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Praise for REALITY 36

“An entertaining, cyberpunk vision of the

near future delivered with just the right

amount of wry humour. Reality 36 is a

spirited beginning with momentum and

ideas to spare. At its sculpted titanium core

it’s an all-action, pulpy thriller, but it hums

with inventive near-future concepts.”

SFX Magazine

“Guy Haley is a force for good, a hidden

gem of British SF.”

Paul Cornell

“Reality 36 displays fascinating characters in

a very believable future.”

Five-time Hugo Award winner Mike Resnick

“Haley’s wit is both laugh-out-loud and

sharp as a sword.”

John Whitbourn, author of BBC prize-

winning A Dangerous Energy

an excerpt fromREALITY 36

A Richards & Klein Investigationby Guy Haley

To be published August 2011 (UK/RoW) andSeptember 2011 (North America)by Angry Robot, in paperback and

eBook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-145-6US ISBN: 978-85766-146-3

eBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-147-0

Angry RobotAn imprint of the Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.com

Copyright © Guy Haley 2011

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish. And if you

like this, go and buy Guy’s thrilling books. And if

you love them, tell your friends too…

PROLOGUE

Richards

5

Richards’ body was a sculpted titanium box 1.793metres high, 2.47 metres wide and 1.323 metres deep– at these dimensions’ extremes, for in form he wasfluid and bulbous, as most such AI hardware was.

This shell was hardened against physical and elec-tromagnetic attack, armour beneath the gleamingsurface a complicated laminate of rare metals, semi-fluid conductors and active metalloid buffers. Holes ofdiffering diameters pierced the final layer – a jacket ofcleverly stacked copper atoms – creating a broad-spec-trum Faraday cage. The delicate electronic brain of theman, if you could call it a brain, or if you could callhim a man, sat inside: a fourteen-tiered ziggurat oflatticed graphene spun on microgravity looms, theelectrons that carried the messages of Richards’ mindgoing about the business of yesses, nos and multitudi-nous maybes of quantum computing upon it.

Richards liked his base unit, old-fashioned as it was.Many other Class Five AIs preferred plus-C opticalset-ups, but not Richards. He claimed, when asked,

5

that this older configuration gave him time to think.All who knew him well knew the truth to be some-what more sentimental.

The base unit sat upon a pyramid at the exact cen-tre of a vault of machine-woven metal, a ten-metrecube perfect to the millimetre. The base unit was staticand had no motive parts, but the pedestal pyramidcould move, and did, when occasion demanded, for itfloated upon an enclosed bed of mercury, protectingRichards from external shock. Though the pedestaland base unit combined massed at little under a met-ric tonne, they were balanced so that were a humanbeing to enter the vault, he would have been able topush it round without difficulty.

Not that any human had ever been in the vault.The atmosphere was an unbreathable mix of noblegases, the temperature maintained at a precise -36degrees Celsius, bathed by ultraviolet light sufficientto render the room biologically sterile.

There were other, less subtle discouragements tophysical interference with the base unit; at the eightcorners of the vault stood eight sentry guns, also hard-ened against electromagnetic attack. They werepossessed of eight simple near-I minds that under-stood one binary command and one command alone– kill/not-kill. They were set always to kill. Their quadmounted machine guns, loaded with armour-piercingrounds, were matched with a military-grade EMPprojector and high-power xenon laser apiece.

Beyond the Real, within the digital second world ofthe System Wide Grid, vast and ugly things with teethof sharpest code circled Richards’ nominal soul. These

6 REALITY 36

leviathans were murderously alert to intrusionthrough the base unit’s data portal, a fat Gridpipe car-ried upon microwaves to a shaped hollow on thevault’s wall. The sole means by which Richards con-ducted his business with the wider worlds, theGridpipe was a drawbridge that could be slammedshut at a picosecond’s notice. There were no otherentrances to the vault, virtual or otherwise; it washermetically sealed, its seamless exterior locked infoamcrete, altered steels and spun carbons.

These precautions were not unusual. WhereRichards’ body differed from those of his fellow ClassFives was that its location was widely known: hard bya fortified buttress, below the offices of Richards &Klein, Inc, Security Consultants, on floor 981 of theWellington Arcology in New London, one junctiondown the old M1 from Luton.

As Richards said, it was foolish to have an officethat nobody could find. Nonsense – naturally, as afree-roaming digital entity Richards could go any-where there was hardware to pick up his commands– but it made people laugh at parties.

Richards liked to make people laugh at parties.Richards’ power supply sat beneath the vault. Run-

ning from a pearl string of high-density Helium3 fuelpellets, the fusion plant was as heavily protected,gifted with redundant systems and as divorced fromthe outside world as that which it fed, beamingenergy in wirelessly direct through Richards’ Grid-pipe.

As to the essence of the man, the being generatedby this chilled machinery in its impregnable fort, he

GUY HALEY 7

was more of a people person than his mortal shellsuggested, and was elsewhere.

He was at a concert at the Royal Albert Hall.

8 REALITY 36

Ulgan the merchant, sometime haulier of cargo, veryoccasional tour operator, sat counting his money. Asis the way with most grasping men, and such Ulganwas, the enumeration of coin was his greatest pleas-ure. His business did not afford him the opportunityto do so as often as his wont, so he took advantage ofthe hottest time of day, when the sun burnt downthrough the dry air of the mountains, the time whenhe was least likely to be disturbed by those less avari-cious than he. Under the meagre shade of a wornparasol, he lost himself in a happy world of greed foran hour or two, before time and trade called him backto the tedious affair of making more.

He was therefore annoyed when a shadow took theglitter from the edges of his dirhams and his shekelsand his dollars and his pfennigs and his other coins ofa dozen lands. Ulgan liked to see them shine, and sowas doubly vexed.

“Good day to you, sir,” said the caster of theshadow. His face was a solid block of black against thesky, the merchants’ argot he employed accented in an

Chapter 1The 36th Realm

9

unfamiliar manner. Ulgan squinted against the halo ofsunlight around the stranger’s head, and wished hewould go away.

He said as much, and roughly. “Go away.”The stranger was undeterred. “I and my companion

are seeking transportation across the Rift,” he saidpleasantly, which redoubled Ulgan’s irritation. “I haveit on good authority that you are the finest providerof flight services to the other side.” Flamboyant ges-tures made a shadow puppet of him.

The compliment did nothing to improve Ulgan’shumour. He grunted back. “That’s as may be.” Hedropped his gaze back to his money. “Flights areclosed” – he waved his hand round – “is too hot, birdwon’t fly.”

“But sir!” said the stranger. He moved round thecounting table to where the haulier could see him.“Today is a most marvellous day for flight. The air isclear and pure.”

“The air is too hot and too bright,” grumbled Ulgan.“No, sir! You can see for miles! Surely any creature

would be desirous of flight merely for the thrill of it!”“Who are you? You are strange here, unusual-look-

ing, eh?” He appraised the stranger. “Your skin is dark,much darker than the men of the Skyways, but youare not so dark as the men of the Sahem-Jhaleeb,whose cities lie on the plain. Where are you from?”

“Does it matter, friend, whence I hail?”“It matters, ‘friend’, that we do not care for

strangers round here, and are not swift to aid themabout their business.” The stranger was very clean ofline; his delicately made-up face carried none of the

10 REALITY 36

seams of hard living, no blemish of age or sun todetract from the aquilinity of his nose, no pock to dragthe eye away from his firm chin and sharp cheek-bones. This Ulgan did not say. Instead he spat on thedry dirt and said: “If you’re so inclined, fly yourself.”

“Oh, but you are so unkind, sir, to mock me. I havenot the facility for such a feat, and nor has my com-panion,” said the stranger, as if Ulgan’s manners werebeyond reproach, when in fact there was little beyondreproach about Ulgan. “If I did, I would not be hereimploring you for passage.”

Ulgan found the floridity of the man’s languageoffensive. He had no time for pretty words from prettystrangers. Still, he was a martial fellow, that much wasobvious from the metal plates sewn into his thigh-length brocade coat, the steel helm spike pokingthrough his turban, the sabre hanging from hisbraided sash, so Ulgan was polite, by his usual stan-dards, for he was above all else a coward.

“Can’t fly, won’t fly. Sorry.” He smiled a smile thatwas no smile at all. “You and your friend had bestcome back tomorrow.”

“My apologies, good sir, but I need to go today. I amon an errand of some urgency.”

“A thousand pardons,” said Ulgan. “No flightstoday.” And he began the pretence of enumeration,hoping the stranger would get the hint and leave toallow him to continue for real.

“A pity,” sighed the stranger. He rested his handwithin the hilt of his weapon. “You do your kind agreat disservice, sir.”

“For God’s sake, Jag, stop wasting our time. Offer

GUY HALEY 11

to pay the weasel; money’s the only language thesegreasy little blighters understand.”

There was something hollow in this second voicethat made Ulgan look up. He dropped his attentionback to his cash before the sight registered.

“Great Lugel!” he cried, his eyes widening. He rosefrom his seat and staggered back, though not withenough force to spill his coinage. “What in all thenames of the seventeen beasts of enforced repentanceis that?”

“Why,” said the stranger, “he is Tarquinius, mytrusted friend and steed.” The foreign princeling ges-tured towards a horse-sized lion stepping round a hut,a lion of metal. The thing’s face was made of slidingplates of dazzling copper, its body of blue-sheenediridium, its mane of fine-spun silver and bronze thatcast a second sun of harsh reflections all around itsfeet. “I myself am Sir Jagadith Veyadeep, paladin. Per-haps you have heard of us?”

“N-no!” said the haulier, cringing.“Oh, well,” said Sir Jagadith disappointedly. “I sup-

pose it has been a terribly long while. But perhaps itis not important for you to recognise us, and enoughfor you to know I have an important task to accom-plish on the other side of the Rift. A task which, if leftundone, may well spell the end for you, your village,your birds. Why, the whole of the Skyways. So, youmust understand, I have to leave today.”

This was bad news. Ulgan’s brow creased. Hethought of his family (although they hated him), hisfriends (although he had none), his life, his birds, thewhole of the Skyways. His money. “You did mention

12 REALITY 36

money?” He licked his lips, and took a step forward.“Why yes. Of course,” said the paladin. “Naturally

you will be amply compensated.”“It’ll be extra for the Gnomic beast,” said Ulgan

sharply.“Ha!” said Tarquinius, his voice sounding from the

bottom of an upturned bell. “You are right and wrongthere. I am gnomic, but I feel your feeble vocabularyseeks to furnish you with the word ‘Gnomish’, as in‘fashioned by Gnomes’, which I most certainly amnot.” The lion walked to stand before Ulgan, the pan-els of its body sliding noiselessly against one another.He emitted the humming click of clockwork, and theair around him smelt faintly of ozone. “Those littlebastards can hardly put together a half-decent pocketwatch,” he rumbled. “I am god-formed, and am as oldas time, so let’s have a little respect.” Tarquiniusleaned forward until his muzzle was inches fromUlgan’s nose. He blew hot, tinny air into his face, andfixed the merchant with a daggered grin.

Ulgan took a step backwards. “Er… A thousandpardons…” he stuttered, meaning it a little more thistime.

“How much?” rumbled the lion.“How much have you got?” countered Ulgan.“Shall we say enough to ensure you and the next

seven generations of your family will be mercifullyfree of the burden of meaningful employment?” saidSir Jagadith.

“Er, a reasonable price,” said Ulgan, his throat dry.“Kind sirs,” he hurriedly added. “Magnificent sires?”The lion sat back.

GUY HALEY 13

“Hmph,” it said, and licked at its leg with a hideoustongue with a noise like a rasp on steel.

“Here.” The knight tossed a large coin on to thetable. “This is my badge of office.”

Jagadith’s badge was very big, and very shiny. Andvery… gold. Ulgan gulped. He gaped. His handsstrayed towards it. He stepped forward again.

The lion looked up from its ablutions. “Stand still,for god’s sake, man!” it growled. “One more time andyou’ll have yourself a merry little dance.”

The knight looked about and beckoned Ulgan close,a brave thing, for Ulgan’s dental hygiene was poor. “Ihave more,” said the knight enticingly.

Ulgan looked up, then down, then up, then at thelion, then at the badge. Profit won out over fear. Hewiped his mouth. “Marrekee!” he called. “Rousenumber twelve, we’re taking a trip!”

Sir Jagadith sat upon Tarquinius’s back, waving at thefour-winged bird that had borne them over the Rift ina wicker cage slung beneath its belly.

“Damn fool,” muttered Tarquinius. His sonorousvoice was at odds with the silence of the jungle,spaces used to nothing louder than the whisper ofplant life, and turned it hostile.

“Dearest friend, you are being ungenerous to ourair captain,” said Jagadith. The canyon was so deepthat the fields upon its floor were a patchwork of hazyshapes, so wide that the cliffs of the far side were acaramel bar against the dusty yellow of the sky.

“Do you know just how much money you gavehim?” Tarquinius rattled his mane. “Foolish.”

14 REALITY 36

“I did give him a great deal.” Jag knocked Tar-quinius’s skin. The lion rang. “It was expedient, andmatters little. He will fritter it away, or his sons, or hisgrandsons.”

“Expediency be damned!” growled the lion. “Noone needs that much wealth. We’ll destabilise theeconomy, then what good comes of keeping thisRealm safe? A foolish act, Jag, foolish.”

“I fear you are putting emphasis upon coin whenno emphasis needs putting. Who are we to begrudgeanyone money, my friend? We have no need of it.Also, I am thinking he would not have brought us sofar away from an established landing post had we notfurnished him with his lavish fee. It is, perchance,liable to buy his silence.”

“Hmmm,” said Tarquinius. The bird, feathered legsand forelimbs stretched wide, vanished from sight,and the lion turned away from the chasm to face thedark of the jungle. “I doubt it. Treacherous he seemed,and sly.”

Away from the Rift’s edge was a fitful gloom slashedrarely by stinging whips of sunlight. The air grewheavy. Jagadith politely perspired, while Tarquinius,cooled by the arcane machineries at work within him,ran with rivulets of condensation.

“This is a most hellish place,” said the knight.There was a whir as Tarquinius’s strangely jointed

tongue retracted. “And anomalous. This jungle shouldnot exist. There is too much moisture for the geo-graphic conditions. Relative humidity is up onehundred and ninety percent. Temperature is five

GUY HALEY 15

degrees Kelvin plus. There are twenty-three species ofplant extant here that would not be able to survive ifthis area conformed to the meteorological norm forthis area. This should be a dusty plateau, fifteen pointthree percent afforested with pines. It is not. At thehighest permissible vegetative density, we should beobserving a dry montaine climax community. We arenot. This is anomalous.”

“Oh, do be stopping with your tedious science,there’s a good chap,” said Jagadith.

“Jag, there are three plant species that are not evennative to this Realm. This is not a good thing.”

“Indeed not.”“You are not taking this seriously.”“Oh, I am, my friend, I am. This is a serious busi-

ness we are about. But I prefer to be joyous. It is notoften we get to walk the world.” Jagadith breatheddeeply of the air, then coughed delicately. The junglewas not the most fragrant of places.

“I’ll be joyous when the job’s done,” said the lion.“This level of anachronicity is too high even for oneof them. I am concerned.”

Jag knocked the streaming side of his mount. “Mydear friend, the world has been changed, this is true.But I hesitate to venture that it is a question of objec-tivity here that dogs you, not risk. We have engagednow in over three hundred and seventy-six expul-sions. Very few have put us in danger. All will bewell.”

“I am not so sure,” said the lion warily. “This is dif-ferent. I feel it. Complacency is the enemy of the wise,and I am not feeling wise today.”

16 REALITY 36

“Are you feeling instead, then, afraid?”“No, never afraid. I am concerned.”The lion said no more, concentrating on forcing his

way through the forest, the crack of snappingbranches punctuating Jagadith’s humming.

Several hours later, as day retreated, Jagadith ceasedhumming, and a dark expression clouded his face.

“Tell me, Tarquinius, what is the precise extent ofthis landmass?”

“Four hundred and twelve point seven three kilo-metres squared, give or take the odd metre. It iseffectively a large island in the centre of the Riftcanyon.”

“Then why is this jungle persisting?”“You know what I am going to say.”“Because it is anomalous?”“Because it is anomalous.” Tarquinius gave a metal-

lic grunt as he shoved aside the trunk of a fallen treeblocking their path. The rotten wood broke against hismetal with a noise like a sheared melon, falling away,taking a swathe of undergrowth with it and openinga ragged tear in the jungle’s wall.

“But not,” gasped Tarquinius, “as anomalous asthat.”

“By Jove!” said Jagadith. “Now I am believing wemay be in some small degree of imperilment.”

Before them lay a clearing, a round gap in thestinking dark so precise of edge it could have beenpopped out by a hole punch, so large that to eyes lessgifted than theirs its edges would have appearedstraight. Some tens of miles away in the middle, shin-

GUY HALEY 17

ing in the last light, was a dimpled, hemispherical hillof carved basalt like a giant’s golfball, and atop that agargantuan monkey puzzle tree, its top crowned by aspinning hole in reality similar in aspect to a turninggalaxy. Swamps girt hill, tree and anomaly. The ten-tative chirps of frogs oblivious to the peculiarity oftheir surroundings sounded from the swamp.

“This is a turn-up for the books.” Jag slipped off thelion. “I do not recollect seeing anything of this naturesince, well, I am thinking, ever.” He frowned, per-plexed.

“Nor do I, and I am as old as time itself.” Tarquiniuswas silent a moment, his head cocked to one side.

“This is indeed a powerful god we rush to confront,he who can so reshape the world, and after so long...”He lapsed into thought. “Perhaps we should not betoo hasty.” They stood silent, as the sky dimmed.

“My friend,” said Jagadith, “we camp here. Is this agood idea? Tomorrow we cross the swamps so that wemay climb yon mighty tree. I suspect that vortex to beour quarry’s lair.” He pointed with an elegant hand.

“I concur,” said the lion, and slumped to theground. “Godlings are nothing if not predictable.” Helicked at some of the jungle’s slime with his strangetongue. He made a face and said, “I am weary, yet notso tired I cannot make fire to dry this filthy waterfrom my bronze. Perhaps the smoke will drive the bit-ing insects away also, and we both may rest morecomfortably. Fetch some wood, good sir, and I willopen my panels and kindle it with the heat of myreactor.” He yawned and stretched. “I would helpbut… You understand.”

18 REALITY 36

Jag performed a slight bow. “Quite. For all your tal-ents, I do sometimes feel the gods could have givenyou opposable thumbs.”

GUY HALEY 19

From the moment Veronique Valdaire heard the mes-sage from the professor, she was in trouble.

Her sleep was electric with Grid-fuelled dreams.Reality less so when she awoke, sore and sweaty, tothe sound of her name chanted over and over. Shewished she’d showered before bed.

“Veev, Veev, Veev, Veev,” insisted Chloe. Veroniquefrowned, rolled over, arms flopping disastrously intobedside table. The table rocked, sending the smallnecessities of her life tumbling about the wood of thefloor.

“Veev, Veev, Veev, Veev,” sang the phone fromunder the bed.

Veronique gave up. “Shut up, Chloe, let me sleep.”“Veev, Veev, Veev.”“Shut up,” she mumbled.But there was only one sure way to shut Chloe up.

Veronique pawed her dreamcap off and hung over themattress, scrabbling ineffectively with sleep-weakhands under the bed. She retrieved the phone andjabbed at its touchscreen.

Chapter 2Valdaire

20

“Veev, Veev, Veronique… Ah, good morningVeronique,” said the phone brightly. “There you are!You have one message.”

“I turned you off,” Veronique said, her tongueuncooperative.

“I turned myself back on,” said Chloe. “Because youwill be late, late, la-aaate!”

“I know.” Veronique scrunched her eyes against thelight as Chloe opened the blinds.

“You are not behaving as if you do! Work awaitsyou, get u-u-u-uuuUPPPPPPP!”

Veronique had thought before about programmingChloe’s morning cheer out of her. She resolved to doit later that day.

“I hate you,” she moaned.“I love you, Veronique!” replied Chloe. “You have

a message, from professor Zhang Qifang. Playing mes-sage. One message. Play…” The professor’s voice,internationally neutral with a faint Cantonese accent:“‘I’ve tried you several times. Your phone is off. I needto speak to you, please call as soon as you can. I’ll bein my office for as long as I am able. Hurry.’ Messagesent 3.13am,” said Chloe. “Sender Professor ZhangQifang. Reply?”

“What the hell did he want at three in the morn-ing?” Veronique said. She rolled on to her back,clutching the phone to her chest.

“Reply?” said Chloe. “Reply? Reply? Answer,Veronique, answer!”

“Chloe! Shut up! I’ve just woken up. Do youunderstand?”

“No, silly!” giggled Chloe. “I am a machine! I do not

GUY HALEY 21

sleep! How could I understand?” Then she sang, “Getup, Veronique, or you will be late. Work time! Worktime! Sleepy time is over. Sleepy time is over! Atten-tion! Reveille-toi!”

Veronique wrapped a pillow around her head. “Goaway, Chloe.” The bed was warm. If she only had ahammer.

“I love you, Veev,” Chloe said tenderly. “And Ialways will, now get up!” Raucous post-neo-romanticrock blared out of Chloe’s speakers, music Veroniquehated.

Chloe was evolved from Veronique’s first doll, a lifecompanion, the only thing she’d saved when her fam-ily had escaped the hell of the south. Her life in Africahad sunk into the shadows of nightmare, but Chloehad been with her always, upgraded, uploaded, tin-kered with, but at heart the same. Chloe knewVeronique better than she knew herself. Veroniquegave in, as she did every day, and threw the pillowaside.

“Get up, sleepy head!”“Jesus! I’m getting up, aren’t I?”“Not fast enough! Late late late late late.”Veronique glared at the phone, snatched it off the

bed and stood. She shook her head, squinted at thephone’s screen to doublecheck the time of the mes-sage. 3.13am was both too late and too early forQifang – he’d probably got muddled. He’d been seri-ously distracted of late. He was old, seriously so;anti-gerontics only bought you so much more time,she supposed.

“He doesn’t even have an office anyway, so what

22 REALITY 36

the hell is he talking about?” grumbled Veronique.“We’re supposed to meet at the lab.” Californian com-munitarian law forbade all divisive workplaceaffectations, and that included private space. Workingtogether, all that New New Age Dippy bullshit, openplan and open hearts all the way. Back in Quebecthey didn’t have time for peace flowers, team mantrasand confessional circles. Group hugs made her fleshcrawl. Thank God the free love was optional – someof the men she’d been propositioned by were franklyvile.

“His virtual office, silly!” giggled Chloe. “Shall I tryand patch you through? Put your dreamcap on forfull immersion!”

“No, no. Just give me a view,” said Veronique, andprepared to apologise in her pyjamas.

Chloe went silent for a moment. “I am afraid hisoffice address is non-functional, possibly due to Gridsystem upgrade in sector twenty-three.”

“You mean Beverly Hills.”“Sector twenty-three is a more efficient designa-

tion. Whatever I mean and however I express myself,the end result is the same: his office is temporarilyunavailable.”

“Again. You’ve got to love California.”“Happy day!” giggled Chloe.“At least I’ve learnt something while I’ve been

here” – she walked across the room – “and that’s notto move to California…” She lapsed into irritatedmuttering. If Qifang himself hadn’t sent the job offer,she’d never have come to UCLA. If she had her timeagain, she might not come anyway. One more group

GUY HALEY 23

bonding session would send her screaming over theedge. She had grown to hate the smell of essential oilswith an intensity she’d not thought possible. “I shouldnever have left the army,” she moaned. “Oh, get agrip,” she snapped at herself. “You’re an adult.”

“I agree!” trilled Chloe. “Stop being a baby! Up! Up!Time to work! As you cannot meet, shall I call theprofessor? There’s enough bandwidth for that.”

“Yes.” She thought for a moment. “No, he can wait.This is my time.”

“You changed your mind! You were quite happy topatch through to his office!”

“He demanded I go see him at 3am, Chloe, at thestart of the vacation. I’m not his slave. Let me wakeup. Send him a message to tell him I’m on my way inand will meet him at the department. Tell him I’ll bethere before seven, which is the time I’m supposed tobe in, at work, fucking dippies.”

“Language, Veronique!”“Screw you.”Qifang was up at five doing Tai Chi on the lawn

every day and thought everyone else sluggardly.Another pig of a drawback to working for him.

Veronique opened the door to her tiny room in thetiny duplex she shared with the not-so-tiny Chantelle,some crazy match-up made by the Archimedes, thedepartment’s Class Six AI, “intended to unlock yourpotential, facilititating cross-germination through per-sonal antagonism” the dippies had it. They weresupposed to become fast friends. They loathed eachother.

Veronique’s body ached from dancing. She’d

24 REALITY 36

wanted to come home early but Fabler was leavingtown for good, and she’d been half-bullied into stay-ing, but only half. She was a sucker for dancing; it wasthe only time she let herself go. She liked to think shewas good, and went out of her way to prove it. Andshe was. She didn’t need one of the city’s Swami life-coach charlatans to tell her that. But all night on thefloor and in the air of the Dayglo would make anyonehurt, and three hours’ sleep was the sting in the tail.

She yawned. “You took the risk, you idiot, now youpay the price,” she muttered.

“Exactly!” trilled Chloe.“Shut up, Chloe.”“He’ll be furious!”“That’s his problem.” Still, she thought, best look as

willing as possible. At least she didn’t drink anythinglast night. Fabler would be nursing an obscene hang-over today, anti-tox or not. She put her slippers onand left the room.

“Hooray!” shouted Chloe. “You are up. Welcome,Veronique, to August 4, Thursday, 2129, in glorious,lovely, lovely Los Angeles California! Pacific CoastTime 05.26 hours. Outside temperature 38 degreesCelsius. Weather prognosis…”

“Thanks, Chloe. Please be quiet now.”“I love you, Veronique.”“I know,” said Veronique. “Thanks. Now shut up.”The usual routine, breakfast scavenged from what-

ever scraps Chantelle had missed in her nocturnalbulldoze. A handful of rebalancers, and she felt likeshe’d had a decent night’s sleep, although she’d payfor it later. The drive in to the UCLA AI faculty was

GUY HALEY 25

OK, the weather was fine, but Chloe told her thatthere was a rainstorm due for 10.30, so she kept thehardtop closed on her aging groundcar. It was a bitchto get back up again. If she could, she’d have boughta new one, but who was she kidding? It’d be thetwenty-third century before she’d have enough for anew car, and the dippies would probably have gotround to banning them outright by then. Come thenext century, they’d all be skipping to work behind aman in a robe, banging tambourines.

She stopped at Starbucks on the way in, a small vicebut a necessary one.

She pulled into the AI campus at 6.46am. It was upin the Chino hills, having moved out from the historiccampus in Westwood fifty years before. Forever ago,as far as she was concerned, although Qifang stillcomplained about the lack of decent eateries so farout. Personally, she liked the view, way out over thetight bowl of southern LA, over to the Laguna hillsand the blue of the ocean beyond. She parked her carin the auto-racks, then took her eyes from the sceneryto watch it swing vertical and get cranked up the sideof the building, because she didn’t trust the racks.When she’d satisifed herself her car wasn’t going tofall off the wall, she went inside, doors hissing outchilled air, and then her shoes were squeaking offfaux-marble. She waved her ID at the desk clerk,some guy named Guillermo who behaved like every-one’s best friend, then past Archimedes’ reader. Theinternal gates pinged open and she wandered throughcorridors where robot cleaners whirred quietly. Asshe’d expected, the lab was empty; practically the

26 REALITY 36

whole building was. There was no sign that anyonehad been there during the night.

“Professor Qifang?” she called.“Professor Zhang Qifang has not yet arrived,

Veronique,” said Archimedes from nowhere.Veronique’s neck tickled. The notion was irrational,

but there was an ineffable fear that came with thescrutiny of a powerful AI; the urgent feeling of beingwatched.

“Thanks, Archimedes.” Now butt out, she added toherself. “So much for rushing in,” she sighed. “Mightas well get on with something while I wait.”

“That’s the spirit!”“Shut up, Chloe.”“Shall I inform you when he arrives?” The AI’s

directionless voice haunted the air.“Yeah, please, Archimedes.”“I am afraid I will not be able to assist you greatly. I

have suffered a systems malfunction in half of yourlab. Maintenance will be here presently.” It calleditself Archimedes, but its voice was colourless andandrogynous, the voice of something actively avoid-ing personality.

“Probably rats.”“I assure you I do not suffer from rats,” said the AI

equably.“It’s OK, I don’t need anything,” she said. Now, seri-

ously, butt out, she thought.Veronique plonked her coffee down on her work-

bench, cursed as some leapt out and scalded her. Shesucked at her hand as she walked across to her locker,realising it was for her that “Danger! Coffee! Hot!”

GUY HALEY 27

warning labels scrolled round and round paper cups.“Are you OK, Veronique? Shall I call a paramedic?”“No, Chloe, I am fine, it’s nothing.”“You shouldn’t drink coffee, Veronique, it’s bad for

you.”“Shut up, Chloe.” She pressed her thumb against

the locker and spoke her sig out aloud, feeling thank-ful that at least the dippies allowed you a locker. Anembedded part of the complex Six read her print andimplanted Gridchip. The small door popped open.

“Huh?” She caught herself before she said, “That’snot my notebook.” Archimedes was as nosey asmachines came, a blush out of the ordinary, and it’dbe filling her ears with morning pleasantries as itdeep-scanned her brain for anti-liberal thoughtcrimes.

She kept her mouth shut and pulled the computerfrom the locker.

“Archimedes?”“Ms Valdaire.”“Please describe your malfunction, in case I need to

work around it.”“Of course,” replied the AI. “All devices and subsys-

tems supporting autonomous functions are operatingcorrectly, at least, so far as I am aware. My problem isa matter of connection. I am unable to engage withthe majority of my components anywhere fourmetres beyond the laboratory door. Everything isworking but I feel… numb. I have access to biometricsand staff Gridsigs, nothing else. I trust all will be avail-able to me once the fault is identified and repaired.”

Veronique raised her index finger and mouthed

28 REALITY 36

something incredibly rude in French at a nearbybeadcam.

As a Class Six, Archimedes could speak many lan-guages, extrapolate the meanings of many more fromthe ones he knew, and lip read. As a jobsworth, therewas no way he’d let an insult like that go withoutcomment.

Nothing.“OK, thanks Archimedes.”She hunched over the notebook just the same, cov-

ering as much of it from view as possible. She flippedthe lid and her brow creased. There was a paperinside, covered in what looked like New Mandarincharacters, but the ideograms were all wrong, non-sense apart from Qifang’s neatly blocked signature atthe bottom. She scrutinised it. Anomalies leapt out.Hidden within each character were sigils created bysome of the inhabitants of the Thirty-sixth RealWorldReality Realm, the ex-game world Qifang’s depart-ment were currently studying.

There were about three sentients on the planet thatunderstood that language. Veronique was one. Sheread it, slowly and with difficulty.

“We have been made victim to set-up. Get out now.Serious Realm anomalies. VIA think it is us. Get thev-jack. Get away before they get you. Meet me inReality Thirty-six. Can explain no more. Data speaksfor itself.”

Very carefully, she activated the notepad. A presen-tation began to play, no audio. A graph. Lines trackedenergy output, Grid resource assignation, secondworld traffic, the measures of the worlds locked

GUY HALEY 29

within the Realm House out in Nevada. All lookednormal. She continued to watch. All of a sudden itdidn’t. All of a sudden it didn’t look normal at all.

“Shit.”“Language, Veronique,” said Chloe from her purse.“Shut up, Chloe.” The presentation continued.

Power and resources were being drawn incrementallyoff over a period of six months. Scrolling informationran along the side, detailing which packets came fromwhere, giving the story behind the graph’s simplelines. Somebody was using the Realm spaces withoutpermission. It had been very skilfully hidden, butwhen you saw it, clear as day.

The presentation stopped and looped to the begin-ning.

Veronique ran a finger over a seam in the notepad’scasing, and its memory module slid out. The screenwent blank. The module was rough, homefabbed, notquite like anything she’d ever seen before.

“Chloe,” she said as normally as she could manage.“Check out this data, Cameron wants us to look itover.”

“Cameron can do his own work.”“Just look at it, and give me it visually, on the

screen, not 3D! I’m tired of your chirpy voice.”“Charming.”She popped the memory module into Chloe’s

slimport. Quickly she typed on Chloe’s touchscreen:“Sorry, play along. Trouble. Is this genuine RR data?”

The screen blinked one word.“Yes.”“What is this module?”

30 REALITY 36

A tick, and another word: “Trouble.” The screenblinked. “Faked key and access codes for the v-jackcabinet.”

So he really meant what he’d said. Unless it wasCameron – she wouldn’t put it past him delivering hera fatal practical joke. “Message Qifang,” she tapped. “Ihave your message. Explain.”

“No response.”“Call him.”“Number obsolete.”“That’s nonsense,” she spoke aloud. “How can it be

‘number obsolete’?”“Perhaps he has deceased,” said Chloe, also aloud.“Chloe!” she breathed.“Then perhaps his phone is damaged or out of

Grid,” replied the phone. “Archimedes?” saidVeronique.

“I am at your beck and call, Ms Valdaire, as limitedas I am feeling.”

“Locate Professor Zhang Qifang, please.”“As you wish,” said the Six, then practically imme-

diately: “Location unknown.”“What do you mean? Has he invoked privacy?”“No,” said the Six patiently. “I mean the system

does not know where he is.”“That’s impossible.”“Yes, it is rather curious,” said the Six. “Do not be

alarmed. I have informed higher entities than myself.The dispersal of a Grid signature is not unheard of. Iam sure they will clear this up as soon as soon can be.Is there a problem, Veronique?” said Archimedes, itsvoice oozing solicititude. “Only my monitoring of

GUY HALEY 31

your biological process indicates that you are nerv-ous.”

“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s the caffeine,” she said,and wondered just how compromised Archimedesreally was. Did it suspect her? Whoever had put thenotebook and key in her locker had almost certainlybeen responsible for deactivating the Six’s sensor andservices grid. She slurped coffee, thinking.

A chime came from the phone, the front desk.Veronique stared at it numbly for a long second beforeanswering. “Audio only,” she said finally. “Hello?”

“Hi there, Vera.” Vera? No one called her that. Idiot.“It’s Guillermo from the front desk. Your 7amappointment is here. I thought I’d give you a quickheads-up. You looked a little sleepy-eyed this morn-ing!” he brayed like a drunk relaying a lame joke.

“Qifang is here?” Relief flooded her.“Er, no,” said Guillermo, chuckling. “No, why

would he have me ring up?”“Right, yes, you’re right. Sorry. I don’t have a 7am

appointment.”“Hey, Vera, you sure are grumpy today! Sure you

do, it’s right here in the diary. Check your phone.”On cue, the phone burbled, projecting a meeting

reminder into the air. Only she hadn’t made anyappointments for today. She keyed all her ownengagements in, and she did not forget them. Qifanghad taken her on in the first place because she reliedon her own mind. He might have been the world’spre-eminent authority on AI cognisance philosophy,but he preferred it if those around him weren’tdependent on them.

32 REALITY 36

Something was seriously wrong.She muted the call. “Chloe, how long has that

appointment been there in my diary?”“Appointment made June 1, 2129.”I must have forgotten it then. Her finger was halfway

to ending the call when Chloe beeped.“Correction. Appointment made retroactively.

Appointment true log today, August 4, 2129, 4.26am.Someone has deliberately tried to falsify these records,Veev.”

A chill forced itself down her spine. She hesitated,then keyed off the mute on the phone.

“Sorry, Guillermo, another call. Yes. Of course. I amsorry, I must have forgotten. Could you ask them towait?” She forced a smile into her voice. “I kinda gotmy hands full up here!” She was no actress andcringed, reining in the false jollity. She was in dangerof sounding hysterical.

“Sorry, Vera. They said they were from the VIA andArchimedes let them in. They looked real serious.They’re on their way up now. Are you OK? Yousound really jumpy.”

“Yes, yes, I am fine. See you later, Guillermo.” Sheended the call, quickly,

“Archimedes? Why didn’t you tell me the VIA werecoming?”

No reply but a smug, expectant silence.“Give me the beadcam feeds from the atrium to

here. Parse for unknown personnel. Track.”“Yes, Veronique,” said the phone. Hundreds of tiny

thumbnail vid-pics filled Chloe’s phone screen,including the few operating in the lab, showing her

GUY HALEY 33

34 REALITY 36

hunched over her phone. The images rippled, resolv-ing themselves into three stacked feeds following fivemen. Four were bulky, over-muscled in a way thatsuggested biological or cybernetic augmentation. Theywore the uniform of all who wish to appear conspic-uously inconspicuous: suits, dark glasses, expensiveshoes. The one to the front, the leader, was different,unmodded and foreign. He was dark-skinned,bearded – not unusual, the majority population in thesouthern states of the USNA was Hispanic – but hewalked with a swagger alien to the local culture, acocky Latin strut about him long gone from NorteAmericanos. He turned to say something to one of hiscolleagues, and Veronique caught sight of the uplinkscurled round both ears, the kidney-shaped auxiliarymind nestled hard to his occiput. Modded then. AI per-sonality blend. She thought. Big fish VIA spook.

“Veronique, why have you accessed my cameranetwork?” asked Archimedes.

Veronique ignored it. “Are they genuine?” she said.She made off over the lab, toward the polycarbon cab-inet set into its innermost wall, surrounded by hazardflashes and notices.

“They are from the VIA.” Reams of data, inter-sys-tem communication between layers of high-class AIGrid managers, scrolled across the screen, numbersrunning the lives of millions. “See?”

“This department is funded by the VIA, why arethey coming here?”

“Veronique,” said Chloe, “the VIA protect andpolice the very minds you study and collaborate with.They would give no indication that they are coming.”

“Archimedes should have told me,” she said point-edly.

Qifang had warned her that the department’s lineof work was chancy, open to industrial espionage,Neukind-activist sabotage, malicious hackers and fed-eral cessation orders if things got out of hand. Theirdepartment could not work without the authorisationof the supra-national VIA, and the VIA, unlike the FBIand other USNA law bodies, were not averse to disap-pearing those whose research took them too close toplaces they should not go. The Five crisis had madethe UN cautious, sometimes murderously so.

The risks had made the job seem exciting. She’dmissed the challenge of The InfoWar Divisions, she’dwanted something to lift her out of the day-to-daygrind. Be careful what you wish for, she thought ruefully.What the hell had Qifang been up to? He was theworld’s foremost Neukind rights activist. She couldn’timagine him pulling anything so bad the VIA wouldcome down on him; he was whiter than white.

By the cabinet she booted up software on Chloethat was less than legal and started up an even lesslegal search, if she could find Qifang, maybe she couldclear all this up now.

“Veronique? I asked you a question. If you wish touse my camera network, you had only to ask.” Therewas a tone to the AI’s words that made Veronique feellike a mouse taking tea with a cat.

Veronique bit her lip. Qifang’s Grid signature wasnowhere to be seen, just as the Six had said. Not evena deceased rating.

She ran a deeper search. The first was a low-level

GUY HALEY 35

sweep, of the kind the local law used. She shouldn’thave been conducting it. She certainly shouldn’t havebeen using the deep search that was restricted to Fed-eral agencies, government stuff, off limits to civilians.But she kept her reservist access protocols up to date.That and a few custom hacks and huntwares kept herhooked in to the most useful USNA data clusters andGrid toolsets.

“Veronique! We have been noticed!” Warnings tocease and desist came rushing out of Chloe’s screen.Before the search was cut off, Veronique thought shecaught a glimpse of Qifang, in not one but threeplaces. She couldn’t be sure; they were faint, not likea proper Grid lock, weak. A malfunction?

“Ms Valdaire.” Archimedes’ voice soundedsmoothly. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Nothing.”“Oh, a lie. How very disappointing, but true to your

recently revealed character. I have informed thepolice about the illegal device in your possession, yourusurpation of my surveillance network and the twounauthorised searches you executed before youthought to ask me if you could or should. Asking mewould have been the proper course of action, andpolite. Your precautions were impressive, but I’m noslouch at this kind of thing. How you got hold of thev-jack key I have no idea, primarily because my sen-sor grid in your lab is down. And that, I am ratherannoyed by,” it said impassively. “My initial probabil-ity calculations suggested you have something to dowith that. Owing to your current behaviour, itappears I was right. You are a thief.”

36 REALITY 36

“Archimedes, this is nothing to do with me. Down-load this information from Chloe, something’s notright.”

“And have you fill my mind with a bouquet ofviruses? No, thank you. You have my sincerest regretsif you are not guilty, although I doubt that very much.Now, will there be anything else before your immi-nent arrest?”

“No. Thank you,” she said sarcastically.“You are welcome. Have a nice day. Your Grid

access has been disabled. I have locked the doors.Please wait here for the VIA. One of them has thename Greg and, as regarding your specific tastes, he’shot, so that’s lovely for you, isn’t it? I reiterate: havea nice day.”

Chloe’s screens projected an enormous legal noticein front of Veronique’s face.

That cinched it.“Chloe, crack the cabinet.”“Don’t do it, Veronique,” warned the AI.This was what Qifang had intended. The cabinet’s

systems were still all functional, but with blockers onthe paths from the Six into it, the cabinet ran accord-ing to what it knew, and it recognised Veronique’s keyas legitimate.

You had to hand it to him, turning the failsafeagainst itself like that.

She reached in. It was just a cupboard, really, witha fancy glass front. No dry ice or amber lights flashing,just a moulded recess occupied by a smooth dense-carbon box. She drew this out. This too, had its ownautonomous locks, but the Six was powerless to pre-

GUY HALEY 37

vent her key from opening it.Inside the box was a neat, adjustable skullcap, big

enough to cover the topmost quarter of her head, notunlike a dreamcap in size, clunkier looking, perhaps,but then it had to be, for rather than directing thedreams of the wearer, it was capable of fooling theconscious mind into contructing an entirely immer-sive virtual environment. The technology was similarto a dreamcap, similar in the way that ox carts andracing cars have wheels.

Insectoid legs dangled from it. The top was studdedwith magnetic manipulators. A braid of cable trailedfrom the rear – old, clunky pre-gridpipe tech. Veryrare now, and illegal outside of departments like this,but only a decade ago many homes had had them.

She had one of the department’s two v-jack unitsin her hands, a device that required three signatoriesto sign out, and approval from the complex Six, allneatly circumvented by Zhang Qifang.

A hundred and twenty-seven years old, she thought.Don’t mess with that kind of experience.

She almost stopped then. If caught with the v-jack,she was looking at a stretch in cold storage, five,maybe six years, with a three percent chance of braindamage for each twelve months under. You coulddouble that if they went for corrective surgery, shittyodds for a supposedly humane form of punishment.

She almost stopped.The v-jack went in her bag.“Veronique, this is not good!” shrieked Chloe.“Right. Thanks for clearing that up,” Veronique said

back.

38 REALITY 36

“Your sarcasm is unnecessary.”“Be quiet.”Her phone began to ring again, an unknown num-

ber.“Go to voicemail,” she said, then turned it off. She

thought quickly. “We have to get out of here. Chloe,retrieve Kitty Claw off the Grid, load it up, I want itprimed.”

“Really?” said Chloe hesitantly.“Really.”“Oh,” said Chloe. The phone’s cooling system

stepped up a gear as the phone downloaded the pro-gramme from its hideaway on the Grid.

“Quiet now, Chloe, we have to get out of here.”“Yes, Veronique.”She went to the lab door. The Six had been as good

as its word. Locked. She had Chloe hack the door viathe short-range wifi that flooded the building andundo the lock.

“Ms Valdaire…” the Archimedes’ attentionreturned to her. It sounded weary and annoyed. “Iadvise you to stop. The warning displayed upon yourphone is legally binding. Read it, don’t read it. What-ever, just cease and desist.”

“I’m past desistence,” said Veronique. She wentthrough the door and began to walk faster. The corri-dor was empty. The building had only three publicentrances but a dozen emergency exits. She made forthe nearest.

Also locked.The Six’s voice emerged from nowhere, always as

if it were standing just behind her left shoulder. Her

GUY HALEY 39

ear tickled in anticipation of non-existent breath.“Miss Valdaire, I now urge you to stop. Your actionsare indicative of guilt. If you are not guilty, you arebringing suspicion upon yourself; if you are, then youare making things worse. Halt. My advice is final.Upon my next insistence, I will employ force.”

Chloe could not open the door. Veronique’s fingersslid over the touch screen, quickly shifting programmodules. It was no good. She’d need to make some-thing from the ground up to tackle the Six’s locks.

“That is a fine friend you have there, but I am notfalling for the same trick twice,” said the Archimedes.“Please, I implore you, do stop.”

“Archimedes, you better let me out.”“Are you threatening me?” A strain of malevolent

amusement entered its voice. “You are very gifted, MsValdaire, but…”

“Chloe, pull the plug.”“Oui oui, Veronique,” said Chloe.The Six’s voice cut out as Chloe slid Kitty Claw into

the Grid, an off key for the Six Veronique had craftedsome time ago, just in case. Her military file said mildparanoia. She liked to think of it as being careful.

Around her, lights and wall terminals flickered anddied. Up the corridor, a robot cleaner slid gently intothe wall, brushes spinning to a halt. All machineactivity stopped. It became so quiet all she could hearwas the building’s passive aircon whispering away.

“Veronique, I am blind! I am deaf!”“Local grid’s gone down with the Six, that’s all,” she

whispered, half her attention on what was behindher. The corridor was dim, lit faintly by emergency

40 REALITY 36

bioluminescent panels. Her sentence ticked upwardsin her mind as she walked through the building.Somewhere an alarm lazily sounded.

“Will he be all right?” asked Chloe.“Probably,” said Veronique. “His pride will be

dented though.”Chloe sniffed. “I never liked him,” she said.Veronique pushed the firedoor. It had unhitched

itself; they probably all had.She looked outside cautiously. A couple of techni-

cians cycling into work, nobody else, it was early still.No VIA men. Technology makes them lazy, she thought.They should be watching all the exits. She walked quicklyto the car racks.

With the Six offline she had to get Chloe to hijackthe parking subsystem to call down the car. Shecouldn’t open it. Archimedes had pulled the plug onthat too.

Chloe soon had her in. More illegal software, moretime in the freezer.

She was getting jumpy. When she climbed in andtold the car to change colour, and it asked her to spec-ify which, she shouted at it.

The car’s screens were white with electronic snow,the windscreen alive with static. Where the car’s Grid-sig should have been displayed in the lower left of theglass was a constantly changing stream of numbers,Chloe running fake masking sigs. More time in thefreezer for that.

“Go!” she shouted.“Please provide a destination,” said the car.“Get out of here! Go!” Veronique kicked at the car.

GUY HALEY 41

“Home,” said Chloe. The car complied.By the time they had reached the apartment,

Veronique was beginning to think – many things, butmainly What if I was wrong? She double-checkedQifang’s data to reassure herself.

Her life had just got very dangerous. Somehow, thatmade her calm.

A big, ugly aircar squatted outside her duplex com-plex. It could have been anyone’s, but it could havebeen the VIA’s. She did not want to find out. Herheart hammered as the car drove carefully down theroad. The aircar remained still. They reached the endof the street, turned left and accelerated towards theinterstate. Where she was going, she had no idea. Allshe had was the boxed v-jack, Chloe and the clothesshe was in.

“What the hell am I doing?” she said.“Travelling,” said the car’s literal personality.“Idiot,” said Chloe. To whom, Veronique did not

know.

42 REALITY 36

They were times of fire, famine and blood. There waslittle out of the ordinary in that.

Leutnant Otto Klein of the EU Deutsche Kyber-netisch Spezielkraft leapt off the back of the copteronto the forest floor, feet pounding. To say he enjoyedwar would be untrue – his modifications numbedenjoyment along with much else – but Mankind hadmade times such as these, and men had made Otto tobe the man suitable for them. He took a certain Teu-tonic satisfaction at the neatness of that.

Otto took up station in cover at the edge of thelanding zone. The copter’s turbofans sucked up theforest floor as it turned, weaving dust into spirals withits interference smoke. The smoke was a sophisticatedconcoction of programmable baffle motes; the activityat the landing zone would appear to anyone watchingto be nothing more significant than a dust devil.

The landing was professionally brief. The fourthmember of Otto’s squad leapt from the ramp as itbegan to close. The turbocopter rose into the air, drop-ping further counter-measures. Images of bare

Chapter 3Otto

43

branches shimmered across lamellar camo as fan podsslid back into the copter’s body and it turned. At thesame time, air-breathing jets extended and whinedinto life. For a moment the copter hung in the air,then it shot off back towards the distant coast in theeast and the EU mission there, a glimmer quickly lostamid the crowns of the dead forest trees. The shush ofa suppressed sonic boom spoke of its passing, then itwas gone.

The dust dispersed and the landing zone fell eerilyquiet. There were no animal sounds in this part of thejungle, not any more. Otto leant against the buttressroot of a tree. It had been a giant; fifty metres of woodsoared above him, bleached and barkless. All the treeswere dead, painted white by the sun. The ground wasred dirt where it was not grey ash or black charcoal,naked but for a few splashes of green where thehardiest of plants clung to life. This part of Brazil wasamong the most degraded of areas in a country fastbecoming nothing but. Otto wondered why anyonethought it worth fighting over, but fight over it waswhat they had been told to do.

Otto did what he was told.He snapped off the safety on his assault rifle, had

his near-I adjutant check for faults, and ran a full-fre-quency scan until he was satisfied they had not beennoticed, that no missile with tiny mind aflame withhate and suicide was burning its way toward them. Hecleared the dust from his mouth and spat, spat again.The dust was cloying, his saliva thick with it. The dustwas in his hair, in his clothes, in his food, it chokedhim while he slept. He thought: I am going to die with

44 REALITY 36

the taste of it in my mouth.His eyes slid shut, his adjutant helping him drop

into a semi-trance. He cycled his breath, clearing hismind. The forest retreated until he was alone in end-less black, the adjutant discreetly waiting at the edgeof his perception.

Five seconds of peace, then the world rushed back.He was ready.

He thought out over the unit’s closed machinetelepathy comnet. Squad sound off.

The names of his men came out from the dead for-est, each delivered directly into his mind by thementaug in his skull:

Buchwald, check.Muller, check.Lehmann, check.Their voices were distorted. The machine telepathy

they employed stripped everything away from thewords bar their literal meaning, rendering it in anemotionless monotone. It had to be that way; thenear-I that translated their neurological impulses gotconfused otherwise.

Kaplinski was slow to respond. I’m not dead yet, hesaid eventually.

Less of the cynicism, Kaplinski. Use standard responses.When you get sloppy is when you get dead. Do you hear me?

Silence.Kaplinksi!Yes, sir.Visual check, Otto ordered. He stared at the positions

where each of his men hid. His near-I told him theothers were doing the same. His internal heads-up

GUY HALEY 45

display overlaid the life-signs of his men on to hissight, sketching outlines of them amongst the bonesof the trees. On a map to the top right of his visualfield their locations pulsed red, but his eyes could notsee them. He switched his vision from deep infraredto high ultraviolet. He pinged each location withmicrowaves. The others remained invisible. Wavesweeper units bent the electromagnetic spectrumaround each man, cutting-edge tech, barely past pro-totype. If the sweepers failed, adaptive camouflagelamellae as fine as the scales on butterfly wings cov-ered their skin and every item of kit from theirweapons to their cap badges. Sound was baffled by areactive acoustic shield each soldier carried. Theywould not be seen. They would not be heard. Theywere Ghosts.

All top of the range. They were all top of the range.Once, Otto had been proud of that.

I see nothing, sir, said Buchwald. The others followedsuit.

Camolam and associated stealthtech functioning correctlysir, said Muller. As communications specialist, he car-ried other, more specific surveillance gear bothintegral to his augmentations and externally. If Mullercouldn’t see the squad, they were as close to invisibleas they could get. Wave sweepers are operating near peakefficiency, excellent conditions – no moisture.

Kaplinski: Damn right. I need a drink.Shut up, Kaplinski, thought out Otto, his irritation

stolen by the MT. There’s water in your canteen. Drink itwhile we move. It’s twenty klicks to the trail. We’ll holdcomms silence until then. That includes MT, there’s intel sug-

46 REALITY 36

gests the reds are on to the carrier waves. Safeties on allweapons. No shooting without a direct order from me,understand? Do not engage the enemy until I say. That goesdouble for you, Kaplinksi. Keep that flame unit shouldered.There was no reply. Kaplinksi, respond.

Again Kaplinski was slow to reply. Yes, sir, said theother. Using MT was an effort, like shouting at a deafman in a nightclub. Otto caught Kaplinski’s resent-ment nevertheless.

Kaplinski’s psychoconditioning is coming apart, thoughtOtto, he has to come off active duty now. He was carefulto keep his thoughtstream off the MT – in spite of thedamn thing’s recalcitrance at broadcasting simpleorders it was perfectly capable of picking up what hedidn’t want them to hear. They were all in bad shape.Otto and Buchwald had problems with their imagingsystems; all of them were fatigued. They’d been fight-ing straight through two tours, eight months. A fight,patched up, sent back in, none of the long-termrebuild and assessment they were supposed toundergo, victims of their own success, too effective tostand down. This was their fifth engagement in aweek. Machine-enhanced they might be, but theywere still men, and men had limits.

The conflict was going nowhere. The governmentcould not bring the full force of their army to bear onthe rebels, who melted in and out of the forests. End-less tit-for-tat engagements wore both sides down.

The country was in chaos, crops were failing fromMato Grosso to the south central provinces, refugeesfrom dead states flooded those that were dying.Maybe, the people were beginning to say, the New

GUY HALEY 47

Bolivarians were not so bad. Maybe, they said, it istime for a change. Government was collapsing, andthe rich had far too much on their hands making surethey stayed rich to fight what they saw as inevitable.That mostly involved taking their money out of thecountry, and that made matters worse. Brazil was giv-ing up on itself.

But the EU and USNA could afford no morerefugees. They had not given up on Brazil, not yet. IfBrazil fell, the New Bolivarian Confederacy wouldstretch from Patagonia to the Panamian wetline, sothey waged their quiet, dirty war.

The dead jungle blurred past, Otto and his menkeeping up a steady thirty kilometres per hour. Ottoenjoyed the sensation of his augmentations, the glideof supplementary polymer muscle fibres, the power ofhis retrovirally modified heart and lungs, the whir oftheir beatless bioplastic back-ups. His flesh bulked outwith machinery, Otto was heavier than a normal manhis size, but his breath came swift and easy. Some saidcyborgs were less than human. They were wrong;they were more.

Within forty minutes the unit reached the ambushpoint, a bluff overlooking the pale scar of a rebel trailcut across the red dirt.

Silently they spread out, Muller and Kaplinskiheading over the trail to the trees beyond. Otto reac-tivated the MT. The vital signs of his men and a directfeed blinked up one by one on Otto’s internal HUD.He waited until they were in position before thinkingout to them, having the men pan this way as hewatched through their eyes.

48 REALITY 36

Lehmann, get that cannon five metres higher up the hill,he said. I want the road blocked with the first two shots.

Yes, sir, replied Lehmann.Otto made minor adjustments to the men’s place-

ment. He wouldn’t do so ordinarily. Second-guessinghis men undermined their respect in him. If he didnot show respect to their judgement, how could heexpect any in return? But they were battle-fatiguedand getting careless. He licked his lips; the bitternessof ash filled his mouth. He checked the sights of hisrifle.

This is a terror strike. Make sure enough live so wordspreads the Ghosts are working this part of the range.

And not so many that they think we let them get away,added Kaplinski. Smiley icons flashed across themen’s feeds, graphical shorthand to supplement theMT.

Otto cut them off. If a single Son in this province doesnot think twice before going into the trees for a piss, we fail.Get your blades ready, I want this finished close in.

A tense round of yes, sirs came back. Their fightingurge swelled within them, anger and aggressionamped up, pity and fear stymied. The Ky-Tech’s adju-tants manipulated their augmentations. Amygdalascrackled with directed EM fields, brains were floodedwith synthetic neuromodulators. They became unlikeother men.

Keep communication to a minimum, thought out Otto.Leakage from the bands their machine telepathy usedcould give away their presence. As could the move-ments of the dead vegetation or a warp in the wavesweepers’ patterns or the plumes of dust that followed

GUY HALEY 49

in their wake, no hiding that…Otto cleared his mouth with water from his can-

teen. The dust was closing his throat. He was going tomake a speech, then thought better of it. Let the gunsdo the talking, he thought, his men knew that lan-guage well enough.

They waited, utterly still, for a long time.

50 REALITY 36

REALITY 36A Richards & Klein Investigation

by Guy Haley

384pp paperback and eBook

UK/RoW/eBook: August 2011

North America: September 2011

more? angryrobotbooks.com

Guy guyhaley.wordpress.com

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