Exurbia: A Novel About Caterpillars (An Infinite Triptych Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

it in his darker moments: that vile hour when the first wiremind woke up and took stock of the world. It would reach out into the planet communication networks and in one deft move take hold of trade, of the military, of the propaganda outlets, the retail centres, the black markets, the crèches, the radio telescopes. Everything entire. 
    They passed over the Turner Flatlands and began to descend in a lazy spiral. Jura looked for an enforcement outfit and could see none. Of course not, they’d hardly be dressed in uniform, halfwit . The pilot set the flyer down behind a warehouse. Jura climbed from the hatch, a plainclothes already waiting for him.
    ‘Professor Jura,’ the grunt said.
    ‘Presently.’
    ‘This way please.’ 
    There were more of them than usual, fifteen maybe, plainclothes, all probably straight from the recruitment centre. They crossed through alleys strewn with scrap metal and baby clothes and approached the door of a terraced hovel. The grass was cut . Perhaps it was exactly that which had given them away, a tended lawn on a street of weeds and tyre streaks. One of the plainclothes beat on the front door with a fist. ‘Raid,’ he shouted. The others took offensive positions. There was no answer. ‘Wiremind bust,’ said the plainclothes again, kicking at the wood this time. Eyes appeared at the window next door.
    ‘Storm it,’ said the superior. The plainclothes stepped back and one of the others took a glitz from his pocket. The door went up in a cough of vapour. 
    The hall was empty. Most of them ran in, the superior hanging back with Jura. Primal shouts came bursting from the windows. A few of the plainclothes emerged with two dishevelled men, cuffed already, both with morning hair and still in their dressing gowns. One fixed Jura with a stare as he passed, doubtless bound for some unforgiving holding cell for the rest of his life at the Bureau of Rehabilitation. Perhaps he had been a student of Jura’s at the Stratigraphics Faculty. It was not impossible. That indignant pro-Ix streak in the kids sometimes, rare though it was, gave way to maverick sentiments. A decade later and they were usually being led out of some projects hovel by a plainclothes, always with that bitter and quiet resentment on their faces. When the grunts were all out, the superior gestured to the front door.
    ‘Take a look around, Professor. That's why you’re here isn’t it?’
    Jura took the tineye from his pocket, clipped it to his lapel and began recording. The inside of the hovel bore the usual marks of neglected squalor. Detritus and mountains of unwashed dishes. These were men with a singular purpose. The usual pleasantries and appliances of comfortable living were absent. It was always this way.
    There was no point in going upstairs. It would not be there. It never was. He made instead towards what looked like a door to the cellar and descended the stairway. No need to find the light, the room was already suffused in the characteristic orange glow of t’assali. 
    ‘Gnesha’s knees,’ muttered the superior, following him in. ‘They were almost there, weren’t they?’
    Makeshift generators were scattered all about the cellar, power couplers and leads feeding the central podium. Atop it, five rings hung suspended in what must have been a Garlyle field, spinning fast enough to blur and intersecting. A pure ball of orange t’assali throbbed and waned at the heart of the rings. The sphere was still unstable, bobbing about uncertainly in the field. Still uncohered. 
    ‘It’s not…’ whispered the superior.
    Awake , thought Jura. That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? And then what would you do? Explode it, I should expect. Would that be murder by your definition?
    ‘No,’ said Jura. ‘But they were just days from it. Lucky we got here when we did.’
    He didn’t take his eyes from the t’assali sphere. ‘What will happen to the Ixenites?’ he said, unable to resist.
    ‘A quick trial, no