by Stephen Deas
‘Secret place, my man. Place for hiding people who don’t want no visitations, you catch my direction?’
‘Crystal.’ Yeah, or a place for dumping people into space. There’s a little light here now and my eyes are starting to get used to it. I begin to see a figure floating a few feet away. Then the hole shuts. Utter darkness. Shit.
‘Constantine!’ comes a distant cry. I grit my teeth.
‘Jezebel! Follow my voice. If you can manage that.’
‘Don’ you worry, my man,’ says Jones behind me.‘We gonna look after your woman good. She’s safe with us. But we don’t have business with her. Just with you. So down the hole!’
I sigh.‘Be easy, sex-kitten,’ I shout.‘Just let these men look after you until I’m back and I’ll buy you an ice cream.’ Nothing like a bit of petty revenge to clear the mind. I climb into the hole.
‘Snookums!’ The word drifts after me, muffled and faint.
I feel a presence behind me, following me through the shaft. Jones, still with me. We reach the end and Jones drifts smoothly behind as I bounce and rattle off the walls. Beyond is an open space. Dark again, but there are people here, ahead of me. I can smell them. I turn the filters in my ears up high. Breathing. Heartbeats. One, two, three… five of them. No, four. One is Jones behind me. We’re in a small room. I listen carefully, trying to find which way is up, but there’s no up here, and the breathing comes from everywhere.
‘Turn the lights on, guys.’ I put on my sunglasses because I think I know what’s coming and yes, a moment later, spotlights. Three of them in my face. I smile– these shades are designed for anything up to a nuke. They have no problem with this. I don’t even have to squint. Amateur muppets, this lot. Mostly I find that reassuring.
I tell the nausea to fuck off for a bit and concentrate on making an entrance, drifting out of the hole, arms folded, spinning slowly as I can, letting my coat billow around me like a cloak, but most likely I look like an uncoordinated dick.‘Ladies. Gentlemen. What can I do for you?’
The one who calls herself Jones scoots past my head and settles on the far side of the room. She gives me a nod.‘You used to fix things for some very bad people. Heard you maybe don’t fix things for them anymore. Heard maybe you and they had a bit of a falling out.’
I hear a grille sliding shut in the distance behind me. I twist, bunch up, take the gentle impact with the floor through my knees and come to enough of a halt that we can have a conversation without me ricocheting around the place like a fucking pinball. I give Jones my best smile.‘Yeah? And where did you hear that?’
‘The walls, man, the walls speak to me.’
‘Jonesy has a mystical thing going with the spirits of all these dead spaceships. They talk to her in her sleep,’ says a short fat man. He’s balding, has squinty little eyes and more chins than arms. Everything speaks of a life spent in an armchair. A victim of VR addiction for sure.
‘Me and some people, we have a bit of a history for various reasons that are fuck-all concern to anyone else. Could say that about all sorts of people. Days go by, things go well or not so well. Some friendships grow warmer, other get kinda frigid. That’s me, who I am and where I’m at and all you get. So who are you and what the fuck makes any of this your business?’
The fat man smiles.‘Who do you think we are?’
I snort.‘Number one guess says you’re working for the Company– but no, wait, they sometimes have a clue, and since you clearly don’t that can’t be it. So number two guess says you’re the ones who’ve been popping Cestus shuttles recently. Am I right? And if I am, what the fuck are you doing making contact with someone like me?’ Apart from exactly what I expected.‘Place like this, you could be anyone and so could I.’ A stray thought crosses my mind. You could be Bratstva.
‘You want a quiet exit from this place. We’re in a position to get you out of here without anyone else knowing about it,’ says the fat man.
I give him my best sneer.‘You think I couldn’t do that on my own?’
He smiles.‘Not at all. But it’s quicker for us to come to you than for us to wait while you find us.’
‘This is getting boring.’ I’m slowly spinning and it’s making me feel ill again.‘Get to the point. I want a discreet exit. What do you want in return?’
‘We want to know what you’re doing here,’ says a third voice. A young woman, white and scrawny. Trace of a Stars accent.
‘We can help you away if you help us first,’ says the fat man.‘We want information. About the Longthornes.’ I see both Jones and the scrawny woman frown at this. Like he’s given something away.
‘The Longthornes and the Cestus government sleep in the same bed,’ says the fourth man. His face is hidden behind a veil of translucent black cloth. I give him a cautious nod.
‘Yeah, big news there.’ I roll my eyes.‘They and the Company have dealings too, it’s true. What makes you think I know anything about that?’
I can feel him smiling.‘Victor,’ he says.
Victor Longthorne? Shit. How do they know about that?
‘Surprised?’ asks Jones.‘Victor Longthorne died three years ago. An accident, according to the news. But you know better.’
I shrug.‘What’s to know? He was abducted by terrorists. They killed him.’
‘You negotiated his release.’
… Back in the helicopter, Jester and I, hanging out of the windows either side. Teslas shaking in our hands. The other helicopter, chasing us. Military. No missiles. I remember Jester thanking Christ they had no missiles.
‘Negotiated isn’t quite the word I’d use…’
‘… but they did something to him before they let him go. Isn’t that right?’
I fold my arms.‘Let’s play your game then. Someone was hired to pay the ransom and get him back. Way I hear it, the ransom was paid and then that someone had to snatch him. The terrorists didn’t want to deal. No idea who they were or what they were up to. Not really my concern.’ I shrug.‘Story I might have heard says the negotiator and his team had a most interesting time getting rid of them. But in that story it turns out the nasty terrorists surgically implanted a bomb inside Victor while they had him and he blew up. If I had anything to do with that, which of course I didn’t, you can maybe see why I wouldn’t mention it on my résumé.’
Jones whistles.‘Interestin’! Shall I read you what it says here?’ She starts reading from a pad.‘“Operator History. March twenty three twenty three. Details classified” – butlet’s just say we all know it’s about you and Victor Longthorne.“Operator proved exceptionally effective in this operation. His actions led to a great benefit for the Company.” There’s more, but I’m sure you’ve seen it before. I won’t bore you with it.’
The fat man leans forward.‘We think someone in the Cestus government went out of their way to kill Victor Longthorne. It would be in our interests to find out who. The only people outside of the Company who might know who did it are you and your partners. I hear your partners are dead now. Think about that, Mr Constantine.’
Think about it? No shit.
Bannerman, J. & Vishmir, R. ‘Core-cloning as a basis for Artificial Intelligence’. AI News, 55, 334-386 (2317).
Phew, is this a long one or what? These guys were looking at copying an entire AI and then flushing all its higher functions. Sort of like giving you brain surgery so you forget your entire life but you still know how to speak and stuff. It’s an old idea but it comes with some problems– AIs going unstable and so forth. These guys figure they have a new technique which can make the whole process way more reliable and up the percentage of AIs which stay stable by a whole order of magnitude. Still pretty small though. By the way, that AI collaboration between the Cestus government and the Longthorne family? Core-cloned.
Nineteen – Sanctuary
I’m back on the Spiral Dance.‘Did you get any pictures?’ Asks Jez.
I tap my shades. ‘Enough. Taped it all but the lighting’s pretty shit. How th
e fuck did they know about Victor?’
Jez shuffles her feet and looks down. Enough of an answer.
‘How much more did you leak?’
‘Most of it– hey!’ She glares right back when I give her my growly disapproving look, ‘you were the one who wanted it to be convincing!’
I switch to a nasty grin.‘I look forward to reading it myself then. Fuck’s sake, they knew more about Victor than I did. I’d like to know what those files we stole from Network 69 were– did you happen to mention those, too?’
Jez scoffs at me.‘Don’t get too hopeful. I let them have enough to imply you might know something which could expose secret dealings between the Longthornes and the Company– which there are– and that you just might know something about what they say– which you don’t. Might, might, might. With any luck they’ll think you made off with some real gold dust and sold your soul to GZW. That’s what I’d think if I read your file.’ She looks suddenly worried.‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘That’s for me to know.’
‘I trust you.’
‘Ha! Very sweet.’ She’s lying and she knows I know she’s lying. So I suppose, in a way, we do trust each other. Just a little. Suddenly I feel tired. Some of what the fat man said makes way too much sense.
‘Jez? Was it a set-up all along? Did the Company really waste Victor?’
Jez picks herself up and walks into the bridge, puts a hand on Doyle’s shoulder. Doyle doesn’t look up.
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Victor’s sister thinks so.’
Something about the way she says this. She knows more.‘She’s got the money, hasn’t she? She tied up in this?’
‘No. Victor was obsessed with AIs. Technically she inherited his fortune but she can’t touch it. It’s all tied up in trust funds for his precious research projects. Anyway, it doesn’t fit. Read her profile. She’s not the type.’
‘Profiles can be wrong.’
‘But it still doesn’t fit. I can’t quite explain but it feels wrong. There’s a pattern here but it’s all skewed somehow.’ She turns away from me.‘Doyle, where are Toni and Andreas?’
Doyle, glued to the seat in front of her monitors, swivels round. She looks at us both like she doesn’t know any expression apart from cold and distant.‘They’re still interviewing people where you left them.’ She flicks a switch and Toni’s face comes up on another screen. The view from Andreas’ camera, Toni in full-on searing exposé mode.
‘… in the less accessible areas of the Crypt, rarely seen by visitors…’ Blah, blah, blah.
Jez nods.‘Doyle. Go and find them. Keep your eye out for any of the faces in here.’ She whips my sunglasses off my face and tosses them to Doyle.‘They may be the people we’re looking for. If you see any of them, bring them in. Make a lot of noise, but make sure you get them back here.’ Doyle nods, stands up and kicks herself down the corridor and out of the bridge, putting the glasses on as she goes. The way she moves is too fluid to be true. Like she’s been brought up without gravity. Doesn’t have the body for it though. Too much muscle…
Oh yeah. That would be the whole being-a-robot thing, the one I keep forgetting– I mean Christ, did they have to make her hot? I give Jez an angry look to cover my discomfort. Yeah, so I taped everything I saw– so what? No one takes my stuff away like that. But Jez has already forgotten me for a moment.
‘Su, keep an eye on things.’
‘What is the plan?’
‘C, get back into the crypt. Go back where you met Jones and the fat man. Try and find them. Tell them Listel sold you out, that someone’s been to the Spiral Dance and been through your stuff. Company agents. Let them know there’s trouble brewing.’
‘What the fuck are you up to Jez?’
‘Covering my butt. If they’re the ones we want then Doyle will bring them to me. If they’re not then I want you on the inside in case they know who is. Off you go! Doyle will be with Toni and Andreas sooner than you think. If things go weird and you get into a firefight with Doyle then try to bear in mind that she cost a hell of a lot to make and try not to break her. She won’t shoot you, though you won’t be able to tell she’s aiming to miss. She’s very good.’
‘Whoa! I am not getting into a shootout with that… whatever she is.’ I can’t help but think of Jester on Szenchzuen, and whether he was really shooting the natives now and then for the sheer fun of it or whether he wasn’t. Wasn’t ever quite sure, and it occurs to me that I probably spent a shitload more time with Jester than Jez has spent with Doyle, and maybe there’s a thing or two I ought to mention, staring with the premise that all AIs eventually go mad unless they’re Gemini. But there she is, at it again, talking at me again without looking, blithely assuming that I’m paying attention…
‘… not asking you to. But it might happen. Oh, and if they ask about me, you don’t know where I am but I’m probably back here.’ She flashes me a sickly smile.‘Panic about leaving your brainless beloved in the hands of the enemy. Gives you a good enough reason to help them, don’t you think?’
I pick up my hat and I’m gone. When Jez gets that ordering-people-about rush to her, I can’t stand to be in the same room.
I hardly notice when I leave the Spiral Dance and enter Vednar Freeport. Other places have that effect too, though usually it’s because everything is so equally pristine and gleaming clean, whereas here it’s more a case of reaching a lowest common denominator of shittiness. I head out of the docking ports long wide cylinder corridors towards the central market, clanking along in my boots while the natives whistle past my head. I hate this place and I hate being ordered about like some hired goon, like I’m Jez’s little pet bitch like Su or RoboDoyle. Guess that’s a big chunk of why I left the Company in the first place.
I’m just outside the metal cavern of the market, glued to the side of a steel pipe about five times as high as I am, the only way in from the rest of the Crypt. It ought to feel vast but it doesn’t, it feels cramped, and I’m constantly cringing inside at the hundreds of people gliding back and forth over my head. Somehow they never seem to hit each other.
I hear shouting ahead of me. I stop. Then the sound of a Tesla gun, full auto, unmistakable, ripping a whole magazine in a few seconds, which is a pretty shitty sound to hear when there’s a vacuum outside. Tesla rounds stop most things they hit but they’ll punch through a lot of metal, and people can get awful riled up when that metal happens to be the skin of their spaceship. I shift my own Tesla well out of sight and pull the flechette gun as Toni and Andreas come hurtling out of the market, head first. Andreas is in the lead, brandishing a Tesla, which makes him a dumb shit, but that can wait because it’s pointing right at me. Toni flies just behind him, facing back.
Instinct kicks in. Magnets off; I kick up, dive into the chaotic crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, at the other end of the tunnel, I see two men in suits and shades reaching into their pockets. I don’t know who Andreas is planning to shoot but he’s changing his magazine, doesn’t even see me as he flies past, shouting as he knocks people out of his way. I have the flechette gun pointing at his back before I even know what I’m doing. So easy just to pull the trigger…
And just as I have Andreas cold, so Doyle has me. I don’t even see her until it’s too late. The first I know of it is the sound of the Tesla. An instant later, something warm splatters my face, my hat flies off my head and someone drives two hot needles through the flesh of my upper arm. My hand jerks and goes limp and the flechette gun floats away.
I turn, helpless, my coat opening like a pair of wings. Doyle is hurtling down the corridor, a human bullet, way faster than Toni or Andreas. Gun pointing straight at me, the fat man I met earlier dragging motionless behind her.
Shit. She shot me. She actually shot me! Fucking lunatic wasn’t supposed to do that! Unless … shit, it’s fucking Quicksilver all over again. My good hand fumbles for my Tesla but there’s really no point, no way I’m fast enough. As she pulls the trigger, however, a shattered bo
dy drifts between us. It spasms as a dozen more bullets stab into it. Streaks of blood fly off. Two other bodies float nearby, gobbets of blood in clouds around them. Other people hurl themselves out of the way, out of the cylinder and into the market, down tiny access ways, whatever cover they can find. The air’s hazy with a red mist of blood. I’m nowhere near a wall. There’s nothing I can do to get out of the way.
Body, drifting towards me. Doyle coming past. She’ll have a clear shot any moment and I’m a sitting fucking duck. Well, more helplessly spinning and tumbling than sitting. Fucking zero gravity…
Two security clones come in from the market. They’re behind Doyle and they’re firing, but before my eyes can even lock onto them, they’re dead, slammed back against the far wall, a cloud of pink expanding around them. I glimpse Jones behind them, see her hand shatter in a spray of red.
A body drifts close enough for me to reach. I grab it, pull it between me and Doyle. A shield. I cower behind it as a score of bullets strike and lurch us towards the wall of the cylinder. A stray takes a chunk of flesh out of my leg.
Fuck. Fucking mad woman. Jez, you bitch, how could you set me up for this?
Doyle rockets past. A few seconds after it started, it’s over, moved on; Doyle and the fat man are gone, missiling down some other corridor where some other luckless schmuck can get in the way. At the end the two suits drift aimlessly, their dark designer jackets scarred by darker spreading stains. I’m not dead. This is a minor miracle. Doyle hit me three times and each one with a Tesla needle, in-and-out flesh wounds that are going to hurt like buggery but no harm done, no real harm…
Somehow the cylinder is empty now. Apart from me and five corpses and a lot of blood. And there! My flechette gun. I want it. I want the security of its warm handle against the palm of my hand. I throw my dead shield away. Not that there’s much left of him– face blown completely off, half his guts missing, the other half floating out of his… Christ, I think I’m going to be sick.
Gun. Get gun!
If that had been Jester, I’d be dead.
It’s possible I may have to punch Jez in the face when I see her again.
