Neal Asher - Zero Point (Owner Trilogy 2)

‘Memories of what?’

‘Her name is Varalia Delex, but that’s her married name – from her husband, Latham Delex. Her maiden name is Varalia Saul. Hannah, she’s my sister.’

Hannah’s expression registered shock, then all sorts of rapid calculation and reassessment. ‘You knew she was out here?’ she tentatively asked.

‘I knew she was offworld but I had no idea where. Perhaps that knowledge was a subconscious driving force, but I can’t even speculate on how much influence it has had on my actions and decisions since I found myself on the way into the Calais incinerator.’

‘You knew,’ Hannah asserted.

‘I thought you only dealt with empirical fact, Hannah?’

‘Yes,’ she said, obviously still thinking hard.

‘Let’s get moving, shall we,’ he suggested.

She gazed at him dubiously for a second, then reached up and touched her fone with her fingertips. ‘Langstrom is waiting for you outside, and Le Roque awaits you in Tech Central.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that.’ Saul smiled.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘I am not going to kill anyone, Hannah.’ He knew about Le Roque and Langstrom’s attempt to take control of the station, and he understood why they had felt the need.

A dizzy spell hit him as he began to walk, and his vision doubled for a second as he established further control over his brain’s visual centre. Elsewhere within that organ, he could feel other control firmly establishing itself: the unsteady beat of his heart stabilizing as he finally relinquished remote control of it; other functions consciously controlled sliding over to autonomous function; memories copying back from his ‘spares’ as structures connected up in this physical body’s brain to contain them; the new neural network from the biochip firming up and windows flashing open and closed into the virtual world of the station. Opening the door and stepping out, he turned to his police commander, who was now accompanied only by the repro Manuel.

‘Langstrom,’ he said, noting the addition of lines of strain in the man’s face, a few grey hairs and a slight indentation to his jawline that signified the man had lost a tooth and had yet to have it replaced.

‘You’re . . . okay?’ Langstrom asked, gazing at him wide-eyed. ‘I didn’t quite believe . . .’

‘I am functional.’ Saul paused, remembering to appear human. ‘I’m in surprisingly good shape considering what happened to me, but we have the advanced medical technology here and the expertise.’ He reached over and clasped Hannah’s shoulder. ‘I’m alive, let’s put it that way.’ He smiled, then realized from Langstrom’s expression that he hadn’t managed that correctly. The repro, of course, hardly noticed. ‘So, what news on this remaining Messina clone?’

Langstrom looked suddenly shamefaced. ‘No sign of him since a robot winged him when we ambushed both him and his partner aboard Messina’s space plane. I’m beginning to wonder if he just crawled away and died.’

‘We’ll find him,’ Saul assured the man. ‘Come.’ He set off along the corridor, meanwhile sending a mental summons to certain others whose presence he required.

The journey to Tech Central was fraught with dangers for him. The tightness of his VC suit helmet caused psychosomatic pains he only managed to rid himself of by shutting down new nerve growth in his scalp. Outside the arcoplex, the zero-gravity falling sensations returned so strong he nearly lost control of his limbs, while also trying to again get the hang of using gecko boots. The weakness he felt from moving about after being so long bedridden could not be dispelled, and by the time he arrived in Tech Central he felt exhausted. However, he maintained rigid control and did not allow these weaknesses to show as he stepped inside the main control room and studied the people here: his people.

Scourge

Activity in the Scourge had ramped up and every time Clay stepped out of his cabin there would be someone hurrying to some destination, with an expression worried and intense. Throughout the initial months of their journey, everybody had worked efficiently, just doing their jobs, being professional, but as time progressed such activity sank into a kind of robotic boredom. Then there was the fight in the troop section, and Liang’s execution of one of those involved in it, but not its prime instigator. This had knocked any real trouble on the head, and discipline had further tightened up after Liang doubled up on combat theory and tests, for which the punishment for failure involved the use of a disabler, and he instituted weapons drills outside on the hull of the Scourge , which left the soldiers too tired to attack each other. Now that they were decelerating into the Asteroid Belt, however, they were all inside, constantly exercising in the ersatz gravity to rebuild muscle mass.

With the crew there had been no further problems since Clay’s punishment of Pilot Officer Trove, and they remained completely correct around him, but distant. It was time for that to change, though Clay worried about what the extent of that change might be.

‘You summoned me,’ said Scotonis, after Clay had opened the door to his cabin. There was no audible resentment in his words, nor was it visible in his expression. But of course it was there, safely hidden.

Clay returned to his chair, beside his small computer desk, and gestured towards his bed. Scotonis entered, moving a little woodenly, and sat down on it. ‘If you’ll pardon me, Political Officer Ruger, I do still have many preparations to make.’

‘Call me Clay.’

‘Certainly, Political Officer Clay.’

Clay grimaced. ‘Everything is thoroughly prepared and checked,’ he said, gazing at the other man. ‘Commander Liang is still keeping his troops constantly at the point of exhaustion, exercising them now we have gravity, then intends to take that load off them in about two weeks – two weeks before we intercept Argus Station. They will be in the very best condition for boarding the station, at least as far as training and physical fitness are concerned.’

‘I am at a loss to understand what you require, Officer Clay,’ said Scotonis blankly.

Clay held up a finger to still him. ‘You are running your own crew ragged, but they are also willingly complying. Every system is being checked and rechecked, every error corrected just moments after it occurs and every nut and bolt tightened because nothing must be left to chance, because we all know the penalties of failure.’

Unconsciously, Scotonis raised his fingers to touch his strangulation collar, then on realizing what he was doing, snapped his hand back down again. Clay had made his point, and now it was time for the gamble. Failure out here meant he would die, he was certain of that. If they failed to get what they wanted from Argus, yet survived that coming encounter, Galahad would send the signal to his own collar or perhaps to his ID implant and then, when it became evident that he had not died, she would order Scotonis or Liang to arrest him. His control of the inducers and readerguns aboard would give him some advantage over them, but what then? He couldn’t fly this ship alone.

‘If we fail out here,’ he said, ‘we all die.’

Scotonis warily nodded agreement.

‘The least Galahad would do is kill both of us,’ he continued, ‘then perhaps kill some of your staff – but not all, because she’ll want this ship back.’

‘The least?’ Scotonis enquired.

‘I know her, Captain, and I’ve seen how she behaves. It’s quite likely that in a fit of rage she would kill everyone aboard, regret that action afterwards because of the loss of this ship, falsify some story over ETV, then move on.’