"Neutronium Alchemist - Consolidation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F.)Chapter 08Culey asteroid was an almost instinctive choice for André Duchamp. Located in the Dzamin Ude star system, a healthy sixty light-years from Lalonde, it acted as a ready haven for certain types of ships in certain circumstances. As if in reaction to its Chinese-ethnic ancestry, and all the clutter of authoritarian tradition which came with that, the asteroid was notoriously lax when it came to enforcing CAB regulations and scrutinizing the legitimacy of cargo manifests. Such an attitude hadn’t done its economy any harm. Starships came for the ease of trading, and the astroengineering conglomerates came to maintain and support the ships, and where the majors went there followed a plethora of smaller service and finance companies. The Confederation Assembly subcommittee on smuggling and piracy might routinely condemn Culey’s government and its policies, but nothing ever altered. Certainly in the fifteen years he’d been using it, André never had any trouble selling cargo or picking up dubious charters. The asteroid was virtually a second home. This time, though, when the “But I have a severely injured man on board,” André protested as his third request to be allocated a docking bay was refused. “Sorry, Duchamp,” the port control officer replied. “We have no bays available.” “There’s very little traffic movement around the port,” Madeleine Collum observed; she’d accessed the starship’s sensor suite, and was viewing the asteroid. “And most of that is personnel commuters and MSVs, no starships.” “I am declaring a first-degree emergency,” André datavised to the port officer. “They have to take us now,” he muttered to Madeleine. She simply grunted. “Emergency declaration acknowledged, André glared at the almost featureless communications console. “Very well. Please open a channel to Commissioner Ri Drak for me.” Ri Drak was André’s last card, the one he hadn’t quite envisioned playing in a situation such as this, not over the fate of a crew member; the likes of Ri Drak were to be held in reserve until André’s own neck was well and truly on the line. “Hello, Captain,” Ri Drak datavised. “We would seem to have a problem evolving here.” “Not for me,” André answered. “No problems. Not like in the past, eh?” The two of them switched to a high-order encryption program. Much to Madeleine’s annoyance, she couldn’t access the rest of the conversation. Whatever was said took nearly fifteen minutes to discuss. The only giveaway was André’s clumsy face, registering a sneaky grin, intermingled with the sporadic indignant frown. “Very well, Captain,” Ri Drak said at last. “The “Monsieur,” André acknowledged gracelessly. Madeleine didn’t press. Instead she began datavising the flight computer for systems schematics, assisting the captain with the fusion drive’s ignition sequence. Culey’s counter-rotating spaceport was a seven-pointed star, its unfortunate condition mirroring the asteroid’s general attitude to spaceworthiness statutes. Several areas were in darkness: silver-white insulation blankets were missing from the surface, creating strange mosaic patterns, and at least three pipes were leaking, throwing up weak grey gas jets. The An armed port police squad were first through the airlock tube when it sealed. They rounded up André and the crew, detaining them on the bridge while a customs team examined the ship’s life-support capsules from top to bottom. The search took two hours before clearance was granted. “You put up a hell of a fight in here,” the port police captain said as he slid through the open ceiling hatch into the lower deck lounge where the possessed had stormed aboard. The compartment was a shambles, fittings broken and twisted, blackened sections of composite melted into queer shapes, dark bloodstains on various surfaces starting to flake. Despite the best efforts of the straining environmental circuit there was a nasty smell of burnt meat in the air which refused to go away. Nine black body bags were secured to the hatch ladder by short lengths of silicon fibre. Stirred by the weak columns of air which was all the broken, vibrating conditioning duct could muster, they drifted a few centimetres above the scorched decking, bumping into each other and recoiling in slow motion. “Erick and I saw them off,” André said gruffly. It earned him a filthy glance from Desmond Lafoe, who was helping the spaceport coroner classify the bodies. “You did pretty well, then,” the captain said. “Lalonde sounds as if Hell has materialized inside the Confederation.” “It has,” André said. “Pure hell. We were lucky to escape. I’ve never seen a space battle more ferocious than that.” The police captain nodded thoughtfully. “Captain?” Madeleine datavised. “We’re ready to take Erick’s zero-tau pod down to the hospital now.” “Of course, proceed.” “We’ll need you there to clear the treatment payment orders, Captain.” André’s cheerfully chubby face showed a certain tautness. “I will be along, we’re almost through with the port clearance procedures.” “You know, I have several friends in the media who would be interested in recordings of your mission,” the police captain said. “Perhaps you would care for me to put you in touch with them? There may even be circumstances where you wouldn’t have to pay import duty; these matters are within my discretion.” André’s malaised spirit lifted. “Perhaps we could come to some arrangement.” Madeleine and Desmond accompanied Erick’s zero-tau pod to the asteroid’s hospital in the main habitation cavern. Before the field was switched off, the doctors went through the flek Madeleine had recorded as she stabilized Erick. “Your friend is a lucky man,” the principal surgeon told them after the initial review. “We know,” Madeleine said. “We were there.” “Fortunately his Kulu Corporation neural nanonics are top of the range, very high capacity. The emergency suspension program he ran during the decompression event was correspondingly comprehensive; it has prevented major internal organ tissue death, and there’s very little neural damage, the blood supply to his cranium was sustained almost satisfactorily. We can certainly clone and replace the cells he has lost. Lungs will have to be completely replaced, of course, they always suffer the most from such decompression. And quite a few blood vessels will need extensive repair. The forearm and hand are naturally the simplest operation, a straightforward graft replacement.” Madeleine grinned over at Desmond. The flight had been a terrific strain on everyone, not knowing if they’d used the correct procedures, or whether the blank pod simply contained a vegetable. André Duchamp appeared in the private waiting room they were using, his smile so bright that Madeleine gave him a suspicious frown. “Erick’s going to be all right,” she told him. “ “He can certainly be restored,” the surgeon said. “There is the question of what kind of procedure you would like me to perform. We can use artificial tissue implants to return him to full viability within a few days, these we have in store. Following that we can begin the cloning operation and start to replace the AT units as his organs mature. Or alternatively we can simply take the appropriate genetic samples, and keep him in zero-tau until the new organs are ready to be implanted.” “Of course.” André cleared his throat, not quite looking at his other two crew. “Exactly how much would these different procedures cost?” The surgeon gave a modest shrug. “The cheapest option would just be to give him the artificial tissue and not bother with cloned replacements. AT is the technology which people use in order to boost themselves; the individual units will live longer than him, and they are highly resistant to disease.” “But we’re not going to use that option, are we, Captain?” Madeleine said forcibly. “Because, as you said when Erick saved both your ship and your arse, you would buy him an entire new clone body if that’s what it took. Didn’t you? So how fortunate that you don’t have to clone a new body, and all the expense that entails. Now all you are going to have to pay for is some artificial tissue and a few clones. Because you certainly don’t want Erick walking around in anything less than a perfectly restored and natural condition. Do you, Captain?” André’s answering grin was a simple facial ritual. “Certainly, sir.” The surgeon produced a Jovian Bank credit disk. “I must ask for a deposit of two hundred thousand fuseodollars.” “Two hundred thousand! I thought you were going to rebuild him, not rejuvenate him.” “Sadly, there is a lot of work to be done. Surely your insurance premium will cover it?” “I’ll have to check,” André said heavily. Madeleine laughed. “Will Erick be able to fly after the artificial tissue has been implanted?” André asked. “Oh, yes,” the surgeon said. “I won’t need him back here for the clone implants for several months.” “Good.” “Why? Where are we going?” Madeleine asked suspiciously. André produced his own Jovian Bank disk, and proffered it towards the surgeon. “Anywhere we can get a charter for. Who knows, we might even avoid bankruptcy until we return. I’m sure that will make Erick very happy knowing what his recklessness has reduced me to.” #149; #149; #149; Idria asteroid was on full Strategic Defence alert, and had been for three days. For the first forty-eight hours all the asteroid council knew was that Then a day ago the voidhawk messenger from the Confederation Assembly arrived in the system, and people understood what had happened. With understanding came terror. Every settled asteroid in the Lyll belt was on the same maximum alert status. The Edenist habitats orbiting Yosemite had announced a two-million-kilometre emergence exclusion zone around the gas giant, enforced by armed voidhawks. Such New California navy ships as had escaped the planetary catastrophe were dispersed across several settled asteroids, while the surviving admirals gathered at the Trojan asteroid cluster trailing Yosemite to debate what to do. So far all they’d done was fall back on the oldest military maxim and send out scouts to fill in the yawning information gap. Commander Nicolai Penovich was duty officer in Idria’s SD command centre when the Adamist starships emerged three thousand kilometres away—five medium-sized craft, nowhere near the designated emergence zone. Sensors showed their infrared signature leap upwards within seconds of their appearance. Tactical programs confirmed a massive combat wasp launch. Targets verified as the asteroid’s SD platforms, and supplementary sensor satellites. Nicolai datavised the fire command computer to retaliate. Electron and laser beams stabbed out. The hastily assembled home defence force fleet—basically every ship capable of launching a combat wasp—was vectored onto the intruders. By the time most of them had got under way the attackers had jumped away. Another four starships jumped in, released their combat wasps, and jumped out. The assault was right out of the tactics flek, and there was nothing Nicolai could do about it. His sensor coverage had already degraded by forty per cent, and still more was dropping out as combat wasp submunitions stormed local space with electronic warfare pulses. Nuclear explosions were surrounding the asteroid with a scintillating veil of irradiated particles, almost completely wiping out the satellites’ long-range scanner returns. It was becoming increasingly difficult to direct the platforms’ fire on incoming drones. He didn’t even know how many surviving salvos there were anymore. Two of the defending ships were struck by kinetic missiles, disintegrating into spectacular, short-lived streaks of stellar flame. Nicolai and his small staff recalled the remainder of the fleet, trying to form them into an inner defensive globe. But his communications were as bad as the sensor coverage. At least three didn’t respond. Two SD platforms dropped out of his command network. Victims of combat wasps, or electronic warfare? He didn’t know, and the tactics program couldn’t offer a prediction. The platforms were never really intended to ward off a full-scale assault like this, he thought despairingly. Idria’s real protection came from the system’s naval alliance. A couple of close-orbit detector satellites warned him of four starships emerging barely fifty kilometres from the asteroid. Frigates popped out, spraying combat wasps in all directions. Eight were aimed at Idria’s spaceport, scattering shoals of submunitions as they closed at thirty-five gees. Nicolai didn’t have anything left to stop them. Small explosions erupted right across the two-kilometre grid of metal and composite. Precisely targeted, they struck communications relays and sensor clusters. Every input into the SD command centre went dead. “Oh, shit almighty,” Lieutenant Fleur Mironov yelled. “We’re gonna die.” “No,” Nicolai said. “They’re softening us up for an assault.” He called up internal structural blueprints, studying the horribly few options remaining. “I want whatever combat personnel we have positioned in the axial spindle tubes, they’re to enforce a total blockade. And close down the transit tubes linking the caverns with the spaceport. Now. Whoever’s left out there will just have to take their chances.” “Against the possessed?” Fleur exclaimed. “Why not just fling them out of an airlock?” “Enough, Lieutenant! Now find me some kind of external sensor that’s still functioning. I must know what’s happening outside.” “Sir.” “We have to protect the majority of the population. Yreka and Orland will respond as soon as they see what’s happened. And Orland had two navy frigates assigned to it. We only have to hold out for a couple of hours. The troops can manage that, surely. The possessed aren’t that good.” “If Yreka and Orland haven’t been attacked as well,” Fleur said dubiously. “We only saw about a dozen ships. There were hundreds in the asteroids and low-orbit station docks when the possessed took over New California.” “Jesus, will you stop with the pessimism, already? Now where’s my external sensor?” “Coming up, sir. I got us a couple of thermo dump panel inspection mechanoids on microwave circuits. Guess the possessed didn’t bother targeting those relays.” “Okay, let’s have it.” The quality of the image which came foaming into his brain was dreadful: silver-grey smears drifting entirely at random against an intense black background, crinkled blue-brown rock across the bottom quarter of the picture. Fleur manipulated the mechanoids so that their sensors swung around to focus on the battered spaceport disk at the end of its spindle. The spaceport was venting heavily in a dozen places, girders had been mashed, trailing banners of tattered debris. Eight lifeboats were flying clear of the damaged sections. Nicolai Penovich didn’t like to imagine how many people were crammed inside, nor how they could be rescued. Vivid white explosions shimmered into existence against the bent constellation of Pisces. Someone was still fighting out there. A large starship slid smoothly into view, riding a lance of violet fusion fire. Definitely a navy craft of some kind, it was still in its combat configuration; short-range sensor clusters extended, thermo dump panels retracted. Steamy puffs of coolant gas squirted from small nozzles ringing its midsection. Hexagonal ports were open all around its front hull, too big for combat wasp launch tubes. Scale was hard to judge, but Nicolai estimated it at a good ninety metres in diameter. “I think that’s a marine assault ship,” he said. The main drive shut off, and blue ion thrusters fired, locking it in to position five hundred metres away from the spindle which connected the non-rotating spaceport with the asteroid. “I’ve placed a couple of squads in the spindle,” Fleur said. “They’re not much, some port police and a dozen boosted mercenaries who volunteered.” “Horatio had it easy compared to them,” Nicolai murmured. “But they should be able to hold. The possessed can’t possibly mount a standard beachhead operation. Their bodies screw up electronics, they’d never be able to wear an SII suit, let alone combat armour. They’re going to have to dock and try and fight their way along the transit tubes, that’s going to cost them.” He checked the external situation again, seeking confirmation of his assessment. The big ship was holding steady, with just intermittent orange fireballs spluttering out of the equatorial vernier thruster nozzles to maintain attitude. “Get me access to sensor coverage of the spaceport, and check on our internal communications,” Nicolai ordered. “We may be able to coordinate a running battle from here.” “Aye, sir.” Fleur started to datavise instructions into the command centre’s computer, interfacing their communications circuits with the civil data channels which wove through the spaceport. Shadows began to flicker inside the ship’s open hatches. “What the hell have they got in there?” Nicolai asked. The inspection mechanoids turned up their camera resolution. He saw figures emerging from the ship, hornets darting out of their nest. Dark outlines, hard to see with the mushy interference and low light level. But they were definitely humanoid in shape, riding manoeuvring packs that had enlarged nozzles for higher thrust. “Who are they?” he whispered. “Traitors,” Fleur hissed. “Those NC navy bastards must have switched sides. They never did support independent asteroid settlements. Now they’re helping the possessed!” “They wouldn’t. Nobody would do that.” “Then how do you explain it?” He shook his head helplessly. Outside the spindle, the fast, black hornets were burning their way in through the carbotanium structure. One by one, they flew into the ragged holes. #149; #149; #149; Louise was actually glad to return to the quiet luxury of Balfern House. It had been an extraordinary day, and a wearyingly long one, too. In the morning she’d visited Mr Litchfield, the family’s lawyer in the capital, to arrange for money from the Cricklade account to be made available to her. The transfer had taken hours; neither the lawyer nor the bank was accustomed to young girls insisting on being issued with Jovian Bank credit disks. She stuck to her guns despite all the obstacles; Joshua had told her they were acceptable everywhere in the Confederation. She doubted Norfolk’s pounds were. That part of the day had proved to be simplicity itself compared to finding a way off Norfolk. There were only three civil-registered starships left in orbit, and they were all chartered by the Confederation Navy to act as support ships for the squadron. Louise, Fletcher, and Genevieve had taken their coach out to Bennett Field, Norwich’s main aerodrome, to talk to a spaceplane pilot from the Her original hope of buying passage directly to Tranquillity had gone straight out of the window barely a minute after starting to talk to Furay. The So the captain appeared to give in gracefully and negotiate terms. They were due to fly up tomorrow, where they would wait in the ship until the squadron’s business was complete. More delay. More uncertainty. But she’d actually started to accomplish her goal. Fancy, arranging to fly on a starship, all by herself. Fly away to meet Joshua. And leave everyone else in the stew. I can’t take them all with me, though. I want to, dear Jesus, but I really can’t. Please understand. She tried not to let the guilt show as she led the maids through the house back to her room. They were carrying the parcels and cases Louise had bought after they’d left Bennett Field. Clothes more suitable to travelling on a starship (Gen had a ball choosing them), and other items she thought they might need. She remembered Joshua explaining how difficult and dangerous star travel could be. Not that it bothered him, he was so brave. Thankfully Aunt Celina hadn’t returned yet, even though it was now late afternoon. Explaining the baggage away would have been impossible. After shooing the maids out of her room Louise kicked her shoes off. She wasn’t used to high heels, the snazzy black leather was beginning to feel like some kind of torture implement. Her new jacket followed them onto the floor, and she pushed the balcony doors open. Duke was low in the sky, emitting a lovely golden tint, which in turn made the gardens seem rich with colour. A cooling breeze was just strong enough to sway the branches on the trees. Out on the largest pond, black and white swans performed a detailed waltz around clumps of fluffy tangerine water lilies, while long fountains foamed quietly behind them. It was all so deceitfully tranquil; with the wall shielding the sound of the busy road outside she would never know she was in the heart of the largest city on the planet. Even Cricklade was noisier at times. Thinking about her home made her skin cold. It was something she’d managed to avoid all day. I wonder what Mummy and Daddy are being made to do by their possessors? Evil, vile acts if that awful Quinn Dexter has any say in the matter. Louise shivered, and retreated back into the room. Time for a long soak in the bath, then change for dinner. By the time Aunt Celina rose tomorrow morning, she and Gen would be gone. She took off her new blouse and skirt. When she removed her bra she felt her breasts carefully. Were they more sensitive? Or was she just imagining it? Were they supposed to be sensitive this early in a pregnancy? She wished she’d paid more attention to the family planning lessons at school, rather than giggling with her friends at the pictures of men’s privates. “Looks like you’re getting lonely, Louise; having to do that for yourself.” Louise yelped, grabbing up the blouse and holding it in front of her like a shield. Roberto pushed aside the curtain at the far end of the room where he’d concealed himself and sauntered forward. His grin was arctic. “Get out!” Louise screamed at him. The terrible first heat of embarrassment was turning to cold anger. “ “What you need is a close friend,” Roberto gloated. “Someone who can do it for you. It’s a lot better that way.” Louise took a step back, her body shaking with revulsion. “Get out, now,” she growled at him. “Or what?” His hand swept wide, the gesture taking in the pile of cases which the maids had left. “Going somewhere? What exactly have you been up to today?” “How I spend my time is none of your business. Now go, before I ring for a maid.” Roberto took another step towards her. “Don’t worry, Louise, I won’t say anything to my mother. I don’t rat on my friends. And we are going to be friends, aren’t we? Real good friends.” She took a pace back, glancing around. The bell cord to summon a maid was on the other side of the bed, near him. She’d never make it. “Get away from me.” “I don’t think so.” He started to undo the buttons on his shirt. “See, if I have to leave now I might just tell the police about that so-called farmhand friend of yours.” “What?” she barked in shock. “Yeah. Thought that might adjust your attitude. They make me do history at school, see. I don’t like it, but I do know who Fletcher Christian was. Your friend is using a false name. Now why would he do that, Louise? In a bit of trouble back on Kesteven, was he? Bit of a rebel is he?” “Fletcher is not in any trouble.” “Really? Then why don’t I just go make that call?” “No.” Roberto licked his lips. “Now that’s a whole lot nicer, Louise. We’re cooperating with each other. Aren’t we?” She just clutched the blouse closer to her, mind feverish. “Aren’t we?” he demanded. Louise nodded jerkily. “Okay, that’s better.” He peeled off his shirt. Louise couldn’t help the tears stinging her eyes. No matter what, she told herself, I won’t let him. I’d sooner die; it would be cleaner. Roberto unbuckled his belt, and started to take down his trousers. Louise waited until they were around his knees, then bolted for the bed. “Shit!” Roberto yelled. He made a grab for her. Missed. Nearly toppled over as the trouser fabric tangled around his shins. Louise flung herself on top of the bed and started to scurry over the blankets. She’d left it on the other side. Roberto was cursing behind her, grappling with his trousers. She reached the end of the bed and flopped down, hands reaching underneath. “No you don’t.” Roberto grasped an ankle and started dragging her back. Louise squealed, kicking backwards with her free foot. “Bitch.” He landed on top of her, making her cry out at the pain of such a weight. She clawed desperately at the mattress, pulling both of them to the edge of the bed. Her hands could just reach the carpet. Roberto laughed victoriously at her ineffectual struggling, and shifted around until he was straddling her buttocks. “Going somewhere?” he taunted. Her head and shoulders hung over the edge of the bed, vast waves of hair flooding the sheets. He sat up, panting slightly, and brushed the hair off her back, enjoying the flawless skin which was exposed. Louise strained below him, as if she was still trying to wriggle free. “Stop fighting it,” he told her. His cock was hugely erect. “It’s going to happen, Louise. Come on, you’ll love it when we get started. I’m going to last all night long with you.” His hands pushed below her, reaching for her breasts. Louise’s desperate fingers finally found the cool, smooth shape of carved wood she was searching for under the bed. She grabbed at it, groaning in revulsion as Roberto’s hands squeezed. But the feel of Carmitha’s shotgun sent resolution surging through her veins, inflaming and chilling at the same time. “Let me up,” she begged. “Please, Roberto.” The obscene prowling hands were stilled. “Why?” “I don’t want it like this. Turn me over. Please, it’ll make it easier for you. This hurts.” There was a moment’s silence. “You won’t struggle?” He sounded uncertain. “I won’t. I promise. Just not like this.” “I do like you, Louise. Really.” “I know.” The weight against the small of her back lifted. Louise tensed, gathering every ounce of strength. She pulled the shotgun clear from under the bed and twisted around, swinging it in a wide arc, trying to predict where his head would be. Roberto saw it coming. He managed to bring his arms up in an attempt to ward off the blow, ducking to one side— The shotgun barrel caught him a glancing blow above his left ear, the end of the pump mechanism thumping his guarding hand. Nothing like as devastating as Louise wanted it. But he cried out in pain and shock, clamping his hands over the side of his head. He started to keel over. Louise tugged her legs out from under him and tumbled off the bed, almost losing hold of the shotgun. She could hear Roberto sob behind her. It was a sound which sent a frightening burst of glee into her head. It freed her from all that genteel refinement which Norfolk had instilled, put civilization aside. She climbed to her feet, got a better grip on the shotgun, and brought it crashing down on the top of Roberto’s skull. The anxious knocking on the door was the next thing Louise was conscious of. For some inexplicable reason she’d sunk down onto the floor and started to weep. Her whole body was cold and trembling, yet her skin was prickled with perspiration. The knock came again, more urgent this time. “Lady Louise?” “Fletcher?” she gasped. Her voice was so weak. “Yes, my lady. Are you all right?” “I . . .” A giggle became choked in her throat. “One minute, Fletcher.” She looked around, and gagged. Roberto was sprawled over the bed. Blood from his head wound had produced a huge stain over the sheet. Dear Jesus, I’ve killed him. They’ll hang me. She stared at the body for a long, quiet moment, then got up and wrapped a towel around her nakedness. “Is anyone with you?” she asked Fletcher. “No, my lady. I am alone.” Louise opened the door, and he slipped inside. For some reason the sight of the corpse didn’t seem to shake him. “My lady.” The voice was so soft with sympathy and concern. He opened his arms, and she pressed against him, trying not to cry again. “I had to,” she blurted. “He was going to . . .” Fletcher’s hand stroked her wild hair, smoothing and combing it with every stroke. Within a minute it was a dry, shiny cloak again. And somehow the pain inside was lessened. “How did you know?” she murmured. “I could sense your anguish. A mighty silent shout, it was.” “Oh.” Now there was a strange notion, that the possessed could listen to your thoughts. There’s so much badness inside my head. Fletcher met her troubled gaze. “Did that animal violate you, my lady?” She shook her head. “No.” “He is lucky. Had he done so, I would have dispatched him to the beyond myself. Nor would such a passage be pleasant for him.” “But, Fletcher, he is dead. I did it.” “No, lady, he lives.” “The blood . . .” “A cut to the head always looks far worse than it is. Come now, I will have you shed no more tears for this beast.” “Oh, Lord, what a dreadful mess we’re in. Fletcher, he suspects something about you. I can’t just go to the police and file a rape charge. He’d tell them about you. Besides”—she drew an annoyed breath—“I’m not quite sure which of us Aunt Celina would believe.” “Very well. We shall have to leave now.” “But—” “Can you think of another course to follow?” “No,” she said sadly. “Then you must prepare; pack what you need. I shall go and tell the little one, also.” “What about him?” She indicated Roberto’s unconscious form. “Dress yourself, my lady. I will deal with him.” Louise picked through the boxes and went into the en suite bathroom. Fletcher was already leaning over Roberto. She put on a pair of long dark blue trousers and a white T-shirt. Black sneakers completed the outfit: a combination unlike anything she’d ever worn before—unlike anything Mother had ever When she did finally emerge back into the bedroom, Roberto had been trussed up with strips of blanket. He stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. The gag in his mouth muffled his desperate shouts. She walked over to the bed and looked down at him. Roberto stopped trying to speak. “I’m going to return to this house one day,” she said. “When I do, I’ll have my father and my husband with me. If you’re smart, you won’t be here when we arrive.” Duchess was already rising by the time they arrived at Bennett Field. Every aircraft on Norfolk had been pressed into military service (including the aeroambulance from Bytham), ready to fly the newly formed army out to the rebel-held islands. Over a third of them were parked in long ranks over the aerodrome’s close-mown grass. There were a lot of khaki-uniformed troops milling around outside the hangars. Three guards stood beside the entrance to the administration block, a sergeant and two privates. There hadn’t been any at lunchtime when Louise had met Furay. Genevieve climbed down out of the cab and gave them a sullen look. The young girl was becoming very short-tempered. “Sorry, miss,” the sergeant said. “No civilians permitted in here. The aerodrome is under army control now.” “We’re not civilians, we’re passengers,” Genevieve said indignantly. She glared up at the big man, who couldn’t help a grin. “Sorry, love, but you still can’t come in.” “She’s telling the truth,” Louise said. She fished a copy of their transport contract with the He shrugged and flicked through the pages, not really reading it. “The “I’m not sure . . .” “These two young ladies are the nieces of the Earl of Luffenham,” Fletcher said. “Now surely your superior officer should be made aware of their travel documentation? I’m sure nobody would want the Earl to have to call the general commanding this base.” The sergeant nodded gruffly. “Of course. If you’d like to wait inside while I get this sorted out. My lieutenant is in the mess at the moment. It might take a while.” “You’re very kind,” Louise said. The sergeant managed a flustered smile. They were shown into a small ground-floor office overlooking the field. The privates brought their bags in for them, both smiling generously at Louise. “Have they gone?” she asked after the door was closed. “No, my lady. The sergeant is most discomforted by our presence. One of the privates has been left a few yards down the corridor.” “Damnation!” She went over to the single window. From her position she could see nearly a third of the field. If anything the planes seemed to be packed even tighter than this morning; there were hundreds of them. Squads of militia were marching along the grass roadways, shouted at by sergeant majors. A great many people were involved with loading big cargo planes. Flat-topped trucks trundled past the squads, delivering more matériel. “I think the campaign must be starting,” Louise said. Dear Jesus, they look so young. Just boys, my age. “They’re going to lose, aren’t they? They’re all going to be possessed.” “I expect so, my lady, yes.” “I should have done something.” She wasn’t sure if she was speaking out loud or not. “Should have left Uncle Jules a letter. Warned them. I could have given them that much of my time, enough to write a few simple lines.” “There is no defence, dear lady.” “Joshua will protect us. He’ll believe me.” “I liked Joshua,” Genevieve said. Louise smiled, and ruffed her sister’s hair. “If you had warned your family and the Prince’s court, and they believed you, I fear you would not have been able to buy your passage on the “Not that it’s done us much good, so far,” she said in exasperation. “We should have gone up to the Genevieve gave her an anxious look. “We’ll get up there, Louise. You’ll see.” “Not very easily. I can’t see the lieutenant allowing us on to the field on the strength of that contract, not when all the troops are taking off. At the very least he’ll call Uncle Jules first. Then we’ll really be in trouble.” “Why?” Genevieve asked. Louise squeezed her sister’s hand. “I had a bit of a quarrel with Roberto.” “Yuck! Mr Fatso. I didn’t like him.” “Me neither.” She glanced out of the window again. “Fletcher, can you tell if Furay is out there?” “I will try, Lady Louise.” He came over to stand beside her, putting both hands flat on the windowsill and bowing his head. He shut his eyes. Louise and Genevieve swapped a glance. “If we can’t get away into orbit, we’ll have to go out onto the moors and camp there,” Louise said. “Find somewhere isolated, like Carmitha did.” Genevieve put her arms around her big sister’s waist and hugged. “You’ll get us away, Louise. I know you will. You’re so clever.” “Not really.” She hugged the girl back. “But at least I got us into some decent clothes.” “Yes!” Genevieve smiled down approvingly at her jeans and sweatshirt, even though there was a horrid cartoon rabbit printed on the chest. Fletcher’s eyes flicked open. “He’s here, Lady Louise. Over yonder.” He pointed out of the window in the direction of the central control tower. Louise was fascinated by the wet palmprints he’d left on the sill. “Excellent. That’s a start. Now all we have to do is work out how to get to the spaceplane.” Her hand tightened on the new Jovian Bank credit disk in her trouser pocket. “I’m sure Mr Furay can be persuaded to take us up straightaway.” “There are also several possessed within the aerodrome perimeter.” Fletcher gave a confused frown. “One of them is wrong.” “Wrong?” “Odd.” “What do you mean?” “I’m not quite sure, only that he is odd.” Louise glanced down at Genevieve, whose face had paled at the mention of the possessed. “They won’t catch us, Gen. Promise.” “As do I, little one.” Genevieve nodded uncertainly, wanting to believe. Louise looked from the girl to the soldiers marching about outside, and came to a decision. “Fletcher, can you fake one of the army uniforms?” she asked. “An officer, not too high-ranking. A lieutenant or captain, perhaps?” He smiled. “A prudent notion, my lady.” His grey suit shimmered, darkening to khaki, its surface roughening. “The buttons are wrong,” Genevieve declared. “They should be bigger.” “If you say so, little one.” “That’ll do,” Louise said after a minute, anxious that the sergeant would return before they were done. “Half of these boys have never seen uniforms before. They don’t know if it’s right or not. We’re wasting time.” Genevieve and Fletcher pulled a face together at the reprimand. The girl giggled. Louise opened the window and peered out. There was no one in the immediate vicinity. “Push the cases through first,” she said. They walked over to the nearest hangar as quickly as they could; Louise immediately regretted bringing their bags and cases. She and Fletcher were carrying two apiece, and they were heavy; even Genevieve had a big shoulder bag which she was wilting under. Any attempt to be inconspicuous was doomed from the start. It was about two hundred yards to the hangar. When they got there, the central control tower didn’t look any nearer. And Fletcher just said that Furay was “near there.” The pilot could be well on the other side for all she knew. The hangar was being used as a store depot by the army; long rows of wooden crates were lined up along the sides, arranged so that narrow alleyways branched off at right angles leading right back to the walls. Five forklift trucks were parked at the far end. There were no soldiers in sight. The doors at both ends were wide open, creating a gentle breeze along the main aisle. “See if there’s a farm ranger or something like it parked here,” Louise said. “If not, we’re going to have to dump the cases.” “Why?” Genevieve asked. “They’re too heavy, Gen, and we’re in a hurry. I’ll buy you some more, don’t worry.” “Can you use such a contraption, my lady?” Fletcher asked. “I’ve driven one before.” Up and down Cricklade’s drive. Once. With Daddy shouting instructions in my ear. Louise let the bags fall to the floor and told Genevieve to wait by them. “I will search around outside,” Fletcher said. “My appearance will cause little concern. May I suggest you stay in here.” “Right. I’ll check down there.” She started walking towards the other end of the hangar. The ancient corrugated iron roof panels were creaking softly as they shed the heat of Duke-day. She was about thirty yards from the open sliding doors when she heard Fletcher calling out behind her. He was running down the wide aisle formed by the crates, waving his arms urgently. Genevieve was chasing after him. A jeep drove into the hangar. Two people were sitting in it. The one driving wore a soldier’s uniform. The second, sitting in the back, was dressed all in black. Louise turned to face them. I’ll brazen it out; after all, that’s what I’ve been doing all day. Then she realized the man in black was a priest, she could see the dog collar. She breathed out a sigh of relief. He must be an army padre. The jeep braked to a halt beside her. Louise smiled winningly, the smile which always made Daddy say yes. “I wonder if you could help us, I’m a little bit lost.” “I doubt that, Louise,” Quinn Dexter said. “Not someone as resourceful as you.” Louise started to run, but something cold and oily snaked around her ankles. She crashed down onto the timeworn concrete floor, grazing her hands and wrists. Quinn stepped down out of the jeep. The mockery of a cassock swirled around his feet. “Going somewhere?” She ignored her stinging hands and numbed knee, lifting her head to see him standing above her. “Devil! What have you done to Mummy?” His dog collar turned a shiny scarlet, as though it were made from blood. “Such a fucking great hurry for knowledge. Well don’t you worry, Louise, we’re going to show you exactly what happened to “Do not touch her, sir,” Fletcher called as he came to a halt by the front of the jeep. “The lady Louise is my ward, under my protection.” “Traitor,” Lawrence Dillon yelled. “You are one of the blessed ones. God’s Brother allowed you back into this world to fight the legions of the false Lord. Now you defy the messiah chosen to lead the returned.” Quinn clicked his fingers, and Lawrence fell silent. “I don’t know who you are, friend. But don’t fuck with me or you’ll die to regret it.” “I do not wish to draw swords with any man. So stand aside and we will go our separate ways.” “Arsehole. I’m stronger than you by myself; and there’s two of us.” Fletcher smiled thinly. “Then why do you not take what you desire by your might? Could it be I would struggle? And that would draw the attention of the soldiers. Are you stronger than an entire army?” “Don’t push it,” Quinn warned. “I’m off this shit tip planet today, and nobody’s gonna stop that. Now I know this bitch from before, she’s smart. She’ll have a starship lined up to take her away, right?” Louise glared up at him. “Thought so,” Quinn sneered. “Well, lover, you’re gonna hand your tickets over to me. My need is one fuck of a lot greater than yours.” “Never!” She groaned as Lawrence Dillon grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her upright. Fletcher made a start forwards, but stopped as Quinn pointed at Genevieve, who was cowering behind him. “Dumb move,” Quinn said. “I’ll blow you back to the beyond if I have to. And then it’ll go real bad for your little pal. You know I mean it. I won’t possess her. I’ll keep her for myself. Some nights I’ll hand her over to Lawrence; he knows some real kinks now. I taught him myself.” “Sure did.” Lawrence grinned wildly at Genevieve. “You are inhuman.” Fletcher put an arm instinctively around Genevieve. “Banneth. Now she’s inhuman. She did things to me . . .” Spittle appeared on Quinn’s chin. He giggled, and wiped it away on the back of a trembling hand. “She did things, okay. And now. Now, I’m the one who’s gonna do things right back to her. Things so sick she’s never thought of them. God’s Brother understands that, understands the need in me. I’m gonna let my serpent beast devour her and then spew out the bits. I’ll turn my whole crusade on her if I have to. I’ll use biowar bugs, I’ll use nukes, I’ll use antimatter. I don’t fucking care. I’m gonna crack Earth wide open. And I’m gonna go down there, and I’m gonna take her. And nobody is going to stand in my way.” “Right on!” Lawrence shouted. Quinn was breathing heavily, as if there were insufficient oxygen in the hangar. The cassock had returned to his original priest robe, tiny crackles of energy rippling along the voluminous fabric. Louise quailed before the expression on his face. There wasn’t even any point in struggling. Quinn smiled at her, enraptured; two drops of blood dripped off his vampire fangs, running down his chin. “Sweet Jesus,” Louise made the shape of the cross with her free hand. “But,” Quinn said, calm again, “right now, I’m only interested in you.” “Fletcher!” she wailed. “I warn you, sir, do not touch her.” Quinn waved a dismissive hand. Fletcher doubled up as if a giant had slammed a fist into his stomach. Breath “Nooo!” Louise implored. “Please stop. Stop!” Genevieve had stumbled to her knees, white face staring brokenly. Lawrence began to fumble at the collar of Louise’s T-shirt, snickering eagerly. Then his hand froze, and he drew a breath in surprise. Quinn was frowning, squinting along the length of the hangar. Louise gulped, not understanding anything. But Fletcher had stopped his agonized contortions. A liquid dust, sparkling with rainbow colours, was slithering over him, and his clothes were slowly mending. He rolled around groggily and swayed up on his knees. “What the fuck you doing here, man?” Quinn Dexter shouted. Louise scanned the far end of the hangar. Duchess was shining directly through the wide-open doors, producing a brilliant scarlet rectangle set amid the funereal metal cavern. A blank, black human figure was silhouetted in the exact centre. It raised its arm, pointing. A bullet bolt of white fire streaked down the hangar, almost too fast for the eye to follow. Louise saw huge shadows careering around at dizzying speeds. The bolt hit the iron roofing girder directly above Quinn Dexter. He flinched, ducking blindly as flakes of hot, tortured metal rained down. The whole roof creaked as the loading was redistributed. “God’s Brother, what the shit are you playing at?” Quinn raged. A bass laugh rumbled down the hangar, distorted by the peculiar acoustics of the stacked crates. Louise had time to flash one imploring look at Fletcher, who could only shrug in confusion before the strange figure spread both arms wide. “Quinn?” Lawrence appealed. “Quinn, what the hell is happening?” His answer was a rosette corona of white fire which burst out of the silhouette. The crates around the figure ignited in the eerily powerful topaz flame which the energistic ability always fanned. A dry wind rose from nowhere, sending Quinn’s robe thrashing. “Shit,” Quinn gasped. The flames were racing towards them, gorging on the crates, swirling around and around the aisle, faster and faster, the eye of a cyclonic inferno. Wood screeched and snapped as it was cremated, spilling the contents of the crates for the flames to consume, intensifying their strength. Louise squealed as the awesome heat pummelled against her. Lawrence had let go of her, his arms waving frantically. In front of him the air was visibly flexing like a warped lens, a shield against the baneful radiance. Fletcher scooped up Genevieve. Bending low, he scuttled towards the open door beyond the jeep. “Move, lady,” he shouted. Louise barely heard him above the roaring. Dull explosions sounded somewhere behind the leading edge of flame. Corrugated iron panels were taking flight, busting their rusty rivets to shoot off the roof, soaring high into the two-tone sky. She staggered after Fletcher. Only when she was actually outside did she look around, just for a second. The flames formed a furious rippling tunnel the entire length of the hangar. Dense black smoke churned out of the end. But the centre was perfectly clear. Quinn stood before the conflagration, facing it down, arms raised to discharge his power, deflecting the devastating barrage of heat. Far ahead of him, the blank figure had adopted a similar pose. “Who are you?” Quinn screamed into the holocaust. “Tell me!” A large wall of crates burst apart, sending a storm of sparks charging into the fray. Several roof girders buckled, sagging down, corrugated panels scythed into the flames. The tunnel began to twist, losing its stability. “Tell me. Show your face.” Sirens were sounding, the shouts of men. And more of the ruined hangar collapsed. The rampaging flames obscured the impudent figure. Quinn let out a wordless howl of outrage. And then even he had to retreat as metal melted and concrete turned to sluggish lava. He and Lawrence together lurched out onto the withered grass. Men and fire engines swarmed around in chaos. It was easy to blend in and slink away. Lawrence said nothing as they made their way along a lane of parked aircraft, the darkness of Quinn’s mind humbling him into silence. Louise and Fletcher saw the first vehicles bumping over the grass, farm rangers painted military green and a couple of jeeps. A squad of militia were running around the rank of planes, urged on by their officer. Sirens were starting up in the distance. Behind her, the flames were crawling ever higher into the sky. “Fletcher, your uniform,” she hissed. He glanced down. His trousers had become purple. A blink, and they were khaki again; his jacket lost its rumpled appearance. His bearing was impressively imperious. Genevieve moaned in his arms, as if she were fighting a nightmare. “Is she all right?” Louise asked. “Yes, my lady. Simply a faint.” “And you?” He nodded gingerly. “I survive.” “I thought . . . It was awful. That devil brute, Quinn.” “Never worry for me, lady. Our Lord has decreed some purpose for me, it will be revealed in time. I would not be here otherwise.” The first vehicles were nearly upon them. Louise could see more soldiers on their way. It was going to be a complete madhouse; nobody would know what was going on, what was to be done. “This could be our chance,” she said. “We must be bold.” She started waving at one of the farm rangers. “That’s only a corporal driving. You outrank him.” “As always, lady, your ingenuity is matched only by your strength of spirit. What cruel fate that our true lives are separated by such a gulf of time.” She gave him a half-embarrassed, half-delighted smile. Then the farm ranger was pulling to a halt in front of them. “You there,” Fletcher snapped at the startled man. “Help me get this child away. She has been overcome by the fire.” “Yes, sir.” The corporal rushed out of the driving seat to help Fletcher ease Genevieve onto the backseat. “Our spaceplane is over by the tower,” Louise said, fixing Fletcher with an emphatic stare. “It will have the medicine my sister requires. Our pilot is skilled in such matters.” “Yes, madame,” Fletcher said. “The tower,” he instructed the corporal. The bewildered man looked from Louise to Fletcher, and decided not to question orders from an officer, no matter how bizarre the circumstances. Louise hopped in the back and cradled Genevieve’s head as they drove away from the disintegrating hangar. The corporal took ten minutes to find the Genevieve had recovered by the time they arrived, though she was very subdued, pressing into Louise’s side the whole time. Fletcher helped her down out of the farm ranger, and she glanced mournfully over to where the stain of black smoke was spreading over the crimson horizon. One hand gripped the pendant which Carmitha had given her, knuckles white. “It’s over, now, all over,” Louise said. “I promise, Gen.” She ran her thumb over the Jovian Bank credit disk in her pocket as if it were a talisman as potent as Carmitha’s charm. Thank heavens she’d kept hold of that. Genevieve nodded silently. “Thank you for your assistance, Corporal,” Fletcher said. “Now I think you had better return to your commanding officer and see if you can help with the fire.” “Sir.” He was dying to ask what was going on. Discipline defeated curiosity, and he flicked the throttle, driving off down the broad strip of grass. Louise blew out a huge sigh of relief. Furay waited for them at the bottom of the airstairs. A half-knowing smile in place; interested rather than apprehensive. Louise looked straight at him, grinning in return—at their arrival, the state they were in. It was a relief that for once she didn’t have to concoct some ludicrous story on the spot. Furay was too smart for that. Bluntness and a degree of honesty was all she needed here. She held up her Jovian Bank disk. “My boarding pass.” The pilot cocked an eyebrow towards the smoke. “Anyone you know?” “Yes. Just pray you never get to know them, too.” “I see.” He took in Fletcher’s uniform. When they’d met at lunchtime Fletcher had been in a simple suit. “I see you’ve made lieutenant in under five hours.” “I was once more than this, sir.” “Right.” It wasn’t quite the response Furay expected. “Please,” Louise said. “My sister needs to sit down. She’s been through a lot.” Furay thought the little girl looked about dead on her feet. “Of course,” he said sympathetically. “Come on. We’ve got some medical nanonics inside.” Louise followed him up the airstairs. “Do you think you could possibly lift off now?” He eyed the ferocious blaze again. “Somehow, I just knew you were going to ask that.” Marine Private Shaukat Daha had been standing guard outside the navy spaceplane for six hours when the hangar caught fire on the other side of Bennett Field. The major in charge of his squad had dispatched half a dozen marines to assist, but the rest were told to stand firm. “It may just be a diversion,” the major datavised. So Shaukat could only watch the extraordinarily vigorous flames through enhanced retinas on full resolution. The fire engines which raced across the aerodrome were quite something, though, huge red vehicles with crews in silvery suits. Naturally this crazy planet didn’t have extinguisher mechanoids. Actual people had to deploy the hoses. It was fascinating. His peripheral senses monitor program alerted him to the two men approaching the spaceplane. Shaukat shifted his retinal focus. It was a couple of the locals, a Christian padre and an army lieutenant. Shaukat knew that technically he was supposed to take orders from Norfolk officers, but this lieutenant was ridiculously young, still a teenager. There were limits. Shaukat datavised his armour suit communications block to activate the external speaker. “Gentlemen,” he said courteously as they came up to him. “I’m afraid the spaceplane is a restricted zone. I’ll have to see some identification and authorization before you come any closer.” “Of course,” Quinn Dexter said. “But tell me, is this the frigate “It is, yes, sir.” “Bless you, my son.” Annoyed at the honorific, he tried to datavise a moderately sarcastic response into the communications block. His neural nanonics had shut down completely. The armour suit suddenly became oppressively constrictive, as if the integral valency generators had activated, stiffening the fabric. He reached up to tear the shell helmet off, but his arms wouldn’t respond. A tremendous pain detonated inside his chest. Heart attack! he thought in astonishment. Allah be merciful, this cannot be, I’m only twenty-five. Despite his disbelief the convulsion strengthened, jamming every muscle rock solid. He could neither move nor breathe. The padre was looking at him with a vaguely interested expression. Coldness bit into his flesh, fangs of ice piercing every pore. His guttural cry of anguish was stifled by the armour suit tightening like a noose around his throat. Quinn watched the marine tremble slightly as he earthed the man’s body energy, snuffing out the chemical engines of life from every cell. After a minute he walked up to the dead statue and flicked it casually with a finger. There was a faint crystalline “Neat,” Lawrence said in admiration. “It was quiet,” Quinn said with modest pride. He started up the spaceplane’s airstairs. Lawrence examined the armour suit closely. Tiny beads of pale hoarfrost were already forming over the dark leathery fabric. He whistled appreciatively and bounded up the airstairs after Quinn. William Elphinstone rose up out of the diabolical cage of darkness at the center of his own brain into a riot of heat, light, sound, and almost intolerable sensation. His gasp of anguish at the traumatic rebirth was deafening to his sensitive ears. Air seemed to rasp over his skin, every molecule a saw tooth. So long! So long without a single sense. Held captive inside himself. His possessor had gone now. A departure which had freed his body. William whimpered in relief and fear. There were fragments of memory left behind from the time he’d been reduced to a puppet. Of a seething hatred. Of a demonic fire let loose. Of satisfaction at confounding the enemy. Of Louise Kavanagh. Louise? William understood so very little. He was propped up against a chain-link fence, his legs folded awkwardly below him. In front of him were hundreds of planes lined up across a broad aerodrome. It wasn’t a place he’d ever seen before. The sound of sirens rose and fell noisily. When he looked around he saw a hangar which had been gutted by fire. Flames and smoke were still rising out of the blackened ruins. Silver-suited firemen were surrounding the building, spraying it with foam from their hoses. An awful lot of militia troops were milling around the area. “Here,” William cried to his comrades. “I’m over here.” But his voice was a feeble croak. A Confederation Navy spaceplane flew low over the field, wobbling slightly as if it wasn’t completely under control. He blinked at it in confusion. There was another memory associated with the craft. Strong yet elusive: a dead boy hanging upside down from a tree. “And what do you think you’re doing here?” The voice came from one of the two patrolling soldiers who were standing three yards away. One of them was pointing his rifle at William. The second was holding back a pair of growling Alsatians. “I . . . I was captured,” William Elphinstone said. “Captured by the rebels. But they’re not rebels. Please, you must listen. They’re devils.” Both soldiers exchanged a glance. The one with the rifle slung it over his shoulder and raised a compact communications block. “You must listen,” William said desperately. “I was taken over. Possessed. I’m a serving officer from the Stoke County militia. I order you to listen.” “Really, sir? Lost your uniform, did you?” William looked at what he was wearing. It He let out a little moan of dismay. “I’m telling you the truth. As God is my witness.” Their blank, impersonal faces told him how useless it all was. William Elphinstone remained slumped against the fence until the MPs came and took him off to Bennett Field’s tiny police station. The detectives who arrived from Norwich’s Special Branch division to interrogate him didn’t believe his story either. Not until it was far too late. #149; #149; #149; The Nyiru asteroid orbited ninety thousand kilometres above Narok, one of the earliest Kenya-ethnic colony worlds. After it was knocked into position two centuries ago the construction company had sliced out a five-hundred-metre-diameter ledge for visiting bitek starships. Eager for the commerce they would bring, the asteroid council equipped the ledge with a comprehensive infrastructure; even a small chemical plant to provide the nutrient fluid the starships digested. In all that time he had seen Dr Alkad Mzu precisely twice. She kept to herself in her cabin for most of the trip. Despite analgesic blocks and the medical nanonic packages wrapped around her legs and arms, her injuries were causing some discomfort. Most curious of all she refused to let Haltam program the leg packages to repair an old knee injury. Neither of them had been in the mood to give ground. A few tersely formal words were exchanged; she apologised for his injuries and the vigour of the opposition, he filled her in on the flight parameters. And that was all. After they arrived at Nyiru she paid the agreed sum without any quibble, added a five per cent bonus, and departed. Cherri Barnes did ask where she was headed, but the slight woman replied with one of her dead-eye smiles and said it was best nobody knew. She vanished from their lives as much a mystery as when she entered it so dramatically. Meyer spent thirty-six hours in the asteroid’s hospital undergoing cranial deep-invasion procedures to repair the damage around his neurone symbionts. Another two days of recuperation and extensive checks saw him cleared to leave. Cherri Barnes kissed him when he walked back onto the He winked. “Thanks. I was worried there for a while.” “ I was frightened, I know. But it’s all over now. And by the way, I think you behaved commendably while I was out of it. I’m proud of you. Thank you. I do not want to have to do that again, though. You won’t have to. I think we’re finally through with trying to prove ourselves. Yes! He glanced inquiringly around at his three crew. “Anybody got any idea what happened to our weirdo passenger?” “ ’Fraid not,” Aziz said. “I asked around the port, and all I could find out was that she’s hired herself a charter agent. After that—not a byte.” Meyer eased himself down into his command couch. A small headache was still pulsing away behind his eyes. He was beginning to wonder if it was going to be permanent. The doctor had said most probably not. “No bad thing. I think Mzu was right when she said we’d be better off not knowing about her.” “Fine in theory,” Cherri said irritably. “Unfortunately all those agency people saw it was us who lifted her from Tranquillity. If she’s right about how dangerous she is, then we’re in some sticky shit right now. They’re going to want to ask us questions.” “I know,” Meyer said. “God, targeted by the ESA at my age.” “We could just go straight to them,” Haltam said. “Because, let’s be real here, they’re going to catch us if they want to. If we go to them, it ought to show we aren’t at the heart of whatever it is she’s involved in.” Cherri snorted in disgust. “Yeah, but running to the King’s secret police . . . It ain’t right. I’ve heard the stories, we all have.” “Too right,” Haltam said. “They make bad enemies.” “What do you think, Meyer?” Aziz asked. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. His nutrient levels had been balanced perfectly by the hospital while he was in recuperation therapy, but he still felt shockingly tired. Oh, for someone else to lift the burden from him, which of course was the answer, or at least a passable fudge. Good idea, “There is somebody who might be able to help us,” Meyer told them. “If she’s still alive. I haven’t seen her for nearly twenty years, and she was quite old then.” Cherri gave him a suspicious look. “Her?” Meyer grinned. “Yeah. Her. A lady called Athene, she’s an Edenist.” “They’re worse than the bloody ESA,” Haltam protested. “Stop being so prejudiced. They have one quality above all else, they’re honest. Which is a damn sight more than you can say for the ESA. Besides, Edenism is one culture the ESA can never subvert.” “Are you sure she’ll help?” Cherri asked. “No promises. All I can tell you is if she can, she will.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Does anyone have an alternative?” They didn’t. “Okay, Cherri, file a departure notice with the port, please. We’ve been here quite long enough.” “Aye, sir. And, you, let’s have a swallow sequence for the Sol system. Of course, Who knows? But it would be nice to see how it developed. Yes. As you say, it has been a long time. The first swallow manoeuvre took them twelve light-years from Narok’s star. The second added another fifteen light-years. Confident the blackhawk had recovered from its ordeal, Meyer told it to go ahead with the third swallow. Empty space twisted apart under the immense distortion which the patterning cells exerted. Meyer! Something is wrong! The alarmed mental shout struck like a physical blow. What do you mean? The terminus is retreating, I cannot match the distortion pattern to its coordinate. Linked with the blackhawk’s mentality he could actually feel the pseudofabric changing, twisting and flexing around the hull as if it were a tunnel of agitated smoke. What’s happening?he asked, equally panicked. I don’t understand. There is another force acting on the wormhole. It is interfering with my own distortion field. Override it. Come on, get us out of here.he felt a burst of power surge through the blackhawk’s cells, amplifying the distortion field. It simply made the interference worse. It doesn’t work. I cannot support this energy output. Keep calm,meyer implored. It might just be a temporary episode.in his own mind he could feel the energy drain reach exorbitant levels. There was barely ninety seconds reserve left at this expenditure rate. The flight computer datavised that a recorded message was coming on line. Meyer and the crew could only stare at the offending console in amazement as Dr Mzu’s image invaded their neural nanonics. There was no background, she simply stood in the middle of a grey universe. “Hello, Captain Meyer,” she said. “If everything has gone according to plan you should be accessing this recording a few seconds before you die. This is just a slightly melodramatic gesture on my part to explain the how and why of your situation. The how is simple enough, you are now experiencing distortion feedback resonance. It’s a spin-off discovery from my work thirty years ago. I left a little gadget in the life-support section which has set up an oscillation within the “As to the why; I specifically chose you to extract me from Tranquillity because I always knew The datavise ended. Cherri Barnes looked over to Meyer, strangely placid. “Is she right? Was it you?” All he could do was give her a broken smile. “Yes.” I’m sorry, my friend. I love you. Three seconds later, the energy stored in the |
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