Authors: Mick Farren
He paused, and again Jeb Stuart Ho said nothing.
‘The result of this disruption will be twofold. A state of war will occur which will escalate unchecked until the antagonized will begin to destroy their opponents’ stasis generators, and disrupt the territory they occupy. They will cause a so far uncalculated shift in the balance of our world. Taking into account the most favourable conditions for stasis, the resultant loss of existing inhabited space would be a minimum of 65.79 per cent.’
Jeb Stuart Ho began to feel the magnitude of the task he was being set. Doubt hovered in the corner of his mind, but he controlled his will and it faded. The teacher went on.
‘The second danger that would result from this situation is that the release of energy from a certain level of warfare would be a considerable attraction to the disrupters. They would gravitate towards the source of energy by the shortest possible route. That would certainly involve many of them cutting through the normally undisturbed central sectors. In this event the space and, of course, population loss could be as high as 98.51 per cent.’
The information fell about Jeb Stuart Ho’s shoulders like a heavy yoke. It was far worse than purely physical weight. He was used to those. In advanced combat training the body is often loaded to its very limit. This burden of responsibility would go far beyond that. He would have to be sure-footed and have strength in excess of anything he had experienced. His boast of being ready seemed empty and childish. Still he kept silent, and the teacher continued his instruction.
‘All our calculations lead us to one conclusion. There is a single individual. The individual’s future actions will be the seeds of this disaster. If they are allowed to germinate and grow, the flowers that eventually bloom will be terrible to look upon.’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked straight ahead.
‘It will be my task to pluck those flowers?’
‘It will be your task to make sure that seeds never put forth shoots.’
‘I must intervene and prevent the individual from taking such action as will precipitate disaster?’
The teacher looked at Jeb Stuart Ho for the first time.
‘It is graver than that. The actions and their effect on this pattern are too complex. You must remove the individual.’
‘I must kill, Teacher?’
‘You must kill, Jeb Stuart Ho.’
There was a long silence. Jeb Stuart Ho looked down at his hands, and then straight ahead.
‘Who is the subject?’
‘A female, current age thirteen, technocrat upbringing. You will receive a data package as you depart.’
‘May I ask one question? What gives us the right to calculate an individual must die?’
‘Our calculations are accurate to the smallest margin.’
‘So we take the responsibility of another’s death?’
‘That is a second question.’
‘We are always right? Is there no room for doubt?’
‘The superior man arrives at the river and crosses.’
‘We are always right?’
‘To the finest part of allowable error.’
They sat in silence for many minutes. The water clock dripped away the time. Jeb Stuart Ho finally rose, bowed to the teacher and left the room. He made his way down the maze of corridors to his own cell. Nah Duc West was waiting. He bowed as his master entered, and then looked up anxiously.
‘The Teacher has instructed you in the task, master?’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked at the young man and smiled.
‘You are like the moth that bathes in die flame and wonders at its burning.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘The Teacher gave me his instructions.’
The pupil looked up eagerly.
‘And am I to go with you, master?’
Jeb Stuart Ho shook his head.
‘No, I go alone.’
‘But master, for many months I have been your lover and pupil. We have shared our knowledge and our bodies. Why do you now reject me? Why must you leave me behind?’
Jeb Stuart Ho put his hand gently on the pupil’s shoulder.
‘Your training must continue, Nah Duc West. Another will take my place. You are not being rejected. I have my task, you have yours. They no longer follow the same path and we must part. It is no reason for grief. We both continue. When travellers part at the crossroads they rejoice because their journey continues to its conclusion.’
Nah Duc West bowed his head in the face of this self-evident wisdom. Jeb Stuart Ho extended his hand and stroked his pupil’s hair.
‘We have not parted yet. You still have the task of preparing me for my journey.’
Nah Duc West looked at the floor.
‘Yes, master.’
There were a few moments while the young man stood, not moving. Jeb Stuart Ho sat down crosslegged on his sleeping mat and looked at his pupil.
‘Well, get on with it,’
Nah Duc West jerked into life.
‘Yes, master.’
He went to the trunk in the corner of the room and opened it. First he took out a white cloth and spread it on the floor. Then piece by piece he laid out Jeb Stuart Ho’s equipment. Carefully he stretched out the leather body suit. It was a one-piece black garment fastened down the front. It was reinforced by quilting and small silver plates over the vulnerable spots. It covered the entire body including the hands and feet. The striking edges of these were also strengthened by strips of metal, as were the knees and elbows.
The laying out of an executive’s equipment was a serious ritual among the brothers. The sequence of items was very important. With true regard for tradition, Nah Duc West produced the wide leather belt with its attachments for the various accoutrements. Next came the weapons: the long double handed sword, the nanchuk: two short steel batons joined by a length of chain, the flat case of six matched throwing knives and the .90 magnum in its carry case that also held the ammunition and the extension barrel.
The pupil checked that each weapon was in working order, and free from dirt or rust. He knew if he failed in this, he’d be the subject of a different, more painful ritual. He carefully placed them in their correct positions beside the belt and the suit. The next items were equally important. The portable stasis generator, the small black box that would prevent its wearer from being assimilated into the nothings, and the survival case that contained water and food concentrates. When these had been laid out, the pupil produced the final item from the chest. The thick, coarsely woven travelling cape was placed, folded, at the corner of the white cloth.
When all this was complete, Jeb Stuart Ho finally stood up. He undid his robe and let it fall to his feet. Nah Duc West looked lovingly at his master’s thin but heavily muscled body for a moment, and then stooped to pick up the black leather suit. He helped him struggle into it and zipped up the front. Then he picked up the belt and strapped it around Jeb Stuart Ho’s waist. Jeb Stuart Ho raised his hands as the pupil attached the generator, the survival kit and the gun case to his belt. The sword was hung from the straps on his back so the hilt was level with his right shoulder. The knives were buckled on to his left forearm, while the nanchuk was strapped to the other.
Before handing Jeb Stuart Ho the folded cloak, his pupil took a mirror from the trunk and held it in front of him. Jeb Stuart Ho regarded himself, and was pleased. His fighting suit and weapons were immaculate. His pale face looked back at him in a suitably calm, determined manner. His dark hair hung down straight, cut off at the shoulders in the accepted manner of the brotherhood. He would not disgrace them as an executive. In the outside world he must be the superior man of fable. Not that he was without advantage. His suit would protect him against all human attack below the level of blades or projectiles. Unarmed, he could defeat most men by the skill of his hands and feet. With his weapons he was as nearly invincible as any human could be.
From the very moment of conception, and, in fact, even before that moment, he had been tailored and trained to become a fighting machine. Only the disciplines of the brotherhood could enable him to use such power in an ethical manner. He was confident the disciplines would hold. He would sustain the honour of his teacher.
Jeb Stuart Ho took the cloak from his pupil and threw it around his shoulders, making sure that the hilt of his sword was still easily accessible. Then he leaned forward and gently kissed his pupil.
‘Goodbye, Nah Duc West.’
‘Goodbye, Jeb Stuart Ho.’
He walked quickly out of the room, and turned in the direction of the huge outer doors. When he reached them, the teacher was waiting for him.
‘You go?’
‘Yes, Teacher.’
The teacher handed him a small package wrapped in white silk.
‘This contains all you need to know about the subject.’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed.
‘Yes, Teacher.’
The teacher returned his bow, and the great doors slid open with a faint hiss.
Jeb Stuart Ho stopped and looked back at the temple. Although he had been outside before on exercise, the first taste of the open never failed to excite him. He stared at it surrounded by the flat, featureless plain that was fixed in perfect stasis by its unfaltering generators. The temple itself filled him, with wonder. It was a huge, flat-sided pillar that seemed to reach halfway to the yellow sky. Its black surfaces were completely blank. The only break in the smooth stone was the huge doorway through which he had left. Even this was dwarfed by the enormous size of the building.
Jeb Stuart Ho turned away from it. He walked on across the even plain, towards the point where the power of the generators began to diminish and the regularity of the plain broke up into wild, jagged rock formations.
When he reached these, Jeb Stuart Ho was forced to climb and scramble. The rocks, as he got further from the generators’ fields, began to change colour. The whiteness of the plain first turned to grey and brown and then, further out, exploded into a riot of purple and green. The sky too changed. It became more strident. Above the black building it had been a pale yellow, but over the wilderness of rocks it altered to a burnished gold.
Here and there, in the deep crevasses, pools of grey shifting nothing swirled and smoked. Jeb Stuart Ho’s hand went to his belt and switched on his generator pack. A red pilot light glowed, and it came alive with a soft hum. He knew if he should accidentally slip into one of those grey pools without the generator protecting him, he would be spread three ways across another universe.
Here and there, spiky plants clung to cracks in the rocks. One in particular, with extravagant red blossoms, attracted him. He stopped and examined it. Then he stepped back and stood tense, just as they had taught him in the swordsman’s class. His hands flashed to the sword hilt behind his left shoulder. The blade whistled. The topmost flower was detached from its stalk. It dropped to the rock, rolled and fell down into one of the grey pools. As it touched the nothings, it smoked for an instant and melted away.
Jeb Stuart Ho stood holding his sword and feeling a little foolish. He was ashamed that he should have succumbed to using his hard-learned skills in such a childish display of bravado. It was unforgivable at a time when all his concentration should be directed to his task.
He decided it was time for him to study the data package. He unzipped the top of his body suit and removed the silk bundle. He squatted on a nearby rock, and carefully began to unwrap it. It contained a tri-di cube and a roll of parchment. Jeb Stuart Ho held up the cube and looked at it. In it was the image of a girl in her early teens. She had dark hair and a pale, petulant face. Her eyes were large and surrounded by dark makeup. Her mouth was coloured dark red and looked cruelly sensual. A loop action inside the cube made the image repeat the same sequence of expressions over and over again. First she stared out impassively at him, then slowly she smiled. Her lip curled, and the smile turned into a sneer. Finally the expression faded, only to start the cycle again. Jeb Stuart Ho turned the cube slowly round examining the girl’s face from every angle. He wished that he had had more experience with women at the temple. The teachers, in their wisdom, encouraged the pupil executives to find love among their own sex.
He put down the cube, and turned his attention to the parchment. It was covered with computer print which he read carefully. There was a solemnity about the moment. He was reading about the person he was going to kill.
A.A. Catto.
Like her brother Waldo, she has remained at a static age for a considerable period.
Member of Directorate (technocrat ruling class) of Con-Lec, a corporation citadel culture in S class decay.
Petulant, wilful, vicious, with high, pain-related sexual appetite. Escorted by human male, reportedly named Reave.
Mistress/pet relationship.
No martial skills.
All training directed to sensory satisfaction.
IQ 197.
M-potential nil.
Psi-property nil.
Retention factor B +.
Subject’s present location midsection city Litz (pop. 1,241,000 - Stuff contract pleasure city) where she moves in a sensation-seeking subgroup.
Class A subject. May surround herself with mercenary protection. Approach with caution.
Aim of intervention is death of subject.
Jeb Stuart Ho read the parchment twice and then folded it beside the cube. He wrapped both in the piece of silk and returned them to his suit. Then he stood up. He knew the first place he had to go. He once again began picking his way through the rocks.
As he went on, moving, all the time, away from the temple, the landscape continued to change. The rock formations began to fragment and break up. Where there had previously been bright colours they faded to a dull grey, not much darker than the pools of shifting nothings. In fact, pools was no longer an adequate description. They had enlarged and merged, so there were now wide expanses of emptiness. Here and there, the rocks jutted out of them, like ice floes on a frozen sea.
It was necessary for Jeb Stuart Ho to cross these expanses. Although his personal generator protected him from the fate of any unshielded matter that came in contact with the nothings, it was still an unnerving experience to step out into the strange, alien mist and suddenly find the solid foothold created by the generator.