Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1

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Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 25

by Seeds of Earth


  walls were covered in the familiar Uvovo raindrop pat-

  tern, incised lightly into the stone. Except that here the

  drops were depicted sideways as if they were streaming

  into Giant's Shoulder.

  And there was something else, an extra detail he had

  never seen before; every drop had a round dot in it,

  making it resemble an eye, and the more he stared the

  more they really did look like eyes, hundreds, thousands

  filling either wall, rushing into the heart of Giant's

  Shoulder.

  Chel, old friend, he thought as he produced his

  camera once more, 7 hope you can help me figure out

  what this means before I have to hand it over to the

  Institute*.

  25

  THEO

  Sixteen hours after the bombing in Founders Square,

  with dawn still an hour or more away, Theo and sev-

  eral others were hurrying through the streets of High

  Lochiel. Rory was in constant contact with the teams

  staking out the house while Ivanov, Hansen and

  Forshaw provided armed escort, their semi-automatics

  hidden by long coats. Theo was likewise prepared

  with a 48-calibre hunting revolver holstered at his

  waist.

  'How much further, Rory?'

  'No' far, Major - the house is three streets away and

  we'll be goin' in the back door of the building across the

  road. Our main obs post is on the top flair.'

  'How many exits? Who's covering them?'

  'It's a three-storey rooming house, two exits - Fyfe's

  team is covering the front, Brunni's at the back wi' his

  boys and a sharpshooter.'

  'What about comings and goings?'

  'Two women entered about an hour ago - Benny says

  they were both totally hammered, must've been at a

  party - and a man not long after them. Our boy stayed

  in his apartment and is still there.'

  'Good - tell Fyfe and Brunni that we'll move in the

  next twenty minutes.'

  It was the rifle which had led them here. Its serial

  number dated back to the time of the Winter Coup, and

  came from a government shipment of arms that Viktor

  Ingram's men had seized just before Theo Karlsson's

  small army marched into Hammergard and occupied

  the Assembly buildings. After Theo's surrender and

  Ingram's suicide, the shipment had been broken up and

  hidden away in various locations, apart from one por-

  tion that was ditched in the sea by its couriers while in

  transit north, pursued by a coastal patrol. The two men

  involved, Grieve and Orloff, were later reported dead in

  a house fire in Trond. The surviving arms ended up

  years later as part of Theo's assets. But Rory had a

  record of all the assets' serial numbers and found that

  the scope rifle came from the missing weapons cache,

  supposedly lying in 200 feet of water due east of New

  Kelso. It seemed unlikely that they had ever been

  dumped in the sea at all, but the rifle's number provided

  no useful lead.

  They had more luck with the scope. It was custom-

  made but had no makers mark, leading Theo to visit a

  smoky trappers' bar in Hammergard's wharfside dis-

  trict. There, a leathery-faced veteran hunter called

  McTavish studied the wallet of images Theo had

  brought along and identified the craftsman as Maxim

  Lirmenov, an optician of High Lochiel. Theo and Rory

  then travelled the 35 miles up the North Highway to

  High Lochiel, reaching its outskirts in the early evening.

  The light was still on in Lirmenov's shop and the

  moment they entered Rory recognised the optician as

  being none other than Kazimir Orloff, one of Ingram's

  supposedly deceased gun runners.

  With Rory's autopistol pressed against the back of his

  neck, Orloff had quickly caved in, admitted that he'd

  sold the scoped rifle to a man called Denisov. There was

  an address for him in the sales record but Orloff said it

  was probably false; while returning from a client in the

  north of the town last night he had chanced to see

  Denisov using a key to enter a run-down rooming

  house. With that address, Theo had Janssen get a couple

  of local reliables along there to watch the place while

  Rory drafted in some lads from Landfall and Gagarin.

  The observation post was in a disused office on the

  fourth floor of a rickety building that sat between a

  lumber yard and a low warehouse. The stairs were lit by

  a couple of minimal glostrips while the room's inky

  darkness was broken only by a red lamp sitting on the

  floor. As they entered, a diminutive woollen-capped man

  glanced round from the tripod telescope positioned at

  the window.

  'Hello, Rory, Major Karlsson - would you like to

  see?' he said, rising from a three-legged stool.

  'Thanks, Benny,' Theo said, taking his place. 'Any

  change?'

  'No, sir, he's still there, sitting and reading, drinking

  a cup of tea, as if he's waiting for something.'

  'Or somebody,' said Rory with a lascivious chuckle.

  'Like a lady friend!'

  Theo gave a half-smile as he looked into the tele-

  scope, i doubt that he's the kind to take such risks.'

  Through the lens he saw a third-floor window with

  patterned curtains almost fully open and a leanly built

  man reclining in an armchair reading a copy of Crag &

  Coast Monthly. Denisov was wearing a short-sleeved

  red shirt and dark trousers and wisps of vapour rose

  from the cup on a nearby table.

  'And that's all he's been doing?' Theo said, frowning.

  'Mostly, for the last hour or so.'

  Theo thought a moment then nodded. 'Okay, I don't

  think we should wait any longer. Rory, tell Fyfe and

  Brunni to get ready to—'

  Just then Rory and Benny's handsets crackled into

  life.

  'Activity at the rear,' said a voice. 'Guy in blue work-

  wear just came out - he's carrying a toolbox and taking

  a bike out of the shed ...'

  Theo squinted down the telescope. 'He's still there.'

  But something doesn't feel right. He beckoned for

  Benny's handset and thumbed the reply.

  'Brunni, this is Karlsson - describe the man for me.'

  'Short, stocky build, receding hair - looks harmless

  but I can have one of my lads grab him if you like.'

  Theo stared at the man who called himself Denisov as

  he calmly sipped his drink and turned a page.

  'Let him go,' he said. 'We don't want to alert Denisov

  before we have to.'

  'Right... that's him pedalling away now.'

  'Okay - Brunni and Fyfe, move your men up to front

  and rear doors. When you're both in position, move in:

  do your best to take Denisov alive.'

  'Understood.'

  Theo stood up to get a better view of the street while

  using his binoculars to keep an eye on the target. Three

  men were heading for the rooming house's front door,

  again long coats concealing weaponry from any chance

  observation. Theo watched, feeling a knot of tension in


  his stomach as he listened to the murmured voices on

  the handsets. One of the three forced the lock then the

  door was open and they were inside.

  'Remember - we want him alive,' he said, raising the

  binoculars again. Denisov still sat in his chair, reading,

  drinking. Theo's uneasy feeling sharpened as the open

  channels relayed the team's stealthy progress up the main

  stairs. Denisov never changed and Theo was about to

  order a pause when a woman started screaming inside the

  house. Denisov didn't so much as flinch. Seized by a rush

  of dread, Theo was drawing breath to order a retreat when

  the upper floor erupted in flames and a roaring crash.

  Theo threw up his arm instinctively as the explosion

  ripped off part of the rooming house roof and blew out

  the walls of Denisov's apartment. The windows of the

  observation room rattled in the shockwave and a few of

  the small panes shattered. When Theo straightened and

  looked outside, the rooming house's top floor was

  engulfed in fire.

  'My God, a trap!' said a horrified Benny, it was a

  trap ...'

  Theo ignored him, instead snarled into the handset.

  'All teams report! - Brunni and Fyfe report!'

  'Major, this ... is Uvarov - Brunni and Fyfe are both

  dead. We've got another three injured and only myself

  and Dewar unhurt, but there's people trapped upstairs -

  should we go in after them?'

  Theo moistened his lips and tightened his grip on the

  handset. He could hear the agonised cries from the

  window.

  'Do what you can, but get any weapons out of sight -

  Rory's on his way, Benny too . . .' He glanced up to see

  Benny following Rory out of the room at a run.

  'Emergency services should be along soon so the story is

  you were enquiring about rooms to let when it went

  up, okay?'

  'Got that, sir.'

  'And tell me - who was it that screamed?'

  'A woman opened the door across from Denisov's

  flat and must have seen our guns - after that everything

  went to hell.'

  Alarms were ringing, some in the burning building,

  others in adjacent houses. Then came the pulsing wail of

  fire trucks.

  is Rory with you yet?'

  'He's here now, sir - he's got all the guns and radios.'

  'Right - give him yours when I sign off and don't

  forget to stick to the script.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Rory - local police will be here any minute so you

  and Benny get over here and wait at the back door. I'll

  pack the gear and meet you there.'

  'Got ye, Major. We're on our way.'

  Theo put down the handset, slipped the binoculars

  into his pocket and began to dismantle the telescope.

  The man in the blue workgear was Denisov, he

  thought grimly. It had to be. When he got to a safe dis-

  tance he must have watched my men go in then waited

  a few moments before triggering the boobytrap, just to

  maximise casualties.

  So what had Benny been watching for the last

  couple of hours? Some kind of hologram projected by

  an offworld device, maybe? If so, it was probably

  rigged for self-destruct when the main detonation went

  off, leaving no traces, no evidence.

  With everything stowed in a heavy backpack, Theo

  slung it over his shoulder, picked up the red lamp and

  headed for the stairs. Rory and Benny were waiting just

  inside the back door and as they slipped off into the

  night, he wondered how he was going to explain all this

  to Sundstrom. And, more importantly, to the families of

  his dead men.

  26

  GREG

  Even wrapped in his wool-lined jacket, he shivered as he

  leaned on the ancient, cracked rampart and stared down

  at the misty coastal plain. It was a grey morning, the air

  cold and moist from the night rains.

  'So how bad is it?' he asked his brother.

  Captain Ian Cameron, wearing full field camouflage,

  rested one booted foot on a low notch in the wall.

  'There's a lot of suspicion,' he said. 'Folk in the towns

  just won't trust travellers or strangers, anyone who's

  noticeably out of the ordinary.'

  'That accounts for most of the faraway hunters and

  trappers I've ever met,' said Greg.

  Ian smiled. The eldest of the three brothers, he was

  taller and rangier than Greg and had always been the

  most physically active of them all.

  'Aye, some of them have been on the receiving end of

  it. I mean, the bombings are bad enough, but there was

  a street protest in Gagarin last night in support of this

  Free Darien Faction, which really got some locals

  angry.'

  Greg shook his head. 'Who were they?'

  'Just some college hotheads waving placards, a few

  dozen of them, but they made plenty of noise going down

  Tylermans Walk, upsetting the locals, who started arming

  themselves, but at least the police were quick to escort

  them out of the area.' He rubbed his neck. 'Then that

  house went up in High Lochiel last night. Not good.'

  Both were silent for a moment.

  it's hard to believe that community spirit is that frag-

  ile,' Greg said.

  'Things could be worse,' said Ian. i was talking to

  some old Norj trappers yesterday, real hill-viking types,

  and they were telling me a few tales from the time of the

  Winter Coup. Reminded me of some of the stories Uncle

  Theo used to tell - didn't take them seriously back then,

  but now . . .'

  'So where is he?' Greg said. 'I've not heard from him

  since the shooting up here, neither has Mum, and she's

  worried sick.'

  Ian nodded. 'Officially, he is a special adviser to the

  president's office, but there's no doubt that he's been

  getting up to some skulduggery with the Diehards,

  something to do with the bombings.' He swept his gaze

  around the temple site. 'The Office of Justice has

  stepped up security at several locations as well as here,

  and not just because of your guests.'

  Greg glanced over his shoulder at the grassy area well

  to the rear of the main site. Several awnings had been set

  up for the dozens of Uvovo who were gathering there to

  await the arrival of the Listener who was to lead this

  new offshoot, the Artificer Uvovo. Greg knew that it

  was supposed to be Chel, but he also knew that the

  husking ritual radically altered the Uvovo physique and

  sometimes the personality too. Would he be anything

  like the Chel he had come to know, and would he even

  recognise Greg?

  Just then a corporal approached with a clipboard of

  supplementaries which Ian read over and signed.

  'There's a dirij headed our way from the north,' he

  told Greg as the soldier hurried off. 'Should be their

  Listener. I'll just have our comms operator let company

  HQ know.'

  As Ian strode off, Greg steeled himself and straight-

  ened. At least there were no reporters present
by order

  of the Institute, for which he was grateful. Lee Shan's

  coverage of the shooting of the Sendrukan Assister had

  depicted the security arrangements as amateurish and

  ineffective, despite the involvement of Kuros's body-

  guards. It had also included a shot of Greg's encounter

  with the Ezgara commandos, complete with his every

  barbed witticism. The Ezgara and other offworlders

  might not understand the sarcasm but the Darien audi-

  ence and those back on Earth could not have failed to

  pick it up. Not long afterwards, of course, the bullets

  had started flying.

  Nor exactly a crowd-pleaser, he thought, heading

  over to his hut to change.

  Fifteen minutes later, a cigar-shaped dirigible drifted

  in towards the zep station, the drone of its engines tail-

  ing off as mooring cables were made fast. It swayed

  gently by the platform, its bulbous gasbag looking pale

  grey in the morning haze. Greg could make out a small

  huddle of hooded figures as they disembarked, some

  making their way up the wide path by foot while a few

  others went ahead in one of the motorised buggies. By

  the time the buggy arrived at the entrance to the site,

  Greg and his brother were standing alongside Listener

  Genusul, expectancy of one kind or another in all their

  features.

  Three hooded figures emerged from the vehicle, the

  last of them Chel, who looked unchanged and unal-

  tered, much to Greg's relief. But the reaction of the

  Listener at his side was noticeably different, concern to

  the point of distress visible in his gaunt, long-jawed face.

  Chel met him halfway, said something in a low, urgent

  voice, then turned to Greg.

  Greg's positive feelings cooled and his smile faltered.

  Physically, Chel seemed the same but his features were

  drawn and his eyes had a bleak, sharp quality as if he

  was under tremendous strain. Just above the eyes a strip

  of dark cloth was stretched tight across the forehead,

  and Greg wondered if it was a dressing for a wound.

  'Greetings, friend Gregori,' the Uvovo said with a

  faint smile. 'I've learned about these bomb attacks -1 do

  hope that your family is safe.'

  'They are, Chel - my mother has been giving me

  almost hourly updates. My brother Ned has been help-

  ing at one of the hospitals where a lot of the injured

 

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