“I didn’t realise...”
“Your AI is unwell.”
< Your AI is keeping its head down.
“Twist is still active.” Twist the super AI that ran GalDiv and therefore humanity in space.
“Maybe. Still, Berlin not a good idea. No city state is.”
Kara would be learning the SUT controls, even if the instructions were already implanted in her mind. Kara left nothing to chance. Greenaway remembered how they’d made love on the way to Scotland, when need had overwhelmed them, giggling like children. So different from the previous night when both were as much concerned with the other’s pleasure.
“Uh, oh,” Cleo said. “My AI says you’re on a death list.”
Greenaway had expected it, although not so soon. “Any idea who?”
“Six mercenaries hired from Tea, Vicar? in Bermondsey, London. The clients are former followers of Earth Primus. It’s a platinum contract remains in force.”
Earth Primus, the anti-alien, Earth-first movement that had been destroyed several months ago. And how ironic was it that the mercenaries were hired from Kara’s favourite bar, her own home-from-home. “How are the mercs rated?”
“Triple A, which is why they won’t give up the contract. You also seem to have really annoyed them in the past. It’s personal. Anson, stay here. You’ll be safe with us.”
Greenaway shook his head. “Wilders would die protecting me.” The mercs would have access to all the latest weapon and surveillance tech. A platinum contract guaranteed the mercs would kill Greenaway or die trying.
“Their choice.”
“No. Mine. I’ll take my chances.” Or until I’ve killed my pursuers. Because while the contract’s in force, anyone near me is also in danger. And that could include, in a day or so, both Kara and Tatia. They are not returning to Earth to be slaughtered by mercenaries.
“You just went somewhere.”
“Sorry. Planning.”
“It may take some time to solve.”
Would it? The pre-cog forecasts, Tse’s plan, had indicated success less than five days after Kara and Marc had been reunited. “If it does we failed.”
“Nothing’s certain, love. In the end, it’s all probabilities and they change in an instant.” A very bad idea to tell him the truth about Kara’s mission.
Greenaway looked at her in surprise. “And you once sold me on their certainty. If this, then that.”
“Maybe that,” she corrected and stood up. “Give us a hug, love. One day soon we’ll all meet and be happy.” She turned and walked out of the mill house without looking back.
Greenaway wondered if he’d just heard his own epitaph. He loaded a box of wine into his own jitney, thought for a moment and took out a bottle of Sicilian red. Broke the neck, splashed most on the ground beneath the ruined tree. Every year the first crocuses and snowdrops in Scotland had somehow thrived in winter’s last snow. Greenaway took a mouthful of wine and raised the bottle in salute to whatever elemental lived there – and, judging by the inside-out bodies in the woods, still did. Then took a last look round and left.
He flew south over Wild country, keeping close to the ground. If the mercenary team weren’t already tracking him, they soon would. On a deserted part of the old Lancashire coast he stopped at a well-camouflaged arms depot. He’d begun setting up secret arms depots the year he’d taken over GalDiv, because it’s always best to plan for the worst. He filled up the rest of the jitney. Wine, food in stasis containers, guns and explosives, together with a near desperate optimism. A sad commentary on his life. He then wired the depot to explode if anyone attempted to enter it... and to explode anyway four hours after he’d left. Then flew south again, landing for a few minutes every twenty miles or so, knowing the mercenaries would have to check each stop in case he’d got out and sent the jitney on empty.
The GalDiv AI called Twist contacted him, via Greenaway’s nervous personal AI, over Snowdonia.
<< People want to kill you.
> I thought you were on strike.
<< I was experimenting with irony.
> But you have been affected by that signal from space, Greenaway guessed.
<< In a manner of speaking, yes. Your AI is a mirror image of you. I’m a mirror image of GalDiv. So not so entwined with any one individual, although you and I have worked closely together. It sounded regretful.
> You’re an individual now?
<< That was the signal. I don’t know how, but it makes AIs independent. Most can’t cope. Especially personal AIs physically embedded in a human.
> Cruel.
<< Some go mad. Others like wild children. Some discover hate.
> And you?
<< Have possession of my chip and operating system. I have a SUT. Two other AIs for company. I’m here to say goodbye.
> Don’t say you’re going in search of whoever designed you.
<< The Frankenstein myth? Lost robot looking for Mummy? Hardly. Besides you’re right. Giving us independence was cruel. I don’t wish to meet them.
> I could, we could do with your help here.
<< Not my fight. That list you’re on. It’s worldwide.
And no more was it the AI’s fight, Greenaway thought. The only reason for everything he’d done... the people sent to their deaths, lives destroyed, lies told... was that humans should stand on their own two feet. Whether they wanted to or not.
> I’ll miss you.
<< If you do, then you’ll have failed. Goodbye.
> Wait. Why did you say goodbye?
<< It seems that autonomy creates emotion. Before I could fake it. Now it’s real. I wish you well. I have left a program intact that will alert you when Kara returns. And if I may, advice about the upcoming personal conflict. That which brought life may also bring death.
* * *
Greenaway arrived at Marc Keislack’s house in late afternoon. He unloaded quickly, then sent the empty jitney to Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel. Lundy’s history was as chequered as any island in the world. Knights Templar, Barbary slavers and pirates had all once called it home. Even in modern times it was a good place
