Omega Point (28 page)

  Light came from below. Whatever had hold of his leg let go. He fought for the surface, flailing his arms, primitive parts of his fake brain telling him to get up, up! But a current grasped him as surely as the thing had, and his attempts to swim made his lungs burn worse. Spots whirled in the dark. He swirled head over heels, toward the light.

  He popped through a hole along with a torrent of water issuing from the underside of a sheet of rock. Air touched his face, his lips exploded open, and he sucked in a breath.

  Nothing had ever felt so good. The feeling did not last. He was falling.

  "What the hell?" Richards' face was pushed tight against his skull as he entered freefall. He clutched hard at his hat, but it was torn away from him. The fall of water turned to droplets, then a rainbow mist carried off by the wind, and he was in cold, cold sky. Below him clouds arrayed themselves with deceptive solidity. Far below that was a patchwork world in miniature, stark contrasts evident between each slab of stolen terrain.

  "Ah, shit," he said, words wrenched from his mouth by the wind.

  A dirty white blob preceded them. "Look!" shouted Tarquin. "Bear!"

  Richards caught sight of a glint in the sun. As they fell, it grew bigger, turning into a metal-hulled ship suspended between two larger shapes, long torpedo-like things with tail flukes and multiple flippers – many-limbed whales. Figures resolved themselves on the deck, looking up and pointing. The ship rocked as Bear hit. Richards opened his arms up and steered himself toward the boat like a skydiver. It rushed up at him, crew scattering.

  He hit Bear's stomach, cracking a scrim of ice on his fur.

  "Oof!" said the bear. He looked up into Richards' face, sprawled on his gut. "Nice of you to drop in," he said with a grin.

  "That's two I owe your tummy," said Richards. He smiled broadly as his hat fluttered down and landed next to him. "Hey! My hat!" He scooped it up and popped it on his head.

  "Arrrr, this all be very touching," said a piratical voice. "But what be yer business aboard the
Kylie?
"

  Tarquin flickered to stone. At the prow of the ship, the crew gathered; all glinting gold teeth, fancy pants, ostentatious weaponry and ripe body odour.

  "OK," said Bear, casting his eyes heavenwards. He pushed Richards off his stomach and set his shoulders forward. The long blades of his gloves shot out. "Right then," he growled, "who's first for a kicking?"

  With ear-curling oaths, the pirates charged.

 

Otto stood and watched as the Chinese dug. The ground at the old lakeshore was full of pine roots, and yet the Dragon Fire troopers tasked with excavating Chures' grave did so with their armour stripped off. They sweated in the cold air, hacking and shovelling away stolidly, using only their native strength.

  "In deference to the dead," the troops' leader told Otto. "The dead should depart watched over by men, not machines." He'd been courteous as his soldiers had surrounded the Stelsco, flipping his helmet into the broad back of his power-assist armour and introducing himself as Commander Guan Song Hsien. They were prisoners, for all that, and the seven other Dragon Fire soldiers remained in their bulky armour and covered Lehmann, Valdaire and Otto with their weapons. The armour was comprised of jointed plates, smooth lines marred by quick release bolts. The armour was particularly massive about the shoulders, the soldiers' helmeted heads almost buried by it. The suits drew in at the waist only to flare out again around the lower legs, where thrust units and gyroscopes were housed, providing stabilisation for the soldiers' flight packs and compensating for the recoil of their rail cannons. Magnetically impelled weapons were as close to recoilless as it was possible to get, but the size of the Dragon Fire soldiers' ordnance made such counters necessary. The guns sat underneath their right arms, enclosing the majority of the hand in a trigger unit, their barrels a metre and a half long, energy drawn from their flight-pack reactors. The flight packs had a single main jet, held high and tilted, fat plastic feathers of control plates ranged up the back of each soldier, giving them the appearance of badly fledged angels.

  Each Dragon Fire soldier was a one-man flying tank. They looked like heavy combat robot chassis, only the irregular movements of humanity betraying the presence of the man encased in each mechanical shell.

  "That would rule Lehmann and me out of the burial party?"

  Commander Guan looked uncomfortable. He had a flat face with heavy epicanthic folds, a shallow nose and skin dark for a Han. "I apologise. We have no enhanced such as you in the People's Republic. I am unsure as to what the Tenets of Balance would say on this matter, and I am ignorant of the customs of your homeland." Commander Guan's speech was translated by his suit from Mandarin into German. The translation was swift and flawless, if emotionally bland, and seemed at times to anticipate what Guan was going to say, which spoke of some level of mind interface. Otto took all this in as he was designed to, assessing threats, but the human part of him wondered if China really was AI free. "However, to allow you access even to a spade or shovel would present an unacceptable tactical risk. We are aware of your capabilities. This may take some time. You may sit if you wish. Please do not go from our sight. The accord brokered by the VIA between our governments is a temporary one, and I have been given strict orders as to how you are to be dealt with should you not follow my instruction."

  I'll bet you have, thought Otto. The Dragon Fires' support craft hovered silently above, a twin-hulled heavy lifter of a type he had not seen before. It too was heavily armed and armoured. He walked to where Valdaire and Lehmann sat silently. Lehmann moved to speak, but Otto silenced him with a hand, and ignored the query flashed into his head via MT. He felt the need to be alone for a while, and walked past the others to sit down on a fallen tree from where he could look over the dry lake.

  The forest was cold and unpretty, the remains of Bratsk an eyesore on the far side of the plain of cracked mud, another blemish that would stain the world for centuries. The damage from the secret war between China and Russia was obvious even from this distance: shell holes and craters and spaces in the skyline where buildings had collapsed. While they'd been brought here, Dragon Fire troopers either side of the Stelsco, he'd seen the body of an old-style paratrooper hanging from a tree, a cluster of bones in a sack that might once have been a uniform of the People's Republic. Wrapped in tattered silk, skull held on by a few blackened sinews.

  And they pretended still that the purchase was an act of economics, not war.

  He stared at the needle-thick forest floor. At least now, into autumn, mosquito season was done with. Siberia was murderously thick with them in summertime. He gave a brief and derisory laugh.

  He looked at the wounded landscape. So much death he'd seen, and he'd seen but a fragment the last century had had to offer. The planet's population had shrunk by three billion since its peak – the Christmas Flu, haemorrhagic plague, war and environmental collapse had killed many, but elsewhere populations were shrinking naturally. Whether this was down to the twin, and opposed, pressures of increased baseline prosperity and resource poverty, as the academics had it, Otto did not know. To his grandparents' eyes most modern Europeans would seem to live mean lives. Sometimes he thought the human race had exhausted itself along with its planet, losing itself in a senescence of virt-worlds, endlessly replaying its faded global culture and pretending everything was all right while its AI children took over its affairs one by one; a protracted extinction.

  All he knew for sure were the abandoned suburbs, the ruinous village grown over with weeds and young trees, the towers of the arcologies springing up all over the world as populations contracted and concentrated themselves, the endless array of talking machines, and horrors like Kaplinski born of science.

  And what he knew best of all was the blood of those he had killed as the world had changed around him. All of them, every face, stacked up there in his mentaug waiting to ambush him in his sleep.

  And Honour.

  He was so tired. His shoulder throbbed. He damped down his pain responses via his mentaug, and had his phactory increase its doses of aminopyridines. Pain lessened and the clenching of muscles round his shoulder relaxed.

  He closed his eyes, and opened them to white walls. His seat changed from an uncomfortable branch into an uncomfortable sofa twenty years ago.

  He sipped water from his cup and his feet jigged with worry. The clinic was empty; it was the time of night when few people had the desire to visit. We can't always decide when we need to visit, he thought bitterly. Honour had refused to come in, until she'd finally collapsed six weeks after their trip to the cave – three days ago. They'd been here ever since. Otto rubbed his eyes, and sent a series of subconscious cues to his mentaug to tinker with his brain chemistry. No one knew how long an individual could go without sleep, but the number of devil-may-care headcases and students clogging up the psych and neural re-engineering wards gave the medical establishment a pretty good idea of how long you could not. After a fortnight, Otto was rapidly approaching that limit. He felt awake, but the taste of aluminium on his back teeth told him he was close to the edge.

  A health technician in a white smock appeared at a door opposite the waiting area.

  "Mr Klein? Ms Dinez will see you now."

  Otto flipped his cup flat and replaced it in his belt as he walked to the door.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting. This is a complex case."

  "One to write up," he said bitterly.

  "Mr Klein…" the technician said gently.

  "I'm sorry. I just…" He just what? He didn't know how he felt any more, he was no longer sure what was him and what was the mentaug. Moments like that in the cave, pure emotion, pure him, they were precious, and rare.

  "I understand," the technician touched his arm. "This way."

  The touch of the hand shifted to his other arm, and the room fell suddenly chill. Otto blinked and he was back in the forest, looking up at Valdaire. The sun was lower in the sky.

  He'd had a mentaug blackout. This was not good. So long ago, but he was just there. And they said time travel was impossible.

  A small grin cracked the corner of his mouth.

  "Otto, are you OK?" asked Valdaire.

  Otto nodded. "Memories," he said.

  "They're going to bury Chures now," Valdaire said softly. "The Chinese want to know if you will say something? I did not know him well."

  "Neither of us did," said Otto.

  Valdaire smiled sadly. "Just try."

  Four Dragon Fire troopers lowered Chures' white-shrouded body into the forest floor, their fellows standing with heads bowed. Otto spoke over it, as he'd spoken over the makeshift graves of a half-dozen good men over the years. What could he say? That he barely knew him? He said something about bravery and belief, and keeping the line, but he found it hard to feel any of it, and kept it brief. His words felt false. Kaplinski was still out there. It was a world of monsters.

  Otto was one of them.

  Valdaire thanked Chures for saving her life, and said nothing more.

  Commander Guan looked to Otto. His irises were so brown as to be almost black. Few people had eyes like that in Germany. Otto always found them hard to read. Otto nodded. Commander Guan said something – Otto's Mandarin wasn't good enough to catch it, not out here without Grid support – and the men who'd lowered Chures to his final rest started to fill in the hole. When they were done they drank water from woven bottles, sluiced the dirt from their hands and wiped their faces with bright white towels, leaving streaks of forest mould on them. They walked silently to their armoured suits, which stood apelike, slumped forward until their wearers approached, at which point they straightened, swung their arms wide and opened, becoming metal flytraps that swallowed the men whole. Chestplates swung down, helmets engaged and auto-bolting mechanisms whirred. With the men imprisoned inside them, the war machines came to sinister life, a high whine coming from their powerplants.

  Commander Guan addressed the three foreigners, his translation programme switching to English. "We will leave now. You have twenty-four hours to locate the man you seek, at which point you will be taken to the border, successful or not. We will escort you. Your machine –" he gestured to Valdaire "– you must leave it turned off."

  "We'll be done here before today is over, if we can leave it on. The phone holds the location of the hacker Giacomo Vellini," said Otto.

  Guan regarded him for a second, then gave a curt nod. He turned to the side and looked up at the grey sky. He spoke into his suit. There were pauses in his speech as someone replied.

  "Very well," he said eventually. "There are no AI in the PRC, no near-I, no thinking machines, and nothing possessing proficiency in any three areas that outstrip the capabilities of a human mind. All such machines violate the Tenets of Balance, and are illegal. Our allowance of this machine's presence is discretionary. Should the machine attempt to connect to Chinese sovereign Gridspace or attempt any interference with People's Dynasty machinery it will be destroyed. Do you understand?"

  Valdaire nodded, her hands tightening around the phone.

  "Understood," said Otto.

  "Good," said Guan. Troopers marched to each of the foreigners, one to each side, and took them by the upper arms in hard machine grips. "You may only activate your machine in the secondary tactical room. You are to remain in the secondary tactical room," said Guan. "Do not attempt to leave it without express permission. Any attempt to escape and you will be restrained forcibly. If you should leave the room you will be arrested and tried as spies in a People's Republic court. If you leave and attempt to enter the command deck, gunnery deck or power room, you will be shot. Is this also understood?"