The Spoke was suddenly obscured by cloud. I heard the engines of the transport change tone as Gibby and Buck pushed it back further from the Spoke until the aircraft hazard lights were just a glow in the distance. I knew the transport’s sensors and their vehicle interface software would have created a three-dimensional topographical map of the Spoke which they were using to pilot. I heard a sigh from Morag. She turned to head back into the cargo bay.
‘Wait,’ I said. She stopped, turned, and I nodded out the window. When we rose out of the clouds, shaking off the last wispy tendrils of water vapour, Atlantis was a thin neon tower against the deep-blue backdrop of the night sky. It was reaching up as far as the eye could see towards space. Morag craned her neck to look up through the clear composite bubble of the cockpit. I was glad I saw this before I died. I was glad Morag saw this before she died. I wondered about the people who could afford to live here. Did they still appreciate this or was it all just commonplace to them? I hope they still appreciated it. It didn’t bode well for their souls if they didn’t feel awe at this feat of engineering and beauty.
There was less traffic up here, though more of it was security. These were the executive levels – various corporate enclaves, office and living spaces in the same areas. Higher up were the lift docks and more landing areas for the heavy commercial traffic. I heard the turbines whine again and Gibby and Buck’s music change as the transport pushed back even further from the Spoke. Looking up I felt I was looking at the edge of space. Using my optics I could just about see where the building ended and there was only the cable structure leading to orbit, High Atlantis and the asteroid tether.
‘See it?’ Gibby asked Morag, and pointed upwards. She looked up. I couldn’t make out what he was talking about.
‘No,’ she said, her face screwing up in concentration. Buck’s tune changed, as did the display overlaid on the cockpit windscreen. It showed the same part of the Spoke but now much magnified. I could see the huge multi-storeyed elevator sliding down the cable at speed. It was lit up like a Christmas tree. I’d seen Christmas trees on vizzes.
‘Looks like one of the luxury ones,’ Buck said. ‘High-velocity, five-star hotel.’ Morag was just staring at it. I realised I was grinning. We watched as it sank into the Spoke’s superstructure; even then we could see it moving within the massive building. I was feeling less cynical about this. We, humans, I meant, could build this, and John Coltrane could record A Love Supreme, and the Sixteen Men of Tain still made Glenmorangie. Those three things were proof that we deserved more than this constant, grinding war. I think that was when I started to hope a bit. So I was less than pleased when I turned round to see Mudge wearing only cowboy boots, boxer shorts and a string vest. He had a full bottle of vodka in one hand and his AK in the other. A joint hung out the side of his mouth. I could see both his precision-engineered, high-speed prosthetic legs.
‘What’ve you come as?’ I asked.
‘Dude, this is what the revolution looks like,’ he said, grinning.
I maybe should’ve seen something like this coming. ‘You don’t think you’re going to lack credibility?’ I asked, more politely than I felt.
‘I need to feel comfortable, man,’ he said.
I looked him up and down. ‘And you feel comfortable like that?’
‘I know you like what you see,’ he said and winked at me. Morag burst out laughing.
‘You’re just trying to piss off Pagan, aren’t you?’ I said. Gregor seemed to rise up behind him. I was becoming more use to his skewed physiology. He was wearing a long coat but it didn’t hang right. He had an ammo drum strapped to his back and was carrying a Retributor, apparently with ease.
‘You look like a twat,’ Gregor said to Mudge. Mudge looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
‘The weird-looking alien’s right,’ I agreed. ‘You realise if this is as big a deal as Pagan’s making out you will be recorded for posterity looking like that.’ Morag was still grinning.
‘Trust me. When I’ve finished everyone will be dressing like this,’ he said.
‘I won’t!’ Morag burst out.
‘You’d look good in a string vest,’ I suggested.
‘Your mum’ll see you dressed like that,’ Gregor pointed out.
‘Mum’ll love it, she’ll be proud,’ Mudge said.
‘We’re down in thirty seconds,’ Gibby warned.
We were going to go in there, take over the broadcast node, download God and start broadcasting. It wouldn’t take them long to take us down, but by then the damage would be done. I looked around at us all as the transport came into dock at some generic broadcast node. We were going to die doing something incredibly stupid. That appealed to me – my life had been incredibly stupid. I would rather have been a musician. Why couldn’t I get A Love Supreme out of my head? This would be a good enough way to die. It was a shame Morag had to go, a shame that she didn’t get a chance to experience more. I found myself grinning. Mudge was grinning as well.
‘You realise if this works everyone has the potential to know every little secret out there? We could turn the world into a huge riot. Scores will be getting settled left, right and centre. This entire system could burn,’ I said.
‘Something has to change,’ Mudge said seriously.
‘Is this how?’ I asked.
‘How long should we keep second-guessing ourselves?’ he asked. I felt the transport get blown sideways as Gibby fought the high cross-winds whipping round the Spoke. Finally the transport lurched and landed with a thump. I heard a clang as a walkway mated with the doorway of the transport.
‘So we’re not taking this seriously then?’ Pagan asked, staring at Mudge, his face a mask of barely controlled fury. Gregor loomed over the hacker.
‘You die your way, let him die his,’ he said. I saw Mudge glance at the hybrid. Mudge’s expression was unreadable.
I noticed there were tears in Morag’s eyes. As Gregor and Mudge moved by me to the door I leant in close to her.
‘You okay?’ I asked her stupidly.
She smiled. ‘Scared. So this is it?’
I didn’t know what to say to her. How could I tell her that this might be best, that this was much better than the way her life would’ve turned out? Instead I decided to behave like a male, completely selfishly. I leant in and kissed her. At first she tensed. Not only was she still angry at me for being a prick, and rightly so, but I must’ve looked awful covered in angry red bleeding sores with a sickly looking, greyish skin tone. I was kind of surprised she didn’t throw up. Then she reciprocated, one hand reaching up for me, the other pushed against my chest over my modified heart. It seemed to last a long time and was over very quickly. Surprisingly the others were good enough to remain quiet.
‘I just didn’t want to go not having-’ I began. She held a finger over my lips, silencing me.
Gibby and Buck pushed past me out of the cockpit. Gibby had a bullpup Kalashnikov slung over his back and was carrying a long, thin armoured case. He had unconnected wires hanging out of his plugs. Buck was carrying a semi-automatic/pump-action shotgun in one hand and a case not dissimilar to Gibby’s in the other.
Pagan glanced up at the pair of them from the transport’s lock mechanism. He was trying to override the media node’s security. ‘Why are you bringing your instruments?’
‘They’re the band, man,’ Mudge said. ‘This is show business.’
Pagan looked like he was about to argue but instead turned back to the dock.
‘This is just a huge ego trip for you, isn’t it?’ I asked Mudge.
‘I’m shitting myself,’ he said, still grinning, took another swig from his vodka and lit his spliff. The door to the node opened and suddenly it was all business.
Rannu, Balor and Gregor were first through, weapons at the ready, sweeping left and right, checking corners as they entered. I heard the first scream of surprise. Gibby and Buck followed. They dropped their instrument cases to the side of the node’s entrance, th
eir weapons came up and they were all pro. Morag and Pagan followed, Morag carrying the cube. Mudge lifted his AK-47 to port and the pair of us sauntered through. Despite the drugs I was finding my enthusiasm for paramilitary nonsense fading.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from a broadcast studio, maybe lavish sets or banks of high-tech equipment, people everywhere, that sort of thing. I was pretty disappointed. I don’t know what this node was called but they specialised in ‘reality’ soap opera porn. It was a lot more cost-effective to use computer-generated sets and actors, but apparently some people claimed they could tell the difference, and for those who could afford to subscribe to real flesh there were set-ups like this. That didn’t stop them from computer-generating things like costumes and sets, and I would guess digitally enhancing some of the actors’ attributes.
Basically it was a plain white set with various representational bits of furniture that the actors could react to and use, detail to be added in post-production. There were three actors on the set, two men and a woman, all of them generically attractive in a really dull way. All had white, skintight overalls that covered everything but their faces so their costumes could be added at a later date. There was one other person on the set. She had camera eyes like Mudge’s and a transmitter in one of her sockets, presumably linking her to a media board. Around the set several miniature camera systems floated silently, catching the actors from every conceivable angle. They were similar to the ones Mudge had used to shoot the fight I’d had with Rannu in New York, but they were much smaller and more sophisticated.
A catwalk surrounded the studio area, and directly opposite us was a glass booth with two men in it, one of whom was unmistakeably some kind of security guard. Beyond I could see a passage leading, presumably, to reception and to the exit out onto this level of the Spoke. I headed for that, strolling calmly, lighting a cigarette. Balor was terrifying the actors by screaming at them to lie on the floor.
‘Calm down,’ I told him. ‘Just sit over there and be quiet,’ I ordered the actors, pointing at a featureless, modular white sofa. They nodded, one of the men blinking back tears.
Rannu had his Metal Storm gauss carbine out in front of him, the butt tight in against his shoulder as he made his way smoothly up the metal stairs to the catwalk. I headed into the passageway leading to the reception and the entrance of the node. The walls of the corridor were painted turquoise and decorated with some suitably hip logo that looked like a high-tech, fast-moving chicken to me. I guessed it was supposed to be cooler than that, or maybe chickens were in. Behind me I could hear Morag shouting at someone to put their gun down.
‘Remember we’re not going to kill anyone,’ I said over the tac net. I received something akin to white noise back from Balor. I strolled round the corner into the reception area, my shotgun still slung across my back, and walked into a badly controlled burst of fire from a PD W. I staggered a little, my armoured coat and subcutaneous armour stopping the small-calibre rounds.
‘Ow, fuck!’ I shouted intelligently and then staggered back around the corner, all pissed off, but not before I caught a glimpse of what I assumed was a rather militant receptionist. He was crouching for cover behind a large and groovy-looking desk. I heard something behind me and glanced round to see the misshapen, off-centre figure of Gregor lope over to my position, his Retributor at the ready.
‘I think the railgun may be overkill here,’ I told him. ‘Hey!’ I said, shouting to the receptionist. ‘We don’t want to hurt you. Just leave, okay?’
‘How do I know you won’t shoot me if I try to leave?’ he demanded.
‘We haven’t shot you yet!’ I pointed out. ‘We do have desk-piercing rounds in our weapons!’ Gregor laughed. There was another burst of gunfire.
‘You’re next to the fucking door; just run away!’ I shouted, and was answered with another burst of gunfire. What was this guy’s problem? Gregor made to move round me, railgun at the ready.
‘Don’t kill him,’ I hissed at Gregor. He went round the corner and there was another burst of gunfire. Judging by the ricochets some of it hit Gregor. I think he had plates beneath his skin that hardened when they were hit with sufficient kinetic force. It was disconcerting to watch. Gregor returned.
‘Did you miss being shot?’ I asked. Gregor just looked at me in a manner I guessed was supposed to be rueful. It was difficult to tell with his warped facial features.
‘You!’ I shouted to the armed receptionist. ‘What the fuck are you doing? He’s obviously a big weird-looking thing with a railgun and you shot him? What were you thinking? Put the gun down now or you’ll get shot so much you’ll cease to exist!’ Gregor gave me a funny look. ‘What? Civilians respond to threats like that.’
There was no answer but eventually I heard the sound of running footsteps.
‘See? Look round the corner. Maybe you’ll get shot again,’ I suggested. Gregor pushed me round the corner. Despite all the metal and plastic I was carrying internally, his enormous strength moved me with little effort.
‘Hey! That’s not funny, man.’ But the receptionist had gone. In front of the desk was a large glass wall that looked out onto a wide plaza lined with various trendy-looking offices. There were a few suits looking our way. Behind me from the main studio I could hear more shouting.
‘Watch the door,’ I told Gregor. He nodded. I wandered back into the main studio area. I found Balor had the actors, the camera-eyed woman, two security guards and a young guy I assumed had been working the media deck up in the gallery all lying face down on the floor. He was covering them with his Spectre/grenade launcher combo. I sighed.
‘I thought I said they could sit down?’ I said to him.
‘What are we going to do with them? We could strap them to possible breach points,’ he said.
I looked up at the demonic features of the huge amphibian cyborg. ‘We could,’ I mused. ‘Or we could let them go because they’ll be a noisy pain in the arse and it’s not what we do.’
Balor looked at me in disgust. ‘They won’t make any noise if we cut their tongues out,’ he said. At this, several of them started screaming and crying. I just looked at Balor.
I leant down to the actress, who seemed to be holding it together best. She looked vaguely familiar to me, but whether that was because I’d seen her on the viz or she’d surgically altered herself to look like the flavour of the month I didn’t know.
‘We’re going to let you go,’ I said as reassuringly as I could. I guessed as I was covered in angry bleeding sores and looked like a walking corpse it probably wasn’t all that reassuring. She nodded nonetheless. ‘Now security, the police and possibly the military are going to talk to you, okay?’ I said. She nodded again. ‘I want you to tell them that everyone in here is ex-special forces and that we are ready for a breach, but if they leave us be we’ll turn ourselves over once we’re finished, okay?’ I said. She nodded.
‘Okay. All of you, up and out,’ I told them. A few of them had to be coaxed but eventually they all left. They stared at Gregor as they moved past him.
In the studio Morag and Pagan were both tranced into the net. I had net feed but hadn’t brought the window up yet. Gibby and Buck were setting up their instruments, Buck his guitar, Gibby his keyboard, but they were also plugging themselves into other bits and pieces. They would have a drum machine, bass machine, mixing deck and a transmitter to link to the media deck, I guessed. Mudge had nicked the camera-eyed woman’s remote media deck connection and was concentrating. Rannu appeared through a door near the gallery on the catwalk above.
‘What have we got?’ I asked.
‘What you see and two other areas. One is rec and changing, the other is admin, storage and what looks like a design room – all clear,’ Rannu answered. I thought he sounded almost bored.
‘Make the other areas safe,’ I told Rannu. The ex-Ghurkha nodded. They were never going to be safe but at least we could prepare as much as possible for the inevitable breach. I headed back to th
e reception area.
I found Gregor looking amused and peering out the window. He was sat on the reception desk.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘A couple of corporate rent-a-cops just came round the corner, took one look at me and scrambled on all fours back out of view,’ he said.
‘You’re getting high on power, man,’ I said, smiling, and triggered the security door, which began sliding down. ‘You send out the crawlers?’ I asked. Gregor nodded and texted me the link to the small robot cameras he’d set loose outside the facility. It looked like one of them was shooting from inside a landscaped part of the mall. Around the corner from the node facility I could see the two cowering rent-a-cops. They had guns in their hands and looked like they were sub-vocalising frantically. I laughed; maybe the cops thought They had invaded. Gregor began putting motion and sound detectors up against the door and exterior walls while I redirected the external and interior security camera feeds to my internal visual display and ensured they were disconnected from the net.
A blinking icon on the reception console told me that someone was trying to contact the node. I opened the link. The face that appeared on the screen was overweight, nervous, sweating heavily and so obviously an overpaid hostage negotiation consultant it was difficult to look at him. He’d probably never had to handle a situation this serious before. He opened his mouth to talk.
‘I’ll only speak to the commander of the HRT or SWAT team you’re sending in here. If I haven’t heard from them in five minutes I’ll kill a hostage,’ I lied and then killed the link. Gregor looked over at me. I shrugged. ‘He looked like an arsehole.’ From the external cameras and the concealed crawlers I could see the local security establishing a perimeter.
‘You got it here?’ I said, diverting the reception comms to my own.
Gregor nodded.
Veteran v-1 Page 37