’Qiyu and Zelan are down, sir. I don’t understand. Stay where you are.’
What image did you give the house systems? Show me, as an overlay.
In a moment, the bottom left corner of his vision showed the target that Klutikov had ordered the house to attack: Qiyu. So the guard had been killed by the Moonflower’s own systems. Beckmann could only guess at the end of Zelan. Perhaps he had come to the aid of his friend and been cut down en passant.
Listen to me, Klutikov. You’ve been compromised. Take no further action.
’Sir, she’s approaching your room.’
Without thinking, Beckmann looked at the door. He wondered how he could suspend Klutikov’s security permissions. He had no idea. That kind of thing was Klutikov’s expertise. Anyway, it was too late.
Klutikov, where are you?
’I’m in the—‘
The transmission terminated with a gasp.
Beckmann put his hand on his heart. He looked at the door. The deadlocks had made him feel safer a moment before. Now he felt trapped. Was Lady Sun even here? This situation—all the hacks—fit the signature of a remote attack. But he could not assume as such. The situation was ambiguous.
To the i-Core, Beckmann thoughtsent a metaphor of reddish leaves falling in late autumn, which was his favoured image of relaxation. The edge of his anxiety dulled.
With that, he understood what to do next. He would verify the location of Klutikov and somehow override his security clearance. Then he would arrange to confine the man and turn his attention to confirming their attacker was physical.
As long as those confirmation methods were not also compromised.
He concentrated on a discrete intention to see the security suite. This intention was picked up by his neural implants and passed to the Moonflower computer.
A remote image of the suite appeared before him. Beckmann saw a bright room containing a row of lockers, an antique desk and chair, and, sitting in the chair, Klutikov. His head lay on the desk and his arms reached to the floor, touching his feet.
Crash position, Beckmann thought.
He noticed two things. A circle of blood was expanding across the green leather of the desk. And Klutikov was still holding his firearm.
For Beckmann, Klutikov had been the closest thing to family. He was surprised by the absence of even the smallest grief. He understood that Klutikov had failed him. He regretted that Klutikov had not been better.
‘Computer,’ said Beckmann, ‘tell the island authorities that the house is being attacked.’
‘Security Head Klutikov has already sent that message,’ said a voice that came from every surface. ‘It has been confirmed but the authorities are experiencing difficulties with their systems.’
‘How surprising. Briefly, where are my guards?’
‘Ho Chang is in the garage. Liu and Pribićević are on the level above the garage. Memedi is on this level along with Hao. Memedi and Hao are the only guards whose status is green. It is likely that all others have been killed. It is also likely that Mr Klutikov is dead.’
‘I know. Did you see what happened to him?’
‘Data for that event have been deleted. However, live feeds indicate that he has received one shot to the head.’
‘How many shots did he fire?’
‘One.’
‘He killed himself?’
‘That is forensically consistent with the scene in the security suite, but given my experience of Mr Klutikov, I find this unsatisfactory.’
Beckmann paced a circle. He felt absurd in his pyjamas. Not old; the i-Core lent him youth. He looked at the black dots of the cameras around the room. Behind him, the possessed suit continued to thump against the closed wardrobe door.
‘Mr Beckmann, you are in danger,’ said the house computer. ‘I would like you to proceed to the secure room.’
‘I think that the intruder would anticipate that move.’
‘Yes.’
A single shot was fired somewhere in the house.
‘Mr Beckmann,’ the computer said, ‘another guard has been killed. Only Mr Memedi remains. He is outside your door. I think he wants to come in.’
Beckmann said, ‘No.’
He could not concentrate enough to send a fear-inhibiting metaphor to the i-Core.
‘Mr Beckmann, it seems to me that the guard is acting strangely. I would like to show you, but your neural implants are not responding.’
‘I’ve taken them offline as a protective measure. Put the picture on the wall.’
Beckmann turned to see an image of young Memedi half-crouched. His head was shaking. There was a spray of blood on the front of his grey suit.
‘Turn up the volume.’
When the computer did so, the room was filled with the guard’s fast breathing. Beckmann saw the darkness around his eyes. He looked more scared than anyone Beckmann had ever seen.
‘Can he hear me?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Memedi, this is Beckmann. Someone or something is interfering with your mental processes. Try to resist.’
Beckmann saw the man turn to one of the high cameras. In reaction, the computer switched to that camera.
Memedi was looking right at him. His face had become expressionless. Relaxed to the point of inhumanity; corpse-blank. Beckmann wondered whether his warning had got through. Then Memedi’s eyes widened, as though seeing his nightmare in the dark eye of the camera dot. He fired twice at the lens. Beckman winced as the first one missed. The second one hit; the image dissolved.
Beckmann was about to request an alternative angle when Memedi screamed. Its pitch disturbed him. It was punctuated by a third, silencing shot.
The quiet that followed made Beckmann’s heart twitch. He put a hand to it.
‘Moonflower?’
There was a pause.
‘I’m afraid the last guard is dead.’
Beckmann nodded. Events had taken him beyond the threshold of fear. He was calm. He looked at his smart matter gun and rippled his fingers around the handle. He had first killed a man as a teenager.
Strange to remember that now.
He had not thought of that man for years. He had forgotten the sense of power that came with firing a bullet. Just like throwing stones, he remembered, only faster. A grown-up game now. As a teenager, he had proven something to himself.
Today, I’ll prove it again.
Beckmann knew that, by most measures, he deserved the death that was coming. But damned if he wouldn’t delay the appointment.
‘Computer, I want to head for the secure room. Maximise my chances of doing that.’
‘Very well. Do you believe you can traverse the gap between your balcony and that of the first guest bedroom?’
Beckmann considered. The rooms were next to one another along this flank of the house. The balconies were separated by a two-metre gap. If he fell, there would be three hundred feet to regret it.
‘I’ll do it. If I die, destroy yourself, and this villa. Understood?’
‘Yes.’
He strode across to the balcony doors and touched the handle to open them. When nothing happened, he frowned.
‘Computer, I’m going to shoot out the window with a smart matter gun. Can you raise the blinds?’
‘Yes. They are still under general control.’
The horizontal blinds rose to reveal the sparkling edge of the Vinodol coast.
Beckmann pointed the gun at the centre of the window. The target-identity function within the gun would ramp it up to maximum kinetics, so Beckmann straightened his elbows before firing. The shot was not loud, but it forced him back.
A plate-sized hole appeared in the glass. Its edge was scintillating. The hole got smaller as Beckmann watched. The window was repairing itself.