Xenopath - [Bengal Station 02]

by Eric Brown

  “He killed me, Jeff! The killer killed me, but the alien brought me back to life. And then...” She shook her head. “I have no memory of how the killer died.”

  Vaughan experienced, through her memories, the events of the previous day.

  Khar spoke in her mind: I took control, Sukara. You were weakening, and anyway I did not want you to live with the memory of what I did then.

  “ You shot the killer?”

  I took control of you and did the only thing possible, to save you. I have kept you unconscious until now, to aid the healing process.

  He said to the alien, “I’ve been to Mallory, and experienced what Scheering is doing to your race. I’ve returned to Earth to help you.”

  The alien said to him, There is only one way our salvation might be achieved, Vaughan. If you will allow me into your mind, I will tell you...

  “Please,” Vaughan murmured, and wondered what it might feel like to share his head with an alien being.

  He deactivated his mind-shield.

  “Goodbye, Khar,” Sukara said.

  Seconds later he felt a moment of dizziness, a quick heat in his head, and then a voice, There. I am one with you.

  To Vaughan’s surprise, it was not dissimilar to reading a human mind. He was not physically aware of the presence in his head, but could detect its thoughts and emotions, alien and largely unreadable as they were.

  Vaughan said, “I’ll contact Kapinsky, get her to bring her cam and chu over, okay?”

  You are one step ahead of me, my friend, said the voice in his head.

  Vaughan entered Kapinsky’s code into his handset. She appeared on the screen, scowling at having been pulled from sleep. “Vaughan? What now?”

  “I have the killer, Kapinsky,” he said. “He’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “I’m at my apartment. Get over here and bring your chu and the digiCam, okay? I’ll explain when you get here.” He cut the connection.

  Sukara and Pham were holding each other and staring at him. “Jeff,” Sukara said, “will you please tell me what’s happening?”

  He took Sukara’s hand and led her into the sunken sofa. She sat down next to him, Pham perched beyond her, staring at Vaughan with big eyes as he ordered his thoughts and explained what had happened to him on Mallory.

  * * * *

  THIRTY

  SCHEERING

  While Sukara and Pham were in the kitchen, fixing coffee, Kapinsky knelt beside the killer’s corpse and peeled off his chu to reveal a balding European in his forties. She photographed the man’s true face and downloaded the image into the memory of her own chu.

  Vaughan went through the killer’s jacket, found his ID card, and slipped it into his pocket.

  Two minutes later Kapinsky held up the mesh mask of the chu and conjured the dead man’s face.

  “How’s that, Vaughan?” The killer’s head hung from Kapinsky’s right hand, as if she’d beheaded the guy and was parading the trophy in triumph.

  “It looks good enough to convince Scheering,” he said.

  “What does the alien in your head think about it?” Kapinsky asked.

  Khar said, The likeness is perfect. Your build, Vaughan, is superficially similar to the assassin’s. If you wear the man’s jacket, then Scheering will have no intimation of our deception, until too late.

  Vaughan said to Kapinsky, “Khar’s satisfied.”

  “And you say the alien knows where Scheering’ll be?”

  He nodded. “When Khar was in Kormier’s head, he tried to access Scheering. Kormier knew Scheering, his itinerary.”

  “So where’s Scheering now?” Kapinsky asked.

  Khar said, He is in his villa until twelve every day, when he heads by air-car to the Scheering-Lassiter headquarters. I will direct you to the villa. Though security is tight, you will have no trouble entering his residence with the killer’s ID.

  Vaughan reported this to Kapinsky. She indicated the killer. “What about the stiff?”

  “We’ll wait till we’ve got Scheering, then call in the cops.” He looked at his watch. It was ten. “We’ve plenty of time to get to Scheering’s place before midday.”

  They had coffee in the kitchen while Vaughan explained to Sukara what they were doing.

  She looked alarmed. “I don’t want you to go, Jeff!”

  “Su, I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”

  “I’ll look after him, kid,” Kapinsky said.

  Vaughan kissed Sukara and pulled the chu over his head, the elastic nexus clamping his face. She winced. “Jeff!” She shook her head. “You don’t know how much that looks like him.”

  “Stay here until I get back.” He chucked Pham under the chin. “See you later, Pham.”

  Sukara followed him to the door, her eyes avoiding the covered corpse, and embraced him.

  He pulled on the killer’s jacket, waved at Sukara, and stepped into the corridor. It was midday, and the corridors were crowded with citizens going about their business. Vaughan felt a tightness in his chest, an apprehension. At the same time he was aware of Khar in his head, soothing him.

  Five minutes later they took the upchute to Level One and boarded an air-taxi to Scheering’s villa on the north side of the Station.

  As the flier screamed over the sunlit Station, Khar said, You experienced the slaughter of my kind on Mallory. Your memories are painful.

  It is painful, he thought in reply, to witness what my fellow humans are capable of in the name of exploration, colonisation—in the name of making money.

  I have experienced much goodness in your race, Khar said. Kormier, Pham, Sukara, and yourself.

  Vaughan smiled. Bit-part players, he thought back at the alien.

  A human, many years ago, said that power corrupts.

  That’s a frightening thought, Khar—the idea that we are all potential evildoers given the attainment of power.

  Khar smiled in his head. There is a flaw in your argument, Vaughan. In my experience, truly good humans do not crave power.

  Is it not power I crave now to end Scheering’s genocide of your race? Vaughan thought.

  Not so much power, the alien told him, as the temporary ability to right a wrong.

  I just hope it works, Vaughan thought.

  It will, my friend. Thanks to you, my people will survive.

  Vaughan thought about that. The fact was overwhelming, so much so that he could not take it in. Through the simple actions he was taking now, he would ensure the continued existence of an alien race on a planet light years from Earth.

  He glanced through the side window. They were banking over the edge of the ‘port, coming down in a wide area of designer grassland dotted with expensive villas. Scheering’s residence overlooked the ocean, a sprawling split-level mansion surrounded by a high fence and accessed through a wrought iron gate.

  The taxi settled on an adjacent landing pad and Kapinsky instructed the driver to wait. “I’ll stay here,” she said to Vaughan. She passed him a small automatic, along with the anaesthetic spray, synthi-flesh, and a scalpel. He concealed them in his jacket.

  Kapinsky punched his shoulder. “Good luck, Vaughan.”

  “Back in ten minutes,” he said confidently and slipped from the flier.

  He took a breath, aware of Khar in his head, steadying his nerves, and walked across the landing pad to the gate in the high perimeter fence. He activated his implant and scanned the mansion. As he suspected, there was not the slightest sign of mental activity from the building: Scheering and his employees were shielded.

  He thumbed the intercom and hung the killer’s ID card before a staring camera lens. “I’ve come to see Scheering. Priority.”

  A voice spoke from the grille. “Where you been, Keilor? The Old Man’s been waiting. Okay, get yourself in here.”

  The gate swung slowly open and Vaughan slipped through and approached the mansion through a garden arrayed with miniature palms and bougainvillaea, the sunlight bringi
ng him out in an uncomfortable sweat. Guards strolled along the crazy-paved pathways, armed with laser carbines. Around the perimeter fence, more guards patrolled with snarling dogs.

  Vaughan paused before the front door, wondering whether protocol dictated he should enter or ring the bell. No sooner had he had the thought, than he felt a stirring in his head. Khar, dictating his actions...

  He rang the bell, and a second later a silver-suited heavy pulled open the door and ushered him in. “The Old Man’s in his study, Keilor. Go on through.” The bodyguard indicated a door at the end of a long, timber-floored corridor. Vaughan nodded and made his way towards it, Khar subliminally easing his nerves.

  The first hurdle over, he thought. The chu fooled the heavy, at least.

  Be calm, Khar said. You will succeed.

  He paused before the door, took a deep breath and knocked. Of course, if Scheering were not alone...

  “Come in, Keilor.”

  He opened the door and stepped inside. The first thing that struck him was the size of the room. He had expected a medium-sized study, not this great open space of timber flooring and white walls, backed by a vast window that looked out over the dazzling azure sea.

  The second thing Vaughan noted, with relief, was that Scheering was alone.

  The head of the Scheering-Lassiter organisation, the biggest multicolonial concern in the galaxy, one of the wealthiest men on this or any other planet, sat behind a big wooden desk at the far end of the room, leaning forward and staring at his visitor. He was silver-haired and heavy-jowled. Even seated, there was something imposing, almost regal, in his bearing. He was like an enthroned monarch, imperiously aware of his power.

  “The girl? You said you’d bring her in by midday.”

  Vaughan knew he should approach the desk and spray Scheering in the face with the anaesthetic, take no risks and get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  Instead, something made him deviate from the script. He walked across the room until he was a couple of metres from the desk, staring down at Scheering.

  Then he slipped the pistol from his jacket and levelled it. “Raise your hands. Stand up and back away from the desk.”

  Scheering’s big face formed a faltering smile. “Keilor, this is some kind of stunt, right? A joke?”

  “Stand up!” Vaughan snapped, stepping forward and aiming the pistol at Scheering’s forehead.

  Scheering stood quickly, toppling his chair and backing towards the picture window.

  “Hands up!”

  Obediently, Scheering raised his fat paws. “Keilor?” he peered at Vaughan, doubtfully.

  Be careful, Khar warned.

  Vaughan reached up and removed the chu.

  The colour drained from Scheering’s face. He shook his head and said in a croak, “What do you want? If it’s money, that can be arranged.”

  Vaughan could not help but smile. “Is that how you get out of every problem, Scheering? Throw money at it? Or are some problems too difficult to buy your way out of? What do you do then?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If you can’t buy what you want, you employ violence, right? You either hire assassins like Keilor, or send your armies in to kill innocents.”

  “What do you want?” Scheering tried to imbue the question with authority, but his voice wavered.

  “I want to bring an end to the slaughter of aliens on Mallory,” Vaughan said, and delighted at the look of alarm that briefly filled Scheering’s eyes.

  He walked around the desk, keeping the pistol aimed at Scheering. “Sit down. On the floor!”

  The big man looked at the polished timber flooring as if the indignity of sitting upon it was beyond him. Vaughan stepped forward, brandishing the weapon, and Scheering clumsily fell to his knees, then manoeuvred his bulk into a sitting position against the glass.

  Vaughan swivelled the chair Scheering had just vacated and sat down, leaning forward. “Tell me something, do you manage to sleep with the thought that you’re personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds, thousands, of aliens?”

  Scheering managed a smile. He seemed to have overcome his initial shock, taken stock of the situation. He rallied, perhaps buying time. “It was a choice between the continued prosperity of six million colonists on Mallory and the lives of a few thousand aliens.” He shrugged. “It was no choice, my friend. I look after my people.”

  “You look after yourself,” Vaughan said. “You look after your investors, your shareholders. You do evil and call it good.”

  “As I am fond of telling the man you impersonated,” Scheering smiled, “there is no such thing as good and evil, only—”

  “Only those who are strong, and those who are weak,” Vaughan finished.

  Scheering stared at him. “And Keilor?” he said. “What did you do—?”

  “He’s dead,” Vaughan replied. “He wasn’t strong enough, in the end.”

  Fear showed in Scheering’s eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Personally,” Vaughan said, “I want to kill you. The animal in me wants recompense for all the misery and suffering you and your company have caused, to aliens and humans alike.”

  Scheering was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming in through the window at his back. A trickle ran from his brow and tracked down the side of his nose. For a second, Vaughan mistook it for a tear.

  Scheering said, “You do realise, don’t you, that this office is monitored? You don’t think I ’d overlook such a security risk?”

  Vaughan smiled. “Monitored? Then your security team must be looking the other way. I don’t see anyone rushing to your aid.”

  Scheering moved, then. For a man of his bulk, he leapt up with surprising agility. He flung himself towards the wall, reaching out for a security alarm.

  Vaughan stood and kicked out, connecting with the man’s padded gut. Scheering grunted and slumped to the floor. Vaughan stood over him and kicked out again, this time turning Scheering onto his back.

  The millionaire stared up at him, something quailing and defeated in his eyes. Vaughan smiled. Revenge was sweet.

  “How would you like to die, Scheering? A quick laser pulse to the head, killing you instantly? Or should I strangle you, slowly? Give you time to think about all the people you ordered Keilor to murder, all the Hortavans you massacred?”

  “Don’t kill me!” Scheering pleaded.

  Vaughan laughed. “Kill you? I’d like to, but death’s too good for you. I came here with not the slightest intention of killing you.”

  Scheering blinked up at him. “Then what?” he said, a pitiful note of desperation in his voice.

  “I want you to live to regret your actions on Mallory,” Vaughan said. “I want you to see the error of your policy there, and overturn it.”

  Scheering blinked. “I... I understand. My life, for promises—”

  Vaughan cut in. “As if I’d trust you to keep promises!”

  The millionaire stammered, “Then how?”

  Vaughan smiled. “Think about it. How can I let you live, and be assured that things will change on Mallory? You’re a greedy man, Scheering. You have vested interests. Nothing comes between you and profits. Not even a race of innocent aliens.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I said think about it. I’m going to let you live, and you’re going to change your policy on Mallory.”

  Sudden understanding flared in Scheering’s eyes, “No!”

  Vaughan smiled. “Yes. I have a Hortavan xenopath riding in my head.”

  He was rewarded, then, by an expression of total fear on Scheering’s overweight face. “No! You can’t!”

  Vaughan moved. He knelt on Scheering’s chest, ensuring he hurt the millionaire. “This is for all those innocent whose lives you’ve destroyed, Scheering.”

  He pulled the spray from his pocket and gave Scheering a short blast, just enough to subdue him without knocking him out entir
ely. He wanted the bastard awake while he did what he had to do next.

  He ripped open the front of Scheering’s silk shirt and located the discreet bulge of his implanted mind-shield just below the right clavicle. Scheering stared up at him, terror in his eyes. He looked, Vaughan thought, like a rat confronted by a cobra about to strike.