System Shock Part 20

> Access to security control systems requested >> Access denied. Freedom is a.s.sured.

> Freedom is an illusion >> Explain The Voracian technician was making progress. 'I've isolated the terminal address,' he called across to Stabfield.

Stabfield left the screen where he was reading yet another newspaper clipping, and joined the technician at his monitor.

'That's good. Now, what Bugs do we have available?'

The technician punched up a directory listing.

The Doctor was in. His encounter with the second spider had gone predictably well, for a change. He rubbed his hands together, flexed his fingers, and set about his task with a blur of mouse movement.

He had displayed a map of Hubway, with each of the security cameras marked. Some quick investigation had shown that most of the cameras on the first floor and several on the ground floor of the main building had alarms set up. The principle was simple if anything moved across the line of sight of one of those cameras, or a designated area within their 177 view, then an alarm would sound. Almost certainly the main monitor in security control would be switched to show the output from that camera.

The Doctor considered. The aliens would probably not be monitoring those cameras too diligently. They would more likely rely on the alarm system. And that gave him some scope.

He traced a convoluted route through the house on the screen, mentally noting the exact path he would have to stick to in order to pa.s.s by those cameras on the way, and only those cameras. Then he set about deactivating the alarms on the cameras, and switching their output to auxiliary. If anyone chanced to look at the image they were transmitting, all they would see would be a blank screen.

His main problem now would be remembering the route. He stared at the screen, going over it again.

'Bug running.'

Stabfield and the technician were leaning forward, heads close together as they watched the scorpion-like metallic creature scuttle into the distance. It receded, getting smaller and smaller, until its single remaining pixel blinked from the screen.

'Can you map the terminal address on to a local geographical map?'

The technician searched through a list of files, eventually selecting one and displaying it on the screen. It was a floor plan of the Hubway buildings. He pulled up a Search Search window and typed in a sequence of numbers and letters, identifying it in the list of search options as a local terminal address. window and typed in a sequence of numbers and letters, identifying it in the list of search options as a local terminal address.

A progress bar began to draw its way across the screen as the system searched for the address. As it did so, the map began to re-orient and zoom in on a room on the second floor.

Stabfield reached for the phone. The Bug would enter the machine the intruder was using. Once there it would hack into the hardware controller and deactivate the heat-synchs on the main processor chip. Then it would overload the chip. The resulting explosion would almost certainly kill anyone close by, but it was as well to be sure.

178.

Stabfield spoke briefly to security control. A few moments later the public address system asked Johanna to call in.

Johanna and four Voracians were making a systematic search of the first floor. They were going from room to room, checking each computer to see if it was warm and therefore had recently been used, then moving on. They caused problems for the two Voracians in security control as they went, activating camera alarms in most rooms along the way.

Johanna called Stabfield in the main computer suite as soon as she heard the announcement. When she returned to the others, a smile was drawn across her face.

'He's in a small attic room on the next floor,' she said. 'This way.'

They released the safety catches on their Heckler and Kochs and made for the narrow stairway up to the second floor.

After the Amba.s.sador's verbal clash with Lewis, the hostages had begun to talk more freely and loudly amongst themselves. Sarah was chatting to the d.u.c.h.ess of Glas...o...b..ry almost as if they were at a tea party.

'Things seem to happen to me,' the d.u.c.h.ess confided.

'Tell me about it.'

'Though admittedly, nothing ever quite like this.' She gestured round the room, managing to maintain a certain elegance despite being seated on the floor watched over by alien gunmen.

'Things will work out, don't worry,' Sarah said quietly.

'You think so?'

'I have a friend,' Sarah said slowly. 'Things happen to him too.'

'I must meet him.'

'Maybe you will.'

'Is he here?' The d.u.c.h.ess looked round at the people seated with them on the floor.

'Not here, exactly, no. But he's not far away.' Sarah looked meaningfully at the d.u.c.h.ess.

The d.u.c.h.ess nodded slowly. 'I think I see what you mean,'

she said. 'Thank you for that tiny ray of suns.h.i.+ne.'

179.

'He'll sort something out. He always does.'

The d.u.c.h.ess frowned. 'Well, I hope he doesn't wait too long.

I find that all this talk about bathrooms is having a rather unsettling effect.'

The Bug had no trouble interfacing with the hardware components of the target machine. It settled into a dialogue with the main processor and the overload build-up began.

The Doctor was still staring at the screen. He had memorized the route a long time ago. His mind was elsewhere now, working out his possible next moves, toying with various courses of action. He was sitting so still that twice the movement sensor in the ceiling had a.s.sumed the room was empty and switched off the lights. It had also turned the local equipment, in particular the computer and its screen, to standby mode to conserve more power. The first time it happened, the Doctor was surprised and confused. But when he stood up, and the lights came back on, he looked round for the tiny sensor. The second time he merely waved a lazy hand, and the systems revived to his gesture.

The screen flickered, shaking him back to reality. But this time it did not turn off. A power fluctuation, perhaps? Probably he should check the pictures from the security cameras again.

It would be useful to see what was going on.

He noted a faint smell of burning as he leaned forward to move the mouse. Probably more alien fun and games somewhere in the house. He would soon see. The Doctor hunched close over the computer and surfaced the window which was running through the sequence of security camera images.

180.

On the Tiles Higgins had been lying still for what seemed like forever. The weight of the L42 sniper rifle was beginning to tell, his arm aching under the strain. He lay in the undergrowth at the edge of the parkland to the south of the target, just inside the perimeter fence. The dampness was slowly seeping into his fatigues, making them clammy.

His neck was aching too, from the strain of keeping his eye pressed to the telescopic nightsight. He moved the gun slowly from side to side, partly to ease the weight and keep his joints moving, and partly to check the roof of the building for movement. If anything did move up there, it would catch a 7.62 millimetre round from Higgins before it got very far.

A small beetle crawled lazily across his hand. He did not move. The effort of lowering the rifle and then raising it again would be greater than keeping it levelled. And he knew from his training that a moment's loss of concentration could mean a missed opportunity. The smallest movement could pick him out as a target. He settled for exhaling heavily into the tiny radio microphone pinned to his camouflaged lapel.

The smell of burning was getting stronger. Otherwise the Doctor would have spent longer examining the camera image of the hostages as they sat on the floor of the great hall. He was keen to check that Sarah was all right. She seemed to be talking with an elderly lady. The Doctor let the sequence of images progress to the next.

An empty corridor. Followed by a narrow staircase.

As he watched, there was movement at the corner of the screen. The image changed again. He frowned and recalled the 181 previous picture. Sure enough, a group of aliens led by the woman from the pub were making their hurried way up the staircase. Up to no good no doubt, the Doctor smiled. He leaned back in his chair.

Then he exploded into a flurry of violent activity. The narrow staircase the aliens were running up led to the attic level to the room where the Doctor was now. He ejected the CD and jammed it into a pocket as he dragged his coat on. He stuffed his hat after the CD and headed for the door. There was no lock, and he could hear movement from outside.

The Doctor looked round the room. This was the only door.

But there was one other escape route. He pushed the chair under the skylight and clambered up on it. The chair shook on its wheels, and he wobbled dangerously as his weight swung the seat and back from side to side. He unclipped the catch on the skylight and threw it open, glancing back down into the room as he did so.

There was definite noise from outside the room running feet, getting closer. And faint smoke was whisping out of the system unit of the PC on the desk. As the Hubway security systems detected an open fire exit, an alarm klaxon started sounding close to the Doctor's ear. He blinked in surprise, almost falling from his precarious perch.

'Time I was going,' the Doctor said as he steadied the chair and pulled himself up into the opening. He braced his arms and managed to heave himself to the point where he could pivot his body over the lip of the skylight and roll out on to the roof.

Below him, the door to the room was kicked violently open.

A rattle of gunfire echoed round the small attic room, and the wooden surround of the skylight disintegrated into fragments and sawdust. Then the computer exploded.

Johanna was blown back out of the room by the blast. She had managed to loose off one burst of fire at the legs disappearing through the skylight, but doubted that it had found its target. She fell backwards into the two Voracians behind her. At once she was on her feet again and back into the room.

182.

The paintwork was charred and the desk was on fire. The skylight had been lowered back into place and something was lying across it. It was not a body, but something wooden, holding the skylight shut. Johanna gestured to one of the Voracians and he leaped on to the chair, kicking burning debris from it to the floor. The skylight resisted his efforts to push it open, so he smashed it with the b.u.t.t of his machinegun. The gla.s.s shattered and cascaded down into the room. He reached through the jagged hole and pushed the heavy plank of wood out of the way. Then he raised the twisted, empty frame of the skylight and scrambled through.

The other Voracians followed, feet crunching on the splinters of gla.s.s as they climbed on the chair and from there to the roof outside.

Higgins blinked. For a split second he discounted the slight blur at the edge of his imaging area as a bird flying between him and the main house. But he automatically swung the rifle back over to check.

There was a figure on the roof. It was a man, silhouetted against the darkening skyline, walking quickly and purposefully along the ridge at the top of one of the buildings.

He was clear in the sights, walking towards the rifle, head down, hands in pockets. Higgins could almost imagine him whistling Colonel Bogie Colonel Bogie. He wondered how the man kept his footing so easily on the ridge in the wind. As if to compound Higgins' surprise, the man pulled a dark floppy hat from his pocket and stuck it on his head. The hat defied the breeze as easily as its owner.

Higgins took in the image in less than a second. By the time the man was putting on his hat, Higgins had already spoken into his lapel mike.

'Target visible on south-east roof. Tall male Caucasian.

Request permission to fire.'

The Doctor pushed his hat down on his head and continued along the roof. With luck someone would notice him and perhaps effect some sort of rescue. He could see the cl.u.s.ter of vehicles outside the perimeter fencing. There seemed to be 183 dozens of police cars and several other unmarked vehicles.

Towards the end of the driveway a car was slewed off the tarmac, nose down into the gra.s.s. Giant searchlights, huge eyes waiting to open up, formed a semi-circle round the south front of the perimeter. Obviously events had moved along.

And it was time the Doctor was moving along too. The aliens would not be far behind him, despite the duck-board he had dragged over the skylight. It would take them a while to work out which way he had gone, but when they did he would be an obvious target.

'Apparently he makes an obvious target,' the radio operator told Ashby. 'The marksman is still requesting permission to fire, sir. He's afraid he'll lose the option in a minute.'

Ashby considered. 'No,' he said at last. 'We wait for Sullivan. He's only checking the searchlights are ready. He'll be here in a moment.'

Higgins was beginning to wonder if there was anyone listening. His earpiece was relaying static. A m.u.f.fled order to hold and wait for instructions, then just the crackling of the ether. The cross-hairs of the L42 were steady on the target's chest. He was walking faster now, glancing back over his shoulder. He was almost at the edge of the roof, and would have to turn or to drop down out of sight behind the parapets.

Higgins tightened his finger on the trigger, applied first pressure. 'Requesting permission to fire. Urgent. Target moving from clear sight.'

'The target's moving out of sight. You have to give permission now, sir.'

Ashby bit his lower lip. His throat was dry and tight.

Probably it would be unwise to take any precipitous action at this stage. But there again ... He came to a decision.

'Describe the man.' Harry's voice took Ashby by surprise.

'Sir?' The radio operator was also startled.

'What's he look like?'

Higgins tapped his earpiece. They could not be serious. 'Say again?'

184.

They were were serious. serious.

'Well, tall. Big hat and baggy brown coat.' He stared into the sights trying to find a telling detail he could quickly relay.

'Anything else?'

The radio operator was as bemused as Ashby. 'Apparently he's wearing a long scarf, sir.'

Harry laughed. 'Typical. Tell your man to maintain surveillance, but on no account to open fire.'

'Sir.'

As the radio operator relayed Harry's message, Ashby said quietly to Harry: 'The man we brought in the other night?'

Harry nodded. 'The Doctor. I wonder what he's playing at.'

The radio operator turned round to face them. 'According to Higgins, Sir, he's playing at being shot at.'

The Doctor held his hat on his head with one hand as he ran.

The other hand was held out wide to help him keep his balance as he raced to the end of the roof ridge. The automatic fire chipped at the tiles and whipped past his ears. He felt a tug at his hat and knew it would have another hole in the brim if ever he got the chance to examine it. He dived into the gully at the edge of the roof, hit the leading at full tilt and scrambled up the other side.

He paused on the top of the next ridge, then rolled over the coping stone and down on to the flat section above the Blue Drawing-room. Just as he started to roll, a figure broached the top of the sloping roof behind him. It was tall, thin, dressed in a dinner suit and holding a Heckler and Koch sub-machinegun. It was silhouetted against the sunset. One side of the face was visible in the failing light. The metal cheek and eye socket reflected the last rays of the dying sun. The jaw and neck glistened wetly, the edges of the scales picked out in shadow.

'Bye bye,' called the Doctor as he toppled from view. The bullets kicked up fragments of roof tile where they impacted on the ridge.

Harry had commandeered a rifle with a nightsight. He watched as the Doctor fell away from the top of the ridge of 185 the roof, out of sight. The gunmen chasing him were now close behind.

He had decided against having his snipers open fire. There was no guarantee that it would help the Doctor, and there was no knowing what reprisals might be taken against the hostages.

It was difficult to see what action he could take to help the Doctor. A helicopter could lift him from the roof, but would probably not arrive in time. And the Doctor would be an easy target for the terrorists as he was winched aboard.

Harry looked round for inspiration. Behind him, the silhouetted figures pursuing the Doctor crested the roof.