the Noise Within (2010) (32 page)

For Kethi, the initial struggle of the campaign was not one of arms but rather one of repetitive, soul-grinding work. In small doses Kethi actually enjoyed this task; she loved the process of discovery and would become completely engrossed when a pattern started to emerge and she was able to tease details from apparently irrelevant facts and unrelated commentary or casual asides, yet such triumphs were the exception. For much of the time the task was simply one of mental drudgery, of analysing and subsequently discounting the extraneous.

Her principal salvation was provided by the z-ball courts. The ship boasted two, side by side. She still found it hard to believe that such a frivolous luxury had been built into the otherwise strictly utilitarian ship, but assumed that in feeling that way she was doing its designers a disservice. Yes, the sport provided those aboard with much needed exercise, but there were simpler ways of doing that. Clearly those building
The Rebellion
had recognised how vital such a familiar taste of home might prove to be, which demonstrated admirable foresight on their part.

Kethi had always loved z-ball and when not on duty or sleeping, she would invariably gravitate towards the courts. It soon became clear that she was not the only one. Semi-regular teams began to form, the composition of each was somewhat flexible, having to revolve to accommodate work shifts and other commitments. The resultant bouts soon became a firmly established highlight of Kethi's day.

There was a faintly absurd aspect to a starship containing z-ball courts which appealed to Kethi's sense of humour, namely gravity. In an environment which naturally lacked it, gravity had been artificially imposed aboard the ship for the convenience of human travel only to then have it forcibly removed again to allow recreational sport. Technology laid upon technology to get back to where you started from. Bizarre.

As for the sport itself, z-ball supposedly developed from a game called basketball, although Kethi understood that a larger, inflated and therefore presumably softer ball had been used for this and that a major part of that game consisted of constantly bouncing the ball on the ground. Clearly, in zero gravity, different skills were required and z-ball had evolved accordingly, though walls, ceiling and floor were still frequently used to complete passes to teammates by bouncing the ball around an opponent. Kethi had also been told that the original game involved no physical contact, a claim which sounded ridiculous and which she found particularly hard to believe; after all, where was the fun in that?

Not that she was too bothered where the game had come from at that precise moment, as she came off the court following a close-fought and exhilarating match.

Beside her, Buchan, the team captain, was all smiles. His hair was limp and glossy with sweat, which also beaded his forehead and dampened the armpits of his grey top, while, judging by the wide eyes and smile, the adrenalin was still pumping through his system. "That was brilliant," he said. "Well played, Kethi."

Behind Buchan came Simon, likewise beaming from ear to ear. "We did it!"

Naturally Simon was on her team. Given that he was aboard
The Rebellion
at all, she would not have expected him to be anywhere else. His deformed hand made him a little suspect in possession, but he was a demon on the intercept, as if to compensate for the lack of handling skills.

"We certainly did," she agreed, and hugged him.

They had won by a single hoop. She didn't score it but she had blocked Ali's dive which might just have seen him intercept the shot and force a draw. Her joy at seeing the dull grey ball swallowed by the circular-mouthed hole of the hoop was there for all to hear in the 'yes' she shrieked as the ball disappeared. The resultant victory put their team two up in the ongoing series.

"Calm down, Kethi, it's only a game," Ali had said in the wake of her triumphant yell.

She would never understand an attitude like that. Since when did the word 'only' apply to any sport that was worth playing? Little wonder Ali's team were now down by two games.

While heading for the dryshower Kethi received a summons to the bridge, which she acknowledged, specifying a ten minute delay. She cleaned down in a hurry and then rushed to her quarters en route to the bridge. She made it, in hastily-donned uniform, with a minute to spare.

Nyles and Morkel were both there. The latter, a squat-built and prickly tempered individual with a breathing problem which seemed beyond the capabilities of modern medical techniques to cure, stared at her with blatant disapproval. Nyles, as unflappable as ever, simply smiled.

"Kethi, thank you for coming," Nyles said. No apology for calling her back within hours of her last shift, but then she hadn't expected one, not from Nyles. She was part of the crew and therefore never truly 'off' duty as far as he was concerned. "We've reached the point where some decisions need to be made," Nyles continued. "As you know, we're now deep in ULAW space and want to give them as little opportunity as possible to notice us, so from here on we'll be heading directly to intercept
The Noise Within."

Nyles's gaze then turned to Morkel, who took over on cue. "
The Noise Within's
attacks are by no means random." As ever, the man's words were accompanied by the sort of phlegm-laden rattle which made Kethi desperately want to clear her own throat. She struggled not to do so as he continued. "Analysis of the incidents has shown a definite pattern emerging and, of course, the more incidents there are, the clearer the pattern becomes. As a result, we've been able to narrow down the likely location of the pirates' next attack to three systems."

Nyles stepped in again. "We'd like you to review the information and Morkel's logic structures and tell us which of the three you consider the most likely."

Morkel flashed him an irritated glare which Kethi saw though Nyles didn't; she could well imagine how much he hated having his work double checked by her. She also couldn't help but feel a little irritated herself that Nyles had not thought to ask her this during her recent shift rather than summon her back now. Presumably that was because the calculations had not been needed until this precise moment and Nyles would have seen no reason to discuss the matter with her until they were. That was symptomatic of their group's greatest shortcoming, in her opinion - the almost paranoid level of secrecy, this culture of 'need to know' which Nyles perpetuated. She was convinced it impaired their efficiency.

She voiced none of this, however, simply saying, "Very well, feed me the data." Disappointingly, she cleared her throat before speaking. So much for that struggle.

Figures and information began their familiar parade across her lenses. She took it all in, like a sponge absorbing water, and as the sponge steadily filled it became clear that Morkel was right, there was a pattern here; one which only began to emerge after the data from several incidents could be analysed. The pattern was not yet fully developed - more incidents would be needed for that - which was why there were still three possible 'outcomes'. Or rather two, she corrected herself. One was far less likely than the others and could be effectively discounted. The other two, though, they both had merit. She reviewed the information again, trying to get a feel for the pattern and so second guess
The Noise Within's
intentions.

Eventually, she said with confidence, "New Paris."

Morkel flashed Nyles a smug look which seemed to say 'I told you so.' As expected, her own conclusions had clearly only confirmed his.

Nyles nodded. "Thank you, Kethi."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one, and left.

Leyton considered his options and couldn't see any that appealed. He was shaken to the core by the gun's betrayal, unable to either understand or accept how such a thing could happen. He'd placed his life in the gun's hands innumerable times, accepting without question the intel it provided and acting accordingly. On any one of those occasions, betrayal could have meant his death; yet here it was.

He sat at the suit's invitation, facing his inhuman host across the table. The gun he tossed down between them, not wanting to hold it any longer.

"I sensed the intelligence you refer to as 'gun' as soon as you stepped aboard," the suit said. Leyton found himself wondering why the AI persisted with communicating via these blank-faced suits. Presumably some people might find the experience unnerving. He didn't; to him it was merely annoying. Probably just as well, since he was unnerved enough already thanks to the gun.

"A fascinating concept: a governed AI teamed so closely with an exceptionally capable human, all done to facilitate the wielding of a single though versatile handgun. The three elements - AI, human, and gun - in effect combining to create a single weapon, which the ULAW authorities can then aim wherever they choose."

Could he complete the mission without the gun's aid? He wasn't meant to destroy the ship, merely disable it, but that meant attacking either the engines or the AI itself, and the engines seemed the more vulnerable. Other than the suits, did
The Noise Within
have any way of stopping him? She could close doors, and seal him in a compartment or corridor, so he would have to move fast and rely on his electronic lock pick if necessary. Did the ship have anything else to throw at him?

"It was a delight watching you in your cabin as you gathered all those apparently disassociated parts and assembled the gun, truly a delight." Why was the damned thing rambling on so much? This was an AI for God's sake, not some cheap melodrama villain.

Leyton focused on the suit. Judging by all he had seen to date, these things were not particularly quick, but how strong were they? Clearly they'd been provided with motive power, but to what extent?

Doubtless he could come up with a few other pertinent questions if he tried hard enough, but there was only one way he was going to get any answers, and that was to act.

Leyton was trained not to give his intentions away, to control his body language and metabolism so as to minimise any clue or warning. He put all that training into practice now, so that when he moved it was swift and decisive. He leapt from his seat, snatching the discarded gun up and lifting his side of the table, so that it tipped, pivoting on its far edge. He flung his end towards the still immobile suit and followed it, crashing down onto the avatar a fraction behind the upturned table.

"Leyton, don't do this."

He ignored the voice, now hearing only treachery in the gun's soft tones.

This time around the briefing had been thorough, and he knew that these antiquated suits carried a quick-release button in case the helmet needed to be removed in a hurry.

"This is not what you think," the oily smooth voice continued.

The gun might be uncooperative when it came to shooting anything but still it made a handy club. Not heavy, perhaps, but effective enough when held by the barrel and brought down sharply on a protective flap close to the suit's right shoulder.

A gloved hand rose to block him. Not strong, not strong at all. "Just listen," the oh-so reasonable voice implored. But he didn't.

The protective flap had been battered aside now, the quick release exposed. He brought the gun's butt down one more time and the seal around the helmet broke with an audible click. Without pausing, he swept the arm holding the gun across to deliver a back-handed blow to the faceplate, dislodging the helmet and causing it to flip backwards, still attached at the back, and to fall open like some dark, yawning maw.

If he expected to see wires or expose circuitry he was disappointed. There was simply... nothing. Whatever powered and controlled the suit was doubtless buried deep in its innards, because it certainly wasn't here. More disconcertingly, the suit belatedly started to fight back, rising to its feet like some broken-necked apparition from the worst kind of holodrama.

Leyton reached behind him, grasping the chair which he'd briefly sat on and striking the suit with it, smacking aside the thing's clasping hands. He used the chair to push and batter the suit to the ground, throwing the table on top for good measure. He spun around, preparing to bolt from the door and sprint for the engine room, only to find his way blocked by three figures. Philip Kaufman came through the door, bracketed by two more of the remote suits. Both the latter were armed. Predictably, they had their weapons trained on the eyegee.

"Mr Leyton, please stop trying to wreck my mobile effectors and listen to me." The ship's voice now emanated from the foremost of the new arrivals. The original suit had climbed to its feet and resealed its helmet. Quite bizarrely, it then set about righting the table and spilled chairs, as if this were some domestic robot nonchalantly carrying out a set of routine chores. Barring the small smashed flap near the thing's shoulder, there was nothing to indicate it had been assaulted at all.

Leyton and Kaufman were encouraged to seat themselves on the two righted chairs.

"Can't get the ship to acknowledge me at all," Kaufman muttered as they sat down, sounding hurt more than anything. The eyegee could only imagine the one-sided conversation that must have occurred between the businessman and his reticent escorts as they brought him here.

"Mr Leyton, please do not feel betrayed by your gun; it was acting with your best interests at heart." Kaufman glanced across sharply at that, looking curious and somewhat alarmed. "We have been communicating since you first came aboard and I have convinced the controlling intelligence that the proposal I am about to put to you, to both of you, is the best course of action for all concerned, particularly the ULAW authorities. Hence the gun's decision to cooperate with me by bringing you to this room.