The Neutronium Alchemist

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Louise looked from the girl to the soldiers marching about outside, and came to a decision. “Fletcher, can you fake one of the army uniforms?” she asked. “An officer, not too high-ranking. A lieutenant or captain, perhaps?”

  He smiled. “A prudent notion, my lady.” His grey suit shimmered, darkening to khaki, its surface roughening.

  “The buttons are wrong,” Genevieve declared. “They should be bigger.”

  “If you say so, little one.”

  “That’ll do,” Louise said after a minute, anxious that the sergeant would return before they were done. “Half of these boys have never seen uniforms before. They don’t know if it’s right or not. We’re wasting time.”

  Genevieve and Fletcher pulled a face together at the reprimand. The girl giggled.

  Louise opened the window and peered out. There was no one in the immediate vicinity. “Push the cases through first,” she said.

  They walked over to the nearest hangar as quickly as they could; Louise immediately regretted bringing their bags and cases. She and Fletcher were carrying two apiece, and they were heavy; even Genevieve had a big shoulder bag which she was wilting under. Any attempt to be inconspicuous was doomed from the start.

  It was about two hundred yards to the hangar. When they got there, the central control tower didn’t look any nearer. And Fletcher just said that Furay was “near there.” The pilot could be well on the other side for all she knew.

  The hangar was being used as a store depot by the army; long rows of wooden crates were lined up along the sides, arranged so that narrow alleyways branched off at right angles leading right back to the walls.

  Five forklift trucks were parked at the far end. There were no soldiers in sight. The doors at both ends were wide open, creating a gentle breeze along the main aisle.

  “See if there’s a farm ranger or something like it parked here,” Louise said. “If not, we’re going to have to dump the cases.”

  “Why?” Genevieve asked.

  “They’re too heavy, Gen, and we’re in a hurry. I’ll buy you some more, don’t worry.”

  “Can you use such a contraption, my lady?” Fletcher asked.

  “I’ve driven one before.” Up and down Cricklade’s drive. Once. With Daddy shouting instructions in my ear.

  Louise let the bags fall to the floor and told Genevieve to wait by them.

  “I will search around outside,” Fletcher said. “My appearance will cause little concern. May I suggest you stay in here.”

  “Right. I’ll check down there.” She started walking towards the other end of the hangar. The ancient corrugated iron roof panels were creaking softly as they shed the heat of Duke-day.

  She was about thirty yards from the open sliding doors when she heard Fletcher calling out behind her. He was running down the wide aisle formed by the crates, waving his arms urgently. Genevieve was chasing after him.

  A jeep drove into the hangar. Two people were sitting in it. The one driving wore a soldier’s uniform. The second, sitting in the back, was dressed all in black.

  Louise turned to face them. I’ll brazen it out; after all, that’s what I’ve been doing all day.

  Then she realized the man in black was a priest, she could see the dog collar. She breathed out a sigh of relief. He must be an army padre.

  The jeep braked to a halt beside her.

  Louise smiled winningly, the smile which always made Daddy say yes. “I wonder if you could help us, I’m a little bit lost.”

  “I doubt that, Louise,” Quinn Dexter said. “Not someone as resourceful as you.”

  Louise started to run, but something cold and oily snaked around her ankles. She crashed down onto the timeworn concrete floor, grazing her hands and wrists.

  Quinn stepped down out of the jeep. The mockery of a cassock swirled around his feet. “Going somewhere?”

  She ignored her stinging hands and numbed knee, lifting her head to see him standing above her. “Devil! What have you done to Mummy?”

  His dog collar turned a shiny scarlet, as though it were made from blood.

  “Such a fucking great hurry for knowledge. Well don’t you worry, Louise, we’re going to show you exactly what happened to Mummy. I’m going to give you a personal demonstration.”

  “Do not touch her, sir,” Fletcher called as he came to a halt by the front of the jeep. “The lady Louise is my ward, under my protection.”

  “Traitor,” Lawrence Dillon yelled. “You are one of the blessed ones. God’s Brother allowed you back into this world to fight the legions of the false Lord. Now you defy the messiah chosen to lead the returned.”

  Quinn clicked his fingers, and Lawrence fell silent. “I don’t know who you are, friend. But don’t fuck with me or you’ll die to regret it.”

  “I do not wish to draw swords with any man. So stand aside and we will go our separate ways.”

  “Arsehole. I’m stronger than you by myself; and there’s two of us.”

  Fletcher smiled thinly. “Then why do you not take what you desire by your might? Could it be I would struggle? And that would draw the attention of the soldiers. Are you stronger than an entire army?”

  “Don’t push it,” Quinn warned. “I’m off this shit tip planet today, and nobody’s gonna stop that. Now I know this bitch from before, she’s smart. She’ll have a starship lined up to take her away, right?”

  Louise glared up at him.

  “Thought so,” Quinn sneered. “Well, lover, you’re gonna hand your tickets over to me. My need is one fuck of a lot greater than yours.”

  “Never!” She groaned as Lawrence Dillon grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her upright.

  Fletcher made a start forwards, but stopped as Quinn pointed at Genevieve, who was cowering behind him.

  “Dumb move,” Quinn said. “I’ll blow you back to the beyond if I have to. And then it’ll go real bad for your little pal. You know I mean it. I won’t possess her. I’ll keep her for myself. Some nights I’ll hand her over to Lawrence; he knows some real kinks now. I taught him myself.”

  “Sure did.” Lawrence grinned wildly at Genevieve.

  “You are inhuman.” Fletcher put an arm instinctively around Genevieve.

  “Wrong!” Quinn barked. His sudden fury made Fletcher take a half pace backwards.

  “Banneth. Now she’s inhuman. She did things to me …” Spittle appeared on Quinn’s chin. He giggled, and wiped it away on the back of a trembling hand. “She did things, okay. And now. Now, I’m the one who’s gonna do things right back to her. Things so sick she’s never thought of them.

  God’s Brother understands that, understands the need in me. I’m gonna let my serpent beast devour her and then spew out the bits. I’ll turn my whole crusade on her if I have to. I’ll use biowar bugs, I’ll use nukes, I’ll use antimatter. I don’t fucking care. I’m gonna crack Earth wide open. And I’m gonna go down there, and I’m gonna take her. And nobody is going to stand in my way.”

  “Right on!” Lawrence shouted.

  Quinn was breathing heavily, as if there were insufficient oxygen in the hangar. The cassock had returned to his original priest robe, tiny crackles of energy rippling along the voluminous fabric. Louise quailed before the expression on his face. There wasn’t even any point in struggling.

  Quinn smiled at her, enraptured; two drops of blood dripped off his vampire fangs, running down his chin.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Louise made the shape of the cross with her free hand.

  “But,” Quinn said, calm again, “right now, I’m only interested in you.”

  “Fletcher!” she wailed.

  “I warn you, sir, do not touch her.”

  Quinn waved a dismissive hand. Fletcher doubled up as if a giant had slammed a fist into his stomach. Breath oofed out of his parted lips.

  With a look of horrified surprise, he was flung backwards, thin slivers of white fire crawling over him, slowly constricting. His uniform began to smoulder. Blood burst out of his mo
uth and nose, more began to stain his crotch. He screamed, bucking about helplessly, wrestling with the air.

  “Nooo!” Louise implored. “Please stop. Stop!”

  Genevieve had stumbled to her knees, white face staring brokenly.

  Lawrence began to fumble at the collar of Louise’s T-shirt, snickering eagerly. Then his hand froze, and he drew a breath in surprise.

  Quinn was frowning, squinting along the length of the hangar.

  Louise gulped, not understanding anything. But Fletcher had stopped his agonized contortions. A liquid dust, sparkling with rainbow colours, was slithering over him, and his clothes were slowly mending. He rolled around groggily and swayed up on his knees.

  “What the fuck you doing here, man?” Quinn Dexter shouted.

  Louise scanned the far end of the hangar. Duchess was shining directly through the wide-open doors, producing a brilliant scarlet rectangle set amid the funereal metal cavern. A blank, black human figure was silhouetted in the exact centre. It raised its arm, pointing.

  A bullet bolt of white fire streaked down the hangar, almost too fast for the eye to follow. Louise saw huge shadows careering around at dizzying speeds. The bolt hit the iron roofing girder directly above Quinn Dexter.

  He flinched, ducking blindly as flakes of hot, tortured metal rained down. The whole roof creaked as the loading was redistributed.

  “God’s Brother, what the shit are you playing at?” Quinn raged.

  A bass laugh rumbled down the hangar, distorted by the peculiar acoustics of the stacked crates.

  Louise had time to flash one imploring look at Fletcher, who could only shrug in confusion before the strange figure spread both arms wide.

  “Quinn?” Lawrence appealed. “Quinn, what the hell is happening?”

  His answer was a rosette corona of white fire which burst out of the silhouette. The crates around the figure ignited in the eerily powerful topaz flame which the energistic ability always fanned. A dry wind rose from nowhere, sending Quinn’s robe thrashing.

  “Shit,” Quinn gasped.

  The flames were racing towards them, gorging on the crates, swirling around and around the aisle, faster and faster, the eye of a cyclonic inferno. Wood screeched and snapped as it was cremated, spilling the contents of the crates for the flames to consume, intensifying their strength.

  Louise squealed as the awesome heat pummelled against her. Lawrence had let go of her, his arms waving frantically. In front of him the air was visibly flexing like a warped lens, a shield against the baneful radiance.

  Fletcher scooped up Genevieve. Bending low, he scuttled towards the open door beyond the jeep. “Move, lady,” he shouted.

  Louise barely heard him above the roaring. Dull explosions sounded somewhere behind the leading edge of flame. Corrugated iron panels were taking flight, busting their rusty rivets to shoot off the roof, soaring high into the two-tone sky.

  She staggered after Fletcher. Only when she was actually outside did she look around, just for a second.

  The flames formed a furious rippling tunnel the entire length of the hangar. Dense black smoke churned out of the end. But the centre was perfectly clear.

  Quinn stood before the conflagration, facing it down, arms raised to discharge his power, deflecting the devastating barrage of heat. Far ahead of him, the blank figure had adopted a similar pose.

  “Who are you?” Quinn screamed into the holocaust. “Tell me!” A large wall of crates burst apart, sending a storm of sparks charging into the fray.

  Several roof girders buckled, sagging down, corrugated panels scythed into the flames. The tunnel began to twist, losing its stability. “Tell me. Show your face.” Sirens were sounding, the shouts of men. And more of the ruined hangar collapsed. “Tell me!”

  The rampaging flames obscured the impudent figure. Quinn let out a wordless howl of outrage. And then even he had to retreat as metal melted and concrete turned to sluggish lava. He and Lawrence together lurched out onto the withered grass. Men and fire engines swarmed around in chaos. It was easy to blend in and slink away. Lawrence said nothing as they made their way along a lane of parked aircraft, the darkness of Quinn’s mind humbling him into silence.

  Louise and Fletcher saw the first vehicles bumping over the grass, farm rangers painted military green and a couple of jeeps. A squad of militia were running around the rank of planes, urged on by their officer. Sirens were starting up in the distance. Behind her, the flames were crawling ever higher into the sky.

  “Fletcher, your uniform,” she hissed.

  He glanced down. His trousers had become purple. A blink, and they were khaki again; his jacket lost its rumpled appearance. His bearing was impressively imperious.

  Genevieve moaned in his arms, as if she were fighting a nightmare.

  “Is she all right?” Louise asked.

  “Yes, my lady. Simply a faint.”

  “And you?”

  He nodded gingerly. “I survive.”

  “I thought … It was awful. That devil brute, Quinn.”

  “Never worry for me, lady. Our Lord has decreed some purpose for me, it will be revealed in time. I would not be here otherwise.”

  The first vehicles were nearly upon them. Louise could see more soldiers on their way. It was going to be a complete madhouse; nobody would know what was going on, what was to be done.

  “This could be our chance,” she said. “We must be bold.” She started waving at one of the farm rangers. “That’s only a corporal driving. You outrank him.”

  “As always, lady, your ingenuity is matched only by your strength of spirit. What cruel fate that our true lives are separated by such a gulf of time.”

  She gave him a half-embarrassed, half-delighted smile. Then the farm ranger was pulling to a halt in front of them.

  “You there,” Fletcher snapped at the startled man. “Help me get this child away. She has been overcome by the fire.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal rushed out of the driving seat to help Fletcher ease Genevieve onto the backseat.

  “Our spaceplane is over by the tower,” Louise said, fixing Fletcher with an emphatic stare. “It will have the medicine my sister requires. Our pilot is skilled in such matters.”

  “Yes, madame,” Fletcher said. “The tower,” he instructed the corporal.

  The bewildered man looked from Louise to Fletcher, and decided not to question orders from an officer, no matter how bizarre the circumstances.

  Louise hopped in the back and cradled Genevieve’s head as they drove away from the disintegrating hangar.

  The corporal took ten minutes to find the Far Realm’s spaceplane, guided by Fletcher. Although she’d never seen one before, Louise could see how different it was from the aircraft it was parked among. A needle fuselage with sleek wings that didn’t quite match, as if they’d come off another, larger craft.

  Genevieve had recovered by the time they arrived, though she was very subdued, pressing into Louise’s side the whole time. Fletcher helped her down out of the farm ranger, and she glanced mournfully over to where the stain of black smoke was spreading over the crimson horizon. One hand gripped the pendant which Carmitha had given her, knuckles white.

  “It’s over, now, all over,” Louise said. “I promise, Gen.” She ran her thumb over the Jovian Bank credit disk in her pocket as if it were a talisman as potent as Carmitha’s charm. Thank heavens she’d kept hold of that.

  Genevieve nodded silently.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Corporal,” Fletcher said. “Now I think you had better return to your commanding officer and see if you can help with the fire.”

  “Sir.” He was dying to ask what was going on. Discipline defeated curiosity, and he flicked the throttle, driving off down the broad strip of grass.

  Louise blew out a huge sigh of relief.

  Furay waited for them at the bottom of the airstairs. A half-knowing smile in place; interested rather than apprehensive.

  Louise looked straight at hi
m, grinning in return—at their arrival, the state they were in. It was a relief that for once she didn’t have to concoct some ludicrous story on the spot. Furay was too smart for that.

  Bluntness and a degree of honesty was all she needed here.

  She held up her Jovian Bank disk. “My boarding pass.” The pilot cocked an eyebrow towards the smoke. “Anyone you know?”

  “Yes. Just pray you never get to know them, too.”

  “I see.” He took in Fletcher’s uniform. When they’d met at lunchtime Fletcher had been in a simple suit. “I see you’ve made lieutenant in under five hours.”

  “I was once more than this, sir.”

  “Right.” It wasn’t quite the response Furay expected.

  “Please,” Louise said. “My sister needs to sit down. She’s been through a lot.”

  Furay thought the little girl looked about dead on her feet. “Of course,” he said sympathetically. “Come on. We’ve got some medical nanonics inside.”

  Louise followed him up the airstairs. “Do you think you could possibly lift off now?”

  He eyed the ferocious blaze again. “Somehow, I just knew you were going to ask that.”

  Marine Private Shaukat Daha had been standing guard outside the navy spaceplane for six hours when the hangar caught fire on the other side of Bennett Field. The major in charge of his squad had dispatched half a dozen marines to assist, but the rest were told to stand firm. “It may just be a diversion,” the major datavised.

  So Shaukat could only watch the extraordinarily vigorous flames through enhanced retinas on full resolution. The fire engines which raced across the aerodrome were quite something, though, huge red vehicles with crews in silvery suits. Naturally this crazy planet didn’t have extinguisher mechanoids. Actual people had to deploy the hoses. It was fascinating.

  His peripheral senses monitor program alerted him to the two men approaching the spaceplane. Shaukat shifted his retinal focus. It was a couple of the locals, a Christian padre and an army lieutenant. Shaukat knew that technically he was supposed to take orders from Norfolk officers, but this lieutenant was ridiculously young, still a teenager.

  There were limits.