The Departure

by Neal Asher

“It is, but governments never let go of a bad idea.”

  Saul finally pushed himself away from the gurney, standing up for a moment, still wobbly. In Earth gravity, he would already have been flat on the floor. Hannah stepped forward to squeeze the larger syringe into the pressure feed plugged into his forearm. Then she swabbed his biceps before injecting the smaller syringe, containing stimulants. Saul watched this procedure with a kind of impatient detachment.

  “So what’re they using now?” Braddock asked.

  “A rather less specific option called DAS.”

  As the stimulants began slowly kicking in, Saul straightened up and began to look marginally more alert. He gazed around the surgery, eyed the blood pooled on the gurney for a moment, then turned back to meet Hannah’s gaze. He gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Thanks.”

  “Think nothing of it,” she replied. “It wasn’t exactly brain surgery.”

  He managed a grin, but it seemed an expression delivered by rote.

  “Is that portable?” He was pointing at the pressure feed—a device positioned on the side of the gurney, into which square blood packs were plugged like ink refills.

  Hannah detached the object from the gurney and held it up.

  “We need to get into Tech Central itself.” He reached out for the pressure feed, took it and tucked it under his arm.

  Exiting the aseptic surgery was less of a problem than actually getting into it, though a little screen did flash up a warning about them taking contaminated clothing outside. After she had helped him pull on a pair of disposeralls, cutting through one sleeve so as to feed the pipes through, Hannah overrode this warning and they moved outside to join Braddock. Now that Saul was mobile she could see how the sugars and stimulants were kicking in faster and how he propelled himself purposefully towards the door. But on gecko boots, Braddock got there ahead of him, opened the door and helped Saul to make his way through.

  This display of oversolicitousness annoyed Hannah. She understood how their lives now depended on Saul, but there seemed more underlying Braddock’s behaviour than that. It seemed the soldier had found someone new to serve.

  Once in the corridor outside, Braddock asked impatiently, “What the fuck is DAS?”

  “Defined Area Suppression,” Saul replied, flicking his gaze towards the robot that had carried him here. “The entire planet has been segmented into a grid whose smallest area measures about a kilometre square. Feed a square number of the grid into the system, and the satellites will burn anyone found inside it. Even now, data is being uploaded from the surface to define those places on Earth that are being sectored: five square kilometres here, seven there, and ten over there. In fact, sectoring has been worked on the basis of the grid already present in the computer system here—which means they’ve been planning to depopulate those sectors for some time.”

  Hannah absorbed this in silence and looked away. She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to repeatedly drive home the murderousness of the Committee. Perhaps to justify the actions he himself intended to take?

  Saul turned to Braddock. “Agricultural land is also covered, as are large areas of the sea, since government vessels broadcast their position on a particular frequency and won’t be targeted. Someone has also been feeding in masses of data related to tenement and office blocks, houses, reservoirs, universities, schools, specific streets…basically any area or structure that can be comprehensively ‘defined.’” He almost spat the last word. “I guess this ensures that the Inspectorate can more easily call in a strike.” He paused, his gaze swinging back to Hannah. “They’ve gone one step up on the pain inducers. With this system up and running, the next riot would end quickly—and that burning pain would be real.”

  She could see his anger, which seemed to flare out of his red eyes. She might have felt that such human emotion should make him appear to be more human, but it seemed to expose something unhuman in him, instead. Noise behind, then, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the construction robot back up on its feet, turning round in the corridor and heading away.

  “What happened with Smith?” she asked.

  “I think he is definitely stronger than me, but I managed to catch him by surprise.”

  “But then he surprised you?”

  “Yes.” Saul pressed a hand against his side.

  “Can you defeat him?”

  “I don’t know. I stuck his own knife back in him, and he ran.”

  “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

  “It’s the only one I can give.”

  14

  SCRAP MARS

  A question that has often been raised is: “What interest does the Committee have in Mars?” To which the answer has to be that in the beginning it had no interest at all. The early Mars missions were part of a project jointly pursued by the Asian Coalition and Pan Europa; an affirmation of the ties that eventually led to the creation of the Committee itself. However, as the Committee increased in power, some of the delegates initiated a sequence of moves to scrap the Mars project—one such being arguably the reason why the first base, in Valles Marineris, failed. However, more far-sighted Committee members kept the whole project going because, utilizing data produced by assessment and focus groups, they came to the conclusion that the Mars missions could ultimately lead to a tightening of their control over Earth. The project’s infrastructure would enable them to obtain crucial metals from the asteroid belt, which in turn could provide the basis for a space-based industry large enough to construct the Argus satellite network. Beyond this, they had little interest in the red planet, though one discussion point was mooted: if travelling to Mars became an easy option, it might become useful as a prison planet.

  ANTARES BASE

  “I see,” said Ricard, “that you now have entered Hydroponics, which is one of the most critical areas on this base. Doubtless you have also murdered my two men stationed there. Be assured that by threatening our food supply, you cannot hold the people of this base to ransom.”

  “Speaking for the crowd again,” observed Var.

  They looted the two corpses but, disappointingly, this provided them with only two machine pistols and five clips of plastic ammunition. It seemed that even Ricard hadn’t thought it wise to arm guards located inside Hydroponics with weapons and ammo capable of penetrating the geodesic dome.

  “He’ll be sending his men soon,” Lopomac warned.

  “He can’t send all of them.”

  The public-address speaker system now emitted a feedback whine, and Ricard started speaking again, but this time without the echo in the background. Obviously he was now addressing them directly, rather than including the whole base.

  “So, Var, what will you do now?” he began. “I have six highly trained Inspectorate personnel here with me, and I’ve provided them with antipersonnel grenades, and Kalashtek assault rifles, along with a crate of ceramic ammunition. I also have all the rest of the base personnel locked up in the Community Room, many of whom are friends and associates of yours.”

  Var noticed the com icon flashing down in one corner of her visor. Ricard wanted to talk to her privately, but what really was there to say?

  “He’s in Hex One, right now,” observed Carol.

  “He must have loaded up a crawler and taken it round,” suggested Lopomac.

  Var had perhaps underestimated Ricard, having expected him to stay hidden in the safety of Hex Three.

  Ricard continued, “By my estimation, you yourselves must possess some weapons—mostly plastic ammunition and, I see from the base manifest, maybe one seismic charge. You have two choices now. One is that you rebalance the atmosphere in Hydroponics, then, once the bulkhead doors can be opened, you come at us through the adjoining wing—where my men will be waiting for you. Your only alternative is to exit via an airlock and try to gain access in some other way. However, the second shepherd is waiting outside for you, and it is now adjusted for shredding rather than capture mode. You might even get lucky with the
one seismic charge you possess, but I doubt that, since our robot is now broadcasting local EM interference so that any radio detonation signal simply won’t work.”

  “What the hell do we do?” Carol wondered. She sounded weary, and defeated.

  “We don’t have much time,” admitted Var, at a loss.

  “We can’t take off the head now,” said Lopomac, “but we can still deliver an ultimatum to him and Silberman, and to the remaining enforcers. They’ll have heard Le Blanc’s speech and will know the situation: they can’t run this base by themselves. We demand that they surrender their weapons, and their authority, and that from now on we run this place separate from Earth, and on the basis of the needs of all here. No more political thought police—we can’t survive like that.”

  “Yes, that’s the most logical step,” said Var, “but Ricard won’t see it that way.” Lopomac was just babbling, just hoping to see some clear way of dealing with this.

  “You’ll have to play the cards you’ve got,” said Kaskan, who, Var noted, was now holding the seismic charge. “There’ll be more weapons available in Hex Three.”

  “Got any suggestions on how we get there?” Lopomac asked.

  Kaskan shrugged, then began walking right across the hex towards the airlock. “You cut the power and you threaten to kill them all, thus forcing Ricard and his men to go after you.”

  Var just then registered the words Kaskan had used: You’ll have to play the cards you’ve got. He was talking like someone who wasn’t included in their predicament.

  “And kill everyone else remaining on the base?” asked Carol. “You know how fine the dividing line is between unconsciousness and death, once you start running out of air.” She pointed to the two corpses lying on the floor.

  “Var here has already demonstrated extreme ruthlessness,” said Kaskan. “She’ll surely be able to convince Ricard, then it’ll be a straight fight.”

  Var suddenly understood what he was doing.

  “No, Kaskan!”

  But he had already opened the airlock and stepped inside.

  “I loved Gisender,” he called back to them. “You’ve no idea how much.”

  He closed the inner airlock door.

  Argus Station

  The jagged lights were gone from his eyes, and his head no longer pounded, but that might be as much due to the drugs Hannah had fed him as anything else. Whatever, he must use every second he remained functional.

  At that moment, Smith did not seem to be active, perhaps himself lying drugged in some surgical facility, and currently beyond Saul’s ability to locate him. However, already the Committee was responding, and four space planes had been launched from Minsk. They had to be dealt with so, as carefully and as quietly as possible, Saul returned his attention to the systems in Tech Central that controlled the laser satellites. Very quickly he discovered that their security had already been breached. The set-up originally required at least five members of the Committee acting jointly to bring the system online, and then input the targets. But Smith had created a back door for himself so that he could take full control, which showed how in recent times he’d been working to his own advantage only. Checking status next, Saul discovered that only 10 per cent of the network was ready to use but, even so, that was nearly seven hundred satellites, each of them fusion-powered and firing a multi-megawatt laser capable of incinerating a single human being right down on the surface.

  He could do a lot of damage, but only for so long as he retained control.

  As Saul moved slowly down the corridor, catching at wall handles to propel himself along, even the adhesive quality of his sticky soles seemed too strong in his present weakened state. Nevertheless he concentrated beyond his own body, slowly infiltrating the satellite control system through the same back door that Smith had created. He studied the limitation to what he could achieve before alerting Smith to his intrusion—not a lot really: just run computer diagnostics and power-source tests. Using the latter test routine, he sent the requisite instructions to power up the seven hundred available satellites. Readings at once started climbing, as fusion reactors dumped their loads into advanced super-capacitor storage, and Saul knew that within a few minutes the satellites would start signalling their readiness to him—and, unfortunately, to Smith.

  Saul couldn’t use the satellite weapons to stop the space planes already heading up here. Two of them had gone into SCRAM, and there was no point in trying to laser them, since their carbon nanofibre hulls were designed to disperse point temperatures and comfortably withstand temperatures that would melt steel. But he could certainly prevent further planes launching.

  “You okay with this?” Hannah asked him, as they reached the cageway at the very end of the corridor.

  Saul looked up. Of course he was—after all, he weighed nothing here.

  “I think I can manage,” he said, reaching out to one of the struts.

  Just then, something else came to his attention. Message traffic from Earth, and from the approaching space planes, was being responded to by people aboard the station itself. As he slowly propelled himself up towards Tech Central, he ran traces that discovered these replies were coming from partially isolated computers scattered throughout.

  Smith.

  In a structure called the Political Office, situated down between Arcoplexes One and Two, Smith—obviously yet to visit the infirmary—sat strapped in a seat with a blood-soaked dressing taped across his bare chest. Other Inspectorate staff were busy communicating from various small security offices, while Commander Langstrom was speaking from the security force’s barracks. Right then, Saul couldn’t break the code used for the actual transmissions but, whilst the transmissions were coded, Smith stupidly hadn’t blocked Saul’s access to station microphones and cameras, so it was still possible for him to listen to any audible exchange. This gave him pause for thought. It was surely such a basic requirement to ensure secure communications, yet it seemed his erstwhile interrogator had neglected to do so. Perhaps, while Smith had underestimated Saul, Saul had equally overestimated Smith?

  Saul netted all the conversations at once, and processed the resulting audio data. Langstrom was giving a pretty good assessment of the situation on the station and received orders to back up the assault troops, once they arrived. Smith was meanwhile notifying someone on Earth that he intended to arrest and adjust Langstrom once this was all over, since, as Smith had noted before, Langstrom had been showing signs of incorrect thinking. Checking data relating to this Saul discovered that, as Political Director, Smith was also in overall charge of the adjustment cells located aboard the station. Saul hadn’t so far picked up on the fact that they operated such facilities here.

  “What about the robots?” Langstrom asked.

  Saul understood the man’s concerns, because just then he took a look into the barracks’ hospital, where medics were still struggling to repair the damage resulting from hand-to-hydraulic-claw combat. It wasn’t pretty, and the surgical facilities available weren’t quite so good as those Saul had recently used. He now realized that he had occupied the kind of surgery reserved for the upper echelons, who were rated “more equal than others.”

  Apparently the answer to the robot problem was the PA50 TB, and further research identified the “Pulse Action 50 Tank Buster.” This was an electromagnetic weapon developed to knock out the electronics of modern tanks, and like many such weapons had been sidelined when the Committee decided the only people left to fight would be armed merely with bricks and Molotov cocktails.

  “Langstrom,” Saul spoke directly to the man, through his fone, “here’s an audio file you might like to listen to.” He then sent him a nice clear recording of Smith’s earlier conversation about future “adjustment”—then turned his attention elsewhere, as satellite after satellite reported readiness to fire.

  “Trouble on the way,” he informed Hannah and Braddock.

  “What kind?” Braddock asked.

  “Four space planes loaded
with troops in vacuum combat gear.” Saul finally brought himself to a halt at the top of the cageway, and stepped out into the short corridor beyond. “They’re also bringing EM weapons capable of knocking out the robots. Should be quite a party.”

  “You seem rather unconcerned?” Hannah ventured.

  “I am concerned,” he replied, “but I’m also busy.”

  Now alerted by the readiness signal received from the satellites, Smith tilted his head for a moment, obviously rapidly processing data, then peered up at the camera Saul had pointing towards him. Feed from that particular cam blanked out, and, a moment later, Smith began closing the gap in his security. Saul immediately launched an attack on the Political Office, trying to infiltrate it, but Smith hit back and Saul found himself fighting a savage informational battle, striving to hold open his control channel to the satellites, while constantly rewriting code.

  Only two of the ten per cent of functional satellites were positioned geostat in range of Minsk. Saul fought for control of them all, but focused primarily on retaining control of just those two, ready to sacrifice the others.

  Saul was in a position to sector the critical areas of the spaceport and unleash the laser weapons, spreading burning corpses across the carbocrete. But that wouldn’t stop the next two nearly fully loaded space planes from taking off, and he had no way of punching through their hulls to get to the troops inside. He deliberately sacrificed control of the anthropic targeting programs of the lasers to Smith, which left the man juggling with a huge mass of additional data, and meanwhile identified installations and support equipment down at Minsk, then began selecting specific targets, and planning the most effective firing pattern. Next he routed a firing order to all satellites, allowing Smith to take nearly half of them away from him, simply to ensure control of the critical two.

  Using high-definition telephoto cams positioned all about the Argus Station, Saul focused on one of the satellites he’d ordered to fire. The cylindrical object measured ten metres long and five in diameter, four solar panels extending like wings fore and aft to complement its fusion-power source, while impellers were dotted about its surface. A hyox engine jutted out to the rear—used to first position the satellite where needed, but also to reposition it should demand from some other hemisphere require it. As it fired, the beam wasn’t immediately visible, only flashing into view way down below, at the point where it punched through a thin layer of cirrus. The first strike hit the side of a fuel tanker parked right beside one of the loaded space planes, but only heated up metal and set it smoking. The second strike did the real damage. A spout of flame erupted from the side of the tanker, hosing across all the umbilicals and installations nearby, then shooting underneath the plane itself. Then the tanker blew, its front end blasted clear of the ground and the whole vehicle turning a complete cartwheel. The space plane juddered sideways, then crashed down on its belly as its landing gear collapsed.