Jay Caselberg - The Star Tablet

Praise for Jack Stein, Psychic Investigator

Metal Sky

“If it’s more adventure and science fiction blended which is of interest, Jay Caselberg’sMetal Sky is the

item of choice…. The blend of science fiction with mystery offers satisfying elements of both.”

—Midwest Book Review

“[Caselberg’s] storytelling is brisk and accessible; it never loses your interest.”

—SF Reviews

“Nicely written.”

—SFRevu

Wyrmhole

“A fun, fast-paced SF mystery.”

—Booklist

“Fascinating and well-imagined…a terrific read, combining all the elements of great science fiction:

originality, speculation, and consequence.”

—Julie E. Czerneda, author ofMigration

“Complex, layered, black as night, unputdownable.”

—Stephen Baxter, Hugo Award–nominated author ofExultant

“Jay Caselberg weaves SF with mystery for a new spin on the PI genre. In a fluid, dreamlike world

where everything is changing, Jack Stein, Psychic Investigator, uses sharp-edged dreams to solve a case

of miners vanished off a distant planet. An adventurous romp of a first novel,Wyrmhole keeps you

guessing. The philosopher’s stone and alchemy shift into the digital age.”

—Wen Spencer, Compton Crook Award–winning author ofA Brother’s Price

“Just when you think no one writes classic science fiction anymore, Jay Caselberg comes along with a

novel that harks back to the Golden Age—but with a dark noir undercurrent that is firmly of today’s

cutting edge…. The Locality [is] a brilliantly imagined organic urban structure…a truly unique science

fictional environment…. [Stein is a] Philip Marlowe for the postcyber-punk age….Wyrmhole is an

ambitious, bleak, both entertaining and thought-provoking science fiction novel for the twenty-first

century. It comes highly recommended and carries with it the promise of great things yet to come.”

—Dusk

“Fans of futuristic crime thrillers like J. D. Robb’s Death series will definitely enjoyWyrmhole ….

Science fiction fans and readers who like private investigator tales, especially those who appreciate a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

strong convergence, will enjoy this futuristic urban noir.”

—Midwest Book Review

“A fast-paced SF crime thriller with an unusual twist to it…. The concept of a city that continuously

renews itself…is very nicely done. Also the way in which Caselberg ties the entire mystery in with

alchemical and cabalistic symbolism is particularly impressive.”

—Emerald City

“Wyrmholehas all the ingredients of a first-class SF/mystery crossover: a technological brainteaser with

semimystical overtones, investigated by a man with little to lose but a whole lot more to gain and a

dogged determination to succeed…. Very well written…Caselberg writes with an easy, flowing style; his

characterization is vivid and lively, his description is terse yet evocative, his dialogue is consistently in

character and believable.”

—The Alien Online

Jay Caselberg

THE STAR TABLET

-

ROC

Published by New American Library, a division of

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a

division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,

Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of

Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a

division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,

Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

ISBN: 0-7865-8899-3

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means

(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of

both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or

third-party Web sites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the

permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic

editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support

of the author’s rights is appreciated.

For Annie

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

As ever, my deep appreciation goes to Laura Anne Gilman for her input and advice. Also, of course, I

would like to thank my lovely editor, Liz Scheier, and my agent, Rich Henshaw. And, last but not least,

my thanks to Eric Lavalette for keeping me partially sane inthat place over decent lumps of flesh and

good glasses of wine, which can be found if you look hard enough.

One

Jack Stein craned forward in his seat, leaning over the front panel to try to get a better view of the

approaching city through the forward viewscreens, though the flier’s nose partially blocked the view.

He’d heard about the city, but the tales were nothing compared to the sight now becoming clearer in

front of the small craft. The small ship was on auto now, banking as it descended, avoiding other air

traffic on its way into Balance City’s port. Balance City. He could see now how it had gotten its name. A

thick rock spire pushed up from the canyon floor, spreading toward the top into a broad, flat surface.

Deep cracks and scorings climbed irregularly over the spire’s surface, disappearing into the darkened

shadow of the overhang. Atop the plateau sat the city proper, a construction of metal and shining glass.

Since the city’s beginnings, natural urban growth had spread buildings in an ordered grid across the

plateau’s surface and farther. The area had not been enough, so the residents had simply continued,

building out from the city’s lip to the opposite sides of the canyon. It looked exactly like the urban spread

was simply balancing atop the single spire that sat beneath it.

He’d been slightly nervous when boarding the flier on the orbital platform that served as the changeover

point on his journey, but not as nervous as he was now. These damned things were supposed to have

pilots, weren’t they? Not that Jack had ever been a particularly good air passenger of any form.

The flier banked again, and headed lower. Jack swallowed and frowned, wondering what was

happening. It looked as though they were flying too low, moving down beneath the city elevation, and he

swallowed again, stretching forward for a better view. Perhaps it was just the approach path. Any

moment he expected the flier to swoop up again, but then he saw why and he released his breath.

Beneath the outgrown platforms at either edge of the plateau, construction had continued down as well as

sideways. Buildings clung precariously to the spire’s sides, struts and braces holding them in place, all

uniformly colored in green or yellow, varying shades, but giving a subtle patchwork feel.

“Huh,” he said to himself. Balance City’s port was there, not above, but below. A wide flat area sat

suspended beneath the platform, and his flier was close enough now that he could start to pick out

individual craft arrayed in neat rows along its length. The order echoed the order of the city above. What

the hell did Billie want to come here for anyway? It just didn’t look like the sort of place in which she’d

really be comfortable. Billie wasn’t particularly one for the regimented life, especially not with her origins

amongst the dirt and squalor of the Old end of the Locality. She’d lived most of her life without rules,

without constraints. For that matter, Balance City didn’t look like the sort of place Jack Stein would be

at home in either. His comfort level was shaped by dirt and squalor too.

Jack shook his head, not that there was anyone to see the gesture. Billie had had no right to take off like

that. Not that he could have stopped her. He had some sort of say in her activities, since they worked

together, shared space, but he didn’t really have the right to stop her doing what she wanted. Okay, he

spoke of her publicly as his niece, but the only bond that had brought them together in the first place was

mutual convenience. They worked together. And yeah, the bond of their friendship had grown since then,

but even after all this time, he knew that the only authority he had over her was that which she allowed

him. She was getting older now, as well, and that didn’t help matters.

The flier slowed, easing into alignment with the docks, and Jack sat back. There was no point running

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

over the whys and wherefores. Finding her and making sure she was okay was the important thing. The

conversation with Heering had been too thin on detail. All he really knew was enough to suspect that she

was in trouble, and if she was in trouble, she needed him. That feeling deep in his guts, that sharp-edged

spear of cold that set his senses bristling, had been enough to drive him to scrape together what

resources he needed. He’d put the fare together and made his way to Utrecht, carrying what he hoped

was enough to cover him for the time he needed to be here and whatever he needed to do to find her. He

was a PI, for Christ’s sake. How long was it going to take him to find one teenage girl? Okay, that

teenage girl was Billie, but still…

As the small ship pulled into what amounted to one vast, suspended hangar, Jack scanned the surrounds.

Metal walls, neatly marked bays, directional signs placed at even intervals and tracks running between

the bays. The varied array of fliers sat within the bays, edge aligned to edge…not a one of them out of

place. Yellow diagonal patterns clearly marked the acceptable parking placement. Jack slowly shook his

head again. Oh, he was going to have fun here; he could already see that. He thought he’d had enough

ordered neatness in Yorkstone, but this was much worse than that.

Other than his frayed nerves from the flight, he seemed to have arrived in one piece. The flier nestled to a

stop and an automatic grapple locked on beneath without pause. He heard the clunk, felt the smooth

transition between the flier’s power and the geared traction that started drawing the craft across the

hangar floor. There was a slight unevenness as the automated mechanism drew the flier around and off to

one side, but the sound of machinery was as smooth as their motion. Gradually, the small craft slowed

and eased into an empty bay, perfectly aligned with the diagonals. Jack sat where he was, waiting while

the flier powered down, patiently allowing a few seconds to see if anything else was going to happen.

Deciding that nothing was, he unstrapped himself and stood, stretching out the kinks from the long flight

down.

“Mr. Stein, if you would make your way to the reception area with your luggage please.” The voice

came from all directions.

“Yeah, but…” said Jack, looking around.

“The reception area is clearly marked. Please follow the yellow signs and bring your luggage. Please do

not deviate from the directions.”

The faceless voice went silent, and a moment later the flier’s door whirred open.

Okay, thought Jack…if that was the way they wanted it. He grabbed his bags from the back and

stepped out of the craft. Immediately in front of him was posted a yellow sign in five separate languages.

The words he could understand saidRECEPTION . He grunted and headed in the direction indicated.

Yellow lines marked the path as well as the signs.

There was something not quite right, something that felt out of place, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He hitched the luggage strap on his shoulder, not even bothering to check that his bag was skimming

along behind, dutifully doing as the voice had instructed, although the temptation to break off and examine

the place was strong. After a couple of minutes, he noticed exactly what was missing. It had been

working at him and he’d been unable to pin it down, but now…every port Jack had ever been in was

covered in stains, the marks of passage, the smell of fuel and exhaust, and in his line of work he’d spent

enough time around ports drinking in their chemical-edged taint. This place was pristine. An overtang of

something metallic touched the atmosphere, but the smell was slick and clean, just like the rest of the

dock.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Another turn led him through a couple of parked fliers and some neatly stacked crates. A small

passageway stretched in front of him, dark, but as he stepped into it lights sprang on and bathed it in

brilliance, harsh and clean. The corridor stretched on before him, a single door at the end. With a brief

shrug, he headed up toward the end of the corridor. Moments before he reached it, the door silently slid

open. It closed again as soon as he and his luggage were inside. There was the slightest warning sound,

and then the elevator whisked him upward.

The door slid aside to reveal a drab open space, desks at the end with yellow lines leading right up to

them. Jack took the hint and wandered toward the closest desk. Another line showed him where he

should stand. Lines everywhere. Things just begging to be crossed. Behind the desk sat a woman…at

least he thought it was a woman, though the mustache was a little confusing. She/he sat staring down at

something concealed from view. Jack cleared his throat. She—he’d decided she was actually female, not

that it really mattered; it just gave him some sort of context to work with—did something on the desk in

front of her and glanced to one side without looking up in his direction, although he was clearly the only

arrival in the place. Jack cleared his throat again. Finally, with a sigh, she beckoned him forward, still

staring fixedly down at the desk in front of her.

“Um…” said Jack.

“Mr. Stein,” she said, at last deigning to look up.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I see no authority to travel.” She fixed him with a blank, expressionless look.

“Huh?” said Jack. “Authority to travel? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighed again. “You come to Utrecht, you need an authority to travel.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” said Jack. It was news to him. “Look, okay, I don’t have the proper

authority. Can we do something about it?”

She glared at him, hardly what he’d expected. Jack was telling the truth. He’d heard nothing about any

authority. He’d gotten the message about Billie and dropped everything—not that there was a lot to

drop—to get to Utrecht as quickly as he could. He tried a smile.

“Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t know I needed any ‘authority.’ Can we sort it out here?”

This wasn’t good, and Jack was starting to feel distinctly nervous. He should at least have had some

warning.

The official tutted and sighed, looking down again at whatever was in front of her. A low partition

shielded it from Jack’s view. She tapped at the thing, glanced to the side, then looked back at him.

“You know, this is most irregular,” she said.

Jack dug around for his handipad and flipped it open. “Look,” he said. “All I know is that I received this

message from a Dr. Heering at the University of Balance City saying I was wanted here.”

She waved his handipad away and shook her head. “This is not proper procedure.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

It was Jack’s turn to sigh and grit his teeth. Here he was stuck with some petty official, and he certainly

had matters that were more pressing. Far more pressing. He fought to keep his voice under control.

“Look, I’ve already said I didn’t know anything about it. What do I have to do?”

His growing annoyance simply washed over her. “You must have the correct authority. You must have a

formal invitation.”

“I’ve just shown you the invitation. What more do you need?”

The woman got to her feet. She smoothed her khaki trousers, pulled down on the canary yellow shirt

with its official insignias, and turned away.

“Hey!” said Jack.

“Wait here,” she said, and disappeared behind a partition. He stood rocking on his heels for a good ten

minutes before she reappeared.

“Follow me,” she said, leading him past the partition into a small blank room with a desk and a couple of

chairs. “Sit there.”

Jack did as instructed, letting his luggage settle like some strangely inanimate pet. From his chair, he had

a partial view of the corridor beyond, but that was about it. The official stood watching him for a few

moments, then turned and made her way up the corridor. She was joined at the end by a severe-looking

dark-haired man. They both turned to gaze in his direction, talking, their heads close together. There was

no doubt about the topic of their conversation. He was starting to understand why Utrecht wasn’t exactly

a top tourist destination.

Jack kept his face impassive with some effort. He couldn’t afford to piss these anal bureaucrats off, not

yet. Nonetheless, he stared in disbelief as the man/woman—he had decided that he wasn’t sure

again—took hold of his luggage and pulled it away. What the hell?

“Hey!”

She/he ignored him. Somewhere, no doubt, some other uniformed official was about to take it apart,

piece by piece. Luckily, he didn’t think there was anything in it to cause concern. He had wisely chosen

not to bring a weapon along for that very reason. Weapons and border guards never made very good

company. All the same, he just didn’t need this shit.

He was afforded an uninterrupted view of the empty corridor, the empty room, the blank ceiling, the

blank floor, so he turned his attention to his fingernails. Actually, they could have done with a cleaning.

He occupied himself with picking at them to kill the time. Meanwhile, he tried to suppress thoughts of

what might have dragged him out here, the deep feelings working inside his chest, the emptiness in the pit

of his stomach. Jack knew better than to ignore those intuitions. Billie had little trouble looking after

herself; she’d proved that on more than one occasion, and he wouldn’t want to be the person who

crossed her. She was going to be more than pissed with him, no doubt. He shook his head. Whatever the

inner prompt that had been driving him was, he’d find out as soon as he found her. The only worry he

had was that she’d gotten herself in trouble with the local authorities somehow. From everything he’d

seen so far, it looked like it was something that would be easy enough to do.

The androgynous official was back again but without company.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Mr. Stein, if you will follow me, please.”

Jack pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck as he followed down the corridor. They

were joined at the end by the man he’d seen before, who beckoned them both into a stark office.

The man indicated that Jack should take one of the simple metal chairs placed in front of a neatly

ordered desk. Folders sat stacked on one end. Another neat little desk sat at the other end with a couple

of stamps and a stamp pad. Jack’s heart sank. This was the true mark of bureaucracy. Actual paper and

stamps. Those things were expensive. Well, maybe they weren’t on Utrecht, but they were luxury items

everywhere else he’d ever been. They told him one thing: They were marks that no expense was spared

in support of the regime. All the props—just what he really needed. Beautiful. He barely contained the

sigh.

The official adjusted his uniform before sitting on the opposite side of the desk, steepling his fingers in

front of his face and fixing Jack with a hard gaze.

“So, Mr. Stein. We appear to have a problem.”

“Look,” said Jack. “I’m not the one with the problem. I received a message that I was needed here. So

I haven’t got the proper paperwork. Can’t we just sort it out here, now?”

The official continued, ignoring Jack’s words. “You see, normally, it is standard for someone to get the

relevant authority before they arrive on Utrecht. I am considering whether perhaps we should send you

back up to the orbital station, where you can make the appropriate application through the proper

channels.”

Jack barely suppressed a groan. “No. I can’t afford the time that would take. Isn’t there anything you

can do?” Though it hurt him to say the next, he said it anyway. “Please?”

The official considered him for a few moments. “Exactly whatcan you afford, Mr. Stein?”

Ah, so that was how it was going to be. “Um,” he said carefully.

The steepled fingers were tapping together in front of the official’s face.

“Um…” said Jack again. “Um…one…” The official’s eyes narrowed. “Two…” This time the official

glanced over at his coworker. “Okay, three. Three…hundred.”

“Very good, Mr. Stein. I can see that your business in Balance City is very important and we must not

delay it. If you can show me your handipad with the appropriate letter of invitation and the associated

figures, I am sure we can get the forms processed immediately.”

Jack nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, and dug into his coat for his handipad. He thumbed it

back on, hit the financial transfer, and slipped the device across the desk. The official whipped out a

machine, something big and clunky, quickly took the transfer, and then spirited it out of sight, all the while

making a show of poring over Jack’s device.

“Yes,” he said. “This communication seems to be in order.” Without looking up, he waved his

companion away and reached across for one of the folders. Jack sat, his hands folded in his lap, resisting

the urge to twiddle his thumbs while the man across the desk turned pages in the folder, slowly reading

them without looking up. Minutes later the official reached for one of the stamps and thumped it down on

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

the bottom of the form with a flourish.

“There,” he said. “Make sure you carry this paper with you at all times. It is not enough to have identity

documents in Balance City. This will vouchsafe your authority to be here conducting your business. What

is your business here, Mr. Stein?”

“It’s personal,” said Jack. There was no way he was going to tell this guy he was a PI. No way at all.

When it had come to the part on the form asking for occupation, he’d said consultant. It was an old trick

from his intelligence days, official enough to sound sort of high-powered, but vague enough not to give

anything away. And anyway, the guy had seen enough, and Jack had seen enough of him. If he said

anything about coming to see family on Utrecht, it was bound to pique the guy’s curiosity. Who knew

what sort of tabs this place kept on its citizens?

“My luggage?” he asked.

“Yes, certainly. Follow me.”

And that was Jack’s first introduction to Balance City. He dragged his bags by their leash into an

elevator, which zipped him rapidly up to surface level, and he stepped out of a glass box where the

elevator terminated, and into the middle of an open plaza.

Two

Digging out his handipad again, Jack tapped up a map of the area and turned it this way and that until he

was oriented. His hotel was about two miles across the central part of Balance City. The university was

farther out. He checked his credit balance, but he figured he still had enough to get him around without

cutting into the emergency supply. But where the hell was he supposed to get a cab?

If worse came to worst he could walk, but he didn’t want to waste the rest of the day, and really, it was

the last thing he was inclined to do. There was enough time to be able to dump his luggage and still get to

the university before things shut down for the night if he got to the hotel soon enough. Dammit, he didn’t

even know what time things closed around here. He’d just become too used to Billie looking things up

for him if they had to go somewhere. And hopefully there, at the university, Jack would find out what was

stirring the sense of unease deep inside him. That was the last place he’d heard from Billie, and the place

where the odd little university man had spoken from, telling him to come. Billie and he had been in fairly

constant touch on and off, punctuated by gaps of a few days, sometimes as much as a week, but nothing

as long as this last one. Then, the silence and the call that had brought him here. Still, he should have

found out more about the place.

Lazy and stupid, Jack.

He looked around himself, trying to get his bearings. The plaza stretched about him, gray, uniform blocks

inserted into one another like the pieces of a jigsaw. Metal seating ran in an even row all around the outer

edges. Apart from the seats and the glass elevator booth that he had just stepped out of, the space was

empty—empty except for one feature that stuck out, impossible for him to ignore. Standing off in one

corner was a ludicrously large cartoon representation of some sort of hopping insect, all done out in

bright green and yellow. It could hardly be art; it wasn’t even pleasant to look at. Oh, yeah—it probably

had something to do with travel, some supposedly cute representation of “hopping” from place to place.

There were no other signs indicating what this open expanse might be, so he guessed it was meant as a

visual cue. Still, they could have used a bit of taste when choosing their signage, couldn’t they?

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Jay Caselberg - The Star Tablet

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: