Read Principles of Angels Online
Authors: Jaine Fenn
Principles of Angels (10 page)
Meraint was revising his opinion of her as the conversation progressed. Beneath her calm exterior, this woman was cautious, thorough and more than a little nervous.
‘There is some centrally regulated surveillance, but most recording devices are installed by the owners of the premises they are intended to protect. Accessing private surveillance footage would be an example of an extra expense.’
‘I see. And can I be assured of your confidentiality?’
‘Entirely. The fact that some of my customers would be operating outside the law on other worlds makes the system self-regulating with regards to the sanctity of data. For certain clients, a breach of trust could have consequences far more unpleasant than merely being taken to court.’
She looked a little alarmed at that and Meraint cursed himself for frightening her when he was actually trying to impress her.
She thought for a few moments, then nodded. ‘All right. I think I understand what I’ll be paying for.’ She traced down the list with a manicured forefinger. ‘So would a “full search” give me all the information known on a person, including that not publicly available?’
‘That is correct. Everything on record about them, sorted and arranged according to the criteria chosen by the client: personal, financial, business, whatever you choose.’
‘The person I need to find is not listed on the public com system.’
‘Ah. You are sure they are in the City?’
‘I believe so. But they may have bought a new ID.’
‘That does happen. However, if the information is available, a full search will root it out - hence the higher price.’
She looked mildly taken aback at his reference to money. ‘I will spend whatever is necessary, Sirrah Meraint,’ she said firmly.
That was what he liked to hear. ‘Of course - and you will find my charges very competitive. As is standard in our business, fifty per cent is payable up front, the remainder on successful completion. Now, if you would just like to place your cred-bracelet over the reader?’
The bracelet held only a moderate balance, but that just showed she wasn’t stupid enough to carry excess credit. As she withdrew her wrist her glance fell on the holo-pic on the stand beside his screen: his twin daughters, Shiana and Jialle, walking through the Zoo last year. Shiana, always the practical one, had a finger lifted to point to something out of shot, while Jialle’s mouth was open in a silent
oohh!
of delight. The picture held her gaze and she stopped, her hand still half-extended.
oohh!
of delight. The picture held her gaze and she stopped, her hand still half-extended.
Meraint cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Medame Reen.’
Her mask of calm dropped and Meraint glimpsed a flash of panic in her eyes. Then she sat back, her expression returning to one of polite interest. ‘Of course. Your credit reader displayed my name. I’m still getting used to these things.’
‘That is correct.’ She must come from a pretty unsophisticated world. Though he avoided dwelling on the motives of his clients, he suspected this one was not after information for personal gain, which made a pleasant change. ‘The City does take a little getting used to,’ he admitted.
She allowed herself a smile. ‘You could say that.’ She paused for a moment, then continued, ‘I—This is going to sound a bit odd, but I did wonder, when you addressed me by name, whether you had recognised me.’
‘No, I can’t say I did. Should I have?’ Yes, that was an odd question.
‘Actually I’m here to perform, but my area is very much a niche interest, so I would have been quite surprised if you
had
heard of me.’
had
heard of me.’
That explained it. He was going to have to disappoint her. ‘No, I’m afraid I was just taking your ID details from my reader, nothing more.’
Far from looking disappointed, she looked positively relieved. ‘I suppose you’ll need some more details from me. For the search.’
He smiled. ‘Firstly, a name.’
‘Lia Reen. Her name is Lia Reen.’
His client flushed slightly as she said the name. Same surname, too. It looked like this
was
a personal matter - a long-lost child, perhaps, which might explain her reaction to the picture of his children. ‘Is that L-I-A?’
was
a personal matter - a long-lost child, perhaps, which might explain her reaction to the picture of his children. ‘Is that L-I-A?’
She nodded. ‘And Reen like me.’
‘I’ll need some basic search parameters to get us started. Is she a visitor, or a City resident?’
‘A visitor - she came to the City six or seven years ago. I’m not even sure if she’s still here.’ She looked down at her hands; her earlier bravado appeared to be deserting her.
Meraint kept his tone light, trying to put her at ease. ‘That’ll give us somewhere to start, at least. Is there anything else you could give me? Age, nationality, stuff like that.’
‘I have a picture. Here.’ From her bag she produced a flatscreen head-and-shoulders of a young woman, standing outside, presumably somewhere on Medame Reen’s homeworld. She wore a green cape, and strands of dark hair poked out from under a broad-brimmed hat. Both hat and cape were covered in tiny beads of moisture - rain, presumably. An open sky full of purple-grey clouds was visible over her shoulder. The girl had pale skin and delicate features, with sharp cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin and a small, sensual mouth. Her eyes were dark and mesmerising. Meraint thought it a memorable, beautiful face, but somehow disconcerting, as though she were far older than her appearance suggested. She looked nothing like the woman sitting in front of him.
He cleared his throat. ‘Do you mind if I scan this in?’
‘No, of course not, if it will help find her.’
He placed the picture under his image reader. It beeped and he handed the picture back. ‘Facial matches can be difficult, but I’ll put requests into the public image libraries if we don’t get anywhere immediately. She looks to be in her late teens in this picture.’
‘That’s right.’ She made no move to narrow down his guess; talking about the girl was making his client uncomfortable.
‘So she would be in her mid-twenties now. And her nationality? ’
‘She would almost certainly have had a Khathryn passport.’
‘Khathryn? Right. Let’s see what we can find.’ He started a couple of basic searches using his desk keypad; he always preferred the confidentiality of using a keypad over the ease of voice commands. After all, if his clients knew where to look and how to perform the searches, he’d soon put himself out of a job.
Medame Reen sat quietly while the initial searches returned several ‘not found’ results. Unlike some clients, she did not believe he would get results more quickly with someone leaning over him asking if he had anything yet. After a couple of minutes the possible matches started coming in.
‘Aha, here we are. Or perhaps not. There was a Lia Reen here during the time window you’ve given me but she was in her eighties and was visiting from Luorna City. And another . . . no again; this was a forty-year-old woman, recently sex-altered, homeworld listed as Pasture, one of the Yazil orbitals.’
A red warning light flashed in the corner of the screen.
Elarn Reen, looking at him again, must have seen his expression change. ‘What is it?’
‘Probably nothing. Just a glitch. Corrupt data perhaps.’ He hoped.
‘Please, Sirrah Meraint, what exactly is the problem?’ She clasped the arms of the chair and leaned across the desk, trying to see the screen, not that the information would mean much to her; he always used on-screen encryption to discourage client curiosity.
He tried to keep his tone light. ‘Looks like I’ve just activated an archival flag. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Meaning that the data is there but has been archived, presumably? ’
‘Yes. Probably.’ Or that there was a trace on it and his software was trying to deflect the trace into archived records. But the client didn’t need to know that.
‘You don’t sound sure, Sirrah Meraint.’
‘This kind of data generally stays live for at least a decade before archival. It must have been transferred accidentally.’
‘Is that common?’
He considered lying, but he preferred to stick to the truth where possible. It made things simpler. ‘Not really.’
‘But presumably even if it has been archived you can get it back?’
He’d been distracted by trying to reassure her but now he turned back to the screen. The warning light blinked out, replaced by a message that indicated there were no further matches for the search criteria. It looked like it had been a trace; fortunately his software had been up to re-routing it. ‘Not in this case, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh. Is it possible the records were deleted?’
‘In theory, yes, but unlikely. The City systems run regular archival sweeps, but as far as I know, nothing is ever physically deleted. We record ID details and credit balances for every visitor, and that’s not the kind of data we just discard. I’m sorry. Given that I haven’t found anything, there won’t be any further charge for the service.’ He just hoped there wouldn’t be any unforeseen consequences. The fact that his software had come up with a ‘not found’ message implied the information had either never existed or it had been deleted. So why the trace?
She held out her wrist. ‘No, take the full fee. Consider it payment for your time.’
She probably thought she was buying his loyalty. Perhaps she was. If she really was looking for a lost child, then he would do his best for her. And the extra credit wouldn’t go amiss. ‘Of course, if you insist. Shall I run the image-scan anyway?’
‘I . . . yes, you’d better. I need to be certain.’ She sounded almost relieved that he’d failed.
‘It might take a while. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything. My com number is on the transaction receipt on your bracelet; do contact me if there’s anything else I can do for you. It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Medame Reen. Please allow me to show you out.’
She stood abruptly, but forced a smile as she left.
Meraint decided that, late or not, it was time for lunch.
When he got back to the office an hour later he had no reason to suspect anything was wrong. The outside door was closed and no alarms had been tripped. It was only as he sat down behind his desk that he noticed that the twins’ picture was missing.
The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise and he froze, listening. Someone was in the kitchen alcove, behind the curtain on the far wall. He could buzz for building security, but they charged a small fortune just to stick their heads round the door, and the only other time he’d had to call them - to deal with a drug-addled dissatisfied customer - they’d taken a frighteningly long time to arrive. His best defence was right in front of him. Meraint pulled his chair forward, resting one arm by his keypad and slipping the other hand under the desk to stroke the trigger for the set of three dart-guns concealed there. Even if only one hit, the drug in the hollow needle should sedate the intruder within a couple of seconds. Two, and most people would be unconscious. Three would take down
anyone
- assuming there was only one person of course. And assuming he could convince the intruder to come into range.
anyone
- assuming there was only one person of course. And assuming he could convince the intruder to come into range.
The curtain of the alcove was drawn back and a man he’d never seen before emerged, glass in hand. The intruder looked round in faint curiosity, as though he was checking out the office suite with a view to making an offer to buy. From his blond hair, heavy build and ostentatious suit of gold-trimmed dark green, Meraint concluded that he was from Yazil City. When the intruder finally deigned to look directly at him, his expression was disconcertingly neutral, almost blank. Without a word he raised the glass in a silent toast, drained it, and set it back on the work-surface.
Meraint decided to go for the casual approach and, hopefully, lull him into range. ‘Can I help you, sirrah?’ he asked pleasantly.
The man regarded Meraint and said, ‘You might be able to, yes.’ His voice was low and sonorous but husky, as though talking were not something he did often. His blue eyes looked hard. Meraint thought he had seen him somewhere before.
‘Would I be right in assuming that you require information?’
The Yaziler walked out of the alcove, but did not approach the desk. ‘Information, yes.’ He sounded disinterested, as though he did not much care what Meraint did, up to and including shooting him.
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