The Naked God

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Louise sighed and sat down on the bed. She patted the mattress, and Gen made a show of being reluctant to sit beside her. “If you really, really don’t want to go out with Andy for the evening, I’ll cancel.”

  “You’re not going to kiss him or anything, are you?”

  “No!” Louise laughed. “Devil child. What a dreadful thing to say.”

  “Then why?”

  Louise stroked the dark hair from Gen’s face, letting the flexitives ripple it over her ears. “Because,” she said softly. “I’ve never been asked out to dinner with a boy before. Not to a fancy restaurant where I can dress to kill. I don’t suppose it’ll ever happen again. Not even Joshua asked me out. Not that he could, of course. Not when we were at Cricklade.”

  “Is he the baby’s father?”

  “Yes. Joshua’s the father.”

  Gen brightened. “That means he’s going to be my brother-in-law.”

  “Yes. I suppose it does.”

  “I like Joshua. It’ll be stupendous having him living at Cricklade. He’s such jolly fun.”

  “Oh yeah. He’s fun all right.” She closed her eyes, remembering the way his hands had caressed. Warm and skilful. It had been so long since she’d seen him. But he did promise … “So, what do I tell Andy Behoo, then? Do we go, or do we stay here all night?”

  “Can I wear my party dress, too?” Gen asked.

  The scene playing out above the B7 sensenviron conference room table was the one involving the failed sabotage attempt against Edmonton’s water station. It wasn’t a particularly good image, the station’s perimeter sensors were hardly commercial-quality; but the two humanoid figures shouting at each other had enough colour and resolution to sketch in their individual features. Billy-Joe was being suspended several centimetres off the floor of the alley by the large possessed man. Their noses were almost touching. Then Billy-Joe was slapped hard, more words were exchanged. The two of them ran off down the squalid alley.

  “We think we know who Carter McBride is,” Western Europe told the other supervisors as the recording ended. “The AI found several references. He was the child of a colonist family on the same starship that took Quinn Dexter to Lalonde. According to the Lalonde Development Company files I accessed, the McBrides were also in the same village that Dexter was assigned to for his work-time.”

  “A friend of Carter McBride,” Southern Africa mused. “You mean this new possessed was on Lalonde?”

  “Yes,” Western Europe said. “And the whole Quallheim Counties trouble was originally thought to be an Ivet rebellion over the killing of some boy. The obvious conclusion is that it was Carter. That implies the possessed who blew the sabotage group in Edmonton has to be someone killed on Lalonde at around the same time.”

  “So you’re saying that this possessed person is out for revenge against Quinn Dexter?”

  “Exactly,” North America said. “We have a new ally.”

  “Bullshit,” South Pacific said sharply. “Just because the possessed have internal disputes, that doesn’t make one faction friendly towards us. Suppose this new possessed does manage to eliminate Dexter? Do you really think he’ll just conveniently vanish for us afterwards? I certainly don’t. In any case, we’re not exactly communicating with him, are we? You lost him and this waster boy. What kind of amateurism is that?”

  “I’d like to see you do better in that goddamn labyrinth,” North America snapped.

  “Given the speed at which this new development broke, I think the situation was handled as adroitly as possible,” Western Europe said.

  “However, it does introduce some new factors which I believe warrant our consideration.”

  “Such as?” North Pacific asked suspiciously.

  “I believe it will force Dexter to abandon all his activities for a while. Unfortunately, this wretched little oik Billy-Joe couldn’t be intercepted, so we must assume he returned to Dexter and passed on the message he was given. As a consequence, Dexter will know he has a possessed stalking him; and that after the sabotage mission was exposed, the authorities have confirmed there are possessed in Edmonton. If we’re right about his reasons for being here—to wreck as much of the planet as possible—he’ll have no choice but to ignore Banneth and either abandon or betray the remaining possessed in the arcology. Then he’ll lay low until political pressure forces the North American senate to reopen the vac-train lines. Face it, we can’t keep them shut for months unless there is a visible threat to rattle the public with. Time is on his side. We’re already compromising ourselves with the actions we’ve taken to date.”

  “Not a chance,” South Pacific blurted. She pointed a hostile finger at Western Europe. “Very smooth. But I can see what you’re angling for, and I say no. No way.”

  “Angling for what?” Central America asked.

  “He wants us to open Edmonton’s vac-train routes.”

  “Count me out,” Asian Pacific said quickly.

  “Absolutely not,” East Asia agreed. “We’ve got Dexter bottled up in one place. Keep him there. You’ll just have to improve your surveillance techniques and track him down.”

  “He’s goddamn invisible!” North America stormed. “You saw what happened in Grand Central Station. There aren’t any techniques to improve that can catch up with that kind of ability.”

  “If we don’t re-open the vac-train routes, then we’ll be condemning Edmonton and everyone in it to possession,” Western Europe said. “And very probably removal from this universe. Remember what happened to Ketton on Mortonridge. That’s what they’ll do to it. They can’t survive here.”

  “That outcome is certainly acceptable to me,” North Pacific said. “We’ve discussed this through before. Better to lose one arcology if that means saving the rest.”

  “But we don’t have to,” Western Europe insisted. “Dexter becomes visible to us when he’s moving. That’s when he’s vulnerable.”

  “He’s not visible,” South Pacific said. “We know he’s moved simply by the destruction he leaves behind. I mean, shit, blowing up the Eiffel Tower! Face it, we can’t catch him.”

  “We have to make the attempt. It’s the reason we exist, the only reason. If we cannot protect Earth from a single possessed when we have the opportunity, especially because of political cowardice, then we have failed.”

  “I’m not buying into any of this noblesse oblige crap, I never did. That might be your heritage, but it certainly isn’t mine. We formed B7 out of sheer bloody minded self interest. And you were a big part of that, don’t forget. We exist to protect our own interests. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that means protecting Earth and looking out for its citizens.

  Well bravo us. I don’t begrudge them that expenditure. But this is not one of those benevolent times. This time we safeguard ourselves against possession, and especially against Quinn bloody Dexter. I’m sorry about the inhabitants, but Edmonton falls to this Night of his. Probably Paris and the others as well. Tough. We’ll be safe, though.”

  “I was wrong,” Western Europe said coldly. “It’s not political cowardice. You’re frightened of him.”

  “That’s beneath contempt,” South Pacific sneered. “I’m not going to open the vac-trains simply because you insult me.”

  “I know that. I was just insulting you anyway. You deserve it.”

  “Big deal. Don’t tell me you’re not making preparations to desert the sinking ship.”

  “All of us are, as we all know. It would be foolish not to. But for me it’s a last resort. To be perfectly honest, starting afresh on some new world holds little appeal. I suspect the same applies to the rest of you.”

  The representations around the table remained silent.

  “Exactly,” Western Europe said. “We have to defeat Dexter on the ground. Our ground.”

  “By letting Edmonton fall, we are defeating him,” Central America said.

  “He’ll vanish from the whole planet along with the arcology.”

  “He won’t.
He’s too smart to fall into that trap, and his agenda is different to the ordinary possessed. The vac-trains will be opened again no matter how determined you all are. It’s only a matter of time. I say we should lure him out into a target ground of our own choosing.”

  “He’s already exterminated four of Banneth’s acolytes in her own headquarters,” Military Intelligence said. “We know he keeps going back there, yet we still haven’t managed to kill the little bastard. I don’t see how taking him to another arcology helps.”

  “We can’t change Banneth’s environment now, that would be too blatant. Dexter would be warned off. But we can take her to a more suitable location for a strike.”

  “You just said he’ll sacrifice his vendetta against Banneth to achieve his greater objective,” Asian Pacific said. “Do try to present a consistent argument, please.”

  “I can get him out of Edmonton,” Western Europe insisted. “The Kavanagh girls appearing at this stage will be an irresistible enigma to him. He’ll have to follow them to find out what’s happening. And they will be manoeuvred wherever I choose.”

  “Well you needn’t try choosing my territory,” South Pacific said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. This requires efficiency and total cooperation. Qualities apparently beyond your ability to provide.”

  “Lead him into your territory then.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Then what are you whining about?”

  “I don’t want any interference. This requires finesse. If I initiate this operation, you stay out of it. No surprise Presidential decrees wrecking my preparations. No media novas. We all know what we’re capable of if we want to screw each other over. We’ve been at it long enough in our other arenas, but this is not the time for those sort of games.”

  South Pacific looked from Western Europe to North America. “You two do whatever you like. But you do it between yourselves. Your territories are now embargoed, along with Bombay and Johannesburg. Would you like to put a counter motion to the vote?”

  “No,” Western Europe said. “I have what I want.”

  In the end Andy had to go back to Liscard and ask for a further advance.

  Four week’s pay at seven and a half per cent interest! He deliberately didn’t put a calculator program in primary mode, didn’t want to know how long he was going to be shackled to Jude’s Eworld to finance one date.

  But he could hardly ask Louise to pay for Genevieve. That would be cheap.

  This time when he walked into the lobby of the Ritz, the concierge smiled pleasantly. Andy’s dinner jacket had been loaned from someone he’d done repair work for a couple of months back; midnight black with a reasonably fashionable cut. The white dress shirt he’d borrowed from a fellow sellrat, along with the scarlet bow tie. His black shoes came from a neighbour. Even the silk handkerchief in his top pocket was his mother’s.

  In fact the only thing he wore of his own were his boxer shorts. He could risk that, somehow he was pretty sure Louise wouldn’t get to see them tonight.

  Seven o’clock and she wasn’t there. Six minutes past and he was debating if he should ask reception to call her room. Eight minutes, and he knew he’d been stood up. Hardly surprising.

  The lift doors opened. Louise was wearing a full length gown of deep-blue fabric, accessorised by a small rust-coloured waistcoat. No longer the breezy teenager who’d sauntered into Jude’s Eworld needing assistance, her demeanour had gained twenty years. Andy didn’t bother recording her image into a memory cell. No program could ever capture that combination of beauty and sophistication. His own recollection of this moment would stay with him throughout his entire life, he knew.

  When he smiled at her, it was almost in sadness. “Thank you for coming.”

  Her answering expression was uncertain, sensing somehow just how important this had become for him. “I’m flattered to be asked, Andy.” She prodded Genevieve.

  “Thank you very much for letting me come along,” the little girl said.

  There was nothing in the voice that gave hint of duplicity.

  “That’s okay,” Andy said. “Hey, you look great. Give us a twirl.”

  Genevieve smiled in appreciation, and put her arms out to turn a complete circle. Her scarlet dress flapped about. A slim chain was fastened round her throat, its tarnished pendant bobbing against her neckline. Andy looked straight at Louise. “Another five years and the boys won’t know what hit them.”

  “What do you mean?” Genevieve asked.

  “He means you’re very pretty,” Louise told her.

  “Oh.” Genevieve blushed, but still managed to grin up at Andy.

  Having her along wasn’t so bad, after all, Andy found. In fact, she removed a lot of the tension that would probably have come from being alone with Louise for the whole evening. It wasn’t boy-girl, one on one; with him desperate to impress with every word. That, he acknowledged, would have been an utter disaster.

  He paid for the short taxi ride to Covent Garden. The Lake Isle was one of a hundred restaurants in the area. It had an antique frontage enclosing a small bar, with a seating area at the back which was inexplicably large given the size of the neighbouring buildings, and too shiny to be genuinely old. As they stepped inside, Louise tapped Andy’s shoulder. “We’re going Dutch tonight. No arguments. I brought Gen along after all. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  The head waiter handed them over to an assistant waiter, who showed them to a table. Glancing round, Louise thought that they were possibly overdressed. But she couldn’t turn down the chance to wear the blue dress, and Andy certainly didn’t complain. If eyes had been hands, he would’ve crushed her.

  “Did you find your friend?” he asked once they were seated.

  “Not yet. That detective you recommended seemed quite good, though. Thank you.”

  The wine list appeared. Louise looked wistfully at the Norfolk Tears, not quite believing the price. She let Andy choose; a dry white wine from the Jovian habitats, and sparkling mineral water for Gen.

  “You can have one glass of wine,” Louise said when her sister started to look mutinous.

  “Yes, Louise. Thank you, Louise.”

  She stared the little girl down. Gen had been threatened with dire retribution if she stepped out of line during the meal.

  It was a strange evening. Louise enjoyed it for the knowledge it gave her. What it would really be like to live in a vibrant arcology, and be asked out by boys. Dressing up. The taste of exotic food. Conversation that wasn’t just about crops, relatives, and local events; but of the momentous things facing the Confederation, and how the Navy was coping, and the latest news from the Mortonridge Liberation campaign. She had the freedom to say what she thought, based on her personal experience. To have an astonishing tale to tell, and be listened to.

  While it was happening, she could actually forget how phony it all was.

  That she could never actually be that girl about town, because she was due to be a mother. That Joshua had never seen her dressed like this. How life could never be lived without a care anymore now that the human race knew the beyond awaited. And Quinn Dexter, who stalked Earth’s beautiful, awesome arcologies, ready to smash them into a trillion pieces.

  Over dessert she found herself looking at Andy in what was near to envy.

  He could still have that life; chase girls, go out partying with his friends, attend university, earn his degree, write his programs, travel.

  Possibly. If the possessed didn’t win.

  “Are you okay?” Andy asked. He’d been in the middle of telling her about his plans to set up his own software house when he’d raised enough money.

  This month’s dream.

  “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on top of his, and squeezed softly. “You probably won’t believe the cliché, but this has been one of the nicest evenings of my whole life. I’m very grateful you asked me out.” The look of utter longing he gave her in reply nearly made her cry for what could never be. She caught th
eir waiter’s attention. “Three glasses of Norfolk Tears, please.”

  Genevieve stopped attacking her dessert bowl with a spoon in an attempt to scrape out the very last morsels of chocolate orange soufflé. She smiled in hopeful astonishment.

  “Yes, you, too,” Louise laughed. To Andy she said: “My treat. If you’ve never had it, you should. It’s the only way to end an evening as perfect as this.”

  The drinks arrived in slim crystal glasses on a silver tray. Louise sniffed gently at the bouquet. “Wessex County, probably the Clayton estate.”

  “Yes miss,” the startled waiter said. “That’s right.”

  The three of them raised their glasses. “To living life, not wasting it,” Louise said.

  They drank to that.

  Louise received the datavise when they were in the taxi heading back to the Ritz; a purple telephone handset icon blinking silently at the corner of her vision (NAS2600 had thousands of symbols and sounds to choose from—but this was the most familiar). The sense of cosiness which the evening had engendered immediately shrank away. It couldn’t be anything other than business.

  Her neural nanonics acknowledged the call, and Ivanov Robson’s icon tag replaced the purple telephone.

  “I’ve got some good news for you,” the detective datavised. “I’ve found Banneth.”

  “Where?” Louise datavised back.

  “She’s currently in Edmonton.”

  “Thank you.” That was one of the arcologies which the news had said was isolated. “Do you have an eddress for her?”

  “Certainly.” He datavised the file over. “Louise, you may have a problem selling this story of yours to her. If that happens, please call me. I might be able to help.”

  “Of course, and thank you again.”

  The doorman gave Andy a dubious stare when they got back to the hotel.

  Louise saw him hesitate, full of his old uncertainties, and felt an uncomfortably strong stab of sympathy. “Wait for me inside the lobby,” she told Genevieve.