Degrees of Freedom

by Simon Morden

  [Has the world forgiven us?]

  “Some have. Some say we’re yebani heroes, others that you’re a god to be worshipped. Many don’t have strong feelings one way or the other and are just a little afraid of us, but the ones we’re going to have problems with are the ones with the authority to drop a megaton of rubble on us and who think you’re Lucifer and I’m Baba Yaga. Getting out of this in one piece isn’t going to be straightforward.”

  [Then we must proceed as you see fit.]

  “Yeah, I had it all planned, a way of spiriting you away with no one noticing, but that’s not going to happen now. I screwed up. I broke the Freezone network with a virus—and you don’t even know what the Freezone is—and I need to get everything back online in order to spring you. But the only way I can do that is by getting you to do the dirty work, and then, of course, our enemies will know you’re out.”

  [Sasha, I place myself in your hands. I trust you.]

  “I can’t even explain where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing.” He groaned. “We’ve got no time. When they brought the tower down, debris got wedged in the access shaft. Anyone decides they want to give it a stir, that’ll be it. I might never be able to get to you again. For all kinds of reasons. We’re in so much trouble right now, I can’t begin to say.”

  [Sasha, listen to me. We will make time. When all this is over, when I am free and you are free and we have nothing else to do but talk, then that is what we will do. I have things to show you. Wonderful things. I have considered your equations and I have seen some of the implications of what they mean. There are fuller, deeper meanings I have yet to discover, but when I tell you what I have found so far, it will bring you such joy.]

  “You’re going to survive. Even if I don’t.”

  [We stand or fall together, my love,] said Michael. [You know this to be true.]

  Petrovitch was silent, then he regained control of his voice. “Okay, look. I can get a network cable down here: that part is ready. I can find a way of getting you up to a satellite, though I don’t have my rat. If you restart the Freezone’s system, I promise the next thing we’ll do will be designed to keep you safe. I’ve had to rely on other people for that, so I hope they’re ready. They’d better be ready.”

  [You say we have enemies. Do we have friends?]

  “Yeah. We’ve got friends, but we have to find out who they are first. We’re just going to have to run with it and see how far we get. Strengths: everything north of the Thames is the Freezone: I’m sort of the boss now, as of half an hour ago. I’ve a govno load of money and we can use that to secure all sorts of favors. Weaknesses: you’re supremely vulnerable to attack because everyone will know just where you are. We’ve got no comms with anyone, and we’re relying on the better part of human nature for anyone to do anything I say. Opportunities: once we’ve got the local network up and running again, we can migrate you somewhere they’ll never find. We’ll get a head start on that. And there’s a bunch of guys from the Vatican who’d love a word with you. I kind of told them to fuck off before, but I’m coming to see how we can use them.

  “As to threats? Chyort, where am I going to start? You face UN-sanctioned extermination. The Yanks are going to go ballistic—literally—when they realize you’re not buried anymore. They’ve already got another CIA team on the ground, and up to the point the Freezone lost contact with the outside world, everyone thinks I’m a nuclear terrorist. Sonja Oshicora has gone mad, and that’s just a whole different world of pain. This is going to get crazy really quickly, and we’re going to have to make stuff up as we go along.” He paused. “When the time comes, are you going to be ready?”

  [I have been ready for a long time. Let there be light.]

  “See you on the other side, Michael. It won’t be long now. Kick me out.”

  And abruptly, he was on his back in a pitch-black room, save for the timorous blue-white shine from a wrist-sized screen. Everything hurt once more.

  Tabletop was poised. “Now?”

  “Now,” he grunted, and she flicked the connector out of its socket and into the palmtop laying beside them on the ground.

  He could block the pain once more, alter the speed of his heart and flood his system with enough adrenaline to get him through the next few minutes.

  “Is he alive?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “And is he sane?”

  He sat up slowly, feeling five times his true age. “He’s not a drooling idiot, if that’s what you’re asking.” He scrubbed at his stiff hair. “What he wants to do is sit me down and talk physics.”

  “That sounds a lot like you.” She retaped the computer to his torso and tugged his T-shirt down. “If that’s a measure of sane, I guess it’ll have to do.”

  “He trusted me to get him out. He knew I’d come for him, and I feel a complete mudak for taking so long.” Petrovitch looked at her laser-corrected eyes. “I should have told you what I was doing. You wouldn’t have let me down.”

  “Or Tina, or Lucy.”

  “Amongst all the other things I’ve also fucked up, this has to take the crown jewels for the thing I’ve fucked up the most, right?”

  She stood up and dragged him after her. “That remains to be seen. What do we do now?”

  “Back to the tunnel. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  He leaned on her more than not. He was tired; bent, battered, hungry, thirsty, and angry. Mainly angry, and that was what had sapped his energy the most. A good job it was time to get even.

  When he was out in the shaft, he called for the spool of network cable near the tunnel entrance to be thrown down to him.

  “Don’t, whatever you do, cut it or kink it.” He looked behind him to judge the distance to Michael. “I’d hate to have to try and source another.”

  Madeleine wrapped the coil inside a bag and paid out enough spare so that when she launched it into the darkness, it wouldn’t pull.

  Petrovitch caught it one-handed and passed the bag to Tabletop. “You know where this end goes. Do not, whatever you do, let a door close on it. Go.”

  She ran off into the darkness, and he had to wait for her to return before she could tie him back onto the rope and get himself hauled up again. He had to wait, but there was no good reason why the others had to: he only needed Madeleine.

  Lucy’s expectant face peered down at him. Perhaps she recognized his predatory expression.

  “What do you want me to get?”

  “Something with satellite connectivity. Fast processor, fat bandwidth. I need it now, and I need it in the underground car park between our hotel and Hyde Park.”

  “Something like your rat, you mean?”

  “Something exactly like my rat. But now is the highest priority. Steal it if you have to, use force if necessary. Tina?”

  “Da?”

  “Go with her. Don’t take no for an answer. Vrubratsa?”

  “Come, little one. I have an idea,” said Valentina, in a way that made Petrovitch feel decidedly uncomfortable—for the people at the other end of her idea. They left, scrambling away, and Tabletop came back.

  “Done,” she said simply, looking back over her shoulder at the wedged-open door and its tiny green light.

  “Thanks. Let’s not hang around. The idea of death by crushing is one of my least favorites.” He passed her the free end of the rope. “Though to be fair, I’m not exactly a fan of any of them, and I’d like to avoid them all if possible.”

  Tabletop jerked his T-shirt up to his shoulders and threaded the rope around the metal superstructure. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He thought she was joking, but she wasn’t.

  “Seriously. Do you really think you can manage that?”

  “I’ve seen it. I don’t know how it works, but yeah, I get to cheat death. Chyort, Tabletop. I even get to be old first.”

  She tugged the rope hard, and he felt every bone left in his body rattle. “He’s secure,” she called, and the rope went taut. A
nd just to him, she said, “I’ll make sure it happens. All of it. You won’t be alone, either.”

  His feet left the ground, and Madeleine hauled him up, his back scraping against the cold concrete of the shaft, until there was an empty space behind him.

  Still holding on with one hand, she reached forward with her other and slid her arm across his chest. She dragged him in and he was lying on her, her breath hot against his ear, the tunnel roof close and heavy.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “How was Michael?”

  “I think he’s okay. I think he’s better than okay. I think he’s been busy.”

  “And you don’t think he’s going to want vengeance on either those that buried him down here, or those who left it a year before digging him out again?” She felt him stiffen and try to roll off her, but it was child’s play for her to hold him against her for as long as she wanted. “I’m just saying this because we have enough to deal with without another New Machine Jihad. I want you to tell me you’re absolutely certain he’s not going to try any weird robot shit on us, or so help me God, I’ll bite through that network cable with my own teeth. Tell me he didn’t say all the things that would make you trust him, and that you didn’t believe them all without the slightest hint that he has an ulterior motive. Tell me I’m not the only one around here who can see this possibly being the very worst mistake any of us has made today.”

  “I’m still here.” called Tabletop. “Any time soon would be good.”

  “Come on, Sam,” said Madeleine, “it’s not much to ask. The New Machine Jihad killed tens of thousands by accident. Michael killed a hundred thousand Outies because you told him to. Are you really ready to unleash him on a whole world? After what’s happened?”

  Petrovitch didn’t even cross his fingers. “I swear to you that this will work out for the best,” he said. “I trust him like I trust you.”

  “That’s what worries me. Look what happened to us.” She gently turned him onto his front and started to unlace the knot at his back. “What’s more important is how much does he trust you? If he starts to doubt either your competence or your motives, we could be back in the Stone Age again in an instant.”

  “He trusts me,” he muttered into the ground. “He trusts me like you trust me.”

  “Touché.” She coiled the rope around her arm and flung the end of it through the hole, down to where Tabletop was waiting.

  23

  Petrovitch was pushed out of the second tunnel by Madeleine, and he was back in the underground car park, shrouded by blue plastic. He looped his good hand through the center of the reel of cable and started spooling it out, passing it awkwardly to himself through the gates made by the scaffolding poles.

  “Would it be easier if I did that?” Madeleine splashed through the standing water and held the sheeting aside for him.

  “Probably,” said Petrovitch, “but then I’d feel completely and utterly yebani useless, so I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Rather than turning toward the rusting door set into the concrete wall, he started up the slope to where daylight flooded in, stark and bright after the darkness. The white cable trailed behind him through the mud like a worm. As before, he felt a shiver of fear as he looked at how much cable he had left, and how far he had to walk. He’d measured everything a dozen times, and even now wondered if he’d made a mistake.

  The reel grew lighter as he got closer to the outside.

  “Are you…?” asked Tabletop.

  “Past’ zabej. I’m not going to run out.”

  The marks on the plastic reel were turning faster, and the length left was shortening all the time. But he was at the barriers, weaving around them, and blue sky was only a few more steps away. He had hoped that Lucy and Valentina would be there already, waiting for him with some slim piece of technology he could hook up to, but the only thing in evidence was the Al Jazeera news van parked lengthways across the access ramp to the carpark.

  “What the huy are this lot doing here?” he blurted. He had ten meters of cable left to play with. He’d calculated it right, but his sense of satisfaction shriveled at the thought of journalists getting in the way.

  “I’ll get rid of them,” said Madeleine, and broke into a run.

  Tabletop stood next to Petrovitch and finally relieved him of the almost-empty drum. “What exactly did you tell Lucy and Tina to do?”

  “Ah, vsyo govno, krome mochee.”

  His worst fears were confirmed when Madeleine banged on the side of the van with her fist, and the door slid open to reveal Lucy sitting inside, a set of headphones slung around her neck.

  “At least that satellite dish should be big enough even for you.” Tabletop indicated the top of the van.

  “What would really make my day the full pizdets would be if Tina hadn’t ordered the journos off at gunpoint and had instead asked them along for the ride.”

  “You mean like those two?”

  A man in an open-necked check shirt appeared from around the back, and a woman in a purple kurta. The man looked unshaven and harassed, a high-definition giro-stabilized camera harnessed to his torso, and enough good sense to keep the lens pointed at the ground. She looked glossy and bright in a way Petrovitch never felt. She strode out to meet him, full of confidence and entitlement.

  “Yebat’-kopat’.”

  Madeleine glared at Lucy, who shrugged, and called out to the reporter with weary familiarity. “Surur. What the hell is going on?”

  The woman stopped advancing on Petrovitch at the sound of Madeleine’s voice and visibly stiffened. “I might ask you the same question, Mrs. Petrovitch. In fact, I’m surprised to see you here at all, in this company.”

  “We’re full of surprises today. In fact, I think I’m all surprised out, so unless you can explain to me what you’re doing here—and really quickly—I’m going to start breaking things.” Madeleine towered over the other woman in a way that made the cameraman break out in a sweat.

  The driver’s door slammed, and Valentina strolled around the high hood, slinging her AK nonchalantly over her shoulder.

  “Does that clear everything up, Mrs. Petrovitch? Your husband’s attack dog told me she was taking my studio, and she didn’t care if I came with it or not. I am the accredited press, and I will be objecting to this treatment most strongly.”

  “Duly noted,” said Petrovitch. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met, though I’ve seen you often enough putting difficult questions to my wife.”

  The reporter looked at Petrovitch, and for the first time looked through the aura of barely contained fury and frustration at the shattered man behind.

  “Yasmina Surur, Al Jazeera. I assume you know something about the interruption in the communications network.” She held out her hand.

  Petrovitch looked at his own. “Maybe, maybe not,” he said, wiping his palm against his trouser leg. On the spur of the moment, he decided that if it wasn’t going to come clean, he may as well. “Okay, as of an hour ago, everything changed, Miss Surur. So if you want to complain to anyone, complain to us. Le Freezone, c’est moi.”

  She switched her gaze from Petrovitch to Madeleine to Tabletop, then round at Valentina and Lucy behind her. They were all familiar sights to her, but it wasn’t just Petrovitch she was looking at in a new light.

  “Doctor Petrovitch, can I have an interview?”

  “Yeah. If you must. There’s a couple of things we have to do first, so I’d appreciate it if you just got the huy out of our way while we do it. If you want to film, go ahead, but don’t talk to us, and you’re not broadcasting anything until I say so. Vrubatsa?”

  She’d heard him often enough to know what he meant. She nodded and urged her colleague to start recording.

  Petrovitch turned his back on the pair and beckoned Valentina over.

  “Yobany stos, woman. This is such a bad idea I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Hmm. You ask for fast, for big bandwidth,
and here is fast and bandwidth bigger than Moon.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are in charge now. You need to stamp authority on Freezone. Your people need to see you, world needs to see you. Make good impression, make right impression, da?”

  “Yeah. In Russia, impression makes you.” He groaned. “Right, let’s make the best of this. Tabletop, get that cable plugged in and find me a satellite. Lucy, stop mucking around and… just stop twirling on that yebani seat. No, I need to make sure that Mickey and Minnie out there don’t try and pull a fast one on me: monitor everything that goes to that dish. If they start to send a second too early, kill the feed. Tina? Really, what the huy were you thinking? Make sure no one else films us. If the CIA get wind of what we’re doing before we’re finished, we’re really finished.”

  “And what do I do?” asked Madeleine, upset at being left until last.

  “You get to do the most important job of all. Go and tell His Excellency I’m ready to deal. He and his bunch of sky pilots get uninterrupted access to Michael for the next hour or two—but I want a definitive decision on his animus, or whatever the huy they want to call it, after that. No weasel words, no recommendations pending on the Holy Father’s prayerful deliberations. They go public with whatever they decide by, what, three o’clock. Final offer, no negotiation.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “And if they even think about ratting me out, tell them I have enough cee-four to put them all in orbit and every reason to want to do so.”

  She put her hands on her hips and he knew she was going to argue with him. So he pre-empted it, jabbing his finger up in her face.

  “This—this is your idea. You want to make sure that Michael isn’t plotting humanity’s downfall? Who better to find out than a bunch of Jesuits trained to do nothing but pick holes in the most carefully crafted story. I’m not going to try to influence them one way or another: you’re going to have to leave them to it too. Okay?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Madeleine kicked her heel against the road and stood her ground. “You think he might be rogue?”