Total Conflict

by Neal Asher

  “… oh….Oh!… that’s the bad secret! I promised not to say…”

  “Promised who? Your feeder?”

  “Promised Ithnor in the Long-Ago, promised not to talk about the bad secret…”

  “Was Ithnor your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m your friend too, so you can tell me anything, even why you can’t make things anymore.”

  “No, I can still make things, if I want!”

  “Really? That’s amazing – here, have some chelgo beans….”

  The Grand Gestator lumbered off into a grassy corner of its enclosure, small hands tightly grasping the bag of beans. Cornelius smiled thoughtfully as he slipped the translator back inside his longcoat. It would take several more visits, and a lot of chelgo beans, to fully gain the gestator’s trust. And by then he planned to be on the aerobarge pilot roster and to have amassed a stockpile of provisions…although he also had to devise a test to ensure that Udroom could indeed gestate at will. Then with that fabulous creature safely aboard an aerobarge, he could leap away from Notamur, from the stifling, ritual-shackled future which had been laid down for him. Instead, he would be free to explore the full immensity of the Shylgandic Lacuna, the mysterious ice-bound peninsular shelves, jutting hundreds of miles out into the lacuna, and the penduline cities hanging from their undersides, free to chase down rumours, myths and legends, and perhaps to start a few of his own.

  4. Divine Fragment

  A week later he was on the snow-choked plateau-shelf of Taribul, parked outside a temple-village, and negotiating with the local prelate. Seated in the aerobarge’s cramped mess, the prelate eyed the array of flickering readouts that filled one wall, then introduced himself as Yasorn.

  “Master Jamal, you are certain that your device can produce a convincing relic?”

  “Most assuredly, your reverence,” Cornelius said. “I have supplied it with images of your holy symbol but the main source of information will be yourself. So please, lie back on the hinged table, then I’ll swing your head down between the scanning nodes, just….so. Now, picture the relic in your mind, imagine the texture, how it feels to the touch, how large it is and how heavy…”

  Two hours later the task was done. While Yasorn curled up to pray, Cornelius went behind the control-panel façade and found the finished item laid out neatly on a linen-lined tray, dry and shiny. Udroom had withdrawn to the woolly, tent-like bower Cornelius had built for him at the other end of the hold, resting from his exertions.

  When he brought the object out, the prelate gaped and hissed in amazement.

  “Just as I imagined - exactly as I saw it in my visions of Trekale!”

  After handing over a significant sum in urexpins, the prelate Yasorn hurried off through the snow with the relic, a four foot-long metal spider’s limb, wrapped in cloth. From their earlier discussion, it was likely that quite soon the spider leg would by chance be uncovered beneath the Trekalian temple, thus leading to the prelate’s recognition and advancement. Cornelius chuckled as he mused on the improbability of spider deity worship, especially by the Agarib, the reptiloid species that dominated the Taribul plateau. That, and the fact that Udroom’s mind-reading faculty appeared to be working perfectly.

  Time for something a little more adventurous, he thought.

  5. Guns On Ice

  It was during a visit to the penduline city of Brophoskel that a lack of caution almost led to disaster. Posing as a wholesale buyer seeking a source of contraband Izlertech webs, a Vikantan assassin inveigled his way aboard the aerobarge then produced a silvery needlegun. Directed towards a chair, Cornelius sat down and laid his still hands on his knees.

  “Firstly,” said the assassin, “no begging, no shouting, no threatening or weeping, although you may say final prayers to the supreme being of your choice. And no attempts at bribery – my contract already amply compensates me and I have no wish to hear any distasteful offers to buy it.”

  “I would not presume to insult you with such a commonplace prize as money,” Cornelius said. “You are clearly an individual of considerable taste and expertise, as evinced by that superb handweapon. It’s a Bonraki Family piece, is it not?”

  The silver needlegun was an antique, finely chased with intricate, stylised circuit patterns. Its polished gleam and patches of wear showed that it was both well-maintained and in regular use.

  The assassin nodded his gaunt head. “As made by the grandfather. Secondly, the reason for this regrettable encounter is the illegal disruptors that you have been supplying to the Abijar Clan.”

  “I see. So it’s the Shondal who hired you – not the kind who would appreciate your artistry. Charmless thugs, in essence.”

  “Appreciation,” said the assassin, “is not a contractual requirement.”

  “And yet I am forced to admit such. I have a request – since my demise is inevitable I would rather that it was carried out with grace, majesty and elegance. To your mind, what is the most exquisite and superlative weapon in the entire Shylgandic Lacuna?”

  “The Moamas Spiner,” the assassin said without hesitation. “It has an enclosed, gas-pressured firing mechanism that delivers a long needle via a silenced, stalk barrel which is integral to its white para-composite casing.”

  “You appear well-acquainted with this Spiner,” Cornelius said.

  “I was once honoured to hold it in my hands,” the Vikantan said. “But since it is still in the possession of the Archregal of Deytrovan this exchange is purely academic.”

  Cornelius rocked his head judiciously, outwardly composed, inwardly a fevered whirl of concocted jargon. “Except that my nano-apparatus here can actually create functioning artefacts from thought-images, which is how I came up with those disruptors. It assembles a detailed synthegraph from mind scans then proceeds to build it. Thus you may complete your assignment with matchless elegance. What do you say?”

  6. Nine Droplets

  “Well, here you sit before me, Master Jamal,” said the Concubiness Semmry. “Therefore, the assassin did not fulfill his contract. How did you evade your doom?”

  Cornelius shrugged. “In the end the Vikantan came to the conclusion that by replicating such a perfect object I had more than made up for the disruptor consignments. After encouraging me to vow to cease my dealings with the Abijar, and never to produce another Moamas Spiner, he rescinded the kill then left. With the weapon as my gift to him, of course.”

  “Of course,” said the Concubiness Semmry, sipping her drink.

  Cornelius smiled. The Concubiness was astonishing beautiful, with a slender neck, pale yet vital skin, a full not quite voluptuous figure, and a delicately-featured, captivating face. Cornelius had to remind himself frequently that she was not Human but Egetsi, despite the fact that she was over eight feet tall. They were seated in a muffled booth in the Damned Poet, a tavern-college located high-up on the tenth span section of the Black Bridge of Runktor. The Black Bridge was a prodigious engineering feat, linking the shelf-plateaus of Orvegruth and Tagisk, and thus the penduline cities suspended from them. Its 212 mile steel and airstone length incorporated a variety of antigravity devices and kept a maintenance army perpetually busy. From his seat in the booth Cornelius had a view of the triframe substructures receding into the white haze of snow and mist.

  “I have the items,” he said, voice pitched low as he produced two small packages from his pocket. The dark blue sivelvin folds of one were parted to reveal the original black filigree-set shift jewel, then the sun-gold brosheen wrappings of the other were parted to show the copy, exact in every detail, right down to the red-blue-red-blue hues that pulsed slowly through the crystal. The Concubiness Semmry leaned in close, peering through a brass-rimmed lenser for some moments. Then she let out a faint sigh and nodded.

  “Excellent – Master Jamal, you have earned your fee. I have one further request, however.”

  “Please, name it.”

  “Make me another eight and your fee shall increase t
en-fold.”

  His smile widened. “It shall be done, lady.”

  7. New Ghosts

  It took a lengthy walk through Gylophar City’s extensive market deck before he found some chelgo beans. The vendor was an avuncular, one-eyed Gomedran and as he measured out the bags with laborious precision, he chuntered on about the highlights of his week.

  “Lots of strange types go through here, good sir, brainlace dealers, slavers, liberators, god-sellers, bounty hunters, and just this morning an Aprati bulletiniser passed by here. Looked skinny and ill, like they all do, but he was rattling off the headlines clear as you like till he said something about a coup on the Black Bridge…”

  “A coup, you say…”

  “Well, I paid him a couple of pins and he told me. Seems like the High Directors, all nine of them, were murdered simultaneously in the middle of the nightspell, that were three nights ago. No clue who the killers were but the largest faction, the Hammers, accused their enemies, the Hooks, of doing the deed, then they took over the nine great offices. So of course, now the hot words are flying while the banner-toughs fight it out on the gantries.”

  “By any chance are there any lesser factions on the sidelines?”

  “The bulletiniser said that if the Dancers and the Harvesters ally with the Hooks they could force the Hammers out. Could come to that.”

  “Ah, the dance of politics, eh? How much is that?”

  “That’ll be 87 urexpins, if you please.”

  With a cheery farewell, Cornelius hefted the two large sacks and sauntered off whistling. Once out of sight, he picked up the pace. Back on the aerobarge he stowed the beans, started the engines and was aloft in a matter of minutes. Next port of call – Pazpaz City where he would use some of his new-found wealth to effect some fundamental changes; a new ship, a new appearance and a new name. Anyone looking for Cornelius Jamal would be left hunting for a ghost.

  8. Trackers And Stalkers

  Waved through by the outer custodian, the Hodralog investigator entered the office of the Fourth High Director of the Black Bridge of Runktor, and approached the elevated desk.

  “I have news, High Director,” he said, producing a list.

  “Proceed.”

  “Investigations have shown the following to be definitely related to our quarry – twenty-seven ceremonial sword-limbs for the bodyguard of the Benign Placator of Whorleye Citadel, a duplicate of the Mask of Vandaris for the private collection of a Kormolite financier, and five glass puzzle boxes for a Henkayan traveller, this being the most recent. We are also certain that he has switched vessels and is now operating under a new name, Carmine Jezzail.”

  “Will you be able to find him before the Hammers’ agents do?”

  “With the distance involved, communications are inconstant,” the Hodralog said. “But our people are closing in.”

  The Concubiness Semmry leaned forward to fix him with an icy gaze. “Be sure that Cornelius Jamal understands the choices open to him – work for us or die at the hands of the Hammers.”

  “It shall be made abundantly clear,” the Hodralog said and left.

  9.Puzzle Piece Permutations

  Behind the sound-proofed façade of readouts, screens and controls, he studied the contents of the linen-lined tray. Another of Meleyag’s thought-sculptures lay there, a semi-transparent, seated figure with smaller, multicoloured figures floating around inside it, and a crest of golden spikes that ran down its spine. What got his attention was the grey, metallic object sitting next to it, another mystery component to add to the seven Udroom had already created, apparently unconsciously, over the last year or more. No two were alike and scans revealed fine, enigmatic structures going deep within, but clues as to the function or how they fitted together were absent.

  “My inside-shaper made another piece for you,” Udroom said. “Do you like it, Cawneelyus?”

  “It’s very interesting, Udroom, thank you. You are doing so well and shaping the gifts perfectly – we wouldn’t have this new ship without you.”

  The aircruiser boasted a capacious hold, refurbished for the gestator’s comfort, but more importantly it was faster by far than either the fanfreighter or the aerobarge. And business was brisk. Knowledge of his unique services passed by word of mouth between wealthy, influential patrons up and down the Shylgandic Lacuna. Unfortunately, that same conduit provided a trail for those less well-disposed towards him.

  Cornelius took the piece over to a locker, and the box containing the rest. Opening it, he paused for a startled moment before picking out a large piece he had never seen before…then realised that it was really two pieces joined together. He held the new one up next to it, turning both this way and that. Then an urgent alarm began chiming throughout the ship.

  “Is it the bad people, Cawneelyus?” said Udroom, burrowing deeper into its mound of cushions.

  “Stay calm,” he said as he hurried off to the bridge.

  Sure enough, the sensors had picked up a craft heading straight for his mooring point atop the frozen Adwaliger Plateau, where he set down after Meleyag had given his thought patterns to the gestator Udroom via the fake scanner. Cornelius disembedded the servoanchors, revved the already-hot engines, and readied his fore and aft guns. As he sent the aircruiser roaring off into the yawning, blizzard-whitened emptiness, he wondered how they got Meleyag to betray him.

  10. Thundering Future

  By chance, the route to his next possible contract took him close to the plateau-shelf of Taribul. Setting down near one of the major towns, he went for a stroll and discovered that, after his revelation and discovery of the limb of Trekale, Yasorn had risen rapidly and was now Paramount Salvationer and Voice of Trekale, the spider-god. Cornelius toyed with the notion of paying Yasorn a visit but discounted this as too risky. However, risk and chance were already in play; Temple guards were waiting when he returned to his ship and an hour later he was shackled and confined to a stone cell. A day later, Yasorn himself came to see him.

  “An unfortunate encounter, Master Jamal,” said the Paramount Salvationer. “I am told that thus far you have said nothing, yet I recall you to be the most voluble of charlatans.”

  “Meaningful words are a precious commodity,” he said. “I held onto them in anticipation of this very moment.”

  “Good, then understand that I will have access to your marvellous device, Master Jamal,” Yasorn said. “Otherwise, you will experience suffering.”

  Cornelius smiled. “My ship will obey only my spoken commands, oh Paramount one. You will have to take me to the berths.”

  Which is where they took him, with Yasorn following, both enclosed in a swaddling of reptiloid guards. As soon as he was in visual contact with the aircruiser (and its short-range sensors) he mouthed commands to activate specific emergency procedures. But before the crowd-control stunners could target his guards, several blackclad figures leaped in amongst them as smoke billowed up from the ground. Yasorn shouted in panic, suddenly hidden by a grey, swirling veil. Hands grabbed Cornelius and hustled him out of the choking clouds to the walkway near his ship. A tall figure pulled aside a featureless black mask to reveal the sublimely beautiful features of the Concubiness Semmry.

  “Quick, Cornelius, open the hatch so we can make an escape…”

  … Was all she said before the ship’s defences stunned her into oblivion. Carefully, he lowered her willowy form to the ground, placed a light kiss on her forehead, then quickly boarded the aircruiser which, moments later, lifted amid the confusion and smoke and swept away into the pale.

  11. Mutable Descent

  It took nearly a year but they finally caught up with him on Twilight City. Hanging from the Dihamu plateau-shelf, it was a half-wrecked penduline metropolis given over to both organised and disorganised crime. Working under the name Calvin Jago, Cornelius had concluded some business with one of the gambling oligarchs, supplying copies of delicate mechanisms, and was returning to his ship, garbed in hooded robes. The aircruiser had been b
erthed in a gaping hollow in the side of the city and he had to pass through several charred, stripped-out decks on the way. He had just climbed out of the Oligarch’s territory and was moving along burnt-out corridors when he glimpsed dark figures watching him with shadowy faces. Unhurriedly he doubled back to another stairwell, pausing long enough for a cheery wave before plunging down the steps, with the hunters rushing after him.

  When the villainous denizens below saw strangers intruding on their territory with weapons drawn, armed response was inevitable. A deadly and deafening havoc erupted behind Cornelius as he tried to find a way to his ship. Half an hour later, after a twisty route full of dead-ends, he reached his aircruiser. With the ship sealing the externals and auto-prepping for take-off, he had just reached the bridge when he heard a deep, dull boom from outside. A second later the bridge and the aircruiser lurched to one side. Thuds and clangs reverberated through the bulkheads and exterior monitors showed debris falling all about, girders, spars and plating hemming the ship in on all sides. A terrifying possibility leaped full fledged into his thoughts – his pursuers were hell-bent on stopping him but would they go as far as attacking the great hawsers from which the city itself hung?

  12. Wild Hunters

  The Zanak was a 10-fan pursuit vessel on loan from the Hammer Faction to the RQL mercenary division. Their leader, the Techmeld Gomedran, Jekahaka, stood out on the freezing starboard balcony, observing the dark, suspended mass of Twilight City from the superior elevation maintained by the Zanak. Even though the criminal Cornelius Jamal was known to be down there, and a squad of veterans were hunting for him, there were no guarantees. The Human’s guile and luck were legendary. In addition, Jekahaka was all too aware that he himself was merely the latest in a long line of hirelings contracted to deal with this fugitive. Which was why he intended to ignore the latter part of his ‘kill or capture’ orders.