Empire of Light

by Gary Gibson

  Despite his misgivings, Ty ate ravenously, delighted to have the opportunity to consume real food after the limited fare of shipboard meals. When he had finished, he stood by the window and watched people passing through the city streets far below.

  There were certain parallels here with the Uchidan settlements, of course; underground tunnels similarly linked most of the buildings in Unity so that, in order to go about their lives, the citizens barely needed to step outdoors for months at a time. Most of those out in the open were maintenance workers or those there by necessity. He could almost have forgotten about the intrinsic barbarism that lay just under the surface here.

  When he felt ready, Ty activated the suite’s comms system, but soon found it had been crippled: getting a message of any kind out was impossible. He tried to access local news services, but all were blocked except for one dedicated to the ongoing war with the Uchidan Territories.

  He got dressed and again went out into the corridor, finding Hibbert back in his seat by the elevator.

  ‘My comms unit doesn’t work,’ Ty explained. ‘I can’t send any messages. How the hell am I supposed to call anyone while I’m stuck in here?’

  ‘It’s a security issue, sir, and it might take a couple of weeks to clear up. I’m afraid you’re going to have to—’

  ‘A couple of weeks?’ Ty yelled, stepping up close to the other man. ‘Weil said a couple of days.’

  Hibbert stood, towering over him. ‘Please, Mr Driscoll. You’re going to have to return to your r—’

  Ty stepped past Hibbert and towards the elevator. Hibbert swiftly pressed something against his side, and the next thing Ty knew he was lying curled up on the floor, spasms of pain racking his entire body. He was distantly aware of Hibbert grabbing him by both feet and dragging him back into the suite.

  Weil delivered Ty’s breakfast the next morning, and also his lunch and dinner. No word was said about the previous day’s incident, and Ty was far from inclined to risk being zapped a second time, or even to engage Weil in conversation. Instead he endured the silent tension until Weil stalked back out each time, closing the door behind him.

  The next day passed in much the same way, and the day after also. Ty found that, if he leaned against the window and peered straight down, he could see part of the ramp leading into the basement garage, almost directly beneath. He watched as unmanned supply vehicles entered and departed through the airlock. But most of his time he sat in his armchair, brooding and staring out across the city.

  It took a few seconds before Ty realized that the comms unit really was registering an incoming message.

  Slouching in the armchair, he had been drinking his morning coffee, the window half-opaqued. It was his fifth day in captivity, and the remains of his breakfast lay on the table, waiting to be picked up by Hibbert.

  He stared unbelievingly at the comms unit. A message? Did Lamoureaux and Willis know he was here? Were they trying to get him out?

  The door opened suddenly and he jumped up, suddenly full of nervous energy. Hibbert gave him a wary look before approaching the table. He had clearly not noticed the glowing message icon floating above the comms unit’s imaging plate.

  Ty moved quickly to one side, so that Hibbert’s view of the comms unit would remain blocked as he reached down to pick up the tray.

  Hibbert instantly froze and stared at Ty with eyes full of the threat of incipient violence.

  ‘Nice morning,’ Ty blurted.

  Hibbert’s gaze turned contemptuous. ‘Sir,’ he merely replied, then picked up the tray and left the room.

  Ty sagged slightly as Hibbert closed the door behind him, then he turned to the comms unit and opened the message.

  It was, he found, a list of instructions encoded in simple text. The message itself read like something out of some hoary old spy ’viro.

  This message will delete itself within 300 seconds of being opened. When you are ready to leave the Senate residency, stand at the window of your suite, facing outwards, and wave your left hand.

  The response will come within no more than a half hour of your performing this action. Please be prepared to move quickly.

  Ty stared back out over the city, aware he was standing in plain view of an entire metropolis. Anyone could be watching from any one of thousands of windows. He thought about waving his hand immediately, but something made him hesitate.

  Surely, he thought, if Lamoureaux or Willis were behind the message, they would have identified themselves in some way? How could he be sure the message wasn’t some kind of trap – that if he did stand there and wave his hand, some assassin armed with a rifle, and in league with Weil, would not endeavour to take him out with a long-range shot?

  He felt trapped by his own indecision.

  When he finally turned back to the message, hovering like a mirage within the dark shallow bowl of the unit’s viewing area, it was just in time to see it vanish of its own accord.

  Later that night, Ty opened his eyes to find the keen edge of a blade held close to his throat. A moment later a hand clamped over his mouth.

  ‘Not a fucking sound,’ said Weil, leaning over him. ‘Do you hear me? So much as a squeak, and I’ll skin you alive before I cut your throat.’

  Ty nodded, dizzyingly aware of the blade pressed against his flesh. He hadn’t even been sleeping, just resting with his eyes closed on the bed. Weil had entered the room and pushed the knife against his throat without making a sound.

  ‘I know who you are,’ Weil hissed. ‘I knew the second I set eyes on you. I was part of the detail sent to receive you from the Territories, but you got away before we could pick you up.’

  Ty panted, his breath whistling sporadically through his nostrils. His bladder felt on the verge of unleashing a tide of urine.

  ‘I lost a brother because of what you did, you and the rest of those Uchidan god-fuckers. He wasn’t even a soldier, just a teacher – a whole school bombed out of existence. We never even had a body to bury. Because of you.’

  Ty could feel the moist warmth of the man’s breath on his face. ‘I don’t know how long they’re going to keep you here,’ Weil continued, ‘but it makes me sick to have to wait on you. Part of me wants to kill you right now,’ he added, the knife moving infinitesimally closer to Ty’s jugular, the pressure of its blade like a line of fire against his skin. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  Ty realized the other man was waiting for an answer, and he nodded under the palm of Weil’s hand.

  ‘I warned my superiors. I told them who you were, but they refused to let me execute you. All because of something on that frigate.’ Weil leaned in a little closer. ‘Fuck that. The instant I think you’re going to walk out of here, I’ll be back. Me and my friend here,’ he added, twitching the knife a little. ‘Are you scared? Because you’d better be fucking scared, Whitecloud. I’m not finished with you yet.’

  Suddenly the pressure was gone and Ty sat up abruptly, hyperventilating, grabbing at his throat even as Weil lurched out of the door and slammed it shut.

  Ty stumbled off the bed and over to the armchair, pulling himself into a tight ball and moaning with terror.

  Gradually his eyes fixed on the darkened city beyond the window. He had been a fool to hesitate for so long; anything was better than staying here a second longer than necessary.

  He leaned against the glass with his right hand, and peered down, just able to see the ramp directly below him. Even if he could break through the glass, even if he had a breather mask handy, he would be dead as soon as he hit the ground.

  Instead he lifted his left hand straight up, sweeping it in an arc several times from left to right.

  Would they be watching even now, in the middle of the night? Perhaps not.

  But if they were, there was only one way to be sure.

  A short while later – he estimated no more than twenty minutes had passed – Ty watched a set of headlights approaching the residency up a long street before driving down the air
lock ramp. On closer inspection, it proved to be nothing more than a standard unmanned supply truck.

  He sat back down, feeling obscurely disappointed. Then there was a distant, muffled clang as the airlock door opened and closed again. He swallowed and stared once more at the sprinkle of lights outside, wondering who was looking back, and what they were thinking.

  An earth-shattering roar shook the building. Alarms began to clang discordantly both inside and outside.

  There were shouts and footsteps in the corridor outside, and he realized with a shock that the window of his room had become badly starred. Already smoke drifted up past it.

  Ty lurched upright and headed quickly to the door. The message had instructed that he should be ready to move. But did that mean he should simply wait here, or instead try and see if he could find a way out of the damaged building?

  He remembered Weil’s promise, and decided not to stay.

  Sliding the door open quietly, he risked a glance outside, towards the bank of elevators. Weil was gone from his post. He eyed the elevators hopefully, but hesitated while deciding it might be too dangerous to use them.

  Instead he stepped out into the corridor and headed quickly in the opposite direction, making for a door leading into a stairwell. Smoke drifted up from several floors below.

  He took the steps downwards three or four at a time, the air growing denser with smoke as he descended. He could distinctly smell burning plastic, but also something else he could not quite identify.

  After a moment he realized this was the unique odour of Redstone’s air, which meant the building’s atmospheric seals had been breached.

  He continued down several levels until he came to a glass-fronted box mounted on the wall. It was filled with cheap emergency breathers, so he punched out the glass and quickly pulled on a mask.

  Heavy footsteps, approaching from above.

  Ty leaned out over the banister and peered up in time to see Weil glaring straight back down at him from several levels above.

  Ty bolted down the remaining steps, then burst through a door that led into a ground-floor atrium-style lobby with a reception desk at one end. The bank of elevators was on the opposite side from the desk, and the door of one of them was jammed halfway open. Thick dark smoke billowed from inside it towards the ceiling.

  He ran to the centre of the lobby, looking frantically from left to right, but no one else appeared to be around.

  Voices sounded somewhere nearby just as his breather gave a beeping sound to warn that the smoke was clogging its filters. He crossed the lobby quickly to where several floor-to-ceiling windows had been shattered, the glass crunching under his feet. He slipped outside through one, and heard sirens in the distance.

  He paused there, momentarily indecisive, as the freezing cold wind cut into him like a knife. Where next?

  Suddenly a small unmanned taxi pulled up next to him. Ty stared at it uncertainly, then climbed in.

  The vehicle performed a U-turn and accelerated back the way it had come. Ty glanced through the rear window in time to see Weil emerge on to the street. He ducked out of sight and prayed he had not already been spotted.

  The taxi headed for the city centre, where the buildings rose higher, manifesting the same blocky and severe architectural style as found in any other Freehold settlement. Perhaps ten minutes after picking him up at the Residency, the taxi cut down a ramp into the underground parking area of a building that was just one of several identical monolithic slabs arranged in a row.

  He quickly disembarked and pulled the cheap breather off his face just as an elevator opened, chiming softly. He guessed he was meant to get inside.

  It delivered Ty a minute later to an apparently deserted floor several levels up. The walls were bare concrete, with gaping holes where electrical and communications systems still had to be installed. He proceeded down a long corridor, checking through door after door until he at last found an office space containing some furniture: a large leather seat and an expensive-looking imager and tach-net data combo. A mound of packing material was still scattered around.

  The imager came to life even as Ty stepped towards the chair. It briefly displayed the manufacturer’s logo in iridescent 3D, before that was replaced by the head and upper shoulders of what was obviously a software-generated avatar.

  ‘Mr Whitecloud,’ began the avatar. ‘Thank you for coming. Please take a seat.’

  The voice, too, was synthesized, since there was a discernible pause between each word: as if whoever was speaking to him via the avatar was punching the message into a keyboard rather than allowing his own voice to be processed by the machine’s inbuilt privacy circuits.

  ‘I represent the Consortium Legislate’s intelligence division,’ the avatar continued. ‘We have brought you here to discuss the artefact you recovered.’

  Ty sat down. ‘How do I know you’re who you say you are?’ he demanded bluntly. For some reason, he was not surprised that whoever he was talking to knew his real identity. ‘For that matter, why not just send someone real?’

  The avatar ignored his questions. ‘We believe Dakota Merrick and Lucas Corso intend to instigate a new expedition, one aimed at penetrating deep inside Emissary territory.’

  Ty stared at the image, stunned. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re going to recruit you for the expedition. We want you to accept their proposal and report back to us, as and when required.’

  Ty licked his lips and glanced around him. ‘Why the hell would I do any such thing? Is that why you brought me here?’

  ‘If you prefer, I’d be happy to transmit your current whereabouts to the Freehold authorities, Mr Whitecloud, along with details of your true identity and your war-crime charges.’

  ‘Wait!’ Ty was halfway out of his chair. ‘Just wait a minute.’ He reached up to clasp his brow with one shaking hand. ‘All right. But how am I supposed to contact you?’

  ‘We can maintain contact with you via an encrypted tach-net link, the details of which are stored on the data-ring on the imager before you.’

  Ty glanced at the imager’s plate and for the first time noticed a silvery data-ring sitting there, but made no move towards it. Not for the first time, he had the sensation of teetering on the very edge of a steep precipice.

  ‘Mr Whitecloud,’ the avatar repeated. ‘Please pick up the ring. The data contained within it uses an extremely robust form of encryption, which can be used to establish a secure communications link while disguising its own activities.’

  Ty didn’t move. ‘You’re serious? They’re going on some kind of expedition . . . to the Emissaries?’

  The avatar didn’t reply.

  Ty let out an angry sigh. ‘I’m grateful you got me out of there, but there are going to be people out looking for me now. Where am I supposed to go?’

  ‘Go back to the residency. Tell them you escaped because you believed it was under attack; that much is certainly true. The explosives used will be traced to a Uchidanist undercover tactical unit currently operating out of Unity. In your desperation to escape, you got into the first vehicle you saw. But,’ the avatar added, ‘you must take the ring with you. That much is vital.’

  Ty glanced at the ring. ‘It’s not safe back there,’ he complained. ‘There was a man there – Marcus Weil, one of the men guarding me. He said he knew who I was and he’d kill me before he’d ever let me leave.’

  The avatar gazed at him, unblinking, for so long that Ty began to wonder if whoever was on the other side of this transmission was in fact still present.

  ‘Go straight back down to the taxi that brought you here, and it will take you to a police station not far from here,’ the avatar finally replied. ‘Tell them that you got in the taxi outside the residency, asked it for help, and it brought you to them. Mention nothing about coming here, Mr Whitecloud. You will of course give them the name Nathan Driscoll.’

  ‘And what about Weil?’ Ty asked.

  ‘Wi
th any luck, you won’t have to worry about him any more.’

  ‘But . . .’

  Shut up and just be glad you’re alive, Ty told himself. Anything was better than being trapped in the same building as that knife-wielding madman.

  He stared at the ring still sitting on the plate, and impulsively reached out for it.

  At the exact same moment as his fingers came into contact with the ring, Ty felt a sharp spike of pain in one temple and squeezed his eyes shut, glimpsing a tiny spark of light in the corner of one eye.

  Panic gripped him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so . . .

  The next thing he knew, he was still sitting in the chair, but the avatar was gone and the comms unit had shut itself down.

  There had been something that worried him terribly, but he was damned if he could remember what it was.

  Ty stared at the ring nestling in his palm, then slid it on to one finger. He felt it contract slightly until it was snug against his flesh.

  He then made his way back through the deserted offices the way he had come, disturbed by what he realized was an entirely irrational terror that Weil might suddenly appear from around some corner, blade raised to slash out at him. Ty pushed the fear back, thinking: For one more day I’m still alive. And I’ll be alive tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that . . . It was like putting one foot in front of the other, or even breathing, drawing down each swallow of air and then exhaling it. You did what you had to in order to stay alive, to stay ahead of your enemies.

  So he made his way to the elevator, and returned to the taxi.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Mjollnir’s bow was blunt and rounded, with a thick bulge one-third of the way back, concealing an internal centrifuge that could be spun up to provide artificial gravity. She tapered slightly towards the stern, before flaring out again to accommodate fusion drives powerful enough to push her halfway across a solar system in just days, at maximum burn. At the moment, however, she floated peacefully in orbit above Redstone, caged by a spider’s web of pressurized maintenance bays that would be dismantled once the hull repair crews had finished their work.