Beautiful Intelligence by Stephen Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

drinking at a roadside bar but only hours away from capture. Paranoia crept up on him. He shouldn’t have accepted Leonora’s offer. He’d made a mistake there. Maybe he should get out now, before the heavies arrived.
    He blew air through his lips, then breathed in deep.
    “Another tea, sir?”
    The waiter hovered at his shoulder. “Sure man,” he said. “And the bill.”
    He only used cash in the village, buying food and drink. Untraceable.
    He sighed again. His loyalty was to the AIteam.
    He got to work. Through his wristbands he sent a packet of info to the naval base at Valletta, buying a four-seater Skud-Fli and enough jet fuel to get it to France. He had it kitted out with gecko pads so nobody could steal it and a chameleon coat so nobody could see it. He set the drop point to a hillside fifteen kilometres north west of Valletta, on the coast, in sight of Camino and Gozo. Now he would have to ride naked on his solbike to that point then fly the thing to the valley.
    He walked back along the village street to the bar where he had made lewd suggestions to the serving girl. The place was tourist notable because of the stables at the rear housing the riding club, and he liked the look of those horses. It was easy enough to scout out routes, check the security of the stables, eye up some horses, then leave, an escape plan in mind.
    But he was going to need good luck to get through this scare.
    He rode the solbike along dusty, rock-strewn paths, the vehicle bouncing fit to smash his spine. At least that marked him out as a local. At the coastal hillside he vizzed the plane, but decided not to approach until night. He ate olives, feta cheese and bread as the sun dipped scarlet into the sea; he drank lime water.
    At midnight he crept up to the plane and located the belly switch that activated the cockpit. This now was the most risky part. Flying the plane would create a thermal trace that could be spotted by satellite eyes. Inside, he stashed his bike then activated the autofly. A twenty minute flight: nothing happened, except his nerves were shot to pieces.
    Valleyside, he secured the plane then pushed the solbike – batts empty – back to its hide. Then he walked to the village and strode into the only bar still open; swift costume change, and he was out.
    ~
    Yuri and Leonora watched Zeug as he paced around the theatre pod.
    “The nexus is a complete model of the real world,” Yuri said, “created by Pacific Rim programmers to supersede the internet. Similarly, the model inside Zeug’s brain is a model of the world, but it is far from complete, and requires much educating.”
    “Are you suggesting that we spoonfeed him? Just because Hound thinks we are in peril?”
    “By no means!” Yuri paused, then continued, “If we are to find ourselves trekking across Libya on the ships of the desert, then Zeug will need to speak. What do you imagine we would do – pretend perhaps that he is a mute, and an idiot? The idea does not commend itself to me, and if I am correct in my thinking, it does not commend itself to you either.”
    “I would not deny that,” Leonora sighed. “But...”
    “Please allow me to activate the language centres. Mr Ngma has mapped them, and assured me that they are ready – and I trust his assessment. There is nothing more to do other than to let nature...” Yuri chuckled, a sound like a dog gargling, “... or I should say, artifice take its course.”
    “Very well.” Leonora nodded. “Let’s give him speech. He possesses every other gift after all.”
    Leonora stood in silence for some minutes, pondering the events of the day. Yuri remained silent also, watching Zeug with almost inhuman intensity. Leonora repressed a shiver. It was like watching a symbiotic pair. Yuri must be borderline Asperger’s: he had that quality of social nuance bouncing off him. Or he was a typical man. One of the two.
    “You spoke about the nexus,” she said.
    “Yes, Ms Klee?”
    “Did they design it