moment the woman looked round, saw her, straight-
ened, put out a hand to silence Yurevich then rose and
came over.
'Catriona! - it's been many a year. How are you?'
'I'm well, Julia, I'm fine. How are you? You're look-
ing . . . well.'
Julia Bryce, Julia of the warm camaraderie smile and
the icy, disapproving stare, ruler of their nine-strong
coactile, her tiny empire, ruthlessly manipulative and
tactically generous. She was taller than Catriona, pale
skin accentuating her elfin good looks, dressed in a long,
dark coat over fashionable dark green formals.
'Certainly, Catriona, I keep active, as always. I'm here
to work on a research project, very dry and unexciting
but worthy. I have Albrecht and Gustave working with
me - they'll be delighted to know that you're on
Nivyesta.'
Cat made herself smile. So the ice-queen still had
her two favoured minions in tow - Albrecht and
Gustave had played the role of willing instruments
who were also clever enough to conduct their own
little psycho-dramas from time to time. It was unimag-
inable that they would be 'delighted', considering
what she had called them on her last day as an
Enhanced.
'You must pass on my fond regards.'
'Of course. So tell me, have you work here?'
'Oh yes, eco-social studies of the native Uvovo,
including cultural and biological aspects. It's cross-dis-
ciplinary and very demanding but I enjoy it.'
'That is fascinating.' The look of bland regard in
Julia's face didn't change. 'You know, it's such a shame
that your enhancements failed at the last - poor
Catriona, it must have been such a struggle. But you
have work and that's so important. Well, I must say
goodbye - perhaps we'll run into each other again.'
A smile tinged with satisfaction, a nod, and Julia
Bryce was strolling back to Yurevich. Cat kept the fake
composure plastered on until she had turned the corner
out of the lobby and into Pilipoint Station's narrow con-
course.
Bitch! She's working 'on a research project' but I
'have work' — makes it sound as if I pour the tea and
deliver the mail. Chrome-plated bitch!
Then she slowed down, in her thoughts as well as
the furious pace she was marching along at, while
comprehension dawned. Eighteen years on from that
tight, fevered hothouse of a coactile group, and Julia
could still prod her temper and stir up feelings of low
self-esteem. She had nothing to be ashamed of and
every reason to feel good about her achievements, yet
self-justification was not what she needed, rather it
was a tougher skin.
Then she stopped entirely, realising that she had
walked right past the entrance to the small foyer where
an elevator gave access to the floor where Forbes had his
office. And on the spur of the moment she decided no,
she wasn't going to go up there and endure Forbes's
verbal thuggery. If he truly, urgently, needed a report
she would be more than happy to send him a text ver-
sion via the satgrid.
Feeling liberated, at least for the time being, Catriona
strode along the low-ceilinged concourse, past the small
shops and empty cafe, heading for the main security
doors beyond which lay Segrana. Or rather a small com-
munity of Uvovo traders dealing in fresh fish and fruit,
and a couple of trictra sheds. She knew that the security
autosystem would sense her ID tag and log her out when
she left, and that Forbes would find this out not long
after. But she was eager to get back to the trees, back to
Segrana to see if there was anything on the file from
Galyna, but most of all to ponder the Pathmaster
apparition's words.
Seek out a vodrun! - the words had come in a kind of
blackened whisper. Undertake a vigil... all will become
clear to you ...
A vigil. What might she learn from it? Something to
give her investigations an urgency in the eyes of the
Institute, perhaps, and to bring a certain measure of
fame her way? Perhaps even enough to ensure that Julia
and her minions heard about it.
Well, it might not be the healthiest reason for seeking
fame and fortune, she thought as she emerged from the
station and made for one of the trictra sheds. But it's the
way that makes me feel good!
30
THEO
He was recalling the disaster at High Lochiel as he, Rory
and Janssen crouched next to the ground-floor fire
escape in a side alley. Sundstrom had been appalled at
the casualties and furious at the security lapse, fearing
that the media might piece it all together. But since the
woman who saw Theo's men had also died in the explo-
sion, there were no witnesses to their involvement
beyond that of bystanders. Pyatkov had urged the pres-
ident to exclude Theo from taking any further part in
anti-terror operations, but then Rory had appeared with
a lead on a man who was behind a couple of riots and
some false flag incidents, inciting antagonistic groups
to clash on the streets. Rory's informant said the man,
known as Olgren, was taking orders from another stay-
ing in his loft apartment in southwest Hammergard.
So, after a hectic cross-town dash, during which Rory
made certain that both men were still there, Theo and
his men were assigned to secure the fire escape while
Pyatkov's other teams took control of all the stairways
and the lifts. The building had eight floors and was a
mixture of owner-occupier and rented property ... and
Theo's anxiety was winding tighter and tighter. What if
this was another elaborate setup? - what if Rory's
informant had been fooled by another high-tech illu-
sion? Advance reports from the High Lochiel explosion
said that a small device, possibly a hologram projector,
had been recovered from the charred ruins of the top
floor. Could they be sure that they weren't walking into
another deadly trap?
He stood up.
'Okay, no more waiting,' he said. 'Let's go.'
Rory grinned as he got up, but gave Theo a narrow-
eyed glance.
'Thought we wuz waitin' for Pyatkov's order, Major.'
'I want to be sure it's not another pit of spikes we're
getting into, Rory.'
'Well, ma boy Vlad says he seen 'em both in the last
hour . . . but aye, yer right, don't want tae get our teeth
handed tae us again like they did last night.'
'Okay, Janssen - lead the way, and tread lightly.'
It was a nerve-racking climb, trying to use the
wooden flights as cover from above while careful to
avoid any creaking steps. At last they reached the top
landing and crouched outside the emergency exit.
'Rory,' Theo whispered, pointing at the door.
Rory grinned and produced a small device with a
plastic dial and a metal
tongue which he fitted to the
bottom of the door. A minute later they were inside,
crouching below the height of the windows in the doors
at either end of an empty, white-painted corridor. Theo
crept to the one leading to Olgren's apartment, took out
a pocket S-scope and peered into it.
What he saw was both alarming and confusing. The
apartment was airy and spacious with half-height
partitions sectioning off small sleeping areas in both of
the far corners. An open-plan kitchen/lounge occupied
the centre of the apartment and tall windows with their
slatted shutters flung wide let in what remained of the
day's sunlight. But in the nearer half of the room sat
what looked like automatic gun sentries, low, tripod-
mounted and positioned to provide deadly crossfire on
anyone entering by the main door.
What confused him was the two men, one sitting
near the far side, the other standing near him and
engaged in a comm call while staring out of the window.
Both had shaven heads, and the seated one was looking
down at some kind of grey device which was attached to
his upper arm.
Just then he felt his own comm vibrate in his jacket
pocket. Passing the scope to Janssen, he took out the
comm and answered in a low murmur.
'Karlsson.'
'Pyatkov here - we're about to head up. Start your
ascent.'
'Word of advice, Pyatkov - don't charge the door to the
apartment. There are two autogun sentries guarding it.'
There was a moment of silence. 'You're up there
already, aren't you? Damn you, Karlsson, you disobeyed
my orders ...'
'And you should be thanking me, but we can argue
about that later, yes? When you are in position, we'll
move first and try to shut down the autogun on the left,
okay, sir?'
'Acknowledged - proceed.'
Rory grinned as Theo put away the comm. 'So, is
Mr Pyatkov still on our side?'
'Oh yes, but I don't think we'll be getting a Christmas
card this year.'
'Something's wrong,' said Janssen. 'They're agitated.'
Theo grabbed the scope and looked. Both men were
now standing over a terminal, one of them tapping on
the keyboard. They stared at the screen for a moment
then went into a burst of activity, gathering together
small satchels and several weapons. The odd grey device
went into a green backpack.
'They know someone's coming,' Theo said. 'Sensors
on the stairs and in the elevators, maybe ... and one of
them is headed this way!' He turned to the other two.
'When he comes through, I'll shoulder through this side
going the other way so while he's looking round at me
the pair of you bring him down.' He thumbed his comm's
quickkey and when Pyatkov answered he said, 'We've
only seconds - they're on to you so we're going in!'
Theo just had time to stuff the comm into his jacket
and ready his rifle, a Makarov semiautomatic, when the
shaven-headed man pushed open the door.
Immediately, Theo charged through the other door.
The man cried and whirled, bringing a handgun to bear,
but Rory and Janssen kicked away his legs and wrestled
him to the floor. The other man looked round and Theo
saw him smile just before the nearest autogun opened
up. As rounds hammered holes in the walls and floor,
Theo dived for cover behind a long display case full of
seashells of every kind. He lobbed a concussion grenade
round the side of it towards the autogun then ducked his
head, covering his ears. The explosion burst apart the
display, blew out most of the windows, made the floor
lurch underfoot and left his head ringing.
Covered in wood splinters and shell fragments he
sneaked a glimpse round the partition corner and saw
the second man wearing a backpack and crouching on
the ledge of one of the tall windows, now empty of
glass. Seeing Theo he laughed and snapped off a shot to
make him dodge back. When he chanced another look it
was in time to see the man tip sideways and fall out of
sight.
'No!' he bellowed and rushed to the window. There
was gunfire behind him but he ignored it as he stuck his
head out the window - and immediately heard a
motorised whine coming from his right. There was a fist-
sized object mounted on the outside wall more than an
arm's reach away, and a taut, vibrating cable was run-
ning out of it. He pushed himself a little way out onto the
ledge and looked down to see, in the gathering dusk, a
figure landing lightly on his feet on the flat roof of an
adjacent building. Sparks spat from the winch device
and the severed end of the cable fell away. Theo brought
up his rifle and squeezed off a couple of shots but the
man was off at a zigzagging run, dodging between the
cover of venting ducts and outlets. Reaching the other
side of the roof he simply rolled over the edge and was
gone.
Theo cursed, then noticed that he had cut his arm on
the jagged remains of the window and cursed again,
wearily this time. Back in the room the two autogun
sentries had been reduced to smoking wrecks and
Pyatkov was standing before the other man, who was
now tied to a chair with Rory and Janssen immediately
behind him.
'The second man got away,' Karlsson told Pyatkov.
'He lowered himself with a light cable winch fixed out-
side the window. He got to the south wall of the
next-door building then I lost sight of him.'
Pyatkov nodded wordlessly and issued abrupt com-
mands on a corps-issue handset. Theo glanced at Rory,
who was nursing a grazed chin.
'Is this Olgren?' he said.
'Aye, and a right handy lout he is, too. Interesting
tats, though.'
Theo regarded the man, who sat there unresponsive
and apparently unperturbed. He was wearing shorts and
a sleeveless shirt, revealing the tattoo patterns which
encircled his ankles, upper arms and neck. Pyatkov put
away the handset and faced Olgren.
'You're in very serious trouble, Mr Olgren, but you
can help yourself by telling me who that other man is
and where we can find him.'
Olgren smiled patiently. 'Utlaginn goes where he's
needed, sir, resisting the enemies of Darien. All of you
should be helping the FDF, not hindering us.'
Theo grimaced - 'Utlaginn' was old Norj for
'outlaw'.
Pyatkov regarded the man with stone-cold eyes for a
moment. 'What are those tattoos for?' he said, pointing.
'They symbolise the FDF's unity and purity of pur-
pose.' Olgren shook his head. 'Sir, beyond explaining the
Faction's principles, I have nothing to say.'
Pyatkov leaned closer. 'You know, I'm glad that you
feel secure and armoured by your beliefs - it means that
when you do break you'll give me all of it, without hes-
itation or resistance. It's
just that these tattoos .. . well,
in years to come they will only serve to remind you of
what you betrayed. Very sad.' He straightened. 'Take
him away.'
Olgren gave no trouble as he was led away and at
almost the same moment that he disappeared down the
main stairs, another figure came up and entered the
apartment. Clad in a brown leather town jacket, it was
Donny Barbour.
'Mr Pyatkov,' he said, 'I'm on an urgent assignment
and require some additional personnel - I wonder if I
can borrow Major Karlsson and his men, if that's not
inconvenient.'
Pyatkov regarded Barbour coolly for a moment and
Theo could almost hear his thoughts - You're on an
assignment and I've not been informed!
'Very well, Mr Barbour, but be sure that they follow
orders, yes?'
'Excellent, my thanks ... Major, if you and your men
could follow me . . .' Then in a lower voice, once
Pyatkov had moved away, 'Sorry for the short notice but
we've got a possible lead on the guy that just dived outa
yon window and we have to move now!'
Theo glanced at Rory and Janssen, who both nodded.
'Lead the way,' he said.
Rather than wait for the lift, which was already on its
way down with Olgren, they took the stairs at a swift
pace. Barbour's spinnercar was parked across the road,
its motors humming on idle. Theo was about to climb
into the front passenger seat when Barbour said, 'I'll
need you to drive, Major, while I operate the tracker.'
Once behind the wheel, he checked the controls and
instruments then turned to see Barbour hunched over a
circular display panel whose raised rim was speckled
with mysterious glowing symbols, and had a line of
oval, black studs along the bottom edge. Rory poked his
head through from the back seat, spotted the strange
display and opened his mouth, but Barbour spoke first.
'It's a signal mapper,' he said. 'It can isolate a single
comm call within a radius of 100 metres, match its fre-
quency and piggyback it through the switching node
network to its destination, which then shows up as a
street address. Takes time, though - your boy made a
call just before all the fun started but he was only on for
twenty to thirty seconds. Needs at least a minute . . .'
'Can ye listen in, like?' Rory said.
'Nah. This wee baby is Imisil tech rush-adapted for
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 30
