The Naked God

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Her sister smiled mischievously up at Andy, winked, then skipped inside.

  Thankful no giggles had been audible, Louise took a deep breath. “I have to go now, Andy.”

  “Can I see you again?”

  The amount of hope in his voice was awful. I should never have agreed to come out tonight, she thought, he was always going to misinterpret it.

  Yet for all his faults, he has a good heart. “No, Andy, I’m sorry. I have this person I need to find, and I also have my fiancé. I shall be leaving Earth as soon as I can. It wouldn’t be right, not for either of us. I don’t want you to think this is something it isn’t.”

  “I see.” His head drooped down.

  “You can kiss me goodnight, though,” she said shyly.

  More in fear than joy, he pressed himself against her, touching his lips to hers. When they parted, her mouth crinkled up in compassion. “I really did enjoy tonight, Andy. Thank you.”

  “If it doesn’t work with your fiancé, and you come back …” he began optimistically.

  “You’ll be top of my list. Promise.”

  He watched her disappear through the doors, standing with his arms hanging limply at his side. The finality of it was appalling. For one mad moment he wanted to rush after her.

  “You’ll get over it, son,” the doorman said. “Plenty more of them out there.”

  “Not like her!” Andy shouted back.

  The doorman shrugged, and smiled with infuriating smugness.

  Andy turned fast, and walked away through the night-time crowds that were clogging the pavement. “I kissed her, though,” he whispered. “I really did.” He gave an incredulous little guffaw as the enormity of the contact finally registered. “I kissed Louise Kavanagh.” Laughing broadly he set off towards Islington; he was far too broke to pay for a metro trip.

  Louise waited until Genevieve was tucked up in bed before she called Banneth.

  “Hello. You don’t know me, but I’m Louise Kavanagh. I’m calling to warn you about someone called Quinn Dexter. Do you know him?”

  “Fuck off.” The contact was cancelled.

  Louise datavised Banneth’s eddress to the room’s net processor again.

  “Look, this is important. I met Quinn Dexter on Norfolk, and he’s going to …”

  A red cross icon flashed persistently as the contact was cancelled again.

  The next time Louise datavised Banneth’s eddress she got a filter program which requested her icon tag. She loaded it in, only to be told she wasn’t on the receiver’s approved reception list. “Damnation!”

  “What’s the matter?” Genevieve peered over at her from the bed, duvet clutched round her shoulders.

  “Banneth won’t talk to me. I don’t believe this, after everything we’ve been through to warn her. How … How stupid.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Call Robson, I suppose.” She datavised the detective’s eddress into the processor, wondering if the man was psychic. Not a bad thing for a private eye.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll come right over.”

  The cocktail lounge was a mistake. Louise sat at a table by herself and ordered an orange juice while she waited for Ivanov Robson to arrive. The decor was as polished as the rest of the hotel, with honey-brown wooden panels and gold-framed mirrors covering the walls. Chandeliers kept it well lit, although it seemed shady, like a woodland glade. There were enough different bottles behind the rosewood bar to make the shelving look like an art exhibition.

  Whether it was the wine and Norfolk Tears finally catching up with her, or just the superb cushioning of the deep leather chair, Louise suddenly started to feel warm and drowsy. It didn’t help that she had to deflect seemingly dozens of offers from young (and not-so-young) men to buy her a drink and keep her company. She was worried that she was being too sharp when she turned them down. Whatever would mother say?

  One of the tailcoated waiters eventually came over, an ancient man with large white sideburns who put her in mind of Mr. Butterworth. “Are you sure you want to stay here, miss?” he asked kindly. “There are quieter rooms available for residents.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Ivanov Robson said.

  “Of course, sir.” The waiter bowed, and backed away.

  The giant detective’s gaze slid along the line of men sitting up at the bar. All of them suddenly found something else of interest.

  “No offence, Louise, but if you’re going to wear that kind of dress, you really shouldn’t be in a bar by yourself. Not even here. It sends out some seriously strong signals.” He sat down in the chair beside her, his bulk making the leather creak.

  “Oh.” She looked down, only just realizing she was still in the blue dress she’d worn as a treat for Andy. “I think I may have had too much to drink. I went out for a meal with a friend earlier on.”

  “Indeed? I didn’t think you were wearing it for my benefit. Though I would have been highly flattered. You look quite gorgeous.”

  Louise blushed. “Um … thank you.”

  “You do know your neural nanonics have a suppression program to deal with a wee bit too much mouth-alcohol interaction, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Well they do. Perhaps if you were to put it into primary mode, this would be a more productive meeting.”

  “Right.” She called up the control architecture, and hunted round for the suppresser program. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually the bar wasn’t so warm. Deep breaths conjured up the kind of alertness she employed during difficult school exams.

  A cut-crystal tumbler of whisky had appeared on the small table at Ivanov’s side. He took a sip, watching her intently. “Better now?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Though she was unhappy about the dress; people were still giving her the kind of looks Andy had, but without his endearing reticence.

  “What happened with Banneth?” Ivanov asked.

  “She cut me off. I couldn’t tell her anything.”

  “Humm. Not entirely surprising. I accessed several facts about her during my investigation that indicate she’s not an average citizen. The Edmonton police have amassed a rather large file on her activities. They believe she’s involved with some kind of criminal organization; supplying illegal hormones and bitek products. Any mention of her former colleagues is bound to make her prickly. And you were right about this Dexter character, he was deported; the charge was aggravated resistance of arrest. The cops suspected he was a courier for Banneth.”

  “Now what do I do?”

  “You have two options. One, you can forget it and stay in London. We’re safe for now. I keep my ear close to the ground, the possessed haven’t appeared here yet.”

  “I can’t. Please don’t ask why, but I have to give Banneth a proper warning. I didn’t come all this way to be thwarted by the last mile.”

  “I understand. In that case, I reluctantly advise you to visit Edmonton. If you meet Banneth face to face she’ll see you are neither a police entrapment agent, nor a nutcase. She’ll take your warning seriously.”

  “But Edmonton has been isolated.”

  “Not any more.” He took a sip of whisky, watching her closely. “The vac-trains have started running again. I guess the authorities have eliminated the possessed, or think they have.”

  “Quinn Dexter will be there,” she said softly.

  “I know. That’s why I advised you to stay away before. However, if you’re set on this, I’ll accompany you and provide what protection I can. If he’s as bad as you say he is, it won’t amount to much. But it’s better than nothing.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “You’ll have to pay for it. But I include bodyguard services in my job description.”

  It still wasn’t over. Louise fought to hold back the fear she felt at the prospect of walking into an arcology where she was sure Quinn would visit. But dear Fletcher had been so adamant, and she’d promised. “Do you know where Banneth is?�
��

  “Yes. I have a contact in the Edmonton police who’s keeping me informed. If you decide you want to do this, we can go straight to her. You deliver your message, and we walk out. I doubt that’ll take more than ten minutes. We could be back here in London in less than five hours.”

  “I can’t leave Gen. Not even for that.”

  “I’m sure the hotel can arrange for someone to look after her tonight.”

  “You don’t understand. She’s my responsibility; Gen and I are all that’s left of our home, our family, maybe even our whole planet. I can’t put her in any more danger. She’s only twelve years old.”

  “The danger is the same here as it is in Edmonton,” he said levelly.

  “No it isn’t. Just being in the same arcology as Banneth is dangerous. Govcentral should never have opened the vac-trains to Edmonton again.”

  “I can get my hands on the kind of weapon which the Liberation army is using on Mortonridge. They’re proven against the possessed. That puts the odds back in our favour.”

  She gave him a long look, puzzled by his attitude. “It’s like you want me to go.”

  “All I’m doing is explaining the options to you, Louise. We agreed before that I know most of the ground rules in this arena, didn’t we. This kind of mission is well inside my expertise.”

  Maybe it was his sheer presence, or just his intimidating size, but Louise certainly felt a lot safer with the detective around. And everything he said did sound plausible.

  She propped her forehead up against a hand, surprised to find she was perspiring. “If we go, and I don’t like what we find at Banneth’s home, then I’m not going in to meet her.”

  Ivanov smiled gently. “If it’s so bad that even you can see it’s wrong, I won’t let you go in.”

  Louise nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll go and fetch Gen. Can you book us some tickets?”

  “Sure. There’s a vac-train in thirty minutes. We can be at Kings Cross by then.”

  She climbed to her feet, dismayed at how tired she’d become.

  “Oh, and Louise? Appropriate clothing please.”

  The AI picked up the deluge of telltale glitches a few seconds before frantic citizens started to bombard Edmonton’s police with emergency datavises about the army of the dead that had risen to march through the centre of the dome. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun shone down brightly from an admirable storm-free sky, illuminating the scene perfectly. Cars and metro buses performed emergency braking manoeuvres as their motors jammed and power cells failed. Their occupants spilled out, sprinting away from the advancing possessed and sect acolytes. Pedestrians hammered against closed doors, desperate for admission.

  Quinn had spent most of the afternoon carefully positioning his minions along the four main roads leading to the sect’s headquarters. Ordinary acolytes were easy: dividing them into pairs or threes, designating cafes and shops where they should wait, keeping their weapons out of sight in bags or backpacks. The possessed were more difficult; he had to identify deserted offices or empty ground-floor apartments for them. A couple of non-possessed acolytes who’d been given basic didactic electronics courses would break in and deactivate any processors they found, leaving it safe for the possessed to wait inside. It had taken two hours to get everyone into position. None of them complained, at least not to his face. They all accepted that it was part of some grand strategy to bring about his Night. The only thing standing in their way, he told them, was the sect headquarters and the traitors inside.

  With every possessed in Edmonton assembled (except one, Quinn thought glumly), Quinn had given the order to advance. If the supercops were as good as he suspected, then the response would be swift and effective.

  None of the possessed, and few acolytes, would survive.

  Quinn walked the first few paces with his small doomed army as they flooded out into the streets, pulling out their weapons and taking on a variety of gruesome appearances. Once everyone was committed, he discreetly slipped away into the ghost realm.

  Those civilians lucky enough to be behind the possessed when they emerged slowed their retreat and glanced nervously over their shoulders. The more commercially minded among them contacted local media offices and began to relay sensevises. Anyone receiving the show was presented with an astonishing display of defiance; the deliberate flaunting of a prowess which even the possessed could never truly own. A magnificent final charade, blowing their cover in a single grand fuck you gesture. Entire offices of editorial staff froze in slack-jawed amazement at what they were witnessing.

  The marchers closed swiftly on the unexceptional fifty-storey skyscraper.

  There were over a hundred in each of the groups, spearheaded by the possessed. Elaborate, archaic warrior costumes sparked and flashed, ripe with energistic power. Whenever they passed the pillars which supported elevated roads, the air would seethe with wrestling coils of miniature lightning bolts, grounding out through the metal amid jittering spumes of molten droplets. Following close behind their silent deadly leaders, the bulk of each group was made up by the non-possessed acolytes; striding along blithely, weighed down by the largest pieces of weapons hardware the covens had stashed away in their secret armouries.

  None of them paid any attention to the whimpering civilians scampering out of their way, they were focused on the skyscraper alone. Vehicles littering the street ahead of them flared electric-blue before bursting apart into a sleet of black granules. The army of the damned walked through the smouldering wreckage. Again, it was all panache. Showtime.

  To the majority of Edmonton’s citizens, the skyscraper that was the centre of their wrath was just a modest, ordinary building divided into standard commercial and residential sections. The police knew different, as did most of the locals. Rumours of the sect presence inside began to filter back to the media anchors. But by then professional rover reporters were on the scene, watching the police seal off the area and armed squads take up position.

  Sixty per cent of Earth’s population was now on-line, waiting for the shoot out. The greatest audience in history.

  Inside the sect headquarters, the senior acolytes broke open the armoury and began handing out heavy-calibre chemical projectile rifles and machine guns to the acolytes. There was little panic; the beleaguered sect members were almost glad they had a tangible enemy at last. Banneth herself supervised setting up their defences. First she established a ring of snipers peeking through the skyscraper’s windows, then consolidated their heavier firepower around the convoluted barriers inside.

  She hurried round all of them, issuing orders and offering encouragement—never threats, not now. Quinn and the possessed had become the new fear-figures. It was interesting that they had now returned to her. After all Quinn had done to fill them with doubt and mistrust, the random tortures and deaths he had silently enacted throughout the headquarters had come to nothing in the end. They still believed that she was the stronger of the two.

  <> she asked. <>

  <> Western Europe replied equitably. <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  Banneth took a look along the familiar darkened corridors of the headquarters as she made her way back to her own rooms. On her orders, they were lit with candles and crude
chemical batteries powering low-voltage halogen bulbs—technology the possessed would be unable to glitch without considerable effort. Not that it particularly mattered, she thought, we’re not protecting anything we can salvage. After this, the headquarters would be no more. All her acolytes were doing was fighting a delaying action until the police and B7 eliminated Quinn’s ersatz invasion. But then, the sect was nothing more than a B7 creation anyway. A convenient umbrella for them and her.

  She walked through the temple giving it a nostalgic look. The first rocket hit the skyscraper; a light EE tipped anti-armour missile. Duffy fired it; Quinn had given him the honour of opening the fighting as a reward for unswerving loyalty to the cause of Night. The explosion sent shockwaves yammering through the skyscraper’s structure, blowing out a huge crater on the northern corner and shattering hundreds of surrounding windows. Huge lumps of rubble cascaded down onto the street to smash apart in front of the possessed. The surviving snipers inside picked themselves up and opened fire.

  The vac-train carriage had seating for a hundred. Louise, Genevieve, and Ivanov Robson were the only people using it. In fact, Louise had only seen a dozen or so people milling about on the platform at King’s Cross when they got on. She wasn’t sure if they were passengers or station staff.

  Despite her growing uncertainty, and Gen’s sulky resentment, she’d followed the private detective in through the airlock door. Even now there was something about him that reassured her. Even beyond physical size, he had a self-confidence greater than Joshua. Which was saying a lot. She settled back with dreamy thoughts of her fiancé filling her mind. Although the seats were worn, they were comfortable; and her alcohol suppresser program was off. Joshua had such a warm smile, she remembered. It would be so nice to have it shine on her again.

  “I love you, and I’m coming back for you.” His words. Spoken to her when they were naked and alone, their bodies clinging together. A promise that could be nothing but totally honest.

  I will find him again, despite all this horrid mess.