Helena Groome turned out to be a small woman with grey scalplocks, green lips and a floorlength white coat. She sucked slickorishe capsules, perfunctorily offering a squirter around but taking it back before anyone could accept or refuse a jet. Susan noticed Dr Groome had included the andrew in her indian offer. The doctor and Trefusis each palmed a wallslab and recited a meaningless but suggestive phrase into a vivicorder outlet – Dr Groome’s was ‘Home is the Hangman’, the governor’s ‘Pease Porridge Hot’. After some silent processing, an aperture appeared. Susan was shown through, and the andrew remained behind. ‘Welcome to Maximum, Ms Bishopric,’ said Dr Groome. ‘It’s a homey but it’s hell.’
The room was like a large hospital dormitory, with a double row of sarcophagus tanks. Only two were humming. The views above them flashed figures and readings Susan couldn’t follow. Printstrips piled on the floor by the tanks, waiting for the final check. Juliet stood by the tanks, vigilant. With her helm off, Susan could see her long, brown-toned hair. The marshal smiled and waved a greeting with her left hand. Seconds later, Susan realised why Juliet’s gesture appeared awkward: she was keeping her right hand free for the touch taser. Dr Groome fished a remote control pointer out of a pocket, and adjusted the master view. Daine’s face appeared again, a candid clip this time. The trespasser was deepsleep, his chin stubbled, REMming regularly. He had a laurel-shaped device twisted around his temples.
‘Recognise it?’
‘Of course, doctor. It’s a dreaming cradle.’
Dr Groome moved the image in on the view, revolving to get a profile. ‘Yes. Home-made, too. Some of the components must have been smuggled in. A young political was remaindered in the jail several months ago. Someone, not Daine, opened him up with their bare hands. We think the fixings for the dreamset were in his bowel somewhere. We’ve sampled the material. It’s some new synthetic, unremarkable but for one quality. It’s X-ray invisible…’
‘Another Truro Daine product,’ chipped in Trefusis.
‘Of course. Note these attachments here, Ms Bishopric. Behind the ear, through the cheek, and into the eye. It takes something quite considerable to insert a monofilament into one’s optic nerves by hand, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not a concept I’ve given much thought, doctor.’
Susan looked away from the view, and walked over to the active tanks. The face plates were opaque.
‘He’s in here, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right,’ said the governor. ‘Dreaming.’
‘Everyone’s a dreamer.’
‘No, Ms Bishopric. Daine’s Dreaming. Capital D Dreaming. Dreaming creatively. Like you.’
Susan looked at the view again, took in the smile. ‘I didn’t know he had the Talent.’
Trefusis stood by the left-hand tank, intent on the man inside. ‘Oh yes, one of his many Talents. He started young, you know. After he collected his parents’ insurance, he went into juvie porn. He was a star Dreamer on the black economy for several years. Up there with Elvis Kurtz and the Masked Mongoose. I believe his
magnum opus
was called
Anal Explosions of the Young Debutantes.
‘I must have missed that one.’
‘All copies were purportedly wiped by the Jesuits during the Second Moral Crusade, but the Vatican’s file copies have skulked onto the market. The King couldn’t afford the asking price, I believe, but several muse consortiums put in acceptable bids. Under several pseudonyms, he produced docuDreams during his career. Do you want to know what it feels like to be a mass murderer, Ms Bishopric? Care to sample patricide, fratricide, matricide, uxoricide, regicide, filicide, philicide, canicide, Alcide, genocide?’
‘Governor Trefusis, there’s nothing I haven’t done in Dreams.’
‘Don’t be so sure.’
‘Yggdrasil is merciful,’ cut in Dr Groome, ‘but it errored with Daine.’
‘So he’s
The room was like a large hospital dormitory, with a double row of sarcophagus tanks. Only two were humming. The views above them flashed figures and readings Susan couldn’t follow. Printstrips piled on the floor by the tanks, waiting for the final check. Juliet stood by the tanks, vigilant. With her helm off, Susan could see her long, brown-toned hair. The marshal smiled and waved a greeting with her left hand. Seconds later, Susan realised why Juliet’s gesture appeared awkward: she was keeping her right hand free for the touch taser. Dr Groome fished a remote control pointer out of a pocket, and adjusted the master view. Daine’s face appeared again, a candid clip this time. The trespasser was deepsleep, his chin stubbled, REMming regularly. He had a laurel-shaped device twisted around his temples.
‘Recognise it?’
‘Of course, doctor. It’s a dreaming cradle.’
Dr Groome moved the image in on the view, revolving to get a profile. ‘Yes. Home-made, too. Some of the components must have been smuggled in. A young political was remaindered in the jail several months ago. Someone, not Daine, opened him up with their bare hands. We think the fixings for the dreamset were in his bowel somewhere. We’ve sampled the material. It’s some new synthetic, unremarkable but for one quality. It’s X-ray invisible…’
‘Another Truro Daine product,’ chipped in Trefusis.
‘Of course. Note these attachments here, Ms Bishopric. Behind the ear, through the cheek, and into the eye. It takes something quite considerable to insert a monofilament into one’s optic nerves by hand, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not a concept I’ve given much thought, doctor.’
Susan looked away from the view, and walked over to the active tanks. The face plates were opaque.
‘He’s in here, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right,’ said the governor. ‘Dreaming.’
‘Everyone’s a dreamer.’
‘No, Ms Bishopric. Daine’s Dreaming. Capital D Dreaming. Dreaming creatively. Like you.’
Susan looked at the view again, took in the smile. ‘I didn’t know he had the Talent.’
Trefusis stood by the left-hand tank, intent on the man inside. ‘Oh yes, one of his many Talents. He started young, you know. After he collected his parents’ insurance, he went into juvie porn. He was a star Dreamer on the black economy for several years. Up there with Elvis Kurtz and the Masked Mongoose. I believe his
magnum opus
was called
Anal Explosions of the Young Debutantes.
‘I must have missed that one.’
‘All copies were purportedly wiped by the Jesuits during the Second Moral Crusade, but the Vatican’s file copies have skulked onto the market. The King couldn’t afford the asking price, I believe, but several muse consortiums put in acceptable bids. Under several pseudonyms, he produced docuDreams during his career. Do you want to know what it feels like to be a mass murderer, Ms Bishopric? Care to sample patricide, fratricide, matricide, uxoricide, regicide, filicide, philicide, canicide, Alcide, genocide?’
‘Governor Trefusis, there’s nothing I haven’t done in Dreams.’
‘Don’t be so sure.’
‘Yggdrasil is merciful,’ cut in Dr Groome, ‘but it errored with Daine.’
‘So he’s
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