By the time he was done, the men were entering the valley, calling out for the dogs that slept fitfully beside him in the blind, covered by one corner of the tarp. Nathan counted the men as he took a loaded magazine from the kit bag, confirming that the hunting party had stayed together. He counted twelve, same as when they left the summer house a little before dawn. The servants went ahead, calling out for the dogs and leaning on the sticks they would use later to beat the bushes, followed by the four gentlemen of the hunting party, and the porter charged with transporting the lunch and beer in an enormous drab backpack. The distance was too great to make out features, but his father’s straw hat and the stranger from the Thule Cartel’s kufi gave the game away.
Nathan’s fingers were numb as he slid the magazine into the magazine well, feeling the metallic clink as much as he heard it.
Below him in the valley, the hunting party made slow progress through the tall grass, distracted by the apparent loss of some of their dogs. Beside him, Sentinel whined in his sleep on hearing his named called, legs twitching with eagerness to obey his master’s calls. Nathan felt a deep sadness at observing their futile loyalty.
Nathan lay down beside the rock he had used as a seat, moving slowly and carefully. The mounted bipod deployed at the touch of a button; the scope was zeroed and focused digitally before he looked down it. Nathan tugged the charging handle back, and shuddered as the round slid into the breach.
The hunting party stopped to have a conversation in the center of the valley, likely about the missing dogs. One of the servants at the lead noticed the trail of crushed grass that the dogs had left, running up the slope, and gestured in the vague direction of Nathan’s blind. A few of the men turned in his direction, and Nathan’s breath caught in his throat, his finger tightening around the trigger, a calm and apparently alien voice in his head reminding him that the pull on this trigger assembly was stiff.
Shading their eyes with their hands, the hunting party turned to survey the hillside, and Nathan panicked despite himself.
The report of the rifle shocked him, but only seemed to confuse the hunting party, as the bullet sliced harmlessly through the tall grass. Nathan took a deep breath, sited carefully down the scope, and then took his second shot.
He started with his father, so that the hardest part would be done first.
The straw hat flew into the air as his father fell, and Nathan felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach, but told himself that he felt nothing at all.
Nathan shot down his brother as he scrambled to check on their fallen father.
The rest of the hunting party was a blur of dust and motion and the deafening report of the rifle. The magazine held twenty rounds, and Nathan emptied it before he set the rifle aside, not realizing he had forgotten to put in ear protection until he saw the protective muffs sitting beside the rifle case, his ears ringing like a pair of brass gongs.
Looking down the hill, Nathan was surprised to see the servants also shot dead. He had no specific memory of making that decision.
He went down to check. He had to. His father lay face down, so Nathan was spared that much. The Thule representative had gotten the worst of it, shot in four different places. Nathan could not remember doing that, either.
Nathan put the rifle back into its case, and then returned the case to his kit bag. He placed the tarp carefully over the snoring dogs, and wiped the smudge paint from his face with a hand towel. Walking on trembling legs, he went to a nearby bush and was sick behind it. Nathan remained there for several moments, until he was sure of himself. When he was certain of his composure, he walked to the top of the hill, away from the sleeping dogs and the bodies in the valley, and activated a covert telepathic implant.
Nathan Drava, Lord North greeted him, telepathically remote. What is so urgent?
Forgive the intrusion, but this is an emergency, Nathan answered, feeling a queasy sort of giddiness. Lord North, I regret to inform you that I discovered my father in the process of aligning the cartel with the degenerates of the Thule Cartel, and was forced to act to prevent it.
How terrible, Lord North replied, as they had rehearsed. What a grievous betrayal!
As you say, Lord North. I did my best to reason with him, but he was beyond reason.
This is terrible news. Even without the benefit of emotional context, the lie was obvious to Nathan. He wondered if the conversation would seem as false to him, when it was shared with the Great Families of the Hegemony, as justification for his own accession. What madness is it that has overtaken the Drava Family?
Whatever madness it was, it has been extinguished, Nathan continued, numb from his toes to his hair. I have prevented the defection of the Drava Cartel with my own hands, Lord North, at grievous cost. Please extract the memories from my mind and review my conduct for yourself.
Naturally, Lord North did no such thing. The memories Lord North reviewed and appended telepathically to the conversation were a psychic fiction, created by one of Lord North’s telepaths to falsify the record. Nathan had reviewed the memories himself the night before, and had been moved somewhat by his own bravery, even knowing the memory’s provenance.
How tragic! Lord North proclaimed, after a suitable delay. What terrible misfortune has befallen the Drava Cartel! Still, in such critical times, we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of dwelling upon loss or grief. Nor can we allow a family and cartel of such importance to go without leadership, even for a day. Allow me to be the first to mourn your father, Nathan…
Thank you, Lord North.
…and to congratulate you on your ascension – provisional, of course, until Hegemonic review – to the title of Lord Drava, and all that the title entails.
For just a single moment, Nathan thought that he might be sick again, choking back bile with a manufactured look of regret on his face, but then he regained his composure. Nathan thanked Lord North, agreed to meet in Central soon, and then ended the conversation, eager to go and check on the dogs.
***
Lady Gao and Dr. Graff watched without comment as the sleek Gulfstream taxied on the hastily prepared landing strip, conceived only a day before, and by far the crudest runway the expensive private plane had ever seen. Both knew that such an arrival meant that the location of their facility was now a known commodity – and therefore their tenure here at an end. Nothing needed to be said.
They waited until the dust settled before hurrying over to the plane. At a nod from Lady Gao, the facility guard took position. Automated stairs descended from the sleek fuselage, and Anastasia’s guard stepped out cautiously, surveying the area and then cautiously interfacing with the local security. Only when they were certain did the Mistress of the Black Sun emerge, Mai followed close behind her with outspread parasol to shield her from the sun, though it was dim today because of dust carried on the winds.
Lady Gao curtsied so that the hem of her dress scraped the ground. Dr. Graff made a nervous and hasty bow of his own when he noticed the guards saluting. Lady Martynova offered them no acknowledgement, her face carefully veiled, her mourning dress matte black with simple lines.
“Lady Martynova,” Lady Gao said. “A not entirely unexpected honor.”
“I should hope so,” Lady Martynova said, with unaccustomed severity. “I lack the time for pleasantries. Do you know what has happened?”
“Please join us inside, Mistress, as it is hot. We believe that we know,” Lady Gao said, motioning for Dr. Graff to join them as they walked swiftly to the building, Mai silently following. “Our monitoring data suggests that the energies released just before the Ether went into turmoil were characteristic of Yggdrasil, the World Tree that Dr. Graff constructed…”
“Grew,” Dr. Graff pointed out. “Actually.”
“Yes. Grew.” Lady Gao nodded. “Perhaps I should let the good doctor tell it?”
“Someone killed my World Tree,” Dr. Graff said, hands clenched with indignation. “It must have taken a tremendous amount of energy and effor
t, because the World Tree by definition extends its roots into everything, and that root system is capable of surviving extensive trauma.”
“The Anathema were reportedly attempting to root the World Tree somewhere in the Outer Dark,” Anastasia said, while a guard hurried ahead to hold the door to the facility for them. “You propose that the death of Yggdrasil accounts for the difficulties with apports and telepathy, then?”
“Yes, certainly!” Dr. Graff blurted. “How could it not? The World Tree, as I said, has a universal root structure that taps directly into the Ether. The sudden death of the World Tree could only throw affairs into unprecedented turmoil.”
“Of course,” Anastasia agreed coldly. “And the duration of this turmoil will be…?”
“Indeterminate,” Dr. Graff said, with an airy sigh. “Nothing of this sort has ever happened before.”
The guard rushed ahead of them to open doors and take positions as they entered the main part of the complex, a warren of laboratories and supporting warehouses, administrative offices, and technical centers. The air vibrated with the efforts of a thousand nearly-silent fans, every wall painted the same uniform almost white, every room floored with the same anti-static padding. The staff watched quietly, corralled unnecessarily by the facility guard in offices and corners. Anastasia Martynova appeared to take no notice, though the veil obscured her eyes.
“Dr. Graff, I require a solution.”
The doctor, finally realizing the gravity of his situation, turned to Lady Gao for help with mouth agape. She smiled enigmatically and left it at that.
“A solution?”
“Exactly that, yes. I have affairs to settle with the Thule Cartel, and a pressing need to gain access to Central. As the engineer of the problem – whom I saved, at great cost, from the consequences of his own actions – I certainly hope that you have a solution.”
“Milady…I…” Dr. Graff stammered. “Given the circumstances, I can hardly be expected…”
“Circumstances?” Anastasia barely turned her head as they strode quickly through the main research lab, terrified and curious scientists looking on from a safe distance. “Lady Gao, I thought that I said Dr. Graff was to be provided with anything he needed?”
“It is not that. Support has been more than sufficient,” Dr. Graff sputtered, glancing fearfully in Lady Gao’s direction. “Let me show you.”
Dr. Graff led them to an adjoining laboratory, so eager he nearly ran. His palm was so sweaty that it took two tries to open the biometric lock. The room on the other side reeked of decomposing plant matter and mineral oil. Dr. Graff gestured in the direction of the six great glass domes that dominated the room, each extending three meters toward the ceiling. Five of the six were occupied by a rotting mess that looked a bit like a cross between a pulped melon and rusting metal, while the other contained a tiny crystalline sprout, with only the least indication of branches, glowing softly like a muted television.
“Since you, ah, rescued me from the Far Shores, I’ve been attempting to grow another World Tree. Months of careful work! When it happened – when they killed my stolen World Tree – this was the result. Every new growth I had produce over the last year died instantly. This is a disaster for my research! Without a living sample to provide a root graft…”
“We have seen the death of a World Tree before,” Anastasia said. “Why did we not see such chaos when the first World Tree was destroyed in the Ukraine?”
“There was another! The second World Tree at the Far Shores. Don’t you see? The World Tree itself is just an outgrowth, like a mushroom rising from its fungal bed – the root structure is the living heart of Yggdrasil, and each World Tree shares that structure. When the previous World Tree was destroyed, the root net remained untouched. This time, however, the tree has been killed right down to the roots. I can’t imagine who or how…”
“Oh, I think I can,” Anastasia remarked. “No imagination required.”
“My work is ruined!” Dr. Graff wailed. “Again!”
“A tragedy, we can all agree,” Lady Gao said, with apparent sincerity. “My division has engineered something that might prove useful in this scenario, milady. It isn’t a solution, and this was hardly the purpose for which it was designed, but I think it might answer the need of the hour…at least until Dr. Graff discovers a more permanent solution to the problem.” Lady Gao arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Graff?”
“Yes,” Dr. Graff said, the relief pathetically obvious on his face. “I’m already working on it!”
“Your solution, Lady Gao?” Anastasia reminded. “I am most eager.”
“Allow me to show you,” Lady Gao said, eyes distant as she issued telepathic commands. “Let us use the upstairs conference room. I am having the samples moved as we speak.”
Anastasia nodded, and allowed herself to be led upstairs, Mai never leaving her post just behind her and at her side.
The room was mostly taken up by a large conference table done in varnished birch, with slightly too many chairs arrayed about it. A sheet of plastic had been stretched across a meter or so of the center of the table, and a set of five syringes lay on the table.
“We have been working with the original samples you provided,” Lady Gao said, picking up one of the metal syringes, examining the wide gauge needle. “Seeking to refine the potential for specific tasks. It is slow work, and the synthesis is expensive and laborious, but we have produced intriguing results nonetheless. This was meant to be ready for demonstration in the next few weeks, but I am confident in the efficacy of our product.”
Lady Gao handed the syringe to Anastasia, who in examined it without a trace of curiosity.
“This is a nanite injection, then?” Lady Martynova asked. “The previous versions were a patch.”
“This is more diffused, as we had to add numerous reagents to reduce the instance of…loss.”
“The nanites included are based on those taken from Alexander Warner, though?”
“Yes, milady. The samples you acquired from Warner during your vacation in Vietnam are the basis of our entire synthesis program. The enhancement patches we provided you were just the first usage we devised for them. We have since been working on more specialized applications.”
“Hm. Continue.”
“The injection is designed to enhance the performance of an extended distance apport, facilitated by short-lived nanites,” Lady Gao explained. “We intended it to increase the capabilities of lower-ranked apport technicians, or for use by non-technicians in emergencies. It seems to enable apport technicians to punch through the current disturbance in the Ether, though the process is costly.”
Anastasia turned the syringe over in her hand.
“How do you know?”
“The injection has already been tested in this context,” Lady Gao assured her. “Only once, I’m afraid, but we have only a handful of samples with which to work, and the synthesis is too time-consuming to produce more in the near future.”
“Interesting.”
“There are drawbacks,” Lady Gao added hurriedly. “The effect upon on the apport technician is deleterious, violently so. The injection is not meant to be used lightly, Lady Martynova.”
“I intend no such usage, Lady Gao,” Anastasia said, setting the syringe back by its fellows. “As I mentioned, my need is most urgent.”
“Of course, milady! I meant no…that is too say, is there further assistance that I might render?”
“There is, in fact,” Anastasia said. “Could you contact your husband, please? I find myself desirous of the services of a vampire.”
***
Serafina was shoved in the concealed alcove before she could formulate an argument to persuade her father that his course of action was rash, that she could use her protocol to help resolve whatever terrible predicament they were in. Her father had hardly spoken since the first knock on the door.
Everyone froze when they first heard it, keeping still like that
might send the unwanted visitors away, Daniel Gao’s sales pitch dying as the knock echoed through their estate.
The second set of knocks came a short interval later, and shocked them out of their stasis. Stefano smiled at them as he hurried across the library, removing certain volumes with abnormal haste. Ghada buried her face in her hands and started to weep. Daniel Gao frowned very slightly. Sara went to comfort her mother.
Her father tossed the books in a pile as he removed them. When the pile was eight high, one of the bookshelves creaked and rotated upon on ungreased hinges, the clamor nearly drowning out the third set of knocks – this one just slightly more determined and forceful than the last.
Her father and Daniel Gao locked eyes, and Sara knew that they were communicating telepathically, but whatever conversation they had was held on a private, encrypted channel, and she could not eavesdrop. Daniel Gao nodded at her father with a grim expression, and then they shook hands. Sara rubbed her mother’s shoulders as her weeping reached a sort of hysterical crescendo.
Stefano pushed aside the door, and Daniel Gao stepped in the shadowy alcove on the other side.
The fourth knock rattled the door in its frame and made the windows vibrate.
Sara’s father took her by the shoulders and pushed her insistently toward the alcove.
“Dad!” Sara whispered, not sure exactly why she was whispering. “What’s…?”
There’s no time, Sara. Be quiet, whatever happens. I love you. We love you, your mother and I both.
He pushed Sara inside the alcove, which was smaller than it first appeared, not even the size of her bedroom closet. Her knee immediately collided with Daniel’s, and he was forced to lean back to avoid clashing heads with Sara. The alcove was hot and smelled of dust and insulation, and Sara felt claustrophobic even with the concealed door open.
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 61
