A Night Without Stars

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Something’s happening,’ she said urgently. ‘I had to come.’

  Chaing glanced at the clerks, who were watching attentively. He took Jenifa’s arm and hustled her out of the office into the echoing cavern of the records hall. Lurvri followed, making sure no one else was within earshot.

  ‘Did anyone see you come here?’ Chaing asked.

  ‘I was careful leaving the club. And I used the Warral Street entrance at the back of the store to get in here.’

  ‘Okay, then. What’s happened?’

  ‘There were people in the Cannes Club tonight, a group of them. I marked five of them, maybe more.’ Her hand juddered along her sweaty forehead. ‘They were a team, I could see it. Really professional. They sat at three tables, which gave them full coverage of the club floor, ordered one drink and didn’t drink it. They just watched the customers.’

  ‘An observer team?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re not PSR. Caden talked to them. It was casual, like he was checking that they were having a good time, but that wasn’t it. He knew them and they knew him.’

  Chaing felt his throat muscles tighten. ‘Fallers?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘Uracus! How many of them are in this nest?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I managed to get some photos.’

  ‘That was risky.’ But even as he said it, he couldn’t help admiring her. If only everyone in the PSR had her guts and initiative.

  ‘I only got shots of two of them,’ she said regretfully. ‘They left before I could get them all. I had to be careful they didn’t notice me. But, Chaing, they were following someone. A man. I’ve seen him in the Cannes Club before. He was by himself. Came in early, had a couple of drinks up near the stage, watched the girls for a few routines, then left. They went with him. Just like we’d do it – with two in front and three following. Next thing I know, Caden’s gone, too.’

  ‘Who was the target?’

  ‘I don’t know. He was well dressed, reasonable clothes, but nothing too flash. No one prominent.’

  ‘You think they were waiting for him?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s weird. If all they need is a human for food or eggsumption, Caden can find them girls that no one cares about, so why risk a man who can fight back? And he must have a job; his office or workplace will notice him missing. It’ll be reported.’

  ‘Yeah, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.’ He was unnerved by the idea of Fallers having teams the same way the PSR had. ‘We need to know who this man was, why he was important to them. I want you to work with the sketch artist, work up a likeness for me. Maybe Colonel Kukaida will recognize him.’

  Jenifa grinned wryly and held up a roll of film. ‘I can do you one better than a sketch. I got a shot of him.’

  It was nine o’clock; most of the PSR office had gone home, leaving a small night shift working until breakfast. There was only one technician left in the photographic lab. Chaing took the roll of film there in person, and even went into the darkroom with him to watch it being developed. That way it was done quickly.

  He stared at the glossy paper in the chemical tanks as the images slowly formed, willing the shadowy outlines to darken quicker. The dull crimson light from the solitary bulb overhead made the pictures curiously intense.

  ‘I know him,’ Chaing exclaimed as he pulled the first sheet from the liquid. ‘That was the driver from this afternoon, the one who helped Caden take Noriah to Xander Manor.’

  Jenifa pulled another sheet out. ‘What about this one? He’s the other watcher I snapped.’

  ‘No.’

  She pulled out the last photo, letting the reeking chemicals drip back into the tank. ‘This one? He’s the one they followed out of the club, the target.’

  Chaing studied the man, almost disappointed by how ordinary he appeared – middle-aged, ebony skin with jowls just beginning. He was expecting some kind of feature that would make him understand why the Fallers wanted him. ‘No,’ he said in frustration. ‘I want blow-ups of all three,’ he told the photographic technician. ‘Get them up to my office as fast as you can.’

  Then, with Jenifa behind him, he knocked again on Colonel Kukaida’s door, wishing he didn’t feel so sheepish.

  ‘Come.’

  Only the photographs on the white desk were different. Kukaida hadn’t moved, and the same clerks hovered in attendance.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, colonel,’ Chaing said, and held up the still-wet photograph of the Faller’s target, ‘but I was wondering if you know this man.’

  Colonel Kukaida carefully cleared a space on her desk and studied the photo. Her glasses magnified the twitch of her eyebrows. ‘I certainly do, Captain Chaing. This is Comrade Deneriov.’

  The name meant nothing to Chaing. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Deneriov is the general manager of the Opole Rocketry Plant.’

  ‘Crudding Uracus!’ He stared open-mouthed at an equally apprehensive Jenifa. ‘They don’t want food. They’re after the factory.’

  *

  Chaing caught Jenifa giving his office a mildly disappointed appraisal as they hurried in. It made him realize just how small and shabby the room was for an officer of his rank (not that status or comfort should bother a PSR officer). The brick walls were painted a depressing grey-green. One of them had a big pinboard with a map of the city, and various photos of suspects from Chaing’s five current operations. A lone high window looked out into the central courtyard, so even in daylight there was nothing to see but more walls with narrow barred windows. His desk was at an angle across a corner, while Lurvri’s was crammed into the other side. None of the furniture matched, and one wall was lined with filing cabinets from different eras – all a disjointed legacy of careers that had been played out and absorbed by the bleak room.

  Major Sorrell, the duty officer, was in there, waiting with Lurvri.

  ‘We need the assault squad,’ Chaing said immediately. ‘We have to be ready to storm Xander Manor tonight.’

  ‘I can put them on standby for you,’ Sorrell said, ‘but it’s going to take a real emergency to authorize deployment.’

  ‘A real emergency? How about Fallers sabotaging the rocketry plant?’

  ‘Not a chance. There’s no way a Faller could get past perimeter security. Our officers supervise the guards, and blood tests are compulsory for anyone going in. No exceptions.’

  ‘The Fallers have captured Comrade Deneriov, the manager.’

  Sorrell gave him a suspicious look. ‘Have you confirmed that?’

  The Bakelite phone on Chaing’s desk started ringing, its red priority light flashing on the side.

  ‘Corporal Jenifa saw him being followed by five suspected Fallers earlier this evening,’ he told Sorrell.

  ‘I need positive confirmation.’

  Exasperated, Chaing picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Help me,’ a frightened female voice said.

  ‘What? Who is this?’

  ‘It’s me, Corilla. I need help.’

  Chaing’s back stiffened in surprise. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘They’re here,’ she whispered. ‘They’re at the campus looking for me.’

  ‘Who are?’

  Lurvri was frowning hard at him, wanting an explanation. Chaing waved him away.

  ‘I don’t know. There’s three of them. They asked a friend about me. He warned me. I’m frightened. And, Chaing, they’re using links to communicate with each other. We’ve picked up the transmissions.’

  ‘So they’re Eliters?’

  ‘No. Their links are encrypted. It’s something new, something different. We can’t crack it.’

  Chaing put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Sorrell. ‘If Fallers eggsume an Eliter, do they have the same abilities?’

  Sorrell gave him a blank stare. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘They duplicate everything else,’ Lurvri said.

  ‘Except the human brain,’ Jenifa said. �
��Fallers have our organs, but their own neural structure.’

  Chaing wanted the universe to slow down for a minute so he could make sense of it. There was too much happening. ‘Corilla?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going to bring you in. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in a phone box on Rence Street.’

  Chaing studied the map. ‘That’s too close to the university. Get out of there – now. I’ll pick you up at the corner of Sedto Street and Frikal Alley in fifteen minutes. All right?’

  ‘Just hurry. Please!’

  The phone went dead.

  ‘Who was that?’ Sorrell demanded.

  ‘An asset. She’s in danger from Fallers.’

  ‘Is this the same case?’

  ‘I believe so, yes. Sir, this just got a whole lot bigger. We need to call in Director Yaki.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sorrell nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think we do.’

  ‘I’m going to collect my asset. Lurvri, I want you at Deneriov’s home. Confirm if he got back there tonight. Call it in as soon as you know anything.’

  Lurvri shot a glance at Sorrell. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Jenifa said.

  Chaing’s automatic protest died before he could voice it. She looked so determined. ‘Right.’ He went over to the wall safe and took out a ten-millimetre pistol, along with a case of hollow-tip bullets – the same kind the PSR assault squad used in their carbines. He handed it to her. ‘Here. You might need this.’

  *

  Chaing took a car from the underground garage, ignoring the transport manager’s plea to sign for it.

  ‘No time,’ he barked, snatching the keys from a hook in the woman’s cubicle.

  The Cubar was a four-door saloon built at the Adice Motor Industry factory. Its acceleration was notoriously sluggish, but the engine was reliable even in cold weather, and the squat metal bodywork sturdy enough to survive modest collisions. The government bought fleets of them.

  It was raining when they emerged onto Broadstreet, a thin drizzle that created a lot of spray and degraded the tyres’ grip. Chaing switched on the sirens and their blue flashing lights, driving as hard as he dared, forcing tuk-tuks out of his way. At least the weather had banished most of the city’s cyclists.

  ‘How could they know about her?’ Jenifa asked, hands gripping the passenger seat as the Cubar slalomed across the road.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she asked the wrong person about Valentin Murin, or Xander Manor.’

  She winced as he spun the wheel, dodging a couple crossing the street. ‘I suppose. But that implies they’re very well organized.’

  ‘Yeah, it does. But they’ve been here for three years, and they’re planning to sabotage or destroy the rocketry plant. You have to be organized to accomplish that.’

  ‘They’re organized, all right. Remember Kassell? They don’t show any mercy, either.’

  ‘I know.’ The Kassel atrocity had been the PSR’s lowest point. Sixty years ago, a nest of Fallers had managed to drive three trucks packed with explosives into the regiment’s barracks for the Fireyear Day celebration ball. Over three hundred troops and support staff had died that day.

  ‘So if they’d do that to troopers, what are they going to do to a factory that makes rocket engines for the Silver Sword?’ she mused.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘The Xander Manor nest has been established for three years that we know of. How much explosive can they put together in that time?’

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter. ‘Giu!’

  They were four blocks out from Sedto Street when Chaing killed the lights and siren.

  ‘Let me out,’ Jenifa said. ‘I’ll cover you.’

  It must have been her appearance, small and vulnerable looking; his immediate instinct was to protest. But she was a fully trained and qualified PSR officer. In fact, she was probably a lot more streetwise than him.

  He braked at the top of Sedto Street and she hurried out, zipping her blue cord jacket against the miserable rain.

  The wipers smeared water across the windscreen. This wasn’t the best of the city’s neighbourhoods. The streets were narrow, their timeworn buildings small and densely packed, but without the antique quirkiness of the Gates. This was where the poor sank to live their overlooked lives of no consequence. He drove along slowly, looking for the junction with Frikal Alley. The street lighting was inadequate, and his headlights struggled against the grey rain. A strange bass noise rose over the engine’s low growl, thudding in the fast rhythm of an excited heart.

  Chaing spotted the junction and pulled in just past it. He got out. The sound was music coming from an open club door that glowed red, as if its steps led down into a cave of lava. It was awful – the new electrically amplified guitars pounding out a fast beat that youngsters listened to these days. Further down Sedto Street, a group of youths loitered in another doorway, the glow of narnik pipes illuminating their faces in spectral shadows.

  He unclipped the leather strap on his shoulder holster but didn’t draw the pistol as he walked cautiously back towards Frikal Alley. He couldn’t see Corilla anywhere.

  Frikal Alley itself was a gulf of blackness as deep as the empty night sky. There were no street lights at all. A few glimmers came from windows that weren’t properly shuttered, but that was all. He peered forwards, unpleasantly conscious of how he was presenting a clear silhouette to anyone in the alley.

  His eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, revealing the outlines of walls and abandoned crates. Rubbish littered the uneven cobbles. Maybe this hadn’t been the best place for a rendezvous.

  ‘Corilla?’ he said quietly. It was no use against the racket coming from the club. ‘Corilla?’ Louder this time.

  A couple of the narnik youths looked his way.

  Chaing took a few tentative steps down the alley. ‘Are you there? Come on, let’s go.’

  Something moved up ahead – a black wraith emerging from the cover of a doorway.

  ‘Corilla?’

  The indistinct shape moved towards him.

  ‘Chaing?’

  He hadn’t realized how tense he was until his shoulders sagged at the relief of hearing her voice. ‘Yes. Come on. Hurry.’

  His night-adapted eyes saw her nebulous shape resolve into a more solid outline as she quickened her pace. Then something else moved in the alley behind her – a smaller shape, lower to the ground, a liquid shadow flowing through the chilly drizzle. ‘Who’s that?’ He tugged his pistol from its shoulder holster.

  Beyond the spooky shape, a bright yellow muzzle flame flared. The pistol’s discharge echoed down the narrow alley, overpowering the wretched music. Its muzzle flash illuminated Jenifa’s intense face. She fired again, and again. Bullets whined as they ricocheted off walls.

  Chaing shrank down instinctively, his own pistol waving round as it sought a target. He saw Corilla hit the cobbles, crying out in shock. And behind her, exposed by the flashes—

  An animal, bigger than any terrestrial dog. Streamlined, brutal, its equine head half mouth, with sharp curving fangs. Powerful squat legs, ending in dark claws that could tear any human apart in seconds.

  He managed a wordless shout of warning, trying to bring his pistol round. But though Jenifa had stopped shooting, his precious night vision was still impaired by the sharp flashes. He saw the creature jerk sideways as if it was bouncing, scooting up a low wall. There was a clatter of rubbish being dislodged. He shifted the pistol, lining directly onto the sound. Then glass shattered above the rubbish. The pistol went up. But there was nothing. No movement. No sounds.

  Jenifa was running down the alley. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Chaing hurried over to Corilla, who was curled up on the cobbles. ‘Are you okay? Can you move?’

  She let out a sob.

  ‘Come on,’ Jenifa snapped at the whimpering girl. ‘We don’t have time for this. Either get up or we leave you. Because we are out of here, now.�
��

  Chaing bent down and grabbed the girl’s shoulder. She half-cooperated as he pulled her up. She was groggy, swaying.

  ‘Move!’ he shouted.

  The three of them came careering out of the alley. Chaing was swivelling round, trying to look in every direction at once. Trying to see if the creature was closing, ready to pounce. The narnik gang were standing perfectly still, staring at him.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he yelled. ‘There’s a . . . a roxwolf loose.’

  They started jeering.

  Chaing caught a slither of motion above – and froze. He scanned the roofline, his pistol in a two-handed grip, pointing up.

  Nothing.

  They ran for the Cubar. Jenifa and Corilla dived into the back seat and Chaing turned the ignition key, praying to Giu to smile on him just once this night. The wonderfully reliable engine caught immediately, and he slapped it into gear, shoving his foot down hard on the accelerator. The wheels spun, sending up small puffs of rubber smoke, and they lurched forwards.

  ‘Is it there?’ he yelled. ‘Is it following?’

  Jenifa was craning her neck, looking through the clouded rear window. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t see anything.’ Her pistol was held ready.

  He slapped the switches for the siren and blue flashing lights. He shoved the gear stick into third, still accelerating. Sedto Street became a blur.

  Corilla slowly sat up. ‘Thank you.’

  Chaing grunted in satisfaction. Despite it all, they’d done what they set out to do: save the asset. Score one for the PSR. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Crud, no! But I’m alive.’

  He turned out of Sedto Street and eased off the accelerator slightly.

  ‘We’ll take you back to the office. You’ll be safe there. I’ll debrief you myself.’

  ‘Safe from what?’ Jenifa demanded angrily. ‘What the crudding Uracus was that?’

  ‘A roxwolf?’ Chaing suggested. But he didn’t believe it for a second.

  ‘That’s bollocks,’ Jenifa retorted angrily. ‘It was— Crud, I don’t know what we saw, I was so hyped up. Could have been an Uracus-damned cat for all I know.’

  ‘It was a breeder Faller,’ Corilla said in a flat tone. ‘That’s what the bastards set on me.’