"The voice?" Anderson replied. Hurrying even more quickly through the aisles, Whitby tried to home in on the sound. "Listen to me, Grimes, whatever you think, that voice in your head isn't a friend."
"He told me you'd say that," Grimes said. It seemed to Whitby he was closer. He was getting warmer. "He told me the psi-bitch would try to trick me. Psi-bitch. That's what he calls you. He tells me a lot of things. About what a sin it is that I was passed over for promotion and how I should do something about it. Good advice, all of it. Of course, he didn't tell me about the lesbian conspiracy. That I had to work out for myself."
Closer. It sounded like they were in the next aisle.
There. Rounding the corner, Whitby saw them. Anderson with her Lawgiver at her feet and her hands up in the air, Grimes standing beside her with a pistol pressed against her temple.
He must have been waiting for her
, Whitby thought.
Grud, he could pull the trigger at any moment!
Lifting his gun, for an instant Whitby hesitated. They taught at the academy that the only sure shot is a head shot, but Anderson said she wanted Grimes alive. He had no choice. Even if he shot for the hand or elbow, Grimes still might be able to get off a round. A head shot, right at brainstem. It was his only choice.
"Lesbians?" Anderson played for time. "Right. Of course. Why don't you tell me all about it?"
"Don't do that." There was a dangerous edge to Grimes's words, a rising tone of anger. "Don't try to humour me like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know all about it, Anderson. You think I don't know you're one of them?"
Looking through his Lawgiver's viewfinder, Whitby noticed there was a crate of street rations behind Grimes's head. Good, he thought. That way, if the bullet over-penetrated it wouldn't end up hitting munitions and starting a chain reaction. You're thinking too much, he told himself as he locked on target. Concentrate, like you were back on the firing range at the Academy. There's just you and the target. Nothing else.
Take the shot
, he heard Anderson's voice in his head. He saw Grimes's finger tighten on the trigger.
"You think I don't know what you're doing here?" Grimes's voice had risen to a shriek. "You think I don't know you're trying to steal my sperm?"
"No offence, Grimes," Anderson said calmly, "but I wouldn't take it if you were giving it away."
Whitby fired a single shot, hitting Grimes just below the cheekbone and exiting bloodily through the back of his head. Features slackening, gun falling from useless fingers, Grimes slid limply towards the ground.
"Anderson?" Whitby ran over to her. She was standing over Grimes's body, looking down at him with an expression of quiet horror as though she was watching something no one else could see. "Anderson? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said after a moment. She seemed distracted. "The entity... It got him, sucked away his soul and the souls of everyone he killed. So much darkness..." She shook her head and turned to him. "Nice shot, by the way, Whitby. Next time I've got a crazy standing with a gun against my head, I'll know who to call for a rescue."
"I had to kill him," Whitby said.
"You'll get no arguments from me on that score," Anderson said. "Thanks, Whitby. You saved my life."
They were silent for a moment, then she gathered her thoughts. Anderson retrieved Grimes's gun.
"Plastic ammo," she said, extracting the magazine and inspecting the contents. "Sounded like Grimes was firing at the others with a spit gun earlier, but when it came to a fire fight inside the Armoury, it looks like he wasn't crazy enough to start shooting off a Lawgiver."
"You think it means something? I mean, either way, he was crazy."
"Yeah, he was at that." She shrugged. "Think about it, though. It's obvious enough the entity wants us all dead, but seeing as it was controlling Grimes, why didn't it just get him to shoot a hi-ex into the ammunition stacks and blow us all to kingdom come? Instead, Grimes did the opposite - taking care
not
to blow the Armoury up. Is it just me, or does that seem pretty rational behaviour for a psycho? Kind of makes you wonder if there's some reason the entity has for not wanting to see the Sector House destroyed."
She shook her head, then nodded to the crates full of weapons and equipment.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe it's nothing. Right now, we got more important things to do than worry about it. Go get Symonds and the others and tell them it's safe to come out. It's time to arm up. We got a Sector House that's under the control of a hostile psychic entity.
Our
Sector House, and I don't know about you, but I'd say it's about time we took it back."
SEVENTEEN
TAKING IT BACK
Souls. Screaming souls. From all across the sector they flowed to him in their thousands. Hidden in the dark places of Sector House 12, Uriel felt great surges of energy run through him as he absorbed the essences of victim after victim. He was engorged, empowered. So many souls, that for a moment his hunger was silenced. The raging void within him stood on the verge of fulfilment. He was approaching satiation, and with it the next phase drew closer. Soon the cycle would be completed. He felt strange stirrings within his body. Inside him a dozen points of shadow coalesced within his flesh and began to grow larger. Soon. He was nearing completion. Soon, he sensed, he would begin a new transformation.
But even with triumph beckoning, Uriel was not content. Something troubled him: a thought, worrying him like an insect gnawing at the flesh of some great beast. A danger. An impediment. A frustration.
The psi-bitch.
At the thought of her he felt a flush of anger. She was a threat to him, a rock in his path. Alone of the teeming minds around him, she had the power to undo his work and forestall his great design. Time after time he had attempted to kill her and time after time he had been thwarted. Now things would be different. This time, finally, he would destroy her.
He stretched out his limbs to the wider sector, feeling ten thousand puppets jerk their heads towards him as he pulled their strings tight. From the darkness he called out to them, his voice a whisper in ten thousand minds, ten thousand blood-stained disciples, an army of killers who lived only to do his bidding.
He called to them. Out through the streets and intervening buildings, he sent a message. Across the sector, in housing blocks and con-apts and rooming houses, ten thousand killers paused in the midst of murder and made their way down to the streets. They gathered in the open spaces, in the plazas and precincts, waiting patiently while the whispering voice inside them relayed new instructions. At last, their orders received, they turned en masse toward the centre of the sector and made their way toward Sector House 12. A slave army marched inexorably to the rhythm of his will, a hive-mind, driven by a single imperative. Ten thousand killers pushed onward by a simple and clear command: the psi-bitch must die!
"Symonds, this is Maddicks on level five. We've got two more crazies in custody - that seems to be the last of them on this floor. Reporting level five as swept and clear. Over."
"Symonds, this is Tierney. We have reached Custody Command on basement sub-level two. There's been one hell of a bloodbath down here. The whole place is full of corpses. Looks like the prisoners and warders tried to kill each other, then the survivors killed themselves. Reporting basement sub-level two as swept and clear. Over."
"Symonds, this is Gottlieb on level fourteen. No survivors here. One crazy in custody. Reporting level fourteen as swept and clear. Over."
From the crackle of comms-traffic over her radio, it sounded like they were making progress. Anderson was on level eight, taking it one room at a time, searching for survivors and crazies while, on the other floors of the Sector House, her fellow Judges went through the same procedure. She had left Symonds back at ground level, tasked with the job of handling comms between Anderson and the others as they cleared the Sector House floor by floor. Despite her initial misgivings, Symonds had turned out to be quite an asset. First he had restored communications by adjusting their radios to route their signals through the comms unit on Anderson's bike parked outside. Now he was running the resulting comms-traffic with such calm efficiency it was as if he had been doing it for years.
"Symonds, this is Jurgens in the Landing Bay on level fifteen. The entire place has been gutted by fire, although it looks like the sprinklers stopped it from spreading. All H-Wagons here are non-operational. Reporting Landing Bay as swept and clear. Over."
"Roger that, Jurgens," she heard Symonds's voice over the radio. "Request you rendezvous with Judge Gottlieb on stairwell and clear level sixteen. Symonds out."
"Symonds, this is Schreiber. We've got two survivors in the Judge's barracks on level fifteen. Get some medical attention up here ASAP."
"Roger that, Schreiber. I'm sending Acc-Judge Thorley up to you with a medi-pack. I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do."
"Symonds, this is Anderson on level eight. You heard anything more from Central Control about med-teams and backup? Seems like their idea of twenty minutes is a hell of a lot longer than ours."
"Roger that, Anderson," Symonds answered her. "Just got off the comm with them a few minutes ago. Apparently, the units that were supposed to be coming our way have been diverted. Seems the violence affecting Sector 12 looked to be in danger of spilling over into other Sectors. Central Control pulled all available units back to the edge of the sector to hold the line. There is some good news though, Control says tac-teams will be sent to our location via H-Wagon along with a team of Exorcists. They're still trying to assemble the extra manpower, but Control says they should be with us inside half an hour."
"Half an hour?" Anderson shook her head. "I seem to remember hearing promises like that before. I don't suppose they also told you the cheque was in the mail?"
"The cheque?" There was a pause for a moment on the other end of the line as Symonds floundered for understanding. "I don't think I get you."
"Never mind," she sighed. "It was a dumb joke anyway. I'm reporting level eight as swept and clear. Moving on to level nine next. In the meantime, get back on the line with Central Control and see if you can light a fire under them. Anderson out."
"Anderson," a voice called out behind her.
Whitby hurried towards her with another Judge trailing in his wake. "I heard you on the radio saying you were on this level," Whitby said. "I just cleared level twenty. Sector Chief Franklin is dead - looks like Grimes killed him. And guess who I found hiding behind a desk in one of the admin offices on my way down?"
He nodded towards the other Judge. It was Hass.
"I've already told you I wasn't 'hiding', Whitby." A muscle twitched almost imperceptibly on Hass's face. "For all I knew you could've been another psychotic Judge on a killing spree. I was in cover in case there was fire fight, that was all." He turned towards her. "Now, Anderson, Whitby tells me you've been directing operations here. I'm sure you've done a fine job, but I must insist you stand aside."
"Uh-huh." Anderson raised her eyebrows. Typical SJS, she thought. Some things never change. "And I'd be standing aside so you can take command, no doubt?"
"Naturally." Unconsciously, Hass ran his hand across the front of his uniform to smooth out the creases. "As the ranking SJS Judge present-"
"You'll be the first guy I come to if I find any Judges taking bribes or fixing parking tickets," Anderson cut him off. "But seeing as we're dealing with a hostile psychic entity, I'd say this is a Psi Division case. What about you, Whitby?"
"I'm with you," Whitby said beside her. "One hundred per cent."
"Looks like you're outvoted, Hass," Anderson said.
"Outvoted?" Hass was livid. "This is Mega-City One, Anderson, not some kind of damn democracy!" He jabbed a finger at Whitby. "You realise this man is under investigation? I could report you for this."
"You do that, Hass," Anderson waved the threat away. "Right now I want you to-"
"Anderson!" She heard Symonds over her radio, his voice breathless with excitement. "Grud, you'd better look at this. The streets on the east side of the Sector House... Oh, sweet drokk, I don't believe it."
Spurred on by the urgency in Symonds's tone, Anderson hurried to the nearest window with Hass and Whitby behind her. The streets of the sector were no longer deserted. A crowd had gathered and was moving towards the building.
"Holy drokking Grud," Whitby said hoarsely. "There must be
thousands
of them."
Even from this distance, Anderson could see that the members of the crowd wore the same glazed expressions as the crazies in the Sector House. Looking at them, she could see they were armed with an array of improvised and makeshift weapons: kitchen knives, screwdrivers, wrenches, crowbars, shuggy cues, lumps of plascrete, lengths of chain and pieces of broken-off chair and table legs. Seeing wisps of smoke rising from among the crowd, Anderson realised some of them were even carrying flaming torches. They looked for the world like some kind of re-enacted lynch mob from the Tri-D history-doc channels, and they were heading her way.
All in all, things did not look good.
"Anderson to all Judges." Even as she began to shout into her radio, she was already moving. "The Sector House is about to come under attack. Drop whatever you're doing and get down to the ground level foyer ASAP. And Symonds? Get on the line to Central Control again and tell them I don't care
what
their problems are, half-an-hour isn't good enough. I want those reinforcements here now
.
It looks like we're going to need them."
EIGHTEEN
CROWD CONTROL
"You all know the plan," Anderson said into her radio, keeping one eye on the approaching crowd as it crossed the plaza. "We hit them with Stumm gas first, then we take things from there. Whatever else happens, we have to delay them. If they get past us, it's all over. No matter what, we hold the line. You understand me? We hold the line."