“Good night,” Clarence Mason murmured. He started along the street toward his car. He was tired. He had been working all day down in the vault, examining the lay-out of the safety deposit boxes to see if there was room for another tier. He was glad to be finished.
At the corner he halted. The street lights had not yet come on. The street was dim. Everything was vague. He looked around—and froze.
From the telephone pole in front of the police station, something large and shapeless hung. It moved a little with the wind.
What the hell was it?
Mason approached it warily. He wanted to get home. He was tired and hungry. He thought of his wife, his kids, a hot meal on the dinner table. But there was something about the dark bundle, something ominous and ugly. The light was bad; he couldn’t tell what it was. Yet it drew him on, made him move closer for a better look. The shapeless thing made him uneasy. He was frightened by it. Frightened—and fascinated.
And the strange part was that nobody else seemed to notice it.
WALKING JOHN AND BIRD, by Neal Asher
I grace Bird with gender yet I still do not know if she is a living creature or a machine. She has the disquieting beauty of something as perfectly functional as a honed blade, her body-shape that of an Arctic tern fashioned, or grown, of mirror-bright metal as lacking in joints as mercury. Her head is an elongated teardrop and her beak, if such it could be called, never opens. In my darker moments I entertain the notion that should it open the sound to issue forth will be my death knell. But I wax too lyrical. Killing is a function she performs so very well.
When she is visible people mistakenly believe Bird has the fragility of her namesakes. The experts who have probed and tested her have learnt to their consternation she is impervious to any scan, any radiation. Neutrons bounce off her surface as readily as bullets. The latter I discovered long ago, as did some people who had wanted to learn her secrets and who had been prepared to use any means. Past now, and those people dead. They had threatened my life and paid the penalty. But the mystery remained.
I remember the name of the world, which is unusual, for I am a traveller and the names of worlds usually slip by me as readily as the names of the people I meet. It is a dark place where green grass and oak trees grow, and had recently been opened for colonization after terraforming. What mostly distinguishes it in my recollection is a cracked crystal ball of a moon hurtling across the sky like a bubble across molten glass, and a conversation:
“Mystery! Hah!” The old man had paused then and squinted speculatively up at Bird. After a moment he scratched his grey beard and continued, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just I can’t take you seriously. I’ve spent a century and a half trying to resolve some…mysteries, and I’m no closer. Your protest strikes me as feeble.”
“You do not walk with death at your shoulder,” I told him.
The old man bent down with the hose he was holding and began to vacuum dust out of the excavation.
“Don’t be so conceited. We all do.”
“It does not have the same immediacy,” I told him, feeling rather foolish. He shrugged and continued vacuuming for a while before saying anything more.
“There was one who answered questions for me that none of Earth’s AIs could answer.”
“Yes…”
“Dragon. Speak to Dragon. But be careful. The answer sometimes given is like what’s hovering at your shoulder.”
Next I stood before a runcible, the device invented in conjunction with an AI by Iversus Skaidon that made instantaneous travel a reality. Thus I was quince: a mitter traveller. And I was on my way to see a creature reputedly older than human history and apparently the size of a mountain. Bird was with me of course, a few metres above my head, and when I stepped between those twin bull’s horns into the space-twisting cusp, she followed, but by her own methods. I know not how.
Space and time ceased to exist for…yet there was no time so it could not have been for an instant too subliminal to register. One world blinked out and another blinked into existence. I found myself gazing across a landscape of pink and black rock below a metallic red sky. This was Aster Colora; the fabled world of Dragon. I tasted salt in the air and the taint of scrap yards. Bird was with me.
* * * *
The only city on Aster Colora was called Cartis. I rented an AGC at the runcible facility and headed that way, Bird fading into invisibility at my behest. It is a one-sided communication we have with Bird simply reacting to my emotions. How well I know that she reacts to my fear. I could still see her hovering like a holographic icon, but by her translucence I knew she was invisible to others.
Once in the AGC I put its computer on line and instructed it to take me to a decent hotel. It informed me that there was only one, so I told it to take me there. It lifted from the ground with a slight rumbling sound. I had noticed that much of the equipment round the runcible facility was somewhat decrepit, for this was how things get so far from Earth. The car accelerated with a lurch once in the air, and specks of pink snow slid from its frictionless screen. I contemplated then what I must do.
I had to speak to Dragon, which for most people is an uncomplicated affair, for all they had to do was address Dragon’s comunit through one of the local AIs. I, on the other hand, did not want anyone to know I was here, and knew that as soon as my identity was registered on the net there would be certain people who would pick it up, people I had no wish to speak to. The price of fame.
* * * *
The Metrotel was not such a bad place. I was soon ensconced in a comfortable room on the top floor ordering myself a meal and talking to hotel’s AI.
“I want a complete lock on my identity while I am here. I do not want any visitors.”
“Lock enabled,” a woman’s voice told me. “But there may have been information leakage when you were booking in. Should anyone visit I will deny that you are present.”
“Thank you. Now, I’m hungry. Do you have a menu?”
“Yes, John. I would recommend the Scylla crab with croquette potatoes and buttered hinch-carrots…”
The menu was running down the screen as she spoke and I was surprised at some of the things being shown there. I made my selection: “Steak, chips and peas and a couple of litres of IPA.”
It was ersatz Earth, but I was mature enough to admit I could not tell the difference. It was also expensive, but what the hell, you only live once…
* * * *
Two days of work proved to me there was no way round getting my identity registered if I wanted to talk to Dragon. I considered going to the creature in person, but the area all around was heavily monitored to prevent joy riders testing the two kilometre radius. Dragon, it seemed, had made a rule that no machinery bigger than a man was to get closer than two kilometres. I was told that there was ring of smashed AGCs and AG scooters at that limit. This was Dragon’s world and Cartis only had colony status. It was with reluctance that I registered as a petitioner and awaited my slot. The expected call was not long in coming.
“I can no longer deny your presence here,” the hotel AI informed me. “There is a Dawn Keltree here to see you.”
“Tell her I am not seeing anyone.”
I sat back in my chair and returned my concentration to the screen. The lecture was being given by a Professor Darson.
“The creature we know as Dragon consists of four conjoined spheres each a kilometre across. The primary analysis of Dragon material brought the conclusion that it is silicon based, but there are anomalies—”
I clicked back to another lecture by the same man, but retained the pictures of Dragon. There it was: the spheres, here wreathed in cloud, then a separate cut-out screen showing pseudopodia, like giant one-eyed cobras, junking an AGC that had crossed the boundary. A subscript quickly outlined the story of students getting through security for a prank. Their bodies were reportedly still in the AGC—no one could be bothered to retrieve them since that would have to have been done manually.
Darson droned on.
“—was not the name given but the name claimed. So why did it name itself after a creature of myth? Gordon has it that—”
“Sorry to interrupt again. Ms Keltree has left a message. Do you wish to view it?”
“Go on then. This is getting boring. Darson comes out with nothing but speculation.”
Ms Keltree was very pretty, in an overly athletic way, and very anxious.
“This is Dawn Keltree of The Cartis Observer. Now…I know you are pursued by the press wherever you go, but perhaps we can be of some assistance to you…I see that you have registered as a petitioner. Well…we have information about Dragon in our files you won’t find on the standard net. Interested? If you are, just get the hotel AI to contact me. I’ll be right round.”
I chuckled at her nerve. She was obviously new to the game and in hot pursuit of her big break. I then considered taking her up on her offer. What had I got to lose? I could not prevent them putting out some story about me just as I could not prevent it being known I was here. What I could do was influence the story in some way and make some money out of it.
“AI, put me through to Ms Keltree if you can.”
Instantly her face flickered back onto the screen.
“The McCaffrey at seven o’clock. You’re buying.”
Her face became one big grin, but before she could reply I turned off the screen with the manual control. Let her say it all tonight. I would listen, answer questions, and charge a suitable fee.
* * * *
The McCaffrey is one of those very expensive places that specialize in personal service and handmade foods. As I stepped through the door I noted one or two diners look at me with a deep fascination then pretend nonchalance as they once again concentrated on their food. Obviously word had got around. Ms Keltree rose from her seat to greet me and I discovered something about her that her screen image had not shown: she was very tall.
“I am glad you could spare the time,” she said as she shook my hand.
“My time is at a premium.”
“Of course…a percentage?”
She seemed at a loss. I sat down.
“A flat payment of one hundred solars. Is that agreeable?”
I picked up the menu and opened it. For a moment I thought it was real paper, but the set meals scrolled up it as I ran my finger up the side. I looked up and waited for her to take her seat. Perhaps my mercenary attitude had confused her…no, I realised she must be on a direct link with her employers as she touched her fingertips below her ears and frowned.
“Yes, that is acceptable.” She sat down.
I reached out and touched the privacy touchplate at the centre of the table and the sounds of conversation died around us.
“You may begin,” I said, interlacing my fingers before me.
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Is Bird here with you?”
I glanced up to my left to where Bird held station below the crystal lights.
“Bird is always with me.”
She looked as well and Bird slid into visible solidity then out of it again. Ms Keltree stared in fascination then turned back to me when Bird was gone.
“Are you any closer to knowing what it is?”
“I am here to speak to Dragon about her…”
I told her then about the archaeologist and about my recent travels, of the bird religion of the Knastil, the ancient writings of Baraluck, how none of these had yielded the information I sought. We ordered a meal of baked Scylla crabs and sugar bread and drank a couple of bottles of Chianti. I found I enjoyed speaking to her, even if much of what I said had been practised on other worlds and on others just like her. Near the end of the meal she came to the questions to which I knew no answer.
“You say you have been travelling with Bird for fifty years, yet I have found references to ‘Walking John and Bird’ from as long ago as three centuries Solstan.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before, but I can assure you it has only been fifty years. I can only ascribe those legends to hearsay.”
“Could it be that Bird travelled with someone else?”
The thought had never occurred to me. I sat back and sipped my wine.
“That might be worth looking into,” I said, grudgingly.
She nodded then looked aside as a floating vendor offered her an after-dinner selection. She took mint chocolates. I took a cigar because I was feeling pompous.
“Another aspect of your relationship I am curious about is the empathy…or telepathy. Have you ever consulted with a telepath?”
“Sorry?”
“Bird reacts to your emotions. There is some kind of mental link. I would have thought a good telepath might be able to learn something from this.”
I shook my head. She was walking into fantasy land now.
“I am sure a good telepath would be most useful, if there was such a thing.”
“There is John Tennyson of Earth and Horace Blegg.”
“Horace Blegg is a legend and I have never heard of this Tennyson.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Yes, legends…Until this morning I would have said the same about you.”
I returned to my Hotel in a bemused mood and it was only as I entered the lobby that I noticed the man who had been following me. He slid into the shadows when I turned towards him though, and was soon gone. I forgot about him.
* * * *
Dragon refused to speak to me in any sensible manner. I spent a frustrating morning putting questions through my comlink and getting Delphic and sometimes silly replies.
“I am known as Walking John, inevitable really, as I am a traveller and my real name is John Walker. With me is the entity known simply as Bird. Do you know anything of this entity?”
“Birds have a wonderful sense of direction.”
A humourless statement of fact.
“You are reputedly aware of much that occurs in the human world. You must have known of my arrival here. I was directed here by the archaeologist Sendel Dyne who once asked you questions no AI could answer. He said you might have answers for me. Please, what do you know of Bird?”
“Digging in the dust for facts about dust.”
And so, and thus. It was almost as if I were hooked up to random sentence generator that picked up on a single fact in a spoken sentence and generated another sentence from it. I received no answers from Dragon. The frustration drove me to a bottle of whisky at midday and I was feeling somewhat lugubrious when I received Ms Keltree’s second call. She was not slow in getting to the point.
“We have information on the location of Horace Blegg.”
“That is very interesting,” I said with as much lack of interest as I could muster. I was, of course, hooked. “How did you come by this information?”
“It was recently uncovered by one of our permanent search programmes.”
“How recently?”
She paused significantly before replying. “Last night.”
The long arm of coincidence. Yeah.
“May I come and discuss this with you? We have an offer we would like to make.”
“Let’s make it the McCaffrey at seven. I am rather busy at present.”
“Okay, see you there.”
I had lied of course. I had absolutely nothing to do. I had used up my com time with Dragon and was pissed, in both senses of the word. What I really wanted was not to appear to be too eager, and to have time to sober up.
* * * *
It took an hour with two capsules and a pint of orange juice to sober me up and after that I started wandering around my apartment trying to come to a decision about what I would do next. Often I stopped and stared at Bird in the hope that inspiration would come from that source. A foolish hope, for it never had. For me, most of the time, Bird was merely present.
Another fifty minutes dragged past while I showered and changed in readiness for my jaunt to the McCaffrey. When I eventually left it was with a degree of eagern
ess. Things were happening, I felt. I would soon be learning something. It never occurred to me then that I might learn things I did not want to know.
Ms Keltree was not there before me this time so I took a table and ordered a carafe of blue wine. The drink, though potent, did little for me, following as it did on the two Soberups I’d taken. Ms Keltree turned up when I was on my second glass and beginning to feel agitated.
“I’m sorry, so sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, and seated herself with artless flirtation in her tight and revealing clothing in an attempt to defuse any anger I might feel. My anger was dissipated, not because of any sexual attraction I felt, but because I found the naivety of her actions appealing. We ordered the special of the day, which was a selection of Asiatic curries, and she immediately came across with the sell.
“As I told you we know where Horace Blegg is presently located,” she told me as she thrust her cleavage in my general direction.
“And this you consider to be of interest to me?”
“Oh yes.”
“If I recollect aright the idea of a telepath being able to tell me something new about Bird came from you. As it happens I still do not believe such a creature exists.”
“He exists and I feel certain it would be to your advantage to meet him.”
“Yes, but how is it to your advantage?”
She sat back then, crossed her legs in a different direction, and shook her hair about her shoulders. I nearly burst out laughing.
“In exchange for the location of Horace Blegg we would like all rights to the story and to have a reporter with you at the moment of the encounter.”
“You, presumably?”
She smiled. “Yes, me.”
The meal arrived at that suitable juncture and we ate in silence for a short time.
“This could of course just be a ploy to get a reporter with me for a long period of time. I would have to check the validity of your information before agreeing.”
She gave me dumb blond expression of surprise number one. I was beginning to get irritated by her attitude, and by the acid stomach I’d acquired from my earlier boozing.
“I also have not finished my researches here. I was considering taking on more com time with Dragon. I find its evasiveness intriguing.”
The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Science Fiction Stories Page 4