The Technician

by Neal Asher

  ‘Haiman Drode’s data reveals three U-space faults developing in the device’s vicinity,’ Amistad told them. ‘This indicates that it is already deploying the “bells” or “pattern disruptors” it used to wipe out the minds of the Atheter, and which it also used against the AI Penny Royal.’

  Amistad gave an internal instruction and the tip of one claw split to extrude a spray of self-guiding optic plugs. The thing about warfare in space was that when the EM started ramping up, communications got disrupted. This was precisely why the Polity had started making independent war drones just like Amistad. Therefore, if you wanted to control some large lethal piece of equipment, just like the one Amistad was squatting on, it was always a good idea to ensure a hard link.

  ‘Low orbital deployment?’ one of the attack ships queried.

  ‘Tombs’s words “under the bell” indicate the disruptors were visible during the racial suicide, therefore yes, low deployment and a readiness to go tropospheric. I need fast intercept over the main continent so stay geostationary or grav-balanced there.’

  ‘We can surface-deploy,’ the attack ship noted.

  Amistad paused in what he was doing, immediately called up and inspected the schematics of these ships, within just a few seconds realizing that they could launch almost as fast as they could drop out of the sky. ‘Two of you down: one in the Northern Mountains and one mid-continent.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Amistad added, ‘It seems likely these disruptors will materialize before the main mechanism itself so don’t wait on that – confine your efforts to surface defence. They must be destroyed.’

  ‘What about collaterals? These things’ll have a U-space energy feed and might go off like air-detonated atomics.’

  ‘We have no positive proof of the device’s intent, but we cannot afford to wait and see. If one of those things powers up over a settlement we could end up with tens, if not hundreds of thousands of mind-wiped Human beings. We have to risk blast damage and collaterals.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Focusing in and cleaning up the image, Amistad watched fusion torches slowing the attack ships at a rate that would have turned Human crew to jelly, had there been any aboard. Each ship bore the shape of a cuttlefish bone, but with weapons nacelles protruding. Each was also of a primary colour: orange, yellow, blue and red. They were modern vessels, with speed and power not seen in attack ships of an equivalent size during Amistad’s war years. They would do their job. Amistad returned his attention to the task at claw, reached forward to set the optic plugs into motion. They groped around for a moment then found their sockets. A microsecond later the geostat weapon fell completely under his control.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Ergatis queried from down on the surface. ‘You could have asked.’

  ‘You’ll have enough on your plate, I suspect,’ replied the drone. ‘Have you considered ordering evacuation of the main settlements?’

  ‘Yes, but I guess you’ve not been paying attention.’

  ‘Enlighten me,’ said Amistad, meanwhile running checks on his recently acquired toy.

  ‘As soon as it became evident that device was on its way here I raised the terrorist threat level based on a high likelihood of the Tidy Squad having obtained a CTD and being intent on using it against a main population centre, which is about the same threat level as these disruptor devices, and easier to understand.’

  Amistad paused to harden a link down to Ergatis and absorb data. Many of those with their own transport had taken off to the squerm farm villages. Others were dispersing on foot.

  ‘My problem is that if I issue a full evacuation order the distrust of us here is so high that over half the population will disobey it, and if I enforce it that will only increase bad feeling,’ Ergatis continued. ‘That, however, is not the main problem. The problem is that I have nowhere to evacuate people to. Crop-pond areas would do for those who have adapted themselves to the environment here, but the majority are not so adapted. Enforced evacuation would result in many deaths.’

  ‘Have you considered telling them the truth?’

  ‘Considered and rejected. They would ridicule the idea that a two-million-year-old machine is on its way here quite likely intent on turning them all into brainless animals – the ease of rule of an informed populace does not apply here. Perhaps in another fifty years they’ll be sufficiently educated to listen to us.’

  ‘Very well – keep me updated.’

  Amistad ran a couple of small tests, reaction jets flashing lines of white vapour out all around the weapon’s tokomak and the object beginning to turn. He then ran another firing pattern which set it on a course curving round from its previously geostationary position. No need for it here now, the system dreadnought was already in view – a distorted sphere of mirrored metal, one hemisphere cut out from which it almost seemed all its internal components were spilling – it would have to do for now.

  ‘Senator,’ Amistad addressed the ship. ‘You are to take position alpha over the continent. Liaise with the attack ships, give them what back-up you can, but most important I want you to constantly map local and planetary U-space to track any interference. Almost certainly, once the mechanism arrives it will deploy further disruptors and I want you relaying that data immediately.’

  ‘That is understood already,’ the dreadnought’s AI replied pedantically.

  ‘Repetition never does any harm, whilst a failure to understand might,’ the drone replied.

  ‘Yes, quite.’

  The other system dreadnought had, as instructed, remained in position over Flint, for that place had to be kept safe. Now the remaining two.

  Right on cue the AI of Scold asked, ‘So what’re our targets?’

  Amistad directed his attention out into space. Scold and Cheops were a million kilometres out and a mere hundred kilometres apart.

  ‘Yes, surprise us,’ said Janice Golden, interfaced captain of Cheops.

  ‘According to haiman specialist Drode, the device will be here no earlier than four hours from now and no later than five hours,’ Amistad stated. ‘And as you have probably already surmised, you and Scold are to engage it.’

  ‘Not a surprise,’ she said.

  ‘I want an attack plan ready, based on the data we already have, ready within the next—’

  A data packet arrived from Scold, approved and digitally signed by the Cheops AI. Amistad opened and absorbed it instantly. It seemed they had already been discussing the matter. Yes, the mechanism was made of super-dense matter and massed as much as the planet Mars, therefore only certain weapons would be effective: open-splash antimatter, intersecting X-ray lasers to create internal heat points, and the four prototype U-jump missiles that Scold nurtured in its weapons carousel.

  ‘That’ll do nicely,’ said the war drone.

  ‘And what about you?’ Janice asked.

  ‘Monitor and command,’ Amistad replied.

  She emitted a derisory snort.

  Amistad understood her doubt, since she had probably already checked up on the war drone’s history.

  ‘Though I will assist – circumstances permitting,’ he added.

  The reaction jets now flipped over the geostat weapon so its business end pointed out into space. The thing was tuned to firing down through atmosphere at targets on the surface, but firing into space, not one scrap of its energy would be wasted, and with a little tinkering, some quite interesting attack patterns could be introduced into the coming fight. If they were needed of course – Amistad tried to stamp down on the surge of excitement he felt, an almost nostalgic excitement.

  As they approached the barrier, Grant slowed the gravan, doubtless waiting for some message from the planetary AI Ergatis. Down on the surface, force-fields kept any unwelcome visitors out, but up here things were different. Some fifteen years ago, an air car had flown this route, its driver and passengers perpetually warned not to cross the barrier. It was a well-known story that Shree had covered in her persona as an
Earthnet reporter. There had been no response; apparently their com was down. A submind of Ergatis, occupying a simple crab-drone body, had intercepted, intent on landing on the car to deliver its warning. It had been fired upon. That was enough. The geostat weapon powered up and fired as the car crossed the barrier, vaporizing it.

  Following the subsequent investigation, Shree was surprised to discover that the three in the car weren’t Separatists, but members of a small, previously ignored organization called Humans First. The investigation also revealed that along with them and their car, half a ton of planar explosive had also been vaporized.

  ‘We’re not going to be stopped?’ she asked.

  Grant slowed further. He looked nervous. Wondering if com might be down right now, Shree scanned their surroundings for some sign of a crab-drone. To their right, about a kilometre away along the barrier, something caught her eye. Something white there, on the move. After a second she realized she was seeing the Technician passing through one of the barrier arches like a train entering a tunnel. Kind of it. As she understood it, sections of the barrier usually had to be rebuilt whenever a hooder ventured through this area.

  ‘I’ll find out,’ Grant said. ‘Ergatis?’ Word recognition in the console com directed the signal where required and the AI answered at once.

  ‘Yes, you have permission to cross the barrier,’ said the AI.

  ‘Just wanted to be sure no one had a finger on the trigger,’ said Grant.

  ‘Someone has, but that weapon is no longer pointed at you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Amistad just hijacked it to be part of the reception committee – just a few hours remain before the mechanism arrives.’

  ‘I see,’ said Grant, just as the gravan slid over the barrier.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Ergatis, ending the exchange.

  ‘Reception committee? Mechanism?’ Shree asked. She had been aware that Grant had his suspicions about her and had been keeping her out of the loop. Time for an update, she felt, though peering down at the barrier they had just crossed, and which was now receding behind, any new information probably made no difference at all.

  ‘The mechanism that the Atheter used to rub out their own minds and which has since been ensuring there’s no chance of resurrection,’ Grant stated. ‘The one that fucked over the Technician a million years ago, and the same one that fucked over Penny Royal just a decade or so ago. That mechanism.’

  Shree felt cold fingers crawling up her spine and focused on him completely. ‘Yes, I know what this mechanism is . . .’

  ‘It surfaced from underspace a number of days back and since then has been taking ten-light-year hops in this direction. Amistad reckons it’s coming here to utterly ensure every last trace of the Atheter has been erased. It also seems likely it might want to erase any bothersome aliens who might get in the way.’

  ‘Us?’

  Sanders, behind, standing in the cockpit doorway. Shree turned to study her. Having made use of the onboard medical kit Sanders now seemed steadier, though her face was still a bruised and battered mess.

  ‘Yes, us,’ said Grant.

  ‘How can Amistad know that?’ Shree asked.

  ‘Probably because he’s smarter than us. Probably because this is how Dragon set things up when it delivered its cure to the Technician.’

  ‘What?’ Sanders spoke the question simultaneously with Shree.

  Shree didn’t like this at all. Could things have changed in ways bearing on her mission here? Might there be a reason not to kill Tombs and destroy the Atheter AI?

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Grant. ‘Dragon came here when the Theocracy was in control, left a couple of its dracomen on the surface, one as bait for the Technician. Its body was the cure for the Technician – undid the damage done to it by the mechanism.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ asked Sanders.

  ‘I don’t really know – something to do with Tombs, something to do with the device and the Technician itself. Amistad didn’t really take the time to explain.’

  It seemed clear to Shree that nothing she had just learned would alter her course.

  The building that housed the Atheter AI now drew into sight, and within a few seconds they were over it and Grant slowed the gravan and set it descending in a spiralling course. Shree spotted a single Human figure walking in along one of the foamstone pathways leading towards the building: Tombs. Grant turned the vehicle in towards that pathway, slowed it further and brought it down, finally landing with a gentle bump and a sighing away of motors.

  ‘So here we are,’ Grant said, ‘though I’m damned if I know why.’

  Shree gave him a tight smile, quickly unstrapped herself, then opened and stepped out of the door on her side and headed round the van. She was already striding down the walkway as Grant stepped out of the side door followed unsteadily by Sanders.

  ‘Tombs!’ Grant shouted.

  Tombs held up a hand but continued on, stepping between two pillars and into the building. Glancing over her shoulder, Shree kept going, seeing Grant hesitating, turning back to Sanders.

  ‘You okay?’ Shree heard him say.

  ‘Just a bit wobbly – you go ahead,’ Sanders replied.

  Shree broke into a trot, glanced back again and saw Grant hurrying after her. He didn’t trust her – knew something was up. He wasn’t to know that it was already too late. He could shoot her maybe, but even then she doubted he could stop her reaching inside her jacket and pressing her finger to the top of the cylinder concealed there. She paused at the pillars, glimpsing Tombs standing near the centre of the building; she stepped inside then immediately moved to one side, listening as Grant reached the pillars a second later.

  ‘Tombs?’ he called.

  Shree prepared herself, loosened herself. Twenty years ago Grant would have been no pushover, but now he was soft, hadn’t been in combat for too long, hadn’t retained the paranoid instincts required for survival.

  He stepped through and Shree swung her leg up, then back round in a perfect reverse kick to slam her heel up into his solar plexus, knocking all the breath out of him. He bowed over, and she stepped in, squatted on one leg, swinging her other leg round to take his feet away from underneath him. He hit the ground on his side, too winded to respond, and she came down hard on his side with her knee. Relieving him of his gun took a second. She tossed it, then pulled his knife from his boot and sent that clattering after it. She stepped away, drawing her thin-gun from its concealed holster and turning to aim it at Tombs.

  ‘So, proctor, how did you know?’ she asked. Aboard the gravan, before he knocked her out, he had talked of Jain technology and she knew he had been directing his comments at her.

  ‘How did I know what?’ Tombs enquired, seemingly unconcerned at having a weapon aimed at him.

  Gasping, Grant managed to get to his knees, but he still could not gather the breath to speak. She noted him sliding his hand down to his boot, it coming to rest against the top of an empty sheath. Soft, weak. She almost regretted the defeat of the Theocracy. At least, before and during the rebellion, men like Grant had remained admirable.

  ‘You get up and go stand by Tombs,’ she said. ‘Try anything and you’re dead. Understood?’

  Finally managing to get to his feet, he walked an unsteady course over to the proctor. She saw him glance across at his knife and gun. She doubted he could have done anything with them had he retained them. Taking his place a couple of paces to one side of Tombs he studied the man, seemed puzzled, maybe by the same thing that was puzzling her: Tombs’s apparent serenity. Tombs glanced round at him, gave him a slightly regretful smile, then swung his attention back to her.

  ‘Sanders,’ she said, ‘get out from behind that pillar and in here now or I put a hole through Leif Grant’s skull. You have five seconds. Five . . . four . . . three . . .’

  ‘Okay.’ Sanders stepped from behind a pillar and entered the arena too. Without being instructed she walked over to stand beside Grant. G
ood girl.

  ‘Now, again.’ Shree reached inside her jacket and withdrew the squat glassy cylinder, slick in her sweaty hand. ‘How did you know about this?’

  ‘Ah, so that’s what it looks like,’ Tombs replied. ‘I would have taken it from you earlier, but the Atheter part of my soul retains a deep abhorrence of it. Far easier to let you carry it until it was required.’

  ‘Oh, you require it now, do you? And I’m supposed to hand it over?’

  Arrogance, that’s what it was. Born of his religious indoctrination and now reinforced by his position at the centre of events here. Shree considered putting a bullet through his leg to drain some of that out of him, but no hurry, and she did want to know.

  ‘You have a choice,’ said Tombs. ‘You can hand that over to me now and walk away, or you can release it here to kill yourself, us, and the AI below your feet. In doing so you would sacrifice the entire population of Masada too, because Amistad and those Polity weapons up there are not going to be able to stop what’s coming. They’ll distract it and delay it for a while, for a necessary time, but ultimately fail.’

  He thought he could convince her, it was ludicrous.

  ‘How did you know about this?’ she insisted.

  Tombs shrugged. ‘Blue told me. She subverted the Draco-corp network of a Separatist cell and used them to deliver it to you. It couldn’t be kept here because of a chance of the Polity finding it, and she couldn’t transport it back here because even now her kind is subject to intense Polity scrutiny.’ He gestured to the cylinder. ‘What you hold is the one thing that can stop the mechanism.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense.’

  ‘Such timing,’ he said, turning fractionally to gaze beyond the building. ‘Here is one who really talks nonsense, but less so now, and not for much longer.’