Creation Machine (19 page)

‘Down there. At the beginning.’ Garamende gestured towards the stage. ‘When the planets appeared? That was the whole Inner Spin, man, more or less.’

‘Was it?’

‘Stop trying to look innocent. Of course it was.’

Alameche studied Garamende. He looked far more alert than he had any right to. Alameche felt his own tiredness falling away, driven off by an instinct much older and more powerful than any of the Apothecary’s syrups. He chose his words carefully. ‘It was just a picture,’ he said.

‘A picture. Yes, it was that. And an ambition.’ Garamende’s eyes searched Alameche. ‘Since when did we aspire to that lot?’

Now Alameche was fully awake. ‘I don’t know if we do aspire. If we did, would it trouble you?’

‘What, turbulent naughty little us, taking over thirty-odd planets? Fine, as long as we have the means.’ Garamende reached out and put his hand on Alameche’s shoulder. ‘But, my friend, the last time I looked we
didn’t
have the means. Has something changed?’

Alameche reached up and took hold of the other man’s hand. ‘Things change all the time,’ he said. ‘As we both well know.’

Garamende stared at him for a long time. Then he grinned. ‘And as we both well know, you never change at all.’ He squeezed Alameche’s shoulder. ‘You know best, as always.’

‘I am as wise as my Master allows.’

‘Of course you are. And your Master is as wise as you tell him how to be.’ He turned away and strode over to the quads, who were still entwined in their private love-knot. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Up you get and home we go. Daddy wants company.’ They stood up, grumbling, and followed him out of the box, climbing over some of the rest of his party as they went. The trodden-on people groaned, stood, stretched, and wandered off down the slope after Garamende. Last of all, Fiselle woke and rolled over into a sitting position. He blinked. ‘Did I miss anything?’

‘Only Garamende’s departure.’

‘Really?’ Fiselle scratched himself. ‘One fat man, four catamites and half a dozen hangers-on? I shall regret my loss for minutes.’

Alameche laughed. ‘You’ll get over it.’

‘You’re right. I will. In fact I believe I have.’ He stood up, and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. Especially after what must have been a very busy day.’

Alameche took the hand and shook it. ‘Is there any other sort? Good night, old friend.’

He watched as Fiselle walked down the slope. At his nod, Kestus followed him at a discreet distance, leaving the box apparently empty. When the two men were out of sight Alameche turned and looked towards the dimly lit back of the box. ‘Very well,’ he said out loud. ‘Prove me wrong.’

‘Ah! Very good.’ A patch of not-quite-nothing floated out of the furthest corner, blurred, and became Eskjog. ‘When did you suspect me?’

‘Yesterday.’ Alameche took a couple of steps backwards until his legs encountered the edge of a couch. He sagged down on to it. The Apothecary’s potion was definitely wearing off.

‘Only then? I’m flattered.’

‘And I’m unconcerned.’ Alameche shook his head. ‘Look, surveillance doesn’t trouble me. I don’t need privacy. You can haunt my dreams if you want. I assume you followed today’s events?’

‘Yes, I did. Well done.’

‘Thank you. Now what?’

Eskjog settled itself on a pile of cushions on the couch next to Alameche. ‘Well, the place of safety, obviously.’

‘Obviously. And?’

‘And what? Do you expect me to— no, wait.’ Eskjog made a sighing noise, lifted off from its cushions and floated over until it was a hand’s breadth from Alameche’s face. ‘The things you make me do,’ it said. ‘Wait a second. Oh, and don’t move.’

Alameche didn’t move. There was a
pop
, and the world went grey. Eskjog turned from side to side as if looking around. ‘There,’ it said. ‘You can move a bit if you want. Just try not to brush the field.’

‘Field?’ Alameche looked around cautiously. The greyness seemed to start a little way out from his body.

‘Yes. Anti-intrusion. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. Ah, that happens to include oxygen, so let’s not mess about. Here’s the proposed safe area.’

A patch of air in front of Alameche’s eyes fuzzed and became a screen. It showed an image of the Cordern; a planet flashed and enlarged so that continents became visible, and then landforms. As he watched, the image homed in to a single building.

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I get it.’

‘You agree?’

‘I agree.’

‘Good.’ The image collapsed into sparkling motes, and vanished. ‘Now, we haven’t got long. First, fields like this are a bit obvious even at your tech level. It won’t be long before someone tries to hack us, and they might just manage it. And second, you’ll start to asphyxiate in about a minute.’

‘So turn it off.’ Alameche’s throat felt dry.

‘I will, I promise. Soon. First, while we’re here, a question. What was all that planetary stuff about, from your Patriarch?’

‘What, his speech?’ Short sentences seemed easier. ‘Rhetoric.’

‘Only that? Pretty public sort of rhetoric. It sounded like commitment to me. Your friend Garamende obviously thought so.’

‘He was wrong. It wasn’t.’ Now Alameche’s chest was beginning to hurt. He tried to regulate his breathing.

‘Good. It mustn’t be.’ Eskjog was speaking very quietly now. ‘This evening’s display was stupid. You make sure everything just jogs along as usual. No change in ambition, no change in mood music. Otherwise you’ll get noticed. Including by me.’

It backed away and spoke normally. ‘Now, I’ll arrange for the object to be moved. No need for you to worry about that. You’ve had a busy time. Why don’t you take a rest? You’re looking a bit peaky.’

There was another
pop
. The grey field vanished. So did Eskjog.

Alameche took a careful breath, emptied his lungs, and took another. His heart was racing and he felt light-headed, but he didn’t sit down and he didn’t give in to his other temptation and swear out loud. Instead he reached out a hand and steadied himself against the end of a couch while he stared at where Eskjog had been.

The air felt beautiful in his lungs, but it still tasted faintly of ozone.

The Tanks, Catastrophe, Catastrophe Curve

THEY HAD BOOTED
up the controls, and fed a short burst of power to the main traction set. The old Ground Engine had shuddered and strained against the airlock seal. Kelk nodded. ‘Ready to go,’ he said. ‘Hold tight.’ He reached for the controls.

The floor shook violently. Jezerey snatched at a grab rail. ‘Kelk!’

‘It wasn’t me!’ Kelk glared at the display in front of him. ‘Oh fuck, it’s the Tanks! There are some big old screw guns on the roof. Someone’s got control of them.’

Fleare shook her head. ‘What are screw guns?’

‘Projectile weapons. Rifled barrels. Antiques, but still.’ Kelk stared at the display. ‘Shit. If they fire armour-piercing stuff it might work, at this range. Genuinely, hang on. We’re leaving.’

Fleare tightened her grip on the grab rail. The traction set hummed and then roared. There was a sound of tearing metal, and the Ground Engine lurched forwards, bouncing wildly over something. Fleare felt as if her arms were about to be torn off. ‘Kelk! Watch what you drive over!’

‘Sorry.’ Kelk gunned the drive, and Fleare felt herself pressed back in her seat. ‘I think that was something I had no choice about driving over. Have a look.’

Fleare looked around for a screen but didn’t find one. She shrugged and hand-over-handed across to the airlock, which was now a ragged rim of metal. She stared back along the way they had come. ‘I can see something . . . Oh.’ She watched the receding wreck for a moment. She could see the remains of tracks attached to a hull that looked as if it had been screwed into a ball by a giant. There was something else, too. She swallowed. ‘Kelk, how much does this thing weigh?’

‘About two hundred tonnes, give or take.’

‘Uh huh. I think the thing we went over had people in it.’

‘Sorry. I don’t suppose they meant us any good.’

Jezerey took a hand off her grab rail and patted Fleare on the shoulder. ‘That wasn’t your fault, girl.’ She looked at Kelk. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘Well, we can’t go back inside Catastrophe.’ The ground had evened out and the old Ground Engine had stopped lurching about and had settled into a thrumming cruise. Kelk did something to the console and cautiously raised his hands from the twin control sticks. ‘Good; automatics are okay.’ He turned round and put his arms behind his head in a lazy stretch. ‘At the same time, we don’t want to be out here too long. There are plenty of airborne assets for charter around here. They’ll be above us as soon as someone can agree a price, and some of them are tooled up with stuff that could give us a real problem.’

Jezerey nodded. ‘I would say we already had that problem, Kelk.’

‘Yeah. So we need somewhere close.’ He took a breath. ‘I think we should head for Tail End Port. It’s a closed airspace, for one thing. The private hire guys can’t follow us in. And from there we can get the flying fuck off this rock.’

‘Hold on – you said somewhere close.’ Jezerey shook her head. ‘Tail End has to be, what, two hundred clicks from here, over land.’

‘Not if you go the straight route.’

Jezerey looked at him steadily. ‘There isn’t a straight route,’ she said. ‘Not while you’ve got me on board.’

Fleare looked from one to the other, and shrugged. She glanced out of the airlock, and frowned into the dark. ‘Guys?’

Muz was by her side. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s something behind us. Hold on.’

She ramped up her vision. They were crossing a wide band of scrubland, which in her grainy night vision had a scorched look as if a firestorm had passed over it, and the Ground Engine was growling along the line of an old highway, its tracks rasping against the flaking surface.

They had travelled about two klicks from the Tanks. She could see a faint glow hanging above the club. It danced a little, like flames. And nearer, a lot nearer, something was silhouetted. She watched it for a moment until she was sure. Then she turned away.

The inside of the Ground Engine was agonizing to her sensitized eyes. She blinked, and willed her muscles to relax. It seemed to take a long time; she shut them for the moment.

Muz spoke from close by. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s something following us.’ She risked opening her eyes a fraction. They seemed okay. ‘Tracked vehicle. Kelk, I don’t think this was the only Ground Engine that still worked. Are we armed?’

‘No.’

‘Are they armed?’

‘Probably not.’ He paused. ‘Okay, I don’t know.’

‘Right.’ Fleare rubbed her eyes. ‘So, I vote for the straight route, whatever that is.’ She saw Jezerey look up, her mouth beginning to open, but shook her head. ‘And as soon as we’re safe you can tell us what the fuck’s going on, Kelk, because there’s no way all this is just about one runaway rich girl and a lucky gambler.’

They kept the old war machine running flat out. Fleare sat cross-legged on the floor near the airlock, periodically checking on the view outside. Her eyes were partly ramped up. It seemed more difficult than it should be; the effort made her head ache. A kilometre behind, the other Ground Engine kept station with them. So far it seemed to be on its own. She had the impression that it could have caught them if it had wanted to.

In deference to her night sight they had killed the internal lighting. Instead, Muz had split himself into a dozen pieces. One had hacked into what remained of the Ground Engine’s sensor suite, scanning the sky for airborne intruders. The other eleven had distributed themselves around the room, glowing a soft green like fireflies. It made her feel that she was sitting in a circle of firelight.

Jezerey was also sitting on the floor, her back against the base of the control console and her legs stretched out, one ankle across the other. She had one eye shut, which Fleare assumed meant she was blinking news sites. The other stared forwards, unfocused. Occasionally she nodded to herself. Once, she flinched.

Fleare watched her, between backward glances. After a while she asked, ‘Much going on?’

‘Yup.’ Jezerey opened both eyes. ‘Plenty of stuff about you, obviously, but to be honest it’s mostly froth. A lot of the recent heavy-duty content is about wonder boy here.’ She nodded towards Kelk. ‘Including a happy post from something called In Recovery. Proud winning bidders on a contract to get airborne and get after you. Well, us, really.’ She blinked again. ‘And they are both of those things as of thirty minutes ago.’

Kelk didn’t turn round. He was frowning at the console. ‘Does it say who let the contract?’

‘No. Anonymous, surprise, surprise. Why, got any candidates?’

‘A few.’

Jezerey stood up and stretched. ‘Well, we’ll all find out if they catch us.’ She tapped on the console, making Kelk start. ‘Will they catch us?’

He hesitated. ‘Depends how fast they are. Possibly not. Muz, you got anything in sight?’

The nearest firefly dipped a little in the air. ‘Yes. Recent launch, seven units. Can’t tell you anything else using this stuff. We might as well be using a periscope.’

Kelk shrugged. ‘We’re almost at the Edge.’ He frowned at the console. ‘Actually, cancel the almost. It must have moved again.’

Fleare opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, and then clamped it shut again as the Ground Engine shuddered, canted forwards and dropped, its tracks yammering against nothing. She felt her stomach rising, and heard Jezerey give an involuntary yelp. Then the fall stopped, and they lurched forward with an ugly scream as the tracks took up the load.

Fleare steadied herself and looked at Kelk. ‘What was that?’

‘Don’t worry.’ He grinned. ‘Should be nice and smooth now.’

She turned, glanced out of the airlock, and then stared. ‘Right,’ she said eventually. ‘What the fuck?’

Before the drop, the landscape behind them had been a dusty plain, crossed by occasional tracks and half-obliterated field boundaries. Now it was a dead flat expanse of something that looked grey in the dim light. Grey, but with intersecting reddish-orange veins. She watched it for a while, and then turned back to the interior of the old craft. ‘Kelk,’ she said, ‘tell me this isn’t a lava field.’