by Alex Rudall
Then she didn’t know which way was up, and she was desperate for air, and she knew she was about to die and take Tia with her.
She hit something with her hands, and clawed at it, pulling up, and she was out into air, gasping, the sound of the rib barely audible over the crash of the sea. She was on stones, clawing her way out of the waves, over on her back so she could lie without crushing the baby, gasping the air in, not caring about the waves still licking at her. Finally she turned and clawed forwards with her hands. The warmly lit farmhouse was there on the hill above her, the one she had thought about for so long, and she saw in the darkness that it did have a garden, and it did look neat and well–loved. She began to crawl towards it, clawing at the stones, noticing the blood she was leaving on them but only peripherally.
The hands took her then, pulled her to her feet roughly, but she did not mind it, she was already in so much pain. It was Leonard, and her legs were limp, and he dragged her back to the rib, her heels smashing against the stones.
Brian was there, and she heard him say “Careful, the baby,” and she was placed carefully down in the bottom of the rib, and it roared to life and she lay shaking for a time, her eyes closed, not wanting to see Brian ever again.
They hauled her out and she felt herself be put in a wheelbarrow and taken into a place of warmth. Then Annie was there, her arms around her, peeling off the icy clothing, stroking her and muttering words of comfort. Lily looked up at her, shaking so hard she thought her bones might shatter. Half of Annie’s face was gouged away, but it had healed, a mottled burn scar. Her left eye was simply not there, the very left edge of her lips curled in permanent sneer. Lily had done that to her. Annie came to her and picked her up and held her close.
Then Brian was there, and Annie let her go. Lily turned to look at him, feeling something like defiance. Brian spoke softly, but his voice was filled with venom.
“I will not allow you to destroy everything. I will cut it out of you if I have to.”
Everything went black.
Amber
When not working out or reading Amber passed the time by watching her ex–competitors through their implants. By the terms of the restrictions Dryer had put into place on her apartment she was allowed download bandwidth but no upload whatsoever. She could receive news from the outside world and increasingly desperate communications from Robert, but, frustratingly, send nothing in return. The darknet watch was long dead.
House arrest was like being an addict again, sans any of the fun parts. She could not help thinking about it all, leaving home aged eighteen and moving directly into the party scene just when ink was at its coolest. She had quickly become a functional addict, loving every part of the experience of dermalling, even the garlic aftertaste. She had supported her long–term boyfriend John, also an addict, until in 2026 she brought him a special dose of red, the “anger” ink, and he mutated and ran through a partition wall, shredding his flesh to a horrifying pulp. She threw herself into her addiction as a distraction from the image of his corpse. Like all inkers who were lucky enough to survive long enough she gained complete immunity to the effects of the drug. Shortly afterwards the GSE erupted from Gloucestershire; in the days afterwards civilians were piling computers in the streets and burning them. Inkers she knew personally were murdered on the street in the luddite backlash.
Her skin was grey from ink trauma, a clear sign of both her past and her immunity. She took the only respectable employment avenue now available to the pariahs immunes had become: ITSA inkhunter. Free of the drug she found within herself a hitherto untapped pool of strength and energy. She became a bright trainee and a decorated hunter. She got to know Robert, the most sheltered computer nerd she had ever met, and fell completely in love with him. The next decade had been a cycle of hunting and training and avoiding bureaucracy.
Apart from saving her from forced retirement, the Nepali promotion would have made her the highest–ranking immune in ITSA.
Now she could not even go outside.
She took to following the blond man she had seen on that first day in Kathmandu. His name was Rowntree, and Amber begrudgingly admitted to Emily that he seemed competent, if a little too focused on doing things precisely by the book.
Today he was in plain clothes at the Monkey Temple, looking for tourists carrying TLA–violating tech. It was a boring job and was largely unhelpful to ITSA’s overall goals of limiting Chinese technological development, but catching tourists in possession of drone–cameras that were just a little bit too smart was at least politically neutral and unlikely to piss off anyone important. It was a boring job but, four months on, the furore over the signal of 11 November had largely died down, and things were starting to reach a kind of normality.
The tourists drifted past, laughing and enjoying the atmosphere. Locals wandered around, some looking for fun, some selling things. Rowntree watched, obviously bored. He would be aware that she was observing through his implants, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
His gaze lingered for a moment on a pair of western tourists wearing stuffed back–packs. They seemed to have been staring at him, but now that he was looking back, they turned away as one and looked up at a large statue of a minor Nepali deity.
Rowntree watched them for a moment longer, and then was distracted by a tall Indian girl walking past, smiling at him.
“What the hell was that?” Amber said.
“No rules against looking at girls,” Emily said.
“No, no, that couple before, their backpacks – are there any other feeds around? Any public?”
“Uh —yeah, a bunch of really cheap drones. Nothing decent quality.”
“Find the one with the best view of that couple and stick me on, now.”
“Just a sec. Okay, brace for a severe fidelity drop.”
She switched Amber’s perspective across and all Amber’s senses except sight stopped getting input immediately. It was an uncanny and even frightening experience if you weren’t used to it, but if you added it all up Amber had spent years of her life in VR and it didn’t bother her any more. The pixelated quality of the image was annoying, though. She couldn’t see the couple. The drone was drifting over the heads of the tourists, swinging from side to side a little, buffeted by the light breeze.
“You weren’t joking,” Amber said. “It can’t even hold itself steady.”
“I think it’s a homemade kit,” Emily said. “Making a bit of money from poor people who want to look at the temple, I guess.”
“Where’s the couple?”
“One second.”
The drone floated past a group of tall Chinese tourists, and then they were there, walking side by side. She could just see the blond splash of Rowntree’s hair about twenty metres ahead of them, starting to ascend some stairs. She was struck suddenly by how conspicuous he was – alone, in neat trousers and a shirt, he was obviously not a tourist.
“ITSA Nepal really need to think up some proper profiles, he sticks out like anything.”
The drone started to drift up and Amber lost sight of the couple, who still had not looked at one another, or, as far as she could tell, said a word. Rowntree climbed the stairs slowly, moving out of view.
“How much to follow that couple?”
“Like – two hundred rupees.”
“Do it, from my personal funds if they won’t authorise it. Get full control if you can.”
“One sec – OK. I can tell it where to go as long as it doesn’t think it’s going to get damaged.”
“OK, the couple, right now!”
With a jerk the little drone stopped its upwards rise and began to tilt down, but the couple were gone. It looked up at the stairs – Rowntree had disappeared, too.
“Em –” Amber said, but the implant administrator was already driving the drone forward and higher, view pointing further down as it accelerated. It rose up the stairs, scanned left and right, and then spun all the way around, too quickly for Amber to pick out any i
ndividuals.
“There he is,” Emily said, as if to herself, and the drone shot sideways, rushing a couple of metres over people’s heads, finally slowing near a balcony. Rowntree was a few yards ahead, leaning on a wall and looking out over the crowds, the trees, and Kathmandu spread out beyond.
“The couple?” Amber said.
The drone spun to the right and zoomed in – they were there, standing by the wall, half–hidden behind a large block of stone, staring at Rowntree. Slowly, the woman took off her backpack, set it on the ground, and started to pull out what looked like an ancient camera.
“That a camera?”
“It looks – there’s something a little strange about it, it’s not showing up on any catalogues or – there are no ITSA drones close by, I think…”
The woman was fiddling with the camera, keeping it half–hidden in the bag, half covered by her body. The man was just staring at Rowntree.
“What’s his imp doing? You’d have spotted that, right?”
“Yes, I would, I think – yeah, he’s got a really limited administrator, basically just lets his implants function. Doesn’t even pretend to be sentient, Rowntree must’ve heard that Dryer likes that kind of thing.”
“Can we message him?”
“No, we’ve got nothing out–bound except the line to the office.”
“Get me the office. And get his attention. Wave in front of him.”
“It – it won’t let me get that close to him. I’ll try to go around the front.”
The drone moved to the wall, but stopped before going out over the drop.
“I’m sorry, Amb, that’s the edge of its parameters.”
“Try and get a different drone that you can make wave in front of him or ram him or something. Pay whatever it takes. Are they picking up?”
There was silence for a moment. The drone kept on moving frantically to the left and right, about two metres from Rowntree. He continued to stare out over the city.
“No – there’s a massive amount of data throughput at the moment, like thousands of reality–quality VR streams massive, I can’t get anything through the noise. Something must be going on, some huge meeting or something. Although – there’s nothing in the departmental calendars…”
“Something is definitely going on, I think they’re going to kill him. Keep trying. Exit me and undim the windows.”
Amber tore her VR suit off. She ran to the window where the drone had become a permanent, immobile fixture, and banged hard on the glass. It didn’t move.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! We’ve got a serious problem here!” The drone didn’t flinch.
“What the fuck is going on?” Amber said. “Why isn’t it calling someone? Are we locked in?”
“Everyone appears to be – everyone seems to be busy. And yes, afraid so, the door’s locked.” Emily said.
“No way out?”
“A fire alarm might do it,” Emily said after a moment. “That drone might kill us if we try to leave the meet–up area in the car park, though. There’s a chance it’ll kill us if we leave the room, it’s not very sophisticated. Should hopefully recognise a fire alarm though.”
“What are that couple doing? Has Rowntree noticed them?”
“No, he’s turned around but he’s just staring at the crowd brainlessly. I’ve lost that drone, got another three coming but they’re two minutes away. The woman was still fiddling with the camera, the man said something to her but I couldn’t pick it up, just a couple of words.”
Amber ran into the kitchen area and then stopped.
“Show me again. Keep trying everything you can.”
“Doing so.”
The kitchen disappeared abruptly and Amber was watching from a different angle – high above. The temple looked small, the visitors microscopic.
“Traffic drone,” Emily said.
“Zoom in,” Amber said.
The woman lifted her camera and pointed it straight at Rowntree.
“I,” Amber said, and then there was an explosion of light that overwhelmed the sensors of the high–altitude drone to complete white, and Amber’s mental blink reflex fired off painfully.
“Emily!” Amber shouted. Then she was in another camera, and people were running, and there was the sound of screaming voices and thundering feet. Thousands of people were pouring away from the top of the temple.
“Can you —“ Amber said, and they switched again, once to an image tilted on its side, showing dust and running feet and then suddenly darkness, and then to the view from a high–fidelity drone rushing over the treetops towards the temple. Where the balcony had been was now only a smoking hole in the top of the cliff–face, belching dust and smoke out over the tree–tops.
“Rowntree?”
“Extremely dead,” Emily said. “He disintegrated. Sorry, I should have been quicker. We’re so locked down.”
“Oh Christ,” Amber said. “Not your fault,” she said, and then chided herself mentally for factoring in the feelings of a machine. “Out of VR. ITSA can’t have missed that.”
The kitchen reappeared, and Amber sat down heavily on a stool.
“Do me a favour,” she said, “Check the other feeds, everyone on duty. Look for anything suspicious, anyone following them.”
“Already doing it,” Emily said. “I don’t think – oh fuck, someone else, Ellison just got jumped by some men, she’s gone offline. And there’s – Rodriguez and Hamilton are shooting at a gang that’s been following them for half an hour and tried to run them over.”
“It’s a fucking coup,” Amber said. She leapt to her feet. “That data is a DDOS attack on the office. It’s the Chinese. They’ll come here!”
“Wait, got a communication coming through from Command,” Emily said. “There.” The room disappeared again.
It was Dryer, standing in his office. At first she thought he was looking directly at her, and she flinched. “ITSA Nepal,” he began, and she realised that it was a general communication, probably meant for all ITSA personnel in the country.
“The contents of this message are to be considered absolutely top secret,” he continued, “although rumours containing parts of the information I am about to relate to you have been spreading in certain circles from mid–February onwards, and key stakeholders in all major national governments are fully aware of what I am about to tell you. Forty days ago, ITSA telescope drones working as part of the effort to find the GSE picked up a massive and sustained burst of infra–red energy from the gas giant, Jupiter. It rapidly became clear that an irregularity was developing in the orbit of the planet. Within a week there was no doubt. Jupiter has left its ancient orbit and begun to spiral more deeply into the solar system, bringing it in towards the inner planets, including Earth. It is steadily accelerating, a feat that is requiring, I am informed, an energy output equivalent to that of a small star.”
Amber’s heart was racing so quickly that she thought it might stop.
“The meaning of this is clear. The GSE, or whatever it has become in the intervening eleven years, has colonized Jupiter and begun to move towards the earth. We have absolutely no hope of stopping a singularity the size of Jupiter using either conventional or unconventional weaponry. The masses and energies involved will, if Jupiter comes close to us, crush this planet like a tiny bug.”
Dryer paused. He looked very tired, she noticed suddenly. He looked down at his desk and seemed to collect himself before he continued.
“Going by the timings involved, we have to assume that this catastrophic development is directly related to the signal observed on the eleventh of November of last year. Now: it goes without saying that this information must be kept from the public at all costs. At all costs, including taking human life. We now have only one choice. We must find the source of the signal which has called the GSE home, and we must destroy it. That is the only hope we know of.
This communication was based on a text from ITSA High Command in Earth orbit: I felt it would be b
etter that you heard it straight from me. Now is not the time for panic. Now will be our finest hour. We are the defenders of the earth, and protecting our home from the GSE has always been our mission. This is what we have trained for. I have absolute faith that each and every employee of ITSA will give everything they have and continue to fight, if necessary, until the very end. I will hold an emergency meeting at seventeen–hundred hours this evening in the office, with all personnel of rank trainee commander or higher required to attend. All holiday passes are revoked. Good luck, and I will speak to you later. This was General Dryer, speaking on behalf of ITSA High Command, on the fifteenth of March 2038.”
The message disappeared and the kitchen returned.
“They’re all dying,” Emily said.
“What?” Amber said.
Emily showed Amber a wall made of hundreds of moving images.
“That message was recorded over an hour ago. It was top priority, it wouldn’t let me butt in. Look, the feeds.”
Amber zoomed in on one of the screens. It showed a woman in an ITSA uniform lying in a pool of blood on a street. Amber zoomed out, tried another —the screen showed three ITSA troopers cornered in an alleyway, under heavy fire from a huge black drone. As she watched one of the troopers fell in a spray of blood.
“Where the fuck are the drones?” Amber said.
“They’re all out, but there are hostiles everywhere. I’m getting maydays from implants all over the world. It’s not just here.”
“Get me back in my body.”
Back in the kitchen, Amber ran to the electric stove and turned it to full heat. “Blackout that window,” she said, and the room plunged into darkness for half a second before the lights came on. She tore off her sweater and pressed it to the rapidly warming stovetop.
“Where’s the fire detector?” she said.