Stealing Light

by Gary Gibson

  —

  Eduardo Jones was Bull’s right-hand man, and the last of Northcutt’s crew to swing himself down from the lofty transport’s cabin, agilely stepping down the ladder with practised ease. From the lake, a warm breeze blew over them, tinged with sulphur from the hot springs a couple of kilometres further along the shore.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted as Corso and Sal drew closer. Jones began playing the hard man, pushing his breather mask up on top of his head and briefly sucking in the raw, nitrogen-heavy air like there was no tomorrow. ‘What’s this shit about you challenging a real man, Corso?’ he yelled, after dropping his mask back down, so his voice emerged as a metallic rattle. ‘Don’t you know the rules—don’t pee in your own bed, don’t screw your sister, and don’t get into a fight you know you can’t win?’

  One or two others chuckled. Bull Northcutt laughed the loudest. His face was twisted in an arrogant sneer above his powerful shoulders, eyes bright from heavy military-grade neurochem abuse.

  ‘This is bullshit,’ Sal yelled back to Corso’s amazement. ‘This isn’t a fair challenge. There’s not one of you,’ he shouted, anger emerging from him in waves as his voice rose, ‘that doesn’t know it.’

  Northcutt burst out laughing. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he spat, in a voice filled with ugly derision. ‘Corso, right after you’re dead, I’ve got a date with that sister of yours. Figure she could entertain me, and all my friends here, yeah? How’d you like that, you fucking piece of shit!’

  A few of Northcutt’s crew cheered, passing a bottle around and yanking their masks down to take quick pulls like they were celebrating a winning bet. Corso had no doubt every one of them had participated in Cara’s murder. And, before Cara, others too.

  And now they were gathered to watch him die.

  Sal, as Corso had realized some time earlier, was deep in denial. He believed he could appeal to Northcutt’s basic humanity, but Corso had seen Cara’s body lying in the morgue and wasn’t under any illusion he was dealing with normal human beings here.

  If he was going to die, he’d rather go out fighting and do his damnedest to take Northcutt with him. Northcutt, who stood waiting, his eyes bright with enhancement drugs that ate away at his brain and nervous system, year after year after year.

  Corso noticed the way Bull Northcutt’s hands trembled uncontrollably, the fingers jerking slightly, the slight tremble in the muscles under his chin. Fighting Bull would be dangerous, very dangerous, but Corso’s opponent wasn’t as young as he had been.

  Men like Bull rarely survived to grow old, because they got called out again and again, till they made mistakes, got slow.

  Feeling momentarily light-headed, Corso closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared out over the shores of the lake, thinking, If this is the day I die, then fine.

  —

  Two long, double-edged knives with carbon steel blades already lay crossed in the centre of the circle where the challenge would take place. Corso watched as Senator Northcutt’s son began to strip off his outer layers of protective gear, revealing a physique that was tall, lean and muscled. He stared slack-jawed as Northcutt continued to strip right down until he was bare-chested, though his skin was slathered in some kind of insulating grease. One of his crew threw a heated blanket around his shoulders, holding it in place.

  ‘He’s trying to psych you out,’ Sal whispered, one arm resting on Corso’s shoulder. ‘It’s his way of saying the fight’s going to be over long before he’ll freeze to death.’

  Which would usually take no more than a minute or two, so if Corso could draw things out, Bull would get dramatically weaker. But clearly Bull was assuming his opponent would be an easy kill.

  Corso had kept his inner insulating layers on, suddenly aware how much they restricted his mobility compared to that of his opponent. He kept himself in shape, but Northcutt resembled some kind of barely human predator, sleek, wiry and feral.

  Jones stood in the centre of the combat circle and gestured for them to take their positions. ‘Time’s here,’ he announced, and Northcutt’s crew cheered, while Bull himself paused on the edge of the circle of stones, staring, unblinking, at Corso.

  ‘Last chance to back out,’ Jones taunted Lucas, with a grin.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Corso shouted back at him.

  Jones turned in a slow circle. How long are they going to delay this? Corso wondered. With Northcutt half-naked, if they waited much longer, there wouldn’t be any challenge to fight.

  ‘Whoever wins will either attain or retain their citizenship, and as such he can then in turn be challenged by any non-Citizen who chooses. This is ordained under the eyes of the Most Holy, our Lord and Saviour, current fucking legalities regardless. Amen.’ Jones then trotted out of the circle.

  Corso had only half-listened, surprised and shocked by the sense of keen excitement welling in him, a surge of fire that spread through his chest, making every breath deeper and harder. Blood pounded in his skull like the roar of an ocean.

  —

  They stepped into the circle from opposite sides. Northcutt made the first move, darting like lightning towards the crossed knives.

  Corso was big enough and strong enough to take Northcutt on, but Northcutt moved with an unnerving, fluid grace. Corso got to the knives a fraction of a moment after the other man, in his haste slamming into Northcutt’s shoulder as they each grabbed a weapon. He felt something hot flash against his upper arm, followed by the splash of his own blood on the frosty ground.

  Corso scrambled out of reach, quickly pulling himself upright just inside the circle, but now feeling the reassuring weight of the steel knife with its rubber grip in his right hand. They prowled around opposite extremes of the challenge perimeter, waiting to see who moved first.

  ‘Fucker,’ Corso swore under his breath, and kept swapping his knife from hand to hand, in an attempt to confuse his opponent.

  With a shriek, Northcutt came running straight at him, his blade weaving patterns in front of his naked chest. He kept shifting from side to side so Corso couldn’t be sure which way to head in order to evade him.

  They slammed into each other, Corso grabbing the wrist of Northcutt’s knife arm, feeling taut muscles tremble under the frozen skin. He twisted aside, attempting to slash up at his enemy’s jugular, but Northcutt floored him with a single kick.

  Northcutt moved in fast, intent on making his killing blow while Corso lay prone. Without any protective gear, he could move far faster than Corso could respond.

  But Northcutt had clearly expected to make a faster job of it: Corso wasn’t a trained killer like his opponent, but that didn’t mean he was unable to defend himself. If the contest didn’t end within the next few seconds, Northcutt was going to be in serious trouble from hypothermia. Corso could see how the other man was getting slower, even as he towered over him.

  Without thinking, Corso brought his knee up, slamming it hard into Northcutt’s testicles. Northcutt lost his balance, sliding to one side . . .

  . . . red flared across Corso’s vision and he felt the hot flow of fresh blood across his cheek. He blinked, suddenly light-headed, then tried to lift himself up, but slipped on the ice.

  There was a lot of blood on the ground nearby. His blood.

  Northcutt straddled him, his blade held vertically over Corso’s chest, while his free hand pressed down on Corso’s ribcage.

  ‘Time to—’ Northcutt started to say, before bright lights suddenly flared across them, accompanied by the deafening whup-whup of ‘copter blades.

  Two helicopters dropped down next to the combat circle, while Northcutt’s crew looked around, stunned. Forgetting about Corso for the moment, Northcutt yanked himself upright and moved rapidly over to the perimeter.

  Corso meanwhile rolled over and on to his knees. Panting wildly, he glanced over towards Sal, standing just beyond the circle with a hopeless expression on his face. Northcutt’s crew began running around, shouting; rifles had magically appeared in
the hands of most of them. Jones was already conversing with someone who had just stepped down from the nearest helicopter.

  Corso looked over and recognized him as Kieran Mansell, Senator Arbenz’s right-hand man.

  ‘Hey!’ Sal began shouting at Northcutt, who seemed just about to step out of the ring of stones. ‘You can’t leave the circle, Northcutt!’ he yelled. ‘That’s quitting!’

  Shit. Sal was right, Corso realized. Whatever the circumstances, leaving the circle amounted to surrender. Because challenges were illegal, Northcutt wouldn’t actually forfeit his place in the lower Senate, but word of his shame would get around. Meanwhile his crew couldn’t even toss him a blanket to keep warm, because outside help was strictly forbidden under the traditions of challenge.

  Corso pulled himself upright and gasped as he felt the deep wound. It made him feel sick and weak to touch it, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be enough to kill him.

  Another couple of minutes spent out here in the freezing cold would do that just fine.

  Mansell was escorted by heavily armed military clad in white and grey camouflage gear. Northcutt’s crew began to raise angry voices. Mansell strode on straight past Bull Northcutt and into the centre of the combat circle, sparing Corso himself only the most cursory of glances.

  Corso hauled himself into a sitting position, still clutching his chest. He noticed that Mansell was wearing body armour under his long overcoat, his hair like a stiff blond brush above the square-jawed face. There was something pitiless and inhuman about the man’s eyes. Meanwhile the soldiers who had accompanied him began fanning out across the icy beach, their weapons lowered but at the ready.

  ‘You all know who I am’—Mansell’s voice was rough-edged and coarse—‘and I’m here on Senate authority. This challenge is illegal, and is over as of now. You’—he lifted one gloved hand to point at Northcutt—‘need to get inside. Now.’

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ snarled Northcutt, simply but clearly. ‘You’re inside the circle, and that means you’re taking up the challenge yourself. First I’ll kill you—and then I’ll kill him,’ he added, with a brief nod towards Corso.

  Mansell glanced back at him with a derisive expression, while Northcutt’s crew remained silent. Corso saw that Bull was now becoming irrational from whatever warrior drugs he’d been taking. For a moment he thought Mansell’s security team might intervene, then he saw the man make a hand gesture, and the soldiers remained where they were.

  ‘I’ll forget you said that, son,’ Mansell replied finally. ‘Go join your crew. Normally I wouldn’t want to interfere, but I’m here on government business, and that makes all the difference. Got that?’

  As he said these words, he turned and fixed Corso with a steady gaze.

  He’s here because of me, thought Corso with a start. He could see Sal still hovering on the edge of the circle, wanting to run over and help his wounded friend, but unable or unwilling to risk taking on Bull.

  ‘No.’ Northcutt was shivering violently now, his neck muscles outlined like steel cables under his skin. He moved towards Mansell. ‘I don’t give a fuck who you are. This is a challenge. You wouldn’t be where you are now if you hadn’t killed the right people. That’s how we do things, right? There’s precedent. You enter somebody else’s challenge, that makes you fair game.’

  ‘Go home, Northcutt.’ Mansell sounded bored. ‘You’re not fit to talk.’

  Corso felt a wash of dizziness pass through him. Northcutt was holding his blade out threateningly towards Mansell.

  ‘I’ve never lost a challenge yet,’ Bull snarled, moving closer to Mansell, who remained stock-still. ‘And I won’t start now.’

  What happened next, happened fast.

  Bull pushed himself forward in a series of motions that appeared almost ballet-like to Corso. Then it was over so quickly it took him long seconds to understand what had in fact happened.

  Mansell turned a little to the side so that, as Northcutt moved in fast for a stabbing blow, the other man appeared to embrace Northcutt around the shoulders, as easily as if Northcutt were a life-size rag doll being tossed towards him.

  Corso heard a pitiless crack and it was over. Mansell lowered Northcutt’s suddenly lifeless body to the ice, the latter’s head lolling at a sickening angle.

  Corso glanced over at Northcutt’s crew, still scattered around the perimeter of the combat circle. Some of them looked like they were thinking of using their weapons in retaliation. Mansell’s men dropped their own guns off their shoulders, and for a moment Corso thought things might end in a bloodbath.

  ‘Stop right there,’ said Mansell, addressing Northcutt’s followers. ‘The challenge is now over. He took me on and I won fair and square. Any of you care to disagree with that?’

  A pair of hands began to pull Corso upright. He turned and realized it was Sal. Corso draped one arm over his friend’s neck and together they staggered out of the circle.

  It’s really over, Corso realized, and I’m still alive.

  Sal, with the help of one of Mansell’s soldiers, carried him over and heaved him up into the back of one of the ‘copters. Corso stared up at the rotating blades above his head, feeling curiously calm as other faces moved above him, their silhouettes blocking out the stars.

  Another soldier bent over Corso and touched the side of his bare neck with something icy. A few moments later the ice spread through his thoughts, numbing him. Corso grinned, and started to laugh. Mansell meanwhile pulled himself inside the same ‘copter just as it began to lift from the ground, leaving Sal behind them.

  Corso looked down and saw the same hopeless look still on his friend’s face, as the shoreline dwindled with distance.

  —

  The next thing he knew, he was strapped into a webbed seat in the rear cabin of the ‘copter, staring up at the aircraft’s ribbed steel interior. Some internal clock told him hours had passed meanwhile.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Mansell was eyeing him intently.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Corso’s clothing had been cut away around his heavily bandaged wounds. ‘I need to get back,’ he muttered weakly. ‘My family . . .’

  ‘Your family are fine, for now,’ Mansell reassured him. ‘But that’s one of the things we need to talk about.’

  ‘I really didn’t think . . .’ Corso trailed off, staring at Mansell.

  ‘Really didn’t think you’d still be alive?’ he finished for him, a sour grin flickering across his curiously square features. ‘If I hadn’t turned up, you wouldn’t be. Bull Northcutt was one of the best fighters in the Freehold before he turned into a liability.’

  Corso shook his head. ‘I don’t understand any of this. Where are we going?’

  ‘Tell me,’ Mansell asked as if by way of reply, ‘what do you think our chances are of winning this war with the Uchidans?’

  Corso felt his stomach tighten. ‘Why do you care what I think?’

  ‘Speak freely. I’m being serious,’ Mansell reassured him, noting his disbelieving expression. ‘It’s one of the reasons you’re still alive.’

  ‘In that case, perhaps you ought to speak to my father, Senator Corso. Assuming your boss drops those false charges against him.’

  ‘Unfortunately, your father doesn’t share your particular area of expertise.’

  Corso opened and closed his mouth. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’re a scholar, not a fighter,’ Mansell continued. ‘Not hard to tell from that shambles of a fight back there. You’re a specialist in alien programming languages.’

  Corso squinted at the man, now completely confused.

  ‘Shoal communications protocols,’ Mansell prompted. ‘Correct?’

  Corso nodded dumbly. His area of expertise was ancient alien languages, going back possibly hundreds of thousands of years: part of the constant human effort to pick apart the available knowledge base of the Shoal Hegemony, trying to find the magic key that might open a world of infinite knowledge and power.

  No on
e had ever come close to succeeding, however. Corso had merely expected a quiet life working away at the University with the help of a Consortium grant.

  ‘Senator Arbenz is going to ask you to do something that will very likely affect the entire future of the Freehold, and you’re going to say yes to him, because “no” isn’t an option. Do this for us, and all the current charges against your father will be dropped, nor will the rest of your family be forced into indentured labour. You have my word on this, and the Senator’s word, too.’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  Mansell’s smile showed all his teeth. Corso looked away from him, feeling a deep chill settle around his heart that had nothing to do with the frozen air surrounding the helicopter.

  ‘You’re going to help secure an absolute victory for the Freehold over the Uchidans and rid them from Redstone for ever,’ Mansell continued. ‘But we don’t have much time. You’re being taken off-world, first to the Sol System, then to another location. We have been given command of a frigate called the Hyperion, for this express purpose, and we’ll be rendezvousing with it in less than twenty-four hours.’

  Corso struggled to take all this in, and his fit of shivers was not entirely due to the lack of heat in the tiny cabin. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? And this has something to do with my research? We’re talking some pretty obscure academic material there, you know.’

  ‘I need your answer, Mr Corso.’

  Corso reviewed his options and realized there weren’t any. He had no doubt that his refusal would result in a bullet through the head and his body being tossed down on to the icy wastes below. ‘All right. Whatever it is, yes. But I need to—’

  ‘No buts. Consider your position, Mr Corso – and remember my reputation. I don’t enjoy wasting time on arguments. You’ll do as your world requires.’

  ‘But what exactly am I meant to do?’

  ‘The trip on the Hyperion shouldn’t last more than a few weeks, and then we’ll rendezvous with the nearest coreship heading to our final destination,’ Mansell continued, ignoring his question. ‘Don’t even think about asking where it is we’re going. We’ll be joined by Senator Arbenz along the way. I believe you’ve already met him?’