by Neal Asher
'Arian,' said Corlackis, 'I see you now avail yourself of more visible technology.' He studied Pelter's face for a moment, then turned his attention to Mr Crane. Crane had moved to one side of the boodi and now stood perfectly still. 'But do we really need that kind of hardware?' he finished.
'We do. Now, to business,' said Pelter.
'Let's just wait on that,' said Stanton, and watched the floating vendor that slid in dirough the field. The flat, tilick tray had small lights glinting on its edge and two grab arms folded crablike underneadi itself. It dropped until it was hovering just a couple of centimetres above the glasses on the table, its AG forcing spilt drink to slide about on the surface as if under an air blast. Its arms unfolded and took up two empty glasses, which it placed on top of itself. The obverse of its antigravity field stuck the glasses in place. From it issued a bored voice.
'Orders?' it asked.
'I'll have cool-ice,' said Stanton, and looked at Pelter.
'The same,' said Pelter, his attention fixed firmly back.
'Repeat order for you gentiemen?' the vendor asked.
'You bet,' said Dusache.
The vendor rose into the air, then floated across to Mr Crane, where it tilted, its lights moving frantically. Abruptly it shot away.
'Clever machine,' murmured Stanton, and men said, 'Right, we are all here having a wonderful time and not one of us is going to notice the four who are just about to come up the stairs.'
'What do you have?' asked Corlackis.
'I'd reckon on a covert group, probably ECS as one of them looks like a Golem.'
'How the hell do you tell?' asked Svent.
'Always too good,' Stanton replied. 'They can put scars on the outside, but they show from the inside as well. It's how you move… Here they come.'
'Bastard!' Mennecken yelled and pulled off his face cup and glove and slammed them on the table.
'I make that eight minutes,' said Corlackis, glancing at the timepiece set in his fingernail. 'I also make that fifty shillings you owe each of us.'
Mennecken was now looking at Stanton and Pelter. He then turned and looked at Mr Crane. Corlackis spoke before his brother had a chance to.
'Notice anything about the clientele of this restaurant?' he asked.
Mennecken's glance flicked round, then came back to his brother. 'Well, here we've got the leader of the Separatist cell on Cheyne III, five very obvious mercenaries, and a psychodroid,' he said.
'I meant the other clientele, as you well know.'
'OK, you mean, apart from the four ECS shits sitting over the far side there.'
Corlackis turned to Pelter. 'You want them taken out?'
Pelter did not answer. He, Dusache and Svent seemed to be having a staring competition. Stanton clamped down on his unease at this. He had one issue to focus on at the moment. He'd leave the one concerning biotech augs to another time.
'Yes, it would be better if we were not observed,' Pelter finally said, switching back to Corlackis. 'Though it may be useful to keep one of the humans alive for a chat.'
Corlackis nodded and turned to Stanton. 'A Golem, you say? Which one?' he asked.
'The one with the long black hair. Probably a Twenty to Twenty-five. Might be others there of a higher series, but they can be difficult to spot sometimes,' Stanton replied.
To Pelter, Corlackis said, 'Then perhaps we do need the hardware.' He looked up at Mr Crane. 'The questions now remain: where, when, and how? Any suggestions?'
'Whack 'em here and we got ten thousand in bribes to pay,' said Svent.
Pelter said, 'We will all return to your metrotel. Stanton and myself will book rooms. There are four of them and they cannot follow us all.' He turned to Svent and Dusache. 'You two will slip away at some point to reconnoitre. I want to know where they go, what they do. I want to know if they set up some kind of watching station. I also want to know if there are any more of them.' He now addressed them all. 'We will hit them during the brief night here. We will do it quietly and we will dispose of the remains.'
Stanton nodded in agreement with this, but could not help wondering if what Pelter had just said to Svent and Dusache had needed to be spoken out loud.
'I'd like the little catadapt,' said Mennecken, staring across the restaurant.
'As long as you are quiet,' Pelter replied.
'I will be. Can't speak for her,' said Mennecken.
'Now,' said Pelter, 'if we might return to why I asked you here?'
'Don't mind me,' said Mennecken.
Pelter did not. He made sure he had the attention of them all before going on. 7 will pay you each one hundred thousand New Carth shillings to help me get to a certain man and kill him.'
Corlackis let out a low whistle. 'Some man, then,' he said.
Stanton said, 'He's an ECS agent called Ian Cormac'
'I eat them for breakfast,' said Mennecken. Corlackis did not seem so sure. Stanton guessed that he recognized the name.
Pelter glanced over at the parked AGC Dusache had pointed out and tried not to sneer. This group was very unprofessional, nothing like Cormac. His sneer faded as he tried to work out the origins of that thought. Did it come from the dichotomy of running two augs that now seemed almost inimical to each other? Or was it from himself? He shook rain from his hair and glared dirough the false twilight.
The sky was growing darker and the rain steadily heavier. Tough growths, with the appearance of black briars, were pushing up between the slabs of the AGC park, and were not the only unwelcome visitors the extra moisture had brought.
'What the fuck is that?' said Svent, his hand sliding to the gap in his rainfilm.
Pelter looked at him. He did not even have to vocalize the order. Svent pulled his hand from his film and dropped it to his side. He, Dusache and Pelter watched the creature drawing itself across the slabs. It was a diamond of mounded grey flesh with bulbous eyes and a turned-up snout. A short flat tail flickered at its omer end. In all it was two metres long and looked like it could swamp a man. It was not moving with any great speed, though.
'You should know. You ate part of one last night,' said Dusache.
Svent looked pained for a moment. 'Ground skate?' he asked.
'With mustard sauce, wasn't it?' Dusache queried.
Pelter ignored them. He stared at the falling rain and seemed to see in it a hint of a shape, something huge, an image the raindrops were trying to form, but just could not. He looked dirough Crane's eyes and the image grew stronger. He had a hint now of diamonds. Perhaps some sort of echo in his two augs from looking at the skate. To collapse the echo he ran the program to close off the organic aug. It seemed to fight him for a moment, pulling out with the reluctance of a bent nail in old wood. As it went, the pattern faded. Now everything was grey, through Crane's eyes, and his optic link felt hard against the side of his head. He closed off that view and turned to the bickering mercenaries.
'Let's not stand here all day. We have plans to make,' he said.
He could see their resentment and did not understand it. with a flash of irritation he re-engaged the second aug. Slick. Straight in. They were resentful because it was them standing staring at the rain, and not in the nice warm bar of the metrotel. He turned away, flicked a gesture at Crane, and headed for the metrotel with me android tramping along behind. The two mercenaries gave each other a speculative look before following.
Stanton, Mennecken and Corlackis waited for mem in the bar. All three of them were playing a dice game. Pelter envied them their ability to ride so easily dirough the waiting time between actions. It was a trait he himself had never been able to develop. When Stanton looked up, Pelter returned the look and considered what he must do. Nothing yet, he decided. Stanton was still too useful. He moved into the room and sat on the edge of one of the low chairs. Svent and Dusache moved in as well. As if he was pressing down the timer on a chess clock, Corlackis pressed the touch-plate on top of a small flat box on the table.
'Enough?' asked Pelter, gla
ncing at Svent and Dusache.
'Enough,' Svent replied. 'They've been bouncing a laser off the windows every now and again, but that's about it. No deep scan or underspace signatures. They're not that sophisticated.'
'So they weren't here for us,' Stanton said.
'Doubt it. They're not equipped,' Svent said.
'Give me the rest of it,' said Pelter, each word precise and tipped with irritation. His optic link hurt and there was a crust on the seepage around it. It had also rubbed a sore on his temple that tended to bleed when he was straining over some of Crane's more complex module programs. And there was that something else poised tantalizingly just out of reach. A forbidden knowledge, something…
'The dark one's definitely Golem,' said Svent. 'All the others are human unless they're carrying sophisticated emulation programs. Going by the rest of their equipment, that's something I doubt. I reckon they were here tracing arms deals until one of them eyeballed one of us. You can be sure they'll be sending an underspace message any time now.'
'That will not help them much,' said Corlackis. 'No runcible to get reinforcements here in the nick of time. The nearest one is a good month, ship time.'
'I don't mind it being known that we are here. I do mind it being known that we have acquired a dropbird here,' said Pelter.
'Yeah,' said Corlackis with a shrug. 'We still kill them.'
Pelter looked at Svent, pushed him subliminally through his aug. The little mercenary continued.
'Five of them as far as I can make out. The four humans take shifts in the car, two of them at a time, probably to get out of the rain. The other two and the Golem are in that cafe with the meshed-over window. They follow whichever of us leaves here. Splitting up if we split up.' Svent reached into his pocket and dropped a little sample bottle on the table. Inside the bottle were a couple of glittering specks. 'Fucking Golem put them on me and Dusache with a little air gun. She think we're that stupid?'
'What are they? Phones or tracers?' Stanton asked.
'Tracers.'
'Deactivated?' Pelter asked, an edge to his voice.
'Course they are,' said Svent.
'Right,' said Pelter. 'The humans are no problem, but I'd rather they were out of the way before we deal with the Golem. This is how we play it…'
Pelter leant against the door to his room as the nausea hit. Something was happening with his augs, the optic link and the command module. He could feel packets of information being exchanged, linkages being made and broken, busy handshaking. He fumbled his card into the reader beside the door and cursed the fact that his false identity precluded the use of palm-locks. Eventually he got it read and stumbled into his room. Behind him Mr Crane quietly closed the door. With shaking hands
Pelter pulled one, then two patches from a reel. He lifted his grubby mesh shirt, peeled the patches and slapped them against his chest. Only now did he notice the glue marks from previous patches, and the film. He tried to find it in himself to care. He couldn't.
The endorphin analogue from the patches leaked into his body, banished nausea and dulled the stabbing pain in the left side of his head. There was relief, but it was minimal until the Sylac aug suddenly shut down. His head immediately began to clear and the virtual vision through the second aug gained an almost painful clarity. Now he could see beyond information frames and graphics that seemed to float in some disconnected space. There was a background now to all this. It was a huge wall of flesh. Scaled flesh.
'Dragon,' he said.
There was no answer, just the clarity. With slow and careful steps he walked to the bed and sat down. He must not have this. It was too easy. He tried to reinstate the Sylac aug, and immediately got a surge of sickness again. He bit down on it and forced reinstatement. Pain returned. He realized the second aug was trying to shut down the first. He shut the second aug down and the sickness receded, pain ebbed away. The scaled wall was gone and everything seen through Sylac's aug was in shades of grey. So: gradual takeover, but he was still in control. With fanatical will he went through the process of shutting down and reinstating each aug in every combination. He was exercising control, but did wonder if he was beginning to enjoy the pain and sickness. Was this because it gave him something to fight?
13
Bubble Metal: These materials were first developed by the Cryon Corporation in 2110. The process of manufacture is simple. A base metal (or alloy) is poured into null-G moulds (hence their development in the first satellite factories) and, while still in a molten state, injected with gas (usually inert). The resultant 'foamed metal' is then allowed to cool. Components made by this process are usually high in compressive and tensile strengths, but are prone to corrosion. Further developments brought us anti-corrosive gases and ceramoplastic injectants. This technology has become widely applied, the only solid-cast components now being those used in electronics applications, where the crystal structure or purity of the metal is a requirement.
From a Cryon Corporation catalogue
Cormac gradually woke to the gentle but insistent voice ofHubris calling to him, and immediately felt the silence. He groped for the link like a terminal nicotine addict searching for his first cigarette of the day and finding the packet was empty. Where was the voice in his head and the small synaptic charge that could bring him instantly awake and alert? He experienced a pang of loss and repressed it. He was hearing this voice with his ears.
'Ian Cormac… Ian Cormac…'
'Yes, what is it?'
'Chaline told me to inform you that her probe is transmitting from the blast-site. There are some anomalies.'
Choline…
He rolled over and reached across the bed, vaguely remembered a disentanglement of sweaty limbs, a kiss on the cheek, a chuckle in the darkness.
'Tell her I'm on my way.'
He checked the wall clock: ten hours, and not many of them sleep. Feeling only slightly guilty he got out of bed and headed directly for his shower. Ten minutes later he was dressed in trousers and shirt, shuriken snug to his wrist, and heading for Downlink Com, which was the nearest Hubris had to a bridge or operations room.
The room was long, with a large circular chamber at its end from where the probes were dispatched. Its longest walls were packed with screens and other instrumentation. Before five consoles sat people clothed in the distinctive blue coveralls of runcible technicians. Some of them were auged in: optic cables plugged directly from their augs. These technicians remained still; all their activity was between their ears and in the various subminds of Hubris. Chaline was squatting on the floor, below one of the consoles, with a panel open before her and instruments and chips scattered all around. Cormac squatted beside her. She looked up, smiled at him, and he found himself unable to respond.
'Anomalies, you said.'
Her smile faded to puzzlement, then she shrugged and gestured with a debonding torch at a flashing light on the console above her.
'That's a contamination warning,' she said.
'The probe is at the blast-site,' he replied.
'We programmed it to ignore isotopes. We knew it was going to be hot down there, so the warning isn't about that.'
With a thoughtful expression on her face she laid the torch beside her and began plugging chips back into the panel. He could see she was pissed off by his lack of acknowledgement, but this was business; he couldn't let last night get in the way, could he? Emotion must not be allowed to interfere.
'I thought we might have a problem that diagnostics couldn't trace. Hubris ran a check as well. Everything seems all right here. The problem is with the probe.' She looked up at the ceiling. 'Hubris, have you finished running that check on the probe?'
'I am still checking. The probe seems to be developing structural weaknesses,' said the ship AI.
'You used the present tense,' said Cormac.
'The process is continuing. Initially the weaknesses were in its sampling arms, now more weaknesses have appeared.'
Cormac turned to Chaline
. 'I know this is not my territory, but it might be an idea to get the probe into orbit or at least out of the blast-site, if that's still possible.'
'We'll want it back for study, you mean,' she said.
He nodded and she continued to look at him. After a moment she gave him a slow nod in reply, and a look that meant 'later', then she addressed the AI. 'Hubris, how far gone is the probe's integrity?'
'It is still capable of taking high G. The weaknesses seem to be developing only in the ceramal components. The probe has a foamed alloy skeleton.'
'What could cause that? The cold?' Cormac asked.
Chaline shook her head in perplexity. 'Ceramal? No… Hubris, what is the temperature outside the probe?'
'One-eighty Kelvin.'
'I don't know why I asked. Ceramal retains its structural integrity down to ninety Kelvin.'
'Acid? Some kind of caustic gas?' asked Cormac.
'No, has to be something more specific than that, else the sampling process would have picked it up… Wait a minute… Hubris, how old were the Samarkand run-cible buffers?'
'The Samarkand runcible was installed solstan 2383.'
'Yes,' said Chaline with satisfaction. Cormac raised an eyebrow and she went on. 'Wide-spectrum superconductors were introduced in 2397. The Samarkand runcible had the old sort; super-conducting ceramic-impregnated tungsten steel and bathed in liquid helium. The room-temperature superconductors they had then couldn't take the kind of surge a runcible buffer receives. We are talking about a huge EM pulse here.'
'And?' asked Cormac, wondering why she felt it necessary to over-explain her area of expertise.
'Don't you see? Tungsten steel impregnated with ceramic? That is what ceramal is.' Cormac nodded. 'So whatever screwed up those buffers is now screwing up your probe.'
Chaline said, 'Hubris, would it be possible to run an interior microscan of the probe?'
