by David Gunn
‘Paranoid,’ says a voice.
‘What?’
Neen looks across, sees my expression and glances away. Most of this conversation is inside my head anyway. So, as far as he’s concerned, I’m just talking to myself.
All the same, I’m not sure I knew I’d said that aloud.
‘That’s the word you’re looking for. Paranoid. Displaying an extreme or unnatural distrust of others. A character trait often found in senior officers. Well, in mine . . .’
‘OctoV?’
‘He’s dead. She’s dead. Doesn’t make much difference.’
‘So who are you?’
‘A ghost.’
‘Oh Sven. Can I stroke your gun, please?’ The SIG-37’s impression of Leona’s voice is good enough to startle me.
‘Little bitch.’
‘My feelings exactly.’
We’re approaching the last of the spiral, which means an open door blocks our way. Its hinges are larger than me, and now it’s open, its outer edge extends over the drop, making it impossible to ride round. A steel iris in the rock reveals a tunnel, with luminescent strip lights and gun encampments every hundred paces.
Close the iris to lock off that tunnel, and open the steel door, and you halt your enemy in his tracks. General Luc may be paranoid but he has good defences.
The cavern into which we’re led could hold Farlight cathedral. Maybe not its clock tower, but the main bit. And it has the same churchlike lighting and high ceilings. Even the grey walls rise in the same way.
‘You OK, sir?’ Shil asks.
I’m touching stone for luck without even realizing.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Never better.’
She scowls.
So obviously I grin.
And that’s how General Luc finds me a few seconds later, as he filters between scout cars, ignoring the salutes of those around him. ‘You,’ he says. ‘What happened to your lip?’
‘Fell over, sir.’
He scowls. ‘So did Sergeant Toro.’
‘Really, sir?’
The Wolf’s scowl deepens. ‘Be glad I need you . . . This is your chance,’ he adds. ‘Don’t waste it.’
‘To do what?’
‘Impress me.’ His tone says that should be obvious.
‘Why the fuck would I bother, sir?’ My gaze takes in his convoy of trucks and scurrying troops. ‘You’ve got enough . . .’ I look at Shil. ‘What’s the word?’
‘Acolytes, sir?’
No idea what it means, but she’s probably right.
Shades of grey camouflage my Icefeld. A fat tyre bites dirt to leave a trail of dust that must be visible miles away. A Wolf Brigade stencil decorates a fuel tank that’s really an ammo box stuffed with cartridges for an 8-gauge pump-action shotgun slotted into the holster on my tank’s right side.
Insects commit suicide so often I stop at the first village to scrape the screen clean. The village is broken and has only one bar. A man in the shoulder patch of a Wolf Brigade veteran looks up, sees my Icefeld through the closing door and decides to leave by a side exit. I guess his patch isn’t real.
‘Beer,’ I demand.
The cane shot comes free.
I eat most of their spiced nuts, drink a second beer and piss against a rusting car out back, because that’s what everyone else uses. The barkeep takes one look at the 5000 Octo note I slap down on the counter and his face goes white.
‘Sir,’ he says, ‘I can’t possibly . . .’
‘Give me a rag and a bowl of water to wash my screen. Keep the change.’
He’s grinning madly as the door swings behind me, so I guess the events in Farlight haven’t reached this far from the city. A boy wanders over looking for a lift to the next ville. When I shake my head he shrugs.
Children stare as I leave.
Since ruins outnumber people and this place is on a road so obscure it appears only as dots on my nav pad, I’m not surprised. From the Wolf ‘s Lair to Wildeside is not a ride people often make.
The general probably has some NCO logging every last piss and beer break. And I could make the trip faster, but I’ve been given a day to travel there, and another back and I’m not looking forward to arriving.
‘One-fifty miles,’ says the SIG.
A couple of hours at this rate. Maybe slightly less. Depends how many more stops I make. In my pocket is Vijay’s memory crystal. The one containing the download from Morgan’s data cores. Vijay is one step ahead of me. He knew where I was being sent, and wants the crystal delivered along with the Wolf ‘s message, discreetly of course. You probably know what discreet means. I have to be reminded.
The next village is so small it has no bar at all.
It has a rusty bike, however, so old it’s double-wheeled, one at the front and one at the back. The naked child who rides it forms his fingers into a pistol and shoots me as I pass. Maybe General Luc comes this way after all.
‘Sven,’ my gun says.
‘Yeah, I know . . . Concentrate.’
The wheel spins in grit as my road disappears.
Since I can see it up ahead this has to be flood damage washing out the blacktop. We skid and slide, until I get bored with that. A long patch of grey scabs a slope to my right, so I gun the Icefeld. Traction when we hit rock powers the bike forward and I’m at a crazy angle, dodging a boulder, when my hip shivers.
‘Sven,’ my gun shouts. ‘You want to kill yourself, just pull over and do it properly.’
Twelve-pot brakes squeal, and only the gyro keeps us level as my bike skids to a halt, leaving a strip of smoking rubber behind it. Clambering from the Icefeld, I undo my holster.
‘Look,’ the SIG says. ‘Let’s talk about this.’
A boulder explodes a hundred paces away. Splinters of rock buzz past my head like wasps. None hit, though. A second boulder explodes, then a third. When I run out of boulders I burn a thorn tree back to ash and then a bush.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Wisely, the SIG-37 keeps silent.
When I’m twelve and only just in the Legion I watch my lieutenant have a screaming fit. His CO, a boy half his age, has issued an order that gets twelve troopers killed. And though the CO would be within his rights to have Lieutenant Bonafont court martialled he does nothing.
Later, Lieutenant Bonafont tells me there’s a knack to losing your temper. You do it at the right time and in the right company.
For me, the right time is now, and alone.
We make the rest of the trip in silence. Although the SIG relents on the way into Wildeside village. ‘Roadblock,’ it says. ‘Danger seventy-eight per cent probable . . .’
That’s high to me.
‘Militia. Plus I’ve added a thirty per cent Sven fuck-up weighting.’
It hasn’t relented that much.
One of the soldiers waves me down as the other raises a rifle to cover me. It’s the old-model Kemzin with the short clip. He’d be more convincing if he remembered to jack the slide first.
‘Get off your bike.’
I shake my head, although I flip up my visor.
‘Debro around?’
Strangers on Wolf Brigade bikes don’t call Senator Wildeside Debro.
At least, not in the world they occupy, which is about to change beyond all recognition. In the way of these things, it will probably look and sound and feel and taste the same to anybody not bothered by the difference.
Unfortunately, Debro and Aptitude aren’t on that list.
‘Farlight was sacked,’ I tell them.
Mouths drop open. They stare at each other, wondering if I’m telling the truth. Wish I wasn’t. There are few things I’d wish away in my life, but I’d wish away the last week, and pay ten years of what’s left for the pleasure.
‘The Uplifted?’
Silver-skulled and ruthless, riddled with tubes and the virus. Our traditional enemies. You know where you are with the Uplifted and Enlightened. They want to kill us and we want to kill them. Even the milit
ia can get their heads round that.
‘If only.’
Must be something in my voice.
‘General Jaxx was killed on Senator Thomassi’s orders. Half the city has been massacred. Men, women and children. Their houses burnt, their shops smashed, their warehouses ransacked. You will tell no one else.’
‘But OctoV wouldn’t-’
‘The emperor is dead.’
Shock slackens their faces. Both know what I say is true. No man would dare say that if OctoV were still alive. It has never occurred to them, just as it never occurred to me, that he would not still be there after we are all dead.
The ghost in my gun is no more OctoV than Leona was.
They are avatars. Subsets. Encased memories. I wonder where those definitions come from and realize it’s the kyp. Somewhere between the gun, the ghost and the kyp I’m floating in information.
‘Enough,’ I say.
Both NCOs think I’m talking to them.
Saluting, they step back and offer to escort me to meet Senator Wildeside.
The village is quiet, locked down with shutters tight and barred doors where bead curtains should be. An old woman sits on an upper balcony, resting a double-barrelled shotgun that is older than she is on her lap.
Her eyes follow me as I head for the square, riding no faster than the two militia corporals can walk. Up ahead is the arch to Debro’s compound. Another two NCOs occupy an encampment in front of it, made from sandbags.
A belt-fed sits on a tripod behind its defensive wall. The machine gun is old but clean, with the breech locked down and the belt in position and correctly folded. The gunner has chained himself to the belt-fed by his ankle.
Been a while since I saw that.
The corporal on my right tells me why. ‘Those creatures,’ he says. ‘We had an attack.’
‘I thought they were dead?’
‘So did we. This lot were alive.’
‘How many?’
‘Three.’
That’s enough. Three furies can do damage.
‘We were lucky,’ he says. ‘A man saw them coming. All the same, they killed ten troopers, plus two families. All of them,’ he adds. ‘Even the children.’
‘You did well to fight them off.’
My praise makes him braver. ‘The Wolf Brigade,’ he says finally. ‘What do you guys want with us?’
‘I’m not Wolf Brigade.’
He looks from my combat jacket to the bike I ride.
‘I’m delivering a message from General Luc to Lady Aptitude Wildeside. The name’s Sven Tveskoeg, I’m a Death’s Head lieutenant.’
Chapter 49
‘Sven . . .’ Debro comes bowling down a passageway and flings her arms around me. ‘How are you?’ she demands. ‘Where’s Anton? Why are you carrying a shotgun?’
Guess I took the pump action from the bike without thinking.
‘Anton is-’ Maybe she notices me hesitate. ‘He’s still in Farlight. We got separated.’
‘Separated?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘Let me get you some water,’ Debro says. ‘You look parched.’
‘A beer would be better.’
‘Water first,’ she says firmly.
The corporal is standing to attention. So I salute briefly and dismiss him. He walks away, wondering how someone like me knows someone like her. I might be a Death’s Head lieutenant, but I’m a lieutenant in a regiment where most other junior officers are in their late teens or early twenties.
I’m almost thirty.
And with my arm, plus the scars, I look older. So I’m up from the ranks or bad at my job.
‘You OK?’ Debro asks.
‘Just thinking.’
She’s going to tell me that’s a novelty. But she changes her mind and leads me down a set of stairs to the kitchens. A glass of water is followed by a cold beer. Then she suggests a tortilla or a breast of chicken. But for all that it’s welcome, the beer tastes sour in my throat and I’m not in the mood to eat.
‘Debro,’ I say, ‘I need to see Aptitude.’
‘A message from Vijay?’ She thinks about that. ‘How is-’
My scowl cuts her question dead. ‘A message from General Luc. I need to be back at the Wolf’s Lair by daylight tomorrow. And Aptitude is going to need time to think. So I’d better see her now.’
The woman in front of me doesn’t block my way.
But she doesn’t get out of it either. She simply stands between me and the door. I could walk round her, but Debro commands respect. She also reminds me of my sister. You have to have met my sister to know how scary that is.
‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ she says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘You’re going to hate it.’
I don’t mention that it’s all I can do to deliver the message. We talk about the furies on the way. I’m almost at the gardens before it occurs to me that Debro hasn’t asked about what’s been happening in Farlight. Makes me wonder why not.
‘Our screens are down,’ she says in reply. ‘They’ll be back up later.’
‘Who says?’
‘The house AI.’
‘And how long has it been saying this?’
‘Since yesterday . . . Sven,’ she says. ‘Tell me what the Wolf wants with Aptitude.’
‘Can’t. Gave my word.’
‘To Luc?’
‘Colonel Vijay.’
We climb the steps to the garden in silence, and walk out under an arch that leads to an ornate array of hedges. I only know they’re box because Debro told me last time I was here. A small fountain plays in the middle of raked gravel. Water is a luxury in a landscape this hot.
Red flowers sit in clay pots. A cascade of bell-like blooms tumbles down a red brick wall. Since Wildeside is grown and its natural colour is grey, the wall has to be built so that flowers can cover it.
‘Clematis,’ Debro says.
Even now, her manners are perfect.
Aptitude sprawls in a hammock, one bare leg draped over the edge. She’s not lying along it, and she’s not sitting in it; somewhere between the two. In her hand is a slab and she’s playing some question and answer game.
Debro watches me hesitate. More than anything this tells her how bad it’s going to be. I killed Aptitude’s husband with a single shot to the head. I ruined her wedding feast, slaughtered half her guests and burnt down the villa in which she was due to live. I’ve never felt a second’s guilt for any of that.
Guilt and I don’t mix.
Anything else drives you insane.
But I’m about to ruin Aptitude’s life. She never wanted to marry Senator Thomassi, but her parents were in jail and she was a minor. She did what her uncle ordered. This is different, she loves Colonel Vijay. He is the first person she’s really loved. She’s young enough to believe he’s the last.
‘Sven!’ she says, clicking off her book.
Aptitude rolls out of her hammock and flings her arms around me.
‘You smell,’ she adds, stepping back and wrinkling her nose. Then she catches Debro’s expression and begins to say sorry. ‘Shouldn’t have said that,’ Aptitude says, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. ‘But you do.’
Of course I do.
Ride a gyrobike for several hours across baking wastes and you’ll smell too. I can feel the sweat under my arms and down my spine. The only reason it’s not dripping into my eyes is because I keep wiping it away.
‘What’s wrong?’ Aptitude demands.
Where to begin?
The young woman in front of me is not the girl who served behind the bar at Golden Memories; nor is she the spoilt little rich kid from that wedding party in Farlight; she’s an older version, somewhere between the two.
‘Aptitude. We need to talk.’
She glances at her mother, who nods.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Debro says. She goes without looking back.
Aptitude suggests we use the hammock, but we se
ttle on sitting with our backs against the only bare patch on a flower-covered wall. I know I need to start talking. I just don’t know where to begin . . .
‘Sven,’ she says. ‘You’re scaring me.’
The horizon stretches to dark clouds over the rift. Dying olive groves give way to scrub and then gravel where only salt grass can live. I recognize the colour, the flat green that looks grey in direct sunlight. The same grass that edged the strip between scrub and sand north of Fort Libidad when I was a teenager.
‘The Wolf has Vijay prisoner.’
Aptitude looks at me, her mouth open.
Without knowing it, she folds her hands across her chest and draws up her knees, hugging herself tight. ‘I thought General Luc was just being cruel,’ she says. ‘When he said-’ She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. ‘He couldn’t,’ she says. ‘He wouldn’t.’
This is General Luc we’re talking about. Of course he would.
‘Why are you here?’ Aptitude asks.
‘General Luc offers you Vijay’s life. In return-’
‘He’ll let Vijay live?’
‘In return-’
‘We’ve got money,’ Aptitude says. ‘He’s always wanted our land bordering his estate. We could give him that. And there are trade routes and concessions, we’ve got the fission monopoly on-’
‘Aptitude. Listen to me.’
My tone is harder than I intend. Hard enough to shock her into silence. She waits for me to continue. ‘You have to give up Vijay. That’s his price.’
‘I renounce Vijay?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You renounce Vijay.’
‘What else?’ She glares at me. ‘I know you,’ she says. ‘I know when you’re not telling me everything. Tell me what else he wants.’ She’s half turned towards me and her fingers are fists. This is the girl I faced on the steps at Villa Thomassi. ‘Tell me,’ she demands. ‘Tell me.’
‘He wants you.’
Her face changes as if someone has flicked a switch. All the life goes out of it, leaving only a mask. A very beautiful mask, with blue eyes and long blonde hair that tumbles around her shoulders.
Seeing it is looking at Aptitude’s future.
