Bloodwars

by Brian Lumley

  ‘Nathan, I’m sorry! I was just thinking about your father, and …’ But here he paused, as the look on the other’s face gave him away. Nathan already knew what Trask had been thinking about.

  ‘Your thoughts, memories, were so strong …’ He shrugged by way of excusing himself, but in no way negligently. Nathan knew better than to enter another man’s mind unbidden. ‘I knew they’d be about me, or about my father. You should learn to guard your thoughts, Ben. Especially in your line of business. Better if you’d kept that hypnotic guard on your mind, which you had in Perchorsk.’

  Trask gave his head a rueful shake. ‘No, I made mistakes in Perchorsk. A few, anyway. It seems that the act of blocking access to my mind took the edge off my talent. Tzonov and company couldn’t see in too well, but my vision was obscured too! I’m only interested in the truth, Nathan.

  Half-truths aren’t good enough. Anyway, this is E-Branch. There isn’t a man here I wouldn’t trust with my life, let alone my thoughts.’

  ‘Your mind was very clear,’ Nathan told him. ‘So clear, it was like I was there with you. You were frightened when you saw my father. And seeing him in your mind, I knew why.’

  Trask nodded. ‘He was Wamphyri, yes - but he was strong, too. He never gave in to it, not once.’

  That’s what everyone keeps telling me,’ Nathan answered. ‘It’s as if you were saying: “If it should come to the worst, remember that your father never gave in to it”.’

  ‘Maybe we are saying that.’ Trask didn’t deny it. ‘Nathan, even now you don’t fully understand what a weapon you are. And if you were Wamphyri, too? If you should become Wamphyri…?’

  There was no way Trask could know it, but quite apart from Tzonov and the Opposition, there were other men, right there in London, who had thought that selfsame thought. The big difference between those men and Trask was this: that he was able to live with it…

  With the exception of Zek Foener, out in the city arranging a flight home to Zante in the Ionian, the majority of E-Branch’s available agents were gathering in the Ops room when lan Goodly on the Duty Officer’s desk took the call from the Minister Responsible. As soon as the caller’s identity was confirmed, the precog asked him, ‘But aren’t you supposed to be here, Sir?’

  ‘Listen,’ said the other, urgently. ‘Don’t ask me if I’m supposed to be there. Tell me if they are still there?’

  They? Trask and Nathan?’

  ‘Of course! I mean, have they gone into . .. has Nathan … are they on their way to the Refuge?’

  ‘In another fifteen minutes, yes. They’re waiting for a call from Chung to say he’s arrived. He’s Nathan’s beacon, as you should know.’

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  ‘I do know! Now listen … Mr Goodly, isn’t it? We may be in for some trouble.’

  Suddenly the precog knew what had been bothering him all day. It was this, and the Minister Responsible was on the point of telling him about it. ‘Shit!’ he said, which wasn’t like him at all.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Goodly snapped. ‘Make it as fast as you can. And don’t worry, I’ll follow what you tell me.’ Of course he would, for he knew the gist of it already: that Trask and Nathan - certainly the latter - were in great danger. And so he would be attentive as never before.

  The Minister took the precog at his word. Speaking rapidly, breathlessly, he said, ‘Goodly, other people know about Nathan. They know about him, and they have come to … a decision! But I don’t agree with them. It could cost me my job, but I don’t agree. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. Go on.’

  ‘You don’t know how relieved I was when Trask spoke to me just a couple of hours ago and said that Nathan was taking him along the Mobius route. Because these people had fixed it that Nathan wasn’t going to make it out of the airport in Belgrade! That way they could blame it on the Opposition.’

  Goodly sucked in air so that it hissed between his teeth. ‘They were going to stop him going home! But .. . with prejudice?’

  ‘Extreme! So when I heard that Nathan would be - What? Making his own travel arrangements? -it was a weight off my shoulders.’

  ‘I imagine it would be!’ Goodly growled, which wasn’t like him either. ‘How come you haven’t mentioned this … this Belgrade reception, before now?’

  ‘What would it profit anyone? I would have told Trask -of course I would - if he hadn’t brought these other arrangements to my attention. But don’t you know the risk I’m taking right now?’

  ‘You’re only risking your job. Not to have mentioned it would be to risk -‘

  ‘- I know,’ the Minister cut him off. ‘But I’m doing it, right? Give me credit for that at least!’

  ‘So go on.’

  The flight had a tail wind and got into Belgrade fifteen minutes early. And of course Trask and Nathan weren’t on it. So CMI smelled a rat.’

  ‘CMI?’ Goodly frowned at the phone. ‘Are we talking about Combined Military Intelligence?’ CMI was supposed to have shut down all of twelve years ago, but among the other intelligence agencies it was common knowledge that they were as strong and devious as ever.

  ‘Nathan is a Big Gun on the loose,’ the Minister answered. ‘Nobody is in control of him. He’s not even of this world, and his only interest is to get back to Sunside - at present! But what we’ve always been worried about is this: will that be the end of it? Will he stay there? We had the same sort of problem with his father, do you remember? How many times has Ben Trask said what a weapon Nathan would make? And now he’s just such a weapon! Of course CMI is interested. They were going to make him an offer: seduce or “recruit” him, if you like, away from E-Branch. But that was before he got the Mobius Continuum …’

  ‘Wait,’ Goodly cut in. ‘He only just got it. So how come they got to know about it so quickly?’ On the other end of the line, he could almost hear the Minister’s groan … which was as good an answer as any. The Minister ‘Responsible’, indeed!

  Then: ‘For Christ’s sake, Goodly! I have a job too, you know! I mean, do you think I’m a law unto myself? Man, there’s always someone watching the watchers! If anyone should know that, you people should.’

  ‘Get to the point,’ Goodly snapped. ‘So Trask and Nathan weren’t on the plane. What’s next?’

  ‘Your place is next. By now they’ll know we’re trying to give them the slip. Just suppose you were looking for Nathan, where would you go next?’

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  ‘My place? You mean this place? E-Branch HQ?’ ‘Of course! The Belgrade party will have spoken to their London controller, who will have seen to it that others are on their way to you even now. What’s more, by now their orders will be quite specific!’ ‘Christ/’ ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Goodly, slamming down the handset. But in fact it was quite a lot. For the precog’s talent had been galvanized into action, and in his mind’s eye:

  The elevator doors bursting open … a handful of muscular, hard-eyed, grey-uniformed paramilitaries spilling out into the corridor. Some of them carrying stubby automatics, others with machine-pistols or folded down submachine-guns. Goodly running towards them, being stopped and pinned up against a wall by two of them. Their voices clipped, gritty, as they aslted him: ‘Your boss, and the one called Nathan - where are they?’ And him telling them: ‘In the Ops room/’

  Jesus! The Ops room!

  Before the precognitive vision had cleared from his mind, Goodly was out of his chair, out from behind the Duty Officer’s desk, and into the corridor. The spinal corridor was a little less than fifty yards long, thirty from the Duty Officer’s room to the Ops room at one end. Racing that way, Goodly’s eyes were drawn to the elevator’s indicator lights. Originally, the elevator had been part of the hotel downstairs. Now there was only one stop: the top floor, E-Branch HQ. But the floor indicator lights still worked as before, and the cage had just started on its way up!

 
It could be, of course, that it was an E-Branch agent, a late arrival, coming to see Trask and Nathan off. Except Goodly didn’t think so. Bursting through the swing-doors into the Ops room, he saw a circle of espers standing there, shaking hands with Nathan and the Head of Branch. No one seemed in a hurry; Goodly was moving and thinking so fast that everyone else appeared to be stationary; their

  heads turned in a weird sort of slow-motion to see what all the fuss was about.

  The fuss was about him, shouting, ‘Ben, Nathan - get the hell out of here! I mean now! The Minister was on the blower. CMI has men on their way here, and they’re after Nathan!’

  ‘What?’ Trask’s mouth yawned open in a gasp, but he knew Goodly like his own brother and his mind was quick to pick up the precog’s warning; he recognized the truth of what Goodly had said. And to Nathan, urgently: ‘Son, can we go now?’

  Nathan closed his eyes, frowned his concentration, shook his head. ‘No. It’s early and Chung is still mobile. Also, he was supposed to call us and we haven’t heard from him yet. He could be in a car or something; there could be people around. We have to emerge somewhere safe.’

  In his mind’s eye, Goodly saw the elevator doors hissing open! Then go somewhere else!’ he yelled, as he rushed back out into the corridor. Til stall them.’

  And they were already there — a handful of paramilitaries with weapons enough to start a small war! But Goodly knew how to handle it, because he’d already seen it. Careering down the corridor, he flew straight into a pair of them. Grabbing him, they pinned him to the wall and asked: ‘Your boss, and the one called Nathan - where are they?’

  ‘In the … in the Ops room!’ Goodly gasped through a compressed windpipe, where an arm was pressed to his throat.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down there.’ He flapped an arm towards the wrong end of the corridor. But at that end, CMI agents were already checking out the rooms. While at the other end, the Ops room doors had been thrown open and a group of espers was emerging into the corridor.

  Goodly found himself thrust aside, and followed on behind the paramilitaries as they ran crouching towards the Ops room. Esper protests were ignored; Ben Trask’s mindspies

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  were pushed out of the way as the CMI men went through the swing-doors with Goodly right behind them …

  … But in the room . .. there was only a swirl of dust-motes spiralling in a stray beam of sunlight through the slatted windows.

  ‘You.’ A CMI agent prodded Goodly with his machine-pistol. ‘You lied to us.’ He was about five-ten, blocky, broad-shouldered, red-haired and crewcut. A typical bully-boy, he had to weigh about one hundred and eighty pounds. His green eyes were set a little too close together, and his lips were fleshy, the bottom one slightly pendulous.

  Goodly scowled and brushed the gun aside. Other espers had come back into the room to stand watching, silent, with their arms folded on their chests. Now that Trask and Nathan were out of it, things were different. It was as the Minister Reponsible had said: these men had specific orders.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Sputtering and suddenly red in the face, the man with the machine-pistol - their Platoon Commander? - again turned his weapon towards Goodly.

  ‘I heard,’ Goodly answered, in his piping but in no way intimidated voice. ‘I always lie to people who break into private property, and to thugs who threaten me! So do all of the people here. You and one of your men assaulted me in the corridor. And you’ll pay for it. You’re CMI, right? Well, you’ll be dragged over some pretty hot coals for this.’

  The other cocked his weapon, and his men followed suit and pressed forward. But Paul Garvey, a full-blown telepath, had stepped up alongside Goodly. Now Garvey grinned and said, ‘He’s wrong-footed, doesn’t like being accused, can’t do anything about it. They came to do a job and came too late. They have no more business here. Anything else would be right outside their jurisdiction. And this one is already worried about your threats. He cocked his gun to show you how big and brave he is, but now he’s worried that maybe we’ll report him for that, too. Because in fact he’s chicken-shit!’

  Goodly knew that Garvey was reading the CMI leader’s mind. But that one was staring — no, grimacing - at the expression on Garvey’s face. For the telepath was still grinning, and deliberately. Which was a sight to see; or a sight not to see, if you weren’t in the know.

  ‘You,’ said the Platoon Commander, prodding Garvey with his weapon, but carefully. ‘Shut - your - /ace!’ He continued to stare at Garvey’s . .. what, expression?

  ‘Or what?’ said Garvey. ‘You’ll murder me? And all the rest of us? This is E-Branch HQ. Don’t you know everything you say and do here is being recorded, including the fact that you wrecked the elevator’s security system to get in? Not only you, but the people who sent you - you’re all in the shit!’

  Paul Garvey was tall, well-built and still athletically trim, despite the fact that he was fifty-one years old. Sixteen years ago he had been good-looking, too … before going up against one of Harry Keogh’s most dangerous adversaries, a necromancer called Johnny Found, and losing most of the left side of his face. At the time and on a number of occasions since, some of the best plastic surgeons in England had worked on him until he looked half-decent again, but a real face is made of more than just flesh scavenged from other parts. Garvey’s face had been rebuilt from living tissue, true, but the muscles on the left didn’t pull the same as on the right, and even after all this time the nerves still didn’t connect up too well. He could smile with the right side but not the left. For which reason, and even though the other espers were used to it, Garvey would normally avoid smiling altogether - and avoid all other facial expressions, too.

  But when Garvey stopped smiling and actually scowled, like now .. .

  The Platoon Commander gulped and made a visible attempt to pull himself together. Then he applied the safety catch on his weapon and backed off a step. He blinked, looked away from the telepath, took out a plastic-laminated

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  card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Goodly. And, quoting parrot-fashion, he began: This was a CMI operation. You are required by law not to reveal -‘

  ‘- Out!’ Goodly cut him short. ‘You and your gorillas, get your backsides out of here - now!’

  The Platoon Commander grew yet more red in the face, puffed himself up … and let it all out in a grunt of frustration. He turned to his men, scowled, and indicated with a jerk of his head that it was time to leave. But Goodly wasn’t finished with them.

  Think about this,’ he said. ‘You are required, by a law that makes the Official Secrets Act look like a joke from a Christmas cracker, to forget you were even here! Why, you might even be persuaded to forget you were born! Because for all you know, your boss — or maybe his boss — is fitting you all up for prefrontal lobotomies right now!’

  The CMI agents filed out of the room, along the corridor, into the lift. It was Goodly’s first chance to count them: a half-section, eight men. The espers had had them outnumbered. But Paul Garvey said, ‘We had them out-everythinged! Not much brain-power there. And yet, if Nathan had been here, they had orders to take him. Or if they couldn’t do that, to kill him.’

  ‘You got that out of their minds?’

  ‘Yes.’ Garvey nodded. ‘But just Nathan, which meant I could afford to mouth off a bit. No big deal, for like I said -their leader was chicken-shit.’

  ‘I have to report this.’ Goodly’s face was grim; heading for the Duty Officer’s room, he looked even more cadaverous than usual. But as he got there the phone started cheeping.

  It was David Chung at the Refuge in Romania. And when he heard Goodly’s voice: ‘Okay, lan, I’m home and dry. There was a spot of trouble at the airport, but finally I’m here. Nathan and Trask can … they can come on in.’

  Goodly breathed a sigh of relief, said, ‘Yes, they can.’

  Except -
<
br />   - Where the hell were Nathan and Trask?

  From deep in his mind, unbidden, it was as if some inner voice answered with a query of its own: And where will they be this time tomorrow? For that matter, where wiJJ you be, Goodly, my boy? It was his talent working, he knew, except even a precog can’t see too far into the future. And sometimes, like now, he was loath to even try …

  Nathan was used to it by now, but not Trask. And after a single glance, Trask’s first taste or feel of the Mobius Continuum, he doubted if he ever would be used to it. Or if he would want to be.

  What do you think? Nathan asked him. For even thoughts had weight in the Mobius Continuum, and Trask ‘heard’ them as sharp and clear as speech in the more mundane world. Quick to catch on, he answered: When I’m a-a-able to think, then I’ll let you know!

  Nathan’s chuckle was his only answer. But Trask was too busy sensing the Mobius Continuum all around him -absorbing or experiencing what he could of it - to feel any real resentment. And it was for him much as it had been for only a handful of human beings who had travelled here before him, so that when he was capable of thinking, he thought much the same thoughts as them; even the same as Nathan himself had thought:

  I was in the Ops room, with Nathan, until we took a step - out - of there. Now we’re here, on the other side of a Mobius door. Except.. . where the helJ is ‘here’.’?

  For ‘here’ lay darkness, the Primal Darkness itself, as it had existed before the universe began. It was a place of absolute negativity, not even a parallel plane of existence, because nothing existed here. At least, not under normal conditions. If there was ever a place where darkness lay upon the face of the deep, this was it. And Trask was struck by the thought: Perhaps this was where God was born, be/ore he took his first step into the universe of light. Perhaps that’s how the physical universe started, when He split it off from this dark and metaphysical void. For, indeed, the Mobius Continuum was without form, and void.