Hilldiggers

by Neal Asher

  The workings of the human brain were intricate indeed, sometimes annoyingly illogical to Yishna when compared with computers; but thus far that lump of pinkish organic matter was the only instrument sensitive enough to detect bleed-over. In her first year aboard Corisanthe Main she had worked on developing ways of recording the workings of the brain. Delving into the research of others, she mapped its function and learnt how to interpret electrical and biochemical readings as thoughts. From this she managed to create audio recordings of bleed-over and listened with growing disappointment to the disconnected and sometimes half-formed words that seemed merely the product of random selection from some lexicon. Further studies revealed that these thoughts arose out of deeper functions of the brain; the words being merely the bubbles bursting at the surface of a pool, and therefore only an indication of deeper activity. She did, however, create complex linguistic programs in order to analyse these first recordings by comparing content with source. Some interesting connections arose, but never enough to understand the purpose of bleed-over, if it even possessed one.

  Keleon had become the source of more information, for he was the first to volunteer for surgery and try out the new hardware. A year ago Yishna had designed both hardware capable of surviving in the hostile environment of the human body and the surgical techniques for installing it. She often went back to his file in search of inspiration, or in the hope of seeing something new. As she studied the cladograms of synaptic activity, applied comparative programs and mapped the course of thoughts through his brain, she mused and speculated. Perhaps bleed-over, weakened almost to non-existence outside Ozark Containment, was the actual cause of all the flourishing sects aboard this station? In fact she felt sure it was the cause of most of the strangeness aboard Corisanthe Main. Telepathic inductance, the OCTs called it. She did not believe that was what it was, but for her it was no longer the issue. The Worm affected humans who got close. She also felt certain that the definitely emotional elements of bleed-over indicated the Worm was self-aware – that was the issue.

  Yishna closed the file, stood up and walked to the window of the study unit, to gaze down into Centre Cross Chamber. As always, there was much work in progress: old equipment in the containment cylinders being replaced, refurbished; new designs of scanner being brought in for trial; and as ever the perpetual checking of security. After watching for a little while, she returned to her touch-screens, keyed into the networks, and began checking on published research and looking for news of new developments.

  Unlike others working here Yishna frequently published her research for, unlike those others, knowledge not status was her goal, and by publishing quickly she received much useful feedback. It did not concern her that other scientists frequently took her work and ran with it, that around her a whole network of R & D had sprung up, and that some of them awaited her publications with something approaching desperation. Only recently had she learned that both Fleet and Combine scientific teams were developing her hardware – surgically implanted inside the brain – for the purpose of controlling ship and satellite systems, for the fast analysis of information, for many operations that shortened and made more efficient the link between thought and action. She had watched with interest the trials of new surgically implanted communications hardware; how Fleet tacoms – ship’s communications, logistics and tactical officers – became capable of comprehending multiple visual and audio inputs, and then acting on them with computer speed.

  There was some breaking news about the surgical division of certain brain functions and some further development of the synaptic connection. Though both of these were of interest and directly applicable to her own work, Yishna felt a sudden weariness and unaccustomed boredom. Idly working her touch-screen, she allowed her mind to wander. Remembering something Dalepan had said earlier, she wondered what would actually happen here if the Worm broke free? During fumarole breaches, those computers affected ended up scrambled and running some decidedly odd code, but even that – like bleed-over – seemed only to hover on the point of making sense, but never did. Dalepan had told her about a physical breach occurring near the end of the War, when the unlikely failure of three reactors simultaneously resulted in a brief power outage to Ozark Three. This in turn resulted in the similarly brief collapse of the magnetic containment field inside the canister itself, and the Worm directly touching the sidewall. He had elaborated no further.

  Yishna looked up and realized that, almost without thinking, she had dropped from accessing the networks and instead opened a port into Corisanthe Main’s library. Her interest stimulated, she began to do some research.

  The touch against the side of the canister had resulted in the slow spread of something like a metal-eating fungus. That was the kind of nano-technology they studied endlessly, very often understood, but simply had no way of creating for themselves. It was, many opined, something you could not build without it having been created as a part of your science. A desert nomad could understand a computer, but without the infrastructure, the tooling and much else beside, he could never build one. Such creations were the culmination of a long chain of development.

  The reports she read then went on to detail how, avoiding the implementation of any of the main ‘Emergency Ozark Protocols’, an OCT had entered the affected cylinder and sterilized the infestation with a laser. Later, OCTs cut away this section from the canister and replaced it with new metal. They also replaced all the equipment within the surrounding cylinder and thereafter ran constant checks for nanite infestation.

  Emergency Ozark Protocols . . . Yishna searched the library for further mention of them. She found only one: EOP Three would only be applied if we were unable to evacuate the station—

  It was just that one line remaining from a partially deleted file. Further searching referred her to ‘Gneiss eyes only’ files stored in the system under heavy encryption, beyond the scope of the access codes in her control baton. She had encountered these files many times before and knew that any foolish tampering with them would result in station security officers dragging her off to face the Director. However, on those previous occasions she had felt insufficiently curious to know what was hidden in them. Now she was, and when it came to cracking encryption there was probably only one person better at it than herself, and he was busily climbing the ranks aboard Ironfist.

  Yishna stretched her fingers, smiled to herself and went to work. It was exhilarating, and using programs she had created during her research she easily sidestepped all the traps and was soon browsing the Director’s database. Private reports he had compiled concerning herself soon distracted her. It pleased her to note comments like: If it were not for the importance of her research, I would immediately recommend her for a position on the Oversight Committee. However, I am loath to turn such a mind away from research and employ it in the prosaic managerial and political aspects of running Combine.

  A further distraction for her was the archived material concerning the original building of Corisanthe Main while the four segments of the Worm were held in a stripped-out cruiser hastily converted into the role of a magnetic bottle. It seemed at this time the Worm showed little activity. In a state of shock, perhaps? It only began to become active after they transported it from the cruiser to the newly completed canisters which would hold its separate segments inside the Ozark Cylinders. As if it knew where it was being taken? But eventually Yishna found what she was looking for, and then it felt as if something juddered to a halt inside her mind.

  There were three of them. Protocol Three detailed ‘Actions in the event of physical containment breach should there be an inability to evacuate the station’. It seemed that it was possible to eject the Ozark Cylinders entire from the station. Protocol Two detailed the ‘Evacuation of the station in the event of physical containment breach and the thermal and EM sterilization of the Ozark Cylinders’. Protocol One talked of evacuation, massive physical breach beyond the cylinders and the infestation of the station itself. Six t
hermo-nuclear warheads had been evenly placed throughout its structure, and their detonation would vaporize everything. It also seemed evident to Yishna that, in some cases, the protocol demanded their detonation even without evacuation of personnel.

  She stared at this dry set of rules and felt a sudden overpowering anger. This cannot be allowed. The thought sat leaden and incontestible in her mind. They should not be able, out of fear, to so easily destroy all or part of the Worm. It was a trust. It belonged to all and itself. It belonged to her!

  Now she began to really tear into the station’s computer systems. With both hands to her touch-screens she created and modified programs, hunted down and absorbed. Inside her skull she felt a bloated heaviness, and knew she was moving into one of those almost sublime moments of mentation. She quickly located all the warheads, and discovered they could not be physically disarmed – were in fact regularly checked for readiness. The lasers and thermite explosives it would be impossible to get to, since they lay actually inside the cylinders and none could go there without accompanying OCTs. But, as always, there was another way.

  The command would come from Director Gneiss himself, after ratification by the Oversight Committee. The answer lay in a bit of rerouting, so that when Gneiss ordered one protocol the system employed another. Without hesitation she made the alterations. Now, if the Director ordered EM and thermal sterilization as detailed in Protocol Two, or the detonation of the nukes as in Protocol One, in both cases Protocol Three would be employed and the Ozark Cylinders would be ejected. All of them would be ejected.

  When she was done, Yishna sat back and just stared at the screens. After a moment she triple-wiped memory so nothing of what she had done could be detected. She then turned everything off, stood up, and headed for her quarters. Dropping fully clothed onto her bunk, she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

  Four hours later she woke in utter panic. Why did I do that?

  Deep inside she somehow knew why, but could not allow herself to consciously admit it. She felt the terror of madness – of her mind not being her own. And from that moment Corisanthe Main seemed filled with dangerous shadows, and the nightmares began.

  – Retroact 10 Ends –

  Harald

  As he headed for his quarters aboard Ironfist, Harald seethed. Had David McCrooger remained unthreatened throughout his journey here from the edge of the system, people would then have believed that Fleet had honourably discharged a duty it found distasteful and been extremely embarrassed at subsequently losing McCrooger to unprovoked Brumallian aggression. Inigis’s foolish attempt to rid them of the Consul Assessor straight away had changed that scenario by exacerbating public suspicion already driven high by Uskaron’s book. It was lucky that despite that idiocy, parliamentary vote had allowed Fleet to recommission its old weapons and begin to manufacture more, just as Harald required. However, supposed threats to Sudoria needed to be highlighted and brought closer to home, and Orbital Combine must be implicated.

  Harald halted by his door and, without the intercession of a control baton, sent the access code direct from the hardware in his foamite suit. The door unlocked and he pushed it open. Sensing that his quarters were occupied, he drew his side arm, then quickly darted in and to one side, the weapon levelled at the figure occupying the chair beside his console.

  ‘Have you so many enemies, Harald?’ asked Yishna.

  Harald kept his weapon sighted on his sister, while eyeing the small pistol she held. She watched him for a moment, then glanced down at the pistol.

  ‘Combine manufacture,’ she said, placing the weapon down then sliding it to the back of his desk. ‘Surely Fleet possess better weapons?’

  Returning his side arm to its holster, Harald closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. To obtain that little Combine gun, she had obviously opened the code-locked storage compartment under his desk – not a serious problem for her, of course.

  ‘To answer both your questions, I do have a few enemies. There are some in Fleet not averse to using assassination as a means of gaining promotion, though there’re few like that here on Ironfist. Hence my reaction to you just then, and hence the presence of an unregistered weapon here in my quarters.’ He walked over to his samovar and tapped himself a cup of the same pungent tea Yishna was presently sipping. While doing this he tried to relax the tension that seemed to entwine steel springs through his body.

  ‘I had not realized,’ said Yishna, looking dismayed.

  Harald immediately understood that she referred to his tacom alterations, and not the fact that he had enemies. ‘Communication is the key, sister. It always has been.’

  ‘Some might consider it mutilation.’

  Harald grimaced, carefully placed his cup down by the samovar, then removed his helmet and glove, placing them down beside it. Taking up the cup again, he finally turned and seated himself on his divan. ‘Perhaps you should be the last to make such observations, since this technology stems from your own research.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So why are you here, sister?’

  Yishna stared at his adapted eye. ‘Interesting. It merely looks like you’ve received a poke in the eye, yet we both know the largest alterations are behind it.’

  ‘I asked you why you are here.’

  Yishna stared at him a moment longer, then said, ‘I’m here because, apparently, some suicidal Brumallians fired a missile at the ship I was aboard. Those surviving the attack were picked up by Ironfist’s rescue boats. Seven others died, including, apparently, the Consul Assessor.’

  ‘Regrettable,’ said Harald. ‘I was looking forward to interrogating him during Inigis’s trial.’

  ‘I suspect you would have found it an illuminating experience.’

  ‘Doubtless.’

  ‘What happened to Inigis’s ship?’ Yishna asked. ‘I know it was hit by a Brumallian missile and that there was a detonation in one of the silos aboard, shoving it into a decaying orbit, but that’s about it. No one here seems inclined to tell me any more.’

  ‘It nearly went down, but Inigis, ignoring the order confining him to his cabin for his alleged attempt on the Consul Assessor’s life, took command again and saved the day by detonating a second weapon in another silo, thus changing his ship’s trajectory. His actions will of course be taken into account when he comes to trial.’

  ‘What are you up to, Harald?’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand your question.’

  ‘We two are driven; we studied hard and we learned, and have now attained high positions in Sudorian society. I have only one more step yet to make to become Director of Corisanthe Main, but my work sufficiently satisfies me that I’m prepared to wait until Director Gneiss steps down.’ Yishna frowned as if remembering something unpleasant, then shook her head and con-tinued, ‘What are you waiting for, Harald – and are you waiting at all?’

  ‘The stratified ranking system of Fleet will not allow me to take the position of Admiral, since Captain Dravenik gets precedence. However, as Fleet Tacom I now hold more power in fact than Carnasus holds in name. Standing at his shoulder, I’ve reached the highest position I can attain without a major readjustment of the ranking system.’

  ‘And killing the Polity Consul Assessor helps this how?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you’d better ask the Brumallians that.’

  Yishna just stared at him for a long moment before going on: ‘It may be that the Polity does not represent as much of a danger as you might think.’

  ‘Our affairs here are complicated enough as they are without outside interference,’ Harald snapped, not sure why he suddenly felt so angry.

  ‘David McCrooger was a very interesting person . . .’ Yishna trailed off, staring at something distant. ‘I . . . I thought I would be able to easily play him, understand his motivations and the true intent of this Polity, but every time I began to feel I knew what he was all about, some new level to him was revealed.’ She focused on Harald. ‘Like sometimes
when you talk to someone intelligent and old, you keep uncovering layers of complexity.’

  ‘Perhaps that is precisely what he is,’ Harald replied. ‘We don’t know how good their medical science is, so he may have been much older than he looked. I in fact think that rather likely.’

  ‘I asked him about their policy regarding imprisoned sentients, should the Polity take over here.’

  Harald felt something go quiet inside him, waiting. Every sound in this room suddenly became intense and every object clearly defined and subject to his full perception.

  ‘His reply?’ he asked casually.

  Yishna’s nictitating membranes flicked closed, giving her eyes an opaque sheen. ‘He told me that in the case of corrupt totalitarian regimes they grant a full amnesty to all prisoners, though those guilty of capital crimes are checked for socio- or psychopathic tendencies. But because our regime is not such, cases would be individually reviewed under Polity law, and those found innocent of any crime would be released. But Polity intercession is unlikely.’

  ‘Reviewed under Polity law,’ Harald repeated. ‘Your impression?’

  Now, in a noticeably flat tone, his sister replied, ‘I am sure that those unjustly imprisoned would be released no matter who or what they are.’

  Harald felt himself returning to a more normal level of perception. Yishna’s nictitating membranes opened and she looked about with annoyance.

  ‘It happened again,’ she said.

  ‘It often happens when we meet after being apart for some time.’

  She glanced up at him. ‘It’s some sort of communication – non-verbal.’

  ‘It is,’ Harald agreed, ‘but I fail to divine its purpose.’ He paused for a moment then asked, ‘How goes your research into the Worm?’