"Neutronium Alchemist - Consolidation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F.)Chapter 15After five centuries of astounding technological endeavour and determined economic sacrifice by the Lunar nation, the God of War, Mars, had finally been pacified. The hostile red gleam which had so dominated Earth’s night skies for millennia was extinguished. Now the planet had an atmosphere, complete with vast swirls of white and grey clouds; blooms of vegetation were expanding across the deserts, patches of sepia and dark green vegetation staining the tracts of rust-red soil. To an approaching starship it seemed, at first, almost identical to any other terracompatible planet to be found within the Confederation’s boundaries. Disparities became apparent only when the extent of the remaining deserts was revealed, accounting for three-fifths of the surface; and there was a definite sparsity of free water. Although there were thousands of individual crater lakes, Mars had only one major body of water, the Lowell Sea, a gently meandering ribbon which wrapped itself around the equator. Given the scale involved it appeared as though a wide river were flowing constantly around the planet. Closer inspection showed that circumnavigation would be impossible. The Lowell Sea had formed as water collected in the hundreds of large asteroid-impact craters which pocked the planet’s equator in an almost straight line. Population, too, was one of the planet’s quirks: a phenomenon which was also visible from orbit, provided you knew what to look for. Anyone searching the nightside for the usual sprawling iridescent patches of light which marked the kind of vigorous human cities normally present after five centuries of colonization would be disappointed; only six major urban areas had sprung up so far. Towns and villages were also present amid the rolling steppes, but in total the number of people living on the surface didn’t exceed three million. Phobos and Deimos were heavily industrialized, providing homes for a further half-million workers and their families. They at least followed a standard development pattern. Apart from stage one colony planets in their formative years, Mars had the smallest human population of any world in the Confederation. However, that was where comparisons ended. The Martian technoeconomy was highly developed, providing its citizens with a reasonable standard of living, though nothing like the socioeconomic index enjoyed by Edenists or the Kulu Kingdom. One other aspect of mature Confederation societies missing from Mars was a Strategic Defence network. The two asteroid moons were defended, of course; both of them were important SII centres with spaceports boasting a high level of starship traffic. But the planet was left open; there was nothing of any value on its surface to threaten or hold hostage or steal. The trillions of fuseodollars poured into the terraforming project were dispersed evenly throughout the new biosphere. Oxygen and geneered plants were not the kinds of targets favoured by pirates. Mars was the most expensive single project ever undertaken by the human race, yet its intrinsic value was effectively zero. Its real value was as the focus of aspirations for a whole nation of exiles, to whom it had become the modern promised land. None of this was readily apparent to Louise, Genevieve, and Fletcher as they observed the planet growing in the lounge’s holoscreen. The difference from Norfolk was apparent (Genevieve said Mars looked worn-out rather than brand-new) but none of them knew how to interpret what they were seeing in geotechnical terms. All they cared about was the lack of glowing red cloud. “Can you tell if there are any possessed down there?” Louise asked. “Alas no, Lady Louise. The planet lies far outside my second sight. All I can feel is the shape of this doughty ship. We could be alone in the universe for all the perception I have.” “Don’t say that,” Genevieve said. “We’ve come here to get away from horrible things.” “And away from them we certainly are, little one.” Genevieve spared a moment from watching the holoscreen to grin at him. The voyage had calmed her considerably. With very little to do for any of the passengers during the flight, the novelty of bouncing around in free fall had soon worn off, and she had swiftly learned how to access the flight computer. Furay had brought some old voice-interactive tutorial programs on-line for her, and she had been engrossed ever since with AV recordings of children’s stories, educational files, and games. Genevieve adored the games, spending hours in her cabin, surrounded by a holographic haze, fighting off fantasy creatures, or exploring mythological landscapes, even piloting ships to the galactic core. Louise and Fletcher had used the same programs to devour history encyclopedia files, reviewing the major events which had shaped human history since the mid 1800s. Thanks to Norfolk’s restrictive information policies, most of it was as new to her as it was to him. The more she reviewed, the more ignorant she felt. Several times she had been obliged to ask Furay if a particular incident was genuinely true; the information in the Even that cushion didn’t make her any happier. The teachers at school hadn’t exactly been lying to her, censorship was hardly practical given the number of starship crews who visited at midsummer; but they’d certainly sheltered her from an awful lot of unsavoury truths. Louise ordered the flight computer to show a display of their approach vector. The holoscreen image shifted, showing them the view from the forward sensor clusters overlaid with orange and green graphics. Phobos was falling towards the horizon, a darkened star embedded at the heart of a large scintillating wreath of industrial stations. They watched it expand as the Captain Layia slotted the starship into the spaceport approach vector which traffic control assigned her, then spent a further twenty minutes datavising the SII fleet operations office, explaining why their scheduled return flight from Norfolk had been delayed. “You didn’t mention our passengers then?” Tilia said when the exchange was over. “Life is complicated enough right now,” Layia retorted. “Explaining to the operations office why they’re on board, and the financial circumstances, isn’t going to make a good entry on anyone’s record. Agreed?” She received a round of apathetic acknowledgements from the other crew members. “None of them have passports,” Furay commented. “That might be a problem when we dock.” “We could get them to register as refugees,” Endron said. “Under Confederation law the government is obliged to accept them.” “The first thing they would have to do is explain how they got here,” Layia said. “Come on, think. We’ve got to off load them somehow, and without any comebacks.” “They’re not listed on our manifest,” Tilia said. “So no one’s going to be looking for them. And if the port Inspectorate does decide to give us a customs check we can just move them around the life-support capsules to keep them out of sight of their team. Once our port clearance comes through we can sneak them into the asteroid without any difficulty.” “Then what?” “They don’t want to stay here,” Furay said. “They just want to find a ship which will take them to Tranquillity.” “You heard traffic control,” Layia said. “All civil flights have ended. The only reason our Defence Command didn’t swarm all over us is because we still have a Confederation Navy flight authorization.” “There might not be any flights to Tranquillity from Mars, but if anyone in this system is going there, it’ll be from Earth. Getting them to the O’Neill Halo shouldn’t be too difficult, there are still plenty of inter-orbit flights, and Louise has enough money. She was talking about chartering the entire ship, remember?” “That could work,” Layia said. “And if we can acquire some passports for them first, then nobody in the Halo will ask how they got to Mars. From that distance, everything at this end will appear perfectly legitimate.” “I might know someone who can fix passports for them,” Tilia volunteered. Layia snorted. “Who doesn’t?” “He’s not cheap.” “Not our problem. All right, we’ll try it. Endron, tell them the way it is. And make certain they cooperate.” The “We’d best not tell Daddy we came here, had we?” she said without looking up. “Why not?” Louise asked. She was surprised; it was the first time Gen had mentioned either of their parents since they’d left Cricklade. But then, neither have I. “Mars has a Communist government. The computer said so. Daddy hates them.” “I think you’ll find the Martians are a bit different from the people Daddy’s always moaning about. In any case, he’ll be glad we came here.” “Why?” “Because he’ll be glad we got away. The route we travel isn’t really important, just that we get safely to our destination.” “Oh. I suppose you’re right.” Her face became solemn for a moment. “What do you think he’s doing right now? Will that nasty knight man be making him do things he doesn’t want to?” “Daddy isn’t doing anything for anyone. He’s just stuck inside his own head, that’s all. It’s the same as being in prison. He’ll be thinking a lot, he’s perfectly free to do that.” “Really?” Genevieve looked at Fletcher for confirmation. “Indeed, little one.” “I suppose that’s not so bad then.” “I know Daddy,” Louise said. “He’ll be spending the whole time worrying about us. I wish there were some way we could tell him we’re all right.” “We can when it’s all over. And Mummy, too. It is going to be all over, isn’t it, Louise?” “Yes. It’s going to end; someday, somehow. And when we get to Tranquillity, we can stop running and do whatever we can to help.” “Good.” She smiled primly at Fletcher. “I don’t want you to go, though.” “Thank you, little one.” He sounded ill at ease. Endron came gliding through the ceiling hatch, head first. He twisted neatly around the ladder and touched his feet to a stikpad beside the holoscreen. Fletcher kept very still. Now that she knew what to look for, Louise could see how hard he was concentrating. It had taken several days of intense practice for him to learn how to minimise the disruption his energistic effect exerted on nearby electronics. In the end it had paid off; it had been fifty hours since the last time any of the “We made it home,” Endron started off blithely. “But there is a small problem with your legal status. Mainly the fact you don’t have a passport between you.” Louise deliberately avoided glancing at Fletcher. “Is there a Norfolk Embassy here? They may be able to issue us with some documentation.” “There will be a legal office to handle Norfolk’s diplomatic affairs, but no actual embassy.” “I see.” “But you have a solution,” Fletcher said. “That is why you are here, is it not?” “We have a proposal,” Endron said edgily. “There is an unorthodox method of acquiring a passport for the three of you; it’s expensive but has the advantage of not involving the authorities.” “Is it illegal?” Louise asked. “What we have here is this: Myself and the rest of the crew have rather a lot of Norfolk Tears on board which we can sell to our friends, so we really don’t want to draw too much official attention to ourselves right now.” “Your government wouldn’t send us back, would they?” Genevieve asked in alarm. “No. Nothing like that. It’s just that this way would be easier all around.” “We’ll get our passports the way you suggested,” Louise said hurriedly. She felt like hugging the genial payload officer; it was exactly what she had been nerving herself up to ask him. #149; #149; #149; Moyo didn’t exactly sleep, there were too many pressures being applied against his mind for that, but he did rest for several hours each night. Eben Pavitt’s body wasn’t in the best condition, nor was he in the first flush of youth. Of course, Moyo could use his energistic power to enhance any physical attribute such as strength or agility, but as he stopped concentrating he could feel the enervation biting into his stolen organs. Tiredness became an all-over ache. After a couple of days he had learned the limits pretty well, and took care to respect them. He was lucky to have obtained this body; it would be the direst of follies to lose it by negligence. Another might not be so easy to come by. The Confederation was larger now than when he had been alive, but the number of souls back in the beyond was also prodigious. There would never be enough bodies to go around. The slim blades of light which dawn drove through the loose bamboo blind were an unusually intense crimson. They shifted the bedroom from a familiar collection of grisaille outlines to a strong two-tone portrait of red and impenetrable black. Despite the macabre perspective, Moyo was imbued by a feeling of simple contentment. Stephanie stirred on the mattress next to him, then sat up frowning. “Your thoughts look indecently happy to me all of a sudden. What is it?” “I’m not sure.” He got up and padded over to the window. His fingers pressed the slim tubes of bamboo down. “Ah. Come and look.” The sky above Exnall was clotting with wisps of cloud, slowly condensing into a broad disk. And they glowed a muted red. Dawn’s corona was rising up to blend with them. Only in the west was there a dark crescent of night, and that was slowly being squeezed to extinction. “The stars will never rise here again,” Moyo said happily. There was a power thrumming through the land now, one which he could feel himself responding to, contributing a little of himself towards maintaining the whole. A vast conjunction of will, something he suspected was akin to an Edenist Consensus. Annette Ekelund had won, converting the peninsula to a land where the dead walked free once more. Now two million of them were marrying their energistic power at a subconscious level, bringing about the overriding desire which also dwelt within the latent mind. Several shadows flittered across the bottom of the garden where the overhanging boughs granted immunity against the spreading red light. The horticultural mechanoids had long since cranked to a halt, though not before wrecking most of the flower beds and small shrubs. When he opened his mind to the dark area he found several nervous bundles of thought. It was the kids left over from the possession again. He hadn’t been alone in letting one go. Unfortunately the Royal Marines had executed a fast, efficient retreat. “Damn. They’re back for the food again.” Stephanie sighed. “They’ve had all of the sachets in the kitchen. What else can we give them?” “There are some chickens in one of the houses opposite; we could always cook them and leave the meat out.” “Poor little mites. They must be frozen sleeping out there. Could you go and fetch some chickens, please? I’ll get the range cooker hot, we’ll cook them in the oven.” “Why bother? We can just turn them straight into roasts.” “I’m not convinced about that; and I don’t want them to catch anything from food that hasn’t been cooked properly.” “If you just zap the chickens they’ll be cooked properly.” “Don’t argue. Just go and get them.” She turned him around and gave him a push. “They’ll need plucking, as well.” “All right, I’m going.” He laughed as his clothes formed around him. Argument would be pointless. It was one of the things he enjoyed about her. She didn’t have many opinions, but those she did have . . . “By the way, what are “That’s something we can start thinking about later,” she said. “If necessary we can move out of the town and set ourselves up in one of the farms.” He didn’t like the idea—he’d lived all his life in cities—but didn’t say anything out loud. Someone knocked on the front door before he got to it. Pat Staite, their neighbour, was standing outside dressed in elaborate blue and grey striped baseball gear. “We’re looking for people to help make up the teams,” he said hopefully. “It’s a little early in the day for me.” “Absolutely. Terribly sorry. If you’re free this afternoon . . . ?” “Then I’ll come along, certainly.” Pat was one of Exnall’s growing band of sports enthusiasts who seemed intent on playing every ball game ever devised by the human race. They had already taken over two of the town’s parks. “Thanks,” Staite said, not registering the irony in Moyo’s voice or thoughts. “There’s an ex-Brit living in the street now. He said he’d teach us how to play cricket.” “Fabulous.” “Is there anything you used to play?” “Strip poker. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and catch some chickens for my breakfast.” The chickens had broken out of their coop, but they were still pecking and scratching around the garden. They were a geneered variety, plump, with rusty yellow feathers. They were also remarkably quick. Moyo’s first couple of attempts at catching one ended with him falling flat on his stomach. When he climbed to his feet the second time, the whole flock was squawking in alarm and vanishing fast into the shrubbery. He glared at them, banishing the mud caking his trousers and shirt, and pointed a finger. The tiny bolt of white fire caught the chicken at the base of its neck, sending out a cloud of singed feathers and quite a lot of blood. It must have looked ludicrous, he knew, using his power for this. But, if it got the job done . . . When he’d finished blasting every chicken he could see, he walked over to the nearest corpse. And it started running away from him, head flopping down its chest on the end of a flaccid strip of skin. He stared at it disbelievingly; he’d always thought that was an urban myth. Then another of the corpses sprinted for freedom. Moyo pushed his sleeves up and summoned a larger bolt of white fire. There were voices drifting through the open kitchen door when he returned to the bungalow. He didn’t even have to use his perception to know who was in there with her. Under Stephanie’s control the range cooker was radiating waves of heat. Several children were warming themselves around it, holding big mugs of tea. They all stopped talking as he walked in. Stephanie’s bashful welcoming smile was transformed to an astonished blink as she saw the smoking remnants of chicken he was carrying. A couple of the children started giggling. “Into the lounge everyone,” Stephanie ordered the kids. “Go on, I’ll see what I can salvage.” Once they had left he asked: “What the hell are you doing?” “Looking after them, of course. Shannon says she hasn’t had a meal ever since the possessed arrived.” “But you can’t. Suppose—” “Suppose what? The He dropped the burnt carcasses onto the tile worktop next to the range cooker. “Sorry.” “We’re responsible only to ourselves now. There are no laws, no courts, no rights and wrongs. Only what feels good. That’s what this new life is for, isn’t it? Indulgence.” “I don’t know. It might be.” She leaned against him, arms encircling his waist. “Look at it selfishly. What else have you got to do today?” “And there I was thinking I was the one who’d adjusted best to this.” “You did, at first. I just needed time to catch up.” He peered through the door at the children. There were eight of them bouncing around on the lounge furniture, none over twelve or thirteen. “I’m not used to children.” “Nor chickens by the look of things. But you managed to bring them back in the end, didn’t you?” “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, how long do you want to look after them for? What’s going to happen when they grow up? Do they hit sixteen and get possessed? That’s an awful prospect.” “That won’t happen. We’ll take this world out of the reach of the beyond. We’re the first and the last possessed. This kind of situation won’t arise again. And in any case, I wasn’t proposing to bring them up in Exnall.” “Where then?” “We’ll take them up to the end of Mortonridge and turn them over to their own kind.” “You’re kidding me.” A pointless statement; he could sense the determination in her thoughts. “Don’t tell me you want to stay in Exnall for all of eternity?” “No. But the first few weeks would be fine.” “To travel is to experience. I won’t force you, Moyo, if you want to stay here and learn how to play cricket, that’s okay by me.” “I surrender.” He laughed, and kissed her firmly. “They won’t be able to walk, not all that way. We’ll need some sort of bus or truck. I’d better scout around and see what Ekelund left us.” #149; #149; #149; It was the eighth time Syrinx had walked to Wing-Tsit Chong’s odd house on the side of the lake. For some of these meetings it would be just the two of them sitting and talking, on other occasions they would be joined by therapists and Athene and Sinon and Ruben for what amounted to a joint session. But today it was only the pair of them. As ever, Wing-Tsit Chong was waiting in his wheelchair on the veranda, a tartan rug tucked around his legs. Greetings, my dear Syrinx. How are you today? She bowed slightly in the Oriental tradition, a mannerism she had taken up after the second session. They took the nanonic packages off my feet this morning. I could barely walk, the skin was so tender. I hope you did not chastise the medical team for this minor discomfort. No.she sighed. They have done wonders with me. I’m grateful. And the pain will soon be gone. Wing-Tsit Chong smiled thinly. Exactly the answer you should give. If I were a suspicious old man . . . Sorry. But I really have accepted the physical discomfort as transitory. How fortunate, the last chain unshackled. Yes. You will be free to roam the stars again. And if you were to fall into their clutches once more? She shivered, giving him a censorious glance as she leaned on the veranda rail. I don’t think I’m cured enough to want to think about that. Of course. All right, if you really want to know. I doubt I’ll venture out of Answer yourself. I still have some nightmares. I know. Though not as many; which we all know is a good sign of progress. What other symptoms persist? I want to fly again. But . . . it’s difficult to convince myself to do it. I suppose the uncertainty frightens me. I could meet them again. The uncertainty or the unknown? You’re so fond of splitting hairs. Indulge an old man. Definitely the uncertainty. The unknown used to fascinate me. I loved exploring new planets, seeing wonders. Your pardon, Syrinx, but you have never done these things. What?she turned from the railing to stare at him, finding only that annoying, passive expression. You spent years playing tourist. You admired what others had discovered, what they had built, the way they lived. The actions of a tourist, Syrinx, not an explorer. Protect me from what? Your fear of the unknown. She sat on the wickerwork chair opposite him, deeply troubled. You believe that of me? I do. I want you to feel no shame, Syrinx, all of us have weaknesses. Mine, I know, are more terrible than you would ever believe me capable of. If you say so. As always, you remain stubborn to the last. I have not yet decided if this is a weakness or a strength. Depends on the circumstances, I guess.she flashed a mischievous smile. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. As you say. In these two circumstances, it must therefore count as a weakness. You would rather I had surrendered myself and Of course not. And we are here to deal with the present, not dwell on what was. So you see this alleged fear of mine to be a continuing problem? It inhibits you, and this should not be.Your mind should not be caged, by your own bars or anyone else’s. I would like you and How? I mean, I thought I was just about cured. I’ve been through all my memories of the torture and the circumstances around it with the therapists; we broke up each and every black spectre with rigorous logic. Now you tell me I have this deep-seated flaw. If I’m not ready now, I doubt I ever will be. Ready for what? I don’t know exactly. Do my bit, I suppose. Help protect Edenism from the possessed, that’s what all the other voidhawks are doing right now. I know You would not make a good captain at this point, not if you were to take an active part in the conflict. The unknown would always cast its shadow of doubt over your actions. I know all about the possessed, believe me. Do you? Then what will you do when you join them? Join them? Never! You propose to avoid dying? I will be interested to hear the method you plan for this endeavour. Oh. her cheeks reddened. Death is always the great unknown. And now we know more of it the mystery only deepens. How? How can it deepen when we know more? Laton called it the great journey. What did he mean? The Kiint said they have confronted the knowledge and come to terms with it. How? Their understanding of reality cannot be so much greater than ours. Edenists transfer their memories into the neural strata when their bodies die. Does their soul also transfer? Do these questions not bother you? That such philosophical abstracts should attain a supreme relevance to our existence is most disturbing to me. Well, yes, they are disturbing if you lay them out in clinical detail like that. And you have never considered them? I have considered them, certainly. I just don’t obsess on them. Syrinx, you are the one Edenist still with us who has come closest to knowing the truth of any of these. If it affects any of us, it affects you. Affect, or hinder? Answer yourself. I wish you’d stop saying that to me. You know I never will. Yes. Very well, I’ve thought about the questions; as to the answers, I don’t have a clue. Which makes the questions irrelevant. Very good, I would agree with that statement. You would? With one exception. They are irrelevant only for the moment. Right now, our society is doing what it always does in times of crisis, and resorting to physical force to defend itself. Again I have no quarrel with this. But if we are to make any real progress in this arena these questions must be examined with a degree of urgency so far lacking. For answer them we must. This is not a gulf of knowledge the human race can survive. We must deliver—dare I call it—divine truth. You expect that out of a My dear Syrinx, of course not. What sloppy thinking. But I am disappointed the solution to our more immediate problem has eluded you. Which problem?she asked in exasperation. Your problem.he snapped his fingers at her with some vexation, as if she were a miscreant child. Now concentrate please. You wish to fly, but you retain a perfectly understandable reticence. Yes. Everyone wishes to know the answer to those questions I asked, yet they do not know where to look. Yes. One race has those answers. The Kiint? I know, but they said they wouldn’t help. Incorrect. I have accessed the sensevise recording of the Assembly’s emergency session. Ambassador Roulor said the Kiint would not help us in the struggle we faced. The context of the statement was somewhat ambiguous. Did the ambassador mean the physical struggle, or the quest for knowledge? We all know that the Kiint would not help us to fight. QED the ambassador was referring to the afterlife. A reasonable assumption. One hopes the future of the human race does not rest on a single misinterpreted sentence. So why haven’t you asked the Kiint ambassador to Jupiter to clarify it? I doubt that even a Kiint ambassador has the authority to disclose the kind of information we now search for, no matter what the circumstances. Syrinx groaned in understanding. You want me to go to the Kiint homeworld and ask. How kind of you to offer. You will embark on a flight with few risks involved, and you will also be confronting the unknown. Sadly your latter task will be conducted on a purely intellectual level, but it is an honourable start. And good therapy. A most fortuitous combination, is it not? If I were not a Buddhist I would be talking about the killing of two birds. Assuming the Jovian Consensus approves of the flight. An amused light twinkled in the deeply recessed eyes. Being the founder of Edenism has its privileges. Not even the Consensus would refuse one of my humble requests. Syrinx closed her eyes, then looked up at the vaguely puzzled face of the chief therapist. She realized her lips were parted in a wide smile. Is everything all right?he asked politely. Absolutely.taking a cautious breath, she eased her legs off the side of the bed. The hospital room was as comfortable and pleasant as only their culture could make it. But it would be nice to have a complete change. Yes? I hope you’ve enjoyed your rest, my love. We have a long flight ahead of us. At last! #149; #149; #149; It had not been an easy week for Ikela. The Dorados were starting to suffer from the civil and commercial starflight quarantine. All exports had halted, and the asteroids had only a minuscule internal economy, which could hardly support the hundreds of industrial stations that refined the plentiful ore. Pretty soon he was going to have to start laying off staff in all seventeen of the T’Opingtu company’s foundry stations. It was the first setback the Dorados had ever suffered in all of their thirty-year history. They had been tough years, but rewarding for those who had believed in their own future and worked hard to attain it. People like Ikela. He had come here after the death of Garissa, like so many others tragically disinherited from that world. There had been more than enough money to start his business in those days, and it had grown in tandem with the system’s flourishing economy. In three decades he had changed from bitter refugee to a leading industrialist, with a position of responsibility in the Dorados’ governing council. Now this. It wasn’t financial ruin, not by any means, but the social cost was starting to mount up at an alarming rate. The Dorados were used only to expansion and growth. Unemployment was not an issue in any of the seven settled asteroids. People who found themselves suddenly without a job and regular earnings were unlikely to react favourably to the council washing their hands of the problem. Yesterday, Ikela had sat in on a session to discuss the idea of making companies pay non-salaried employees a retainer fee to tide them through the troubles; which had seemed the easy solution until the chief magistrate started explaining how difficult that would be to implement legally. As always the council had dithered. Nothing had been decided. Today Ikela had to start making his own decisions along those same lines. He knew he ought to set an example and pay some kind of reduced wage to his workforce. It wasn’t the kind of decision he was used to making. He strode into the executive floor’s anteroom with little enthusiasm for the coming day. His personal secretary, Lomie, was standing up behind her desk, a harassed expression on her face. Ikela was mildly surprised to see a small red handkerchief tied around her ankle. He would never have thought a levelheaded girl like Lomie would pay any attention to that Deadnight nonsense which seemed to be sweeping through the Dorados’ younger generation. “I couldn’t stonewall her,” Lomie datavised. “I’m sorry, sir, she was so forceful, and she did say she was an old friend.” Ikela followed her gaze across the room. A smallish woman was rising from one of the settees, putting her cup of coffee down on the side table. She clung to a small backpack which was hanging at her side from a shoulder strap. Few Dorados residents had skin as dark as hers, though it was extensively wrinkled now. Ikela guessed she was in her sixties. Her features were almost familiar, something about them agitating his subconscious. He ran a visual comparison program through his neural nanonics personnel record files. “Hello, Captain,” she said. “It’s been a while.” Whether the program placed her first, or the use of his old title triggered the memory, he never knew. “Mzu,” he choked. “Dr Mzu. Oh, Mother Mary, what are you doing here?” “You know exactly what I’m doing here, Captain.” “Captain?” Lomie inquired. She looked from one to the other. “I never knew . . .” Keeping his eyes fixed on Mzu as if he expected her to leap for his throat, Ikela waved Lomie to be silent. “I’m taking no appointments, no files, no calls, nothing. We’re not to be interrupted.” He datavised a code at his office door. “Come through, Doctor, please.” The office had a single window, a long band of glass which looked down on Ayacucho’s biosphere cavern. Alkad gave the farms and parks an appreciative glance. “Not a bad view, considering you’ve only had thirty years to build it. The Garissans seem to have done well for themselves here. I’m glad to see it.” “This cavern’s only fifteen years old, actually. Ayacucho was the second Dorado to be settled after Mapire. But you’re right, I enjoy the view.” Alkad nodded, taking in the large office; its size, furnishings, and artwork chosen to emphasise the occupant’s status rather than conforming to any notion of aesthetics. “And you have prospered, too, Captain. But then, that was part of your mission, wasn’t it?” She watched him slump down into a chair behind the big terrestrial-oak desk. Hardly the kind of dynamic magnate who could build his T’Opingtu company into a multistellar market leader in the fabrication of exotic alloy components. More like a fraud whose bluff had just been called. “I have some of the resources we originally discussed,” he said. “Of course, they are completely at your disposal.” She sat on a chair in front of the desk, staring him down. “You’re straying from the script, Captain. I don’t want resources, I want the combat-capable starship we agreed on. The starship you were supposed to have ready for me the day the Omuta sanctions ended. Remember?” “Look, bloody hell it’s been decades, Mzu. Decades! I didn’t know where the hell you were, even if you were still alive. Mother Mary, things change. Life is different now. Forgive me, I know you are supposed to be here at this time, I just never expected to see you. I didn’t think . . .” A chilling anger gained control of Alkad’s thoughts, unlocked from that secret centre of motivation at the core of her brain. “Have you got a starship which can deploy the Alchemist?” He shook his head before burying it in his hands. “No.” “They slaughtered ninety-five million of us, Ikela, they wrecked our planet, they made us breathe radioactive soot until our lungs bled. Genocide doesn’t even begin to describe what was done to us. You and I and the other survivors were a mistake, an oversight. There’s no life left for us in this universe. We have only one purpose, one duty. Revenge, vengeance, and justice, our three guiding stars. Mother Mary has given us this one blessing, providing us with a second chance. We’re not even attempting to kill the Omutans. I would never use the Alchemist to do that; I’m not going to become as they are, that would be their ultimate victory. All we’re going to do is make them suffer, to give them a glimpse, a pitiful glimmer of the agony they’ve forced us to endure every waking day for thirty years.” “Stop it,” he shouted. “I’ve made a life for myself here, we all have. This mission, this vendetta, what would it achieve after so much time? Nothing! We would be the tainted ones then. Let the Omutans carry the guilt they deserve. Every person they talk to, every planet they visit, they’ll be cursed to carry the weight of their name with them.” “As we suffer pity wherever we go.” “Oh, Mother Mary! Don’t do this.” “You will help me, Ikela. I am not giving you a choice in this. Right now you’ve allowed yourself to forget. That will end. I will make you remember. You’ve grown old and fat and comfy. I never did, I never allowed myself that luxury. They didn’t allow me. Ironic that, I always felt. They kept my angry spirit alive with their eternal reminder, their agents and their discreet observation. In doing so, they also kept their own nemesis alive.” His face lifted in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Have the Omutans been watching you?” “No, they’re all locked up where they belong. It’s the other intelligence agencies who have discovered who I am and what I built. Don’t ask me how. Somebody must have leaked the information. Somebody weak, Ikela.” “You mean, they know you’re here?” “They don’t know exactly where I am. All they know is I escaped from Tranquillity. But now they’ll be looking for me. And don’t try fooling yourself, they’ll track me down eventually. It’s what they’re good at, very good. The only question now is which one will find me first.” “Mother Mary!” “Exactly. Of course, if you had prepared the starship for me as you were supposed to, this wouldn’t even be a problem. You stupid, selfish, petty-minded bastard. Do you realize what you’ve done? You have jeopardized everything we ever stood for.” “You don’t understand.” “No, I don’t; and I won’t dignify you by trying to. I’m not even going to listen to any more of your pitiful whining. Now tell me, where are the others? Do we even have a partizan group anymore?” “Yes. Yes, we’re still together. We still help the cause whenever we can.” “Are all the originals here?” “Yes, we’re all still alive. But the other four aren’t in Ayacucho.” “What about other partizans, do you have a local leadership council?” “Yes.” “Then call them to a meeting. Today. They will have to be told what’s happening. We need nationalist recruits for a crew.” “Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, all right.” “And in the meantime, start looking for a suitable starship. There ought to be one in dock. It’s a shame I let the “But there’s a Confederation-wide quarantine . . .” “Not where we’re going there isn’t. And you’re a member of the Dorados council, you can arrange for the government to authorize our departure.” “I can’t do that!” “Ikela, look at me very closely. I am not playing games with you. You have endangered both my life and the mission you swore to undertake when you took the oath to serve your naval commission. As far as I am concerned, that amounts to treason. Now if an agency grabs me before I can retrieve the Alchemist, I am going to make damn sure they know where the money came from to help you start up T’Opingtu all those years ago. I’m sure you remember exactly what the Confederation law has to say about antimatter, don’t you?” He bowed his head. “Yes.” “Good. Now start datavising the partizans.” “All right.” Alkad regarded him with a mixture of contempt and worry. That the others would falter had never occurred to her. They were all Garissan navy. Thirty years ago she had secretly suspected that if anyone was destined to be the weak link it would be her. “I’ve been moving around a lot since I docked,” she said. “But I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon in your apartment. I need to clean up, and that’s the one place I can be sure you won’t tip anyone off about. There’d be too many questions.” Ikela recouped some of his old forcefulness. “I don’t want you there. My daughter’s living with me.” “So?” “I don’t want her involved.” “The sooner you get my starship prepared, the sooner I’ll be gone.” She hoisted the backpack’s strap over her shoulder and went out into the anteroom. Lomie glanced up from behind her desk, curiosity haunting her narrow features. Alkad ignored her, and datavised the lift processor for a ride to the lobby. The doors opened, revealing a girl inside. She was in her early twenties, a lot taller than Mzu, with a crown of short dreadlocks at the top of a shaven skull. First impression was that someone had attempted to geneer an elf into existence her torso was so slim, her limbs were disproportionately long. Her face could have been pretty if her personality wasn’t so stern. “I’m Voi,” she said after the doors shut. Alkad nodded in acknowledgement, facing the doors and wishing the lift could go faster. All movement stopped, the floor indicator frozen between four and three. “And you’re Dr Alkad Mzu.” “There’s a nervejam projector in this bag, and its control processor is activated.” “Good. I’m glad you’re not walking around unprotected.” “Who are you?” “I’m Ikela’s daughter. Check my public record file, if you like.” Alkad did, datavising the lift’s net processor for a link to Ayacucho’s civil administration computer. If Voi was some kind of agency plant, they’d made a very good job of ghosting details. Besides, if she was from an agency, the last thing they’d be doing was talking. “Restart the lift, please.” “Will you talk to me?” “Restart the lift.” Voi datavised the lift’s control processor, and they started to descend. “We want to help you.” “Who’s we?” Alkad asked. “My friends; there are quite a few of us now. The partizans you belong to have done nothing for years. They are soft and old and afraid of making waves.” “I don’t know you.” “Was my father helpful?” “We made progress.” “They won’t help you. Not when it comes to action. We will.” “How did you find out who I am?” “From my father. He shouldn’t have told me, but he did. He’s so weak.” “How much do you know?” “That the partizans were supposed to prepare for you. That you were bringing something to finally give us our revenge against Omuta. Logically it has to be some kind of powerful weapon. Possibly even a planet-buster. He was always afraid of you, they all were. Have they made the proper preparations? I bet they haven’t.” “As I said, I don’t know you.” Voi leaned over her, furiously intent. “We have money. We’re organized. We have people who aren’t afraid. We won’t let you down. We’d never let you down. Tell us what you want, we’ll provide it.” “How did you know I was seeing your father?” “Lomie, of course. She’s not one of us, not a core member, but she’s a friend. It’s always useful for me to know what my father is doing. As I said, we’re properly organized.” “So are children’s day clubs.” For a moment Alkad thought the girl was going to strike her. “All right,” Voi said with a calm that could only have been induced by neural nanonic overrides. “You’re being sensible, not trusting a stranger with the last hope our culture owns. I can accept that. It’s rational.” “Thank you.” “But we can help. Just give us the chance. Please.” And The lift doors opened. A lobby of polished black stone and curving white metal glinted under large silver light spires. A thirty-year-old unarmed combat program reviewed the image from Alkad’s retinal implants, deciding nobody was lurking suspiciously. She looked up at the tall, anorexically proportioned girl, trying to decide what to do. “Your father invited me to stay at his apartment. We can talk more when we get there.” Voi gave a shark’s smile. “It would be an honour, Doctor.” #149; #149; #149; It was the woman sitting up at the bar wearing a red shirt who caught Joshua’s attention. The red was very red, a bright, effervescent scarlet. And the style of the shirt was odd, though he’d be hard pressed to define exactly what was wrong with the cut, it lacked . . . smoothness. The clincher was the fact it had buttons down the front, not a seal. “Don’t look,” he murmured to Beaulieu and Dahybi. “But I think she’s a possessed.” He datavised his retinal image file to them. They both turned and looked. In Beaulieu’s case it was quite a performance, twisting her bulk around in the too-small chair, streamers of light slithering around the contours of her shiny body. “Jesus! Show some professionalism.” The woman gave the three of them a demurely inquisitive glance. “You sure?” Dahybi asked. “Think so. There’s something wrong with her, anyway.” Dahybi said nothing; he’d experienced Joshua’s intuition at work before. “We can soon check,” Beaulieu said. “Go over to her and see if any of our blocks start glitching.” “No.” Joshua was slowly scanning the rest of the teeming bar. It was a wide room cut square into the rock of Kilifi asteroid’s habitation section, with a mixed clientele mostly taken from ships’ crews and industrial station staff. He was anonymous here, as much as he could be (five people had so far recognized “Lagrange Calvert”). And Kilifi had been a good cover, it manufactured the kind of components he was supposed to be buying for Tranquillity’s defences. Sarha and Ashly were handling the dummy negotiations with local companies; and so far no one had questioned why they’d flown all the way to Narok rather than a closer star system. He saw a couple more suspicious people drinking in solitude, then another three crammed around a table with sullen sly expressions. I’m getting too paranoid. “We have to concentrate on our mission,” he said. “If Kilifi isn’t enforcing its screening procedures properly, that’s their problem. We can’t risk any sort of confrontation. Besides, if the possessed are wandering around this freely it must mean their infiltration is quite advanced.” Dahybi hunched his shoulders and played with his drink, trying not to look anxious. “There are navy ships docked here, and most of the independent traders are combat-capable. If the asteroid falls, the possessed will get them.” “I know.” Joshua met the node specialist’s stare, refusing to show weakness. “We cannot cause waves.” “Sure, you said: Don’t draw attention to yourself, don’t talk to the natives, don’t fart loudly. What the hell are we doing here, Joshua? Why are you so anxious to trace Meyer?” “I need to talk to him.” “Don’t you trust us?” “Of course I do. And don’t try such cheap shots. You know I’ll tell all of you as soon as I can. For now, it’s best you don’t know. You trust me, don’t you?” Dahybi put his lips together in a tired grin. “Cheap shot.” “Yeah.” The waitress brought another round of drinks to their alcove. Joshua watched her legs as she wriggled away through the crowd. A bit young for him, mid-teens. Louise’s age. The thought warmed him briefly. Then he saw she was wearing a red handkerchief around her ankle. Jesus, I don’t know which is worse, the horrors of possession or the pathetic dreams of the Deadnights. He’d received one hell of a shock the first time he accessed the recording from Valisk. Marie Skibbow possessed and luring naive kids to their doom. She’d been a lovely girl, beautiful and smart, with thoughts as hard as carbotanium composite. If she could be caught, anyone could. Lalonde strummed out far too many resonances. “Captain,” Beaulieu warned. Joshua saw Bunal approaching their alcove. He sat down and smiled. There wasn’t the slightest sign of nerves. But then as Joshua had discovered while asking around his fellow captains, Bunal was overfamiliar with this kind of transaction. “Good afternoon, Captain,” Bunal said pleasantly. “Have you managed to acquire your cargo yet?” “Some of it,” Joshua said. “I’m hoping you were successful with the rest.” “Indeed I was. Most of the information was quite simple to obtain. However, I am nothing if not assiduous in any freelance work I undertake. I discovered that, sadly, what you actually need falls outside our original agreement.” Dahybi gave the man a hateful glare. He always despised bent civil servants. “And will cost . . . ?” Joshua inquired, unperturbed. “An additional twenty thousand fuseodollars.” Bunal sounded sincerely regretful. “I apologize for the cost, but times are hard at the moment. I have little work and a large family.” “Of course.” Joshua held up his Jovian Bank credit disk. Bunal was surprised by the young captain’s swift concession. It took him a moment to produce his own credit disk. Joshua shunted the money over. “You were right,” Bunal said. “The “Sol?” Joshua asked. “Are you sure?” “Positive. However—and this is where the twenty thousand comes in—their passenger, Dr Alkad Mzu, didn’t go with them. She hired an independent trader called the “Flight plan?” “Filed for a Dorado asteroid, Ayacucho. I even checked traffic control’s sensor data for the flight. They were definitely aligned for Tunja when they jumped.” Joshua resisted the impulse to swear. Ione was right, Mzu was running to the last remnants of her nation. She must be going for the Alchemist. He flicked another glance at the girl in the red shirt, her head tipped back elegantly as she drank her cocktail. Jesus, as if we don’t have enough problems right now. “Thank you.” “My pleasure. You should also know, for no extra charge, that I’m not the only one to be asking these questions. There are three access requests logged on the Civil Spaceflight Department computer for the same files. One request was made only twenty minutes before mine.” “Oh, Jesus.” “Bad news?” “Interesting news,” Joshua grunted. He rose to his feet. “If there is anything else I can obtain for you, Captain, please call.” “Sure thing.” Joshua was already walking for the door, Dahybi and Beaulieu a couple of steps behind. Before he reached the exit, people watching the AV pillar behind the bar were gasping in shock; agitated murmurs of conversation rippled down the length of the room. Perfect strangers asking each other: Joshua focused on the AV pillar’s projection, allowing the hazy laserlight sparkle to form its picture behind his eyes. A planet floated below him, its geography instantly familiar. No real continents or oceans, just winding seas and thousands of medium-sized islands. Patches of glowing red cloud squatted over half of the islands, concentrated mainly in the tropic zones—though on this world tropic was a relative term. “. . . Confederation Navy frigate “Oh, Jesus, Louise is down there.” The AV image broke up as he turned his head away from the pillar, seeing Louise running over the grassy wolds in one of those ridiculous dresses, laughing over her shoulder at him. And Genevieve, too, that irritating child who was either laughing or sulking. Marjorie, Grant (it would go worse for him, he would resist as long as possible), Kenneth, and even that receptionist at Drayton’s Import. “Goddamnit. No!” I should have been there. I could have got her away. “Joshua?” Dahybi asked in concern. “You okay?” “Yeah. Did you catch that piece about Norfolk?” “Yes.” “She’s down there, Dahybi. I left her there.” “Who?” “Louise.” “You didn’t leave her there, Joshua. It’s her home, it’s where she belongs.” “Right.” Joshua’s neural nanonics were plotting a course from Narok to Norfolk. He didn’t remember requesting it. “Come on, Captain,” Dahybi said. “We’ve got what we came for. Let’s go.” Joshua looked at the woman in the red shirt again. She was staring at the AV pillar, abstract pastel streaks from the projection glinting dully on her ebony cheeks. A delighted smile flourished on her lips. Joshua hated her, her invincibility, the cool arrogance sitting among her enemies. Queen of the bitch demons come to taunt him. Dahybi’s hand tightened around his arm. “Okay, we’re gone.” #149; #149; #149; “Here we are, home at last,” Loren Skibbow said with a histrionic sigh. “Not that we can stay for long. They’ll tear Guyana apart to find us now.” The apartment was on the highest level of the biosphere’s habitation complex, where gravity was only eighty per cent standard. The penthouse of some Kingdom aristocrat, presumably, furnished with dark active-contour furniture and large hand-painted silk screens; every table and alcove shelf were littered with antiques. Gerald felt it was a somewhat bizarre setting to wind up in considering the day’s events. “Are you creating this?” When they lived in the arcology, Loren had always badgered him for what she termed a “grander” apartment. She looked around with a rueful smile and shook her head. “No. My imagination isn’t up to anything so gaudy. This is Pou Mok’s place.” “The woman you’re possessing? The redhead?” “That’s right.” Loren smiled and took a step towards him. Gerald stiffened. Not that she needed any physical signs; his mind was foaming with fear and confusion. “Okay, Gerald, I won’t touch you. Sit down, we have a lot to talk about. And this time I mean talk, not just you telling me what you’ve decided is best for us.” He flinched. Everything she did and said triggered memories. The unedited past seemed to have become his curse in life. “How did you get here?” he asked. “What happened, Loren?” “You saw the homestead, what that bastard Dexter and his Ivets did to us.” Her face paled. “To Paula.” “I saw.” “I tried, Gerald. Honestly, I tried to fight back. But it all happened so fast. They were crazy brutes; Dexter killed one of his own just because the boy would slow them down. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.” “And I wasn’t there.” “They’d have killed you, too.” “At least . . .” “No, Gerald. You would have died for nothing. I’m glad you escaped. This way you can help Marie.” “How?” “The possessed can be beaten. Individually, in any case. I’m not so sure about overall. But that’s for others to fight over, planetary governments and the Confederation. You and I have to rescue our daughter, allow her to have her own life. No one else will.” “How?” This time it was a shout. “The same way you were freed: zero-tau. We have to put her in zero-tau. The possessed can’t endure it.” “Why not?” “Because we’re conscious the whole time. Zero-tau suspends normal energy wave functions, but our souls are still connected to the beyond somehow, that makes us aware of time passing. But only time, nothing else. It is the ultimate sensory deprivation, actually worse than the beyond. At least in the beyond souls have the memories of other souls to feed on, and some perception of the real universe.” “That’s why,” Gerald murmured. “I knew Kingsford Garrigan was scared.” “Some can hold out longer than others, it depends on how strong their personality is. But in the end, everyone retreats from the body they possess.” “There is hope, then.” “For Marie, yes. We can save her.” “So that she can die.” “Everybody dies, Gerald.” “And goes on to suffer in the beyond.” “I’m not sure. If it hadn’t been for you and Marie, I don’t think I would have remained with all the other souls.” “I don’t understand.” Loren gave him a hapless smile. “I was worried about the two of you, Gerald, I wanted to make sure you were all right. That’s why I stayed.” “Yes but . . . where else could you go?” “I’m not certain that question applies. The beyond is strange, there are no separate places within it, not like this universe.” “So how could you leave?” “I wouldn’t leave it . . .” She fluttered her hands in exasperation as she struggled with the concept. “I just wouldn’t be in the same part of it as the rest of them.” “You said there were no different parts.” “There aren’t.” “So how—” “I don’t pretend to understand, Gerald. But you can leave the others behind. The beyond isn’t necessarily the torment everyone is making it out to be.” Gerald studied the pale salmon carpet, shamed at being unable to look at his own wife. “And you came back for me.” “No, Gerald.” Her voice hardened. “We might be husband and wife, but my love isn’t that blind. I came back principally for Marie’s sake. If it had just been you, I don’t think I would have had the courage. I endured the other souls devouring my memories for her sake. Did you know you can see out of the beyond? Just. I watched Marie, and that made the horror tolerable. I hadn’t seen her since that day she walked out on us. I wanted to know she was alive and safe. It wasn’t easy; I almost abandoned my vigil, then she was possessed. So I stayed, waiting for an opportunity to help, for someone close to you to be possessed. And here I am.” “Yes. Here you are. Who is Pou Mok? I thought the Principality had defeated the possessed, confined them all to Mortonridge.” “They have, according to the news reports. But the three who arrived here on the “Was I wrong taking her to Lalonde?” Gerald asked remotely. “I thought I was doing the best possible thing for her, for all of you.” “You were. Earth’s dying; the arcologies are old, worn out. There’s nothing there for people like us; if we’d stayed, Marie and Paula would have had lives no different from us, or our parents, or any of our ancestors for the last ten generations. You broke the cycle for us, Gerald. We had the chance to take pride in what our grandchildren would become.” “What grandchildren?” He knew he was going to start crying any minute. “Paula’s dead; Marie hated our home so much she ran away at the first opportunity.” “Good thing she did, Gerald, wasn’t it? She was always headstrong, and she’s a teenager. Teenagers can never look and plan ahead; having a good time is the only thing they can think of. All she knew was that two months of her life weren’t as comfy as the ones which went before, and she had to do some work for the first time as well. Small surprise she ran away. It was a premature taste of adulthood that scared her off, not us being bad parents. “You know, I perceived her before she was possessed. She’d found herself a job in Durringham, a good job. She was doing all right for herself, better than she could ever do on Earth. Knowing Marie, she didn’t appreciate it.” When Gerald found the nerve to glance up, he saw Loren’s expression was a twin to his own. “I didn’t tell you before. But I was so frightened for her when she ran away.” “I know you were. Fathers always think their daughters can’t take care of themselves.” “You were worried, too.” “Yes. Oh, yes. But only that fate would throw something at her she couldn’t survive. Which it has. She would have done all right if this curse hadn’t been unleashed.” “All right,” he said shakily. “What do we do about it? I just wanted to go to Valisk and help her.” “That’s my idea, too, Gerald. There’s no big plan, though I do have some of the details sorted out. First thing we need to do is get you on the “Just me?” he asked in alarm. “Where are you going?” “To Valisk, eventually. But we can’t travel together, it’s too risky.” “I can’t go alone. Really, I can’t. I don’t know how to, not anymore. I can’t think right, not now. I want you to come with me, Loren. Please.” “No, Gerald. You must do this by yourself.” “It . . . it’s hard. There are other things in my head.” “We’re the only chance Marie has. Focus on that, Gerald.” “Yes. Yes, I will.” He gave her a grave smile. “Where is Pinjarra?” “It’s in the Toowoomba star system, which is Australian-ethnic. The Kingdom is anxious to keep them locked in to its diplomatic strategy. Their asteroid settlements aren’t very well defended, so they’re being offered upgrades on favourable financial terms.” Gerald fidgeted with his fingers. “But how do I get on board? We’d never make it into the spaceport, never mind a starship. Maybe if we just asked Ombey’s government if we can go to Valisk. They’ll know we’re telling the truth about wanting to help Marie. And that information about zero-tau would be useful. They’d be grateful.” “Bloody hell.” Loren regarded the pathetically hopeful smile on his face more with astonishment than contempt. He had always been the forceful one, the go-getter. “Oh, Gerald, what have they done to you?” “Remember.” He hung his head, probing at his temples in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the sparkling pain inside. “They made me remember. I don’t want that. I don’t want to remember, I just want to forget it all.” She came over and sat beside him, her arm going around his shoulder the way she used to do with her daughters when they were younger. “Once we free Marie, all this will be over. You can think of other things again, new things.” “Yes.” He nodded vigorously, speaking with the slow surety of the newly converted. “Yes, you’re right. That’s what Dr Dobbs told me, too; I have to formulate relevant goals for my new circumstances, and concentrate on achieving them. I must eject myself from the failings of the past.” “Good philosophy.” Her eyebrows rose in bemusement. “Firstly we have to buy you passage on the “Yes. I can do that.” He grasped his hands together, squeezing. “I can tell him anything if it will help Marie.” “Just don’t be too aggressive. Stay polite and calmly determined.” “I will.” “Fine. Now money isn’t a problem, obviously, I can give you a Jovian Bank credit disk with about half a million fuseodollars loaded in. Pou Mok also has half a dozen blank passport fleks. Our real problem is going to be your appearance, every sensor in the asteroid is going to be programmed for your features now. I can change the way you look, but only while I’m near you, which is no use at all. They can detect me easily in public places, especially if I’m using my energistic ability. So we’re going to have to give you a permanent alteration.” “Permanent?” he asked uneasily. “Pou Mok has a set of cosmetic adaptation packages. She used to keep changing her own face in case the asteroid police became too familiar with it—she’s not even a natural redhead. I think I know enough to program the control processor manually. If I don’t get too close, the packages should be able to give you a basic makeover. It ought to be enough.” Loren took him through into one of the apartment’s bedrooms and told him to lie down. The cosmetic adaptation packages were similar to nanonic medical packages but with warty bubbles on the outside, holding reserves of collagen ready to be implanted, firming up new contours. Gerald felt the furry inner surface knitting to his skin, then his nerves went dead. It took a lot of effort on Gerald’s part not to shy away from the ceiling-mounted sensors in the public hall. He still wasn’t convinced about the face which appeared each time he looked in the mirror. Ten years younger, but with puffy cheeks and drooping laughter lines, skin a shade darker with an underlying red flush; a face which conveyed his internal worry perfectly. His hair had been trimmed to a centimetre fuzz and coloured a light chestnut—at least there were no silver strands any more. He walked into the Bar Vips and ordered a mineral water, asking the barman where he could find Captain McRobert. McRobert had brought two of his crew with him, one of whom was a cosmonik with a body resembling a mannequin: jet-black with no features at all, not even on the head; he was an impressive two hundred and ten centimetres tall. Gerald tried to retain an impassive expression as he sat at their table, but it wasn’t easy. Their steely presence was conjuring up memories of the squad which had captured Kingsford Garrigan in Lalonde’s jungle. “I’m Niall Lyshol; Pou Mok sent me,” he stuttered. “If she hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here,” McRobert said curtly. “As it is . . .” He gave the cosmonik a brief signal. Gerald was offered a processor block. “Take it,” McRobert instructed. He tried, but the huge black hand wouldn’t let go. “No static charge,” the cosmonik said. “No glitches.” The block was withdrawn. “All right, Niall Lyshol,” McRobert said. “You’re not a possessed, so what the fuck are you?” “Someone who wants a flight out of here.” Gerald exhaled softly, reminding himself of the relaxation exercises Dr Dobbs urged him to employ: cycle down the body and the brain waves will follow. “As someone else who deals with Pou Mok, Captain, you should appreciate the need to keep moving on before people start to take an interest in you.” “Don’t pull that bullshit pressure routine on me, boy. I’m not taking anyone who’s hot, not with the way things are right now. I don’t even know if we’re going to leave Guyana, the code two defence alert still hasn’t been lifted. Traffic control is hardly going to clear anyone for flight while one of those bastards is running loose up here.” “I’m not hot. Check the bulletins.” “I have.” “So you’ll take me when the code two is lifted?” “You’re a complication, Lyshol. I can’t take passengers because of the quarantine, which means you’d have to be listed as crew. You haven’t got neural nanonics, which means the line company would start asking me questions. I don’t like that.” “I can pay.” “Be assured: you will.” “And you’ll have Pou Mok’s gratitude. For what it’s worth.” “Less than she likes to think. What are you running from?” “People. Not the authorities. There’s no official trouble.” “One hundred thousand fuseodollars, and you spend the whole voyage in zero-tau. I’m not having you throwing up all over the life-support capsule.” “Agreed.” “Too quickly. A hundred thousand is an awful lot of money.” Gerald wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up; slow thoughts echoed in his skull, telling him that the sanatorium had been a much kinder environment than this. If I went back, Dr Dobbs would understand, he’d make sure the police didn’t punish me. If it wasn’t for Marie . . . “You can’t have it both ways. If I stay here then a lot of secrets are going to get spilt. You probably wouldn’t be able to fly to any of the Kingdom systems again. I think that would bother the line company more than taking on a crewman without neural nanonics; not that they’ll know I don’t have neural nanonics unless you tell them.” “I don’t like being threatened, Lyshol.” “I’m not threatening you. I’m asking for help. I need your help. Please.” McRobert glanced at his companions. “All right. The “I’m ready now.” “No baggage? You surprise me. Very well, you can pay me when we get on board. And, Lyshol, don't expect any crew salary.” When the four of them came out of Bar Vips, Gerald gave what he believed to be a surreptitious glance along the public hall. There weren't many people about, the code two alert had hauled in all the asteroid’s off-duty military and civil service personnel. Loren watched him go, hunched up and tragic between his three escorts. They stepped into a lift, and the door closed behind them. She walked the other way down the public hall, a smile playing over her illusory lips. After seven and a half hours with over a hundred false alerts and not one genuine sighting, Admiral Farquar was considering running a suppressor program through his neural nanonics. He hated the artificial calm the software brought, but the tension and depression were getting to him. The hunt for the possessed woman was being run from the Royal Navy tactical operations centre. It wasn’t quite the operation envisaged while it was being built, but its communications were easily reconfigured to probe the asteroid’s net, and its AI had been loaded with the tracker programs developed by Diana Tiernan to hunt possessed across Xingu. Given the size of Guyana, and the density of electronic systems spread throughout the interior, they should have had a result within minutes. But the woman had eluded them. In doing so, she had forced him to admit to Princess Kirsten that if one could, so could more. There might be any number running around Guyana. For all he knew the entire navy staff could have been possessed, which was why the operations centre kept saying they couldn’t find her. He didn’t believe it himself (he’d visited the centre personally) but no doubt it was an option the cabinet had to consider. Even he must be considered suspect, though they’d been tactful enough not to say so. As a result, Guyana had handed over Ombey’s Strategic Defence network command to a Royal Navy base in Atherstone. A complete quarantine of the asteroid had been quietly enforced under the guise of the code two defence alert. So far it had all been for nothing. The office management computer datavised him that Captain Oldroyd, his staff security officer, and Dr Dobbs were requesting an interview. He datavised an acknowledgement, and his office dissolved into the white bubble room of a sensenviron conference room. “Have you made any progress finding her?” Dobbs asked. “Not yet,” Farquar admitted. “That ties in,” the doctor said. “We’ve been running analysis scenarios based on the information we’ve collated so far; and based on that I believe I’ve come up with a rationale for her actions. Extracting Skibbow from our medical facility was slightly puzzling behaviour. It was an awful risk even for a possessed. If the marines had been thirty seconds faster she would never have made it. She must have had an extremely good reason.” “Which is?” “I think she’s Loren Skibbow, Gerald’s wife. If for no other reason than what she said to Jansen Kovak: You should try being married to him for twenty years. I checked our file, they were married for twenty years.” “His wife?” “Exactly.” “Okay, I’ve heard stranger.” The admiral faced Captain Oldroyd. “I hope you’ve got some evidence to back up this theory.” “Yes, sir. Assuming she is who we suspect, her behavioural profile certainly fits her actions to date. First of all, we believe she’s been in Guyana for some time, possibly right from the beginning when the “Because it doesn’t fit in with her plans,” Dr Dobbs said eagerly. “If the whole asteroid became possessed, her peers would be unlikely to allow Gerald his freedom. This is all personal, Admiral, it’s not part of what’s happening to Mortonridge or New California. She’s completely on her own. I don’t believe she’s any real danger to the Kingdom’s security at all.” “Are you telling me we’ve shifted the Principality to a code two alert because of a “I believe so,” Dr Dobbs said apologetically. “The possessed are people, too. We’ve had ample proof that they retain a nearly complete range of human emotions. And, er . . . we did put Gerald through quite an ordeal. If what we suspect is true, it would be quite reasonable to assume Loren would do her best to take him away from us.” “Dear God. All right, so now what? How does this theory help us deal with her?” “We can negotiate.” “To what end? I don’t care that she’s a loving wife. She’s a bloody possessed. We can’t have the pair of them living happily ever after up here.” “No. But we can offer to take better care of Gerald. From her viewpoint, of course,” Dr Dobbs added quickly. “Maybe.” The admiral would have dearly loved to have found a flaw in the reasoning, but the facts did seem to fit together with uncomfortable precision. “So what do you recommend?” “I’d like to broadcast over Guyana’s net, load a message into every personal communications processor, blanket the news and entertainment companies. It’ll only be a matter of time before they access it.” “If she answers she’ll give away her location. She’ll know that.” “We’ll find her eventually, I’ll make that quite clear. What I can offer is a solution she can accept. Do I have your permission? It will need to be a genuine offer. After all, the possessed can read the emotional content of minds. She’ll know if I’m telling the truth.” “That’s a pretty broad request, Doctor. What exactly do you want to offer her?” “Gerald to be taken down to the planet and given an Ombey citizenship. We provide full financial compensation for what we put him through, complete his counselling and therapy. And finally, if this crisis is resolved, we’ll do whatever we can to reunite him with his daughter.” “You mean that Kiera girl in Valisk?” “Yes, Admiral.” “I doubt my authority runs to that . . .” He broke off as the office management computer datavised a change in Guyana’s status. The operations centre had just issued a full combat alert. The admiral opened a channel to the duty officer. “What’s happening?” he datavised. “The AI has registered an anomaly, sir. We think it could be her. I’ve dispatched a Royal Marine squad.” “What sort of anomaly?” “A camera in the spaceport spindle entrance chamber registered a man getting into a transit capsule. When the capsule stopped at section G5 a woman got out. The capsule never stopped at any other section.” “What about processor glitches?” “The AI is analysing all the electronics around her. There are some efficiency reductions, but well below the kind of disturbance which we were getting from the possessed down in Xingu.” The admiral requested a schematic of the spaceport. Section G5 was the civil spaceplane and ion field flyer dock. “Dear God, Dr Dobbs, I think you might have been right after all.” Loren floated along the brightly lit tubular corridor towards the airlock. According to the spaceport register, a Kulu Corporation SD2002 spaceplane was docked to it, a thirty-seater craft owned by the Crossen company who used it to ferry staff up to their microgee industrial stations. One of the smallest spaceplanes at Guyana, it was exactly the kind of craft a pair of fairly ignorant desperadoes would try to steal if they wanted to get down to the planet. There was nobody about. The last person she’d seen had been a maintenance engineer who’d boarded the transit capsule she’d arrived in. She toyed with the idea of letting her energistic ability flare out and mess up some of the electronics in the corridor. But that might make them suspicious, she’d controlled herself for so long that any change now would cause questions. She’d just have to hope that their security programs and sensors would catch her. The change of image was a subtle enough betrayal, providing their monitor routines were good enough. The airlock tube was five metres long, and narrower than the corridor, barely two metres wide. She manoeuvred herself into it, only to find the hatch at the far end was shut. At last, an excuse to use the energistic ability. There was a surge of electricity around the hatch. She could sense the main power cables behind the azure blue composite walls, thick lines that burnt with an ember glow of current. There were other cables too, smaller and dimmer. It was one of those which had come alive, connected to a small communications block set into the rim of the hatch. “It’s Loren, isn’t it?” a voice from the block asked. “Loren Skibbow, I’m sure it’s you. My name is Dr Riley Dobbs. I was treating Gerald before you took him away.” She stared at the block in shock. How the bloody hell had he figured that out? The power flowed through her body, twisting up from the beyond like a hot spring; she could feel it squirting through every cell. Her mind shaped it as it rose inside her, transforming it into the pattern she wanted, a pattern which matched her dreamy wish. It began to superimpose itself over reality. Sparks shivered over the surface of the hatch. “Loren, I want to help, and I’ve been given the authority which will allow me to help. Please listen. Gerald is my patient, I don’t want him harmed. I believe the two of us agree on that.” “Go to hell, Doctor. Better still, I’ll take you there personally. You damaged my husband’s mind. I’m not going to forget that.” There were noises in the corridor behind her, soft scraping, clinking sounds. When she focused, she could perceive the minds of the marines closing on her. Cold and anxious, but very determined. “Gerald was damaged by the possession,” Dobbs said. “I was trying to cure him. I want to continue that process.” The sparks had begun to swirl around the composite of the airlock tube, penetrating below the surface as if they were swimming through the material. “Under the muzzle of a gun?” she asked scathingly. “I know they’re behind me.” “The marines won’t shoot. I promise that, Loren. It would be pointless. Shooting would just cost the life of the person you’ve possessed. Nobody wants that. Please, come and talk to me. I’ve already obtained huge concessions from the authorities. Gerald can be taken down to the planet. He’ll be looked after properly, I’ll continue his therapy. Perhaps someday he can even see Marie again.” “You mean Kiera. That bitch won’t let my daughter go.” “Nothing is certain. We can discuss this. Please. You can’t leave on the spaceplane. Even if you get in you can hardly pilot it down through the SD network. The only way Gerald can get down to the planet is if I take him.” “You won’t touch him again. He’s safe in my hiding place now, and you never found me, not in all the time I was there.” The airlock walls gave out a small creak. All the sparks had blurred together to form a glowing ring of composite encircling her. She smiled tightly. The subterfuge was nearly complete. Dobbs’s intervention had turned out to be a beautiful bonus. Loren could sense the marines holding back just past the edge of the airlock tube. She took a deep breath, attempting to deflect the knowledge of what was about to come. White fire burst out of her feet with a terrible screeching sound. It fountained into the corridor and broke apart into an avalanche of individual fireballs which careered into the waiting marines. “No, Loren, don’t, I can help. Please—” She exerted herself to the full. Dobbs’s voice fractured into a brassy caterwaul before vanishing altogether as the energistic effect crashed every processor within twenty-five metres. “Don’t,” Pou Mok pleaded from the heart of Loren’s mind. “I won’t tell them where he is. I promise. They’ll never know. Let me live.” “I can’t trust the living,” Loren told her. “Bitch!” The wall of the airlock tube gleamed brighter than the fireballs, then the composite vaporised. Loren flew out of the widening gap, impelled by the blast of air which stampeded away into the vacuum. “Dear God,” Admiral Farquar grunted. The spaceport’s external sensors showed him the jet of air diminishing. Three marines had followed Loren Skibbow out into space. Their armour suits would provide some protection against decompression, and they had a small oxygen reserve. The duty officer had already dispatched some MSVs to chase after them. Loren Skibbow was a different matter. For a while she had glowed from within, a fluorescent figure spinning around and around as she left the ruptured dock behind. Now the glow was fading. After a couple of minutes it winked out. The body exploded far more violently than it should have done. “Locate as much as you can of her, and bring the pieces back,” Admiral Farquar told the duty officer. “We can take a DNA sample; the ISA ought to be able to identify her for us.” “But why?” Dr Dobbs asked, mortified. “What the hell made her do that?” “Perhaps they don’t think quite like us, after all,” the admiral said. “They do. I know they do.” “When we find Skibbow, you can ask him.” It was a task which proved harder than expected. There was no response from his debrief nanonics, so the Royal Navy began a physical search of Guyana, monitored by the AI. No room, no service tunnel, and no storage chamber was overlooked. Any space larger than a cubic metre was examined. It took two and a half days. Pou Mok’s room was opened and searched thirty-three hours after it began. Because it was listed as being rented (currently unoccupied) by someone on Ombey, and the diligent search turned up nothing, it was closed up and codelocked. The cabinet meeting which followed the end of the search decided that one missing mental patient could not justify keeping the navy’s premier defence base isolated, nor could Ombey do without the products of Guyana’s industrial stations. The asteroid was stood down to a code three status, and the problem of the woman’s identity and Skibbow’s whereabouts handed over to a joint ISA ESA team. Three and a half days after its original departure time, the |
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