The Night's Dawn Trilogy (221 page)

Al glanced over at Jezzibella, who shrugged. “I can’t see a flaw in the idea,” she said. “How are you going to measure it,
Leroy? Surely the possessed will be able to counterfeit any currency?”

“Yes. So we don’t use one.” He opened his bag and took out a small processor block, matt-black with a gold Thompson sub-machine
gun embossed on one side. “Like I said, money is all accounting. We use a computer memory to keep track of what’s owed to
whom. You want your magic doing for you, then the computer shows how much you’re entitled to. Same for the reverse; if you’re
a possessed it shows how much work the non-possessed have been doing for you. We just set up a planetary bank, Al, keep a
ledger on everyone.”

“I must be crazy even listening to this. Me? You want me to run a bank? The First National Al Capone Bank? Jesus H Christ,
Leroy!”

Leroy held up the black processor block to stress the argument. “That’s the real beauty of it, Al. It makes the Organization
utterly indispensable. The soldiers are the ones who are going to enforce and regulate payment on the ground. They make it
fair, they make the whole economy slide along smoothly. We don’t have to force or threaten anyone anymore, at least not on
the scale we have been doing with the SD network. We don’t put taxes on the economy, like other governments; we become the
economy. And there’s nothing to stop the possessed using the system themselves. There are a lot of jobs too big for one individual.
It can work, Al. Really it can.”

“I scratch your back, you scratch mine,” Al said. He eyed the black processor block suspiciously. Leroy handed it over. “Did
Emmet help with this accounting machine?” Al asked curiously. Apart from the gold emblem it could have been carved from a
lump of coal for all he knew.

“Yes, Al, he designed it, and the ledger program. He says that the only way a possessed guy can tamper with it is if he gets
into the computer chamber, which is why he wants to base it on Monterey. We’re already making it the Organization headquarters;
this will cement the deal.”

Al scaled the electric gadget back on the table. “Okay, Leroy. I see you’ve busted your balls to do good work for me here.
So I’ll tell you what we’ll do; I’ll grab all my senior lieutenants for a meeting in Monterey in two days time, see what they
make of it. If they buy it, I’m behind you all the way. How does that sound?”

“Achievable.”

“I like you, Leroy. You setting up any more tours for me?”

Leroy flicked a fleeting glance at Jezzibella, who gave him a tiny shake of her head. “No, Al; Merced is the last for a while.
It’s more important you’re up at Monterey for a while now, what with the next stage just about ready.”

“Goddamn, am I glad to hear that.”

Leroy smiled contentedly, and put the accountancy block back in his slim case. “Thanks for listening, Al.” He stood.

“No problem. I’ll just have a word with Silvano, here, then the pair of you can get back into space.”

“Sure, Al.”

“So?” Al asked when Leroy had left.

“It ain’t my concern, Al,” Silvano said. “If that’s the way you wanna do it, then fine by me. I admit, we gotta have some
kinda dough around here, else things are gonna start falling apart pretty damn fast. We can only keep people in line with
the SD platforms for so long.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Al waved a discontented hand. Money for magic, Je-zus, even the numbers racket was more honest than that. He
stared at his lieutenant; if it hadn’t been for the ability to sense emotions there would have been no way for him to work
out what was going on behind that Latino poker face.

But Silvano was eager about something. “So what do you want? And it better be good fucking news.”

“I think it may be. Somebody came back from beyond who had some interesting information for us. He’s an African type, name
of Ambar.” Silvan smiled at the memory. “He wound up in a blond Ivy League body, man was he pissed about that; it’s taking
up a lot of effort to turn himself into a true brother again.”

“Now
there’s
someone who could cash in a potload of Leroy’s tokens,” Jezzibella said innocently. She popped another Turkish delight in
her mouth, and winked at Al as Silvano scowled.

“Right,” Al chuckled. “What did he want to trade?”

“He’s only been dead thirty years,” Silvano said. “Came from a planet called Garissa, said it got blown away, the whole damn
world. Some kind of starship attack that used antimatter. Don’t know whether to believe him or not.”

“You know anything about that?” Al asked Jezzibella.

“Sure, baby, I nearly did a concept album on the Garissa Genocide once. Too depressing, though. It happened all right.”

“Sweet shit, a whole planet. And this Ambar guy was there?”

“So he says.”

“Antimatter can really do that? Waste out an entire planet?”

“Yeah. But the thing is, Al, he says the Garissa government was working on their own weapon when they got wasted, something
to fire at Omuta. The biggest weapon ever built, he swears. And he oughta know, he was some hotshot rocket scientist for their
navy.”

“Another weapon?”

“Yeah. They called it the Alchemist. Ambar said it got built, but never got used. Said the whole fucking Confederation would
know if it had been, that mother’s got some punch.”

“So it’s still around,” Al said. “Let me guess: he’ll lead us right to it.”

“No. But he says he knows someone who can. His old college lecturer, a broad called Alkad Mzu.”

•  •  •

Lady Macbeth
was scheduled to depart in another eight hours, though no one would ever guess by looking at her. Twenty per cent of her
hull was still open to space, exposing the hexagonal stress structure; engineers on waldo platforms had the gaps completely
surrounded, working with methodical haste to integrate the new systems they had installed to replace battle-damaged units.

There was an equal amount of well-ordered effort going on inside the life-support capsules, as crews from five service and
astroengineering companies laboured to bring the starship up to its full combat capable status. A status whose performance
figures would surprise a lot of conventional warship captains. A status she hadn’t truly enjoyed for decades. Her standard
internal fittings were being stripped out, replaced by their military-grade equivalents.

Joshua wanted the old girl readied at peak performance, and as Ione was paying… The more he thought about what he’d agreed
to do for her, the more he worried about it. Immersing himself in the details of the refit was an easy escape, almost as good
as flying.

He had spent most of yesterday holding conferences with astroengineering company managers discussing how to compress a fortnight’s
work into forty-eight hours. Now he watched attentively as their technicians clustered around the consoles manipulating the
cyberdrones and waldo arms enclosing
Lady Mac
.

A pair of legs slid through the control centre’s hatch, wobbling about as though the owner wasn’t quite accustomed to free-fall
manoeuvring. Joshua hurriedly grabbed at the offending trousers, pulling the man to one side before his shoes caught one of
the console operators behind her ear.

“Thank you, Joshua,” a red-faced Horst Elwes said as Joshua guided him down onto a stikpad. He gave a watery blink, and peered
out into the bay. “I was told I would find you here. I heard that you had found yourself a charter flight.”

There was no detectable irony in the priest’s tone, so Joshua said: “Yes, the Lord of Ruin contracted me to pick up some essential
specialist components to enhance Tranquillity’s defences. The industrial stations outside don’t manufacture every component
which goes into the SD platforms.” Joshua didn’t actually hear anyone snigger, but there were definitely some sly grins flashing
around the consoles. Nobody knew for sure what the flight was for, but they all had a good idea what it didn’t entail. As
an excuse the components charter was pretty feeble. Ione had reported that every intelligence agency in the habitat had taken
a sudden interest in his impending departure.

“But they can manage to build combat wasps, apparently,” Horst said with gentle amusement. Brackets on the bay walls held
sixty-five combat wasps ready for loading into
Lady Macbeth’s
launch tubes.

“One of the reasons we won the contract, Father.
Lady Mac
can carry cargo and fight her way out of trouble.”

“If you say so, young Joshua. But please, don’t try that one on St Peter if you ever make it to those big white gates.”

“I’ll bear it in mind. Was there something you wanted?”

“Nothing important. I was gladdened to hear your starship was being repaired for you.
Lady Macbeth
sustained a lot of damage rescuing us. I understand how expensive such machinery is. I wouldn’t want you to suffer a financial
penalty for such a selfless act.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“The children would like to see you before you leave.”

“Er… Why?”

“I believe they want to say thank you.”

“Oh, yes.” He glanced at Melvyn, who appeared equally discomforted. “I’ll try, Father.”

“I thought you could combine it with the memorial service. They will all be there for that.”

“What memorial service?”

“Oh, dear, didn’t Sarha tell you? The bishop has agreed that I can hold a service of commemoration to those who sacrificed
themselves for the children. I think Mr Malin’s team and Warlow deserve our prayers. It starts in three hours time.”

Joshua’s good humour drained away. I do not want to think about death and after, not right now.

Horst studied the young man’s face, seeing both anxiety and guilt expressed in the carefully composed features. “Joshua,”
he said quietly. “There is more to death than the beyond. Believe me, I have seen how much more with my own two eyes. The
recordings your friend Kelly made, while truthful, do not contain anything like the whole story. Do you think I could retain
my faith in Our Lord if Shaun Wallace had been right?”

“What did you see?”

“The one thing which could convince me. For you, I expect it would be different.”

“I see. We have to come to faith in our own way?”

“As always, yes.”

•  •  •

Tranquillity’s cathedral was modelled on the old European archetype. One of the few buildings inside the habitat, it grew
up out of the parkland several kilometres away from the circle of starscraper lobbies halfway along the cylinder. The polyp
walls were lily-white, with an arching ceiling ribbed by smooth polygonal ridges to give the appearance of a long-abandoned
hive nest. Tall gashes in the wall had been sealed by traditional stained glass, with a huge circular rosette at the end of
the nave overlooking the stone altar. The Virgin Mary, baby Jesus in arm, gazed down on the slab of granite which Michael
Saldana had brought from Earth.

Joshua had been given a place in the front pew, sitting next to Ione. He hadn’t had time to change out of his ship-suit, while
she was dressed in some exquisitely elegant black dress complete with elaborate hat. At least the rest of the
Lady Mac
’s crew shared his sartorial manner.

The service was short, perhaps because of the children who fidgeted and whispered. Joshua didn’t mind. He sang the hymns and
listened to Horst’s sermon, and joined in with the prayers of thanks.

It wasn’t quite as cathartic as he wanted it to be, but there was some sense of relief. People congregating together to tell
the dead of their gratitude. And just how did that ritual start, he wondered—have we always known they’d be watching?

Ione propelled him over to the knot of children after it was over. Father Horst and several pediatric nurses were trying to
keep them in order. They looked different, Joshua decided. The gaggle which closed around him could have been any junior day
club on an outing. Certainly none of them resembled that subdued, frightened group who had flooded on board
Lady Mac
barely a week ago.

As they giggled and recited their rehearsed thank yous he realized he was grinning back. Some good came out of the mission
after all. In the background Father Horst was nodding approvingly. Wily old sod, Joshua thought, he set me up for this.

There were others filing out of the cathedral, the usual clutter of rover reporters, (surprisingly) the Edenists from Aethra,
a large number of the clientele from Harkey’s Bar and other space industry haunts, a few combat-boosted, Kelly Tirrel. Joshua
excused himself from the children and caught up with her in the narthex.

“Lady Mac
is departing this evening,” he said lamely.

“I know.”

“I caught some of the Collins news shows; you’ve done all right for yourself.”

“Yes. Finally, I’m officially more popular than Matthias Rems.” There was humour in her voice, but not her expression.

“There’s a berth if you want it.”

“No thanks, Joshua.” She glanced over at Ione who was chatting to Horst Elwes. “I don’t know what she’s conned you into doing
for her, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“It’s only a charter to pick up components which—”

“Fuck off, Joshua. If that’s all there is to it, why offer me a place? And why load
Lady Mac
full of top-grade combat wasps? You’re heading straight back into trouble, aren’t you?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“I don’t need it, Joshua. I don’t need the fame, I don’t need the risk. For fuck’s sake, do you know what’s going to happen
to you if you die? Didn’t you access any of my recordings?” She almost seemed to be pleading with him.

“Yes, Kelly, I accessed some of them. I know what happens when you die. But you can’t give up hope for something better. You
can’t stop living just because you’re frightened. You kept going on Lalonde, despite everything the dead threw at you. And
you triumphed.”

“Ha!” She let out a bitter, agonized laugh. “I wouldn’t call that triumph if I were you: thirty kids saved. That’s the most
pathetic defeat in history. Even Custer did better than that.”