The Thousand Year Fall (Spoils Of War Book 2)

Book summary

In "The Thousand Year Fall," Shakbout Mansard believed his past was buried, but a transfer to the PR Agency reveals it's far from gone. A cryptic message triggers a race to stop a cult's destructive plans, while Shakbout becomes a pawn in a larger game. With the fate of inhabited systems at stake, and the power of the Bottle Born in play, survival depends on unexpected allies.

Excerpt from The Thousand Year Fall (Spoils Of War Book 2)

The journey to work was very frequently the best part of my working day. My default was a public transport. Travelling in my own vehicle would have been faster, which was the reason I did not use it. I used public transport so that I could simply sit and not have to do anything else except let my mind wander as it wanted. We had moved from my hideaway to a space more suited to the three of us, close to the Circle where Asher did most of her work, close to the education centre for Petra, and far enough away from my work to give me a long lead up to the troubles of the day. The transport looped and spiralled across most of Mengchi so I had the pleasant illusion of taking the pulse of the city as I travelled across it.

Mengchi is a vast triangle with the point resting on the sliver of land that had survived the climate control debacle. It was not a high-rise city full of crystal towers like those that made the Penck such a tourist attraction. Mengchi spread out into the space that had been created and maintained by enormous charms that were hidden within other spaces for security reasons. If you approached the land from sea, you would just see a rising spinal of land, step onto the dock and you entered a megalopolis. My daily commute crossed most of the city, jumping from one stretch of rail to another so that it was the best way to get a sense of the city.

The starting point for Mengchi was the Old City, the capital of the Empire when Ingea was carving up the systems like a butchered Clighorn. Now the Old City was a sliver of the Mengchi, happy to be forgotten and keeping its own secrets. While the constantly shifting population on Mengchi sorted themselves by every conceivable criterion, the major ones were the same in every population in the systems: bottle born or natural, rich or poor. It could be as little as a row of public plantings that separated them. It did not matter how physically flimsy the dividing line was, what was important was that it was present and clearly identified by all concerned. The public transport system was one of the few components of the city that served everyone with the same indifferent efficiency. Via an unspoken and unshakable agreement, it was neutral ground for all the residents. Outbreaks did occur; they received swift and nasty summary punishment.

I have spent a great deal of time on public transport, short journeys to get lost as quickly as possible or to lose others. This was the first time I had an extended journey and the chance to look at the city. Gravel is where the bottle farms are, all of them. The track runs through deep canyons with blank walls on either side. This stretch has the most stops on the whole journey, the greatest number of passengers boarding and leaving. Somewhere there is the farm where I was brewed. The jump from Gravel to the bright, open parkland of Hebb is welcome. These are the lungs of the city, there are no stations here. Any lifeform stepping out would be dissolved by the atmosphere and drunk by the plants. Cleaning the air in Mengchi is a harsh task.

A jump through the layered business districts displays and hides the money as required unlike the journey through the residential locations. Here money and the lack of it is prominently on display. Here the rich naturals can be free of the sight of the poor. Poor naturals can be shielded from the presence of the bottle born, and the bottle born can be full citizens, workers, or mistakes, rich or poor, it only matters to them.

Mostly I just spent my time happily lost in fantasies of better lives for Asher, Petra, and myself. A frequent favourite had me as a Tamwal grower out on the Ghtur system, reclaiming a substantial area from the ruins of the war and cultivating the five strains, mashing, and blending them to sell for a happy profit. I could spend a whole journey just deciding how to build a wall or why exactly I had chosen that planting for an area in the first place. The details delighted me; they were so far removed from everything that was actual and were so amenable to my control.

The transport always arrived at the final stop and I left my farms, bridges, houses, space explorations behind me as I exited onto the platform and rode the steps up to the Governing District. The public chamber of the Standing Committee was here. Stacked above it were the individual suites for the committees, stacked below it were the confidential offices for the committee members. Along a wide, crooked street that gave no clean sightlines of the buildings that lined it were the headquarters for various departments, including the Public Relations Agency. Like all the buildings in the area, it had no trace of magic in its construction. It was all built by direct labour, from the carving of the blocks out of seastone quarries to laying the deadwood tiles on the roof, through to all the interior work. Nowhere would provide a possible point of access for someone to trace a path along a trail left by the residual power from the construction. It was as blatant an expression of natural born power as could be publicly made, and it made it loudly and proudly. I was happy to poke it in the eye every day I walked in.

I had returned to my job managing a maintenance section for the Mengchi city sewer system. I had rescued my daughter and stopped a plan to return the Empress Ingea from wherever she had been hiding for the previous two thousand years, and I was really looking forward to the calm boredom of work. Instead, my boss, Allson Gala, was in my office with Rosby, my assistant.

“Shakbout, how are you? I have some news for you. Most unexpected news I have to say. I have been informed that you are being transferred to the PRA effective immediately.” He handed me a small yellow cube. “This is your authorisation. I should be glad that they have heard of the good work you have done here and want you, I am very sorry to lose you.”

Unexpected was an interstellar understatement. The PRA had an informal and strictly enforced policy of employing only naturals, completely illegal, but who was going to take them on. Transferring in a bottle born lifeform was unprecedented, pulling a nobody from the shit pots was ludicrous. Allson Gala showed why he was destined for the heights in the Public Service; he did not question the decision and he was nice to me on my way out. Then he sucker-punched me. “The transfer includes Rosby. Apparently I am to lose on the largest possible scale.” With that, he shook my hand, then Rosby’s, and left.

“What the fuck?” was Rosby’s response as the door closed. I think she saw that my stunned incomprehension was entirely genuine as she then continued, “We best be going. They are not known for being tolerant of latecomers.” With that we headed over to the PRA building where I was shown my space, Rosby was shown to hers, and I was introduced to my new boss, Lincoln.

***

Lincoln walked into my workspace and, sitting down in the chair in front of my desk, said, “Come on, Screw Top, time to be going. No time for sitting and thinking about what might have been, wheels to turn.”

Any hopes I had that Lincoln’s deep enjoyment of becoming my direct manager would reduce had finally faded away. Lincoln was wearing her full-dress Public Relations Office agent uniform. It was form-fitting, and it displayed her strong, athletic body and brought out the blue of her skin nicely. It had cost her a lot to have it made exactly to her specifications. She was always meticulous about her weapons. I was wearing my working robes; it was a plains clothes job and I was wearing the plainest clothes I had. They suited me, at a height of two metres, pale skin and dark-red hair, sage-green eyes, and ordinary features.

I stood and followed Lincoln out of the space, and we rode the tube in silence down to the transport bay. A large transport was waiting. Lincoln climbed in and sat at the controls while I sat beside her. Lincoln liked to be in direct control of any transport she was in rather than have a driver. She relished the cut and thrust of the traffic, which Lincoln said was the best strategy school in the systems.

After we had exited into the mainstream, Lincoln, looking straight ahead, spoke, “I am having a bit of an evening tonight at mum’s, and I was wondering if you would like to be there.”

Lincoln’s mother, Hiral Lakeview, was one of my personal heroes as well as being warm and welcoming, and I was always glad to have a chance to meet her. It was the singular invite that alerted me. Lincoln had invited me, not me and Asher, my wife, otherwise she would have said, “You two.”

While I miss considerably more nuance than I capture and misinterpret a lot of what I do, with Lincoln I had enough experience to be able to guess at the context. As far as I was aware, most lifeforms seemed to have distinct preferences for sexual partners and pretty much played within those preferences. Lincoln appeared to have no fixed preferences. I had met a few of her choices and it was always in the context of dinner with her mother. I would sufficiently distract Hiral to let Lincoln fulfil the “meet the parents” social obligation without having too much scrutiny.

Not including Asher could only mean that the choice of the moment was a little more unusual than normal. Asher would cheerfully dive into the tension and ask all the awkward questions that Lincoln wanted to push away, while I would politely be quiet. I was trying to think what could be so unexpected in a lifeform that Lincoln was taking home that she needed cover from me when Lincoln spoke again, “She is a natural.”

There is no legal restriction on intimate or romantic relationships between bottle born and natural citizens, there was thousands of years of disapproval instead. Much more effective in the long run. Lincoln was pushing the limits of everyone’s tolerance with this choice, and her choice was taking a huge social risk as well. Lincoln was not a low-profile lifeform; a bright blue Aquatic Ornamental Lincoln would have stood out even before her personality made her someone hard to ignore. Without mentioning her new role in the PRA.

“Don’t worry. You will like her; she has a great sense of humour,” Lincoln offered.

“It is your mother’s sense of humour that I am concerned about. She will think that I have encouraged you. She has some utterly mad idea that I have some influence over you.” I paused and let the full implications of the situation catch up with me.

“Lanken’s Tears, Hiral will give me the lecture, she will take me aside and give me the fucking lecture. No wonder you’re not including Asher, she would be laughing so hard your mother would come and visit me at work to continue and then she would find you on your own as well. Well played, well fucking played, Lincoln.”

“I’ll take that as yes. Food at eight, please be there for seven-thirty.”

I sat in grumpy silence as we made our way to Security Holding Block 7 where we parked and made our way to the meeting space and waited for Wellsprung Sotash to be delivered. Sotash was a mid-level career criminal who was about to start his indefinite sentence as an Involuntary Public Servant, and we were here to see if he had any last-second revelations to disclose in exchange for a better placement. Sotash was a deeply unpleasant lifeform, a natural who decided at an early age that hurting people and making money for doing so was what he had been born to do. Intelligent enough to ensure that he did his dirty work at one remove, he blighted as many lives as he possibly could before he made a mistake and appeared in person to hurt a decoy set up explicitly to bring him into the light.

The controllers delivered Sotash, and he sat down in the chair opposite us. The controllers stood behind him in case he decided to use his last moments of life trying to damage either of us. He was tall, two and a half meters, and very clearly worked hard on his body. For a big man, he looked supple and fast, his light brown eyes were calculating, and his handsome face was struggling to be blank. He had been expecting PRA agents, not us.

“Welcome, Prisoner Sotash,” Lincoln started. “We are here to talk to you before your lawful sentence is executed. Just to clarify there is zero possibility that your sentence will be rescinded, you are headed for indefinite servitude as an IPS. The only question remaining is the conditions of your service. What I want is some information regarding the Hartigans, information that will lead to a successful prosecution of any member of the top tier. I am not bothered who you decide to offer up, any one of them will do fine. I could wait a little and simply pull the information from you using the implied consent of your IPS status, the problem is that I cannot use this information in a public case. For that I need information provided by a living informant acting under reasonable pressure of circumstance but not direct duress. In short, someone who is about to start their IPS transition and is actively negotiating on their own behalf.”

Lincoln paused to give Sotash a chance to speak. He remained silent. Lincoln continued, “Good, I see from your complete lack of expression that you understand this in full and the record will support this. Now, Prisoner Sotash, I can see that you have no fear of me, and that is good since I am not someone you should be afraid of. My companion here…” Lincoln put her arm across my shoulders in a friendly way, “is a different matter. He does not like you at all and has arranged with the Red Halls that you serve your IPS sentence half-cut. He can do this because he is a fully authorised PR agent and he has been given jurisdiction over your case. He was particularly upset by the way you acted with the Shahama family. He has a daughter and he had to keep her at home with him for two days just to recover.”

Some of this was true, the details of the Shahama family had torn my heart to bits. Sotash had sold the daughter to a Freesian factory and she was beyond recovery when she was reclaimed. I had worked from home for two days while Petra, my daughter, ordered me around like the autocrat she was. I had never suggested that Sotash should be half-cut, not even a lifeform like him deserved to spend an indefinite time with a flickering consciousness of their state. The sole positive aspect to being an IPS was that you did not know it. Still, from the fleeting expression on Sotash’s face, it was clear that he could easily imagine doing it and considered that someone in my position would be willing to do so also.

Lincoln started speaking again, “Now that we are all on the same page, let me give you the rest of the relevant details. If you provide information that leads to the desired result, you will undergo a full transition and be posted to service in the Standing Committee Public Chamber where everyone will be able to see for themselves that you are now out of circulation and stop trying to find you. If you decline to provide the information, you will have a half-cut transition and be posted to the Red Halls where your status as an informer will be confirmed. This will lead to concerned parties conducting a search that will not cease until your replacement body is found and disposed of. You have until they knock on the door to decide.”

Lincoln had left the real squeeze until the end, giving Sotash less time to decide. Half- cut was bad news, but Lincoln knew that it is what you really value that makes you vulnerable. Sotash had taken out an insurance policy, a contract with a body broker somewhere. He would have been sending a steady stream of personal downloads so that if he died ahead of schedule the replacement body would be loaded up with his information. In every system such a replacement was recognised as a legal heir if the contract had been set up carefully enough. The replacement would inherit Sotash’s carefully accumulated stash. This also made Sotash vulnerable to an action against the replacement as Lincoln was making plain. There was a footfall outside the door, and just ahead of the knock, Sotash gave Lincoln the coordinates for an information dump that would give her what she wanted. As the controllers took Sotash away, Lincoln reminded him that if the information was stale then he would lose a lot more than just his life.

Lincoln was jubilant in the transport on the way back to the office. “We needed something to prove our worth and get us some room for manoeuvre, Screw Top, and this will fit perfectly. They have been trying to put a touch on the Hartigans since the dawn of time and no one has been able to deliver. Now they will see that I keep my promises.” When Lincoln said that, something else then made sense to me.

“It was you that pulled me into the PRA, wasn’t it? They would have no use for me, but they really wanted you and the price for you agreeing was taking me. You need a big score to smooth that over and get us properly settled.”

Lincoln made a deal of consulting her time piece, a beautiful antique piece of work that sat quietly on her wrist telling everyone who knew that Lincoln had resources as well as a uniform.

“Well, Screw Top, you are almost on schedule. I had you down to figure this out tomorrow. Yes, the PRA wanted me, they are sure I had something to do with that outburst of trouble a few weeks ago while you were tramping around the shit pots enjoying yourself.”

Lincoln, her mother, and Asher had gone on a rampage that led to a partial mobilisation of the Mengchi Defence Forces to deal with the fallout while I chased the lifeform who had kidnapped my daughter.

“Of course, they cannot prove anything. The easiest way to keep me under scrutiny is to bring me into the fold. I could not leave you where you were, Screw Top, that was too exposed, so I told them it was the two of us or nothing. That had the drawback of bringing their attention to you as well, but I think that the result is worth the risk. You are adjusting better than I expected. Now with this in the bag, we are important to the PRA and they cannot move against us as freely as they hoped. I just need a little freedom of action; I have some plans that need my attention and it is hard to do so and keep my trackers satisfied.”

Now it all made sense and I had to say it, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Remember, food at eight, arrivals at seven-thirty.”

Lincoln had stopped the transport so I could get out and go home while she went to check on the information dump. It would be guarded, and she was happier to deal with that without having to worry about me getting in the way or worse.

Petra was sitting at the kitchen table doing something that might have been educational, so I decided not to pursue it. Instead, I asked, “Where is Mum?”

“She said she needed to go to blow up some sh…stuff and she would be back soon.”

While Asher and I swore like unlicensed revues at a spaceport drink and drop, I was still going to try and prevent Petra from following the same route. Asher is a Tracker and she only takes hot targets because “when I kick in a door and lay down some fire, a civilian will just sue me, the hot ones will fire back and that is when the fun starts.”

“Have you eaten?” I asked Petra who could eat a mountain and still say that she was hungry while looking well-fed rather than overfed. I knew where the energy went and that was another path that I felt best left untrodden.

“Yes,” said my honest daughter. “I would eat whatever you are making though.”

“Ok, I will see what I can do for you. I will not be joining you. I am going over to Lincoln’s for dinner.”

Petra did not comment. She had returned to the task in front of her and stopped only to eat the sandwich I had made for her. She filled me in on her day, and it was wonderfully ordinary: meeting friends, doing assignments, thinking about what to do for a party she was invited to. I had missed the first ten years of Petra’s life, and she happily included me now as naturally as I could ever have hoped for. She was deep in a discussion about whether she should move her desk as part of some schoolroom politics playing out when Asher came into our space. The smell of explosives preceded her into the kitchen, and when she walked in, her suit had a scorch mark running from her right shoulder to her waist. It must have been a ferocious blow up to have even left a mark on the suit. Asher seemed entirely unbothered, and I took my cue from her.

“My loves, how nice. Let me scrub up and you can tell me what you have got up to while I was not here to stop you.” Asher was letting us know that questions about her day would have to wait for a better moment. When she turned and headed for the wet room, Petra rolled her eyes at me with a smile. Asher returned nicely cleaned up I told her about the day leading with the dinner date at Lincoln’s.

“A natural? No wonder she wants a suitable distraction. Hiral dotes on you and will not say anything while you are there, good play.”

“I am going to get the lecture.”