For a moment there was silence. Gaza gestured toward a doorway; Kent’s office. “You’re determined to find them all, aren’t you? Every single person ever connected to that virus.”
“Isn’t that my job?”
The office was dark, and despite its dimensions felt somewhat claustrophobic. Dark bookcases and darker furniture underscored the mood of the man who had lived here. It was an interior room with neither window nor viewscreen. No view of space to taunt Ian Kent. No hints of the ainniq to torture him.
Arbela was waiting for them. He indicated a monitor that had been set up on the desk. “The scan found something,” he said. “I’ve had it isolated for you. And here’s the mort log.” He held out a chip. Masada reached for it, but Gaza was ahead of him and claimed it first. The professor was somewhat startled by the move; prior to this, Gaza had preferred to let him handle data collection.
The tension must be getting to him, he mused.
They pulled up chairs in front of the monitor and Gaza took control of the display. Slowly he scrolled through the lengthy code, occasionally stopping when Masada asked to take a longer look at something.
It was a virus.
“Shades of Lucifer,” Masada mused aloud.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the same style. I’d put money on it being the same programmer.”
Gaza looked at him sharply. “How sure can you be of that?”
“Programming style is like a fingerprint. Sometimes the mark may be unclear, but it’s always there. Little quirks of code that are unique to each programmer. Go on to the next section.” He waited while the monitor display complied with his instructions. “I studied Lucifer every day for six months, Director. I know it like I know my own work. And my own particular strength is in abstract visualization; a gift of my kaja. Trust me, this virus is from the same designer. And ... there.” The code froze on the screen. “That’s it.” He read for a moment, then cursed softly under his breath. “That’s your killer, Director. It went straight for his safeguard programs and disabled them. The first time the Syndrome became active in Kent the whole system shut down. He might have had enough medication in his arm to control the Syndrome safely, but if his wellseeker didn’t tell the delivery mechanism it was needed, nothing would have made it to his bloodstream.”
“So it was murder.”
Masada said nothing.
“My theories seem rather sound, then,” Gaza mused.
“They do.”
“Well.” He sat back in his chair and tapped a restless hand on the table. His expression was grim. “At least we don’t have to worry about a leak in the Guild anymore. That question’s been answered.” He reached out and straightened the monitor screen so that its edge was parallel to that of the table. “We should return and report this to the Prima. I’m sure she’ll want to hear it.”
“You go ahead. I still have the boy to hear from.”
“Does it matter so much now? We have our leak, we know the virus’ source.”
“Maybe. I’d rather be sure. There are still a few unanswered questions, you know. I’d rather see that there’s no doubt left anywhere before I present my findings to the Prima.”
Gaza stared at him. “You are persistent, aren’t you?”
Masada smiled faintly. “Of course, Director. You knew that when you hired me.”
“No, Dr. Masada. No, I underestimated you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His posture might have seemed relaxed, but his gaze was still intense. “That’s not a mistake I’ll make again, I promise you.”
They had left Jamisia in a vast room filled with pictures and told her to wait there until the guards returned. Apparently the Guildmaster had been an artist in his spare time, for nearly all the paintings were his. Or so the guards told her before they left her alone there.
She shuddered to think of what kind of man might have painted those pictures. They weren’t merely abstract images, nothing so mundane as that; they were surreal landscapes, vividly unnerving, and they hinted at an inner landscape more warped than any reality. They repelled her, but they also fascinated her, and she found it impossible to turn away from them. One in particular drew her attention, a jarring collection of jagged shapes that seemed to move as she stared at them. Were they pictures of something in particular, or just the random outpourings of a tormented brain?
She felt something cold and dark stir in the back of her mind and wondered if it was one of the Others. But none of them had ever felt like that, even back when she feared them the most. This was a markedly ominous sensation, and the more she tried to tell the unwelcome presence to go back to where it came from, the more insistent it became. What was happening? Why weren’t any of the Others helping her with this?
Nervously she tried to step back from the painting, thinking that somehow the bizarre art was connected to all this. But she couldn’t. Her feet wouldn’t move. It was a sickening sensation, not merely that her feet were frozen in place, more as if ... as if they weren’t really hers anymore. Her entire body felt disconnected, the flesh a mere shell that her soul was using, not hers in any real sense, not subject to her control. She was aware of the Others now as if at a distance. Their voices fluttered around her head like insects, but they no longer seemed to be a part of her. She tried to talk to them, but the words wouldn’t come.
What was happening to her?
Maybe it was the body, she thought. Maybe the Others wanted it for themselves. Maybe that was what this was all about. Suddenly it all came together in her head, a truly terrifying conclusion. This was what they’d been waiting for all these months. That’s why they’d befriended her and helped her all this time. They wanted her to trust them. They wanted her to grow accustomed to their presence, and to letting others control the body, so that when the time came to finally make their play, she wouldn’t see it coming.
She could see it all now, everything they’d done, all part of a larger plan. That’s why they’d never made contact with her on the habitat, all those years. They’d hoped to just do away with her and take her place before anybody noticed. But of course that wasn’t possible in the outworlds, where they all had to help her survive in order to keep this flesh alive. They didn’t care about her welfare, only the safety of the body they coveted; she saw that now with perfect clarity. If not for her fleeing Earth, she might never have known the truth....
How did you fight enemies who lived in your own head? She remembered how Verina had taught her to sink down into the darkness within, shutting out all input from the body’s senses. Now, now she understood what that was all about! They were training her. Teaching her to submit. So that when at last she was locked away in that place, where no light ever shone and no thought ever stirred, she wouldn’t be able to break free. She could scream all she wanted in that place, and no one from the outside world would ever hear her.
She needed Phoenix. Where was Phoenix? She started to turn and run to the door, to seek him out, but then she remembered. Phoenix was hers. Katlyn had seduced him and Katlyn pulled his strings, and Jamisia realized now that this, too, had all been part of their plan. She had no one to turn to, no ally she could trust. They had isolated her from the world, and when she disappeared and they took over her body no one would notice or care.
Fear came crushing down on her, not just an emotion but a physical weight, black and suffocating. She felt herself sucked into it, drowning, her lungs drawing in thick cold terror instead of air. She could feel the Others hovering about her, waiting for her to break free, ready to shove her back into the choking blackness. This was the time they had all been hoping for. Years and years of waiting, of plotting, of preparing for this day. She tried to scream, but of course her body made no sound; they had control of her flesh now, and they were never giving it back to her.
No! she screamed silently, defying them. I won’t go back there! I won’t let you have it! Inside her head she beat at the darkness, but the body she was trapped
in wouldn’t move. I won’t let you kill me—
That’s it! Derik thought. I’m pulling the fucking plug NOW.
Blackness.
“Michal Andres, this is Devlin Gaza, Director of Programming for the Ainniq Guild. Mr. Andres is ... freelance.” It was clear to Phoenix from Gaza’s expression that he knew exactly what the phrase meant, and he didn’t approve.
“Dr. Masada tells me you have information for us.”
Phoenix cleared his throat nervously. He’d been comfortable enough with Masada, because in a way he already knew the man, but this was different. This scene he didn’t quite know how to play. Devlin Gaza was one of the two or three most powerful people in the outworlds, and as much as Phoenix might play at disdain for administrative types, he couldn’t help but be aware of that power. Besides, the guy was good at what he did. Not as good as Masada, God knows; no one could lay claim to that. But good in a clean, conservative, formal-education kind of way. And since the only way to win respect in Phoenix’ eyes was with programming skill, that said a lot.
“Yeah. I went to see some of my friends here, who work on this station.” It was awkward trying to explain this without the moddie vocabulary to fall back on; he found himself fishing for the right words to use. “First of all, they said that yes, they remembered the viral fragments from way back. Trash—that is, a friend of mine—he had a copy of some of them.” He pulled a small chip out of his jacket pocket. “This is all his stuff and also a few things caught by other people. There are notes on when and where everything was found.”
He held it out to Masada, but Devlin took it first. Phoenix couldn’t be sure of Masada’s reaction—it was so hard to read that painted face—but he thought the professor looked surprised.
“It goes back almost five years,” Phoenix continued. “Apparently someone did some test runs with parts of Lucifer, not the parts that fuck with anyone’s brain—sorry about the language, I mean, like, affecting the brainware—but just to test, you know, the replication module, that kind of thing.” Damn it, why did Gaza’s mere presence make him feel so self-conscious? Masada hadn’t done that to him.
“Five years is about right,” Masada mused aloud.
“You think someone worked on it that long?” Gaza asked.
“Oh, yes. Lucifer’s a masterpiece. It could have been launched in half the time if its designer hadn’t been such a perfectionist ... but since he clearly was, that much time would have been required to test and polish it. And to do it carefully enough that he wouldn’t be caught.” He favored Phoenix with a dry smile. “Only apparently he didn’t count on being discovered by ... hobbyists.”
Phoenix said, “I’ve got a friend who does a lot of ... um ... communication work with the Hausman League.” He saw Gaza’s expression darken. Shit, was there going to be trouble if he admitted he hung out with hackers? He’d thought from Masada’s description of the project that Gaza would catch on and accept the situation, but now the professor seemed to be avoiding the “H” word like the plague, and Gaza looked like he’d rather shove him out an air lock than listen to his “amateur” attempts at sleuthing.
You never knew when someone in administrative circles was going to be closed-minded like that. You also never knew when they were going to butter you up to learn what they wanted, and then throw you into some pol cell to cool your butt for an E-year or ten. If Masada wasn’t involved in this Phoenix sure as hell wouldn’t be talking to the likes of Gaza, much less letting him know what the Preservation moddies were doing. He wasn’t all that sure he should be doing it now.
You’ve got to take Lucifer down, he told himself, or moddies will die. You can trust Masada. Only Masada. He won’t let you go down for this.
“My friend says there’s been a lot of com activity between the League and this station. Encrypted shit. Super secret. He thinks it went straight to the Guildmaster’s office.”
Gaza drew in a sharp breath but said nothing. For a moment there was silence. Doubtless, both men were trying to figure out how to continue the conversation without giving Phoenix some juicy fact he shouldn’t know.
“The Hausman Guild hates Earth,” Masada said at last. “They want Earth to be cut out of the ainniq system. They’ve lobbied for it for years now.”
Gaza said nothing.
“Maybe they got tired of waiting. Maybe they decided to take things into their own hands and force the issue.”
Again, the silence. So many things weren’t being said, Phoenix could just taste it. Man, he wished he was in on all those secrets. Even his limited contact with the Guild had made it clear they were playing a game far beyond anything he had ever been a part of. It awakened a hunger in him like he hadn’t felt since the pol on Hellsgate announced they were coming up with a system to keep hackers out. He wanted in.
“I think,” Gaza said slowly, “we have much to discuss. Back on Tiananmen, where security is tighter. Yes, Dr. Masada?”
Maybe Phoenix was reading the professor wrong, but it seemed to him that he was startled by that decision. “As you wish.”
“You take Ra’s ship back to Paradise and drop this young man off back home.” He glanced at Phoenix; it was hard to tell if the look was one of grudging respect or just irritation. Phoenix was used to both, and simply smiled back. “I’ll meet you on Tiananmen. We’ll brief the Prima together.”
“If the Hausman League is involved—”
Gaza held up a hand, warning him to silence. “Later. Not here. Kent was clearly allied to enemies of the Guild; I think we should say no more while we’re in his house. Who knows what it’s wired for?”
Masada bowed his head, acknowledging the point.
“In the meantime ... let me see if I can’t get some kind of com record from the house computers. Something more ... complete than what we’ve been looking at.” His expression was dark. “If what Mr. Andres says is true ... then we have a whole new situation here. Far more complex. It would be unwise to judge it prematurely,” he warned.
“Of course.”
Gaza nodded to Phoenix. “Thank you for your help in this. Dr. Masada will see that you get home all right.”
“Sure.” Like I was some fucking pet who had to be delivered to his owner. “I’m glad I could help.” He managed to stick a smile on his face and keep it there until Gaza left, but that was as long as it lasted. “Shit!”
Masada came up behind him. There was a moment’s pause, and then a hand gripped his shoulder. Just for a second. “If the Prima doesn’t see you rewarded for this, I will.”
“Reward? Shit, that’s not what this is about. You know that.”
“I’ll tell you all I can when it’s over. You know that.” And then, to his amazement, Masada chuckled softly. “Of course he’s not going to trust you, Phoenix. Would you trust you?”
He snorted, then grinned. “Hell no.”
“All right, then. Go get your friend. I’ll see to the outship.”
She was sitting on the floor of the gallery. She looked really bad, eyes bloodshot and face pale and looking like all the life had just been squeezed out of her. He didn’t know what to say. It twisted his heart to see her like that, but he didn’t know how to start to make it better.
She got to her feet with effort and came to him. And then, without a word, she came into his arms and ... well, not wept exactly. There weren’t any tears, or the kind of noises he’d expect when someone was crying. But he held her as her whole body shook for a long, long time. Silent weeping.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered. “I promise. It’ll be all right.”
He wished he knew how to make it true.
Devlin Gaza saw them off from the dock. It was a courtesy, he said, to make sure that Sonondra Ra’s guests were safe until they left his care.
He exchanged some last words with Masada, but the need for privacy kept them from discussing anything important. “We’ll meet later,” he promised.
The outpilot boarded, and the inpilot, and then the you
ng couple, flanked by Ra’s guards. He nodded a farewell to the hacker, a gesture of courtesy with no real warmth behind it. Annoying young man.
The outship was sealed and its engines engaged, and with a low throbbing roar it backed out of the dock. Arbela came up to Gaza and stood by his side as it slowly pulled away; they both watched the ponderous ballet of ship and station on the viewscreen as it maneuvered into the proper position. Facing the ainniq. Heading home.
Gaza looked at Arbela, then back at the image. His expression was grim.
“This game has gotten too complex,” he said quietly. “It’s time to remove some pieces from the board.”
The only thing more frustrating than failing to achieve an objective is failing, and having a rival succeed.
SORTEY-6,
On Human Power
GUERA NODE TIANANMEN STATION
THE HDLOCAST took on color and form slowly, as Guild computers untangled the encryption codes used in sending it. Not for a full minute did it manifest in detail, which gave the Prima time to put aside the reports she’d been reading and prepare herself for what promised to be a formal call.
Light and color resolved itself into the form of a woman in a plasteel carapace, dressed in formal Guild clothes. A few seconds after the image stabilized, the woman bowed ever so slightly, a position her mechanical exoskeleton clearly did not assume easily.
The Prima bowed her head in response, welcoming her. “Chandras Delhi.”
There was a delay as the signal was encrypted, skipped past five nodes, and decrypted at the other end. Several seconds.
“My Prima. I hope I don’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Not at all. You’re always welcome. How are things in your node?”