The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy) (39 page)

"If you're coming with us, expect no special treatment. You might not have the others' experience of fighting but you'll get the same as everyone else."

"I realise that," Steve had replied, his voice bitter, his temper close to snapping. "I've had nothing but insults, warnings, even threats since I offered to help. I've stopped drinking. I've joined in the training. I’ve accepted all your conditions and all the risks. Now, get off my back!"

Ursa smiled at the memory as she sprinted to the front of the group. Steve Drake was a man she could see as being admirable, somewhere beneath the rough surface.

They reached the corner of the next block, edgy, easily startled by an old can whipped up into a frenzied dance in the centre of the street by the growing storm.

Ursa studied their surroundings, the tall buildings, the street lamps, several broken, the wide, litter-strewn streets. This was the edge of Central Akasian, but she had never seen it so dirty, so dilapidated. And Drake was right. Where were all the people?

"Perhaps there's a curfew of some kind?" said Damon, as if reading her mind. He was a small man in his mid-thirties, long black hair tugged by the wind, and Ursa smiled at him, noting the nervousness on his face.

"Perhaps," she agreed.
We would have heard.

A sound, unnoticed at first beneath the noise of the wind, grew until they turned their eyes skyward in response. They all recognised the sound, even Steve, despite his short time with the rebellion.

Thwum, thwum, thwum.

"Bird of Death!" gasped Isabelle.

Bosens,
thought Ursa
. Now there's a more likely reason for the desertion, more than any curfew.

"Into the shadows, quickly," she snapped.

The sound grew louder, closer. Steady. Monotonous. Maddening.

John drew closer to her where they crouched. She knew the thoughts that would be going through his head, the memories. She experienced them too. Frightening and horrifying.

So easy to let fear overcome you. So easy to retreat into memories, into madness.

She reached out, took hold of John's hand, felt him squeeze her fingers gratefully.

Thwum, thwum, thwum.

Steve wanted to ignore it. He had heard stories, seen the news reports. He had no wish to experience the horror first hand. He tried to look down at the ground but his eyes were drawn irresistibly upwards.

The sound was directly overhead now, high in the storm tossed night.

I see it!

Like a great cloud, a heavy storm cloud, the Bosen craft moved overhead, the ponderous rotating of its arms carrying it against the wind as though the sky was calm.

The group trying to merge with the shadows of the buildings below froze, held their collective breath, as the great machine seemed to hesitate. Then it continued to move, slowly, ever so slowly, away from them.

No one moved as, gradually, the sound grew fainter and disappeared behind the rushing of the storm.

"I thought for a moment..." said John.

"We all did," whispered Ursa. "Now, let's get moving again."
Don't let them dwell on what might have happened
. "And check your weapons."

Steve felt for his pistol, tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, as the others did the same. They each had a handgun, courtesy of Walker. It was his only concession to the existence of the group.

I hope I never have to use this
, thought Steve.
If it all goes to plan we can be in and out before anyone notices.

One more block and their target faced them.

It was a low, innocuous looking building, squatting between tall office blocks and apartments. Security was light, a small perimeter fence, an obvious alarm system on the exterior wall. Although it was a government building, there was nothing considered valuable or secret within its offices. But there was a com-link to the central government building, and during her time as Mayor Lane's Personal Assistant, Ursa had discovered most of the viable codes and password systems in use. She doubted that they would have
all
been changed.

"There it is," she whispered. "If we can get in there and to the com-terminal, I should be able to tap into the central database, grab some useful information."

"Such as what?" It was a thought that had nagged at Steve since the beginning.

Ursa glared at him.

"I don't know. Not exactly anyway. Once I'm in we'll find something."

Steve nodded acceptance. It was the explanation he had heard before. He just liked to ask every now and then in case a better answer had arisen.

The group moved out quietly, keeping close in to the buildings along the side of the street, leaving the moment when they would have to cross open ground as late as possible.

Ursa, leading the group, watched their target building intensely, waiting for any sign of movement, any hint that there were people working late or security guards patrolling. There was nothing. The lack of workers she understood, overtime had always been frowned upon in government circles, but the apparent lack of security guards worried her. Even on such a low-key installation she would have expected
some
security presence. At the very least a night watchman.

Steve, falling behind as usual, felt a shake approaching, detoxification shuddering through his muscles out of control. They were getting fewer, had never really been that bad, but when they came he was incapable of stopping them. He crouched on the ground, letting the shake build until it would have been noticeable by any observer. There was little else he could do.

The others were moving further away from him, almost to the point where they would need to cross, but he could not move after them, not until the trembling stopped in his legs, the spinning in his head.

I never considered myself an alcoholic
, he thought, forcing coherence through the muddling fog in his head.
But why else would I be feeling like shit since I stopped?

He closed his eyes, allowing the trembling of his muscles to take him over totally. He knew he could walk if he chose to do so, but it was easier to let it pass. It never lasted long. All he had to do was wait.

Ursa glanced back towards the crouching figure. What was he doing? Why had he stopped? She hesitated, unsure what to do, whether to wait.

"The drunk's not worth it. We don't need him," said Jason, coming alongside her.

Ursa nodded, hesitated again, reconsidered.

Why am I even thinking about it? Agent Rawlings is right. We don't need him. He'd be next to useless if there was any trouble anyway.

"Let's get it done then," she said. "We'll pick him up on the way back, if he's still there."

Jason smiled as she moved towards the front once more. He looked towards the figure of Steve, back in the shadows.

He's making it easy for me. Alienating himself from the rest of the group. When the circumstances are right I can carry out my orders and kill him without repercussion. It will be so easy to kill him. So easy.

Steve had seen Ursa and Jason looking towards him, talking to each other.

Maybe they do care about me
, he thought.
Perhaps they'll wait
.

He allowed a shuddering sigh to pass through him as he watched them turn and rejoin the rest of the group.

So much for that. As always, I'm on my own
. He smiled grimly.
I should be used to that by now.

He watched, his shaking gradually subsiding, as the group began to cross the street at a gentle jogging pace.

He was shocked by the sudden explosion of light from the rooftop of the building they crossed towards, a false daylight filling the street, catching the rebels in the open, exposed.

Gunshots cracked in the silence, echoing off the walls of the surrounding buildings, and he saw at least two of his colleagues fall to the ground.

The others were crouching low, their guns drawn, firing back into the darkness that stood menacingly outside the small area of light. They were shouting, swearing, already aware of what Steve now realised, the futility of running.

Soldiers closed in on them from all sides, cutting off any hope of escape. In moments it would be over. All of them dead.

I can't just watch this happen. Shit!

He fumbled for the gun in his jacket pocket, tugging at it as it caught in the lining.

I've got to do something. I've got to try.

The gun came free. He almost dropped it, gripped it tightly with both hands.

It's so heavy. I don't remember it being so fucking heavy!

He didn’t really know
what
he intended to do. He only knew that he could not stand by and watch the others be shot down without any hope of escape. Part of his mind was shouting at him, screaming that he might as well just put the gun to his own head and pull the trigger, that he would surely die if he did anything but run. But another part, a prouder, more romantic, perhaps even more heroic part urged him onwards.

A futile gesture
, he thought, a bitter smile twisting his mouth.
At least it makes a change from running away from responsibility.

He raised the gun, his hands shaking, not, for once, from DT's but from sheer, basic fear.

If I miss I could hit Ursa or one of the others. If I hit I'll be killing a man, a stranger, shooting him in the back. At least I don't have to look at his eyes.

His finger tightened on the trigger. He half closed his eyes, tried to aim towards the back of the nearest soldier.

Larn, forgive me.

He squeezed, as he had been taught by the rebels. The gun jumped in his hands, a strangely empty popping sound echoing off the buildings, down the street. It took him a moment to realise it was his gun.

The soldier jumped, half turned, and fell forward to the ground, his rifle skittering across the street.

Shit! I did it!

A strange, powerful sense of elation filled him, lifted him to his feet. He found he was smiling inanely but he could not stop.

Another soldier was turning towards him, swinging his rifle round.

Steve raised the gun again, squeezed the trigger, and again, and again.

The soldier jerked, seemed to almost dance, staggered and fell.

Other soldiers were turning now, but they too were falling. Steve hesitated, wondered how he was firing so many shots, before he realised that his colleagues were concentrating their firing on the confusion he had caused. The soldiers were not sure who to fire at, and in their confusion were dying.

A gap had opened in the ring, a gap created by the dead bodies of the soldiers Steve had shot, bodies that lay grotesquely sprawled on the ground, slowly seeping blood in small rivers and pools.

Steve suddenly felt sick, felt his fingers loosen on the gun, heard it drop to the ground.

I killed them. I murdered them!

He was startled by a familiar voice shouting at him.

"Come on. Move!" snapped Ursa, running through the gap followed by John, Jason and Isabelle.

Steve felt his arm grabbed, allowed himself to be tugged along, only barely hearing the confused and angry shouts of the soldiers fading gradually further behind them.

Chapter 57

Carina looked at the wall clock just as the six flickered to life in 00:16. Sixteen minutes past midnight. The only sounds in the room were the electronically produced ticking of the wall clock and another clock, standing on top of a long cabinet against the opposite wall. The two tickings, one low, one high, were oddly asynchronous, lending a brooding, macabre background to the silence.

She had not moved from the room since her personal guards had brought her here almost ten hours ago. Food and drink were available in plenty from the dispensers in the kitchen alcove but she chose to abstain. The chairs were comfortable, yet she sat cross-legged on the floor, gently rocking to and fro. She had seen no one during those ten hours, and her legs ached close to agony, yet she did not move.

Why do they build ticking into clocks?
she thought angrily.
There's no practical need anymore, just a whim. A bloody annoying whim.

She was vaguely aware that the ticking could be turned off, but that would require movement and she had no desire to move.

She still carried the warm satisfaction of Lane's death. Jimmy was avenged, finally, and with her own hand.

She had expected retribution, some form of punishment. Instead she had been housed in this small but plush room in the Leader's residential apartments and treated with kindness and respect by those who stood guard over her. They did not even feel it necessary to stay in the room with her. Once she was here, the door closed, she was free. Free, as long as she did not leave the confines of these walls.

An asylum. Comfortable, true, but an asylum nevertheless.

They just don't call it that.

00:18.

Two minutes had passed since she had last checked the clock.

I don't feel tired. No. I
do
feel tired, but not enough to sleep. It's so difficult to sleep.

She doubted that she had managed more than three consecutive hours of sleep since plunging the knife into Lane. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, yet still she could not sleep.

She allowed her head to sag. Straggling knots of hair, unwashed and uncombed, hung about her face like tattered curtains. She closed her eyes but with little hope of rest. Her mind clattered with thoughts, but so few were coherent, so few meant anything to her. Those that did were about Lane or Jimmy. All she had left were memories and the continuing satisfaction.

The door to her room swung open. There was no knocking, no announcement or request to enter, simply an opening of the door.

Carina looked up, saw the grim face of Suzex, no longer in an Aksian uniform but dressed casually and, to Carina's mind, scruffily, and dropped her eyes to the carpet once more.