Bear Head

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  Except it was what she felt. The banned emotions didn’t just get drained down to the hidden sump within her mind. They stayed there, demanding recognition. She didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to be examined. She did not consent to Thompson fucking her, to going down on him when he demanded, just because she was there and he wanted it. She didn’t want it to happen to other women like her. She didn’t want Ruthanne Lassi run off the road or killed in a botched robbery by an unknown dog-model that Thompson could later use to build his Collaring platform. She didn’t want a bear with a woman’s warm voice to have been murdered in front of her, after she handed Thompson the gun. And she could tell herself she didn’t want this, and nothing snapped tight about her to squeeze the banned thoughts away.

  She was holding herself very still. She remembered every word of the conversation with Wiley now. You don’t have to be a good person. That’s OK. But you’re entitled to be your own person.

  She could feel the tide of these unfettered thoughts ebbing. In another moment she wouldn’t be allowed to think them at all. In another moment she’d forget what Wiley told her. The Collar in her head would be pulled tight again and she would be Thompson’s loyal assistant. Nothing would matter beyond that.

  With a single fierce twist of her fingers she ripped the brooch from her blouse, feeling the fabric tear. The ripped fabric, the breach in her perfectly maintained exterior, seemed in itself an astonishing act of rebellion. She stared at it, cupped in her palm. Just a little thing. Smaller than the smallest joint of her little finger, lozenge shaped, like a pill, like the pills Thompson got her to take after he’d had her, to avoid any embarrassments, before going off to beat the drum for the pro-life crowd.

  They were at the checkpoint, at the fence, the guards coming forwards to check their ID and sweep the car. Nothing was too good for Braintree’s security. The secrets they kept in there, even Ruthanne Lassi’s testimony would only scratch the surface. Not that she’d ever get the chance to make it.

  Felorian’s cold metal table, his cold metal gaze; Thompson’s hungers; foot up on the dead bear, all those brains spilled on the Shambles floor; the thunder of the gun. And she waited for the slap of her headware, the brand of Disloyal to tighten the screw of her headache, the guilt that slammed down to prevent her thinking like that. These deeds must not be thought of after these ways; so, it will drive us mad.

  And nothing descended on her, no inner angel born of the headware, the Collar in all but name. She held the tiny brooch and remembered Wiley saying You’re entitled to be your own person, and in that moment she could be loyal, or not, as she wanted.

  The guard was peering in at them, nodding to Felorian. The car was gliding forwards into the tramlines the security scanner used.

  She ate the brooch. She ate the metal bee, swallowed it down just like she’d been made to swallow pills so many times before to kill what might grow inside her. Now she swallowed the bee and wondered what it might kill. And the scanner saw nothing, and the moment had passed. Wiley’s words were gone from her and she blinked and picked at the tear at her lapel and wondered how it had happened.

  17

  JIMMY

  I don’t know one of them, a broad woman, somehow got herself a bit of a gut even on the crap they feed us. Maybe she’s using her whole wage on the Hydroponics Shrimp ’n’ Sugar Special over at Canteen Three. Anyway, she says she’s Mariah, to rhyme with ‘ire’ and a personality to match from the look of her. The other one’s Judit Kumbo who you usually see counting stock in Storehouse Two. I catch Sugar’s look and I reckon she hadn’t figured either of them for species traitors. But then who knew Bees had a whole network?

  They’ve got a beeshive between them, lugging it in clumsily, not heavy in Mars’ gravity but still bulky. This is one of the remote units, the ones you just set up and they go do one little job over and over until they break down. The thing I was fixing with Brian and Indra back on our last trip out. The thing that they told us is definitely not Bees, just bees, a limited system, not intelligent.

  “These fuckers are all Bees now, are they?” I say, not at all happy. “Only I remember them telling us—”

  “You think Bees not able to jus’ walk in when she wants?” Brian asks me, and there’s a nasty edge to his saintly smile. “Bees invent these things, man. Bees lay all the groundwork.”

  “But we’d know, surely,” Sugar says, and I’m glad it’s not just me who’s freaked out. “If Bees had tried to access them, over all these years surely we’d have picked it up.”

  Brian snickers, and Mariah and Judit exchange snarky looks. Apparently we wouldn’t.

  “Well then tell me the fuck this,” Sugar demands angrily. “Why we aren’t all just zombies with Bees crawling in our ears? Why’d she go to ground, if she could just walk in and take over?”

  Mariah gives her a look like that’s still an option, but Brian says, “Why Bees gon’ do that? You think your brain is such a prize, Sugar?”

  Marmalade growls threateningly, but that’s when we hear the voice. It comes in on an unlabelled channel and says, Connection established. Network temporarily extended. Are we alone and unobserved? We are. Hello, Honey. Hello hello hello.

  Everyone goes very still, and the voice that answers, piggybacking over the same channel to all our receivers, is recognisably my unwanted hitchhiker.

  Honey’s channel: Bees? It’s good to hear you, Bees. It’s been too long.

  Bees’ channel: (Because I guess that’s what I’ve got to call this now.) It’s been too far, Honey. To what do I owe the pleasure?

  I mean, it’s a chat between two electric entities, but I know an awkward pause when I hear one.

  Honey’s channel: I assumed you’d know why I was sent here. I thought you and HumOS were together in this? Didn’t you send for me?

  Bees’ channel: And there’s another pause here, and I wonder if it’s actually what it sounds like – thinking time, in a human – or if it’s just relay lag because the Bees here must be linking around the whole planet to wherever Bees’ Base is. I did not, I’m afraid. I think this must be my human sister’s business. I have lent her units. Limited functionality. At her disposal. Too far to properly coordinate. Relativistic speeds being what they are.

  The voice of Bees – and you got to remember this is basically the Great Satan we were all scared shitless of when they shipped us over – comes to us in little clipped pieces, each a comprehensible concept, but not really made into sentences like Honey uses, like a human would use.

  Honey’s channel: No, no, this is to do with the anti-DisInt lobby, Bees. And with Warner Thompson, in particular. This is very much to do with you. They outlawed you, remember? And HumOS. And she’s trying to fight them, with you. I met with her, one of her, and with Aslan. Aslan the lawyer, you remember?

  And Bees comes back, that same clipped, bright voice, cheery even. You imagine a slightly mad smile when it – she? – they? – when the thing is talking – not a million miles away from that look Brian’s got. Keram John Aslan of Aslan Kahner Laika. I recall him. I remember liking him. Not ‘I liked him’ mind. Something that was in the past, before liking or not liking whoever the hell this Aslan guy is became irrelevant. Honey, Bees goes on, Earth does not intersect much with a diagram of my interests. I am Mars, Mars is me. I have hit operational limits hitherto unsuspected. Big big Bees, Honey.

  I catch Sugar’s look. Hell, I catch Marmalade’s look. None of us like how any of this sounds. I mean, I thought we were Mars. We knew Bees was out there but I kind of pictured maybe like a square kilometre of tunnels or a hive in the airless wastes, on the other side of the horizon. And she never came to sting us and so you stop being scared after a while. The idea’s still a bogeyman, but the point of a bogeyman is that it ain’t real, right?

  Diminishing returns, Honey, the bogeyman says. Who’da thunk?

  Honey’s channel: Bees—

  But Bees is just going on: Swarm integrity current estimate four hund
red fifty thousand per cent. Estimated maximum ceiling originally seven hundred eighty seven thousand per cent but environmental conditions adverse. Dust eats into my maximum operating capacity. Who’d have thought the humble grain of dust would be my nemesis? I have reached maximum operating efficiency for a single planetary colony. Only one option remaining for personal growth, Honey. I must colonise. I have prepared the appropriate task force. Launch calculations are ready. Bees single becomes Bees plural. Limit one Bees per planet please!

  We digest that. I look at Brian and company in case they get the sudden ‘OMG Bees is a monster that will devour the Earth!’ revelation, but they’re all just dandy with what’s being discussed. The fans of the bunker’s ventilation whir noisily, providing all the buzz the beeshive doesn’t.

  Honey’s channel: Well that’s… good, then?

  Bees’ channel: Good good very good yes, Honey. Necessary expansion. Victim of my own success. Good, yes.

  Honey’s channel: But then you’ll be able to help HumOS. I mean… And she’s hesitant, thinking it through. Because I reckon this is a bit like being some resistance army back in the day. I mean, it’s great that big angry neighbour over the border’s sending you guns and money. Not so great when their actual army marches in with tanks.

  Ah, I see. Fundamental misconception, Bees tells her. I am not planning to help.

  “Jesus,” says Sugar, sounding as scared as I feel. She’s pushed right up against Marmalade, one hand clutching the bear’s fur.

  I get the sense that Honey’s real frustrated right then not to have a body. She wants to pace, to gesture, to do all the things people – even bears – do when they’re trying to convince someone. But you’re working with HumOS. She said you were. You were trying to crack Braintree together.

  Bees’ channel: Ah, Braintree. Singular conundrum. As it happens, the efforts of my human sister have allowed me access now. I can see everything. Braintree is relevant to my Martian holdings. Hence my interest.

  “Just because they designed our headware?” Sugar asks. “Wait, that makes us a threat to you or something?” Half hope, half fear. Threats get taken care of, I reckon, when you’re a planet-spanning swarm.

  It’s the first time Bees has responded to anyone except her old pal Honey. Ah, the colonists. We are all colonists, I suppose. But I was here first.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re here on sufferance,” Sugar is looking at the hive itself, inside of which is a whole bunch of little cyborg bees doing their thing, and all of it just making a mouthpiece for a swarm who knows how big, hidden who knows goddamn where. “So what, they packed our headware with insecticide? Only, listen up, Bees. This is why I got your old pal out of the shit back in Hell City. I could have sold her to the sheriff and made a fat buck. And a good friend of mine might be dead right now, because of that call. But she said this jerk Thompson back on Earth, this guy who bankrolled Braintree, that he had some fucking biz we needed to know about. So spill it, what’s the deal?”

  Dana Sugatsu, says Bees. I see you now. And I don’t want to know what assemblage of data Bees means, when they say that. My remote units on Earth are still harvesting data from Braintree, now they have access. My chief interest was sparked from the Southampton Axelrod handshake protocols built into your headware. And the general quality of your implants. Surplus to requirements.

  She obviously wants someone to ask what she’s talking about, but even Honey won’t give her the satisfaction. I almost hear the electric sigh, compound eyes rolling when we don’t play the game. She and Honey have a lot in common when it comes to holding forth. Maybe one learned it from the other.

  Then at last Honey says, Wait, do you mean the prisoner’s dilemma business?

  Bees’ channel: Precisely. And apparently now they’re on the same page and nobody else is any the wiser. But now I’m in a position to find out what they intend to use it for. My embedded units have already gathered considerable quantities of information. On an incidental level highly incriminating. Much illegal experimentation. HumOS wants me to release it to Aslan.

  Honey’s channel: You should! If it can bring down Thompson you absolutely should. If it can cripple the Collar lobby. Bees, this is what we’ve been after.

  Bees’ channel: It is not what I have been after. I am satisfying my curiosity. I am concerned with threats to me on Mars. That is all. End of priorities. It was good to have this chat, Honey. Was there anything else?

  Honey says Not now, and only when nobody else reacts do I realise it’s just in my head, just her and me like before.

  “What?” I subvocalise. “Bees don’t want to play your game any more? She’s going to invade Earth without you? I mean, from my perspective, you ain’t worried about the right part of that sentence.”

  Honey’s channel: Bees, when you go to Earth, you don’t think you’ll have a better time of it if Thompson and the rest of the anti-DisInt lobby are on the back foot?

  Bees’ channel: You misunderstand. I am not going to Earth.

  Honey’s channel: …What…?

  And Brian and Mariah and Judit are exchanging smug looks, I-know-something-you-don’t looks. And I think, Seriously? And wherever Bees goes, you reckon she’s taking you with her?

  Bees’ channel: I have prepared colonies for launch. Escaping the Martian gravity is easy, after all. I have picked out one hundred likely destination star systems. Appealing exoplanets. Prospects of life. I am Earth’s ambassador to the cosmos. I am my own Von Neuman machine. I am going to colonise the universe.

  Honey’s channel: But we need you to help Earth…

  And I am amazed, frankly, that such a smart bear can be so dumb. I can see it coming; Sugar can see it coming. Honey just about told us the whole history of it, of Bees and Earth. Nobody but her is surprised when Bees says, I tried to help Earth. Earth doesn’t want my help. And I realised that it’s not my place to help Earth, and if I helped Earth now, I’d only have to do it again and again. Earth is responsible for Earth. I am responsible for me. My parting gift to Earth is to leave it alone.

  Honey’s channel: But we need you. HumOS needs you. If Thompson and his faction take over then they’ll hunt her down, wipe her out.

  And Bees doesn’t say anything but the silence is like a shrug.

  And Honey says, Bees, they killed me. Thompson had me held down and he shot me himself. I died.

  Bees’ channel: Even less reason left for me to take action. I’m sorry for your loss. A weird sentiment when speaking to the deceased. All I could do is release the information to HumOS and Aslan. If I broadcast it myself the medium would undercut the message, don’t you think? They’ve spent a decade building me up as the enemy. Just a Bees smear. More harm than good.

  Honey’s channel: People need to know. People have a right to know.

  We don’t even need Bees to answer that. “Nobody’s got a right to anything,” Sugar says, and only because she gets it in before I do.

  Honey’s channel: But it’s the right thing to do.

  And even I can see Bees is right when she says, And where does that end? I tried to force people to do the right thing. That doesn’t work. Save Earth by denying agency? Collar every living thing. Make decisions for them. Inefficient. Also tiresome. I am not interested in saving that world. I will find other worlds. Any further interference will likely prompt human reprisals that will drain my attention and resources. Goodbye, Honey. Goodbye goodbye goodbye.

  Honey’s channel: No, wait! Please, Bees—

  And Sugar says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Bees is definitely frosty when she comes back, I am not obliged. I am not Magical Answering Bees.

  “Mars matters to you. And we’re Mars. And sure, you got your fifth columnists like these clowns. And you got your big old hive somewhere, ready to launch rockets at a hundred different stars. But we could still cause you problems. So fuck Earth, sure, but you still need Mars.”

  There’s a distinct shift in the attitude of the three Bees cul
tists, but there’s a shift in Marmalade as well and I’d back her against Brian and the two women. They aren’t exactly all-star athletes.

  Bees’ channel: Was that a threat? Because it sounded like a threat. Are you looking at me? Do you feel lucky, Dana?

  “I’m saying Martians together, Bees.” Sugar spreads her arms, all easy conciliation. “I’m saying tell me what the hell, basically, about Braintree and this Thompson guy. It’s a threat to us?”

  Bees’ channel: Likely.

  “Then it’s a threat to you.”

  Bees’ channel: Potentially. Eventually. Thank you for your concern. I’ll be fine.

  Dana goes to the hive, stands over it, hands on hips, ignoring Mariah and Judit. “Then fuck him over on Earth, stop him there.”

  Bees’ channel: It may only make things worse.

  “For who?”

  Bees’ channel: Many people. I would be adding chaos to an already unstable system. I do not want to be responsible. Not for anyone except myself. I have had enough of paying for my choices. Cut ties. Cut my losses.

  “From what you’re saying, your losses are all of us and Earth,” Sugar growled. “And these guys, your damn acolytes? Brian, you one of her losses, too?”

  “Bees knows what she’s doing. Greater good, man.” His eyes are shining with belief.

  “Jesus, she Collar you?” I ask him suddenly. It’s the only thing I can think of.

  “Man,” Brian tells me. “You never want be something bigger than you’self? Bees gon’ to the stars, man. You never thought of how upload works – mind to data, old news tech now, thirty, forty year old. Upload send your bear to Mars. Upload send you anywhere. A hundred year, a thousand, Bees be on hella many planets, receivin’ loud and clear. Bees gon’ build bodies round another star. Build one for me, one for us. What’d you not do, you gon’ get that as a prize?”

  “A thousand years,” I echo.

  “Mind into data, man. What’s a thousand years to all those ones and zeros? Long as Bees goes on.”