It wasn’t until Jezzibella asked: “Where the fuck are the reporters?” that Leroy noticed anything amiss. The terminal wasn’t merely quiet, it was dead. No passengers, no staff, not even a sub-manager to greet Jezzibella. And certainly no sign of any reporters. That wasn’t odd, that was alarming. He’d leaked their departure schedule to three reliable sources last night.
“Just fucking great, Leroy,” Jezzibella growled as the entourage went through the entrance. “This exit is really up there in fucking mythland, isn’t it? Because I certainly don’t fucking believe it. How the hell am I supposed to make a fucking impression when the only things watching me leave are the fucking valeting mechanoids?”
“I don’t understand it,” Leroy said. The cavernous VIP vestibule carried on the never-was illusion of the terminal building: ancient Egypt discovers atomic power. A marble fantasyville of obelisks, fountains, and outsize gold ornaments, where ebony sphinxes prowled around the walls. When he datavised the local net processor all he got was the capacity engaged response.
“What’s to understand, dickbrain? You screwed up again.” Jezzibella stomped off towards the wide wave-effect escalator which curved up towards one of the terminal’s concourses. She could remember coming down it when she arrived, so it must be the way to the spaceplanes. The bastard local net processor wouldn’t even permit her to access a floor plan. Cock-up planet!
She was five metres from the top (her retinue scurrying to catch up) when she saw the man standing waiting for her beside the arched entrance of the concourse. Some oaf in a terminal staff suit uniform, officious smile in place.
“I’m sorry, lady,” he said, when she drew level with him. “You can’t go any further.”
Jezzibella said: “Oh, really?”
“Yes. We’ve got a priority flight operation in progress today, everything has been rescheduled.”
Jezzibella smiled, her skin softening: a delectably young wide-eyed ingenue looking for a real man to guide her. “That’s such a pity. I’m booked to leave this morning.”
“I’m afraid there will be a short delay.”
Still smiling, Jezzibella slammed her knee into his crotch.
Isaac Goddard had been pleased at his assignment. Putting the brakes on inconvenient civilians wandering through the terminal was an important task, Al Capone wouldn’t give it to just anyone. And now it meant he got to meet this century’s superstar, too. Lee Ruggiero, whose body he possessed, was full of admiration for Jezzibella. Looking at her up close, Isaac could see why. So sweet and vulnerable. Shame he had to use force to stop her. But the timing of the spaceplane flights was vital. Al had emphasised that often enough.
He was readying his energistic powers to deal with her bodyguards, who had now caught her up, when she did her level best to ram his testicles into his eye sockets via his intestinal tract.
The energistic power which was the inheritance of every possessed was capable of near-miraculous feats as it bent the fabric of reality to a mind’s whim. As well as its destructive potential, items could be made solid at the flicker of a thought. It was also capable of reinforcing a body to resist almost any kind of assault as well as enhancing its physical strength. Wounds could be healed at almost the same rate they were inflicted.
But first the wish had to be formulated, the energistic flow regulated appropriately. Isaac Goddard never had a chance to wish for anything. A uniquely male agony blew apart every coherent thought current stealing through his captured brain. Pain was all that remained.
His face white, he slowly sank to the floor before Jezzibella. Tears trickled down his cheeks as his mouth laboured soundlessly.
“If it’s all the same to you,” Jezzibella said brightly, “I really would like to leave this shit tip of a planet right now.” She strode away.
“Oh, hey, come on, Jez,” Leroy called as he chased after her down the concourse, forcing himself into a fast waddle. “Give me a break. You can’t go around doing things like that.”
“Why not, for shit’s sake? Worried this fucking great army of witnesses will all testify in court?”
“Look, you heard him. There’s some kind of special flight schedule this morning. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll find out what’s going on. Huh? I won’t be long.”
“I’m the fucking special flight, shithead! Me, me .”
“Christ! Grow up, will you! I don’t manage bloody teen-scream acts. I only do adults.”
Jezzibella stopped in surprise. Leroy never shouted at her. She pouted prettily. “I’ve been bad.”
“You got it.”
“Forgive me. I was all worked up over Emmerson.”
“I can understand that. But he’s not coming on the starship with us. Panic over.”
The mock smile faltered. “Leroy . . . Please, I just want to leave. I hate this fucking place. I’ll behave, really. But you have got to get me away from here.”
He rubbed his fat fingers over his face; sweat was making hair stick to his brow. “Okay. One miracle evacuation flight coming up.”
“Thanks, Leroy. I don’t have your defences, you know? The world’s different for you. Hard and easy altogether.”
Leroy tried to datavise a net processor. But he couldn’t get a single response, the units were all inert. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked in annoyance. “If these flights were that big a deal, why weren’t we informed?”
“Guess that’s my fault,” Al Capone told him.
Jezzibella and Leroy turned to see a group of ten men walking down the concourse towards them. They all wore double-breasted suits and carried machine guns. Somehow the idea of running from them seemed ludicrous. More gangsters were emerging from side corridors.
“You see, I don’t want people informed,” Al explained. “At least not for a while. After that, I’m gonna speak to this whole goddamn planet. Loud and clear.”
Two of Jezzibella’s bodyguards caught sight of the approaching gangsters. They began to run forwards, drawing their thermal induction pistols.
Al clicked his fingers. The bodyguards let out simultaneous yelps of pain as their pistols turned red hot. They dropped them fast. That was when a ripple of onyx flooring rose up and tripped them.
Jezzibella watched in astonishment as both bulky men went skidding into the wall. She looked from them back to Al, and grinned. “Magnifico.”
She desperately wanted to record the scene, but her fucking neural nanonics were crashing. Fucking typical!
Al watched the beef boy back away fearfully. But the dame . . . she just stood there. This weird expression on her face, fascination and interest making her eyes narrow demurely. Interest in him , by damn! She wasn’t afraid. She was pure class, this one. She was also one hell of a looker. Minx face, and a body the likes of which simply didn’t exist in the twenties.
Lovegrove was itching for a peek at her, busy telling him who Jezzibella was. Some kind of hotshot nightclub singer. Except there was more to it than just singing and playing the ivories these days, a lot more.
“So what are you going to tell us?” Jezzibella asked, her voice husky.
“What?” Al asked.
“When you speak to the planet. What are you going to say?”
Al took his time lighting a cigar. Making her wait, showing exactly who was in control. “I’m gonna tell them that I’m in charge now. Number one guy on the planet. And you’ve all gotta do what I say. Anything I say.” He winked broadly.
Jezzibella put on a disappointed expression. “Waste of talent.”
“What?”
“You’re the guys the police are calling Retros, right?”
“Yeah,” Al said cautiously.
She flicked a casual finger towards her dazed bodyguards. “And you’ve got the balls and the power to take over a whole planet?”
“You catch on quick.”
“So why waste it on this dump?”
“This dump has eight hundred and ninety million people living on it, lady. And I’m gonna
be the fucking emperor of them all before the evening.”
“My last album has sold over three billion so far, probably triple that number in bootlegs. Those people want me to be their empress. If you’re going for broke, why not choose a decent planet? Kulu, or Oshanko, or even Earth.”
Not taking his eyes off her, Al called over his shoulder: “Hey, savvy Avvy, get your crummy ass up here. Now!”
Avram Harwood scuttled forwards, his head bowed, shoulders drooping. Each step was obviously painful for him, he was favouring his right leg. “Yes, sir?”
“New California is the greatest goddamn planet in the Confederation, ain’t that right?” Al asked.
“Oh, yes, sir. It is.”
“Is your population bigger than Kulu?” Jezzibella asked in a bored tone.
Avram Harwood twitched miserably.
“Answer her,” Capone growled.
“No, ma’am,” Harwood said.
“Is your economy larger than Oshanko’s?”
“No.”
“Do you export as much as Earth?”
“No.”
Jezzibella inclined her head contemptuously on one side, pushing her lips out towards Al. “Anything else you want to know?”
Her voice had suddenly become the same as a schoolteacher’s. Al started to laugh in sincere admiration. “Goddamn! Modern women.”
“Can you all do that heat trick with the fingers?”
“Sure can, honey.”
“Interesting. So how is taking over this spaceport tied in with conquering the planet?”
Al’s first instinct was to brag. About the synchronized flights up to the orbiting asteroids. About taking out the SD personnel. About using the SD network firepower to open up the whole planet to his Organization. But they were short on time. And this was no backwoods girl, she’d understand if he explained it. “Sorry, babe, but we’re kinda in a hurry. It’s been a ball.”
“No it hasn’t. If you’d had a ball with me, you’d know about it.”
“Hot shit—”
“If it’s tied in with spaceplane flights, you’re either going up to starships or the orbiting asteroids. But if you’re taking over the planet, it can’t be the starships. So it has to be the asteroids. Let me guess, the Strategic Defence network.” She watched the alarmed expressions light up on the faces of the gangsters. All except Mayor Harwood, but then he was already hopelessly adrift in some deep private purgatory. “How did I do?”
Al could only gawp. He’d heard of lady spiders like this; they knitted fancy webs or did hypnosis, or something. It ended up that the males just couldn’t escape. Then they got screwed and eaten.
Now I know what they go through.
“You did pretty good.” He was envious of her cool. Envious of a lot of things, actually.
“Al?” Emmet Mordden urged. “Al, we have to get going.”
“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t forgotten.”
“We can send this group down to Luciano’s people for possessing.”
“Hey, who the fuck’s in charge here?”
Emmet took a frightened pace backwards.
“In charge, but not in control,” Jezzibella teased.
“Don’t push it, lady,” Al warned her sharply.
“True leaders simply tell people to do what they want to do anyway.” She licked her lips. “Guess what I want to do?”
“Fuck this. Modern women. You’re all like goddamn whores. I ain’t never heard anything like it.”
“The talk isn’t all you’ve never had before.”
“Holy Christ.”
“So what do you say, Al?” Jezzibella switched her voice back to a liquid rumble. She almost didn’t have to fake it. She was so turned on, excited, stimulated. You name it. Caught up in a terrorist hijack. And such strange terrorists, too. Wimps with a personal nuclear capability. Except the leader, he was massively focused. Not bad-looking, either. “Want me to tag along on your little coup d’état mission? Or are you going to spend the rest of every waking day wondering what it would have been like? And you will wonder. You know you will.”
“We got a spare seat on the rocketship,” Al said. “But you’ve got to do as you’re told.”
She batted her eyelashes. “That’ll be a first.”
Amazed at what he’d just said, Al tried to play back their conversation in his mind to see how he’d gotten to this point. No good, he couldn’t figure it. He was acting on pure impulse again. And that felt first-class. Like the good old days. People never did know what he was going to do next. It kept them on edge, and him on top.
Jezzibella walked over to him and tucked her arm in his. “Let’s go.”
Al grinned around wolfishly. “Okay, wiseasses, you heard the lady. Mickey, take the rest of this bunch down to Luciano. Emmet, Silvano, take your boys to their spaceplanes.”
“Leave me my manager, and the old woman, oh, and the band too,” Jezzibella said.
“What the hell is this?” Al demanded. “I ain’t got room in my Organization for freeloaders.”
“You want me to look good. I need them.”
“Je-zus, you’re pushy.”
“You want a girl who’s a pushover, find yourself a teenage bimbo. Me, it’s the whole package or nothing.”
“Okay, Mickey, lay off the cornholers. But the rest of them get the full treatment.” He shoved his hands out towards her, palms held up imploringly. “Good enough?” The sarcasm wasn’t entirely feigned.
“Good enough,” Jezzibella agreed.
They grinned knowingly at each other for a moment, then led the procession of gangsters down the concourse to the waiting spaceplanes.
The wormhole terminus opened smoothly six hundred and eighty thousand kilometres above Jupiter’s equator, the absolute minimum permitted distance from the prodigious band of orbiting habitats. Oenone flew out of the circular gap, and immediately identified itself to the Jovian Strategic Defence network. As soon as their approach authorization had been granted, the voidhawk accelerated in towards the Kristata habitat at an urgent five gees. It was already asking the habitat to assemble a medical team to meet it as soon as it docked.
Of what nature?kristata asked.
At which point Cacus, their medical officer, took over, using the voidhawk’s affinity to relay a list of the grisly physical injuries inflicted on Syrinx by the possessed occupying Pernik island. But most importantly we’re going to need a psychological trauma team,he said. We put her in zero-tau for the flight, naturally. However, she did not respond to any level of mental communication after she was brought on board, other than a purely autonomic acknowledgement of Oenone ’s contact. I’m afraid the intensity of the withdrawal is one which approaches catatonia.
What happened to her?queried the habitat. it was unusual for a voidhawk to fly without its captain’s guidance.
She was tortured.
Ruben waited until the medical discussion was under way before asking Oenone for an affinity link with Eden itself. Arriving at Jupiter he could actually feel his body relaxing in the bridge couch despite the acceleration pressure. The events which would play out over the next few hours were going to be strenuous, but nothing like as bad as Atlantis and the voyage to the Sol system.
Oenone ’s instinct had been to rush directly to Saturn and the Romulus habitat as soon as Oxley had brought Syrinx on board. The yearning to go home after such a tremendous shock was as much a voidhawk trait as a human one.
It had been down to Ruben to convince the frantic, frightened voidhawk that Jupiter would be preferable. Jovian habitats had more advanced medical facilities than those orbiting Saturn. And, of course, there was the Consensus to inform.
This was a threat which simply had to rank higher than individual concerns.
Then there was the flight itself. Oenone had never flown anywhere without Syrinx’s subliminal supervision, much less performed a swallow manoeuvre. Voidhawks could fly without the slightest human input, of course. But as
ever there was a big difference between theory and practice. They identified so much with the needs and wishes of their captains.
The crew’s general affinity band had rung with a powerful cadence of relief when the first swallow manoeuvre passed off flawlessly.
Ruben knew he shouldn’t have doubted Oenone , but his own mind was eddying with worry. The sight of Syrinx’s injuries . . . And worse, her mind closed as if it were a flower at night. Any attempt to prise below her churning surface thoughts had resulted in a squirt of sickening images and sensations. Her sanity would surely suffer if she was left alone with such nightmares. Cacus had immediately placed her in zero-tau, temporarily circumventing the problem.
Hello, Ruben,eden said. It is pleasant to receive you again. Though I am saddened by the condition of Syrinx, and I sense that Oenone is suffering considerable distress.
Ruben hadn’t conversed directly with the original habitat for over forty years, not since his last visit. It was a trip which most Edenists made at some time in their life. Not a pilgrimage (they would hotly deny that) but paying their respects, acknowledging the sentimental debt to the founding entity of their culture.
That’s why I need to speak with you, ruben said. Eden, we have a problem. Would you call a general Consensus, please?
There was no hierarchy in Edenism, it was a society proud of its egalitarianism; he could have made the same request of any habitat. If the personality considered the request valid, it would be forwarded to the habitat Consensus, then if it passed that vote, a general Consensus would be called, comprising every single Edenist, habitat, and voidhawk in the Sol system. But for this issue, Ruben felt obliged to make his appeal direct to Eden, the first habitat.
He gave an account of what had happened on Atlantis, followed by the précis which was Laton’s legacy. When he finished, the affinity band was silent for several moments.
I will call for a general Consensus,eden said. the habitat’s mental voice was uncharacteristically studious.
Relief mingled with a curious frisson of worry among Ruben’s thoughts. At least the burden which Oenone ’s crew had carried by themselves during the flight was to be shared and mitigated—the fundamental psychology of Edenism. But what amounted to the habitat’s shock at the revelation of souls returning to possess the living was deeply unsettling. Eden had been germinated in 2075, making it the oldest living entity in the Confederation. If anything had the requisite endowment of wisdom to withstand such news then surely it must be the ancient habitat.
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