Prologue
“So you’ll have them tomorrow?”
“Well… tomorrow-ish. I’ll have as many done as possible, I promise.”
“I need all of them done, Junn. What are your plans for tonight?”
“I need to get home, get dinner, get a break, get some sleep. That’s all.”
“You can input data while you’re making dinner, you can input data while you’re eating. You don’t need a break, Junn, and if the worst comes to the worst, you don’t need sleep. I wouldn’t ask you to do this on your birthday if I didn’t need it, but I can’t let people’s personal lives, or my favours, get in the way of an opportunity like this. Remember what I told you when we first met? We’re profit first as a company.”
“I think you said people first, actually.” Junn hung up and put her phone in her pocket, suspecting that it would have fallen out of her hand otherwise at the rate it was shaking. ‘People first’. They all said that. Only a naïve twenty year-old would have actually believed it. That explained, then, why after three years, the face of the business was hundreds of twenty-three year-old women.
And it was an image they cared about. Junn cursed the top-floor marketing psychologists as she nearly stumbled in her stilettos, their heels taller and more overpowering than the sky-scraper she worked in. She stretched her cardigan as she pulled it around her, cursing them again for their rejection of larger, warmer coats in the winter months. ‘Style over comfort’.
That’s what they think it means to be a woman.
She wanted to pull her hair, hit a wall, tear up a Chronic Stress leaflet. She needed somewhere to put all that internalised rage; it was starting to overfill, trickling out and dripping onto the people around her. And they were starting to notice the splashes.
Yoga had been suggested. So had sky-surfing. So had collecting model, fucking, shuttles. She chuckled momentarily about that one.
As if anyone had the time for a hobby. As if anyone even had the time to be angry.
There was another noise, just audible over the sound of her stilettos clipping against the marble floor. She was fourteen floors up – there were only about seven people working on this level, and as far as she was aware, most of them were plugged in to their stations right now, silently tapping away projections.
She heard it again and stopped, trying her best to split apart the sounds. There was the shuffling – clothes moving against a wall, perhaps, or someone bending down. Then there was the breathing. Heavy, in anticipation. Fight or flight.
Fight.
There were talks of attackers, these days, targeting these places. Never caught. She knew why – it was the workers themselves. The men who could stay and fight, the ones who didn’t stumble around in stilettos, but who got just as angry as she did. The people who needed someone to take it out on.
The ones who were never suspected. Or perhaps, the ones who were just too convenient to lose. They left a dead body, and the company paid for a good lawyer. The whole floor would probably be replaced eventually, then they’d only have each other to project rage onto.
Flight. It could only ever be flight…
Junn prepared to slip her stilettos off, wondering if she could just carry on walking; get into the lift, shut the door quickly, pass this off as her paranoia.
She turned slowly. The breathing got louder…
A sudden explosion, and a burst of colours blinded her.
“SURPRISE!”
Junn instinctively put her hand to her heart, and as she calmed, it sunk in. Confetti landed gently all across the corridor, and her friends jumped out from their hiding places. A ‘Happy Birthday’ banner hung lopsided from door-to-door. Junn smiled.
Then there are the men who just want to make it all nicer.
“Thanks guys,” said Junn, realising her voice was still shaking.
“We had to!” Maithus approached her, giving her a friendly pat on the back. She liked the fact he treated her in the same way as all the other men. “Twenty-three, man. That’s, like… unmissable.”
Junn didn’t have time to react to the next thing that happened. She didn’t have time to put her hand to her heart, or jump, or go to grab a stiletto. All she saw was the room fold in on her, the cracks appear in the walls, and all the floors below her pass by as they closed in, fire emerging between the cracks. That was the best description any writer could ever muster for what it felt like to be imploded.
Within a matter of seconds, a whole company lost everything it had created, and a birthday surprise was cut short. The building had entirely consumed itself and all that was left was a space where it once stood, a few jagged edges smashed into the surrounding buildings, and ordinary passers-by, taking at least three times as long to comprehend the horror of what they had just witnessed.
“Well… tomorrow-ish. I’ll have as many done as possible, I promise.”
“I need all of them done, Junn. What are your plans for tonight?”
“I need to get home, get dinner, get a break, get some sleep. That’s all.”
“You can input data while you’re making dinner, you can input data while you’re eating. You don’t need a break, Junn, and if the worst comes to the worst, you don’t need sleep. I wouldn’t ask you to do this on your birthday if I didn’t need it, but I can’t let people’s personal lives, or my favours, get in the way of an opportunity like this. Remember what I told you when we first met? We’re profit first as a company.”
“I think you said people first, actually.” Junn hung up and put her phone in her pocket, suspecting that it would have fallen out of her hand otherwise at the rate it was shaking. ‘People first’. They all said that. Only a naïve twenty year-old would have actually believed it. That explained, then, why after three years, the face of the business was hundreds of twenty-three year-old women.
And it was an image they cared about. Junn cursed the top-floor marketing psychologists as she nearly stumbled in her stilettos, their heels taller and more overpowering than the sky-scraper she worked in. She stretched her cardigan as she pulled it around her, cursing them again for their rejection of larger, warmer coats in the winter months. ‘Style over comfort’.
That’s what they think it means to be a woman.
She wanted to pull her hair, hit a wall, tear up a Chronic Stress leaflet. She needed somewhere to put all that internalised rage; it was starting to overfill, trickling out and dripping onto the people around her. And they were starting to notice the splashes.
Yoga had been suggested. So had sky-surfing. So had collecting model, fucking, shuttles. She chuckled momentarily about that one.
As if anyone had the time for a hobby. As if anyone even had the time to be angry.
There was another noise, just audible over the sound of her stilettos clipping against the marble floor. She was fourteen floors up – there were only about seven people working on this level, and as far as she was aware, most of them were plugged in to their stations right now, silently tapping away projections.
She heard it again and stopped, trying her best to split apart the sounds. There was the shuffling – clothes moving against a wall, perhaps, or someone bending down. Then there was the breathing. Heavy, in anticipation. Fight or flight.
Fight.
There were talks of attackers, these days, targeting these places. Never caught. She knew why – it was the workers themselves. The men who could stay and fight, the ones who didn’t stumble around in stilettos, but who got just as angry as she did. The people who needed someone to take it out on.
The ones who were never suspected. Or perhaps, the ones who were just too convenient to lose. They left a dead body, and the company paid for a good lawyer. The whole floor would probably be replaced eventually, then they’d only have each other to project rage onto.
Flight. It could only ever be flight…
Junn prepared to slip her stilettos off, wondering if she could just carry on walking; get into the lift, shut the door quickly, pass this off as her paranoia.
She turned slowly. The breathing got louder…
A sudden explosion, and a burst of colours blinded her.
“SURPRISE!”
Junn instinctively put her hand to her heart, and as she calmed, it sunk in. Confetti landed gently all across the corridor, and her friends jumped out from their hiding places. A ‘Happy Birthday’ banner hung lopsided from door-to-door. Junn smiled.
Then there are the men who just want to make it all nicer.
“Thanks guys,” said Junn, realising her voice was still shaking.
“We had to!” Maithus approached her, giving her a friendly pat on the back. She liked the fact he treated her in the same way as all the other men. “Twenty-three, man. That’s, like… unmissable.”
Junn didn’t have time to react to the next thing that happened. She didn’t have time to put her hand to her heart, or jump, or go to grab a stiletto. All she saw was the room fold in on her, the cracks appear in the walls, and all the floors below her pass by as they closed in, fire emerging between the cracks. That was the best description any writer could ever muster for what it felt like to be imploded.
Within a matter of seconds, a whole company lost everything it had created, and a birthday surprise was cut short. The building had entirely consumed itself and all that was left was a space where it once stood, a few jagged edges smashed into the surrounding buildings, and ordinary passers-by, taking at least three times as long to comprehend the horror of what they had just witnessed.
The Dying Detective
Episode 2/6
Cat Among Pigeons
Written by Janine Rivers
“The Dark Revelation movement,” explained Goodwin. The whole division crowded around her, though the explanation was primarily for Autumn’s benefit: everyone else was far too aware of what the Dark Revelation were.
They knew that Autumn had been absent for a long time; missed a lot of news, a lot of social change. They never questioned where. They understood that she had travelled with a friend, and understood that those travels had ended. Those who recognised her in the Capital had spread this news, and whilst the press seemed interested in other affairs, choosing not to glorify the Empire’s social justice hero, smaller presences in society theorised endlessly about her. The team, partly on Goodwin’s instruction and partly out of respect for DCI Rivers, had chosen not to dip into these theories.
“They’re a terrorist organisation,” continued Goodwin. “Not a lot of fun to deal with. We know you’ve had some experience with terrorist organisations?”
“From a very young age,” replied Autumn, choosing not to elaborate. She was not sure how much they knew about her father’s line of work. After the loss of her planet, countless records were deleted. After the destruction of a whole civilisation, no one part of it was worth hanging on to. “What’s their beef?”
Goodwin took a moment to comprehend what Autumn was asking. Autumn realised she had picked up some twenty-first century slang.
“Traditionalism,” sighed Goodwin, eliciting a similar response from Autumn. “They think we’ve got too liberal. They think the current emperor is weak. They think old-Earth values should be the foundation for all societies. They need radical change, and they need to promote paranoia.”
“They need to be lined up against a wall and shot,” muttered Autumn.
“There’s a lot for them to take issue with in this day and age. As we all know, yesterday saw the Universal Marriage Act passed, allowing individuals within the Empire to marry outside of the Empire. Quite a contentious decision, which is why the last thing we need to hear are any of your own thoughts on it.” That one seemed to be directed at someone, but Autumn couldn’t quite put her finger on who. “This is the attitude we’re taking. These ‘people’ have views which are wrong, and our job is to eradicate those views before they can fester. Last night, Lerman Industries’ centre of administration was bombed. Three hundred staff were killed in the attack, and it’s unlikely that the company will go on much longer. This is what we’re looking at from the Dark Revelation – atrocities designed not just to make a loud noise, but to destabilise the Empire from the bottom up.” She let that one sink in. There were nods throughout the group. “The commissioner arrived earlier. He’s issued a blank cheque. Which means we’re going to get up, right now, and head to Eagle Court.”
“Why?” asked Autumn.
“Eagle court’s been disused for decades,” added Helen.
“Exactly. We think it’s where they meet.”
***
Eagle Court
What Goodwin had described as a shopping centre was, in fact, a glorified arcade. Of course, Autumn realised, it would have been impressive back in its day, when things actually stood behind the windows, and people passed through, giving it the colour it was always meant to have. Now, as she entered the arch, the passage was just white – white walls and white window-frames and abandoned white interiors.
Thanks to birds and all manner of other creatures, that had been tarnished. There were blotches of black, and tiles on the walls changing colour for one reason or another, closer now to a vomit shade than the clinical white they were originally intended to be. That was always the problem with these places – they were designed to look modern and clean, yet they always ended up ageing quicker, and drowning in their own filth.
“According to our sources,” explained Goodwin, taking the lead, “they meet in the old jeweller’s.” She gestured to a shop in the centre of the passage; the only one whose black wood sign remained over the entrance, some barely-readable letters in a gold handwriting font not quite peeled off.
“When we first met you were busy with anti-terrorism,” recalled Autumn. “This lot?”
“And others.” As they made their way further into the passageway and the light was blocked, Goodwin switched on her torch. “They’ve always kept me busy. The thing about murderers is, they usually just hit individuals, and want the police to stay out of their way. But this lot, they want to take society down. They want to get us involved. They’re like little kids whose parents have said they can’t have a new toy, and they’ve started asking everyone they meet…” Goodwin considered this metaphor, and quickly realised how awful it was.
As they approached the jeweller’s, Goodwin shone her light in. This one was certainly the most recently-used – a floor-space had been cleared, and boxes arranged around it; a meeting room. She exchanged glances with the rest of her team, and they prepared themselves for the possibility of not being alone.
One of Goodwin’s men, who Autumn didn’t recognise, took the lead, instinctively taking a lid off each of the boxes to see if anything was contained in them.
“Do you think these people have families?” wondered Autumn. “Do you think their families know?”
“Sometimes,” admitted Goodwin. “Often. Some of the terrorists I’ve dealt with have been some of the most outwardly nice people I’ve ever known. Some of them are warm, some… funny…” She seemed to be drifting off, obviously thinking of specific cases in her descriptions. “They get so used to putting on an act, that persona actually becomes real. The only reason it doesn’t win is because it’s never strong enough to combat the fervency of their opinions, or the intensity of their hatred. The thing on show is never as strong as the thing we repress.”
The officer had stopped over one crate and stood back warily. Goodwin pointed her torch at it, and the team peered over to see what was inside, still staying a few steps back.
“What is that thing?” Peter tried to put a name to the strange device inside the crate.
“It’s…” The officer crouched down and took a closer look, putting his ear to the crate and holding it there. It was apparently making some kind of noise. “SHIT, GET B-“
Used to sudden commands, the team started to rush out of the entrance, but before the officer could finish his sentence, the bomb had exploded. The officer nearest to him was also killed; the next, wounded. He, on the other hand, had his head blown off, and bits of him were dashed against the window.
Prada was already making the phone-call.
“The bastards!” cursed Goodwin as she kicked the wall, then stopped to catch her breath. “The bastards…”
***
“They’ve sent us a message.”
Autumn looked up from her desk. Helen was stood patiently without any device on her – obviously the message was short. She glanced over to Goodwin’s office. The blinds were closed. Autumn sighed – it seemed unfair to bother her, but she would have to know.
Autumn and Helen made their way over to the office and knocked. Slowly, Goodwin raised the blinds and let them in. She seemed to be working, but her eyes were red. Autumn wondered if she had been crying, or whether she had just been catching a quick nap. One day in and Autumn Rivers, one of the Empire’s best, was exhausted – she couldn’t imagine what years dealing with antiterrorism had done to Goodwin.
“Renounce the Universal Marriage Act,” narrated Helen, “or your Emperor will die.”
A shiver was sent up Autumn’s spine, but she tried to stay rational. “They couldn’t seriously do that. It’s an empty threat.”
“Then why are they making it?” Goodwin sat up and took a swig of her coffee. It was cold. She made a face and tipped the rest in a plant-pot. Helen slipped out of the room, deferentially leaving her superiors to discuss such high-security matters.
“You think his security could actually be at risk?”
“He’s had more attempts on his life than any breathing individual in the Empire, but he’s also got the best security in the known universe.” Goodwin considered what that meant. “Potentially, yes.”
“I worked in security. And I’m the only person to have ever escaped the obliteration of one of the Planet Makers’ worlds. I know a lot about safety. And,” Autumn admitted, “I know how to infiltrate. Give me five minutes with the Emperor and I’ll tell you whether it’s an empty threat.”
***
Entering through the back via helicopter, Autumn was denied the tourist’s view of the palace, but it bothered her very little. She had seen plenty of palaces in her time; plenty of dull regimes coated and glossed over, or coloured to the full like clowns. Buildings were capable of painted smiles in their own way.
Autumn was given a brief on how to speak to the Emperor. On the distance she must keep; how he must be the one to lead physical interactions, to control the direction of every conversation. She could only suggest. She recalled Goodwin’s advice.
Whatever you do, don’t be yourself.
Funny.
“Your Majesty,” she said as she entered, with a reluctant bow. As she looked up again she took in the architecture: the room had a holographic ceiling, animated to display a projection of Elysium; sunlight piercing through clouds, buildings appearing for a second, glimmering in the spaces between the clouds, inviting. It seemed ironic that even in the Capital, people wished they were somewhere else. Autumn had often wondered whether, when you achieved your dream, you would just go back to dreaming about something else.
And the walls were made of gold. That was just the glossing: conventional, unimportant.
“Autumn Rivers.” The Emperor turned to face her, having expected her. The room was stripped of furniture; presumably it had been set up for the purpose of their interaction alone. Autumn wondered why, then, he had thought it fitting to show her Elysium. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” Despite this, he failed to offer a handshake or any kind of physical greeting.
The Emperor was a tall man in emerald robes to match his eyes, soft-spoken, grey-haired and covered with jewels of various kinds. He smiled a lot, though sometimes the contours of amusement could be detected in the corners of his mouth, despite the total absence of amusing topics.
“You too, your Majesty.” Let him lead, Autumn. Don’t jump in.
“I hear there’s something of a threat to my security. Please, elucidate.”
“The Dark Revelation movement, your Majesty. They’ve made a threat on your life.”
“What do they want?”
“They want us to renounce the Universal Marriage Act.”
The Emperor considered. “Have you made this threat public?”
“No, your Majesty.”
“And are you going to act upon it?”
“We’re going to address the matter of your security. It’s… not a threat that troubles us terribly, so please do not fear for your safety. However,” Autumn lied, “it was recommended that I visit you, just to assess the threat level. I wanted to speak to you in person, in full confidence. Are you worried?”
“You thought I would speak to you?” The Emperor chuckled. “And why should I trust you over the rest?”
“I am part of the law enforcement, your Majesty.”
“Yes. And you were also a campaigner for social justice. You thrived off destabilising order, Miss Rivers, taking down the Empire’s great institutions in the name of what you believed was your duty. Quite the anarchist. I’m not sure given the situation that you are the person I should be talking to, hmm?”
“There’s a difference between anarchy and terrorism.” Autumn bit her tongue, not used to restraining herself, or regretting her words. The Emperor raised his eyebrows, and Autumn carefully backed out of her corner. “My apologies. What I mean to say is that there is a difference between what they want and what I want. I like progress, and progress is moving forward. The Dark Revelation movement seek only to regress, and regression is what I stand opposed to.”
“But you do seek to move forward. You dislike this system.” The Emperor raised his arms, gesturing to the palace, and then to himself. “You’re the last person to be concerned about its security.”
“The Dark Revelation have made a threat against your security. I’m fighting them, therefore I’m fighting to protect the system. It’s my job, and I do my job well, as I’m sure you are aware. Also,” she added, “you should know that your reign as Emperor has been the most liberal in the history of the Empire. Why would I seek to change that?”
“Liberal, yes. But I’ve only made incremental progress. I don’t see you as the kind of woman who takes dithering footsteps, Miss Rivers.”
“Is that how you would describe your reign? A series of dithering footsteps?”
Autumn realised what she said as the words left her mouth. Shit.
The Emperor stopped pacing around the room and glared at Autumn. “Leave.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” Autumn bowed again and left the way she had entered. Goodwin stood waiting in anticipation, and as Autumn glanced around the room she realised there was no one else: it was safe to talk.
“Do you think the Emperor’s safe?” asked Goodwin.
“Potentially,” replied Autumn. “But I don’t think that’s the Emperor.”
***
“They want us to think it’s a hollow threat.” This time, everyone in the department was gathered around Autumn, spinny chairs and desk arrangements orientated in her general direction. “They want us to dismiss it. They don’t want us to renounce the Universal Marriage Act – not yet. They want us to laugh. ‘Kill the Emperor?’” Autumn scoffed. “Like that’ll ever happen. But then, the next morning, we wake up, and it’s on the news. The Emperor, poisoned to death. In truth, it’s because they’re got him on a remote control. They’ve created a copy of the Emperor masquerading as the real thing. But the Empire doesn’t know this – they think their Emperor is dead. And they start to give in to the threats, even if the Dark Revelation aren’t quite at the point where they can actually lead the Empire. All it matters is that we believe they have that power.”
“It’s all a fake,” added Peter, putting it in simple terms. “An elaborate ruse to give us a delusion of vulnerability, to make them seem more powerful than they are. After all, they could just get the Emperor to pass the laws they want, but no, it's all about showing their strength, their ability to tear anything down.”
“Quite,” agreed Autumn. “But there’s still another question. Where is the real Emperor?” She let that one hang in the air. “There are plenty of times he could have been cloned. It’s not the most unthinkable conspiracy. But they wouldn’t just kill the real Emperor – he’s too useful. Which means he’s out there, somewhere.”
“Hang on,” said Goodwin, trying to keep track of the conversation. “How do you even know, for sure, that he’s a fake?”
“It wasn’t just his refusal to come near me or his strange body language. It was… the way he reacted to the topics which were raised. I offended him but he didn’t act offended. He acted as if he ought to be offended.”
“But you don’t know what he’s really like. All you’ve seen are his broadcasts.”
“Yes, and I used to make television broadcasts, remember? At my height, I pulled in more viewers than the Emperor himself. I know how to read a persona, and the two don’t match. The Emperor has been replaced. We just need to find out how, and where the original copy is.”
***
For the next three hours, the department set to work exploring the darkest, coldest corners of the Capital from the warmth and safety of behind their desks. Their journeys were ones of comfort – when they were tiring, caffeinated drinks were made for them, and they relished not just the energy but the warmth that emanated through the cups, using a spare hand to keep their hands from numbing as the heating clicked off in the department.
Yet, through their comfort, they found the journey gruelling, the stress alone exhausting them far more than a casual hike ever could. The further they travelled across virtual landscapes, the more there was to explore, and the further away they felt they were. Geographical spaces could not be accounted for. There were too many hidden rooms, too many facades. And, after a while, they came to accept the fact that they could not find where the Emperor had been taken.
That was, of course, until they abandoned geographical spaces altogether.
They had hacked the Dark Revelation’s server before, and tended to abandon it – something the organisation became increasingly aware of. They used other means to convey information to each other, and as such the server was simply a matter of archives.
Or so they thought.
“Get everyone out.”
“Hmm?” Autumn turned, having almost dozed off on her desk – by far the most exhausted of the team – to see Peter leaned forward, whispering to her.
“We’re not in danger, don’t worry. But I can’t risk anyone else hearing this.”
Autumn considered. “Okay.” She stood up, instantly getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone, take a ten minute break. Go to the cafeteria, get yourselves something to eat.”
“The cafeteria is closed until tomorrow morning,” pointed out Prada.
“Then steal something.” Autumn rolled her eyes. “Guys, ten minutes. Seriously, take a break.”
The team did as instructed, even Goodwin, who failed to consider why she was submitting to Autumn’s authority, being as she was her superior. When Autumn wanted to be in charge, the structures of hierarchy had a tendency to vanish. Once everyone was out of the room, Autumn sat on the table while Peter remained on the computer chair, leading Autumn to be elevated slightly above him.
“Go.”
“Autumn – I mean, DCI Rivers-“
“Autumn.”
“Okay.” Peter took a deep breath, and avoided eye contact. “I need to know how important this is, before I tell you. How important this case is.”
“It’s important,” said Autumn, as if reading from a script. “Every case we solve is important, it’s our job.”
“You know what I mean. Is the Empire worth it? I can ask you that honestly because you’re not like the others. Is the Emperor worth saving? Is the palace worth keeping open? Can the foundations at the heart of our society be… re-laid?”
“Look, Peter…”
“Autumn.” Peter made eye contact; imploring. “Please. Just tell me.”
“The Empire isn’t worth it. The Emperor isn’t worth saving. The palace could be knocked down and turned into a block of flats. And you’d be a better cornerstone of our society than anyone who’ll ever represent it.” Autumn paused. “But that’s not going to happen. This isn’t about letting the Empire lose, it’s about letting the Dark Revelation win. That’s how it’s always been with terrorism, with… war. For me, I mean. I’ve never fought injustice for the glory of the Empire. I’ve never fought to protect my home’s values. I’ve fought because the thing I’m fighting is evil. I’ve fought injustice because it’s injustice.”
Peter nodded. “In which case, I can tell you. The Emperor is here.”
There was an awkward silence.
“In this computer,” he clarified. “They haven’t just kidnapped him and stuck him in a room – they’ve uploaded him. His consciousness is on their server, waiting to be downloaded again, or…” he scratched his head. “Corrupted, maybe. I don’t know. We could download him from here.”
“Then why all the worry?” asked Autumn. “Why all the contemplation?”
“Because of your next question. Because the next thing you’re going to wonder is how I worked it out.”
“Go on then,” replied Autumn, expecting to be impressed. “How did you work it out?”
“Six years as the law enforcement’s technological expert. A record which I wiped.”
“Why?”
Peter turned back to his computer, opening up a new window, and typed in an unfamiliar name. A picture came up: a young woman, with long red hair, the shape of her face just vaguely familiar…
“I was born Kathleen Glyndenmarch,” explained Peter. “And I lived inside her body for the first twenty-six years of my life. That was, until I realised it wasn’t my body – until I realised it wasn’t who I was.”
Autumn took Peter’s information in intently, having put the Emperor to the back of her mind, and sat on a chair so that she was on the same level as him.
“With the technology these days, you wouldn’t even notice,” continued Peter. “But when they know, it still sets people against you. It’s better for me – easier – that they don’t. But what I did in changing the databases, creating a fake ID – I could be prosecuted.”
Autumn considered, not yet speaking because she did not yet have anything of value to say.
“What should we do?” asked Peter.
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Autumn. “Once we’ve downloaded the Emperor, we’re going to do the right thing – we’re going to give this department what it needs.”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“We’re going to go to the shops,” clarified Autumn, “and buy some bloody biscuits. And while we’re there, we’ll think up a really good cover story for you…” she smiled. “Peter.”
***
“Look at him,” said Goodwin, as the whole team gathered around the television in her office, testing the variety of biscuits Autumn and Peter had selected. On the screen, the Emperor was stood up on the palace balcony, addressing the masses. Autumn secretly hoped his broadcast remained a good few million views behind hers. “Acting like he’s indestructible. He was nearly reduced to a few lines of glitching code.” She turned to Autumn and Peter. “Absolutely amazing, that source who messaged you with his location. So lucky.” She frowned. “Who was it again?”
“Just…” Autumn hesitated. “One of my many connections. I could tell you. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She smirked.
“Well, well done you two. You handled this maturely and made very little noise about it. I think it’s time we all raised a – er – biscuit.” She held her chocolate biscuit up. “To Autumn and Peter!”
The River and the Phoenix. Autumn leant back against the wall, relaxed for the first time all day, and took a bite out of her biscuit. “These aren’t as good as the ones back on Earth.”
“You spent time on Earth?” asked Peter.
“Not the Earth you know.” Autumn looked out of the window, peering through the window of the building opposite: another office, another party. But not that different to this place, either.
“So everything’s back to normal,” said Peter, lowering his voice so that only Autumn could hear. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Normal,” answered Autumn, simply.
“If you’d have agreed with what they were doing, though… if they wanted the same change that you wanted, if that change didn’t involve taking innocent lives, would you have fought them?”
Autumn considered, and looked down. “I don’t know. At the moment the rules of my job have been intertwined with the rules of my morality. If one day they’re at odds…” she looked back at Peter with honesty. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” said Peter, reassuringly. “I’d have liked to have seen a bit more change too.”
“Dithering footsteps,” recalled Autumn. “Society will get bored of them in the end. One day, someone will need to take a stride.”
“You could have done. Back in the day – you could have taken us forward. If you’d wanted to.”
Peter’s proposition sounded less like an accusation than a fantasy: what if Autumn Rivers had never flown off in the blue box? What if she had never decided to escape?
“I’d do it now if I could,” admitted Autumn.
“Then why don’t you?” urged Peter. “What are you just doing here?”
Autumn smiled sadly, and stopped before taking a biscuit. She was quickly losing her appetite. “I don’t really have the time.”
They knew that Autumn had been absent for a long time; missed a lot of news, a lot of social change. They never questioned where. They understood that she had travelled with a friend, and understood that those travels had ended. Those who recognised her in the Capital had spread this news, and whilst the press seemed interested in other affairs, choosing not to glorify the Empire’s social justice hero, smaller presences in society theorised endlessly about her. The team, partly on Goodwin’s instruction and partly out of respect for DCI Rivers, had chosen not to dip into these theories.
“They’re a terrorist organisation,” continued Goodwin. “Not a lot of fun to deal with. We know you’ve had some experience with terrorist organisations?”
“From a very young age,” replied Autumn, choosing not to elaborate. She was not sure how much they knew about her father’s line of work. After the loss of her planet, countless records were deleted. After the destruction of a whole civilisation, no one part of it was worth hanging on to. “What’s their beef?”
Goodwin took a moment to comprehend what Autumn was asking. Autumn realised she had picked up some twenty-first century slang.
“Traditionalism,” sighed Goodwin, eliciting a similar response from Autumn. “They think we’ve got too liberal. They think the current emperor is weak. They think old-Earth values should be the foundation for all societies. They need radical change, and they need to promote paranoia.”
“They need to be lined up against a wall and shot,” muttered Autumn.
“There’s a lot for them to take issue with in this day and age. As we all know, yesterday saw the Universal Marriage Act passed, allowing individuals within the Empire to marry outside of the Empire. Quite a contentious decision, which is why the last thing we need to hear are any of your own thoughts on it.” That one seemed to be directed at someone, but Autumn couldn’t quite put her finger on who. “This is the attitude we’re taking. These ‘people’ have views which are wrong, and our job is to eradicate those views before they can fester. Last night, Lerman Industries’ centre of administration was bombed. Three hundred staff were killed in the attack, and it’s unlikely that the company will go on much longer. This is what we’re looking at from the Dark Revelation – atrocities designed not just to make a loud noise, but to destabilise the Empire from the bottom up.” She let that one sink in. There were nods throughout the group. “The commissioner arrived earlier. He’s issued a blank cheque. Which means we’re going to get up, right now, and head to Eagle Court.”
“Why?” asked Autumn.
“Eagle court’s been disused for decades,” added Helen.
“Exactly. We think it’s where they meet.”
***
Eagle Court
What Goodwin had described as a shopping centre was, in fact, a glorified arcade. Of course, Autumn realised, it would have been impressive back in its day, when things actually stood behind the windows, and people passed through, giving it the colour it was always meant to have. Now, as she entered the arch, the passage was just white – white walls and white window-frames and abandoned white interiors.
Thanks to birds and all manner of other creatures, that had been tarnished. There were blotches of black, and tiles on the walls changing colour for one reason or another, closer now to a vomit shade than the clinical white they were originally intended to be. That was always the problem with these places – they were designed to look modern and clean, yet they always ended up ageing quicker, and drowning in their own filth.
“According to our sources,” explained Goodwin, taking the lead, “they meet in the old jeweller’s.” She gestured to a shop in the centre of the passage; the only one whose black wood sign remained over the entrance, some barely-readable letters in a gold handwriting font not quite peeled off.
“When we first met you were busy with anti-terrorism,” recalled Autumn. “This lot?”
“And others.” As they made their way further into the passageway and the light was blocked, Goodwin switched on her torch. “They’ve always kept me busy. The thing about murderers is, they usually just hit individuals, and want the police to stay out of their way. But this lot, they want to take society down. They want to get us involved. They’re like little kids whose parents have said they can’t have a new toy, and they’ve started asking everyone they meet…” Goodwin considered this metaphor, and quickly realised how awful it was.
As they approached the jeweller’s, Goodwin shone her light in. This one was certainly the most recently-used – a floor-space had been cleared, and boxes arranged around it; a meeting room. She exchanged glances with the rest of her team, and they prepared themselves for the possibility of not being alone.
One of Goodwin’s men, who Autumn didn’t recognise, took the lead, instinctively taking a lid off each of the boxes to see if anything was contained in them.
“Do you think these people have families?” wondered Autumn. “Do you think their families know?”
“Sometimes,” admitted Goodwin. “Often. Some of the terrorists I’ve dealt with have been some of the most outwardly nice people I’ve ever known. Some of them are warm, some… funny…” She seemed to be drifting off, obviously thinking of specific cases in her descriptions. “They get so used to putting on an act, that persona actually becomes real. The only reason it doesn’t win is because it’s never strong enough to combat the fervency of their opinions, or the intensity of their hatred. The thing on show is never as strong as the thing we repress.”
The officer had stopped over one crate and stood back warily. Goodwin pointed her torch at it, and the team peered over to see what was inside, still staying a few steps back.
“What is that thing?” Peter tried to put a name to the strange device inside the crate.
“It’s…” The officer crouched down and took a closer look, putting his ear to the crate and holding it there. It was apparently making some kind of noise. “SHIT, GET B-“
Used to sudden commands, the team started to rush out of the entrance, but before the officer could finish his sentence, the bomb had exploded. The officer nearest to him was also killed; the next, wounded. He, on the other hand, had his head blown off, and bits of him were dashed against the window.
Prada was already making the phone-call.
“The bastards!” cursed Goodwin as she kicked the wall, then stopped to catch her breath. “The bastards…”
***
“They’ve sent us a message.”
Autumn looked up from her desk. Helen was stood patiently without any device on her – obviously the message was short. She glanced over to Goodwin’s office. The blinds were closed. Autumn sighed – it seemed unfair to bother her, but she would have to know.
Autumn and Helen made their way over to the office and knocked. Slowly, Goodwin raised the blinds and let them in. She seemed to be working, but her eyes were red. Autumn wondered if she had been crying, or whether she had just been catching a quick nap. One day in and Autumn Rivers, one of the Empire’s best, was exhausted – she couldn’t imagine what years dealing with antiterrorism had done to Goodwin.
“Renounce the Universal Marriage Act,” narrated Helen, “or your Emperor will die.”
A shiver was sent up Autumn’s spine, but she tried to stay rational. “They couldn’t seriously do that. It’s an empty threat.”
“Then why are they making it?” Goodwin sat up and took a swig of her coffee. It was cold. She made a face and tipped the rest in a plant-pot. Helen slipped out of the room, deferentially leaving her superiors to discuss such high-security matters.
“You think his security could actually be at risk?”
“He’s had more attempts on his life than any breathing individual in the Empire, but he’s also got the best security in the known universe.” Goodwin considered what that meant. “Potentially, yes.”
“I worked in security. And I’m the only person to have ever escaped the obliteration of one of the Planet Makers’ worlds. I know a lot about safety. And,” Autumn admitted, “I know how to infiltrate. Give me five minutes with the Emperor and I’ll tell you whether it’s an empty threat.”
***
Entering through the back via helicopter, Autumn was denied the tourist’s view of the palace, but it bothered her very little. She had seen plenty of palaces in her time; plenty of dull regimes coated and glossed over, or coloured to the full like clowns. Buildings were capable of painted smiles in their own way.
Autumn was given a brief on how to speak to the Emperor. On the distance she must keep; how he must be the one to lead physical interactions, to control the direction of every conversation. She could only suggest. She recalled Goodwin’s advice.
Whatever you do, don’t be yourself.
Funny.
“Your Majesty,” she said as she entered, with a reluctant bow. As she looked up again she took in the architecture: the room had a holographic ceiling, animated to display a projection of Elysium; sunlight piercing through clouds, buildings appearing for a second, glimmering in the spaces between the clouds, inviting. It seemed ironic that even in the Capital, people wished they were somewhere else. Autumn had often wondered whether, when you achieved your dream, you would just go back to dreaming about something else.
And the walls were made of gold. That was just the glossing: conventional, unimportant.
“Autumn Rivers.” The Emperor turned to face her, having expected her. The room was stripped of furniture; presumably it had been set up for the purpose of their interaction alone. Autumn wondered why, then, he had thought it fitting to show her Elysium. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” Despite this, he failed to offer a handshake or any kind of physical greeting.
The Emperor was a tall man in emerald robes to match his eyes, soft-spoken, grey-haired and covered with jewels of various kinds. He smiled a lot, though sometimes the contours of amusement could be detected in the corners of his mouth, despite the total absence of amusing topics.
“You too, your Majesty.” Let him lead, Autumn. Don’t jump in.
“I hear there’s something of a threat to my security. Please, elucidate.”
“The Dark Revelation movement, your Majesty. They’ve made a threat on your life.”
“What do they want?”
“They want us to renounce the Universal Marriage Act.”
The Emperor considered. “Have you made this threat public?”
“No, your Majesty.”
“And are you going to act upon it?”
“We’re going to address the matter of your security. It’s… not a threat that troubles us terribly, so please do not fear for your safety. However,” Autumn lied, “it was recommended that I visit you, just to assess the threat level. I wanted to speak to you in person, in full confidence. Are you worried?”
“You thought I would speak to you?” The Emperor chuckled. “And why should I trust you over the rest?”
“I am part of the law enforcement, your Majesty.”
“Yes. And you were also a campaigner for social justice. You thrived off destabilising order, Miss Rivers, taking down the Empire’s great institutions in the name of what you believed was your duty. Quite the anarchist. I’m not sure given the situation that you are the person I should be talking to, hmm?”
“There’s a difference between anarchy and terrorism.” Autumn bit her tongue, not used to restraining herself, or regretting her words. The Emperor raised his eyebrows, and Autumn carefully backed out of her corner. “My apologies. What I mean to say is that there is a difference between what they want and what I want. I like progress, and progress is moving forward. The Dark Revelation movement seek only to regress, and regression is what I stand opposed to.”
“But you do seek to move forward. You dislike this system.” The Emperor raised his arms, gesturing to the palace, and then to himself. “You’re the last person to be concerned about its security.”
“The Dark Revelation have made a threat against your security. I’m fighting them, therefore I’m fighting to protect the system. It’s my job, and I do my job well, as I’m sure you are aware. Also,” she added, “you should know that your reign as Emperor has been the most liberal in the history of the Empire. Why would I seek to change that?”
“Liberal, yes. But I’ve only made incremental progress. I don’t see you as the kind of woman who takes dithering footsteps, Miss Rivers.”
“Is that how you would describe your reign? A series of dithering footsteps?”
Autumn realised what she said as the words left her mouth. Shit.
The Emperor stopped pacing around the room and glared at Autumn. “Leave.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” Autumn bowed again and left the way she had entered. Goodwin stood waiting in anticipation, and as Autumn glanced around the room she realised there was no one else: it was safe to talk.
“Do you think the Emperor’s safe?” asked Goodwin.
“Potentially,” replied Autumn. “But I don’t think that’s the Emperor.”
***
“They want us to think it’s a hollow threat.” This time, everyone in the department was gathered around Autumn, spinny chairs and desk arrangements orientated in her general direction. “They want us to dismiss it. They don’t want us to renounce the Universal Marriage Act – not yet. They want us to laugh. ‘Kill the Emperor?’” Autumn scoffed. “Like that’ll ever happen. But then, the next morning, we wake up, and it’s on the news. The Emperor, poisoned to death. In truth, it’s because they’re got him on a remote control. They’ve created a copy of the Emperor masquerading as the real thing. But the Empire doesn’t know this – they think their Emperor is dead. And they start to give in to the threats, even if the Dark Revelation aren’t quite at the point where they can actually lead the Empire. All it matters is that we believe they have that power.”
“It’s all a fake,” added Peter, putting it in simple terms. “An elaborate ruse to give us a delusion of vulnerability, to make them seem more powerful than they are. After all, they could just get the Emperor to pass the laws they want, but no, it's all about showing their strength, their ability to tear anything down.”
“Quite,” agreed Autumn. “But there’s still another question. Where is the real Emperor?” She let that one hang in the air. “There are plenty of times he could have been cloned. It’s not the most unthinkable conspiracy. But they wouldn’t just kill the real Emperor – he’s too useful. Which means he’s out there, somewhere.”
“Hang on,” said Goodwin, trying to keep track of the conversation. “How do you even know, for sure, that he’s a fake?”
“It wasn’t just his refusal to come near me or his strange body language. It was… the way he reacted to the topics which were raised. I offended him but he didn’t act offended. He acted as if he ought to be offended.”
“But you don’t know what he’s really like. All you’ve seen are his broadcasts.”
“Yes, and I used to make television broadcasts, remember? At my height, I pulled in more viewers than the Emperor himself. I know how to read a persona, and the two don’t match. The Emperor has been replaced. We just need to find out how, and where the original copy is.”
***
For the next three hours, the department set to work exploring the darkest, coldest corners of the Capital from the warmth and safety of behind their desks. Their journeys were ones of comfort – when they were tiring, caffeinated drinks were made for them, and they relished not just the energy but the warmth that emanated through the cups, using a spare hand to keep their hands from numbing as the heating clicked off in the department.
Yet, through their comfort, they found the journey gruelling, the stress alone exhausting them far more than a casual hike ever could. The further they travelled across virtual landscapes, the more there was to explore, and the further away they felt they were. Geographical spaces could not be accounted for. There were too many hidden rooms, too many facades. And, after a while, they came to accept the fact that they could not find where the Emperor had been taken.
That was, of course, until they abandoned geographical spaces altogether.
They had hacked the Dark Revelation’s server before, and tended to abandon it – something the organisation became increasingly aware of. They used other means to convey information to each other, and as such the server was simply a matter of archives.
Or so they thought.
“Get everyone out.”
“Hmm?” Autumn turned, having almost dozed off on her desk – by far the most exhausted of the team – to see Peter leaned forward, whispering to her.
“We’re not in danger, don’t worry. But I can’t risk anyone else hearing this.”
Autumn considered. “Okay.” She stood up, instantly getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone, take a ten minute break. Go to the cafeteria, get yourselves something to eat.”
“The cafeteria is closed until tomorrow morning,” pointed out Prada.
“Then steal something.” Autumn rolled her eyes. “Guys, ten minutes. Seriously, take a break.”
The team did as instructed, even Goodwin, who failed to consider why she was submitting to Autumn’s authority, being as she was her superior. When Autumn wanted to be in charge, the structures of hierarchy had a tendency to vanish. Once everyone was out of the room, Autumn sat on the table while Peter remained on the computer chair, leading Autumn to be elevated slightly above him.
“Go.”
“Autumn – I mean, DCI Rivers-“
“Autumn.”
“Okay.” Peter took a deep breath, and avoided eye contact. “I need to know how important this is, before I tell you. How important this case is.”
“It’s important,” said Autumn, as if reading from a script. “Every case we solve is important, it’s our job.”
“You know what I mean. Is the Empire worth it? I can ask you that honestly because you’re not like the others. Is the Emperor worth saving? Is the palace worth keeping open? Can the foundations at the heart of our society be… re-laid?”
“Look, Peter…”
“Autumn.” Peter made eye contact; imploring. “Please. Just tell me.”
“The Empire isn’t worth it. The Emperor isn’t worth saving. The palace could be knocked down and turned into a block of flats. And you’d be a better cornerstone of our society than anyone who’ll ever represent it.” Autumn paused. “But that’s not going to happen. This isn’t about letting the Empire lose, it’s about letting the Dark Revelation win. That’s how it’s always been with terrorism, with… war. For me, I mean. I’ve never fought injustice for the glory of the Empire. I’ve never fought to protect my home’s values. I’ve fought because the thing I’m fighting is evil. I’ve fought injustice because it’s injustice.”
Peter nodded. “In which case, I can tell you. The Emperor is here.”
There was an awkward silence.
“In this computer,” he clarified. “They haven’t just kidnapped him and stuck him in a room – they’ve uploaded him. His consciousness is on their server, waiting to be downloaded again, or…” he scratched his head. “Corrupted, maybe. I don’t know. We could download him from here.”
“Then why all the worry?” asked Autumn. “Why all the contemplation?”
“Because of your next question. Because the next thing you’re going to wonder is how I worked it out.”
“Go on then,” replied Autumn, expecting to be impressed. “How did you work it out?”
“Six years as the law enforcement’s technological expert. A record which I wiped.”
“Why?”
Peter turned back to his computer, opening up a new window, and typed in an unfamiliar name. A picture came up: a young woman, with long red hair, the shape of her face just vaguely familiar…
“I was born Kathleen Glyndenmarch,” explained Peter. “And I lived inside her body for the first twenty-six years of my life. That was, until I realised it wasn’t my body – until I realised it wasn’t who I was.”
Autumn took Peter’s information in intently, having put the Emperor to the back of her mind, and sat on a chair so that she was on the same level as him.
“With the technology these days, you wouldn’t even notice,” continued Peter. “But when they know, it still sets people against you. It’s better for me – easier – that they don’t. But what I did in changing the databases, creating a fake ID – I could be prosecuted.”
Autumn considered, not yet speaking because she did not yet have anything of value to say.
“What should we do?” asked Peter.
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Autumn. “Once we’ve downloaded the Emperor, we’re going to do the right thing – we’re going to give this department what it needs.”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“We’re going to go to the shops,” clarified Autumn, “and buy some bloody biscuits. And while we’re there, we’ll think up a really good cover story for you…” she smiled. “Peter.”
***
“Look at him,” said Goodwin, as the whole team gathered around the television in her office, testing the variety of biscuits Autumn and Peter had selected. On the screen, the Emperor was stood up on the palace balcony, addressing the masses. Autumn secretly hoped his broadcast remained a good few million views behind hers. “Acting like he’s indestructible. He was nearly reduced to a few lines of glitching code.” She turned to Autumn and Peter. “Absolutely amazing, that source who messaged you with his location. So lucky.” She frowned. “Who was it again?”
“Just…” Autumn hesitated. “One of my many connections. I could tell you. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She smirked.
“Well, well done you two. You handled this maturely and made very little noise about it. I think it’s time we all raised a – er – biscuit.” She held her chocolate biscuit up. “To Autumn and Peter!”
The River and the Phoenix. Autumn leant back against the wall, relaxed for the first time all day, and took a bite out of her biscuit. “These aren’t as good as the ones back on Earth.”
“You spent time on Earth?” asked Peter.
“Not the Earth you know.” Autumn looked out of the window, peering through the window of the building opposite: another office, another party. But not that different to this place, either.
“So everything’s back to normal,” said Peter, lowering his voice so that only Autumn could hear. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Normal,” answered Autumn, simply.
“If you’d have agreed with what they were doing, though… if they wanted the same change that you wanted, if that change didn’t involve taking innocent lives, would you have fought them?”
Autumn considered, and looked down. “I don’t know. At the moment the rules of my job have been intertwined with the rules of my morality. If one day they’re at odds…” she looked back at Peter with honesty. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” said Peter, reassuringly. “I’d have liked to have seen a bit more change too.”
“Dithering footsteps,” recalled Autumn. “Society will get bored of them in the end. One day, someone will need to take a stride.”
“You could have done. Back in the day – you could have taken us forward. If you’d wanted to.”
Peter’s proposition sounded less like an accusation than a fantasy: what if Autumn Rivers had never flown off in the blue box? What if she had never decided to escape?
“I’d do it now if I could,” admitted Autumn.
“Then why don’t you?” urged Peter. “What are you just doing here?”
Autumn smiled sadly, and stopped before taking a biscuit. She was quickly losing her appetite. “I don’t really have the time.”
NEXT TIME
Loved and Lost
Autumn finds herself working on a smaller case, just outside of the Capital she is used to, with DC Helen Langham. But, as Helen is about to show her, those can sometimes be the worst...
Autumn finds herself working on a smaller case, just outside of the Capital she is used to, with DC Helen Langham. But, as Helen is about to show her, those can sometimes be the worst...