by Neal Asher
"It's matching speed. Looks like it's—"
Colored lights flashed in the cabin. Heineman flinched and drew back; Lanier closed his eyes and batted out with his hands. "What was that?" Carrolson called from the rear. Red and green translucent objects danced again before Lanier. He reached out to touch one, but it was insubstantial.
"They're symbols or something," Heinernan said. "You see them?"
"I see them," Lanier said. "I don't know what they are, or where they're coming from."
The radio hissed again. "Please state your identity and reason for approaching the Axis City shield."
Lanier took the mike from Heineman. "I'm Garry Lanier." That'll clue them, he thought ruefully. "We're exploring. If there are problems—"
"Do you wish an advocate?"
"I'm sorry—what?"
"You will be assigned an advocate immediately. Are you a corporeal human claiming the appropriate rights in the Hexamon Court?"
"Say yes," Carrolson advised.
"Yes."
"You will now be removed from the flaw and escorted to Axis Nader."
The machine ran one arm down the underside of the tuberider. Flying sparks obscured the windscreen; the V/STOL rolled and vibrated. Gas hissed against the fuselage and alarms went off in the cockpit; there was a wrenching sound, and with a jerk, they floated free.
The tuberider had been cut from the singularity and cast adrift. The V/STOL had then been removed from the tuberider.
Heineman peered up at the bright red line and the dark machine, which still clung to the stern of the mangled and useless tuberider. "It's pulled us out of the mounting," he said, voice thick with anger. The aircraft had drifted thirty or thirty-five meters. "I'm going back to check integrity."
Lanier pulled himself into the copilot's seat. He methodically strapped himself in and tried to control his breathing. Just like ditching, he thought. No worse, perhaps better—
"I don't hear any leaks, but I'd still rather be down in an atmosphere," Heineman called from the cabin.
The machine abandoned the tuberider and spread its grapples wide as it drifted toward the V/STOL. Heineman came forward again, brushing between Carrolson and Farley.
"Shit," he said. It was the first time Lanier had ever heard him swear.
The machine's bulk obscured the windscreen and the plane twisted. Floating in the cockpit hatchway, Heineman did not roll with the craft. Lanier rotated around the startled engineer, then reversed. "Hang on before the next one," he shouted. Heineman grabbed for the pilot's seat with one hand. The airplane spun around again and, like a martial arts master, used Heineman's own mass to dislocate his shoulder.
The engineer screamed and let go, now rolling in the opposite direction of the cabin. Lanier watched helplessly, waiting for the motion to stop. When the lull stretched out to four seconds, he unbuckled and held Heineman around the waist, pushing him gently toward the rear. The engineer's face was a mask of pain; he opened his eyes wide like a child cruelly injured by a friend.
Carrolson and Farley had sustained bruises but no worse before grabbing handgrips. Farley held Heineman's head and Carrolson took his kicking feet while Lanier inspected the arm.
"Son of a bitch!" Heineman howled. "Leave it alone."
"The longer it's out, the longer it'll hurt," Lanier said. "I don't think anything's torn. Jesus, how do I reset in zero-g?"
"Here, brace your foot in one of these stanchions and we'll grab his torso," Carrolson said. Heineman squirmed, wild-eyed. His short hair stuck out in all directions. Lanier hitched one foot under a rung and pressed the other against Heineman's ribs. Carrolson and Farley tightened their hold on the engineer.
"Let me go," Heineman said weakly, his face slick with sweat and tears.
Lanier grabbed one arm and forearm and pulled, braced and twisted all at once. Heineman screamed again and rolled his eyes until only whites showed. There was a satisfying billiardball snick, and the arm was back in place. His head rolled limply and his mouth gaped. He had passed out.
"He'll never forgive us now," Carolson said.
"Wrap the shoulder in a cold compress," Lanier instructed. He pushed his face against the side port again. The machine obscured the windscreen.
"Do not attempt to accelerate," the radio voice advised again. "Do not activate your drives. You are being taken to Axis Nader."
Farley helped Heineman into a seat. He lolled his head back to look at Carrolson, his face pasty. Carrolson inspected his eyes, prying the lids open with two fingers. "Shock," she said. She opened the first-aid pack and took out a prepackaged syringe, injecting it into his uninjured arm.
Lanier sat in the cockpit and tried to get whatever information he could from the instruments. The V/STOL was moving rapidly; that much and little else was apparent.
Olmy entered the flaw monitor room, picting his Presidential access pass at the corporeal guard. The room was a high, oval chamber filled with out-of-focus information picts directed at two neomorphs on monitors duty. He floated to their position and was surrounded by detailed readouts on the destroyed and drifting tuberider and the airplane, now in control of a flaw maintenance vehicle. "This is a security operation, by extended order of the President," Olmy picted at the senior neomorph.
"I cannot accept that," the neomorph replied. "This is a serious breach and must be reported to the courts at once. They will be assigned an advocate—"
"They already have an advocate. You must accept a direct order from a representative of the President," Olmy said. The neomorph—shaped like an egg, with traction field grappling arms extended to each side and a human face on the forward, large end of the egg—surrounded itself with a picted white circle, signaling compliance under duress. But that was not enough for Olmy.
"By order of the President of the Infinite Hexamon Nexus, authority of the Presiding Minister, you are removed from this duty," he said. The neomorph protested furiously in garbled sound and red-shifted picts as it exited the chamber.
Olmy took the position, exchanging glances with the remaining neomorph. "This will not reach the court," he stated.
"It has already been relayed," the second neomorph said. Olmy telepicted a message to Suli Ram Kikura's office in Central City. A stylized personal emblem appeared before him. "Ser Ram Kikura is not available at the present. This is one of her partials. May I help?"
"This is an emergency. We have more guests. They are in violation of Hexamon law, and their case needs to be suppressed in court immediately, authority of the Presiding Minister." He picted the code authority.
"Received," the partial said. Then, in a completely lifelike image, the partial shook his head. "Really, Olmy, you bring us so much trouble." The partial signed off, and Olmy opened another channel to Axis Nader, requesting that the Frant escort Patricia from her quarters to the inspection hangar. He ordered the clearing of all passageways between. That would arouse some suspicion and resentment, but he could see no way around it. "And we'll need more quarters space." The Frant also took his coded authority and signed off.
Olmy then turned his full attention to the flaw maintenance device and the aircraft. "They are uninjured?" he inquired, his picts demandingly purple-tinted.
"They have not been harmed by this station," the neomorph answered, appearing alarmed.
"You realize the secrecy of this operation?" he asked. It assented in the meekest shade of green. "Good. Then direct your vehicle and the violators to the inspection hangar."
Olmy pushed himself from the station and the chamber and found the quickest shaft to Axis Nader.
"How many individuals are there within your craft?" the voice asked.
"Four," Lanier said. "One injured."
"They are all corporeal humans?"
"We're all humans. What are you?"
"You are now in a reception area for illegal vehicles. Do not attempt escape; the area is sealed."
The machine removed its grapples and lifted away from the aircraft. Lanier saw they
were in a broad, uncluttered hangar-like enclosure, the walls smooth black and gray. Slender silver cables coiled before the cockpit windscreen. The plane hung from cables attached to a pale silver torus suspended below the hangar ceiling. Three large metallic gray mechanical workers surrounded the aircraft, pushing it along. They moved on four delicate jointed legs, their bulky bodies divided into hemispheres connected by a narrow flexible casing.
There was no sign of human life in the hangar. At two points, elliptical portals about four meters wide opened in the walls, but they gave no clue as to who was preparing to greet them.
"Will you address the person who has tentatively confirmed your identity?" the voice asked, still as pleasant and melodic as ever.
"Who is it? I mean, who identified us?"
The next voice was instantly recognizable. "Garry, it's Patricia. There are four of you? Who are they?"
"That's her—we've found her," Lanier said. "Or she's found us."
"I thought someone would come after me—it's just like I said. They're my friends." Patricia leaned forward, hoping to receive the picted images more clearly. She had spotted Lanier inside the cockpit. "They must all be terrified." She watched the black flaw patrol machine rise into its cavity above and behind the aircraft.
"They could be in serious trouble with the city authorities," Olmy said. "I'm trying to get the case cleared and suppressed, but I can't guarantee anything."
"They've come looking for me," she said. "You can't blame them for that."
"They rode the axial flaw, and that's strictly forbidden."
"Yes, but how could they know?"
Olmy didn't answer. "I know who they are," he said. "Your boss Lanier, the scientist Carrolson, the Chinese Caucasian
called Farley, and the engineer, Heineman."
"You recognize them? You kept track of all of us, didn't you?"
The mechanical workers pushed and guided the aircraft into a dilated entrance to a side chamber. The iris closed behind the plane and the hangar lights darkened.
Patricia stepped out of the chamber and took Olmy's proffered hand. He led her to the inspection hangar lock.
Suli Ram Kikura entered the chamber. She had not yet met Patricia, but she had become fully acquainted with her. The advocate picted a brief conversation with Olmy. Patricia was not in line to pick up the exchanged visual symbols—not that she could have understood many of them, anyway—but she could get the gist from the woman's attitude. The woman was a corporeal advocate. She was taking Olmy's deposition and relaying it to the pre-trial court.
The V/STOL hatch opened. A worker settled on its jointed haunches a few yards away, sensors fully extended to record the disembarking of the passengers.
History, Patricia thought. We're all history here.
Lanier came out first. Patricia restrained an urge to wave to him; instead, she lifted up on tiptoes and nodded. He returned the nod and descended the hatch steps. Farley came next. Carrolson waited in the doorway. Lanier pointed back into the cabin and said loudly, "We have an injured man inside. He may need assistance."
Olmy and the woman conferred again and the woman touched her silver torque. As she did so, she glanced at Patricia and smiled. Her pictor projected an American flag above her left shoulder; she had American ancestors and was proud of it.
"What do we do?" Carrolson asked. "Leave him there?"
"Tell your friends a medical worker is coming," Olmy said in an undertone.
"He'll be okay. Help is coming," Patricia said. Lanier tried to approach but was blocked by a worker.
"Let him pass!" Patricia pleaded. "Olmy, what harm can they do?"
"They're in quarantine," Olmy said, pointing to the glowing red line surrounding the V/STOL at chest level.
Patricia turned to Lanier, holding up one hand. "They're not going to hurt you. Everything's okay. Just wait a moment."
"It's good to see you," Lanier said, keeping an eye on the scuttling workers. "We had no idea we'd ever find you."
Patricia swallowed back a lump in her throat. She turned to Olmy. "We have to stay together," she told him. "We have to help each other."
Olmy smiled at her, but that didn't mean assent; he picted with the woman again and she touched her necklace once more.
"A decision is being made now," he said.
"Whether they're criminals or guests?" Patricia asked.
"Oh, they will be guests," the woman said in perfect English.
"They will be sampled now," Olmy said. "Perhaps it would be best if you told them."
"Garry," Patricia said, "they're really interested in our skin cultures. One of the workers the machines is going to approach you and collect skin scrapings. It doesn't hurt. And the cabin's waste tank—they'll want that, too."
"Here's the medical team," Olmy said. He would have to contact everyone involved later and have them swear out statements of secrecy. Two more corporeal citizens and a smaller worker entered the chamber and approached the red line. As they passed through, red chevrons appeared over their shoulders; they were now in quarantine also.
Lanier, Carrolson and Farley allowed the medical worker to pull back the sleeves of their jumpsuits and take samples. The worker then withdrew, touching the red line. It was instantly surrounded by a lovely lilac glow; when the glow dissipated, the worker crossed the line and came to a halt.
The medical team—all homorph: entered the aircraft hatch. A few minutes later, Heineman walked out on his own power between them. The lead homorph picted a message to Olmy.
"He was in pain but not seriously injured," Olmy told Patricia. "They have relieved his pain but have not yet given him healers."
"Virgin specimens, like me, right?" Patricia asked. Olmy agreed and walked with her to the line.
It vanished as they approached. "Quarantine is over," the lead medical homorph stated. He picted a few simplicities at Patricia and she acknowledged the politeness. Then she rushed forward and hugged Lanier, Carrolson and Farley, lingering with each. When Heineman's turn came, she hugged him more gingerly.
"Don't spare me—I feel pretty good," he told her. "Where in hell are we?"
"I'm receiving a judgment," said the advocate, still flying the American flag on her shoulder. She approached the group with hands extended.
"She has an implant, they all do," Patricia explained to Lanier, touching her head. "She's listening to the court decision now."
"The case is cleared from all pre-trial court records, and negated by circumstance," the woman announced. "You are all guests of the Axis Nader." With a meaningful glance at Olmy, Ram Kikura added, "By authority of the Presiding Minister."
*43*
Vielgorsky stood in front of the black panel which marked the entrance of the third chamber library. Across the plaza,
almost shadowless in the tubelight, Belozersky and Yazykov walked cautiously toward him. Behind them followed two squads of SSTs, their rifles unslung.
Mirsky and Pogodin watched from the abandoned NATO security post, a small room in the overhang equipped with a video monitor. Mirsky toyed with the loud-hailer switches.
Pogodin looked at him. "We're taking a chance now," he said.
"I know."
Pogodin turned back to the screen. Mirsky aimed the American listening device at them and increased the volume.
"We won't need more soldiers," Vielgorsky said. "I have already sent Mirsky and Pogodin to the fourth chamber for detention."
"He seems to be cooperating," Pogodin said quietly.
Mirsky nodded. There was indeed a risk here; it had become apparent to him in the past couple of days that without Vielgorsky, he could not rule; he had neither the experience nor the inclination to engage in political intrigue and survive for long. Vielgorsky was the best of the political officers. If he and Mirsky could not work together, then no cooperation was possible. Mirsky doubted that he could kill all of them, which was the alternative. It would be better for him to turn himself over to the Americans or became lost
in the cities and fend for himself.
"I think it is time you see what we fought for, and learn how to use it," Vielgorsky said.
"I have no desire to imitate Mirsky," Belozersky said. "I do not care for that place."
"Comrade," Vielgorsky said patiently, "knowledge is power. Do you want to be more ignorant than the rest? I have been in there, and I am still Vielgorsky, still Party Secretary."
"Yes..." Yazykov said. "It doesn't frighten me."
