The Mandel Files, Volume 2: The Nano Flower

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Oh, great,’ said Suzi.

  ‘Once you get Fielder, I can keep you ahead of the tekmercs,’ Julia said. ‘I have them all under observation.’

  ‘Thanks, Julia,’ Greg said. ‘We’re on our way.’

  Internal camera, study. Both of Jason Whitehurst’s hardline bodyguards were dead. They lay on the floor, bodies torn open by rip-gun bolts, blood pooling around them. The maid Leol Reiger had hauled along had gone into catatonic shock, curled up against the settee in a foetal position, eyes squeezed shut.

  Leol Reiger hadn’t even bothered to use the door. There was a big rent in the wall, its craggy edges bent inward. He was standing in front of the desk, the four accompanying members of his squad fanned out behind him.

  Jason Whitehurst still clung to an air of pride, defeated but not broken.

  ‘Call your son, and have him tell us where Fielder is,’ Leol Reiger’s amplified voice said. ‘That’s all we want, Fielder. We get her, we leave. No more hazard to you and your crew.’

  ‘And the alternative?’ Jason Whitehurst asked. ‘Aren’t you going to threaten me?’

  ‘Why? You already know the way it is. Snuff you, your crew, this ship. Your son. Especially your son.’

  Jason Whitehurst glared at the armoured figure. ‘I had agreed a price with your paymaster.’

  Leol Reiger took a pace forward. ‘I would hate to think you were stalling.’

  Julia decided to intervene. She plugged into the study’s flatscreens, using an image-synthesizer program to reproduce her face. The camera showed five of her suddenly looking down on the scene, another face encased inside the desk.

  ‘Jason isn’t stalling,’ she said out of the speakers.

  Rip guns came up in alarm, the tekmercs turning in jerky agitated movements.

  ‘Jesus, that’s Julia Evans,’ one of them stuttered.

  ‘Oh yeah? Big deal,’ Leol Reiger said. He tried for contempt, but the mikes detected a quaver in his voice.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Leol Reiger,’ she said.

  ‘How the hell— What is this?’ He levelled his rip gun on Jason Whitehurst.

  There was the glimmer of a smile on Jason Whitehurst’s lips, mocking. ‘As I have met my match, so you have met yours.’

  ‘Charlotte Fielder belongs to me, Leol Reiger,’ Julia said. ‘My team is on its way here to collect her. If you leave now, they will not pursue you.’

  ‘Bluff,’ Leol Reiger said. ‘If they were coming you wouldn’t try and make deals.’

  ‘How do you think I’m talking to you? Event Horizon technology is capable of slicing straight through the Messerschmitt’s jammer, and that is premier-grade military equipment. And I’ll remind you that you’re talking to a woman who’s got her own stockpile of electron-compression warheads. Think about that.’

  ‘Hot technology, my arse; I’ll bet it’s not as good as atomic structuring, I’ll bet it doesn’t even come close. Right?’

  ‘Irrelevant. Atomic structuring is for the future, you are facing me now.’

  ‘I’m facing a flatscreen. We’re here, you’re not. Fielder’s mine. So fuck off, rich bitch.’

  ‘Mistake,’ Jason Whitehurst said gravely. ‘That, my friend, was a big mistake. Nobody says that to Julia Evans.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I ain’t been zapped by a lightning bolt. So now I’ll take Fielder. Where is she?’

  ‘Jason doesn’t know,’ Julia said. ‘Nor will he be able to find out. My security programmers are in full control of the Colonel Maitland’s ’ware.’

  ‘Leol,’ one of the other tekmercs said, a woman’s voice. ‘Maybe we oughta listen—’

  ‘Shut it.’ Leol Reiger pointed his rip gun at one of the big wall screens, and fired. The flatscreen shattered, radiant pink fragments bouncing across the hard silver-white floor. Jason Whitehurst hunched down in his chair, hands over his ears. Leol Reiger swivelled to another flatscreen, fired again. Daylight shone through a hole the rip-gun bolt drilled into the gondola wall.

  ‘You really are a complete fool, aren’t you,’ Julia said.

  Leol Reiger demolished a third screen. He turned back to Jason Whitehurst, the muzzle of the rip gun coming down on the desk with a click. ‘Time’s up. Make your choice. Do you think the rich bitch is gonna save you, or you gonna hand Fielder over to me?’

  Jason Whitehurst stood slowly, squaring his shoulders, looking directly at Leol Reiger’s smooth armour helmet. The rip gun followed him up.

  ‘Julia?’ Jason Whitehurst asked.

  ‘Still here, Jason. Tell him what you know, it doesn’t make any difference. My team will get Fielder, and I don’t want you hurt.’

  ‘Julia, my dear, Fabian isn’t my son, he’s my clone, gene-tailored. A sort of an improved version, really. Bit vain, I suppose, but then that’s human nature for you. Please look after him for me, there’s a dear.’ He smiled at Leol Reiger. ‘Lost all round, old chap. Your sort always do.’

  ‘You shit,’ Leol Reiger bellowed.

  ‘Don’t,’ Julia said.

  Leol Reiger fired his rip gun. The muzzle was less than a metre away from Jason Whitehurst.

  ‘I shall remember you, Leol Reiger,’ Julia said. ‘Do you hear me?’

  Leol Reiger blew the last two flatscreens to shards. ‘Come on, out. I want every cabin searched. Fielder will’ve gone to ground after all this shooting.’ He led his squad out of the study.

  The subroutine assigned to monitor Nia Korovilla reported that she had entered the MHD chamber.

  Tekmerc squad inter-suit radio communication.

  Julia: ‘Don’t think you can walk out on me, Leol Reiger. Life is not that simple, believe me.’

  Leol Reiger: ‘Christ Almighty.’

  Julia: ‘Jason Whitehurst was a friend and business colleague.’

  Leol Reiger: ‘Piss off, bitch.’

  Tekmerc eight, female: ‘How can she plug into our communications like this?’

  Julia: ‘Five million Eurofrancs for the one who kills Leol Reiger.’

  Leol Reiger: ‘You’re dead, Evans. That’s the only way out now. You and me, head on. The rest of you, get into these cabins. And if any of you are thinking of taking her up on that offer, you’d better make sure you get me with one shot. You’re dead otherwise.’

  Tekmerc five: ‘Hey, come on, get real, Leol. No one’s gonna loose off at you.’

  The ’ware in the redundant MHD chamber was a confusing mess to unravel – a couple of ordinary terminals with custom-built augmentation modules, music deck, VR gamer gear – and all of it plugged together by a nonstandard web of fibre-optic cable. Julia recognized old hotrod-style programs protecting some of the ’ware cores. It took time to melt through and initiate her own command procedures.

  The first coherent input she received was from the cameras. Charlotte Fielder dressed in a white cotton top and shorts being held in an armlock by Nia Korovilla. Julia watched as Nia Korovilla broke two of her fingers. Charlotte’s mouth opened in a scream of pain. Unheard; Julia couldn’t find the microphone circuits. Fabian Whitehurst was charging at the two women.

  Julia turned all of the lightware cruncher’s spare capacity to interpreting the den’s ’ware. She ordered one camera to zoom in on Nia Korovilla’s face; her pupils were dilated; her grip on Fielder looked effortless. The woman was taking some kind of narcotic. Memory correlation assigned the highest probability to cleardust. Korovilla would be quite capable of killing Fabian Whitehurst and Charlotte Fielder with her bare hands.

  Charlotte Fielder shoved Fabian Whitehurst away. He stumbled back, swaying for balance.

  The den’s circuits were defined, operational codes pulled out of the ’ware cores. Julia turned on the mikes, the flatscreens, the music deck speakers.

  ‘Oh God no,’ Charlotte Fielder cried.

  Fabian was getting ready to charge again. There was blood running down his chin.

  Julia rammed the music deck volume up full. ‘Enough of this. Fabian, stay where you are.’

 
; The three figures froze in surprise.

  Julia activated a visual synthesizer program, plugging it into the flatscreens.

  ‘Julia Evans,’ Charlotte Fielder gasped.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte. I think it’s about time you and I had a talk.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Nia Korovilla.

  ‘Your position is not a strong one, Nia,’ Julia said. ‘There is a tekmerc squad loose in the gondola, two of my agents survived the Messerschmitt attack, and an Event Horizon security crash team is en route. Whoever you work for, they’ll have to fight through all those groups to reach you.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Charlotte Fielder implored. Her beautiful face was screwed up in pain. ‘What attack?’

  ‘The Colonel Maitland is currently under siege by tekmercs,’ Julia told her. ‘You are the target, you possess some unique information which several people would like to obtain.’

  ‘Not me, no I don’t.’

  Julia could see the girl was near to cracking up.

  ‘Please, Mrs Evans,’ Fabian Whitehurst called. ‘Tell Nia to let Charlotte go. Please.’ There were tears trickling down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his chin, droplets spilling onto his jacket.

  Nia Korovilla’s free hand moved up to clamp around the back of Charlotte Fielder’s neck. ‘That isn’t an option.’

  Internal camera, fuselage keel. The four tekmercs under Frank’s command had come up the stairwell from the gondola. They were clumping along in single file, helmets brushing the gasbags. The walkway hadn’t been designed for armour suits, arms kept knocking against the hand rails, bending them. The grid mesh was creaking under their weight.

  Julia sent out a string of instructions to the maintenance drones, directing them down the fuselage to the tail. They began to slide smoothly along their rails.

  Internal camera, fuselage engineering bay. Greg and Suzi were stepping off the ladder on to the walkway that would take them to the MHD chamber. One side of the walkway looked out over the engineering bay, a circular lattice of girders like a metal spiderweb. Massive cylindrical heat exchangers, and chrome-silver giga-conductor cells were cocooned within it, concentric rings of metal eggs. Cables and thick pipes wound around the girders; the air carrying a steady thrumming from the machinery. On the other side of the walkway was the featureless shallow curve of the main spherical gasbag, ringed by one of the doughnut-shaped bags.

  Greg consulted his cybofax. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead now.’

  ‘Right.’ Suzi’s acknowledgement was strained.

  Julia called them through the cybofax. ‘Bad news, the maid, Nia Korovilla, is some kind of hardliner.’

  ‘Jesus wept,’ Suzi said hotly. ‘Last time I ever take on an Event Horizon deal.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Julia said. ‘I didn’t realize what was involved when we started out. The situation is becoming very fluid.’

  ‘Fluid,’ Suzi snorted.

  ‘What about the maid?’ Greg asked.

  ‘She’s cleardusted, and using Charlotte Fielder as a shield.’

  ‘So what do you want us to do?’

  ‘The only viable option is to eliminate her. We cannot risk Fielder; and Korovilla has her hand round Fielder’s neck, ready to snap it.’ Julia squirted the den’s camera image into Greg’s cybofax.

  Suzi craned her neck to look at it. ‘Not good,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to go straight in and sharpshoot. Korovilla won’t be prepared. Even if someone does come in she won’t expect them to fire right off. Everyone takes time to assess a new situation.’

  ‘All right,’ Greg said reluctantly.

  ‘I do it,’ Suzi said flatly.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s what you brought me for. I can shoot straight, I’m familiar with the Browning. And you might hesitate, with her being a woman.’

  Greg pulled a sour face. ‘All right.’

  ‘OK. Julia, is she carrying?’

  ‘No, not that I can see.’

  ‘That’s something.’

  ‘I’m negotiating,’ Julia said. ‘But I can’t hold her much longer. And the tekmercs are two minutes behind you. I’ve arranged a delay, but I can’t guarantee how long that’ll keep them.’

  ‘We’re gone,’ Suzi said. She began to run lightly down the walkway towards the MHD chamber, fifty metres ahead. The camera showed a hard grey fan of light spilling out of its door.

  Internal camera, MHD camera. Charlotte Fielder clamped her jaw shut as Nia Korovilla’s hand tightened. The skin of her long neck was showing white around the maid’s fingers.

  ‘Be logical,’ Julia urged. ‘My company’s infiltration of the Colonel Maitland’s ’ware systems is total. Whatever questions Charlotte answers for you, whatever she says, wherever she is in the airship, we will hear them. There will be no advantage to your backers now. I offer you this: if you release her my security crash team will leave you alone, you may even have free passage to the destination of your choice.’

  Nia Korovilla gave a guttural laugh. ‘And I will tell you this. The whore is too valuable for anyone to risk harming her. Except for me, I’ll have nothing to lose in a last resort. If anyone, you or the tekmercs, tries to interfere I will break her elegantly crafted little neck.’

  Julia made her voice austere. ‘You will not be allowed to leave with her.’

  ‘You may not have her,’ Nia Korovilla growled.

  ‘Stop it!’ Fabian Whitehurst wailed. ‘Stop it, stop it. Let her go. Just let her go.’ The creases down his cheeks were like an old man’s.

  ‘Don’t get in anyone’s way, Fabian,’ Charlotte Fielder said, her voice was very faint. ‘These people won’t even notice you.’

  ‘I revise my offer,’ Julia said.

  ‘I’m listening,’ Nia Korovilla said.

  ‘Contact your backers, we will explain the current situation, and I’ll offer them an atomic structuring manufacturing partnership with Event Horizon.’

  For the first time Nia Korovilla seemed uncertain.

  Suzi stepped into the den. Her Browning pistol was held level with her face, one eye closed.

  ‘If you—’ Nia Korovilla began. Directly above her left ear a circle of hair one centimetre wide puffed into bright, almost invisible flame, singing the surrounding strands. She fell backwards, knees buckling.

  Charlotte Fielder staggered forwards as the grip around her neck and arm was relinquished. She twisted to look at the maid’s body, lying with limbs akimbo on the decking. The eyes had rolled back, leaving only the whites showing.

  Charlotte Fielder groaned, looking as if she was about to be sick. Then she found Fabian Whitehurst who was staring numbly at the body. They moved into each other’s arms, and locked like magnets.

  Internal camera, aft fuselage access way. The four tekmercs of Frank’s squad had begun to climb the transverse frame ladder up to the midsection of the engineering bay. Eighteen maintenance drones were lined up along the side of the ladder. Another two glided down their rails and stopped.

  Julia organized twenty separate drone-handling subroutines inside the lightware crunchers, loaded them with instructions, and plugged each of them into a maintenance drone.

  The last tekmerc started up the ladder. The first was still twenty rungs from the midsection walkway.

  Tekmerc squad inter-suit radio communication.

  Tekmerc three: ‘What is it with these drones?’

  Tekmerc seven: ‘Lacey, hey, Lacey, they’re in love with you.’

  Kissing sound.

  Tekmerc three, identified, Lacey: ‘Go suck it cold.’

  Frank: ‘Come on, let’s show some discipline here.’

  Tekmerc seven: ‘Hey, this one’s moving.’

  Julia’s primary routine initiated the attack, handing over individual drone direction to the assembled subroutines. Welding lasers fired at the muscle armour suits’ photon amps. Strut-repair waldos reached out and began drilling through the armour with monolattice carbon bits, aiming for wri
st, elbow, ankle, and knee joints. Riveting guns punched metal pins into the jetpacks.

  Internal camera, aft fuselage access way. A scene of terrorized chaos; machine versus machine. Metallic humanoids fighting vulpine robotic insects. The tekmercs thrashed and kicked as the drills penetrated; all the while desperately clinging to the ladder. Every time an armour boot hit a drone it would crumple the casing, smashing the hardware and hydraulic systems. Violent movement dislodged the waldos, but they would reach out again instantly, monolattice stingers blurring with speed.

  Blood began to seep out of the drill holes, running down the outside of the dark armour. It mingled with hydraulic fluid, slicking the ladder.

  The tekmerc below the leader lost his grip, dropping down a metre. He was halted momentarily by three waldos that had punctured the armour, but the force of the jolt ripped their drills free. He fell, rebounding off the fuselage framework, arms and legs flailing madly. Then he hit a clear section of the solar cell envelope head on, tearing straight through.

  External camera, aft fuselage keel. The tekmerc was a black pinwheeling doll against the calm blue ocean. Shrinking rapidly. He must have tried to activate his jetpack. Whatever damage the maintenance drones had inflicted, it was drastic. The jetpack erupted into a shower of minute slivers, dismembering the rest of the muscle armour suit.

  Tekmerc squad inter-suit radio communication.

  Tekmerc seven: Continuous unintelligible shout.

  Frank: ‘Leol, the drones, the fucking drones. They’ve gone mad.’

  Leol Reiger: ‘What’s happening?’

  Frank: Screams. Shouting, ‘Help us for Christ’s sake. It’s the drones. They’re killing us. Blind. They’ve blinded me. Can’t hold. Oh God, my hands—’ Screams.

  Tekmerc five: ‘Holy shit, listen to them, it’s likely they’re being eaten alive.’