by Gary Gibson
“Who’s Peter McCowan?” Helen demanded.
“A friend of mine. He spoke to me while I was locked in the trunk of your car.”
Another brief silence. “Tell me more about your friend.”
“He died in the Maze.”
“Fuck.”
Helen covered her eyes with one hand, quietly repeating the word “Fuck” over and over, under her breath.
“Okay. Let’s start again,” she continued after a bit. “The Bright – what are they?”
“They live on the Archimedes. Draeger designed them to find God. I . . .” A wave of nausea surged through Kendrick. He heard himself groan.
Someone nearby was muttering under his breath, in a rush of words that sounded like a litany. It was the soldier, and he looked as though he was weeping. Helen turned to bark something at him that Kendrick couldn’t make out. When she turned back to Kendrick, her eyes were shiny.
“And that’s what they call themselves – the Bright?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Now she turned to Hardenbrooke who was leaning against a wall, his arms folded, watching. Night had fallen and pale moonlight spilled through the high-up window of the cell.
“We should give him some more shots of another inhibitor,” Hardenbrooke muttered. “His augments will have dredged most of what we’ve already given him out of his bloodstream. That’s how he’s managing to hold so much back.”
“Fine. Do whatever you need to,” Helen said impatiently. Hardenbrooke stood up and stepped forward. A moment later Kendrick felt a tiny sting in one arm, followed by a numbness spreading through his thoughts.
“Okay, then,” Helen said brightly, sounding like a teacher instructing a class of pre-schoolers. “He obviously doesn’t know anything new about zero point. Okay . . . so how long have you known about the Archimedes?”
“About the Archimedes?” Kendrick asked.
“Anything, Mr Gallmon.”
“All I know is, Buddy says those things that I’ve been dreaming about found God at the end of time. It meant something to Caroline, too – before you took her. The others think they could live for ever, if only they could get there.”
Kendrick could see the incredulity written on Hardenbrooke’s features. Helen’s expression, by contrast, was fervent, almost ecstatic. She muttered something that sounded like a prayer.
“This is insane, this is bullshit,” said Hardenbrooke. “What does this have to do with zero-point weapons?”
“Shut up,” Helen snapped. “This is important.”
“Oh Christ, sometimes I can’t believe you people really believe this shit.” Hardenbrooke looked ready to tear his hair out. “We’re not here to talk about religion. We’re here to find a way to win.”
“If we win, it’s because God smiles on us, and not on you,” Helen said evenly, still staring down at Kendrick. “Hardenbrooke, I’ll ask you not to take the Lord’s name in vain again.”
“Let’s be clear,” Hardenbrooke said carefully. “Zero-point tech is the purpose of this interrogation. Any more of this flagrant bullshit isn’t. So keep your religious beliefs out of this, okay?”
Helen ignored him, leaning over Kendrick and peering into his eyes, as though she might find secrets lurking there. “Draeger thinks you’re special,” she muttered, just inches from his face. “Maybe you’re not. Maybe he’s wrong, and we’re all barking up the wrong tree.”
She looked off into space for a while, saying nothing, before finally shaking her head and standing upright. “This is useless. Look, he’s no use to us if he doesn’t know anything more than we do.”
“But Draeger thinks he’s important, you said.”
“So what? Draeger is an egomaniac. You know, you haven’t exactly earned your money yet – or don’t you understand that?”
Hardenbrooke blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You told us that Draeger thought this idiot was essential to regaining access to the Archimedes. So far, he doesn’t come across as very fucking essential to me. That means his friends can still take the Godhead away from us, regardless of whether we have him here or not. What are you going to do about that?”
Hardenbrooke’s face was pale. “You’re nuts, do you know that?” he said quietly. “Any military advantage—”
“I know what you want,” Kendrick interrupted, his thoughts rapidly becoming clearer.
They both swivelled to stare at him, as if he were a corpse suddenly returned to life.
“With zero-point energy, you could win a war against anyone. Somehow, you think I can get you on board where everyone else has failed, don’t you?”
Helen’s expression remained mask-like. “Can you?”
“I don’t know,” Kendrick replied. He listened, helpless, as the truth spilled out of his own mouth. “No more so than any of the rest. But whatever’s up there, it hates me. It doesn’t want me there.”
Kendrick found that he couldn’t stop blinking. A dawning sense of horror began to awaken within him, as if he were emerging from a deep, restful sleep only to find everyone he had ever cared about torn limb from limb and lying in front of him.
“It’s wearing off,” said Hardenbrooke. “But pumping any more into him isn’t going to work.”
Another soldier entered the cell, looking harassed. Helen glared at him. “This had better be good, whatever it is.”
“It looks like the enemy know we’re here. The perimeter defence just brought down a robot recon, but we’re almost certain it transmitted our location first. Command says we’re to pull out early – launch ahead of schedule.”
Helen cast a worried glance in Kendrick’s direction.
Launch what? he wondered.
The soldier left in a hurry.
“Well, haven’t you been a complete waste of time,” Helen muttered at Hardenbrooke. “All this trouble and it looks like your friend here can’t tell us a damn thing after all.”
Hardenbrooke looked as though he was about to explode with rage, having undoubtedly promised that a gold mine of information would spill from Kendrick’s lips. He stepped quickly towards Helen and grabbed her shoulder. She spun, staring at him unbelievingly.
Kendrick witnessed all this, including the way that Helen shook her head almost imperceptibly over Hardenbrooke’s shoulder at the guard, who had begun to step forward. The soldier stopped, but lowered his rifle to hold it levelled at Hardenbrooke at waist level.
“There was an agreement.” Hardenbrooke’s face flushed red, which made his scars all the more ugly. “We need the rest of the information from him, about what Draeger is planning—”
“Shut up. You’ve been worse than fucking useless.”
“No, I’ve had enough of this demented nonsense. I—”
Kendrick watched Helen’s hand slip down to the holster clipped to her belt. The motion of her delicate fingers on the gun was smooth and practised, and he found himself admiring the way the pistol slid gracefully into her grip. Raising it only slightly, she shot Hardenbrooke in the stomach at point-blank range.
He went down like the proverbial sack of potatoes. Helen stared down dismissively at his crumpled body. Then her finger tightened again on the trigger, and a few more shots hammered into Hardenbrooke’s supine form.
“Helen,” Kendrick croaked, his throat still immobile-feeling.
Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him.
“My name’s Leigh,” she said.
“Leigh? That’s good.” A bitter chuckle fell from Kendrick’s lips. He felt as though he’d been raped. “Because you’re a lousy lay, Leigh,” he told her. “Even if you do fuck for Jesus.”
He wondered if she would shoot him too now, but there was still enough of the drug remaining in his system for him to find it surprisingly difficult to care. Instead, somewhat to his surprise, Leigh/Helen stepped forward and backhanded him across the face – so hard that at first he thought she’d dislocated his jaw.
&nbs
p; It came to Kendrick, even through the haze of pain, that he was only still alive because she hadn’t entirely convinced herself that he would be of no further use to them. He watched as they exited the cell, securely locking it behind them, the guard dragging Hardenbrooke’s corpse along with them.
Time passed.
Kendrick was unable to sleep, so he pulled himself off his narrow bunk and slumped with his back against the cell bars, watching the stars wheel beyond his one tiny window. He thought about what the soldier had said earlier: The enemy knows we’re here.
The question was – who was the enemy?
If he was still somewhere in America, then he had to be in one of the breakaway republics that had favoured Los Muertos. Otherwise, how would they have the run of this entire military base? Perhaps, then, a neighbouring republic knew Los Muertos were here, and were launching an attack?
Eventually Kendrick fell asleep despite the stink of Hardenbrooke’s blood coagulating in one corner of the cell. He did not dream.
He woke some hours later to find a databand lying on the cell floor in front of him. It was the kind that was found in shops that sold cheap plastic jewellery. Moonlight streaked the floor where it lay.
Kendrick picked it up, studying its pale blue plastic shell. The tiny fingernail-sized screen was currently grey and inactive. He wondered where on Earth it could have come from.
Then a pale blue light appeared on the screen, and he almost dropped it in his surprise. He glanced through the cell bars to the glow of light visible down the other end of the corridor, where someone was on night duty. Surely nobody could have got past the guards there and deposited the bracelet without even waking him?
“It’s me, Peter McCowan.” The voice emerged tinny and distorted from the bracelet’s tiny speaker.
“Peter?” Kendrick lifted the bracelet closer to his mouth, keeping his voice to a low whisper.
“It’s a lot easier to get in touch with you this way, don’t need so many visuals. But in the meantime you need to get out of that cell.”
“Really? Do you think so?”
“Kendrick—”
“Look, there’s planes landing and taking off from here all the time. I’m locked in a cell, and I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.” At least with the constant roar of the aircraft landing or taking off outside there was less chance of anyone hearing him speak.
A long sigh from the bracelet’s speaker. “Kendrick, nobody’s going to get you out but you. But that’s going to mean some cooperation.”
“Cooperation?” Kendrick studied the bracelet in his hand. “What are you talking about?”
“I can get you out of there, but I need you to do something in return.”
“Tell me.”
“You need to get yourself to the Maze. If you just agree to do that, I can help you find a way out of the cell.”
Several seconds passed as Kendrick closed his eyes, then opened them again to find the bracelet was still there and he was still in his cell. “I know, you asked me before, but I just can’t do it,” he replied. “Besides, it’s—”
“Off-limits? God, there’s a war on, in case you hadn’t noticed. Los Muertos have enough on their hands to distract them. I need you to get here, Ken.”
“Peter, where precisely are you? Are you telling me that’s where you are – down there?”
“Just tell me you’ll do it.”
A roar filled the cell as another plane took off. “You need to tell me more. You need to tell me what it is that’s so fucking special about me that every lunatic with a gun and a grudge is now chasing after me.”
“Look, I already told you that: out of all of us who are still alive, you’re the one closest to the Bright in terms of the way your augmentations developed. If Draeger is so interested in you, it can only be because you represent the highest achievement of Sieracki’s research programme.”
“Peter—?”
“Ken, understand this. The Bright are hammering at you with everything they’ve got. You have no concept of the energy resources available to them, but I’ll bet Draeger has an idea, and, thanks to Hardenbrooke, Los Muertos do too. The Bright are like children who’ve figured out how to build a nuclear reactor and are using it to make phone calls. We’re talking serious overkill. If it was up to Robert, you’d never know about any of this, but the Bright want you too much even for Robert to be able to do too much about it.”
“The woman interrogating me here thought I could somehow get Los Muertos on board the Archimedes.”
“With your particular affinity with the Bright, they figure they stand a better chance of boarding the station and staying alive there if they have you along with them. Also, Los Muertos knew that Draeger had you flown out to Cambodia – and they know everything about the programme of treatments that Hardenbrooke administered to you.”
“Right: so apart from wanting to haul me up there, Los Muertos also kidnapped me because I’m important to Draeger.”
“At last! Give the man a sticky bun! Took you fucking long enough to grasp that, didn’t it? They all think you’re special, and to a certain extent you are. But not, perhaps, so much as they think. Now, will you come to the Maze?”
Kendrick groaned. “You haven’t given me one good reason to.”
“If you do, I’ll give you something you want very badly – something you’ve been seeking, for a long time.”
“What?”
“I can get you the proof of Draeger’s direct involvement with the Labrat research programme. But before that you have to come here.”
“What if I say no?”
“But you won’t, will you?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you? You can give me that kind of proof, Peter?”
The bracelet had fallen silent. Kendrick stared at it, knowing that it wasn’t real. He dropped it on the concrete floor of the cell. It clattered as it landed, the plastic cheap and slightly scratched. He kicked at it gently and it slid a metre or two across the floor. It resolutely refused to disappear or evaporate.
Then, because he could think of nothing else to do, Kendrick turned his attention back to the lock. He caressed the smooth, machined steel box, thinking about McCowan’s words.
Yes, damn you, I’ll do it.
Suddenly, it was there: the electrons running through the lock’s circuitry were like bees buzzing in a hive. Kendrick’s hand tingled where he touched the surface of the lock and, although he couldn’t feel it or even sense it in any way, he imagined information flowing through the nanotech augmentation that riddled his flesh, bio-aug programs analysing the interior of the lock, reaching out and distantly manipulating its complex innards.
Somehow, in some arcane way more like magic than science, McCowan was doing this – through Kendrick. He thought about a dead mind reaching out through his fingertips from buried lightless corridors – and shivered inwardly.
The box made a soft click-thunk sound and softly, very softly, the door swung towards him.
Kendrick stood, transfixed. Perhaps he’d done something wrong the last time and—
But it wasn’t that. The lock had been designed to keep a Labrat imprisoned.
Get to the Maze, McCowan had said.
Could he really bring himself to go back there? Would it even be possible?
Perhaps it would, Kendrick thought. Perhaps there were even more miracles to be found there.
If he went – and if McCowan was telling the truth about Draeger.
Another aircraft took off, sounding as if it had barely skimmed the roof. Kendrick had to resist the urge to duck. Very softly, he stepped out into the corridor. He halted when he found that he’d stopped breathing, clutching at his chest in panic, wondering if his throat was blocked. Yet he didn’t even feel out of breath, though the impulse to suck in air and breathe it out again appeared to have gone – at least for now.
Kendrick stepped back into the cell to try to deflect the subsequent wave of panic that threatened to swamp h
im. This wasn’t like the last time, when he’d found himself on the Archimedes. This was real.
Very deliberately, he expanded his chest, drawing air into his lungs and then pushing it out again. He repeated this a few times until he felt nature take over: his lungs began moving without the need for conscious thought on his part.
His mind reeled. How long had this been going on? Seconds, minutes . . . more? What in Christ’s name had his body been running on in the meantime?
What was happening to him?
Kendrick went back to the open cell door and glanced down the corridor. Ten metres or so away, he could see one edge of a desk and the side of a guard’s head. There was a bend in the corridor there, which meant that whoever was currently minding the store didn’t necessarily have a completely clear view down towards the cells – although it would take the guard only an instant’s glance to see Kendrick peering out from his cell.
He moved soundlessly down the corridor, away from the guard. He reached a door after what seemed like an eternity. The guard hadn’t so much as glanced up yet. Kendrick was amazed to find that the exit wasn’t even locked. A glass panel at eye level allowed him to peer out at the dark shapes of nearby buildings looming beyond the jail. He reached down very gently to the metal lever of the door handle.
The lower edge of the door scraped noisily against the tiles under his feet and, glancing down, Kendrick saw that a shallow groove had been scraped away after many years of use. Just then, another plane thundered overhead. He glanced back to see the guard’s head flick up, but the man was looking away from him. Kendrick watched as the guard nodded to someone who had just entered the jailhouse from the opposite end.
No time to waste. Kendrick pushed the door open wider, the air outside shaking with the sound of braking jet engines and screeching tyres. Taking advantage of the racket, he slipped out through the door and into the night.
Adrenalin surged through Kendrick’s body, filling him with intense joy. He was out. The dark hulk of a military transport jet screamed overhead, so close that he felt he could almost reach up and touch it. But where now?
