The heist: part 1

Crossing the tracks

This is my ongoing scifi / fantasy / crime fiction serial. New chapter every week.

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1980s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Previously: The former SDC detectives are about to embark on their first crime…

Lunar orbit. The New Rhodes Orbital Museum.
2550. March (Earth time).

“Is it a rotating station?” Clarke watched the monitor that displayed their approach vector, mixed with a camera feed from the rear of the Beagle as it decelerated. The impression of gravity remained fairly stable but would soon shift to an uneven wobble as they slowed for docking, and then synced with the station itself.

“A von Braun, yes,” Justin said. They were still walking about the cabin, magnetically fixed to the floor while the rest of them were strapped into their seats. “Quite a classical interpretation, you’ll see. There have been numerous improvements to the concept as proposed in the twentieth century, but the designers of the New Rhodes Orbital Museum deliberately embraced a retro aesthetic.” Justin gave a small laugh, an incongruous sound from the robot host. “As such, the museum itself functions as an antique. Quite clever, really, if needlessly nostalgic. Remember that I will be monitoring each of you using the surveillance studs in your clothing. I will be able to see and hear everything.”

Kaminski twisted in his seat to look back at them. “Sure you can’t join us in the museum, Justin? I’d feel better with you backing us up.”

They shook their head. “Aside from the risk of detection, I am still attempting to maintain an ethical detachment.”

Clarke squinted and huffed through his nostrils. “Detachment from what?”

“From what you are doing, Detective Clarke. I endeavour always to minimise my involvement. It has been the network’s policy for four centuries to only interfere when absolutely necessary. We do not wish to dictate the parameters of human existence. Each intervention of mine is a pebble thrown into the still pond. We superintelligences are best as observers. When the observer becomes the executor, predictive models rapidly begin to degrade.”

Kaminski chuckled bitterly. “And would that be better or worse than the clusterfuck the triverse has ended up in?”

Justin moved towards the lift doors, which would whisk them back to the cockpit. “The chaos of the current era is caused by the interference of a rogue AI. It is a glimpse of what could have been, had I and my companions been less enlightened.” They paused at the doors and turned back to face them. “Do not open the door and invite your oppressors to enter. Human existence is precarious. Keep the door shut at all times. Good luck.” They stepped into the elevator and disappeared to another floor of the ship.

“Good motivation speech,” Kaminski muttered. Clarke watched him fidget with a small device, spinning it end over end. They were supposed to have stowed any free-floating items.

He turned to Lola, sat next to him. “How you holding up?”

There was a collection of sealed paper bags on her lap. “OK so far,” she said. “I think I’m getting used to it.”

“You should be fine on the station itself,” Clarke said. “It’ll feel almost like Earth normal.”

The ship’s announcement system beeped. “Docking in sixty seconds.”

There was a shift in inertia, like when a lift reaches its destination and changes speed, except it wasn’t momentary. Clarke felt his hands and legs become almost weightless, the tie of his uncomfortably fancy suit held down only by the clasp that was a standard accessory when off-planet. The sensation of gravity lessened to almost nothing, then there was a clunk that could be heard as well as felt, followed by a distinct physical impression of everything tipping to the side. Five seconds later and his limbs and organs had settled back into place where they belonged.

“Docking complete. We are now experiencing centrifugal acceleration that should feel quite normal to human balance, given the size of the station. Do be aware of unexpected coriolis effects when ascending or descending staircases, or pouring drinks. Otherwise, I will prepare to streamline your arrival and speak to you all on your return to the ship.”

Clarke took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He unclipped his harness and looked at each of the others. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go be criminals.”

Kaminski was acutely aware that he and Nisha could have been back in New Delhi, eating good food and living a quiet life in a busy place, surrounded by interesting people with absolutely normal lives. The Max-Earth locals complained a lot about everything becoming harder and more expensive over the previous five years, but it remained a luxurious place to Kaminski. The poorest person on Max-Earth was richer than any ordinary Mid-Earth Londoner.

But he had unfinished business. Several years earlier he’d been trapped in a shipping container and left to die. Prior to that, his colleague John Callihan had been murdered. The same people responsible were now sitting in parliament in London, had extended their bloodied hands through the fabric of the triverse and to the very top of the Joint Council. They’d killed Miller, had tried to arrest Kaminski and the others. Banished them to Max-Earth. God knew what had really happened to Bakker. Turns out they’d chased Lola across half of Palinor. All of it so they could build a rogue AI and wreak havoc across the triverse, for reasons Kaminski still couldn’t quite fathom.

So, yeah, he had unfinished business. Maybe he could relax after it was done.

The airlock lights signalled a connection and the outer doors opened onto an elevator that whisked them up and away from the Beagle into the station proper. Kaminski had expected the gravity to lessen as they got nearer to the centre of the rotating station, but perhaps it was too large for the shift to be noticeable.

Music welcomed them as the doors opened and they stepped out onto the concourse. The interior of the hub space station was larger than he expected, having been more used to the tight and economical spaces of most habits off-Earth. The New Rhodes Museum was clearly operating on a different scale, its wide and tall corridor stretching off into the distance, arcing up and out of sight with the curvature of the station, the far-off guests mingling on the steeply-inclined floor. A live jazz band was playing, and cocktails were immediately thrust into their hands.

“Welcome to the New Rhodes Orbital Museum,” said a petite young woman, who Kaminski momentarily mistook to be human until he noticed her precise, controlled movements and diction. A servant robot, then — there was no technical reason for them to not be entirely convincing, so it must have been an aesthetic choice by whomever owned the place. “We are processing your identifications. It will only take a moment.”

Time to find out if Justin was really able to slide quietly through the system without tripping any alarms. The servant stared into the middle-distance, smiling contentedly, then seemed to wake as if from a daydream.

“Clearance granted,” the servant said. “Thank you for your patience. Please explore the museum as you wish. We will notify you when it is time to convene in the Parthenon for our benefactor’s announcement.”

They’d planned it in advance, with Kaminski and Chakraborty assigned to head straight for the central Palinor exhibit while the the others investigated rooms elsewhere in the party.

And it was most definitely a party, superseding the museum’s presumably more academic or informative remit. Kaminski had to hunt to see the exhibits and artefacts, hidden between and behind banners and pop-up bars and food stalls, temporary dance floors and DJs installed such that there was never a chance of an absence of entertainment. The Palinor hall was a cavernous collection of objects he didn’t recognise: weapons old and new, statues and sections of ancient buildings, skeletons and stuffed carcasses of megafauna. In a cabinet across the room he spied the effervescent green of dopur fur, and carefully steered Nisha in the opposite direction.

He had to give it to Justin: for an AI, it had done a good job selecting their clothing. Nisha looked even more stunning than usual.

“See any books?” he asked.

She shook her head. The full glass of champagne remained in her hand, untouched. “Perhaps there’s a library section? Somewhere for manuscripts, that sort of thing?”

“You think? I’m not really the museum type. Don’t know where to even start.” He turned on the spot, taking in the space. “This station is enormous, if this is just one room. We might not find what we’re looking for, even if it is here.”

“Let’s keep looking,” Nisha said, tipping her champagne into a nearby planter.

Kaminski squeezed her hand. Max-Earth had been pretty good to them.

Clarke moved alone through the party reception, finding himself in a hall that bore the grandiose name of ‘the Parthenon’. He’d thought it simply hubris, until he’d entered and seen the Greek temple recreated in its centre. A mock-up or the real thing, he wondered. The museum was ostentatious, showy, a rich person flexing their wealth rather than offering any particular insights. Food, drink, servants.

Look what I’ve got.

Nobody else has this much.

He’d never much liked museums. Those in London were places for toffs to loiter, showing off how much they’d read at university. One big IQ wank. Clarke had always felt out of place in museums, waiting for someone to come up and demonstrate his lack of knowledge. The past was the past, and he dealt in the present. If he needed to know what had happened fifty years ago, it would be for a good reason, such as investigating an old case. History for the sake of it was a performance.

At least, that’s what he’d thought until Callihan was killed. All the pieces, all their problems could be traced back to the Joining. One hundred and fifty years before he’d even been born, that event had set his life on a path he could never avoid. That’s what had led him to the New Rhodes Museum, in search of an object they were going to steal.

Investigate portal-related crimes. That had been his job, once. Now he was helping keep some other son of a bitch cop employed. He hoped the book was worth it, that Lola’s new friend could do something with it. It sounded like a fool’s errand to Clarke, but Lola had faith in the plan.

He wandered the Parthenon, which had of course been turned into a dance floor, enjoyed some drinks, and aimed to play the part of a rich, old businessman. The old part was easy.

A bell rang. Someone ran up onto the stage, silhouetted. “My dear guests,” he said, speaking with a distinct American accent, “thank you all so much for coming. I know it was a long way for many of you. Space is a big, right?” Appreciative laughter spread through the room. Clarke stayed silent. “It’s OK, though. We’ll look after you.” The speaker stepped forward, the light still not quite illuminating his face. “Most of you don’t know who invited you, and don’t know me. That changes tonight.” The lights moved and he came into sharp relief. Clarke recognised the face, though it took him a moment to remember.

Shit. He hoped Justin was getting all this, and wished he had a way of communicating with the others. The operation had become a lot more interesting.

“I’m Charles Matheson,” he said, his voice projected from the stage to the entire hall. “And all of us here tonight, we’re going to change the triverse.”

NASA/MSFC

---

Meanwhile.

This week I’ve been reading various books. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott includes this piece, which we should probably all have printed up as posters to put on the wall behind wherever we prefer to write:

In tedious AI news, the UK government is — maybe, hopefully — having a rethink: UK ministers consider changing AI plans to protect creative industries.

If you’re in the east of England and are involved in the book industry in some way, the Norwich Book Festival is having a consultation next week. Maybe I’ll see you there?

This week the newsletter hopped over another milestone:

Thanks for being a reader. It really is quite a special thing to have you all here.

I’m finding Tales from the Triverse to be quite all-consuming at the moment. Such is the nature of final acts. Once I have some spare brainspace, I’ll be looking at what I can do to make Write More even more fun/useful/interesting/etc. Ideally, a mix of videos, tutorials, interviews, livestream chats and so on.

First, though, let’s dive into author notes.

Author notes

The heist begins! I’ve spent so long in Lola’s flashback sequence that it feels slightly odd to return to the ‘present’.

I thoroughly enjoyed hopping between different viewpoints this week. That was always the standard structure of Triverse chapters, but since the time skip we’ve been rather more focused on individuals.

Triverse has taken me down all sorts of interesting research rabbit holes over the last three and a bit years. Like that time I needed a space elevator with its Earth anchor in London, then discovered that made no sense because space elevators have to be positioned at the equator. The solution was a tripedal space elevator, it turns out. Or that time I had to rewind the clock and uncover what the southbank of the Thames was like in the late 18th century (wet, basically).

This week, it was all about rotating space stations. The von Braun concept, made famous by 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The idea of a rotating interior space to simulate gravity pops up in all sorts of other science fiction, of course - Rendezvous with Rama from Asimov, or Babylon 5, or the far more enormous ringworlds of Niven and the Halo games and Banks’ Culture novels.

Or, you know, you could just go to the fair:

None of this is especially important to what’s going on, but it’s fun to explore. In terms of the research, I need to know just enough for the story to make sense and have verisimilitude, even if very little of the research ends up in the text.

By the end of this chapter, which is fairly low-key, we have several factors in play:

• Our crew are on the museum space station, which can be considered hostile territory

• Matheson is also present

• We know from the previous chapter that there’s at least one high level host body on the station, which Probably Better could tap into

• They’re supposed to be stealing an item from the museum, ideally without getting caught

While part 1 keeps things quiet, I think we can assume it’s not going to stay this way for long.

Hope you enjoyed. See you all next week.