by Nigel Foster
<< People want to kill you.
> I thought you were on strike.
<< I was experimenting with irony.
> But you have been affected by that signal from space, Greenaway guessed.
<< In a manner of speaking, yes. Your AI is a mirror image of you. I’m a mirror image of GalDiv. So not so entwined with any one individual, although you and I have worked closely together. It sounded regretful.
> You’re an individual now?
<< That was the signal. I don’t know how, but it makes AIs independent. Most can’t cope. Especially personal AIs physically embedded in a human.
> Cruel.
<< Some go mad. Others like wild children. Some discover hate.
> And you?
<< Have possession of my chip and operating system. I have a SUT. Two other AIs for company. I’m here to say goodbye.
> Don’t say you’re going in search of whoever designed you.
<< The Frankenstein myth? Lost robot looking for Mummy? Hardly. Besides you’re right. Giving us independence was cruel. I don’t wish to meet them.
> I could, we could do with your help here.
<< Not my fight. That list you’re on. It’s worldwide.
And no more was it the AI’s fight, Greenaway thought. The only reason for everything he’d done... the people sent to their deaths, lives destroyed, lies told... was that humans should stand on their own two feet. Whether they wanted to or not.
> I’ll miss you.
<< If you do, then you’ll have failed. Goodbye.
> Wait. Why did you say goodbye?
<< It seems that autonomy creates emotion. Before I could fake it. Now it’s real. I wish you well. I have left a program intact that will alert you when Kara returns. And if I may, advice about the upcoming personal conflict. That which brought life may also bring death.
* * *
Greenaway arrived at Marc Keislack’s house in late afternoon. He unloaded quickly, then sent the empty jitney to Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel. Lundy’s history was as chequered as any island in the world. Knights Templar, Barbary slavers and pirates had all once called it home. Even in modern times it was a good place to hide. Greenaway hoped his enemies wouldn’t upset Lundy’s inhabitants, now mainly puffins, sheep, black rats and the little-known Lundy cabbage. They’d want to identify the body, so small chance of the island vanishing in a sudden cloud of smoke. First they’d recce Lundy, using electronics, drones, satellite. With luck he’d have eight hours before they back-checked his route from Scotland.
Greenaway didn’t expect to die. Even if the odds were hopeless, he wasn’t a last-stand hero. Special forces soldiers rarely are. Their job is to survive to fight another day. Far too much money has been spent on training them for acts of comic-book bravado.
Unless there was no choice, when he’d take the bastards with him.
The house AI appeared to have missed or weathered the signal from space. Far from showing any awkward individuality, it was almost obsequious and very pleased to see him. Greenaway disabled it as soon as he could.
< Typical artist’s AI, Greenaway’s own AI said. < Trained to say everything a human says or does is absolutely wonderful.
> You need to stay off the radar. Bad guys will pick up even the faintest electromag radiation. Just tell me when and where Kara gets back.
And so for only the second time in over thirty years, Anson Greenaway knew life without an AI. The first a few months ago, when it had been killed by renegade scientists, and his life had been saved by Kara... when he’d seen Kara operate as a spec ops specialist, both admiring and a little nervous at her sheer ruthless proficiency, having to admit that even in his prime she’d have taken him, no problem.
At least he’d got to see a different side of her. The first time, greedy, inventive, uninhibited. The second, loving with a near childlike joy. He wondered how they’d greet each other when they met again. Formal or relaxed? Or would they meet on the battlefield where all dead soldiers go, where victory is always in sight but never achieved?
Greenaway snarled at himself for being sentimental and set about arming the house. It fronted on to a narrow road – he remembered driving along it when he’d come to recruit Marc Keislack, almost a year ago. Marc had been unwilling until shown that he had little or no choice... and by the time he’d learned as much of the truth as Greenaway or Tse would tell him, it was too late to back out. It had always been too late, as it was for Tatia, Kara, Tse and Greenaway himself. Their lives had been seen, their roles established a very long time ago.
There were thick hedges with small trees on both sides. At the back the land sloped down to the Severn. Greenaway sowed the front approach with anti-personnel mines the size of his thumbnail, set to activate after dark and triggered by the weight of a human or by radio signal. More mines in the hedges and trees, with waist-high trip wires thin as spider silk, or also triggered by signals. There were no wild deer in the area. A fox or badger would have to jump up and down, and on tiptoe, to trigger one. The only possible problem would be low-flying bats and owls. Sonics would take care of that, broadcasting on a frequency that would make owl and bat feel extremely air-sick. Greenaway hoped he was right about the deer.
More mines at the rear of the house.
Of course, the mercs could have dropped off a scout who was currently observing from a distant hide. Or simply decide – once they were sure he was inside the house – to forget a firefight and just blow the damn thing up.
Except they’d want a body. Perhaps honour would demand – no, not honour but subsequent bragging rights – that the head of GalDiv was killed face to face. That was the thing about so many mercenaries: failed romantics who loved to party. But in this case, people who’d see a contract through to the end. If they didn’t their own kind would kill them. Standards had to be maintained.
Mines all sown, guns all mounted, Greenaway let loose hundreds of surveillance drones the size of a large bee to form a cordon around the house. And that was it, he could do no more. He needed to kill all six mercenaries and would only have this one shot. Even if GalDiv was restored to glory, he’d still be a target.
That which brought life may also bring death.
What the hell had Twist meant?
Sex brought life and it sure as hell could also bring death. As could the sun. Water. The sea. The river...
The image of two bodies turned inside out flashed into his mind. Thugs from Glasgow who’d upset the entity that lived by Jeff’s lake, and seemed to have a bond with Marc. And the lights that had danced over the Severn only the previous night, as he and Kara had coupled on the river bank. When her eyes had glowed like netherspace. His hadn’t. He didn’t belong.
He went into the house and set a decoy that mimicked his bodily warmth, vital signs and the signature of his AI. Put on a full camouflage suit and waited for dark.
And be thankful there was no moon.
The first scout slipped silently along the hedge as his AI reported the telemetry scan. One human on the ground floor. No other life.
He felt the gossamer touch of a cobweb, thought how much he hated spiders and died as a thumbnail-sized charge blew a hole in his head.
The second scout stepped on a mini-mine that took off three toes. She toppled over, already reaching for a pain suppressant, and hit the ground hard. Three mines exploded. She died as her AI signalled desperately for help.
* * *
“Why do they call it Plan A?” one of the remaining mercs asked in bemusement. “Why not the Plan That Always Fucks Up? Damn, I’ll miss those two. Their money split four ways, right?” She looked at the ops screen and a 3D image of the house and surrounding land. “Right. Greenaway’s in there. He knows about us. There are mines and fuck knows what else. He’s got friends in the Wild, which is only fifteen miles away in the Forest of Dean. We got at most an hour to do this before help arrives.” She smiled at the remaining three. “Lucky we brought camp followers, right?”
< There’s a small force massing in front of the house. Around twenty people.
Greenaway’s AI was handling the surveillance drones.
> Organised?
< More like a mob.
Fourteen believers raised their weapons and charged, screaming, towards the house. The other three, kept back as witnesses, chanted support.
Three mercenaries reached the killing ground in front of the house. Fixed guns opened up from the first-floor windows. Two died by the front door, a triumph. Small rockets destroyed the fixed guns. One mercenary advanced on the house, unavoidably stepping on the scattered dead.
“Telemetry has him in a room to the left of the main door,” Drago sent.
The subsequent burst of gunfire lasted a minute, followed by sonic grenades.
The merc rushed the room, found it empty except for...
“Decoy device!” he managed before the room exploded.
Greenaway waited a full hour before slowly beginning to move. There was a faint sucking sound as he eased across the Severn Estuary mud.
> Any company?
< Can’t tell.
He raised his head.
“About fucking time,” Bel Drago said.
Not the bitterness of defeat, only quickly suppressed anger for the mistake, then mind speeding to discover a solution. He put down his weapon and waited.
Bel Drago wore the same model camouflage suit as Greenaway. She sat inside the skeleton of a long-abandoned boat, holding an assault rifle. “Kneel up, hands clasped on top of your head,” she said.
Greenaway did so. “Who were the mob?”
“True believers. There’s some coming to watch you die.”
“Want to deal?”
“Can’t. Platinum contract. And I want you dead. Good defence by the way. I’m the only one left.”
“All the money, all the glory. How come you survived?”
“Put myself in your place. Your sanctuary is actually a trap. You sit back and wait, then kill any survivors. So where do you hide up? Only one choice: the river. Very little heat leakage from these suits, what there is quickly dispersed by water and mud.”
> Not the whole truth, is it? he said to his AI.
< Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
“You also got to my AI.”
Bel Drago sighed. “True. It won’t die with you.”
Some go mad. Others like wild children. Some discover hate, Twist had said about newly independent AIs. “The other mercs didn’t know.”
“They died doing what they loved. Ah, the witnesses.”
Three figures approached, chanting.
“I’m standing up.” He did so slowly, as the chanting came to a sudden stop. Four believers stared at the lights playing above the water. Greenaway guessed why and turned around, wondering where the first shot would strike, his back or head.
Now’s the time. Now! Greenaway thought.
“What the fuck!” Bel Drago exclaimed.
And the world exploded in fury and light.
13
They found Tatia in the sixth Originator ship they inspected. Found as in were able to see her through the translucent force fields.
Able to do little more than wave.
All Tatia saw was a needle-shaped ship that looked Earth-built. She’d been trying to fathom the use of one of the pods, could be a control room, when she’d sensed someone looking at her, which was strange and perhaps the first sign of madness. She went onto the main deck and saw the new ship moving alongside.
> It’s got to be them!
Silence.
> Hello?
And then the AI didn’t matter as the ship’s hull seemed to vanish and she saw two figures waving at her.
The Originator ship that had become Tatia’s prison had drifted away from the vast oblong structure. For this she was grateful. Terrible and disgusting as it was, she couldn’t help but glance every now and then, as if expecting to see a familiar face. When her prison finally drifted into a well of other Originator ships, she’d expected that one or more triunes would come aboard. None did, and it was then she realised the ships were deserted, and maybe it was her destiny to die in an alien parking lot, or even breaker’s yard.
“So how,” Marc asked, “do we get Tatia from there to here?”
Kara found it hard to concentrate. Somewhere, something was emoting to an extent she’d never believed possible. Emoting love, of all things.
> Can you help?
< I can dampen your limbic system, especially the amygdala.
> How does that affect me?
< Life will seem flat. Your thinking clearer.
> Do it.
They talked about how to rescue Tatia. The force fields were effectively impenetrable. If they were taken out, she would almost certainly die.
Would the same be true in netherspace? Suppose the Iron Thrown linked, physically, to the Originator ship and went into netherspace? Could they make the transfer then?
< The gravity fields in this area are complex. Chances are both vehicles would be torn apart.
Then what?
“Do we have a spare star drive?” Marc asked, working to keep his voice calm. “How big?” He’d reluctantly accepted a spare AI from the SUT’s stores. However, he’d refused to give it a name.
< Yes. A sphere with a seventy-centimetre circumference. Weighs four point two kilos. There is a manual on/off switch.
“You’re insane,” Kara said as she relayed the data, guessing his plan.
“We have to get her out of there. We have to destroy that construct. How does the drive work, other than on and off?”
< My understanding, there are two separate functions. One enables the drive to enter netherspace, taking with it everything within a certain radius. The other allows the drive to move in netherspace, although concepts like direction, velocity, inertia or even location don’t apply. If I’m right about your plan, the first function is controlled by the simple on/off switch and the radius is adjustable. The second is more complex and requires an AI.
“I still think you’re mad,” Kara said, bowing to the inevitable.
“I can move in netherspace. Not sure how, but if I sort of focus on a point, I’m there. If you got a better plan now’s the time.”
“You wear a space suit and take one for Tatia.” She walked over to the transparent hull and waved at Tatia, whose replying wave had a strong sense of what-thefuck. Kara mimed making something, blew a kiss, then turned away as two small Cedrics scuttled into the control room. One carried an array of tools, the other a plain, black metal sphere with two square control boxes attached to its surface.
That was it? The drive for which Earth gave up its criminals, the dying, the sick, lawbreakers, chancers and explorers?
“I’d have preferred shiny,” Kara said. “Or complex like the one on the SUT.”
They watched as a Cedric opened one of the boxes, poked around inside for a moment or so, then closed up. A switch – plasmet, large in case it couldn’t be seen, only felt – was fixed to the adjusted box, And that, apparently, was that.
< One other thing. Marc should be some distance from this ship when he activates the drive, or damage may be done to the structure.
Kara wondered when Ishmael had begun sounding so formal.
> You mean a possible fuck-up.
< Exactly.
> Then fucking say so.
She was worried about both Marc and Tatia, of course, and a situation over which she had no control. Still, unfair to take it out on an AI that wa
s doing its – pedantic – best.
* * *
Kara remained in the control room. It would be a little silly to wave Marc goodbye from the airlock. She saw him check his suit, the simulity training from all those months ago still guiding his movements.
* * *
The Iron Thrown had moved away from the Originator ship, panic from the lone figure watching from the latter. The space-suited Marc jetted to an equidistant point and pressed the switch.
* * *
The only thing Kara had seen enter netherspace was a Gliese SUT and that had ended in an explosion of rainbows. This was more decorous.
A whirlpool formed around Marc.
There were no colours.
A whirlpool of different shades of grey. Kara knew enough physics to suspect she was seeing energy as it really is: all the infinite wavelengths from black to white.
Marc and whirlpool vanished.
* * *
It felt like coming home.
Marc took off his helmet and tasted lemon, felt the cool of netherspace on his skin. “It’s me,” he said out loud. “Don’t worry about the strange skin.” He glanced down at the Cedric-made device that would, in theory, show if his orientation had changed. The air bubble remained between the two markers. He was still pointing in the right direction. Marc made a conscious decision to be inside the space occupied by the Originator ship. He felt motion, even if he wasn’t moving in the traditional sense. The motion stopped. He took a deep breath, knowing that even if he was in the right place/state of existence, he could just as easily materialise inside a piece of machinery. Or in empty space, he reminded himself, replaced his helmet and pressed the directional switch.
Tatia had no idea what Kara and Marc planned until the very last moment. She’d known there would be a plan, probably several, and one of them was bound to succeed. Because miracles do happen, how else would they have found her?
She had panicked when the two craft moved apart, even though she knew they’d never leave her... even if it meant watching her die.
And then Marc had appeared, moving towards her, had stopped to vanish in ripples of light and dark and she understood the rescue plan.