“Leave that to the squad,” she said.
“No, wait,” he said roughly. “They’re attempting to disrupt the NDN from within the computer system. Can you cut off the lines around this area?”
There was a second of stunned silence on the other end, broken by Funo’s curse. “The NDN? What level would you rate the threat?”
Ishihara thought of McGuire’s mutilated hand. “Genuine and extreme.”
“Security on the data network is supposed to be uncrackable.”
“That’s what they said about the Betta systems.”
“I’ll get back to you.” She cut the connection.
“What about this fellow?” The constable looked at the man on the ground. His robe was torn; underneath he wore a T-shirt and cotton trousers.
“Take him to the station. He can wait for his mates there,” said Ishihara. He walked over and shut the warehouse door. The Angels should all be joined in Adam’s networking by now, but there might be more of them who planned to run away, like this one.
He chivvied the other men out the gates of the yard for the same reason. The constable’s partner walked off with the handcuffed Angel.
Delivery trucks rumbled down the main road on the other side of the shopping street. In one of the apartment blocks across the road a light flickered on. Everything seemed so normal.
“Have you got a smoke?” he asked the young constable.
“Nasty habit, sir. Never took it up.”
Ishihara groaned and waited.
As Eleanor watched Ishihara being pushed roughly down the corridor the weight of responsibility settled on her like a load of scrap iron. It was up to her now. She had to get word to the police or at least try to delay Akita’s plan long enough for the police to track the source of the network disturbance.
Which wasn’t likely, a disturbingly cool part of her mind replied. If their communications system is affected, they won’t be tracing anything for a while.
So she had to do something within the interface. Yet Akita was far more experienced in there. I can’t do things in there like he can, she’d said to Ishihara. The only time she used the interface efficiently was when she accessed the Microcosm through robots. She was able to hit someone with a helpbot, raise a service bot’s arm, and walk her Sam robot with ease. Could she use that to stop Akita?
The Sam project at Tomita was the system she knew best. She might persuade Akita to get inside Sam, or any robot for that matter, and then cut off his access to the Macrocosm. It would prevent his dispersing more of the virus. The rest of the Angels wouldn’t be able to move away from the factory if Akita was still inside the Macrocosm, giving the police a better chance of catching up with them.
Acolytes in white clothes and novices in blue and green were still milling around the corridor, talking about the attempted escape. Most of them didn’t seem to notice Eleanor—she was just another smooth-headed person in white.
The door past the one to the room where they’d taken Ishihara opened, and Akita stepped through. Everyone was immediately silent. The skin of his face looked waxy, his eyes drooping with fatigue.
He raised his right hand, his gold sleeve rucking back to the elbow. “My children.” His voice carried so well that Eleanor wondered if he was using a portable mike of some sort. “We are about to begin our third and final round of prayer. What is this behavior?”
All the acolytes huddled together and shuffled guiltily past Akita, bowing their heads low as they entered the room. The novices walked taller, but they also bowed low to Akita and averted their eyes.
Akita ignored them and waited for the corridor to clear before beckoning Eleanor. “Lilith. We must continue.”
She put her undamaged hand on his arm. “Adam-sama, you were right.”
He looked down, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “About?”
“I should renounce my desire for the Microcosm. I shouldn’t keep trying to use the robots.”
His expression lightened. “I am glad you have seen the truth.”
“Oh, but I have. In fact, it was the robots that showed me.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was in their bodies, I felt a kind of…” She tried to remember how he’d described his enlightenment. “A kind of spreading through the universe. As though I was part of everything else all at once.”
He grasped her arm eagerly. “This is the enlightenment I seek! And you say you experienced it in the Microcosm?”
“The robots are kind of in both worlds, though, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps. The borders … have I neglected them?” His voice trailed away.
Had she been too subtle? “Maybe you never experienced it in the robots because you don’t usually visit them. Why don’t you come with me to my robot at Tomita and I can show you?”
“After we execute the plan,” he said reluctantly.
“But after we disrupt the network, everything will be offline. This won’t take long. You said yourself that time is slower in there.”
He wavered. “Did you feel joy?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded. “Lots.”
He frowned. “Emotions have always eluded me in the Macrocosm.”
“Perhaps I am mistaken.”
“Are you trying to keep it to yourself?”
“Of course not.” She conjured up a carefree laugh.
Akita kept frowning.
She felt someone behind her and spun around. Fujinaka/Gagiel stood there. He wore his undershirt again and carried a tool kit.
“The cupboard doors will hold now,” he said to Akita, and ran his insolent gaze up Eleanor’s body.
Could Iroel still get Mari out? Would Mari even go?
Akita turned in a swirl of gold.
With a sense of being sucked into a rapidly spinning whirlpool, she followed him into his throne room.
There was barely room for them to edge down the red carpet. At least thirty figures in white and a dozen or so in blue and green crammed themselves on the floor, kneeling on their heels in formal positions. She couldn’t see Man and felt a thrill of hope. Perhaps she’d decided to go with Iroel after all, even if they didn’t use the tunnel.
As Akita passed, many of the nearest believers reached out to pat his robes. Eleanor even felt a tentative cool touch on her ankle. That touch reminded her why she was there. She had come to help Mari, which meant by extension all these other children who were caught in a disaster not of their making. The poor things—they tried to get away from being controlled by their parents, only to wind up being controlled by Akita and his unpleasant colleagues.
That thought made the long walk to the console bearable. Whatever she could do to obstruct Akita’s plans would help them as well as Mari.
Melan was waiting for them before the console. She swung Eleanor roughly into one of the chairs.
Akita faced the room and raised his arms.
The silence was so complete that the rasp of all their breathing sounded like the crash of surf to Eleanor. Far off in the corridor a door closed and bare feet slapped on concrete. The console beside her hummed.
“My children.” Akita’s voice was huskier than before. He swayed a litde, but Eleanor couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not.
“We are about to embark upon the odyssey that will change human history. In the future, people will say, ‘it started then.’ We will be the first humans to experience the realms of the gods. We will become gods.”
Eleanor craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if Mari was there. No familiar eyes met hers except Samael’s, poised by the door, and Fujinaka/Gagiel’s, who waded through the seated believers to stand by the side of the dais.
“Your prayers will lift us into the Macrocosm, where we will begin the process of cleansing that precedes renewal.” He drew his hands together. “Let us pray.”
A gong echoed over their heads. Eleanor winced at the level of sound, coming from speakers high on the wall.
At the fir
st bong, all the acolytes bent forward so their heads touched the floor or, in some cases, the heels of the person in front. At the second bong, the novices did the same.
Melan strapped Eleanor into the chair with deliberately sharp tugs.
At the third bong, everyone hummed a low note.
Melan kneeled before Akita and kissed his feet before strapping him in reverently. Hypocrite, thought Eleanor. Kiss the master good-bye before you run away with Iroel.
The hum of voices swelled to a single high note, then rose and fell in a three-phrase chant. Something about the Master all-seeing, the Master all-knowing, the Master all-being.
The chorus was too loud. Surely a small number of people couldn’t produce this huge noise … She pressed her hands over her ears. The bones of her chest vibrated with the deep notes. She hadn’t felt this buffeted by sound since the first time she visited an ore-processing plant, to examine one of their big crushing machines …
Melan’s fingers locked on Eleanor’s left wrist and rammed her hand into the aperture.
Ishihara paced impatiently. The two civilians who’d helped capture the runaway Silver Angel showed no sign of leaving. They chatted with the security guard. Their voices grated on his jangling nerves like sand rubbed in a wound.
What was keeping the squad? They had to get McGuire out of there.
Lightly running footsteps around the corner of the street made them all look around. Several blue-clad policemen took up positions by the gate. They motioned for Ishihara and the others to go around to the side street.
Funo was waiting there, accompanied by a large young man in a black uniform with no insignia. A detective escorted the civilians and the security guard away.
Funo beckoned Ishihara. She was wearing a fatigues jacket over her neat white blouse, and a blue cap. Her nose and forehead were shiny with sweat. “We can’t get information from the security company’s files,” she said. “Can you draw us a map of the underground rooms?”
Ishihara took the palmtop and stylus Funo offered. “Is that because of the Silver Angels’ interference?”
She shook her head. “We think the company was compromised promised before this. We checked their security records on the old factory when Harada disappeared, and everything appeared to be in order, but it obviously wasn’t.”
“Did you cut off the lines to this place? Or the power?”
“They’re working on the power. Something’s wrong with the central controls.”
They looked at each other, but didn’t voice the shared assumption—that the sabotage had begun.
The young man looked at Ishihana’s sketch. He had a calm, large-jawed face and huge hands. “This exit is in the main building here?” He pointed behind them at the factory.
“Yes, but I’m not sure where it comes out in that building. I didn’t go that way.”
“We’ll find it.” He took the palmtop and waved his arm over his head. Two more black figures emerged from a van in the parking lot across the street.
“The leader is a big man dressed in gold,” said Ishihara. “There are at least two men dressed in silver who should be treated as dangerous. I’m not sure if they’re armed or not.” The Angel who attacked him in the warehouse might not have been carrying the gun downstairs. It depended on how seriously the Angels obeyed the prohibition on violence before prayers.
“We’ll find him,” said the squad leader. He sketched Funo a salute and rejoined the rest of his team.
“Are you all right?” Funo stared at him as the light grew stronger. With the dirt and sweat, he realized that he must look disgusting. “There’s an ambulance around the corner if you need anything.”
“I need to go back,” Ishihara said. “McGuire’s still in there. Adam’s making her cooperate in the NDN sabotage, and I don’t know what he’ll do to her when it’s finished.”
“It better not finish,” said Funo grimly. “We have to stop them before it goes too far.” She looked over at the warehouse, then back to Ishihara. “Why didn’t you call us before you went in?”
“I did but couldn’t get through,” he said, conscious how unlikely it sounded.
She said nothing.
He decided he didn’t care. He was retiring after this case, anyway. “I’m going in with the squad.”
“Don’t get in their way. And take a gas mask.”
Ishihara stood with his mouth open for a moment, ready to protest the reprimand that never came. Funo seemed quite matter-of-fact about it.
As he turned to the van, she added, “Good work, Ishihara.”
One might even suspect she’d sent him off because she thought he was a loose enough cannon to find something … nah. He was overtired and imagining things.
The antiterror squad took no more than five minutes to get into position, but it seemed an age to Ishihara. Local police had cordoned off the area and were asking wakeful residents to stay inside their houses. Funo took off her fatigues jacket and reported that the NDN was experiencing problems in multiple systems; the electricity grid was going down across the city.
Ishihara stood by the van and drank from one of the squad’s water bottles. He didn’t dare sit down, for fear he wouldn’t be able to stand up again. The street slept in the half-light, quiet in predawn coolness. Only occasional muffled voices and the tread of booted feet revealed the police presence. From the road the rumble of trucks rose and fell, like a drunk snoring.
At last the squad was in position. Their leader ordered Ishihara to go last and, with a glance at his rumpled, filthy shirt and trousers, passed him a bulletproof vest like the team members wore. It hung on his sore shoulders like lead weights.
They went in the front door of the main building. This building had been renovated recently, by the look of it. The entry to the underground section was at the back, under two trapdoors that folded upward.
They all fastened their gas masks. The hoses at this entry and in the warehouse began pumping gas. Perfectly harmless, one of the squad had said. While they’re sneezing we arrest ’em.
Ishihara pulled the ragged edges of his consciousness together. He just wanted to make sure McGuire and her niece got out of there safely. He shoved two extra gas masks farther into his vest pocket and prayed they were still alive.
“Move out,” said the squad leader quietly.
The livelines sang. They diverged in related melodies, data passing in ripples of harmony. Eleanor was awash in a euphonious polyphony that beat, danced, and trilled around her. Enchanted and dismayed—how could she navigate in this?—she tried to distinguish structure in the seemingly infinite complexity of refrains, passages, measures, minor and major keys …
Each liveline seemed to have its own theme, its own tone. This one flowed low and throbbing in a complex beat. That one flowed higher and flat, in a repeated toccata.
This way, Akita sang in a low, hornlike riff.
He began to fade into distance and she followed, dodging through thickets of pastorale and tight knots of counterpoint, until they came to a simple sequence of five notes, repeated continuously.
Akita’s song was lighter. I am glad you have seen the truth.
If she had any feelings in here, she would have been sick with nerves. Would she be able to keep him in the robot? It all depended on whether she could destroy his connection with the Macrocosm. What did he say when he showed her how to plant the virus—impose your color over the place? In this version of the Macrocosm, she’d have to overlay her song.
The five-note sequence was the gate out of live-lines into the world of ordinary cables. Akita matched his horn-voice to it, and his song disappeared. Eleanor did the same—her song seemed to be a simpler melody in a different key, G-flat maybe? A string sound, like a cello or viola.
They were back in the world of tunnels stretching into infinity, filled with sparks captured in strips along the sides. Here, Akita’s presence was only an echo of song, a brightness in the spaces between sparks.
They sped alo
ng the tunnels until she realized they were in the familiar layers of her own system—in the lab, computer systems idling. Her humanoid robot Sam was still connected to the battery recharger, a dark circle in the system wall, edged dimly with phosphorescence. Through the room’s cameras she could see that the service bot still slept in the corner, connected but inactive.
Akita did nothing for a moment. Was he suspicious?
Perhaps I was mistaken she “said.”
With a derisive flash, Akita flowed into Sam’s circuitry.
Eleanor edged close to the portal. She couldn’t sense anything more of Akita in the tunnel with her. In the lab camera’s wide-angle view the robot didn’t move, but activation lights flickered across its chest panel. Akita was inside.
Do you feel it now? she said, but there was no sign he’d heard. She slid through the other lab subsystems and found the voice-over within the internal phone.
“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t hear herself until she remembered to activate the audio input as well. “Retract your wall connection and try to walk to the other side of the lab.”
If he was on the other side of the lab, he couldn’t suddenly activate the connection again.
Sam’s gangly arms rose, not quite together, and straight out, as though Akita couldn’t manage the elbow joints. The oversized camera lens eyes swiveled each way, too fast for efficient image processing, she noticed.
“When … did you … feel what you … said?” Akita’s synthesized voice crackled from Sam’s little speakers.
“When I was walking the robot. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
Sam’s recharge connection rod withdrew from the wall socket and retracted with a whir. One skeletal metal leg, traced with various colored wires, lifted. The robot teetered. The leg swung forward, down.
Eleanor felt better. She’d walked Sam far more easily than this. Then she became concerned—what if Akita got discouraged?
“That’s right,” she said. “Try a few more steps.”
Sam wavered five steps. It was time. The recharge connection glowed in a red circle. She concentrated on making it disappear, imagined her own pattern in its place.
Less Than Human Page 33