by Hodden, TE
Catherine gave him a kind smile. “If somebody does it of their own free will?”
“Then they can use it,” Charlie said.
“To bring Necrex across,” Melisa said. “That’s what you thought before? If not the Legion, or the fire, then…” She chewed her lip. “A plague?”
Angel shifted uncomfortably. “What sort of a plague?”
Charlie looked around. “Something that doesn’t belong on this world. Something that kills quickly, and spreads in great numbers, to seed corruption.” He gripped Melisa’s hand so tightly his knuckles bleached. “They are targeting Schism Ways because they want the smell of death to draw in ghouls, and…” He trailed off, losing the thread. “And…”
“And the whole world goes to Hell,” Melisa said. “Literally.”
Catherine glanced around. “Ghouls like zombies?”
“No.” Melisa drew Charlie close to her in a hug. “Ghouls like… mindless humanoid scorpion predators. They infest dying worlds, to pick off survivors, in the confusion.”
“And…” Matthew looked around. “This is the world the Necrex wants to rule? A dead world?”
“Why not?” Angel asked. “How many forms of life are there that feed on the death of others? Worms and maggots, fish and bacteria and…”
Padmaja scowled. “So, what do we get, when we scale it up?”
Charlie stared through the walls, into the distance. “His Lieutenants were trapped in the afterlife, and chained in the forest of nightmares, but they got free… They came to Earth, and without the Yeomen to stop them, they began moving pieces on the board.”
Melisa stroked his hair. “Charlie. What do we have to fight?”
“There isn’t a fight.” Charlie said. “If Necrex reaches this world we’ve lost. It will eat the life off the world. It’s… like a sea cucumber, mixed with a cockroach and a thistle, but it’s the size of Australia, and its roots will dig down to the molten core of the world, and…”
Matthew looked worried. “Okay… So… We stop the satellites, and we stop the chain reaction? Is that it?”
Padmaja nodded. “I can do that. I just need the Master Control.”
Angel nodded. “Paris is still our best chance to get it for you.”
Catherine rose to her feet. She struggled to keep her voice even, to the lava and bile of her emotions locked beneath a professional veneer. “It’s not just the security on the docket. They will be expecting us. Echo and Nightmare will be waiting for us.”
Melisa sat there, stroking Charlie’s hair, and Catherine could see the cogs whizzing around behind her eyes. Her heart was being ripped in two.
Catherine looked at Angel. “Charlie’s plan, to reach Elois and put her back in her own head. Is that something you can do?”
Angel toyed with her hood. “There has to be a little bit of the victim’s mind still tied to the body, to anchor the Intruder. In theory, if we reel them back to their body, and they put up enough of a fight, then… the Intruder will lose its grip and we can push entity out, and… it will retreat back to whichever plain it is lurking on. We…could help the victim fight it.” She gestured at Charlie. “For him it would all be instinctive, folding his mind, making the spell by thinking of it. For me… it would be a ritual. It would take time… I would need a way to hold them somewhere… Then maybe…”
Melisa closed her eyes, and et her jaw. “I can do it.”
Catherine stared at her. “If we can pin one of them down, I can reach whatever is left of the host. I can help them fight.”
“So…” Matthew’s aura reached out and picked up the model of the conference venue. “We need to force them into a corner…”
“Or,” Angel said, “lure them into a trap.”
“I can do that,” Charlie whispered. “I can do it.
Matthew looked around the group. “Okay, Angel and Melisa lay the trap. We assume they take one of the Quarterbacks off the field. That leaves Brandi, Myself, and… Padmaja?”
Padmaja nodded. “Yeah.”
Matthew held up a finger. “That leaves three of us to take the Master Control.” He glanced at Catherine. “You are on the bench with Charlie.”
Catherine tensed. Every fibre of her being was still on a war footing, and her heart was pounding the war-drum beat of somebody who needed to be on the front lines, but… She closed her eyes and took a breath. She took a deep breath. She had a broken wrist. She was exhausted. She was out of the game.
She made herself look at Melisa. She made herself smile. “I’ll keep him safe. I promise.”
Melisa nodded. “Thank you.”
“Coming with you,” Charlie whispered.
“No.” Melisa kissed his forehead. “No. You are in no state to. You’re…”
Charlie’s voice was feather soft, vague and dreamy. “When did that stop a Yeoman?”
01000
The Motorcade rode swiftly through the wintery shower.
Allistaire sat in the back of the limousine, watching the construction sites and rubble of Paris blurring past his window. The city had become known as the “Phoenix Of Europe”, in tribute to how quickly it had begun to rise again from the terrible losses it suffered from the Legion. In just months, the remains of the Legion Dreadnought had been dismantled and removed from the city. Entire streets of derelict buildings had been cleared away to vacant lots, where new buildings, new developments, were rapidly rising in their place. Whatever fragments of history, the frontages of ruined buildings, the scraps of character and life of the old city, could be saved were woven into the new generation of buildings, preserved and protected.
Misrule chuckled from across the car. “Inspiring, isn’t it. The human spirit.”
“It is,” Allistaire said, “a meagre fraction of what we will build, when the dead wood is burned away, and the next generation allowed to flourish.” He raised a finger. “I can promise you, the world of the next Millennium will be¬”
“Oh,” Misrule said, with a smile. “I know. Believe me dear boy, I know.” His eyes sparkled. “Or did you not think your vision was one of the reasons you were chosen?”
“I will not let you down,” Allistaire promised.
Misrule looked at his watch. “Fourteen hundred hours. That is… zero eight hundred in Washington. The last day of the old world, is just beginning.”
Somewhere, deep at the back of his mind, lost in the pastel shaded fog, in the peaceful quiet of his thoughts, there was a part of him dimly aware that he should be very, very, scared.
Its voice was drowned out by all the soothing whispers of his masters.
Allistaire smiled at Misrule, and returned to watching the streets.
*
The French government had requisitioned a stately old hotel on the banks of the seine for the summit. A mob of journalists and camera crews were waiting in the street, under the careful watch of armed police officers and the local security services.
The limousine pulled to a halt, at the steps to the hotel.
Misrule gestured at Allistaire. “I will see you inside.”
Allistaire climbed out of the car, into the shower of rain. The Nightmare, in his Scimitar armour, followed him out.
Allistaire waited until the limousine, and other cars had pulled away, before he walked to the podium on the steps, and shook the hand of the French President, a prim, sultry, woman, with intense eyes. She was stood before a smart display, on which images of the Broadsword Network, stylised representations of the satellites, in orbit, or close up illustrations of the Phased Energy Protectors.
They said a few small words, then he turned to smile at the cameras.
The press barked their questions.
Allistaire spoke in a fluid and fluent French. “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming to meet us. I will not keep you long, given the weather. Some months ago, the world stood on a knife edge, and we came closer than any of us care admit, to our destruction. I do not know why the Honour Guard, turned against us. I do not know
what the Legion offered to turn them. I do know that we were unprepared for the scale of destruction that individuals like them could bring. We have, before, faced threats to our individual nations, even to the Earth itself, but we have been shown there are dangers out there, that we must hope never to face again, but must, nevertheless, be ready to face.” He raised a finger. “If it were not for Agent Harris, here, and the young Englishman known under the codename Yeoman, who gave his life in San Francisco, none of us would be here to have this discussion.” He looked to the Nightmare, then to the floor. “The urgency is not because I fear another invasion from the stars. The urgency is that the Honour Guard are still out there.” His expression turned pained. “Broadsword will be a global defence. It is the shield that will protect us, all of us, from the shadows we can not yet imagine. I hope, I truly hope, every single delegate will sign today. It is a…vaccine. It is strongest when we are all part of it, when we have looked past our personal, or national, interest to the greatest good for us all. Sixty three satellites, armed with phased energy weapons capable of targeting invasions from among the stars, or upon the surface of the world. Anywhere.” He bowed his head. “Madame President? Shall we?”
They hurried up the stairs and into the hotel.
01001
Matthew stood in the construction site that looked over the back of the hotel. A biting wind drove the sleet and rain through the steel bones of the new tower, singing low mournful laments.
Summers and Padmaja were crouched close-by, watching with a monocular, and listening in with the staff.
Padmaja had a portable TV on her lap. “Nightmare is on site. He’s with Allistaire at the front of the building. No sign of Echo.”
Matthew nodded. “Here come the cars.”
The Ameican motorcade pulled into the courtyard behind the hotel. A handful of diplomats, and a lot of security agents, climbed out of the cars.
One of them, a wizened older man, like the grim reaper with a better tailor, der himself out of the limousine. The Master Control Unit was cuffed to his wrist. He stared straight up at them, and drew his parchment lips to a smile.
“No,” Matthew whispered. “That… isn’t possible.”
The world spun about Matthew, as his heart tore itself between hope, love, anger, and dread all at the same time. His chest tightened. His fingers prickled with pins and needles. His breath caught in his craw.
“Matthew?” Padmaja asked. “Who is that?”
Summers closed her eyes and listened through the staff. “They are signing him as Professor…Charles Ludwig Laurence? The chief scientific officer of the project.”
“Yeah,” Matthew said. “He’s… kind of my dad.”
The others stared at him.
“You know…” He gestured with a hand. “The whole thing with the radio telescope getting instructions, how to build a gene-forge, and grow…well… a me? That was him. He raised me.” His brow furrowed. “He got cancer. He died. I mourned him. I cremated him.”
Padmaja pursed her lips. “I hope he doesn’t hold a grudge.”
“How,” Matthew whispered, “is he here?”
Padmaja winced. “Matthew… You know what this suggests, don’t you?”
Matthews thoughts caught up hers. His sphincter quivered. “The… other weapon?”
Padmaja nodded. “A simple launcher would fit in the satellites and would… What was it Charlie said?”
Summers’ grip on her staff tightened. “Cover the world in a stench of death?”
Matthew nodded. “Yeah. I… wasn’t the only weapon they made from the message. I was just the one… well… The other was destroyed. Or it was meant to be…”
Padmaja’s voice was a whisper. “The wraithrose. It was a parasitic fungus, designed to make any warm blooded animal extinct. All samples of it were destroyed when it was realised an outbreak couldn’t be controlled or contained.”
Summers swallowed. “That sounds bad.”
Matthew sighed. “Whatever you’re picturing, it’s worse. Can you scan him.”
Summers studied her staff. “Huh. Well… wherever he’s been, he reeks of interdimensional flux. My Choir are screaming all kinds of warnings about him.”
Matthew nodded. “Then… they got to him too?”
Summers gave him a sad look. “I’m so sorry.”
Matthew set his jaw. “We get the control unit, we stop whatever Allistaire has planned, and… If we are wrong, I will talk it through with him. If we are right, he will forgive us.”
“If,” Padmaja whispered, “there is anything of him left.”
Matthew raised a finger. “We stick to the plan. If there’s a world left, we can deal with the consequences later.” He tapped at his ear. “Angel? We have eyes on the prize. Nightmare in play. No sign of Echo.”
“Understood,” Angel said. “We are… almost ready to cast out the chum, and see who we attract.”
Matthew nodded. “Any way you can…”
“No,” Angel said. “It takes as long as it takes.”
Matthew folded his arms over his chest.
Summers looked at him. “Those are a lot of people with guns.”
“Yeah,” Padmaja said. “You kind of get used to that.”
01010
Melisa checked the stencils on the wall against the plan on her sheet of paper, and began to spray paint over them. Angel was working on the larger circle of symbols on the floor.
They were on the outskirts of town, in the ruins of a tenement building, three quarters of which had been reduced to rubble. Angel had chosen the ruin as one that was remote enough to ensure they weren’t disturbed, with enough walls to ensure they could surround their trap in spell-circles, on wall after wall, radiating out in all directions.
Melisa had spent the morning erecting the masts and probes of an ether converter were arranged in the basement, in the old car-park, directly beneath the bullseye of the magic circle. Since she had finished, Angel had set her to work, helping to catch up with the spraying of the runes and circles.
The ruins were dank and miserable, full of dripping water and echoes.
“He wants to rush me,” Angel muttered, “but he isn’t here helping, is he?”
“He worries for you,” Melisa said.
Angel scoffed. “I know that. It doesn’t make him any less annoying.”
“True,” Melisa agreed. “And he has a cute smile.”
“Yeah?” Angel cocked her head. “To me that is like saying he has a cute smell. It’s not the thing that registers.”
“Okay,” Melisa said, laughing.
Angel sprayed her stencil. “He does though.”
“Have a cute smile?”
“A cute smell,” Angel said, with a chuckle. “It’s the pheromones, and stuff…”
“Okay,” Melisa said, in a sharp tone. “That is too much information.”
“When this is over,” Angel said, “do we stay in the ship?”
“I have no idea,” Melisa admitted. “Why?”
“I thought…” Angel shrugged. “I thought maybe it should be time to move on, to find whatever is left of my people and tell them… there is hope. That a world found a way to fight back against the Legion. Twice.” She smiled. “You should see it out there, Melisa. Worlds beyond your imagination. Countless stars. Empires that stretch across arms of the galaxy. Such worlds you could not imagine…”
Melisa smiled. “You and Matthew will be very happy out there.”
“Yes.” Angel stepped closer to Melisa. “But I mean it. You should see it out there. You should come.”
Melisa chewed her lip. “You can’t mean that. I won’t be good company. I’ll annoy you to no end. You’ll end up abandoning me on an ice moon somewhere.”
Angel took her hand. “Consider the offer. A journey is made by the friends you share it with.” Angel bowed her head. “And… I would be braver with my friend with me.”
Melisa nodded. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”
She couldn’t be sure, but Melisa felt Angel was smiling, behind her veil, as they set back to work.
An hour later they were ready.
Melisa nodded at Angel, and powered up the Ether Converter. She tapped her earpiece. “Matthew. We’re throwing the chum in the water now.”
“Hold on…” Matthew said, over the link. “Yeah. Nightmare just took off.”
“Right,” Melisa said, stepping into the circle.
Angel sat, crossed legged. “Where is the other one?”
01011
Echo checked the screen of her GPS device, as she approached the mouth of the tunnel.
This was the third schism-way she had investigated that day, radiating out from the Highland road where Zero-Vector had detected the Honour Guard trying to access the Broadsword network. It was the first schism-way to have been shaped into a doorway, and protected by spells that confused the paths and roads around it.
Echo touched the bricks of the tunnel mouth.
Spells and enchantments flowed through them, sealing the door behind the stone.
Echo smiled, and pressed her hand to the sigil-brick, and let her will flow from her fingertips. Her mind struck the spells of the door like a battering ram, shattered the fabric of reality. The schism way fractured, the distinctive lightning bolt in the air.
Echo stepped between worlds.
Beyond was a pocket realm of wildflower meadows, and twisted knots of woodland. The dusty trail had been recently, and often used, by a car. The smell of a Yeoman lingered in the air.
She followed the trail, over the hill, and into the woodlands where a stranded sea vessel had been claimed by the green. The gangway was unguarded. There was music and the screeching tyres and roaring engines of a car chase, seeping from one of the upper rooms, a lounge or bar.
