by Stephen Deas
I do some checking of my own. Story goes that every time the Brotherhood turned him on, Ortov turned himself right back off again until they figured a way to stop him. They tried to fix him but it didn’t work. I guess, given the problems the AI sorcerers have even now getting the damn things to stay sane, I shouldn’t be surprised. So they’ve got a barking mad Ortov carefully bottled up, only somehow he gets out, gets control of the ship he’s trapped aboard, turns off life support and spins a warp straight into the heart of a star. End of Leonard Ortov and everyone aboard. That’s the story, and whatever the truth really is, Ortov’s never been seen or heard of since.
Until now. Leaves me wondering how many others are out there. Does every Bratstva sanctuary have one, encased in impure silicon, praying for the world to end?
But that’s not the only story in my little box. There’s bits of Melissa in there too. Pretty dumbass keeping them together if you ask me, but there you go. I sift through it anyway. It’s not like I got anything else. Way it goes seems like someone approaches Melissa, tells her about Ortov, says he’s still alive, says there are copies hidden away in the Bratstva’s network while they try to figure a way to revive him and make him sane again. No names, of course. No one to hunt down and put a gun to their head and scream‘who the fuck set me up?!’ I know these people, though. People like me. Fucking go-betweens. Whoever came up with this, I get the sense that Melissa worked for them before, so that’s where I’m going to start…
She’s game for a run. Next step she gets a box. This box, only back then it’s empty apart from a smug monkey offering up interactive instructions. The monkey’s still there. It’s not even encrypted for fuck’s sake. I mean sure, it doesn’t want to talk to anyone who isn’t Melissa, but it takes all of like ten nanoseconds for Ortov to spoof it into thinking that’s who we are and that it’s a month ago and that we’re talking for the first time. Why the fuck didn’t it delete itself?
I run through it with the monkey. Melissa’s instructions are precise. They tell her exactly where to go– Szenchzuen– and when to launch her attack. They tell her it will coincide with a Rim attack on the new Stars orbitals. Three weeks before it happened, and someone’s figured out the exact day the Rim are coming back, and you gotta wonder how anyone can know that sort of shit. But it gets better. See, she knows we’re going to be there. The monkey tells her that too. Three weeks early, while we’re still on New Amazonia being put back together, and she knows the exact day we’re going to be heading out on a cheese run. She knows our names. She knows our room number. She knows the keys to the firewalls that GZW have around the place and she has a cracker for the one Mr Cray put up about three seconds after we arrived. All of this before we ever even heard of the fucking place. It doesn’t take too much to figure that whoever set this up, they must have set up that shuttle too. Whoever this fucker is, he played us all, and as for the resource that’s behind all this… Sweet fucking Jesus, I don’t even think the Company could pull this sort of shit.
So Melissa’s got a decoy team. Way to go. Still, at best that’s half a day to get into the Brotherhood’s network, find Ortov, steal him and get out again. No way she can do it on her own– even I know that. She blew off a trace from the Cray so we know she’s hot stuff, and yeah, maybe she could get into their net without having her brain fried. But simply finding the Ortov recording should have taken weeks. She knows it too.
But the monkey has all the answers, smug and reeking of AI. I run through it, put myself in her shoes, ask every question I can think of– how am I covered, what intel do I have, how the fuck do I get out without having Bratstva on every street corner for the rest of my life. By the time I’m done with it, I know exactly how it was supposed to happen– or at least, I know how she was supposed to think it would happen– and I know how it really went down. The only thing I don’t know is who did it. But by God it’s beautiful. A real work of art.
Melissa thinks she snatched Ortov, but she didn’t. Another runner somewhere else did the real work– one who already knew exactly where to find him. Inside job for sure. All Melissa had to do was make a noise, be a distraction, hold a few doors open and above all make sure the Bratstva traced it back to Szenchzuen. She’s told to expect the Rim attack and that it’ll mean days before any Brothers can get to the scene– time enough to be long gone. And if the unexpected happens and the Bratstva respond too quickly then there’ll be the three of us doing a little favour for GZW who don’t have the first idea what’s going down around them, and it’s pretty clear that if she wants a long life then she makes damn sure it looks like we’re the ones who did it. So the way she’s told it’s going to go down, the Bratstva go after us, GZW are implicated for a bit of extra fun, and by the time anyone realises what actually happened, her trail’s colder than vacuum.
By the time I’m done, I’m cold as ice. I remember her straddling me as we fuck, raking my hands through her hair, cupping her breasts and her arse. I still have marks. She fucked me like a lion and all that time she knew she was killing us.
But in the end I figure the joke’s on her. The Bratstva are there waiting for her because whoever set this up set her up as well. Fuck knows why. Covering the real hacker, maybe? But that doesn’t cut it either, else why is this monkey still in the box, giving away all its shit, giving all its secrets? Why wasn’t it erased the minute she read it? Even if Melissa was too stupid to think of it the damn thing should have done it itself. I know. I’ve had these things before. They always self-destruct. Always.
Only way I can see how it was meant to play is that Melissa is supposed to get caught, the Bratstva are supposed to get hold of the box, they’re supposed to look inside and see everything I’m seeing, monkey and all, they make the same conclusions and from that they out figure something else that I don’t see. Maybe there’s something they can put together with this that gives an answer…
Holy fucking shit. Chills again as I see what this is. The Bratstva are a loaded gun just waiting to go off. Always. The Ortov box is supposed to do two things all at once. Make them really, really, really angry and at the same put a huge fucking target onto someone’s back…
Someone’s trying to start a war.
Except it’s fucked. Melissa gives the Bratstva the slip on Szenchzuen, dumps them on us like she’s supposed to, only one of us doesn’t die and takes out the two Brothers following her at K’Tial. She maybe thinks she’s safe, but she isn’t because they’re always supposed to find her, and so they do, two of them bursting into her room on Gateway. She shoots one, the other shoots her, the second Bratstva plugs himself in and Ortov fries his brain, and that’s where I bugger a near perfect plan. The Bratstva don’t have the box. Without the box they don’t know who to be mad at. No box, no war.
Good. Whoever you are, I’m totally pleased to fuck you up. And now what I’m going to do is figure out who this is supposed to hurt, and then I’m going figure who stands to gain, and then I’m going to know who you are, who set us up. And then I’m going to kill you, motherfucker. Lots.
The monkey tells me what Melissa was supposed to do with Ortov once she’d got him, not that I believe much of it since she was never supposed to get away. There’s a key to a locker here on Cestus. She swaps the box for the shitload of untagged credit waiting for her there and walks away. Everybody gets to be happy except for the three schmucks carrying the can in Szenchzuen. And no one knows who did what for whom or why. Least, that’s how she’s supposed to see it play.
I go out and find myself a petty thief. I follow him around until I see his pattern. I plant the key on his next mark and let him steal it and watch. The locker’s empty. A few days later and the thief disappears. Another few days and the mark’s gone too. No surprise, but something doesn’t feel right. Why hide the key inside the box? OK, maybe that’s only weird. And sure, there wasn’t any money in the locker like there should be because Melissa was never meant to get this far– that’s not part of the plan. But the locker bothers
me still, just being here on Cestus.
Ortov in the box has no answers. After the first couple of weeks I let him back into my head again– it’s easier that way. Can’t say I like the guy, but you got to admire what he did once. Takes a real gift to live so well and for so long off the backs of the gullible and the stupid like that; and besides, it’s kinda nice to have someone new to talk to. Trouble with my lifestyle is there’s no space for anyone who isn’t doing the same shit. And anyone who is– well, mostly they’re arseholes, and even when they’re not, chances are they’re only pretending so they can shoot you in the back one day. I’m not used to this kind of company, this kind of conversation. I wonder maybe if I hadn’t been here for those first few days then he’d have gone mad just like all the other Ortovs. But after a while he settles, spends much of his time out spread across the net, fragments of consciousness flitting from one host to another. Stabilising. Got a purpose, and, for want of anything better to do, I talk to him. Maybe if I can help put this Ortov in a body again, if there’s a way to do it, maybe he’ll be grateful and I’ll get rich after all.
Or maybe I’ll just sell him one day. As it is we start trawling through archives, subscribing to journals, anything about cloning and AIs, looking for ways to grow a new coat of flesh and put him back inside. Trying to find out if it’s even possible.
I dream of Melissa at night. Sometimes I miss her, sometimes I’m glad she’s dead. Sometimes I hear echoes of her in Ortov’s voice. And sometimes I wonder if, perhaps, a part of her is inside there with him. It’s obvious that she was a decoy. Whoever really snatched Ortov surely downloaded him into another wafer somewhere else and left Melissa to hang. Arranged for us to get in the way to make it look better. That’s what I’m worth, what Jester and Mr Cray were worth. Decoys for a fucking decoy.
I’m going to find out who did this. I’m going to watch them burn.
Shit like this takes serious resource. The list of suspects I can put together looks pretty short. Could be the Company maybe– easy for them to set us up to be on Szenchzuen, they could maybe predict the Rim attack, we’ve all worked for them before, and God knows, the file Melissa’s got on me is so fucking comprehensive that it looks like it came straight out of the Analysis division archives. But something about the way it’s set up is shouting AI at me. All very careful and very complicated. And AI means Gemini, but then why the fuck call me on that damn shuttle out of Szenchzuen?
And then there’s the bit that doesn’t add up– the locker and the fact that I’m still alive. The Company doesn’t leave loose ends like that. Neither does Gemini. Not unless it wants them for something else.
Baxter, H. & Molotov, K. ‘Influencing Foetal Growth using Cytoplasmic RER.’ Lifesciences, 201, 23-37 (2325).
Not about growth acceleration at all – must refine my search parameters. Read it anyway. These guys are real sick puppies. Can you believe this? They inject some kind of synthetic shit into developing foetuses to make them mutate. And we’re not talking changing your eye colour here– two heads, hands instead of feet, dicks instead of heads. Jesus; modern day Frankensteins or what? Some of the foetuses they used were human too.
I got to thinking – I mean, if there was a way of writing your brain into one body, you could write it into lots, right? You could switch out of one and into another, just like you change your shoes.
Twelve – Jezebel
A starless night in an open field. Hushed voices. ‘Someone’s found out about you.’ ‘I guessed from the way my flat turned into a pile of rubble while my back was turned. Along with the rest of the street. Who did it?’ I figure it has to be someone who knows I’ve been playing both ends. Funny how choices can sometimes be so easy to make and so hard to take back.
‘It’s coming from inside the Company. Someone’s been through my files on you.’
‘How long before they realise they vaped the wrong guy?’
‘A day, maybe. I’ll do what I can.’
I shrug. May as well make the most of it.‘That’s it then. The deal’s off. You find someone else to arrange your dirty work. If you need me, I’ll be the one on the news, running through hoops and dodging the bullets.’
Jez slides herself against me.‘I don’t think so. You still owe me. But maybe we can cut a different deal.’
My own words used against me. I don’t think I’m going to like this.‘What? Because it looks to me like I’m too fucked to be doing anything but run.’
‘This one’s big. Victor Longthorne. He seems to have been… misplaced. We need a negotiator, an independent one. Fuck knows what you’ll be up against, but hey, it’s what you do, right? And I guarantee no one in the Company will dare mess with you while you’re handling that. Way too sensitive. It’ll buy us some time.’
‘Who’s Victor Longthorne?’
‘Shit, C, he only owns most of the planet.’
There. That’s how this whole fucking mess got started. I should have learned from films and books and shit like that.‘This one’s big,’ ‘This is the big one,’ – kids, those words are your cue to run the fuck away. They mean that your life is about to be hosed with endless excrement. Ever since I took that job the shit just keeps getting deeper.
There’s a knock on the door. I check the cameras. Nothing unusual on the street, just an old bike, a short man in leathers and a lid on the doorstep. He’s clutching a Raphael’s pizza delivery box. Call me oldfashioned, but at Raphael’s they still do it by hand. You pay for it, of course, but I’m looking forward to this. Full-on Meatfest. Been waiting for one of these for weeks. But shit, it’s probably on record somewhere as my favourite fast food so I’ve been ordering randomly ever since we got here. Random suppliers, random orders; you got to be careful, you never know who’s looking. After the business with the locker I’d feel a bit stupid if the Bratstva traced me through my choice of pizza.
This is what I’m thinking as I open the door, and why I’m not expecting to have a gun shoved in my face.
Jezebel. Fucksticks. I guess even the randomness has a suspicion to it. I back off from the gun, and Jez comes after me, closes the door. I remember how she looked the first time she held a gun to my head. Something’s changed since then. This time I start to think she might use it.
‘Sit!’ she hisses.
I sit.
‘Talk!’
I sigh. I can tell this is going to be one of those conversations.‘About what, Jez? What do you want? New Amazonia? Szenchzuen? Gateway?’
‘The whole fucking shit of it, but you can start with the Brotherhood.’
OK, that’s a bit of a surprise.‘What do you care about them for?’
‘You little shit! Whatever you pulled on Szenchzuen, the Brotherhood are pissed as fuck about it. They know you did it, and they think you did it for us. They’re all through the United Stars, baying for our blood. You not been watching the news? We might have a fucking war on our hands if we’re not careful. You got five minutes to tell me what you did. If I don’t like it then you’re for the wolves.’
I wonder how much of this Ortov can see. Mr Cray had the place wired pretty well. I’m betting on most of it. I shrug.‘What’s to tell?’ Rage flares in her eyes. I raise my hands. ‘Alright! I’ll tell you what I know. But don’t blame me if that’s not all that much.’
I tell her everything about GZW, about the Shithole. I even tell her about Melissa. A tiny twinge of malice makes me tell her more than she really wanted to know about that, about the sex and how Melissa had a knack for taking things right up to the edge and holding them just so, perfectly balanced, not falling one way or the other for what seemed like an age… God, I loved her for that. Not so much love for the fucking us over that came after though. I tell Jez about finding the Bratstva in our room, the bombings, running to K’Tial. She asks questions and she believes me. Which is good. I’m kinda hoping to keep Ortov as my little secret.
‘You can check most of it with Gateway security. I tracked the hacker down, but the Brat
stva had got there first. She shot one, the second shot her and I’ve no idea what killed him, but he was plugged into the station computer—’
Jezebel’s grip on the gun tightens.‘He wasn’t plugged into anything when he was found. And I know about the phone call you made up there. You were talking to someone about a box. I want to know everything about it. Jesus, Constantine, what sort of idiot do you take me for? I’ve been watching you here for weeks– you think I didn’t know the moment you showed up? You eat for one but someone here’s riding the net every hour of the day. Don’t you ever sleep? You’ve been trawling articles on cloning and AIs. Why?’
She’s telling me I need a better story, fast, and I don’t have one except for the truth. I slide back into my chair and stare at the ceiling. So much for pretending that Ortov doesn’t exist. Looks like the only thing I can keep to myself is the call from Gemini. That and the fact that I’ve been selling Jez and the Company out for the last three years. Yeah, let’s hope I can keep quiet about that one for now. So I tell her about Ortov, about what Melissa was really doing on Szenchzuen, how I think she was set up too.‘She got him. It was him I was talking to. It’s him you’re seeing in the net. He fried the second Bratstva and he tried to fry me. Don’t know how.’ I tap the side of my head.‘Good webs. I brought him down here. Didn’t know what else to do with him. And why the fuck are you bothering to ask if you know it all already?’
She puts the gun down.‘I’ve got a job for the two of you, that’s why. Like it or not.’
‘Yeah? We had a deal, Jez. Victor was the last. Network SixtyNine was an exception. I needed the money. Which brings me to—’
She holds up her hands and looks like she’s going to puke if I even think about whining about money again.‘I’ve already paid Network SixtyNine into your account. No one cares about that any more. We’ve got bigger problems now and so have you—’
