by Reality 36
He was not all right. He had forgotten his own name. He made his excuses and left the table, pleading sudden illness, perhaps the thinness of the air? He refused the captain’s offers of help and the airship’s doctor, beat away hands that reached out to help him. Reeling like a drunkard he fled to his bed, though he had imbibed no alcohol or other intoxicant, and the airship’s passage was smooth and sure. He lay down and fell into a feverish sleep, his night disrupted by a cascade of memories, shattering into ever smaller pieces as they fell through his dreams.
Another night he awoke with sharp certainty: his brother, dead of drowning in another century. Until then, he had not even been aware he had once had a sibling; the message crowded all else out. He wept. He soon forgot.
He became wrapped in a fugue. Days later, he found himself in an alien city in an alien land, the EU, England; was that where he had been heading? He was looking out at a crowd of buildings that were themselves cities, watching as one of them burned. The message urged him on; he tried to make it stop, to tell it that the epicentre of the blaze was his supposed destination, but the message was single-minded, and would not heed him.
He was stopped by a security cordon, and an armoured police officer made to send him away. An android grabbed his shoulder in one steely maniple, then gestured with one of its three others to his face, then to the human cop. Featureless police helmet and featureless machine mask both regarded him intently.
They brought him in to a police station and left him there for hours on his own. Time slipped again, and he found himself in another country, or so he guessed, for the journey that brought him there had evaporated like a dream pursued after waking. But he recognised the place, the EuPol Five’s temple to itself, one of Europe’s halls of power. He had been here once remotely – why, he did not recall.
The Five questioned him long and hard; he felt tendrils of it trying to force themselves into his consciousness as it spoke to him. How he could do this was unclear, because Qifang wore no mentaug or uplink. The tendrils withdrew, and the Five radiated a sense of being better informed but unsatisfied. It questioned him again. Qifang told it what it already knew.
“What do you remember?” the Five demanded.
He was afraid. This was not like him. He was a powerful, confident man secure in a sense of his own expertise and self, but these were gone, leaving a child’s fear. “I remember nothing. Please, I need to see Richards. I have a message to deliver.”
“Who?” it said, as impersonal as thunder. “What message?”
Qifang dropped his head and sobbed, exhausted and alone.
The EuPol Five made a noise of annoyance. When Qifang opened his eyes again he was in a garden at a wirework table. Food lay before him. The Five was manifest on the other side as an Olympian being, its perfect face marred by an expression that belonged on an irate bureaucrat.
“Very well,” said Hughie. “I will bring you Richards. But you will have to wait.”
Chapter 25
Santiago
“We don’t have time for this,” said Klein. He was huge, and well-specced, if dated: a thirty-year-old model. Multiple redundant organs, carbon-bonded bones, in-built healthtech and a cranial mentaug more powerful than those permitted civilians, even now. His muscles were massive under his skin, roped unnaturally with polymer overlays, their tension twisting his body out of true. Santiago was not intimidated by strength, he never had been, but he was wary of the German. The man was a monster.
“We have time for whatever I say,” said Chures. Santiago did not scare easily. He’d not been scared when his family made the long trek north, over the Panamanian wetline into the Latin south of the USNA, nor was he scared by the conditions of the Mexican refugee camps, worse than the barrios they fled from. He’d not been intimidated by the rape gangs, the traffickers or the men who came to steal his family’s food on the pretext of offering protection. “Until I am satisfied,” Santiago said. He lifted the gun; pain flared in his side. He bit it back. “We are not going anywhere.”
The German nodded as if it made perfect sense – him, the cyborg, the gun. It was a simple equation. “You are making a mistake,” he said. “I was the victim of an assassination attempt this morning, like you. Someone is trying to stop us. They know where I am, they will have followed me. They will be here soon.”
Santiago was good at reading faces. He’d discovered to his cost that no one could be trusted. There was a reason why humans policed machines. The numbers had many advantages, but they had no instinct, and no loyalty, like Bartolomeo.
This German and the Five that called itself Richards. They were mercenaries, masterless weapons, dangerous.
“We should go now.”
“No, you will be quiet now,” said Santiago quietly. “You are all suspects in an ongoing VIA investigation: you, your partner, Ms Valdaire and Zhang Qifang.”
“An investigation into what?” said Otto.
“I am asking the questions.” He smiled with pain-greyed lips and gestured with the gun by way of emphasis. It was powerful enough to kill the cyborg. He’d made sure to take the most powerful weapon he could from the men who’d come for him.
“What is going on?” demanded Valdaire, regaining her wits. She had as sharp a mind as they said, then; coming out of the Realms led to massive disassociation, as often as not.
“I am happy to have in front of me at last, Klein, you and your accomplice. I only wish that I could have your renegade Five friend here too. I have been lobbying for greater surveillance of his activities for many months. Perhaps my superiors will listen to me now once they have heard my report.”
Otto regarded him with a hostile gaze. “Richards and I are engaged in an investigation into the death of Zhang Qifang. You back down, we are on the same side.”
“You should be locked away, and your partner should be deleted,” said Santiago, talking over the bigger man. “The Fives are not to be trusted. We should have killed them all when we had the chance.”
“Qifang is dead?” So Valdaire had not known. Was that the face of a grieving lover or loyal colleague? It didn’t matter, the result would be the same.
“I do not believe in the Fives, Agent Chures,” said Otto. “They are all dangerous. But they are not all the same.”
“They are not all the same?” He blew air through his nose. He felt feverish. “What? They have stabilised the world? They have contributed to humanity, to good governance, the science, the arts? That is what they want us to think. I believe, Mr Klein, in a better world. I was raised in the camps. I saw such things there. My sisters and mothers died there. The machines can deliver that world. But under our direction. And the Fives? They are manipulative. I have the proof. I do not trust you or anyone associated with them. Think of your own partner. He works to amass money. What does a machine need money for?”
Santiago was gratified to see Otto had no answer to that.
“When what I have deduced becomes known, they will all be destroyed. You are a fool and a puppet. I won’t let an autocracy of machines replace human rule. Qifang has tried to bring it about. Giving the numbers rights wasn’t enough for him – he had to take it further.” He directed this last at Valdaire. She too had no reply. “As I thought. My back-up will soon be here. You are both under arrest on suspicion of abetting genocide.”
Otto stared at Santiago like an aggressive ape. “Chures, you’re making a big mistake. They’re coming here to kill you.”
“Shut up, Klein.”
“Chures…” Otto began to stand. He was going to act. Santiago would have to kill him. No matter. He brought up his pistol.
His mind disintegrated.
“I am sorry,” said Chloe. “You told me not to reveal my presence, but he was going to shoot you. His aux-mind has been crudely deactivated, but the linkages and receivers are intact. I infiltrated these and caused a feedback storm. I hope I did the right thing.”
Otto looked down at the unconscious agent. Crudely deactivated? His
aux-mind looked like it had been battered with a hammer. What the hell had happened there? “I think I’ll forgive you this once,” he said. He swallowed hard. That was another close call. There were too many of those recently, too many. He was getting old.
“Chloe?” said Veronique.
“Veronique, oh, Veronique!” said Chloe. “Give me to her! Please!”
Otto pulled the phone from his pocket. “I will, when Veronique has answered my questions.”
Veronique looked exhausted. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Otto handed the phone over. Chloe trilled delightedly, and Veronique cradled her like a baby. “We have to leave,” said Otto. “You have some medical training, correct?”
Veronique nodded.
“I have some supplies, I see you have too.” He indicated the machines that had been monitoring Valdaire while she slept. “You will treat Chures as we fly.” Otto scooped up Chures’ gun and weighed it speculatively. It was a nice piece, heavy, fortyseven-round high-XP magazine, fully automatic. The gun resisted him for a moment until his adjutant broke its rudimentary consciousness into shards and took over. He retrieved his own gun and reholstered it. He tucked Chures’ weapon into his belt. “You will also tell me what prompted you to take flight.”
“You are not with the VIA?”
“No, I am freelance. I am here on EuPol business. Qifang was murdered in EU waters… It is complicated,” he said.
“I hoped that that was a lie.”
“You did not know?”
“No, not for sure,” said Veronique. She looked upset, and exhausted.
“Otto! Otto!” shrilled Chloe. “I have reconnected to the Grid. There was an explosion at the Wellington Arcology in New London yesterday. A compact atomic. It destroyed your offices, three-hundred-plus dead.”
“Richards?”
“I am sorry, Otto.”
Otto was quiet for a moment. “He’ll be OK.” He’d wasted time before worrying about him. “My concern is for our safety. We are leaving.”
Harsh white light played in through the windows. The rising thrum of a heavy lifter coming in low roared out of the night. The noise fell and rose again as it swept back and forth searching the forest for a suitable landing point.
“We need to leave here now,” shouted Otto, struggling to be heard over the noise of the aircraft.
An amplified voice boomed out from overheard. “This is Agent Santiago Chures of the Virtualities Investigation Authority. You are under arrest. Put your weapons down and your hands on your heads and leave the cabin slowly.” The threat continued on a loop, chasing peace from the trees.
“I thought he was Agent Santiago Chures,” shouted Veronique, nodding at the prone Hispanic.
“I have been tracking three versions of Professor Zhang Qifang across the Atlantic. I am unsurprised.”
“Three?”
“That is not what I wanted to hear,” said Otto, hurriedly bundling Valdaire’s medical equipment into a bag. “We were sure you would be able to answer that question for us. A lot of people think you are in this up to your eyeballs, so my partner would say.” Both of them had to shout to be heard over the voice and the rumble of the airship’s engines.
“I have no idea what is going on. As far as I know, Zhang is in the Realms, planning to make them into his own personal empire.”
Otto touched his ear and shook his head. “I cannot hear you. Save it for the car.” He picked up Chures and slung him over his shoulder, hanging the bag from the other. He nodded toward the door. The noise was unbearable. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t,” shouted Veronique. “They’ll shoot us down.”
“You might be right,” said Otto and continued on to the back of the house, knocking mouldering furniture out of his way. The actinic beams of searchlights laid a harsh patchwork across the rotting floor. The cabin was threatening collapse; dust and rubbish pattered down from the ceiling.
“Can’t you take it down?”
“A heavy lifter zep? Not with these weapons. The lifter’s too big. They are still searching for a landing point. That means they want to talk to us; that means they need us alive. I think pursuit is more likely than death.”
“And if you are wrong?”
Otto set his face. “Then I am wrong.”
They crept out of the back under the rotting roof. Otto approached the car. He could not see the heavy lifter. His field of vision was severely restricted by the house and the hill. The noise of the lifter’s turbo fans hammered his hearing, pain sang in his ears. Stark illumination whited the earth out in the woods. Mossy shingles tumbled from the roof and bounced into the light, turned to fragments of shadow and glare.
The lifter circled back, coming directly above the cabin, waiting for them to come out into the open. They had not EMP’d the car already; they were probably waiting to catch him in the blast.
He considered his options. One Chures was an imposter. He had no time to test the Chures from the cabin to see if he was the genuine article. He might be trying to run and take the greatest threat with him.
If they dashed into the woods, they’d be picked off. The VIA would follow the orders of the Chures aboard the heavy lifter. If he were the real deal, the VIA weren’t too fussy about keeping violators of the virtuals code alive; if he weren’t, the fake Chures’d use the VIA’s uncompromising attitude to make sure they were dead before they could talk. If he could just get the aircar off the ground, they could be away. Heavy lifters were well armed, but slow.
He reached the car. The pines behind the cabin creaked in response to the downdraft of engines.
“That’s far enough, Klein.” A silhouette stepped out of the searchlight glare, and resolved itself into a impeccably dressed, unbruised Santiago Chures. “You are under arrest.”
“Under whose authority?” yelled Otto. “This guy on my shoulder has already arrested me once. Which one of you should I listen to?”
Wind whipped around them, backwash from the fans raising whirlwinds of pine needles and leaves.
“Come quietly. You will not be harmed.”
“How can we believe that?” shouted Veronique.
“You will have to take it on trust,” said Chures. Two armoured figures carrying assault rifles were moving in from either side, trusting the cone of light to dazzle Otto and hide their advance. Incompetent. “Now, drop your weapons and the imposter you have there. I give you my word you will be taken into custody unharmed.” He reached out his hand and smiled.
The men outside the searchlight beam raised their guns.
Otto dropped Chures and the bag to the floor and shoved Veronique to one side, his augmented strength sending her crashing back through the door into the cabin. He leapt upwards, through the rotting lean-to roof, as gunfire crisscrossed the space he had vacated.
“Take him down!” shouted Chures. Gunfire erupted from above to join that coming from below. Otto unholstered his pistol as he landed on the hill. Two precision shots aided by his nearI smashed the VIA agents’ guns; two more found the weak point on their leg armour, sending them sprawling with shots to the knees. Otto had his near-I prime him to avoid the heavy-calibre slugs raining down from the airship. He could not avoid the gunfire from the VIA troops, and took multiple hits before they were downed. He raised his left arm to his head to protect it, bullets burying themselves deep in his flesh. An EMP blast narrowly missed him, another totalled the car’s electronics. He ran forward as Chures opened up. It became a contest of attrition, both men emptying their guns into each other’s chests. Alarms screamed in his mind as Otto took the bullets. Chures II staggered back, but did not go down. His aim went wild, both guns emptied. Otto jumped forward, smashing Chures with a powerful forearm swing, lifting the agent clean off his feet and sending him right into the cabin wall. Wood splintered. Chures bounced to lie on the floor. Otto leapt backwards, tossing his last EMP grenade into the middle of the three prone VIA operatives. Fire tracked him from the airship,
ripping up great clods of earth. The grenade discharged itself. Sparks ran over the troopers, locking them in their armour as their circuitry fused. Chures jerked and thrashed about like a live fish in a fire, then went limp.
Otto had no time to stop. He leaped from position to position, dodging shells.
Chures stood.
His shirt was soaked with blood, flesh and cloth tattered. Otto saw black carbon bones underneath. A triumphant sneer creased his features, as if he were heedless of the organs hanging from his rent stomach.
Otto reached round for the other agent Chures’ gun. It had gone.
“That was very unwise, Otto Klein,” said the cydroid Chures, his voice as tattered as his torso.