Line War

by Neal Asher

‘You’re saying Cormac isn’t demonstrably human?’

  ‘The matter is open for debate.’

  Mika grimaced. She did not want to be distracted from the main thrust of her enquiry.

  ‘Still too much mud,’ she said.

  ‘It is your turn to be the ambassador, but this time neither concealed threats nor a propensity for solving puzzles will help,’ said Dragon. ‘Your own experiences were perfect for convincing my twin sphere that the evidence I presented regarding the death of the Maker civilization had not been fabricated. Those memories, along with further evidence of the same events and evidence of what happened to the Atheter, all reside inside your head alone. You are also the best human that I know and are therefore the right example of humanity for the task of presenting…humanity.’

  ‘Meaning we’re the next civilization in danger of being destroyed, I presume?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I’m presenting this evidence to what?’ Mika asked.

  ‘To the Jain AIs,’ Dragon replied.

  As she stepped out onto the surface of Dragon, she was grateful for the transition to lower gravity, for her legs felt suddenly weak. She halted for a moment, watching the remote haul itself up then fling itself into gliding flight which terminated against the side of the intership craft. It amazed her that the vessel was still intact. Initiating the gecko function of her boots, she walked over to touch the door control and watched the wing door rise. While she waited she noted flickering changes in the light as of an approaching thunderstorm, then spotted a shower of meteors stabbing up beyond Dragon’s horizon. Had there been air to carry sound, she knew she would now be hearing a roar like that of warfare.

  ‘Tell me about Jain AIs,’ she said.

  ‘I can give you the few cold facts I have uncovered, and I can give you speculation…’

  ‘Give me both.’

  ‘The Jain were warlike. I surmise that they were not as social as human beings, and that what society they did have was as hostile and competitive as that of the Prador. However, they were more technically advanced than the Prador–perhaps like those particular aliens might be in some thousands of years, if their loose-knit society does not self-destruct and if they are not meanwhile exterminated by some other race.’

  ‘Like maybe the human race?’ Mika ducked into the craft and strapped herself in while the door closed. The remote was now clinging to the canopy above and behind her. When she looked up its blue eyes were peering in at her. It would be accompanying her, it seemed.

  ‘Like the human race,’ Dragon confirmed. ‘Though you have thus far shown great restraint.’ It continued, ‘The Jain were advanced enough to create their own AIs, and I imagine that those AIs were as hostile and independent as the Jain themselves. I speculate that they were of necessity kept under strict control for a very long time and that their own “Quiet War” against their masters was of a rather different nature than that started by human artificial intelligences.’

  ‘So they had to be more subtle,’ Mika guessed.

  ‘Yes. While the human AIs were a critical component in their expansion into space and thus in an easy position to take over, I suspect the Jain AIs were never placed in such a tempting position within Jain society. They were used merely as tools to create other tools…like weapons. The quiet war they conducted was through those weapons, and it was the main weapon, this thing we name Jain technology, that won the war for them.’

  Mika said, ‘You mean the Jain employed it in civil war and thus managed to wipe each other out?’

  ‘That is what I mean.’

  ‘And the AIs?’

  ‘Once Jain technology was constructed, it would have been evident that at the end of any conflict it would be the only thing to survive.’

  Mika disconnected the craft’s anchors lodged in Dragon’s skin and, using compressed-air impellers, lifted slowly from the surface.

  ‘I think I begin to understand,’ she said.

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’

  ‘They made themselves part of that technology, a component of that technology. It’s just like Polity AIs supposedly being integral to the technology used for travel throughout the Polity. Apparently it is impossible to run a runcible or a U-space engine without an AI in there to control it–and obviously this was something the AIs neglected to mention to the Prador since they themselves travel through U-space and have no AIs.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dragon. ‘I see you do understand. However, I must add that, to place themselves where they did, they must first have melded with each other, which must have been difficult for AIs modelled on hostile individualists.’

  Mika now lit up a thruster and sent the craft gliding towards the bone forest. She knew she would have to navigate very carefully in there, since it would probably be just as difficult as flying through any normal forest.

  Dragon continued, ‘The AIs deliberately made the Jain technology unstable and prone to breaking down without some form of control exercised at a very basic level. That basic level is not even in realspace, but instead is mapped over the impression Jain-tech makes in U-space. This is why it is possible to detect Jain nodes through U-space; this is why the signature is so strong. The Jain AIs are there, wherever Jain technology grows; they propagate one phase space away in order to stabilize it. It is as if the technology is a plant, and the AIs are its roots.’

  ‘How did they meld then–being such individualists?’ Mika asked.

  ‘This is now all speculation, you understand?’

  ‘It’s all we’ve got right now.’

  ‘They managed their meld through U-space, before they created the technology to wipe out their masters. AIs on different sides created the same thing and became part of it as their masters unleashed it. They put aside their hostility and their individualism. To survive, I believe they put aside their consciousness. Perhaps it was their way of surviving that the Atheter mirrored when they threw away their minds to be mere beasts, to become gabble-ducks–not the best option really.’

  ‘So the Jain AIs are as mindless as the technology they stabilize?’

  ‘They function like your autonomous nervous system.’

  ‘Then what use is the evidence I’m carrying inside my skull? This still does not really explain why we are here, or why I must find Trafalgar for you.’

  ‘The Jain AIs are sleeping, Mika, and it’s time for you to wake them up.’

  ‘And this will be a good thing?’

  Dragon did not reply.

  ‘Okay, what’s his story?’ said Orlandine.

  ‘Quite a lot of it is known,’ replied the AI in the docked ship.

  The brass Golem, Mr Crane, had become something of a legend, though how the story had percolated out into the public domain remained a mystery. In her position as overseer on the Cassius Dyson Project, Orlandine had learned about Crane through ECS channels, for her security clearance had been such that she was entitled to know. In the public domain it was known that this Golem was a prototype corrupted by separatists and then used to commit murder–a prototype that was then destroyed. However, the legends stemmed from later sightings and rumours of him being involved in border conflicts. These weren’t far from the basic truth, though the number of sightings and the events he was supposed to have been involved in were just too many. It seemed that, in the public consciousness, Mr Crane had become a combination of both avenging angel and senseless demonic killer. Orlandine wondered if the stories had been purposely allowed to flourish or were just a particularly successful meme.

  ‘The information I have is incomplete,’ said Orlandine. ‘I know that he accompanied the separatist biophysicist called Skellor, and that Skellor ended up impacted into the surface of a brown dwarf star–but that’s all I know.’

  It made her slightly nervous having the legendary Golem out there only paces away from her interface sphere, even though two war drones were watching him closely. However, the information he had supplied, and continued supplying, was gold, so it
seemed churlish to have him confined elsewhere on the war runcible. Also, here she could keep a close eye on him.

  ‘Skellor sent Mr Crane as an envoy to Dragon,’ said Vulture. ‘And, with a little assistance from me, Dragon helped him put his fractured mind back together.’

  ‘So he’s a good guy now?’

  ‘I guess…’

  The recognition codes and chameleonware formats the Golem had supplied would give her a critical edge. Like anyone dealing with this technology she had always understood that, through competition, chameleonware evolved in parallel with the sensors and scanners used to penetrate it. However, in truth, chameleonware could not conceal everything, so it was a case of knowing what needed to be concealed.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Do you want chapter and verse?’ Vulture asked. ‘I can give you it all.’

  ‘Give me it all,’ said Orlandine.

  Vulture immediately sent over an information package that Orlandine opened in a virtuality so as to make the usual security checks. Then, rather than go through the package chronologically, she instantly absorbed it whole into her mind. Now she knew Mr Crane’s entire story–as Vulture presented it–from the moment the Golem walked out of the Cybercorp headquarters just outside Bangladesh right up until the present. It was a long and bloody tale and did not dispel the mystery surrounding this brass killing machine. She observed him seat himself cross-legged on the floor before taking out that strange collection of toys that had featured so much in his history. Did he need to bring them out and play with them every so often to prevent his mind from fragmenting?

  ‘I cannot say I’m reassured,’ she opined, then focused her attention elsewhere on the changes she was already making at the instigation of this strange Golem.

  The chameleonware presently spread throughout the war runcible had been the best Orlandine could contrive with the technology she possessed. Now she was copying the ’ware used on the wormships she had just destroyed. Also, knowing Erebus’s recognition codes it was now possible for her to send signals that basically said ‘friend’, so that autonomous sensors picking up detection anomalies would ignore them, thinking they had found one of their own or, rather, would ignore them for long enough. She hoped.

  Orlandine left communications with Vulture open and now ventured perceptually down her U-space link to Bludgeon aboard Heliotrope. There was no need to communicate since she could clearly see her erstwhile craft some thousands of miles up, just out from the fountain raging from one pole of the Anulus black hole. Heliotrope was turning to bear down on the fountain at a sharp angle, and within the hour Bludgeon would be able to deploy the cargo runcible. Orlandine felt both frightened and elated, but her elation disappeared some moments later when an ECS attack ship dropped out of U-space and entered the corridor. Thus far she had committed one murder, and the burden of that guilt was more than enough. However, since the chameleonware had yet to stabilize, it was certain those aboard that ship had spotted the war runcible. Could she convince them to leave the area before Erebus arrived? Most likely they would see her only as a threat to the Polity and consequently either do what they could to stop her or scream for help. She could allow them neither option, for they could give away her position. So much depended on what she was doing that it seemed the safest option to destroy this new arrival–to again commit murder.

  Reluctantly, Orlandine contacted Knobbler.

  The disruption encroached and it was as if the King of Hearts was hurtling down a perilous tunnel that grew steadily narrower. Seated on his bed, Cormac stared at the chrome cylinder resting on the mattress beside him. Not bothering with the touch controls of the small inset console, he gridlinked directly into the device’s hardware to assure himself it would operate just as he wanted. It would. At a thought he could detonate it, in any circumstances. But he really did not want to be there when that happened, so he checked that he could set the timer, order the CTD to detonate if it was moved, if it was exposed to vacuum, or if the sensors inside it heard someone singing out of tune. He could also set it to detonate should the constant signal to it from his gridlink be disrupted, which would probably mean it no longer mattered whether he was nearby or not.

  King had assured him that it would try to keep in range of the war runcible so that Cormac could transport himself out. But what was that range? Cormac felt he would know it only once he was within it. But things were almost certain to get a little difficult for the attack ship, so he needed to prepare for an involuntary stay aboard the runcible. Thoughtfully, he slid the CTD into his backpack, then turned his attention to the other weapons arrayed beside him: his thin-gun, Shuriken and a proton carbine. Last time, aboard this very vessel, he had transported himself fully clothed, so he knew he could take materials with him. What governed that? Was it subconscious choice? Might he even arrive aboard the war runcible without the CTD? And why did he not arrive at his destination naked? He guessed that such questions were insignificant in comparison with the question of how he managed to move through U-space at all. Belatedly, he decided not to arm the CTD before transporting it over, since if by any chance it did not make the transition, the signal-break to his gridlink could result in King of Hearts being spread over the firmament.

  The disruption faded, and Cormac almost resented the feeling of the attack ship surfacing into the real once again. It was as if, now that he was managing to control his perception of U-space, he wanted to stay there. He was, however, glad to find himself still sitting on his bed this time and not sprawled in one of the ship’s corridors outside.

  ‘I have something,’ said King over the ship’s intercom.

  ‘Erebus?’

  ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean it’s gone?’

  ‘I sensed some large object ahead–mass equivalent to that of the war runcible,’ said King tetchily. ‘Now it’s gone.’

  ‘Chameleonware?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Cormac had not really taken that into account. Why would this Orlandine, controlling a massive heavily armed thing like that, feel the need to hide from a mere attack ship?

  ‘Position?’ Cormac enquired.

  ‘Two thousand miles Earthside of the narrowest constriction in the corridor through the U-space disruption.’

  Interesting…

  ‘It’s back again.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you deaf?’

  ‘Please confirm for me—’

  ‘Gone again,’ King interrupted, then deigned to explain further: ‘Unusual chameleonware, and it seems Orlandine is having some trouble with it.’

  Cormac was on his feet now, strapping Shuriken to his wrist. He donned the backpack, hung the proton carbine from its strap over his shoulder, and jammed his thin-gun into his envirosuit belt. Stepping out into the corridor, he quickly headed for the bridge, his U-sense expanding out from the attack ship but still unable to penetrate the surrounding disruption. In a moment he was aware that Arach and Hubbert Smith had joined him. Maybe they hoped he could take them with him.

  Within seconds they arrived on the black glass floor, under a dome of stars.

  ‘I am receiving communication,’ said King. ‘Orlandine says she wants to speak with whoever is in charge here.’

  ‘Well, take the usual precautions and let’s hear what she has to say. Meanwhile keep taking us in closer.’

  ‘Understood.’

  After a delay, doubtless while King checked for informational attack, a line cut down through the air, then opened out into the figure Cormac recognized from a file presently stored in his gridlink. She was an imposing woman but, then, with people able to remake themselves however they wanted, that really meant nothing.

  ‘Orlandine,’ said Cormac, intending to continue talking for as long as possible so King could get closer.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘I am Agent Ian Cormac of ECS,’ he replied. ‘It would appear you have acquired some Polity property there. Do
you suppose that you could see your way clear to explaining what you intend to do with it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Orlandine, ‘that you intend to draw this conversation out so you can get closer. An attack ship’s conventional weapons would have some problem getting through my defences, so either you have something else or you are desperate.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question, Orlandine.’

  Her hologram gazed at him. ‘I doubt you would believe the answer.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I am here to destroy Erebus.’

  The problem with that explanation, Cormac felt, was that it was all too plausible. However, the problem with that plausibility was that he could not afford to acknowledge it. There would only be one chance to get close enough to the stolen war runcible.

  ‘And why would you want to do such a thing?’

  ‘Cease approaching this war runcible immediately or I will fire on you,’ was her reply.

  ‘All I need is an explanation,’ said Cormac.

  ‘You’re not listening, are you.’ She gave a disappointed frown, her hologram froze, shrank to a line, disappeared.

  ‘Engaging chameleonware,’ King intoned.

  A sudden change of course sent Cormac staggering to one side despite the gravplates’ attempts to compensate. Abruptly, the war runcible was hanging out there in space, and he felt it was almost within his grasp. With an effort of will he could throw himself across to it, transport himself to the selected set of buffers…Then it fell out of his grasp as King of Hearts turned hard and accelerated. A blinding stream of ionized matter stabbed past. Its effect was negligible to Cormac’s deeper U-sense but, upon snatching information from King’s server, he saw that Orlandine was firing a particle beam at them powerful enough to cut the attack ship in half.

  ‘Oops,’ said Arach. ‘I guess this means she’s hostile.’

  ‘Surely not,’ said Smith. ‘She throws moons at those who really irk her.’

  Ignoring this comedy duo, Cormac instructed, ‘King, closer.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ King replied, ‘but there’s the small matter of the rail-gun missiles and the targeting systems trying to lock onto me, despite my chameleonware, which I’m incidentally having to reconfigure every five seconds.’