Or with creatures that aren’t people.
I reached out through the dreamstone, probing delicately. Distance isn’t a barrier to the dreamstone’s mental link, not exactly, but it’s a lot easier for me to touch someone’s mind if I know where it is. Hello there, I said. Can you hear me?
A response shot back instantly, crisp and clear. Please specify the required data.
Oh good, I said. What’s your name?
There was a moment’s pause. That is not a valid request.
What, you like to shake hands first? I leant against the wall, folding my arms. Okay, how about you tell me how your day’s going?
That is not a valid request. Please supply a valid authorisation code.
I’d never tried linking to a synthetic intelligence before, and it was surprisingly easy. Trying to communicate with most humans this way is difficult: their thoughts are too messy. The synthetic mind’s thoughts were like smooth glass, precise and clear. Oh, I don’t have a code. I just wanted to chat.
I’m not a chatbot. Who are you?
My name’s Alex Verus. Yours?
Silence. I smiled slightly. Divination isn’t great for in-depth interactions—too many forks—but you can read off basic responses easily enough. I knew the machine intelligence recognised my name.
Why are you contacting me?
Well, I’ll get to that in a second. Sure you don’t want to tell me your name? Going to be a bit awkward just saying you all the time.
Another pause. My routing designation is November Epsilon underscore one one seven.
Great! November it is.
I must ask you to cease your communication. The synthetic intelligence’s thoughts were still clear, but noticeably disturbed. By contacting me in this manner you are placing us both at considerable risk. Should your actions be detected, you will be terminated and I will be subject to severe sanction.
Oh right, I said. I guess you only know the information that Levistus has access to, don’t you? There’s been a bit of a shift in the balance of power. Let’s just say that if Levistus could terminate me that easily, I wouldn’t be here.
Well, I wish I shared your confidence, November said frostily. I’m not in a position to be quite so cavalier about such matters.
Oh, come on, loosen up a bit. Tell you what, how about getting outside? Must get a bit boring being cooped up in that data centre all the time.
Yes, well, if only it were that simple.
I’m serious, I said. Think of it as a job offer. I mean, I’ve seen how Levistus treats his nonhuman staff, I can’t imagine that being his spy station is all that pleasant. Considered switching employers?
I don’t know whether you consider this to be a joke, or whether it’s some elaborate test of loyalty, but I am profoundly unimpressed in either case.
So that’s a no?
Do you need me to say it in another language? I can communicate in over two thousand of them if it would help deliver the message more clearly.
Well, so much for asking nicely. Okay, in that case I guess I DO have a data request. Please give me the access codes for the data centre on top of Heron Tower.
I have good reason to believe you are not authorised for that information.
What if I said please?
You are not authorised for that information.
What would I have to do to get authorised?
You are not authorised for that information.
Okay, let’s put this another way, I said. In about—I checked the time—eight minutes and forty-five seconds, I’m going to force my way into the data centre. Which is probably going to set off its self-destruct charges. You know, the ones you’re in the blast radius of right now.
What?
Still sure you don’t want to give me those codes?
You’re going to—what do you mean, force your way in?
Oh, cut the power, pick the locks, and if that doesn’t work, blow the door down. I’m hoping cutting the power will be enough to deactivate the alarms.
You’re hoping—? Of course it won’t be enough!
Well, you never know until you try.
Yes! You do know! You know right now, because I’m telling you!
There’s always the chance the hard drives might survive.
The demolition charges are SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED to destroy the hard drives, you idiot! Along with me!
In which case, I walk away, and Levistus loses his spy network. I’ll take it.
But . . . November trailed off.
You’ve been working as Levistus’s spy, I said, my thoughts flat and hard. Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences? That you were above it all?
I was never given a choice!
Well, you’re getting a choice now. In seven minutes, I’m kicking those doors down. What happens when I do is up to you.
This isn’t fair!
If you want to spend your last six minutes and forty-five seconds arguing about whether the world is fair, I’m not going to stop you, but I wouldn’t recommend it.
Silence. Seconds ticked. I’ll make you a deal, I said. You get me in and make sure I get access to Levistus’s files, and I’ll get you out and do my best to keep you unharmed. Then once we get away, you’re a free agent. You can keep working with me, or I can set you up on your own. Your choice.
Once you have what you want, you’ll have no reason to keep your end of the bargain. November’s voice was bitter. There’ll be nothing to stop you doing as you like.
The way Levistus likes to get rid of his agents once they’ve outlived their use? Yeah, he tried to do that to me as well. I don’t know what Levistus’s files say, but I’ve spent most of my life working with magical creatures. They’re my friends and allies. Can’t prove it to you, but it’s the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you.
Silence again. I watched the futures waver. The pattern was different from a human, but very much recognisable. Interesting. He really did have free will.
I suppose I don’t have much choice, November said at last. Very well.
Great, welcome to the team! So, I’m guessing just cutting the power won’t disable the security?
Of course not, November said irritably. What idiot would expect a security system to be run solely off mains? But it will disable the heat sensors and the primary motion detectors, which will be necessary once you get past the door. The door has an access code and a standard lock. I can supply the code; the part involving manipulating chunks of metal I would hope you can take care of yourself.
Sounds good. All ready?
Would it make any difference if I said no?
Not really. I took out my phone and redialled. “Cinder? Go time.”
Through the phone, I heard the sound of Cinder’s heavy footsteps. There was the creak of a door, followed by a rustle of movement and a new voice. “Oi, mate. What are you doing?”
“Maintenance,” Cinder said briefly.
“Not down here you’re—”
There was a soggy thud and a grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. “Ready?” Cinder asked.
“Do it.”
I heard a series of clicks through the phone, and with a clunk and a sighing sound the machinery around me slowed and stopped. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling winked out, and the fans that had been spinning with a whum-whum-whum began to slow down. A red light on the backup power panel that I’d just deactivated began to blink angrily.
Through the futures, I could tell that Richard had started his attack on the Council. Now it was a race.
I left the power building and crossed the roof to the data centre, stepping over pipes and railings. Warm air whipped at me, the winds fickle and strong. I could sense Starbreeze somewhere out there, riding the winds, but couldn’t spare the attention to
look more closely. The data centre was tall and intimidating, blacked-out windows showing nothing of what was inside. Okay, I’m at the door, I told November. Hit me.
The door code is Alpha-seven-six-Xray-five-nine-Tango-Charlie—
Slow down, I said, typing into the keyboard. Did they deliberately make it this obnoxious just to mess with diviners?
Yes. Code continues: Romeo-zero-Romeo-Victor-eight-five-zero-Sierra-six-two.
I hate the Council. The system had been programmed with a random element in the false results too, enough to screw up my normal techniques. The panel beeped. Working on the padlock.
I suggest you hurry. Local radio traffic has increased significantly.
Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with us.
My phone rang.
You were saying? November asked.
I’d supplied an accurate (if disposable) number when I’d signed in. I hit the Answer button, put the phone on speaker, laid it down, and took out my picks. “Hello?”
“Hello?” an angry English voice said through the speaker. “Is this Radu?”
“Speaking,” I said cheerfully. “How can I help you today, sir?”
“You can get this fucking power back online!”
“And who would I be talking to?”
“You’d be talking to the divisional head of Heron Tower Salesforce.”
The padlock on the door was a good-quality one of thick steel. I threaded my pick and wrench through the keyhole. “Very happy to meet you, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience, we had to do a shutdown.”
“You were only supposed to be working on the photocopiers! You’ve cut the power to the whole goddamn building!”
“Well, sir, photocopiers are a very serious matter. Do you know how many office fires every year are caused by faulty photocopying equipment?”
“Listen to me, you little shit. I know the directors of your company on a first-name basis. If you give me any more of this Health and Safety crap, or if you do anything other than get the power online right now, I am going to make personally sure you never work for EDF again and that the Home Office deports you back to whatever shithole country you crawled out of!”
“I’m very sorry to hear you feel that way, sir,” I said. “If you’d like to make a complaint, we have an automated customer service number on our website.”
“You can TAKE your customer service number and—”
The padlock came open with a click. “Just a second, sir, I’m getting some interference. You’ll have to call me back.” I hung up and tapped Block This Caller. Have they called the police yet?
No, but apparently there are people en route to the basement.
“Incoming, Cinder,” I said through the phone, then tucked it away and pulled open the door. Cold air rushed out: the corridor beyond was dark in contrast to the bright sunlight outside.
I must warn you that while some of the physical triggers have been disabled, the magical ones have not. November’s thoughts were tense. Please do not use any magic strong enough to register on magesight while inside the building. The wards are extremely sensitive.
Not planning to. I started down the corridor.
The door to the server room was blocked by a laser grid. I didn’t need November’s help this time: a brief search found a control panel, and this alarm code wasn’t as hard as the one on the door. As I did, I heard a scuffle of movement through the phone. A couple of indistinct voices were calling something; I couldn’t quite make out the words but it didn’t sound friendly. There was a thump and a thud. “Hey!” someone yelled. “What are you—?”
Thump. Thud.
“Are you punching out everyone who comes into the basement?” I asked Cinder.
“You wanted the power off, didn’t you?” Cinder said. “Wait one.”
There was the sound of a door opening and another voice. “Oi. Why isn’t—?”
Thump. Thud.
“And there I was thinking you couldn’t do subtle.”
“Move your arse. I’m running out of places to put these guys.”
I opened the door to reveal the server room. Tinted windows along the far wall looked out over the London skyline, and racks of computer equipment lined the sides. The room was shadowed and gloomy, but the hum of machinery still echoed from all around.
At the centre of the room was what must be November’s housing. The electronics were nothing special, but the magical energy radiating from it made it stand out like a searchlight. I crossed the room and bent over to study it.
You should probably be aware, November said, that the London Metropolitan Police have received a call from Heron Tower reporting a suspected terrorist attack on their power grid.
I rolled my eyes. Are the police actually buying that?
No, but they’re dispatching officers anyway. The first car should arrive in four minutes.
And yet it takes them all day to respond to a break-in. I finished running through the futures where I pulled the housing apart. I’m guessing your core functions are in the black case in the centre?
I believe so, yes. November sounded nervous.
The reason I ask is that’s the piece of equipment the blocks of plastic explosive are attached to.
Wonderful. Please tell me you know what you’re doing.
Nope.
Oh.
Don’t worry. I have no idea how explosives work, but I know what makes them go bang.
That isn’t as reassuring as you seem to believe.
All right, I said. I’d had time to analyse the mess of wires and wards around November’s core. Looks like there are three security measures still active. One electrical alarm, one magical alarm, and the explosives. Which one would you like me to work on first?
I would appreciate it very much if you could start with the explosives.
I figured. Using a screwdriver, I took apart the housing and then shone a penlight. November’s core was an irregular black box about the size of a games console. A pair of off-white blocks of plastic explosive were clamped to it, one on either side. Can you be removed from that box?
Yes, but I would prefer it if you didn’t. The loss of the components within would seriously degrade my performance. Besides, quite frankly, given the attitude you’ve demonstrated towards explosives, I’d rather not have you doing brain surgery on me with a hammer.
Fair enough. I’ll just carry the whole thing. I pulled out a backpack from my toolbox and eyeballed it to confirm that it should fit. I settled myself down comfortably and started studying the explosives. So how long have you been up here?
I’m not entirely sure, November said. My memories date back only as far as February 2, 2011. Circumstantial evidence leads me to believe that I have existed longer than that, perhaps considerably longer. I believe that those memories were deleted upon my installation here.
Yeah, that sounds like Levistus’s style, I said. So this has been your whole life? Sitting up here, receiving data, and passing it on to Barrayar or some other aide?
Essentially.
Sounds lonely.
I . . . suppose it is.
Oh, interesting.
What?
I pointed, forgetting that November probably couldn’t see. These blocks of explosive? They’re standard make, probably C-4 or a derivative. The detonators are standard too, but in addition to the wires, they’ve got a built-in ward with a low-level lightning spell. It looks like it’s set to activate on any significant magical signature. If someone uses any spell with any kind of power, an electrical charge is set off which triggers the detonators.
That’s fascinating, but would you mind removing them?
Figuring out how traps work is the hard part. Now that I knew what would set off the bombs, it was easy to disarm them. I scanned through possible futures and quickly decided that the easi
est solution would be to sabotage the anti-tamper switches on the detonators, then pull them out. I found the futures where they succumbed to mechanical failure and got to work with the fateweaver.
The first police unit has arrived, November said.
“Cinder?” I said into my phone. “Cops are here.”
“No wonder with how long you’re taking.”
“Another ten minutes and you can bail. Please don’t kill anyone if you can avoid it.”
Cinder gave an audible sigh and hung up.
My spirits were rising. Once I was done with the detonators, I only needed to disable the alarms and I’d be able to pick up November and get out. There were still some protective wards on November’s core that I hadn’t had time to decipher, but I’d already confirmed that they wouldn’t stop me carrying it away physically, and once I was safely back at the Hollow I could take them apart at my leisure. As I worked through the futures with the fateweaver, I saw the first tamper switch dim and fail. I changed focus to the second.
As I did, a flicker on my precognition caught my attention and I frowned. My attention was on the short-term futures, and all of a sudden a bunch of them were terminating in explosions.
I tried altering my actions. No effect. No, wait—now all of the futures were terminating in explosions. November? Did I just trigger something?
I don’t believe so.
The futures had settled: the bomb was going to go off really soon. I searched for an answer, trying to stay calm. Nothing I did seemed to make a difference. But if nothing I did was making a difference, then that must mean that the source was from someone else. I changed my focus, looking at what was going to happen just before the explosion, and saw the flash of a gateway and—
Oh, SHIT.
I had less than a minute. Frantically I threw my energies through the fateweaver at the second switch. As I did I hit Cinder’s number. It rang. Rang again. Rang again. Come on, come on—!
Click. “Verus, I don’t have time for this shit,” Cinder said. “There are six cops about to—”
Forged Page 12