Xenoform (30 page)

‘I say give it five, then go back up,’ said Sofi. Thankfully, she had stopped waving the micro-laser around now. ‘Try to find out what’s happening.’

‘If I could use DNI wireless I could find out now,’ remarked Tec, with some small bitterness. ‘You sure it’s not okay, Debian?’

Debian was biting his lip. ‘Maybe we should try it. I have a proxy chain we could
–’

‘
Are you fucking crazy, man?’ demanded Whistler. ‘You were just telling everyone not to connect and that you’re a wanted man, remember? Nobody connects for now. Put the satellite feed back on.’ She studied Debian closely and he turned away from her. Was he really so eager to get back in there? He had seemed so frightened so recently
–
it didn’t make much sense to her. Damn buttonheads.

‘Right, yeah.’ The feed started up again as Tec instructed Mother to turn on all the speakers on the basement floor. A real, human-sounding newsreader had replaced the virtual being.

‘Shut up!’ Sofi yelled at Debian, who had begun talking to Whistler quietly. Debian frowned slightly – just the smallest pinching of the eyebrows, really – but silenced.

The voice of the newsreader echoed down the concrete gullet of the corridor: ‘
–
reporting that a fuel barge has hit the Centre District
, causing massive damage and loss of life. The barge was on a standard landing pattern, heading for City Six space port when the disaster happened. Air Traffic Control were alerted to a problem with the computer navigation system but it was too late to prevent the disaster. It was over in minutes. It is unknown as yet whether this was the result of a terrorist attack, human error or an equipment failure. We now go over to our disaster correspondent, Marti McCallan, watching the proceedings from Silver Square, on the edge of Centre District. Marti...’

‘
Thank you, Sefena – fires are raging all across the Financial Sector. The sky here is dark as night – huge clouds of smoke rolling across the city from the point of impact, in the north-west corner of the Centre District. A strong westerly wind is carrying most of that smoke over into the Undercity, and one concern is that the fumes may be harmful.’ Marti sounded filled with boyish excitement at the opportunity to relate this disaster to his listeners. ‘Many large buildings in the Financial Sector have been destroyed, simply wiped away by this immense explosion. Eyewitnesses report the barge scraping its underbelly over the rooftops of those tall towers, spreading its cargo over a wide area. Er, we understand, Sefena, that the emergency services are experiencing serious communication and equipment problems. We
are
hearing sirens now, converging on the Financial Sector, but I’m also getting reports of many emergency units currently unable to respond. At this stage, the loss of life is incalculable, but it’s likely to be in the tens of thousands. Citizens are advised to remain indoors unless they are directly threatened by the fires. As soon as any official advice is given, you will hear it here first, so stay inside and stay tuned. For now, we would say that it is unlikely–’

‘Oh shit...’ sighed Whistler. She rubbed at her forehead, behind which a headache of promisingly massive proportions seemed to be brewing. Tec turned the news feed down so they could converse.

‘
A
fuel barge
!’ said Debian disbelievingly. ‘Those things are
huge
. This could be very bad.
Very
bad.’

‘
Navigation computer
,’ said Whistler, leaning against a wall for support.

Debian nodded. ‘It’s attacking the city,’ he answered. ‘What is going on here? It sounds as if it’s disrupting the civil infrastructure, too, making it harder for us to deal with the crisis. This is an attack.’ He sounded grimly assured of this fact.

‘By whom?’ asked Tec, in the tone of one not expecting an answer. ‘Why?’

‘Perhaps it’s acting on its own,’ suggested Debian. ‘Perhaps not. If I could connect, there’s a chance I could find out what’s going on.’

‘
Whistler’s right, man, it’s too dangerous. Last time, you think it might have pattern-scanned you, making it more powerful than before. What would it do this time? Perhaps it would kill you by DNI. Theoretically it’s possible, right? Maybe it would just find your location, send robots to do it or something. I don’t think you should do it.’ Tec shook his head firmly to underline this point.

Debian remembered what he had done to Hex, what seemed like a million years ago. He recalled how empowered he had felt. How could he feel so helpless now? Maybe if he could get back into the data-stream that power could be rekindled. ‘I could try to find out what went wrong in my hard firewall last time. Or just use regular avatars. I’d have to use a chain of proxies to slow the discovery of my location. Even so, it wouldn’t buy much time to investigate. It’s dangerous, and difficult with fire-and-forgets, but maybe possible. Maybe
–’

Whistler cut him off. ‘Debian, that’s one too many maybes for me, I’m afraid. While you remain on my premises, I don’t think I can allow that. It could endanger us all.’

‘Are we not all endangered right now?’ he asked, staring into her face with clear determination.

‘Might as well let him try,’ suggested Sofi. ‘If he wants to fry his brain, fuckin’ let him, I say. Besides, it might even do some good. Who knows?’

‘Thanks,’ said Debian, the ghost of a smile on his lips. ‘I think.’ He seemed to have sobered up dramatically since the explosion. Whistler, regrettably, knew how he felt.

‘Okay, man, okay...’ Whistler said with evident exasperation. ‘You’re paying me to protect you from these people who might want to kill you, not to stop you from killing yourself if that’s your wish: You decide. If we can help you do this in any way, we will. Tec – you give him any assistance he needs. We’ll worry about anything the AI sends after you when it happens. This place is basically a minor fortress, so I’m not too frightened about that. Right now I’m more concerned about Roberts and Spider, who might not be all that far from where that fucking thing came down.’

‘Right,’ said Sofi, pressing one hand to her ear. ‘I’m trying to raise them now.’ She began to pace, her plastic boot-heels clacking on the concrete floor.

Tec led Debian into the lab, the two of them already chattering away heatedly in a flurry of indecipherable terminology. The lights went on in the lab, and then the door closed behind them leaving only Whistler and Sofi in the corridor. Whistler began to find Sofi’s pacing infectious and had to consciously restrain herself from joining her friend on her pointless circuit up and down the hallway.

‘Well?’ demanded Whistler, unable to bear the suspense any longer. ‘Anything?’

Sofi stopped, shrugged, still clutching her beer in one hand. She looked thin and wraith-like in the shadows. ‘The line’s dead.’

‘Dead,’ echoed Whistler. She hoped that this state of being did not extend to her friends as well as the satellite connection.

‘Is knackered,’ said Roland, laying Spider’s mag-rifle gently down on his workbench. ‘In my professional opinion. Operating system totally locked up. I can fix, but is a big job with my computer playing up.’

‘Right,’ said Spider, chuckling. ‘I thought as much. Will it take you long?’

Roberts was wandering around Roland’s small ‘office’ inspecting the various guns on display. He turned round holding a long, chromed mag-rifle he had taken down from the wall. Its narrow sides were carved with intricate designs and its body was otherwise entirely free from any machining marks. ‘How about we trade it in against this one?’ he asked Roland.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Roland, rubbing the nape of his neck with one of those weird hands of naked bone. ‘Is possible. Take me maybe ’til Monday to fix. If you want to trade in, take that one now, fine.’ He looked up at Roberts, his eyes the deepest shiny black. ‘Is nice, yes?’ He pointed to the rifle Roberts had found.

‘Let me see that,’ said Spider, reaching for the ornate mag-rifle with one grasping pincer. Roberts handed it over and Spider turned it this way and that, sighting along the spindly barrel and inspecting the controls. ‘Where the hell did you get this?’ he asked Roland, clearly impressed.

Roland laughed – a dry, coughing sound – and scratched his white-stubbled chin. ‘Special friend – you know,
business friend
. Limited edition. Is from an orbital factory.’

‘No shit,’ agreed Spider, squinting into the scope of the weapon. He swung the gun around and Roberts ducked. Spider laughed loudly.

‘No shit, no. Very high muzzle velocity, even for a mag-rifle. It shoot through the side of a tank with liquid-points in it.’

‘
Do you have any?’ asked Roberts.

‘Yes. Course.’ Roland sounded almost offended.

‘How much?’ asked Roberts, stepping around the workbench and almost tripping over Roland’s insectoid robot, which seemed to be collecting crumbs of swarf from the floor and eating them.

‘Well, if I give you twelve for yours...say, twenty-three?’

Roberts puffed his cheeks out, shocked. He exchanged a look with Spider, who laughed again. ‘Your call, man,’ said Spider. The long rifle looked almost small in his massive arms.

‘
Twenty-three
? Whistler would kill us. That’s more than the U55.’

Roland seemed to find this idea amusing. ‘How is pretty lady?’ he asked, his face mischievous.

‘Fucking frugal, that’s how she is, Roland. Tight as a duck’s arse. If you could do it for eighteen, then maybe. I mean, she’ll still hurt me, but not fatally.’

‘
Look, gentlemen, twelve is really too generous for your rifle. Twelve is price for a working gun. I still have to fix it to re-sell. At this price, I do you guys a favour. And actually, I think it’s
you
who owe
me
a favour.’

‘Damn,’ said Spider, his dreams clearly shattered. He placed the mag-rifle back on its hooks with a wistful look and began to prospect for something cheaper among the ranks of weapons.

‘How’d it go with Haspan in the end?’ asked Roland, changing the subject. He looked thinner than ever in his dirty white vest, as if a strong breeze could damage him terminally. The low, orangey light in here was not flattering to his haggard face, either. ‘Not too badly, I’d guess, as you still walking around.’

‘
Non-starter, sadly,’ said Roberts. ‘But thanks for arranging it for us, anyway. I guess we’re out of work for a bit.’ He didn’t know that
out of work for a bit
had become
contract terminated
in his absence. He had been unable so far to connect back to the base. ‘This greenshit is a conundrum.’

‘I’ll say,’ agreed Roland. ‘You know how many people have it now?’

‘
How many?’ Spider asked. He turned back to Roland with a much simpler
looking mag-rifle in his massive claws.

‘Lots,’ said Roland emphatically. ‘Is a lot. Also, this computer shit. What’s going on? Damn world’s gone crazy. Can’t patch any of the guns at the moment. I’m lucky I have software hard-copies for your gun. Somewhere. Fuck knows where, though!’ He threw up his hands in a comical gesture, looking around his cluttered dwelling. Piles of weapon components covered every surface.

‘How much for this one?’ asked Spider.

‘That one, with ten for your rifle...say, nine?’

‘Ten for our gun?’ boomed Spider, liking the old man better all the time. ‘I thought you said twelve!’

‘Is a cheaper gun!’ explained Roland, as if to a child. ‘I throw in two hundred of those liquid points you wanted, eh?’

Roberts sighed. ‘My friend, you drive a hard bargain. Eleven for our gun.’

Roland shuffled past Spider and started retrieving small plastic boxes of ammunition from a drawer. He tutted and shook his head as he went. ‘No, no, no. Ten against that cheaper gun. Is more than fair, and I think you know that.’

‘Ten-and-a-half for hard money.’

Roland handed four boxes to Roberts. They were surprisingly light in his hand. ‘Hard money’s the only money there is at the moment. So of course hard money, yes.’

‘Damn, man,’ said Spider shaking his head. ‘Just pay the guy, Rob. With the liquid points that’s a good deal.’ He turned to Roland, hefting the new mag-rifle happily. It was lighter than the old one and of better build quality, too. ‘Thanks, Roland.’

Roland waved this away. ‘You tell that pretty lady to come visit me again, okay? If you guys are out of work, maybe I have something for you.’

‘What sort of something?’ asked Roberts, intrigued but cautious.