One thing she’d made quite sure of was keeping in contact with her deputies. Hudson Proctor could use his affinity to talk
to the remaining Valisk survivors positioned through the asteroid, who in turn kept in touch with their recruits through the
net. Communications remained the key to any revolution.
Unfortunately, it didn’t guarantee success.
“Just how many people have declared for us?” Kiera asked.
Hudson Proctor took the figures he knew of, and added quite a few. No way was he about to deliver that much bad news by himself.
“About a thousand in the asteroid.”
“What about the fleet?” she demanded. “How many ships?”
“Jull reported several dozen were heading for low orbit before Emmet’s crew wiped him out. But they wrecked the SD centre.
Capone can’t use the platforms to intimidate anybody, in space or on the planet.”
“Where the hell is Luigi?”
“I don’t know, he hasn’t checked in.”
“Damn it, didn’t anyone listen to me? Luigi’s part was crucial, the fleet must follow us down to the planet. Capone is going
to get us all slung back into the beyond.”
Hudson had heard the speech countless times already. He said nothing.
“I should have gone for the control centre, not Capone,” Kiera said. She looked at the crystalline bulwark, which undulated
rapidly, twinkling with emerald light. One of her goons fired his machine gun through a gap where the doors used to be. “Maybe
we should try and get up to the defence section, there’s bound to be an auxiliary control room.”
“We’ll never get past Pileggi,” Hudson said. “There’s too many of them.”
“Only if we make a break for it through the front.” Kiera tilted her head up to stare at the ceiling. “I’ll bet we can…” She
trailed off as a silver-white starship with glowing engine nacelles rose ponderously into view outside the big window wall.
“Oh shit,” Hudson murmured. “That’s the
Varrad
. And Pran Soo is not your biggest fan.”
“Talk to her, find out what she wants.”
He licked his lips and began a frown which never really had time to form. “I can’t—oh.”
The hellhawk’s fantasy image burst. It dropped out of sight, rolling as it went. Another one glided up to replace it, a dark
bird-shape with red-flecked reptile scales. Hudson grinned in relief. “Etchells.”
“Ask him if he can hit Pileggi with his lasers.”
“Right.” Hudson concentrated. “Uh, he says he has a question for you.”
Kiera’s processor block bleeped. Not taking her eyes off Hudson, she slipped it out of her jacket pocket. “Yes?”
“I need to know something,” Etchells said. “Do you believe the Navy mission to the Orion Nebula is a danger to us?”
“Of course I do, that’s why you and the others have been refitted with auxiliary fusion generators. It has to be investigated.”
“We agree on that, then.”
“Good. Now target the Organization grunts holding me in here, and I’ll eliminate Capone. With him out of the way I can assign
antimatter warships to the flight. The threat can be dealt with properly.”
“Twenty-seven voidhawks have swallowed away from their patrol orbits without clearance. That means they have found an alternative
source of nutrient fluid. Even if you gain control of the Organization, you will lose them.”
“But gain control of the antimatter.”
“The Confederation Navy is coming. Every orbital facility the planet has will be obliterated in their attack. Your strategy
was to take New California out of the universe to a place of safety.”
“Yes?” she asked irritably. “So?”
“How do you propose to maintain the blackmail threat over the crews of the ships you dispatch to the nebula?”
Kiera turned from Hudson Proctor to look directly at the hellhawk on the other side of the window. “We’ll come up with something.”
“Your rebellion has failed. Capone is on his way with enough gangsters to overwhelm you.”
“Fuck you.”
“I sincerely believe the Navy mission is a threat to my continued existence in this form. That must be prevented. I intend
to fly to Mastrit-PJ, and I’m offering you the chance to escape with me.”
“Why?”
“You have the arming codes for the combat wasps I have been loaded with. Admittedly they are only fusion warheads, but I will
take you off the asteroid if you make those codes available to me.”
Kiera scanned round the ruined lounge. The machine guns opened fire again with a thunderclap tattoo. Sapphire light flexed
hungrily within the crystals, causing them to expand further into the lounge. “Very well.”
The hellhawk surged forwards, its neck flattening out. Energistic power cloaked its hooked beak with a lambent red glow. The
lounge’s window rippled as the tip pressed against it, then parted like water to allow the vast creature’s head into the lounge.
A huge iris swivelled round to fix on Kiera. The beak parted to reveal an airlock hatch inside.
“Welcome aboard,” Etchells said.
______
Al ran down the last flight of stairs to find Mickey standing at the bottom. The lieutenant took a terrified step backwards.
“Al, please, I did everything I could. I swear it.” He crossed himself elaborately. “On my mother’s life, we tried to get
Jez out of there. Three of the guys got whacked just stepping through the door. Those bullets are too much. They kill you,
Al, kill you dead.”
“Shut the fuck up, Mickey.”
“Sure, Al, sure thing. Absolutely. I’m dumb. From now on. Definitely.”
Al peered across the hallway. Bullets had shredded the composite wall panelling, even hacking their way into the metal behind.
Opposite him, the Nixon suite’s doors glinted prismatically in the light emerging from the two surviving ceiling panels.
“Where’s Kiera, Mickey?”
“She was in there, Al. I swear.”
“Was?”
“They stopped firing a couple of minutes ago. We can sense some of them still.”
Al tapped his baseball bat on the floor, contemplating the Nixon suite. “Hey,” he shouted. “You in there. I brought a whole
truckload of my guys with me, and any minute now we’re gonna march right in and beat seven types of crap out of you. Your
shooters ain’t gonna be no good against this many of us. But if you come out right now, then you got my word that you don’t
get your balls screwed into the nearest light socket. This is between me and Kiera now. Walk away.”
The baseball bat tapped out a metronome beat on the ground. A figure moved behind the crystalline sheet with slow caution.
“Mickey?” Al asked. “Why didn’t you just jump the bastards through the ceiling?”
Mickey’s shoulders wriggled awkwardly under his double-breasted suit. “The ceiling?”
“Never mind.”
“I’m coming out,” Hudson Proctor called. He stepped through the gap in the crystal; his arm was outstretched, holding the
machine gun by its strap.
Thirty Thompson sub-machine guns were lined up on him, most of them silver-plated. He closed his eyes and waited for the shots,
Adam’s apple bobbing quickly.
Al couldn’t quite figure the spark of outrage glimmering in the man’s mind. Fear, yes, plenty of it. But Hudson Proctor was
indignant about something.
“Where is she?” Al asked.
Hudson tilted over from his waist, allowing the machine gun to rest on the floor before letting go of the strap. “Gone,” he
said. “A hellhawk took her off.” He paused, real anger heating his expression. “Just her. I was climbing in behind her and
she shoved a fucking gun in my face. That bitch; there was room for all of us on board—she just left us behind. Didn’t give
a fuck about us. I made everything happen for her, you know. Without me she would never have kept control of the hellhawks.
I was the one who kept them in line.”
“Why did a hellhawk take her off?” Al asked. “She ain’t got nothing over them any more.”
“It’s Etchells, the
Stryla
, he’s obsessed about what kind of weapon the Tyrathca have on the other side of the Orion Nebula. He took her with him so
she could fire the combat wasps. They’ll probably start the first inter-species war. Both of them are crazy enough.”
“Women, huh?” Al gave him a friendly grin.
Hudson’s face twitched. “Yeah. Women. Fuck ’em.”
“All they’re good for.” Al laughed.
“Yeah, right.”
The baseball bat caught Hudson square on the crown of his head, smashing through the bone to cleave the brain in two. Blood
splashed down the front of Al’s sharply cut suit, splattering on his patent leather shoes. “And just look at the shit they
get you into,” he told the collapsing corpse.
Thirty streamers of white fire stabbed out in unison, vaporizing the crystal wall and decimating the possessed cowering behind
it.
Libby’s cries brought them to the bedroom. Everyone hung back as Al went through the door into the darkened room. Libby was
kneeling on the floor, cradling a figure in a stained towelling robe. Her thin voice was a constant piteous wail, like some
animal braying for its dead mate. She rocked softly backwards and forwards, dabbing at Jezzibella’s face. Al moved forwards,
fearing the worst. But Jezzibella’s thoughts were still present, still flowing through her own brain.
Libby turned her head to face him, tears glinting down her cheeks. “Look what they did,” she whimpered. “Look at my poppet,
my beautiful beautiful poppet. Devils, devils all of you. That’s why you were sent to the beyond. You’re devils.” Her shoulders
trembled as she slowly curled herself around Jezzibella, cuddling her fiercely.
“It’s okay,” Al said. His mouth was dry and he bent down beside the stricken old woman. In his whole life he’d never been
so scared for what he would see.
“Al?” Jezzibella gasped. “Al, is that you?”
Scorched, empty eye sockets searched round for him. He gripped her hand, feeling the black skin crack open under his fingers.
“Sure, baby, I’m here,” his faint voice faded as his throat closed up. He wanted to join Libby and put his head back and scream.
“I didn’t tell her,” Jezzibella said. “She wanted to know where you were, but I never said.”
Al was sobbing. Like it
mattered
if Kiera had found out, everyone who counted had stayed loyal in the end. But Jez hadn’t known that. Had done what she thought
was needed. For him.
“You’re an angel,” he bawled. “A goddamn fucking angel sent down from heaven to show me what a worthless piece of shit I am.”
“No,” she cooed. “No, Al.”
He traced his fingers over the remnants of her precious face. “I’ll make you better,” he promised. “You’ll see. Every doctor
on this crappy little world is gonna come up here and cure you. I’m gonna make them. And you’ll get well again. I’ll be here
right beside you the whole time. And I’m gonna take care of you from now on. Good care. You’ll see. No more of this hurting
and fighting. Never again. You’re all that matters to me. You’re everything, Jez. Everything.”
______
Mickey hung around at the back of the crowd shuffling about in the Nixon suite when the two terrified-looking non-possessed
doctors arrived. He reckoned that was the smart thing. Be there, show off your loyalty like a medal, but don’t get into direct
line of sight. Not at a time like this. He knew the boss well enough by now. Somebody was going to pay very hard for what
was going down. Very hard indeed. The asteroid was rotten with rumours about how the Confederation had learned how to torture
a possessed for months. If anybody could improve on that, it would be the Organization, with Patricia as chief researcher.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Mickey’s nerves were so shot they fired his leg muscles to jump. The hand prevented any
actual movement, holding him fast with abnormal strength. “What is this?” he squawked with fake indignation. “Don’t you know
who I am?”
“I don’t care who you are,” Gerald Skibbow said. “Tell me where Kiera is.”
Mickey tried to size up his… well, not assailant, exactly—questioner. Unnervingly powerful, and zero sense of humour. Not
a good combination. “The bitch showed us a clean pair of heels. A hellhawk took her off. Now let me have my shoulder back,
man. Jesus!”
“Where did it take her?”
“Where did… Oh, like you’re going after them?” Mickey sneered.
“Yes.”
Mickey didn’t like the way this was speedballing downhill. He dropped the sarcasm approach. “The Orion Nebula, okay. Can I
go now, thank you.”
“Why would she go there?”
“What is it to you, pal?” a voice asked.
Gerald let go of Mickey and turned to face Al Capone. “Kiera is possessing our daughter. We want her back.”
Al nodded thoughtfully. “You and I need to talk.”
______
Rocio watched the taxi roll across the docking ledge towards him. Its elephant trunk airlock tube lifted up and fastened onto
his hatch.
“We’ve got a visitor,” he announced to Beth and Jed.
Both of them hurried along the main corridor to the airlock. The hatch was already open, framing a familiar figure. “Bugger
me,” she grunted. “Gerald!”
He smiled wearily at her. “Hello. I brought some decent grub. Figured I owe you that much.” There was a huge pile of boxes
on the floor of the taxi behind him.
“What happened, mate?” Jed asked. He was peering round the old loon, trying to read the labels.
“I rescued my husband.” Loren manifested her own face over Gerald’s, and smiled at the two youngsters. “I must thank you for
taking care of him. God knows it’s not easy at the best of times.”
“Rocio!” Beth yelled.
A shocked Jed was stumbling backwards. “He’s possessed! Run!”
Rocio’s face appeared in one of the brass-rimmed portholes. “It’s all right,” he assured them. “I cut a deal with Al Capone.
We’re taking the Skibbows with us, and tracking down my murderous old friend Etchells. In return, the Organization supplies
the hellhawks with every technical assistance they need securing Almaden, and then leaves them alone.”
Beth gave Gerald a nervous glance, not at all trustful, no matter who was possessing him. “Where are we going?” she asked
Rocio.
“The Orion Nebula. To start with.”