Absorption (42 page)

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Authors: John Meaney

BOOK: Absorption
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‘A Jewish atheist, you mean.’
 
She remembered the awful woman in the train carriage. Eating pork was fine by Gavriela; it was the realization that she had passed a test by eating the sausage, showing herself to be a real person in the woman’s eyes - that was what had sickened her stomach.
 
‘It could be worse.’ Erik’s smile lightened the moment. ‘We could be
Catholic
atheists, and how guilty would we feel then?’
 
‘Right. So Comrade Dmitri Shtemenko, who called himself Jürgen . . . What about him?’
 
‘A Bolshevik? And Shtemenko was his real name?’
 
‘That’s what he said.’
 
‘He—’ Erik stopped, lit another cigarette, and took two deep pulls. ‘He walks in darkness. I don’t know how else to say it.’
 
‘How did you—?’
 
‘It’s insane perhaps, but black - things - floated around him as he walked down the street, leaving the house. I was watching from my window.’
 
‘I don’t believe it.’
 
‘They were very faint, and I know it was only weeks after this’ - he pointed to his eye-patch, then his bad leg - ‘so I could have hallucinated. But my mind had knitted itself together by then, thanks to Ilse. I’m sure of it.’
 
Gavriela let out a long breath.
 
‘I don’t believe,’ she said, ‘that you can see the darkness too.’
 
‘
What?
’
 
‘I thought’ - she began to cry - ‘I thought I was the only one.’
 
Perhaps she could see it more easily, for the darkness that she detected was always hard-edged and strong, curling and revolving in impossible ways; but at least he perceived something.
 
Erik stared at her for a long time. Then he said: ‘There’s at least one other that we know.’
 
‘Who’s that?’ Gavriela dabbed at her eyes, recovering. ‘Who do you mean?’
 
‘Comrade Dmitri Shtemenko. He was aware of the shadows around him. He tried to shrug them off and walk away, but they moved with him. It looked as if he was used to doing it.’
 
‘
Oy vay.
’
 
‘
Oy oy
, indeed. He looked as if he was used to failing, too. To get away from the shadows.’
 
Gavriela stared into her own memory.
 
‘I saw something strange in the old school hall,’ she said after a time. ‘Not to mention the graveyard afterwards.’
 
Then she related all she remembered of the darkness-haunted orator, the real-seeming visions he conjured above the crowd, and later the apparition that appeared in the cemetery, distracting the thugs who were advancing on her and Dmitri, allowing the Russian time to use his blades, killing all three of them.
 
When Ilse returned, teapot in hand, she looked from one to the other.
 
‘Are you two all right?’
 
‘Talking about . . . dark things,’ said Erik. ‘Sorry, dear.’
 
‘Well, there is evil in the world, I know that much.’ Ilse put the teapot down. ‘But there are good things too.’
 
‘And you’re one of them, Frau Wolf.’
 
‘Thank you, Herr Wolf.’
 
Gavriela blinked.
 
‘I love you both,’ she said.
 
THIRTY-TWO
 
LABYRINTH, 2603 AD (REALSPACE-EQUIVALENT)
 
Max gave it seven days, mean-geodesic time, before talking to the ancient Pilot whose title was Head of Records. His name was Kelvin Stanier, and they met in his office - that deprecated word again - because this was something that deserved to be done in person.
 
‘I’m here for a bad reason, Kelvin. Sorry.’
 
‘An operative deceased?’
 
Max nodded.
 
‘My condolences. Will there be a body?’
 
‘No.’
 
‘And the ship?’
 
Max looked down to his right, then straight at Kelvin. ‘Nothing.’
 
‘Okay.’ Kelvin gestured a holospace into being. ‘The officer’s name?’
 
‘Avril Tarquelle.’
 
‘Shit.’ Kelvin lowered his hands. ‘She’s so—She was a bright one.’
 
‘Not to mention young.’
 
‘Have we notified the family?’
 
‘There isn’t—She had no relatives. Or close relationships.’
 
Kelvin said nothing for a time.
 
‘It was that kind of mission, was it?’
 
‘Yes.’
 
‘Do you have confirmation, or was it just that she never came back?’
 
‘The latter.’
 
‘So. Very well.’ Kelvin made the control gestures in a fine, exact manner, like sacramental ritual. ‘It’s done.’
 
No trace of Avril Tarquelle’s existence remained in the official data.
 
Kelvin added: ‘How are you doing, Max? Are you sleeping all right?’
 
‘I feel fucking awful.’
 
Old eyes glittering, Kelvin looked at him for several seconds.
 
‘That’s exactly how you
should
feel, old friend.’
 
 
Max used fastpath rotation, stepping out into the antechamber of his office. Just as he reached the threshold, more panes of nothingness began to rotate behind him.
 
Waiting in the open doorway, he watched as a familiar white-haired figure stepped through, her movements lithe despite her years.
 
‘Admiral Kaltberg. Please come in.’
 
He went inside, and gestured for drinks. A selection of decanters and crystal glasses rose on a table from the floor. Old-fashioned but stylish: that was the way to conduct this meeting.
 
But something in the admiral’s manner, as she took a seat and crossed her legs, told him that this was not going to proceed in a predictable manner.
 
‘Brandy ma’am? Or something different?’
 
‘I don’t—Sorry, Max. What am I here for?’
 
‘Admiral?’
 
‘My retirement, was that it?’
 
Max moved behind his desk and sat, every sense on full alert.
 
‘You wanted to check that Dr Sapherson was going to give you very selective amnesia, ma’am. I believe that was your concern.’
 
‘I—Yes, that must be it. Why I’m . . . here.’
 
‘Only the most confidential data will disappear from your mind,’ he said. ‘A team of watchmen did a survey of retired operatives just last year. Practically zero memory disappearance beyond the desired data. And they reported a
strengthening
of cognitive functions, as the majority of memories were repotentiated during the procedure.’
 
Beneath his desk, his hands formed a control gesture.
 
Shit.
 
In the admiral’s old eyes, golden sparks were forming.
 
‘Admiral, I need to warn you—’
 
‘M-Max . . .’
 
He admired her so much. The idea of harming her was awful.
 
‘What’s going on, ma’am?’
 
‘G-uh . . .’
 
‘Ma’am?’
 
‘G-uh . . .’
 
There two choices. He looked up at the ceiling.
 
‘Medical emergency,’ he said. ‘Open up—’
 
‘Get . . . out . . . Max.’
 
Her left hand was trembling.
 
Oh fuck.
 
The hand that was holding the graser pistol, pointed at him.
 
‘Stop this.’
 
It was an antique weapon, which was why it got past scanners - if it was carried by an admiral - but coherent gamma rays could kill as easily as smartmist.
 
And her eyes were brightening, golden sparks whirling in black orbs.
 
‘Flee . . . Max. My . . . friend.’
 
Her left hand was shaking, but the graser would still get him, and it took just a tiny movement to squeeze the firing-stud.
 
‘I’m not leaving you, Admiral.’
 
‘Must . . .’
 
Finger, about to tighten.
 
Everything dropped from his perception except that knuckle, about to squeeze.
 
‘Aaah! Fuck!’ she cried out.
 
A golden explosion took place
inside
her eyes, yet no energy burst forth. Max had never heard of such a thing. His last new experience before dying?
 
Still she had not fired.
 
‘Max.’ Smoke rose from her eyeballs. ‘I’m neurally wired. Get the fuck out of here.’
 
‘I can’t.’
 
‘Now. It’s an order. Whether I fire the graser or not’ - her eyes were opaque grey, burned out, but she could still target him - ‘it’s going to explode. You’ve ten seconds at most.’
 
He made the emergency control gesture.
 
‘Drop the weapon. We’ll both go.’
 
Behind him, a whirlpool of yellow nothingness grew: his escape.
 
‘I can’t control the hand, Max.’
 
‘No—’
 
‘Quick.
Go!
’
 
She fired as he leapt into the yellow.
 
 
He fell through layers of reality.
 
Someone will pay.
 
Max accepted the danger of his job. But someone had used Admiral Adrienne Kaltberg as an assassination tool, and that deserved punishment. In a city-world with fractal time, pain could be made to last forever.
 
She would be dead by now. Clearly part of her mind - part of her brain - understood what had been done to her. It was easy to set a graser for self-destruction, and the explosion would be devastating - would have
been
devastating, for it had surely occurred.
 
Bastards.
 
Whoever they were, he would find them and bring punishment on their heads.
 
Admiral, you were the best.
 
Ironically, his office was thoroughly shielded and armoured. It would have served to contain the explosion; but everything and everyone inside would have been annihilated. He wondered how long it would take Internal Security to break in.
 
And whether they would think that he had perished along with Admiral Kaltberg.
 
That would be a help.
 
He came out into a long cavernous space that looked as if it stretched forever - which was geometrically true. Bulbous pillars in all directions, glowing, illuminated the soft, endless, grey-blue floor and ceiling.
 
There were food stashes all over - he had planned his emergency routes with care, over many years - but no devices existed here to help him. That was part of what kept this entire infinite subspace off the grid, undetectable from the rest of Labyrinth.
 
And that was why the only way to reach any of his exit points was on foot. None was closer than a three-day walk from here.
 
The Med Centre. That would be a good one.
 
By exiting outside Ascension Annexe, he would be into public areas where enemies might hesitate to move; but the Med Centre would have access to emergency systems. He could mobilize people he trusted.
 
Because the enemy, whoever they were, clearly included people with the highest level of security clearance, able to plan a killing inside the heart of the intelligence service.

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