The Night's Dawn Trilogy (64 page)

I hate Adamists,
Lori said.
Only Adamists could do this to one another. They do it because they don’t know one another. They don’t love, they can only
lust and fear.

Darcy smiled, and reached out to touch her, because her mind was leaking a longing for the reassurance of physical contact.
His hand never bridged the gap. An affinity voice with the power of a thunderstorm roared into their minds.

ATTENTION INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVES ON LALONDE, I AM LATON. THERE IS A XENOC ENERGY VIRUS LOOSE IN THE QUALLHEIM COUNTIES.
HOSTILE AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. LEAVE LALONDE IMMEDIATELY. THE CONFEDERATION NAVY MUST BE INFORMED. THIS IS YOUR ONLY PRIORITY
NOW. I CANNOT LAST LONG.

Lori was whimpering, her hands clutching at her ears, mouth frozen open in a horrified wail. Darcy saw her dissolve under
a discharge of chaotic mental images, each of them bright enough to dazzle.

Jungle. A village seen from the air. More jungle. A little boy hanging upside-down from a tree, his stomach sliced open. A
bearded man hanging upside-down from a different tree, lightning flaring wildly.

Heat, excruciating heat.

Darcy grunted at the pain, he was on fire. Skin blackening, hair singeing, his throat shrivelling.

It stopped.

He was prone on the floor. Flames in the background. Always flames. A man and a woman were leaning over him, naked. Their
skin was changing, darkening to green, becoming scaled. Eyes and mouth were scarlet red. The woman parted her lips and a serpent’s
forked tongue slipped out.

His children were crying all around.

Sorry, so sorry I failed you at the last.

Father shame: ignominy that extended down to a cellular level.

Leathery green hands began to run across his chest, a parody of sensuality. Where the fingers touched he could feel the ruptures
begin deep below his skin.

NOW DO YOU BELIEVE?

And voices, audible above his agony. Coming from within, from a deeper part of his brain than affinity originated. Whisperers
in chorus: “We can help, we can make it stop. Let us in, let us free you. Give yourself.”

WARN THEM, CURSE YOU.

Then nothing.

Darcy found himself curled up on the mayope planks of the office floor. He had bitten his lip; a trickle of blood wept down
his chin.

He touched himself gingerly, fingers probing his ribs, terrified of what he would find. But there was no pain, no open wounds,
no internal damage.

“It was him,” Lori croaked. She was in her chair, head bowed, hugging her chest, hands clenched into tight fists. “Laton.
He’s here, he really is here.”

Darcy managed to right himself into a kneeling position, it was enough for now, if he tried to stand he was sure he’d faint.
“Those images…”
Did you see them?

The reptile people? Yes. But the power in that affinity. It… it damn near overwhelmed me.

The Quallheim Counties, that’s where he said it was. That’s over a thousand kilometres away upriver. Human affinity can only
reach a hundred at most.

He’s had thirty years to perfect his diabolical genetic schemes.
Her thoughts were contaminated with fright and revulsion.

“A xenoc energy virus,” Darcy muttered, nonplussed.

What did he mean? And he was being tortured, along with his children. Why? What is going on upriver?

I don’t know. All I know is I wouldn’t trust him, not ever. We saw images, fantasy figures. He’s had thirty years to construct
them, after all.

But they were so real. And why reveal himself? He knows we will eliminate him whatever the cost.

Yes, he knows we will come in force. But with that affinity power he could probably compel even a void-hawk. It would allow
himself and his cronies to spread through the Confederation.

It was so real,
Darcy repeated numbly.
And now we know he is so powerful we can guard against him. It makes no sense, unless he really has run into something he
can’t handle. Something more powerful than he.

Lori gave him a sad, almost defeated look.
We need to know, don’t we?

Yes.

They let their thoughts flow and entwine like the bodies of amorous lovers, reinforcing their strengths, eliminating weaknesses.
Gathering courage.

Darcy used a chair as support, and pulled himself up. Every joint felt ponderously stiff. He sat heavily and dabbed at his
bitten lip.

Lori smiled fondly, and handed him a handkerchief.

Duty first,
he said.
We have to inform Jupiter that Laton is here. That takes precedence over everything. We’re not due a voidhawk visit for another
couple of months. I’ll see Kelven Solanki and request he sends a message to Aethra and the support station out at Murora immediately,
his office has the equipment to do that direct. The Confederation Navy would have to be told anyway, so it might as well be
now. He can also include a report in the diplomatic flek on a colonist-carrier ship that’s heading back to Earth. That ought
to cover us.

And after that we go upriver,
Lori said.

Yes.

“Next!” the sheriff called.

Yuri Wilkin stepped up to the table, keeping the leash tight on his sayce, Randolf. Rain pattered on the empty warehouse’s
roof high above his head. Outside the open end, behind the sheriff, the yellow-brown polyp crater of harbour five was returning
to a semblance of normality. Most of the boats had returned after their night on the river. A work crew from one of the shipyards
were surveying the fire-ravaged hull that was bobbing low in the water. Some captain who hadn’t been fast enough to cast off
when the rioters came boiling along the polyp in search of Ivets.

The smell of burnt wood mingled with more exotic smells from the stored goods that had caught fire in several warehouses.
The flames shooting out of the doomed buildings had been tremendous, even Lalonde’s rain had taken hours to extinguish them.

Yuri had milled around watching along with the rest of the rioters last night, mesmerized with the destruction. The flames
had lit something inside him, something that felt joyful at the sight of a young terrified Ivet reduced to a bloody chunk
of unrecognizable meat beneath the crowd’s clubs. He had yelled encouragement until his throat was hoarse.

“Age?” the sheriff asked.

“Twenty,” Yuri lied. He was seventeen, but he already had a reasonable beard. He crossed his fingers, hoping it would be enough.
There were over two hundred people waiting behind him, all wanting their chance now the sheriffs had started recruiting again.

The sheriff glanced up from his processor block. “Sure you are. You ever used a weapon, son?”

“I eat chikrows every week, shoot them myself. I know how to move around in the jungle OK. And I got Randolf, trained him
all by myself, he’s an ace baiter, knows how to fight, knows how to hunt. He’ll be a big help upriver, you get two of us for
the price of one.”

The sheriff leant forwards slightly, peering over the edge of the table.

Randolf bared his stained fangs. “Killl Ivezss,” the beast snarled.

“OK,” the sheriff grunted. “You willing to take orders? We don’t need people who aren’t prepared to work in a team.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Reckon you might, at that. You got a change of clothes?”

Grinning, Yuri twisted round to show him the canvas duffle bag slung over his shoulder; his laser rifle was strapped to it.

The sheriff picked a vermilion-coloured deputy’s badge from the pile beside his processor block. “There you go. Get yourself
down to the
Swithland
and find a bunk. We’ll swear you in officially once we’re underway. And muzzle that bloody sayce, I don’t want him chewing
up colonists before we get there.”

Yuri rubbed the black scales between Randolf’s battered ears. “Don’t you worry about old Randolf, he ain’t going to hurt no
one, not till I tell him to.”

“Next!” the sheriff called.

Yuri Wilkin settled his hat firmly on his head, and headed for the sun-drenched harbour outside, a song in his heart and mayhem
in mind.

* * *

“Gods, I’ve seen some rough planets in my time, Joshua,” Ashly Hanson said. “But this one takes the biscuit. There isn’t even
anyone at the spaceport who wanted to buy copies of Jezzibella’s MF album, let alone a black-market distribution net.” He
took a drink of juice from his long glass, it was a purplish liquid with plenty of ice bobbing around, some aboriginal fruit.
The pilot never touched alcohol while the
Lady Macbeth
was docked to a station or in a parking orbit.

Joshua sipped his glass of bitter, which was warm and carried a punch almost as strong as some spirits he’d tasted. At least
it had a decent head.

The pub they were drinking in was called the Crashed Dumper, a wooden barnlike structure at the end of the road that linked
the spaceport with Durringham. Various time-expired spaceplane components were fastened up against the walls, the most prominent
a compressor fan from one of the McBoeings that took up most of the end wall, with a couple of the fat blades buckled from
a bird impact. The pub was used by spaceport staff along with the pilots and starship crews. It was, allegedly, one of the
classier pubs in Durring-ham.

If this was refinement, Joshua didn’t like to think what the rest of the city’s hostelries must be like.

“I’ve been on worse,” Warlow growled. The bass harmonics set up vibrations on the surface of the brightlime in his bulbous
brandy glass.

“Where?” Ashly demanded.

Joshua ignored them. This was their second day in Dur-ringham, and he was starting to worry. The day Ashly had flown them
down there had been some sort of riot next to the river. Everything had shut down, shops, warehouses, government offices.
Spaceport procedures had been minimal, but then he suspected they were always like that on Lalonde. Ashly was right, this
was one massively primitive colony. Today had been little better; the Governor’s industrial secretary had put him in touch
with a Durringham timber merchant. The address turned out to be a small office down near the waterfront. Closed, naturally.
Enquiries had eventually traced the owner, Mr Purcell, to a nearby pub. He assured

Joshua a thousand tonnes of mayope was no problem. “You can’t give it away down here, we’ve got stocks backlogged halfway
up the Juliffe.” He quoted a price of thirty-five thousand fuseodollars inclusive, and promised deliveries could start to
the spaceport tomorrow. The wood was a ridiculous price, but Joshua didn’t argue. He even paid a two thousand fuseodollar
deposit.

Joshua, Ashly, and Warlow had gone back to the spaceport on their hired power bikes (and the rental charge on those was bloody
legalized robbery) to try to arrange for a McBoeing charter to ship the wood up to
Lady Mac
. That had taken the rest of the day, and another three thousand fuseodollars in bribe money.

It wasn’t the money which bothered him particularly; even taking Lalonde’s necessary lubrication into account the mayope was
only a small percentage of the cost of a Norfolk flight. Joshua was used to datavised deals, and instant access to anybody
he wanted via the local communication net. On Lalonde, where there was no net, and few people with neural nanonics, he was
beginning to feel out of his depth.

When he had ridden back into town in the late afternoon to find Mr Purcell and confirm they had a McBoeing lined up, the timber
merchant was nowhere to be found. Joshua retreated to the Crashed Dumper in a dark mood. He wasn’t at all sure the mayope
would even turn up tomorrow; and they had to leave in six days to stand any chance of securing a cargo of Norfolk Tears from
a roseyard merchant. Six days, and he didn’t have any alternative to mayope. It had seemed such a good idea.

He took another gulp of his bitter. The pub was filling up as the spaceport staff came off shift. Over in one corner an audio
block was playing a ballad which some of the customers were singing along to. Large fans spun listlessly overhead, trying
to circulate some of the humid air.

“Captain Calvert?”

Joshua looked up.

Marie Skibbow was dressed in a tight-fitting sleeveless green stretch blouse, and a short pleated black skirt. Her thick hair
was neatly plaited. She was carrying a circular tray loaded with empty glasses.

“Now this is what I call improved service,” Ashly said brightly.

“That’s me,” Joshua said. Jesus, but she had tremendous legs. Nice face too, ever so slightly wiser than her age.

“I understand you’re looking for a cargo of mayope, is that right?” Marie asked.

“Does everybody in town know?” Joshua asked.

“Just about. A visit from an independent trader starship isn’t exactly common around here. If we weren’t having all this trouble
with the Quallheim Counties and the anti-Ivet riots you’d be the most gossiped over item in Durringham.”

“I see.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.” He pushed out one of the vacant chairs. People had tended to avoid their table, it was one of the reasons he’d brought
Warlow down. Only someone who was stoned out of his brain would try and tangle with the amount of boosted muscle the old cosmonik
packed into his giant frame.

Marie sat down and fixed Joshua with an uncompromising gaze. “Would you be interested in taking on an extra crew-member?”

“You?” Joshua asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you have neural nanonics?”

“No.”

“Then, I’m sorry, but the answer’s no. I have a full complement anyway.”

“How much do you charge for a trip?”

“Where to?”

“Wherever you’re going next.”

“If we can acquire a cargo of mayope, I’m going to Norfolk. I’d charge you thirty thousand fuseodollars for passage in zero-tau,
more if you wanted a cabin. Starflight isn’t cheap.”