"It sounds like digging," Symonds's voice was a whisper. "The crazies are trying to dig their way toward us with their bare hands."
"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised." She saw the faces of the other Judges looking at her. Anxious, nervous, looking to her for guidance. "We have to get ready. I want two men to go to the Armoury to stock up on more ammo, while the rest of us prepare to hold this landing. They'll get through that rubble eventually. When they do, we'll hold on here as long as we can, then retreat to the next landing above us. We'll fight floor-by-floor, collapsing the stairwell roof at each landing as we go, then only retreating when the crazies break through again. Hopefully that way we can buy some time while Justice Department decides how the hell they're going to deal with this mess." She shrugged again, not knowing whether she should be worried or relieved that the stabbing pain did not return. "It's not much of a plan, I know, but if anybody else has any bright ideas, I'm open to suggestions."
"I have a suggestion, psi-bitch." She heard Hass's voice behind her and felt the barrel of a Lawgiver press against the back of her neck. She had not even noticed the SJS Judge work his way behind her. "An excellent one, in fact. Why don't you die?"
For the second time that day, Whitby saved her. Lashing out with his Lawgiver, he caught Hass's arm with the barrel, causing Hass's gun to ride upwards as he pulled the trigger. Deafened by the blast as the bullet whizzed past her scalp, Anderson turned in time to see Whitby and the others wrestle Hass to the ground and take his gun from him. She saw Hass struggling, biting and spitting at them as they held him down. Then she saw a Judge point his Lawgiver at Hass.
"No," she said, pushing the Judge to one side. "It's the entity. It's controlling him!" She looked down at Hass, and saw a shadow glaring out at her from behind his eyes. "And you're not just riding him like Jeffrey Queeg or any of your other simps, are you? This time you're in absolute control. Total psychic possession. You've jumped into Hass's body to possess him and try to kill me. Better luck next time."
Psi-bitch. She heard the entity's voice whispering from inside Hass's mind. I will kill you.
Yeah well, you've tried that one before. Contacting the creature telepathically, she goaded it. A few times, in fact. She heard the voices of Whitby and the others distantly, talking to her, but she ignored them. She concentrated her attention on Hass and the entity inside him. She let the real world fade away. She waited. She needed to push the creature a little more. But you know, you made a mistake taking control of Hass to attack me yourself. Before, when I tried to scan the Sector House, I couldn't home in on you. By showing up here like this, you've given me a direct line right back to the source. It makes things easier.
Psi-bitch! She saw the shadow inside Hass grow larger as the entity became angry. I will destroy you!
That's right, keep huffing and puffing like you're the big bad wolf. She smiled at it. All I see is a frightened little shadow who's too scared to face me. If you ask me, you need to grow some. It's funny, I seem to remember hearing something about angels not having any genitals. Looks like the rumours are true.
Psi-bitch! I will eat your soul! Furious now, it screamed.
She saw Hass's eyes grow black as a vast wave of darkness surged forward from them to engulf her. She heard the entity's voice whispering to her, its tone malignant and knowing, but she was ready for it. She did not raise her defences; instead she crafted her mind to a single hard point as sharp as a scalpel and pushed her way into the entity's mind as it flowed out to attack her. She felt an initial resistance, then, in an instant, she was inside it. She felt its mind moving in dark and malevolent ripples all around her, its thoughts as sick as tumours. She pushed on. Hard. Harder. Pushing her way down into the centre of its substance, the creature's own psychic defences shredding before her in layers of thoughts and images as she moved her way even deeper into the heart of its mind. Deeper. Deeper. She was in a vast and darkling ocean. Alien territory. She was alone inside the mind of a creature that fed on human souls. She felt the entity gather its strength around her. Hungry, eager to consume her. Spurning thoughts of fear or safety, she pushed her way onward.
All right then. Deep now in the belly of the beast, she called out to it. Here I am. Right where you wanted me. You wanted a fight, you bastard? You've got one.
Come and get me.
TWENTY
IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
Darkness. It was all around her. She felt things moving in the darkness with her, brushing against her body. She heard a sound like the beating of dark wings. She heard a voice all around her, so loud it was like she was inside it.
Psi-bitch, the voice said. You are mine now, psi-bitch. You are mine.
She ignored it, concentrating on keeping her mind keen and sharp, a dagger into the heart of the beast. She felt it put up walls against her, barriers to slow her progress. She pushed on through them, tearing them aside, revealing the creature's secrets as, layer by layer, she fought her way through its psychic defences.
I am Uriel, she heard its voice once more in the darkness. I am the flaming sword. The fire of Grud. I watch and I sit in judgement.
She ignored it, refusing to be distracted. She ignored what it thought it was, the lies it told itself. She pushed harder and harder, her mind a razor stripping away bleeding layers of camouflage and falsehood. Then she saw it. She saw the secret, the truth of the beast hidden beneath its lies.
Psi-bitch! The voice screamed at her, its cries growing frantic and desperate as though it was afraid of what she might find. Psi-bitch! Psi-bitch! Psi-
Anderson, she corrected. The name's Anderson. You know, I really think it's about time somebody taught you some manners.
"Anderson," Whitby yelled. "Anderson!"
It was no good. Ever since they had disarmed Hass, Anderson had stood motionlessly staring at him while Hass stared back at her as though they were both in a trance. Meanwhile, the sound of digging from the other side of the rubble wall was growing louder.
"The rubble's moving." Tek-Judge Symonds pointed as a piece of debris dislodged itself of its own accord to fall towards the floor. "They'll break through in a second. Whitby?" Symonds looked towards him for guidance. "What do we do?"
"You heard the plan," Whitby told him. "We hold the landing as long as we can, then we pull back to the next floor, collapsing the stairwell behind us." He turned to look at Anderson and Hass. "If Anderson hasn't snapped out of it by then, we'll just have to drag her up the stairs with us. Get ready all of you. On my mark."
He saw another piece of rubble fall away, revealing mad eyes staring from a dirt-encrusted face as the first of the crazies broke through the last layer of debris to emerge on their side of the stairwell.
"Fire!"
Darkness. She pushed against the barriers in the entity's mind and the darkness gave way to...
Light. She found herself standing in the kitchen of an unfamiliar apartment. She looked about and saw a mess of discarded wires and plasteen bottles lying on the table beside a stack of books. Inspecting them, she saw textbooks on chemistry and electronics, a handwritten notebook and a leather-bound religious text called The Testament of Jaron.
It is time, she heard a voice say behind her.
Turning, she saw the entity standing in the same shadow-form she had seen in Charles Whitman Block. Faceless, its body was made of swirling shadows with great dark wings upon its back.
I am Uriel, it said to her. I am the sword that punishes transgression. It is time for you to be judged.
No, I don't think so, she said. Even as the words formed in her mind, she saw the shadow mass shift uneasily as though it had expected a different reaction. She realised it wanted her to fear it.
Fat chance of that, she told it. I know what you are now.
I am Uriel, it said. I am...
The sword that something-something-something, she said. The something that sits and something-something. I heard you the first time. Thing is, I've seen inside your head. I don't belie
ve you.
The shadow mass shifted again.
Look around you, she said. These are your memories, the apartment, the kitchen table, the crappy décor. The books are a nice touch, by the way. The thing is, nobody prints textbooks any more - they're all on vid-slug, and never mind binding a book in leather. Guess you had some gaps in your memory and had to fill in some blanks.
I am Uriel, the shadow-form said in a tone that sounded increasingly uncertain. I am the angel of-
Angel schmangel, she said. You're forgetting I can see right inside your mind. You're Morris Arthur Weems, a religious zealot and one-time arsonist. Or at least that's what you think you are. This is his apartment we're standing in - or, to be more precise, it's what you think his apartment used to look like. We're standing right in the middle of your memories now. You don't believe me? Take another look around you.
The scene changed, the apartment fading away around them and giving way to new surroundings. Now it was night and they were standing on a pedway as a crowd of ghost-like citizens milled past.
In case you're wondering, they can't see us, Anderson said as she indicated the flow of heedless citizens. Have you ever seen that Tri-D movie about the old miser at Christmas who gets visited by three ghosts who came to show him the error of his ways? This is like that, though probably without the happy ending. We'll see. It looks like the show is about to begin.
Anderson could see a man in a black trench coat running towards them with a Judge on a bike in hot pursuit as the crowd screamed silently and parted to let them pass. While Anderson felt the entity shift with uneasy remembrance, she saw the man in the trench coat turn to fire a gun over his shoulder at the pursuing Judge. The Judge fired back, the bullet hitting the fleeing perp and causing him to fall sprawling into a man with a satchel further down the pedway. As the satchel went flying and the perp fell to the ground, Anderson saw the Judge stop his bike and stride over to him. She caught a glimpse of the name on the Judge's badge as he passed by her. Brophy.
I died, the shadow-form said.
No, she said. Morris Weems died. For you, it was all just beginning.
Nearby, his body shaking as he lay on the plascrete, the perp was dying. Anderson could see his lips moving as though he was trying to talk. On the ground beside him, she saw a pool of black shadow appear and grow larger. It flowed towards the perp, covering him from head to toe, engulfing him, consuming him. From inside the darkness, Anderson heard a despairing wail as the perp gave out a last psychic scream, the sound of a man in torment.
I am Morris Weems, the shadow-form said.
Anderson saw the shadow-form's head was bowed. It looked as though it was grieving.
I am Morris Weems, it said again as though there was comfort in that thought.
No, Anderson said. You're the thing that ate him. You are the darkness.
There was nothing but screams, muzzle flashes and the smell of cordite. The rubble barrier was gone, pulled apart by the bleeding hands of the insane mob that charged up the stairwell at Whitby and the others who stood on the landing. The Judges fired again and again, bodies falling before them to be trampled and dragged back out of the way by their fellows in their eagerness to get to the Judges and kill them. Whitby shot down another madman, but where one fell there was always another, and another, and another to take his place. It was only a matter of time before the Judges were overwhelmed.
"We have to pull back," Symonds yelled. "The drokkers are right on top of us!"
It screamed. The shadow-form did not take bad news well. It screamed, a mouth forming in the shapeless mask of its face. It turned towards Anderson, anger flaring darkly among the shadow substance of its body.
I am Morris Weems, it roared, as though daring her to deny it.
Anderson shook her head, sweeping out an arm to indicate the landscape around them.
No, you're not, she said. Look around you if you don't believe me.
The scene had changed again. At first sight, they looked to be inside a shadowy, dark-walled cavern. The walls shifted as tentacles writhed wetly and emerged from inside. Like the ancient folktale of the man swallowed by a whale, they were inside the belly of some great and all-consuming creature. It was made of the same black, shifting shadow-substance as the figure beside her that called itself Morris Weems. Anderson saw thick ropy tentacles slither from the walls towards her as though the creature had detected her presence. She sensed its appetite; it was hungry and eager to feed on her.
This is what you are, she said. This thing around us. I think it's some kind of other-dimensional predator, existing partially out of phase with the world. You know, all this time I was having so much trouble trying to find it inside the Sector House and I've just realised why. It is just so drokking big. I thought it was inside the Sector House, when all the time the Sector House was inside it. When I was looking for it, it was like I was trying to spot an elephant while I was inside the elephant's stomach.
She saw the Weems shadow-form looking at her, confusion imprinted over the blank features of its face.
Never mind, she said. I was just thinking aloud. All you need to know is it's some kind of predator and it eats human souls, and it was Morris Weems's bad luck to be its first victim.
I am Morris Weems, the shadow-form said.
No, she insisted. Morris Weems is dead. This creature - you - killed him. Then it used him to give it the one thing it lacked: consciousness. Before it absorbed Morris Weems's soul, it was little more than the sum of its appetites. It was mindless, a hunger without direction. When it killed Weems, it created a template based on his personality to guide it and do its thinking. A template, that's all you are.
No, the shadow-form said shrilly. I am Morris Weems.
You feel it all the time, she said. Don't you? The hunger. That's the entity - the real you - pushing you along to do what it wants. It uses you to plan and scheme for it, to make its hunting easier. What else are you there for?
I am Morris Weems, the voice grew even shriller. I punish sinners. I have a holy mission; the cycle must be completed.
Ah yes, she said. The cycle. I was wondering when you'd get to that.
Raising a psychic barrier to ward off the entity's tentacles, Anderson advanced to the nearest wall and pointed at something within it. Visible beneath its surface were half-a-dozen irregularly shaped, fist-sized globules. She could see dark shapes moving inside them.
Congratulations, she told the shadow-form. It looks like you're going to be a daddy. Those are eggs, and the ugly-looking things mewling inside them are your offspring. That's what all this was about, right from the beginning. You helped the entity steal souls, and it used that energy to self-fertilise and create a brood of little monsters just like it. A life cycle, that was the cycle that had to be completed.
No, the shadow-form roared. You are wrong. I am Morris Weems! I-
No you're not, Anderson said. You're a bad recording of a copy of the ghost of a dead man trapped forever in the belly of the beast that killed him. And thanks to you, the evil little mothers in those eggs are going to spread out across the city and make more poor dumb bastard recordings just like you. Then, when they have their own template, they're going to start feeding on souls to make even more monsters like them. And when they and their offspring have sucked the Big Meg dry, they'll go on to the rest of the world. They'll feed on the whole human race, and it will be all your fault. You wanted to punish sin? You wanted to sit in judgement?
She let the words hang in the air, hoping she had played her hand right. She spoke again, spitting the words at the shadow-form with venom.
Judge yourself.
No! The shadow-form screamed. Its hands warping into angry claws, it lashed out at the wall before it, burrowing deep inside it and crushing one of the eggs. She heard another scream, louder, a deep rumbling bass tone to the shadow-form's shrill falsetto. Around her, the tentacles writhed and the walls shook as the entity reacted in rage and pain. She took a step back, wa
tching as the shadow-form gouged great chunks out of the wall. The tentacles whipped towards it, coiled around it, tried to restrain it, but the shadow-form broke free. It ripped the tentacles loose from their moorings and resumed its attack on the wall, tearing chunks of shadow-substance free as both it and the entity around it screamed again and again. She felt the entire mass of the entity convulse, great wet fissures appearing in the walls. The creature was at war with itself. It was tearing itself apart. More tentacles lashed out to grab hold of the body of the shadow-form and rip it to pieces with a final anguished shriek, but it was too late. The damage was done. She felt the entity diminish around her. It was dying.
In fear and terror, it returned to the only haven it had left.
"I don't believe it," Whitby said. Looking down the stairwell, he saw no sign of movement. A minute ago, dozens of crazies had been charging up the stairwell, intent on killing them, only for every one of them to collapse without warning. Gingerly, he bent forward to check the pulse of one of the collapsed bodies. "They're unconscious. What the hell happened?"
"It's over," he heard a woman's voice behind him.
It was Anderson. Whitby saw that she had emerged from her trance seemingly little the worse for wear.
"Anderson?" He rushed over to her. "Grud, for a moment there I thought the entity had you." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the collapsed crowd behind him. "I'm guessing you're responsible for this? How the hell did you do it?"
"It was nothing much." She shrugged and smiled. "You remember I said the entity fed on souls? Let's just say I found a way to give him indigestion."
TWENTY-ONE
THE SMALLEST THING
"That should about hold it until we can get you to a med-bay." Two painkilling injections and an emergency course of viral healers later, the Med-Judge fixed a magnabind dressing over her left eye. "We should be able to save the sight in your eye, but I'm still worried about that head trauma."
Fear the Darkness Page 21
