All Fall Down (17 page)

           
Daoud looked up from his desk when she entered his office, “What is it?”

           
“I’m going to the tunnel. We have a cold delivery situation.”

           
“So soon?”

           
Sophie watched a small frown on Daoud’s forehead, “I can deliver the package easily. What shall I do with the postman?”

           
She saw his eyes de-focus, snap back to her, “Take him to position one. Tell him to wait for me. Make sure he's secure.”

           
Sophie dipped her head. At long last something was happening; the plan, so long in hibernation, was waking; stretching, yawning, seeking its sun. She remembered when Daoud had first explained it to her, how initially she'd fought against it, but how much sense it had eventually made. All that time ago. Different worlds, different people. Different struggles. They had all paled, seemed so insignificant in the shadow of his vision. It was a different Sophie who had baulked at his request for help, then.

           
How times changed through these long years. Once she had been so involved in every part of society that parts of it had fallen at her merest thought.

           
She waited by a lift, watched lights anticipate its arrival. She would head to the basement levels, to the secret tunnel.

           
Her struggle had been so successful that she'd expunged herself from history. Somewhere there was reference to her. But not as Sophie Argus. All that time ago. She was a different person. A different name. That person was long dead; her death had allowed millions to live. She felt no sadness that no one would ever know. She had seen the effects of heroes and martyrs and saints. They cast long and angry shadows. They strangled culture and society for hundreds, thousands of years. They were selfish gods, those who forced their personality onto their creation, keeping their descendants and successors in the grip of their mien. She would have no truck with it.

           
She stood in the lift as it descended to the maintenance floors. There she walked quickly through the pipes and levers and juttings and bends and pregnant drops of condensation on service vents.

           
All those years ago she had killed herself for the greater good. For all the worlds and all the people and all the life out there.

           
If the time ever came, she would do it again. For a different world. For a different time.

           
On her way to the tunnel she anticipated Masjid’s response. He would panic, be suspicious, his emotions unstable. And why not? Peter was dead, killed by the pods. She knew that Masjid would think his life's work was threatened, might be about to shatter; a giant, beautiful crystal, grown beyond its capacity to sustain its structure, waiting for the tiniest crack, the lightest knock, to glitter into razor dust.

           
At the tunnel she waited patiently by the large door. The car would be gliding to a halt on the other side. Masjid would need a minute to pull out the body and get to the security panel. And then the lights would turn: yes, there. A small hiss coincided with her taking a step backward.

           
She had implemented the plan for the situation that Daoud had always known would happen, and for which the two of them had prepared and simulated so often in the past. The herald was here. And one of their four had turned traitor. And with this first part of the plan successful, she would now have to deal with its first consequence: the death of Doctor Peter Cassel.

Masjid leaned into the car. He grunted as he pulled Peter’s body out and tried to lower it to the floor as carefully as possible. “Forgive me, Peter. You deserve, unh, more dignity.” He steadied his legs, and pulled Peter towards the door, making sure only his heels scraped along the floor. “This is no work for an eighty year old.”

           
He lay Peter’s body by the wall whilst he opened the door. He knew he was scared, panicking: better to get to safety as quickly as possible. But where? Should he contact Daoud when he was beyond the door, back on the Colony’s comms system? He couldn’t walk all the way to Daoud’s office with the body; or his own office for that matter. Where was he going to take it?

With one hand on the door’s handle, he set his heels into the dirt floor, prepared to pull. Sweat ran down his back. He swallowed over a dry throat. The door hissed when he pulled it and it released a smell of engineering grease. He kept his eyes on Peter, at the floor. Finally the door seemed like it was open enough. Now he had to man-handle Peter over the raised lip of the door.

Masjid moved his eyes to the door frame to gauge how far he would have to lift Peter.

There was another pair of feet.

“Doctor Currie.”

Masjid's eyes snapped up into Sophie’s face. “What? What are you doing here?” The panic expanded, his chest tightened. He looked around the corridor.

“Let me,” she stepped over the door frame and into the tunnel. Masjid watched her hoist Peter's body onto her shoulder, as if he were a bag of vegetables from the farming pods. So much dead weight.

“What are you doing here?” He watched Sophie exit to the corridor, as calm as the depths of space.

“I suggest we act first. We need to make this right.”

Masjid looked around the corridor again, his gaze a caged animal. He followed her into the corridor and sealed the door behind him.

How could Sophie be here and be so calm? “Where are you taking Peter?”

“See that conduit there? On the wall to your left? Pull the front panel off, you’ll find a lever.”

Masjid stared at the conduit jutting out of the wall. He looked back at Sophie, who steadied herself under Peter's weight.

“The panel, Doctor.”

He huffed through his nose, annoyed at being ordered around, but walked over anyway. He was torn between duty and desire. Between taking care of Peter and making sure MI didn't discover what had happened. They couldn't, mustn't; not now, not this close to achieving his life's work. But Peter needed to be safe. The panel popped away from the conduit, clattering out of his hands.

“I'm too old for this,” he looked stupidly at the panel on the floor.

“The lever, Doctor Currie. Be quick.”

Panic still had him. He looked into the conduit at the lever, wondering what it was for. Somewhere she was still talking. Quieter. Softer than usual. She was mentioning the lever again. Telling him he was making a good decision. He found his hand reaching out. When his fingers closed around the lever, his breath stuck in his chest.

How could Peter be dead? So soon after Huriko? Sophie was still speaking, somewhere to his right.
 
Why was she here anyway? How? So calm and –

“Doctor Currie, pull your arm backwards. A gentle squeeze and pull.”

He closed his eyes, put his forehead to the conduit's metal. If MI found out about this, he’d lose everything. They’d take over, take away his research. His breath quickened. Masjid focused on the panel at his feet, taking a slow breath, “I have over sixty years of experience running high profile research. I run the premier classified research facility in the galaxy. My friend and colleague Doctor Peter Cassel is dead. Before I pull this lever you’re going to answer some questions.” Masjid looked around. He wanted to know how Sophie knew to be here. Why Peter might have mentioned her.

But Sophie was standing next to him, pulling down a long panel in the wall. She tucked Peter’s hand in before closing it completely.

“Thank you Doctor Currie. You can let go of the lever now.”

“What?” He looked from the smooth, featureless wall up to Sophie, who stood free of Peter’s body, at ease. He jerked his head back to the conduit. His hand still gripped the lever, but it was tipped towards him.

“Doctor Currie, you pulled the lever already. You can let go now. Come with me, Daoud is waiting.”

“Daoud?” His eyes jumped around, seeing nothing.

“Yes, Daoud knows what to do.”

Masjid looked Sophie in the eyes. Hers were calm, placid, where he knew his must be flicking, staring.

She reached out a hand to his upper arm, “Come with me, Doctor. Let’s talk about this privately with the Administrator, let him sort it out. You know deaths are reportable to MI.” Masjid felt Sophie pull him, gently, softly, toward her. “You can comfortably forget this. We’ll take responsibility. Come.”

Masjid held on to a thought as he walked away from the dark tunnel, that Peter was right, the specimens needed to be destroyed before anything else went wrong. Administrator Daoud would understand. He thought about how to achieve it without causing a seismic signal or arousing Verigua or MI’s suspicions. He didn’t notice where Sophie led him, only that her hand was warm and solid on his arm. It was there, alive.

He trusted it.

The shuttle accelerated out of Fall’s atmosphere. Win was flattened into his chair while the sky darkened, cooled to violet and became the depthless cloth of space. The small shuttle craft was carrying two probes to search for unauthorised vehicle traces or communications signals.

From behind the shuttle the electric glow of the planet crept into his window, obliterating any features in the space ahead.

“Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?”

           
“I’m sorry, pilot. What were you saying? How long until we reach the Lagrange point, please?”

           
“Just over ninety minutes. The Ortema tubes are twisting. Gravity gradients are changing. Means we travel a little slower than normal, while I map the path with least gravitational resistance. Hope that’s OK for you, Sir.”

           
“I’m sure you do a good job, pilot.”

           
Win returned to looking out of the window. “Pilot?”

           
“Sir?”

           
“How is your family?”

           
“I have no family, Sir.”

           
“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

           
“No, that’s OK, Sir. They died when I was very young, here on Fall.”

           
“You were born on Fall?”

           
“Yes, Sir. I’m one of the first children of Fall. From the original Colony. My parents died in the crash.”

           
“I’m sorry. You must miss them.”

           
The pilot was quiet for a while, “Truth be told, Sir, I don’t remember them. I was born shortly before the crash. I was just a few months old at the time.”

           
“What happened? With the crash, I mean. The data files don’t say much about it.”

           
“I probably know as much as you do, Sir. The original Colony was being closed. The miners had discovered the cavity where we are now. Half the population had already moved over. Then one day a cruiser was taking off. It’d dropped off a load of colonists. Something went wrong with its antigrav system. A couple of klicks up, the cruiser just dropped out of the sky. Everyone on board and most of the people still left in the original Colony were killed. I was one of the few survivors.”

           
“It must have been terrible. I don’t remember seeing the crash site when we arrived. Has the wreckage been moved?”

           
“No, Sir. It crashed into the old Colony, burying itself underground. It's all covered with sand now.”