Owner 03 - Jupiter War by Neal Asher
‘Have him, and whoever is with him, arrested once the Scourge is in orbit,’ she instructed. ‘I’m sure his story will soon take on a new shape.’ She began to stand up. She would go now to Calder’s apartment and, while heading there, ensure her scattered security team was called in close. Perhaps it also might be an idea to ensure that Calder himself remained at her side . . .
‘I think you should look at the rest, ma’am,’ suggested Calder. ‘He does have something important to say.’
As she studied him, she deliberately assumed an expression of boredom. ‘Oh, very well.’ She set the video running again.
‘Pilot Officer Trove and I tried to take back control of the ship, for you and for Earth, and therefore presented the greatest danger to Scotonis, so he had us locked in the forward chamber used for storing inert railgun missiles. By imprisoning us he actually ensured our survival, because that part of the ship did not suffer as much damage from the tidal forces of the Argus warp. We’ve since managed to escape that storage chamber, and are now on a shuttle aboard the Scourge, and we are ready to come into one of the Earth orbit stations. But, of course, you are probably wondering, ma’am, what point is served by my sending this message.’
Serene certainly was, and really wished he would hurry up and get to the point. Her sense of personal danger had just ramped up, especially when she glanced round to see Elkin frowning at her palmtop, and her aides obviously busy receiving a heavy com load.
‘I wanted to be sure that, upon leaving the Scourge, we would not immediately be fired upon. I also want utter assurances, from your own mouth, ratified by all the delegates of Earth, that neither Pilot Officer Trove nor I will be punished for real or imagined crimes or handed over to the Inspectorate for interrogation. We have done the best we possibly could in a very bad situation, and we also now have in our control something of great value to the human race.’
Cue the dramatic pause. Really, just for inflicting that irritating bit of theatre, Serene decided Ruger’s public execution should be a spectacular. However, his next words left her dumbfounded.
‘Scotonis informed you that there were no communications with Argus Station, but he lied. Alan Saul tried to buy his way out of being attacked by transmitting all of the Gene Bank data to us. It now resides within computer storage aboard the Scourge, under my personal access codes. I can at once set that data to transmitting on any frequency, coded or otherwise, that you decide.’ Ruger shrugged, sat back a little from the cam. ‘It being subject to my personal coded access, I can do anything with it . . . anything at all.’
The implication was plain: Ruger had the power to give her the Gene Bank data; he also had the power to wipe it completely from the Scourge’s system.
Serene turned slowly to Calder, thinking fast. ‘Send him a reply. Tell him that once his shuttle leaves the Scourge it will certainly not be fired upon. He must dock here on your construction station. Tell him that I will communicate with him shortly afterwards, once I can ensure that my delegates will ratify a full pardon for his or Pilot Officer Trove’s real or imagined crimes against the state. You may also add that, in my opinion, Earth is as much in need of heroes to laud as villains to pursue and punish.’
‘Certainly, ma’am,’ said Calder, somehow seeming more confident and together, all of a sudden.
Did he suppose that, because she was now close to obtaining at least some portion of what she wanted out here – seeming likely to get her hands on a workable cure for Earth’s ills – she would be leaving soon and he could therefore return to enjoying the prime position in charge, and thus rule over his realm here without interference?
‘What kind of reception should we prepare for him?’ he then asked.
‘I intend to meet him, in person, and I’ll want that meeting broadcast on ETV.’ If necessary, she could pull the security teams closer in around her then – if it turned out that her growing suspicions about Calder were true. ‘We’ll have the broadcast relayed up on screens in the space dock he arrives in, along with the ratification of his pardon from the delegates of Earth. That will go a long way towards assuring him that no blame for previous failures will attach to him, and of course encourage him to begin his transmission of the Gene Bank data.’
Calder nodded thoughtfully. ‘Our new shuttle dock would be the best place. The cam network there is more modern and it has the requisite screens.’
‘Very well,’ said Serene, though slightly suspicious of this latest suggestion.
‘So he is to be a hero,’ remarked Calder.
‘Until the broadcast is over,’ Serene stated. ‘We’ll then extract the full truth in an adjustment cell.’ It annoyed her that a spectacular of Ruger’s execution would never be witnessed. Instead it would have to be something for her private consumption.
‘I see,’ said Calder, his expression hardening. He nodded once, and with a tight ‘Ma’am,’ he moved away, heading across the control room to sit at the console he had been using previously. Casually glancing around her, Serene noted that there were now at least ten of those Inspectorate uniforms nearby – most of them clustered near Calder – while her own security personnel, scattered around her, numbered just eight.
She stood up, realizing she had just made a serious mistake. She had let Calder know that she intended to go back on her word to Ruger, that public knowledge of someone’s status made no difference to whether or not they ended up in adjustment or with a bullet through the brain. Equally, all her promises to Calder himself were therefore worthless.
‘When I’ve made all the arrangements, I’ll speak to Ruger again from your apartment,’ she called out airily, heading towards the exit, her personnel rapidly falling in around her, Sack pacing warily at her shoulder. Right then she did not dare demand that Calder accompany her – feeling sure that to do so would push to a head something that she might not survive.
Argus
The meeting had been moved forward and, as Alex headed for the cam dead spot in Arcoplex One to attend it, as well as his backpack he carried a sidearm he had acquired on the ship’s black market. It might be that the rest of the chipped had decided he was too much of a risk, and he was actually being called to a rendezvous with whoever had been given the chore of getting rid of him. He didn’t consider it overly paranoid to think that way, since people in secret organizations like this one tended to be paranoid, so he was behaving perfectly in character.
The main layout of the buildings inside the arcoplex had changed not at all, but almost everything else had. The commerce thriving here was illustrated by the numerous lurid signs over shops in certain streets. Some of the apartment buildings had even acquired balconies on which plants were growing that, though also ornamental, were mostly for recreational consumption. Here and there, buildings had been painted in certain colours to distinguish them, and right now the conference centre was gradually being gutted – causing much discussion as to what it might be turned into, the most popular choice being a sports centre with its own swimming pool.
Alex passed the fone shop, with its sign depicting an old Bakelite telephone seemingly growing out the top of the skull of someone who looked suspiciously like the Owner. In the next building along, he approached an arched door with the eye of a cam set in the apex and, as the door buzzed open, he guessed this surveillance wasn’t linked into the ship’s computer system.
On entering, he passed a construction robot, squatting in the corridor like a steel gargoyle, and was beckoned forward by a woman he recognized as one of the chipped. Heading towards the murmur of voices, he stepped warily into the room beyond and then relaxed, sliding his hand out of his jacket. Every one of the rebels he had so far identified was present, so this had to be a genuine meeting.
‘Now that we’re all here,’ began Ghort, eyeing Alex with slight annoyance, ‘we need to talk seriously.’
Shrugging off the straps of his backpack, Alex moved over to the nearest available seat.
Meanwhile Ghort continued, ‘You
‘And we know why,’ interjected Marsin. ‘He saw Galahad’s warships pull out of their construction station, so he’s getting ready to run.’
‘Precisely,’ said Ghort. ‘And the moment he does run is when we strike.’
‘But surely,’ said the woman who had waved Alex in, ‘we’ll just leave ourselves open to attack from those warships? I’m all for getting rid of Saul but not at the price of handing myself over to Galahad.’
‘It won’t work like that,’ Ghort explained. ‘We move just as he fires up the Rhine drive, just when he feels he’s safe, when he feels he’s already escaped. At that stage his death won’t result in the drive shutting down. Alex, you have the necessary devices?’
Alex nodded and reached down to open the backpack, first taking out two objects which, because of their long stems, almost looked like fireworks. These stems were steel, however, and the cylindrical objects attached to the end of each were considerably more destructive than any firework.
‘These,’ he explained, ‘incorporate delayed-action solid-fuel boosters and noses full of high explosive.’ He passed them to someone sitting nearby, who immediately passed them on to Ghort.
‘Enough to take out a spidergun?’ he enquired as he took hold of them.
Alex nodded. ‘If I can get a clear shot.’ Then to himself added silently, in the microseconds of a spidergun’s response time.
Next he took out a large squat cylinder with a gecko pad fitted to one end.
‘Copper head,’ he explained. ‘It’s an old method of armour piercing, but the innovation here is that a fraction of a second later, an incendiary follows the stream of vaporized copper through. This will burn out his inner sanctum.’ He pointed to a small digital display on the side. ‘It works by either a timer or coded signal, and it can also be shut down by coded signal if necessary.’ He passed this over too and watched as Ghort handed it to one of the chipped, called Jean-Pierre, who then took it out of the room. It seemed likely to Alex that the same robot he had seen on the way in would be the one that would deliver it.
‘Let me have the detonation code,’ said Ghort.
Alex nodded and immediately sent it via the scrambled channel. This request, more than anything else, told him who was really in charge here.
‘We’ll set the timer for twenty-five hours,’ Ghort continued, ‘which is somewhat over the time it should take for Galahad’s two warships to get their vortex generators up to working speed, but I can adjust things if necessary later on.’
‘We have our weapons now,’ observed Marsin, ‘and we have our general plan of attack.’ He watched Ghort for a moment before continuing. ‘So how does this run?’
Ghort nodded to Jean-Pierre, who had returned, now empty handed, then said, ‘The moment Saul fires up the Rhine drive, we move to the rendezvous point before heading to the outer ring. The robot will, when ready, take the copper head and position it on Saul’s inner sanctum.’
Ah, checking, thought Alex. Doubtless Ghort himself or someone else familiar with explosives would be vetting Alex’s work. They would find nothing wrong with it, of course.
‘But if we’re on-shift?’ he enquired.
‘Until we’ve done this, try to ensure that you’re wearing either heavy work or VC suits during any shift you undertake,’ Ghort replied. ‘When the drive fires up, or once you receive notification from me, just drop whatever you’re doing and move. The weapons will then be in place.’ He now passed over the two assault rifle grenades to the woman sitting beside him. ‘As we move against Saul’s backups and that spidergun of his, I’ll let Alex here lead, since he’ll know the best approach. Any questions?’
Studying the expressions all around him, Alex noted that some of them looked a little sick. Talking revolution was not quite the same as undertaking the actual act. One of the more frightened-looking men held his hand up.
‘I have one,’ he said, then at Ghort’s nod continued, ‘what happens if we fail?’
‘If we fail, we die,’ said Ghort.
Alex had been determined not to spice the proceedings with horrible reality, but in this instance he could not help adding, ‘And in that case we have to hope Saul allows us just the once-only experience of dying.’
Gilder Main had been the first to arrive, unlocking the door to the building next to the fone shop which Var had only recently learned he was now renting, and he was also one of the last to leave, heading straight back next door. Var lowered her binoculars and unplugged the optic connecting them to her palmtop, then studied the twenty-five faces on her screen. Ghort’s presence had come as a surprise to her, Marsin’s as no surprise at all, while the fact that the Messina clone was involved seemed inevitable. Folding up her palmtop and slipping it into her pocket, she began to walk around the circumference of Arcoplex One towards the fone shop itself.
So what now?
Var fingered the other object in her pocket and considered her options. She knew the names and faces now but still needed to know what their plans were, assuming they had got so far as formulating any plans. She also realized that, if she truly believed her brother was preparing to let this thing run so as to give himself an excuse to either thin out or exterminate the current population aboard, she had to act. She must also operate without reference to his apparently omniscient presence throughout the station. She must operate as she had on Mars, cutting a straight line to her goal with ruthless efficiency.
Soon she was on the street she had been observing from the other side of the arcoplex, then she was passing the door she had actually been watching and heading straight for the door leading into the neighbouring fone shop. Just outside, she paused for a moment. She knew that Scarrow was currently working a shift in Arcoplex Two, and that inside Thomas Grieve would be at the counter while Gilder Main would be working in the rear. She opened the door and stepped inside.
Just as she had supposed, Grieve looked up from a screen and gazed at her with momentary puzzlement before suddenly showing fear. She had pushed him hard the last time they met – trying to find some fragment of the murderer he had once been and thus a true motive for revenge.
‘Varalia Delex!’ he exclaimed.
Too much warning. Groping in her pocket, Var abruptly accelerated, leaped the counter and pushed through the door behind it. As she went through, she saw Main pulling something out from underneath one of the workbenches. Before he could stand upright again, the toe of her boot rammed into his side, then she pulled the stun truncheon from her pocket and stabbed it towards him. He grunted, convulsed, went down on his face, spilling a small torch-like object from his hand. Var snatched it up, feeling triumphant – any doubts about her current actions evaporating. Unlike a stun truncheon, which basically caused an abrupt and brief paralysis, the disabler he had been about to use disabled by causing the most extreme agony.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Grieve from the door.
Var glanced towards him. ‘Come in, Thomas, and close the door behind you.’
With obedient naivety he did precisely as she asked, even as she stood up from Main’s recumbent form and headed towards him. After closing the door, he turned to her uncertainly, just in time to receive the full force of the truncheon on one side of his head. As he went down, Var felt slightly uncomfortable about how good it had felt to do that, how, even though Grieve had been mind-wiped, she still felt in need of some payback from him for the killing of Martinez back on Mars. She then went in search of rolls of electrical tape with which to bind them both.
‘So, how were you intending to assassinate my brother?’ she asked, when Main finally came round.
He stared back at her in a superior way before suddenly looking panicked and peering down at his chest.
‘You’re looking for this?’ she asked, holding up his relay on the end of its chain, the communication device now crushed flat by his bench vice. ‘No, you won’t
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Main snapped. ‘And you’ve no right to do this. We have laws aboard this station.’
‘You mean “ship” don’t you,’ she noted acidly. ‘Argus ceased to be a space station some while ago.’
‘Whatever.’ He shrugged.
‘I know who the rest are, since you all conveniently had a meeting within my sight. So I’ll go back to my first question: how do you intend to assassinate my brother?’
He kept his mouth stubbornly closed, so she held up his disabler and watched sheer terror flit across his expression.
‘You’re mad,’ he said quickly. ‘We just meet to discuss some business options.’
‘Very private business,’ she said, holding up one of the scramblers.
His eyes widened in shock.
‘Did you really think you could keep these items a secret?’
He said nothing, so Var placed both objects down on the floor, reached out and pinched his nose shut and, when he finally opened his mouth to take a breath, shoved a ball of insulating tape inside. He struggled as she again picked up the disabler and set the intensity to below a level where the agony would knock him out. She pointed it at his chest and triggered it, watched him writhe and grunt, tears streaming from his eyes. After a full ten seconds of this, she turned the disabler off, shuffled back a bit to get away from the pool of urine spreading underneath him – and wrinkled her nose because he’d also shit himself.
Soon he was staring at her in panic, struggling to inhale enough breath through his nostrils. She pulled the wad of tape from his mouth, slimy with blood and saliva, and put it to one side, before waiting for him to recover. He lay gasping and occasionally sobbing, tears still streaming from his eyes. At that moment, Var felt a moment of doubt and began to wonder if she had gone too far. She then stubbornly dismissed the thought. She would carry this through to its conclusion, since no other options were viable.