A Night Without Stars (42 page)

Everyone swayed as the van pulled out from the curb.

Florian stared at the switch stick. The man was missing his little finger. “No.” He told his u-shadow to arm the bracelet.

“It's a dead man's switch. If you use the weapon on your wrist to shoot me, it will release and the ten kilograms of dynamite packed into the van around you will detonate.”

Florian instinctively put his arms around Essie, who whimpered and buried her head in his chest. “I won't use the weapon. Let the girl out. It's me you want.”

The man smiled, which with the way his taut skin revealed every facial muscle, made it extremely creepy. “No, and no.”

“What?”

“No, I won't let the girl out. No, it's not you I want. Is there anything else you need explaining?”

“Who are you?” Florian sent out a desperate ping to Matthieu, but his u-shadow reported no signal could get out. The van was a very effective Faraday cage. When he looked around at Redrith he could see a wire mesh taped across the windscreen and door windows. Then he saw the pistol the passenger was sticking into Redrith's ribs.

“My name is Shaham.”

“What do you want?”

“My boss would like to talk to the girl.”

“Captain Chaing?”

Shaham laughed softly. “Oh, no, I think we'll leave the good captain out of this.”

Florian cradled Essie for the whole journey. She sobbed for the first few minutes, then spent the rest of the time hugging him tight. “It's all right,” he kept telling her. “We'll be fine. It's not the PSR.”

From where he was on the floor in the back, he had a bad angle of visibility through the windscreen. All he could see was trees and the top halves of the taller city buildings. Traffic growled around them. They juddered to a halt at junctions, then the clutch snarl started them off again. Trams clattered along. None of which gave him a clue where they were headed.

The u-shadow ran through tactical options for him, then concluded he had to wait for the scenario to alter.

Then the van drove into what looked like a tunnel of leafy walwallow branches, dropping them into a cozy peach-hued shade. They stopped, and the van door slid back.

Florian immediately tried to send out a ping, a call for help directly into the general bands. It was no use. There was a powerful white-noise signal jamming communications.

“Don't move,” Shaham ordered.

Florian did as he was told, but he turned his head to glare at Redrith. “How could you do this? She's a child!”

The man looked to be on the verge of tears. “I had to,” he moaned.

“You could have warned us, warned Matthieu. You're an Eliter. Just like us.”

“I'm afraid we had to use some persuasion on your friend,” Shaham said. “His family is the bond for his good behavior.”

“Let them go,” Redrith said. “Please.”

“Of course.”

Two more goons appeared in the open doorway. One climbed in. Very carefully, Shaham gave him the dead man's switch. In return he was given a pistol. The muzzle was pressed into the back of Essie's neck. She squealed and tried to squirm away.

“Control her,” Shaham warned. “Me not blowing her brains out is your good behavior bond.”

Florian nodded numbly. “Come on, Essie.”

“Can't move,” she wept. “Everything hurts. Hurts so much, Dad. Hurts in my head. Please, I need more pills.”

“All right, you can have some. Let's get out of here, first.” He scooped her up in his arms and, with Shaham still keeping the muzzle up against her neck, staggered out of the van. “I need my backpack.”

“Move,” Shaham said.

Florian glanced around. They were in a quiet street lined by giant shaggy walwallows, with the pavement littered in crisp husks of their furry leaves. Two trunks were missing in front of the elegant five-story townhouse. It had a neon sign
CAMERON'S
above the wide front door. Shaham was waving him to some cast-iron stairs that led down the side of it to a basement door.

“My backpack has Commonwealth machines in it,” Florian said. “Do you really want to lose them? Does your boss?”

Amber glasses lined up inquisitively on him. “Bring it,” Shaham ordered one of the goons.

Florian took the iron stairs one at a time, worried he'd drop Essie. She weighed far more than he expected. Her skin was slick with sweat.

Three goons were waiting at the bottom, each carrying a semi-automatic rifle. Florian recognized the weapon from his regiment days. He'd even fired them a few times on the range. They caused a lot of damage. Targeting graphics silhouetted each goon. The bracelet was armed, ready. But Shaham wasn't letting him have the opportunity.

They went through the door. Two more goons with semi-automatics were inside. They walked backward slowly, the rifles leveled on Florian's chest. He wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was, but knew he'd only start crying if he let his control go.

There was a flight of stairs going down, leading to another corridor. The doors on either side were heavy polished wood, all closed.

No ordinary cellar,
Florian knew.

At the end of the corridor, a door opened into a large plush lounge, with another five goons inside, all armed with semi-automatics. The walls were hung with long velvet drapes, even though there couldn't possibly be any windows; they must have been at least two floors underground. And by Florian's reckoning, directly under the middle of the townhouse. It was lit by bright electric bulbs in three large crystal chandeliers. The furniture was heavy and expensive, putting him in mind of a high-class hotel lobby. The only odd thing was a metal pipe as thick as his thigh coming out of the wall at head-height. It ended in a mechanism with a short lens protruding horizontally.

As Florian went over to a leather settee, the lens turned smoothly to track him. Shaham let him lay Essie down, then backed away, holding the pistol up. A circle of nine semi-automatic rifles were pointing at Florian. The bracelet could only shoot seven e-beams simultaneously. Elapsed time between salvos, point four second. The u-shadow's tactical analysis gave a low probability of hitting everyone in time.

“Before you try and shoot us, you should know something,” Shaham said.

“What?” Every muscle in Florian's body was rigid. He didn't know if he was furious or terrified. Either way, he knew his usual logic was gone.

Shaham pointed at the lens. “You're being observed.”

“So?”

“This room and the corridor outside are both rigged with dynamite. The corridor is the only way in or out.”

“What do you want?”

“Mr. Roxwolf would like a word.”

Florian stared at the lens, then looked around the circle of rifles. Started. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet,” Rasschaert said. “Just switched sides, that's all.”

“You told Roxwolf about me and Terannia. That's why—” He started to raise his hand. The targeting graphic assigned Rasschaert as first strike.

“Let's get some focus here,” Shaham said. “We all want to get out of this alive, so let's keep calm. We all agree Rasschaert is a total asshole. Nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Florian, you need to think about the girl. Is what you're doing going to help her?”

Florian kept staring at Rasschaert, though his arm did sink back down. The tactical analysis still wasn't giving him a way out.

A telephone rang, making them all jump.

“I'm going to get that,” Shaham said. “Okay? Moving to the table. No need to worry.”

He walked over to the phone and picked up the handset. “Sir? Yes, I know. Yes, sir, right away.” The handset was placed back in the cradle. “Mr. Roxwolf will see you now.”

“Suppose I don't want to see him?”

“Then I guess we all die in a blast of bullets and explosions. Except Mr. Roxwolf, of course; he's safe through there.” Shaham gestured at one of the drapes.

Florian risked a glance. “What's there?”

Shaham pulled the lush red velvet aside to reveal a huge steel-and-brass vault door, with a spoked wheel in the center. “This is Mr. Roxwolf's residence. It's a double lock system, mechanically linked, so both doors cannot be opened at the same time. There is nowhere safer on the whole planet.”

There was a loud buzz, followed by the heavy
clunk
of bolts withdrawing. Shaham started to turn the wheel, and the door slowly hinged open. He slung the backpack in.

Florian knew he didn't really have a choice. He picked up a semiconscious Essie and walked into the plain room behind the vault door. Brick walls, floor, and ceiling made a simple four-meter cube, with another identical vault door in the opposite wall.

Shaham started to close the one behind him.

“Aren't you coming with us?” Florian asked.

“Not likely.”

“But—”

Shaham's pale face was just visible in the shrinking gap, his glasses reflecting the chandelier light as dull-gold circles. “Nobody who is summoned to see Mr. Roxwolf ever comes out.”

Florian let out a wordless cry and took a step toward the door. It clanged shut. The bolts engaged.

The operations room was busy when Jenifa walked in just before midday. She glanced around at the rows of desks, each with an investigating officer deeply involved in sifting through paperwork. Clerks from the records division were bringing in yet more files. The air was filled with the clatter of typewriters as the secretaries typed up reports, which more clerks smoothly carried away.

To someone who didn't know better, it would have looked like the nest alert case was proceeding efficiently to a successful conclusion.

Chaing was standing beside the wall map; arm in a sling, uniform tunic sleeve pinned neatly on the side, eye patch in place. She'd made sure he looked right when he left the flat this morning, as smart as a high-flying PSR officer should be.

Major Gorlan was with him, sticking a purple pin into the map. Jenifa went over to them and saluted. “Sir, reporting for duty.”

“Corporal,” Chaing said tonelessly. “Welcome back. Director Yaki has reinstated you pending the report on your conduct yesterday.”

“Thank you, sir.”
If only you knew,
she thought.
I am going to enjoy taking you down when this is over. I'm going to enjoy it a lot. Because Castillito has something on you, and I want to know what it is. Rotten officers cannot be allowed to contaminate the PSR.

“We need all hands on this,” Chaing said.

“Has there been any progress?”

“We're concentrating our efforts on Eliters known to be connected to the underground railway.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Corporal,” Major Gorlan said scornfully.

“But we're getting some strange reports,” Chaing said.

Jenifa frowned. “Strange, sir?”

“My informants have reported that a jamming signal has been operating in the city this morning,” Gorlan said.

“Jamming signal?” Even as she said it, Jenifa cursed herself; repeating things just made her sound stupid.

“Someone is blocking Eliters from communicating with one another. It's localized, but apparently one hundred per cent effective.” The major pointed at a purple pin, which was stuck into Stower Road. “First one appeared here a couple of hours ago.”

“I've sent a team to investigate,” Chaing said. “And in the meantime I told technical services to scan the bands the Eliters use. They've just notified us that another jamming signal was transmitting here.” His finger tapped the second purple pin.

“Midville Avenue,” Jenifa read. She studied the old dock area. “Nothing much there.”

“The signal didn't last long,” Chaing said. “They only just managed to triangulate before it switched off.”

“Why would anyone want to block Eliter gossip?”

Chaing pulled a face. “We're searching for anomalies. This is unusual.”

“And Florian is an Eliter,” Gorlan said. “It might be something for you to look into,” she told Jenifa.

“Go and talk to technical support, Corporal,” Chaing said. “Get me a report. We need to know more.”

“Yes, sir.” Jenifa didn't know if she was being sidelined or not.

“Sir!” One of the secretaries was standing up, holding a telephone. “Captain Chaing, sir.”

“What is it?”

“Phone call for you, sir. It's urgent. The main switchboard put it through.”

“Who's calling?”

“Says he's Major Ry Evine, sir. He knows something about Florian, but he'll only talk to you.”

The operations room fell quiet. There had been a notification about Major Evine three days ago, that he was AWOL. All PSR officers were required to apprehend on sight. Force was authorized.

Chaing hurried across the room and snatched the telephone. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Tell the switchboard to trace the call,” he told the secretary, then took his hand away. “This is Captain Chaing.”

“Captain, I have some information for you.”

“Who is this?”

“Ry Evine, but that's irrelevant. I've just seen Florian. He had a few days of stubble, but I'm sure it was him.”

“I see. Why don't you come in and tell us about it?”

“Don't patronize me, Captain. There's a girl with him, a young girl. She looked ill. They've both been forced into a club called Cameron's by very well-armed gangsters. I'm really worried. I think it's Roxwolf's headquarters.”

“Crudding Uracus! Where are you?”

“Midville Avenue.”

The bolts on the inner vault door withdrew almost immediately and it slowly swung open. Florian peered into the chamber beyond.

He was expecting something like the lounge he'd just left, but this was almost like the nave of a Church of the Return. A wide double-vaulted hall, with a line of pillars running down the center. Electric lights hung on long hoops of cable strung between the pillars, sending out a sharp blue-white glare. Bizarrely out-of-place household furniture was clustered together on one side, while on the other side of the pillars, long benches had been laid out, cluttered by what appeared to be laboratory equipment, both chemical and electrical. Next to them was a telephone exchange cabinet, studded with buttons, winking lights, sockets, and braided cables ending in jacks. Ten telephones were lined up on a shelf underneath it, and below them was a row of tape recorders, their big reels turning slowly.

At the far end of the hall, a stream ran along a channel set into the flagstone floor, emerging from and vanishing into low arches. A three-meter-wide wooden waterwheel was fixed to the wall, turning slowly as the stream shoved its paddles around. Gears linked it to a dynamo.

“Come in,” a voice said.

Florian took a few nervous steps, passing through the vault door. That voice was wrong somehow, husky and gurgling, as if the speaker had a cold.

An electric motor hummed, closing the vault door. The bolts clunked into place.

“Just so you understand, I am the only person on this planet who has the combination for those doors. If you shoot me, this will become your tomb.”

“Okay.” Florian tottered over to the nearest settee and put Essie down on the cushions. She curled up, her eyes closed.

“Good,” the voice said. “Now, please don't get hysterical.”

“What?”

Roxwolf emerged from behind a pillar. Florian couldn't help it. He let out a wail and stumbled backward.

The figure that emerged was human in shape, although easily a head taller than Florian. He had lopsided shoulders and walked with an odd limp, one leg dragging behind the other. His head was misshapen, the back of the bald skull distended, curving downward over the top of the neck. A wide mouth had lips that could never fully close over a massive set of fangs.

But it was the arms that drew Florian's attention. The man-thing was wearing a loose red shirt. One arm was normal, though the skin was shaded a faint blue, as if his flesh were freezing. The other arm was an animal limb, covered in gray-bronze fur and ending in a paw with four thick claws.

A roxwolf foreleg,
Florian realized. He'd caught glimpses of them in Albina Valley, skulking about amid the deeper forests, preying on the native wildlife and terrestrial goats. Heavily muscled, yet incredibly graceful; some had been timed sprinting at ninety kilometers an hour on their attack runs.

Now he was clued in, Florian glanced at the creature's legs. Sure enough, one was a regular human limb and the other a roxwolf hind leg.

“What the crud are you?” Florian shouted.

Roxwolf laughed. It sounded like a beast tearing flesh apart. “A mistake.”

Florian brought his arm up, fist clenched. Targeting graphics circled the creature. “Stay back.”

“Ah. The lightning bolt weapon. And you claimed your backpack has Commonwealth machines. The same source, I take it? The spaceship that fell into your valley?”

“What are you?” Florian yelled. He gasped as his u-shadow reported a link opening.

“The same as you,” Roxwolf sent through the link.

“No!”

“The Eliter macrocellular clusters are interesting,” Roxwolf continued over the link. “Humans added them to their DNA at some point. They're unnatural. Like us.”

“Us?”

“You call us Fallers.”

Florian's arm trembled. “Stay back!”

“Or what?” Roxwolf asked. “You'll condemn yourself and the child to a slow miserable death by starvation?”

“I won't be eaten, not by you. You—You're a breeder Faller, aren't you?”

“I'm not going to argue semantics with you, so I'll just say yes. But as I told you: I'm a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

“My species has the biological ability to shape ourselves. When we encounter a world, we mimic the dominant life-form, then eliminate it. It's a war that takes many forms; therefore, we need to constantly adapt. So somewhere deep in our history, we gave ourselves this chameleon ability. We can consciously shape our offspring, providing we have a template. And to obtain a local template, our first colonization wave absorbs the local animals, giving us their physiological pattern.”

“You eggsume us,” Florian groaned. His arm had dropped to his side as he made the connection. “Rasschaert.”

“Yes. The version you saw outside is a Faller.”

“You're not gangsters. You're a nest.”

“No. Not true. Most of the infamous Roxwolf gang are genuine humans.”

“You're lying. You
eat us.
No human would work with you—not even gangsters.”

“The human members of my organization are unaware of their colleagues' nature, obviously. Their reaction would be the same as yours. That's why I rule them through lieutenants like Shaham. I am the guiding hand; the smart one. The one with the political insights; the one with insider knowledge. The one who is unafraid to order hits against our opponents.”

“How can this happen?” Florian implored. “The PSR should have discovered you.”

“Ah, but you see Roxwolf hides in plain sight. Everyone knows I am a mere gangster, including the PSR. I find it ironic, as much as I can understand the concept. For at the heart, I remain unseen, at least by my criminal associates.” He gestured at the telephone exchange cabinet. “They receive all their orders by telephone.”

“They'll work it out in the end. They'll expose you.”

“Several already have. They were all taken out by rival gangs—apparently.”

“You…You—”

“Ate them? Yes. I worked hard to achieve this position. I'm not going to relinquish it.”

“Why? What's the point?”

“Colonizing a new world is a complex process, especially one with a dominant sentient species. First we must learn of you, and mimicking you is only part of the solution. Once we've arrived, we move invisibly among you, to explore your civilization, to seek out its strengths and weaknesses. There are specific tasks that require specific forms. Strength, agility, intelligence—all these can be crafted. We gave ourselves that flexibility. I am a product of it.”

“So which are you? Strength?”

“Parentals normally craft and gestate two embryos in their wombs, but we are not parthenogenetic. Two adults exchange and create the new templates within a neural connection. This mental pattern is transferred to the embryo, which incorporates its structure. A neurological equivalent of your DNA, if you like.”

“Mods,” Florian said suddenly. “We had neuts back in the Void. Our telepathy allowed us to shape their embryos.”

“One of our more useful servant species,” Roxwolf acknowledged. “Designed to be redesigned in whatever fashion we required. The seeders bring them with us.”

“Seeders?”

“The Trees you see in the Ring. Before we were captured by the Void, they flew between stars, expanding our species across the galaxy. The Skylords you so venerate are merely versions who self-evolved, adapting to the strange conditions in the Void. Ironic, no?”

“The Ring Trees are starships?” Florian asked weakly. “Faller starships?” He didn't want to believe it.

“Yes, but our kind of starship; they're nothing like your Commonwealth's technological vehicles. These are living entities that embody our essence. They are the pinnacle of our species. Our triumph. They carry us forward forever.”

“Oh, great Giu! You really are monsters.”

Roxwolf laughed again. “Especially in my case. I told you I was a mistake. My parentals messed up the pattern they were formulating. They wanted a roxwolf for an established nest of the animals; they also wanted a human-mimic with Eliter macrocellular abilities. The patterns were merged somehow, for even our biology is not perfect. I am the result. An abomination.” He snarled, his long fangs clashing. “I am nothing—not to them, not to anybody. They discarded me. Now I reject them as I reject you.”

“What do you want with us?”

Roxwolf stared at Essie as she lay shivering on the settee. “This girl is the end of the world. That makes her the most important person alive.”

Florian sat on the edge of the settee and stroked Essie. “What do you mean
the end of the world
? She's going to save it.”

“For humans, possibly. What about Fallers?”

“This is our world. We will burn you from it.”

“She might well do that. That is why she is so valuable.”

“I won't let you touch her.” He deliberately avoided looking at the backpack. The power cells in the Commonwealth gadgets still had a large charge left in them, and the roof of this underground lair couldn't be that thick. “Can the food processor power cells be rigged to explode?” he asked his u-shadow.

“Yes,” it replied.

“Assume the stone ceiling is a meter thick. If I detonate the power cells against it, could they blast a hole through?”

“Yes, assuming you placed them correctly. But the concussion wave within the hall would present a considerable danger to you.”