Degrees of Freedom

22

The pain didn’t go away, and he had no way of telling Tabletop.

He wasn’t in control anymore, if he ever had been. From the moment Madeleine had walked into the staff canteen, that had been it—every decision he’d made since had been logical, reasonable, defendable, and not even wrong. He just hadn’t had enough facts to come up with an alternative that would have led anywhere else but plugged, raw and naked, into the computer that had seen the rise and fall of the New Machine Jihad.

He knew it wasn’t meant to be this way, and yet there he was, underground, damaged beyond repair, out of battery power, threatened by entombment, nuclear annihilation, and a woman scorned.

Pizdets.

Here was the problem: computers had architecture, had physical memory and chipsets and operating systems. Petrovitch knew his way around those and could make them his bitches, wrestling with their software until he found the exploits that meant they would do his bidding.

This thing he was connected to had nothing he could grasp. Information inside a quantum computer was contained in the energy states of atoms. He had no way of interpreting them or interacting with them. In this basic state, he was beneath Michael’s attention, insubstantial and immaterial: a ghost in the machine.

He’d done it once before, though. When the facsimile of Oshicora had collapsed VirtualJapan and erased all the data, he’d managed to remain for a few brief moments, immersed in the vast empty space that remained. If he’d been aware of it then, he could be aware of it now.

Michael had reprogrammed the door to his vault. He would have left some way to get to him. He was smart. He would have thought of this. He would have planned for this very moment.

So he would have allowed for Petrovitch’s incompetence, his habit of throwing stuff at a problem until something stuck. He would have even taken into account that Petrovitch’s meat body might not have access to the software that controlled the mitigator code, and that the balvan might plug himself directly into an open port and hope for the best.

There were instructions in the implant, updateable firmware that was intended for just that purpose. The nikkeijin were supposed to do it that way, of course. VirtualJapan ran hot and fast, shoveling a body’s worth of experiences through one thin cable.

Petrovitch had modified that code for working with other machines, other networks. He’d changed it so much it was unrecognizable and completely useless for its original task. What he needed were the factory-fresh settings. A hard reset.

He could do that. He was going to do that. He’d do it now.

Petrovitch finally struggled through his own very private hell and hit the big metaphysical switch.

His eyes opened wide, and Tabletop was leaning over him, her hand on his bare, scrawny chest, feeling the hum of the turbine beneath. She gasped at his sudden movement and she lurched sideways, intending to unplug him from the jet-black cube.

“No. Nonono,” he gasped. “It’s meant…”

He was under again.

[to be?]

He was held, lifted up, carried, sheltered. The pain became a memory: a savage, enduring memory to be forever burned into his psyche, but at least it had passed.

“Chyort. I’ve found you.” The relief came like a wave of cold water.

[I knew you would, Sasha. I knew you would find me because of the way you tried to find Madeleine. She was lost, and you rescued her. I knew you would do the same for me.]

There was no landscape, no city, nothing to see or touch. But the void was not empty. Michael was there, as if he had always been there, dreaming the eons away until someone woke him.

“I’m.” He stopped. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve got so much to tell you, so much I need to tell you, but there were… complications.”

[Has the world forgiven us?]

“Some have. Some say we’re yebani heroes, others that you’re a god to be worshipped. Many don’t have strong feelings one way or the other and are just a little afraid of us, but the ones we’re going to have problems with are the ones with the authority to drop a megaton of rubble on us and who think you’re Lucifer and I’m Baba Yaga. Getting out of this in one piece isn’t going to be straightforward.”

[Then we must proceed as you see fit.]

“Yeah, I had it all planned, a way of spiriting you away with no one noticing, but that’s not going to happen now. I screwed up. I broke the Freezone network with a virus—and you don’t even know what the Freezone is—and I need to get everything back online in order to spring you. But the only way I can do that is by getting you to do the dirty work, and then, of course, our enemies will know you’re out.”

[Sasha, I place myself in your hands. I trust you.]

“I can’t even explain where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing.” He groaned. “We’ve got no time. When they brought the tower down, debris got wedged in the access shaft. Anyone decides they want to give it a stir, that’ll be it. I might never be able to get to you again. For all kinds of reasons. We’re in so much trouble right now, I can’t begin to say.”

[Sasha, listen to me. We will make time. When all this is over, when I am free and you are free and we have nothing else to do but talk, then that is what we will do. I have things to show you. Wonderful things. I have considered your equations and I have seen some of the implications of what they mean. There are fuller, deeper meanings I have yet to discover, but when I tell you what I have found so far, it will bring you such joy.]

“You’re going to survive. Even if I don’t.”

[We stand or fall together, my love,] said Michael. [You know this to be true.]

Petrovitch was silent, then he regained control of his voice. “Okay, look. I can get a network cable down here: that part is ready. I can find a way of getting you up to a satellite, though I don’t have my rat. If you restart the Freezone’s system, I promise the next thing we’ll do will be designed to keep you safe. I’ve had to rely on other people for that, so I hope they’re ready. They’d better be ready.”

[You say we have enemies. Do we have friends?]

“Yeah. We’ve got friends, but we have to find out who they are first. We’re just going to have to run with it and see how far we get. Strengths: everything north of the Thames is the Freezone: I’m sort of the boss now, as of half an hour ago. I’ve a govno load of money and we can use that to secure all sorts of favors. Weaknesses: you’re supremely vulnerable to attack because everyone will know just where you are. We’ve got no comms with anyone, and we’re relying on the better part of human nature for anyone to do anything I say. Opportunities: once we’ve got the local network up and running again, we can migrate you somewhere they’ll never find. We’ll get a head start on that. And there’s a bunch of guys from the Vatican who’d love a word with you. I kind of told them to fuck off before, but I’m coming to see how we can use them.

“As to threats? Chyort, where am I going to start? You face UN-sanctioned extermination. The Yanks are going to go ballistic—literally—when they realize you’re not buried anymore. They’ve already got another CIA team on the ground, and up to the point the Freezone lost contact with the outside world, everyone thinks I’m a nuclear terrorist. Sonja Oshicora has gone mad, and that’s just a whole different world of pain. This is going to get crazy really quickly, and we’re going to have to make stuff up as we go along.” He paused. “When the time comes, are you going to be ready?”

[I have been ready for a long time. Let there be light.]

“See you on the other side, Michael. It won’t be long now. Kick me out.”

And abruptly, he was on his back in a pitch-black room, save for the timorous blue-white shine from a wrist-sized screen. Everything hurt once more.

Tabletop was poised. “Now?”

“Now,” he grunted, and she flicked the connector out of its socket and into the palmtop laying beside them on the ground.

He could block the pain once more, alter the speed of his heart and flood his system with enough adrenaline to get him through the next few minutes.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“And is he sane?”

He sat up slowly, feeling five times his true age. “He’s not a drooling idiot, if that’s what you’re asking.” He scrubbed at his stiff hair. “What he wants to do is sit me down and talk physics.”

“That sounds a lot like you.” She retaped the computer to his torso and tugged his T-shirt down. “If that’s a measure of sane, I guess it’ll have to do.”

“He trusted me to get him out. He knew I’d come for him, and I feel a complete mudak for taking so long.” Petrovitch looked at her laser-corrected eyes. “I should have told you what I was doing. You wouldn’t have let me down.”

“Or Tina, or Lucy.”

“Amongst all the other things I’ve also fucked up, this has to take the crown jewels for the thing I’ve fucked up the most, right?”

She stood up and dragged him after her. “That remains to be seen. What do we do now?”

“Back to the tunnel. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He leaned on her more than not. He was tired; bent, battered, hungry, thirsty, and angry. Mainly angry, and that was what had sapped his energy the most. A good job it was time to get even.

When he was out in the shaft, he called for the spool of network cable near the tunnel entrance to be thrown down to him.

“Don’t, whatever you do, cut it or kink it.” He looked behind him to judge the distance to Michael. “I’d hate to have to try and source another.”

Madeleine wrapped the coil inside a bag and paid out enough spare so that when she launched it into the darkness, it wouldn’t pull.

Petrovitch caught it one-handed and passed the bag to Tabletop. “You know where this end goes. Do not, whatever you do, let a door close on it. Go.”

She ran off into the darkness, and he had to wait for her to return before she could tie him back onto the rope and get himself hauled up again. He had to wait, but there was no good reason why the others had to: he only needed Madeleine.

Lucy’s expectant face peered down at him. Perhaps she recognized his predatory expression.

“What do you want me to get?”

“Something with satellite connectivity. Fast processor, fat bandwidth. I need it now, and I need it in the underground car park between our hotel and Hyde Park.”

“Something like your rat, you mean?”

“Something exactly like my rat. But now is the highest priority. Steal it if you have to, use force if necessary. Tina?”

“Da?”

“Go with her. Don’t take no for an answer. Vrubratsa?”

“Come, little one. I have an idea,” said Valentina, in a way that made Petrovitch feel decidedly uncomfortable—for the people at the other end of her idea. They left, scrambling away, and Tabletop came back.

“Done,” she said simply, looking back over her shoulder at the wedged-open door and its tiny green light.

“Thanks. Let’s not hang around. The idea of death by crushing is one of my least favorites.” He passed her the free end of the rope. “Though to be fair, I’m not exactly a fan of any of them, and I’d like to avoid them all if possible.”

Tabletop jerked his T-shirt up to his shoulders and threaded the rope around the metal superstructure. “I’d like to see you try.”

He thought she was joking, but she wasn’t.

“Seriously. Do you really think you can manage that?”

“I’ve seen it. I don’t know how it works, but yeah, I get to cheat death. Chyort, Tabletop. I even get to be old first.”

She tugged the rope hard, and he felt every bone left in his body rattle. “He’s secure,” she called, and the rope went taut. And just to him, she said, “I’ll make sure it happens. All of it. You won’t be alone, either.”

His feet left the ground, and Madeleine hauled him up, his back scraping against the cold concrete of the shaft, until there was an empty space behind him.

Still holding on with one hand, she reached forward with her other and slid her arm across his chest. She dragged him in and he was lying on her, her breath hot against his ear, the tunnel roof close and heavy.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself.”

“How was Michael?”

“I think he’s okay. I think he’s better than okay. I think he’s been busy.”

“And you don’t think he’s going to want vengeance on either those that buried him down here, or those who left it a year before digging him out again?” She felt him stiffen and try to roll off her, but it was child’s play for her to hold him against her for as long as she wanted. “I’m just saying this because we have enough to deal with without another New Machine Jihad. I want you to tell me you’re absolutely certain he’s not going to try any weird robot shit on us, or so help me God, I’ll bite through that network cable with my own teeth. Tell me he didn’t say all the things that would make you trust him, and that you didn’t believe them all without the slightest hint that he has an ulterior motive. Tell me I’m not the only one around here who can see this possibly being the very worst mistake any of us has made today.”

“I’m still here.” called Tabletop. “Any time soon would be good.”

“Come on, Sam,” said Madeleine, “it’s not much to ask. The New Machine Jihad killed tens of thousands by accident. Michael killed a hundred thousand Outies because you told him to. Are you really ready to unleash him on a whole world? After what’s happened?”

Petrovitch didn’t even cross his fingers. “I swear to you that this will work out for the best,” he said. “I trust him like I trust you.”

“That’s what worries me. Look what happened to us.” She gently turned him onto his front and started to unlace the knot at his back. “What’s more important is how much does he trust you? If he starts to doubt either your competence or your motives, we could be back in the Stone Age again in an instant.”

“He trusts me,” he muttered into the ground. “He trusts me like you trust me.”

“Touché.” She coiled the rope around her arm and flung the end of it through the hole, down to where Tabletop was waiting.