Transmission: Ragnarok: Book Two (26 page)

Perhaps training Fleming and his small corps of torturers was the most questionable thing she had done. Or maybe it was the increasingly vicious – because deep – mindwipe procedures carried out on innocent witnesses and on officers of the intelligence service itself.

What would they ask her to do next?

And why do I always agree?

But her subjective analysis could not be so deeply rigorous without self-honesty to a degree few people were capable of. Lying to others was an art; lying to herself was impossible. That was why she knew about the hidden reason, the one she would never admit to.

Twisting other minds was a rush, a power trip.

When she came out of slowtime, her chief assistant, Alfredo, was waiting to talk.

‘Hey, boss,’ he said. ‘I did the check-up you asked for on Darius Boyle.’

‘Using Med-Centre cover?’

‘Well, yeah. I wouldn’t want him to associate me with his condition. He’s a bit too … physical for me to handle.’

‘And what
is
his condition?’ said Sapherson. ‘The same as before?’

‘The aphasia’s stopped increasing for sure, and the remedial therapy is probably pushing it back. Visits from his sister – from his viewpoint, a stranger claiming to be his sister, and with what appears to be fake evidence to prove it – remain upsetting. I observed that firsthand.’

It proved the strength of her technique for following associative potentiation. Say that much for it.

‘I saw Colonel Garber on the way in,’ Alfredo added. ‘He said he has another assignment for us. Same kind of thing as Boyle, in fact.’

‘Another one?’ Sapherson had performed the amnesia treatment because Boyle had learned classified information beyond his authorization level. The necessity arose from the way the field officers worked, from other people’s imperatives, not her own. ‘Maybe they should manage their officers more carefully.’

‘But we’ll do the job?’

‘Of course we’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Where is this person?’

Alfredo gestured.

‘I’ve got the rotation set up.’

‘Let’s go see, then.’

She stepped inside, with Alfredo following, and allowed him to control the fastpath. They stepped into a chamber containing three people, one of them seated. He was a shaven-headed, bulky man, familiar enough.

‘You captured Gould?’ she said to the others, while staring at Gould himself.

‘Not exactly.’ He stood up, and gestured at the seat. ‘Why don’t you relax, Doctor? A little chat, and there’ll be no harm to anyone.’

Sapherson jerked back, hoping the fastpath was still in place.

No
.

But Alfredo was standing off to one side, shaking his head. Her exit route had disappeared at his command, it seemed. It took a moment to process his betrayal.

‘We’ve been asked to do questionable things,’ he said. ‘Except
you
didn’t question them.’

‘Not in front of my subordinates, no.’

Max Gould gestured again.

‘Pretend you’re a warm, reasonable person,’ he said. ‘And sit down before we make you.’

She looked at the others standing behind him. One man, one woman; both hard-faced.

‘Very well, since I’m under coercion.’ Once on the seat, she felt flowmetal encasing her forearms and lower legs; but she stared at Gould rather than look down at her bonds. ‘Murder and treason,’ she added. ‘Now you’re bringing collaborators into your game. Bringing them down with you.’

The woman walked from behind the chair and stared at Sapherson.

‘One person in this room is working with Labyrinth’s enemies.’ Her voice was pitiless. ‘Only one.’

‘I work for the Admiralty—’

‘We
all
work for the Admiralty, but only one of us is erasing memories of threats to Labyrinth.’

Threats?

‘You need to be more precise.’

‘Boyle and his colleague,’ said the woman, then smiled as Sapherson flinched. ‘So you recognize him.’

The other man walked into full view.

‘Nice to see you again, Dr Sapherson. On behalf of Darius Boyle, I really,
really
want to hurt you. That’s something you might bear in mind.’ With a nasty smile: ‘Don’t go forgetting it now.’

‘The necessity for fullest depotentiation,’ she said, ‘was impressed upon me by Admiral Schenck himself. I was acting on a wholly legal order, isn’t that obvious?’

‘And Admiral Kaltberg,’ asked the woman. ‘How legal was what you did to her?’

What is this?

‘I gave her the normal treatment for someone in her position. She was looking forward to enjoying full retirement,’ said Sapherson, ‘unburdened by classified secrets from her time in—’

Gould’s fists were clenching.

He’s the danger here
.

But from the corner of the room, Alfredo looked up from a pulsing holodisplay.

‘She’s telling the truth,’ he said. ‘She administered the normal amnesia regimen.’

‘In which case’ – Gould leaned close, almost spitting in her face as he spoke – ‘who induced the suicide compulsion and forced the graser pistol on her?’

‘On Admiral Kaltberg?’ Sapherson swallowed. ‘Someone conditioned her?’

Again, Alfredo backed her up.

‘Everything indicates real surprise,’ he said. ‘Someone used black psych techniques, but it wasn’t her. It’s not like there’s a shortage of people with those skills.’

‘Not exactly a glut on the market, though.’ Gould was leaning close again. ‘And the real bastards are the ones you’ve trained, aren’t they, Sapherson?’

There was only one answer possible.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘In which case,’ said Gould, ‘there’s one question left that’ll determine whether you survive this little chat.’

Her limbs began to shake, despite the restraints. These were the symptoms both of hypothermia and hyperthermia in the final stages, and of simple hyperventilation, the last of which she ought to be able to control.

They’re willing to kill me
.

She did not need instruments to know that Gould meant his threat.

‘When you wiped the memories of Boyle and his colleague here—’

‘Clayton,’ she said. ‘I remember his name.’

‘—right, when you did that, did you isolate the memories from a location and timestamp, or did you know the content and theme of the memories to erase? Was it a
themed
amnesia?’

For all Sapherson’s efforts to stare hard, Gould’s face seemed blurred, yet filling her visual field.

Stress symptoms
.

She needed to answer him.

‘Time and place,’ she said. ‘That’s all I needed.’

Gould looked over at Alfredo.

‘Say the word.’

‘It’s the truth,’ said Alfredo. ‘She doesn’t know about the darkness.’

None of this was coherent. Darkness?

‘Confirmed by her ongoing reaction,’ added Alfredo. ‘She’s clean.’

Her restraints melted into the chair.

‘Only in a manner of speaking,’ said Gould.

They gave her three choices: death, mindwipe at Alfredo’s hands, or helping them. She made no smart remarks about the illusion of freedom, because Clayton’s desire to avenge Boyle was unfeigned, and because however much Alfredo’s analysis had exonerated her, clearly she was unconsciously associated with Admiral Kaltberg’s murder in Max Gould’s mind at least, and probably in the nameless woman’s.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Trample through someone’s brain,’ said Clayton. ‘That’s your talent, isn’t it?’

‘Perhaps with a bit more finesse than that,’ said Gould.

‘I’ll do it, of course.’

A variety of facial expressions formed silent responses to her words; but a mid-air ripple drew her attention from her captors. A fastpath rotation was forming—

Rescue?

—from which two men stepped, both of them familiar.

‘What is this?’ The first was Admiral Turnbull. ‘I thought we were going to—’

His eyes rolled up as his body lost muscular tensegrity, and collapsed.

‘Got you.’ Clayton caught hold of a sleeve and shoulder. ‘Someone get support under him, will you?’

‘Doing it.’ Alfredo gestured. ‘There you go.’

Flowmetal rose up, forming an inclined seat beneath Turnbull, then straightening out as it took his weight, turning into a horizontal table or bed.

Turnbull’s companion was Pavel Karelin.

‘How many of you people are there?’ asked Sapherson.

‘I’d tell you,’ said Karelin, ‘but I’d have to mindwipe you.’

Only the woman barked a laugh.

‘Here’s how it goes.’ Gould was taking charge. ‘We’re going to ask the admiral here some questions under trance. He’s backed some bad decisions in the Council, but we believe that’s more due to his being fed misinformation—’

‘And being a total arsehole,’ said the woman.

‘—plus his own personal ambition, let’s say, rather than actually plotting against Labyrinth.’

Sapherson rubbed a knuckle under her eye. Were these people prey to a group delusion? One charismatic leader and partial isolation from peers could produce a situation where every group decision reinforced the leader’s conviction and fed on his approval. It was a basic form of cognitive bias liable to surface in group situations.

‘You’ll be able to judge for yourself,’ Gould told her, as if she had delivered her analysis aloud. ‘There are two outcomes possible. One is, Turnbull is essentially innocent but manipulated. In that case, you will wipe his memory of our interrogation and that’s it. Nothing more. No implanted suggestions. We let him go as he is.’

‘All right.’

‘Option two is, he’s one of the bastards we’re up against, and you’ll hear from his own mouth why Labyrinth is in danger.’

‘And then I mindwipe him.’

‘No.’ Gould looked at the others. ‘In that case, amnesia will be unnecessary.’

Sapherson wanted to say, so the ends justify the means for you as well as for me. But she was not that stupid.

‘If it’s option one,’ she said instead, ‘then I guess I’ll never know what this conspiracy is about, will I?’

‘Yeah, you will,’ said Karelin. ‘Because once we’re done with Turnbull, I’ll bring the next one in, and then the next. We’re going to find one of the bad guys for sure.’

She did not smile at
bad guys
.

‘How many people?’

‘Enough to be certain.’

So they were serious; but then, that was obvious.

‘And what happens after that?’ she said.

‘Then things will move very fast,’ said Gould.

That was when the fear-for-self left her, because there were greater things happening here than the life of one neuroscientist, things of moment; and for all her failings, when it came to the city-world that nurtured them all in this ur-continuum, there was one thing she knew, deep inside, deeper even than the needs that drove her in her work.

She would sooner die than allow Labyrinth to fall.

Ulfr woke up thinking of wisdom personified as a woman –
Kenna?
– but that was too abstract because he was holding
her
, his sweet Eira; and they fitted together in every way, as he had always known they would. Two halves of a single shape, now complete.

‘Hey, warrior.’

Her eyes were clear. He ignored the scent coming from her poultice, inhaled the breath she had exhaled, and kissed her. That one kiss contained more sensuality than every experience with every other young woman in his life.

‘Ulfr, my wolf.’

‘Yes.’

‘Love me.’

And so he did, and it was marvellous once more.

The sheep hobbled outside Eira’s hut was a present from Chief Folkvar, she said, supposed to cheer her up. Then she tucked her arm inside Ulfr’s, and her smile was a reflection of the sun, bright enough to blind.

‘Take me for a walk, warrior.’

‘I’ll take you anywhere.’

‘Hmm. Heimdall’s Point, then.’

‘Are you up to it?’

Her gait was slow and off-kilter, limping to favour the torso wound; and she was already breathless, just a little.

‘Perhaps a strong warrior will carry me if I get tired.’

‘Perhaps he will.’

Smiles were everywhere as the clan members saw them walking as a couple. In the aftermath of violence, good things might happen; and when they did, they should be celebrated. Even Vermundr grinned, without a sarcastic witticism, not even a whistle.

Eira. At last
.

All of the Middle World seemed to brighten as they walked.

From the promontory, they could see the lake, sparkling now, the blueness of far mountains, and the village down below. Close to the edge, the potential of that cliff-like drop exhilarated like the life-giving air, pure and washing through them.