Gridlinked

'City ordinances restrict the—'

Cormac took his chip card from his pocket and waved it in Aiden's face. He then pushed it into a slot in the onboard computer. A sexy voice spoke from the speakers.

'Manual governors are offline. All city controls are denied. It would be inadvisable to proceed.'

The gende ting of a bell sounded after the voice, then the voice repeated itself, only faster this time. By the third repetition that same voice had become the shriek of a hag, and the ting a discordant clank. The computer moaned and something death-rattled inside it.

'That's illegal,' said Thorn.

'So's detonating a CTD on an inhabited planet,' said Cormac.

Aiden shoved the control stick forward. In less than a minute the AGC was travelling at 1000 kilometres per hour. A quarter of an hour later they reached the run-cible complex.

Aiden brought the car down in the empty AGC park, as close to the installation as he could. As they climbed from the car, Cormac glanced at the clock on the dash and then looked to the east.

'Come on, we've got to find a screen.' He ran into the complex surrounding the runcible installation. The others hurried along behind, Thorn with a little help from Aiden.

The embarkation lounge was eerily empty for a place so often busy. The people who had been here previously were well away now, and no doubt swearing about antimatter-containment fields and incompetent AIs. Cormac ran over to a bank of screens, speaking into his comunit all the while.

'Viridian, can you get it up on there? I want to see this.'

'I have surveillance drones two kilometres above the area.'

The screen flicked to a view down onto the Thuriot mountains.

'The explosions will be well contained. There may be very little evidence of them. Two minutes and counting.'

And with that a voice, softer than that of the AI, began to read off the seconds.

'One-nineteen, one-eighteen, one-seventeen…'

'When this hits,' said Cormac, 'we run for runcible B5, which is open right now to the stage-one runcible on Samarkand.'

Thorn asked, 'Will the detonations be enough to get it running? I mean… can we be sure it will run for the runcibles?'

'We can't be sure. If it doesn't run this time, we come back with greater force and do the same again.'

'I still don't see how we—'

'Hadn't you better get to the runcible now, Thorn? I don't want you dragging behind,' said Cormac, and turned and eyed the soldier coldly. Thorn returned that hard gaze for a moment, then bowed his head and moved away. Aiden went with him.

Cormac turned his attention to the dracoman. 'Nonscar, go with them.'

The dracoman moved away also.

'—eighty… seventy-nine… seventy-eight.'

While Cormac watched the screen, Mika studied him surreptitiously. The questions Thorn had been asking were pertinent in the extreme. She sensed the reason that Cormac had not answered them properly was, not because he could not, but simply because he did not want to. He knew what he was doing; that, she felt, was enough.

'Bringing the drone in lower,' said Viridian.

The view rapidly changed to one where trees and mountainsides became distinguishable. Mika was sure she was now seeing the same area they had recently quit, one mountainside appeared to be the one with the cave mouth in it.

'—twenty-one… twenty… nineteen… eighteen…'

Mika could see the tension building in Cormac's muscles. What was he seeing? What was it he wanted to see?

The seconds counted themselves out. The probe appeared to bob, but it was the mountains that shook. Dust and debris hazed everything for a moment, and then white fire jetted from the flank of one mountain, pinpointing the position of the cave mouth. Cormac glanced at the time display in one corner of the screen.

'Come on…'

More seconds dragged past. Then suddenly part of the mountain blew away and the incandescent Maker surfaced, jetting fire in every direction. Trees exploded into burning flinders and boulders were blown to dust. The screen whited out.

'Probe destroyed,' explained Viridian. 'I am withdrawing all other probes.'

Mika saw a fleeting quirk of a smile cross Cormac's face.

'Dramatic,' he remarked. Then said, 'Let's get the hell out of here.'

Fantastic light cut in a slow arc across the sky, and grounded at the distant runcible installation. There the finned cooling towers were haloed in St Elmo's fire. Jarvellis leant forward on the controls of the private AGC Pelter had stolen and shook her head in wonderment. After a moment the light winked out, and by contrast the day seemed unreasonably dark.

'Now, that you can explain in a minute,' she began. 'But first tell me about that shit Pelter.'

Stanton smiled at her. He couldn't stop smiling at her. When he'd come upon the grounded shuttle and seen her climbing out, he thought he'd finally nipped. But now, every minute, he was realizing it was true. And whether that applied to him having nipped or her actually being here he did not know, or care.

'He's dead. I think they're all dead,' he said.

'Did you see them die?'

'I saw Pelter - and I checked afterwards. He had that agent cold from about four metres back with a pulse-gun. Shit, I've never seen someone move so fast. I think Pelter winged him, before he freaked. He blasted away at the tree the agent ducked behind, then he seemed to lose it, and started backing off. The agent stepped out after that, calm as you like, and shot him. When he was gone I took a look. Hole right through the centre of Pelter's forehead and out the back.'

'Good. What about the others?'

'I think Mennecken and Corlackis got hit by an APW. I found some bits of Dusache stuck to the launcher, and Svent got hit in the crossfire between the agent and Pelter.'

'That's it, then,' said Jarvellis and sat back. She appeared as wasted as Stanton felt. With what she'd been through, he wasn't the least bit surprised. He looked at the flat material over her left breast.

'Now I think we get off this planet and find somewhere safe. Somewhere… peaceful and sunny. We'll get you that reconstructive surgery as well.'

Jarvellis looked at him tiredly. 'There'll be people hunting for us here,' she said, 'and we haven't got a ship anymore. How exactly do you think we'll get away from here?'

Stanton reached into the back of the AGC, brought a briefcase forward and laid it on his lap. The briefcase was battered, its framework showing through at the corners, and there were suspicious-looking spatters spread across it. Even so, the Norver Bank logo was still visible on it.

'I reckon we'll find a way,' he said.

At last Jarvellis managed to respond to Stanton's smile. She decided she'd give him the other news once they were somewhere safe - and when Stanton had lost any inclination to run.

29

Of course, criminals are people who have not received the correct moral education. They are people who have not enjoyed the opportunities of the rest of us. We should pity them, and as a society we should look after them. Punishment is not the answer. It only worsens an already bad situation. If we execute people, this apparently makes us just as bad as them… Bollocks… In the earlier years of the millennium this was always considered to be the case. The insanities of 'political correctness' blinded many to plain realities: if you execute a criminal, he won't do it again. Punishment of the criminal is good for the victims, if they are still alive. Why should we, as a society, look after and re-educate them when we hardly have the resources to do this for law-abiding citizens? Nowadays we have grasped these realities, so murderers and many recidivists are mind-wiped. We have not ceased to execute people because we are more 'civilized', but because that would be a waste of a perfecuy useful body. And there are many personalities waiting in cyberspace (A I and uploaded human) for another crack at living in the real world.