Owner 03 - Jupiter War (29 page)

‘Nevertheless, you must be chipped before you try out that cryogenic pod.’ Hannah swung her legs off the bed and headed for the shower. ‘You do
not
go in there without a backup.’

‘It’s good to know you care.’

She grunted dismissively. She did in fact care, but sometimes it didn’t show so well. Maybe that was because Saul always loomed in her mind so prominently and Da Vinci was therefore not the single most important man in her life. As she stepped into her shower cubicle, she wondered if that situation would ever change, and then realized that it would. The time would come when her emotions finally caught up with her intellect and, on a gut level, she truly felt that there were only two human beings in that equation.

Argus

With the clamping wheels on the ends of its legs powering up, the overseer’s office began its slow crawl up the ship’s skeleton to a new position five hundred metres from the top pole of the ship. The inside of the office was now decked out just like one Var had used while working on the Mars Traveller project. However, here she was finding herself having to move the office a lot more often, just to keep out of the way of the astounding pace of construction.

She gazed at her array of screens and could not help but feel a bitter sense of awe. All three of the massive docking pillars were now inside, suspended one above the other in a cubic framework that gave room for the manoeuvring of space planes alongside with support and maintenance equipment, all currently crawling with robots and humans and glinting under a constellation of welding lights. The two new arcoplex cylinders were growing visibly even as she watched. Their bones were going in place at the same pace as the ship’s skeleton had been constructed, while that skeleton was steadily being shrouded in hull plates – their dark shadow swiftly blotting out the view of Jupiter. Asteroid matter was disappearing fast, while the need for raw materials was being filled by the steady supply of booster tanks being dragged in from around Jupiter, and by frequent missions to some of the smaller encircling moons in quest of rarer earth elements as they ran dry. The Saberhagens’ weapons were now all but complete, the stream of robots from Arcoplex Two seemed never-ending, the abortive structures that had sprung from the outer rim of the old station wheel had been stripped away and the ship was
filling up
and felt
gravid
– girder walls rising to meet each other, accommodation units, small factories, additional hydroponics units and more besides, sprouting everywhere like tree buds.

After staring for a while at the screens, Var returned her attention to recent reports and updated schematics; finding there was not much she needed to attend to, she began checking the messages she’d had relayed to her communications system. All the work schedules were meshing together nicely and the smelters were completely on top of answering demand. The only problems to be encountered were system disruption caused by induction and static discharges, which were an inevitable result of having the ship positioned beside the Io flux tube. Beyond these, she noted that Commander Langstrom was on his way to see her and should be here in a few minutes, and meanwhile all but one remaining item had been responded to.

Var gazed at the message from Hannah Neumann. They had not talked for a while, since it seemed Hannah was currently more interested in getting her bones jumped by that weasel Da Vinci rather than drinking beer with Var in the Olive Tree. But this wasn’t a personal message: it was one automatically generated by Hannah’s system to inform Var that her backup had reached maturity and yet still no connection had been made with her implant. So perhaps it was time for Var actually to get an implant, to become potentially immortal, to thus extend her abilities to do her job, to enable her to do within her skull what she had just been doing on a screen; to enable her personally to control robots and summon to her mind any data she ever required. What had she got to lose?

Var stared at the message, trying to think logically about it, but could not dispel a stubborn reluctance. Perhaps she was rationalizing, but it all seemed to come down to that relay, that off-switch her beloved brother had decided should be installed in the circuit. Why did he have so little trust in his own sister? Why did he have so little trust in Hannah, who, though she might deny it, looked upon him with a weird combination of maternal pride and worship, or in the others who also worshipped him: like the Saberhagens, who clearly also saw him as their personal incarnation of god the father; like Rhine, who quite simply could not visualize a universe without Alan Saul and who would die for him; like Langstrom, who, at last, through the jaded horror of his military career under the Committee had found someone worthy of serving?

‘You don’t trust us, do you, Alan?’ she said out loud, but there was no response.

Perhaps it was because he, being convinced he had moved so far beyond humanity, had persuaded himself that, at this remove, he could understand it so much better. But probably all he knew was little more than Var did: that the very naivety of worship made it more likely quickly to make the transition towards hate. Or was it that, in convincing himself that he had moved into a post-human state, he’d lost any connection with his humanity at all? Could it be that he considered the ebb and flow of human emotion beneath his notice, that he now thought himself untouchable, or even invulnerable? Var pressed a hand against her forehead as if to try and still all the possibilities whirling round inside there, or to try and steady herself.

I must get this straight . . .

There were those amongst the already chipped who were now plotting against her brother. He knew, of course, yet seemed utterly dismissive of their shenanigans, whatever they might be. He should never forget that the advances that had resulted in him, as he was now, were a human invention. He should never forget the power of human ingenuity and, should it be turned against him, he should never forget that he might actually die. Var felt that something needed to be done, which was why she had summoned Langstrom. She could not rely on her brother to deal with what seemed likely to be a growing problem amongst the chipped. She was determined not to turn into one of the worshipful, and thus one of those utterly trusting and dependent on their god.

The airlock light was flashing, which meant Langstrom had arrived. As she stood up ready to greet him, another out-field thought occurred to her. Maybe her brother was just letting the rebellion develop so as to give himself a reason for extreme response? Was this what lay behind his distrust: did he realize that his intentions would be seen as a betrayal by those aboard his ship? She could not help but remember recent conversations with Hannah, when the woman had talked about her ultimate fear that Alan might decide the humans on board were a burden he no longer wished to shoulder, and therefore decide to dispense with them. She could entertain the possibility that he was merely watching and waiting for this rebellion to become overt – waiting for that excuse to be rid of them all.

Langstrom stepped through first, followed by the repro Manuel, who apparently was steadily making himself indispensable as a secretary – a role rather belied by his physical appearance. Langstrom’s other lieutenants, who were chipped just as Langstrom was, were engaged elsewhere about the station – making enquiries and ‘shaking a few trees to see what dropped out’.

‘Varalia,’ Langstrom greeted her, dipping his head respectfully.

This was the kind of acknowledgement she had been receiving from many, and she found it both annoying and flattering. Annoying because she suspected it was all to do with her family connection, but flattering because sometimes it seemed due to her for being in charge of the rebuild, and because of how she had seemed to make things all work so much better. And the operative word there was ‘seemed’, since she often felt that her performance had been more one of social engineering than actual engineering, and less that of a true leader and more of a figurehead.

‘You’ve got something for me?’ she asked.

‘I’ve found out where the relay scramblers are being manufactured,’ he replied. ‘There’s a small factory in Arcoplex One, attached to a shop. It’s a private concern where they repair fones and are making replacement parts for fones.’

‘Private concern?’

‘Since your introduction of a salary for station work, the Owner has allowed vacant ship space to be rented out for such activities,’ Langstrom replied. ‘Commerce is growing. In Arcoplex One the shopping mall, which originally catered for the delegates living there, is gradually becoming occupied. We have people manufacturing clothing, jewellery and objects of art, as well as different kinds of alcohol, tobacco, cannabis products and designer drugs I’ve yet to have any guidance on . . . and, of course, this fone shop.’

Var stared at him. She obviously knew about the Olive Tree and what was sold there, but had never considered where these new products were coming from. In fact, all she knew about Arcoplex One was that it served as accommodation for certain station personnel, and she hadn’t yet even been inside it.

‘Do you have any names?’ she asked.

‘The shop is run by a technician called Scarrow, but, as far as we are aware, he himself has no knowledge of the scramblers. However, he has two people working for him who, during their off-time, are producing them.’

‘There’s no way Alan cannot be aware of this. Who exactly are they?’

‘They’re personnel from Mars: one is a repro, so quite probably innocent regarding the purpose of the scramblers, while the other is someone who served under Rhone in Mars Science. The first individual is called Thomas Grieve, while the second is called Gilder Main.’

Var digested that information in silence. Grieve had been one of those responsible for killing Martinez, and she had wanted to kill him in turn. However, there had just been no time then, and when she finally got round to making enquiries about him, she discovered that he had already undergone Hannah’s ministrations. She’d found him and spoken to him, even pushed him, but discovered only a child-like man with little recollection of his past and not the slightest bit of malice evident in him. So, in frustration, she’d left him alone. Gilder was someone she vaguely recollected, who had climbed his way up through Mars Science with his nose firmly wedged between Rhone’s buttocks.

‘Have you arrested them?’ she asked.

‘On what charge?’

It was frustrating but, under Alan Saul, there was no law against secret communications. Var knew that because she had already checked. Under the Committee, there would have been numerous laws being broken and numerous reasons for arrest – not that the Inspectorate had ever required a legitimate reason for arresting and interrogating someone. Here, then, was one of the drawbacks of allowing people greater freedom. But, again, was that greater freedom intended to provide people with more rope with which to hang themselves?

‘I need to talk to Gilder privately,’ she declared through gritted teeth.

‘Obviously I cannot be involved in anything that infringes the law,’ explained Langstrom, straight-faced. ‘I can merely monitor some citizens, and there are restrictions on what I may do with the data obtained.’

Langstrom patted Manuel on the shoulder, whereupon the repro took a data stick from his top pocket and set it down on a nearby surface.

‘It’s also noteworthy how the Owner allows cam dead spots to exist throughout the ship,’ Langstrom continued. ‘He explained to me how he did not want to monitor everyone completely all the time, since he is not the Committee, and how allowing a degree of illicit activity acts as a safety valve, creating the illusion of greater freedom.’

Var eyed the data stick. ‘Thank you for the information, Commander Langstrom. It’s a shame that we cannot act on this matter, but the law here on board is the law.’

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and headed for the airlock, pausing before stepping inside it to say, ‘I agree with the Owner about that safety valve, which is why I’ve reduced my patrols operating within Arcoplex One and only intervene when I see, via whatever cams are available, any situation getting out of control – which is rare.’

The moment the two of them were gone, Var proceeded to view the contents of the stick. The dead spots were all detailed, and the position of Gilder Main was being updated in real time. Currently he was at work in Arcoplex Two and, checking his shift details, she saw that he would be finished there in two hours. She also noted how one of the dead spots was in the small factory operating behind the aforementioned fone shop.

‘Do you know what I’m doing, Alan?’ she enquired. ‘Or are you too blinded by your own belief in your omniscience?’

She stared at her screen, not quite sure what to do next. However, leaving matters in the hands of her superiors or depending on her subordinates had led equally to betrayal. So, one thing was certain: she had to do
something
.

Soft-fruit Practice

There are those who assert that evolution is a directional thing and that, as we evolve, we are heading towards some omega point. This strange idea stems from the thoroughly erroneous perception of evolution having an aim beyond the brute survival of genes. It is a sign of philosophical, faith-based thinking infiltrating the thoroughly mechanistic facts regarding human biology. There is no data on evolutionary biology to warrant any faith in the idea that we are somehow ‘improving’. If living in trees and chucking bananas at each other became a breeding advantage, into the trees we would go for soft-fruit target practice. Evolution does not just stop, and the changes it makes in us are governed only by production of the next generation. It can be argued that, by physically altering our bodies and our minds, we are just part of evolution’s toolbox. Perhaps now the best cerebral implants shunt aside the biggest horns and the bushiest tail, and it might be that humans will eventually reach something akin to an omega point. But, equally, those same implants might prove a hindrance to obtaining a mate – a dead end – and the ones still up in the trees with the bananas will eventually be the winners.