The Night's Dawn Trilogy (359 page)

The
Kerachel
swept in above the ledge, appearing so swiftly out of the umbra it might have just swallowed in. A pointed lozenge-shape,
a hundred metres long, it hardly hesitated as it found its designated pedestal and sank down. Knowing that even though it
couldn’t see her expression, it could sense her thoughts, she smiled arrogantly down upon it. “Any problems?” she asked casually.

“Monterey’s command centre monitored its patrol flight,” Hudson Proctor replied. “No deviations. Eight suspect objects destroyed.”

“Well done,” she murmured. A hand waved languid permission to start. Hudson Proctor picked up a handset, and began speaking
into it. Two hundred metres below the departure lounge, her loyal little team opened a valve, and the precious fluid surged
along a pipe out to the pedestal. A feeling of contentment strummed the air like background music as
Kerachel
began sucking in its food. Kiera could feel the hellhawk’s mood, it mellowed her own.

There were eighty-seven hellhawks based at Monterey now. A formidable flotilla by anyone’s standards. Securing them for herself
had absorbed all her efforts over the last few days. Now it was time to start thinking ahead again. Her position here was
actually a lot stronger than it had been at Valisk. If the habitat was a fiefdom, then New California was a kingdom in comparison.
One which Capone appeared singularly inept at maintaining. The main reason she’d established herself so easily in the docking
ledges was the apathy spreading through Monterey. Nobody thought to question her.

That simply wouldn’t do. In building his Organization, Capone had grasped an instinctive truth. People, possessed or otherwise,
needed structure and order in their lives. It was one of the reasons they fell into line so easily, familiarity was a welcome
comrade. Give them the kind of nirvana which existed (though she had strong suspicions about that) in the realm where planets
shifted to, and the population would sink into a wretched, lotus-eating state. The Siamese twin of unending indulgent leisure.
If she was honest to herself, she was terrified of the immortality she’d been given. Life would change beyond comprehension,
and that was going to be very hard indeed. For an adaptation of that magnitude, she would no longer be herself.

And that, I will not permit.

She enjoyed what she was and what she’d got, the drives and needs. Like this, at least she remained recognizably human. That
identity was worth preserving. Worth fighting for.

Capone wouldn’t do it. He was weak, controlled by that ingenious trollop Jezzibella, by a non-possessed.

In the Organization, a method of enforcing control over an entire planetary population had been perfected. If she was in charge,
it could be used to implement her policies. The possessed would learn to live with their phobia of open skies. In return they
would have the normal human existence they craved. There would be no dangerous metamorphosis into an alien state of being.
She would remain whole. Herself.

A twitch of motion broke her contemplation. Someone was walking along the docking ledge, someone in a bulky orange and white
spacesuit with a globular helmet. Compared to modern SSI suits, the thing was ridiculously old-fashioned. The only reason
for wearing one was if you didn’t have neural nanonics.

“Are there any engineering crews on the ledge?” Kiera asked. She couldn’t see any hellhawks receiving maintenance right now.

“A couple,” Hudson Proctor answered. “The
Foica
is being loaded with combat wasps, and
Varrad
’s main fusion generator needs work on its heat dump panels.”

“Oh. Where… ”

“Kiera.” Hudson held up the handset in trepidation. “Capone’s calling all his senior lieutenants. It’s an invite to some kind
of glam party this evening.”

“Really?” She gave the spacesuited figure one last glance. “And I haven’t a thing to wear. But if our Great and Glorious Leader
has summoned me, I’d better not disappoint him.”

______

Back on Koblat, they called these spacesuits ballcrushers. Jed had worn one before for an emergency evacuation drill, and
now he was remembering why. Putting it on was easy enough; when they got it out of the locker it was a flaccid sack three
times too large for his frame. He’d wriggled into it, standing with arms outstretched and legs apart so the baggy fabric could
hang unobstructed off each limb. Then Beth had activated the wristpad control, and the fabric contracted like an all-over
tourniquet. Now every part of his body was being squeezed tight. It was the same principle as an SII suit, preventing any
loose bubbles of air becoming trapped between his skin and the suit. If a suit contained any sort of gas, it would inflate
like a rigid balloon as soon as he stepped out into a vacuum.

This way, he could move about almost unrestricted. Providing he ignored the sharp pincer sensation besetting his crotch at
every motion. Not an entirely easy thing to disregard.

But apart from that, the suit was functioning smoothly. He wished his heart would do the same. According to the hazy purple
icons projected onto the inside of his helmet, the suit’s integral thermal shunt strips were conducting away a lot of heat.
Nerves and an adrenaline high were making the blood pound away in his arteries. His tension wasn’t helped by the rank of huge
hellhawks he was walking along. He knew they could sense his thoughts and all the guilt cluttering up his skull, which made
the torment even worse. A bad case of feedback. Bubbles of plastic and dark metal clung to the underbellies of the bitek starships
like mechanical excrescences. Weapons and sensors. He was sure every one of them was tracking him.

“Jed, you’re getting worse,” Rocio told him.

“How can you tell?”

“Why are you whispering? You are using a legitimate spacesuit radio frequency. If the Organization is monitoring this, which
I doubt, they still have to decrypt the signal, which I also doubt their ability to do. As far as they are concerned you are
just one of Kiera’s people, while she will think you belong to the Organization. That’s the beauty of this in-fighting, nobody
knows what anyone else is doing around here.”

“Sorry,” Jed said contritely into the helmet mike.

“I’m monitoring your body functions, and your heartrate is still climbing.”

That brought a shudder which rippled up from Jed’s legs to make his chest quiver. “Oh Jeeze. I’ll come back.”

“No no, you’re doing fine. Only another three hundred metres to the airlock.”

“But the hellhawks are going to know!”

“Only if you don’t take precautions. I think it’s time we used a little chemical help here.”

“I didn’t bring any. We weren’t supposed to need that in Valisk.”

“I don’t mean your underclass narcotics. The suit medical module will provide what you need.”

Jed hadn’t even known the suit had any medical modules. Following Rocio’s instructions, he tapped out a series of orders on
the wristpad. The air in the helmet changed slightly, becoming cooler, and smelling of mint. For such a small suffusion, its
effect was swift. The cold massaged its way in through Jed’s muscles, bringing a nearly-orgasmic sigh from his throat. It
was a hit stronger than anything he’d ever scored in Koblat. His mind was being methodically purged of fright by this balmy
tide of wellbeing. He held up his arms, expecting to see all his anxiety streaming out of his fingertips like liquid light.

“Not bad,” he declared.

“How much did you infuse?” Rocio asked. The hellhawk’s voice came across as brittle and irritating. “What you said,” Jed retorted
in a fashion which demonstrated quite plainly who was occupying the lead role. A couple of the physiology icons were flashing
a rather pleasing pink in front of him. Like pretty little flower buds opening, he thought.

“All right, Jed, let’s keep going, shall we?”

“Sure thing, mate.”

He started walking forwards again. Even the twinge in his groin was less of an issue now. That medical suffusion was good
shit. The hellhawks had stopped radiating their intimidation. With his mind chilling he started to see them in a different
context; grounded on their pedestals, sucking desperately at their drink. Not so much different to himself and the girls.
He acquired a more confident stride as he passed the last two.

Rocio’s voice started issuing directions again, guiding him in towards the airlock. Tall spires of machinery ran up the rock
cliff at the back of the ledge, sprouting pipes in a crazed dendritic formation. Several small fountains of thin vapour were
jetting out horizontally from junctions and micrometeorite punctures; their presence a testament to Monterey’s floundering
maintenance programme. Windows were set into the drab, sheered rock; long panoramic rectangles fronting departure lounges
and engineering management offices. All but two were dark, reflecting weak outlines of the floodlit hellhawks. The remaining
pair revealed nothing but vague shadows moving behind their frosted anti-glare shielding.

Maintenance vehicles, cargo trucks, and crew buses had been left scattered along the base of the cliff. Jed made his way through
the maze they formed, thankful of the cover. The airlocks waited for him beyond, unlit tunnels leading into the asteroid.
Conduits that would take him directly to the nest of the most feared possessed in the Confederation. His trepidation rose
again as he approached them. He stopped on the threshold of a personnel airlock, and used the wristpad again.

“Careful how much of that trauma suppresser you inhale,” Rocio said lightly. “It’s strong stuff, they designed it to keep
you functional after an accident.”

“No worries,” Jed said earnestly. “I can handle it.”

“Very well. There’s no one in the area immediately behind the airlock. Time to go in.”

“Jed?” Beth’s voice sounded loud and high in his helmet. “Jed, can you hear me?”

“Sure, doll.”

“Okay. We’re watching the screens, too. Rocio is relaying images from the cameras inside, so we’ll look out for you, mate.
And he’s right about the medical module, go easy on it, huh? I want to share some of that suffusion with you when you get
back.”

Even in his tranquil state, Jed interpreted that right. He went into the airlock feeling majestic.

He took his helmet off, and took a breath of neutral air. It helped to clear his head a bit, not so much euphoria, but none
of the fright, either. Good enough. Rocio gave him a whole string of directions to follow, and he started off cautiously down
the corridor.

The store room for crew supplies wasn’t far from the airlock, naturally enough. Rocio had been keeping a careful watch on
things, seeing what happened when other hell-hawks came to dock. Several of his bitek comrades still had crew on board. The
combat wasps they carried required activation codes, and following standard security procedures, Kiera and Capone had split
the codes between loyalists. No one person could fire them. It was a significant point that she hadn’t asked Rocio to carry
any. Jed found the door Rocio nominated, and pulled back the clamps. Cold air breezed out, turning his breath to foggy streamers.
Inside, the room was split into aisles by long free-standing shelves. Despite the Organization’s claim that normalizing food
production on New California was a priority, there weren’t many packs left. Processing food for the space industry was a specialist
business; ideally, everything had to be crumbs-free, taste-strengthened, and packaged in minimum volume. Leroy Octavius had
decided that restarting the kitchen facilities of the relevant companies wasn’t cost effective. Consequently, fleet crews
had been making do with old stocks and standard pre-packed meals.

“What’s there?” Beth asked impatiently. There were no cameras actually in the store room, Rocio had to go on what he’d seen
being taken in and out.

Jed walked down the aisles, brushing the frost dust off various labels. “Plenty,” he muttered. Providing you liked yoghurt,
mint potatocakes, cheese and tomato flans (dehydrated in sachets that looked like fat biscuits), blackcurrant and apple mousse
concentrate; complemented with hot-frozen cubes of broccoli, spinach, carrot, and sprouts.

“Oh bugger.”

“What’s the matter?” Rocio asked.

“Nothing. The boxes are heavy, that’s all. We’re going to have a real party when I get this lot back to the ship.”

“Are there any chocolate oranges?” Gari piped up.

“I’ll have a look, sweetheart,” Jed lied. He went back out into the corridor to fetch a trolley which had been abandoned just
along from the store room. It ought to fit through the airlock, which meant he could use that to transport everything back
to the
Mindori
. Then they’d all have to be carried up the stairs to the life support module’s airlock. It was going to be a long hard day.
“Somebody coming,” Rocio announced after Jed had got a dozen boxes out of the store room and onto the trolley.

Jed stopped dead, hugging a box of compressed rye chips. “Who?” he hissed.

“Not sure. Camera image isn’t too good. Small guy.”

“Where is he?” Jed dropped the box, wincing at the sound.

“A hundred metres away. But heading your way.”

“Oh Jeeze. Is he possessed?”

“Unknown.”

Jed shot across the storage room and closed the door. Nothing he could do about the damning trolley outside, though. His heart
began yammering as he flattened himself against the wall beside the door—as if that made a difference.

“Still coming,” Rocio announced calmly. “Seventy metres now.”

Jed’s hand crept down to the utility pocket on his hip. Fingers flicked the seal catch, and he dug inside. His hand closed
around the cold, reassuring grip of the laser pistol.

“Thirty metres. He’s coming to the junction with your corridor.”

Don’t look at the bloody trolley, Jed prayed. Christ, please don’t.

He drew the laser pistol out, and studied the simple controls for a second. Switched modes to constant beam, full power. Repeater
was no good, a possessed would be able to screw with the electrics inside while he was shooting. He was only going to have
one chance.