The Beauty of Our Weapons

by Jilly Paddock

  “Earth witch!” he spat in my face, but the spittle fell short.

  SantDenis moved to hit him again and I shook my head. “You can play the defiant hero for as long as you like, small fry, but I warn you, all it’ll get you is dead. I’m in no mood for games!” I yanked viciously on the hair. “Answer truthfully and I might reconsider, but if I get any more abuse out of you, I’m going to take you apart and, believe me, before I’m halfway finished you’ll wish I’d fed you to your master’s pet demon! Now, where is Draoi?”

  “In the undercity!” He’d answered too quickly, yet I read that it was the truth. “He has a stronghold under the forest, part of an ancient fortress.”

  “How do I find it?”

  Kayno was sweating now, his eyes darting from me to Herculeon, back and forth, desperate for mercy. “Don’t make me do this! They’d kill me if they knew I was talking to you, Draoi or his woman! If I tell you anything, they’ll have the construct tear me to pieces. I’ll be meat for the black dogs!”

  “Not so, little man. We’ll save you from that fate.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll kill you now and get my answers from your cooling brain.”

  “No, lady... sweet lady... I don’t know, by the spirits of the forest, I swear it... No, please!”

  I touched the centre of his forehead with a fingertip and even SantDenis held his breath.

  “Hell’s Maw, that’s the place! The easiest way in—a trapdoor, under the turf of the clearing, under the ashes of the fire!” Kayno babbled. “There’s a stair down, but there are guards!”

  “I’ll deal with them. What about Nansi and her bully-boy construct? Will I find them with Draoi?”

  “No...”

  “You’re holding out on me!” I accused, letting go of his hair and hurling him bodily against the bare stone wall at his back. He screamed and I held the sound in his throat. “Where are they?”

  I’d boosted muscle with TK and my apparent strength unnerved him as much as it impressed SantDenis. Kayno began to weep openly and I knew that I had precious little leeway to push before he broke down altogether. I advanced a pace and waited for the information to spill out.

  “All right! I’ll tell you! Don’t touch me again!” He found some more breath. “The Ruhanna woman said we should strike a blow for our cause during Carnival. Bombs have been planted on all of the orbital stations to devastate the shackles of technology and rid us of Terran domination!”

  “Destroy the stations?” Images spun through my mind, of the wheels and cylinders of Tabouret’s space-cities punctured like blown tin-cans, their inhabitants scattered to vacuum, dying, screaming into silence, torn and blood-stained confetti. “Thousands of Tambou live there—what of them?”

  “The unbelievers will perish. A clean death will free them from their prisons of science. Alive they would only mock us, but by killing them we will save their souls from the curse of technology!” A fanatical light flared in his eyes. “Once the stations are gone, we shall be forever free of Earth’s yoke, and to ensure our victory, the two shuttlecraft must also walk the roads of oblivion. Ruane and the silver-haired one are in the upper city setting the charges even as we speak!”

  “Treason... Black, bloody treason!” SantDenis growled. “Santa Leonie preserve us!”

  “When do the bombs go off?” This was a complication I hadn’t bargained on. Fate had condemned me to return and face my fear, so it seemed unfair of her to throw in this diversion.

  “Five hours before dawn, at the height of the festival.” His faith foundered as he saw anger rising behind my mask. “At midnight.”

  What the hell do we do about this little fiasco? I demanded inwardly. We can’t get sidetracked into searching all the orbital stations for explosive devices.

  We can hardly ignore it. Zenni considered the problem for a full ten seconds. Let SantDenis take this one into custody. The Tambou police can deal with the situation, while we beard the magician in his den.

  And Nansi?

  In all probability, we are the only force on planet who can handle Draoi. We can mop up the little fish later.

  Assuming there is a later. I snapped back into the real world, aware that both of the Tambou were watching me. “He’s yours, Herculeon. Lock the little bastard up and have your people sort out the havoc his friends have arranged. I’m going after Draoi, to cut the head off this monster before it can menace anything else.”

  “Just have my people ‘sort it out’—a string of mad terrorists, an indeterminate number of bombs primed to explode in less than two hours, and all on the final night of Carnival too?” SantDenis shook his head and shrugged eloquently. “With respect, my dear lady, this isn’t Terra. We have limited resources at the best of times, especially tonight, when all our men on duty will be dispersed throughout the city to ensure that revel doesn’t turn into riot. Even on the stations there will be parties in full swing, with only a skeleton security staff awake and sober.”

  “Just as the Ruhanna woman predicted!” Mantoux salvaged a fragment of triumph. “Victory is ours, whole or partial. You may discover and defuse some of our bombs, but without enough time or manpower you won’t find all of them. As the Terrans say, you’re in the shit—deep shit!”

  He’s right. We’d better scream for help, Zenni, first to EI and then to any friendly forces within range. Use words like crisis, impending disaster and probable massacre.

  I’m sending a mayday now. Perhaps you could go to the Terran Consul. If anyone can get the local police moving in top gear, he can.

  Where do I find the Consulate?

  Level three. The position and a basic schematic of the place dropped into my head.

  “Change of plan.” I grinned at SantDenis. “Are you up for a trip through other dimensions, a leap of faith through unreality from here to there?”

  The Investigator’s hair bristled, every strand of his mane and tail standing on end, as a cornered tom-cat might look in the face of a larger and fiercer rival. “Are we talking mind-magic here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’d say no.” He tugged at his collar, loosening his lace jabot. “If I had a choice, that is.”

  “Which you don’t. Okay, imp, we’re going for a ride.” I reached into Kayno’s skull and flipped him into a shallow trance before making the jump. We landed in the reception area of the Terran Consulate, a wide space of polished stone, plaster columns and marble-faced desks, plush and pretentious, the elegant facade that the Mother-world liked to present to her lessers. The doors behind us were locked, the lighting subdued and the hall deserted. To his credit, SantDenis didn’t make a sound.

  “Nobody home.” I cast about with my other-senses, turning my head to scan through the whole complex. There was only one mind in the series of caverns; a man, Earth-human, weary after a day’s work, relaxing after a full meal and finding gentle solace in a favourite book and an after-dinner cognac. I was honestly sorry to disturb him. “No, there’s somebody in residence. Wait here and I’ll see who he is.”

  I teleported into darkness, a corridor outside the occupied room, then went through its door in an orthodox manner. It was a study, small and neat, with a cluttered desk, an ornate fireplace with a hologram of a log fire blazing in the grate and a deeply-padded leather chair. At my abrupt entrance the man in the chair catapulted to his feet, hurling his read-pad and drink to the floor. The brandy soaked into the carpet, the crystal tumbler shattered. He glared at me, a tall, aesthetic man with sparse grey hair. From his stance I knew that he’d been combat-trained, probably an ex-military man.

  “Who the devil are you?” He demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

  I picked up the unspoken coda to his question—how had I breached his security systems without triggering any alarm? Lying to this man would be useless and only a fool would try to pull muscle on him, so I was left with the truth and my natural charm. I took off the peacock mask and remembered the social nicety of a smile. “I’m an agent with Earth Intelligence and I’m
in desperate need of your help.”

  He relaxed, yet only a fraction. “I’m Cal Sheridan, Terran Vice-consul. The head man’s away at his country retreat, so I’m holding the fort. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so, for Tambouret’s sake. What do you know of an anti-technology cult based in Lowkrys and fronted by a man they call the magician, Draoi?”

  “I’ve heard of it.” He admitted grudgingly. “We have a few informants in the undercity, of course, to keep a finger on the pulse of Krystallya. We are aware of Draoi’s movement and of the magnitude of his following. What of it?”

  I made the relevant adjustments and called through the open door. “Herculeon, please come in here. Vice-consul Sheridan, this is Investigator SantDenis.”

  Again the Tambou took all in his stride, bowing deeply. “A pleasure to meet you, sir, even at such a distressing time.”

  “Distressing?” Sheridan frowned.

  I walked the hapless Mantoux into the room. “This is one of Draoi’s loyal followers, a trusted lieutenant in the cult. He tells me that his colleagues have planted bombs on all of the orbitals and are in the process of placing charges on the ground-based shuttle. Everything is due to detonate at midnight.”

  Sheridan blinked, absorbing the information. “What’s the matter with him? Is he drugged?”

  “He’s in trance, but I can wake him whenever you want.” I fretted at all this delay, while Zenni urged patience. “Will you alert all the appropriate authorities while I go after Draoi?”

  “You’re sure that this plot is genuine and not a hoax?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I can confirm the lady’s story.” SantDenis added. “I assisted in the capture of this scoundrel.”

  “Very well.” Sheridan’s eyes slitted. “Despite your assurances, Investigator, I am not so sure of your friend. We were given word of a Terran agent on Tambouret, but that was more than two weeks ago. If you are that agent, I need proof.”

  “I’m Anna, of Earth Intelligence. What further proof can I give you?”

  I detected a flicker across his mind at my name, but this man dealt only in certainties. “A demonstration would suffice, if that’s possible?”

  “Anything’s possible.” I frowned in concentration, and the shards of cut crystal crawled like diamond ants through the pile of the carpet, coming neatly together into their former shape. I levitated the glass, placing it carefully on the small table to the left of the chair. SantDenis swore quietly, a complicated oath involving Santa Leonie’s honour and mythical ill-temper. Sheridan watched the spectacle dispassionately, then bent to inspect the reconstructed tumbler. I held its form as he picked it up to peer at it, but as soon as he replaced it on the tray, I cut the power. The pieces fell apart with a musical tinkle.

  “Thank you, Anna.” There was awe behind his habitually bland expression. “Wake up your captive. I’ll need him conscious to answer to the authorities. I’ll take it from here, but if the Investigator would agree to assist me, it would expedite matters.”

  Herculeon wavered for a moment, torn between duty and his desire to help me hunt the magician down. Tambouret won—how could it not? “Forgive me, my dear, but the Vice-consul is right. The two of us can work faster, and speed is of the essence.”

  “Do whatever you must to save all those people on the stations.” I clicked my fingers and Mantoux awoke, rubbing his eyes in amazement. With a nod to Sheridan, I retreated through the door before ’porting out of the Consulate.

  Do you think they can handle it? I asked, as I stepped across limbo.

  The first rule of delegation is that it’s no longer our problem. Sheridan will cope. Terra doesn’t allow imbeciles to rise to the position of vice-consul. Besides, if he has the security clearance to know about us, he probably has all of Tambouret’s government eating out of his hand.

  I flexed my knees, landing lightly at the forest’s edge, facing the Dreamgate. Krystallya loomed against the night sky, an indigo pyramid wound about with so many lights that it seemed a giant Christmas tree. Even at this distance the muddled music of Carnival rang in my ears, the song and laughter swelling towards the crescendo of midnight, the sheer exuberance of the mass celebration cloaking the city in a rainbow of joyous emotion. Beyond the outline of the mountain the stars were faint, and I knew well enough that Sol was too dim to be picked out from this quadrant of the galaxy.

  Here’s the location of the clearing. A spatial map dropped into my head. Just in case you’d forgotten.

  Do you think I’ve come this far only to pull out now? Don’t lean on me, partner. I’m just collecting my wits before I jump in there, that’s all.

  I’m afraid too, Anna. Zenni confessed quietly.

  Instantly I regretted my annoyance. I know. That makes two brave cowards of us, doesn’t it? Shall we go in?

  Yes. Afirmative. Absolutely. Do it and get it over with, before we both get cold feet!

  That raised a smile and I made the jump.

  Only the trees saw me arrive, a lone figure stepping through a torn rainbow curtain into that dark, open space. There was no meeting here tonight, no lanterns and no bonfire, only cold ashes where it had been. The Wish-stone was nothing but a fallen monolith, a lifeless chunk of granite. No malefic aura to account for my unease, no fear lurking here tonight and no monsters walking abroad—only the trees.

  I made my way over the damp grass, giving Hell’s Maw a wide berth. A trapdoor, Kayno said, beneath the fire.

  I’m scanning a mat of synthetic grass approximately one point five metres square in that area.

  A grid of silver overlaid my vision and I traced the nearest edge of it, feeling the difference in texture and temperature between the real and pseudo-plants. Digging my fingernails under the margin of the false, I pulled it up and rolled it back like a rug. Beneath was a trapdoor, of weathered stone with a rusted iron ring for a handle.

  Fake stone. Zenni assessed. Sand in resin, a pretty disguise for ten centimetre steel armour-plate.

  I ran my hands over the door, squeezing my eyelids shut all the better to map out its infrastructure. Hinged on the side nearest to the Wish-stone, with bolts on the other three sides. There’s a flight of steep stairs under it, going down fifteen feet or so into pitch darkness.

  The passageway leads due south, descending gradually. I’m detecting no signs of life, so where are the promised guards?

  Absent without leave? Sneaked off to join in the Carnival? I frowned, widening my scan. There isn’t anything down there, no humans, no Tambou, not even a construct. Shall I go down?

  There seems no viable alternative. Will you teleport in or open the door?

  There was no need for a decision—the very thought of jumping into that confined darkness made me shiver. I’d sooner open it, unless there’s an alarm?

  The whole place is bare of electronics. I can’t see any power sources. There isn’t even any wiring.

  I slid the unseen bolts back quietly and hefted the trapdoor up until it came to rest, a little past the vertical. It was far lighter that its massive bulk suggested. Dusty steps vanished into inky depths.

  ‘The deep way, the dark way, the way beneath the ground...’ I shook off my nervousness and descended. As I touched bottom Zenni went to the darklight sensor, which was concealed in one of the crystal drops that rested on my forehead, and I could make out the passageway in monochrome. It was around eight feet wide and almost as high, with a vaulted roof. Look at that rock, very worn, crumbling in places. I’d guess that this tunnel is as old as the monolith, which would make that steel-cored trapdoor a recent addition. It even smells ancient down here, dry and musty, the way a neglected Pre-Dark library full of mildewed books must have smelt—

  Something fell out of the arch above my head, something fluid and shiny, so transparent it was almost invisible. Reflex brought my hand up fast, faster than most humans could react, and I caught its attack on my wrist instead of my neck, double fangs like nails driven into my flesh. It flappe
d against my arm, an animated sac of clear jelly with a distinctly darker internal structure, a winged, eyeless thing, as cold as ice-water. I watched in frozen horror as my blood painted its gullet ink-black.

  Kill it! Zenni ordered, just at the instant my stasis snapped. I flung the bloodsucker away from me, pulping it with needless violence against the tunnel wall.

  What the hell was that? I demanded, shaken as much by the ugly feel of it against my skin as by the surge of fear along the link.

  A taribeor, and it won’t be alone. They live in gestalts of between eight and sixty-four individuals.

  The word brought a memory back, of a disagreeable breakfast and SantDenis weaving horror stories to tease the hapless Caron. Taribeor? The supposedly extinct breed of vampire-flatworms? Did you really say up to sixty-four?

  Perhaps. He tasted my revulsion. Perhaps fewer. Nothing is showing up on my scans.

  Nor mine. The darkness above me was empty. Nothing living lurked there, nothing I could touch with any psi-sense. Could these leeches be shielded in some way?

  If they were constructs— A livid red spot flared on the floor. Look there—is that a fragment of circuitry?

  I crouched down, grimacing as I delved through the ugly slime of the crushed invertebrate, finding an object the size of my thumbnail, a nugget of icy glass. It was too cold to surrender much of its internal detail to my darklight vision, but I could just make out a blur of filaments within. I closed my hand around it, wishing it up to Brimstone and, as I twisted my left arm, I felt blood trickling down to my elbow.

  You’ll need to treat that. Taribeor secrete a potent anticoagulant into their bite. It keeps the food supply flowing nicely.

  Stop it! I’m not interested in the biology of these noisome beasties! I pulled down one of the pocket first-aid kits from the ship. The sting of the clean-up pad made me hiss and I slapped on a bandage tight enough to stop a major haemorrhage. Who in their right minds would resurrect such things?

  I can’t answer that one, Anna, but I can confirm it was a construct. What you sent up was a brain of sorts, very simple, just a basic recognition net to pick out friend from foe—