Blood Perfect: Part Fourteen

''Ms Rausch. Welcome to Principal.'' In the flesh Parx is a big man, chisel-jawed and not an ounce of fat on him. Too many hard edges for Flick's taste. He has a coldness about him which unnerves her. He is four fifths, maybe. Ever so slightly on the wain. He is clearly not the type to sample the merch. Or to let his face break into a smile. It seems ironic that he could be a Temperance player but Flick suspects his sense of irony is not well developed. She decides to take him seriously.

''You came in casual dress, how intimate. I'm honoured.'' Parx offers Flick a helping hand as Mikey docks. The jeans are a bit close-fitting for her to be able to use the pockets so she has brought a handbag for her bits and pieces. She puts it in Parx's hand and makes her way onto the platform unaided.

Principal might not be as big as the Huguenot Quarter but there's a lot more going on. The external space is tighter, more densely packed. Much of the original fluting has been, or is in the process of being, shaped into a more recognisably urban, square-edged style, much like the boxy new addition to the railway station. It is Temperance's way of taking ownership of its space. So while, higher up, the residential apartments retain the old fractal elegance, as you descend towards floor level the basalt structure becomes, by gradient, less curvaceous then, the lower you go, hewn with increasing definition into terraces. The overall effect, looking out from a midway viewpoint, is of being in a city of ziggurats as it is swarmed by a roiling cloud of serpents.

Also unlike Huguenot, Principal is lit from beneath. At floor level the led-gel frontages radiate a blaze of high energy light which, when you're in it, walking at street level, feels even more uncomfortable and disorientating than mid-afternoon in downtown Holroyd. Welding-grade sunglasses aren't just recommended, they're essential. You can only figure out where you're going by the sounds emitted by the various outlets and even then it's an impressionistic sense you get of the establishment you're about to walk into. Portals are expressed by a subtle shift in shading of the background light. People only wander into these depths if they're out of it, looking to be out of it, or up to no good whatsoever. The sub-floor levels are more easily accessed from the street for this very reason. Not recommended for a family day out.

The sensible approach is by skiff. The higher frontages get less intense quite quickly and by the thirtieth level offer plentiful opportunities for the discerning window-shopper. The terraced design also means that parking is never a problem and most outlets give over their lower storeys to this end, creating a decent buffer between what goes on above floor level and what goes on below.

Two hundred or so storeys up, the fractal heights are much dimmer and generally given over to residential. The lighting here tends to be much more cosy, emanating as it does from people's living spaces. Up here you can usually get enough dimness to sleep by if you turn off your interior lights. If you like it dark then there's always the option to obscure the portals.

Principal is generally considered to be the most cosmopolitan township within the mountain, although its satellites, Segonda and Tertial are also well-respected, if generally out of the average person's price range. Tertial, with its ceiling space undercrofting the floor of the caldera is reserved for the upper echelons of Temperance. No doubt Parx lives there.

''Forgive me Mr Parx, but I'm heading straight back to The Tower after this.''

''Please, think nothing of it.'' He himself is dressed to kill in his militia dress uniform.

They are standing on a patio maybe a hundred storeys up, where the light is equivalent to a late autumnal afternoon in a northern city. It's pleasant. The rather anonymous-looking portal she's standing in front of leads to the Queen of Spades, a very exclusive gaming establishment for the Temperance elites where, it is said, every deal of any significance that's been done between the empires of business and politics in the Temperance world has been cooked up. Parx either wants to give the impression he is taking Flick very seriously, or he actually is.

''Please, after you.''

Flick leaves Mikey with the skiff and steps through the portal. Inside, cool, silvery light sets the tone. Flick, who has always had a soft spot for the Temperance fuck-you style, is struck by how it has developed since Prohibition. The hourglass balustrades are that bit narrower, sleeker, made from imported black marble rather than the indigenous basalt. The banisters gleam like anti-matter. The broad staircase is shaped to provide a sense of perspective as it leans inwards to its partner opposite, the two flights, like shoulders, acting as a descending counterpoint to the crystal chandelier they meet beneath. The effect is of a diamond necklace, worn by the room itself. And nothing else. Gone are the finicky and pointless additions: the fluted coving and radiating vaults and climbing buttresses; the stained-field portals and faux graffiti on the walls with its banal, pseudo-non-conformist ideology and vapid social comment, the interminable references to sexual fetish, the commodification of the spiritual and the near pathological worship of the pharmaceutical as a means to achieve it. This is no longer the style of a brash young firebrand trying to make a name for herself. It has moved beyond being a rather garish, post-ironic backdrop to the main event - the twenty-four-seven Bachanalia Temperance has built an empire on - to become a thing in itself, an architecture of the sensual; hedonism distilled into its purest form, almost into an abstraction. Temperance has grown up.

And for all that, Flick finds it diminished; underwhelming. ''This place suits you,'' she says to Parx.

''Thank you.''

He leads her down the stairs one flight onto a mezzanine level overlooking the gaming hall. As they walk through the restaurant she draws respectful glances from some of the diners. She recognises one or two faces from back in the day but they look older now; fatter. Smugger. She couldn't put a name to any of them. Powerful people though. Parx is flaunting her.

He leads her through twice the length of the restaurant, practically, weaving a non-linear route between the diners to a balcony table with a bit of privacy and a view over the roulette tables. There is a distant clattering of balls and the murmur of polite excitement. The well-dressed and handsome croupiers.

''Can I offer you something to eat? I hear it's porridge night at The Tower.''

''Every night's porridge night at The Tower,'' says Flick. ''I would sell my soul for a steak.''

''I think that can be arranged.'' Parx catches the eye of a waiter who, thinking about it, was waiting for it to be caught.

''Everybody is spoiling me now they've got me in prison.''

''Nobody wants you in there for long,'' says Parx. ''At least not on our side, certainly.''

They talk about this and that until the food arrives. Flick asks about Kersten and Parx, sidestepping, talks about the progress Temperance has made since the war. Flick talks about Holroyd and hints at a life beyond that during the past fifth. Absently, she watches half a dozen balls on half a dozen tables circling then falling into whatever niches fate has chosen for them.

''Strange to think,'' she says, ''there's an unimaginable number of universes behind every throw of the dice.''

Parx looks blank for a second then says: ''To account for the superposition of every subatomic particle in that given universe at that given time. You believe in that do you?''

''It's proven, more or less.''

''Just because the multiverse is information-dense, it doesn't need to be infinite,'' says Parx.

''True.'' Every argument leads to Godh in the end. ''And even if it did, there are infinities and infinities.''

Parx goes blank again, then says: ''For example, a set containing whole numbers would be infinite, but would still preclude fractions.''

Flick nods. ''Godh could be a fraction.''

Parx rearranges himself as the steaks arrive. ''So you're not a believer?''

Flick tucks into the steak then speaks with her mouth full: ''No. I'm a scientist by nature. Gnostic only by birth. You?''

''I could believe. In principle.''

''Temperance allows this now?''

''Temperance has always encouraged spirituality - it helps sell drugs.''

''Just not Gnostic sprituality,'' says Flick.

''Oh, I don't know. Things are changing now we have peace.''

They eat for a while without talking. It's pleasant enough. Flick can't keep it up though. ''Tell me about the wyrmal,'' she says.

Parx puts down his fork, touches his chest as though she's given him indigestion. ''The science eludes me a little.''

''I'm sure that neural interface will pick up the technical parts.''

Parx doesn't bother denying it. ''First we need to agree rules of engagement.''

''Who's listening in?''

''Management.''

''Kersten?'' Flick's face brightens.

''The Chemist is creating problems for us. We're going to need you to hand him over. Quietly.''

''What do I get?''

Parx goes blank again. In his blank state he picks up his fork and continues eating the steak with slow, mechanical movements.

Flick taps her fingers on the table.

Parx remains blank.

''Kersten, if you're in there why can't we just have a one-to-one?''

Parx comes to. ''We can give you access.''

''To The Chemist? I'll be getting that anyway.''

''Access to the product, the labs, the intellectual property.''

''That's a start I suppose.''

''A start? What more could you want?''

''Any shift in the balance of power within the Hierarchy will lead to a shift between the Gnostics and Temperance, and any shift between Temperance and the Hierarchy will have an impact on the relationships the two of them have with Paradigm.''

''I understand that perfectly well,'' says Parx, without the need to consult 'management'.

''You're clearly a player,'' says Flick, diplomatically, ''and the people running you are obviously somewhere close to the top. That's a lot of influence. Politically.''

''You're going to use the Penitentiary Narratives as a platform?''

''I already am.''

Parx goes blank again. It's quite disconcerting to watch him eat in this state.

Parx comes round: ''Bring us The Chemist and our interests will align.''

''Smashing,'' says Flick. ''Now. Tell me about the wyrmal.''

Parx looks like his indigestion is back. ''We're not in a position to confirm whether he created it or found it but there are certain indicators. Our best guess is that something to do with his work on Gamechanger led him to something.''

''Makes sense. And what makes you think he's gone to ground in The Tower?''

''He has a place up in Tertial, amongst the old fractals. Very bijou. We had a look around.''

''And?''

''We were looking for his real name, his Gnostic name...''

''You don't even know his name?''

''He'd cleaned the place out pretty good but he'd left us the video and a note.'' Parx takes a piece of paper from his pocket and puts it on the table in front of Flick.

It reads: Arbitration have granted us asylum. Bring in Rux guFlecht
.
''We're assuming you know him.''

''This really increases my value doesn't it? Do you have a picture? His face is covered in the video footage.''

Parx looks apologetic. ''Never really had the need for one. There can't be that many Gnostics with his skill set.''

''This is true,''Flick concedes.

''Who's the us in this? Who's with him?''

Parx goes into one of his silences - a long one this time which involves his mouth moving as though he's having an argument.

Flick continues with the steak.

Eventually Parx comes round. ''We're not at liberty to say at this point,'' says Parx.

Flick rises from the table. ''Right you are. I'll be off then.''

Parx zones out again. Flick sits down, finishes the steak.

''We believe he has Kersten Karter,'' says Parx.

Flick stops chewing. ''Has her? As in?''

''As in has her with him.''

''As a volunteer? As a prisoner? As what?''

''We don't think he has used force against her.''

''Mmh.''

''We appreciate you have a certain... loyalty towards Kersten.''

''Too right.''

''The management don't believe they're acting against her interests in this.''

''Okay. But you'll forgive me if I keep an open mind.''

''We just want The Chemist. You can keep Kersten. If you don't help we'll put a price on both their heads. A big price. The integrity of the Gamechanger brand means a lot to us. An awful lot.''

''I bet it does.''

''This goes right into what Temperance is.''

''Okay, I get it.''

''Bring us The Chemist. We know you have clout with Arbitration.''

''I'll see what I can do.''

Parx sees Flick back to the skiff. She stands on the terrace by the balustrade and takes in Principal. It has grown up fast. She remembers the place when it was little more than a frontier town. A lot of the original fractal structure remained but had been cleared down at floor-level to make way for clusters of low-slung sheds: sullen-looking things with corrugated roofs housing breakfast diners for the bleary-eyed, burger joints, penny arcades, Djïnn studios, tanning galleries, tattooists, fingernail transplantation surgeries; anything, in fact, that could pass for a legitimate business out here in the arse-end of nowhere.

But the sheds at floor-level were just attics. Lift a couple of dented floor panels or kick through the odd graffitti'd lean-to and you'd find yourself in a world of tunnels and laddered shafts. It didn't really have to be like that - nobody was going to raid Temperance - but the minepunk aesthetic gave it that extra bit of bite. Once inside the warren you'd just follow your nose, or ears, or, if you were a regular, your muscle memory to find whatever drug dugout or shag-palace pressed whatever buttons you felt at that moment the particular need to have pressed.

Rux came here, like everyone else, to feast, fuck and get high but there was also business to be done for a young woman of her rank, with a good brain and radical tendencies. There was a new age coming and down inside the rock, beneath the brothels and Boomboom Theatres, great caverns were being opened to house tech start-ups. Over recent tenths there had been few genuine technological leaps, with most research funding going into refining field-tech, which was well past maturity by this time. Paradigm threw a lot of money into that, while the Gnostic Hierarchy, forever in pursuit of angels, funded research into gravity on a less applied, more abstract level, with a view to understanding wyrmals. Temperance, however, were more interested in biology. Specifically, they wanted to understand exactly what happened at the interface between the firing of neurons and perception itself. It was all to do with the dialectic between pattern-forming and impulse mechanics and it required an entirely new form of engineering. For those Gnostics from the old mining clans, bored of the conventions Paradigm worked within, it was too much to resist. They had much to offer and much to gain and even if they knew that ultimately their research was to go to the formation of new ''perceptual experiences in connection with the leisure market'' which was, at that time, unlawful, not to say downright heresy from a Gnostic point of view, anyone with eyes to see knew that the old Gnostic/Paradigm bilateral system wouldn't withstand the rise of Temperance forever. For those with any sense, the longer term survival of Gnostic culture relied not upon the rejection of heresy but in its assimilation.

The young Rux guFlecht, whose instincts steered her towards this latter, more progressive form of Gnosticism, ran two labs. The first was deep inside the Gnostic territories, where she was using wave-function manipulators in connection with gravity-field impulse engines (using fluctuating polarity, as opposed to standard A-G models) in an attempt to crack open little holes in spacetime. She had succeeded in producing a G Boson which at least demonstrated she was on the right track but she was a long way off creating a true wyrmal. The second lab was here in Principal, beneath a shed-cluster given over to the manufacture of micropore prophylactics. Her lab was three levels down and was dedicated to the investigation of stop-go chemistry: chemical compounds which, when subjected to electromagnetic pulses could alter brain patterning to such an extent that the test subject would flicker into a state of lucid dreaming so close to an actual alternate reality it became impossible for the subject to determine what was here and what was there. Eventually, with the help of the Nanuki, they were able to pre-set the compounds so that only an initial pulse was required to set the pattern sequences going. Boomboom was developed along these lines but at that stage they hadn't come anywhere close to creating Gamechanger.

As Rux progressed with her science, the cold war got gradually warmer and freedom of movement became difficult. There were ways, however, and Rux got good at it, developing friendships and networks that allowed her to pass between the two worlds. As time passed and it became clear to all that war was simply bad for business, she was ideally placed to act as go-between, raising her family's status in the process, while pursuing a much more liberal, pro-Temperance agenda than anyone in the Hierarchy realised.

Rux had given up the secret of the Nanuki to Telford and Kersten Karter, thinking that the whole thing would be blown wide open but that it was the only way to stop the war. Since Flick's return from exile it has become increasingly clear that the secret has been kept. Kersten's disappearance, then, is troubling indeed. Flick is concerned also for Telford, her friend from Paradigm.

Flick turns from the view and shakes Parx by the hand like she properly means it.

''Let's make this work,'' she says.

Parx nods.

She steps onto the skiff. ''To The Tower then,'' she says to Mikey. ''Let's get this done.''