Inkers (19 page)

“Why are you called Ret?” he asked, to change the subject.

“Short for Retinal. “Cause I don’t use implants.”

“None?”

“Don’t need them. I’m a good shot. And I don’t want everything I see saved.”

“That’s good. Discretion is really important for us.”

“I’m very discrete,” Ret said. “Is this the interview now?”

“Uh, no,” Hardwick said. “Not really. Um. Let’s go down to my office.”

They descended. Ret declined a coffee and followed Hardwick to his office in silence.

The people Hardwick usually met usually wore suits. Ret had arrived wearing a t–shirt and army boots. On the whole tour he had given Hardwick basically the same amount of attention as the chairs, windows, table and shelves against the walls. Despite the fact that Ret had just killed several people, Hardwick tried to maintain his composure. He gave Ret his best welcome–to–my–meeting smile.

“So what do you think of the place?”

“Bit empty.”

“Yeah, well as I guess you know we’re a brand new business. But there will be plenty more people to come, don’t worry about that. And it’s a good building. It wasn’t cheap, but I think it’s worth it to have decent premises, with good facilities. I like having happy employees, it makes me happy and it’s good for the bottom line, in the end, because people do their best work when they’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Ret said.

“Yes,” Hardwick said. “Well OK, so this now is the interview portion. I’m going to ask you some questions focusing on your skills and experience. Just take your time, I basically want to get to know as much as possible about you, so just include everything that you think is relevant.”

“OK.”

“Could you tell me about your most recent role, with Global Clear Corporation?”

“You not seen my record?”

“Yes – well, it’s a good record, on paper mostly a very good record, actually, but I’d like to hear it from you, in a face–to–face situation. Could you just sum it up for me, in your own words?”

“I’m a bounty hunter. I hunted bounties with the GCC, I was very good at it, better than almost anyone in the corp, probably. Other people always wanted to come on my missions because they were less likely to die and more likely to make their bonus.”

“OK. And why did you leave?”

“I got tired of managers who’d never been to an ink–den telling me how to do my job.”

“You have a problem with following instructions?”

“No, I have a problem with bad instructions.”

“On your record it says there was a disciplinary problem at the end of your tenure there, can you tell me about that?”

“I allegedly killed my manager.”

“Did you?”

“It went to court. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence.”

“What happened?”

“The manager used to take us out on the roof to shout at us if he was angry. I guess to stop other people hearing. He was shouting at me for not doing a job like he told me to, even though I did it fine and we didn’t lose anyone and we got the ink, no problem. There were just a lot of addict casualties. He got so angry he fell off the roof.”

There was a silence.

“You were angry too?”

“Yes.”

“So, uh, off the record, did you push him?”

“I’m offended that you’d ask.”

“Sorry.
Did
you kill your manager?”

“I’m very offended. It’s a rude question.”

Hardwick stared at the man. He had light–blue eyes, crinkled at their corners. He was smiling. It was a joke to him.

“OK. No offense intended. Um–” he continued, “Um, can you tell me about a time when something went wrong during an operation?”

Ret considered this.

“No, not really,” he said finally.

“No? No you can’t remember a time, or no nothing ever went wrong?”

“Well what do you want to know? Be specific.”

“Well can you tell me about a time when something went wrong? I don’t know how I can phrase that more specifically. Can you tell me about a time when things did not go according to how you had planned them?”

Ret leant forward, interlocking his fingers on the desk in front of Hardwick. Hardwick resisted the urge to lean back away from him. He could smell Ret’s breath. It smelled slightly of alcohol.

“Listen,” Ret said, leaning closer, “Things always go to plan for me, because my plan is always the same. This is the plan: if there is any ink, find it and take it. Don’t get hurt. That’s it.”

“What if there is some ink but there are too many junkies for you to get it? Or mutants? Or for whatever reason you can’t retrieve it? Do you call for backup or give up?”

“That’s never happened.”

“You’ve never called for backup?”

“Never needed to. If there’s ink, I’ll get it. If you give me a location, I will go there and I will get the ink. I’ve been all over the world. A “kunter, an ITSA immune, once referred to me as “formidable”, after I beat him to a stash in Afghanistan.”

“Well. That’s impressive. Have you never considered joining ITSA? Becoming an official ink–hunter?”

“I’d fail the the background checks. I used fairly heavily when I was a kid. They only really let you off that if you end up an immune, and as you can see,” he said, showing his bare white arms, lacking the permanent stains which characterised the immune.

“You still use?” Hardwick said.

“No,” Ret said. “My ex was killed by addicts, I haven’t touched it since then.”

“I’m sorry,” Hardwick said. “How long ago was that?”

“Thirteen years ago,” Ret said. “I became an ink–hunter soon after.”

“OK. Well. And what about when users get hurt? What’s your view on that?”

“In the field? I defend myself robustly and use legal lethal force where necessary to protect myself and others. That’s all.”

“What about junkies suing you afterwards?”

“It happens. It’s your job to protect me when that happens, isn’t it?”

“To some extent. What I want to know is, do you just go in and try to, to just kill them all?”

Hardwick held eye–contact with Ret. There were the sounds of engines and scraping – one of the men had taken the dozer out and was clearing the burnt–out jeeps off the road. The police did not come out here any more.

“I don’t
just
kill them all. Sometimes, if it’s necessary for self–defence while collecting a bounty, I kill them all.”

“OK,” Hardwick said. He watched Ret for a while. There was a pregnant silence. A lot of people couldn’t face silences and would do almost anything to fill one. Ret looked back at him for a while, and then started looking out of the window.

Hardwick broke first. “What I’m basically trying to figure out is, will you be a liability to my company?”

“No, I won’t. I’ll be an asset. I’ll bring in lots of bounty, and, considering I’ll be the one taking all the physical risk and doing basically all the work, take a relatively small proportion of it to keep myself fed and clothed. Listen, if you want to hire me, hire me, I’m the best or one of the best and if you can find the dens we can make good money together. If you’re not going to hire me, stop wasting both our time.”

Hardwick studied the man. He had strangely long eyelashes, making his eyes look gentle, but his arms were scarred from combat and his face looked older than forty–six years. Hardwick sensed that he could trust Ret, on some level. He was already pretty certain that Ret was violent, dangerous, and did not care about anyone except himself and his family, but, in a way, he was honest too.

“OK,” Hardwick said. “OK, do you have any questions for me?

“No,” Ret said.

“Then we’ll be in touch.”

Ret stood up. Hardwick stood up to shake his hand, but Ret was already on his way to the door. “I can find my own way out,” Ret said.

Hardwick watched him go.

“He wasn’t a bad negotiator.” Hardwick was in VR, in a virtual office, on a landline like it was 1984. They never showed one another their faces. An unspoken custom. Hardwick didn’t particularly want to see what forty–five years had done to Ross and he guessed Ross didn’t want to see what it had done to Hardwick either.

“Sounds like he was just honest,” Ross said.

“Yeah. That’s good negotiation, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m honest, too! I withhold truths where necessary. But that’s not being dishonest.”

“I think that’s actually part of the definition of dishonesty. Maybe you’d be a better negotiator if you were completely honest.”

“I doubt it. I said he was a good negotiator, not better than me. Why do I drive a massive
Tesla
and he drives an old, I don’t even know what it was, if he’s not a worse negotiator than me? Why am I the one interviewing him?”

“Christ, I don’t know, maybe he’s not a greedy bastard. Maybe he’s just got different goals in life.”

“Yeah. The wrong goals. Where are you?” Hardwick said.

“In the Cape,” Ross said. “The estate’s got lots of guards and stuff. We’re pretty safe here, until that thing arrives. Unless you stop it.”

Hardwick couldn’t speak for a moment, genuinely shocked. He had been vague with Ross about what they’d found, just that they had tech to help find ink, and that there might be a very big haul somewhere in Europe. He trusted Ross but had shared the full details of Lwazi’s technology with nobody at all.

“Stop it? How could I do that?” Hardwick said, recovering himself.

“If you go to Scotland.”

“I don’t–” Hardwick said.

“Listen, I’m an old man,” interrupted Ross. “Frankly, my main concern is your success, now. Whatever I can contribute is yours. We’re both old enough for me to be honest with you. I’ve got money, but I don’t have much else at this stage. I don’t mind. So you can trust me. You should by now. But don’t tell me anything, just listen, for once.”

Hardwick was about to speak, but contained himself.

Ross continued, sounding gratified. “You’ve mentioned something big in Europe. You’ve seen the Jupiter message, the one that set most of the trouble off, that pretty immune in the ITSA HQ in Kathmandu, that photo of her big grey face peering into the camera? ITSA are saying she was a Chinese agent, just spreading disinformation. She was already suspended for insubordination or something. They’re even saying she was probably the traitor who gave away all ITSA’s secrets, let the Chinese do so much damage. And a lot of people believe them. But I’ve got a few contacts in ITSA, from when I ran some security gigs. And they say it’s not true, they say everyone knew she was loyal all the way through, a bit crazy maybe, an immune, yes, but not a Chinese agent. But ITSA command are pretty much completely ignoring what she said. They’re throwing everything at slowing down China and pointing all their nukes at Jupiter and god knows what. Well, the grey girl said it was in Scotland. I think you’ve found it, I think you know exactly where the signal came from.”

Hardwick sat in silence.

“You still there?” Ross.

“Yeah,” Hardwick said.

“OK,” he said. “Now, I know you never normally listen to me. You only do what I say if you’ve already decided to do it yourself. Or whatever. So I really hope you’ve already decided to do what I’m about to tell you to do. But I think you should hire this guy. Or someone like him. Someone you can trust to keep a secret. And you should send him to your big den.”

“OK, but–” Hardwick began.

“But you shouldn’t disturb it. You should get some proof, a video, a big sample, some real proof. And then you should take the proof to ITSA, and tell them everything.”

“What!” Hardwick said.

“If you’ve found the source of the signal,” Ross said, “Some new singularity, this ink–baby or whatever it is, you can’t just try and claim the ink. You could save the world, save the whole world, if you can stop the signal safely. But you need ITSA to do it. They’re the experts, they’ve got the firepower. They’d know the best thing to do, they’ve prepared for it since they were created, since the GSE.”

“No, wait,” Hardwick said. “God only knows what’s up there. If it’s a new singularity, we might not be able to contain it at all. ITSA will probably go in with all guns blazing, and then we might destroy our only chance to stop it. Our chance to control it.”

“Control it?” Ross said. “You can’t control a god.”