by Adam Carter
“Bully for you.”
“I have money,” I put in, shyly raising my hand. “For what it’s worth.”
“And how much is it worth?” Amrit asked.
“Surely that’s for you to say.”
Cassiel kicked me under the table to remind me this was her interrogation. I held up my hands in surrender, which upon reflection must have looked a little odd to Amrit considering the kick had been under the table.
“My sister doesn’t seem to know when to keep her trap shut,” Cassiel said. “Yes, we have money. I just wasn’t going to show all my aces in one go.”
Amrit’s smile was tight and I could see she was interested now. “You’re a shrewd woman, Cass. Maybe we can do business after all.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing, so kept my silence. Unfortunately, Cassiel had burned herself out with her opening gambit, although thankfully her concealed face hid the girl’s horror from our Securitarn companion.
“News,” I said. “That’s what we’re after. Any scuttlebutt you may have heard on the sly.”
“Rumours about what?”
“Securitarn.”
“Well, I think Tracy and Denise are having an affair, but that stopped being a secret a long time ago.”
“I didn’t mean things like that,” I said.
“Oh, you mean trade secrets.”
“Trade secrets,” I repeated, for repeating something back to the original speaker always solidifies it in her mind. “Securitarn are into a lot of weird stuff. We’d just like to know what.”
“Are you working for the competition?”
“We’re working for an interested party.”
“Because if I told you anything like that, I’d be out of a job. Which means you have to be offering me a whole heap of money for me to even consider that.”
Since we did not have any money, I did not see the harm in pretending we had a mine-full of gold.
“We don’t really have any money,” Cassiel said, ruining that idea. “But we do have something that might interest you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Better to show you.”
“Right,” Amrit said. “So this is the point you suggest going into a back alley and think I’m too starry eyed to realise you have no money and you just intend to beat me up.”
Cassiel laughed. It was a strange sound, born more of desperation than mirth. “No, of course not.”
“That’s not convincing me.”
“You have an info jack,” Cassiel said.
“So? A lot of people have info jacks. It helps when we want to watch the news in peace.”
“Could I borrow your chip for a moment?”
“My chip?”
I must admit, I had no idea where Cassiel was going with this, either. The info jacks were something of a fashion statement, like wearing a nose ring or an ear stud. I had met people with info jacks before, but not many. Essentially, they were a means to absorb information at a faster rate than the brain could ordinarily manage. One could sit watching different news broadcasts on six channels and take in the individual stories; or one could scan through a novel in seconds. They had been designed primarily as a way for people to cram in as much as they could at one time and in some aspects I thought they were a great idea. However, there was always something I considered a little creepy about them.
The chip Cassiel was asking to borrow was literally just the receiver for this information. It did not store anything for more than a microsecond, for information was transmitted to the chip and forwarded directly to the recipient’s brain. The storage capacity of the chip was, therefore, very low, for it did not need to be large at all. This cut down on production costs and made the info jacks affordable.
“If I let you borrow my chip,” Amrit said, “do I get the money?”
“Yes,” I said quickly, then more quietly, “Cass, what are you playing at?”
“I just wanted to see the chip.”
“We need to find out about …”
“I know. I just think it’s weird someone would willingly put a chip in their head.”
It was curiosity, then. She was sidelining the mission because she was curious about life outside of her enclosed Themistonian society.
“Sure you can borrow my chip,” Amrit said. “Where’s the money?”
“Trust me, you’ll get your money.”
Amrit was still uncertain, but with a shrug she disconnected her chip and handed it over. It was interesting to watch, for I had never before seen anyone remove their chip and it was not quite the cyborg experience I was expecting. Amrit’s entire face did not unlock, nor did she press buttons on her wrist. All she did was peel off some of the skin around the jack and pulled out the chip.
It was, all things considered, one of the most disappointing things I had ever seen.
Cassiel examined it closely, holding it up to her mask and peering at it intently. Amrit and I watched, enthralled; then Cassiel handed it back. “Thanks.”
“That’s it?” Amrit asked. “You seriously just wanted to look at it?”
“Let’s go,” Cassiel said, rising.
“Whoa, hold it,” I said. “We haven’t achieved anything yet.”
“And I don’t have my money,” Amrit said as she slipped her chip back into her head. It was depressing to watch, as though she did not feel like a complete woman without the thing. I had seen addicts at their worst and feared some of these chip users could well go that way if they weren’t careful.
“You have your money,” Cassiel said.
“I have my money?” Amrit asked. “What do you mean I …? Oh. I have my money.”
“Find out what you can,” Cassiel said. “We’ll be in touch.”
I could not help but liken this final part to how Delilah and I had spoken back at the club. It was good the girl was picking up on things, but not if they weren’t going to get us anywhere. There was nothing I could do about it, however, for Cassiel was already halfway out the door and there was no chance of my salvaging anything from the situation.
Hurrying after Cassiel, I caught up with her on the street. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting answers.”
“What?”
“Gordon’s been teaching me about some of the things I’ve missed growing up on Themisto. Since he’s a mechanic he’s been teaching me all about that side of things. That got us talking about what Securitarn did to Iris, the database in her brain and everything, which led us to the chips people put in their heads.”
She was losing me and I was too confused to interrupt.
“He told me,” she continued, “the chips have other purposes. He told me there was this thing one time called social media. People would use computers to talk to each other, share birthdays and photos and stuff. Turns out the government was using some social media sites to collate information on its citizens.”
“Sure. There are examples of that all throughout history. What’s your point?”
“The chips don’t just process information, they store it.” She held up her index finger and I could see something tiny and thin protruding through the glove. “Gordon showed me how to use a hijack node to interface with a chip and see what was on it.”
“And now you have a record of everything that was being stored on Amrit’s chip?”
“Since she works for Securitarn, I’m guessing it’s Securitarn collating her information, so whatever they’re storing about her will be for their own benefit. If she knows anything about Iris or Gordon, even if she doesn’t know she knows it, it’ll be on here.”
“You beauty.”
“How can you tell? I’m fully clothed.”
“That is the most disturbing thing a young woman has ever said. What about Amrit’s money?”
“The chip deals with information. I just made it look as though there was a whole heap of money moving to her bank account.”
“But there isn’t?”
�
��She believes there is. Just as she believes everything she’s watching on the news, and who’d do a stupid thing like that?”
“You’d be surprised. So, that part about being in touch was a ruse?”
“I think we’d be better off putting as much distance between us and Amrit as humanly possible; then we can sift through the data we’ve pilfered.”
I was slowly changing my mind about Cassiel. She may have been young and naïve, but she was certainly learning; and that was the very thing I found I always respected most in people.
“Come on, then,” I said, “I’ll buy you lunch.” Although how she was going to eat it without raising her mask I had no idea.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lunch turned out to be something of a plain affair. We found ourselves a cheap café run by a short, fat woman who stank like a sewer and had the dour face of a pug that had been kicked so many times it could no longer recall any other way to live. Cassiel chose to order soup, mainly so she could eat it through a straw, while I settled with a sandwich. There were not many people in the café and the owners did not seem to believe in paying the electricity bill, so if anyone even noticed we were there I would have been surprised. On the way to the café we had purchased a small data-reading device, into which Cassiel had injected the data she had obtained. While we ate, we watched the data scroll across the tiny screen. Most of it was nonsensical, some of it in binary, and it seemed the chip had stored a whole lot of information not even Securitarn would have any interest in knowing. Perhaps the chip would purge useless information every hour or something, but I had not even been aware the chips stored anything so I was not about to guess.
“Wow, the price of guzberries has doubled in the last five years,” I said drolly. We had been sitting there for half an hour and I was getting eye-strain. “Cass, I’m not sure this chip’s going to give us anything.”
“If it gives us nothing, that’s something.”
“My head’s hurting; could you say that again without the riddle?”
“If there’s no mention of Iris or Gordon, it means Amrit didn’t know anything about them.”
That made sense. I was just about to say something – I have no idea what – when something on the screen piqued my interest. “That mentioned the experiments,” I said.
Cassiel stopped the information scroll and went back to see what I had noticed. It was a snippet from a report and I wondered how it had got there. Perhaps Amrit had her chip activated when she was at work, reading the news when she should have been concentrating on her job. I did not fully understand how the chips worked, but I was reasonably certain there was a flaw in the system if it was picking up random pieces of information just because Amrit happened to be looking in the general direction of classified information.
The document was incomplete, which suggested Amrit had only managed a glance at the report, and that she had not been paying any mind to what it was she was seeing. The gist of the report was that the experiments of inserting databases into people’s minds had been abandoned due to the deaths of all test subjects. There was a specific mention of Iris, saying that she had survived the process but had been killed by other means at a later date. Before it was cut off, I could see the report said it was a shame she had died, since the experiments could have continued had they retained her as a test subject.
“I get the impression,” I said, “they think Iris would have died sooner or later from the effects of the experiment.” Gordon had lied to Securitarn and told them Iris was dead, and it seemed they believed the lie. There was nothing in the report to indicate they had found her, and it was only dated a week earlier.
“Maybe Securitarn don’t have them,” Cassiel said.
That had not been something I had been seriously considering until this point, although it did seem somewhat likely. “If we assume they don’t have them, where are they? Iris and Gordon should have been back to the Glory ages ago. If it wasn’t Securitarn that stopped them, then what?”
“I have no idea. Do you have any other suggestions on places we could try?”
I thought about that, had been thinking about nothing else for a while. I had yet to come up with an answer. It was not as though I had any contacts on Ganymede. Being a halo ring miner, my life had been one of solitude and isolation. I found comfort in blasting out my music in the knowledge there were no neighbours who could complain, and the thought of actually needing anyone was something which did not even enter my mind.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m done with ideas.”
“Then we should check the hospitals. Maybe they had an accident.”
“They could have been labelled as John and Jane Doe.”
“They’re alive,” Cassiel said icily. “Remember that.”
Cassiel was certainly an odd one and her attire worked in her favour. She was still afraid, I could tell as much by how tightly she gripped her bowl of soup, but she was doing her best to overcome it and it would have been rude of me to comfort her in any way.
I was about to reply when I noticed the café owner ducking behind her counter. Slowly casting my eyes about, I saw several patrons leaving in a hurry. Marching towards the café was a group of people about a dozen strong. They were wearing thick black attire and wielded such a selection of clubs and knives one would have been forgiven for thinking we were back on Earth or something.
“Cass,” I whispered harshly, “don’t look now but we have company. I think … I said not to look.”
The gang poured into the café and took up positions, which basically meant their leader stepped forward and everyone else flanked him. He was what I would consider a real bruiser. His nose had been broken one time and had been poorly reset, while a scar ran the full length of his face and had almost taken out an eye. This lent his countenance a permanent scowl, and as he stood gently tapping a club in his hand I figured that was just the impression he had been going for. That the club was shot through with several large iron nails did not soften his image any.
Cassiel was on her feet in an instant, her body trembling and tense. She placed a hand upon her sword but was too terrified to draw it.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” she exhaled, “hallowed be Thy name. Thy …”
“What’s she doing?” the bruiser asked.
“Praying for your lives,” I said, slowly rising to join her.
Some of the gang members looked to one another dubiously, while one even backed off a step. The bruiser in charge only laughed. “Looks like she’s soiling herself to me.”
I glanced at Cassiel’s trousers, which was probably not the best thing I could have done to inspire confidence. Suffice it to say Cassiel was not soiling herself, but my fear clearly transmitted loudly to the bruiser.
At this point I should admit I didn’t get the fellow’s name so I’m going to continue to refer to him as the bruiser. It was not such a situation, however, in which names were likely to be exchanged. If this was his account of the events, I shudder to think what names he would have ascribed to us.
“You have any idea why we’re here?” the bruiser asked.
“Cheap and cheerful bacon butties?”
“The people across the way dredged the river. They found the bike but no bodies. So they hired us to find them.”
“Well we’re nobodies,” I said with a short laugh.
“… not into temptation and deliver us from …”
“Will you shut her up?”
I nudged Cassiel. “Not helping.”
She drew her sword and held its point towards the gang leader. “For Yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory. Amen. Roz, get out of here. I’ve got this.”
“You’ve got this?” I asked. “You’ve got what? Cass, don’t be an idiot.”
“Roz, go.”
The bruiser laughed, although I could see indecision in the eyes of two more of his gang. I took the opportunity to pocket the data-reading device, for we did not want to leave that lying around. Abandoning Cassiel,
though, would only get her killed and I could not for one moment believe she had any form of plan in mind.
“I’ve been in tougher fights than this,” I said, dropping into a defensive crouch and balling my fists. It was true that I had been in scraps before, but mostly that’s because I’m a violent drunk, which is why I now only ever drink at weddings.
The bruiser laughed – he liked doing that; I think it was an insecurity thing – and continued to tap his club into his other hand. “This is the real fun part of the job for me.”
“What is?” I asked. “Ganging up on two women with six-to-one odds?”
In response he swung his club with such savage fury that Cassiel screamed, dropped her sword and fell backwards into the table. The half-eaten bowl of soup smashed on the floor and condiments somersaulted through the air. The club performed a violent horizontal swing through the space Cassiel had just vacated, and the surprise in the bruiser’s face put him off-balance enough for me to land a decent blow to his chin.
Backing off with a whimper, I nursed my screaming hand while the bruiser recovered his senses and tried to work out what the hell had just happened.
Cassiel scrambled back to her feet; it was a fine time to discover she was useless in a fight. Grabbing up her sword, I wished I knew how to use the thing and only then wondered how she had got away with walking around the streets with it slung at her hip.
The bruiser swung his club again and I met the attack with Cassiel’s sword. It was not like in the films; there was no amazing choreography, no slow-motion parrying, no witty banter. The sword struck the club and a shock wave shuddered up my arm. The bruiser brought the club around for another blow and I twisted the blade in a vain attempt to prevent it striking. In fairness I did manage to connect the two weapons again, but the attack was so violent the club tore the sword from my hand and sent it clattering away. I yelped as the nails ripped into my leg and I fell to my knee.
“Like I said,” the bruiser declared as he swung his club and held it above his head with both hands, ready to deliver a powerful downward blow into my skull, “this is the real fun part of the job.”