Necropath (36 page)

She leaned against the wall of the building, her legs weak. He had said trust me, trust me, and she had trusted him. And he had betrayed her, not had the simple honesty to admit that he found her unattractive, that he preferred slim Thai prostitutes, perfect and white.

Slowly, her mind confused with anger and self-pity, she retraced her steps back towards the hotel. Crying quietly to herself, she pulled out the bulky wad of her folded comic, stared at the familiar characters on the front page. Now the comic assumed an immense importance—a treasured possession that was hers and only hers—her only ally against a harsh, cruel world.

As she passed the train station, she remembered why she had bought the comic—to occupy her on the journey south. She halted, staring up at the entrance to the station. She would take the next train to the Himachal sector.

Ten minutes later, as she tried to shut Osborne and his betrayal from her mind, the Himachal Express carried Sukara towards Jeff Vaughan.

* * * *

A CRUEL ILLUSION

Vaughan stood in the cool shade of a cedar tree, staring out across the ocean. Behind him, Himachal Park was almost deserted in the extreme noonday heat. A kilometre below, alone on the blue marble surface of the ocean, a dhow with a shark’s-fin sail tacked towards the Station.

It was hard to believe that Tiger had died so recently, and that soon after Jimmy Chandra had called with information about Director Weiss. He looked back and realised that that had been the beginning.

He had the strange feeling, now, that today was yet another beginning—the beginning of the end, when the events of the past week would be resolved for good, one way or the other. He felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon him. If he acted with care and vigilance, he could eradicate the threat that hung over the Station. If he did not, and failed, then it would surely mean the deaths of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of people around the Expansion.

For the first time in years, Vaughan felt that his existence had purpose and meaning.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. He stepped from the shade of the tree into the glare and heat of the sunlight. He had bought a fresh supply of chora last night, to drive away the demon mind-hum that had assailed him ever since arriving back at the Station, but he had resisted the urge to take a dose this morning: he wanted his ability unimpaired during the next few hours. In consequence, the collective noise of the massed citizens beyond the park pressed upon his head like a migraine.

He hurried through the gardens and paused outside the main gates. Chandi Road was not as busy as usual, the crowds thinned by the heat. He checked his watch again. It was twelve exactly— and, right on time, a police flier appeared overhead, descending slowly. It put down in a blast of hot jet engines and dust. Vaughan backed away, coughing, and watched Commander Sinton climb from the passenger seat.

Sinton strode towards the gates, nodded tersely. “Vaughan.”

Vaughan gestured to the path that led through the park towards the rail by the cedar tree. Sinton fell into step alongside him, his mind-shield blocking his every thought.

“I hope I’m not wasting my time here,” Sinton said, direct as ever.

“I’m sure you’re not.”

Sinton nodded. “Chandra regarded you very highly, Vaughan. I don’t know why you don’t agree to come and work for the Agency.”

“I don’t actually like being a telepath. It wasn’t my choice in the first place, and I’ve resented the ability ever since.”

“I should have thought the talent to look into the minds of one’s fellow humans would be eminently rewarding.”

Vaughan kept his smile to himself. “There’s an old adage among telepaths—we never read what we want to read, but what we don’t want to.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, we read the truth, and the truth is often vile.”

Sinton glanced sidewise at him, scowling. “You don’t like your fellow man, do you?”

“As a rule, no, I don’t.”

Sinton’s next question surprised him. “Are you religious, Vaughan?”

“No—are you?”

He watched for Sinton’s reaction: the Commander never even blinked. “I have certain... beliefs, Vaughan, which I suppose could be described as religious. Haven’t you read the religious impulse in your fellows, and been momentarily swayed?”

Vaughan shook his head. “The impulse is strong, but it proves nothing other than man’s need to believe in something to counter the fear of death.”

Sinton slowed his pace, staring across the park, eyes narrowed. “You might have something there. But that doesn’t disprove the existence of something transcendent towards which we are all moving. Humanity might be vile, as you claim, but I believe in redemption.” He looked at Vaughan. “Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I believe in anything, commander.”

They arrived at the western-most edge of the park. Vaughan moved into the shade of the cedar, Sinton beside him, and leaned against the rail. From here, the entrance to the park was obscured by shrubbery.

“Enough philosophy,” Sinton said. “You said you had information.”

“I’ve been going over my time on Verkerk’s World,” Vaughan said. “Piecing together the incidents, trying to get certain things clear in my mind. I felt I owed it to Jimmy Chandra, to the other people who lost their lives to the Vaith.”

Sinton appeared impatient. “You aren’t still harping on that old theme?”

“Why not? It’s a tune I find particularly fascinating. Even if I’m the only person who can hear it.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Sinton snapped.

“You see, I know what I experienced. I know that I’m not wrong. I suppose we all have our beliefs, but I happen to know that mine are factual.”

“We’ve been through all this yesterday. If you haven’t got information more substantial than what you presented to me then, I don’t see...”

“I told you—I have more information. I went over the events on Verkerk’s. It struck me as odd that Lars Jenson was equipped with a mind-shield when I arrived to talk to him. You see, augmentation-pins were forbidden on Verkerk’s World under the old regime, and that statute still hasn’t been amended.”

Sinton nodded. “Interesting. Go on.”

“So, I reasoned that he must have known I was on my way to Verkerk’s, and taken precautions. Later, Jenson and the Disciples followed us and threw us into the pit.”

“I suppose it is possible,” he began.

“It’s the only scenario that makes any sense, Commander. The next question was, who was his informant on Earth? I thought back to Gerhard Weiss, a native of Verkerk’s World.”

“But—”

“Please, hear me out. Five or six years ago he came to Earth, assumed a new identity, facilitated either by himself or by members of the Church already set up on Earth. He infiltrated the command structure at the ‘port, rose through the ranks, and when he was high enough to influence things, the plan went ahead.”

“But Weiss died well before you even knew you were going to Verkerk’s World.”

Vaughan said, “I know. It wasn’t Weiss. But I thought that if a Disciple could infiltrate one organisation, someone else could just as well infiltrate another—get themselves into a high up position—”

“We’re back in the realm of wild speculation again.”

Vaughan nodded. “Indulge that speculation just a little longer, Commander. So here we have a very efficient organisation, capable of great duplicity and ingenuity to achieve their ends. They’d infiltrated one important organisation on the Station, so it occurred to me that it would be quite within their means to infiltrate another.”

Sinton pursed his lips in a speculative frown. “That organisation being?”

“The Law Enforcement Agency, of course.”

“You aren’t trying to tell me that one of my men...?” He stared at Vaughan. “You don’t mean that Chandra...?”

“Of course not, Commander. Chandra was a relatively lowly investigator. The infiltration went much higher than that.”

“I must say that I find this most preposterous—” Sinton began.

Vaughan stared at him. “Do you really, Commander?”

In an instant, he drew his knife and looped his arm around Sinton’s neck, pulling tight and choking the commander. With his free hand he drew Sinton’s pistol from his holster and worked the barrel into his back. Sinton gasped in pain.

“On your knees—”

“You’re insane!” Sinton fell, breathing hard.

Vaughan moved around in front of the kneeling commander, the pistol trained on the dead centre of the man’s forehead. He had the almost overwhelming urge to shoot Sinton through the head and in so doing go some way to avenging the death of Jimmy Chandra. He restrained himself. To kill Sinton now would be counter-productive.

The commander was working his fingers around the collar of his uniform, red-faced and spluttering with a combination of pain and indignation.

“This has gone far enough, Vaughan. I’ll have you jailed—”

“Unfasten your handset and pass it to me. If you try anything, I’ll shoot you.”

Sinton glared at him, divined something of Vaughan’s rage, and slowly unstrapped the handset. He dropped it at Vaughan’s feet. “You’re making a big mistake, Vaughan. Think about it. This is a serious offence. Let me up now, let me go, and I won’t mention what happened.”

“No way, Sinton. You told Jenson that we were on our way. Only you knew I was going to Verkerk’s World with Jimmy. You’re responsible for his death.”

Sinton made a strangled sound of protest.

“I want to know where the Vaith are, on the Station and elsewhere.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One more time. Tell me, or you bleed.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Vaughan lashed out with his knife. The front of Sinton’s khaki shirt split diagonally, revealing a slash of fatty chest and belly, and within that slash another, this one leaking beads of crimson.

Sinton stared down at his wound, incredulous and for the first time showing real fear.

He looked up at Vaughan, the fire of the righteous in his eyes. “You might kill me, Vaughan. But I’m quite prepared to die for the cause. I know I will be received into the One.”

With that pronouncement, Sinton seemed to change—he shed the guise of the police commander and became something more, a man driven by an abiding mission and belief, which Vaughan found at once terrifying and impressive.

“Your One, Sinton, is nothing more than a drug-induced illusion. You, the Disciples, the poor fools you use on Earth, you’re all the dupes of a force of nature, the biological means by which the Vaith gather their prey.”