Simon Morden - Theories of Flight

“I thought I told you to take what you need.”

[I have done. But if they physically take assets offline, I am not in a position to reconnect them.]

Petrovitch shifted awkwardly as the coach barged another disabled car aside, then carried on down the hill. He was still standing like a charioteer, hanging on to the hand rail at the top of the steps, staring out over the city.

“If you’re still just using spare capacity, it’s time to grab whole systems for your dedicated use. Whatever you want. Start with the Metrozone traffic control, and chyort, I know where you can get what you want.” His face twitched. “The basement of the Oshicora building.”

[The quantum computer is quarantined. There are good reasons for that.]

“There used to be good reasons for that. There are better ones now for breaking it.”

[And what of Oshicora, or VirtualJapan?]

“There’s nothing left of either. I hinted there might be so that Sonja wouldn’t think to look elsewhere for you. Time to crack the seals and let you in. What else is happening that I need to know about?”

[The EDF stationed around King’s Cross are coming under sustained attack. The Outies have looted some heavier weaponry from a Metrozone facility in Holloway, and are threatening to break through at the goods yard and at Pentonville Road.]

“Do we have any air cover yet? A gunship or two?”

[They are of limit… ]

“I don’t care. They’re no good sitting on the ground waiting to be overrun. If the Outies make a breach now, we’re screwed. Tell the tanks to flatten the goods yard and get our soldiers off the streets and into the buildings. Forget hardpoints, set up free-fire zones and make the govnososa pay for every centimeter they take.” The coach swayed, and started to indicate right. A barrage of broken paving slabs and bricks clattered against the side windows. The toughened glass shivered, but didn’t crack. “What else?”

[Your wife’s unit is completely surrounded. There are casualties.]

“She knows I’m coming.”

[How?]

“Because she knows I will. What about Primrose Hill?”

[They have made contact with the Outies, who are filling up the streets around the park. There is some long-range sniping, but it is only a matter of time before they advance. There are too many of them for our defenders to cope with: a simple matter of not having enough bullets.]

“The Westway?”

[The Outies are temporarily stalled within the Paradise housing complex, but they will soon realize they can flank the area by moving toward Notting Hill.]

“It could be worse.”

The AI was silent on that point.

Petrovitch called Valentina as the coach rumbled down a side street, its vast bulk threatening to dwarf the terraced houses either side. The cars that remained parked on the sides of the road lost their wing mirrors and much of their paint.

“Hey.”

“We have bridge,” she shouted over the noise behind her. He liked her. She was direct when he needed her to be. “There are many, many Japanese crossing here. This is good.”

“Any trouble?”

“Nothing you need worry about. We will keep road clear for as long as we can. Petrovitch, what about demolition charges?”

“They’re under our control.”

“Good. Petrovitch, there are problems with networks. People fear New Machine Jihad.”

He had no reason not to tell her. “They needn’t be afraid. I am the Jihad.”

“You will have to explain later how this can be. But okay.”

The coach pulled up cleanly outside the station closest to the tunnel entrance, and shushed on its brakes.

“I’m going to have to go offline for a while. Leave a message if you have to. Otherwise, do as you see fit.” He turned to walk down the stairs to the hissing door. His coat had stuck to his back. It was as bad as it could be, made worse by his imagination. “Valentina, if… if this all goes wrong: don’t hold any loyalty to me. Sonja Oshicora will use the Jihad to slug it out with the Outies, but there’s no guarantee she’ll win. Blow the bridge along with the others and get out of there.”

“I am big girl,” she said. “I can see which is right side, and which is wrong side. So—even if you are dead, it does not make you any less right.”

“There is that.” He stepped through the arched entrance, into the cool shadow of the concourse. It was as he’d left it.

“So I choose to fight, kamerad kapitan. I see no other way.”

Petrovitch crawled across the top of a turnstile, clawing at the cold metal with his fingers and trying not to fall. He turned awkwardly, letting his feet find the floor through the mist that rose up in his vision.

“As you wish, Valentina.”

He cut the connection and staggered out onto the platform. The end of the tunnel was in sight, and so was the slight figure of a schoolgirl standing in the opening, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, bouncing slightly in her now-scuffed and dusty trainers.

Where he had climbed up before, he hesitated, looking at the distance between the platform and the track. When he turned and started shuffling down toward the incline that merged the two, Lucy broke from cover and ran toward him.

She slowed as their paths converged, and she stopped completely when they were face to face.

“Sam? What happened?” Then she caught sight of the cable hanging around his neck. Her gaze narrowed, and she followed it from his collar to the base of his skull. “What the fuck is that?”

He tried to smile, to make light of it: “It’s a cybernetic mitigator implant. All the cool kids have got one.”

“But… where’s… that blood. Is it yours?”

“Yeah.” Petrovitch shrugged awkwardly. “I got blown up again. Miyamoto’s dead. His choice. Not mine.”

He wanted her to walk in front of him: not because he didn’t want her to see the ruin of his back, but because he couldn’t deal with her reaction. She wasn’t taking his hints, the gentle ushering of his hands, the pointed stare back down the tunnel.

“I got us some transport. Enough to get everybody away. I need you to go and round everyone up, start them moving.”

“And what are you going to be doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Me and Doctor Death need to have a chat.” He reached behind him and took hold of the jack in his head. He twisted it, and pulled it slowly out.

It felt like half of him had died, and he mourned the loss so much that he almost drove the spike back in again. His fingers trembled, then let the silver-shiny connector slide free.

She was watching him. She caught the cable in her hand, and slid it carefully under his collar, retrieving the rat from his inside pocket. The casing was scratched and dented, discolored with dirt and some uncomfortable dried brown stains.

“What do I do with it?”

“Hang on to it for me.” He needed his glasses. He found them in his coat. One lens had chipped, but he slid them on, and pushed them up his nose. “You can use it. Not in the same way. With, with these.”

The overlays were flexible enough to have escaped damage. He passed them over, and she held them in front of her face, checking the difference they made. She stopped and moved them back over to Petrovitch’s right.

“There’s someone there.” Lucy flipped the overlays aside. “Some sort of virtual guide?”

“He’ll warn you if there are Outies nearby, or anything else that might be a problem. You can trust what he says. Isn’t that right?”

Petrovitch supposed the avatar was either taking a bow or wearing a cynical smirk. While she was distracted, he managed to turn, keeping his back out of her eyeline. He walked toward the tunnel while she played briefly before remembering her mission.