Deathstalker (50 page)

“And we can’t put out a warning without at least a hope of a solution; there’d be mass panic, and the Matrix would collapse. We might also startle the rogue AIs into doing something desperate. I’ve got people working on a tech answer, under strict security, but there’s no telling how long that could take, and we can’t wait. There are hints that someone High Up has already been taken over. Someone very High Up.”

“No,” said Dram. “I can’t believe that. No machine could pass as human for any length of time. Unless … Shub really is that far ahead of us.”

“Someone beat us to the Sleepers on Grendel. Someone knew we were going there and got there first. Someone extremely powerful. If there is something strange happening in the Matrix, I have to know. Which means seeing for myself. And since I’m damned if I’m going in there on my own, I sent for you.”

“Thanks a whole bunch,” said Dram.

Lionstone didn’t laugh. “Keep your wits about you, Dram. I’m relying on you to make sure it’s really me who comes back.”

Dram was still trying to come up with an answer to that when he heard the lid of Lionstone’s capsule slam down. He swallowed once, glared up at the unresponsive ceiling and
triggered the lid to his capsule. As it swung down, it occurred to him that if anything did go wrong, the Empire wouldn’t have to bother with a funeral; they could just bury him as he was. The thought didn’t comfort him. The lid slammed shut, there was a moment of utter darkness, and then his mind shot into the Matrix.

His thoughts leapt out through his comm implant like a salmon leaping up a waterfall, like a bird hurtling down a dark chimney, full of fear and anticipation. In some strange way he never liked to think about, diving back into the Matrix always felt like coming home. As though the endless shimmering plain he now found himself looking out over reminded him of the place he’d been before he was born. The Matrix stretched away in all directions, further than the human eye could follow: a massive sphere of being, with him, infinitely small, at its center. Above and below and to every side were strange shapes and creatures and snatches of landscape that swirled around him in defiance of gravity or rational thought. Dram concentrated, forcing his will upon his surroundings, and in a moment found himself standing on the side of a grassy hill. He was wearing full battle armor, with a sword and gun on his hips. His unconscious apparently felt he needed protection, and Dram didn’t feel like arguing. There were those who could visualize themselves as practically anything they wished within the Matrix, but that depended on how much power you commanded. Being only human, with very minor augmentations, Dram was limited to his own shape and a very small size.

He looked unhurriedly about him, letting the strangeness of it all wash unresistingly over him till he was immune to it. What he saw wasn’t real, just his mind interpreting what it thought it saw. In the Matrix, gathering ground of business and information within the Empire, similes had strength, and inner meanings surfaced like whales rising from the depths of an unsuspecting mind. The largest shapes were blocks of data: accumulations of information given shape and form so that they could defend themselves from the predators that roamed the Matrix. They rarely stirred, as long as they were left undisturbed. The AIs were the largest: great shining suns of gossamer energy. Get too close, and like Icarus your wings would burn; persist, and the brilliant illumination of pure mind would burn you into a cinder. Man was not meant to look upon the face of the Medusa.

Great creatures moved ponderously among the data mountains; massive dinosaurs with shining teeth and claws whose slow steps made the ground tremble. Corporate holdings: large and fierce and deadly. Lesser companies darted around their feet and between their legs, sharp and streamlined, looking for opportunities and signs of weakness. They knew better than to attack; bringing down a corporation was a dangerous, intricate business best left to real threats like the cyberats. You could lose more than files in the Matrix; if a human mind was destroyed on the shimmering plain, its body wouldn’t survive long in the real world.

Dram watched the bright spark of a cyberat’s mind darting around a huge sphere bristling with spikes, trying to find a way past its defenses. Not too far away, two huge dinosaurs slammed together, clawing and rending, their great mouths bright with blood. The Matrix had given a whole new meaning to the phrase hostile takeover. Lesser companies scampered about their feet, hoping for crumbs.

Dram turned slowly, searching for Lionstone, trying not to be distracted. There were things in the Matrix that had no shape, only presence, that moved among the data stores and visiting minds like ghosts at play. Trends rustled through investments like wind through trees, and rumors flared like fireworks. A wisp of scarlet ribbon wrapped itself around Dram’s shoulders, whispering persuasively in his ear, but he shrugged it off. You couldn’t get away from advertisements anywhere. His gaze passed over the gutted husks of dead businesses, the worthless shards left after asset-stripping, or the occasional dismantled structures of a pillaged file. There were always hunters in the Matrix. Dram frowned. He was seeing far more destruction than he’d expected. The market must be having a really bad day. And then Lionstone was suddenly beside him, and he bowed courteously.

She was a bright shining star, a silver-armored figure twice his size with blazing eyes and steel strands wrapped around her like thorned ivy. Vicious spikes jutted from her fists and back; augmentations in the real world. Lionstone’s self-image had always been very positive. Not to mention aggressive. He coughed politely to get her attention, and the cough bobbed on the air before her gleaming metal face like a soap bubble before popping. She looked down at him, head cocked slightly to one side like a bird’s.

“What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?” he asked.

“Damned if I know.” Her voice rang like a brass bell. “Something out of the ordinary.”

Dram felt like making a sharp answer to that, but rose above it. He shrugged uncomfortably. “Everything seems … much as usual. Just another day in the Matrix.”

And then the palely glowing structure gliding unobtrusively toward them burst suddenly apart, and something huge and foul and deadly leapt out at them. Dram’s sword was immediately in his hand, but the creature swept him aside without even slowing. Lionstone stood her ground, spikes thrusting out of her arms like swords. The creature loomed over her, tall though she was, and Lionstone tilted back her head. Blazing energy roared from her eyes and mouth, incinerating the creature’s face in a moment. It screamed and reared back, but flashing steel cables leapt out from Lionstone’s armor and whipped around the creature, holding it securely. Her augmentations were powerful in both the real world and in this, and they held the howling beast while Lionstone tore it apart with her bare hands.

Dram watched from a respectful distance, on his feet again. Someone had invested a lot of thought and power in the attack, but as usual they’d underestimated the Empress. She tore the creature’s ravaged head from its body and held it up before her blazing eyes. It whimpered and tried to fall apart, but Lionstone’s will held it together.

“Who sent you? Who made you? What’s your master’s name?”

But her words activated a hidden program within the creature, scrambling its information irretrievably. The Empress swore and released it, and it fell apart into a billion bytes, sparking and sputtering as they died. Dram moved cautiously back to stand beside the Empress.

“Who do you think sent it: Shub?”

“More likely one of their agents. No human could stand up to anything from Shub. We’re not going to find any answers here, Dram. I was a fool to think I would. The Matrix is too big and my mind too limited. Anything could be hidden here, and we wouldn’t know till it jumped out of the shadows to bite us. I need someone who understands this place; a cyberat, perhaps. Do you think you could find me a cyberat, Dram?”

“No problem. Finding a cooperative one might be hard, though.”

“Bring him to me,” said Lionstone. “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.” She looked out over the Matrix, and Dram wondered how far her augmented eyes saw. She was silent for a long time, and when she finally spoke her voice was quiet and thoughtful. “Look at it, Dram. It’s bigger than Golgotha. We made it, but we don’t understand it. The computers and the AIs shaped it for their own needs and convenience, and all we can ever be is observers. It’s not under our control anymore, if it ever was. But I will find a way, Dram. No machine will ever rule my Empire.”

Dram nodded respectfully, and if he had any thoughts of his own, he kept them to himself. Thoughts could go a long way in the Matrix.

Finlay Campbell was late for the weekly Clan Campbell board meeting. He believed in being late; it made other people appreciate his presence that much more. And it had to be said that he wasn’t looking forward to this particular meeting at all. Just lately everything seemed to be going wrong, and for the first time in his life he hadn’t a clue as to what to do for the best. It had all got so damned complicated. The demands on him as the Masked Gladiator were growing all the time as his popularity increased, and the pressure on his secret identity was becoming intolerable. He was only able to lead his two lives because the Arena crowds and officials connived with him, but their curiosity was becoming more intense than their hero worship, and it was only a matter of time now before someone turned on him. The crowd always turns on its heroes eventually, for money or a moment’s fame, or just to see the high brought low. If he had any sense he’d retire now, while he was still young and intact and it was still safe to do so, but being the Masked Gladiator was important to him. Certainly more than being that most renowned fop and dandy Finlay Campbell. He’d originally created the persona as a joke to draw attention away from the real him, but the joke wasn’t funny anymore. If only because he wasn’t entirely sure who the real him was now.

Only an hour earlier he’d stood beside his bed, quite naked, staring down at two outfits spread out before him. If he put on one set of clothes he was Finlay, and if he put on the other he was the Gladiator, but who was he right then, standing
naked and alone without an outfit to define his identity? Who was he when he stared into a mirror and didn’t recognize the face he saw there? He’d played his two roles so long and with such conviction that they almost seemed to exist apart from him, as people in their own right. The masks had fastened themselves to his face and wouldn’t let go. He used to know who the real him was, and that was the man who loved Evangeline Shreck. But their time together was becoming increasingly limited, as their respective Families made more and more demands on them, and both Finlay and the Gladiator were needed elsewhere. He loved her and he needed her, but who did she love, really? And were any of the people she loved really him?

In the end he’d put on Finlay’s clothes, because that was who the Family was expecting to see. It was another of his outrageous ensembles, designed to be as extreme and blindingly colorful as the naked eye could stand. He painted his face with a fluorescent stick, metallicized his hair with several quick sweeps, and set off for the board meeting with his thoughts roiling in his head like great waves tossed by a storm. He picked up his bodyguards at the front door and strode down the corridor at a quick pace so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. He still smiled and nodded to people he passed, as Finlay would, and they smiled and nodded back, apparently sensing no difference in him at all. Which didn’t improve Finlay’s opinion of them or him. Who’s more foolish: the man who lives a lie, or those who believe it?

Finally he came to Tower Campbell and stood at its base, looking up. It was a long, tall stretch of glistening marble, towering above and over him like an emissary of doom, full of vague threat and menace. It stood unmatched among the pastel towers, rising up into the perfect sky, surrounded by the lesser buildings of lesser Clans and lesser people, a monument to money and power and arrogance. All Campbell business was conducted there, safe from the eyes and ears of outsiders, including some business that was never discussed outside the Family and would have shocked even the hardened Company of Lords. There were armed guards at the perimeter and at the door, and even more inside, and as Finlay crossed the wide and elegant lobby to the elevators, he wondered what had happened. Something must have. This level of security was unusual, even for a Family as paranoid as the Campbells. Finlay didn’t approve. If nothing else, it was a
sign to other Families that the Campbells had something worth guarding. Why give them ideas?

He saw the motionless figure standing by the elevator doors, and his unease grew. He’d never approved of the Clan having their own Investigator as a status symbol, never mind a cold-eyed killer like Razor. It was like walking around with a pet shark on a leash. Investigator Razor worked for Clan Campbell after the Service let him go, partly because they paid him extremely handsomely, but mostly because they offered him the best chance to legally kill people. It was rumored that he’d been thrown out of the Investigators because he was a complete bloody psychopath, which when he first heard it amused the hell out of Finlay, because he’d always thought that was how you got in. Having been around Razor for a while had taken most of the humor out of the joke.