Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA

by Simon R. Green

  “Better not,” I said. “I can’t take a dog on a mission in the field.”

  “Why not?” Scraps.2 said loudly. “I’m tougher than you, better armed than you, and my logic circuits can think rings round you!”

  “Because dogs that come with built-in weaponry and can fire grenades out of somewhere unfortunate tend to get noticed,” I said.

  “Ah,” said the dog. “There is that, yes. I do tend to make an impression . . . Think I’ll nip down to the Armoury, see what Maxwell and Victoria are up to. I can’t have them thinking they can run the place without me. Look after him, Molly. See you two when you get back.”

  He trotted out the door, his steel paws thudding heavily on the thick carpeting. Molly looked at me.

  “That is one protective dog.”

  “I think the Armourer programmed it into him,” I said, “because he knew he wouldn’t be around to do it himself.”

  “I still can’t get used to him sounding like your uncle Jack,” said Molly.

  I shrugged. “His Master’s Voice . . .”

  * * *

  We left my room and started down the landing, walking side by side and just daring anyone to get in our way. Start as you mean to go on . . . As a leading member of the family, I was entitled to a room on the top floor of Drood Hall. Only the one room, of course. After living in the old manor house for so many centuries, I find the Hall is getting just a bit crowded. The youngsters live in dormitories, which has led to more than one comment about battery farming. We keep the dormitories strictly separated, with locked doors and barbed wire fences in between, but we still have to give the birth-control talk a little earlier every year. But then, if they didn’t see the world’s rules and regulations as just challenges to be overcome, they wouldn’t be Droods.

  Molly and I descended several stairways, nodding and smiling briefly to all the people we passed. All of whom smiled and nodded briefly in return, while giving us plenty of space. Nothing like having a scary reputation to get you elbow room. When we finally reached the ground floor, somewhat out of breath after so many stairs, the Sarjeantat-Arms was waiting at the bottom to meet us. Possibly out of courtesy; more likely so we wouldn’t go anywhere he didn’t want us going.

  The Drood Sarjeant-at-Arms looks like a thug and a bully, because he is. He enforces discipline inside the family, and he does love his work. We’ve never got on. He was dressed as always in the stark black-and-white formal outfit of a Victorian butler, because tradition is a harsh mistress.

  “I can’t believe you’re back working for your relatives again, Eddie,” said Molly as we descended the stairs towards him. “After everything they’ve done to you . . .”

  “It’s just for now,” I said. “It’s not like I’ve anywhere else to go . . . or anything else to do. I need to keep busy.”

  “You need to feel needed,” said Molly.

  “If you despise my family so much, why are you here?”

  “I’m just sticking around until you come to your senses.”

  We slammed to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, because it was either that or walk right over the Sarjeant-at-Arms. And don’t think that thought hadn’t occurred to both of us. The Sarjeant nodded to me, ignoring Molly. She bristled dangerously, and I dropped a hand on her arm and squeezed it hard. She smiled at the Sarjeant in a way that clearly said, Later . . . Anyone else would have started running right there.

  “The Matriarch is waiting to see you,” said the Sarjeant. “In her new private office.”

  I had to raise an eyebrow at that. “Not in the Sanctity? But that’s the most secure and most private place in the Hall. And anyway, it’s traditional! Cut a Drood, and we bleed tradition.”

  “Normally, yes,” the Sarjeant said stiffly. “But we have always understood the necessity of adapting to changing conditions.”

  I looked at him for a long moment. “What conditions are we talking about? What’s changed?”

  “Every new Matriarch must make her own way,” the Sarjeant said steadily. “Margaret has decided not to use the Sanctity.”

  “How many of the family Council will be attending this meeting?” I said.

  “Their advice will not be needed,” said the Sarjeant. “This is just a private chat, in the Matriarch’s private office.”

  I finally got the implication. “You mean, away from Ethel? Doesn’t the Matriarch trust our gracious other-dimensional benefactor any more?”

  “I don’t think the Matriarch trusts anyone,” said the Sarjeant. “Which is, after all, as it should be.”

  Molly was shaking her head. “You people have raised paranoia to an art form.”

  “Thank you,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

  “I thought Ethel could hear everything that goes on inside the Hall,” I said.

  “Not necessarily,” said the Sarjeant. Which was . . . interesting.

  He led the way through the ground floor, and everyone hurried to give us plenty of room. I might have a bad reputation, but he was the one they had to live with every day. And Molly was scowling, in a thoughtful sort of way, which is never a good sign. The Matriarch’s new private office turned out to be in a remote corner of the ground floor, well away from the general traffic. The Sarjeant knocked politely, and the door swung open before him. He gestured for me to go in. I smiled, and waved for him to go first. Never trust a Drood Sarjeant-at-Arms at your back. He nodded, as though he quite understood what I was thinking and approved, and led the way. I strolled in after him with my nose in the air, doing my best to give the impression I was doing everyone a favour just by turning up. Molly stuck close to my side. More like a bodyguard than a lover.

  The Matriarch had filled her new office with more flowers, blooms, and unusual vegetation than any normal person should have felt comfortable with. Thick grass carpeted the floor, and the walls were covered with heavy mats of creeping vines. Bright colours rioted to every side, and rich scents steeped the air. It felt more like a jungle than a garden. I kept wanting to look around for predators. The Matriarch was sitting behind a very ordinary desk, her face calm and implacable. Molly and I sat down on the chairs facing her, without waiting to be asked, while the Sarjeant-at-Arms stood to one side. Because he didn’t do normal things like sitting. People might think he was getting soft.

  I glared around the office, in a way I hoped suggested that everything should keep its distance and know its place. I don’t approve of familiarity from the plant world. It was all very impressive, but I would have hated to be the Drood in charge of keeping everything watered. I finally nodded familiarly to the Matriarch.

  “Missing your old job as head gardener, Maggie?”

  “You have no idea,” the Matriarch said in her usual no-nonsense voice. “I never wanted to be Matriarch, but if I have to run this family, I’ll do it in a way I can live with. If I can’t be in the gardens, I’ll bring the garden inside. Now, we need to talk. Something has happened that needs stamping on right now.”

  I looked the Matriarch over carefully. She’d gone in for a serious makeover since I last saw her. A dark blue power suit of almost brutal style and impact, and blonde hair shorn back to her skull in a buzz cut. She was still short and stocky, but she looked . . . bigger. All business. Being Matriarch changes a person; you have to grow up, to grow into it. Power and duty, an unchallengeable word and never-ending responsibilities, either make or break you very quickly. Of course, Margaret had always been a tough nut even when she was just Capability Maggie, in charge of the Hall grounds. I couldn’t resist teasing her, just a bit, for the good of her soul.

  “Are those shoulders . . . padded?” I said innocently.

  “It’s a good look,” Molly said solemnly. “Very Eighties, very Iron Lady. Really rocking that power-crazed authority-figure bit.”

  “She is the Matriarch,” said the Sarjeant. “People must show the proper respect.
”

  “Us?” said Molly. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Why have I been called back so urgently?” I said just a bit plaintively. “When I told you I needed some downtime and was on call only for serious emergencies?”

  I broke off as all the flowers and blooms turned their heads to look at me, and not in a good way. The creeping vines on the walls stirred, and hissed threateningly. The Matriarch has always been very protective of her garden, and vice versa.

  “Control your pets,” said Molly. “Or I’ll hit them with a blast of magical weed killer.”

  “They’re just looking out for me,” said the Matriarch. “You really shouldn’t raise your voice to me, Eddie.”

  “If they even look like bothering me, I will make mulch out of them,” I said coldly.

  The flowers looked at me, and then at Molly, in a thoughtful sort of way, and backed off a little. The Sarjeant-at-Arms cleared his throat.

  “If we could please stick to the matter at hand . . . Time is of the essence.”

  “It’s come to something,” I said, “if you’re having to act as peacemaker.”

  “The irony of the situation has not escaped me,” said the Sarjeant.

  “All right!” I said. “Peace all round and goodwill to everyone. Let’s get the hell on with it. What’s the mission, and why is it so damned urgent?”

  “You brief them,” the Matriarch said to the Sarjeant. “You have the latest information.”

  The Sarjeant bowed to her and fixed me with a hard look. “We need you to break into the Secret Headquarters of a new organisation, Cassandra Inc. It claims to be able to see the future. And has been selling information on what’s going to happen, to all kinds of interested parties.”

  “Okay, hold it right there,” said Molly. “That’s not actually possible. There is no one fixed future, as such. Just a whole bunch of possible outcomes and differing timelines. Which one you end up in is the result of all the different choices made by all the people in the world. Even the most powerful computers would have a hard time crunching numbers that big.”

  “Nevertheless,” the Sarjeant said in his best You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know voice, “Cassandra Inc has demonstrated an excellent track record of getting it right.”

  “How is it doing it?” I said.

  “We don’t know,” said the Matriarch. “And that’s just one of the things worrying us.”

  “As long as Cassandra Inc stuck to predicting business futures, or personal recommendations, we were ready to leave it be,” said the Sarjeant. “But now Cassandra has started peddling future information to the secret organisations of the hidden world. The good, the bad, and all those highly dubious groups lurking in between.”

  “Not Government agencies?” I said. “I mean, they’d be the most obvious markets. Politicians always have a vested interest in knowing what’s coming their way so they can blame it on someone else.”

  “Cassandra has refused to deal with any Government department or individual,” said the Matriarch. “Either for political reasons or because no Government would approve of how Cassandra’s getting its information.”

  “Would we be right in thinking our current Government is not too happy about being excluded?” said Molly.

  “And would we, by any chance, be doing our Government a favour by intervening?” I said. “Do we perhaps need something from it?”

  “So cynical,” said the Matriarch.

  “Please,” I said. “I’m a Drood.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have the current administration owe us one,” the Matriarch conceded. “Never know when we might need to call it in . . . But that’s not why we’re sending you. We have our own reasons for wanting Cassandra Inc brought down. It’s started selling information on where Drood field agents are going to be and what they’re going to be doing. And that is unacceptable. No one gets to interfere with Drood business.”

  Molly had a sudden moment of insight, and bounced up and down in her chair. “That’s why they need you, Eddie! All your fellow field agents are compromised, and running round in circles trying to avoid the futures predicted for them! You’re the only one without a current mission!” She broke off, then sat still and frowned. “No, wait, hold on a minute . . . If Cassandra Inc really can predict the future, it should know about this meeting and know that we’re coming.”

  “According to the family psychics, Eddie has been through so much, in so many weird and unusual places, that he has become . . . unpredictable,” said the Matriarch.

  “I’ve always thought so,” said Molly.

  “Cassandra must be stopped,” the Sarjeant said flatly. “The organisation is sabotaging our missions, interfering with the family’s ability to operate in the shadows. Making it impossible for us to defend Humanity from all the things that threaten it.”

  “Again, Cassandra should know that,” I said. “Isn’t the organisation putting itself at risk, along with everyone else?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said the Matriarch. “We get a free pass, a lot of the time, because good and bad alike can see it’s in their best interests to leave us alone. We couldn’t operate if we were constantly at war with everyone who disagreed with us.”

  “Well, we could,” said the Sarjeant. “But it would be . . . messy.”

  “Damned right,” I said. “We’re supposed to be shepherds, not storm troopers.”

  “We protect Humanity,” said the Sarjeant. “Whatever it takes.”

  “We have reached out to Cassandra, directly and indirectly, as a reminder of this,” said the Matriarch. “But the organisation refuses to talk to us. We think it’s just in it for the money. Make as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and then disappear and leave everyone else to clean up the mess it’s made.”

  “Or it could be,” said Molly, “that whatever Cassandra’s using to predict the future has a limited shelf life. The organisation has to squeeze what it can out of it, while it can. That’s why it’s prepared to take on people like you . . .”

  “Could be,” said the Sarjeant.

  “Your mission is to infiltrate Cassandra’s Secret Headquarters, and find out how it’s doing this,” said the Matriarch, fixing her attention on me. “And then decide whether we should co-opt it and take it in-house, or shut down the whole operation with extreme prejudice.”

  “That’s why you want Molly to accompany me,” I said, “because she’s the really destructive one.”

  Molly smiled at me dazzlingly. “You say the nicest things.”

  “A plan of action has been prepared for you,” said the Matriarch.

  “How can we be sure Cassandra won’t know we’re coming?” I said.

  “Our esper section is getting ready to flood the aether with psychic chaff, just in case,” said the Matriarch. “Overload the scene with so much information that Cassandra will be temporarily blinded. And no, I don’t fully understand that either, so there’s no point in asking. Basically, they’ll be generating a psychic blind spot for you to move in. But apparently that takes a lot out of them, so they won’t be able to maintain it for long. Once you leave the Hall, you’ll be working against the clock. Take too long, and your protection could just vanish.”

  “I thought you said Eddie was unpredictable?” said Molly. “And what about me? Will they be able to see me?”

  “Since we don’t know how Cassandra gets its information, we can’t be sure of its limitations,” said the Sarjeant. “Stick close to Eddie and you should be fine. Of course, if you’re worried . . .”

  “I’m going!” said Molly. “I just don’t like being taken for granted . . .”

  “Trust me,” I said. “Nobody does. They wouldn’t dare.”

  She beamed at me. “Somebody’s getting something special in their Christmas stocking . . .”

  “If we
could please stick to the subject,” said the Sarjeant. “We need to get the two of you moving as soon as possible.”

  “Given our psychic department’s past record,” I said, “I can’t say I have much faith in psychic chaff. I wouldn’t trust that bunch to guess my weight.”

  “I’m sure they know that,” said the Matriarch. “Now, since you’ll be operating inside a blind spot, you won’t be able to communicate with the family until the job is over.”

  “You mean I won’t be bothered constantly by my family-mandated handler?” I said. “Gosh, what a pity; never mind. Now, what is the mission? Exactly? Information gathering, property damage, or blow up everything and sow the ground with salt afterwards?”

  “Whatever you decide to be necessary,” the Matriarch said carefully. “It’s up to you to discover what’s really going on, and do whatever it takes to resolve the situation. Permanently.”

  I looked steadily at her. “Do I need to remind you, I have sworn I won’t kill again. Even in the line of duty. I’m an agent, not an assassin.”

  The Matriarch met my gaze unflinchingly. “I’m not asking you to kill, Eddie. Just asking you to spy.”

  The Sarjeant moved over to the left-hand wall, and the creeping vines drew back to reveal a viewscreen. An image of a massive aircraft carrier appeared. In flight. It seemed to be sailing through the clouds quite serenely, without any obvious means of support. So high in the sky, there was no sign of ground anywhere.

  “Cassandra Inc’s Secret Headquarters,” said the Sarjeant. “It remains constantly in flight, never landing. Held aloft by alien tech acquired on the black market.”

  “While you’re there,” said the Matriarch, “find out what this tech is, and where Cassandra got it, so we can shut down the suppliers as well. There’s far too much alien contraband out in the world these days. Drawing attention to itself. We’re supposed to be the only ones with that kind of advantage.”

  “The unknown technology also seems to hide the Headquarters from the rest of the world,” said the Sarjeant. “No one knows where the ship is. Apart from us.”