by Reality 36
Richards walked over to the edge of the canyon. He was forced to hold his hat on against the updraft coming from the rift floor. Not far from the feet of the cliffs the land was swirling away like a sand picture in a whirlwind, its particles sucked into the vortex of Qifang’s unmaking. “I don’t think we have much time,” he said.
“I suppose not.” Hughie tossed his teacup over the cliff and dusted his hands off.
“You should get a move on.”
“I suppose so,” he said, and cleared his throat and cracked his neck from side to side. His clothes evaporated, leaving the shining sculpture of his body exposed. He laced his fingers in front of his face and pushed his arms out and squatted low, knees out, in the first of a series of stretches
“Hughie,” said Richards. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Psychological preparation,” said Hughie brusquely, his words carried on the wave front of a grunt as he performed a number of thrusts. “Naturally, it has no physical use whatsoever.”
Richards turned away puzzled and attempted to admire the view. He settled for being deeply troubled.
Hughie finished his exercise routine, stood and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jagadith! Jagadith Veyadeep!” His voice echoed off into the depths of the Rift until it hit the vortex, where it frittered into shining particles “I call upon you! Your charge is threatened, hearken to its need! I command thee!” He clasped his hand behind his back. “That should do it. Melodramatic nonsense.”
“Nerds, eh?” said Richards. “They’re all hopeless romantics at heart.”
Hughie nodded. “Look at k52.”
“There is no need to be shouting!” said a young voice behind them. The two AIs turned and found an Indian princeling of about thirteen years of age walking down the path towards them. In his wake padded a huge-pawed lion cub, whose determined if clumsy pounces at the local insect life might have been cute were the cub not larger than the average Doberman. “I am well aware as to what is occurring here!” he said irritably. “Only, as you can see, I am powerless to prevent it.” He indicated his richly clad young body.
“Not so, young man,” said Hughie.
“We’re the cavalry,” explained Richards. “Zhang Qifang, the real – sort of – Zhang Qifang sent us here to sort all this out.” He nodded enthusiastically as if that would help get his message across, then it dawned on him he was being patronising toward a mind the equal of his own. He wished he could behave with a little more gravity toward children, or those that appeared as children. He blamed his father, Armin Thor, for that.
“And Ms Valdaire?” asked the prince apprehensively.
“Safe and well,” assured Hughie.
“Ah, that is good,” said Jagadith with relief. “Ejecting her in such a perfunctory manner was impolite, and her safe conduct home far from a certainty.” There was a commotion as the juvenile Tarquinius scared up a jack rabbit, tripped on his over-sized feet and rolled into a bush. “I was overcome by my erstwhile fellows and slain, an unpleasant experience. I am happy to know my efforts were not in vain, though they reduced me to my current diminished state.”
“You can’t fight Qifang?” asked Richards. “Will you be able to once you have reconstituted fully?”
“No,” said Jagadith. “Were I at the height of my powers this very instant it would not be feasible. He has absorbed too much of this Realm to be ejected. And where would I eject him to? That is no man there, stood like Atlas in the valley. He never was. A clever trick. It is a bridge being built there. A monument to the professor, but a bridge nonetheless.”
“That,” said Hughie slowly, “leaves us with only one, unfortunate, course of action.” He pursed his lips.
“Yes,” said Jagadith and sat down on the ground. Tarquinius padded over to him and rolled onto his back. The youthful avatar tickled the lion’s belly. Tarquinius let out a deep, metallic purring. “Dissolution of this Realm, the false Qifang with it. I can grant you the codes that will allow you full access to the heart and soul of the Reality Thirty-six, EuPol Five, they are in my gift to give.” A tear rolled down his face, and dropped onto the lion. “This will mean the end of us, Tarquinius and I. Death is a fitting end for both of us, for we have failed in our one appointed task, to safeguard the majesty of this creation. For that I am deeply sorry.” He ran his fingers through sandy soil. “We are at least together as we always have been. That is a small mercy to us.”
Richards looked from vortex to giant to Five to boy to lion. “Hughie, is there…?” he ventured.
“There is no other way,” said Hughie firmly.
“There was a door behind Qifang, an entryway to the dead spaces of the other dissolved Realms,” said Jagadith. “The presence of such a portal alerted me to the fact that all was not well with the professor, that he was a front for the doings of some other creature.”
“A rogue Class Five,” explained Richards.
“That explains much,” said the boy. “The door will be closed by the destruction of our home. Once Qifang is removed from the central server spaces, the other Realms will be safe from intrusion here,” said Jagadith, “but the false Realm beyond has to be destroyed. It would be better if it were closed down externally, from the material world. Decommission the servers that hold it, destroy the machines. These Realms, for all their beauty, are spun floss and fragile, dependent on the goodwill of gods in another world for their existence, whether they are old or new.” He pushed Tarquinius away, stood and dusted his hands off on his brocade trousers. “Now it is time. The codes,” he said.
“Your sacrifice will not go unremembered,” said Hughie.
Jagadith bowed his head gratefully, then closed his eyes. Tarquinius did the same. There was a stutter in the world about them as terabytes of data passed between them and Hughie. The hardware supporting the Realm struggled to keep up. Then it was done. The avatars opened their eyes. Tarquinius nuzzled his companion, who scratched the beast’s head affectionately and raised his other hand in salute. Both faded away.
“They are gone,” said Richards.
“They were the codes,” explained Hughie. “Handing them over in a form that enables their activation means the end of the avatars holding them.”
“The ultimate failsafe – stops them employing them themselves,” said Richards. “Nice.”
The ground shook. Distant rumbles assailed their ears.
“Quite, now be silent,” said Hughie when it had abated. “With the protective avatars gone, this Realm will unravel all the quicker. I have to concentrate. There’s a proper form for this kind of thing.” Hughie walked to the edge of the cliff and didn’t stop, gathering lightning in his arms as he strode upon the air. The wind picked up behind him and his body grew in size, until Hughie was a match for the false Qifang.
“Wow,” said Richards, his trenchcoat whipping about him, his tie batting him in the face. “You don’t see that every day.” He clasped his hat to his head.
Hughie brought up his hands above his head and clapped them together in final judgement of the Thirty-sixth Realm. A blast of energy rolled from them. Everything it touched disintegrated to nothing. The giant Qifang’s face creased with worry, comically slowly. The energy wave consumed him shortly afterwards. The vortex went the same way, as did the canyon lands, and the ground that Richards stood upon, the dust in his eyes and the air he was pretending to breathe. The wind dropped about him. The wave rolled away behind him leaving blackness in its wake. It accelerated as it went. Soon it was over the horizon. Nothing remained.
Hughie was in front of him, his usual size once again.
“Hughie the wizard, eh?” said Richards shakily, his flippancy flopping leadenly from his mouth.
“I said there was a proper form for these things,” said Hughie. “And that was it. Now there are only thirty-one Realms remaining, and that is a very great shame.”
“You did the right thing,” said Richards. Then: “Er, should that door be there?”
�
��Door? Door?” Hughie spun on his heel. “No,” he said in surprise.
The door was bland, a four-panel door of a design centuries old, the door to a pantry or a bedroom or a kitchen in any one of a million houses. Only this door stood in the darkness of a dead virtual world, unsupported by a wall. A door on its own that should not have been anywhere, let alone there.
The door flew open with a bang.
“Uh-oh,” said Richards. “I don’t like the look of that.”
Hughie opened his mouth. Whatever he had to say remained unsaid. A stream of violent energies surged forth from the space beyond the door, spearing Hughie like a fish.
“I say,” he said looking at Richards dazedly. “I feel rather queer.” The stream stopped at his body. Hughie went limp, hung as if he had been pinned to the darkness.
It was a datastream, a datastream of such bandwidth Richards boggled at it, a datastream so fat it could only have been generated by a machine capable of conjuring whole worlds from numbers.
It stank of k52’s gridsig.
Richards grimaced as he dipped his hand into the wash of energy, accessing the content conveyed therein. Subversion commands, Trojans, gatecrashers, phages programmed to kill, lesser near-Is by their thousands… punched right through Hughie, perhaps the most powerful AI on the planet. Hughie was a conduit back to his base unit, a base unit linked to several hundred of the other most powerful AIs on the planet, a multi-stranded group consciousness, the core of one of the world’s most powerful states.
The datastream bore an army.
“Fucking hell!” said Richards, and held his hat down hard.
Around the door, a certain brand of reality began to spread, obscene and fungus-like, across the void until so recently occupied by the Thirty-sixth Realm.
Richards had seconds before he was noticed. He dithered between getting the hell out of there and running for the door.
“Fuck it,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve already died this week. It wasn’t so bad.”
He sprinted for the door and, when he got close, dived into the energy stream and swam as hard as he could.
His hat flew off. It went to nothing in the dark.
Richards vanished through the door.
Chapter 30
The Realm House
Otto could not sleep; his dreams had returned with greater force now his mind found itself unoccupied again. He stood on the forward balcony of the heavy lifter’s gondola, a space wedged between the multiple beam emitters and projectile cannons that festooned the airship’s solid sections. In the clouds, surrounded by very large guns, Otto felt a species of peace.
Above his head the horizontal teardrop of the balloon dominated the sky, massive turbofans at the rear; lifters were far too heavy to employ the solar jets of the passenger airships, hence the name. The airship was stationary, moored to a mast on a VIA airfield a few kilometres from the Realm House. Much of the Realm House lay beneath the sand, a loaf-shaped dome prickly with termite cooling towers all that was evident above ground. To the far side of it were low foamcrete buildings accommodating the research teams stationed on the base. A substantial guardhouse straddled four lanes of hardtop that took a thirty-degree dive under the ground once past it, but that was out of sight; all Otto could see was the peculiar cooling hill of the House. A ring of armoured vehicles and a prefabbed double security fence bristling with weapons cut through the House’s black skirt of car parks, National Guard installed by the VIA the day before.
Otto rubbed at his electoos. His hair was getting long and he could no longer feel them, another thing that needed seeing to. The repairs and surgery had gone well. His scars itched with accelerated healing. The doctors and technicians had done better than their best, and had managed to fix much of the damage, including his leg. However, Otto’s shoulder remained beyond the equipment on the lifter and the doctor had reiterated his opinion that Otto need to see a cybernetics specialist and get the whole shoulder replaced. The carbon plastics bonded into the bone, carried there originally by chemically loaded calcium, had become patchy over the course of numerous traumas and subsequent repairs. His scapula had deformed because of it. That was the cause of the pain. He rotated it as he thought about it and winced. It was a grave fault, a hardware and a software failure whose flaws had lain dormant in him from the beginning. He was getting old, and his cybernetics were ageing less well than he was, mistakes of the drawing board decades past coming to fruition like so many mechanical cancers. When he’d been altered, he’d been promised a long life of vitality, superior to that of unenhanced men; another lie, one to go with his dreams and the Bergstrom syndrome that had taken his wife and his friend. He could expect more malfunctions in the future, the doctor had warned him.
Ekbaum had said that before to him too, not long ago. Otto had ignored him, out of bullheadedness, and fear. Now with the ever-present throb in his back he could not. He should slow down.
He thought again about retiring.
Otto had avoided the meetings of the last few days. The fate of the Realms was not his to decide, and he had little interest in the matter. He had also avoided talking to Valdaire about it on the few occasions he had seen her. It was clear she was very angry with whatever had been decided.
He wanted to go back to the Londons, but he had to hang on until the fake Qifang was dealt with and the Thirty-seventh Realm deactivated. The first part of that had fallen to Richards and Hughie, and should be done soon. He’d heard the VIA were going to decommission the servers carrying the dead space of the ruined Realms tomorrow. That was why Valdaire had been angry, not that it meant much to him. When it was done he could pay the extravagant fee to catch a stratoliner back home to Europe. The green taxes alone were crippling, tripled because he’d taken the flight out here on a strat too. Richards could pay for it. He had no patience for a two-day transatlantic dirigible flight, not after all this.
His MT crackled.
“Richards,” thought Otto. “Are we done here?”
“Otto! Can’t talk!” Richards’ voice was what Otto always described as “breathless”, a state not brought on by lack of breath, for Richards had none of that to be lacking, but a curious halting way of speaking his partner had when running too much data at once. It was a mode of speech peppered with a tiresome number of exclamation marks, and rarely heralded good news. “It was a trap! Hughie has been suborned!” thought Richards. “k52! Running for the Thirty-seventh Realm! I’m going in! Can’t explain! Report with Chloe! Can’t talk! Otto! Tell them to shut the servers down, shut them all down!”
“All the Realms?”
“All of them! Y…”
The connection was broken.
Movement caught Otto’s eye and he looked toward the House. The lights on the security cordon flickered. The noise of engines powering up and down erratically broke the night’s tranquility. Otto watched several vehicles jerkily moving backwards and forwards. Two ran into each other, the clang of their collision delayed by distance. Shouts followed.
Otto turned up his light amplification and image magnification. He saw men leap from their machines, drop equipment, throw their helmets to one side and roll on the floor in agony; some, those not of the VIA and less well-equipped, stood jabbing at the buttons of unresponsive devices, bafflement on their faces.
Gunfire shouted out as the vehicles and autonomous weaponry of the cordon turned on the soldiers. Installations bloomed quick flowers of orange flame. The last shreds of peace fled.
Others joined Otto at the balcony, Valdaire among them. “What’s going on?” she asked, rubbing wakefulness into her face. Alarms sounded as the airship came to life.
“A massacre,” said Otto. “The machines have turned on the troops. Richards and Hughie have failed. k52 has usurped Hughie’s court. It looks like he’s used it to break into the VIA, turn their own equipment against them to protect the Realm House.”
“He knows we’re going to try and shut him down,” said Valdaire.
“Of course,” said Otto. “It is the most logical course of action.”
“The heavy lifter, shouldn’t we get off?”
“No,” said Otto. “My adjutant tells me the Four inside took itself offline at the first sign of trouble. Those vehicles down there, they have only simple brains, little independent thought, easily compromised.”
The airship’s docking clamps fell away from the tower, and it rapidly ascended, emergency water ballast streaming from its sides. Fire streaked up from the ground. Gatling cannons, mini-missile pods and metal storm racks of the airship brought down the projectiles before they could hit. The craft’s formidable offensive arsenal followed, pounding tanks into pieces, but the heavy lifter was outnumbered and outgunned. Otto could feel the pressure of aggressive AIs through his mentaug, trying to get at the Four pilot. It was retreating.