Hang the door in the notional space and step through – a logic jump-cut. They did this shit all the time – it was a temporary breakage to lead into a more permanent fix. He was following Brecht. Why? Rumours. The Uni-cyclist had been dropping his self-designed Tarot cards around the place for a week. The Juggler had been moving through metaphors for a fortnight – juggling representations of different solar systems. In this job you didn’t ignore portents.
Exteriorpoint, boot view-window, and program direction focus. Punch up the remote anchors, dial in the passageweigh, and then red carpet in. The localspace was ragged, was blistering, was not looking at all like it should. How many protocols would they have to break to make this omelette?
He found a pond – it was intention-mirroring on some fractal system … it meant that Brecht had been here. The ducks were on a transgressional migration loop that none of the locals were noticing – that meant someone else had been here. Who? The modus operandi of several ex-agents came to mind.
He had to wonder who was unaccounted for – he punched up a distance-thread for a database feed and scrolled through the names of the agents. Just as he had suspected – Brecht had broken communication. He wasn’t the only one, and all six agents disappeared at exactly the same time (that measured given dimensional drift). Ex-Agents who they actually had tabs on were depleted by three too.
What had Brecht been writing in here? What edits had he put in place? Who did that threaten? Some random engineer roaming around after agents and changing their writes? No – no such thing as random. Especially not with the disappearances.
There were more questions though – like, why the hell was the Central Reality Agency not flagging this up or telling anyone? Why were they not telling him? Either they knew, which was worrying, or they didn’t know, which was doubly worrying. Connected? No coincidence.
Ah, and what was this? A footprint, and in the centre of the footprint? A toothpick. So, someone was playing a game, but Brecht was playing right back. Good. Pieter was a bloodhound.