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  Storyworks Posse

  Storm Ring

  Zero Point Light 1

  Copyright 2014 Stephen J. Carter

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  Table of Contents

  1 | Landfall

  2 | Levrok’s Compound

  3 | Rainer

  4 | Flight

  5 | Lightsphere

  6 | Storm Ring

  7 | Parting

  8 | Watyra

  9 | The Column

  10 | Tulvar

  Review

  About the Author

  Other Titles

  Connect

  Preview: New Siqdor

  1 | Landfall

  The convoy of three shuttles drifted along at factor 2 FTL. All three needed several months in a maintenance facility, and only one had any crew on board – the Arcturus-4.

  The Arc-4 had entered the local star system several months earlier. It had become little more than a silent sentinel orbiting the planet below once every thirty-three hours. The ship’s life support systems were operating in stasis hibernation, barely enough to keep the bodies in its care alive. In fact atrophy had claimed much of each body’s systems, yet not irretrievably so. The six in stasis had a few weeks until they passed the point of no return.

  The ship’s thousands of other internal systems were no less busy. The ship’s computer, Trinh, had decided it was time to wake her human cargo. Tentacles of phosphorescence writhed along the surface of the six pods, which technically were not material in constitution, nor did they have a stable, continuous shape. Each pod was an energy field with a body suspended inside. Each individual thus housed was not unlike each enveloping pod, a body not fully there, not quite possessing the integrity of matter. Waking up was more than reaching consciousness; each person in effect re-manifested into material form. Briefly intensifying its symbiosis with its human guest, the phosphorescence of the pod dilated and faded. The pod itself seemed to vanish into the body manifesting under its care. One of the six empty pallets was now replaced by an opaque, cocoon-like bubble.

  When Mick’s increased metabolism breached stasis, his bubble receded. He stretched and awkwardly sat up. Reaching back he picked up a robe from an inset wall shelf. As he struggled to pull it on he glanced at the five remaining, empty pallets. A miniature electrical storm was visible through the screen of Turok’s bubble – his friend would join him soon. The others had not yet begun. He stood up unsteadily.

  “Good to have you back, Mick,” the ship’s computer said.

  “Thanks, Trinh.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’ve felt better.” He walked towards the holo-monitor. “It’s good to be back.”

  “Prepare yourself, Mick,” Trinh said cryptically.

  “Why?” he asked, as a projection of their region of space took form around him, the lights in the cabin simultaneously dimming. Mick looked at the sun on the event horizon, perspective adjusted for its proximity. He turned and looked into several points of the digital 3D compass. His brow creased in confusion.

  “Amplify,” he said.

  Three star clusters in two of the densest regions of deep space dissolved, then leapt nearer. Mick rubbed his eyes.

  “What the–” he said.

  He walked closer to one of the brighter star systems. “It can’t be.”

  “What can’t be, Mick?” Turok said as he walked slowly into the holofield, his robe flapping as he tied it.

  Mick was shaking his head. “You tell me.”

  The other hiberstasis crew members emerged from the alcove behind Turok, and stood outside the holofield. Carmen, who had changed into her ever-practical shorts and T-shirt, crossed to the wall monitor. Aleesha, immaculate in a tan sleeveless turtleneck, stood in the doorway. Bringing up the rear was Sorel, who stopped and leaned against the wall by the doorway.

  They all watched, glancing nervously at each other, as Turok stood beside Mick near the projected star cluster. Turok shrugged and walked ahead into the cluster. He whistled. “Mick, this isn’t where we’re supposed to be.”

  “No, it’s a different quadrant.”

  “How?” Turok asked.

  “Explain, Trinh,” Mick said.

  “Our present location,” the ship’s computer said, “is a distance of 93.6 quadrants from our pre-hiberstasis location.”

  “Hey guys, don’t mind us,” Giorgi said as he entered the holofield.

  Carmen activated the wall monitor, and a 2D image of the planet appeared. “Trinh, one question. Are we now looking at Ramses?”

  “No,” the computer answered.

  Mick interrupted quietly, “How long were we in hiberstasis?”

  “185 days.”

  “Six months? Come on, no way!” Turok objected.

  “Tell us everything,” Carmen asked, a touch of fear in her voice.

  “After the incident on the Surprise,” Trinh began, “my new subroutine prime became – seek a habitable planet.”

  The room fell silent.

  “What incident?” Mick asked.

  “The Surprise came under attack. The six of you were already in hiberstasis for the excursion to Ramses. But after Ramses was impacted –”

  The six survivors gave a collective gasp.

  “What do you mean ‘impacted’?” Carmen repeated.

  “A force of unknown nature and origin,” Trinh said, “struck Ramses, instantly causing a global tsunami that flooded 80% of the planet’s exposed landmass.”

  “Nothing survived?” Carmen asked, in a barely audible voice.

  “What about the Surprise, and the convoy?” Turok added.

  “Unknown. I’m sorry.”

  “Trinh, this force,” Mick said, “… you must have some … the fact you can identify it means you observed something.”

  “No, Mick. I observed a disturbance in space-time which seemed to approach Ramses just prior to the impact. I infer this disturbance was the force I referred to.”

  They kept trying to take it in.

  Turok spoke brusquely. “Speculate from what you observed. Could this force have been a naturally-occurring event?”

  The computer hesitated a moment. “Improbable.”

  “So it was very likely a weapon of some sort,” Turok said.

  “Yes, that’s plausible. If I speculate beyond given parameters,” she added, “its behavior suggests it could be a life form.”

  Turok shook his head.

  “Let’s set that possibility aside for now,” Mick said. “Trinh, for an observer in the nearest inhabited system, how would this event appear?”

  “It would appear as a natural disaster.”

  “Like a large piece of space debris impacted the planet?”

  “Yes, or a similar event.”

  Mick had walked out of the holofield and brought up a 2D file image of Ramses on the holoscreen. “Was anything missing in this disturbance? Was anything absent that should have been there?”

  “Charged ions,” the computer answered. “The disturbance was briefly empty of all ions.”

  “An ion hole in space-time?” Turok said.

  “Yes. I surmise that is what caused our current neutronics malfunction.”

  Turok groaned. “We’ve lost neutronics?”

  “Yes, it’s ra
pidly degrading.”

  Trinh tasked an image of the planet they now approached, a corner inset in the Ramses image.

  The room fell silent.

  “I determined that this planet, Nebura, was the nearest. I brought us here.”

  “Trinh, let me ask again,” Carmen said, still shocked by the implied fate of their convoy. “What are the … odds … that any of the convoy ships survived?”

  “They were not in the immediate vicinity of Ramses. It’s possible they survived.” They could almost feel the shrug behind her words. “I must add, it disappeared from my sensors at the exact moment of impact. The probability of survival is low. I’m sorry, Carmen.”

  Sorel pushed away from the wall. “So you were cruising along towards Ramses, and slam!” he said, bringing his hands together in a loud clap. “Then you brought us here. Brilliant!”

  “That is an accurate summary, Sorel,” Trinh replied, immune to sarcasm.

  “So there’s nothing for us to return to.”

  Carmen whirled around. “Is that all you can say!”

  “Deal with it,” Sorel said under his breath.

  “Look,” Mick said. “The people on Ramses. It could be they had time to get off world safely. We don’t know.”

  Turok nodded. “Let’s not jump the gun.”

  “And we don’t know what’s happened to the convoy,” Mick continued. “Until we know different, let’s not assume the worst.”

  “When we left the mother ship,” Trinh interrupted, “I attached two additional shuttles, Arcturus-5 and 6.”

  “Why attach two more shuttles?” Giorgi asked, puzzled.

  “It increased our energy supply by 130%,” the computer said.

  “Well, that’s good news,” Mick said. “How much do we have?”

  “At our current rate of consumption, it will be exhausted in 3.4 months.”

  Turok groaned.

  “It is one reason I woke you,” Trinh said.

  Mick walked to the holo-array and touched the pad. The holofield dissolved and the lights came back up. Turok sat in one of the chairs by the elevator.

  Trinh outlined their options. “You can return to the Surprise’s last known location. Or –touch down on this planet, establish a base, and determine a way to secure a rescue. The data is incomplete, but Nebura is definitely G-class, habitable. It appears to have been settled almost three centuries ago.”

  “But not by the Alliance,” Mick added.

  “No.”

  “Not much of a choice,” Giorgi said.

  Mick considered the planet on the monitor. “We have a decision to make. There’s enough fuel to get back.”

  “A one-way trip?” Sorel said. “I vote we take our chances here.”

  Carmen shook her head. “I vote we turn back. The others may need our help.”

  Mick turned to Aleesha and Giorgi.

  Aleesha shrugged. “The Surprise should be doing the rescuing, not us. I vote we sit tight here on this world. And wait.”

  “Giorgi?” Mick asked.

  “Frankly, I look at that landfall,” he said, “and it’s a total blank to me. I vote we turn back. The Surprise is probably looking for us. We’ll likely meet them on the way back.”

  Turok spoke up. “Well, I can’t wait to get off this bucket! I vote we set up base.”

  They all looked at Mick.

  He was still looking at the planet. Turning away from the monitor, he faced the others. “Our first priority has to be our survival. I vote we establish a base on this planet.”

  _______________

  Fine-tuning their orbital heading and uncoupling but not separating the two piggybacking shuttles had taken most of that day. Some of that time had been spent drawing up and revising a list of gear to take. They all knew this could very well turn out to be an extended stay on the planet. The other shuttles were shells, their energy stores depleted.

  Arc-4 pulled away from the other shuttles to begin its descent to the greenish-blue surface below. The two drogued shuttles receded smoothly, and continued on their programmed orbit of Nebura against the infinite backdrop of deep space.

  Trinh inserted the ship at the correct angle to the planet’s atmosphere, and the Arc-4 rode the turbulence as the exosphere’s density grew. A long thirty seconds later they were through. The ship’s artificial gravity disengaged as the planet’s pull increased. The ship leveled off at an altitude of thirty miles. They were searching Nebura’s temperate regions for a relatively flat plateau, preferably one on the outskirts of a heavily-populated or built-up area, and if possible, near a large body of water linked to the surface water system – the oceans – that skirt the globe, much like Earth.

  Mick turned off the opacity of selected panels out on the forward bulkhead. Although such real-space windows, which showed their progress above the planet, were technically inferior to the virtual viewing monitors, Mick preferred them. Land soon appeared on the horizon. The silence stretched out again as Trinh cruised lower, soon reaching an altitude of ten miles. As the Arc-4 swung over the coast they could more clearly make out Nebura’s landscape.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Turok said conversationally. “But isn’t that a city?”

  “Sure looks like it,” Carmen agreed, “which makes no sense at all.”

  “No surface comm systems down there?” Turok asked.

  “Nope, nada,” Carmen replied. “I tried the full spectrum. Nothing.”

  “Maybe their power grid is down,” Mick suggested.

  “Even so, I should have got something. There was nothing on any bandwidth, not a whisper.”

  “A city equals people,” Sorel said. “And people equal communications links. You must have jimmied it somehow.”

  Carmen addressed the computer. “Trinh, can you detect electronic activity anywhere on world?”

  “Negative, Carmen.”

  Carmen gave Sorel a level stare. He shrugged and returned his attention to the window.

  “Maybe there are no active comm systems,” Giorgi said, “because nobody’s left alive.”

  “Speculation is good, but that’s morbid,” Aleesha said.

  The landscape rolled majestically by beneath them.

  They all watched as Trinh banked Arc-4 in a slow turn, bringing them in over the coast towards a river’s estuary north of the city. A plateau appeared as they descended through low-lying clouds.

  “Anyone mind if I pilot her down?” Mick asked the others.

  “Take us in, Mick,” Turok said.

  ______________

  The Arc-4 sat perched in the rough center of the plateau, a shelf that leveled off half-way up a gently sloping hill. Mick had brought them in without incident.

  They were all standing at the port hatch, small backpacks slung on their backs.

  “Everyone ready?” Mick asked.

  They all nodded. “Is this world ready for us?” Turok said.

  “Do it, Mick,” Carmen said.

  The hatch irised open, and they stepped into the airlock. The outer hatch opened after the inner one closed, and they walked out into the midday glare. Mick stepped out and paused, letting the others walk ahead. He looked affectionately at the exterior of the shuttle. He thoughtfully palmed the hatchway icon’s default code. As he walked away the ship settled back, its portals went opaque, and its unfettered exterior evanesced behind an energy field. The Arc-4 looked like an elongated egg resting on the stubble grass of the plateau.

  Turok had quickly covered the twenty yards to the crest overlooking the plateau’s northern slope. The city was to the south, on the other side of the hill. Turok called from the crest. Mick turned and strode towards the others. They faced out over the land that fell gently away to the ocean. Mick followed their gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Do you see it?” Turok asked after a moment.

  “See what?”

  “Just keep looking.”

  Mick glanced at the others, then turned back to
the horizon. “Looks peaceful,” he said.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Sorel said.

  Mick shrugged. “What am I looking for?”

  “The ocean, Mick,” Turok said.

  Mick’s eyes scanned the coast, then stopped. “What –”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “It’s like looking at one big holofield – on pause.”

  Turok nodded. “No wind.” He tilted his head. “No sound, no taste. No nothing.”

  “And no waves,” Carmen added.

  The ocean was like a sheet of tinted glass extending as far as the eye could see. They exhaled slowly at the strangeness of it.

  “So much for this being a normal G-class planet,” Giorgi complained.

  Carmen knelt down and ran her hand across the surface of the grass. She pulled out a clump, exposing the soil. Mick leaned down beside her. Taking up a handful of the soil he held it a few inches from his face. Carmen dipped her finger in the soil in Mick’s hand, then inclined her head slightly and tasted it.

  “Seems normal enough,” Carmen said.

  “So the water is probably okay,” Turok added.

  “But obviously it’s not,” Aleesha said impatiently, still looking at the horizon over the ocean.

  Mick shrugged. “It’s like this world’s climate metabolism has somehow slowed down.”

  “Or this could just be a season here,” Turok said. “A weird time of the year when everything kicks back …”

  Rolling her eyes Carmen dusted off her hands and stood. “Well, I’m stumped.”

  “Turok could be right. Maybe this is how it’s always been here,” Giorgi said.

  Sorel stretched his arms back. “I don’t see how any of it matters now.”

  “Listen,” Turok said suddenly, cocking his head to one side.

  What sounded like maser fire suddenly echoed from the other side of the hill. The sound had a metallic, shallow quality in the late afternoon stillness.

  “We have company,” Turok said quietly.

  “Come on,” Mick said, breaking into a jog back towards where the Arc-4 sat perched in the grass.

  Turok pulled up alongside Mick. The others followed.

  The plateau didn’t extend around the south side of the hill, but the slope wasn’t steep, so they crossed the hillside’s southern incline on a diagonal, running hunched over. A deep bass growling came from the street below them, a sound like feral dogs cornering their prey. The six observers ducked into a hollow behind a scree on the lower bank of the hillside and lay on the ground. They could just see over the rim.

  The commotion came from an area of tall buildings about half a mile away in what appeared to be the city’s central district. In the courtyard of the nearest building about twenty people were standing in a rough circle. Ten dogs roamed about five yards outside the circle, leaping up, threatening, but as yet not attacking. Suddenly one dog came at them fast – impossibly fast – springing forward, forelegs outstretched. Three of the people shot at the same instant, and a hole appeared in the dog’s side. Its momentum carried the dog, and its body landed on one of the smaller figures, a youth of slight build. The masers fired again, and two more of the dogs were lifted off the pavement to fall in a drooping tangle of entrails and blood. The rest of the dogs hung back for a moment, and seemed about to surge forward again, but then turned and ran. Not one of the dogs had made any sound during the attack. The people had also remained silent throughout.

  Two of the boys walked forward and lifted the dead dog off the adolescent. They helped him up, and he staggered along between them as the others turned and calmly started walking toward one of the buildings.

  “What the hell was that?” Sorel whispered.

  Turok shook his head. “I’m in no hurry to go down and meet the locals.”

  “Why is it so quiet?” Giorgi asked. “The only sound I heard was the masers.”

  “More company,” Mick whispered. He had turned around, and was looking up and to the side, towards the coast.

  The others turned and stared. Eight figures were walking in single file along the hill’s ridge. They dipped down and vanished over the other side, towards the Arc-4.

  “This place is getting weirder by the minute,” Carmen said.

  Mick half-crouched. “Come on, but stay out of sight.” They ran back the way they came, and soon reached the eastern edge of the hill where it leveled off on the plateau.

  Mick cautiously came around to within sight of the shuttle, and crawled the last few yards. The eight figures, males about their age, were about 20 yards from the ship, walking towards it. The Arc-4 was secure.

  Mick motioned for the others to pull back, and scrambled back to them.

  “It’s probably best if we just leave for now,” he said softly. “We can come back later.”

  “We might as well make our way down into the city,” Carmen suggested.

  “And the dogs?” Aleesha asked.

  “Think happy thoughts, Aleesha,” Carmen said.

  Turok had walked back further than the others from the embankment. After approaching a clump of bushes he suddenly reached in and pulled out a gangling tangle of arms and legs. Turok held the stranger’s arms behind his back.

  Mick looked inquisitively at Turok.

  “First contact,” Sorel said drily.

  “He’s been shadowing us for a while now,” Turok said.

  The youth looked up and saw the eight figures suddenly appear on the crest of the hill above them – a look of fear crossed his face. Their own movement must have caught the attention of the eight, who stopped dead and stared down at them. As the figures broke into a sudden run along the crest the adolescent’s struggles acquired a renewed urgency. Any moment the figures would veer down and cross the hillside to intercept them.

  “Come on, down this side,” Mick said.

  Turok shrugged and released his captive, who tore off at a diagonal to the direction Mick had indicated. They hesitated, and Turok gestured after the fleeing youth. “Follow him?”

  “Yeah,” Mick nodded, and they sprinted after him. The eight had veered down from the crest. Mick and Turok surged forward, Carmen and the others a few steps behind. Carmen turned and saw Giorgi not far in the rear. They piled down a set of concrete stairs set into the side of the hillside. The nearest tallish building was scarcely a quarter-mile away, down one street and half a block over. Its windows all along the ground floor had been shattered.

  Turok nodded to the building, “There?”

  Mick nodded.

  “That hellion can run!” Turok said admiringly, grinning.

  Their guide was setting quite a pace. As they clambered down into the street they heard their pursuers behind them hitting the stairs. Carmen turned again and saw Giorgi stumble on the stairs. He fell hard, but staggered up quickly. In a matter of seconds the eight pursuers surged around him, two of them pinioned his arms behind his back.

  Carmen knew it was too late to turn back to help, but she hesitated. The others were twenty feet ahead of her, pelting down the street’s first block. Tears appearing in her eyes she reluctantly tore herself away and set off after the others, giving no heed to the empty lots and nondescript two-storey buildings she passed.

  The others up ahead of her cleared the corner and caught sight of their guide as he ran past the building that Mick had pointed to. They slowed as they reached the building – Turok pointed as the adolescent disappeared inside another building about the same height as theirs but lacking ground floor windows. Carmen ran up and joined them.

  “They got Giorgi!” she said, her voice breaking.

  “But he was right behind us,” Mick said.

  “I know,” she replied. “He didn’t make it past the stairs.”

  Turok glanced back as a pack of dogs cleared the corner. Their eight pursuers were nowhere to be seen. “Can we talk about this later!” Turok said quickly.

  They set off again when Mick gestured g
rimly to the building their guide had vanished into. Within seconds Carmen and the others went pounding in through the doorway behind Turok and Mick. Sorel leaned over with his hands on his knees, gasping. The others stood, their chests heaving. The youth was standing at the side opposite the door, looking oddly composed, only mildly winded. He reached up and depressed a switch on the wall that had been jury-rigged below the lobby’s electrical panel. They watched, astonished, as steel blinds clattered down over the entrance. The building looked to be effectively sealed, at least on this floor, unless there was another entrance in the rear. They heard the arrival of the silent dogs outside.

  Their guide turned and started up the fire stairs. Turok followed without a word, the others falling in behind. The building had four floors. The adolescent climbed to the third and exited into the elevator lobby. He turned down the corridor and waited on the far side of a heavy steel fire-door that stood ajar. Motioning for them to join him, he hit another jury-rigged switch, this one set next to a fire-hose panel. The fire-door swung slowly closed with an odd suction sound and a series of clicks. He turned his expressionless face on them, nodded and walked away. He turned in at an open doorway about half-way down the hall.

  Mick looked at the others, and shrugged. Sorel grabbed Mick’s sleeve, “Exactly why did we follow this guy? It could be a trap.”

  Their guide’s head loomed out of the doorway and nodded once in their direction.

  Turok smiled, and walked up the corridor towards the doorway. Mick and the others fell in behind, Sorel pulling up the rear. The youth ushered them in and activated an energy field, shielding the door. At the sound of their entry a young man walked in from an adjoining room, maybe a couple years older than their guide.

  “Seamus, what is this?” the second one asked.

  “Strangers. They were being chased by Levrok’s men.”

  “And you followed Seamus here,” the older one said flatly, turning to Mick and the others.

  “Yes. Uh–we’re grateful,” Mick said.

  The young man shrugged. “I am Joel,” he said, coming forward. He shook hands all around. “This building and room are secure.” Turning to Seamus, he said, “Franklin was right.”

  “Franklin?” Mick asked.

  “An old friend,” Joel replied. “And a scientist. He has helped us survive.”

  “He’s being held by Levrok,” Seamus added.

  Their two hosts moved to one side and sat on the floor. Mick and the others followed suit. Turok stayed by the window, listening.

  “Who’s this Levrok?” Carmen asked when they were settled.

  Joel looked across at them. “A man with big plans,” he said, looking out the window. It was early evening. “The mutes outside will leave eventually. All we can do is wait.”

  “Mutes?” Mick asked.

  “Partial-synth mutants, posted here by Levrok’s men.”

  “Posted … why?”

  “To prevent you from following them.”

  “So the men will return,” Aleesha said.

  Joel shook his head. “Levrok must know your ship arrived. How could he not?” He shrugged sympathetically. “He probably sent his men to bring one of you in – to question.”

  Mick looked up and caught Turok’s eye.

  “Is Giorgi in danger?” Carmen asked.

  Joel turned and looked at Seamus.

  “Well?” Mick asked, an edge in his voice.

  Seamus leaned forward. “Your friend is probably safe enough, for now. Levrok hasn’t harmed anyone so far. But he’s getting–”

  “Unpredictable,” Joel interjected. “More so with each week the stilling advances.”

  “The stilling?” Mick asked.

  Joel gestured out the window to the early evening dusk beyond. “You must have noticed?”

  Turok spoke from the window. “We did. The ocean especially.”

  “That surreal calmness,” Joel said quietly. “It comes and goes. Each time it deepens, lasts longer.”

  Seamus had stretched out beside Joel, and lay his head on his folded arms. Joel glanced down at his younger friend, and then leaned toward his guests. “Tomorrow you can come to our base. It’s unfortunate you can’t speak with Franklin. He could tell you more.”

  Mick nodded. “Thanks.”

  Joel glanced at them a last time, as if deciding it was safe, and closed his eyes.

  Carmen looked at the others, and whispered, “Let them sleep.”

  Mick nodded and stood up. He joined Turok by the window, which looked out over the dark street they had entered from.

  “Anything?” Mick asked.

  Turok shook his head. “I can’t see them,” he said. “But they’re so quiet, I wouldn’t want to risk it.”

  “They chased us like we were prey,” Aleesha said, shivering.

  “The mutes or the men?” Turok said.

  “Both.”

  Turok nodded towards Seamus. “Lucky for us we followed him.”

  Mick leaned his hand against the energy shield blocking the window. “Tomorrow we’ll talk with this Levrok. Let’s hope he listens to reason.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Aleesha said. “Once he sees we pose no threat.”

  Turok looked sidelong at Mick. They said nothing.

  2 | Levrok’s Compound

  In the morning all was quiet when they emerged from the front of the building.

  “I know where there are some scooters,” Seamus said casually.

  Turok turned. “Things are looking up.”

  Joel quickly led the way across the street and down an alley, the others following. He entered a warehouse through a side door, and passed thousands of empty pallets stacked within a scaffolding of ceiling-high alloy girders along the far wall. They exited the building at the rear and immediately entered another, lower structure – this one filled with moldering boxes stacked within a similar assembly of grey plastic tubes. The shelves sagged; a thick coat of dust covered everything.

  Emerging into bright sunlight Mick thought he could smell the sea. That puzzled him for a moment, then it clicked – there had been no smells since leaving the ship. ‘Part of this strange climate,’ he thought idly.

  They turned up yet another alley, which spilled out into a street of much taller buildings. Joel stopped at a light metal door; it swung inwards when he pushed it. He stepped inside and latched the door open. Turok followed him in, and Mick heard him whistle. Stepping into the gloomy room Mick saw rows of low-slung scooters parked neatly along all four walls.

  “Pick any machine,” Joel said. “I disabled their security systems months ago.”

  Turok was walking down the nearest row, shaking his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d get the chance to ride again.” He stopped beside a midnight blue machine with tongues of orange flame painted on its side. “Hey, baby,” he cooed.

  “Just press the ignition switch on the right handlebar, near the grip,” Joel explained.

  Turok’s midnight blue machine purred to life. In one fluid motion he swung his leg over, released its kickstand and powered it up. He drove it out the door seconds later and parked it on the street. Sorel and Aleesha were sitting on two machines, both bright white with one diagonal black stripe down their sides. They followed Turok’s lead, though they had to manhandle their machines out into the aisle first. Mick chose a light green scooter with a sidecar. Joel nodded, and gave a thumbs up in approval.

  Mick started his machine and drove it out onto the street.

  “Training wheels, Mick?” Sorel asked.

  “Yeah, and for storage,” Mick explained, resting his hand on the sidecar. “We’ll have stuff to carry.”

  “Our practical leader,” Sorel said.

  Mick ignored the taunt.

  “Frankly, guys,” Sorel added. “It we’re stuck on this world, what I want is a way to defend myself.”

  Mick and Turok exchanged a glance and nodded, conceding the point.

  “Which way
, Joel?” Turok asked.

  Joel had driven his smaller scooter out onto the road, followed by Seamus on an identical machine. He nodded up the street between the towering buildings as Seamus moved off ahead. Joel swung his machine in an arc, and took off.

  Turok grinned at the others, “Follow the hellions!” He gunned his machine once and stepped it into gear, moving off up the street. The others followed, Mick bringing up the rear. They turned onto a road that hugged the waterfront. His gaze wandering out over the shoreline, Mick noticed that the water was no longer as stationary as it had been the day before. There were waves, sluggish and small, like on a lake in the still moments before a spring storm.

  They turned again, this time away from the sea, and passed more buildings. He made a quick examination of several ground floor lobbies. What made it spooky, he realized, was the absence of people everywhere. It made the city unreal, like he was riding through a dream. They turned onto a road next to an open field across which Mick could see the hill where they had landed. The upper outline of the Arc-4 was briefly visible. They came to the largest street they had seen so far, six lanes. They turned again, this time uphill until they reached what looked to Mick like a department store. The others parked.

  Mick did a three-point turn and backed in. They looked at him quizzically.

  “Good for a quick getaway,” he joked.

  Joel hurried through the open front doors, Carmen following.

  “I’ll stay out here,” Sorel said.

  Mick and Turok entered the building and moved immediately towards the motionless escalator that Joel and Carmen had walked up. They trotted through sections devoted to household effects, and could see the two ahead passing the neutronics counter. They caught up with them as they were turning onto a 2nd floor pedestrian walkway that connected the two buildings. They saw the bodies on the floor in front of a set of half-open double doors. The two mutes, their limbs splayed, lay just outside a security field. They hadn’t been shot – the field had brought them down.

  They moved ahead quietly as Joel went to a panel in the wall. He gestured to Seamus that the field was down, and Seamus slipped stealthily around the door. He called out for the others to join him. They found him standing motionless, looking down at a young man’s body. The corpse was face down, a maser hole in his upper back. Joel brought over a light sheet from one of the beds and covered their friend as the others looked on.

  Mick took in their surroundings quickly. The wide corridor was filled with furniture from the adjoining store – beds, tables, desks, chairs, computers, lamps. Both ends had security fields; the main entrance at the other end had also been physically barricaded.

  Joel stepped over to a desk and sat down heavily.

  “Levrok’s people must have taken them,” Seamus said, his voice cracking. He sat on the floor by the covered body.

  Mick and Turok wandered away, moving among the mismatched pieces of furniture.

  “Call me a jerk,” Turok said quietly, “but this world is turning out to be trouble.”

  Mick nodded, and looked again at the flotsam of furniture. “Looks like ten or so people were here.”

  They walked to the far end, and saw that the intruders had managed to breach the security field there.

  Joel walked over, his face set in a look of determination.

  Mick looked up and nodded. “Let’s go, Joel,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “To get Giorgi and your people back.”

  The young man’s eyes lit up.

  “You know where they were taken?” Turok asked.

  “Yes, the same place they’re holding Franklin. But it’s well defended.”

  “So?” Turok said. “We like a challenge.”

  “Defended with mutes.”

  Mick ran his hand along the surface of a table. “They killed those mutes yesterday without much problem.”

  “The ones at their compound are a lot worse than what you saw yesterday.”

  Carmen came up and gave them a questioning look.

  “Look, I know a gun shop,” Joel said suddenly. “We can suit up before we go.”

  Turok nodded with approval.

  “Joel, can you draw us a map of this compound, the grounds?” Mick asked.

  The young man nodded.

  “While you’re doing that I’ll go to this gun shop,” Turok said. “That is, if Joel can tell me where it is.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sorel should be happy,” Mick added drily.

  ______________

  Turok pulled up at a nondescript storefront followed by Sorel and Aleesha. It had no sign, and was graced with an alloy mesh that lay behind the disabled holodisplay.

  He removed a loose brick above the wall-mounted mail slot, and reached in. His hand emerged with a flourish holding a key. The shop they walked into looked like it had been undisturbed for decades. Small animals’ telltale tracks crisscrossed the dust on the floor and countertops. The shop’s current visitors’ footfall created dust clouds in the enclosed space. Empty shelves gaped on both sides of every aisle; shelf tags indicated they had once held the usual array of low-level masers, stun charges, and approved low-density pulse guns. There apparently wasn’t a weapon left in the store.

  Turok walked to the rear wall, as Joel had explained, and found two release latches concealed within the underside of the wall-mantel. A section of the wall swung aside to reveal a pitch-black interior – a set of stairs led down. Bowing towards Sorel and Aleesha he held out a hand towards the passageway.

  Sorel crossed his arms. “After you,” he said. Aleesha smiled.

  Turok shrugged as he reached for another switch. Bright fluorescents flickered on and he started down the stairs.

  “Funny guy,” Sorel said.

  Aleesha stepped through. When Sorel hesitated Turok walked through. Sorel looked back suspiciously towards the street, then he too started descending the stairs. When he was half-way down he heard the wall section above him re-seal, clicking into place. He swore, and was about to turn back.

  Turok called out, “I just closed the door from down here. Come on down.”

  Sorel trudged loudly down the stairs.

  Turok and Aleesha stood in front of a thick, round, transparent panel. They looked through into the room beyond. Modular shelves formed several wide aisles that extended back to a rear wall. On the shelves row after row of destructive hardware glinted and gleamed within the manufacturers’ lightweight, transparent, vacuum-sealed bags.

  “The sanctum sanctorum,” Turok said.

  He flicked another switch. The panel irised open. They stepped through into the low-ceilinged grey room.

  Sorel scooped up one of the bags off the nearest shelf, and examined the maser rifle inside. “This one’s been modified,” he said.

  Turok walked down the same aisle, glancing at the multiple sizes of semi- and fully-automatic masers and pulse guns. Aleesha stayed in the lateral row at the head of the aisles. She picked up one of the bags, surprised at its lightness. “This one has a kill setting,” she said.

  Turok nodded. “Looks like they all do.”

  “So these are illegal?” Aleesha asked.

  “On Earth, yeah,” Sorel said with a laugh.

  Using pulse or maser weapons to kill had been so successfully stigmatized centuries earlier that statutes against their use had been passed in most jurisdictions.

  Sorel hefted a Heckler and Koch EM Particle Beam Weapon System, better-known as an HK Maser Rifle, or simply a maser, and slung it over his shoulder, cinching the strap on its acrylic bag.

  “Let’s take one each for all seven of us,” Turok said, gesturing at the masers, “and better grab some palm masers and pulse pistols too.” He looked around. “But what we really need …” He set off down the aisle.

  Sorel picked up more of the bags while Aleesha gathered up seven of the smaller pulse bags. She also scooped up a dozen disposable palm masers.

  “B
ack here,” Turok called out.

  As the others trotted awkwardly down the aisle he lifted a gleaming black, ancient but lethal ballistic gun – a fully automatic, very compact, FN sub-machine gun.

  “It’s a relic,” Sorel said. “Leave it.”

  “No, it’s exactly what we need,” Turok said.

  Sorel looked hard at Turok. “Why?”

  Turok shrugged. “We don’t know for sure. Mick thinks the slowing environment might affect the planet’s EM field, and that might affect–”

  “Conventional weapons,” Aleesha said.

  Turok nodded.

  “Well, as of now,” Sorel said, “I’m officially in charge of quality control.” He activated the release seal on the bag, lifted out the maser, raised it and let off a burst. It left a discolored splatter on the ceiling.

  “That proves nothing,” Turok said.

  “Looks fine to me,” Sorel said, hefting the maser appreciatively. “Of course, a living target would tell us for sure.”

  “Safety it and stow it,” Turok said.

  “Oh?” Sorel asked.

  “These weapons are for survival.”

  Sorel smiled, secured the rifle, and slung it over his shoulder.

  Aleesha gestured to the ballistic gun Turok was still holding. “How many of those do you want?”

  “Only a couple,” Turok said with a smile. “I’ll get the ammunition.”

  “Anything else?”

  “One more thing.” He ambled off towards an adjacent aisle.

  A few minutes later the three emerged back into the upstairs front room. Turok activated the two switches and the missing wall section swung back in, sealing off the now-darkened stairs.

  “Come on, let’s go get Giorgi,” Turok said.

  ______________

  The five and their two guides stood in the street by the parked scooters, directly across from the park entrance. Seamus had insisted on riding shotgun behind Mick, the guns and gear stowed in the sidecar.

  They had spent two hours at the mall sanctuary going over the holomaps of Levrok’s swamp compound, considering and discarding options, before downloading the map into the optical display drives in their balaclava synth-helmets. Then another half-hour bled away putting on the protective beamsuits, a quarter-inch of liquefied titanium set between creosote prophylaxes of pressurized albumen, hyper-elastic, and virtually impregnable to any low-density beam weapon on the market. Seamus pulled two bags out of the sidecar and set them on the ground. In the larger were the maser rifles and side arms, and the smaller held the ballistics. The others walked over and retrieved a maser each. Turok strapped one of the 14-inch submachine guns in a back-holster, and over that slung a compact, cylinder-shaped device. Finally he picked up one of the rifles to carry.

  “It’s just a city park,” Carmen said.

  “It was a park,” Joel said. “Now it’s–” He shrugged, at a loss for words.

  “They only have pulse rifles inside?” Mick asked.

  “As far as we know,” Seamus said.

  “What about laser platforms?” Turok asked. “We saw a few of those at the gun shop. Real behemoths.” He slipped on his helmet, which instantly expanded and molded to the shape of his skull, small ridges appearing over his ears.

  “They could have platforms anywhere, all automatic,” Joel said. “Mostly on the hammocks, but they could be in the water too. Stationary ones.”

  “Our remote motion sensors should help with that,” Turok said, pointing at the convex bubble of his visor.

  “The platforms we can handle,” Mick said. “What I’m worried about–”

  “The mutes,” Aleesha said quickly.

  Mick nodded.

  “The mutes patrol,” Joel said. “They attack without warning, and in total silence.” He didn’t need to say any more.

  Seamus watched as Turok helped Joel pull on his helmet. The young Neburan opened out the strange piece of material and pulled it over his head like a diving mask. Seamus was surprised again to see it inflate into the same helmet-like shape as it had for the others. The faceplate section of the visor turned transparent as small whorls of green light crisscrossed its surface.

  “How are the optics?” Turok asked.

  Joel held up a thumb, grinning through the faceplate.

  Seamus repeated the same steps, and Turok stepped over and tapped a knuckle on his faceplate. He reached around to activate the optics stud. Seamus nodded.

  “Your suit will absorb any beam for about 3 seconds max,” Turok explained. “After that it’ll burn through. And once through it’s so fast you won’t even know you’ve been hit. But you’ll know later.”

  Seamus shuddered.

  “Play it safe and dive fast if you feel even a tickle on your suit,” Turok added.

  They set off in single file along the embankment then down into the water, and walked a short distance along its ridge. The pond, originally the central feature of the park, was now supplemented by all the flooded, low-lying areas which had transformed the area into what on Earth would be a tropical marsh. Seamus looked out across the bog that completely surrounded Levrok’s compound, not visible from where they were. Mick took the lead. They turned down and walked slowly out into the cord grass bordering their side of the water. The deep verge was broken here and there by skeletal-shaped swamp trees, their aerial roots twisted up out of the ground.

  “It likely won’t be more than waist-deep in even the worst areas,” Joel said over his shoulder, though the others weren’t particularly reassured.

  Mick stepped gingerly into the water, his foot sinking about two inches as mud rose up and enveloped his feet. He took a few tentative steps further out. It remained about the same depth.

  Speaking from the rear, Turok had them spread out.

  “Carmen, when should I start with the happy thoughts?” Aleesha joked half-heartedly.

  “Now would be good.”

  The small troop moved forward in an elongated zigzag pattern, the top of the Z narrower than the bottom. Mick and Joel had point. The lateral bottom, with Turok at the extreme open end, had Carmen and Aleesha walking side by side about two yards apart. The others walked on a diagonal connecting the top and bottom lateral lines.

  Everything was quiet; the swamp seemed indifferent to their presence. After a quarter-mile Seamus started to relax. Just concentrating on setting one foot after another was calming, and he ignored the turbid brown water. The others, anything but calm, were constantly scanning their section of the zigzag.

  Spearworts prowled the surface around Mick’s waist, spreading their long stringy mass of thin leaves. To Seamus it looked like a watery graveyard, the long hair of submerged corpses reaching up to them. His vision went blurry, the sky tilted, and he felt Turok’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Steady on, Seamus,” he said.

  Seamus clenched his fists and breathed in deep to clear his head, and resumed walking. He thought he saw movement beneath a bog willow that rose up from a large hammock directly ahead. Twining supplejack swayed slightly within the drooping foliage of the tree, wrapped round and round the tendril-like branches that stooped into the brackish water. Seamus’s eyes scanned the shoreline, trying to identify the movement. It must be the weight of the vines shifting, he decided.

  “What is it, Seamus?” Turok said behind him.

  Seamus realized he had stopped walking. “Nothing,” he said, and started walking again.

  The mute exploded from the middle of the bog willow’s mass of drooping branches, as though part of the tree itself had suddenly come to life and launched itself at them. Two maser rifles swung up, their particle beams exploding through fur sent a stream of entrails out the mutant’s other side. It fell into the water about a yard in front of Mick and sank slowly out of sight. It left a slick of blood on the surface.

  Mick stood as if paralyzed. “Thanks, guys,” he muttered.

  Carmen cleared her throat. “Joel, how much further?” she asked
.

  He shrugged nervously. “We’re about half-way. This park is eight miles long, and the compound is dead center.”

  Mick looked back at Turok, who pointed off towards the center of their section of the swamp. Mick nodded, and began moving away from the hammock. There was a similar landmass further along, and bigger.

  As they trudged on Seamus looked down and realized he could see his feet – the water was getting clearer. The mud turned to pebbles that rolled underfoot, and a few yards further on these turned to larger rocks, slick and slippery. They slowed. Mick veered again, and they were past the hammock. They were nearing the bigger one, moving alongside it, but kept their distance. There was another bog willow near the water’s edge, its trunk gripping tenaciously to a sheer side that fell into the water.

  They brought up their maser rifles as they pulled alongside the tree. All was quiet except for the sound they made schlepping through the water. There was no movement around the tree. Turning around another bend took them past the second hammock. Suddenly they could see the compound. Maybe it was the distraction of the buildings, or they were just getting tired, for they heard the mute before they saw it. It came from behind a large boulder and went straight for Aleesha and Carmen in the bottom line. Aleesha froze as the sleek form’s shadow sailed across the water towards her. Turok’s maser caught it behind the shoulder, burning a hole through its ribcage. Its momentum carried it on until it slammed against Aleesha’s side, driving her down underwater. Turok was surging forward to help when another mutant sprang down the slope, its forelegs and paws landing on the same boulder, compressing and crouching, and then it was a blur shooting up and out, a stronger leap, faster. But they had had more warning. Mick and Sorel turned around and shot their masers simultaneously, yet inexplicably both had missed. Its shadow passed over Aleesha, its outstretched forepaws reaching for Carmen. She had seen the shadow and her rifle was up. Its barrel wavered as she slipped on the slick rocks. As she fell the trigger was depressed and the beam shot out, catching the mutant full in the chest and passing down the length of its body. Its fully-extended claws raked against her beamsuit leaving narrow grooves from her shoulder down past her solar plexus. Two of the claws managed to pierce the suit’s outer dermis, driving in and down.

  Carmen looked down in shock. A gash about four inches long blossomed red across her left upper chest, just below her shoulder.

  Mick was at her side, ripping open one of the flat mediseal sheaths he retrieved from an inner pocket.

  “Sorel, her suit!” Mick said.

  Blood was pumping from the wound.

  Turok had pulled the first mute’s corpse off Aleesha, and she came up spluttering. As Sorel activated two of the release valves on Carmen’s suit, its upper section opened. Mick placed the mediseal firmly over the three parallel incised wounds, surprised by their surgical straightness. The sheath expanded, and made a slight hissing sound as pressurized antisepsis rippled beneath the seal, molding itself to the contour of her traumatized upper body, and then became still. Mick reactivated the valves and her suit resealed itself, though he couldn’t do anything about the tear in the suit.

  Carmen seemed groggy, then came round. “What–?”

  “Carmen, that was close,” Mick said. “Can you keep going?”

  She nodded, and brought her right arm up close to her chest. There was no pain, though she felt a little light-headed, but even that was passing. The auto-release of field-meds surging through her body numbed her right upper chest and shoulder. She could still move her shoulder, even flex her right hand, but there was little sensation in either. She wondered idly if this was how the world felt for a synthetic.

  Mick had moved back. He and Joel still had point, and were pushing forward again. Seamus tried not to think what they would do if there were more attacks. They slogged on. It seemed to Seamus that they were moving slower now, but in fact it was the opposite. Believing they had seen the worst, the uncertainty that had dogged their progress began to lift.

  The spearwort gave way to horsetails as they pulled alongside the last large hammock between them and hard ground, about fifty yards away.

  Joel pointed ahead. “See those small black swamp trees,” he said, as they all stopped.

  The outline of gnarled black limbs didn’t quite look right.

  Mick peered ahead. “Yeah, except they aren’t swamp trees, are they?”

  “No. Those are laser platforms.” Joel looked worried.

  “What’s the matter?” Mick asked.

  “They’ve been set up in a ring. I didn’t think they would have them that close to the compound.”

  “Remote or automatic?” Mick asked.

  “Does it matter?” Sorel muttered.

  “Automatic. See the sensors?” Then he smiled, “They aren’t mobile, though. Their wheels are all gone.”

  “You still don’t think we can trick their sensors?” Turok asked.

  Joel shook his head. “We have to take them out.”

  “But how?” Mick said. “They’ll rip into us once we’re within range.”

  They broke formation, Turok advancing to stand beside Mick and Joel. Turok placed a hand on Joel’s upper arm.

  “If those turrets can’t move, and we destroy two of them–” Turok said.

  Joel nodded. “Yeah, then we could walk through.” The three smiled.

  They moved forward cautiously, uncertain what the range of the compound lasers was. They came parallel to a section of bulrushes that arced out from the compound’s side, and Mick nodded towards the flat section of the shore. There at the base of several of the squat, ugly platforms grew a rich bank of swamp taro. “Those two, with the flowers. Let’s hit those.” He glanced at Turok.

  Turok unslung the one explosive-charge weapon they had brought along. He unfolded the stock from the shoulder-rest, released the safety, raised the lightweight Bofors Anti-armor Grenade Launcher to his shoulder, and took aim. Seamus covered his ears, half-expecting to see the primitive weapon explode and tear away Turok’s shoulder. But it gave a quick, sharp bark, and a fraction of a second later one of the platform turrets exploded.

  “One down,” Turok said.

  Another two mutes appeared. They came from behind the building that reached closest to the water’s edge, gathering speed as they sped forward.

  Raising the Bofors Turok fired again, destroying the other turret. Mick had brought up his maser and sent a beam ripping through the throat of one of the mutants, its head flopping back and down as its front legs crashed into the ground. Sorel caught the other above and behind its sleek muzzle, a hole instantly opening out on the other side of its skull, as it too crashed into the hard shale-like sand.

  They were kneeling, the water reaching to mid-chest. They looked in all directions. When the third came it was completely unexpected. It had crept forward in the water through the sedge and rushes. It bolted awkwardly, up and out, rising about a yard in the air, water dripping from its light pelt of luminous grey. It landed on Joel, its powerful jaws closing around the boy’s throat, slicing through his suit. Joel thrashed once, tried to bring up his rifle, and then fell limp. The others stood paralyzed until a beam from Carmen’s maser ripped through the beast’s arched back, immediately severing its spine. The mutant’s jaw shuddered open and Joel’s body flopped down into the water, blood surging from his throat. His head, hanging at an unnatural angle, floated for a moment as the body sank, then it too sank to the shallow bottom.

  They were all shaken out of their shock by the screaming, including Seamus. He was even more shocked when Turok slapped him hard, twice. The screams stopped. He shuddered, heaved in a ragged breath.

  “—Do you hear me!” a voice shouted at him. He looked up. Turok was holding his shoulders, staring at him with a fixed intensity. “Seamus, we need you to walk now.” Then Turok’s hand was on his back, pushing him firmly forward. So he walked. He looked down and was surprised to see the maser in his hand – the mase
r he hadn’t fired. As he stumbled forward, he glanced to his side and saw what remained of his friend. He bit down hard as the memories resurfaced, until his jaws hurt. He kept walking.

  Turok had unzipped the upper half of Joel’s suit, pulled the hood insert up over the boy’s head and reactivated the front seal. The beamsuit looked more like a body-bag now. He held it about where Joel’s upper chest was, and dragged it along as they moved forward. They were at the shore in moments. Turok pulled Joel’s body up on the shore. Seamus looked again, and the numbness he felt was almost a relief.

  The other platform lasers registered no reaction to their presence. They walked quickly between the two destroyed platforms.

  Three connected buildings stood directly before them, an open-ended lopsided rectangle – the longer side almost reached the shore. As they walked past that building, avoiding the open end, the hard sand turned to a rough turf with clumps of cord grass. They crossed over behind the side building, placing themselves outside the inner courtyard. Seamus noticed that this close to the building the ground was a greener, healthier-looking grass, almost a typical park lawn.

  This building and the ones beyond were as quiet as everything else. Seamus supposed they had originally been park administration buildings. He wondered if the numbness he felt was being extended to everything else, to these new friends, this swamp – everything.

  They were nearing the rear, exterior, wrought-iron fire stairs that led to the roof that Joel had told them about. He insisted there was an old rooftop patio with a set of stairs down to the kitchen. They had been suspicious of such an easy entry. But Joel had explained that Levrok’s slack security team didn’t expect anyone would ever get past the swamp, the mutes, and the lasers, or come to that, even attempt it. They quickly clambered up the three flights of stairs and jumped down onto the flat roof. There was a low partition separating this end closer to where they had waded ashore. They stole a quick look over the partition, and the far end looked empty.

  They crossed the roof towards a small closed-in patio that abutted the sidewall overlooking the courtyard. About half-way along this long building a dozen rusted, rickety tables and chairs filled the patio. At the back, set into the corner between the sidewall and the partition, was a dumbwaiter – a small service elevator. Beside that was the door to the stairs, which Mick discovered was locked. The dumbwaiter, however, was not. He opened the vertical panel to the box and saw it was operated by a hand pulley.

  Mick turned to Seamus. “Are you up for it?”

  “Guess so,” he answered. “How much do you think it can take?”

  “Fifty kilos, easy.”

  “And if the stairs are blocked? What if the lock on the other side can’t be released?”

  “And what if downstairs is the gateway to Hell,” Turok said.

  “You never know,” Seamus said.

  “It’s probably just a dead bolt,” Mick said.

  “If it isn’t,” Turok said, “just knock on the box a couple times and we’ll haul you back up.”

  Sorel had walked into the patio area, and was sitting with his back against the cooler.

  “I’m small enough,” Carmen said. “I’ll go.”

  Mick and Turok exchanged a glance. “You sure?” Mick asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, holding her palm over the mediseal patch. “I won’t be able to do much else for a while. But I can do this.”

  Seamus looked over at the patio’s low sidewall. “Somebody should keep a lookout.” He walked over and crouched by an overturned dessert cart. Mick watched him, and hoped the boy would have the chance to get past his loss.

  Mick turned, glancing back along the route they had just taken. “Somebody should watch the back stairs too.”

  “I’ll go,” Aleesha said, and she scrambled away.

  “You realize they know you’re coming,” Sorel said to Carmen.

  She turned to Mick and Turok. “I figure they’ve barricaded themselves in the far building, the one furthest from shore. Wouldn’t make sense for them to have anybody here.”

  Mick nodded. “If you hear movement, don’t go in. We’ll haul you back up and find a different way.”

  Turok opened his beamsuit and reached into his chest-holster. “Take a palm maser,” he said. “The rifles won’t fit in the box.” He handed her the sidearm.

  “Relax, guys,” she smiled, slipping the gun inside her suit. “You’re making me nervous.”

  Mick lifted the panel and held it up as Carmen turned around, stepped up with a wince, and scooted in. She pulled her knees to her chin and scowled out at them.

  “Lower away,” she said.

  When Mick moved to scroll down the box panel, she placed her hand over his. He smiled and left the panel open. He grabbed the thick cord and started lowering her down, hand over hand. Sorel and Aleesha stood up. Aleesha walked over to crouch behind Seamus.

  “All quiet?” she asked.

  The adolescent nodded. He wasn’t comfortable being up here. He had the feeling it made them exposed, on the other hand he liked the clear line of sight it gave on the three quadrangle buildings.

  Moments later Mick slowed his hand-over-hand movement. He stuck his head in the chute and heard a muffled scrabbling, followed by a soft thump.

  He withdrew his head. “She’s in,” he said.

  Sorel came over and leaned by the door to the stairs. They listened for the sound of her approach. The seconds ticked by. Mick leaned back into the chute, listening for telltale knocks. Nothing.

  “What’s she doing?” Sorel said.

  Seamus called softly to them from his position by the sidewall. His expression looked tense as he beckoned at Mick and Turok. Mick couldn’t leave the chute. He nodded at Turok quickly, who scrambled over. The two looked towards the far building. Four of Levrok’s men had come out a side door and were moving along the wall towards the rear of their building.

  “If there’s a door at the far end of this building–” the youth shrugged, not taking his eyes off the two figures below.

  “They could swing round behind us.”

  Seamus nodded – it was what he had feared. The four figures dashed across behind the far end of this building.

  Turok swore, and quickly returned to the dumbwaiter.

  Seamus glanced over as Turok and Mick fell into an animated exchange. He exhaled slowly and resumed his watch over the courtyard – all quiet now.

  Mick leaned forward inside the dumbwaiter and looked down.

  Sorel, crouching by the door, turned to Turok. “If they were barricaded safe inside the other building, just waiting for us to show up, then why send four guys over here?”

  “A diversion,” Turok said.

  Mick was about to climb in and shimmy down the dumbwaiter cable when they heard a door below at the far end being forced open. Mick leaned back. “She’s nowhere near the box down there.” The sound of pulse fire exploded at the stairs door. It was a sound differently-pitched than the masers, a result of the different backwash the pulse produced.

  Aleesha called out softly from her position by the stairs. “Two coming!”

  They heard Carmen’s voice through the door. “You guys there?”

  Turok stepped over to the door. “Yeah. It sounds like they’re breaking in down there!”

  “Thanks for that bulletin, Turok.”

  Mick leaned close to the doorjamb. “Can you open it from there?” Sorel picked up his maser and moved off towards the stairs.

  “No,” her voice said. “Dead bolt and a remote lock.”

  “Then get back to the box, now!”

  “Right.” And she was gone.

  Mick waved once at Seamus, motioning for him to stay where he was. He turned quickly to Turok. “Bring her up.”

  As Mick turned and dashed off towards the stairs he heard the impact of pulse beams against the side of the building. Sorel was crouched against the sidewall by an inner railing at the stairs, looking like he had
no intention of going anywhere. Mick sped past him to the outer railing – flat alloy slats encased the stairs that ran down the side of the building. Mick glanced over and saw Aleesha standing motionless on the landing, her legs spread apart. She fired her palm maser between the slats. They heard a grunt and the sound of a body thumping against the steps as Mick took the steps down two at a time, staying close to the wall. He came up beside her. A pulse ripped past Aleesha’s shoulder. Another grazed her upper arm, the beamsuit repelling it easily.

  Mick put a hand on her shoulder. “Overlapping fire, then down one by one.” She nodded.

  She fired a couple bursts before Mick leapt down, touching three steps on his way to the next landing. He stopped and fired off two bursts as she came up, touched his shoulder and sped on to the next landing. A pulse caught Mick’s leg for a full second as he dodged ahead past her. It felt like his leg had gone asleep, then a tingling sensation as the circulation returned. Mick favored that leg as Aleesha joined him, now only one flight of steps above ground.

  Their sustained fire caused the second man to reconsider – he hastily retreated to ground level. A body lay on the ground one floor below them. The second man turned the corner at the end of the building.

  “Follow him?” Aleesha asked.

  Mick nodded, and made his way down the steps, limping slightly. She hit the ground a moment before him and crept beside the building as he stumbled along behind.

  She moved quickly around the corner and down to the side door.

  Mick drew up beside her. “There are two inside. More might be coming from the other building.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  Mick smiled, nodding.

  She watched as Mick stole across the threshold, his limp mostly gone.

  3 | Rainer

  Carmen turned away from the locked stairs door, moving down the steps silently and quickly despite her numb chest wound. She knew she had only moments before whoever had broken down the exterior door showed up in the center of the building. Half-way down the steps she froze.

  She saw flakes of crystalline, synthetic bitumen on the floor below, and heard a telltale footfall. She steeled herself, descended a few more steps. Taking a breath she leapt off, careened off the opposite wall – veering right she launched herself through the door into the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind her. Pulses blasted the doorjamb above and behind her sending a plaster shower down into the corridor she had just left. She felt her chest wound seeping again, and a dull ache blossomed. In a half-crouch she pivoted sideways round the second corner, and was up and running for the large walk-in freezer half-way down the kitchen. She snagged its handle, pulling hard as she passed. Pulses slammed into the open door. She heard their steps and reached her hand out, firing a maser burst. She heard a body fall, followed by the sound of feet rushing up the corridor.

  Not more of them!

  She almost collapsed with relief when she heard her friends’ maser beams.

  “Hey guys,” Carmen called weakly.

  More pulses spat and sizzled against the freezer door. She left it ajar and moved on.

  She backed away slowly, stepping sideways, her back against the freezer. She was looking for a service door into the dining room, which faced the courtyard. She slipped around a protrusion and skittered sideways against another cooler. Beams bit again into the freezer door, far behind. She heard a crash in the back corridor she had just passed through, turned and saw another of Levrok’s men come barreling through into the far end of the kitchen. She looked to her other side past the cooler, and saw the dining room door. She reached it in a half-crouch, slivered it open and pushed through. There was no way of locking it.

  She had entered what looked like the dining room of a shipwrecked luxury liner, at rest on the ocean floor. Tables lay upended, chairs thrown back, broken glass and porcelain were everywhere underfoot. She crossed towards the wall that led out into the courtyard, its length broken up every few yards by French windows. She looked up, suddenly aware of daylight from above, and was surprised by a skylight, shaped like the end of a flattened cone. Dust motes danced in the daylight streaming down. It occurred to her that the building couldn’t be easily secured, not with so many points of ingress. She was half-way across to the nearest window when she heard the kitchen doors swing open. She froze, a low laugh made her shiver, and she swung around.

  A man stood watching her, motionless. She glanced back at the windows, and from the corner of her eye it was like he slid away. She looked back and he had not moved. She was aware of the maser in her hand, and fired a burst. He stepped lightly to the side, and laughed at how far off she was. She was shocked to see a distortion of his movement repeating in its wake. She tore her eyes away, and again it was like he retreated inward. She swiveled her eyes back in his direction. His stillness was absolute, yet his eyes glittered with alert malevolence. She felt a tightening, a bunching hot sensation in her chest. She couldn’t think straight, she kept having the same thought over and over, kept seeing the same movement shorter and faster each time, a stuttering dizzying vanishing-point repetition. ‘He’s there,’ she thought, ‘and he’s somehow also where he will be.’ She shook her head to clear it. He reached back over his shoulder, his arm moving as if in a loop, and suddenly a knife appeared in his hand. He started walking towards her, his footfall beating a heavy tap-dancing tattoo in her ears that made her want to laugh … and through it all she saw that he was walking slowly.

  Carmen heard the crash as if from a distance. Dazed, she raised her head, and saw Turok struggling on the floor with her attacker. The knife – a column of knives – lanced upwards in an arc toward Turok’s lower chest, as his hand slammed into the man’s arm, their arms overlapping. Turok gripped the man’s wrist and wrenched it to the side and down, the elbow of his other arm fishtailing up into the man’s face, moved as though passing through the face and suddenly bouncing back as blood welled from the man’s nose. Turok slammed the man’s knife-hand down on his knee, and a receding flurry of knives skittered along the floor. The man looked up into Turok’s eyes, a note of surprise, uncertainty there. Turok released him and staggered back, dropping into a crouch.

  Turok didn’t turn towards Carmen, but she felt his attention prickling her skin.

  She closed her eyes and focused on a sound echoing in her ear.

  “Shoot the one in front,” Turok was saying urgently. It felt like he’d been saying it for minutes.

  Her eyes sprang open and she saw him dropping into the crouch, not a crouch like before, but in the self-same crouch, somehow occurring now. Without thinking she drew her palm maser and fired just as the man lunged forward. Carmen felt the clustering heat again in her chest.

  The beam hit the man square in the forehead, sheering away the top of his skull. He stood suspended, swaying, as though awareness still pulsed in his eyes, weakening, flaring, and then – gone. He fell heavily.

  “Not a moment too soon,” Turok said, catching his breath.

  Carmen lowered her arm, the maser dropping to her side. She looked dully at the body on the floor. “How did you–? What just happened?”

  “You shot him, Carmen.”

  “What?”

  “When he moves, you focus on the leading edge,” he said, shrugging. “That’s what Seamus said.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He smiled. “I don’t either. Time radiation, he called it.”

  They heard the deadbolt on the kitchen door give way. There was a scuffle of footsteps as Mick and Aleesha came barreling in. They stopped dead, glancing quickly at the body on the floor.

  Mick exhaled heavily, and just shook his head.

  “Did you guys lose your way?” Turok joked.

  “We went for a stroll in the swamp,” Mick replied.

  Turok laughed as Mick crossed the room to one of the covered floor-length windows.

  “It’s very quiet all of a sudden,” Turok added.

  Mick
pried back the corner of a plank obstructing the window. “It’s as you said, Carmen. The rest of them are holed up in the next building.”

  From across the courtyard came the sound of hinges creaking open.

  Mick looked out. “It’s Giorgi.” The others rushed over to Mick’s side.

  “It’s okay!” Giorgi shouted, waving, and walked towards them.

  “Seamus, how does it look?” Mick called up to the roof.

  “It’s clear,” Seamus replied, his voice carrying easily, “one of them came out and ran off into the swamp out behind.”

  Mick nodded to the others.

  They all stepped hesitantly out into the courtyard. Giorgi crossed the grass, a smile spreading across his face.

  As the others walked forward Mick turned and looked up at Seamus, who still stood on the roof, his rifle half-down, his eyes scanning.

  “He’s probably long gone,” Mick said. “You might as well join us down here – if you want.”

  Seamus shrugged, and then volunteered to recon the area behind the building. Mick sensed the adolescent’s real reason was just to be alone. An image of Joel’s body on the shore flashed into Mick’s mind. He nodded to this new friend, and suggested he wait for the others before venturing into the swamp. Seamus turned away.

  Mick joined the others, clapping Giorgi on the back. “You okay?”

  “Never better!” he declared, despite looking a little disoriented.

  As they trooped behind Giorgi into the building’s wide vestibule Mick glanced back and saw Sorel join them. The vestibule opened out onto a landing before a wide staircase. Giorgi started up the stairs.

  “Are you and Franklin the only ones left here now?” Mick asked.

  “And Rainer,” Giorgi said. “He’s from the south, not Nebu City. And … he’s dying.”

  He pointed to a door down the hall. “That room at the end was where they kept us, the three of us. Double-locks on the door, bars on the windows, the whole nine yards.”

  Turning away he set off down the long corridor. “They’ve been dumping the bodies into the swamp,” he said as he walked.

  “What bodies?” Carmen asked.

  He turned. “Many of Levrok’s men, and Rainer’s people before that, died of the CTT.”

  “CTT?” Mick asked.

  “Cellular temporal – something. Rainer’s name for some local disease.”

  He stopped in front of a large double door, and pulled it open. They peered into a long room with high windows, bright with late afternoon sunlight. Off to the right, seated on a bench and silhouetted against one of the room’s two windows, a haggard figure in his early 60’s turned and looked in their direction.

  “Are these the offworld visitors?” the old man asked.

  “Yeah,” Giorgi answered.

  “Well, come in,” he said mildly.

  Mick and Turok glanced about as they entered the room.

  He stood and crossed toward them. “I am Franklin,” he said.

  The others introduced themselves.

  “What do you think of our world?” Franklin asked, gesturing out the barred window.

  “We’ve seen better,” Turok said.

  “I don’t doubt it. But to be fair, we aren’t seeing her at her best. Far from it.”

  “What was her best?” Carmen asked, curious.

  He shrugged. “What she was – before. The normal cycle of seasons before the stilling began.” He raised a hand, as if to push away their questions, and cast a searching look beyond them. “Excuse me. Where are Joel and Seamus?”

  Mick cleared his throat. “Seamus is outside. I’m sorry, but Joel was killed in the swamp.”

  Franklin inhaled abruptly, and looked away. “How?” he asked softly.

  “One of the guard animals,” Mick said.

  “A mute.” He seemed to gather himself. “I must speak with Seamus.”

  “He’s in the grounds out back,” Mick said.

  Franklin nodded, and glanced towards a low partition that extended out from the furthest window, near the corner. “Rainer is resting there,” he said. “He wants very much to speak with you.” The old man walked out of the room.

  The others looked at each other. They walked across to the corner. “Hello,” Carmen said from their side of the partition, “can we do anything for you?”

  A mild voice addressed them. “No. But please, come around so I can see you.”

  Carmen stepped past the partition, Mick and Turok following behind. A middle-aged man lay in a low bed – it stood away from the wall to catch the light from the window. The bed was more of a cot, easy to move from room to room. There was little else, except for the analgesic patches laid out on a side table. The man turned as they approached.

  He waved off their introductions.

  “You know that I am Rainer,” he replied. “I heard you and Franklin. He’s not half as frail as he appears.” He smiled. “Or as – unhelpful.” He looked again out the window. “In fact, he may be more help to you, eventually, than you can imagine.”

  Carmen knelt by his bed.

  “I am from south of here, from a much larger city than this,” he said without emotion. “Before I left, most of my people had succumbed to Nebura’s – unique disease.”

  “Cellular temporal – ?” Mick said.

  “Tetraparesis. CTT,” Rainer said, nodding. “Or more prosaically, bioatomic paralysis. It cascades, reaches groups of cells, then specific cells.” He looked at the ceiling, and seemed far away. “As the Kalaal had to adjust, so have we, their descendants. Levrok found that amusing.” He turned to look up at them. “The Kalaal settled this world almost three centuries ago.” He seemed absent for a moment, then resumed. “Nebura has had no rainfall for some time. Even the ocean is affected.”

  Mick nodded, thinking of the waveless harbor and ocean, the windless skies. “When did it start?”

  “A few months ago,” Rainer said. “In my father’s day there were some who spoke of … the slowing, they called it. No one but they could sense it, so their warning was ignored. To be sure, the effects were minimal.” He shrugged. “No one wanted to believe the same phenomenon of two centuries ago had returned.”

  “How many of you are there?” Carmen asked.

  “Down south, very few. Here–?” He shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

  “Maybe we can join forces,” Mick said. “There are six of us, and three of you held here.”

  Rainer nodded.

  “There are others, from Seamus’s group,” Mick added. “Hiding somewhere in Nebu City.”

  The invalid turned his face to the window. “So many were lost. When we arrived we hoped these people, and Levrok, would help.” He looked at the buildings around the courtyard. “They did, at first … or pretended to. But over the weeks the CTT took most of them.” He sighed. “Levrok blamed us. He is of the Siqdori, ancient enemies of the Kalaal.”

  “We’ve only been here a couple days,” Mick said.

  “Ah, your starship.”

  “A launch shuttle,” Mick said.

  The other smiled at him.

  Feeling he could trust this man, Mick added: “And two others the same size in orbit, but their reserves are finished.”

  “So you’re marooned here.”

  “For the present, yes.”

  “You hope for rescue,” he said, nodding. “A neutronics beacon won’t work in Nebura space, but I suppose you found that out. There may be an alternative. The Kalaal, ever resourceful, developed a form of holoreal technology – on the cusp between material and virtual.”

  Carmen leaned forward. “Is there nothing we can do for you?”

  He shook his head. “Let me warn you. If your people fall ill – there’s a time of false recovery. Walking ghost phase. Ten to fourteen days after onset, you would die.”

  Mick wondered if some of what the dying man said was the product of this disease.

  “It could be worse,” Rainer continued. “Some, af
ter walking ghost …” He paused to catch his breath. “Disorientation, aggressive neurosis, body shifting … A few of Levrok’s men were like that.”

  Turok glanced at Carmen. “Time radiation?”

  Rainer looked at him sharply. “The weapons of two centuries ago … were proscribed.” He fell into a sudden fit of coughing.

  When the spasm passed the wizened man shrugged. “The last phase you see before you – lasts two or three days.”

  A brightness had entered his eyes. His throat muscles constricted suddenly, as he clutched Carmen’s arm. “The stilling … swallows worlds.”

  His shoulders sank slowly. His locked throat seemed to send a roiling wave down through his body. His eyes locked in place, unseeing.

  Carmen placed a finger on his neck. “He’s gone.”