by Gavin Smith
‘Have you decided how you want to be addressed?’ Pagan asked.
‘Black Annis,’ the hag said.
‘Well I’m sure Jakob will disapprove because of its religious connotations.’
‘That’s religious?’ I managed, pointing at the grotesque thing in front of me. ‘What kind of religion do you follow?’ Everyone ignored me.
‘No,’ the hag-like figure said. ‘For me, it’s a fairy tale. This is what I almost had to become. It could’ve been the other way around.’ It was then I realised.
‘Morag?’ I asked. The Hag nodded. If she’d had to make herself ugly to become a hacker then her icon would’ve been beautiful. To her this was the payment of a karmic debt.
‘Not the Maiden of the Flowers then?’ Pagan said, sounding both amused and pleased. Annis shook her head, almost shyly, I thought. ‘Religious or not, it has resonance with me. I congratulate you. It is a very sophisticated avatar,’ he said. Annis seemed to beam with pride.
‘The hardware helped a lot,’ came that horrible voice again. The hag was looking around the chamber, its face a picture of grotesque wonder.
‘First time?’ Pagan asked.
‘First time jacked in, first time feeling,’ Morag said.
‘That was quick,’ I said, both impressed and suspicious of Morag’s presence in the net.
‘Clearly there is a degree of natural talent,’ Pagan said. With the arrival of Morag I’d suddenly started to feel weary. I realised that Pagan had been sucking me into his insane plan; now his spell was broken.
‘What about the alien?’ I said, repeating Morag the Hag’s question. ‘You said it was key.’ Pagan was suddenly serious again, speaking to both of us.
‘Along with the information form, Vicar also put the result of the tests he’d run on the alien in the memory cube. What he found was that Their physiology is all integrated; there are no separate organs. The brain runs throughout and is compatible with the rest of Them when they rejoin each other to form one consensual hive mind,’ he said. Again this was something that had been theorised before.
‘Then it’s a biological machine?’ I said somewhat patronisingly, probably more for Morag’s benefit than mine.
‘Yes,’ Pagan said. ‘In the same way humans are, but they do not differentiate between what we would see as technology and themselves.’
‘Bioborgs. So?’ I said. This was actually nothing new.
‘Pagan said they were like a biological liquid equivalent of nanites,’ Morag said. Pagan nodded.
‘That’s right, but the important thing is that Ambassador’s processing power is remarkable, and it seems able to learn as instantaneously as we can manage to measure it.’
‘So?’ I said.
‘So it would be able to manage information on the scale required for Pagan and his friends’ plan,’ Morag said.
‘You heard?’ I asked appalled.
‘I sent her the files of our discussion when she entered the library,’ Pagan said.
‘Jakob, you’ve no idea. The hardware enables me to process and understand so quickly. I know so much; I can learn so quickly,’ she said. Her enthusiasm would’ve been more infectious if I could stop thinking about the metal and plastic that seemed to infect us all these days. I’d had enough of this.
‘Okay great, you’ve got your pet alien. Best of luck. This has nothing to do with us,’ I said, not even thinking. Black Annis turned to look at me. Was that amusement I saw in the black orbs that passed for eyes? ‘Me,’ I said pathetically.
There was the sound of breaking glass as the alien burst through its containment program. Black tendrils exploded out through the roof of Dinas Emrys, through the cracks in the ceiling. I could only see more blackness, which meant we were in an unpopular part of the net, the virtual middle of nowhere. The main body of the alien information form seemed to remain within the circle. I instinctively ducked down but Pagan was already working. Scrolls appeared and disappeared in front of him as streams of translucent blue light issued from his hands forming coronas of energy around Ambassador’s black tendrils but seeming to have very little other effect.
‘Out now!’ Pagan shouted in a commanding voice at odds with his normal gentleness. Not being used to the environment, I began looking for an actual exit before I remembered the escape function. The tendrils began to convulse like a snake swallowing a meal, the convulsions becoming more and more rapid.
‘Yes,’ I heard Morag all but whisper. I turned round to see who she was talking to, as did Pagan, his eyes widening in shock. The Black Annis icon’s face was a picture of strangely grotesque wonder. A thin black tendril shot out from Ambassador and pierced the head of the hag-like icon.
‘No!’ I was vaguely aware of myself shouting as I moved towards her, before I realised that here I had no way to help whatsoever. The Black Annis icon was lying on its arched back, shaking as if it/she was experiencing a powerful seizure. The black tendril had pierced the virtual skull and was also convulsing rapidly.
‘Out! Now!’ Pagan shouted again. Years of military conditioning compelled me to obey. I knew I was becoming part of the problem. I spared one more glance at Black Annis and then felt the disorienting pull of reality.
11
Hull
It seemed to take a long time for the information I was receiving to make any kind of sense. Though it was probably no time at all. The world glowed a flickering red. There was a keening noise, but that was cut off suddenly. I eventually recognised the sound as some kind of old klaxon. Then came the seemingly constant soundtrack of my life, gunfire and the screams that always seemed to accompany gunfire. My guns were in my hands. I was not aware of having drawn them.
Pagan was still sitting on his tatty couch, still in his jacked-in trance, his face a mask of effort and concentration. More worrying was the newly skinhead Morag lying on the couch next to where I’d been sitting, jerking and twitching but on her face a strange look of contentment.
I wanted to help but there was nothing I could do. Morag was jacked over a wireless link, she wasn’t plugged in, and I couldn’t disconnect her. I could feel a strange sense of panic building in me. Later I would think that I didn’t cope well with being responsible for non-combatants. I had to put that aside and focus. Begin processing the information I was receiving.
I could hear a mixture of weapons being fired, everything from pistols and shotguns to old-sounding automatic weapons. These were being answered by the unmistakeable sound of the Vickers advanced combat rifle. A weapon I had intimate knowledge of, as it was standard issue in the British army. I could also hear the sound of 30-millimetre grenades being fired from underslung launchers and then exploding.
Thermographics were almost a waste of time. I saw lots of humans moving quickly, lots of momentary blossoms of gunfire. Then I saw the dragon. There was a streaming arc of flame from a machine in the middle of Westbourne Avenue moving towards us. The arc touched a building and there was a roof top garden on fire. I saw the multi-hued heat signature of a burning human jumping from the roof.
The flames burning colder but still burning as the Humber’s murky waters engulfed him.
I switched to low-light optics and edged over to the window and peeked out. Further up the Avenue I could see a flat-bottomed riverine patrol boat. The green optics flared as the deck-mounted zippo sent another stream of napalm into the terraced houses on the same side of the street as me. I magnified my optics. On the deck I could see soldiers in British uniform. I tried to make out their insignia; failing that I managed to decipher the boat’s serial number. They were a guards unit of course, the Coldstream Guards. Fortunate Sons.
I backed away from the window, glancing over at Morag and Pagan. They were still jacked in but Morag’s seizure seemed to have stopped.
Every single vet hated the Fortunate Sons. Every nation in the world and the colonies had them. In Britain it was all the guards units. The worst thing about it was when you joined the army you got all the death and
glory histories beaten into you during indoctrination. Most of the regiments that had become the Fortunate Sons had a proud history. The men and women who had died serving in those regiments would probably be sickened to see what had been done to their legacy.
The Fortunate Sons were the children of the wealthy and influential. Sons and daughters of corporate executives, the independently wealthy, civil servants and other government functionaries as well as their own officers. A convenient self-perpetuating tradition. Obviously the draft had to be seen to be fair, but the good people of the world didn’t want little Timothy or Samantha to be sent to die in a meat grinder under some alien sky, so they bravely took up the task of keeping Earth safe. I’d also heard them described as latter-day praetorians, as most of their duties tended to involve ‘counter-insurgency’ work, like this. In other words shooting civilians that the government considered inconvenient.
Vets had a lot more respect for draft dodgers. Needless to say. Fortunate Sons and proper soldiers didn’t tend to share messes, as that would’ve led to considerable bloodshed. The problem was that the Fortunate Sons still knew what they were doing.
What I couldn’t figure out was how they’d found us so quickly. It was too soon unless the sub captain had sold us out, or McShit had or someone here had. Clearly they were here for us. There are however, worse ways for a veteran to die than fighting Fortunate Sons, and I had every intention of killing a lot of them.
My pistols were levelled before the door to the flat had finished bursting open. Elspeth may as well have been shuffling, he moved so slowly. My laser pistol had drawn a bead on him before he could bring his ancient hunting carbine to bear. Jess on the other hand was wired as high if not higher than me. She had her surplus Kalashnikov in my face, my Mastodon in hers. Recognition reached my brain before I fired.
‘You,’ Jess hissed out, her features seething. ‘You’ve brought them here.’
‘Way too quickly; one of your people must’ve sold us out. They brought this down on you,’ I said, my tone more calm and even than I felt.
‘Both of you, cut it out!’ Pagan shouted from the couch. I didn’t take my eyes off Jess, nor she me. ‘We’ve got more to worry about. Help me!’ With one final look at Jess I raised both my pistols; she hesitated and then did the same with her Kalashnikov.
I turned to look at Pagan. He was inserting a jack connected to one of his own plugs into one of Morag’s, in a manner I found inexplicably obscene. I moved over to them, kneeling down beside her. I could hear the whooshing noise as the zippo was fired again. It sounded closer.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked.
‘The Ambassador information form burst free. As far as I can tell, it seemed to effortlessly penetrate a number of different databases. I think it tried to pass some or all the info on to Morag. Her systems were overloaded and there must have been some kind of information bleed.’ He talked as he worked.
‘Is she going to be okay?’ I asked.
‘Come on!’ Jess hissed at us.
‘I think so. She’s going to be disoriented for a while. She’ll have to come to terms with a way to sort and process it.’
‘They’re getting closer,’ Jess said urgently. Then it hit me.
‘Pagan,’ I said. He ignored me, presumably receiving information via the connection to Morag’s plugs. ‘Pagan!’ I said more forcefully.
‘What!’ he snapped irritably.
‘Is this it? Is this what They planned? Have we unleashed some kind of viral weapon on our net?’ I asked. Pagan turned to look at me, I could tell the same thing had already occurred to him.
‘I don’t know. Ambassador’s back in his box,’ he said. I was impressed despite myself.
‘How did you manage that?’ I asked. Pagan was no longer looking at me, concentrating instead on the job at hand.
‘Well,’ he said, obviously irritated at my questions. ‘After I tried every offensive, coercive and entrapment program and sub-routine I could think of, I asked it nicely.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘For fuck’s sake, leave the bitch!’ Jess shouted. I turned round to glare at her. She ignored me. I turned back to Pagan.
‘Was it traced?’ I asked. Pagan unplugged the jacks.
‘She’s going to be out for a while. We have to move her.’ He reached under Morag to pick her up. I grabbed his arm.
‘This is important,’ I said to him evenly. ‘Obviously we’ve been compromised but I need to know if you were traced.’
‘Where we going to go?’ came a terrified voice I belatedly recognised as Elspeth’s.
‘We’ll take her to Fosterton,’ Pagan snapped, and then turned to me. ‘I can’t be sure. That thing went through every conceivable countermeasure we have and penetrated some heavy databases. All of them will try and trace an invasion like that and it wasn’t subtle.’
‘So they’ll have traced us.’
‘They had Dinas Emrys but it’s gone now. I destroyed it and they’ll squabble over the ruins for a bit. I don’t think they traced it back to me or Morag, but I can’t be sure.’
‘C’mon, c’mon!’ Jess said through gritted teeth, and then fired through the wall as she dived to the filthy carpet. I barely had time to register the huge shadow outside the window when the ruby-red light cut through the building at what would’ve been waist height. I was already down low, as were Pagan and Morag, but I saw Elspeth’s torso begin to smoke. I don’t think he had time to realise what was happening to him. He just sank to his knees and then the top part of his body collapsed and he hit the carpet face first.
Pagan scooped up Morag and ran for the door. The wall above the window looked like it was being systematically chewed away. My aural filters reduced the constant supersonic roar of the multi-barrelled, rapid-firing railgun to a manageable level. The window shattered and the wall disintegrated. Outside I could see the twenty-foot-tall mechanical form of a Walker combat mech.
Jess didn’t bother wasting any more ammo, she just ran low out of the flat. I followed her, clambering over the remains of Elspeth. The supersonic roar came again and chunks of masonry began to fall on me, as did more than a little earth. It occurred to me that the Walker was aiming high, suppressing us. If it had wanted us dead we would not have presented much of a problem. That meant they were after us specifically. I was also worried that enthusiastic suppressing fire could bring the earth-filled roof garden down on us. Suddenly I was less impressed with the Avenues community’s farming accomplishments.
Out on the first-floor landing things were no better. Pagan was gone, I didn’t know where, and he’d taken Morag with him. I didn’t have time to think about that as the house shook from an explosion beneath us. I assumed it was the front door being blown in. I could hear the splashes of Fortunate Sons wading through water. I looked over the banisters and fired both my pistols down into the waterlogged ground floor, my independently targeted shoulder laser quickly joining in. The smartgun links showed me where bullet and beam were going to hit the body-armoured soldiers. The murky steam of the Humber mixed with the red steam of blood where my lasers penetrated through armour and flesh and into the water below, superheating it.
I was peripherally aware of Jess laying fire down the stairs as well. To their credit the Fortunate Sons didn’t panic, despite leaving some of their mates face down in the murky water. Instead they knelt or took cover. Parts of the walls and stairs around me exploded as I was forced back by accurate, presumably smartlink-guided, fire.
I moved away from the edge of the landing. Holes were appearing in the floor from the gunfire below me. I reloaded the Mastodon and fired back through the floor, moving back towards the top of the stairs. The carpet began to smoulder from the heat of my lasers. The Mastodon was empty again. I ducked down, emptying the spent cartridges and reloading from a speed loader, and then I holstered both my pistols. From outside I could hear the mixed gunfire of the Avenues’ dwellers become more intense. They had managed to mount a counter-attack.
Jess changed the clip in her Kalashnikov and fired down through the floor. I took advantage of this and sprinted towards the top of the stairs and threw myself down the stairwell. My shoulder laser targeted and fired independently as I extended the four knuckle-claws from each arm.
I hit the lead Fortunate Son, and the pair of us went sliding into the dirty brown waters of the Humber on the partially submerged ground floor. I repeatedly ran him through with the nine-inch long ceramic blades before he could grapple me. I barely registered his blood changing the colour of the water.
The next Fortunate Son was moving rapidly, trying to get a clear shot to help his mate. I burst out of the water, sweeping my left-hand blades up with sufficient power to destroy the Vickers ACR he was trying to bring to bear on me. The blades penetrated his armour and slid into his stomach and I forced them up into his chest cavity, lifting him off his feet.
The next soldier’s fear overcame concern for his dead squad mate and the first of the 9-millimetre long rounds caught me in the side, knocking me back. One penetrated the armour of my coat and was only just stopped by my dermal plating. I spun away from him into one of the ground-floor rooms, moving as quickly as I could in the foot and a half of murky water.
I swung my claws through the door frame of the room, sending plaster and rotting wood flying as the ends of my claws caught the Fortunate Son hiding behind it in the face. It was a superficial wound but enough to cover her face with blood, hurting and shocking her. I continued swinging, catching another one, hiding on the opposite side of the door opening, in the shoulder. He screamed and dropped his Vickers, but tried to draw his sidearm. I repeatedly punched him in his unarmoured face with the claws on my free right hand.
