Ragnarok 03 - Resonance (15 page)

Gavriela smiled.

‘Don't tell me,' she said. ‘Tunguska event, 1920s. Cataclysmic meteor strike, but you're going to tell me – what, exactly? A crashed UFO?'

There were rumours that the USSR was planning to get devices into orbit, followed by actual people. Some kind of KGB-designed disinformation was consistent with this, enemy confusion being the goal.

‘I didn't say the material was extraterrestrial, Dr Wolf. You did.'

A wide area of tingling curled around her back.

Something very strange about it . . .

Dmitri wrapped the metal once more.

‘My archaeologist friends were puzzled, because this was
beneath
ice-preserved fossilised wood that was carved with runes. If the Tunguska event was anything, it was a successful take-off performed by a similar vessel, while this is a fragment of one that blew up centuries before. Maybe it was searching for the first one, the one we found. Assuming you believe any of that, of course.'

The word
Russia
derived from the Rus, the red-headed Vikings who headed east to explore and trade, and settled there, producing descendants. While Gavriela's father, who claimed Viking descent, had never been further eastward than Berlin, she remembered Ilse's words from the night that Dmitri had met her and the Wolf family.

‘Never mind Erik,' Ilse had told Dmitri. ‘
You
and Gavriela could be brother and sister.'

That intense stare, Dmitri's stare, was not too different from the gaze that Gavriela encountered daily in the mirror.

‘I find it curious,' she said, ‘that a repressive Communist state where religion is outlawed is nevertheless rife with superstition. Or maybe it's because of that repression that people believe in such nutty things.'

‘As you say.' Dmitri pushed the bundle aside. ‘That's a more likely explanation, isn't it?'

‘If you were thinking of offering that to the British Museum, Colonel . . . Well, it's not much of an offer.'

‘So what did you have in mind? Details of uranium shipments?'

They were getting to the heart of it.

‘Possibly,' said Gavriela. ‘What would you want in return?'

‘My daughter back, of course.' Dmitri's eyes shone hard. ‘What did you expect me to demand?'

‘She's safe in the West. Why would she want to come back?'

‘Why would her wishes matter to your government? Ursula is a schoolgirl. A
German
schoolgirl.'

‘Not Dutch?' said Gavriela.

Ilse and Erik had been living in Amsterdam when the Wehrmacht invaded.

‘You want to turn me,' said Dmitri. ‘So I can feed you classified information, now your famous tunnel has been blown. Very well, I agree. Provided you send her back to me.'

If it had not been for the flickering darkness, Gavriela might have agreed.

‘No,' she said. ‘That's not acceptable.'

Rupert might have made a different decision, but he wasn't here. In such matters as recruiting agents and turning the opposition, nuance and context – and the case officer's interpretation – were everything. She could justify refusing Dmitri's demands simply by stating that she did not believe they were genuine.

The last thing London wanted, particularly after Burgess and Maclean, was to be played like fools, fed titbits of truth along with massive lies, manipulated from Moscow.

But they should also realise – Rupert certainly must – that she would have no intention of handing Ursula back to her monstrous stepfather. A new thought: Gavriela wondered if Rupert was in fact counting on that, because he believed in the darkness but could not share that belief with his fellow officers.

Perhaps Rupert, unlike his colleagues and superiors,
wanted
her to sabotage any attempt by Dmitri to work for SIS.

‘If I were to live in England,' said Dmitri, ‘would I have access to Ursula? Controlled occasional access with your people watching – that would be acceptable.'

‘Who said anything about England?'

Dmitri's gaze flicked towards the counter, and the SIS man standing ready.

What are you capable of, Dmitri?

If he could call on pseudo-mesmeric powers the way she had seen others of his kind utilise before, only violence on her part would stop him. This meeting could yet become catastrophe.

‘Surely, Colonel,' she went on, ‘you're not content with working for a single master?'

Unspoken: they both knew he already served two powers, and could not always work for the benefit of one without betraying the other – and that if anything he revelled in the ambiguity.

‘Ah, dear Gavi,' he said. ‘You think you know me, don't you?'

The use of the familiar form –
du denkst dass du kennst mich
– caused her to freeze.

‘Ma'am?' The outer door had opened without her noticing. ‘We have company.'

A military staff-car had pulled up outside, its red pennant showing the yellow hammer and sickle. The driver and two officers inside did nothing for a moment; then a door opened. Nobody got out.

‘You'll excuse me,' said Dmitri, rising.

He took the cloth-wrapped metal and pushed it into his pocket.

‘Nice catching up with you,' he added.

Then he walked out of the café, nodding to the SIS man who stepped aside for him, and slid into the staff-car. For a second, he looked back at Gavriela; then he pulled the door shut. It was a signal for the driver to drop in the clutch and power away from the kerb.

‘What just happened?' asked the man who had been standing guard.

He tried to find out where Ursula is
.

That would be the other reason for Rupert's using Gavriela: besides the relationship with Ursula, there was her immunity to any psychological influence Dmitri might employ. Mean-while, Dmitri, for safety and as a fallback plan, had informed his people that the British had approached him. It allowed him
to turn the play in either direction, unless Gavriela blocked the game totally.

She answered, ‘I have absolutely no idea.'

What she knew for certain was that her first loyalty was to Carl, her son. Going home to be his mother again was her main objective. If she could keep her newfound niece safe as well, that was an added benefit; but Gavriela no longer wanted to work for Rupert, and had no interest in Dmitri Shtemenko's future, so long as he stayed a long way away from her, preferably on the other side of the Iron Curtain.

Not that such parochial, ephemeral divisions meant anything to the darkness.

TWENTY-THREE

VACHSS STATION, VIJAYA ORBITAL, 2604 AD

The judicial hearing was held
in camera
, with two non-Pilot humans on the panel, matching the two Pilot representatives and the two Haxigoji. Roger had not expected an even-numbered group, and was curious about the possibility of deadlock in deciding a verdict; then he pushed extraneous thoughts behind him. His primary goal was to make sure Jed was freed.

‘Keep your eyes open,' had been his briefing officer's final comment, a throwaway remark that was really something else. So far Roger had not worked out what he was meant to be alert to.

Jed's incarceration meant confinement to the Sanctuary section of the orbital, no prison cells involved. If he and his fellow Pilots wanted to make an illegal getaway, they had the resources. This was a matter for diplomacy, not military tactics.

The panel was chaired by a soulful-looking Pilot called Ibrahim al-Khalid, who early in the proceedings announced: ‘Vachss Station authorities have agreed to treat certain security matters, to be touched upon in this hearing, as classified material. As one of two Sanctuary representatives here, let me add an official statement of gratitude for that wise decision.'

Beside al-Khalid sat the long-term ‘permanent' Sanctuary resident, name of Declan Draper. The two humans on the panel were Emma Mbaka, who just happened to be Draper's partner, and Vilok Khan, who had witnessed Jed killing Rick Mbuli – or the thing that once been Rick – which
Roger would have thought disqualified him as an objective judge.

The Haxigoji pair were a female called Nectarblossom and an antler-bearing male called Acid Tang, whose arrival by shuttle from the surface had been marked by a great deal of ceremony, almost reverence, among the station-resident Haxigoji. Since the Haxigoji who witnessed the killing had protected Jed and appeared to approve of his actions – Roger had seen the holo footage as part of his briefing – there should be no problem here.

Not that he was complacent about any aspect of this mission, though it appeared to have little in common with the scenarios he had drilled in so hard in Tangleknot.

‘We look forward to exploring the implications of the defendant's actions,' said Nectarblossom through her translation-torc, ‘as a matter of the greatest importance.'

Jed was sitting to one side, wearing old-fashioned mag-bracelets and anklets that could be commanded to snap together, immobilising him. It was a matter of form and out-moded legislation, Roger had been told. Jed had given his usual muscular grin on seeing Roger – they had not been allowed to meet beforehand – then put all his attention on the panel.

‘First I would like to show on board recordings of the event in question. Mr Khan?'

‘As a witness myself' – Vilok Khan had raised a finger to speak – ‘I will be interested in confirming my subjective memory. If Nectarblossom and Acid Tang agree?'

There was the faintest of perfumes in the air – the Haxigoji conferring with translators turned off – before Nectarblossom said: ‘We too are interested.'

When the holo played through, the Haxigoji pair watched via smartmiasma-distorted air, acting as a dynamically configurable lens, as they sniffed the poorly reproduced scents from the surveillance fragrance-recorders at the original scene. Roger turned away, wincing, but too late: he had already seen
Rick's head being blown apart, and it was as awful now as it had been during the briefing.

He was a witness giving evidence, but there was more than that. The Haxigoji had known that something was wrong about Rick Mbuli – and they had prevented Pilot Holland from coming on board Vachss Station.

Suddenly, Roger understood the unspoken elements of his briefing, the reason for their choosing him specifically, what Ro McNamara had hinted at – and why this really was an intelligence operation. As far as the Admiralty was concerned, Jed's freedom was secondary; what they wanted to know was simple: could the Haxigoji sense the darkness?

‘We have a question,' came from Nectarblossom's torc, ‘regarding the defendant's targeting the abomination. How did he determine its nature?'

Everyone looked at Jed. He took control of the holo, and replayed an audio portion at high volume: ‘
My name. Is. Rick. Mbuli from. Ful gor.'

‘I remembered my friend Roger' – Jed gestured – ‘telling me about his time on Fulgor, and that name, Mbuli, rang a bell. And I knew Roger had searched the refugee lists: he wasn't a known survivor.'

Acid Tang's nostrils widened then closed almost fully. It was a reaction that Roger did not know how to read. Then his attention was drawn by Khan, who asked him to confirm Jed's statement, which he did. Everything proceeded step by step, until Khan finally declared: ‘I believe Pilot Goran's actions to be neither homicide nor manslaughter, given that the deceased was not a coherent entity, but a tiny component of the Anomaly engaged in a terrorist action against the station. Dr Mbaka, do you agree?'

It sounded like a memorised speech.

‘I do.' She looked at Jed. ‘And I would like to thank Pilot Goran for his heroism. His fast thinking and swift action saved not just this orbital, but the entire planet of Vijaya from total catastrophe.' Then, dropping her formal tone, she
added: ‘You were fantastic. Thank you so much.'

Jed grinned, muscles playing in his face.

Roger felt himself relax.

Good. It's over.

The Haxigoji leaned close to each other, Nectarblossom angling her head to avoid Acid Tang's dipping antler, then straightened up.

‘We would like to call one more witness,' said Nectarblossom, ‘before concluding this examination.'

Al-Khalid looked surprised but said: ‘Of course. Please do.'

Everything changed in an instant.

A bulkhead pulled open. Four huge Haxigoji dragged a bound human into the chamber—

No!

—and Roger was on his feet because the darkness was swirling around the man, in fact a Pilot. But it was the darkness itself that Roger had reacted to.

The Pilot hung, semi-conscious, from the grip of massive double-thumbed hands.

‘This,' announced Nectarblossom via her torc, ‘is Pilot Holland.'

So they had not prevented him leaving his ship: they had caught him in the corridor. Which meant his ship must be waiting nearby in congruent mu-space, waiting for the chance to free Holland without risking his life.

Kill him . . .

Roger's tu-ring was blazing with scarlet fire, though he could not remember arming it.

Control.

He looked into Nectarblossom's amber, horizontally slitted eyes.

‘The darkness,' he said. ‘It's strong. This man is fully corrupted.'

‘Yes.'

Acid Tang said: ‘So there
are
humans who are not blind. This is powerful news.'

‘An heroic day.' Nectarblossom rose to her feet, taller than any human, her presence magnificent. ‘We will share the message.'

The implications and the mutual recognition rebounded in Roger's mind, distracting him and the Haxigoji alike, but he was supposed to be a professional and you had to remain alert when—

Yellow fire exploded.

Amid deadly danger, an element of slapstick intruded: Jed leapt at Holland – like Roger, he was unaffected by the blaze of energy – but his electromag bracelets and anklets snapped together, immobilising him and dropping him in Roger's path, which gave Holland the second he needed.

The Haxigoji guards had staggered back, blinded, as Holland took the opportunity to stumble back through the hatch he had entered by, and cause it to slam shut.

From the floor, Jed said: ‘They'll be OK. The bastard's weak.' But his voice was slurred, and blood was pouring from his forehead. ‘Go get him.'

‘Wait.' Roger went to Vilok Khan, who appeared to be panicking the least, and used a gentle thumb to draw up an eyelid. ‘Jed's right,' he told everyone. ‘The flash wasn't full strength. You'll recover.'

Nectarblossom appeared to have closed her eyes in time, because she looked at Roger now, and said: ‘You do not need to stay and bear witness. We will spread the word.'

So she understood: their new mutual understanding was the most important outcome.

‘You're sure?'

‘Yes. Good luck, Pilot.'

Jed was out of it, and Draper was Shipless, but Ibrahim al-Khalid was a Pilot too. Roger turned to him, expecting an offer of help, but saw only an expression of devastated emptiness, tears running down al-Khalid's face.

Find out later.

It was time to give chase.

No place in Vachss Station was far from an outer hull, and emergency evacuation points abounded. By the time Roger obliterated the hatch that Holland had escaped through, turning it into powder, an exterior-view holo was showing a teardrop shape, originating here, in the act of making rendezvous with a dark-green and purple ship that had, just seconds ago, blazed into realspace.

Well, good.

A strong enemy meant a decent challenge, and while Holland might still be weak, his ship was anything but. Quickglass was already spreading across Roger's skin as he commanded an exit to become permeable; then he took a moment to judge the trajectory – there, a spar was rotating past, and he would have to be careful to miss it – before launching himself through the liquefied wall and popping out into vacuum.

Come to me.

His own beauty, black and powerful, webbed with scarlet and gold, crashed into realspace existence, so very close to Vachss Station. Proximity alarms would be sounding aboard the orbital, but there was no risk because she was a genius, taking him into her control cabin—

We hunt?

Oh, yes, my love.

Good.

—and diving sideways, away from everything, getting a clear angle on Holland's ship except it was too late because white light accompanied a skilful transition into mu-space—

On home ground, then.

Exactly.

—which would not be enough to save them because Roger-and-ship were equally adept, probably more, and within a
subjective second, golden splendour was shining all around them.

Mu-space, and a quarry to kill.

Call it their life purpose.

It was a long and tricky chase, following the faintest of spoors through mu-space void, close to black fractal stars and through the heart of a scale-free fern-like nebula; but just as ship-and-Roger were about to open fire, Holland-and-ship shone white and disappeared, transiting back to realspace.

Ambush?

Conscious that the insertion point was far from the galactic core and therefore the renegade base, they took the risk and followed, bursting through into realspace at maximum speed –
planet!
– and tumbling into orbit of a greenish, cloudy world –
I see it
– but the dark-green and purple ship was already a tiny dot diving deep into atmosphere.

Where are we?

Must be Siganth.

It was not a human world. Various indigenous species, if that was the correct term for classifying entities that seemed scarcely organic, were both sentient and vicious, metallic and ferocious. Neither Pilots nor the human xeno-contact teams they brought here had achieved much by way of communication.

And we follow?

Yes.

There was no way to tell whether they were under observation as they descended through a sequence of cloud layers and came out over a sharpedged mountain range, following the fugitive's trace.

There.

It led into a vast cavernous opening. Ship-and-Roger descended to the ground outside the entrance, every weapon filled with energy, standing waves building up in resonance cavities, aching to be cut loose. After a few seconds, great
bronze-and-black metallic forms clanked their way out into the open: native Siganthians, whose carapaces concealed intricate body-mechanisms, cables and pumps for sinews and muscles, some with heavy metal wings, looking incapable of flight, launching themselves nevertheless into the air.

Sparks of sapphire light shone among their multitudinous eye-sockets –
Anomaly!
– and ship and Roger let loose a single burst of weapons fire –
we need to bug out
– then ploughed all energy into thrusting flight, hauling upwards at maximum acceleration –
we won't make orbit
– ignoring the heat –
I know
– before embracing the moment of risk.

Transit now.

They burst through.

Yes.

Golden void, scarlet nebulae in the distance, and the knowledge that they had achieved transition under the most dangerous of circumstances. They scanned for renegades, but the region was clear, and Holland was no doubt among his own kind on the realspace planet, among the inhumans.

So Siganth is a hellworld.

And collaborating with renegades, although Holland must be desperate to take the chance.

Looks that way.

This was news that had to reach the Admiralty.

So much for his planned journey of victory, flying home from Vachss Station with Jed's ship alongside, taking their time. When Roger reached Labyrinth, he left his beloved ship in one of the clandestine docking hangars – having entered un-observed as always – and requested immediate debriefing. One of the two officers who responded was a familiar face: Havelock, who had interviewed him on his first day in Tangle-knot. The other Pilot was also someone he recognised, though it had taken a few seconds to work out, and the conclusion was a shock.

Dad. Did you really want me to know this?

Her name was Lianna Kaufmann, and he remembered being smitten with her at the Academy . . . except that he, Roger Blackstone, had never attended the Academy. Those were Dad's memories.

In his mind Lianna was the same age that he was now; but in reality, the woman sitting across from him in the interview chamber had greying hair, and her face showed the lines of hard decisions made. It made him think of Leeja, now living on Vachss Station: he had not even tried to contact her. But events had moved quickly.