Death-Bringer

by Patrick Tilley

  Karlstrom didn’t give a toss whether Roz had taken temporary control of Wallis and his team; the only mind he was concerned about was his own. Was she only able to distort reality and thus induce total disorientation – or was she capable of something far more sinister? And anyway, how the hell did you define reality in the first place? Could she have manipulated him into putting her aboard that train? It had been her suggestion, yes, but had she forced him to go along with the idea?

  No – that was impossible. The President-General had had the final say. In all matters concerning Steve and Roz Brickman, Karlstrom had been careful to cover his ass. Unfortunately that was not sufficient to remove him from the line of fire. If OPERATION SQUARE-DANCE went down the tube, he would be the one taking the flak, not G.W.J. the 31st. Yes, sir …

  But was she planning to go over the side, or was that just something that Brickman had pulled out of the air to lay on the lump-heads? It had to be a bluff. A wind-up. What the hell would she do out there? No. With Clearwater out of the way Roz had what she wanted. Steve Brickman. Karlstrom was convinced he was back on the rails. The psychologists who selected, shaped and supervised the people on the Special Treatment List knew what made that young man tick. He wanted power, and he wanted to get even. That was why the results of his final exams at the Flight Academy had been fixed, giving him fourth place instead of first and the honours he merited. Yes … that had really lit a fire under him. And the Federation was the only place his needs could be satisfied.

  These thoughts provided Karlstrom with scant comfort. Roz and Brickman were both telepaths, sensitives of a remarkable kind. Did Brickman possess the same latent powers to bend reality out of shape? Right from the very beginning, Karlstrom had been reluctant to meddle with the grey area the Life Institute called ‘psionics’. But faced with the threat from such people as Mr Snow, the Federation could not afford to ignore what little home-grown talent it possessed. Karlstrom knew of Steve and Roz; only the P-G and COLUMBUS knew who the rest were. If there were any others. Karlstrom hoped not. The P-G had likened Steve and Roz to a weapon-system. But what was the point of a weapon-system whose workings no one fully understood and whose destructive potential was incalculable?

  No one in their right mind would launch such a weapon. But the appropriate target data had been fed into Steve and Roz Brickman and the button had been pressed. They had been fired towards enemy lines. Were they, as Karlstrom sometimes feared in the small hours of the morning, beyond recall? Was this weapon they had unleashed about to veer off course – turn back on its makers? That was what Karlstrom feared the most. And he wondered if the handful of quacks who had elbowed themselves into an unassailable position as the sole experts in the so-called ‘science’ of psionics had had the foresight to fit their charges with a self-destruct mechanism.

  Probably not. How could they when none of them could explain in words of less than three syllables (that any normal person could understand) how and why someone like Roz Brickman could fall to the ground with a hole punched through her upper arm by a phantom crossbow bolt? A real hole, with real blood, that healed and disappeared without leaving any scar tissue within eight hours!

  They had no answers because they didn’t know. There was no science, only jargon. Psycho-babble. The Department of Psionics at the Life Institute was an empty shell providing nothing but a few quick promotions, some cheap prestige. A scam. He had never wanted to get involved. He had been pressed into using Steve and Roz, and as a result he was marooned in the middle of a fucking minefield – with the President-General watching from the other side of the warning tapes.

  Faced with the possibility that the decision to deploy Roz alongside her kin-brother might backfire with sufficient force to remove him from office, Karlstrom decided to take some avoiding action of his own. He would agree to Steve’s request to leave Red River in Nebraska. Clearwater, in any case, could not be moved. There was no danger of losing her: any rescue attempt mounted by force of arms would be fatal. And despite the risk that she might – just might – defect, he would leave Roz there too.

  To bring her back into the Federation after this demonstration of new, uncharted powers would be an act of criminal folly. If there was going to be any heat, Wallis and the task force could take it. Karlstrom was aware that his decision placed the entire crew of Red River in jeopardy but there was, for the moment, no acceptable alternative. He had no desire to find himself sitting on top of a dizzying pinnacle of rock, or whatever other horror she might produce from the depths of her mind. And until some way could be found to deal with the problem he, for one, did not intend to get within a hundred miles of her.

  If she was the loyal soldier-citizen he believed her to be there would be no problem. But until she proved that beyond all possible doubt it was wiser not to take any chances. As long as she was marooned in Nebraska she could not warp his own mental processes or affect his deliberations in any way. And he would circumvent any treachery by cutting Wallis out of the planning process they had begun that very day. He would continue to receive documentation but it would not be the real thing.

  Only Malone and the other units would know the final plan. Roz and Steve would be left in the dark. If they played their parts, all well and good, if not, well … Amtrak could survive the loss of a wagon-train. Sensitives like Roz and Steve were a lurking cancer; a menace to the system. Their elimination – by death, or permanent transfer to the overground – was the only way to secure the future of the Federation. The Department of Psionics would be discredited, disbanded; Karlstrom’s doubts would be vindicated. AMEXICO could return to the tried and tested ways of secret warfare, and its director would sleep more soundly in his bed.

  It was a neat, satisfying scenario, but Karlstrom knew from experience that things never went entirely to plan. Somewhere along the line somebody always fucked-up. The reason why he had held his job for so long was because he was also an expert in containment – the art of damage limitation.

  Disclosure was a central feature of that art. You never told anyone anything they did not need to know, and you never ever gave them bad news when good news might be just around the corner. That was why Karlstrom had decided not to tell the President-General about Roz Brickman’s new and alarming capability. If challenged, he would defend himself – like all canny administrators – by saying he was waiting for a fuller report.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After the violent confrontation that preceded the wounding of Clearwater, Steve had not been looking forward to telling Cadillac that she was now on board Red River, but when he finally caught up with the Mute and Malone’s renegades, it did not go as badly as he had expected. Cadillac – still crippled with guilt over his part in the affair – was so relieved to learn that Clearwater was alive, he brushed aside the awkward fact that she was in the hands of the Federation.

  Having come prepared for a bitter wrangle, Steve found the Mute’s fatalistic reaction somewhat disconcerting.

  Malone, of course, was still posing as the stalwart leader of a renegade band and Cadillac – while appearing somewhat less than overjoyed to find himself in their company – gave no sign of being aware that Malone and his henchmen were undercover agents or that, during Malone’s brief absence, he had been picked up by a Sky-Rider of Air-Mexico and flown into the Federation for a head-to-head with Karlstrom and Wallis.

  Steve, who had been one of the main items on the agenda, was also unaware of Malone’s flying visit to Grand Central. Wallis had merely told him that Karlstrom had approved his outline plan. He was to proceed on the assumption that an attack on Red River would take place; the final game-plan would be conveyed to him when all the pieces were on the board.

  Cadillac already knew he and Roz could communicate telepathically. Steve was now obliged to repeat the story for Malone’s benefit, unaware he had already been briefed by Karlstrom. And Malone, alerted by Cadillac’s ill-considered claim that Steve was an undercover agent, had to appear to accept his story whilst preten
ding (for Cadillac’s benefit) to secretly mistrust him!

  As Jake Nevill had observed on the wagon-train, there were so many layers of deception it was difficult to keep your place in the script. The swirling cross-current of lies threatened to become a vortex which, if they were not careful, could send them and the whole operation down the tube.

  Given the no-nonsense character which he had adopted for his role as a renegade, the agent code-named HIGH-SIERRA was put into some difficulty by the revelation of the telepathic link between Roz and Steve. As ‘Malone’ he couldn’t just let it pass without comment; on the other hand, as Steve’s covert ally, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Having talked to Karlstrom, he had anticipated this topic entering the conversation and had been searching for a way to deal with it since boarding the Sky-River for the return trip. He decided to maintain a healthy scepticism bordering on the dismissive, tempered with a spirit of enquiry.

  ‘You telling me you can speak to each other without a radio?’

  ‘Well, we don’t actually speak but we can communicate specific items of information. It’s like hearing a voice inside your head, but that voice isn’t real. The sound doesn’t physically travel through the air. It’s the same principle as a radio transmitter, but these are thought waves. The voice I’ve mentioned – you don’t actually hear it, you just imagine you do – like when people speak to you in dreams. You can see their lips moving; what you are saying to each other makes sense, you are conscious of their voices but there is no sound. Because, by itself, your brain can’t make a noise. It needs a tongue, lungs and a larynx to tell you what it’s thinking, and it can’t decipher external noise without filtering it through an ear.’

  ‘I think I’ve got the message,’ said Malone.

  ‘On the other hand,’ continued Steve, ‘If you’re transmitting a feeling – joy, pain, terror – or the image of a particular place, you don’t need words. You experience the same sensation, images registered by their mind are transmitted simultaneously into your own. You see what they see – as it happens. The way part of your mind can picture all kinds of things while you’re listening to somebody talk – the way you’re doing now.’

  ‘That’s what bugs me,’ said Malone. ‘How d’you know it’s someone else’s thoughts and not your own?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘You just do. There’s a kind of tingling, a coolness. I can’t explain it, but if it happened to you, you’d know what I mean.’

  ‘Could it happen to me? Can your kin-sister beam this junk to anyone she chooses?’

  ‘No. That would be like COLUMBUS trying to transmit data to someone whose work-station wasn’t equipped with a VDU. Your brain has to be able to make the right connections. Just don’t ask me what they are. We discovered we had this ability because we were brought up together. I suppose I must have been about five or six years old when it started. To us then, it was just a game. There may be others but no one has come through to us. Roz is my only contact and vice versa.’

  ‘So what’s she doing now?’

  ‘Can’t tell you. The truth is, as I got older, I became scared about what we’d been doing. In the Federation, it doesn’t pay to be too different from everyone else. Especially in that area. It’s too much like Mute magic. Besides – who could you tell without getting into trouble? That’s why I shut down that side of my mind, didn’t answer and tried my best not to let her through. Eventually it worked. Either that or she gave up trying.’

  ‘So how come you’re back in touch?’

  Steve realized that Malone wasn’t just extending this conversation for the benefit of Cadillac and himself. He was quizzing him on behalf of Karlstrom as well.

  ‘It happened when I came up for my first overground solo and caught my first glimpse of the blue-sky world. The shock reopened the link between us. But then a lot of strange things happened to me that day.’

  ‘I know what you mean. It can be quite a moment.’ One which, given his allegiance to the Federation, Malone was still trying to come to terms with. ‘Still no joy with Roz?’ He demanded.

  ‘No. If she needs to come through, she will.’

  Malone laughed dismissively. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it! You’ve got what it takes, Brickman, but like a lot of guys who are fast on their feet, you’re full of bullshit!’

  ‘Yeah, I know it sounds that way. If we have time, I’m hoping to convince you you’re wrong.’

  Malone jerked a thumb at Cadillac. ‘This is the guy you’ve got to work on. Know what your so-called friend here thinks you are? An undercover Fed!’

  Steve met this news with a dry laugh. ‘Does he …?’

  Cadillac, who was totally unprepared for this embarrassing disclosure, stammered: ‘Now, uhh – w-wait a minute! I didn’t put it exactly like that –’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Steve amiably. ‘I should have expected you to try and get even.’ He turned back to Malone. ‘We have a few personal problems that need ironing out.’

  ‘Yeah, so I gather,’ chuckled Malone. ‘Somethin’ to do with you jackin’ up his beaver.’

  The use of that word riled Steve but there was little he could do about it. Malone was too big and too mean and Steve needed his wholehearted cooperation. ‘It’s a long story …’

  ‘Save it,’ said Malone. ‘I’m all smoked out.’ It was a phrase coined by users of rainbow-grass, which meant they’d had a surfeit of psychedelic fantasies.

  As Malone turned on his heel, Steve put a hand to his forehead. ‘Wait a minute! Roz is coming through!’

  The renegade paused with evident irritation. Cadillac rose from the rock he’d been sitting on.

  ‘It’s a message for you. From Clearwater.’ He frowned as he mouthed the next few phrases, then repeated them to Cadillac. ‘She wants you to rescue her from the wagon-train –’

  ‘From Red River? Nothin’ to it!’ scoffed Malone.

  ‘– Roz too. She wants to join us.’ A pregnant pause then – ‘The wagon-train has been ordered to stay in Nebraska … and patrol westwards … along the line of the Platte River.’

  ‘Are you sure they are going to keep Clearwater aboard?’

  ‘Yes.’ Steve concentrated again. ‘It’s too risky to fly her out and … they can’t off-load her because … all the other wagon-trains are committed elsewhere.’

  Malone decided to ask an awkward question. He had to pick at Steve’s story in order to enhance his own credibility and also to build up Steve’s. ‘There’s something fishy about all this. I know this kin-sister of yours is working both sides of the track but why would Red River waste time on a wounded Mute? One more, one less – what does it matter to them? Why are they keeping her alive? Is there something you haven’t told me?’

  Steve appealed to Cadillac and received his permission to speak. ‘They’re keeping her alive because they know she’s important to the Clan M’Call. She’s a summoner. A very powerful one. And that’s not bullshit. She is dynamite.’

  ‘How do they know that? Did you tell ’em?’

  ‘No. I told Roz when we met in Grand Central early last year. I found out later our conversation was bugged.’

  ‘So …?’

  Steve closed his eyes again and worked his fingers across his brow. ‘Roz says the decision has come from Grand Central. They think that if they leave Clearwater on board Red River, the Clan M’Call will try and rescue her.’

  ‘Nahh,’ said Malone. ‘They ain’t gotta hope in hell.’

  ‘On the face of it, no. But the clan is led by another summoner called Mr Snow. He’s old but he’s still big trouble. I was on board The Lady from Louisiana when he almost wrecked her in 2989.’

  Malone looked suitably impressed. ‘You mean that Battle of the Now and Then River? Even I’ve heard of that. Jeez! Was that him?’

  ‘Yes it was!’ exclaimed Cadillac. ‘And I took part in that battle too!’

  Malone looked at the Mute with new respect. ‘Is that so? Well, I’ve gotta tell you. It’s no secre
t I’ve never been overly fond of you people, but that’s somethin’ to be proud of. It’s not often the Federation gets a hiding like that. Hell, I wish I’d been there.’

  Cadillac squared his shoulders. ‘The Plainfolk fight their own battles!’

  ‘Sure. But that’s no reason why we couldn’t put our heads together. I know how those goddam things work. Fact is, quite a few of the boys put in time on the trains. Who knows? Might come up with some ideas …’

  Cadillac didn’t respond.

  Malone looked at Steve. ‘Let’s say – just for argument’s sake – you captured a train. More or less in one piece. What would you and your Mute friends do with it once you’ve got Roz and Clearwater away?’

  ‘That’s for Cadillac to say. But if you’re asking me, they won’t do anything with it. By the time they’ve finished, there’ll be nothing left.’

  The news provoked a sigh of regret. ‘Seems a shame – a top-class fighting vehicle like that. It’s a pity you can’t figure a way to get your friends out and leave it more or less in one piece. If the M’Calls took over Red River and let my boys help them run it. Hell –’, Malone grinned, ‘– the Federation really would have a fight on their hands!’

  ‘Yes, they would,’ agreed Steve. ‘And if you laid hands on a few Skyhawks, Cadillac here knows how to fly.’

  ‘No kidding …’

  ‘Yup. He’s a real ace.’

  Unaware that Steve was watching him closely, Cadillac drew himself up, his chest swelling like a mating cock-bird. ‘And not only that! I designed and built rocket-powered planes for the Iron Masters of Ne-Issan!’

  ‘Did you now?’ Malone turned to Steve. ‘How come you didn’t tell me about this back at the camp site?’

  ‘I did mention he was something special.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t realize he was that special.’

  Steve shrugged. ‘Like I said, it’s a long story.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I think we’ve got a good thing going here.’ Malone laid a fatherly hand on Cadillac’s shoulder. ‘How does this sound, good buddy? Cut us in for a slice of the pie, and if we manage to grab this wagon-train, you can be head of the air force!’