Gridlinked

by Neal Asher

  ‘You are slow,’ she said, as he moved up behind her and placed his hand on the lighter skin at the soapy curve of her hip.

  ‘Too long listening to AIs,’ he said, pulling her to him and sliding his hands round her waist, then up to her breasts. She pushed her bottom back against his erection and slowly moved it from side to side.

  ‘I hope you haven’t lost all your manual skills,’ she said, then turned and reached down.

  Cormac pulled her close again and started kissing her neck, and then he found himself on top of her on the floor of the shower room, inside her. From there, to the bed and the night—not one thought about gridlinks.

  12

  Wouldn’t you think that with such omnipotent AIs, such advanced security systems, and such dedicated ECS Monitors, crime would be a thing of the past? Think that and you aren’t thinking. Our security systems may be advancing every day, but so are the criminals. Between what I like to call the forces of order and of chaos there is a constant ‘arms race’, and it’s difficult sometimes to say who might be winning. Sometimes it is also difficult to distinguish which side is which.

  From How It Is by Gordon

  Briefly there had been a night, very briefly. The sun had dipped behind the horizon for two solstan hours before creeping back. As if this momentary lapse had allowed it through, a green bank of cloud rose from the further horizon and rolled in with pinwheels of lightning scoring its underbelly. Stanton took another bite from the kebab he had bought inside, and wondered just what sort of meat he was eating. What sort of vegetation for that matter. It was after inspecting the contents of his meal for a moment that he looked along the length of the old road. Down the sides of the compacted and fused-earth surface were deep storm gullies. He had heard it could be bad here. What most puzzled him were the square panels set along the road at regular intervals. They were painted black and yellow, and each had a letter and a number. The letter was always a C and the numbers ascended in order. He was staring at these when a woman with a shaven and tattooed skull stumbled from The Sharrow. She was painfully slim in her jeans and padded sea-fibre jacket, and her skin had a bluish tint. Probably part Outlinker, he thought.

  ‘What are those?’ he asked, pointing at the squares when she gave him a once-over.

  She looked confused for a moment, and then waved an arm dismissively. ‘Car clamps,’ she said, and stumbled off.

  Stanton filed this information under miscellaneous, then looked back up the road in the other direction. The familiar loom of Mr. Crane stomping along behind Pelter was not difficult to miss. He finished his meal in a couple of hurried bites, wiped his hands on a tissue and tossed that tissue into a nearby bin. As Pelter drew closer, Stanton saw that something had changed.

  ‘New aug,’ he said.

  Pelter reached up and touched the reptilian aug clinging behind his right ear. Perhaps it was something about the light, the weight of cloud above and the flickering of yellow lightning, but Stanton felt sure he had seen the aug move under Pelter’s touch. It was the final step, Stanton thought. Pelter had once been an attractive man; now, with his head made lopsided by two mismatched augs, the optic link in his suppurating eye socket and a face grown haggard and perpetually twisted by whatever drove him, he was ugly. Without a doubt he now looked what he was.

  ‘A new aug,’ Pelter repeated.

  ‘OK,’ said Stanton when it became apparent Pelter intended to say no more. He glanced up at the darkening sky and felt the first slimy drops of rain on his face. ‘Storm on the way, and they can be bad here.’ He looked at Pelter again. ‘The boys are inside. Any luck with a dealer?’

  Pelter nodded and gestured towards the arched entrance of The Sharrow. Side by side they walked through, Mr. Crane at their back, a brass shadow.

  ‘We have an assortment of interesting toys and we have our delivery system,’ said Pelter.

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘A stealthed dropbird of Polity manufacture. I am told it was stolen piece by piece from an ECS base. It’s old, but it will serve. Now—’ Pelter looked at him ‘—did you deal with the other matter?’

  ‘Jarvellis didn’t let out any information concerning us. Neither by aug, her ship computers, nor auto manifest. She had all bets covered, as always. I believe her. She’s smuggled weapons successfully for decades. You don’t manage that under the noses of ECS without sealing every data leak.’

  Pelter shook his head. ‘That doesn’t concern me. What about our transport?’

  ‘It doesn’t concern you? . . . We have to know how the information got through, Arian. We could be walking into a shitstorm here.’

  ‘It doesn’t concern me because I now know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself. I have it covered. Now, transport?’ said Pelter.

  They halted almost in the middle of the room. Stanton glanced round at the raucous drinkers and saw the looks flung their way, then he looked towards the restaurant platforms ahead of them.

  ‘Perhaps we should save this,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Pelter. ‘I want to know now what you have arranged.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ Stanton stepped closer and lowered his voice. He saw that Crane moved closer as well, and knew it wasn’t because the android wanted to join the conversation.

  ‘With a dropbird, life support for the six of us, and other supplies not yet detailed, Jarvellis says it’ll have to be a full charter. We’ll need both holds and she won’t have room for any other cargoes. Also, she’ll need to service the split seals on the A hold for loading and then deployment of the bird . . . A straight million.’

  Stanton waited for Pelter to explode, but was surprised and puzzled by his reaction.

  ‘Fine,’ Pelter said, and moved on. ‘We’ll get rooms in the nearest metrotel while the work is being done. How long will the service take?’

  ‘Couple of days, solstan . . . that’s the reason for the high price, you see: a lot will go on the maintenance and bribes. They can block you if you don’t pay.’

  ‘There is no need to explain,’ said Pelter as they reached the stairs to the restaurant.

  Stanton let Pelter and Crane precede him. He watched the metal stairs bending under the weight of the android, then glanced back across the chaos of the drinking area. The two men and two women who came in through the archway were little different from most of the rest of the clientele. They wore monofilament overalls and were shaking the rain from themselves. One woman was tall and had long black hair, and the other was a catadapt with reddish hair. The men both appeared quite normal stock humanity. They were armed, as many here were. All that gave them away was the fact that they did not look in their direction, at Mr. Crane. Just about every person in The Sharrow had clocked Mr. Crane before turning away again. The likes of Mr. Crane you did not often see. Also, the tall woman was classically beautiful and moved with uncommon grace. Stanton followed Crane and Pelter up the stairs.

  At the back of the restaurant the four mercenaries were lounging in a private booth, with their attention directed toward the fight tank. Mennecken had on a virtual glove and face cup, and Dusache, sitting next to him, was laughing uproariously. But Stanton heard no sound from them until they entered the booth with its privacy field and he took a seat beside Pelter.

  ‘Arian,’ said Corlackis, ‘I see you now avail yourself of more visible technology.’ He studied Pelter’s face for a moment, then turned his attention to Mr. Crane. Crane had moved to one side of the booth and now stood perfectly still. ‘But do we really need that kind of hardware?’ he finished.

  ‘We do. Now, to business,’ said Pelter.

  ‘Let’s just wait on that,’ said Stanton, and watched the floating vendor that slid in through the field. The flat, thick tray had small lights glinting on its edge and two grab arms folded crablike underneath itself. It dropped until it was hovering just a couple of centimetres above the glasses on the table, its AG forcing spilt drink to slide about on the surface as if und
er an air blast. Its arms unfolded and took up two empty glasses, which it placed on top of itself. The obverse of its antigravity field stuck the glasses in place. From it issued a bored voice.

  ‘Orders?’ it asked.

  ‘I’ll have cool-ice,’ said Stanton, and looked at Pelter.

  ‘The same,’ said Pelter, his attention fixed firmly back.

  ‘Repeat order for you gentlemen?’ the vendor asked.

  ‘You bet,’ said Dusache.

  The vendor rose into the air, then floated across to Mr. Crane, where it tilted, its lights moving frantically. Abruptly it shot away.

  ‘Clever machine,’ murmured Stanton, and then said, ‘Right, we are all here having a wonderful time and not one of us is going to notice the four who are just about to come up the stairs.’

  ‘What do you have?’ asked Corlackis.

  ‘I’d reckon on a covert group, probably ECS as one of them looks like a Golem.’

  ‘How the hell do you tell?’ asked Svent.

  ‘Always too good,’ Stanton replied. ‘They can put scars on the outside, but they show from the inside as well. It’s how you move . . . Here they come.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Mennecken yelled and pulled off his face cup and glove and slammed them on the table.

  ‘I make that eight minutes,’ said Corlackis, glancing at the timepiece set in his fingernail. ‘I also make that fifty shillings you owe each of us.’

  Mennecken was now looking at Stanton and Pelter. He then turned and looked at Mr. Crane. Corlackis spoke before his brother had a chance to.

  ‘Notice anything about the clientele of this restaurant?’ he asked.

  Mennecken’s glance flicked round, then came back to his brother. ‘Well, here we’ve got the leader of the Separatist cell on Cheyne III, five very obvious mercenaries, and a psychodroid,’ he said.

  ‘I meant the other clientele, as you well know.’

  ‘OK, you mean, apart from the four ECS shits sitting over the far side there.’

  Corlackis turned to Pelter. ‘You want them taken out?’

  Pelter did not answer. He, Dusache and Svent seemed to be having a staring competition. Stanton clamped down on his unease at this. He had one issue to focus on at the moment. He’d leave the one concerning biotech augs to another time.

  ‘Yes, it would be better if we were not observed,’ Pelter finally said, switching back to Corlackis. ‘Though it may be useful to keep one of the humans alive for a chat.’

  Corlackis nodded and turned to Stanton. ‘A Golem, you say? Which one?’ he asked.

  ‘The one with the long black hair. Probably a Twenty to Twenty-five. Might be others there of a higher series, but they can be difficult to spot sometimes,’ Stanton replied.

  To Pelter, Corlackis said, ‘Then perhaps we do need the hardware.’ He looked up at Mr. Crane. ‘The questions now remain: where, when, and how? Any suggestions?’

  ‘Whack ’em here and we got ten thousand in bribes to pay,’ said Svent.

  Pelter said, ‘We will all return to your metrotel. Stanton and myself will book rooms. There are four of them and they cannot follow us all.’ He turned to Svent and Dusache. ‘You two will slip away at some point to reconnoitre. I want to know where they go, what they do. I want to know if they set up some kind of watching station. I also want to know if there are any more of them.’ He now addressed them all. ‘We will hit them during the brief night here. We will do it quietly and we will dispose of the remains.’

  Stanton nodded in agreement with this, but could not help wondering if what Pelter had just said to Svent and Dusache had needed to be spoken out loud.

  ‘I’d like the little catadapt,’ said Mennecken, staring across the restaurant.

  ‘As long as you are quiet,’ Pelter replied.

  ‘I will be. Can’t speak for her,’ said Mennecken.

  ‘Now,’ said Pelter, ‘if we might return to why I asked you here?’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ said Mennecken.

  Pelter did not. He made sure he had the attention of them all before going on. ‘I will pay you each one hundred thousand New Carth shillings to help me get to a certain man and kill him.’

  Corlackis let out a low whistle. ‘Some man, then,’ he said.

  Stanton said, ‘He’s an ECS agent called Ian Cormac.’

  ‘I eat them for breakfast,’ said Mennecken.

  Corlackis did not seem so sure. Stanton guessed that he recognized the name.

  * * *

  Pelter glanced over at the parked AGC Dusache had pointed out and tried not to sneer. This group was very unprofessional, nothing like Cormac. His sneer faded as he tried to work out the origins of that thought. Did it come from the dichotomy of running two augs that now seemed almost inimical to each other? Or was it from himself? He shook rain from his hair and glared through the false twilight.

  The sky was growing darker and the rain steadily heavier. Tough growths, with the appearance of black briars, were pushing up between the slabs of the AGC park, and were not the only unwelcome visitors the extra moisture had brought.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ said Svent, his hand sliding to the gap in his rainfilm.

  Pelter looked at him. He did not even have to vocalize the order. Svent pulled his hand from his film and dropped it to his side. He, Dusache and Pelter watched the creature drawing itself across the slabs. It was a diamond of mounded grey flesh with bulbous eyes and a turned-up snout. A short flat tail flickered at its other end. In all it was two metres long and looked like it could swamp a man. It was not moving with any great speed, though.

  ‘You should know. You ate part of one last night,’ said Dusache.

  Svent looked pained for a moment. ‘Ground skate?’ he asked.

  ‘With mustard sauce, wasn’t it?’ Dusache queried.

  Pelter ignored them. He stared at the falling rain and seemed to see in it a hint of a shape, something huge, an image the raindrops were trying to form, but just could not. He looked through Crane’s eyes and the image grew stronger. He had a hint now of diamonds. Perhaps some sort of echo in his two augs from looking at the skate. To collapse the echo he ran the program to close off the organic aug. It seemed to fight him for a moment, pulling out with the reluctance of a bent nail in old wood. As it went, the pattern faded. Now everything was grey, through Crane’s eyes, and his optic link felt hard against the side of his head. He closed off that view and turned to the bickering mercenaries.

  ‘Let’s not stand here all day. We have plans to make,’ he said.

  He could see their resentment and did not understand it. With a flash of irritation he re-engaged the second aug. Slick. Straight in. They were resentful because it was them standing staring at the rain, and not in the nice warm bar of the metrotel. He turned away, flicked a gesture at Crane, and headed for the metrotel with the android tramping along behind. The two mercenaries gave each other a speculative look before following.

  Stanton, Mennecken and Corlackis waited for them in the bar. All three of them were playing a dice game. Pelter envied them their ability ride so easily through the waiting time between actions. It was a trait he himself had never been able to develop. When Stanton looked up, Pelter returned the look and considered what he must do. Nothing yet, he decided. Stanton was still too useful. He moved into the room and sat on the edge of one of the low chairs. Svent and Dusache moved in as well. As if he was pressing down the timer on a chess clock, Corlackis pressed the touch-plate on top of a small flat box on the table.

  ‘Enough?’ asked Pelter, glancing at Svent and Dusache.

  ‘Enough,’ Svent replied. ‘They’ve been bouncing a laser off the windows every now and again, but that’s about it. No deep scan or underspace signatures. They’re not that sophisticated.’

  ‘So they weren’t here for us,’ Stanton said.

  ‘Doubt it. They’re not equipped,’ Svent said.

  ‘Give me the rest of it,’ said Pelter, each word precise and tipped with irritation. His opt
ic link hurt and there was a crust on the seepage around it. It had also rubbed a sore on his temple that tended to bleed when he was straining over some of Crane’s more complex module programs. And there was that something else poised tantalizingly just out of reach. A forbidden knowledge, something . . .

  ‘The dark one’s definitely Golem,’ said Svent. ‘All the others are human unless they’re carrying sophisticated emulation programs. Going by the rest of their equipment, that’s something I doubt. I reckon they were here tracing arms deals until one of them eyeballed one of us. You can be sure they’ll be sending an underspace message any time now.’

  ‘That will not help them much,’ said Corlackis. ‘No runcible to get reinforcements here in the nick of time. The nearest one is a good month, ship time.’

  ‘I don’t mind it being known that we are here. I do mind it being known that we have acquired a dropbird here,’ said Pelter.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Corlackis with a shrug. ‘We still kill them.’

  Pelter looked at Svent, pushed him subliminally through his aug. The little mercenary continued.

  ‘Five of them as far as I can make out. The four humans take shifts in the car, two of them at a time, probably to get out of the rain. The other two and the Golem are in that café with the meshed-over window. They follow whichever of us leaves here. Splitting up if we split up.’ Svent reached into his pocket and dropped a little sample bottle on the table. Inside the bottle were a couple of glittering specks. ‘Fucking Golem put them on me and Dusache with a little air gun. She think we’re that stupid?’

  ‘What are they? Phones or tracers?’ Stanton asked.

  ‘Tracers.’

  ‘Deactivated?’ Pelter asked, an edge to his voice.

  ‘’Course they are,’ said Svent.

  ‘Right,’ said Pelter. ‘The humans are no problem, but I’d rather they were out of the way before we deal with the Golem. This is how we play it . . .’