She came into the lounge with its closed curtains and unwashed crockery, dismissing it with a single raised eyebrow.
“Turn that off,” she said.
The images of alien invaders vanished from the Bang & Olufsen stage.
“The police—” Ollie began.
He was silenced by Jade’s raised hand. She stood in front of the big settee as the three of them slouched on its deep cushions, putting them back fifteen years into class detention. “Firstly, you boys did a good job. My major friends want you to know that.”
“But—”
Again: the hand. “I know you didn’t manage to kill the power to the Commercial and Government Services hub as required. However, the power was shut off for fifteen minutes by the police as a precaution while they checked the relay station, so that was down to you. The relevant shipments were diverted and cancelled. Money was made as planned. So I have your payments, plus a bonus.” Four cryptokens were held out, purple-chrome surfaces glinting like distant planets in the room’s dim light. “They’re all clean, so pair them to your altme.”
“Thanks,” Adnan said dourly, and took his.
“I’ll take one for Lars,” Ollie said.
Tronde held his up as Nyin confirmed the balance the token held and paired it. Cryptokens were a risky way of transferring money; the lownet was full of packages that promised to break an altme’s pairing encryption.
“What about Piotr and Gareth?” Ollie asked.
Jade gave him a pleasant smile. “What about them?”
“They were there. They should be paid.”
“They’re dead, Ollie.”
“They had family. Piotr’s girlfriend was long-term.”
“So what are you saying, I should give you their tokens and you’ll go hand them over to the right people? Maybe buy a nice wreath for the funeral?”
“Well. No, not me. I can’t risk it. But you need to do what’s right by them.”
“Sure thing, Ollie. I’ll get right on that.”
“Is that it?” Adnan asked.
“What else do you want?”
“Everybody is looking for us. Everyone! Police, security, government G8s. They think we’re alien saboteurs. They’ll catch us, it’s going to happen; I’m just being realistic about that. And when they do, they’ll…I don’t know what, but it’ll be bad. Really bad.”
“You’re not saboteurs for the Olyix,” Jade said firmly, “because I’m not. Nikolaj is not. The people we work with are not. This has always been about the money. It was before this crazy invasion, and it will be after.”
“After?” Tronde roused himself. “There’s going to be an after? How do you know?”
“We have contacts in the government who are drawing up all sorts of scenarios, but it’s actually quite logical. If all the Olyix wanted to do was exterminate us, they would have done it when they arrived. The Salvation of Life was carrying a shitload of antimatter when it turned up in the solar system, and we don’t have any defense against a surprise attack from that. Yet they didn’t fire a planet-killer at us.”
“So?”
“So they want something else. Something they can only get by using force to compel us. That means we can resist. We’ll suffer losses fighting them, sure, but we won’t lose everything—which is what the hysterical news streams are claiming. Life’s going to be different after. I don’t know how different, but at least we’ll still be here to live it. Especially if you can dodge whatever those ships are going to drop on us.”
“We won’t see it,” Ollie said. “You’ve got to help us.”
“Help you do what?”
“We need to get out of here. We need to get the hunt stopped.”
Jade’s expression became even more severe. “Did you not listen to what I just said? The human race is entering a state of total war, and we have no idea for how long: months, years…decades. They are not going to relax their search for you.”
“Then, for fuck’s sake, help us! If they rendition us, the first thing they’ll know about is you. You’re the one who got us to raid the Croydon station.”
“Is that a threat, Ollie?”
“No,” Adnan said swiftly, “but you know it’s true. Or do you think we can resist Special Branch interrogation?”
“Good point,” she said. “Given what they’ll do to you, you’ll break within minutes. Only the totally crazy, or terminally stupid, would try and resist modern interrogation.”
“Oh, shit.” Ollie hugged his knees and started rocking back and forth on the edge of the settee. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I can’t do it. I can’t be tortured.”
“Then how do you stop them from catching us?” Tronde said. “Because that’s what you need to do to save yourself.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth he regretted speaking. It sounded like he was challenging her. Because the simplest way for her to avoid him and his friends telling anybody about her was just to take them out, here and now. He didn’t doubt for a second she had the ability to do that.
Jade took a maliciously long time to answer, forcing them to see how dependent they were on her, how her ownership of them was as strong as any Roman slave merchant’s. “You disappear for good,” she said. “A complete identity change.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tronde saw Adnan stiffen.
“You mean a brain transplant?” Ollie asked.
“There’s no such thing,” Jade told him. “It’s an urban myth. What I’m talking about is a replacement. A matcher will find you a loner, one physically similar to you who doesn’t have any friends or family. They’ll be removed, and you have a gene edit so you equal their DNA’s short tandem repeats. Any subsequent profiling test will return a positive for them. Then you have to learn their behavior, their job, their way of speech, likes, dislikes, every facet of their personality. You become them, so your current self vanishes. Then after you’ve lived their life for a couple of years, you move—emigrate, change jobs, become a priest if you like, whatever. You begin again and become what you want. But the price is you can never go back. You abandon your family, your friends, everything that ties you to you.”
“Holy fuck,” Adnan said. “And do you know someone who can do this for us?”
“I do. But it’s not cheap.”
Tronde started laughing bitterly as he shook the token at her. “This isn’t enough, is it?”
“No.”
“What the fuck!” Ollie wailed.
“There is a job we need you to do,” Jade said. “It will pay enough for your new, clean lives. After that, it will be over between us. You will never contact me again.”
They waited for her to tell them what it was. She regarded them calmly.
“What job?” Adnan demanded.
“We believe that the Olyix attack, when it comes, will produce massive casualties on Earth. That’s kind of inevitable. Medical supplies will be an extremely valuable commodity, and others agree with us. The markets fell drastically last night and continue their fall. However, there were two sectors that defied the trend; their stock prices actually rose. Advance-technology companies, which we will undoubtedly need to manufacture sophisticated weapons…”
“And medical,” Adnan completed for her.
“Quite. And out of the two, drugs are high-price, small-volume items; they can also be sold through our existing nark dealers.”
“Holy shit,” Ollie exclaimed. “How many drugs?”
“We are still putting the procedure together. It will require several teams such as the Legion fulfilling their part of the overall operation, dominos that must fall perfectly into place at the exact time. I will tell my colleagues you have the ability to perform as required.”
“We do!”
This time only a raised finger was required. “If they agree with me, I will inform you.
It will take us a few days. Do not attempt to contact me during that time, and stay here. Don’t even order anything by deliverez.”
“We won’t,” Tronde said. “There’s enough food here to last us a week.”
“Good. And Lars?”
“What about him?” Adnan asked.
“What condition is he in? The job may require a brute strength component.”
“He’s resting. He took a pounding last night, but he’ll be fine in a day or so. You know Lars.”
“I certainly do.” She nodded in satisfaction. “Very well. I will be in touch.”
As she left she almost bumped into Claudette, who was standing in the hallway, just out of sight behind the lounge door. Tronde winced; he’d thought she was still upstairs, dozing.
She wore a robe similar to the one Tronde had on, her hair unkempt, mascara trails smeared down her cheeks. A Claudette from a different universe from the one her glitzy friends knew. The two women regarded each other belligerently for a moment as they took in each other’s appearance, then Jade sidestepped and went out through the front door.
Claudette turned to Tronde. “Babe, what’s happening? Who was she?”
He took a step toward her, for once unable to project that predatory male aura she responded to. “Jade is just a friend of Adnan’s. She’s got contacts in a legal firm. They’re going to try and clear everything with the police.”
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you? You’re going to leave me.”
“No.”
“She’s got a job for you. I heard her say it.”
Tronde glanced at Ollie and Adnan, who were looking at him in concern. He had to do something; if she started to make trouble…“Don’t talk to me like that.”
“What? What does she want you to do? And what were you doing last night? How did you get hurt, really?” Claudette’s voice was rising now. He knew that uncertainty, the brittleness infecting her. After all, it was a virus of his creation. Recognition pushed his thoughts back into the old routines, the right way to handle pathetic, dependent Claudette. They seemed to be overturning the lethargy and depression dragging on his mind, too.
He clicked his fingers at Ollie. “Give me a pad of zero.”
“Huh?” Ollie grunted.
“A pad. You’re always carrying. Gimme. The good stuff, not cut.”
“Answer me,” Claudette demanded. Her voice was up another octave, climbing toward hysteria.
“I told you,” Tronde snarled, and took a step forward so he was pressed up against her, where he could glower down. “You do not speak to me, not like that! I am a bad boy, and you still don’t get what that really means.”
“I do. It means you’re just like everyone else: a complete shit!”
“Oh, no.” He felt Ollie drop the pad of zero-nark into his open hand. “I am much, much worse than them.”
Her eyes widened in a strange kind of fright, and she tried to move back away from him. He quickly curled one arm around her, holding her tight. Then his other hand was shoving down the front of her robe to clasp her left breast. He could see it in her as she gasped, the insecurity. Should she try to struggle, maybe run? His thumb pushed down hard, pressing the pad of zero-nark on her flesh just above the nipple—and he prayed Ollie hadn’t cut it down too much.
“You are my woman, you understand? And that means you do as I fucking tell you.” He let go in a swift motion, and she swayed back. Now would be the moment—if she had any dignity or self-esteem left. The moment came and went—a departure aided by the chill of the zero-nark buzzing through her.
“Right, then,” he said. “You two look after Lars and keep an eye out for the cops. I’m taking her upstairs for a fuck.”
Yet again, Ollie and Adnan stared at each other, this time in surprise at this aspect of him they’d never been shown before.
Tronde took Claudette by the wrist and pulled her up the fancy curving stairs. A smile of uncertainty was flickering on and off her slack face as she stumbled along beside him.
“How much hifli is left?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I purchased about a dozen shots.”
A dozen? Holy shit. But as a way to greet alien Armageddon, it didn’t get much better. “Good girl.”
“I just want you to be happy here with me, babe. Don’t leave. Please.”
“Forget about Jade and the others. I’m not going anywhere.”
Kandara was watching Jessika when Soćko regained consciousness. In fact, her attention hadn’t left the alien humanoid since they arrived at the station’s clinic. Her gland secretions provided her with an incredible degree of focus while peripherals extended her perception far above the human baseline. So when Soćko groaned and his eyelids fluttered open, Kandara barely acknowledged it, remaining engrossed with her target.
Tear ducts expanded, releasing water into Jessika’s eyes. Her heart rate jumped up in tandem with the flush that elevated skin temperature. There was a hormonal rush that pumped her brainwaves. An uncontrolled expression of relief and happiness lifted her face.
The scrutiny confirmed that Jessika’s responses—physical, emotional, and chemical—were utterly human. But then the Neána had built her well. So well, in fact, that Kandara had genuinely warmed to the woman when they’d worked together. And that was the root of her current low-burning anger. She’d been totally fooled, even lowering her guard to commence a friendship. It didn’t sit well. That consummate deceit was justification for paranoia on so many levels.
Kandara knew she would have to make a decision about the alien at some time, yet Jessika’s superordinary behavior was making that increasingly difficult for her. There was no way she could determine if the alien android had a priori—that innate human intuition, responding to events in an instinctive fashion—or if her responses were simple mimicry, built into her as part of her disguise.
And where exactly did you draw the line between artificial responses and the genuine ones? If a fake was indistinguishable from real didn’t that make it real, too? That question had bedeviled philosophers greater than she for millennia; there certainly wasn’t a test for it. So she was forced to assign the nature of personality to origin. Human contingency had evolved. Jessika’s was formatted by design. She was meant to be human, or as close as the Neána could facilitate. So the real worry was that the emotions on show could be supplanted by deeper, alien reactions if it suited her mission.
I can like her, but I can never trust her.
The slim, efficient monitors above the intensive care bed were flashing alerts. Numbers rose in the displays, shading toward the green of good news. The internal body-scan hologram showed sections of Soćko’s brain elevating their neural activity as if someone had flipped a switch. The comparison didn’t comfort Kandara; it implied the brain was a machine, artificial. She got her altme, Zapata, to remind her to ask Lankin if this was how induced-coma victims normally woke. The Connexion science chief was someone she could rely on, though she guessed the answer would be ambiguous.
Soćko stirred, gazing around the facility with interest, lingering on Captain Tral and the three armored security guards, then taking in the medical team. When he came to Kandara he passed on after the briefest examination, which made her bristle. Then he saw Jessika and smiled. He tried to speak, which the endotracheal tube in his mouth prevented. He frowned and reached for it. A nurse diverted his hand, and the doctor eased the unit out. Oxygen hissed, and artificial saliva dripped across the bedclothes. Someone closed the alerts down.
Kandara observed Jessika wiggle her way past the fascinated medical team and smile broadly at her fellow alien. Tears dripped down, mingling with the goo on the sheet.
“Hi, you,” she said with amazing tenderness and clasped his hand.
The burst of sympathy Kandara experienced was unexpected, but then her subconscious remained locked on
interpreting Jessika as human, and the emotion radiating out of her at the reunion was as strong as anyone separated from her true love for decades. But Kandara’s alert senses also caught the spike of neural activity on the hologram monitoring Soćko’s brainwaves, which corresponded with their hands touching. Fast, but very real. Something had happened inside Soćko’s brain. Something triggered by the touch?
Gotcha!
Did their skin have some kind of nerve conduction ability, allowing them to communicate silently?
Soćko tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasp. He winced.
“Take it slow,” the doctor urged, and held a glass of water to his lips. “Drink this before you try to talk.”
“How long?” Soćko whispered hoarsely.
“Thirty-seven years,” Jessika told him.
“Damn!”
“We found you on Nkya, the fourth planet in the Beta Eridani solar system.”
“So someone picked up the beacon signal?”
“Yes. Connexion’s starship Kavli decelerated into the system last week, and released a sensor satellite fleet. They detected it right away.”
“Great.” He drank some more water, then slowly sat up. The doctor raised hir arm as if to stop him, then simply watched closely. He gave hir a lame grin. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
Jessika slipped the sheet back, and he swung his legs out.
“I’d really recommend you take it easy,” the doctor said.
“Sure thing, Doc. No marathons today.” His feet reached the ground, and he stood up carefully. Jessika held his arm for support. “My feet are sore,” he said.
“They haven’t taken your weight for thirty-seven years,” Kandara said. “You’re designed to mimic humans, at least superficially. So your soles are going to be tender.”
“Right. And you are?”
“Kandara Martinez.”
“Corporate covert agent, at the sharp end,” Jessika filled in. “Very good at her job. I like her.”
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