The Neutronium Alchemist

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “I’m coming, too,” Navar said defiantly as she saw Jed’s face darken.

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Her voice was that same priggish bark he had come to loathe over the last months, not just the tone but the way it always got what it wanted.

  “Gari!” he protested. “What are you doing, doll?”

  His sister’s lips squeezed up as a prelude to crying. “She saw me packing. She said she’d tell Digger.”

  “I will, I swear,” Navar said. “I’m not staying here, not when I can go and live in Valisk. I’m going, all right.”

  “Okay.” Jed put his arm around Gari’s quivering shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.”

  “No she bloody didn’t,” Beth exclaimed. “There’s no room on board for anyone else.”

  Gari started crying. Navar folded her arms, putting on her most stubborn expression.

  “Thanks,” Jed said over his sister’s head.

  “Don’t leave me here with Digger,” Gari wailed. “Please, Jed, don’t.”

  “No one’s leaving you behind,” Jed promised.

  “What then?” Beth asked.

  “I don’t know. Knox is just going to have to find room for one more, I suppose.” He glared at Gari’s erstwhile antagonizer. How bloody typical that even now she was messing things up, right when he thought he was going to escape the curse of Digger forever. By rights he should deck her one and lock her up until they’d gone. But in the world Kiera promised them, all animosities would be forgiven and forgotten. Even a mobile pain-in-the-arse like Navar. It was an ideal he was desperate to achieve.

  Would dumping her here make him unworthy of Kiera?

  Seeing his indecision, Beth stormed: “Christ, you’re so useless.” She rounded on Navar, the nervejam suddenly in her hand. Navar’s smirk faded as she found herself confronting someone who for once wasn’t going to be wheedled or threatened. “One word out of you, one complaint, one show of your usual malice, and I use this on your bum before I shove you out of the airlock. Got that?” The nerve-jam was pressed against the end of Navar’s nose for emphasis.

  “Yes,” the girl squeaked. She looked as miserable and frightened as Gari.

  Jed couldn’t remember seeing her so disconcerted before.

  “Good,” Beth said. The nervejam vanished into a pocket. She flashed Jed a puzzled frown. “I don’t know why you let her give you so much grief the whole time. She’s only a girly brat.”

  Jed realized he must be blushing as red as Gari. Explanations now would be pointless, not to mention difficult.

  He pulled his shoulder bag out from under the table. It was disappointingly light to be carrying everything he considered essential to his life.

  Captain Knox was waiting for them in the lounge at the end of the airlock tube: a short man with the flat features of his Pacific-island ancestry, but the pale skin and ash-blond hair which one of those same ancestors had bought as he geneered his family for free-fall endurance. His light complexion made his anger highly conspicuous.

  “I only agreed to fifteen,” he said as Beth and Jed drifted through the hatch. “You’ll have to send some back; three at least.”

  Jed tried to push his shoes onto a stikpad. He didn’t like free fall, which made his stomach wobble, his face swell, and clogged his sinuses.

  Nor was he much good at manoeuvring himself by hanging on to a grab hoop and using his wrists to angle his body. Inertia fought every move, making his tendons burn. When he did manage to touch his sole to the pad there was little adhesion. Like everything else in the inter-orbit ship, it was worn down and out-of-date.

  “Nobody is going back,” he said. Gari was clinging to his side, the mass of her floating body trying hard to twist him away from the stikpad. He didn’t let go of the grab hoop.

  “Then we don’t leave,” Knox said simply.

  Jed saw Gerald Skibbow at the back of the lounge; as usual he was in switch-off, staring at the bulkhead with glazed eyes. Jed was beginning to wonder if he had a serious habit. “Gerald.” He waved urgently.

  “Gerald!”

  Knox muttered under his breath as Gerald came awake in slow stages, his body twitching.

  “How many passengers are you licensed for?” Beth asked.

  Knox ignored her.

  “What is it?” Gerald asked. He was blinking as if the light were too bright.

  “Too many people,” Knox said. “You’ve gotta chuck some off.”

  “I have to go,” Gerald said quietly.

  “No one is saying you don’t, Gerald,” Beth said. “It’s your money.”

  “But my ship,” Knox said. “And I’m not carrying this many.”

  “Fine,” Beth said. “We’ll just ask the CAB office how many people you’re licensed to carry.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “If you won’t carry us, then return the fee and we’ll find another ship.”

  Knox gave Gerald a desperate glance, but he looked equally bewildered.

  “Just three, did you say?” Beth asked.

  Sensing things were finally flowing in his favour, Knox smiled. “Yes, just three. I’ll be happy to fly a second charter for your friends later.”

  Which was rubbish, Beth knew. He was only worried about his own precious skin. A ship operating this close to the margin really would be hard put to sustain nineteen Deadnights plus the crew. It was the first time Knox had shown the slightest concern about the flight. The only interest he’d shown in them before was their ability to pay. Which Gerald had done, and well over the odds, too. They didn’t deserve to be pushed around like this.

  But Gerald was totally out of the argument, back in one of his semi-comatose depressions again. And Jed … Jed these days was focused on one thing only. Beth still hadn’t made up her mind if she was annoyed about that or not.

  “Put three of us in the lifeboat, then,” she said.

  “What?” Knox asked.

  “You do have a lifeboat?”

  “Of course.”

  Which is where he and his precious family would shelter if anything did go wrong, she knew. “We’ll put the three youngest in there. They’d be the first in anyway, wouldn’t they?”

  Knox glared at her. Ultimately, though, money won the argument. Skibbow had paid double the price of an ordinary charter, even at the inflated rates flights to and from Koblat were currently worth.

  “Very well,” Knox said gracelessly. He datavised the flight computer to close the airlock hatch. Koblat’s flight control was already signalling him to leave the docking bay. His filed flight plan gave a departure time of five minutes ago, and another ship was waiting.

  “Give him the coordinate,” Beth told Jed. She took Gerald by the arm and gently began to tug him to his couch.

  Jed handed the flek over to Knox, wondering how come Beth was suddenly in charge.

  The Leonora Cephei rose quickly out of the docking bay; a standard drum-shaped life-support capsule separated from her fusion drive by a thirty-metre spine. Four thermo dump panels unfolded from her rear equipment bay, looking like the cruciform fins of some atmospheric plane.

  Ion thrusters flared around her base and nose. Without any cargo to carry, manoeuvring was a lot faster and easier than normal. She rotated through ninety degrees, then the secondary drive came on, pushing her out past the rim of the spaceport.

  Before Leonora Cephei had travelled five kilometres, the Villeneuve’s Revenge settled onto the waiting cradle of bay WJR-99. Captain Duchamp datavised a request to the spaceport service company for a full load of deuterium and He3. His fuel levels were down to twenty per cent, he said, and he had a long voyage ahead.

  ***

  The clouds over Chainbridge formed a tight stationary knot of dark carmine amid the ruby streamers which ebbed and swirled across the rest of the sky. Standing behind Moyo as he drove the bus towards the town, Stephanie could sense the equally darkened minds clustered among the buildings. There were far more
than there should have been; Chainbridge was barely more than an ambitious village.

  Moyo’s concern matched hers. His foot eased off the accelerator. “What do you want to do?”

  “We don’t have a lot of choice. That’s where the bridge is. And the vehicles need recharging.”

  “Go through?”

  “Go through. I can’t believe anyone will hurt the children now.”

  Chainbridge’s streets were clogged with parked vehicles. They were either military jeeps and scout rangers or lightly armoured infantry carriers.

  Possessed lounged indolently among them. They reminded Moyo of ancient revolutionary guerillas, with their bold-print camouflage fatigues, heavy lace-up boots, and shoulder-slung rifles.

  “Uh oh,” Moyo said. They had reached the town square, a pleasant cobbled district bounded by tall aboriginal leghorn trees. Two light-tracked tanks were drawn up across the road. The machines were impossibly archaic with their iron slab bodywork and chuntering engines coughing up diesel smoke. But that same primitive solidity gave them a unique and unarguable menace.

  The Karmic Crusader had already stopped, its cheap effervescent colours quite absurd against the tank’s stolid armour. Moyo braked behind it.

  “You stay in here,” Stephanie said, squeezing his shoulder. “The children need someone. This is frightening for them.”

  “This is frightening for me,” he groused.

  Stephanie stepped down onto the cobbles. Sunglasses spread out from her nose in the same fashion as a butterfly opening its wings.

  Cochrane was already arguing with a couple of soldiers who were standing in front of the tanks. Stephanie came up behind him and smiled pleasantly at them. “I’d like to talk to Annette Ekelund, please. Would you tell her we’re here.”

  One of them glanced at the Karmic Crusader and the inquisitive children pressed against its windscreen. He nodded, and slipped away past the tanks.

  Annette Ekelund emerged from the town hall a couple of minutes later. She was wearing a smart grey uniform, its leather jacket lined in scarlet silk.

  “Oh, wow,” Cochrane said as she approached. “It’s Mrs. Hitler herself.”

  Stephanie growled at him.

  “We heard you were coming,” Annette Ekelund said in a tired voice.

  “So why have you blocked the road?” Stephanie asked.

  “Because I can, of course. Don’t you understand anything?”

  “All right, you’ve demonstrated you’re in charge. I accept that. None of us has the slightest intention of challenging you. Can we go past now, please?”

  Annette Ekelund shook her head in bemused wonder. “I just had to see you for myself. What do you think you’re doing with these kids? Do you think you’re saving them?”

  “Frankly, yes. I’m sorry if that’s too simple for you, but they’re really all I’m interested in.”

  “If you genuinely cared, you would have left them alone. It would have been kinder in the long run.”

  “They’re children. They’re alone now, and they’re frightened now. Abstract issues don’t mean very much compared to that. And you’re scaring them.”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “So what is all this martial jingoism for? Keeping us under control?”

  “You don’t show a lot of gratitude, do you? I risked everything to bring lost souls back to this world, including yours.”

  “And so you think that gives you a shot at being our empress. You didn’t risk anything, you were compelled, just like all of us. You were simply the first, nothing more.”

  “I was the first to see what needed to be done. The first to organize. The first to fight. The first to claim victory. The first to stake out our land.” She swept an arm out towards a squad of troops who had taken over a pavement café on the other side of the square. “That’s why they follow me. Because I’m right, because I know what needs to be done.”

  “What these people need is some kind of purpose. Mortonridge is falling apart. There’s no food left, no electricity, nobody knows what to do.

  With authority comes responsibility. Unless you’re just a bandit queen, of course. If you’re a real leader, you should apply your leadership skills where they’ll do the most good. You made a start, you kept the communications net working, you gave most towns a council of sorts. You should have built on that.”

  Annette Ekelund grinned. “What exactly were you before? They told me you were just a housewife.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Stephanie said, impatient with the whole charade.

  “Will you let us through?”

  “If I didn’t, you’d only find another way. Of course you can go through. We even have a few children scooting around the town that you can take with you. See? I’m not a complete monster.”

  “The buses need recharging first.”

  “Naturally.” Ekelund sighed. She beckoned to one of the tank guards.

  “Dane will show you where a working power point is. Please don’t ask us for any food, I haven’t got enough to spare. I’m having trouble supplying my own troops as it is.”

  Stephanie looked at the tanks; if she concentrated hard she could make out the fantasm shapes of the farm tractor mechanoids behind the armour.

  “What are you and your army doing here?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious. I’ve taken that responsibility you prize so highly. I’m protecting Mortonridge for you. We’re only thirty kilometres from the firebreak they slashed across the top of the ridge; and on the other side, the Saldana Princess is preparing. They’re not going to leave us alone, Stephanie Ash. They hate us and they fear us. It’s a nasty combination. So while you go gallivanting around doing your good deeds, just remember who’s holding back the barbarians.” She started back for the tanks, then paused. “You know, one day you’re really going to have to decide where your loyalties lie. You said you’d fight to stop them throwing you back; well if you do, it’ll be at my side.”

  “Ho wow, one iron-assed lady,” Cochrane muttered.

  “Definitely,” Stephanie agreed.

  Dane climbed into the Karmic Crusader with Cochrane and showed them the way to a line of warehouses which served the wharf. Their long roofs were all made from solar collector panels. When the buses were plugged in, Stephanie called her people together and told them what Ekelund had said.

  “If any of you want to wait here while the buses go to the firebreak, I’ll understand,” she said. “The Kingdom military might get nervous about four large vehicles heading towards them.”

  “They won’t shoot us out of hand,” McPhee said. “Not as long as we don’t cross the line. They’ll be curious.”

  “Do you think so?” Tina said anxiously. A large lace hankie was pressed to her lips.

  “I’ve been there,” Dane said. “It was a scout mission. I watched them watching me. They won’t start any trouble. Like your friend said, they’ll be curious.”

  “We’re almost there.” Stephanie’s fixed smile betrayed her nerves. “Just a few more hours, that’s all.” She glanced back at the buses, putting on a cheerful expression as she waved at the children pressed up against the windows. They had all picked up on the gloomy aura of the darkened clouds overhead. “McPhee, Franklin; give me a hand with them will you. We’ll let them stretch their legs here and use a toilet.”

  “Sure.”

  Stephanie let Moyo hold her for a moment. He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t give up now.”

  She smiled shyly. “I won’t. Can you take a look in the warehouses for me, see if you can find some working toilets. If not, we’ll have to make do with tissues and the river.”

  “I’ll go check.”

  The big sliding doors of the closest warehouse were open. It was used to store tubing, row after row of floor-to-ceiling stacks. All its lights were off, but there was enough pink-tinged sunlight coming through the doors for him to see by. He started checking around for an office.

  Silent
forklift mechanoids were standing in the aisles, holding up bundles of tubing that had been destined for urgent delivery. It wouldn’t take much effort to start them up again, he thought. But what would be the point? Did a society of possessed need factories and farms? Some infrastructure was necessary, yes, but how much and of what kind?

  Something simple and efficient, and extremely long-lasting. He was quietly glad that kind of decision wasn’t his.

  A pyramid of tubing shielded the man from Moyo’s perception. So he convinced himself later. Whatever the reason, he didn’t notice him until he had rounded a corner and was barely five metres away. And he wasn’t a possessed. Moyo knew his own kind, the internal glimmer of cells excited by the energistic overspill. This man’s biolectric currents were almost black, while his thoughts were fast and quiet. He was excessively ordinary in appearance; wearing pale green trousers, a check shirt, and a sleeveless jacket with DataAxis printed on its left breast pocket.

  Moyo was chilled by a rush of panic. Any non-possessed creeping around here had to be a spy, which meant he’d be armed, most likely with something potent enough to terminate a possessed with minimum fuss.

  White fire punched out of Moyo’s palm, an instinctive response.

  The seething streamer splashed against the man’s face and flowed around him to strike the tubing behind him. Moyo grunted in disbelief. The man simply stood there as if it were water pouring over him.

  The white fire dimmed, its remnants retreating into Moyo’s hand. He whimpered, expecting the worst. I’m going to be blown back into the beyond. They’ve found a way of neutralizing our energistic power. We’ve lost. There’s only the beyond now. For always.

  He closed his eyes. Thinking with fond longing: Stephanie.

  Nothing happened. He opened his eyes again. The man was looking at him with a mildly embarrassed expression. Behind him, molten metal was dribbling down the side of the stacked tubing.