Against Gravity

"That's really none of your business."

"We know of Caroline, of course. And your friend Buddy."

"I think you already heard my answer, Smeby."

"You were kept in Ward Seventeen during your incarceration in the Maze, and you've been involved with some interesting people since your time there."

"What about you, then? Were you one of those ru

Smeby smiled. "I think you should be aware that Mr Draeger is offering you his aid."

"Draeger?" Kendrick laughed. "Perhaps you should just tell me what he wants."

"He wants to help you."

"Why would I need his help?"

"Your augmentations have turned rogue, Mr Gallmon. There are ways for us to find such things out, even before the effects manifest themselves visibly. Mr Draeger has extended an invitation for you to visit him at his home and primary research facility. He's very interested to meet you. He believes he may even be able to cure you."

14 October 2096 Above the Armoured Saint

Malky was rich, though no one would be able to tell from the external appearance of his home. Squeezed on either side by the new housing complexes that had sprung up all over the city to house the waves of refugees, the five-floor tenement looked as though it was being beat up by the silver and glass towers that now surrounded it. But appearances could be deceptive. Malky owned the entire block, including the Armoured Saint, which was situated on the ground floor – and Kendrick knew that it had been far from cheap to acquire.

He also knew that Malky's full name was Mikhail Konstantin Vasilevich, a third-generation immigrant whose great-grandparents had arrived from the Chernobyl region in the 1980s. Malky had used his ill-gotten gains from a wide and spectacular variety of illegal pursuits to set himself up in style. His particular speciality, however, was producing fake ID, a booming market since America had slowly begun to emerge from civil unrest and a considerable number of people had found an urgent need to disappear.

People like Kendrick, say.

"Stop worrying. You're fine."

Kendrick glanced nervously out through a tall window and into the street ru

"Does that mean you managed to cope with the security systems?" Kendrick asked.

"Of course." Malky shrugged. "Otherwise the Saint wouldn't keep its reputation for being a safe place for all kinds of people. So you're clean. And, while you're here, maybe you can tell me again exactly how you knew there were explosives left in the building."

"I told you, my augments picked it up."

Malky gave him a sideways look. "I know your augments can pick up on electronics in your immediate vicinity, but not from the far end of a very long bar."

"You're saying you don't believe me?"

"I'm saying it doesn't make much sense, is all."

Kendrick sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what else I can say."

There was a brief, awkward silence. "I've been asking questions," Malky continued. "Most of the people who frequent the Saint are US refugees, so it looks like whoever planted that bomb figured Edinburgh could do with a few less Yanks."

"You know this for a fact?" Kendrick decided not to mention the possibility of Los Muertos. That would lead to a whole range of further questions he didn't feel up to dealing with right now.

Malky let out a long sigh. "No, I don't know for sure. But, like I said, I asked some questions. It's not the first time something like this has happened, you know. We've got a visual recording of a man coming in, putting the bag down, and leaving after a couple of minutes. But we don't know who he was, and Todd hasn't been able to find any matches for his face in any of the police databases that he has access to. Now," Malky continued, "you were saying you needed to find something out?"

Kendrick nodded, relieved by the change of subject. "About the Arlington – I want to know who did the programming for their windows. I figured Todd might know, since he's in the same line of work."

Malky shook his head in exasperation. "Kendrick, did you ever think about just asking someone there?"

"I did ask someone, but they said they didn't know."

"And, of course, I can safely assume you ran a Gridsearch as well."

"I'm not an idiot, Malky. I checked out everything I could."

"And, naturally, you're not going to tell me why you need to know this. I mean, why do you even care?"

Kendrick smiled apologetically. "You'd think I was a lunatic if I told you."

Malky spread his hands. "Yeah, like I don't think that already. Well, let's go speak to Todd, then."

From somewhere above them came a deep, growling vibration that sounded remarkably as though someone was using a pneumatic drill for unknown purposes. Kendrick had gradually grown used to the eccentric lifestyles and predilections of the refugees and artists who occupied the majority of the building's apartments. They were a reminder, Malky had once told him, of his own parents' bohemian roots.

A little further up the concrete stairs leading to the single enormous attic space that constituted Todd's home and working space they came across Lucia. She was standing beyond the open doorway of her studio, bare-breasted, her shaven head glistening. Kendrick couldn't help but note the industrial-sized pneumatic drill now discarded on the floor; Lucia was applying a blowtorch to the nose of an enormous construction of girders and concrete that took a moment to resolve into a two-headed T-Rex with a tractor in place of a ribcage. They continued on past her.

"Why is this so important, Kendrick?. What's the big deal?"

What to say? " It's – hard to explain. But it's important. Very important."

Malky spread out his arms. "I'm a friend. It's not like I can't tell that something's going on."

"Bear with me, okay?"

Malky shook his head. "Fine, fine – whatever you say."

It occurred to Kendrick that not even Malky knew exactly how many people lived here. However, a significant proportion appeared to be American refugees, most of them certainly illegal. He allowed Malky to lead him up yet another cramped stairway carpeted with moist-looking fabric. Finally Malky knocked loudly on the door at the top. After what felt like an appropriate interval they stepped through.

What little illumination there was in the room beyond seeped through patterned blinds drawn over tall windows. Kendrick remembered the first time he'd been there: Todd had taken care of all his ID needs, as well as providing him with a plethora of useful and completely false personal information. In Kendrick's augmented eyesight, the tattered furniture revealed itself in the gloom with an u

Unsurprisingly, given the apocalyptic tendencies of RaptureNet, a preacher kept thrusting his hands into the air and yelling in a ti

Todd was a small, mostly bald, middle-aged American with the frame of a famine victim and a soft, lilting West Coast accent. A workstation not unlike Caroline's occupied one wall, while a smaller version of her window-screen leaned against another wall, held in place with gaffer tape.

Todd glanced round at them, blinking and smiling. He nodded in recognition as Kendrick approached. "Long time no see," he said. "In the flesh, at least. What brings you here?"