"The Naked God - Faith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F.)Chapter 05The news of Trafalgar was whispered through the beyond until it reached Monterey, whereupon it sparked jubilation in some quarters. “We beat the bastards,” Al whooped. He and Jez were fooling around in the Hilton’s swimming pool when Patricia rushed in with the news. “Sure did, boss,” Patricia said. “There was thousands of the Navy ship crews joined the beyond.” She was smiling brightly. Al couldn’t remember seeing her do that before. Jezzibella flung herself at Al’s back, wrapping her arms round his neck and her legs round his hips. “Told you Kingsley would make it!” she laughed. She was in her carefree adolescent persona, clad in a gold micro-bikini. “Okay, yeah.” She splashed him. “Told you so.” He tipped her under the water. She shot up again laughing gleefully, a mermaid Venus. “What about the asteroid?” Al asked. “Did we get the First Admiral?” “Don’t think so,” Patricia said. “Seems like the antimatter went off outside. The asteroid is still intact, but it’s completely screwed.” Al cocked his head to one side, listening to the multitude of voices murmuring at him, each one suffused with a plea. Rummaging through the nonsense which made up most of it took a while, but eventually he built up a picture of the disaster. “So what happened?” Jezzibella asked. “Kingsley didn’t get inside. Guess the security nazis were on to him. But he came through all right, Jee-ze did he ever. Wiped out a whole spaceport full of their warships, and a shitload of hardware got busted up with it.” Jezzibella circled round in front of him, and embraced him passionately. “That’s good. Smart propaganda.” “How do you figure that?” “Blew up all their machines, but didn’t kill too many people. Looks like you’re the good guy.” “Yeah.” He rubbed his nose against hers, hands moving round to cup her ass. “Guess I am.” Jezzibella shot Patricia a sly look. “Has anyone broken the good news to Kiera, yet?” “No. I don’t think so.” Patricia was smiling again. “You know, I think I’ll go tell her.” “She won’t let you in her little ghetto,” Al said. “Just invite her to the celebrations.” “We’re having a celebration?” Jezzibella asked. “Hey, girl, if this ain’t worth one, I don’t know what the fuck is. Give Leroy a call, tell him to break out the good booze in the ballroom. Tonight, we are gonna party!” Kiera stood in front of the lounge’s window, staring down at the hellhawks on their docking pedestals. The yammering, pitiful voices of the beyond were intent on explaining the magnitude of the Trafalgar disaster to her. The Organization’s triumph infuriated her. Capone was turning out to be a lot harder to crack than she’d envisioned at the start of her little rebellion. It wasn’t just the mystique of his name, or his cleverly insidious hold on the Organization’s power structure. Those two facets she could have worn down eventually. He was getting far more than his fair share of luck. For a while the elimination of the antimatter station had tilted events in her favour. With the cancellation of the seeding flights, the fleet had been getting edgy again. Now this. And Capone was well aware of her less-than-loyal actions, even though nothing was out in the open. Yet. She couldn’t see it from this window, but a third of the way round the docking ledge, that little nerd Emmet Mordden was trying to rebuild one of the nutrient fluid refineries that she’d disabled. If he succeeded, then she was going to lose, and lose badly. One voice, pathetically eager to please, told her that at least one squadron of voidhawks had perished in the awesome explosion. “Fuck it!” Kiera stormed. She refused to acknowledge any more of the insidious incorporeal babble. “I didn’t know he was cooking this up.” Her two senior co-conspirators, Luigi Balsamo and Hudson Proctor, gave each other a look. They knew how dangerous life became when she was in this kind of mood. “Me neither,” Luigi said. He was sitting on one of the long settees, drinking some excellent coffee and watching her carefully. “Al used a quantity of antimatter for a secret project a while back. I never guessed it was for anything like this. Gotta give him credit, this is going to skyrocket his credibility among the crews.” “That barbarian wouldn’t have the intelligence to plan this out by himself,” she snapped. “I bet I know who put the idea in his head. Little whore!” “Smart for a whore,” Hudson Proctor said. “Too smart,” Kiera said. “For her own good. I shall enjoy telling her that some day soon.” “It’s going to make life difficult for us though,” Luigi said. “We’ve been getting through to a lot of people recently. There was plenty of support for all of us heading down to the planet.” “There still is,” Kiera said. “How long is this triumph going to last for him? A week? Two? Ultimately, it changes nothing. He has nothing else to offer. I’ll take the Organization with me to New California, and Capone and his whore can freeze their asses off up here until the remainder of the Confederation Navy comes knocking. See how he likes that.” “We’ll keep plugging away,” Luigi promised. “I might be able to turn this to our favour,” Kiera said thoughtfully. “If the crews can be made to see that it’s mainly a propaganda stroke, one that’s got the remaining ninety-nine per cent of the Confederation Navy badly pissed off with us.” “And are likely to come and settle the score,” Hudson finished excitedly. “Exactly. And there’s only one place we’ll be truly safe from that retaliation.” A bleep escaped from an AV pillar on the glass table in front of the settee. Kiera walked over to it in annoyance and keyed an acknowledgement. It was Patricia Mangano, calling to tell them, if they hadn’t already heard, the fabulous news about Trafalgar. And they were all invited to the victory party Al was throwing that evening. “We’ll be there,” Kiera replied sweetly, and switched off. “We’re going?” a startled Hudson Proctor asked. “Oh yes,” Kiera said. Her smile upgraded to pure malice. “This is the perfect alibi.” How long has that been going on for?he asked pran soo in singular engagement mode. Two days now. Anyone know what they’re doing? No. But it’s nothing to do with Kiera. Really? The only systems on the ledge are connected with voidhawk and blackhawk maintenance and service. Gaining the ability to provide us with nutrients is an obvious move for Capone,pran soo said. It would appear our options are finally starting to open up. Not for me,rocio said. Capone only wants us to compliment the Organization fleet. No doubt he will offer better terms than Kiera’s ever done, but we will still be drawn into the conflict. My goal remains achieving complete autonomy for all of us. There are now fifteen of us who will provide whatever covert assistance we can. If the Almaden equipment can be made to function, we believe most of the others will join us. With a few noticeable exceptions. Ah yes, where is Etchells? I don’t know. He still hasn’t returned. We can’t have gotten that lucky. Did you check with Monterey’s net to see if the electronics we require are in stock? Yes. Everything is there. But I don’t understand how we can get them out. We’ll have to ask the Organization direct. Are you going to negotiate with the Organization? The fleet still needs us to patrol local space around the planet; it is not a combat duty. No. Capone won’t take kindly to my deal with Almaden; we’ll be depriving him of their industrial capability. I believe I can obtain the electronics without the assistance of outside groups. Rocio used the bitek processors in Very good,pran soo said. Now what? Simple. Just walk in and collect them. Jed studied the route Rocio had devised, trying to spot any flaws. So far, he’d found the depressing number of zero. The hellhawk’s possessor was using the big screen in the lounge to display it, though it would also be loaded into the spacesuit’s processor. Jed could call it up on the visor’s graphics overlay so that this time he wouldn’t be reliant on Rocio calling out a stream of directions. He would have to walk about a kilometre along the ledge to reach the designated airlock. No complaints about that, despite having to wear a ballcrusher again. The possessed couldn’t use spacesuits, so as long as he was outside there wouldn’t be any of the buggers near him. It was inside when his troubles would begin. Again! “There is a large celebration party due to begin in another fifty minutes,” Rocio said, his face taking up a small square on the top right corner of the screen. “That is when you should perform this mission. Most of the possessed will be there, it will minimize the chance of discovery.” “Fine,” Jed mumbled. It was hard to concentrate: as well as sitting next to Beth on the couch, he had Gerald pacing up and down behind him, muttering gibberish to himself. “Half of the components have been delivered to the maintenance shop already,” Rocio said. “That’s the beauty of a heavily automated system like Monterey. The freight mechanoids don’t start asking questions when there’s no one there in the shop to receive them. They just dump them and go back for the next batch.” “Yeah, we know,” Beth said. “You’re a bloody genius.” “Not everyone could pull this off so stylishly.” Jed and Beth shared a look; her hand went across his thigh and squeezed. “Fifty minutes,” she murmured. Gerald walked round the settee and up to the big screen. He held a hand out and traced green dotted route from “I can’t, I’m sorry,” Rocio said. “There’s no general net access to the section of the asteroid where Kiera has barricaded herself in.” “Barricaded?” Gerald’s face flashed with alarm. “Is she all right? Is Capone shooting at her?” “No no. Nothing like that. It’s all politics. There’s a big tussle going on for control of the Organization right now. Kiera’s making sure she’s safe from any kind of digital prying, that’s all.” “Okay. All right.” Gerald nodded slowly. He gripped his hands together, kneading them until his knuckles cracked. Jed and Beth waited anxiously. This kind of behaviour usually preceded an announcement. “I’ll go with Jed,” Gerald said. “He’ll need help.” Rocio gave a deep chuckle. “No way. Sorry, Gerald, but if I let you out, we’ll never see you again. And that just won’t do, now will it?” “I’ll help him, really I will. I won’t cause any trouble.” Beth hunched down small in the couch, not meeting anyone’s eye. The pitiful way Gerald kept beseeching them was acutely embarrassing. And physically he was in a bad way, with sweaty skin and dark baggy skin accumulating under his eyes. “You don’t understand,” Gerald backed away from the screen. “This is my last chance. I’ve heard what you’re saying. You’re not coming back. Marie is here! I have to go to her. She’s only a baby. My little baby. I have to help, have to.” His whole body was shaking, as if he was about to cry. “I will help you, Gerald,” Rocio said. “Truly I will. But not now. This is critical to us. Jed has to get those components. Just be patient.” “Patient?” It came out as a strangled gasp. Gerald turned round, his hands ready to claw at the air. “No! No more.” He drew a laser pistol from his pocket. “Christ,” Jed groaned. His hands went automatically to pat at his jacket. Pointless, he knew it was his pistol all right. Beth was struggling to her feet, hampered by her arms being caught up with Jed’s panicked movements. “Gerald, mate, don’t,” she cried. “She’s asking, I’m telling you,” Rocio said sternly. “Take me to Marie! I’m not kidding.” Gerald aimed the laser at the two entangled youngsters, walking fast towards the couch until the muzzle lens was centimetres from Jed’s forehead. “Don’t use your energistic power on me. It won’t work.” His free hand tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt, revealing several power cells and a processor block taped to his stomach. They were connected together by various wires. The block’s small screen had an emerald spiral cone that turned slowly. “If this glitches, we all go up. I know how to bypass the cells’ safety locks. I learned that a long time ago. When I was on Earth. Before all this happened. This life I brought them all to. It was supposed to be good. But it isn’t. It isn’t! I want my baby back. I want to make things right again. You’re going to help me. All of you.” Jed looked directly at Gerald, seeing the way he kept blinking as if in pain. Very slowly, he started to push Beth away from him. “Go on,” he urged when she started to protest. “Gerald isn’t going to shoot you, are you Gerald? I’m your hostage.” The hand holding the laser pistol wobbled alarmingly. But not by enough for Jed to dodge free. Not that he would, he decided; the power cells saw to that. “I’ll kill you,” Gerald hissed. “Sure you will. But not Beth.” Jed kept on pushing at her, until she started to stand. “I want Marie.” “We’ll give you Marie, if you let Beth go.” “Jed!” Beth protested. “Go on, doll, walk out now.” “Not bloody likely. Gerald, put that bloody gun down. Switch off the block.” Gerald pressed the pistol against Jed’s skin. “Now! You’ll have to help. I know you’re frightened of the beyond. See, I know what I’m doing.” “Gerald, mate, with all respect, you haven’t got a fucking clue w—” “Shut up!” He started panting, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the compartment. “Captain, are you hurting my head? I warned you not to use your power on me.” “I’m not, Gerald,” Rocio said hurriedly. “Check the block: there’s no glitch, is there?” “Oh Jesus, Gerald!” Beth wanted to sit down again; the strength was flowing out of her legs. “There’s enough power in the cells to blow a hole in the capsule hull if they detonate.” “I’m sure there is, Gerald,” Rocio said. “You’ve been very clever. You outsmarted me. I’m not going to fight you.” “You think if I go in there that they’ll catch me, don’t you?” “It’s a pretty good probability, yes.” “But you’re flying away after this is all over, aren’t you? So it doesn’t matter if they catch me, does it?” “Not if we get the components.” “There you go then.” Gerald gave a semi-hysterical giggle. “I’ll help Jed load up the components, and then I’ll go and look for her. It’s easy. You should have thought of it first.” “Rocio?” Beth said desperately. She looked imploringly at the little portion of the screen containing his face. Rocio considered his options. It was unlikely he could negotiate with the madman. And stalling was useless. Time was the critical factor. He only had another four hours at the most before he finished ingesting his nutrient fluid; he’d been feeding slowly as it was. This opportunity would never be repeated. “All right, Gerald, you win; you leave with Jed,” Rocio said. “But remember, I will not let you back on board, under any circumstances. Do you understand that, Gerald? You are absolutely on your own.” “Yes.” It was as if the laser pistol’s weight had abruptly increased twentyfold; Gerald’s arm drooped to hang at his side. “But you’ll let me go? To Marie?” his voice became an incredulous squeak. “Really?” Beth said nothing while Jed and Gerald suited up. She helped them with their helmet seals, and checked the backpack systems. Their suits contracted around them; Gerald’s outlined the power cells around his torso. She’d had a couple of opportunities to snatch the laser pistol from him while he was struggling into the bulky fabric sack. It was the thought of what he might do which had restrained her. This wasn’t the bewildered, hurt eccentric she’d been looking out for since Koblat. Gerald’s illness had elevated itself to a level that was potentially lethal. She honestly thought he would blow himself up if anyone got in his way now. Just before Jed closed his visor she kissed him. “Come back,” she whispered. He gave an anxious, brave smile. The airlock closed and started cycling. “Rocio!” she yelled at the nearest AV lens. “What the hell are you doing? They’ll be caught for sure. Oh Jeeze, you should have stopped him!” “Name an alternative. Gerald might be dangerously unbalanced, but that trick with the power cells was clever.” “How come you never saw him putting them together? I mean, why aren’t you watching us?” “You want me to watch everything you do?” Beth blushed. “No, but I thought at least you’d keep an eye on us, make sure we’re not messing with you.” “You and Jed can’t mess with me. I admit I made a mistake with Gerald. A bad one. However, if Jed does manage to obtain the components, it won’t matter.” “It will to Gerald! They’ll catch him. You know they will. He won’t be able to take that again, not what they’ll do to him.” “Yes. I know that. There is nothing I can do. Nor can you. Accept it. Learn how to deal with it. This won’t be the last time you experience tragedy in your life. We all do. I’m sorry. But at least with Gerald out of the way we can get back on track. I am grateful to you for your efforts, and your physical assistance. And I will turn you over to the Edenists. You have my word, for what it’s worth. I can give you nothing else, after all.” Beth made her way into the bridge. Sensor and camera images filled most of the console screens. She didn’t touch any of the controls, just sat in one of the big acceleration chairs and tried to scope as much as she could all at once. One screen was centred on a pair of spacesuited figures waddling across the smooth rock of the docking ledge. Others were focused on various airlock doors, windows, and walls of machinery. A group of five were relaying pictures from inside the asteroid: a couple of deserted corridors, the maintenance shop with Rocio’s precious stack of pilfered components, and two views of the Hilton lobby where Capone’s guests were arriving for the party. One girl, barely older than Beth, swept in through the lobby, escorted by two handsome young men. Most people turned to look, nudging each other. The girl’s exquisite face made Beth scowl. “That’s her, isn’t it? That’s Kiera?” “Yes,” Rocio said. “The man on her right is Hudson Proctor, I don’t know who the other is. Some poor stud she’s wearing out in bed. The bitch is a complete whore.” “Well don’t tell Gerald, for Christ’s sake.” “I wasn’t planning on it. Mind you, most of the possessed go sex-mad to begin with. Kiera’s behaviour is nothing exceptional.” Beth shuddered. “How much farther has Jed got to go?” “He’s only just started. Look, don’t worry, he’s got a clear route, the components are waiting. He’ll be in and out in less than ten minutes.” “If Gerald doesn’t foul it up.” Bernhard Allsop didn’t mind missing the big party. He didn’t get on with too many of Al’s bigshots. They all sneered and laughed at him behind his back. The possessed ones, that is; the non-possessed treated him with respect, the kind of respect you gave a pissed rattler. It didn’t bother him none. Here he was, at the centre of things. And Al trusted him. He hadn’t been demoted or sent down to the planet like a lot of lieutenants who didn’t measure up. Al’s trust meant a hell of a lot more than everyone else’s sniggering. So Bernhard didn’t complain when he drew this duty. He wasn’t afraid of hard work to get ahead. No sir. And this was one of Al’s top projects. Emmet Mordden himself had said so. Second only to the hit against Trafalgar. That was why work wasn’t stopping even during the party. Al wanted a whole bunch of machinery fixing. It was stuff connected with the hellhawks. Bernhard wasn’t so hot on the technical details. He’d tuned and overhauled auto engines when he was back home in Tennessee, but anything more complex than a turbine was best left to rocket scientists. He didn’t even mind that. It meant he didn’t have to get his hands dirty, all he had to do was supervise the guys Emmet had assigned to this detail. Watch for any treachery in the minds of the non-possessed and make sure they pulled the whole shift. Easy. And when it was over, Al would know that Bernhard Allsop had come through with the goods again. It was a long way through the corridors from Monterey’s main habitation quarters to the section of the docking ledge where the refurbishment was being carried out. He didn’t have a clue what went on behind all the doors he walked past. This part of the rock was principally engineering shops and storage rooms. Most of it had fallen into disuse since the Organization had taken over from the New California navy. Which just left miles of well lit, warm corridors all laid out in a three dimensional grid, unused except for the occasional mechanoid and maintenance crew. There were big emergency pressure seal doors every couple of hundred yards, which was how Bernhard got to learn his way around. They all had a number and a letter which told you where you were. Once you’d done it a couple of times, it was kind of like Manhattan, obvious. Pressure door 78D4, another ten minutes’ walk from the nutrient refinery chamber. He stepped over the thick metal rim and started walking along the corridor. It ran parallel to the docking ledge, though he could never make out a curve along the floor, even though he knew it had to be there. The doors on his left led to a couple of maintenance offices with long windows overlooking the ledge, a lounge, an airlock chamber, and two EVA prep rooms. There were only two doors on his right: a mechanoid service department and an electronics repair shop. A quiet metallic whine made him look up. Pressure door 78D5, sixty yards ahead of him, was sliding across the corridor. Bernhard felt his borrowed heart thump. They only closed if there was a pressure loss. He whirled round to see 78D4 sliding into place behind him. “Hey,” he called. “What’s happening?” There were no flashing red lights and shrill alarms like there had been in all the drills. Just unnerving silence. He realized the conditioning fans had stopped; the ducts must have sealed up as well. Bernhard hurried along towards 78D5, pulling his processor block from his pocket. When he pressed the keys to call the control centre, the screen printed NO NET ACCESS AVAILABLE. He gave it a puzzled, annoyed look. Then he heard a hissing sound start up, growing very loud very quickly. He stood still and looked round again. Halfway down the corridor, an airlock door was sliding open. It was the one leading out onto the docking ledge. One thing Emmet had emphasised time and again to reassure Organization members from earlier centuries: it was impossible for both airlock doors to open at once. Bernhard howled in terrified anger, and started sprinting for 78D5. He shoved a hand out, and fired a bolt of white fire. It struck the stolid pressure door and evaporated into violet twinkles. Someone was on the other side, deflecting his energistic power. Air was surging past him, building to hurricane force and producing short-lived streamers of white mist that curved sinuously round his body. He hammered another bolt of white fire at the pressure door. This time it didn’t even reach the dull metal surface before it was negated. They were trying to murder him! He reached the slab-like pressure door and pounded against the small transparent port in the centre while the wind clawed at his clothes. Its roar was growing fainter. Someone was moving on the other side of the port. He could sense two minds; one he thought he recognized. Their gratification was horribly conspicuous. Bernhard opened his mouth and found there was hardly anything left to inhale. He concentrated his energistic power around himself, making his body strong, fighting the sharp tingling sensation sweeping over his skin. His heart was yammering loudly in his chest. He punched the pressure door, making a tiny dint in the surface rim. Another punch. The first dint straightened out amid a shimmer of red light. “Help me!” he shrilled. The puff of air was ripped from his throat, but the cry had been directed at the infinity of souls surrounding him. Tell Capone, he implored them silently. It’s Kiera! He was having trouble focusing on the stubborn pressure door. He punched it again. The metal was smeared with red. It was a fluid this time, not the backspill from energistic power warping physical reality. Bernhard dropped to his knees, fingers scraping down the metal, desperate for a grip. The souls all around him were becoming a lot clearer. “What’s that?” Jed asked. He hadn’t spoken to Gerald since they walked down the “Is there a problem?” Rocio asked. “You tell me, mate.” Jed pointed at the cliff wall, fifty metres ahead. A horizontal fountain of white vapour was gushing out of an open airlock hatch. “Looks like some kind of blow out.” “Marie,” Gerald wheezed. “Is she there? Is she in danger?” “No, Gerald,” Rocio said, an edge of exasperation in his voice. “She’s nowhere near you. She’s at Capone’s party, drinking and making merry.” “That’s a lot of air escaping,” Jed said. “The chamber must have breached. Rocio, can you see what’s going on in there?” “I can’t access any of the sensors in the corridor behind the airlock. That section of the net has been isolated. There isn’t even a pressure drop alert getting out to the asteroid’s environmental control centre. The corridor has been sealed. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble concealing whatever the hell they’re up to.” Jed watched the spurt of gas die away. “Shall we keep going?” “Absolutely,” Rocio said. “Don’t get involved. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.” Jed glanced along the line of blank windows above the open airlock. They were all dim, unlit. “Sure thing.” “Why?” Gerald asked. “What’s in there? Why don’t you want us to see? It’s Marie, isn’t it? My baby’s in there.” “No, Gerald.” Gerald took a few paces towards the open airlock. “Gerald?” Beth’s voice was high, strained and excitable. “Listen to me, Gerald, she’s not in there. Okay? Marie’s not there. I can see her, mate, there are cameras in the big hotel lobby. I’m looking at her right now. I swear it, mate. She’s in a black and pink dress. I couldn’t make that up, now could I?” “No!” Gerald started to run, a laboured half-bouncing motion. “You’re lying to me.” Jed stared after him in mounting dismay. Short of letting off a flare, there was nothing more he could do to attract attention to them. “Jed,” Rocio said. “I’m using your private suit band, Gerald can’t hear this. You have to stop him. Whoever opened that airlock isn’t going to want him blundering in. And they have to be a major faction player. This could ruin our whole scheme.” “Stop him how? He’ll either shoot me or blow both of us into the bloody beyond.” “If Gerald triggers an alarm, none of us will ever get off this rock.” “Oh “Take a hit,” Beth said. “Chill down before you go after him.” “Fuck off.” Jed started to run after Gerald, convinced the whole world was now watching. And worse, laughing. Gerald reached the open airlock, and ducked inside. By the time Jed arrived half a minute later, he was nowhere to be seen. The chamber was standard, like the one Jed had come though last time he’d gone inside this bloody awful maggot nest of rock. He moved along it cautiously. “Gerald?” The inner door was open. Which was deeply wrong. Jed knew all about asteroid airlocks, and one thing you could positively not ever do was open an internal corridor to the vacuum. Not by accident. He glanced at the rectangular hatch as he passed, seeing how the swing rods had been sheered, the melted cables around the rim seal interlock control. “Gerald?” “I’m losing your signal.” Rocio said. “I still can’t access the net around you. Whoever did it is still there.” Gerald was slumped against the corridor wall, legs splayed wide in front of him. Not moving. Jed approached him cautiously. “Gerald?” The suit band transmitted a shallow, frightened whimper. “Gerald, come on. We’ve got to get out of here. And no more of this crazy shit. I can’t take it any more, okay. I mean really can’t. You’re cracking my head apart.” One of Gerald’s gauntleted hands waved limply. Jed stared past him, down to the end of the corridor. A dangerous geyser of vomit threatened to surge up his throat. Bernhard Allsop’s stolen body had ruptured in a spectacular fashion as the energistic power reinforcing his flesh had vanished. Lungs, the softest and most vulnerable tissue, had burst immediately, sending litres of blood pouring out of his mouth. Thousands of heavily pressurized capillaries just beneath his skin had split, weeping beads of blood into the fabric of his clothes. It looked as though his double breasted suit was made from brilliant scarlet cloth—cloth that seethed as if alive. The fluid was boiling away into the vacuum, surrounding him with a hazy pink mist. Jed attacked his suit wrist pad as if it was burning him. Dry air scented with peppermint and pine blew into his face. He clamped his jaw shut against the rising vomit, turning bands of muscle to hot steel as he forced himself not to throw up. This spacesuit wasn’t sophisticated enough to cope with him spewing. Something loosened inside him. He coughed and spluttered, sending disgustingly tacky white bile spraying over the inside of his visor. But his nausea was subsiding. “Oh God, oh Jeeze, he’s just pulped.” The pine scent was strong now, thick in his helmet, draining feeling away from his limbs. His arms moved sluggishly, yet they were as light as hydrogen. Good sensation. Jed let out a snicker. “Guess the guy couldn’t hold it together, you know?” “That’s not Marie.” The processor governing Jed’s spacesuit cancelled the emergency medical suppresser infusion. The dosage had exceeded CAB limits by a considerable margin. It automatically administered the antidote. Winter fell across Jed, chilling him so badly he held a gauntlet up to his visor, expecting to see frost glittering on the rubbery fabric. The coloured lights flashing annoyingly into his eyes gradually resolved into icons and digits. Someone kept chanting: “Marie, Marie, Marie.” Jed looked at the corpse again. It was pretty hideous but it didn’t make him feel sick this time. The infusion seemed to have switched off his internal organs. It also implanted a strong sensation of confidence, he could tackle the rest of the mission without any trouble now. He shook Gerald’s shoulder, which at least put an end to the dreary chanting. Gerald squirmed from the touch. “Come on, mate, we’re leaving,” Jed said. “Got a job to do.” A motion caught Jed’s attention. There was a face pressed up against the port in the pressure door. As he watched, the blood smearing the little circle of glass began to flow apart. The man on the other side stared straight at Jed. “Oh bloody hell,” Jed choked. The balmy feeling imparted by the infusion was gusting away fast. He turned frantically to see the airlock’s inner hatch starting to close. “That’s it, mate, we’re outta here.” He pulled Gerald up, propping him against the wall. Their visors pressed together, allowing Jed to look into the old loon’s helmet past the winking icons. Gerald was oblivious to anything, lost in a dream-state trance. The laser pistol slid from lifeless fingers to fall onto the floor. Jed glanced longingly at it, but decided against. If it came to a shootout with the possessed, he wasn’t going to win. And it would only piss them off. Not a good idea. The face at the port had vanished. “Come on.” He tugged at Gerald, forcing him to take some steps along the corridor. Thin jets of grey gas started to shoot out of the conditioning vents overhead. Green and yellow icons appeared on his visor, reporting oxygen and nitrogen thickening around him. One thing Jed clung to was that the possessed were no good in a vacuum; suits didn’t work, and their power couldn’t protect them. As soon as he got back out on the ledge he was safe. Relatively. They reached the airlock hatch, and Jed slapped the cycle control. The control panel remained dark. Digits were flickering fast across his visor; the pressure was already twenty-five per cent standard. Jed let go of Gerald and pulled the manual lever out. It seemed to move effortlessly as he spun it round and round. Then it jarred his arms. He frowned at it, cross that something as simple as a lock should try to hurt him. But at least the hatch swung open when he pulled on it. Gerald stumbled into the chamber, as obedient as a mechanoid. Jed laughed and cheered as he pulled the hatch shut behind him. “Are you all right?” Rocio asked. “What happened?” “Jed?” Beth cried. “Jed, can you hear me?” “No sweat, doll. The bad guys haven’t got what it takes to spin me.” “He’s still high,” Rocio said. “But he’s coming down. Jed, why did you use the infuser?” “Just quit bugging me, man. Jeeze, I came through for you, didn’t I?” He pressed the outer hatch’s cycle control. Amazingly, a line of green lights on the panel turned amber. “You’d have snorted a megawatt floater too if you saw what I did.” “What was that?” Rocio’s voice had softened down to the kind of tone Mrs Yandell used when she talked to the day-club juniors. “What did you see, Jed?” “Body.” His irritation at the insulting tone was lost under a memory of wriggling scarlet cloth. “Some bloke got caught in the vacuum.” “Do you know who he was?” “No!” Now he was sobering up, Jed desperately wanted to avoid thinking about it. He checked the control panel, relieved to see the atmosphere cycle was proceeding normally. The electronics at this end of the airlock were undamaged. Not sabotaged, he corrected himself. “Jed, I’m getting some strange readings from Gerald’s suit telemetry,” Rocio said. “Is he okay?” Jed felt like saying: was he ever? “I think the body upset him. Once he realized it wasn’t Marie, he just shut up.” And who’s complaining about that? The control panel lights turned red, and the hatch swung open. “You’d better get out of there,” Rocio said. “There’s no alert in the net yet, but someone will discover the murder eventually.” “Sure.” He took Gerald’s hand in his and pulled gently. Gerald followed obediently. Rocio told them to stop outside a series of horseshoe-shaped garage bays at the base of the rock cliff, a hundred metres from the entrance they were supposed to use to get into the asteroid. Three trucks were parked in the bays, simple four wheel drive vehicles with seating for six and a flatbed rear. “Check their systems,” Rocio said. “You’ll need one to drive the components back to me.” Jed went along them, activating their management processors and initiating basic diagnostic routines. The first one was suffering from some kind of power cell drop out, but the second was clean and fully charged. He sat Gerald in one of the passenger seats, and drove it round to the airlock. When the chamber’s inner hatch swung open, Jed checked his sensor reading before he cracked his visor up. A lifetime of emergency procedure drills back on Koblat made him perpetually cautious about his environment. “There’s nobody even close to you,” Rocio said. “Go get them.” Jed hurried along the corridor, took a right turn, and saw the broad door to the maintenance shop, three down on the right. It opened for him as he touched the lock panel. The lights sprang up to full intensity, revealing a basic rectangular room with pale-blue wall panelling. Cybernetic tool modules stood in a row down the centre, encased in crystal cylinders to protect their delicate waldos. A grid of shelving covered the rear wall, intended to hold a stock of spares used regularly by the shop. Now there were just a few cartons and packages left scattered around—apart from the large pile in the middle which the mechanoid had delivered. “Oh Jeeze, Rocio,” Jed complained. “There’s got to be a hundred here. I’m never going to muscle that lot out, it’ll take forever.” The components were all packed in plastic boxes. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu here,” Rocio said smoothly. “Just pile them onto the freight trolley and dump them in the airlock chamber. It’ll be three trips at the most. Ten minutes.” “Oh brother.” Jed grabbed a trolley and shoved it over to the shelving. He started to throw the boxes on. “Why didn’t you get the mechanoids to dump them at the airlock for me?” “It’s not a designated storage area. I would have had to reprogram the management routines. Not difficult, but it might have been detected. This method reduces the risk.” “For some,” Jed muttered. Gerald walked in. Jed had almost forgotten him. “Gerald, you can take your helmet off, mate.” There was no response. Jed went up to him and flipped the helmet seals. Gerald blinked as the visor was raised. “Can’t stay in that spacesuit here, mate, you’ll get noticed. And you’ll suffocate eventually.” He thought Gerald was about to start crying, the bloke looked so wretched. To cover his own guilt, Jed went back to loading the boxes. When he had as many as the trolley could handle, he said: “I’m going to get rid of this bundle. Do me a favour, mate, start loading the next lot.” Gerald nodded. Even though he wasn’t convinced, Jed hurried out back to the airlock. When he got back, Gerald had put two boxes on the second trolley. “Ignore him,” Rocio said. “Just do it yourself.” It took a further three trips to carry all the boxes to the airlock. Jed finished loading the trolley for the last time, and paused. “Gerald, mate, look, you’ve got to get a grip, okay?” “Leave him,” Rocio said curtly. “He’s gone,” Jed said sadly. “Total brainwipe this time. That corpse did for him. We can’t leave him here.” “I will not permit him back on board. You know what a danger he has become. We cannot treat him.” “You think this gang are going to help him?” “Jed, he did not come here looking for their help. Don’t forget he has a homemade bomb strapped to his waist. If Capone does become unpleasant with Gerald, he’s going to be in for a nasty surprise himself. Now get back to the airlock. Beth and your sister are the people you should be concentrating on now.” More than anything, Jed wanted another dose out of the suit’s medical kit. Something to take away the hurt of abandoning the crazy old man. “I’m real sorry, mate. I hope you find Marie. I wish she wasn’t, well . . . what she is now. She gave a lot of us hope, you know. I guess I owe both of you.” “Jed, leave now,” Rocio ordered. “Screw you.” Jed steered the trolley at the wide door. “Good luck,” he called back. He forced himself not to go fast on the drive back to the Jed drove under the big hellhawk and parked directly below one of its barnacle-like cargo holds. Rocio opened the clamshell doors, and Jed set about transferring the boxes over onto the loading platform which telescoped down. At the back of his mind he knew that when the last box was on board, then he and Beth and the kids were no longer necessary. And probably a liability to boot. He was quite surprised to be allowed back up the ladder into Beth’s arms went round him. “You couldn’t help him,” she crooned. “You couldn’t.” “I never tried. I just left him there.” “He couldn’t come back on board. Not now. He was going to blow us up.” “He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He’s mad.” “Not really. Just very sick. But he’s where he wanted to be, near Marie.” Jack McGovern drifted back into consciousness aware of a sharp, deep stinging coming from his nose. His eyes fluttered open to see dark-brown wood crushed against his cheek. He was lying on floorboards in near darkness in the most uncomfortable position possible, with his legs bent so his feet were pressing into his arse and his arms twisted behind his back. Blood was pounding painfully in his forearms. His hangover was the greatest yet. When he tried to stir, he couldn’t. His wrists and ankles were all bound up together by what felt like a ball of red hot insulating tape. An attempt to groan revealed his mouth was also covered with tape. One nostril was clogged with dry blood. That frightened him badly, sending pulse and breathing wild. Air hissed and thrummed through his one small vulnerable air passage. It was like reinforcement feedback, making him even more aware of how dependant he was. Attempting to hyperventilate and half-suffocating because of it made his head pound worse than ever. His vision vanished under a red sparkle. Insensate panic dragged on for an indeterminable time. All he knew was that when his sight finally returned along with his sluggish thoughts, his breathing was slowing. His attempted thrashing had shifted him several centimetres across the floorboards. He calmed a lot then, still wishing his hangover would fuck off and leave him alone. The memory of what had happened in the Black Bull’s toilet trickled back into his mind. He found that the tape across his mouth didn’t stop him from whimpering at the back of his throat. A possessed! He’d been mugged by a possessed. Yet . . . he wasn’t possessed himself, which is what they always did to people—everyone knew that. Unless this was the beyond? Jack managed to roll round onto his side and take a look round. Definitely not the beyond. He was in some kind of ancient cube of a room, a half-moon window set high up on one wall. Old store display placards were stacked opposite him, fading holophorescent print advertising brands of bathroom accessories he could dimly remember from his childhood. A heavy chain led from his ankles to a set of metal pipes that ran straight up from the floor to the ceiling. He shuffled along the floor for all of half a metre, until the chain was tight. Nothing he did after that even scratched the pipes, let alone weakened them or made them bend away from the wall. He was still three metres from the door. Bracing and clenching his arm and shoulder muscles had the solitary effect of making his wrists hurt more. That was it then. No escape. His hangover had long abated when the door finally opened. He didn’t know when; only that hours and hours had passed. Cold arcology night light slithered in through the high window, painting the bare plaster walls a grubby sodium yellow. It was the possessed man who came in first, moving without sound, his black monk robe swirling round him like orderly mist. Two others followed him in, a young teenage girl and a sulky, adolescent boy. They were hauling a woman along between them; middle-aged, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her chestnut hair was arranged in a pleated crown, as if she’d put it up ready for a shower; wisps had escaped to dangle in front of her eyes. It hid most of her face, though Jack could make out the broken, lonely expression. The boy bent down and yanked the tape over Jack’s mouth as hard as he could. Jack grunted at the pulse of pain as it ripped free. He gulped down air. “Please,” he panted. “Please don’t torture me. I’ll surrender, okay. Just fucking don’t.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Quinn said. “I want you to help me.” “I’m yours. Hundred per cent! Anything.” “How old are you Jack?” “Hu . . . uh, twenty-eight.” “I’d have put you older, myself. But that’s fine. And you’re about the right height.” “What for?” “Well, see, Jack, you got lucky. We’re gonna smarten you up a bit, give you a makeover. You’re gonna be a whole new man by the time we’re finished. And I won’t even charge you for it. How about that?” “You mean different clothes and stuff?” Jack asked cautiously. “Not exactly. You see, I found out that Greta here is a fully qualified nurse. Course, some assholes would call that synchronicity. But you and I know that’s total bullshit, don’t we Jack.” Jack grinned round wildly. “Yeah! Absolutely. No fucking way.” “Right. It’s all part of His plan. God’s Brother makes sure everything comes together for me. I am the chosen one, after all. Both of you are His gifts to me.” “You tell him, Quinn,” Courtney said. Jack’s grin had been frozen into place by the aching realization of how deep into their shared insanity he’d fallen. “A nurse?” “Yep.” Quinn signalled Greta forwards. Jack saw she held a medical nanonic package. “Oh Jesus fuck, what are you going to do?” “Hey, asshole, Jesus is dead,” Courtney shouted. “Don’t you go calling his name around us, he can’t help you. He’s the false lord. Quinn is Earth’s new messiah.” “Help me!” Jack yelled. “Somebody help.” “Mouthy little turd, ain’t he,” Billy-Joe said. “Ain’t no body gonna hear you, boy. They didn’t hear any of the others, and Quinn hurt them a fuck of a lot more.” “Look, I said I’d help you,” Jack said desperately. “I will. Really. I’m not bullshitting. But you gotta keep your end of the bargain. You said no torture.” Quinn walked back to the door, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Jack in the small room. “Is it working now?” he asked Greta. She looked at the small display on her processor block. “Yes.” “Okay. Start by getting rid of his vocal cords. Billy-Joe’s right, he talks too much. And I need him to be quiet when I use him. That’s important.” “No!” Jack yelled. He started to squirm round on the floor. Billy-Joe laughed and sat down hard on his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. It fluted weakly as it escaped through his nostril. “The package can’t remove his vocal cords,” Greta said in a disinterested monotone. “I’ll have to disengage the nerves.” “Fine,” Quinn said. “Whatever.” Jack stared right at her as she leaned over and applied the glossy green package to his throat. Direct eye to eye contact, the most personal human communication there was. Pleading, imploring. Silencing him was just the beginning. He was left alone as the package did its work, then the four of them returned. This time Greta was carrying a different type of nanonic package, a face-mask with several sac-like blisters on the outer surface, inflated by some glutinous fluid. There were no slits for him to see out through when she placed it over his face. That was when the routine started. Every few hours they would return and remove the mask. Greta would refill the sacs. His face would be examined, and Quinn would issue a few instructions before the mask was replaced. Occasionally they’d give him cold soup and a cup of water. He was left alone in a darkness that was frightening in its totality. His face was numbed by the package, and whatever it was doing prevented even the red blotches that usually appeared behind closed eyelids. That just left him with hearing. He learned how to tell the difference between night and day. The half-moon window let in a variety of sounds, mostly traffic flowing along the big elevated motorway running down the middle of the Thames. There was also the sound of boats, swans and ducks squabbling. He began to get a feel for the building, too. Big and old, he was sure of that; the floorboards and pipes conducted faint vibrations. In the day there was some activity. Whirring sounds that must be lifts, clumping as heavy objects were moved around. None of it close to his room. At night there was screaming. A woman, starting with a pitiful wail which was eventually reduced to miserable sobbing. Each time the same, and not far away. It took a while for him to realize it was Greta. Obviously, there were worse things than having your features modified by a nanonics package. The knowledge didn’t act as much of a comfort. The ghosts knew the Orgathé were approaching Valisk’s northern endcap, their new awareness perceiving black knots of menacing hunger sliding through the air. It was enough to overcome their apprehension towards the humans that hated them, sending them fleeing into the caverns harbouring their ex-hosts. Their presence was one more complication for the defenders. Although the personality could watch the Orgathé flying along the habitat, it certainly didn’t know where they’d land. That left Erentz and her relatives with the entire circumference to guard. They’d already decided that it would be impossible to move the thousands of sick and emaciated humans from the front line of the outer caverns. Flight time down the length of the habitat was barely fifteen minutes, and the Orgathé emerging from the southern endcap were joined by several new arrivals who had just entered through the starscrapers. There simply wasn’t time to prepare, all they could do was snatch up their weapons and assemble in teams ready to respond to the nearest incursion; even the way they were spaced round the endcap was less than ideal. Wait until they get inside,the personality said. If you fire while they’re still in the air, they’ll just swoop away. Once they’re in the caverns they can’t escape. The Orgathé hesitated as they glided down towards the scrub desert, in turn sensing the hatred and fear of the entities below. For several minutes they circled above the cavern entrances as the last ghosts fled inside, then the flock descended. Thirty-eight of the buggers. Stand by. Tolton shifted his grip on the incendiary torpedo launcher as Erentz told him to get ready. His sweat was making its casing slippery. He was standing behind Dariat, who in turn was at the tail end of a group of his relatives waiting in a passage at the back of one of the hospital caverns. What he thought of as his special status hadn’t exempted him from this brand of lethal madness. He heard a lot of groaning start up in the cavern. It quickly degenerated into weak screams and shouted curses. The ghosts were flooding in, ignoring the bedridden humans to plunge deeper into the cavern network. They started to run past him, mouths open to yell silent warnings. Their movements sketched short-lived smears of washed-out colour through the air. Then one of the Orgathé hit the entrance outside. Its body elongated, the front section pressing forward eagerly through the curving passageway, while the bulbous rear quarter squirmed violently, adding to its impetus. Those ghosts that had only just made it inside were engulfed by writhing appendages as the huge creature surged along. Their savage cries of suffering penetrated the entire endcap as their life-energy was torn away from them. The other ghosts and Dariat could actually hear them, while the humans experienced their torment as a wave of profound unease. Tolton looked down at the launcher for reassurance, only to find his hands were trembling badly. “We’re on!” Erentz barked. The Orgathé charged into the cavern, preceded by a hail of freezing polyp pebbles and a technicolor ripple of terrified ghosts. Ahead of it, three rows of grubby bedding were laid out across the polyp floor, home to over 300 lethargic patients, already disturbed by the ghosts. They did their best to retreat, staggering or crawling back against the wall; some of the nurses managed to lug their charges towards the passageways. The Orgathé lunged forwards greedily, turning the cavern into a riot of hysterical bodies and slashing appendages. Each time it coiled a tentacle around someone their body turned to solid ice and shattered, releasing a ghost that sank to its knees and waited for the devastating follow-up blow. Through it all, Erentz and her relatives attempted to spread out and encircle the Orgathé. Every metre of ground had to be fought over, elbowing through the throng of terrified people. Blankets, plastic cartons, and chunks of rock-hard frosted flesh were kicked about underfoot, making every step treacherous. The pincer movement was never going to work properly; the best they could hope for was positioning themselves close to the passageways, blocking the Orgathé’s escape. When they had five of the possible seven exit routes covered, they opened fire. A cowering Tolton saw slivers of dazzling light pulse through the air to be absorbed by the Orgathé’s nebulous form, and assumed that was the signal to start firing. He pushed a couple of elderly, enfeebled men aside and brought his own launcher up. His mind was so battered by the sight of panic and devastation across the cavern floor he barely aimed it. He just pulled the trigger and watched numbly as the incendiary torpedoes pummelled the dark mass. The flame throwers opened fire with a raucous howl, adding their particular brand of carnage to the onslaught. Eight lines of bright yellow fire jetted over the heads of the cowering crowd to flower open against the Orgathé. The beast jerked frenziedly, buffeted from all sides by the terrible flame. Its constituent fluid boiled furiously, sending clouds of choking mist to saturate the beleaguered cavern. Tolton clamped a hand over his mouth as his eyes smarted. The vapour was colder than ice, condensing over his skin and clothes to form a slick mucus-like film. He had trouble standing as it built up underfoot. All around him people were falling over and skating across the floor. He couldn’t aim the launcher with any accuracy now, the recoil from each shot sent him slithering back wildly. In any case, he wasn’t entirely sure where the creature was any more. The mist was fluorescing strongly as the jets of flame continued to seer through it, turning the whole cavern into a uniform topaz haze. Without any visible target, Tolton stopped firing. People were everywhere, shrieking and crying as they skidded about, a racket which fused with the roar of the flame throwers to create total sonic bedlam. Any random shot would probably hit someone. He dropped to all fours and tried to find the cavern wall, a way out. Erentz and the others kept on firing. The personality’s perception of the cavern through its sensitive cells was less than perfect, but it could keep them informed of the Orgathé’s approximate location. Erentz twisted about continually, keeping the flame playing on the creature’s flanks. With the billowing mist, running figures, and the target continually shrinking, she had a lot of trouble keeping aligned. But it was working: that mattered above all else, helping to blank the knowledge of what a misapplied jet would strike. Dariat finally perceived the Orgathé’s denuded ghost flying back out into the habitat. He shared his enhanced cognition with his relatives and the personality, showing them the wraith flashing past. The light and sound of the flame throwers swiftly died away. As the disgustingly clammy mist descended out of the air to congeal over people and polyp alike, it revealed a floor littered with bodies. Those who hadn’t been too badly burnt or had escaped the Orgathé’s slashing appendages were wriggling mutely beneath the slick membranous muck. Nearly a third remained motionless; whether they were too exhausted or wounded to make an effort was impossible to tell. The grungy fluid concealed details. Tolton watched with numb incredulity as ghosts started to rise up out of the floor like humanoid mushrooms, stretching elastic fronds of the fluid with them. They were harvesting the material as Dariat had done, cloaking their form with substance. Erentz and her team were striding through the slaughter and misery as if it didn’t exist, whooping out greetings to each other as they congregated by one of the side passageways. Dr Patan was among them, wiping sloppy goo from his face and grinning with the same vivacity as the others as he checked his launcher. Tolton stared after them as they hurried off down the passageway, totally immune to the suffering throughout the cavern. The personality had informed them of another visitor raising hell in a cavern close by, and they were eager to resume the fight. It wasn’t just entropy which was stronger in this continuum, he reflected; inhumanity was equally pervasive. Eventually he stirred himself, though he was uncertain what to do next. Dariat came over to stand at his side, and they surveyed the cavern with its dead, its wounded, and its enervated ghosts. Together they moved out to offer what comfort they could. The mask came away cleanly from Jack McGovern’s face. He blinked against the gentle light coming through the storeroom’s high window. Without the package, his bare skin was host to a peculiar sensation, somewhere between numb and sore. What he wanted to do was dab at it with his hands, trace his fingertips over his cheeks and jaw to find out what they’d done to him. But he was still bound up with the tape and chain. “Not bad,” Courtney said. She gave Greta an affectionate slap on the arm. The woman flinched badly; muscles on her neck and limbs twitched in a cascade reaction. “Even got the eye colour right.” “Show him,” Quinn said. A giggling Courtney bent down and thrust a small mirror at Jack. He stared at the image. It was the last thing he expected; they’d given him Quinn’s face. He frowned the question. “You’ll see,” Quinn said. “Get him ready.” A single gesture, and the chain fell from Jack’s ankles. The tape wasn’t so simple. Billy-Joe produced a vicious-looking combat knife, and started sawing. Returning blood brought pain roaring into Jack’s feet and hands as the tape was prised away. He couldn’t stand. Courtney and Billy-Joe had to drag him out between them. First stop was a staff washroom. They dumped him in a shower cubicle, and turned the nozzle on full. Cold water sluiced down, making him gag, batting feebly at the spray. Dark stains seeped out of his trousers. Never once had they let him use a toilet. “Take your clothes off,” Quinn ordered. He chucked a tube of soap gel down onto the cracked tiles. “Wash thoroughly. That stink is a giveaway.” They stood round, watching as he slowly opened the seals on his shirt and trousers. Feeling and movement was slow to return to his extremities. He had a lot of trouble keeping hold of the tube as he applied the gel. Standing was also very painful, it felt like he was tearing tendons as his knees straightened out. But it was Quinn who’d told him to stand, and he didn’t dare not. Quinn snapped his fingers, and Jack was abruptly dry. Courtney handed him a black robe. Its cut was identical to Quinn’s, voluminous arms and deep hood, but it was just ordinary cloth, not the patch of empty space which clung to the dark messiah. Courtney and Billy-Joe inspected them as they stood side by side. Height was almost the same, within three centimetres. A slight weight difference was obscured by the robe. “God’s Brother must be laughing His ass off,” Billy-Joe said. “Shit, it’s like you’s twins.” “It’ll do,” Quinn decided. “Any updates on her position?” “No way, man,” Billy-Joe said, suddenly serious. “Those dudes from the Lambeth coven swore on it. It’s a big fucking deal for them having another High Magus visiting the arcology, especially now. They’s all talking about how this is His time. But she’s staying put in her tower, won’t move, won’t see anyone, not even London’s High Magus. And she’s a real pain in the ass, they all say that. Who else is it gonna be?” “You’ve done good, Billy-Joe,” Quinn said. “I won’t forget that, and neither will He. When I bring Night to this arcology I’ll let you loose inside a model agency. You can keep yourself a harem of the hottest babes there are.” “All right!” Billy-Joe punched the air. “Rich bitches, Quinn. I want me some rich bitches, all dressed up real fine in silk and stuff. They always wear that for their own kind, don’t even look at the likes of me. But I’m gonna show them what its like to fuck with a real man.” Quinn laughed. “Shit, you don’t ever change.” He took another look at Jack, and nodded in satisfaction. The man was eerily similar to himself. It ought to be enough. “Do it,” he told Courtney. She pushed Jack’s hood aside, and pressed a medical spray to his neck. “Just to keep you calm,” Quinn said. “You’ve handled this all right so far, I’d hate for you to blow it now.” Jack didn’t know what the drug was, only that it buzzed warmly in his ears. The fear of what was going to happen to him set sail and drifted away. Just standing still and admiring the glistening droplets form around the shower nozzle was fascinating entertainment. Their fall was an epic voyage. “Come here,” Quinn said. It was a very loud voice, Jack thought. But he had nothing else to do, so he slowly walked over to where Quinn was standing. Then his skin grew cold, as if a winter breeze was flowing through his robe. The room began to change, its drab colours melting away. The walls and floor became simple planes of thick shadow. Billy-Joe, Courtney, and Greta were blank statues, frothing with iridescence. Other people became visible, everything about them was clearly defined, their features, clothes (odd, ancient styles), hair. Yet they lacked colour to the point of translucency. And they were all so sad, mournful faces with anguished eyes. “Ignore them,” Quinn said. “Bunch of assholes.” By contrast to the others, Quinn was vibrant with life and power. “Yes.” Quinn gave him a sharp look, then shrugged. “Yeah well, I suppose we’re not really talking. After all, you’re not actually alive in here.” Jack contemplated that. His thoughts were losing their sluggishness. “What do you mean?” He realized he couldn’t hear his heart beating any more. Nor was his mouth moving when he spoke. “Shit.” Quinn’s exasperation manifested itself as a tide of warmth flooding from his shining body. “The hypnogenic doesn’t work here, either. Should have figured that. Okay, let’s put it real simple for you. Do as I say, or I’ll hurt you real bad; and in this realm that can be very bad indeed. Understand?” They started to slide through the room. Jack didn’t know how; his legs weren’t moving. The wall came at him, and passed by with a stinging sensation that made his thoughts quake. “It’ll get worse,” Quinn said. “Going through thick chunks of matter is painful. Ignore it, just you sit back and enjoy the view.” They started to pick up speed. Banneth had tired of the acolytes. Even watching them fucking each other senseless was a bore. It was all so ordinary. She kept thinking of the improvements and modifications she could make to their thrashing bodies to spice up the sex and make it potentially a great deal more interesting. There were definitely attributes she could bestow upon the boy to make him more ruthless, both in bed and in life, the first arena acting as a training ground for the second. After critical deliberation, she concluded the girls would probably both benefit from a more feline nature. Not that any of it mattered now. She’d acquired the same kind of fatalism as the rest of the planet’s population. Since the vac-train shutdown, absenteeism and petty crime had increased considerably in every arcology. After an initial flurry of concern, the authorities had decided such actions were not in fact precursors to wholesale possession. Basically, it was people taking the news badly. Apathy had risen to rule with all the intangible force of a dominant star sign. Banneth pulled on her robe and walked out of the penthouse’s master bedroom, not even glancing back at the fresh outburst of moaning from the tangle of bodies on the mattress behind her. She went over to the lounge area’s cocktail bar and poured herself a decent measure of Crown whisky. Four days’ inactivity floating round the apartment had reduced the bottle’s contents down to the last couple of centimetres. She settled back into one of the atrocious leather chairs and datavised the room’s management processor. Tasselled curtains swished shut across the glass wall, cutting off the sight of the night-time arcology. A holographic screen above the fireplace bar flared with colour, giving her a feed from the local news station. Another two of New York’s domes had succumbed to the possessed. Rover reporters relayed the images from the vantage point of a megatower, revealing a faint red glow emanating from the buildings inside the geodesic crystal roof. Police in Paris claimed they had captured nineteen more possessed and thrown them into zero-tau pods. There were interviews with dazed ex-hosts; one claiming to have been taken over by Napoleon; another swore she’d been used by Eva Perón. From Bombay a terse official statement assured residents that local disturbances were under control. Several times the station switched back to that morning’s address by the President, who had asserted that there were no new incidents of suspected possession. He said his decision to shut down the vac-trains was now fully justified. Local law enforcement agencies were successfully keeping the possessed confined in the regrettable cases where they’d managed to establish themselves in arcologies. He called on all people to pray for New York. Banneth took another sip of the Crown, enjoying the all-too-rare sensation of alcohol seeping through her synapses. No mention of London, then. None at all,western europe confirmed. I’m not even suppressing any. He’s being remarkably restrained. If he’s here. He is. You shut down the vac-trains awful quick. I didn’t. Really?banneth perked up at that. any information she could gather on B7 always fascinated her. In all the years she’d been working for them, she’d learned so little about how they operated. Who did? A flash of pique escaped along the affinity link. An idiotic colleague panicked. Sadly, not all of us are completely focused on the problem. How many are there? No. Old habits die hard, and the habit of secrecy is very old indeed in my case. You should appreciate that, with your obsession in behavioural psychology. Come on. You can indulge me. I can’t even fart without your consent. And I am about to be vaporized. A pat on the head for a faithful old servant? Whatever you want to call it. Very well, I suppose I do have some small obligation. You have behaved yourself admirably. I will reveal one aspect of myself, on the condition that you don’t pester me any further. Done deal. The habit. It has formed over six hundred years. Shit! You’re six hundred years old? Six hundred and fifty-two, actually. What the fuck are you? Done deal, remember. Xenoc, is that it? The affinity link carried a mental chuckle. I’m fully human, thank you. Now stop asking questions. “Six hundred years old,” Banneth muttered in awe. It was an astonishing disclosure. If it was true. But the supervisor had no reason to lie. You keep going into zero-tau; stay in for fifty years, come out for a couple every century. I’ve heard of people doing that. Dear me, I’m disappointed. It must be all that whisky you’re guzzling down, it’s fogging your brain. I don’t consider myself to be that mundane. Zero-tau indeed. What then? Work it out. You should be grateful. I’ve given you something to keep your mind active in your last days. You were becoming morbid and withdrawn. Now your files are all edited and catalogued, you need a fresh mental challenge. What’s going to happen to my files? You will publish them, won’t you? Ah, sweet vanity. It’s been the downfall of egomaniacs greater than you. Won’t you?she repeated, annoyed. It will make an excellent archive resource for my people. Your people? What do they want with . . .the holo-screen image wobbled; a story from Edmonton, a reporter touring round a sabotaged power plant, detailing the repairs. Did you see that? The AI is picking up microfluctuations in the penthouse’s electrical circuits. He’s there.western europe’s excitement was crackling down the affinity link like a static slap to the brain. “Shit!” Banneth downed the whisky in one swift gulp. Nothing I can do. The phrase was locked in her mind, repeating and repeating. Now the moment was swooping down on her, bitter resentment surged up. She struggled to her feet. Quinn was never going to see her slumped in defeat. He was also damn well going to know she was the principal factor in outsmarting him. She datavised the lights up to full strength, and turned a circle, scanning the penthouse. Moisture was smearing her vision. The holoscreen wobbled again, its sound jolting. Slowly, and with a taunting smile on her face, she said: “Where are you, Quinn?” It was like a poorly focused AV projection coming to life. A dark shadow wavering in front of the door to the bedroom, blocking out the motion of the oblivious acolytes. It was translucent at first, but thickened quickly. The overhead lights flickered and the holoscreen image imploded into a soiled rainbow. Banneth’s neural nanonics crashed. Quinn Dexter stood on the marble tiles, clad in his ebony robe, looking right at her. Fully materialized. Gotcha, you bastard! The supervisor’s victorious cry rang out in Banneth’s skull. For a whole second she stared at her beautiful creation, every gorgeous feature; remembering the angry power locked up beneath the smooth pale skin. He stared right back. Rather, his eyes were unmoving. Wrong. Wrong! WRONG. Wait, it’s not— The SD X-ray laser fired. Kilometres above Banneth, the beam penetrated the arcology’s crystal dome. It struck the top of the Parsonage Heights tower, transmuting the carbon-concrete structure and dubious decor into a blast of ions. A twister of near-solid blue light flared up towards the dome from the skyscraper’s ruined crown. Quinn floated down lightly through the heart of the explosion, intrigued by the level of violence storming through the physical universe outside. He’d been wondering exactly what weapon they’d use once they found him. Only an SD platform could produce such spectacular savagery. He observed Banneth’s soul disconnect from the dispersing atoms of her body. She howled in rage as she became aware of him; the real him. Jack McGovern’s desolated soul was already slithering into the beyond. “Nice try,” Quinn mocked. “So what are you going to do for an encore?” He extended his perception as she dwindled away, savouring her anguish and useless fury. And also . . . Out there, trembling weakly on the furthest edge of awareness, was a ragged chorus of more tenuous cries. Resonant with misery and terrible pain. Far, far away. That was interesting. |
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