by Al Robertson
‘I’m sorry, Ifor. I didn’t know that East would play it that way.’
‘It is difficult for us. Our negotiations with your Pantheon have reached a delicate stage.’
‘Kingdom blocking you?’
‘No, he’s been surprisingly conciliatory.’
‘That’s his public stance.’ Jack quickly explained the situation. ‘I’m going to move against Yamata and then Kingdom. You’re in negotiation so you can’t be seen to do it. Lestak’s hamstrung.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Close to them both. That’s all you need to know. I’m going to get proof of their crimes and share it with the world.’
‘If you are captured or exposed without that proof, we will deny all knowledge of you.’
‘Wanker,’ said Fist.
Ifor chuckled. ‘Realpolitik, my friend. But perhaps that is too sweeping. If I can help you out of trouble, I will. Call for me, little puppet, and I will do my best to come.’
‘You’re still a wanker.’
Jack patted Fist’s helmet. ‘Always the charmer,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got to be going. Spread the word, Ifor: it’s Kingdom. He’s been running Yamata, and we think she’s behind the terrorist attacks.’
‘Spread the word? Now that I know, we all know.’
‘And I’ve got a favour to ask. Something personal.’
‘What do you want us to do?’
‘What we’re about to do – well, it’s risky. If we don’t make it back, could you go to my parents, and tell them about the last few days – about everything we’ve found out?’
‘I will, Jack.’
‘My father doesn’t like the Totality.’
‘We’ll find a way of reaching him. And we’ll talk to your mother.’
‘You’ll need his permission for that.’
‘Perhaps.’
When Ifor had gone, Fist turned to Jack. ‘Now for Heaven and Mr Stabs!’
‘There’s one more thing. Remember we talked about Andrea?’
‘Ah, yes. I could have done with a bit more time. But this should do the trick.’
Fist put his hand out and a little feather appeared. It glowed with shifting colours and patterns. Jack took it from him. Its barbs brushed against themselves, glitching out soft musical notes.
‘Why a feather?’ asked Jack.
‘To unclip her wings. Once she’s installed it, nobody will be able to roll her back, or send her back to the Coffin Drives if she doesn’t want to go. She’ll be free, just like you wanted.’
‘Very poetic.’
There was paper in Jack’s hand. He remembered the notes he’d exchanged with Andrea, such a short time ago. So much had changed since then.
‘I understand everything now,’ he wrote, ‘and I’m going to try and find a resolution. I’m so glad I found you again. I hope the feather helps you fly. Oh, and Harry lied to us both about what he is.’ Jack summarised what Harry had told them in the garden, then simply ended with: ‘I love you.’ An envelope appeared. He addressed it, tucked the feather into it and carefully sealed it.
‘Consequences, Jack,’ warned Fist. ‘If the Pantheon ever trace that back to us we’re in big trouble. Almost as bad as killing one of them. It rewrites some pretty basic fetch code.’
‘Will they?’
‘I’ve been very careful. It’s locked to Andrea only. If it’s just running on her, it’ll be pretty much invisible. And I’ve dropped in some camouflage for her. She’ll be able to make it look like she’s been rolled back or sent down. If she’s careful, nobody will ever find her out.’
‘Good,’ said Jack. ‘Send.’ A flash of light and it was done. ‘Now we’re ready to go.’
Fist let the garden fall away. Once again they stood outside Homelands, shaded by a pillar of Heaven. ‘Well,’ he said, looking up at it, ‘time for an ascension. All security’s in place, and you’re going to love what I’ve done with our beasts. No more panthers.’
He clapped his gloved hands together. Ghosts of animals flitted into being, barely visible against the dark. Jack looked for different shapes, different sizes; for lions and tigers and bears. But they were all the same kind of creature.
There were sharp heads like wedges, dark pointed ears pricking up, lean and muscular bodies made to run and catch and bring down prey. Their skin was pitch-black. Eyes and mouths flamed in the darkness. Burning spit dropped away from tongues of fire. Flames danced around them, a basic fact of their being, scudding across their bodies, dancing down legs, burning out in footprint trails behind them. They milled around sniffing at each other, welcoming themselves into existence.
‘Dogs,’ breathed Jack.
‘Not just dogs – hounds. Man’s best friend,’ replied Fist proudly. ‘Nothing to be scared of. Unless it’s you they’re hunting. They’re a pack, they’ll take commands.’
Jack snapped: ‘To me!’ The pack’s response was immediate. Seven heads snapped towards him. Seven pairs of burning eyes met his, all attention, all engagement. They jostled closer, flame tongues lolling in open mouths. A wave of heat rolled across him.
‘I’ve been burned,’ said Fist, ‘and so they burn. My weakness is my strength!’
‘Back away,’ ordered Jack. ‘Walk around us.’
The dogs pulled back and resumed their prowling. Their footfalls sparked fire, creating a soft circle of flame.
‘Now I know what we’re up against, I’ve tweaked their defences,’ Fist explained. ‘Totalityware won’t touch them.’
‘Excellent,’ smiled Jack. ‘Let’s go.’
He leapt up and squeezed a little propellant out. All of a sudden he was flying in space, his shadow hounds leaping with him through the darkness.
For a long time afterwards he would remember that moment as one of perfection; blazing through night, certain in purpose, ready to unleash his vengeance on Heaven. He wondered if he should have Fist twine him in fire too, a rebel returned to break the rule of his makers. Perhaps he should fly on great burning wings.
He let a little more air squirt out, correcting a drift out of the pillar’s shadow. He thought of the sun. It at once nourished humanity and was completely unaware of it. Here was a god he could worship, he realised, one that gave unstintingly without demanding anything in return. He wondered what it would mean to enter a state of such disinterested grace, to bless without possibility of control or reward. In his mind, the sun roared.
That imagined sound made him realise that his pack was silent. [Let me hear you,] he thought. Pants and growls burst across him. One dog howled and one by one the others joined it. Each shifted in and out of phase with the others, harsh dissonances and subtle harmonies rising and filling in the night. As the hounds roared for their master, fire fell backwards from their gaping mouths, fading into the night. Burning feet found firm purchase in nothing. They were closing in on Heaven. Soon they would storm its gates.
[ Where did Grey say Mr Stabs would meet us?]
[ He was very precise. It’s an access door just where the pillar hits Heaven.]
[Perfect. Will anyone spot the pack?]
[ They’re ghosts until they’re on you – if you can see them, you’re already fucked.]
Heaven raced towards them. Jack touched the void with his steerjets, spinning round and slowing. When he touched down he landed gently but firmly, magnetic soles clamping him to the ground. One by one, the dogs landed around him. Looking back, he saw that the trail of fire they had burned into the night was falling away to nothing.
[ You are an artist sometimes, Fist.]
[Everything I am comes from you.]
For a moment Jack mistrusted the compliment, but he could find no ambiguity or hostile intent in it. Fist hovered in front of him, slowly rotating to bring himself right way up. The pack sniffed around them, exploring new territory.
[ Have they found anything?] asked Jack.
[ They’ve neutralised some basic security systems. Nothing else here. I don’t think the gods ever e
xpected anyone to get in this way.]
[Complacent as ever. Where’s the door?]
[Over there.] Fist pointed at the pillar. An airlock started to open. Pale light leapt out of it. [ You’ve waited long enough,] Jack told him. [Let’s go see Mr Stabs.]
Chapter 41
‘Stabsy!’
Fist rushed to embrace Mr Stabs, his spacesuit disappearing as he reached and clutched him. Mr Stabs jerked an arm up, patted at Fist, and then let it fall. His awkward movement ended the hug.
‘I’m sorry to see you’ve been hurt,’ he said, speaking with a grating singsong quality. Alert eyes peered out of holes raggedly cut in a baggy head mask, hand-stitched from white fabric. He was dressed in dirty blue overalls and heavy work boots. One shoulder was pulled up slightly higher than the other. But for a slight stoop, he would have been taller than Jack.
‘I’ve had worse,’ shrugged Fist. He stepped back and looked up at Mr Stabs. ‘We’re going to have such fun!’ he said, his joy suddenly sounding a little forced. The airlock hissed air back into space, reminding them where they’d come from and why they were there.
‘We have business to attend to,’ Mr Stabs responded coldly. He turned to Jack and jerked out an arm. Every part of him shuddered. Jack shook his hand, half-expecting to squeeze hardwood, but there was only soft flesh and a weak, uncertain grip. He was glad not to see Tiamat’s face animated by another mind. He imagined how his own would look when fully possessed by Fist and shuddered.
‘It was very brave of Grey, returning to Heaven to ask for my help,’ Mr Stabs told him. ‘Any one of the Pantheon could have picked up his presence. If Kingdom found out how active he still was, he’d crush him like—’
His hand came up. His fingers moved jerkily, not quite pinching together.
‘Fortunately for us, he hasn’t,’ said Jack. ‘And Grey said you’d help us.’
‘I can get you into Kingdom’s compound. The rest is up to you.’
‘Then let’s get over there.’
‘It’s night here. You go first thing tomorrow. Until then, it’s back home to sleep. Follow me.’
Mr Stabs lurched, wheeled round, and began to walk. He swayed left and right with each pace, but managed to move with reasonable speed. His head jerked back towards them. ‘Come on!’ he shouted, ‘I don’t want to be missed.’
[ He used to be the coolest of the cool,] said Fist, his voice hushed with pain.
[ Him and Tiamat both.]
[And now look at him.]
The journey took an hour or so. They followed Mr Stabs down indistinguishable corridors, up and down ladders, in and out of lifts. Every so often, there was a security door. Mr Stabs had a card he’d pull out to open it.
‘Can’t you just tell the doors to open?’ Fist asked him.
‘Kingdom burnt out my weave implants before he handed me over to Grey.’
‘No weave! But what do you do with yourself ?’
‘Feed my plants. Visit other gardeners.’
[ Fuck,] said Fist quietly to himself. [ No parties.]
Jack said nothing. Meeting Mr Stabs had been a shock for both of them. He wanted to let its impact settle before talking it through with Fist.
They found themselves walking through a vast subterranean forcing house. Bright lights blazed down on rows of vegetables. Sprays hissed water. The air had a humid, tropical feel, heavy with the scent of growth.
Jack breathed in deeply. ‘I’ve never smelt anything like it.’
‘My underworld,’ Mr Stabs replied proudly. ‘And now we climb into Heaven.’ He was standing at the foot of a short ladder, leading up to a metal hatch. ‘I’ll go first. Got to check nobody’s around.’ He moved up the ladder like a broken spider, then disappeared through the hatch. A moment later his white, covered head reappeared. ‘OK. Come up.’
Jack imagined himself wearing a similar hood, Fist trapped behind it. Fist snapped him out of his reverie. ‘Come on. What are you waiting for?’
Climbing up, they found themselves in a small wooden shed. Half of it was a living area – there was a low bed, a shower cubicle and a sofa. The rest was packed with gardening equipment. A spade and fork leant against the wall. There was a workbench, half-covered with a clutter of hand tools. A lawnmower’s metal entrails spilling across the floor. Wisps of curtain covered a window.
Mr Stabs shuddered over to it and, lifting the material, peered outside.
‘All’s quiet,’ he confirmed.
‘Where are we?’ Jack asked him.
‘Grey’s corporate space. You’ll see it tomorrow. For now, keep away from the window. I’ll make you up a bed.’ He rolled a sleeping mat out by the dead lawnmower and dropped some bundled sheets on to it. ‘Best we sleep now.’
‘Stabs,’ said Fist, ‘there’s so much we’ve got to talk about. The old days—’
‘No,’ said Mr Stabs, pain evident even through the squeak of his voice. ‘I don’t like to think about that.’ He moved to stand by his bed, leant forwards at the hip, bent backwards at the knee and collapsed into a rigid sitting position. His mask leapt up and fell back, for a moment revealing Tiamat’s familiar chin and lips. His mouth was turned down.
But Fist persisted. ‘What about the future? You and me, we’re the only puppets left. We’ve got to stick together.’
‘You’re only here because Grey told me what Kingdom’s done, what he might use you to do and what you’re going to do to him. I didn’t want to see you.’
‘What?’
Mr Stabs leant backwards and pulled his legs up on to the bed, then swivelled awkwardly round and collapsed back into a lying position.
‘You and Jack. You remind me so much of how I was with David. So arrogant. Then I spent months alone with him, deep in space. I watched him lose hope. I was inside him when he died. I am what I am now because of that. It changes your perspective.’ His head jolted round to face his guests. ‘You’re lucky, Hugo. It won’t be as hard for you. You’ve both got something very important to do. You’ll either succeed or die together. And if you do defeat Kingdom, you’ll have the memory of one last, shared triumph to hold on to when Jack’s gone. I only have pain and emptiness in my past. So we’ll sleep, and in the morning you’ll go, and I won’t see you again.’
‘Stabsy—’
‘I’m going to switch the light off. Then I take off my mask.’
[ There’s so much I want to talk to him about!]
[ Hush, Fist. You heard what he said.]
Jack lay down on the sleep mat, and pulled the sheets over him. There was a click, and the bare light bulb that lit the shed flicked off.
‘G’night Stabsy,’ chirped Fist hopefully. There was a rustling from Stabs’ corner of the room, but no reply.
[ He’s so different.]
[ He’s been through a lot. It changes people.]
[ Will I change like that, once I’m real?]
[ You’re real now. And you’ve changed, too – a little over the last few years, more over the last few weeks. Coming to life – well, that’s just one more change.]
Jack felt Fist tremble.
[ I’ll feel it, won’t I? When you go.]
[ That’s what Mr Stabs says.]
[ I’m so sorry, Jack. I wish I didn’t have to do it.]
[ You see, Fist? You have changed.]
[ It seems like such a waste. You’ll die – and I’ll end up like him.]
[ It won’t be as hard on you as it was on him. You’ll have a lot more good things to remember.]
A series of hiccupping squeaks and sniffles ran through Jack’s mind.
[ It’s such a waste, Jack! All this time waiting – and you’ll be gone – and I’ll just be a fucking freak!]
[ Hush, Fist. Can you manifest?]
[ I don’t want him to see me like this.]
[ You can show yourself just to me, can’t you?]
[ I suppose.]
Jack was lying on his side. He stretched out his arms and felt a sudden density come into
being between them. Fist clutched at his chest, little fists snatching at his shirt. [ It’s all so fucking pointless!] he wailed. [ Is this all there is? For me? For us?]
[ Yes,] replied Jack, [it is.]
He wrapped his arms around Fist, pulling him in tight. Fist hiccupped grief, his wooden face burrowing into Jack’s chest. Jack felt a wetness against him. Fist was simulating tears.
[ It is,] continued Jack, [and we’ll do what we’ve always done. We’ll make the best of it together. And when I’ve gone you’ll remember me, and that’ll help you make the best of it then, too.]
Fist said nothing. Jack cradled his head, gently stroking it, careful to show no emotion but care.
[ This is what being human means, Fist. It’s not just about being free. It’s about feeling sad and weak and lost, and losing people you love, and watching moments that were perfect slip away from you forever. That’s not a bad thing. The only reason it hurts is because they were so wonderful in the first place. We meet each other then part, and we’re sad, and we console ourselves with all that’s still to come.]
[ You won’t even be in the Coffin Drives!]
Emotion had completely taken over Fist now. His sadness tore at Jack.
[ I know,] he replied. [ But that might be a good thing. You’ve seen how people here refuse to let the past go. You won’t be able to do that. You’ll have to find new, real things to make you happy. You won’t be able to hide in yesterday.]
[ But I don’t want to lose you!]
[ You won’t lose me. You’ll still remember me. And you come from me. As long as you’re alive, there’ll always be a part of me around.]
[ I’ll be so lonely! Stabs won’t speak to me! And those puppet embryos are bullshit, there’s never going to be anyone else like me!]
Fist sobbed incoherently into Jack’s chest, until finally his weeping subsided. He settled into a shattered sleep still nestled in Jack’s arms.
[Mr Stabs might keep you company after all,] Jack whispered, knowing Fist wouldn’t hear. [ You could grow vegetables together. You might even be able to help him leave the past behind, too. Or maybe those puppet embryos really did survive.] But even the thought of them made Jack uneasy. He gave Fist’s tiny wooden hand a final squeeze. [ But for now – dispel.] Fist vanished. A deep, exhausted sleep soon overcame Jack, too.