Imperial Black

by David Bishop

  "They'll only slow us down," she replied firmly.

  "I doubt my spine will ever recover from riding on these monstrous beasts," Flintlock complained. "I haven't been this black and blue since-"

  "Your last visit to Famous Flora's Massage Parlour?" Dante suggested. "You always have a spanking good time there."

  "My sexual proclivities are my own affair," Flintlock protested haughtily.

  "Proclivities? I thought you liked them to be called your meat and two veg." Spatchcock sniggered. "Least, that's what Flora told me."

  "Can the three of you talk or think about nothing but sex every minute of the day and night?" Mai demanded. "Does every comment or conversation have to lead straight into the gutter?"

  "Are you suggesting we can only converse in innuendo?" Flintlock asked.

  "Innuendo and out the other," Spatchcock added with a throaty chuckle.

  "Shut up!" she hissed, twisting her yak round to face the trio of men. "We're in one of the most beautiful places in the world. For once in your sordid little lives, try to appreciate your surroundings."

  Shame-faced and embarrassed, the three men mumbled their apologies. Mai pointed a finger at Dante sternly. "And when I turn around, I don't want you thinking about anything except our objective, do you understand? Keep your eyes off my arse and your thoughts on the job in hand, okay?"

  "Okay," Dante snapped back. "Can we get on, please?"

  "Fine."

  "Good." Dante was distracted by tittering from nearby. "Now what?"

  "Nothing," Flintlock squeaked, struggling to contain his mirth.

  "Nothing at all," Spatchcock agreed.

  "It's just... she said... on the job." The Brit lost control of his merriment, and Spatchcock was soon laughing out loud. Dante shook his head despairingly and urged his yak onwards. He caught up with Mai and apologised for such gross behaviour.

  "Their hearts are in the right place," he offered. "Well, mostly."

  "Shame about the rest of them," she sneered.

  "I guess," Dante shrugged. He studied her face, noting the pain etched into her expression. "I thought you'd cope better than any of us with the cold."

  "It's not the cold." Mai winced. "Or the yak."

  "How did you know I was...? Oh yes, you can read my thoughts."

  You have my sympathies, the Crest commented. His is not the prettiest of minds to experience. I suppose I've gotten used to its sordid little nooks and crannies by now, but they must come as something of a shock to-

  "I'm trying to talk with this woman, Crest. I don't need you butting in with your oh-so-superior observations."

  Be like that. See if I care. Before the argument could go any further, Mai slumped forward over her mount. She's lost consciousness. Get her off that walking carpet, she needs help.

  Dante jumped from his yak and hurried to Mai's beast, lowering her from the saddle to the stone-strewn ground. He stripped off his jacket, folding the garment in half and slipping it beneath Mai's head. Her face was wan, the normally bronze skin blotchy and discoloured. "Crest, what's wrong?"

  Rest your palm against her forehead. Direct contact with the skin will enable me to make a more accurate diagnosis.

  The others hurried to join them, Flintlock tumbling from his mount in the process. Spatchcock grabbed the reins of both animals so the yaks couldn't wander off in the confusion. "What's the matter with her?"

  "That's what I'm trying to find out," Dante hissed. He reached forwards with his left hand, pressing its palm against Mai's skin.

  Beginning analysis now, the Crest said tersely. That's strange. She's...

  Dante waited, but the voice in his head had fallen silent. "Crest? Crest, what's going on? What's wrong with Mai?" Still no reply came. Dante twisted round to look for Spatchcock, but both his travelling companions had disappeared, along with the yaks. "That's impossible. Crest, what's happened to Flintlock and Spatch? Crest?"

  All Dante could hear was the wind whistling from the nearby mountains, then even that died away to nothing, leaving an eerie silence.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Dante realised he was now kneeling on broad wooden panals, his palm resting on the forehead of a beautiful Oriental girl. Surprised, he pulled his hand away. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I was... before, my friend, she was... well, she's not my friend. At least, I doubt she'd call me a friend. Anyway, I was trying to-"

  The girl sat and giggled at him. "You're a funny colour!"

  "I am?"

  "You can't be from the village."

  "No, I'm... I'm not sure, to be honest. Where am I?"

  "Don't you know?"

  Dante shook his head. The girl stood up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry. You'll see, in time." She ran away from him, fading into nothing. Dante was still looking for her when a harsh voice cursed at him.

  "How much for this one?"

  A massive figure loomed nearby, the rancid stench of body odour filling Dante's nostrils. He couldn't make out his face, but somehow knew he must not speak.

  "I said how much for this one, old man?"

  "Twenty."

  "For used goods? Ha! Eight and no more."

  "Twelve?"

  "I said eight, and that's being generous."

  A hand reached down and grabbed Dante by his hair, yanking him on to his feet. Fingers probed expertly, feeling his teeth, searching for imperfections. On impulse, Dante bit down, snapping his jaws together. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, the smell of iron in his nostrils and screaming fury in his ears. The blows came quickly, one upon another, snarling and savage. "You'll pay for that."

  After another blur, Dante was sitting on a dirt floor, the pounded earth beneath his hands dry and firm. Animal hides lined the walls, insulating the hut from the bitter winds outside. A man clad in black from head to toe walked in and only his hands and eyes were visible. "You will kill for us. You will become us..." Then he, too, faded away, shimmering into nothing like a ghost.

  "Dante? What are you doing here?" The voice was Mai's but Dante could not find its source. He twisted round and round, searching his surroundings. The hut melted away to reveal a snow-covered slope, its whiteness tinted mustard yellow by the setting sun.

  There you are, a voice said inside Dante's thoughts.

  "Crest? Where am I?"

  Inside Mai's subconscious. When you put your hand on her forehead, it opened a long dormant pathway into her thoughts. I was drawn inside and your mind must have followed.

  "I don't understand."

  Hardly surprising. Interpreting the workings of the human subconscious has kept entire professions gainfully employed for more than a millennium.

  "Am I inside one of Mai's dreams?"

  Not a bad analogy, but these visions are a blend of her past, present and future. A better question is how can she see her future, even at a subconscious level? Perhaps telepathy is only one of Mai's psychic talents?

  Dante watched as the mountains changed colour, each vision darker than the last. The sun was now almost hidden beneath the distant horizon. As it disappeared, a line of shadow crept up each slope, swallowing the mountain. Above that line the snow turned ever more orange, before its shade reddened. Soon only the tips were catching the sun, the light staining them a sinister hue, as if the peaks were covered with blood red. Dante shuddered.

  "Don't touch me!" a girl's voice screamed. She ran past him, terror filling her face. Behind her ran nightmare monsters, their faces devoid of eyes, grabbing hands flailing at the wind, mouths howling in hunger. The creatures ran through Dante, startling him but not touching, wraiths of the mind.

  "I've seen enough, Crest. How do I get out of here?"

  Silence.

  "Crest, can you hear me?"

  Dante was colder since the sun had gone down. His hands shivered. He sank to his knees in the snow and hugged both arms round his chest to retain heat. Around him the wind whispered then screamed, its gusts a dozen different voices. Dante coul
d hear words echoing around the mountains, growing louder and louder.

  What are you doing here? Don't touch me! You'll pay for that. You'll see... I don't understand. How did I get here? Don't touch me! I don't understand. You'll see... Where am I? How did I get here? Crest...? Crest...?

  The voices grew louder, until Dante felt himself being consumed. Another noise began to overtake it, a low rumbling from above. At first it sounded like thunder in the distance. Then the rumble became a roar, forcing him to look up. The night sky was turning white again. It was an avalanche. Dante, evasive action...

  Dante yanked his hand away from Mai's forehead, his lungs sucking in air as if he were a drowning man suddenly pulled back to the surface. "What happened?"

  You disappeared, the Crest replied. The moment you placed your hand on Mai's forehead, I lost all contact with you.

  "What do you mean? I talked with you inside her subconscious."

  Not to the best of my knowledge.

  Dante could see Spatchcock and Flintlock staring at him, their faces confused and afraid. "The Crest says I disappeared."

  "Your body didn't go anywhere, but as for the rest of you..." Spatchcock replied.

  "You were in some sort of trance," Flintlock added.

  "What about Mai?" Dante asked.

  "What about me?" She opened her eyes and looked at the three men standing over her. "What's going on?"

  "I wish I knew." Dante explained what had happened.

  Dante believes we conversed in your mind, the Crest told Mai, but I have no recollection of such an event.

  She sat up, stroking her temples with one hand. "Last thing I remember was my headache suddenly getting worse. Then my vision blurred and after that... nothing."

  "How do you feel now?" Spatchcock asked.

  "As if my head wants to split open. It's been pounding like a drum since we landed, but I thought that would pass. Instead the pain keeps getting worse."

  Dante recalled the images that had flooded his mind. Mountains were the recurring motif, peaks becoming an ominous blood red. "The closer we get to the foot of the Himalayas, the greater the pain in your head?"

  "Yes," Mai agreed. "Why, do you think there's a connection?"

  "I wish I knew," Dante said. "It'll be dark soon. We need to find shelter for the night. Spatch, Flintlock -- scout ahead for the nearest place we can stop. I need to talk with Mai."

  "Gotcha," Spatchcock nodded, climbing deftly into the saddle on his yak.

  Flintlock remained standing, his arms folded resolutely. "I refuse to get back on that creature," he pouted.

  "Have it your own way," Spatchcock replied. He trotted off on his hairy steed, leaving Flintlock to run behind, dodging the odd spurt of yak manure. Dante waited until both men were out of earshot before speaking.

  "How long is it since you've been home, back to these mountains?"

  "I can't remember," Mai said sadly. "My childhood is a blur. If I try to focus on it, I start getting a migraine. After a while, I stopped trying to remember. It was less painful."

  "So what's the first thing you can recall? Without pain?"

  "Waking up inside a bamboo cage, on a dais in a market. Slave traders were selling me. 'Himalayan beauty, never been touched.' Those are the first words I can remember hearing. I was twelve or thirteen at the time."

  "How can you be sure?"

  Mai gave Dante a withering glare. "A woman knows."

  "Oh, right."

  "That was six or seven years ago, before the war. I can clearly recall every moment, every experience I've had since then - but nothing before." She faced the mountains, the snow-covered peaks turning yellow in the setting sunlight. "Until now, that is. I'm getting glimpses of growing up in these mountains, of playing with my brother in the snow round our family's hut."

  Dante frowned. "If you couldn't remember anything before you were sold, how did you know about your brother?"

  "He tried to rescue me from the slave traders." The snow-caps were turning a shade of ochre, then a deeper orange. "My brother was the only link I had back to my childhood. And you killed him."

  "Was he fighting for the Tsar?"

  "The Tsar?" Mai cursed in a tongue Dante didn't recognise. "My brother would never fight for that bastard." She stood up, refusing Dante's help. "If you'd killed him because he was one of the enemy, I could understand that. But he was one of your own men. You killed one of your own soldiers. That's not an act of war, that's murder." Mai strode off in the direction taken by Spatchcock and Flintlock.

  Dante watched her go, the mountains in the distance blood red at the peaks. He realised that it was just like in the vision. That must have been a glimpse of the future. But what else had he seen in Mai's head that had yet to happen? What clues had he witnessed without realising?

  He retrieved his jacket and put it back on. "Crest, can you still access the Imperial Net?"

  Not without a relay or external power source.

  Dante glanced round the barren landscape, darkness rapidly engulfing him. "The sonic disruptors - could you use them as a booster?"

  That could work, the Crest decided. I will try hacking into their control systems, siphoning off a little residual power. What do you need?

  "There's more to Mai than meets the eye. She claims to have no memory of her life before the age of twelve. Check her story, see if it stands up."

  Consider it done. Anything else?

  "Yes. Why was I sucked into Mai's subconscious when I touched her forehead? Nothing like that happened when I grabbed her wrist at the Parliament of Shadows' HQ. If something important is locked in her mind, we need to know what that is and how to access that knowledge."

  I shall investigate further. Of course,many Asian and Oriental faiths believe gods and holy individuals have a divine, third eye set into their forehead, enabling the bearer to see through every individual's mind, and fathom things beyond a common person's understanding.

  Dante set off after the others, not wanting to be separated from them for the night. "Get the feeling that you're out of your depth, Crest?"

  No.

  "Good. So hacking the Imperial Net shouldn't offer a challenge, should it?"

  NINE

  "What matters is not who you are at birth,

  but at death."

  - Russian proverb

  "The Imperial Net is among the Empire's most remarkable achievements. This vast artificial intelligence is a gestalt entity, collecting every available scrap of data and interrelating this with the ever-shifting zeitgeist of contemporary culture. The net was inspired by a Twenty-first Century phenomenon wiped out in the AI holocaust of 2027. The Imperial Net uses alien technology to achieve similar results, but has liquid media and bioorganic circuitry as its support mechanism. All the user requires is a power source, some access codes and the ability to interpolate the ebb and flow of raw data. What could be simpler?"

  - Extract from The Smirnov Almanac of

  Fascinating Facts, 2672 edition

  Dante. Dante! The Crest's voice woke its host from sleep before dawn, drawing him out of a dream involving three shape-shifting alien masseurs and a bathtub full of strawberry-scented lubricants.

  "Five more minutes. Just five more minutes..." he murmured, sulkily.

  DANTE!

  "Diavolo!" Dante exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "Crest, there's no need to shout. I was waking up. I simply wanted to savour the last, lingering delights of my dream." He smirked, one hand rasping through the stubble on his chin. "Some of the things those shape-shifters could do... They ought to be illegal."

  Most of them are. You forget that I am privy to your dreams as well as your waking thoughts.

  "Yeah," Dante said. He shivered in the cold morning air, briskly pulling on his jacket. The four travellers had found shelter beneath a rocky overhang, using the slumbering yaks as a windbreak. Spatchcock's snoring had kept the others awake for hours, until one by one they drifted off to sleep.

  Dante pulled on his boo
ts and crept out of the shelter, stretching and yawning. "So, why did you wake me, Crest?"

  While your subconscious has been busy performing indecent acts, I've been scanning the Imperial Net for any mention of Mai Tsai.

  "And?"

  There is only one.

  "One? That's all?"

  I was very thorough.

  "I know, but... How many times am I mentioned?"

  The running tally is fast approaching one point four billion, the Crest replied dryly. You seem to exert a fascination for young ladies of a certain age. There's an entire sub-genre of romantic fiction about your exploits. Appropriately enough, it is known as Dante slash fiction.

  "Really? Hot stuff, is it? Could you read me some?"

  No. Your self-image is already far enough out of proportion with your ability to satisfy any woman. It does not require further inflation. Besides, you asked me for facts about Mai, not an exercise in stroking your ego.

  "Yeah, yeah. Spit it out then."

  There is no mention of Mai before the war. She does not exist in any Imperial records, on any census or forms. Nor does she appear to have any documentation issued in her name. Before you ask, I also ran images of her through facial recognition software and image search facilities. Still nothing.

  "So what is this one mention?"

  Eighteen months ago, a clandestine criminal group known only as the Tong of the Red Hand broke cover and issued a rare public statement denouncing Mai. The Tong put her picture on the Imperial Net and said she had turned from the noble ways and traditions of the organisation. Dante, they marked her for death.

  The Imperial Black had been advancing on the mountains for three days. A heavy carrier brought all one thousand members of the regiment to the foot of the Himalayas, using an official override code to escape the cordon of sonic disruptors. Once the soldiers were on the ground, they were brought to order by the Enforcer and began their slow ascent. Flight paths recovered from Dmitri Romanov's former pilot had narrowed the search for the Forbidden Citadel to three peaks, but nothing more was known about its location.