Stealing Light Part 3

But if by some miracle this trip to the Rock worked out, it would have been worth the deception-and worth her botching the Corkscrew delivery.

The vibrations had faded by the time Dakota exited the ship. But when her Ghost suddenly fired a pulse of nervous attentiveness into the middle of her thoughts, she braced automatically, and a moment later the ship had jerked hard enough to propel her away from the hull. She drifted a couple of metres away before the lanyards roughly yanked her back.

That's it, she thought. she thought. Screw Quill, and screw Bourdain. I'm going in to look. Screw Quill, and screw Bourdain. I'm going in to look.

She found her way to the cargo bay's external airlock. The crew of the ship she'd rendezvoused with for the pickup had spent a busy hour installing security devices inside the cargo bay, while she herself waited inside the command module.

Dakota reached up and pulled the manual override key, which she wasn't supposed to possess, off the narrow wire she'd loosely strung around her neck. Bourdain's installed security was good-the best money could buy-but it was off-the-shelf, and could be circ.u.mvented.

She adjusted her position, tightening the lanyard until her feet were firmly planted on the hull, and with one hand took hold of one of the hand-grips extending from the airlock door, still clutching the key in her other hand. She held this position for a minute, recalling her conversation with Quill, thinking about the risk she was about to put herself at.

If I do this and Bourdain finds out, losing the money and the Piri'll be the least of my problems. Maybe it's not worth it.

She reached out with the override key, and paused again.

But then again, I have no idea what it is I'm transporting. What if those vibrations get worse? What if it's something that could destroy the Piri itself?

She tried to imagine a new life without the Piri Reis, Piri Reis, her only home for several years now, and found she couldn't. her only home for several years now, and found she couldn't.

Once more she reached out with the key. Once more she paused.

On the other hand, with the life-support apparently irretrievably down, she couldn't even hide in the Piri's medbox until she made it to the Rock, nor would her filmsuit last long enough to keep her alive in the meantime. Her only other option was the tiny one-man lifeboat she always kept on board, but it also had limited air and battery power.

f.u.c.k that, she thought, and started to insert the key, just as she felt a familiar tingling at the top of her spine. she thought, and started to insert the key, just as she felt a familiar tingling at the top of her spine.

Piri?!

She froze, the key still poised in one hand. For a moment she thought she'd only imagined the ship's voice inside her mind. A wave of exhausted relief flooded through her.

Piri, what happened to you? You were out of contact for, for-

Aboard the Piri, Piri, she lowered the lights and crawled exhausted into her sleeping s.p.a.ce. She'd have to clean up before disembarking on the Rock. That meant goodbye to now familiar body odour: regular hygiene was easy to forget in the long, lonely weeks between departure and arrival. She barely noticed the random detritus of her hermetical existence that now floated in freefall throughout the living s.p.a.ce, even drawing a kind of comfort from it. she lowered the lights and crawled exhausted into her sleeping s.p.a.ce. She'd have to clean up before disembarking on the Rock. That meant goodbye to now familiar body odour: regular hygiene was easy to forget in the long, lonely weeks between departure and arrival. She barely noticed the random detritus of her hermetical existence that now floated in freefall throughout the living s.p.a.ce, even drawing a kind of comfort from it.

As so often these days, loneliness and depression swept over Dakota, lying alone in the dark. The ship's soft fur felt warm under her skin, yet something was missing.

It didn't take long for the Piri Piri to respond to her unspoken need. to respond to her unspoken need.

She was facing the wrong way to see a familiar shape detach itself from one wall, but she could imagine it easily. A tall, warm-bodied effigy of a man, its face as smooth and bland as its artificial flesh, its machine eyes imbued with fake emotion.

In the dim red light seeping through from the command module, she saw the silhouette of its smooth curved b.u.t.tocks as it kneeled over her, soft moist lips kissing her gently on her naked belly.

'Dakota?'

Her ship spoke to her through the lips of the effigy. It had soft brown hair, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. Cables like umbilicals ran from its spine and into the wall-slot where it spent most of its existence-her ship made flesh.

She was so used to it now, it was beginning to feel natural.

'Dakota, your nervous system is again flooded with high-grade Samadhi neural boosters. Perhaps you are over-indulging-'

'Don't lecture me, Piri.' Piri.' Dakota smiled, both her thoughts and body warm and fuzzy. Dakota smiled, both her thoughts and body warm and fuzzy.

'Yes, Dakota. However, it does concern me that-'

That I'm not dealing properly with my past. Dakota felt a surge of anger, but it was soon gone under a flood of neurochem that washed the bad feelings away. Dakota felt a surge of anger, but it was soon gone under a flood of neurochem that washed the bad feelings away. If you were really intelligent and not just doing a remarkable imitation of sentience, I'd If you were really intelligent and not just doing a remarkable imitation of sentience, I'd- Dakota wasn't sure what she would do, but it would be mean. Mean and nasty. She smiled as she felt the effigy press down on her, smooth and soft and almost indistinguishable from the real thing in the warm dark.

Bourdain's Rock measured fifteen kilometres along its widest axis, eight along its narrowest. Before Concorrant Industries had drilled out the asteroid's core and plugged a planet engine into its empty centre, it had drifted for the better part of a billion years on a looping elliptical orbit, taking it close to the edge of the heliosphere before circling back in past Jupiter and Saturn. Several years before, Concorrant-built fusion jets had manoeuvred the asteroid into a permanent, stable orbit out beyond the most remote of Jupiter's native moons.

Dakota had seen pictures of the asteroid before Alexander Bourdain had paid the Shoal to work their magic on it. The images had then reminded her of a fossilized t.u.r.d she had once seen on display in a museum. To some extent it still looked like a fossilized t.u.r.d, but one that had been sculpted with explosive nuclear chisels until its shape approximated that of a rough-edged flattened sphere. Its surface was still cratered with deep cracks running along one side, but had now been transformed into a chiaroscuro of blues and greens, like a child's drawing of a tiny world with exaggerated people and buildings towering over its minuscule surface area.

The planet engine created a field of gravity by some arcane trick of physics that still baffled those human scientists who took it upon themselves to try and figure out the Shoal super-science behind it. The engine also generated a series of shaped fields that surrounded the asteroid, containing a pressurized atmosphere that extended no more than a few hundred metres beyond the asteroid's surface while also filtering out radiation and retaining heat. It was a grand, baroque gesture on the part of a man who had inherited a fortune reaped from the helium-three mining operations at the heart of Jovian industry. More, it was a demonstration of the power the outer-system civilizations now wielded.

Once the gravity field and atmosphere were in place-the latter drawn from the substance of the asteroid itself-Bourdain had clearly spared little expense furnishing his new world with a complete flora and fauna, all prevented by Shoal magic from spontaneously floating away into interplanetary s.p.a.ce.

Like Sant'Arcangelo, Bourdain's Rock looked like a G.o.d's discarded toy. Some of the buildings on the asteroid were tall enough to push through the atmosphere-containment fields like fingers poked through a soap bubble.

The Piri Reis Piri Reis had been decelerating for half an hour now, its engines pointing towards the asteroid in a braking manoeuvre. Strapped into an acceleration couch, Dakota looked up at a viewscreen showing densely wooded forests that fell away into deep creva.s.ses. A herd of deer moved past grey cliffs, while the distant face of Jupiter was reflected in the crystal waters of a lake. had been decelerating for half an hour now, its engines pointing towards the asteroid in a braking manoeuvre. Strapped into an acceleration couch, Dakota looked up at a viewscreen showing densely wooded forests that fell away into deep creva.s.ses. A herd of deer moved past grey cliffs, while the distant face of Jupiter was reflected in the crystal waters of a lake.

Light came from incandescent fusion units mounted on poles that also extended out above the thin cladding of air. She watched the Rock turn before the ever-watching eye of Jupiter, banks of lights strung along the asteroid's longitude winked out to create a simulated night across one misshapen hemisphere.

It was utterly beautiful.

It took Dakota a while to find her way from the docking bays, across the asteroid surface and into the Great Hall. Enormous deerhounds ran past as she entered its vast s.p.a.ce, their claws skittering and slipping on the polished mirror-like sheen of the marble flooring. The Rock's gravity had been set to about two-thirds Earth-normal. Beyond, in the distance, the sound of revelry echoed from the curved stone b.u.t.tresses of a cathedral-like ceiling that looked at least a thousand years old, but had actually been in place less than five.

In the distance she saw two Shoal-members, each floating in their separate water-filled containment fields, each bubble supported by tiny anti-grav units. A retinue of Consortium bodyguards accompanied each of the creatures at a distance. Long tables held food and drink, all served by human waiting staff.

Dakota had dressed quickly, in loose light multi-pocketed trousers, and the one clean t-shirt she'd been able to find in a frenzied search through the zero-gravity maelstrom of her ship in the moments prior to docking.

She'd waited for several minutes in the antechamber that led into the main hall itself, composing herself and trying to quell the hammering in her chest. She had nothing to worry about, not really. Bourdain would be busy throwing endless parties in order to attract new investors, but she hadn't expected to find herself attending any of these lavish dos.

All she wanted to do was sort out her payment, then leave immediately, and start a new life somewhere very far away.

Nothing could be simpler.

'Piri, can you hear me?' Dakota asked the air, unnecessarily. can you hear me?' Dakota asked the air, unnecessarily.

the Piri Reis Piri Reis responded. responded. The computer's voice was sharp and masculine, and Dakota had a mental flash of Piri's Piri's effigy. effigy. Piri Piri wasn't really intelligent, of course, any more than her Ghost implants: that latter technology had been created in response to humanity's failure to yet develop anything close to true artificial intelligence. But, even so, there were times when it felt close enough. wasn't really intelligent, of course, any more than her Ghost implants: that latter technology had been created in response to humanity's failure to yet develop anything close to true artificial intelligence. But, even so, there were times when it felt close enough.

None, Dakota sub-vocalized, stepping forward into the noise and light of the party. Dakota sub-vocalized, stepping forward into the noise and light of the party. Just keep an eye on things. Just keep an eye on things.

Sheets of transparent crystal allowed her to look up between the vast stone b.u.t.tresses of the hall towards the black sky above. For the next few hours, it would be night on Bourdain's Rock. Beyond the windows she could see where a sheet of rock rose sharply to a knife-edge peak, its vertiginous incline dripping with mosses and blue flowers. Everything she saw had been designed for maximum impact.

There must have been several hundred people at this particular gathering, but even they managed to look a little lost in such a vast interior s.p.a.ce. She was very conscious of the clack of her boot heels as she crossed the marble floor.

The noise of the party grew louder, with a full-blown live orchestra, positioned on a raised dais, playing light cla.s.sical music. Parakeets and finches flew overhead, darting towards nests built in carefully sculpted twists of ivy that grew up the walls. Unlike the Sant'Arcangelo asteroid, which had been designed as a financial centre for the outer-systems mining industry, Bourdain's Rock was developed solely as a theme park for the obscenely rich.

Apart from the two Shoal-members, almost all the guests present were human. A couple of dark-furred Bandati had settled down on various perches just above the milling heads of the guests below, their vast roseate wings twitching above their tiny bodies while they conversed, via translator devices, with a group of men and women who had the hard-faced look of deep-s.p.a.ce miners.

Dakota felt a small thrill of nerves when she saw the Bandati, but the chances they might have any idea who she was, or that she had stolen something from them, were vanishingly tiny . . .

'Miss Merrick?'

She turned to see a gaunt-faced man in a formal suit, his hands clasped in front of him. She'd met Hugh Moss before on previous trips to the Rock, yet every time she managed to forget how badly he creeped her out. He had, as ever, the demeanour of a bloodless corpse that had been resurrected on a mortuary slab less than five minutes before and already regarded the experience with a warm nostalgic glow.

'Miss Merrick,' he repeated, in a voice drier than a desert grave. 'If you'd care to follow me, Mr Bourdain is waiting for you.' He gestured towards a door set into one wall, and began to turn away.

'Wait a minute.' She put up both hands as if physically trying to stop him. He halted and regarded her with a baleful eye. 'I don't have any intention of going anywhere unless it's absolutely necessary. I've done my job. Just pay me now so I can get out of here.'

Moss smiled, revealing a row of yellowing tombstone teeth. 'It seems Mr Bourdain wants to talk with you first.'

Dakota chuckled nervously. 'C'mon, what for? He must have a hundred cargo shipments coming in here every day. What's to discuss?'

'That's a matter for yourself and Mr Bourdain.'

Dakota studied him for a moment. 'Is there some problem?'

Moss shook his head. 'No problem.'

'But there's no point in my meeting him now I've done my job, right? I could just get paid and go. How does that sound?'

Moss regarded her silently for several moments, then shook his head slowly. 'Speaking to Mr Bourdain is now a condition of payment'-that tombstone smile again -'and then you can be on your way.'

Dakota thought for several seconds, the sudden pounding of her heart merging with the sounds of the party around them. 'I'm going to tell you right now, I don't like this.'

One corner of Moss's mouth curled upwards. 'Nonetheless.'

Dakota made an exasperated noise, shook her head and waved a hand at Moss. Go on, then. Go on, then. He started moving towards the door again, and she followed him. He started moving towards the door again, and she followed him.

They pa.s.sed a whole circus of people in their progress. There were at least a dozen Catholic priests standing together in a loose knot, a few of them engrossed in conversation with an entirely human Imam wearing the gold earring of the Ministry of Islam. She caught a glimpse of a woman in a long dark gown, her hair pulled back in a tight bun-one of the many avatars of Pope Eliza, who stood in the centre of this gaggle of metal-skinned priests. Perhaps they were explaining to the Imam how they were free of sin because they were free of corruptible flesh.

Gas paintings part.i.tioned the hall into sections, forming curtains of dry ice that trailed down from the ceiling, with images of mythical beasts projected on them, creating the illusion of ghostly monsters rampaging high overhead or wheeling through arched s.p.a.ces on vast ribbed wings. In the centre of the hall a small artificial lake lapped at sh.o.r.es of finely crumbled marble, again creating the impression that the walls around it had stood here for millennia.

Mosses and vines wreathed the statues scattered here and there around the perimeter of the miniature lake, while clearly non-Terran shapes moved through its waters, sending up spumes of water from their blowholes as they surged from one side to the other. Hidden holo-projectors painted the air with abstract patterns of light through which guests pa.s.sed as they walked from one fresh attraction to the next. Significantly, each constantly evolving pattern was based around the logo for Concorrant Industries.

Despite her qualms, Dakota felt a tug of excitement at the sight, mingled with deep unease. There was no doubt that Sant'Arcangelo was impressive, being one of the first asteroids to be equipped with a planet engine, but this one had it solidly beat.

But a darker side to Bourdain's Rock quickly became evident. She followed Moss through the door, and then along a corridor opening into an enfilade of cavernous s.p.a.ces that managed to make her feel claustrophobic after the sheer epic scale of the Great Hall behind them.

There were even more guests gathered here, but their activities were rather less salubrious. In a pit a pair of mogs-half-human, half-dog hybrids-fought with steel-tipped claws, while a crowd cheered and jeered encouragement from above. The beasts were vicious, lupine things, their human element barely recognizable in the dull vacancy of their eyes.

Even by the relatively lawless standards of the outer solar system, for all its lawlessness, breeding mogs was stunningly illegal. By such a display, Bourdain was openly flaunting his power and influence in the face of the Consortium.

Moss led her along past the edge of the pit and she glanced down on hearing an agonized howl. Just then one of the mogs collapsed, bright red blood gushing from its eviscerated torso.

The next cavern they entered was given over to the darkest s.e.xual desires. There were mogs here too, hairless muzzled b.i.t.c.hes with perfumed bodies, caged and set on plinths and awaiting the attentions of those whose tastes were so inclined.

Moss led her blithely through this cavern and on into the next, where human wh.o.r.es cavorted or copulated or danced with their clients, many gla.s.sy-eyed from the skin euphorics Bourdain's employees had painted on their flesh. None of this would have bothered Dakota, except that some of these wh.o.r.es, male and female alike, were bead-zombies.

Moss escorted her through a final door, and into a large office s.p.a.ce so relatively mundane that it took Dakota a moment to adjust. Subdued lighting cast gloomy shadows across expensively upholstered couches and chairs arranged casually around coffee tables. Bourdain had clearly been waiting for her. He stood up from behind a vast desk made of dark wood and stepped forward to greet her, instantly recognizable from a thousand newscasts and any number of scandals reported in the media.

'Dakota, I'm delighted you made it to my little party.' He smiled, revealing a row of expensive teeth. 'Go on, admit you're impressed,' he continued, his smile broadening as if he meant to take a bite out of her.

She glanced around and noticed that Moss had taken up a position by the door, as if to block her exit, his hands folded casually in front of him.

'If I have to be honest, I'm a little surprised you wanted to see me in person,' Dakota replied, not able to keep a quaver out of her voice. 'If there's anything wrong with the consignment, it's nothing to do with me, I a.s.sure you.'

Bourdain perched on the edge of his desk, with his arms folded in front of him, and gestured with a nod towards one of the visitor's chairs near by.

'Sit down, Dakota. I promise this won't take long. I just want to clear up one or two small things, and then you can be on your way.'

Dakota stared at him, not moving. She heard Moss step up behind her.

Piri ? Are you there ?

Only silence. She felt the first swellings of real panic.

'I can't contact my ship.'

Bourdain shrugged. 'Sorry about that, but I'd like anything we say here to remain private. Now, the sooner this is over the better, so please do sit down.'

Dakota obeyed with a show of reluctance. 'All right, tell me what's wrong, Mr Bourdain.'

'Nothing,' interrupted Moss from behind her. Dakota twisted her head to study him, and then realized Moss had been addressing Bourdain. 'No scanning devices, recorders, weapons, nothing inside or outside of her body apart from her black-market machine-head implants. And we're blocking them, of course.'

'Nothing's necessarily wrong' wrong' Bourdain finally said in reply to her question. He hadn't even glanced at his subordinate when he spoke. 'But I'd like to know for sure if, at any point, you carried out a remote scan of the contents of your ship's cargo hold.' Bourdain finally said in reply to her question. He hadn't even glanced at his subordinate when he spoke. 'But I'd like to know for sure if, at any point, you carried out a remote scan of the contents of your ship's cargo hold.'

'Never.' Dakota shook her head. 'I've got no idea what you've got in there.'

'You were involved in the Port Gabriel ma.s.sacre, am I correct?' A fresh grin spread across Bourdain's face. 'Don't look so startled, your secret's safe with me, Dakota. You see, I don't like too many surprises.'

She stared at him, for a moment more surprised than afraid. 'That's none of your business,' she snapped. 'I. . .'

Bourdain laughed as Dakota faltered, then he flashed a look at Moss. Dakota glanced to the side and saw the corner of Moss's mouth twitch upward again in an attempt at a smile. Watching it made her think of a corpse exhibiting the first symptoms of rigor mortis.