“We have eliminated the bomb,” AndrÉ said triumphantly. “Which means you have just become surplus to requirements.”
“So you’re going to slaughter the other crews, are you?” Kingsley said quietly.
“Pardon?”
“I have to transmit a code every three hours—seven at the most, remember? If that doesn’t happen one of the other starships
will explode. Then they won’t be in any position to transmit their code, and another will go. You’ll start a chain reaction.”
AndrÉ maintained his poise. “Obviously, we will warn them we are leaving before we jump outsystem. Do you take me for a barbarian?
They will have time to evacuate. And Capone will have five ships less.” There was a glint in his eye. “I will make sure the
rover reporters understand that. My ship and crew are striking right at the heart of the Organization.”
“I expect Capone will be devastated at the news. Deprived of a warrior like you.”
AndrÉ glared furiously; he could never manage sarcasm, however crude, and he hated being on the receiving end. “You may inform
him yourself. We will return you to him via the beyond.” His grip on the laser pistol tightened.
Kingsley Pryor switched his glacial eyes to Erick, and datavised: “You have to stop them murdering me.”
The message was encrypted with a Confederation Navy code.
“Knowing the nature of the possessed, I expect that code was compromised a long time ago,” Erick datavised back.
“Very likely. But do your shipmates know you are a CNIS officer? You’d join me in the beyond if they did. And I’ll tell them.
I have absolutely nothing to lose, now. I haven’t for some time.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I served a duty tour in the CNIS weapons division as a technical evaluation officer. That’s why I know who you are, Captain
Thakrar.”
“As far as I’m concerned that makes you a double traitor, to humanity and the navy. And Duchamp won’t believe a word you say.”
“You need to keep me alive, Thakrar, very badly. I know which star system the Organization is planning to invade next. Right
now, there is no more important piece of information in this whole galaxy. If Aleksandrovich and Lalwani know the target,
they can intercept and destroy the Organization fleet. You now have no other duty but to get that information to them. Correct?”
“Filth like you would say anything.”
“You can’t risk the possibility that I’m lying. I obviously have access to the Organization’s command echelons, I wouldn’t
be in this position if I didn’t. Therefore I could quite easily know their overall strategic planning. At the very least,
procedure says I should be debriefed.”
The decision seemed more enervating than all that time spent in the cavity working on the hull plate. Erick was repelled by
the notion that a piece of shit like Pryor could manipulate him. “Captain?” he said wearily.
“Oui?”
“How much do you think he’s worth if we turn him over to the Confederation authorities?”
AndrÉ gave his crewman a surprised look. “You have changed since you came on board,
mon enfant
.”
Since Tina…who wouldn’t? “We’re going to be in the shit with the Confederation when we return. We did sign up with Capone,
remember, and we helped with this invasion. But if we bring them a prize like this, especially if we do it in full view of
the rovers, we’ll be heroes; it’ll wipe the slate clean.”
As always, avarice won with Duchamp. His gentle face’s natural smile expanded with admiration. “Good thinking, Erick. Madeleine,
help Erick stuff this pig into zero-tau.”
“Yes, Captain.” She pushed off the hatch rim and grabbed hold of Pryor’s shoulder. On the way she couldn’t resist giving Erick
a troubled look.
He couldn’t even raise a regretful grin in response. I thought it was over, that getting rid of the bomb would finish it.
We would dock at some civilized spaceport, and I could turn them all over to the local Navy Bureau. Now all I’ve done is swapped
one problem for another. Great God Almighty, when is this all going to end?
• • •
The beyond was different, not changed, but the rents which tore open into the real universe fired in flashes of sensation.
They enraged and exhilarated the souls which dwelt there; a pathetic taster, a reminder of what used to be. Proof that corporeal
life could be theirs again.
There was no pattern to the rents. The beyond did not have a structured topology. They occurred. They ended. And each time
a soul would wriggle through to possess. Luck, chance, dictated their appearance.
The souls screamed for more, scrabbling at the residual traces of their more fortunate comrades who had made it though. Pleading,
praying, promising, cursing. The tirade was one-way. Almost.
The possessed had the power to look back, to listen harder.
One of them said: We want somebody.
The gibbering souls shrieked their lies in return. I know where they are. I know how to help. Take me. Me! I will tell you.
The chant of a billion tormented entities is not one to be ignored.
Another rent appeared, loud sunlight piercing an ebony cloud. There was a barrier at the top, preventing any soul from surging
through into the glory. Its extended existence igniting an agonized desire within those who flocked around it.
See? A body awaits you, a reward for the information we need.
What? What information?
Mzu. Dr Alkad Mzu, where is she?
The question rippled through the beyond, a virus rumour, passed—ripped—from one soul to another. Until, finally, the woman
came forth, rising from the degradations of perpetual mind-rape to embrace and adore the pain which saturated her new body.
Feelings rushed in to inflate consciousness: warmth, wetness, cool air. Eyes blinked open, half laughing, half-weeping at
the agony of her scalded, skinless limbs. “Ayacucho,” Cherri Barnes coughed to the gangsters standing over her. “Mzu went
to Ayacucho.”
• • •
The top secret file contained a report which the First Admiral found even more worrying than any naval defeat. It had been
written by an economist on President Haaker’s staff, detailing the strain which possession was placing on the Confederation
economy. The major problem was that modern conflicts tended to be resolved by fifteen-minute engagements between opposing
squadrons of starships; fast, and usually pretty decisive. It was an exceptional dispute which led to more than three navy
engagements.
Possession, though, was shutting down the interstellar economy. Tax revenue was falling, and with it the government’s ability
to support its forces on month-long deployment missions. And the Confederation Navy placed the primary drain on everyone’s
finances. Enforcing the quarantine was good strategic policy, but it wasn’t going to solve the problem. A new strategy, one
which had to include a final solution, had to be found within six months. After that, the Confederation would start to fragment.
Samual Aleksandrovich exited the file as Maynard Khanna ushered the two visitors into his office. Admiral Lalwani and Mullein,
the captain of the voidhawk
Tsuga
, both saluted.
“Good news?” Samual Aleksandrovich asked Lalwani. It had become a standing joke at the start of their daily situation meetings.
“Not entirely negative,” she said.
“You amaze me. Sit down.”
“Mullein has just arrived from Arnstadt;
Tsuga
has been on intelligence gathering duties in that sector.”
“Oh?” Samual cocked a thick eyebrow at the youngish Edenist.
“Capone has invaded another star system,” Mullein said.
Samual Aleksandrovich swore bitterly. “That’s not negative?”
“It’s Kursk,” Lalwani said. “Which is interesting.”
“Interesting!” he grunted. His neural nanonics supplied him with the planet’s file. Not
knowing
the world he was supposed to protect kindled obscure feelings of guilt. Its image appeared on one of the office’s long holoscreens,
just a perfectly ordinary terracompatible world, dominated by large oceans.
“Population fifty million plus,” Samual Aleksandrovich recited from the file. “Hell. The Assembly will combust, Lalwani.”
“They’ve no right,” she said. “Your original confinement strategy is working very effectively.”
“Apart from Kursk.”
She ducked her head in acknowledgement. “Apart from Kursk. But then that isn’t due to the quarantine order failing. The quarantine
was intended to prevent stealthy infiltration, not armed invasions.”
Samual’s mind went back to the classified report. “Let’s hope the noble ambassadors see it that way. Why did you say it was
interesting?”
“Because Kursk is a stage three world: no naval forces, no SD network. A pushover for the Organization. However, all they
earned themselves was a few orbital industrial stations and a big struggle to quash the planetary population, the majority
of whom live in the countryside, they’re still very agrarian. In other words, the possessed are up against small, solid communities
of well-armed farmers who have had plenty of advance warning.”
“But possessed forces backed up by starships, nonetheless,” Samual observed.
“Yes, but why bother possessing fifty million people who can make no positive contribution to the Organization?”
“Possession makes no sense generally.”
“No, but Capone’s Organization needs sound economic support, certainly his fleet does. It won’t operate without a functioning
industrial capacity behind it.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me. So what analysis has your staff come up with?”
“We believe it was principally a propaganda move. A stunt, if you like. Kursk wasn’t a challenge to him, and it isn’t an asset.
Its sole benefit comes from the psychology. Capone has conquered another world. He’s a force to be reckoned with, the king
of the possessed. That kind of garbage. People aren’t going to look at how strategically insignificant Kursk is, all they’ll
think about is that damn exponential expansion curve. It’s going to place a lot of political pressure on us.”
“The President’s office has requested a briefing on the new development in two hours, sir,” Maynard Khanna said. “It will
be reasonable to assume the Assembly will follow that up with a request for some kind of large-scale high-visibility military
deployment. And a victory. It will be expedient for the politicians to demonstrate the Confederation can strike at the enemy,
that they’re not sitting back doing nothing.”
“Wonderfully precise thinking,” Samual Aleksandrovich grumbled. “National navies have only released seventy per cent of the
forces pledged to us; we are barely managing to enforce the quarantine; we can’t track down where the hell Capone’s antimatter
is coming from. Now they expect me to ransack what forces I have to build some kind of interdiction flotilla. I wonder if
they’ll give me a target, too, because I certainly can’t see one. When will people learn that if we kill the possessed bodies
all we’re doing is simply adding to the numbers of souls in the beyond; and I doubt the families of those we kill will thank
us.”
“If I can offer a suggestion, sir,” Mullein said.
“By all means.”
“As Lalwani said,
Tsuga
has been collecting intelligence from Arnstadt. It’s our contention that Capone isn’t having it all his own way, not down
on the planet itself. The SD platforms are having to fire on almost an hourly basis to support the Organization lieutenants
on the surface. There is a lot of resistance down there. The Yosemite Consensus believes that if we were to start harassing
the ships and industrial stations Capone has in orbit, it would make life very difficult for him. Constant reinforcement over
interstellar distances is going to place a considerable strain on his resources.”
“Maynard?” the First Admiral asked.
“Possible, sir. The general staff already has appropriate contingency plans.”
“When don’t they?”
“Primarily, it would mean the observation voidhawks seeding Arnstadt’s orbital space with stealthed fusion mines; a decent
percentage should manage to trickle past the SD sensors. Equip them with mass-proximity fuses and any ships down there would
be in deep trouble. No one would know when an attack was coming; it would rattle the crews once they realized we were blitzing
them. Fast-strike missions could also be mounted against the asteroid settlements; jump a ship in, fire off a random salvo
of combat wasps, and jump out again. Something similar to the Edenist attack against Valisk. It would have the advantage that
we were mainly destroying hardware rather than people.”
“I want the feasibility studies run today,” the First Admiral said. “Include Kursk as well as Arnstadt. That’ll give me something
concrete when I’m called to explain this latest fiasco to the Assembly.” He gave the young voidhawk captain a speculative
gaze. “What exactly is Capone’s fleet doing right now?”
“Most of it is spread through the Arnstadt system, keeping the asteroid settlements in line until their populations are fully
possessed. A lot of captured ships are being flown back to New California, we assume to be armed ready for his next invasion.
But it’s a slow job; he’s probably short of crews.”
“For once,” Lalwani said sorely. “I can’t get over how many of those independent trader bastards went to work for him.”
“Recruitment is slowing considerably now the quarantine is in place,” Maynard Khanna said. “Even the independent traders are
reluctant to take Capone’s money now they’ve heard about Arnstadt, and the Assembly’s proclamation must have had some effect.”
“That or they’re too busy raking it in by breaking the quarantine, I expect.” She shrugged. “We’ve been getting reports; some
of the smaller asteroids are still open to flights.”
“There are times when I wonder why we bother,” Samual Aleksandrovich marvelled. “Thank you for the briefing, Mullein, and
my gratitude to
Tsuga
for a swift flight.”
“Has Gilmore made any progress?” Lalwani asked when the captain had left.
“He won’t admit it, but the science teams are stumped,” Samual Aleksandrovich said. “All they can come up with is a string
of negatives. We’re learning a lot about the capabilities of this energistic ability, but nothing about how it is generated.
Nor have Gilmore’s people acquired any hard data on the beyond. I think that worries me the most. It obviously exists, therefore
it must have some physical parameters, a set of governing laws; but they simply cannot detect or define them. We know so much
about the physical universe and how to manipulate its fabric, yet this has defeated our most capable theorists.”