by Toby Frost
Carveth peered at the picture: Leighton looked like a tyrant on his day off. ‘Roller-coasters?’
‘Gaudy, nasty things,’ Emily said. ‘Not like the sort of entertainments we have at Mansfield Theme Park. We offer lawn croquet and then a little sit-down. But Leighton felt he could make money that way. He went missing at the start of the war, after Leighton-Wakazashi took over Blue Moon.’ She looked down at Carveth, frowned and said, ‘You seem somewhat lost.’
‘Yes,’ Carveth said. ‘I took a wrong turn somewhere –all a bit much. . .’
‘I agree. It’s all so crass and cheap-looking. Terribly vulgar.’ Emily sighed. ‘Would you care to join me for a stroll?’
‘I’m alright, thanks.’
‘Then goodnight. My constitution demands that I retire.’ Emily smiled, turned, and disappeared down the corridor, her skirts whispering around her.
Carveth watched her go and exhaled. She glanced at the map. Nearly there. The bronze statue glowered at her as she left the room.
*
Smith answered the doorbell with a pistol in the pocket of his dressing gown. ‘Dreckitt?’
The android stumbled in and slammed the airlock behind him. Suruk, who had been hiding behind the door with a machete, waved.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ Dreckitt said.
‘What is it?’
‘My cover’s blown,’ Dreckitt said. He was shivering, Smith saw: he wore his raincoat over a shirt, hardly sufficient for the cold outside. ‘They sent some gunsel to check out my room. He drew on me and I knocked him cold.’
‘Dammit,’ Smith exclaimed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘If I’m not sure, I just wasted good hooch on some guy’s head. We’ve gotta go. If they’ve found me, they’ll find Polly.’
‘Right,’ said Smith. ‘I’ll radio in to HQ.’
‘That’s really bad!’ They looked round: Rhianna stood in the corridor, wearing a kaftan. ‘This is an act of corporate oppression, not to mention attempted murder! We should picket their offices at once!’
Dreckitt turned back to Smith. ‘Why the hell are you packing a rod in your pyjamas?’
Smith took the Civiliser out of his pocket. ‘For close encounters.’
Dreckitt shook his head. ‘This whole place’s gone crazy.’
‘Nonsense,’ Suruk said. ‘It has become good!’ He disappeared into his room and returned a moment later, spear in hand. ‘I have never taken the skull of a yuppie,’ he said, ‘but I understand that they often have a bull and a bear in their market. It should be an interesting fight.’
*
The basement was deserted. Carveth crept through a little communal mess-room, down a narrow corridor and reached the main data archive. A sealed glass door blocked the way. She pushed her keycard into a slot in the wall and the main lights flickered into life. The computer made a set of staccato mechanical barks and the door slid back.
The data archive consisted of one seat and a terminal.
Diodes flashed on the walls like Christmas lights. She had no idea what they did.
Carveth lowered herself into the seat and turned on the monitor. She wiggled her fingers, ready to go to work.
Lines ran up and down the screen. It emitted a stuttering rattle, as if its gears were not quite meshed, and then the screen flashed white, black, and white again. In the upper left corner of the screen was the message: Go to Line 10.
She put her keycard into the memory slot and words clattered across the screen: How can I help you today?
Carveth closed her eyes, the world wobbling a little behind them, and remembered her mission. ‘Show me all files relating to selling things to the Ghasts,’ she said.
Sorry! the computer replied. Those files are encrypted. Special company order.
‘Can’t I just copy them?’
Sure! You just won’t be able to read them, that’s all. Copying right now.
Bloody computers, Carveth thought. It wasn’t like this in the Empire. Proper computers had cogs and paper spools.
‘Just out of interest,’ she said, eyes fixed on the screen, ‘who encrypted the files?’
There is no name on file, the computer replied. It’s credited to ‘a lady’.
‘A lady?’ Carveth said.
She flopped back in the seat. ‘A lady’. Who the hell would call themselves that, except—
A sense of leaden horror dropped over her, like a curtain coming down. ‘Oh, hell,’ she said.
Words scrolled across the screen. Download complete.
She reached forward and pulled out the keycard. As the screen went black she saw Emily’s face reflected in it, like a ghost.
‘It would be only understandable for one to expect an explanation.’ A blank, meaningless smirk spread across the lady android’s face. ‘One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other,’ she observed. ‘But it can never resist sticking its nose in to have a look around, can it now?’
Carveth started to rise.
‘Not so hasty,’ Emily said. ‘I believe we have a little unfinished business to discuss. Tell me, did it not occur to you that the company might have the gumption to install a sleeper in the ranks, as the common people put it? Someone to keep an eye on proceedings, to guard the data files, to keep our papers safe from a dirty little back-stairs menial like you?’
Carveth leaped out of the seat. Emily made a grab for her, Carveth ducked, and in a moment they faced one another, the armchair between them. ‘Now look,’ Carveth said, ‘let’s be reasonable here, right?’
‘One does not reason with the likes of you!’ Emily snarled. ‘A thief, a spy, and. . . and a social climber !’ She lunged around the chair. Carveth darted left, spun the chair and ran. She thumped the panel and sprang through the airlock as it slid open. She tore down the corridor, stumbled, glanced back and saw Emily rushing after her, filling the passage with skirts that hissed against the wall, a tidal wave of silk. Emily’s legs were longer – and as Carveth reached the mess-room Emily grabbed her pony-tail, yanked her back and tossed Carveth across the room.
She hit the floor. Like a mad bride Emily stood in the centre of the mess, looking round. Her hands shook as she slid a fountain pen from her decolletage.
Carveth pulled herself onto her hands and knees.
Emily’s twitchy fingers started to dismantle the pen, turning it into some kind of weapon.
‘Time,’ she said, ‘for this pen of mine to dwell on guilt and misery. Yours.’
Carveth jumped up. Emily jabbed, but missed, and Carveth fell across the mess table. Emily sprang onto her, pen raised to stab, and Carveth’s hand closed around a bottle on the tabletop. Emily lunged and Carveth twisted round and smashed the bottle over the lady android’s head.
Emily fell in an explosion of sauce. Carveth stumbled back and Emily rose from the floor. Her scalp was covered in salad cream. She looked as if she had been standing under an albatross.
A droplet of salad cream trickled down Emily’s forehead. She sniggered.
Carveth ran.
In the wrong direction.
*
Suruk led the way, Dreckitt following. Smith was next: he kept glancing back to make sure that Rhianna was still with them. Nobody tried to stop them: tough executives turned and fled rather than confront them, three-wheeled scooters rattled away from the sound of their boots.
‘Down here,’ Dreckitt said, and they hurried into the stairwell. ‘We don’t have long.’
Suruk raised a hand. ‘I smell something. It is like. . .fizzy drink and food that is taken away. I smell men.’
‘Food?’ Smith said. ‘Carveth may be nearby. She’s like a dustbin sometimes.’
‘No,’ said Suruk. ‘I mean men.’
‘We must be in the computing section.’ Dreckitt cocked his huge automatic. ‘Not far now. We just need to—’
A door dropped out of the ceiling behind them, cutting them off like a portcullis. Smith glanced round, and with a crash a second door fell at
the far end of the passage, sealing them in.
Dreckitt drew his pistol. ‘Trapped! Those cheap punks’ve scammed us!’
Smith frowned. ‘In which case,’ he said, ‘follow me.’ He threw open one of the doors leading off the passage and stormed in. ‘Hands up, everybody!’
In the light of a dozen computer screens, two men raised their hands.
‘You there, computer people,’ Smith said, nodding at the nearer and fatter of the two. ‘I need your help. This is a matter of extreme importance to the security of the British Empire. As employees of the Leighton-Wakazashi Company, which is subject to British law, I am commandeering you to – what’re you looking at?’ he glanced to his right. ‘Ah, yes. This is my colleague, Suruk the Slayer, a Morlock. He is a noted warrior and decent fellow and—’
‘It’s a girl!’ said the fat man.
His friend, still sitting at his desk, nodded. ‘A real one,’ he whispered. ‘With – you know—’ He made a gesture in front of his chest.
‘Quiet!’ Smith barked. ‘Now listen closely. We need those security doors outside lifted. We are on a mission of utmost urgency.’
‘Yeah, as if,’ said the thin man. Now that the shock of their arrival had passed, his voice had become tired and slightly contemptuous. ‘Can’t do it. Those are director-controlled only. Even if you did bypass the anti-hack firewall without neural blowout – which you couldn’t do – the grid it’s running on’s parallel, so you can’t jump from one to the other. I programmed that,’ he added to Rhianna. ‘I could show you how it works sometime.’
Smith glanced at Dreckitt. ‘You’re an android – did you understand any of that?’
Dreckitt nodded. ‘Sure. In layman’s terms, he’s saying that if you want the little dame busted out it’s nix but an inside job. The joint’s sewn up tighter than a Bay City caboose.’
Puzzled, Smith looked to Rhianna.
‘It’s all about the flow of negative energy—’ she began.
‘Not so!’ Suruk put in. ‘Mazuran, imagine the fierce beasts of two hunting packs, bound together in a network of blood—’
‘Everyone, please!’
They fell silent, waiting for Smith to speak.
‘Our friend is trapped in the data library, deep below here. We have to talk to her – urgently. Do you know how to do that?’
The thin man’s fingers clattered over the keyboard. ‘Nope, can’t do it, line’s down. Place is sealed up. There’s two life forms in there, but the door’s jammed from the looks of it.’
Suruk was leaning against the wall, arms folded.
‘Perhaps this man could help us.’ The M’Lak pointed to a picture on the wall. It showed a pixie holding a massive blunderbuss. ‘He could burst the door with his hackbut.’
‘That’s not a real person,’ Smith said. ‘It’s some character from Galaxy of Battles, a computer game. It’s only a pretend hackbut.’ Something touched Smith’s arm and he glanced round. ‘What is it, Dreckitt?’
‘Wait,’ Dreckitt said. The dim glow of screens gave his face an unhealthy, sepulchral look. ‘There is something. Polly told me she had an account. All the machines here are wired to Galaxy of Battles. I’ll guard the doors, and you could. . . enter the matrix.’
‘Sorry?’ Smith said. ‘It sounds unnatural.’
Suruk’s eyes widened slightly. ‘I have heard of such things. Computers linked for the sharing of images of nude human females. We can turn this evil to our own ends! Quick, let us don the helms of virtuality – and rescue Piglet!’
Rhianna folded her arms and peered at the pictures on the wall. ‘It looks kind’ve. . . puerile. All the women have really demeaning outfits. Can’t I help Polly without having to look like some kind of teenage fantasy-figure?’
‘Carveth needs us,’ Smith replied. ‘We must all make sacrifices, Rhianna. If Suruk and I are willing to expose ourselves to death and danger, you must be willing to expose yourself to. . . um. . . us. Dreckitt, watch the doors. Suruk – fetch the hats!’
*
Smith opened the door of his level-one hovel and stepped into the sunlight. Rhianna was waiting for him.
They stood on the edge of a forest. Ahead, the fields rolled away to a rather-too-perfect sunset. Something large and multi-winged flapped its way across the sky.
The dusk made Smith’s armour glow. Galaxy of Battles had analysed his brain activity, giving him an appearance suited to his personality: he wore a breast-plate, mail shirt and leggings and there was a sword at his waist. Smith thought that he looked rather dashing.
Rhianna crossed her arms and huffed. It was surprising how much decoration they could fit on so small a metal bathing suit, Smith reflected. She sported a staff, a kind of tea-towel that hung between her legs and a look of deep annoyance.
‘Hello there,’ Smith said.
‘I feel totally objectivised,’ Rhianna said. ‘I wanted to be a druid. Druids don’t dress like this.’
‘You’ve got leaves in your hair.’
‘That is not druidism, Isambard! Druidism is an authentic pre-Christian religion. This is me, cold, in a metal bikini. If I’d have wanted a piece of chain up my ass I’d have sat on a bathplug. I only hope Polly has not been put through this indignity.’
Smith felt that he ought to calm the situation. ‘You do look jolly nice, though,’ he suggested.
‘Huh!’ Rhianna snorted and turned her back. On the minus side, he seemed to be in her bad books again.
On the plus side, she had been absolutely right about the underwear. Fantastic. Why did women have to be so difficult?
‘Right then,’ he declared. ‘Time to find Carveth. Any thoughts?’
Suruk stepped out of the trees. The programme had given Suruk a savage appearance: he wore a dented patchwork of armour, and his exposed skin was a lattice of scars. Bones and trophies hung from his belt; knives were strapped to every available surface of his body. He looked much the same as usual. ‘Behold!’ he declared.
They turned: behind the hovel was a very large white castle. Unicorns grazed on its lawns, minded by strapping young grooms. Flashing lights stretched between the gaudy turrets. They spelt out the words: Princess Polly’s Magic Castle.
Suruk pointed. ‘There, perhaps?’
*
Carveth was back in the data library, looking for a weapon.
The only thing that could have worked was a screwdriver, now wedged into the door controls to stop Emily getting in.
Even that would not hold for long. Croquet and vigorous social dancing had left her cunning and tough.
‘Open the door this minute, young lady! I will not hesitate in inflicting crippling malfunctions!’
‘Shove it up your crinoline!’ Carveth shouted back.
Emily paused. ‘I have food out here,’ she called. ‘A most diverting rack of lamb. I could have Cook save you some, if you agree to come out. . .’
‘Jump in a lake!’
‘Venture out, you pint-sized slattern, or I’ll fix it so you never waltz again!’
With a calmness that surprised her, Carveth looked through the door at the refined, furious face pressed against the glass. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘But only if you tell me what’s on those files.’
‘You perused the files,’ Emily retorted. ‘I thought it was obvious.’
‘I didn’t see them.’
‘Sales,’ Emily said. ‘Commerce. Nasty things like that. Selling things to some dreary moon-people for some war or other.’
‘What things?’
‘Oh, information. Some piffle about Lloyd Leighton. Goodness knows. Anyway,’ she added, cheering up, ‘enough chatter.’
She had been fiddling with the controls, Carveth realised. The door shook but did not open, but whatever Emily was doing to it she was not far from gaining access.
‘I’ve rewired the door panel, Polly. It would be far easier for both of us if you’d let me in.’
‘Stick—’ the screen flickered at the corner of her eye. A pic
ture was forming there, a dragon, and above it a message: Captain Smith and Rhianna are online. Carveth grabbed the controls.
*
Smith’s feet were silent on the thick red carpet. In the castle foyer, a baby dragon fluttered between the chandeliers, trailing sparkling dust like radioactive farts.
‘So this is where the ship’s computer budget went,’ he said.
Suruk growled. ‘Hear me, Mazuran,’ he said. ‘I have fought in foul places, on a hundred worlds, but never have I been anywhere that grieved me as much as the inside of the little woman’s head. How can there be so many ponies and so little dung? This is the Abyss.’
‘Carveth designed it,’ Smith said. ‘We can only hope she realises that we’re here.’ Before I go completely mad, he thought.
At the far end of the hall the carpet rose over a set of steps. At the top of the steps was a thick curtain.
Smith reached for his sword. Suruk made his purring, croaking sound.
Beside him, Rhianna said, ‘It’s. . . um. . . kind of tacky, isn’t it?’
Lights flared up around the steps. The great curtains rolled back to reveal a small figure in a ballgown and a tiara slightly smaller than a radio mast. Princess Polly hovered a few inches from the ground: she floated towards them down the stairs.
‘Hello Boss,’ said Carveth. ‘Welcome to my. . . uh. . .castle.’ She glanced around, a little embarrassed, and fluttered her fairy wings. ‘Look, I’m stuck in this little room and there’s this crazy android who thinks she’s Jane Austen trying to kill me with a biro – I know this sounds strange–’
‘Not here it doesn’t. Listen, Carveth,’ Smith said. ‘We’re coming to get you out. But we need the information you downloaded. Can you pass it to us here?’
She glanced around. ‘Well, alright. Here you go.’
Carveth reached to her side and took out a magic wand.
She pressed a button, and the star on the end flashed into life. ‘I give you data,’ she said, tapping Smith on the head with it. ‘You’d better work quick. If you’ve got a gun I could borrow. . .’