Peacemaker
Page 26
He gave me a gentle push, which gained momentum because the soldier pulled me.
Inside, was a suite of seats facing each other as cosy as someone’s lounge room. When the door slid shut, all other sound cancelled out. I’d been in gyros before but never a tip-jet that was soundproof.
An older woman sat in one of the seats, her legs and arms crossed.
“Hello, Ms Jackson. Please call me Oceane,” the woman said in a North American accent.
The soldier helped me into a seat opposite her.
“Ranger Jackson, meet Commander Oceane Orlean of the GJIC,” he said. Then he added, “The Global Joint Intelligence Community.”
I took that in. And her. She was in her fifties at least, maybe older, and there was energy in her strong face. I’d heard of GJIC, or Gee-Jic in the vernacular, via the odd news item or policy document, but mainly from Caro’s reverent whispers about who had sway in today’s world.
Gee-Jic, according to Caro, was the real deal in global power.
“Oceane,” I said suddenly. “That’s an unusual name. I’ve only heard it once before, and that was…” I tapered off.
“Yes, Virgin,” she said finally, watching me with keen eyes. “I’m your mother.”
THIRTY-ONE
“My mother doesn’t exist.”
It sounded crazy when I said it, but that’s how I’d always figured it. Dad had never said she was dead, but he’d never said she wasn’t. He just said things didn’t work out very early on and that they’d made the decision that I would be best off with him.
If I ever thought about it, I imagined her as a restless entertainer on the club scene. Someone in counterpoint to him. Someone who found his loner ways and deep convictions attractive but hard to live with forever.
It’d never seemed relevant to ask him for details. I didn’t miss what I’d never had. Most of my friends came from fractured or single-parent families; it was no big deal.
But this. This!
She blanched a little at my reply and recovered herself. “I didn’t expect to meet you under these circumstances, and I don’t have much time. So, if you could afford me your patience while I explain some things, I’ll let you get back to your life.”
I was so dumbstruck by how cool she was that I nodded mutely.
As she began to talk, I felt the rush as the tip-jet lifted into the air.
“Please don’t be alarmed. We are taking you home. But before we land, I’d like you to know some things.”
“That would be a change,” I said.
She allowed a tight, small smile, then went on. “For some time, my organisation has been aware that there is a well-planned takeover being orchestrated on many fringe religious groups by an extremely dangerous criminal cluster.”
I waited.
“In the past few years, this group has broadened their MO to subvert different professions as well. From an early assessment of our arrests here today, the group that you discovered arriving illegally through the park were intended to infiltrate the highest levels of politics and industry. You are to be commended for your efforts in catching them at it. You are also to be chastised for turning a God-given opportunity into a shitstorm.”
I blinked, feeling like a child being told off by her… mother. “This group is the Korax?”
“That’s where our conversation becomes delicate.” She nodded to the soldier, who walked down the short aisle and disappeared into what I assumed was the cockpit.
“Has the Marshal spoken to you about the Mythos?”
Really? “A little.”
“The concept is unbelievable, I know. But I’m here to tell you, Virgin, that they exist. You know that. Look at you. I myself have been a victim.”
She pulled her shirt free from her waistband and showed me a scar almost identical to the one on my shoulder, though silvered with age.
“The Mythos have a plan and they are executing it,” she said. “In as little as a decade, we could lose our world to them.”
Her pause felt heavy as she chose her next words carefully.
“Your father had a theory, among many, that if someone was able to unify human mythology, get everyone to believe the same stories, drink from the same cup, if you will, then they would have the ultimate tool of manipulation. He always said that the media had been blundering about in a similar scenario for years but that they were neither cohesive nor cognitive enough to truly achieve it.”
“I’ve read his essay.”
“Your father was a clever, clever man, Virgin, but he was limited by his dogmas. Unfortunately, his essay found its way to the wrong people, and now, we fear, the Mythos are now trying to accomplish the very thing he predicted.”
“The Mythos are aliens?”
Another smile, this one wearily patronising. “Aliens we could deal with. No, the Mythos are something else.”
“You can’t explain it better than that?”
“You’ve seen them, Virgin. How would you describe them?”
I couldn’t, so I asked another question. “Why am I here?”
“The Marshal has identified you as someone who can help us to manage our impending situation.”
“He’s working for you?”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re recruiting me?”
“Yes. That’s why the police are no longer going to arrest you for various crimes.”
“But I didn’t kill the guy in the park.”
“It looks like you did. If I withdraw my protection from you, you will likely go to jail. So what do you say?”
I stared out the windows. Though they were tinted, I saw the familiar outline of the Cloisters and felt the thump as the tip-jet made contact with the top of the building.
“I’d like to go home.”
I thought she might protest or blackmail me some more, but she just nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”
The soldier reappeared and opened the drone’s sliding door.
I climbed out onto the terrace and left my mother, her bodyguard and her billion-dollar aircraft without a backward glance.
THIRTY-TWO
Caro was waiting outside my door, engrossed in her phone screen. She glanced up when the lift pinged open, and her mouth dropped open.
Hi,’ I said.
“Hey, I got a call from the Feds saying you needed me. They didn’t say I should bring a plastic surgeon.”
The Feds? On this day, nothing would surprise me. I opened up the door with my good hand.
Caro followed me in.
I went straight to the Virgin doll on the sideboard, pinched the eyes out of it and dropped them and the doll down the laundry chute. When I returned, she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring down at John Flat.
“I’m growing fond of him,” she said.
I got a six-pack of beers from the fridge, carefully broke a couple of longnecks out of the cardboard holder and passed one to her.
We both took long, belch-inducing swigs.
“Well?” she said.
I took a breath. “Here’s the thing: I could be mistaken for a bowl of chow mein and the Marshal’s in hospital looking worse than me, it turns out my stripper boyfriend’s a federal agent, my technician’s a narc, the cops have dropped the murder charges for the time being – but only if I work for my bastardly mother who I just met and happens to be the Commander of the GJIC.
“On the bright side,” I added, “Hamish is a complete legend.”
Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she lifted her beer.
“I knew I could smell a story, Ginny,” she said.
I raised my beer as well and clinked hers. “Well, Caro, I’ll drink to that!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Tara Wynne for accepting whichever direction I take in my writing, and making it work for me.
To the Escape Club crew – almost three years together and still going strong.
Amy Parker, my English daughter, for the first read.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marianne de Pierres is the author of the acclaimed Parrish Plessis and award-winning Sentients of Orion science fiction series. The Parrish Plessis series has been translated into eight languages and adapted into a roleplaying game. She’s also the author of a bestselling teen dark fantasy series entitled Night Creatures and writes award-winning crime under the pseudonym Marianne Delacourt.
She lives in Brisbane, Australia.
mariannedepierres.com
twitter.com/mdepierres
ANGRY ROBOT
A member of the Osprey Group
Lace Market House, Angry Robot/Osprey Publishing,
54-56 High Pavement, PO Box 3985,
Nottingham New York,
NG1 1HW NY 101853985,
UK USA
www.angryrobotbooks.com
Park life
An Angry Robot paperback original 2014
1
Copyright © Marianne de Pierres 2014
Marianne de Pierres asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
UK ISBN: 978 0 85766 417 4
US ISBN: 978 0 85766 418 1
Ebook ISBN: 978 0 85766 419 8
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by
way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in
any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and
incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
localities is entirely coincidental.