The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real
Previously: DCI James Miller has been arrested on charges of corruption. He is about to be interrogated by DI Robert Ford and DI Lois Morgan…
Early shift
On duty: DI Robert Ford & DI Lois Morgan
London.
1974. December.
There weren’t many cells left at Scotland Yard, with it having become an administrative centre for the entire Met rather than a traditional police station. There were smaller, local stations to handle the arrested masses. The Yard’s cells were maintained for suspects involved in more sensitive cases, where lumping them in with the rank-and-file criminal would be bad for all concerned. Through its doors the Yard had welcomed disgraced politicians, drunk celebrities and awkwardly wealthy business people.
It kept things simpler. The last thing anyone wanted was a former MP getting shanked by someone who had just been brought in for assault.
Ford and Morgan strode down the corridors towards the cells, which were at the very bottom of the building, low enough to enjoy seepage from the Thames during heavy rainfall. Months had gone by without Ford being in the office at the same time as Morgan. They both had the most distance from the shitshow that had gone down in the SDC — at least until they were pulled off the case and replaced with a formal internal affairs investigation — and needed to get some answers out of Miller.
They also had Holland and Shaw in custody, though Holland was there more for show. No need to reveal him as the source of the information by not arresting him. From what Holland had already said, Shaw was a pawn rather than a ringleader. Poor girl. Still, she was old enough to have known better.
“Haven’t been down here for years,” Morgan said, her voice reverberating off the old limestone walls.
“The plan is to pump Miller for information,” Ford said. “We’ve got Lord Hutchinson’s name already. Let’s see what else we can get him to give up. My gut tells me he’ll roll over quickly, but we’ll see.”
“Might depend how high up this thing he was,” Morgan said, showing her ID to the guard at the entrance to the cell block. “Do you have a firm handle on what ‘this thing’ is? It all felt very piecemeal in my interview with Bakker and Clarke.”
Ford nodded. “Far too circumstantial for my liking. Though Holland’s recordings tip the balance. Clarke’s claiming to have other incriminating evidence, but wouldn’t hand over the hard copy.”
They proceeded past the cells, towards the interview room at the far end where Miller would be waiting. Ford wrinkled his nose at the stench; even if the Yard’s cells were kept for dubiously privileged prisoners, they didn’t get any special treatment. Which was good. Ford wouldn’t have liked these rich, fancy southerners getting an easy ride. It was hard enough getting them behind bars in the first place.
“What do you think to Bakker’s claims that a new AI megaship has been built behind closed doors?”
“Sounds like science fiction bullshit to me,” Ford said, “but I know Bakker hates all that stuff. He’s not a man prone to flights of fancy, put it that way. I’m inclined to think they’re onto something, if Bakker thinks it worth pursuing.”
“I suggest we don’t lead with that,” Morgan said. “See how much rope Miller already has around his neck. We might not need to push too hard.”
“Agreed. Ready?”
She nodded.
Ford turned the handle and they entered an adjacent corridor. A side door led to the observation space, but they headed for the main door to the interview room. Miller was already sat at the table, looking like a child that was about to be told off by a parent.
While Morgan closed the door, Ford pulled aside a chair and sat opposite from Miller, who looked up with an expression that cycled between hope and anger. The man was furious, but was also wondering if Ford would offer some form of rescue.
“What happens next is up to you,” Ford said. “That means this is the last meaningful decision you get to make for yourself, before you get sent somewhere far nastier than the Yard. At that point you don’t get to make decisions. They’re made for you. And you won’t like them.” He leaned back. “So, there you go. Your turn. You know how this works.”
“You have to get me out of here,” Miller said. “Do you know who they put down here? In these cells?”
“Well, sure,” Ford said. “The bad guys.”
For a second he looked like he was going to object. "What can you give me?”
Morgan chuckled. “You’re forgetting which side of the table you’re on, James.”
“Fine. You’ve gone as far as arresting me, which tells me two things. One, you think you’ve got something. Two, you don’t have enough, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone for me first.”
Ford held up his arms in mock disbelief. “What do you think we’ve been doing? What makes you think you’re the only person under arrest?”
“Because there’s just no way,” Miller said. “Look, maybe I can pass along information that would be of interest. Things I’ve heard.”
“There’s no use in pussy-footing around,” Ford said, crossing his arms. “I know you’re trying not to incriminate yourself, but you’re just wasting everyone’s time. Get to the point.” It was odd that the man didn’t have a lawyer. That detail made no sense. Either they hadn’t arrived yet, or his expected legal support had fallen through.
“I need some assurances. Immunity from prosecution.”
“Can’t promise you that.”
“OK, OK. Protection, then. You’ve really stirred up the hive with this, Ford.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I just followed the evidence, and it led straight to your door.”
“Bakker, then. He’s been up to something for months. Snooping around.”
“There’ll be a full investigation,” Morgan said, moving to the back wall where she leaned against the darkened glass. “Independent of the department. It’ll all come out, but we’re not there yet. Right now, it’s us, and it’s you.”
There was a debate happening inside Miller’s head, Ford could tell. He’d seen it hundreds of times, playing out in the twitches of a mouth and the crease of an eyelid. The man was weighing a choice of variously shitty options.
“Can you protect me?”
Ford shrugged. “From what?”
Grinning despairingly, Miller shook his head. “You don’t have time for this cat and mouse bullshit. Yes or no?”
“I can’t promise protection if I don’t know what I’m protecting you from, Miller.”
“The ton of bricks you’ve just brought down on me, you and the whole department.”
The bare bulb flickered overhead. Ford glanced up at Morgan, who nodded. “You know the drill,” Morgan said. “Give us something we can work with, which leads directly to arrests and convictions, and it’ll be good news for you. At worst, a more lenient sentence. At best, witness protection and maybe you don’t end up in prison.”
Seconds trudged past. Ford didn’t move, holding his gaze on Miller, watching for any tell, and not giving him the opportunity to wriggle away. A minute passed in silence as the soon-to-be ex-DCI squirmed on his metal chair. Ford had never rated the man, had always wondered how someone as superficial as Miller had managed to get up to Detective Chief Inspector. Rankings rarely made much sense, in his experience. Not in the Met, at least.
Ford had played and replayed Holland’s recording. At the very least, Miller was going down for blackmail, even if nothing else came from it. But there was more, much more, lurking beneath the surface, if they could just tease it out.
“Listen to me,” Miller said, at last, breaking the quiet. “This goes all the way to the top. Right to the top. Not just Mid-Earth, but the Joint Council. Max-Earth, Palinor. It’s big. The kind of big you can’t say ‘no’ to.”
“Get specific,” Morgan said.
“Lord Hutchinson.” The words were spat, like he was clearing his throat. “Lord Hutchinson is a key player. He coordinates the Mid-Earth contingent. He pulls all the strings. You should look into his investments. He owns half the papers in England and across the Empire, but nobody knows it. He controls the conversations.”
Ford shifted his weight on the chair. “Which conversations?”
“All of them. You think Nigel Maxwell would be Prime Fucking Minister without something greasing the door to Number 10? A little disaster here, a raging koth there. Then they want to get some new laws through, so there’s a conveniently escalated riot. That feeling we’ve all had, like everything’s been going to shit over the last two years? That’s not a coincidence, it’s not just how things are. It’s on purpose.”
The man was going straight in and throwing Hutchinson under the tram. Interesting. Ford had anticipated having to pull it out of Miller more forcibly. And going for full-on electoral interference, disinformation campaigns and perhaps even fabricated or manipulated tragedies — it was more than he’d expected. “We know about Hutchinson,” he said, being sure to appear unimpressed. “That’s on the tapes. Tell us something we don’t know.”
“Hutchinson’s just one part of it. He’s not doing this alone.”
“We need names.”
“You need to look at Chancellor Everard Baltine, at Fountain University. He’s the lord of Bruglia.”
“We know who he is.”
“He’s Hutchinson’s Palinese equivalent. This is across the whole triverse. From Max-Earth there’s Ambassador Charles Matheson. An American. He splits his time between the tower here and Max-Earth. Those are the names I know.”
“And what is it these three are up to, according to you?”
Sweat dripped from Miller’s face.
“They’ve been building a superintelligence. A new AI.”
Shit, perhaps Bakker’s team was right.
“A new AI? Like the megaships on Max-Earth? Those annoying robots that show up sometimes and muscle in on our cases?”
“That’s right. But different. An AI they could control. Separate from the network.”
Morgan stood straighter and stepped towards the wall to Miller’s right. “Developing new AI is strictly prohibited on Max-Earth and by the Joint Council.”
Miller nodded. “Right, and who wrote that law? The AIs. It’s a Max-Earth diktat handed down to the rest of us. What Hutchinson and the others are doing is about disrupting that control. Regaining human sovereignty.”
Now there was some motivation, at last. “And how do you go about building an AI without anyone noticing?”
“They made it in pieces on Palinor. Nobody there knew what the individual parts were for, so it was all done with plausible deniability. Then it was all shipped to Max-Earth for final assembly. It’s taken years, which is why the megaships didn’t notice it happening right under their noses.”
Ford wanted to question the logic of trying to counter AI with even more AI, but that was a debate for another time. “What’s the endgame here? To cause trouble? Money? Power and influence?”
“Nothing so prosaic,” Miller said. “The intention is to remodel society across the triverse. To return to how things used to be, when humans had proper agency. To free us from our keepers.”
He was starting to sound like he was reciting the official literature. Even now, as he gave it all up, after they’d left him to hang, a part of him still believed.
“Come on, Ford. I know you. You’ve always hated working in London. Following all the rules and regulations. Having to do what you’re told by these namby-pamby bureaucrats. But it’s worse than that — the strings are being pulled by the superintelligences on Max-Earth, and we don’t even realise that we’re the puppets.”
Thanks for reading.
How’s your week been? Definite sense of time rushing by here, which I suppose means I’m having fun. Could do with a time machine, or at least a dial, to afford me a bit more space in the week to get things done.
Stumbled upon an extremely fun bit of pulp fiction this morning which distracted me while I was supposed to be prepping this newsletter. It’s so exciting to see more writers showing up in the newsletter space:
Sam is particularly successful at creating a strong sense of place in the story. I felt properly transported. In fact, given my initial thinking was “oh, I’ll just read the opening paragraph then get back to what I was doing”, that I read the whole story is a good indication of how much it grabbed me. Looking forward to what comes next.
Last weekend I did an online comics workshop with my 11 year old son. This emerged out of the other end:
Is it a comment on how influencer culture eats itself and is deeply unhealthy for all involved? Or is just an excuse to draw a cute anthropomorphic broccoli and butternut squash? We’ll never know.
On Monday I have a really excellent newsletter going out in which I’m chatting with
about our publishing experiences. It’s a good one, so keep an eye on your inbox.Author notes
DI Lois Morgan is a woefully underserved character in Triverse. She’s been mentioned multiple times but has never had a proper storyline. In fact, she may not have even had a single line of dialogue. Oops.
Ford, also, has been a very occasional guest star. If Triverse were a TV show, he’d be played by a recognisable character actor, capable of making a big impression even with sparse material.
In today’s chapter we have the continued dismantling of James Miller, a man that was wholly propped up by his position of power. With that power removed, he’s a shell of a man. There was never much there to begin with, perhaps.
The title of ‘Loyalties’ for this story speaks to the way loyalty is often misunderstood and appropriated. Gangster loyalty is fear, requiring the constant application of that fear for people to remain loyal. Take that away, or replace it with a greater fear, and those supposed bonds of loyalty break very easily. We’re seeing that happen in slow motion in the US with the various Trump trials: his confidantes are loyal only when it benefits them, rather than out of any real commitment to the man.
Compare all of that to the bonds between Clarke, Styles and the others and it’s a very different situation. They haven’t been fully tested yet, perhaps, but those loyalties are based on more than power and influence.
This week we also get a glimpse of some actual motivation behind all the shenanigans. This is just Miller talking, of course, but it’s the first time that we’ve really had this kind of insight stated quite so plainly.
As you can imagine, this particular storyline is only just getting started.
I suppose when/if you do a re-edit you can give Morgan and Ford a couple more lines at some point earlier on. I confess, I remembered the names, but had no clue if they were more sympathetic towards the story's villains or heroes.
This is one of those chapters which either confirms for a reader they were on the right track with the clues 🙋, or is the face-palm of "Oh THAT'S what's going on!"
For world building, it's important exposition of "who's been told what?"
But the important question is, "did Miller sign his own death warrant?" Readers know there are still cabal-friendlies-and-dupes inside the Met...
Hell, when the lights flickered in the cell I was worried the Rogue AI would bust in wearing it's T-800 shell and execute Miller right there.
When your conspiracy involves people placed so highly from all three worlds that "closed" portal ain't...