Ghost of a Chance g-1

by Simon R. Green

  But this was different, and so was he.

  “You’re not what I was looking for,” she said. “You’re not a ghost, and you’re not a man. What are you, exactly?”

  The handsome young man pushed himself away from the tree and stepped casually out of his country-side scene and down onto the station platform. He seemed to bring a little of the other world with him, a breath of fresh country air, rich with the scents of trees and flowers and earth. Natasha gasped, as a sudden erotic frisson rushed through her.

  The young man ignored his new surroundings, his dark gaze intent on Natasha. He didn’t even glance at Erik. The young man stretched slowly, to show off his fine lithe frame, then walked unhurriedly down the platform, smiling at Natasha with disturbing intensity. She stood her ground, waited until he was almost upon her, then put out a hand to stop him. Her pink-leather-gloved palm actually slammed against his chest before he stopped. She hadn’t realised she’d let him get that close. The broad chest under the T-shirt was solid and real. He was undeniably there, smiling right at her, his eyes full of laughter and mischief. Natasha could feel her heart racing.

  Behind her, unnoticed by either of them, Erik was kneeling beside his cat-head computer. “What is that?” he said quietly. “Is it a ghost of some sort? Is it real? Really real?”

  “No,” said the cat head. “Not even close. Real enough to be dangerous, though.”

  “I know he’s not a ghost!” snapped Natasha, not looking round. “I’m a telepath, remember?”

  “So what are you picking up from him?” said Erik.

  “Mostly . . . appetite,” said Natasha. “And I don’t mean he’s feeling a bit peckish.” She fixed the handsome young man with a steady gaze. “Flattery will get you nowhere; and I’m well past the point where I can be swept off my feet by raging hormones. So throw a bucket of water over it and talk to me. You’re not a ghost, and you can’t be real, so what are you?”

  “I’m whatever you want me to be,” said the young man. “Your fantasy. Your dream. I am your secret need and your heart’s desire. I’m everything you ever dreamed of, including all the things you wouldn’t admit to on waking. And you have dreamed of so many things, haven’t you, Natasha?”

  “How do you know my name?” Natasha wanted to be suspicious and on her guard, but there was something about his voice . . . something in its tone and timbre that made her feel like a teenage girl again, trembling in the grip of her own sexuality. She wanted him, she really did, even while another part of her mind yelled at her to kill him, immediately, while she still had the chance.

  “I know everything about you,” said the man. “You called to me.”

  “No,” said Natasha. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t. You know my name; what’s yours?”

  He smiled engagingly. “I have many names but one nature. I am the fire on the heath and the shriek in the night. I am the look that challenges and the glance that quickens the heart. I am the cat who is always grey and the cuckoo in the nest. Don’t you know me, Natasha?”

  “I didn’t call you,” Natasha said sternly, ignoring her increased breathing, the fluttering in her stomach, and the pleasant ache between her thighs. “I don’t want you. You can go now.”

  “You want me,” said the man, so close to her by then she could feel his breath on her mouth. “You need me. You can’t live without me.”

  “Don’t put money on it,” said Natasha.

  Her breath caught in her throat as the man changed subtly before her, becoming even more handsome and glamorous, every detail intense and overwhelming . . . But at the same time, he was too much of a good thing. Like every treat you know is bad for you; like the poison that tastes sweet even as it kills you. Natasha backed away, and the man went after her.

  And Erik, forgotten by both of them, stepped in behind the young man and stabbed him in the neck with his taser turned to full strength. Lightning flared, and the man stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth stretched in a wild, inhuman howl. Natasha almost cried out as the man’s face changed abruptly before her, the details blurring and slipping. He lurched forward another step, his hands reaching imploringly out to Natasha; but they weren’t hands any more. He didn’t look like a man any more. The slumping figure turned abruptly and lashed out at Erik, one overlong arm scything through the air with deadly speed. But Erik was no longer there.

  He’d put away the taser and taken out his pointing bone. And as the figure changed still more, sloughing off its veneer of Humanity to become something so disturbing that human eyes could not bear to look at it, Erik shielded his eyes and stabbed the pointing bone in its direction. The figure cried out again, in pain and horror and thwarted rage, and disappeared.

  Erik lowered his trembling hand and moved forward to make sure the thing was really gone. He waved both his hands through the air where it had been, and only then did he go over to join Natasha, who was leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, breathing hard. Erik stopped a safe distance away and waited. He knew better than to touch her, or even say something reassuring. He looked at the poster on the wall. The countryside was simply a painted scene again, but interestingly, there was no trace anywhere of the young man. No-one stood under the oak tree any more.

  Erik glanced down at his cat-head computer. “Don’t suppose you’ve any idea as to what just happened?”

  “It wasn’t a ghost, and it wasn’t real,” said the cold, inhuman voice. “It was a signal, broadcast by the bad thing that’s waiting for you. The taser interrupted the signal, and the pointing bone dispersed it. The bad thing knows you’re looking for it. It was testing you. Or perhaps it was playing. Who knows why the gods do anything?”

  Erik looked at it sharply. “Gods?”

  “Manner of speaking,” said the cat head, and it stopped talking.

  Natasha pushed herself away from the wall and stood up straight, pulling at her leather outfit here and there to make sure she looked good. She took one last deep breath, let it out slowly, then glared at Erik, herself again.

  “Next time, don’t take so long.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Erik. And then he went for her, his clawed hands reaching for her throat.

  Happy had been biding his time. With Natasha weakened and distracted, he eased free of her mental domination without her even noticing. So it was the easiest thing in the world for him to take control of Erik and throw the nasty little man at Natasha. It helped that Erik had often thought of doing it, and for a moment even thought it was his own idea. He grabbed the front of Natasha’s pink leather jacket with both hands and slammed her back against the wall. He crowded in close, holding her there with his full weight, pushing his face right into hers, his eyes and his smile full of all the awful things he wanted to do to her. When it came to the domination game, Erik had always been happy to swing both ways. He knew by then that he was acting under Happy’s direction, but he didn’t care. He savoured the moment, delighting in the chance to do really appalling things and still be able to claim it was nothing to do with him.

  And while the two of them were struggling, Happy grabbed Melody, hauled her to her feet, and half led and half carried her to the nearest exit. She was only half-conscious, but once he got her feet under her, she got the idea fast enough.

  Natasha kneed Erik in the balls so hard it practically drove his testicles up into his chest cavity. He fell away from her, all but paralysed by the terrible pain between his legs, and Natasha thrust her thoughts inside his head and broke Happy’s control in a moment. Erik contracted into a full foetus on the platform, wrapped tightly around his pain, fighting to get his lungs working again. Natasha looked for Happy and Melody, but they were already gone, and she knew better than to go chasing after them. Far too many dark places and ambush points. She tried to follow them with her mind, but Happy had his shields firmly back in place, and Natasha couldn’t even detect the shields. She cursed once, briefly and dispassionately. Erik rose slowly to his feet, tears rolling down his face, still bent ov
er the pain coursing through him. Natasha slapped him viciously across the face. Erik rocked on his feet from the blow but took it.

  “Talk to your nasty little computer,” Natasha said coldly. “Find our two runaways.”

  Erik was glad of an excuse to kneel again, but the cat head wasn’t of much use. Happy’s shields really were first-class.

  “Interesting,” the cat head said finally. “I cannot see Happy or Melody, or JC, or the ghost he’s chasing. Something is muddying the aether. But I am picking up another human presence down here in the station with us.”

  “You’re sure it’s not JC?” said Natasha.

  “I know what he looks like,” said the cat head. “This isn’t him. No; a very interesting mind, this, very . . . odd. Not one of the Project’s people and not one of the Institute’s field agents. Very odd . . . I can see him, but I can’t lock on to him. He’s . . . protected.”

  Erik and Natasha looked at each other. Erik made himself ask the obvious question. “Who’s doing the protecting?”

  “Can’t you guess?” said the cat head. “The bad thing, of course.”

  Erik rose painfully to his feet again. “My machine’s too limited for this.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said the cat head.

  “Shut up,” said Erik. “Melody wouldn’t have come down here without all the very latest devices the Institute could provide. They might be able to help us more. Can you tell us where they are, cat?”

  “Of course. Southbound platform, not ten minutes’ walk from here. I can guide you right to it.”

  “Institute agents always get the best toys,” said Erik. “I mostly have to design my own, on a budget significantly less than I was promised. And you have to order parts three months in advance . . . Luckily, I can usually make my own. Providing there’s a zoo or a hospital nearby.”

  “I can feel too much information coming on,” said Natasha. “Move it.”

  * * *

  Melody’s precious machines were right where she’d left them, and Erik almost cooed with pleasure as he ran his fat little hands over them. It didn’t take him long to get the hang of the sensors and track down the Institute agents. Happy and Melody were still moving steadily through the deepest parts of the system, but JC, surprisingly, wasn’t that far away. Still chasing his ghost.

  “We’ll take him from behind while he’s distracted,” said Natasha. “No time for anything fun; shoot him down. Aim for the body; I don’t want his pretty face damaged. We can use him as bait to attract the other two. And then . . . we can give our full attention to sorting out whatever it is that’s going on down here. After all the trouble I’ve been put through, I think I deserve a really big prize.”

  “I think we need to think about this some more,” said Erik, diffidently. “The cat head said other-dimensional, and I’m inclined to believe it. These instruments are picking up some strange readings. Really powerful readings; almost off the scale. We don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”

  “You speak for yourself,” said Natasha.

  SEVEN

  TO WAR WITH DEMONS

  If you go to war with demons, you must be pure in your intent.

  * * *

  Drawn remorselessly on, like a fish on a line, like bait on a hook, Kim Sterling was dragged struggling backwards through the corridors and tunnels; and JC ran after her. He pursued her up and down stairs and around sharp corners, sometimes drawing close but never, ever, allowed to catch up. Now and then her ghostly form would be pulled suddenly through a solid wall, and JC had to hunt frantically back and forth before he could pick up her trail again. He could always hear her, even when he couldn’t see her, calling out to him in fear and anger or richly cursing her unseen abductor, and that kept him going . . . She hadn’t given up, and neither would he. He pounded headlong down corridors and passageways, breathing harshly, legs and ribs aching, his arms pistoning at his sides. And somehow Kim was never hauled away so fast that JC couldn’t keep up—as long as he pushed himself to his limit. The chase was a challenge, a taunt, goading him on, almost allowing him to catch up, then snatching Kim away again.

  JC ran on, back and forth through the maze of corridors, on and off platforms, up and down the stationary elevators, knowing that the chase was meant to break his spirit, to force him to give up and abandon his new-found love. But he wouldn’t do that. He had already decided, quite calmly and rationally, that he would drop in his tracks first.

  JC was so caught up in the chase that it took him a while to realise that his surroundings were going through subtle, deceptive changes.

  Passageways seemed to stretch away before him, their ends growing more and more distant as the walls grew infinitely longer, elongating unnaturally like the passages we run through in nightmares, with no hope of getting anywhere. He ran and ran, and Kim receded endlessly before him. But the floor beneath his feet was still reassuringly hard and solid, so JC lowered his head like a charging bull and ran on. The walls on either side of him seemed to slump and bulge inwards, as though they were melting, then snap back into form again, all their details smudged and meaningless, but it took JC a while to realise that he didn’t recognise anything and had no idea as to where he was.

  He wished Happy were with him, to tell him whether what he was seeing was real or another illusion broadcast by the unknown enemy. JC scowled and pushed the thought away. He’d had to leave Happy behind, and Melody. Focused as he was on the chase, JC still had it in him to feel bad about leaving them to fight alone. He had faith in them. They were both trained, experienced agents. They’d manage. But that wasn’t why he’d left them so readily. He’d abandoned his team-mates because he couldn’t abandon Kim to her fate. He hoped they’d understand. He ran on, breathing really hard, a fire in his chest and an almost unbearable pain shooting through his sides.

  Endless corridors, endless walls spattered with images out of Hell, howls and screams and hopeless sobbing all around him. Illusion. Had to be. JC kept his head down and concentrated on pursuing the only thing that mattered. His trained will was a match for any illusion. Unless . . . whatever was down in the darkness with him was actually so powerful it could distort Space and Time itself . . . in which case, he was in real trouble.

  He rounded a corner and staggered to a halt as he saw Kim hanging in the air at the end of the new corridor. He fought for breath, half-bent over as sweat dripped from his face, glad of the chance for a break but already looking about him for any trace of a new threat. And that was when the walls on either side began to close in, moving remorselessly forward from both sides at once. The suddenly very real and solid walls ground loudly against the hard floor. JC straightened up immediately and looked behind him; but he was too far down the corridor to escape. He couldn’t hope to reach either end before the walls slammed together. They were closing in on him steadily, taking their time. They looked heavy and solid enough to crush him to a bloody pulp. And they would do it slowly, inch by inch, while Kim watched. JC risked a glance at her. She was looking at him beseechingly, imploring him to get out of there. Her lips moved, but no sound came to him as she silently begged him to save himself.

  JC shot her a reassuring smile. He breathed deeply, dragging air far into his lungs, gathering his strength and calming his mind. Sweat was still running down his face and stinging his eyes, and he took a moment to pull out a handkerchief and mop his face clean. Kim stared at him wildly, hardly believing he would waste time while the walls were closing in to crush him. JC put his handkerchief away with a flourish and looked left and right to check how close the walls were. The harsh grinding sound of their progress across the floor was very loud, and very near. At the speed they were moving, his death would be a slow and horrible thing, with the cracking and breaking of bones first, then the slow crushing of inner organs, as he literally died by inches. He’d probably be alive right till the end, so Kim could suffer as much as he did.

  JC was really looking forward to meeting his unseen enemy an
d teaching it the error of its ways.

  He stretched out both arms, hands splayed, as though he intended to stop the incoming walls with sheer brute strength. But JC had been trained better than that. The Institute prepared its agents to be strong in all kinds of ways. JC calmed his mind with familiar and well-rehearsed routines, drew on his inner resources, and quite simply refused to accept what was happening. The walls couldn’t be moving because the unseen enemy wasn’t strong enough to rewrite physical reality. It couldn’t be. JC defied the evidence of his senses and denied the movement of the walls through sheer strength of will. He closed his eyes and stood there with arms outstretched . . . and nothing came forward to touch his waiting hands. He slowly opened his eyes, and the corridor walls were back where they belonged as though they had never moved. Because, of course, they hadn’t. JC slowly lowered his arms. He smiled at Kim, still hanging unsupported at the end of the corridor, and she smiled back.

  Inside, JC was laughing his head off. He’d bet his shirt the enemy had been bluffing, and he’d won. It wasn’t that powerful, after all. And that . . . was good to know.

  He walked forward, and Kim hung there before him, dangled before him like a toy, or a lure. JC kept his approach slow and careful, not allowing himself to run to her, and his heart leapt a little when Kim didn’t move. He made himself stop a careful distance away, somehow knowing that if he tried to free her from whatever held her, she would immediately be snatched away again. So he stood before her and smiled at her, and she smiled back, and they talked in quiet, calm, rational voices.

  “You have to give this up,” said Kim. “You can’t keep chasing me. It’s killing you. I don’t want that.”

  “I have to run,” said JC. “I have to try. I can’t give up on you. Not so soon after finding you.”

  She smiled again, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I’m afraid we found each other a little too late, my sweet. I’m dead, aren’t I? Only a ghost now, a memory of the person I once was.”