“Kill them? How? It's not real. It's just a worldlet. How do you kill someone in a worldlet?”
Again, he looked at her as if she might be trying to mislead him, as if she had to be pretending to be so ignorant. “The same way you kill any piece of software attached to a network. You send it a virus. It's how our guns work in VR. They trigger a piece of code that downloads itself to the perp's cognitive implants and makes the implants scramble the user's mind. It's like inducing an epileptic fit. It isn't meant to kill when we shoot people in VR, but it can do, sometimes. Thing is, it wouldn't take much to create a metaphorical bullet – or bomb, I suppose – that killed people every time. Is that what September 10 is planning? Is that what they've been cooking up?”
Ginny could see he really thought she might know. She drew back from him. “You think I'm involved. You think I want to kill all those people.”
“Well, do you?”
“Of course not. I'm not a monster.”
“How do I know what you are? Consortium enforcers were trying to kill you not long ago. Why was that?”
“Because I'd been spying on them, trying to find out who they were.”
“Stealing Chastity Mining's corporate data with your radical hacktivist friend Sorenssen?”
Ginny could feel her heart racing. This was going badly. Richards seemed to be able to put an unpleasant spin on everything she'd done. “My radical what? He's just a kid with grandiose ideas and a fixation on big tits.”
“That's not what his records say. He's flagged on a number of terrorist watch lists.”
“You're joking.”
“Do I look like I'm joking?”
For a moment his hard eyes seemed to pin her against her chair. She didn't know what to say, how to defend herself. She wished Della were there. She thought about asking for a lawyer. But Richards seemed satisfied that he'd scared her enough. He sat back with a grin and picked up his coffee again. “Either you're the most useless terrorist I've ever seen, or you're one hell of an actress.” He took a drink and shrugged. “Either way, doesn't matter much.”
Because she was his prisoner. Because he would take her away and lock her up and expert interrogators would come and force her to confess to things she hadn't done.
She looked away from his unkind eyes and her gaze fell on the blue waters of the harbour. Such a beautiful day. Such a beautiful place. A breeze carried the smell of the ocean to her and she saw it in her mind's eye, stretching on forever. She almost wept at the thought of that wild, empty place, all that freedom.
She wondered where Rafe had gone. He'd fried his tag and gone underground, hunted now by people like Dover Richards, people who were Rafe's greatest nightmare. How would Rafe survive on the run, jumping at shadows, whimpering with fear in the night? Did he have friends who would help him, or would he head out into the bush and live out there like a hermit?
“OK, Virginia, let's be going,” Richards said, standing up. “Under Section 3 of the 2052 Security of the Commonwealth Act, I am exercising my right to detain you for questioning. Please come with me.”
She didn't move. Couldn't move. “I – I'd like to call a lawyer,” she said. People around them were staring. One man got up, looking nervous, and hurried away.
“Your detention is subject to judicial review at the end of each fortnight, at which time the Magistrate will decide whether to allow legal representation.” He sounded as if he was reading from a cue card, which, of course, he probably was.
“Don't do this,” she begged him. “Please. You're making a mistake. I'm not a terrorist. I just – ”
He put his hand on the butt of his firearm and it wiped all thought from her head. He would shoot her right there in the street if she didn't do what he said. She could hardly breathe and her arms trembled as she pushed herself up.
“Don't even think of running,” he said. “I'm a quick draw and a very good shot.” He stepped around the table and took hold of her upper arm. “This way. Back to the car.”
His grip was firm, his hand large. He loomed over her, the sheer size of him that close made her quail. Struggle and flight were impossible. There was nothing she could do except let him lead her away, lock her up, and leave her to the mercy of a system that had already made up its mind about her. She stumbled through the bright, sunny streets not knowing what to do, her thoughts a buzzing confusion of fear and despair. I should look at the sky, she told herself. And the water. Oh God, what will they do to me? But the sky was just a blue sheet, the water a dazzle of sparkles. Nothing seemed to have any depth or meaning except the hand that held her and urged her remorselessly forward.
The car wasn't far away. Parking in major cities had not been a problem for many years. The sunlight flared on the vehicle's solar panels as they approached and she blinked away the afterimages. A strange voice said, “Let go of the woman, tagger, and put your hands on your head.” Her heart skipped. She tried to turn to see who had spoken but Richards' grip tightened on her arm, preventing her. “If you want to die,” the voice said, “you just go on reaching for that gun.”
Ginny felt Richards relax. She gasped with relief at the realisation he had decided not to put up a fight. He took his hand off her arm and she turned to face whoever had ambushed them. So did Richards. With a jolt of horror she saw the monsters that were pointing guns at them. And, even as her heart thudded in fear, the hideous creatures resolved into what they really were, three men wearing pig masks.
“Friends of yours?” Richards asked, his voice relaxed and full of its usual disdain.
Ginny couldn't speak. Not friends. She didn't have any friends who wore masks and pointed guns.
“Step away from the woman,” the lead pig-man said. His two companions stepped away from his side and moved to flank Ginny and Richards.
“I'm a federal officer,” Richards said. “And this woman is my prisoner. I've already called for backup, so you should either start running or surrender your weapons.”
“Shut up and do as you're told. If I have to, I'll blow your head off.”
“What's so special about her?” Richards asked, not moving.
It was the same thought that had occurred Ginny. Fair enough, the Consortium had tried to kill her when they found her snooping on them, but to risk snatching her from police custody like this just didn't make sense. What could she possibly know that would be worth taking such a risk for?
The pig-man leader didn't answer. He held his gun out at arm's length and aimed it directly at Richards' head. With a gesture of submission, the tagger stepped away from Ginny. The pig-man nearest him, moved in close and pulled Richards' gun from its holster. It made Ginny feel helpless and vulnerable, as if the cop had somehow been protecting her and now she was at the mercy of these strangers. But that wasn't the reality at all. Her head swam. The police might have thrown her in jail forever, tortured her as a terrorist even, but the pig-men might do anything. Her heart was beating so fast it seemed to be impeding her breathing.
“Who are you?” she asked, but the words were a whisper. Darkness was gathering around the edges of the world, gravity was fading and she felt she might lift off the ground. She heard the sirens of approaching police cars. A swarm of the little orange police drones she'd seen at the crime scene buzzed around them. It all seemed to be happening in a dream, far away.
“Get her into the van before she falls over,” someone said. “I'll fix the drones.” Two men grabbed her, one on each arm and hustled her to a van. As they went, little orange drones rained down from the sky and clattered to the pavement. One of the pig-men stood on one and it crunched like a big insect. She was lifted, pushed. People crowded around her in the gathering darkness. The van's engines whined into life.
Chapter 19
Ginny woke on a sun-lounger by a pool. Her eyes were still closed but she could hear the splash of a swimmer, the tinkling laughter of a young woman, smell the chlorine, feel the texture of a towel beneath her fingers. She felt warm sunshine on her bod
y, saw pink light through her eyelids. From the warm breeze that touched her bare legs and arms, she guessed she was wearing a swimsuit.
She tried to open her eyes but didn't have the strength, tried to move, but her body would not respond, could not respond. Drugged, she thought. Although she had never been drugged before and didn't know how it might feel, she just knew it was true.
It was nice by the pool. She was warm and relaxed. Light, subtle melodies wove through the pink light like swallows in the sky. It made her think of that nice Mr. Mendelssohn. So nice to be drugged by the pool, she thought. It's the nicest possible way to die.
-oOo-
When Ginny woke again, nothing had changed but the mood. She snapped open her eyes and sat up. She was still on a sun-lounger, still by the pool, still warm, still in a swimsuit, but any idea that her situation was in any way pleasant had gone.
“How are you feeling?”
Her head whipped around to face the man standing beside her. For a moment, she squinted up at him, his face silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Then her eyes widened. “Cal?” It was Cal. Definitely Cal. She jumped up from the lounger and almost fell over, but Cal caught her and kept her steady.
“Cal, where are we? I think they drugged me. Who are they? What do they want us for?”
Cal smiled. It was a sad smile. He felt sorry for her. She wanted to hug him for the sympathy in his smile. “It's all right, Ginny. Everything is all right. You don't have to worry. You're safe. We're both safe.”
“But...” She looked around, trying to make sense of it. The pool was large. A handful of people splashed and played in it. Beyond it were lawns and beyond those, trees and distant hills. Behind her, past more lawns, a gigantic mansion in brick and stone filled the whole view. She turned back to Cal. “We're unlatched.” It was obvious, all this space, the palatial building, the perfect weather. “What...?”
“Sit down,” he said, gently. “Let me explain.” He still held her arms and guided her down safely. He sat on the lounger next to hers. “First of all, I want to apologise.”
The word slapped her on the face, snapping her out of the torpor she'd been in. She pulled back from him. “You set me up, you bastard. You made me think you liked me. You... you...” She wanted to say he'd trifled with her affections but the words were just too corny to utter. “Then you sent me to deliver your bloody package to that crazy terrorist bitch. Because of you, the police have arrested me and the Consortium has tried to kill me. Twice! What the hell did I ever do to you? Why pick on me? And what the hell are you doing here, sitting by a pool like some bloody banker who just swindled a billion dollars, when you're supposed to be dead or something? And do you know that September 10 is using the information you gave them – most of it delivered by me, I'm guessing – to kill the entire Australian Government?”
She took a breath and it gave Cal a chance to butt in. “You've got it all wrong, Ginny.” He reached out a hand to soothe her but she batted it away. She stood up, roughly forcing down her automatic feeling of self-consciousness at being dressed only in a swimsuit.
“Don't tell me I've got it all wrong. I'm the one whose been running for my life, scared to death, with people shooting at me. I've been hiding out at my parents' house, and Della's, and camping out in your old unit like a bloody squatter. People have died, Cal. Some stupid bloody kid who I had blackmailed into helping me, who deserved a good slap, I'll admit, but not a bloody gangland execution. And Tonia's brother, your alleged friend, Gavin. Who shot him, I'd like to know, because I really don't think it was the police? Do you? And Rafe Morgan nearly died too, the poor bastard. So don't tell me I've got it all wrong. I think I know exactly what's going on here, and who's paying your bills.”
Cal looked gratifyingly contrite. “I didn't mean for you to get in so deep. I didn't want you involved at all when the time came, but things got a bit out of hand for a moment and I had to improvise. I'd spent weeks getting you to the point where you would do me that little favour and, even though...” He took a deep breath. “Even though I'd changed my mind and wanted to keep you out of it, that damned tagger, Dover Richards, was on my tail and there wasn't time to start over again with a different woman.”
He stood up, slowly. She could see he was being careful not to appear in any way threatening. Even so, the gap between the two sun-loungers was not big enough and she fought the urge to push him down again. “Do you mind giving me a little more space?” she said in as cold a tone as she could manage.
He didn't move. “I thought, if you'd just listen to what I have to say, we could be friends again.”
The effrontery of the man! “There was a time when being half-naked in a place like this with you would be something I'd fantasise about. Now the reality just turns my stomach.” She saw him wince and, despite all the reasons she had for trying to wound him, she still regretted it. Because you're just an appeasing wimp, she told herself. “All right then, explain yourself. Go on. I'm listening. Tell me why you're working for the mob. Tell me why you think it's OK to screw with innocent people's lives.”
He studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to give it a shot, then he said, “You can get changed in there.” He indicated the row of changing rooms along one side of the pool. “They have en suite showers if you want one. I'll meet you back here and we'll go up to the house. Then I'll explain everything.”
With a last scowl at him, she set off for the changing rooms, but stopped after a few paces. “And where's my body? You know, the one your thugs kidnapped and drugged. Where am I?”
He looked abashed. “It's in an old warehouse in Canberra.”
“What?”
“It's OK, I've got a couple of guards watching over you. I just thought it would be better to bring you to where I am.”
“You took me to Canberra?” A shocking thought occurred to her. “What day is this?”
Again, he looked uncomfortable. “It's Monday. Morning. You were out for quite a while. My, er, thugs overdid the sedatives.”
Her fists clenched and she felt her lips twitch into a snarl. She really, really wanted to hit him. “And the vote?”
“In about two hours.”
She turned away and stomped off to the changing rooms. It was a fait accomplis. There was nothing she could do now. It was all too late. Whatever was going down at the Parliament worldlet was beyond her control. Probably, it always had been. It was up to the police to do whatever they could. She saw Dover Richards in her memory, a gun at his head, looking dumbfounded and helpless, and decided that there was nothing the police could do. Nothing anybody could do now.
-oOo-
They sat together on a terrace outside the magnificent mansion. Not just its size but the elaborate detail proclaimed it to be a very expensive piece of real estate. Ginny looked across the perfect lawn, her eyes drawn by a sudden mewling sound, and saw a pair of peacocks strolling away among the shrubs. She and Cal sat in deeply-cushioned wicker armchairs among side tables and footstools. A young man in a servant's uniform approached – a construct, judging by his striking looks and physique – and asked if they'd like tea brought out. Cal nodded and the servant stepped quickly away.
Cal seemed to be waiting for the right moment to speak and not finding it, but Ginny didn't care. She was thinking about her father and mother. Since she'd stayed with them, she hadn't so much as called to see if they were OK. Her father had the loss of his job hanging over his head and her mother, she knew, would struggle to cope with his unemployment, probably doubling the burden on him in the process. And Ginny had been flitting about like a kitten, pouncing at shadows, telling herself she was saving the world, and it had all been a complete waste of energy. In the dismal anticlimax of her futile efforts, she could hardly believe what a self-aggrandizing fool she'd been.
“OK,” said Cal. “It's like this. After the war, most European economies moved towards a kind of tepid socialism.”
“What?”
“I'm explaini
ng.”
“I don't want to hear the social history of Europe. Just tell me what you've been up to.”
“I think I should set it in context.”
“Well, I don't. Just get on with it.”
He stared at her like a dog whose bone she'd taken away. “You sound like you hate me.”
“Oh, really? Now why would that be?”
He sighed. “All right. I'll start somewhere else. Fifteen years ago, I was a young Turk. I was The Man, the go-to guy if you wanted advanced IT. I was just a kid, mid-twenties, but I had a rep that was solid gold.”
She turned away and watched the peacocks. What did she care? Let him ramble.
“That was back in the UK. I was approached by some people. Important, powerful people, from the Government. They wanted to talk to me about something they called the Virtual Curtain. I'd heard rumours. Everyone in my business had heard them. It was wild, paranoid stuff that the conspiracy theory worldlets were full of, and people like me only took half-way seriously after five pints on a Friday night. These people, in their dark suits and club ties, wanted to know if I could build one for them.”
Ginny said nothing. She supposed he was waiting for her to ask him what a virtual curtain was, but she didn't care enough. After a while, he went on.
“The thing is, when QNet replaced the old Internet, a lot of things became possible that weren't possible until then. The bandwidth was way beyond anything anyone had imagined before for a start. Security was better too. And it was cheap. So cheap that it brushed aside the old technologies in just a couple of decades. It meant that everything was on QNet. Everything. There was no need for any other kind of network. Augmented reality was a natural application. Sensor strips were stuck up in every home, every street, every public and private space. Farmers put them in their fields, airports floated clouds of microdrones in the air above them, conservationists stuck them on every tree. Soon aug was an indispensable part of all our lives. If you weren't latched, you were lost, helpless, unable to function in society.
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