Uxío focused on his body as it glided between the ground and the blue skyplate, weaving between the celebrants. He felt the jar of each heel on the hard sand, it gave slightly with each impact, and the muscles in both legs shuddered with private exultation. Uxío pushed forward with his toes, pushed with his arms, pushed with everything he had, and tried to imagine the man he might have been if Tion’s Forming had not condemned his future. The FMP analysed Uxío’s gait, this prepaid service peculiarly unaffected by the Fall. He studied the movements of his tanned limbs. Tiny annotations showed him how to better place his feet, the best angle for his arms, how to hold his head. Uxío admired himself as he ran; this was all he had that was his alone.

—fraction of Tion’s fólksfjöldi and this segment of the population was [ garble ] for their protection—

Uxío resisted the urge to rewind the feed. He did not care for missed untruths. He had learnt about Vínculo at mid-nonage while he studied to be a datrix technician. When he newed, he had gambled with his bursary and fled to the Eights, where he had traded skills for whatever he needed. Vínculo was different. But it was a community destined to stagnate now no more people would arrive. Quiet anger eroded Uxío’s elation, and each step became a protest. He quickened his pace, running until his lungs burnt and sweat blinded his eyes, and still the Pallium persisted with its faltering summary.

—for the assessment of antivirohype measures is no longer required, therefore [ garble ] compulsory caching to eliminate any resurgence—

Uxío forced himself to stop moving and commanded his unaffected datrix to refresh the overworked muscles. He requested his balance, paid a stater to suppress the newsfeed and another to locate Tāne. Everywhere he looked, people continued their revelries. Some waved to him to join them, but he needed to decide how he would persuade his old friend that it was time to move on. It would take half an hour to walk there, which would have to be enough. He didn’t care how Tion had finally purged the mutable hypervirus; whatever had changed would only prevent new datrix infection. Tion would come to perceive Vínculo’s inhabitants not as the safeguard against a future resurgence but as a terrible biotech hazard. Those outside Vínculo had clearly insisted Tion had eliminated the danger.

Uxío asked the FMP to summarise candidate datrix antivirals by forecasted effectiveness and was unsurprised the Pallium denied his request.

When Uxío arrived with Tāne fifteen years earlier, the triage app had protested that both men were not infected with the hypervirus and denied their entry. Uxío had immediately posted a commentary to Sodality suggesting they were mysteriously contagious, and a kostyman appeared to usher them inside, safeguarding Tion from potential contamination. The repair to Tāne’s shoulder required him to forfeit his allowance for the first six months, and they had planned to slip away once they had paid their debt. On their first day, Uxío had warned Tāne against intimate data contact.

It seemed impossible that Uxío had spent half of his life in one place. Whenever he suggested they should leave, Tāne would say that seven staters a week allowed him to live like a First. Within a year, Tāne had doubled his body mass yet claimed he was still a shadow of his former self, although Uxío had pulled his datrix logs some months before and knew better. Tāne had become narcissistic and self-absorbed and contracted the hypervirus a few weeks after he started training within the exercise circles.

Typically, the hypervirus attacked the security protocols mandated for interaction with Smiž, and therefore Sodality. Without a Pallial connection, datrix would not receive recommended updates and would soon become obsolete. In the space of a few days, the urge to belong invariably drove the contaminated to direct hook-ups, and the hypervirus moved from host to host. All of Vínculo’s residents had at some point come into contact with the biotech agent, and all of them had effectively fought it off. All except Tāne. Something about his datrix was indifferent to the hypervirus, something he had contracted in the Eights, leaving him infectious but asymptomatic.

The comforts of Tāne’s days and the relationships he had formed, in part due to his evident contempt for Tion and the life he had left behind, meant he would never want to move on. Uxío worried he remained with his friend out of a misguided sense of loyalty, yet they had spent so little time together that it was probably something else. Tāne had to know that Vínculo had not secured his future; Vínculo had stolen it. Uxío would not mourn what he might have lost because he had been seeking his own answers when he had brought Tāne here.

As usual, the pale sand in the broad exercise circle had been meticulously picked clean by the táningur who longed to train with the adults. The adolescents sat outside on makeshift benches, torn between the men and women who they idolised and the sensual celebrations beyond. Tāne had not been responsible for popularising their exertions because the Pallium provided staters according to physical fitness. Instead, he had transformed their attitude with demonstrations and contests, and young men and women had drawn circles throughout the samfélag . Tāne had styled himself as their champion. He was listening to one of his cohort complaining that the Pallium did not issue enough staters to the fittest among them. The woman insisted they all required a lot more food. Offers erupted from the teenagers who were all willing to pay for the right to be trained.

Tāne subdued their messages with a wave of his hand. ‘We do not profit from one another.’ He looked directly at Uxío. ‘What do you want?’

‘To learn from you.’ We can’t stay here. No one can.

‘I have nothing for you, toku hoa ,’ Tāne said. These people rely on me.

‘They say you’re the best,’ Uxío admitted. You have to be prepared to start again. We both do.

Tāne raised his hand, and some of the táningur rushed over to help him to his feet while other teenagers pushed Uxío into the circle. Tāne was perfectly still while he patiently waited for the connection with other circles to establish before publishing his motor control.

Uxío submitted to the collective movements and cycled through stuttering views of similar groups throughout Vínculo. He had not realised how influential Tāne had become and was reluctant to ask the Pallium how many followers he had. A million people on the enclosed savannah moved in unison, following Tāne’s lead. He would never leave them behind, nor would he tolerate their mass caching. The FMP refused to provide Uxío with the analysis of Vínculo’s future. The Pallium claimed it had identified every possible approach, assessed each one, and selected the most beneficial outcome. It reassured Uxío that any measures taken were in Tion’s best interest and suggested that he refer any residual unease to Sodality for debate and disposition.

He arranged his relationships across his eyesight and considered each one, giving no thought to his detachment. None of these people held any particular importance. Uxío would not mourn their transition into ve-lives any more than he would contact them after they were inevitably cached. He would not even care if the cachings failed due to poor connectivity, and billions of quantum lýðirnir were lost. Apart from Tāne.

Remember the light of the forests , Uxío urged. It calls to you with limitless possibilities.

You must concentrate on the movement. Do not interrupt me.

Have one of your nenos musculares lead them. Uxío waited for the sense that someone else had control over his body. Your destiny is not here. Xin-yi helped you, Punim helped you and then I helped you. It’s what the forfeður wanted.

Xin-yi destroyed my life in Eighth. She took everything I understood away from me in exchange for an empty promise. Xin-yi used me to tidy up her shit and never had any intention of protecting me.

Without her, you would never have loved Punim.

Punim used me as her protector and gave me nothing in return. She abandoned me as soon as she could.

You were the one who turned down the offer of a pre-need. You took her options away, and if she had stayed, you both would have died.

Punim used a fucking knife to cut me out of her life. She’s a rightsider , he said as if it explained everything. You never helped me either.

Uxío did not want to remember why he had lingered for so long and disconnected from the movements. ‘What do you need from me, Tāne?’ I’m leaving Vínculo only because I refuse to stay here and die. I can’t wait for you, though. He wanted to stride away from the circle but was scared that he would leave on his own.

You never knew what the forfeður wanted. You brought me to Vínculo because you needed to confine me.

Uxío had stumbled across the designation marker shortly before he had newed. He had been shadowing qualified datrix technicians for two years and had a favourite instructor, as did many of his classmates. One evening, she left a search routine open at the end of her shift, and he spent the entire night staring at it. The marker was a complex sequence of datrix instructions, concealed deep within the microscopic machines’ core routines. It suggested the konservatorer were more than a story told to children, and there could genuinely be a collection of people charged with the protection of Tion. His instructor had inadvertently provided him with the means to track one down. Uxío eventually identified a dishevelled eldri-maður as the source of the modified datrix ⁠⁠⁠ , but he had died in the company of a regeneration worker from K8. After assizes had apprehended Tāne with the deceased in the barracks, the old man had seemingly recovered and wandered off. Wasters had tidied away any evidence that the body was ever there, so Uxío resorted to finding Tāne instead.

‘You know exactly why I came to the Eights and that I only brought you to Vínculo because you were injured.’ I don’t know why your datrix carry the designation marker or how they protect you from the hypervirus. Maybe you were contaminated by the old man ⁠⁠ , he thought. Uxío had been unable to locate any other traces of any of the konservatorer ⁠⁠ . Without Tāne, he had nowhere else to look. He was the one who had allowed himself to become confined.

Tāne often said he had left Tion behind, that the samfélag was the only world that mattered. He regularly onlined with borrowed staters and embraced Sodality unashamedly. He implied that the Pallial services belonged to Vínculo, and they maintained a separate existence. Fólkið began to agree with him. His influence had spread beyond the exercise circles, and Tāne had grown into a man of note. It would take a lie to convince him to go.

It was a familiar Sodality group. Uxío had chanced upon it when he was trying to understand the apparent longevity enjoyed by the konservatorer . The forum’s members nurtured theories about treatments and technologies available in the Low Numbers, particularly those allegedly reserved for First. There were hints of products providing an endless existence and rumours they were created by the forfeður long before the Forming. Uxío was unable to find any reference to the misuse of datrix and assumed the discussions were merely speculation. He posted the link in Tāne’s eyesight and gave him time to tongue through several pages before speaking. ‘There