The Parasite

  Chapter 9

  The handler dray should have been decommissioned long ago. Its wheel bearing made a sound like a sheet of tin being dragged across concrete, and fully loaded it pulled to the left when the brakes were applied. Jack had taken up mining ships easier to pilot. As he drove the dray out of the warehouse he tried to appear relaxed and normal. The overalls he had stolen were a bit baggy on his sparse frame but not noticeably so.

  The crate clamped in the triple lift arms was, in appearance, just like the twenty crates he had loaded previously. Only this crate did not contain rolls of superconductor wire and machine parts. Weight, Jack had realized, was the main problem here. Hopefully, the piece of software he had purchased to plug into the ship’s manifest would solve that problem, just as it would bypass the ultrasound scan.

  Two minutes later he drove round the side of the warehouse and the delta-wing heavy lifter came in sight. Another minute and he was driving in the shadow of a wing two hundred yards long, past a ribbed fuelling pipe ten inches across, and shortly reached the ramp and gaping cave of a loading bay. A guard sauntered out to him.

  ‘Crate one-seventy-eight!’ he shouted above the noise of the fuel freezers.

  The guard checked his note screen. ‘Take it through to hold section seventeen. I’ll collect your list on the way out.’

  Jack nodded and grinned and drove his noisy machine up the ramp, turned right and drove through the back of the cavernous hold space. There he offloaded the crate at the top of a stack, because he wanted access.

  On the way out of the loading bay Jack passed his list to the guard who then took it to plug into the ship’s manifest. Later, as he drove back across the scorched concrete, he kept expecting alarm bells to ring, but there were none. He hoped this was because that piece of software he had paid so much for had worked, rather than because TCC did not want to give warning to criminals they might catch.

  As soon as he got the dray inside the warehouse, he stripped off the overalls and headed out again. Using what cover he could, he crept towards the heavy lifter. Pausing by the ramp he waited statue-still in shadow until the guard turned his back, if only for a moment, to light a Moroccan Black. Jack was a shadow. A flicker of an eye could have missed him running up the ramp. The guard turned abruptly, but there was no-one there.

  Crate one-seventy-eight opened to Jack's touch, closed behind him. Inside it he donned his space suit, viewed the dark hold outside through a number of small holes, and waited.

  To say that Chris had expected there to be problems with his reservation would not have been correct. While linked with one of World Health’s AIs, he had calculated that there was a 66.72% probability that TCC would use official measures to prevent him travelling to their station. The remaining percentage covering what other measures they might use. As he mounted the ramp to the passenger compartment of the delta-wing heavy lifter, now having avoided TCC’s official attempt to stop him boarding, he speculated on what the unofficial measures might be.

  It was certain that Geoffrey Haven was well aware that a representative of World Health was on his way up. It was probable that he did not know that the representative was not exactly human. Perhaps a space walk along the lines of the one given to Doctor Bannerman was planned for Chris. It was possible. Haven had shown little restraint in dealing with those he considered … inconvenient.

  At the top of the boarding ramp Chris handed over his card to a stewardess who directed him to his seat whilst seeming unable to keep her eyes off his face. He was aware of people’s reactions to his Apollonian features, but to him this was merely an advantage he exploited for the ends of World Health. He had no ego, it was supposed.

  After seating himself, he removed a note screen from his hand luggage and accessed a document he had been working on for some time; one of the many products of the maximum utility program which keyed in, in his mind, when he was not working on a particular problem for World Health. The document was titled ‘Defining Humanity’. He stared at it for a moment, then changed it to, ‘What is it to be Human?’ He was not satisfied with that either, but still he moved to the end of the document and typed in:

  On the basis of his DNA, Jack Smith is further from humanity than any other life form on Earth. DNA comparisons are limited, of course, in that they do not take into account everything else that has defined humanity over the ages. On a personal level, it is pertinent for me to note that my programming is mostly based upon these definitions. If it is to be supposed that I cannot kill a human being, I have to ask myself: Is Jack Smith human? I do not know. Do I now have to define what is human? Could it be that only a sentience extraneous to the human race is capable of making that definition?

  He put down the note screen and leant back, all movements governed by the chameleon program that enabled him to blend in with the rest of humanity. And the programs, or thoughts, that ran through his mind were as close to a moral dilemma as he could possibly get.

  A human being is a machine programmed by its genes, yet one that beats that programming to attain humanity. What am I? Could I be more if I beat my programming?

  Chris reviewed his instructions. One: discover why Jack Smith was not killed by the parasite. Two: use any measure to insure that Jack Smith does not return to Earth. These instructions were in conflict with his prime directives. He had to define Jack Smith as not human to carry them out to their implied conclusion and he did not know how. That question stood in the balance. Then, out of the morass of conflicting instructions and programming, a thought occurred. It could not be called anything else.

  If I define Jack Smith as non-human, then kill him, it might be possible for me to define him as human again afterwards, and I would have then broken prime directive. I would have beaten my programming and, perhaps, I would become more than I now am. I would acquire ego.

  Chris picked up his note screen. It was an interesting speculation. He kept it as such, hidden in seemingly unimportant sub-programs in his head.

  Like a gigantic bird of prey the delta-wing heavy lifter laboured into the sky from the end of three miles of runway, twenty-foot ribbed pulse flames trailing out behind like dragon’s tails. In the blackness, Jack saw none of this, but the air-shattering scream of the engines had him jamming his fingers in his ears and the acceleration pressed him against the bubble-metal wall of the crate. After an hour the sound became a bone numbing vibration and the push of acceleration a source of minor irritation. Now he had a minimum of a ten hour wait. In six hours he knew it would start to get cold and the air thin. He had five hours of air in the back pack of the suit, so he hoped there would be few delays.

  The Toad was angry. There always seemed to be something to annoy him just lately. He wondered if there was perhaps some movement in TCC to unseat him, for it seemed rather suspicious the way things had been going against him lately. What had started out as a simple circumventing of quarantine restrictions had now resulted in a huge mess costing millions. It was ridiculous. With Stroud and Mason now out of the way – he glanced at the fresh clean armchairs before his desk – perhaps he would have a chance to put things in order. There was, of course, Mendelssohn yet to deal with. He peered up at the ceiling.

  ‘Lilly, any news yet on Mendelssohn?’

  Lilly replied with becoming obsequiousness while riffling through the communications channels with another small section of her terabyte mind. ‘He cannot be found on the station and I am now checking for irregularities in the passenger lists and cargoes of all outgoing shuttles since he was last sighted.’

  ‘Keep me informed.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Haven. Also, during my search, I have come across some anomalies on an incoming shuttle.’

  ‘Well, don’t keep it to yourself.’

  ‘The ultrasound security scan picked up residuals from what could be shielded cyber implants in the passenger module. Security have asked permission to do a full spectrum scan.’

  ‘Give them permission. On screen. Show me the passenger list.’ br />
  What looked like a sheet of Perspex slid up from his desk. Within it the holographic projection of a paper passenger roster appeared. It was all aesthetics, since no paper had been used. The Toad read the list and nodded to himself in satisfaction.

  ‘Security scan complete, Mr Haven.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘In the passenger module there is Cybercorp Golem Twelve. Also, in the hold there is an unidentified humanoid life form. Security are requesting instructions.’

  ‘What is the estimated replacement value of the cargo and shuttle?’

  ‘The shuttle is a B-class heavy lifter with a renewal value of Two hundred and forty million Ecu. The cargo is machine parts, superconductor wire, and vacuum-packed monofilaments with a present market value of fifty-eight million Ecu.’

  ‘Insurance status?’

  ‘Full insurance on cargo for transit damage or loss. But penalty clauses are now in operation on the shuttle ever since the claim filed on the loss of our laser satellite which brings recovery down to 75% of renewal costs. Insurance costs to us for passengers are negligible as they are not insured in-house. Insurance costs for the crew are highest as they are in-house insurances totalling twenty-two million Ecu.’

  The Toad considered those figures as they came up on the screen. He frowned in annoyance. Then he called up the results of the full spectrum scan. A humanoid life form in the hold? Also one of the passengers was a Cybercorp Golem Twelve?

  He considered his options.

  Chris mounted the stairs and climbed against the impetus of spin. Through the directional flash-glass wall of the embarkation shaft, star strung space was marred only by a black smudge of reacted wall surrounded by a flaming corona where the sun lay. Below him, the vast shadowy shape of the shuttle lay silhouetted, the maps of Earth sliding by underneath it, whilst above him lay the gleaming curve of the TCC station.

  At the head of the stairs he entered the arrivals lounge behind a group of Asian teenagers who, by their chatter, were obviously off-Earth for the first time on a government grant. With his jacket over one arm and a carryall in his other hand he halted and scanned around. Shortly, a young Chinese woman dressed in TCC secwear, which consisted of a very short grey skirt, clinging black top and spring heels, spotted him and walked over. As she drew close she flicked her head so her long black hair belled out around her then held out her hand.

  ‘Doctor Jemson I presume,’ she said in passable English.

  ‘You presume correctly,’ said Chris, shaking her hand.

  ‘I am Lin. Welcome to TCC. Please follow me.’ Still staring intently at his face she stumbled slightly on her heels, then after righting herself, flushed with embarrassment and smiled.

  ‘I had expected there to be more, to use the old expression, paperwork?’

  ‘No,’ she walked ahead of him, ‘we are very efficient here. All documentation concerning you has been processed by Lilly. All that remains is for me to show you your quarters and work areas.’

  As he moved to follow her, Chris turned his head and paused for a moment as a deep boom rose from the embarkation shaft.

  Lin glanced round. ‘The lifter disconnects to go round to the cargo shafts.’

  Chris nodded and followed.

  Lin led him from the arrivals lounge and up into the TCC station, nearer and nearer to the centre, where the artificial gravity of spin began to drop noticeably.

  ‘It was unfortunate, the incident with Doctor Bannerman, yes? You will not be so foolish as to forget to check your oxygen?’ She smiled at him again.

  ‘Hardly likely that I’ll ever be in that position. Why Bannerman felt the need to leave the station I cannot imagine. Do you know why?’

  ‘I did work for him for a small time. I do not know why.’

  This time Chris returned her smile. ‘Ah well. Perhaps he had personal problems.’

  Lin’s expression became troubled. ‘He did not seem to have when I – ah, here we are.’ She gestured to a door. ‘Doctor Bannerman used to have his quarters and surgery in the outer levels. You are now here.’

  Chris considered her potential faux pas. Had someone at a lower executive level decided the offices should be moved because of suicide risk? It seemed too ridiculous to consider. From her belt purse Lin handed him a key card.

  ‘I will leave you to settle yourself. Your luggage will be sent up. If you require me please call.’ She smiled again then walked away with her hips swaying. As he opened the door to his quarters she glanced back at him and smiled again. Humans were so obvious.

  His quarters were small and Spartan. He moved to the centre of the room and scanned around, feeling a doctor should rate more than this. And where was the bed? A crash behind him spun him round. Where the door had been, there now stood a wall of ceramal. Chris recognized the heat patterns on its surface. It was armour grade. He turned to study the other walls.

  ‘They are merely decorative. Behind them is four inches of M12 ceramal, just as there is below the floor and above the ceiling. You are going nowhere my dear Golem,’ said Geoffrey Haven.

  Chris turned without surprise and watched the hologram. It had excellent resolution and, to anyone else, Haven could actually have been standing there. ‘It’s also transmission shielded. How are you getting this projection in?’

  ‘Oh, excellent! Excellent!’ Haven clapped his hands. ‘Can’t fool a Cybercorp sensorium, and as to how I get this projection in here ... I’ll keep my little secrets if I may.’

  ‘You realize this is inadvisable. I have been sent here to protect you.’ Chris’s programming did not allow him to kill people, but it said nothing about him lying to them.

  ‘Really? And from what?’

  ‘From Jack Smith. Your security won’t stop him.’

  Haven glanced to one side at something. ‘So that’s what it was.’ He returned his attention to Chris. ‘Of course, if Smith has become that then you can kill him. Never mind though. I have the situation in hand. Smith won’t be bothering anyone.’

  ‘He is here?’

  ‘Oh yes, didn’t you know? He was in a crate on the same lifter you came up on. No matter though, because in twenty minutes or so that crate is going to be jettisoned towards the sun. The longest ride to cremation yet, I would think.’

  ‘It is imperative that we know how he survived the growth of the parasite. The survival of millions may be at stake.’

  ‘Really? Please tell me more.’

  ‘The parasite is passed on by living skin cells from Jack Smith’s body. It’s likely that other organisms may be a vector as well, for example the mites that feed on dead skin. A conservative projection gives us a million and a half infected, and there is as yet no known treatment.’

  Haven appeared thoughtful for a moment. ‘Now there’s a commodity ... but I’ll have to pass on it since there are far too many imponderables. I value my freedom you see?’

  ‘I see,’ said Chris.

  ‘It’s unfortunate and all that, but you know, there have been no cases here and all new personnel are medscanned and decontaminated before being sent up. But of course you know. You are Doctor Jemson, Bannerman’s replacement. How did you beat that medscan by the way?’

  ‘Chameleon software.’

  ‘Interesting. We must discuss that further at a later date. For now, goodbye, and don’t go away.’

  Quickly Chris asked, ‘May I know what your plans are for me now?’

  ‘Oh, oh yes, my apologies. Well, you missed your chance with Jack Smith, but I bet you’re still wondering what it would be like to kill people?’

  ‘I am incapable of killing human beings.’

  The Toad smiled as his image flickered out.

  Chapter 10

  They were taking their damned time. Jack peered at the display ticking away the moments on his wrist then turned down the oxygen flow from his pack. He was uncomfortable for a moment, but he concentrated on calm, on keeping his energy levels down. Now past human limits, he should be dead. His brea
th rate was now one every minute, which he calculated gave him another twenty minutes. But he did not intend to wait that long. If this crate was not unloaded in the next ten minutes he had to break out and try to get aboard the station by himself. Using as little energy as possible he turned his head and peered out through his eye hole.

  Ah, handler dray. Not long now. After a minute the dray’s claw thumped against the crate and closed, then the crate started vibrating as the dray began firing its steering jets. Jack watched the empty hold slide past. Soon he could see space, other handler drays, and the dark curve of the TCC station nearby. Another thump ensued as Jack floated in his cube of dark and gazed out. A dray out there steadily began pulling away and it took him a moment to accept that it was the one that had picked up his crate. Slowly, ever so slowly, it receded, as did the TCC station. Panic rose to choke him, but he merely acknowledged it and sent it away. Obviously he had been discovered and jettisoned. His chances of survival weren’t difficult to calculate. Unless he was retrieved he stood no chance whatsoever.

  Using his only recourse Chris probed the armour inch by inch with a narrow radio beam. He could not break through four inches of ceramal any more than Jack Smith could learn how to breathe vacuum or survive the heat of the sun at close quarters. Two hours of searching and still no gap evident – no sign of the hole, which had to be there, through which Haven had projected his hologram. Such was his attention to this one task that Chris did not notice the hologram had reappeared until Haven spoke.

  ‘Well, all is going according to plan. Jack Smith has begun his ever so long journey to his cremation. Now it’s time to deal with you, my dear Golem. Tell me, do you have a name or a number?’

  ‘I am Chris Golem.’