Goddamn it! There had to be something he could do.
“That is a weird-looking camera,” said the actress, squinting at the device around the Firestone.
“Yes, it is,” said Odin as he manipulated some controls on the back of the machine. “It’s cutting-edge technology. In every sense of the word, I suppose.”
A metal box on the wall caught March’s eye. It was a breaker box, and he realized it controlled the electrical current to the room. Likely the device holding the Firestone had its own independent power supply, but if March threw the room into darkness, perhaps he could take the Firestone and flee.
His muscles had just started to tense for movement when Odin hit a switch on the back of the machine.
A strange look came over the actress’s face, and then she started to scream.
It was a hideously painful death, but as Cassandra had surmised, at least it was quick.
The actress fell screaming to her knees, clawing at her face, and in the space of three seconds, her body withered and desiccated. The beautiful woman became a withered, blackened corpse, her red dress and shoes incongruous against the leathery, crumbling flesh.
Odin flipped the switch again, and the machine whirred once.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Lesser energy efficiency that time. The effect is easier across greater targets.”
“Was this entire charade really necessary?” said Slovell, his irritation plain.
“It was entirely necessary,” said Odin, “and made so by your incompetence, Roger.” His mouth thinned just a little, though it did not touch his tone. “You seduced the girl, you showed her rather more of this place than was wise, and you made her into a security liability. We cannot afford a security breach now, not when we are so close to the end of the project. And had you possessed a little more self-control, we would not have been forced to deal with her.”
Slovell laughed. “Self-control? You sound just like the cringing priests of the Royal Calaskaran Church. I embrace my nature and wish to celebrate it and explore it to the full. Why should the outdated morals of lesser men hold me back? I have transcended them, and in time the legacy of my body of work shall teach other men to free themselves as I have.”
“Yes,” murmured Odin. “And the man addicted to powerful hallucinogens believes himself free, at least until he walks off a cliff in a daze. But, don’t worry, Roger. Your particular obsessions aren’t going to be a liability any longer.”
Odin’s voice was smooth as glass, but March heard the threat in it. Roger Slovell, it seemed, did not. He puffed up as if Odin had just given him a compliment.
“I still don’t see why it is necessary to finish the project at my festival,” said Slovell.
“Call ahead,” said Odin to one of the Iron Hands. “Make sure the ship is ready. We’ll be departing Raetia as soon as we’re on board.” Odin and the Iron Hands could communicate through the joined mind of the Final Consciousness, which meant Odin had given that order for the benefit of Slovell. “And I’ve told you this, Roger. You’ve wanted revenge against the Kingdom of Calaskar for decades. You’re about to have it. Your own festival, attacked by the Kingdom’s new superweapon? All those innocent lives killed to get at you? And by good fortune, you were attending to urgent business elsewhere? You’re going to be even more famous than you already are. Just think of the media tour where you can denounce the Kingdom of Calaskar for its brutality.” He smiled a wolf-like grin at Slovell. “The only way you could become more influential is by dying as a martyr for your beliefs.”
Slovell gave a nervous laugh. “Fortunately, that is not necessary.”
Odin’s wolfish smirk didn’t waver. “Yes, how very fortunate.”
March stared at them, his mind racing.
False flag…
Then all at once, he understood.
That was the reason for the thousands of copies of the Calaskaran catechism in the outer room, and the reason for all those crudely printed pamphlets denouncing Slovell. Odin was going to use the radiation weapon on the film festival. Depending on the device’s range, he might use it on the entire University level of the arcology. Thousands of people would die. And when the Falcon investigators combed through the dead, they would find copies of the Royal Church’s catechism and the pamphlets scattered among the corpses.
The conclusion would be obvious, and the anti-Calaskaran factions among the Falcons would have all the excuse they needed to start a new war with the Kingdom of Calaskar.
There was only one thing to do. March couldn’t take all four of those Iron Hands at once, and he had no doubt that both Slovell and Odin were armed as well. He needed to retreat to the lobby, get Winter, and rejoin Eighty and Cassandra in the car. With the Eclipse, Cassandra could track the Firestone.
Then March and Eighty could work out a way to ambush and kill Odin and the Iron Hands.
But March had to hurry. Odin would use the weapon at any minute.
And as March began to ease back towards the door, Odin looked up and saw him.
It was pure dumb luck. Odin reached back with his left hand to rub the back of his neck, and as he did, his one eye of flesh looked right into March’s. The gray eye widened in surprise, and all four Iron Hands whirled at Odin’s silent command.
March shoved off the floor and turned to run, and the Iron Hands yanked plasma pistols from beneath their coats and opened fire. They missed entirely.
In fact, they were shooting underneath the balcony, not at him.
The answer to that mystery came a second later as the balcony tilted and began to collapse.
The Iron Hands, knowing that their chances of shooting him were dim, had instead shot out the support pillars. The plasma bolts had burned through the steel support columns, and the concrete slab of the balcony collapsed. March stumbled, lost his balance, and fell into the railing as the balcony went from horizontal to vertical.
His head bounced off the steel bar with a loud crack.
Stars exploded behind his eyes, and everything went black.
Chapter 8: Pulse
March was not out for long.
“Kill him.” Slovell’s voice came to March’s ears, his smooth tones dissolved into whiny alarm. “Or if you’re not going to kill him, at least tie him up. Why aren’t you tying him up?”
“That would be useless,” said Odin. “We have no materials capable of restraining his cybernetic arm.”
“Then cut it off!” said Slovell, the whine in his voice getting sharper.
“We have no tools capable of cutting the alloy of his arm. If we cut it loose from his flesh, he’ll bleed to death,” said Odin, his voice still patient. “Or the nanotech in his blood will start trying to repair itself by harvesting all available sources of metal. Don’t you have some implants in your heart?”
“Then just shoot him,” said Slovell.
“Not quite yet,” said Odin. “We need to know who sent him and how many allies he has. And we need to know how he found us.”
“His breathing pattern has changed,” said a cold voice. One of the Iron Hands, probably. “He’s awake.”
“Wake up, Jack,” said Odin with the robust good cheer March remembered from Burnchain Station. “We need to have a talk.”
There was nothing to be gained by feigning unconsciousness.
March opened his eyes.
He had a nasty headache, and his entire body felt bruised and battered, but he didn’t think he had any broken bones. March sat slumped against the broken slab of the balcony, his suit stained with concrete dust. About five meters to his left, underneath an intact section of the balcony, was a closed steel door. Likely that was the way Slovell and Odin had used to enter the laboratory, and that had been March’s fatal mistake – he hadn’t realized that there would be another entrance to the room.
The four Iron Hands stood in a loose semicircle around him, plasma pistols held ready. Each man was about seven meters away, far enough that March could not reach them before they
shot him dead. Behind the Iron Hands stood a rough-looking middle-aged man in a suit, and March recognized Marco Skinner. Slovell stood next to him, shaking with fury or perhaps terror, and Mr. Odin waited by the radiation weapon.
“Hello, Jack,” said Odin with a faint smile. “Determined as ever, I see.”
“Still ready to commit mass murder, I see,” said March.
Odin shrugged. “An occupational hazard, I am afraid. And this is just the opening play of the game. Calaskar’s almost out of time, Jack. You picked the losing side…”
“Calaskar will fall!” shrieked Slovell, his eyes bulging. “Your repressive and archaic society will collapse under the weight of its ignorance! You…”
“Shut up,” said March. “The adults are talking.”
Odin’s lips twitched in amusement, once.
“What did you say to me?” said Slovell, his voice rising to a scream. “What did you say to me?”
March ignored him and looked at Odin. “You told me about using flawed tools. Seems like you’re stuck with losers like the Murdan family and a middle-aged hack who couldn’t make a good movie if his life…”
Slovell snarled and stepped forward, his hands curled into fists. Skinner sighed and grabbed Slovell, holding him back.
“Let me go!” snapped Slovell.
“Look at his hand, Roger,” said Odin. “His left hand. Think about what would happen if you were foolish enough to come within his reach.”
Slovell blinked and few times and subsided, chagrin going over his face as he realized his near-fatal error.
“Now,” said Odin. “Tell me, Jack. Why are you here?”
“To finish the job I started on Burnchain Station,” said March, his mind racing. The longer he could keep Odin talking, the better chance he had of finding a way out of this mess.
Though the odds did not look good.
“No,” said Odin. “If you had come here to kill me, you wouldn’t have come alone. For that matter, it is doubtful that you tracked me here. No, you were here for another reason. You must have reasoned out the existence of the weapon…ah, of course, Roger used the weapon on his accounting firm. What was their name?”
“Gavin & Temper,” supplied Skinner.
Slovell showed his teeth. “They kept trying to cheat me. They got what they deserved.”
“And you made a mess,” said Odin. The flash of rage across his face was enough to send Slovell taking a step back. “All our other tests of the weapon were in deep space or in controlled environments where it was easy to hide the bodies. But you, Roger, you went ahead and used the weapon without my authorization in Northgate City. Finding unexplained corpses on starships and space stations is one thing. Finding the members of a prestigious accounting firm dead at their desks is quite another, and your mistake led the Silent Order here.”
“They deserved…” started Slovell.
“Do not speak again,” said Odin. Slovell subsided, and Odin’s gaze swung back to March. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Flawed tools,” said March. “You told me you had to work through flawed tools. A man like Slovell is a particularly flawed example.”
Slovell snarled at March, but his obvious fear of Odin was enough to keep him quiet.
“Do you like the weapon?” said Odin. He gestured at the device housing the Firestone. “I sent poor Simon Lorre to collect the necessary relic at Rustbelt Station, but you killed him. Fortunately, another relic of the appropriate configuration was located. You’re an assassin, Jack. I think you would appreciate a weapon against which there can be absolutely no defense. Marco?”
Skinner nodded and walked to the weapon. March’s first thought was that Skinner intended to use the radiation weapon against him, but the Machinist agent instead wheeled the cart away, vanishing through the door beneath the balcony.
“You killed a lot of people who didn’t deserve it,” said March.
“That’s a category error, Jack, and you know it,” said Odin. “There’s no such thing as people who deserve life. Or here’s a better way to think of it. The only people who deserve to live are those fit to become part of the Final Consciousness, the next and ultimate stage of human evolution. The Kingdom of Calaskar will have to be destroyed, and so will the Falcon Republic. I’m just moving the process along somewhat.”
“Wiping out a film festival seems unlikely to bring about the triumph of the Final Consciousness,” said March.
Odin smiled a hard, wolfish smile that did not touch his eye of flesh. “I quite agree. Killing the idiotic attendees of the celebration of juvenile lewdness that amuses Mr. Slovell to call a film festival would indeed be a waste of my time.”
Slovell bristled at that description of his life’s work but said nothing.
“Then why go to all that effort?” said March. “Why test the radiation weapon on something as high-profile as Slovell’s stupid festival? It will draw more attention than you want.”
“Ah,” said Odin with a contented sigh. “You don’t actually know, do you? So you haven’t been able to warn anyone. That is a relief. Roger’s idiocy hasn’t cost us too much.”
“Know what?” said March.
“Go on, Jack,” said Odin. “Figure it out. You’re almost there. You’ve seen all the pieces, haven’t you? Now put them together.”
March scowled at the Cognarch. The pieces of the puzzle, as Odin had put it, tumbled through his mind. The radiation weapon. The Firestone. The Calaskaran catechisms and the crude pamphlets. Slovell’s obvious hatred of the Kingdom of Calaskar. For that matter, Slovell had printed tens of thousands of the pamphlets. That seemed excessive if Odin planned to kill everyone in the building above. What, did he intend to carpet the floor with the pamphlets and the catechisms…
Something dark stirred within March’s mind.
Odin would need the pamphlets if he planned to kill far more people than those at Slovell’s film festival.
“That thing has a greater range than just a few meters, doesn’t it?” said March. “That yacht was a million kilometers from Outer Vanguard Station when it killed the crew. You’re going to kill everyone in Arcology Twelve.”
“In point of fact,” said Odin, “as far as we have been able to determine, the triple-theta radiation surge generated by the weapon doesn’t actually have an upward range. The limitations are in the power input, not the radiation itself. The surge decays at a predictable mathematical formula based on the amount of power fed into the Firestone artifact. The greater the power in, the larger the radiation surge out. The radiation surge this time should be enough to cover most of Northgate City.”
March blinked. “That’s over one hundred million people.”
Odin shrugged. “Might even be closer to one hundred ten million, if we angle the wave so it catches most of the suburbs as well. Ah, I can see the moral outrage on your face. But, then, I ordered the destruction of Martel’s World, did I not? Eight and a half billion people, dead in nuclear fire. I wiped out the entire population of Burnchain Station – and you denied me an extremely valuable weapon in the process, I might add. The death of a hundred million Falcon clones and their hedonistic civilian dependents is a rounding error by comparison.”
“You don’t surprise me,” said March. Another thought started to work in his mind. “Slovell does, though. I knew he was a rapist and a coward. But the Falcon Republic took him in, and he’s going to help wipe out one of their cities.”
Slovell let out a sneering laugh. “It is worth it to ensure the destruction of the Kingdom of Calaskar. Try to envision it, if your thuggish mind can comprehend.” His eyes glowed with glee and hatred. “A city filled with withered corpses as far as the eye can see, the arcologies stacked with the dead. And everywhere lie copies of the wretched catechism of the Royal Church, and pamphlets written in the style of the Church taking credit for the dead. I wrote the pamphlet myself, you know, in perfect imitation of the Calaskaran style.”
“Explains why it didn’t make sense,” sa
id March. “A lot like your movies.”
More rage flashed over Slovell’s face. “You…”
“This is the Pulse, isn’t it?” said March to Odin as Slovell fumed. The Cognarch smiled in approval. “The superweapon that the Machinists have been trying to build?”
“Jack, my boy,” said Odin. “This is just the beginning of the Pulse. Unfortunately for you, I’m afraid you’re going to have to die with that knowledge. But you made that easy for me, didn’t you? This business doesn’t forgive mistakes, and you made one last mistake. You shouldn’t have come down here alone. I’m afraid whatever allies you have in Northgate City are going to die in ignorance tonight when we use the weapon.” He took a long step back, and the Iron Hands raised their plasma pistols.
March braced himself, preparing to spring at the Iron Hands. He knew that it was futile. The Iron Hands had spaced themselves perfectly. No matter what direction March chose to attack, they would gun him down. Most probably they would shoot him before he even got to his feet.
He had known for most of his life that he would probably die from violence, and the prospect of it had not troubled him. Now, though, he found himself thinking of Adelaide. Would she ever know what had happened to him? Would she wait for him, growing ever more desperate? He knew what the death of her husband had done to her. What would his death do to her?
“Jack March,” sighed Odin with a shake of his head. “A waste. You could have been so much more than what you became.” He glanced at the Iron Hand to his right. “We’ll have to take the body with us. We can’t leave behind any Machinist tech that might implicate the Final Consciousness.” The Iron Hand nodded, and Odin’s gaze swung back to March. “Kill…”
The howl of a plasma bolt filled March’s ears.
The Iron Hand to Odin’s left staggered back, the top half of his skull reduced to smoking char. Before the body even fell to the ground, a second Iron Hand to Odin’s left collapsed, another plasma bolt hammering into his chest.
Silent Order_Image Hand Page 14