by Gary Gibson
Four-arms stayed next to the wrecked car, but kept firing as she climbed. The bullets tinkled to the ground in a steady stream, which merely caused her would-be assassin to scream with rage.
Once she'd reached the gallery itself, she ducked out of sight. It was deserted now, but the entire passageway rang with the wail of frightened voices.
Dakota stole a glance over the side of the waist-high wooden balustrade alongside the gallery, and saw that the assassin was standing directly under one of the two stone bridges. He fired off a few more shots and she ducked down again.
Leaning on one knee, she balanced the plastic rifle on the rim of the balustrade and aimed it directly at the underside of the bridge immediately above the assassin. She pulled the trigger, half-expecting the weapon to fail completely.
Her vision turned black for a moment, before her filmsuit compensated for the overwhelming flash. When her sight returned, she had a bird's-eye view of the bridge tumbling downwards in ruin.
Four-arms wasn't nearly fast enough to get out of the way in time, and so disappeared under a mound of boulders and gravel, along with the car and Rivers's corpse.
Dakota glanced down at where her rifle should be, and found all that was left was the handgrip containing the battery, along with several centimetres of shattered plastic barrel.
So much for home-made weapons, she reflected, pulling herself upright. At least the battery hadn't blown as well.
She looked around, and could still hear the voices of people talking and yelling somewhere out of sight. Already a siren was sounding in the distance. She had no idea if four-arms had come alone, but in case he had any allies she needed to find something else to defend herself with. The filmsuit, however effective, could not protect her indefinitely.
Clearly, Dakota realized belatedly, Hugh Moss had found her first.
She made for the surviving bridge and ran across it, still holding on to the shattered rifle. It might be useless now, but someone at a distance might not be able to tell straight away. Another long tunnel stretched ahead, lit by glow-globes.
Another figure came running towards her, flames licking around his clenched fists. His head was smooth and shaved, and a satchel was slung across his bare chest. Even from a distance it was obvious there was something strange about his skin texture; it looked rather like the armoured hide of some ancient predator. He came to a stop and tipped his head back, his chest rising as if he were drawing in one enormous breath. When he lowered his head again, an enormous whoosh of flame was released from between his lips. At the same instant he drew one flaming hand back to throw something at her.
Dakota spun round and began to run back in the other direction just as a terrific explosion of light erupted behind her. She threw herself over one side of the bridge and dropped to the passageway below, just as a rush of intense heat enveloped her. She didn't even feel the impact as she landed.
She then headed downwards, following the gradually descending slope of the narrow street for lack of any better idea. She kept her arms and legs pumping furiously, ignoring the faces that sometimes loomed out of the dim light of successive tunnels and passageways, at first looking curious, then terrified as they glanced behind her. She didn't need a backward glance to know the burning man was still on her trail. Although the detonation hadn't physically harmed her, her clothes – unprotected by her filmsuit – were smoking and burning.
The street veered sharply to the right, and she threw herself around the corner, then ducked into one of the first doorways she saw. Maybe she could lose herself.
She found herself at the top of a steep and narrow stairwell, and followed it down to yet another vaulted passageway with bridges arching overhead. Taking several side entrances led her further downwards, as she ran on in her search for a suitable place to hide.
Something now rumbled from deep within the rock, growing louder the deeper she went. She soon found herself in a confined space whose roof was so low she had to almost bend double to make her way across it. Dakota realized she was now truly lost, and had to fight back her panic. She tried to connect with Derinkuyu's open access networks through her implants, but they responded with error messages that were not evident when she had met with Rivers earlier.
It had to be because of Moss. Somehow he had known she was here in the system, so he had engineered a crash in the networks servicing the local population.
Passing through a door on the other side of the cramped space, she suddenly found herself entering a vast, cavernlike area almost as extensive as the one she had first encountered Rivers in. But this one seemed empty of residents, and the air was filled with a heavy, thundering roar that suggested a subterranean cataract.
High up above her extended a curving ceiling painted in rich dark colours, adorned with a swirl of stars and shapes that gradually revealed themselves as a depiction of coreships and planets: a giant tableau that appeared to depict the earliest years of Derinkuyu's human settlement.
Across the huge chamber, a waterfall gushed out of one stony wall, spilling a dozen metres into a subterranean lake stirred up by a whirlpool several metres across. A dozen metal walkways, at different heights and interconnected by ladders, were suspended by cables from the ceiling. They crossed from one side of the cavern to the other and, even from where she stood, Dakota could see they gave access to yet more passageways all around.
The entrance to one such walkway was right in front of her, and in the centre of it stood Hugh Moss, with an insane grin spread across his calloused features.
Dakota turned and saw the fire-breather enter the giant cavern behind her. He stopped for a moment, as if to catch his breath, then, grinning at her widely, began digging deep inside his satchel. Shortly he withdrew a wrinkled black lump that looked like a large seed of some kind.
Flames suddenly began to lick around his hands and forearms, whereupon the seed popped and hissed, and then began to glow.
Pulling his hand back, he pitched the burning seed directly towards her. Dakota watched mesmerized for a second, as the object arced through the air towards her. She turned, throwing herself on to the nearby walkway, its metal surface clanging noisily with her every slamming footstep.
The explosion lifted her off her feet and sent her sprawling. Dakota shrieked, and twisted around on to her back just in time to see the fire-breather stepping on to the same walkway. Moss hadn't moved from where he stood.
Without really considering what she was doing, she hurled the broken remains of the pulse-rifle at the fire-breather.
The ensuing detonation ripped away the platform section where he had been standing. Dakota grabbed hold of the handrail while the entire walkway buckled under her, swaying wildly as some of its supporting cables snapped. By the time the flimsy bridge had stopped swinging and bouncing, she caught a last glimpse of the fire-breather's broken corpse being sucked into the watery depths below.
She looked back to the ledge beyond, but it was too far to jump. And no way in hell was she taking her chances with the whirlpool.
'Dakota Merrick!' Moss screeched. 'Do you remember our last conversation?'
'You'll have to remind me, Hugh,' she yelled back, her voice almost lost amid the roar of the surging water.
'I promised you that if you ever stood between me and Trader in Faecal Matter of Animals, I would do terrible things to you – things that would make you wish I had only killed you. I said, I believe, that I would make a symphony of your pain.'
'Well, we need to talk about that, Hugh.'
'What is there to talk about?'
'I need you to back off. I need Trader because he can help me stop the war between the Shoal and the Emissaries. If you don't, there's a good chance we're all going to die.'
She heard him laugh, and watched as he took a few steps closer to her. 'Are you appealing to my sense of decency? I'm disappointed, Miss Merrick. I thought you knew me better.'
'I'll kill you if I have to, Hugh.'
'You do realize that
Trader is manipulating you, surely?' Moss moved closer. 'He's never honoured an agreement in his life. You know, I rather thought he would find a way to send you after me eventually. In fact I almost hoped this day would come.'
Fuck it, Dakota thought to herself, then hurtled towards him with a yell.
Almost at once she felt a powerful shock spasming through her body, an electric jolt that set her nerve endings on fire. Something crackled faintly just in front of her, staining the air itself a barely perceptible shade of blue.
The pain receded and she found she was caught in a shaped-field bubble. She had unwittingly run straight over a set of field-generators fixed to the floor of the walkway.
Dakota tried to stand up, but the ensuing jolt of pain was so enormous, that it forced her back on to her knees.
She waited, with a heavy, cold feeling in her gut, as Moss knelt down beside her. The shaped fields then snapped off at almost the same moment she felt her filmsuit finally drain itself back inside her body. Moss reached out and touched her shoulder. She jerked away as she felt a stinging sensation there.
'Get it over with,' Dakota seethed. 'If you're going to kill me, then kill me. Just don't stand around gloating.'
'Kill you?' Moss affected confusion. 'Always that desire for death. Why would I kill you?' He gave her a lopsided grin. 'Tell me, was I right? Did Trader send you here specially to keep me from chasing him?'
'What makes you think that?'
'I can't think of any other reason you would have bothered to come here. The last time we met, I gave you my word that I wouldn't destroy Ocean's Deep, and in return you gave me Trader. That should have been the last time we ever saw each other – and yet here you are.'
'I already told you why, Hugh. I'm not going to repeat myself
Moss rocked back on his heels, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Dakota now had a good view of the long knife he gripped casually in one hand, poised close enough to slash across her exposed throat.
'Would you say I'm a man of my word, Miss Merrick?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Let me explain, then. I once gave you my word over Ocean's Deep. Did I honour our deal?'
'Yes,' Dakota admitted, forcing the word out.
'Then please allow me another question. Do you think Trader's the type to honour his promises?'
Dakota ground her teeth. If she made any move, he could cut her throat in an instant. 'No… no, I don't.'
'Then let me suggest a deal of my own, one we can both walk away from alive and feeling satisfied.'
She stared at him with an expression like a trapped animal and said nothing.
'Whatever Trader has told you,' he continued regardless, 'he will betray you. That's his nature. So when that time comes, you should really try and have some kind of advantage over him. Now, you gave me the resources I needed to track his ship anywhere within our galaxy.'
She licked her lips. 'Go on.'
'Allow me, Dakota, to give you in turn the means to control his ship at will. Observe.'
Dakota felt that familiar tingle in the back of her head that told her a large piece of data had just been dumped into her implants, whereupon she remembered Moss was himself a machine-head now. She discovered a moment later that she had come into possession of a complete command structure for a Shoal yacht, entirely configurable to her own needs.
She looked at him with an incredulous expression. 'Why, Hugh? Why are you giving this to me?'
'Because in exchange you will promise never to return, and to always, always leave me in peace. I believe you will now give me your word, and I will believe you when you give it, regardless of this particular transgression.'
'No,' she shook her head, 'it's not that simple. There's something else you're not telling me.'
He stood up now and looked down at her. 'Very well, let me put it this way. Trader's great skill is in surviving by treachery and lies. I've come close to catching up with him in the past, but he always finds a way to escape me. When he betrays you – and he will – you will have the advantage. Use it to destroy him, Dakota. Save the galaxy the trouble of letting him live.'
'And if he doesn't?'
Moss laughed. 'Will you promise me something, Dakota? When he turns on you, will you put an end to him so he can never turn on you again?'
'And you'd let me go?'
'But of course,' Moss replied, sounding almost magnanimous. He stepped away from her, and sheathed his knife.
She staggered slowly upright, breathing hard.
'So.' He smiled again, in a leathery splitting of his face like the wide yawn of a hungry snake. 'Do we have an agreement?'
She thought over her options. Would Trader even be able to tell if she was lying?
'You're serious about this?' she asked, licking her lips. 'Quite, quite serious.'
'Then I'll do it,' she replied, and realized with a shock that she meant it.
Chapter Twelve
Corso glanced up at the sound of helicopter blades cutting through the howl of the wind. He looked at Breisch, directly in front of him, then back up through the transparent window in the roof of their tent in time to see a shape pass across the face of one of Redstone's moons.
'Concentrate on your breathing,' instructed Breisch, without opening his eyes.
They knelt facing each other, on the antique rug spread out beneath them. The tent itself was constructed from multiple layers of highly resilient but extremely light nano-carbon, and was big enough to house up to half a dozen men with plenty of room to spare. Yet, once packed away, it was light and small enough to carry on one man's back.
Corso closed his eyes and focused on the thump of his own heartbeat, like a wet meat clock hammering out the seconds remaining before the fight. The sea hissed against the shore a few metres away. He recalled the words Breisch had repeated endlessly, until it became a kind of mantra: Death is inevitable. The key to survival lay only in giving up the fear of dying. Conversely, the key to victory lay in exploiting an opponent's own fear of death.
Corso opened his eyes again, unable to concentrate. Instead he studied the man opposite. Breisch was hard and wiry, with gaunt features, a veteran of a hundred challenges, which made him either one of the deadliest or luckiest fighters alive on Redstone, depending on whom you asked.
It had been a considerable surprise to him when Breisch had calmly admitted, shortly after the beginning of their professional relationship, that he fully expected to die while taking part in a challenge.
'It's better than dying old and infirm,' he had stated, in the same calm, clear tone he always spoke in. 'And, frankly, I consider it vastly preferable.'
'But you don't have to take part in challenges any more, if you don't want to,' Corso had argued. Despite his long tally of violent victories, Breisch had never requested a seat in the Senate, claiming to have no interest in politics. 'It's hardly like anyone would blame you, after so much time. You could still honourably refuse.'
'Because I'm old?' Breisch smiled more easily than anyone Corso knew. 'Even now, people still issue me challenges, because they want to be the one who finally takes me down. And one day, when I'm old enough, they'll get their wish. I can't imagine anything worse than retiring to some quiet life of public service. Better to go out fighting, don't you think?'
Corso had long since got over the irony that Breisch had once trained both of the Mansell brothers, who had been part of the fateful expedition to Nova Arctis. He had since worked hard to put his resentment and anger aside, and to accept that Breisch was not responsible for the actions of either Kieran Mansell or his psychopathic brother Udo – only for the quality of their combat skills. A little while later, they began practising some basic moves on the broken shore outside the tent, the stars clear and sharp in the evening sky.
The old man lunged at Corso with a wicked-looking blade, constantly feinting in different directions and throwing kicks and punches when they were least expected. They were both dressed lightly de
spite the freezing weather, so that nothing restricted their movements.
Despite his exertions, Corso could feel the cold seeping deep into his bones, and the sound of his breathing was like a death rattle as it emerged from the breather mask strapped over his lower face. He knew his fighting skills had improved vastly over the last few months, but he didn't allow himself to forget that perpetual expression of disgust Breisch had worn throughout the first weeks of their training.
Breisch feinted again and Corso anticipated his next move, darting to one side and turning at the same time to slash towards the old man's neck with a dull-edged blade. Before he got the chance, Breisch had responded with a backwards kick that sent Corso sprawling on to the frozen gravel.
Corso grunted as he pulled himself up. The old man was driving him even harder than usual.
Breisch looked down at him with a satisfied grin. 'I thought maybe you were getting too distracted, but you still did better than I thought you would.' He reached down with one hand and helped his pupil stand.
After a while they went back inside, Breisch warming a couple of high-protein meals on a hotplate, then retiring to his sleeping mat to rest before the coming challenge. Corso felt too wired-up to do the same.
This would be his tenth challenge since Dakota had departed, and Breisch's training was the only reason he had survived them. So far he had not been obliged to fight anyone else who also had the benefit of Breisch's intensive training, and with any luck he would never need to. When it was almost time for the fight to start, Corso heard the sound of engines coming closer. He pulled on some thermal gear that would keep out the worst of the cold, and snapped a fresh breather mask over his face before stepping outside.
He could see half a dozen helicopters parked on a flat area about a half kilometre inland, under the shade of a canopy tree whose massive trunk reared up for almost two hundred metres. This was a popular destination for Freeholders intent on slaughtering each other in order to gain wealth, power, women, or any combination thereof.