


Neutronium Alchemist:
Consolidation
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Chapter 01
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It seemed to Louise Kavanagh as though the fearsome midsummer heat had
persisted for endless, dreary weeks rather than just the four Duke-days
since the last meagre shower of rain. Air from the devils cookhouse,
the old women of the county called this awful unbreathable stillness
which blanketed the wolds. It complemented Louises mood perfectly. She
didnt feel much of anything these days. Destiny had apparently chosen
her to spend her waking hours doing nothing but wait.

Officially, she was waiting for her father, who was away leading the
Stoke County militia to help quell the insurrection which the Democratic
Land Union had mounted in Boston. The last time hed phoned was three
days ago, a quick, grim call saying the situation was worse than the Lord
Lieutenant had led them to believe. That had made Louises mother worry
frantically. Which meant Louise and Genevieve had to creep around
Cricklade manor like mice so as not to worsen her temper.

And there had been no word since, not of Father or any of the militia
troops. The whole county was crackling with rumours, of course. Of
terrible battles and beastly acts of savagery by the Union irregulars.
Louise tried hard to close her ears to them, convinced it was just wicked
propaganda put about by Union sympathisers. Nobody really knew anything.
Boston could have been on another planet as far as Stoke County was
concerned. Even bland accounts of disturbances, reported on the nightly
news programs, had ceased after the county militias encircled the
citycensored by the government.

All they could do was wait helplessly for the militias to triumph as they
surely would.

Louise and Genevieve had spent yet another morning milling aimlessly
around the manor. It was a tricky task; sitting about doing nothing was
so incredibly boring, yet if they drew attention to themselves they would
be given some menial domestic job to do. With the young men away, the
maids and older menservants were struggling with the normal day-to-day
running of the rambling building. And the estate farms outside, with
their skeleton workforce, were falling dismayingly far behind in their
preparations for the summers second cereal crop.

By lunchtime, the ennui had started to get to Louise, so she had
suggested that she and her sister go riding. They had to saddle the
horses themselves, but it was worth it just to be away from the manor for
a few hours.

Louises horse picked its way gingerly over the ground. Dukes hot rays
had flayed open the soil, producing a wrinkled network of cracks. The
aboriginal plants which had all flowered in unison at midsummer were long
dead now. Where ten days ago the grassland had been dusted with graceful
white and pink stars, small shrivelled petals now skipped about like
minute autumn leaves. In some hollows they had drifted in loose dunes up
to a foot deep.

Why do you suppose the Union hates us so? Genevieve asked querulously.
Just because Daddys got a temper doesnt mean hes a bad man.

Louise produced a sympathetic smile for her younger sister. Everyone said
how alike they were, twins born four years apart. And indeed it was a bit
like looking into a mirror at times; the same features, rich dark hair,
delicate nose, and almost Oriental eyes. But Genevieve was smaller, and
slightly chubbier. And right now, brokenly glum.

Genevieve had been sensitive to her moodiness for the last week, not
wanting to say anything significant in case it made big sister even more
unaccountably irritable.

She does idolize me so, Louise thought. Pity she couldnt have chosen a
better role model.

Its not just Daddy, nor even the Kavanaghs, Louise said. They simply
dont like the way Norfolk works.

But why? Everybody in Stoke County is happy.

Everybody in the county is provided for. Theres a difference. How would
you feel if you had to work in the fields all day long for every day of
your life, and saw the two of us riding by without a care in the world?

Genevieve looked puzzled. Not sure.

Youd resent it, and youd want to change places.

I suppose so. She gave a sly grin. Then Id be the one who resented
them.

Exactly. Thats the problem.

But the things people are saying the Union is doing . . . Genevieve
said uncertainly. I heard two of the maids talking about it this
morning. They were saying horrible things. I ran away after a minute.

Theyre lying. If anybody in Stoke County knew what was going on in
Boston, it would be us, the Kavanaghs. The maids are going to be the last
to find out.

Genevieve shone a reverent smile at her sister. Youre so clever,
Louise.

Youre clever too, Gen. Same genes, remember.

Genevieve smiled again, then spurred her horse on ahead, laughing gladly.
Merlin, their sheepdog, chased off after her, kicking up whirling
flurries of brown petals.

Louise instinctively urged her own horse into a canter, heading towards
Wardley Wood, a mile ahead. In summers past the sisters had claimed it as
their own adventure playground. This summer, though, it held an added
poignancy. This summer it contained the memory of Joshua Calvert. Joshua
and the things theyd done as they lazed by the side of the rock pools.
Every outrageous sexual act, acts which no true well-born Norfolk lady
would ever commit. Acts which she couldnt wait for them to do again.

Also the acts which had made her throw up for the last three mornings in
a row. Nanny had been her usual fuss the first two times. Thankfully,
Louise had managed to conceal this mornings bout of nausea, otherwise
her mother would have been told. And Mother was pretty shrewd.

Louise grimaced forlornly. Everything will be fine once Joshua comes
back. It had become almost a mantra recently.

Dear Jesus, but I hate this waiting.

Genevieve was a quarter of a mile from the woods, with Louise a hundred
yards behind her, when they heard the train. The insistent tooting sound
carried a long way in the calm air. Three short blasts, followed by a
long one. The warning signal that it was approaching the open road
crossing at Collyweston.

Genevieve reined her horse in, waiting for Louise to catch up with her.
Its coming into town! the younger girl exclaimed.

Both of them knew the local train times by heart. Colsterworth had twelve
passenger services a day. This one wasnt one of them.

Theyre coming back! Genevieve squealed. Daddys back!

Merlin picked up on her excitement, running around the horse, barking
enthusiastically.

Louise bit her lip. She couldnt think what else it could be. I suppose
so.

It is. It is!

All right, come on then.



Cricklade manor lurked inside its picket of huge geneered cedars, an
imposing stone mansion built in homage to the stately homes of an England
as distant in time as in space. The glass walls of the ornate orangery
abutting the east wing reflected Dukes brilliant yellow sunlight in
geometric ripples as the sisters rode along the greensward below the
building.

When she was inside the ring of cedars, Louise noticed the chunky
blue-green farm ranger racing up the long gravel drive. She whooped
loudly, goading her horse to an even faster gallop. Few people were
allowed to drive the estates powered vehicles. And nobody else drove
them as fast as Daddy.

Louise soon left Genevieve well behind, with an exhausted Merlin trailing
by almost a quarter of a mile. She could see six figures crammed into the
vehicles seats. And that was definitely Daddy driving. She didnt
recognise any of the others.

Another two farm rangers turned into the drive just as the first pulled
up in front of the manor. Various household staff and Marjorie Kavanagh
hurried down the broad steps to greet it.

Louise tumbled down off her horse, and rushed up to her father. She flung
her arms around him before he knew what was happening. He was dressed in
the same military uniform as the day he left.

Daddy! Youre all right. She rubbed her cheek against the coarse
khaki-green fabric of his jacket, feeling five years old again. Tears
were threatening to brim up.

He stiffened inside her manic embrace, head slowly tipping down to look
at her. When she glanced up adoringly she saw a look of mild
incomprehension on his strong ruddy face.

For a horrible moment she thought he must have found out about the baby.
Then a vile mockery of a smile came to his lips.

Hello, Louise. Nice to see you again.

Daddy? She took a step backwards. What was wrong with him? She glanced
uncertainly at her mother who had just reached them.

Marjorie Kavanagh took in the scene with a fast glance. Grant looked just
awful; tired, pale, and strangely nervous. Gods, what had happened in
Boston?

She ignored Louises obvious hurt and stepped up to him. Welcome home,
she murmured demurely. Her lips brushed his cheek.

Hello dear, Grant Kavanagh said. She could have been a complete
stranger for all the emotion in his voice.

He turned, almost in deference, Marjorie thought with growing
bewilderment, and half bowed to one of the men accompanying him. They
were all strangers, none of them even wore Stoke County militia uniforms.
The other two farm rangers were braking behind the first, also full of
strangers.

Marjorie, Id like you to meet Quinn Dexter. Quinn is a . . . priest.
Hes going to be staying here with some of his followers.

The young man who walked forwards had the kind of gait Marjorie
associated with the teenage louts she glimpsed occasionally in
Colsterworth. Priest, my arse, she thought.

Quinn was dressed in a flowing robe of some incredibly black material; it
looked like the kind of habit a millionaire monk would wear. There was no
crucifix in sight. The face which smiled out at her from the voluminous
hood was coldly vulpine. She noticed how everyone in his entourage was
very careful not to get too close to him.

Intrigued, Father Dexter, she said, letting her irony show.

He blinked, and nodded thoughtfully, as if in recognition that they
werent fooling each other.

Why are you here? Louise asked breathlessly.

Cricklade is going to be a refuge for Quinns sect, Grant Kavanagh
said. There was a lot of damage in Boston. So I offered him full use of
the estate.

What happened? Marjorie asked. Years of discipline necessary to enforce
her position allowed her to keep her voice level, but what she really
wanted to do was grab hold of Grants jacket collar and scream in his
face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Genevieve scramble down off
her horse and run over to greet her father, her delicate face suffused
with simple happiness. Before Marjorie could say anything, Louise thrust
out an arm and stopped her dead in her tracks. Thank God for that,
Marjorie thought; there was no telling how these aloof strangers would
react to excitable little girls.

Genevieves face instantly turned woeful, staring up at her untouchable
father with widened, mutinous eyes. But Louise kept a firmly protective
arm around her shoulder.

The rebellion is over, Grant said. He hadnt even noticed Genevieves
approach.

You mean you rounded up the Union people?

The rebellion is over, Grant repeated flatly.

Marjorie was at a loss what to do next. Away in the distance she could
hear Merlin barking with unusual aggression. The fat old sheepdog was
lumbering along the greensward towards the group outside the manor.

We shall begin straightaway, Quinn announced abruptly. He started up
the steps towards the wide double doors, long pleats of his robe swaying
leadenly around his ankles.

The manor staff clustering with considerable curiosity on top of the
steps parted nervously. Quinns companions surged after him.

Grants face twitched in what was nearly an apology to Marjorie as the
new arrivals clambered out of the farm rangers to hurry up the steps
after their singular priest. Most of them were men, all with exactly the
same kind of agitated expression.

They look as if theyre going to their own execution, Marjorie thought.
And the clothes a couple of them wore were bizarre. Like historical
military costumes: grey greatcoats with broad scarlet lapels and yards of
looping gold braid. She strove to remember history lessons from too many
years ago, images of Teutonic officers hazy in her mind.

Wed better go in, Grant said encouragingly. Which was absurd. Grant
Kavanagh neither asked nor suggested anything on his own doorstep, he
gave orders.

Marjorie gave a reluctant nod and joined him. You two stay out here,
she told her daughters. I want you to see to Merlin, then stable your
horses. While I find out just what the hell is going on around here, she
completed silently.

The two sisters were virtually clinging together at the bottom of the
steps, faces heavy with doubt and dismay. Yes, Mother, Louise said
meekly. She started to tug on Genevieves black riding jacket.

Quinn paused on the threshold of the manor, giving the grounds a final
survey. Misgivings were beginning to stir his mind. When he was back in
Boston it seemed only right that he should be part of the vanguard
bringing the gospel of Gods Brother to the whole island of Kesteven.
None could stand before him when his serpent beast was unleashed. But
there were so many lost souls returning from the beyond; inevitably some
dared to disobey, while others wavered after he had passed among them to
issue the word. In truth he could only depend upon the closest disciples
he had gathered.

The sect acolytes he had left in Boston to tame the returned souls, to
teach them the real reason why they had been brought back, agreed to do
his bidding simply from fear. That was why he had come to the
countryside, to levy the creed upon all the souls, both the living and
the dead, of this wretched planet. With a bigger number of followers
inducted, genuinely believing the task Gods Brother had given them, then
ultimately their doctrine would triumph.

But this land which Luca Comar had described in glowing terms was so
empty, kilometre after kilometre of grassland and fields, populated by
dozing hamlets of cowed peasants; a temperate-climate version of Lalonde.

There had to be more to his purpose than this. Gods Brother would never
have chosen him for such a simple labour. There were hundreds of planets
in the Confederation crying out to hear His word, to follow Him into the
final battle against the false gods of Earths religions, where Night
would dawn forevermore.

After this evening I shall have to search myself to see where He guides
me; I must find my proper role in His plan.

His gaze finished up on the Kavanagh sisters who were staring up at him,
both trying to be courageous in the face of the strangeness falling on
their home as softly and inexorably as midwinter snow. The elder one
would make a good reward for disciples who demonstrated loyalty, and the
child might be of some use to a returned soul. Gods Brother found a use
for everything.

Content, for the moment, Quinn swept into the hall, relishing the
opulence which greeted him. Tonight at least he could indulge himself in
decadent splendour, quickening his serpent beast. For who did not
appreciate absolute luxury?

The disciples knew their duties well enough, needing no supervision. They
would flush out the manors staff and open their bodies for possession: a
chore repeated endlessly over the last week. His work would come later,
selecting those who were worthy of a second chance at life, who would
embrace the Night.



What! Genevieve began hotly as the last of the odd adults disappeared
inside the manors entrance.

Louises hand clamped over her mouth. Come on! She pulled hard on
Genevieves arm, nearly unbalancing the younger girl. Genevieve
reluctantly allowed herself to be steered away.

You heard Mother, Louise said. Were to look after the horses.

Yes, but . . .

I dont know! All right? Mother will sort everything out. The words
brought scant reassurance. What had happened to Daddy?

Boston must have been truly terrible to have affected him so.

Louise undid the strap on her riding hat, and tucked it under an arm. The
manor and its grounds had become very quiet all of a sudden. The big
entrance-hall doors swinging shut had acted like a signal for the birds
to fall still. Even the horses were docile.

The funereal sensation was broken by Merlin who had finally reached the
gravel driveway. He barked quite piteously as he nosed around Louises
feet, his tongue lolling out as he wheezed heavily.

Louise gathered up the reins of both horses and started to lead them
towards the stables. Genevieve grabbed Merlins collar and hauled him
along.

When they reached the stable block at the rear of the manors west wing
there was nobody there, not even the two young stable lads Mr Butterworth
had left in charge. The horses hooves made an almighty clattering on the
cobbles of the yard outside, the noise reverberating off the walls.

Louise, Genevieve said forlornly, I dont like this. Those people with
Daddy were really peculiar.

I know. But Mother will tell us what to do.

She went inside with them.

Yes. Louise realized just how anxious Mother had been for her and
Genevieve to get away from Daddys friends. She looked around the yard,
uncertain what to do next. Would Mother send for them, or should they go
in? Daddy would expect to talk with them. The old daddy, she reminded
herself sadly.

Louise settled for stalling. There was plenty to do in the stables; take
the saddles off, brush the horses down, water them. She and Genevieve
both took off their riding jackets and set to.

It was twenty minutes later, while they were putting the saddles back in
the tack room, when they heard the first scream. The shock was all the
more intense because it was male: a raw-throated yell of pain which
dwindled away into a sobbing whimper.

Genevieve quietly put her arm around Louises waist. Louise could feel
her trembling and patted her softly. Its all right, she whispered.

The two of them edged over to the window and peered out. There was
nothing to see in the courtyard. The manors windows were black and
blank, sucking in Dukes light.

Ill go and find out whats happening, Louise said.

No! Genevieve pulled at her urgently. Dont leave me alone. Please,
Louise. She was on the verge of tears.

Louises hold tightened in reflex. Okay, Gen, I wont leave you.

Promise? Really truly promise?

Promise! She realized she was just as frightened as Genevieve. But we
must find out what Mother wants us to do.

Genevieve nodded brokenly. If you say so.

Louise looked at the high stone wall of the west wing, sizing it up. What
would Joshua do in a situation like this? She thought about the layout of
the wing, the family apartments, the servants utility passages. Rooms
and corridors she knew better than anyone except for the chief
housekeeper, and possibly Daddy.

She took Genevieve by the hand. Come on. Well try and get up to
Mothers boudoir without anyone seeing us. Shes bound to go there
eventually.

They crept out into the courtyard and scuttled quickly along the foot of
the manors wall to a small green door which led into a storeroom at the
back of the kitchens. Louise expected a shouted challenge at any moment.
She was panting by the time she heaved on the big iron handle and nipped
inside.

The storeroom was filled with sacks of flour and vegetables piled high in
various wooden bays. Two narrow window slits, set high in the wall, cast
a paltry grey light through their cobweb-caked panes.

Louise flicked the switch as Genevieve closed the door. A couple of naked
light spheres on the roof sputtered weakly, then went out.

Damnation! Louise took Genevieves hand and threaded her way carefully
around the boxes and sacks.

The utility corridor beyond had plain white plaster walls and pale yellow
flagstones. Light spheres every twenty feet along its ceiling were
flickering on and off completely at random. The effect made Louise feel
mildly giddy, as if the corridor were swaying about.

Whats doing that? Genevieve whispered fiercely.

Ive no idea, she replied carefully. A dreadful ache of loneliness had
stolen up on her without any warning. Cricklade didnt belong to them
anymore, she knew that now.

They made their way along the disconcerting corridor to the antechamber
at the end. A cast-iron spiral staircase wound up through the ceiling.

Louise paused to hear if anyone was coming down. Then, satisfied they
were still alone, she started up.

The manors main corridors were a vast contrast to the plain servant
utilities. Wide strips of thick green and gold carpet ran along polished
golden wood planks, the walls were hung with huge traditional oil
paintings in ostentatious gilt frames. Small antique chests stood at
regular intervals, holding either delicate objets dart or cut crystal
vases with fragrant blooms of terrestrial and xenoc flowers grown in the
manors own conservatory.

The outside of the door at the top of the spiral stairs was disguised as
a wall panel. Louise teased it open and peeped out. A grand stained-glass
window at the far end of the corridor was sending out broad fans of
coloured light to dye the walls and ceiling with tartan splashes.
Engraved light spheres on the ceiling were glowing a lame amber. All of
them emitted an unhealthy buzzing sound.

Nobody about, Louise said.

The two of them darted out and shut the panel behind them. They started
edging towards their mothers boudoir.

A distant cry sounded. Louise couldnt work out where it came from. It
wasnt close, though; thank sweet Jesus.

Lets go back, Genevieve said. Please, Louise. Mummy knows we went to
the stables. Shell find us there.

Well just see if shes here, first. If shes not, then well go
straight back.

They heard the anguished cry again, even softer this time.

The boudoir door was twenty feet away. Louise steeled herself and took a
step towards it.

Oh, God, no! No, no, no. Stop it. Grant! Dear God, help me!

Louises muscles locked in terror. It was her mothers voiceMothers
screamcoming from behind the boudoir door.

Grant, no! Oh, please. Please, no more. A long, shrill howl of pain
followed.

Genevieve was clutching at her in horror, soft whimpers bubbling from her
open mouth. The light spheres right outside the boudoir door grew
brighter. Within seconds they glared hotter than Duke at noon. Both of
them burst apart with a thin pop, sending slivers of milky glass tinkling
down on the carpet and floorboards.

Marjorie Kavanagh screeched again.

Mummy! Genevieve wailed.

Marjorie Kavanaghs scream broke off. There was a muffled, inexplicable
thud from behind the door. Then: RUN! RUN, DARLING. JUST RUN, NOW!

Louise was already stumbling back towards the concealed stairway door,
holding on to a distraught, sobbing Genevieve. The boudoir door flew
open, wood splintering from the force of the blow which struck it. A
solid shaft of sickly emerald light punched out into the corridor.
Spidery shadows moved within it, growing denser.

Two figures emerged.

Louise gagged. It was Rachel Handley, one of the manors maids. She
looked the same as normal. Except her hair. It had turned brick-red, the
strands curling and coiling around each other in slow, oily movements.

Then Daddy was standing beside the chunky girl, still in his militia
uniform. His face wore a foreign, sneering smile.

Come to Papa, baby, he growled happily, and took a step towards Louise.

All Louise could do was shake her head hopelessly. Genevieve had slumped
to her knees, bawling and shaking violently.

Come on, baby. His voice had fallen to a silky coo.

Louise couldnt stop the sob that burped from her lips. Soon it would
become a mad scream which would never end.

Her father laughed delightedly. A shape moved through the liquid green
light behind him and Rachel.

Louise was so numbed she could no longer even manage a solitary gasp of
surprise. It was Mrs Charlsworth, their nanny. Variously: tyrant and
surrogate mother, confidante and traitor. A rotund, middle-aged woman,
with prematurely greying hair and an otherwise sour face softened by
hundreds of granny wrinkles.

She stabbed a knitting needle straight at Grant Kavanaghs face, aiming
for his left eye. Leave my girls alone, you bloody fiend, she yelled
defiantly.

Louise could never quite remember exactly what happened next. There was
blood, and miniature lightning forks. Rachel Handley let out a clarion
shriek. Shattered glass erupted from the frames of the oil paintings down
half the length of the corridor as the blazing white lightning strobed
violently.

Louise crammed her hands over her ears as the shriek threatened to crack
open her skull. The lightning died away. When she looked up, instead of
her father there was a hulking humanoid shape standing beside Rachel. It
wore strange armour, made entirely of little squares of dark metal,
embossed with scarlet runes, and tied together with brass wire. Bitch!
it stormed at a quailing Mrs Charlsworth. Thick streamers of bright
orange smoke were belching out of its eye slits.

Rachel Handleys arms turned incandescent. She clamped her splayed
fingers over Mrs Charlsworths cheeks, teeth bared in exertion as she
pushed in. Skin sizzled and charred below her fingertips. Mrs Charlsworth
mewed in agony. The maid released her. She slumped backwards, her head
lolling to one side; and she looked at Louise, smiling as tears seeped
down her ruined cheeks. Go, she mouthed.

The grievous plea seemed to kick directly into Louises nervous system.
She pushed her shoulders into the wall, levering herself upright.

Mrs Charlsworth grinned mirthlessly as the maid and the burly warrior
closed on her to consummate their vengeance. She raised the pathetic
knitting needle again.

Ribbons of white fire snaked around Rachels arms as she grinned at her
prey. Small balls of it dripped off her fingertips, flying horizontally
towards the stricken woman, eating eagerly through the starched grey
uniform. A booming laugh emerged from the clinking armour, mingling with
Mrs Charlsworths gurgles of pain.

Louise put her arm under Genevieves shoulder and lifted her bodily.
Flashes of light and the sounds of Mrs Charlsworths torture flooded the
corridor behind her.

I mustnt turn back. I mustnt.

Her fingers found the catch for the concealed door, and it swung open
silently. She almost hurled Genevieve through the gap into the gloom
beyond, heedless of whether anyone else was on the stairs.

The door slid shut.

Gen? Gen! Louise shook the petrified girl. Gen, we have to get out of
here. There was no response. Oh, dear Jesus. The urge to curl into a
ball and weep her troubles away was strengthening.

If I do that, Ill die. And the baby with me.

She tightened her grip on Genevieves hand and hurried down the spiral
stairs. At least Genevieves limbs were working. Though what would happen
if they met another of those . . . people-creatures was another question
altogether.

Theyd just reached the small anteroom at the bottom of the spiral when a
loud hammering began above. Louise started to run down the corridor to
the storeroom. Genevieve stumbled along beside her, a low determined
humming coming from her lips.

The hammering stopped, and there was the brassy thump of an explosion.
Tendrils of bluish static shivered down the spiral stairs, grounding out
through the floor. Red stone tiles quaked and cracked. The dimming light
spheres along the ceiling sprang back to full intensity again.

Faster, Gen, she shouted.

They charged into the storeroom and through the green door leading to the
courtyard. Merlin was standing in the wide-open gateway of the stable
block, barking incessantly. Louise headed straight for him. If they could
take a horse theyd be free. She could ride better than anyone else at
the manor.

They were still five yards short of the stables when two people ran out
of the storeroom. It was Rachel and her father (except its not really
him, she thought desperately).

Come back, Louise, the dark knight called. Come along, sweetie. Daddy
wants a cuddle.

Louise and Genevieve dashed around the gates. Merlin stared out at the
yard for a second, then turned quickly and followed them inside.

Globules of white fire smashed into the stable doors, breaking apart into
complex webs which probed the woodwork with the tenacity of a ghouls
fingers. Glossy black paint blistered and vaporised, the planks began to
blaze furiously.

Undo the stall doors, Louise called above the incendiary roar of the
fire and the braying, agitated horses. She had to say it again before
Genevieve fumbled with the first bolt. The horse inside the stall shot
out into the aisle which ran the length of the stable.

Louise rushed for the far end of the stables. Merlin was yapping
hysterically behind her. Fire had spread from the doors to straw bundled
loosely in the manger. Orange sparks were flying like rain in a
hurricane. Thick arms of black smoke coiled insidiously along the ceiling.

The voices from outside called again, issuing orders and promises in
equal amounts. None of them were real.

Screams were adding to the clamour in the courtyard now. Quinns
disciples had inevitably gained the upper hand; Cricklades few remaining
free servants were being hunted and possessed without any attempt at
stealth.

Louise reached the stall at the end of the stables, the one with Daddys
magnificent black stallion, a bloodline geneered to a perfection which
nineteenth-century sporting kings could only dream of. The bolt slid back
easily, and she grabbed the bridle before he had a chance to arrow into
the aisle. He snorted furiously at her, but allowed her to steady him.
She had to stand on a bale of hay in order to mount him. There was no
time for a saddle.

The fire had spread with horrendous speed. Several of the stalls were
burning now, their stout old timber walls shooting out wild sulphurous
flames. Merlin was backing away from them, his barking fearful. Over half
a dozen horses were milling in the aisle, whinnying direly. Flames had
cut them off from the stable doors, the noisy inferno pressing them back
from their one exit. She couldnt see Gen.

Where are you? she shouted. Gen!

Here. Im here. The voice was coming from an empty stall.

Louise urged the stallion forwards down the aisle, yelling wildly at the
panicking horses in front of her. Two of them reared up, alarmed by this
new, unexpected threat. They began to move en masse towards the flames.

Quick! Louise yelled.

Genevieve saw her chance and sprinted out into the aisle. Louise leaned
over and grabbed her. At first she thought shed miscalculated the girls
weight, feeling herself starting to slide downwards. But then Genevieve
snatched at the stallions mane, causing it to neigh sharply. Just as
Louise was sure her spine would snap, or shed crash headfirst onto the
aisles stone flagging, Genevieve levered herself up to straddle the base
of the stallions neck.

The stable doors had been all but consumed by the eerily hot fire. Their
remaining planks sagged and twisted on the glowing hinges, then lurched
onto the cobbles with a loud bang.

With the intensity of the flames temporarily reduced, the horses raced
for the door and their chance of freedom. Louise dug her heels into the
stallions flanks, spurring it on. There was an exhilarating burst of
speed. Yellow spires of flame splashed across her left arm and leg,
making her cry out. Genevieve squealed in front of her, batting
frantically at her blouse. The stench of singed hair solidified in her
nostrils. Thin layers of smoke stretching across the aisle whipped across
her face, stinging her eyes.

Then they were through, out of the gaping door with its wreath of tiny
flames scrabbling at the ruined frame, chasing after the other horses.
Fresh air and low sunlight washed over them. The hefty knight in the dark
mosaic armour was standing ahead of them. Streamers of bright orange
smoke were still pouring from his helmets eye slits. Sparks of white
fire danced across his raised gauntlets. He started to point a rigid
forefinger at them, the white fire building.

But the posse of crazed horses couldnt be deflected. The first one
flashed past stark inches from him. Alert to the danger they presented,
even to someone with energistic power, he began to jump aside. That was
his mistake. The second horse might have missed him if hed stayed still.
Instead, it struck him almost head on. The screaming horse buckled on top
of him, forelegs snapping with an atrocious crack as inertia sent it
hurtling forwards regardless. The knight was flung out sideways, spinning
in the air. He landed bonelessly, bouncing a full foot above the cobbles
before coming to a final rest. His armour vanished immediately, revealing
Grant Kavanaghs body, still clad in his militia uniform. The fabric was
torn in a dozen places, stained scarlet by the blood pumping from open
wounds.

Louise gasped, instinctively pulling the reins to halt the stallion.
Daddy was hurt!

But the flowing blood swiftly stanched itself. Ragged tears of flesh
started to close up. The uniform was stitching itself together. Dusty,
grazed leather shoes became metallic boots. He shook his head, grunting
in what was little more than dazed annoyance.

Louise stared for a second as he started to raise himself onto his
elbows, then spurred the horse away.

Daddy! Genevieve shouted in anguish.

Its not him, Louise told her through clenched teeth. Not now. Thats
something else. The devils own monster.

Rachel Handley stood in front of the arched entrance to the courtyard.
Hands on hips, aroused wormlet hair threshing eagerly. Nice try. She
laughed derisively. A hand was raised, palm towards the sisters. The
awful white fire ignited around her wrist, wispy talons flaring from her
fingers. Her laugh deepened at the sight of Louises anguish, cutting
across Merlins miserable barking.

The bullet-bolt of white fire which caught Rachel Handley an inch above
her left eye came from somewhere behind Louise. It bored straight through
the maids skull, detonating in the centre of the brain. The back of her
head blew off in a gout of charred gore and rapidly dissipating violet
flame. Her body remained upright for a second, then the muscles spasmed
once before losing all tension. She pitched forwards. Bright arterial
blood spilled out of her ruined, smoking brainpan.

Louise twisted around. The courtyard was empty apart from the woozy
figure of her father still clambering to his feet. A hundred empty
windows stared down at her. Faint screams echoed over the rooftops. Long
swirls of flame churned noisily out of the stable blocks wide doors.

Genevieve was shaking violently again, crying in convulsive gulps.
Concern for the little girl overcame Louises utter confusion, and she
spurred the stallion once more, guiding it around the vile corpse and out
through the courtyards entrance.



From where he was standing beside the window of the third-floor guest
suite, Quinn Dexter watched the girl riding the superb black horse
hell-for-leather over the manors greensward and towards the wolds. Not
even his awesome energistic strength could reach the fleeing sisters from
this distance.

He pursed his lips in distaste. Someone had aided them. Why, he couldnt
think. The traitor must surely know they would never go unpunished. Gods
Brother saw all. Every soul was accountable in the end.

Theyll head for Colsterworth, of course, he said. All theyre doing
is postponing the inevitable for a couple of hours. Most of that poxy
little town already belongs to us.

Yes, Quinn, said the boy standing behind him.

And soon the whole world, Quinn muttered. And then what?

He turned and smiled proudly. It is so nice to see you again. I never
thought I would. But He must have decided to reward me.

I love you, Quinn, Lawrence Dillon said simply. The body of the stable
lad he had possessed was completely naked, the scars from the act of
possession already nothing more than faint, fading pink lines on the
tanned skin.

I had to do what I did on Lalonde. You know that. We couldnt take you
with us.

I know, Quinn, Lawrence said devoutly. I was a liability. I was weak
back then. He knelt at Quinns feet, and beamed up at the stern features
of the black-robed figure. But Im not anymore. Now I can help you
again. It will be like before, only better. The whole universe will bow
before you, Quinn.

Yeah, Quinn Dexter said slowly, savouring the thought. The fuckers
just might.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The datavised alert woke Ralph Hiltch from a desultory sleep. As an ESA
head of station, hed been assigned some temporary quarters in the Royal
Navy officers mess. Strange impersonal surroundings, and the emotional
cold turkey from bringing Gerald Skibbow to Guyana, had left his thoughts
racing as he lay on the bunk after a three-hour debrief session last
night. In the end hed wound up accessing a mild trank program to relax
his body.

At least he hadnt suffered any nightmares; though Jenny was never very
far from the surface of his mind. A final frozen image of the mission:
Jenny lying under a scrum of man-apes, datavising a kamikaze code into
the power cell at her side. The image didnt need storing in a neural
nanonics memory cell in order to retain its clarity. Shed thought it was
preferable to the alternative. But was she right? It was a question hed
asked himself a lot during the voyage to Ombey.

He swung his legs over the side of his bunk and ran fingers through hair
that badly needed a wash. The rooms net processor informed him that
Guyana asteroid had just gone to a code three alert status.

Shit, now what? As if he couldnt guess.

His neural nanonics reported an incoming call from Ombeys ESA office,
tagged as the director, Roche Skark, himself. Ralph opened a secure
channel to the net processor with a sense of grim inevitability. You
didnt have to be psychic to know it wasnt going to be good.

Sorry to haul you back to active status so soon after you arrived,
Roche Skark datavised. But the shits just hit the fan. We need your
expertise.

Sir?

It looks like three of the embassy personnel who came here on the Ekwan
were sequestrated by the virus. Theyve gone down to the surface.

What? Panic surged into Ralphs mind. Not that abomination, not loose
here in the Kingdom. Please God. Are you certain?

Yes. Ive just come out of a Privy Council security conference with the
Princess. She authorized the code three alert because of it.

Ralphs shoulders slumped. Oh, God, and I brought them here.

You couldnt have known.

Its my job to know. Goddamn, I grew slack on Lalonde.

I doubt any of us would have done anything different.

Yes, sir. Pity you couldnt sneer with a datavise.

In any case, were right behind them. Admiral Farquar and my good
colleague Jannike Dermot over at the ISA have been commendably swift in
implementing damage limitation procedures. We estimate the embassy trio
are barely seven hours ahead of you.

Ralph thought about the damage one of those things could inflict in seven
hours and put his head in his hands. That still gives them a lot of time
to infect other people. Implications began to sink through his crust of
dismay. Itll be an exponential effect.

Possibly, Roche Skark admitted. If it isnt contained very quickly we
may have to abandon the entire Xingu continent. Quarantine procedures are
already in place, and the police are being told how to handle the
situation. But I want you there to instill a bit of urgency, kick a bit
of arse.

Yes, sir. This active status call, does that mean I get to go after them
in person?

It does. Technically, youre going down to advise the Xingu continents
civil authorities. As far as Im concerned you can engage in as much
fieldwork as you want, with the proviso that you dont expose yourself to
the possibility of infection.

Thank you, sir.

Ralph, I dont mind telling you, what this energy virus can do scares
the crap out of me. It has to be a precursor to something, some form of
invasion. And safeguarding the Kingdom from such threats is my job. Yours
too, come to that. So stop them, Ralph. Shoot first, and Ill whitewash
later if need be.

Youve got it, sir.

Good man. The admiral has assigned a flyer to take you down to Pasto
city spaceport, its leaving in twelve minutes. Ill have a full
situation briefing datapackage assembled ready for you to access on the
way down. Anything you want, let me know.

Id like to take Will Danza and Dean Folan with me, and have them
authorized to fire weapons on the surface. They know how to deal with
people who have been sequestrated. Cathal Fitzgerald too; hes seen the
virus at work.

Theyll have the authorization before you land.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Duchess had risen above the horizon by the time Colsterworth came into
view. The red dwarf sun occupied a portion of the horizon diametrically
opposite Duke, the two of them struggling to contaminate the landscape
below with their own unique spectrum.

Duchess was winning the battle, rising in time to Dukes fall from the
sky. The eastward slopes of the wolds were slowly slipping from verdant
green to subdued burgundy. Aboriginal pine-analogue trees planted among
the hedgerows of geneered hawthorn became grizzled pewter pillars. Even
the stallions ebony hide was darkening.

Dukes golden glow withdrew before the strengthening red tide.

For the first time in her life, Louise resented the primarys retreat.
Duchess-night was usually a magical time, twisting the familiar world
into a land of mysterious shadows and balmy air. This time the red stain
had a distinctly ominous quality.

Do you suppose Aunty Daphnie will be home? Genevieve asked for what
must have been the fifth time.

Im sure she will, Louise replied. It had taken Genevieve a good half
hour to stop crying after theyd escaped from Cricklade. Louise had
concentrated so hard on comforting her sister, shed almost stopped being
afraid herself. Certainly it was easy to blank what had happened from her
mind. And she wasnt quite sure exactly what she was going to say to Aunt
Daphnie. The actual truth would make her sound utterly mad. Yet anything
less than the truth might not suffice. Whatever forces of justice and law
were dispatched up to Cricklade would have to be well armed and alert.
The chief constable and the mayor had to believe what they faced was
deadly real, not the imaginings of a half-hysterical teenage girl.

Fortunately she was a Kavanagh. People would have to listen. And please,
dear Jesus, make them believe.

Is that a fire? Genevieve asked.

Louise jerked her head up. Colsterworth was spread out along a couple of
miles of a shallow valley, growing up from the intersection of a river
and the railway line. A somnolent little market town with ranks of neat
terrace houses set amid small, pretty gardens. The larger homes of the
important families occupied the gentle eastern slope, capturing the best
view over the countryside. An industrial district of warehouses and small
factories cluttered the ground around the wharf.

Three tall spires of filthy smoke were twisting up from the centre of the
town. Flames burned at the base of one. Very bright flames. Whatever the
building was, it glowed like molten iron.

Oh, no, Louise gasped. Not here, too. As she watched, one of the long
river barges drifted past the last warehouse. Its decks were alight, the
tarpaulin-covered cargo hold puffing out mushrooms of brown smoke. Louise
guessed the barrels it carried were exploding. People were jumping off
the prow, striking out for the bank.

Now what? Genevieve asked in a woeful voice.

Let me think. She had never considered that anywhere other than
Cricklade was affected. But of course her father and that chilling young
priest had stopped at Colsterworth first. And before that . . . A
midwinter frost prickled her spine. Could it all have started at Boston?
Everyone said an insurrection was beyond the Unions ability to mount.
Was the whole island to be conquered by these demons in human guise?

And if so, where do we go?

Look! Genevieve was pointing ahead.

Louise saw a Romany caravan being driven at considerable speed along one
of the roads on the edge of town below them. The driver was standing on
the seat, striking at the cob horses rump with a whip. It was a woman,
her white dress flapping excitably in the wind.

Shes running away, Genevieve cried. They cant have got to her yet.

The notion that they could join up with an adult who would be on their
side was a glorious tonic for Louise. Even if it was just a simple Romany
woman, she thought uncharitably. But then didnt Romanies know about
magic? The manor staff said they practised all sorts of dark arts. She
might even know how to ward off the devils.

Louise took in the road ahead of the racing caravan with a keen sweep,
trying to work out where they could meet it. There was nothing directly
in front of the caravan, but three quarters of a mile from the town was a
large farmhouse.

Frantic animals were charging out of the open farmyard gate into the
meadows: pigs, heifers, a trio of shire-horses, even a Labrador. The
houses windows flashed brightly, emitting solid beams of blue-white
light which appeared quite dazzling under the scarlet sky.

Shes heading straight for them, Louise groaned. When she checked the
careering caravan again it had just passed the last of Colsterworths
terraced houses. There were too many trees and bends ahead for the driver
to see the farmhouse.

Louise sized up the distance to the road, and snapped the bridle. Hang
on, she told Genevieve. The stallion charged forwards, dusky red grass
blurring beneath its hooves. It jumped the first fence with hardly a
break in its rhythm. Louise and Genevieve bounced down hard on its back,
the younger girl letting out a yap of pain.

A jeering crowd had emerged on the road behind the caravan, milling
beneath the twin clumps of geneered silver birch trees which marked the
towns official boundary. It was almost as if they were unwilling, or
unable, to venture out into the open fields. Several bolts of white fire
were flung after the fleeing caravanglinting stars which dwindled away
after a few hundred yards.

Louise wanted to weep in frustration when she saw people walking out of
the farmhouse and start down the road towards Colsterworth. The Romany
woman still hadnt noticed the danger ahead.

Shout at her! Stop her! she cried to Genevieve.

They covered the last three hundred yards bellowing wildly.

It was to no avail. They were close enough to the caravan to see the foam
coating the nose of the piebald cob before the Romany woman caught sight
of them. Even then she didnt stop, although the reins were pulled back.
The huge beast started to slow its frantic sprint to a more reasonable
trot.

The stallion cleared the hedge and the ditch running alongside the road
in an easy bound. Louise whipped it around to match the caravans pace.
There was a tremendous clattering coming from inside the wooden frame
with its gaudy paintwork, as if an entire kitchens worth of pots and
pans were being juggled by malevolent clowns.

The Romany woman had long raven hair streaming out behind her, a brown
face with round cheeks. Her white linen dress was stained with sweat.
Defiant, wild eyes stared at the sisters. She made some kind of sign in
the air.

A spell? Louise wondered. Stop! she begged. Please stop. Theyre
already ahead of you. Theyre at that farmhouse, look.

The Romany woman stood up, searching the land beyond the cobs bobbing
head. They had another quarter of a mile to go until they reached the
farmhouse. But Louise had lost sight of the people who had come out of it.

How do you know? the woman called out.

Just stop! Genevieve squealed. Her small fists were bunched tight.

Carmitha looked the little girl over, then came to a decision. She
nodded, and began to rein back.

The caravans front axle snapped with a prodigious crunching sound.

Carmitha just managed to grab hold of the frame as the whole caravan
pitched forwards. Sparks flew out from underneath her as the world tilted
sharply. A last wrenching snap and the caravan ground to a halt. One of
the front wheels trundled past her cob horse, Olivier, then rolled down
into the dry ditch at the side of the road.

Shit! She glared at the girls on the big black stallion, their
soot-stained white blouses and grubby desolate faces. It must have been
them. Shed thought they were pure, but you just couldnt tell. Not now.
Her grandmothers ramblings on the spirit world had been nothing more
than campsite tales to delight and scare young children. But she did
remember some of the old womans words. She raised her hands so and
summoned up the incantation.

What are you doing? the elder of the two girls yelled down at her. We
have to get out of here. Now!

Carmitha frowned in confusion. The girls both looked terrified, as well
they might if theyd seen a tenth of what she had. Maybe they were
untainted. But it if wasnt them who wrecked the caravan . . .

She heard a chuckle and whirled around. The man just appeared out of the
tree standing on the other side of the road from the ditch. Literally out
of it. Bark lines faded from his body to reveal the most curious green
tunic. Arms of jade silk, a jacket of lime wool, big brass buttons down
the front, and a ridiculous pointed felt hat sprouting a couple of white
feathers.

Going somewhere, pretty ladies? He bowed deeply and doffed his hat.

Carmitha blinked. His tunic really was green. But it shouldnt have been,
not in this light. Ride! she called to the girls.

Oh, no. His voice sounded indignant, a host whose hospitality has
proved inadequate. Do stay.

One of the small kittledove birds in the tree behind him took flight with
an indignant squawk. Its leathery wings folded back, and it dived towards
the stallion. Intense blue and purple sparks fizzed out of its tail,
leaving a contrail of saffron smoke behind it. The tiny organic missile
streaked past the stallions nose and skewered into the ground with a wet
thud.

Louise and Genevieve both reached out instinctively to pat and gentle the
suddenly skittish stallion. Five more kittledoves were lined up on the
pines branches, their twittering stilled.

In fact, I insist you stay, the green man said, and smiled charmingly.

Let the girls go, Carmitha told him calmly. Theyre only children.

His eyes lingered on Louise. But growing up so splendidly. Dont you
agree?

Louise stiffened.

Carmitha was about to argue, maybe even plead. But then she saw four more
people marching down the road from the farmhouse and the fight went out
of her. Taking to her heels would do no good. Shed seen what the white
fireballs could do to flesh and bone. It was going to be bad enough
without adding to the pain.

Sorry, girls, she said lamely.

Louise gave her a flicker of a smile. She looked at the green man. Touch
me, peasant, and my fianc will make you eat your own balls.

Genevieve twisted around in astonishment to study her sister. Then
grinned weakly. Louise winked at her. Paper defiance, but it felt
wonderful.

The green man chortled. Dearie me, and I thought you were a fine young
lady.

Appearances can be deceptive, she told him icily.

I will enjoy teaching you some respect. I will personally see to it that
your possession takes a good many days.

Louise glanced briefly in the direction of the four men from the
farmhouse who were now standing beside the placid cob. Are you quite
sure you have mustered sufficient forces? I dont want you to be too
frightened of me.

The green mans laboured smile vanished altogether, as did his debonair
manner. Know what, bitch? Im going to make you watch while I fuck your
little sister in half.

Louise flinched, whitening.

I believe this has gone far enough. It was one of the men whod arrived
from the farm. He walked towards the green man.

Louise noticed how his legs bowed outward, making his shoulders rock
slightly from side to side as he walked. But he was handsome, she
acknowledged, with his dark skin and wavy jet-black hair tied back in a
tiny ponytail. Rugged; backed up by a muscular build. He couldnt have
been more than about twenty, or twenty-onethe same age as Joshua. His
dark blue jacket was dreadfully old-fashioned, it had long tails which
came to a point just behind his knees. He wore it over a yellow
waistcoat, and a white silk shirt that had a tiny turned-down collar
complemented with a black ruff tie. Strange apparel, but elegant, too.

Whats your problem, boy? the green man asked scornfully.

Is that not apparent, sir? I find it difficult to see how even a
gentleman of your tenor can bring it upon himself to threaten three
frightened ladies.

The green mans mouth split into a wide smile. Oh, you do, do you?
White fire speared out of his fingers. It struck the newcomers blue
jacket and flared wide into clawing braids. He stood calmly as the coils
of incandescence scrabbled ineffectively across him, as if he wore an
overcoat of impervious glass.

Unperturbed by his failure, the green man swung a fist. It didnt
connect. His opponent ducked back with surprising speed. A fist slammed
into the side of the green mans torso. Three ribs shattered from the
enhanced blow. He had to exert some of his own energistic strength to
stave off the pain and repair the physical damage. Fuck, he spat,
shocked by this inexplicable recalcitrance on the part of someone who was
supposed to be a comrade. What the hell are you doing?

I would have thought that obvious, sir, the other said from behind
raised fists. I am defending the honour of these ladies.

I dont believe this, the green man exclaimed. Look, lets just get
them possessed, and forget it. Okay? Sorry I mouthed off. But that girl
has the devils own tongue.

No, sir, I will not forget your threat to the child. Our Lord may have
deemed me unworthy to join Him in Heaven. But, still, I count myself as
more than a beast who would commit rapine upon such a delicate flower.

Delicate . . . You have got to be fucking joking.

Never, sir.

The green man threw his hands in the air. He turned to the other three
who had accompanied his opponent from the farm. Come on, together we can
boil his crazy brain and send him back to the beyond. Or maybe you can
ignore them pleading to be let back into the world, he added
significantly.

The three men exchanged an uneasy glance.

You may indeed best me, the man in the blue jacket said. But if I have
to return to that accursed nowhere, I will take at least one of you with
me, possibly more. So come then, who will it be?

I dont need any of this, one of the three muttered. He pushed his way
past the other two and started to walk down the road towards the town.

The man in the blue jacket gave the remaining two an inquiring look. Both
of them shook their heads and set off down the road.

What is it with you? the green man shouted furiously.

I believe that is a rhetorical question.

Okay, so who the hell are you?

For a moment his handsome face faltered in its resolution. Pain burned in
his eyes. They called me Titreano, once, he whispered.

Okay, Titreano. Its your party. For now. But when Quinn Dexter catches
up with you, its going to be the morning after like youve never fucking
believed.

He turned on a heel and stalked off along the road.

Carmitha finally remembered to breathe again. OhmyGod! Her knees gave
out, and she sat down fast. I thought I was dead.

Titreano smiled graciously. You would not have been killed. What they
bring is something far worse.

Like what?

Possession.

She gave him a long, mistrustful stare. And youre one of them.

To my shame, my lady, I am.

Carmitha didnt know what the hell to believe.

Please, sir? Genevieve asked. What should we do now? Where can Louise
and I go?

Louise patted Gens hands in caution. This Titreano was one of the devils
after all, no matter how friendly he appeared to be.

I do not know this place, Titreano said. But I would advise against
yonder town.

We know that, Genevieve said spryly.

Titreano smiled up at her. Indeed you do. And what is your name, little
one?

Genevieve. And this is my sister, Louise. Were Kavanaghs, you know.

Carmitha groaned and rolled her eyes. Christ, thats all I need right
now, she mumbled.

Louise gave her a puzzled frown.

I regret I have not heard of your family, Titreano said in what sounded
like sincere regret. But from your pride, I venture it is a great one.

We own a lot of Kesteven between us, Genevieve said. She was beginning
to like this man. Hed stood up to the horrors, and he was polite. Not
many grown-ups were polite to her, they never seemed to have the time to
talk at all. He was very well spoken, too.

Kesteven? Titreano said. Now that is a name I do know. I believe that
it is an area of Lincolnshire. Am I correct?

Back on Earth, yes, Louise said.

Back on Earth, Titreano repeated incredulously. He glanced over at
Duke, then switched to Duchess. Exactly what is this world?

Norfolk. Its an English-ethnic planet.

The majority, Carmitha said.

Louise frowned again. What ever was wrong with the Romany woman?

Titreano closed his eyes, as if he felt some deep pain. I sailed upon
oceans, and I thought no challenge could be greater, he said faintly.
And now men sail the void between stars. Oh, how I remember them. The
constellations burning so bright at night. How could I ever have known?
Gods creation has a majesty which lays men bare at His feet.

You were a sailor? Louise asked uncertainly.

Yes, my lady Louise. I had the honour to serve my King thus.

King? Theres no royal family in the Earths English state any more.

Titreano slowly opened his eyes, revealing only sadness. No King?

No. But our Mountbatten family are descended from British royalty. The
Prince guards our constitution.

So nobility has not yet been overthrown by darkness. Ah well, I should
be content.

How come you didnt know about old England? Genevieve asked. I mean,
you knew about Kesteven being a part of it.

What year is this, little one?

Genevieve considered protesting about being called little one, but he
didnt seem to mean it in a nasty way. Year 102 since settlement. But
those are Norfolk years; theyre four Earth years long. So back on Earth
its 2611.

Twenty-six hundred and eleven years since Our Lord was born, Titreano
said in awe. Dear Heaven. So long? Though the torment I endured felt as
if it were eternal.

What torment? Genevieve asked with innocent curiosity.

The torment all us damned souls face after they die, little one.

Genevieves jaw dropped, her mouth forming a wide O.

Youve been dead? Louise asked, not believing a word of it.

Yes, Lady Louise. I was dead, for over eight hundred years.

Thats what you meant by possession? Carmitha said.

Yes, my lady, he said gravely.

Carmitha pinched the top of her nose, wrinkling her brow. And how,
exactly, did you come back?

I do not know, except a way was opened into this bodys heart.

You mean thats not your body?

No. This is a mortal man by the name of Eamon Goodwin, though I now wear
my own form above his. I hear him crying inside me. He fixed Carmitha
with a steady eye. That is why the others pursue you. There are millions
of souls lost in the torment of beyond. All seek living bodies so they
may breathe again.

Us? Genevieve squeaked.

Yes, little one. You. Im sorry.

Look, this is all very interesting, Carmitha said. Complete drivel,
but interesting. However, just in case you havent caught hold, right now
we are drowning in deep shit. I dont know what you freaks really are,
possessed zombies or something nice and simple like xenocs with psychic
powers. But when that green bastard reaches Colsterworth hes going to be
coming back with a lot of friends. Ive got to unhitch my horse, and we
threeher gesture took in the sistershave got to be long gone. She
arched an eyebrow. Right, Miss Kavanagh?

Yes. Louise nodded.

Titreano glanced at the passive cob, then the stallion. If you are
serious in your intent, you should travel together in your caravan. None
of you has a saddle, and this mighty beast has the look of Hercules about
him. Ill wager he can maintain a steady pace for many hours.

Brilliant, Carmitha snorted. She hopped down onto the hard-packed dirt
of the road and slapped the side of her ruined caravan. Well just wait
here for a wheelwright to come along, shall we?

Titreano smiled. He walked over to the ditch where the wheel had fallen
in.

Carmithas next acidic phrase died unspoken as he righted the wheel and
pushed it (one-handed!) up out of the ditch, treating it as though it
were a childs hoop. The wheel was five feet in diameter, and made of
good, heavy tythorn wood. Three strong men would struggle to lift it
between them.

My God. She wasnt sure if she should be thankful or horrified at such
a demonstration. If all of them were like him, then hope had deserted
Norfolk long ago.

Titreano reached the caravan and bent down.

Youre not going to . . .

He lifted it by the front cornertwo, three feet off the road. Carmitha
watched as the broken axle slowly straightened itself. The splintered
fracture in the middle blurred, then for a brief moment the wood appeared
to run like a liquid. It solidified. And the axle was whole again.

Titreano jemmied the wheel back onto the bearing.

What are you? Carmitha whispered weakly.

I have already explained, my lady, Titreano said. What I can never do
is bring you to believe what I am. That must come of its own accord, as
God wills.

He went over to the stallion and held his arms up. Come on, little one,
down you come.

Genevieve hesitated.

Go on, Louise said quietly. Plainly, if Titreano had wanted to harm
them, he would have done it by now. The more she saw of these strange
people, the more her heart blackened. What could possibly fight such
power?

Genevieve smiled scampishly and swung a leg over the stallion. She
slithered down his flank into Titreanos grip.

Thank you, she said as he put her down. And thank you for helping us,
too.

How could I not? I may be damned, but I am not devoid of honour.

Louise got most of the way down the stallion before she accepted his
steadying hand. She managed a fast, embarrassed grin of thanks.

Im sore all over, Genevieve complained, hands rubbing her bottom.

Where to? Louise asked Carmitha.

Im not sure, the Romany replied. There should be a lot of my folk in
the caves above Holbeach. We always gather there if theres any kind of
trouble abroad. You can hold those caves for a long time; theyre high in
the cliffs, not easy to reach.

It would be a short siege this time, I fear, Titreano said.

You got a better idea? she snapped back.

You cannot stay on this island, not if you wish to escape possession.
Does this world have ships?

Some, Louise said.

Then you should try to buy passage.

To go where? Carmitha asked. If your kind really are after bodies,
exactly where would be safe?

That would depend on how swiftly your leaders rally. There will be war,
many dreadful battles. There can be nothing less. Both our kinds are
fighting for their very existence.

Then we must go to Norwich, the capital, Louise said decisively. We
must warn the government.

Norwich is five thousand miles away, Carmitha said. A ship would take
weeks.

We cant hide here and do nothing.

Im not risking myself on some foolhardy errand, girl. Fat lot of good
you precious landowners will be, anyway. What has Norfolk got which can
fight off the likes of him? She waved a hand towards Titreano.

The Confederation Navy squadron is still here, Louise said, her voice
raised now. They have fabulous weapons.

Of mass destruction. Hows that going to help people who have been
possessed? We need to break the possession, not slaughter the afflicted.

They glared at each other.

Theres an aeroambulance based at Bytham, Genevieve said brightly.
That could reach Norwich in five hours.

Louise and Carmitha stared at her. Then Louise broke into a grin and
kissed her sister. Now whos the clever one?

Genevieve smiled around pertly. Titreano made a face at her, and she
giggled.

Carmitha glanced down the road. Bythams about a seven hour journey from
here. Assuming we dont run into any more problems.

We wont, Genevieve said. She took hold of Titreanos hand. Not with
you with us.

He grinned halfheartedly. I . . .

Youre not going to leave us alone, a suddenly stricken Genevieve asked.

Of course not, little one.

Thats that, then.

Carmitha shook her head. I must be bloody mad even thinking of doing
this. Louise, tether your horse to the caravan.

Louise did as she was told. Carmitha climbed back up on the caravan,
regarding it suspiciously as she put her weight on the drivers seat.
How long is that repair going to last for?

Im not quite sure, Titreano said apologetically. He helped Genevieve
up beside Carmitha, then hoisted himself up.

When Louise clambered up, the narrow seat was cramped. She was pressed
against Titreano, and not quite sure how she should react to such
proximity. If only it were Joshua, she thought wistfully.

Carmitha flicked the reins, and Olivier started forwards at an easy trot.

Genevieve folded her arms in satisfaction and cocked her head to look up
at Titreano. Did you help us at Cricklade as well?

Hows that, little one?

One of the possessed was trying to stop us from riding away, Louise
said. She was hit by white fire. We wouldnt be here otherwise.

No, Lady Louise. It was not I.

Louise settled back into the hard seat, unhappy the mystery hadnt been
solved. But then by todays standards it was one of the lesser problems
confronting her.

Olivier trotted on down the road as Duke finally disappeared below the
wolds. Behind the caravan, more of Colsterworths buildings had started
to burn.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Guyanas navy spaceport was a standard hollow sphere of girders, almost
two kilometres in diameter. Like a globular silver-white mushroom on a
very thin stalk, it stuck out of the asteroids rotation axis; the
massive magnetic bearings on the end of the connecting spindle allowed it
to remain stationary while the colossal rock rolled along its orbital
track. The surface was built up from circular docking bays linked
together by a filigree of struts and transit tubes. Tanks, generators,
crew stations, environmental maintenance machinery, and shark-fin thermo
dump panels were jumbled together in the gaps between bays, apparently
without reference to any overall design logic.

Narrow rivers of twinkling star-specks looped around it all, twining in
elaborate, interlocked figure-eights. The rivers had a current, their
points of light drifting in the same direction at the same speed; cargo
tugs, personnel commuters, and MSVs, firing their reaction drives to
maintain the precise vectors fed to them by traffic control. Ombeys code
three defence alert had stirred the spaceport into frantic activity for
the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time instead of preparing
to receive a single craft, frigates and battle cruisers were departing.
Every few minutes one of the big spherical Royal Kulu Navy ships would
launch from its docking bay, rising through the traffic lanes of smaller
support craft with an arc-bright glare of secondary fusion drives. They
were racing for higher orbits, each with a different inclination;
Strategic Defence Command positioned them so they englobed the entire
planet, giving full interception coverage out to a million kilometres. If
any unidentified ship emerged from a ZTT jump within that region, it
would be engaged within a maximum of fifteen seconds.

Amid the departing warships a lone navy flyer rose from the spaceport. It
was a flattened egg-shape fuselage of dark blue-grey silicolithium
composite, fifty metres long, fifteen wide. Coherent magnetic fields
wrapped it in a warm golden glow of captured solar wind particles. Ion
thrusters fired, manoeuvring it away from the big frigates. Then the
fusion tube in the tail ignited, pushing it down towards the planet
seventy-five thousand kilometres below.

The one-gee acceleration sucked Ralph Hiltch gently back into his seat,
making the floor stand to the vertical. On the seat next to him, his
flight bag rolled over once to lie in the crook of the cushioning.

This vector will get us to Pasto spaceport in sixty-three minutes,
Cathal Fitzgerald datavised from the pilots seat.

Thanks, Ralph replied. He widened the channel to include the two G66
troopers. Id like you all to access the briefing that Skark gave me.
This kind of information could be critical, and we need all the breaks we
can get around here.

That earned him a grin and a wave from Dean Folan, a noncommittal grimace
from Will Danza. They were both sitting on the other side of the aisle.
The sixty-seater cabin seemed deserted with just the four of them using
it.

None of his little team had complained or refused to go. Privately hed
made it quite clear they could pull out without any indiscipline action
being entered on their file. But theyd all agreed, with varying degrees
of enthusiasm. Even Dean who had the best excuse of all. Hed been in
surgery for seven hours last night; the asteroids navy clinic had to
rebuild sixty per cent of his arm. The boosted musculature, ruined by the
hit hed taken in Lalondes jungle, had to be completely replaced with
fresh artificial tissue, along with various blood vessels, skin, and
nerves. The repair was still wrapped in a green sheath of medical nanonic
packaging. But he was looking forward to levelling the score, hed said
cheerfully.

Ralph closed his eyes and let the briefing invade his mind, neural
nanonics tabulating it into a sharply defined iconographic matrix.
Details of the Xingu continent: a sprawl of four and a half million
square kilometres in the northern hemisphere, roughly diamond-shaped,
with a long mountainous ridge of land extending out from its southern
corner. The ridge crossed the equator; and Ombeys broad tropical zones
meant the entire continent was an ideal farming region, with the one
exception of the semi-desert occupying the centre. So far only two-fifths
of it was inhabited, but with a population of seventy million, it was the
second-most prosperous continent after Esparta, where the capital
Atherstone was situated.

After Xingu came the embassy trio, Jacob Tremarco, Savion Kerwin, and
Angeline Gallagher. Their career files contained nothing exceptional,
they were all regular Kulu Foreign Office staffers: loyal, boring
bureaucrats. Visuals, family histories, medical reports. It was all
there, and none of it particularly useful apart from the images. Ralph
stored them in a neural nanonics memory cell, and spliced them with a
general characteristics recognition program. He hadnt forgotten that
strange image-shifting ability the sequestrated had demonstrated back on
Lalonde. The recognition program might give him a slight edge if one of
them attempted a disguise, though he didnt hold out much hope.

The most promising part of the datapackage was the series of measures
Admiral Farquar and Leonard DeVille, Xingus Home Office minister, had
implemented to quarantine the continent and trace the embassy trio. All
civil traffic was being systematically shut down. Search programs were
being loaded into the continents data cores, watching for a trail of
unexplained temporary glitches in processors and power circuits.
Public-area security monitor cameras had been given the visual pattern of
the trio, and police patrols were also being briefed.

Maybe theyd get lucky, Ralph thought. Lalonde was a backwards colony on
the arse edge of nowhere, without any modern communications or much in
the way of civil authority. But Ombey was part of the Kingdom, the
society hed sworn to defend with his life if need be. Years ago at
university, when hed discreetly been offered a commission in the agency,
hed considered Kulu a worthwhile society. The richest in the
Confederation outside Edenism, it was strong economically, militarily; a
technology leader. It had a judicial system which kept the average
citizen safe on the streets, and was even reasonably fair by modern
standards. Medical care was socialized. Most people had jobs. Admittedly,
ruled by the Saldanas, it was hardly the most democratic of systems, but
then short of the Edenist Consensus few democratic societies were truly
representative. And there were a lot of planets which didnt even pretend
to be egalitarian. So hed swallowed any niggling self-suspicion of
radicalism, and agreed to serve his King until his death.

What hed seen of the galaxy had only served to strengthen his conviction
that hed done the right thing in taking the oath. The Kingdom was a
civilized place compared to most; its citizens were entitled to lead
their lives without interference. And if that meant the ESA occasionally
having to get its hands dirty, then so be it, as far as Ralph was
concerned. A society worth having is worth protecting.

And thanks to its own nature, Ombey should definitely be able to cope
better than Lalonde. Although the very systems which made it more able
also gave the enemy a greater opportunity to spread its subversion. The
virus carriers had been slow to travel on Lalonde. Here they would suffer
no such restrictions.

Cathal Fitzgerald cut the flyers fusion drive when they were two hundred
kilometres above Xingu. Gravity took over, pulling the flyer down. Its
magnetic field expanded, applying subtle pressures to the tenuous gases
pushing against the fuselage. Buoyant at the centre of a sparkling
cushion of ions, the flyer banked to starboard and began a gentle
glide-spiral down towards the spaceport below.

They were a hundred and fifty kilometres high when the flight computer
datavised a priority secure signal from Roche Skark into Ralphs neural
nanonics.

We might have a problem developing, the ESA director told him. A civil
passenger flight from Pasto to Atherstone is having trouble with its
electronic systems, nothing critical but the glitches are constant. Id
like to bring you in on the Privy Council security committee to advise.

Yes, sir, Ralph acknowledged. The datavise broadened to a security
level one sensenviron conference. Ralph appeared to be sitting at an oval
table in a plain white bubble room with walls at an indeterminate
distance.

Admiral Farquar was sitting at the head of the table, with Roche Skark
and the ISA director Jannike Dermot flanking him. Ralphs neural nanonics
identified the other three people present. Next to the ISA director was
Commander Deborah Unwin, head of Ombeys Strategic Defence network; Ryle
Thorne, Ombeys national Home Office minister, was placed next to her.
Ralph found himself with Roche Skark on one side, and Leonard DeVille on
the other.

The plane is seven minutes from Atherstone, Deborah Unwin said. We
have to make a decision.

What is the planes current status? Ralph asked.

The pilot was instructed to turn back to Pasto by my flight controllers
as part of the quarantine procedures. And thats when he reported his
difficulties. He says hell be endangering the passengers if he has to
fly all the way back to Pasto. And if its a genuine malfunction he will
be.

We can hardly go around using our SD platforms on civil aircraft just
because they have a dodgy processor, Ryle Thorne said.

On the contrary, sir, Ralph said. In this situation we have to
maintain a policy of guilty until proven innocent. You cannot allow that
plane to land in the capital, not under any circumstances. Not now.

If he has to fly back to Xingu he may well kill everyone on board, the
minister protested. The plane could be downed in the ocean.

Atherstone has a high proportion of military bases in the surrounding
district, Admiral Farquar said. If necessary the plane can simply sit
on a landing pad surrounded by marines until we work out a satisfactory
method of detecting if the virus is present.

Is the pilot using his neural nanonics to communicate with flight
control? Ralph asked.

Yes, Deborah said.

Okay, then its a reasonable assumption that hes not been sequestrated.
If you can guarantee a landing pad can be guarded securely, I say use it.
But the plane must remain sealed until we find out whats happened to the
embassy trio.

Good enough, Admiral Farquar said.

Ill put the marines at Sapcoat base on active status as of now,
Deborah said. Thats over a hundred kilometres from Atherstone. The
plane can reach it easily enough.

A hundred kilometres is a safe enough distance, Ryle Thorne said
smoothly.

Ralph didnt like the ministers attitude; he seemed to be treating this
as if it were a minor natural incident, like a hurricane or earthquake.
But then the minister had to go back to his constituents every five years
and convince them he was acting in their best interests. Ordering SD
platforms to fire on their fellow citizens might be hard to explain away
in public relations terms. That was one of the reasons the royal Saldanas
had a parliament to advise them. An insulating layer around the blame.
Elected politicians were always culpable and replaceable.

Id also suggest that once the planes landed you use an orbital sensor
satellite to mount a permanent observation on it, Ralph said. Just in
case theres any attempt to break out. That way we can use the SD
platforms as a last resort; sterilize the entire area.

That strikes me as somewhat excessive, Ryle Thorne said with elaborate
politeness.

Again, no, sir. On Lalonde the enemy were able to use their electronic
warfare capability to interfere with the LDCs observation satellite from
the ground; they fuzzed the images to quite a degree. Id say this
fallback option is the least we should be doing.

Ralph was brought in because of his experience in combating the virus,
Roche Skark said, smiling at the minister. He got off Lalonde precisely
because he instigated these kinds of protective measures.

Ryle Thorne gave a short nod.

Pity he didnt protect us from the virus, Jannike muttered. Except in a
sensenviron context nothing was really sotto voce; all utterances were
deliberate.

Ralph glanced over at her, but the computer-synthesised image of her face
gave nothing away.



Chapman Adkinson was getting mighty tired of the continual stream of
datavises he was receiving from flight control. Worried, too. He wasnt
dealing with civil flight control at Atherstone anymore; theyd gone
off-line eight minutes ago. Military protocols were being enforced now,
the whole planets traffic control being routed through the Royal Navy
operations centre on Guyana. And they were none too sympathetic to his
condition.

Esparta was rolling by below the plane, one of the lush national parks
which surrounded the capital. A jungle scarred only by the occasional
Roman-straight motorway and dachas belonging to the aristocracy. The
ocean was five minutes behind them.

His neural nanonics were accessing the external sensors, but the visual
image was only being analysed in secondary mode, mainly to back up the
inertial guidance system which he no longer wholly trusted. He was
concentrating on schematics of the planes systems. Twenty per cent of
the onboard processors were suffering from random dropouts. Some had come
back on-line after a few seconds, others remained dead. The diagnostic
programs he ran simply couldnt pinpoint the problem. And, even more
disturbing, in the last fifteen minutes hed been experiencing spikes and
reductions in the power circuits.

That was what had made him argue with the military controllers. Processor
glitches were an acceptable menace; there was so much redundancy built
into the planes electronic architecture it could survive an almost total
shutdown; but power loss was in a different hazard category altogether.
Chapman Adkinson had already decided that if they did try to force him to
fly back over the ocean he was going to ditch there and then, and to hell
with the penalties theyd load into his licence. The biohazard in Xingu
couldnt be that lethal, surely?

Chapman, stand by for some updated landing coordinates, Guyanas flight
controller datavised. Were diverting you.

Where to? Chapman asked sceptically.

Sapcoat base. Theyre prepping a clean reception area for you. Looks
like the passengers are going to have to stay on board for a while once
youre down.

As long as we get down.

The coordinates came through, and Chapman fed them directly into the
flight computer. Twelve minutes to Sapcoat. He could accept that. The
plane banked gently to port, and began to curve away from the city which
lay somewhere beyond the horizons black and silver heat shimmer.

It was a signal for the glitches to quadruple. Circuits began to drop out
at a frightening rate. A quarter of the systems schematics flicked to a
daunting black, leaving only ghostly colourless outlines where functional
hardware had been a moment before. Power to the two rear starboard
compressors failed completely. He could hear the high-pitched background
whine deepening as the blades slowed. The flight computers compensation
program went primary, but too many control surfaces had shut down for it
to be truly effective.

Mayday, mayday, Chapman datavised. Even his primary transmitter had
failed. Backup processors were activated. The fuselage began to vibrate
and judder, as if the plane were ploughing through a patch of choppy air.

His neural nanonics reported a stream of datavises from the passenger
cabin, querying the shaking and sudden loss of in-flight entertainment
processors. He called up a procedural file and shunted it into what was
left of the planes entertainment circuits. Seatback holoscreens should
be playing a placebo message about clear air turbulence and the
precautions their pilot was now instigating.

What is it? flight control asked.

Losing power and height. Systems failure rate increasing. Shit! I just
lost the tail rudder databus. He datavised an emergency code into the
flight computer. A silvery piston slid out of the horseshoe console in
front of him, a dull chrome-red pistol grip on the end. It reached his
lap and rotated silently through ninety degrees. Chapman grabbed it.
Manual control. Christ, Ive never used one outside of Aviation Authority
simulations!

The datavise bandwidth to the flight computer started to shrink. He
prioritized the schematic to display absolute essentials. Holographic
displays on the console came alive, duplicating the information.

Find me a flat patch of land, now, damn it! How he was going to bring
the plane down in VTOL configuration with both the starboard compressors
out wasnt something he wanted to think about. Maybe a motorway, and use
it like a runway?

Request denied.

What?

You may not land anywhere but the authorized coordinate.

Fuck you! Were going to crash.

Sorry, Chapman, you cannot land anywhere outside Sapcoat.

I cant reach Sapcoat. His datavised control linkage to the flight
computer began to fail. The pistol grip shifted slightly in his hand, and
he felt the plane tilt in tandem.

Careful! he told himself. A firm pressure on the grip, and the nose began
to edge back. The holographic horizon graphic showed he was still in a
shallow dive. More pressure, and the descent rate slowed.

The door into the cockpit slid open. Chapman Adkinson was wired too tight
to care. It was supposed to be codelocked, but the way hardware was
crashing . . .

Why have you altered course?

Chapman shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The guy was dressed in a
cheap suit, five years out-of-date. He wasnt just calm, he was serene.
Incredible! He must feel the planes buffeting.

Technical problem, Chapman managed to gasp. Were putting down at the
nearest landing pad that can handle an emergency. The pistol grip was
fighting his every movement. And now the holographic displays were
wobbling. He wasnt sure if he could trust them anymore. Get back into
your seat now, fella.

The man simply walked up behind the pilots chair and slid his head over
Chapmans shoulder, peering out of the narrow curving windscreen. Where
is Atherstone?

Look, pal Pain lanced deep into his thigh. Chapman grunted roughly at
the shock of it. The mans left index finger was resting lightly on his
leg, a small circle of his uniforms trouser fabric was burning around it.

Chapman swatted at the small blue flames, eyes blinking away sudden
tears. His thigh muscle was smarting abominably.

Where is Atherstone? the man repeated. I have to go there.

Chapman found his calmness more unnerving than the planes failure.
Listen, I wasnt joking when I said we had technical problems. Were
going to be lucky if we make it over this sodding jungle. Forget about
Atherstone.

I will hurt you again, harder this time. And I will keep on hurting you
until you take me to Atherstone.

Im being hijacked! The realization was as staggering as it was
improbable. Chapman gagged at the man. You have got to be kidding!

No joke, Captain. If you do not land in the capital, I will see to it
you dont land anywhere.

Holy Christ.

Atherstone. Now where is it?

To the west somewhere. Christ, Im not sure where. Inertial guidance has
packed up.

A mirthless smile appeared on the mans face. Then head west. It is a
big city. Im confident well see it from this height.

Chapman did nothing. Then winced as the man reached past him. He put his
hand on the windscreen, palm flat. Horrifyingly deep white cracks
splintered outward.

Atherstone. It was an order.

Okay. Just take your goddamn hand off that. The windscreen was
artificial sapphire for Gods sake. You couldnt crack it by leaning on
it. A neural nanonics status check showed him half his synaptic
augmentation had crashed, and virtually all the memory cells had shut
down. But there was enough capacity for a datavise. Code F emergency,
he shot at the flight computer. Followed by a small prayer that it hadnt
glitched completely yet.

ISA duty officer, came the response. Whats happening?

Chapman used the last of his neural nanonics capacity to issue a
metabolic override, keeping his face perfectly composed. He must not
betray the silent conversation by a twitch of emotion. Attempted
hijacking. And the planes falling apart around me.

How many hijackers?

Just one, I think. Cant access the cabin cameras.

What does he want?

He says he wants to go to Atherstone.

What sort of weapon is he using?

Not sure. Nothing visible. Some kind of implant. Maybe a thermal
induction field generator. He burnt my leg and damaged the windscreen.

Thank you. Hold please.

Like I can do something else, Chapman thought acidly. He flicked a
curious glance at the man who was still standing to one side of the
chair. His face was as emotionless as Chapmans.

The plane rocked alarmingly. Chapman tried to damp it down by swaying the
pistol grip to compensate for the erratic motion. On a plane with fully
responsive control surfaces it might have worked, here it just slewed the
tail around. He noticed the nose had dropped a couple of degrees again.

If you dont mind me asking, whats so bloody important in Atherstone
that youve got to pull this crazy stunt?

People, the man said blandly.

Some of the mans calmness was infiltrating Chapmans own mind. He pulled
back on the pistol grip, easing the nose up until they were level again.
Nothing to it. At least there were no more systems dropping out, the
malfunctions appeared to have plateaued. But landing would be a bitch.

Chapman, the ISA duty officer datavised. Please try and give us a
visual of the hijacker. Its very important.

Im down to about two kilometres altitude, here. Seventy per cent of my
systems have failed, and all you want is to see what he looks like?

It will help us evaluate the situation.

Chapman gave the man a sideways glance, loading the image into one of his
remaining three functional memory cells. His datavise bit rate was now so
low it took an entire second to relay the file.

Ralph Hiltch watched the pixels slowly clot together above the bubble
rooms table. Savion Kerwin, he said, unsurprised.

Without a doubt, Admiral Farquar acknowledged.

That plane left Pasto ninety minutes after their spaceplane landed,
Jannike Dermot said. They obviously intend to spread the virus as wide
as possible.

As Ive been telling you, Roche Skark said. Ralph, do you think hes
infected anyone else on the plane?

Quite possibly, sir. The flight computer and Chapmans neural nanonics
are obviously being assaulted by a very powerful electronic warfare
field. It might be several of them acting in unison, or it could just be
Savion Kerwins proximity to the electronic systems, after all the flight
computer is housed below the cockpit decking. But we really cant take
the chance.

Agreed, Admiral Farquar said.

Chapman Adkinson waited for fifteen seconds after hed datavised the
visual file. The crippled flight computer reported the communications
channel was being maintained. Nothing happened, there was no update from
the ISA officer.

A Royal Kulu Navy reserve officer himself, Chapman knew of the response
procedures for civil emergencies. Rule of thumb: the longer it took to
come to a decision, the higher up the command structure the problem was
being bumped. This one must be going right to the top. To the people
authorized to make life or death decisions.

Intuition or just a crushing sense of doom, Chapman Adkinson started
laughing gleefully.

The man turned to give him a strange look. What?

Youll see, fella, soon enough. Tell me, are you the biohazard?

Am I a

The X-ray laser struck the plane while it was still eighty kilometres
away from Atherstone. Ombeys low-orbit SD platform weapons could hit
combat wasps while they were still two and a half thousand kilometres
distant. The plane was a mere three hundred kilometres beneath the
platform which Deborah Unwin activated. Oxygen and nitrogen atoms in the
lower atmosphere simply cracked into their sub-atomic constituents as the
X ray punched through the air, a searing purple lightning bolt eighty
kilometres long. At its tip, the plane detonated into an ionized fog
which billowed out like a miniature neon cyclone. Scraps of flaming,
highly radioactive wreckage rained down on the pristine jungle below.


Chapter 02
==========


He was actually born in the United States of America, though few people
ever liked to admit that particular fact, then or afterwards. His parents
were from Naples; and Southern Italians were universally looked down on
and despised even by other poor immigrant groups, let alone the superior
intellectuals of the time who openly stated their hatred of such an
inferior breed of humans. As a consequence, few biographers and
historians ever admitted the simple truth. He was, above all, a bona fide
made in America monster.

His birthplace was Brooklyn, on the chilly winters day of January 17,
1899, the fourth son of Gabriele and Teresina. At that time the district
was home to a seething mass of such burgeoning immigrant families trying
to build fresh lives for themselves in this new land of promise. Work was
hard, labour cheap, the infamous city political machine strong, and the
street gangs and racketeers prominent. But among all these difficulties
his father managed to earn enough to support his family. And as a barber
he did so independently and honestly, rare enough in that time and place.

Gabrieles son never followed that route; there were just too many odds
stacked against him. The whole Brooklyn environment seemed designed to
turn its young male population from the good.

After being expelled from school at fourteen for fighting with his
(female) teacher he began running errands for the local Association
chief. He was one of the lowest of the low. But he learned: of mens
vices and what they would do to obtain them, of the money to be made, of
loyalty to his own, and most of all what people gave the Associations
leader: respect. Respect was the key to the world, a commodity no one
ever showed him or his father. A man who was respected had everything, a
prince among men.

It was during this criminal apprenticeship that the ultimate seeds of his
destruction were sown, ironically by himself. He contracted syphilis in
one of the many seedy brothels which local boys of his age and background
visited on a regular basis. Like most people he survived the first stage,
the boils on his tender genitalia healing within a couple of weeks. Nor
did the second stage disturb him to any great extent; an equally short
time spent suffering what he convinced himself was a bad case of flu.

Had he visited a doctor he would have been told that it is the tertiary
stage which proves lethal in a fifth of those infected, eating away at
the frontal lobes of the brain. But once the second stage has passed, the
malicious disease becomes dormant for a long time, sometimes measurable
in decades, lulling its victim into a false sense of security. He saw no
reason to share the humiliating knowledge.

Paradoxically, it was this very disease which contributed to his
inexorable rise over the next fifteen years. Because of the nature of its
attack on the brain it amplified its victims personality traits: traits
which in his case had been forged in turn-of-the-century Brooklyn. They
comprised contempt, hostility, anger in tandem with violence, greed,
treachery, and guile. Excellent survival qualities for that particular
dead-end district, but in a more civilized environment they set him
apart. A barbarian in the city.

In 1920 he moved to Chicago. Within months he was heavily involved with
one of the major syndicates. Until that era the syndicates ran the
rackets and the brothels and the gambling joints, and raked in a good
deal of hard currency. And at that relatively insignificant level they
might well have remained. But that was the year when Prohibition came
into effect throughout the nation.

The speakeasies opened, the back alley breweries flourished. Money
flooded into the coffers of the syndicates, millions upon millions of
easy, dirty dollars. It gave them a power base they had never dreamed of
before. They bought the police, they owned the mayor and most of city
hall, they intimidated the crusading newspapers and laughed at the law.
But money brought its own special problem. Everybody could see how vast
the market was, how profitable. They all wanted a cut.

And that was where he finally came into his own. Whole districts of
Chicago degenerated into war zones as gangs and syndicates and bosses
fought like lions for territory. With the neurosyphilis gradually eroding
his rationality he emerged from the ranks of his contemporaries as the
most ruthless, the most successful, and the most feared gang boss of them
all. Quirks became vainglorious eccentricities; he opened soup kitchens
for the poor; for slain colleagues he threw funeral parades which brought
the entire city to a halt; he craved publicity and held press conferences
to promote his magnanimity in giving people what they really wanted; he
sponsored broke jazz musicians. His flamboyance became as legendary as
his brutality.

At its height his tyranny was sufficient to be raised at cabinet meetings
in the White House. Nothing the authorities did ever seemed to make the
slightest difference. Arrests, inquiries, indictments; he bought his way
out with his money, while his reputation (and associates) kept witnesses
silent.

So government did what government always does when confronted with an
opposition which cant be brought down by fair and legal means. It
cheated.

His trial for tax evasion was later described as a legal lynching. The
Treasury made up new rules, and proved he was guilty of breaking them. A
man who was both directly and indirectly responsible for the deaths of
hundreds of people was sentenced to eleven years in jail over delinquent
taxes to the total of $215,080.

His atrocious reign was ended, but his life took another sixteen years to
wither. In his latter years, with the neurosyphilis raging in his head,
he lost all grip on reality, seeing visions and hearing voices. His mind
now roamed through a purely imaginary state.

His body ceased to function in a peaceful enough manner on January 25,
1947, in a big house in Florida, surrounded by his grieving family. But
when you are already utterly insane, there is little noticeable
difference from your very own delusory universe and the distorted torment
of the beyond into which your soul slips.

Over six hundred years passed.

The entity which emerged from the beyond into the fractured, bleeding
body of Brad Lovegrove, fourth assistant manager (urban sanitation
maintenance division) of the Tarosa Metamech Corp of New California,
didnt even realize he was back in living reality. Not to start with,
anyway.

The first possessed being to reach New California did so on a cargo
starship from Norfolk, one of the twenty-two insurgents Edmund Rigby had
helped possess in Boston. His name was Emmet Mordden, and as soon as he
reached the planets surface he began the process of conquest; snatching
people off the streets and the autoways, inflicting agonizing injuries to
weaken their spirits and open their minds to receive the souls in the
beyond.

A small band of possessed filtered unobtrusively through the boulevards
of San Angeles in the days which followed, slowly building up their own
ranks. Like all of the possessed emerging across the Confederation they
had no distinct strategy, simply a single driving impulse to bring more
souls back from the beyond.

But this one among them was of no use to the cause. His mind shattered,
he could relate to no external stimuli. He shouted hysterical warnings to
his brother Frank, he wept, he delivered huge monologues about his shoe
factory where he promised hed give them all work, tiny spits of energy
would fly from him without warning, he giggled constantly, he shat his
pants and started slinging it about. Whenever they brought him food his
energistic ability would turn it to the image of hot spicy pasta which
gave off an appalling stink.

After two days, the growing cabal simply left him behind in the disused
shop theyd been using as a base. Had they bothered to check him before
they left they would have noticed that the behaviour was slightly more
moderate, the talk more coherent.

Psychotic thought patterns which had formed in the early 1940s and run on
unchecked for six centuries had finally begun to operate within a healthy
neurone structure once more. There were no chemical imbalances, no
spirochaete bacteria, not even traces of mild alcohol toxicology, for
Lovegrove didnt drink. His sanity gradually returned as thought
processes began to move in more natural cycles.

He felt his mind and memories coming together as though he were emerging
from the worst cocaine trip ever (his longtime vice back in the 1920s).
For hours he simply lay on the floor trembling as events tumbled through
his expanding consciousness. Events which sickened the heart, but which
belonged to him nonetheless.

He never heard the shops service door open, the surprised grunt of the
realtor agent, the heavy footsteps marching towards him. A hand closed
around his shoulder and shook him strongly.

Hey, dude, how did you get in here?

He flinched violently and looked up to see a man in a very strange
helmet, as if glossy green beetle wings had folded over his skull. Blank,
golden bubble eyes stared down at him. He screamed and spun over. The
equally startled realtor took a pace backwards, reaching for the illegal
nervejam stick in his jacket pocket.

Despite six hundred years of technological development he could still
recognize a hand weapon when he saw one. Of course, the real giveaway was
the expression of superiority and nervous relief on the realtors face;
the one every frightened man wears when a piece has suddenly swung the
odds back in his favour.

He drew his own gun. Except it wasnt exactly a drawno holster. One
second he wanted a gun, the next his fingers were gripping a Thompson
submachine gun. He fired. And the once-familiar roar of the weapon
nicknamed a trench broom hammered his ears again. A curiously white flame
emerged from the barrel as he trained it on the cowering figure of the
realtor, fighting the upwards kick.

Next, all that was left was a mangled, jerking body pumping gallons of
blood onto the bare carbon-concrete floor. The craterous wounds were
smoking, as if the bullets had been incendiaries.

Bulge-eyed and horrified, he stared at the corpse for a moment, then
vomited helplessly. His head was whirling as though the eternal nightmare
was returning to clasp him once more.

Christ no, he groaned. No more of that crap. Please. The Thompson
submachine gun had vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Ignoring
the nausea which sent shivers down every limb he staggered out through
the door and into the street. Crazy images mugged him. His head slowly
tipped back to view the pulp-magazine fantasy into which he had emerged.
Low wispy clouds scudding in from the ocean were sliced apart by the
chromeglass sword-blade skyscrapers which made up downtown San Angeles.
Prismatic light gleamed and sparkled off every surface. Then he saw the
naked crescent of a small reddish moon directly overhead. Starship
exhausts swarmed casually across the cobalt sky like incandescent
fireflies. His jaw dropped in absolute bewilderment. Goddamn, what the
hell is this place? demanded Alphonse Capone.



Ombeys rotation had carried the Xingu continent fully into the centre of
the darkside as the Royal Navy flyer Ralph Hiltch was using passed over
the outskirts of Pasto. The city was situated on the western coast,
growing out from the Falling Jumbo seaport in a sustained hundred-year
development spree. It was flat country, ideal for urbanization, placing
minimal problems in the path of the ambitious civil engineers. Most of
the level districts were laid out in geometric patterns, housing estates
alternating with broad parks and elaborate commercial districts. Hills,
such as they were, had been claimed by the richer residents for their
chateaus and mansions.

Accessing the flyers sensor suite, Ralph could see them standing proud
in their own lakes of illumination at the centre of large sable-black
grounds. The narrow, brightly lit roads which wound around the hills were
the only curves amid the vast grid of brilliant orange lines spread out
below him. Pasto looked so beautifully crisp and functional, a grand
symbol of the Kingdoms economic prowess, like a merit badge pinned on
the planet.

And somewhere down there, amid all that glittering regimented
architecture and human dynamism, were people who could bring the whole
edifice crashing down. Probably within a couple of days, certainly no
more than a week.

Cathal Fitzgerald angled the flyer towards the big cube-shaped building
which was the Xingu police force headquarters. They landed on a roof pad,
at the end of a row of small arrowhead-planform hypersonic planes.

Two people were waiting for Ralph at the bottom of the airstairs. Landon
McCullock, the police commissioner, was a hale seventy-year-old, almost
two metres tall, with thick crew-cut ginger hair, dressed in a
midnight-blue uniform with several silver stripes on his right arm.
Beside him was Diana Tiernan, the police departments technology division
chief, a fragile, elderly woman dwarfed by her superior officer, a
contrast which tended to emphasise her scholarly appearance.

I appreciate you coming down, Landon said as he shook hands with Ralph.
It cant have been an easy choice for you to face this thing again. The
datapackage briefing Ive had from Admiral Farquar gave me a nasty jolt.
My people arent exactly geared up to cope with this kind of incident.

Who is? Ralph said, a shade too mordantly. But we coped on Lalonde;
and we aim to do a little better here.

Glad to hear it, Landon said gruffly. He nodded crisply to the other
three ESA agents coming down the airstairs; Will and Dean carrying their
combat gear in a couple of bulky bags. His lips twitched in a
memory-induced smile of admiration as he eyed the two G66 division
troopers. Been a while since I was at that end of an operation, he
murmured.

Any update on the plane which was shot down? Ralph asked as they all
walked towards the waiting lift.

Nobody survived, if thats what you mean, Diana Tiernan said. She gave
Ralph a curious look. Was that what you meant?

Theyre tough bastards, Will said curtly.

She shrugged. I accessed a recording of Adkinsons datavise. This energy
manipulation ability Savion Kerwin demonstrated seemed quite
extraordinary.

He didnt show you a tenth of what he could do, Ralph said.

The lift doors closed, and they descended to the command centre. It had
been designed to handle every conceivable civil emergency, from a plane
crash in the heart of the city to outright civil war, a windowless room
which took up half of the floor. Twenty-four separate coordination hubs
were arranged in three rows, circles of consoles with fifteen operators
apiece. Their access authority to the continents net was absolute,
providing them with unparalleled sensor coverage and communications
linkages.

When Ralph walked in every seat was taken, the air seemed almost solid
with the laserlight speckles thrown off by hundreds of individual AV
projection pillars. He saw Leonard DeVille sitting at Hub One, a raised
ring of consoles in the middle of the room. The Home Office ministers
welcoming handshake lacked the sincerity of McCullocks.

Ralph was quickly introduced to the others at Hub One: Warren Aspinal,
the Prime Minister of the Xingu continental parliament; Vicky Keogh, who
was McCullocks deputy; and Bernard Gibson, the police Armed Tactical
Squad commander. One of the AV pillars was projecting an image of Admiral
Farquar.

All air traffic was shut down twenty minutes ago, said Landon
McCullock. Even police patrol flights are down to a complete minimum.

And the crews of those that are still in the air have been required to
datavise files from their neural nanonics to us here, Diana said. That
way we can be reasonably certain that none of them have been infected by
Tremarco or Gallagher.

There was an awful lot of traffic using the city roads when I flew
over, Ralph said. Id like to see that shut down now. I cant emphasise
enough that we must restrict the populations movement.

Its only ten oclock in Pasto, Leonard DeVille said. People are still
on their way home, others are out for the evening and will want to return
later. If you shut down the citys ground traffic now you will cause an
astounding level of confusion, one which would be beyond the police
forces ability to resolve for hours. And we must have the police in
reserve to deal with the embassy people when we detect them. We thought
it made more sense to allow everyone to go home as normal, then introduce
the curfew. That way, the vast majority will be confined to their houses
come tomorrow morning. And if Tremarco and Gallagher have started
infecting them, any outbreak will be localized, which means we should be
able to isolate it relatively easily.

Sit down and make an impact, why not? Ralph thought sourly. Im supposed
to listen and advise, not barge in and act like a loudmouth arsehole.
Damn, but Kerwin and the plane has me hyped too hot.

Trying to hide how foolish he felt, he asked: What time will you
introduce the curfew?

One oclock, the Prime Minister said. Only die-hard nightbirds will
still be out and about then. Thank heavens its not Saturday night. We
really would have been in trouble then.

Okay, I can live with that, Ralph said. There was a quick victory smile
on DeVilles face, which Ralph chose to ignore. What about the other
cities and towns; and more importantly the motorways?

All Xingus urban areas are having their curfew enacted at one oclock,
McCullock said. The continents got three time zones, so itll be phased
in from the east. As for the motorways, were already shutting down their
traffic; so cities and major towns are going to be segregated. That
wasnt a problem, all motorway vehicles are supervised by the Transport
Department route and flow management computers. Its the vehicles on the
minor roads which are giving us a headache; theyre all switched to
autonomous control processors. And even worse are the farm vehicles out
there in the countryside, half of those bloody things have manual
steering.

We estimate it will take another three hours to completely shut down all
ground traffic movement, Diana said. At the moment were setting up an
interface between Strategic Defence Command and our police traffic
division. That way when the low-orbit SD sensor satellites locate a
vehicle moving on a minor road theyll perform an identification sweep
and catalogue it. Traffic division will then datavise the control
processor to halt. For manually operated vehicles well have to dispatch
a patrol car. A hand waved lamely in the air. Thats the theory,
anyway. A continent-wide detection and identification operation is going
to tie up an awful lot of processing power, which we really cant spare
right now. If were not very careful well wind up with a capacity
shortfall.

I thought that was impossible in this day and age, Warren Aspinal
interjected mildly.

Dianas humour became stern. Under normal circumstances, yes. But what
were attempting to do has no precedent. She offered the others sitting
at Hub One a reluctant shrug. My team has got three AIs in the basement
and two at the university which are attempting to access and analyse
every single processor in the city simultaneously. Its a refinement of
Admiral Farquars idea of tracking the energy virus through the
electronic distortion it generates. Weve seen it demonstrated on
Adkinsons plane, so we know the approximate nature of the beast. All we
have to do is perform the most massive correlation exercise ever mounted.
We find out which processors have suffered glitches during the last eight
hours, and cross-reference the time and geographical location. If it
happened to several unrelated processors in the same area at the same
time, then its a good chance the glitch was caused by someone who has
the virus.

Every processor? Vicky Keogh queried.

Every single one. Just for a moment, Dianas dried-up face wore an
adolescents smile. From public net processors to streetlight timers, AV
adverts, automatic doors, vending machines, mechanoids, personal
communications blocks, household supervisor arrays. The lot.

Will it work? Ralph asked.

No reason why not. As I said, theres a possible capacity problem, and
the AIs might not manage to format the correlation program within the
time frame we need. But when the program comes on-line it should provide
us with the electronic equivalent of seeing footprints in snow.

And then what? Warren Aspinal asked quietly. Thats what you were
really brought down here for, Ralph. What do we do with these people if
we find them? There is something of a political dimension involved in
using the SD systems every time we locate one of the afflicted. I dont
dispute the necessity of eliminating Adkinsons plane. And people will
certainly agree to us using force to obliterate the threat to start with.
But ultimately we have to find a method of eradicating the energy virus
itself, and without damaging the victim. Not even the Princess can go on
authorizing such destruction for ever, not when its aimed against the
Kingdoms own subjects.

Were working on it, said Admiral Farquar. Gerald Skibbow is going
into personality debrief right now. If we can find out how he was
infected, and how he was purged, then we ought to be able to come up with
a solution, some kind of countermeasure.

How long will that take? Leonard DeVille asked.

Insufficient information, the admiral answered. Skibbow isnt very
strong. Theyre going to have to go easy on him.

Yet if our preparations are to mean anything, Landon McCullock said,
we have to catch the embassy duo tonight, or tomorrow morning at the
latest. And not just them, but anyone theyve come into contact with.
This situation could escalate beyond our ability to contain. We must have
a policy ready for dealing with them. So far the only thing we know that
works is overwhelming firepower.

Ive got two things to offer, Ralph said. He looked at Bernard Gibson,
and gave him a penitent smile. Your squads are going to have to take the
brunt of this, especially to start with.

The police AT Squad commander grinned. What we get paid for.

Okay, here it is then. First off, contact with someone who is carrying
the energy virus doesnt necessarily mean you contract it yourself. Will
and Dean are excellent proof of that. They captured Skibbow, they
manhandled him, they were in very close proximity to him for hours, and
theyre both fine. Also, I was on the Ekwan with the embassy trio for a
week, and I wasnt infected.

Secondly, despite their power they can be intimidated into submission.
But you have to be prepared to use ultraviolence against them, and they
have to know that. One hint of weakness, one hesitation, and theyll hit
you with everything theyve got. So when we do find the first one, itll
be me and my team which heads the actual assault. Okay?

Im not arguing so far, Bernard Gibson said.

Good. What I envisage is spreading the experience of an assault in the
same fashion the virus is spread. Everyone who is with me on the first
assault will be able to familiarise themselves with what has to be done.
After that you assign them to head their own squads for the next round of
captures, and so on. That way we have your whole division brought up to
speed as swiftly as possible.

Fine. And what do we do with them once weve subdued them?

Shove them into zero-tau.

You think thats what got rid of Skibbows virus? Admiral Farquar asked
sharply.

I believe its a good possibility, sir. He was extremely reluctant to
enter the pod in Ekwan. Right up until then he was quite docile. When he
found out we were going to put him in the pod, he became almost
hysterical. I think he was frightened. And certainly when he came out of
the pod at this end the virus was gone.

Excellent. Warren Aspinal smiled at Ralph. That course of action is
certainly more palatable than lining them all up against a wall and
shooting them.

Even if zero-tau isnt responsible for erasing the virus, we know it can
contain them the same way it holds ordinary people, Ralph said. We can
keep them in stasis until we do find a permanent solution.

How many zero-tau pods have we got available? Landon asked Diana.

The technology division chief had a long blink while her neural nanonics
chased down the relevant files. Here in the building there are three.
Probably another ten or fifteen in the city in total. They tend to be
used almost exclusively by the space industry.

Theres five thousand unused pods in the Ekwan right now, Ralph pointed
out. That ought to be enough if this AI correlation program works.
Frankly, if we need more than that, weve lost.

Ill get some maintenance crews to start disconnecting them straight
away, Admiral Farquar said. We can send them down to you in cargo
flyers on automatic pilot.

That just leaves us with forcing infected people into them, Ralph said.
He caught Bernards gaze. Which is going to be even worse than capturing
them.

Possible trace, Diana announced without warning as she received a
datavise from one of the AIs. Everyone sitting at Hub One turned their
attention on her. Its a taxi which left the spaceport twenty minutes
after the embassy trios spaceplane arrived. The vehicles processor
array started suffering some strange glitches five minutes later. Contact
was lost after a further two minutes. But it cant have been a total
shutdown, because traffic control has no record of a breakdown in that
sector this afternoon. It simply dropped out of the route and flow
control loop.



The warehouse which housed Mahalia Engineering Supplies was sealed up
tight, one of twenty identical buildings lined up along the southern
perimeter of the industrial park, separated from its neighbour by strips
of ancient concrete and ranks of spindly trees planted to break the
areas harshness. It was seventy metres long by twenty-five wide, fifteen
high; dark grey composite panels without a single window. From outside it
looked inert; innocuous if somewhat spurned of late. Furry tufts of
Ombeys aboriginal vegetation were rooting in the gutters. Denuded
chassis of ancient farm vehicles were stacked three or four deep along
one wall, sleeting rust onto the concrete.



Ralph focused his shell helmets sensors on the broad roll-up door in the
centre of the end-wall fifty meters in front of him. It had taken him and
his team four minutes to get here from police headquarters in one of the
forces hypersonics, following the city-wide trail of route and flow
processor dropouts located by Diana and the AIs. Three police Armed
Tactical Squads had also been dispatched to the industrial park, under
orders from Bernard Gibson. In total, eight of the little planes had
landed, encircling the warehouse at a five-hundred-metre distance.



There wasnt a single crack of light leaking around the door. No sign of
life. Infrared didnt reveal much, either. He scanned along the side of
the building again.



The conditioning unit is on, Ralph observed. I can see the motors
heat, and the grilles venting. Someones in there.

Do you want us to infiltrate a nanonic sensor? Nelson Akroid asked. He
was the AT Squads captain, a stocky man in his late thirties, barely
coming up to Ralphs shoulder. Not quite the image one expected from
someone in his profession, but then Ralph was used to the more bulky G66
troops. Ralph suspected Nelson Akroid would be a healthy opponent in any
hand-to-hand fighting, though; he had the right kind of subdued
competence.

Its a big building, plenty of opportunities for ambush, Nelson Akroid
said. Wed benefit from positioning them exactly. And my technical
operators are good. The hostiles would never know theyd been
infiltrated. He sounded eager, which could be a flaw given this
situation. Ralph couldnt imagine him and his squad seeing much active
duty on Ombey. Their lot was more likely endless drills and exercises,
the curse of any specialist field.

No nanonics, Ralph said. We could never depend on them anyway. I want
the penetration team to deploy using standard search and seizure
procedures. We cant believe any information from a sensor, so I want
them going in fully alert.

Yes, sir.

Diana? he datavised. What can the AIs tell me?

No change. There are no detectable glitches in the warehouse processors
it can access. But theres very little electronic activity in there
anyway, the office and administration systems are all switched off, so
that doesnt mean much.

Whats the taxis maximum capacity?

Six. And the Industry Department says Mahalia employs fifteen staff.
They service and distribute parts for agricultural machinery right across
the continent.

Okay, well assume the worst case. A minimum of twenty-one possible
hostiles. Thanks, Diana.

Ralph, the AIs have discovered another two possible glitch traces in the
citys route and flow network. I instructed them to concentrate on
vehicle traffic around the spaceport in the period after the embassy trio
arrived. Another taxi suffered a lot of problems, and the others a
freight vehicle.

Shit! Where are they now?

The AIs are running search routines; but these two are proving harder to
find than the first taxi. Ill keep you updated.

The channel closed. Ralph reviewed the AT Squad as they closed in on the
warehouse, black figures who seemed more mobile shadows than solid
people. They know their job, he admitted grudgingly.

Everyones in place, sir, Nelson Akroid datavised. And the AIs have
taken command of the security cameras. The hostiles dont know were
here.

Fine. Ralph didnt tell him that if Tremarco or Gallagher were in there
theyd know for sure that the AT Squad was outside. He wanted the squad
charged up and professional, not shooting at phantoms.

Stand by, Ralph datavised to the Squad. Status of the assault
mechanoids, please?

On-line, sir, the AT Squads technical officer reported.

Ralph gave the roll-up door another scan. Like Pandoras box, once it was
open there would be no going back. And only he, Roche Skark, and Admiral
Farquar knew that if the virus carriers got past the AT Squad, then the
industrial park would be targeted by SD platforms.

He could feel the low-orbit observation satellite sensors focusing on him.

Okay, he datavised to the squad. Go.



The assault mechanoid which Ombeys AT Squads employed looked as if the
design team had been accessing too many horror sensevises for
inspiration. Three metres high at full stretch, it had seven plasmatic
legs, resembling tentacles with hooves, which could move it over the most
jumbled terrain at a sprint that even boosted humans couldnt match. Its
body was a segmented barrel, giving it a serpentine flexibility. There
were sockets for up to eight specialist limb attachments, varying from
taloned climbing claws to mid-calibre gaussrifles. Control could be
either autonomous, operating under a preloaded program, or a direct waldo
datavise.

Five of them charged across the parking yard outside the warehouse,
covering the last thirty metres in two seconds. Long, whiplike cords
lashed out from the top of their bodies, slashing against the doors
centimetre-thick composite. Where they hit, they stuck, forming a
horizontal crisscross grid four metres above the ground. A millisecond
later the cords detonated; the shaped electron explosive charge was
powerful enough to cut clean through a metre of concrete. The ruined door
didnt even have time to fall. All five assault mechanoids slammed
against it in a beautiful demonstration of synchronized mayhem. What was
left of the door buckled and burst apart, sending jagged sections
tumbling and bouncing down the warehouses central aisle.

With a clear field of fire established, the mechanoids sent a fast,
brutal barrage of short-range sense-overload ordnance blazing down the
length of the building. Sensors instantly pinpointed the
designated-hostile humans flailing around in panic, and concentrated
their fire.

Behind the assault mechanoids, the AT Squad flashed through the smoking
doorway. They scuttled for cover between the stacks of crates, scanning
the deeper recesses of the warehouse for hidden hostiles. Then, with the
mechanoids taking point duty down the central aisle, they began to fan
out in their search and securement formation.

Mixi Penrice, proprietor of Mahalia Engineering Supplies, had been
struggling to remove the linear motor from the stolen taxis rear axle
when the assault mechanoids crashed into the warehouse door. The noise of
the shaped electron explosive charges going off was like standing next to
a lightning strike.

Shock made him jump half a metre in the air, not an easy feat given he
was about twenty kilos overweight. Terrible lines of white light flared
at the far end of the warehouse, and the door bulged inwards briefly
before it disintegrated. But he wasnt so numbed that he didnt recognize
the distinctive silhouette of the assault mechanoids sprinting through
the swirl of smoke and composite splinters. Mixi shrieked and dived for
the floor, arms wrapping around his head. The full output of the
sense-overload ordnance struck him. Strobing light which seemed to shine
through his skull. Sound that was trying hard to shake every joint apart.
The air turned to rocket exhaust, burning his tongue, his throat, his
eyes. He vomited. He voided both his bladder and his bowels; a
combination of sheer fright and nerve short-out pulses.

Three minutes later, when pain-filled consciousness returned, he found
himself lying flat on his back, shaking spastically, with disgustingly
thick liquids cooling and crusting across his clothes. Five large figures
wearing dark armour suits were standing over him, horribly big guns
trained on his abdomen.

Mixi tried to clasp his hands together in prayer. It was the day which in
his heart hed always known would come, the day when King Alastair II
dispatched all the forces of law and order in his Kingdom to deal with
Mixi Penrice, car thief and trader in stolen parts. Please, he babbled
weakly. He couldnt hear his own voice; too much blood was running out of
his ears. Please, Ill pay it all back. I promise. Ill tell you who my
fences are. Ill give you the name of the bloke who wrote the program
which screws up the road network processors. You can have it all. Just,
please, dont kill me. He started sobbing wretchedly.

Ralph Hiltch slowly pulled back his shell helmets moulded visor. Oh,
fuck! he yelled.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The white plaster and stone interior of Cricklades family chapel was
comfy and sober without the exorbitant lavishness prevalent throughout
the rest of the manor. Its history was cheerful, anyone walking into it
for the first time was immediately aware of that; you only had to close
your eyes to see the innumerable christenings, the grand marriage
ceremonies of the heirs, Christmas masses, choral evenings. It was as
much a part of the Kavanaghs as the rich land outside.

Now though, its gentle sanctity had been methodically violated. Icon
panels defaced, the dainty stained-glass windows broken, the statues of
Christ and the Virgin Mary smashed. Every crucifix had been inverted; red
and black pentagrams daubed on the walls.

The despoiling soothed Quinn as he knelt at the altar. Before him an iron
brazier had been set up on top of the thick stone slab. Avaricious flames
were busy consuming the Bibles and hymn books it contained.

His bodys lusts satiated by Lawrence, fed on gourmet food, and
overindulged on the bottles of vintage Norfolk Tears from the cellar, he
felt miraculously calm. Behind him, the ranks of novices stood to
attention as they waited to be inducted into the sect. They would stand
there, motionless, for all of eternity if necessary. They were that
scared of him.

Luca Comar stood in front of them, like some masterful drill sergeant.
His dragon armour glinted dully in the firelight, small plumes of orange
smoke snorting from his helmets eye slits. He had worn the guise almost
continually since possessing Grant Kavanaghs body. Compensating for some
deep psychological fracture, Quinn thought. But then everyone returning
from beyond was flaky to some degree.

Quinn allowed his contempt to rise, the raw emotion bubbling into his
brain. The hem of his robe gave a small flutter. Here on Norfolk such
pitiful masquerades would triumph, but on few other worlds. Most
Confederation planets would fight back against the incursions of the
possessed, and those were the planets which counted. The planets where
the real war would be fought, the universal war for belief and devotion
between the two celestial brothers. Norfolk was irrelevant to that
struggle, it could contribute nothing, no weapons, no starships.

He lifted his gaze above the flames darting out of the brazier. A
vermillion sky was visible through the gaping rents in the broken window.
Less than a dozen first magnitude stars twinkled above the wolds, the
rest of the universe had been washed out in the red dwarfs sullied glow.
The tiny blue-white lights seemed so delicate and pure.

Quinn smiled at them. His calling was finally revealed. He would bring
his divine gift of guidance to the lost armies which Gods Brother had
seeded throughout the Confederation. It would be a crusade, a glorious
march of the dead, folding the wings of Night around every spark of life
and hope, and extinguishing it for ever.

First he would have to raise an army, and a fleet to carry them. A
frisson of his own, very personal desire kindled in his mind. The serpent
beast speaking right into his heart. Banneth! Banneth was at the very
core of the Confederation, where the greatest concentration of resources
and weapons lay.

The obedient novices never moved when Quinn rose to his feet and turned
to face them. There was an amused sneer on his snow-white face. He jabbed
a finger at Luca Comar. Wait here, all of you, he said, and stalked
down the aisle. Dark magenta and woad moire patterns skipped across the
black fabric of his robe, reflections of his newfound determination. A
click of his fingers, and Lawrence Dillon scurried after him.

They passed quickly through the ransacked manor, and down the porticos
stone steps to the farm rangers parked on the gravel. A smudge of smoke
on the horizon betrayed Colsterworths position.

Get in, Quinn said. He was on the verge of laughter.

Lawrence clambered into the front passenger seat as Quinn switched the
motor on. The vehicle sped down the drive, sending pebbles skidding onto
the grass verge.

I wonder how long theyll stay in there like that? Quinn mused.

Arent we coming back?

No. This crappy little world is a dead end, Lawrence. Theres nothing
left for us here, no purpose. We have to get off; and there arent many
navy starships in orbit. Weve got to reach one before they all leave.
The Confederation will be waking to the threat soon. Theyll recall their
fleets to protect the important worlds.

So where are we going if we do get a frigate?

Back to Earth. We have allies there. There are sects in every major
arcology. We can gnaw at the Confederation from within, corrupt it
completely.

Do you think the sects will help us? Lawrence asked, curious.

Eventually. They might need a little persuading first. Ill enjoy that.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The AT Squad had the exclusive shop completely surrounded. Moyces of
Pasto occupied a more hospitable section of the city than the Mahalia
warehouse. The buildings design was an indulgent neo-Napoleonic,
overlooking one of the main parks. It catered to the aristocracy and the
wealthy, trading mainly on snob value. The shop itself was only a fifth
of the business; Moyces main income came from supplying goods and
delicacies to estates and the upwardly mobile clear across the continent.
There were eight separate loading bay doors at the back of the building
to accommodate the fleet of lorries which were dispatched every night.
Their feed roads merged into a single trunk road which led down into a
tunnel where it joined one of the citys three major underground ring
motorways.

At ten past midnight its distribution centre was normally busy loading
lorries with the days orders. Nothing had emerged in the four minutes it
had taken the AT Squad to deploy. However, there was one vehicle parked
outside the end loading bay, obstructing the road: the taxi which the AI
cores had traced from the spaceport. All its electrical circuits had been
switched off.

Fifteen assault mechanoids dashed up the slope to the loading bay doors,
their movements coordinated by the Squads seven technical officers.
Three of the doors were to be broken down, while the others were to be
blocked and guarded. One had been assigned to the taxi.

Six of the assault mechanoids lashed out with their electron explosive
whips. Squad members were already running up the feed roads behind them.

Not all of the whips landed on target. Several detonations chopped into
support pillars and door joists. Brick-sized lumps of stone came flying
back down the feed roads. Two of the assault mechanoids were hit by the
chunks, sending them cartwheeling backwards. The entire central loading
bay collapsed, bringing with it a large section of the first-storey
floor. An avalanche of crates and cylindrical storage pods tumbled down
onto the road, burying a further three assault mechanoids. They started
to fire their sense-overload ordnance at random; flares and sonic shells
punching out from the wreckage amid huge fountains of white packaging
chips. Crumpled kitchen units and patio furniture skittered down the
mound.

The AT Squad members dived for cover as another two mechanoids started to
gyrate in a wild dance. Their ordnance sprayed out, slamming into walls
and arching away over the park. Only three of the remaining assault
mechanoids were actually firing ordnance into the two loading bays which
had been broken open.

Pull them back! Ralph datavised to the technical officers. Get those
bloody mechanoids out of there.

Nothing happened. Sense-overload ordnance was squirting out everywhere.
The assault mechanoids continued their lunatic dance. One pirouetted,
twining its seven legs together, and promptly fell over. Ralph watched a
dozen flares shoot straight upwards, illuminating the whole area. Black
figures were lying prone on the feed roads, horribly exposed. A
sense-overload flare speared straight into one of them; then it expanded
strangely, creating a web of rippling white light. The suited figure
thrashed about.

Shit, Ralph grunted. It wasnt a flare, it was the white fire. They
were in the distribution centre! Shut down those mechanoids now, he
datavised. His neural nanonics reported that several of his suit systems
were degrading.

No response, sir, a technical officer replied. Weve lost them
completely, even their fallback routine has failed. How did they do that?
The mechanoids are equipped with military-grade electronics, a megaton
emp couldnt glitch their processors.

Ralph could imagine the officers surprise. Hed undergone it himself
back on Lalonde as the awful realization struck. He stood up from behind
the parapet on top of the tunnel entrance, and lifted the heavy-calibre
recoilless rifle. Targeting graphics flipped up over his helmets sensor
image. He fired at an assault mechanoid.

It exploded energetically, its power cells and ordnance detonating as
soon as the armour-piercing round penetrated its flexing body. The blast
wave shifted half of the precariously tangled wreckage in front of the
collapsed loading bay. More crates thumped down from the sagging
first-storey floor. Three assault mechanoids were sent lurching back down
the feed roads, plasmatic legs juddering in fast undulations. Ralph
shifted his aim and took out another one just as it started to lumber
upright.

Squad, shoot out the mechanoids, he ordered. His communications block
informed him that half of the command channels had shut down. He switched
on the blocks external speaker and repeated the order, bellowing it out
across the feed roads at a volume which could be heard above the
detonating mechanoids.

A streak of white fire lanced down from one of Moyces upper windows. The
threat response program in Ralphs neural nanonics bullied his leg
muscles with nerve impulse overrides. He was flinging himself aside
before his conscious mind had registered the attack.

Two more mechanoids exploded as he hit the concrete behind the parapet.
He thought he recognized the heavy-calibre gaussrifle which the G66
troops used. Then an insidious serpent of white fire was coiling around
his knee. His neural nanonics instantly erected analgesic blocks across
his nerves, blanking out the pain. A medical display showed him skin and
bone being eaten away by the white fire. The whole knee joint would be
ruined in a matter of seconds if he couldnt extinguish it. Yet both Dean
and Will said smothering it like natural flames made hardly any
difference.

Ralph assigned his neural nanonics full control of his musculature, and
simply designated the window which the white fire had emerged from. With
detached interest he observed his body swivelling, the rifle barrel
swinging round. His retinal target graphics locked over a window.
Thirty-five rounds pummelled the black rectangle, a mixed barrage of high
explosive (chemical), shrapnel, and incendiary.

Within two seconds the room had ceased to exist, its carved stone
frontage disintegrating behind a vast gout of flame and showering down on
the melee below.

The white fire around Ralphs knee vanished. He pulled a medical nanonic
package from his belt and slapped it on the charred wound.

Down on the feed roads most of the AT Squad had switched to their
communications block speakers. Orders, warnings, and cries for help
reverberated over the sound of multiple explosions. A vast fusillade of
heavy-calibre rifle fire was pounding into the loading bays. Comets of
white fire poured out in retaliation.

Nelson, Ralph datavised. For Christs sake, make sure the troops out
front dont let anyone escape. Theyre to hold position and shoot to kill
now. Forget the capture mission; well try it back here, but nobody else
is to attempt anything fancy.

Yes, sir, Nelson Akroid answered.

Ralph went back to the speaker. Cathal, lets try and get in there.
Isolation procedure. Separate them, and nuke them.

Sir. The cry came back over the parapet.

At least hes still alive, Ralph thought.

Do you want stage two yet? Admiral Farquar datavised.

No, sir. Theyre still contained. Our perimeter is holding.

Okay, Ralph. But the second theres a status change, I need to know.

Sir.

His neural nanonics reported the medical package had finished knitting to
his knee. The weight load it could take was down forty percent. It would
have to do. Ralph tucked the heavy-calibre rifle under his arm, then
bending low, he ran for the end of the parapet and the steps down to the
trunk road.

Dean Folan signalled his team members forward, scurrying around the side
of the big mound of crates and into the loading bay area. Flames had
taken hold amid the fragments piled outside.

It was dark inside the loading bays. Projectile impacts had etched deep
pocks into the bare carbon-concrete walls. Rattail tangles of wire and
fibre-optic cable hung down from the fissured ceiling, swaying gently.
Through the helmets goggle lenses he could see very little, even with
enhanced retinas on full sensitivity. He switched his shell helmet
sensors to low light and infrared. Green and red images merged to form a
pallid picture of the rear of the loading bay. Annoying glare spots
flickered as small flames licked at the storage frames which lined the
walls. Discrimination programs worked at eliminating them.

There were three corridors leading off straight back from the rear of the
bay, formed by the storage frames. Metal grids containing crates and pods
ready for the lorries, they looked like solid walls of huge bricks.
Cargo-handling mechanoids had stalled on their rails which ran along the
side of the frames, plasmatic arms dangling inertly. Water was pouring
out of five or six broken ceiling pipes, spilling down the crates to pool
on the floor.

Nothing moved in the corridors.

Dean left his gaussrifle at the head of the middle corridor, knowing it
would be useless at close range, the electronic warfare field would
simply switch it off. Instead, he drew a semi-automatic rifle; it had a
feed loop connected to his backpack, but the rounds were all chemical.
The AT Squad had grumbled about that at the start, questioning the wisdom
of abandoning their power weapons. Nobody had complained much after the
mechanoids went berserk, and their suit systems suffered innumerable
dropouts.

Three of the team followed him as he advanced down the corridor, also
carrying semi-automatics. The rest of them spread out around the bay and
edged down the other two corridors.

A figure zipped across the end of the corridor. Dean fired, the roar of
the semi-automatic impressively loud in the confined space. Plastic
splinters from the crates ricocheted through the air as the bullets
chiselled into them.

Dean started running forwards. There was no corpse on the floor.

Radford, did you see him? Dean demanded. He was heading towards your
corridor.

No, Chief.

Anybody?

All he got was a series of negatives, some shouted, some datavised. No
doubt the hostiles were about, his suit blocks were still badly affected
by the electronic warfare field. His injured arm was itchy, too.

He reached the end of the corridor. It was a junction to another three.
Hell, its a sodding maze back here.

Radford arrived at the end of his corridor, semi-automatic sweeping the
storage frames.

Okay, we fan out here, Dean announced. All of you: keep two other
squad members in visual range at all times. If you lose sight of your
partners, then stop immediately and reestablish contact.

He picked one of the corridors leading deeper into the shop and beckoned
a couple of the Squad to follow him.

A creature landed on top of Radford; half man, half black lion, features
merged grotesquely. Its weight carried him effortlessly to the floor.
Dagger claws scraped at Radfords armour suit. But the integral valency
generators had stiffened the fabric right from the moment of impact,
protecting the vulnerable human skin inside. The creature howled in fury,
thwarted at the very moment of triumph.

Radfords suit systems as well as his neural nanonics began to fail. Even
his shocked yell was cut off as the communications block speaker died.
The suits fabric started to give way, slowly softening. One of the claw
tips screwed inwards, hungry for flesh.

Even amid his frantic twisting and bucking to throw off the creature
Radford was aware of a whisper which bordered on the subliminal. It had
surely been there all his life, but only now with the prospect of death
sharpening his perception was he fully conscious of it. It began to
expand, not in volume, but in harmony. A whole chorus of whispers.
Promising love. Promising sympathy. Promising to help, if he would just

Bullets smashed into the flanks of the creature, mauling the fur and long
muscle bands. Dean kept his semi-automatic steady as the thing clung to
Radfords body. He could see the armour suit fabric hardening again, the
claws slipping and skidding.

Stop! one of the team was shouting. Youll kill Radford.

Hell be worse than dead if we dont, Dean snarled back. Spent casings
were hurtling out of the rifle at an astounding rate. Still the beast
wouldnt let go, its great head shaking from side to side, emitting a
continual wail of pain.

The team was rushing en masse towards Dean down the narrow corridors
between the storage frames. Two more were shouting at him to stop.

Get back! he ordered. Keep watching for the rest of the bastards. His
magazine was down to eighty per cent. The rifle didnt have the power to
beat the creature, all the thing had to do was hang on. Blood was running
down its hind legs, the fur where the bullets struck a pulped mass of raw
flesh. Not enough damage, not nearly enough.

Someone else fire at it for Christs sake, Dean yelled frantically.

Another rifle opened up; the second stream of bullets catching the
creature on the side of its lycanthrope head. It let go of Radford, to be
flung against the storage frame. The rampant wail from its gaping fangs
redoubled.

Dean boosted the communications blocks volume to its highest level.
Surrender or die, he told it.

It might have had a beasts form, but the look of absolute hatred came
from an all-too-human eye.

Grenade, Dean ordered.

A small grey cylinder thumped into the bloody body.

Deans armour suit froze for a second. His collar sensors picked up the
detonation: explosion followed by implosion. The outline of the beast
collapsed into a middle-aged man, colour draining away. For a millisecond
the mans frame was captured perfectly, sprawled against the storage
frame. Then the bullets resumed their attack. This time, he had no
defence.

Dean had seen worse carnage, though the limited space between the storage
frames made it appear terrible. Several of the AT Squad obviously didnt
have his experience, or phlegmatism.

Radford was helped to his feet and mumbled a subdued thanks. The sound of
other teams from the AT Squad shooting somewhere in the building echoed
tinnily down the corridors.

Dean gave them another minute to gather their composure, then resumed the
sweep. Ninety seconds after they started, Alexandria Noakes was calling
for him.

Shed discovered a man hunched up in a gap between two crates. Dean
rushed up to find her prodding the captive out of his hiding place with
nervous thrusts of her rifle. He levelled his own rifle squarely on the
mans head. Surrender or die, he said.

The man gave a frail little laugh. But I am dead, seor.



Eight police department hypersonics had landed in the park outside
Moyces of Pasto. Ralph limped wearily towards the one which doubled as a
mobile command centre for the AT Squad. There wasnt that much difference
from the rest, except it had more sensors and communications gear.

It could have been worse, he told himself. At least Admiral Farquar and
Deborah Unwin had stood down the SD platforms, for now.

Stretchers with injured AT Squad members were arranged in a row below a
couple of the hypersonics. Medics were moving among them, applying
nanonic packages. One woman had been shoved into a zero-tau capsule, her
wounds requiring immediate hospital treatment.

A big crowd of curious citizens had materialized, milling about in the
park and spilling out across the roads. Police officers had thrown up
barricades, keeping them well away.

Nine bulky fire department vehicles were parked outside Moyces of Pasto.
Mechanoids trailing hoses had clambered up the walls with spiderlike
tenacity, pumping foam and chemical inhibitors into smashed windows. A
quarter of the roof was missing. Long flames were soaring up into the
night sky out of the gap. Heat from the inferno was shattering the few
remaining panes, creating more oxygen inflows.

It was going to be a long time before Moyces would be open for business
again.

Nelson Akroid was waiting for him at the foot of the command hypersonics
airstairs. His shell helmet was off, revealing a haggard face; a man who
has seen the ungodly at play. Seventeen wounded, three fatalities, sir,
he said in a voice close to breaking. His right hand was covered by a
medical nanonic package. Scorch marks were visible on his armour suit.

And the hostiles?

Twenty-three killed, six captured. He twisted his head around to stare
at the blazing building. My teams, they did all right. We train to cope
with nutters. But they beat those things. Christ

They did good, Ralph said quickly. But, Nelson, this was only round
one.

Yes, sir. He straightened up. The final sweep through the building was
negative. I had to pull them out when the fire took hold. Ive still got
three teams covering it in case there are any hostiles still in there.
Theyll do another sweep when the fires out.

Good man. Lets go see the prisoners.

The AT Squad was taking no chances; they were holding the six captives
out on the park, keeping them a hundred metres apart. Each one stood in
the centre of five squad members, five rifles trained on them.

Ralph walked over to the one Dean Folan and Cathal Fitzgerald were
guarding. He datavised his communications block to open a channel to
Roche Skark. You might like to see this, sir.

I accessed the sensors around Moyces when the AT Squad went in, the
ESA director datavised. They put up a lot of resistance.

Yes, sir.

If that happens each time we locate a nest of them, youll wind up
razing half the city.

The prospects for decontaminating them arent too good, either. They
fight like mechanoids. Subduing them is tricky. These six are the
exception.

Ill bring the rest of the committee in on the questioning. Can we have
a visual please.

Ralphs neural nanonics informed him that other people were coming
on-line to observe the interview: the Privy Council security committee
over in Atherstone, and the civil authorities in Pastos police
headquarters. He instructed his communications block to widen the
channels bandwidth to a full sensevise, allowing them to access what he
could see and hear.

Cathal Fitzgerald acknowledged him with the briefest nod as he
approached. The man he was guarding was sitting on the grass, pointedly
ignoring the semi-automatics directed at him. There was a slim white tube
in his mouth. Its end was alight, glowing dully. As Ralph watched, the
man sucked his cheeks in, and the coal glow brightened. He removed the
tube from his mouth and exhaled a thin jet of smoke.

Ralph exchanged a puzzled frown with Cathal, who merely shrugged.

Dont ask me, boss, Cathal said.

Ralph ran a search program through his neural nanonics memory cells. The
general encyclopedia section produced a file headed: Nicotine Inhalation.

Hey, you, he said.

The man looked up and took another drag. S, seor.

Thats a bad habit, which is why no one has done it for five centuries.
Govcentral even refused an export licence for nicotine DNA.

A sly, sulky smile. After my time, seor.

Whats your name?

Santiago Vargas.

Lying little bastard, Cathal Fitzgerald said. We ran an ident check.
Hes Hank Doyle, distribution supervisor for Moyces.

Interesting, Ralph said. Skibbow claimed to be someone else when he
was caught: Kingsford Garrigan. Is that what the virus is programmed to
do?

Dont know, seor. Dont know any virus.

Where does it come from? Where do you come from?

Me, seor? I come from Barcelona. A beautiful city. I show you around
sometime. I lived there many years. Some happy years, and some with my
wife. I died there.

The cigarette glow lit up watery eyes which watched Ralph shrewdly.

You died there?

S, seor.

This is bullshit. We need information, and fast. Whats the maximum
range of that white fire weapon?

Dont know, seor.

Then I suggest you run a quick memory check, Ralph said coldly.
Because youre no use to me otherwise. Itll be straight into zero-tau
with you.

Santiago Vargas stubbed his cigarette out on the grass. You want me to
see how far I can throw it for you?

Sure.

Okay. He climbed to his feet with indolent slowness.

Ralph gestured out over the deserted reaches of the park. Santiago Vargas
closed his eyes and extended his arm. His hand blazed with light, and a
bolt of white fire sizzled away. It streaked over the grass flinging out
a multitude of tiny sparks as it went. At a hundred metres it started to
expand and dim, slowing down. At a hundred and twenty metres it was a
tenuous luminescent haze. It never reached a hundred and thirty metres,
evaporating in midair.

Santiago Vargas wore a happy smile. All right! Pretty good, eh, seor? I
practice, I maybe get better.

Believe me, you wont have the opportunity, Ralph told him.

Okay. He seemed unconcerned.

How do you generate it?

Dont know, seor. I just think about it, and it happens.

Then lets try another tack. Why do you fire it?

I dont. That was the first time.

Your friends didnt have any of your inhibitions.

No.

So why didnt you join them? Why didnt you fight us?

I have no quarrel with you, seor. It is the ones with passion, they
fight your soldiers. They bring back many more souls so they can be
strong together.

Theyve infected others?

S.

How many?

Santiago Vargas offered up his hands, palms upwards. I dont think
anyone in the shop escaped possession. Sorry, seor.

Shit. Ralph glanced back at the burning building, just in time to see
another section of roof collapse. Landon? he datavised. Well need a
full list of staff on the nighttime shift. How many there were. Where
they live.

Coming up, the commissioner replied.

How many of the infected left before we arrived? he asked Santiago
Vargas.

Not sure, seor. There were many trucks.

They left on the delivery lorries?

S. They sit in the back. You dont have no drivers seat these days.
All mechanical. Very clever.

Ralph stared in dismay at the sullen man.

Weve been concentrating on stopping passenger vehicles, Diana Tiernan
datavised. Cargo traffic was only a secondary concern.

Oh, Christ, if they got on to the motorways they could be halfway across
the continent by now, Ralph said.

Ill reassign the AI vehicle search priority now.

If you find any of Moyces lorries that are still moving, target them
with the SD platforms. We dont have any other choice.

I agree, Admiral Farquar datavised.

Ralph, ask him which of the embassy pair was in Moyces, please, Roche
Skark datavised.

Ralph pulled a processor block from his belt, and ordered it to display
pictures of Jacob Tremarco and Angeline Gallagher. He thrust it towards
Vargas. Did you see either of these people in the shop?

The man took his time. Him. I think.

So weve still got to find Angeline Gallagher, Ralph said. Any more
city traffic with glitched processors?

Three possibles, Diana datavised. Weve already got two of them
located. Both taxis from the spaceport.

Okay, assign an AT Squad to each taxi. And make sure there are
experienced personnel in both of them. What was the third trace?

A Longhound bus which left the airport ten minutes after the embassy
trio landed; it was a scheduled southern route, right down to the tip of
Mortonridge. Were working on its current location.

Right, Im coming back to the police headquarters. Were finished here.

What about him? Nelson Akroid asked, jerking a thumb at the captive.

Ralph glanced back. Santiago Vargas had found another cigarette from
somewhere and was smoking it quietly. He smiled. Can I go now, seor?
he asked hopefully.

Ralph returned the smile with equal honesty. Have the zero-tau pods from
Ekwan arrived yet? he datavised.

The first batch are due to arrive at Pasto spaceport in twelve minutes,
Vicky Keogh replied.

Cathal, Ralph said out loud. See if Mr Vargas here will cooperate with
us for just a little longer. Id like to know the limits of the
electronic warfare field, and that illusion effect of theirs.

Yes, boss.

After that, take him and the others on a sightseeing trip to the
spaceport. No exceptions.

My pleasure.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The Loyola Hall was one of San Angeless more prestigious live-event
venues. It seated twenty-five thousand under a domed roof which could be
retracted when the weather was balmy, as it so frequently was in that
city. There were excellent access routes to the nearby elevated autoway;
the subway station was a nexus for six of the lines which ran beneath the
city; it even had seven landing pads for VIP aircraft. There were
five-star restaurants and snack bars, hundreds of rest rooms. Stewards
were experienced and friendly. Police and promoters handled over two
hundred events a year.

The whole site was an operation which functioned with silicon efficiency.
Until today.

Eager kids had been arriving since six oclock in the morning. It was now
half past seven in the evening. Around the walls they were thronging
twenty deep; scrums outside the various public doors needed police
mechanoids to maintain a loose kind of order, and even they were in
danger of being overwhelmed. The kids had a lot of fun spraying them with
soft drinks and smearing ice creams over the sensors.

Inside the hall every seat was taken, the tickets bought months ago. The
aisles were filled with people, too, though how they had got in past the
processor-regulated turnstiles was anyones guess. Touts were becoming
overnight millionaires, those that werent being arrested or mugged by
gangs of motivated fourteen-year-olds.

It was the last night of Jezzibellas Moral Bankruptcy tour. The New
California system had endured five weeks of relentless media saturation
as she swept across the asteroid settlements and down to the planetary
surface. Rumour, of AV projectors broadcasting illegal activent patterns
during her concerts to stimulate orgasms in the audience (not true, said
the official press release, Jezzibella has abundant sexuality of her own,
she doesnt need artificial aids to boost the Mood Fantasy she emotes).
Hyperbole, about the Presidents youngest daughter being completely
infatuated after meeting her, then sneaking out of the Blue Palace to go
backstage at her concert (Jezzibella was delighted and deeply honoured to
meet all members of the First Family, and we are not aware of any
unauthorized entry to a concert). Scandal, when two of the band, Bruno
and Busch, were arrested for violating public decency laws in front of a
senior citizens holiday group, their bail posted at one million New
California dollars (Bruno and Busch were engaged in a very wonderful,
sensitive, and private act of love; and that bunch of filthy old perverts
used enhanced retinas to spy on them). Straight hype, when Jezzibella
visited (as a private citizenso no sensevises, please) a childrens ward
in a poor district of town, and donated half a million fuseodollars to
the hospitals germ-line treatment fund. Editorial shock at the way she
flaunted her thirteen-year-old male companion, Emmerson (Mr Emmerson is
Jezzibellas second cousin, and his passport clearly states he is
sixteen). A lot of spectator fun, and official police cautions, derived
from the extraordinarily violent fights between her entourages security
team and rover reporters. The storm of libel writs issued by Leroy
Octavius, her manager, every time anyone suggested she was older than
twenty-eight.

And in all those five weeks she never gave an interview, never made a
single public utterance outside of her stage routine. She didnt have to.
In that time, the regional office of Warner Castle Entertainment
datavised out thirty-seven million copies of her new MF album Life
Kinetic across the planets communications net to worshipful fans; her
back catalogue sold equally well.

The starship crews who normally made a tidy profit from selling a copy of
an MF album to a distributor in star systems where they hadnt been
officially released yet cursed their luck when they arrived on planets
where Jezzibella had passed through in the last eighteen months. But then
that was the point of being a touring artist. A new album every nine
months, and visit ten star systems each year; it was the only way you
could beat the bootleggers. If you werent prepared to do that, the only
money you ever got was from your home star system. Few made the
transition from local wonder to galactic mega-star. It took a lot of
money to travel, and entertainment companies were reluctant to invest.
The artist had to demonstrate a colossal degree of professionalism and
determination before they were worth the multimillion-fuseodollar risk.
Once theyd breached the threshold, of course, the old adage of money
making more money had never been truer.

High above the costly props and powerful AV stacks onstage, an
optical-band sensor was scanning the crowd. Faces merged into a
monotonous procession as it swept along the tiers and balconies. Fans
came in distinct categories: the eager exhilarated ones, mostly young;
boisterous and expectant, late teens; impatient, already stimmed-out,
nervous, fearfully worshipful, even a few who obviously wanted to be
somewhere else but had come along to please their partner. Every costume
Jezzibella had ever worn in an MF track was out there somewhere, from the
simple to the peacock bizarre.

The sensor focused on a couple in matching leathers. The boy was nineteen
or twenty, the girl at his side a bit younger. They had their arms around
each other, very much in love. Both tall, healthy, vital.

Jezzibella cancelled the datavise from the sensor. Those two, she told
Leroy Octavius. I like them.

The unpleasantly overweight manager glanced at the short AV pillar
sticking out of his processor block, checking the two blithesome faces.
Roger dodger. Ill get on it.

There was no quibbling, not the faintest hint of disapproval. Jezzibella
liked that; it was what made him such a good manager. He understood how
it was for her, the things she required in order to function. She needed
kids like those two. Needed what theyd got, the naivete, the
uncertainty, the delight at life. She had none of that left, now, not the
sweet side of human nature. The eternal tour had drained it all away,
somewhere out among the stars; one energy which could leak out of a
zero-tau field. Everything became secondary to the tour, feelings werent
allowed to interfere. And feelings suppressed long enough simply
vanished. But she couldnt have that, because she needed an understanding
of feelings in order to work. Circles. Her life was all circles.

So instead of her own emotions, she familiarised herself with this alien
quality which others owned, examining it as if she were performing a
doctoral thesis. Absorbed what she could, the brief taste allowing her to
perform again, to fake it through yet one more show.

I dont like them, Emmerson said petulantly.

Jezzibella tried to smile at him, but the whole charade of pandering to
him bored her now. She was standing, stark naked, in the middle of the
green room while Libby Robosky, her personal image consultant, worked on
her dermal scales. The bitek covering was a lot more subtle than a
chameleon layer, allowing her to modify her bodys whole external texture
rather than simply changing colour. For some numbers she needed to have
soft, sensitive skin, a young girl who quivered at her first lovers
touch; then there was the untainted look, a body which was naturally
graceful without workouts and fad diets (like the girl shed seen through
the halls sensor); and of course the athlete/ballerina body, supple,
hard, and muscularbig favourite with the boys. It was the feel of her
which everyone out there in the hall wanted to experience; Jezzibella in
the flesh.

But the tiny scales had a short lifetime, and each one had to be annealed
to her skin separately. Libby Robosky was an undoubted wizard when it
came to applying them, using a modified medical nanonic package.

You dont have to meet them, Jezzibella told the boy patiently. I can
take care of them by myself.

I dont want to be left alone all night. How come I cant pick someone
out of the audience for myself?

As the reporters had been allowed to discover, he really was only
thirteen. Shed brought him into the entourage back on Borroloola, an
interesting plaything. Now after two months of daily tantrums and
broodiness the novelty value had been exhausted. Because this is the way
it has to be. I need them for a reason. Ive told you a hundred times.

Okay. So why dont we do it now, then?

I have a show in a quarter of an hour. Remember?

So what? Emmerson challenged. Skip it. Thatll cause a real publicity
storm. And there wont be any backlash cos were leaving.

Leroy, she datavised. Take this fucking brat away before I split his
skull open to find out where his brain went.

Leroy Octavius waddled back over to where she stood. His bulky frame was
clad in a light snakeskin jacket that was an optimistic size and a half
too small. The tough, thin leather squeaked at every motion. Come on,
son, he said in a gruff voice. Were supposed to leave the artists to
it this close to a show. You know how spaced out they get about
performing. How about you and I have a look at the food theyre laying on
next door?

The boy allowed himself to be led away, Leroys huge hand draped over his
shoulder, casually forceful.

Jezzibella groaned. Shit. Why did I ever think his age made him
exciting?

Libbys indigo eyes fluttered open, giving her a quizzical look. Out of
all the sycophants, hangers-on, outright parasites, and essential crew,
Jezzibella enjoyed Libby the most. A grandmotherly type who always
dressed to emphasise her age, she had the stoicism and patience to absorb
any tantrum or crisis with only the vaguest disinterested shrug.

It was your hormones which went a-frolicking at the sight of his baby
dick, poppet, Libby said.

Jezzibella grunted, she knew the rest of the entourage hated Emmerson.
Leroy, she datavised. I paid that hospital we visited enough fucking
money; have they got a secure wing we could leave the juvenile shit in?

Leroy gave a backwards wave as he left the green room. Well talk about
what were going to do with him later, he replied.

You fucking finished yet? Jezzibella asked Libby.

Absolutely, poppet.

Jezzibella composed herself, and ordered her neural nanonics to send a
sequence of encoded impulses down her nerves. There was an eerie
sensation of wet leather slithering on the top of her rib cage, all four
limbs shivered. Her shoulders straightened of their own accord, belly
muscles tightened, sinuous lines hardened under skin that was turning a
deeper shade of bronze.

She dug deep into her memory, finding the right sensation of pride and
confidence. Combined with the physique it was synergistic. She was
adorable, and knew it.

Merrill! she yelled. Merrill, where the fucks my first-act costume?

The flunky hurried over to the big travelling trunks lined up along a
wall and began extracting the requisite items.

And why havent you shitheads started warming up yet, she shouted at
the musicians.

The green room abruptly became a whirlwind of activity as everyone found
legitimate employment. Private, silent datavises flashed through the air
as they all discussed the impending frailty of Emmersons future. It
diverted them from how precarious their own tenures were.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Ralph Hiltch accessed various reports as he flew back over the city. The
priority search which Diana Tiernans department had initiated was
producing good results. According to the citys route and flow road
processor network, fifty-three lorries had left Moyces that evening. The
AIs were now chasing after them.

Within seven minutes of Diana assigning the lorries full priority, twelve
had been located, all outside the city. The coordinates were datavised
into the Strategic Defence Command up in Guyana, and sensor satellites
triangulated the targets for low-orbit weapons platforms. A dozen
short-lived violet starbursts blossomed across Xingus southern quarter.

By the time Ralphs hypersonic landed another eight had been added to the
total. Hed stripped off his damaged lightweight armour suit in the
plane, borrowing a dark blue police fatigue one-piece. It was baggy
enough to fit over his medical nanonic package without restriction. But
for all the packages support, he was still limping as he made his way
over to Hub One.

Welcome back, Landon McCullock said. You did a good job, Ralph. Im
grateful.

We all are, Warren Aspinal said. And thats not just a politician
speaking. I have a family in the city, three kids.

Thank you, sir. Ralph sat down next to Diana Tiernan. She managed a
quick grin for him. Weve been checking up on the night shift at
Moyces, she said. There were forty-five on duty this evening. As of
now, the AT Squads have accounted for twenty-nine during the assault,
killed and captured.

Shit. Sixteen of the bastards loose, Bernard Gibson said.

No, Diana said firmly. We think we may have got lucky. Ive hooked the
AIs into the fire departments mechanoids; their sensors are profiled for
exploring high temperature environments. So far theyve located a further
five bodies in the building, and theres still thirty per cent which
hasnt been covered. That accounts for all but eleven of the night shift.

Still too many, Landon said.

I know. But were certain that six of the lorries zapped so far
contained a shift member. Their processors and ancillary circuits were
suffering random failures. It matched the kind of interference which
Adkinsons plane suffered.

And then there were five, Warren Aspinal said quietly.

Yes, sir, Diana said. Im pretty sure theyre in the remaining
lorries.

Well Im afraid pretty sure isnt good enough when were facing a
threat which could wipe us out in less than a week, Chief Tiernan, said
Leonard DeVille.

Sir. Diana didnt bother to look at him. I wasnt making wild
assumptions. Firstly, the AIs have confirmed that there was no other
traffic logged as using Moyces since Jacob Tremarcos taxi arrived.

So they left on foot.

Again, I really dont think that is the case, sir. That whole area
around Moyces is fully covered by security sensors, both ours and the
private systems owned by the companies in neighbouring buildings. We
accessed all the relevant memories. Nobody came out of Moyces. Just the
lorries.

What weve seen tonight is a continuing pattern of attempted widespread
dispersal, Landon McCullock said. The embassy trio have been constant
in their attempt to distribute the energy virus as broadly as possible.
Its a very logical move. The wider it is spread, the longer it takes for
us to contain it, and the more people can be infected, in turn making it
more difficult for us to contain. A nasty spiral.

They only have a limited amount of time in the city, Ralph chipped in.
And the city is where we have the greatest advantage when it comes to
finding and eliminating them. So theyll know its a waste of effort
trying to spread the contamination here, at least initially. Whereas the
countryside tilts the balance in their favour. If they win out there,
then Xingus main urban areas will eventually become cities under siege.
Again a situation which we would probably lose in the long run. Thats
what happened on Lalonde. I imagine that Durringham has fallen by now.

Leonard DeVille nodded curtly.

The second point, said Diana, is that those infected dont seem able
to halt the lorries. Short of them using their white fire weapon to
physically destroy the motors or power systems the lorries arent
stopping before their first scheduled delivery point. And if they do use
violence against a lorry the motorway processors will spot it
straightaway. From the evidence weve accumulated so far it seems as
though they cant use their electronic warfare field to alter a lorrys
destination. Its powerful, but not sophisticated, not enough to get down
into the actual drive control processors and tamper with on line
programs.

You mean theyre trapped inside the lorries? Warren Aspinal asked.

Yes, sir.

And none of the lorries have reached their destination yet, Vicky Keogh
said, with a smile for the Home Office minister. As Diana said, it looks
like we got lucky.

Well thank God theyre not omnipotent, the Prime Minister said.

Theyre not far short, Ralph observed. Even listening to Diana outline
the current situation hadnt lifted his spirits. The crisis was too hot,
too now. Emotions hadnt had time to catch up with events; pursuing the
embassy trio was like space warfare, everything happening too quick for
anything other than simplistic responses, there was no opportunity to
take stock and think. What about Angeline Gallagher? he inquired. Have
the AIs got any further leads?

No. Just the two taxis and the Longhound bus, Diana said. The AT
Squads are on their way.



It took another twelve minutes to clear the taxis. Ralph stayed at Hub
One while the interception operations were running, receiving datavises
from the two Squad commanders.

The first taxi was laid up beside one of the rivers which meandered
through Pasto. It had stopped interfacing with the route and flow
processors as it drew up next to a boathouse. Road monitor cameras had
been trained on the grey vehicle for eleven minutes, seeing no movement
from it or the boathouse.

The AT Squad members closed in on it, using standard leapfrog advancement
tactics. Its lights were off, doors frozen half-open, no one inside. A
technical officer opened a systems access panel and plugged his processor
block into it. The police AI probed the vehicles circuitry and memory
cells.

All clear, Diana reported. A short circuit turned the chassis live,
blew most of the processors, and screwed the rest. No wonder it showed up
like one of our hostiles.

The second taxi had been abandoned in an underground garage below a
residential mews. The AT Squad arrived just as the taxi companys service
crew turned up to take it away on their breakdown hauler. Everyone at Hub
One witnessed the scenes of hysterics and anger as the AT Squad took no
chances with the three service crew.

After running an on-the-spot diagnostic, the crew discovered the taxis
electron matrix was faulty, sending huge power spikes through the
on-board circuitry.

Gallagher has to be on the bus, Landon McCullock said as he cancelled
his datavise to the AT Squad, the service crews inventive obscenities
fading from his borrowed perception.

I can confirm that, Diana said. The damn thing wont respond to the
halt orders were issuing via the motorway route and flow processors.

I thought you said they couldnt alter programs with their electronic
warfare technique, Leonard DeVille said.

It hasnt altered its route, it just wont respond, she shot back. An
almost uninterrupted three-hour stint spent interfacing with, and
directing, the AIs, was beginning to fatigue her nerves.

Warren Aspinal gave his political colleague a warning frown.

The AT Squad teams will be over the bus in ninety seconds, Bernard
Gibson said. Well see exactly whats going on then.

Ralph datavised a tactical situation request into the hubs processor
array. His neural nanonics visualized a map of Xingu, a rough diamond
with a downward curling cats tail. Forty-one of Moyces delivery lorries
had been located and annihilated now, green and purple symbols displaying
their movements, the locations when they were targeted. The bus was a
virulent amber, proceeding down the M6 motorway which ran the length of
Mortonridge, the long spit of mountainous land which poked southwards
across the equator.

He switched to accessing the sensor suite on the lead hypersonic. The
plane was just decelerating into subsonic flight. There was nothing any
discrimination filter program could do about the vibration as it
aerobraked. Ralph had to wait it out, impatience heating his blood
feverishly. If Angeline Gallagher wasnt on the bus, then theyd probably
lost the continent.

The M6 was laid out below him in the clear tropical air. The hypersonics
shaking damped out, and he could see hundreds of stationary cars, vans,
buses, and lorries parked on the motorways service lanes. Headlights
illuminated the lush verges, hundreds of people were milling around, some
even settling down for midnight picnics by their vehicles.

The static pageant made the bus easy to spot, the one moving light source
on the motorway, heading south at about two hundred kilometres an hour.
It roared on past the riveted spectators lining the lane barrier, immune
to the priority codes being fired into its circuitry from the motorways
route and flow processors.

What the hell is that thing? Vicky Keogh voiced the unspoken question
of everyone accessing the hypersonics sensor suite.

The Longhound Bus Company had a standardized fleet of sixty-seaters made
on the Esparta continent, with a distinct green and purple livery. They
were used all over Ombey, stitching together every continents cities and
towns with an extensive, fast, and frequent service. The principality
didnt yet have the economy or population to justify vac train tubes
linking its urban areas like Earth and Kulu. So the Longhound buses were
a familiar sight on the motorways; more or less everyone on the planet
had ridden on one at some time in their lives.

But the runaway vehicle speeding down the M6 looked nothing like a normal
Longhound. Where the Longhounds body was reasonably smooth and trim,
this had the kind of sleek profile associated with the aerospace
industry. A curved, wedge-shaped nose blending back into an oval
cross-section body, with sharp triangular fin spoilers sprouting out of
the rear quarter. It had a dull silver finish, with gloss-black windows.
Greasy grey smoke belched out of a circular vent just behind the rear
wheel set.

Is it on fire? a disconcerted Warren Aspinal asked.

No, sir. Diana sounded ridiculously happy. What youre seeing there is
its diesel exhaust.

A what exhaust?

Diesel. This is a Ford Nissan omnirover; it burns diesel in a combustion
engine.

The Prime Minister had been running his own neural nanonics encyclopedia
search. An engine which burns hydrocarbon fuel?

Yes, sir.

Thats ridiculous, not to mention illegal.

Not when this was built, sir. According to my files, the last one rolled
off the Turin production line in 2043 AD. Thats the city of Turin on
Earth.

Have you a record of any being imported by a museum or a private vehicle
collector? Landon McCullock asked patiently.

The AIs cant find one.

Jenny Harris reported a phenomenon similar to this back on Lalonde,
Ralph said. She saw a fanciful riverboat when I sent her on that last
mission. Theyd altered its appearance so it seemed old-fashioned,
something from Earths pre-technology times.

Christ, Landon McCullock muttered.

Makes sense, Diana said. Were still getting a correct identification
code from its processors. They must have thrown this illusion around the
Longhound.

The hypersonic closed on the bus, sliding in over the motorway, barely a
hundred metres up. Below it, the omnirover was weaving from side to side
with complete disregard for the lane markings. The ceaseless and random
movement made it difficult for the pilot to stay matched directly
overhead.

Ralph realized what had been bothering his subconscious, and requested a
visual sensor to zoom in. Thats more than just a holographic illusion,
he said after studying the image. Look at the buss shadow under those
lights, it matches the outline.

How do they do that? Diana asked. Her voice was full of curiosity, with
a hint of excitement bleeding in.

Try asking Santiago Vargas, Vicky Keogh told her sharply.

I cant even think of a theory that would allow us to manipulate solid
surfaces like that, Diana said defensively.

Ralph grunted churlishly. Hed had a similar conversation back on Lalonde
when they were trying to figure out how the LDCs observation satellite
was being jammed. No known principle. The whole concept of an energy
virus was a radical one.

Possession, Santiago Vargas called it.

Ralph shivered. His Christian belief had never been that strongly rooted,
but like a good Kingdom subject, it was always there. Our immediate
concern is what do we do about the bus. You might manage to land AT Squad
teams on the thing if they were equipped with airpack flight suits, but
they can hardly jump down from the hypersonic.

Use the SD platforms to chop up the motorway ahead of it, Admiral
Farquar suggested. Force it to stop that way.

Do we know how many people were on board? Landon McCullock asked.

Full complement when it left Pasto spaceport, Im afraid, Diana
reported.

Damn. Sixty people. We have to make at least an effort to halt it.

Wed have to reinforce the AT Squads first, Ralph said. Three
hypersonics isnt enough. And youd have to stop the bus precisely in the
centre of a cordon. With sixty possible hostiles riding on it, wed have
to be very certain no one broke through. Thats wild-looking countryside
out there.

We can have reinforcements there in another seven minutes, Bernard
Gibson said.

Shit It was a datavise from the pilot. A big javelin of white fire
streaked up from the bus, punching the hypersonics belly. The plane
quaked, then peeled away rapidly, almost rolling through ninety degrees.
Bright sparkling droplets of molten ceramic sprayed out from the gaping
hole in its fuselage to splash and burn on the motorways surface. Its
aerodynamics wounded, it started juddering continuously, losing height.
The pilot tried desperately to right it, but he was already too low. He
came to the same conclusion as the flight computer and activated the
crash protection system.

Foam under enormous pressure fired into the cabin, swamping the AT Squad
members. Valency generators turned it solid within a second.

The plane hit the ground, ploughing a huge gash through the vegetation
and soft black loam. Nose, wings, and tailplane crumpled and tore, barbed
fragments spinning off into the night. The bulky cylinder which was the
cabin carried on for another seventy metres, flinging off structural
spars and smashed ancillary modules. It came to a jarring halt, thudding
into a steep earthen bluff.

The valency generators cut off, and foam sluiced out of the wreckage,
mingling with the mud. Figures stirred weakly inside.

Bernard Gibson let out a painful breath. I think theyre all okay.

One of the other two hypersonics was circling back towards the crash. The
second took up position a respectful kilometre behind the bus.

Oh, Christ, Vicky Keogh groaned. The bus is slowing. Theyre going to
get off.

Now what? the Prime Minister demanded. He sounded frightened and angry.

One AT Squad cant possibly contain them, Ralph said. It was like
speaking treason. I betrayed those people. My failure.

There are sixty people on that bus, an aghast Warren Aspinal exclaimed.
We might be able to cure them.

Yes, sir, I know that. Ralph hardened his expression, disguising how
worthless he felt, and looked at Landon McCullock. The police chief
obviously wanted to argue; he glanced at his deputy, who shrugged
helplessly.

Admiral Farquar? Landon McCullock datavised.

Yes.

Eliminate the bus.

Ralph watched through the hypersonics sensor suite as the laser blast
from low orbit struck the fantasm vehicle. Just for an instant he saw the
silhouette of the real Longhound inside the illusory cloak, as if the
purpose of the weapon was really to expose truths. Then the energy
barrage incinerated the bus along with a thirty-metre-diameter circle of
road.

When he looked around the faces of everyone sitting at Hub One, he saw
his own dismay and horror bounced right back at him.

It was Diana Tiernan who held his gaze, her kindly old face crumpled up
with tragic sympathy. Im sorry, Ralph, she said. We werent quick
enough. The AIs have just told me the bus stopped at the first four towns
on its scheduled route.


Chapter 03
==========


Al Capone dressed as Al Capone had always dressed: with style. He wore a
double-breasted blue serge suit, a paisley pattern silk tie, black patent
leather shoes, and a pearl-grey fedora, rakishly aslant. Gold rings set
with a rainbow array of deep precious stones glinted on every finger, a
duck-egg diamond on his pinkie.

It hadnt taken him long to decide that the people in this future world
didnt have much in the way of fashion sense. The suits he could see all
followed the same loose silk design, although their colourful slimline
patterns made them appear more like flappy Japanese pyjamas. Those not in
suits wore variants on vests and sports shirts. Tight-fitting, too, at
least for people under thirty-five. Al had stared at the dolls to start
with, convinced they were all hookers. What kind of decent gal would
dress like that, with so much showing? Skirts which almost didnt cover
their ass, shorts that werent much better. But no. They were just
ordinary, smiling, happy, everyday girls. The people living in this city
werent so strung up on morality and decency. What would have given a
Catholic priest apoplexy back home didnt raise an eyebrow here.

I think Im gonna like this life, Al declared.

Strange life that it was. He seemed to have been reincarnated as a
magician: a real magician, not like the fancy tricksters hed booked for
his clubs back in Chicago. Here, whatever he wanted appeared out of
nowhere.

That had taken a long while to get used to. Think and . . . pow. There it
was, everything from a working Thompson to a silver dollar glinting in
the hot sun. Goddamn useful for clothes, though. Brad Lovegrove had worn
overalls of shiny dark red fabric like some kind of pissant garbage
collector.

Al could hear Lovegrove whimpering away inside him, like having a
leprechaun nesting at the centre of his brain. He was bawling like a
complete bozo, and making about as much sense. But there was some gold
among the dross, twenty-four-karat nuggets. Likewhen he first got his
marbles together Al had thought this world was maybe Mars or Venus. Not
so. New California didnt even orbit the same sun as Earth. And it wasnt
the twentieth century no more.

Je-zus, but a guy needed a drink to help keep that from blowing his head
apart.

And where to get a drink? Al imagined the little leprechaun being
squeezed, as if his brain were one giant muscle. Slowly contracting.

A macromall on the intersection between Longwalk and Sunrise, Lovegrove
squealed silently. Theres a specialist store there with liquor from
every Confederation planet, probably even got Earth bourbon.

Drinks from clear across the galaxy! How about that?

So Al started walking. It was a lovely day.

The sidewalk was so wide it was more like a boulevard in itself; there
were no paving slabs, instead the whole strip had been made from a
seamless sheet, a material which was a cross between marble and concrete.
Luxuriant trees sprouted up through craters in the surface every forty
yards or so, their two-foot sprays of floppy oval flowers an impossible
shade of metallic purple.

He spotted a few trashcan-sized trucks trundling sedately among the
walkers enjoying the late-morning sunshine, machinery smoother than Henry
Ford had ever dreamed of. Utility mechanoids, Lovegrove told him,
cleaning the sidewalk, picking up litter and fallen leaves.

The base of each skyscraper was given over to classy delis and bars and
restaurants and coffee shops; tables spilled out onto the sidewalk, just
like a European city. Arcades pierced deep into the buildings.

From what Al could see, it was the same kind of rich mans playground
setup on the other side of the street, maybe a hundred and fifty yards
away. Not that you could walk over to be sure, there was no way past the
eight-foot-high glass and metal barrier which lined the road.

Al stood with his face pressed to the glass for some time, watching the
silent cars zoom past. Big bullets on wheels. All of them shiny, like
coloured chrome. You didnt even have to steer them no more, Lovegrove
told him, they did it themselves. Some kind of fancy electrical engine,
no gas. And the speed, over two hundred kilometres an hour.

Al knew all about kilometres; they were what the French called miles.

But he wasnt too sure about using a car that he couldnt drive himself,
not when it travelled that fast. And anyway, his presence seemed to
mommick up electricity. So he stuck to walking.

The skyscrapers gave him vertigo they were so tall, and all you could see
when you looked up at them was reflections of more skyscrapers. They
seemed to bend over the street, imprisoning the world below. Lovegrove
told him they were so high that their tops were designed to sway in the
wind, rocking twentythirty metres backwards and forwards in slow motion.

Shut up, Al growled.

The leprechaun curled up tighter, like a knotted snake.

People looked at Alhis clothes. Al looked at people, fascinated and
jubilant. It was a jolt seeing blacks and whites mixing free, other types
too, light-skinned Mediterranean like his own, Chinese, Indian. Some
seemed to have dyed their hair completely the wrong colour. Amazing.

And they all appeared so much at ease with themselves, owning a uniform
inner smile. They had a nonchalance and surety which hed never seen
before. The devil which drove so many people back in the twenties was
missing, as if the city elders had abolished worry altogether.

They also had astonishingly good health. After a block and a half Al
still hadnt seen anyone remotely overweight. No wonder they wore short
clothes. A world where everyone was in permanent training for the big
game, even the seventy-year-olds.

You still got baseball, aint you? Al muttered under his breath.

Yes, Lovegrove confirmed.

Yep, paradise all right.

After a while he took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Hed
been walking for a quarter of an hour, and it didnt look as if hed got
anywhere. The massive avenue of skyscrapers hadnt changed at all.

Hey, buddy, he called.

The black guywho looked like a prizefighterturned and gave an amused
grin as he took in Als clothes. His arm was around a girl: Indian skin,
baby blonde hair. Her long legs were shown off by a pair of baggy
culottes.

Cutie pie, Al thought, and grinned at her. A real sweater girl. It
suddenly struck him that he hadnt hit the sack with a woman for six
centuries.

She smiled back.

How do I call a cab around here?

Datavise the freeway processors, my man, the black guy said
expansively. City runs a million cabs. Dont make a profit. But then
thats what us dumb taxpayers are for, to make up the shortfall, right?

I cant do the data thing, I aint from around here.

The girl giggled. You just get off a starship?

Al tipped the rim of his fedora with two fingers. Kind of, lady. Kind
of.

Neat. Where you from?

Chicago. On Earth.

Hey, wow. I never met anyone from Earth before. Whats it like?

Als grin lost its lustre. Je-zus, but the women here were forward. And
the black guys thick arm was still draped over her shoulder. He didnt
seem to mind his girl making conversation with a total stranger. One
citys just like another, Al said; he gestured lamely at the silver
skyscrapers, as if that was explanation enough.

City? I thought you only had arcologies on Earth?

Look, you going to tell me how to get a fucking cab, or what?

Hed blown it. The moment he saw the mans expression harden, he knew.

You want us to call one for you, buddy? The man was taking a longer,
slower look at Als clothes.

Sure, Al bluffed.

Okay. No problem. Its done. A phony smile.

Al wondered exactly what it was the man had actually done. He didnt have
no Dick Tracy wrist radio to call for a cab or anything. Just stood
there, smiling, playing Al for a sucker.

Lovegrove was filling Als head with crap about miniature telephones in
the brain. He had one fitted himself, he said, but it had packed up when
Al possessed him.

Going to tell me about Chicago now? the girl asked.

Al could see how worried she was. Her voice, mannerisms, the way she had
merged into her mans encircling arm. They all telegraphed it, and he
knew how to read the signs. Fear in other people was wholly familiar.

He thrust his face forwards toward the black guy, snarling at the wiseass
bastard. Just for an instant three long scars pulsed hotly on his left
cheek. Gonna remember you, cocksucker. Gonna find you again. Gonna teach
you respect, and, buddy, its gonna be the real hard way to learn. The
old rage was burning in his body now, limbs trembling, voice rising to a
thunderous roar. Nobody shits on Al Capone! You got that? Nobody treats
me like some dog turd you stepped in. I fucking ruled Chicago. I owned
that city. I am not some asswipe street punk you can take for a ride. I.
Deserve. RESPECT.

Bastard Retro! The man swung a punch.

Even if Lovegroves body hadnt been enhanced with the energistic power
which possessing souls exuded in the natural universe Al would probably
have beaten him. His years in Brooklyn had pitched him into countless
brawls, and people had quickly learned to steer clear of his awesome
temper.

Al ducked instinctively, his right fist already coming up. The blow was
focused, mentally and physically. He struck the man perfectly, catching
him on the side of his jaw.

There was an ugly sound of bone shattering. Dead silence. The man flew
backwards five yards through the air, hitting the sidewalk in a crumpled
sprawl. He slid along the carbon concrete composite for another couple of
yards before coming to rest, completely inert. Blood began to splatter
from his mouth where serrated bone had punctured his cheek and lip.

Al stared, surprised. Goddamn! He started to laugh delightedly.

The girl screamed. She screamed and screamed.

Al glanced around, suddenly apprehensive. Everyone on the broad sidewalk
was looking at him, at the injured black guy. Shut up, he hissed at the
loopy broad. Shut up! But she wouldnt. Just: scream, and scream, and
scream. Like it was her profession.

Then there was another sound, cutting through her bawling, rising every
time she took a breath. And Al Capone realized it wasnt just handguns he
could recognize after six hundred years. Police sirens hadnt changed
much either.

He started to run. People scattered ahead of him the way kittens ran from
a pit bull. Cries and yells broke out all around.

Stop him!

Move!

Stinking Retro.

He killed that dude. One punch.

No! Dont try to

A man was going for him. Beefy and hard-set, crouched low for a pro
football tackle. Al waved a hand, almost casually, and white fire
squirted into the heros face. Black petals of flesh peeled back from the
bone, sizzling. Thick chestnut hair flamed to ash. A dull agonized grunt,
cutting off as pain overloaded his consciousness, and the man collapsed.

Then all hell really did hit the fan. Anxious people became a terrified
mob. Stampeding away from him. Fringe onlookers got caught and bowled
over by thudding feet.

Al glanced back over his shoulder to see a section of the road barrier
fold down. The squad car glided over it towards him. An evil-looking
black and blue javelin-head, airplane-smooth fuselage. Dazzlingly bright
lights flashed on top of it.

Hold it, Retro, a voice boomed from the car.

Als pace slackened. There was an arcade ahead of him, but its arching
entrance was wide enough to take the squad car. Goddamn! Alive again for
forty minutes and already running from the cops.

What else is new?

He stopped, and turned full square to face them, silver-plated Thompson
gripped in his hands. Andoh, shitanother two squad cars were coming off
the road, lining up directly towards him. Big slablike flaps were opening
like wings at their rear, and things came running out. They werent
human, they werent animal. Machine animals? Whatever, they sure didnt
look healthy. Fat dull-metal bodies with stumpy gun barrels protruding.
Far too many legs, and all of those rubber, no knees or ankles.

Assault mechanoids, Lovegrove said. And there was a tinge of excitement
in the mental voice. Lovegrove expected the things to beat him.

They electric? Al demanded.

Yes.

Good. He glared at the one taking point, and cast his first sorcerers
spell.

Police patrol Sergeant Alson Loemer was already anticipating his
promotion when he arrived at the scene. Loemer had been delighted as his
neural nanonics received the updates from the precinct house. With his
outlandish clothes, the man certainly looked like a Retro. The gang of
history-costumed terrorists had been running the police department ragged
for three days, sabotaging city systems with some new style of plasma
weapon and electronic warfare field. Other acts too. Most officers had
picked up strong rumours of snatches going down, people being lifted at
random from the streets at night. And not one Retro had been brought to
book. The news companies were datavising hive loads of untamed
speculation across the communications net: a religious group, a band of
offplanet mercenaries, even wackier notions. The mayor was going apeshit,
and leaning on the police commissioner. Smooth people from an unnamed
government intelligence agency had been walking around the corridors at
the precinct house. But they didnt know anything more than the patrol
officers.

Now he, Sergeant Loemer, was going to nail one of those suckers.

He guided the patrol car over the folded barrier and onto the sidewalk.
The crim was dead ahead, running for the base of the Uorestone Tower. Two
more precinct cars were riding with Loemer, closing on the crim, hemming
him in. Loemer deployed both of his patrol cars assault mechanoids, and
datavised in their isolate and securement instructions.

That was when the patrol car started to glitch, picking up speed. The
sensors showed him frightened citizens in front, racing to escape; one of
the assault mechanoids wobbled past, shooting wildly. He fired shutdown
orders into the drive processor. Not that it made much difference.

Then the Retro started shooting at the patrol cars. Whatever the gun was,
it ripped straight through the armour shielding, smashing the axles and
wheel hubs. Metal bearings screeched in that unique, and instantly
recognizable, tone which heralded imminent destruction. Loemer thumped
the manual safety cut out, killing power instantly.

The patrol car slewed around and bounced off the road barrier to smack
straight into one of the Regree trees planted along the sidewalk. The
internal crash alarm went off, half deafening an already dazed Loemer,
and the emergency side hatch jettisoned. Loemers bubble seat slid out
along its telescoping rails. The translucent bubbles thick
safety-restraint segments peeled back, allowing him to drop, wailing, to
his knees as the air around him spewed out a terrible volley of sense
overload impulses. His neural nanonics were unable to datavise a shutdown
code into the crazed assault mechanoids. The last thing he saw as he fell
onto the ground was the ruined Regree tree starting to keel over directly
above him.

Even Al was bruised by the wild strafing of the sense-overload ordnance.
The manic glee as he watched the patrol cars skid and smash was swiftly
curtailed by the onslaught of light, sound, and smell. His energistic
ability could ward off the worst of it, but he turned and began a
stumbling run towards the arcades entrance. Behind him the assault
mechanoids continued to deluge the street with their errant firepower,
lumbering about like drunks. Two ran into each other, and rebounded,
falling over. Legs thrashed about in chaos, beetles flipped on their
backs.

The sidewalk was littered with prone bodies. Not dead, Al thought, just
terribly battered. Je-zus but those mechanical soldier contraptions were
nasty pieces of work. And unlike real police, you wouldnt be able to buy
them.

Maybe New California wasnt quite paradise after all.

Al staggered his way along the arcade, caught up in the flow of people
desperate to escape the havoc. His suit faded away, the sharp colour and
cut reverting to Lovegroves original drab overall.

He picked up a little girl whose eyes were streaming tears and carried
her. It felt good to help. Those goddamn brainless pigs should have made
sure she was out of the way before they came at him with guns blazing. It
would never have happened back in Chicago.

Two hundred yards from the arcade entrance he stopped among a group of
anxious, exhausted people. Theyd come far enough from the sense-overload
ordnance to be free of its effects. Families clung together, others were
calling out for friends and loved ones.

Al put the little girl down, still crying, which he thought was due to
the Kaiser gas rather than any kind of injury. Then her mother came
rushing up and hugged her frantically. Al was given profuse thanks. A
nice dame. Cared about her children and family. That was good, proper. He
was sorry he wasnt wearing his fedora so he could tip it to her.

Just how did people express that kind of formal courtesy on this world
anyhow? Lovegrove was puzzled by the question.

He carried on down the arcade. Cops would be swarming all over the joint
in a few minutes. Another hundred and fifty yards, and he was out on the
street again. He started walking. Direction didnt matter, just away.
This time he kept Lovegroves overalls on. No one paid him any attention.

Al wasnt entirely sure what to do next. Everything was so strange. This
world, his situation. Mind, strange wasnt the word for it, more like
overwhelming. Or just plain creepy. Bad to think that the priests had
been right about the afterworld, heaven and hell. He never went to church
much, much to his mommas distress.

I wonder if Ive been redeemed, paid my celestial dues. Is that why Im
back? But if you got reincarnated didnt you start off as a baby?

They werent the kind of thoughts he was used to.

A hotel, he told Lovegrove, I need to rest up and think about what to do.

Most of the skyscrapers had some sort of rentable accommodation,
apparently. But it would have to be paid for.

Als hand automatically went to a leg pocket. He drew out a Jovian Bank
credit disk, a thick, oversize coin, sparkly silver on one side, magenta
on the other. Lovegrove obediently explained how it worked, and Al put
his thumb on the centre. A hash of green lines wobbled over the silver
side.

Goddamn! He tried again, concentrating, wishing. Doing the magic.

The green lines began to form figures, crude at first, then sharp and
regular. You could store an entire planets treasury in one of these
disks, Lovegrove told him. Als ears pricked up at that. Then he was
aware of something being not quite right. A presence, close by.

He hadnt really thought about the others. Those who had been there when
he came into Lovegroves body. The same ones who had deserted him in the
disused shop. But if he closed his eyes, and shut out the sounds of the
city, he could hear the distant babelesque clamour. It came from the
nightmare domain, the pleas and promises to be brought forth, to live and
breathe again.

That same perception gave him a most peculiar vision of the city. Walls
of thick black shadow amid a universal greyness. People moved through it
all, distorted whispers echoing all around, audible ghosts. Some
different from others. Louder, clearer. Not many of them among the
multitude.

Al opened his eyes and looked down the road. A section of the barrier was
folding down neatly. One of the bullet cars drew to a halt beside it. The
gull-wing door slid up, and inside was a proper car, a genuine American
convertible wearing the streamlined image of the New California vehicle
like a piece of clothing. It was low-slung, with a broad hood and lots of
chrome trim. Al didnt recognize the model, it was more modern than
anything in the twenties, and his memory of the thirties and forties
wasnt so hot.

The man in the red leather driving seat nodded amicably. Youd better
get in, he said. The cops are going to catch you if you stay out on the
street. Theyre a mite worked up about us.

Al glanced up and down the sidewalk, then shrugged and climbed in.

Inside, the image of the bullet car tinted the air like a stained soap
bubble.

The names Bernhard Allsop, the man behind the steering column said. He
swung the car out into the road. Behind them the barrier rose up
smoothly. I always wanted me an Oldsmobile like this beauty, never could
afford it back when I was living in Tennessee.

And this is real now?

Who knows, boy? But it sure feels real. And Im mighty grateful for the
opportunity to ride one. You might say I thought it had passed me by.

Yeah. I know what you mean.

Caused a bit of commotion back there, boy. Them pigs is riled good and
proper. We were monitoring what passes for their radio band these days.

I just wanted a cab, thats all. Someone tried to get smart.

Theres a trick to riding around this town without the police knowing.
Be happy to show you how sometime.

Appreciate it. Where are we going?

Bernhard Allsop grinned and winked. Gonna take you to meet the rest of
the group. Always need volunteers, theyre kinda hard to come by. He
laughed, a high-pitched stuttering yodel reminding Al of a piglet.

They left me behind, Bernhard. I dont have anything to say to them.

Yeah, well. You know how it was. You werent altogether there, boy. I
said we should have taken you along with us. Kin is kin, even though it
aint exactly family here, know what I mean? Glad to see you came through
in the end, though.

Thank you.

So whats your name, boy?

Al Capone.

The Oldsmobile swerved as Bernhard flinched. His knuckles whitened as he
tightened his grip on the wheel; then he risked an anxious sideways
glance at his passenger. Where before there had been a twenty-year-old
man dressed in a set of dark red overalls, there was now a debonair
Latin-ethnic character in a double-breasted blue suit and pigeon-grey
fedora.

You shitting me?

Al Capone reached into his suit and produced a miniature baseball bat. A
now highly apprehensive Bernhard Allsop watched it grow to full size. It
didnt take much imagination to figure out what the black stains around
the end were.

No, Al said politely. Im not shitting you.

Holy Christ. He tried to laugh. Al Capone.

Yeah.

Holy Christ. Al Capone in my car! Aint that something?

Thats certainly something, yeah.

Its a pleasure, Al. Christ, I mean that. A real pleasure. Hell, you
were the best, Al, the top man. Everybody knew that. Run a bit of
moonshine in my day. Nothing much, a few slugs, is all. But you, you ran
it for a whole city. Christ! Al Capone. He slapped the steering wheel
with both hands, chortling. Damn, but I cant wait to see their faces
when I bring you in.

Bring me in to what, Bernhard?

The group, Al, the group. Hey, you dont mind if I call you Al, do you?
I dont want to give no offence, or nothing. Not to you.

Thats okay, Bernhard, all my friends call me Al.

Your friends. Yes siree!

What does this group of yours do, exactly, Bernhard?

Why, get larger, of course. Thats all we can do for now. Unity is
strength.

You a Communist, Bernhard?

Hey! No way, Al. Im an American. I hate the filthy Reds.

Sounds like you are to me.

No, you got it all wrong. The more of us there are, the better chance we
stand, the stronger we are. Like an army; a whole load of people
together, they got the strength to make themselves felt. Thats what I
meant, Al. Honest.

So what does the group have in mind for when they get big and powerful?

Bernhard gave Al another sideways glance, puzzled this time. To get out
of here, Al. What else?

To get out of the city?

No. To take the planet away. He jabbed a thumb straight up. From that.
From the sky.

Al cast a sceptical eye upwards. The skyscrapers were flashing past on
either side. Their size didnt bother him so much now. Starship drives
still speckled the azure sky, streaked flashbulbs taking a long time to
pop. He couldnt see the odd little moon anymore. Why? he asked
reasonably.

Damn it, Al. Cant you feel it? The emptiness. Man, its horrible. All
that huge nothing trying to suck you up and swallow you whole. He
gulped, his voice lowering. The sky is like there. Its the beyond all
over again. We gotta hide. Someplace where we aint never going to die
again, somewhere that dont go on for ever. Where theres no empty night.

Now youre sounding like a preacher man, Bernhard.

Well maybe I am a little bit. Its a smart man who knows when hes beat.
I dont mind saying it to you, Al. Im frightened of the beyond. I aint
never going back there. No siree.

So youre going to move the world away?

Damn right.

Thats one fucking big ambition youve got there, Bernhard. I wish you a
lot of luck. Now just drop me off at this intersection coming up here.
Ill find my own way about town now.

You mean you aint going to pitch in and help us? an incredulous
Bernhard asked.

Nope.

But you gotta feel it, too, Al. Even you. We all can. They never stop
begging you, all those other lost souls. Aint you afraid of going back
there?

Cant say as I am. It never really bothered me any while I was there
first time around.

Never bothered . . . ! Holy Christ, you are one tough sonofabitch, Al.
He put his head back and gave a rebel yell. Listen, you mothers, being
dead dont bother Al Capone none! Goddamn!

Where is this safe place youre taking the planet to, anyhow?

Dunno, Al. Just follow Judy Garland over the rainbow, I guess. Anywhere
where there aint no sky.

You aint got no plans, you aint got no idea where youre going. And
you wanted me to be a part of that?

But itll happen, Al. I swear. When theres enough of us, we can do it.
You know what you can do by yourself now, one man. Think what a million
can do, two million. Ten million. Aint nothing going to be able to stop
us then.

Youre going to possess a million people?

We surely are.

The Oldsmobile dipped down a long ramp which took it into a tunnel.
Bernhard let out a happy sigh as they passed into its harsh orange-tinged
lighting.

You wont possess a million people, Al said. The cops will stop you.
Theyll find a way. Were strong, but we aint no bulletproof
superheroes. That stuff the assault mechanoids shoot nearly got me back
there. If Id been any closer Id be dead again.

Damn it, thats what I been trying to tell you, Al, Bernhard
complained. We gotta build up our numbers. Then they cant never hurt
us.

Al fell silent. Part of what Bernhard said made sense. The more possessed
there were, the harder it would be for the cops to stop them spreading.
But theyd fight, those cops. Like wild bears once they realized how big
the problem was, how dangerous the possessed were. Cops, whatever passed
for the federal agents on this world, the army; all clubbing together.
Government rats always did gang up. Theyd have the starship weapons,
too; Lovegrove burbled about how powerful they were, capable of turning
whole countries to deserts of hot glass within seconds.

And what would Al Capone do on a world where such a war was being fought?
Come to that, what would Al Capone do on any modern world?

How are you snatching people? he asked abruptly.

Bernhard must have sensed the change in tone, in purpose. He suddenly got
antsy, shifting his ass around on the seats shiny red leather, but
keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead. Well gee, Al, we just take
them off the street. At night, when its nice and quiet. Nothing heavy.

But youve been seen, havent you? That cop called me a Retro. They even
got a name for you. They know youre doing it.

Well, yeah, sure. Its kinda difficult with the numbers were working,
you know. Like I say, we need a lot of people. Sometimes we get seen.
Bound to happen. But they havent caught us.

Not yet. Al grinned expansively. He put his arm around Bernhards
shoulder. You know, Bernhard, I think I will come and meet this group of
yours after all. It sounds to me that you aint organized yourselves too
good. No offence, I doubt you people have much experience in this field.
But me now . . . A fat Havana appeared in his hand. He took a long
blissful drag, the first for six hundred years. Me, I had a lifetimes
experience of going to the bad. And Im gonna give you all the benefit of
that.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Gerald Skibbow shuffled into the warm, white-walled room, one arm holding
on tightly to the male orderly. His loose powder-blue institute gown
revealed several small medical nanonic packages as it shifted about. He
moved as would a very old man in a high-gravity environment, with careful
dignity. Needing help, needing guidance.

Unlike any normal person, he didnt even flick his eyes from side to side
to take in his newest surroundings. The thickly cushioned bed in the
centre of the room, with its surrounding formation of bulky, vaguely
medical apparatus didnt seem to register on his consciousness.

Okay, now then, Gerald, the orderly said cordially. Lets get you
comfortable on here, shall we?

He gingerly positioned Geralds buttocks on the side of the bed, then
lifted his legs up and around until his charge was lying prone on the
cushioning. Always cautious. Hed prepared a dozen candidates for
personality debrief here in Guyanas grade-one restricted navy facility.
None of them had exactly been volunteers. Skibbow might just realize what
he was being prepped for. It could be the spark to bring him out of his
trauma-trance.

But no. Gerald allowed the orderly to secure him with the webbing which
moulded itself to his body contours. There was no sound from his throat,
no blink as it tightened its grip.

The relieved orderly gave a thumbs-up to the two men sitting behind the
long glass panel in the wall. Totally immobilized, Gerald stared beyond
the outsized plastic helmet that lowered itself over his head. The inside
was fuzzy, a lining of silk fur which had been stiffened somehow. Then
his face was covered completely, and the light vanished.

Chemical infusions insured there was no pain, no discomfort as the
nanonic filaments wormed their way around his dermal cells and penetrated
the bone of the skull. Positioning their tips into the requisite synapses
took nearly two hours, a delicate operation similar to the implanting of
neural nanonics. However these infiltrations went deeper than ordinary
augmentation circuitry, seeking out the memory centres to mate with
neurofibrillae inside their clustered cells. And the incursion was
massive, millions of filaments burrowing along capillaries, active
superstring molecules with preprogrammed functions, knowing where to go,
what to do. In many respects they resembled the dendritic formation of
living tissue in which they were building a parallel information network.
The cells obeyed their DNA pattern, the filaments structure was
formatted by AIs. One process designed by studying the other, but never
complementary.

Impulses began to flow back down the filaments as the hypersensitive tips
registered synaptic discharges. A horribly jumbled montage of random
thoughtsnaps, memories without order. The facilitys AI came on-line,
running comparisons, defining characteristics, recognizing themes, and
weaving them into coherent sensorium environs.

Gerald Skibbows thoughts were focused on his apartment in the Greater
Brussels arcology: three respectably sized rooms on the sixty-fifth floor
of the Delores pyramid. From the triple glazed windows you could see a
landscape of austere geometries. Domes, pyramids, and towers, all
squashed together and wrapped up within the intestinal tangle of the
elevated bhan tubes. Every surface he could see was grey, even the dome
glass, coated with decades of grime.

It was a couple of years after they had moved in. Paula was about three,
totter-running everywhere, and always falling over. Marie was a tiny
energetic bundle of smiles who could emit a vast range of incredulous
sounds as the world produced its daily marvels for her.

He was cradling his infant daughter (already beautiful) in his lap that
evening, while Loren was slumped in an armchair, accessing the local news
show. Paula was playing with the secondhand Disney mechanoid minder hed
bought her a fortnight ago, a fluffy anthropomorphized hedgehog that had
an immensely irritating laugh.

It was a cosy family, in a lovely home. And they were together, and happy
because of that. And the strong arcology walls protected them from the
dangers of the outside world. He provided for them, and loved them, and
protected them. They loved him back, too; he could see it in their smiles
and adoring eyes. Daddy was king.

Daddy sang lullabies to his children. It was important to sing; if he
stopped, then the hobgoblins and ghouls would come out from the darkness
and snatch children away

Two men walked into the room, and quietly sat down on the settee opposite
Gerald. He frowned at them, unable to place their names, wondering what
they were doing invading his home.

Invading . . .

The pyramid trembled as if caught by a minor earthquake, making the
colours blur slightly. Then the room froze, his wife and children
becoming motionless, their warmth draining away.

Its okay, Gerald, one of the men said. Nobody is invading. Nobody is
going to hurt you.

Gerald clutched at baby Marie. Who are you?

Im Dr Riley Dobbs, a neural expert; and this is my colleague, Harry
Earnshaw, who is a neural systems technician. Were here to help you.

Let me sing, a frantic Gerald yelled. Let me sing. Theyll get us if I
stop. Theyll get us all. Well be dragged down into the bowels of the
earth. None of us will ever see daylight again.

Theres always going to be daylight, Gerald, Dobbs said. I promise you
that. He paused, datavising an order into the AI.

Dawn rose outside the arcology. A clean dawn, the kind which Earth hadnt
seen for centuries; the sun huge and red-gold, casting brilliant rays
across the dingy landscape. It shone directly into the apartment, warm
and vigorous.

Gerald sighed like a small child, and held his hands out to it. Its so
beautiful.

Youre relaxing. Thats good, Gerald. We need you relaxed; and Id
prefer you to reach that state by yourself. Tranquillizers inhibit your
responses, and we want you to be clearheaded.

What do you mean? Gerald asked suspiciously.

Where are you, Gerald?

At home.

No, Gerald, this is long ago. This is a refuge for you, a psychological
retreat into the past. Youre creating it because something rather nasty
happened to you.

No. Nothing! Nothing nasty. Go away.

I cant go away, Gerald. Its important for a lot of people that I stay.
You might be able to save a whole planet, Gerald.

Gerald shook his head. Cant help. Go away.

Were not going, Gerald. And you cant run from us. This isnt a place,
Gerald, this is inside your mind.

No no no!

Im sorry, Gerald, truly, I am. But I cannot leave until you have shown
me what I want to see.

Go away. Sing! Gerald started to hum his lullabies again. Then his
throat turned to stone, blocking the music inside. Hot tears trickled
down his cheeks.

No more singing, Gerald, Harry Earnshaw said. Were going to play a
different game. Dr Dobbs and I are going to ask you some questions. We
want to know what happened to you on Lalonde

The apartment exploded into a blinding iridescent swirl. Every sensory
channel splice into Gerald Skibbows brain thrummed from overload.

Riley Dobbs shook himself as the processor array broke the direct
linkage. In the seat next to him Harry Earnshaw was also stirring.

Sod it, Dobbs grumbled. In the room through the glass, he could see
Skibbows body straining against the webbing. He hurriedly datavised an
order into the physiological control processor for a tranquillizer.

Earnshaw studied the neural scan of Skibbows brain, the huge electrical
surge at the mention of Lalonde. That is one very deep-seated trauma.
The associations are hotwired into almost every neural pathway.

Did the AI pull anything out of the cerebral convulsion?

No. It was pure randomization.

Dobbs watched Skibbows physiological display creep down towards median.
Okay, lets go in again. That trank should take the edge off his
neurosis.

This time the three of them stood on a savanna of lush emerald-green
knee-high grass. Tall snowcapped mountains guarded the horizon. A bright
sun thickened the air, deadening sounds. Before them was a burning
building; a sturdy log cabin with a lean-to barn and a stone chimney.

Loren! Gerald shouted hoarsely. Paula! Frank! He ran towards the
building as the flames licked up the walls. The roof of solar cell panels
began to curl up, blistering from the heat.

Gerald ran and ran, but never got any nearer. There were faces behind the
windows: two women and a man. They did nothing as the flames closed
around them, simply looked out with immense sadness.

Gerald sank to his knees, sobbing.

Wife Loren, and daughter Paula with her husband Frank, Dobbs said,
receiving their identities direct from the AI. No sign of Marie.

Small wonder the poor bastards in shock if he saw this happen to his
family, Earnshaw remarked.

Yeah. And were too early. He hasnt been taken over by the energy virus
yet. Dobbs datavised an order into the AI, activating a targeted
suppression program, and the fire vanished along with the people. Its
all right, Gerald. Its over. All finished with. Theyre at peace now.

Gerald twisted around to glare at him, his face deformed by rage. At
peace? At peace! You stupid ignorant bastard. Theyll never be at peace.
None of us ever will. Ask me! Ask me, you fucker. Go on. You want to know
what happened? This, this happened.

Daylight vanished from the sky, replaced by a meagre radiance from
Rennison, Lalondes innermost moon. It illuminated another log cabin;
this one belonged to the Nicholls family, Geralds neighbour. The mother,
father, and son had been tied up and put in the animal stockade along
with Gerald.

A ring of dark figures encircled the lonely homestead, distorted human
shapes, some atrociously bestial.

My God, Dobbs murmured. Two of the figures were dragging a struggling,
screaming girl into the cabin.

Gerald gave a giddy laugh. God? There is no God.



                                 ?   ?   ?



After nearly five hours of unbroken and mercifully uneventful travel,
Carmitha still hadnt convinced herself they were doing the right thing
in going to Bytham. Every instinct yelled at her to get to Holbeach and
surround herself with her own kind, use them like a fence to keep out the
nemesis which prowled the land, to be safe. That same instinct made her
queasy at Titreanos presence. Yet as the younger Kavanagh girl
predicted, with him accompanying them nothing had happened to the
caravan. Several times he had indicated a farmhouse or hamlet where he
said his kind were skulking.

Indecision was a wretched curse.

But she now had few doubts that he was almost what he claimed to be: an
old Earth nobleman possessing the body of a Norfolk farmhand.

There had been a lot of talk in the last five hours. The more she heard,
the more convinced she became. He knew so many details. However, there
was one small untruth remaining which bothered her.

After Titreano had spoken about his former life to the fascination of the
sisters, he in turn became eager to hear of Norfolk. And that was when
Carmitha finally began to lose patience with her companions. Genevieve
she could tolerate; the world as seen through the eyes of a
twelve-(Earth)-year-old was fairly bizarre anyway, all enthusiasms and
misunderstandings. But Louise, now; that brat was a different matter.
Louise explained about the planets economy being built around the export
of Norfolk Tears, about how the founders had wisely chosen a pastoral
life for their descendants, about how pretty the cities and towns were,
how clean the countryside and the air were compared to industrialized
worlds, how nice the people, how well organized the estates, how few
criminals there were.

It sounds as though you have achieved much that is worthy, Titreano
said. Norfolk is an enviable world in which to be born.

There are some people who dont like it, Louise said. But not very
many. She looked down at Genevieves head, cradled in her lap, and
smiled gently. Her little sister had finally fallen asleep, rocked by the
gentle rhythm of the caravan.

She smoothed locks of hair back from Genevieves brow. It was dirty and
unkempt, with strands shrivelled and singed from the fire in the stable.
Mrs Charlsworth would have a fit of the vapours if she saw it thus.
Landowner girls were supposed to be paragons of deportment at all times,
Kavanagh girls especially.

Just thinking of the old woman, her sacrifice, threatened to bring the
tears which had been so long delayed.

Why dont you tell him the reason those dissidents dont like it here,
Carmitha said.

Who? Louise asked.

The Land Union people, the traders flung in jail for trying to sell
medicine the rest of the Confederation takes for granted, the people who
work the land, and all the other victims of the landowner class, me
included.

Anger, tiredness, and despair spurted up together in Louises skull,
threatening to quench what was left of her fragile spirit. She was so
very tired; but she had to keep going, had to look after Gen. Gen and the
precious baby. Would she ever see Joshua again now? Why are you saying
this? she asked jadedly.

Because its the truth. Not something a Kavanagh is used to, Ill
warrant. Not from the likes of me.

I know this world isnt perfect. Im not blind, Im not stupid.

No, you know what to do to hang on to your privileges and your power.
And look where its got you. The whole planet being taken over, being
taken away from you. Not so smart now, are you? Not so high and mighty.

Thats a wicked lie.

Is it? A fortnight ago you rode your horse past me when I was working in
one of your estate roseyards. Did you stop for a chat then? Did you even
notice I existed?

Come now, ladies, Titreano said, uneasily.

But Louise couldnt ignore the challenge, the insult and the vile
implication behind it. Did you ask me to stop? she demanded. Did you
want to hear me chat about the things I love and care about the most? Or
were you too busy sneering at me? You with your righteous poverty.
Because Im rich Im evil, thats what you think, isnt it?

Your family is, yes. Your ancestors made quite sure of that with their
oppressive constitution. I was born on the road, and Ill die on it. I
have no quarrel with that. But you condemned us to a circular road. It
leads us nowhere, in an era when there is a chance to travel right into
the heart of the galaxy. You shackled us as surely as any house would.
Ill never see the wonder of sunrise and sunset on another planet.

Your ancestors knew the constitution when they came here, and they still
came. They saw the freedom it would give you to roam like you always have
done, like you cannot do on Earth anymore.

If thats freedom, then tell me why cant we leave?

You can. Anyone can. Just buy a ticket on a starship.

Fat bloody chance. My entire family working a summer cupping season
couldnt raise the price of one ticket. You control the economy, too. You
designed it so we never earn more than a pittance.

Its not my fault you cant think of anything other than grove work to
do. You have a caravan, why dont you trade goods like a merchant? Or
plant some rose groves of your own? Theres still unsettled land on
hundreds of islands.

Were not a landowning people, we dont want to be tied down.

Exactly, Louise shouted. Its only your own stupid prejudices which
trap you here. Not us, not the landowners. Yet were the ones who you
blame for your own inadequacies, just because you cant face up to the
real truth. And dont think youre so unique. I want to see the whole
Confederation, too. I dream about it every night. But Ill never be able
to fly in a starship. Ill never be allowed, which is much worse than
you. You made your own prison. I was born into mine. My obligations bind
me to this world, I have to sacrifice my entire life for the good of this
island.

Oh, yes. How you noble Kavanaghs suffer so. How grateful I am. She
glared at Louise, barely noticing Titreano, and not paying any attention
to where the cob was trotting. Tell me, little Miss Kavanagh, how many
brothers and sisters do you think you have in your highborn family?

I have no brothers, theres only Genevieve.

But what of the half-bloods? Carmitha purred. What of them?

Half-bloods? Dont be foolish. I have none.

She laughed bitterly. So sure of yourself. Riding high above us all.
Well I know of three, and those are just the ones born to my family. My
cousin carried one to term after last midsummer. A bonny little boy, the
spitting image of his father. Your father. You see, it isnt all work for
him. Theres pleasure, too. More than to be found in your mothers bed.

Lies! Louise cried. She felt faint, and sick.

Really? He lay with me the day before the soldiers went to Boston. He
got his moneys worth of me. I made sure of that; I dont cheat people.
So dont you talk to me about nobility and sacrifice. Your family are
nothing more than titled robber barons.

Louise glanced down. Genevieves eyes were open, blinking against the red
light. Please dont let her have heard, Louise prayed. She turned to look
at the Romany woman, no longer able to stop her jaw from quivering. There
was no will to argue anymore. The day had won, beaten her, captured her
parents, invaded her home, burned her county, terrorized her sister, and
destroyed the only remaining fragment of happiness, that of the past with
its golden memories. If you wish to hurt a Kavanagh, she said in a tiny
voice. If you wish to see me in tears for what you claim has happened,
then you may have that wish. I dont care about myself anymore. But spare
my sister, she has been through so much today. No child should have to
endure more. Let her go into the caravan where she cant hear your
accusations. Please? There was more to say, so much more, but the heat
in her throat wouldnt let it come out. Louise started sobbing, hating
herself for letting Gen see her weakness. But allowing the tears to flow
was such an easy act.

Genevieve put her arms around her sister and hugged her fiercely. Dont
cry, Louise. Please dont cry. Her face puckered up. I hate you, she
spat at Carmitha.

I hope you are satisfied now, lady, Titreano said curtly.

Carmitha stared at the two distraught sisters, Titreanos hard, disgusted
face, then dropped the reins and plunged her head into her hands. The
shame was beyond belief.

Shit, taking out your own pathetic fear on a petrified sixteen-year-old
girl whod never hurt a living soul in her life. Whod actually risked
her own neck to warn me about the possessed in the farmhouse.

Louise. She extended an arm towards the still sobbing girl. Oh,
Louise, Im so sorry. I never meant to say what I did. Im so stupid, I
never think. At least she managed to stop herself from asking forgive
me. Carry your own guilt, you selfish bitch, she told herself.

Titreano had put his own arm around Louise. It didnt make any difference
to the broken girl. My baby, Louise moaned between sobs. Theyll kill
my baby if they catch us.

Titreano gently caught her hands. You are . . . with child?

Yes! Her sobbing became louder.

Genevieve gaped at her. Youre pregnant?

Louise nodded roughly, long hair flopping about.

Oh. A small smile twitched across Genevieves mouth. I wont tell
anyone, I promise, Louise, she said seriously.

Louise gulped loudly and looked at her sister. Then she was laughing
through her tears, clutching Genevieve to her. Genevieve hugged her back.

Carmitha tried not to show her own surprise. A landowner girl like
Louise, the highest of the high, pregnant and unmarried! I wonder who . .
.

Okay, she said with slow determination. Thats another reason to get
you two girls off this island. The best yet. The sisters were regarding
her with immense distrust. Cant blame them for that. She ploughed on: I
swear to you here and now, Titreano and I will make sure you get on the
plane. Right, Titreano?

Indeed, yes, he said gravely.

Good. Carmitha picked up the cobs reins again and gave them a brisk
flip. The horse resumed its interminable plodding pace.

One good act, she thought, a single piece of decency amid the holocaust
of the last six hours. That baby was going to survive. Grandma, if youre
watching me, and if you can help the living in any way possible, now
would be a good time.

Andthe thought wouldnt leave her alonea boy who wasnt intimidated by
Grant Kavanagh, whod dared to touch his precious daughter. A lot more
than just touch, in fact. Foolhardy romantic, or a real hero prince?

Carmitha risked a quick glance at Louise. Either way, lucky girl.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The longbase van which nosed down into the third sub-level car park below
City Hall had the stylized palm tree and electron orbit logo of the
Tarosa Metamech Corp emblazoned on its sides. It drew up in a bay next to
a service elevator. Six men and two women climbed out, all wearing the
companys dull red overalls. Three flatbed trolleys, piled high with
crates and maintenance equipment, trundled down obediently out of the
rear of the van.

One of the men walked over to the elevator and pulled a processor block
out of his pocket. He typed something on the blocks surface, paused,
then typed again, casting a nervous glance at his impassive workmates as
they watched him.

The building management processor array accepted the coded instruction
which the block had datavised, and the elevator doors hissed open.

Emmet Mordden couldnt help the way his shoulders sagged in sheer relief
as soon as the doors started to move. In his past life hed suffered from
a weak bladder, and it seemed as though hed brought the condition with
him to the body he now possessed. Certainly his guts were dangerously
wobbly. Being in on the hard edge of operations always did that to him.
He was strictly a background tech; until, of course, the day in 2535 when
his syndicate boss got greedy, and sloppy with it. The police claimed
afterwards that theyd given the gang an opportunity to surrender, but by
then Emmet Mordden was past caring.

He shoved the processor block back into his overalls pocket while he
brought out his palm-sized tool-kit. Interesting to see how technology
had advanced in the intervening seventy-five years; the principles were
the same, but circuitry and programs were considerably more sophisticated.

A key from the tool-kit opened the cover over the elevators small
emergency manual control panel. He plugged an optical cable into the
interface socket, and the processor block lit up with a simple display.
The unit took eight seconds to decode the elevator monitor program
commands and disable the alarm.

Were in, he told the others, and unplugged the optical cable. The more
basic the electronic equipment, the more chance it had of operating in
proximity to possessed bodies. By reducing the processor block functions
to an absolute minimum hed found he could make it work, although he
still fretted about the efficiency.

Al Capone slapped him on the shoulder as the rest of the work crew and
the flatbeds squeezed into the elevator. Good work there, Emmet. Im
proud of you, boy.

Emmet gave a fragile grin of gratitude, and pressed the DOOR CLOSE
button. He respected the resolve which Al had bestowed on the group of
possessed. There had been so much bickering before about how to go about
turning more bodies over for possession. It was as though theyd spent
ninety per cent of their time arguing among themselves and jockeying for
position. The only agreements they ever came to were grudgingly achieved.

Then Al had come along and explained as coolly as you like that he was
taking charge now thank you very much. Somehow it didnt surprise Emmet
that a man who displayed such clarity of purpose and thought would have
the greatest energistic strength. Two people had objected. And the little
stick held so nonchalantly in Al Capones hand had grown to a full-sized
baseball bat.

Nobody else had voiced any dissension after that. And the beauty of it
was, the dissenters could hardly go running to the cops.

Emmet wasnt sure which he feared the most, Als strength or his temper.
But he was just a soldier who obeyed orders, and happy with it. If only
Al hadnt insisted he come with them this morning.

Top floor, Al said.

Emmet pressed the appropriate button. The elevator rose smoothly.

Okay, guys, now remember with our strength we can always blast our way
out if anything goes wrong, Al said. But this is our big chance to
consolidate our hold over this town in one easy move. If we get rumbled,
its gonna be tough from here on. So lets try and stick to what we
planned, right?

Absolutely, Al, Bernhard Allsop said eagerly. Im with you all the
way.

Several of the others gave him barely disguised glances of contempt.

Al ignored them all, and smiled heartily. Je-zus, but this felt good;
starting out with nothing again apart from his ambition. But this time he
knew the moves to make in advance. The others in the group had filled him
in on chunks of history from the last few centuries. The New California
administration was a direct descendant of the old U.S. of A government.
The feds. And Al had one or two old scores to settle with those bastards.

The elevator doors chimed gently as they opened on the one hundred and
fiftieth floor. Dwight Salerno and Patricia Mangano were out first. They
smiled at the three staff members who were in the corridor and killed
them with a single coordinated blast of white fire. Smoking bodies hit
the floor.

Were okay, they didnt get out an alarm, Emmet said, consulting his
processor block.

Get to it, people, Al told his team proudly. This wasnt the same as
the times with his soldiers like Anselmi and Scalise back on Ciceros
streets. But these new guys had balls, and a cause. And it felt righteous
to be a mover again.

The possessed spread out through the top floor. Tarosa Metamech uniforms
gave way to clothes of their own periods. A startlingly unpleasant
variety of weapons appeared in their hands. Doors were forced open with
precisely applied bolts of white fire, rooms searched according to the
list. Everyone following their assignment to the letter. Capones letter.

It was six oclock in the morning in San Angeles, and few of the mayors
staff were at work. Those that had turned up early found Retros bursting
into their offices and hauling them out at gunpoint. Their neural
nanonics failed, desktop blocks crashed, net processors wouldnt respond.
There was no way to get a warning out, no way to cry for help. They found
themselves corralled in the deputy health directors office, seventeen of
them, clinging together in panic and mutual misery.

They thought that would surely be the worst of it, crammed into the one
room for hours or maybe a couple of days while negotiations for their
release were conducted with the terrorists. But then the Retros started
taking them out one at a time, summoning the toughest first. The sound of
screams cut back clean through the thick door.

Al Capone stood by the long window wall of the mayors office, and looked
out at the city. It was a magnificent view. He couldnt remember being so
high off the ground in his life before. This skyscraper made the Empire
State Building look puny for Gods sake. And it wasnt even the tallest
in the city.

The skyscrapers only occupied the central portion of San Angeles, fifty
or sixty of them bunched together to form the business, finance, and
administration district. Beyond that the vast urban sprawl clung to the
shallow folds of the land, long grey lines of buildings and autoways,
interspaced with the equally regular squares of green parks. And to the
east was the brilliant glimmer of the ocean.

Al, who had always enjoyed Lake Michigan in the summer, was fascinated by
the glistening turquoise expanse as it reflected the first light of a new
day. And the city was so clean, vibrant. So different from Chicago. This
was an empire which Stalin and Genghis Khan would both envy.

Emmet knocked on the door, and popped his head around when he didnt
receive an answer. Sorry to bother you, Al, he ventured cautiously.

Thats okay, boy, Al said. Whatve you got for me?

Weve rounded up everyone on this floor. The electronics are all fucked,
so they cant get word out. Bernhard and Luigi have started to bring them
to possession.

Great, youve all done pretty goddamn good.

Thanks, Al.

What about the rest of the electrics, the telephones and math-machine
things?

Im getting my systems plugged into the building network now, Al. Give
me half an hour and I should have it locked down safe.

Good. Can we go to stage two?

Sure, Al.

Okay, boy, you get back to your wiring.

Emmet backed out of the office. Al wished he knew more about electrics
himself. This future world depended so much on their clever
mini-machines. That had to be a flaw. And Al Capone knew all about
exploiting such weaknesses.

He let his mind slip into that peculiar state of otherness, and felt
around for the rest of the possessed under his command. They were
positioned all around the base of City Hall, strolling casually down the
sidewalk, in cars parked nearby, eating breakfast in arcade diners.

Come, he commanded.

And the big ground floor doors of City Hall opened wide.



It was quarter to nine when Mayor Avram Harwood III arrived in his
office. He was in a good mood. Today was the first day in a week when he
hadnt been bombarded with early morning datavises from his staff
concerning the Retro crisis. In fact there hadnt been any communication
from City Hall at all. Some kind of record.

He took the express elevator from his private car bay up to the top
floor, and stepped out into a world which wasnt quite normal. Nothing he
could clarify, but definitely wrong. People scurried past as usual,
barely pausing to acknowledge him. The elevator doors remained open
behind him, the lights inside dying. When he tried to datavise its
control processor there was no response. Attempting to log a routine call
to maintenance he found none of the net processors were working.

Damn it, that was all he needed, a total electronics failure. At least it
explained why he hadnt received any messages.

He walked into his office to find a young, olive-skinned man lounging in
his chair, a fat soft stick in his mouth with one end on fire. And his
clothes . . . Retro!

Mayor Harwood spun around, ready to make a dash for the door. It was no
good. Three of them had moved in to block the opening. They were all
dressed in the same kind of antique double-breasted suits, brown hats
with broad rims, and carrying primitive automatic rifles with circular
magazines.

He tried to datavise a citizens distress call. But his neural nanonics
crashed, neatly tabulated icons retreated from his minds eye like
cowardly ghosts.

Sit down, Mr Mayor, Al Capone said munificently. You and I have some
business to discuss.

I think not.

The Thompsons butt slammed into the small of Avram Harwoods back. He
let out a cry at the pain, and the world went dizzyingly black for a
second. One of his big armchairs hit the back of his legs, and he fell
down into the cushions, clutching at his spine.

You see? Al asked. You aint calling the shots no more. Best you
cooperate.

The police will be here soon. And, mister, when they arrive they are
going to fillet you and your gang. Dont think Ill help you negotiate,
the commissioner knows my policy on hostage situations. No surrender.

Al winked broadly. I like you, Avvy. I do. I admire a man who stands up
for himself. I knew you wouldnt be no patsy. It takes smarts to get to
the top in a city like this, and plenty of them. So why dont you have a
word with that commissioner of yours. Clear the air some. He beckoned.

Avram Harwood twisted around as Police Commissioner Vosburgh walked into
the office.

Hi there, Mr Mayor, Vosburgh said blithely.

Rod! Oh, Christ, they got you too . . . The words shrank as Vosburghs
familiar face twisted. A feral-faced stranger sneered down at him; hair
was visibly sprouting out of his cheeks. Not a beard, more like thick
prickly fur.

Yeah, they got me too. The voice was distorted by teeth which were too
long for a human mouth. He burst into a wild laugh.

Who the hell are you Retro people? an aghast Avram Harwood asked.

The dead, Al said. Weve come back.

Bullshit.

I aint arguing with you. Like I told you, Im here to make a
proposition. One of my guyscomes from just after my timehe said people
took to calling it an offer you cant refuse. I like that, its great.
And thats what Im making here to you, Avvy, my boy. An offer you cant
refuse.

What offer?

Its like this: Souls aint the only thing Im resurrecting today. Im
gonna build up an Organization. Like I had me before, only with a
shitload more clout. I want you to join it, join me. Just as you are. No
catch; you have my word. You, your family, maybe a few close friends,
they dont get possessed. I know how to reward loyalty.

Youre crazy. Youre absolutely berserkoid. Join you? Im going to see
you destroyed, all of you deviant bastards, and then Im going to stamp
on the pieces.

Al leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk, staring earnestly
at the mayor. Sorry, Avvy. Thats one thing you aint gonna do. No
fucking way. See, people hear my name, and they think Im just a bigshot
hoodlum, a racketeer who made good. Wrong. I used to be a fucking king.
King Capone the first. I got the politics tied up. So I know which
strings to pull in City Hall and the precinct houses. I know how a city
works. Thats why Im here. Im launching the biggest heist theres ever
been in all of history.

What?

Im gonna steal your world, Avvy. Take the whole caboodle from under
your nose. These guys you see here, the ones you called Retros, they
didnt know what the Christ they were doing before. Because just between
you and me shutting off the sky like its some kind of window with thick
drapes is a bit of a wacko idea, you know? So Ive straightened them out.
No more of that bullshit. Now were playing straight hardball.

Avram Harwood lowered his head. Oh, Christ. They were insane. Utterly
demented. He began to wonder if he would see his family again.

Let me lay it out for you here, Avvy. You dont take over a society from
the bottom like the Retros were trying to do. You know, little bit at a
time until youre in the majority. Know why thats a crappy way to get on
top? Because the goddamn self-righteous majority is gonna find out and
fight like fuck to stop you. And they get led by people like you, Avvy.
Youre the generals, the dangerous ones, you organize the lawyers and the
cops and the special federal agents to stop it happening. To protect the
majority that elects you from anything which threatens you or them. So
instead of an assways first revolution, you do what Im doing. You start
at the top and work down. Al got up and walked over to the window wall.
He gestured at the street far below with his cigar. People are coming
into City Hall, Avvy. The workers, the police captains, the attorneys,
your staff, tax clerks. All of them; the ones whod lead the fight
against me if they knew what I was. Yeah. Theyre coming in, but they
aint going out again. Not until weve made our pitch to each and every
one of them. Al turned to see Avram Harwood staring at him in horror.
Thats the way it is, Avvy, he said softly. My people, theyre working
their way up from the ground floor. Theyre coming all the way up here.
And all the people sitting in their offices who would normally fight
against mewhy, theyre going to be the ones who lead our crusade out
into the world. Aint that right, guys?

You got it, Al, Emmet Mordden said. He was hunched over a couple of
processor blocks at one end of the desk, monitoring the operation. The
first twelve floors are all ours now. And were busy converting everyone
on thirteen to eighteen. I make that approximately six and a half
thousand people possessed so far this morning.

See? Al waved his cigar expansively. Its already begun, Avvy. Aint
nothing you can do about it. By lunch Im gonna own the entire city
administration. Just like the old days when Big Bill Thompson was in my
pocket. And I got even bigger plans for tomorrow.

It wont work, Avram Harwood whispered. It cant work.

Course it will, Avvy. The thing is . . . returned souls. They aint
altogether marbles intacto. Capisce? Its not just an Organization Im
building. Shit. We can be honest in here, you and me. Its a whole new
government for New California. I need people who can help me run it. I
need people who can run the factory machines. I need people who can keep
the lights on and the water flowing, whore gonna take the garbage away.
Fuck, if all that goes down the pan, my citizens, theyre gonna come
gunning for me, right? I mean, thats what the Retros didnt think about.
What happens after? You still gotta keep things running smoothly. Al sat
on the arm of Avram Harwoods comfy chair and put a friendly arm around
his shoulder. Which is where you come in, Mr Mayor. Plenty of people
want to run it. Everyone in this room, they all want to be my
lieutenants. But its the old problem. Sure theyre keen, but they aint
got the talent. But you, you my boy, you have got the talent. So how
about it? Same job as before. Better salary. Perks. Fancy girl or two on
the side if you like. So what do you say? Huh, Avvy? Say yeah. Make me
happy.

Never.

What? What was that, Avvy? I didnt hear too good.

I said NEVER, you psychopathic freak.

Very calmly, Al rose to his feet. I ask. I go down on my fucking knees
and ask you to help me. I ask you to be my friend. You, a wiseass I aint
never even seen before. I open my goddamn heart to you. Im bleeding
across the floor for you here. And you say no? No. To me! Three scars
burned hot and bright on his cheek. Everyone else in the office had
retreated into a daunted silence.

Is that what youre saying, Avvy? No?

You got it, shithead, Avram Harwood shouted recklessly. Something wild
was running free in his brain, a mad glee at confounding his adversary.
The answer is never. Never. Never.

Wrong. Al flicked his cigar onto the thick carpet. You got it way
wrong, buddy. The answer is yes. It is always yes when you talk to me. It
is yes fucking please Mr Capone Sir. And Im going to fucking well hear
you say it. A fist thumped on his chest for emphasis. Today is the day
you say yes to me.

Mayor Avram Harwood took one look at the stained baseball bat which had
materialized in Al Capones hands, and knew it was going to be bad.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Duke-dawn failed. There was no sign of the primary suns comforting white
light brushing the short night before it as the bright disk rose above
the wolds. Instead, a miscreant coral phosphorescence glided out over the
horizon, staining the vegetation a lustreless claret.

For a harrowingly confused moment Louise thought that Duchess was
returning, racing around the underside of the planet after it had set
scant minutes ago to spring up ahead of the lumbering Romany caravan. But
after a minutes scrutiny she realized the effect was due to a high haze
of reddish mist. It really was Duke which had risen.

What is it? Genevieve inquired querulously. Whats wrong?

Im not sure. Louise scanned the horizon, leaning around the corner of
the caravan to check behind them. It looks like a layer of fog really
high up, but why is it that colour? Ive never seen anything like it
before.

Well I dont like it, Genevieve announced, and folded her arms across
her chest. She glared ahead.

Do you know whats doing that? Carmitha asked Titreano.

Not entirely, my lady, he said, appearing troubled. And yet, I sense
there is a rightness to it. Do you not feel comforted by its presence?

No I bloody dont, Carmitha snapped. Its not natural, and you know
it.

Yes, lady.

His subdued acknowledgement did nothing to alleviate her nerves. Terror,
uncertainty, lack of sleep, not having eaten since yesterday, remorse, it
was all starting to add up.

The caravan trundled on for another half a mile under the brightening red
light. Carmitha steered them along a well-worn track below a forest.
Here, the lands gentle undulations were gradually increasing to form
deeper vales and rolling hills. Dried up streambeds crisscrossed the
slopes, emptying into the deeper gullies which ran along the floor of
each valley. There was more woodland than out on the open wolds, more
cover from, and for, prying eyes. All they had to go on was Titreanos
strange sixth sense.

Nobody spoke, too tired or too fearful. Louise realized the birds were
missing from the air. The characterless forest loomed up like a shaggy
cliff face mere yards away, bleak and repellent.

Here we are, Carmitha said as they rounded a curve in the track. It had
taken longer than she thought. Eight hours at least. Not good for poor
old Olivier.

Ahead of them the slope dipped down to expose a broad valley with heavily
forested sides. The alluvial floor was a chessboard of neat fields, all
marked out by long dry-stone walls and geneered hawthorn hedges. A dozen
streams bubbling out from the head of the valley funnelled into a small
river which meandered off into the distance. Red sunlight glinted off a
narrow sliver of water running along the centre of its baked clay banks.

Bytham was situated about three miles down the valley; a cluster of stone
cottages split in half by the river. Over the centuries the community had
grown outwards from a single humpbacked stone bridge. At the far end, a
narrow church spire rose above the thatched roofs.

It looks all right, Louise said cautiously. I cant see any fires.

Quiet enough, Carmitha agreed. She hardly dared consult Titreano. Are
your kind out there? she asked.

His eyes were closed, yet his head was thrust forwards, as though he were
sniffing the air ahead. Some of them, he said, regretfully. But not
all of the village has been turned. Not yet. People are wakening to the
fact that great evil stalks this land. He glanced at Louise. Where is
your aerial machine berthed?

She blushed. I dont know. Ive never been here before. She didnt like
to admit that apart from accompanying Mother on a twice-yearly train trip
to Boston for a clothes-buying spree shed hardly ever ventured outside
Cricklades sprawling boundaries.

Carmitha pointed to a circular meadow half a mile outside the town, with
two modest hangars on the perimeter. Thats the aerodrome. And thank God
its on this side of the village.

I suggest we make haste, lady, Titreano said.

Still not quite trusting him, Carmitha nodded reluctantly. One minute.
She stood up and hurried back into the caravan. Inside, it was a complete
mess. All her possessions had been slung about by her madcap dash from
Colsterworth, clothes, pots and pans, food, books. She sighed at the
shards of broken blue and white china lying underfoot. Her mother always
claimed the crockery had come with the family from Earth.

The heavy chest under her bed was one article which hadnt moved.
Carmitha knelt down and spun the combination lock.

Louise gave the Romany woman an alarmed look when she emerged from the
caravan. She was carrying a single-barrelled shotgun and a belt of
cartridges.

Pump action, Carmitha said. It holds ten rounds. Ive already loaded
it for you. Safetys on. You hold it, get used to the weight.

Me? Louise gulped in surprise.

Yes, you. Who knows whats waiting for us down there. You must have used
a shotgun before?

Well, yes. Of course. But only on birds, and tree rats, and things. Im
not a very good shot, Im afraid.

Dont worry. Just point it in the general direction of any trouble, and
shoot. She gave Titreano a dry grin. Id give it to you, but its
rather advanced compared to the kind of guns you had in your day. Better
Louise carries it.

As you wish, my lady.

Now that Duke was higher in the sky it was doing its best to burn away
the red mist which hung over the land. Occasionally a beam of pure white
sunlight would wash over the caravan, making all four of them blink from
its glare. But for the most part, the veil remained unbroken.

The caravan reached the valley floor, and Carmitha urged the cob into a
faster trot. Olivier did his best to oblige, but his reserves of strength
were clearly ebbing.

As they drew nearer to the village they heard the church bell tolling. It
was no glad peal calling the faithful to morning service, just a
monotonous strike. A warning.

The villagers know, Titreano announced. My kind are grouping together.
They are stronger that way.

If you know what theyre doing, do they know about you? Carmitha asked.

Yes, lady, I would fear so.

Oh, just wonderful. The road ahead was now angling away from the
direction in which the aerodrome lay. Carmitha stood on the seat, and
tried to work out where to turn off. The hedges and walls of the fields
were spread out before her like a maze. Bugger, she muttered under her
breath. Both of the aerodromes hangars were clearly visible about half a
mile away, but youd have to be a local to know how to get to them.

Do they know were with you? Carmitha asked.

Probably not. Not over such a distance. But when we are closer to the
village, they will know.

Genevieve tugged anxiously at Titreanos sleeve. They wont find us,
will they? You wont let them?

Of course not, little one. I gave my word I will not abandon you.

I dont like this at all, Carmitha said. Were too visible. And when
they realize theres four of us riding on it, your side is going to know
youre travelling with non-possessed, she said accusingly to Titreano.

We cant turn around now, Louise insisted, her voice high and strained.
Were so close. Well never have another chance.

Carmitha wanted to add that there might not even be a pilot at the
aerodrome; come to that she hadnt actually seen the distinctive shape of
the aeroambulance itself yet. Could be in a hangar. But with the way
their luck was turning out right now . . .

Both the sisters were obviously near the end of their tether. They looked
dreadful, filthy and tired, close to breaking down in tearsfor all
Louises outward determination.

Carmitha was surprised to realize just how much she had begun to respect
the elder girl.

You cant go back, no, Carmitha said. But I can. If I take the caravan
back to the woods the possessed will think were all running away from
Titreano here.

No! Louise said in shock. Were together now. Weve only got each
other. Theres only us left in the whole world.

We are not all thats left. Dont ever think that. Outside Kesteven,
people are going about their lives just like before. And once you get to
Norwich, theyll be warned.

No, Louise mumbled. But there was less conviction now.

You know you have to go, Carmitha continued. But me. Hell, Ill be a
lot better off by myself. With my lore I can lose myself in the forests;
the possessed will never find me. I cant do that with you three tagging
along. You know us Romanies belong with the land, girl.

The corners of Louises mouth turned down.

Dont you? Carmitha said sternly. She knew she was still being selfish;
just plain didnt want to admit she couldnt stand seeing their delicate
hopes burnt to cinders when they reached the aerodrome.

Yes, Louise said docilely.

Good girl. Okay, this section of road is wide enough to turn the caravan
around. You three had better get down.

Are you sure of this, lady? Titreano asked.

Absolutely. But Im holding you to your promise of guarding these two.

He nodded sincerely and dropped down over the side.

Genevieve?

The little girl glanced up shyly, her lower lip pressed against her teeth.

I know we didnt get on too well, and Im sorry we didnt. But I want
you to have this. Carmitha reached behind her neck and unfastened the
pendants chain. The silver bulb which glinted in the pink light was made
from a fine mesh, much dinted now; but through the grid a filigree of
thin brown twigs was just visible. It used to be my grandmas; she gave
it to me when I was about your age. Its a charm to ward off evil
spirits. Thats lucky heather inside, see? Genuine heather; it grew on
Earth in the time before the armada storms. Theres real earth magic
stored in there.

Genevieve held the bauble up in front of her face, studying it intently.
A fast smile lit up her delicate features, and she lunged forward to hug
Carmitha. Thank you, she whispered. Thank you for everything. She
climbed down into Titreanos arms.

Carmitha gave an edgy smile to Louise. Sorry it turned out the way it
did, girl.

Thats all right.

Hardly. Dont lose faith in your father because of what I said.

I wont. I love Daddy.

Yes, I expect you do. Thats good, something to hold on to. You are
going to be facing a few more dark days yet, you know.

Louise started tugging at a ring on her left hand. Here. Its not much.
Not lucky, or anything special. But it is gold, and thats a real
diamond. If you need to buy anything, itll help.

Carmitha eyed the ring in surprise. Right. Next time I need a mansion
Ill remember.

They both grinned sheepishly.

Take care, Carmitha. I want to see you when I come back, when all this
is over. Louise twisted around, preparing to climb down.

Louise.

There was such disquiet in the voice that Louise froze.

Theres something wrong about Titreano, Carmitha said quietly. I dont
know if Im just being paranoid, but you ought to know before you go any
further with him.

A minute later Louise clambered gingerly down the side of the caravan,
keeping hold of the pump-action shotgun, the cartridge belt an
uncomfortable weight around her hips. When she was on the dirt track she
waved up at Carmitha. The Romany waved back and flicked the cobs reins.

Louise, Genevieve, and Titreano watched the caravan turn around and head
back up the rucked road.

Are you all right, Lady Louise? Titreano asked courteously.

Her fingers tightened around the shotgun. Then she took a breath and
smiled at him. I think so.

They struck out for the aerodrome, scrambling through ditches and over
hedges. The fields were mostly ploughed, ready for the second cereal
crop, difficult to walk on. Dust puffed up from each footfall.

Louise glanced over at Genevieve, who was wearing Carmithas pendant
outside her torn and dusty blouse, one hand grasping the silver bulb
tightly. Not long now, she said.

I know, Genevieve replied pertly. Louise, will they have something to
eat on the aeroambulance?

I expect so.

Good! Im starving. She trudged on for another few paces, then cocked
her head to one side. Titreano, youre not dirty at all, she exclaimed
in a vexed tone.

Louise looked over. It was true; not a scrap of dirt or dust had adhered
to his blue jacket.

He glanced down at himself, rubbing his hands along the seams of his
trousers in a nervous gesture. Im sorry, little one, it must be the
fabric. Although I do confess, I dont remember being immune to such
depredations before. Perhaps I should bow to the inevitable.

Louise watched in some consternation as mud stains crept up from his
ankles, discolouring his trousers below the knee. You mean you can
change your appearance whenever you want? she asked.

It would seem so, Lady Louise.

Oh.

Genevieve giggled. You mean you want to look all silly like that?

I find it . . . comfortable, little one. Yes.

If you can change that easily, I think you ought to adopt something
which will blend in a bit better, Louise said. I mean, Gen and I look
like a pair of tramps. And then theres you in all your strange finery.
What would you think of us if you were one of the aeroambulance crew?

Finely argued, lady.

For the next five minutes as they crossed the fields Titreano went
through a series of alterations. Genevieve and Louise kept up a stream of
suggestions, arguing hotly, and explaining textures and styles to their
mildly befuddled companion. When they finished he was dressed in the
fashion of a young estate manager, with fawn cord trousers, calf-length
boots, a tweed jacket, check shirt, and grey cap.

Just right, Louise declared.

I thank you, lady. He doffed his cap and bowed low.

Genevieve clapped delightedly.

Louise stopped at another of the interminable walls and found a gap in
the stone to shove her boot toe in. Straddling the top of the wall she
could see the aerodromes perimeter fence two hundred yards away. Almost
there, she told the others cheerfully.



The Bytham aerodrome appeared to be deserted. Both hangars were closed
up; nobody was in the control tower. Away on the other side of the mown
field the row of seven cottages used by station personnel were silent and
dark.

The only sound was the persistent clang of the church bell in the
village. It hadnt stopped ringing the whole time they had walked across
the fields.

Louise peered around the side of the first hangar, clutching at the
shotgun. Nothing moved. A couple of tractors and a farm ranger were
parked outside a small access door. Are there any possessed here? she
whispered to Titreano.

No, he whispered back.

What about normal people?

His brown face creased in concentration. Several. I hear them over in
yon houses. Five or six are malingering inside this second barn.

Hangar, Louise corrected. We call them hangars nowadays.

Yes, lady.

Sorry.

They swapped a nervous grin.

I suppose wed better go and see them, then, she said. Come here,
Gen. She pointed the shotgun at the ground and took her sisters hand as
they walked towards the second hangar.

She really wished Carmitha hadnt given her the weapon. Yet at the same
time it imbued her with an uncommon sense of confidence. Even though she
doubted she could ever actually fire it at anyone.

They have seen us, Titreano said quietly.

Louise scanned the corrugated panel wall of the hangar. A narrow line of
windows ran the entire length. She thought she saw a shiver of motion
behind one. Hello? she called loudly.

There was no reply.

She walked right up to the door and knocked firmly. Hello, can you hear
me? She tried the handle, only to discover it was locked.

Now what? she asked Titreano.

Hey! Genevieve shouted at the door. Im hungry.

The handle turned, and the door opened a crack. Who the hell are you
people? a man asked.

Louise drew herself up as best she could manage, knowing full well what
she must look like to anyone inside. I am Louise Kavanagh, the heir of
Cricklade, this is my sister Genevieve, and William Elphinstone, one of
our estate managers.

Genevieve opened her mouth to protest, but Louise nudged her with a toe.

Oh, really? came the answer from behind the door.

Yes!

It is her, said another, deeper voice. The door opened wide to show two
men gazing out at them. I recognize her. I used to work at Cricklade.

Thank you, Louise said.

Until your father fired me.

Louise didnt know whether to burst into tears or just shoot him on the
spot.

Let them in, Duggen, a woman called. The little girl looks exhausted.
And this is no day to settle old grudges.

Duggen shrugged and moved aside.

A line of dusty windows was the sole source of illumination inside. The
aeroambulance was a hulking dark presence in the middle of the concrete
floor. Three people were standing below the planes narrow, pointed nose;
the woman who had spoken, and a pair of five-year-old twin girls. She
introduced herself as Felicia Cantrell, her daughters were Ellen and
Tammy; her husband Ivan was an aeroambulance pilot, the man who had
opened the door. And Duggen you already know, or at least he knows you.

Ivan Cantrell took a vigilant look out of the hangar door before closing
it. So would you like to tell us what youre doing here, Louise? And
what happened to you?

It took her over fifteen minutes to produce a patched-up explanation
which satisfied them. All the time guarding her tongue from uttering the
word possession, and mentioning who Titreano really was. As she realized,
those two items would have got her ejected from the hangar in no time at
all. Yet at the same time she was pleased with her white lies; the Louise
who had woken to a normal world yesterday would have just blurted the
truth and imperiously demanded they do something about it. This must be
growing up, after a fashion.

The Land Union with modern energy weapons? Duggen mused sceptically
when she was finished.

I think so, Louise said. Thats what everyone said.

He looked as if he was about to object when Genevieve said: Listen.

Louise couldnt hear a thing. What? she asked.

The church bells, theyve stopped.

Duggen and Ivan went over to the windows and looked out.

Are they coming? Louise mouthed to Titreano.

He nodded his head surreptitiously.

Please, she appealed to Ivan. You have to fly us out of here.

I dont know about that, Miss Kavanagh. I dont have the authority. And
we dont really know whats happening in the village. Perhaps I ought to
check with the constable first.

Please! If youre worried about your job, dont be. My family will
protect you.

He sucked in his breath, blatantly unhappy.

Ivan, Felicia said. She stared straight at him, pointing significantly
to the twins. Whatever is going on, this is no place for children to be.
The capital will be safe if anywhere is.

Oh, hell. All right, Miss Kavanagh. You win. Get in. Well all go.

Duggen started to open the big sliding doors at the end of the hangar,
allowing a thick beam of pink-tinted sunlight to strike the
aeroambulance. The plane was an imported Kulu Corporation SCV-659 civil
utility, a ten-seater VTOL supersonic with a near global range.

It has the essence of a bird, Titreano murmured, his face gently
intoxicated. But with the strength of a bull. What magic.

Are you going to be all right inside? Louise asked anxiously.

Oh, yes, Lady Louise. This is a voyage to be prized beyond mountains of
gold. To be granted this opportunity I shall give full praise to the Lord
tonight.

She coughed uncomfortably. Right. Okay, wed better get in; up that
stairs on the other side, see?

They followed Felicia and the twins up the airstairs. The planes narrow
cabin had been customized for its ambulance role, with a pair of
stretchers and several cabinets of medical equipment. There were only two
seats, which the twins used. Genevieve, Titreano, and Louise wound up
sitting together on one of the stretcher couches. Louise checked the
safety on the shotgun once again and wedged it below her feet.
Surprisingly, no one had objected to her carrying it on board.

This is all we need, Ivan called back from the pilots seat as he
started to run through the preflight checklist. Ive got half a dozen
systems failures showing.

Any critical? Duggen asked as he closed the hatch.

Well survive.

Felicia opened one of the cabinets and handed Genevieve a bar of
chocolate. The girl tore the wrapper off and sat munching it with a huge
contented smile.

If she craned forwards, Louise could just see the windscreen beyond Ivan.
The plane was rolling forwards out of the hangar.

There are some houses on fire in the village, the pilot exclaimed. And
some people running down the road towards us. Hang on.

There was a sudden surge in the bee-hum from the fans, and the cabin
rocked. They were airborne within seconds, climbing at a shallow angle.
The only thing visible through the windscreen were daubs of insubstantial
pink cloud.

I hope Carmitha is all right down there, Louise said guiltily.

I feel certain she will remain free from harm, lady. And it gladdens me
that you resolved your quarrel with her. I admire you for that, my lady
Louise.

She knew her cheeks would be blushing, she could feel the heat. Hopefully
the smears of mud and dust would be veiling the fact. Carmitha said
something to me before she left. Something about you. It was a question.
A good one.

Ah. I did wonder what passed between you. If you care to ask, I will
answer with such honesty as I own.

She wanted me to ask where you really came from.

But, Lady Louise, I have spoken nothing but the truth to you in this
matter.

Not quite. Norfolk is an English-ethnic planet; so we do learn something
of our heritage in school. I know that the England of what you say is
your time was a pure Anglo-Saxon culture.

Yes?

Yes. And Titreano is not an English name. Not at that time. After that
possibly, when immigration began in later centuries. But if you had been
born in Cumbria in 1764 as you claim, that could not be your name.

Oh, lady, forgive me any mistrust I have inadvertently caused you.
Titreano is not the name I was born with. However, it is the one I lived
with in my latter years. It is the closest rendering the island people I
adopted could come to my family name.

And that is?

The dignity vanished from his handsome features, leaving only sorrow.
Christian, my lady Louise. I was baptized Fletcher Christian, and was
proud to be named so. In that I must now be alone, for I have brought
naught but shame to my family ever since. I am a mutineer, you see.


Chapter 04
==========


Ralph Hiltch was gratified and relieved by the speed with which Ombeys
senior administration reacted to what theyd taken to calling the
Mortonridge crisis. The people at Hub One were joined by the full
complement of the Privy Council security committee. This time Princess
Kirsten herself was sitting at the head of the table in the white bubble
room, relegating Admiral Farquar to a position adjacent to her. The
tabletop mutated into a detailed map showing the top half of Mortonridge;
the four towns which the rogue Longhound bus had visitedMarble Bar,
Rainton, Gaslee, and Exnallglinted a macabre blood-red above the rumpled
foothills. Flurries of symbols flickered and winked around each of them,
electronic armies harassing their foes.

Once the last of Moyces delivery lorries had been tracked down and
eliminated, Diana Tiernan switched the entire capacity of the AIs to
analysing vehicles that had left the four towns, and stopping them. In
one respect they were fortunate: it was midnight along Mortonridge, the
volume of traffic was much reduced from its daytime peak. Identification
was reasonably easy. Deciding what to do about both cars and towns was
less so.

It took twenty minutes of debate, arbitrated by the Princess, before they
thrashed out an agreed policy. In the end, the deciding factor was Gerald
Skibbows completed personality debrief which was datavised down from
Guyana. Dr Riley Dobbs appeared before the committee to testify its
provenance; an apprehensive man, telling the planetary rulers that they
were being assaulted by the dead reborn. But it did provide the
justification, or spur, necessary for the kind of action which Ralph was
pressing for. And even he sat through Dobbss report in a state of cold
incredulity. If Id made a mistake, shown a single gram of weakness . . .

The expanded security committee decided that all ground vehicles which
had left the Mortonridge towns were to be directed to three separate
holding areas established along the M6 by the police AT Squads. Refusal
to comply would result in instantaneous SD fire. Once at the holding
area, they would be required to wait in their vehicles until the
authorities were ready to test them for possession. Failure to remain in
the vehicle would result in the police AT Squads opening fire.

For the towns, a complete martial law curfew was to be effected
immediately, no vehicular traffic or pedestrians allowed. Low orbit SD
sensor satellites would scan the streets constantly in conjunction with
the local police patrols. Anyone found disobeying the prohibition would
be given exactly one opportunity to surrender. Weapons engagement
authorization was granted to all the police personnel responsible for
enforcing the curfew order.

At first light tomorrow the operation to evacuate the four towns would
begin. Now that Diana Tiernan and the AIs were reasonably satisfied that
no possessed were left anywhere else on the continent, Princess Kirsten
agreed to dispatch marine troops from Guyana to assist with the
evacuation. All Xingu police reserves would be called in, and together
with the marines they would encircle the towns. Squads would then move in
to conduct a house-to-house examination. Non-possessed members of the
population were to be escorted out and flown on military transports to a
Royal Navy ground base north of Pasto where they would be housed for the
immediate future.

As for the possessed, they would be given a stark choice: release the
body or face imprisonment in zero-tau. No exceptions.

I think that covers everything, Admiral Farquar said.

Youd better make it clear to the marine commanders that theyre not to
use assault mechanoids under any circumstances, Ralph said. In fact,
the more primitive the systems they deploy, the better.

I dont know if weve got enough chemical projectile weapons in store
for everyone, the admiral said. But Ill see that all our current stock
is issued.

It wouldnt be too difficult for Ombeys engineering factories to start
production of new projectile rifles and ammunition, Ralph said. Id
like to see what can be done in that direction.

It would take at least a couple of days to set up, Ryle Thorne said.
Our current situation should have been settled by then.

Yes, sir, Ralph said. If we truly have got all the possessed trapped
on Mortonridge this time. And if no more sneak on to the planet.

Starship interception has been one hundred per cent throughout the Ombey
system for the last five hours, Deborah Unwin said. And you were the
first ship to arrive from Lalonde, Ralph. I guarantee no more possessed
will escape from orbit down to the planet.

Thank you, Deborah, Princess Kirsten said. Im not doubting the
competence of your officers, nor the efficiency of the SD network, but I
have to say I think Mr Hiltch is correct in requesting contingency
arrangements. What weve seen so far is simply the very first encounter
with the possessed; and combating them is absorbing nearly all of our
resources. We have to assume that other planets will not be as successful
as us in containing the outbreaks. No, this problem is not one which is
going to go away in the near or even mid-future. And, as is likely, it is
proved beyond reasonable doubt that there is both an afterlife and an
afterworld, the philosophical implications are quite extraordinary, and
profoundly disturbing.

Which brings us to our second problem, Ryle Thorne said. What are we
going to tell people?

Same as always, Jannike Dermot said. As little as possible, certainly
to start with. We really cant risk the prospect of a general panic right
now. I would suggest we use the energy virus as a cover story.

Plausible, Ryle Thorne agreed.

The Home Secretary, the Princess, and her equerry put together a
statement for general release the next morning. It was instructive for
Ralph to see the Saldana body politic at work in the flesh, as it were.
There was no question of the Princess herself delivering the statement to
the news companies. That was the job of the Prime Minister and the Home
Secretary. A Saldana simply could not announce such appalling news. It
was the function of royalty to offer comments of support and sympathy to
the victims at a later date, and people were going to need all the
comfort they could get when that byte of official news hit the
communications net.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The town of Exnall sat two hundred and fifty kilometres below the neck of
Mortonridge, where the peninsula joined the main body of the continent.
It had been founded thirty years ago, and had grown with confidence ever
since. The soil around it was rich, the haunt of any number of aboriginal
plant species, many of which were edible. Farmers came in the hundreds to
cultivate the new species alongside terrestrial crops which thrived in
the moist tropical climate. Exnall was a town dominated by agriculture;
even the light industries attracted by the council produced and serviced
farm machinery.

But by no means a hick town, Chief Inspector Neville Latham thought as
his car drove along Maingreen, which ran straight through the centre.
Exnall had amalgamated with the local harandrid forest instead of
chopping it down to make way for buildings as other Mortonridge towns had
done. Even twenty minutes after midnight Maingreen looked superb, the
mature trees importing an air of rustic antiquity for the buildings, as
if the two had been coexisting for centuries. Streetlights hanging from
overhead cables cast a glareless haze of orange-white light, turning the
harandrids dripping leaves a spooky grey. Only a couple of bars and the
all-nighter coffee shop were open; their liquid glass windows swirling in
abstract patterns, making it impossible to see exactly what was happening
inside. Not that anything wild ever did take place; Neville Latham knew
that from his days as a patrol officer twenty years ago. Terminal drunks
and stim victims slummed the bars, while night shift workers took refuge
in the coffee shop, along with the duty police officers.

The cars drive processor datavised an update request, and Neville
directed it off Maingreen and into the police stations car park. Almost
all of Exnalls twenty-five-strong police complement were waiting for him
in the stations situation management room. Sergeant Walsh stood up as he
entered, and the rest stopped talking. Neville took his place at the head
of the room.

Thank you all for coming in, he said briskly. As you know from the
level two security datavise youve received, the Prime Minister has
decreed a continent-wide curfew to come into effect from one oclock this
morning. Now, Im sure weve all accessed the rumours streaming the net
today, so Id like to clarify the situation for you. First the good news:
Ive been in communication with Landon McCullock who assures me that
Ombey has not been contaminated by a xenoc biohazard as the media has
been hinting. Nor are we under any sort of naval assault. However, it
seems someone has released an extremely sophisticated sequestration
technology down here on Xingu.

Neville watched the familiar faces in front of him register various
levels of apprehension. The ever-dependable Sergeant Walsh remained
virtually emotionless, the two detectives, Feroze and Manby, wary and
working out angles, genuine disquiet among the junior patrol officerswho
knew full well theyd have the dirty job of actually going out in their
cars and enforcing the curfew order.

He waited a few moments for the grumbles to subside. Unfortunately, the
bad news is that the Privy Council security committee believes several
examples of this technology may already be loose here in Exnall. Which
means we are now under a full state of martial law. Our curfew has to be
enforced one hundred per cent, no exceptions. I know this is going to be
difficult for you, weve all got family and friends out there, but
believe me the best way to help them now is to make sure the order holds.
People must not come into contact with each other; which is how the
experts think this technology spreads. Apparently its very hard to spot
anyone who has been sequestrated until its too late.

So we just sit in our homes and wait? Thorpe Hartshorn asked. For how
long? For what?

Neville held up a placatory hand. Im coming to that, Officer Hartshorn.
Our efforts will be supported by a combined team of police and marines
who are going to seal off the entire area. They should be here in another
ninety minutes. Once they arrive all the houses in the town will be
searched for any victims of the sequestration, and everyone else is going
to be evacuated.

The whole town? Thorpe Hartshorn asked suspiciously.

Everybody, Neville confirmed. Theyre sending over a squadron of
military transports to take us away. But its going to take a few hours
to organize, so it falls upon us to ensure that the curfew is maintained
until then.



DataAxis, Exnalls sole news agency, was at the other end of Maingreen
from the police station; a shabby, three-storey flat-roofed office module
which made few creditworthy concessions to the sylvan character of the
town. The agency itself was a typical small provincial outfit, employing
five reporters and three communications technicians who between them
combed the whole county for nuggets of information. Given the nature of
the area their brief was wide-ranging, dealing in local human interest
stories, official events, crime (such as it was), and the horrendously
mundane crop price sheets which the office processors handled with little
or no human supervision. Out of this fascinating assortment of articles
they had managed to sell precisely four items to Ombeys major media
companies in the last six weeks.

But that had certainly changed today, Finnuala OMeara thought jubilantly
as the desktop processor finished decrypting the level two security
datavise from Landon McCullock to Neville Latham. Shed spent a solid ten
hours fishing the net streams today, digesting every rumour since
yesterdays Guyana alert. Thanks to the trivia and paranoid nightmares
which every bulletin site geek on the planet had contributed shed felt
completely stimmed out and ready to pack it in. Then an hour ago things
got interesting.

AT Squads had seen action in Pasto. Violent action by all accountsand
still no official media release on that from the police. The motorways
were being shut down clean across the continent. Reports of SD fire on
vehicles abounded, including a clear account of a runaway bus being
vaporized not a hundred and fifty kilometres south of Exnall. And now,
Xingus police commissioner, in person, informing Neville Latham that an
unknown, but probably xenoc, sequestration virus was loose in Exnall.

Finnuala OMeara datavised a shutdown order into the desktop processor
block and opened her eyes. Bloody hell, she grunted.

Finnuala was in her early twenties, eleven months out of university in
Atherstone. Her initial delight at landing a job within two days of
qualifying, had, during the first quarter of an hour at the agency,
turned into dismay. The Exnall agency didnt deal in news, it churned out
anti-insomnia treatments. Dismay had slumped to surly anger. Exnall was
everything which was rotten with small towns. It was run by a clique, a
small elite group of councillors and businessmen and the richer local
farmers, who made the decisions which counted at their dinner parties and
out on their golf course.

It was no different from her own hometown, the one over on the Esparta
continent where her parents never quite made the leap to real money
contracts because they lacked the connections. Excluded, by class, by
money.

She did nothing for half a minute after the decrypted datavise slipped
from her mind, sitting staring at the desktop processor. Accessing the
nets police architecture was illegal enough, owning a level two
decryption program was grounds for deportation. But she couldnt ignore
this. Couldnt. It was everything shed become a reporter for.

Hugh? she called.

The communications technician sharing the graveyard shift with her
cancelled the Jezzibella album he was running and gave her a disapproving
look. What?

How would the authorities announce a curfew to the general public, one
where everyone is confined to their house? Specifically, a curfew here in
Exnall.

Are you having me on?

No.

He blinked away the figments of the flek and accessed a civil procedures
file in his neural nanonics. Okay, Ive found it; its a pretty simple
procedure. The chief inspector will use his code rating to load a
universal order into the towns net for every general household
processor. The message will play as soon as the processor is accessed, no
matter what function you asked foryou tell it to cook your breakfast or
vacuum the floor, the first thing it will do is tell you about the
curfew.

Finnuala patted her hands together, charting out options. So people
wont know about the curfew until tomorrow morning after they wake up.

Thats right.

Unless we tell them first.

Now you really are winding me up.

No way. The smile on her face was carnivorous. I know what that prat
Latham is going to do next. Hell warn his friends before anyone else,
hell make sure theyre ready to be evacuated first. Its his style, this
whole bloody towns style.

Dont be so paranoid, Hugh Rosler said edgily. If the evacuation is
under McCullocks command, nobody will be able to pull a fast one from
this end.

Finnuala smiled sweetly and datavised an order into the desktop processor
block. It accessed the nets police architecture again, and the monitor
programs she designated went into primary mode.

The results simmered into Hughs mind as a cluster of grey, dimensionless
icons. Someone at the police station was datavising a number of houses in
the town and outlying areas. They were personal calls, and the households
they were being directed at were all depressingly familiar.

He already is, Finnuala said. I know these people as well as you do,
Hugh. Nothing changes, not even when our planet is under threat.

So what do you want to do?

What this agency is supposed to do: inform people. Ill assemble a
package warning everyone about the sequestration, but instead of just
releasing it on the media circuit I want you to program the agency
processor to datavise it to everyone in Exnall right away, coded as a
personal priority message. That way well all have an equal chance to get
clear when the military transports arrive.

I dont know about this, Finnuala. Maybe we ought to check with the
editor first . . .

Bugger the editor, she snapped. He already knows. Look who was seventh
on Lathams list. Do you think his priority is to call us? Do you? Right
now hes getting his fat wife and their backwards brat dressed ready to
take off for the landing site. Are your wife and kids being told, Hugh?
Are they being made safe?

Hugh Rosler did what he always did and offered no resistance. All right,
Finnuala, Ill modify the processors program. But by Christ, youd
better be right about this.

I am. She stood up and pulled her jacket off the back of the chair.
Im going down to the police station, see if I can get a personal
comment from that good man Chief Inspector Latham on the crisis facing
his little fiefdom.

Youre pushing it, Hugh warned.

I know. She grinned sadistically. Great, isnt it.



Ralph knew he didnt have anything to prove anymore. The AT Squads were
alert to the terrible danger, theyd been fully blooded. So there was no
practical reason for him to take a police hypersonic out to Mortonridge.
Yet here he was with Cathal, Will, and Dean heading south at Mach five.
His justification . . . well, the marine brigade coming down from the
orbital bases would need to be brought up to speed. And he might have
some advice invaluable to those on the ground.

In reality, he needed to see those towns cordoned off for himself. The
threat contained, pinned down ready for extermination.

It looks like your idea about zero-tau was on the ball, Roche Skark
datavised. All six prisoners we captured at Moyces have now been placed
in the pods shipped down from Guyana. Four of them fought like lunatics
before the AT Squads could force them in. The other two were apparently
cured before they went in. In both cases the possessors just gave up and
left the bodies rather than undergo exposure to temporal stasis.

Thats about the best news Ive had for ten hours, Ralph replied. They
can be beaten, squeezed out without killing the body theyre possessing.
It means were not just fighting a holding action.

Yes. Well, full credit to you for that one, Ralph. We still dont know
why the possessed cant tolerate zero-tau, but no doubt the reason will
turn up in debrief at some time.

Are you shoving the cured prisoners into personality debrief?

We havent decided. Although I think its inevitable eventually. We must
not get sidetracked from neutralizing the Mortonridge towns. Frankly, the
science of it all can wait.

What sort of state are the prisoners in?

Generally similar to Gerald Skibbow, disorientated and withdrawn, but
their symptoms are nothing like as severe as his. After all they were
only possessed for a few hours. Skibbow had been under Kingston
Garrigans control for several weeks. Certainly theyre not classed as
dangerous. But were placing them in secure isolation wards for the
moment, just in case. Its the first time Ive agreed with Leonard
DeVille all day.

Ralph snorted at the name. I meant to ask you, sir. What is it with
DeVille?

Ah, yes; sorry about him, Ralph. Thats pure politics between us and our
dear sister agency. DeVille is one of Jannikes puppets. The ISA keeps
tabs on all major Kingdom politicians, and those who are squeaky clean
are nudged forward. DeVille is obnoxiously pure in heart, if devious in
mind. Jannike is grooming him as a possible replacement for Warren
Aspinal as Xingus Prime Minister. Ideally, shed like him in charge of
the hunt operation.

Whereas you had the Princess appoint me as chief advisor . . .

Exactly. Ill have a word with Jannike about him. Its probably
heretical of me, but I think the problem the possessed present us might
be slightly more important than our little internal rivalries.

Thank you, sir. Itd be nice to have him off my back.

I doubt hed be much more of a problem anyway. Youve done some sterling
work tonight, Ralph. Dont think its gone unnoticed. Youve condemned
yourself to a divisional chiefs desk for the rest of eternity now. I can
assure you the boredom is quite otherworldly.

Ralph managed a contemplative smile in the half-light of the hypersonics
cabin. Sounds attractive right now.

Roche Skark cancelled the channel.

With his mind free, Ralph datavised a situation update request to Hub
One. The squadron of Royal Marine troop flyers were already halfway down
from Guyana. Twenty-five police hypersonics carrying AT Squads were
arrowing across the continent, converging on Mortonridge. All motorway
traffic had now been shut down. An estimated eighty-five per cent of
non-motorway vehicles had been located and halted. Curfew orders were
going out to every general household processor in Xingu. Police in the
four Mortonridge towns were preparing to enforce the martial law
declaration.

It looked good. In the computer, it looked good. Secure. But there must
be something we missed. Some rogue element. There always is. Someone like
Mixi Penrice.

Someone . . . who abandoned the Confederation marines in Lalondes
jungle. Who left Kelven Solanki and his tiny, doomed command to struggle
against the wave of possessed all alone.

All actions which were fully justifiable in the defence of the realm.
Maybe Im not so dissimilar to DeVille after all.



Twenty minutes after Neville Latham had issued his assignment orders, the
station situation management room had settled down into a comfortable
pattern. Sergeant Walsh and Detective Feroze were monitoring the movement
of the patrol cars, while Manby was maintaining a direct link to the SD
centre. Any sign of human movement along the streets should bring a
patrol car response within ninety seconds.

Neville himself had taken part in issuing dispatch orders to the patrol
officers. It felt good to be involved, to show his people the boss wasnt
afraid of rolling up his sleeves and getting stuck in there. Hed quietly
accepted the fact that for someone his age and rank Exnall was a dead end
posting. Not that he was particularly bitter; hed realized twenty-five
years ago he wasnt cut out for higher office. And he fitted in well here
with these people, the town was his kind of community. He understood it.
When he retired he knew he would be staying on.

Or so hed thought until today. Judging from some of the latest briefing
updates hed received from Pasto, after tomorrow there might not be much
of Exnall left standing for him to retire to.

However, Neville was determined about one thing. Nonentity he might be,
but Exnall was going to be protected to the best of his ability. The
curfew would be carried out to the letter with a competence which any big
city police commander would envy.

Sir. Sergeant Walsh was looking up from the fence of stumpy AV pillars
lining his console.

Yes, Sergeant.

Sir, Ive just had three people datavise the station, wanting to know
whats going on, and is the curfew some kind of joke.

Feroze turned around, frowning. Ive had five asking me the same thing.
They all said theyd received a personal datavise telling them a curfew
was being effected. I told them they should check their household
processor for information.

Eight people? Neville queried. All receiving personal messages at this
time of night?

Feroze glanced back at one of his displays. Make that fifteen, Ive got
another seven incoming datavises stacked up.

This is absurd, Neville said. The whole point of my universal order
was to explain whats happening.

Theyre not bothering to access it, Feroze said. Theyre calling us
direct instead.

Eighteen new datavises coming in, Walsh said. Its going to hit fifty
any minute.

They cant be datavising warnings to each other this fast, Neville
murmured, half to himself.

Chief, Manby was waving urgently. SD control reports that house lights
are coming on all over town.

What?

Hundred and twelve datavises, sir, Walsh said.

Did we mess up the universal order? Neville asked. At the back of his
mind was the awful notion that the electronic warfare capability Landon
McCullock warned him about had glitched the order.

It was straight out of the file, Feroze protested.

Sir, were going to run out of net access channels at this rate, Walsh
said. Over three hundred datavises coming in now. Do you want to
reprioritize the net management routines? You have the authority. Wed be
able to re-establish our principle command channels if we shut down
civilian data traffic.

I cant

The door of the situation management room slid open.

Neville twisted around at the unexpected motion (the damn door was
supposed to be codelocked!), only to gasp in surprise at the sight of a
young woman pushing her way past a red-faced Thorpe Hartshorn. A
characteristics recognition program in his neural nanonics supplied her
name: Finnuala OMeara, one of the news agency reporters.

Neville caught sight of a slender, suspicious-looking processor block
which she was shoving back into her bag. A codebuster? he wondered. And
if she has the nerve to use one inside a police station, what else has
she got?

Ms OMeara, you are intruding on a very important official operation. If
you leave now, I wont file charges.

Recording and relaying, Chief, Finnuala said with a hint of triumph.
Her eyes with their retinal implants were unblinking as they tracked him.
And I dont need to tell you this is a public building. Knowing what
happens here is a public right under the fourth coronation proclamation.

Actually, Miss OMeara, if you bothered to fully access your legal file,
youd know that under martial law all proclamations are suspended. Leave
now, please, and stop relaying at once.

Does that same suspension give you the right to warn your friends about
the danger of xenoc sequestration technology before the general public,
Chief Inspector?

Latham blushed. How the hell did the little bitch know that? Then he
realized what someone with that kind of command access to the net could
do. His finger lined up accusingly on her. Have you datavised personal
warnings to people in this town?

Are you denying you warned your friends first, Chief Inspector?

Shut up, you stupid cow, and answer me. Did you send out those personal
alarm calls?

Finnuala smirked indolently. I might have done. Want to answer my
question now?

God in Heaven! Sergeant Walsh, how many calls now?

One thousand recorded, sir, but thats all our channels blocked. It may
be a lot more. I cant tell.

How many did you send, OMeara? Neville demanded furiously.

She paled slightly, but stood her ground. Im just doing my job, Chief
Inspector. What about you?

How many?

She arched an eyebrow, aspiring to hauteur. Everybody.

You stupidThe curfew is supposed to be averting a panic; and it would
have done just that if you hadnt interfered. The only way were going to
get out of this with our minds still our own is if people stay calm and
follow orders.

Which people? she spat back. Yours? The mayors family?

Officer Hartshorn, get her out of here. Use whatever force is necessary,
and some which isnt if you want. Then book her.

Sir. A grinning Hartshorn caught Finnualas arm. Come along, miss. He
held up a small nervejam stick in his free hand. You wouldnt want me to
use this.

Finnuala let Hartshorn tug her out of the situation management room. The
door slid shut behind them.

Walsh, Neville said. Shut down the towns communications net. Do it
now. Leave the police architecture functional, but all civil data traffic
is to cease immediately. They mustnt be allowed to spread this damn
panic any further.

Yes, sir!



The police hypersonic carrying Ralph had already started to descend over
the town of Rainton when Landon McCullock datavised him.

Some bloody journalist woman started a panic in Exnall, Ralph. The chief
inspector is doing his best to damp it down, but Im not expecting
miracles at this point.

Ralph abandoned the hypersonics sensor suite. The image hed received of
Rainton was all in the infrared spectrum, rectangles of luminous pink
glass laid out over the black land. Glowing dots converged in the air
above it, marine troop flyers and police hypersonics ready to implement
the isolation. Given they were the forces of salvation, their approach
formation looked strangely like the circling of giant carrion birds.

I suggest you or the Prime Minister broadcasts to them directly, sir.
Appeal to them to follow the curfew order. Your word should carry more
weight than some local dignitary. Tell them about the marines arriving;
that way theyll also see that youre acting positively to help them.

Good theory, Ralph. Unfortunately Exnalls chief inspector has shut down
the towns net. Only the police architecture is functional right now. The
only people we can broadcast to are the ones sitting in the patrol cars.

You have to get the net back on-line.

I know. But now it seems theres a problem with some of the local
management processors.

Ralph squeezed his fists, not wanting to hear. Glitches?

Looks like it. Diana is redirecting the AIs to interrogate Exnalls
electronics. But there arent nearly enough channels open for them to be
as effective as they were in Pasto.

Hellfire! Okay, sir, were on our way. He datavised a quick instruction
to the pilot, and the hypersonic rose above its spiralling siblings
before streaking away to the south.



Two hundred and fifty kilometres above Mortonridge, the SD sensor
satellite made its fourth pass over Exnall since the network had been
raised to a code three alert status. Deborah Unwin directed its
high-resolution sensors to scan the town. Several specialist teams of
security council analysts and tactical advisors were desperate for
information about the towns on-the-ground situation.



But they werent getting the full picture. In several places the
satellite images were fuzzy, edges poorly defined. Switching to infrared
didnt help; red ripples swayed to and fro, never still.

Just like the Quallheim Counties, Ralph concluded morosely when he
accessed the data. Theyre down there, all right. And in force.

It gets worse, Deborah datavised. Even in the areas relatively
unaffected we still cant get a clear picture of whats going on below
those damn harandrid trees. Not at night. All I can tell you is that
there are a lot of people out on the streets.

On foot? Ralph queried.

Yes. The AIs loaded travel proscription orders into all the processor
controlled vehicles in the town. Some people will be able to break the
orders code, of course. But basically the only mechanical transport left
in Exnall right now are the bicycles.

So where are all the pedestrians going?

Some are taking the main link road to the M6, but it looks like the
majority are heading for the town centre. Id say theyre probably
converging on the police station.

Damn it, thats all we need. If they congregate in a crowd theres no
way well be able to stop the possession from spreading. Itll be like a
plague.



Frank Kitson was angry in a way he hadnt been for years. Angry, and just
a bit alarmed, too. First, woken up in the dead of night by a priority
message from some OMeara woman hed never heard of. Which turned out to
be a paranoid fantasy about xenoc takeovers and martial law. Then when he
tried to datavise the police station about it he couldnt get through to
the duty officer. So hed seen the lights on next door, and datavised old
man Yardly to see if he knew what was going on. Yardly had received the
same priority datavise, as had some of his family, and he couldnt get
through to the police either.

Frank didnt want to make a fool of himself by appearing panicky, but
something odd was definitely going down. Then the communications net
crashed. When he accessed the general household processor for an
emergency channel to the police station there was an official message in
the processors memory from Chief Inspector Latham announcing the curfew,
setting out its rules, and assuring all the citizens they would be
evacuated in the morning. Genuinely worried now, Frank told his little
family to get ready, they were leaving right away.

The car processor refused to acknowledge his datavise. When he switched
the car to manual override, it still wouldnt function. That was when he
set off to find a police officer and demand to be told just what the hell
was going on. It was a few minutes short of one oclock when the curfew
was officially due to start. And in any case, he was an upstanding
subject of the King, he had every right to be on the street. The curfew
couldnt possibly apply to him.

A lot of other people seemed to have the same idea. Quite a group of them
marched down the wide road out of their tranquil residential suburb
heading for the town centre, shoulders set squarely against the night
air. Some people had brought their kids, the children sleepy, their
voices piping and full of queries. Comments were shouted back and forth,
but no one had any answers to what was actually going on.

Frank heard someone call his name, and saw Hanly Nowell making his way
towards him.

Hell of a thing, he told Hanly. They worked for the same agrichemical
company; different divisions, but they drank together some nights, and
their two families went on joint outings occasionally.

Sure. Hanly looked distracted. Did your car pack up?

Frank nodded, puzzled by how low Hanly was keeping his voice, almost as
if he didnt want to be overheard. Yes, some kind of official traffic
division override in the processor. I didnt even know they could do
that.

Me neither. But Ive got my four-wheeler. I can bypass the processor in
that, go straight to manual drive.

They both stopped walking. Frank threw cautious glances at the rest of
the loose group as they passed by.

Room in it for you and the family, Hanly said when the stragglers had
moved away.

You serious? Maybe it was the thick grey tree shadows which flapped
across the street creating confusing movements of half-light, but Frank
was sure Hanlys face was different somehow. Hanly always smiled, or
grinned, forever happy with life. Not tonight, though.

Guess its getting to him, too.

Wouldnt have offered otherwise, Hanly said generously.

God, thanks, man. Its not for me. Im scared for the wife and Tom, you
know?

I know.

Ill go back and get them. Well come around to your place.

No need. And now Hanly was smiling. He put an arm around Franks
shoulders. Im parked just around the corner. Come on, well drive back
to your house. Much quicker.

Hanlys big offroad camper was sitting behind a thick clump of ancient
harandrids in a small park. Invisible from the street.

You thought about where we can go to get clear? Frank asked. He was
keeping his own voice low now. There were still little groups of people
walking about through the suburb, all making their way to the town
centre. Most of them would probably appreciate a ride out, and wouldnt
be too fussy how they got it. He was bothered by how furtive and
uncharitable hed become. Focusing on survival must do that to a man.

Not really. Hanly opened the rear door and gestured Frank forwards.
But I expect well get there anyway.

Frank gave him a slightly stiff smile and climbed in. Then the door
banged shut behind him, making him jump. It was pitch black inside. Hey,
Hanly. No answer. He pushed at the door, pumping the handle, but it
wouldnt open. Hanly, what the hell you doing, man?

Frank had the sudden, awful realization that he wasnt alone inside the
camper. He froze, spread-eagle against the door. Whos there? he
whispered.

Just us chickens, boss.

Frank whirled around as a fearsome green-white light bloomed inside the
camper. Its intensity made him squeeze his eyes tight shut, fearing for
his retinas. But not before hed seen the sleek wolverine creatures
launching themselves at him, their huge fangs dripping blood.



From his seat in the situation management room, Neville Latham could hear
the crowd outside the police station. They produced an unpleasant ebb and
flow of sound which lapped at the building, its angry tone plain for all
to hear.

The final impossibility: a mob in Exnall! And while he was supposed to be
enforcing a curfew. Dear Lord.

You must disperse them, Landon McCullock datavised. They cannot be
allowed to group together for any length of time, it would be a disaster.

Yes, sir. How? he wanted to shout at his superior. Ive only got five
officers left in the station. How long before the marines land?

Approximately four minutes. But, Neville, Im not allowing them in to
the town itself. Their priority is to establish a secure perimeter. I
have to think of the whole continent. Whats loose in Exnall cannot be
allowed out.

I understand. He glanced at the desktop processors AV projector which
was broadcasting Exnalls status display. The SD sensor satellite wasnt
producing as many details as he would have liked, but the overall summary
was accurate enough. Approximately six hundred people were milling along
Maingreen outside the station, with dribs and drabs still arriving.
Neville made his decision and datavised the communications block for a
channel to each patrol car.

It was all over now, anyway: career, retirement prospects, probably his
friends, too. Ordering the police to open fire with sonics on his own
townsfolk wouldnt make the recriminations appreciably worse. And it
would be helping them, even though theyd never appreciate the fact.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Eben Pavitt had arrived at the police station ten minutes ago, and still
hadnt managed to get anywhere near the doors to make his complaint. Not
that it would do him much good if he had got up there. He could see those
at the front of the building hammering away at the thick glass doors to
no avail. If that pompous dickbrain Latham was in there, he wasnt doing
his duty and talking to the crowd.

It was beginning to look like his walk (two bloody kilometres, dressed in
a thin T-shirt and shorts) had all been for nothing. How utterly bloody
typical that Latham should bungle tonight. Ineffective warnings. Sloppy
organization. Cutting people off from the net. The chief inspector was
supposed to be helping the town, for crying out loud.

By God, my MP is going to hear about this.

If I get out in one piece.

Eben Pavitt glanced uneasily at his fellow townsfolk. There was a
constant derisory shouting now. Several stones had been thrown at the
police station. Eben disapproved of that, but he could certainly
understand the underlying frustration.

Even Maingreens overhead streetlights seemed to be sharing the towns
malaise, they werent as bright as usual. Away in the distance, above the
fringes of the crowd, he could see several of them flickering.

He wasnt going to achieve anything here. Perhaps he should have hiked
straight out of town? And it still wasnt too late, if he started now.

As he turned around and started to push his way through the press of
aggrieved people, he thought he saw a large flyer curving through the sky
above the western edge of town. Trees and the wayward streetlights
swiftly cut it from his view, but there wasnt much else that gold-haze
blob could be. And the size could only mean a military transport of some
kind.

He grinned secretively. The government was doing something positive.
Perhaps all was not lost after all.

Then he heard the sirens. Patrol cars were racing along Maingreen,
approaching the crowd from both ends. Those people around him were
straining to catch a glimpse of the latest distraction.

LEAVE THE AREA, an amplified voice bellowed from the police station.
THE TOWN IS NOW UNDER MARTIAL LAW. RETURN HOME AND REMAIN THERE UNTIL
YOU RECEIVE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

Eben was sure the distorted voice belonged to Neville Latham.

The first patrol cars braked dangerously close to people on the edge of
the main crowd, as if their safety systems had somehow become uncoupled.
Several jumped clear hurriedly, two or three lost their footing and fell
over. One man was struck by a patrol car, sending him cannoning into a
woman. They both went sprawling.

A deluge of boos were directed at the patrol cars. Eben didnt like the
mood which was emerging among his fellow citizens. These werent the
usual peaceable Exnall residents. And the police reaction was
unbelievably provocative. A lifelong law abider, Eben was shocked by
their actions.

LEAVE THE AREA NOW. THIS IS AN ILLEGAL ASSEMBLY.

A single lump of stone tumbled through the air above the bobbing heads of
the crowd. Eben never did see the arm which flung it. One thing remained
certain, though, it was thrown with incredible force. When it hit the
patrol car it actually managed to fracture the bonded silicon windscreen.

Several taunting cheers went up. Suddenly the air was thick with
improvised missiles raining down on the patrol cars.

The response was predictable, and immediate. A couple of assault
mechanoids emerged from the rear of each patrol car. Sense-overload
ordnance shot out, red flares slicing brilliant ephemeral archways across
the stars.

They should have been warning shots. The mechanoids had a direct-attack
prohibition loaded into their processors which only Neville Latham could
cancel.

The ordnance activated two metres above the compressed bustle of bodies
at the heart of the crowd. The effect was almost as bad as if live
ammunition had been fired straight at them.

Eben saw men and women keel over as though theyd been electrocuted. Then
his eyes were streaming from intolerable light and wickedly acidic gas.
Human screams vanished beneath a hyper-decibel whistle. His neural
nanonics sensorium filter programs were unable to cope (as the ordnance
designers intended), leaving him blind, deaf, and virtually insensate.
Heavy bodies thudded into him, sending him spinning, stumbling for
balance. Pinpricks of heat bloomed across his bare skin, turning to
vicious stings. He felt his flesh ballooning, body swelling to twice,
three times its normal size. Joints were seizing up.

Eben thought he was screaming. But there was no way to tell. The solid
sensations, when they started to return, were crude ones. His bare legs
scraping over damp grass. Limp arms banging against his side. He was
being dragged along the ground by his collar.

When hed regained enough rationality to look around, the scenes of
suffering on Maingreen outside the police station made him want to weep
with rage and helplessness. The crazed assault mechanoids were still
pummelling people with their ordnance from point-blank range. A direct
hit brought instant death, for those nearby the activation it was
outright torture.

Bastards, Eben rasped. You bastards.

Pigs are always the same.

He looked up at the man who was pulling him away from the melee. Christ,
thanks, Frank. I could have died if Id stayed in there.

Yeah, I suppose you could have, Frank Kitson said. Lucky I came along,
really.



The police hypersonic landed next to the five big marine troop flyers.
They were strung out along the link road which connected Exnall to the
M6; a quintet of dark, menacingly obese arachnids whose landing struts
had dinted the carbon concrete. The start of the towns harandrid forest
was two hundred metres away, a meticulous border where the aboriginal
trees finished and the cultivated citrus groves began.

As he came down the hypersonics airstairs, Ralphs suit sensors showed
him the marine squads fanning out along the edge of the trees. Some kind
of barrier had already been thrown across the road itself. So far a
perfect deployment.

The marine colonel, Janne Palmer, was waiting for Ralph in the command
cabin of her flyer. It was a compartment just aft of the cockpit with ten
communications operatives, and three tactical interpretation officers.
Even though it was inside and well protected, the colonel was wearing a
lightweight armour suit like the rest of her brigade. Her shell helmet
was off, showing Ralph a surprisingly feminine face. The only concession
to military life appeared to be her hair, which was shaved down to a
two-millimetre stubble of indeterminable colour. She gave him a fast nod
of acknowledgement as he was escorted in by a young marine.

I accessed a recording of the operation at Moyces, she said. These
are one tough set of people weve got here.

Im afraid so. And it looks like Exnall is the worst infestation out of
all the four Mortonridge towns.

She glanced into an AV pillars projection. Nice assignment. Lets hope
my brigade can handle it. At the moment Im trying to establish a
circular perimeter roughly fifteen hundred metres outside the town. We
should have it solid in another twenty minutes.

Excellent.

That forests going to be a bitch to patrol. The SD sensor sats cant
see shit below the trees, and youre telling me I cant rely on our usual
observation systems.

 Fraid not.

Pity. Aerovettes would be exceptionally handy in this case.

I must advise against using them. The possessed can really screw our
electronics. Youre far better off without them. At least that way you
know the information youre receiving is accurate, even though there
isnt much of it.

Interesting situation. Havent handled anything like this since tac
school, if then.

Diana Tiernan told me the AIs have got very few datalinks left into
Exnall. Weve definitely lost most of the towns communications net. Even
the police architecture has failed now. So the exact situation inside is
unknown.

There was some kind of fight outside the police station which finished a
couple of minutes ago. But even if that crowd which gathered along
Maingreen have all been possessed, that still leaves us with a lot of the
population which have escaped so far. What do you want to do about them?

Same as we originally planned. Wait until dawn, and send in teams to
evacuate everyone. But I wish to Christ that curfew had held. It did in
all the other towns.

Wishes always wind up as regrets in this game, I find.

Ralph gave her a speculative look, but she was concentrating on another
AV projection. I think our main concern right now is to contain the
possessed in Exnall, he said. When its light we can start worrying
about getting the rest out.

Absolutely. Janne Palmer stared straight at the ESA operative, and gave
him a regretful grin. And come dawn Im going to need the best
information I can acquire. A lot of lives are going to depend on me
getting it right. I dont have any special forces types in my brigade.
This was a rush operation. But what I do have now is you and your G66
troops. Id like you to go in and make that assessment for me. I believe
youre the best qualified, in all respects.

You dont happen to know Jannike Dermot, do you?

Not personally, no. Will you go in for me? I cant order you to; Admiral
Farquar made it quite plain youre here to advise, and I have to take
that advice.

Considerate of him. Ralph didnt even need any time to decide. I made
that choice when I put the armour suit on again. Okay, Ill go and tell
my people were on line again. But Id like to take a squad of your
marines in with us. We might need some heavy-calibre firepower support.

Theres a platoon assembled and waiting for you in flyer four.



Finnuala OMeara had passed simple frustration a long time ago. Over an
hour, in fact. She had been sitting on a bunk in the police stations
holding cell for an age. Nothing she did brought the slightest response
from anyone, not datavises into the station processor, nor shouting, or
thumping on the door. Nobody came. It must have been that prick Lathams
orders. Let her cool off for a few hours. Jumped-up cretin.

But she could nail him. Anytime she wanted, now. He must know that. Which
was probably why hed kept her in here while the rest of her story played
out, denying her a complete victory. If only her coverage had been
complete she would have been able to dictate her own terms to a major.

Shed heard the noises from outside, the sound of a crowd gathering and
protesting. A large crowd if she was any judge. Then the sirens of the
patrol cars rushing along Maingreen. Speakers blaring a warning, pleas,
and threats. Strange monotonous thumps. Screams, glass smashing.

It was awful. She belonged outside, drinking down the sight.

After the riot, or whatever, it had become strangely quiet. Finnuala had
almost drifted off to sleep when the cell door did finally open.

About bloody time, she said. The rest of the invective died in her
throat.

A huge mummy shuffled laboriously into the cell, its bandages a dusty
brown, with lime-green pustulant fluids weeping from its hands. It was
wearing Neville Lathams immaculate peaked cap. So sorry to keep you
waiting, it apologized gruffly.



Colonel Palmers field command officers informed Ralphs reconnaissance
team about the woman as they were about to enter Exnall. Datavise
bandwidth was being suppressed by the now-familiar electronic warfare
field, preventing anything other than basic conversation. They certainly
couldnt receive a full sensevise, or even a visual image, so they had to
rely on a simple description instead.

As far as the SD sensor satellites could tell, the towns entire
population had retreated back into the buildings. Earlier on there had
been a considerable amount of movement under the umbrella of harandrids,
blurred infrared smears skipping about erratically. Then as dawn rose
even those beguiling traces vanished. The only things left moving in
Exnall were the treetops swaying back and forth in the first morning
zephyr. Roofs, and even entire streets, appeared blurred, as if a gentle
rain was pattering on the satellites lenses. Visually, the town was a
complete hash, except for a solitary circle, fifteen metres across, in
front of a diner which served the link road to the M6. And in the middle
of that was the woman.

Shes just standing there, Janne Palmer datavised. Shell be able to
see anything approaching up the link road into town.

Any weapons apparent? Ralph asked. Along with the twelve-strong platoon
the colonel had assigned him, he was crouched down at the side of the
road, a hundred metres short of the first houses. They were using a small
embankment for cover as they crept in towards the town.

His head was ringing with a mental version of tinnitus, which he
suspected was due to the stimulants. After only two hours sleep in the
last thirty-six he was having to use both chemical and software excitants
to keep his edge. But he couldnt afford to relax his guard, not now.

Definitely not, Janne Palmer told him. At least not any heavy-calibre
hardware, anyway. Shes wearing a jacket, so she could be concealing a
small pistol inside it.

Not that it makes any difference if shes possessed. Weve not seen them
use a weapon yet.

Quite.

Dumb question, but is she alive?

Yes. We can see her chest moving when she breathes, and her infrared
signature is optimum.

Shes some kind of bait, do you think?

No, too obvious. Id guess some kind of sentry, except they must know
were here. Several squads have skirmished while we were setting up the
perimeter.

Hell, you mean theyre loose in the woods?

 Fraid so. Which means I cant confirm that all the possessed are
inside the cordon. Ive requested some more troops from Admiral Farquar
to start searching the locality. The request is up before the security
committee as we speak.

Ralph cursed silently. Possessed roaming around in this area would be
nigh on impossible to track down. The Mortonridge countryside was a
rugged nightmare. Pity we havent got any affinity-bonded hounds, he
thought. The ones hed seen the settlement supervisors use back on
Lalonde would have been perfect for the job. And I can just see Jannike
Dermots face if I make that suggestion to the security committee. But .
. . hell, theyre what we need.

Ralph, one moment please, Colonel Palmer datavised. Weve run an ident
check on our lady sentry. Its confirmed, shes Angeline Gallagher.

Hell. That changes everything.

Yes. Opinion here is that shes wanting to talk. Shes not stupid.
Allowing herself to be seen like this must be their equivalent of a white
flag.

I expect youre right. Ralph gave the platoons lieutenant an order to
halt their advance while the security committee came on line. The marines
formed themselves into a defensive circle, scanning the trees and the
nearby houses with their most basic sensors. Ralph let his automatic
rifle hang at his side as he squatted in the middle of some thick marloop
bushes. He had a terrible intimation that Gallagher (or rather her
possessor) wasnt about to lay out some convenient terms of surrender.
There never can be surrender between us, he acknowledged gloomily.

So what could she want to say?

Mr Hiltch, we concur with Colonel Palmer that the woman wants to
negotiate, Princess Kirsten datavised. I know its a lot to ask after
all youve been through, but Id like you to go in there and talk to her.

We can set up SD ground-strike coverage to support you, Deborah Unwin
datavised. Put you in the eye of a hurricane, so to speak. Any tricks or
attempts to overwhelm you, and well laser out a two-hundred-metre circle
with you at the centre. We know they cant withstand the SD platforms
power levels.

Its all right, Ralph told his invisible audience. Ill go in. After
all, I was the one who brought her here.



Strangely enough, Ralph didnt think of very much at all when he was
walking the last five hundred metres along the road. All he wanted to do
now was get the job over. The road which had started at the mouth of a
titanic river on a different, distant planet finished inside a pretty
rural town on the rump of nowhere. If there was an irony to be had in
those circumstances, Ralph couldnt taste it.

Angeline Gallaghers possessor waited calmly outside the cheap
single-storey diner as he walked towards her. Dean, Will, and Cathal
accompanied him for most of the way; then when they were still a hundred
metres away from her he told them to wait and carried on alone. Nothing
moved in any of the simple, elegant buildings which lined the link road.
But he knew they were waiting behind the walls and blanked windows. The
conviction grew inside him that they werent showing themselves because
it wasnt yet their time to do so. Their part in the drama would come
later.

This was a surety hed never known before, a kind of psychic upswelling.
And with it his intimation of disaster grew ever stronger.

The closer he got to the woman, the less the electronic warfare field
affected his implants and suit blocks. By the time he was five metres
away, the security committee was receiving a full sensevise again.

He stopped. Squared his shoulders. Took off his shell helmet.

Her smile was almost pitying in its sparsity. Looks like weve arrived
at the crunch time, she said.

Who are you?

Annette Ekelund. And you are Ralph Hiltch, the ESAs head of station on
Lalonde. I might have known you would be the one they set on us. Youve
done quite a good job so far.

Could we cut the bullshit? What do you want?

Philosophically, to live for ever. Practically, I want you to call off
the police and marines youve got circling this town along with the other
three weve managed to occupy. Right now.

No.

I see youve already learned not to make threats. No or else. No if you
dont youll regret it. Thats good. After all, what can you threaten me
with?

Zero-tau.

Annette Ekelund frowned as she considered the response. Yes. Possibly.
It is, I admit, certainly frightening enough for us. But theres no
finality to that, not anymore. If we flee our possessed bodies to escape
zero-tau, we can still return. There are already several million
possessed walking upon the Confederation worlds. Within weeks, that
number will be hundreds of millions, a few days later billions. I will
always have a way back now. As long as a single human body is left alive
my kind can resurrect me. Do you understand now?

I understand the zero-tau option works. We will put you in the pods; and
we will keep putting you in the pods until there are no more of you left.
Do you understand that?

Im sorry, Ralph, but as I said, you simply cannot threaten me. Have you
worked out why yet? Have you worked out the real reason I will win? It is
because you will ultimately join me. You are going to die, Ralph. Today.
Tomorrow. A year from now. If youre lucky, in fifty years time. It
doesnt matter when. It is entropy, it is fate, it is the way the
universe works. Death, not love, conquers all in the end. And when you
die, you will find yourself in the beyond. That is when you and I will
become brother and sister in the same fellowship. United against the
living. Coveting the living.

No.

Do not speak about something you know nothing about.

I still do not believe you. God is not that cruel. There will be more to
death than this emptiness you found.

She laughed bitterly. Fool. Know-nothing fool.

But a living fool. A fool you have to contend with here and now.

There is no such thing as God, Ralph. Only humans are stupid enough to
create religions. Have you noticed that? None of the xenocs weve
encountered need to bandage their insecurities and fears with promises of
incorporeal glory that are every souls due. Oh, no, Ralph; God is merely
the term an ignorant primitive uses when he wants to say quantum
cosmology. The universe is an entirely natural structure, one which is
exceptionally vicious in its attitude to life. And now we have an
opportunity to leave it for good, a chance of salvation. Were not going
to let you stop us, Ralph.

I can, and I will.

Sorry, Ralph, but your intransigent belief in humanity is your principal
weakness, one which you share with the rest of this Kingdoms devout
population. We intend to exploit that to the full. What Im about to say
might seem inhuman, but then, thats what you think I am anyway. As I
told you, the dead cannot lose this fight, for you have no lever on us.
We cannot be threatened, coerced, nor pleaded with. Like death itself, we
are an absolute.

What is it you have to say?

Am I talking to this planets authorities, the Saldana Princess?

Yes. Shes on-line.

Good. Then I say this: You almost managed to exterminate us last night,
and if our fight continues along those same lines today then a great many
people will be killed, a situation neither of us would welcome. Therefore
I propose a standoff solution. We will keep Mortonridge for ourselves,
and I pledge none of us will leave it. If you do not believe me, and I
expect trust to be lacking on your part, you have the physical power to
set up a blockade across the neck of this land where it joins the
continent.

No deal, Princess Kirsten datavised.

The Kingdom will not abandon its subjects, Ralph said out loud. You
ought to know that by now.

We acknowledge the Kingdoms strength, Annette Ekelund said. And that
is why we propose this ceasefire. The outcome of the struggle between the
living and our kind will not be decided by what transpires here. We are
too evenly matched. However, not every Confederation planet is as
advanced or as competent as Ombey. She raised her head, closing her eyes
as she did so, looking blindly up at the sky. Out there is where both
our fates are being decided right now. You, like I, will have to wait for
the outcome to be determined by others. We know that we will triumph.
Just as your misplaced faith tells you that the living will be
victorious.

So youre saying we should just sit it out on the sidelines?

Yes.

I dont even have to ask the security committee for their opinion on
that one. Were not the sideline, were the front line, we are a major
part of the struggle against you. If we can show other planets that it is
possible to stop you from spreading, banish you from the bodies youve
captured, then they will have faith in their own ability.

Annette Ekelund nodded sadly. I understand. Princess Saldana, I have
tried reason; now I must use something stronger to convince you.

Ralph, our satellite sensors just came back on-line, Deborah Unwin
reported. We can see a lot of movement down there. Oh, Christ, theyre
swarming out of the houses. Ralph, get out of there. Now. Do it now! Run.

But he stood his ground. He knew the Ekelund woman wasnt threatening him
personally. This was to be a demonstration. The one hed anticipated, and
dreaded all along.

Do you want ground-strike support? Admiral Farquar datavised.

Not yet, sir. His enhanced retinas showed him doors opening all the way
along the street, people emerging onto the pavements.

At Ekelunds invisible signal, the possessed were bringing out their
hostages. The illusory bodies on display were deliberately gaudy, ranging
from historical warlords to fictitious creatures, blighted monsters and
necromantic demigods. Fantasies chosen to emphasise the impossible gulf
between them and their frightened prisoners.

Each of the sorcerous apparitions was paired with one of Exnalls
surviving non-possessed residents. Like their captors, they were a cross
section of the community, young and old, male and female; dressed in
nightgowns, pyjamas, hurriedly thrown on shirts, even naked. Some
struggled, the diehards and the fatalists; but most had been tyrannized
into obedience.

The possessed restrained them with the greatest of ease as they hustled
them forwards, their energistic ability giving them a mechanoids
strength. Children wailed fearfully as they were gripped by hands and
claws as hard as stone. Men grimaced in subdued fury.

A symphony of cries and hopeless shouts laid siege to Ralphs ears.

What the hell are you doing? he yelled at Ekelund. His arm swept
around. For Christs sake, youre hurting them.

This is not all, Annette Ekelund said impassively. Tell your people to
look four kilometres south-west of the town at a lake called Otsuo. There
is an abandoned offroad camper there belonging to one of Exnalls
residents.

Hang on, Ralph, Deborah Unwin datavised. Were scanning now. Yep,
theres a vehicle parked there all right. Registered to a Hanly Nowell,
he works at an agrichemical plant in the towns industrial precinct.

Okay, Ralph said. Its there. Now tell your people to ease off those
hostages.

No, Ralph, Annette Ekelund said. They will not ease off. What I am
trying to make clear to you is the fact that we have spread beyond this
town. I could only know where the vehicle was if I ordered the driver to
leave it there. And it is not the only one, not from this town nor the
others. We have escaped the clutches of your marines, Ralph. I organized
the four towns which the Longhound bus visited very carefully; we were
busy last night while you were chasing after the possessed in Pasto. My
followers spread out along the whole peninsula; on foot, on horseback, on
bikes, in manual control vehicles. Even I dont know where they all are
any more. The marines barricading the towns are worthless. Now you will
have to block off Mortonridge in its entirety to prevent us from
contaminating the rest of the continent.

No problem.

Im sure. But youll never retake this land from us, not now. You cant
even claim back this single town, not without committing genocide. Youve
already seen what a single one of us can achieve when we have to defend
ourselves. Imagine that destructive power focused with evil intent.
Suburban fusion plants ruptured, hospitals incinerated, day clubs
crashing down on their young occupants. So far we have never killed
anyone, but if we chose to do so, if you leave us with no alternative,
this planet will suffer enormously.

Monster!

And Ill do it, Ralph. Ill give the order for my followers to start the
campaign. It will come right after my order for every non-possessed in
Exnall to be murdered. Theyre going to be killed right here on the
streets in front of you, Ralph. We will crush their skulls, snap their
necks, strangle them, cut their bellies open and leave them to bleed to
death.

I dont believe you.

No, you dont want to believe me, Ralph. There is a difference. Her
voice became smooth, taunting him. What have we got to lose? These
people you see around you will join us one way or the other. That is what
Im trying to tell you. Either their bodies will be possessed, or they
will die and possess in turn. Please, Ralph, dont allow yourself and
others to suffer because of your stupid beliefs. We will win.

Ralph wanted to kill her, hating and fearing the serene way she talked
about slaughter, knowing she wasnt bluffing. The most basic human urge,
to wipe out your enemy hard and fast, came firing up from his
subconscious. His neural nanonics had to reduce his heart rate. One hand
moved fractionally towards the pistol holster on his belt.

And I cant do it. Cant kill her. Cant end it all with the one act of
barbarism which weve always resorted to. Dear God, shes already dead.

Annette Ekelunds eyes followed the tiny motion of his hand. She smiled
and turned to beckon one of the figures that had emerged from the diner.

Ralph watched numbly as a mummy wearing a peaked police cap shuffled
forwards. The girl held in its solid embrace couldnt have been more than
fifteen. All she wore was a long mauve T-shirt. Her bare legs were grazed
and streaked with dirt. Shed been crying profusely. Now she could only
whimper as she was dragged towards him.

Nice-looking girl, Annette Ekelund said. A fine body, if a little
young. But I can alter that. You see, if you blow big chunks out of this
body of Angeline Gallaghers, Ralph, the girl will become the one I
possess next. My colleague here will break her bones, rape her, rip the
skin from her face, hurt her so terribly shell make a pact with Lucifer
himself to make it stop. But it wont be Lucifer who answers her from the
afterlife, only me. I shall come forth again; and you and I will be right
back where we started, except that Gallaghers body will be dead. Will
she thank you for that, do you think, Ralph?

Nerve impulse overrides prevented Ralphs hands from tearing Ekelunds
head from her shoulders. What do you want me to say? he datavised to
the security committee.

I dont think we have any choice, Princess Kirsten replied. I cannot
allow thousands of my people to be killed out of hand.

If we leave, theyll be possessed, Ralph warned her. Ekelund will do
exactly what she described to this girl, and all the others. Not just
here, but right along the whole length of Mortonridge.

I know, but I have to consider the majority. If the possessed are
outside the marine cordons, then weve already lost Mortonridge. I cannot
lose Xingu, too.

There are two million people living on Mortonridge!

I am aware of that. But at least if theyre possessed they will still be
alive. I think that Ekelund woman is right; the overall problem of
possession isnt going to be solved here. There was a moments pause.
Were cutting our losses, Ralph. Tell her she can have Mortonridge. For
now.

Yes, maam, he whispered.

Annette Ekelund smiled. She agreed, didnt she?

You may have Mortonridge, Ralph relayed imperturbably as the Princess
started to outline the conditions. We will instigate an immediate
evacuation procedure for people from areas you have not yet reached; any
attempt to sabotage vehicles will result in SD strikes against areas
where we know you are concentrated. If any of you try to pass the cordon
we establish between Mortonridge and the main body of the continent you
will be put into zero-tau. If any of you are found outside the cordon you
will be put into zero-tau. If there is any terrorist assault against any
Ombey citizen or building we will send in a punitive expedition and throw
several hundred of you into zero-tau. If you attempt to communicate with
other offplanet possessed forces, you will again be punished.

Of course, Ekelund said mockingly. I agree to your terms.

And the girl comes with me, Ralph declared.

Come come, Ralph, I dont believe the authorities actually said that.

Try me, he challenged.

Ekelund glanced at the sobbing girl, then back to Ralph. Would you have
bothered if she was a wizened old grandmother? she asked sarcastically.

But you didnt choose a wizened old grandmother, did you? You chose her
because you knew how protective we are towards the young. Your error.

Ekelund said nothing, but made a sharp irritated gesture to the mummy. It
let the girl go. She floundered, trembling so badly she could hardly
stand. Ralph caught her before she fell. He winced at the weight that put
on his injured leg.

Ill look forward to the day you join us, Ralph, Ekelund said. However
long it takes. Youll be quite an asset. Come and see me when your soul
finally obtains a new body to live in.

Fuck you. Ralph scooped the girl up and started to walk down the road.
He ignored the hundreds of people standing in front of the prim
buildings, the indifferent possessed and their wailing distraught
victims, the ones hed failed so completely. Staring resolutely ahead,
concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He knew if he
took it all in, acknowledged the magnitude of the disaster hed wrought,
hed never be able to carry on.

Enjoy your magnificent victory with the girl, Annette Ekelund called
after him.

This one is only the beginning, he promised grimly.


Chapter 05
==========


At a point in space four light-years distant from the star around which
Mirchusko orbited, the gravity density suddenly leapt upwards. The area
affected was smaller than a quark, at first. But once established, the
warp rapidly grew both in size and in strength. Faint strands of
starlight curved around the fringes, only to be sucked in towards the
centre as the gravity intensified further.

Ten picoseconds after its creation, the shape of the warp twisted from a
spherical zone to a two-dimensional disk. By this time it was over a
hundred metres in diameter. At the centre of one side, gravity fluctuated
again, placing an enormous strain on local space. A perfectly circular
rupture appeared, rapidly irising open.

A long grey-white fountain of gas spewed out from the epicentre of the
wormhole terminus. The water vapour it contained immediately turned to
minute ice crystals, spinning away from the central plume, twinkling
weakly in the sparse starlight. Lumps of solid matter began to shoot out
along the gas jet, tumbling off into the void. It was a curious
collection of objects: sculpted clouds of sand, tufts of reed grass with
their roots wriggling like spider legs, small fractured dendrites of
white and blue coral, broken palm tree fronds, oscillating globules of
saltwater, a shoal of frantic fish, their spectacularly coloured bodies
bursting apart as they underwent explosive decompression, several
seagulls squirting blood from beaks and rectums.

Then the crazy outpouring reduced drastically, blocked by a larger body
which was surging along the wormhole. Udat slipped out into normal space,
a flattened teardrop over a hundred and thirty metres long, its blue
polyp hull enlivened with a tortuous purple web. Straightaway the
blackhawk changed the flow of energy through the vast honeycomb of
patterning cells which made up the bulk of its body, modifying its
gravitonic distortion field. The wormhole terminus began to close behind
it.

Almost the last object to emerge from the transdimensional opening was a
small human figure. A woman: difficult to see because of the black SII
spacesuit she wore, her limbs scrabbling futilely, almost as though she
were clawing at the structure of space-time in order to pursue the big
blackhawk as it drew away from her. Her movements slowly calmed as the
suits sensor collar revealed stars and distant nebulas again, replacing
the menacingly insubstantial pseudofabric of the wormhole.

Dr Alkad Mzu felt herself shudder uncontrollably, the relief was so
intoxicating. Free from the grip of equations become energy.

I understand the configuration of reality too well to endure such direct
exposure. The wormhole has too many flaws, too many hidden traps. A
quasi-continuum where times arrow has to be directed by an artificial
energy flow; the possible fates lurking within such a non-place would
make you welcome death as the most beautiful of consorts.

The collar sensors showed her she had picked up a considerable tumble
since losing her grip on the rope ladder. Her neural nanonics had
automatically blocked the impulses from her inner ears as a precaution
against nausea. There were also a number of analgesic blocks erected
across the nerve paths from her forearms. A physiological status display
showed her the damage inflicted on tendons and muscles as shed forced
herself to hang on as the Udat dived for safety. Nothing drastic,
thankfully. Medical packages would be able to cope once she got the suit
off.

Can you retrieve me? she datavised to the Udats flight computer. I
cant stop spinning. As if they couldnt see that. But the bitek
starship was already seven hundred metres away, and still retreating from
her. She wanted an answer, wanted someone to talk to her. Proof she
wasnt alone. This predicament was triggering way too many
thirty-year-old memories. Dear Mary, Ill be calling it dj vu next.
Calling Udat, can you retrieve me? Come on, answer.

On the Udats bridge Haltam was busy programming the medical packages
which were knitting to the base of Meyers skull. Haltam was the Udats
fusion specialist, but doubled as ships medical officer.

The captain was lying prone on his acceleration couch, unconscious. His
fingers were still digging into the cushioning, frozen in a claw-like
posture, nails broken by the strength hed used to maul the fabric. Blood
dribbling out of his nose made sticky blotches on his cheeks. Haltam
didnt like to think of the whimpers coming from Meyers mouth just
before the blackhawk had swallowed out of Tranquillity, snatching Alkad
Mzu away from the intelligence agents imprisoning her within the habitat.
Nor did he like the physiological display he was accessing from Meyers
neural nanonics.

How is he? asked Aziz, the Udats spaceplane pilot.

None too good, I think. Hes suffered a lot of cerebral stress, which
pushed him into shock. If Im interpreting this display right, his neural
symbionts were subjected to a massive trauma. Some of the bitek synapses
are dead, and theres minor hemorrhaging where they interface with his
medulla oblongata.

Christ.

Yeah. And we dont have a medical package on board which can reach that
deep. Not that it would do us a lot of good if we had. You need to be a
specialist to operate one.

I cannot feel his dreams, Udat datavised. I always feel his dreams.
Always.

Haltam and Aziz exchanged a heavy glance. The bitek starship rarely used
its link with the flight computer to communicate with any of the crew.

I dont believe the damage is permanent, Haltam told the blackhawk.
Any decent hospital can repair these injuries.

He will waken?

Absolutely. His neural nanonics are keeping him under for the moment. I
dont want him conscious again until the packages have knitted. They
ought to be able to help stabilize him, and alleviate most of the shock.

Thank you, Haltam.

Least I can do. And what about you? Are you all right?

Tranquillity was very harsh. My mind hurts. I have never known that
before.

What about your physical structure?

Intact. I remain functional.

A whistle of breath emerged from Haltams mouth. Then the flight computer
informed him that Alkad Mzu was datavising for help. Oh, hell, he
muttered. The coverage provided by the electronic sensor suite mounted
around the outside of the starships life support horseshoe was limited.
Normally, Udats own sensor blisters provided Meyer with all the
information he needed. But when Haltam accessed the suite, the infrared
sweep found Mzu easily, spinning amid the thin cloud of dispersing debris
which had been sucked into the wormhole with them.

Weve got you located, he datavised. Stand by.

Udat? Aziz asked. Can you take us over to her, please?

I will do so.

Haltam managed a nervous, relieved smile. At least the blackhawk was
cooperating. The real big test would come when they wanted a swallow
manoeuvre.

Udat manoeuvred itself to within fifty metres of Mzu, and matched her
gentle trajectory. After that, Cherri Barnes strapped on a cold gas
manoeuvring pack and hauled her in.

We have to leave, Alkad datavised as soon as she was inside the
airlock. Immediately.

You didnt warn us about your friends on the beach, Cherri answered
reproachfully.

You were told about the observation agents. I apologize if you werent
aware of how anxious they were to prevent me from escaping, but I thought
that was implicit in my message. Now, please, we must perform a swallow
manoeuvre away from here.

The airlock chamber pressurized as soon as the outer hatch closed,
filling with a slightly chilled air. Cherri watched Mzu touch the seal
catches on her worn old backpack with awkward movements. The small
incongruous pack fell to the floor. Mzus SII suit began flowing off her
skin, its oil-like substance accumulating in the form of a globe hanging
from the base of her collar. Cherri eyed their passenger curiously as her
own suit reverted to neutral storage mode. The short black woman was
shivering slightly, sweat coating her skin. Both hands were bent inward
as though crippled with arthritis; twisted, swollen fingers unmoving.

Our captain is incapacitated, Cherri said. And Im none too certain
about Udat either.

Alkad grimaced, shaking her head. Oh, what an irony. Depending on the
Udats goodwill, it of all starships. Ships will be sent after us, she
said. If we remain in this location I will be captured, and you will
probably be exterminated.

Look, just what the hell did you do to get the Kingdom so pissed at you?

Better you dont know.

Better I do, then Ill know what were likely to be facing.

Trouble enough.

Try to be a little more specific.

Very well: every ESA asset they can activate throughout the
Confederation will be used to find me, if that makes you feel any
happier. You really dont want to be around me for any length of time. If
you are, you will die. Clear enough?

Cherri didnt know how to answer. True, theyd known Mzu was some kind of
dissident on the run, but not that she would attract this kind of
attention. And why would Tranquillity, presumably in conjunction with the
Lord of Ruin, help the Kulu Kingdom try to restrain her? Mzu was adding
up to real bad news.

Alkad datavised the flight computer, requesting a direct link to the
blackhawk itself. Udat?

Yes, Dr Mzu.

You must leave here.

My captain is hurt. His mind has darkened and withered. I am in pain
when I try to think.

Im sorry about Meyer, but we cannot stay here. The blackhawks at
Tranquillity know where you swallowed to. The Lord of Ruin will send them
after me. Theyll take us all back.

I do not wish to return. Tranquillity frightens me. I thought it was my
friend.

One swallow manoeuvre, thats all. A small one. Just a light-year will
suffice, the direction is not important. No blackhawk will be able to
follow us then. After that we can see whats to be done next.

Very well. A light-year.

Cherri had already unfastened her spacesuit collar when she felt the
familiar minute perturbation in apparent gravity which meant Udats
distortion field was altering to open a wormhole interstice. Very
clever, she said sardonically to Mzu. I hope to hell you know what
youre doing. Bitek starships dont usually make swallows without their
captain providing some supervision.

Thats a conceit you really ought to abandon, Alkad said tiredly.
Voidhawks and blackhawks are considerably more intelligent than humans.

But their personalities are completely different.

Its done now. And it would appear we are still alive. Were there any
more complaints?

Cherri ignored her and started to pull on a one-piece shipsuit.

Could you sling my backpack over my shoulder, please? Alkad asked. I
dont have the use of my hands at this moment. Our exit from Tranquillity
was more precipitous than I imagined. And Ill need some medical
packages.

Fine. Haltam can apply the packages for you; hell be on the bridge
tending to Meyer. Ill take the backpack for you.

No. Put it over my shoulder. I will carry it.

Cherri sighed through clenched teeth. She urgently wanted to see for
herself how bad Meyer was. She was worried about the way Udat would react
if the captain was unconscious for too long. She was coming down off the
adrenaline high of the escape, which was like a hit of pure depression.
And this small woman was about as safe as her own weight in naked
plutonium.

What have you got in it?

Do not concern yourself about that.

Cherri grabbed the backpack by its straps and held it up in front of
Mzus impassive face. There couldnt have been much in it, judging by the
weight. Now look!

A great deal of money. And an even larger amount of information; none of
which you would have the faintest comprehension of. Now, you are already
harbouring me on board which in itself is enough to get you killed if Im
discovered. And if the agency knew you had physically held up the
backpack containing the items it does, they would throw you straight into
personality debrief just to find out how much those items weigh. Do you
really want to compound matters by taking a look inside?

What Cherri wanted to do was swing the backpack at Mzus head. Meyer had
made the worst error of judgement in his life agreeing to this absurd
rescue mission. All she could do now was pray it turned out not to be a
terminal mistake.

As you wish, Cherri said with fragile calm.



                                 ?   ?   ?



San Angeles spaceport was situated on the southern rim of the metropolis.
A square ten kilometres to a side, a miniature city chiselled from
machinery. Vast barren swathes of carbon concrete had been poured over
the levelled earth and then divided up into roads, taxi aprons, and
landing pads. Hundreds of line company hangars and cargo terminals hosted
a business which accounted for a fifth of the entire planets
ground-to-orbit traffic movements.

Among the numbingly constant lines of standardized composite-walled
hangars and office block cubes, only the main passenger terminal had been
permitted a flight of fancy architecture. It resembled the kind of
starship which might have been built if the practicalities of the ZTT
drive hadnt forced a uniform spherical hull on the astroengineering
companies. A soft-contoured meld between an industrial microgee refinery
station and a hypersonic biplane, it dominated the skyline with its
imperious technogothic silhouette. On the long autoway ride out from the
city it gave approaching drivers the impression it was ready to pounce
jealously on the tiny delta-planform spaceplanes which scuttled
underneath its sweeping wings to embark passengers.

Jezzibella didnt bother looking at it. She sat in the car with her eyes
closed for the whole of the early morning journey, not asleep, but brain
definitely in neutral. Those kids from the concertwhatever their names
werehad proved worthless last night, their awe of her interfering with
their emotions. Now she just wanted out. Out of this world. Out of this
galaxy. Out of this universe. Forever living on the hope that the waiting
starship would take her to a place where something new was happening.
That the next stop would be different.

Leroy and Libby shared the car with her, silent and motionless. They knew
the mood. Always the same when she was leaving a planet, and a fraction
more intense every time.

Leroy was pretty sure the unspoken yearning was one reason she appealed
to the kids; they identified with that integral sense of bewildered
desperation and loss. Of course, it would have to be watched. Right now
it was just an artists essential suffering, a perverted muse. But
eventually it could develop into full depression if he wasnt careful.

Another item to take care of. More stress. Not that hed have it any
other way.

The eleven cars which made up the Jezzibella tour convoy slid into the
VIP parking slots below one of the terminals flamboyant wings. Leroy had
chosen such an early hour for the flight because it was the terminals
slackest time. They ought to be able to clear the official procedures
without any problems.

Maybe that was the reason why none of the bodyguards sensed anything
wrong. Always scanning for trouble with augmented senses, the absence of
people was a relief rather than a concern.

It wasnt until Jezzibella asked: Where the fuck are the reporters?
that Leroy noticed anything amiss. The terminal wasnt merely quiet, it
was dead. No passengers, no staff, not even a sub-manager to greet
Jezzibella. And certainly no sign of any reporters. That wasnt odd, that
was alarming. Hed leaked their departure schedule to three reliable
sources last night.

Just fucking great, Leroy, Jezzibella growled as the entourage went
through the entrance. This exit is really up there in fucking mythland,
isnt it? Because I certainly dont fucking believe it. How the hell am I
supposed to make a fucking impression when the only things watching me
leave are the fucking valeting mechanoids?

I dont understand it, Leroy said. The cavernous VIP vestibule carried
on the never-was illusion of the terminal building: ancient Egypt
discovers atomic power. A marble fantasyville of obelisks, fountains, and
outsize gold ornaments, where ebony sphinxes prowled around the walls.
When he datavised the local net processor all he got was the capacity
engaged response.

Whats to understand, dickbrain? You screwed up again. Jezzibella
stomped off towards the wide wave-effect escalator which curved up
towards one of the terminals concourses. She could remember coming down
it when she arrived, so it must be the way to the spaceplanes. The
bastard local net processor wouldnt even permit her to access a floor
plan. Cock-up planet!

She was five metres from the top (her retinue scurrying to catch up) when
she saw the man standing waiting for her beside the arched entrance of
the concourse. Some oaf in a terminal staff suit uniform, officious smile
in place.

Im sorry, lady, he said, when she drew level with him. You cant go
any further.

Jezzibella said: Oh, really?

Yes. Weve got a priority flight operation in progress today, everything
has been rescheduled.

Jezzibella smiled, her skin softening: a delectably young wide-eyed
ingenue looking for a real man to guide her. Thats such a pity. Im
booked to leave this morning.

Im afraid there will be a short delay.

Still smiling, Jezzibella slammed her knee into his crotch.

Isaac Goddard had been pleased at his assignment. Putting the brakes on
inconvenient civilians wandering through the terminal was an important
task, Al Capone wouldnt give it to just anyone. And now it meant he got
to meet this centurys superstar, too. Lee Ruggiero, whose body he
possessed, was full of admiration for Jezzibella. Looking at her up
close, Isaac could see why. So sweet and vulnerable. Shame he had to use
force to stop her. But the timing of the spaceplane flights was vital. Al
had emphasised that often enough.

He was readying his energistic powers to deal with her bodyguards, who
had now caught her up, when she did her level best to ram his testicles
into his eye sockets via his intestinal tract.

The energistic power which was the inheritance of every possessed was
capable of near-miraculous feats as it bent the fabric of reality to a
minds whim. As well as its destructive potential, items could be made
solid at the flicker of a thought. It was also capable of reinforcing a
body to resist almost any kind of assault as well as enhancing its
physical strength. Wounds could be healed at almost the same rate they
were inflicted.

But first the wish had to be formulated, the energistic flow regulated
appropriately. Isaac Goddard never had a chance to wish for anything. A
uniquely male agony blew apart every coherent thought current stealing
through his captured brain. Pain was all that remained.

His face white, he slowly sank to the floor before Jezzibella. Tears
trickled down his cheeks as his mouth laboured soundlessly.

If its all the same to you, Jezzibella said brightly, I really would
like to leave this shit tip of a planet right now. She strode away.

Oh, hey, come on, Jez, Leroy called as he chased after her down the
concourse, forcing himself into a fast waddle. Give me a break. You
cant go around doing things like that.

Why not, for shits sake? Worried this fucking great army of witnesses
will all testify in court?

Look, you heard him. Theres some kind of special flight schedule this
morning. Why dont you wait here, and Ill find out whats going on. Huh?
I wont be long.

Im the fucking special flight, shithead! Me, me.

Christ! Grow up, will you! I dont manage bloody teen-scream acts. I
only do adults.

Jezzibella stopped in surprise. Leroy never shouted at her. She pouted
prettily. Ive been bad.

You got it.

Forgive me. I was all worked up over Emmerson.

I can understand that. But hes not coming on the starship with us.
Panic over.

The mock smile faltered. Leroy . . . Please, I just want to leave. I
hate this fucking place. Ill behave, really. But you have got to get me
away from here.

He rubbed his fat fingers over his face; sweat was making hair stick to
his brow. Okay. One miracle evacuation flight coming up.

Thanks, Leroy. I dont have your defences, you know? The worlds
different for you. Hard and easy altogether.

Leroy tried to datavise a net processor. But he couldnt get a single
response, the units were all inert. What the hell is going on here? he
asked in annoyance. If these flights were that big a deal, why werent
we informed?

Guess thats my fault, Al Capone told him.

Jezzibella and Leroy turned to see a group of ten men walking down the
concourse towards them. They all wore double-breasted suits and carried
machine guns. Somehow the idea of running from them seemed ludicrous.
More gangsters were emerging from side corridors.

You see, I dont want people informed, Al explained. At least not for
a while. After that, Im gonna speak to this whole goddamn planet. Loud
and clear.

Two of Jezzibellas bodyguards caught sight of the approaching gangsters.
They began to run forwards, drawing their thermal induction pistols.

Al clicked his fingers. The bodyguards let out simultaneous yelps of pain
as their pistols turned red hot. They dropped them fast. That was when a
ripple of onyx flooring rose up and tripped them.

Jezzibella watched in astonishment as both bulky men went skidding into
the wall. She looked from them back to Al, and grinned. Magnifico.

She desperately wanted to record the scene, but her fucking neural
nanonics were crashing. Fucking typical!

Al watched the beef boy back away fearfully. But the dame . . . she just
stood there. This weird expression on her face, fascination and interest
making her eyes narrow demurely. Interest in him, by damn! She wasnt
afraid. She was pure class, this one. She was also one hell of a looker.
Minx face, and a body the likes of which simply didnt exist in the
twenties.

Lovegrove was itching for a peek at her, busy telling him who Jezzibella
was. Some kind of hotshot nightclub singer. Except there was more to it
than just singing and playing the ivories these days, a lot more.

So what are you going to tell us? Jezzibella asked, her voice husky.

What? Al asked.

When you speak to the planet. What are you going to say?

Al took his time lighting a cigar. Making her wait, showing exactly who
was in control. Im gonna tell them that Im in charge now. Number one
guy on the planet. And youve all gotta do what I say. Anything I say.
He winked broadly.

Jezzibella put on a disappointed expression. Waste of talent.

What?

Youre the guys the police are calling Retros, right?

Yeah, Al said cautiously.

She flicked a casual finger towards her dazed bodyguards. And youve got
the balls and the power to take over a whole planet?

You catch on quick.

So why waste it on this dump?

This dump has eight hundred and ninety million people living on it,
lady. And Im gonna be the fucking emperor of them all before the
evening.

My last album has sold over three billion so far, probably triple that
number in bootlegs. Those people want me to be their empress. If youre
going for broke, why not choose a decent planet? Kulu, or Oshanko, or
even Earth.

Not taking his eyes off her, Al called over his shoulder: Hey, savvy
Avvy, get your crummy ass up here. Now!

Avram Harwood scuttled forwards, his head bowed, shoulders drooping. Each
step was obviously painful for him, he was favouring his right leg. Yes,
sir?

New California is the greatest goddamn planet in the Confederation,
aint that right? Al asked.

Oh, yes, sir. It is.

Is your population bigger than Kulu? Jezzibella asked in a bored tone.

Avram Harwood twitched miserably.

Answer her, Capone growled.

No, maam, Harwood said.

Is your economy larger than Oshankos?

No.

Do you export as much as Earth?

No.

Jezzibella inclined her head contemptuously on one side, pushing her lips
out towards Al. Anything else you want to know?

Her voice had suddenly become the same as a schoolteachers. Al started
to laugh in sincere admiration. Goddamn! Modern women.

Can you all do that heat trick with the fingers?

Sure can, honey.

Interesting. So how is taking over this spaceport tied in with
conquering the planet?

Als first instinct was to brag. About the synchronized flights up to the
orbiting asteroids. About taking out the SD personnel. About using the SD
network firepower to open up the whole planet to his Organization. But
they were short on time. And this was no backwoods girl, shed understand
if he explained it. Sorry, babe, but were kinda in a hurry. Its been a
ball.

No it hasnt. If youd had a ball with me, youd know about it.

Hot shit

If its tied in with spaceplane flights, youre either going up to
starships or the orbiting asteroids. But if youre taking over the
planet, it cant be the starships. So it has to be the asteroids. Let me
guess, the Strategic Defence network. She watched the alarmed
expressions light up on the faces of the gangsters. All except Mayor
Harwood, but then he was already hopelessly adrift in some deep private
purgatory. How did I do?

Al could only gawp. Hed heard of lady spiders like this; they knitted
fancy webs or did hypnosis, or something. It ended up that the males just
couldnt escape. Then they got screwed and eaten.

Now I know what they go through.

You did pretty good. He was envious of her cool. Envious of a lot of
things, actually.

Al? Emmet Mordden urged. Al, we have to get going.

Yeah, yeah. I aint forgotten.

We can send this group down to Lucianos people for possessing.

Hey, who the fucks in charge here?

Emmet took a frightened pace backwards.

In charge, but not in control, Jezzibella teased.

Dont push it, lady, Al warned her sharply.

True leaders simply tell people to do what they want to do anyway. She
licked her lips. Guess what I want to do?

Fuck this. Modern women. Youre all like goddamn whores. I aint never
heard anything like it.

The talk isnt all youve never had before.

Holy Christ.

So what do you say, Al? Jezzibella switched her voice back to a liquid
rumble. She almost didnt have to fake it. She was so turned on, excited,
stimulated. You name it. Caught up in a terrorist hijack. And such
strange terrorists, too. Wimps with a personal nuclear capability. Except
the leader, he was massively focused. Not bad-looking, either. Want me
to tag along on your little coup dtat mission? Or are you going to
spend the rest of every waking day wondering what it would have been
like? And you will wonder. You know you will.

We got a spare seat on the rocketship, Al said. But youve got to do
as youre told.

She batted her eyelashes. Thatll be a first.

Amazed at what hed just said, Al tried to play back their conversation
in his mind to see how hed gotten to this point. No good, he couldnt
figure it. He was acting on pure impulse again. And that felt
first-class. Like the good old days. People never did know what he was
going to do next. It kept them on edge, and him on top.

Jezzibella walked over to him and tucked her arm in his. Lets go.

Al grinned around wolfishly. Okay, wiseasses, you heard the lady.
Mickey, take the rest of this bunch down to Luciano. Emmet, Silvano, take
your boys to their spaceplanes.

Leave me my manager, and the old woman, oh, and the band too,
Jezzibella said.

What the hell is this? Al demanded. I aint got room in my
Organization for freeloaders.

You want me to look good. I need them.

Je-zus, youre pushy.

You want a girl whos a pushover, find yourself a teenage bimbo. Me,
its the whole package or nothing.

Okay, Mickey, lay off the cornholers. But the rest of them get the full
treatment. He shoved his hands out towards her, palms held up
imploringly. Good enough? The sarcasm wasnt entirely feigned.

Good enough, Jezzibella agreed.

They grinned knowingly at each other for a moment, then led the
procession of gangsters down the concourse to the waiting spaceplanes.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The wormhole terminus opened smoothly six hundred and eighty thousand
kilometres above Jupiters equator, the absolute minimum permitted
distance from the prodigious band of orbiting habitats. Oenone flew out
of the circular gap, and immediately identified itself to the Jovian
Strategic Defence network. As soon as their approach authorization had
been granted, the voidhawk accelerated in towards the Kristata habitat at
an urgent five gees. It was already asking the habitat to assemble a
medical team to meet it as soon as it docked.

<< Of what nature? >>Kristata asked.

At which point Cacus, their medical officer, took over, using the
voidhawks affinity to relay a list of the grisly physical injuries
inflicted on Syrinx by the possessed occupying Pernik island. << But most
importantly were going to need a psychological trauma team, >>he said.
<< We put her in zero-tau for the flight, naturally. However, she did not
respond to any level of mental communication after she was brought on
board, other than a purely autonomic acknowledgement of Oenones contact.
Im afraid the intensity of the withdrawal is one which approaches
catatonia. >>

<< What happened to her? >>queried the habitat. It was unusual for a
voidhawk to fly without its captains guidance.

<< She was tortured. >>

Ruben waited until the medical discussion was under way before asking
Oenone for an affinity link with Eden itself. Arriving at Jupiter he
could actually feel his body relaxing in the bridge couch despite the
acceleration pressure. The events which would play out over the next few
hours were going to be strenuous, but nothing like as bad as Atlantis and
the voyage to the Sol system.

Oenones instinct had been to rush directly to Saturn and the Romulus
habitat as soon as Oxley had brought Syrinx on board. The yearning to go
home after such a tremendous shock was as much a voidhawk trait as a
human one.

It had been down to Ruben to convince the frantic, frightened voidhawk
that Jupiter would be preferable. Jovian habitats had more advanced
medical facilities than those orbiting Saturn. And, of course, there was
the Consensus to inform.

This was a threat which simply had to rank higher than individual
concerns.

Then there was the flight itself. Oenone had never flown anywhere without
Syrinxs subliminal supervision, much less performed a swallow manoeuvre.
Voidhawks could fly without the slightest human input, of course. But as
ever there was a big difference between theory and practice. They
identified so much with the needs and wishes of their captains.

The crews general affinity band had rung with a powerful cadence of
relief when the first swallow manoeuvre passed off flawlessly.

Ruben knew he shouldnt have doubted Oenone, but his own mind was eddying
with worry. The sight of Syrinxs injuries . . . And worse, her mind
closed as if it were a flower at night. Any attempt to prise below her
churning surface thoughts had resulted in a squirt of sickening images
and sensations. Her sanity would surely suffer if she was left alone with
such nightmares. Cacus had immediately placed her in zero-tau,
temporarily circumventing the problem.

<< Hello, Ruben, >>Eden said. << It is pleasant to receive you again.
Though I am saddened by the condition of Syrinx, and I sense that Oenone
is suffering considerable distress. >>

Ruben hadnt conversed directly with the original habitat for over forty
years, not since his last visit. It was a trip which most Edenists made
at some time in their life. Not a pilgrimage (they would hotly deny that)
but paying their respects, acknowledging the sentimental debt to the
founding entity of their culture.

<< Thats why I need to speak with you, >> Ruben said. << Eden, we have a
problem. Would you call a general Consensus, please? >>

There was no hierarchy in Edenism, it was a society proud of its
egalitarianism; he could have made the same request of any habitat. If
the personality considered the request valid, it would be forwarded to
the habitat Consensus, then if it passed that vote, a general Consensus
would be called, comprising every single Edenist, habitat, and voidhawk
in the Sol system. But for this issue, Ruben felt obliged to make his
appeal direct to Eden, the first habitat.

He gave an account of what had happened on Atlantis, followed by the
prcis which was Latons legacy. When he finished, the affinity band was
silent for several moments.

<< I will call for a general Consensus, >>Eden said. The habitats mental
voice was uncharacteristically studious.

Relief mingled with a curious frisson of worry among Rubens thoughts. At
least the burden which Oenones crew had carried by themselves during the
flight was to be shared and mitigatedthe fundamental psychology of
Edenism. But what amounted to the habitats shock at the revelation of
souls returning to possess the living was deeply unsettling. Eden had
been germinated in 2075, making it the oldest living entity in the
Confederation. If anything had the requisite endowment of wisdom to
withstand such news then surely it must be the ancient habitat.

Disquieted by the habitats response, and chiding himself for expecting
miracles, Ruben settled back in the acceleration couch and used the
voidhawks sensor blisters to observe their approach flight. They were
already twenty-five thousand kilometres from Europa, curving gently
around its northern hemisphere. The moons ice mantle glinted a grizzled
oyster as distant sunlight skittered over its smooth surface, throwing
off the occasional dazzling mirror-flash from an impact crater.

Behind the moon, Jupiter occluded half of the universe. They were close
enough that the polar regions were invisible, distilling the planet to a
simple flat barrier of enraged orange and white clouds. The gas giant was
in one of its more active phases. Vast hurricane storm-spots geysered
through the upper cloud bands, swirling mushroom formations bringing with
them a multitude of darker contaminates from the lower levels. Colours
fought like armies along frenzied boundaries of intricate curlicues,
never winning, never losing. There was too much chaos for any one pattern
or shade to gain the ultimate triumph of stability. Even the great spots,
of which there were now three, had lifetimes measurable in mere
millennia. But for raw spectacle they were unmatched. After five
centuries of interstellar exploration, Jupiter remained one of the
largest gas giants ever catalogued, honouring its archaic title as the
father of gods.

A hundred thousand kilometres in from Europa, the habitats formed their
own unique constellation around their lord, drinking down its
magnetosphere energy, bathing in the tempestuous particle winds,
listening to the wild chants of its radio voice, and watching the
ever-changing panorama of the clouds. They could never live anywhere else
but above such worlds; only the magnetic flux spun out by gas giants
could generate the power levels necessary to sustain life within their
dusky-crimson polyp shells. There were four thousand two hundred and
fifty mature habitats in Jupiter orbit, nurturing a total Edenist
population of over nine billion individuals. The second largest
civilization in the Confederationin numerical terms. Only Earth with its
guesstimated population of thirty-five billion was bigger. But the
standard of civilization, in both economic and cultural terms, was
peerless. Jupiters citizens had no underclass, no ignorance, no poverty,
and no misfits, barring the one-in-a-million Serpent who rejected Edenism
in its entirety.

The reason for such enviable social fortune was Jupiter itself. To build
such a society, even with affinity-enhancing psychological stability, and
bitek alleviating a great many mundane physical problems, required vast
wealth. It came from helium3, the principal fusion fuel used throughout
the Confederation.

In comparison with other fuels, a mix of He3 and deuterium produced one
of the cleanest fusion reactions possible, resulting mainly in charged
helium with an almost zero neutron emission. Such an end product meant
that the generator systems needed little shielding, making them cheaper
to build. Superenergized helium was also an ideal space drive.

The Confederation societies were heavily dependent on this form of cheap,
low-pollution fusion to maintain their socioeconomic index. Fortunately
deuterium existed in massive quantities; a common isotope of hydrogen, it
could be extracted from any sea or glacial asteroid. He3, however, was
extremely rare in nature. The operation to mine it from Jupiter began in
2062 when the then Jovian Sky Power Corporation dropped its first
aerostat into the atmosphere to extract the elusive isotope in commercial
quantities. There were only minute amounts present, but minute is a
relative term in the context of a gas giant.

It was that one tentative high-risk operation which had transformed
itself, via political revolution, religious intolerance, and bitek
revelation into Edenism. And Edenists continued to mine He3 in every
colonized star system which had a gas giant (with the notable exception
of Kulu and its Principalities), although cloudscoops had replaced
aerostats long ago as the actual method of collection. It was the
greatest industrial enterprise in existence, and also the largest
monopoly. And with the format for developing stage one colony worlds now
institutionalized, it looked set to remain so.

Yet as any student of ekistics could have predicted, it was Jupiter which
remained the economic heart of Edenism. For it was Jupiter which supplied
the single largest consumer of He3: Earth and its ONeill Halo. Such a
market required a huge mining operation, as well as its associated
support infrastructure; and on top of that came their own massive energy
requirements.

Hundreds of industrial stations flocked around every habitat, varying in
size from ten-kilometre-diameter asteroidal mineral refineries to tiny
microgee research laboratories. Tens of thousands of spaceships congested
local space, importing and exporting every commodity known to the human
and xenoc races of the Confederationtheir assigned flight vectors
weaving a sluggish, ephemeral DNA coil around the
five-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-kilometre orbital band.

By the time Oenone was two thousand kilometres away from Kristata, the
habitat was becoming visible to its optical sensors. It shone weakly of
its own accord, a miniature galaxy with long, thin spiral arms. The
habitat itself formed the glowing core of the nebula, a cylinder
forty-five kilometres long, rotating gently inside a corona of Saint
Elmos fire sparked by the agitated particle winds splashing across its
shell. Industrial stations glimmered around it, static flashing in crazed
patterns over external girders and panels, their metallic structures more
susceptible to the ionic squalls than bitek polyp. Fusion drives formed
the spiral arms, Adamist starships and inter-orbit craft arriving and
departing from the habitats globe-shaped counter-rotating spaceport.

A priority flight path had been cleared through the other ships, allowing
Oenone to race past them towards the docking ledges ringing Kristatas
northern endcap, although the starship was actually decelerating now,
pushing seven gees. Ruben observed the habitat expand rapidly, its
central band of starscrapers coming into focus. It was virtually the only
aspect of the external vista which had changed after travelling a hundred
thousand kilometres from their swallow emergence point. Jupiter remained
exactly the same. He couldnt even tell if they were closer to the gas
giant or not, there were no valid reference points. It seemed as though
Oenone were flying between two flat plains, one comprised of ginger and
white clouds, the other a midnight sky.

They swept around the counter-rotating spaceport and headed in for the
northern endcap. The violet haze of glowing particles was murkier here,
disrupted by slithering waves of darkness as the energized wind broke and
churned against the four concentric docking ledge rings. Oenone
experienced a prickle of static across its blue polyp hull as it slipped
over the innermost ledge at a shallow tangent; for a moment the tattered
discharge mimicked the purple web pattern veining its hull surface. Then
the bulky voidhawk was hovering directly above a docking pedestal, slowly
twisting around until the feed tubes were aligned correctly. It settled
on the pedestal with all the fuss of a falling autumn leaf.

A convoy of service vehicles rolled towards it. The ambulance was the
first to reach the rim of the saucer-shaped hull, its long airlock tube
snaking out to mate with the crew toroid. Cacus was still discussing
Syrinxs status with the medical team as the zero-tau pod containing her
body was rolled into the ambulance.

Ruben realized Oenone was hungrily ingesting nutrient fluid from the
pedestal tubes. << How are you? >>he asked the voidhawk belatedly.

<< I am glad the flight is over. Syrinx can begin to heal now. Kristata
says all the damage can be repaired. Many doctors are part of its
multiplicity. I believe what it says. >>

<< Yes, shell heal. And we can help. Knowing you are loved is a great
part of any cure. >>

<< Thank you, Ruben. I am glad you are my friend, and hers. >>

Rising from his acceleration couch, Ruben felt a flush of sentiment and
admiration at the voidhawks guileless faith. Sometimes its simple
directness was like a childs honesty.

Edwin and Serina were busying themselves powering down the crew toroids
flight systems, and supervising the service vehicles as umbilicals were
plugged into the ledges support machinery. Tula was already conversing
with a local cargo depot about storing the few containers remaining in
the lower hull cradles. Everyone seemed to have acknowledged that they
would be here for some time, even Oenone.

Ruben thought of her injuries again and shivered in the bridges warm
air. << Id like to talk to Athene, please, >>he asked the voidhawk. The
final duty. Which hed put off as long as possible, terrified Athene
would pick up his shame. He felt so responsible for Syrinx. If I hadnt
let her rush down there. If Id gone with her . . .

<< Individuality is to be cherished, >>the voidhawk told him stiffly. <<
She decides for herself. >>

He barely had time to form a rueful grin when he was aware of the
voidhawks potent affinity reaching out across the solar system to Saturn
and the Romulus habitat.

<< Its all right, my dear, >>Athene told him as soon as they swapped
identity traits. << Shes alive, and she has Oenone. That is enough no
matter what the damage those fiends inflicted. She will come back to us.
>>

<< You know? >>

<< Of course. I always know when one of Iasiuss children returns home,
and Oenone informed me straightaway. Since Eden called for a Consensus
Ive been listening to the details. >>

<< There will be a general Consensus? >>

<< Certainly. >>

Ruben felt the old voidhawk captains lips assume an ironic smile.

<< You know, >>she said, << we havent called one since Laton destroyed
Jantrit. And now hes back. I suppose there is a certain inevitability
about it. >>

<< He was back, >>Ruben said. << We really have seen the last of him now.
Its funny, in a way I almost regret his suicide, however noble. I think
were going to need that kind of ruthlessness in the weeks ahead. >>

The general Consensus took several minutes to gather; people had to be
woken, others had to stop work. All across the solar system Edenists
merged their consciousness with that of their home habitats, which in
turn linked together. It was the ultimate democratic government, in which
everyone not only voted but also contributed to and influenced the
formation of policy.

Oenone presented Latons prcis first, the message he had delivered to
the Atlantean Consensus. He stood before them, a tall, handsome man with
Asian-ethnic features and black hair tied back in a small ponytail;
dressed in an unfussy green silk robe, belted at the waist, alone in a
darkened universe. His studied attitude showed he knew they were his
judges, and yet did not quite care.

No doubt you have assimilated the account of events on Pernik island and
what happened at Aberdale, he said. As you can see this whole episode
started with Quinn Dexters sacrifice ritual. However, we can safely
conclude that the breakthrough from beyond which occurred in the Lalonde
jungle was unique. These idiot Satanists have been dancing through the
woods at midnight for centuries, and theyve never succeeded in summoning
up the dead before. Had souls ever returned at any time in the past we
would know about it; although I concede there have always been rumours of
such incidents throughout human history.

Unfortunately, I was never able to ascertain the exact cause of what I
can only describe as a rupture between our dimension and this beyond
where souls linger after death. Something must have happened to make this
ritual different from all the others. This is the area where you should
concentrate your research effort. The spread of possession is not a
threat which can be countered on an individual basis, though Im sure
Adamist populations will demand military action whenever it breaks out.
Resist such futile actions. You must discover the root cause, close the
dimensional rupture. Such a method is the only long-term chance for
success you have. I believe that only Edenism has the potential to
challenge this problem with the necessary commitment and resources. Your
unity may be the only advantage which the living have. Use it.

I assure you that though the possessed remain unorganized, they do have
a common and overriding goal. They seek strength through numbers, and
they will not rest until every living body is possessed. Now that you are
warned you should be able to protect yourself from anything like Pernik
happening again. Simple filtering sub-routines will safeguard the habitat
multiplicities, and they in turn can detect possessed individuals
claiming to be Edenists with a more detailed interrogation of personality
traits.

My last observation is more philosophical than practical, although
equally important in the long run should you triumph. You are going to
have to make considerable adjustments to your culture now you know humans
have an immortal soul. In making this adaptation, I cannot over-emphasise
how important corporeal existence is. Do not think death is an easy
escape option from suffering, or life as simply a phase of being, for
when you die it is truly the end of a part of yourself. Nor would I want
you to worry about being trapped in beyond for all of time, I doubt one
in a billion Edenists ever would be. Think of what the returning souls
are, who they are, and you will see what I mean. Ultimately you will know
for yourself, as we all do. What I discovered on confronting the final
reality is the belief that our culture is supreme among corporeal
societies. I only wish I could have returned to it for just a little
while longer knowing what I now know. Not that you would have me back, I
suspect.

A final knowing smile, and he was gone for the last time.

First, Consensus decided, we must safeguard our own culture. Although we
are relatively immune from infiltration, we must consider the longer term
prospect of physical assault should the possessed gain control of a
planetary system with military starships. Our protection will be achieved
most effectively by supporting the Confederation, and preventing the
spread of possession. To this end, all voidhawks will be recalled from
civil flight activities to form an expanded defence force, one-third of
which will be assigned to the Confederation Navy. Our scientific
resources must be targeted as Laton suggested to discover the origin of
the initial breakthrough, and achieve understanding of the energistic
nature of the possessing souls. We must discover a permanent solution.

We acknowledge the views of those among us who favour a policy of
isolation, and will retain it as an option should it appear the possessed
are gaining the upper hand. But to be left alone in the universe after
the possessed remove the Adamist planets and asteroids they have
conquered is not a future we consider to be optimum. This threat must be
faced in conjunction with the entire human race. We are the problem, we
must cure ourselves.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Louise Kavanagh woke to the blessed smell of fresh clean linen, the
pleasing sensation of crisp sheets pressing against her. When she opened
her eyes the room she found herself in was even larger than her bedroom
back at Cricklade. On the opposite wall, thick curtains were drawn across
the windows, permitting very little light to enter. The gloomy chinks
didnt even tell her what colour the light outside was. And that was
tremendously important.

Louise pushed back the sheets and padded over the pile carpet to draw one
of the high curtains. Dukes golden haze surged in. She studied the sky
anxiously, but it was a clear day outside. There werent even any rain
clouds, and certainly none of the spirals of gauzy red mist. She had seen
her fill of that banshees breath yesterday as the aeroambulance flew
across Kesteven, broad translucent whorls of it swirling above every town
and village they passed. Streets, houses, and fields below the downy
substance were all tarnished a lurid carmine.

Theyre not here yet, Louise thought in relief. But theyll come, sure as
winter.

Norwich had been a city in panic when they arrived yesterday, though the
authorities werent entirely sure what they were panicking over. The only
news which had reached the capital from islands afflicted by the
relentless march of the possessed were muddled claims of uprisings and
invasions by offworld forces carrying strange weapons. But the
Confederation Navy squadron orbiting Norfolk assured the Prince and Prime
Minister that no invasion had occurred.

Nonetheless a full mobilization of the Ramsey island militias had been
ordered. Troops were digging in around the capital. Plans were being
drawn up to free those islands like Kesteven which had been lost to the
enemy.

Ivan Cantrell had been ordered to land his plane on a remote part of the
citys aerodrome. Soldiers had surrounded the vehicle as they touched
down, nervous men in ill-fitting khaki uniforms, squeezing the stocks of
rifles which had been antique back in their grandfathers time. But
dotted among them were several Confederation Navy Marines, clad in sleek
one-piece suits which seemed like an outgrowth of rubbery skin. And their
dull black weapons were definitely not obsolete. Louise suspected a
single shot from one of those blank muzzles would be quite capable of
destroying the aeroambulance.

The soldiers had calmed considerably when the Kavanagh sisters had
climbed down the planes airstairs followed by Felicia Cantrell and her
girls. Their commanding officer, a captain called Lester-Swindell,
accepted that they were refugees, but it took another two hours of being
questioned before they had been cleared. At the end Louise had to call
Aunt Celina to come and vouch for her and Genevieve. She really hadnt
wanted to, but by that time there was little choice. Aunt Celina was
Mothers elder sister, and Louise never could quite believe the two could
be related: the woman was completely brainless, a simpering airhead
concerned only with the season and shopping. But Aunt Celina was married
to Jules Hewson, the Earl of Luffenham, and he was a senior advisor to
the Princes court. If the Kavanagh name didnt carry quite the weight
here on Ramsey which it did on Kesteven, his certainly did.

Two minutes after Aunt Celina had blustered and whined her way into the
office, Louise and Genevieve were outside being bundled into her
carriage. Fletcher Christiana Cricklade farmhand who helped us escape,
Auntiewas told to ride on the bench with the driver. Louise wanted to
protest, but Fletcher gave her a wink and bowed deeply to Aunt Celina.

Louise dropped her gaze from the unblemished sky over Norwich. Balfern
House was in the centre of Brompton, the most exclusive borough of the
capital city, but even so it stood in its own extensive grounds. There
had been two policemen on duty outside the iron gates as they drove in
yesterday evening.

Safe for the moment, then, she told herself. Except she had brought one
of the possessed right into the heart of the capital. Into the core of
government, in fact.

But Fletcher Christian was her secret, hers and Genevieves; and Gen
wouldnt tell. It was funny, but she trusted Fletcher now, more so than
the Earl and the Prime Minister. He had already proved he would and could
protect her from the other possessed. And she in turn was charged with
protecting Genevieve. Because Heaven knows the militia soldiers and
Confederation marines couldnt, not against them.

She slumped her shoulders and walked the length of the room, pulling back
the remaining curtains. What do I do next? Tell people the truth about
what theyre facing? I can just imagine Uncle Jules listening to that.
Hell think Im hysterical. Yet if they dont know, theyll never be able
to protect themselves.

It was a horrible dilemma. And to think, shed expected her problems to
end once they reached the safety of the capital. That something would be
done. That we could rescue Mummy and Daddy. A schoolgirl dream.

Carmithas shotgun was resting against the side of the bed. Louise smiled
fondly at the weapon. Aunt Celina had fussed so when she insisted on
bringing it with them from the aerodrome, bleating that Young Ladies
simply did not know about such things, let alone carry them on their
person.

It was going to go hard on Aunt Celina when the possessed caught up with
her. Louises smile faded. Fletcher, she decided. I must ask Fletcher
what to do next.



Louise found Genevieve sitting in the middle of her bed in the next room,
knees tucked up under her chin, sulking silently. They both took one look
at each other and burst out laughing. The maids, on Aunt Celinas strict
instruction, had provided them with the most fanciful dresses, brightly
coloured silk and velvet fabrics with huge ruffed skirts and puffball
sleeves.

Come on. Louise took her little sisters hand. Lets get out of this
madhouse.

Aunt Celina was taking breakfast in the long glass-walled morning room
which looked out over the gardens lily ponds. She sat at the head of the
teak table, an old world empress marshalling her troops of liveried
manservants and starch-uniformed maids. A gaggle of overweight corgies
snuffled hopefully around her chair to be rewarded with the odd tidbit of
toast or bacon.

Oh, thats so much better, she declared when the sisters were ushered
in. You did look simply awful yesterday. Why I barely recognized you.
Those dresses are so much prettier. And your hair is so shiny now,
Louise. You look a picture.

Thank you, Aunt Celina, Louise said.

Sit down, my dear, and do tuck in. Why you must be famished after such a
terrible ordeal. Such dreadful things youve seen and endured, more than
any gal I know. I gave thanks to God last night that you both reached us
in one piece.

One of the maids put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Louise. She
felt her stomach curdle alarmingly. Oh, please Jesus, dont let me throw
up now. Just some toast, please, she managed to say.

You remember Roberto, dont you, Louise? Aunt Celina said. Her voice
became slippery with pride. My dear son, and such a strapping lad, too.

Louise glanced at the boy sitting at the other end of the table, munching
his way through a pile of bacon, eggs, and kidneys. Roberto was a couple
of years older than she was. They hadnt got on the last time he visited
Cricklade. He never seemed to want to do anything. And now hed put on at
least another stone and a half, most of it around his middle.

Their eyes met. He was giving her what she now called the William
Elphinstone look. And the dratted dress with its tight bodice flattered
her figure.

She was rather surprised when her steely stare made him blush and shift
his gaze hurriedly back to his plate. Ive got to get out of here, she
thought, out of this house, this city, away from these stupid bovine
people, and most of all out of this bloody dress. I dont need Fletcher
to tell me that.

I never did know why your mother went to live on Kesteven, Aunt Celina
said. Its such a wild island. She should have stayed here in the city.
Could have had her pick of the court, you know, your dear mother. Divine
creature she was, simply divine when she was younger. Just like you two.
And now who knows what dreadful things have happened to her in this
horrid rebellion. I told her to stay, but she simply wouldnt listen.
Wild, it is. Wild. I hope the navy squadron shoots every one of those
savages. They should cleanse Kesteven, laser it clean right down to the
bedrock. Then you two darlings can come and live here safely with me.
Wont that be wonderful?

Theyll come here, too, an indignant Genevieve said. You cant stop
them, you know. Nobody can.

Louise jabbed her with a toe and glared. Genevieve simply shrugged and
tucked into her eggs.

Aunt Celina blanched theatrically, her handkerchief flapping in front of
her face. Why, my darling child, what a simply dreadful thing to say.
Oh, your mother should never have left the capital. Gals are brought up
properly here.

Im sorry, Aunt Celina, Louise said swiftly. Neither of us is thinking
straight right now. Not after . . . you know.

Of course I understand. You must both visit a doctor. I should have
summoned one last night. Goodness knows what you picked up tramping
around the countryside for days on end.

No! A doctor would discover her pregnancy in minutes. And Heaven knows
how Aunt Celina would react to that. Thank you, Aunt Celina. But really,
its nothing a few days rest wont cure. I was thinking, we could tour
Norwich now were here. It would be a real treat for us. She smiled
winningly. Please, Aunt Celina.

Yes. Please may we? Genevieve chipped in.

I dont know, Aunt Celina said. This is hardly the time for
sightseeing, what with the militias forming up. And I promised Hermione I
would attend the Red Cross meeting today. One must do what one can to
support our brave menfolk in such times. I really cant spare the time to
show you around.

I could, Roberto said. Id enjoy it. His eyes were lingering on
Louise again.

Dont be silly, darling, Aunt Celina said. You have school today.

Fletcher Christian could chaperone us, Louise said quickly. Hes more
than proved his worth. Wed be completely safe. From the corner of her
eye she could see Roberto frowning.

Well

Please! Genevieve wheedled. I want to buy you some flowers, youve
been so kind.

Aunt Celina clasped her hands together. Oh, you are a little treasure,
arent you. I always wanted a little gal of my own, you know. Of course
you can go.

Louise blew her cheeks out in thanks. She could just imagine what would
have happened if theyd tried pulling that routine on Mother. Genevieve
had gone back to her eggs, her face a perfect composure of purity.

At the other end of the table, Roberto was chewing thoughtfully on his
third slice of toast.



The sisters found Fletcher Christian in the servants quarters. With so
many of Balfern Houses staff called away to their militia regiments he
had been put to work by the cook bringing sacks up from the storerooms.

He gave both girls a measured look as he lowered a big string bag of
carrots onto the kitchen floor and bowed gracefully. How splendid you
look, my young ladies, so refined. I always imagined you more suited to
finery such as this.

Louise gave him a very sharp stare. And then they were grinning at each
other.

Aunt Celina has lent us the use of a carriage, she said in her grandest
tone. And shes also given you leave to accompany us, my man. Of course,
should you prefer to remain here doing what you seem to do so well . . .

Ah, my lady Louise, I see you are a cruel one. But justly do I deserve
such mockery. It would be my honour to accompany you.

He picked up his jacket under the disapproving gaze of the cook, and
followed Louise out of the kitchen. Genevieve picked up her skirt hems
and ran on ahead of them through the house.

The little one seems none the worse for all she has been through,
Fletcher observed.

Yes, thank the Lord. Was it truly awful for you last night? Louise
asked once they were out of earshot of the other servants.

The room was dry and warm. Ive made my bunk in sorrier circumstances.

I apologize for bringing you here, Id forgotten quite how bad Aunt
Celina was. But I couldnt think of anyone else who could extract us from
the aerodrome as quickly.

Pay it no further heed, my lady. Your aunt is a model of enlightenment
compared to some of the matrons I knew in my own youth.

Fletcher. She put her hand on his arm and slowed their pace. Are they
here?

His sturdy features turned melancholy. Yes, my lady Louise. I can feel
several dozen encamped throughout the city. And their numbers grow with
every passing hour. It will take many days, perhaps a week. But Norwich
will surely fall.

Oh, dear Jesus, when will this ever end?

She was aware of his arm around her as she trembled. Hating herself for
being weak. Oh, where are you, Joshua? I need you.

Speak not of evil, and it will pay you no heed, Fletcher said softly.

Really?

So my mother assured me.

Was she right?

His fingers touched her chin, tilting her face up. That was a long time
ago, and far away. But today I think if we avoid their attentions, then
you will remain out of harms way for longer.

Very well. Ive been giving this some serious thought, you know; how to
keep Genevieve and the baby truly safe. And theres only one way to do
it.

Yes, my lady?

Leave Norfolk.

I see.

Its not going to be easy. Will you help me?

You do not have to ask that of me, lady, you know I will offer you and
the little one what aid I can.

Thank you, Fletcher. The other thing was: Do you want to come with us?
Im going to try and reach Tranquillity. I know someone there who can
help us. If anyone can, she added silently.

Tranquillity?

Yes, its a sort of palace in space, orbiting a star a long way away
from here.

Ah, lady, what a temptress you are. To sail the stars I once sailed by.
How could I resist such a request?

Good, she whispered.

I imply no criticism, Lady Louise. But do you really know how to prepare
for such an endeavour?

I think so. There was one thing I learned from both Daddy and Joshua,
Carmitha, too, in a way; and that is: Money makes everything possible.

Fletcher smiled respectfully. A worthy saying. And do you have this
money?

Not on me, no. But Im a Kavanagh, I can get it.


Chapter 06
==========


Ione Saldanas palatial cliff-base apartment was empty now, apart from
herself; the guests from the Tranquillity Banking Regulatory Council had
been ushered out politely but insistently. The convivial party most
definitely over. And they had known better than to argue. Unfortunately,
they were also astute enough to know they wouldnt be turned out unless
it was a real crisis. Word would already be spreading down the length of
the giant habitat.

She had reduced the output of the ceilings electrophorescent cells to a
sombre starlight glimmer. It allowed her to see out through the glass
wall which held back the sea, revealing a silent world composed entirely
from shades of aquamarine. And now even that was darkening as the
habitats light tube allowed night to claim the interior. Fish were
reduced to stealthy shadows slithering among the prickly coral branches.

When Ione was younger she had spent hours staring out at the antics of
the fish and sand-crawling creatures. Now she sat cross-legged on the
apricot moss carpet before her private theatre of life, Augustine nesting
contentedly in her lap. She stroked the little xenocs velvety fur
absently, eyes closed to the world.

<< We can still send a squadron of patrol blackhawks after Mzu,
>>Tranquillity suggested. << I am aware of the Udats wormhole terminus
coordinate. >>

<< So are the other blackhawks, >>she replied. << But its their crews I
worry about. Once theyre away from our SD platforms, there really is
nothing we can do to enforce their loyalty. Mzu would try to make a deal
with them. Shed probably succeed, too. Shes proved astonishingly
resourceful so far. Fancy even lulling us into complacency. >>

<< I was not complacent, >>the habitat personality said irksomely. << I
was caught off guard by the method. Which in itself I find disturbing. It
implies a great deal of thought went into her escape. One wonders what
her next move will be. >>

<< Ive got a pretty good idea, unfortunately. Shell go for the
Alchemist. Theres no other reason for her to behave like this. And after
shes got it: Omuta. >>

<< Indeed. >>

<< So no, we dont send the blackhawks after her. She may lead them to
the Alchemist. That would give us an even worse situation than the one
weve got now. >>

<< In that case, what do you want to do about the intelligence agency
teams? >>

<< Im not sure. How are they reacting? >>



Lady Tessa, the head of the ESAs Tranquillity station, had been badly
frightened by the news of Alkad Mzus escape, a fact which she managed to
conceal behind a show of pure fury. Monica Foulkes stood in front of her
in the starscraper apartment which doubled as the ESA teams
headquarters. She had reported to Lady Tessa in person rather than use
the habitats communications net. Not that Tranquillity was unaware
(hardly!), but there were a great number of organizations and governments
who knew nothing of Mzus existence, nor the implications arising from it.



It was twenty-three minutes since the physicists escape, and a form of
delayed shock had begun to infiltrate Monicas body as her subconscious
acknowledged just how lucky shed been to avoid vanishing down the Udats
wormhole. Her neural nanonics were helpless to prevent the cold shivers
which spiralled their way around her limbs and belly muscles.

I wont even dignify your performance by calling it a disaster, Lady
Tessa stormed. Great God Almighty, the principal reason were here is to
make sure she remained confined to the habitat. Every agency endorses
that policy, even the bloody Lord of Ruin supports it. And you let her
stroll out right in front of you. I mean, Jesus Christ, what the hell
were you all doing on that beach? She stops to put on a spacesuit, and
you didnt even move in closer to investigate.

It was not exactly a stroll, Chief. And Id like to point out for the
record that we are just an observation team. Our operation in
Tranquillity has always been too small to guarantee Mzu remains inside
should she make a determined effort to leave, or if someone uses force to
extract her. If the agency wanted to be certain, it should have allocated
a bigger team to monitor her.

Dont datavise the rule flek at me, Foulkes. Youre boosted, youve got
weapons implantsshe flinched, and glanced up at the ceiling as though
expecting divine censureand Mzu is in her sixties. There is no way she
should have ever got near that bloody blackhawk, let alone have it snatch
her away.

The blackhawk tipped the physical balance heavily in her favour. It
simply wasnt a contingency we allowed for. Tranquillity had two
serjeants eliminated during our attempt to stop her boarding. Personally,
Im surprised the starship was allowed to swallow inside at all. Now
Monica glanced guiltily around the naked polyp walls.

Lady Tessas baleful expression didnt alter, but she did pause. I doubt
there was much it could do. As you say, that swallow manoeuvre was
completely unprecedented.

Samuel claimed that not many voidhawks could be that precise.

Thank you. Ill be sure to include that most helpful unit of data in my
report. She got up out of the chair and walked over to the oval window.
The apartment was two thirds of the way down the StEtalia starscraper,
where gravity was approaching Earth standard. It was a location which
gave her a unimpeded view across the bottom of the vast curving
burnt-biscuit-coloured habitat shell, with just a crescent of the
counter-rotating spaceport showing beyond the rim as if it were a
metallic moon rising. Today, as for the last four days, there were few
starships arriving or departing from its docking bays. Big SD platforms
glinted reassuringly against the backdrop of Mirchuskos darkside as they
caught the last of the sunlight before Tranquillity sailed into the
penumbra.

And what use would they be against the Alchemist? Lady Tessa wondered
sagely. A doomsday device thats supposed to be able to kill stars . . .

Whats our next move? Monica asked. She was rubbing her arms for warmth
in an attempt to stop the shaking. Grains of sand were still falling out
of her sweaters sleeves.

Informing the Kingdom is our primary responsibility now, Lady Tessa
said in a challenging tone. There was no reaction from the AV pillar
sticking up out of her desktop processor block. But its going to take
time for them to respond and start searching. And Mzu will know that.
Which means shes got two options, either she takes the Udat straight to
the Alchemist, or she loses herself out there. She tapped a gold-chromed
fingernail on the window as the myriad stars drifted past in slow arcs.

If she was smart enough to get away from all the agency teams tagging
her, shell know that shell never stay lost, not forever, Monica said.
Too many of us are going to be looking now.

And yet the Udat doesnt have any special equipment rigged. I checked
the CAB registry, it hasnt had any refitting for eight months. Sure, it
has got standard interfaces for combat wasp cradles and heavy-duty close
defence weapons. Almost every blackhawk has. But there was nothing
unusual.

So?

So if she does take Udat straight to the Alchemist, how will they fire
it at Omutas sun?

Do we know what equipment is necessary to fire it?

No, Lady Tessa admitted. We dont even know if it does need anything
special. But it was different, new, and unique; that means its
non-standard. Which may give us our one chance to neutralize this
situation. If there is any hardware requirement involved, shes going to
have to break cover and approach a defence contractor.

She might not have to, Monica said. Shell have friends, sympathisers;
certainly in the Dorados. She can go to them.

I hope she does. The agency has kept the Garissa survivors under
surveillance for decades, just in case any of them try to pull any stupid
revenge stunts. She turned from the window. Im sending you there to
brief their head of station. Its a reasonable assumption shell turn up
there eventually, and it may help having someone familiar with her on the
ground.

Monica nodded in defeat. Yes, Chief.

Dont look so tragic. Im the one whos going to have to report back to
Kulu and tell the director we lost her. Youre getting off lightly.



The meeting in the Confederation Navy Bureau on the forty-fifth floor of
the StMichelle starscraper was synchronous with that of the ESA in both
time and content. In the bureau it was an aghast Commander Olsen Neale
who accessed the sensevise memory of Mzus abrupt exit from the habitat
as recorded by a thoroughly despondent Pauline Webb.

When the file ended he asked a few supplemental questions and came to the
same conclusions as Lady Tessa. We can assume she has access to the kind
of money necessary to buy whatever systems she needs to use the
Alchemist, and install them in a combat-capable ship, he said. But I
dont think itll be the Udat; thats too high profile now. Every navy
ship and government is going to be hunting it inside a week.

Do you think the Alchemist really does exist then, sir? Pauline asked.

CNIS has always believed so, even though it could never track down any
solid evidence. And after this, I dont think there can be any doubt.
Even if it wasnt stored in zero-tau, dont forget she knows how to build
another one. Another hundred, come to that.

Pauline hung her head. Shit, but we screwed up big-time.

Yes. I always thought we were a little overdependent on the Lord of
Ruins benevolence in keeping her here. He made a finger-fluttering
gesture with one hand and muttered: No offence.

The AV pillar on his desktop processor block sparkled momentarily. None
taken, said Tranquillity.

We also got complacent with how static the whole situation had become.
You were quite right when you said shed fooled us for a quarter of a
century. Bloody hell, but that is an awful long time to keep a charade
going. Anyone who can hate for that long isnt going to be fooling
around. Shes gone because she thinks she has a good chance to use the
Alchemist against Omuta.

Yes, sir.

Olsen Neale made an effort to suppress his worry and formulate some kind
of coherent response to the situationone he didnt have a single
contingency plan for. No one at CNIS ever believed she could actually
escape. Ill leave for Trafalgar right away. Our first priority is to
inform Admiral Lalwani that Mzus gone, so she can start activating our
assets to find her. Then the First Admiral will have to beef up Omutas
defences. Damn, thats another squadron which the navy cant spare, not
now.

The Laton scare will make it difficult for her to travel, Pauline said.

Lets hope so. But just in case, I want you to go to the Dorados and
alert our bureau that she may put in an appearance soon.



Samuel, of course, didnt have to physically meet with the other three
Edenist intelligence operatives in the habitat. They simply conferred
with each other via affinity, then Samuel and a colleague called Tringa
headed for the spaceport. Samuel chartered a starship to take him to the
Dorados, while Tringa found one which would convey him to Jupiter so he
could warn the Consensus.



The same scenario was played out by the other eight national intelligence
agency teams assigned to watch Mzu. In each case, it was decided that
alerting their respective directors was the primary requirement; three of
them also dispatched operatives to the Dorados to watch for Mzu.

The spaceport charter agents who had been suffering badly from the lack
of flights brought on by the Laton scare suddenly found business picking
up.



<< So now you have to decide if youre going to allow them to inform
their homeworlds, >>Tranquillity said. << For once the word gets out, you
will be unable to control further events. >>

<< I didnt really control events before. I was like an umpire insuring
fair play. >>

<< Well now is your chance to get down off your stool and take part in
the game. >>

<< Dont tempt me. I have enough problems right now with the Laymils
reality dysfunction. If dear Grandfather Michael was right, that may yet
turn out to be a lot more trouble than Mzus Alchemist. >>

<< I concede the point. But I do need to know if I am to permit the
agency operatives to depart. >>

Ione opened her eyes to look through the window, but the water outside
was sable-black now, there was nothing to see apart from a weak
reflection of herself in the glass. For the first time in her life she
began to understand what loneliness was.

<< You have me, >>Tranquillity assured her gently.

<< I know. But in a way you are a part of me. It would be nice to have
someone elses shoulder to lean on occasionally. >>

<< A someone such as Joshua? >>

<< Dont be so bitchy. >>

<< Im sorry. Why dont you ask Clement to come to the apartment? He
makes you happy. >>

<< He makes me orgasm, you mean. >>

<< Is there a difference? >>

<< Yes, but dont ask me to explain it. Its just that Im looking for
more than physical contentment right now. These are big decisions Im
making here. They could affect millions of people, hundreds of millions.
>>

<< You have known this time would come ever since you were conceived. It
is what your life is for. >>

<< Most of the Saldanas, yes. They make a dozen decisions like this
before lunch every day. Not me. I think the familys arrogance gene might
be inactive in my case. >>

<< It is more likely to be a hormonal imbalance due to your pregnancy
which is making you procrastinate. >>

She laughed out loud, the sound echoing around the vast room. << You
really dont understand the difference between your thought processes and
mine, do you? >>

<< I believe I do. >>

Ione had the silliest vision of a two-kilometre-long nose sniffing
disdainfully. Her laugh turned to a giggle. << Okay, no more
procrastination. Lets be logical. We blew it with safeguarding Mzu, and
now shes presumably on her way to exterminate Omutas star. And you and
I certainly dont have the kind of resources available to the ESA and
other agencies to track her down and stop her. Right? >>

<< An elegant summary. >>

<< Thank you. Therefore, the best chance to stop her will be to let the
intelligence community off the leash. >>

<< Granted. >>

<< Then we let them out. At least that way Omuta stands a chance of
survival. I dont think I really want a genocide on my conscience. Nor, I
suspect, do you. >>

<< Very well. I will not restrict their starships from departing. >>

<< Which just leaves us with whats going to happen afterwards. If they
do catch her, someone is going to wind up with the technology to build
Alchemist devices. As Monica said on the beach, every government will
want it to safeguard their own particular version of democracy. >>

<< Yes. The old term for a nation acquiring such an overwhelming military
advantage is a superpower. At the very least, the emergence of such a
nation will result in an arms race as other governments try to acquire
the Alchemist technology, which will not benefit the general
Confederation economy. And if they succeed, the Confederation will be
plunged into a deterrence cycle, a balance of terror. >>

<< And it was all my fault. >>

<< Not quite. Dr Alkad Mzu invented the Alchemist. From that moment on
all subsequent events were inevitable. There is a saying that once you
have released the genie from the bottle, he cannot be put back. >>

<< Maybe not. But it wouldnt hurt to have a go. >>



                                 ?   ?   ?



From the air Avons capital, Regina, was almost indistinguishable from
any big city on a fully developed and industrialized planet within the
Confederation. A dark gritty stain of buildings which crept a little
further outwards into the green countryside with every passing year. Only
the steeper hill slopes and crinkled watercourses inconvenienced the
encroachment to any degree, although in the central districts even they
had been tamed with metal and carbon concrete. Again, as normal, a clump
of skyscrapers occupied the very heart of the city, forming the
commercial, financial, and government administration district. A lavish
display of crystal spires, thick composite cylinders, and gloss-metal
neo-modern towers, reflecting the planets economic strength.

The one exception to the standard urban layout was a second, smaller
cluster of silver and white skyscrapers occupying the shore of a long
lake on the citys easternmost district. Like the Forbidden City of
ancient Chinese Emperors, it existed aloof from the rest of Regina, yet
it held sway over billions of lives. Home to one and a half million
people, it was sixteen square kilometres of foreign diplomatic compounds,
embassies, legal firms, multistellar corporation offices, navy barracks,
executive agencies, media studios, and a thousand catering and leisure
company franchises. This overcrowded, overpriced, bureaucratic
mother-hive formed a protective ring around the Assembly building which
straddled the lakeshore, itself looking more like a domed sports stadium
than the very seat of the Confederation.

The stadium analogy was continued inside the main chamber, with tiered
ranks of seats circling the central polity council table. First Admiral
Samual Aleksandrovich always likened it to a gladiatorial arena, where
the current polity council members had to present and defend their
resolutions. It was ninety per cent theatre; but politicians, even in
this day and age, clung to the public stage.

As one of the four permanent members of the polity council, the First
Admiral had the right and authority to summon a full session of the
Assembly. It was a right which earlier First Admirals had exercised only
three times in the Confederations history; twice to request additional
vessels from member states to prevent inter-system wars, and once to ask
for the resources to track down Laton.

Samual Aleksandrovich hadnt envisaged himself being number four. But
there really hadnt been time to consult with the President after the
voidhawk from Atlantis arrived at Trafalgar. And after reviewing the
report it carried, Samual Aleksandrovich was convinced that time was a
crucial issue. Mere hours could make a colossal difference if the
possessed were to be prevented from infiltrating unsuspecting worlds.

So now here he was in his dress uniform walking towards the polity
council table under the bright lights shining out of a black marble
ceiling, Captain Khanna on one side, Admiral Lalwani on the other. The
chambers tiers were full of diplomats and aides shuffling to their
designated seats, their combined grumbling sounding like a couple of
bulldozers attacking the foundations. A glance upwards showed him the
media gallery was packed. Everybody wanted in on the phenomenon.

You wouldnt if you knew, he thought emphatically.

The President, Olton Haaker, wearing his traditional Arab robe, took his
seat at the oaken horseshoe table along with the other members of the
polity council. Samual Aleksandrovich thought Haaker looked nervous. It
was a telling sign; the old Breznikan was a superb, not to mention wily,
diplomat. This was his second five-year term of office; and only four of
the last fifteen Presidents had managed to gain renomination.

Rittagu-FHU, the Tyrathca ambassador, walked imperiously across the
chamber floor, minute particles of bronze-coloured powder shaking out of
her scales to dust the tiles below her. She reached one end of the table
and eased her large body onto a broad cradle arrangement. Her mate hooted
softly at her from a similar cradle in the front tier.

Samual Aleksandrovich wished it were the Kiint who held the xenoc polity
council seat this term. The two xenoc member races alternated every three
years, although there were those in the Assembly who said that the xenocs
should join the rota for the polity council seats like every human
government had to.

The Assembly speaker called for silence, and announced that the First
Admiral had been granted the floor under article nine of the
Confederation Charter. As he got to his feet, Samual Aleksandrovich
studied the blocks in the tiers which he would have to carry. The
Edenists, of course, he already had. Earths Govcentral would probably
follow the Edenists, given their strong alliance. Other key powers were
Oshanko, New Washington, Nanjing, Holstein, Petersburg, and, inevitably,
the Kulu Kingdom, which probably had the most undue influence of alland
thank God the Saldanas were keen supporters of the Confederation.

In a way he was angry that an issue as vital as this (surely the most
vital in human history?) would be dependent on who was speaking with
whom, whose ideologies clashed, whose religions denounced the other. The
whole point of ethnic streaming colonies, as Earth had painfully
discovered centuries ago during the Great Dispersal, was that foreign
cultures can live harmoniously with each other providing they didnt have
to live jammed together on the same planet. And the Assembly allowed that
wider spirit of cooperation to continue and flourish. In theory.

I have asked for this session because I wish to call for a full state of
emergency to be declared, Samual Aleksandrovich said. Unfortunately,
what started off as the Laton situation has now become immeasurably
graver. If you would care to access the sensevise account which has just
arrived from Atlantis. He datavised the main processor to play the
recording.

Diplomats they might have been, but even their training couldnt help
them maintain poker faces as the events of Pernik island unravelled
inside their skulls. The First Admiral waited impassively as the gasps
and grimaces appeared simultaneously throughout the chamber. It took a
quarter of an hour to run, and many broke off during the playback to
check the reactions of their colleagues, or perhaps even to make sure
they were receiving the right recording, and not some elaborate
horrorsense.

Olton Haaker got to his feet when it finished, and stared at Samual
Aleksandrovich for a long time before speaking. The First Admiral
wondered exactly how he was taking it, the Presidents Muslim faith was a
strong one. Just what does he think about djinns coming forth?

Are you certain this information is genuine? the President asked.

Samual Aleksandrovich signalled Admiral Lalwani, the CNIS chief, who was
sitting in one of the chairs behind him. She got to her feet. We vouch
for its authenticity, she said, and sat down again.

A number of intense stares were directed at Cayeaux, the Edenist
ambassador, who bore them stoically.

How typical to blame the messenger, the First Admiral thought.

Very well, what exactly are you proposing we should do? the President
asked.

Firstly, the vote for a state of emergency will provide a considerable
reserve of national naval ships for the Confederation Navy, the First
Admiral said. We shall require all those national squadrons pledged to
us to be transferred over to their respective Confederation fleets as
soon as possible. Preferably within a week. That didnt go down well,
but he was ready for it. Combating the threat we now face cannot be
achieved by confronting it in a piecemeal fashion. Our response has to be
swift and overwhelming. That can only be achieved with the full strength
of the navy.

But to what end? the Govcentral ambassador asked. What possible
solution can you provide for the dead coming back? You cant be
considering killing those who are possessed.

No, we cannot do that, the First Admiral acknowledged. And
unfortunately they know it, which will provide them with a huge
advantage. We are faced with what is essentially the greatest hostage
scenario ever. So I propose we do what we always do in such situations,
and that is play for time while a genuine solution is found. While I have
no idea what that will be, the overall policy we must adopt I consider to
be very clear-cut. We must prevent the problem from spreading beyond
those star systems in which it has already taken hold. To that end, I
would ask for a further resolution requiring the cessation of all civil
and commercial starflights, effective immediately. The number of flights
has already been reduced sharply because of the Laton crisis; reducing it
to zero should not prove difficult. Once a Confederation-wide quarantine
is imposed, it will become easier to target our forces where they will be
most effective.

What do you mean, effective? the President demanded. You just said we
cannot consider an armed response.

No, sir, I said we cannot consider it as the ultimate solution. What it
can, and must, be used for is to prevent the spread of possessed from
star systems which they have infiltrated. If they ever manage to conquer
an industrialized system, they will undoubtedly commit its full potential
against us to further their aim; which, as Laton has told us, is total
annexation. We have to be ready to match that, probably on several
separate fronts. If we do not they will multiply at an exponential rate,
and the entire Confederation will fall, every living human will become
possessed.

Are you saying we just abandon star systems that have been taken over?

We must isolate them until we have a solution which works. I already
have a science team examining the possessed woman we hold in Trafalgar.
Hopefully their research may produce some answers.

A loud murmur of consternation spiralled around the tiers at that
disclosure.

You have one captured? the President inquired in surprise.

Yes, sir. We didnt know exactly what she was until the voidhawk from
Atlantis came. But now we do, our investigation can proceed along more
purposeful lines.

I see. The President seemed at a loss. He glanced at the speaker, who
inclined his head.

I second the motion of the First Admiral for a state of emergency, the
President said formally.

One vote down, eight hundred to go, Admiral Lalwani whispered.

The speaker rang the silver bell on the table in front of him. As, at
this time, there would seem little to add to the information the First
Admiral has presented to us, I will now call upon those here present to
cast their votes on the resolution before you.

Rittagu-FHU emitted a piping hoot and rose to her feet. Her thick head
swung around to look at the First Admiral, a motion which sent the
chemical program teats along her neck bobbling, delivering a leathery
slapping sound. She worked her double lips elaborately, producing a
prolonged gabble. Speaker statement not true, the translator block on
the table said. I have much to add. Elemental humans, dead humans; these
are not part of Tyrathca nature. We did not know such things were
possible for you. We impugn these assaults upon what is real today. If
you all have this ability to become elemental, then you all threaten the
Tyrathca. This is frightening for us. We must withdraw from contact with
humans.

I assure you, Ambassador, we did not know of this ourselves, the
President said. It frightens us as much as it does you. I would ask you
to retain at least some lines of communication until this situation can
be resolved.

Rittagu-FHUs fluting reply was translated as: Who says this?

Olton Haakers weary face reflected his puzzlement. He flicked a glance
at his equally uncertain aides. I do.

But who speaks?

Im sorry, Ambassador, I dont understand.

You say you speak. Who are you? I see Olton Haaker standing here today,
as he has stood many times. I do not know if it is Olton Haaker. I do not
know if it is an elemental human.

I assure you Im not! the President spluttered.

I do not know that. What is the difference? She turned her gaze on the
First Admiral, big glassy eyes displaying no emotions he could ever
understand. Is there a way of knowing?

There seems to be a localized disturbance of electronic systems in the
presence of anyone possessed, he said. Thats the only method of
detection we have now. But were working on other techniques.

You do not know.

The possessions started on Lalonde. The first starship to reach here
from that planet was Ilex, and it came directly. We can be safe in
assuming that no one in the Avon system has been possessed yet.

You do not know.

Samual Aleksandrovich couldnt answer. Im sure, but the damn creature is
right. Certainty is no longer possible. But then humans have never needed
absolutes to convince themselves. The Tyrathca have, and its a
difference which divides us far greater than our biology.

When he appealed silently to the President, he met a blank face. Very
calmly, he said: I do not know.

There was a subliminal suggestion of a mass sigh from the tiers, maybe
even resentment.

But I did what was right, I answered her on her own terms.

I express gratitude that you speak the truth, Rittagu-FHU said. Now I
do what is my task in this place, and speak for my race. The Tyrathca
this day end our contact with all humans. We will leave your worlds. Do
not come to ours.

Rittagu-FHU stretched out a long arm, and a nine-fingered circular hand
switched off her translator block. She hooted to her mate, and together
they made their way to the exit.

The vast chamber was utterly silent as the door slid shut behind them.

Olton Haaker cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and faced the
Kiint ambassador who was standing passively in the bottom tier. If you
wish to leave us, Ambassador Roulor, then of course we shall provide
every assistance in returning you and the other Kiint ambassadors to your
homeworld. This is a human problem after all, we do not wish to
jeopardize our fruitful relationship by endangering you.

One of the snow-white Kiints tractamorphic arms uncurled to hold up a
small processor block, its AV projection pillar produced a moir sparkle.
Being alive is a substantial risk, Mr President, Roulor said. Danger
always balances enjoyment. To find one, you must face and know the other.
And you are wrong in saying that it is a human problem. All sentient
races eventually discover the truth of death.

You mean you knew? Olton Haaker asked, his diplomatic demeanour badly
broken.

We are aware of our nature, yes. We confronted it once, a great time
ago, and we survived. Now you must do the same. We cannot help you in
this struggle which you are facing, but we do sympathise.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Starflight traffic to Valisk was dropping off; ten per cent in two days.
Even though Rubras subsidiary thought routines managed the habitats
traffic control, the statistic hadnt registered with his principal
personality. It was the economics of the shortfall which finally alerted
him. The flights were all scheduled charters, bringing components to the
industrial stations of his precious Magellanic Itg company. None of them
were blackhawk flights from his own fleet, it was only Adamist ships.

Curious, he reviewed all the news fleks delivered by those starships
which had arrived recently, searching for a reason, some crisis or
emergency in another section of the Confederation. He drew a blank.

It was only when his principal personality routine made its weekly
routine check on Fairuza that Rubra realized something was wrong inside
the habitat as well. Fairuza was another of his protgs, a
ninth-generation descendant who had showed promise from an early age.

Promise, as defined by Rubra, consisted principally of the urge to exert
himself as leader of the other boys at the day club, snatching the
biggest share, be it of sweets or game processor time, a certain cruel
streak with regards to pets, contempt for his timid, loving parents. It
marked him down as a greedy, short-tempered, bullying, disobedient,
generally nasty little boy. Rubra was delighted.

When Fairuza reached ten years of age, the slow waves of encouragement
began to twist their way into his psyche. Dark yearnings to go further, a
feeling of righteousness, a sense of destiny, a quite insufferable ego.
It was all due to Rubras silent desires oozing continually into his
skull.

The whole moulding process had gone wrong so often in the past. Valisk
was littered with the neurotic detritus of Rubras earlier attempts to
create a dynamic ruthless personality in what he considered his own
image. He wanted so much to forge such a creature, someone worthy to
command Magellanic Itg. And for two hundred years he had endured the
humiliation of his own flesh and blood failing him time and again.

But Fairuza had a resilient quality which was rare among his diverse
family members. So far he had displayed few of the psychological
weaknesses which ruined all the others. Rubra had hopes for him, almost
as many hopes as he once had for Dariat.

However, when Rubra summoned the sub-routine which monitored the
fourteen-year-old youth, nothing happened. A giant ripple of surprise ran
down the entire length of the habitats neural strata. Servitor animals
flinched and juddered as it passed below them. Thick muscle rings
regulating the flow of fluids inside the huge network of nutrient
capillaries and water channels buried deep in the polyp shell spasmed,
creating surges and swirls which took the autonomic routines over half an
hour to calm and return to normal. All eight thousand of Rubras
descendants shivered uncontrollably, and for no reason they could
understand, even the children who had no knowledge of their true nature
yet.

For a moment, Rubra didnt know what to do. His personality was
distributed evenly through the habitats neural strata, a condition the
original designers of Eden had called a homogenized presence. Every
routine and sub-routine and autonomic routine was at once whole and
separate. All perceptual information received by any sensitive cell was
immediately disseminated for storage uniformly along the strata. Failure,
any failure, was inconceivable.

Failure meant his own thoughts were malfunctioning. His mind, the one
true aspect of self left to him, was flawed.

After surprise, inevitably, came fear. There could be few reasons for
such a disaster. He might finally be succumbing to high-level
psychological disorders. It was a condition the Edenists always predicted
he would develop after enduring centuries of loneliness coupled with
frustration at his inability to find a worthy heir.

He began to design a series of entirely new routines which would analyse
his own mental architecture. Like undercover wraiths, these visitants
flashed silently through the neural strata on their missions to spy on
the performance of each sub-routine without it being aware, reporting
back on his own performance.

A list of flaws began to emerge. They made a strange compilation. Some
sub-routines, like Fairuzas monitor, were missing completely, others
were inactive, then there were instances of memory dissemination being
blocked. The lack of any logical pattern bothered him. Rubra didnt doubt
that he was under attack, but it was a most peculiar method of assault.
However, one aspect of the attack was perfectly clear: whoever was behind
the disruptions had a perfect understanding of both affinity and a
habitats thought routines. He couldnt believe it was the Edenists, not
them with their repugnant superiority. They considered time to be their
premier weapon against him; the Kohistan Consensus was of the opinion
that he could not sustain himself for more than a few centuries. And a
covert undeclared war on someone who didnt threaten them was an
inconceivable breach of their cultures ethics. No, it had to be someone
else. Someone more intimate.

Rubra reviewed the monitor sub-routines which had been rendered inactive.
There were seven; six of them were assigned to ordinary descendants, all
of them under twenty; as they werent yet involved with Magellanic Itg
they didnt require anything more than basic observation to keep an eye
on them. But the seventh . . . Rubra hadnt bothered to examine him at
any time during the last fifteen years of their thirty-year estrangement,
his greatest ever failure: Dariat.

The intimation was profoundly shocking: that somehow Dariat had achieved
a degree of control over the habitat routines. But then Dariat had
managed to block all Rubras attempts to gain access to his mind through
affinity ever since that fateful day thirty years ago. Dariat, for all
his massive imperfections, was unique.

Rubra reacted to the revelation by erecting safeguards all around his
primary personality pattern; input filters which would scrutinize all the
information reaching him for trojan viruses. He wasnt certain exactly
what Dariat was trying to achieve by interfering with the sub-routines,
but he knew the man still blamed him for Anastasia Rigels death.
Ultimately Dariat would try to extract his vengeance.

What remarkable determination. It actually rivalled his own.

Rubra hadnt been so stimulated for decades. Maybe he could still
negotiate with Dariat; after all, the man was not yet fifty, there was
another half century of useful life left in him. And if they couldnt
come to an agreement, well . . . he could always be cloned. All Rubra
needed for that was a single living cell.

With his mentality as secure as he could make it, he formed a succession
of new orders. Again, they were different from anything which existed in
the neural strata before; fresh patterns, a modified routing hierarchy,
invisible to anyone accustomed to the standard thought routines. The
clandestine command went out to every optically sensitive cell, every
affinity-capable descendant, every servitor animal: find a match for
Dariats visual image.

It took seven minutes. And it wasnt quite what Rubra was expecting.

A number of the observation routines on the eighty-fifth floor of the
Kandi starscraper had been tampered with. The Kandi was used mainly by
the less wholesome of Valisks residents, which given the overall content
of the population meant that the starscraper was just about the last
resort for the real lowlife. It was in the apartment of Anders Bospoort,
vice lord and semi-professional rapist, where the greatest anomaly was
centred. One of the observation sub-routines had been altered to include
a memory segment. Instead of observing the apartment, and feeding the
processed image directly into a general event analysis routine it was
simply substituting an old visualization of the rooms for the real-time
picture.

Rubra solved the problem by wiping the old routine entirely and replacing
it with a viable one. The apartment he was now looking around was a
shambles, furniture out of place and smothered by every kind of male and
female clothing, plates of half-eaten food discarded at random, empty
bottles lying about. High-capacity Kulu Corporation processor blocks and
dozens of technical encyclopedia fleks were piled up on the tablesnot
exactly Bospoorts usual bedtime material.

With the restoration of true sight and sound came an olfactory sense; a
stiff price to pay: the feculent stink in the apartment was dreadful. The
reason for that was simple: Dariats obese corpse was lying slumped at
the foot of the bed in the master bedroom. There was no sign of foul
play, no bruising, no stab wounds, no energy beam charring. Whatever the
cause, it had left an appallingly twisted grin scrawled across his chubby
face. Rubra couldnt help but think that Dariat had actually enjoyed
dying.



Dariat was inordinately happy with his new, captive body. He had quite
forgotten what it was like to be skinny; to move fast, to slither
adroitly between the closing doors of a lift, to be able to wear proper
clothes instead of a shabby toga. And youth, of course, that was another
advantage. A more vital physique, lean and strong. That Horgan was only
fifteen years old was of no consequence, the energistic power made up for
everything. He chose the appearance of a twenty-one-year-old, a male in
his physical prime, his dark skin smooth and glossy; hair worn thick,
long, and jet-black. His clothes were white, simple cotton pantaloons and
shirt, thin enough to show off the panther flex of muscles. Nothing as
gross-out as Bospoorts ridiculous macho frame which Ross Nash wore, but
hed certainly drawn the eye of several girls.

In fact, possession with all its glories was almost enough to make him
renege on his task. Almost, but not quite. His agenda remained separate
from the others, for unlike them he wasnt scared of death, of returning
to the beyond. He believed in the spirituality Anastasia had preached,
now as never before. The beyond was only part of the mystery of dying;
Gods creativity was boundless, of course more continua existed, an
after-afterlife.

He pondered this as he walked with his fellow possessors towards the
Tacoul Tavern. The others were all desperately intent on their mission,
and so humourless.

The Tacoul Tavern was a perfect microcosm of life in Valisk. Its once
stylish black and silver crystalline interior was a form now abandoned
even by designers of retro chic; its food came out of packages where once
its cuisine was prepared by chefs in a five-star kitchen; its waitresses
were really too old for the short skirts they wore; and its clientele
neither questioned nor cared about its inexorable decline. Like most bars
it tended to attract one type of customer; in this case it was the
starship crews.

There were a couple dozen people seated at the various rock mushroom
tables when Dariat followed Kiera Salter inside. She sauntered over to
the bar and ordered a drink for herself. Two men offered to buy it for
her. While the charade played out, Dariat chose a table by the door and
studied the big room. Theyd done well; five of the drinkers had the
telltale indigo eyes of Rubras descendants, and all of them wore
shipsuits with a silver star on the epaulet: blackhawk captains.

Dariat concentrated on the observation routines operating in the neural
strata behind the taverns walls, floor, and ceiling. Abraham, Matkin,
and Graci, who also possessed affinity-capable bodies, were doing the
same thing; all four of them were sending out a multitude of subversive
commands to isolate the room and everything which happened in it from
Rubras principal personality.

He had taught them well. It took the foursome barely a minute to corrupt
the simple routines, turning the Tacoul Tavern into a perceptual null
zone. To complete the act, the muscle membrane door contracted quietly,
its grey pumicelike surface becoming an intractable barrier, sealing
everyone inside.

Kiera Salter stood up, dismissing her would-be suitors with a
contemptuous gesture. When one of them rose and started to say something,
she struck him casually, an openhanded slap across his temple. The blow
sent him flailing backwards. He struck the polyp floor hard, yelling with
pain. She laughed and blew him a kiss as he dabbed at the blood seeping
from his nose. No chance, lover boy. The long leather purse in her hand
morphed into a pump-action shotgun. She swung it around to point towards
the startled patrons, and blew one of the ceilings flickering light
globes to pieces.

Everyone ducked as splinters of pearl-white composite rained down.
Several people were attempting to datavise emergency calls into the
rooms net processor. Electronics were the first thing the possessed had
disabled.

Okay, people, Kiera announced, with a grossly stressed American twang.
This is a stickup. Dont nobody move, and shove your valuables in this
here sack.

Dariat sighed in contempt. It seemed altogether inappropriate that a
complete bitch like Kiera should possess the body of such a physically
sublime girl as Marie Skibbow. Theres no need for all this, he said.
We only came for the blackhawk captains. Lets just keep focused on
that, shall we?

Maybe theres no need, she said, but theres certainly plenty of want.

You know what, Kiera, you really are a complete asshole.

That so? She flung a bolt of white fire at him.

Waitresses and customers alike shouted in alarm and dived for cover.
Dariat just managed to deflect the bolt, thumping it aside with a fist he
imagined as a fat table tennis bat. The white fire bounced about
enthusiastically, careering off tables and chairs. But not before the
strike gave him a vicious electric shock, jangling all the nerves in his
arm.

Give the lectures a rest, Dariat, Kiera said. We do what were driven
to do.

Nobody drove you to do that. It hurt.

Oh, get real, you warped slob. Youd enjoy yourself a lot more if you
didnt have that morals bug stuffed so far up your arse.

Klaus Schiller and Matkin sniggered at his discomfort.

Youre screwing up everything with this childishness, Dariat said. If
we are to acquire the blackhawks we cannot afford your indiscipline. The
Lord Tarrug is making you dance to his tune. Contain yourself, listen to
your inner music.

She shouldered the shotgun and levelled an annoyed finger at him. One
more word of that New Age bullshit, and I swear Ill take your head clean
off. We brought you along so that you could deal with the habitat
personality, thats all. Im the one who lays down our goals. I have
concrete bloody policies; policies which are going to help us come up
trumps. Policies with attitude. What the fuck have you got to offer us,
slob? Chop away at the habitats floor for a century until we find this
Rubras brain, then stamp on it. Is that it? Is that your big, useful
plan?

No, he said with wooden calm. I keep telling you, Rubra cannot be
defeated by physical means. This policy you have for taking over the
habitat population isnt going to work until weve dealt with him. I
think were making a mistake with the blackhawks; not even their physical
power can help us beat him. And if we start taking them over, we risk
drawing attention to ourselves.

As Allah wills, Matkin muttered.

But dont you see? Dariat appealed to him. If we concentrate on
annihilating Rubra and possessing the neural strata, then we can achieve
anything. Well be like gods.

That is close to blasphemy, son, Abraham Canaan said. You should have
a little more care in what you say.

Shit. Look, godlike, okay? The point is

The point, Dariat, Kiera said, aligning the shotgun on him for
emphasis, is that you are steaming for vengeance. Dont try and plead
otherwise, because you are even insane enough to kill yourself in order
to achieve it. We know what we are doing, we are multiplying our numbers
to protect ourselves. If you dont wish to do that, then perhaps you need
a little more time in the beyond to set your mind straight.

Even as he gathered himself to argue, he realized hed lost. He could see
the blank expressions hardening around the other possessed, while his
mind simultaneously perceived their emotions chilling. Weak fools. They
really didnt care about anything other than the now. They were animals.
But animals whose help he would ultimately need.

Kiera had won again, just as she had when she insisted on him proving his
loyalty through self-sacrifice. The possessed looked to her for
leadership, not him.

All right, Dariat said. Have it your way. For now.

Thank you, Kiera said with heavy irony. She grinned, and sauntered over
to the first blackhawk captain.

During the altercation, the patrons of the Tacoul Tavern had been as
quiet as people invariably become when total strangers are discussing
your fate two metres in front of you. Now the discussion was over. Fate
decided.

The waitresses squealed, huddling together at the bar. Seven of the
starship personnel made a break for the closed muscle-membrane door. Five
actually launched themselves at the possessed, wielding whatever came to
hand: fission blades (which malfunctioned), broken bottles, nervejam
sticks (also useless), and bare fists.

White fire flared in retaliation: globes aimed at knees and ankles,
disabling and maiming; whip tendrils which coiled around legs like
scalding manacles.

With their victims thrashing about on the floor, and the stink of burnt
flesh in the air, the possessed closed in.

Rocio Condra had been trapped in the beyond for five centuries when the
time of miracles came. An existence of madness, which he could only liken
to the last moment of smothering being drawn out and out and out . . .
And always in total darkness, silence, numbness. His life had replayed
itself a million times, but that wasnt nearly enough.

Then came the miracles, sensations leaking in from the universe outside.
Cracks in the nothingness of the beyond which would open and shut in
fractions of a second, akin to storm clouds of soot parting to let
through the delicious golden sunlight of dawn. And every time, a single
lost soul would fly into the blinding, deafening deluge of reality, out
into freedom and beauty. Along with all the others left behind, Rocio
would howl his frustration into the void. Then they would redouble their
pleas and prayers and pledges to the obdurate, indifferent living,
offering them salvation and ennoblement if they would just help.

Perhaps such promises actually worked. More and more of the cracks were
appearing, so many that they had become a torment in their own right. To
know there was a route out, and yet always denied.

Except now. This time . . . This time the glory arose all around Rocio
Condra so loud and bright it nearly overwhelmed him. Furled with the
torrent was someone crying for help, for the agony to stop.

Ill help, Rocio lied perilously. Ill stop it happening.

Pain flooded into him as the frantic thoughts clung to his false words.
It was far, far more than the usual meshing of souls in search of bitter
sustenance. He could feel himself gaining weight and strength as their
thoughts entwined. And the pain surged towards ecstasy. Rocio could
actually feel legs and arms jerking as agonizing heat played over skin, a
throat which had been stung raw from screaming. It was all quite
delicious, the kind of high a masochist would relish.

The mans thoughts were becoming weaker, smaller, as Rocio pushed and
wriggled himself deeper into the brains neural pathways. As he did so,
more of the old human experiences made their eminently welcome return,
the air rushing into his lungs, thud of a heart. And all the while his
new host was diminishing. The way Rocio pushed him down, confining his
soul, was almost instinctive, and becoming easier by the second.

He could hear the other lost souls of the beyond shrieking their outrage
that he was the one to gain salvation. The bitter threats, the
accusations of unworthiness.

Then there was just his hosts feeble protests, and a second oddly
distant voice begging to know what was happening to its beloved. He
squeezed the hosts soul away, expanding his own mind to fill the entire
brain.

Thats enough, a womans voice said. We need you for something more
important.

Leave me! he coughed. Im almost in, almost His strength was
growing, the captive body starting to respond. Tear-drowned eyes revealed
the wavery outline of three figures bending over him. Figures which must
surely be angels. A gloriously pretty girl clad only in a resplendent
white corona.

No, she said. Get into the blackhawk. Now.

There must have been some terrible mistake. Didnt they understand? This
was the miracle. The redemption. Im in, Rocio told them. Look, see?
Im in now. Ive done it. He made one of his new hands rise, seeing
blisters like big translucent fungi hanging from every finger.

Then get out.

The hand disintegrated. Blood splattered across his face, obliterating
his sight. He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords were too coarsened to
obey.

Get into the blackhawk, you little pillock, or well send you right back
into the beyond again. And this time well never let you return.

Another burst of quite astonishing pain, followed by equally frightening
numbness, told him his right foot had been destroyed. They were gnawing
away at his beautiful new flesh, leaving him nothing. He raged barrenly
at the unfairness of it all. Then strange echoey sensations blossomed
into his mind.

<< See? >>Dariat asked. << Its simple, apply your thoughts like this. >>

He did, and affinity opened, joining him with the Mindor.

<< What is happening? >>the frantic blackhawk asked.

Rocios entire left leg was obliterated. White fire engulfed his groin
and the stumpy remnant of his right leg.

<< Peran! >>the blackhawk called.

Rocio superimposed the captains mind tone over his own thoughts. << Help
me, Mindor. >>

<< How? What is happening? I could not feel you. You closed yourself to
me. Why? You have never done that before. >>

<< Im sorry. Its the pain, a heart attack. I think Im dying. Let me be
with you, my friend. >>

<< Come. Hurry! >>

He felt the affinity link broaden, and the blackhawk was there waiting
for its captain, its mind full of love and sympathy; a gentle and
trusting creature for all its size and indomitable power. Kiera Salter
exerted still more of her own particular brand of pressure.

With a last curse at the devils who left him no choice, Rocio abandoned
that cherished human body, sliding himself along the affinity link. This
transfer was different from the one which had brought him back from
beyond. That had been a forced entry, this was a welcome embrace from an
unsophisticated lover, drawing him in to secure him from harm.

The energistic nexus which his soul engendered established itself within
the waiting neural cells at the core of the blackhawk, and the linkage
which connected him to the captains body snapped as the skull was
smashed apart by Kieras triumphant fist.

The Mindor sat on its pedestal on the second of Valisks three docking
ledges, patiently sucking nutrient fluid into its storage bladders.
Beyond the eclipse of the habitats non-rotating spaceport, the gas giant
Opuntia was a pale cross-hatching of lime-green storm bands. The sight
was a comforting one to the blackhawk. It had been birthed in Opuntias
rings, taking eighteen years to grow into the lengthy
hundred-and-twenty-five-metre cone of its mature form. Even among
blackhawks, whose profiles varied considerably from the standard voidhawk
disk shape, it was an oddity. Its polyp hull was a dusky green speckled
with purple rings; three fat finlike protuberances angled up out of its
rear quarter. Given its squashed-missile appearance, the only option for
the life support module was a swept-back teardrop, which sat like a
metallic saddle over the midsection of its upper hull.

Like all blackhawks and voidhawks its distortion field was folded around
the hull, barely operative while it was docked. A condition which ended
as soon as Rocio Condras soul invaded its neural cells. The number of
neurones he now possessed was considerably larger than a human brain,
increasing the amount of energistic power produced by the
transdimensional twist. He extended himself out from the storage cluster
Mindor had designated, breaking straight through the sub-routines
designed to support him.

The startled blackhawk managed to ask: << Who are you? >>before he
vanquished its mind. But he couldnt assume control of a blackhawks
enormously complex functions as easily as he could a human body. There
was no instinct to guide him, no old familiar nerve impulse sequences to
follow. This was an alien territory, there hadnt been any starships at
all during his life, let alone living ones.

The autonomic routines, those regulating the Mindors organs, were fine,
he just left them operating. However, the distortion field was controlled
by direct conscious thought.

A couple of seconds after he gained possession it was billowing outwards
uncontrollably. The blackhawk tipped back, pulling the pedestal feed
tubes from their orifices. Nutrient fluid fountained out, flooding across
the ledge until the habitat hurriedly closed the muscle valves.

Mindor rocked forwards, then rose three metres above the mushroom-shaped
pedestal as Rocio frantically tried to contain the oscillating fluxes
running wild through his patterning cells. Unfortunately he couldnt
quite coordinate the process. Mass detection, the blackhawks primary
sense, came from a sophisticated secondary manipulation of the distortion
field. Rocio couldnt work out where he was, let alone how to return to
where hed been.

<< What the hell are you doing? >>an irate Rubra asked.

Mindors stern swept around in a fast arc, lower fins almost scraping the
ledge surface. The driver of a service vehicle slammed on the brakes, and
reversed fast as the huge bitek starship swished past less than five
metres in front of her cabins bubble windscreen.

<< Sorry, >>Rocio said, frenziedly searching through the blackhawks
confined memories for some kind of command routine. << Its a power flux.
Ill have it choked back in a second. >>

Two more blackhawks had started similar gyrations as returned souls
invaded their neurones. Rubra shot them vexed questions as well.

Rocio managed to regulate the field somewhat more effectively, and tie in
the mass forms he was sensing to the images from the sensor blisters. His
hull was slithering dangerously close to the rim of the docking ledge.

He reconfigured the distortion field to impel him in the other direction.
Which was fine, until he realized exactly how fast he was heading for the
shell wall. And another (non-possessed) blackhawk was sitting in the way.

<< Cant stop, >>he blurted at it.

It rose smooth and fast, shooting sixty metres straight up, protesting
most indignantly. The Mindor skidded underneath, and just managed to halt
before its rear fins struck Valisks shell.

The remaining two blackhawk captains in the Tacoul Tavern were finally
sacrificed to Kieras strategy; and their ships shot off their respective
pedestals like overpowered fireworks. Rubra and the other blackhawks
fired alarmed queries after them. Three of the unpossessed blackhawks,
thoroughly unnerved by their cousins behaviour, also launched themselves
from the ledge. A collision appeared imminent as the giant ships cavorted
in the kilometre gap between the two ledges. Rubra began broadcasting
flight vectors at them to try to steer them apart, demanding instant
obedience.

By now, Rocio had mastered the basics of distortion field dynamics. He
manoeuvred his prodigious bulk back towards the original pedestal. After
five attempts, edging around in jerky spirals, he managed to settle.

<< If youve all quite finished, >>Rubra said as the agitated flock of
blackhawks settled nervously.

Rocio sheepishly acquiesced to the admonishment. He and the other four
possessed blackhawks exchanged private acknowledgements, swapping
snippets of information on how to control their new bodies.

After experimenting for half an hour Rocio was pleasantly surprised with
what he could see and feel. The gas giant environ was bloated with energy
of many types, and a great deal of loose mass. There were overlapping
tides of magnetic, electromagnetic, and particle energy. Twenty moons,
hundreds of small asteroids. They all traced delicate lines across his
consciousness, registering in a multitude of fashions: harmonics,
colours, scents. He had far more sensations available than those produced
by a human sensorium. And any sense at all was better than the beyond.

The affinity band fell into a subdued silence as they waited to see what
would happen next.


Chapter 07
==========


The overloaded spaceplane ascended cleanly enough through Lalondes
stratosphere, racing away from Amarisks mountainous eastern coastline.
It wasnt until the craft reached an altitude of a hundred kilometres,
where the ions had thinned out to little more than a static-congested
vacuum, that Ashly Hanson had to switch from the induction rams to the
reaction drive. That was when their problems began. He had to redline the
twin rocket engines in the tail, shunting up the voltage from the power
cells, boosting the plasma temperature to dangerous heights. Coolant
shunts emitted caution warnings, which he balanced against the crafts
performance, heeding some, ignoring others. The job was his personal
milieu: true piloting, knowing just how far he could push the systems,
when to take calculated risks.

Power reserves, fuel levels, and safety margins formed fabulously
elaborate interacting multitextural graphics inside Ashlys mind as he
continued the magic juggling act. The factors were slowly coming
together, enabling him to decide on his best case option: escape velocity
at a hundred and twenty kilometres altitude. In theory that would leave
seven kilos of reaction mass in the tanks. But not a nice height, he
muttered to himself. Never mind, it gave them the ability to rendezvous
with Lady Mac.

The reasons for the spaceplanes overstressed loading parameters, all
twenty-nine of them, were chattering and whooping happily behind him,
impervious to the efforts of Father Elwes and Kelly Tirrel to shush them.
It wouldnt last, Ashly thought with an air of inevitable gloom, kids
always threw up in zero-gee, especially the ones as young as these.

He datavised the flight computer for a channel to Lady Mac. It took a
while for the communications processor to lock on to Lalondes satellite,
and even then the bandwidth was reduced. Sore evidence of the malicious
forces swirling invisibly around the doomed planet.

Joshua?

Tracking you, Ashly.

Youre going to have to manoeuvre to make rendezvous. Im even having to
expend my RC thruster reaction mass to achieve orbit. This is the
vector. Ashly datavised over the file from the spaceplanes flight
computer.

Jesus, thats cutting it fine.

I know. Sorry, but the kids weigh too much. And youre going to have to
replace the reaction engines altogether when we reach port. I had to pump
them over the safeties. A full structural stress test probably wouldnt
hurt, either.

Ah well, our no claims bonus got blown to shit in the battle anyway.
Stand by for rendezvous in twelve minutes.

Thank you, Joshua.

The contented babble coming from the spaceplanes cabin was quieting
considerably. Acceleration had now declined to a twentieth of a gee as
the orbital injection burn was finalized. Both rocket engines cut out.
The flight computer reported four kilos of reaction mass were left in the
tanks.

Then the first damp groan could be heard from the rear of the cabin.
Ashly braced himself.



Acceleration warnings sounded in the Lady Macbeths cabins. The Edenists
working under the direction of Sarha Mitcham and Dahybi Yadev to prepare
for the influx of some thirty children hurried to the couches and
temporary mattresses. They all wore variants of the same grey, haunted
expression on their faces. Given what theyd been through in the last
thirty hours, such consternation was understandable. The high-pitched
hooting conjured up all the wrong associations.



Dont worry, Joshua announced. No killer gees this time, were just
manoeuvring.

He was alone on the bridge, lights reduced to a pink glimmer, sharpening
the resolution of the console hologram displays and AV projections.
Strangely enough, the solitude felt good. He was now what he had always
wanted to beor thought he dida starship captain, devoid of any other
responsibility. Overseeing the flight computer and simultaneously
piloting the big vessel along their new course vector towards the inert
spaceplane didnt leave him with much time to brood on the consequences
of their recent actions: Warlow dead, the mercenary team lost, the planet
conquered, the rescue fleet broken. The whole shabby disaster really
wasnt one he wanted to reflect on, nor the wider implications of having
the possessed loose in the universe. Better to function usefully, to lose
oneself in the mechanics of the problem at hand.

In a way his emotional climb-down was akin to a sense of release. The
battles which theyd personally fought in, theyd won. Then theyd
rescued the Edenists, the children, and now Kelly. And in a little while
they were going home.

At the end, what more could you ask?

The unsuppressible guilt was his silent answer.

Joshua stabilized Lady Mac a kilometre above the spaceplane, allowing
orbital mechanics to bring the two together. Both craft had fallen into
the penumbra, reducing the planet below to a featureless black smear.
They were visually dead, only radar and infrared could distinguish
between oceans and continents.

He ordered the flight computer to establish communications circuits with
the small number of low-orbit observation satellites remaining. The image
they provided built up quickly.

Amarisk had emerged completely into the daylight hemisphere now. He could
see the continent was completely dominated by the huge red cloud. The
vast patch must already cover nearly a quarter of the land; and it was
expanding rapidly out from the Juliffe basin, its leading edges moving at
hurricane velocities. Yet it still retained its silky consistency, a
uniform sheet through which no glimpse of the ground below was possible.
The grey blemish which had hung above the Quallheim Counties during the
mercenaries brief campaign had also vanished. Even the mountains where
the Tyrathca lived proved no barrier; the cloud was bubbling around them,
sealing over valleys. Only the very tallest peaks were left unclaimed,
their jagged snow caps sticking up from the red veil, icebergs bobbing
through a sea of blood.

The sight had repelled Joshua before. Now it frightened him. The sheer
potency it intimated was appalling.

Joshua flicked back to the images coming in from the Lady Macs extended
sensor clusters. The spaceplane was five hundred metres away, its wings
already folded back. He played the starships equatorial ion thrusters,
and moved in, bringing the docking cradle around to engage the latches in
the spaceplanes nose cone.

Sitting in his pilots seat, watching the performance through the narrow
windscreen, Ashly was, as ever, amazed by Joshuas ability to control the
huge spherical starships motions. The docking cradle which had
telescoped out of the hangar bay swung around gracefully until it was
head-on, then slid over the squashed-bullet nose. Naturally the alignment
matched first time.

Various clunking sounds were transmitted through the stress structure,
and the spaceplane was slowly drawn inside the Lady Macs narrow
cylindrical hangar. Ashly shuddered as another warm, sticky, smelly globe
of fluid landed on his ship-suit. He didnt make the mistake of trying to
swat it, that just broke the larger portions into smaller ones. And you
could inhale those.

Eight of you are going to have to stay inside the spaceplane cabin,
Sarha datavised as the hangars airlock tube mated to the spaceplane.

Youre kidding me, a dismayed Ashly replied.

Bad luck, Ashly. But were maxing out our life support with so many
people on board. I really need the spaceplanes carbon dioxide filters.

Oh, God, he said miserably. Okay. But send in some handheld sanitizer
units, and quickly.

Theyre already in the airlock waiting for you.

Thanks.

Send out the smallest children first, please. Im going to cram them
into the zero-tau pods.

Will do. He datavised the flight computer to open the airlock hatch,
then left his seat to talk with Father Elwes about which children should
go where.

Lady Macbeths two undamaged fusion drive tubes ignited as soon as the
spaceplane was stowed inside the hull. She rose away from the planet at a
steady one gee, heading up towards a jump coordinate which would align
her on Tranquillitys star.

Far behind her, the middle section of the red cloud rippled and swirled
in agitation. A tornado column swelled up from the centre, extending a
good twenty kilometres above the twisting currents of cumulus. It flexed
blindly for several minutes, like a beckoningor clawingfinger. Then the
Lady Macbeths sensor clusters and thermal dump panels began to retract
into their jump positions below the hull. Her brilliant blue-white fusion
exhaust shrank away, and she coasted onwards and upwards for a brief
minute until an event horizon claimed her.

The questing finger of cloud lost its vigour, and slowly bowed over in
defeat, its glowing vapour reabsorbed into the now quiescent centre of
the shroud. The leading edges continued their advance.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The view from Montereys Hilton was as spectacular as only a
three-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar building could provide. Al Capone
loved it. The Nixon suite was on the bottom floor of the tower, giving it
a standard gravity. New California glided slowly past the curving,
radiation-shielded window which made up an entire wall of the master
bedroom. The planet gleamed enticingly against the jet-black starfield.
His one disappointment was that from here the stars didnt twinkle like
they used to when he watched them at night above his summer retreat
cottage at Round Lake. That aside, he felt like a king again.

The Hilton was a sixty-storey tower sticking out of the Monterey
asteroid, orbiting a hundred and ten thousand kilometres above New
California. Apart from Edenist habitat starscrapers (which it was
modelled on), there were few structures like it in the Confederation.
Tourists could rarely look down on terracompatible planets in such a
fashion.

Which was stupid, Al thought, big business could make a packet out of
hotels like the Hilton. But he couldnt spend all day looking at New
California. He could sense his Organizations top lieutenants waiting
patiently outside the suite. Theyd learned quickly enough not to
interrupt when he wanted his privacy. But they did need orders, to be
kept on their toes. Al knew just how fast things would fall apart if he
didnt ride them hard. The world might be different, but the nature of
people didnt change.

As if on cue, Jezzibella purred, Come back here, lover.

Well maybe some people did, women never acted like her back in the 1920s
and thirties. Then, they were either whores or wives. But Al was
beginning to suspect there werent many girls quite like Jezzibella in
this century, either.

One minute all cute and kittenish, the next an animal as strong and
demanding as himself. Al had his energistic strength now, which meant he
could do some pretty incredible things with his wang. Things which even
Jezzibella hadnt known about. Performances which made him proud, for a
while anyway, because they were the only times he could make her beg him
for more, to keep going, tell him how stupendous he was. Most of the time
it was the other way around. Shit, she even kissed like a boy. Trouble
was, after hed done all those fantastic things to her hot-rod body, she
wanted them done again, and again, and again . . .

Please, baby. I really liked the Egyptian position. Only you are big
enough to make that work.

With a halfhearted sigh Al left the window and walked back to the sunken
bed she was lying on. The oomph girl had no shame, she was absolutely
naked.

He grinned and let the front of his white robe fall open. Jezzibella
hooted and applauded as his erection rose. Then she flopped back,
character shifting in an instant. Al looked down on a
scared-for-her-cherry schoolgirl.

His entry was fierce, without any attempt at finesse. It made her cry out
in disbelief, pleading for him to stop, to be kind. But she couldnt
resist, no girl could, not a lover like him. In minutes his vigorous
pumping had turned her cries to rolling moans of delight, her snarl to a
smile. Her body was responding, the two of them moving in a slick
acrobatic rhythm. He made no attempt to control himself, to wait for her,
he climaxed when he was ready, oblivious to anything else.

When his drowsy eyes opened, he saw her staring drunkenly up at the
ceiling, the tip of her tongue licking her lips. That was a good fantasy
fuck, she drawled. Well have to do that one again.

Al gave up. I gotta get going. I gotta sort the boys out, you know how
it is.

Sure, baby. What are you going to get them to do?

Christ, you dumb broad. Im running the whole fucking planet now. You
think that just falls into place? I gotta million problems need looking
at. Soldiers, they need orders or they go sour.

Jezzibella pouted, then rolled over to grab the processor block which lay
on the side of the bed. She typed on it, and frowned. Al, honey, you
must pull in that field of yours.

Sorry, he muttered, and made an effort to calm his thoughts. It was the
best way to make the electric gadgets work.

Jezzibella whistled in appreciation as she read the data running down the
blocks screen (shed long since given up trying to datavise when she was
in Als presence). According to the information assembled by Harwoods
office, there were nearly forty million possessed on New California now.
Hooking up with Al, that wild impulse back at the San Angeles spaceport,
looked like being the smartest move shed ever made. This was the anarchy
ride shed been hunting for most of her life. The buzz of power she got
from being with Alvery literally one of life and deathstimmed her
higher than any adulation the fans gave during a concert.

How could anyone know that a gangster from the past would have such a
genius for assembling a power structure which could hold an entire planet
in bondage? But that was what hed done. You just gotta know what
strings to jerk, hed told her on the flight up to the orbiting
asteroids.

Of course all forty million possessed werent perfectly loyal to him,
they werent even recruited into the Organization. But then neither had
the vast majority of Chicagos citizens sworn fealty to him. Nonetheless,
willing or not, they had been his vassals. All we gotta do is have an
Organization in place and ready when the possessed start to emerge, he
explained. Back in Chicago, they called me a mobster because there was
another administration trying to run things parallel to mine: the
government. I lost out because the fuckers were bigger and stronger. This
time, I aint making that mistake. This time theres only gonna be me
from the word go.

And hed been true to his word. Shed watched him at work that first day,
just after theyd captured the orbiting asteroids and the SD network,
sitting quietly in the background of the Monterey naval tactical
operations room which the Organization soldiers had taken over as their
headquarters. Watching and learning just what shed gone and gotten
herself involved in. And what she saw was the building of a pyramid, one
constructed entirely from people. Without once losing his temper, Al
issued orders to his lieutenants, who issued them to their seconds, and
so on down the line. A pyramid which was constantly growing, absorbing
new recruits at the bottom, adding to the height, to the power of the
pinnacle. A pyramid whose hierarchy was established and maintained with
the coldly ruthless application of force.

The first targets to be blasted into lava by the SD platforms had been
government centres, everything from the Senate palace and the military
bases right down to county police stations. (Al really hated the police.
Those cocksuckers murdered my brother, hed growl darkly when she
questioned him on it.) Even little town halls in country smallvilles were
reduced to cinders after they opened for business in the morning. For
eight hours, the platforms had fired energy pulses down on the hapless,
helpless planet they had been constructed to defend. Any group who could
organize resistance was systematically wiped out. After that, the
possessed were free to sweep across the land.

But Als Organization people were among them, directing the onwards
march, finding out exactly who had returned from the beyond, when they
came from, what they did in their first life. Their details would be sent
up to the office which Avram Harwood had set up in Monterey, where they
would be studied to gauge their potential usefulness. A select few would
then be made an offer whichThey just cant refuse, Al chortled
jubilantly.

They were a tiny minority, but that was all it ever took to govern. No
rival could ever develop. Al had seen to that; he had the firepower to
support his Organization if anyone stepped out of line. And when he
captured the SD network, he acquired the ultra-hardened military
communications net which went with it, the only one which had a chance of
remaining functional in the territories of the possessed. So even if
there were objectors among the newly emerged possessed (and there
certainly were), they couldnt get in contact with others who thought
along the same lines to create any decent kind of opposition.

In the end Jezzibella had felt privileged. It was a pivotal moment of
history, like watching Eisenhower dispatching his D-day forces, or being
with Richard Saldana as he organized the exodus from the New Kong
asteroid to Kulu. Privileged and ecstatic.

More statistics ran down the processor blocks screen. There were over
sixteen million non-possessed left in the areas where the Organization
ruled supreme. Harwoods office had declared they should be left alone to
keep the utilities and services going, and by and large the Organization
ensured they were left alonefor now. How long that would last, though,
Jezzibella had her doubts.

Transport was also being orchestrated to invade the cities and counties
which remained uncontaminated. According to the tactical estimates there
would be a hundred million possessed living on New California by this
time tomorrow. The Organization would achieve absolute control of the
entire planet within a further three days.

And yesterday all shed had to entertain her were a couple of fresh,
gawky kids and the tiresome antics of the entourage.

Its looking pretty fucking fantastic, Al, she said. Guess youve got
what it takes.

He slapped her buns playfully. I always have. Things here aint so
different from Chicago. Its just a question of size; this is one fuck of
a lot bigger, but I got savvy Avvys boys to help sort out that side of
things, keeping track and all. Avvy didnt get to be mayor of San Angeles
the way Big Jim Thompson made it into city hall back in Chicago. No, sir,
hes got a flair for paperwork.

And Leroy Octavius, too.

Yep. I see why you wanted to keep him now. I could do with a load more
like him.

To do what?

To keep going, of course. At least for a few days more. He slumped his
shoulders and rubbed his face in his hands. Then its really gonna hit
the fan. Most of the dumb asses down there want to do this magic
disappearing act. Je-zus, Jez, I aint so sure I can stop them. Eight
times in the last day hed ordered Emmet Mordden to use the SD platforms
to sharpshoot buildings and city blocks over which the wisps of red cloud
were forming. Each time the culprits had taken the hint, and the luminous
swirl had vanished.

For the moment he was on top of things. But what was gonna happen after
hed won the planet was giving his brain a real hard time. It was going
to be difficult stopping the possessed from vanishing inside the red
cloud, because he was the only one among them who didnt want that to
happen. Once hed delivered the whole planet to them, theyd start
looking around at what was stopping them from achieving their true goal.
And some wiseass with an eye on the main chance would make his bid.
Wouldnt be the first time.

So give them something more to do, Jezzibella said.

Sure, right, doll. Like after the entire fucking world, what else am I
gonna give them, for Christs sake?

Listen, you keep telling me this whole setup is going to end once the
possessed pull New California out of the universe, right? Everyones
going to be equal and immortal.

Yeah, thats about it.

That means youll be nothing, least nothing special.

Thats what Im fucking telling you.

Jezzibella shifted again. This time she was like nothing hed seen
before: a librarian or schoolmarm. Not the remotest bit sexy. Al sucked
some breath through his teeth, the way she did that was just plain
unnervingher not having the energistic power, and all.

She leaned over and put a hand on each of his shoulders, stern eyes
inches from his. When youre nothing, all your lieutenants and soldiers
become nothing, too. Deep down theyre not going to want that. Youve got
to find a reasona fucking good reasonto keep the Organization intact.
Once they grab that angle you can keep things humming along sweetly for
quite a while yet.

But weve won here. There isnt a single excuse to keep going the way we
have.

There are plenty, she said. You simply dont know enough about the way
the modern galaxy works to make any long-range plans, thats all. But Im
going to cure that, starting right here. Now listen closely.



New Californias planetary government had always taken a progressive view
on flinging tax dollars at the local defence establishment. Firstly, it
provided a healthy primer for industry to pursue an aggressive export
policy, boosting foreign earnings. Secondly, their navys above-average
size gave them an excellent heavyweight political stature within the
Confederation.

Such enthusiasm for defence hardware had resulted in a superb C3
(command, control, and communication) setup, the core of which was
Montereys naval tactical operations centre. It was a large chamber
drilled deep into the asteroids rock, below the first biosphere cavern,
and equipped with state-of-the-art AIs and communications systems, linked
in to equally impressive squadrons of sensor satellites and weapons
platforms. It was capable of coordinating the defence of the entire star
system against anything from a full-scale invasion to a sneak attack by a
rogue antimatter-powered starship. Unfortunately, no one had ever
considered the consequences should it be captured and its firepower
turned inwards on the planet and orbiting asteroids.

The Organization lieutenants had split into two fractions to run their
operations centre. There was Avram Harwoods staff who dealt purely with
the administration and management details of the Organization,
essentially the new civil service. Then there were those, a smaller
number, working under the auspices of Silvano Richmann and Emmet Mordden,
who were operating the military hardware theyd captured. The law
enforcers. Als laws. Hed given that task to the possessed alone, just
in case any non-possessed tried to be a hero.

When Al and Jezzibella walked into the centre the huge wall-mounted
hologram screens were showing satellite views of Santa Volta. Grizzled
spires of smoke were rising from several of the citys blocks. Graphic
symbols were superimposed over the real-time layout as the organization
advanced its troops. Silvano Richmann and Leroy Octavius stood in front
of the colourful screens, heads together as they discussed the best
strategy to crack open the population. Filling the eight rows of consoles
behind them, the communications team was waiting patiently.

Everyone turned as Al strode forward. There were grins, smiles, whoops,
sharp whistles. He did the rounds, pressing the flesh, joking, laughing,
thanking, offering encouragement.

Jezzibella followed a pace behind him. She and Leroy quirked an eyebrow
at each other.

So hows it going? Al asked a scrum of his senior lieutenants when hed
finished his processional.

Were more or less sticking to the timetable, Mickey Pileggi said.
Some places put up a fight. Others just roll onto their backs and stick
their legs in the air for us. We got no way of knowing in advance. Words
getting out that we arent possessing everyone. It helps. Causes a
shitload of confusion.

Fine from my angle, too, Al, Emmet Mordden said. Our sensor satellites
have been monitoring some of the deep space message traffic. Its not
easy, because most of it is directional tight beam. But it looks like the
rest of the system knows were here, and what were doing.

Is that going to be a problem? Al asked.

No, sir. We caught nearly forty per cent of New Californias navy ships
in dock when we took over the orbiting asteroids. Theyre still there,
and another twenty per cent is on permanent assignment to the
Confederation Navy fleets. That just leaves a maximum of about fifty
ships left in the system who could cause us any grief. But Ive got every
SD platform on situation-A readiness. Even if the admirals out there get
their act together, they know it would be suicide to attack us.

Al lit a cigar, and blew a stream of smoke towards the screen. The
near-orbit tactical display, Emmet had called it yesterday. It looked
pretty calm at the moment. Sounds like youre handling your slice of the
action, Emmet. Im impressed.

Thanks, Al. The nervous man bobbed in appreciation. As you can see,
theres no spacecraft activity within a million kilometres of the
planetary surface, except for five voidhawks. Theyre holding themselves
stable over the poles, seven hundred thousand kilometres out. My guess is
theyre just watching us to see whats happening.

Spies? Al inquired.

Yes.

We should blow them all to shit, Bernhard Allsop said loudly. Aint
that right, Al? Thatll give the rest of those frigging Commie Edenists
the message: Dont spy on us, dont fuck with us or its your ass.

Shut up, Al said mildly.

Bernhard twitched apprehensively. Sure, Al. I didnt mean nothing by it.

Can you hit the voidhawks? Jezzibella asked.

Emmet glanced from her to Al, and licked his suddenly sweaty lips. Its
difficult, you know? They chose those polar positions carefully. I mean,
theyre out of range of our energy weapons. And if we launch a combat
wasp salvo at them, theyll just dive down a wormhole. But, hey . . .
they cant hurt us, either.

Not this time, Al said. He chewed his cigar from the left side of his
mouth to the right. But they can see what were about, and itll
frighten them. Pretty soon the whole goddamn Confederation is going to
know whats happened here.

I told you theyd be trouble, Al baby, Jezzibella said, on cue. Her
voice had shunted down to a tarts whinny.

Sure you did, doll, he said, not taking his eyes off the tactical
display. Were gonna have to do something about them, Al announced to
the room at large.

Well, hell, Al, Emmet said. Ill give it a go, but I dont think . . .

No, Emmet, Al said generously. I aint talking about five crappy
little ships. Im talking about whats lining up behind them.

The Edenists? Bernhard asked, hopefully.

Partly, yeah. But they aint the whole picture, are they, boy? You gotta
think big, here. Youre in a big universe now. He had their complete
attention. Damn, but Jez had been right. Typical.

The Edenists are gonna broadcast what weve done here to the whole
Confederation. Then what do you think is gonna happen, huh? He turned a
full circle, arms held out theatrically. Any takers? No? Seems pretty
goddamn obvious to me, guys. Theyre gonna come here with every fucking
battleship they got, and grab the planet back off us.

We can fight, Bernhard said.

Well lose, Al purred. But that dont matter. Does it? Because I know
what youre thinking. Every goddamned dumb-ass one of you. Youre
thinking: We wont be here. Were gonna be out of this stinking joint any
day now, safe on the other side of the red cloud where there aint no sky
and there aint no space, and nobody dies anymore. Aint that right?
Aint that whats brewing inside those thick skulls of yours?

Shuffled feet and downcast eyes was the only response he was offered.
Mickey, aint that right?

Mickey Pileggi developed an urgent wish to be somewhere else. He couldnt
meet his bosss interrogatory stare. Well, you know how it is, Al.
Thats a last resort, sure. But shit, we can do like Bernhard says and
fight some first. I aint afraid of fighting.

Sure you aint afraid. I didnt say you were afraid. I didnt insult
you, Mickey, you rube goof. Im saying you aint thinking level. The
Confederation Navy, theyre gonna turn up here with a thousand, ten
thousand starships, and youre gonna do the smartest thing you can do,
and hide. Right? I would if they came at me with all pieces shooting.

The left side of Mickeys face began to tic alarmingly. Sure, boss, he
said numbly.

So you think thats gonna make them give up? Al asked. Come on, all of
you. I want to know. Who in this room believes the big government boys
are just gonna give up if you make New California disappear? Huh? Tell
me. They lose a planet with eight hundred million people on it, and the
admiral in charge, hes just gonna shrug and say: Well fuck it, you cant
win them all. And go home. Al stabbed a finger at the little purple
stars of light representing the voidhawks on the tactical display screen.
A slim bolt of white fire lashed out, striking the glass. Glowing
droplets sprinkled out. A crater bowed inwards, distorting and magnifying
the graphics below. Is he FUCK, Al bellowed. Open your goddamn eyes,
shitheads! These people can fly among the stars for Christs sake. They
know everything there is to know about how energy works, they know all
about quantum dimensions, hell they can even switch off time if they feel
like it. And what they dont know, they can find out pretty fucking
quick. Theyll see what youve done, theyll follow where you take the
planet. And theyll bring it back. Those cruddy longhairs will look at
what happened, and theyll work on it, and theyll work on it. And they
aint never going to stop until theyve solved the problem. I know the
feds, the governments. Believe me, of all people, I fucking know. You
aint never safe from them. They dont ever fucking stop. Never! And it
wont matter diddly how much you scream, and how much you cuss and rage.
Theyll bring you back. Oh, yeah, right back here under the stars and
emptiness where you started from. Staring death and beyond in the face.
He had them now, he could see the doubt blossoming, the concern. And the
fear. Always the fear. The way right into a mans heart. The way a
general jerked his soldiers strings.

Al Capone grinned like the devil himself into the daunted silence.
Theres only one fucking way to stop that from ever happening. Any of
you cretins figured that out yet? No? Big surprise. Well, its simple,
assholes. You stop running scared like you have been all your life. You
stop, you turn around to face whats scaring you, and you bite its
fucking dick off.



                                 ?   ?   ?



For five centuries after the first successful ZTT jump, governments,
universities, companies, and military laboratories throughout the
Confederation had been researching methods of direct supralight
communication. And for all the billions of fuseodollars poured into the
various projects, no one had ever produced a valid theory let alone a
practical system to surmount the problem. Starships remained the only
method of carrying data between star systems.

Because of this, waves of information would spread out like ripples
through the inhabited star systems within the Confederation. And as the
stars were not arranged in a tidy geometrical lattice, such wavefronts
became more and more distorted as time went on. News companies had long
since refined a set of equations defining the most effective distribution
procedure between their offices. On receiving a hot item (such as the
appearance of Ione Saldana), an office would typically charter eight to
twelve starships to relay the flek depending on when and where the story
originated. Towards the end of the distribution coverage, the information
could well arrive in one system from several directions over the course
of a fortnight. The nature of the starships employed also had a strong
influence on the timing, depending on the marque of ship used, how good
the captain was, component malfunctions, a hundred diverse circumstances
all contributing to the uncertainty.

Latons appearance had naturally received an overriding precedence from
all the Time Universe offices receiving Graeme Nicholsons flek. But
Srinagar was over four hundred light-years away from Tranquillity. News
of the Yakus existence, and who it was carrying, arrived several days
after the Yaku itself had departed from Valisk.

Laton!

Rubra was astonished. They might have been fellow Serpents, but that
hardly made them allies. So for the first time in a hundred and thirty
years he expanded his affinity and grudgingly contacted the Edenist
habitats orbiting Kohistan to tell them the starship had docked briefly.

<< But Laton did not come inside, >>he assured them. << Only three crew
came through immigration: Marie Skibbow, Alicia Cochrane, and Manza
Balyuzi. >>

<< Skibbow was definitely sequestrated, and the other two are likely
recipients, >>the Kohistan Consensus replied. << Where are they? >>

<< I dont know. >>It was a humiliating, dismaying admission, especially
to make to his former peers. But Rubra had immediately made the
connection between Marie Skibbow and Anders Bospoort, in whose apartment
Dariats corpse had been found. Such a chain of events worried him
enormously. But his supposedly infallible memory storage facility had
failed him utterly. After Marie and Anders had gone down the starscraper
that first time they had simply vanished from his perception; and the
sub-routine in the starscraper hadnt noticed their absence. Nor could he
locate them now, not even with his perception sub-routines expanded and
upgraded with a new batch of safeguards.

<< Do you require our assistance? >>the Kohistan Consensus asked. << Our
neuropathologists may be able to analyse the nature of the distortion in
your sub-routines. >>

<< No! Youd love that, wouldnt you? Getting into my mind again. Poking
around to see what makes me pulse. >>

<< Rubra >>

<< You shits dont ever give up, dont ever stop. >>

<< Given the circumstances, do you not think it would be sensible to put
old antagonisms behind us? >>

<< Ill deal with it. By myself. They can only fuck with my peripheral
routines. They cant touch me. >>

<< As far as you know. >>

<< I know! Believe me, I know. Im me; same as I ever was. >>

<< Rubra, this is only the beginning. They will try to infiltrate your
higher-order thought routines. >>

<< They wont succeed, not now I know what to watch for. >>

<< Very well. But we must recommend to the Srinagar system assembly that
starships are prohibited from docking with you. We cannot risk the
prospect of any contamination spreading. >>

<< Suits me fine. >>

<< Will you at least cooperate with us on that? >>

<< Yes, yes. But only until Ive tracked down the three Yaku crew and
exterminated them. >>

<< Please be careful, Rubra. Latons proteanic virus is extremely
dangerous. >>

<< So thats what you think Ive got, why my routines are failing.
Bastards! >>

It took several minutes for his anger to sink back into more rational,
passive thought currents. By the time he was thinking logically again,
Valisks SD sensor network alerted him to five voidhawks emerging from
their wormhole termini to take up station half a million kilometres away.
Spies! They didnt trust him.

He had to find the three people from the Yaku, and those members of his
family whose monitor routines had been tampered with.

While the rest of the Srinagar system went to an agitated stage one
military alert status, he tried again and again to scan his own interior
for the renegades. Standard visual pattern recognition routines were
useless. He upgraded and changed the perception interpretation routines
several times. To no avail. He tried loading similar search orders into
the servitors, hoping that they might succeed where the sensitive cells
woven into every polyp surface had failed. He swept through entire
starscrapers with his principal consciousness, certain that they still
hadnt managed to infiltrate and corrupt his identity core. He found
nothing.

After ten hours, the watching voidhawks were joined by three Srinagar
navy frigates.

Inside the habitat, Time Universe played Graeme Nicholsons recording
continuously, agitating the population badly. Opinions were divided. Some
said Laton and Rubra were obviously colleagues, comrades in antagonism.
Laton wouldnt hurt Valisk. Others pointed out that the two had never
met, and had chosen very different paths through life.

There was unease, but no actual problems. Not for the first few hours.
Then some idiot from the spaceports civil traffic control centre leaked
the news (actually he was paid two hundred thousand fuseodollars by
Collins for the data) that the Yaku had docked at Valisk. Twenty
starships immediately filed for departure flights, which Rubra refused.

Unease began to slip into resentment, anger, and alarm. Given the nature
of the residents, they had no trouble asserting their feelings in a
manner which the rentcops employed by Magellanic Itg had a hard time
damping down. Riots broke out in several starscrapers. Localized
councils were formed, demanding the right to petition Rubrawho simply
ignored them (after memorizing the ringleaders). More thoughtful and
prudent members of the population started to hike out into the remoter
sections of parkland, taking camping gear with them.

Such strife was almost designed to make Rubras frantic search for the
three Yaku crew members difficult verging on impossible.

Thirty-eight hours after Graeme Nicholsons flek arrived in the Srinagar
system, a voidhawk came from Avon, exposing the true nature of the threat
the Confederation was facing. Such was the priority, it even beat the
First Admirals earlier communiqu warning of a possible energy virus.

In its wake all incoming starships were isolated and told to prepare for
boarding and inspection by fully armed military teams. Civil starflight
effectively shut down overnight. Proclamations were issued, requiring all
newly arrived travellers to report to the police. Failure to comply was
roughly equivalent to thumbprinting your own death warrant. Navy reserves
were called in. Industrial astroengineering stations began producing
combat wasps at full capacity.

In one respect, news of the possessed assisted Rubra. It seemed to shock
Valisks population out of their confrontational attitude. Rubra judged
it an appropriate time to appeal to them for help. Every communications
net processor, holoscreen, and AV pillar in the habitat relayed the same
image of him: a man in his prime, handsome and capable, speaking calmly
and authoritatively. Given that hed had nothing to do with the general
population for a century, it was an event unusual enough to draw
everyones attention.

There are only three possessed at large in the habitat at this moment,
he told his audience. While they are certainly a cause for concern, they
do not as yet present a threat to us. I have issued the police with the
kind of heavy-calibre weapons necessary to surmount their energistic
ability. And if circumstances warrant, several citizens have the kind of
experience which might prove useful in a confrontation. An ironic,
knowing curl of his lip brought an appreciative smile from many watchers.
However, their ability to alter their appearance means they are proving
hard for me to track down. Im therefore asking all of you to look out
for them and inform me immediately. Dont trust people just because they
look the same as theyve always been; these bastards are probably
masquerading as friends of yours. Another effect to watch for is the way
they interfere with electronic equipment; if any of your processors start
glitching, inform me immediately. Theres a half-million-fuseodollar
reward for the information which results in their elimination. Good
hunting.



Thank you, Big Brother. Ross Nash tipped his beer glass at the
holoscreen over the Tacoul Taverns bar. He looked away from the
drastically wobbly picture of Rubra, and grinned at Kiera. She was
sitting in one of the wall booths, talking in low intense tones with the
small cadre shed been building up; her staff officers, people joked.
Ross was mildly bugged that she hadnt been including him in the
consultation process recently. Okay, so he didnt have much in the way of
technical knowledge, and this habitat was a far gone trip into
future-world for a guy who was born in 1940 (and died in 89bowel
cancer); he kept expecting Yul Brynner to turn up in his black gunslinger
outfit. But damn it, his opinion counted for something. She hadnt
screwed with him for days either.

He glanced around the black and silver tavern, resisting the impulse to
laugh. It was busier than it had been for years. Unfortunately for the
owner, nobody was paying for their drinks and meals anymore. Not this
particular clientele. Tatars and cyberpunks mixed happily with Roman
legionaries and heavy-leather bikers, along with several rejects from the
good Dr Frankensteins assembly lab. Music was blasting out of a
magnificent 1950s Wurlitzer, allowing a flock of seraphim to strut their
stuff across the neon underlit floor. It was pure sensory overload after
the deprivation of the beyond, nourishment for the mind. Ross grinned
engagingly at his new buddies propping up the bar. There was poor old
Dariat, also cut out of Kieras elite command group and really pissed by
that. Abraham Canaan, too, in full preachers ensemble, scowling at the
debauchery being practised all around. One thing about the possessed,
Ross thought cheerfully, they knew how to party. And they could do it in
perfect safety in the Tacoul Tavern; those who were affinity-capable had
turned the joint into a safe enclave, completely reformatting the
subroutines which operated in the neural strata behind the walls.

He gulped down the rest of his glass, then held it up in front of his
nose and wished it full once again. The liquid which appeared in it
really did look like gnats piss. He frowned at it; a complicated
process, coordinating that many facial muscles. For the last five hours
hed been delighted that possessing a body didnt prevent you from
getting utterly smashed, now it seemed there were disadvantages. He
chucked the glass over his shoulder. He was sure hed seen shops out in
the vestibule, some of them would stock a bottle or two of decent booze.



Rubra knew his thought processing efficiency was lower than optimum. The
malaise was his own fault. He should be reviewing the search,
reformatting sub-routines yet again. Now more than ever the effort should
be made, now the true nature of his predicament was known. And it was a
predicament. The possessed had conquered Pernik. Bitek was not
invincible. He ought to divert every mental resource towards breaking the
problem; after all, the possessed were physically present, there had to
be some way of detecting them. Instead he broodedsomething an Edenist
habitat personality couldnt, or wouldnt, do.

Dariat. Rubra simply couldnt forget the insignificant little shit.
Dariat was dead. But now death wasnt the end. And he died happy. That
passive half smile seemed to flitter through the cells of the neural
strata like a menacing ghost. Not such a stretched metaphor, now.

But to kill yourself just to return . . . No. He wouldnt.

But someone had taught the possessed how to glitch his thought routines.
Someone very competent indeed.

That smile, though. Suppose, just suppose, he was so desperate for
vengeance . . .

Rubra became aware of a disturbance in the Diocca starscraper, the
seventeenth floor, a delicatessen. Some kind of attempted holdup. A
sub-routine was attempting to call for the rentcops, but it kept
misdirecting the information. The new safeguard protocols hed installed
were trying to compensate, and failing. They fell back on their
third-level instructions, and alerted the principal personality pattern.
And barely succeeded in that. Dozens of extremely potent subversive
orders were operating within the Diocca starscrapers neural strata,
virtually isolating it from Rubras consciousness.

Elated and perturbed, he focused his full attention on it . . .

Ross Nash was leaning on the delicatessens counter, pressing a very
large pump-action shotgun into the face of the petrified manager. He
clicked the fingers of his free hand, and a thousand-dollar bill flipped
out of his cuff, just like the way hed seen a magician do it in Vegas
one time. The crisp note floated down to join the small pile on the
counter.

We got enough here yet, buddy? Ross asked.

Sure, the manager whispered. Thats fine.

Goddamn bet your ass it is. Yankee dollar, best goddamn currency in the
whole fucking world. Everybody knows that. He snatched up a bottle of
Norfolk Tears from beside the bills.

Rubra focused on the shotgun, not entirely sure the seventeenth floors
perception interpretation routine was fully functional after all. The
weapon seemed to be made of wood.

Ross grinned at the trembling manager. Ill be back, he said, in a very
heavy accent. He did an about-face and started to march away. The shotgun
flickered erratically, competing with a broken chair leg to occupy the
same space.

The manager snatched his shockrod from its clips under the counter and
took a wild swing. It connected with the back of Rosss head.

Along with the manager, Rubra was amazed at the result of the simple blow.

As soon as the shockrod sparked across Rosss skin, his possessed body
ignited with the pristine glory of a small solar flare. All colours in
the shop vanished beneath the incandescent blaze, leaving only white and
silver to designate rough shapes.

Nearby processors and sensors came back on-line. Thermal alerts flashed
into Valisks net, along with a security call. Ceiling-mounted fire
suppression nozzles swivelled around, and squirted retardant foam at the
blaze.

The thick streams made little difference. Rosss stolen body was dimming
now, sinking to its charred knees, flakes of carbonated flesh crumbling
away.

Rubra activated the audio circuit on in the shops net processor. Out!
he commanded.

The manager cringed at the shout.

Move, Rubra said. Its the possessed. Get out. He instructed all the
net processors on the seventeenth floor to repeat the order. Analysis
routines began correlating all the information from the starscrapers
sensitive cells. Even with his principal personality pattern directing
the procedure, he couldnt see what was happening inside the Tacoul
Tavern. Then bizarre figures started to emerge from the taverns doorway
into the vestibule.

Hed found them, the whole damnable nest.

White fireballs shot through the air, pursuing the terrorized
delicatessen manager as he ran for the lifts. One of them caught him,
clinging to his shoulder. He screamed as black, rancid smoke churned out
of the wound.

Rubra immediately cancelled the floors autonomic routines and shunted
himself into the operating hierarchy. The vestibules electrophorescent
cells went dead, dropping the whole area into darkness, except for the
confusing strobe of white fire. A muscle membrane door leading onto the
stairwell snapped open, sending out a single fan of light. The manager
altered course, put his head down, and charged straight at it.

Chips of polyp rained down on the vestibule floor. All across the ceiling
the atmosphere duct tubules were splitting open as Rubra contracted and
flexed the flow regulator muscles in directions they were never designed
for. Thick white vapour poured out of the jagged holes. Warm, dank, and
oily, it was the concentrated water vapour breathed out of a thousand
lungs, which the tubules were supposed to extract from the air and pump
into specialist refining organs.

The possessed wished it gone. And the muggy fog obeyed, rushing aside to
let them pass. But not before it reduced their fireballs to impotent
wispy swirls of fluorescing mist.

The manager reached the stairwell. Rubra closed the muscle-membrane door
behind him, clenching it tight as several balls of white fire slammed
into the surface, burrowing in like lava worms.

Kiera Salter ran out into the vestibule just as the last of the stinking
mist vanished. Red emergency lights had come on, bringing an antagonistic
moonlight glow to the broad chamber. She saw the stairwells
muscle-membrane door slap shut ahead of the vengeful mob.

Stop! she yelled.

Some did. Several threw white fire at the muscle membrane.

Stop this right now, she said, this time there was an edge in her voice.

Fuck you, Kiera.

He zapped Ross, goddamnit.

Im gonna make him suffer.

Maybe. Kiera strode into the centre of the vestibule and stood there,
hands on her hips, staring around at her precariously allied colleagues.
But not like this. She gestured at the smoking muscle membrane door,
which was still shut. The grey surface was visibly quivering. He knows
now. She tipped her head back, calling out at the ceiling. Dont you,
Rubra?

The ceilings electrophorescent cells slowly came back on, illuminating
her upturned face. Lines of darkness flowed across them, taking shape.
YES.

Yes. See? She dared any of the possessed to challenge her; a couple of
her more powerful new lieutenants, Bonney Lewin and Stanyon, came forward
to stand beside her for emphasis. Were playing a different game now, no
more skulking about. Now we take over the entire habitat.

NO, printed the ceiling.

That wasnt a deal, Rubra, she shouted up at him. Im not offering to
make you a partner. Got that? If youre real, real lucky, then you get to
live on. Thats all. If you dont piss me off. If you dont get in my
way. Then maybe well have a use for your precious Valisk afterwards. But
only if you behave. Because once Ive taken over your population its
going to be easy to fly away. Only before we go, Ill use the starships
to cut you into little pieces; Ill split your shell open, Ill bleed
your atmosphere out, Ill freeze your rivers solid, Ill blast your
digestive organs out of the endcap. Itll take a long time hurting for
you to die completely. Decades, maybe. Who knows. You want to find out?

YOU ARE COMPLETELY ALONE. POLICE AND COMBAT-BOOSTED MERCENARIES ON THEIR
WAY. SURRENDER NOW.

Kiera laughed brutally. No, were not alone, Rubra. There are billions
of us. She looked around at the possessed in the vestibule, not seeing
any dissenters (except ones like Dariat and Canaan, who really didnt
count). Okay, people, as from now were going overt. I want procedure
five enacted this minute. A casual click of her fingers, designating
tasks. You three, override the lift supervisor processors, have them
ready to take us up into the parkland. Bonney, track down that little
shit who wiped Ross, I want him creatively hurt. Well set up our command
centre in Magellanic Itgs boardroom.

The first lift arrived at the seventeenth floor. Five of the possessed
hurried in, anxious to show Kiera their eagerness to obey, anxious to
reap the rewards. The doors slid shut. Rubra overrode the starscrapers
power circuit safeguards, and routed eighty thousand volts through the
metal tracks which lined the lift shaft.

Kiera could hear the screams from inside the lift, feel the agony of
forced banishment. The silicon rubber seal between the doors melted and
burned, allowing the fearsome light of the bodies internecine flame to
spew out of the crack.

NOT SO EASY, IS IT?

For about twenty seconds she stood absolutely still, face a perfect cage
around any emotion. Then her finger lined up on a spindly youth in a
baggy white suit. You, open the muscle membrane; well use the stairs.

Told you so, the youth said. We should have gone for him first.

Do it, Kiera snapped. And the rest of you, Rubras demonstrated what
he can do. Its not much compared to our ability, but its an irritant.
Well cut through the neural stratas connections with the starscrapers
eventually, but until then, proceed with caution.

The muscle-membrane door parted smoothly, allowing the now slightly
subdued possessed to troop up the seventeen flights of stairs to the
parkland above.

<< It wasnt a pure affinity command, >>Rubra told the Kohistan
Consensus. << I felt what was almost like a power surge through the
neural cells around the muscle membrane. It came in with the affinity
command, just wiped all my routines completely. But its localized, an
area roughly five metres in diameter; it cant reach into the main neural
strata. >>

<< Laton claimed that Lewis Sinclair had that same kind of supercharged
affinity when he took over Pernik island, >>the Consensus replied. << It
works through brute strength, and as such can be subverted. But should
one of them succeed in transferring his personality into you, the
energistic ability increases in proportion to the number of cells
subsumed. You must not allow that to happen. >>

<< Fat chance. You know Valisks neural cells were sequenced from my DNA,
they will only process my thought routines. I guess thats similar to
what Laton did to Pernik when he altered the islands neural strata with
his proteanic virus. The affinity-capable possessed might be able to
knock out some functions like the muscle membranes, but their
personalities wouldnt function as independent entities in the neural
strata, not unless they operate as a subsection of my pattern. Id have
to let them in. >>

<< Excellent news. But can you protect your general population from
possession? >>

<< Its going to be tricky, >>Rubra admitted reluctantly. << And Ill
never save all of them, not even a majority. Im going to have to take a
whole load of internal damage, too. >>

<< We sympathise. We will help you rebuild afterwards. >>

<< If there is an afterwards. >>


Chapter 08
==========


Culey asteroid was an almost instinctive choice for Andr 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 hadnt
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 Culeys government and its
policies, but nothing ever altered. Certainly in the fifteen years hed
been using it, Andr never had any trouble selling cargo or picking up
dubious charters. The asteroid was virtually a second home.

This time, though, when the Villeneuves Revenge performed its ZTT jump
into the designated emergence zone, Culey spaceport was unusually
reticent in granting docking permission. During the last three days the
system had received first the reports of Latons re-emergence, and
secondly the warning from Trafalgar about possible energy virus
contamination. Both designated Lalonde as the focus of the trouble.

But I have a severely injured man on board, Andr 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.

Theres very little traffic movement around the port, Madeleine Collum
observed; shed accessed the starships 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, Andr datavised to the port
officer. They have to take us now, he muttered to Madeleine. She simply
grunted.

Emergency declaration acknowledged, Villeneuves Revenge, the port
control officer datavised back. We would advise you set a vector for the
Yaxi asteroid. Their facilities are more appropriate to your status.

Andr glared at the almost featureless communications console. Very
well. Please open a channel to Commissioner Ri Drak for me.

Ri Drak was Andrs last card, the one he hadnt 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 Andrs 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, Andr answered. No problems. Not like in the past, eh?

The two of them switched to a high-order encryption program. Much to
Madeleines annoyance, she couldnt access the rest of the conversation.
Whatever was said took nearly fifteen minutes to discuss. The only
giveaway was Andrs clumsy face, registering a sneaky grin, intermingled
with the sporadic indignant frown.

Very well, Captain, Ri Drak said at last. The Villeneuves Revenge is
cleared to dock, but at your own risk should you prove to be
contaminated. I will alert the security forces to your arrival.

Monsieur, Andr acknowledged gracelessly.

Madeleine didnt press. Instead she began datavising the flight computer
for systems schematics, assisting the captain with the fusion drives
ignition sequence.

Culeys counter-rotating spaceport was a seven-pointed star, its
unfortunate condition mirroring the asteroids 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 Villeneuves Revenge was assigned an isolated bay near one of the
tips. That at least was fully illuminated, internal spotlights turning
the steep-walled metal crater into a shadowless receptacle. Red strobes
around the rim flashed in unison as the starship descended onto the
extended cradle.

An armed port police squad were first through the airlock tube when it
sealed. They rounded up Andr and the crew, detaining them on the bridge
while a customs team examined the ships 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, Andr 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, Andr said. Pure hell. We were lucky to escape. Ive never
seen a space battle more ferocious than that.

The police captain nodded thoughtfully.

Captain? Madeleine datavised. Were ready to take Ericks zero-tau pod
down to the hospital now.

Of course, proceed.

Well need you there to clear the treatment payment orders, Captain.

Andrs cheerfully chubby face showed a certain tautness. I will be
along, were 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 wouldnt have to pay import duty; these matters
are within my discretion.

Andrs malaised spirit lifted. Perhaps we could come to some
arrangement.

Madeleine and Desmond accompanied Ericks zero-tau pod to the asteroids
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 theres 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 theyd used the correct procedures, or
whether the blank pod simply contained a vegetable.

Andr Duchamp appeared in the private waiting room they were using, his
smile so bright that Madeleine gave him a suspicious frown.

Ericks going to be all right, she told him.

Trs bon. He is a beautiful enfant. I always said so.

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. Andr 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.

Magnifique. Andr gave a wide, contented smile.

But were 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 thats what it took.
Didnt you? So how fortunate that you dont 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 dont want
Erick walking around in anything less than a perfectly restored and
natural condition. Do you, Captain?

Andrs answering grin was a simple facial ritual. Non, he said. How
right you are, my dear Madeleine. As ever. He gave the surgeon a nod.
Very well, a full clone repair, if you please.

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?

Ill have to check, Andr said heavily.

Madeleine laughed.

Will Erick be able to fly after the artificial tissue has been
implanted? Andr asked.

Oh, yes, the surgeon said. I wont need him back here for the clone
implants for several months.

Good.

Why? Where are we going? Madeleine asked suspiciously.

Andr 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. Im sure that will make Erick very
happy knowing what his recklessness has reduced me to.



                                 ?   ?   ?



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 something had taken over the New California SD network, and
coincidentally knocked out (or captured) half of the planetary navy at
the same time. Details were hazy. It was almost too much to believe that
some kind of coup could be successful on a modern planet, but the few
garbled reports which did get beamed out before the transmitters fell
ominously silent confirmed that the SD platforms were firing at
groundside targets.

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 theyd 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 Idrias SD command centre
when the Adamist starships emerged three thousand kilometres awayfive
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 asteroids 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
fleetbasically every ship capable of launching a combat waspwas
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 didnt 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 didnt respond. Two SD
platforms dropped out of his command network. Victims of combat wasps, or
electronic warfare? He didnt know, and the tactics program couldnt
offer a prediction.

The platforms were never really intended to ward off a full-scale assault
like this, he thought despairingly. Idrias real protection came from the
systems 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 Idrias
spaceport, scattering shoals of submunitions as they closed at
thirty-five gees. Nicolai didnt 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. Were gonna die.

No, Nicolai said. Theyre 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, theyre to enforce a total blockade. And close down
the transit tubes linking the caverns with the spaceport. Now. Whoevers
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 thats
still functioning. I must know whats happening outside.

Sir.

We have to protect the majority of the population. Yreka and Orland will
respond as soon as they see whats 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 arent that good.

If Yreka and Orland havent 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 wheres my
external sensor?

Coming up, sir. I got us a couple of thermo dump panel inspection
mechanoids on microwave circuits. Guess the possessed didnt bother
targeting those relays.

Okay, lets 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 didnt 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 thats 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.

Ive placed a couple of squads in the spindle, Fleur said. Theyre 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 cant possibly mount a standard
beachhead operation. Their bodies screw up electronics, theyd never be
able to wear an SII suit, let alone combat armour. Theyre going to have
to dock and try and fight their way along the transit tubes, thats 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
centres computer, interfacing their communications circuits with the
civil data channels which wove through the spaceport.

Shadows began to flicker inside the ships 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
theyre helping the possessed!

They wouldnt. 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.



                                 ?   ?   ?



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 shed visited Mr Litchfield, the familys 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 Norfolks 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, Norwichs main aerodrome, to talk to a spaceplane pilot from the
Far Realm, who was currently groundside. His name was Furay, and through
him she had gradually persuaded the captain to sell them a berth. She
suspected it was her money rather than her silver tongue which had
eventually won them a cabin. Their fee was forty thousand fuseodollars
apiece.

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 Far Realm was contracted to stay with the squadron during its
Norfolk assignment; when the ship did leave, it would accompany the navy
frigates. No one knew when that would be anymore, the captain explained.
Louise didnt care, she just wanted to get off the planet. Even floating
around in low orbit would be safer than staying in Norwich. She would
worry about reaching Tranquillity when the Far Realm arrived at its next
port.

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
squadrons business was complete.

More delay. More uncertainty. But shed 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 cant take them all with me, though. I want to, dear Jesus, but I
really cant. 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 theyd 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 hadnt 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
wasnt 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 shed
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 shed paid more attention to the family planning
lessons at school, rather than giggling with her friends at the pictures
of mens privates.

Looks like youre 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 hed
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. Out, you filthy fat oaf!

What you need is a close friend, Roberto gloated. Someone who can do
it for you. Its 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. Dont worry, Louise, I wont say
anything to my mother. I dont rat on my friends. And we are going to be
friends, arent 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. Shed never make it. Get away
from me.

I dont 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 dont 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 dont I just go make that call?

No.

Roberto licked his lips. Now thats a whole lot nicer, Louise. Were
cooperating with each other. Arent we?

She just clutched the blouse closer to her, mind feverish.

Arent we? he demanded.

Louise nodded jerkily.

Okay, thats better. He peeled off his shirt.

Louise couldnt help the tears stinging her eyes. No matter what, she
told herself, I wont let him. Id 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. Shed 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 dont. 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. Its going to happen, Louise. Come on,
youll love it when we get started. Im going to last all night long with
you. His hands pushed below her, reaching for her breasts.

Louises 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 Robertos hands squeezed. But the feel of Carmithas 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 dont want it like this. Turn me over. Please, itll make it easier
for you. This hurts.

There was a moments silence. You wont struggle? He sounded uncertain.

I wont. 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 Robertos skull.



The anxious knocking on the door was the next thing Louise was conscious
of. For some inexplicable reason shed 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, Ive killed him. Theyll 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 didnt 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 . . .

Fletchers 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. Theres 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 were in. Fletcher, he suspects something
about you. I cant just go to the police and file a rape charge. Hed
tell them about you. Besidesshe drew an annoyed breathIm 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 Robertos 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 shed ever
worn beforeunlike anything Mother had ever allowed her to wear. But
practical, she decided. Just wearing such garments made her feel
different. The rest of the things she needed went into one of the
suitcases shed bought. She was halfway through packing when she heard
Robertos frightened shout from the bedroom. It trailed off into a
whimper. Her initial impulse was to rush in and find out what was
happening. Instead, she took a deep breath, then looked in the mirror and
finished tying back her hair.

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.

Im going to return to this house one day, she said. When I do, Ill
have my father and my husband with me. If youre smart, you wont 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 aerodromes 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 hadnt 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.

Were not civilians, were passengers, Genevieve said indignantly. She
glared up at the big man, who couldnt help a grin.

Sorry, love, but you still cant come in.

Shes telling the truth, Louise said. She fished a copy of their
transport contract with the Far Realm out of her bag and proffered it to
the sergeant.

He shrugged and flicked through the pages, not really reading it.

The Far Realm is a military ship, Louise said hopefully.

Im 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? Im sure nobody would want the Earl to have
to call the general commanding this base.

The sergeant nodded gruffly. Of course. If youd like to wait inside
while I get this sorted out. My lieutenant is in the mess at the moment.
It might take a while.

Youre 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
matriel.

I think the campaign must be starting, Louise said. Dear Jesus, they
look so young. Just boys, my age. Theyre going to lose, arent they?
Theyre all going to be possessed.

I expect so, my lady, yes.

I should have done something. She wasnt 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. Hell believe me.

I liked Joshua, Genevieve said.

Louise smiled, and ruffed her sisters hair.

If you had warned your family and the Princes court, and they believed
you, I fear you would not have been able to buy your passage on the Far
Realm, lady.

Not that its done us much good, so far, she said in exasperation. We
should have gone up to the Far Realm as soon as Furay finalized the
contract.

Genevieve gave her an anxious look. Well get up there, Louise. Youll
see.

Not very easily. I cant 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 hell call Uncle Jules first. Then well really be in
trouble.

Why? Genevieve asked.

Louise squeezed her sisters hand. I had a bit of a quarrel with
Roberto.

Yuck! Mr Fatso. I didnt 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 cant get away into orbit,
well 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 sisters waist and hugged. Youll
get us away, Louise. I know you will. Youre 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.

Fletchers eyes flicked open. Hes 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 hed left on the sill.
Excellent. Thats 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. Im 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?

Im not quite sure, only that he is odd.

Louise glanced down at Genevieve, whose face had paled at the mention of
the possessed. They wont 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.

Thatll 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 dont know if its right or not. Were 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 didnt 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 theres a farm ranger or something like it parked here, Louise
said. If not, were going to have to dump the cases.

Why? Genevieve asked.

Theyre too heavy, Gen, and were in a hurry. Ill buy you some more,
dont worry.

Can you use such a contraption, my lady? Fletcher asked.

Ive driven one before. Up and down Cricklades 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. Ill 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 soldiers uniform. The second, sitting in the back, was
dressed all in black.

Louise turned to face them. Ill brazen it out; after all, thats what
Ive 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, Im 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 dont you worry, Louise,
were going to show you exactly what happened to Mummy. Im going to give
you a personal demonstration.

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.
Gods 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 dont know who
you are, friend. But dont fuck with me or youll 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. Im stronger than you by myself; and theres 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?

Dont push it, Quinn warned. Im off this shit tip planet today, and
nobodys gonna stop that. Now I know this bitch from before, shes smart.
Shell have a starship lined up to take her away, right?

Louise glared up at him.

Thought so, Quinn sneered. Well, lover, youre 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. Ill blow you back to the beyond if I have to.
And then itll go real bad for your little pal. You know I mean it. I
wont possess her. Ill keep her for myself. Some nights Ill 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.

Wrong! Quinn barked. His sudden fury made Fletcher take a half pace
backwards.

Banneth. Now shes inhuman. She did things to me . . . Spittle appeared
on Quinns chin. He giggled, and wiped it away on the back of a trembling
hand. She did things, okay. And now. Now, Im the one whos gonna do
things right back to her. Things so sick shes never thought of them.
Gods Brother understands that, understands the need in me. Im gonna let
my serpent beast devour her and then spew out the bits. Ill turn my
whole crusade on her if I have to. Ill use biowar bugs, Ill use nukes,
Ill use antimatter. I dont fucking care. Im gonna crack Earth wide
open. And Im gonna go down there, and Im 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 wasnt 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, Im 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 oofed out of his parted lips.
With a look of horrified surprise, he was flung backwards, thin slivers
of white fire crawling over him, slowly constricting. His uniform began
to smoulder. Blood burst out of his mouth and nose, more began to stain
his crotch. He screamed, bucking about helplessly, wrestling with the air.

Nooo! Louise implored. Please stop. Stop!

Genevieve had stumbled to her knees, white face staring brokenly.

Lawrence began to fumble at the collar of Louises 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.

Gods 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 Quinns 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. Tell me!

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
Quinns 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. Thats 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 Genevieves head as they drove away
from the disintegrating hangar.

The corporal took ten minutes to find the Far Realms spaceplane, guided
by Fletcher. Although shed never seen one before, Louise could see how
different it was from the aircraft it was parked among. A needle fuselage
with sleek wings that didnt quite match, as if theyd come off another,
larger craft.

Genevieve had recovered by the time they arrived, though she was very
subdued, pressing into Louises 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.

Its 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 Carmithas charm. Thank heavens shed 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 returnat their arrival, the
state they were in. It was a relief that for once she didnt 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 Fletchers uniform. When theyd met at lunchtime
Fletcher had been in a simple suit. I see youve made lieutenant in
under five hours.

I was once more than this, sir.

Right. It wasnt quite the response Furay expected.

Please, Louise said. My sister needs to sit down. Shes been through a
lot.

Furay thought the little girl looked about dead on her feet. Of course,
he said sympathetically. Come on. Weve 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 didnt 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. Im afraid the spaceplane is a restricted zone. Ill have to see
some identification and authorization before you come any closer.

Of course, Quinn Dexter said. But tell me, is this the frigate Tantus
spaceplane?

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 wouldnt
respond. A tremendous pain detonated inside his chest. Heart attack! he
thought in astonishment. Allah be merciful, this cannot be, Im 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 mans 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 ting which faded quickly.

Neat, Lawrence said in admiration.

It was quiet, Quinn said with modest pride. He started up the
spaceplanes 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 hed 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 wasnt a place hed 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. Im over here. But his voice was
a feeble croak.

A Confederation Navy spaceplane flew low over the field, wobbling
slightly as if it wasnt 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 youre 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 theyre not rebels. Please, you must listen. Theyre 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. Im 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 was his old uniform, but you
had to look close to know. The shirts original khaki colour had been
superseded by a blue and red check pattern. From the thighs down his
regulation trousers were now tough blue denim jeans. Then he caught sight
of his hands. The backs of both were covered in black hairand everyone
always teased him about having delicate womans hands.

He let out a little moan of dismay. Im 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 Fields tiny police station. The detectives
who arrived from Norwichs Special Branch division to interrogate him
didnt believe his story either. Not until it was far too late.



                                 ?   ?   ?



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.

Udat complained it didnt taste right. Meyer wasnt up to arguing. With
Haltams best ministrations, it had taken him seven hours to recover
consciousness after their escape from Tranquillity. Waking to find
himself in interstellar space, with a worried, hurting blackhawk and an
equally unsettled crew to placate did not help his frail mental state.
They had flown directly to Narok, needing eleven swallows to cover the
eighty light-years, where normally they would only use five.

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 asteroids 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 Udats bridge.
Nice to see you.

He winked. Thanks. I was worried there for a while.

You were worried?

<< I was frightened, >>Udat said.

<< I know. But its all over now. And by the way, I think you behaved
commendably while I was out of it. Im proud of you. >>

<< Thank you. I do not want to have to do that again, though. >>

<< You wont have to. I think were 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 shes hired herself a charter agent. After thatnot 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 wed 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 shes right
about how dangerous she is, then were in some sticky shit right now.
Theyre 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, lets be real
here, theyre going to catch us if they want to. If we go to them, it
ought to show we arent at the heart of whatever it is shes involved in.

Cherri snorted in disgust. Yeah, but running to the Kings secret police
. . . It aint right. Ive heard the stories, we all have.

Too right, Haltam said. They make bad enemies.

What do you think, Meyer? Aziz asked.

It wasnt 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, >>Udat commented. << She was nice. >>

There is somebody who might be able to help us, Meyer told them. If
shes still alive. I havent 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, shes an Edenist.

Theyre worse than the bloody ESA, Haltam protested.

Stop being so prejudiced. They have one quality above all else, theyre
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 shell 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 didnt.

Okay, Cherri, file a departure notice with the port, please. Weve been
here quite long enough.

Aye, sir.

<< And, you, lets have a swallow sequence for the Sol system. >>

<< Of course, >>Udat said, then added rather wistfully: << I wonder if
the Oenone will be at Saturn when we arrive? >>

<< 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 Naroks
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. Udat moved cleanly into the interstice it had
opened, shifting the energy which chased through its cells in smaller,
more subtle patterns to sustain the continuity of the pseudofabric that
closed around the hull. Distance without physical length flowed past the
polyp.

<< 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 blackhawks mentality he could actually feel the
pseudofabric changing, twisting and flexing around the hull as if it were
a tunnel of agitated smoke. Udat was unable to impose the stability
necessary to maintain the wormholes uniformity.

<< Whats happening? >>he asked, equally panicked.

<< I dont 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 blackhawks cells, amplifying the distortion field. It
simply made the interference worse. Udat could actually sense waves
forming in the wormholes pseudofabric. The blackhawk juddered as two of
them rolled against its hull.

<< It doesnt 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.

Udat reduced the strength of the distortion field, desperate to conserve
its energy. A huge ripple ran down the wormhole, slapping across the
hull. Loose items jumped and spun over the bridge. Meyer instinctively
grabbed the couch arms even as the restraint webbing folded over him.

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 Mzus 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. Its 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 Udats distortion
field. Once established, it is quite impossible to damp down; the
wormhole itself acts as an amplifier. The resonance will not end while
the distortion field exists, and without the field the wormhole will
collapse back into its quantum state. A neat logic box you cannot escape
from. You can now only survive as long as Udats patterning cells have
energy, and that is depleting at quite a rate, I imagine.

As to the why; I specifically chose you to extract me from Tranquillity
because I always knew Udat was capable of pulling off such a difficult
feat. I know because Ive witnessed this blackhawk in action once before.
Thirty years ago, to be precise. Do you remember, Captain Meyer? Thirty
years ago, almost to the month, you were part of an Omuta mercenary
squadron assigned to intercept three Garissan navy ships, the Chengho,
the Gombari, and the Beezling. I was on the Beezling, Captain, and I know
it was you in the Omuta squadron because after it was over I accessed the
sensor recordings we made of the attack. The Udat is a most distinctive
ship, both in shape, colouring, and agility. You are good, and because of
that you won the battle. And dont we all know exactly what happened to
my home planet after that.

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. << Im sorry, my
friend. >>

<< I love you. >>

Three seconds later, the energy stored in the Udats patterning cells was
exhausted. The wormhole, which was held open purely by the artificial
input of the distortion field, closed up. A straight two-dimensional
fissure, fifteen light-years in length, appeared in interstellar space.
For an instant it spat out a quantity of hard radiation equal to the mass
of the blackhawk. Then, with the universe returned to equilibrium, it
vanished.


Chapter 09
==========


Nicolai Penovich tried not to show how outright shit-scared he was when
the stern-faced gangsters ushered him into the Nixon suite. Not that the
macho-routine facade would do a hell of a lot of good, theyd already let
slip that the possessed could pretty much tell what was going on in your
mind. But not read it direct, not pull out exact memories. And that was
his ace. One memory, and a prayer.

As prayers went it was a goddamn feeble one to be gambling not just his
life but also his life after death.

He was shown into a giant living room with a fluffy white shag carpet and
pale pink furniture which resembled fragile glass balloons. There were
several doors leading off to the rest of the suite, plain gold slabs
three metres high. The far wall was a window looking down on New
California. The view as the terracompatible planet slowly drifted past
was magnificent.

One of the gangsters used his Thompson machine gun to prod Nicolai into
the middle of the room. Stand there. Wait, he grunted.

About a minute later one of the tall doors opened silently. A young girl
walked out. Despite his predicament, Nicolai couldnt help staring. She
was ravishing, a mid-teens face with every feature highlighted by the
purest avian bones. All she wore was a long gossamer robe revealing an
equally sublime physique.

When he thought about it, she was obscurely familiar. He couldnt imagine
meeting her and not remembering, though.

She walked straight past him to a pile of travelling cases on the other
side of the living room. Libby, wheres my red leather playsuit? The one
with the silver chain collar. Libby! Her foot stomped on the carpet.

Coming, poppet. A harried woman shuffled into the lounge. Its in the
brown case, the one with your after-party informal collection.

Which ones that? the girl complained.

This one, poppet. Honestly, youre worse now than when we were touring.
She bent over to open the case.

Nicolai gave the nymphet a more intense scrutiny. It couldnt be . . .

Al Capone hurried in, followed by a number of cronies. And there was no
doubt at all of his identity. A handsome man in his early twenties, with
jet-black hair, slightly chubby cheeks which emphasised his
near-permanent soft smile. His clothes were as antique (and as ridiculous
to Nicolais eyes) as the other gangsters, but he wore them with such
panache it really didnt matter.

He took one glance at Jezzibella and grimaced. Jez, I told you before,
will you stop goddamn prancing around in front of the guys like this. You
aint wearing diddly.

She looked back over her shoulder, pouted, and twirled a lock of hair
around one finger. Oh, come on, Al baby, it gives you a kick. The boys
can all see what it is youve got, and they can never have. Living proof
youre top doggy.

Jez-us. He raised his eyes heavenwards.

Jezzibella sauntered over to him and pecked him lightly on the cheek.
Dont be long, precious. Ive got parts of me that need a serious seeing
to. She beckoned Libby to follow, and made for the door. The woman
walked after her, a garment made up from about five slender red leather
straps draped over her arm.

Jezzibella treated Nicolai to a cutely bashful smile from the middle of a
cloud of gold-blond curls. Then she was gone.

Al Capone was staring at him. You got something on your mind, fella?

Yes, sir.

And whats that?

Ive got some information for you, Mr Capone. Something that could be
very useful to your Organization.

Al nodded curtly. Okay, you got through the door, that proves you got
balls enough. Believe me not many get this far. So now youre here, make
your pitch.

I want to join your Organization. I hear you make room for non-possessed
people with special talents.

Al pointed a thumb at Avram Harwood III who was standing among the little
cluster of lieutenants. Sure do. If savvy Avvy here says what you got is
good news, then youre in.

Is antimatter good news? Nicolai asked. He caught the shudder of horror
on the broken mayors face.

Al rubbed a finger thoughtfully over his chin. Could be. You got some?

I know where you can get it. And I can assist your starship fleet when
it comes to handling the stuff. Its a tricky substance, but Ive had the
training.

How come? Youre a fed, or close to it; a G-man for sure. I thought it
was illegal.

It is. But Idria is a small asteroid sharing a star system with some
powerful institutions. A lot of groundside politicos talk about
strengthening our general assembly into a systemwide administration or
union. Some of Idrias council and SD officers dont appreciate that kind
of talk. It took us a long time to gain our independence from the
founding company, and it wasnt easy. So we made preparations. Just in
case. Several of our companies make components that can be used to build
antimatter confinement systems and drives. Strategic Defence Command also
established a link with a production station.

So you can get it anytime you want? Al asked.

Yes, sir. I have the coordinate of the star which the station is
orbiting. I can take you there.

What makes you think I want this stuff?

Because youre in the same position Idria was. New California is big,
but the Confederation is a lot bigger.

You telling me Im penny-ante?

You might wind up that way if the First Admiral comes knocking.

Al grinned broadly, he put his arm around Nicolai and patted his
shoulders. I like you, boy, you got what it takes. So heres the deal.
You go sit in a corner with my friend Emmet Mordden, here, who is a real
wiz with electric machines and stuff. And you tell him what you know, and
if he says it checks out, youre in.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Al shut the door behind him and leaned against it, taking a moment out of
life, that essential chunk of time alone in his head which allowed his
worn-down resolution to build itself up again. I never realized being me
was so goddamn difficult.

Jezzibella had shifted to the trim athlete persona again, strong and
haughty. She lay on the bed, arms stretched above her head, one knee
bent. The playsuit had gripped her breasts with tight silver chains,
forcing hard dark nipples to point at the ceiling. Every time she
breathed her whole body flexed with feline allure.

Okay, Al said. So tell me what the fuck is antimatter?

She arched her back, glaring defiantly at him. Never.

Jez! Just tell me. I dont have time for this crap.

Her head was tossed from side to side.

Goddamnit! He strode over to the bed, grabbed her jaw, and forced her
to face him. I want to know. I gotta make decisions.

A hand came arching through the air to strike him. He managed to catch it
just before it reached his face, but his pale grey fedora was knocked
off. She started to struggle, pushing him aside.

Games huh? he shouted angrily. You wanna play fucking games, bitch?
He grabbed both her arms, pinning them against the pillows. And the sight
of her chest heaving below the playsuits revealing confinement ignited
the dragons fire in his heart. He forced her further down into the
mattress, gloating at the sight of her superb muscles straining
helplessly. Whos in charge now? Who fucking owns you? He ripped the
leather off her crotch and prised her legs apart. Then he was kneeling
between her thighs, his clothes evaporating. She groaned, making one last
desperate attempt to break free. Against him, she never stood a chance.

Somewhen later, his own fulfillment made him cry out in wonder. The
orgasmic discharge from his body was primitive savagery, enrapturing
every cell. He held himself rigid, prolonging the flow as long as he
could bear before collapsing onto the rumpled silk sheets.

Thats better, baby, Jezzibella said as she stroked his shoulders. I
hate it when youre all uptight.

Al grinned languidly at her. Shed changed back into the teen-kitten
again, all worshipful concern crowned by a frizz of golden curls. No
way, lady. No way are you human.

She kissed his nose. About the antimatter, she said. You need it, Al.
If theres any chance at all, then grab it.

I dont follow, he mumbled. Lovegrove says its just a different kind
of bomb. And we got ourselves plenty of the atom explosives already.

Its not just a better kind of bomb, Al; you can use it to power combat
wasps and starships, too, bump up their performance by an order of
magnitude. If you like, its the difference between a rifle and a machine
gun. They both fire bullets, but which would you prefer in a rumble?

Good point.

Thanks. Now even with the asteroid campaign going well, we havent got
anything like numerical parity with the Confederations conventional
forces. However, antimatter is a superb force multiplier. If youve got
some, theyre going to think twice before launching any sort of
offensive.

Jeeze, you are a fucking marvel. I gotta get this organized with the
boys. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and started to
reconstitute his clothes out of the magic realm where theyd been
banished.

Wait. She pressed up against his back, arms sliding around to hug.
Dont go rushing into this half-cocked, Al. Weve got to think this
through. Youre going to have problems with antimatter, its vicious
stuff. And you dont help.

What do you mean? he bridled.

The way your energistic ability gronks out electronics and power
circuits, you just cant afford that with antimatter. Put a possessed
anywhere near a confinement system and were all going to be watching the
last half of the explosion from the beyond. So . . . it will have to be
the non-possessed who work with the stuff.

Sheesh. Al scratched his mussed hair, desperately uncertain. His
Organization was built along the principle of keeping the non-possessed
in line, under his thumb. You had to have some group at the bottom who
needed to be watched on a permanent basis, it kept the Organization
soldiers busy, gave them a purpose. Made them take orders. But give the
non-possessed antimatter . . . that would screw up the balance something
chronic. I aint so sure, Jez.

Its not that big a problem. You just have to make sure youve got a
secure hold over anyone you assign to handle the stuff. Harwood and Leroy
can fix that; they can arrange for you to hold their families hostage.

Al considered it. Hostages might just work. It would take a lot of effort
to arrange, and the Organization soldiers would really have to be on the
ball. Risky.

Okay, well give it a shot.

Al! Jezzibella squealed girlishly and started kissing his throat
exuberantly.

Als half-materialized clothes vanished again.



The chiefs of staffs office was as extravagant as only senior government
figures could get away with; its expensive, handcrafted furniture
arranged around a long hardwood table running down the centre. One wall
could be made transparent, giving the occupants a view out over the SD
tactical operations centre.

Al sat himself down at the head of the table and acknowledged his senior
lieutenants with a wave of his hand. There was no smile on his face, a
warning that this was strictly business.

Okay, he said. So whats been happening? Leroy?

The corpulent manager glanced along the table, a confident expression in
place. Ive more or less kept to the original pacification schedule we
drew up. Eighty-five per cent of the planet is now under our control.
There are no industrial or military centres left outside our influence.
The administrative structure Harwood has been building up seems to be
effective. Nearly twenty per cent of the population is non-possessed, and
theyre doing what theyre told.

Do we need them? Silvano Richmann asked Al, not even looking at Leroy.

Leroy? Al asked.

For large urban areas, almost certainly, Leroy said. The smaller towns
and villages can be kept going with their possessed inhabitants providing
a combined energistic operation. But cities still require their utilities
to function, you just cant wish that much shit and general rubbish away.
Apparently the possessed cannot create viable food out of inorganic
compounds, so the transport network has to be maintained to keep edible
supplies flowing in. At the moment thats just stock from the warehouses.
Which means well have to come up with a basic economy of some sort to
persuade the farms to keep supplying the cities. The problem with that
is, the possessed who are living out in the rural areas arent inclined
to do too much work, and in any case I havent got a clue what we could
use for moneycounterfeiting is too damn easy for you. We may just have
to resort to barter. Another problem is that the possessed cannot
manufacture items which have any permanence; once outside the energistic
influence they simply revert to their component architecture. So a lot of
factories are going to have to be restarted. As for the military arena,
non-possessed are unquestionably necessary, but thats Mickeys field.

Okay, you done good, Leroy, Al said. How long before Im in charge of
everything down there?

Youre in charge of everything that counts right now. But that last
fifteen per cent is going to be a hard slog. A lot of the resistance is
coming from the hinterland areas, farm country where theyre pretty
individual characters. Tough, too. A lot of them are holed up in the
landscape with their hunting weapons. Silvano and I have been putting
together hunter teams, but from what weve experienced so far its going
to be a long dirty campaign, on both sides. They know the terrain, our
teams dont; its an advantage which almost cancels out the energistic
ability.

Al grunted sardonically. You mean we gotta fight fair?

Its a level playing field, Leroy acknowledged. But well win in the
end, thats inevitable. Just dont ask me for a timetable.

Fine. I want you to keep plugging away at that economy idea. We gotta
maintain some kind of functioning society down there.

Will do, Al.

So, Mickey, how are you holding out?

Mickey Pileggi scrambled to his feet, sweat glinting on his forehead.
Pretty good, Al. We broke forty-five asteroids with that first action.
Theyre the big ones, with the most important industrial stations. So now
weve got three times as many warships as when we started. The rest of
the settlements are just going to be a mopping-up operation. Theres
nothing out there which can threaten us anymore.

You got crews for all these new ships?

Were working on it, Al. It isnt as easy as the planet. Theres a lot
of distance involved here, our communications lines arent so hot.

Any reaction from the Edenists?

Not really. There were some skirmishes with armed voidhawks at three
asteroids, we took losses. But no big retaliation attacks.

Probably conserving their strength, Silvano Richmann said. Its what I
would do.

Al fixed Mickey with the look (God, the hours hed spent practising that
back in Brooklyn). And he hadnt lost it, poor old Mickeys tic started
up like hed thrown a switch. When weve taken over all the ships docked
at the asteroids, are we gonna be strong enough to bust the Edenists?

Mickeys eyes performed a desperate search for allies. Maybe.

Its a question of how you want them, Al, Emmet Mordden said. I doubt
we could ever subdue them, not make them submit to possession, or hand
the habitats over to the Organizations control. Youll just have to
trust me on this, theyre completely different from any kind of people
you have ever met before. All of them, even the kids. You might be able
to kill them, destroy their habitats. But conquest? I dont think so.

Al squeezed his lips together and studied Emmet closely. Emmet was
nothing like Mickey; timid, yeah, but he knew his stuff. So what are you
saying?

That youve got to make a choice.

What choice?

Whether to go for the antimatter. You see, Edenism has a monopoly on
supplying He3, and thats the fuel which all the starships and industrial
stations run on, as well as the SD platforms, and we all know they have
to be kept powered up. Now theres an awful lot of He3 stored around the
New California system, but ultimately its going to run out. That means
we must go to the source if we want to keep our starships going, and
maintain our hold over the planet. Either that or use the alternative.

Right, Al said reasonably. Youve been talking to this Nicolai
Penovich character, Emmet, is he on the level?

As far as I can make out, yeah. He certainly knows a lot about
antimatter. Id say he can take us to this production station of his.

We got ships which can handle that?

Emmet gave an unhappy scowl. Ships, yeah, no problem now. But, Al,
starships and antimatter, it means using a lot of non-possessed to run
them. Our energistic power, its not good for space warfare, if anything
it puts our ships at a disadvantage.

I know, Al said smoothly. But, shit, we can turn this in our favour if
we handle it right. Itll prove that the non-possessed have got a part in
the Organization just as much as anyone. Good publicity. Besides, those
boosted guys, they helped out in the asteroids, right?

Yes, Silvano admitted reluctantly. Theyre good.

Thats it then, Al said. Well give our ships a crack at the Edenists,
for sure. See if we can snatch the helium mines they got. But in the
meantime we take out a sweet little insurance policy. Emmet, start
putting together the ships youll need. Silvano, I want you and Avvy to
work on whos gonna crew them. I only want you to use non-possessed who
are family guys, catch? And before they leave for the station, I want
those families up here in Monterey being given the holiday of a lifetime.
Shift everyone out of the resort complex, and house them there.

Silvano produced a greedy smile. Sure thing, Al, Im on it.

Al sat back and watched as they started to implement his instructions. It
was all going real smooth, which threw up its own brand of trouble. One
which even Jez had overlookedbut then this was one field where he had a
shitload more experience than she had. The lieutenants were getting used
to wielding power, they were learning how to pull levers. They all had
their own territories right now, but pretty soon theyd start to think.
And sure as chickens shat eggs, one of them would try for it. He looked
around the table and wondered which it would be.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Kiera Salter sat down on the presidents chair in Magellanic Itgs
boardroom and surveyed her new domain. The office was one of the few
buildings inside the habitat; a circular, fifteen-storey tower situated
at the foot of the northern endcap. Its windows gave her a daunting view
down the interior. The shaded browns of the semi-arid desert were
directly outside, slowly giving way to the tranquil greens of grassland
and forest around the midsection, before finally merging into the rolling
grass plains, currently dominated by some vivid pink xenoc plant. Moating
that, and forming an acute contrast, was the circumfluous sea; a broad
band of near-luminous turquoise shot through with wriggling
scintillations. High and serene above it all, the axial light tube poured
out a glaring noon-sun radiance. The only incongruity amid the peaceful
scene was the dozen or so clouds which glowed a faint red as they drifted
through the air.

There was little other evidence of the coup which she had led, one or two
small smudges of black smoke, a crashed rent-cop plane in the parkland
surrounding a starscraper lobby. Most of the real damage had occurred
inside the starscrapers; but the important sections, the industrial
stations and spaceport, had sustained only a modest amount of battering.

Her plan had been a good one. Anyone who came into contact with a
possessed was immediately taken over, regardless of status. A ripple
effect spread out from the seventeenth floor of the Diocca starscraper,
slow at first, but gradually gaining strength as the numbers grew. The
possessed moved onto the next starscraper.

Rubra warned people of course, told them what to look out for, told them
where the possessed were. He directed the rent-cops and the boosted
mercenary troops, ambushing the possessed. But good as they were, the
troops he had at his disposal were heavily dependent on their hardware.
That gave the possessed a lethal advantage. Unless it was as basic as a
chemical projectile weapon, technology betrayed them, failing at critical
moments, producing false data. He didnt even attempt to take Valisks
small squad of assault mechanoids out of storage.

Out on the docking ridges, the polyp hulls of possessed starships began
to swell below a shimmer of exotic light patterns, emerging from their
convulsions as full-grown hellhawks. Fantastically shaped starships and
huge harpies zoomed away from the habitat to challenge the voidhawks and
Srinagar frigates that were edging in cautiously. The military ships had
pulled back, abandoning their effort to assist the beleaguered population.

Kieras authority now extended the length of the habitat, and encompassed
a zone a hundred thousand kilometres in diameter outside the shell. All
in all, not a bad little fiefdom for an ex-society wife from New Munich.
Shed glimpsed it briefly once before, this position, the influence,
importance, and respect which authority endowed. It could have been hers
for the taking back then; she had the breeding and family money, her
husband had the ambition and skill. By rights a cabinet seat awaited, and
maybe even the chancellorship (so she dreamed and schemed). But hed
faltered, betrayed by his ambition and lack of patience, making the wrong
deals in search of the fast track. A weak failure condemning her to
sitting out her empty life in the grand old country house, working
studiously for the right charities, pitied and avoided by the social
vixens shed once counted as her closest friends. Dying bitter and
resentful.

Well, now Kiera Salter was back, younger and prettier than ever before.
And the mistakes and weaknesses of yesteryear were not going to be
repeated again. Not ever.

We finished going through the last starscraper three hours ago, she
told the council shed assembled (oh-so-carefully selecting most of the
members). Valisk now effectively belongs to us.

That brought applause and some whistles.

She waited for it to die down. Bonney, how many non-possessed are left?

Id say a couple of hundred, the hunter woman said. Theyre hiding
out, with Rubras help, of course. Tracking them down is going to take a
while. But theres no way for them to get out; Ill find them eventually.

Do they pose any danger?

The worst case scenario would be a few acts of sabotage; but considering
we can all sense them if they get close enough to us, it would be very
short-lived. No, I think the only one who could hurt us now would be
Rubra. But I dont know enough about him and what his capabilities are.

Everyone turned to look at Dariat. Kiera hadnt wanted him on the
council, but his understanding of affinity and the habitat routines was
peerless. They needed his expertise to deal with Rubra. Despite that, she
still didnt consider him a proper possessed; he was crazy, a very
ruthless kind of crazy. His agenda was too different from theirs. A fact
which to her mind made him a liability, a dangerous one.

Ultimately, Rubra could annihilate the entire ecosystem, Dariat said
calmly. He has control over the environmental maintenance and digestive
organs; that gives him a great deal of power. Conceivably he could
release toxins into the water and food, replace the present atmosphere
with pure nitrogen and suffocate us, even vent it out into space. He can
turn off the axial light tube and freeze us, or leave it on and cook us.
None of that would damage him in the long term; the biosphere can be
replanted, and the human population replaced. He cares less for the lives
of humans than we do, his only priority is himself. As I told you right
at the start, everything else we achieve is completely pointless until he
is eliminated. But you didnt listen.

So, shitbrain, why hasnt he done any of that already? Stanyon asked
contemptuously.

Kiera put a restraining hand on his leg under the table. He was a good
deputy for her, his intimidating strength accounting for a great deal of
the obedience she was shown; he also made an excellent replacement for
Ross Nash in her bed. However, vast intelligence was not one of his
qualities.

Yes, she said levelly to Dariat. Why not?

Because we have one key element left to restrain him, Dariat said. We
can kill him. The hellhawks are armed with enough combat wasps to destroy
a hundred habitats. Were in a deterrence situation. If we fight each
other openly, we both die.

Openly? Bonney challenged.

Yes. Right now, he will be conferring with the Edenist Consensus about
methods of reversing possession. And as you know, Im investigating
methods of transferring my personality into the neural strata without him
blocking it. That way I could assume control of the habitat and eliminate
him at the same time.

Which isnt exactly the solution I want, Kiera thought.

So why dont you just do it? Stanyon asked. Shove yourself in there
and fight the bastard on his own ground. Dont you have the balls for it?

The neural strata cells will only accept Rubras thought routines. If a
thought routine is not derived from his own personality pattern it will
not function in the neural strata.

But you fucked with the routines before.

Precisely. I made changes to what was there, I did not replace
anything. Dariat sighed elaborately, resting his head in his hands.
Look, Ive been working on this problem for nearly thirty years now.
Conventional means were utterly useless against him. Then I thought Id
found the answer with affinity enhanced by this energistic ability. I
could have used it to modify sections of the neural strata, force the
cells to accept my personality routines. I was exploring that angle when
that drunk cretin Ross Nash blew our cover. So we went overt and showed
Rubra what we can do; fine, but by doing that we threw away our stealth
advantage. He is on his guard like never before. Ive had enough evidence
of that over the last ten hours. If I try to convert a chunk of the
neural strata ready to accept me, it drops out of the homogeneity
architecture, and he does something to the cells bioelectric component,
too, which kills them instantly. Dont ask me whatbreaks down the
natural chemical regulators, or simply electrocutes them with nerve
impulse surges. I dont know! But hes blocking me every step of the way.

All very interesting, Kiera said coldly. What we need to know,
however, is can you beat him?

Dariat smiled, his gaze unfocused. Yes. Ill beat him, I feel the lady
Chi-ri touching me. There will be a way, and Ill find it eventually.

The rest of the council exchanged irritated or worried glances; except
for Stanyon who merely gave a disgusted groan.

Can we take it then, that Rubra does not pose any immediate threat?
Kiera asked. She found Dariats devotion to the Starbridge religion with
its Lords and Ladies of the realms another indication of just how
unstable he was.

Yes, Dariat said. Hell keep up the attrition, of course.
Electrocution, servitor housechimps cracking rocks over your skull; and
well have to abandon the tubes and starscraper lifts. Its an annoyance,
but we can live through it.

Until when? Hudson Proctor asked. He was an ex-general Kiera had
drafted in to her initial coterie to help plan their takeover strategy.
Rubra is in here with us, and the Edenists are outside. Both of them are
doing their damnedest to push us back into the beyond. We have to stop
that, we must fight back. Im damned if Im prepared to sit here and let
them win. He glanced around the table, buoyed by the level of silent
support shown by the council.

Our hellhawks are easily a match for any voidhawk, Kiera said. The
Edenists cannot get inside Valisk, all they can do is sit at a safe
distance and watch. I dont consider them a problem at all, let alone a
threat.

The hellhawks might be as good as a voidhawk in a fight, but whats to
make them stay and guard us?

Dariat, Kiera said, irked at having to defer to him again. But he was
the one whod worked out how to keep the hellhawks loyal to Valisk.

The souls possessing the hellhawks will help us for as long as we want,
Dariat said. We have something they ultimately want: human bodies.
Rubras descendants can all use their affinity to converse with
Magellanic Itgs blackhawks. That means the souls can get out of the
hellhawks and into those bodies the same way as they got in. During our
takeover we captured enough of Rubras descendants to provide each
hellhawk possessor with a human body. Theyre all stored in zero-tau,
waiting.

Waiting for what? Hudson Proctor asked. This is what gets me. I dont
even know why were bothering with this discussion in the first place.

What do you suggest we should be doing, then? Kiera asked.

The blindingly obvious. Lets just go. Now! We know we can do it;
together we have the power to lift Valisk clean out of this universe. We
can create our own universe around us; one with new laws, a place where
theres no empty eternity around us, and where were safely sealed off
from the beyond. Well be safe there, from Rubra, from the Edenists, from
everybody. Safe and immortal.

Quite right, Kiera said. Most possessed had only been back for a few
hours, but already the urge was growing. To run, to hide from the
dreadful empty sky. Enclosed Valisk was better than a planet; but Kiera
had hated the starscrapers with their windows showing the naked stars,
always reminding her of the beyond. Yes, she thought, we will have to
leave that sight eventually. But not yet. There were other, older
instincts prising at her thoughts. For when Valisk departed to a universe
where anything became possible to every individual, the need for
leadership would fade away, lost among the dream of eternal sybaritic
life into which they would all fall. Kiera Salter would cease to be
anything special. Maybe it was inevitable, but there was no need to rush
into it. What about the threat from ourselves? she asked them, a high
note of curiosity in her voice. As if theyd already solved the obvious
problem.

What threat? Stanyon asked.

Think about it. How long are we intending to leave this universe for?

I wasnt planning on coming back, Hudson Proctor said caustically.

Me neither. But eternity is rather a long time, isnt it? And those are
the terms were going to have to start thinking in nowadays.

So? he demanded.

So how many people are there in Valisk right now? Stanyon?

Close to nine hundred thousand.

Not quite nine hundred thousand people. And the purpose of life, or the
nearest definition Ill ever make, is to experience. Experience whatever
you can for as long as you can. She gave the councillors a morbid smile.
That isnt going to change whatever universe we occupy. As it stands,
there arent enough of us; not if we want to keep providing ourselves
with new and different experiences for all of eternity. We have to have
variety to keep on generating freshness, otherwise well just be playing
variants on a theme for ever. Fifty thousand years of that, and well be
so desperate for a change that well even come back here just for the
novelty. Shed won them; she could see and sense the doubt and
insecurity fission in their minds.

Hudson Proctor sat back in his chair and favoured her with a languid
smile. Go on, Kiera, youve obviously thought this through. Whats the
solution?

There are two possibilities. First, we use the hellhawks to evacuate
ourselves to a terracompatible world and begin the possession campaign
all over again. Personally Id hate to risk that. Srinagars warships
might not be able to break into Valisk, but if we tried to land on the
planet it would be a shooting gallery. Alternatively, we can play it
smart and gather people in to us. Valisk can support at least six or
seven million, and thats without our energistic ability enhancing it.
Six million should be enough to keep our society alive and fresh.

Youre joking. Bring in over five million people?

Yes. Itll take time, but it can be done.

Bringing some people in, yes, but so many . . . Surely our population is
going to grow anyway?

Not by five million it isnt. Wed have to make permanent pregnancy
compulsory for every female for the next ten years. This council might be
in command now, but try implementing that and see how long we last.

Im not talking about right now, Im talking about after. Well have
children after we leave.

Will we? These arent our actual bodies, theyd never be our children.
The biological imperative isnt driving us anymore; these bodies are
sensory receptors for our consciousness, nothing else. I certainly dont
intend to have any children.

All right, even assuming youre right, and Im not saying you are, how
are you going to get that kind of influx, launch the hellhawks on pirate
flights to capture people?

No, she said confidently. Invite them. Youve seen the Starbridge
tribes. There are the disaffected just like them in every society
throughout the Confederation. I know, one of the charities I used to work
for helped rehabilitate youngsters who couldnt cope with modern life.
Gather them all together, and you could fill twenty habitats this size.

But how? Whats going to make them want to come here, to Valisk?

We just have to find the right message, thats all.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Even by day, Burley Palace stood aloof from the city of Atherstone;
surrounded by extensive parkland at the top of a small rise, it surveyed
the sprawling lower districts with a suitably regal detachment. At night
the isolation made it positively imperious. Atherstones lights turned
the motorways, boulevards, and grand squares into a gaudy mother-of-pearl
blaze which shimmered as though it were alive. Right in the centre,
however, the palace grounds were a lake of midnight darkness. And in the
centre of that, Burley Palace shone brighter than it ever did under the
noon sun, illuminated by a bracelet of five hundred spotlights. It was
visible from almost anywhere in the city.

Ralph Hiltch observed it through the Royal Navy Marine flyers sensor
suite as they approached. It was a neoclassic building with innumerable
wings slotting together at not quite geometrical angles, and five
quadrangles enclosing verdant gardens. Even though it was nearly one
oclock in the morning, there were a lot of cars using the long drive
which cut through the parkland, headlights creating a near-constant
stream of white light. Although highly ornamental, the palace was the
genuine centre of government; so given the planets current state of
alert, the activity was only to be expected.

The pilot brought the flyer down on one of the discreetly positioned
rooftop pads. Roche Skark was waiting for Ralph as he came down the
airstairs, two bodyguards standing unobtrusively a few metres behind.

How are you? the ESA director asked.

Ralph shook his hand. Still in one piece, sir. Unlike Mortonridge.

Thats a nasty case of guilt youve got there, Ralph. I hope its not
clouding your judgement.

No, sir. In any case, it isnt guilt. Just resentment. We nearly had
them, we were so close.

Roche gave the younger operative a sympathetic look. I know, Ralph. But
you drove them out of Pasto, and thats got to be a colossal achievement.
Just think what would have happened if it had fallen to the likes of
Annette Ekelund. Mortonridge multiplied by a hundred. And if theyd
possessed that many people they wouldnt have been content to stay put
like they are on the peninsula.

Yes, sir.

They walked into the palace.

This idea the pair of you came up with. Is it workable? Roche asked.

I believe so, sir, Ralph said. And I appreciate you allowing me to
outline it to the Princess myself. The notion had evolved from several
strategy reviews he and Colonel Palmer had held during the occasional
lull in the frantic two days of the Mortonridge evacuation. Ralph knew
that it contained suggestions which had to be made to the Princess
personally. He feared it being diluted by navy staff analysts and
tacticians if he routed it through the correct procedural channels.
Smooth minds polishing away the raw substance to present a sleek concept,
one that was politically acceptable. And that wouldnt work, nothing
short of hundred per cent adherence to the proposal would produce success.

Sometimes when he stood back and observed this obsessional character hed
become he wondered if he wasnt simply overdosing on arrogance.

Given the circumstances, it was the least we could do, Roche Skark
said. As I told you, your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Sylvester Geray was waiting for them in the decagonal reception room with
its gleaming gold and platinum pillars. The equerry in his perfect
uniform gave Ralphs borrowed marine fatigues a reluctant appraisal, then
opened a set of doors.

After the opulence of the state rooms outside, Princess Kirstens private
office was almost subdued, the kind of quietly refined study a noble
landowner would run an estate from. He couldnt quite make the leap to
accepting that the entire Ombey star system was ruled from this room.

He stepped up to the desk, feeling he ought to salute, but knowing it
would appear ridiculous; he wasnt military. The Princess didnt look
much different from her images on the news, a dignified lady who seemed
to be locked in perpetual middle age. No amount of discipline was able to
stop him checking her face. Sure enough, there was the classic Saldana
nose, slender with a downturned end; which was almost her only delicate
feature, she had an all-over robustness of a kind which made it
impossible ever to imagine her growing into a frail old grandmother.

Princess Kirsten acknowledged him with a generous nod. Mr Hiltch. In the
flesh at last.

Yes, maam.

Thank you so much for coming. If youd like to sit down, we can start.

Ralph took the chair next to Roche Skark, grateful for the illusion of
protection his boss gave him. Jannike Dermot was eyeing him with what was
almost a sense of amusement. The only other person in the room, apart
from the equerry, was Ryle Thorne, who didnt appear to care about
Ralphs presence one way or the other.

Well bring in Admiral Farquar now, Kirsten said. She datavised the
desks processor for a security level one sensenviron conference. The
white bubble room emerged to claim them.

Ralph found he was sitting to the right of the admiral, down at the end
of the table away from the Princess.

If youd like to summarize the current Mortonridge situation for us, Mr
Hiltch, Kirsten said.

Maam. Our principal evacuation operation is now finished. Thanks to the
warnings we broadcast, we managed to lift out over eighteen thousand
people with the planes and Royal Navy transport flyers. Another sixty
thousand drove up the M6 and got out that way before the motorway failed.
The sensor satellites show us that there are about eight hundred boats
carrying refugees which are heading up to the main continent. Our
priority at the moment is to try and take people off the smaller ones,
which are desperately overcrowded.

Which leaves us with close to two million people stranded in
Mortonridge, Admiral Farquar said. And not a damn thing we can do about
it.

We believe most of them are now possessed, Ralph said. After all,
Ekelunds people have had two days. And those that arent possessed will
be by tomorrow. We keep running into this exponential curve. Its a
frightening equation when its translated into real life.

Youre absolutely sure they are being possessed? Princess Kirsten asked.

Im afraid so, maam. Our satellite images are being fudged, of course,
right across the peninsula. But we can still use sections of the
communications net. The possessed seem to have forgotten or ignored that.
The AIs have been pulling what images they can from sensors and cameras.
The overall pattern is constant. Non-possessed are tracked down, then
systematically hurt until they submit to possession. Theyre fairly
ruthless about it, though they do seem to be reticent with children. Most
of those reaching the evacuation points now are under sixteen.

Dear Heaven, the Princess muttered.

Any of the possessed trying to get out? Ryle Thorne asked.

No, sir, Ralph said. They seem to be sticking to the agreement as far
as we can tell. The only anomaly at the moment is the weather. Theres a
considerable amount of unnatural cloud building up over Mortonridge, it
started this morning.

Unnatural cloud? Ryle Thorne inquired.

Yes, sir. Its an almost uniform blanket spreading up from the south,
which doesnt appear to be affected by the wind. Oh, and its starting to
glow red. We believe it could be an additional form of protection from
the sensor satellites. If it continues to expand at its current rate,
Mortonridge will be completely veiled in another thirty-six hours. After
that well only have the sensors hooked into the net, and I dont believe
theyll overlook them for much longer.

A red cloud? Is it poisonous? Princess Kirsten asked.

No, maam. We flew some drones through it, taking samples. Its just
water vapour. But theyre controlling it somehow.

What about its potential as a weapon?

I dont see how it could be used aggressively. The amount of power
necessary to generate it is quite impressive, but thats all. In any
case, the border weve established at the top of Mortonridge is an
effective block. The troops are calling it a firebreak. The SD lasers
have cleared a two-kilometre-wide line of scorched earth straight across
the neck. Were combining satellite observation with ground patrols to
monitor it. If anything moves out there itll be targeted immediately.

What happens if the cloud tries to move over?

Then well attempt to burn it back with the SD lasers. If that doesnt
work, then well need your authority to launch punitive strikes, maam.

I see. How will you know how to target these punitive strikes if the red
cloud covers all of Mortonridge?

Scout teams will have to go in, maam.

Let us pray the cloud can be halted by the lasers, then.

I can see youre geared up to prevent any attempt at a mass breakout,
Ryle Thorne said. What have you done to prevent individual possessed
sneaking out among the refugees? We all know it only takes one to restart
the whole nightmare. And I monitored aspects of the evacuation, it was
rather chaotic at times.

It was chaotic getting the refugees out, sir, Ralph said. But the
other end was more straightforward. Everyone was tested to see if they
had this energistic effect. We didnt find anybody. Even if they did
manage to get through, the refugees are all being held in isolation. We
think the only possessed on Ombey are on Mortonridge.

Good, Princess Kirsten said. I know Roche Skark has already
congratulated you, Mr Hiltch, but Id like to express my own gratitude
for the way youve handled this crisis. Your conduct has been exemplary.

Thank you, maam.

It galls me to say it, but I think that Ekelund woman was right. The
final outcome isnt going to be decided here.

Excuse me, maam, but I told Ekelund I thought that was incorrect, and I
still believe that.

Go on, Mr Hiltch, Kirsten told him cordially. I dont bite, and Id
dearly love to be proved wrong in this instance. You have an idea?

Yes, maam. I think just waiting passively for this problem to be
resolved somewhere else would be a vast mistake. For our own peace of
mind, if nothing else, we have to know that the possessed can be beaten,
can be made to give up what theyve taken. We know zero-tau can force
them to abandon the bodies theyve stolen; and it may be that Kulu or
Earth, or somewhere with real top-grade scientific resources, can find a
quicker more effective method. But the point is, whatever solution we
eventually come up with we still have to get out there on the ground and
implement it.

So you want to start now? Admiral Farquar asked.

The preparation stage, yes, sir. There is a lot of groundwork to be laid
first. Colonel Palmer and myself believe the possessed have already made
one critical mistake. By possessing everyone left in Mortonridge they
have given up their blackmail weapon. They cannot threaten us with a
massacre as they did in Exnall, not anymore, because they have no
hostages left. There is only us and them now.

Ralph, youve had firsthand experience of how hard they fight. It would
cost us a couple of marines for every four or five possessed we captured.
Thats a bad ratio.

Ralph switched his attention to the Princess, wishing they were out of
the sensenviron. He wanted physical eye contact, delivering her the truth
of what he believed. I dont believe we should use our own marines, sir.
Not in the front line. As you say, they would be wiped out. We know the
possessed have to be completely overwhelmed before they can be subdued,
and those kinds of battles would demoralize the troops long before we
made any real inroads.

So what do you want to use? Kirsten asked curiously.

There is, maam, one technology which can function effectively around a
possessed, and is also available in the kind of quantities necessary to
liberate Mortonridge.

Bitek, Kirsten said quickly, vaguely pleased at making the connection.

Yes, maam. Ralph made an effort to rein in his surprise. The Edenists
could probably produce some kind of warrior construct which could do the
job.

Theres even an appropriate DNA sequence which they could employ, she
said, enjoying the game, her thoughts racing ahead, mapping our
possibilities. A Tranquillity serjeant. Ive accessed sensevises of
them. Nasty-looking brutes. And Ione is a cousin of ours, Im sure
acquisition wouldnt be a problem.

The rest of the security committee remained silent, startled by her
apparent eagerness to discard taboos.

We would still need a massive conventional army to occupy and hold the
land we regained, and support the bitek constructs, Ralph said
cautiously.

Yes. The Princess was lost in thought. Youve certainly offered a
valid proposal, Mr Hiltch. Unfortunately, as Im sure you are aware, I
could not conceivably approach the Edenists with such a request. The
political implications of such an alliance would undermine some of the
Kingdoms basic tenets of foreign policy, a policy which has been
maintained for centuries.

I see, maam, Ralph said stiffly.

I cant petition them, Kirsten said, enjoying herself. Only King
Alastair can do that. So youd better go and ask my big brother for me,
hadnt you, Mr Hiltch?



                                 ?   ?   ?



As soon as New California fell to the Capone Organization the Consensus
of the thirty habitats orbiting Yosemite started preparing for war. It
was a situation which had never before occurred in the five centuries
since Edenism was founded. Only Laton had ever threatened them in the
past, but he was one man; the staggering pan-Confederation resources they
had were adequate to deal with him (so they considered at the time). This
was different.

Adamists throughout the Confederation nearly always allowed prejudice to
contaminate their thinking towards the Edenist culture. They assumed that
as it was both wealthy and cloistered it would be if not decadent, then
at least timorous. They were wrong. Edenists prided themselves in their
rational approach to all facets of life. They might deplore violence,
favouring endless diplomatic negotiations and economic sanctions to any
form of conflict, but if there was no alternative, they would fight. And
fight with a coldly logical precision which was frightening.

Once the decision was taken, Consensus began the job of coordinating the
gas giants resources and priorities. The extensive clusters of
industrial stations which surrounded each habitat were immediately turned
over in their entirety to armaments manufacture. Component production was
integrated by Consensus, matching demand to capability within hours, then
going on to harmonize final fabrication procedures. Barely four hours
after the operation started, the first new combat wasps were emerging
from their freshly allocated assembly bays.

After conquering New California itself, Capone began his campaign against
the systems asteroid settlements. Consensus knew then it would only be a
matter of time. Yosemite was the source of He3 for the entire system, the
strategic high ground.

Perhaps if Capone had ordered an all-out assault on Yosemite as his first
action he might have been successful. Instead, taking over the asteroid
settlements was a tactical error. It allowed the Consensus precious days
to consolidate the gas giants defences. Not even Emmet Mordden really
grasped the awesome potential of an entire civilization converted to a
war footing, especially one with Edenisms technological resources. How
could he? It had never happened before.

Voidhawks hovering seven hundred thousand kilometres above New
Californias poles observed the three new squadrons being assembled among
the fifty-three asteroids orbiting the planet. Their composition,
numbers, and in some cases even the armament specifications were duly
noted and relayed to Yosemite. Unknown to the Organization, the voidhawks
were not the summation of the Edenist intelligence gathering operation,
they simply coordinated the observation. Thousands of stealthed spy
sensor globes the size of tomatoes were falling past the asteroids like a
constant black snow. All the information they gathered was passed back to
the voidhawks through affinity links with their bitek processors. The
possessed couldnt detect affinity, nor was it susceptible to either
conventional electronic warfare or the interference by the energistic
ability, all of which allowed the spy globes to reveal a minute by minute
account of the buildup.

Had anyone in the Organization realized just how detailed the Edenist
knowledge was, they would never have dispatched the starships.

Thirty-nine hours after Capone had given the go-ahead to try to capture
the Yosemite cloudscoops, two of the three squadrons of ships docked in
the asteroids departed. Consensus knew both the vectors of the ships and
their arrival time.

Yosemite orbited seven hundred and eighty-one million kilometres from the
G5-type star of the New California system. At a hundred and twenty-seven
thousand kilometres in diameter it was slightly smaller than Jupiter,
although its storm bands lacked the vigour normally associated with such
mass; even their coloration was uninspiring, streamers of sienna and
caramel meandering among the pristine white upbursts of ammonia crystals.

The thirty Edenist habitats orbited sedately three-quarters of a million
kilometres above the equator, their tracks perturbed only by gentle
resonances with the eight large innermost moons. It was that radial band
where the Consensus had concentrated its new defensive structure. Each of
the habitats was englobed by beefed-up Strategic Defence platforms; but
given the demonstrated ruthlessness of the attackers, Consensus was
attempting to prevent any Organization ships getting near enough to
launch a combat wasp salvo.

With the vectors identified and timed, Consensus redeployed twelve
thousand of the combat wasps out of the total of three hundred and
seventy thousand it had already seeded across the gas giants equatorial
zone. Their fusion drives ignited for a few minutes, putting them on a
loose interception trajectory with the area of space the attackers were
likely to emerge in. A hundred of the patrolling voidhawks were moved
closer.

The first seven attackers to emerge, as per standard tactics programs,
were all front-line navy rapid-response frigates. Their mission was to
assess the level of opposition, and if necessary clear the incoming
squadrons designated emergence zone of any hostile hardware. Even as
their event horizons vanished, leaving them falling free, twenty-five
voidhawks were accelerating towards them at ten gees. Distortion fields
locked on, ruining the equilibrium of space around their hulls,
preventing any of them from jumping clear. Combat wasps were already
shooting over the intervening distance at twenty-five gees. The frigates
immediately launched defensive salvos, but with their sensors hampered by
the energistic flux of their own crews, the response was too slow in
coming, and even when it did they were hopelessly outnumbered. Each of
the frigates was the target of at least a hundred and fifty combat wasps,
streaking in at them from every direction. At most, they could fire forty
defenders. To have stood a good chance they would have needed close to
five hundred apiece.

Within a hundred seconds all seven frigates were destroyed.

Ten minutes later, the rest of the Organizations starships started to
emerge from their ZTT jumps. Their predicament was even worse. They were
expecting the specialist frigates to have established a defensive
perimeter. It took time for an ordinary Adamist starship to deploy its
sensor clusters and scan local space for possible danger; time which in
this case was lengthened by malfunctioning equipment. When the sensors
finally did relay an image of the external arena, it seemed as though a
small galaxy was on the move. Yosemite was almost invisible behind a
sparkling nebula of fusion drives; thousands of combat wasps and tens of
thousands of submunitions were generating a fraudulent dawn across half
of the colossal planets nightside. And the nebula was contracting, twin
central whorls twisting lazily into two dense spires which were rising
inexorably towards the emergence zones.

One by one, the Organization starships crashed against the terrible,
moon-sized mountains of light, detonating into photonic avalanches which
tumbled away into the yawning darkness.



Two hours later, the voidhawks on observation duty above New California
reported that Capones third squadron was leaving the orbital asteroids.
When they were a quarter of a million kilometres above the planet, the
starships activated their energy patterning nodes and vanished. Consensus
was puzzled by the vector; they werent aligned on any known inhabited
world.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Not even the ending of the physical threat had brought any relief to the
turmoil in Louises head. They had flown all the way into orbit to dock
with the Far Realm without any problem, although Furay had grumbled
constantly about bits of machinery going wrong on the ascent.

The starship itself wasnt quite as impressive as shed been expecting.
The interior was like servants quarters, except made out of metal and
plastic. There were four spheres grouped together in a pyramid shape,
which the crew called life-support capsules, and that was the total
available living space; apparently the rest of the ship inside the hull
was solid machinery. Everything was so dreadfully smalltables, chairs,
bunks; and what wasnt being used had to be folded away. And to complete
her misery, free fall was an utter nightmare.

It was ironic. As Genevieve had perked up during the spaceplane flight,
so Louise had felt gradually worse. As soon as the rocket engines finally
cut out, leaving them floating free, Genevieve had yelled delightedly,
releasing her webbing and hurtling around the cabin, giggling as she
bounced and somersaulted. Even Fletcher, after his initial alarm at the
sensation, had relaxed, smiling cautiously as he attempted a few simple
gymnast manoeuvres with Genevieve cheering him on.

But not her. Oh, no. Shed been wretchedly sick three times during the
rendezvous, what with the spaceplane juddering around the whole time. It
had taken her several tries to learn how to use the sanitation tube
provided for such instances, much to the disgusted dismay of the others
in the cabin.

She had then continued to be sick, or at least have the stomach spasms,
after they floated through the airlock tube into the starships tiny
lounge. Endron, the ships systems specialist who doubled as medical
officer, had towed her into the sick bay cubicle. Twenty minutes later
when the horrid warm itch inside her stomach faded, and some kind of cool
fluid was sprayed into her mouth to rinse away the taste of vomit, she
began to take stock for the first time. Her ears felt funny, and when she
touched one she could feel something hard cupped around the back of it.

Thats a medical nanonic, Endron told her. Ive put one package behind
each ear. Dont try and take them off, theyve knitted with your inner
ears. It ought to solve your balance problem.

Thank you, she said meekly. Im sorry to be so much trouble.

Youre not. If only your sister was as quiet as you.

Oh. Im sorry. Is she being a nuisance?

He laughed. Not really. Were just not used to girls her age on board,
thats all.

Louise stopped fingering the medical package. When she brought her hand
away she saw a strange green bracelet on her wrist; it was made from a
substance like lustreless polythene, an inch wide and about half an inch
thick. There was no join, it was solid. On closer inspection she saw it
had fused to her skin, yet it wasnt painful.

Another package, Endron said dryly. Again, dont touch it, please.

Is it for my balance as well?

No. That one is for your other condition. It will keep your blood
chemistry stable, and if it detects any metabolic problem starting from
free-fall exposure itll datavise a warning to me.

Other condition? she asked timidly.

You did know you were pregnant, didnt you?

She closed her eyes and nodded, too ashamed to look at him. A complete
stranger knowing. How awful.

You should have told Furay, he remonstrated gently. Free fall exerts
some strong physiological changes on a body, especially if youre
unaccustomed to it. And in your state, you really should have been
prepared properly before the spaceplane took off.

A warm tear squeezed out from under her eyelids. Its all right, isnt
it? The baby. Oh, please, I didnt know.

Shush. Endrons hand stroked her forehead soothingly. The baby is just
fine. Youre a very healthy young girl. Im sorry if I frightened you;
like I said, were not used to passengers. I suppose it must be equally
strange for you, too.

Its all right, really?

Yes. And the nanonic will keep it that way.

Thank you. Youve been very kind.

Just doing my job. Ill have to consult some files about your diet,
though, and check what food stocks weve got on board. Ill get back to
you on that one.

Louise opened her eyes, only to find the cabin blurred by liquid
stretching across her irises. A lot of blinking cleared it.

Lets get you mobile again, Endron said, and released the seal on the
straps holding her down on the couch. Though youre not to whizz about
like your sister, mind.

His tone was identical to Mrs Charlsworths. I wont. The rest of the
sentence died on her lips as she caught sight of him. Her first thought
was that he was suffering some kind of terrible affliction.

Endrons head was ordinary enough. He was a man in his late fifties, she
guessed, with a short crop of fading black, curly hair and cheeks which
appeared almost bloated, eradicating wrinkles. However, his body . . . He
had very broad shoulders atop an inflated rib cage, she could actually
see the lines of individual ribs under his glossy green ship-suit. Shed
seen holograms of terrestrial sparrows at school, and the anatomical
arrangement put her in mind of that puffed-out bird. His chest was huge,
and very frail-looking.

Not seen a Martian before, huh? he asked kindly.

Furious with herself for staring, Louise turned her head away. Im not
sure. Do all Martians look like you?

Yep. So youd better get used to it. This is an SII line ship after all,
the rest of the crew are the same as me. Except Furay of course; thats
why hes on board. We couldnt fly the spaceplane down to terracompatible
planets. Cant take the gravity.

How . . . She wasnt sure if this was really a fit subject to discuss
so casually. It was almost as though they were talking about a terminal
illness. Why are you like that?

Geneering. Its very deliberate, dates back a while. Even with
terraforming we dont have a standard atmosphere on Mars. Our ancestors
decided to meet the problem halfway. As were a Communist society,
naturally everyone got the modification to expand our lung capacity; and
that was on top of the earlier adaptations we made to ourselves to
survive in the Moons gravity field.

The Moon? Louise asked, trying to sort things out in her mind. You
lived on the Moon first?

It was the Lunar nation which terraformed Mars. Didnt they teach you
that at school?

Uh, no. At least, we havent got to it yet. She decided not to question
him on the communism bit. Given Daddys opinion on that topic, it would
make life a little too complicated right now.

He was smiling gently at her. I think thats enough history. Its
nearing midnight, Norwich time. Perhaps youd better get some sleep, yes?

She gave him an eager nod.

Endron coached her in the elementary movements necessary to get about in
free fall. Speed was not a requirement, he insisted, arriving safely and
accurately at your destination was. And you must be careful of inertia,
it creates huge bruises.

With his encouragement she made her way into the life support capsule
theyd been allocated: a lounge five yards to a side, made from grubby
pearl-grey composite walls which were inlaid with several instrument
panels with tiny orange and green lights winking below their dark glass
surfaces. Plastic doors which were like a kind of solidified liquid
flowed apart to reveal three cabins for them to sleep in (the wardrobes
she had in her Cricklade bedroom were larger). There was a bathroom in
the upper deck at which Louise took one look and promptly recoiled,
vowing not to go to the toilet again until they were safely back on a
planet.

Genevieve shot up to embrace her as soon as she glided through the
ceiling hatch. Fletcher smiled a welcome.

Isnt this truly wondrous! the little girl proclaimed. She was floating
with her toes six inches off the decking, spinning like a ballerina. Two
ponytails stood out at right angles from her head. When she spread her
arms wide her speed slowed. A neat toe kick, too quick to follow, and she
soared up to the ceiling, clasping a grab hoop to kill her movement.
Enchanted eyes smiled at Louise. Bet you I can do seven somersaults
before I reach the floor.

You probably can, Louise said wearily.

Oh. Genevieves face was instantly contrite. She levitated back to the
decking until she was level with Louise. Im sorry. How are you feeling?

Fine now. And its time for bed.

Oww, Louise!

Now.

All right.

Endron proffered the girl a squeeze bulb. Here, its a chocolate drink.
Try it, Im sure youll like it.

Genevieve started sucking eagerly on the nozzle.

You are recovered, lady? Fletcher asked.

Yes. Thank you, Fletcher.

They looked at each other for a long moment, unaware of Endron watching
them.

One of the instrument panels let out a quiet bleep.

Endron scowled and drifted over to it, anchoring himself on a stikpad.
Shoddy components, he muttered.

Fletcher gave Louise an apologetic grimace, mildly embarrassed. I cant
stop it, he said in a whisper.

Not your fault, she whispered back. Dont worry. The ship still works.

Yes, lady.

That was nice, Genevieve announced. She held out the empty squeeze bulb
and promptly burped.

Gen!

Sorry.

With Endron showing her how the cabin fittings worked, Louise finally got
Genevieve into bed; a heavily padded sleeping bag stuck to the decking.
Louise tucked her sisters hair into the hood and kissed her gently.
Genevieve gave her a drowsy smile and immediately closed her eyes.

Shell sleep for a good eight hours now shes got that sedative in her,
Endron said, holding up the empty squeeze bulb. And when she wakes up
she wont be anything like as hyper. Furay told me what she was like when
you boarded the spaceplane. She was having a bounceback response to the
hangar fire. In a way that kind of overreaction is as bad as depressive
withdrawal.

I see. There didnt seem anything to add. She glanced back at Genevieve
before the funny door contracted. For one whole night there would be no
possessed, no Roberto, and no Quinn Dexter.

Ive done what I promised, Louise thought. Thank you, Jesus.

Despite how tired she was feeling, she managed a prideful smile. No
longer the worthless, pampered landowner daughter Carmitha had such
contempt for just scant days ago. I suppose Ive grown up a bit.

You should rest now, lady, Fletcher said.

She yawned. I think youre right. Are you going to bed?

For once Fletchers sedate features showed a certain lightness. I
believe I will linger awhile longer. He indicated a holoscreen which was
displaying the image from an external camera. Cloud-splattered landscape
was rolling past, pastel greens, browns, and blues illuminated by Dukes
radiance. It is not often a mortal man is permitted to view a world over
the shoulder of angels.

Good night, Fletcher.

Good night, lady. May the Lord guard your dreams from the darkness.



Louise didnt have time to dream. A hand pressing her shoulder woke her
soon enough.

She winced at the light coming through the open door. When she tried to
move, she couldnt, the sleeping bag held her too tight.

What? she groaned.

Fletchers face was a few inches from hers, a gloomy frown spoiling his
brow. I apologise, lady, but the crew is in some confusion. I thought
you should know.

Are they on board? she cried in dismay.

Who?

The possessed.

No, Lady Louise. Be assured, we are perfectly safe.

What then?

I think they are in another ship.

All right, Im coming. Her hand fumbled around until she found the seal
catch inside the bag; she twisted it ninety degrees and the spongy fabric
split open along its length. After she dressed she wrapped her hair into
a single artless ponytail, and swam out into the tiny lounge.

Fletcher showed her the way to the bridge, wriggling along the tubular
companionways which connected the life-support capsules, and through
dimly lit decks which appeared even more cramped than their lounge.
Louises first sight of the bridge reminded her of the Kavanagh family
crypt beneath the manors chapel: a gloomy room with candlelike crystals
sitting on top of instrument consoles, spilling out waves of blue and
green light which crawled across the walls. Machinery, ribbed tubes, and
plastic cables formed an untidy glyptic over most bulkheads. But most of
all it came from the four crew members lying prone on their bulky
acceleration couches; eyes closed, limbs immobile. A thin hexagonal web
was stretched over them, holding them down on the cushioning.

Furay and Endron she recognised, but this was the first time shed seen
Captain Layia and Tilia, the Far Realms node specialist. Endron had been
right, the other Martians had exactly the same anatomical features as
himself. In fact there was very little difference between genders; Louise
wasnt entirely sure the two women even had breasts. On top of that rib
cage they would have been absurd.

Now what? she asked Fletcher.

I am not sure, their repose refutes any disturbance.

Its not sleep, theyre datavising with the flight computer. Joshua told
me thats what happens on a starship bridge. Um, Ill explain later.
Louise blushed faintly; Joshua had become such a fixture in her life it
was hard to remember who he actually was. She used some grab hoops to
move herself over to Furays couch, and tapped him experimentally on the
shoulder. Somehow the thought of disturbing the others didnt arise, a
child-fear of how those strange figures would respond.

Furay opened his eyes in annoyance. Oh, its you.

Im sorry. I wanted to know what was happening.

Yeah, right. Hang on. The webbing peeled back and curled up, vanishing
into the edge of the couchs cushioning. Furay pushed off, and slowly
twisted his body around to the vertical, using a stikpad to anchor
himself in front of Louise. Nothing too good, Im afraid. The navy
squadrons commanding admiral has put every ship on condition amber,
which is one stage short of an actual combat alert.

Why?

The Tantu has dropped out of our communications net. They wont respond
to any signals. Shes worried that they might have been hijacked.
Apparently there was some kind of garbled message a few minutes after the
frigates spaceplane docked, then nothing.

Louise flashed a guilty glance at Fletcher, who remained unperturbed. The
action did not go unnoticed by Furay. The Tantus spaceplane left
Bennett Field about ten minutes after us. Care to comment?

The rebels were close behind us, Louise said quickly. Perhaps they
stowed away on the other spaceplane.

And took over an entire frigate? Furay said sceptically.

They have energy weapons, Louise said. Ive seen them.

Try waving a laser rifle around on the bridge of a Confederation Navy
starship and the marines would cut you into barbecue ribs.

I have no other explanation, she said earnestly.

Hummm. His stare informed her he was having big second thoughts about
bringing her on board.

What remedial action does the admiral propose? Fletcher asked.

She hasnt decided yet. The Serir has been sent to rendezvous. The
situation will be reviewed when they report.

She? Fletcher asked in surprise. Your admiral is a lady?

Furay pulled at his chin, trying to work out just what the hell he was
dealing with.

Yes, Fletcher, Louise hissed. We dont have many female estate
managers on Norfolk, she explained brightly to Furay. Were not used to
ladies holding important positions. Do excuse our ignorance.

You dont strike me as unimportant, Louise, Furay said.

His tone was so muddled, silky, and scathing at the same time, she
couldnt decide if he was making what Mrs Charlsworth called an overture,
or just being plain sarcastic.

Furay suddenly stiffened. Its moving.

What is?

The Tantu. Its under way, heading up out of orbit. Your rebels must
have hijacked it, theres no other reason.

The ship is flying away? Fletcher asked.

Thats what I just said! Furay told him in irritation. They must be
heading up for a jump coordinate.

Whats the admiral doing about it? Louise asked.

Im not sure. The Far Realm isnt a combat craft, we dont have access
to the squadrons strategic communications.

We must follow it, Fletcher announced.

Pardon me?

Louise glared at him with silent urgency.

This ship must follow the frigate. People must be warned of what it
carries.

And just what does it carry? Furay asked mildly.

Rebels, Louise said hurriedly. People whove looted and murdered, and
will do so again if they arent arrested. But Im sure we can leave the
administering of justice to the Confederation Navy, cant we, Fletcher?

Lady

Exactly what has got you so all-fired het up? Captain Layia asked. Her
couch webbing peeled back allowing her to glide over towards the three of
them.

Her face did have a few feminine qualities, Louise admitted, but not
many; the shaven scalp was too unsettlingall ladies had long hair. The
judgemental way Layia took in the scene betrayed her authority; that she
was in command had never been in doubt from the moment she spoke, it had
nothing to do with the silver star on her epaulette.

I am concerned that we should follow the frigate, maam, Fletcher said.
The rebels on board cannot be allowed to spread their sedition any
further.

Nor will they be allowed to, Layia said patiently. I can assure you
the admiral does not regard the hijacking of a navy frigate lightly.
However, it is a navy matter, and we are just a supply ship. It is not
our problem.

But they must be stopped.

How? If you use combat wasps youll kill everyone on board.

Fletcher appealed to Louise, who could only shrug, though the motion
didnt quite come off in free fall.

The admiral will send a ship to pursue them, Captain Layia said. When
it arrives in a star system it will simply broadcast the situation to the
authorities. The Tantu will be unable to dock at any port, and eventually
their consumables will run out, forcing them to negotiate.

Those on board will not be allowed to disembark? Fletcher asked
apprehensively.

Absolutely not, the captain assured him.

Providing the pursuit ship manages to keep up with them through their
ZTT jumps, Furay said pessimistically. If Tantu programs for a
sequential jump sequence, then anyone following will be in trouble,
unless its a voidhawk. Which it wont be, because the squadron doesnt
have one. He trailed off under the captains stare. Sorry, but thats
the normal method to avoid tracking, and every navy ship can perform
sequential jumps. You know that.

Maam, please, Fletcher entreated, if there is any chance the rebels
can escape, we have to fly after them.

One, youre a passenger. I believe Mr Furay explained how we are obliged
to stay in Norfolk orbit as long as the navy requires, and no amount of
money can alter that. Two, if I broke orbit to chase the Tantu, then the
admiral would have me brought back and relieved of my duty. Three, as
youve been so helpfully informed, the Tantu can perform sequential
jumps; if a top-line frigate cant follow them through those manoeuvres,
then we certainly cant. And four, mister, if you dont get off my bridge
right now, Ill sling you into a lifeboat and give you a one-way trip
back down to the land you love so dearly. Have you got all that?

Yes, Captain, Louise said, feeling an inch small. Sorry to bother you.
We wont do it again.

Aw shit, Endron called from his acceleration couch. Im getting
multiple processor dropouts. Whatever this glitch is, its multiplying.

Layia looked at Louise, and jabbed a finger at the hatch.

Louise grabbed Fletchers arm and pushed off with her feet, trying to
propel them towards the hatchway. She didnt like the expression of
anguish on his face one bit. Her trajectory wasnt terribly accurate, and
Fletcher had to flip them aside from one of the consoles.

What are you trying to do? Louise wailed when they were back in the
lounge theyd been allocated. Dont you understand how dangerous it is
to antagonize the captain? She caught herself and clamped a hand over
her mouth, distraught at the gaffe. Oh, Fletcher, Im sorry. I didnt
mean that.

Yet you spoke the truth, lady. As always. It was foolish of me, I admit,
aye, and reckless too. For you and the little one must remain safe up
here. He turned and looked at the holoscreen. They were over the side of
Norfolk which was turned to face Duchess, a harsh vista of reds and black.

Why, Fletcher? What was so important about following Quinn Dexter? The
navy can take care of him. Are you worried whatll happen if he gets
loose on another planet?

Not exactly, lady. Alas, there are many possessed abroad in your fine
Confederation now. No, I have seen into that mans heart, and he
frightens me sorely, Lady Louise, a fright more profound than the hell of
beyond. He is the strange one I felt earlier. He is not as other
possessed. He is a monster, a bringer of evil. I have resolved this
matter in my own mind, though it has taken many hours of struggle. I must
become his nemesis.

Dexters? she said weakly.

Yes, my lady. I think he may be the reason Our Lord blessed me to
return. I am vouchsafed a clarity in this regard I cannot in conscience
ignore. I must raise the alarm before he can advance his schemes further
to the misery of other worlds.

But its not possible for us to go after him.

Aye, lady, such a conundrum has a fierce grip upon my heart, borrowed
though it be. It squeezes like a fire. To have been so close, and to lose
the scent.

We might not have lost him, Louise said, her thoughts aching they were
spinning so fast.

How so, lady?

He said he was going to Earth. To Earth so he could hurt someone . . .
Banneth. He was going to hurt Banneth.

Then Banneth must be warned. He will commit such terrible atrocities in
pursuit of his devilsome aims. I can never purge what he said of the
little one from my mind. To even think such filth. Only in his head do
such ideas dwell.

Well, we are going to Mars anyway. I expect there will be more ships
flying to Earth than to Tranquillity. But I dont have a clue how you
could find Banneth once you get there.

Every voyage is divided into stages, lady. It is best to sail them one
at a time.

She watched him for some while as the holoscreens pallid light washed
across his rapt face. Why did you mutiny, Fletcher? Was it truly
terrible on the Bounty?

He gazed at her in surprise, then slowly smiled. Not the conditions,
lady, though I doubt you would much care for them. It was one man, my
captain. He it was, the force moving my life towards the shore of
destiny. William Bligh was my friend when the voyage started, strange
though it is to recount such a fact now. But oh, how the sea changed him.
He was embittered by his lack of promotion, fired by his notions of how a
ship should be run. Never have I witnessed such barbarism from a man who
claimed to be civilized, nor endured such treatment at his hands. I will
spare you the anguish of detail, my fair lady Louise, but suffice it to
say that all men have a breaking point. And mine was found during that
long, dreadful voyage. However, I endure no shame over my actions. Many
good and honest men were freed from his tyranny.

Then you were in the right?

I believe so. If this day I were called before the captains in a
court-martial, I could give a just account of my actions.

Now you want to do something similar again. Freeing people, I mean.

Yes, lady. Though I would endure a thousand voyages with Bligh as my
master in preference to one with Quinn Dexter. I had thought William
Bligh versed in the ways of cruelty. I see now how mistaken I was. Now,
to my horror, I have looked upon true evil. I will not forget the form it
takes.


Chapter 10
==========


The reporters had spent several days in prison, a phrase which their
Organization captors studiously avoided; the preferred designation was
house arrest, or protective confinement. Theyd been singled out and
spared when the possessed spread through San Angeles, then corralled with
their families in the Uorestone Tower. Patricia Mangano who was in charge
of the guard detail allowed the children to play in the opulent lounges
while parents mixed freely, speculating on their circumstances and
rehashing old gossip as only their profession knew how.

Five times in the last couple of days small groups had been taken out to
tour the city, observing the steady falsification of buildings which was
the hallmark of a land under possession. Once-familiar suburban streets
had undergone timewarps overnight. It was as though some kind of dark
architectural ivy were slowly creeping its way upwards, turning
chrome-glass to stone, crinkling flat surfaces into arches, pillars, and
statues. A plethora of era enclaves had emerged, ranging from 1950s New
York avenues to timeless whitewashed Mediterranean villas, Russian dachas
to traditional Japanese houses. All of them were ameliorated, more
wistful renderings of real life.

The reporters recorded it all as faithfully as they could with their
glitch-prone neural nanonic memory cells. This morning, though, was
different. All of them had been summoned from their rooms, herded onto
buses, and driven the five kilometres to City Hall. They were escorted
from the buses by Organization gangsters and assembled on the sidewalk,
forming a line between the autoway and the skyscrapers elaborate arched
entrance. On Patricias order the gangsters took several paces back,
leaving the reporters to themselves.

Gus Remar found his neural nanonics coming back on-line, and immediately
started to record his full sensorium, datavising his flek recorder block
to make a backup copy. It had been a long time since hed covered a story
in the field. These days he was a senior studio editor at the citys Time
Universe bureau, but the old skill was still there. He started to scan
around.

There were no vehicles using the autoway, but crowds were lining the
sidewalk, five or six deep at the barrier. When he switched to long-range
focus he could see they stretched back for about three blocks. The
possessed were a majority, easy to spot in their epoch garments: the
outlandish and the tediously uninspired. They seemed to be mingling
easily enough with the non-possessed.

A slight fracas two hundred metres away at the back of the crowd caught
Guss attention. His enhanced retinas zoomed in.

Two men were pushing at each other, faces red with anger. One was a dark,
handsome youth, barely twenty with perfectly trimmed black hair; dressed
in leather jacket and trousers. An acoustic guitar was slung over his
back. The second was older, in his forties, and considerably fatter. His
attire was the most bizarre Gus had yet seen on display; some kind of
white suit, smothered in rhinestones, with trousers flaring over thirty
centimetres around his ankles, and collars which looked like small
aircraft wings. Large amber-tinted sunglasses covered a third of his
puffed-out face. If it hadnt been for the circumstances, Gus would have
said it was a father quarrelling with his son. He shunted his audio
discrimination program into primary mode.

Goddamn fake, the younger man shouted with a rich Southern drawl. I
was never this. Hands flicked insultingly over the front of the white
costume, ruffling the fit. Youre what they squeezed me into. You aint
nothing but a sick disease the record companies cooked up to make money.
I would never come back as you.

The larger man pushed him away. Who are you calling a fake, son? I am
the King, the one and only.

The shoving began in earnest; both of them trying to floor the other.
Amber sunglasses went spinning. Organization gangsters moved in quickly
to separate them, but not before the younger Elvis had unslung his guitar
ready to brain the Vegas version.

Gus never saw the outcome. The crowd started cheering. A cavalcade had
turned onto the autoway. Police motorcycles (Harley-Davidsons, according
to Guss encyclopedia memory file) appeared first, ten of them with blue
and red lights flashing. They were followed by a huge limousine which
crawled along at little more than walking pace: a 1920s Cadillac sedan
which looked absurdly massive, fat tyres bulging from the weight of its
armour plated bodywork. Glass that was at least five centimetres thick
shaded the interior aquarium-green. There was one man sitting in the
back, waving happily at the crowd.

The city was going wild for him. Al grinned around his cigar and gave
them a thumbs-up. Je-zus, but it was like the good old days, riding
around in this very same bulletproof Cadillac with the pedestrians
staring openmouthed as he went past. In Chicago theyd known it contained
a prince of the city. And now in San Angeles they goddamn well knew it
again.

The Cadillac drew to a halt outside City Hall. A smiling Dwight Salerno
came down the steps to open the door.

Good to see you back, Al. We missed you.

Al kissed him on both cheeks, then turned to face the ecstatic crowd,
clasping his hands together above his head like he was a prizefighter
posing over a whipped opponent. They roared their approval. White fire
cascaded and fizzed over the autoway as if Zeus were putting on a Fourth
of July display.

I love you guys! Al bellowed at the faceless mass of chuckleheads.
Together aint no miserable Confederation fucker gonna stop us doing
what we wanna do.

They couldnt hear the words, not even those in the front rank. But the
content was clear enough. The laudation increased.

With one hand still waving frantically, Al turned around and bounded up
the stairs into City Hall. Always leave them wanting more, Jez said.

The conference was held in the lobby, a vaulting four-storey cavern that
took up over half of the ground floor. An avenue of huge palm trees,
cloned from California originals, stretched from the doors to the vast
reception desk. Today their solartubes were diminished to an off-white
fluorescence, their bowls of loam drying out. Other signs of neglect and
hurried tidying were in evidence: defunct valet mechanoids lined up along
one wall, emergency exit doors missing, scraps of rubbish swept into
piles behind stilled escalators.

The reception desk had been completely cleared, and a row of chairs
placed behind it. Al sat in the centre, with two lieutenants on either
side. His chair had been raised slightly. He watched the nervous
reporters being brought in and marshalled on the floor in front of him.
When theyd shushed down he rose to his feet.

My name is Al Capone, and I suppose youre all wondering why I asked you
here, he said, and chuckled. Their answering grins were few and far
between. Tight asses. Okay, Ill lay it on the line for you; youre here
because I want the whole Confederation to know whats been going down in
these parts. Once they know and understand then thats gonna save
everyone a shitload of grief. He took off his grey fedora and put it
down carefully on the polished desk. Its an easy situation. My
Organization is now in charge of the whole New California system. Were
keeping the planet and the asteroid settlements in order, no exceptions.
Now we aint out to harm anyone, we just use our clout to keep things
flowing along as best theyll go, same as any other government.

Are you running the Edenist habitats, too? a reporter asked. The rest
flinched, waiting for Patricia Manganos retribution. It never came,
though she looked far from happy.

Smart of you, buddy, Al acknowledged with a grudging smile. No, I
aint running the Edenist habitats. I could. But I aint. Know why?
Because were about evenly matched, thats why. We could do a lot of
damage to each other if we ever came to fighting. Too much. I dont want
that. I dont want people sent into the beyond on account of some
penny-ante dispute over territory. Ive been there myself, its worse
than any fucking nightmare you can imagine; it shouldnt happen to
anyone.

Why do you think youve been returned from the beyond, Al? Has God
passed judgement on you?

You got me there, lady. I dont know why any of this started. But Ill
tell you guys this much: I never saw no angels or no demons while I was
stuck in the beyond, none of us did. All I know is were back. It aint
no ones fault, it just happened. And now we gotta make the best of
whats a pretty shitty deal, thats what the Organization is for.

Excuse me, Mr Capone, Gus said, encouraged by the response to earlier
questions. Whats the point of your Organization? You dont need it. The
possessed can do whatever they want.

Sorry, buddy, youre way wrong there. Maybe we dont need quite the same
government as we had before, not all that tax, and regulations, and
ideology, and shit. But youve got to have order, and thats what I
provide. Im doing everyone a favour by taking charge like this. Im
protecting the possessed from attack by the Confederation Navy. Im
looking out for a whole load of non-possessed; because Im telling you,
without me you certainly wouldnt be standing here in charge of your own
body. See, Im providing for all kinds of people, even though half of
them dont appreciate it right now. The possessed didnt have jack shit
worked out about where they were going until I came along. Now were all
working together, making it happen. All because of me and the
Organization. If I hadnt stepped in and kept things going the cities
would have busted down, we would have had a whole flood of lost boys
heading for the countryside. Listen, Ive seen the Depression firsthand,
I know what its like for people who dont have a job or something to do.
And thats what we were heading for here.

So what are your long-range goals, Al? Whats your Organization going to
do next?

Smooth things out. No one is trying to deny things are still a little
rough around the edges down here. We need to work on what kind of society
we can build.

Is it true youre planning to attack the Confederation?

Thats pure bullshit, buddy. Je-zus, I dont know where you got that
rumour from. No of course were not going to attack anyone. But we can
defend ourselves pretty good if the Confederation Navy tries any funny
stuff, we sure got the ships for that. Hell, I dont want that to happen.
We just want to be peaceable neighbours with everyone. I might even ask
if we can join the Confederation. At the murmur of surprise echoing
through the lobby he grinned around happily. Yeah. Why the hell not?
Sure we can ask to join. Maybe some good will come out of it, some kind
of compromise thatll make everyone happy; a solution to all the souls
that wanna come back. The Organization can pay Confederation longhairs to
grow us all new bodies from scratch, something like that.

You mean youd give up your body if a clone was available?

Al frowned as Emmet leaned over to murmur in his ear, explaining what a
clone was. Sure, he said. Like I told you, were all the victims of
circumstance.

You believe peaceful coexistence is possible?

Als jocularity darkened. Youd better fucking believe it, buddy. Were
back, and were here to stay. Grab that? What Im trying to convince you
guys is that we aint no end of the world threat, its not us whos the
riders of the Apocalypse. Weve proved possessed and non-possessed can
live together on this planet. Okay, so people out there are alarmed right
now, thats only natural. But were frightened too, you cant expect us
to go back to the beyond. Weve got to work together on this. Im
personally offering the Assembly President my hand in friendship. Now
thats an offer he cant refuse.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The glowing red clouds had begun to grow, small ruby speckles blossoming
right across Norfolk. Louise, Fletcher, and Genevieve spent their first
day in orbit watching the images received by the Far Realms external
cameras. Kesteven island was by far the worst. A solid crimson aureole
had gathered to mask the land, its shape a distended mockery of the
coastline it was obscuring. Strands of ordinary white cloud malingered
around its disciplined edges, only to be rebuffed by invisible winds if
they drifted too close.

Fletcher assured the girls that in itself the red cloud was harmless. A
simple manifestation of will, he proclaimed. Nothing more.

You mean its just a wish? Genevieve asked, intrigued. She had woken
almost purged of her emotional turmoil; there were none of yesterdays
periods of manic exuberance or haunted silences. Although she was quieter
than usual; which Louise thought was about right. She didnt feel like
talking much, either. Neither she nor Fletcher had mentioned the Tantu.

Quite so, little one.

But why are they wishing it?

So that they can seek refuge below it from the emptiness of the
universe. Even this planets sky, which has little night, is not a sight
to cherish.

Over thirty islands now had traces of redness in the air. Louise likened
it to watching the outbreak of some terrible disease, a swelling cancer
gnawing away at the flesh of her world.

Furay and Endron had come down into the lounge a few times, keeping them
informed of the navy squadrons actions, and the armys progress. Neither
of which amounted to much. The army had landed on two islands, Shropshire
and Lindsey, hoping to retake their capitals. But reports from the
forwards units were confused.

Same problem as we had with Kesteven, Furay confided when he brought
them lunch. We cant support the lads on the ground because we dont
have any reliable targeting information. And that red cloud has got the
admiral badly worried. None of the technical staff can explain it.

By midafternoon, ships time, the army commanders had lost contact with
half of their troops. The red cloud was visible over forty-eight islands,
nine of which it covered completely. As Duke-day ended for Ramsey island
slender wisps were located over a couple of villages. Teams of reserve
soldiers were hurriedly flown in from Norwich. In both cases contact was
lost within fifteen minutes of them entering the area.

Louise watched grimly as the coiling cloud thickened over each village.
I was right, she said miserably. Theres nothing anybody here can do.
Its only a matter of time now.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Tolton made his way up the narrow creek, water from the narrow stream
slopping over his glittery purple shoes. The top of the steep bank, a
fringe of sandy grass, was several centimetres above his head. He
couldnt see out onto the parkland, and nobody could see himthankfully.
Far overhead, Valisks light tube gleamed. The intensity hurt Toltons
eyes. He was a night person, used to the clubs, bars, and vestibules of
the starscrapers, delivering his poet sermons to the ship crew burnouts,
bluesensers, stimmed-out wasters, and mercenaries who sprawled throughout
the lower floors of the starscrapers. They tolerated him, those lost
entities, listening to (or laughing at) his carefully crafted words,
donating their own stories to his wealth of experiences. He moved among
the descriptions of shattered lives as vagrants moved through the filthy
refuse of a darkened cul-de-sac, forever picking, trying to understand
what they said, to bestow some grace to their wizened dreams with his
prose, to explain them to themselves.

One day, he told them, I will incorporate it all into an MF album. The
galaxy will know of your plight, and liberate you.

They didnt believe him, but they accepted him as one of their own. It
was a status which had saved him from many a bar fight. But now, in his
hour of desperate need, they had failed him. However difficult it was to
acknowledge, they had lost; the toughest bunch of bastards in the
Confederation had been wiped out in less than thirty-six hours.

Take the left hand channel at the next fork, the processor block
clipped to his belt told him.

Yes, he mumbled obediently.

And this was the greatest, most hurtful joke of all: him, the aspirant
anarchist poet, pathetically grateful to Rubra, the super-capitalist
dictator, for helping him.

Ten metres on two gurgling streams merged together. He turned left
without hesitation, the foaming water splashing his knees. Fleeing from
the starscraper, it was as though an insane montage of all the combat
stories hed ever been told had come scampering up out of his
subconscious to torment him. Horror and laughter pursued him down every
corridor, even the disused ones he thought only he walked. Only Rubra, a
calm voice reeling off directions, had offered any hope.

Water made his black trousers heavy. He was cold, partly from the fright,
partly cold turkey.

There had been no sign of pursuit for three hours now, though Rubra said
they were still tracking him.

The narrow creek began to widen, its banks lowering. Tolton walked out
into a tarn fifteen metres across with a crescent cliff cupping the rear
half. Fat xenoc fish lumbered out of his way, apparently rolling along
the bottom. There was no other exit, no feed stream.

Now what? he asked plaintively.

Theres an inlet at the far end, Rubra told him. Ive shut down the
flow so youll be able to swim through. Its only about five metres long,
it bends, and theres no light; but it leads to a cave where youll be
safe.

A cave? I thought caves were worn into natural rock over centuries.

Actually, its a surge chamber. I just didnt want to get technical on
you, not with your artistic background.

Tolton thought the voice sounded tetchy. Thank you, he said, and
started to wade forwards towards the cliff. A couple more directions, and
he dived under the surface. The inlet was easy to find, a nightmare-black
hole barely a metre and a half wide. Knowing he would never be able to
turn around or even back out, he forced himself to glide into the
entrance, bubbles streaming behind him.

It couldnt have been five metres long, more like twenty or thirty. The
curves were sharp, one taking him down, the other up. He broke surface
with a frantic gasping cry. The cave was a dome shape, twenty metres
across, every surface was coated in a film of water, thin ripples were
still running down the walls. He had emerged in the pool at the centre.
When he looked up there was a large hole at the apex, droplets splattered
on his upturned face. A high ring of electrophorescent cells cast a weak
pink-white glow into every cranny.

He paddled over to the side of the pool and pushed himself out onto the
slippery floor. A bout of shivering claimed his limbs; he wasnt sure if
it was from the cold water or the nagging feeling of claustrophobia. The
surge chamber was horribly confined, and the fact that it was usually
full of water didnt help.

Ill have one of the housechimps bring you some dry clothes and food,
Rubra said.

Thank you.

You should be safe here for a while.

I . . . He looked around apprehensively. Everyone always said Rubra
could see everything. I dont think I can stay very long. Its a bit . .
. closed in.

I know. Dont worry, Ill keep you moving, keep you ahead of them.

Can I join up with anyone else? I need to be around people.

There arent that many of you left free, Im afraid. And meeting up with
them isnt a good idea, that would just make you easier to locate. I
havent quite worked out how they track the non-possessed yet; I suspect
theyve got some kind of ESP ability. Hell, why not? Theyve got every
other kind of magic.

How many of us are there? he asked, suddenly panicky.

Rubra considered giving him the truth, but Tolton wasnt the strongest of
characters. A couple of thousand, he lied. There were three hundred and
seventy-one people left free within the habitat, and assisting all of
them simultaneously was pure hell.

Even as he was reassuring Tolton he perceived Bonney Lewin stalking
Gilbert Van-Riytell. The tough little woman had taken to dressing in
nineteenth-century African safari gear, a khaki uniform with two crossed
bandoleer straps holding polished brass cartridges in black leather
hoops. A shiny Enfield .303 rifle was slung over her shoulder.

Gilbert was Magellanic Itgs old comptroller, and had never really stood
a chance. Rubra had been trying to steer him along some service tunnels
below a tube station, but Bonney and her co-hunters were boxing him in.

Theres an inspection hatch three metres ahead, Rubra datavised to
Van-Riytell. I want you to

Shadows lifted themselves off the service tunnel wall and grabbed the old
man. Rubra hadnt even noticed them. His perception routines had been
expertly circumvented.

Once again, he purged and reformatted local sub-routines. By the time he
regained some observation ability Van-Riytells legs and arms were being
tied around a long pole, ready to be carried away like a prize trophy. He
wasnt even struggling anymore. Bonney was supervising the procedure
happily.

One of her hunting team was standing back, watching aloofly; a tall young
man in a simple white suit.

Rubra knew then. It had to be him.

<< Dariat! >>

The young mans head jerked up. For an instant the illusion flickered.
Long enough for Rubra. Under the outline of the handsome youth lurked
Horgan. Horgan with a shocked expression wrenching his thin face.
Incontrovertible proof.

<< I knew it would be you, >>Rubra said. In a way the knowledge came
almost as a relief.

<< Much good it will do you, >>Dariat answered. << Your awareness of
anything is going to come to an end real soon now. And you wont even
make it to the freedom of the beyond, I wont allow you that escape. >>

<< Youre amazing, Dariat. I mean that as a compliment. You still want
me, dont you? You want revenge. Its all youve ever wanted, all that
kept you alive these last thirty years. You still blame me for poor old
Anastasia Rigel, even after all this time. >>

<< You got another suspect? If you hadnt driven me away, she and I would
still be alive. >>

<< The pair of you would be dodging good old Bonney here, you mean. >>

<< Maybe so. But then maybe if Id been happy I might have made something
of my life. Ever think of that? I might have risen through the company
hierarchy just like you always wanted. I could have made Magellanic Itg
supreme; I could have turned Valisk into the kind of nation that would
have had Tranquillitys plutocrats flocking to us in droves. There
wouldnt be any of these misfits and losers who rally around your banner.
King Alastair would have come here asking me for tips on how to run his
Kingdom. Do you really think a shipload of fucking zombies could have
walked in here past passport, customs, and immigration without anyone
even noticing if that kind of regime had been in place? Dont you dare
try and avoid facing up to what youve done. >>

<< Oh, really? Tell me: by misfits, and all the other trash youd fling
out of the airlocks, do you include the kind of girl you fell in love
with? >>

Bastard! Dariat screamed. Everyone in the hunting party stared at him,
even Van-Riytell. Ill find you. Ill get you. Ill crush your soul to
death. Rage distended his face. He flung both arms out horizontally from
his body, a magus Samson thrusting against the temple pillars. White fire
exploded from his hands to chew into the tunnel walls. Polyp flaked and
cracked, black chips spinning away through the air.

<< Temper temper, >>Rubra mocked. << I see that hasnt improved much over
the years. >>

Pack it in, you maniac! Bonney yelled at him.

Help me! Dariat shouted back. The energistic hurricane roaring through
his body was turning his brain to white-hot magma, wanting to burst clean
out of his skull. Im going to kill him. Help me, for Chi-ris sake.
White fire hammered at the crumbling tunnel, desperate to reach the
neural strata, to reach the very substance of the mind, and burn and burn
and burn . . .

Stop it, right now. Bonney aimed her Enfield at him, one eyebrow cocked.

Dariat slowly allowed the white fire to sink back into the passive
energistic currents stirring the cells of his possessed body. His
shoulders hunched in as smoke from the scorched polyp spun around him. He
reverted to Horgan, even down to the unwashed shirt and creased trousers.
Hands were pressed to his face as he resisted the onrush of tears. Ill
get him, Horgans quavering, high-pitched voice proclaimed. Ill
fucking have him. Ill roast him inside his shell like he was some kind
of lobster. Youll see. Thirty years Ive waited. Thirty! Thole owes me
my justice. He owes me.

Sure he does, Bonney said. But just so you and I are clear on this:
pull another stunt like that, and youll need a new body to work out of.
She jerked her head to the team trussing up Van-Riytell. They lifted the
old comptroller off the ground and started off down the tunnel.

The hunter woman glanced back at Dariats hunched figure, opened her
mouth to say something, then thought better of it. She followed the rest
of the hunters along the tunnel.

<< You frightened me so bad Im trembling, >>Rubra sneered. << Can you
feel the quakes? I expect the sea is about to flood the parkland. Hows
about that for wetting yourself? >>

<< Laugh away, >>Dariat said shakily. << Go right ahead. But Im going to
come for you one day. Ill crack your safeguards. They wont last
forever, you know that. And forever is what Ive got on my side now. Then
when Ive busted you, Im going to come into that neural strata with you,
Im going to crawl into your mind like a maggot, Rubra. And like a maggot
Im going to gnaw away at you. >>

<< I always was right about you. You were the best. Who else could still
burn so hot after thirty years? Damn, why did you ever have to meet her?
Together we could have rebuilt the company into a galaxy challenger. >>

<< Such flattery. Im honoured. >>

<< Dont be. Help me. >>

<< What? >><< You have got to be fucking joking. >>

<< No. Together we could beat Kiera, purge the habitat of her cronies.
You can rule Valisk yet. >>

<< The Edenists were right, you are insane. >>

<< The Edenists are frightened by my determination. You should know, you
inherited that gene, it seems. >>

<< Yeah. So you know you cant deflect me. Dont even try. >>

<< Dariat, youre not one of them, boy, not one of the possessed. Not
really. What can they possibly give you afterwards, huh? Ever thought of
that? What sort of culture are they going to build? This is just an
aberration of nature, a nonsense, and a transient one at that. Life has
to have a purpose, and theyre not alive. This energistic ability, the
way you can create out of nothing, how can you square that with human
behaviour? Its not possible, the two are not compatible, never will be.
Look at yourself. If you want Anastasia back, bring her back. Find her in
the beyond, get her back here. You can have everything now, remember?
Kiera said so, did she not? Are you a part of that, Dariat? You have to
decide, boy. Someday. If you dont, theyll do it for you. >>

I cant bring her back, he whispered.

<< Whats that? >>

<< I cant. You understand nothing. >>

<< Try me. >>

<< You, a confessor father? Never. >>

<< I always have been. I am the confessor for everyone inside me, you
know that. I am the repository of everyones secrets. Including those of
Anastasia Rigel. >>

<< I know everything about Anastasia. We had no secrets. We were in love.
>>

<< Really? She had a life before you met her, you know. Seventeen long
years. And afterwards, too. >>

Dariat glanced around with cold anger, his appearance sliding back to the
white-suited ascetic. << There was no afterwards. She died! Because of
you. >>

<< If you knew of her past, you would understand what I meant. >>

<< What secrets? >>he demanded.

<< Help me, and Ill show you. >>

<< You shit! Im going to cremate you, Ill dance on your fragments >>

Rubras principal routine watched Dariats rage run its course. He
thought at one point that the man would revert to flailing at the tunnel
walls with white fire again. But Dariat managed to hang on to that last
shred of controlbarely.

Rubra stayed silent. He knew it was too early to play his ace, the one
final secret he had kept safe for the last thirty years. The doubt he had
planted deep in Dariats mind would have to be teased further, tormented
into full-blown paranoia before the revelation was exposed.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Lady Macbeths event horizon vanished, allowing her mushroom-shaped star
trackers to rise out of their jump recesses and scan around. Fifteen
seconds later the flight computer confirmed the starship had emerged
fifty thousand kilometres above Tranquillitys non-rotational spaceport.
By the time her electronic warfare sensors registered, eight of the
habitats Strategic Defence platforms had locked on to the hull, despite
the fact their coordinate was smack in the centre of a designated
emergence zone.

Jesus, Joshua muttered sourly. Welcome home, people, nice to see you
again. He looked over to Gaura, who was lying on Warlows acceleration
couch. Update Tranquillity on our situation, fast, please. It seems a
little trigger-happy today. Combat sensors had located four blackhawks
on interception trajectories, accelerating towards them at six gees.

Gaura acknowledged him with an indolent wrist flick. The Edenists eyes
were closed; hed been communicating with the habitat personality more or
less from the moment the starship had completed the ZTT jump. Even with
affinity it was difficult to convey their situation in a single quick
summary; explanations, backed up with full memory exposure, took several
minutes. He detected more than one ripple of surprise within the
personalitys serene thoughts as the story of Lalonde unfolded in its
mentality.

When hed finished, Ione directed her identity trait at him in the
Edenist custom. << Thats some yarn youve got there, >>she said. << Two
days ago I wouldnt have believed a word of it, but as weve had warning
fleks arriving from Avon on an almost hourly basis for the last day and a
half all I can say is Ill grant you docking permission. >>

<< Thank you, Ione. >>

<< However, you will all have to be checked for possession before Ill
admit you into the habitat. I can hardly expose the entire population to
the risk of contamination on the word of one man, even though you seem
genuine. >>

<< Of course. >>

<< Hows Joshua? >>

<< He is well. A remarkable young man. >>

<< Yes. >>

The flight computers display showed the Strategic Defence platforms
disengaging their weapons lock. Joshua received a standard
acknowledgement from the spaceports traffic control centre followed by a
datavised approach vector.

I need a docking bay which can handle casualties, he datavised back.
And put a pediatric team on alert status, as well as some biophysics
specialists. These kids have had a real hard time on Lalonde, and that
only finished when they got nuked.

I am assembling the requisite medical teams now, Tranquillity replied.
They will be ready by the time you dock. I am also alerting a spaceport
maintenance crew. Judging by the state of your hull, and the vapour
leakages I can observe, I believe it would be appropriate.

Thank you, Tranquillity. Considerate as ever. He waited for Ione to
come on-line and say something, but the channel switched back to traffic
controls guidance updates.

If thats the way she wants it . . . Fine by me. His features slumped
into a grouch.

He ignited the Lady Macs two functional fusion tubes, aligning the ship
on their approach vector. They headed in for Tranquillity at one and a
half gees.

They believe all that spiel about possession? Sarha asked Gaura, a note
of worried scepticism in her voice.

Yes. He queried the habitat about the fleks from Avon. The First
Admirals precautions have been endorsed by the Assembly. By now ninety
per cent of the Confederation should be aware of the situation.

Wait a minute, Dahybi said. We only just got back here from Lalonde,
and we didnt exactly hang around. How the hell could that navy squadron
alert Avon two or three days ago?

They didnt, Gaura said. The possessed must have got off Lalonde some
time ago. Apparently Laton had to destroy an entire Atlantean island to
prevent them from spreading.

Shit, Dahybi grunted. You mean theyre loose in the Confederation
already?

Im afraid so. It looks like Shaun Wallace was telling Kelly the truth
after all. I had hoped it was all some subtle propaganda on his part,
the Edenist added sadly.

The news acted as a mood damper right through the starship. Their
expected sanctuary wasnt so secure after all; theyd escaped a battle to
find a war brewing. Not even an Edenist psyche could suppress that much
gloom. The children from Lalonde (those not squeezed into the zero-tau
pods) picked up on it, another emotional ricochet, though admittedly not
as large as all the others theyd been through. The happiness Father
Horst had promised them waited at the end of their journey was proving
elusive. Even the fact the voyage was ending didnt help much.

The damage Lady Macbeth had suffered in the fight above Lalonde didnt
affect her manoeuvrability, not with Joshua piloting. She closed in on
her designated docking bay, CA 5-099, at the very centre of the spaceport
disk, precisely aligned along the vector assigned by traffic control.
There was no hint that fifteen attitude control thrusters had been
disabled, and she was venting steadily from emergency dump valves as well
as a couple of fractured cryogenic feed pipes.

By that time almost a quarter of the habitat population was accessing the
spaceports sensors, watching her dock. The news companies had broken
into their schedules to announce that a single ship had made it back from
Lalonde. Reporters had been very quick off the mark in discovering the
pediatric teams were assembling in the bay. (Kellys boss was making
frantic datavises to the incoming starship, to no avail.)

The space industry people, industrial station workers, and ships crews
kicking their heels in the bars because of the quarantine observed the
approach with a sense of troubled awe. Yes, Joshua had come through
again, but the state of old Lady Mac . . . Charred, flaking nultherm foam
exposed sections of her hull which showed innumerable heat-stress ripples
(a sure sign of energy beam strikes), melted sensor clusters, only two
fusion tubes functional. It must have been one hell of a scrap. They all
knew no one else would be returning. Knowledge that every friend,
colleague, or vague acquaintance who had accompanied Terrance Smith was
either radioactive dust or lost to possession was hard to accept. Those
starships were powerful, fast, and well armed.

The disembarkment process was, as expected, a shambles. People kept
emerging from the airlock tube as if Lady Mac were the focus of some
dimensional twist, her internal space far larger than that which the hull
enclosed. Edenists formed a good percentage of the exiles, much to the
surprise of the rover reporters. They helped a horde of wondrously
senseogenic, scared-looking refugee kids in ragged clothes. Pediatric
nurses floated after them in the reception compartment, while reporters
dived like airborne sharks to ask the children how they felt/what theyd
seen. Tears started to flow.

<< How the hell did they get in there? >>Ione asked the habitat.
Serjeants launched themselves to intercept the reporters.

Jay Hilton hugged her legs to her chest as she drifted across the
compartment, shivering unhappily. None of this was what shed been
expecting, not the starship voyage nor their arrival. She tried to catch
sight of Father Horst amid the noisy swirl of bodies bouncing around the
compartment, knowing that he had others to look out for and probably
couldnt spare much time for her. In fact, she wouldnt be needed for
anything much now there were plentiful adults around to take care of
things again. Perhaps if she hunched up really small everyone would
ignore her, and shed be able to have a look at the habitats park. Jay
had heard stories of Edenist habitats and how beautiful they were; back
in the arcology shed often daydreamed that one day shed visit Jupiter,
despite everything Father Varhoos preached about the evils of bitek.

The opportunity to escape the melee never quite presented itself. A
reporter soared past her, noticed she was the oldest kid in the
compartment, and used a grab hoop to brake himself abruptly. His mouth
split into a super-friendly smile, the kind his neural nanonics program
advised was best to interface trustfully with Young Children. Hi there.
Isnt this atrocious? They should have organized things better.

Yes, Jay said doubtfully.

My name is Matthias Rems. The smile broadened further.

Jay Hilton.

Well, hi there, Jay. Im glad youve reached Tranquillity, youre quite
safe here. From what weve heard it was nasty for all of you on Lalonde.

Yes!

Really? What happened?

Well, Mummy got possessed the first night. And then A hand closed on
her shoulder. She glanced around to see Kelly Tirrel giving Matthias Rems
an aggressive stare.

He wants to know what happened, Jay said brightly. She liked Kelly,
admiring her right from the moment she arrived at the savanna homestead
to rescue them. On the voyage to Tranquillity shed secretly decided that
she was going to be a tough, Confederation-roaming reporter like Kelly
when she grew up.

What happened is your story, Jay, Kelly said slowly. It belongs to
you; its all youve got left. And if he wants to hear it he has to offer
you a great deal of money for it.

Kelly! Matthias flashed her a slightly exasperated you-know-the-score
grin.

It made no discernible impression on Kelly. Pick on someone your own
size, Matthias. Ripping off traumatized children is low even for you. Im
covering for Jay.

Is that right, Jay? he asked. Did you thumbprint a contract with
Collins?

What? Jay glanced from one to the other, puzzled.

Serjeant! Kelly shouted.

Jay squeaked in alarm as a glitter-black hand closed around Matthias
Remss upper arm. The owner of the hand was a hard-skinned monster worse
than any shape a possessed had ever worn.

Its all right, Jay. Kelly grinned for the first time in days. Its on
our side. This is what Tranquillity uses for its police force.

Oh. Jay swallowed loudly.

Id like to complain about an attempted violation of confidentiality
copyright, Kelly told the serjeant. Also, Matthias is breaking the
sense-media ethics charter concerning the approach and enticement of
minors in the absence of their parents or guardians.

Thank you, Kelly, the serjeant said. And welcome home, I offer my
congratulations on your endurance through difficult times.

She grimaced numbly at the bitek servitor.

Come along now, sir, the serjeant said to Matthias Rems. It pushed away
from the compartment bulkhead with its stocky legs, the pair of them
heading for one of the hatchways.

Dont ever trust reporters, Jay, Kelly said. Were not nice people.
Worse than the possessed really; they only steal bodies, we steal your
whole life and make a profit out of it.

You dont, Jay said, shoving the full child-force of trusting worship
behind the words. A belief which was a sheer impossibility for any adult
to live up to.

Kelly kissed her forehead, emotions in a muddle. Kids today, so knowing,
which only makes them even more vulnerable. She gently pushed Jay towards
one of the pediatric nurses, and left them discussing what the little
girl had eaten last, and when.

Kelly, thank Christ!

The familiar voice made her twitch, a movement which in free fall was
like a ripple running from toe to crown. She held on to a grab hoop to
steady herself.

Feetfirst, Garfield Lunde slid down into her vision field. Her direct
boss, and the man who had authorized her assignment. A big gamble, as he
told her at the time, this kind of fieldwork is hardly your forte.
Putting her deeper in his debt; everything he did for his workforce was a
favour, an against-the-rules kindness. He owed his position entirely to
his mastery of office politics; sensevise talent and investigative
ability never entered into it.

Hello, Garfield, she said in a dull tone.

You made it back. Great hairstyle, too.

Kelly had almost forgotten her hair, cut to a fine fuzz to fit her armour
suits skull helmet. Style, dress sense, cosmetic membranes: concepts
which seemed to have dissolved clean out of her universe. Well done,
Garfield; I can see why your observational ability pushed you right the
way up the seniority league.

He wagged a finger, almost catching his ponytail which was snaking around
his neck. Tough lady, at last. Looks like you lost your cherry on this
assignment; touched a few corpses, wondered if you should have helped
instead of recorded. Dont feel bad, it happens to us all.

Sure.

Is anyone else coming back, any other starships?

If theyre not here by now, they wont be coming.

Christ, this is getting better by the second. Weve got us a total
exclusive. Did you get down to the planet?

Yes.

And is it possessed?

Yes.

Magnificent! He glanced contentedly around the reception chamber,
watching children and Edenists in free-fall flight, their movements
reminiscent of geriatric ballerinas. Hey, where are the mercs you went
with?

They didnt make it, Garfield. They sacrificed themselves so the Lady
Macs spaceplane could lift the children off.

Oh, my God. Wow! Sacrificed themselves for kids?

Yes. We were outgunned, but they stood their ground. All of them. I
never expected . . .

Stunning. You got it, didnt you? For Christs sake, Kelly, tell me you
recorded it. The big fight, the last noble stand.

I recorded it. What I could. When I wasnt so scared I couldnt think
straight.

Yes! I knew I made the right decision sending you. This is it, babe.
Just watch our audience points go galactic. Were going to put Time
Universe and the others out of business. Do you realize what youve done
here? Shit, Kelly, youll probably wind up as my boss, after this.
Wonderful!

Very calmly, Kelly let Ariadnes free-fall unarmed combat program shift
into primary mode. Her sense of balance was immediately magnified, making
her aware of every slight movement her body made in the minute air
currents churning through the chamber. Her spacial orientation underwent
a similar augmentation; distances and relative positions were obvious.

Wonderful? she hissed.

Garfield grinned proudly. You bet.

Kelly launched herself at him, rotating around her centre of gravity as
she did so. Her feet came around, seeking out his head, legs kicking
straight.

Two of the serjeants had to pull her off. Luckily the pediatric team had
some medical nanonic packages with them; they were able to save
Garfields eye; it would take a week before his broken nose knitted back
into its proper shape, though.



All the passenger refugees had left Lady Mac. Overstressed environmental
systems were calming. The docking bays umbilicals sent a cool wind
washing through the bridge, taking with it the air of the voyage; ugly
air with its smell of human bodies, humidity, and heavy carbon dioxide.
To Joshuas mind even the fans behind the grilles werent whining so
much. Perhaps it was his imagination.

Now there was only the crew left to soak up the luxuriously plentiful
oxygen. The crew minus one. There hadnt been much time for Joshua to
dwell on Warlow during the flight. Racing between jump coordinates,
worrying about the energy patterning nodes holding out, the leakages, the
damaged systems, children he had suddenly become responsible for, the
desperate need to succeed.

Well, now hed won, beaten the odds the universe had thrown at him. And
it made him feel good, even though there was no happiness to accompany
it. Self-satisfaction was a curious state, in this case roughly
equivalent to fatigue-induced nirvana, he thought.

Ashly Hanson came up through the decking hatch and took a swift glance
around the lethargic forms still encased by their acceleration couch
webbing. Flights over, you know, he said.

Yeah. Joshua datavised an instruction into the flight computer.
Harlequin schematics of the starships principal systems vanished from
his mind, and the webbing peeled back.

I think the cleaning up can wait until tomorrow, Dahybi said.

Message received, Joshua said. Shore leave is now granted, and
compulsory.

Sarha glided over from her couch and gave Joshua a tiny kiss. You were
magnificent. After all this is over, were going back to Aethra so we can
tell him we escaped and got the children off.

If hes there.

Hes there. You know he is.

Shes right, Joshua, Melvyn Ducharme said as he cancelled the
neurographic visualization of Lady Macs power circuits. Hes there. And
even if the transfer didnt work, his soul is going to be watching us
right now.

Jesus. Joshua shivered. I dont even want to think about that.

We dont have a lot of choice in the subject anymore.

But not today, Ashly put in heavily. He held out an arm to Sarha. Come
along, well leave these morbids to moan among themselves. I dont know
about you, but Im having one very stiff drink in Harkeys first, then
its bed for a week.

Sounds good. She twisted her feet off the stikpad by Joshuas couch and
followed the old time-hopper pilot through the hatch.

A vaguely nonplussed expression appeared on Joshuas face as they left
together. None of your business, he told himself. Besides, there was
Kelly to consider, though shed been almost unrecognizable since
returning from Lalonde. And then there was Louise. Ione, too.

I think Ill skip the drink and go straight to bed, he announced to the
other two.

They went out of the bridge hatch one at a time. It was only when they
got to the airlock that they encountered the service companys systems
specialist coming the other way. She wanted the captains authority to
begin assessing the ship so she could assemble a maintenance schedule.
Joshua stayed behind to discuss priorities, datavising over the files on
systems which had taken punishment above Lalonde.

There was nobody about when he finally left the starship. The circus in
the reception chamber had ended. The reporters had packed up. There
wasnt even a serjeant left to check him over for possession. Sloppy, he
thought, not like Tranquillity at all.

A commuter lift took him along the spindle which connected the spaceport
disk to the centre of the habitats northern endcap. It deposited him in
one of the ten tube stations which served the hub; deserted but for a
single occupant.

Ione stood outside the waiting tube carriage, dressed in a sea-blue
sarong and matching blouse. He smiled ruefully at the memory that evoked.

I remember you, she said.

Funny, I thought youd forgotten.

No. Not you, no matter what.

He stood in front of her, looking down at a face which owned far too much
wisdom for such delicate features. I was stupid, he confessed.

I think you and I can withstand one argument, dont you?

I was stupid more than once.

Tranquillitys been reviewing the memories of the Edenists you saved.
Im very proud of what you achieved on that flight, Joshua, and I dont
just mean all that fancy flying. Very proud indeed.

All he could do was nod ineffectually. For a long time hed dreamed about
a reunion like this; going off after theyd had a fight had left too many
things open-ended, too much unsaid. Now it was actually happening, his
mind was slipping to Louise, who had also been left behind. It was all
Warlows fault, him and that damn promise to be a little less selfish
with his girls.

You look tired, Ione said, and held out her hand. Lets go home.

Joshua looked down at her open hand, small and perfect. He twined his
fingers through hers, rediscovering how warm her skin was.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Parker Higgens thought it must have been about twenty years since he last
left Tranquillity, a short trip on an Adamist starship to a university on
Nanjing so he could deliver a paper and assess some candidates for the
Laymil project. He hadnt enjoyed the experience; free-fall nausea seemed
capable of penetrating whatever defences his neural nanonics erected
across his nerve pathways.

This time it was pleasantly different. The gravity in the blackhawks
life-support capsule never fluctuated, he had a comfortable cabin to
himself, the crew were friendly, and his navy escort officer was a
cultured lady who made an excellent travelling companion.

At the end of the flight he even accessed the blackhawks electronic
sensors to watch their approach to Trafalgar. Dozens of navy starships
swarmed around its two large spaceport globes. Avon provided a sumptuous
backdrop; the warm blues, whites, greens, and browns of a terracompatible
planet were so much kinder than the abrasive storm bands of Mirchusko, he
realized. Parker Higgens almost laughed at the stereotype image he
presented as he gawped like some stupefied tourist: the dusty old
professor finally discovers there is life outside the research centre.

Pity he didnt have time to enjoy it. The navy officer had been
datavising Trafalgar constantly since their wormhole terminus closed
behind them, outlining their brief and authenticating it with a series of
codes. Theyd been given a priority approach vector, allowing them to
curve around one of the spaceports at an exhilarating speed before
sliding into the huge crater which served as a docking ledge for bitek
starships (they were the only blackhawk using it).

After that hed had a couple of meetings with the First Admirals staff
officers, an exchange of information which chilled both sides. Parker
found out about possession, they were given the data on the Laymil home
planet, Unimeron. They decided there wasnt any room for doubt.

When he was shown into Samual Aleksandrovichs big circular office the
first thing Parker Higgens felt was an obscure burst of jealousy. The
First Admiral had a view out over Trafalgars biosphere which was more
impressive than the one in his own office back on the Laymil project
campus. A true dedicated bureaucrats reaction, he chided himself;
prestige is everything.

The First Admiral came around from behind his big teak desk to greet
Parker with a firm handshake. Thank you for coming, Mr Director; and Id
also like to convey my gratitude to the Lord of Ruin as well for acting
so promptly in this matter. It would appear she is a strong supporter of
the Confederation; I just wish other heads of state followed her example.

Ill be sure to tell her, Parker said.

The First Admiral introduced the others sitting around his desk: Admiral
Lalwani, Captain Maynard Khanna, Dr Gilmore, and Mae Ortlieb, the
Presidents science office liaison aide.

Well the Kiint did warn us, I suppose, Admiral Lalwani said. All races
eventually face the truth about death. It would appear the Laymil lost
their confrontation.

They never said anything before, Parker said bitterly. We have six
Kiint assisting the project back at Tranquillity; Ive worked with them
for decades; theyre helpful, cooperative, I even considered them as
friends . . . And never once did they drop the slightest hint. Damn them!
They knew all along why the Laymil killed themselves and their habitats.

Ambassador Roulor did say it was something which we must come to terms
with on our own.

Very helpful, Dr Gilmore grunted. I have to say its a typical
attitude to take given their psychology inclines towards the mystic.

I think any race which has uncovered the secret of death and survived
the impact is inevitably going to take a highly spiritual approach to
life, the First Admiral said. Dont begrudge them that, Doctor. Now
then, Mr Director, it would appear that our possession and the Laymil
reality dysfunction are one and the same thing, correct?

Yes, Admiral. In fact, in the light of what we know now, the Laymil
shipmasters reference to the Galheith clans death essence makes perfect
sense. Possession was spreading across Unimeron as he left orbit.

I think I can confirm that, Admiral Lalwani said. She glanced at the
First Admiral for permission. He inclined his head. A voidhawk messenger
has just returned from Ombey. Several possessed got loose there;
fortunately the authorities were remarkably successful in hunting them
down. However, despite that success, theyve had to cede some ground to
them. We have a recording of the phenomena.

Parker accessed the flek of images compiled by Ombeys Strategic Defence
sensor satellites, seeing the remarkably smooth red cloud slowly
sheathing Mortonridge. Time-lapse coverage showed the planets terminator
cruise in across the ocean. At night the peninsulas covering glowed a
hostile cerise, its edges flexing in agitation over the crinkled
coastline.

Oh, dear, he said after he cancelled the visualization.

They match, Dr Gilmore said. Absolutely, the same event.

Admittedly Laton was in a hurry and under a great deal of stress,
Lalwani said. But if we understand him correctly, once that red cloud
envelops a world completely, the possessed can take it right out of the
universe.

Not outside, exactly, Dr Gilmore said. If you can manipulate
space-time to the extent they apparently can, then you should be able to
format a favourable micro-continuum around a world. The surface simply
wont be accessible through ordinary space-time. A wormhole might reach
them, if we knew the correct quantum signature for its terminus.

The Laymil homeworld wasnt destroyed, Parker said slowly. Of that we
are sure. We speculated that it could have been moved, but naturally we
considered only physical movement through this universe.

Then the possessed Laymil must have worked this vanishing trick,
Lalwani said. It really is possible.

Dear God, the First Admiral murmured. As if it wasnt enough trying to
find a method of reversing possession, we now have to to consider how to
bring back entire planets from some demented version of Heaven.

And the Laymil in the spaceholms committed suicide rather than submit,
Lalwani said bleakly. The parallel between the Ruin Ring and Pernik
island is one I find most disturbing. The possessed confront us with a
single choice; surrender or die. And if we do die, we enhance their own
numbers. Yet Laton chose death; indeed he seemed almost happy at the
prospect. Right at the end he told Oxley he would begin what he named the
great journey, though he never elaborated. But the intimation that he
would not suffer in the beyond was a strong one.

Unfortunately its hardly something you can turn into a firm policy,
Mae Ortlieb observed. Nor one to reassure people with even if you did.

I am aware of that, Lalwani told the woman coolly. What this
information can do is point us towards areas which should be
investigated. From the result of those investigations, policies can then
be formulated.

Enough, the First Admiral said. We are here to try and decide which is
the most fruitful line of scientific inquiry. Given we now have a basic
understanding of the problem confronting us Id like some suggestions. Dr
Gilmore?

Were continuing to examine Jacqueline Couteur to try and determine the
nature of the energy which the possessing soul utilizes. So far weve had
very little success. Our instruments either cannot read it, or suffer
glitches produced by it. Either way, we cannot define its nature. He
gave the First Admiral a timorous glance. Id like your permission to
move on to reactive tests.

Parker couldnt help the disapproving snort which escaped from his lips.
Again reinforcing the persona of crusty old academic; but he deplored
Gilmores wholehearted right-wing militarism.

No one would think of it to look at him now, but Parker Higgens had done
his stint for radicalism and its various causes during his student days.
He wondered if that was on the file Lalwani must invariably keep on him,
aging bytes in an obsolete program language detailing his protests over
military development work carried out on the university campus. Had she
accessed that before hed been allowed in here, the heart of the greatest
military force the human race had ever assembled? Perhaps she judged him
safe these days. Perhaps she was even right in doing so. But people like
Gilmore reopened all the old contemptuous thoughts. Reactive tests,
indeed.

You have a problem with that, Mr Director? Dr Gilmore asked with formal
neutrality.

Parker let his gaze wander around the offices big holoscreens, watching
the starships shoaling over Avon. Readying themselves for combat. For
conflict. I agree with the First Admiral, he said sorrowfully. We must
attempt to locate a scientific solution.

Which is only going to happen if my research can proceed unhindered. I
know what youre thinking, Mr Director, and I regret the fact that were
dealing with a live human here. But unless you can offer me a valid
alternative we must use her to add to our knowledge base.

I am aware of the argument about relative levels of suffering, Doctor. I
just find it depressing that after seven centuries of adhering to the
scientific method we havent come up with a more humane principle. I find
the prospect of experimenting on people to be abhorrent.

You should review the file Lieutenant Hewlett made when his marine squad
were sent on their capture mission to obtain Jacqueline Couteur. Youd
see exactly who really practises abhorrent behaviour.

Excellent argument. They do it to us, so were fully justified doing it
to them. We are all people.

Im sorry, the First Admiral interjected. But we really dont have
time for the pair of you to discuss ethics and morality. The
Confederation is now officially in a state of emergency, Mr Director. If
that turns us into what you regard as savages in order to defend
ourselves, then so be it. We did not initiate this crisis, we are simply
reacting to it the only way I know how. And I am going to use you as much
as Dr Gilmore will use the Couteur woman.

Parker straightened his spine, sitting up to stare at the First Admiral.
Somehow arguing with him as he had with the navy scientist wasnt even an
option. Lalwani was right, he acknowledged sorely. Student politics
didnt stand much chance against his adult survival instinct. We are what
our genes made us. I dont think I would be much use to your endeavour,
Admiral. Ive made my contribution.

Not so. He gestured to Mae Ortlieb.

The Laymil must have tried to prevent possession from engulfing their
spaceholms before they committed suicide, she said. I believe that is
what the essencemasters were on board the ship for.

Yes, but it couldnt have worked.

No. She gave him a heavily ironic smile. So Id like to use the
scientific method, Mr Director: eliminate the impossible and all youre
left with is the possible. It would be a lot of help to us if we knew
what wont work against the possessed. A great deal of time would be
saved. And lives, too, I expect.

Well yes, but our knowledge is extremely limited.

I believe there are still many files in the Laymil electronics stack
which have not been reformatted to human sense compatibility?

Yes.

Then that would be a good start. If you could return to Tranquillity and
ask Ione Saldana to initiate a priority search for us, please.

That was in hand when I left.

Excellent. My office and the navy science bureau here in Trafalgar can
provide fresh teams of specialists to assist in the analysis process.
Theyd probably be better qualified in helping to recognize any weapons.

Parker gave her an exasperated look. The Laymil didnt work like that;
weapons are not part of their culture. Their countermeasures would
consist principally of psychological inhibitors distributed through the
spaceholms life-harmony gestalt. They would attempt to reason with their
opponents.

And when that failed, they might just have been desperate enough to try
something else. The Laymil possessed werent above using violence, we saw
that in the recording. Their reality dysfunction was incinerating large
portions of land.

Parker surrendered, even though he knew it was all wrong. These people
could so easily believe in the concept of superweapons hidden amid the
fractured debris of the Ruin Ring, a deus ex machina waiting to liberate
the human race. The military mind! Anything is possible, he said. But
Id like to go on record as saying that in this case I strongly doubt it.

Of course, the First Admiral said. However, we do need to look, Im
sure you can appreciate that. May we send our specialists back with you?

Certainly. Parker didnt like to think what Ione Saldana would say
about that. Her one principal limitation on the project was the right to
embargo weapons technology. But these people had outmanoeuvred him with
astonishing ease. An acute lesson in the difference between political
manoeuvring practised on the Confederation capital and one of its most
harmless outpost worldlets.

Samual Aleksandrovich watched the old director knuckle under, even
feeling a slight sympathy. He really didnt like to invade the world of
such a blatantly decent man of peace. The Parker Higgenses of this
universe were what the Confederation existed to defend. Thank you, Mr
Director. I dont want to appear an ungracious host, but if you could be
ready to leave within a couple of hours, please. Our people are already
being assembled. He carefully avoided Higgenss sharp glance at that
comment. They can travel on navy voidhawks, which should provide you a
suitable escort back to Tranquillity. I really cant run the risk of your
mission being intercepted. Youre too valuable to us.

Is that likely? Parker asked in concern. An interception, I mean?

I would certainly hope not, the First Admiral said. But the overall
situation is certainly less favourable than Id hoped. We didnt get our
warnings out quite fast enough. Several returning voidhawks have reported
that the possessed have gained an enclave on various worlds, and there
are seven asteroid settlements we know of that have been taken over
completely. Most worrying is a report from the Srinagar system that they
have taken over the Valisk habitat, which means they have a fleet of
blackhawks at their disposal. That gives them the potential to mount a
substantial military operation to assist others of their kind.

I see. I didnt realize the possessed had advanced so far. The
Mortonridge recording is a distressing one.

Precisely. So you can appreciate our hurry in acquiring what information
we can from the Laymil recordings.

I . . . I do yes.

Dont worry, Mr Director, Lalwani said. Our advantage at the moment is
that the possessed are all small individual groups, they lack
coordination. It is only if they become organized on a multistellar level
that we will be in real trouble. The Assemblys prohibition on commercial
starflight should give us a few weeks grace. It will be difficult for
them to spread themselves by stealth. Any interstellar movements they
make from now on will have to be large scale, which gives us the ability
to track them.

That is where the navy will face its greatest challenge, the First
Admiral said. Also our greatest defeat. In space warfare there is no
such thing as a draw, you either win or you die. We will be shooting at
complete innocents.

I doubt it will come to that, Mae Ortlieb said. As you said, they are
a disorganized rabble. We control interstellar communications, it should
be enough to prevent them merging to form a genuine threat.

Except . . . Parker said, he caught himself, then gave a penitent sigh.
Some of our greatest generals and military leaders must be waiting in
the beyond. They will understand just as much about tactics as we do.
Theyll know what they have to do in order to succeed.

Well be ready for them, the First Admiral said. He tried not to show
any disquiet at Parkers suggestion. Would I really be able to compete
against an alliance between Napoleon and Richard Saldana?



                                 ?   ?   ?



Dariat walked up the last flight of stairs into the foyer of the Sushe
starscraper. None of the possessed used the lifts anymoretoo dangerous,
with Rubra still controlling the power circuits (and as for taking a tube
carriage . . . forget it). The once-stylish circular foyer echoed a war
zone, its glass walls cracked and tarnished with soot, furniture mashed
and flung about, dripping with water and grubby grey foam from the
ceiling fire sprinklers. Black soil from broken pot plants squelched
messily underfoot.

He refused to say it to the others picking their way through the
wreckage: If youd just listened to me. Theyd heard it from him so many
times they didnt listen; besides, they followed Kiera slavishly now. He
had to admit the council shed put together was effective at maintaining
control within the habitat. And precious little else. He found it a
telling point that the possessed hadnt bothered using their energistic
power to return the lobby to its original state; it wasnt as if they had
to go around with a brush and sponge. Rubras continuing presence and
war-of-nerves campaign was taking its toll on morale.

He stepped through the twisted doors out onto the flagstones ringing the
lobby building. The surrounding parkland had, at least, retained its
bucolic appearance. Emerald grass, unblemished by a single weed, extended
out to the rank of sagging ancient trees two hundred metres away,
crisscrossed by hard-packed gravel paths leading off deeper into the
habitat interior. Dense hemispherical bushes with dark violet leaves and
tiny silver flowers were scattered about. Small reptilian birds that were
little more than triangular wings of muscle, with scales coloured
turquoise and amber, swooped playfully through the air overhead.

The corpse spoilt the idyll; lying with its legs across one of the gravel
paths, one ankle twisted at an awkward angle. There was no way of telling
if it was male or female. Its head looked as if it had been shoved into a
starships fusion exhaust jet.

The remains of the perpetrators, a pair of servitor housechimps, were
smouldering on the grass twenty metres away. One of them held a melted
wand which Dariat recognized as a shockrod. A lot of the possessed had
been caught unawares by the harmless-looking servitors. After a couple of
days of unexpected, and unpredictable, attacks, most people simply
exterminated them on sight now.

He walked past, wrinkling his nose at the smell. When he reached the
trees he saw one of the triangular birds had alighted on the topmost
branch. They eyed each other warily. It was a xenoc, so he was reasonably
sure it wasnt affinity-bonded. But with Rubra, you could never be
certain. Now Dariat thought about it, the servitors would be an excellent
way of keeping everyone under observation, circumventing the disruption
hed been inflicting on the neural stratas subroutines. He scowled up at
the bird, which rippled its wings but didnt take off.

Dariat moved swiftly through the woods to a large glade which Kiera was
using. Impressively tall trees with grey-green leaves formed a valley on
either side of a wide stream, their black trunks host to a furry
moss-analogue. Long grass fringed the water, littered with wild poppies.

Two groups of people were occupying the glade. One was comprised entirely
of youngsters, couples in their late teens and early twenties; boys all
with bare chests, wearing shorts or swimming trunks; girls in light
summer dresses or bikinis, emphasising their femininity. Both genders had
been chosen for their beauty. Four or five children milled about looking
completely bored; girls in party frocks and ribbons in their hair, boys
in shorts and smart shirts. Two of the under sevens were smoking.

At the other end of the glade four people in ordinary clothes stood in a
group, talking in loud strained voices. Arms waved around as fingers
jabbed for emphasis. Various electronic modules were scattered on the
grass around their feet, the paraphernalia of a professional MF recording
operation.

Dariat saw Kiera Salter was standing among the recording team, and went
over. She was wearing a white cotton camisole with tiny pearl buttons
down the front, the top half undone to display her cleavage; and a thin
white skirt showing tanned legs and bare feet. With her hair unbound over
her shoulders the effect was awesomely sexy. It lasted right up until she
turned her gaze on him. Marie Skibbows body might be a male fantasy made
flesh, but the maleficent intelligence now residing in her skull was
instantly chilling.

I hear youre losing it, Dariat, she said curtly. Ive been patient
with you so far, because youve been very useful to us. But if theres
another incident like the one in the service tunnel, then I shall
consider that usefulness at an end.

If you dont have me here to counter Rubra, then its going to be you
wholl wind up losing your temper. Hell blast every possessed back into
the beyond if you let your guard down for a second. He doesnt care about
the people whose bodies weve stolen.

You are becoming a bore, Dariat. And from what I hear that wasnt a
temper loss, more like a psychotic episode. Youre a paranoid
schizophrenic, and people find that unsettling. Now concentrate on how to
flush Rubra out of the neural strata by all means, but stop trying to
spread dissension or its going to go hard on you. Clear?

As crystal.

Good. I do appreciate what youre trying to do, Dariat. Youre just
going to have to learn a softer approach, thats all. She gave him a
factory-issue sympathetic smile.

Dariat saw one of the xenoc triangle birds perched on a tree behind her,
watching the scene in the glade. The smirk which rose on his real lips
was hidden by the energistic mirage-form he cloaked himself with. I
expect youre right. Ill try.

Good man. Look, I dont want to be forced out of Valisk by him any more
than you do. Were both onto a good thing here, and we can both maintain
our status providing we just keep calm. If this recording works we should
have recruits flocking to join us. That way we can shift Valisk to a
place where Rubras neutered. Permanently. Just keep him from causing too
much trouble before then, and leave the rest to me, okay?

Yeah, all right. I understand.

She nodded dismissal, then took a steadying breath and turned back to the
recording team. Are you ready yet?

Khaled Jaros glared at the recalcitrant sensor block in his hand. I
think so, yes. Im sure it will work this time. Ramon has reprogrammed it
so that only the primary functions are left; we wont be able to get
olfactory or thermal inputs, but the AV reception appears to be holding
stable. With a bit of luck we can add some emotional activant patterns
later.

All right, well try again, she said loudly.

Under Khaleds directions the group of sybarite youths took up their
positions once more. One couple started necking on the grass, another
pair sported in the water. The little children stubbed their cigarettes
out, then ran around in dizzy circles, giggling and shrieking. Not so
loud! Khaled bellowed at them.

Kiera took up her own position leaning against the boulder at the side of
the sparkling water. She cleared her throat, and forked her hair back
with her left hand.

Undo another couple more buttons, dear, please, Khaled instructed. And
bend your knees further. He was staring straight into an AV pillar on
one of the blocks.

She paused irately, and thought about it. The solidity of the camisole
buttons wavered, and the hoops fell off allowing the flimsy fabric to
shift still further apart. Is this quite necessary? she asked.

Trust me, darling. Ive directed enough commercials in my time. Sex
always sells: primary rule of advertising. And thats what this is, no
matter what you want to call it. So I want legs and cleavage for the boys
to drool over, and confidence to inspire the girls. That way we get them
both feeding from our palm.

Okay, she grumbled.

Wait.

Now what?

He looked up from the AV pillar. Youre not distinctive enough.

Kiera glanced down at the slope of her breasts on show. You are making a
very bad joke.

No no, not your tits, darling; theyre just fine. No, its the overall
image, its so pass. Fingers plucked at his lower lip. I know, lets
be astonishingly bold. I want you lounging there, just as you are, but
have a red scarf wrapped around your ankle.

Kiera stared at him.

Please, love? Trust, remember?

She concentrated again. The appropriate fabric materialized around her
ankle, a silk handkerchief tied in a single knot. Blood red, and see if
he caught the hint.

Thats wonderful. You look wild, gypsy exotic. Im in love with you
already.

Can I start now?

Ready when you are.

Kiera took a moment to compose herself again, aiming for an expression
which was the epitome of adolescent coyness. The water tinkled
melodically beside her, other youths smiled and held each other close,
children raced past her boulder. She grinned indulgently at them, and
waved as they played their merry game. Then her head came around slowly
to look straight at the sensor block.

You know, theyre going to tell you that you shouldnt be accessing this
recording, she said. In fact, theyre going to get quite serious about
that; your mum and dad, your big brother, the authorities in charge of
wherever you live. Cant think why. Except, of course, Im one of the
possessed, one of the demons threatening the fabric of the universe,
your universe. Im your enemy, apparently. Im pretty sure I am, anyway;
the Confederation Assembly says so. So . . . that must be right. Yes? I
mean, President Haaker came here and looked me over, and talked to me,
and found out all about me, what I want, what I hate, which is my
favourite MF artist, what frightens me. I dont remember that time when I
spoke to him. But it must have happened, because the ambassadors of every
government in the Assembly voted that Im officially to be denounced as a
monster. They wouldnt do that, not all those bright, serious, wise
people, unless they had all the facts at their disposal, now would they?

Actually, the one lonely fact they had, and voted on, was that Laton
killed ten thousand Edenists because they were possessed. You remember
Laton. Some sort of hero a while back, Ive been told, something about a
habitat called Jantrit. I wonder if he asked the individuals on Pernik
island if they wanted to be exterminated. I wonder if they all said yes.

Theyve done to us what they do to kids the universe over, lumped us
together and said were bad. One thug hits somebody, and every kid is a
violent hooligan. You know thats truth, it happens all the time in your
neighbourhood. Youre never an individual, not to them. One wrong, all
wrong. Thats the way were treated.

Well, not here, not in Valisk. Maybe some possessed want to conquer the
universe. If they do, then I hope the Confederation Navy fights them. I
hope the navy wins. Those sort of possessed frighten me as much as they
frighten you. Thats not what were about, its so stupid, its so
obsolete. Theres no need for that kind of behaviour, that kind of
thinking, not anymore. Not now.

Those of us here on Valisk have seen what the power which comes of
possession can really do when its applied properly. Not when its turned
to destruction, but when its used to help people. Thats what frightens
President Haaker, because it threatens the whole order of his precious
world. And if that goes, he goes, along with all his power and his
wealth. Because thats what this is really all about: money. Money buys
people, money lets companies invest and consolidate their markets, money
pays for weapons, tax money pays for bureaucracy, money buys political
power. Money is a way of rationing what the universe has to offer us. But
the universe is infinite, it doesnt need to be rationed.

Those of us who have emerged from the dead of night can break the
restrictions of this corrupt society. We can live outside it, and
flourish. We can burn your Jovian Bank ration cards and liberate you from
the restrictions others impose on you. Her smile tilted towards shy
impishness. She held a hand out towards the sensor block, palm open. Her
fingers closed into a fist, then parted again. A pile of ice-blue
diamonds glittered in her palm, laced with slim platinum chains.

She grinned back at the sensor block, then tipped them carelessly onto
the grass. You see, its so simple. Items, objects, goods, the
capitalist stockpile, exist only to give joy; for us living in Valisk
they are an expression of emotion. Economics is dead, and true equality
will rise out of the ashes. Weve turned our back on materialism,
rejected it completely. It has no purpose anymore. Now we can live as we
please, develop our minds not our finances. We can love one another
without the barrier of fear now that honesty has replaced greed, for
greed has died along with all the other vices of old. Valisk has become a
place where every wish is granted, however small, however grand. And not
just for those of us who have returned. To keep it to ourselves would be
a cardinal act of greed. It is for everyone. For this aspect of our
existence is the part which your society will despise the most, will
curse us for. We are taking Valisk out of this physical dimension of the
universe, launching it to a continuum where everyone will have our
energistic power. Its a place where I can take on form, and return the
body I have borrowed. All of us lost souls will be real people again,
without conflict, and without the pain it takes for us to manifest
ourselves here.

And now Ill make our offer. We open Valisk to all people of goodwill,
to those of a gentle disposition, to everyone sick of having to struggle
to survive, and sick also of the petty limits governments and cultures
place on the human heart. You are welcome to join us on our voyage. We
shall be leaving soon, before the navy warships come and their bombs burn
us for the crime of being what we are: people who embrace peace.

I promise you that anyone who reaches Valisk will be granted a place
among us. It will not be an easy journey for you, but I urge you to try.
Good luck, Ill be waiting.

The white cotton changed, darkening into a swirling riot of colour, as if
skirt and camisole were made from a thousand butterfly wings. Marie
Skibbows smile shone through, bringing a natural warmth all of its own
to the watchers. Children flocked around her, giggling merrily, hurling
poppy petals into the air so that when they fell they became a glorious
scarlet snowstorm. She let them take her hands and hurry her forwards,
eager to join their game.

The recording ended.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Despite being nearly fifty years old, the implant surgery care ward
boasted an impressive array of contemporary equipment. Medicine, along
with its various modern sidelines, was a profitable business in Culey
asteroid.

The annex to which Erick Thakrar had been assigned (Duchamp hadnt paid
for a private room) was halfway along the wards main hall, a
standardized room of pearl-white composite walls and glare-free lighting
panels, the template followed by hospitals right across the
Confederation. Patients were monitored by a pair of nurses at a central
console just inside the door. They werent strictly necessary, the
hospitals sub-sentient processor array was a lot faster at spotting
metabolic anomalies developing. But hospitals always adopted the
person-in-the-loop philosophy; invalids wanted the human touch, it was
reassuring. As well as being profitable, medicine was one of the last
remaining labour-intensive industries, resisting automation with an
almost Luddite zeal.

The operation to implant Ericks artificial tissue units had begun
fifteen minutes after his removal from zero-tau. Hed been in surgery for
sixteen hours; at one point he had four different surgical teams working
on various parts of him. When he came out of theatre, thirty per cent of
his body weight was accounted for by artificial tissue.

On the second day after his operation he had a visitor: a woman in her
mid-thirties with unobtrusive Oriental features. She smiled at the wards
duty nurse, claiming she was Ericks second cousin, and could even have
proved it with an ID card if shed been pressed. The nurse simply waved
her down the ward.

When she entered the annex two of the six beds were unoccupied. One had
the privacy screen down to reveal an elderly man who gave her a hopeful
talk-to-me-please look, the remaining three were fully screened. She
smiled blandly at the lonely man, and turned to Ericks bed, datavising a
code at the screen control processor. The screen split at the foot of the
bed, shrinking back towards the walls. The visitor stepped inside, and
promptly datavised a closure code at it.

She tried not to flinch when she saw the figure lying on the active
shapeform mattress. Erick was completely coated in a medical package, as
if the translucent green substance had been tailored into a skintight
leotard. Tubes emerged from his neck and along the side of his ribs,
linking him with a tall stack of medical equipment at the head of the
bed, supplying the nanonics with specialist chemicals needed to bolster
the traumatized flesh, and syphoning out toxins and dead blood cells.

Two bloodshot, docile eyes looked out at her from holes in the package
smothering his face. Who are you? he datavised. There was no opening in
the package for his mouth, only a ventlike aperture over his nose.

She datavised her identification code, then added: Lieutenant Li Chang,
CNIS. Hello, Captain, we received your notification code at the Navy
Bureau.

Where the hell have you people been? I sent that code yesterday.

Sorry, sir, theres been a system-wide security flap for the last two
days. Its kept us occupied. And your shipmates have been hanging around
the ward. I judged it best that they didnt encounter me.

Very smart. You know which ship I came in on?

Yes, sir, the Villeneuves Revenge. You made it back from Lalonde.

Just barely. Ive compiled a report of our mission and what happened. It
is vital you get this datapackage to Trafalgar. Were not dealing with
Laton, this is something else, something terrible.

Li Chang had to order a neural nanonics nerve override to retain her
impassive composure. After everything hed been through to obtain this
data . . . Yes, sir; its possession. We received a warning flek from
the Confederation Assembly three days ago.

You know?

Yes, sir, it appears the possessed left Lalonde before you got there,
presumably on the Yaku. Theyre starting to infiltrate other planets. It
was Laton who alerted us to the danger.

Laton?

Yes, sir. He managed to block them on Atlantis, he warned the Edenists
there before he kamikazed. The news companies are broadcasting the full
story if you want to access it.

Oh, shit. A muffled whimper was just audible from behind the package
over his face. Shit, shit, shit. This was all for nothing? I went
through this for a story the news companies are shoving out? This? An
arm was raised a few centimetres from the mattress, shaking heavily as
though the package coating were too burdensome to lift.

Im sorry, sir, she whispered.

His eyes were watering. The facial package sucked the salty liquid away
with quiet efficiency. Theres some information left in the report.
Important information. Vacuum can defeat them. God, can it defeat them.
The navy will need to know that.

Yes, sir, Im sure they will. Li Chang hated how shallow that sounded,
but what else was there to say? If youd like to datavise the report to
me Ill include it on our next communiqu to Trafalgar. She assigned the
burst of encrypted data to a fresh memory cell.

Youd better check my medical record, Erick said. And run a review on
the team who operated on me. The surgeons are bound to realize I was
hardwired for weapons implants.

Ill get on to it. We have some assets in the hospital staff.

Good. Now for Heavens sake, tell the head of station I want taking off
this bloody assignment. The next time I see Andr Duchamps face Im
going to smack his teeth so far down his throat hell be using them to
eat through his arse. I want the asteroids prosecution office to
formally charge the captain and crew of the Villeneuves Revenge with
piracy and murder. I have the appropriate files, its all there, our
attack on the Krystal Moon.

Sir, Captain Duchamp has some contacts of his own here, political ones.
Thats how he circumvented the civil starflight quarantine to dock here.
We could probably have him arrested, but whoever that contact is, they
arent going to want the embarrassment of a trial. Hed probably be
allowed to post bail, thats if he doesnt simply disappear quietly.
Culey asteroid is really not the kind of place to bring that kind of
charge against an independent trader. Its one of the reasons so many of
them use it, which is why CNIS has such a large station here.

You wont arrest him? You wont stop this madness? A fifteen-year-old
girl was killed when we attacked that cargo ship. Fifteen!

I dont recommend we arrest him here, sir, because he wouldnt stay
under arrest. If the service is to have any chance of nailing him, it
ought to be done somewhere else. There was no answer, no response. The
only clue she had that Erick was still alive came from the slow-blinking
coloured LEDs on the medical equipment. Sir?

Yes. Okay, I want him so bad I can even wait to be sure. You dont
understand that people like him, ships like his, theyve got to be
stopped, and stopped utterly. We should fling every crew member from
every independent trader down onto a penal planet, break the ships down
for scrap and spare parts.

Yes, sir.

Go away, Lieutenant. Make arrangements to have me shipped back to
Trafalgar. Ill do my convalescing there, thank you.

Sir . . . Yes, sir. Ill relay the request. It might be some time before
you can actually be transferred. As I said, there is a Confederation-wide
quarantine order in effect. We could have you taken to a more private
area and guarded.

Again there was a long interval. Li Chang bore it stoically.

No, Erick datavised. I will remain here. Duchamp is paying, perhaps my
injuries along with the repairs his ship needs will be enough to bankrupt
the bastard. I expect Culeys authorities regard bad debts as a serious
crime, after all thats money which is at stake, not morality.

Yes, sir.

The first ship out of here, Lieutenant, I want to be on it.

Ill set it up, sir. You can count on me.

Good. Go now.

Feeling as guilty as shed ever done in her life, she turned quickly and
datavised the screen to open. One quick glance over her shoulder as she
lefthoping to ease her conscience, hoping to see him relaxing into a
peaceful sleepshowed his eyes were still open at the bottom of their
green pits; a numbed angry stare, focused on nothing. Then the screen
flowed shut.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Alkad Mzu exited the Nyiru traffic control sensor display as soon as the
wormhole interstice closed. At fifty thousand kilometres there hadnt
been much of an optical-band return, the visualization was mostly
graphics superimposed over enhanced pixel representations. But for all
the lack of true visibility, there was no fooling them. Udat had departed.

She looked out through the observation lounges giant window which was
set in the rock wall just above the asteroids docking ledge. A slender
slice of stars were visible below the edge of the bulky non-rotational
spaceport a kilometre and a half away. Narok itself drifted into view;
seemingly smothered in white cloud, its albedo was sufficient to cast a
frail radiance. Faint elongated shadows sprang up across the ledge,
streaming away from the blackhawks and voidhawks perched on their docking
pedestals. They tracked around over the smooth rock like a clocks second
hand. Alkad waited until Narok vanished below the sharp synthetic
horizon. The swallow manoeuvre would be complete now. One more, and the
resonance device she had secreted on board would be activated.

There wasnt really any feeling of success, let alone happiness. A lone
blackhawk and its greedy captain were hardly compensation for Garissas
suffering, the genocide of an entire people. It was a start, though. If
nothing else, internal proof that she still retained the ardent
determination of thirty years ago when she had kissed Peter goodbye. Au
revoir, only, hed insisted. An insistence shed willed herself to
believe in.

Maybe the easy, simple heat of hatred had cooled over the decades. But
the act remained, ninety-five million dead people dependent on her for
some degree of justice. It wasnt rational, she knew, this dreadful
desire for revenge. But it was so sadly human. Sometimes she thought it
was all she had left to prove her humanity with, a single monstrously
flawed compulsion. Every other genuine emotion seemed to have disappeared
while she was in Tranquillity, suppressed behind the need to behave
normally. As normal as anyone whose home planet has been destroyed.

The dusky shadows appeared again, odd outlines stroking across the rock
ledge, matching the asteroids rotation. Udat would have performed its
third swallow by now.

Alkad crossed herself quickly. Dear Mother Mary, please welcome their
souls to Heaven. Grant them deliverance from the crimes they committed,
for we are all children who know not what we do.

What lies! But the Maria Legio Church was an ingrained and essential part
of Garissan culture. She could never discard it. She didnt want to
discard it, stupid as that paradox was for an unbeliever. There was so
little of their identity left that any remnant should be preserved and
cherished. Perhaps future generations could find comfort among its
teachings.

Narok fell from sight again. Alkad turned her back on the starfield and
walked towards the door at the back of the observation lounge; in the low
gravity field her feet took twenty seconds to touch the ground between
each step. The medical nanonic packages she wore around her ankles and
forearms had almost finished their repair work now, making her lazy
movements a lot easier.

Two of the Samakus crew were waiting patiently for her just inside the
door, one of them an imposing-looking cosmonik. They fell in step on
either side of her. Not that she thought she really needed bodyguards,
not yet, but she wasnt willing to take the chance. She was hauling
around too much responsibility to risk jeopardizing the mission over a
simple accident, or even someone recognizing her (this was a
Kenyan-ethnic star system, after all).

The three of them took a commuter lift along the spindle to the spaceport
where the Samaku was docked. Chartering the Adamist starship had cost her
a quarter of a million fuseodollars, a reckless sum of money, but
necessary. She needed to get to the Dorados as quickly as possible. The
intelligence agencies would be searching for her with a terrifying
urgency now shed evaded them on Tranquillity, and coincidentally proved
they were right to fear her all along. Samaku was an independent trader;
its military-grade navigational systems, and the bonuses she promised,
would ensure a short voyage time.

Actually transferring over the cash to the captain had been the single
most decisive moment for her; since escaping Tranquillity every other
action had been unavoidable. Now, though, she was fully committed. The
people she was scheduled to join in the Dorados had spent thirty years
preparing for her arrival. She was the final component. The flight to
destroy Omutas star, which had started in the Beezling three decades
ago, was about to enter its terminal phase.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The Intari started to examine the local space environment as soon as it
slipped out of its wormhole terminus. Satisfied there was no immediate
hazard from asteroidal rubble or high-density dust clouds it accelerated
in towards Norfolk at three gees.

Norfolk was the third star system it had visited since leaving Trafalgar
five days earlier, and the second to last on its itinerary. Captain Nagar
had ambiguous feelings about carrying the First Admirals warning of
possession; in time-honoured fashion Adamists did tend to lay a lot of
the blame on the messenger. Typical of their muddled thinking and badly
integrated personalities. Nonetheless he was satisfied with the time
Intari had made, few voidhawks could do better.

<< We may have a problem, >>Intari told its crew. << The navy squadron is
still in orbit, they have taken up a ground fire support formation. >>

Nagar used the voidhawks senses to see for himself, his mind accepting
the starships unique perception. The planet registered as a steeply
warped flaw in the smooth structure of space-time, its gravity field
drawing in a steady sleet of the minute particles which flowed through
the interplanetary medium. A clutter of small mass points were in orbit
around the flaw, shining brightly in both the magnetic and
electromagnetic spectrum.

<< They should have departed last week, >>he said rhetorically. At his
silent wish Intari obligingly focused its sensor blisters on the planet
itself, shifting its perceptive emphasis to the optical spectrum.
Norfolks bulk filled his mind, the twin sources of illumination turning
the surface into two distinctly coloured hemispheres, divided by a small
wedge of genuine night. The land which shone a twilight vermillion below
Duchesss radiance appeared perfectly normal, complying with Intaris
memory of their last visit, fifteen years ago. Dukes province, however,
was dappled by circles of polluted red cloud.

<< They glow >>, Intari said, concentrating on the lone slice of night.

Before Nagar could comment on the unsettling spectacle, the
communications console reported a signal from the squadrons commanding
admiral, querying their arrival. When Nagar had confirmed their identity
the admiral gave him a situation update on the hapless agrarian planet.
Eighty percent of the inhabited islands were now covered by the red
cloud, which seemed to block all attempts at communication. The planetary
authorities were totally incapable of maintaining order in the affected
zones; police and army alike had mutinied and joined the rebels. Even the
navy marine squads sent in to assist the army had dropped out of contact.
Norwich itself had fallen to the rebel forces yesterday, and now the
streamers of red cloud were consolidating above the city. That substance
more than anything had prevented the admiral from attempting any kind of
retaliation using the starships ground bombardment weapons. How, she
asked, could the rebels produce such an effect?

They cant, Nagar told her. Because theyre not rebels. He began
datavising the First Admirals warning over the squadrons secure
communications channels.

Captain Layia remained utterly silent as the datavise came through. Once
it was finished she looked round at her equally subdued crew.

So now we know what happened to the Tantu, Furay said. Hellfire, I
hope the chase ship the admiral dispatched kept up with it.

Layia gave him an agitated glance, uncomfortable notions stirring in her
brain. You brought our three passengers up from the same aerodrome as
the Tantus spaceplane, and at more or less the same time. The little
girl was caught up in some sort of ruckus: a weird fire. You said so
yourself. And they originally came from Kesteven island, where it all
started.

Oh, come on! Furay protested. The others were all staring at him,
undecided but definitely suspicious. They fled from Kesteven. They
bought passage on the Far Realm hours before the hangar fire.

Were suffering from glitches, Tilia said.

Really? Furay asked scathingly. You mean more than usual?

Tilia glared at the pilot.

Slightly more, Layia murmured seriously. But nothing exceptional, I
admit. The Far Realm might have been an SII ship, but that didnt mean
the company necessarily operated an exemplary maintenance procedure. Cost
cutting was a major company priority these days, not like when she
started flying.

Theyre not possessed, Endron said.

Layia was surprised by the soft authority in his voice, he sounded so
certain. Oh?

I examined Louise as soon as she came on board. The body sensors worked
perfectly. As did the medical nanonics I used on her. If she was
possessed the energistic effect the First Admiral spoke of would have
glitched them.

Layia considered what he said, and gave her grudging agreement. Youre
probably right. And they havent tried to hijack us.

They were concerned about the Tantu, as well. Fletcher hated those
rebels.

Yes. All right, point made. That just leaves us with the question of
whos going to break the news to them, tell them exactly whats happened
to their homeworld.

Furay found himself the centre of attention again. Oh, great, thanks a
lot.

By the time hed drifted through the various decks to the lounge the
passengers were using, the squadron admiral had begun to issue orders to
the ships under her command. Two frigates, the Ldora and the Levque,
were to remain in Norfolk orbit where they could enforce the quarantine;
any attempt to leave the planet, even in a spaceplane, was to be met with
an instant armed response. Any commercial starship that arrived was to be
sent on its way, again failure to comply was to be met with force. The
Intari was to continue on its warning mission. The rest of the squadron
was to return to 6th Fleet headquarters at Tropea in anticipation of
reassignment. Far Realm was released from its support duties and contract.

After a brief follow-on discussion with the admiral, Layia announced:
Shes given permission for us to fly directly back to Mars. Who knows
how long this emergency is going to last, and I dont want to be stranded
in the Tropea system indefinitely. Technically, were on military
service, so the civil starflight proscription doesnt apply. At the worst
case itll be something for the lawyers to argue about when we get back.

With his mood mildly improved at the news they were going home, Furay
slid into the lounge. He came through the ceiling hatch, head first,
which inverted his visual orientation. The three passengers watched him
flip around and touch his feet to a stikpad. He gave them an awkward
grin. Louise and Genevieve were looking at him so intently, knowing
something was wrong, yet still trusting. It wasnt a burden he was used
to.

First the good news, he said. Were leaving for Mars within the hour.

Fine, Louise said. Whats the bad news?

He couldnt meet her questing gaze, nor that of Genevieve. The reason
were leaving. A voidhawk has just arrived with an official warning from
the First Admiral and the Confederation Assembly. They think . . .
theres the possibility that people are being . . . possessed. There was
a battle on Atlantis; someone called Laton warned us about it. Look,
something strange is happening to people, and thats what theyre calling
it. Im sorry. The admiral thinks thats what has been happening on
Norfolk, too.

You mean its happening on other planets as well? Genevieve asked in
alarm.

Yes. Furay frowned at her, goose bumps rising along his arms. There
hadnt been the slightest scepticism in her voice. Children were always
curious. He looked at Fletcher, then Louise. Both of them were concerned,
yes, but not doubting. You knew. Didnt you? You knew.

Of course. Louise gave him a bashful smile.

You knew all along. Holy Christ, why didnt you say something? If wed
known, if the admiral . . . He broke off, troubled.

Quite, Louise said.

He was surprised by just how composed she was. But

You find it hard enough to accept an official warning from the
Confederation Assembly. You would never have believed us, two girls and
an estate worker. Now would you?

Even though there was no gravity, Furay hung his head. No, he confessed.


Chapter 11
==========


The heavily wooded valley was as wild and as beautiful as only an old
habitat could be. Syrinx wandered off into the forest which came right up
to the edge of Edens single strip of town. She was heartened by just how
many trees had survived from the habitats early days. Their trunks might
have swollen, and tilted over, but they were still alive. Wise ancient
trees who several centuries ago had discarded the usual parkland concept
of discreet order, becoming completely unmanageable, so the habitat
didnt even try anymore.

She couldnt remember being happier; though the verdant surroundings were
only one contributing factor.

Separation generates anticipation, Aulie had told her with a
mischievous smile as he kissed her goodbye just after lunch. He was
probably right, his understanding of emotions was as extensive as his
sexual knowledge. That was what made him such a fabulous lover, giving
him complete control over her responses.

In fact, he was right, Syrinx admitted wistfully. They had only been
parted for ninety minutes, and already her body missed him dreadfully.
The very notion of what theyd do that night when she had him alone to
herself again was glorious.

Their holiday visit to Eden was the talk of all her friends, and her
family. She relished that aspect of their affair almost as much as the
physical side. Aulie was forty-four, twenty-seven years older than she.
In a culture which was too egalitarian and liberal to be shocked, shed
delighted in making a pretty good job of it so far.

There was the odd time when she was aware of the age gulf, this afternoon
being one of them. Aulie had wanted to visit one of the caverns in the
habitats endcap which was full of late twenty-first century cybernetic
machinery, kept working as a functional museum. Syrinx was hard put to
think of anything more boring. Here they were in the first habitat ever
grown, five hundred years old, the seat of their culture; and he wanted
to take a look at antique robots?

So theyd parted company. Him to his steam engines, leaving her to
explore the interior. Eden was much smaller than the other habitats, a
cylinder eleven kilometres long, three in diameter; a prototype really.
It didnt have starscrapers, the inhabitants lived in a small town
ringing the northern endcap. Again, leftovers from a bygone age; simple,
quick-to-assemble bungalows of metal and composite, laboriously preserved
by their present occupants. Each of them had spruce handkerchief-sized
gardens boasting ancient pure genotype plant varieties. The vegetation
might not have the size or sharpness of colour owned by their modern
descendants, but their context made them a visual treat. Living history.

She picked her way along what she thought were paths, dodging gnarled
roots which knitted together at ankle height, ducking under loops of
sticky vine. Moss and fungi had colonized every square centimetre of
bark, giving each tree its own micro-ecology. It was hot among the
trunks, the motionless air cloyingly humid. Her dress with its short
skirt and tight top was intended purely to emphasise her adolescent
figure for Aulies benefit. In here it was totally impractical, damp
fabric fighting every movement of her limbs. Her hair died within
minutes, sodden strands flopping down to grease her shoulders. Green and
brown smears multiplied over her arms and legs, natures tribal war paint.

Despite the inconveniences she kept going forwards. The sensation of
expectancy growing all the while, and nothing to do with Aulie anymore.
This was something more ambivalent, a notion of approaching divinity.

She emerged from the jumbled trees into a glade which accommodated a calm
lake that was almost sealed over with pink and white water lilies. Black
swans drifted slowly along the few remaining tracts of open water. A
bungalow sat on the marshy shore, very different from those in the town;
it was built from stone and wood, standing on stilts above the reeds. A
high, steeply curved blue slate roof overhung the walls, providing an
all-round veranda, and giving the building an acutely Eastern aspect.

Syrinx walked towards it, more curious than apprehensive. The building
was completely incongruous, yet apposite at the same time. Copper wind
chimes, completely blue from age and exposure to the elements, tinkled
softly as she climbed the rickety steps to the veranda which faced out
over the lake.

Someone was waiting for her there, an old Oriental man sitting in a
wheelchair, dressed in a navy-blue silk jacket, with a tartan rug wrapped
around his legs. His face had the porcelain delicacy of the very old.
Almost all of his hair had gone, leaving a fringe of silver strands at
the back of his head, long enough to come down over his collar. Even the
wheelchair was antique, carved from wood, with big thin wheels that had
chrome spokes; there was no motor. It looked as though the man hadnt
moved out of it for years; he blended into its contours perfectly.

An owl was perched on the veranda balcony, big eyes fixed on Syrinx.

The old man raised a hand with a thousand liver spots on its crinkled
yellowing skin. He beckoned. << Come closer. >>

Horribly aware of what a mess she looked, Syrinx took a hesitant couple
of steps forwards. She glanced sideways, trying to see into the bungalow
through its open windows. Empty blackness prowled behind the rectangles.
Blackness which hid

<< What is my name? >>the old man asked sharply.

Syrinx swallowed nervously. << You are Wing-Tsit Chong, sir. You invented
affinity, and Edenism. >>

<< Sloppy thinking, my dear girl. One does not invent a culture, one
nurtures it. >>

<< Im sorry. I cant . . . Its difficult to think. >>There were shapes
flickering in the darkness, consolidating into outlines which she thought
she recognized. The owl hooted softly. Guilty, Syrinx jerked her gaze
back to Wing-Tsit Chong.

<< Why is it difficult for you to think? >>

She gestured to the window. << In there. People. I remember them. Im
sure I do. What am I doing here? I dont remember. >>

<< There is no one inside. Do not allow your imagination to fill the
darkness, Syrinx. You are here for one reason only: to see me. >>

<< Why? >>

<< Because I have some very important questions to ask you. >>

<< Me? >>

<< Yes. What is the past, Syrinx? >>

<< The past is a summation of events which contribute to making the
present everything which it is >>

<< Stop. What is the past? >>

She shrugged her shoulders, mortified that here she was in front of the
founder of Edenism, and couldnt answer a simple question for him. << The
past is a measure of entropic decay >>

<< Stop. When did I die, what year? >>

<< Oh. Two thousand and ninety. >>She twitched a smile of relief.

<< And what year were you born? >>

<< Two thousand five hundred and eighty. >>

<< How old are you now? >>

<< Seventeen. >>

<< What am I when you are seventeen? >>

<< Part of Edens multiplicity. >>

<< What components make up a multiplicity? >>

<< People. >>

<< No. Not physically, they dont. What are the actual components, name
the process involved at death. >>

<< Transfer. Oh, memories! >>

<< So what is the past? >>

<< Memories. >>She grinned broadly, straightening her shoulders to say
formally: << The past is a memory. >>

<< At last, we achieve progress. Where is the only place your personal
past can take form? >>

<< In my mind? >>

<< Good. And what is the purpose of life? >>

<< To experience. >>

<< This is so, though from a personal view I would add that life should
also be a progression towards truth and purity. But then I remain an
intransigent old Buddhist at heart, even after so long. This is why I
could not refuse the request from your therapists to talk to you.
Apparently I am an icon you respect. >>Humour quirked his lips for a
moment. I<< n such circumstances, for me to assist in your deliverance is
an act of dana I could not possibly refuse. >>

<< Dana? >>

<< The Buddhist act of giving, a sacrifice which will allow the dayaka,
the giver, a glimpse of a higher state, helping in transforming ones own
mind. >>

<< I see. >>

<< I would be surprised if you did, at least fully. Edenism seems to have
shied away from religion, which I admit I did not anticipate. However,
our current problem is more immediate. We have established that you live
to experience, and that your past is only a memory. >>

<< Yes. >>

<< Can it harm you? >>

<< No, >>she said proudly, the logical answer.

<< You are incorrect. If that were so you would never learn from
mistakes. >>

<< I learn from it, yes. But I cant be hurt by it. >>

<< You can, however, be influenced by it. Very strongly. I believe we are
debating how many angels dance on a pinhead, but influence can be
harmful. >>

<< I suppose so. >>

<< Let me put it another way. You can be troubled by memories. >>

<< Yes. >>

<< Good. What effect does that have on your life? >>

<< If you are wise, it stops you from repeating mistakes, especially if
they are painful ones. >>

<< This is so. We have established, then, that the past can control you,
and you cannot control the past, yes? >>

<< Yes. >>

<< What about the future? >>

<< Sir? >>

<< Can the past control the future? >>

<< It can influence it, >>she said cautiously.

<< Through what medium? >>

<< People? >>

<< Good. This is karma. Or what Western civilization referred to as
reaping the seeds you have sown. In simpler terms it is fate. Your
actions in the present decide your future, and your actions are based on
the interpretation of past experiences. >>

<< I see. >>

<< In that respect, what we have in your case is an unfortunate problem.
>>

<< We do? >>

<< Yes. However, before we go any further, I would like you to answer a
personal question for me. You are seventeen years old; do you now believe
in God? Not some primitive concept as a Creator trumpeted by Adamist
religions, but perhaps a higher force responsible for ordering the
universe? Be honest with me, Syrinx. I will not be angry whatever the
answer. Remember, I am probably the most spiritually inclined of all
Edenists. >>

<< I believe . . . I think . . . No, Im afraid that there might not be.
>>

<< I will accept that for now. It is a common enough doubt among our
kind. >>

<< It is? >>

<< Indeed. Now, I am going to tell you something about yourself in small
stages, and I would like you to apply the most rigorous rational analysis
to each statement. >>

<< I understand. >>

<< This is a perceptual reality, you have been brought here to help you
overcome a problem. >>He smiled kindly, a gesture of his hand inviting
her to continue.

<< If I am undergoing some form of treatment it cant be for physical
injuries, I wouldnt need a perceptual reality for that. I must have had
some kind of mental breakdown, and this is my therapy session. >>Even as
she said it she could feel her heart rate increase, but the blood
quickening in her veins only seemed to make her skin colder.

<< Very good. But, Syrinx, you did not have a breakdown, your own thought
routines are quite exemplary. >>

<< Then why am I here? >>

<< Why indeed? >>

<< Oh, an outside influence? >>

<< Yes. A most unpleasant experience. >>

<< Ive been traumatized. >>

<< As I said, your thought routines are impressive. Those of us running
your therapy have temporarily blocked your access to your adult memories,
thus avoiding contamination of those routines by the trauma. You can, for
the moment, think without interference, even though this state does not
permit your intellect to function at full capacity. >>

Syrinx grinned. << Im actually smarter than this? >>

<< I prefer the term swifter, myself. But what we have is adequate for
our purpose. >>

<< The purpose being my therapy. With my adult mind traumatized I
wouldnt listen. I was catatonic? >>

<< Partly; your withdrawal was within what the psychologist called a
psychotic loop. Those responsible for hurting you were trying to force
you to do something quite abhorrent. You refused, for loves sake.
Edenists everywhere are proud of you for your resistance, yet that
obstinacy has led to your current state. >>

Syrinx gave a downcast smile, not entirely perturbed. << Mother always
said I had a stubborn streak. >>

<< She was entirely correct. >>

<< So what must I do now? >>

<< You must face the root of what was done to you. The trauma can be
overcome; not instantly, but once you allow yourself to remember what
happened without it overwhelming you as it has done until now, then the
auxiliary memories and emotions can be dealt with one at a time. >>

<< Thats why you talked about the past, so I can learn to face my
memories without the fear, because thats all they are, memories.
Harmless in themselves. >>

<< Excellent. I will now make them available to you. >>

She steeled herself, foolish that it was, clenching her stomach muscles
and fisting her hands.

<< Look at the owl, >>Wing-Tsit Chong instructed. << Tell me its name. >>

The owl blinked at her, and half extended its wings. She stared at the
flecked pattern of ochre and hazel feathers. They were running like
liquid, becoming midnight-blue and purple. Oenone! she shouted. Pernik
island rushed towards her at a speed which made her grasp the balcony
rail in fright.

<< Please dont, Syrinx, >>Oenone asked. The deluge of misery and longing
entwined with that simple request made her eyes brim with tears. << Dont
leave me again. >>

<< Never. Never ever ever ever, beloved. >>Her whole body was trembling
in reaction to the years of memory yawning open in her mind. And right at
the end, the last before stinking darkness had grasped at her, most vivid
of all, the dungeon and its torturers.

<< Syrinx? >>

<< Im here, >>she reassured the voidhawk unsteadily. << Its okay, Im
fine. >>

<< You saved me from them. >>

<< How could I not? >>

<< I love you. >>

<< And I you. >>

<< I was right, >>Wing-Tsit Chong said.

When Syrinx raised her head she saw the old mans face smiling softly,
the multiplying wrinkles aging him another decade. << Sir? >>

<< To do what I did all those centuries ago. To allow people to see the
love and the sourness which lives in all of us. Only then can we come to
terms with what we are. You are living proof of that, young Syrinx. I
thank you for that. Now open your eyes. >>

<< They are open. >>

He sighed theatrically. << So pedantic. Then close them. >>

Syrinx opened her eyes to look up at a sky-blue ceiling. The dark blobs
around the edges of her vision field resolved into three terribly anxious
faces bending over her.

Hello, Mother, she said. It was very difficult to talk, and her body
felt as though it were wrapped in a shrunken ship-tunic.

Athene started crying.



                                 ?   ?   ?



There were fifteen holoscreens in the editing suite, arranged in a long
line along one wall. All of them were switched on, and the variety of
images they displayed was enormous, ranging from a thousand-kilometre
altitude view of Amarisk with the red cloud bands mirroring the Juliffe
tributary network, to the terrifyingly violent starship battle in orbit
above Lalonde; and from Reza Malins mercenaries flattening the village
of Pamiers, to a flock of overexcited young children charging out of a
homestead cabin to greet the arrival of the hovercraft.

Out of the five people sitting at the editing suites table, four of them
stared at the screens with the kind of nervous enthusiasm invariably
suffered by voyeurs of suffering on a grand scale, where the sheer
spectacle of events overcame the agony of any individual casualty. In the
middle of her colleagues, Kelly regarded her work with a detachment which
was mainly derived from a suppressor program her neural nanonics were
running.

We cant cut anything else, Kate Elvin, the senior news editor,
protested.

I dont like it, said Antonio Whitelocke. He was the head of Collinss
Tranquillity office, a sixty-year career staffer who had plodded his way
to the top from the Politics and Economics division. An excellent choice
for Tranquillity, but hardly empathic with young rover reporters like
Kelly Tirrel. Her Lalonde report scared him shitless. You just cant
have a three hour news item.

Grow some bollocks, Kelly snapped. Three hours is just dip-in
highlights.

Lowlights, Antonio muttered, glaring at his turbulent new megastar. Her
skinhead hairstyle was devastatingly intimidating, and hed heard all
about poor Garfield Lunde. Marketing always complained about the use of
non-mainstream image anchors. When he thought of that pretty, feminine
young woman who used to present the breakfast round-up just last month he
could only worry that one of the possessed had sneaked back from Lalonde
after all.

The balance is perfect, Kate said. Weve incorporated the fundamentals
of the doomed mission, and even managed to end on an upbeat note with the
rescue. That was a stroke of sheer brilliance, Kelly.

Well, gee, thanks. I would never have gone with Horst and the mercs back
to the homestead unless it made a better report.

Kate sailed on serenely through the sarcasm; unlike Antonio shed been a
rover once, which had included a fair share of combat assignments. This
edit will satisfy both our corporate objectives, Antonio. First off, the
rumour circuit has been overheating ever since Lady Macbeth came back;
Marketing hasnt even needed to advertise our evening news slot.
Everybody in Tranquillity is going to access us tonightIve heard the
opposition are just going to run soap repeats while Kellys on. And once
our audience access they arent going to stop. Were not just giving them
sensenviron impressions of a war, weve got a whole story to tell them
here. That always hooks them. Our advertising premium for this is going
to be half a million fuseodollars for a thirty-second slot.

For one show, Antonio grumbled.

More than one, thats the beauty. Sure, everyone is going to make a flek
of tonight. But Kelly brought back over thirty-six hours of her own
fleks, and then weve got the recordings taken from Lady Macbeths
sensors from the moment they emerged in the Lalonde system. We can milk
this for a month with specialist angle interviews, documentaries, and
current affairs analysis panels. Weve won the ratings war for the whole
goddamn year, and we did it on the cheap.

Cheap! Do you know what we paid that bloody Lagrange Calvert for those
sensor recordings?

Cheap, Kate insisted. Tonight alone is going to pay for those. And
with universal distribution rights well quadruple Collins group profits.

If we can ever get it distributed, Antonio said.

Sure we can. Have you accessed the civil starflight prohibition order?
It just prevents docking, not departure. Blackhawks can simply stay
inside a planets emergence zone and datavise a copy to our local office.
Well have to pay the captains a little more, but not much, because
theyre losing revenue sitting on the endcap ledges. This can work. Itll
be head office seats for us after this.

What, after this? Kelly said.

Come on, Kelly. Kate squeezed her shoulder. We know it was rough, we
felt it for ourselves. But the quarantine is going to stop the possessed
from spreading, and now were alert to the problem the security forces
can contain them if there is an outbreak. They won on Lalonde because
its so damn backwards.

Oh, sure. Kelly was operating on stimulant programs alone now, fatigue
toxin antidote humming melodically in her head. Saving the galaxy is a
breeze now we know. Hell, its only the dead were up against after all.

If youre not up to this, Kelly, then say so, Antonio said, then played
his mastercard. We can use another anchor. Kirstie McShane?

That bitch!

So we can go ahead as scheduled, can we?

I want to put in more of Pamiers, and Shaun Wallace. Those are the kind
of events which will make people more aware of the situation.

Wallace is depressing, he spent that entire interview telling you that
the possessed couldnt be beaten.

Damn right. Shauns vital, he tells us what we really need to know, to
face up to the real problem.

Which is?

Death. Everyones going to die, Antonio, even you.

No, Kelly, I cant sanction this sort of slant. Its as bad as that
Tyrathca Sleeping God ceremony you recorded.

I shouldnt have let you cut that out. Nobody even knew the Tyrathca had
a religion before.

Xenoc customs are hardly relevant at a time like this, he said.

Kelly, we can use that Tyrathca segment in a documentary at a later
date, Kate said. Right now we need to finalize the edit. Christ, youre
on-line in another forty minutes.

You want to keep me sweet, then put in all of Shauns interview.

Weve got half of it, Antonio said. All the salient points are
covered.

Hardly. Look, we have got to bring home to people what possession is
really all about, the meaning behind the act, Kelly said. So far all
the majority of Confederation citizens have had is this poxy official
warning from the Assembly. Its an abstract, a problem on another planet.
People have to learn its not that simple, that theres more to this
disaster than simple physical security. We have to deal with the
philosophical issues as well.

Antonio pressed the palm of his hand onto his brow, wincing.

You dont get it, do you? Kelly asked hotly. Her arm waved at the
holoscreens with their damning images. Didnt you access any of this?
Dont you understand? We have to get this across to people. I can do that
for you. Not Kirstie blowbrain McShane. I was there, I can make it more
real for anyone who accesses the report.

Antonio looked at the holoscreen which showed Pat Halahan running through
the smoky ruins of Pamiers, blasting his bizarre attackers to shreds of
gore. Great. Just what we need.



                                 ?   ?   ?



This just wasnt the way Ione had expected it to go. Joshua hadnt even
looked at her bedroom door when they arrived back at the apartment, let
alone show any eagerness. There had been times with him when she hadnt
made it to the bed before her skirt was up around her waist.

Yet somehow she knew this wasnt entirely due to the traumas of the
mission. He was intent and troubled, not frightened. Very unfamiliar
territory as far as Joshua was concerned.

Hed simply had a shower and a light supper, then settled down in her big
settee. When she sat beside him she was too uncertain about the reaction
to even rest her hand on his arm.

<< I wonder if its that girl on Norfolk? >>she asked dubiously.

<< He has endured some difficult times, >>Tranquillity answered. << You
must expect his usual behaviour to be toned down. >>

<< Not like this. I can see hes been shaken up, but this is more. >>

<< The human mind is constantly maturing. External events dictate the
speed of the maturation. If he has begun to think harder for himself
because of Lalonde, surely this is no bad thing? >>

<< Depends what you want from him. He was so perfect for me before. So
very uncomplicated, the roguish charmer who would never try to claim me.
>>

<< I believe you also mentioned something about sex on occasion. >>

<< Yeah, all right, that too. It was great, and completely guilt free. I
picked him up, remember? What more could a girl with my kind of
responsibilities want? He was someone who was never going to try and
interfere with my duties as the Lord of Ruin. Politics simply didnt
interest him. >>

<< A husband would be preferable to a casual lover. Someone who is always
there for you. >>

<< Youre my husband. >>

<< You love me, and I love you; it could never be anything else since I
gave birth to you. But you are still human, you need a human companion.
Look at voidhawk captains, the perfect example of mental symbiosis. >>

<< I know. Maybe Im just feeling jealous. >>

<< Of the Norfolk girl? Why? You know how many lovers Joshua has had. >>

<< Not of her. >>Ione looked at Joshuas profile as he stared out of the
living rooms big window. << Of me. Me a year ago. The old story, you
never know what you have until its gone. >>

<< He is right next to you. Reach out. I am sure he needs comfort as much
as you. >>

<< Hes not there, not anymore. Not my original Joshua. Did you see that
flying he did? Gauras memory of the Lagrange stunt nearly gave me a
heart attack. I never realized just how good a captain he is. How could I
ever take that away from him? He lives for space, for flying Lady Mac and
what that can give him. Remember that last argument we had before he left
for Lalonde? I think he was right. Hes achieved his mtier. Flying is
sequenced into his genes the way dictatorship is in mine. I cant take
that away from him any more than he could take you away from me. >>

<< I think you may be stretching the metaphor slightly. >>

<< Maybe. We were young, and we had fun, and it was lovely. Ive got the
memories. >>

<< He had fun. You are pregnant. He has responsibilities to the child. >>

<< Does he? I dont think mothers require a big tough hunter gatherer to
support them nowadays. And monogamy becomes progressively more difficult
the longer we live. Geneering has done more to change the old till death
do us part concept than any social radicalism. >>

<< Doesnt your child deserve a loving environment? >>

<< My baby will have a loving environment. How can you even question
that? >>

<< I do not question your intentions. I am simply pointing out the
practicalities of the situation. At the moment you are unable to provide
the child with a complete family. >>

<< Thats very reactionary. >>

<< I admit I am arguing on the extreme. I am not a fundamentalist, I
simply wish to concentrate your thoughts. Everything else in your life
has been planned and accounted for, the child has not. Conception is
something you have done all for yourself. I do not wish it to become a
mistake. I love you too much for that. >>

<< Father had other children. >>

<< Who were given to the Edenists so that they would be brought up in the
greatest possible family environment. A whole world of family. >>

She almost laughed out loud. << Imagine that, Saldanas became Edenists.
We made the transition in the end. Does King Alastair know about that? >>

<< You are ducking the issue, Ione. One child of the Lord of Ruin is
brought up with me as a parental, the heir. The others are not. As a
parent you have a responsibility to their future. >>

<< Are you saying Ive been irresponsible conceiving this child? >>

<< Only you can answer that. Were you depending on Joshua to be a
stay-at-home father? Even then you must have known how unlikely that was.
>>

<< God, all this argument just because Joshua looks moody. >>

<< I am sorry. I have upset you. >>

<< No. Youve done what you wanted to do, made me think. For some of us
its painful, especially if youre like me and hadnt really considered
the consequences of your actions. It gets me all resentful and defensive.
But Ill do the best for my child. >>

<< I know you will, Ione. >>

She blushed at the tenderness of the mental tone. Then she leaned against
Joshua. I was worried while you were gone, she said.

He took a sip of his Norfolk Tears. You were lucky. I was scared
shitless most of the time.

Yes. Lagrange Calvert.

Jesus, dont you start.

If you didnt want the publicity, you shouldnt have sold Lady Macs
sensor recordings to Collins.

Its hard to say no to Kelly.

Ione squinted at him. So I gather.

I meant: its hard to refuse that kind of money. Especially given my
situation. The fee I got from Terrance Smith isnt going to cover Lady
Macs repairs. And I cant see the Lalonde Development Company ever
handing over the balance on our contract, given there isnt a Lalonde
left to develop anymore. But the money I got from Collins will cover
everything, and leave me happily in the black.

Not forgetting the money you made on the Norfolk run.

Yeah, that too. But I didnt want to break into that, its kind of like
a reserve Im holding back for when everything settles down again.

My hero optimist. Do you think the universe is going to settle down?

Joshua didnt like the way the conversation was progressing. He knew her
well enough now; she was steering, hoping to angle obliquely into the
subject she wanted to discuss. Who knows? Are we going to finish up
talking about Dominique?

Ione raised her head from his shoulder to give him a puzzled glance. No.
What made you ask that?

Not sure. I thought you wanted to talk about us, and what happens after.
Dominique and the Vasilkovsky line played a heavy part in my original
plans from here on in.

There isnt going to be an after, Joshua, not in the sense of returning
to the kind of existence we had before. Knowing theres an afterlife is
going to tilt peoples perception on life for ever.

Yeah. It is pretty deep when you think about it.

Thats your considered in-depth analysis of the situation is it? For a
moment she thought shed gone and wounded him. But he just gave a gaunt
smile. Not angry.

Yeah, he said, quiet and serious. Its deep. I had three bloody narrow
escapes inside two days on that Lalonde mission. If Id made one mistake,
Ione, just one, Id be dead now. Only I wouldnt, as we now know, Id be
trapped in the beyond. And if Shaun Wallace was telling the truthand I
suspect he wasthen Id be screaming silently to be let back in no matter
what the cost or who had to pay it.

Thats horrible.

Yes. I sent Warlow to his death. I think I knew that even before he went
out of the airlock. And now hes out there, or in theresomewhere, with
all the other souls. He might even be watching us now, begging to be
given sensation. The trouble with that is, I do owe him. Joshua put his
head back on the silk cushions, staring up at the ceiling. Do I owe him
big enough for that, though? Jesus.

If he was your friend, he wouldnt ask.

Maybe.

Ione sat up and reached for the bottle to pour herself another measure of
Norfolk Tears.

<< Im going to ask him, >>she told Tranquillity.

<< Surely you are not about to ask for my blessing? >>

<< No. But Id welcome your opinion. >>

<< Very well. I believe he has the necessary resources to complete the
task; but then he always has. Whether he is the most desirable candidate
still presents me with something of a dilemma. I acknowledge he is
maturing; and he would not knowingly betray you. Impetuosity does weigh
against him, however. >>

<< Yes. Yet I value that trait above all. >>

<< I am aware of this. I even accept it, when it applies to your first
child and my future. But do you have the right to make that gamble when
it concerns the Alchemist? >>

<< Maybe not. Although there might be a way around it. And I have simply
got to do something. >>Joshua?

Yeah. Sorry, didnt mean to go all moody on you.

Thats all right. I have a little problem of my own right now.

You know Ill help if I can.

Thats the first part, I was going to ask you anyway. Im not sure I can
trust anyone else with this. Im not even sure I can trust you.

This sounds interesting.

She took a breath, committed now, and began: Do you remember, about a
year ago, a woman called Dr Alkad Mzu contacted you about a possible
charter?

He ran a quick check through his neural nanonics memory cells. I got
her. She said she was interested in going to the Garissa system. Some
kind of memorial flight. It was pretty weird, and she never followed it
up.

No, thank God. She asked over sixty captains about a similar charter.

Sixty?

Yes, Tranquillity and I believe it was an attempt to confuse the
intelligence agency teams who keep her under observation.

Ah. Instinct kicked in almost immediately, riding a wave of regret.
This was big-time, and major trouble. It almost made him happy they
hadnt leapt straight into bed, unlike the old days (a year ago, ha!).
For him it was odd, but he was simply too ambivalent about his own
feelings. And he could see how shed been thrown by his just-old-friends
approach, too.

Sex would have been so easy; he just couldnt bring himself to do it with
someone he genuinely liked when it didnt mean what it used to. That
would have been too much like betrayal. I cant do that to her. Which was
a first.

Ione was giving him a cautious, inquiring look. In itself an offer.

I can stop it now if I want.

It was sometimes easy for him to forget that this blond twenty-year-old
was technically an entire government, the repository of state, and
interstellar, secrets. Secrets it didnt always pay to know about;
invariably the most fascinating kind.

Go on, Joshua said.

She smiled faintly in acknowledgement. There are eight separate agencies
with stations here; they have been watching Dr Mzu for nearly twenty-five
years now.

Why?

They believe that just before Garissa was destroyed she designed some
kind of doomsday device called the Alchemist. Nobody knows what it is, or
what it does, only that the Garissan Department of Defence was pouring
billions into a crash-development project to get it built. The CNIS have
been investigating the case for over thirty years now, ever since they
first heard rumours that it was being built.

I saw three men following her when she left Harkeys Bar that night,
Joshua said, running a search and retrieval program through his neural
nanonics. Oh, hell, of course. The Omuta sanctions have been lifted;
they were the ones who committed the Garissa genocide. You dont think
shed . . . ?

She already has. This is not for general release, but last week Alkad
Mzu escaped from Tranquillity.

Escaped?

Yes. She turned up here twenty-six years ago and took a job at the
Laymil project. My father promised the Confederation Navy she would
neither be allowed to leave nor pass on any technical information
relating to the Alchemist to other governments or astroengineering
conglomerates. It was an almost ideal solution; everyone knows
Tranquillity has no expansionist ambitions, and at the same time she
could be observed continually by the habitat personality. The only other
alternative was to execute her immediately. My father and the then First
Admiral both agreed the Confederation should not have access to a new
kind of doomsday device; antimatter is quite bad enough. I continued that
policy.

Until last week.

Yes. Unfortunately, she made total fools out of all of us.

I thought Tranquillitys observation of the interior was perfect. How
could she possibly get out without you knowing?

Your friend Meyer lifted her away clean. The Udat actually swallowed
inside the habitat and took her on board. There was nothing we could do
to stop him.

Jesus! I thought my Lagrange point stunt was risky.

Quite. Like I said, her escape leaves me with one hell of a problem.

Shes gone to fetch the Alchemist?

Hard to think of any other reason, especially given the timing. The only
real puzzle about this is, if it exists, why hasnt it been used already?

The sanctions. No . . . He started to concentrate on the problem.
There was only ever one navy squadron on blockade duties. A sneak raid
would have a good chance of getting through. Thats if one ship was all
it took to fire it at the planet.

Yes. The more we know about Dr Mzu, the less we understand the whole
Alchemist situation. But I really dont think her ultimate goal can be in
any doubt.

Right. So shes probably gone to collect it, and use it. The Udat has a
fair payload capacity; and Meyers seen combat duty in his time, he can
take a bit of heat. Except . . . Joshua knew Meyer, a wily old sod, for
sure, but there was one hell of a difference between the occasional
mercenary contract, and annihilating an entire planet of unsuspecting
innocents. Meyer wouldnt do that, no matter how much money was offered.
Offhand, Joshua couldnt think of many (or even any) independent trader
captains who would. That kind of atrocity was purely the province of
governments and lunatic fanatics.

The use of it is what concerns me the most, Ione said. Once its been
activated, governments will finally be able to see what it can actually
do. From that, theyll deduce the principles. Itll be mass-produced,
Joshua. We have to try and stop that. The Confederation has enough
problems with antimatter, and now possession. We cannot allow another
terror factor to be introduced.

We? Oh, Jesus. He let his head flop back onto the cushionsif only
there was a stone wall to thump his temple against instead. Let me
guess. You want me to chase after her. Right? Go up against every
intelligence agency in the Confederation, not to mention the navy. Find
her, tap her on the shoulder, and say nicely: All is forgiven, and the
Lord of Ruin would really like you to come home, oh, and by the way,
whatever your thirty-year planyour obsessionwas to screw up Omuta wed
like you to forget it as well. Jesus fucking Christ, Ione!

She gave him an unflustered sideways glance. Do you want to live in a
universe where a super-doomsday weapon is available to every nutcase with
a grudge?

Try not to weight your questions so much, you might drown.

The only chance we have, Joshua, is to bring her back here. That or kill
her. Now who are you going to trust to do that? More to the point, who
can I trust? Theres nobody, Joshua. Except you.

Walk into Harkeys Bar any night of the week, theres a hundred veterans
of covert operations wholl take your money and do exactly what you ask
without a single question.

No, it has to be you. One, because I trust you, and I mean really trust
you. Especially after what you did back at Lalonde. Two, youve got what
it takes to do the job, the ship and the contacts in the industry
necessary to trace her. Three, youve got the motivation.

Oh, yeah? You havent said how much youll pay me yet.

As much as you want, I am the national treasurer after all. That is,
until young Marcus takes over from me. Did you want to bequeath our son
this problem, Joshua?

Shit, Ione, thats really

Below the belt even for me? Sorry, Joshua, but it isnt. We all have
responsibilities. Youve managed to duck out of yours for quite a while
now. All Im doing is reminding you of that.

Oh, great, now this is all my problem.

No one else in the galaxy can make it your problem, Joshua, only you.
Like I said, all Im doing is making the data available to you.

Nice cop-out. Its me thats going to be in at the shit end, not you.
When Joshua looked over at her he expected to see her usual defiant
expression, the one she used when she was powering up to out-stubborn
him. Instead all he saw was worry and a tinge of sorrow. On a face that
beautiful it was heartbreaking. Look, anyway, theres a
Confederation-wide quarantine in effect, I cant take Lady Mac off in
pursuit even if I wanted to.

It only applies to civil starflight. Lady Macbeth would be re-registered
as an official Tranquillity government starship.

Shit. He smiled up at the ceiling, a very dry reflex. Ah well, worth a
try.

Youll do it?

Ill ask questions in the appropriate places, thats all, Ione. Im not
into heroics.

You dont need to be, I can help.

Sure.

I can, she insisted, piqued. For a start, I can issue you with some
decent combat wasps.

Great, no heroics please, but take a thousand megatonnes worth of nukes
with you just in case.

Joshua . . . I dont want you to be vulnerable, thats all. There will
be a lot of people looking for Mzu, and none of them are the type to ask
questions first.

Wonderful.

I can send some serjeants with you as well. Theyll be useful as
bodyguards when youre docked.

He tried to think up an argument against that, but couldnt. Fine.
Unsubtle, but fine.

Ione grinned. She knew that tone.

Everyone will just think theyre cosmoniks, she said.

Okay, that just leaves us with one minor concern.

Which is?

Where the hell do I start looking? I mean, Jesus; Mzus smart, shes not
going to fly straight to the Garissa system to pick up the Alchemist. She
could be anywhere, Ione; there are over eight hundred and sixty inhabited
star systems out there.

She went to the Narok system, I think. Thats where the Udats wormhole
was aligned, anyway. It makes sense, Narok is Kenyan-ethnic; she may be
contacting sympathisers.

How the hell do you know that? I thought only blackhawks and voidhawks
could sense each others wormholes.

Our SD satellites have some pretty good sensors.

She was lying; he knew it right away. What was worse than the lie, he
thought, was the reason behind it. Because he couldnt think of one,
certainly not one that had to be kept from him, the only person she
trusted to send on this job. She must be protecting something, a
something more important than the Alchemist. Jesus. You were right, you
know that? The night we met at Dominiques party, you said something to
me. And you were right.

What was it?

I cant say no to you.



Joshua left an hour later to supervise the Lady Macs refit, and round up
his crew. It meant he missed Kellys report, which put him in a very
small minority. Kate Elvins earlier optimism had been well founded; the
other news companies didnt even try to compete. Ninety per cent of
Tranquillitys population accessed the sensevises Kelly had recorded on
Lalonde. The impact was as devastating as predictedthough not at once.
The editing was too good for that, binding segments together in a
fast-paced assault on the sensorium. Only afterwards, when they could
duck the all-out assault on their immediate attention, did the
implications of possession begin to sink in.

The effect acted like a mild depressant program or a communal virus. Yes,
there truly was life after corporeal death. But it seemed to be perpetual
misery. Nor was there any sighting of God, any God, even the Creators
numerous prophets went curiously unseen; no pearly gates, no brimstone
lakes, no judgement, no Jahannam, no salvation. There was apparently no
reward for having lived a virtuous life. The best anybody now had to hope
for after death was to come back and possess the living.

Having to come to terms with the concept of a universe besieged by lost
souls was a wounding process. People reacted in different ways. Getting
smashed, or stoned, or stimmed out was popular. Some found religion in a
big way. Some became fervently agnostic. Some turned to their shrinks for
reassurance. Some (the richer and smarter) quietly focused their
attention (and funding) to zero-tau mausoleums.

One thing the psychiatrists did notice, this was a depression which drove
nobody to suicide. The other constants were the slow decline in
efficiency at work, increased lethargy, a rise in use of tranquilizer and
stimulant programs. Pop psychology commentators took to calling it the
rise of the why-bother psychosis.

The rest of the Confederation was swift to follow, and almost identical
in its response no matter what ethnic culture base was exposed to the
news. No ideology or religion offered much in the way of resistance. Only
Edenism proved resilient, though even that culture was far from immune.

Antonio Whitelocke chartered twenty-five blackhawks and Adamist
independent trader starships to distribute Kellys fleks to Collins
offices across the Confederation. Saturation took three weeks, longer
than optimum, but the quarantine alert made national navies highly
nervous. Some of the more authoritarian governments, fearful of the
effect Kellys recording would have on public confidence, tried to ban
Collins from releasing it; an action which simply pushed the fleks
underground whilst simultaneously boosting their credibility. It was an
unfortunate outcome, because in many cases it clashed and interacted with
two other information ripples expanding across the Confederation. Firstly
there was the rapidly spreading bad news about Al Capones takeover of
New California, and secondly the more clandestine distribution of Kiera
Salters seductive recording.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The Mindor hit eight gees as soon as it cleared the wormhole terminus.
Various masses immediately impinged on Rocio Condras perception. The
core of the Trojan point was twenty million kilometres in diameter, and
cluttered with hundreds of medium-sized asteroids, tens of thousands of
boulders, dust shoals, and swirls of ice pebbles, all of them gently
resonating to the pull of distant gravity fields. Mindor opened its wings
wide, and began beating them in vast sweeps.



Rocio Condra had chosen an avian form as the hellhawks image. The three
stumpy rear fins had broadened out, becoming thinner to angle back. Its
nose had lengthened, creases and folds multiplying across the polyp,
deepening, accentuating the creatures streamlining. Meandering green and
purple patterns had vanished, washed away beneath a bloom of
midnight-black. The texture was crinkly, delineating tight-packed leather
feathers. He had become a steed worthy of a dark angel.

Loose streamers of inter-planetary dust were churned into erratic storms
as he powered forwards in hungry surges. Radar and laser sensors began to
pulse against his hull. It had taken Rocio Condra a long time
experimenting with the energistic power pumping through his neural cells
to maintain a viable operational level within the hellhawks electronic
systems, although efficiency was still well down on design specs. So long
as he remained calm, and focused the power sparingly and precisely, the
processors remained on-line. It helped that the majority of them were
bitek, and military grade at that. Even so, combat wasps had to be
launched with backup solid rockets, but once they were clear they swiftly
recovered; leaving only a small window of vulnerability. Thankfully, his
mass perception, a secondary effect of the distortion field, was
unaffected. Providing he wasnt outnumbered by hostile voidhawks, he
could give a good account of himself.

The beams of electromagnetic radiation directed at him were coming from a
point ten thousand kilometres ahead: Koblat asteroid, a new and wholly
unimportant provincial settlement in a Trojan cluster which after a
hundred and fifteen years of development and investment had yet to prove
its economic worth. There were thousands just like it scattered across
the Confederation.

Koblat didnt even rate a navy ship from the Toowoomba star systems
defence alliance. Its funding company certainly didnt provide it with SD
platforms. The sole concession which the asteroids governing council had
made to the emergency was to upgrade their civil spaceflight sensors,
and equip two inter-planetary cargo ships with a dozen combat wasps
apiece, grudgingly donated by Toowoomba. It was, like every response to
the affairs of the outside universe, a rather pathetic token.

And now a token which had just been exposed for what it was. The
hellhawks emergence, location, velocity, flight vector, and refusal to
identify itself could only mean one thing: It was hostile. Both of the
armed inter-planetary craft were dispatched on an interception vector,
lumbering outwards at one and a half gees, hopelessly outclassed even
before their fusion drives ignited.

Koblat beamed a desperate request for help to Pinjarra, the clusters
capital four million kilometres away, where three armed starships were
stationed. The asteroids inadequate internal emergency procedures were
activated, sealing and isolating independent sections. Its terrified
citizens rushed to designated secure chambers deep in the interior and
waited for the attack to begin, dreading the follow on, the infiltration
by possessed.

It never happened. All the incoming hellhawk did was open a standard
channel and datavise a sensorium recording into the asteroids net. Then
it vanished, expanding a wormhole interstice and diving inside. Only a
couple of optical sensors caught a glimpse of it, producing a smudgy
image which nobody believed in.

When Jed Hinton finally got back from his designated safe shelter
chamber, he almost wished the alert had kept going a few more hours. It
was change, something new, different. A rare event in all of Jeds
seventeen years of life.

When he returned to the family apartment, four rooms chewed out of the
rock at level three (a two-thirds gravity field), his mum and Digger were
shouting about something or other. The rows had grown almost continual
since the warning from the Confederation Assembly had reached Koblat.
Work shifts were being reduced as the company hedged its bets, waiting to
see what would happen after the crisis was over. Shorter shifts meant
Digger spending a lot more time at home, or up at the Blue Fountain bar
on level five when he could afford it.

I wish theyd stop, Gari said as more shouting sounded through the
bedroom door. I cant think right with so much noise. She was sitting
at a table in the living room, trying to concentrate on a processor
block. Its screen was full of text with several flashing diagrams, part
of a software architecture course. The level was one his didactic
imprints had covered five years ago; Gari was only three years younger,
she should have assimilated it long ago. But then his sister had
something in her genes which made it difficult for laser imprinters to
work on her brain. She had to work hard at revising everything to make it
stick.

Girls just plain arse backwards, Digger shouted some nights when he
stumbled home drunk.

Jed hated Digger, hated the way he shouted at Mum, and hated the way he
picked on Gari. Gari tried hard to keep up with her year, she needed
encouraging. Not that there was anything to achieve in Koblat, he thought
miserably.

Miri and Navar came in, and promptly loaded a games flek into the AV
block. The living room immediately filled up with an iridescent
laserlight sparkle. A flock of spherical, coloured-chrome chessboards
swooped around Jeds head every time his eyes strayed towards the tall AV
pillar. Both girls started yelling instructions at the block, and small
figures jumped between the various spheres in strategic migrations,
accompanied by a thumping music track. The projector was too damn large
for a room this size.

Come on, guys, Gari wailed. Ive got to get this stuff locked down
ready for my assessment.

So do it, Navar grunted back.

Cow!

Dumb bitch!

Stop it! You played this all yesterday.

And we havent finished yet. If you werent so thick youd know that.

Gari appealed to Jed, chubby face quivering on the threshold of tears.

Miri and Navar were Diggers daughters (by different mothers), so if Jed
lifted a finger to them Digger would hit him. Hed found that out months
ago. They knew it too, and used the knowledge with tactical skill.

Come on, he told Gari, well go down to the day club.

Miri and Navar laughed jeeringly as Gari shut down her processor block
and glared at them. Jed shoved the door open and faced his tiny worldlet.

Its not any quieter at the club, Gari said as the door shut behind
them.

Jed nodded dispiritedly. I know. But you can ask Mrs Yandell if you can
use her office. Shell understand.

Suppose, Gari acknowledged brokenly. Not long ago her brother had been
capable of putting the whole universe to rights. A time before Digger.

Jed set off down the tunnel. Only the floor had been covered in composite
tiling, the walls and ceiling were naked rock lined with power cables,
data ducts, and fat environmental tubes. He took the left turning at the
first junction, not even thinking. His life consisted of walking the
hexagonal weave of tunnels which circled the asteroids interior; that
entire topographic web existed only to connect two places: the apartment
and the day club. There was nowhere else.

Tunnels with gloomy lighting, hidden machines that made every wall in
Koblat thrum quietly; that was his environment now, a worldlet without a
single horizon. Never fresh air and open spaces and plants, never room,
not for his body or his mind. The first biosphere cavern was still being
bored out (that was where Digger worked), but it was years behind
schedule and ruinously over budget. At one time Jed had lived with the
faith that it would provide him an outlet for all his crushed-up feelings
of confinement and anger, allowing him to run wild over fresh-planted
grass meadows. Not now. His mum and Digger along with all the rest of the
adults were too stupid to appreciate what possession really meant. But he
knew. Nothing mattered now, nothing you did, nothing you said, nothing
you thought, nothing you wished for. Die now or die in a hundred years
time, you still spent eternity with a sprained mind which was unable to
extinguish itself. The final, absolute horror.

No, they didnt think about that. They were as trapped in this existence
as the souls were in the beyond. Both of them trekking after the low
income jobs, going where the companies assigned them. No choice, and no
escape, not even for their children. Building a better future wasnt a
concept which could run in their thought routines, they were frozen in
the present.

For once the dreary tunnel outside the day club centre was enlivened with
bustle. Kids hurried up and down, others clumped together to talk in
bursts of high-velocity chatter. Jed frowned: this was wrong. Koblats
kids never had so much energy or enthusiasm. They came here to hang out,
or access the AV projections which the company provided to absorb and
negate unfocused teenage aggression. Travelling the same loop of
hopelessness as their parents.

Jed and Gari gave each other a puzzled look, both of them sensitive to
the abnormal atmosphere. Then Jed saw Beth winding through the press
towards them, a huge smile on her narrow face. Beth was his
maybe-girlfriend; the same age, and always trading raucous insults. He
couldnt quite work out if that was affection or not. It did seem a solid
enough friendship of some kind, though.

Have you accessed it yet? Beth demanded.

What?

The sensevise from the hellhawk, cretin. She grinned and pointed to her
foot. A red handkerchief was tied above her ankle.

No.

Come on then, mate, youre in for a swish-ride treat. She grabbed his
hand and tugged him through the kids milling around the door. The
council tried to erase it, of course, but it was coded for open access.
It got into every memory core in the asteroid. Nothing they could do
about it.

There were three AV players in the day club centre, the ones Jed always
used to access vistas of wild landscapes, his one taste of freedom. Even
so he could only see and hear the wonderful xenoc planets; the AV
projectors werent sophisticated (i.e. expensive) enough to transmit
activent patterns which stimulated corresponding tactile and olfactory
sensations.

A dense sparkle-mist filled most of the room. Twenty people were standing
inside it, their arms hanging limply by their sides, faces entranced as
they were interacted with the recording. Curious now, Jed turned to face
one of the pillars square on.

Marie Skibbows tanned, vibrant body lounged back over a boulder five
metres in front of him, all flimsy clothes and pronounced curves. It was
a perfectly natural pose; such a Venus could only possibly belong in this
paradisiacal setting with its warmth and light and rich vegetation. Jed
fell in love, forgetting all about skinny, angular Beth with her
hard-edge attitude. Until now girls such as Marie had existed only in
adverts or AV dramas; they werent real, natural, not like this. The fact
that such a person actually lived and breathed somewhere in the
Confederation gave him a kick higher than any of the floaters he scored.

Kiera Salter smiled at him, and him alone. You know, theyre going to
tell you that you shouldnt be accessing this recording, she told him.

. . .

When it ended Jed stood perfectly still, feeling as though a piece of his
own body had been stolen from him; certainly something was missing, and
he was the poorer for it. Gari was at his side, her face forlorn.

We have to go there, Jed said. We have to get to Valisk and join them.


Chapter 12
==========


The hotel sat on its own plateau halfway up the mountainside, looking out
across the deep bay. The only buildings to share the rocky amphitheatre
with it were half a dozen weekend retreat villas belonging to old-money
families.

Al could appreciate why the owners had made strenuous efforts to keep the
developers out. It was a hell of a sight, an unspoilt beach which went on
for miles, tiny fang rocks at the front of the headlands stirring up
founts of spray, long lazy breakers rolling onto the sands. The only
thing wrong about it was that he couldnt get down there to enjoy it.
There was a lot of time pressure building up at the top of the
Organization, dangerous amounts of work and too-tight schedules. Back in
Brooklyn when he was a kid hed sit on the docks and watch gulls pecking
at dead things in the muddy shallows. One thing about those gulls, their
necks never stayed still, peck peck peck all day long. Now hed
surrounded himself with people that took after them. Never ever did his
senior lieutenants give him a break. Peck peck peck. Al, we need you to
settle a beef. Peck peck. Al, what do we do with the navy rebels? Peck
peck. Al, Arcata is pulling in the red cloud again, you want we should
zap the bastards? Peck peck.

Je-zus. In Chicago he had days off, months on holiday. Everyone knew what
to do, things ran smoothlywell, kind of. Not here. Here, he didnt have
a fucking minute to himself. His head was buzzing like a fucking hornets
nest he had to think so hard on the hoof.

But youre loving it, Jezzibella said.

Huh? Al turned back from the window. She was lying across the bed,
wrapped in a huge fluffy white robe, her hair lost beneath a towel
turban. One hand held a slim book, the other was plucking Turkish
delights out of a box.

Youre Alexander the Great and Jimi Hendrix all in one, youre having a
ball.

Dozy dame, who the hell is Jimi Hendrix?

Jezzibella pouted crossly at the book. Oh, he was the sixties, sorry. A
real wildcat musician, everybody loved him. The thing Im trying to say
here is, dont knock what youve got, especially when youve got so much.
Sure, things are a little rough at the start, theyre bound to be. It
just makes winning all the sweeter. Besides, what else have you got to
do? If you dont give orders, you take orders. You told me that.

He grinned down at her. Yeah. Youre right. But how come shed known
what he was thinking? You wanna come with me this time?

Its your shout, Al. Ill maybe go down to the beach later.

Sure. He was beginning to resent these goddamn tours. San Angeles had
been a beaut, but then everyone else wanted in on the act. This afternoon
it was Ukiah, tomorrow morning it was Merced. Who gave a shit? Al wanted
to get back up to Monterey where the action was at.

The silver and ivory telephone at the side of the bed rang. Jezzibella
picked up the handset and listened for a moment. Thats good to hear,
Leroy. Come on in; Al can give you ten minutes for news like that.

What? Al mouthed.

He thinks hes cracked our money problem, she said as she replaced the
handset.

Leroy Octavius and Silvano Richmann walked in, Leroy smiling effusively,
Silvano managing a glimmer of enthusiasm as he greeted Al and ignored
Jezzibella entirely. Al let the faint insult pass. Silvano was always on
the level about how he hated the non-possessed, and there was no hint in
Jezs mind that shed taken offence.

So what have you come up with? Al asked as they sat in the chairs which
gave them a splendid view out across the bay.

Leroy put a slim black case down on the coffee table in front of him,
resting a proud hand on it. I took a look at the basics of what money is
all about, Al, and tried to see how it could apply to our situation.

Money is just something you screw out of other people, right, Silvano?
Al laughed.

Leroy gave an indulgent smile. Thats about it, Al. Money is principally
a fancy method of accounting, it shows you how much other people owe you.
The beauty of it is you can use it to collect that debt in a thousand
different ways, thats how come money always grows out of a barter
economy. Individual currencies are just a measure of the most universal
commodity. It use to be gold, or land, something which never changed. The
Confederation uses energy, which is why the fuseodollar is the base
currency, because its linked to He3 production, and those costs are
fixed and universal.

Al sat back, materialized a Havana, and took a deep drag. Thanks for the
history lesson, Leroy. Get to the point.

The method of accounting isnt so important, whether you use
old-fashioned notes and coins or a Jovian Bank disk, it doesnt matter.
What you must establish is the nature of the debt itself, the measure of
what you owe. In this case its so simple I could kick myself for not
thinking of it straight off.

Someones gonna kick you, Leroy, for sure. And pretty quick. What debt?

An energistic one. An act of magic, you promise to pay someone whatever
they want.

For Christs sake, thats crazy, Al said. Whats the sense in someone
owing me a chunk of magic when I can work my own? The original New
California economy went ass backwards in the first place because we got
this ability.

Leroys grin became annoyingly wide. Al let him get away with it because
he could see how tight and excited the fat managers thoughts were. Hed
certainly convinced himself he was right.

You can, Al, Leroy said. But I cant. This is a not-so-rhetorical
question, but how are you going to pay me for all this work Ive been
doing for you? Sure youve got the threat of possession to hold me with,
but you need my talent, have me possessed and you dont get that. But put
me on a salary and Im yours for life. For a days work you promise to do
five minutes of magic for me; manifest a good suit or a copy of the Mona
Lisa, whatever I ask for. But it doesnt have to be you who owes me for
the day; I can take the token, or promise, or whatever, and go to any
possessed for my magic to be performed.

Al chewed around his cigar. Let me get this straight, here, Leroy. Any
schmuck with one of your chocolate dime tokens can come along and ask me
to make them a set of gold-plated cutlery anytime they want?

Not anytime, no, Al. But its the simplest principle of all: you do
something for me, I do something for you. Like I said, its exchanging
and redeeming debt. Dont think of it on such a personal level. Weve
been wondering how to keep the non-possessed working for the possessed,
this is the answer: Youll pay them, but you pay them in whatever they
want.

Al glanced over at Jezzibella, who shrugged. I cant see a flaw in the
idea, she said. How are you going to measure it, Leroy? Surely the
possessed will be able to counterfeit any currency?

Yes. So we dont use one. He opened his bag and took out a small
processor block, matt-black with a gold Thompson sub-machine gun embossed
on one side. Like I said, money is all accounting. We use a computer
memory to keep track of whats owed to whom. You want your magic doing
for you, then the computer shows how much youre entitled to. Same for
the reverse; if youre a possessed it shows how much work the
non-possessed have been doing for you. We just set up a planetary bank,
Al, keep a ledger on everyone.

I must be crazy even listening to this. Me? You want me to run a bank?
The First National Al Capone Bank? Jesus H Christ, Leroy!

Leroy held up the black processor block to stress the argument. Thats
the real beauty of it, Al. It makes the Organization utterly
indispensable. The soldiers are the ones who are going to enforce and
regulate payment on the ground. They make it fair, they make the whole
economy slide along smoothly. We dont have to force or threaten anyone
anymore, at least not on the scale we have been doing with the SD
network. We dont put taxes on the economy, like other governments; we
become the economy. And theres nothing to stop the possessed using the
system themselves. There are a lot of jobs too big for one individual. It
can work, Al. Really it can.

I scratch your back, you scratch mine, Al said. He eyed the black
processor block suspiciously. Leroy handed it over. Did Emmet help with
this accounting machine? Al asked curiously. Apart from the gold emblem
it could have been carved from a lump of coal for all he knew.

Yes, Al, he designed it, and the ledger program. He says that the only
way a possessed guy can tamper with it is if he gets into the computer
chamber, which is why he wants to base it on Monterey. Were already
making it the Organization headquarters; this will cement the deal.

Al scaled the electric gadget back on the table. Okay, Leroy. I see
youve busted your balls to do good work for me here. So Ill tell you
what well do; Ill grab all my senior lieutenants for a meeting in
Monterey in two days time, see what they make of it. If they buy it, Im
behind you all the way. How does that sound?

Achievable.

I like you, Leroy. You setting up any more tours for me?

Leroy flicked a fleeting glance at Jezzibella, who gave him a tiny shake
of her head. No, Al; Merced is the last for a while. Its more important
youre up at Monterey for a while now, what with the next stage just
about ready.

Goddamn, am I glad to hear that.

Leroy smiled contentedly, and put the accountancy block back in his slim
case. Thanks for listening, Al. He stood.

No problem. Ill just have a word with Silvano, here, then the pair of
you can get back into space.

Sure, Al.

So? Al asked when Leroy had left.

It aint my concern, Al, Silvano said. If thats the way you wanna do
it, then fine by me. I admit, we gotta have some kinda dough around here,
else things are gonna start falling apart pretty damn fast. We can only
keep people in line with the SD platforms for so long.

Yeah, yeah. Al waved a discontented hand. Money for magic, Je-zus, even
the numbers racket was more honest than that. He stared at his
lieutenant; if it hadnt been for the ability to sense emotions there
would have been no way for him to work out what was going on behind that
Latino poker face. But Silvano was eager about something. So what do you
want? And it better be good fucking news.

I think it may be. Somebody came back from beyond who had some
interesting information for us. Hes an African type, name of Ambar.
Silvan smiled at the memory. He wound up in a blond Ivy League body, man
was he pissed about that; its taking up a lot of effort to turn himself
into a true brother again.

Now theres someone who could cash in a potload of Leroys tokens,
Jezzibella said innocently. She popped another Turkish delight in her
mouth, and winked at Al as Silvano scowled.

Right, Al chuckled. What did he want to trade?

Hes only been dead thirty years, Silvano said. Came from a planet
called Garissa, said it got blown away, the whole damn world. Some kind
of starship attack that used antimatter. Dont know whether to believe
him or not.

You know anything about that? Al asked Jezzibella.

Sure, baby, I nearly did a concept album on the Garissa Genocide once.
Too depressing, though. It happened all right.

Sweet shit, a whole planet. And this Ambar guy was there?

So he says.

Antimatter can really do that? Waste out an entire planet?

Yeah. But the thing is, Al, he says the Garissa government was working
on their own weapon when they got wasted, something to fire at Omuta. The
biggest weapon ever built, he swears. And he oughta know, he was some
hotshot rocket scientist for their navy.

Another weapon?

Yeah. They called it the Alchemist. Ambar said it got built, but never
got used. Said the whole fucking Confederation would know if it had been,
that mothers got some punch.

So its still around, Al said. Let me guess: hell lead us right to
it.

No. But he says he knows someone who can. His old college lecturer, a
broad called Alkad Mzu.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Lady Macbeth was scheduled to depart in another eight hours, though no
one would ever guess by looking at her. Twenty per cent of her hull was
still open to space, exposing the hexagonal stress structure; engineers
on waldo platforms had the gaps completely surrounded, working with
methodical haste to integrate the new systems they had installed to
replace battle-damaged units.



There was an equal amount of well-ordered effort going on inside the
life-support capsules, as crews from five service and astroengineering
companies laboured to bring the starship up to its full combat capable
status. A status whose performance figures would surprise a lot of
conventional warship captains. A status she hadnt truly enjoyed for
decades. Her standard internal fittings were being stripped out, replaced
by their military-grade equivalents.

Joshua wanted the old girl readied at peak performance, and as Ione was
paying . . . The more he thought about what hed agreed to do for her,
the more he worried about it. Immersing himself in the details of the
refit was an easy escape, almost as good as flying.

He had spent most of yesterday holding conferences with astroengineering
company managers discussing how to compress a fortnights work into
forty-eight hours. Now he watched attentively as their technicians
clustered around the consoles manipulating the cyberdrones and waldo arms
enclosing Lady Mac.

A pair of legs slid through the control centres hatch, wobbling about as
though the owner wasnt quite accustomed to free-fall manoeuvring. Joshua
hurriedly grabbed at the offending trousers, pulling the man to one side
before his shoes caught one of the console operators behind her ear.

Thank you, Joshua, a red-faced Horst Elwes said as Joshua guided him
down onto a stikpad. He gave a watery blink, and peered out into the bay.
I was told I would find you here. I heard that you had found yourself a
charter flight.

There was no detectable irony in the priests tone, so Joshua said: Yes,
the Lord of Ruin contracted me to pick up some essential specialist
components to enhance Tranquillitys defences. The industrial stations
outside dont manufacture every component which goes into the SD
platforms. Joshua didnt actually hear anyone snigger, but there were
definitely some sly grins flashing around the consoles. Nobody knew for
sure what the flight was for, but they all had a good idea what it didnt
entail. As an excuse the components charter was pretty feeble. Ione had
reported that every intelligence agency in the habitat had taken a sudden
interest in his impending departure.

But they can manage to build combat wasps, apparently, Horst said with
gentle amusement. Brackets on the bay walls held sixty-five combat wasps
ready for loading into Lady Macbeths launch tubes.

One of the reasons we won the contract, Father. Lady Mac can carry cargo
and fight her way out of trouble.

If you say so, young Joshua. But please, dont try that one on St Peter
if you ever make it to those big white gates.

Ill bear it in mind. Was there something you wanted?

Nothing important. I was gladdened to hear your starship was being
repaired for you. Lady Macbeth sustained a lot of damage rescuing us. I
understand how expensive such machinery is. I wouldnt want you to suffer
a financial penalty for such a selfless act.

Thank you, Father.

The children would like to see you before you leave.

Er . . . Why?

I believe they want to say thank you.

Oh, yes. He glanced at Melvyn, who appeared equally discomforted. Ill
try, Father.

I thought you could combine it with the memorial service. They will all
be there for that.

What memorial service?

Oh, dear, didnt Sarha tell you? The bishop has agreed that I can hold a
service of commemoration to those who sacrificed themselves for the
children. I think Mr Malins team and Warlow deserve our prayers. It
starts in three hours time.

Joshuas good humour drained away. I do not want to think about death and
after, not right now.

Horst studied the young mans face, seeing both anxiety and guilt
expressed in the carefully composed features. Joshua, he said quietly.
There is more to death than the beyond. Believe me, I have seen how much
more with my own two eyes. The recordings your friend Kelly made, while
truthful, do not contain anything like the whole story. Do you think I
could retain my faith in Our Lord if Shaun Wallace had been right?

What did you see?

The one thing which could convince me. For you, I expect it would be
different.

I see. We have to come to faith in our own way?

As always, yes.



Tranquillitys cathedral was modelled on the old European archetype. One
of the few buildings inside the habitat, it grew up out of the parkland
several kilometres away from the circle of starscraper lobbies halfway
along the cylinder. The polyp walls were lily-white, with an arching
ceiling ribbed by smooth polygonal ridges to give the appearance of a
long-abandoned hive nest. Tall gashes in the wall had been sealed by
traditional stained glass, with a huge circular rosette at the end of the
nave overlooking the stone altar. The Virgin Mary, baby Jesus in arm,
gazed down on the slab of granite which Michael Saldana had brought from
Earth.

Joshua had been given a place in the front pew, sitting next to Ione. He
hadnt had time to change out of his ship-suit, while she was dressed in
some exquisitely elegant black dress complete with elaborate hat. At
least the rest of the Lady Macs crew shared his sartorial manner.

The service was short, perhaps because of the children who fidgeted and
whispered. Joshua didnt mind. He sang the hymns and listened to Horsts
sermon, and joined in with the prayers of thanks.

It wasnt quite as cathartic as he wanted it to be, but there was some
sense of relief. People congregating together to tell the dead of their
gratitude. And just how did that ritual start, he wonderedhave we always
known theyd be watching?

Ione propelled him over to the knot of children after it was over. Father
Horst and several pediatric nurses were trying to keep them in order.
They looked different, Joshua decided. The gaggle which closed around him
could have been any junior day club on an outing. Certainly none of them
resembled that subdued, frightened group who had flooded on board Lady
Mac barely a week ago.

As they giggled and recited their rehearsed thank yous he realized he was
grinning back. Some good came out of the mission after all. In the
background Father Horst was nodding approvingly. Wily old sod, Joshua
thought, he set me up for this.

There were others filing out of the cathedral, the usual clutter of rover
reporters, (surprisingly) the Edenists from Aethra, a large number of the
clientele from Harkeys Bar and other space industry haunts, a few
combat-boosted, Kelly Tirrel. Joshua excused himself from the children
and caught up with her in the narthex.

Lady Mac is departing this evening, he said lamely.

I know.

I caught some of the Collins news shows; youve done all right for
yourself.

Yes. Finally, Im officially more popular than Matthias Rems. There was
humour in her voice, but not her expression.

Theres a berth if you want it.

No thanks, Joshua. She glanced over at Ione who was chatting to Horst
Elwes. I dont know what shes conned you into doing for her, but I
dont want any part of it.

Its only a charter to pick up components which

Fuck off, Joshua. If thats all there is to it, why offer me a place?
And why load Lady Mac full of top-grade combat wasps? Youre heading
straight back into trouble, arent you?

I sincerely hope not.

I dont need it, Joshua. I dont need the fame, I dont need the risk.
For fucks sake, do you know whats going to happen to you if you die?
Didnt you access any of my recordings? She almost seemed to be pleading
with him.

Yes, Kelly, I accessed some of them. I know what happens when you die.
But you cant give up hope for something better. You cant stop living
just because youre frightened. You kept going on Lalonde, despite
everything the dead threw at you. And you triumphed.

Ha! She let out a bitter, agonized laugh. I wouldnt call that triumph
if I were you: thirty kids saved. Thats the most pathetic defeat in
history. Even Custer did better than that.

Joshua gazed at her, trying to understand where his Kelly had vanished.
Im sorry you feel that way, really I am. I think we did okay at
Lalonde, and a lot of other people share that opinion.

Then theyre stupid, and theyll grow out of it. Because everything now
is temporary. Everything. When youre damned to exist for eternity,
nothing you experience lasts for long.

Quite. Thats what makes living worthwhile.

No. She gave him a fragile smile. Know what Im going to do now?

What?

Join Ashly, hes got the right idea about how to spend his time. Im
going to take million-year sojourns in zero-tau. Im going to sleep away
the rest of the universes existence, Joshua.

Jesus, thats dumb. Whats the point?

The point is, you dont suffer the beyond.

Joshua grinned the infamous Calvert grin, then ducked forwards to give
her a quick kiss. Thanks, Kelly.

What the hell for, bollockbrain?

Its a faith thing. You have to come to it by yourself . . . apparently.

If you go on like this, Joshua, youre going to die young.

And leave a beautiful corpse. Yeah, I know. But Im still flying Iones
charter.

Her mournful eyes regarded him with hurt and the old pain of longing. But
she knew the gulf was too wide now. They both did.

I never doubted it. She kissed him back, so platonic it was almost
formal. Take care.

It was fun while it lasted, though, wasnt it? he inquired to her
retreating back.

Her hand fluttered casually, a dismissive backwards wave.

Sod it, he grunted.

Ah, Joshua, good, I wanted to catch you.

He turned to face Horst. Nice service, Father.

Why, thank you. I got rather out of practice on Lalonde, nice to see the
old art hasnt deserted me entirely.

The children look well.

I should hope so, the attention theyre getting. Tranquillity is an
extraordinary place for an old arcology dweller like me. You know, the
Church really did get it wrong about bitek. Its a wonderful technology.

Another cause, Father?

Horst chuckled. I have my hands full, thank you. Speaking of which He
pulled a small wooden crucifix from his cassock pocket. Id like you to
take this with you on your voyage. I had it with me the whole time on
Lalonde. Im not sure if itll bring you good luck, but I suspect your
need is greater than mine.

Joshua accepted the gift awkwardly, not quite sure whether to put it
around his neck or stuff it in a pocket. Thank you, Father. Itll come
with me.

Bon voyage, Joshua. May the Lord look after you. And do try and be good,
this time.

Joshua grinned. Do my best.

Horst hurried back to the children.

Captain Calvert?

Joshua sucked in a breath. Now what? You got me. He was telling it to a
gleaming brass breastplate, one with distinctly feminine contours. It
belonged to a cosmonik that resembled some steam-age concept of a robot:
solid metal bodywork and rubbery flexible joints. Definitely a cosmonik,
Joshua determined after a quick survey, not combat boosted, there was too
much finesse in the ancillary systems braceleting each of the forearms.
This was a worker, not a warrior.

My name is Beaulieu, she said. I was a friend of Warlows. If you are
looking for a replacement for his post, I would like to be considered.

Jesus, youre as blunt as he was, Ill give you that. But I dont think
he ever mentioned you.

How much of his past did he mention?

Yeah, not much.

So?

Im sorry?

So, do I have the post? She datavised over her CV file.

The information matrix rotated slowly inside the confines of Joshuas
skull. It competed for space with a sense of indignation that she should
do this at Warlows own memorial, coupled with a grudging acknowledgement
that anyone this forthright probably had what it took, she wouldnt last
long with an attitude that wasnt solidly backed up with competence.

Running a quick overview check on the file he saw she was seventy-seven
years old. You served with the Confederation Navy?

Yes, Captain. Thirty-two years ago; it qualifies me to maintain combat
wasps.

So I see. The navy issued an arrest warrant for me and Lady Mac at
Lalonde.

Im sure they had their reasons. I only serve one captain at a time.

Er, right. Thats good. Joshua could see another three cosmoniks
standing in the last pew, waiting to see what the outcome would be. He
datavised the cathedrals net processor block. Tranquillity?

Yes, Joshua.

Ive got three hours before we leave, and I dont have time for games.
Is this Beaulieu on the level?

As far as I can ascertain, yes. She has been working in my spaceport for
fifteen months, and has had no contact with any foreign agency
operatives. Nor does she fraternize with the combat-boosted or the less
savoury traders. She stays with her own kind; cosmoniks do tend to stick
together. Warlows outgoing nature was an exception rather than the rule.

Outgoing? Joshuas eyebrows shot up.

Yes. Did you not find him so?

Thank you, Tranquillity.

My pleasure to assist.

Joshua cancelled the datavise. Were having to fly with one patterning
node out until I can find a replacement, and there may be some trouble
later on in the charter, he told Beaulieu. I cant give you specifics.

That does not concern me. I believe your ability will minimize any
threat, Lagrange Calvert.

Oh, Jesus. Okay, welcome aboard. Youve got two hours to collect your
gear and get it stowed.



The docking cradle gently elevated Lady Macbeth upwards out of bay CA
5-099. Several hundred people had accessed the spaceports sensors to
watch her departure; intelligence agency operatives, curious
rumour-gorged space industry crews, news offices recording files for
their library in case anything eventful did happen.

Ione saw the Lady Macbeths thermo dump panels slide out of their
recesses, a parody of a birds wings extending ready for flight. Tiny
chemical verniers ignited around the starships equator, lifting her
smoothly from the cradle.

She used her affinity to receive a montage summary of the tired company
engineering teams congratulating each other, traffic control officers
coordinating the starships vector, Kelly Tirrel alone in her room
accessing the spaceport sensor image.

<< It is fortunate that Kelly Tirrel did not wish to go with him,
>>Tranquillity said. << You would have had to stop her, which would have
raised the flights profile. >>

<< Sure. >>

<< He will remain safe, Ione. We are there with him to provide
assistance, and even in part to die to protect him. >>

<< Right. >>

The Lady Macbeths bright blue ion thrusters fired, washing out the bays
floodlights. Ione used the Strategic Defence platforms to track the
starship as it flew in towards Mirchusko. Joshua piloted her into a
perfectly circular one-hundred-and-eighty-five-thousand-kilometre orbit,
cutting off the triple fusion drives at the precise moment of injection.
The ion thrusters only fired twice more to fine-tune the trajectory
before the thermo dump panels started to fold up.

Tranquillity sensed the gravitonic pulse as the starships patterning
nodes discharged. Then the tiny mote of mass was gone.

Ione turned back to her other problems.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Demaris Coligan thought hed done okay with his suit, dreaming up a
fawn-brown fabric with silvery pinstripes, and a neat cut that wasnt
half as garish as some of the Organization lieutenants wore.



At the last minute he added a small scarlet buttonhole rose to his lapel,
then nodded to the oily Bernhard Allsop who led him into the Nixon suite.

Al Capone was waiting for him in the vast lounge; his suit wasnt that
different from Demariss, it was just that Al wore it with such verve.
Not even the equally snappy senior lieutenants flanking him could produce
the same style.

The sight of so many heavyweights didnt do much to increase Demariss
level of confidence. But there was nothing hed done wrong, he was sure
of that.

Al gave him a broad welcoming smile, and clasped his hand in a warm grip.
Good to see you, Demaris. The boys here tell me youve been doing some
good work for me.

Do whatever I can, Al. And thats a fact. You and the Organizations
been good to me.

Mighty glad to hear that, Demaris. Come over here, got something to show
you. Al draped his arm around Demariss shoulder in a companionable
fashion, guiding him over to the transparent wall. Now aint that a
sight?

Demaris looked out. New California itself was hidden behind the bulk of
the asteroid, so he looked up. Crinkled sepia-coloured rock curved away
to a blunt conical peak. Three kilometres away, hundreds of thermo dump
panels the size of football fields hung down from the rock, forming a
ruff collar right around the asteroids neck. Beyond that was the
non-rotating spaceport disk, which, like the stars, seemed to be
revolving. An unnervingly large constellation of Adamist starships
floated in a rigorously maintained lattice formation just past the edge
of the disk. Demaris had spent the entire previous week helping to prep
them for flight; and the constellation only represented thirty percent of
the Organizations total warship fleet.

Its, er . . . pretty fine, Al, Demaris said. He couldnt make out Als
thoughts too clearly, so he didnt know whether he was in the shit or
not. But the boss seemed pleased enough.

Pretty fine! Al appeared to find this hilarious, roaring with laughter.
He slapped Demariss back enthusiastically. The other lieutenants smiled
politely.

Its a fucking great ritzy miracle, Demaris. One hundred per cent proof.
You know just one of those ships is packing enough firepower to blow the
entire old U.S. Navy out of the water? Now thats the kinda thought makes
you shit bricks, huh?

Right, Al.

What youre seeing out there is something no one else has ever tried
before. Its a fucking crusade, Demaris. Were gonna save the universe
for people like us, put it to rights again. And you helped make it
happen. Im mighty grateful to you for that, yes, sir. Mighty grateful.

Did what I could, Al. We all do.

Yeah, but you helped with getting those star-rockets ready. That takes
talent.

Demaris tapped the side of his head. I possessed someone who knows; he
dont hold nothing back. With great daring he gave a gentle punch to
Als upper arm. Least, not if he knows whats good for him.

A split-second pause, then Al was laughing again. Goddamn right. Gotta
let em know whos calling the shots. A finger was raised in caution.
But, I gotta admit; I got one hell of a problem brewing here, Demaris.

Well, Christ, Al, anything I can do to help, you know that.

Sure, Demaris, I know that. The thing is, once we start the crusade
theyre gonna fight back, the Confederation guys. And theyre bigger than
we are.

Demaris dropped his voice an octave, glancing from side to side. Well
sure they are, Al; but we got the antimatter now.

Yeah, thats right, we got that. But that dont make them any smaller,
not numbers wise.

Demariss smile was a little harder to maintain. I dont see . . . What
is it you want, Al?

This guy youre possessingwhats his name?

The goof calls himself Kingsley Pryor, he was a real hotshot engineer
for the Confederation Navy, a lieutenant commander.

Thats right, Kingsley Pryor. Al pointed a finger at Leroy Octavius.

Lieutenant Commander Kingsley Pryor, Leroy recited, glancing at the
screen on his processor block. Attended University of Columbus, and
graduated 2590 with a degree in magnetic confinement physics. Joined
Confederation Navy the same year, graduated from Trafalgars officer
cadet campus with a first. Took a doctorate in fusion engineering at
Montgomery Tech in 2598. Assigned to 2nd Fleet headquarters engineering
division. Rapid promotion. Currently working on the navys project to
reduce fusion rocket size. Married, with one son.

Yeah, Demaris said cagily. Thats him. So?

So I got a job for him, Demaris, Al said. A special job, see? Im real
sorry about that, but I cant see no way out of it.

No need to be sorry, Al. Like I said, anything I can do.

Al scratched the side of his cheek, just above three thin white scars.
No, Demaris, you aint listening. I fucking hate it when people do that.
I got a job for him to do. Not you.

Him? You mean Pryor?

Al gave the ever-impassive Mickey a helpless grimace. Je-zus, Im
dealing with fucking Einstein here. YES, shit-for-brains. Kingsley Pryor,
I want him back. Now.

But, but, Al, I cant give you him. I am him. Demaris thumped his chest
frantically with both hands. I aint got anybody else to ride around in.
You cant ask me to do that.

Al frowned. Are you loyal to me, Demaris, are you loyal to the
Organization?

What kind of a fucking question is that? Course Im fucking loyal, Al.
But it still dont mean you can ask that. You cant! He whirled around
as he heard the smooth snik of a Thompson being cocked. Luigi Balsmao was
cradling one of the machine guns lightly, an affable smile on his
thickset face.

I am asking you, as a loyal member of my Organization, to give me back
Kingsley Pryor. Im asking you nicely.

No. No fucking way, man!

The scars on Als reddening face were frost-white. Because you acted
loyal to me I give you the choice. Because were gonna liberate every one
of those ass-backwards planets out there, youre gonna have a zillion
decent bodies to choose from. Because of this, I give you the opportunity
to avoid zero-tau and prove your honour like a man. Now for the last
goddamn time, read my lips: I want Pryor.



Kingsley Pryor didnt even know why he was crying like a baby. Because he
was free? Because hed been possessed? Because death wasnt final?

Whatever the reason, the emotional fallout was running through him like
an electrical discharge. Control was impossible. However, he was fairly
sure he was crying. Lying on cool silk sheets, a billowingly soft
mattress below his spine. Knees hooked up under his chin with arms
wrapped around his shins. And in darkness. Not the sensory deprivation of
the mental imprisonment, but a wonderful genuine dusk, where a mosaic of
grey on grey shadows delineated shapes. It was enough for a start. Had he
been plunged directly into countryside on a sunny day he would probably
have fried from sensory overload.

A swishing sound made him tighten his grip on himself. Currents of air
stirred across his face as someone sat on the bed beside him.

Its all right, a girls melodic voice whispered. The worst parts
over now.

Fingers stroked the nape of his neck. Youre back. Youre alive again.

Did . . . Did we win? he croaked.

No. Im afraid not, Kingsley. In fact, the real battle hasnt even begun
yet.

He shivered uncontrollably. Too much. Everything was too much for him
right now. He wanted, not to die (Gods no!) but just to be away. Alone.

Thats why Al let you out again. You have a part to play in the battle,
you see. A very important part.

How could a voice so mellifluous carry such an intimation of catastrophe?
He used his neural nanonics to retrieve a strong tranquillizer program
and shunt it into primary mode. Sensations and palpitating emotions
damped down. Something was not quite right about the neural nanonics
function, but he couldnt be bothered to run a diagnostic.

Who are you? he asked.

A head was laid down on his shoulder, arms embracing him. For a moment he
was reminded of Clarissa, the softness, the warmth, the female scent.

A friend. I didnt want you to wake up with them taunting you. That
would have been too horrible. You need my touch, my sympathy. I
understand people like no other. I can prepare you for what is to come:
the offer you cant refuse.

He slowly straightened himself and turned to look at her. The sweetest
girl hed ever seen, her age lost between fifteen and twenty-five, fair
hair curling buoyantly around her face as she looked down at him in
concern.

Youre beautiful, he told her.

Theyve captured Clarissa, she said. And dear little Webster, too. Im
sorry. We know how much you love them. Demaris Coligan told us.

Captured?

But safe. Secure. Non-possessed. A child and a woman, they could not be
hurt, not here. Al welcomes the non-possessed to his Organization.
Theyll have an honoured place, Kingsley. You can earn that for them.

He struggled to resolve the image which the name Al stirred in his mind.
The fleshy-faced young man in a strange grey hat. Earn it?

Yes. They can be safe forever, they need never die, never age, never
endure pain. You can bring them that gift.

I want to see them.

You could. She kissed his brow, a tiny dry lick with her lips. One
day. If you do what we ask, you will be able to return to them. I promise
that. Not as your friend. Not as your enemy. Just one human to another.

When? When can I see them?

Hush, Kingsley. Youre too tired now. Sleep. Sleep away all your
anguish. And when you wake, you will learn of the fabulous destiny which
is yours to fulfill.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Moyo watched Ralph Hiltch walk down the road out of Exnall, the girl
lying in his arms. Together they made a classical image, the hero
rescuing his damsel.

The other armour-suited troops closed around their leader, and together
they slipped off the road, back into the cover of the trees. Not that the
snarled-up trunks of the old forest could hide them; Ralphs fury acted
like a magnesium flare to the strange senses which Moyo was only just
accustoming himself to.

The ESA agents anger was of a genus which perturbed Moyo deeply. The
resolution behind it was awesome. After two centuries incarcerated in the
beyond, Moyo had assumed he would be immune to any kind of threat ever
again. That was why he had cooperated with Annette Ekelunds scheme, no
matter how callous it was by the standards of the living. Possession, a
return to the universe he had thought himself banished from, brought a
different, darker slant on those things he had cherished and respected
beforemorality, honour, integrity. With such an outlook contaminating
his thinking, he had considered himself invulnerable to fear, even aloof
from it. Hiltch made him doubt the arrogance of his newfound convictions.
He might have been granted an escape from the beyond, but remaining free
was by no means guaranteed.

The boy whom Moyo held in front of him began to squirm again, crying out
in anguish as Ralph Hiltch vanished from sight. His last hope dashed. He
was about ten or eleven. The misery and terror whirling inside his head
was so strong it was almost contagious.

His resolution fractured by Hiltch, Moyo began to feel shame at what he
was doing. The craving which the lost souls in the beyond set up at the
back of his mind was worse than any cold turkey, and it was relentless.
They wanted what he had, the light and sound and sensation which dwelt so
richly in the universe. They promised him fealty forever if he granted it
to them. They cajoled. They insisted. They threatened. It would never
end. A hundred billion imps of obligation and conscience whispering
together were a voice more powerful than his.

He had no choice. While the living remained unpossessed, they would fight
to fling him back into the beyond. While souls dwelt in the beyond they
would plague him to be given bodies. The equation was so horrifically
simple, the two forces cancelling each other out. Providing he obeyed.

His rebirth was only a few hours old, and already independent destiny was
denied him.

Do you see what we can do? Annette Ekelund shouted at the ranks of her
followers. The Saldanas reduced to bargaining with us, accepting our
terms. Thats the power we have now. And the first thing we must do is
consolidate it. Everyone who was assigned to a vehicle, I want you ready
to leave as soon as the marines withdraw; that should be in a quarter of
an hour at the most, so be ready. If we even appear to lack the courage
to go through with this, theyll unleash the SD platforms on us. You felt
Hiltchs thoughts, you know its true. Those of you holding a hostage,
get them possessed right now. We need all the numbers we can muster. This
isnt going to be easy, but we can capture this whole peninsula within a
couple of days. After that well have the power to close the sky for
good.

Moyo couldnt help but glance up. Dawn was strengthening above the barbed
tree line, thankfully eradicating the stars and their hideous reminder of
infinity. But even with daylight colours fermenting across the blackness
the vista remained so empty, a void every bit as barren as the beyond.
Moyo wanted nothing more than to seal it shut, to prevent the emptiness
from draining his spirit once again.

Every mind around him had the same yearning.

Moans and shouting broke his introspection. The hostages were being
dragged back inside the buildings. Nothing had been said about that,
there was no prior arrangement. It was as though the possessed shared a
communal unease at inflicting the necessary suffering in full view of
each other and the low-orbit sensor satellites. Breaking a persons
spirit was as private as sex.

Come on, Moyo said. He picked the boy up effortlessly and went back
into the wooden frame bungalow.

Mummy! the boy yelled. Mummy help. He started weeping.

Hey now, dont panic, Moyo said. Im not going to hurt you. It didnt
make any difference. Moyo went straight through into the living room, and
opened the big patio doors. There was a lawn at the rear, extending back
almost to the harandrid trees which encircled the town. Two horticultural
mechanoids roamed anarchically over the trim grass, their mowing blades
digging into the loamy soil as if theyd been programmed to plough deep
furrows.

Moyo let go of the boy. Go on, he said. Run. Scoot.

Limpid eyes stared up at him, not understanding at all. But my mummy . .
.

Shes not here anymore. Shes not even her anymore. Now go on. The Royal
Marines are out there in the forest. If youre quick, youll find them
before they leave. Theyll look after you. Now run. He made it fiercer
than he had to. The boy snatched a quick glance into the living room,
then turned and shot off over the lawn.

Moyo waited to make sure he got through the hedge without any trouble,
then went back inside. If it had been an adult he held hostage, there
would have been no compunction, but a child . . . He hadnt abandoned all
of his humanity.

Through the living-room window he could see vehicles rumbling down the
road. It was a strange convoy which Annette Ekelund had mustered; there
were modern cars, old models ranging across planets and centuries, mobile
museums of military vehicles. Someone had even dreamed up a steam-powered
traction engine which slowly clanked and snorted its way along, dripping
water from leaky couplings. If he focused his thoughts, he could make out
the profile of the actual cars and farm vehicles underneath the fanciful
solid mirages.

There had been a coupe Moyo had always wanted back on Kochi, a combat
wasp on wheels, its top speed three times the legal limit; but he never
could quite manage to save enough for a deposit. Now though, it could be
his for the price of a single thought. The concept depressed him, half of
the coupes attraction had been rooted in how unobtainable it was.

He spent a long time behind the window, wishing the procession of
would-be conquerors well. Hed promised Annette Ekelund he would help,
indeed hed opened five of Exnalls residents for possession during the
night. But now, contemplating the days which lay ahead, repeating that
barbarity ten times an hour, he knew he wouldnt be able to do it. The
boy had proved that to him. He would be a liability to Ekelund and her
blitzkrieg coup. Best to stay here and keep the home fires burning. After
the campaign, they would need a place to rest.

Breakfast was . . . interesting. The thermal induction panel in the
kitchen went crazy as soon as he switched it on. So he stared at it,
remembering the old range cooker his grandmother had in her house, all
brushed black steel and glowing burner grille. When he was young she had
produced the most magnificent meals on it, food with a tang and texture
hed never tasted since. The induction panel darkened, its outline
expanding; the yellow composite cupboard unit it sat on merged into
itand the stove was there, radiant heat shining out of its grille as the
charcoal blocks hissed unobtrusively. Moyo grinned at his achievement,
and put the copper kettle on the hot plate. While it started to boil he
searched around the remaining cupboards for some food. There were dozens
of sachets, modern chemically nutritious food without any hint of
originality. He tossed a couple into the iron frying pan, compelling the
foil to dissolve, revealing raw eggs and several slices of streaky bacon
(with the rind left on as he preferred). It began to sizzle beautifully
just as the kettle started to whistle.

Chilled orange juice, light muesli flakes, bacon, eggs, sausages,
kidneys, buttered wholemeal toast with thickly cut marmalade, washed down
with cups of English teait was almost worth waiting two centuries for.

After he was finished eating, he tailored Eben Pavitts sad casual
clothes into the kind of expensive bright blue suit which the richer
final year students had worn when he was a university freshman.
Satisfied, he opened the bungalows front door and stepped out into the
street.

There had never been a town like Exnall on Kochi. Moyo found it
pleasantly surprising. From the media company shows he had always
imagined the Kulu Kingdom planets to have a society even more formal than
his own Japanese-ethnic culture. Yet Exnall lacked any sort of
disciplined layout. He wandered along its broad streets, sheltered by the
lofty harandrids, enjoying what he found, the small shops, gleaming clean
cafs, patisseries, and bars, the little parks, attractive houses, the
snow-white wooden church with its bright scarlet tile roof.

Moyo wasnt alone exploring his new environment. Several hundred people
had stayed behind after Annette Ekelund had left. Most of them, like
himself, were ambling around, not quite meeting the eye of their fellow
citizens. Everyone was party to the same guilty secret: what we did, what
was done for us to return our souls into these bodies. The atmosphere was
almost one of mourning.

The strollers were dressed in the clothes of their era and culture, solid
citizens all. Those who favoured grotesquerie and mytho-beast appearances
had departed with Ekelund.

He was delighted that several of the cafs were actually open, taken over
by possessed proprietors who were industriously imagineering away the
modern interiors, replacing them with older, more traditional decors (or
in two cases retro-futuristic). Espresso machines gurgled and slurped
enthusiastically, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted about. And then
there was the doughnut machine. Set up in the window of one caf, a
beautiful antique contraption of dull polished metal with an enamel
manufacturers badge on the front, it was a couple of metres long, with a
huge funnel at one end, filled with white dough. Raw doughnuts dropped
out of a nozzle onto a metal grid conveyer belt which dunked them into a
long vat of hot cooking oil where they fizzled away, effervescing golden
bubbles until they rose out of the other side a rich brown in colour.
After that they dropped off the end onto a tray of sugar. The smell they
released into the crisp morning air was delectable. Moyo stood with his
nose to the glass for a full minute, entranced by the parade of doughnuts
trundling past while electric motors hummed and clicked, and the
turquoise gas flames played underneath the oil. He had never guessed that
anything so wondrously archaic could be found within the Confederation,
so simple and so elaborate. He pushed the door open and went in.

The new proprietor was behind the counter, a balding man with a
handkerchief knotted around his neck and wearing a blue and white striped
apron. He was wiping the counters shiny wooden top with a dishcloth.
Good morning, sir, he said. And what can I get you?

This is ridiculous, Moyo thought, were both dead, weve been rescued by
some weird miracle, and all hes interested in is what I want to eat. We
should be getting to know each other, trying to understand whats
happened, what this means to the universe. Then he sensed the alarm
burbling up in the proprietors thoughts, the mans terribly brittle
nature.

Ill have one of the doughnuts, of course, they look delicious. And have
you got any hot chocolate?

The proprietor gave a big smile of relief, sweat was prickling his
forehead. Yes, sir. He busied himself with the jugs and cups behind the
counter.

Do you think Ekelund will succeed?

I expect so, sir. She seems to know what shes doing. I did hear she
came from another star. Thats one resourceful lady.

Yes. Where do you come from?

Brugge, sir. Back in the twenty-first century. A fine city it was in
those days.

Im sure.

The proprietor put a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the counter along
with a doughnut. Now what? Moyo wondered. I havent got a clue what kind
of coin to conjure up.

The whole situation was becoming more surreal by the second.

Ill put it on your bill, sir, the proprietor said.

Thank you. He picked up the mug and plate, glancing around. There were
only three other people in the caf. A young couple were oblivious to
anything but each other. Mind if I sit here? he asked the third, a
woman in her late twenties, making no attempt to cloak herself in any
kind of image. Her head came up to show tear trails smearing chubby pale
cheeks.

I was just going, she muttered.

Dont, please. He sat opposite her. We ought to talk. I havent talked
to anyone for centuries.

Her eyes looked down at her coffee cup. I know.

My names Moyo.

Stephanie Ash.

Pleased to meet you, Stephanie. I dont know what I should be saying,
half of me is terrified by whats happened, the other half is elated.

I was murdered, she whispered. He . . . he. He laughed when he did it,
every time I screamed it just made him laugh louder. He enjoyed it. The
tears were flowing openly again.

Im sorry.

My children. I had three children, they were only little, the eldest was
six. What kind of life would they have knowing what happened to me? And
Mark, my husband, I thought I saw him once, later, much later. He was all
broken down and old.

Hey there, its over now, finished, he said softly. Me, I got hit by a
bus. Which is a tricky thing to do in Kochis capital city; there are
barriers along the roads, and safety systems, all kinds of protective
junk. But if youre real stupid, and loaded, and part of a group thats
daring you to run the road, then you can jump in front of one before its
brakes engage. Yeah, real tricky, but I managed it. So what use was my
life? No girl, no kids; just Mum and Dad who would have been heartbroken.
You had something, a family that loved you, kids you can be proud of. You
were taken away from them, and thats a real evil, Im not saying it
isnt. But look at you now, you still love them after all this time. And
Ill bet wherever they are, they love you. Compared to me, Stephanie,
youre rich. You had it all, the whole life trip.

Not anymore.

No. But then this is a fresh start for all of us, isnt it? You cant
allow yourself to grieve over the past. Theres too much of it now. If
you do that, then youll never do anything else.

I know. But its going to take time, Moyo. Thank you, anyway. What were
you, some kind of social worker?

No. I was at university studying law.

You were young, then?

Twenty-two.

I was thirty-two when it happened.

Moyo bit into his doughnut, which tasted as good as it looked. He grinned
and gave the proprietor an appreciative thumbs up. I can see Ill be
coming back here.

It seems silly to me, she confided.

Me too. But its the way hes chosen to anchor himself.

Are you sure it was law, and not philosophy?

He smiled around the doughnut. Thats better. Dont go for the big
issues right away, youll only get depressed, start small and work along
to quantum metaphysics.

Youve lost me already, when I did work I was just a councillor at the
local junior day club. I adored children.

I dont think you were just anything, Stephanie.

She sat back in the chair, toying with the tiny coffee cup. So what do
we do now?

Generally speaking?

We have only just met.

Okay, generally speaking, try and live the life we always wanted to.
From now on, every day is going to be a summers day youve taken off
work so that you can go out and do the one thing youve always wanted to.

Dance in the Rubix Hotel, she said quickly. It had the most beautiful
ballroom, the podium was big enough for a whole orchestra, and it looked
out over the grounds to a lake. We never went to a function there; Mike
always promised hed take me. I wanted to wear a scarlet gown, with him
in a dinner jacket.

Not bad. Youre a romantic, Stephanie.

She blushed. What about you?

Oh, no. Mine are all pretty basic male daydreams. Tropical beaches and
girls with perfect figures; that kind of thing.

No, I dont believe that. Theres more to you than simplistic clichs.
And besides, I told you mine.

Well . . . I suppose there is mountain gliding. It was a rich-kid sport
on Kochi. The gliders were made out of linked molecule films, only
weighed about five kilos, but they had a wingspan of about twenty-five
metres. Then before you could even get in to one you had to have your
retinas and cortical processor implants upgraded so that you could
actually see air currents, determine their flow speed; the whole X-ray
vision trip. That way youd be able to pick out the wind stream which
could carry you to the top.

The clubs would set out courses over half a mountain range. I watched a
race once. The pilots looked like they were lying in a torpedo-shaped
bubble; the linked molecule film is so thin you cant even see it unless
the sun catches it just right. They were skiing on air, Stephanie, and
they made it seem like the easiest thing in the world.

I dont think either of us is going to be living our fantasies for a
while.

No. But we will, eventually, when Ekelund takes over Mortonridge. Then
well have the power to indulge ourselves.

That woman. God, she frightened me. I had to hold a man hostage while
she spoke to the soldier. He was pleading and crying. I had to give him
to someone else afterwards. I couldnt hurt him.

I let mine go altogether.

Really?

Yes. It was a boy. I think he got to the marines in time to be
evacuated. Hope so, anyway.

That was good of you.

Yeah. I had the luxury this time. But if the Saldana Princess sends her
troops in here to find us and claw us back, Ill fight. Ill do
everything I can to stop them from evicting me from this body.

I hear mine, Stephanie said. Shes inside me, lonely and afraid. She
cries a lot.

My hosts called Eben Pavitt, he rages the whole time. But underneath
hes scared.

Theyre as bad as the souls in the beyond. Everyone is making demands on
us.

Ignore them. You can do it. Compared to the beyond, this is paradise.

Not really. But its a good first step.

He finished his chocolate, and smiled. Do you want to come for a walk,
see what our new town is like?

Yes. Thank you, Moyo, I think I would.


Chapter 13
==========


The Confederation Navy Intelligence Service had originally been formed
with the intent of infiltrating the black syndicates that produced
antimatter, and hunting down their production stations. Since those early
days its activities had expanded along with those of the Confederation
Navy as a whole. By the time Admiral Lalwani assumed command, one of its
principal functions was to monitor, analyse, and assess the deplorable
amount of new and ingenious weapons systems manufactured by governments
and astroengineering companies across the Confederation, with emphasis on
the more clandestine marques. To that end, the designers of the services
secure weapons technology laboratory complex were given a brief to
contain just about any conceivable emergency, from biohazards to
outbreaks of nanonic viruses, to small nuclear explosions.

There was only one entrance: a long corridor cut through the rock with
two right-angle turns; it was wide and high enough to accommodate an
outsize service truck or even a small flyer. Three separate doors were
spaced along it, each built from a two-metre-thickness of carbotanium
composite strengthened by molecular binding force generators. The first
two slabs could only be opened by the security staff outside, while the
third was operated from inside the facility.

Since the arrival of Jacqueline Couteur, Trafalgars population had
started calling it the demon trap.

Appropriate enough, Samual Aleksandrovich conceded as the final door
swung upwards amid a hiss of pressure and loud mechanical whinings. Dr
Gilmore was waiting on the other side to greet him and his entourage.

Im delighted I can actually offer you some good news for a change, Dr
Gilmore said as he led the First Admiral up to the biological divisions
isolation facility. Weve all heard about New California. Is it really
Al Capone leading them?

We dont have any evidence to the contrary, Lalwani said. The Edenists
in the system are monitoring news broadcasts. Capone appears very fond of
publicity, hes been touring cities like some kind of medieval monarch.
Pressing the flesh, he calls it. A number of reporters were left
unpossessed purely so they could record the event.

And this pre-starflight primitive had the ability to take over one of
our most developed worlds? Dr Gilmore inquired. I find that hard to
credit.

Dont, Lalwani said. Weve been researching him. Hes a genuine
emperor genotype. People like him have an intuitive ability to format
social structures which support their premiership, whatever their local
environment, from street gangs to entire nations. Thankfully they dont
occur very often, nor at such a high level; but when they do the rest of
us need to watch out.

Even so

Obviously, hes getting advice on modern life. There will be an inner
cabinet to help him, but he wont share the ultimate power. We dont
believe hes psychologically capable of it. That could be a significant
weakness given the sheer quantity of problems he must be facing in
enforcing his rule.

So far New California is the only planetary system we know of which has
succumbed completely, the First Admiral said. Seventeen more planets
are suffering from large-scale incursions, and are doing their best to
isolate the affected areas. Fortunately the legitimate authorities
retained control of their SD networks. The worst casualties have been
among the asteroid settlements; our last estimation was that wed lost
over a hundred and twenty Confederation-wide. If a possessed gets inside
one, their success rate in taking it over is close to a hundred percent.
Its proving difficult to fight them in such closed environments. Other
planets have had trouble, but on a much smaller scale. Our warning seems
to have had the required effect. It could have been a lot worse.

Our main concern is that nobody attempts any foolhardy liberation
missions, Lalwani said. There would be few national navies capable of
mounting a successful operation along those lines. At the moment any
troops entering such an environment are liable to be possessed
themselves.

There will be political pressure on the military to act, though, the
First Admiral said dourly. So far our only notable public success has
been the destruction of the Yaku in the Khabrat system. Trivial. What we
need above all is some kind of weapon which is able to incapacitate the
possessed. That or an effective method of exorcism. Preferably both. He
gave Dr Gilmore a questing gaze.

I believe we can now help you on the first count, the implant
specialist said confidently. They stopped before the biological isolation
facility, and he datavised his code at the door.

Eurus researchers had acted swiftly as soon as theyd obtained
permission to advance their studies. The First Admiral flinched at the
sight which greeted him within the examination room. On his side, the
monitoring consoles were fully staffed; remorselessly obsessive
scientists and technicians absorbed in the displays projected by AV
pillars. A scene of brisk competence and scientific endeavour, as always
reinforcing the concept of impersonal efficiency.

Samual Aleksandrovich doubted there was any other way the team could cope
with their objective; it must act as a psychological buffer between them
and the subject. Subjecthe chided himself silently. Although hed
witnessed inhumanity on a far more brutal scale than this during his
active service days.

With Captain Khanna at his side he walked hesitantly up to the
transparent wall which cut the rock chamber in two, wondering if he
should show signs of dismay or approval. In the end he settled for the
same bleak acceptance which everyone else in the room had put on along
with their baggy white lab overalls.

A naked and shaven Jacqueline Couteur had been immobilized on a surgical
bed. Although wired into it would be a more honest evaluation, the First
Admiral thought. Grey composite ribs formed a cage over the length of her
body, supporting clamps which pressed pairs of large circular electrodes
against her forearms, abdomen, and upper legs; clear jell was leaking out
from beneath the silvery metal, ensuring better contact and conductivity.
Two ceiling-mounted waldo arms had been equipped with sensor arrays, like
bundles of fat white gun muzzles, which they were sweeping slowly and
silently up and down the prone body. The thick circular brace which held
her head fast looked as if it had melded with her skin. A plastic
defecation tube had been inserted in her anus, while a free-fall toilet
suction catheter adhered to her vagina. He couldnt decide if that was a
civilized courtesy or the final humiliation.

Not that Couteur would care, not in her present condition.

Her entire musculature twitched and rippled in random spasms. The flesh
quivering on her face made it seem as though she were enduring a ten-gee
acceleration.

What the hell are you doing to her? Maynard Khanna asked in a guttural
whisper.

It was the first time the First Admiral could ever remember the staff
captain speaking before his superiors.

Neutralizing her offensive potential, Dr Gilmore said with a tone of
high satisfaction. The report we received from Lalonde contained a
reference from Darcy and Lori that electricity affects the possessed in
an adverse fashion. We checked and discovered its true. So were running
a current through her.

Dear God, thats . . . His face crunched up in a disgusted grimace.

Dr Gilmore ignored him, addressing himself solely to the First Admiral.
She is having to use her entire energistic ability to ward off the
current. We experimented with the voltage level until we achieved this
balance. Her physiological functions continue to operate normally, but
she is completely incapable of manifesting any reality dysfunction
effect. She can no longer distort matter, create illusions, or conjure up
white fireballs. It means we are free to study her without any
interference; even our electronic systems have recovered eighty-five per
cent of their efficiency in her presence.

So what have you learned? the First Admiral asked.

Please bear in mind we are on the threshold of a completely new field
here.

Doctor, the First Admiral cautioned.

Of course. Firstly, we have developed a screening method which can pick
out any possessed. There is a tiny but constant discharge of static
electricity right across their bodies. We think it must be a by-product
of their beyond continuum spilling into ours. Such an influx surge would
also account for the energy they constantly have at their disposal.

Static electricity? a bemused Lalwani said.

Yes, maam. Its beautiful: the sensors that will pick it up are cheap,
easy to mass-produce, simple to use; and if they malfunction its a
certainty that a possessed is nearby anyway. Now we know what to look for
they will find it impossible to hide in a crowd or infiltrate new areas.

Excellent, the First Admiral said. Well have to see that this
information is distributed as fast as our original warning. He moved
right up to the transparent wall, seeing his breath mist the surface, and
activated the intercom. Do you remember me? he asked.

Jacqueline Couteur took a long time to answer, her syllables maimed by
the laboured gurgling of vocal cords not fully under control. We know
you, Admiral.

Is she in communication with those in the beyond? he asked Dr Gilmore
quickly.

I cannot give you an absolute, Admiral. However, I suspect not; at least
nothing more than leaking a rudimentary form of contact back into her own
continuum. Our Jacqueline is very fond of dominance games, and we tends
to sound impressive.

If you are in pain, the First Admiral told her, I apologize.

Not as sorry as that shits going to be when I catch up with him.
Bloodshot eyes juddered around to focus on Dr Gilmore.

He responded with a thin superior smile.

Exactly how much pain do you inflict on the mind of the body you have
stolen? Samual Aleksandrovich asked mildly.

Touch.

As you see, we are learning from you as I said we would. He gestured at
the sensors which the waldo arms were sliding over her head and torso.
We know what you are, we know something of the suffering which awaits
you back in the beyond, we understand why you are driven to do what you
do. I would ask you to work with me in helping to solve this problem. I
do not wish there to be conflict between us. We are one people, after
all, albeit at different stages of existence.

You will give us bodies? How generous. Somehow she managed to grin,
lips wriggling apart to dribble saliva down her cheeks.

We could grow bitek neural networks which you could inhabit. You would
be able to receive the full range of human senses. After that they could
be placed in artificial bodies, rather like a cosmonik.

How very reasonable. But you forget that we are human, too; we want to
live full human lives. For ever. Possession is only the beginning of our
return.

I am aware of your goals.

Do you wish to help us?

Yes.

Then terminate your life. Join us. Be on the winning side, Admiral.

Samual Aleksandrovich gave the vibrating, abused body a final, almost
disgusted glance, and turned his back to the transparent wall.

She says the same thing to us, Dr Gilmore said as if in apology.
Repeatedly.

How much of what she says is the truth? For instance, do they really
need human bodies? If not, we might just be able to force them into a
compromise.

Verification may be difficult, Euru said. The electricity has
contained the worst excesses of Couteurs reality dysfunction, but a
personality debrief in these circumstances may prove beyond us. If the
nanonics were to malfunction during axon interface they could cause a lot
of damage to her brain.

The possessed are certainly capable of operating within bitek neurone
structures, Lalwani said. Lewis Sinclair captured Perniks neural
strata; and we have confirmed that Valisks blackhawks have also been
captured.

Physically theyre capable of it, yes, Euru said. But the problem is
more likely to be psychological. As ex-humans, they want human bodies,
they want the familiar.

Acquire what information you can without risking the actual body
itself, the First Admiral instructed. In the meantime have you
developed any method of subduing them?

Dr Gilmore indicated the surgical table with a muddled gesture.
Electricity, Admiral. Equip our marines with guns that fire a dart that
contains a small electron matrix cell and simply push a current into
them. Such weapons were in widespread use from the mid-twentieth century
right up until the twenty-third. Weve already produced a modern
chemical-powered design with a range over five hundred metres.

Samual Aleksandrovich didnt know whether to berate the implant
specialist or commiserate with him. That was the trouble with laboratory
types, all theory, no thought about how their gadgets would perform in
the field. It was probably just the same in Couteurs time, he reflected.
And how far can they project their white fire?

It varies depending on the individual.

And how will you determine what voltage to discharge from the electron
matrix cell? Some will be stronger than Couteur, while others will be
weaker.

Dr Gilmore glanced to Euru for support.

Voltage regulation is a problem area, the suave, black-skinned Edenist
said. We are considering if a static scanner can determine the level in
advance. It may be that the quantity of static exuded might indicate the
individuals energistic strength.

In here, possibly, the First Admiral said. In combat conditions I very
much doubt it. And even if it did work, what do you propose we should do
with the captive?

Put them in zero-tau, Dr Gilmore said. We know that method has enjoyed
a hundred per cent success rate. They employed it on Ombey.

Yes, the First Admiral acknowledged, recalling the file hed accessed,
the battle to capture the possessed inside the big department store. And
at what cost? I dont intend to be cavilling about your endeavours,
Doctor, but you really need to bring some experienced combat personnel
into your consultation process. Even conceding your stun gun could work,
it would take two or three marines to subdue a possessed and place them
in zero-tau. During which time those possessed remaining at liberty would
have converted another five people. With that ratio we could never win.
We must have a single weapon, a one-shot device which can rid a body of
the possessing soul without harming it. Will electricity do that? Can you
increase the voltage until the incursive soul is forced out?

No, Admiral, Euru said. We have already tried with Couteur. The
voltages necessary will kill the body. In fact we had to abandon the
procedure for several hours to allow her to heal herself.

What about other methods?

There will be some we can try, Admiral, Dr Gilmore insisted. But well
need to research her further. We have so little data at the moment. The
ultimate solution will of course be to seal the junction between this
universe and the beyond continuum. Unfortunately we still cannot locate
the interface point. Those scanners we are operating in there are some of
the most sensitive gravitonic distortion detectors ever built, yet there
is no sign of any space-time density fluctuation in or around her. Which
means the souls are not returning through a wormhole.

Not wormholes as we understand them, anyway, Euru finished. But then,
given Couteurs existence, our whole conception of quantum cosmology is
obviously seriously incomplete. Having the ability to travel faster than
light isnt nearly as smart as we once thought it was.



                                 ?   ?   ?



It had taken Quinn some time to modify the Tantus bridge. It wasnt the
look of the compartment which bothered him so much; the frigate was
configured for high gee acceleration, its fittings and structure were
correspondingly functional. He liked that inherent strength, and
emphasised it by sculpting the surfaces with an angular matte-black
bas-relief of the kind he imagined would adorn the walls of the Light
Brothers supreme temple. Lighting panels were dimmed to a carmine spark,
flickering behind rusty iron grilles.

It was the information he was presented with, or rather the lack of it,
which displeased him, and consequently required the longest time to
rectify. He had no neural nanonics, not that they would have worked even
if he did have a set. Which meant he didnt know what was happening
outside the ship. For all of Tantus fabulous high-resolution sensor
array, he was blind, unable to react, to make decisions. To have the
external universe visible was his first priority.

Possessing the frigates nineteen-strong crew had taken barely twenty
minutes after he and Lawrence had docked. Initiating the returned souls
into the sect, having them accept his leadership, had required another
hour. Three times he had to discipline the faithless. He regretted the
waste.

Those remaining had worked hard to build the displays he wanted; fitting
holoscreens to the consoles, adapting the flight computer programs to
portray the external environment in the simplest possible terms. Only
then, with his confidence restored, had he ordered their departure from
Norfolk orbit.

Quinn settled back in his regal, velvet-padded acceleration couch and
gave the order to jump away. Twenty seconds after they completed the
operation, the holoscreens showed him the little purple pyramid which
represented the squadrons lone pursuit ship lit up at the centre of the
empty cube. According to the scale, it was three thousand kilometres away.

How do we elude them? he asked Bajan.

Bajan was possessing the body of the Tantus erstwhile captain, the third
soul to do so since the hijacking began. Quinn had been dissatisfied with
the first two; they had both lived in pre-industrial times. He needed
someone with a technological background, someone who could interpret the
wealth of data in the captains captive mind. A civil fusion engineer,
Bajan had died only two centuries ago; starflight was a concept he
understood. He also had a sleazy, furtive mind which promised instant
obedience to both Quinn and the sects doctrines. But Quinn didnt mind
that, such weaknesses simply made him easier to control.

Bajans fists squeezed, mimicking the pressure he was placing on the mind
held within. Sequential jumps. The ship can do it. That can throw off
any pursuer.

Do it, Quinn ordered simply.

Three jumps later, spanning seven light-years, they were alone in
interstellar space. Four days after that, they jumped into a designated
emergence zone two hundred thousand kilometres above Earth.

Home, Quinn said, and smiled. The frigates visible-spectrum sensors
showed him the planets nightside, a leaden blue-grey crescent which was
widening slowly as the Tantus orbit inched them towards the edge of the
penumbra. First magnitude stars blazed on the continents: the arcologies,
silently boasting their vast energy consumption as the light from the
streets, skyscrapers, stadiums, vehicles, parks, plazas, and industrial
precincts merged into a monochrome blast of photons. Far above the
equator, a sparkling haze band looped around the entire world, casting
the gentlest reflection off the black-glitter oceans below.

Gods Brother, but its magnificent, Quinn said. They hadnt shown him
this view when hed been brought up the Brazilian orbital tower on his
way to exile. There were no ports in his deck of the lift capsule, nor on
the sections of the mammoth docking station through which the Ivets had
passed. Hed lived on Earth all his life, and never seen it, not as it
should be seen. Exquisite, and tragically fragile.

In his mind he could see the dazzling lights slowly, torturously, snuffed
out as thick oily shadows slid across the land, a tide which brought with
it despair and fear. Then reaching out into space, crushing the ONeill
Halo, its vitality and power. No light would be left, no hope. Only the
screams, and the Night. And Him.

Tears of joy formed fat distorting lenses across Quinns eyeballs. The
image, the conviction, was so strong. Total blackness, with Earth at its
centre; raped, dead, frozen, entombed. Is this my task, Lord? Is it?
The thought of such a privilege humbled him.

The flight computer let out an alarmed whistle.

Furious that his dreams should be interrupted, Quinn demanded: What is
it? He had to squint and blink to clear his vision. The holoscreens were
filling with tumbling red spiderwebs, graphic symbols flashed for
attention. Five orange vector lines were oozing inwards from the edge of
the display to intersect at the Tantus location. What is happening?

Its some kind of interception manoeuvre, Bajan shouted. Those are
navy ships. And the Halos SD platforms are locking on.

I thought we were in a legitimate emergence zone.

We are.

Then what

Priority signal for the Tantus captain from Govcentral Strategic
Defence Command, the flight computer announced.

Quinn glowered at the AV projection pillar which had relayed the message.
He snapped his fingers at Bajan.

This is Captain Mauer, commander of the CN ship Tantu, Bajan said. Can
somebody tell me what the problem is?

This is SD Command, Captain. Datavise your ships ASA code, please.

What code? Bajan mouthed, completely flummoxed.

Does anybody know what it is? Quinn growled. Tantu had already
datavised its identification code as soon as the jump was completed, as
per standard procedure.

The code, Captain, SD Command asked again.

Quinn watched the fluorescent orange vectors of another two ships slide
into the holoscreen display. Their weapons sensors focused on the Tantus
hull.

Computer, jump one light-year. Now, he ordered.

No, the sensors . . . Bajan exclaimed frantically.

His objection didnt matter. The flight computer was programmed to
respond to Quinns voice commands alone.

The Tantu jumped, its event horizon slicing clean through the
carbon-composite stalks which elevated the various sensor clusters out of
their recesses. Ten of them had deployed as soon as the starship emerged
above Earth: star trackers, midrange optical sensors, radar,
communications antennae.

All seven warships racing towards the Tantu saw it disappear behind ten
dazzling white plasma spumes as its event horizon crushed the carbon
molecules of the stalks to fusion density and beyond. Ruined sensor
clusters spun out of the radioactive mist.

The SD Command centre duty officer ordered two of the destroyers to
follow the Tantu, cursing his luck that the interception squadron hadnt
been assigned any voidhawks. It took the two starships eleven minutes to
match trajectories with the Tantus jump coordinate. Everybody knew that
was too long.

Soprano alarms shrilled at painful volume, drowning out all other sounds
on the Tantus bridge. The holoscreens which had been carrying the sensor
images turned black as soon as the patterning nodes discharged, then
flicked to ship schematic diagrams. Disturbing quantities of red symbols
flashed for attention.

Kill that noise, Quinn bellowed.

Bajan hurried to obey, typing rapidly on the keyboard rigged up next to
his acceleration couch.

We took four hull breaches, Dwyer reported as soon as the alarm cut
off. He was the most ardent of Quinns new apostles, a former black
stimulant program pusher who was murdered at the age of twenty-three by a
faster, more ambitious rival. His anger and callousness made him ideal
for the cause. Hed even heard of the sects, dealing with them on
occasion. Six more areas have been weakened.

What the fuck was that? Did they shoot at us? Quinn asked.

No, Bajan said. You cant jump with sensors extended, the distortion
effect collapses any mass caught in the field. Fortunately its only a
very narrow shell which covers the hull, just a few micrometers thick.
But the atoms inside it get converted directly into energy. Most of it
shoots outwards, but theres also some which is deflected right back
against the hull. Thats what hit us.

How much damage did we pick up?

Secondary systems only, Dwyer said. And were venting something, too;
nitrogen I think.

Shit. What about the nodes? Can we jump again?

Two inoperative, another three damaged. But theyre failsoft. I think we
can jump.

Good. Computer, jump three light-years.

Bajan clamped down on his automatic protest. Nothing he could do about
the spike of anger and exasperation in his mind though, Quinn could
perceive that all right.

Computer, jump half a light-year.

This time the bridge lights sputtered almost to the point of extinction.

All right, Quinn said as the gloomy red illumination grew bold again.
I want some fucking sensor visuals on these screens now. I want to know
where we are, and if anyone followed us. Dwyer, start working around
those damaged systems.

Are we going to be okay, Quinn? Lawrence asked. His energistic ability
couldnt hide the sweat pricking his sallow face.

Sure. Now shut the fuck up, let me think. He slowly unbuckled the
straps holding him into his acceleration couch. Using the stikpads he
shuffled on tiptoe over to Bajans couch. His black robe swirled like
bedevilled smoke around him, the hood deepening until his face was almost
completely hidden. What, he asked in a tight whisper, is an ASA code?

I dunno, Quinn, honest, the agitated man protested.

I know you dont know, dickhead. But the captain does. Find out!

Sure, Quinn, sure. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the captains
mind, inflicting as much anguish as he could dream of to wrest free the
information. Its an Armed Ship Authorization designation, he grunted
eventually.

Go on, Quinns voice emerged from the shadows of his hood.

Any military starship which jumps to Earth has to have one. Theres so
much industry in orbit, so many settled asteroids, theyre terrified of
the damage just one rogue ship could cause. So the captain of every
Confederation government navy ship is given an ASA code to confirm
theyre legally entitled to be armed and that theyre under official
control. It acts as a fail-safe against any hijacking.

It certainly does, Quinn said. But it shouldnt have done. Not with
us. You should have known.

Nobody else on the bridge was looking anywhere near Bajan, all of them
hugely absorbed with their own tasks of stabilizing the damage. And
Quinn, looming over him like some giant carrion creature.

This Mauer is a tough mother, Quinn. He tricked me, thats all. Ill
make him suffer for it, I swear. The Light Bringer will be proud of the
way I let my serpent beast loose on him.

Theres no need, Quinn said genially.

Bajan let out a faltering whimper of relief.

I shall supervise his suffering myself.

But . . . how?

In the absolute silence of the bridge, Lawrence Dillon sniggered.

Leave us, Bajan, you little prick, Quinn ordered. You have failed me.

Leave? Leave what?

The body I provided for you. You dont deserve it.

No! Bajan howled.

Go. Or Ill shove you into zero-tau.

With a last sob, Bajan let himself fall back into the beyond, the glories
of sensation ripping out of his mind. His soul wept its torment as the
crowded emptiness closed around him once again.

Gurtan Mauer coughed weakly, his body trembling. He had lurched from one
nightmare to another. The Tantus bridge had become an archaic crypt
where technological artifacts protruded from whittled ebony, as if they
were the foreign elements. A monk in midnight-black robes stood at the
side of his couch, the hint of a face inside the voluminous hood
indicated by the occasional carmine flicker striking alabaster skin. An
inverted crucifix hung on a long silver chain around his neck; for some
reason it wasnt drifting around as it ought in free fall.

You didnt just defy me alone, Quinn said. That I could almost accept.
But when you held back that fucking ASA code you defied the will of Gods
Brother. Right now I should have been in the docking station, by morning
I would have kissed the ground at the foot of the orbital tower. I was
destined to carry the gospel of the Night to the whole motherfucking
world! And you fucked with me, shithead. You!

Mauers ship-suit caught light. In free fall the flame was a bright
indigo fluid, slithering smoothly across his torso and along his limbs.
Scraps of charred fabric peeled off, exposing the charcoaled skin below.
Fans whirred loudly behind the bridges duct grilles as they attempted to
suck the awful stench from the compartments air.

Quinn ignored the agonized wailing muted by the captains clamped mouth.
He let his mind lovingly undress Lawrence.

The slight lad drifted idly in the centre of the bridge, smiling dreamily
down at his naked body. He allowed Quinn to shape him, the young stable
boys skinny figure developing thick sinuous muscles, the width of his
shoulders increasing. Clad only in a barbarian warrior garb of shiny
leather strips, he began to resemble a dwarf addicted to bodybuilding.

The blue flame cloaking Mauer dribbled away as the last of the ship-suit
was consumed. With a simple wave of his hand, Quinn healed the captains
burns, restoring skin, nails, hair to their former state. Mauer became a
picture of vitality.

Your turn, Quinn told Lawrence with a deviant laugh.

The pain-shocked, imprisoned captain could only stare upwards in terror
as the freakishly hulking boy grinned broadly and glided in towards him.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Alkad Mzu accessed the Samakus sensor suite via the flight computer,
allowing the picture to share her mind with a sense of benevolent dismay.
This is what we fought over? This was what a planet died for? This? Dear
Mary!

Like all starships jumping insystem, the Samaku had emerged a safe
half-million kilometres above the plane of the eliptic. The star known as
Tunja was an M4-type, a red dwarf. Bright enough from the starships
forty million kilometres distance, but hardly dazzling like a G-type, the
primary of most terracompatible planets. From Alkads excellent vantage
point it hung at the centre of a vast disk of grizzled particles,
extending over two hundred million kilometres in diameter.

The inner (annulet), surrounding Tunja out to about three million
kilometres, was a sparsely populated region where the constant gale of
solar wind had stripped away the smaller particles, leaving only
tide-locked boulders and asteroid fragments. With their surfaces smoothed
to a crystalline gloss by the incessant red heat, they twinkled scarlet
and crimson as if they were a swarm of embers flung off by the dwarfs
arching typhonic prominences. Further out, the disks opacity began to
build, graduating into a sheet of what looked like dense grainy fog;
bright carmine at the inner fringe, shading away to a deep cardinal-red
ninety million kilometres later. A trillion spiky shadows speckled the
uniformity, cast by the larger chunks of rock and metal bobbing among the
dust and slushy gravel.

No terracompatible planet was conceivable in such an environment. The
star was barren except for a single gas giant, Duida, orbiting a hundred
and twenty-eight million kilometres out. A couple of young Edenist
habitats circled above it, but the main focus of human life was scattered
across the disk.

A disk of such density was usually the companion of a newborn star, but
Tunja was estimated to be over three billion years old. Confederation
planetologists suspected the red dwarfs disk had its genesis in a
spectacularly violent collision between a planet and a very large
interstellar meteor. It was a theory which could certainly explain the
existence of the Dorados themselves: three hundred and eighty-seven large
asteroids with a near-pure metal content. Two-thirds of them were roughly
spherical, permitting the strong conclusion that they were molten core
magma material when the hypothetical collision took place. Whatever their
origin, such abundant ore was an immensely valuable economic resource for
the controlling government. Valuable enough to go to war over.

Ayacuchos civil traffic control is refusing us docking permission,
Captain Randol said. They say all the Dorados are closed to civil
starflight and we have to return to our port of origin.

Alkad exited the sensor visualization and stared across the Samakus
bridge. Randol was wearing a diplomatically apologetic expression.

Has this ever happened before? she asked.

No. Not that weve been to the Dorados before, but Ive never heard of
anything like it.

I have not waited this long, nor come so far, to be turned away by some
bloody bureaucrat, Alkad thought. Let me talk to them, she said.

Randol waved a hand, signalling permission. The Samakus flight computer
opened a channel to Ayacucho asteroids traffic control office.

This is Immigration Service Officer Mabaki, how can I help you?

My name is Daphine Kigano, Alkad datavised backshe ignored the
speculative gaze from Randol at the name on one of her passports. Im a
Dorado resident, and I wish to dock. I dont see why that should be a
problem.

It isnt a problem, not under normal circumstances. I take it you
havent heard of the warning from the Confederation Assembly?

No.

I see. One moment, Ill datavise the file over.

Alkad and the rest of the crew fell silent as they accessed the report.
More than surprise, more than disbelief, she felt anger. Anger that this
should happen now. Anger at the threat it posed to her mission, her
lifes duty. Mother Mary must have deserted the Garissan people long ago,
leaving the universe to place so much heartbreak and malicious
catastrophe in their path.

I would still like to come home, she datavised when it was over.

Impossible, Mabaki replied. Im sorry.

Im the only one who will enter the asteroid. Even if I were possessed I
would present no threat. And Im quite willing to be tested for
possession, the Assembly warning says electronics malfunction in their
presence. It should be simple enough.

Im sorry, we simply cant take the risk.

How old are you, Officer Mabaki?

Excuse me?

Your age?

Is there some relevance to this?

Indeed there is.

Im twenty-six.

Indeed? Well, Officer Mabaki, I am sixty-three.

Yes?

Alkad sighed quietly. Exactly what was included in the Dorados basic
history didactic courses? Did todays youth know nothing of their tragic
past? That means I was evacuated from Garissa. I survived the genocide,
Officer Mabaki. If our Mother Mary had wanted me harmed, she would have
done it then. Now, I am just an old woman who wishes to come home. Is
that really so hard?

Im sorry, really. But no civil starships can dock.

Suppose I really cant get in? The intelligence services will be waiting
back at Narok, I cant return there. Maybe the Lord of Ruin would take me
back. That would circumvent any personal disaster, not to mention
personality debrief, but it would all be over then: the Alchemist, our
justice.

She could see Peters face that last time, still covered in a medical
nanonic, but with his eyes full of trust. And that was the crux; too many
people were relying on her; those treasured few who knew, and the
blissfully ignorant masses who didnt.

Officer Mabaki.

Yes?

When this crisis is over, I will return home, will I not?

I shall look forward to issuing your ship docking permission personally.

Good, because it will be the last docking authorization you ever do
issue. The first thing I intend to do on my return will be to visit my
close personal friend Ikela and tell him about this ordeal you have put
me through. She held her breath, seemingly immersed in zero-tau. It was
one lone name from the past flung desperately into the unknown. Mother
Mary please let it strike its target.

Captain Randol gave a bass chuckle. I dont know what you did, Alkad,
he said loudly. But they just datavised our docking authority and an
approach vector.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Andr Duchamp had long since come to the bitter realization that the
lounge compartment would never be the same again. Between them, Erick and
the possessed had wrought an appalling amount of damage, not just to the
fittings, but the cabin systems as well.

The small utility deck beneath the lounge was in a similar deplorable
state. And the spaceplane was damaged beyond repair. The loading clamps
hadnt engaged, allowing it to twist about while the Villeneuves Revenge
was under acceleration. Structural spars had snapped and bent all along
its sleek fuselage.

He couldnt afford to rectify half of the damage, let alone replace the
spaceplane. Not unless he took on another mercenary contract. That
prospect did not appeal, not after Lalonde. I am too old for such antics,
he thought, by rights I should have made a fortune to retire on by now.
If it wasnt for those bastard anglo shipping cartels I would have the
money.

Anger gave him the strength to snap the last clip off the circulation fan
unit he was working on; the little plastic star shattered from the
pressure, chips spinning off in all directions. Bombarded by heat from a
possesseds fireball, then subjected to hard vacuum for a week, the
plastic had turned dismayingly brittle.

Give me a hand, Desmond, he datavised. They had turned off the lounges
environmental circuit in order to dismantle it, which meant wearing his
SII suit for the task. Without air circulating at a decent rate the smell
in the compartment was unbearable. The bodies had been removed, but a
certain amount of grisly diffusion had occurred during their flight from
Lalonde.

Desmond left the thermal regulator power circuit he was testing and
drifted over. They hauled the cylindrical fan unit out of the duct. It
was clogged solid with scraps of cloth and spiral shavings of nultherm
foam. Andr prodded at the grille with an anti-torque keydriver,
loosening some of the mangled cloth. Tiny flakes of dried blood swirled
out like listless moths.

Merde. Itll have to be broken down and purged.

Oh, come on, Andr, you cant use this again. The motor overloaded when
Erick dumped the atmosphere. Theres no telling what internal damage the
voltage spike caused.

Ship systems all have absurdly high performance margins. The motor can
withstand a hundred spikes.

Yeah, but the CAB . . .

To hell with them, data-constipated bureaucrats. They know nothing of
operational flying.

Some systems you dont take chances with.

You forget, Desmond, this is my ship, my livelihood. Do you think I
would risk that?

You mean, whats left of your ship, dont you?

What are you implying, that I am responsible for the souls of humanity
returning to invade us? Perhaps also it is my fault that the Earth is
ruined, and the Meridian fleet never returned.

Youre the captain, you took us to Lalonde.

On a legitimate government contract. It was honest money.

Have you never heard of fools gold?

Andrs answer was lost as Madeleine opened the ceiling hatch and used
the crumbling composite ladder to pull herself down into the lounge.
Listen, you two, Ive seen . . . Yek! She slapped a hand over her mouth
and nose, eyes smarting from the unwholesome scents layering the
atmosphere. In the deck above, an air contamination warning sounded. The
ceiling hatch started to hinge down. Christ, havent the pair of you got
this cycled yet?

Non, Andr datavised.

It doesnt matter. Listen, Ive just seen Harry Levine. He was in a bar
on the second residence level. I got out fast, Im pretty sure he didnt
see me.

Merde! Andr datavised the flight computer for a link into the
spaceports civil register, loading a search order. Two seconds later it
confirmed the Dechal was docked, and had been for ten days. His SII
suits permeability expanded, allowing a sudden outbreak of sweat to
expire. We must leave. Immediately.

No chance, Madeleine said. The port office wouldnt even let us
disengage the umbilicals, let alone launch, not with that civil
starflight proscription order still in force.

The captains right, Madeleine, Desmond datavised. There are only
three of us left. We cant go up against Rawands crew like this. We have
to fly outsystem.

Four! she said through clenched teeth. There are four of us left . . .
Oh, mother of God, theyll go for Erick.



The fluid in Ericks inner ears began to stir, sending a volley of mild
nerve impulses into his sleeping brain. The movement was so slight and
smooth it made no impression on his quiescent mind. It did, however,
register within his neural nanonics; the ever-vigilant basic monitor
program noted the movement was consistent with a constant acceleration.
Ericks body was being moved. The monitor program triggered a stimulant
program.

Ericks hazy dream snuffed out, replaced by the hard-edged schematics of
a personal situation display. Second-level constraint blocks were erected
across his nerves, preventing any give-away twitches. His eyes stayed
closed as he assessed what the hell was happening.

Quiet, easy hum of a motor. Tap tap tap of feet on a hard flooran audio
discrimination program went primarytwo sets of feet, plus the level
breathing of two people. Constant pulse of light pressure on the enhanced
retinas below closed eyelids indicated linear movement, backed up by
inner ear fluid motion; estimated at a fast walking pace. Posture was
level: he was still lying on his bed.

He datavised a general query/response code, and received an immediate
reply from a communications net processor. Its location was a corridor on
the third storey of the hospital, already fifteen metres from the implant
surgery care ward. Erick requested a file of the local net architecture,
and found a security observation camera in the corridor. He accessed it
to find himself with a fish-eye vantage point along a corridor where his
own bed was sliding underneath the lens. Madeleine and Desmond were at
either end of the bed, straining to supplement the motor as they hauled
it along. A lift door was sliding open ahead of them.

Erick cancelled the constraint blocks and opened his eyes. What the
fucks going on? he datavised to Desmond.

Desmond glanced around to see a pair of furious eyes staring at him out
of the green medical nanonic mask covering Ericks face. He managed a
snatched, semi-embarrassed grin. Sorry, Erick, we didnt dare wake you
up in case someone heard the commotion. We had to get you out of there.

Why?

The Dechal is docked here. But dont worry, we dont think Hasan Rawand
knows about us. And we intend to keep it that way. Andr is working on
his political contact to get us a departure authorization.

For once he might make a decent job of it, Madeleine muttered as they
steered Ericks bulky bed into the lift. After all, its his own neck on
the block this time, not just ours.

Erick tried to rise, but the medical packages were too restrictive, he
could only just get his head off the pillows, and that simple motion was
tiring beyond endurance. No. Leave me. You go.

Madeleine pushed him down gently as the lift started upwards. Dont be
silly. Theyll kill you if they catch up with you.

Well see this through together, Desmond said, his voice full of
sympathy and reassurance. We wont desert you, Erick.

Encased in the protective, nurturing packages, Erick couldnt even groan
in frustration. He opened a secure encrypted channel to the Confederation
Navy Bureau. Lieutenant Li Chang responded immediately.

You have to intercept us, Erick datavised. These imbeciles are going
to take me off Culey if no one stops them.

Okay, dont panic, Im calling in the covert duty squad. We can reach
the spaceport in time.

Do we have any assets in the flight control centre?

Yes, sir.

Activate one; make sure whatever departure authorization Duchamp gets is
invalidated. I want the Villeneuves Revenge to stay locked tight in that
bloody docking bay.

Im on it. And dont worry.

Desmond and Madeleine had obviously devoted considerable attention to
planning their route in order to avoid casual observation. They took
Erick straight up through the rock honeycomb which was Culeys habitation
section, switching between a series of public utility lifts. When they
were in the upper levels, where gravity had dropped to less than ten per
cent standard, they left the bed behind and tugged him along a maze of
simple passages bored straight through the rock. It was some kind of
ancient maintenance or inspection grid, with few functional net
processors. Lieutenant Li Chang had trouble tracking their progress.

Eighteen minutes after leaving the hospital they arrived at the base of
the spaceports spindle. Several intrigued sets of eyes followed their
course as they floated across the big axial chamber to a vacant transit
capsule.

Were two minutes behind you, Li Chang datavised. Thank heavens they
chose a devious route, it slowed you up.

What about the departure authorization?

God knows how Duchamp did it, but Commissioner Ri Drak has cleared the
Villeneuves Revenge for departure. The Navy Bureau has lodged a formal
protest with Culeys governing council. It should earn us a delay if not
outright cancellation; Ri Draks political opponents will use the
complaint to make as much capital as they can.

The transit capsule took them to the bay containing the Villeneuves
Revenge. It was a tedious journey; like the rest of the structure the
transit tubes were in need of refurbishment, if not outright replacement.
The capsule juddered frequently as it ran through lengths of rail with no
power, the light panels dimming, then brightening in sympathy. It paused
at several junctions, as if the spaceport route management computer was
unsure of the direction.

Can you manoeuvre a bit now? Madeleine asked Erick, hopeful that free
fall would grant them some relief from straining at his mass. She was
carrying two of the ancillary medical modules which were hooked up to his
dermal armour of packages, feeding in a whole pharmacopoeia of nutrients
to the new implants. The tubes were forever tangling around her limbs or
snagging on awkward fixtures.

Sorry. Tricky, he datavised back. It might earn them thirty seconds.

Madeleine and Desmond swapped a martyred glance, and bundled Erick out of
the transit capsule. The hexagonal cross-section corridors that encircled
the docking bay were white-walled composite, scuffed to a rusty grey by
the boots of countless generations of crews and maintenance staff. The
neat rows of grab hoops running along the walls had snapped off long ago,
leaving only stumps. It didnt matter, the kind of people frequenting
Culey spaceport were hardly novices. Madeleine and Desmond simply kept
Erick in the middle of the corridor, imparting the odd gentle nudge to
prevent him touching the walls as inertia slid him along.

Once the transit capsule door closed behind him, Erick lost his
communications channel to Lieutenant Li Chang. He wished the packages
didnt prevent him from sighing. Did nothing in this rats arsehole of a
settlement ever work? One of his medical support units emitted a
cautionary bleep.

Soon be over, Madeleine soothed, misinterpreting the electronic tone.

Erick blinked rapidly, the sole method of expression left to him. They
were risking themselves to save him, while he would be turning them over
to the authorities as soon as they docked at a civilized port. Yet hed
killed to protect them, leaving them free to commit murder and piracy in
turn. Applying for a CNIS post had seemed such a prestigious step
forwards at the time. How stupid his vanity appeared with hindsight.

His eye focused on a two-centimetre burn mark scoring the composite wall.
Instinct or a well-written extended sensory analysis program, it was the
result which mattered. That burn mark was on the cover of a net conduit
inspection panel, and it was fresh. When he switched to infrared it still
glowed a faint pink. With the spectrum active, other burns became
apparent, a small ruddy constellation sprayed around the corridor walls,
every glimmer corresponding to an inspection panel.

Madeleine, Desmond, stop, he datavised. Someones deliberately screwed
the net here.

Desmond halted his ponderous glide with a semi-automatic slap at the
stump of a grab hoop. He reached out to brake Erick. I cant even
establish a channel to the ship, he complained.

Do you think they got into the life-support capsules? Madeleine asked.
Her own enhanced retinas were scanning around the fateful inspection
panels.

They wouldnt get past Duchamp, not while his paranoias roused. Well
be lucky if he even opens the airlock for us.

Theyre armed, though; they could have cut their way in. And theyre in
front of us.

Desmond peered down the slightly curving corridor, alarmed and uncertain.
There was a four-way junction ten metres in front of him, one of its
branches leading directly to the docking bays airlock. The only sounds
he could hear were the rattly fans of the environmental maintenance
system.

Go back to the transit capsule, Erick datavised. That has a working
net processor, we can open a channel to the ship from there, even if we
have to route it through the external antenna.

Good idea. Madeleine braced her feet on a grab hoop stump, and gave
Ericks shoulders a steady push, starting him off back down the corridor.
Desmond was already slithering around them, lithe as a fish. When she
looked back she could see shadows fluctuating within the junction.
Desmond! She scrambled inside her jacket for the TIP pistol she was
carrying. An elbow hit the corridor wall, setting her tumbling. She tried
to damp her momentum with one hand clawing at the coarse composite, while
still fumbling at the obstinate holster. Her feet caught Erick, sending
him thudding against the wall. He bounced, trailing long confused spirals
of tubing, ancillary modules flying free.

Shane Brandes, the Dechals fusion engineer, slid out of the corridor
which led to the airlock; he was wearing the copper one-piece overall of
the local spaceport services company. It took him a couple of seconds to
recognize the frenetic woman four metres in front of him who was
grappling with a gun caught up in her jacket. He gagged in astonishment.

Dont move, ballhead! Madeleine screeched, half in panic, half in
exhilaration. She brought the TIP pistol around to point at the terrified
man. Her body was still rebounding, which meant she had to keep tracking.
Five separate combat programs went into primary mode; her thoughts were
so churned up shed simply designated the classification rather than
individual files. Various options for combat wasp salvo attack formations
skipped through her mind. She focused through the sleet of data and
looping problematical high-gee vector lines to keep the nozzle trained on
Brandes, who was doing a credible imitation of raising his hands in the
air even though they were visually inverted.

What do I do? Madeleine yelled to Desmond. He was wrestling with Erick,
trying to halt the injured mans cumbersome oscillations.

Just keep him covered, Desmond shouted back.

Okay. She squeezed the pistol grip in an effort to stop it shaking so
much; her legs forked wide, stabilizing her against the corridor. How
many with you? she asked Brandes.

None.

Madeleine finally tamed her wayward programs. A blue neon targeting grid
slid into place over her vision and locked. She aimed at a point ten
centimetres to the side of Brandess head and fired. Composite snapped
and boiled, sending out a puff of unhealthy black smoke.

Jesus. Nobody, I swear! Im supposed to disable the starships umbilical
feeds, and smash this bays net before . . .

Before what?

Everybody had shunted an audio discrimination program into primary mode,
so everybody heard the transit capsule door opening.

Desmond immediately activated a tactics program, and opened an encrypted
channel to Madeleine. Their respective programs interfaced, coordinating
their threat response. He turned to face the bright fan of light emerging
from the door, his TIP pistol sliding around in a smooth
program-controlled motion.

When Hasan Rawand came out of the commuter lift the exhilaration he was
burning was hotter than any black-market stimulant program. He fancied
himself as a hunting bird, power-diving on its unsuspecting prey.

The sharp reality of the corridor hurt. It was a situation so abrupt he
was still smiling confidently as Desmonds TIP pistol nozzle was locked
directly on his head. Stafford Charlton and Harry Levine almost cannoned
into his back as they left the commuter lift; the four mercenaries hired
to provide overwhelming firepower were considerably more controlled,
reaching for their own weapons.

Rawand, Ive programmed in a dead mans trigger, Desmond said loudly.
If you shoot me, you still die.

The Dechals captain swore murderously. Behind him the mercenaries were
having a lot of trouble deploying in the cramped corridor. Fast encrypted
datavises assured him three of them were targeting the crewman from the
Villeneuves Revenge. Give the word, we can vaporize his pistol first.
Were sure.

They werent exactly the kind of odds Hasan Rawand was keen on. His eyes
swept over the figure encased in medical nanonic packages. Is that who I
think it is? he inquired.

Not relevant, Desmond replied. Now listen, nobody makes any sudden
movements at all. Clear? That way no real untimely tragic accidents
occur. This is what we have here: a standoff. With me so far? Nobodys
going to win today, especially not if anyone starts shooting in here. So
Im calling time out, and we can both regroup and conspire to stab each
other in the back some other happy time.

I dont think so, Hasan said. I dont have a quarrel with you, Lafoe,
nor you, Madeleine. Its your captain I want, and that murdering bastard
Thakrar. You two can leave anytime. Nobodys going to shoot you.

You dont know shit about what weve been through, Desmond said, an
anger which surprised him powering his voice. I dont know about your
ship, Rawand, but this isnt a crew which deserts each other the first
second it hits the fan.

Very noble, Hasan sneered.

Okay, heres whats going to happen next. The three of us are going to
back up into the Villeneuves Revenge, and well take Brandes with us for
insurance. One mistake on your part, and Madeleine fries him.

Hasan grinned rakishly. So? He never was much use as a fusion engineer
anyway.

Rawand! Shane screamed.

Dont fuck with me! Desmond shouted.

Stafford, burn one of those medical modules our dear Erick is so
attached to, Hasan ordered.

Stafford Charlton laughed, and shifted his maser pistol slightly. The
module he chose let out a vicious crack as the lance of radiation pierced
its casing. Boiling fluid shot out of blackened fissures as the internal
reserve bladders were irradiated. Tubes broke free, chemicals spraying
out of their melted ends, causing them to whip about with a serpents
ferocity.

Desmond didnt even have to datavise an order; acting on the evaluation
of their combined programs, Madeleine fired her TIP pistol immediately.
The pulse burned away half of the flesh covering Shane Brandess left
shin. He howled in agony, clutching at the mutilated limb. His voice
subsided to a sob as his neural nanonics erected axon blocks against the
pain.

Hasan Rawand narrowed his eyes, enhanced retinas absorbing the entire
scene. He put a tactical analysis program into primary mode, which
offered him two blunt options: retreat, or open fire. Estimated
casualties on his side were fifty per cent, including Shane. When he
added the secondary goal of successfully entering the Villeneuves
Revenge the only option was retreat and reorganize.

Want to play double or quits? Desmond asked calmly.

Hasan glared at him; being thwarted was bad enough, but being mocked was
almost intolerable.

The transit capsule doors opened again. A fist-sized sphere emitting
intolerable white light soared into the corridor. Hasan Rawand and his
accomplices were closest to it, receiving the full impact of the photonic
blitz. Two of the mercenaries who had their retinal sensitivity cranked
up wide were instantly blinded as the implants burnt out. For the others
it was as though the terrible light were boring right through their eye
sockets and into the soft tissue of the brain. Instinct and situation
analysis response programs fused into a simple protective act: eyelids
slammed shut and hands jammed over eyes.

Unseen in the glare, the three members of the CNIS covert duty squad
dived out into the corridor, following Lieutenant Li Chang. Dressed in
smooth neutral-grey armour suits, their active optical sensors were
filtered for the intensity of the quasar grenade.

Break through Rawands people, snatch Erick, Li Chang ordered. She
fired another quasar grenade from her forearm magazine, aiming along the
corridor at Desmond. It never reached its intended goal, one of the
blinded mercenaries struck it as he thrashed about.

The mercenaries had linked combat programs, coordinating their response.
Guidance and orientation programs allowed them to fix an accurate line on
the transit capsule door and bring their weapons to bear. Thermal
induction pulses discharged, maser beams slashed about.

The dissipation layers on the suits which Li Changs squad wore deflected
or absorbed most direct hits. The composite walls of the tunnel had no
such protection. Flames squirted out amid fountains of smoking composite.
Fire alarms screeched in warning. Turbulent jets of thick grey
extinguisher gas roared into the air, turning to blobs of oily turquoise
liquid as soon as the substance came into contact with any flame,
smearing the combustible surface. Huge bubbling clumps congealed around
the quasar grenades, smothering them.

Answering shots from Li Changs squad eliminated three mercenaries
straightaway. But their bodies formed a formidable tangled obstacle
blocking off the corridor, as well as contriving a shield against further
energy weapon fire. Behind it, Hasan and his remaining active cohorts
rallied hurriedly.

Li Chang fought her way through the swirling extinguisher gas to grapple
with one of the corpses. Her armour suit gauntlets couldnt get a decent
grip on anything. The gas had slicked every damn surface. Two maser beams
struck her chest and shoulder as she attempted to force her way forwards.
She could actually see the gas crystallizing in long straight lines
marking out the beams. One of the covert squad members was beside her,
clawing at the dead mans neck. The body was bucking fitfully between
them, its mass impeding every move.

Another TIP shot struck her armour, diffracting. A wide splash of skin on
the dead man veered to a rancid bruise-brown as the energy punched it.
His clothes were smouldering, drawing the extinguisher gas like a
condensing dew.

Her neural nanonics had to activate a nausea suppressor program. Use the
smarts, she said, formulating search hunt parameter patterns. A volley
of centimetre-long darts slid out of the cartridges on her belt.
Miniature programmable missiles with a tiny ionic exhaust. They curved
and rolled through the seething air, sliding around the awkward contours
of the lifeless mercenaries, and accelerated down the corridor.

Li Chang heard a savage firecracker barrage as over two hundred
diminutive EE warheads detonated in the space of three seconds. Sharp
flickering fingers of blue-white light stabbed back past the floating
bodies. Ripples of purple static surfed along the composite walls towards
her. There was a sudden surge of air, sucking her towards the source of
the light and sound. The three battered corpses began to move. A pressure
drop warning sounded, its metallic whistle dopplering as the pressure
thinned out fast. Emergency hatches were sliding out of the corridor
walls, sealing off the damaged section.

Captain Thakrar? she datavised. Sir, are you there?

Scrambling after the corpses she could see the butchery which the smart
darts had inflicted. A galaxy of blood globules spun around the ripped
torsos of Hasan Rawand and the others. She assumed there were four in
total. It was hard to tell.

Chunks of gore were splatting against the cracks in the wall, producing
temporary seals which would shake and wobble under pressure, before being
sucked through. Holding her breathwhich was ridiculous as the suit
provided her with a full oxygen supplyLi Chang flung herself through the
centre of the bloody pulp, flinching every time the suits tactile
sensors faithfully reported an object slithering down her side.

The corridor beyond was empty. An emergency hatch had cut off the
junction. Li Chang hauled her way along to it. The wind was abating now,
almost all of the air had gone.

A small transparent port was set in the centre of the hatch. When Li
Chang pressed her shell helmet sensors against it, all she could see was
more hatches closed across the other corridors. Captain Thakrar and the
crew members from the Villeneuves Revenge were nowhere to be seen.

That was when a new sound was added to the fading clamour of the various
alarms: a deep bass rumble which she could feel through the structure as
much as hear. The light panels flickered, then went out. Small blue-white
backup globes came on.

Oh, God, no, she whispered to herself inside the helmet. I promised
him, I said hed be safe now.

The Villeneuves Revenge was launching from inside its docking bay. Andr
had released the cradle hold-down latches, but without the bay manager to
assist there was nothing he could do about the umbilical couplings and
airlock tube. Secondary drive tubes ignited, power from the main
generators vaporising hydrogen at barely sub-fusion temperatures. Clouds
of searing blue ions billowed out around the spherical starship as it
rose laboriously. Hoses and cables jacked into their sockets on the lower
hull tore and snapped; streams of coolant fluid, water, and cryogenic
fuel sluiced around the cylindrical bay. Once the starship was above the
cradle the drive exhaust played directly over the girders, reducing them
to garish slag in seconds. The airlock tube stretched and flexed to its
limit, then ripped free of the docking ring, pulling spars, data cables,
and locking pins with it.

What the fuck are you doing, Duchamp? an enraged traffic control
broadcast at the rogue starship. Turn your drive off now.

The Villeneuves Revenge was rising out of the bay on a pillow of radiant
ions. Walls and support girders marked its progress by melting and
sagging.

Andr was only dimly aware of the massive damage his departure was
causing. Flying the starship alone required his full concentration.
Culeys SD platforms had lock-on, but he knew they would never fire, not
while he was still so close. Frantically, he ordered all the open access
hatches to close.

A ring of cryogenic storage tanks around the rim of the bay finally
detonated under the unceasing blast of the starships exhausts. It was a
chain reaction, sending out vast plumes of white vapour and spinning
chunks of debris. The entire docking bay structure began to crumple under
the force of the multiple explosions. Momentum damping mechanisms in the
spaceport spindle bearings veered towards overload as the impulse
juddered its way through the framework.

The wave front from the tank explosions struck the Villeneuves Revenge,
fragments of wreckage puncturing the dark silicon hull in a dozen places.
The starship was buffeted violently. An event horizon sealed over the
hull, then shrank to nothing.



                                 ?   ?   ?



It was Gerald Skibbows third trip to the lounge: a spacious semicircular
room cut into Guyanas rock, with wide sliding-glass doors leading out
onto a veranda that gave an excellent view down the interior of the
asteroids second habitation cavern. Despite the apparent easygoing
nature, the lounge was at the centre of the navys secure medical
sanatorium, although the security measures were deliberately unobtrusive.
Staff and patient-inmates mingled openly, producing what the doctors
hoped was a casual atmosphere. It was intended to redevelop the social
interactivity skills of the inmates who had been bruised by traumas,
stress, and, in several cases, stringent interrogation. Anyone was free
to come and go as they pleased; sit in the big spongy chairs and
contemplate the view, have a drink and a snack, or play the simple games
provided.

Gerald Skibbow didnt like the lounge at all. The artificial asteroid
cavern was too removed from his experience. Its cyclorama landscape
unsettled him, and the lounges expensive modern setting reminded him of
the arcology hed yearned to escape from. He didnt want memories. His
family dwelt in memories, the only place they did live now.

For the first few days after his personality debrief he had begged and
pleaded with his captors to end those memories with their clever devices
(that or death). The nanonics were still entombed within his skull, it
would take so little effort on their part to cleanse him, a purge of
fiery impulses and his past would be gone. But Dr Dobbs had smiled kindly
and shaken his head, saying they wanted to cure him, not persecute him
further.

Gerald had come to despise that mild smile, the utter intransigence it
fronted. It condemned him to live amid a swirl of wondrously awful
images: those of the savannah, the shared laughter, the tired happiness
which had come at the end of each day, the days themselves, filled with
simple achievement. In short, happiness. And in knowing it, he knew all
he had lost, and was never to regain. He convinced himself the Kulu
military people were deliberately submerging him in his own recollections
as a punishment for his involvement in Lalonde and the outbreak of
possession. There was no other reason for them to refuse him help. They
blamed him, and wanted him to remember that. Memories emphasised that he
had nothing, that he was worth nothing, that he had failed the only
people hed ever loved. Memories which kept him permanently looped in his
failure.

His other wounds, physical ones from the encounter with Jenny Harriss
team, had been treated efficiently and effectively by medical packages.
His face and head sported fresh scars from the time a few days ago when
hed tried to claw the lovely smiling faces from within his brain;
fingernails tearing at the skin to let him get at the bone of the skull
and prise it open so that his darling family could escape and unfetter
him. But the strong medical orderlies had jumped on him, and Dr Dobbss
smile had become sad. There had been fresh batches of chemicals to make
him drowsy, and extra sessions when he had to lie on the psychiatrists
comfy couch and tell everyone how he felt. It hadnt done any good. How
could it?

Gerald sat on one of the tall stools at the lounges bar and asked for a
cup of tea. The steward smiled and said: Yessir. Ill get you some
biscuits, too.

His tea and biscuits arrived on a tray. He poured, concentrating hard.
These days his reactions werent too sharp and his vision seemed to lack
any real depth perception. Flat and unresponsive; so perhaps it was the
world at fault, not him.

He rested his elbows on the polished wood of the bar, and cradled the cup
in his hands, sipping slowly. His eyes scanned the ornamental plates and
cups and vases in the showcase behind the bar. Not interested, but at
least it kept him from looking out of the veranda windows and receiving
the wickedly vertiginous view of the cavern. The first time theyd
brought him into the lounge hed tried to jump over the veranda. It was a
hundred and fifty metres above the ground, after all. Two of the other
inmates had actually cheered and laughed as he hurdled over the metal
railing. But there was a net to snag him. Dr Dobbs had smiled tolerantly
after it had stopped bouncing and winched him in.

At the far end of the bar, a holoscreen was switched to a news show
(presumably censoredthey wouldnt give inmates anything too
contentious). Gerald shifted along a couple of stools so he could hear
the commentary. The presenter was a handsome, silver-haired man speaking
in level, measured tones. And smilingnaturally. The image changed to a
low-orbit shot of Ombey, focusing on the Xingu continent. A curious
appendicular finger glowed crimson amid the dour browns and greens of the
earth, prodding out from the bottom of the main land mass. It was, Gerald
heard, the latest anomaly to engulf Mortonridge. Unfortunately it meant
that no one was able to see what was happening beneath. Royal Kulu Navy
sources confirmed it matched the reality dysfunction effect observed on
the Laymil homeworld; but emphasised that whatever mischief the possessed
were cooking up below it there was no possibility of them removing Ombey
from the universe. There simply werent enough of them; they didnt have
the strength. And the red cloud had been halted at the firebreak. After
two laser shots from a low-orbit SD platform the clouds leading edge had
recoiled, yielding to the negotiated boundary.

The disconcerting image of cloud was replaced by a sequence of fast
pictures of big government buildings and uniformed officials with grim
faces bustling through their doors and ignoring shouted questions. Gerald
found the report hard to follow, although it seemed to be hinting that
the Mortonridge situation was going to be resolved, that certain
plans were being initiated.

Fools. They didnt realize. Not even sucking out every piece of knowledge
in his brain had brought them understanding.

He sipped some more of his tea, thoughts calming to a more contemplative
mood. Perhaps if he was lucky the possessed would begin another
offensive; that way his misery would be extinguished for good as he was
crushed back into the numbing darkness.

Then came the report about yesterdays hellhawk incursion. Five of them
had emerged into the Ombey system; two of their number skipping high
above the planet, three jumping about between the systems handful of
settled asteroids. Always maintaining their distance, keeping well
outside the range of SD platforms, and sliding back into wormholes as
soon as Royal Navy ships were dispatched to interdict. Apparently their
missions were to datavise a sensorium recording coded for open access
into every communications net they could establish a channel with.

Leonard DeVille appeared to say how unfortunate the recording was, and
that he hoped people would be sensible enough to see it for the crude
propaganda it represented. In any case, he added contemptuously, with the
civil starflight proscription in force, anyone sad enough to succumb
would be safe from Kiera Salters clutches. They would simply be unable
to reach Valisk.

There now follows, said the handsome anchorman, a brief extract of the
recording; though we are voluntarily complying with government wishes and
not playing it in full.

The holoscreen showed a beautiful teenage girl whose flimsy clothes were
virtually falling off her.

Gerald blinked. His vision was deluged by a dizzy rush of memories, the
pictures more vivid than anything his eyes provided. Past and present
wrestled for dominance.

You know, theyre going to tell you that you shouldnt be accessing this
recording, the girl said. In fact, theyre going to get quite serious
about that

Her voice: a harmony which threaded through every memory. Geralds teacup
hit the top of the bar and spun away, flinging the hot liquid over his
shirt and trousers.

your mum and dad, your big brother, the authorities in charge of
wherever you live. Cant think why. Except, of course, Im one of the
possessed

Marie? His throat was so clogged he could barely whisper. Two of the
inmate supervision staff sitting at a table behind him exchanged a
troubled look.

one of the demons

Marie. Tears brimmed up in Geralds eyes. Oh, my God. Darling!

The two supervision staff rose to their feet, one of them datavising an
alert code into the sanatoriums net. Other inmates in the lounge had
begun to notice Geralds behaviour. Grins zipped around: the loonys at
it again.

Youre alive! He shoved both hands palm-down on the top of the bar and
tried to vault over. Marie! The steward ran towards him, an arm
outstretched. Marie! Darling, baby. With his wobbly senses, Gerald
completely misjudged his leap and went crashing onto the floor behind the
bar. The steward had time for a fast yelp of shock as his flying feet
tangled with Geralds sprawled body and sent him tumbling to smack
painfully into the base of the bar. A flailing arm sent a cascade of
glasses smashing down on the hard tiles.

Gerald shook the glass splinters from his hair and jerked his head back.
Marie was still there above him, still smiling coyly and invitingly. At
him. She wanted Daddy back.

MARIE. He surged up at the same time the two supervisors arrived at the
bar. The first snatched hold of Geralds shirt, tugging him away from the
holoscreen. Gerald spun around to face this new impediment, roared in
rage, and swung a violent punch. The supervisors unarmed combat program
could barely cope with the suddenness of the attack. Muscles bunched
under the orders of abrupt override impulses, twisting him away from the
fist. The response wasnt quite good enough. Gerald caught him a glancing
blow on the side of his head. Behind that strike was the force of a body
hardened by months of tough physical labour. The supervisor stumbled back
into his partner, the two of them swaying desperately for balance.

Cheers and raucous whoops of encouragement were hurled from all across
the lounge. Someone picked up one of the big potted plants and threw it
at a distracted nurse. An alarm shrilled. The staff began to draw their
nervejam sticks.

Marie! Baby, Im here. Gerald had finally reached the holoscreen,
thrusting his face against the cool plastic. His nose was squashed almost
flat. She grinned and flirted mere centimetres away, her figure composed
from a compact cellular array of small glowing spheres. Marie! Let me
in, Marie. He started to thump on the screen. Marie!

She vanished. The handsome anchorman smiled out. Gerald shrieked in
anguish, and started pummelling the holoscreen with all his strength.
Marie. Come back. Come back to me. Smears of blood from torn knuckles
dribbled down the anchormans tanned features.

Oh, Christ, the first supervisor grunted. He aimed a nervejam stick at
Geralds back and fired. Gerald froze, then his limbs started to quake
fiercely. A long wretched wail fluted out of his lips as he crumpled onto
the floor. He managed to gasp one last piteous Marie before
unconsciousness claimed him.


Chapter 14
==========


Given the propensity for mild paranoia among Tranquillitys plutocrats,
medical facilities were always one aspect of the habitat never short of
investment and generous charitable donations. Consequentially, and in
this case fortuitously, there was always a degree of overcapacity. After
twenty years of what amounted to chronic underuse, the Prince Michael
Memorial Hospitals pediatric ward was now chock full. A situation which
produced a permanent riot along its broad central aisle during the day.

When Ione called in, half of the kids from Lalonde were chasing each
other over beds and around tables, yelling ferociously. The game was
possessed and mercenaries, and mercenaries always won. The two rampaging
teams charged past Ione, neither knowing nor caring who she was (her
usual escort of serjeants had been left outside). A harassed Dr Giddings,
the head of the pediatric department, caught sight of his prestigious
visitor and hurried over. He was in his late twenties, effusiveness and a
lanky frame marrying to produce a set of hectic, rushed mannerisms
whenever he spoke. His face inclined towards chubby, which gave him an
engagingly boyish appearance. Ione wondered if hed undergone cosmetic
tailoring; that face would be so instantly trustworthy to children, a big
brother you could always confide in.

Maam, Im so sorry, he blurted. We had no idea you were coming. He
tried to reseal the front of his white house tunic, glancing around
fretfully at the ward. Cushions and bedclothes were scattered everywhere,
colourful animatic dolls waddled around, either laughing or repeating
their catch phrases. (Probably wasted, Ione thought, none of these
children would recognize the idols from this seasons AV shows.)

I dont think Id be very popular if you made them clean up just for
me, Ione said with a smile. Besides, Ive been watching them for the
last few days. Im really only here to confirm theyre adapting properly.

Dr Giddings gave her a careful glance, using his fingers to comb back
some of his floppy ginger hair. Oh, yes, theyre adapting all right. But
then children are always easy to bribe. Food, toys, clothes, trips into
the parkland, every kind of outdoor game they can play. Never fails. This
is Heavens holiday camp as far as theyre concerned.

Arent they homesick?

Not really. Id describe them as parent-sick more than anything.
Separation causes some psychological problems, naturally. He gestured
around. But as you can see, were doing our best to keep them busy, that
way they dont have time to think about Lalonde. Its easier with the
younger ones. Some of the older ones are proving recalcitrant; they can
be prone to moodiness. But again, I dont think its anything serious.
Not in the short term.

And in the long term?

Long term, the only real cure is to get them back to Lalonde and their
parents.

Thats going to have to wait, Im afraid. But youve certainly done a
wonderful job with them.

Thank you, Dr Giddings murmured.

Is there anything else you need? Ione asked.

Dr Giddings pulled a face. Well, medically theyre all fine now apart
from Freya and Shona; and the nanonic packages are taking good care of
those two. They should be healed within a week. So, as I said, what the
rest could really do with right now is a strong, supportive family
environment. If you were to appeal for foster families, Im sure wed
have enough volunteers.

Ill have Tranquillity put out an announcement, and make sure the news
studios mention it.

Dr Giddings grinned in relief. Thats very kind, thank you. We were
worried people might not come forwards, but Im sure that if you back the
appeal personally . . .

Do my best, she said lightly. Do you mind if I wander around?

Please. He half bowed, half stumbled.

Ione walked on down the aisle, stepping around a thrilled three-year-old
girl who was dancing with, and cuddling, a fat animatic frog in a bright
yellow waistcoat.

The twin rows of beds had channelled an avalanche of toys along the main
aisle. Holomorph stickers were colonizing the walls and even some of the
furniture, their cartoon images swelling up from the surface to run
through their cycle, making it appear as if the polyp were flexing with
rainbow diffraction patterns. A blue-skinned imp appeared to be the
favourite; picking its nose, then flicking disgusting tacky yellow bogies
at anyone passing by. No medical equipment was actually visible, it was
all built unobtrusively into the walls and bedside cabinets.

The far end opened up into a lounge section, with a big table where they
all sat around for meals. Its curving wall had two large oval windows
which provided a panoramic view out past the curving habitat shell. Right
now Tranquillity was above Mirchuskos nightside, but the rings glinted
as if they were arches of frosted glass, and the smooth beryl orb of
Falsia shone with a steady aquamarine hue. The stars continued their
eternal orbit around the habitat.

A girl had made a broad nest of cushions in front of a window, snuggling
down in them to watch the astronomical marvels roll past her. According
to the neural stratas local memory, shed been there for a couple of
hoursa ritual practised every day since Lady Mac had arrived.

Ione hunched down beside her. She looked about twelve, with short-cropped
hair so blond it was almost silver.

<< Whats her name? >>Ione asked.

<< Jay Hilton. Shes the oldest of the group, and their leader. She is
one of the moody ones Dr Giddings mentioned. >>

Hello, Jay.

I know you. Jay managed an aslant frown. Youre the Lord of Ruin.

Oh, dear, youve found me out.

Thought so. Everyone said my hair is the same as yours.

Hum, theyre almost right; Im growing mine a bit longer these days.

Father Horst cut mine.

He did a good job.

Of course he did.

Cutting hair isnt the only thing he did right by all accounts.

Yes.

Youre not joining in with the games much, are you?

Jay wrinkled her nose up contemptuously. Theyre just kids games.

Ah. You prefer the view then?

Sort of. Ive never seen space before. Not real space, like this. I
thought it was just empty, but this is always different. Its so pretty
with the rings and everything. Sos the parkland, too. Tranquillitys
nice all over.

Thank you. But wouldnt you be better off in the parkland? Its
healthier than sitting here all day long.

Suppose so.

Did I say something wrong?

No. Its just . . . I think its safer here, thats all.

Safer?

Yes. I talked to Kelly on the flight here, we were in the spaceplane
together. She showed me all the recordings shed made. Did you know the
possessed were frightened of space? Thats why they make the red cloud
cover the sky, so they dont have to see it.

I remember that part, yes.

Its sort of funny if you think about it, the dead scared of the dark.

Thank heavens theyre scared of something, I say. Is that why you like
sitting here?

Yes. This is like the night; so Ill be safe from them here.

Jay, there are no possessed in Tranquillity, I promise.

You cant promise that. Nobody can.

Okay. Ninety-nine per cent, then. Hows that sound?

I believe that. Jay smiled sheepishly.

Good. You must be missing your family?

I miss Mummy. We went to Lalonde so we could get away from the rest of
our family.

Oh.

I miss Drusilla, too. Shes my rabbit. And Sango; he was Mr Mananis
horse. But hes dead anyway. Quinn Dexter shot him. The tenuous smile
faded, and she glanced back at the stars in a hunt for reassurance.

Ione studied the young girl for a moment. She didnt think a foster
family would be much use in this case, Jay was too clued up to accept a
substitute for anything. However, Dr Giddings had mentioned bribes . . .
Theres someone Id like you to meet, I think youll get on very well
with her.

Who? Jay asked.

Shes a friend of mine, a very special friend. But she doesnt come down
into the starscrapers; its tricky for her. Youll have to come up and
visit her in the park.

I ought to wait for Father Horst. We normally have lunch together.

Im sure he wont mind just this once. We can leave a message.

Jay was obviously torn. I suppose so. I dont know where hes gone.

To see Tranquillitys bishop, but Ione didnt say it.



                                 ?   ?   ?



I wonder why you saw the demon as red? the bishop was asking as the two
of them walked the old-fashioned grounds of the cathedral with its
century-old yew hedges, rose beds, and stone-lined ponds. It does seem
somewhat classical. One can hardly credit that Dante did actually get
shown around Hell.

I think demon might be a simplistic term in this instance, Horst
replied. Ive no doubt that it was some kind of spiritual entity; but
given the clarity of hindsight, it seemed to be more curious than
malevolent.

Remarkable. To come face-to-face with a creature not of this realm. And
you say it first appeared before the Ivets performed their dark mass?

Yes. Hours before. Though it was definitely present at the mass; right
there when possession started.

It was the instigator, then?

I dont know. But I hardly think its presence can be a coincidence. It
was certainly involved.

How strange.

Horst was disturbed by how melancholic the old man sounded. Joseph Saro
was far removed from the tough realist of a bishop Horst had served with
back at the arcology; this was a genteel jolly man, whose subtlety was
perfectly suited to an undemanding diocese like Tranquillity. With his
almost-white beard and crinkled ebony skin, he had evolved a cosy
dignity. More of a social figure than religious leader.

Your grace? Horst prompted.

Strange to think that it is two thousand six hundred years since Our
Lord walked the earth, the last time of miracles. We are, as you said
earlier, so used to dealing in the concept of faith rather than fact. And
now here we are again, surrounded by miracles, although of a singularly
dark countenance. The Church no longer has to teach people and then pray
that they come to believe in their own way; all we have to do today is
point. Who can refute what the eye beholds, even though it doth offend.
He finished with a lame smile.

Our teachings still have purpose, Horst said. More so than ever now.
Believe me, your grace, the Church has endured for millennia so that
people alive today can know Christs message. That is a tremendous
achievement, one we can all draw comfort from. So much has been endured,
schism from within, conflict and assaults from outside. All so His word
can be heard in the darkest hour.

Which word? Joseph Saro asked quietly. We have so many true histories
now; old orthodoxies, revelationist scrolls, revisionist teachings;
Christ the pacifist, Christ the warrior. Who knows what was really said,
what was altered to appease Rome? It was so long ago.

Youre wrong, your grace. Im sorry, but the details of that time are
irrelevant. That He existed is all we need to know. We carried the
essence of Our Lord across the centuries, it is that which weve kept
alive for so long, ready for this day. Christ showed us the human heart
has dignity, that everyone can be redeemed. If we have faith in
ourselves, we cannot fail. And that is the strength we must gather if we
are to confront the possessed.

Im sure youre right; its just that such a message seems, well . . . 

Simplistic? Fundamentals are always simple. That is why they endure for
so long.

Joseph Saro patted Horsts shoulder. Ah, my boy, I envy your faith, I
really do. My task would be so much easier if I believed with your
fervour. That we have souls is of no doubt to me; though we can be
assured our scientist brethren will seek a solid rationale among the
grubby shadows of quantum cosmology. Who knows, perhaps they will even
find it. Then what? If our very souls are given a scientific basis, what
use will people have for the Church?

I dont believe the Churchs ethos can change simply because we have
learned more of ourselves. The love of Christ will be no less valid for
us now than it has been for the billions of past believers who lived in
ignorance. His message uplifts the spirit, no matter what the substance
of that spirit is revealed to be. If anything, the message becomes more
important. We must have some hope as we face the beyond.

Ah yes, the beyond. Purgatory indeed. It frightens people, Horst. It
certainly frightens me.

It shouldnt, your grace. There is more than purgatory awaiting us. Much
more.

Goodness me, you believe that as well?

Yes. Horst half smiled, as though he had only just realized it himself.
We cant pick and choose what parts of Christs teachings to believe in;
those sections which are convenient, or comforting, and disregard the
rest. Above everything, he gave us the hope of redemption. I believe in
that. Completely.

Then the heavenly city awaits?

Some version of it, some sheltered haven for our souls where we can be
at peace with our new existence.

Did any of the lost souls you talked to happen to mention seeing such a
place?

No. Horst smiled. To demand proof is to lack faith.

The bishop laughed heartily. Oh, well done, my boy. Teach the master
what he once taught. Very good. He sobered. So how do you explain the
different faiths? Their myriad versions of the afterlife, and
reincarnation, and spiritual development. You are going to have to think
of that now. God knows, others will. Now spirituality is real,
religionall religionwill come in for scrutiny as never before. What of
the others who claim theirs is the true path to God in his Heaven? What
of the Muslims, the Hindus, the Buddhists, the Sikhs, the Confucians, the
Shintoists, even the Starbridge tribes, not to mention all those
troublesome cultists?

The origin of each is identical, thats whats important. The notion
that we are something more than flesh and mind alone. People must have
faith. If you believe in your God, you believe in yourself. There is no
greater gift than that.

Such murky waters we are adrift in, Joseph Saro murmured. And you,
Horst, you have grown into a man with the clearest of visions. Im
humbled, and even a little frightened by you. I must have you deliver the
sermon next Sunday; youll bring them flocking in. You may very well be
the first of the Churchs new evangelists.

I dont think so, your grace. Ive simply passed through the eye of the
needle. The Lord has tested me, as He will test all of us in the months
ahead. I regained my faith. For that I have the possessed to thank.
Unconsciously, his hand went to his throat, sensitive fingertips feeling
the tiny scars left over from when invisible fingers had clawed at him.

I do hope Our Lord doesnt set me too hard a test, Joseph Saro said in
a forlorn tone. Im far too old and comfortable in my ways to do what
you did on Lalonde. Thats not to say Im not proud of you, for I
certainly am. You and I are strictly New Testament priests, yet you were
set a decidedly Old Testament task. Did you really perform an exorcism,
my boy?

Horst grinned. Yes, I really did.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Captain Gurtan Mauer was still dry retching as the lid of the zero-tau
pod closed over him, blackness suspending him from time. The tortures and
obscenities might have wrecked his dignity, the pitiful pleas and
promises were proof of that, but he was still cold sober sane. Quinn was
quite determined in that respect. Only sane, rational people were able to
appreciate the nuances of their own suffering. So the pain and barbarism
was always pitched a degree below the level which would tip the Tantus
ex-captain into the refuge of insanity. This way he could hold out for
days, or even weeks. And zero-tau would hold him ready for when Quinns
wrath rose again; for him there would be no periods of relief, just one
long torment.

Quinn smiled at the prospect. His robe and hood shrank to more manageable
proportions, and he pushed off from the decking. Hed needed the
interlude to regain his own equilibrium after the disaster in Earth
orbit, the humiliation of retreat. Gurtan Mauer provided him with a valid
focus for his anger. He could hardly use the starships crew; there were
only fifteen of them left now, and few were inessential.

Where are we going, Quinn? Lawrence asked as the two of them drifted
through the companionway to the bridge.

Im not sure. Ill bet most of the Confederation knows about possession
now, itll make life fucking difficult. He wriggled through the hatch to
the bridge, and checked around to see what was being done.

Were almost finished, Quinn, Dwyer said. There wasnt too much
damage, and this is a warship, so most critical systems have backups.
Were flight-ready again. But people are going to know weve been in some
sort of scrap. No way could we go outside to repair the hull. Spacesuits
wont work on us.

Sure, Dwyer. Youve done good.

Dwyers grin was avaricious.

They were all waiting for Quinn to tell them where he wanted to go next.
And the truth was, he wasnt entirely sure he knew. Earth was his goal,
but perhaps hed been too ambitious trying for it first. It was the old
problem: to charge in with an army of disciples, or to stealthily rot the
structure from within. After the dreariness of Norfolk, the prospect of
action had excited him. It still did, but he obviously didnt have enough
forces to break through Earths defences. Not even the Royal Kulu Navy
could do that.

He needed to get there on a different ship, one which wouldnt cause such
a heated response. After hed docked at the orbital tower station he
could get down to the planet. He knew that.

But where to get another ship from? He knew so little about the
Confederation worlds. Only once during his twenty years on Earth had he
met anyone from offworld.

Ah. He grinned at Lawrence. Of course, Banneths colleague.

What?

Ive decided where were going. He checked the bridge displays; their
cryogenic fuel reserves could fly them another four hundred light years.
More than enough. Nyvan, he announced. Were going to Nyvan. Dwyer,
start working out a vector.

Whats Nyvan? Lawrence asked.

The second planet anyone ever found which was good enough to live on.
Everyone used to flock there from the arcologies. They dont now.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Nova Kong has always boasted that it is the most beautiful city to be
found within the Confederation. Wisely, few challenged the claim.

No other Adamist society had the kind of money which had been lavished on
the city ever since the day Richard Saldana first stepped down out of his
spaceplane and (according to legend) said: This footstep will not depart
in the sands of time.

If he did say it, he was certainly right. The capital city of the Kulu
Kingdom was a memorial which no one who saw it would ever be likely to
forget. Right from the start, aesthetics was a paramount factor in
planning, and pretty grandiose aesthetics at that. It had no streets,
only flamboyant boulevards, greenway avenues, and rivers (half of them
artificial); all powered ground traffic used the labyrinth of underground
motorways. Commemorative monuments and statues dominated the junctions;
the Kingdoms heroic history was celebrated in hundreds of artistic
styles from megalithic to contemporary.

Although it had a population of nineteen million, the building density
regulations meant it was spread out over five hundred square kilometres,
with Touchdown plaza at its centre. Every conceivable architectural era
was to be found among the public, private, and commercial buildings so
carefully sprinkled across the ground, with the exception of prefab
concrete, programmable silicon, and composite ezystak panels (anything
built in Nova Kong was built to last). Seventeen cathedrals strove for
attention against neo-Roman government offices. Gloss-black pyramid
condominiums were as popular as Napoleonic apartment blocks with
conservatory roofs arching over their central wells. Sir Christopher Wren
proved a heavy influence on the long curving terraces of snow-white stone
town houses, while Oriental and Eastern designs appeared to be favoured
among the smaller individual residences.

Chilly autumn air was gusting along the boulevards when Ralph Hiltch flew
in over the clean spires and ornate belfries. His vantage point was a
privilege not awarded to many people. Commercial overflights were
strictly forbidden; only emergency craft, police, senior government
officials, and the Saldanas were ever permitted this view.

He couldnt have timed his arrival better, he thought. The trees which
filled the parks, squares, and ornamental waterways below were starting
to turn in the morning frosts. Green leaves were fading to an infinite
variety of yellows, golds, bronzes, and reds, a trillion flecks of rusty
colour glinting in the strong sunlight. Soggy auburn mantles were already
expanding across the damp grass, while thick dunes snuggled up in the
sheltered lees of buildings. Nova Kongs million strong army of utility
mechanoids were programmed to go easy on the invasive downfall, allowing
the rustic image to prevail.

Today though, the refined perfection of the city was marred by twisters
of smoke rising from several districts. As they passed close to one,
Ralph accessed the flyers sensor suite to obtain a better view of a
Gothic castle made from blocks of amber and magenta glass which seemed to
be the source. The smoke was a dense billow pouring out from the stubby
remains of a smashed turret. Fires were still flickering inside the main
hall. Over twenty police and Royal Marine flyers had landed on the
parkland outside; figures in active armour suits walked through the
castles courtyards.

Ralph knew that depressing scene well enough. Although in his heart hed
never expected to see it here, not Nova Kong, the very nucleus of the
Kingdom. Hed been born on the Principality of Jerez, and this was his
first visit to Kulu. One part of his mind wryly acknowledged he would
always retain a hint of the provincial attitude. Nova Kong was the
capital, it ought to remain impervious to anything, any form of attack,
physical or subversive. That was the reason his job, his agency, existed:
the first line of defence.

How many of these incursions have there been? he asked the Royal Navy
pilot.

A couple of dozen in the last three days. Tough bastards to beat, I can
tell you. The marines had to call down SD fire support a couple of times.
We havent seen any new ones for eleven hours now, thank Christ. That
means weve probably got them all. Citys under martial law, every
transport route on the planet has shut down, and the AIs are sweeping the
net for any sign of activity. Nowhere the possessed can hide anymore, and
they certainly cant run.

Sounds like you people were on the ball. We did much the same thing on
Ombey.

Yeah? You beat them there?

Almost.

The ion field flyer lined up on Apollo Palace. Awe and nerves squeezed
Ralphs heart, quickening its pulse. Physically this was the middle of
the city, politically the hub of an interstellar empire, and home to the
most notorious family in the Confederation.

Apollo Palace was a small town in its own right, albeit contained under a
single roof. Every wing and hall interlocked, their unions marked by
rotundas and pagodas. Sumptuous stately homes, which in centuries past
must have been independent houses for senior courtiers, had been now
incorporated in the overall structure, ensnared by the flourishing
webbing of stone cloisters which had gradually crept out from the centre.
The family chapel was larger than most of the citys cathedrals, and more
graceful than all.

A hundred quadrangles containing immaculate gardens flashed past
underneath the flyers fuselage as it descended. Ralph shunted a mild
tranquillizer program into primary mode. Turning up electronically stoned
before your sovereign probably went against every written and unwritten
court protocol in existence. But, damn it, he couldnt afford a slip due
to nerves nowthe Kingdom couldnt afford it.

Eight armed Royal Marines were waiting at the foot of the airstairs when
they landed in an outer quadrangle. Their captain clicked his heels
together and saluted Ralph.

Sorry, sir, but I must ask you to stand still.

Ralph eyed the chemical projectile guns trained on him. Of course. Cold
air turned his breath to grey vapour.

The captain signalled one of the marines who came forward holding a small
sensor pad. She touched it to Ralphs forehead, then went on to his hands.

Clear, sir, she barked.

Very good. Mr Hiltch, would you please datavise your ESA identification
code, and your martial law transport authority number. The captain held
up a processor block.

Ralph obliged the request.

Thank you, sir.

The marines shouldered their weapons. Ralph whistled silent relief, happy
at how seriously they were taking the threat of possession, but at the
same time wishing he wasnt on the receiving end.

A tall, middle-aged man stepped out of a nearby doorway and walked over.
Mr Hiltch, welcome to Kulu. He put his hand out.

That he was a Saldana was not in doubt; his size, poise, and that
distinct nose made it obvious for anyone to see. Trouble was, there were
so many of them. Ralph ran an identity check through his neural nanonics,
the file was in his classified section: the Duke of Salion, chairman of
the Privy Councils security commission, and Alastair IIs first cousin.
One of the most unobtrusive and powerful men in the Kingdom.

Sir. Thank you for meeting me.

Not at all. He guided Ralph back through the door. Princess Kirstens
message made it clear she considers you important. I have to say were
all extremely relieved to hear Ombey has survived a not inconsiderable
assault by the possessed. The Principality does lack the resources
available to the more developed worlds of the Kingdom.

I saw the smoke as I flew down. It seems nowhere is immune.

A lift was waiting for them just inside the building. The Duke datavised
an order into its processor. Ralph felt it start off, moving downwards,
then horizontally.

Regrettably so, the Duke admitted. However, we believe we have them
contained here. And preliminary indications from the other Principalities
are that theyve also been halted. Thankfully, it looks like were over
the worst.

If I might ask, what was the sensor that marine used on me?

You were being tested for static electricity. The Confederation Navy
researchers have found the possessed carry a small but permanent static
charge. Its very simple, but so far its proved infallible.

Some good news, that makes a change.

Quite. The Duke gave him a sardonic smile.

The lift opened out into a long anteroom. Ralph found it hard not to
gape; hed thought Burley Palace was opulent. Here the concept of
ornamentation and embellishment had been taken to outrageous heights.
Marble was drowning under arabesque patterns of platinum leaf; the
church-high ceiling was adorned with frescoes of unusual xenocs which
were hard to see behind the glare of galactic chandeliers. Arched alcoves
were inset with circular windows of graduated glass, each fashioned after
a different flower. Trophy heads were mounted on the wall, jewelled
armour helmet effigies of fantasy creatures; dragons wrought in curving
jade panes inlaid with rubies, unicorns in alabaster and emeralds,
hobgoblins in onyx and diamonds, mermaids in aquamarine and sapphires.

Courtiers and civil servants were walking about briskly, their footfalls
completely silent on the Chinese carpet. The Duke strode diagonally
across the room, with everyone melting out of his way. Ralph hurried to
keep up.

Double doors opened into a library of more manageable proportions. Then
Ralph was through into a snug oak-panelled study with a log fire burning
eagerly in the grate and frost-rimed French windows presenting a view out
into a quadrangle planted with ancient chestnuts. Five young children
were scampering about on the lawn, dressed against the cold in colourful
coats, woollen bobble hats, and leather gloves. They were flinging sticks
and stones into the big old trees, trying to bring down the prickly burrs.

King Alastair II stood before the fire, rubbing his hands together in
front of the flames. A bulky camels hair coat was slung over a
high-backed leather chair. Damp footprints on the carpet indicated hed
just come in from the quadrangle.

Good afternoon, Mr Hiltch.

Ralph stood to attention. Your Majesty. Despite the fact he was in the
presence of his King, Ralph could only stare at the oil painting on the
wall. It was the Mona Lisa. Which was impossible. The French state of
Govcentral would never let that out of the Paris arcology. Yet would the
King of Kulu really have a copy on his wall?

I reviewed the report which came with you, Mr Hiltch, the King said.
Youve had a busy few weeks. I can see why my sister valued your counsel
so highly. One can only hope all my ESA officers are so efficient and
resourceful. You are a credit to your agency.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

The Duke shut the study door as the King used an iron poker to stir the
fire.

Do stand easy, Mr Hiltch, Alastair said. He put the poker back in the
rack and eased himself down in one of the leather chairs which ringed the
hearth rug. Those are my grandchildren out there. A finger flicked
towards the quadrangle. Got them here at the palace while their fathers
off with the Royal Navy. Safest place for them. Nice to have them, too.
That lad in the blue coat, being pushed around by his sister, thats
Edward; your future king, in fact. Although I doubt youll be around when
he ascends the throne. God willing, it wont be for another century at
least.

I hope so, Your Majesty.

Course you do. Sit down, Mr Hiltch. Thought wed have an informal
session to start with. Gather youve something controversial to propose.
This way if it is too controversial, well . . . itll simply never have
happened. Cant have the monarch exposed to controversy, now can we?

Certainly not, the Duke said with a modest smile as he sat between the
two of them.

An arbitrator, or a buffer? Ralph mused. He sat in the remaining leather
chair, mildly relieved that he wasnt having to look up at the two men
anymore. Both of them were half a head taller than he (another Saldana
trait). I understand, Your Majesty.

Good man. So what hot little mess is dear Kirsten dropping in my lap
this time?

Ralph upped the strength of his tranquillizer program and started to
explain.

When he finished, the King rose silently and dropped a couple of logs on
the fire. Flames cast a shivering amber light across his face. At
seventy-two he had acquired a dignity that went far beyond the
superficial physical countenance provided by his genes; experience had
visibly enriched his personality. The King, Ralph decided, had become
what kings were supposed to be, someone you could trust. All of which
made his troubled expression more worrying than it would be on any normal
politician.

Opinion? Alastair asked the Duke, still gazing at the fire.

It would appear to be an evenhanded dilemma, sir. Mr Hiltchs proposal
is tenable, certainly. Reports we have received show the Edenists are
more than holding their own against the possessed; only a handful of
habitats have been penetrated, and I believe all the insurgents were
rounded up effectively. And using bitek constructs as front line troops
would reduce our losses to a minimum if you commit an army to liberating
Mortonridge. Politically, though, Princess Kirsten is quite right; such a
course of action will mean a complete reversal of a foreign policy which
has stood for over four hundred years, and was actually instigated by
Richard Saldana himself.

For good reasons at the time, the King ruminated. Those damn atheists
with their Helium3 monopoly have so much power over us Adamists. Richard
knew being free of their helping hand was the only road to true
independence. It might have been ruinously expensive to build our own
cloud-scoops in those days, but by God look at what weve achieved with
that freedom. And now Mr Hiltch here is asking me to become dependent on
those same Edenists.

Im suggesting an alliance, Your Majesty, Ralph said. Nothing more. A
mutually advantageous military alliance in time of war. And they will
benefit from the liberation of Mortonridge just as much as we will.

Really? the King asked; he sounded sceptical.

Yes, Your Majesty. It has to be done. We have to prove to ourselves, and
every other planet in the Confederation, that the possessed can be driven
back into the beyond. I expect such a war might well take decades; and
who would ever agree to start it if they didnt know victory was
possible? Whatever the outcome, we have to try.

There has to be another solution, said the King, almost inaudibly.
Something easier, a more final way of ridding ourselves of this threat.
Our navy scientists are working on it, of course. One can only pray for
progress, though so far it has been depressingly elusive. He sighed
loudly. But one cannot act on wishes. At least not in my position. I
have to respond to facts. And the fact is that two million of my subjects
have been possessed. Subjects I am sworn before God to defend. So
something must be done, and you, Mr Hiltch, have offered me the only
valid proposal to date. Even if it is only related to the physical.

Your Majesty?

One isnt criticising. But I have to consider what the Ekelund woman
said to you. Even if we win and banish them all from living bodies, we
are still going to wind up joining them eventually. Any thoughts on how
to solve that little conundrum, Mr Hiltch?

No, Your Majesty.

No. Of course not. Forgive me, Im being dreadfully unfair. But never
fear; youre not alone on that one, Im sure. We can dump it off on the
bishop for the moment, though ultimately it will have to be addressed.
And addressed thoroughly. The prospect of spending eternity in purgatory
is not one I naturally welcome. Yet at the moment it seems one to which
we are all destined. The King smiled wanly, glancing out of the French
windows at his grandchildren. I can only hope Our Lord will eventually
show us some of His mercy. But for now, the problem at hand: liberating
Mortonridge, and the political fallout from asking the Edenists to help.
Simon?

The Duke deliberated on his answer. As you say, sir, the situation today
is hardly the same as when Richard Saldana founded Kulu. However, four
centuries of discord has entrenched attitudes, particularly that of the
average middle-Kulu citizen. The Edenists arent seen as demons, but
neither are they regarded with any geniality. Of course, as Mr Hiltch has
said, in times of war allies are to be found in the most unusual places.
I dont believe an alliance in these circumstances would damage the
monarchy. Certainly a successful conclusion to a liberation campaign
would prove your decision to be justified. That is assuming the Edenists
will agree to come to our aid.

Theyll help, Simon. We might snub them for the benefit of the public,
but they are not stupid. Nor are they dishonourable. Once they see I am
making a genuine appeal they will respond.

The Edenists, yes. But the Lord of Ruin? I find it hard to believe the
Princess suggested we ask her for the DNA sequence of Tranquillitys
serjeants, no matter how good they would be as soldiers.

The King gave a dry laugh. Oh, come now, Simon, wheres your sense of
charity? You of all people should know how accommodating Ione is when it
comes to the really important problems faced by the Confederation. Shes
proved her worth in the political arena with the Mzu woman; and she is
family, after all. Id say it was far less galling for me to request her
help than it is making any approach to the Edenists.

Yes, sir, the Duke said heavily.

Alastair tutted in bogus dismay. Never mind, Simon, its your job to be
paranoid on my behalf. He turned his gaze back to Ralph Hiltch. My
decision, though. As always.

Ralph tried to appear resolute. It was quite extraordinary to witness the
use of power at such a level. The thoughts and words formulated in this
room would affect literally hundreds of worlds, maybe even a fate greater
than that. He wanted to scream at the King to say yes, that it was bloody
obvious what he should decide. Yes. Yes. YES. Say it, damn you.

Ill give my authority to initiate the project, Alastair said. Thats
all for now. We will ask the Edenists if they can assist us. Lord
Mountjoy can sound out their ambassador to the court, thats what hes
good at. While you, Mr Hiltch, will go directly to the Admiralty and
begin a detailed tactical analysis of the Mortonridge Liberation. Find
out if it really is possible. Once Ive seen how these two principal
factors mature, the proposal will be brought before the Privy Council for
consideration.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

Its what Im here for, Ralph. His stately smile became artful. I
think you can cancel your tranquillizer program now.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Oh, Lord, now whats he up to? Staff Nurse Jansen Kovak asked as soon
as he accessed the ceiling sensors in Gerald Skibbows room. All the
medical facilitys inmates were reviewed on a regular basis; with
troublesome ones like Skibbow a check was scheduled every twenty minutes.

The room had modest furnishings. A single bed and a deep settee had
puffed themselves up out of the floor, ready to retract if an inmate
tried to injure himself against them. All the services were
voice-activated. There was nothing to grab hold of, no loose items lying
around which could weight a fist.

Gerald was kneeling beside the bed as if in prayer, his hands hidden from
the ceiling sensors. Jansen Kovak switched cameras, using one
incorporated in the floor, giving him a mouse-eye view.

The image showed Gerald was holding a spoon with both hands. Slowly and
relentlessly he was flexing it, bending the stem just below the scoop. It
was made of a strong composite, but Jansen Kovak could see the tiny white
stress fractures crinkling the surface. Another minute and the spoon
would break, leaving Gerald with a long spike which although not exactly
sharp could certainly harm anyone caught on the end of a lunge.

Dr Dobbs, Jansen datavised. I think we have a problem with Skibbow.

What now? Dobbs asked. He had only just caught up on his appointments;
yesterdays episode with Skibbow in the lounge had wrecked his schedule.
Skibbow had been recovering well up until that point. Bad luck his
daughter had turned up againcertainly the timing, anyway. Although the
fact she was still alive could eventually be worked into his therapy,
give him a long-term achievement goal.

Hes smuggled a spoon out of the lounge. I think hes going to use it as
a weapon.

Oh, great, just what I need. Riley Dobbs hurriedly finished with the
patient he was counselling, and accessed the facilitys AI. He retrieved
the interpretation routine which could make sense of Skibbows unique
thought patterns and opened a channel to the debrief nanonics. This kind
of grubby mental spying was totally unethical; but then he had discarded
the constraints of the General Medical Council all those years ago when
he came to work for the Royal Navy. Besides, if he was to effect any kind
of cure on Skibbow, he needed to know exactly what kind of demons were
driving the man. Resorting to a weapon, however feeble, seemed extreme
for Skibbow.

The images were slow to form in Dobbss mind. Geralds thoughts were in
turmoil, fast-paced, flicking between present reality and extrapolated
fantasies.

Dobbs saw the pale blue wall of the bedroom, fringed with the redness
which came from squinted eyes. Feeling the spoon in his hands, the
friction heat building up in its stem. Tired arm muscles as they pushed
and pulled at the stubborn composite. And theyll regret getting in my
way. God will they ever.

Image shift toa corridor. Kovak screaming in pain as he sinks to his
knees, the spoon handle jutting out of his white tunic. Blood spreading
over his chest, drops splattering on the floor. Dr Dobbs was already
sprawled facedown on the corridor floor, his whole body soaked in
glistening blood. Which is less than he deserves. Kovak emitted a last
gurgle and died. Gerald pulled the Weapon of Vengeance from his chest and
carried on down the corridor. Sanatorium staff peered fearfully out of
doors, only to shrink back when they saw who was coming. As well they
might; they knew who had Right and Justice on his side.

Shifting backto the bedroom, where the damn spoon still hadnt snapped.
His breath was becoming ragged now. But still he persevered. A soundless
mutter of: Come on. Please!

Shiftingto the journey through Guyana, a confused blur of rock walls.
Not actually knowing the geometry of the asteroid; but hed find a way.
Asteroid spaceports were always attached up at the axis. There would be
trains, lifts . . .

Backwhen the spoon finally snaps, making his taut arms judder. Now I
can begin. Im coming for you, darling. Daddys coming.

Tofly through space. Stars streaking into blue-white lightning outside
the ships hull as he rushes to the strange distant habitat. And theres
Marie waiting for him at the end of the voyage, adrift in space, clad in
those fragile white swirls of gauze, luscious hair blown back by the
breeze. Where she says to him: Theyll tell you that you shouldnt have
come, Daddy.

Oh, but I should, he replies. You need me, darling. I know what youre
going through. I can drive the demon out. Youll feel nothing as I push
you into zero-tau. And so he lays her gently down into the plastic
coffin and closes the lid. Blackness eclipses her, then ends to show her
face smiling up at him, twinkling tears of gratitude slipping from her
eyes.

Which is why hes standing up now, slipping the jagged spoon handle into
his sleeve. Calm. Take deep calming breaths now. Theres the door.
Daddys coming to rescue you, baby. He is.

Riley Dobbs cancelled the interpretation routine. Oh, bugger. He
ordered Geralds debrief nanonics to induce somnolence within the fevered
brain.

Nerves and courage fired up, Gerald was reaching for the bedroom door
when a wave of tiredness slapped into him with an almost physical force.
He sagged, swaying on his feet as muscles became too exhausted to carry
him. The bed loomed before him, and he was toppling towards it as
darkness and silence poured into the room.

Jansen, Riley Dobbs datavised. Get in there and take the spoon away,
and any other implements you can find. Then I want him transferred to a
condition three regime; twenty-four-hour observation, and a softcare
environment. Hes going to be a dangerous pain until we can wean him off
this new obsession.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Kiera Salter had dispatched fifteen hellhawks to the Oshanko sector of
the Confederation to seed dissent into the communications nets of the
Imperiums worlds and asteroid settlements. That was three days ago.

Now, Rubra observed eleven wormhole termini blink open to disgorge the
survivors. Two bloated warplanes, and a sinister featureless black
aeromissile-shape kept a loose formation with eight Olympian-sized
harpies who flapped their way back towards Valisks docking ledges with
lethargic, defeated wing strokes.

<< I see the Emperors navy has lived up to its top gun reputation,
>>Rubra remarked in a tone of high spirits. << Just how is troop morale
coming along these days? Thats the eighth of Kieras little jaunts in
which your hellhawks have taken a beating from unfriendly natives. Any
grumblings of rebellion at the new regime yet? A few discreet suggestions
that priorities ought to be altered? >>

<< Screw you, >>Dariat retorted. He was sitting on a small riverbank of
crumbling earth, dark water flowing swiftly below his dangling feet.
Occasionally he caught sight of a big garpike slithering past on the way
to its spawning ground upriver. Five hundred metres away in the other
direction the water tipped over a shallow cliff to splatter down into the
circumfluous saltwater reservoir ringing the endcap. Out here among the
habitats low rolling hills the eight separate xenoc grasses waged a
continual war for primacy. As they all came to seed at different times of
the year none ever won an outright victory. Right now it was a
salmon-pink Tallok-aboriginal variety which was flourishing, its slender
corkscrew blades tangling in a dense blanket of dry candyfloss which
matted the ground. Back along the cylindrical habitat, Dariat could see
the broad rosy bracelet fading to emerald around the midsection where the
starscraper lobbies were; and in turn that rich terrestrial vegetation
eventually petered away into the ochre scrub desert which occupied the
far end. The bands of colour were as striking as they were regular; it
was as if someone had sprayed them on while Valisk turned on a lathe.

<< Of course, you wouldnt actually know much about whats happening to
the subjects of Kieras politburo dictatorship these days, >>Rubra
continued pleasantly. << You being a loner now. Did you know dear old
Bonney was shouting for you yesterday? I whisked one of the non-possessed
away from her clutches, put him on a tube carriage, and shot him off to
one of my safe areas. I dont think she was very happy about it. Your
name came up several times. >>

<< Sarcasm is a pitiful form of wit. >>

<< Absolutely, my boy. So you wont be letting it get to you, will you? >>

<< No. >>

<< Mind you, Kiera is having some success. The second hellhawk full of
kids arrived this morning, looking for that bright new world she promised
in her recording. Two dozen of them; the youngest was only nine. Would
you like to see what was done to them so they could be possessed? I have
all the memories, nobody tried to block my perception from that ceremony.
>>

<< Shut up. >>

<< Oh, dear, is that a twang of conscience I detect? >>

<< As you well know, I dont care what happens to the morons who get
suckered here. All Im interested in is how badly Im going to fuck you
up. >>

<< I understand. But then I know you better than Kiera does. Its a pity
you dont understand me. >>

<< Wrong. I know you completely. >>

<< You dont, my boy. You dont know what Im holding secret. Anastasia
would thank me for what Im doing, the protection Im extending you. >>

Dariat growled, sinking his head into his hands. He had chosen this spot
for the seclusion it offered from Kieras merry band of maniacs. He
wanted somewhere quiet to meditate. Free from distractions he could try
to formulate a mental pattern which had the ability to penetrate the
neural strata. But he wasnt free of distractions, he never could be. For
Rubra would never tire of playing his game; the insinuations, the doubts,
the dark hints.

During the last thirty years, Dariat thought hed perfected patience to
an inhuman degree. But now he was finding that a different kind of
patience was required. Despite a herculean resolution he was beginning to
question if Rubra really did have any secrets. It was stupid, of course,
because Rubra was bluffing, running an elaborate disinformation campaign.
However, if Anastasia did have some secret, some legacy, the only entity
who would know was Rubra.

Yet if it did exist, why hadnt Rubra used it already? Both of them knew
this was a struggle to the bitterest of ends.

Anastasia could never have done anything which would make him betray
himself. Not sweet Anastasia, who had always warned him about Anstid. Her
Lord Thoale made sure she knew the consequences of every action.
Anastasia understood destiny. Why did I never listen to her?

<< Anastasia left nothing for me, >>he said.

<< Oh, yeah? In that case, Ill do a deal with you, Dariat. >>

<< Not interested. >>

<< You should be. Im asking you to join me. >>

<< What? >>

<< Join me, here in the neural strata. Transfer yourself over like a
dying Edenist. We can become a duality. >>

<< You have got to be fucking joking. >>

<< No. I have been considering this for some time. Our current situation
is not going to end well, not for either of us. Both of us are at odds
with Kiera; that will never change. But together we could beat her
easily, purge the habitat of her cronies. You can rule Valisk yet. >>

<< You used to control a multistellar industrial empire, Rubra. Now look
what youre reduced to. Youre pathetic, Rubra. Contemptible. And the
best thing is, you know it. >>

Rubra shifted his principal focus from the linen-suited young man,
withdrawing to contemplate a general perception of the habitat. Bonney
Lewin was missing again. That damn woman was getting too good at foxing
his observation routines. He automatically expanded the secondary
routines surrounding and protecting the remaining non-possessed. Shed
show up near one of them soon enough.

<< He didnt agree, >>Rubra said to the Kohistan Consensus.

<< That is unfortunate. Salter is expending a great deal of effort to
collect her Deadnight followers. >>

<< Her what? >>

<< Deadnight is the name which her subversive recording has acquired.
Unfortunately a great many young Adamists are finding it seductive. >>

<< Dont I know it. You should see what she does to them when they get
here. Those hellhawks should never have been allowed to collect them. >>

<< There is little we can do. We do not have the capability to shadow
every hellhawk flight. >>

<< Pity. >>

<< Yes. The hellhawks are causing us some concern. So far they have not
been used in an aggressor role. If they were deployed in combat with
Valisks armament resources behind them, they would pose a formidable
problem. >>

<< So you keep telling me. Dont say youve finally come to a decision? >>

<< We have. With your permission we would like to remove their threat
potential. >>

<< Do as you would be done by, and do it first. Well, well, youve
finally started thinking like me. Theres hope for all of you yet. Okay,
go ahead. >>

<< Thank you, Rubra. We know this must be difficult for you. >>

<< Just make damn sure you dont miss. Some of my industrial stations are
very close to my shell. >>

Rubra had always maintained an above-average number of Strategic Defence
platforms around Valisk. Given his semi-paranoid nature it was inevitable
he should want to make local space as secure as possible. Forty-five
weapons platforms covered a bubble of space fifty thousand kilometres in
diameter with the habitat and its comprehensive parade of industrial
stations at the centre. They were complemented by two hundred sensor
satellites, sweeping both inwards and outwards. No one had ever attempted
an act of aggression within Valisks sphere of interesta remarkable
achievement considering the kind of ships which frequented the spaceport.

Magellanic Itg had manufactured the network, developing indigenous
designs and fabricating all the components itself. A policy which had
earned the company a healthy quantity of export orders. It also enabled
Rubra to install his personality as the networks executive. He certainly
wasnt about to trust any of his woefully ineffectual descendants with
his own defence.

That arrangement had come to an abrupt end with the emergence of the
possessed. His control over the network was via affinity with bitek
management processors that were integrated into every platforms command
circuitry. He hadnt even realized hed lost control of the platforms
until hed attempted to interdict the hellhawks when they first revealed
themselves. Afterwards, hed worked out that somebodythat little shit
Dariat, no doubthad subverted his SD governor thought routines long
enough to load powerdown orders into every platform.

With the power off, there was no way of regaining control through the
bitek processors. Every platform would have to be reactivated manually.
Which was exactly what Kiera had done. Spacecraft had rendezvoused with
the platforms and taken out Rubras bitek management processors,
replacing them with electronic processors and new fire authority codes.

A new SD Command centre was established in the counter-rotating
spaceport, outside Rubras influence. He couldnt strike at that like he
could the starscrapers. The possessed technicians who reactivated the
network were convinced they had made it independent, a system which only
Kiera and her newly installed codes could control.

What neither they nor Dariat quite appreciated were the myriad number of
physical interfaces between the neural strata and Valisks communications
net. The tube trains and the starscraper lifts were the most obvious
examples, but every mechanical and electronic utility system had a
similar junction, a small processor nodule which converted fibre optic
pulses to nerve impulses and vice versa. And Magellanic Itg not only
built Valisks communications net, it also supplied ninety per cent of
the counter-rotating spaceports electronics. A fact which even fewer
people were aware of was that every company processor had a back-door
access function hardwired in, to which Rubra alone had the key.

Within seconds of the possessed establishing their new SD command
channels he was in the system. A delicious irony, he felt, a ghost in the
ghosts machinery. The devious interface circuits hed established to
gain entry couldnt support anything like the data traffic necessary to
give him full control of the platforms once more, but he could certainly
do unto others what theyd done to him.

On the ready signal from the Kohistan Consensus, Rubra immediately sent a
squall of orders out to the SD platforms. Command codes were wiped and
replaced, safety limiters were taken off line, fusion generator
management programs were reformatted.

In the commandeered spaceport management office used to run the habitats
SD network, every single alarm tripped at once. The whole room was
flooded with red light from AV projectors and holoscreens. Then the power
went off, plunging the crew into darkness.

What the holy fuck is happening? the recently appointed network captain
shouted. A bright candle flame ignited at the tip of his index finger,
revealing equally confounded faces all around him. He reached for his
communications block to call Kiera Salter, dreading what she would say.
But his hand never made it.

Oh, shit, look, someone cried.

Severe white light began to flood in through the offices single port.

In forty-five fusion generators the plasma jet had become unstable,
perturbed by rogue manipulations in the magnetic confinement field.
Burnthrough occurred, plasma striking the confinement chamber walls,
vaporizing the material, which increased the pressure a thousandfold.
Forty-five fusion generators ruptured almost simultaneously, tearing
apart the SD platforms in a burst of five million degree shrapnel and
irradiated gas.

<< Youre clear, >>Rubra told the waiting fleet.

Three hundred wormhole termini opened, englobing the habitat. Voidhawks
shot out. Two hundred were designated to eradicate the industrial
stations, depriving Kiera of their enormous armament manufacturing base.
The bitek starships immediately swooped around onto their assault
vectors. Kinetic missiles flashed out of their launch cradles, closing on
the stations at sixteen gees. Each salvo was aimed so that the impact
blast would kick the debris shower away from the habitat, minimizing the
possibility of collision damage to the polyp shell.

The remaining hundred voidhawks were given suppression duties. Flying in
ten-strong formations they broadcast affinity warnings to the thoroughly
disconcerted hellhawks sitting on the docking ledges, ordering them to
remain where they were. Sharp ribbons of ruby-red light from targeting
lasers made the ledge polyp shimmer like black ice speared by an early
morning sun. Refracted beams twisted around the alien shapes perched on
the pedestals as the voidhawks strove to match their discordant vectors
with the habitats rotation.

Closer to the habitat, cyclones of shiny debris were churning out from
the ruined industrial stations. Victorious voidhawks dived and spun above
the metallic constellations, racing away ahead of the perilous wavefront
of sharp high-velocity slivers. The hellhawks sat on their pedestals,
observing the carnage with mute impotence.

<< Exemplary shooting, >>Rubra told the Kohistan Consensus. << Just
remember when this is all over, youre paying Magellanic Itgs
compensation claim. >>

Three hundred wormhole interstices opened. The voidhawks vanished in an
extraordinary display of synchronization. Elapsed time of the attack was
ninety-three seconds.

Even in the heat of passion Kiera Salter could sense nearby minds
starting to flare in alarm. She tried to dislodge Stanyon from her back
and rise to her feet. When he resisted, tightening his grip, she simply
smacked an energistic bolt into his chest. He grunted, the impact shoving
him backwards.

What the fuck are you playing at, bitch? he growled.

Be silent. She stood up, her wishes banishing the soreness and rising
bruises. Sweat vanished, her hair returned to a neatly brushed mane. A
simple, scarlet summer dress materialized over her skin.

On the other side of the endcap, the hellhawks were seething with
resentment and anger. Beyond them was a haze of life which gave off a
scent of icy determination. And Rubra, the ever-present mental background
whisper, was radiating satisfaction. Damn it!

Her desktop processor block started shrilling. Data scrawled over its
screen. A Strategic Defence alert, and red systems failure symbols were
flashing all over the network schematic.

The high-pitched sound started to cut off intermittently, and the screen
blanked out. The more she glared at the block, the worse the glitches
became.

Whats happening? Erdal Kilcady asked. Her other bedroom fancya
gormless twenty-year-old who as far as she could determine had only one
use.

Were being attacked, you fool, she snapped. Its those fucking
Edenists. Shit, and her schemes had been progressing beautifully up
until now. The idiot kids believed her recording; they were starting to
arrive. Another couple of months would have seen the habitat population
rise to a decent level.

Now this. The constant hellhawk flights must have frightened the Edenists
into taking action.

The burn mark on Stanyons chest healed over. Clothes sprang up to
conceal his body. Wed better get along to the SD control centre and
kick some butt, he said.

Kiera hesitated. The SD centre was in the counter-rotating spaceport. She
was certain the habitat itself would be safe from attack. Rubra would
never allow that, but the spaceport might be a legitimate target.

Just as she took a reluctant first step towards the door the black
bakelite telephone on her bedside table started to ring. The primitive
communications instrument was one which worked almost infallibly in the
energistic environment exuded by the possessed. She picked it up and
pressed the handset to her ear. Yes?

This is Rubra.

Kiera stiffened. Shed thought this room was outside of his surveillance.
Exactly how many of their systems were exposed to him? What do you want?

I want nothing. Im simply delivering a warning. The voidhawks from
Kohistan are currently eliminating the habitats industrial production
capability. There will be no more combat wasps to arm the hellhawks. We
dont like the threat they present. Do not attempt to resupply from other
sources or it will go hard on you.

You can do nothing to us, she said, squeezing some swagger into her
voice.

Wrong. The Edenists respect life, which is why no hellhawks were
destroyed this time. However, I can guarantee you the next voidhawk
strike will not be so generous. I have eliminated the habitats SD
platforms so that in future it wont even be as difficult for them as
todays strike. You and the hellhawks will sit out the rest of the
conflict here. Is that understood? The phone went dead.

Kiera stood still, her whitened fingers tightening around the handset.
Little chips of bakelite sprinkled down onto the carpet. Find Dariat,
she told Stanyon. I dont care where he is, find him and bring him to
me. Now!



                                 ?   ?   ?



Chaumort asteroid in the Chlons star system. Not a settlement which
attracted many starships; it had little foreign exchange to purchase
their cargoes of exotica, and few opportunities for export charters.
Attendant industrial stations were old, lacking investment, their
products a generation out-of-date; their poor sales added to the
downwards cycle of the asteroids economy. Ten per cent of the adult
population was unemployed, making qualified workers Chaumorts largest
(and irreplaceable) export. The fault lay in its leadership of fifteen
years ago, who had been far too quick to claim independence from the
founding company. Decline had been a steady constant from that carnival
day onwards. Even as a refuge for undesirables, it was close to the
bottom of the list.

But it was French-ethnic, and it allowed certain starships to dock
despite the Confederations quarantine edict. Life could have been worse,
Andr Duchamp told himself, though admittedly not by much. He sat out at
a table in what qualified as a pavement caf, watching what there was of
the worldlet passing by. The sheer rock cliff of the biosphere cavern
wall rose vertically behind him, riddled with windows and balconies for
its first hundred metres. Out in the cavern the usual yellow-green fields
and orchards of spindly trees glimmered under the motley light of the
solartubes which studded the axis gantry.

The view was acceptable, the wine passable, his situation if not
tolerable then stablefor a couple of days. Andr took another sip and
tried to relax. It was a pity his initial thought of selling combat wasps
(post-Lalonde, fifteen were still languishing in the starships launch
tubes) to Chaumorts government had come to nothing. The asteroids
treasury didnt have the funds, and three inter-planetary ships had
already been placed on defence contract retainers. Not that the money
would have been much use here; the two local service companies which
operated the spaceport had a very limited stock of spare parts. Of
course, it would have come in useful to pay his crew. Madeleine and
Desmond hadnt actually said anything, but Andr knew the mood well
enough. And that bloody anglo Erickas soon as theyd docked Madeleine
had hauled him off to the local hospital. Well, those thieving doctors
would have to wait.

He couldnt actually remember a time when there had been so few options
available. In fact, he was down to one slender possibility now. Hed
found that out as soon as hed arrived (this time checking the
spaceports register for ships he knew). An unusually large number of
starships were docked, all of them arriving recently. In other words,
after the quarantine had been ratified and instituted by the Chlons
system congress.

The Confederation Assembly had demonstrated a laudable goal in trying to
stop the spread of the possessed, no one disputed that. However, the new
colony planets and smaller asteroids suffered disproportionately from the
lack of scheduled flights; they needed imported high-technology products
to maintain their economies. Asteroid settlements like Chaumort, whose
financial situation was none too strong to start with, were going to
shoulder a heavy cost for the crisis not of their making. What most of
these backwater communities shared was their remoteness; so if say an
essential cargo were to arrive on a starship, then it was not
inconceivable that said starship would be given docking permission. The
local system congress wouldnt know, and therefore wouldnt be able to
prevent it. That cargo could then (for a modest charter fee) be
distributed to help other small disadvantaged communities by
inter-planetary ships, whose movements were not subject to any
Confederation proscription.

Chaumort was quietly establishing itself as an important node in a whole
new market. The kind of market starships such as the Villeneuves Revenge
were uniquely qualified to exploit.

Andr had spoken to several people in the bars frequented by space
industry crews and local merchants, voicing his approval for this turn of
events, expressing an interest in being able to help Chaumort and its
people in these difficult times. In short, becoming known. It was a game
of contacts, and Andr had been playing it for decades.

Which was why he was currently sitting at a table waiting for a man hed
never seen before to show up. A bunch of teenagers hurried past, one of
the lads snatching a basket of bread rolls from the cafs table. His
comrades laughed and cheered his bravado, and then ran off before the
patron discovered the theft. Andr no longer smiled at the reckless
antics of youth. Adolescents were a carefree breed; a state to which he
had long aspired, and which his chosen profession had singularly failed
to deliver. It seemed altogether unfair that happiness should exist only
at one end of life, and the wrong end at that. It should be something you
came in to, not left further and further behind.

A flash of colour caught his eye. All the delinquents had tied red
handkerchiefs around their ankles. What a stupid fashion.

Captain Duchamp?

Andr looked up to see a middle-aged Asian-ethnic man dressed in a smart
black silk suit with flapping sleeves. The tone and the easy body posture
indicated an experienced negotiator; too smooth for a lawyer, lacking the
confidence of the truly wealthy. A middleman.

Andr tried not to smile too broadly. The bait had been swallowed. Now
for the price.



The medical nanonic around Ericks left leg split open from crotch to
ankle, sounding as though someone were ripping strong fabric. Dr Steibel
and the young female nurse slowly teased the package free.

Looks fine, Dr Steibel decided.

Madeleine grinned at Erick and pulled a disgusted face. The leg was
coated in a thin layer of sticky fluid, residue of the package unknitting
from his flesh. Below the goo, his skin was swan-white, threaded with a
complicated lacework of blue veins. Scars from the burns and vacuum
ruptures were patches of thicker translucent skin.

Now the package covering his face and neck had been removed, Erick sucked
in a startled breath as cool air gusted over the raw skin. His cheeks and
forehead were still tingling from the same effect, and theyd been
uncovered two hours ago.

He didnt bother looking at the exposed limb. Why bother? All it
contained was memories.

Give me nerve channel access, please, Dr Steibel asked. He was looking
into an AV pillar, disregarding Erick completely.

Erick complied, his neural nanonics opening a channel directly into his
spinal cord. A series of instructions were datavised over, and his leg
rose to the horizontal before flexing his foot about.

Okay. The doctor nodded happily, still lost in the information the
pillar was directing at him. Nerve junctions are fine, and the new
tissue is thick enough. Im not going to put the package back on, but I
do want you to apply the moisturizing cream Ill prescribe. Its
important the new skin doesnt dry out.

Yes, Doc, Erick said meekly. What about . . . ? He gestured at the
packages enveloping his upper torso and right arm.

Dr Steibel flashed a quick smile, slightly concerned at his patients
listless nature.  Fraid not. Your AT implants are integrating nicely,
but the process isnt anywhere near complete yet.

I see.

Ill give you some refills for those support modules youre dragging
around with you. These deep invasion packages youre using consume a lot
of nutrients. Make sure the reserves dont get depleted.

He picked up the support module which Madeleine had repaired and glanced
at the pair of them. Id strongly advise no further exposure to
antagonistic environments for a while, as well. You can function at a
reasonably normal level now, Erick, but only if you dont stress your
metabolism. Do not ignore warnings from your metabolic monitor program.
Nanonic packages are not to be regarded as some kind of infallible safety
net.

Understood.

I take it youre not flying away for a while.

No. All starship flights are cancelled.

Good. I want you to keep out of free fall as much as possible, its a
dreadful medium for a body to heal in. Check in to a hotel in the high
gravity section while youre here. He datavised a file over. Thats the
exercise regime for your legs. Stick to it, and Ill see you again in a
week.

Thanks.

Dr Steibel nodded benevolently at Madeleine as he left the treatment
room. You can pay the receptionist on your way out.

The nurse began to spray a soapy solution over Ericks legs, flushing
away the mucus. He used a neural nanonic override to stop a flinch when
she reached his genitals. Thank God they hadnt been badly injured, just
superficial skin damage from the vacuum.

Madeleine gave him an anxious glance over the nurses back. Have you got
much cash in your card? she datavised.

About a hundred and fifty fuseodollars, thats all, he datavised back.
Andr hasnt transferred this months salary over yet.

Ive got a couple of hundred, and Desmond should have some left. I think
we can pay.

Why should we? Where the hell is Duchamp? He should be paying for this.
And my AT implants were only the first phase.

Busy with some cargo agent, so he claimed. Leave it with me, Ill find
out how much we owe the hospital.

Erick waited until shed left, then datavised the hospitals net
processor for the Confederation Navy Bureau. The net management computer
informed him there was no such eddress. He swore silently, and accessed
the computers directory, loading a search order for any resident
Confederation official. There wasnt one, not even a CAB inspector, too
few ships used the spaceport to warrant the expense.

The net processor opened a channel to his neural nanonics. Report back
to the ship, please, mon enfant Erick, Andr datavised. I have won us a
charter.

If his neck hadnt been so stiff, Erick would have shaken his head in
wonder. A charter! In the middle of a Confederation quarantine. Duchamp
was utterly unbelievable. His trial would be the shortest formality on
record.

Erick swung his legs off the examination table, ignoring the nurses
martyrdom as her spray hoses were dislodged. Sorry, duty calls, he
said. Now go and find me some trousers, I havent got all day.



The middlemans name was Iain Girardi. Andr envied him his temperament;
nothing could throw him, no insult, no threat. His cool remained in place
throughout the most heated of exchanges. It was just as well; Andrs
patience had long since been exhausted by his ungrateful crew.

They were assembled in the day lounge of the Villeneuves Revenge, the
only place Andr considered secure enough to discuss Girardis
proposition. Madeleine and Desmond had their feet snagged by a stikpad on
the decking, while Erick was hanging on to the central ladder, his
medical support modules clipped on to the composite rungs. Andr floated
at Iain Girardis side, glowering at the three of them.

Youve got to be fucking joking! Madeleine shouted. Youve gone too
far this time, Captain. Too bloody far. How can you even listen to this
bastards offer? God in Heaven, after all we went through at Lalonde.
After all Erick did. Look at this ship! They did that to it, to you.

Thats not strictly accurate, Iain Girardi said, his voice tactfully
smooth and apologetic.

Shut the fuck up! she bawled. I dont need you to tell me whats been
happening to us.

Madeleine, please, Andr said. You are hysterical. No one is forcing
you to take part. I will not hold you to your contract if that is your
wish.

Damn right its my wish. And nowhere does it say in my crew contract
that I fly for the possessed. You pay me my last two months in full, plus
the Lalonde combat bonus you owe me, and Im out of here.

If that is what you want.

Youve got the money?

Oui. But of course. Not that it is any of your business.

Bastard. Why did you leave us to pay for Ericks treatment, then?

I am only a captain, I do not claim to perform miracles. My account has
only just been credited. Naturally it is my pleasure to pay for dear
Ericks treatment. It is a matter of honour for me.

Just been . . . Madeleine glanced from Andr to Iain Girardi, then back
again. Understanding brought outraged astonishment. You accepted a
retainer from him?

Oui, Andr snapped.

Oh, Jesus. The shock of his admission silenced her.

You spoke about Lalonde, Iain Girardi said. Did the Confederation Navy
rush to your aid while you were there?

Do not speak about an event of which you know nothing, Desmond growled.

I know something about it. Ive accessed Kelly Tirrels report.
Everybody has.

And we have all accessed Gus Remars report from New California. The
possessed have conquered that world. By rights we ought to sign on with
the Confederation Navy and help eradicate every one of them from this
universe.

Eradicate them how? This is a dreadful calamity which has befallen the
human race, both halves of it. Dropping nukes on millions of innocent
people is not going to bring about a resolution. Sure it was chaos at
Lalonde, and Im sorry you were hit with the worst of it. Those possessed
were a disorganized terrified rabble, lashing out blindly to protect
themselves from the mercenary army you carried. But the Organization is
different. For a start were proving that possessed and non-possessed can
live together.

Yeah, while were convenient, Madeleine said. While you need us to run
the technology and fly starships. After that its going to be a different
bloody story.

I can appreciate your bitterness, but you are wrong. Al Capone has taken
the first steps to solving this terrible dilemma; hes proposing a joint
research project to find a solution. All the Confederation Navy is doing
is working on methods of blowing the possessed back into the beyond. I
dont know about you, but I certainly dont want them to triumph.

Desmond bunched his fist, one toe coming off the stikpad, ready to launch
himself at the man. You traitorous little shit.

Youre going to die, Iain Girardi said remorselessly. You, me,
everyone on board this ship, everyone in Chaumort. All of us die. It
cant be helped, you cant reverse entropy. And when you die, youre
going to spend eternity in the beyond. Unless something is done about it,
unless you can find a living neurone structure which will host you. Now I
ask again, do you want Al Capones project to fail?

If all Capone is interested in is spreading happiness across the galaxy,
why does he want to hire a combat-capable starship? Madeleine asked.

Protection in the form of deterrence. There are Organization
representatives like me in dozens of asteroids looking to sign up
combat-capable starships. The more we have in orbit above New California,
the more difficult it will be for anyone to launch a strike force against
it. The Confederation Navy is going to attack New Californias Strategic
Defence network. Everyone knows that. The First Admiral has got the
Assembly screaming at him for some kind of positive action. If he can
crack the SD network open, hes cleared the way for an invasion; have the
marines round up all the bad guys and shove them into zero-tau. Iain
Girardi let out a heartfelt pained breath. Can you imagine the bloodshed
thatll cause? You have seen firsthand how hard the possessed can fight
when theyre cornered. Imagine the conflict in your lower lounge
multiplied by a billion. Thats what it will be like. He gave Erick a
sympathetic glance. Is that what you want?

Im not fighting for the possessed, Madeleine muttered sullenly. She
hated the way Iain Girardi could turn her words, make her doubt her
convictions.

Nobody is asking the Villeneuves Revenge to fight, Iain Girardi said
earnestly. You are there for show, thats all. Perimeter defence patrol,
where youre visible, a demonstration of numerical strength. Hardly an
onerous duty. And you get paid full combat rates, with a guaranteed
six-month contract; in addition to which I have a discretionary retainer
fee to offer. Obviously for a prime ship like the Villeneuves Revenge it
will be a substantial one. You will be able to afford to have the worst
of the damage repaired here at Chaumort, plus Erick can receive the best
medical treatment available. I can even arrange for a brandnew spaceplane
on very favourable terms; New California astroengineering companies make
the best models.

You see? Andr said. This is the kind of charter to be proud of. If
the Organization is right we will have helped to secure the future of the
entire human race. How can you object?

No, Captain, Madeleine said. Im not sharing the life-support capsules
with the possessed. Not ever. Period.

Nobody is suggesting you do. Girardi sounded shocked. Obviously we
understand there is a lot of suspicion at the moment. The Organization is
working hard at breaking down those old prejudicial barriers. But until
more trust is built up, then obviously you will have your own crew and no
one else. In a way, thats part of establishing trust. The Organization
is prepared to accept an armed ship crewed by non-possessed orbiting the
planet providing you are integrated into its SD command network.

Shit, Madeleine hissed. Erick?

He knew it was some kind of trap. And yet . . . it was hard to see how
the possessed proposed to hijack the ship. This was one crew totally
aware of the danger in letting even one of the bastards on board. Iain
Girardi might have made a major mistake in approaching Andr.

The CNIS could undoubtedly use firsthand intelligence data on the
disposition of ships around New California, which the Villeneuves
Revenge would be ideally placed to gather. And he could always jump the
ship away when the data was collected, no matter what objections Duchamp
raised. There were items stowed in his cabin which could overcome the
rest of the crew.

Which just left personal factors. I dont want to go into the front line
again.

Its an important decision, he muttered.

Andr gave him a puzzled look. Naturally he was pleased some of the
(diabolically expensive) medical nanonic packages were off, but obviously
the poor boys brain still hadnt completely recovered from
decompression. And Madeleine was asking him to decide. Merde. We know
that, Erick. But I dont want you to worry. All I need to know is which
of my crew is loyal enough to come with me. I have already decided to
take my ship to New California.

What do you mean, loyal enough? Madeleine asked hotly.

Andr held his hand up in a pleading gesture. What does Erick have to
say, eh?

Will we be docking with anything in the New California system? Do you
expect us to take on any extra crew, for example?

Of course not, Girardi said. Fuel loading doesnt require anyone
coming into the life-support capsules. And if the unlikely event does
arise, then obviously youll have a full veto authority over anyone in
the airlock tube. Whatever precautions you want, you can have.

Okay, Erick said. Ill come with you, Captain.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Yeah?

. . .

Fuck, I might have guessed, who else is going to call this time of
night. Dont you people ever sleep?

. . .

Everybody wants favours. I dont do them anymore. Im not so cheap these
days.

. . .

Yeah? So you go run and tell my comrades; what use will I be to you
then?

. . .

Mother Mary! Youve got to be . . . Alkad Mzu? Shit, thats a name I
didnt expect to hear ever again.

. . .

Here? In the Dorados? She wouldnt dare.

. . .

Youre sure?

. . .

No, of course nobodys said anything. Its been months since the
partizans even bothered having a meeting. Were all too busy doing
charity work these days.

. . .

Mother Mary. You believe it, dont you? Ha! I bet you lot are all
pissing yourselves. How do you like it for a change, arsehole? After all
these years waiting, us poor old wanderers have gone and got us some real
sharp teeth at last.

. . .

You think so? Maybe I just resigned from your agency. Dont forget what
the issue is here. I was born on Garissa.

. . .

Fuck you, dont you fucking dare say that to me, you bastard. You even
so much as look at my family, you little shit, and Ill fire that fucking
Alchemist at your home planet myself.

. . .

Yeah, yeah. Right, its a sorry universe.

. . .

Ill think about it. Im not promising you anything. Like I said, there
are issues here. I have to talk to some people.



                                 ?   ?   ?



The party was being thrown on the eve of the fleets departure. It had
taken over the entire ballroom of the Monterey Hilton, and then spread
out to occupy a few suites on the level below. The food was real food; Al
had been insistent about that, drunk possessed could never keep the
illusion of delicacies going. So the Organization had run search programs
through their memory cores and hauled in anyone who listed their
occupation as chef, possessed or non-possessed. Skill was all that
counted, not its century of origin. The effort was rewarded in a formal
eight-course banquet, whose raw materials had been ferried up to the
asteroid in seven spaceplane flights, and resulted in Leroy Octavius
handing out eleven hundred hours worth of energistic credits to farmers
and wholesalers.

After the meal Al stood on the top table and said: Were gonna have a
bigger and better ball when you guys come back safe, and you got Al
Capones word on that.

There was a burst of tumultuous applause, which only ended when the band
struck up. Leroy and Busch had auditioned over a hundred musicians,
whittling the numbers down to an eight-strong jazz band. Some of them
were even genuine twenties musicians, or so they claimed. They certainly
sounded and looked the part when they got up onstage to play. Nearly
three hundred people were out on the dance floor jiving away to the old
honky-tonk tunes which Al loved best.

Al himself led the way, hurling a laughing Jezzibella about with all the
energy and panache hed picked up at the Broadway Casino back in the old
days. The rest of the guests soon picked up the rhythm and the moves.
Men, Al insisted, wore their tuxes or, if they were serving in the fleet,
a military uniform; while the women were free to wear their own choice of
ball gowns, providing the styles and fabrics werent anything too modern.
With the decorations of gossamer drapes and giant swans created out of
fresh-cut flowers the overall effect was of a grand Viennese ball, but a
damn sight more fun.

Possessed and non-possessed rubbed shoulders harmoniously. Wine flowed,
laughter shook the windows, some couples snuck off to be by themselves, a
few fights broke out. By any standard it was a roaring success.

Which was why at half past two in the morning Jezzibella was puzzled to
find Al all by himself in one of the lower level suites, leaning against
its huge window, tie undone, brandy glass in one hand. Outside,
star-points of light moved busily through space as the last elements of
the fleet manoeuvred into their jump formation.

Whats the matter, baby? Jezzibella asked quietly. Soft arms circled
around him. Her head came to rest on his shoulder.

Well lose the ships.

Bound to lose some, Al honey. Cant make an omelette without breaking
eggs.

No, I mean, theyre gonna be in action light-years away. Whats to make
them do as I say?

Command structure, Al. The fleet is a mini-version of the Organization.
The soldiers at the bottom do what the lieutenants at the top tell them.
Its worked in warships for centuries. When youre in battle you
automatically follow orders.

So what if that piece of shit Luigi takes it into his head to dump me
and set up all on his own in Arnstadt?

He wont. Luigi is loyal.

Right. He chewed at a knuckle, thankful he was facing away from her.

This bothers you, doesnt it?

Yeah. Its a goddamn problem, okay? That fleet is one fuck of a lot of
power to hand over to one guy.

Send two others.

What?

Put a triumvirate in charge.

What?

Easy, lover; if theres three of them in charge of the fleet, then each
of them is going to be busting his balls to prove how loyal he is in
front of the others. And lets face it, the fleets only going to be away
for a week at the most. It takes a hell of a lot longer than that to get
a conspiracy up and running successfully. Besides, ninety per cent of
those soldiers are loyal to you. Youve given them everything, Al; a
life, a purpose. Dont sell yourself short, what youve done with these
people is a miracle, and they know it. They cheer your name. Not Luigis,
not Mickey, not Emmet. You, Al.

Yeah. He nodded, drawing his confidence back together. What she said
made a lot of sense. It always did.

Al looked at her in the drizzle of starlight. The personas were combined
tonight: a feminine athlete. Her dress of sparkling pearl-coloured silk
hinted at rather than revealed her figure. The allure she exerted was
terrifying. Al had been hard put to control his temper that evening as he
picked up the swell of hunger and lust from the other men on the dance
floor every time she glided past.

Goddamn, he whispered. I aint never done anything to deserve a reward
as big as you.

I think you have, she murmured back. Their noses touched again, arms
moving gently into an embrace. Ive got a present for you, Al. Weve
been saving it up as a treat, and I think the times right.

His hold around her tightened. I got the only treat I need.

Flatterer.

They kissed.

It can wait till the morning, Jezzibella decided.



The lift opened onto a section of Monterey Al didnt recognize. An
unembellished rock corridor with an air duct and power cables clinging to
the ceiling. The gravity was about half-strength. He pulled a face at
that, free fall was the one thing about this century he really hated. Jez
kept trying to get him to make out with her in one of the axis hotel
cubicles, but he wouldnt. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.

Where are we? he asked.

Jezzibella grinned. She was the knowing and carefree girl-about-town
persona this morning, wearing a snow-white ship-suit which stretched
around her like rubber. The docking ledges. Theyve not been used much
since you took over. Not until now.

Al let her lead him along the corridor and into an observation lounge.
Emmet Mordden, Patricia Mangano, and Mickey Pileggi were waiting in front
of the window wall. All of them smiled proudly, an emotion reflected in
their thought currents. Al played along with the game as Jez tugged him
over to the window.

We captured this mother on one of the asteroids a couple of weeks back,
Mickey said. Well, its captain was possessed, actually. Then we had to
persuade the soul to transfer down the affinity link. Jezzibella said
youd like it.

What is this shit, Mickey?

Its our present to you, Al baby, Jezzibella said. Your flagship. She
smiled eagerly, and gestured at the window.

Al walked over and looked out. Buck Rogerss very own rocketship was
sitting on the rock shelf below him. It was a beautiful scarlet torpedo
with yellow fins sprouting from the sides, and a cluster of copper rocket
engine tubes at the rear.

Thats for me? he asked in wonder.



The rocketships interior was fully in keeping with its external
appearance, the pinnacle of 1930s engineering and decor. Al felt more at
home than any time since he had emerged from the beyond. This was his
furniture, his styling. A little chunk of his home era.

Thank you, he said to Jezzibella.

She kissed him on the tip of his nose, and they linked arms.

Its a blackhawk, she explained. The possessing soul is called Cameron
Leung; so you be nice to him, Al. I said youd find him a human body when
the universe calms down a little.

Sure.

An iron spiral stair led up to the promenade deck. Al and Jezzibella
settled back on a plump couch of green leather where they could see out
of the long curving windows and along the rockets nose cone. He put his
fedora down on a cane table at the side of the couch and draped an arm
around her shoulders. Prince of the city again, full-time.

Can you hear me, Cameron? Jezzibella inquired.

Yes, came the reply from a silver tannoy grille set in the wall.

Wed like to see the fleet before it leaves. Take us over please.

Al winced, grabbing hold of the couchs flared arms. More fucking
spaceflight! But there was none of the rush of acceleration hed braced
himself for. All that happened was the view changed. One minute the
spherical silver-white grid of Montereys spaceport was rotating slowly
in front of them, the next it was sliding to one side and racing past
overhead.

Hey, I cant feel nothing, Al whooped. No acceleration, none of that
free-fall crap. Hot damn, now this is the way to travel.

Yes. Jezzibella clicked her fingers smartly, and a small boy hurried
forwards. He was dressed in a white high-collar stewards uniform, and
his hair had been parted in the centre and slicked back with cream. A
bottle of Norfolk Tears, I think, she told him. This is definitely
celebration time. I think we might make a toast, too. Make sure you chill
the glasses.

Yes, miss, he piped.

Al frowned after him. Kinda young to be doing that, aint he?

Its Webster Pryor, she said sotto voce. Sweet boy.

Kingsleys son?

Yes. Thought it best we keep him close to hand the whole time. Just in
case.

I see. Sure.

Youre right about the ship, Al. Bitek is the only way to travel. My
media company was always too miserly to let me have one for touring.
Blackhawks make the best warships, too.

Yeah? So how many have we got?

Three, counting this one. And we only got those because their captains
were coldfooted when we snatched the asteroids.

Pity.

Yes. But were hoping to get luckier this time.

Al grinned out of the window as the luscious crescent of New California
swung into view, and settled back to enjoy the ride.



Cameron Leung accelerated away from Monterey at two gees, curving down
towards the planet a hundred and ten thousand kilometres below. Far ahead
of the blackhawks sharp emerald aerospike, the Organizations fleet was
sliding along its five-thousand-kilometre orbit, a chain of starships
spaced a precise two kilometres apart. Sunlight bounced and sparkled off
foil-coated machinery as they emerged from the penumbra; a silver
necklace slowly threading itself around the entire planet.

It had taken two days for all of them to fly down from their assembly
points at the orbiting asteroids, jockeying into their jump formation
under the direction of Emmet Mordden and Luigi Balsmao. The Salvatore was
the lead vessel, an ex-New California navy battle cruiser, and now Luigi
Balsmaos command ship.

Two million kilometres away, hanging over New Californias south pole,
the voidhawk Galega had observed the fleet gathering. The swarm of
stealthed spy globes it showered around the planet had monitored the
starships manoeuvring into their designated slot in the chain,
intercepting their command communications. Given the two-degree
inclination of the fleets orbital track, Galega and its captain, Aralia,
had calculated the theoretical number of jump coordinates. Fifty-two
stars were possible targets.

The Yosemite Consensus had dispatched voidhawks to warn the relevant
governments, all of whom had been extremely alarmed by the scale of the
potential threat. Other than that there was little the Edenists could do.
Attack was not a viable option. The Organization fleet was under the
shield of New Californias SD network, and its own offensive potential
was equally formidable. If it was to be broken up, then it would have to
be intercepted by a fleet of at least equal size. But even if the
Confederation Navy did assemble a task force large enough, the admirals
were then faced with the problem of where to deploy it: a fifty-two to
one chance of getting the right system.

Galega watched Capones scarlet and lemon blackhawk race down from
Monterey to hold station fifty kilometres away from the Salvatore. A spy
globe fell between the two. The intelligence-gathering staff in the
voidhawks crew toroid heard Capone say: Hows it going, Luigi?

Okay, boss. The formations holding true. Theyll all hit the jump
coordinate.

Goddamn, Luigi, you should see what you guys look like from here. Its a
powerhouse of a sight. I tell you, I wouldnt want to wake up in the
morning and find you in my sky. Those jerkhead krauts are gonna crap
themselves.

Count on it, Al.

Okay, Luigi, take it away, its all yours. You and Patricia and Dwight
take care now, you hear? And Jez says good luck. Go get em.

Thank the little lady for us, boss. And dont worry none, well deliver
for you. Expect some real good news a week from now.

The Salvatores heat dump panels and sensor clusters began to retract
down into their jump recesses, taking a long while to do so. Several
times they seemed to stick or judder. The second ship in the formation
began to configure itself for a jump, then the third.

For another minute nothing happened, then the Salvatore vanished inside
its event horizon.

Aralia and Galega were instinctively aware of its spatial location, and
with that the jump coordinate alignment could have only one solution. <<
Its Arnstadt, >>Aralia told the Yosemite Consensus. << Theyre heading
for Arnstadt. >>

<< Thank you, Aralia, >>Consensus replied. << We will dispatch a voidhawk
to alert the Arnstadt government. It will take the Organization fleet at
least two days to reach the system. The local navy forces will have some
time to prepare. >>

<< Enough? >>

<< Possibly. It depends on the Organizations actual goal. >>

When Aralia reviewed the images from the spy globes, another twelve ships
had already followed the Salvatore. A further seven hundred and forty
were gliding inexorably toward the Arnstadt jump coordinate.



                                 ?   ?   ?



No, Gerald, Jansen Kovak said. The tone was one which parents reserved
for particularly troublesome children. His hand tightened around Geralds
upper arm.

He and another supervisory nurse had walked Gerald to the sanatoriums
lounge where he was supposed to eat his lunch. Once they reached the
door, Gerald had glanced furtively down the corridor, muscles tensing
beneath his baggy sweatshirt.

Kovak was familiar with the signs. Gerald could drop into a frenzy at the
slightest provocation these days; anything from an innocuous phrase to
the sight of a long corridor which he assumed led directly to the outside
world. When it happened, hed lash out at his supervisors and anyone else
who happened to be in the way, before making yet another run for it. The
concept of codelocked doors seemed utterly beyond him.

The corner of Geralds lip spasmed at the stern warning, and he allowed
himself to be led into the lounge. The first thing he did was glance at
the bar to see if the holoscreen was on. It had been removed altogether
(much to the annoyance of other inmates). Dr Dobbs wasnt going to risk
triggering another incident of that magnitude.

Privately, Jansen Kovak considered that they were wasting their time in
trying to rehabilitate Skibbow. The man had obviously tipped right over
the edge and was now free-falling into his own personal inferno. He
should be shipped off to a long-term care institution for treatment and
maybe some selective memory erasure. But Dr Dobbs insisted the psychosis
could be treated here; and Gerald was technically an ESA internee, which
brought its own complications. It was a bad duty.

The lounge fell silent when the three of them came in. Not that there
were many people using it; four or five inmates and a dozen staff. Gerald
responded to the attention with a frightened stare, checking faces. He
frowned in puzzlement as one woman with Oriental features and vivid
copper hair gave him a sympathetic half smile.

Jansen quickly steered him over to a settee halfway between the window
and the bar and sat him down. What would you like to eat, Gerald?

Um . . . Ill have the same as you.

Ill get you a salad, Kovak said, and turned to go over to the bar.
Which was his first mistake.

Something smashed into the middle of his back, knocking him forwards
completely off balance. He went crashing painfully onto the ground.
Auto-balance and unarmed combat programs went primary, interfacing to
roll him smoothly to one side. He regained his feet in a fluid motion.

Gerald and the other nurse were locked together, each trying to throw the
other to the ground. Jansen selected an option from the neural nanonics
menu. His feet took a pace and a half forwards, and his weight shifted.
One arm came around in a fast arc. The blow caught Gerald on his
shoulder, which toppled him sideways. Before he could compensate, the
back of his legs came into contact with Jansens outstretched leg. He
tripped, the weight of the other supervisory nurse quickening his fall.

Gerald yelled in pain as he landed on his elbow, only to be smothered
below the bulk of the other nurse. When he raised his head the lounge
door was five metres away. So close!

Let me go, he begged. Shes my daughter. I have to save her.

Shut up you prize pillock, Jansen grunted.

Now thats not nice.

Jansen spun around to see the redheaded woman standing behind him. Er .
. . I. Yes. Shame was making his face became uncomfortably warm. It also
seemed to be enervating his neural nanonics display. Im sorry, it was
unprofessional. Hes just so annoying.

You should try being married to him for twenty years.

Jansens face registered polite incomprehension. The woman wasnt an
inmate. She was wearing a smart blue dress, civilian clothing. But he
didnt remember her on the staff.

She smiled briskly, grabbed hold of the front of his tunic, and threw him
six metres clean through the air. Jansens scream was more of shock than
of pain. Until he hit the ground. That impact was pure agony, and his
neural nanonics had shut down, allowing every volt of pain to flow
cleanly through his nerves.

The other nurse who was still wrapped around Gerald managed to get out
one dull grunt of surprise before the woman hit him. Her fist shattered
his jaw, sending a spurt of blood splashing across Geralds hair.

By that time one of the other sanatorium staff in the lounge had enough
presence of mind to datavise an alarm code at the rooms net processor.
Sirens started wailing. A grid of metal bars started to slide up out of
the floor, sealing off the open balcony doors.

Three burly nurses were closing on the red-haired woman as Gerald blinked
up at her in amazement. She winked at him and raised an arm high, finger
pointing to the ceiling. A bracelet of white fire ignited around her
wrist.

Shit, the leader of the three nurses yelped. He nearly pitched over as
he tried desperately to reverse his headlong rush.

Its a fucking possessed.

Back! Get back!

Where the hell did she come from?

Go for it, babe, one of the inmates roared jubilantly.

A rosette of white fire exploded from her hand, dissolving into a hundred
tiny spheres almost as soon as it appeared. They smashed into the ceiling
and walls and furniture. Sparks cascaded down as small plumes of black
smoke squirted out. Flames began to take hold. Fire alarms added their
clamour to the initial alert. Then the lights went out and the alarms
were silenced.

Come on, Gerald, the woman said. She pulled him to his feet.

No, he squeaked in terror. Youre one of them. Let me go, please. I
cant be one of you again. I cant take that again. Please, my daughter.

Shut up, and get a move on. Were going to find Marie.

Gerald gaped at her. What do you know of her?

That she needs you, very badly. Now come on!

You know? he snivelled. How can you know?

Come on. She tugged at him as she started towards the lounge door. It
was as if the grapple arm of a heavy-load cargo mechanoid had attached
itself to him.

The steward raised his head above the bar to see what was happening.
Various inmates and staff had dived for cover behind the furniture. The
terrifying possessed woman was striding purposefully for the door,
hauling a cowering Skibbow along. He datavised a codelock order at the
door, then opened an emergency channel to the net processor. It didnt
respond. His hand curled around the nervejam stick, ready to

Hey you! called the woman.

A streamer of white fire smacked straight into his forehead.

Naughty, she said grimly.

Gerald gibbered quietly as the steward slumped forwards, smoke rising
from the shallow crater in his temple. Oh, dear God, what are you?

Dont blow it for me now, Gerald. She stood in front of the door. The
rooms air rushed past her, ruffling her long copper tresses. Then the
air flow reversed, turning to a howling hurricane with a solid core. It
smashed into the door, buckling the reinforced composite.

She stepped through the gap, pulling Gerald after her. Now we run, she
told him happily.

As the sanatorium was operated by the Royal Navy the guards were armed.
It didnt make any difference, they werent front-line combat troops.
Whenever one of them got near to Gerald and the woman she would use her
white fire to devastating effect. The asteroids internal security centre
could trace her position purely because of the wave of destruction she
generated around herself. All electronics and power circuits were
ruptured by flares of white fire, doors were simply ripped apart,
environmental ducts were battered and split, mechanoids reduced to slag.
She did it automatically, a defensive manoeuvre burning clean any
conceivable threat in front of her. Crude but effective.

The asteroid went to an immediate status two defence alert. Royal Marines
were rushed from their barracks to the sanatorium.

But as with all asteroid settlements, everything was packed close
together, and made as compact as possible. It took the woman and Gerald
ninety seconds to get from the lounge to the sanatoriums nearest
entrance. Sensors and cameras in the public hall caught her emerging from
the splintered door. Terrified pedestrians sprinted from the vicious
tendrils of white fire she unleashed; it was almost as though she were
using them as whips to drive people away from her. Then the images
vanished as she hammered at the net processors and sensors.

The Royal Marine commander coordinating the emergency at least had the
presence of mind to shut down the lifts around the hall. If she wanted
out, shed have to walk. And when she did, shed run smack into the
marines now deploying in a pincer movement around her.

Both squads were edging cautiously down the public hall, hurrying
civilians out of the way. They approached the sanatoriums wrecked
entrance from opposite directions, chemical projectile rifles held ready,
electronic warfare blocks alert for any sign of the distortion pattern
given off by a possessed. When they came into view of each other they
froze, covering the length of the hall with their rifles. No one was left
between them.

The squad captain of one side shouldered his weapon. Where the fuck did
she go?



I knew theyd stop the lifts, the redhead said in satisfaction.
Standard tactics for dealing with the possessed is to block all nearby
transport systems to prevent us from spreading. Bloody good job they were
on the ball today.

Gerald agreed, but didnt say anything. He was concentrating on the rungs
in front of his face, not daring to look down.

The possessed woman might have smashed open all the doors in the medical
facility, but once they were out in the hall she had stood in front of
the lift doors and made a parting motion with her hands. The lift doors
had obeyed, sliding open silently. After that they had started to climb
down the ladder set in the wall of the shaft. There wasnt much light to
see where he was putting his hands and feet, just some sort of bluish
radiance coming from the woman above him. Gerald didnt want to see how
she was making it.

It was cold in the shaft, the air tasting both wet and metallic. And
silent, too, the darkness above and below swallowing all sounds. Every
minute or so he could just make out another door in the shaft wall; the
buzz of conversation and tiny slivers of light oozing around the seals.

Careful, she said. Youre near the bottom now. Ten more rungs.

The light increased, and he risked a glance down. A metal grid slicked
with condensation glinted dully at the foot of the ladder. Gerald stood
on it, shivering slightly and rubbing his arms. Mechanical clunks started
to rumble down from above.

The possessed woman jumped nimbly past the last two rungs and gave him an
enthusiastic smile. Stand still, she said, and put her hands on either
side of his head, spreading her fingers over his ears.

Gerald quivered at her touch. Her hands were starting to glow. This was
it. The start of the pain. Soon he would hear the demented whispers
emerging from the beyond, and one of them would pour into his body again.
All hope would die then. I might as well refuse, and let her torture kill
me. Better that than . . .

She took her hands away, their internal glimmer fading away. I think
that should do it. Ive broken down the debrief nanonics. The doctors and
police would only use you to see where we were and what we were doing,
then theyd send you to sleep.

What? He started to probe his skull with cautious fingers. It seemed
intact. Is that all you did?

Yes. Not so bad was it? She beckoned. Theres a hatch here which leads
to the maintenance tunnels. Its only got a mechanical lock, so we wont
trigger any processors.

Then what? he asked bleakly.

Why, we get you off Guyana and on your way to Valisk to find Marie, of
course. What did you think, Gerald? She grasped the handle on the
metre-high hatch and shoved it upwards. The hatch swung open, revealing
only more darkness behind.

Gerald felt like crying. His head was all funny, hot and light, which
made it very hard for him to think. Why? Why are you doing this? Are you
just playing with me?

Of course Im not playing, Gerald. I want Marie back to normal more than
anything. Shes all we have left now. You know that. You saw the
homestead.

He sank to his knees, looking up at her flat-featured face and immaculate
hair, trying desperately to understand. But why? Who are you to want
this?

Oh, dearest Gerald, Im sorry. This is Pou Moks body. It takes up far
too much concentration to maintain my own appearance, especially with
what I was doing up there.

Gerald watched numbly as the copper hair darkened and the skin of her
face began to flow into new features. No, not new. Old. So very very old.
Loren, he gasped.


Chapter 15
==========


After five centuries of astounding technological endeavour and determined
economic sacrifice by the Lunar nation, the God of War, Mars, had finally
been pacified. The hostile red gleam which had so dominated Earths night
skies for millennia was extinguished. Now the planet had an atmosphere,
complete with vast swirls of white and grey clouds; blooms of vegetation
were expanding across the deserts, patches of sepia and dark green
vegetation staining the tracts of rust-red soil. To an approaching
starship it seemed, at first, almost identical to any other
terracompatible planet to be found within the Confederations boundaries.
Disparities became apparent only when the extent of the remaining deserts
was revealed, accounting for three-fifths of the surface; and there was a
definite sparsity of free water. Although there were thousands of
individual crater lakes, Mars had only one major body of water, the
Lowell Sea, a gently meandering ribbon which wrapped itself around the
equator. Given the scale involved it appeared as though a wide river were
flowing constantly around the planet. Closer inspection showed that
circumnavigation would be impossible. The Lowell Sea had formed as water
collected in the hundreds of large asteroid-impact craters which pocked
the planets equator in an almost straight line.

Population, too, was one of the planets quirks: a phenomenon which was
also visible from orbit, provided you knew what to look for. Anyone
searching the nightside for the usual sprawling iridescent patches of
light which marked the kind of vigorous human cities normally present
after five centuries of colonization would be disappointed; only six
major urban areas had sprung up so far. Towns and villages were also
present amid the rolling steppes, but in total the number of people
living on the surface didnt exceed three million. Phobos and Deimos were
heavily industrialized, providing homes for a further half-million
workers and their families. They at least followed a standard development
pattern.

Apart from stage one colony planets in their formative years, Mars had
the smallest human population of any world in the Confederation. However,
that was where comparisons ended. The Martian technoeconomy was highly
developed, providing its citizens with a reasonable standard of living,
though nothing like the socioeconomic index enjoyed by Edenists or the
Kulu Kingdom.

One other aspect of mature Confederation societies missing from Mars was
a Strategic Defence network. The two asteroid moons were defended, of
course; both of them were important SII centres with spaceports boasting
a high level of starship traffic. But the planet was left open; there was
nothing of any value on its surface to threaten or hold hostage or steal.
The trillions of fuseodollars poured into the terraforming project were
dispersed evenly throughout the new biosphere. Oxygen and geneered plants
were not the kinds of targets favoured by pirates. Mars was the most
expensive single project ever undertaken by the human race, yet its
intrinsic value was effectively zero. Its real value was as the focus of
aspirations for a whole nation of exiles, to whom it had become the
modern promised land.

None of this was readily apparent to Louise, Genevieve, and Fletcher as
they observed the planet growing in the lounges holoscreen. The
difference from Norfolk was apparent (Genevieve said Mars looked worn-out
rather than brand-new) but none of them knew how to interpret what they
were seeing in geotechnical terms. All they cared about was the lack of
glowing red cloud.

Can you tell if there are any possessed down there? Louise asked.

Alas no, Lady Louise. The planet lies far outside my second sight. All I
can feel is the shape of this doughty ship. We could be alone in the
universe for all the perception I have.

Dont say that, Genevieve said. Weve come here to get away from
horrible things.

And away from them we certainly are, little one.

Genevieve spared a moment from watching the holoscreen to grin at him.
The voyage had calmed her considerably. With very little to do for any of
the passengers during the flight, the novelty of bouncing around in free
fall had soon worn off, and she had swiftly learned how to access the
flight computer. Furay had brought some old voice-interactive tutorial
programs on-line for her, and she had been engrossed ever since with AV
recordings of childrens stories, educational files, and games. Genevieve
adored the games, spending hours in her cabin, surrounded by a
holographic haze, fighting off fantasy creatures, or exploring
mythological landscapes, even piloting ships to the galactic core.

Louise and Fletcher had used the same programs to devour history
encyclopedia files, reviewing the major events which had shaped human
history since the mid 1800s. Thanks to Norfolks restrictive information
policies, most of it was as new to her as it was to him. The more she
reviewed, the more ignorant she felt. Several times she had been obliged
to ask Furay if a particular incident was genuinely true; the information
in the Far Realms memory was so different from that which shed been
taught. Invariably, the answer was yes; though he always tempered it by
saying that no one viewed anything in the same context. Interpretation
through the filters of ideology has always been one of our races curses.

Even that cushion didnt make her any happier. The teachers at school
hadnt exactly been lying to her, censorship was hardly practical given
the number of starship crews who visited at midsummer; but theyd
certainly sheltered her from an awful lot of unsavoury truths.

Louise ordered the flight computer to show a display of their approach
vector. The holoscreen image shifted, showing them the view from the
forward sensor clusters overlaid with orange and green graphics. Phobos
was falling towards the horizon, a darkened star embedded at the heart of
a large scintillating wreath of industrial stations. They watched it
expand as the Far Realm matched orbits at a tenth of a gee. Inhabited for
over five centuries, it had a weighty history. No other settled
asteroid/moon of such a size orbited so close to an inhabited planet. But
its proximity made it ideal to provide raw material for the early stages
of the terraforming project. Since those days it had reverted primarily
to being an SII manufacturing centre and fleet port. The spin imparted to
provide gravity within its two biosphere caverns had flung off the last
of the surface dust centuries ago. Naked grey-brown rock was all that
faced the stars now; large areas had a marbled finish where mining teams
had removed protrusions to enhance the symmetry, and both ends had been
sheared flat. With its cylindrical shape and vast encrustations of
machinery capping each end its genealogy appeared to be midway between
ordinary asteroid settlements and an Edenist habitat.

Captain Layia slotted the starship into the spaceport approach vector
which traffic control assigned her, then spent a further twenty minutes
datavising the SII fleet operations office, explaining why their
scheduled return flight from Norfolk had been delayed.

You didnt mention our passengers then? Tilia said when the exchange
was over.

Life is complicated enough right now, Layia retorted. Explaining to
the operations office why theyre on board, and the financial
circumstances, isnt going to make a good entry on anyones record.
Agreed?

She received a round of apathetic acknowledgements from the other crew
members.

None of them have passports, Furay commented. That might be a problem
when we dock.

We could get them to register as refugees, Endron said. Under
Confederation law the government is obliged to accept them.

The first thing they would have to do is explain how they got here,
Layia said. Come on, think. Weve got to off load them somehow, and
without any comebacks.

Theyre not listed on our manifest, Tilia said. So no ones going to
be looking for them. And if the port Inspectorate does decide to give us
a customs check we can just move them around the life-support capsules to
keep them out of sight of their team. Once our port clearance comes
through we can sneak them into the asteroid without any difficulty.

Then what?

They dont want to stay here, Furay said. They just want to find a
ship which will take them to Tranquillity.

You heard traffic control, Layia said. All civil flights have ended.
The only reason our Defence Command didnt swarm all over us is because
we still have a Confederation Navy flight authorization.

There might not be any flights to Tranquillity from Mars, but if anyone
in this system is going there, itll be from Earth. Getting them to the
ONeill Halo shouldnt be too difficult, there are still plenty of
inter-orbit flights, and Louise has enough money. She was talking about
chartering the entire ship, remember?

That could work, Layia said. And if we can acquire some passports for
them first, then nobody in the Halo will ask how they got to Mars. From
that distance, everything at this end will appear perfectly legitimate.

I might know someone who can fix passports for them, Tilia volunteered.

Layia snorted. Who doesnt?

Hes not cheap.

Not our problem. All right, well try it. Endron, tell them the way it
is. And make certain they cooperate.



The Far Realm settled lightly on a docking cradle. Umbilical hoses snaked
up to jack into the lower hull. Genevieve watched the operation on the
lounges holoscreen, fascinated by all the automated machinery.

Wed best not tell Daddy we came here, had we? she said without looking
up.

Why not? Louise asked. She was surprised; it was the first time Gen had
mentioned either of their parents since theyd left Cricklade. But then,
neither have I.

Mars has a Communist government. The computer said so. Daddy hates them.

I think youll find the Martians are a bit different from the people
Daddys always moaning about. In any case, hell be glad we came here.

Why?

Because hell be glad we got away. The route we travel isnt really
important, just that we get safely to our destination.

Oh. I suppose youre right. Her face became solemn for a moment. What
do you think hes doing right now? Will that nasty knight man be making
him do things he doesnt want to?

Daddy isnt doing anything for anyone. Hes just stuck inside his own
head, thats all. Its the same as being in prison. Hell be thinking a
lot, hes perfectly free to do that.

Really? Genevieve looked at Fletcher for confirmation.

Indeed, little one.

I suppose thats not so bad then.

I know Daddy, Louise said. Hell be spending the whole time worrying
about us. I wish there were some way we could tell him were all right.

We can when its all over. And Mummy, too. It is going to be all over,
isnt it, Louise?

Yes. Its going to end; someday, somehow. And when we get to
Tranquillity, we can stop running and do whatever we can to help.

Good. She smiled primly at Fletcher. I dont want you to go, though.

Thank you, little one. He sounded ill at ease.

Endron came gliding through the ceiling hatch, head first. He twisted
neatly around the ladder and touched his feet to a stikpad beside the
holoscreen.

Fletcher kept very still. Now that she knew what to look for, Louise
could see how hard he was concentrating. It had taken several days of
intense practice for him to learn how to minimise the disruption his
energistic effect exerted on nearby electronics. In the end it had paid
off; it had been fifty hours since the last time any of the Far Realms
crew had come flashing through the life-support capsule searching for an
elusive glitch in the starships systems.

We made it home, Endron started off blithely. But there is a small
problem with your legal status. Mainly the fact you dont have a passport
between you.

Louise deliberately avoided glancing at Fletcher. Is there a Norfolk
Embassy here? They may be able to issue us with some documentation.

There will be a legal office to handle Norfolks diplomatic affairs, but
no actual embassy.

I see.

But you have a solution, Fletcher said. That is why you are here, is
it not?

We have a proposal, Endron said edgily. There is an unorthodox method
of acquiring a passport for the three of you; its expensive but has the
advantage of not involving the authorities.

Is it illegal? Louise asked.

What we have here is this: Myself and the rest of the crew have rather a
lot of Norfolk Tears on board which we can sell to our friends, so we
really dont want to draw too much official attention to ourselves right
now.

Your government wouldnt send us back, would they? Genevieve asked in
alarm.

No. Nothing like that. Its just that this way would be easier all
around.

Well get our passports the way you suggested, Louise said hurriedly.
She felt like hugging the genial payload officer; it was exactly what she
had been nerving herself up to ask him.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Moyo didnt exactly sleep, there were too many pressures being applied
against his mind for that, but he did rest for several hours each night.
Eben Pavitts body wasnt in the best condition, nor was he in the first
flush of youth. Of course, Moyo could use his energistic power to enhance
any physical attribute such as strength or agility, but as he stopped
concentrating he could feel the enervation biting into his stolen organs.
Tiredness became an all-over ache.

After a couple of days he had learned the limits pretty well, and took
care to respect them. He was lucky to have obtained this body; it would
be the direst of follies to lose it by negligence. Another might not be
so easy to come by. The Confederation was larger now than when he had
been alive, but the number of souls back in the beyond was also
prodigious. There would never be enough bodies to go around.

The slim blades of light which dawn drove through the loose bamboo blind
were an unusually intense crimson. They shifted the bedroom from a
familiar collection of grisaille outlines to a strong two-tone portrait
of red and impenetrable black. Despite the macabre perspective, Moyo was
imbued by a feeling of simple contentment.

Stephanie stirred on the mattress next to him, then sat up frowning.
Your thoughts look indecently happy to me all of a sudden. What is it?

Im not sure. He got up and padded over to the window. His fingers
pressed the slim tubes of bamboo down. Ah. Come and look.

The sky above Exnall was clotting with wisps of cloud, slowly condensing
into a broad disk. And they glowed a muted red. Dawns corona was rising
up to blend with them. Only in the west was there a dark crescent of
night, and that was slowly being squeezed to extinction.

The stars will never rise here again, Moyo said happily.

There was a power thrumming through the land now, one which he could feel
himself responding to, contributing a little of himself towards
maintaining the whole. A vast conjunction of will, something he suspected
was akin to an Edenist Consensus. Annette Ekelund had won, converting the
peninsula to a land where the dead walked free once more. Now two million
of them were marrying their energistic power at a subconscious level,
bringing about the overriding desire which also dwelt within the latent
mind.

Several shadows flittered across the bottom of the garden where the
overhanging boughs granted immunity against the spreading red light. The
horticultural mechanoids had long since cranked to a halt, though not
before wrecking most of the flower beds and small shrubs. When he opened
his mind to the dark area he found several nervous bundles of thought. It
was the kids left over from the possession again. He hadnt been alone in
letting one go. Unfortunately the Royal Marines had executed a fast,
efficient retreat.

Damn. Theyre back for the food again.

Stephanie sighed. Theyve had all of the sachets in the kitchen. What
else can we give them?

There are some chickens in one of the houses opposite; we could always
cook them and leave the meat out.

Poor little mites. They must be frozen sleeping out there. Could you go
and fetch some chickens, please? Ill get the range cooker hot, well
cook them in the oven.

Why bother? We can just turn them straight into roasts.

Im not convinced about that; and I dont want them to catch anything
from food that hasnt been cooked properly.

If you just zap the chickens theyll be cooked properly.

Dont argue. Just go and get them. She turned him around and gave him a
push. Theyll need plucking, as well.

All right, Im going. He laughed as his clothes formed around him.
Argument would be pointless. It was one of the things he enjoyed about
her. She didnt have many opinions, but those she did have . . . By the
way, what are we going to do for food? Theres none left in the bungalow,
and people have been helping themselves to the stocks in the stores on
Maingreen. After some experimenting hed found his energistic power
wasnt quite as omnipotent as hed first thought. He could cloak anything
in an illusion, and if the wish was maintained for long enough the matter
underneath would eventually flow into the shape and texture which he was
visualizing. But the human body needed to ingest specific proteins and
vitamins. A lump of wood that looked, tasted, and smelt like salmon was
still just a lump of wood when it was in his stomach. Even with real food
he had to be sensible. Once hed actually thrown up after transforming
sachets of bread into chocolate gateauhe hadnt removed the foil
wrapping first.

Thats something we can start thinking about later, she said. If
necessary we can move out of the town and set ourselves up in one of the
farms.

He didnt like the ideahed lived all his life in citiesbut didnt say
anything out loud.

Someone knocked on the front door before he got to it. Pat Staite, their
neighbour, was standing outside dressed in elaborate blue and grey
striped baseball gear.

Were looking for people to help make up the teams, he said hopefully.

Its a little early in the day for me.

Absolutely. Terribly sorry. If youre free this afternoon . . . ?

Then Ill come along, certainly.

Pat was one of Exnalls growing band of sports enthusiasts who seemed
intent on playing every ball game ever devised by the human race. They
had already taken over two of the towns parks.

Thanks, Staite said, not registering the irony in Moyos voice or
thoughts. Theres an ex-Brit living in the street now. He said hed
teach us how to play cricket.

Fabulous.

Is there anything you used to play?

Strip poker. Now if youll excuse me, I have to go and catch some
chickens for my breakfast.

The chickens had broken out of their coop, but they were still pecking
and scratching around the garden. They were a geneered variety, plump,
with rusty yellow feathers. They were also remarkably quick.

Moyos first couple of attempts at catching one ended with him falling
flat on his stomach. When he climbed to his feet the second time, the
whole flock was squawking in alarm and vanishing fast into the shrubbery.
He glared at them, banishing the mud caking his trousers and shirt, and
pointed a finger. The tiny bolt of white fire caught the chicken at the
base of its neck, sending out a cloud of singed feathers and quite a lot
of blood. It must have looked ludicrous, he knew, using his power for
this. But, if it got the job done . . .

When hed finished blasting every chicken he could see, he walked over to
the nearest corpse. And it started running away from him, head flopping
down its chest on the end of a flaccid strip of skin. He stared at it
disbelievingly; hed always thought that was an urban myth. Then another
of the corpses sprinted for freedom. Moyo pushed his sleeves up and
summoned a larger bolt of white fire.

There were voices drifting through the open kitchen door when he returned
to the bungalow. He didnt even have to use his perception to know who
was in there with her.

Under Stephanies control the range cooker was radiating waves of heat.
Several children were warming themselves around it, holding big mugs of
tea. They all stopped talking as he walked in.

Stephanies bashful welcoming smile was transformed to an astonished
blink as she saw the smoking remnants of chicken he was carrying. A
couple of the children started giggling.

Into the lounge everyone, Stephanie ordered the kids. Go on, Ill see
what I can salvage.

Once they had left he asked: What the hell are you doing?

Looking after them, of course. Shannon says she hasnt had a meal ever
since the possessed arrived.

But you cant. Suppose

Suppose what? The police come?

He dropped the burnt carcasses onto the tile worktop next to the range
cooker. Sorry.

Were responsible only to ourselves now. There are no laws, no courts,
no rights and wrongs. Only what feels good. Thats what this new life is
for, isnt it? Indulgence.

I dont know. It might be.

She leaned against him, arms encircling his waist. Look at it selfishly.
What else have you got to do today?

And there I was thinking I was the one whod adjusted best to this.

You did, at first. I just needed time to catch up.

He peered through the door at the children. There were eight of them
bouncing around on the lounge furniture, none over twelve or thirteen.
Im not used to children.

Nor chickens by the look of things. But you managed to bring them back
in the end, didnt you?

Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, how long do you want to look
after them for? Whats going to happen when they grow up? Do they hit
sixteen and get possessed? Thats an awful prospect.

That wont happen. Well take this world out of the reach of the beyond.
Were the first and the last possessed. This kind of situation wont
arise again. And in any case, I wasnt proposing to bring them up in
Exnall.

Where then?

Well take them up to the end of Mortonridge and turn them over to their
own kind.

Youre kidding me. A pointless statement; he could sense the
determination in her thoughts.

Dont tell me you want to stay in Exnall for all of eternity?

No. But the first few weeks would be fine.

To travel is to experience. I wont force you, Moyo, if you want to stay
here and learn how to play cricket, thats okay by me.

I surrender. He laughed, and kissed her firmly. They wont be able to
walk, not all that way. Well need some sort of bus or truck. Id better
scout around and see what Ekelund left us.



                                 ?   ?   ?



It was the eighth time Syrinx had walked to Wing-Tsit Chongs odd house
on the side of the lake. For some of these meetings it would be just the
two of them sitting and talking, on other occasions they would be joined
by therapists and Athene and Sinon and Ruben for what amounted to a joint
session. But today it was only the pair of them.

As ever, Wing-Tsit Chong was waiting in his wheelchair on the veranda, a
tartan rug tucked around his legs. << Greetings, my dear Syrinx. How are
you today? >>

She bowed slightly in the Oriental tradition, a mannerism she had taken
up after the second session. << They took the nanonic packages off my
feet this morning. I could barely walk, the skin was so tender. >>

<< I hope you did not chastise the medical team for this minor
discomfort. >>

<< No. >>She sighed. << They have done wonders with me. Im grateful. And
the pain will soon be gone. >>

Wing-Tsit Chong smiled thinly. << Exactly the answer you should give. If
I were a suspicious old man . . . >>

<< Sorry. But I really have accepted the physical discomfort as
transitory. >>

<< How fortunate, the last chain unshackled. >>

<< Yes. >>

<< You will be free to roam the stars again. And if you were to fall into
their clutches once more? >>

She shivered, giving him a censorious glance as she leaned on the veranda
rail. << I dont think Im cured enough to want to think about that. >>

<< Of course. >>

<< All right, if you really want to know. I doubt Ill venture out of
Oenones crew toroid quite so readily now. Certainly not while the
possessed are still loose in the universe. Is that wrong for someone of
my situation? Have I failed? >>

<< Answer yourself. >>

<< I still have some nightmares. >>

<< I know. Though not as many; which we all know is a good sign of
progress. What other symptoms persist? >>

<< I want to fly again. But . . . its difficult to convince myself to do
it. I suppose the uncertainty frightens me. I could meet them again. >>

<< The uncertainty or the unknown? >>

<< Youre so fond of splitting hairs. >>

<< Indulge an old man. >>

<< Definitely the uncertainty. The unknown used to fascinate me. I loved
exploring new planets, seeing wonders. >>

<< Your pardon, Syrinx, but you have never done these things. >>

<< What? >>She turned from the railing to stare at him, finding only that
annoying, passive expression. << Oenone and I spent years doing exactly
that. >>

<< You spent years playing tourist. You admired what others had
discovered, what they had built, the way they lived. The actions of a
tourist, Syrinx, not an explorer. Oenone has never flown to a star which
has not been catalogued; your footprint has never been the first upon a
planet. You have always played safe, Syrinx. And even that did not
protect you. >>

<< Protect me from what? >>

<< Your fear of the unknown. >>

She sat on the wickerwork chair opposite him, deeply troubled. << You
believe that of me? >>

<< I do. I want you to feel no shame, Syrinx, all of us have weaknesses.
Mine, I know, are more terrible than you would ever believe me capable
of. >>

<< If you say so. >>

<< As always, you remain stubborn to the last. I have not yet decided if
this is a weakness or a strength. >>

<< Depends on the circumstances, I guess. >>She flashed a mischievous
smile.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. << As you say. In these two
circumstances, it must therefore count as a weakness. >>

<< You would rather I had surrendered myself and Oenone? >>

<< Of course not. And we are here to deal with the present, not dwell on
what was. >>

<< So you see this alleged fear of mine to be a continuing problem? >>

<< It inhibits you, and this should not be.Your mind should not be caged,
by your own bars or anyone elses. I would like you and Oenone to face
the universe with determination. >>

<< How? I mean, I thought I was just about cured. Ive been through all
my memories of the torture and the circumstances around it with the
therapists; we broke up each and every black spectre with rigorous logic.
Now you tell me I have this deep-seated flaw. If Im not ready now, I
doubt I ever will be. >>

<< Ready for what? >>

<< I dont know exactly. Do my bit, I suppose. Help protect Edenism from
the possessed, thats what all the other voidhawks are doing right now. I
know Oenone wants to be a part of that. >>

<< You would not make a good captain at this point, not if you were to
take an active part in the conflict. The unknown would always cast its
shadow of doubt over your actions. >>

<< I know all about the possessed, believe me. >>

<< Do you? Then what will you do when you join them? >>

<< Join them? Never! >>

<< You propose to avoid dying? I will be interested to hear the method
you plan for this endeavour. >>

<< Oh >>. Her cheeks reddened.

<< Death is always the great unknown. And now we know more of it the
mystery only deepens. >>

<< How? How can it deepen when we know more? >>

<< Laton called it the great journey. What did he mean? The Kiint said
they have confronted the knowledge and come to terms with it. How? Their
understanding of reality cannot be so much greater than ours. Edenists
transfer their memories into the neural strata when their bodies die.
Does their soul also transfer? Do these questions not bother you? That
such philosophical abstracts should attain a supreme relevance to our
existence is most disturbing to me. >>

<< Well, yes, they are disturbing if you lay them out in clinical detail
like that. >>

<< And you have never considered them? >>

<< I have considered them, certainly. I just dont obsess on them. >>

<< Syrinx, you are the one Edenist still with us who has come closest to
knowing the truth of any of these. If it affects any of us, it affects
you. >>

<< Affect, or hinder? >>

<< Answer yourself. >>

<< I wish youd stop saying that to me. >>

<< You know I never will. >>

<< Yes. Very well, Ive thought about the questions; as to the answers, I
dont have a clue. Which makes the questions irrelevant. >>

<< Very good, I would agree with that statement. >>

<< You would? >>

<< With one exception. They are irrelevant only for the moment. Right
now, our society is doing what it always does in times of crisis, and
resorting to physical force to defend itself. Again I have no quarrel
with this. But if we are to make any real progress in this arena these
questions must be examined with a degree of urgency so far lacking. For
answer them we must. This is not a gulf of knowledge the human race can
survive. We must deliverdare I call itdivine truth. >>

<< You expect that out of a therapy session? >>

<< My dear Syrinx, of course not. What sloppy thinking. But I am
disappointed the solution to our more immediate problem has eluded you. >>

<< Which problem? >>she asked in exasperation.

<< Your problem. >>He snapped his fingers at her with some vexation, as
if she were a miscreant child. << Now concentrate please. You wish to
fly, but you retain a perfectly understandable reticence. >>

<< Yes. >>

<< Everyone wishes to know the answer to those questions I asked, yet
they do not know where to look. >>

<< Yes. >>

<< One race has those answers. >>

<< The Kiint? I know, but they said they wouldnt help. >>

<< Incorrect. I have accessed the sensevise recording of the Assemblys
emergency session. Ambassador Roulor said the Kiint would not help us in
the struggle we faced. The context of the statement was somewhat
ambiguous. Did the ambassador mean the physical struggle, or the quest
for knowledge? >>

<< We all know that the Kiint would not help us to fight. QED the
ambassador was referring to the afterlife. >>

<< A reasonable assumption. One hopes the future of the human race does
not rest on a single misinterpreted sentence. >>

<< So why havent you asked the Kiint ambassador to Jupiter to clarify
it? >>

<< I doubt that even a Kiint ambassador has the authority to disclose the
kind of information we now search for, no matter what the circumstances.
>>

Syrinx groaned in understanding. << You want me to go to the Kiint
homeworld and ask. >>

<< How kind of you to offer. You will embark on a flight with few risks
involved, and you will also be confronting the unknown. Sadly your latter
task will be conducted on a purely intellectual level, but it is an
honourable start. >>

<< And good therapy. >>

<< A most fortuitous combination, is it not? If I were not a Buddhist I
would be talking about the killing of two birds. >>

<< Assuming the Jovian Consensus approves of the flight. >>

An amused light twinkled in the deeply recessed eyes. << Being the
founder of Edenism has its privileges. Not even the Consensus would
refuse one of my humble requests. >>

Syrinx closed her eyes, then looked up at the vaguely puzzled face of the
chief therapist. She realized her lips were parted in a wide smile.

<< Is everything all right? >>he asked politely.

<< Absolutely. >>Taking a cautious breath, she eased her legs off the
side of the bed. The hospital room was as comfortable and pleasant as
only their culture could make it. But it would be nice to have a complete
change.

<< Oenone. >>

<< Yes? >>

<< I hope youve enjoyed your rest, my love. We have a long flight ahead
of us. >>

<< At last! >>



                                 ?   ?   ?



It had not been an easy week for Ikela. The Dorados were starting to
suffer from the civil and commercial starflight quarantine. All exports
had halted, and the asteroids had only a minuscule internal economy,
which could hardly support the hundreds of industrial stations that
refined the plentiful ore. Pretty soon he was going to have to start
laying off staff in all seventeen of the TOpingtu companys foundry
stations.

It was the first setback the Dorados had ever suffered in all of their
thirty-year history. They had been tough years, but rewarding for those
who had believed in their own future and worked hard to attain it. People
like Ikela. He had come here after the death of Garissa, like so many
others tragically disinherited from that world. There had been more than
enough money to start his business in those days, and it had grown in
tandem with the systems flourishing economy. In three decades he had
changed from bitter refugee to a leading industrialist, with a position
of responsibility in the Dorados governing council.

Now this. It wasnt financial ruin, not by any means, but the social cost
was starting to mount up at an alarming rate. The Dorados were used only
to expansion and growth. Unemployment was not an issue in any of the
seven settled asteroids. People who found themselves suddenly without a
job and regular earnings were unlikely to react favourably to the council
washing their hands of the problem.

Yesterday, Ikela had sat in on a session to discuss the idea of making
companies pay non-salaried employees a retainer fee to tide them through
the troubles; which had seemed the easy solution until the chief
magistrate started explaining how difficult that would be to implement
legally. As always the council had dithered. Nothing had been decided.

Today Ikela had to start making his own decisions along those same lines.
He knew he ought to set an example and pay some kind of reduced wage to
his workforce. It wasnt the kind of decision he was used to making.

He strode into the executive floors anteroom with little enthusiasm for
the coming day. His personal secretary, Lomie, was standing up behind her
desk, a harassed expression on her face. Ikela was mildly surprised to
see a small red handkerchief tied around her ankle. He would never have
thought a levelheaded girl like Lomie would pay any attention to that
Deadnight nonsense which seemed to be sweeping through the Dorados
younger generation.

I couldnt stonewall her, Lomie datavised. Im sorry, sir, she was so
forceful, and she did say she was an old friend.

Ikela followed her gaze across the room. A smallish woman was rising from
one of the settees, putting her cup of coffee down on the side table. She
clung to a small backpack which was hanging at her side from a shoulder
strap. Few Dorados residents had skin as dark as hers, though it was
extensively wrinkled now. Ikela guessed she was in her sixties. Her
features were almost familiar, something about them agitating his
subconscious. He ran a visual comparison program through his neural
nanonics personnel record files.

Hello, Captain, she said. Its been a while.

Whether the program placed her first, or the use of his old title
triggered the memory, he never knew. Mzu, he choked. Dr Mzu. Oh,
Mother Mary, what are you doing here?

You know exactly what Im doing here, Captain.

Captain? Lomie inquired. She looked from one to the other. I never
knew . . .

Keeping his eyes fixed on Mzu as if he expected her to leap for his
throat, Ikela waved Lomie to be silent. Im taking no appointments, no
files, no calls, nothing. Were not to be interrupted. He datavised a
code at his office door. Come through, Doctor, please.

The office had a single window, a long band of glass which looked down on
Ayacuchos biosphere cavern. Alkad gave the farms and parks an
appreciative glance. Not a bad view, considering youve only had thirty
years to build it. The Garissans seem to have done well for themselves
here. Im glad to see it.

This caverns only fifteen years old, actually. Ayacucho was the second
Dorado to be settled after Mapire. But youre right, I enjoy the view.

Alkad nodded, taking in the large office; its size, furnishings, and
artwork chosen to emphasise the occupants status rather than conforming
to any notion of aesthetics. And you have prospered, too, Captain. But
then, that was part of your mission, wasnt it?

She watched him slump down into a chair behind the big terrestrial-oak
desk. Hardly the kind of dynamic magnate who could build his TOpingtu
company into a multistellar market leader in the fabrication of exotic
alloy components. More like a fraud whose bluff had just been called.

I have some of the resources we originally discussed, he said. Of
course, they are completely at your disposal.

She sat on a chair in front of the desk, staring him down. Youre
straying from the script, Captain. I dont want resources, I want the
combat-capable starship we agreed on. The starship you were supposed to
have ready for me the day the Omuta sanctions ended. Remember?

Look, bloody hell its been decades, Mzu. Decades! I didnt know where
the hell you were, even if you were still alive. Mother Mary, things
change. Life is different now. Forgive me, I know you are supposed to be
here at this time, I just never expected to see you. I didnt think . . .

A chilling anger gained control of Alkads thoughts, unlocked from that
secret centre of motivation at the core of her brain. Have you got a
starship which can deploy the Alchemist?

He shook his head before burying it in his hands. No.

They slaughtered ninety-five million of us, Ikela, they wrecked our
planet, they made us breathe radioactive soot until our lungs bled.
Genocide doesnt even begin to describe what was done to us. You and I
and the other survivors were a mistake, an oversight. Theres no life
left for us in this universe. We have only one purpose, one duty.
Revenge, vengeance, and justice, our three guiding stars. Mother Mary has
given us this one blessing, providing us with a second chance. Were not
even attempting to kill the Omutans. I would never use the Alchemist to
do that; Im not going to become as they are, that would be their
ultimate victory. All were going to do is make them suffer, to give them
a glimpse, a pitiful glimmer of the agony theyve forced us to endure
every waking day for thirty years.

Stop it, he shouted. Ive made a life for myself here, we all have.
This mission, this vendetta, what would it achieve after so much time?
Nothing! We would be the tainted ones then. Let the Omutans carry the
guilt they deserve. Every person they talk to, every planet they visit,
theyll be cursed to carry the weight of their name with them.

As we suffer pity wherever we go.

Oh, Mother Mary! Dont do this.

You will help me, Ikela. I am not giving you a choice in this. Right now
youve allowed yourself to forget. That will end. I will make you
remember. Youve grown old and fat and comfy. I never did, I never
allowed myself that luxury. They didnt allow me. Ironic that, I always
felt. They kept my angry spirit alive with their eternal reminder, their
agents and their discreet observation. In doing so, they also kept their
own nemesis alive.

His face lifted in bewilderment. What are you talking about? Have the
Omutans been watching you?

No, theyre all locked up where they belong. Its the other intelligence
agencies who have discovered who I am and what I built. Dont ask me how.
Somebody must have leaked the information. Somebody weak, Ikela.

You mean, they know youre here?

They dont know exactly where I am. All they know is I escaped from
Tranquillity. But now theyll be looking for me. And dont try fooling
yourself, theyll track me down eventually. Its what theyre good at,
very good. The only question now is which one will find me first.

Mother Mary!

Exactly. Of course, if you had prepared the starship for me as you were
supposed to, this wouldnt even be a problem. You stupid, selfish,
petty-minded bastard. Do you realize what youve done? You have
jeopardized everything we ever stood for.

You dont understand.

No, I dont; and I wont dignify you by trying to. Im not even going to
listen to any more of your pitiful whining. Now tell me, where are the
others? Do we even have a partizan group anymore?

Yes. Yes, were still together. We still help the cause whenever we can.

Are all the originals here?

Yes, were all still alive. But the other four arent in Ayacucho.

What about other partizans, do you have a local leadership council?

Yes.

Then call them to a meeting. Today. They will have to be told whats
happening. We need nationalist recruits for a crew.

Yes, he stammered. Yes, all right.

And in the meantime, start looking for a suitable starship. There ought
to be one in dock. Its a shame I let the Samaku go. It would have suited
us.

But theres a Confederation-wide quarantine . . .

Not where were going there isnt. And youre a member of the Dorados
council, you can arrange for the government to authorize our departure.

I cant do that!

Ikela, look at me very closely. I am not playing games with you. You
have endangered both my life and the mission you swore to undertake when
you took the oath to serve your naval commission. As far as I am
concerned, that amounts to treason. Now if an agency grabs me before I
can retrieve the Alchemist, I am going to make damn sure they know where
the money came from to help you start up TOpingtu all those years ago.
Im sure you remember exactly what the Confederation law has to say about
antimatter, dont you?

He bowed his head. Yes.

Good. Now start datavising the partizans.

All right.

Alkad regarded him with a mixture of contempt and worry. That the others
would falter had never occurred to her. They were all Garissan navy.
Thirty years ago she had secretly suspected that if anyone was destined
to be the weak link it would be her.

Ive been moving around a lot since I docked, she said. But Ill spend
the rest of the afternoon in your apartment. I need to clean up, and
thats the one place I can be sure you wont tip anyone off about.
Thered be too many questions.

Ikela recouped some of his old forcefulness. I dont want you there. My
daughters living with me.

So?

I dont want her involved.

The sooner you get my starship prepared, the sooner Ill be gone. She
hoisted the backpacks strap over her shoulder and went out into the
anteroom.

Lomie glanced up from behind her desk, curiosity haunting her narrow
features. Alkad ignored her, and datavised the lift processor for a ride
to the lobby. The doors opened, revealing a girl inside. She was in her
early twenties, a lot taller than Mzu, with a crown of short dreadlocks
at the top of a shaven skull. First impression was that someone had
attempted to geneer an elf into existence her torso was so slim, her
limbs were disproportionately long. Her face could have been pretty if
her personality wasnt so stern.

Im Voi, she said after the doors shut.

Alkad nodded in acknowledgement, facing the doors and wishing the lift
could go faster.

All movement stopped, the floor indicator frozen between four and three.

And youre Dr Alkad Mzu.

Theres a nervejam projector in this bag, and its control processor is
activated.

Good. Im glad youre not walking around unprotected.

Who are you?

Im Ikelas daughter. Check my public record file, if you like.

Alkad did, datavising the lifts net processor for a link to Ayacuchos
civil administration computer. If Voi was some kind of agency plant,
theyd made a very good job of ghosting details. Besides, if she was from
an agency, the last thing theyd be doing was talking. Restart the lift,
please.

Will you talk to me?

Restart the lift.

Voi datavised the lifts control processor, and they started to descend.
We want to help you.

Whos we? Alkad asked.

My friends; there are quite a few of us now. The partizans you belong to
have done nothing for years. They are soft and old and afraid of making
waves.

I dont know you.

Was my father helpful?

We made progress.

They wont help you. Not when it comes to action. We will.

How did you find out who I am?

From my father. He shouldnt have told me, but he did. Hes so weak.

How much do you know?

That the partizans were supposed to prepare for you. That you were
bringing something to finally give us our revenge against Omuta.
Logically it has to be some kind of powerful weapon. Possibly even a
planet-buster. He was always afraid of you, they all were. Have they made
the proper preparations? I bet they havent.

As I said, I dont know you.

Voi leaned over her, furiously intent. We have money. Were organized.
We have people who arent afraid. We wont let you down. Wed never let
you down. Tell us what you want, well provide it.

How did you know I was seeing your father?

Lomie, of course. Shes not one of us, not a core member, but shes a
friend. Its always useful for me to know what my father is doing. As I
said, were properly organized.

So are childrens day clubs. For a moment Alkad thought the girl was
going to strike her.

All right, Voi said with a calm that could only have been induced by
neural nanonic overrides. Youre being sensible, not trusting a stranger
with the last hope our culture owns. I can accept that. Its rational.

Thank you.

But we can help. Just give us the chance. Please. And please was
obviously not a word which came easy from that mouth.

The lift doors opened. A lobby of polished black stone and curving white
metal glinted under large silver light spires. A thirty-year-old unarmed
combat program reviewed the image from Alkads retinal implants, deciding
nobody was lurking suspiciously. She looked up at the tall, anorexically
proportioned girl, trying to decide what to do. Your father invited me
to stay at his apartment. We can talk more when we get there.

Voi gave a sharks smile. It would be an honour, Doctor.



                                 ?   ?   ?



It was the woman sitting up at the bar wearing a red shirt who caught
Joshuas attention. The red was very red, a bright, effervescent scarlet.
And the style of the shirt was odd, though hed be hard pressed to define
exactly what was wrong with the cut, it lacked . . . smoothness. The
clincher was the fact it had buttons down the front, not a seal.

Dont look, he murmured to Beaulieu and Dahybi. But I think shes a
possessed. He datavised his retinal image file to them.

They both turned and looked. In Beaulieus case it was quite a
performance, twisting her bulk around in the too-small chair, streamers
of light slithering around the contours of her shiny body.

Jesus! Show some professionalism.

The woman gave the three of them a demurely inquisitive glance.

You sure? Dahybi asked.

Think so. Theres something wrong with her, anyway.

Dahybi said nothing; hed experienced Joshuas intuition at work before.

We can soon check, Beaulieu said. Go over to her and see if any of our
blocks start glitching.

No. Joshua was slowly scanning the rest of the teeming bar. It was a
wide room cut square into the rock of Kilifi asteroids habitation
section, with a mixed clientele mostly taken from ships crews and
industrial station staff. He was anonymous here, as much as he could be
(five people had so far recognized Lagrange Calvert). And Kilifi had
been a good cover, it manufactured the kind of components he was supposed
to be buying for Tranquillitys defences. Sarha and Ashly were handling
the dummy negotiations with local companies; and so far no one had
questioned why theyd flown all the way to Narok rather than a closer
star system.

He saw a couple more suspicious people drinking in solitude, then another
three crammed around a table with sullen sly expressions. Im getting too
paranoid.

We have to concentrate on our mission, he said. If Kilifi isnt
enforcing its screening procedures properly, thats their problem. We
cant risk any sort of confrontation. Besides, if the possessed are
wandering around this freely it must mean their infiltration is quite
advanced.

Dahybi hunched his shoulders and played with his drink, trying not to
look anxious. There are navy ships docked here, and most of the
independent traders are combat-capable. If the asteroid falls, the
possessed will get them.

I know. Joshua met the node specialists stare, refusing to show
weakness. We cannot cause waves.

Sure, you said: Dont draw attention to yourself, dont talk to the
natives, dont fart loudly. What the hell are we doing here, Joshua? Why
are you so anxious to trace Meyer?

I need to talk to him.

Dont you trust us?

Of course I do. And dont try such cheap shots. You know Ill tell all
of you as soon as I can. For now, its best you dont know. You trust me,
dont you?

Dahybi put his lips together in a tired grin. Cheap shot.

Yeah.

The waitress brought another round of drinks to their alcove. Joshua
watched her legs as she wriggled away through the crowd. A bit young for
him, mid-teens. Louises age. The thought warmed him briefly. Then he saw
she was wearing a red handkerchief around her ankle. Jesus, I dont know
which is worse, the horrors of possession or the pathetic dreams of the
Deadnights.

Hed received one hell of a shock the first time he accessed the
recording from Valisk. Marie Skibbow possessed and luring naive kids to
their doom. Shed been a lovely girl, beautiful and smart, with thoughts
as hard as carbotanium composite. If she could be caught, anyone could.
Lalonde strummed out far too many resonances.

Captain, Beaulieu warned.

Joshua saw Bunal approaching their alcove. He sat down and smiled. There
wasnt the slightest sign of nerves. But then as Joshua had discovered
while asking around his fellow captains, Bunal was overfamiliar with this
kind of transaction.

Good afternoon, Captain, Bunal said pleasantly. Have you managed to
acquire your cargo yet?

Some of it, Joshua said. Im hoping you were successful with the rest.

Indeed I was. Most of the information was quite simple to obtain.
However, I am nothing if not assiduous in any freelance work I undertake.
I discovered that, sadly, what you actually need falls outside our
original agreement.

Dahybi gave the man a hateful glare. He always despised bent civil
servants.

And will cost . . . ? Joshua inquired, unperturbed.

An additional twenty thousand fuseodollars. Bunal sounded sincerely
regretful. I apologize for the cost, but times are hard at the moment. I
have little work and a large family.

Of course. Joshua held up his Jovian Bank credit disk.

Bunal was surprised by the young captains swift concession. It took him
a moment to produce his own credit disk. Joshua shunted the money over.

You were right, Bunal said. The Udat did come to this star system. It
docked at the Nyiru asteroid. Apparently its captain was hurt when they
arrived, he spent almost four days in hospital undergoing neural trauma
treatment. When it was complete, they filed a flight plan for the Sol
system, and left.

Sol? Joshua asked. Are you sure?

Positive. Howeverand this is where the twenty thousand comes intheir
passenger, Dr Alkad Mzu, didnt go with them. She hired an independent
trader called the Samaku, and departed an hour later.

Flight plan?

Filed for a Dorado asteroid, Ayacucho. I even checked traffic controls
sensor data for the flight. They were definitely aligned for Tunja when
they jumped.

Joshua resisted the impulse to swear. Ione was right, Mzu was running to
the last remnants of her nation. She must be going for the Alchemist. He
flicked another glance at the girl in the red shirt, her head tipped back
elegantly as she drank her cocktail. Jesus, as if we dont have enough
problems right now. Thank you.

My pleasure. You should also know, for no extra charge, that Im not the
only one to be asking these questions. There are three access requests
logged on the Civil Spaceflight Department computer for the same files.
One request was made only twenty minutes before mine.

Oh, Jesus.

Bad news?

Interesting news, Joshua grunted. He rose to his feet.

If there is anything else I can obtain for you, Captain, please call.

Sure thing. Joshua was already walking for the door, Dahybi and
Beaulieu a couple of steps behind.

Before he reached the exit, people watching the AV pillar behind the bar
were gasping in shock; agitated murmurs of conversation rippled down the
length of the room. Perfect strangers asking each other: Did you access
that? the way they always did with momentous news.

Joshua focused on the AV pillars projection, allowing the hazy
laserlight sparkle to form its picture behind his eyes. A planet floated
below him, its geography instantly familiar. No real continents or
oceans, just winding seas and thousands of medium-sized islands. Patches
of glowing red cloud squatted over half of the islands, concentrated
mainly in the tropic zonesthough on this world tropic was a relative
term.

. . . Confederation Navy frigate Levque confirmed that all inhabited
islands on Norfolk have now been covered by the reality dysfunction
cloud, the news commentator said. All contact with the surface has been
lost, and it must be assumed that the majority, if not all, of the
population has been possessed. Norfolk is a pastoral planet with few
spaceplanes available to the local government; because of this no attempt
was made to evacuate any inhabitants to the navy squadron before the
capital Norwich fell. A statement from Confederation Navy headquarters at
Trafalgar said that the Levque would remain in orbit to observe the
situation, but no offensive action was being considered at this time.
This brings to seven the number of planets known to have been taken over
by the possessed.

Oh, Jesus, Louise is down there. The AV image broke up as he turned his
head away from the pillar, seeing Louise running over the grassy wolds in
one of those ridiculous dresses, laughing over her shoulder at him. And
Genevieve, too, that irritating child who was either laughing or sulking.
Marjorie, Grant (it would go worse for him, he would resist as long as
possible), Kenneth, and even that receptionist at Draytons Import.
Goddamnit. No! I should have been there. I could have got her away.

Joshua? Dahybi asked in concern. You okay?

Yeah. Did you catch that piece about Norfolk?

Yes.

Shes down there, Dahybi. I left her there.

Who?

Louise.

You didnt leave her there, Joshua. Its her home, its where she
belongs.

Right. Joshuas neural nanonics were plotting a course from Narok to
Norfolk. He didnt remember requesting it.

Come on, Captain, Dahybi said. Weve got what we came for. Lets go.

Joshua looked at the woman in the red shirt again. She was staring at the
AV pillar, abstract pastel streaks from the projection glinting dully on
her ebony cheeks. A delighted smile flourished on her lips.

Joshua hated her, her invincibility, the cool arrogance sitting among her
enemies. Queen of the bitch demons come to taunt him. Dahybis hand
tightened around his arm.

Okay, were gone.



                                 ?   ?   ?



Here we are, home at last, Loren Skibbow said with a histrionic sigh.
Not that we can stay for long. Theyll tear Guyana apart to find us now.

The apartment was on the highest level of the biospheres habitation
complex, where gravity was only eighty per cent standard. The penthouse
of some Kingdom aristocrat, presumably, furnished with dark
active-contour furniture and large hand-painted silk screens; every table
and alcove shelf were littered with antiques.

Gerald felt it was a somewhat bizarre setting to wind up in considering
the days events. Are you creating this? When they lived in the
arcology, Loren had always badgered him for what she termed a grander
apartment.

She looked around with a rueful smile and shook her head. No. My
imagination isnt up to anything so gaudy. This is Pou Moks place.

The woman youre possessing? The redhead?

Thats right. Loren smiled and took a step towards him.

Gerald stiffened. Not that she needed any physical signs; his mind was
foaming with fear and confusion. Okay, Gerald, I wont touch you. Sit
down, we have a lot to talk about. And this time I mean talk, not just
you telling me what youve decided is best for us.

He flinched. Everything she did and said triggered memories. The unedited
past seemed to have become his curse in life.

How did you get here? he asked. What happened, Loren?

You saw the homestead, what that bastard Dexter and his Ivets did to
us. Her face paled. To Paula.

I saw.

I tried, Gerald. Honestly, I tried to fight back. But it all happened so
fast. They were crazy brutes; Dexter killed one of his own just because
the boy would slow them down. I wasnt strong enough to stop it.

And I wasnt there.

Theyd have killed you, too.

At least . . .

No, Gerald. You would have died for nothing. Im glad you escaped. This
way you can help Marie.

How?

The possessed can be beaten. Individually, in any case. Im not so sure
about overall. But thats for others to fight over, planetary governments
and the Confederation. You and I have to rescue our daughter, allow her
to have her own life. No one else will.

How? This time it was a shout.

The same way you were freed: zero-tau. We have to put her in zero-tau.
The possessed cant endure it.

Why not?

Because were conscious the whole time. Zero-tau suspends normal energy
wave functions, but our souls are still connected to the beyond somehow,
that makes us aware of time passing. But only time, nothing else. It is
the ultimate sensory deprivation, actually worse than the beyond. At
least in the beyond souls have the memories of other souls to feed on,
and some perception of the real universe.

Thats why, Gerald murmured. I knew Kingsford Garrigan was scared.

Some can hold out longer than others, it depends on how strong their
personality is. But in the end, everyone retreats from the body they
possess.

There is hope, then.

For Marie, yes. We can save her.

So that she can die.

Everybody dies, Gerald.

And goes on to suffer in the beyond.

Im not sure. If it hadnt been for you and Marie, I dont think I would
have remained with all the other souls.

I dont understand.

Loren gave him a hapless smile. I was worried about the two of you,
Gerald, I wanted to make sure you were all right. Thats why I stayed.

Yes but . . . where else could you go?

Im not certain that question applies. The beyond is strange, there are
no separate places within it, not like this universe.

So how could you leave?

I wouldnt leave it . . . She fluttered her hands in exasperation as
she struggled with the concept. I just wouldnt be in the same part of
it as the rest of them.

You said there were no different parts.

There arent.

So how

I dont pretend to understand, Gerald. But you can leave the others
behind. The beyond isnt necessarily the torment everyone is making it
out to be.

Gerald studied the pale salmon carpet, shamed at being unable to look at
his own wife. And you came back for me.

No, Gerald. Her voice hardened. We might be husband and wife, but my
love isnt that blind. I came back principally for Maries sake. If it
had just been you, I dont think I would have had the courage. I endured
the other souls devouring my memories for her sake. Did you know you can
see out of the beyond? Just. I watched Marie, and that made the horror
tolerable. I hadnt seen her since that day she walked out on us. I
wanted to know she was alive and safe. It wasnt easy; I almost abandoned
my vigil, then she was possessed. So I stayed, waiting for an opportunity
to help, for someone close to you to be possessed. And here I am.

Yes. Here you are. Who is Pou Mok? I thought the Principality had
defeated the possessed, confined them all to Mortonridge.

They have, according to the news reports. But the three who arrived here
on the Ekwan with you got to Pou Mok before they left the asteroid. They
were smart choosing her; she supplies illegal stimulant programs to the
personnel up here, among other things. Thats why she can afford this
place. It also means shes not included on any file of Guyanas
inhabitants, so she never got hauled in to be tested like everyone else.
The idea was that even if the three from the Ekwan got caught on the
planet, Pou Moks possessor would be safe to begin the process all over
again. In theory, she was the perfect provocateur to leave behind.
Unfortunately for the three of them, I was the one who came forwards from
the beyond. I dont care about their goals, Im only interested in Marie.

Was I wrong taking her to Lalonde? Gerald asked remotely. I thought I
was doing the best possible thing for her, for all of you.

You were. Earths dying; the arcologies are old, worn out. Theres
nothing there for people like us; if wed stayed, Marie and Paula would
have had lives no different from us, or our parents, or any of our
ancestors for the last ten generations. You broke the cycle for us,
Gerald. We had the chance to take pride in what our grandchildren would
become.

What grandchildren? He knew he was going to start crying any minute.
Paulas dead; Marie hated our home so much she ran away at the first
opportunity.

Good thing she did, Gerald, wasnt it? She was always headstrong, and
shes a teenager. Teenagers can never look and plan ahead; having a good
time is the only thing they can think of. All she knew was that two
months of her life werent as comfy as the ones which went before, and
she had to do some work for the first time as well. Small surprise she
ran away. It was a premature taste of adulthood that scared her off, not
us being bad parents.

You know, I perceived her before she was possessed. Shed found herself
a job in Durringham, a good job. She was doing all right for herself,
better than she could ever do on Earth. Knowing Marie, she didnt
appreciate it.

When Gerald found the nerve to glance up, he saw Lorens expression was a
twin to his own. I didnt tell you before. But I was so frightened for
her when she ran away.

I know you were. Fathers always think their daughters cant take care of
themselves.

You were worried, too.

Yes. Oh, yes. But only that fate would throw something at her she
couldnt survive. Which it has. She would have done all right if this
curse hadnt been unleashed.

All right, he said shakily. What do we do about it? I just wanted to
go to Valisk and help her.

Thats my idea, too, Gerald. Theres no big plan, though I do have some
of the details sorted out. First thing we need to do is get you on the
Quadin, its one of the few starships still flying. Right now the Kingdom
is busy selling weapons components to its allies. The Quadin is departing
for Pinjarra asteroid in seven hours with a cargo of five-gigawatt maser
cannons for their SD network.

Just me? he asked in alarm. Where are you going?

To Valisk, eventually. But we cant travel together, its too risky.

I cant go alone. Really, I cant. I dont know how to, not anymore. I
cant think right, not now. I want you to come with me, Loren. Please.

No, Gerald. You must do this by yourself.

It . . . its hard. There are other things in my head.

Were the only chance Marie has. Focus on that, Gerald.

Yes. Yes, I will. He gave her a grave smile. Where is Pinjarra?

Its in the Toowoomba star system, which is Australian-ethnic. The
Kingdom is anxious to keep them locked in to its diplomatic strategy.
Their asteroid settlements arent very well defended, so theyre being
offered upgrades on favourable financial terms.

Gerald fidgeted with his fingers. But how do I get on board? Wed never
make it into the spaceport, never mind a starship. Maybe if we just asked
Ombeys government if we can go to Valisk. Theyll know were telling the
truth about wanting to help Marie. And that information about zero-tau
would be useful. Theyd be grateful.

Bloody hell. Loren regarded the pathetically hopeful smile on his face
more with astonishment than contempt. He had always been the forceful
one, the go-getter. Oh, Gerald, what have they done to you?

Remember. He hung his head, probing at his temples in a vain attempt to
alleviate some of the sparkling pain inside. They made me remember. I
dont want that. I dont want to remember, I just want to forget it all.

She came over and sat beside him, her arm going around his shoulder the
way she used to do with her daughters when they were younger. Once we
free Marie, all this will be over. You can think of other things again,
new things.

Yes. He nodded vigorously, speaking with the slow surety of the newly
converted. Yes, youre right. Thats what Dr Dobbs told me, too; I have
to formulate relevant goals for my new circumstances, and concentrate on
achieving them. I must eject myself from the failings of the past.

Good philosophy. Her eyebrows rose in bemusement. Firstly we have to
buy you passage on the Quadin. The captain has supplied Pou Mok with
various fringe-legal fleks before, which can be used to lever him into
taking you. If youre firm enough with him, Gerald. Are you going to
manage that?

Yes. I can do that. He grasped his hands together, squeezing. I can
tell him anything if it will help Marie.

Just dont be too aggressive. Stay polite and calmly determined.

I will.

Fine. Now money isnt a problem, obviously, I can give you a Jovian Bank
credit disk with about half a million fuseodollars loaded in. Pou Mok
also has half a dozen blank passport fleks. Our real problem is going to
be your appearance, every sensor in the asteroid is going to be
programmed for your features now. I can change the way you look, but only
while Im near you, which is no use at all. They can detect me easily in
public places, especially if Im using my energistic ability. So were
going to have to give you a permanent alteration.

Permanent? he asked uneasily.

Pou Mok has a set of cosmetic adaptation packages. She used to keep
changing her own face in case the asteroid police became too familiar
with itshes not even a natural redhead. I think I know enough to
program the control processor manually. If I dont get too close, the
packages should be able to give you a basic makeover. It ought to be
enough.

Loren took him through into one of the apartments bedrooms and told him
to lie down. The cosmetic adaptation packages were similar to nanonic
medical packages but with warty bubbles on the outside, holding reserves
of collagen ready to be implanted, firming up new contours. Gerald felt
the furry inner surface knitting to his skin, then his nerves went dead.



It took a lot of effort on Geralds part not to shy away from the
ceiling-mounted sensors in the public hall. He still wasnt convinced
about the face which appeared each time he looked in the mirror. Ten
years younger, but with puffy cheeks and drooping laughter lines, skin a
shade darker with an underlying red flush; a face which conveyed his
internal worry perfectly. His hair had been trimmed to a centimetre fuzz
and coloured a light chestnutat least there were no silver strands any
more.

He walked into the Bar Vips and ordered a mineral water, asking the
barman where he could find Captain McRobert.

McRobert had brought two of his crew with him, one of whom was a cosmonik
with a body resembling a mannequin: jet-black with no features at all,
not even on the head; he was an impressive two hundred and ten
centimetres tall.

Gerald tried to retain an impassive expression as he sat at their table,
but it wasnt easy. Their steely presence was conjuring up memories of
the squad which had captured Kingsford Garrigan in Lalondes jungle. Im
Niall Lyshol; Pou Mok sent me, he stuttered.

If she hadnt, we wouldnt be here, McRobert said curtly. As it is . .
. He gave the cosmonik a brief signal.

Gerald was offered a processor block.

Take it, McRobert instructed.

He tried, but the huge black hand wouldnt let go.

No static charge, the cosmonik said. No glitches. The block was
withdrawn.

All right, Niall Lyshol, McRobert said. Youre not a possessed, so
what the fuck are you?

Someone who wants a flight out of here. Gerald exhaled softly,
reminding himself of the relaxation exercises Dr Dobbs urged him to
employ: cycle down the body and the brain waves will follow. As someone
else who deals with Pou Mok, Captain, you should appreciate the need to
keep moving on before people start to take an interest in you.

Dont pull that bullshit pressure routine on me, boy. Im not taking
anyone whos hot, not with the way things are right now. I dont even
know if were going to leave Guyana, the code two defence alert still
hasnt been lifted. Traffic control is hardly going to clear anyone for
flight while one of those bastards is running loose up here.

Im not hot. Check the bulletins.

I have.

So youll take me when the code two is lifted?

Youre a complication, Lyshol. I cant take passengers because of the
quarantine, which means youd have to be listed as crew. You havent got
neural nanonics, which means the line company would start asking me
questions. I dont like that.

I can pay.

Be assured: you will.

And youll have Pou Moks gratitude. For what its worth.

Less than she likes to think. What are you running from?

People. Not the authorities. Theres no official trouble.

One hundred thousand fuseodollars, and you spend the whole voyage in
zero-tau. Im not having you throwing up all over the life-support
capsule.

Agreed.

Too quickly. A hundred thousand is an awful lot of money.

Gerald wasnt sure how much longer he could keep this up; slow thoughts
echoed in his skull, telling him that the sanatorium had been a much
kinder environment than this. If I went back, Dr Dobbs would understand,
hed make sure the police didnt punish me. If it wasnt for Marie . . .
You cant have it both ways. If I stay here then a lot of secrets are
going to get spilt. You probably wouldnt be able to fly to any of the
Kingdom systems again. I think that would bother the line company more
than taking on a crewman without neural nanonics; not that theyll know I
dont have neural nanonics unless you tell them.

I dont like being threatened, Lyshol.

Im not threatening you. Im asking for help. I need your help. Please.

McRobert glanced at his companions. All right. The Quadin is docked at
bay 901-C, were scheduled to depart in three hours. Like I said, I cant
guarantee that time with the code two, but if youre not there Im not
waiting.

Im ready now.

No baggage? You surprise me. Very well, you can pay me when we get on
board. And, Lyshol, don't expect any crew salary.

When the four of them came out of Bar Vips, Gerald gave what he believed
to be a surreptitious glance along the public hall. There weren't many
people about, the code two alert had hauled in all the asteroids
off-duty military and civil service personnel.

Loren watched him go, hunched up and tragic between his three escorts.
They stepped into a lift, and the door closed behind them. She walked the
other way down the public hall, a smile playing over her illusory lips.



After seven and a half hours with over a hundred false alerts and not one
genuine sighting, Admiral Farquar was considering running a suppressor
program through his neural nanonics. He hated the artificial calm the
software brought, but the tension and depression were getting to him. The
hunt for the possessed woman was being run from the Royal Navy tactical
operations centre. It wasnt quite the operation envisaged while it was
being built, but its communications were easily reconfigured to probe the
asteroids net, and its AI had been loaded with the tracker programs
developed by Diana Tiernan to hunt possessed across Xingu. Given the size
of Guyana, and the density of electronic systems spread throughout the
interior, they should have had a result within minutes.

But the woman had eluded them. In doing so, she had forced him to admit
to Princess Kirsten that if one could, so could more. There might be any
number running around Guyana. For all he knew the entire navy staff could
have been possessed, which was why the operations centre kept saying they
couldnt find her. He didnt believe it himself (hed visited the centre
personally) but no doubt it was an option the cabinet had to consider.
Even he must be considered suspect, though theyd been tactful enough not
to say so.

As a result, Guyana had handed over Ombeys Strategic Defence network
command to a Royal Navy base in Atherstone. A complete quarantine of the
asteroid had been quietly enforced under the guise of the code two
defence alert.

So far it had all been for nothing.

The office management computer datavised him that Captain Oldroyd, his
staff security officer, and Dr Dobbs were requesting an interview. He
datavised an acknowledgement, and his office dissolved into the white
bubble room of a sensenviron conference room.

Have you made any progress finding her? Dobbs asked.

Not yet, Farquar admitted.

That ties in, the doctor said. Weve been running analysis scenarios
based on the information weve collated so far; and based on that I
believe Ive come up with a rationale for her actions. Extracting Skibbow
from our medical facility was slightly puzzling behaviour. It was an
awful risk even for a possessed. If the marines had been thirty seconds
faster she would never have made it. She must have had an extremely good
reason.

Which is?

I think shes Loren Skibbow, Geralds wife. If for no other reason than
what she said to Jansen Kovak: You should try being married to him for
twenty years. I checked our file, they were married for twenty years.

His wife?

Exactly.

Okay, Ive heard stranger. The admiral faced Captain Oldroyd. I hope
youve got some evidence to back up this theory.

Yes, sir. Assuming she is who we suspect, her behavioural profile
certainly fits her actions to date. First of all, we believe shes been
in Guyana for some time, possibly right from the beginning when the Ekwan
docked. She has obviously had enough time to learn how to move around
without activating any of our tracer programs. Secondly, if she can do
that, why hasnt she launched the kind of takeover effort we saw on
Xingu? Shes held back for a reason.

Because it doesnt fit in with her plans, Dr Dobbs said eagerly. If
the whole asteroid became possessed, her peers would be unlikely to allow
Gerald his freedom. This is all personal, Admiral, its not part of
whats happening to Mortonridge or New California. Shes completely on
her own. I dont believe shes any real danger to the Kingdoms security
at all.

Are you telling me weve shifted the Principality to a code two alert
because of a domestic matter? Admiral Farquar asked.

I believe so, Dr Dobbs said apologetically. The possessed are people,
too. Weve had ample proof that they retain a nearly complete range of
human emotions. And, er . . . we did put Gerald through quite an ordeal.
If what we suspect is true, it would be quite reasonable to assume Loren
would do her best to take him away from us.

Dear God. All right, so now what? How does this theory help us deal with
her?

We can negotiate.

To what end? I dont care that shes a loving wife. Shes a bloody
possessed. We cant have the pair of them living happily ever after up
here.

No. But we can offer to take better care of Gerald. From her viewpoint,
of course, Dr Dobbs added quickly.

Maybe. The admiral would have dearly loved to have found a flaw in the
reasoning, but the facts did seem to fit together with uncomfortable
precision. So what do you recommend?

Id like to broadcast over Guyanas net, load a message into every
personal communications processor, blanket the news and entertainment
companies. Itll only be a matter of time before they access it.

If she answers shell give away her location. Shell know that.

Well find her eventually, Ill make that quite clear. What I can offer
is a solution she can accept. Do I have your permission? It will need to
be a genuine offer. After all, the possessed can read the emotional
content of minds. Shell know if Im telling the truth.

Thats a pretty broad request, Doctor. What exactly do you want to offer
her?

Gerald to be taken down to the planet and given an Ombey citizenship. We
provide full financial compensation for what we put him through, complete
his counselling and therapy. And finally, if this crisis is resolved,
well do whatever we can to reunite him with his daughter.

You mean that Kiera girl in Valisk?

Yes, Admiral.

I doubt my authority runs to that . . . He broke off as the office
management computer datavised a change in Guyanas status. The operations
centre had just issued a full combat alert.

The admiral opened a channel to the duty officer. Whats happening? he
datavised.

The AI has registered an anomaly, sir. We think it could be her. Ive
dispatched a Royal Marine squad.

What sort of anomaly?

A camera in the spaceport spindle entrance chamber registered a man
getting into a transit capsule. When the capsule stopped at section G5 a
woman got out. The capsule never stopped at any other section.

What about processor glitches?

The AI is analysing all the electronics around her. There are some
efficiency reductions, but well below the kind of disturbance which we
were getting from the possessed down in Xingu.

The admiral requested a schematic of the spaceport. Section G5 was the
civil spaceplane and ion field flyer dock. Dear God, Dr Dobbs, I think
you might have been right after all.



Loren floated along the brightly lit tubular corridor towards the
airlock. According to the spaceport register, a Kulu Corporation SD2002
spaceplane was docked to it, a thirty-seater craft owned by the Crossen
company who used it to ferry staff up to their microgee industrial
stations. One of the smallest spaceplanes at Guyana, it was exactly the
kind of craft a pair of fairly ignorant desperadoes would try to steal if
they wanted to get down to the planet.

There was nobody about. The last person shed seen had been a maintenance
engineer whod boarded the transit capsule shed arrived in. She toyed
with the idea of letting her energistic ability flare out and mess up
some of the electronics in the corridor. But that might make them
suspicious, shed controlled herself for so long that any change now
would cause questions. Shed just have to hope that their security
programs and sensors would catch her. The change of image was a subtle
enough betrayal, providing their monitor routines were good enough.

The airlock tube was five metres long, and narrower than the corridor,
barely two metres wide. She manoeuvred herself into it, only to find the
hatch at the far end was shut.

At last, an excuse to use the energistic ability.

There was a surge of electricity around the hatch. She could sense the
main power cables behind the azure blue composite walls, thick lines that
burnt with an ember glow of current. There were other cables too, smaller
and dimmer. It was one of those which had come alive, connected to a
small communications block set into the rim of the hatch.

Its Loren, isnt it? a voice from the block asked. Loren Skibbow, Im
sure its you. My name is Dr Riley Dobbs. I was treating Gerald before
you took him away.

She stared at the block in shock. How the bloody hell had he figured that
out?

The power flowed through her body, twisting up from the beyond like a hot
spring; she could feel it squirting through every cell. Her mind shaped
it as it rose inside her, transforming it into the pattern she wanted, a
pattern which matched her dreamy wish. It began to superimpose itself
over reality. Sparks shivered over the surface of the hatch.

Loren, I want to help, and Ive been given the authority which will
allow me to help. Please listen. Gerald is my patient, I dont want him
harmed. I believe the two of us agree on that.

Go to hell, Doctor. Better still, Ill take you there personally. You
damaged my husbands mind. Im not going to forget that.

There were noises in the corridor behind her, soft scraping, clinking
sounds. When she focused, she could perceive the minds of the marines
closing on her. Cold and anxious, but very determined.

Gerald was damaged by the possession, Dobbs said. I was trying to cure
him. I want to continue that process.

The sparks had begun to swirl around the composite of the airlock tube,
penetrating below the surface as if they were swimming through the
material.

Under the muzzle of a gun? she asked scathingly. I know theyre behind
me.

The marines wont shoot. I promise that, Loren. It would be pointless.
Shooting would just cost the life of the person youve possessed. Nobody
wants that. Please, come and talk to me. Ive already obtained huge
concessions from the authorities. Gerald can be taken down to the planet.
Hell be looked after properly, Ill continue his therapy. Perhaps
someday he can even see Marie again.

You mean Kiera. That bitch wont let my daughter go.

Nothing is certain. We can discuss this. Please. You cant leave on the
spaceplane. Even if you get in you can hardly pilot it down through the
SD network. The only way Gerald can get down to the planet is if I take
him.

You wont touch him again. Hes safe in my hiding place now, and you
never found me, not in all the time I was there.

The airlock walls gave out a small creak. All the sparks had blurred
together to form a glowing ring of composite encircling her. She smiled
tightly. The subterfuge was nearly complete. Dobbss intervention had
turned out to be a beautiful bonus.

Loren could sense the marines holding back just past the edge of the
airlock tube. She took a deep breath, attempting to deflect the knowledge
of what was about to come. White fire burst out of her feet with a
terrible screeching sound. It fountained into the corridor and broke
apart into an avalanche of individual fireballs which careered into the
waiting marines.

No, Loren, dont, I can help. Please

She exerted herself to the full. Dobbss voice fractured into a brassy
caterwaul before vanishing altogether as the energistic effect crashed
every processor within twenty-five metres.

Dont, Pou Mok pleaded from the heart of Lorens mind. I wont tell
them where he is. I promise. Theyll never know. Let me live.

I cant trust the living, Loren told her.

Bitch!

The wall of the airlock tube gleamed brighter than the fireballs, then
the composite vaporised. Loren flew out of the widening gap, impelled by
the blast of air which stampeded away into the vacuum.

Dear God, Admiral Farquar grunted. The spaceports external sensors
showed him the jet of air diminishing. Three marines had followed Loren
Skibbow out into space. Their armour suits would provide some protection
against decompression, and they had a small oxygen reserve. The duty
officer had already dispatched some MSVs to chase after them.

Loren Skibbow was a different matter. For a while she had glowed from
within, a fluorescent figure spinning around and around as she left the
ruptured dock behind. Now the glow was fading. After a couple of minutes
it winked out. The body exploded far more violently than it should have
done.

Locate as much as you can of her, and bring the pieces back, Admiral
Farquar told the duty officer. We can take a DNA sample; the ISA ought
to be able to identify her for us.

But why? Dr Dobbs asked, mortified. What the hell made her do that?

Perhaps they dont think quite like us, after all, the admiral said.

They do. I know they do.

When we find Skibbow, you can ask him.

It was a task which proved harder than expected. There was no response
from his debrief nanonics, so the Royal Navy began a physical search of
Guyana, monitored by the AI. No room, no service tunnel, and no storage
chamber was overlooked. Any space larger than a cubic metre was examined.

It took two and a half days. Pou Moks room was opened and searched
thirty-three hours after it began. Because it was listed as being rented
(currently unoccupied) by someone on Ombey, and the diligent search
turned up nothing, it was closed up and codelocked.

The cabinet meeting which followed the end of the search decided that one
missing mental patient could not justify keeping the navys premier
defence base isolated, nor could Ombey do without the products of
Guyanas industrial stations. The asteroid was stood down to a code three
status, and the problem of the womans identity and Skibbows whereabouts
handed over to a joint ISA ESA team.

Three and a half days after its original departure time, the Quadin left
for Pinjarra. Gerald Skibbow wasnt aware of it, he had been in zero-tau
an hour before Lorens final diversion.


Chapter 16
==========


The Bar KF-T wasnt up to much, but after a fifty-hour trip squashed into
the two-deck life support capsule of an inter-orbit cargo tug with just
the captains family to talk to, Monica Foulkes wasnt about to closet
herself away in a barren hotel room. A drink and some company, thats
what I need. She sat on a stool up at the bar sipping an imported beer
while Ayacuchos meagre nightlife eddied around her. The economic
downturn from the quarantine was affecting every aspect of Dorados life,
even here. It was ten-thirty P.M. local time and only five couples were
braving the dance floor, there were even some tables free. But the young
men were still reassuringly on the prowl; shed already had three offers
of a drink.

The only cause for concern was how many of them were wearing red
handkerchiefs around their ankles, boys and girls. She couldnt be
entirely sure if they wanted to seduce her or simply convert her.
Deadnight was becoming an alarming trend; the ESAs head of station in
Mapire estimated twenty per cent of the Dorados teenage population was
getting sucked in. Monica would have put it nearer to fifty per cent.
Given the blandness of existence among the asteroids she was surprised it
wasnt even higher.

Her extended sensory analysis program plotted the tall mans approach,
only alerting her to his existence when he was two metres away and his
destination obvious.

Can I get you another bottle?

Her intended reply perished as soon as she saw the too-long greying hair
flopping over his brow. Sure, she said, grinning whimsically.

He sat on the empty stool beside her and signalled the barmaid for a
couple of bottles. Now this is far more stylish than our last encounter.

True. How are you, Samuel?

Overworked and underpaid. Government employees get the same deal the
Confederation over.

You forgot unappreciated.

No I didnt, he said cheerfully. Thats the benefit of Edenism,
everyone contributes to the greater good, no matter what area we excel
in.

Oh, God. She accepted her new beer from the barmaid. An evangelical
Edenist. Just my luck.

So, what are you doing here?

Negotiating armament manufacturing contracts; it actually says Im a rep
for Octagon Exports on my passport.

Could be worse. Samuel tried his beer, and frowned at the bottle with
some dismay. Take me, Im supposed to be part of the delegation from
this systems Edenist habitats, discussing mutual defence enhancement
arrangements. I specialize in internal security procedures.

Monica laughed, and tipped her bottle at the middle-aged Edenist. Good
luck. The humour ended. You must have seen them?

Yes. Im afraid the possessed are definitely inside the barricades.

Shit! I meant the Deadnight kids.

Ah. Monica, please take care. Our . . . examination of the Dorados has
shown up several cadres of possessed. Theyre here, and they are
expanding. I do not advise you return to Mapire. Our estimation is that
it will fall within another three days, probably less.

Did you tell the governing council?

No. We decided it would cause too much panic and disorder. The council
would institute quite draconian measures, and be completely unable to
enforce them, which would only worsen the situation. The Dorados do not
have the usual civil government structure; for all their size and
economic importance, they remain company towns, without adequate law
enforcement personnel. In short, the possessed will take over here
anyway. We need time to search in peace before they do. Im afraid Mzu
comes before everything, including alerting the population.

Oh. Thanks for the warning.

My pleasure. Have your assets located Daphine Kigano yet?

Monica crinkled her face up in distaste. I shouldnt be discussing this,
not with him. Standard agency doctrine. But the universe wasnt exactly
standard anymore. And the ESA didnt have too many resources here. No.
But we know its her.

Yes. Thats what we concluded.

A chartered starship carrying one passenger was rather unsubtle. Our
station accessed the Department of Immigrations file on the Samakus
docking: one hundred per cent visual confirmation. God knows what she was
doing in the Narok system, though.

Just trading ships, we hope. An interdiction order has gone out for the
Samaku, all voidhawks and Confederation Navy ships are alert for it.

Good. Look, Samuel, I dont know what your orders are

Originally: find Mzu, prevent her from handing over the Alchemist to the
Garissan partizan movement, retrieve the Alchemist. Thats the soft
option. If we cant do that, then I was instructed to terminate her and
destroy her neural nanonics. If we dont get the Alchemist, no one else
must have it.

Yeah. Pretty much the same as mine. Personally I think the second option
would be best all round.

Possibly. I must admit that even after seventy-five years in the job I
am reluctant to kill in cold blood. A life is a life.

For the greater good, my friend.

Samuel smiled sadly. I know both the arguments and the stakes involved.
However, there is also a new factor to consider. We absolutely cannot
allow her or it to fall into the hands of the possessed.

God, I know that. Capone with antimatter is bad enough; give him the
Alchemist and the Confederation Navy might not be able to contain him.

Which means, we really dont want to expedite option two, do we?

Facing him was the same as receiving a stern glance from a loving
grandfather who was dispensing homely wisdom. How infuriating that she
had to have the obvious pointed out to her in such a fashion. How can I
argue against that? She grunted miserably.

Just as long as you appreciate all the factors.

Sure. Consider my wrist firmly smacked. What have your lot got planned
for her, then?

Following acquisition, Consensus recommended placing her in zero-tau. At
the very least until the possessed situation is resolved. Possibly
longer.

How long? Monica almost didnt want to ask, or know.

Consensus thought it prudent that she remains there until we have a
requirement for the Alchemist. It is a large galaxy, after all; there may
be other, more hostile xenocs than the Kiint and Tyrathca out there.

I was wrong, youre not an evangelist, youre a paranoid.

A pragmatist, I sincerely hope; as are all Edenists.

Okay, Samuel, so pragmatically, what do you want to do next? And please
bear in mind that I am a loyal subject of my King.

Concentrate on finding her first, then get her away from the Dorados.
The argument over custody can come later.

Nine-tenths of the law, she muttered. Are you offering me a joint
operation?

Yes, if youre willing. We have more resources here, I think, which
gives us the greater chance of launching a successful extraction mission.
But neither of us can afford to dismiss any avenue which will locate her.
I am sure your Duke of Salion would approve of any action which
guaranteed her removal from the scene right now. You can accompany her on
our evacuation flight; and afterwards we would allow a joint custody to
satisfy the Kingdom we have not acquired Alchemist technology. Is that
reasonable?

Yeah, very. We have a deal.

They touched bottles.

The local partizan leadership has been called to a meeting here
tonight, she said. Unfortunately, I dont know exactly where that is in
the asteroid. Im waiting for our asset to get in touch as soon as its
over.

Thank you, Monica. We dont know where it is, either. But were assuming
she will be there.

Can you track any of the partizans?

It is not easy. But well certainly make every effort.



For three days the rented office suite which had become the new Edenist
intelligence service headquarters in Ayacucho had been the centre of a
remarkable breeding program. When the agents of the defence delegation
team arrived they brought with them seventy thousand geneered spider
eggs. Every arachnid was affinity-capable, and small enough to clamber
through grilles and scurry through the vast mechanical plexus of lift
shafts, maintenance passages, environmental ducts, cable conduits, and
waste disposal pipes which knitted the asteroids rooms and public halls
together into a functional whole.

For over seventy hours the tiny infiltrators were coaxed and manipulated
along black pipes and through chinks in the rock, slipping around cracks
in badly fitted composite panels. Thousands never made it to their
required destination. Victims of more predatory creatures, of working
insect grids, of security barriers (most common in the corporate areas),
sluices of strange liquids, smears of sticky fluids, and the most common
failing of all: being lost.

But for every one which didnt make it, five did. At the end of the
deployment period the Edenists had visual coverage of sixty-seven per
cent of Ayacuchos interior (which was how Samuel found Monica Foulkes so
easily). The three voidhawks perched on Ayacuchos docking ledges, along
with the ten armed voidhawks holding station inside Tunjas particle
disk, and the agents reviewed the spiders on a snapshot rotor, managing a
complete sweep every four hours. As a method of locating one individual
it was horribly inefficient. Samuel knew that it would only be pure
chance if Mzu was spotted during one of the sweeps. It was up to the
agents on the ground to lower the odds by procedural work; their dull
routine of researching public files, bullying assets, bribing
officialdom, and on occasion outright blackmail.



For thirty years the Garissan partizan movement had pursued a course of
consistently lacklustre activity. It funded several anti-Omuta propaganda
campaigns to keep the hatred alive among the first of a new generation
born to the refugees. Mercenaries and ex-Garissan navy marines were
recruited and sent on sabotage missions against any surviving Omutan
interests. There were even a couple of attempts to fly into the Omuta
system and attack asteroid settlements, both of which were snuffed by
CNIS before the starships ever left dock. But for the last decade the
leadership had done little except talk. Membership had dropped away
steadily, as had funding, along with any real enthusiasm.

With such shoddy organization and defunct motivation it was inevitable
that any intelligence agency which had ever shown an interest in the
partizans had collated files on every person who had been a member, or
even attended a fringe meeting. Their leadership was perfectly
documented, long since consigned to the semi-crank category and
downgraded to intermittent monitoring. A status which was now abruptly
reversed.

There were five people making up the executive of Ayacuchos partizan
group. In keeping with the movements deterioration none of them followed
the kind of security procedures they had obeyed so rigorously in the
early days. That sloppiness in conjunction with an encyclopedic knowledge
of their daily activity patterns allowed the Edenists to position spiders
where they could provide a comprehensive coverage of the leaderships
movements in the hours leading up to the meeting.

Samuel and the voidhawks were presented with eyeblink pictures of the
partizan leaders making their way through the asteroid. Respectable
middle-age professionals now, they all had escorts of bodyguards, keen
for any sign of trouble. These entourages were unmistakable, making them
easy to follow.

It looks like either level three or four in section twelve, Samuel told
Monica.

She datavised her processor block for a schematic of the asteroid. Its
all offices there, corporate country. That makes sense, its more secure,
and they are all rich. It wouldnt be suspicious for them to be there
together.

Unfortunately it makes life complicated for us. Were having trouble
infiltrating that area. He was watching an inverted image of Ikela
walking along a corridor at the centre of five boosted bodyguards. They
were approaching a junction. A fast check with the voidhawks revealed
that there were no more spiders left ahead. He ordered the one he was
using to scuttle along the ceiling after Ikela.

<< There are UV lights ahead, >>a voidhawk warned. << The spider is
approaching a grade-five clean environment. >>

<< I know, but I need to see which way he turns. >>It was a strange
viewpoint; to Samuel the corridor wasnt particularly large, to the
spider it was vast. The two visual interpretations tended to clash
confusingly inside Samuels cortex unless he maintained a high level of
concentration. Drab whiteness slid smoothly past galloping legs. Far
above him was the sky of hazel carpet. Footsteps crashed against the
spiders pressure-sensitive cells. Stalactite mountains clad in expensive
black silk marched on in front of the racing arachnid, becoming difficult
to resolve as they approached the fork. He just needed a hint . . .

The affinity link vanished amid a violet flash. Damnation! A further
review showed Samuel no spiders had managed to penetrate the area.

What is it? Monica asked as he flinched in annoyance.

We just lost them.

So now what?

He looked around at the other agents in the office suite. Kit up and
move out. Well cover as many approaches as we can. Monica, are you sure
your asset is reliable?

Dont fret; weve got him hoisted by the short and curlies. He wont be
able to datavise during the meeting, but as soon as its over well know
where it was and if shes there. Did any of your infiltration systems see
her going in?

No, he admitted. Not even a fifty per cent characteristics match.

Im not surprised.

The Edenist agents were putting on slim equipment belts and strapping up
shoulder holsters. Monica checked her own maser pistol and ran a
diagnostic program through her implants.

Monica, Samuel said.

She caught the tone. I know: Im not in your command network, Id be in
the way if I try to front-line. Its all yours, Samuel.

Thank you. << Stand by, >>he told the voidhawks waiting on the docking
ledge, << if we do grab her well need to exit fast. >>He led the team
out.



There were only five people in the Tunja system who knew the real reason
for forming the Garissan partizan movement. None of them lived on the
same asteroid, so that if disaster did strike the others would be there
to carry on with the plan.

In Ayacucho it was Ikela, the nominal head of the original five. It
suited him to be one of the partizan groups executives rather than the
leader. This way he kept up-to-date on the movements activities while
staying out of the limelight. His position was due principally to his
financial support rather than any active participation. Again, according
to plan.

Dan Malindi, the Ayacucho groups leader, was the first to arrive at the
secure conference office of Laxa and Ahmad, the legal firm they were
using as cover. He gave Ikela a puzzled, vaguely annoyed glance as he
entered. No one knew why Ikela had demanded the meeting at seven hours
notice. And the executives werent people used to being kept in
ignorance, not by one of their own. The sight of the normally composed
industrialist sitting mutely at the table looking as if he were suffering
some kind of fever with the way he was sweating did nothing to ease the
tension.

Kaliua Lamu was the second to arrive; a financier who made little secret
about his growing ambivalence to the movement. Partizan membership didnt
sit well alongside his newfound respectability.

Feira Ile and Cabral arrived together, the most senior ranking figures in
the Dorados administration. Feira Ile had been an admiral in the Garissan
navy and was now Ayacuchos SD chief, while Cabral had built himself the
largest media group in the Dorados. His companys growth and popularity
were due to the tabloid nationalism of its editorial policy, which made
him a natural choice for the partizans. Most of the executive staff
suspected his support was strictly for appearance sake.

Bodyguards and assistants left the room. Dan Malindi glared at the small
woman sitting quietly behind Ikela, who obstinately refused to be
intimidated into moving.

Shes with me, Ikela said.

Dan Malindi grunted in dissatisfaction and activated the offices
security screen. All right, Ikela, what the hell is this about?

Ikela gave the woman a respectful gesture, and she stood up, walking to
the end of the table opposite Dan Malindi. My name is Dr Alkad Mzu, Im
here to finish our war with Omuta.

Dan Malindi and Kaliua Lamu both gave her a nonplussed glance. Cabral
frowned, ordering a neural nanonics file search. But it was Feira Ile who
produced the strongest reaction; he half rose to his feet, openly
astonished. The Alchemist, he murmured. You built the Alchemist. Holy
Mary.

The what? Cabral asked.

The Alchemist, Alkad told them. It was our superweapon. I was its
designer.

Feira? Cabral prompted.

Shes right, the old ex-admiral said. I was never given any details,
the project was classified way above my security rating. But the navy
built this . . . thing, whatever it is, just before the genocide. We were
going to use it against Omuta. He drew a long breath and looked at the
diminutive physicist. What happened?

Our flight was intercepted by blackhawks hired by Omuta, Alkad said.
We never got there. The Alchemist was never used.

No way, Dan Malindi said. This is complete bullshit. You appear on the
scene thirty years after the event and spin some crap about a missing
legend you heard about in some bar. I bet the next stage is asking us for
money to search for this Alchemist. In fact, I bet its going to take a
lot of money to find it, right? He was sneering contemptuously at her
when he finished, but somehow her cold smile managed to rob his anger.

I dont need to search. I know exactly where it is.

It wasnt lost? Kaliua Lamu asked. His enthusiasm bought him a
disgusted look from Dan Malindi.

No, its never been lost. Its been kept safe.

Where?

Alkad merely smiled.

Maybe it does exist, Cabral said. And our illustrious admiral here was
right saying someone called Alkad Mzu built it. How do we know youre
her? We cant make the decisions we need to make on the word of some
stranger who turns up out of the blue, especially not at this precise
time.

Alkad raised an eyebrow. Captain?

I can vouch for her, Ikela said softly. This is Dr Alkad Mzu.

Captain? Dan Malindi asked. What does she mean?

Ikela cleared his throat. It was my rank in the Garissan navy. I used to
be captain of the frigate Chengho. We were flying escort duty on the
Alchemist deployment mission. Thats how I know.

Datavise your command authority code, Feira Ile said sternly.

Ikela nodded reluctantly, and retrieved the code from its memory cell.

It would appear our colleague is telling the truth, Feira Ile told the
silent office.

Mother Mary, Cabral muttered, glancing at the man he thought hed known
for the last thirty years. Why didnt you tell us?

Ikela sank his head into his hands. The plan operates on a need to know
basis only. Up until today you didnt need to know.

What plan? Feira Ile snapped.

To deploy the Alchemist, Alkad said. After the original mission was
crippled, Ikela and four other officers were detailed to sell the
antimatter we were carrying. They were supposed to invest that money so
there would be sufficient funds to hire a combat-capable starship and
equip it to fire the Alchemist once the sanctions were lifted and the
Confederation Navy squadron assigned to blockade duties returned home.
The only reason you partizans exist is to provide me with a crew that
will not flinch from the job that needs to be done. She stared at Ikela.
And now Im here, on schedule, and I find no ship, and no crew.

I told you, Ikela shouted. You can have your ship if thats still what
we want. I have more than enough money. Anyone of us in this room has
enough money to provide a starship for you. I have never failed my duty
to my people. Dont you ever say that. But things have changed.

Looks like youve failed to me, Cabral said briskly. Looks like youve
failed a lot of people.

Think! Ikela stormed. Think for the love of Mary what she is
proposing. What will the Confederation do to us if we blow up Omutas
star? What revenge will they take?

It can do that? a startled Kaliua Lamu asked. The Alchemist will
destroy their star?

On one setting, yes, Alkad said. I dont intend using that. I propose
to simply extinguish the star. No one will die, but their planet and
asteroid settlements will have to be evacuated and abandoned. They will
become a broken homeless people, as we are. Thats fitting, surely?

Well yes . . . He searched around the table for support, finding only
uneasy confusion. But I dont understand. If you survived the blackhawk
attack, why didnt you continue with the mission? Why wait thirty years?

There were complications, Alkad said tonelessly. By the time we were
in any position to function again the sanctions had been imposed, and the
blockade squadron was in place. It was decided to wait until these
obstructions were removed, which would give us a much greater chance of
success. We did not have limitless government resources anymore, and we
only have one chance to get it right. This is the optimum time to strike.
We wont have another chance; the intelligence agencies are pursuing me.
And they will find me.

Dan Malindi groaned. Intelligence agencies? Holy Mary, theyll find out
where youve been.

Oh, yes, theyll know youre involved. Does that bother you?

Bother me? You bitch! I have a family.

Yes. Ive heard this argument already today. It is beginning to bore me.
I have lived the reality of the genocide for thirty years. You, all of
you, have just been playing patriot. Each of you has profited in your own
field by chanting the cry of nationalism. Well, my being here has put an
end to your pathetic game.

Are you threatening us? Cabral asked.

I have always been a threat to your cosy life, even though you never
knew I existed.

What exactly do you want? Feira Ile asked.

Two things. A combat-capable starship with a decent crew of committed
nationalists. And a secure environment for myself while you prepare them.
Do not underestimate the agencies. They now know for certain that the
Alchemist is real, which means they will go to any lengths to acquire me.

Ikela stood up, placing his hands on the table and leaning forwards. I
say we cannot do this. Mother Mary, were sitting here talking about
wrecking an entire star system as if it were some kind of difficult
business venture. Times have changed, we are not Garissans anymore. Im
sorry if that is painful for you to hear, Doctor, but were not. We have
to look to the future, not the past. This is madness.

And that is treachery, Cabral said.

Treachery to what? To a planet that was killed thirty years ago? If
thats what it is, then fine, Im a traitor to it. I dont care.

Other people might when they get to hear.

Ikela, I really dont think youre in any position to back out now,
Feira Ile said. Given your mission, you are still a serving officer.
That means you are required to discharge your obligations.

Then I quit, I resign my commission.

Very well. In that case, I must ask you to hand over the TOpingtu
company to me.

What?

I believe we just heard that it was founded on money provided by the
Garissan navy. That means it doesnt belong to you.

Go fuck yourself.

Listen, we cant make a snap judgement over this, Kaliua Lamu said.
Ikelas right, were talking about wiping out an entire solar system.

I might have known youd take that attitude, Dan Malindi said.

Excuse me?

You heard. Im willing to provide as much help as Dr Mzu wants. What the
hell is the Confederation going to do to us if were armed with
Alchemists?

There is only one, Alkad said.

You can build more, cant you?

She hesitated uncomfortably. If there was a requirement, it could be
duplicated.

There you are then. You cant leave whats left of the Garissan nation
and culture unprotected, can you?

You want to start a damn arms race as well? Ikela yelled. Youre as
mad as she is.

Curb your language. Have you forgotten the possessed?

In Marys name what have they got to do with this?

If we were armed with Alchemists, that bastard Capone would think twice
before sending his fleet here.

And who precisely is going to be in charge of these Alchemists?

The Dorados council, of course, Dan Malindi said scornfully.

Exactly, and we all know how much influence you have there.

Enough! Alkad slammed her fist down. I will not supply Alchemists to
anyone. You have no conception of what it is capable of. It is not some
bigger and better bomb you can use for political advantage. It was built
for one purpose, to destroy the people who threatened our world. It will
be used for one purpose, our revenge against them. She looked at each of
them in turn, furious and sickened that this was all that remained of the
planet she was once so proud of. Where was their dignity, their
resolution? Could none of them perform one single act of remembrance? I
will give you thirty minutes to debate this. After that you will tell me
which of you support me, and which do not.

I certainly support you, Kaliua Lamu said loudly, but he was talking to
her back as she limped away.

The shouting had already begun again before the door closed behind her.
All the bodyguards and aides in the anteroom stared; Alkad barely saw
them. If she had just known or anticipated the shambles which the
partizans had become, then she would have been mentally geared up.

Alkad? Voi was bending down, giving the smaller woman an anxious look.

Dont mind me, Ill be all right.

Please, I have something to show you. Now.

The girl took Alkads arm, hustling her across the room and out into the
corridor. Alkad couldnt be bothered to protest, although force of habit
made her activate a threat analysis program. Her enhanced retinas began
scanning the length of the corridor.

Here, Voi said triumphantly. She opened her palm to reveal a tiny
squashed spider.

Mother Mary! Have you completely flipped?

No, listen. You know you said you thought the intelligence agencies were
following you.

I should never have told you that. Voi, you dont know what youre
getting involved with.

Oh, yes I do. We started checking the spaceport log. Theres a
delegation of Edenists here to discuss strengthening our defences. Three
voidhawks brought thirty of them.

Yes?

Mapire only rated one voidhawk, and six Edenists to discuss our mutual
defence with the council. It should be the other way around, the capital
should have got the larger delegation, not Ayacucho.

Alkad glanced at the little brown blob in the girls hand, a bad feeling
sinking through her. Go on.

So we thought about how Edenists would search the asteroid for you.
Adamists would use spylenses and hack into the communications net to get
at public monitor security cameras. Edenists would use bitek systems,
either simulants or affinity-bonded animals. We started looking. And here
they are. Spiders. Theyre everywhere, Alkad. We checked. Ayacucho is
totally infested.

That doesnt necessarily prove she said slowly.

Yes it does. The hand with the crushed blob was shaken violently. This
is from the Lycosidae family. Ayacuchos ecologists never introduced any
Lycosidaes into the biosphere. Check the public records if you dont
believe me.

All sorts of things can get through bio-quarantine; irradiation
screening isnt perfect.

Then why are they all male? We havent found a single female, not one.
Its got to be so they cant mate, they wont reproduce. Theyll die off
without causing any sort of ecological imbalance. Nobody will ever notice
them.

Strangely enough, Alkad was almost impressed. Thank you, Voi. Id better
go back in there and tell them I need more security.

Them? Voi was utterly derisory. Did they leap to help you? No. Of
course not. I said they wouldnt.

They have what I need, Voi.

They have nothing we dont. Nothing. Why dont you trust us? Trust me?
What does it take to make you believe in us?

I do believe in your sincerity.

Then come with me! It was an agonized plea. I can get you out of here.
They dont even have any way to get you out of the office without the
spiders seeing.

Thats because they dont know about them.

They dont know, because theyre not concerned about security. Look at
them, theyve got enough bodyguards in there to form a small army.
Everybody in the asteroid knows who they are.

Truthfully?

All right, not everybody. But certainly every reporter. The only reason
they dont say anything is because of Cabral. Anyone coming to the
Dorados who really wanted to make contact with the partizan movement
wouldnt need more than two hours to find a name.

Mary be damned! Alkad glanced back at the door to the anteroom, then at
the tall girl. Voi was everything her father was not: dedicated,
determined, hurting to help. You have some kind of safe route out of
here?

Yes!

Okay. You can take me out of this section. After that Ill get in touch
with your father again, see what theyre going to do for me.

And if they wont help?

Then it looks like youre on.



Yeah? So, Im late. Sue me. Listen, this meeting caused me a shitload of
grief. I dont need no lecture from the ESA on contact procedures right
now.

. . .

Yeah, shes here all right, in the flesh. Mother Mary, shes really got
the Alchemist stashed away somewhere. Shes not kidding. I mean, shit,
she really wants to take out Omutas star.

. . .

Course I dont know where it is, she wouldnt say. But, Mary, Ikela used
to be a frigate captain in the Omuta navy. He flew escort on the
Alchemist mission. I never knew. Twenty years weve been plotting away
together, and I never knew.

. . .

Sure you want to know where we are. Look, youre going to come in here
shooting, right? I mean, how do I know youre not going to snuff me? This
is serious heavy-duty shit.

. . .

All right, but if youre lying youd better make sure you finish me.
Ill have you if you dont, no matter what it costs. And hey, even if you
do kill me, I can come back and get you that way. Yeah. So youd better
not be fucking me over.

. . .

Oh, absolutely. I always believe every word you people say. Okay,
listen, were in Laxa and Ahmads conference office. The bodyguards are
all in the anteroom. Tell your people to be fucking careful when they
come in. You let them know Im on your side, yeah?

. . .

No, shes out in the anteroom. She went out there twenty minutes ago so
we could argue about what to do. The vote was three to two for wasting
Omutas star. Guess how I voted.



Laxa and Ahmad, the conference office, Monica said. Mzus in the
anteroom along with the bodyguards.

<< Go, >>Samuel ordered.

The twenty Edenist agents closed on the Laxa and Ahmad offices. Floor
plans were pulled from the asteroids civil engineering memory cores.
Entry routes and tactics were formulated and finalized while they jogged
towards their target, the general affinity band thick with tense
exchanges.

Monica kept three paces behind Samuel the whole way. It irked her, and
she wasnt looking forwards to her debrief, either. Teaming up with
Edenists! But at least this way the Alchemist would be neutered.
Providing Samuel kept his part of the agreement. Which she was sure he
would do. Although high politics could still screw everything up. God!

It took them four minutes to reach Laxa and Ahmad. One featureless
corridor after another. Thankfully there were few people about, with only
a handful of workaholics left. They barged past an old man carrying
several flek cases, a man and a woman who looked so guilty they were
obviously having an affair, a pair of teenage girls, one very tall and
skinny and black, the other small and white, both wearing red
handkerchiefs around their ankles.

When she reached Laxa and Ahmad the Edenist team was already inside. Two
agents stood guard out in the corridor. Monica stepped wearily through
the crumpled door, drawing her pistol.

Samuel drew his breath sharply. Damnation.

What? she asked. By then they had reached the conference office
anteroom. The partizan bodyguards were all sprawled on the floor with
limbs twitching erratically. Six Edenists stood over them, their TIP
pistols pointing down. Three scorch lines slashed the walls where laser
fire had burned the composite. A pair of spent nerve short-out grenades
rolled around on the carpet.

Wheres Mzu? Monica asked.

Samuel beckoned her into the conference office. The partizan leadership
had been caught by the nerve short-out pulses, but the door and security
screening had saved them from the worst effects. They were still
conscious. Four of them. The fifth was dead.

Monica grimaced when she saw the broad char mark on the side of Ikelas
skull. The beam had fractured the bone in several places, roasting the
brain to a black pulp. Someone had made very sure his neural nanonics
were ruined. God, what happened here?

Two Edenist agents were standing behind Feira Ile, their pistol muzzles
pressed into his neck. His wrists had been secured in a composite zipcuff
behind his back. Crumbs of vomit were sticking to his lip; he was
sweating profusely from the grenade assault, but otherwise defiant. A
laser pistol was lying on the table in front of him.

He shot Ikela, Samuel said in bewildered dismay. He squatted down
beside Ikelas chair. Why? What was the point? He was one of yours.

Feira Ile grinned savagely. My last duty for the Garissan navy.

What do you mean?

Ikela flew escort duty on the Alchemist. He probably knew where it is.
Now he cant tell you.

Monica and Samuel swapped a grim glance.

Shes gone, hasnt she? Monica said bitterly.

It would seem so.

Fuck it! She stamped over to Kaliua Lamu, who had an agent holding him
upright in his chair. Where did Mzu go? Monica asked.

Screw you.

Monica gave an amused glance at the other partizans around the table.
Oh, come on, Kaliua, she said sweetly. You were eager enough to tell
us this meetings location.

Liar!

She took out a Royal Kulu Bank credit disk. A hundred thousand pounds,
wasnt it?

Bitch whore! I never, he shouted at his comrades. It wasnt me. For
Marys sake, it wasnt.

Monica grabbed his chin, and slowly exerted her boosted grip. Kaliua Lamu
gagged fearfully at the force which threatened to shatter his jawbone.

You said Id better be certain when I finish you. Well, I intend to be
extremely thorough extinguishing your life unless I know where she went.

I dont know.

Debrief nanonics would be the pleasant option, but we dont have time
for that. Fortunately, old-fashioned pain can still produce some pretty
impressive results during field interrogation. And they trained me very
well, Kaliua. She pushed her face centimetres from his bugging eyes.
Would you like to try calling my bluff? Or perhaps you think youre
strong enough to resist me for a couple of hours after Ive fused your
neural nanonics into ash? Once theyre dead you cant block the pain. And
the field way to fuse neural nanonics is with electrodes. Crude, but it
works. Guess where theyre applied.

No. Please! Dont. His eyes were watering as he started shaking.

Where then?

I dont know. I promise. She was gone when we finished. I told you she
was supposed to be waiting outside for us to finish. But she wasnt
there.

Then who did she leave with?

It was a girl, my bodyguard said. Ikelas daughter, Voi. Shes tall,
young. They were talking together and never came back. Honestly, thats
all I know.

Monica let go of his chin. He slumped back in the chair, trembling in
relief.

A tall girl, Monica whispered. She was looking at Samuel in dawning
dismay as the memory blossomed. She hurriedly accessed the neural
nanonics memory cell shed kept running to record the operation.

In the corridor on the way up. Two girls, one tall and black, the other
white and small. Pressed against the wall in alarm as she and Samuel ran
past. The memory cell image froze. Green neon grid lines closed around
the smaller girl, calculating her height. It matched Mzus. So did the
approximated weight.

A backpack fitted with a long shoulder strap hung at the girls side.

Monica had seen that backpack once before. Never in her life would she
need help from neural nanonics to remember that time. The backpack had
been flapping behind a small spacesuit-clad figure who was clinging
desperately to a rope ladder.

Dear God, we walked right bloody past her, she told an aghast Samuel.
The bitch is wearing a chameleon suit.






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