There were two areas of space, two possible destinations—one inside the Polity and one beyond its border. This much he had learnt from the Reverend Epthirieth Loman Dorth before killing the man. The network of Dracocorp augs that had been coming under the man’s control at Masada had initially seemed a complete entity. Further probing its structure, Skellor had ascertained it to be a slave cell that, upon reaching maturity (that point where Dorth gained absolute control over the other minds in the network), would link via other networks to an autocratic control. There were two such centres of control, with only vague locations—the two Dragon spheres. Skellor had of course already chosen the one outside Polity space. Even so, that particular area extended a hundred light years across, so locating Dragon inside it would be no easy task.
Skellor considered how he might achieve his ends. Previously, the most likely way of locating Dragon had seemed to be to find a Dracocorp facility and work from there, but his probes into the AI and virtual networks from Viridian had quickly disabused him of this notion. Dragon had foreseen that enemies would follow this trail and so, rather than erase it, had concealed it under a thousand false trails. Gaining information concerning even these had also quickly turned into a risky option when his searching attracted the attention of some seriously dangerous hunter-killer AI programs engaged on the same search. Obviously, ECS also seriously wanted to know Dragon’s location. No, he must use a different approach: tracing Dragon through the augs those facilities manufactured, and which were now in use.
The running of Dracocorp was not something Dragon had to remain wholly engaged in, but slow accretion of control through the networks thereby generated required it. To find the link from this distance Skellor needed to infiltrate network after network to follow it home. Better then to find such a network much nearer to that same home—nearer to Dragon. So thinking, Skellor affirmed the coordinates already input, and dropped the Vulture into underspace.
Alston supposed various factors were interacting in the man’s mind: obviously, the longer the interrogation, the longer he would stay alive. However, the longer he delayed answering questions, the greater would be his agony. Alston was therefore beholden to increase the man’s agony to that point where, in the hope of a quick death, he would become more forthcoming. Alston always loved the way his victims reacted when, having obtained what he wanted, Alston continued with the torture. There was horror and a kind of indignation at this betrayal of the unspoken contract between torturer and tortured.
‘I’ve been aware for some time that Arian wants me dead. That is hardly news to me, but I want details. When does he plan to launch an attack on my island? How many of his people will he send? What kind of armaments will they be carrying?’
Semper, suspended upside down from the boom at the back of the fishing barge, bubbled something. Alston wondered who had first worked out that suspending someone by their feet increased the blood pressure in their head and thus prevented them from fainting. He again reached out with the wire cutters to where Semper’s hands had been nailed to the stern rail, and with one crunching snip sent a little finger bouncing across the deck.
‘What was that?’
When he had stopped yelling, Semper articulated more carefully.
‘Not… sending… his men.’
Alston passed the wire cutters over to Chaldor—the woman who had been so proficient with the nails and who had earlier burnt out Semper’s right eye with a red-hot kitchen fork.
‘What do you mean, “Not sending his men”? You told me earlier that an attack is planned…’
Gazing at Alston with his remaining eye, Semper managed, ‘Today… maybe tomorrow.’
Alston peeled the surgical glove from his right hand, then reached up and turned on the comunit attached to his collar. ‘Evans, take us back in.’ Immediately the boat’s engine droned, and below Semper the water boiled as the craft began to come about. Alston glanced at the box of gloves open on a table nearby, then peeled off the other glove and went over to get a fresh pair.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Chaldor.
Chaldor, as attractive as she was mean, with her red hair plaited intricately against her head and containing as much concealed weaponry as it did jewellery, gazed at him with her pure-purple eyes. ‘I think he has a lot more to tell us. What’s this machine he was babbling about?’
‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ Alston took the wire cutters from Chaldor and once again turned to his victim. ‘Now, Semper, please tell us about this machine of Arian’s.’
‘It’s a Golem… a Golem!’
From Semper there then issued a piggish squealing. Alston counted fingers and saw that he had enough left for five further questions.
‘Golem don’t work for Separatists. It seems to me that your loyalty to Arian is much stronger than I thought. Still you are trying to cover for him. Still you have not answered my questions. I want to know how many men, what weaponry, and when.’
‘It’s a Golem… broken Golem… brought in from… Huma.’
Alston sighed and shook his head. ‘Chaldor, go and get the blowtorch and the sanding machine. It seems we’ll have to go all the way.’
As the afternoon progressed, and as they came back in sight of the island, Alston was surprised at Semper’s resistance—always coming back to the same ridiculous story about a broken Golem. Near the end, Alston was tempted to believe that story, but he knew that broken Golem were as mythical as Horace Blegg. And were such a creature possible, an AI-hater like Arian Pelter would never use it. Dumping what was left of Semper over the side, as food for the adapted whitebait and pearl crabs swarming in the shallows around the island, he finally admitted defeat—Semper had managed to conceal the truth unto death.
Gant seemed on edge, studying the throng as if he expected attack from every direction. Cormac supposed the uploaded soldier had every right to be paranoid while accompanying him—bad things tended to happen around Cormac.
Why am I able to gridlink? Cormac asked, as he strode on ahead of Gant across the embarkation lounge.
A rather deeper scan than I am managing now would be required to answer that question, Viridian replied directly into his link. It seems that somehow you have managed, at an unconscious level, to turn your gridlink back on. Only an AI such as myself should be able to do this, though there is one human who possesses the ability to interfere with AI coding at that level.
Let me guess: Horace Blegg.
Correct.
What about memories of U-space? Quince transportation is instantaneous, so how do you explain that?