In conversation with Bruckner beside the pool, he had let slip that the replacement maintenance team was complete but for two places—a smartware engineer and a top person in fission nucleonics.
Almost without thinking, guided by her subconscious, perhaps, she had. found herself saying, “Actually, I’ve heard there’s a good man in Africa, Friday Olembe.”
Bruckner dropped by a few days later and told her, casually, that her suggestion had been acted upon. ESO had checked out Olembe, and he was now part of the team.
For the next few days, before they were due to meet for the first time, Kaluchek wondered if she had been horribly mistaken. Wasn’t it best to let sleeping dogs lie; wasn’t forgiveness the way to move on, not revenge?
She wondered what had provoked her suggestion. Perhaps it was the thought of leaving him on Earth, of allowing him to live out his life without restitution for what he had done to her. Paradoxically she had granted him an extended future—for the sole purpose of extracting some form of yet-to-be-planned revenge.
Then they had met—five new recruits around the pool at Berne—and Kaluchek had experienced an almost heart-stopping fear. As she gazed across the table at Olembe’s broad, well-fed, arrogant face, she knew hatred as never before. Olembe was a beast, a macho thug whose arrogance in maturity she had extrapolated from the student she had briefly known. She had managed to tolerate his company for about five minutes, before making some excuse and slipping away.
She had willed herself to act calmly in the days that followed, to behave normally in his company, even though the sight of him filled her with panicky terror.
Over the course of the following week, she had worked out what she would do.
Beneath her, now, Joe coughed, gasped in pain and tried to sit up.
After so many negative thoughts, after all the pain and hatred, the fact of Joe Hendry coming to life filled her with pleasure.
She stroked his head and smiled. “Hey, Joe. Take it easy, okay? You’ll be fine.”
He blinked up at her, even managed a smile. “How long-?”
“Perhaps an hour. Someone came in to see us. A rat in a red robe.”
“A rat?”
“Well, whatever they are.”
He smiled, reached out and squeezed her arm. “They hit you too?”
“I got off lightly.” She touched the side of her head, which was tender. “But they mashed my suit’s smartware. The thermostat’s gone.”
He laughed gently. “Wondered why you were getting so intimate.”
“Fool. I would have snuggled up whatever, okay?”
He winced, tried to sit up. She helped him. They sat side by side against the back wall, his arm around her. His head fell onto her shoulder, and when she peered down at him she saw that his eyes were closed.
She looked across the cell at Olembe. He hadn’t moved in all the time they’d been there, and for a second she wondered if he was dead. Then she detected the slight rise and fall of his bull-like chest.
Oddly, she felt a quick stab of relief. Even though a part of her would not mourn his death, she wanted him to live. Dead, he would never find out what pain he had caused her, would never meet his deserved punishment.
During her last week on Earth, she had put together the package that would eventually, one far off day, spell Friday Olembe’s nemesis. She had accessed an old UN data file on a fugitive war criminal, broken the encryption and copied it to a personal pin. Then, working in her room well into the early hours, she had patched in Friday Olembe’s personal details, erasing all trace of the identity of the original war criminal so that to all intents and purposes it was Olembe who had given the order for the execution of the five hundred Moroccan civilians.
It would never have convinced people on Earth, of course, where the original records would have pointed up the dissimulation. But hundreds or thousands of years later, with only the UN data pin to go by, it would be compelling evidence to a fledgling colony that they had a mass murderer in their midst.
She had planned to splice the data into the core smartware system just as soon as everything was up and running, introduce the details of his spurious past into his personal identity entry and wait for someone in administration to make the discovery. Now, things were on hold. She might never get the opportunity to enact her revenge—in which case she would have to think of some other form of punishment for the bastard.
Meanwhile, she tolerated his odious presence.
Carrelli coughed, rolled over onto her side and groaned. She tried to push herself onto all fours and failed. Kaluchek left Joe and moved across to the medic, taking her shoulders and easing her onto her back. Her beautiful, oval ballerina’s face was marred by a growing contusion that discoloured her left eye and cheek.
Carrelli sat up, shuffled to the wall next to the seeping Joe and slumped against the brickwork. She closed her eyes, breathing hard.
Kaluchek touched her hand. “You okay?”
Carrelli opened her eyes and smiled at her. “Nothing broken, I think. You and Joe?”
“I’m fine. Bastards smashed my suit controls, is all.” She looked at Joe. “I think he’s okay. He came round a while ago. I think he’s sleeping now.”
Carrelli frowned.
“Is that bad?” Kaluchek asked, heart leaping.
“It might not be good. It is hard to tell.”
“Joe’s tough. He’ll be fine.”
Carrelli smiled. “You like Joe a lot, don’t you?”
Kaluchek found herself blushing like a schoolgirl.
Carrelli touched her hand. “That’s nice. Joe’s a good man. Look after him, okay?”
Kaluchek smiled, and wondered what exactly the medic meant by that. Did she intend not being around for much longer? The thought frightened her: the cool, intelligent Italian was a foil to Olembe’s illusions of power.
Across the cell, Olembe cursed under his breath and rolled onto his back. He blinked up at the ceiling for a second or two, then propped himself up on his elbows, taking in the bars and the corridor, then looking around at his fellow prisoners.
He sat up, moved to the bars and leaned against them, as if putting as much distance as possible between himself and the other three—which suited Kaluchek fine.
He wore a face like thunder. “Well done, Carrelli. Fucking ace tactics. Look where it got us. We should have attacked the bastards when we had the chance.”
Carrelli stared at him, calm. “I think we did the right thing, Friday.”
He looked incredulous. “The right thing? You kidding? What if the bastards had killed one of us back there?”
In reply, Carrelli pointedly looked from Joe to Kaluchek, and back to Olembe. “It looks to me, Friday, as if we’re all still alive.”
“Yeah, but for how much longer? How long before they decide we’re a threat and execute us?”
At this, the Italian smiled. “I don’t think they will do that, Friday. You’re being overdramatic. They have more to gain from keeping us alive.”
Olembe looked disgusted. “We’ve listened to you long enough, Carrelli. From now on we do what we should have done in the beginning. We’re bigger and smarter than these fucking animals. Let’s show it.”
He would have gone on, but Joe groaned and hung his head between his knees. Carrelli moved quickly to examine him, peering into his eyes and taking his pulse.
“Joe?” Kaluchek said, heart racing.
He smiled weakly. “I’m fine, Sis. Well, I feel like shit, but...”
Carrelli knelt before him and nodded. “You’ll be fine. Just take it easy.”
He smiled. “Will do. Give me a comfortable bed and I’ll go back to sleep.”
Kaluchek moved closer to Joe and put an arm around him, easing him to her and staring defiantly across at Olembe.
Joe said, “Any water? I’m thirsty.”
Olembe said, “Water? You kidding, Hendry?” They froze at a sound from beyond the corridor. Sliding bolts cracked like gunfire and th
e door swung slowly open.
* * * *
2
The prison wagonslid along the ice canal, heading south. Ehrin and Kahran huddled in the darkness of the cart, shivering. Neither had their padded jackets and the sub-zero temperature cut to the bone. They held each other, gaining little warmth but some sense of comradeship.
Kahran said, “The most important thing to remember is that we need to get out as soon as possible. The last thing we want is to anger Cannak and the Inquisitors. We admit our mistakes, claim drunkenness as Sereth advised, and apologise. We must remember that our personal feelings are of little account. Do you understand?”
Ehrin nodded. “I’ll try to smile at Cannak when he’s strutting before the Inquisitors.”
“Good, do that. But no heroics, Ehrin. Do you promise?”
Ehrin nodded. “Of course, the sooner we’re out of there, the sooner we can aid Havor.”
“And that’s what’s important.” He stopped. “Hello, I think we’ve arrived.”
The wagon had slowed. The susurration of the runners on the ice was replaced by the panting snorts of the zeer. Ehrin heard shouts, then the opening of a timber gate. Seconds later the wagon started up again, moved a short distance, then stopped.
“Take heart, Ehrin,” Kahran said. “We’re closer now to the truth than we ever were before. Remember that.”
The doors of the wagon opened. Four guards climbed aboard without a word and grabbed Ehrin and Kahran as if they were lifeless goods to be unloaded. Ehrin was dragged to the ice, striking his knee painfully on the ground. Kahran was hauled out after him, protesting feebly.
In the darkness Ehrin was aware only of the intense cold rising from the ice, the dark shapes of the Church militia and the pain knifing through his kneecap.
He was dragged through a door, down a long, dark corridor, and thrown into a cell. A second later Kahran joined him, fetching up against the far wall. Ehrin helped him into a sitting position. The old man was dazed, his eyes frightened.
He tried to smile. “This brings back painful memories, Ehrin.”
Ehrin gripped his hand. “This time things are different. We’ll soon be out of here. Then—”
“Then we’ll show the bastards, eh, Ehrin?”
Ehrin smiled, cheered by the old man’s spirit.
He looked around the cell. A barred window was set high up in the back wall, way out of reach. The only other things in the cell beside themselves were a rusty bucket and a pile of straw.
He had expected to be left here a while, possibly hours. He was startled, minutes later, when the cell rang to the report of bolts being shot. The door swung open and four silent guards—perhaps the same four who had arrested them—marched in, took Ehrin and Kahran roughly by the arms and dragged them from the cell.
The guards had perfected their technique. They held their victims a few inches off the ground, so that their gripping fingers dug painfully into the prisoners’ armpits. By the time they reached the second chamber, Ehrin had lost all feeling in his arms.
They were marched into a brightly lit room. Something about it sent a shiver through Ehrin’s soul. Its walls were white, as if recently painted, and the slabbed floor sloped slightly towards a sinkhole in the corner.
Two chairs awaited the prisoners. They were odd chairs, as terrifying in their way as was the rest of the room. Their arms were equipped with semicircular manacles, and their backs were open frames, through which the spine of the prisoner could be accessed.
But perhaps the most frightening thing was Kahran’s reaction. The old man, following Ehrin into the room, said under his breath, “Oh, mercy upon us...”
The chairs were set back to back. Ehrin was strapped into the chair facing the door, Kahran into the second. The manacles secured his wrists to the splintered timber armrests. Then the guards left the room.
Kahran said, “They’re trying to frighten us, Ehrin. They wouldn’t... they wouldn’t go through with...”
Ehrin interrupted. “You’ve been here before?” Despite himself, he tried to make the question light-hearted.
“Only once,” Kahran said, and fell silent.
The door opened and a tall figure in black strode into the chamber. It was the Elder, Velkor Cannak.
He strode around the chairs in the centre of the room, the Book of Books lodged under his left armpit. He regarded the stone slabs beneath his feet as he paced.
The Elder’s expression of smug supremacy, barely suppressed, was what angered Ehrin most.
“Gentlemen,” Cannak said at last, “it is unfortunate indeed that we meet again in such circumstances. However, I need not detain you for long. I require, quite simply, a number of truthful answers to a few straight questions. I am sure that men of your learning will oblige me. After which, we can all repair to our respective homes.”
He continued pacing, around and around the seated pair.
“I am sure you are both aware of the reason for your presence here.”
“Isn’t this a little excessive,” Kahran interrupted. “So we baited you back on the skyship. I thought the Church was bigger than—”
Cannak laughed, silencing Kahran.
“A little theological debate, even with people as ignorant as yourselves, never troubled me,” Cannak said. “But I think you know that the charge of sacrilege is the least of your worries.”
Ehrin looked up and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cannak paced. It was no doubt a practised ploy, to disconcert the prisoner, destabilise his focus. “No? Are you quite sure? Cast your minds back, if you will, to our last night out on the western plains. Recall the thunderclap, the streak of light through the air—the meteorological effect, you called it?”
“What of it?” Kahran snapped.
“You investigated. You found something. You were gone for quite a while. I thought little of it at the time. Only later did I begin to wonder...”
“You’re talking in riddles, Cannak,” Kahran said.
Ehrin hoped that Cannak would not notice the beads of perspiration gathering on the fur of his snout. The Elder suspected, that much was clear. Perhaps the militia had searched the hangar after the arrest, and found Havor?
Cannak slowed his pacing. His tread became deliberate as he said, “In that case I shall endeavour from now on to speak plainly. While out on the ice, you made contact with aliens. I suspect that the expedition to the western plains was nothing more than an excuse to rendezvous with these creatures. I intend to learn the truth of your contact. What do they want here, and how did you establish first contact with them?”
Ehrin shook his head. “You’re wrong, Cannak.”
“You made an excuse to take the freighter across the ice, looking for whatever it might have been that caused the thunderclap. You were gone for over two hours. During that time, I suspect you contacted the aliens and directed them towards Agstarn, for they were captured a day later by tribesmen, heading for the mountain pass.”
Kahran laughed. “This is ridiculous, man!”
Ehrin heard a note of relief in his friend’s voice. If aliens had been discovered by tribesmen, then perhaps the militia had not yet discovered Havor.
“What I want to know,” Cannak said, his footfalls as regular as a metronome, “is what they want in Agstarn? Why are they here? Are they the van of an invasion force?”
“For mercy’s sake,” Kahran said with infinite forbearance, “what aliens? I thought Church tenets held that we were the one and only sentient race in creation? Or did God get it wrong, Elder?”
This had the effect of halting Cannak’s pacing. He was behind Ehrin, on Kahran’s side of the room. Ehrin could well imagine the look upon his thin face as the Elder said, “Oh, my dear Mr Shollay, you will live to regret your heresy, indeed you will!”
Cannak was silent for a time. He moved into Ehrin’s view, his receding chin lodged on his chest in contemplation.
At last he said, “You refuse to admit th
at you are in league with the aliens?”
Kahran was silent, and Ehrin followed his lead.
“You deny even making contact with the aliens upon the ice plain two evenings ago?”
Cannak paced. The silence stretched.
“I will leave you for five minutes, so that you might reconsider the wisdom of your silence. When I return, I will not be alone. I shall be accompanied by two Inquisitors. I will question you again. If you maintain your lies, they will proceed to practise certain physical procedures upon your persons which might persuade either one of you the benefit of candour.”
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