Free Divisions by Ken MacLeod Page B

through their Leontiev material-balance matrices, the sea-farms, the miles-high skyscrapers, the miles-deep caves, the (almost deserted) great hall of the Central Planning Board with its golden statue of Mises …
    Alas for plans.
     
     
    ‘Isn’t there anyone you want to say goodbye to?’
    Malley was stuffing books, instruments and stashes of tobacco into an overnight bag with every indication of being ready to leave there and then. He gave me a wintry smile.
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘You’re not in a close relationship?’
    ‘No doubt the village whore will miss me.’
    I blushed and looked out the window; changed the subject.
    ‘Why’s this place built like a fortress, anyway?’
    Malley coughed at dust stirred up by his rummaging.
    ‘Police station. The windows do open, by the way. I understand this was so that prisoners could dive out of them.’
    Not entirely sure what he meant (or, perhaps, not wanting to believe I understood) I fiddled with a lock and latch. The window swung open, and I leaned out to inhale a breath of uncontaminated air. After my first long sigh of relief I looked across at the nodding treetops, the lowering sun, and down—
    In front of the college was a crowd of about fifty people, mostly adult, and all clutching some kind of weapon: rifles, shotguns, even—like peasants out of an old horror movie—pitchforks. Some were crowded around the gate, others formed a wide semicircle around the buggy, above which the rucksack part of my suit had transformed itself into a hornet-cloud of buzzing defence-motes.

    I must have said something to draw Malley’s attention. He stuck his head out the window beside me.
    ‘Oh, shit!’ he said.
    ‘Is this the doing of that nice young man in reception?’
    ‘Probably,’ said Malley.
    ‘Why?’
    He turned to me and frowned. ‘You really don’t get it, do you? People live here because they don’t like you guys! And they don’t want you taking me away.’
    ‘You can tell them you’re going because you want to!’
    He retracted his head. ‘I can try.’
    The people around the vehicle were backing off from the futile and painful task of attempting anything against the defence swarm. They moved through the crowd at the gate and, being apparently more adventurous spirits, began to lead them to the main door. Someone looked up and saw me. Yells rose and the move towards the door became a surge.
    They’d be up the stairs in about a minute.
    ‘Suit!’ I screamed, tapping instructions on to my cuff. The swarm above the buggy circled once then made a beeline for me, and as I ducked back inside they crowded over me and reformed. The whole of my outfit flowed and reshaped into its basic spacesuit form. The suit went rigid, everything went black (two releases on, and that one-second bug was still not fixed) and then became clear and mobile again.
    Malley stared open-mouthed as my clothes changed into seamless matt black close-fitting armour, with a faceless black ball for a helmet and massively over-muscled shoulders.
    ‘Nanotech spacesuit,’ I explained impatiently. ‘Out on the window-sill, now!’
    He hesitated, then heard the sound of running feet in the corridor. He grabbed his bag and clambered out, half-sitting under the swung-up window. I followed him on to the ledge and wrapped my arms around him. ‘Hang on,’ I told him unnecessarily.
    ‘Rope,’ I requested, and jumped. From the shoulders of the suit a couple of cables extended, one end grabbing the window-ledge by pure adhesion, the other lowering us rapidly to the ground. We landed gently. I looked around. The crowd’s vanguard were looking down at us from the window as the cables snaked back into the suit, the crowd’s stragglers were standing around between the gate and the doorway, looking at us with expressions that I still remember with somewhat malicious satisfaction.
    Malley was tottering on his feet beside me, wheyfaced. He’d vomited over the suit; already it was thirstily