However, someone in the Committee had realized that, where survival depended on science, the scientists and technicians must be allowed independence, therefore authority over technical issues within the station had been handed over to someone called Le Roque. This situation had not lasted too long, for apparently Le Roque now languished inside one of Smith’s adjustment cells. Langstrom’s soldiers, who reported to Smith and his execs, were military-wing Inspectorate enforcers, and the best – as far as the Committee was concerned – that ‘service’ had to offer. Which probably meant that they were all utter shits.
‘The space planes will arrive on-station in just half of one hour,’ Smith insisted.
Saul flicked his attention to the robots he controlled, already running self-diagnostics and stretching like cats. They needed to become a little bit more sneaky if they were to end up going against weapons that could fry their electronics, so he began programming them to that purpose. A suitable name for that program was ‘Ambush Predator’. Except for just a few still gathered about Tech Central, he began dispersing them to the outer limits of the area he currently controlled.
‘Fuck the fucking planes,’ was Langstrom’s rejoinder. ‘You’ve been down on me from the start just because I wouldn’t back you up on Le Roque.’
‘It is advisable to exercise some caution during discourse,’ Smith warned him mildly.
‘Oh, right, I might get myself in trouble.’
After a brief pause, Smith said, ‘It is unfortunate to note that you have disconnected your system from Political Office Oversight and lowered your security firewall. In circumstances such as the current ones, this must be considered an adjustment offence.’
Saul was on it in a second, realizing that everything in the barracks now lay open to him. He began seizing control of readerguns and cameras, locking them into his own network, while locking out a sudden flanking attack from Smith – an information serpent looping round to try and shove its way through the same hole Saul was using. Next, Saul had control of the air, the power, even the medical machines. He could kill them all off in an instant, and meanwhile the realm he controlled had just grown significantly in volume, because now his reach extended over to the other side of Arcoplex One. If this was some sort of trap, Saul could not detect it.
‘Yeah, right, so I might end up in an adjustment cell for that!’ Langstrom responded. ‘Oh, too late, seems I’m already destined for one of your cells, because you don’t like the way I think.’
‘So at this crucial time you betray our plans to enemies of the state?’
Langstrom smashed a hand down on the computer keyboard, cutting off further communication.
‘That’s pretty shitty,’ remarked one of his sergeants.
Langstrom nodded, his expression resolute, then turned on him, pulling a side arm. Without further ado, he raised it and shot the speaker straight through the face, spraying his brains over the door. The impact jerked him up off his gecko boots and sent him tumbling between the two men behind him. His corpse hit the door and bounced, before it began to drift away again. Globules of blood and brain and chunks of skull fell about the room like red- and-pink snow.
‘Fuck, you could have warned me.’ The muscular soldier with coal-black skin flicked a fragment of skull off his shoulder, then raised a boot to field the corpse and press it down to the floor. Blood went on pumping from the head wound, winding out in a thick snake across the floor, its back rippling like red mercury.
‘Right, sorry, Jack. Next time I’ll say “Step aside because I’m just about to shoot Smith’s weasel through the face.” ’ He holstered his side arm. ‘What about the others?’
‘Two in the hospital and eighteen in the disciplinary cell.’
‘How many of the rest are in this with us?’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘So that means we’ve got about a hundred and fifty who might be a problem?’
Jack shook his head. ‘A hundred and eleven, since our friend in Tech Central killed forty-eight.’
‘Do you two have reservations?’
‘None at all,’ said Jack.
The other man, whose name Saul now ascertained, from reading the bar code on his uniform, was called Mustafa, said, ‘I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen all my life.’
What was going on?
The one called Jack had mentioned ‘thirty-two’, and a check showed Saul that thirty-two soldiers were gathered in Barracks One, while the rest were ensconced in the four other barracks. The first thing noticeable about the soldiers was that most, like Langstrom himself, were black men. He started scanning bar codes on their uniforms, and quickly realized that all these soldiers had been transferred from an Inspectorate assault group located in South Africa, specially trained for ground assault and hostage extraction. Though this hinted that they were proper soldiers rather than secret police, it did not necessarily raise them in his estimation.
‘Alan Saul,’ enquired Langstrom, ‘are you listening?’
‘Always,’ he replied, through their public address system.
‘We’re with you, then. Just tell us what you want.’
‘You’ll excuse me if I reserve judgement on that.’ Saul paused for a second. ‘Though I perfectly understand your change of allegiance, I don’t see why any of your men should want to stick with you, especially since assault troops are on the way.’
‘Then you obviously haven’t spent most of your life shovelling Committee shit.’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Just tell us.’
‘Very well.’ Saul considered the situation, and decided he wasn’t going to let Langstrom or his men get anywhere near Tech Central. ‘Since I disarmed you and sent you away, I see that you have all rearmed yourselves. I
