by Gavin Smith
‘What humanity?’ I asked. Suddenly I was on the screen. I was being shot through Mudge’s eyes again. I felt uncomfortable, I looked at my features writ large on the viz screen. Some of my discomfort stemmed from looking like I was dying of radiation poisoning.
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Cronin said.
‘Less than a third of my body is the original biological material,’ I said. ‘They want to wage war on my humanity, where will they start, my testicles?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, the flesh isn’t—’ Cronin began.
‘Look at Balor, does he look human, sound human?’ I asked Cronin.
‘Appearances ...’ Cronin began.
‘It goes beyond looks. He had neurosurgery to make himself less human, didn’t you?’ I asked Balor. Now it was Balor on the screen. He looked magnificent and nothing whatsoever to do with humanity.
‘I had neurosurgery done on myself to weed out weakness,’ Balor said impassively. I wondered with this talk of strong leadership who Balor actually sympathised with.
‘The actions of one man—’ Cronin began again but I interrupted him again.
‘It’s not one man, though, is it? We’re making our own aliens. Do you know how many cases of cybernetic-induced psychosis I’ve seen put out of their misery? Even if we win we lose, and if we don’t stop soon there won’t be any humanity left, just sick machines.’ Cronin looked like he was about to start talking again but something else occurred to me. ‘See, you and yours may have something invested in turning us into machines but I don’t and neither, I guess, would the majority of other people in the world. I was a member of the SAS, an elite. In theory all the machinery, training and experience should make me one of the strongest people on the planet. I don’t feel strong; I feel dead, I feel horrified with what I’ve done and seen.’ I said it earnestly enough and I believed it, but I also knew there would be a group of men and women in Hereford throwing things at their viz screens - that at least made me smile.
‘It made me strong,’ Balor insisted.
‘It made you a freak,’ Buck sang along with the music he was playing. I’d become so used to the soundtrack I’d all but stopped noticing it. Balor glared at the guitarist.
‘Actually these two are a good example,’ Mudge said. ‘God, can you draw up the recruitment information on Buck and Gibby and make their entry photos big on the screen?’ he asked. I saw where this was going; it was something of a cheap shot. Buck and Gibby’s recruitment photos came up. We saw images of them as two young clean-cut recruits on their way to basic training.
‘Compare and contrast,’ Mudge said. Buck and Gibby as they were today in all their cyberbilly splendour appeared on the screen. Buck decided to use his moment in the spotlight to start a guitar solo. ‘Congratulations, Cronin, the sum result of the Cabal’s machinations to date is to create a degenerate junkie hillbilly making machine.’
‘Yeeehaaa!’ Buck screamed.
‘Face facts. We’re the elite of your so-called strength and we’re a bunch of weirdos. I mean look at how Mudge dresses,’ I said.
‘Hey, I’m a fucking serious journalist!’ Mudge complained.
‘So, who leads? We do after all work with most governments in the world. You appear to be intent on overthrowing democracy as well as everything else you’ve attacked,’ Cronin said.
‘We haven’t touched the infrastructure of government, though I don’t doubt there will be the world’s largest and most transparent...’ Mudge began.
‘Witch hunt?’ Cronin suggested.
‘Corruption investigation,’ Mudge finished. ‘But we can help governments. See, through God we have the capability to reveal as much truth as is technologically possible.’
‘How very Orwellian,’ Cronin sneered.
‘Orwellian how?’ Pagan asked. I had no idea what they were talking about. ‘We didn’t create the Panopticon.’ I still didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. ‘The mechanism for near-total surveillance was already in place. We’re just taking it out of your hands and making it open to everyone. So we can watch you as well.’
‘As for democracy, we now, through God, have the ability to run a worldwide referendum so everyone can have their say. You know, aid decision-making when crucial questions come up, like should we wage war on an initially harmless alien organism? Can’t we, God?’ Mudge said.
‘You are not entirely correct, Howard. I actually have the facility to run a system-wide referendum but it will take a little longer,’ God answered.
‘Seriously, Rolleston’s about to come in here, guys. Do we have time for this?’ I asked. Even I had got sucked into this argument. Nobody answered me.
‘Fine,’ Mudge said, slightly irritated at God. ‘Yes or no question. Once people have had a chance to look at the information as regards the Cabal do they still want to be controlled by these people? And if They want peace do we want it too? Vote, people,’ he invited.
‘And again we trust the alien computer virus because ...’ Cronin asked.
‘Because everyone will know what they voted for. They can ask their friends and family, who will ask their friends and family, and so on. Hell, they can ask total strangers in the street.’
‘It won’t work. With every secret revealed people will pull themselves apart,’ Cronin said. ‘Every suspicion proved, think of all the scores that people will be able to settle.’ This was the first time I saw Mudge get angry during the whole thing. Up to this point I think he’d just been enjoying himself.
‘You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you? But what if they don’t?
What if sixty years of conflict is enough? What if we cooperate now so that our children don’t have a life of violence?’
‘Someone will always take advantage,’ Cronin answered.
‘And now we can see them coming,’ Mudge countered. ‘You see, there’s no reason to not be calm. It’s over. We can see the strings and anytime anyone else ever tries to lie to us, control us for their own gains, we’ll see those strings as well. We know the truth. You can’t lie to make us afraid any more. We’re able to make decisions for ourselves now. Will there be pricks like you trying to take advantage? Of course there will, but everyone will see it. The thing is, what you think of as our weakness - our ability to not succeed in your terms - I think is our strength. Why would we want to live like you? Your power is smoke and relies on us anyway. Your existence relies on how much you’re able to fuck others over. Is that what you need to make yourself feel good? Is that your validation, your reason to exist, your measure of success? How fucking hollow. Most people just want to make their way, do their thing and look after themselves and their loved ones, but you won’t let us. You win because we divide. Well, now we’re connected. What are you going to do?’
Cronin was silent.
‘See, we’ve left the world’s infrastructure in place but you’ve got to go because this isn’t working. We can travel across the stars, we can rebuild the human body and we’re capable of feats of engineering like this Spoke, and we’re still killing each other for food. That’s not right,’ Mudge finished.
Cronin smiled smugly. ‘Well, stop doing it then,’ he said.
It looked like Mudge leant in but I guess he just did a close-up on himself, and suddenly his ugly face was massive around the world.
‘This is how we start. Consider yourself fired,’ he said. I reviewed the data on Cronin. He was on a luxury elevator on the Brazilian Spoke. I checked with God, making sure that the Brazilian authorities were waiting to pick him up. They were, then I made sure the Brazilian authorities had enough firepower to deal with Cronin, Kring and any other surprises they had. It looked like they did.
‘I mean, how do you do it?’ Mudge continued. ‘How do you justify sending millions of people to die? What do you need all the money and power for anyway? Surely it must reach a level where it becomes an abstract?’
Cronin let out a brief bitter laugh. ‘Because whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, this is
how progress is made,’ he said.
Then Mudge did something that I thought was brave, risky and showed much more faith in people than I had, or I thought he had.
‘No, this how progress is made. God, show this twisted fuck our people,’ Mudge commanded. Cronin was now glaring at us from the viz screen but his features were replaced. It was a street scene, one of London’s many Ginzas. London was Mudge’s spiritual home. Thousands of people were on the street just watching the viz screen, then the picture shrank down to a tiny window and it was replaced by Washington, then Paris, Berlin, Nairobi, Pacifica, Berlin, Auckland -all the major cities of the world - and then smaller cities, faster and faster, towns and then individuals. People stood and watched in silence, people cried, people hugged and kissed, talked or just stared, looks of relief on their faces. Somehow Mudge had predicted this. Everyone looked tired but relieved. Some of them even dared to look happy. I realised how tired I was. I staggered over to the wall and began to slide down it. Morag was there to help me.
‘See, this isn’t a riot; it’s a great big fucking party, you twat. The war is over,’ Mudge said. I realised that Mudge may have spoken too soon but it felt good. I also realised as I watched image after image flicker up on the screen how much I really loved what was left of our fucked-up humanity.
‘The war is never over,’ Cronin said.
‘Give war a chance!’ Buck and Gibby sang together.
‘What? Rolleston? You think killing us is going to make a difference?’ Mudge asked.
‘No, but it might be worth focusing on now,’ I suggested.
‘You didn’t listen to MacDonald did you? With what we’ve learnt about biotechnology we’ll be more like gods. Like your whore,’ Cronin said.
Morag looked up. ‘Oh, do you mean me? See, there are a lot of things I wouldn’t do for money and power.’ She looked confused. ‘Sorry, who’s the whore?’
‘You’ve started the next great human conflict,’ he continued, oblivious to Morag’s jibe.
‘You’re issuing us an ultimatum?’ Mudge asked.
‘The combined colonial fleet cannot allow the net, perhaps Earth’s most important tactical asset, to remain in control of something that by its own admission is compromised by the enemy,’ Cronin said. ‘You must see that.’
‘Who are you to make that decision?’ I demanded, getting drawn in again despite myself and Rolleston’s imminent breach.
‘There is no enemy; they want peace!’ Morag shouted. She sounded desperate for Cronin to understand her, for him to see. I knew he did and it didn’t matter.
I was receiving an urgent comms message from Cat outside. I opened it to see her comms icon. Did her icon look nervous, unhappy, angry? Or was I just reading that in? Again I was distracted by Cronin.
‘Unfortunately we only have the word of one little girl, a whore no less, who has an alien living in her head, whereas the combined experience of millions of people says otherwise,’ Cronin said. I could see Morag fighting back tears, not at this arsehole’s words but at the thought that after all this we could end up fighting our own people all over again. I knew how she felt. Though I don’t think in her there was the same capacity for hatred of Cronin, Rolleston and their ilk that I felt.
‘Sergeant ...’ Cat began.
‘Call me Jakob.’ She looked annoyed at the interruption.
‘In order for there not to be a war all you have to do is stop,’ Mudge said. ‘If you leave it a few minutes you’ll get a mandate from humanity asking you to do just that.’
‘You said when you’d done this you’d come out,’ Cat said.
‘For you, not him. Sorry. Get your people well out of the way,’ I said, then to everyone inside the node, ‘Guys.’ Something in my tone this time - suddenly everyone was alert.
‘"I know thy works. Behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it,’" Cronin said. It made me think of Vicar. Cronin’s face disappeared from the viz screen.
‘God?’ Mudge asked.
‘We’ve lost the feed from the elevator security cameras. I believe Mr Cronin has had them disabled.’
‘You’re the demons,’ I said quietly to myself. Morag looked up at me; she must’ve heard.
‘They’re coming,’ Cat said over the link. She’d be lucky if Rolleston didn’t have her killed. Cronin had been a distraction.
‘ "For thou hast kept my word, and hast not denied my name," ‘ God said, finishing Cronin’s quote for him.
Bang.
28
En Route to Sirius
Why I hate Rolleston.
See, all the stuff that he’d done up to now was bad but you could see it was the kind of bad a prick like him had to do as part of his job. I didn’t like him, would have no objection to him being dead, but I didn’t really hate him yet, largely because I was just really happy to not be dead. The idea of revenge against him for leaving us there was a distant and unrealistic dream.
We were so lucky to be picked up. It was a Congon search and rescue team doing a final sweep. They were looking for some of their own special forces but they found us. When we were evacced it felt like we were the last assault shuttle to leave Dog 4. The sky was lit up by ground-based fire aimed at our fleet in high orbit. It was beautiful and seemed somehow unreal. To the Congons we must have looked like walking corpses. Neither Mudge or I did anything much but stare as the paramedics looked after our wounds. I don’t think we even thanked them.
The Santa Maria was a pre-war freighter out of the High Brazilia shipyards. A civilian ship on what amounted to a permanent military contract. Largely it was a case of hauling equipment and munitions out and ferrying casualties or personnel back for the old freighter. We hated these ships because the cargo holds were modular, basically a self-contained hold with life support attached, completely separated from the rest of the ship and built by the contractor who came in with the cheapest price. They were a prison with cold, thin walls that separated you from vacuum.
A return journey like this was made up of odds and sods, basically survivors, whoever had made it off You weren’t there in your units. The command structure was not intact. The closest thing we had to authority was a couple of MPs. They had an armoured office that they stayed inside because if they stepped outside they’d be killed. Nobody liked MPs and nobody liked the authority that they represented. In our case the MPs were Yanks.
Left to our own devices things got Darwinian very quickly. Victims were designated, scores were settled, the food chain was established and territory was staked out. There was a mixture of nationalities but mainly British, French and American, developing world nations. The Congo forces, I guess, didn’t have to use eighty-year-old, piece-of-shit freighters to take their people home. The Yanks were by far the biggest national group but they were heavily divided internally.
There was also a much higher than normal special forces population on board. This was going to make establishing our place in the food chain a bit more difficult than normal. The drink and drugs would last two, maybe three days at most; after that there was only the rum ration and that was never enough. So I began looking for the sacrifice. The sacrifice was a message to the rest of the inmates; it meant I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to be the Daddy, someone who was willing to work for that title could have it, it just meant that I was more trouble than I was worth not to be left alone. The sacrifice had to be a loud-mouthed arsehole with the muscle and the backup to enforce his bullying ways. Somehow it was always a male. In this case he was a borderline cyber psychotic from 2 Para. I killed him for a bottle of whisky. It wasn’t even good whisky. That was my message. We had another eight days to go.
Mudge did his thing; I sat on my bunk and drank. I pretty much ignored what was going on, not really thinking. I remember anger and numbness. It was a weird state of non-feeling. I had conversations with Mudge but he did most of the talking and I don’t remember anything about them. Mudge had to pretty much force me to look after my wounds.<
br />
I remembered Vicar though. He’d been wearing a soiled uniform with no insignia or rank. His hair was matted and filthy, as was his beard. He looked insane - there was something wrong with his wild and bloodshot eyes. The ugly but functional military machinery that made up half his head didn’t help his appearance and he would not shut up. He was on something because he needed no sleep, and he preached endlessly. He ranted about God, the end times and of course Them, the demons, until his mouth bled. There had been a number of attempts to beat him into silence but something stopped his attackers from finishing the job each time. Maybe it was religion, maybe they felt it was bad luck to kill someone that mad. Nobody really wanted to get very close to him.
He’d been there when we’d walked into the hold. He’d raised an arm to point at me and begun shouting, drool running down through his black, wiry beard.
‘I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God.’
I pushed past him trying to ignore the smell.
Vicar’s ravings along with the creaking of the hull became the ambient sound track aboard the Santa Maria. Initially the preaching grated on me, like it grated on everyone else. Everyone in the hold had to deal with religious signals types. You needed to have tolerance as communications kept you alive. They called in evacs, air strikes and artillery; they kept you and your people together so you forgave the odd sermon here and there. Vicar was, however, taking the piss. The thing was, I was beginning to find his narratives somehow comforting. I was finding myself listening to them to take my mind off Gregor, Rolleston, the Ninja and my failure to look after my people.
‘Who is he?’ I asked. I think I surprised Mudge by taking interest in something besides whisky and brooding.
‘He’s called Vicar,’ Mudge told me. Mudge knew this, I guessed, because he took an interest in his surroundings.
‘Sounds about right. What’s his story?’
