Jack Four

by Neal Asher

  ‘Would you prefer unconsciousness now?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no need for it,’ I opined.

  ‘This I understand.’ He grinned again. ‘However, a period of autonomic and bioshock adjustment indicates the necessity.’

  I finally saw my torso almost closed up again, but for the outer layer of skin, then the world simply went away.

  I awoke naked in a bed and felt very strange. As I thought about what’d just been done to me, a surge of panic rose up, but this liar slunk away as I peered down at my perfectly intact body. Still, I lay scared to move, with some deep, almost unconscious expectation of pain. And another effect kept me immobile. I felt as if a thrall would still deny me physical movement. After remembering I’d moved in the gimbals, and just recently tilted my head to look at my body, I knew this to be a lie too – wholly psychological. I started by opening and closing my hands, curling my toes, then lifting up an arm. This last felt incredibly light – lower gravity here. I battled for the motivation to sit up, since this would require my stomach muscles and I’d only recently seen them sliced open and peeled aside like the inner skin of some fruit. Finally I managed it.

  My body was light again and my head swam. The tumultuous activity in my torso felt similar to when I’d suffered food poisoning. My mouth watered as my stomach bubbled, while from neck to groin I felt tender, fragile. My loosening bowel got me quickly into motion, just managing to make it to the sanitary unit and sit down before it opened, emptying me of a blue chemical-smelling fluid. Thirst hit next and I drank from the tap in there because I dared not move from the toilet. But then I had to, as I vomited it all up again into the sink, emerald green with bile, the acid burning my throat. The thirst didn’t go away so I drank again and this time it stayed down, sinking into me like water into arid ground. It seemed to settle my other problem too and, only after being sure, I stepped out of the booth.

  The apartment resembled those aboard the ship Vrasan and the prador had used to get here, only everything worked in this one. I started to explore, opening cupboards as though I was searching for useful survival items once again. I did find clothing and personal items just like in those other cabins and it seemed this one had another occupant besides me. I discovered that the mirror turned into a screen when I touched it, giving me numerous touch controls, and voice control, if I wanted it. A food fabricator set in the wall flickered on when I tapped its screen, but I didn’t feel ready to use it just yet. Returning to the personal items, I examined the clothing but was disinclined to help myself to things which belonged to someone else. Returning to the sanitary unit, I examined the controls there.

  The touch screen seemed easy enough and I sent the toilet back into the wall. Another control retracted the taps and the sink. I hit the shower control and the unit protruded a series of spigots and a tray with a soap stick on it, then bombarded me with hot water from every direction. Following my surgical procedure, I probably wasn’t particularly dirty, in fact likely aseptically clean, but I revelled in those jets and the soap. I enjoyed this for some while, before exploring further. The depilator was a single rod with a comb on the end to set for depth, while a touch on the control turned one wall into a mirror – frictionless and devoid of water drops. I trimmed my hair and beard down short, the hair falling as dust to the floor. Then I reset the thing to take off the remainder of my beard. Another brief shower washed the debris away. A tooth-cleaning bot inserted in my mouth gave a strange but not unpleasant experience as it travelled around inside, following a cleaning routine. It paused and vibrated as it removed tartar – gritty in my mouth – then an ache I only noticed at that moment disappeared in a rear tooth, and I realized the thing did more than cleaning. Afterwards my teeth were bright white and my mouth felt the cleanest it’d been in some time. I stepped out, pulled a towel from a long cupboard beside the unit, and dried myself. Then the door opened.

  ‘You recover quickly,’ said Bronodec.

  I studied him.

  He was wearing a toga belted at the waist, and sandals on feet that looked twisted by some joint complaint. He stepped in, the door swinging shut behind him on a carpeted corridor, a wide window directly opposite briefly giving a view to another distant wall which had more windows glittering like slabs of mica. As he walked up to me, I backed away but he caught my shoulder.

  ‘Stay still.’

  He looked me up and down with the sensory band of his, and I felt the heat flush of scanning, matching the progress of his gaze.

  ‘Surprisingly good.’ He released my shoulder. ‘You have no nanosuite and no enhancements but your health is tip-top despite your adventures. And your physique, from the high gravity and your activity down there, is strong. If I didn’t know better, I would say you’ve been boosted.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ I said.

  ‘The muscle development is useful and healthy, but you’ll lose it here unless you find some way to maintain it. Have you considered boosting?’

  The guy apparently had no idea about my history. Fighting to survive aboard prador ships and then on a hostile planet, I hadn’t exactly had much opportunity for high-tech body adjustments and cosmetics.

  ‘No problems from the thrall removal?’ I asked.

  ‘It was tricky and Vrasan had left booby traps, but their extent was limited. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Booby traps?’

  ‘A power surge to burn out your nervous system and brain. Numerous other connections that would have resulted in convulsions and body death.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘I’m guessing he didn’t have time to do anything more substantial.’

  ‘Will I have any other … problems?’

  He walked across the room to the food fabricator. ‘Not that I am aware of.’ He started working the panel and, behind a glass window, printing heads deposited something in a cloud of steam. ‘One of her security detail will come for you soon so I suggest you dress. You’ll also need to eat.’ He stepped back from the fabricator and waved a hand at it. ‘This should be right. Your stomach and intestines will be delicate for a while.’ He moved to the door and opened it.

  ‘I can use the clothes here?’ I asked.

  ‘You can use anything – the former occupant no longer will.’ He exited, closing the door behind him.

  So the previous occupant had either left the station or was dead. It struck me that the latter seemed likely and this station was clearly a dangerous place to be. It was also where I needed to be, if I was to have any chance of getting closer to Suzeal and shutting down her operation here. Though, right then, that seemed a misty future aim. This place, I decided, was perhaps a microcosm of the Graveyard entire: full of mercenaries, salvagers-cum-pirates and others whose business the Polity frowned on, like those involved in coring and thralling. Thinking on that, I wondered where Marcus was at this moment.

  The fabricator window opened and the smell hit me. Suddenly ravenously hungry, I stepped over and pulled out the tray, which held a big beaker of liquid and a steaming pile of variously coloured vegetables. Some I identified as broccoli, carrots and tomatoes, while others I had no idea about. I cautiously sipped from the mug – some kind of protein soup – then, using a chain-glass spoon as cautiously, I tried the vegetables. A moment later, I was shovelling them in and had soon finished everything. I wanted more, but decided further prudence was a good idea.

  Clothing. One of the black and white uniforms hung in the wardrobe but I wanted nothing to do with it and instead found cotton underwear, a shirt of some towelling material, combat trousers and jacket in desert colours, and enviroboots that adjusted to my feet. I studied the other stuff. There was coded comp hardware I couldn’t use, but I did find a large ceramal combat knife with a belt and sheath, and put them on. When I saw a backpack, I wanted to fill it with items which might be useful but, no longer fighting for survival as I had been before, I realized other techniques would be necessary. I took the belt off again, removed the sheathed knife and tucked it inside my clothing.
I then sat on the bed and thought hard, and was still doing so when Brack and two heavy-set guards arrived.

  ‘Get up,’ he said.

  He no longer had armour on, but still looked a hulk, wearing just casual clothes similar to my own. As he studied me, his expression was resentful. There were undercurrents here I had still yet to parse. From the memory I had had while Vrasan tortured me, it seemed my original self had betrayed Suzeal. But there was more to it than that. Brack’s dislike of me seemed to go beyond my being the image of a previous betrayer. I stood up and he glanced at the two guards while resting a hand on his sidearm.

  ‘Looks like you’re back to health,’ he said. ‘Come with us.’

  He made no threats about what might happen if I attempted to escape, or in any way disobeyed, probably because he would have rather liked me to try. I had no doubt at all that, given the chance, he’d kill me. I walked forwards as he gestured me towards the door. He moved round behind me and gave me a shove, making me stumble out between the two guards. I didn’t react but just stayed between them as they set off down the corridor. No doubt he also itched to use the stun baton that was on the other side of his belt.

  The corridor curved round, windows on one side and the doors into apartments on the other. A vast internal space lay beyond the windows. Lines of windows divided the far wall too, while the floor seemed to be occupied by a park. I could see the curve to it, sloping up ahead and narrowed by perspective. A glance up helped me locate myself, for the interior of the hub lay visible through a geodesic glass roof. The two guards walked me to a dropshaft, then, each gripping one of my arms, stepped in, towing me after them. We rose, feeling the side tug of grav as we passed ten floors. Our ascent slowed as we passed sensor heads and weapons, whereupon we came to a halt in mid-air. I glanced down at Brack below me, just before the field tilted and slid us into a new corridor. He came out behind a moment later, fingers against his aug and a nasty look on his face.

  The luxurious corridor beyond had a floor coated in thick carpet moss and statues of various zoo creatures in alcoves. Watching the expression on Brack’s face, I reached into my clothing and took out the sheathed knife, holding it out to the guard on my right.

  ‘Here, best you take this,’ I said.

  He snatched it away, fear writ large in his features, then both guards slammed me against the wall. The barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my neck.

  ‘You come here armed,’ said Brack tightly.

  His stun baton hit me in the back and I shuddered. The barrel of his gun retracted. The stun baton, I realized, hadn’t been at its highest setting. He wanted me to do something, react violently. I kept utterly still.

  ‘I thought I told you to clear Hunstan’s cabin of weapons,’ said Suzeal through some intercom. ‘Seeing as you didn’t, why’re you surprised he picked up the knife, after all he’s been through? Lower that fucking gun right now and search him. If he doesn’t get here alive, Brack, you’ll be joining his body in the composter.’

  They searched me thoroughly, then Brack shoved me into motion again. In my ear he whispered, ‘A lot can happen here – you’ll be mine soon enough.’ And so they brought me to the door of Suzeal’s apartment.

  Soft fabric upholstered the wide door and was secured with silver buttons. It opened with a swish and the guards propelled me inside, but gently. I suspected they were unsure of my status, whether prisoner or a guest.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Brack.

  Large throne-like wooden chairs, nine of them, were scattered on a dais at the centre. Some were placed around a large circular table while others clustered about a couple of pedestal tables. Various consoles and screens stood against walls, while a far window, consisting of hexagonal pieces of glass framed by old wood, overlooked the area I’d seen earlier, but with the geodesic roof much closer now. I’d expected a larger apartment, but doors did lead off into other rooms. The mess surprised me too. Opened plasmel boxes lay about the floor, clothing had been tossed over chairs, while eating trays, cups and glasses and other detritus occupied the tables. Over to one side of the dais, wheeled tool cabinets and benches clustered at an antiquated heavy weapon which, after a moment, I identified as an ancient large-bore machine gun, of the kind once mounted on a land vehicle. Tools and containers lay scattered there too.

  ‘We’re here!’ Brack repeated, louder now.

  One of the doors swung open and Suzeal called from inside, ‘I’m aware of that. Get out and get back to your harem. Leave the other two outside.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea. You know who this shit is,’ Brack protested.

  ‘I know exactly who he is,’ she replied. ‘And when did you get the idea you could argue with me?’

  Brack swore, then whirled to the door and headed out, the two guards following him. Once the door closed, I moved further into the apartment. I could use the tools as weapons but made no move towards them.

  ‘Get yourself a drink or something else,’ Suzeal called.

  I looked around and walked over to a circular shelf jutting from one wall, loaded with bottles and other items. Suzeal had a colourful taste in alcohol and an inclination to other mind-altering substances. Beside and amidst the bright bottles lay drug vaporizers and a dispenser for mouthpieces, drug patches, tubes of pills, some with the glint of active internal hardware, snorters and ultrasound injectors and other things I just didn’t recognize. I poured some bourbon, got some ice from a dispenser and raised the glass to the window to toast Marcus, who had to be out there somewhere. I then went over to put my drink on a pedestal table, and heaved round one of the heavy seats next to it to face the open door. As I sat down, she finally appeared.

  I don’t know what I’d expected, but not this. The last time I’d seen her she’d been clad in combat armour, but she had dressed to kill in another way now. I noticed that she’d done some work on her face, emphasizing her eyes, a touch of gloss on the lips. Emerald studs glinted in her ears, another in her nostril. Her hair, now completely blonde, was piled up on the top of her head. She wore tight black trousers, almost spray-on, flat sandals, and a diaphanous top in a green leaf pattern, semi-transparent, cinched at the waist with a belt of wooden links, and hanging down over her hips; it was plainly evident she wore nothing underneath it. She was large, muscular and tough-looking – and very definitely all woman. My feelings towards her started to become confused. She had sold me, and others, to the prador. Her regard for human life sat at nil unless it could profit her and I had vowed vengeance against her. But she was a woman and elicited a sudden intense sexual response which I had never felt before – it was almost an awakening. I guessed a lack of nutrition and constant danger had kept it in abeyance before.

  Rather self-consciously, I thought, she walked over to her collection of drinks and poured herself a glass of bourbon too, perhaps because I was drinking it. Without looking round, she said, ‘I bet you thought you’d never get here.’

  ‘I had to work on the basis that I would, but it never looked good,’ I said, sipping my drink.

  She turned around and leaned back against the drinks shelf. Something fell off and clattered on the floor. With a flash of irritation, she moved away from the shelf and came over. She looked at a chair nearby for a long moment, then went to sit on its arm, facing me.

  ‘I was of two minds about whether to drag you out of that pit,’ she said.

  ‘That was apparent when you used me to locate the prador.’

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Yes, you were just an asset at that point.’ After pausing contemplatively, she continued, ‘But when it seemed I was about to lose you, that resolved something for me.’

  I contemplated this, then said, ‘You knew him.’

  She winced a brief smile. ‘You’re talking about the one I took your DNA from. Yes, I knew him.’

  ‘So what was he like?’

  She obviously didn’t like this subject and her gaze strayed around the room as if seeking to escape it.


  ‘Not what he appeared,’ she said eventually.

  ‘How did he appear then?’

  Again a flash of irritation: this wasn’t going how she wanted. She put her drink aside and gazed at me.

  ‘He looked very much like you, of course, though not so muscular and with more lines on his face. Apparently ex-ECS, he’d become a salvager in the Graveyard seeking to up his game and make a fortune. He was excited about what he intended to do with the wealth. He wanted to start a company specializing in meta-material tattoos – etching computer hardware into people’s skin. This has been done before, and there’s a major concern in the Polity that does it, but he wanted to venture away from AI-controlled hardware and make something more … amenable for sale in the Graveyard. He was very enthusiastic about it and very believable.’

  ‘Believable?’

  Her expression turned bitter. She waved a hand towards the window as if she could see my erstwhile self out there. ‘Everything about him was convincing. He had an extensive knowledge of trade in the Graveyard. He was good company and sociable, and sometimes seemed to lose control of himself. I believed him when he said he wanted in on the coring trade. I believed him when, apparently stoned on Arotophen, he all but admitted he loved me.’ She looked at me with a challenging glare.

  ‘But that, of course, wasn’t true,’ I said.

  ‘He blinded me. But Brack, for reasons of his own, was suspicious and kept a close watch on him. He found evidence of a brief U-space exchange with someone.’ Her tone turned flat and factual as she continued, ‘When I questioned Jack about this, he told me he’d talked with his underworld contacts there. Severing some ties, he said. Then he tried to drown out my concerns with that charm of his, and I saw it was false.’ The flatness broke at this point and I heard something else in her voice. ‘He realized at once and tried to kill me, and even though I’d prepared, he nearly succeeded. I brought him down with stun rounds from an autogun – it took six of them and by then he’d broken my leg, ribs, an arm, and taken out one eye. We put him through intensive scan and found his gridlink, and attached the quantum storage. That storage proved to me what he really was: a Polity agent. I erased him there.’