They saw him, raised their guns and started towards him. One of them was about to start subvocalizing when Jack said, ‘Stop.’ They saw his face and heard his voice, and a shimmer of subtle behavioural cues settled over their perception of him. Their weave systems were reshaped to make him shine with a strange kind of immanent beauty. All three could do nothing more than stand and gape. One dropped his gun. Another seemed to be wetting himself.
[ Very impressive!] chuckled Fist.
Jack stepped forwards and touched the first of them, wanting to push him to one side. The man collapsed to his knees, eyes still on Jack, his face suffused with inhuman satisfaction. The second moved back, tongue lolling stupidly as he dripped on to the floor. The third was less affected. He was trying to force words out of his mouth, nearly choking himself with effort. At last a question came staggering into the air. ‘Can I have your autograph?’ He reached out for Jack, again imploring, ‘Autograph?’ Jack backed away from him.
[Ditch these wankers,] snapped Fist. [Out of the alley, turn right.]
Jack ran, thrusting the settings on East’s new installations back to zero. It made no difference to the three men behind him. They were still broken. He heard a final, plaintive cry: ‘Autograph!’
[ What just happened, Fist?]
[Gift of the gods. Now don’t think. RUN!]
They lost themselves in Docklands. An hour or so later, Jack was nursing a coffee in a small café in the Neon Quarter. The seat was bolted down too close to the table, forcing him to hunch over. Fist had hacked into a passerby and used him to pay for the drink. He’d ordered a bacon sandwich too. Jack could hear it sizzling on the hob beyond the counter. [ We didn’t need to pay for any of it,] Fist complained. [ With what East’s left running in you, you could have had it all for free.] He leered at the waitress, who was leaning against the bar. [And anything else, too.] Jack was glad that she couldn’t see him.
[ What is in me, Fist?]
Fist wasn’t just useful for hacking outwards. He’d been checking for changes in Jack’s root systems, trying to understand exactly how East had upgraded his personal weaveware. Jack could still feel the new controls in his mind, but – after the alleyway, and the broken guards – felt nervous about even touching them.
[ You’re running Pantheon-level celebrity systems. She’s installed the unlocked version, you can do whatever you want with it. You saw what it did to those goons outside the hotel. Verrrry tasty. I wonder if it would work on a squishy?]
Jack was too tired to argue with Fist. The deaths of the last twenty-four hours had shattered him. He’d seen Nihal’s head blown open and his body broken. He’d felt the last strands of Corazon’s consciousness falling to nothing. A god had put a bullet in his own mind. And he’d broken three men, so overwhelming them with his presence that they became dead to themselves. He hoped that they’d recover.
[ This stuff is hardcore. Combined software and meatware assault. Those InSec goons won’t come down in a hurry.]
[ I didn’t know what it would do.]
[ Try it on the waitress, go on!]
[ No.]
She was coming over to them, an off-white plate balanced in one hand. She’d scrawled weave sigils across her uniform in cheap marker pen. The black ink had faded to a raw, bruise-like purple. Her blonde hair was piled up on her head. A clip, decorated with another sigil, clutched it together in an untidy knot.
[ What do her sigils say, Fist?]
[ They invoke some third-rate designer. There’s a beauty charm too. Give her some of the real thing, Jack!]
Even through all the Eastware was turned down, Jack was still afraid that she would suddenly thrill at his presence. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly when she put the plate down. He hunched his shoulders and pulled his coat in, staring at the table and muttering, ‘Thanks.’ She shrugged and turned away.
[Missed your chance.]
[ Be quiet.]
The sandwich went down in a couple of bites. It barely tasted of anything – the bread was just a soft warmth in his mouth, the bacon a sharper, crispier one. Fist had logged him into the café’s tastenet, but it added very little to the experience.
[So what now?] asked Fist.
[Lie low. Avoid InSec. Wait until it’s very late. Pay an old friend a visit.]
[Akhmatov?]
[Oh yes.]
[And you’ve got some questions for him?]
[Especially now I’ve seen how Corazon was killed. He was there.]
[ He killed her?]
[ No. The blue-haired woman from Customs House shot her. Just like she did Nihal.]
[Do you think she’s Yamata?]
[She’s not how I remember her. But she might have done more than just reskin herself. So yes, I think she might be.]
[Oo! Very exciting, we might be starting to track her down. And when you’re asking Akhmatov questions, you might need a little help from me?]
[ Yes Fist, I might well indeed.]
Fist snuggled up against Jack. He tried to wrap his arms around his waist, then gave up and enfolded his arm, hugging it tight. He’d never been so demonstrative before, at best admitting to feeling little more than a friendly but embarrassed contempt for Jack. He’d been much more helpful too, since his brush with death. Jack wondered how deep the change went, and how permanent it would turn out to be. He wasn’t sure how much he could trust it.
[ I’ll get answers for you,] Fist chirped. [ I’ll be nasty cop. You can use your charms on him. You’ll be nice cop.] He giggled. [ The nicest cop ever! I’m looking forward to it. Today’s going to pass really slowly.]
[ We can’t let InSec catch us. We’ve got to keep moving. Anything more to pay?] Fist shook his head. [ Then let’s go.]
[ What about Harry?]
[ We’ll go back to him once we’ve got some results.]
They spent the rest of the day walking the streets of Docklands. Fist bobbed along beside Jack, sometimes floating, sometimes walking, always reaching out and confusing surveillance systems. He talked in an excited babble, thrilled to at last be fully himself again. Jack said very little. At one point, they found themselves near his old junior school. Nostalgia snapped at him. Wire netting fenced in a playground that was set in the arms of a large, semicircular building.
[Shithole,] said Fist.
[ I had a lot of fun here.]
That would once have been a very difficult thing for Jack to admit. He’d worked so hard to put Docklands behind him. He’d even refused to bring Andrea here. Now, it just seemed to be a simple, uncontentious statement of fact.
[Easily pleased,] said Fist.
It was break time. The children were playing a football variant. Two loosely defined teams screamed and jostled happily against each other. The game had absorbed almost every child there.
[ I was about the same age as you are now.]
[My mind runs much faster than yours,] Fist snorted. [ I’m much older than seven!]
[ Really?]
One team was about to score when a whistle blew, and the game abruptly stopped. The child with the football swore, grumpily kicking the ball away. The two teams broke quickly into smaller groups, some children happily rushing off together, others clearly very annoyed.
[End of break time?] asked Fist. [ I wanted to see him score. It was getting quite exciting.]
[ No,] replied Jack. [ Their gaming allowance is time limited.]
[ What?]
[ It’s the kid version of Pantheon licensing. They can’t just play a game. They have to hire use of its rules from the Twins. That costs. A school like this can only afford so much.]
[ Why don’t they just keep playing?]
[ Heavy fines. Theft of intellectual property.]
[Gods, no wonder the Totality revolted.]
[ It seemed so reasonable, when I was their age.]
They stood there for another minute or so, watching the children invent scrappy, spontaneous games then chase around for a few minutes playing them. Fist was fascinated. He pressed his face close up against the fence. Jack thought of Andrea – of what she’d been, of what she’d become. He wished that he’d come here with her to watch the children play, back in the unreachable past.