by Neal Asher
‘Time to die,’ said the woman, aiming her weapon at Carl.
Her gun made a burring sound and a stream of explosive micropellets blasted Carl back. May turned and ran, but the grass tangled her feet. She staggered, fell, rose again. There was no ceramal under her skin. The micropellets cut her in half.
Carl rose again with his ceramal chest exposed, synthetic skin and flesh hanging from him in burning tatters. The man turned, saw what he was, and instantly fired. I cannot survive this was Carl’s last conclusion, and he began transmitting all he knew and all he was to his nearest counterpart. Purple fire ripped his world apart, hurling him back again and, as he fell, he glimpsed an air taxi in the sky doing a rapid U-turn and heading back towards the town. The fire then hit him a second time and his body, which could take being run over by a bulldozer, fragmented.
All that he was, all he had been...
The information hit Chris like a hammer, momentarily negating his motor functions so that he dropped the sample bottle he had been inspecting. The bottle smashed scattering sharp fragments along with a section of formalin-soaked parasite like wet cotton. He saw it with all of his heuristic function: glittering shards, spilled liquid, alien life. He was falling, but abruptly recovered, almost pulling the plug of the direct link from its socket in the back of his head. A wisp of smoke rose from the cable as he shunted everything he had been dealing with through the computer link over to autonomous function, while he consciously ran through the three-second burst.
Carl: all that he was.
In moments he had taken all he needed and boosted the remainder to the AI at World Health.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Jane, as if unsure that the question was relevant.
Chris was silent as decisions were made on a higher level and his instructions fed back to him. Then he gazed at Jane.
‘They will probably try to kill you now,’ he said.
‘What?!’ Jane almost dropped the sample bottle she was holding.
‘There was information I was not allowed to pass on to you. I am now able to. One of my kind was destroyed. It is now imperative that the vector of the parasite be discovered and its source proven.’
‘You’re not making sense, Chris.’
‘I will, but first we must leave here. We must find somewhere safe.’
Jane helplessly scanned her laboratory, her equipment, the work in progress.
‘We must collect all that is necessary for your continued research,’ Chris told her, ‘all the records and all the samples. This place is no longer safe and may be destroyed. We must hurry.’
‘Who wants to kill me?’
‘TCC,’ he replied bluntly. ‘It was through them that the parasite was allowed onto Earth and now they seek to prevent this being known. Already two World Health operatives have been killed and an antiphoton weapon employed. These people are prepared to go to great lengths to cover their crime. We must hurry.’
Jane stared at Chris for a moment, concealing her qualms as he unplugged the direct link, pressed down the flap of syntheflesh on the back of his neck, then moved to the computer, coiling the cable as he went. It was not this sight of his other nature that got to her but that she had never heard him like this; never before heard such urgency. She set the computer to transfer all its records into a memory crystal while Chris collected up the samples. She felt panicked, but this did not impair her efficiency. Soon they had collected all the relevant data and samples and packed these in two attaché cases. And then they were outside, walking fast, nearly running.
The night was moonless with stars glinting as sharp as diamond fragments. A chill breeze was creaking the branches of the oak trees in the grounds and white dew lay heavy on the grass. Jane shivered and sneezed noisily as she headed for her aircar, but Chris caught her arm.
‘No, too dangerous.’
Jane stared at him in confusion.
He glanced up at the sky. ‘We must not be visible. It would be best for us to walk to the nearest taxi rank.’
‘That’s nearly three miles away,’ said Jane almost in horror.
‘It is best that we not be too visible.’
With chagrin Jane followed him out onto the overgrown road. Soon they were heading along a path trampled through the brambles, stinging nettles and sodden grass, wending their way between young trees that had grown twenty feet tall in the years since the tarmac had been scraped up. Jane clumped along muttering to herself, forgetting how only a few hours earlier she had been telling herself she must get some exercise. She felt like hell. Her cold had got worse, was probably turning into flu. A long ramble in the country was the last thing she needed.
‘I don’t see why we couldn’t use the car.’
Chris did not answer immediately, instead he came to a halt, turned and gazed back.
‘I think your answer is about to arrive,’ he said eventually.
Jane peered back as well, to the glow from the windows of her laboratory and the small flat beside it. For a moment she considered how she could be back there with her feet up and a glass of aquavit beside her. Then a ruby flash ignited the darkness. She averted her eyes, black shadows occluding her vision, just before Chris grabbed hold of her and pulled her to the ground. Damp grass pressed against her face. A sound ensued as of white-hot I-beams being dropped into water, then transformed into a rumbling explosion that turned the air above into a hot wind and filled it with burning oak leaves. The explosion seemed to grumble on for some time, but then halted abruptly, whereupon Chris allowed her to stand. Her laboratory and the flat beside it were now black skeletons filled with glowing embers, and the oak trees were burning. Suddenly Jane felt intensely sick. She did not want any aquavit now … perhaps later.
‘They will say it was a misfire, computer error, an accident, and it will be impossible to disprove. It will cost them millions in compensation, but not the billions in compensation the parasite would cost them,’ said Chris.
‘What the Hell was it?’ asked Jane tightly.
‘Satellite weapon, probably left over from one of the super-power’s old defence projects. TCC bought numbers of them to be converted for asteroid mining.’
‘They would have seen the car and got it as well.’
Chris nodded.
‘You knew this was going to happen?’
‘It was probable,’ said Chris. ‘Their carrier escaped them. They are panicking now.’
Jane turned to him. ‘Carrier?’
Chris nodded. ‘His name is Jack Smith. He was the comet miner we spoke to him on the plane. I informed World health of his presence and they sent operatives to pick him up at his house, but they were killed by TCC killers – killers who used an antiphoton weapon they had intended to use on Jack Smith. There would have been no evidence left, just ashes.’
Jane bit back on the annoyance she felt at Chris for it would do her no good. He was a machine. Always she must remember that. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this from the start?’
‘It was not seen as being immediately necessary that you know.’
Jane swore then angrily began to pull pieces of grass from her hair. She was uncomfortably aware that her nose was running and she did not have a hanky. She snuffled on her sleeve.
Chris added, ‘That you know now is because of the danger to you.’
Summoning calm Jane asked, ‘How did you find out about this Jack Smith and where is he now?’
‘Before he suffered a convenient accident in a faulty space suit a doctor on the TCC space station informed us. We tried to pick Jack up but he lost us in Brazil. He is still lost to us, but hopefully not for long. Our apprehending him is what TCC fear.’
‘Brazil.’ Jane nodded. ‘It was World Health that invited me to that conference just after you were assigned to me. I was manipulated right from that start.’
‘Only because you are a good parasitologist.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We stay in hiding until Jack Smith is found, then we move to
confirm, on record, that he is the carrier, and have him tell us where, on record, he picked up the parasite.’
‘Will that be enough evidence to fry TCC?’
‘I do not know.’
‘And what if he is not found?’
‘I do not know,’ said Chris, then he tilted his head and peered up into the sky.
Jane looked up there too in time to see a red star flare for a moment then fade. That was probably the satellite weapon TCC had used. They were again getting rid of incriminating evidence.
‘What now?’ said Jane, frowning at the sky.
‘I do not know,’ Chris repeated. After a moment they turned and walked into the night.
Chapter 6
Jack peered over the balcony rail down towards an ersatz stone well in which the hologram of a naked woman slowly writhed and smiled lasciviously. After a moment he looked up and scanned the other galleries and balconies, the shopping complexes, bars and cafes, all caught in crystal planes of mirror glass.
There.
The sign was the holographic depiction of a comet arcing in towards the sun, and of link mining ships like black spiders moving to intercept it. He allowed himself a smile, though in truth, after the events of the last couple of days, he really shouldn’t feel much like smiling. After witnessing, from an aircab, that killing at his house, he knew some unpleasant characters were searching for him. Then there were the watchers at all the medscan facilities, some of whom certainly weren’t undercover cops.
The bar was called ‘The Comet Miner’ – a now displaced profession. He could smile at that if at nothing else. He headed for the escalator and made his way there, finally coming to a door watched on either side by bouncers with fairly obvious cybernetic implants. They checked him over with a hand scanner, then allowed him to pass, probably supposing he was far too well-dressed to likely be a problem for them.
‘Enjoy your evening, sir,’ said the one with a cosmetically placed scar dividing his nose.
‘I shall try to,’ said Jack.
As he walked past them he felt the parasite poised inside him like a fist. Everywhere lay danger and the last two days had affected his unwelcome guest as well. At a slot machine inside he paid twenty Ecu for a UV transfer on his arm then followed the signs directing him to the main bar. Halson was there, drinking steadily and puffing on a Moroccan.
‘Do you have what I require?’ asked Jack, as he moved up to stand beside the man.
Halson glanced round, his pale unhealthy face in stark contrast to his helmet of black hair and neatly trimmed moustache.
‘Jack Smith!’ The greeting sounded forced. ‘Have a drink.’
Jack slid onto a stool.
‘Large Scotch for me,’ he said, as Halson was buying.
The barmaid, a girl in a crevice-revealing body suit and balanced like a potential accident on spring-lift shoes, brought his drink to him before walking carefully to her next customer.
‘Nice girl that,’ Halson observed.
Jack nodded and dismissed the irrelevance. ‘Do you have my tape?’
Halson nodded and turned his drink between his palms. Jack wondered if he had looked at the tape and was nervous now because he had seen the parasite. He took out his wallet, thumbed out two five-thousand Ecu notes and handed them over. Halson stared at the money as if he had been offered a severed hand, but then took it anyway.
Seated at his table with his gin-and-tonic before him, Saphron was clad like the epitome of the twentieth century English gentleman. He wore highly-polished brogues, a tweed suit, velvet waistcoat and old school tie. His dress however, was in stark contrast to his skull-like features, shaven head, and the five-inch chrome slug of a cerebral augmentation unit behind his left ear. Casually, he observed the three men and the woman seated at a table on the other side of the room overlooking the dance floor with its chaos of coloured light and moving shapes. He watched them, as they surreptitiously watched the two at the bar.
‘They have their mark,’ he subvocalized, appearing to take a sip of his drink. A voice replied to him directly through his augmentation.
‘Remote drones are all in place. Are they leaving yet?’
‘Not yet. Halson’s talking to the mark. Some sort of transaction going on there. The mark just handed over some high-denomination notes.’
‘We’ll pull Halson when they leave.’
‘Make it quiet. I don’t want them getting nervous. And be very very careful all round, all of you. Remember there’s still a proscribed weapon on the loose out there.’
That had really made his week; a crazy fucker demolishing seafront property with an APW.
‘Jethro’s in place inside up at the other bar. He’ll get Halson.’
Saphron gazed across at the cocktail bar. That was Jethro? The only other person standing there seemed to be a woman in a synthetic leather cat suit, but then, it was well known that Jethro would take on any job if it offered some chance of promotion.
As soon as the money had disappeared Halson reached into his top pocket and took out a small transparent cube the size of a die and handed it over. Still holding his wallet open Jack pressed the cube into the receiver of a small personal unit inside, then his fingers danced over the unit’s touch-plates. A small hologram sprang into life above the wallet and confirmed that this was indeed the recording he wanted. He touched the memorise plate then dropped his wallet on the bar and picked up his Scotch.
‘You’re recording it?’ said Halson doubtfully.
Jack nodded.
‘There are gigabytes of data in that crystal.’
‘I know. But my unit should be able to handle it. The memory is fifteen terabytes.’
‘Expensive.’
‘Not really. I got it off of a colleague in Sao Paulo. He no longer had any use for it.’
A green glow ignited over the unit and Jack then hit the wipe pad. After a moment the cube rose out of its slot. It was now opaque. He slid the cube across the bar, pocketed his wallet and unit, and downed his Scotch.
‘How?’ said Halson, peering at the cube.
‘Information acid,’ said Jack. He felt a bit guilty about ruining all the formatting in the man’s cube but did not trust him to erase its contents. It had been a sealed program, so he knew it had not been copied, but given time Halson could have found a way to break through that. Jack slid off his stool and, with a nod to Halson, headed for the door. He wanted out. The technician was acting strangely and the parasite lodging its protest.
‘The mark’s moving off now. Sune and her men are following. I’m on them.’
As Sune Jean’s four thugs the man out of The Comet, Saphron stood up, his hand dropping to his jacket pocket and taking hold of a gun that was five millimetres thick and could easily have been mistaken for something out of a Christmas cracker, but which certainly was not. He was taking no chances this time. The last time he had run this kind of operation they had lost the mark and all but one of Sune’s men. Later, the mark had turned up on the market as bargain price spares. He had been an Olympic swimmer.
‘They’re heading down to ground level. Halson probably told them where he would be going. They’ll probably take him outside the complex. Keep an eye out for a fast cruiser in the area.’
‘We think we have it. It’s a `47 Ford Macrojet. It’s on its third circuit of the complex. We have two radar-dead drones on it.’
‘Good work. Good work,’ said Saphron, his mouth dry. ‘They’re coming to the street exit now. Keep on your toes.’
Jack’s next awareness of danger was a violent stirring of the parasite. He turned and saw that three men and a woman had closed in behind him. The woman hesitated as he turned then stepped forwards raising a stun wand.
Weapon.
Suddenly the parasite poised in him like a scorpion oriented towards a threat.
No, damnit...
The wand issued a strobe flash of green light and Jack staggered back as the energy burst hit him in the chest like a shovel. Yet h
is recovery was nigh instantaneous. Like spring steel he jerked to a halt and shot forwards. His hand slapped and the stun wand exploded against the pavement. He chopped sideways, the edge of his hand an iron bar. A head broke and deformed and a man dropped as if he had stepped in a manhole. Jack smashed his forehead into the woman’s face, hurling her back to the ground. He spun, side kicked, another man slammed against a wall where he seemed to stick for a minute before sliding down.
Oh shit shit shit!
Yet he kept moving.
The last of the four had retreated and was struggling to pull something from his pocket. He seemed to be moving in slow motion to Jack. Two fast paces and the heel of his hand came up like a hammer. The man went up and backwards crashing to the ground ten feet from where he had stood. His weapon went skittering across the pavement and dropped down a drain.
Jack came to a halt, a question mark of flesh and bone, death all around him. He glanced up at the sudden whine of a turbine and saw an aircar speeding away. With erratic birdlike movements he returned his attention to his attackers. Only the woman seemed to be alive. Jack wondered if she had been pretty. She wasn’t now. He swallowed dryly, his throat clicking, now completely aware of what he had done, and more importantly, where. This was too visible and it was not Brazil. People were closing in, gaping at the scene, not ducking their heads and hurrying away. This would mean police and investigations and questions he would not want to answer. He turned and ran.
‘Jesus Christ! Bring the drones in. Man running. Bring him down, fast. Possible illegal cybernetic implants!’
‘What!?’
‘The mark. He just wasted our four. He’s heading for the old flood road, and fast! Jesus!’
Saphron sprinted to the four sprawled figures, glanced at the rapidly retreating figure, then looked up.
‘And I want that aircar!’
‘We’re on it. Where’s the mark now?’
