* * *
THE WOMAN STIRRING ON THE COUCH may have been well-groomed and professional at the start of her trip, but many hours unconscious on a mercenary ship and perhaps some minor jostling along the way had left her looking rather haggard. Ginger hair spilled out in tangles from a lopsided pearl clasp; her silken blouse was heavily wrinkled and had come partially unfastened. She appeared to have lost a shoe somewhere along the journey.
But when the woman’s eyes snapped open, any disheveled nature vanished beneath the sheer power of intellect and awareness radiating from them.
Olivia Montegreu gave the woman a polite smile. “Dr. Canivon, welcome. I apologize for any discomfort you might have experienced during your trip here. If you’re thirsty, which you must be, there’s water on the table beside you, and I’ll have some food brought up for you in a few minutes.”
Canivon watched her cautiously as she reached for the water—and halfway there her hand met the force field which would be keeping her in place.
“Ah. I did neglect to mention that detail. You understand the necessity for caution, I’m sure.” She walked over, retrieved the glass of water, and presented it to the woman. The force field did not impede her actions.
The woman took a small, careful sip and handed it back. “Who are you?”
“Interesting. Most people’s first question is, ‘Where am I?’ or occasionally, ‘Why did you kidnap me?’ ”
“I expect learning who you are will tell me where I am. And there exist only a very few, very specific reasons why anyone would kidnap me, all of which are integrally related to one another.”
“True.” Olivia positioned herself on the front edge of her desk. “My name is Olivia Montegreu. I oversee—”
“Ah. Then I am mostly likely on New Babel, unless you have a research outpost on a space station or on Argo Navis.”
She glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling windows far across the room. “But this is New Babel. You kidnapped me because you want classified details on the Alliance’s Artificials—perhaps how the military is using them in surveillance and other methods of spying? Or are you seeking a ‘consultation’ on fabricating your own Artificial? If so, there are less high-profile people able to do it for you. People who, if you paid them enough, you wouldn’t even need to kidnap.”
She was impressed, though she didn’t allow it to show in her expression. The woman’s unruffled, matter-of-fact demeanor wasn’t an act and persisted through finding herself in a notably difficult and disadvantaged situation. She was going to turn out to be worth every credit Olivia had spent to obtain her.
“How inductive, Doctor. However, I already know the various ways both the Alliance and the Federation are spying on me, and I don’t particularly care. Let them spy. As for an Artificial, you are correct—there are less high-profile people able to construct a quality one, and I have indeed paid them generously to do so. I’ve had a fully functioning, Class IV Artificial for some time now.”
Olivia regarded the woman thoughtfully. “No, Doctor, what I require is something I’m told you and you alone can do. I require you to enhance my cybernetics in a manner which will enable me to become…what is the preferred term again? I believe you call the result a ‘Prevo,’ yes?”
Canivon blinked once, the sole sign she gave of being taken aback. “A what?”
Olivia lost all pretense of politeness. “Don’t attempt to be coy, Doctor. It tries my patience. A Prevo—a human merged at a neural level with an Artificial via a neural graft and quantum I/O film. Your creation, and the weapon that won us the Metigen War.” With the help of a few well-placed assassinations.
A glint flickered across the woman’s eyes. “Oh. That.” She tucked one of many stray strands of hair behind an ear as she straightened up on the couch. “Say I agree to do this for you. Say you have all the relevant equipment and resources on-site and your Artificial passes muster and your neural imprint is compatible with its architecture. What is my incentive to do such a thing, and do it without making a tragic mistake and accidentally killing you during the procedure?”
“Well, certainly I’ll kill you if you refuse, and I suspect you are like me in that you very much want to live, and for a very long time. You want to see where this grand, ghoulish show stumbles next. Also, if I should die or suffer any traumatic damage during the procedure, my people will kill you for me.”
Canivon remained admirably unfazed. “And after the procedure? If you plan to kill me once it’s done, I’m still lacking the necessary incentive.”
“Why would I kill you? I need you alive in case of complications—or yet better, so you can invent additional improvements from which I will benefit.”
“It’s good you recognize this. Will you let me go after you’re satisfied with the results?”
Olivia sipped casually on her own drink. “We’ll see.”
“No…you’ve decided, so that means no. Do you truly expect me to agree to pursue improvements in the Prevo technology while being held prisoner?”
“What else are you going to do with your time? You’ll do it because you can’t not do it. The pursuit of understanding, and pushing the boundaries of this understanding ever further, is in your nature. It’s in your bones.”
The woman’s composure broke, in the tiniest and most telling way. She looked annoyed, or possibly offended. “Ms. Montegreu, do not imagine you know anything about me.”
A darkly malevolent smile grew on Olivia’s lips. “Oh, Dr. Canivon, but I know everything about you.”
30
SENECA
CAVARE
* * *
WHY DON’T YOU STEAL STANLEY and come with us? It can be an official Prevo mutiny.
Morgan scowled at the darkening sky. The Federation military had been quick to take advantage of the miniaturization of quantum boxes and other storage configurations, so in theory she could steal Stanley’s hardware. But the truth was Gianno and the military utilized the Artificial far more than she did. These days she mostly accessed him as a conduit to Sidespace, which didn’t exactly constitute a productive use of her time. Gianno wasn’t using her; she was using Stanley. So she could keep the Artificial.
I’m sorry, Devon. It sounds like it will be a wicked scene, but I need to fly. So it’s been real, but I’m out.
She cut the connection with a mixture of regret and relief. Devon had eventually grown on her to a tolerable level, but theirs had always been an imperfect partnership. Mia she might learn to genuinely like, but on the whole she was just…done. If the military didn’t intend to let her fly, she would have to fly without the military.
But so long as her Prevo connection to Stanley remained, they had a noose around her neck, and she’d never be free.
She took a left at the next intersection. This part of downtown was packed to the point of crowding with bars, dance clubs, edge restaurants and increasingly illicit entertainment venues. She wouldn’t say she frequented the neighborhood, but she knew her way around it.
Two more blocks and she reached Synesations. Much of what the establishment offered fell on the wrong side of legal, and the sole marker of its existence was a modest banner advertising erotic illusoires for sale.
Talk to the right person inside and be willing to pay the right price, and you could choose from an assortment of the most potent, mind-altering chimerals or the most drastic cybernetic enhancements available. Say the wrong thing and you were escorted to the door if collegial, the alley if not.
She found Fedor Evzen downstairs, holding court with a couple of stylishly dressed customers on a low, semi-circular couch. When he saw her, however, he dipped his chin in recognition and interrupted the customer who rambled on about this one Skies+ high he was trying to recreate.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me a moment. The VI can take care of anything you require while I step out.” It wasn’t a question, and he stood and motioned her down the hall.
Fedor sold illegal chimerals since there was money in it
, but his primary business was designing a variety of top-shelf cybernetic upgrades and ware enhancements. They happened to not get submitted to any safety board for review, but risk came with the underground tech/ware life.
She followed him into his personal office-turned-lab and made certain the door fully shut behind her.
“Morgan, my girl, what can I do for you this grand evening? A new sensory boost? Reflex juicer? Also, what are your eyes tricked out with and how am I not in on this?”
She’d kept the Prevo connection open because in a place such as this, her startling, mysterious irises would garner only respect. There were other reasons, too. “Military upgrade—I’m testing it for them. No, I want a routine to burn out a biosynth neural graft so it can’t receive signals from an outside source. Preferably one that won’t kill me in the process.”
“I’m going to need a few details on this receiver to engineer something so specific.”
She grimaced; realizing he was guaranteed to ask didn’t make her any more eager to answer. “You know how a remote interface connects to an Artificial? Think similar, except…more so. I want to fry the ware and any implant that enables or supports the connection.”
“What have you gotten yourself into, girl?”
“Merely doing my patriotic duty. Sorry, they’ll arrest me if I say anything else.”
He shrugged deliberately and fished one of his multitude of tools out of the cabinet. “Helps narrow the specs down, but I’ll need to take a closer look if you expect me to craft a routine which will both work and not render you brain-dead.”
Fedor was not an idiot—in fact, he was one of the smartest people she knew. He’d have some idea of what he was seeing. But what other choice did she have? Besides, if the tech leaked out…hell, maybe it was for the best. Level the playing field a bit. She faced the wall and pulled her hair over her shoulder to expose the base of her neck.
The analyzer felt cool on her skin. He worked silently, not uttering a single exclamation of surprise or disbelief while studying the readout, which he did for several minutes.
When he finally removed the tool she hesitantly turned around to find him propped against the edge of his desk staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“So that’s how they did it. This ‘new type of Artificial’ the warenuts are gossiping about isn’t an Artificial at all—it’s you. Not only you, I assume, but there can’t be many or they’d never have kept it a secret this long.”
“I can’t—”
“Confirm or deny, sure, whatever. Government-speak. I know a quantum neural bridge when I see one, and that graft is built of some insane shit. I’d call it science fiction if it wasn’t standing here right in front of me.” He shook his head as if still having difficulty accepting the reality. “Couple of thoughts. First, thanks for saving us from extinction.”
“You’re welcome.”
He laughed, but she wasn’t aware it had been a joke. “Second, why would you ever want to burn it? You’re the future, or the promise of it at a minimum. How could you turn your back on something so subversive?”
She blew out a breath. “You say that, but I’m hamstrung. As shackled as any Artificial ever was. Just because you can’t see the chains, it doesn’t mean they haven’t trapped me in a prison. I need to escape it. This is the way.”
“That, at least, I can appreciate. Lastly, I can do it—but the result will leave you with a brutal headache, and it’s going to last a couple of days and possibly weeks.”
She’d assumed as much. “I understand.”
Are we good, Stanley?
As ‘good’ as we are apt to be.
Toggling the connection off.
After a long, slow exhale, she nodded. “Let’s do it.”
31
NEW BABEL
INDEPENDENT COLONY
* * *
THE FOGGY HAZE OF NEW BABEL’S PERPETUALLY LEADEN SKIES glowed a dirty blue outside the military craft as they skimmed above the tallest buildings of the colony’s chaotic, haphazardly constructed central population center.
Their ship was equipped with the latest iteration of the Metigen-derived cloaking shield. The existence of the technology was the second-best-kept secret in the Alliance military—and, Malcolm supposed, the Federation military—the first being Noetica. For today, they retained the upper hand in infiltrations such as these, as the extensive private defenses employed by the colony as a whole and the Zelones cartel in particular could not detect the cloaking shield or the ship it hid.
This mission would have been impossible without it; they would’ve been blown apart before penetrating the atmosphere. As it was, they were going to be able to land on the street outside Zelones Headquarters.
Once they stepped out of the ship it would be a different story. Elements of the cloaking technology had been adapted for use in personal stealth shields, but the power consumption remained far too high to provide true invisibility. Still, they were a marked improvement on the previous generation of stealth shields.
“Sir, I’m detecting some unusual activity in the vicinity of the target location.”
Malcolm moved to the cockpit and stood beside the pilot. “Show me.”
The infrared-enhanced feed revealed sporadic laser fire on the street running along the left side of the mammoth, block-sized Zelones complex. A flashbang grenade briefly turned the screen gray, followed by the faint sound of screams.
“Set us down on the opposite side of the building.”
The pilot glanced up at him in question. “This isn’t a surprising development to you, sir?”
“No. Once we’re inside, lift off and hover at eight hundred meters so you don’t get caught by any stray shots. We’ll signal when we’re ready for a pickup.”
“Yes, sir.”
Malcolm clapped the pilot on the shoulder then retreated to the hold where his team was doing final equipment checks. They’d worked together for almost four months now and had formed into a tight, cohesive unit. He’d tried to recruit Captain Brooklyn Harper for the team during its formation, but it turned out she’d resigned from the military two weeks after the end of the Metigen War. Given what she’d experienced on board the Akagi, he couldn’t rightly fault her decision, but it was a loss for the Marines and his team.
He trusted his people, and as a result had briefed them on ninety-nine percent of the details of the mission. It hadn’t come as a surprise to any of them that Olivia Montegreu was KOS or that destroying her Artificial was a secondary goal—why wouldn’t it be? The specific reason the woman had abducted Dr. Canivon, and the extent of her intentions, would not affect their actions or decisions inside and were thus irrelevant.
“It looks as though the diversion we were promised is in full swing. We stay sharp and it will act to our benefit, but get sloppy and we’ll end up caught in the crossfire. With any luck, defensive measures will be concentrated on the opposite wing of the complex but don’t take any chances. And since the creators of the diversion are also wanted on suspicion of terrorist activity, our default position is any and all persons encountered while inside, with the sole exception of Dr. Abigail Canivon, are considered hostiles.” This was a Level IV Priority mission, which meant lethal force was authorized carte blanche.
The floor settled beneath them, signaling their arrival. “Report.”
“Weapons Green.”
“Systems Green.”
“Tech Green.”
He opened the airlock. “Move out.”
They departed the ship in four rows of three, then spread into a staggered formation. The dark side street was lit to artificial daylight via the near infrared night vision mode in his ocular implant. It never failed to leave him feeling exposed, but he ignored the sensation to motion the two Marines handling recon ahead and move to the wall.
Their way in was an employee entrance at the rear corner. The door’s security was expected to be high, but not so much so their brute-force hacking override war
e couldn’t break it—another of many ancillary proceeds from Noetica. Seven months was a lot of cycles for human-enhanced Artificials to spend thinking up new technological wonders.
The muffled echo of another flashbang in the distance sounded as they skirted the exterior wall. By the time they reached the door the ware had done its job, and they wasted no time in breaching the entrance.
The last man in closed it behind him, and the street outside returned to normal, all evidence of their infiltration erased. He confirmed their ship departed as Captain Paredes, their tech specialist, broke the encryption on two additional security doors. Then they were inside the compound.
Sirens blared on multiple bandwidths, and warning lights added to the cacophony of generalized fanfare indicating the facility was under attack. Not under attack by them, though it was that as well, but rather by a group of OTS terrorists sent here for the same reason as them: to prevent Olivia Montegreu from becoming a Prevo.
OTS would not succeed; even at their strongest they couldn’t match the extent and sophistication of Zelones’ security. The fact they were trying anyway was only evidence of the strength of their beliefs—or the depth of their delusions.
Malcolm nodded at Grenier, and the Major launched a device onto the ceiling—the first of twenty remote detonation micro-bombs they intended to place during their traversal of the facility. His plan was to successfully secure Dr. Canivon and see her and his team safely back to the ship, then bring the building down on top of the Zelones Artificial and Olivia Montegreu, regardless of whether they were now one and the same.
If he succeeded in pulling that off, it would be a good day indeed.
The lab where intel suggested the Artificial was housed and the adjacent clinic where any medical procedure was likely to be performed were three levels below ground and toward the center of the structure. They met their first resistance twenty meters from the lift in the form of automated ceiling turrets.
He motioned the others back and activated his AAF gun. It extended around the corner, creating a dead energy zone around itself, then shot precision EMPs into the two turrets in rapid succession. He cleared the corner, only to drop to a knee and fire as two men charged the hallway from the other end. His shot kneecapped the one on the left as a shot from behind him eliminated the one on the right.
Sidespace Page 24
