“What did you do?”
“Something very foolish, and unpleasant. Not that I had a lot of choice at the time. It was them or me. I think that’s why
B7 gave me this deal. I’m not what you’d call a standard career criminal. I even had a family. Haven’t seen them for a couple
of decades, but I’m allowed to know how they’re getting on.”
“But you were still told how to treat me.”
“I was ordered what information to supply to you, and when. Everything else I ever said or did was the real me.”
“Including coming back to London now?”
Ivanov chuckled quietly. “Oh no. Natural altruism doesn’t run to this insanity. I’m here under orders.” He paused. “But now
I’m here, I will do my best to protect you if the need arises.”
“You think coming back was stupid?”
“Completely idiotic. B7 should toughen up and nuke London. It’s the only way we’ll ever be rid of these possessed.”
“That kind of weapon won’t work against Quinn Dexter.”
“Is that so?” A long finger stroked the alligator-skin case slowly. “Do you trust this Fletcher guy we’re going to meet?”
“Of course. Fletcher is a decent and kind man. He looked after Gen and I all the way from Norfolk.”
“Should be interesting,” Ivanov mumbled. He turned to watch the concrete wall of the tunnel slip past outside the car.
They arrived at a small vac-train freight station somewhere in one of the arcology’s underground industrial zones. Charlie
had selected it because there was a direct road from the garage, and the net was still functioning in that sector.
The platform was a lot narrower than those at Kings Cross, with large units of heavy-duty cargo handling machinery standing
by every airlock. When Louise and Ivanov emerged out of a service lift, eight GISD field agents were waiting for them, each
equipped with a static bullet machine gun.
The train arrived five minutes later. Only one airlock door opened. Detective Brent Roi stepped out first, looking round suspiciously.
When his gaze found Louise, his expression told her he was officially the unhappiest person on the planet.
“Out,” he snapped over his shoulder.
Fletcher Christian emerged from the airlock, dressed in his immaculate naval uniform. Two guards were right behind him, and
there was a thick metal collar clamped round his throat. Louise didn’t care, under the stiff gaze of the field agents she
ran over and flung her arms round him.
“Oh God, I missed you,” she blurted. “Are you all right?”
“Hardy enough, my dearest Lady Louise. And you? How have you fared since we parted last? More unsuitable adventures, I’ll
warrant.”
She was wiping tears off against his lapels, the buttons on his jacket pressing into her skin. “Something like that.” She
clutched him tighter, amazed by how glad she was to see him, the one person she really trusted on the whole planet. His hand
stroked the back of her head.
“Jesus wept,” Brent Roi exclaimed in disgust.
Louise let go and took a timid step back. Fletcher’s mournful eyes showed he understood.
“You two finished?”
Ivanov stepped forwards. “Try picking on me,” he said to the Halo detective.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Put it this way, we share the same supervisor. And if you had a high enough security rating to be told what Louise has done
for us, you’d display some respect there as well.”
Fletcher was looking at the hulking private detective with some interest. Ivanov thrust his hand out. “Pleased to meet you,
Fletcher. I’m the guy who’s been looking out for Louise down here.” He winked at her. “When circumstances allow me to.”
Fletcher bowed. “Then you do us all a service, sir. I would be sorely grieved if any harm befell such a treasured flower.”
Brent Roi sighed in disbelief. “You want to get on with this?”
“Sure,” Ivanov said. “We’ll take over from you. I doubt I have to sign for him, right?”
“Take over? As in my part’s finished? It’s not that goddamn easy. I haven’t got any way of getting back to the Halo. I’m fucking
stuck here escorting this jerk.”
Louise was about to tell him B7 could get him back up the orbital tower, then she saw Ivanov’s face go blank momentarily.
Charlie must be telling him something.
“Okay,” Ivanov said sadly. “But just so you know, it wasn’t my idea.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
Louise sat next to Fletcher when they got back to the car. Ivanov and Brent took the jump seats opposite.
“It’s your show,” Ivanov told Fletcher. “How do you want to play this?”
“Wait a minute,” Louise said. “Fletcher, what’s that collar?”
“Pacifier,” Brent grunted. “If he gets fruity, I can slam a thousand-volt charge through him. Believe me, that makes these
possessed bastards sit up and take notice.”
“Take it off,” she demanded.
“Lady Louise—”
“No. Take it off. I wouldn’t treat an animal like that. It’s monstrous.”
“While I’m near him, it stays on,” Brent said. “You can’t trust them.”
“Charlie,” Louise datavised. “Tell them to take it off. I’m not joking. I won’t cooperate any further until you stop treating
Fletcher like this.”
“Sorry, Louise,” Charlie replied. “The Halo police were jumpy. It was only supposed to be while he was in transit.”
She watched Brent’s expression darken as he received a datavise from Charlie. “Fuck it all,” he spat. There was a click from
Fletcher’s collar, and the locking mechanism rotated ninety degrees. Fletcher reached up and tugged at it experimentally.
It came away in his hands.
“Hey.” Brent slid the front of his jacket to one side, revealing a shoulder holster containing a very large automatic pistol.
Three reserve clips had small red lightning emblems on them. He stared at Fletcher. “I’m watching you.”
Fletcher placed the collar disdainfully on the floor between them. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Ivanov said. “We want you comfortable.”
“You mentioned a weapon, Lady Louise.”
“Yes, the Confederation Navy have designed something that destroys souls. They want you to try and get close enough to Dexter
to shoot him with it.”
“True death,” Fletcher said in wonder. “There are many who would welcome that right now. Are you certain such a device works?”
“That’s confirmed,” Ivanov said. “It’s been tested.”
“If I might be so bold as to ask, upon whom?”
“The project director used it on himself and a possessed who was threatening him.”
“I am uncertain if that is heroism or tragedy. Did they suffer?”
“Not a thing. It’s completely painless.”
“Another example of your much-vaunted progress. May I see this fearsome instrument?”
Ivanov put the alligator-skin case on his knees and datavised the entry code. The lock bleeped, and he opened it. Five matt-black
cylinders, thirty centimetres long, were nesting on the grey foam inside. He picked one out. One end had a glass lens, and
there was a single flat red button on the side.
“The majority of its components are bitek, so it should be able to resist a possessed glitching it for a while. Simple operation.
Push the button forward, so”—he worked it with his thumb—“to activate. Then press to fire. It will shine a narrow beam of
red light, which has to strike your target’s eyes to work. Estimated effective range is fifty metres.”
“Yards,” Louise murmured with a smile.
Fletcher inclined his head in thanks.
“Whatever,” Ivanov said. He handed the weapon to Fletcher. Brent tensed up. But Fletcher simply examined the gadget with mild
curiosity.
“It seems naught but a harmless stick,” he said.
“There’s plenty goes on inside that you can’t see.”
“Nor understand, I’ll warrant. However, its use is plain enough to me. Tell me, what happens to the original soul of a body
when this is fired at a possessing soul?”
Ivanov cleared his throat carefully. “It does as well.”
“That is murder.”
“One death is a small price to pay for ridding the universe of Quinn Dexter.”
“Aye, the affairs of kings are not to be questioned by their subjects. For that is what makes them kings. Judged only by Our
Lord.”
“Can I have one as well, please?” Louise asked.
Ivanov handed her one of the tubes without comment. She checked the trigger button briefly, then put it in an inside pocket
on her waistcoat.
Ivanov took one for himself and offered Brent Roi one. The Halo detective shook his head.
“Now all we have to do is find Quinn Dexter,” Ivanov said. He looked at Fletcher. “Any ideas?”
“Do you have any notion where he might be?”
“Only a general assumption that he’s in the Westminster dome; that’s where he seems to have consolidated his grip on the other
possessed. Logically he can’t be too far away from them.”
“I know of Westminster, but not of its dome.”
“Basically, the whole of the London you knew got put under a protective glass bubble. That’s the dome. He could be anywhere
inside the city.”
“Then I would suggest you take me to a suitable vantage point. I may be able to determine where large groups of the possessed
fester. It would be a start.”
______
It was the sign of a good leader that he could adapt quickly to changing circumstances. After the last couple of days, Quinn
now considered himself to be ranked among history’s greatest. The curfew had come as a considerable shock, not least because
it meant the supercops were on to him once more. He had a good idea who’d told them—a knowledge which was almost pleasing.
Of course, the curfew had completely screwed up his earlier plans. The possessed from the Lancini had done as they were ordered,
and used the night to take over a quantity of people in the designated buildings. But then the day workers hadn’t arrived,
and the game changed.
Quinn had sent runners out through the maze of tunnels and service shafts below the arcology, contacting the groups and telling
them what to do next. They were to take out the police as he’d originally intended, luring them into ambushes and incinerating
the precinct stations. Given their smaller numbers, it would take longer, but with the curfew conveniently shutting down the
rest of the arcology the police would have little back-up or support available. He also told his followers to target the net
and power substations, further isolating the beleaguered police.
By late afternoon, deprived of police or emergency services, power and communications, the arcology’s population had effectively
been imprisoned in their own homes. Quinn had achieved his goal without any need to smash the transport network, utilities,
and food factories.
It was almost what he’d originally intended, and achieved with fewer possessed than he’d originally estimated. That weighed
heavily in his favour; it was easier to exert discipline over a smaller number. And the arcology, with all its prized resources,
remained intact for him to use as he wished. His tightest control was imposed over the Westminster dome, with fear paralysing
the nine outer domes, rendering them useless as possible sources of resistance.
With London secure, Quinn had made one attempt to send disciples to Birmingham in overland vehicles. The venture had resulted
in SD strikes and the total destruction of the commandeered vehicles.
He knew it was never going to be that easy.
As the first night wore on, and his possessed battalions continued their mopping-up operation against the civic authorities,
he had several technical and engineering experts brought to his headquarters. They were put to work on methods of travel unsusceptible
to the SD platforms. A token gesture. He knew the coming war of Night would not be fought with science and machines. It would
be personal and glorious, as war was meant to be.
As darkness fell, the bedlam of the demons had grown louder. Quinn supplicated himself across the desecrated altar of St Paul’s
cathedral and delved deep into the ghost realm once more. This time he was rewarded with the greatest knowledge there could
be, so beautiful he whimpered at its impact. God’s Brother Himself was awaking from His banishment at some unimaginable distance
past the end of the universe. Cries of glory and rapture rose from the demons as they welcomed their vast Lord among them,
his ominous presence bringing a vigour and strength they had never known before.
Their cold dreaming thoughts infiltrated Quinn’s mind. He could know them in all their astounding multitude, bound together
in an enchanted torment. God’s Brother arose before them, hot and dark, radiant with malevolence. They reached out for Him,
to be gifted with His power. And He freed them, His energy banishing their chains so they could soar again, as they once had
so long ago. An entire army of apocalyptic angels, enraptured by their new state, and hungry. Hungry for so many things they
had been denied for all this terrible time. They swirled in adulation around the Light Bringer in a cyclone larger than the
world, screaming their malignant pleasure at His coming.
Quinn left his ghostdreaming behind, his body solidifying to wake upon the altar just as dawn brought a grey light to the
stained glass windows around him. There were tears in his eyes as he started to laugh. “Oh Banneth, you piece of shit, where
are you now, unbeliever. This truth is when you’d finally despair.”
“Quinn?” Courtney asked anxiously. “Quinn, you okay?”
“He’s coming.”
Courtney cast a glance towards the huge blackened oak doors at the far end of the cathedral. “Who?”
“God’s Brother, you dumb bitch.” Quinn stood on the altar and held his arms wide as he looked down on the congregation of
possessed milling across the nave. “I have seen Our Lord. Seen Him! He lives. He has risen to lead us to the final victory.
He brings an army that will tear down the bright metal angels guarding the sky. Night will fall!” He was shaking with conviction.
Courtney watched in a kind of dread awe as he slowly looked down at her. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I believe, Quinn. I always believe you.”
“Yeah. You really do, don’t you.” He jumped lightly to the stone and marble floor, a wild grin visible before the blackness
exuded by his robe eclipsed his flesh. His hood swung round to face the subdued congregation. Over five hundred of them had
been mustered now, waiting obediently for the dark Messiah to tell them what he wanted from them. Their numbers were added
to slowly, as further nonpossessed captives were brought to the cathedral via underground service tunnels. The immediate vicinity
around St Paul’s had been cleared of commercial and office buildings several centuries ago, extending its gardens and moating
them with a pedestrian plaza. Quinn knew damn well that if too many people crossed all that open space to enter by any of
the regular doors the satellites and dome sensors would see them. The pattern would be recorded, and the supercops would become
curious at why none of them ever left. So the accumulation of his power base had to proceed slowly and cautiously.