Perhaps the whole possession problem would burn itself out in an orgy of irreversible cancer. Few of the returned souls were
content with the physical appearance of the bodies they had claimed.
How superbly ironic, Rubra thought, that vanity could be the undoing of entities who had acquired near-godlike powers. It
was also a dangerous prospect, once they realized what was happening. Those people remaining free would become even more valuable,
the attempts to possess them ever more desperate. And Edenism would be the last castle to besiege.
He decided not to mention the prospect to the Kohistan Consensus. It was another small private advantage; no one else in the
Confederation had such a unique and extensive vantage point of the possessed and their behaviour as him. He wasn’t sure if
he could exploit the knowledge, but he wasn’t going to give it away until he was certain.
A sub-routine of his principal personality was designated to observe the aberrant melanomata and carcinomas developing on
the possessed inside the habitat. If the growths turned malignant the current situation would change drastically right across
the Confederation.
The crew bus had left the
Socratous
to trundle back across the ledge. Kiera and about forty of her cronies were flocking into a reception lounge. When the bus
docked, it disgorged about thirty-five Deadnight kids. Eager besotted youngsters with red handkerchiefs worn proudly around
their ankles and wonder in their eyes that they’d reached the promised land after so much difficulty.
Damn it, you have to stop these flights,
Rubra complained to the Kohistan Consensus.
That’s nearly two thousand victims this week. There must be something you can do.
We really cannot interdict every hellhawk flight. Their objective does not affect the overall balance of strategic events,
and is relatively harmless.
Not to these kids it isn’t!
Agreed. But we cannot be everyone’s keeper. The effort and risk involved in arranging clandestine rendezvous to pick up the
Deadnights is disproportionate to the reward.
In other words, as long as the hellhawks are busy with this, they can’t cause much trouble elsewhere.
Correct. Unfortunately.
And you used to call me a heartless bastard.
Everybody is suffering from the effects of possession. Until we discover a solution to the entire problem, all we can hope
for is to reduce it to an absolute minimum wherever possible.
Right. I’d like to point out that when Kiera reaches the magic number, it’s me who is going to be the one suffering.
That is some time off yet. Asteroid settlements have been alerted to these clandestine rendezvous flights. There should be
less of them in future.
I bloody well knew I could never trust you lot.
We did not inflict any of this on you, Rubra. And you are quite welcome to transfer into the neural strata of one of our habitats
should it look like Kiera Salter is preparing to shift Valisk out of this universe.
I’ll keep it in mind. But I don’t think you’ll need to welcome this particular prodigal. Dariat is almost ready. Once he comes
over, it’ll be Kiera who is going to have to worry about where I shift Valisk.
Your attempt at subversion is a risky strategy.
That’s how I built Magellanic Itg, through sheer balls. It’s also why I rejected you. You don’t have any.
This is not getting us anywhere.
If it works, I’ll be able to start fighting back on a level you can’t conceive of. Risk makes you alive, that’s what you never
understood. That’s the difference between us. And don’t try coming over all smarmy superior with me. It’s me who’s got an
idea, me who stands a chance. Have you got any suggestions to make, an alternative?
No.
Exactly. So don’t lecture me.
We would urge caution, though. Please.
Urge away.
Rubra dismissed the affinity link with his usual contempt. Circumstances might have forced him into an alliance with his old
culture; but all the renewed contact had done was convince him how right he had been to reject them all those centuries ago.
He switched his primary routine’s attention inward. The group of newly arrived Deadnights had been split up and taken away
to be opened for possession. A temporary village had sprung up at the base of the northern endcap, extravagant tents and small
cosy cottages for the possessed to dwell in. A smaller version of the camps which ringed the starscraper foyers halfway down
the interior. The teams Kiera had working to make the starscrapers safe were finding progress difficult. And in any case,
the possessed didn’t entirely trust the areas they claimed to have secured. Rubra had never stopped his continual harassment.
Nearly ten per cent of the servitor population had been killed as he deployed them on sneak attacks, but he still managed
to eliminate a couple of possessed every day.
Separated from their companions, the Deadnights were easily overwhelmed. Piteous screams and pleas hung over the village like
smog.
One of Rubra’s newest monitor routines alerted him to a minuscule electrical discrepancy within the starscraper where Tolton
was hiding. He had discovered electricity was the key to locating Bonney Lewin when she was using her energistic ability to
fox his visual observation. A series of extremely sensitive routines which now monitored his own biolectric patterns could
sometimes detect a possessed from the backwash of their energistic power. In effect, the entire polyp structure had become
an electronic warfare detector. It was hardly reliable, but he was constantly refining the routines.
He tracked down the wraithish presence to the twenty-seventh floor vestibule where it was moving towards the stairwell muscle
membrane door. Visually, the vestibule was empty. At least, according to his local autonomic sub-routines it was. The current
in one of the organic conductor cables buried behind the wall fluctuated subtly.
Rubra reduced the power to the electrophorescent cells covering the polyp ceiling. The visual image remained the same for
a couple of seconds, then the ceiling darkened. It should have been instantaneous. Whatever was causing the electrical disturbance
stopped moving.
He opened a channel to Tolton’s processor block. “Get going, boy. They’re coming for you.”
Tolton rolled off the bed where he’d been dozing. He’d been staying in the apartment for five days. The original occupant’s
wardrobes had been ransacked for a new ensemble. He’d accessed a good number of the MF and bluesense fleks in the lounge.
And he’d sampled all of the imported delicacies in the kitchen, washing them down with fine wines and a lot of Norfolk Tears.
For a suffering social poet, he’d adapted to hedonism with the greatest of ease. Small wonder there was a graceless scowl
on his face as he snatched up his leather trousers and wriggled his bulk into them.
“Where are they?”
“Ten floors above you,” Rubra assured him. “Don’t worry, you’ve got plenty of time. I’ve got your exit route ready for you.”
“I’ve been thinking, maybe you ought to steer me toward some weapons hardware. I could start evening up the score a little.”
“Let’s just concentrate on the essentials, shall we? Besides, if you get close enough to a possessed to use a weapon, they’re
close enough to turn it against you.”
Tolton addressed the ceiling. “You think I can’t handle it?”
“I thank you for the offer, son, but there are just too many of them. You staying free is my victory against all of them,
don’t blow it for me.”
Tolton clipped the processor block to his belt and fastened his straggly hair back in a ponytail. “Thanks, Rubra. We all got
it way wrong about you. I know it don’t mean shit to you probably, but when this is over, I’m going to tell the whole wide
Confederation what you done.”
“That’s one MF album I’ll buy. First in a long time.”
Tolton stood in front of the apartment’s door, breathed in like a yogamaster, flexed his shoulders like a sport pro warming
up, nodded briskly, and said: “Okay, let’s hustle.”
Rubra felt an obdurate burst of sympathy and, strangely enough, pride as the poet stepped out into the vestibule. When Kiera
started her takeover he assumed Tolton would last a couple of days. Now he was one of only eighty non-possessed left. One
of the reasons he’d survived was because he followed instructions to the letter; in short, he trusted Rubra. And Rubra was
damned if Bonney would get him now.
The invisible energistic swirl was on the move again, descending the stairwell. Rubra started to modify the output of the
electrophorescent cells in the ceiling.
HELLO, BONNEY
, he printed. I
HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU
.
The swirl stopped again.
COME ON, TALK TO ME. WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO LOSE?
He waited. A column of air shimmered silver, as if a giant cocoon had sprung up out of the polyp. Rubra experienced it most
as a slackening of pressure in the local sub-routines; a pressure he hadn’t even been aware of until then. Then the silver
air lost its lustre, darkening to khaki. Bonney Lewin stood on the stairs, her Enfield searching for hazards.
“What proposition?”
ABANDON YOUR CURRENT VICTIM, I WILL GIVE YOU A BETTER ONE.
“I doubt it.”
DOESN’T KIERA WANT DARIAT ANYMORE?
Bonney gave the glowing letters a thoughtful stare. “You’re trying to sucker me.”
NO. THIS IS GENUINE.
“You’re lying. Dariat hates you; he’s totally bonkers about beating seven bells out of you. If we help him, he’ll succeed.”
SO WHY HASN’T HE COME TO YOU FOR HELP?
“Because he’s… weird.”
NO. IT IS BECAUSE USING YOU TO DEFEAT ME WOULD MEAN HAVING TO SHARE THE POWER WHICH WOULD RESULT FROM HIS DOMINATION OF THE
NEURAL STRATA. HE WANTS IT ALL. HE HAS SPENT THIRTY YEARS WAITING FOR AN OPPORTUNITY LIKE THIS. DO YOU THINK HE WILL GIVE
THAT AWAY? AND AFTER ME, KIERA IS GOING TO BE NEXT. THEN PROBABLY YOU.
“So you hand him over to us. That still doesn’t make any sense; either way, we get to nail you.”
DARIAT AND I ARE PLAYING OUR OWN GAME. I DO NOT EXPECT YOU TO UNDERSTAND. BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO LOSE TO HIM.
She worried at a fingernail. “I don’t know.”
EVEN WITH MY HELP, HE WILL BE DIFFICULT TO CATCH. DO YOU FEAR FAILURE?
“Don’t try working that angle on me, it’s pathetic.”
VERY WELL. SO DO YOU ACCEPT?
“Difficult one. I really don’t trust you. But it would be a superb hunt, you’ve got me there. I haven’t had a single sniff
of that tricky little boyo yet, and I’ve been trying for long enough.” She shouldered her rifle. “All right, we’ve got a deal.
But just remember, if you are trying to get me to walk into some ten-thousand-volt power cable, I can still come back. Kiera’s
recording is hauling in thousands of morons. I’ll return in one of them, and then you’ll wish all you had to worry about was
Dariat.”
UNDERSTOOD. FIND APROCESSOR BLOCK AND SWITCH IT TO ITS BASIC ROUTINES, THAT SHOULD KEEP IT FUNCTIONING. I WILL UPDATE YOU
ON HIS LOCATION.
• • •
Dariat walked along the shoreline of the circumfluous saltwater reservoir as the light tube languished to a spectacular golden-orange.
The cove was backed by a decaying earth bluff which tipped an avalanche of the pink Tallok-aboriginal grass onto the sand.
Curving outgrowths of the xenoc plant resembled a meandering tideline, which gave him the impression of walking along a spit
between two different coloured seas. The only sounds were of the water lapping against the sand, and the birds crying out
as they flew back to land for the night.
He had walked here many times as a child, an era when being alone meant happiness. Now he welcomed the solitude again; it
gave him the mindspace to think, to formulate new subversion routines to insert into the neural strata; and he was free of
Kiera and her greed and shallow ambitions. That second factor was becoming a dominant one. They had been looking for him ever
since the Edenists destroyed the industrial stations. With both his knowledge of the habitat and energistically enhanced affinity
it was absurdly easy to elude them. Few ever ventured down to the vast reservoir, preferring to cling to the camps around
starscraper foyers. Without the tubes, it was a long journey across the grassland where malevolent servitor creatures lay
in wait for the negligent.
Trouble,
Rubra announced.
Dariat ignored him. He could hide himself from the possessed easily enough. None of them knew enough about affinity to access
the neural strata properly. As a consequence he no longer bothered hiding himself from Rubra anymore, nor did he bother with
the linen-suited persona. It was all too stressful. The price of release came in the form of taunts and nerve games emanating
from Rubra with unimaginative regularity.
She’s found you, Dariat, she’s coming for you. And boy is she pissed.
Certain he’d regret it, Dariat asked:
Who?
Bonney. There’s nine of them heading right at you in a couple of trucks. I think Kiera was saying something about returning
with your head. Apparently, attachment to your body was considered optional.
Dariat opened his affinity link with the neural strata just wide enough to hitch onto the observational sub-routines. Sure
enough, two of the rugged trucks which the rentcops used were arrowing across the rosy grassland. “Shit.” They were heading
straight for the cove, with about five kilometres left to go.
How the hell did she find me?
Beats me.
Dariat stared straight up, following the line of the coast which looped behind the light tube.
Is there someone above me with a high-rez sensor?