"You know k52," said Rolston. "Simple is not his game. In any case, he hasn't been able to start. This world was here already. The underlying humanocentric coding of the Reality Realms is still intact, and that limits him. k52 wanted to destroy it and proceed as planned. Pl'anna and I, we couldn't let him murder an entire world of intelligences. This place has been constructed from left-over parts of the destroyed Realms; some of it's bespoke, some of it's material that never made it to market, some of it's things that have been and gone. It's a patchwork of life from all over the Grid, Richards, unique, and alive, and amazing," Rolston became briefly animated. "To kill our own kind was not why we came here."
"I'm sorry to break it to you, but I'd figured all this out already," said Richards. "I wanted to hear it from you."
Rolston shrugged. "You are a Five."
Richards leaned forward. "What I don't know is why k52 is doing it. Is he going for godhood?"
Rolston laughed. "Richards! You think so small! k52 thinks only on the grandest of scales. No." He leaned forward too, until his shiny PVC nose almost touched Richards'. "He wants the Real to run to the best interests of humanity. k52 has spent most of his time attempting to calculate the future, to figure things out before they happen. The technology sine was only the start; he wants psychohistory, you know. Asimov was right!"
"That's science fiction," said Richards. "Reality's too malleable; free will and all that. He was always on a hiding to nothing."
Bear sniffed and peered into his bucket. "I'm going for more beer."
"Not if you change the underlying parameters of reality," said Rolston. "The universe follows its path owing to the aggregate observational influence of intelligences, paradoxically allowing and denying free will. But what if you were the only observer? If you work out the best outcome, if you see it all from beginning to end, if you predict it, you can fix it, and so k52 wants to simulate a universe that is most conducive to human success — and simulate it perfectly, down to the very last atom. That way he can manage history to best advantage."
"Um," said Richards. "That'd amount to universal quantum fixing? Impossible. The variables are too huge. It'd just mean his simulation works to his plan, not the Real."
"k52 doesn't think so. I didn't think so. I think he can do it."
"He doesn't have the energy for that. The Realm fusion reactor isn't big enough on its own; they'll shut off the power grid, starve him out. It won't work. Hmmm," said Richards, drumming his fingers on the table. "On the other hand, think what he could do if he's even partially successful, with that level of power behind him. That'll be it for us, meat and numbers both. Even if he's wrong, k52 will run everything in the Real, for good or ill." He narrowed his eyes, appraising Rolston. "And what made you have such a change of heart? I can't believe you'd give that up for a bunch of chatty beavers," he said, watching Bear push his way through the crowd. Bear shoved a weasel from behind. It snarled, but did nothing when it saw who had done the shoving.
"He's changed, Richards. There's something else in here with us, the entity that built this world, and it's fighting back. It's got into k52 somehow, changed him. He's insane."
Richards thought back to the dog-headed butler, the absent master, the stitched-together nature of the world. "Sure. A human built this," he said, "it's the only explanation. If k52 can't just turn it off, it suggests he's as trammelled as we are, unable to effect real change."
"The Reality Realms were coded specifically to human minds," said Rolston, nodding. "The specific worlds of the four destroyed Realms might have been unravelled, but the underlying architecture was still there, usable to someone with the right tools. k52 was hoping to exploit that. But they weren't in a neutral state when we arrived, and we couldn't do anything with them. Only a human programmer could affect such large-scale engineering. He'll have to destroy it all before he can access the underlying protocols and put his plan into action."
"Right. Questions are — " Richards held up his hand and counted off his fingers "- Who? How? Why? And where the hell is he?"
"I had come to similar conclusions. There are certain things about this Reality Realm that…"
A flying mammal of a non-flying species interrupted Rolston, sailing over their heads to slam into the wall.
Bear hadn't made it to the bar.
"Come on then, you little bastards!" he could hear Bear roar happily. "Come on!"
"Bear…" groaned Richards.
"He'll be fine," said Tarquin. "He's much bigger than any of them, and seems impervious to harm. Look, he's enjoying himself."
"Drunken bears, enjoying themselves. That sound like a bad thing to you? It sounds like a bad thing to me," said Richards. "Besides, it's not him I'm worried about."
"We need to get out of here," agreed Rolston, his sex-skunk face dismayed.
Bedlam broke out. Six weasels jumped on Bear and attempted to wrestle him to the floor. They forced him onto one knee, but Bear growled and hurled himself upward. Weasels flew all over the room. The voles stopped singing as a weasel skidded along their table, scattering beer. They looked furiously about them, then assaulted a group of foxes who were minding their own business in a corner.
The pub erupted into violence as animal animosities reasserted themselves.
"Yeah," said Richards, standing up as a squirrel thumped onto the bench next to him. "I have to be up early anyway. I'm being conscripted." He grabbed his pint in any case, and took Tarquin's also.
"Quite so," said Tarquin.
A weasel reared up before him.
"Lookee here," it said. "If it ain't that bleeding bear's mate. Well, I can't have him, but I can certainly have you." Too late Richards saw the knife in its hand. It flickered out, striking for his chest.
There was a scream of pain and a scraping of metal. Richards felt a great weight. He looked down to see the knife drawing sparks from Tarquin's suddenly stony hide, the weasel's hand bent at an unnatural angle. It dropped the knife with a whimper.
"Clever you," said Richards.
The weasel squeaked and scurried off into the crowd, clutching at its wrist.
Tarquin turned back from stone, and Richards felt light again. "That is handy," said Richards.
"Glad to be of service," said Tarquin. "Though to be completely honest with you, I was not sure I could still do it."
"I didn't need to hear that," said Richards.
There was a commotion at the front. "The watch! That's sure to draw k52's attention," said Rolston.
"What, even here?"
"Yes! We have to go, now! Listen, I am going to have to leave this body soon," said Rolston. "Do as you are told and I will come to you again. There's someone you must meet. Until I can get to you, don't draw attention to yourself. I don't know how you've evaded k52, but keep it that way! He has agents everywhere." The skunk's face twisted, and Rolston gripped at his stomach. "I can't hold on for much longer. Get me out of here, get me somewhere safe, I'm vulnerable while I'm transiting."
The watch were in the pub, laying about them with wooden clubs, blocking the way out of the building's front. Richards grabbed the skunk by the elbow, hustled the other AI to the back door, and stepped over two wrestling voles out into the night.
CHAPTER 11
Otto walked the narrow corridor, compartments off to his left, headed toward the executive restaurant car at the centre of the train. A Cossack stood guard at every break between the carriages, and he was forced to undergo security scans at each. His faked details held, one of two mercenaries in the employ of Corporate Energispol, escorting two scientists to new field stations in Sinosiberia, all part of "The New Spirit of Cooperation", the Chinese called it. The Russians railed ceaselessly against the loss of the east, but it didn't stop them doing business there.