Xenoform, p.35
Xenoform, page 35
And on the other side – what, exactly? Choose humanity, side against the AI and somehow resist the attack that had begun – refuse, more importantly, to actively help the data monster. Could he hurt it, except by his refusal to aid it? It had effortlessly implanted the small data scrap containing the net address into his DNI memory. Surely he would be powerless to actually damage a thing like that. He felt torn, disorientated – half man and half computer already, caught on the cusp of evolution.
‘I don’t know where it came from, but it seems clear that it was made to attack us. The GDD organs affect the city while the computer problems prevent us from reacting. As for why, I don’t know that either, I’m afraid. But it fears for its own safety now, fears betrayal by its makers. Whoever they are.’
‘Hmm,’ said Whistler, guiding the van carefully up onto the pavement to avoid a patch of tree-like structures that had apparently grown straight out of the concrete. ‘You make it sound almost human.’
‘In some ways,’ he admitted, ‘it is almost human. It’s certainly sentient and intelligent in the classical sense. I never thought I would meet such an entity. Simulated intelligences, virtual beings, avatars...this thing is on another plane altogether.’
Whistler thought he sounded slightly awed. She glanced across and his eyes were distant, dreamy. He looked beautifully fragile, his slight features pale and ethereal, his unlit DNI sockets glinting in his blond hair. He could have been a delicate piece of electronic equipment himself. ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Debian. But if we get Spider out and make it back to base it sounds as if you and I need to have further discussion about this.’
Her tone was odd and he wasn’t sure exactly what to read into it. Was he just being paranoid? ‘Sure,’ he said and then turned to look out of the side, hoping she would get the message and leave him alone. He really didn’t feel like talking to anybody right now.
‘I appreciate you coming with us,’ she said quietly. Debian looked back at her to see her smiling at him, but her eyes were sad in her grey face. ‘You’re a strange guy, and I still don’t really understand how you’re involved in all this. But thanks.’
‘It just seemed right,’ he found himself saying. ‘My life has suddenly become very odd after years of remaining essentially the same. I’m just trying to do what seems best, one thing at a time.’
‘Me too,’ she agreed and then she drove in silence for a while.
As they cautiously entered High Hab, passing beneath a huge, buttressed arch of ceramicarbide that served to delineate it from the Lanes, it was clear that the infection was indeed worse here, as if the warping of the city had happened around the epicentre of the barge crash, which they passed to the west of. Looking towards that demolished stretch of skyline they could see the buzzing hulks of confused gyrocopters, flying either without pilots or without their consent, launching rockets randomly into the haze that shrouded the battered streets at ground level, one of them plummeting inexplicably from the sky as they watched, to flower into a burst of flame as it hit the ground. Whistler expressed her gratitude that their course towards RPC would now begin to take them away from that terrifying focus of devastation. They headed further west into Med Hab, towards the sea and the jagged outline of the RPC headquarters itself, which jutted from the earth like a broken tooth, towering above the general hubbub of sleek, exclusive buildings, rubbing shoulders with only a few giants of equivalent size. Its shiny facade looked dull and dirty now, unlit, slab-like. It looked, reflected Debian, like a massive gravestone. He wondered how they could hope to extract Spider from there and not die trying.
The van drove unmolested through checkpoints that usually would have been well-fortified against the envious denizens of the nearby Lanes. The pillboxes were now unmanned, festooned with loops of greenshit vine, the robot sentry guns lolling lifeless on their swivel-mounts. Whistler forced aside a barrier with the armoured nose of the van and continued without speaking. Roland was carrying out last minute hardware checks on the weapons he had lent to the group, Ari occasionally offering its professional opinion, mostly ignored. Tec was running a series of basic diagnostics on the van’s weaponry, hindered by the lack of the computer. Nobody had suggested turning the automatic systems on again. Sofi was fidgeting, champing at the bit, fingers drumming on the stock of the plasma thrower.
‘Do we just roll up to the front door, then, or what?’ asked Sofi, leaning into the front of the van.
‘We’ll see,’ said Whistler. ‘I guess we keep our distance, skirt around, try to see if there’s anybody home. It all seems suspiciously quiet at the moment.’
As she said this a series of Resperi pods, travelling in a blaze of emergency lights, tore out of the building, turning onto a flyover that swooped away to the west, heading out of the city along the coast. Whistler killed the lights, nestling into the shadows at the side of the road and waited until they were out of sight.
‘They’re heading out of town,’ mused Tec. ‘I guess it’s kicking off elsewhere, too. Hopefully, we won’t find it too well-defended.’
‘Maybe they’re just running away,’ suggested Sofi.
‘Fine,’ said Roland with a grim chuckle. ‘Works for us, right?’
‘Hey, don’t they have a tunnel to the court?’ asked Tec suddenly, his face lighting up.
‘Yeah, so convicts don’t have to be moved above ground, right?’ confirmed Sofi. ‘Less chance of them making a run for it.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand – they were watering profusely. She sniffed, then saw that Tec was watching her. ‘What?’ she demanded. Tec said nothing.
‘The tunnel does exist,’ confirmed Ari, sitting up. Its eyes flickered as it scanned internal memory banks. ‘Straight from the cell level in the basement to the High Court. It might be easier to breach the court building and then enter RPC through the tunnel.’
‘I still want to look at the front door,’ insisted Whistler.
‘Is there some other way into the tunnel, besides at either end?’ asked Tec, directing the question at Ari.
‘I do have some restricted maps on file,’ admitted Ari with a touch of pride, ‘and I can demonstrate the course that the tunnel takes. Perhaps we could blast through from a sewer tunnel – there are several places where they come very close. Bit of an oversight on the part of the designers, really. Although, to be fair, there is less space available underground these days than you might imagine – the tunnel’s course seems to have been dictated by necessity. Did you know there’s actually a disused government emergency shelter nearby, under the streets?’
‘Hmm,’ grunted Sofi. ‘Fascinating, thanks. Bit of a blast from the past for you, eh, Deb – back into the sewers?’ Debian wasn’t sure whether this was an insult or not and decided not to answer. ‘Front door is sounding better all the time.’
‘We’ll take a look at the front,’ said Whistler. ‘On foot. We’ll leave the van somewhere along the most direct route home. Assuming that we’re heading home after?’ She glanced around. Nobody had a better idea. ‘Good. Let’s ditch it on the main road – run it up on the pavement, maybe throw some rubbish over it or something. Hope the greenshit doesn’t eat it up before we get back.’
‘Bet you wish you’d let me fix the camo-projector now,’ said Tec pointedly.
‘I have a projector,’ offered Ari. ‘It can be detached and just plugged into your vehicle. Uses a bit of juice, though – it’s a military model.’
‘Yeah, do it, Ari,’ ordered Roland.
‘Okay,’ said Whistler. ‘Let’s do that. We’ve plenty of power.’ She coasted the van round onto the main road, wedging it as far into the shadows of a corner between two buildings as possible while Ari performed surgery on itself, extracting the small sphere of the projector from its body and plugging it into one of the van’s power outlets.
They disembarked in an atmosphere heavy with foreboding, pulling their hats down tight onto their heads. The stink of the greenshit was almost unreal, although the nasal plugs filtered most of it out – one just didn’t seem to get used to it with exposure – and the dust was thick in the air. Sticky puddles of slime marred the roadway like sores. The shambling silhouettes of GDD victims could be seen lurching slowly along the streets, thankfully ignoring the group for now. Nobody else was around.
Debian emerged from the circular hatch and stared at the spot where he knew the van to be. It was virtually invisible except for the slightest peripheral shimmering if you tried to catch it out of the corner of your eye. He extended a hand slowly and felt its smooth, cool skin where there looked to be only empty air. Who the hell was this guy Roland, to have the equipment he had exhibited? How well did Whistler actually know him?
‘For fuck’s sake everyone remember where it is,’ said Whistler.
‘Yeah,’ said Sofi. ‘Remember last time we had a C-projector on it.’
‘That was your own fault, Sofe,’ said Tec. ‘You were on that trippex, remember?’
‘All the same,’ said Whistler. ‘Everyone take a good look at the spot.’ They did as she commanded, trying to burn the location into their minds. ‘Let’s go.’
They reached the end of the road, moving low and slow behind whatever cover they could find. RPC loomed massively above them, seeming to fill the sky. A wide flight of steps ascended from street level to a gigantic set of doors which looked firmly closed. Somebody had run a ten-metre-long personnel carrier up the steps and parked it across the doors just to really drive the point home. A rubbish bin to one side of the doors was burning steadily, glowing embers rising from it like spirits.
At the foot of the steps was a huge battle-bot in the bright colours of RPC.
‘They have a guard dog,’ said Sofi, peeping over a low concrete wall.
‘I don’t think so, Sofe,’ answered Whistler.
The robot was vaguely centaur-oid and stood probably four metres high at the shoulder, quite unsuitably large and over-powered for any sort of urban civil-defence force. It was stomping up and down the flat square at the foot of the steps, jumping and twisting at the waist, spinning round like a dog trying to catch its own tail. They watched as it stormed up to a deserted gravpod and began to kick and smash it psychotically to pieces. There was a noise, low and feral, coming from its speakers, carried faintly on the wind, a sort of enraged growling.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Sofi. ‘I think that thing’s on its own side now. Looks like it’s gone utterly batshit.’
‘We can’t fight that thing,’ said Roland. ‘No point. Fucker‘d eat these rockets like popcorn.’
Debian considered offering to initiate wireless and hack the thing – he was sure he could do it and that he would be safe attempting it – but he decided not to voice this idea. Had he considered this decision in more depth he might have deduced that he was suffering from an inexplicable desire to keep his cards close to his chest.
Whistler ran a hand through her hair. ‘Okay, the tunnel, then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go with Ari’s idea of trying to get in from the sewers. Maybe blast through with weaponry.’
‘Melt a hole with that plasma thrower,’ suggested Tec. ‘Depending what the tunnel’s made from.’
‘Sure,’ said Ari, who didn’t sound alarmed at witnessing the degenerative condition of its fellow robot, who was still stomping and fuming up and down the square.
They followed Ari back out of the square cautiously, so as not to alert the insane battle-bot, and into a small side-street squeezed between the windowless walls of two tower blocks. Ari scuttled brightly off, slim legs all a-blur.
‘Here!’ it called in a stage whisper. ‘Manhole. I know where to go – there’s a place where the court tunnel comes within two metres of the sewer.’
‘All right, then,’ said Tec, wasting no time in heaving the metal cover out of the way, using the stock of his gun as a lever. He rolled it carefully – quietly – to the side of the road and leaned it against the wall. Ari shone its torch into the depths, although all this did was make the darkness retreat a little – it still looked like a gateway into the abyss. ‘Hmm...Fun,’ said Tec, suddenly not so keen.
‘Just get on down there,’ said Whistler.
Ari climbed down into the hole with efficient agility, not bothering to use the ladder, its sharp feet finding purchase on the bricks. Tec followed, clearly gritting his teeth, then the others descended one by one. Debian felt a smothering sense of claustrophobia almost at once and it was all he could do to keep moving downwards. What had gone wrong in his life so badly that he now found himself entering the sewers for the second time not only in his life, but in the same week? Whatever it was, he didn’t feel that he deserved this.
They moved in a cursing, near-blind procession down the slippery ladder and onto the flat. There was no actual sewage here, and for that at least they were all glad. They seemed to be in a narrow access tunnel of some sort, which stretched ahead, featureless, as far as Ari’s torch beam would show them. Even by infrared Debian couldn’t discern the end of it.
‘Hope you know what you doin’, you fuckin’ biscuit tin,’ muttered Roland.
Ari did a good impersonation of a human sigh. ‘Of course I do – we all know who the real brain of our partnership is.’
They hadn’t gone much further when the robot piped up again: ‘Here it is.’ It was indicating an undistinguished area of tunnel wall, opposite which another tunnel branched off into utter darkness. ‘You can stand back from the target wall in that other tunnel – you don’t want to get too close to that plasma. Get blasting.’
‘You think we’ll set off any alarms in there?’ asked Tec.
‘I think we have to assume so until we know better,’ admitted Whistler. ‘Everybody ready for the shit to hit the fan. Worst case scenario is a running gunfight all the way to the cells, where Spider is presumably being held. Sofi, get up here with that plasma thrower. What’s the melting point of brick, anyone?’
‘Varies between about one- to two-thousand centigrade, usually,’ said Ari. ‘I realise that’s a wide margin of inaccuracy but I couldn’t tell you the exact composition of these bricks without proper chemical analysis. We should be fine – that plasma burns at about the same temperature as the sun’s photosphere – that’s something in the order of six-thousand centigrade, so plenty of headroom.’
Sofi keenly shouldered her way to the front of the group and waved everyone else away brusquely. She readied the massive weapon, planting her feet firmly on the slippery tunnel floor.
‘Watch the burst cohesion on that thing,’ warned Roland as Sofi checked the settings. ‘It splashes you, you lose an arm, and that’s if you lucky.’
‘Sure,’ answered Sofi. ‘I’ve got it set as tight as it’ll go. Stand back.’
‘Well back,’ added Roland, ushering the group back up the main tunnel as Sofi readied herself.
The plasma thrower made barely a whisper of noise as it gouted brilliant flame, too bright to look at, but the heat generated as the tiny jet of dazzling fire sliced into the wall was almost overwhelming, even from the group’s vantage point back in the main tunnel. Humid, steamy waves rolled over them as the damp brick melted and vaporised. They turned their faces away, cowering against the slimy wall. The stink of burning minerals mingled with the underlying reek of the greenshit to stomach-churning effect. Debian felt suddenly, terrifyingly claustrophobic. He fought the urge to just turn and run, flee from this awful subterranean other-world. He pressed the filter plugs more firmly into his nostrils and sank to the floor.
‘How’s it going?’ yelled Tec.
‘Give me a minute!’ Sofi shouted back. They waited for what seemed more like five minutes than one and then she called out again: ‘Okay, I’m done. Come back!’
They returned to Sofi, who was holding the plasma thrower at arm’s length as its cooling system kicked in. She looked a little singed around the edges and her eyes were streaming again. They surveyed the patch of wall, impressed. The burst cohesion had indeed been tightly-focused – so much so that Sofi had been able to cut a precise, door-shaped oblong into the brickwork. She had cross-hatched the oblong with a lattice of cuts that glowed fiercely in the dark.
‘Nice,’ said Tec. ‘D’you think it burned all the way through?’
‘Let’s find out,’ said Sofi.
‘If I may,’ said Ari. It scuttled five or six metres up the side tunnel, bracing its sharp feet on the floor. Its headlight played across the section of wall as it charged. Ari ducked its head down, running like a charging bull, hitting the weakened wall like a battering ram. There was a terrific, shattering noise that had probably alerted half the city and Ari disappeared in a cloud of debris. Its light-beam waved randomly about, illuminating roiling clouds of dust.
‘Hey, tinpot!’ yelled Roland.
‘I’m through,’ Ari replied, reappearing into sight. ‘All the way into the other tunnel. Thrower cut through brick and earth alike. Come through, but don’t touch the edges or you’ll burn your fingers off.’
The humans gingerly stepped through the opening, passing through brick, scorched, chalky earth and then foot-thick concrete to stand amazed in a wider, clearly much newer tunnel piled with rubble. The tunnel was dimly lit by red emergency lights. It stretched, arrow-straight, into the distance. They could just make out the outline of a doorway at one end, in the direction of RPC headquarters. There was nobody else in the tunnel. They relaxed slightly, though Whistler still held her smartgun at shoulder height.
