Neutronium Alchemist - Conflict nd-4

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Then she had looked into his eyes and realized the danger caged in there, and her smile had emptied away. Gerald knew the barman was watching closely, one hand under the bar to grip whatever it was he used to quell trouble. There was a long moment spent looking down at the captain as silence rippled out from her table to claim the Blue Fountain. He took the time to think the way Dr Dobbs said he should, to focus on goals and the proper way to achieve them, how to make himself calm when his thoughts were febrile with rage.

  The possibility of violence passed. Gerald turned and made for the door. Outside, naked rock pressed in on him, creating a sense of suffocation. There were too few light panels in the corridor. Hologram signs and low-wattage AV projections tried to entice him into other clubs and bars. He shuffled past, reaching the warren of smaller corridors which served the residential section. He thought his rented room was close, the signs at every intersection were confusing, numbers and letters jumbled together; he wasn’t used to them yet. Voices rumbled down the corridor, male laughs and jeers, the tone was unpleasant. They were coming from the junction ahead. Dim shadows moved on the walls. He almost stopped and turned around. Then he heard the girl’s cry, angry and fearful at the same time. He wanted to run away. Violence frightened him now. The possessed seemed to be at the heart of all conflicts, all evil. It would be best to leave, to call others to help. The girl cried out again, cursing. And Gerald thought of Marie, and how lonely and afraid she must have been when the possessed claimed her. He edged forwards, and glanced around the corner.

  At first, Beth had been furious with herself. She prided herself on how urban-wise she was. Koblat might be small, but that didn’t mean it had much community spirit. There were only the company cops to keep order; and they didn’t much bother unless they’d had their bung. The corridors could get tough. Men in their twenties, the failed rebels who now had nothing in front of them but eighty years work for the company, went together in clans. They had their own turf, and Beth knew which corridors they were, where you didn’t go at any time.

  She hadn’t been expecting any trouble when the three young men walked down the corridor towards her. She was only twenty metres from her apartment, and they were in company overalls, some kind of maintenance crew. Not a clan, nor mates coming back from a clubbing session. Mr Regulars.

  The first one whistled admiringly when they were a few metres away. So she gave them the standard blank smile and moved over to one side of the corridor. Then one of them groaned and pointed at her ankle. “Christ, she’s wearing one too, a deadie.”

  “Are ya gay, doll? Fancy giving that Kiera one, do ya? Me too.”

  They all laughed harshly. Beth tried to walk past. A hand caught her arm. “Where you going, doll?”

  She attempted to pull herself free, but he was too strong.

  “Valisk? Going to shag Kiera? We not good enough for you here? You got something against your own kind?”

  “Let go!” Beth started to struggle. More hands grabbed her. She lashed out with her free arm, but it was no good. They were bigger, older, stronger.

  “Little cow.”

  “She’s got some fight in her.”

  “Hold the bitch. Take that arm.”

  Her arms were forced behind her back, holding her still. The man in front of her grinned slowly as she twisted about. He grabbed her hair suddenly and pushed her head back. Beth flinched, very near to losing it. His face was centimetres from hers, triumphant eyes gloating.

  “Gonna take you home with us,” he breathed. “We’ll straighten you out good and proper, doll; you won’t want girls again, not after we’ve finished with you.”

  “Fuck off!” Beth screamed. She kicked out. But he caught her leg and shoved it high into the air.

  “Dumb slut.” He tugged at the knot which held the red handkerchief around her ankle. “Reckon this might come in useful, guys. She’s got a mouth on her.”

  “You . . . you just bloody well leave her alone.”

  All four of them stared at the speaker.

  Gerald stood in the corridor’s junction, his grey ship-suit wrinkled and dirty, hair ruffled, three days of beard shading his face. Even more alarming than the nervejam stick he was pointing at them in a two-handed grip was the way it shook. He was blinking as if he were having great difficulty focusing.

  “Whoa there, fella,” the man holding Beth’s leg said. “Let’s not get excited here.”

  “Get away from her!” The nervejam stick juddered violently.

  Beth’s leg was hurriedly dropped. The hands let go of her arms. Her three would-be rapists began to back off down the corridor. “We’re going, okay? You got this all wrong, fella.”

  “Leave! I know what you are. You’re part of it. You’re part of them. You’re helping them.”

  The three men were retreating fast. Beth looked at the unstable nervejam stick and the persecuted face behind it, and almost felt like joining them. She tried to get her breathing back under control.

  “Thanks, mate,” she said.

  Gerald sucked on his lower lip and gradually slid down the wall until he was squatting on his heels. The nervejam stick dropped from his fingers.

  “Hey, you okay?” Beth hurried forwards.

  Gerald looked up at her with a pathetically placid face and started whimpering.

  “Jeeze—” She looked around to make certain her assailants had gone, then hunkered down beside him. Something made her hold back from making a grab for the nervejam. She was desperately uncertain what he’d do. “Listen, they’ll probably come back in a minute. Where do you live?”

  Tears started streaming down from his eyes. “I thought you were Marie.”

  “No such luck mate, I’m Beth. Is this your corridor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, do you live near here?”

  “Help me please, I have to get to her, and Loren’s left me here all alone. I don’t know what to do next. I really don’t.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Beth grunted.

  “Well who is he?” Jed asked.

  Gerald was sitting at the dining-room table in Beth’s apartment, staring at the mug of tea he was holding. It was a pose he’d maintained for the last ten minutes.

  “Says his name’s Gerald Skibbow,” Beth said. “Reckon he’s telling the truth.”

  “Okay. How about you? You all right now?”

  “Yeah. Those manky bastards got a real fright. Don’t reckon we’ll be seeing them again.”

  “Good. You know, we might be better off if we stop wearing our handkerchiefs. People are getting real uptight about it.”

  “What? No way! Not now. It says what I am: a Deadnight. If they can’t stomach that, it ain’t my problem.”

  “It nearly was.”

  “It won’t happen again.” She held up the nervejam and gave a brutish smirk.

  “Jeeze. Is that his?”

  “Yep. Said I could borrow it.”

  Jed regarded Gerald in dismayed confusion. “Blimey. Bloke must be pretty far gone.”

  “Hey.” She tapped his belly with the tip of the nervejam. “Watch what you’re saying. Maybe he’s a little cranky, but he’s my mate.”

  “A little cranky? Look at him, Beth, the guy’s a walking dunny.” He saw the way she tensed up. “Okay. He’s your mate. What are you going to do with him?”

  “He’ll have a room somewhere.”

  “Yeah, a nice quiet one with lots of padding on the walls.”

  “Quit that, will you. How much you’ve changed, huh? We’re supposed to be wanting a life where people don’t jump down each other’s throats the whole time. Least, that’s what I thought. Am I wrong?”

  “No,” he grumbled. Beth these days was hard to understand. Jed had thought she’d appreciate the fact he wasn’t making moves on her anymore. If anything that had made her even more intractable. “Hey, look don’t worry. My head’ll get straightened when we reach Valisk.”

  Gerald slewed around in his cha
ir. “What did you say?”

  “Hey, mate, thought you’d gone switch-off on us there,” Beth said. “How you feeling?”

  “What did you say about Valisk?”

  “We want to go there,” Jed said. “We’re Deadnights, see. We believe in Kiera. We want to be part of the new universe.”

  Gerald stared at him, then gave a twisted giggle. “Believe her? She’s not even Kiera.”

  “You’re just like all the others. You don’t want us to have a chance just because you blew yours. That stinks, man!”

  “Wait wait.” Gerald held up his arms in placation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a Deadnight. I don’t know what Deadnights are.”

  “It’s what she said, that Kiera: Those of us who have emerged from the dead of night can break the restrictions of this corrupt society.”

  “Oh, right, that bit.”

  “She’s going to take us away from all this,” Beth said. “Where arseholes like those three blokes don’t do what they did. Not anymore. There won’t be any of that in Valisk.”

  “I know,” Gerald said solemnly.

  “What? You taking the piss?”

  “No. Honestly. I’ve been searching for a way to Valisk ever since I saw the recording. I came here all the way from Ombey on the one hope that I’d find a way. I thought one of the starships might take me.”

  “No way, mate,” Jed said. “Not the starships. We tried. The captains have all got closed minds. I told you, they hate us.”

  “Yes.”

  Jed glanced at Beth, trying to judge what she thought, if he should risk it. “You must have quite a bit of money, you come here from Ombey,” he said.

  “More than enough to charter a starship,” Gerald said bitterly. “But they just won’t listen to me.”

  “You don’t need a starship.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you how to get to Valisk if you take us with you. It’s ten times cheaper than the way you were planning, but we still can’t put that much together ourselves. As you’ve got to charter a whole ship for the flight anyway, it won’t cost you any more for us to be on board.”

  “All right.”

  “You’ll take us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?” Beth asked, her voice betraying a multitude of vulnerabilities.

  “I promise, Beth. I know what it’s like to be let down, to be abandoned. I wouldn’t do that to anyone, least of all you.”

  She shifted around uncomfortably, rather pleased by what he’d said, the fatherly way he’d said it. Nobody on Koblat ever spoke to her like that.

  “Okay,” Jed said. “Here it is: I’ve got a pickup coordinate timetable for this system.” He took a flek from his pocket and slotted it in the desktop block. The block’s holoscreen flashed up a complex graphic. “This shows where and when a starship from Valisk will be waiting to take on anyone who wants to go there. All you have to do is charter an inter-orbit craft to get us to it.”

  • • •

  As always, Syrinx found Athene’s house relaxing. No doubt Wing-Tsit Chong and the psychological team would call it a return to the womb. And if she found that amusing, she told herself, she must be virtually recovered.

  She had returned from Jobis two days earlier. After relating everything she had learned from Malva to Wing-Tsit Chong, Oenone had flown to Romulus and a berth in an industrial station.

  I suppose I ought to be glad you’re flying courier duty for our intelligence service,athene said. The doctors must think you’re recovered.

  And you don’t?syrinx was walking with her mother across the garden which seemed to grow shaggier with each passing year.

  If you’re not sure yourself, how can I be, my dear?

  Syrinx grinned, somehow cheered by the uncanny perception. Oh, Mother, don’t fuss. Work is always a great anodyne, especially if you love your work. Voidhawk captains do nothing else.

  I want us flying missions together again, Oenone insisted. It is good for both of us.

  For a moment, mother and daughter were aware of the gridwork surrounding Oenone . Technicians were busy working on the lower hull, installing combat wasp launch cradles, maser cannons, and military-grade sensor pods.

  Ah well,athene said. Looks like I’m outvoted.

  I’ll be all right, Mother, really. Going straight into the defence force would be a little too confrontational. But courier work is important. We have to act with unity against the possessed; that’s vital. Voidhawks have an important role to play in that.

  I’m not the one you’re trying to convince.

  Jesus, Mother. Everyone I know is mutating into a psychiatrist. I’m a big girl now, and my brain’s back in good enough shape to make decisions.

  Jesus?

  Oh.syrinx could feel the blush rising to her cheeks—only Mother could do that! Someone I met always used it as an expletive. I just thought it was appropriate these days.

  Ah, yes. Joshua Calvert. Or Lagrange Calvert, as everyone calls him now. You had quite a thing about him, once, didn’t you?

  I did not! And why is he called Lagrange Calvert?

  Syrinx listened with growing incredulity as Athene explained the events which had occurred in orbit around Murora. Oh, no, fancy Edenism having to be grateful to him. And what a stupid stunt jumping inside a Lagrange point at that velocity. He could have killed everybody on board. How thoughtless.

  Dear me, it must be love.

  Mother!

  Athene laughed in delight at being able to needle her daughter so successfully. They’d come to the first of the big lily ponds which verged one side of the garden. It was heavily shaded now; the rank of golden yews behind it had swelled considerably in the last thirty years, their boughs reaching right across the water. She looked into the black water. Bronze-coloured fish streaked for the cover of the lily pads.

  You ought to get the servitor chimps to prune the yews,syrinx said. They steal too much light. There are far fewer lilies than there used to be.

  Why not see what happens naturally?

  It’s untidy. And a habitat isn’t natural.

  You never did like losing arguments, did you?

  Not at all. I’m always willing to listen to alternative viewpoints.

  A burst of good-humoured scepticism filled the affinity band. Is that why you’re turning to religion all of a sudden? I always thought you would be the most susceptible.

  What do you mean?

  Remember when Wing-Tsit Chong called you a tourist?

  Yes.

  It was a polite way of saying that you lack the confidence in yourself to find your own answers to life. You are always searching, Syrinx, though you never know what for. Religion was inevitably going to exert a fascination on you. The whole concept of salvation through belief offers strength to those who doubt themselves.

  There’s a big difference between religion and spirituality. That is something the Edenist culture is going to have to come to terms with; us, the habitats, and the voidhawks.

  Yes, you’re uncomfortably right there. I have to admit I was rather pleased to know that Iasius and I will be reunited again, no matter how terrible the circumstances. It does make life more tolerable.

  That’s one aspect. I was thinking more about transferring our memories into the habitat when we die. It forms the basis of our entire society. We never feared death as much as Adamists, which always strengthened our rationality. Now we know we’re destined to the beyond, it rather makes a mockery of the whole process. Except—

  Go on.

  Laton, damn him. What did he mean? Him and his great journey, and telling us that we don’t have to worry about being trapped in the beyond. And then Malva as good as confirmed he was telling the truth.

  You think that’s a bad thing?

  No. If we’re interpreting this properly, there is more to the beyond than eternal purgatory. That would be wondrous.

  I agree.

  Then why didn’t he tell us exactly what a
waits? And why would it only be us who escape the entrapment, and not the Adamists?

  Perhaps Malva was being more helpful than you realized when she told you the answer lies within us. If you were told, you would not have found it for yourself. You wouldn’t have known it, you would simply have been taught.

  It had to be Laton, didn’t it? The one person we can never truly trust.

  Even you can’t trust him?

  Not even I; despite the fact I owe him my life. He’s Laton, Mother.

  Perhaps that’s why he didn’t tell us. He knew we wouldn’t trust him. He did urge us to research this thoroughly.

  And so far we’ve failed thoroughly.

  We’ve only just started, Syrinx. And he gave us one clue, the kind of souls that have returned. You encountered them, darling, you have the most experience of them. What type are they?

  Bastards. All of them.

  Calm down, and tell me what they were like.

  Syrinx smiled briefly at the reprimand, then gazed at the pink water lilies, trying to make herself remember Pernik. Something she still shied away from. I was being truthful. They really were bastards. I didn’t see that many. But none of them cared about me, about how much they were hurting me. It didn’t bother them, as if they were emotionally dead. I suppose being in the beyond for so long does that to them.

  Not quite. Kelly Tirrel recorded a series of interviews with a possessed called Shaun Wallace. He wasn’t callous, or indifferent. If anything he seemed a rather sad individual.

  Sad bastards, then.

  You’re being too flippant. But consider this. How many Edenists are sad bastards?

  No, Mother, I can’t accept that. You’re saying that there’s some kind of selection process involved. That something is imprisoning sinners in the beyond and letting the righteous go on this final journey into the light. That cannot be right. You’re saying there is a God. One that takes an overwhelming interest in every human being, that cares how we behave.

  I suppose I am. It would certainly explain what’s happened.

  No it doesn’t. Why was Laton allowed to go on the great journey?