THE CATASTROPHE CURVE was a one-off. For the first and only time in the history of the Spin, something had gone wrong on a major engineering scale and two planets had collided. They had both been destroyed; shredded down to lumps that were mostly less than a kilometre across. Over time the competing gravity fields in this part of the Spin had smeared the debris field out over a wandering arched tendril half a million kilometres long. It tapered away from a bulge centred on the collision. A little way along from the bulge, the largest single remnant was home to the biggest settlement, Catastrophe, which was the administrative centre for anyone who cared to acknowledge it. About half of the Curve did; the rest was fragmented into little commercial empires and fiefdoms who warred and traded and glared at each other across the tiny distances between them.
If the Curve was the result of an accident, the Trash Belt was the result of the Curve. It was a thin smear of war debris, abandoned equipment and general space rubbish which had accreted along the outer margins of the Curve and now kept a ghostly station with it, glowing softly in the light of the nearest three suns. It made the route to the Curve from the outer parts of the Spin an interesting navigational challenge.
The route away from the Curve in the other, inward direction was even more interesting, because the Catastrophe Curve’s immediate neighbour in the central part of the Spin was the Cordern. This lent an opportunistic piquancy to both the politics and the trading relationships of the area; despite the swelling influence of the Hegemony it was one of the least regulated, most dangerous and most profitable places in the whole Spin.
Fleare shifted position slightly. She was wedged into a corner between an iron stanchion and the side of a deck-house. The stanchion dug into her back, and she felt sick. In a tribute to some historical inventor or other the old airship had oil-fired piston engines, and the smell wafted over her every time the wind changed. She cleared her throat and looked around.
Leaving smoke trails that were visible even in darkness, the ship droned through the night sky about three hundred metres above the city. They weren’t the only smoke trails; the airspace above the city had its own tax regime, much more favourable to gambling than the one on the ground, so the sky was full of ancient aircraft, most of them owned for generations by a small number of criminal families with a status close to royalty.
She had to admit it was pretty. From this height she could just about take in the whole sweep of it, from city wall to city wall. The walls formed hard boundaries; inside them the ground was densely studded with lights, set out in geometric patterns towards the edges but dissolving into the intricate tangles of the Old City in the middle. Outside the walls there was nothing, or at least there was nothing anyone cared to throw light on. The unlit possibilities were more than enough to keep the citizens of Catastrophe safely inside their walls.
There was a comms bead in her ear. She tapped it. ‘Anything?’
A pause, and then Jezerey’s voice came through, sounding scratchy. ‘Nothing yet. They’ll still be inside. Wouldn’t expect anything until a bit later. What’s the matter? Bored?’
‘Air-sick.’
‘Really? Try eating something.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks. Next time I’ll bring some food.’ She flicked the comms off, sighed, and then flicked it on again. ‘Really nothing?’
‘Really. All quiet. Ah, wait . . .’
‘What?’
‘Might be something. Give me a minute.’
The bead went quiet. Then Jezerey spoke, this time in a whisper. ‘Fle? Ramp up your night vision and look down the outboard rail. See anything?’
‘Hold on.’ Fleare concentrated, making the muscles her eyes shouldn’t have had force her pupils wide open. Her vision brightened to a light grey graininess. Along the rail, the grain contained shapes. She watched for a moment. ‘I see two.’
‘Me too.’
Fleare squinted. ‘I don’t think he’s one of them.’
‘Nor do I. They’re both female, for a start.’
‘Okay. So we wait.’
‘Yeah. How’s your sickness?’
Fleare frowned. ‘What sickness? Oh, that. Gone. Is Muz ready?’
‘Should be. Want me to raise him?’
‘No.’
‘Fine.’ Jezerey paused. ‘Fleare? You and him?’
The muscle strain was making Fleare’s eyes hurt. She blinked, relaxing them. ‘Me and him what?’
‘Well, just, is everything okay?’
Fleare opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. ‘Jezerey? He’s a probably psychopathic cloud of dust and I’m an illegal entity. How can it be better?’
‘Sorry. Stupid question.’
‘Never mind.’ Fleare shook her head, glanced towards the two waiting bodies, and froze. A door had opened, throwing bright yellow light towards the rail. She ramped up her eyes again and looked hard. ‘Yo, Jez? See that?’
‘What?’
‘That!’ A figure had walked out into the pool of light. As she watched it stretched, pushing its hands into the small of its back and arching against them. She stared at the figure, then grinned and snapped her fingers. ‘We’re in business. It’s him.’
Five minutes later they had gone comms silent. Fleare had to assume that Jez was in place. As for Muz, she had no idea. But she was sure of one thing. She was close enough to read body language without enhancing her vision and the conversation by the guard rail was not going well.
There was a granular hissing, very quiet and close. She felt something enter her ear, and Muz was talking. ‘Don’t say anything. Going to feed you some audio.’
For a second there was a phasey bubbling noise. Then it became voices.
‘. . . not pleased. Not at all pleased. People like that get used to answers, you see.’
‘I’ve delivered answers.’ Fleare stiffened; it was Kelk.
‘Yes, but they were the wrong answers. That’s worse than no answers at all. Plus it looks as if you might have been doing a little freelance work behind people’s backs. That’s very naughty.’ The other voice sighed. ‘You’d better come with us. We don’t want to try to explain this on our own.’
‘Look, I can’t. You know that. I’m in the middle of something.’
A third voice. ‘You’re in the middle of a game of Canard. You’re losing. You owe an average year’s salary and you haven’t got it, and that’s just on this game. Why should you go back?’
‘You know why.’
‘Yes, but what if we can trump your why? Not that it matters. You’re coming anyway.’
The two women closed in on Kelk, pinning him against the railing. There was a fluttering in Fleare’s ear, and then Muz’s voice. ‘Okay, guys, we’re good to go. Uh, health warning? Both women are armed. Energy weapons, can’t tell what sort. So, see you in a bit. Count of ten.’ She felt him leave.
She counted down, simultaneously ramping up her muscles and bracing herself against the stanchion. On zero she launched herself into a flat sprint down the deck.
The sound of her feet alerted the three. The nearest of the women turned, seeming to move very slowly, and her mouth opened. At the same time the door to the saloon opened wider, and light flooded the three. Jezerey, framed in the doorway, beckoned towards Kelk. His eyes opened wide, and he took a reflexive step towards her. Fleare accelerated. Two paces from the women she turned half sideways and flexed her knees to lower her body. As she did, she saw the woman’s hand rising from her side. Something in it glinted.
One pace out, she tensed her muscles. Her shoulder hit the woman in the throat.
There was an unpleasant cracking sound. She heard a coughing sigh and felt the woman’s arms flapping round her in a limp embrace. Their shared momentum carried them past Kelk’s back. Out of the corner of her eye Fleare saw Kelk beginning to turn round, his face blank with shock. She tightened her grip around the injured woman’s slack body as the two of them cannoned into the second woman.
They weren’t quite going
fast enough. The woman staggered back half a dozen steps along the railing, and then regained her balance. She too had something in her hand. She raised it towards Fleare, and grinned.
A patch of darkness sighed quickly through the air between Fleare and Kelk and wrapped itself around the woman’s weapon hand like a fat black bandage. She looked down at it, her expression changing first to surprise and then irritation. Then she shook her head and raised the hand towards Fleare.
Fleare saw the muscles of her arm contract. There was a muted thump and the black bandage thing swelled briefly.
For a moment the woman stayed quite still. She raised her covered hand towards her face, looked at it curiously for a moment and fell forward to her knees, her other hand grabbing at the rail.
The bandage unwrapped itself. The woman’s weapon fell to the deck with a clatter.
Where the weapon had been, there was a neat black stump. It gave off wisps of smoke.
The bandage shook itself and became Muz. ‘That’s going to take a while to grow back,’ he said cheerfully. ‘If she can afford it. Bad idea, using an energy weapon in an enclosed space. You okay, Fle?’
‘I guess.’ Fleare knelt by the woman she had hit. ‘I think I broke her windpipe. Neck. Both.’
‘You had your reasons. She was ready to fry you.’
‘I know. Still.’ Fleare stood up and turned to Kelk. ‘Hi. Sorry about the mess. We’d better go.’
He shook his head. ‘Go where? This is nothing to do with me. I had it covered. And you’re supposed to be holed up in a monastery.’ He turned back towards the open door. ‘I have a game to finish.’
Jezerey blocked the door. ‘No you don’t. You’re going to be rescued.’
‘Rescued? Is that what you call it? Have you seen the cops on this planet? No thanks.’ He shook his head and made to push past her.
Fleare reached out and caught his shoulder. ‘Kelk? This is my fault. I know you’re pissed at Jez—’
He turned, shaking off her hand. ‘Wrong. I’m pissed at everybody, especially now. Just let me get on with it, yeah?’
She looked at him for a moment. Then she looked away. ‘Okay,’ she said quietly. She turned to Jezerey. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Are you fucking serious? After all this?’ She gestured at the two women on the deck. The one who had blown her hand off had pulled herself into a sitting position, and was staring blankly at the stump of her wrist.
‘He doesn’t want to come, Jez. And I’m not going to try to make him, okay?’ She reached out, pushed Kelk gently on the shoulder. ‘See you around.’ She began to turn away.
There was a sound like someone spitting.
She felt a sharp pain in her upper arm. She grabbed at it. ‘Ow!’
Suddenly Muz was in front of her. ‘Ow what?’
‘I don’t know. Something.’ She rubbed at the place, and her fingers found something hard. ‘What’s that?’
‘Hold on.’ Muz gathered round the lump. ‘Shit. Looks like . . . right. Hold on to something. I’m taking it out. Um, I think this is going to hurt.’
She reached out and took hold of the railing, gripping until her knuckles whitened. ‘Okay. Ready.’
Fleare went rigid. Somehow she managed not to scream. It was as if flesh was being torn not just from her arm, but from her whole body. When it was over she realized that her fingers had cramped round the rail. It was slightly bent now. She found time to be impressed with herself.
Muz’s voice broke in on her. ‘Sorry, but I had to do that. See?’
Something shiny and bloodstained floated in front of her. It was a tiny stubby dart, crudely barbed.
Jezerey leaned forward and shuddered. ‘No wonder that hurt,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
‘Nastier even than it looks, is what it is. The pain wasn’t just physical. It has a power source. Hits you with a neural zap if someone interferes with it.’ Muz turned the thing over and over. ‘Hm.’
Fleare felt a chill. ‘Hm what?’
‘Probably nothing. I can’t see anything in the wound. Maybe we got it in time. How do you feel?’
‘Okay, I think.’ She raised a hand to her shoulder and touched it gingerly, feeling wet blood. She winced. ‘It hurts. Where did that thing come from?’
There was a short, quiet laugh. Fleare looked down, and saw the injured woman sitting by the rail. Her remaining hand was over her mouth. As they watched she lowered it. There was something between her lips. She winked and drew it into her mouth, and her throat rippled. ‘Bonus,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Fleare started forward, but as she did the woman’s hand loosened from the rail and she slumped sideways.
Jezerey crouched down by her, reaching out.
‘Don’t!’ Kelk’s voice was sharp.
Jezerey sat back on her heels. ‘I think she’s dead, Kelk.’
‘Yes, but dead and harmless aren’t the same thing.’ Kelk had shut the door behind him. ‘Muz, can you check her out?’
The cloud floated over to the body, formed a flattish disc and hovered, undulating a little. ‘Can’t find anything.’
‘Good.’ Kelk leaned over the rail for a moment, then straightened up and beckoned Jezerey. ‘We’re over one of the crater lakes. Give me a hand.’
‘Won’t that get noticed?’
‘No way. This is a private gambling ship. Stuff happens.’ He pulled a face. ‘Anyone watching, they’ll probably think I’m one of the bodies.’
They lifted the two bodies and manoeuvred them over the rail. Jezerey watched the last one tumbling away. Then she turned to Kelk. ‘Talking now, are we?’
‘I give up. Yes. Whatever you want.’
Fleare felt her face stretch into a huge grin. ‘Including coming with us?’
‘Yeah, but not yet. There’s a place called the Tanks, on the Trashwards edge of the Old City. I’ll be there an hour after we dock. Give you time to see a doctor.’ He put his hand on the door. ‘Meanwhile I’ve got a Canard game to finish.’
‘But you’re losing.’
‘Yeah, that’s what they think too. See a doctor, Fleare.’ And he went back inside.
Taussich, Fortunate Protectorate, Cordern
THE INNER CIRCLE of the Old Palace was one of the oldest parts of the Citadel. It had been little used for generations, and almost completely uninhabited during the lifetime of the present Patriarch. It was cold and damp and generally unpleasant, and it smelled strongly of the oil lampions that were the only source of lighting.
It was also remote from the present centre of government, a fact which had added hours to Alameche’s lunatic dash across the Cordern. Even so, he managed to be very nearly on time. There was only one vacant space around the old, uneven stone table apart from his, and that was the Patriarch’s.
Alameche nodded a greeting to the other members of the Cabinet and sat down in the space immediately to the left of the Patriarch’s, grateful that someone had placed cushions on the resolutely unforgiving stone chairs. On the other side of him sat a blocky man whose body was so short that the top of his head barely came up to Alameche’s nose. The short man leaned closer. ‘Why are we here?’
Alameche grinned. ‘We aren’t here. We’re deep in the secure part of the Cabinet Chamber, surrounded by guards and electronics. Our appearance here is merely a figment of your imagination, Guivirse.’
‘Really?’ Guivirse raised his eyebrows. ‘A Shadow Cabinet, then? Haven’t heard of one of those in ages.’
Alameche smiled at the old phrase. It dated back decades to the days of advancement by assassination, when everyone who mattered had at least one body double. He was about to say something else when there was a creak from the end of the room. The heavy wooden doors ground open and the Patriarch walked into the room, paused, sniffed theatrically and then shook his head and sat down next to Alameche. ‘Is this going to work?’
‘We believe so.’ Alameche looked round the table. ‘Surveillance is usually targeted, especially if it is done rem
otely. We believe that the systems-rich environment of the Cabinet Chamber will be open to invasive monitoring no matter how we try to prevent it. Hence the very long, boring meeting being held there at this moment by our alter egos, while we assemble in this, ah, venerable space devoid even of electric light.’
‘Humph.’ The Patriarch tapped his fingers on the table. ‘Shorn of your flowery language, everyone’ll think we’re somewhere else, and even if they don’t there’s nothing here to bug. Is that it?’
Alameche inclined his head.
‘Does this mean we’re safe from your spiky little friend as well?’
My friend, thought Alameche. Already? Out loud he said, ‘Eskjog? No, Excellency, I wouldn’t rely on that. But as you rightly point out, it seems to be our friend’ – he allowed himself the faint emphasis – ‘so perhaps we should not mind too much if it shares our counsels. After all, we have benefited from the desire of its masters to invest.’
‘So you say. Personally, I prefer to know who is listening. But you know best.’ The Patriarch smiled without humour. ‘Or so you always tell me. But now I need a report from you. A day ago I told you to present me with a plan. What is it?’
‘It is this.’ Alameche took a deep breath. ‘We should do as little as possible.’
For a moment there was silence. Then laughter broke out. Guivirse thumped the table with delight. ‘Delicious,’ he shouted.
‘A crowd of negatives! We can’t be talking because we aren’t here, and now he says we should do nothing!’
Alameche sat stolidly while the laughter died down. He had noticed that the Patriarch wasn’t joining in. After a little while the others noticed too. They subsided, and the Patriarch leaned forward. ‘Convince me,’ he said.
Alameche nodded. ‘We have a device of unknown potency. We do not know how to use it, and if we did we would be unsure of the results. From what little we know it may be sentient, after a fashion; even if it were able to, would it cooperate with us?’
He paused, and an old, extravagantly wrinkled man sitting on the opposite side of the table raised a finger. ‘Surely that is why you are in bed with this upstart little machine. What’s it called? Esdog?’
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