Universe Vol1Num2

by Jim Baen's Universe

  "A good system," the technician said, "but no match for the software that I threw at it."

  "Move back," Gaston said to the technician. "I'll take point."

  "Karla and I had better be alongside you," said Jameson.

  It was then that the butterfly flapped its wings.

  "Okay, you come up front," said Gaston. "But she stays at the rear to guard our backs."

  Jameson was not sure whether Gaston genuinely thought that they needed a rearguard or whether he simply did not want Karla too close to him. But Gaston was the team leader, so Jameson indicated that she should comply. She did not like being separated from him and expressed her displeasure openly with bared canines. Jameson ignored her.

  The team moved down the corridor in single file to a door at the end. Gaston tried the handle; it was unlocked. He pushed the door open with his gun barrel. Nothing moved inside. Jameson slipped in and moved to the right away from the door. He dropped on one knee and covered the interior of the warehouse, while Gaston slipped in and took up a position on the left. Inside was an open area, filled with palettes and boxes. Two forklift trucks stood up against the wall. Nothing moved.

  Gaston stood up warily and signalled that they should move in. He and Jameson led the way, the rest of the team followed in single file through the door. Karla was the last in. The world exploded at the moment that she crossed the threshold.

  Jameson saw a bright flash that left him with after image on his retinas, like the negative filming that they used in old TV programmes to indicate that an alien had fired his ray gun. He had a brief sensation of floating, then something thumped him in the back and it went dark.

  He hurt. Jameson hurt all over. His cheek was on concrete and his helmet was missing. The warehouse was lit when he opened his eyes. He could see a wire mesh. He'd lost his helmet. One sat upright the other side of the wire and Jameson wondered if it was his. No it couldn't be. The helmet opposite still had a head in it. Jameson was fairly certain that he still had his head attached because it hurt like hell.

  "I thought that you were a goner," said Gaston. The man helped him sit up.

  "What happened?" said Jameson.

  "Some sort of bomb went off behind us. Killed everyone but you and me, major."

  "It wasn't a bomb," said Jameson. "There was a flash but no heat. Look, nothing is burnt and the damage is localised."

  It was true. Most of the interior of the warehouse was surprisingly undamaged, if you ignored the blood and body parts sprayed around.

  "It went off when Karla was entering the room," said Jameson. "There must have been a trigger in the door frame."

  "So why didn't we set it off?" said Gaston.

  "Because the alarm was there to deter humans. The booby trap was set up to kill something else. Something like Karla, a creature of the night."

  "I don't want to worry you," said Gaston. "But someone has put us in a cage."

  "Someone like him," said Jameson.

  "Yeah," said Gaston.

  A man appeared in front of them. He looked Mediterranean, not just in features but in the way he sported moustaches and a wide brimmed hat. His smile said "insane" the way a letter from the tax office said "gotcha." He casually picked up a large wooden crate and dropped it back on the palette from which it had been blown.

  "I suppose your appearance is connected with my banker's sudden disappearance. But I bet that you are keen to tell me everything you know." The man's accent was unplaceable, smeared by many too many regions and times—rather like Karla's, Jameson reflected. He opened his mouth to show long curved canines.

  "Is that what I think it is?" said Gaston.

  "Depends," said Jameson. "If you think that it's the tooth fairy then, no. But if you think that it is an evil mad old sucker then I think you could be right."

  "Manners," said the man. "You are in no position to annoy me."

  "And if we are polite and helpful then you will let us go and all will be well, will it?" said Jameson.

  "Well, no actually," conceded the man.

  Jameson slipped his hand inside his jacket, looking for the rail pistol.

  The man noticed the motion and held it up. "Interesting toy. When did you stop using crossbows? You cattle so love innovation. Every time I turn around, why you are at something new." He tossed the gun aside.

  "Shit," said Jameson. "Go to Plan B"

  "What was Plan B?" said Gaston.

  "I had hoped that you could tell me," said Jameson.

  "You two are such fun," said the man, delightedly. "I wish I could keep you around for a while but duty calls."

  He walked to the cage and unlocked the door. Jameson and Gaston shrank back but it was a small cage and there was nowhere to go. The man reached in and effortlessly hauled Jameson out. Jameson tried hitting him but it was like striking iron. His head was pushed aside and the canines descended.

  "Would you mind unhanding my property? I don't recall offering you a bite." Karla was just there, head up, hands on her hips, a dark-haired angel in black leather.

  "Karla. I heard that you were back. So it was you who set off my little trap. You should have been dissipated to the winds by my little surprise, my sweet."

  "I have a strong sense of self identity," she said

  "I must admit that it was not intended for the likes of you. I would have doubled the power if I had known that you were dropping in." The man looked at her almost fondly.

  "You are still holding my pets. Let them go and we'll be off," Karla demanded.

  "Karla, get out. Save yourself," Jameson said.

  The man slapped Jameson quiet and threw him back in the cage. "I don't think I can let you leave, Karla my love. Not now."

  Without warning, the man snarled and threw himself at Karla, clawing with both hands. He moved so very fast. She backed up, blocking each blow, then kicked him in the kneecap. It sounded like a wreaking ball hitting a wall. He didn't move.

  "You always were a fast little thing," the man said. He swung without warning and backhanded her across the face. Karla spun into a stack of heavy palettes, knocking them over.

  Jameson pulled on the cage door, which had self locked. "We have to help her, Gaston. She can't win."

  Karla picked herself up and squared up to the man. He waited for her with that insane grin across his face, apparently content for her to take the initiative. She moved in and caught him with punches and kicks. She was much faster, but her blows weren't hurting him, at least, not hurting him enough. He did not even bother to try to dodge or block her attack but traded punch for punch. She evaded his swings with the speed and grace that she had shown on the dance floor, but her luck ran out in the end. A punch caught her in the side of the head sending her tumbling over the floor.

  Jameson and Jackson kicked the cage door but they couldn't break it down.

  The man closed with Karla as she tried to get up, hitting powerful blows into her body before she could dodge. She dropped to her knees and he kicked her in the chest. Karla went down and stayed down. He grabbed her by the shoulder and picked her up. His left hand elongated into vicious dinosaur-like claws. He hooked them in her shoulder and slowly ripped down, tearing her body open. Jameson saw her ribs come apart, the broken ends poking out. The man chuckled the whole time, like someone enjoying a really good Mel Brooks comedy.

  There was a thump and the man jerked.

  "What? No!" he said.

  There was a second thump and a third. Jameson saw the head of the third bolt stick out of his back. The man let her go and fell over backwards. Dissolution started at his hands and feet and spread, until there was nothing but a greasy stain on the floor. The instructor was wrong. Three shots are not a luxury, reflected Gaston. Sometimes you needed back up.

  Karla dropped Jameson's rail pistol. The whole front of her body was ripped out. She toppled forwards onto the floor.

  Jameson knelt at the wire mesh. "Come to me, Karla, come to me," he said.

  She was only a few fee
t from the cage but it took agonising minutes for her to crawl the distance.

  "I can't break the wire, Karla. You have to. One more effort, old girl, come on," Jameson said, gently.

  She twisted her hand in the mesh and pulled. It bent out of shape and snapped like cotton. Jameson took hold of the jagged wire in his right hand and slashed his left wrist open. Red blood dripped out.

  Gaston grabbed his wrist. "Is this a good idea, Major?"

  "Did you learn to leave wounded comrades to die when you were in the Paras, Gaston? In the Guards, we looked after our own."

  "The Paras learnt at Arnheim that the Guards aren't much cop in a fight, sir," said Gaston, who, nevertheless, released him. The Parachute Regiment had never forgiven the Guard's Armoured Regiments for failing to relieve them at the Bridge at Arnheim in Montgomery's doomed WWII offensive. But this was hardly the place to discuss ancient history so Jameson let the comment pass. He put the bleeding wound on his wrist to Karla's mouth and let his blood run inside. After a few seconds, she began to suck. "That's it Karla, suck it down."

  "Surely, she's too badly gone," said Gaston.

  "I don't know," said Jameson. "But I'm hoping that the magic connection between us has made my blood special. She reacts strongly when I cut myself."

  Gaston gave him a strange look but held his tongue.

  Jameson's wound in his wrist began to clot but she reopened it with her teeth. It didn't hurt him at all. Gradually her body knitted itself back together. Ribs bent down and reformed. Tissue flowed across them to recreate her chest.

  "I think that you ought to stop, Major," said Gaston, after some time. "You have lost too much already." He pulled Jameson's wrist back inside the wire mesh. Karla hissed and tried to push her head though the mesh after the blood, then she seemed to catch herself and her teeth retracted.

  "Your blood," she said. "It burns in me like fire. I have never tasted anything so—"

  She shook her head again. Jameson was feeling giddy. "Can you open the cage, Karla?" said Gaston.

  It took her two attempts but she managed to break the lock. Then she sat down with a thump. Jameson opened the door and got out but he was weaving as he tried to keep his balance. Gaston put one arm around Karla and the other around Jameson. He half carried them to the door.

  "The Commissions elite death squad. Huh! What a couple of crocks you two really are. I think it's time I asked for some leave. Fiji, I fancy Fiji. Ever been to Fiji, Major? We had some Fijians in the Paras. They always said that I should look them up one day. Now seems like a good time to me. What do you think, Major? Major? Come on now, don't pass out on me."

  ****

  Jameson slept most of the next day and into the night. He rose only to eat and take his iron tablets. It was the early hours before he felt rested enough to take an interest in life again. Karla was nowhere to be found in the flat. She had not gone out because the door was locked and the key still in the lock. That only left one place.

  His lease included access to the roof. It was probably intended that he should set up a dinky little roof garden, with shrubs in pots clinging desperately to life in the polluted London air, surrounded by mock hard-wood furniture from B&Q. Jameson was hardly the green fingered type, however.

  The door to the roof was unlatched, indicating that she had passed that way so he mounted the narrow stairs. He had to stop half way for a rest. His blood fluid had been replaced by means of a drip but it was going to be some time before his body replaced all the red blood cells. He easily became breathless.

  When he emerged, it took a few moments for his eyes to adapt to the gloom. Karla was sitting on the edge, legs hanging over the side. He went and sat down beside her.

  "His name was Vexillo," she said.

  "What?" said Jameson.

  "The old one. He was called Vexillo. He was very powerful. He said he would live forever. But I killed him." Her voice rang with satisfaction.

  "Make sure your people know. Have them record it in their books that I killed him," she said. "You don't need to mention the gun in your files, do you?" she said, anxiously.

  "No," he said. "That's unnecessary detail."

  There was a pause before she spoke again.

  "Your people are becoming truly dangerous, Jameson," she said. "Once you only had stakes and fire. Now you hunt us with terrible weapons. I am not sure my kind has a future."

  Jameson could thing of nothing to say so he sat with her in companionable silence for some little time.

  "Do you intend to do it yourself?" Karla asked.

  "Do what?" he said.

  "Will you put the bolt into my heart, yourself?" she said. "You hardly intend to let me go, do you?"

  "No, we couldn't do that. You would start killing people again, Karla."

  She nodded in acceptance of his analysis. "So would it have been you?"

  "Yes. I owe you that. I would have done it myself. How did you work it out?"

  "It was easy enough, once you awakened me. I really am quite clever. That was how I lasted so long."

  There was another long silence.

  "I was nearly finished when you awakened me. The last one to rouse me when I had reached dormancy was the poet. His words filled me with such passion that I lasted another four hundred years. He never forgave himself when he realised what he'd done, but he loved me so much."

  "I know," said Jameson. "It's all there in the Dark Lady sonnets, the passion, the love, the hate and the shame."

  They faced east, looking across the city. The dark indigo of the sky was turning blue and the first hint of pink stained the horizon.

  "It will be dawn soon. We had better go indoors," Jameson said.

  "I have not seen the rising sun for such a long time. This morning I shall," Karla said, with quiet determination.

  Jameson looked at her in astonishment.

  "What are you talking about? You won't see it. The ultraviolet will burn out your eyes before incinerating your body. Come indoors now." He grabbed at her arm but she easily broke his hold.

  "I don't want you to have to destroy me. I want to leave with dignity. Oh don't look so sad, Jameson. I am long past my time. The poet got me four hundred more years and, thanks to you, I end on a high note. I killed Vexillo," she said, triumphantly. She tilted her head up to the sky and showed her long canines. Her eyes flashed metallic green. She had never looked more like a monster. She had never looked so desirable.

  Jameson seized her by the arms. "You are not listening, Karla. I said it would have been me, not it will be. It took me too long to realise the meaning of my oath but I do now. Come inside with me. I can't promise to save you but I promise to try."

  He kissed her hard on the lips. Her razor sharp teeth lacerated his tongue but he did not care. She did not resist when he lifted her in his arms and carried her off the roof. She was light, no heavier than a woman of the same size, which was just as well considering his physical condition. Somehow he had expected her to be heavier.

  ****

  Jameson knocked and entered the council chamber. Lord Harwood, a senior Commissioner chaired the meeting.

  "Ah, Major Jameson, come in."

  "Thank you, My Lord." Jameson nodded at the other members of the room.

  "I believe you know Sir James, who heads special operations, Mr Benson, and Miss Arnoux of R&D."

  Hung on the wall over Lord Harwood's head was a painting of an Elizabethan race built galleon, of the sort commanded by Drake or Hawkins. Lord Harwood was not descended from the old aristocracy. He had acquired his peerage recently for services to the arts; he had bailed the Royal Opera House out of an awkward financial hole. That was for form's sake. In the hallowed traditions of England, his peerage had really been awarded for substantial campaign contributions to a political party. However, he had researched his family thoroughly and had found an ancestor who had sailed with John Hawkins.

  "I believe most of you know my secretary, Miss Sonnet." Jameson indicated the prim woman in a b
usiness suit behind him.

  Jameson took a seat at the table. Miss Sonnet sat on a seat against the wall and took a notebook out of her bag. She would record, but not contribute, to the meeting.

  "The purpose of this meeting is to evaluate Project 139 and consider termination procedures," said Lord Harwood. "As this was essentially an R&D operation perhaps you would start, Miss Arnoux."

  "The project was the culmination of a programme to test various geas spells on paranormal entities. It was decided to evaluate a love geas as a method for binding a paranormal to one of our operatives. R&D are pleased with the results. The spell worked perfectly, with one small reservation about the principle of reciprocation that we are still evaluating. As far as we are concerned, the project has been a great success and can now be shut down. We would like to debrief Major Jameson, of course."

  "Thank you, Miss Arnoux," said Lord Harwood. "Could I have a summary of your report on the subject's utility for special operations, Sir James."

  "A bit of a mixed bag, My Lord. Leaving out all the bullshit, we ran into two problems. One is that the operations team found it unsettling to work in close contact with an unrestrained Code Z. The second is that the main mission was completely compromised by a device set specifically to attack paranormals. That we might have to defend against such an attack had, understandably, escaped the planners. We will have to learn to think differently if we are to utilise paranormals within our combat teams. Other than that it was a success. Our agent, Major Jameson retained command control of the paranormal at all times. I concur; we have the information we need. The experiment may now be terminated."

  "How very neat," said Jameson, who had heard enough. "She has served her purpose so she can be dumped. No matter that she fought and bled for us."

  "She's a monster, Jameson. She doesn't matter," said Lord Harwood.

  "Yes, she is a monster but she does matter. She is not an unthinking animal. She thinks, she feels, she laughs. She is a person. 'If you prick her, does she not bleed, if you tickle her does she not laugh and if you wrong her will she not take revenge?'" Jameson had taken the trouble to look up the quote even if, under the stress of the moment, he did not get it quite right. "I promised, on our behalf, to accept responsibility for her."