Molehunt

by Paul Collins

  Anneke could see the man amused Lotang, as a lion might be amused by a lamb that wanders into its den. Rofe stopped in front of the throne.

  ‘It could not wait?’

  ‘That’s what I said, didn’t I?’

  ‘Impertinence, even at this hour, Rofe, can still be punished.’

  ‘Would you please listen? The hour isn’t as late as you think. You’re not going to die. At least not yet.’

  Now he had Lotang’s attention.

  ‘I’m not?’ Lotang frowned.

  ‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? It’s not a poison. Well, yes, it is a poison. But it’s not designed to kill you. I mean, that’s not its primary objective. It’s actually a –’

  ‘A slave narcotic,’ said Anneke, finally comprehending the situation.

  Rofe turned on her, irritated that she had stolen his thunder. ‘And who might you be, young lady?’

  ‘Me? I’m the prisoner.’

  ‘Really? Well, prisoners should be seen and not heard.’

  ‘That’s children, not prisoners,’ said Deema. Rofe peered at her, having noticed her for the first time.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked. ‘A family reunion?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Lotang. ‘Now, Rofe, kindly explain.’

  Rofe puffed out his chest and moved into lecturing mode. ‘It’s quite simple, really. And diabolical. This thing is a work of art. Impressive.’ He noticed Lotang’s look and cleared his throat. ‘A slave narcotic is simple … um … not that it needs to be for you to understand it, of course …’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘It has a cyclic fatality. Every three to four days the raider proteins build up. If no antidote is supplied, they start disassembling the host’s proteins and suppressing all enzymatic action.’

  ‘Which will result in me being dead, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how is that different, except for the timing?’

  ‘Well, the timing is what makes it different. It’s not intended to kill you. Whoever introduced this poison into your body clearly intends to supply the antidote on a regular basis. No one in their right mind would bother designing something like this otherwise.’

  Lotang stared at Rofe, who seemed quite happy with his discovery. ‘I see. Thank you.’ He turned to Alisk. ‘Make the call to Ackie. Quickly.’

  Alisk exited at a run. Lotang turned to Anneke.

  ‘You know what he has done?’

  Anneke nodded, deciding it was not a good time to speak.

  ‘He has taken from me the only thing I cherish. My freedom. I am now his thing. His tool. His golem.’

  ‘You will suffer this?’

  ‘You mean, will I allow him to control me, will I be content to be his puppet?’ He pursed his lips. ‘I wish to live,’ he said simply. And, living, I may find a way to neutralise the poison.’

  ‘And if you don’t?’

  ‘Then I will orchestrate the most horrifying death of a man since the dawn of time.’ It had occurred to Lotang that the antidote could not be tortured out of Brown. He had remained obstinately silent despite Ackie’s best efforts at persuasion.

  Anneke’s flesh crawled. Lotang’s voice was as cold as a voice could go.

  ‘And what about us?’

  He looked up. ‘I’m sorry. This changes things. You understand.’

  Anneke’s jaw tightened.

  ‘I’ll give you a head start. You have one minute. I think you should start running. Now.’

  ‘STOP here,’ Maximus said. ‘I’m getting out.’ Ackie laughed. ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’

  ‘I suggest you talk with your employer.’

  Something about the way Maximus said this made Ackie scowl and key his phone. A dampening field automatically surrounded Ackie, but since Maximus could read lips it made little difference.

  ‘Yeah, says he wants to get out. We bringin’ him in or what?’ He listened for a moment, his scowl changing to a look of perplexity. Putting the phone down, he tapped on the driver’s partition. ‘Pull over,’ he called.

  The hover van veered out of the traffic and slotted into a parking bay. Ackie leaned across Maximus to open the back doors manually. He could have voice-activated the doors open, but this technological rebellion showed Maximus that Ackie was not taking orders from anyone but his boss.

  Maximus climbed out. Hesitating, he locked eyes with Ackie.

  ‘No hard feelings, champ?’

  Ackie tensed. ‘I do what I’m told. Even when I don’t have a friggin’ clue why.’

  Maximus laughed. ‘I like you, Mr Ackie. It’s better if I keep liking you. So take some advice. Call it a health warning. Take a vacation.’

  Then Maximus was gone, lost in the crowd. Ackie stared at the spot where he had been. He was no coward, but he felt a chill at the base of his spine, as if he had locked horns with the Sentinels and survived.

  Maximus put as much distance between himself and the hover van as possible. So far so good. He had come through alive. It had been a calculated risk but his strategic modelling of future developments required that he be legitimised in this way. Now he could claim the role of ‘injured party’, which would be handy in the months ahead. For now, Maximus had the upper hand. Lotang no doubt was now hatching plots within plots, seeking a way to neutralise Maximus’s nascent control of the infamous Lob Lotang, and through him, the most powerful Corporation in the galaxy.

  Quesada.

  The fact that Anneke Longshadow must now be as dead as the Old Empire was just, according to the old saying, icing on the cake. Whatever that meant.

  Maximus felt like celebrating. This entire incident, particularly the Anneke Longshadow episode, had been a ‘venturi nexus’ on the landscape of future possibilities, a bottleneck where events and probabilities jammed together so tightly that it was difficult to calculate the odds and extrapolate the most likely pathways.

  At a more personal level, he was not out of the woods yet, but he was getting there. There were people to kill and history to make. He headed back to his vacuum laboratory. He considered his partially mangled body. Renovator’s nightmare, he thought, but it’s the only real estate I have. There was a triumphant gleam in his good eye, even though there was no spring in his step.

  At the laboratory he climbed into a template renovation unit and lay there for an hour while the machine repaired the worst damage done by Ackie and his men. The work was not as thorough as could be done by a living renovator, so he set the unit not to fix permanently, but to fix cosmetically. He was busy, so that would do for now.

  When the renovation was finished, he climbed out, feeling raw and shaky, as if every centimetre of his flesh had been scraped with a wire brush. He drank a cocktail of boost-vitamins and electrolytes, and then went to the observation room. There he was greeted with splendid news.

  He had been gone eleven hours and thirty-six minutes, and in that time the transformations of his subjects had been completed. The recorders told him the exact time transmogrification had taken place, a crucial piece of information.

  Staring through the slit window at the three transmogrified human specimens, Maximus could not help grinning. The ancient pagans would have said the gods were on his side. Maybe they were right, because the results were auspicious.

  There was one more test to make, then his project would be ready for shipment.

  He pressed buttons on the console in front of him and three panels opened, one in each cell. Inside each was an untransformed human. They were down-towners, who would not be missed. When they saw what awaited them in the cells, they screamed.

  The screams were replaced by the sound of ripping flesh and crunching bone.

  Maximus sat back, sated.

  The gods had sent him as a wolf among sheep.

  He promptly sent his pets to their new home.

  Maximus walked into Lotang’s headquarters unopposed. Lotang was waiting for him, perched on his throne, Alisk at his side. She glared
at Maximus, her hatred palpable.

  ‘Have you done as I asked?’ said Maximus.

  ‘I’ve done as you ordered,’ said Lotang, his teeth clenched, muscles spasming along his jaw.

  Maximus shrugged. ‘Call it whatever you like. How soon?’

  ‘An hour. It takes time. Some can only appear holographically.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be living at all!’ Alisk shouted.

  Lotang put a hand on her arm as if to restrain her, his voice soothing. ‘Calm yourself, Alisk. In the great game of galactic chess, Nathaniel has outplayed us this time. Let us admire the skill of his move and learn from it. Besides, if you kill him, you kill me.’

  Alisk forced herself to take a deep breath, never taking her eyes from the Rimmer.

  ‘Nice pet you keep there,’ Maximus said, flicking Alisk a look.

  ‘I’m sure you have your own,’ said Lotang. ‘But tell me, Mr Brown, since I have a personal interest in this matter. What is to stop me from having you tortured so barbarically, so irreversibly, that you decide it is better to tell me the secret of the slave narcotic than to go on enduring that which is unendurable?’

  Maximus popped a liquorice lozenge into his mouth. ‘For one thing, you’ve already had me tortured. Didn’t work then.’

  ‘I have thought on that. You undoubtedly had an array of pain dampeners in place. These can be removed. Indeed, there are ways to enhance sensitivity to pain, so that the tiniest prick of a pin would have you chewing the tongue out of your own mouth. But you had something else to add?’

  ‘I no longer have the secret in my head. I had it removed with a mnemonic scalpel.’

  Almost imperceptibly, Lotang’s face fell. If Maximus had not been looking for it he would never have detected the disappointment. The man had superb control.

  ‘Why do you not just kill me and take over?’ Lotang asked after a brief pause.

  ‘The succession.’

  ‘I am to name you?’

  ‘Today. You will say you are soon stepping down for health reasons, which will be obvious to anyone who looks at you. You will say that I am being groomed to replace you.’

  ‘Why not immediately?’

  ‘Come now, you know the answer to that. The cartel members will need time to adjust to the new circumstances, to get used to me. As will your … devoted followers.’ His eyes went to Alisk again who stared back haughtily. He would have to kill her, no question. It was a pity, but some pets serve only one master.

  Fifty minutes later Alisk led them to a small amphitheatre, laid out like an ancient Greek stone theatre, with modern hi-tech holographic emitters and schematics, and more security shielding than planetary presidents possessed.

  Two dozen men and women were present who, along with several holographic doppelgangers, represented the major galactic Corporations and Clans, including the Big Five. Lotang had not only been busy, but effective in summoning so many so fast.

  Maximus had selected the right puppet. When all was ready Lotang stood up. Silence fell.

  ‘I am Lob Lotang,’ he said. ‘Do any here challenge me?’

  There were some upraised eyebrows, but no one broke the silence.

  ‘I have been the Chairman of the Cartel now for six years, ever since the death of my predecessor.’ Sniggers broke out. ‘And I am de facto CEO of the Majoris Corporata.’

  There was a shocked gasp. Even here, they did not mention the forbidden entity openly. How interesting, thought Maximus. The etiquette of the underworld.

  A vigorous middle-aged man with iron-grey hair stood up, his face flushed. ‘Bodanis,’ he said, naming himself as was custom. ‘Imperial Standard. What gives you the right to name the thing we do not name?’

  Lotang eyed the man, waiting till he had resumed his seat.

  ‘Changed circumstances, my colleague. With respect, I have an announcement to make.’ He glanced sideways at Maximus. ‘Due to ill health, I will be taking a less active role from now on. I will therefore name my successor and ask you to give him your utmost support and loyalty.’

  The room erupted, everyone shouting vainly to be heard.

  ‘Order!’ Lotang thundered, and the shouting dwindled to low murmurs.

  Lotang told the group he had been grooming a highly trusted lieutenant in secret for some time now. He then bowed low to the assembled men and women and sat down.

  Maximus rose from his seat, his face calm. His moment had come. ‘My name is Brown. Nathaniel Brown. We will be doing things differently from now on.’

  Bodanis stood up, his complexion muddy, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘The articles of our incorporation do not require that we accept you. By what right do you assume leadership here?’

  ‘By the right of succession and the right of histaki.’ A hush fell and all eyes went to Lotang who remained immobile as stone.

  ‘Histaki?’ said Bodanis. ‘As compensation for injury?’

  Maximus nodded. Histaki was an ancient form of contractual obligation. Invoked only in the rarest of circumstances, it allowed the injured party to assume control and, to some extent, complete ownership of all his defendant’s assets in the event that he bested them in combat. In this enlightened age, of course, combat meant the great galactic game of strategic move and countermove.

  Bodanis spat on the floor. ‘Histaki is not called for. Histaki is outdated.’

  ‘Do you speak for all?’

  Bodanis looked around at the assembled faces. It was clear he did not speak for all. The ancient rites had power in the room even if the ancient gods did not. Histaki, it seemed, would be observed. Bodanis scowled again but remained standing.

  ‘Something else?’ asked Maximus pleasantly.

  ‘If I am not mistaken, Histaki requires a fiduciary gift, a dowry if you like, to those whose loyalty is required. Even the Septum Misora acknowledges this.’

  Maximus gave Bodanis a short bow. He then told the Cartel what Lotang had told Anneke: he was close to the first lost coordinates and was working on where the second coordinates might be found. The silence that greeted this knowledge was profound. If events up to now had been shocking, this information left even Bodanis speechless.

  Finally another speaker rose. ‘Sasume. Myoto Corporation.’ She bowed slightly. Her features which once would have been called Asiatic, were tense. ‘Are we to understand that, when you have all three coordinates, you will seek to recover the imperial weapon caches, then distribute them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To members of the Cartel?’

  ‘You understand correctly. There will of course be a fee for the distribution. Business goes on. A profit must be made.’

  Lotang smiled thinly.

  Sasume sat down. Sniggers broke out again, but this time they meant acceptance of both Maximus and the lure of galactic mayhem.

  Mostly.

  Bodanis lumbered to his feet again. ‘Who says you will be successful?’

  Maximus smirked. ‘If I’m not, then depose me, old man.’

  Bodanis surged forward but others restrained him. Flushed and angry, he bellowed like a wounded bull. ‘“Old man”? I’ll give you “old man”, you little rat!’

  Bodanis was made to sit down; order restored.

  ‘It is time to ratify the Majoris Corporata,’ said Maximus.

  Deadly silence followed. Sasume from Myoto stood once more. ‘Begging your pardon, but why ratify what until now has remained a ghost? To make that ghost corporeal would be to invite the harshest response from RIM and the Sentinels. Presently, we are merely an annoyance to them, one among many in the galaxy. We should remain a minor annoyance until we are ready.’

  She resumed her seat amid murmurs of agreement.

  Maximus had anticipated this response. ‘Until we are ready, you say? A fine phrase, but how is readiness measured? Indeed, do we become ready when we choose or when we are compelled? I say, historical circumstance chooses. Our task is to guide the great hand of history so that
the game is played our way.’

  The group was swayed. There was a roar of approval.

  ‘It is time to choose sides,’ said Maximus. ‘Let us vote.’

  Hands darted out to press buttons on the arms of chairs. The tally appeared on a crystal screen visible by all. The outcome was almost unanimous.

  Only Sasume abstained.

  Maximus gazed at Bodanis. But the man seemed to have reconsidered his position. He’s no fool. Then Maximus redirected his attention to his dissenter. ‘I ask that you reconsider.’

  Sasume stared back, poker-faced.

  ‘I am sorry then,’ said Maximus.

  Sasume stood and quickly left the room, followed by two colleagues. Maximus turned a sorrowful face to the remainder of the assembly. ‘It is my sad duty to declare Myoto expelled.’

  Gasps could be heard across the room. No Corporation or Clan had been ostracised in living memory. It meant no further dealings with the Myoto Corporation or any of its members: no business, no exchanges, nothing. From this moment on, Myoto did not exist.

  Everyone knew what that meant. The next logical step would be to issue a deathword against them.

  The order of annihilation.

  ‘You’re either with us or against us,’ said Maximus.

  One by one, albeit slowly, the clans once again voted.

  Three hours later, as he headed back to his hotel, Myoto retaliated. Maximus suspected that Myoto had beaten him to it, issuing a deathword against him personally. He’d expected a counter strike – just not this quickly. No one could interfere. This was strictly between Myoto and Nathaniel Brown, though technically he could call upon Quesada for support. Or could he? He had been formally sworn in but the transfer of power, the investment, did not kick in until midnight.

  Touché, thought Maximus.

  He was on a threader, locked in, trapped. His success at the takeover had dulled his natural paranoia and alertness. When the ultra-reflective missile shot up from the surface, boosted by a plasma pusher beam, he had time for one sick moment of realisation, then it hit. Fortunately, the threader field acted as a partial dampener on the effect and precision of the missile, and it struck the forward section of the threader. The blast was also deflected and shunted aside. Several people died instantly, others survived the initial blast only to begin falling.