Chapter 2. New World.
Damian was gently swaying in the "Compass"—he even had a seat in standard class, not economy. It was clean, pleasant, and most importantly quiet, which allowed him to fully concentrate on studying the information about his case. Because it had completely captured his attention. After Agnes left his office yesterday, he had stared into the fog for a long time. He paced back and forth, from window to door and from door to window. Sometimes he would stand by the door and listen to sounds coming from behind it. But there were no sounds. Not surprising, since his office was the only room on the floor, and on the first floor there was a tightly boarded-up closet that no one ever entered and two exits to the street. He also lingered by the window for extended periods, peering into the empty streets filled with fog, expecting either Agnes to change her mind and return to take the case away from him, or some enforcers sent to dissuade him from it. And he didn't even know which scared him more. With enforcers everything was simple—you could negotiate, but he really didn't want to argue with Agnes.
Then his mind was seized by thoughts that he had never even come within several domes of the Crown, let alone entered one of its domes. He now paced from one corner to another, trying not to look at either the door or the window. He kept thinking and thinking, and now what frightened him more was how the residents of New Holigard would react to him. Him in his simple clothes, playing at being a real detective among refined people from high society dressed in their finery. He couldn't even imagine what they wore, as he had never seen a Crown resident. Yes, yesterday he had seen Agnes—she was dressed magnificently, but he couldn't remember a single detail of her wardrobe. He remembered that her clothes were red, some very beautiful shade of red. But if asked to show exactly which shade, he couldn't. He also couldn't describe any other item of her wardrobe; he didn't remember a single detail of her appearance. At times he feared he wouldn't recognize her at all if he met her, though she didn't give the impression of being an unremarkable girl. One thing he could say for certain—he remembered her eyes. Just the memory of her eyes made him recall that very look, and it seemed she was watching from the darkest corner of his office. At some point, Damian stopped in the middle of the office and looked at the tablet. He stared at it so long and intently as if expecting it to speak. But it lay quietly in the same place. At some point he realized this couldn't continue, and he really needed a drink. With a sharp movement and quick step, he rushed to the door, grabbing his trench coat along the way, and went down to the first floor without even bothering to properly close the door. He approached the bar's entrance door and grasped the handle, then froze again in his thoughts. Now he was trying to remember everything he had been taught. He recalled how to conduct a case, what procedures were necessary—searching for clues, questioning witnesses, gathering information. And this whole wave hit him with new terror—he remembered nothing, and consequently he would fail at everything, and he would let down his first real client in his first real case. And since this was a very high-profile case, everyone would know about it; in all the domes they would know that Damian Row was a complete failure, and he'd be searching for cats for the rest of his life. He was pulled from these thoughts by a group of workers whose path he was blocking. He started, apologized, and went back to his place. Reaching the door of his office, he read his sign once more: "Detective Agency. Private Detective Damian Row." "This is him, and he's damn well a detective. If he doesn't know something, he'll find out. After all, that's what a detective's job is." And with these thoughts and an even greater desire to drink, he headed to the bar. Where he froze again before the window, thinking about the priority of tasks and that perhaps drinking now wasn't the best idea. And so he wandered from bar to office and back several dozen times. Quite exhausted, he decided that he wouldn't be able to drink today, and tomorrow he needed to be at full strength, so he decided to go to sleep and sort everything out with a clear head in the morning. However, he couldn't fall asleep; he tossed and turned in bed, meditated, lit an aromatic lamp and completely aired out the room afterward. But he never found sleep. He decided to seek solace in the cards, but the only card that appeared was still the same "New World." He turned the card in his hand, returned it to the deck, and decided that since he couldn't sleep, he should refresh his knowledge. He took out his rather dusty notes, his study tablet, and began remembering everything he had been taught. That's how he spent the night, and then in the early morning hours, when normal domes had the first rays of dawn while here there was sunset sun, he gathered everything necessary—namely the tablet Agnes had given him—and set off for the station. He really didn't want to take the "Spiral," the train that spiraled toward the center—the longest but cheapest option. He wasn't even sure if the "Spiral" went to the Crown. But rummaging through Agnes's tablet, he discovered a travel pass for the "Compass," which went to the central domes in a straight line. He immediately boarded the nearest departure and set off, meanwhile studying information about the victim—Abraham Amry.
Damian opened the biography file. Much introductory information was gathered here.
Born into a wealthy family, his parents were co-founders of Holigard, and then after their deaths he and others completely rebuilt the residential dome, adding a new name to it. Like any other child of wealthy parents, he attended expensive schools, visited even more expensive tutors, and learned from the best. What was unusual was his religiosity—usually rich children aren't known for their desire to attend church, let alone participate in any church activities. But here were choir and education in a church gymnasium, study of scriptures, theory and history of religion. He practically became a holy father, but then an accident took the lives of his parents and other co-owners of Holigard. Interestingly, during the celebration of one of the church holidays, an accident occurred due to safety violations, killing all those gathered. By coincidence, none of the heirs were present because they were doing practicum in the government quarter. There was a big workers' strike then and they were blocked. The Polis was only being built and flourishing then, new residential domes were appearing everywhere, and there were heaps of problems with various systems—somewhere a pipe would burst and there'd be no water for a week, somewhere a wire would break, and a thousand and one other troubles that accompany new beginnings. And people were striking about everything. And consequently there was nothing surprising about the accident that occurred. Then long years of labor, dome improvement, numerous awards and prizes, and a dozen works on economics and business management. He married quite late—he was over 50 when he and Agnes wed. And a long, uninteresting life until the day it ended.
They had no children, which seemed very strange. Why marry at such an age, to a woman much younger than himself, and not plan to leave any heirs behind? There was practically no information about Agnes, except that they met when he was giving lectures in one of the numerous domes he patronized. He taught people, helped with arrangement financially. And on one of these trips they met and fell in love. And lived happily ever since. The tablet had many photographs confirming this. After marriage, Agnes became his right hand in his business affairs and took over most of the charity work.
Strange that in all these years after his parents' death, the only mention of any connections was that he regularly made small donations to a religious organization located in the most remote corner of the Polis. He had never been to that part of the Polis, and the only thing he heard was that conditions there were even worse than in his dome. In terms of providing various amenities—otherwise everyone agreed that quite good people lived there. Though on the other hand, this wasn't strange at all; this wasn't his choice, he was born into such a family, perhaps religion wasn't his.
One could safely say this was his entertainment, as there was much more information about his business achievements. His main achievement, which he was very proud of, was his Duality club, to which he had devoted more than a few decades. It seemed he had invested enormous efforts so that all famous people would visit his club. And I mean literally everyone. There were photographs here of people who played huge roles in the Polis's structure. Here were politicians and rebels, scientists, art and culture figures, media personalities. Here was everyone you could imagine. This must be a very interesting place.
Several hours passed studying the information. Damian didn't notice how he had only an hour left until his destination. And his stomach made itself known for the first time since yesterday. It seemed that immersing himself in work had pushed his nerves to the background, and he urgently needed to eat something. Looking around for any signs of a place in this train where he could get food, he saw that the appearance of people in the car had substantially changed. Instead of many people in simple clothes at the beginning of his journey, now there were men in business suits and ladies in dresses. He wouldn't call them refined, but he wouldn't call them simple either, though depending on which dome you're talking about, somewhere people dressed like this for the most "elegant" receptions. They mostly sat alone or in pairs. Somewhere groups of people appeared, but they were dressed in servants' uniforms. He slightly envied them—if their masters hadn't spared the expense for standard class tickets for them, maybe their working conditions were good too.
He saw a steward enter the car and move through the cabin, glancing at passengers in case of any requests. He was surprised because he didn't know if the steward had been in the car from the beginning of the journey or had only appeared recently. Damian waited for the steward to approach him and inquired about food, but the steward regretfully informed him that the train only had a small selection of snacks and a very large selection of drinks. Obviously many needed to brighten their journey and dull their sense of reality with alcohol. Declining any drinks, he satisfied himself with a small packet of nuts and began waiting for arrival. He didn't have long to wait. The "Compass" arrived in New Holigard precisely at noon. And Damian, stepping off the train, was blinded by the local sights. Because looking here was physically painful—the perfectly adjusted blue sky with summer sun hanging at zenith created so much light that bounced off snow-white buildings, then off the perfectly clean snow-white marble sidewalk, then off doors' silver and gold handles polished to a shine, decorations of wall reliefs and street lamps. And then all this reflected light directly into Damian's unaccustomed eyes. It took him some time to recover from this. He stood with his eyes squeezed shut and was very glad he couldn't see what looks the local inhabitants were giving him.
Damian stood with his eyes squeezed shut; the pain in his eyes wouldn't go away. He decided to concentrate on something else. It was surprisingly quiet here. More precisely, the sounds were completely different from those in his dome. It was quiet here—even the departing train, entering a special tunnel, stopped making any sounds. Even the footsteps of those around made no sounds, only a slight rustling. And then a light breeze ran across his cheeks, and he heard the rustling of leaves. Real leaves on real trees. Damian had only imagined such things when they played recordings of living nature in school, though he certainly preferred the rustling of autumn foliage or the crunch of snow. But experiencing this live was completely different. There were probably many trees around here, as the sound continued for quite a long time, sometimes intensifying, sometimes fading. Damian even instinctively took a deep breath, which only made him think about his life choices—he thought he should have gone for some government position and fought his way to the top at any cost, just to end up here later.
He opened his eyes; they had stopped hurting and seemed to have fully adapted to this light. He looked around—no one was left on the platform except him and a solitary cleaner. Who, in fairness, it should be said, was dressed better than him and swept with a very elegantly made broom.
Damian found the exit with his eyes and wandered there. Leaving the station building, he found himself in a huge square that was indeed planted with a huge number of real trees and more resembled a park. Everywhere there were many elderly people in refined clothes—some strolled around the square, some conversed on benches placed in large numbers in various places, some peacefully dined in cafes with outdoor tables.
He opened the map on the tablet that he had found earlier and headed toward the club. Despite being quite hungry, he somehow didn't want to enter the local cafes.
The walk turned out to be short—like the station, the club was located in the very center of the dome. Not far from the station, and it even seemed to Damian that Duality was the very center of the entire dome, and all roads led to it. The club itself was located on yet another square, towering among low buildings along the perimeter. All roads seemed to converge here, and over each of them at the entrance to the square was an arch of unusually black marble, like the club itself. This stood out sharply from the general design but also attracted the eye. Damian looked around—the square frightened him a little. Besides the club, there was nothing here—no cafes, no shops, nothing. And even the entrances to buildings surrounding the square were on the other side, while only windows faced the square.
He climbed the steps to the entrance and entered through an absolutely terrible door that seemed hastily and roughly knocked together from boards. The door was low, so low that most people would probably have to duck when entering. Behind the door was a semi-dark foyer lit by imitation living fire. A man of strong build in a snow-white suit approached him:
"Welcome to Duality. Can I help you with anything?" "Hello, yes. My name is Damian Row, I'm a private detective," Damian said, taking out a business card from his left pocket and the tablet from his right. "And I also have a pass here from Miss Agnes Amry."
The guard looked at the business card and the pass that Damian opened. Then he took out his communicator and contacted someone, and the next moment he gestured toward a door that had opened in the corner and said:
"Please go through, you're expected."
Damian looked around once more. He hadn't noticed this door before, and it didn't lead to the main hall, as the one leading to the main hall was large and stood opposite the entrance, and was still closed.
Behind the opened door was a well-lit corridor with only one door at its other end. This was probably a staff corridor, Damian thought. As soon as he entered it, the door behind him closed, and then the one at the far end opened. Behind it was a small hall with three doors bearing signs "Security," "Kitchen," and "Administration." The administration door opened and a girl in a snow-white pantsuit came out and addressed Damian with a smile:
"Good afternoon. The manager is expecting you, please follow me."
And she disappeared into the doorway. Damian followed her. Behind the door was a small staircase leading to the third floor where the office was located.
The office was large—there were ten desks where secretaries sat, with doors on the sides leading to managers' offices. And opposite the entrance was the director's office. The girl who had met him pointed to the door leading to the left office and said with a smile: "This way, please."
In the office, he was met by a short man who appeared to be about 60 years old. He smiled broadly at Damian and seemed very sincere at first glance. He extended his hand in greeting and introduced himself, and without wasting time began telling how he knew Abraham Amry. His name was Jerome. His parents had worked for Abraham's parents and died with them in the accident. From childhood, he had spent much time at his parents' workplace, that is, in the Amry house. They didn't mind, so he had known Abraham since childhood—they were quite friendly. Abraham was very kind and always treated him respectfully. However, Jerome's parents died together with Abraham's parents, after which Abraham took guardianship over him and gave him a home, food, and work. So he had been Abraham's trusted person and partner ever since. After several decades of working together, Abraham came to him with documents for part of everything they had built together.
"You understand, he was such a kind person. He valued everyone he worked with and tried to make everyone's life better. You ask anyone who works here or in the central office—no one will speak badly of Mr. Abraham. I can't believe he's not with us anymore, such a tragedy for all of us." At these words, the smile completely left Jerome's face, and tears appeared in his eyes. "He was like an older brother to me." "And do you believe it was suicide?" "No, he couldn't have. He's absolutely not that kind of person."
A shadow of fear at the very thought of suicide crossed Jerome's face—it seemed this frightened him very much.
"Then if it's not suicide, and everyone loved him, who could have killed him?" "I can't even imagine."
Damian thought he certainly wouldn't learn anything more now. He was given keys and told he could question anyone from the club staff, but he was forbidden independent access to rooms intended for guests—for this he would need a special guide who had volunteered to show him around, one of the business partners. And if he needed anything, he could freely approach Ella, the girl who had met him in the corridor, with requests.
Damian thanked Jerome for his cooperation and set off to question the other workers.