Lockdown Tales

by Neal Asher

  A flash of anger crossed her features. ‘You have no rights here!’

  ‘On the contrary –’

  ‘You cannot come in.’

  The screen blinked off and above him the security drone whirred, its eyes igniting. Logan sighed, then in one smooth motion drew his pulse gun and fired, blowing the drone into pieces. He walked over to the doors again, stepped back and shot out the locks, then stepped rapidly forward driving his boot against them. They crashed open and he marched into the lobby. Two security guards ran out of a back room as he switched down a setting on his weapon.

  ‘Those doors…’ said one of them, while the other reached for the gun at his belt.

  Two shots and they froze issuing electrical discharges, then dropped bonelessly. Logan walked up to the reception window. The woman sat inside, gaping at him.

  ‘Where is this meeting?’

  ‘You can’t –’

  ‘I can,’ he cut in. ‘Now are you going to tell me or must we be uncivilised about this?’

  ‘The Polity can’t just make demands like this –’

  He dialled his pulse gun up again and shot a hole through the window, just to the right of her face. She sat there frozen for a long moment, then decided defiance sat above her pay grade. She pointed to a door on the other side of the lobby. Logan walked over, tried the handle and found it locked, kicked it open and stepped in.

  Five councillors sat at a glass-topped table, the Mayor at the head – a bulky shaven-headed man packed into expensive businesswear and chuffing on a cigar. The councillors – three women and two men – were of a similar kind. A bottle stood on the table and they were all drinking.

  ‘This is a private meeting!’ said one of the women.

  Logan walked over to stand beside the dark haired, thin and sour-faced female. He picked up the bottle and studied it.

  ‘Earth monitors don’t take much notice of privacy or individual rights,’ said Mayor Gavon, putting down his cigar and leaning back in his chair. He was sweating, nervous. ‘Trepanan was just as arrogant.’

  ‘This is Earth import bourbon,’ said Logan. ‘Expensive tastes here.’

  He took the bottle and one glass, walked to the other end of the table, sat and poured a generous measure. ‘I guess the mining operations here are making a lot of money. Maybe more money than Trader John knows about.’ He smiled humourlessly.

  They watched him in silence as he sipped then put down the glass. It seemed they had no comment on that.

  ‘Well,’ he began. ‘You are all aware that Godrun and the Flats are now under Earth jurisdiction again, but I thought a courtesy call was in order – just to make things clear.’

  ‘Courtesy,’ spat one of the men.

  ‘Yes,’ said Logan, ‘courtesy. I have the power to enforce the law without political oversight. I did not have to come here. I do not have to deliver warnings.’

  ‘Seems Earth law is what your kind chooses it to be,’ said sour-face.

  ‘You might not like it, but it is a fact of your lives now.’ He drank some more of the bourbon – it was very good. ‘But I am prepared to be lenient when it comes to minor infractions – we are after all in a period of transition. What concerns me at present, are the major ones.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Gavon.

  Logan focused on the man. ‘Like the law against enslaving sentients. What was it you said about individual rights?’ Gavon had no reply and Logan continued, ‘Also, like the laws against extortion, murder, rape and torture. The major ones.’

  A sharp-looking man in an expensive grey environment suit spoke up. ‘You’re talking about the stone people.’ He sat back and turned his bourbon glass on the table top, inspecting its contents.

  ‘In part,’ Logan replied. ‘How they have been treated is not unique.’

  ‘They’re animals,’ said sour-face.

  ‘They’re adapted humans who arrived here before you in the first diaspora from Earth. As such, under Earth law, they have more rights on this world than you.’

  ‘You’ll destroy the mining business here,’ said another woman.

  Logan gave a tight smile, studying his own glass. ‘There are machines that can do their job better. All it will take is some reinvestment of your profits.’ He looked up. ‘You will free the stone people working in your mines. Though you are already breaking the law under the net notice, I will give you until this time tomorrow to get it done, then I act.’

  ‘That’s not enough time!’ one complained. ‘We need to get new infrastructure organised. That’ll shut down the mines!’

  The one in the environment suit stood up. ‘My stone people left this morning,’ he said to Logan. ‘I trust that I will have no problems?’

  Logan spread his hands. ‘You know the laws. Don’t break them.’

  ‘Fuck you, Pallen, you’ve got machines,’ said the whiner.

  Pallen glanced round at her. ‘Because I knew this was coming.’

  ‘You never were one of us,’ said sour-face.

  ‘I know,’ Pallen replied. ‘I don’t possess that special degree of stupidity to think Trader John could keep Earth from taking over here, and nor did I think the percentage he demands is enough to keep him off our backs.’ He paused and surveyed the table. ‘And do you really think he hasn’t noticed that you’ve been skimming the profits? That he’s not been getting the percentage he demanded…? Later.’ He headed for the door and out.

  ‘Sensible man,’ said Logan, also standing. ‘You have one day.’ He too headed for the door. There was no reply from the table.

  ‘Pallen,’ Logan called.

  The man turned halfway across the lobby and waited.

  ‘They will turn on anyone who breaks ranks,’ Logan said.

  ‘They were already turning on me,’ he replied. ‘I took the slaves they used up, gave them medical care then paid them a wage until they were ready to leave.’

  ‘I know,’ said Logan. ‘Watch your back.’

  ‘Watch your back,’ Pallen replied. ‘Trader John has a bounty on your head and every jangler here will want to take a shot. You know what happened to E. L. Trepanan?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I just hope Earth is prepared to move in here with more than just one man. This is all about to get very ugly…’

  ‘You think?’ said Logan

  Pallen eyed him for a long moment, then nodded towards the council room. ‘They don’t know who to be the most scared of, you or Trader John. He’ll come, you know… and he’ll come hard. He almost certainly knows what they’ve been doing.’

  Logan shrugged. ‘There’s always a heavy price when you make a deal with the devil.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Pallen, and headed away.

  Trader John studied the sweaty face of Mayor Gavon staring at him from the screen. He then glanced to the curved windows of his home, across the river and out across the Flat towards the mountains.

  ‘He’s delivered notice of jurisdiction,’ said Grade.

  ‘Yes,’ said John, ‘of course he has. We knew this was going to happen, but thus far there is only him there, and thus far the political situation has to be tested.’

  ‘You said you could keep Earth out of here,’ said Gavon.

  John swung his attention back to the screen. ‘Are you complaining? My agents fed the information to the prador that led to Earth being shunted out before and I got rid of Trepanan.’

  ‘But a monitor is back, and it’s looking a lot like Earth law is here to stay.’

  ‘We will see,’ said John tightly.

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Some of my men will test this Monitor Logan,’ said John. ‘I have information about him that leads me to think they will be unsuccessful. I then have other options to bring into play.’

  ‘What can we do here?’

  ‘Nothing, for the present. Just sit tight.’ John waved a hand over the screen and it blinked out. He stared at it
for a long moment then reached out and tapped it. The screen blinked on again but this time just showed a revolving sphere. ‘House, detach services and move to pre-set location.’

  ‘As you instruct,’ replied a robotic voice.

  The house rumbled and began to move, the view through the windows shifting. John tapped the screen again and the sphere disappeared. A touch brought up a list of names and he touched one of these.

  ‘Chinnery Grade,’ he said.

  After a short pause a face appeared. Below white spikey hair, half of it was conventional human while the other half was metal.

  ‘You’ve decided?’ asked Grade.

  ‘Yes, I’ve decided,’ John replied. ‘Meet me out on the Flat as detailed.’

  Grade nodded once and his image blinked out.

  ‘Why are we moving?’ a female voice enquired.

  John looked over his shoulder. ‘Business,’ he said, ‘just business.’

  Trader John’s house rose higher on its hinged legs. It then raised one of them, terminating in a big flat foot, and took a cautious step into the river. More sure now of its footing, it took another step, then another. Soon it was wading across the river, then stepping up out the other side and heading out across the Flat.

  The drone dropped out of the darkness like a nightmare scorpion fly, writ large in nano-chrome armour etched with black superconductor. Its legs were thick and shiny and terminated in four-finger hands. Its wings were spread effector plates running from grav-engines in its back. Laser ports dotted its body, a missile launcher jutted from the thorax below its head. It hung above the building for a moment protruding two Gatling cannons, and revolved to inspect the town. Next, it folded the cannons away to come down with a heavy clattering thump on the roof of the monitor station.

  ‘Hello, monitor… Logan,’ it said.

  ‘Hello, drone. What do I call you?’

  ‘Call me Sting. It’s what they called me in my old unit, for reasons that should be quite obvious.’ The drone wiggled its scorpion sting.

  ‘More detail than I require,’ said Logan flatly.

  ‘Just making conversation,’ said Sting. ‘You have work for me?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I gave them until tomorrow afternoon to free the stone people. I want you to ensure that they do.’

  ‘Oh good…’

  Logan shook his head. ‘What I mean by that is that you’ll use your induction warfare systems to knock out every thrall device and explosive collar throughout the mountains.’

  ‘Oh… and if they start killing stone people?’

  Logan grimaced. ‘Yes, that is a possibility, but you can intervene subtly. You must not reveal yourself. If Trader John realises something like you is here he might not come. And I want him to come.’

  ‘That could be… difficult.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you.’

  ‘The stone people even now are under Earth protection,’ Sting observed.

  ‘Yes, I understand. I’m just asking you to at least try.’

  ‘I will try not to reveal myself,’ said the drone, ‘but if the janglers start killing they start dying.’

  Logan nodded. ‘Then I would prefer them to die quietly.’

  ‘That can be arranged…’ said the drone. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Make my presence fully known and stir the pot a little.’

  ‘Don’t get yourself killed.’

  ‘What, again? I’ll try to avoid it.’

  The drone snorted in amusement then launched from the rooftop and disappeared into the night.

  The saloon was ersatz eighteenth century USA. Logan pushed through the swing doors to the sound of a piano, only he noted that the player was an android that had lost most of its syntheskin. He walked up to the bar.

  ‘Bourbon,’ he said.

  The bartender was one of the stone people – a woman in a simple dress with black hair bound tightly back, tendrils cropped and skin pale blue. An induction thrall clung to her temple like a flattened metal tic, a green loading light glinting across a small rectangular screen in its surface. She served his drink and he paid with an octagonal coin. She was about to move off.

  ‘One moment.’

  She paused, obedient but wary.

  Logan gazed at her steadily, held out his hand and pressed his mid-finger down on one of the touch controls on is palm. The woman’s thrall beeped, the lights turning to orange then red and going out. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she reached up to touch the thing.

  ‘Don’t do anything now,’ he said, speaking low. ‘At the end of the evening you can take it off and just leave. Stay safe.’

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes, then moved off to serve another customer, her movements unsteady. Logan turned, bourbon in hand, and surveyed the saloon.

  There were janglers here and others. Whores ran their trade from soundproofed booths along one wall. At gaming tables, holograms or small robots fought gladiatorial battles. One man hung in gimbals in a VR suit, perhaps, by his movements, fighting another battle. One group was lounging around a hooka, the air around them striated with rainbow smoke. Logan sipped his drink, noting that the four who had followed him from the station had spread out about the room and were now making their way towards him from different directions. He smiled coldly and turned back to the bar – watching the room in the mirror behind it. Now a fifth entered. Logan recognised the big ugly man as the stone people handler he had seen earlier in the day – the one who felt the need for a cattle prod, which presently hung at his waist.

  ‘Hey, monitor,’ said Ugly.

  Logan turned and eyed the man.

  ‘I hear you’re a coward and wear body armour.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Seems some of my friends ran into you out on the Flat.’

  ‘Oh, how unfortunate.’

  The man just glared at him.

  ‘But you asked about body armour.’ Logan pulled down the neck of his T-shirt to expose bare chest. ‘Only when I’m working.’

  ‘Bit stupid to come in here without it.’

  Logan shrugged. ‘My working day is over. This is a saloon, and I’m a customer.’ He stepped a little way out from the bar.

  Breaking glass…

  One came at him from the left wielding the bottle he’d broken on the edge of the bar, jabbing it towards Logan’s face. Logan caught his wrist in his left hand, pulled and grabbed his shirt, spinning him into the one coming in from the right. Ugly came straight in, cattle prod crackling. Logan advanced, chopped it sideways, taking a jolt to his arm, but delivered a heel-of-the-hand blow to the man’s nose, shattering it. He fell back. Another, from behind, smashed a length of iron pipe against his back, sending him staggering. He came in for another blow but Logan turned and delivered and uppercut to his ribcage, lifting him from the floor and bowing him over. One hard chop to the back of his neck dropped him. Cattle prod came again, this time Logan grabbed it and turned it into his guts, crackling and hissing. The man screamed, until Logan head butted him, twice, kneed him in the guts then as he bowed over slammed his head hard into the bar. Logan turned. Three men now surrounded him and had decided to upgrade. Logan eyed their selection of weapons. Two had knives. The third had his hand on the pistol at his hip.

  ‘I will meet violence with equal violence, until I really start to get annoyed,’ he said.

  The two with the knives came at him. He knocked one stab aside and caught the wrist of the other, pulled and shoved driving the knife from one into the guts of another. The gunman drew and fired, but Logan ducked and turned one of the knifemen in front of him, who took the shots in the back. He threw him towards the gunman and rose, a knife he had taken held in one hand. The gunman now tried to take careful aim, and a moment later was gagging on blood, the knife imbedded in his throat. He took a step, and then dropped.

  The music had stopped now and all in the saloon were watching. Four we
re down unmoving, a knifeman was sitting on the floor holding his bleeding guts. Logan stepped over to the bar and picked up a bar towel, wiped blood from his neck and from his hand. He then threw the bar towel to the bleeding man.

  ‘Here, put pressure on with that,’ he said. ‘You might survive – people have survived worse.’

  He finished his bourbon

  In his cab, Kraven peered at his screen. ‘What you saying, Caber?The whole system?’

  ‘Yeah, it shut down.’

  ‘The stone people?’

  ‘Just dropped their tools and started fading into the mountains.’

  ‘Why didn’t you stop them?’

  ‘I ain’t paid enough to start shooting the fuckers – not with an Earth monitor in town.’

  ‘That worries you?’

  ‘It should worry us all.’

  ‘You make me want to puke, Caber.’ Kraven switched off the screen, grimaced at it then looked up to survey his surroundings.

  One party of stone people trudged out of the mine shouldering power drills running from heavy packs. They walked out beside a conveyor loaded with broken rocks. Other stone people awaited assignment, while among them fellow janglers were on patrol. He grunted satisfaction – all was as it should be – and returned to work. Guiding the moveable section of conveyor, remote controlling it from the cab of his spider, Kraven filled up another sorting-trough. He then keyed another control. Stone people, mostly women, who had been waiting to one side, jerked as if prodded, some of them reaching up to the thralls on their temples, then headed over to the trough and began sorting.

  Kraven now set his spider in motion, and it walked delicately down the slope amidst the exterior mine workings. He then turned it to head over to the punishment frame where two stone people were hanging. Parking it on the ground, he climbed out, and sauntered over to Holse and Frax.

  ‘Hey Frax!’They high-fived. ‘So what’s this?’ He indicated the two on the frame with a nod.

  ‘Thralls packed up and they tried to run.’ Frax shrugged, snapping his power whip back and forth.

  ‘John says don’t waste them,’ Kraven warned.

  ‘They’re about done anyway – maybe three or four days left in them.’