by Neil Davies
The group trying to merge with the shadows of the buildings below froze, held their collective breath, as the great machine seemed to hesitate. Then it continued to move, slowly, ever so slowly, away from them.
No one moved as, gradually, the sound grew fainter and disappeared behind the rushing of the storm.
"I thought for a moment..." said John.
"We all did," whispered Ursa. "Now, let's get moving again." Don't let them dwell on what might have happened. "And check your weapons."
Steve felt for his pistol, tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, as the others did the same. They each had a handgun, courtesy of Walker. It was his only concession to the existence of the group.
I hope I never have to use this, thought Steve. If it all goes to plan we can be in and out before anyone notices.
One more block and their target faced them.
It was a low, innocuous looking building, squatting between tall office blocks and apartments. Security was light, a small perimeter fence, an obvious alarm system on the exterior wall. Although it was a government building, there was nothing considered valuable or secret within its offices. But there was a com-link to the central government building, and during her time as Mayor Lane's Personal Assistant, Ursa had discovered most of the viable codes and password systems in use. She doubted that they would have all been changed.
"There it is," she whispered. "If we can get in there and to the com-terminal, I should be able to tap into the central database, grab some useful information."
"Such as what?" It was a thought that had nagged at Steve since the beginning.
Ursa glared at him.
"I don't know. Not exactly anyway. Once I'm in we'll find something."
Steve nodded acceptance. It was the explanation he had heard before. He just liked to ask every now and then in case a better answer had arisen.
The group moved out quietly, keeping close in to the buildings along the side of the street, leaving the moment when they would have to cross open ground as late as possible.
Ursa, leading the group, watched their target building intensely, waiting for any sign of movement, any hint that there were people working late or security guards patrolling. There was nothing. The lack of workers she understood, overtime had always been frowned upon in government circles, but the apparent lack of security guards worried her. Even on such a low-key installation she would have expected some security presence. At the very least a night watchman.
Steve, falling behind as usual, felt a shake approaching, detoxification shuddering through his muscles out of control. They were getting fewer, had never really been that bad, but when they came he was incapable of stopping them. He crouched on the ground, letting the shake build until it would have been noticeable by any observer. There was little else he could do.
The others were moving further away from him, almost to the point where they would need to cross, but he could not move after them, not until the trembling stopped in his legs, the spinning in his head.
I never considered myself an alcoholic, he thought, forcing coherence through the muddling fog in his head. But why else would I be feeling like shit since I stopped?
He closed his eyes, allowing the trembling of his muscles to take him over totally. He knew he could walk if he chose to do so, but it was easier to let it pass. It never lasted long. All he had to do was wait.
Ursa glanced back towards the crouching figure. What was he doing? Why had he stopped? She hesitated, unsure what to do, whether to wait.
"The drunk's not worth it. We don't need him," said Jason, coming alongside her.
Ursa nodded, hesitated again, reconsidered.
Why am I even thinking about it? Agent Rawlings is right. We don't need him. He'd be next to useless if there was any trouble anyway.
"Let's get it done then," she said. "We'll pick him up on the way back, if he's still there."
Jason smiled as she moved towards the front once more. He looked towards the figure of Steve, back in the shadows.
He's making it easy for me. Alienating himself from the rest of the group. When the circumstances are right I can carry out my orders and kill him without repercussion. It will be so easy to kill him. So easy.
Steve had seen Ursa and Jason looking towards him, talking to each other.
Maybe they do care about me, he thought. Perhaps they'll wait.
He allowed a shuddering sigh to pass through him as he watched them turn and rejoin the rest of the group.
So much for that. As always, I'm on my own. He smiled grimly. I should be used to that by now.
He watched, his shaking gradually subsiding, as the group began to cross the street at a gentle jogging pace.
He was shocked by the sudden explosion of light from the rooftop of the building they crossed towards, a false daylight filling the street, catching the rebels in the open, exposed.
Gunshots cracked in the silence, echoing off the walls of the surrounding buildings, and he saw at least two of his colleagues fall to the ground.
The others were crouching low, their guns drawn, firing back into the darkness that stood menacingly outside the small area of light. They were shouting, swearing, already aware of what Steve now realised, the futility of running.
Soldiers closed in on them from all sides, cutting off any hope of escape. In moments it would be over. All of them dead.
I can't just watch this happen. Shit!
He fumbled for the gun in his jacket pocket, tugging at it as it caught in the lining.
I've got to do something. I've got to try.
The gun came free. He almost dropped it, gripped it tightly with both hands.
It's so heavy. I don't remember it being so fucking heavy!
He didn’t really know what he intended to do. He only knew that he could not stand by and watch the others be shot down without any hope of escape. Part of his mind was shouting at him, screaming that he might as well just put the gun to his own head and pull the trigger, that he would surely die if he did anything but run. But another part, a prouder, more romantic, perhaps even more heroic part urged him onwards.
A futile gesture, he thought, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. At least it makes a change from running away from responsibility.
He raised the gun, his hands shaking, not, for once, from DT's but from sheer, basic fear.
If I miss I could hit Ursa or one of the others. If I hit I'll be killing a man, a stranger, shooting him in the back. At least I don't have to look at his eyes.
His finger tightened on the trigger. He half closed his eyes, tried to aim towards the back of the nearest soldier.
Larn, forgive me.
He squeezed, as he had been taught by the rebels. The gun jumped in his hands, a strangely empty popping sound echoing off the buildings, down the street. It took him a moment to realise it was his gun.
The soldier jumped, half turned, and fell forward to the ground, his rifle skittering across the street.
Shit! I did it!
A strange, powerful sense of elation filled him, lifted him to his feet. He found he was smiling inanely but he could not stop.
Another soldier was turning towards him, swinging his rifle round.
Steve raised the gun again, squeezed the trigger, and again, and again.
The soldier jerked, seemed to almost dance, staggered and fell.
Other soldiers were turning now, but they too were falling. Steve hesitated, wondered how he was firing so many shots, before he realised that his colleagues were concentrating their firing on the confusion he had caused. The soldiers were not sure who to fire at, and in their confusion were dying.
A gap had opened in the ring, a gap created by the dead bodies of the soldiers Steve had shot, bodies that lay grotesquely sprawled on the ground, slowly seeping blood in small rivers and pools.
Steve suddenly felt sick, felt his fingers loosen on the gun, heard it drop to the ground.
I killed them. I murdered them!
He was startled by a familiar voice shouting at him.
"Come on. Move!" snapped Ursa, running through the gap followed by John, Jason and Isabelle.
Steve felt his arm grabbed, allowed himself to be tugged along, only barely hearing the confused and angry shouts of the soldiers fading gradually further behind them.
Chapter 57
Carina looked at the wall clock just as the six flickered to life in 00:16. Sixteen minutes past midnight. The only sounds in the room were the electronically produced ticking of the wall clock and another clock, standing on top of a long cabinet against the opposite wall. The two tickings, one low, one high, were oddly asynchronous, lending a brooding, macabre background to the silence.
She had not moved from the room since her personal guards had brought her here almost ten hours ago. Food and drink were available in plenty from the dispensers in the kitchen alcove but she chose to abstain. The chairs were comfortable, yet she sat cross-legged on the floor, gently rocking to and fro. She had seen no one during those ten hours, and her legs ached close to agony, yet she did not move.
Why do they build ticking into clocks? she thought angrily. There's no practical need anymore, just a whim. A bloody annoying whim.
She was vaguely aware that the ticking could be turned off, but that would require movement and she had no desire to move.
She still carried the warm satisfaction of Lane's death. Jimmy was avenged, finally, and with her own hand.
She had expected retribution, some form of punishment. Instead she had been housed in this small but plush room in the Leader's residential apartments and treated with kindness and respect by those who stood guard over her. They did not even feel it necessary to stay in the room with her. Once she was here, the door closed, she was free. Free, as long as she did not leave the confines of these walls.
An asylum. Comfortable, true, but an asylum nevertheless.
They just don't call it that.
00:18.
Two minutes had passed since she had last checked the clock.
I don't feel tired. No. I do feel tired, but not enough to sleep. It's so difficult to sleep.
She doubted that she had managed more than three consecutive hours of sleep since plunging the knife into Lane. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, yet still she could not sleep.
She allowed her head to sag. Straggling knots of hair, unwashed and uncombed, hung about her face like tattered curtains. She closed her eyes but with little hope of rest. Her mind clattered with thoughts, but so few were coherent, so few meant anything to her. Those that did were about Lane or Jimmy. All she had left were memories and the continuing satisfaction.
The door to her room swung open. There was no knocking, no announcement or request to enter, simply an opening of the door.
Carina looked up, saw the grim face of Suzex, no longer in an Aksian uniform but dressed casually and, to Carina's mind, scruffily, and dropped her eyes to the carpet once more.
They never show surprise as to where I am or what I'm doing when they come in, she thought, struggling to think clearly, logically. Therefore it’s safe to assume that I’m under constant observation.
"And how are you today Carina? Still having trouble sleeping I see." Suzex's voice was quiet but boomed off the walls. The ticking of the clocks seemed suddenly almost inaudible.
"When are you going to decide what to do with me?" Her voice was rough, cracking, a hint of near pleading just below the surface.
"Why should we do anything with you, Carina? What is there we should do?" Suzex's voice lilted with amusement and the confidence of familiarity. This was an old discussion.
"I killed the Leader!" she screeched suddenly, trying to stand up but finding her legs unable to support her, falling instead against a nearby chair. "Everyone present, everyone watching on camera, saw me kill the Leader of Aks, and you try and tell me nothing's going to happen to me?"
"But nothing is going to happen to you," smiled Suzex, crossing to her and helping her into the chair. "At least, nothing in relation to Lane's timely demise. He had been revealed as the man behind Leader Carlton's assassination. He got what he deserved. No one blames you for your reaction."
Carina rubbed her legs, trying to ease the pain that throbbed through her. Some of what Suzex said made sense, but it seemed incredible. Surely the State, if not the people, would demand some kind of retribution?
"What of the new Leader? The President of Szuilta?" She could not say why, but she felt uncomfortable in Suzex's presence. He had been nothing but kind since Lane's death. He had helped usher her safely out of the Reception Hall, brought doctors to her to make sure she stayed the right side of insanity. He had never done or said anything to make her feel other than grateful and comfortable, yet she squirmed inside every time he came near, mistrusted every word he said.
Why?
"The Leader has given a full pardon to you for your crime and it has been announced globally. You see, there is nothing hanging over you. No threat."
"Then what is my position? Why am I held here?" The ache in her legs was beginning to ease now, helping her thoughts, making it easier to think in a calm and logical manner.
"Held here?" Suzex feigned surprise. "You are free to go any time you wish, Carina. The guards are simply for your own protection. You are here because it is comfortable and we can look after you. No other reason, I assure you."
"Supposing I accept that," she said, thinking good, this is good. My mind is starting to function again. I am not, and never was, stupid and nothing is for free. "There's still the question of my position."
"Well, you cannot, obviously, continue as the Leader's official mistress."
The mere thought made her shudder.
"However, the President is keen that you should retain a position of some respect and visibility, while not actually wielding any real influence of course."
"Of course. And what might this position be?" She was cautious. Perhaps if it had been anyone but Suzex saying these words...
"That has yet to be decided. But until then you are more than welcome to stay here as the President's guest."
Carina hesitated before answering. She had to be honest with herself and admit that she had nowhere else to stay. She was aware that, during her stay in the asylum, the real asylum, all her property holdings and savings had been seized. She had nowhere to go and no one to go to.
"I'll stay, for now. At least until I find out what this offer might be."
Suzex nodded and smiled.
"She is suspicious. She doesn’t trust Suzex," said the President of Szuilta.
He and his personal advisor drifted around each other in a strange, flowing dance that, to another Szuiltan, was indicative of deep discussion. Their language was sibilant and gurgling, ebbing and flowing like waves breaking on a shore. No human had ever witnessed such a discussion, but if they had they might have likened it to watching two jellyfish caught in a gently rolling tide. Their fluidity of form was reflected in their movement and language.
"It doesn't matter if she's suspicious as long as she stays here," said the advisor, adding, "Suzex has done his job admirably there."
The President floated silently for several seconds, considering his advisor's last statement. When he finally spoke, the other Szuiltan noted a determination in his tone, a passion held in tight control, and he remembered that this whole idea had originated with the President. This was his initiative.
"Is the experiment ready yet?"
"There has been some delay while our scientists take the opportunity to study the human female physiology closer than they were able to on Szuilta itself, but I am now informed that everything is in readiness. We wait only for the correct moment."
"Good." Everything about the President's form and vocal tone indicated that he was pleased, perhaps a little relieved as well.
"The present situation is unstable, to say the least," continued the President. "The success of this experiment is vita
l to the continuing evolution of our race. We can no longer be content with our isolation from humankind, loathsome as they may be. We must merge, but we must be dominant!"
The swirling dance stopped. The discussion was at an end.
Chapter 58
Raindrops, natural disorganised raindrops, spattered the window of the small summerhouse set deep in the forest. Martin Lichfield watched the rain gather force and contemplated feeling sorry for the Reagold 'soldiers', for that was what they were whatever they might call themselves, outside. He decided not to.
He shifted onto his side, stared for a moment at the pleasantly attractive face of Tina Harrison lying on the mattress alongside him. Her eyes were closed, her expression one of peaceful contentment.
Yes, she is attractive. I know myself better than to think I might be falling in love, but this has become something more than the assignment it was meant to be.
It was a complication, but a complication he felt strangely happy about.
"You know they call this 'The Controller's folly'?" he said quietly, his voice a whisper, joining the gathering whispers of the rain on leaves outside.
"My understanding is that there are several like this in the forest. What do they call them?" She did not open her eyes as she spoke, but the slight smile broadened.
Martin shrugged. "I guess they call all of them 'The Controller's folly'."
She opened her eyes and watched as he rolled onto his back, clasping his hands behind his head and staring at the cobwebbed ceiling.
Real cobwebs, real spiders, she thought. I like it here. It's natural. Away from technology, away from Reagold. It makes it easier to think, and there is so much to think about.
"I didn't see Roland scowling at us today. Is he ill? I do hope it's nothing trivial," said Martin, closing his eyes and allowing himself to doze, lulled by the illusion of privacy and the continuing rattle of the rain on the roof, among the trees outside, on the leaf strewn ground.
Roland. Yes. That, at least, is one less problem to worry about.
Her orders had been precise and they had been obeyed without question. The remains would be returned to Reagold in the next diplomatic bag.