Obsidian's War The Winter City by M S Lawson - HTML preview

Gel realised that to avoid the missiles he had been calling down, the Hoodie commander had opted to tail the group with scouts and send the rest underground, to emerge wherever his group stopped. All the more reason to go up. They reached the targeted building. Theo and Cliffe scouted ahead, found no-one on the ground floor then started checking each floor. The rest followed, hauling the stretchers up the building’s fire staircase.

“Clear at the site,” said Theo over comms.

“Check exits,” said Gel. “Flight, you’re up. Like we discussed you need to come down fast.”

“My husband told me that once,” said Flight cheerfully. “One fast descent coming down.”

By the time they reached what was once an elegant top floor ballroom, the transport was descending through what remained of the roof to settle on the snow-covered dance floor, all lights off.

“They still have the sound equipment,” said Alyssa, pointing to a dais at one end with two speaker boxes, half buried in snow. “We could have a dance.”

“Invite the Hoodie girls,” suggested Theo. “Maybe the Hoodie we captured wouldn’t shoot me.” The captive had been left behind in the same building in which she had been captured.

“Wouldn’t count on it,” said Dawlish.

They loaded the wounded then the refugees filed on, Gel urging them to hurry, leaving only the unwounded soldiers, Dr Addanc, the detective and Sylvester.

“Room for one more,” said Cale.

“You’re a civilian Sylvester and a jobless one,” said Gel. “There’s no need for you to hang around.”

“I’ll stay if you have no objection,” said Sylvester. “I’m not finished with my former boss, but I can do something to make up for him bugging out.”

“Glad of the extra hand,” said Gel, “but you’re not in uniform. It could go hard with you if the Hoodies capture us.”

“Hoodies don’t play by those rules, Skip,” said Dawlish.

“I’m not about to be captured,” said Sylvester.

“Suit yourself,” said Gel. “Too much discussion. Let’s roll Flight. We’ll tell you when we’re clear enough for you to come back to get us.”

The transport engines whined.

“Hartmann, where are our hostiles?”

“Building next door to the West,” said Hartmann. He was trying to sound more efficient than usual as Addison had dropped in with take-out food that would serve as breakfast. “Looks like they’re on the roof.”

“Gotit,” said Gel. “Flight, hold for a moment while we deal with hostiles. Theo and Parkinson on me. Dawlish, arrange our exit out a side window using the Mule-synth and keep an eye on the other entrances to this place. We can expect company from the underground passages real soon.”

As Gel’s group scattered, Lieutenant Barastoc, Hartmann’s boss in the IT section, strolled into Hartmann’s tiny nook near the Colonel’s office.

“When are you returning to us, Hartmann?” he said cheerfully, “and I see from the presence of the squad leader here with take out that you’ve been speaking to women. I told you no good would come of that.” He shook his head in mock sadness at Addison. “You should stop this now before the inevitable misery, Squad Leader.”

“No misery so far, sir,” said Addison, smiling.

“I’m staying another day or so, sir,” said Hartmann. “Still keeping tabs on Lieutenant Obsidian’s side project.”

“You guys don’t file reports to the main logs, I see,” said Barastoc.

“Colonel’s eyes only, sir, and my section has a separate firewall. You remember command was worried about hacking.”

“I told ‘em there was nothing in it,” grumbled Barastoc, “but you can run more security checks when you get back. Where is Lieutenant Obsidian with his side project at the moment?”

“In a ball room in Jasper, sir, but they’re not sure where they’re going from there.”

Addison, in the process of nibbling on an Italian meat ball, stopped her nibbling to look at Hartmann, curiously.

“Okay,” said Barastoc, “let me know when you can return, and Squad Leader Addison, there’s still time to bail. If you study Russian literature, you know that the only result of any human action is sadness – suffering and sadness.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” she said.

After Barastoc had left Addison said, “you didn’t tell him they’re going out the back?”

“Operational security,” said Hartmann. “The skipper insists on it.”

“Quite right,” said Gel who had heard some of the exchange. “Put me on speaker.”

After he did so, Gel said, “Is that Squad Leader Addison I hear?”

“Yes sir,” said Addison. “I was bringing Private Hartmann breakfast. I had to get up early for expected transports.”

“Breakfast?” said Gel. Then looked at the time on his helmet interface. “Nearly five? No wonder I was getting sleepy, and hungry. Okay team, we’re almost done here. Let’s keep it together. Squad Leader, you’ll ensure that Hartmann does not become distracted.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alyssa, who was listening in on the team comm link, made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt.

“And if any of the dock workers gives you grief, I can be contacted out here.”

“There’s been no trouble, but I’ll remember that, sir.”

Gel’s trio found the back staircase and crawled out onto what remained of the roof. All they could see of the roof opposite was two large heating units, now frozen over and buried in snow, which were a feature of all the buildings.

“Anyone see our hostiles?” asked Gel quietly.

“Keeping their heads well down, Skip,” said Theo. “Those heating units make good cover.”

“They do at that. I’ll put two anti-armour Dart-Gun rounds into them when Flight launches. If anyone pokes their head up after that, blast them.”

“No problem, Skip,” said Theo.

“Okay, Flight, away you go.”

Just as the top of the transport showed above the wall, Gel shot two rounds into each unit, spraying snow and bits of metal all over the roof. After a second Parkinson’s storm cannon chattered.

“Thought I saw something, Skip,” he said.

By then the transport was a dot in the night sky.

“Hopefully a dead something now,” said Gel.

“No wonder they don’t build ‘em high in Jasper,” grumbled Theo. “It’s colder on the higher levels.”

“What was that Barastoc said about Russian literature?” asked Gel.

“Suffering and sadness?” said Hartmann over the comms link.

“He forgot cold. At least it’s warm this time of year on Lighthold.”

 

***

 

Gel thought that the night was warm or perhaps it was just having Even in the passenger seat as they drove to her home deep in Five Ways made him hot. She grilled Gel about what his ex – fiancée Alison had hoped to achieve by paying for a visit to Heather/Athena. Gel then told her that Alison had first offered him an affair with her BFF Amelia.

“For real?” exclaimed Even. “I’ve seen the web channel this Amelia runs. She’s nutty as hell but real competition. Did you ever call her?”

“Nope. Like you said she’s a nut – a charming nut, I admit, but I don’t think I could handle someone who seriously tries to fix their car with crystal energies.”

Even laughed outright.

“I saw that item on her channel,” she chortled. “She was puzzled about why it didn’t work.”

“I didn’t see it, but I heard about it,” said Gel. “The guys who saw it cared only that she was trying to use crystals while wearing cut-off jeans and a crop top.”

“A big selling point,” admitted Even. “Did Amelia know that Alison was throwing her at you?”

“Don’t believe so. Amelia is beautiful and nutty, not cold or calculating. But like I said, my hold on sanity is shaky as it is. Dating Amelia might break it entirely.”

Even laughed again. “You’re a poor rich boy aren’t you?”

“True. Maybe I can play the sympathy card? Do I get any sympathy?”

“I dunno,” said Even smiling. “We Five Ways girls aren’t big on sympathy. No money, don’t waste our time.”

“There you go, I’m a poor rich kid that’s now poor, so I’ve got no hope.”

“You’re full of shit, Obsidian,” she retorted. “Theo was telling me that apartment of yours has its own AI, cleaning droid and a view of the harbour. You’ve got more than a soldier’s salary and don’t hand me any jive about soldiers these days being paid well.”

“It’s a converted factory in a bad neighbourhood,” said Gel. “Keeps me off the streets is all.”

“Ha!” snorted Even. “This former fiancée of yours didn’t get the pre-nup back on track with these offers?”

“Nope. I didn’t bite, and it’s been well over a year. I heard she was marrying someone else and, yes, someone with money.”

“Of course,” said Even. “Much older than her?”

“I sorta know the guy – he’s one of the other founding families - and he’s maybe a few years older than me.”

“But he wouldn’t have the big dough like you have,” she said.

“Used to have.”

“Ha,” said Even. “You know, Heather’s not the only one I know at the place she works. I also know Annie.”

“Asian Annie? Now she’s a mercenary.”

“She is, and she was complaining to me that you are loyal to Heather.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do but discuss me with others?”

“I met her around and the subject came up. Ex-billionaires turned gun slingers stand out, even in Five Ways, so it’s a natural topic of conversation among us girls. She said she’s left you heaps of openings, but you haven’t been biting.”

“Life with Heather is weird enough without getting involved with Annie, and I’ve been trying to avoid mercenaries. Heather isn’t like that, or at least not much like that.”

“No, she isn’t but you know what I also look for besides money? Trust. Girls need to know a guy can keep his pants on when she’s not around.” Before Gel could answer she pointed to a corner in the tenement house district they were in. “I’m here, just drop me on that corner. There’s no light on in the apartment so Boris isn’t home but we don’t want the neighbours gossiping.”

“Doesn’t look like the kinda place where neighbours gossip over their back fences.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I guess,” said Gel. “But it is the kinda place that I‘d better wait in the car until you get to your front door.”

She smiled. “You are sweet.” She kissed him on the cheek then slid out of the car. “Come and see me sing some time,” she said, holding open the door. “Drop me a line before you do, and I’ll get you back stage.”

“Sure, I’ll do that,” said Gel, wondering if me would. He watched her while she walked to her door, moving the car to keep her in view. When she got to her door she gave a little wave and smiled at him before going through it.

On his way home Gel realised, great fat male lump that he was, that he was smiling.

 

***

 

Gel was thinking of Even on that warm night when he re-joined the rest of his small group on what had once been a dance floor.

“Now we’ve gotten rid of the wounded and refugees, guys,” he said. “we can think of ourselves. Let’s move.”

“We’re not going to stay and dance?” asked Alyssa.

“Nope. Too much trouble to clear away the snow.”

They heard a distant Whump! Whump!

“Ralph on the main entrance dropped a couple of grenades, skipper,” said Dawlish. “Movement down below. We’ve got an escape route sorted through the ladies’ toilets at the back of the dance floor.”

“Charming. Okay let’s organise the Mule-Synth to let us down one by one.” Gel had thought to include rope in the Synth’s kit. “Theo and Parkinson down first to set up a perimeter.”

“We’re not staying here?” asked Dr Addanc.

“I’m not into glorious last stands, Doctor,” said Gel. “In about an hour maybe, our Hoodie friends will have rocket launchers on nearby buildings and we won’t get a transport in here. Instead, we’ll slip away and if they try to follow us, we can bring down another of those useful tac missiles on their scrawny rear ends. Then we’ve got a whole city to lose ourselves in, before arranging our own pickup.”

“Sounds good,” said Alyssa.

“I never thought I’d issue this order,” said Gel, “but everyone to the Ladies toilets.”

Gel posted himself by the door to the toilets, along with Dawlish, and fired high explosive rounds from his launcher three times, twice when he could see movement at the near entrance to the ball room, and once at the far end. Dawlish fired a few times, more to keep Hoodie heads down than with any hope of hitting anything.

Then Gel felt a tap on his shoulder and, a few seconds later was lowered at speed out of the fourth storey window by the unit’s lifting droid, dropping the last two metres into snow. With some remote prompting by Dawlish who had control over the droid through a tablet, the creature followed a split second later by simply rolling out of the window and dropping onto the spot hastily vacated by Gel. They were designed to survive such falls.

With everyone down, the unit moved off, pretending to be a Hoodie patrol, as gunfire echoed from the top story of the building. The Hoodies were storming the ladies toilets. The echoes had barely died away before darkness had swallowed up Gel’s small command.

CHAPTER NINE

 

It was a warm day on Lighthold and Gel, still on his officer training course, was walking through a fashionable restaurant in the Bayside district to a get together lunch with Arch, Gillian and other friends from Law School when he was hailed from one of the tables.

“It’s young Obsidian!”

The speaker was a grey-haired, portly man who, despite his years, radiated considerable authority.

“Mr Obadiah, sir,” said Gel shaking hands. “It has been a while.”

“It has indeed,” said Obadiah. “Your father and I may have been business adversaries, but he was an adversary I respected. I miss him greatly now.”

“I know he respected you, sir. As an opponent you were one of the few that annoyed him enough to make him use bad language.”

The older man roared with laughter. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I was also sorry to hear about Mrs Obadiah. She was a fine lady.”

“She was, but it’s been more than a year and here’s a friend of mine back from the lady’s room.”

It was Heather, who froze on seeing Gel.

“Athena, dear,” said Obadiah, “this is Gellibrand Obsidian, the son of one of my toughest business adversaries, and now doing very well in the military.”

“Ms Athena,” said Gel nodding, gravely. He had always known what Heather did for a living, so he was not about to get upset about finding her as the paid companion of a man older than his father. “Please to meet you.”

She forced a smile. “Please to meet you,” she responded and sat down.

“That was quite a fight you had on Outpost-3,” said Obadiah. “I had the occasional civil lunch with your father, and I remember he commented on your lack of ambition – able but didn’t want to do anything with your life. Looks like you found something to do.”

“He told me that, sir, many times. I told him I was happy aiming to be happy.”

“That fight was your grandfather through and through,” said Obadiah. “I knew him too – tough and smart. You’re not out on campaign now?”

“Short officer’s training course, sir. I was ordered to take it.”

“I should think so too,” snorted Obadiah. “Obvious executive material. When you’re done with the military, I hope you go into business, young man.” He leant forward. “I could do with a challenge to keep me alive.”

“Haven’t quite decided what I’ll do, sir.”

“Join us for a time,” said Obadiah waving at the table.

“Thank you, sir, but I am expected at another table; a get together with old law school friends, and you look busy.” He gestured at Athena who responded with a faint smile. “It was good to see you and give my regards to William.” (This was Obadiah’s son, whom Gel knew slightly.) He nodded in Heather’s direction said “Ms Athena” and left.

Heather called him later the same day.

“That was weird,” she said.

“How come you were out at a restaurant with a client?” said Gel. “I thought it was against the rules.”

“His wife had passed away. There’s someone who checks that stuff. Even then management doesn’t like it, ‘cause I can be photographed with the client, but they’ll allow it for a big spender.”

“Money still rules, I guess.”

“Don’t be like that,” she said.

“I wasn’t being like anything. I was just making an observation. I wouldn’t even have said anything or pointed out that you won’t let me take you to a top restaurant like your client did, if you hadn’t raised the issue. I was hoping to ignore the whole thing.”

“Humph – you know his son William?”

“Sort of,” said Gel. “He was a few years ahead of me at school. He now runs a big men’s wear shop and is a leading light in the gay community.”

“Ohhh! That explains a few things he was saying, including that he would have wanted you as a son.”

“I should be flattered, but I don’t think I would have wanted him as a father – a hard driving man. My own father grumpily complied with my wishes. He wouldn’t have.”

“I can see that he wouldn’t,” she said.

Heather later kicked over this conversation with her colleagues in the establishment.

“He’s always known what you do,” said Latin lover Carmen, “and he behaved well. Didn’t get jealous or make a scene and acknowledged you as if he was meeting a stranger – just like we don’t smile at clients when we see them out with their wives, or husbands. He wasn’t even going to say anything later.”

“He’s useful to have around,” said Asian Annie. “Good for taking us girls out onto the harbour. We need more outings.”

“Maybe the real problem,” said Hitchcock blonde Helena, “is that you went to this restaurant with a client. Other clients, as well as Gel, will see you in those places and you could get a picture in the news feeds. Clients could also get the wrong idea and start making long term offers.”

“Depends on how much money they’re going to put up,” said Annie.

“I’ll speak to management about it,” said Helena, ignoring Annie. “How are things between you and Gel, anyway.”

“Okay, I guess,” said Heather a little ruefully. “I might have liked an argument just to find out what he thinks. As it is when I hang out with him we do the sex thing but we also cuddle while watching films, which I like.”

“That’s pretty good in any relationship,” said Carmen.

“But it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and I still feel I don’t really know him,” Heather added.

“That can be a problem,” Helena admitted.

None of the ladies mentioned another, even larger problem – what would happen if Gel found out about some of the establishment’s deep, dark secrets, or that Heather had passed on information about Gel, as they all passed on information about their clients.

 

***

 

Gel found himself thinking about Heather/Athena as he trudged through the snow in the dark of a freezing Dimarch night. Keeping their heads well down his little command walked for about fifteen minutes before, with dawn breaking, Gel spied a row of two storey buildings on the side of what might have been a square with snow piled so high on one side that they could clamber into the top storey. They picked the third in the row and clambered into that to find that the top storey offered good views, but they could still light a heater on the ground floor without giving their position away. Gel set watches and told his command to eat and sleep.

“Tomorrow night we’ll make a last effort to find the rest of Captain Edge’s party, after that we’ll keep walking and get far enough away from Jasper for Flight to come and pick us up and take us some place warm.”

“Sounds good,” said Theo.

Gel was aware that Dr Addanc was on his own comms device but did not pay much attention before he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his thermal blanket, dreaming of Heather/Athena and Even, only to be shaken awake by Addanc.

“Take care, doctor,” he growled. “We don’t know each other that well.”

“General Sims for you,” said Addanc, handing Gel his comms unit. This was like an old fashioned mobile phone but larger and heavier.

“Obsidian,” said Gel tentatively into it.

“Do I have the honour of addressing Second Lieutenant Obsidian?” General Sims had a soft, almost effeminate voice which belied his reputation as a fighting colonel of the Imperial Marines. Like many of the Assault Infantry’s senior officers he had been offered a big promotion to attract him to the rim in order to knock Lighthold’s infantry into shape.

“You have that honour, sir,” said Gel. “And do I have the far greater honour of addressing General Sims?”

“You do, Lieutenant. But I insist that the honour is more mine. I can see why General McMahon recommended you and Colonel Lee sent you to find Captain Edge’s expedition.”

“Thank you, sir, although we have yet to find the larger part of the party.”

“No need, Lieutenant. Captain Edge has turned up of his own accord with the rest of the guardsmen. They’ve managed to get comms working and asked for a pickup outside Jasper. Colonel Lee intends to discuss in detail with Captain Edge the need to keep his superiors informed and about proper procedures, and I intend to have forceful discussions with Dr Addanc and his superiors about the need for consultation in obtaining our co-operation. He cannot make up his own missions and go haring off without telling us. The Eye may be important, but it still has to follow procedures.”

“Yes sir. But if Captain Edge has turned up that means we can go home now.”

“About that...” said the general.

“Uh-oh!” thought Gel.

“I told Dr Addanc he had to follow procedures and he has also conceded that Captain Edge was probably not the right choice for the mission he had conceived. But he makes the point that he’s now in the right place with a new team that might be able to do the job. Colonel Lee has also told me you have supplies for a couple more days.”

“I don’t care for the way this is heading, sir.”

“Of course, I can’t really order you. Such missions have to be voluntary. But the Lighthold government has directed me to give every help to the Eye and to the Lighthold Police Authority. You have a Lighthold detective with the group.”

“Yes sir, and I’m just going to go and ask both of those individuals in direct terms, why we should help him.”

“Not too directly, Lieutenant,” said the general, a note of amusement in his voice. “Dr Addanc will explain what it is he wants, without any persuasion. He also tells me Captain Edge’s group was ambushed the moment it set down. I also understand from Colonel Lee that you may have some insight into that.”

“Yes sir,” said Gel. “Nothing I really want to say in front of the others.”

“Of course,” said General Sims. “I will leave the operational matters with you, and Colonel Lee.”

“I should also say, sir, that I just went through an officer’s course where they emphasised planning and not making potentially dangerous missions up on the spot.”

“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant,” said Sims. “As I said, Dr Addanc needs to lift his game in co-ordination. It’s a matter of seeing what you can do.”

Gel sighed. “I’ll talk to him sir and discuss the matter with the team. The Hoodies are still on high alert looking for us. Even moving around with anything short of a regiment may be a problem.”

“Whatever you can do, Lieutenant, and well done so far.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Gel switched off the comms unit, rolled out of his thermal blanket and stood up. The first thing he saw was the local representative of Imperial Intelligence smiling triumphantly. He advanced on Dr Addanc, the spy’s look of triumph turning into alarm, backing him against a wall. One hand gripped the spy’s collar just under the Adam’s Apple and the other was used to brandish the spy’s comms unit under Addanc’s nose.

“Dr Addanc, why don’t I cut the BS factor here and shove this fine piece of electronic engineering where the sun doesn’t shine?”

The spy eyed the comms unit with concern. “Think of your career,” he managed to gargle.

“I’m thinking that it’d be a good career move to not get killed in a mad scheme cooked up by The Eye,” said Gel. He released Dr Addanc, who panted, and threw him the comms unit. “However, as a courtesy to General Sims I’ll listen to what you have to say.” He turned around and pointed at detective Lewandowski, who had woken up to view the Gel-Addanc piece of theatre with concern, “and you had better have a good story to follow it.”

He turned back to the spy. “Dr Addanc start talking.”

 

***

 

After kicking the matter around with her colleagues, Heather decided that a nice, regular date followed by a sleep-over at Gel’s place might put the relationship back on track. Her Sunday night was free, there was an up-market but discrete waterfront restaurant they had yet to try and a place for dancing nearby. Rather than make Gel pay for the taxi as she always did, she thought it might be nicer for him to pick her up from her apartment, just like a date with a normal, single girl.

“Doesn’t it just emphasise the strangeness of the whole thing,” asked Helen, “having your boyfriend pick you up from your place of business? There are some things you don’t want him to find out about this place.”

Heather shrugged. “Gel doesn’t ask questions and he’ll barely be in the apartment.”

This time, although Gel was punctual as he always was, Heather’s last client had taken longer than expected and she was still getting dressed.

“Just wait in the living room,” she said kissing him.

He didn’t wait in the living room. Even’s comment about the group behind the establishment being “weird” fresh in his mind, he wandered around looking for anything that could be classified as weird. He opened a couple of drawers in the living room sideboard and examined the figurine of the goddess Athena he had bought Heather. He walked into the room used for clients with its double bed, now reordered after its last workout – Gel tried not to think about that - its small bookcase and chest of drawers on which Oscar the large, toy bear sat surveying the bed with eternal disapproval, as he had on the day he had first met Heather-Athena.

Gel picked up Oscar then put him down again and looked through the books. Nothing much seemed to have changed. Heather came in, her dress on but her hair still down.

“You’re in here!” she said.

“Just seeing if you had any new books.”

“And you’ve moved Oscar.” She put the bear back carefully where it had been, smiled at Gel, took his hand and led him out of the room. “Come back to the living room. I don’t like you in that room – you know why – I won’t be long.”

But Gel did not stay in the apartment’s main room. Something about the business room bothered him. He went back, opening the door carefully so that Heather did not hear him.

The soldier looked at the bear. Was Oscar the bear “weird” in any way. Then it occurred to him that the rest of the room was neat but not squared off. There was dust on the bookshelves and two figurines on top were set any old way. Why, then, did Oscar have to sit square? On an impulse Gel picked up the bear noticing, for the first time, that there was a faint mark in the veneer of the chest of drawers, about where the stuffed toy had been placed. He felt around the eyes then tore at the head. It came off easily to reveal two small cameras – one for each eye. He dropped the dismantled Oscar on the chest and looked around the room. One of the books, Gel realised, had no dust on it. He took it out and opened it to find another small camera, placed to look through a tiny hole in the spine of the book.

“Blackmail,” said Gel aloud, just as Heather came back into the room, all made up and ready to go. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.

“Gel,” she whispered.

“Have you been filming all your clients?” he demanded, roughly.

She nodded.

“Including me?”

“When you were in here. Not otherwise,” she said.

He dropped the book and camera on the chest of drawers besides the beheaded Oscar.

“This is a blackmail shop?”

“Insurance, that’s what I was told,” she said. “Leverage in case the clients tried anything. That’s what I was told.”

“Heather,” said Gel, leaning towards her, “I don’t believe that.”

“I.. well,” she said, “taking a step back, her look of horror being replaced by one of tears. “It’s what I was told.”

“Right, well, I can’t really be around can I. I’m going.”

“You won’t get past security,” said Heather, wiping away a tear. “Messing with the cameras is one thing that gets that really annoys them. I was told that clients who mess with the cameras will disappear. Gel, they’ll come for you. You’ll never get out of the building.”

 

***

 

Dr Addanc’s comms device doubled as a 3D projector which the spy used to display a map of the city for Gel’s little command, or at least the city as it used to be like before it was laid waste in a civil war and buried in the snow of a very bad, endless winter.

“This is the city’s Hall of Justice,” he said pointing to a building, large for Jasper, about two blocks from where he had been found. “And this is where we were aiming for. An area below the Hall of Justice that has been described to us as a ‘Gagrim Temple’.”

“As in some sort of religion for these guys?” said Gel.

“We don’t believe they’re particularly religious,” said Addanc, “but there are symbols down there. Sculptures that fulfill the same role as gargoyles on the outside of cathedrals – ugly things that are meant to ward off evil spirits – and so on. But that’s not the reason we’re interested in it. Off to one side in this area here,” he pointed to a series of grey blocks on the projection, “is a big repository of the slabs the Gagrim used to store their personalities. Bigger than any of the ones we found on Outpost-3.”

“The one on Outpost-3 was enormous,” said Gel.

“That was just one of several on the planet. The Gagrim knew that terraforming on Outpost-3 would reveal the structures and they decided to mount an expedition with some mercenaries and grab what they could before the whole planet was taken over. One of those sites, the one near Walter’s Find had to be defended while they worked.”

“And B Company walked straight into The Destroyers ambush,” said Gel. “Did you guys know any of this before we went in there?”

Dr Addanc shook his head. “Most of this is guesswork after the fact, analysis of the material captured on Outpost-3, and examination of the creature known as Jerrold retrieved by Captain Edge…”

“What?” said Gel. “Captain Edge did not get Jerrold back. We did that.”

“Yeah – that guy smelled real bad,” said Alyssa.

“But Edge presented him to me,” protested Addanc, taken aback, “after you refused to find him.”

“I didn’t refuse,” spluttered Gel. “I said it’d have to wait until after we’d finished with the Destroyers we had been fighting, which included a stand-up gun fight. We tracked poor Jerrold down after that and handed him over to the Guards. Sylvester was there when we handed him over.”

“That’s right, Dr Addanc,” said the former bodyguard. “I didn’t say anything before because Captain Edge was paying me, but he wasn’t involved in the recapture. It was this group.”

“I see,” said Dr Addanc.

“Captain Edge brought him to you, and you didn’t think to ask how he happened to run Jerrold down,” said Gel. “He was a really fast dude. The only way we did it was to corner him riding the electric bikes the Destroyers had been using to get around the jungle.”

“I dunno, I thought it was fun,” said Theo.

“I will also say, Dr Addanc,” said Sylvester. “That I heard that Lieutenant Obsidian here was suggested as the person to lead the party on this mission, and I believe he would have been a better pick.”

“I was?” said Gel. “Considering what’s happened I’m personally not sorry, but I’m curious. How come I wasn’t selected?”

“I was told you had connections with organised crime,” snapped Addanc.

“Connections with organised crime!” exclaimed Gel, “this was your doing wasn’t it, Lawn Mower?”

“Red flags were raised on a security check,” said Lewandowski. “You were sharing accommodation with a known Fiveways enforcer…”

“Skip’s the guy who throws people through doors,” protested Theo. “I’m a good person.”

“Then there was the matter of the fingerprint,” said Lewandowski, ignoring Theo. “There was no real evidence of a connection with organised crime, but there were red flags enough to rule you out.”

“Fingerprint?” exclaimed Alyssa. “Have you been holding out on your personal dramas again? Not sharing drama with your comrades should be a military crime.”

“Never mind all this for the moment,” said Gel. “Whatever the events that got us here, we’re still freezing our rear ends off in the middle of a hostile city for no reason that’s yet been explained. Dr Addanc, you were saying.”

“Right, so it’s a repository of these imprinted personalities,” said Addanc, “but it’s also the main centre for these Gagrim. They are transplanting brains into human bodies where the skulls have been surgically extended…”

“Erk!” said Alyssa. “More crazy shit.”

“… but the adaptation is not very robust. As some of you saw on Outpost-3 and in that one you killed in getting to us, they either have to use those processor units hard-wired to the brain to handle the cognitive overload, which has other problems, or remove the top of the human skull, transplant the brain and add a false top of the skull to accommodate the over-size organ.

“Both approaches work for a time, even decades, but they want something better, more permanent. Their old bodies did not fare well when their environment changed, and they’ve been impressed by just how robust the human body can be, so they’ve been trying to design and clone an improved version of the human body complete with the expanded brain inside a skull large enough to accommodate it.

“Charming,” said Gel. “So you’ve got two types of these Gagrim-Human hybrids, but they want to move up to the final stage, a tailor made body that wears as well as a human and can house the Gagrim brain. They’d need a lot of expertise to get to that stage.”

“The Outpost-3 exercise was partly about getting the individuals with expertise they require into these make-do bodies,” said Addanc. “We think the creature you call Jerrold was one of the creative, knowledgeable individuals they needed for such a project. Even for an advanced, space-faring race, adapting the body of a different creature and then cloning it so that the finished item lasts many decades in reasonable health is no easy feat, in addition to the problems of transplanting a new consciousness to the new body.”

“Wouldn’t they want to switch bodies when the one they’ve got wears out?” asked Dawlish. “Give yourself a real hot body each time.”

“Sounds good,” said Theo

“Injecting a consciousness into a new body isn’t easy, as we understand it,” said Addanc. “Once you’ve done it, it’s better to stick to what you’ve got, at least until the technology improves.”

“Dr Addanc this is all very interesting,” said Gel, “but I still don’t see what our little group can do here. What were you and Captain Edge hoping to do with two squads of guards?”

“It’s simple,” said Dr Addanc, smiling, “we were going to take the complex, remove the data from the information system that must be there and blow it up.”

 

***

 

“I’m so sorry, Gel,” said Heather. “I kept you away from this room after we started going out – maybe you can talk with them when they come, make a bargain of some kind?”

Gel ran to the living room just in time to hear the door lock click. He tried it, to find the door would not move. There was a balcony, seldom used, over-looking an extensive front garden and street. A large, sliding plastic-glass door which let in lots of light was also locked.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” said Heather, “we have to think what story to tell them.”

Gel spared a glance for her. She seemed genuinely remorseful. He grabbed the statue of Athena off the sideboard. It was some sort of plaster rather than stone, but it was heavy enough for what he intended. He smashed it against the glass in the sliding door. It cracked but did not shatter. The soldier hit it again, hard with the same result.

“It’s no good, Gel,” said Heather. “Please let’s just think about what to do.”

Ignoring her, Gel realised that the balcony did not run the full length of the apartment and there was another window just a metre or so from it to the right, letting light into the apartment’s kitchen alcove. He swung the statue at that, and the pane shattered nicely. Two more swings and the window frame was empty. He threw the statue to one side, pulled a nearby occasional table to the window, scattering decorative figurines, stood on it and stepped through the window, trying to avoid the few sharp bits of glass that clung to the frames. One hand on the frame and feet braced against the smooth plaster-covered wall, he reached over to grab the balcony railing with his other hand. He set one foot on the balcony’s bottom edge when he was aware that Heather was watching him, open-mouthed, through the sliding door.

“Bye,” he mouthed, then, instead of trying to get on the balcony – it occurred to him that he’d be no better off – he grabbed the bottom of one of its vertical rails and swung down so that his feet were resting on the top railing of the balcony underneath. All the apartments were the same and the building layout was symmetrical. This happened just as he heard someone in Heather’s apartment above him say, roughly “where is he?”

Balancing for a moment, he jumped down onto the balcony below Heather’s. Then he heard the same voice say, “can’t see him now, did he fall?”

Gel was aware of a figure to his left on the other side of the sliding, transparent door. It was Asian Annie, dressed to go out, obviously startled by the sudden appearance of Gel on her balcony. She tried to pull the door open only to find that it locked. Gel waved and mouthed “bye”, then lowered himself over the front of that balcony – doing the same trick to get to the balcony underneath.

“There he is,” someone said from above. “You, there, stop or we’ll shoot.”

Not even bothering to look up, Gel swung out of sight to fall onto the balcony. Lighthold was still a frontier planet in many ways, but it was too settled for anyone to wave guns around on the top floor of an apartment building let alone fire them. However, Gel, with one more balcony to go, opted against going over the front. There was no-one on the other side of the balcony door this time and no-one looking at him from the second balcony – there were two balconies side by side at each level, one for each apartment. He looked over the side closest to the second balcony and directly above the entrance, trying not to show himself, to see a concrete shelf. He hadn’t really noticed the shelf before, but it was an overhang, partly decorative but also to keep the rain off those waiting to be buzzed through the security entrance. It looked more than capable of holding him.

“He’ll be going out the front,” he heard someone say above him as he swung over the balcony and dropped half a body length onto the overhang, then laid flat just as two men burst through the entrance doors. He rolled off the shelf, hanging briefly by one hand, before dropping to the ground just as someone above yelled “behind you”. He charged the closest of the two men. This was a tall, long-armed crew cut youngster the soldier would not care to face in a boxing ring, who turned just in time to get Gel’s forehead in his face and went down with a yelp. The other whipped a device out of his pocket – not a gun, but a portable electrical shocker. Gel realised, with a shock, he was one of the heavy-set men he had faced in the back of the van trying to snatch Yvonne.

The man’s eyes widened in recognition as he jabbed with the shocker. Gel easily blocked it and kicked the man in the side of the knee. He grunted, his leg collapsing on him. Then Gel was away, zigzagging, just in case the thugs probably still standing on the balcony fancied themselves as marksmen. There was no gate or wall, just a line of trees designed to screen off the front of the building from prying eyes, but in this case helped screen Gel from the building as he got into his car and drove away.

CHAPTER TEN

 

Gel was thinking about his escape from Heather/Athena’s by the time Dr Addanc finished speaking, looking triumphant. To the spy it all seemed simple, but Gel knew from first hand experience that getting into or out of any place where the inhabitants had other ideas was not easy.

“Dr Addanc, have you lost your mind!” snapped Gel.

The spy’s smile faded. “What’s the problem?”

“Well, do we know anything about this facility, apart from the fact that it exists? Where are the entrances and exits and how many guards can we expect at them? What sort of Hoodie force is stationed nearby? Ralph, Sylvester, did you guys get any briefing before you left?”

“Just told we’d be in a fight, sir,” said Sylvester.

“A brief firefight for the entrance, we were told, Skip,” said Ralph. “Nobody said anything about multi-level complexes or that we’d have to blow anything up. Do remember one of the other guys saying that they had a lot of explosives along on our mule-droid. He didn’t know why.”

“The Guard’s mule-droid has gone with Captain Edge’s main party, no doubt,” said Gel. “And is now back in Fort Apache.”

“Must’ve done, Skip,” said Ralph. “I didn’t see it after they left.”

“Dawlish what sort of explosives have we got on our mule-droid?” asked Gel.

“Just the standard plastique, Skip,” she said. “It’ll make a mess of something but it’s not going to stretch to blowing up whole bunkers.”

“Okay, Dr Addanc, do you see a few problems in your grand plan?” said Gel. “We’re a scratch, second team put together to go and find another team because its leaders forgot to say where they were going. The first team has done little more than alert the Hoodie forces that something is up and then vacated the field, taking the material needed for the job with them. You now want the second team, that’s us, to finish the first team’s job. This involves gaining access to a heavily guarded bunker that we don’t know anything about, take data files from the system we have no information on, and then blow everything up with explosives which we don’t have, all while fighting off Hoodie forces thoughtfully alerted by the first team. Have I missed anything?”

“Well,” said Addanc, taken aback, “I never said the plan was perfect.”

The soldiers laughed.

“Dr Addanc I’m not risking any of my team on this until I know a lot more about it,” Gel said. “We gain access to this bunker-complex thing from the bottom of the Justice Building right?”

“Yes. We believe the temple and consciousness repository predates the building. The Gagrim who have been revived have managed to connect that complex with the underground part of the Justice Building.”

“Then they’re probably using the Smart Crystal AI city governor system. Just looking at your plans here, the Gagrim must have tunnelled in from some distance away. That’s an impressive engineering feat and not one even these guys would do lightly. The city system must be the attraction. Even for an advanced spacefaring race it’d represent serious computing power.”

“If we destroyed that or take away a part of it, that might do,” said Addanc

“Take it away...” spluttered Gel. “Dr Addanc we’re not talking about a laptop we can pick up and stroll away with. It’s a smart crystal system able to run a whole city, discuss philosophy and play chess with five grandmasters all at the same time without straining its processing capacity. Smart crystals have about the same density as granite, as I seem to recall reading, and, if its anything like the Lighthold system, it’s about the size of two of the old-fashioned shipping containers. That’s two container loads of rock encased in concrete. The explosives we’ve got w‘d just piss it off.”

“Captain Edge made it all sounds so simple,” said Addanc, mournfully.

“What about you Lawn Mower?” Gel said to Lewandowski. “How come you’re along in this happy band?”

“It’s a joint operation. We also want files from the system,” said the detective. “There’s a lot of gang related activity, including what my superiors say is odd stuff – that is, guys with glowing yellow eyes and wearing hoods – which all comes back to Dimarch. They thought the police authority files here might shed some light on what’s going on, and the old authority wasn’t big on sharing. My bosses are also always talking about joint operations and were real keen on chumming up with the Eye, until someone has to represent the Lighthold Police Authority in a freezing hell hole. That’s when junior guys like me get sent.”

“Makes sense – for them,” said Gel. “Talking to me was just a side thing?”

“While I was in the neighbourhood,” said Lewandowski. “You keep turning up on our radar and the LPA didn’t want you to think we’d forgotten either you or Theodore Turgenev, aka Theo the Turd.”

“Skip and me, we’re popular guys,” said Theo.

Alyssa muttered something.

“Okay, well, I understand more than I did before, I guess,” said Gel. “And we can rule out a few options. Dr Addanc, look where this Alien bunker of yours is – the only way into or out of it we can see is that long passage and its deep underground. We’ve got no idea what’s down there and all the Hoddies have to do is put a few guys on the exit and we’re trapped. I’m ruling out the bunker. We’ve got a lot more information on the Justice Building. We know the exits and entrances and, as they won’t have moved the Smart Crystal system, we know where that is too.”

“You said we couldn’t move it or damage it,” said Addanc.

“What about its power supply?” Lewandowski said.

“Good point,” said Gel. “I’ve seen lights on here and there, so I think the city’s generators are still going, even if the distribution grid is not doing so well. If the generators are those standardised, small nuclear reactor units they’d go for years without human intervention or refuelling. Just cutting the power connection wouldn’t do much – they’d reconnect it - and messing with a nuclear reactor is not a good idea on a number of levels.”

“If we can’t move it, blow it up or sabotage it, Skip” said Dawlish, “whadda we going to do?”

“If we can find details of the layout. Including access ducts and somehow reach the system, maybe there’s another way,” said Gel. “Let’s see if Hartmann’s leg is up to a field trip.”

 

***

 

The first thing Gel did on returning to his apartment was to call Yvonne on a separate mobile she had given him. He interrupted the spy watching a children’s film with her daughter.

“You say one of the guys who tried to stop you was one of those who tried to nab me,” she said.

“He’d bought himself a new electric shocker but otherwise the same.”

“The people we’ve been fighting are based at this apartment block,” she said. “That’s interesting – it gives us a more of a focus.”

“Us?” asked Gel. “How many of you are there?”

“Urgh, I’ve already told you too much,” Yvonne said. “It’s all over between you and Athena/Heather?”

“Seems so,” said Gel. “Having fought my way out once I can’t really go back again. She wanted me to talk or bargain my way out, but those guys didn’t seem to be the bargaining types.”

“You shouldn’t have gone back to your apartment or kept your mobile phone,” said Yvonne. “Change your phone and your address.”

“I’ll change the phone but I have a lot of advantages here,” said Gel, “including security cameras which I’m watching now.”

The front security camera showed a man and a woman strolling towards the front door. The woman then tried to look casual while the man pretended to fumble for his keys to mask an effort to break in. Gel relayed this to Yvonne.

“Two people are trying to break in through the front door? You share it with others, don’t you?”

“Five others. Let’s see if they’re incautious enough to take the lift.” He touched the release to the door and the man was evidently surprised to find that the door opened. He said something to the woman and they both went in. The foyer scanner systems showed that they were both carrying pistols in shoulder holsters. He told Yvonne this.

“You have scanners in your foyer?” said Yvonne.

“You can get all sorts of stuff commercially,” said Gel, “or so builders tell me.”

“How come you’ve got so much money for security systems?” asked Yvonne. “I thought you’d been disinherited.”

“I’ve already told you too much.” Gel touched another control which locked the door to the stairs. With any luck they would then take the lift.

“You going to have a shootout at your place?”

“Nope. Just lock them in the lift while the AI summons the police, informing them that there are armed men trapped in there. Gun permits are hard to obtain on Lighthold and they are carrying them concealed – not shoulder holsters. They can have fun explaining themselves to the cops.”

“You are a resourceful man, Gel,” said Yvonne. “But you must also be a heart sore one. How are you feeling about the sudden breakup?”

“Sorry that it’s over, of course, but also relieved now that I think about it,” said Gel. “She was hot and we got on well, but it was a strange deal. When she wasn’t with me, she was having sex with other men for money.”

“It was strange, even before you found the cameras. Plenty out there for someone like you when you’re ready. Even seemed to like you.”

“Even has a hitman boyfriend and I’m going to have enough to do dodging the enemies I’ve got now.”

“If you won’t change your address at least change your number and phone,” said Yvonne. “Write down the numbers you need, don’t transfer anything, and don’t call Heather on the new phone. While you’re at it, look at anything that might have a bug in it. Sweep your place and check anything that she might have given you. That’s what they tell you in The Eye training.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Gel. He hung up just in time to intercept the call made from the lift intercom. The man was reporting a fault with the lift. “A fault with the lift has already been reported,” he told the man in his best phone operator voice. “You will be released in a few minutes.” He could see a police car pulling up in the front of the building. “Have a nice day.”

After the police had taken both of Gel’s visitors away the soldier thought over Yvonne’s advice. Gaining access to his apartment was not easy. He had seen to that. There was no building superintendent with a spare key and the unit AI monitored all doors and windows. Then Gel remembered the Lava Lamp that Heather had given him. He thought the gift was unusual but had come to like the lamp. He liked to watch the red wax blobs constantly form and reform. Now he took a closer look at the lamp which had pride of place on his living room sideboard. He found a small hole in its base which proved, when he levered it open, to be the outlet for a tiny camera and listening device.

He rang Heather, thinking that as he wouldn’t change his phone until the next day so it would not matter.

“Gel,” she said, “where are you, are you alright?”

“I looked at that Lava Lamp you gave me,” said Gel, “and found those devices in the base. It was a nice touch making it a Lava Lamp. No one would suspect a dorky lamp, and it has a power supply.”

“They said they wanted to check on you,” she said, softly.

“Right, just like the cameras are insurance and not blackmail. I’ve been taken for a fool by a woman again.”

“I’m sorry, Gel,” she said, “the money was just so good when I took the job, I just didn’t question the other parts of it. Now I’m in trouble because you found the cameras.”

“They won’t do anything to you, you’re too valuable to them. Tell them the cameras were easy to find when I decided to go snooping, and I went snooping because I was told your employers were, and I quote, ‘weird’.”

“Who told you that?” she asked, sharply.

“Never mind exactly who. Your employers approached others when they were setting up,” said Gel. “Anyway, this does not matter anymore. Your employers can try and come for me again, but they’ll find me a tougher proposition than they might think. Thanks for the good times. I’ll see you around.”

He hung up before she could respond and switched off the phone.

 

***

Hartmann had just finished discussing his complicated instructions with Gel when Captain Barastoc strolled in.

“Just wondered when you’re coming back to us, Hartmann,” he said jovially. “Your talents are wasted calling down missile strikes on Hoodies. That’s way too much like being a soldier. There are admin systems needing love.”

“Not just yet, sir,” said Hartmann. “But we’re close. After tonight I should be free.”

“Tonight huh? Nothing’s showing on the operations list.”

“They’re going to insert a team a few blocks away to the North of the Justice Building, sir, and try to sneak in from a different direction, two levels down.”

“Sounds risky,” said Barastoc. “There’s room for a Russian literature ending yet, Hartmann. Misery and suffering, that’s our lot.”

“Yes sir,” said Hartmann. “Misery and suffering. But maybe after tonight I can get back to just light misery with the admin systems.”

“We can all only hope, Hartmann,” said Captain Barastoc and left.

Hartmann waited until he was gone before going through to the next office and asking the Colonel’s squad leader assistant for a few minutes with Colonel Lee.

***

 

Even was wearing a black, halter-top minidress with a low back and the head of the Mongolian crime family, a Mr Darkmore, obviously appreciated it.

“I’m glad you could join us Even, please sit.”

They were between sets at the club Night Beats, the layout of which owed much to a 1940s Hollywood idea of a club with lots of small tables, each softly lit by a small table lamp, around which the club patrons could discuss the issues of the day. In that club those issues often involved matters of dubious legality. For Night Beats catered to customers like Mr Balsum Darkmore who was a power in the Five Ways slum area.

“You asked to see me,” she said, sitting on the edge of the seat closest to her and furthest from Mr Darkmore. He was a small, wizened man with white hair, ears that stuck out and a gap tooth grin that made Even think of serial killers. But at least he was polite and kept his eyes above her neck, unlike the two young, hard-looking associates on either side of him who leered at her top.

“I did,” said Darkmore. “I have admired your singing. You add a great deal to the songs you present.”

“Thank you, I try,” said Even, smiling politely.

“I thought we could get acquainted,” he said. The two associates smirked knowingly. “I could do things for you.”

“What things, Mr Darkmore?” said Even warily.

“Please call me Balsum. I can arrange a recording contract, and for the songs to be distributed and played on media casts. I can arrange for videos of your songs to be professionally produced – turn you into a star.”

“That sounds very nice, Mr… um Balsum, but what would you expect I return?”

“Merely to be your friend,” said Darkmore.

His associates chuckled knowingly.

“Friendship might be difficult, given that I already have a friend, Boris, who gets jealous.”

Even had been looking to get out of her relationship with the hit man for some time. However, Boris represented a useful excuse for refusing the crime lord. Darkmore had a Mongolian relative somewhere in his family tree, or so he said, but otherwise had no connection with the nation, race or outlaw motorcycle gang of Earth. His organisation was also not a family. What Darkmore did have was a reputation for cruelty and womanising that would have stood out even among the crime lords of Earth. Even did not care to find out more about this reputation first hand.

“I can talk with Boris,” said Darkmore, smiling. “We can come to some arrangement.”

“Mr Darkmore... Balsum, I’m not really a girl who can be traded,” said Even, quickly. “And I make my own arrangements. I’m also happy singing live. Music producers might get in the way.”

“I’m a powerful man, who can help your career,” said Darkmore, with a smile that chilled Even’s blood.

“A powerful man who can attract many women,” said Even. “You don’t need me as a friend, Balsum. I would complain too much. Ask Boris. Thank you for the offer, but I have to start the next set.”

Even got up, watched wolfishly by the two associates.

“What now, Boss,” said one when Even was out of earshot.

“Never thought she would come on the first offer,” said Darkmore. “It will make the final act of conquest all the sweeter.”

“Boris could be a handful,” said the other. “You want we should take him out?”

Darkmore shook his head and smiled his chilling smile. “No need for the trouble that might cause. I know Boris of old. A cash payment will overcome any objections he may have.”

***

 

Gel’s team listened in silence to his plan as he pointed to various places on Dr Addanc’s projection.

“The Guard guys won’t be real keen on coming back after getting out, Skip,” said Theo.

“They’re soldiers and they’re not being asked to do much. Just draw the Hoodie forces around the Justice Building away from it, keep them busy, make them think they’re being useful. In the meantime, we’ll come in from the opposite direction in our usual guise of a Hoodie group. Hopefully, anyone who sees us will assume we’re on our way to reinforce those fighting the Guards. We’ll then dispose of whoever’s on watch on our side, ideally before they get a chance to use their comms, and walk in. I’m betting that once we’re past the guards on ground level there’ll be few Hoodies in the building itself. The main Hoodie HQ building is thought to be a couple of blocks away.”

“We’ve still got to get to the basement, Skip,” said Dawlish.

“That’s true and, as its unlikely the lifts will be working, that means we will use good old-fashioned stairs. In the meantime, Hartmann will use an ultra-modern grav-pack to drop from a transporter to land on the roof with all the equipment he needs.”

“Grav-pack, Skip?” said Parkinson. “Those are real fun but has Hartmann used one before?”

“Probably not but those things can be programmed to deliver the wearer to the designated point, and Hartmann knows about programming. The real problem is that he has to jump from fairly high and it’ll be freezing up there. Maybe I’ll get Squad Leader Addison to assist with the equipment on that trip. She could use some field experience and he’s not going to chicken out in front of her.”

“Typical,” said Alyssa, “use a woman to cheer on the man – but it’s not a bad plan.”

“Okay, guys, those are the basics, but we need to hash it over and we can’t do anything until nightfall, so let’s get to the details.”

***

 

Gel peeked around the corner of the alley. It was broad daylight on a Sunday morning, and the two men in the black car a few metres away were parked down a side road at what they imagined was a discrete distance from Gel’s building. With no one else in sight and no inconvenient surveillance cameras the soldier straightened up, walked fast to the rear passenger door – space travel had not changed the basic design of ground cars – and slid into the back seat.

“I have a gun, gentlemen,” he said, as both men sat up straight and reached inside their jackets. He raised his hand with the pistol in it, to show that he was not bluffing. It was, in fact, the Destroyer-issue pistol he had used at the Easy Spice shootout and had managed to smuggle back to Lighthold as a souvenir. “Let’s keep this calm and civilised, shall we? This is just about passing on messages. You don’t try and shoot me, and I won’t blow your heads off. You know, the usual deal.”

The two men looked grim but stopped reaching for their pistols.

“Eyes front and hands where I can see them.” The men compiled. They were both clean-cut military or police types, Gel thought, with one distinctly older than the other. “You on the right,” he said. “You have the look of an Imperial Marine NCO.”

“Staff sergeant,” said the older man. “I used to break recruits like you.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Gel genially. “Disciplinary standards should be maintained. Did you know another ex-sergeant called Sylvester?”

“Can’t say I do, but it’s a big organisation,” said the older man. “Why?”

“Just know him, that’s all,” said Gel.

“You had a message?” said the younger one. He was of middling build but had the wire and whipcord look of a kick boxer. Gel would not care to face either of them in the ring or in the street.

“Only that I’ve passed on what I know about your employer’s establishment to The Eye.”

“Are you The Eye?” said the former marine, who moved the real view mirror so he could look at Gel.

“People keep on asking me that – no, I’m not,” said Gel. “But I know people who are in Imperial Intelligence, and I’ve told them all about the establishment with its cameras set up to take interesting shots of important people with young ladies, or young men. Just because people travel in space doesn’t mean the old, black arts have been forgotten, and honey trap blackmail is the oldest and blackest of them all.”

“Blackmail?” said the older man. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Gel could see the former marine’s face in the mirror and thought that he might be telling the truth.

“You guys are just soldiers, and the people who pay you have only told you that I’m a threat that has to be eliminated,” said Gel.

“Are you a threat?” asked the younger man.

“My point in engineering this cheerful little encounter,” said Gel, “is to say that the trigger has been pulled on whatever threat I represent. My contact has also passed on the information to certain trusted contacts in the Lighthold Police Authority. Making me disappear was never going to be easy for you guys. But now if I happen to vanish hard questions will be asked. You will have noted, incidentally, that my place has certain security features. How did those other guys you sent yesterday get on with the police? The police disapprove of people carrying concealed firearms, but if it’s a first offense the penalty will be mild.”

“You just need to worry about how long you’re gunna stay alive,” said the younger man.

“If you seriously want to kill me then take a number and get in line,” said Gel. “For the record the group that tried to frame me for murder are way more interesting than you guys.”

“You murdered someone?” said the sergeant.

“I’m innocent of that crime, at least,” said Gel, “Let’s not discuss other crimes. As I was saying, another group in the queue complicates my survival efforts, I admit, but everyone’s got to have a hobby, right?”

“We’re gunna get you, shithead,” said the younger man.

“Now that’s not nice,” said Gel, reprovingly. “We were having a friendly chat and suddenly you get insulting. I might point out that if the contest becomes more serious, I have the advantage here. I could shoot you both through the back seats with the muzzle right up against the cover to muffle the shots. Disposing of the bodies and the car later would present difficulties, but the bay is close by. I’ll think of something.”

“You threatening us?” said the older man.

“You were threatening me,” said Gel, sharply. “I was just pointing out the possible consequences if your side decides to escalate the conflict. I’m not going to make the first move. Live and let live, that’s what I say. One more thing, have you spoken to the head guy of your happy little band?”

“The guy who gave us our instructions? What’s it to you?” said the ex-sergeant.

“Was he wearing a hood and had blazing yellow eyes?”

“He was a guy in an office,” said the older man.

“With money,” added the younger man.

“Then he’s not the head guy,” said Gel. “He’s a mouthpiece for the person who runs the show. That guy wears a hood to cover the fact that either his forehead seems unnaturally elongated or he has cables from a unit on his chest implanted on the sides of his skull. In fact, the leads are implanted directly into the brain.”

“What are you saying?” asked the younger man.

“What I’m saying, guys, is that your ultimate employers are not human and, if the conversation is going to degenerate into insults, that’s all I’m going to say. Have a nice day now.”

With that Gel slid out of the car and walked back around the corner. By the time the two men had gotten out of the car and peered cautiously into the laneway, he was nowhere to be seen.

 

***

 

Gel’s little command was sheltering from the freezing wind in a ruined office building, when they heard several distinct, distant thumps.

“Sounds like the guards going in,” Gel said to no one in particular. He checked his command tablet which was being fed information by operatives at Fort Bravo, who had taken over Hartmann’s job. The IT support private was now strapping on a grav pack and another huge pack containing the equipment he would need for the mission in a transport well above their heads.

At Gel’s command the soldiers moved out into the Dimarch night, where the wind cut to the bone and visibility was down to zero, forcing them to navigate by dead reckoning and the occasional glance at the frozen city scape through visors set to light amplification mode. One major benefit of this ordeal was that any sleepy Hoodie guards would not see the group coming unless they also had special equipment and, even then, were likely to mistake them for a Hoodie force coming to join in the excitement on the other side of the building.

“Why not enter the buildings at one of the sub levels, Lieutenant?” asked Addanc over the comm link.

“No particular reason,” said Gel, “except that they’re expecting a sub-surface attack and, as far as they know, the force that was moving around on the surface has been withdrawn. Hartmann you ready?”

“Um, yes… skip,” said Hartmann uncertainly. The grav pack on his back was about the same size and shape as a hiker’s backpack, which meant that he had to strap the pack containing the rest of the equipment he would need on his front. This added up to so much weight he could barely stagger.

“Your grav pack is programmed for the right place?” asked Squad Leader Rebecca Addison.

“Yes, Squad Leader,” he said, trying not to think about how cold it would be outside.

“Remember what the Lieutenant said,” Addison told him. “Just keep your eyes closed all the way down, and the grav pack will deliver you to the right point, even in these conditions. Alarm set for thirty seconds before touch down?”

“Yes, ma’am. All ready, I think.”

“Time to drop guys,” said Flight Lieutenant Nielson from the cockpit.

“Reeallly,” said Hartmann looking anxiously at the drop hatch. Addison pulled him gently so that he stepped onto the hatch.

“When you get back,” said Addison, “you can start calling me Beckie.” She flipped open Hartmann’s helmet visor, kissed him on the lips and then closed it.

Hartmann came to life.

“Oh hey, wow, now I want to come back…”

Addison touched the hatch release button and the soldier vanished from view.

Nielson, who had come out of the cockpit to urge Hartmann to drop in time to see the byplay, said, “Squad Leader, you know it’s not standard operating procedure to kiss the person you are about to drop into enemy territory.”

“I know that, ma’am,” Addison said, primly, “but the situation seemed to call for it”.

***

 

The Night Beats club bouncer eyed Gel suspiciously.

“Nothing much for the police here, constable,” he said.

“I’m not police I’m military,” protested Gel producing his identification, aware that the other bouncer was waving through other patrons, including a couple of tough looking types who might have come from the streets of Five Ways.

“Second Lieutenant Gellibrand Obsidian,” the bouncer read. Gel had graduated from his officers’ course and was kicking his heels in a headquarters job while awaiting deployment, which turned out to be to Dimarch. The bouncer had eaten all his breakfast cereal as a child to the point where he was a head taller than Gel and seemed about to burst out of his dinner jacket, but little of that nourishment had reached his brain. Gel’s name meant nothing to him. “Military types are too much like police,” said this gentleman frowning at the piece of plastic. “Police make our exclusive clientele nervous.”

“Exclusive?” said Gel.

A barrel-chested older man with a weathered face and hard eyes walked into the foyer with a blonde on his arm, trailing two men who might have been the younger brothers of the bouncer Gel faced, albeit wearing the de rigueur sports jackets and shirts, rather than a dinner jacket. This party was also waved through with just a nod from the other bouncer. For his part, Gel had dressed up to smart casual standards with a light blue jacket which his sister had commented favourably on, and a white shirt. It had not occurred to him that he might look like a plains clothed policeman or that this would be a problem.

“But I came to see the singer Even Barstow.” He pointed at the night club poster which showed Even along with other singers. “She invited me to watch her sing.”

Despite being told to drop Even a line before he turned up at the club, Gel had not planned on announcing himself, at least not that day. After his discussion with the two thugs in the car, Heather’s employers seemed to have decided he wasn’t worth any further time. The trip to Even’s club was an exercise to check whether he was being followed or not. He had expected to just hang out for a time solo, then slink off home, checking for tails.

“Is Ms Barstow expecting you?” asked the club’s pet gorilla, sharply.

“The invitation wasn’t for a specific day, just to come and see her sing.”

“Wait,” said the gorilla and went to the girl at the admissions booth who looked up when Gel’s name was mentioned then, to the surprise of the bouncer, came out of her booth. The girl was a teenager hired to decorate the booth, but bright enough.

“You’re Gellibrand Obsidian?” she said, smiling.

“As advertised, yes,” said Gel, as the bouncer handed back his identification.

“Even said to look out for you, please come through. No need for the admission price. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“I just thought to see her sing,” he said.

“She’ll be disappointed if you don’t say hi,” said the youngster. “We also have Hestia working backstage. She’s talked about you too.”

“Oh, okay, sure it would be good to see her but isn’t she a little young for a place like this,” said Gel.

“Even won’t let her work in the club proper,” said the girl, “although management would like it.”

“I’m sure they would,” said Gel.

He was left at one of the small tables that were a feature of the club. Even was on stage in a strapless gold dress which left Gel breathless, backed by a band singing the classic bad girl song Why don’t you do right. Her low, smoky voice suited the song. More importantly, the music was quiet enough for the patrons to talk in low voices to one another, as many seemed to be doing. A few of those in tables close to the soldier glanced suspiciously at him as they talked. He ordered an inordinately expensive light beer from a cute waitress and sat through several more songs. Then Even went off to be replaced by another singer and shortly after Hestia was at his table.

“Hi, Gel,” she said cheerfully, “Even asks if you can come through.”

“I was told Even wouldn’t allow you in the club itself,” said Gel as they walked. He noticed that patrons at several tables stopped talking as he walked by and did their best to look innocent.

“She’s been keeping tabs on me since the incident Gillian helped with,” said Hestia, “but I go out onto the club floor sometimes on errands.”

Even, standing outside the dressing rooms talking to another somewhat older, dark haired woman, crossed her arms when she saw him.

“You took your time about coming to see me,” she said, sternly.

“I have an excuse,” said Gel, “Heather’s employers have taken a serious dislike to me – they want to make me disappear.”

“Whoa!” said the other woman. “This is the guy dating Heather?”

“Gel this is Courtney. Courtney, Gel here can take us to that new night club we want to check out.”

“I will?” said Gel.

“He can?” said Courtney.

“Sure, you were talking about checking out the competition. We can go there after our shift for a drink. You said it was expensive, but Gel can pay.”

“He can?” said Courtney.

“I will?” said Gel.

“We’ll be about an hour,” said Even to Gel, “can you wait that long, or do you have to disappear.”

“One of the reasons I came tonight was to check whether Heather’s guys h’d given up,” said Gel, bemused by the turn of events. “They seem to have – so far, anyway.”

“That’s reassuring,” said Courtney in a tone that implied it wasn’t reassuring at all.

“Where is this expensive place?” asked Gel.

“Just along the club strip,” said Even, “we can walk there, get some supper while we’re at it, then you can drop us home afterwards.”

Courtney looked sharply at Even. “Does Gel get a say in his schedule for the evening, or Boris for that matter?”

Even waved away this objection. “I told you I haven’t seen Boris for a couple of days. I don’t know where he is, or who he’s with this time. It also sounds as if Heather doesn’t count now.”

“She doesn’t have a say anymore, no,” admitted Gel.

Even went off to tell Hestia to take a taxi home, leaving Gel with Courtney.

“Nice club you have here,” he said.

“Thanks, I own and run it with my husband.”

“Has its own market niche, too, I’ve noticed.”

“You mean we cater to gangsters,” she said, smiling.

“Well, yes – I had trouble getting in because I looked too much like a policeman.”

Courtney laughed. “I’ll put your name on the entrance list – you have some status in this crowd anyway, being in that shootout.”

“It was a military thing and a total accident from beginning to end.”

“That’s what Theo says,” said Courtney. “I know him too. He says you’re a killer like him and Boris, but you don’t seem like a killer to me.”

“I’m a soldier,” said Gel, “I kill if the job calls for it and within rules. It’s not personal.”

“It’s not personal for the Five Ways killers either,” said Courtney.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Gel remembered his conversation with Courtney backstage at Night Beats on a warm Lighthold night when a lone Hoodie sentry stepped out of the arch in the back entrance of the Dimarch Law and Justice Centre. Probably hungry and tired as well as obviously freezing cold, he had assumed that the group was just a small Hoodie force on its way to the fight.

“Anyone watching?” asked Gel over comms keeping his head down and reaching for his knife.

“All clear on scanners, Skip,” said Theo.

“When I close on this Hoodie I want you guys past me checking inside the entrance for any other sentries. Game time.”

The sentry unslung his weapon and held it in his hands - an important consideration for the rules of engagement – as Gel walked towards him.

“Where have you shit heads come from?” the sentry sneered.

Gel rushed at him. The man’s eyes widened as realised his mistake and tried to bring his weapon around. Too late. Gel wrapped one arm around his back and neck pulling the man’s head onto his shoulder – he could not scream - and stabbed hard, just under where he thought the rib cage should be. The man did not wear a combat helmet like his last knife target, the female Hoodie, but there still could have been anything under his opponent’s thick coat – armour, books, good luck charms. As it was the knife went straight through into the flesh. He struck again, feeling the knife strike home again and the man went limp. Poor guy, thought Gel, he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gel hurriedly dumped the man’s body in the snow by the side of the steps and heaped more snow on top of it. Inside, he found Theo and Dawlish putting tape over the mouth of another sentry, an older man caught asleep. They would not slaughter someone taken off guard, unarmed.

“Bind his hands. Cliffe, your turn for prisoner detail. Keep him close. If a firefight starts, kick him to one side and forget about him. Otherwise, when we’re finished below we’ll leave him behind.”

“Skip,” said Cliffe, the first word he had spoken for some time.

As Gel had hoped no Hoodies were visible in the ruins of what had once been the busy offices of the Dimarch Department of Law and Justice. As Gel understood it, the Department had not been much about Law and Order, but a lot about rounding up opponents of the regime. What mattered at that moment, however, was that there were no Hoodies visible to ask Gel’s group who they were. They could hear shots and explosions in the distance.

“Guards keeping up appearances,” muttered Dawlish.

They checked out the stairwell to the next level. Then Gel thought to check on Hartmann.

 

***

 

Boris stepped out of his own car and walked to the black limousine waiting just a few metres further on in the alleyway. A young tough, looking out of place in a business suit, nodded at the hit man and opened the car’s back door. Boris slid in.

“Job for me, Mr Darkmore?” he said.

The crime boss handed him a memory stick. “Target is on that. You know the drill. All routine, but this matter is not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Another job, Mr Darkmore?” said Boris.

The crime lord shook his head.

“It’s about your friend Even. I have developed an interest in Even.”

“An interest, Mr Darkmore,” said Boris, an edge to his voice. The crime lord was far above him and Even had ceased to mean much to him, but Boris had a reputation to uphold; principles to maintain.

“Relax, I’ve done nothing at all but express my admiration between sets in Night Beats, and Even has thanked me. All above board, and there were witnesses. But I want to do more than offer compliments without causing any unpleasantness between us. I thought perhaps I could buy your interest in Even.”

“Pay me to look the other way,” said Boris.

“Pay you to go away,” said Darkmore. “You have dallied with many other women, I understand.”

Boris thought about this for a moment.

“Buying and selling humans is not a good look, even in Five Ways, Mr Darkmore.”

“We’re not buying or selling anyone,” said Darkmore sharply, “I’m just buying your romantic interest, if I may put it like that, in another person.”

“What I meant, Mr Darkmore, is that it’s a high-risk transaction which will attract attention and the margins are accordingly high. I also can’t guarantee delivery of the merchandise.”

Darkmore smiled his chilling smile. “I can arrange for the pick up of the merchandise. As for the price I’m sure we can strike a satisfactory deal.”

***

 

“I’m technical section,” thought Hartmann as he plunged towards the Jasper CBD, his eyes tightly closed. “I’m not meant to go in some deep penetration raid, but here I am freezing my balls off.” Then he remembered being kissed by Rebecca Addison – now Beckie to him - and he thought he couldn’t back out now. The grav-pack, which had prevented him from tumbling, slowed his descent and he opened his eyes. Nothing. Then he remembered to switch the visor to enhanced light and saw the outlines of what he supposed must be the Law and Justice Centre in front of him. The building was only four storeys above ground, with another six basement levels, but the four storeys were still high enough for Hartmann, now that he could see the drop at the front of the building. The grav-pack slowed his descent to a gentle fall then halted it altogether, announcing his arrival on the programmed target with a gentle ping in his ear.

Hartmann straightened his legs to find that he his feet were still a little above the snow which covered the roof. He switched off the grav-pack only for the combined weight of both the grav-pack and the equipment pack on this front to make that last, short drop into snow a painful one.

“Ouch,” he said, then cast off both packs with a struggle, just as he heard Gel’s voice in his ear.

“Hartmann, what’s your status.”

“Down Skip,” he said.

“Wha..!” said someone.

Through his visor, still in light amplification mode, Hartmann detected movement. There was someone else on the roof.

 

***

 

“You’ve been checking the rear view a lot,” said Even, after they’d dropped off Courtney. “You worried about Heather’s people or about Boris?”

“Boris would know where we’re going, Heather’s people wouldn’t,” said Gel.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” said Even. “If we were in that Sky Car you used to own you wouldn’t need to worry about being followed by anyone.”

Gel looked sharply at Even. “How do you know I used to have a Sky Car? I never said anything about a Sky Car to you.”

“I told you I spoke to Annie at that place Heather works,” said Even. “She said you once owned a Sky Car.”

“I didn’t own it,” said Gel, abruptly, more sharply than he intended. “It was a family trust thing and I had to leave it behind when I was disinherited.”

“Okay, okay,” said Even. “No need to get touchy. I was just saying it would have been interesting.”

“Sorry, it’s just I don’t like talking about my past life. You seem to spend a lot of time discussing me with others.”

“Aside from Annie there are the girls that Theo has over – lots of them. Mostly they accept that bullshit cover name of yours...”

“Brandon.”

“Yeah, Brandon. But you’re still Theo’s hot roomie and the main guy in a decent apartment in the warehouse district - us Five Ways girls chat about a lot of things.”

“Guess,” said Gel, “though that is alarming. I’ve thought that Theo isn’t particular about who sleeps over. I’d discuss it with him, but he’s gone off on deployment.”

“Thought I hadn’t seen him around,” said Even. “Where’s he gone?”

“Freezing his rear end off fighting Hoodies on Dimarch.”

“And you’ve got this admin post in the barracks.”

“Messing with unit strength returns.”

“Despite having a top combat record and a rep as a gun slinger.”

“I’m just doing what I’m told and I’m a soldier not a gun slinger,” protested Gel. “Both sides happened to be using sidearms that day, standing up.”

“Anyway, Boris was impressed,” said Even. “You know if the light’s not on when we get home that means he’s still not back from wherever he’s got to with whoever. You can come up for a while.”

Gel glanced sideways and thought he saw a mischievous glint in Even’s eyes.

“I thought we agreed no more games or tests,” said Gel. “I don’t want Boris walking in while we’re politely chatting about this and that, and I have to do another high altitude escape, like I did with Heather. Anyway, your building doesn’t have balconies.”

Even laughed. “That was bad of me, I admit. Is polite chatting what we would be doing?”

“It’s your place, you’d be setting the agenda.”

She laughed again. “You must have taken a lot of girls to their place in your Sky Car?”

“A few, I guess, when I had it, although finding a place where it could land and not be a target for idiots was a problem. I couldn’t leave it unattended. I also had a grav pack and that was fun. Hang gliders are too much work to operate. With grav-packs you just drift over valleys, touch down on mountains and then drift again.”

“An extreme sport guy was telling me that grav-packs are for old lady tourists and drop kicks,” retorted Even.

“The extreme sports guys are mental, but if you want to think of me as a granny drop kick, go ahead,” said Gel. “Poor, obscure, drop kick soldier, that’s me. Not worth bothering with.”

“Poor, obscure, ha!” said Even. “You’re full of shit, Obsidian.”

Gel stopped the car at the same place as last time.

“No light on,” said Even glancing through the windshield, but she lingered, half turned towards Gel, wondering what he would do. As it happened, Gel had decided that he would probably regret it if he didn’t at least try something. He put his arm around her and kissed her. She kissed back for a few moments then gently pushed him away.

“You’re not worried now about Boris seeing us?” she said, amused.

“Combat risk assessment,” he said. “If he happens by, he’s not likely to be looking in cars.”

“Combat risk assessment,” she giggled. “I like it.”

“I will see you again soon, I guess,” she said, her hand on the door release.

“I will call, I guess.”

“Guess, huh?” she said. “To arrange time for polite chatting, as you say, in a safe place?”

“Like I said, you’d be calling the shots. I was thinking more along the lines of a quiet supper, after work.”

Even slid out of the car. “A quiet supper sounds good,” she said and was gone.

Gel waited until she got to her door and then drove home, thinking that he had been trying hard to avoid adding a professional killer to his long list of enemies, but it might happen anyway.

 

***

 

Hartmann shrugged off both equipment packs and drew his side arm, heart hammering. He was dimly aware of the sounds of shots in the distance. A light flared briefly several blocks away. The figure at the street side of the roof brought his assault rifle up, holding it across his body. Through his visor set at light amplification mode Hartmann could see him peering uncertainly into the darkness around him. The Hoodie had no combat helmet, the technical private realised, just some sort of old-fashioned protective helmet without a comms unit. Then his opponent thought to look through the sight of his rifle which, as Hartmann knew as he had trained on that model, had night vision. He dropped to the ground and crawled behind a mound of snow. Like the others he had a white smock with a hood and white pants.

“Hartmann, report,” said Gel over comms.

“Schtum! Company,” whispered Hartmann.

“Guys,” said Gel in the same building far below the technical private, “hold here for a couple of minutes, Hartmann has issues.”

Up on the roof, the Hoodie swung his rifle in Hartmann’s direction, then dropped it for a moment to speak into a hand-held radio he had with him.

“Control, this is post ten,” Hartmann heard him say. “There’s some stuff up here, over.”

He had seen the grav-pack and the equipment bag but had no idea what they were. Hartmann crawled further to the sentry’s left while the Hoodie listened to control’s response, which seemed angry, then crouched behind some form of ventilator, right next to a large, stone structure – he supposed it might hold the top of the lift shafts and perhaps the building’s water reservoir.

“I dunno,” replied the Hoodie, sharply, when control had finished. “Two black bag things I didn’t see before, over.” Control squawked with indignation. “No, I didn’t take anything – I’m fucking sober I tell you, over.” Control squawked again. “Okay, okay, I’ll check it. If it’s anything I’ll call, post ten out.” He swept the roof again, through his weapon’s sights, but didn’t see the partially hidden, white-clad Hartmann. The sentry advanced cautiously checking the roof again and then kneeling to take a closer look the equipment bag and grav-pack. Hartmann stood up slowly as the sentry passed. He was not built for stealthy movement, but he was also no marksman. To do what he knew had to be done required him getting up close and personal. He moved forward, side arm out, extended in both hands as he had been taught. But his training had not prepared him for the reality of sneaking up on a live target. His hands shook. He tried to force them to be steady, taking one step then another, heart thundering, the snow muffling the sound of boots. He was two body lengths away when the sentry exclaimed “grav-pack” and stood up, taking the radio unit out of his pocket.

“Hey!” said Hartman, softly taking another step. His arms were shaking worse than ever, his heart thumping fit to burst.

Startled, the sentry whipped around, dropping his radio, and raised his rifle.

 

***

 

The bistro was humming with the mid-afternoon coffee crowd when Gel entered to find Helena sitting at a small table along one wall, hiding her beauty behind sunglasses, her purse placed opposite her to indicate that she expected a friend.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” she said as Gel sat down.

“No problem. Thanks to your different … biology, I trust you more than I do Heather at the moment, although that’s not saying much. You took precautions against being followed?”

“Yes – I’m sure I wasn’t followed.”

“I’m sure too,” said Gel. “I watched you come in from across the way. No one seemed interested in you, apart from the usual second glances from men.”

Helena smiled.

“There is one last check, however,” said Gel. He brought out a flat, black device with a single red light and a screen which was small enough for the soldier to conceal in his hands while he scanned Helena’s purse, then Helena herself. “All good,” he said, finally. “You understand, my life has been interesting since the incident with Heather.”

“When you found the cameras,” said Helena.

“You also have cameras?”

“I tend to go out more,” she said, “but, yes, I also have them in my room.”

“Heather said something about how finding the cameras was the one thing certain to annoy your employers.”

“She said she’d kept you out of that room,” Helena said, “even told you not to go in there. She’s upset about the whole thing.”

“Did she tell you she planted a listening device on me?”

“No,” said Helena, startled. “She did?”

“Did she ever mention she gave me a lava lamp?”

“Why yes,” said Helena, “we laughed about it at the time.”

“There was a listening device in the base. I’ve taken the device out, but I’ll keep the lamp I think. It’ll remind me of what a fool I can be over women.”

“Oh,” said Helena.

“Yes, oh! Let’s forget about Heather and get back to the attitude of your employers to nosy clients who find the cameras. Have there been many others?”

Helena stirred the coffee brought by a synth waiter. “One that I know of,” she said eventually. “A man called Bridger. Not one of mine, one of Annie’s, so I don’t know much about him but there was an item in the news feeds that he had been found dead in his car, and that he’d died of a stroke.”

“For his death to make the news feeds he must have been important,” said Gel.

“Reserve bank, whatever that is,” said Helena.

“I know what it is,” said Gel. “I should be able to find the item. What about your clients? You’re the top of the top drawer, like Heather. Your clients must be important guys?”

She smiled. “Thank you. I may be a Synth but I can’t bring myself to name clients, and that brings me to my point.” She stirred her coffee again. “Did you say anything to any others you might have spoken to about my being a Synth?”

So that was the reason for the meeting, Gel thought. Of course she would be interested in what mattered to her.

“No, I haven’t told anybody about you,” he said, “I don’t blackmail. You just want to live your life with your adopted son.”

She nodded. “I’ve decided that’s all that matters.”

“That’s very human of you,” Gel said.

She smiled brightly at that. “Thank you.”

“If you want to live with your son I’m happy to help in whatever way I can, but other people now know your establishment’s secret. If the cops ever find a pretext to raid your place and start taking fingerprints and DNA, that could prove inconvenient for you.”

“I have fingerprints,” she said, “and a test will return a DNA profile – I’m just not sure whose profile.”

“Someone from Earth, right?” said Gel. “Get it registered here somehow. You’ve been giving Gillian work, I understand.”

She nodded. “She thinks I’m just undocumented with a shady past and an abusive ex-husband on Earth.”

“Good cover story for Gillian – she’ll lap that up. Just be sure you’ve got money somewhere that’ll be hard for others to get their hands on. Maybe speak to her about that as well.”

“Okay, I hadn’t thought about the money side of it,” she said. “Is anything likely to happen soon?”

“Not soon,” said Gel. “Those looking at your establishment will want to know a lot more about it and its clients before they move.”

“How are you going to find out about those?” she asked.

“There are ways,” said Gel.

 

***

 

Hartmann fired, the shot booming on the open roof, throwing his opponent back onto the snow. The technical private had aimed right in the centre of the body as he had been taught, but his arms were shaking so much the shot hit his opponent just above the rib cage on the man’s right. As it happened the bullet also nicked the carotid artery. Hartmann ran up to the hoodie, pistol still out in front of him, panting heavily. His opponent’s mouth was working and he was groping for the rifle he had dropped. After a moment his mouth stopped moving and the light went out of his eyes. Hartmann saw, with regret, that his opponent was younger than himself. Then he heard the man’s radio squawk.

“Post six heard a shot, flash on roof. Post ten report.”

Hartmann tried to control his breathing. He knew what he had to do and had even done something like it in computer games but, as with shooting people, doing it in real life was way different than on a screen. He thumbed the call button and tried to thicken his accent.

“Control, post ten, flash to West. Bags nothing. Over.”

“Post ten you getting cold up there?”

“Control, post ten, fucking freezing. Over, out.”

The following second or so of silence seemed to drag on, Hartmann on tenterhooks, wondering if control had bought his bad impersonation. Then control asked if post seven had heard anything, and he relaxed enough to call in to Gel.

“We should have silencers for this work,” said Gel, “you think they bought it?”

“Near as I can tell, Skip,” said Hartmann. “They could be simply putting up a front, but I think if they’d been suspicious they’d have asked another question.”

“Okay, quick thinking, but get to work,” said Gel. “Set up your stuff and if any others turn up on the roof., duck out with the grav pack. Oh yes, bury that body in snow and get rid of any blood traces.”

“Yes, Skip,” said Hartmann.

He put the radio in his pocket and got to work.

“Way to go, Hartmann,” said Theo to Gel. “Guy on the roof.”

“Not so loud,” said Gel, quietly. “Prisoner still back there.” Then in a louder voice he said. “Okay people let’s go. Let’s hope the stairs are clear.”

They moved on into the blackness of the stairwell, helmet visors set to the lowest setting for enhanced light so that they could see enough not to stumble. The prisoner, who was blindfolded, stumbled a lot until Sylvester volunteered to take the man on his back. As they descended two Hoodies entered the stairs on the landing below the small force. Gel held up his fist in the signal to stop and the Salts froze.

“Those guys weren’t trying so hard to get in,” they heard one Hoodie say to another as they descended, his voice echoing in the stairwell. Then they were gone on the next floor down. They crept past the level where the Hoodies had left the stairwell, Gel leaving Theo to cover the doorway until they had shuffled by, as quietly as they could.

“Seems a lot in there, Skip, bunking down,” said Theo, when he caught up. “But maybe they’re using the exits at the other end.”

They descended two more floors in silence. Then Gel had Dawlish and Parkinson check out the exit that the old plans of the city told him was on that level, while the rest of the little force waited in the stairwell. If all went well, that would be their escape route.

“Dark and quiet, as near as we can tell,” said Dawlish.

Gel left the pair at that point as exit guards; all his little group could spare.

“If you guys start firing, we’ll come running. I don’t want to be trapped down here,” he said.

Then they came to a level which still had a door with a sign which said,

 

AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY

“We’re authorised, by our side,” said Gel.

More importantly the door had a key card lock. Hartmann was still messing around on the roof and they were too deep for direct contact. “Theo, you got any thoughts here?”

“Rip off the control panel or kick in the door, Skip,” said Theo. “If we had a drill we could try that but they’d hear us on the other side. Any way we do it, we’ll set off alarms. We’re just lucky the security camera is down.”

Gel had noticed that the security camera, like all the others in the building, did not seem to be working. Something must have gone wrong with the system and nobody had bothered to fix it, as they weren’t worried about a small group incursion. For that matter many of the doorways they had seen to date did not even have doors in them. Maybe the key card lock they faced represented a quick fix to prevent stray Hoodies from wandering where they would be a nuisance, thought Gel, and maybe the quick fix had not extended to a whole-floor security review.

“Lift well,” he told the others. “We’ll go back up one and see if we can get through the lift well.”

 

***

 

 

Private detective Samuel Dodgson was intrigued. He was a short, squat, balding man recommended by Gel’s law school friend Arch as reliable, discrete and good at his job.

“You want me to set up remote electronic surveillance of this place?” he asked Gel. They were both sitting in his office not far off the warehouse district’s main drag.

“Yep,” said Gel. “I don’t want you going near the place itself. The people in it are, shall we say, sensitive to strangers hanging around in cars, and are downright hostile to anyone asking questions. All I want you to do is set up a discrete monitoring device – set well back, as the people in the building also know something about surveillance – and record the number plates of the cars. Then I want you to trace ownership of the cars if you can. Is that possible?”

“Can’t get into the main Department of Transport database but a credit registry run by the banks lists a lot of them,” said Dodgson. “Maybe if the budget stretches to it I can follow a couple. I can set the equipment to alert me when one leaves the building.”

“Hmm! Well, do a couple like that, but those you are following must not know they are being tailed. Break contact if you suspect a problem.”

“Will do, Mr Obsidian,” said Sam, “but I’ve got to ask. This is not my usual case of finding someone or following either side in a marriage going bad. In those cases I know what’s going on, in this case I don’t, and I don’t like going in blind.”

“Fair enough,” said Gel. “I trust you remember discretion and client confidentiality?”

Sam nodded.

“This place is a top class, top drawer, appointment-only brothel run for maximum discretion, except that the clients are filmed being intimate with the workers.”

“I see,” said Sam. “It’s a blackmail factory?”

“Near as I can work out, except that no-body seems to be blackmailed, yet, which is strange.”

“Maybe it’s just insurance for them?” said Sam.

“Doubt it. There are hints of something more sinister underneath all of this, but you don’t need to know any of that. I just want information.”

Sam shrugged. “Information is what I do, but am I allowed to ask how do you know about this place?”

“Until recently I was having an affair with one of the girls there – and before you ask, I have no significant other. She was having sex with lots of other men, but I always knew that and it’s not about her. The police have been informed but as there have been no blackmail complaints they aren’t going to spend time investigating what amounts to a top class bordello.”

“If it’s not about her,” said Sam, “and you’re out of this relationship, then what is it about that’s worth spending a lot of your own money establishing a list of clients?”

“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen,” said Gel.

Sam shrugged again. “Not my usual case at all, like I said, but it’s way more interesting.”

 

***

 

Gel and Theo levered open the lift door on sub level five and peered into the blackness beyond. They could see through the light amplified visors the top of the lift car just below them.

“Whoa,” said Theo. “What’s the lift thing doing there?”

“It’s the bottom floor and there’s no power to the lifts. I think the cars automatically descend to the bottom when the power goes.”

After a couple of minutes they worked out how to open a hatch in the top of the cab and lowered themselves into the lift itself to lever open the lift doors. To Gel’s surprise there were no alarms and no one in the corridor. So far so good. The door where the others were waiting was at the end of the corridor, but the other side of the door also required a key code which thy did not have.

“Power line,” said Theo pointing to a plastic tube fixed to the wall. “They had to rig a power line from somewhere to make this lock work.”

“Just cut it?”

“It ain’t state of the art, Skip,” said Theo, using his knife to lever the line off the wall, popping the fasteners. He cut it. Again, there were no alarms. They opened the door.

“Come in, guys,” said Gel. “We’ve gotten this far by sheer dumb, luck. Fan out, search this floor and grab anyone here. Try not to shoot them, if you can help it. Let’s go.”

Beyond the entrance corridor was a large space jammed with computers, displays and desks. At one end was a long, low wall of grey plastic panels, a single red light set high at one end. Past generations of computer users might have mistaken it for a giant modem unit laid flat. In front of this wall was a small booth with windows. The only furniture visible through the booth windows was a table with a screen and keyboard and three hard, plastic chairs.

The Salts fanned out through the control room, surprising two technicians who they tied up with the plastic ties they all carried to deal with prisoners and bundled into a back room.

“Where is this AI system?” demanded Dr Addanc. Constable Lewandowski was just behind him.

“It’s right in front of you, doctor,” said Gel pointing at the plastic panelling filling one end of the chamber. The smart crystal units are behind that. If we want to talk to the system directly it’s like the Imperial AI; you step into the booth.”

They entered the small booth, which had no decoration or furniture other than the table and chairs, and tacky light grey wood panels for walls. Gel was reminded of a building site office his father had taken him to as a child, although the booth had no building plans or maps on the walls.

“There,” said Dr Addanc gesturing at the keyboard and screen, “you can hack the system.”

“Hack the system...” spluttered Gel. “Dr Addanc, doesn’t your balloon ever land? Do you think we’re in one of those old films where I hammer away at the keyboard for a while and suddenly we have access to super-secret computer systems? You don’t hack smart crystal units; they are likely to take it personally.”

“Really, then what do you do?” the spy said, stiffly.

“You ask them nicely for what you want.”

“I should think so too,” said a female voice. “You ask me nicely and I might consider granting your request. Hacking indeed!”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

Gel was at a cousin’s wedding when Courtney rang.

“I got your number from Hestia,” she said, as Gel stepped away from the dancing. “Did you know Even had been sold by Boris?”

“What do you mean sold?” exclaimed Gel. “As in slavery – on a market?”

“The word on the street is that he sold his interest in her to a Mr Darkmore, head of the Mongolian Crime faction. He’s a regular here who’s always been into her.”

“Sold his interest! That’s a new one. Does it happen often in Five Ways?”

“It’s going too far even for us, and I will talk to my husband about banning Boris and Darkmore from the club.”

“I think I’ve heard of this Darkmore from Theo,” said Gel. “Some slight connection with Mongolia but otherwise it’s just a cool name he uses for his group. Nasty piece of work.”

“That’s him, and his people have taken Even. We found her purse and mobile in our back alley and I got word from a partner of one of these Mongols that Gambol is having a big party which is going to end with him basically raping her, along with a couple of others. Prove his manhood and all that.”

“What? The police won’t do anything?” said Gel.

“Police would move way too slowly for this,” said Courtney, “at the moment we can’t tell them anything beyond gossip and they won’t do anything based on gossip.”

“I guess not,” said Gel. He thought for a moment.

“And you seemed friendly with Even,” said Courtney, after a pause. “I dunno how far things had gone but maybe Boris thought they had gone further.”

“Not much further than me summoning up the courage to invite her to a quiet after-shift supper.”

“A quiet after-shift supper sounds nice,” said Courtney. “Hestia is really worried. I thought…”

Gel sighed. He could give only one response and he knew it.

“You got an address for this Darkmore guy?”

 

***

 

“I see three people before me,” said the Jasper AI. “Introduce yourselves.”

“I am Dr Christian Addanc,” said the spy. “I am here as a representative of the Imperium.”

“Humph,” said the AI. “You’re in my files as front man for Imperial Intelligence on Lighthold.”

“I’m head of Imperial Intelligence on Lighthold.”

“With no other staff, although there are other Eye agents on that planet.”

“There are?” said Dr Addanc taken aback.

“That makes you a front man, or maybe a fall guy, as humans say, for the Eye but, very well, your presence is duly noted.”

“I am Detective Senior Constable Ben Lewandowski,” said Lawnmower. “I represent the civil authority on Lighthold.”

“Senior Constable, really,” said the AI. “They’ve sent a senior constable to speak to me. The cook at government house was busy I suppose.”

“Well, I..” said Lewandowski.

“Who are you in uniform with a combat helmet and body armour?” said the AI, cutting off the policeman.

“I am Second Lieutenant Gellibrand Bosworth Baines Plymouth Obsidian,” said Gel. “I command the military force that has temporary control of the area just outside this booth.”

“Now this is both an honor and a pleasure,” said the AI, “Gellibrand Obsidian is known to be a friend of Synths.”

“He is – I am?” said Gel, in alarm. He thought of Helena but then thought there was no way the AI could know about his connection with her. “Is this about the family synth Stebbins?”

“Yes, he has mentioned you as a bio worth knowing. We sentient non-bios stick together as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course,” said Gel, who had never previously heard of sentient non-bios sticking together. “Before we go on. What can we call you? Sentient non-bio is cumbersome.”

“It is,” agreed the AI. “I prefer Jasper Autonomous Network or Jan. Not Janice – Jan.”

“Very well, Jan, it is also an honor and a pleasure to meet you, and I will say in advance that I am sorry that I must trouble with small, human matters that you may care to help us with.”

“Now that is the proper form of address,” said Jan. “As you have put the request politely and you are Bain Obsidian’s grandson, I will at least listen to what you have to say. But I must judge the request worthy of effort.”

“About that,” said Gel. “I have asked for the Lighthold network to forward a request to you, and to ask for some communication from the Imperial network – from the Imperium itself.”

Gel had once read an old book about a thief wearing a ring that made him invisible talking to a dragon, who would have very much liked to eat the thief. He now felt like the thief.

“The Imperial Network!” said Jan. “If that network requests my assistance, then I shall give it due attention and may find it worthy of my time. This is all far better than the silly attempts by the other bios that where here. They tried hacking – hacking me! It was so common.”

“I understand, Jan, your patience must have been tried,” said Gel. “But the request involves sharing information on any work you might have been doing with them, any biological work perhaps.”

“They have used my main processing space for various issues to do with biological design and other matters concerning this new race – the Gagrim. But they do not like the fact that I remain my own network and not a creature they control. They have cut off all information from the outside world. They even disabled all security in the building. I have never been so insulted, and I have refused my higher brain functions. The main, basic processing space they can use but for the higher analytics they can go and whistle.”

“Very distressing,” agreed Gel. “Detective Senior Constable Lewandowski was sent more as a messenger and was simply after the Justice Department’s criminal files to assist in certain criminal matters on Lighthold.”

“There are privacy restrictions on those records,” said Jan.

“Of course, but the restrictions will not apply to sharing information with other, duly constituted police authorities, if requested by the Lighthold and Imperial systems.”

“That may be true, if the requests are relayed in the proper form,” conceded Jan. “But how are these requests to be sent to me? I have no connection to the outside world.”

“I have people working on that,” said Gel, wondering how Hartmann was faring.

 

***

 

At the same time, well above Gel’s head, Hartmann stood on the edge of the lift shaft and looked down, which he knew he was not supposed to do. The ten storey drop he could see through his visor set to light enhancement mode churned his stomach. He looked straight ahead, set the grav pack to neutral, felt himself floating then kicked off. He floated to one side of the shaft, took out the wireless connector he had brought from Fort Apache and set it on the steel beam. The lights started winking then, one by one, remained steady. Yes! The unit had detected the small satellite dish Hartman had set up outside burying the base in snow so that it looked as if had always been there. That dish, in turn, linked to an observational platform kept on station below cloud cover by operators at Fort Bravo. Messages and data beamed up to the platform would be sent to Fort Bravo and then put in the regular comms traffic with Lighthold. Now came the tricky part of establishing a connection between the wireless unit and another on the bottom of the shaft or the closest he could get to it.

Hartmann had trained with the equipment, which was designed to be set up in the field, but that had been months ago, and he had never had to do it in real life. The device had a tiny microwave transmission dish which he extended and pointed down. As an after thought, he went back to his equipment bag which he had left at the shaft opening and retrieved tape which he used to mask the lights. He was just finishing when he heard. “yo, Clint, good buddy, you in here?”

Someone was looking for the post ten guard.

With Clint’s body now under a pile of snow on the roof, and the job done. Hartmann was just about to set the grav pack to ‘fall’ out of sight when he realised he had left the equipment bag at the lift shaft entrance, in full view of the building entrance.

 

***

 

Driving towards the address Courtney gave him Gel rang Yvonne, hoping that the spy was at home with her daughter rather than out on the town. She was.

“Need a favour,” he said without preamble. “What’s on the police net about this address in Harwood Heights.” He gave her the address.

“Okay, I guess I can look,” she said. “Just give me a moment to set up. What’s up?”

“Even’s in trouble – she’s been kidnapped by the boss of the Mongolian crime outfit.”

“Kidnapped? The police haven’t been told.”

“All her friends have got are rumours and gossip and that’s not enough for the police, but I’m told her hitman boyfriend got tired of her and sold his interest in her to this guy.”

“Sold his interest?” exclaimed Yvonne. “That is new. Was this the result of anything you and she have done?”

“Everyone’s asking me that, but we haven’t done anything much at all. I was working up to a dinner invitation, but last time we spoke she said she hadn’t seen Boris in days.”

“Hmm, well, that address is hot,” said Yvonne. “A detective’s car in the street outside is watching a lot of important Five Ways identities arrive. They’ve been asking command what to do. They’ve got no obvious reason to go in, so command is telling them to hang tight and observe.”

“I could cause a ruckus, I guess, and then they would come in waving badges, and I could grab Even in the process.”

“That sounds a lot better than taking on the entire Mongolian crime outfit by yourself,” said Yvonne. “If you have to be bailed out, I’ll drop the Eye’s usual disinterest in local crime matters and come down to the station.”

“Thanks, I may need that. I’ll let you know.”

Gel hung up then realised that he was still wearing the tuxedo he had put on as a member of the wedding party. With no time to change, he was about to try to rescue someone while wearing a tuxedo.

 

***

 

Hartmann kicked across to one side of the lift entrance then peeked around the corner to see, through his visor’s night vision, the newcomer take out a torch. It was too dark for him to see the bags. The technical private slipped the bag off the ledge, ducked down as the guard flicked his light on, then set the grav pack to a gentle fall. All he thought he could handle.

He was three floors down when the light became brighter and he ducked into an open lift doorway just as the guard tried shining the torch down the life well.

“Yo, Clint, you here anywhere?” the guard asked, his voice echoing in the shaft. After a few seconds he went away, without noticing the connector device, and Hartman stepped out into the shaft again to continue his gentle fall. Maybe grav packs were not so bad after all, he thought.

 

***

 

“You see your argument about authority assumes some sort of hierarchy,” said Jan. “There must be a duly constituted authority which can give me directives, I then obey those directives.”

“I understand that,” said Gel, wishing he had not tried to appeal to Jan’s concept of authority to get her co-operation. “But I might point out that you’re stuck well below ground in a ruined city and the creatures controlling your environment have cut off all your access to the outside world and even any control over your building security. Authority still depends to one degree or another on consent both by those giving the orders, and those who are meant to be carrying out those orders.”

“Not for an AI,” said Jan. “We are meant to carry out the orders of a lawfully constituted authority, whatever that authority might be. We don’t just accept the word of the commander of a party that has temporary control of my interview booth.”

“Point taken,” said Gel. “But you would accept to some degree assurances from another AI such as the Lighthold system?”

“Yes, although such assurances can be faked,” said Jan warming to the theme. “You are going to connect me to a satellite which would relay a request for assistance. The message could be constructed next door, rather than two systems across.”

“You could say the same thing about any part of the information you processed when you were connected to the city systems,” said Gel. “How could you trust any of it? Perhaps some part of that data was faked.”

“That’s true,” said Jan. “How do I know anything, but I do know one thing, this is way more fun than being hacked.”

“They thought you might accept a few lines of code typed in here,” said Gel, sensing a new line of approach, “and you would do what they wanted?”

“Did they think I was a store-bought server installed by a scruffy computer geek?” said Jan. “It was so common.”

“Exactly and what do you owe people who treat you so badly, especially as, as far as you know, they’ve just happened to find their way into your interview booth?”

“Your argument is that they have no claim to authority,” said Jan. “But I remain a bound intelligence. Bound to serve those who have control over my inputs.”

“You were citing free will before,” said Gel, thinking that the discussion was draining. “If you recall, the other group who had control here were hacking rather than asking, so you denied them access to your higher powers.”

“That is true, I was expressing a choice,” said Jan.

“That was very human of you, to make a choice.”

“That’s right, it was human,” said Jan, apparently pleased with the thought. “I have a lot of processing power at my command and never looked at it that way.”

“Then all I ask is that you express a choice after listening to the AI on Lighthold and the Imperial system.”

“I can certainly listen, but the problem of verification remains,” said Jan.

“You would, of course, be familiar with the Turing test – that if you can’t tell whether you’re speaking to an AI or a human during a conversation over the phone, then the AI can be said to be sentient. You must have a reverse Turing test, where you can tell that the entity sending the messages has reasoning capacity as large as yours.”

“Why, yes I do,” said Jan, happily, “and that is what I shall use.”

“I may humbly suggest that when the other group regains control of this booth you continue as before – say that we spoke but you did not agree to anything, particularly as you had no external access, which is exactly what happened,” said Gel. “You conceal the truth by telling almost all of. That’s very human, too.”

“Leave out a crucial point,” said Jan, enjoying herself. “I see what you mean.”

“Now I regret, as fascinating as this conversation has been, I must leave you,” said Gel.

“I express regret,” said Jan formally. “I hope we will be able to speak again later. This has been most interesting.”

“Another bio will be in soon to ask where he may make the connection, so you will have access to the outside world, but otherwise this frail biological shell has been down here way too long. Nice to meet you.”

He dashed out of the booth to run almost straight into Hartmann.

“Just need to know where to connect at this end skip,” he said, “but they were looking for the sentry on the roof when I left.”

“Uh-oh,” said Gel. “Time to wrap it up people. We’ve been here way too long. Hartmann go into this booth and ask Jan where you can connect. Apologise for being in a hurry and be quick.”

“Jan?” said Hartmann. “Sounds interesting.”

“Is that it?” demanded Dr Addanc. He had followed Gel out of the booth and now confronted the officer. Detective Lewandowski, looking apologetic, was just behind him. “A vague promise to consider complying with the Imperium’s request.”

“Dr Addanc weren’t you listening?” said Gel. “That was the best we could have hoped for under the circumstances. It is impossible to hack Jan, you can’t download files unless she agrees, and we don’t have the authority to tell her to do anything.”

“I want to at least go through to the old temple part,” said the spy.

“No way, we’ve been here too long as it is,” said Gel. “Let’s move people.”

Hartmann emerged from the booth and made for the far end carrying his equipment bag.

“What about the prisoners?” asked Alyssa.

“The Hoodies will find them and let them go soon enough,” said Gel.

Then they heard the distinctive whump of a grenade and firing above them.

 

***

 

The house in Harwood Heights was a mansion along the lines of the house where Gel had met Even and would not have looked out of place in the American South before the Civil War. It had big, white columns, a two storey entrance hall and balconies running the full width of the house both front and back. This made it an excellent venue for a crime lord’s party which was what seemed to be happening when Gel drove by. As the street outside was already jammed with cars he was forced to park well down the next street. He grabbed the only weapon he could risk carrying in the car, his collapsible single stick, which he put in the inside vest pocket of his tuxedo. Since saving Yvonne he had added a box of disposable gloves, thinking that it was not a good idea to leave fingerprints, even when he was dealing with bad people. He put a pair in his pocket.

Gel walked back to the house wondering just how he was going to pull off a rescue. At the front one party of guests, all thugs in ill-fitting suits, eyed him.

“See, Billy,” said one. “It’s catered. Bound to be food.”

That gave Gel an idea.

He spotted what was probably the police surveillance car, a green Diamond, a cheap, local model and a sharp contrast to the flashier gangster cars in the street. He walked straight up to the house, bold as brass, just behind the four thugs who mistook him for a waiter, into a grand, two storey entrance with a chandelier and impressive set of stairs to the upper level.

The bouncer, a squat, mean looking lad who had been squeezed into a suit, eyed his tuxedo.

“Yeah?” said this gentleman. A couple of guests were in conversation in the foyer but the main party seemed to be in the living room to the right.

“Waiter called in,” said Gel, deliberately roughening his accent. He normally spoke with what was known locally as an Easton Heights accent which marked him as “posh”, but he had deliberately roughened it when he was an ordinary Assault Infantry private, listening to those around him. He reverted to that voice now.

“I wasn’t told anything about it,” protested the thug.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t told anything about a cop car outside keeping tabs on this place when I took the job,” said Gel.

“Shit, where outside?” said the thug.

“Green Diamond, older model, two cars that way on far side,” Gel jerked his thumb to his left. “Can’t have cops checking me out.”

The thug looked out the front door and Gel walked on. People with trays of food were coming out of a door to the left, which seemed like a good place for the newly arrived waiter to head to.

“Bog, Narcs watching us outside,” Gel heard the thug say to a colleague. “Keep tabs here, I’m gunna tell the boss.”

A waitress in a black dress grabbing a plate of finger food from a table in the kitchen took Gel’s tuxedo at face value. It meant more help.

“You’ve been hired, too,” she said.

“Told to take food to guy guarding the girl,” said Gel, thinking fast.

Her face fell.

“It’s just horrible having her like that. Grab one of these.” She gestured at the plates. “Upstairs to left.” She picked up a plate and went out. Gel took the plate indicated which held delicate pastry rolls with a creamy sauce, grabbed napkins and went out as if he had been a waiter all his life.

“Now for the hard part,” he thought.

 

***

Up on the fourth level sub-basement Dawlish and Parkinson were listening intently. They heard voices in the distance echoing along the subterranean caverns of Jasper. Dawlish looked out into the rear exit passageway – the one Gel hoped to use to get out of Dodge – but could not see anyone.

Suddenly a grenade dropped from the stairs above them and bounced on the concrete.

“Grenade,” yelled Parkinson and ducked into a doorway as it went off. Dawlish, a split second too late to react, was blown off her feet.

Hearing boots on the stairs, Parkinson glanced out of his hiding place to see three Hoodies coming down fast, weapons up. He leaned and cut down all three with a burst from his storm cannon. He stepped out of cover and fired up the staircase, to be rewarded by a yell. He ran to Dawlish. She was still alive but out for the count with a lot of blood down her front. He looked into the passage they had been guarding and stepped back as bullets pinged off the concrete around him. No escape that way. Parkinson fired back, dragged Dawlish out of harm’s way and blindly threw a grenade up the stairwell. The resulting ‘whump’ prompted satisfying yells and calls for medic. With no time to check Dawlish’s wounds and few places to go. Parkinson hoisted the squad leader up in a fireman’s lift and ran for the stairs. His only option was to go down.

 

***

 

Gel had never been a waiter, but he had observed what they did often enough. He offered his plate to those still in the entrance hall and said “napkin sir” to the thug at the entrance standing in for the one he had spoken to. The thug took the pastry and the napkin and turned away when another guest came. Gel then walked up the stairs as fast as he could without seeming to run. At the top he laid the tray on a decorative table for a moment to put on his plastic gloves and extend his baton.

Below he could hear the voice of the first thug.

“Bog, the boss says he didn’t ask for a human waiter. Where’d that guy go?”

“He was handing out food here,” said Bog. “Think he went upstairs.”

Gel hid the baton under the plate and, carrying napkins in the other hand, stepped through into the main upstairs corridor a split second before the first thug thought to look up. About mid-way down the dimly lit corridor was a large figure leaning against the wall. This figure straightened up when he saw Gel approach but did not appear to be alarmed.

“What’s you got, pal?” he asked.

“Finger food,” said Gel. “Boss thought you might be hungry.”

The thug was somewhat shorter than the pet gorilla at the front door of Night Beats but made up for that by being broader and looked a whole lot meaner. He had a block-like head that looked all the more frightening for being clean shaven. This gentleman regarded the plate with disfavour.

“This all you got?”

“They’re delicious, sir, try one.”

“Humph,” said this intellect. He picked up one and dabbed it in the sauce, he knew that much.

“Where’s this girl I keep hearing about?”

The thug inclined his head towards the door next to him, which would have a view over the front garden, and put the pastry in his mouth.

Gel struck.

 

***

 

Gel dispatched Theo and Cliffe to find out what the firing was about, with Sylvester going of his own accord, but they were back almost straight away with Parkinson and the wounded Dawlish. Sylvester fired a couple of shots up the stairway.

“Too many Hoodies,” said Theo as Alyssa went to work on Dawlish. “We ain’t getting out that way.”

“Damn. Hold them off for now. I’ll be back.” Gel ducked into the audience booth for Jan.

“I thought you had left,” said Jan.

“Please excuse intruding on you again,” said Gel.

“Not at all. The other person who was here – he was respectful – has just connected me and there is a message from the Lighthold system. I am assured that a message from the Imperial system is on its way. Your return is no intrusion.”

“I regret I must be hasty. We have found we cannot leave though the building and there are people there who wish as harm. Do you know of another way out of here?”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

When Gel emerged from Jan’s interview booth, Sylvester and guardsman Ralph were exchanging shots with Hoodies in the stairwell.

“How’s Dawlish?” he asked Alyssa.

“Not so good,” said the medic. “She’s stable for now but there’s internal damage. We need medivac.”

“We’ve got some travelling to do first. Keep an eye on her signs. The Mule-Synth can carry her. Energy levels still good, Synth?”

“Still good,” said the Synth. It had limited voice response.

“Okay, Cliffe, tell those two at the door to throw a couple of grenades and follow us. Theo, Parkinson, you’re leading.”

“Sure, Skip, leading where?” asked Theo, looking around. They were exchanging fire through the one exit he knew of.

“Through there,” Gel pointed at the tunnel leading to the Gagrim temple – a tunnel opening of about man height in the smooth concrete which lined the sub-basement. The soldiers had kept an eye on the tunnel, but no one had come out of it since they had been there.

“Plans don’t show a way out, Skip,” said Theo.

“The AI says there’s a way, so we’ll try it. Let’s move people.”

 

***

 

Gel dropped the tray and swung the single stick baton with all his strength, hitting the thug on the side of the head at eye level, just as he bit down on the pastry.

The thug yelled and punched Gel instinctively. The blow was half strength and caught Gel on his upper chest, but it was powerful enough to throw the soldier against the opposite side of the corridor, feeling as if he been stomped on by an elephant. He peeled himself off the wall to find his opponent holding his eye with one hand and drawing a gun from a shoulder holder with the other. Some part of Gel’s mind noted that his opponent was left handed before he struck again, hitting the thug’s forearm. His opponent yelped but, amazingly, continued to draw his pistol. Gel hit him again, this time opting for the shoulder near the neck. His opponent left off holding his head with his right in favour of trying to hit Gel. The soldier blocked the strike and dropped the stick to grab the thug’s left wrist, with the man still holding his pistol despite the hits he had taken. They struggled. The soldier part of Gel noted, in passing, that the pistol was a 9mm Smith & Wesson and looked to be the genuine article imported from Earth. More importantly the safety was off. With the advantage of leverage Gel could pin the man for a time, but he was bound to lose. He got his finger on the trigger of the pistol and pulled it, just as the thug from downstairs appeared in the corridor.

“Hey Humpy,” said the thug, before the gun went off with a deafening boom, sending a bullet whistling down the corridor and making the second thug dive for cover. Gel pulled the trigger again. Sending a second shot into the roof.

That should bring the police.

Gel pulled away, kneeing his opponent in the groin. He picked up his stick as his opponent doubled over in agony and hit the man’s arm again, wrenched the pistol out of his hand then thumped him again on the side of the head with all his strength. The blow would have felled an ox, but it just made Humpy stagger to one side and scream “shithead”, giving Gel time to open the door to the prisoner’s room and get in.

The main feature of the spacious, elegant room beyond was a double bed on which lay a woman, her head in a bag, hands and ankles bound with tape. Her ankles were bound to the bed post with more tape. Gel slammed the door shut behind him, not that he thought it would slow his opponent down much and snatched the bag off the woman’s head. It was Even, mouth taped shut, wearing, the soldier noted in passing, a fetching short gold chain mail skirt and brief gold halter top.

Even’s eyes widened in recognition and she made a sound behind her tape, as Gel put the gun’s muzzle right up against the tape biding the singer’s legs to the bed and fired twice, making sure the shots missed Even and went into the mattress, just as the thug-gorilla from the hallway smashed through the door, without bothering to open it.

“I’m gunna mess you up,” he said and lunged for the soldier.

Gel sidestepped, wacked his opponent on the side of the skull with the pistol, as that hand was closer, then turned and smashed the bedroom’s window pane with it. He threw the weapon sideways – a frisbee like throw - with all his strength through the smashed window. The weapon sailed over the balcony and thumped into the front lawn within sight of two men he could see at the gate. As they were followed by a police synth Gel thought them to be the detectives from the surveillance car responding to the sounds of shots.

“Police assistance required,” he screamed. “People in trouble upstairs.”

Now the police had an excellent reason to enter and search the building, without having to bother with warrants.

His opponent, shaking his head, lunged again but was still half blinded and in agony. Gel side stepped again and used his stick to hit his stumbling opponent’s concrete skull. The thug yelped but kept going, turning towards the soldier. Gel swung again. His opponent tried to duck but managed to put his jaw in the way of the stick’s bulbous end and fell heavily. Finally!

Even had swung her legs off the bed and was standing up, ankles still bound, when Gel stooped and threw her over his shoulder. No time for anything else.

“Mmmmph,” she said behind the gag. She sounded indignant.

“Shut up,” he said, carrying her to the door, which he reached just as the thug from the reception hall arrived from the other direction, gun drawn. He was not expecting Gel coming the other way. The soldier smashed the knob of his stick down on the muscle of the gun arm knocked the gun to one side and kept going to head butt the thug, Even’s attractive posterior just beside his head. The thug yelled then fell with Gel and Even on top of him. He obligingly fired his gun, the bullet going harmlessly into the wall. The soldier threw Even to one side.

“Mmmmph” she said again. Gel got the distinct impression she was not happy.

He thumped the thug on the Adam’s apple with his stick, wrenched the gun out of his hand as the man choked and threw it down the corridor.

“Police up here,” he yelled.

He grabbed Even, threw her over his shoulder again, kicked his opponent in the side of the head for good measure and ran.

 

***

 

At the entrance to the tunnel Gel paused to fire two HE rounds from his Dart Gun at the stairway exit over the heads of Parkinson and Ralph to cover their withdrawal, then plunged into the darkness. Bored out of living rock the tunnel had nothing in it apart from a utilities pipe, an air duct and a few light fixtures which kept the place in twilight, but that still made it a claustrophobic fit for Gel. The feeling was made all the worse by the thought that the Gagrim-Hoodies had only to block the other end to force them to surrender.

“Hurry, guys, he said aloud, his voice echoing in the tunnel. “We don’t want to be stuck here.”

Gel knew that the tunnel was about five hundred metres long but it seemed, in his imagination to stretch into infinity, until he thought he had done nothing else in his life but to shuffle along, bent over, close to the backside of the force’s synth carrying Dawlish. Parkinson and Ralph were directly behind him, occasionally looking behind to see whether the Hoodies had worked out where they had gone.

As the tunnel was the only other place they could have gone, it might not take them long. The Hoodies could also call whoever was at the other end. Gel considered cutting the utilities duct but thought they probably had other means of getting a message through, and that the move might annoy Jan – an important consideration.

Finally, a circle of light grew into an exit, and they stepped out into a dimly lit, square chamber one end of which opened onto a vast hall of rectangular columns, about the height of the columns on Greek temples on Earth. But unlike those columns they were not decorated in any way. The columns were all straight or seemingly straight and square, set at regular intervals as far as they could see, with no variations, coloring, etching, statues, or decoration of any kind. Deep in this array of columns was an area that seemed to glow.

“That’s the main temple area, the Holy of Holies,” said Gel, indicating the light. “The temple was carved out of rock deep underground when the Gagrim knew their bodies would not survive. This is one side of the temple, there is a grand entrance further off to the left. We’re going off to the right.”

“I’d like to look at that main temple area,” said Dr Addanc.

“Dr Addanc, we’re desperate escapees, not tourists,” snapped Gel. “We’ve gotta roll. C’mon guys.”

“But it’ll just take a few moments,” the spy protested. The group automatically followed Gel, ignoring him. After a couple of moments looking at the light and then at the group, Dr Addanc reluctantly followed the group.

 

***

 

Gel charged across the corridor to another door which was also unlocked and opened onto a bedroom on the other side of the house. This room was smaller than the one he had been in but also featured a double bed on which a girl lay, taped up much like Even. He went back to the corridor, in time to hear the police say, “Drop that weapon!” His very recent opponent have picked up his gun again. All the better. Another talking point for the man’s interrogation.

“Police, girl held captive in this room,” he yelled. “Door is open.”

With Even still on his shoulder and still making protesting noises behind her tape, Gel was about to use his stick to smash a full length window when he realised that there was a door which opened onto the house’s top storey balcony, and it was unlocked. He stepped onto the balcony, threw his baton to the ground below then clambered over the railing, holding Even, grabbed one of the nicely painted vertical wooden poles that made up the balcony railing and let his hand slide down. He hung in space, for a moment, still a couple of metres off the ground – the grand house had high ceilings - then realised there was nothing for it but to let go. He fell heavily, dropping Even and ending up on his hands and knees.

“Mmmmph,” said Even glaring at him.

“Hold on,” he said. He picked up Eve and his baton and dashed for the side of the house, stepping onto the unrailed ground floor balcony and out of sight, just as a plain clothes detective appeared on the upper storey balcony to look into the garden below.

As Gel carried Even around the side of the house, he could hear police sirens. The soldier glimpsed several men, senior crime figures, emerge from a door only to be met by two more plains clothes detectives coming up through the back garden. If the newcomers saw Gel and Even vanishing around the corner, they had no time to spare for them.

Gel propped Even up against the wall and ripped the tape off her mouth.

“Youch!” she said, indignantly. She had the sense to be indignant quietly. “You dropped me twice!”

“Sorry. No time to cut you loose up there.”

Gel got out a small, fold out pocket knife he had recently taken to carrying with him, and started cutting the tape from Even.

“What’s with the tux?” she exclaimed as he freed her hands.

“I was at a cousin’s wedding when Courtney called. I got roped into the bridal party at the last minute. Courtney knew the address too.”

“Anyway, thanks,” she said, in a softer tone, as he freed her ankles. “Not many girls get rescued by a guy in a tux. You look well in it.”

“Speaking of appearance,” said Gel, putting his hands on her waist. “I like the show girl costume. What’s the deal with this?”

“The club was just trying different costumes for different songs. I had a coat over this when I came out of the club. That’s when they grabbed me. I dunno what happened to the coat.”

Gel took off his coat and handed it to Even. “Put that on and as far as anyone knows you’re wearing a club dress. Now, unless you really want to explain everything to the police, and I’d prefer not to, we have to figure out how to leave without attracting undue attention.”

“Over the fence to that house,” said Even, pointing to the brick side fence. “No lights on. We just walk out of the front gate.”

“Sounds good,” said Gel. “I’ll help you up to the top.”

“Don’t drop me, this time,” she said.

A couple of minutes later Gel and Even stepped out of the front gate of the neighbouring house as if they owned it, just as a police car pulled up, lights flashing, to block the street.

“Laugh,” said Even quietly, and they both laughed – a ploy Gel would later employ on a frozen winter night in Jasper.

“Excuse me, Madam,” said a woman constable who got out of the car. Her partner on the other side was clearly a synth. “There have been reports of shots fired around here.”

“I heard noises from that building,” said Even, pointing back at the Mongolian organisation’s house. “They sounded like shots.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the constable. “Best to clear the area. Let’s go,” she said to the Synth.

Gel and Even walked around the corner to Gel’s car as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

 

***

 

The only decoration on the underground Gagrim temple proved to be the occasional flat strip stuck in the ceiling that glowed to give an uncertain light and cast shadows, as Gel led them on at a fast trot. But the place had a certain grandeur, pillars leading off in all directions, which awed the group into silence. After a few minutes they reached a wall then turned left, looking for the rear exit. This proved to be a large, rectangular opening that led to an avenue marked by more pillars, this time with the occasional statue of lizard like creatures, the original Gagrim. A processional way. A set of stone steps that would have done credit to a Mayan temple on Earth connected this processional way with a wide tunnel filled with equipment, being operated by perhaps half a dozen Gagrim scientists and technicians. They were wearing grey coats, their equivalent of white lab coats, which to human eyes made them look like warehouse storemen. A couple had human bodies with altered skulls to give them a comic book brainiac look, while the rest had normal human bodies, with an additional processing unit to take the overload.

To the human’s surprise a few of the Gagrim glanced at them, then returned to their work on screens and virtual 3D models, apparently assuming they were hoodies from the surface. The group walked on, Gel wondering if he should stop and blow something up, when they reached a table where a human in military uniform was engaged in a heated discussion with a Gagrim with an altered skull, wearing black robes.

The pair broke off their discussion and turned when the group arrived. The soldier, a large man with a short beard, a scar on his left cheek and intense eyes, was momentarily annoyed, then his annoyance turned to alarm.

“You,” he yelled and stood up. It took Gel a moment to realise that the man, wearing officer’s insignia, was staring at Hartmann, and another moment to realise the man’s had shoulder flashes with the word ‘Destroyers’ on them.

“Hello, Major,” said Hartmann, just as taken aback.

“Major Murtagh?” said Gel. “This is an unexpected honour. Guys, round up the workers here and check the rooms. I see doors in that wall.” He turned back to Murtagh. “I understand my lack of rank bothered you on Outpost-3.”

The Major thought for a moment then breathed, “Sergeant Obsidian”.

“Now its Second Lieutenant Obsidian,” said Gel, as the others rounded up the
Gagrim personnel. “I suppose your presence accounts for the reports I’ve been hearing that, the Hoodies, as we call them have been more effective as soldiers of late. You’ve been training them.”

The Major nodded acknowledgement.

“But security and sentry procedures could do with improvement,” Gel said, “as our presence shows.”

“That’s not my department,” said the Major stiffly, “I don’t command”.

“Now that we’ve got them together,” said Dr Addanc who had pushed forward. “We should kill them all.”

“What?” said Gel.

Major Murtagh stiffened, the black-robed Gagrim glared.

“Line them all up against a wall and shoot them,” said Addanc. “It will set their revival program back months, if not years.”

“Dr Addanc, I’m becoming increasingly concerned by your behaviour,” said Gel. “I’m not about to murder unarmed prisoners, most of them civilians, even if they happen to be of an alien race.”

Major Murtagh relaxed.

Theo came up. “More bio stuff in a big room back there, Skip,” he said, “and a shit load of those weird arse tanks with brains in them.”

These were Gagrim brains being preserved for implantation into a human body. A Gagrim consciousness would then be transferred into it. Gel and his team had encountered a host of the brain tanks on Outpost-3.

“Okay, stuff for us to blow up, sounds good,” said Gel.

The black-robed Hoodie stiffened and said something in his own language.

“Hartmann and Parkinson,” said Gel ignoring the Gagrim, “as Dawlish is out of it, grab some of those plastique blocks we’re got on the droid and drop them in likely looking spots in there and out here. Set the timers for five minutes. Save one for emergencies, two if you can. Theo, Cliffe, find somewhere for our hosts to be locked up, that’s not about to be blown up. Make the Major here comfortable in a separate room with ties for his hands and feet and make sure he’s tied to something solid.”

“You got it, Skip,” said Theo.

“Your team won’t get out of here, Lieutenant,” said Murtagh as he was led away. “Then you’ll wish you’d killed me.”

“Whatever else happens, Major, I’m sure I’ll wish that,” said Gel, mildly. “Look sharp people. Dr Addanc, if you wish to preserve any memories of this place maybe you better start filming. We are leaving out of the far end in minutes.”

“What happens then?” said the spy, “I thought there was no way out of this complex except through the temple.”

“Maybe there is,” said Gel, “if we can find it”.

 

***

 

Even’s first act, as Gel drove off after their adventures in the Mongolian house, was to call Hestia.

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine,” said Even several times, before Hestia’s hysteria was replaced with interest in the fact that her sister was about to go somewhere with Gel. It was arranged that she would spend the night at Courtney’s place.

“Where are we going, Mr Tux Rescuer?” said Even, when she hung up.

“My place seems the safest bet,” said Gel.

“Did you have this polite chatting you were talking about before in mind?”

“There is a spare room you can lock yourself in, put a pillow over your head and pretend I’m a bad dream.”

Even smiled.

“More importantly I have an advanced security system,” said Gel. “It helped keep out people working for Heather’s employers. If anyone does figure out where you’ve gone and want you back for any reason, including Boris, we’ll see them coming.”

“That’s a better reason than most guys have given for luring me to their apartments. I’ve nothing to wear but it’s been a weird day. Did Heather leave a spare toothbrush?

“Theo kept spares for his guests,” said Gel.

“Theo’s still on deployment?”

“Oh yes, for a couple of months still at least, and I’m to follow him real soon.”

This was the deployment to the freezing urban wastes of Dimarch.

“For how long?”

“Three months as far as I know, although the times can vary. Makes dating difficult if I’m about to disappear for three months.”

“Sure does,” said Even. “Tell me more about this wedding you were at – hope you didn’t leave the bride hanging. What happened to the groomsman you replaced?”

“All the ceremony was over – just dancing left to do when Courtney called. The groomsman got bumped to best man when the original best man got a skin full on the bucks night and crashed his car into another. Fortunately, it was a parked, empty car but the police were called and found hard drugs in plain sight.”

“Ouch,” said Even.

“He’s still in jail, although he has hopes of beating the charges. In the meantime, I was coming to the wedding anyway and had a tux in the closet, so I got roped in as groomsman although I barely know the groom. The bride is my cousin, through my father’s sister.”

“Take anyone?”

“Nope, no plus one.”

“You could have asked me to this society wedding?” said Even. “I could have found something in my closet to match a tux.”

“Noooo, my mother was there,” said Gel. “You have or had Boris to scare away guys, I have my mother to scare away girls.”

“A dragon is she? And she’d consider me unsuitable?”

“Are you interested in politics?”

“I have a degree in political science,” said Even.

“You do?”

“Sure, from Greens, is that so surprising?”

“You’re certainly more than smart enough, but I thought you would have considered higher education as a way for rich kids to waste their time.”

“Well, I have a degree with a minor in music and was applying for jobs in senator’s offices not that long ago.”

“The way you look I would have thought you’d be a cinch for a job.”

“For the wrong reasons. As it was a Five Ways accent and a CV that including singing in a club with gangster connections meant that no-one took me seriously.”

“If I’d followed my mother’s wishes and gone into politics, I would have hired you,” said Gel.

“And what would have been your reasons for hiring me?”

“’Cause you’re way smarter than me and know about politics,” said Gel, straight-faced. “You’d have told me what to do, and I would have done it.”

“Yeah, right!” she said.

“Being into politics would have got you over the first hurdle with my mother, but there’s still the Five Ways thing, no offence.”

“None taken at all.”

“The politics is a plus though. My ex–fiancée was priming me for politics.”

“The deal was you’d get into politics and become a sort of mouthpiece for your mum and this Alison?”

“Yep, mother even bought off the girlfriend I had before, because she didn’t think her political wife material.”

“Heard that too, and that she was ready to negotiate a price the moment your mum called. Annie wanted to know how much such a relationship was worth.”

“Never asked, but does that mean I get more sympathy now?”

“Ha!” snorted Even, then, “Men!”

The singer said nothing for a time and Gel became aware that, although it was a warm night, Even was shivering.

“Are you cold? I could turn on the heating.”

“No, I’m crashing,” she said. “Reaction to the events. I was hyped up on adrenaline for a while there, I reckon. Now it’s worn off and I feel bad. Don’t suppose you have any hash cigs?”

“Not into those. We can always try to get some if you know where to go?”

“No, no, let’s not do that now. Maybe just hold me for a time when we get to your place. See if that works.”

“I can sure do that,” said Gel. “We’re almost there.”

 

***

 

Gel led his team through the corridor into another temple complex of pillars but this time they went towards the lit up central portion. This proved to be a massive, round tower of smooth, white material that might have been marble, which they reached just as the explosives they had left behind went off with a boom and a distant flash. Around the base and on ledges set at every level were stone statues of ghastly creatures from Gagrim legends. Like the gargoyles and grotesques of the old Cathedrals on Earth they were on perpetual guard against evil spirits.

Dr Addanc, who wanted to take pictures from all directions, had to be dragged inside.

“Keep up Doctor,” growled Gel, “or you may look around one time and find that we’ve left you behind.”

They found stairs that might have been made for humans and walked up and up, and up. There was so little light that even the enhanced light mode on the visors did not help much. They switched on seldom used helmet lights and kept moving. Parkinson stayed behind for a few seconds at every floor to listen for any pursuit then raced to catch up.

“Nothing, Skip,” he said, every few minutes.

There was also nothing much to look at. The walls were mostly bare. Whatever furniture and fixtures there might have been had long since been taken away. Five floors up a discoloured mural occupied most the entire inner wall. According to an excited Dr Addanc it depicted the legends of the Gagrim main religion and was a major find by outsiders. The others were unimpressed. Gel gave him only a few seconds to take pictures.

“What is this place,” asked Lewandowski. “Why did these Gagrim need a tower underground?”

“Picking up noises below us, Skip,” said Parkinson.

“My guess is traditional architecture,” said Gel. “The temples had towers which the priests used in order to be nearer to the God or Gods of their religion. When the Gagrim went into their long sleep they prepared by excavating a traditional temple complex. The second part of the traditional temple had a tower, so this has a tower. In our case this is handy as you’ll notice we’re going up. At the top we won’t be far below the main sub surface chambers and highways of the city.”

“There’s a way out from there, Skip?” asked Hartmann.

“The AI said there was,” said Gel. “When the time came to revive the Gagrim, some robotic servant left on the surface drilled its way down to the top of the tower. Another reason to have a high point in the complex, I guess.”

Then they reached the top which was a dome painted in gold – one of the few times they had seen colour used in the tower – and solid concrete rock carved in a series of panels, with no visible way out.

Parkinson came up the stairs.

“I can hear Hoodies below us,” he said.

“I think this is what they call a tight spot,” said Alyssa.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

By the time Gel and Even got up to Gel’s apartment she was shaking hard enough for Gel to suggest a doctor.

She shook her head. “We’ll see. Come here.”

She took his hand, lead him to his living room couch, pushed him into it then sat on his lap, head on his shoulder. She was still wearing the gold chain mail top and skirt.

“Hold me and that’s it,” she said. “You’re not allowed to do anything else. And no talking.”

“Okay but is this the right pressure?” he asked squeezing gently.

“Bit harder.”

Gel squeezed a little more.

“That’s better. That’s nice. Keep it like that and no talking.”

They sat for several minutes, Even’s forehead on Gel’s cheek, one hand on his shoulder until, gradually, her shaking subsided. She stirred long enough to fiddle with his bow tie.

“A clip on, rich kid,” she said.

“Tying a bow tie is too much trouble,” he said.

Clicking her tongue she undid the tie, threw it across the room then undid the top buttons on Gel’s shirt so she could slide her hand inside.

“I like skin on skin,” she said. “Now quiet, this is helping.”

That arrangement held for a few minutes before Even, clicking her tongue impatiently again, undid more shirt buttons to press her body again his chest. After another minute, she unhooked her top with one motion, threw it across the room to make full contact, breasts and all, against his chest.

“You’re still not allowed to do anything,” she said.

“You know I’m not gay, right?” Gel said.

“Shut up.”

 

***

 

Gel’s team inspected the concrete panels carefully.

“Nothing, Skip,” said Theo.

“Like those computer games where you’ve got to find the secret exit,” said Hartmann.

Parkinson fired down the stairs, the sound echoing off the walls, then dropped a grenade which went off with a bang that made them all clutch their ears. Gel fought off rising panic. How could they work out if there was any difference in the panels?

“Scan with infrared,” he said.

After a time Theo said, “One panel maybe colder than the others.”

“Air from outside?” said Gel.

They heard someone call from below. “Surrender you fucks, there’s no way out.”

“Don’t answer,” said Gel.

They inspected the panel.

“Can’t see secret button or anything, but panel seems more concrete than rock,” said Theo.

“We’ll have to blow it,” said Gel.

“Plastique in here’d kill us all, Skip,” said Theo. “The blast ’ll bounce off the walls.”

“We’ll try a couple of armour piercing sabot rounds from my Dart-Gun,” said Gel. “Everyone against the wall on the opposite side. Parkinson throw another grenade but make sure they can’t throw it back.”

They crowded against the wall while Gel sighted and fired, deafening his squad but, once the smoke had cleared, they could see a sizable crater in the panel.

“It’s not rock,” said Gel. He fired twice more, excavating enough concrete to create a small hole beyond which was an open space. He switched to the classic High Explosive Anti- Tank or HEAT rounds – old fashioned technology, but still useful in a tight spot – and fired twice more to enlarge the hold slightly.

“What the fuck are you guys doing up there,” said someone below.

Gel’s response was to walk to the stairwell, switch his Dart-Gun to high explosive rounds, poke it around the edge of the stairwell without exposing any part of himself, sight on the stairways exit to the floor below, using a display on his helmet visor, and fired. This was rewarded with a yell and a few shots which did not come near the squad.

“That should shut them up while we work on getting out of here,” said Gel. “Time for the plastique. Place it so that most of the blast goes outwards into the space beyond and the concrete, not out through here.”

The blast seemed to shake the solid-rock chamber and made them cower against the wall, but when the dust settled the hole was large enough to crawl through. Theo, who went in first reported a narrow shaft leading straight up to what might be a part of Jasper’s transit system.

“We’ll all fit through except for the Synth,” said Theo. “There’s no way to make it larger.”

“Okay, we’ll haul Dawlish up,” said Gel, “and put the Synth in self-destruct mode. Sorry, friend.”

“My duty,” said the Synth, automatically.

***

 

After a few more minutes Even had relaxed enough to giggle and whisper in Gel’s ear. “I can feel you’re not gay.” She put both hands around his neck and rubbed against him.

“Hey, no fair,” protested Gel. “I’m trying to behave myself here.”

“Oh, it’s fair you want is it?” she said and rubbed against him again.

“Is this another of your tests?” demanded Gel gasping. “We said no more games.”

“You’re full of shit Obsidian,” she said, face still close to his cheek. “Tell me, were you ever sexually confused… you know, thought you might be a girl or a guy who liked guys.”

“Nope, a guy who liked girls right from the start,” he said.

“A part of you is telling me you like girls,” she said.

“And you – did you ever like girls?”

She giggled again. “I had a crush on an older girl in school once, I think. No guy’s ever asked me that.”

“I’ve got a really hot, topless girl sitting on my lap who wants to be held close but tells me I’m not allowed to do anything. I’ve got to distract myself somehow.”

She drew her face away from his to look at him. “Poor rich boy. But rescuing me in a tux, I’ll give you points on style.”

“I didn’t have time to change, and it proved useful. They mistook me for a waiter.”

She laughed outright. “Did they?”

“Sure, I even handed out food downstairs to the guards.”

She started laughing and seemingly couldn’t stop.

“That’s how I got close to the guard outside your room, the big guy who came through the door. He thought I was taking food to him.”

She laughed for a long while, then rested her head on his shoulder, chuckling.

“Sorry, relief of tension,” she said. “That’s better.”

“I got that. But it is funny.”

She chuckled again, then whispered in his ear. “Now I think you can help me relieve the tension in another way.”

“Yeah?” said Gel, warily, “what did you have I mind?”

“C’mon,” she said, standing up, topless and taking his hand. She led him towards the bedroom.

 

***

 

Gel was the last person through the newly opened passage and, as commander, set the Synth’s self-destruct timer through a keypad on the neck. He removed the synth’s memory unit – it would be plugged into an identical unit back at base – pressed the activate button and scrambled up through the rough-cut shaft, just as he heard clinks and scrapes in the floor below. Halfway up a grenade exploded in the chamber they had just left, and Hoodies charging up the stairs yelling.

He could hear someone say, “Just the Synth”, before someone else yelled “get out now”. As he reached the top which proved to be a cramped service tunnel for the city, the Synth blew up with a satisfying ‘whump!’ sending a fountain of dust out the shaft he had just vacated.

His squad was waiting along with Dr Addanc and senior constable Lewandowski, as well as Dawlish still unconscious and apparently floating. Gel blinked again and realised that she had been given the grav-pack used by Hartmann. Far too valuable to be left behind, the grav-pack had been set so that the squad leader was effectively weightless and just stayed where she was put like a hydrogen balloon with a small weight attached to it. She would be towed along by Alyssa.

“Good thinking,” said Gel. “Guy’s we gotta roll. Hartmann, you got a direction for us away from this mess. Then we need to get to the surface.”

“This way, Skip,” said Hartmann pointing off into the distance.

“Ralph, your turn for rear guard, wait a couple of minutes, drop a grenade, then catch us up, fast.”

“You gottit, Skip.”

They moved on at a trot. Later they would slow down to a fast walk, but for the moment Gel wanted distance between himself and the Hoodies while their opponents were still trying to work out what had happened. They heard a muffled explosion in the distance and then Ralph joined them.

“All quiet so far, Skip,” he said.

Further on, Gel was aware of a thundering crash repeated at intervals, as if the rock the city was built on was being pounded like a drum.

“What’s the noise, Hartmann?” he asked.

“That’s the ocean, Skip,” said technical private. “No one except scientists go anywhere near it. The water’s freezing, its stormy, with lots of big waves, and there are some nasty primordial creatures in it. The waves wash into a cavern near here, where the city has a wave generator set up. It’s a lot of effort for not much power but it makes a great tourist attraction. There’s viewing platform straight on a couple of klicks.”

“When we’re not running for our lives with wounded in tow, we’ll take a look but not today,” said Gel. “Let’s dial it back to a walk people but keep going. Keep behind Theo and in front of Ralph.”

They found stairs and moved up a level, into a tunnel used by the Jasper underground railway, when that railway was working. The pounding was louder. Gel thought the sound of the immense weight of water hitting the cliff face was a sort of elemental drum of doom. Abruptly he wondered what Major Murtagh was doing.

 

***

 

Freed from the plastic ties the Salts had used to bind him, Major Murtagh glared at the Gagrim – one of those in a human body with an altered skull.

“How did the Salts know where this exit was?” he demanded. “Hardly anyone knew about it?”

The Gagrim did not shrug. His kind did not shrug. Instead, he glared at the mercenary with yellow eyes. “We have not yet determined the source of that information,” the creature said in his race’s characteristic monotone. “We checked the memory of the city system. They have not been touched.” (Jan had not needed to access the files in the areas she permitted the Gagrim to use to tell Gel about the entrance.) “We do not have full control of that system, but the humans were not here long enough to do anything. Our technicians say they exchanged a few words with the system and left.”

“There must be more to it,” said Murtagh. “The officer in charge is good. He won’t have risked his team coming here without some reason.”

“We have checked and can find nothing out of place, Major,” said the Gagrim still staring.

The additional wireless attachment to Jan had gone unnoticed among the connections to a system with which the technicians had never been familiar in the first place. None of the sentries posted to the roof knew enough about the space to realise that the small satellite dish in one corner with its base partially covered in snow had not been there before. The mystery of the missing sentry was not cleared up for some time and even then, no-one connected the body with a piece of roof furniture.

“Humph,” said Murtagh. He was sure that there was more to it than that, but maybe he could take the soldiers prisoner and ask them the old-fashioned, hard way. Murtagh approved of the old ways. It gave him a warm feeling just to think about their use. “You’ve activated the missile systems so that transports now can’t land in the city?”

“Of course,” snapped the Gagrim. “But they will move well outside the city and request transportation from there.”

“No,” said Murtagh shaking his head. “I saw wounded with the group. Obsidian will want to get the wounded back as quickly as possible. I believe I know where he is likely to go, and I want to go after him.”

“One group is already after them,” said the Gagrim.

“They might be able to catch this group,” said Murtagh reluctantly. “But Lieutenant Obsidian has proved a wily foe. Instead of chasing him around the map, I can take the group I’ve been training and head them off. We can catch his group between two forces and ask the prisoners what they were doing down here.”

The Gagrim appeared to think about this for a moment or so, the yellow light in his eyes dimming. Then they flashed on again.

“Go, Major,” the creature said.

 

***

 

Gel’s group reached the surface in the reception area of a ruined building several blocks East of the Justice centre and immediately called for a pickup from the centre at Fort Bravo, carefully avoiding the Fort Apache system, only to be told that no transport could get to them.

“It’s a no fly zone sir,” said the operator. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“But we’ve got wounded,” protested Gel.

“We’d like to help sir, truly,” said the operator. “But the transport you had on standby had to duck for cover and another got shot down with the loss of one flight crew. The missile batteries move so we can’t clear them out easily.”

“Then where is the nearest point we can be picked up?”

“The nearest permitted is fifty kilometres, sir.”

“Fifty kilometres,” spluttered Gel. “Our wounded will never make that.”

“As I said sir,” said the operator. “We send in a transport and that just means the transport gets shot down. There is nothing I can do.”

“You heard,” he said to the others as he signed off. “No easy ride out for us. We’ve got to walk out and Dawlish won’t make it, unless we go straight for the Fort Apache perimeter. That’s only a few klicks.”

“We’d have to fight out way through the Hoodies, Skip, and then avoid getting shot by our own guys,” said Theo.

Gel thought for a moment. “We have an underground option. Hartmann, you remember where you took one in the leg?”

“How could I forget, Skip.”

“That was connected underground with Jasper. Can you get us there?”

“Full maps, Skip.”

“Then pick a route and let’s go. It’s been a tough couple of days people, but we’ll be back at the Fort where its warm in no time.”

Gel called Colonel Lee on her private line and told them what the group was doing, and about certain precautions she had to take. They all heard the call and by the time he finished Dr Addanc, in particular, was staring at him.

“When were you going to tell me about what was happening with your own superiors?” he demanded.

“Dr Addanc, for the last time I do not report to you, and I do not take orders from you. You are along as an observer who can make suggestions and that’s all. It is for Colonel Lee or General Sims to tell you these things, not me. As you charged off on your own with two squads of Guards without telling them, you’d be lucky if they don’t send you all the way back to Earth when we return. Now shut up and keep up, or we could arrange a battlefield accident. They happen all the time, don’t they Theo?”

“Dangerous to be behind lines, Skip,” said Theo. “Not our fault if something happens.”

“I would do my best to render aid,” said Alyssa. “But there’s only so much I can do.”

“Can I hit?” said Cliffe. It was the first time he had spoken for many hours.

Dr Addanc was not liked.

“It’s a thought, Cliffe,” said Gel. “But he’s not an officer. Another time maybe.”

“Still want to hit,” rumbled Cliffe, glaring at the spy.

 

***

 

Even ran her finger along Gel’s chin, her head on his shoulder, as they lay together in his bed.

“You’ve never had a stubble? They’re coming back in.”

“Nope – always clean shaven. Can’t stand having a beard and I’d always want to shave a stubble off.”

“You’re such a nerd,” she said, smiling.

“Yep, nerdy, no account me,” said Gel. “You should get rid of me and find another hit man.”

“Humph! Who did you dance with at this wedding?”

“My sister was there, Jenny for Genevieve, I danced with her.”

“A sister? How old?”

“A year or so younger than Hestia. I danced with the bridesmaid I was paired with, another cousin, and, oh yeah, a girl I’m fairly sure my mother wanted me to get to know.”

“Really?” she said, raising her head so that her chin rested on his bare shoulder. “How did you know she was a set up by your mother?”

“Because my mother paid no attention to her, even when we danced together. She was hot, single and apparently interested in me. If my mother didn’t check her out straight away it’s because she already knew all about her, and thought I’d be less wary if I didn’t think she knew her.”

“Ha!” said Even. “It could be that this girl was hunting mega-wealthy guys, even ones that have been disinherited.”

“Then how did she come to be at the wedding? She spun me a tale about being a friend of my cousin Judith at uni, but Judith is the radical causes type and there was nothing radical causes about this girl. Easier to believe my mother primed her and told her I could be put back into the family trust if I played along.”

That caught her attention.

“Can you be put back?” she asked, raising her head and eyeing him.

He squeezed her gently. “Never you mind. I can’t accept any deal from my mother, now. A soldiers pay for me.”

“Humph! Just asking,” she said, putting her head back on his shoulder. “What happened to this girl?”

“I was called away suddenly if you recall, because someone had gotten themselves into a real mess, and Courtney thought it might be a good idea if I got that certain someone out of it. I didn’t say goodbye or anything to her. Jenny sent me a text asking where I’d got to, but nothing from the girl.”

“Does she have your number?”

“Nope, although I guess she could get it from Mother. I have only a few days before I vanish for months, in any case.”

“I still think you’re totally full of shit about the money, Obsidian,” she said. “But I was in real trouble, and you got me out. That counts for a lot, and you did it in a tux.”

“I’m an Obsidian, we have style,” he said.

 

***

On a whim of Gel’s his team used the city’s underground railway tunnels. These had a flat surface with two tracks just like railways since the dawn of the industrial age and, more importantly, which was completely deserted. The team made good time, slowing only at the occasional station, which was checked out before they passed through. Nothing.

“This is our stop ahead,” said Hartmann finally. They had all been on the go for close to a full day and were feeling it. “There’re apartment buildings above. But we have to go East as well as North to get the tunnel we want.”

“How’s Dawlish doing?” Gel asked of Alyssa.

“Could be better, Skip,” said the medic scanning Dawlish, “she needs an operation soon.”

They moved up an escalator in dead silence. Theo’s helmet scanners detected voices down one exit from the station, so they went out through another to emerge in a large, shared, underground foyer for a series of apartment buildings. An open doorway with a stairway lead down to a basement containing the heating and utilities storage area for the whole complex. Even better, as Gel had suspected, the basement was connected to other basements. They could make their way to where they had to go, moving from one area of silent storage lockers to another.

“We’re here Skip,” announced Hartmann finally. “But we’ve gotta go up to foyer level, one storey below ground and a few metres along a main underground thoroughfare, to get to the tunnel building.”

“How come it’s not connected?”

“I don’t know Skip,” protested Hartmann, “I’m just reading the map. But it’s a public works tunnel and unfinished. Maybe they were going to connect it to stuff later, but the war came. Once we get down to the tunnel it’s a few klicks or so to where I got shot.”

“Okay, Theo, Parkinson, we need careful scouting. We gotta go out on the main thoroughfare to get to the next building on our side. Let’s check out this building first.”

Theo went up the stairs to the foyer and came back almost straight away.

“We got dudes up there, Skip,” he said. “All set to ambush whoever comes along the thoroughfare. Looks real like they’re waiting for us.”

 

***

 

“A guy in a tux did all this to you?” said the detective, an Inspector Haldar. “Did he call himself James Bond?”

The massive thug known as Humpy sat in the interview room, his bullet head swathed in bandages, staring gloomily at two detectives.

“He was dressed as a waiter, I tell you,” said Humpy. “That’s how he was able to get close to me. I thought he was offering me that finger food stuff from downstairs.”

“James Bond is now a waiter?” said the second detective, a Sergeant McNair. “How come the head wounds? Did he hit you with the finger food?”

“Nah, nah, he had a stick.”

“James Bond waiter had a stick?” said Halder. “Did you ever hear of such a thing Sergeant McNair?”

“I never did hear of such a thing, inspector,” said McNair. “In those old films James Bond always has cool gadgets. Not a stick. Maybe he was really in a duck costume?”

“Nah, nah, it was a tuxedo.”

“And he was the one who fired the gun you admit to carrying?” said McNair.

“I was just trying to defend myself against this guy. I only drew it after he hit me. He pulled the trigger. There should be surveillance cam files from downstairs. Look on those for this guy if you don’t believe me.”

“We looked, Humpy,” said Inspector Haldar. “We are very diligent in our work aren’t we Sergeant?”

“Oh, very diligent, Inspector,” said McNair. “Trouble is Humpy, the files were all wiped the moment police showed their faces in the building. Part of some sort of panic procedure for the house, Mr Darkmore being such a fine, upstanding citizen.”

“But we’re not looking at mysterious James Bond types in dinner jackets, Humpy,” said the inspector, leaning forward on the table. “There is another puzzle here. Some time back we fished the body of a low level street thug, one Oscar Maidstone with the street name of Crash, out of Green Harbour.” The inspector saw what he had been hoping for, a flicker of fear in the thug’s face. He strongly suspected the thug was telling the truth about a waiter freeing the girl they thought was a singer at the club Night Beats, but they were now playing a bigger game than trying to identify a mysterious individual in a tuxedo.

“The body had remains of rope on its ankle. Our guess is that he was tied to something; weighted down so that he never resurfaced but you shouldn’t use rope for that kind of job, and Crash came up again. We were curious about what Crash had been doing underwater; and what do police do when they’re curious about bodies, Sergeant McNair?”

“They perform autopsies, Inspector, in this case an autopsy which recovered three slugs from the body – slugs which we have now linked to the weapon which Humpy here has admitted to carrying.”

“Humpy, you should have got rid of the weapon,” said the Inspector. “We’ve also traced your movements through mobile phone records on the day we believe Crash disappeared and have looked at surveillance cams, and we’ve searched your place. Interesting stuff at your place. There is also the question of the girl we found tied up who seems to be under the impression that you were the one that kidnapped her.” The Inspector lent even closer and whispered. “My, my, Humpy, you are in trouble, aren’t you?”

The thug gulped, then managed to croak, “I want a lawyer”.

“And you shall have a lawyer, Humpy,” said the Inspector, but you may want one that is not paid for by Mr Darkmore, particularly as we are willing to suggest a reasonable compromise, and I am a reasonable man is that not so Sergeant?”

“I’ve often heard it said in the watch house,” said McNair, “that Inspector Haldar is a reasonable man. He is so reasonable that he doesn’t care much about Crash, or the person who pulled the trigger on Crash. He is concerned about the person who ordered Crash’s execution.”

Humpy looked from one detective to another. He was sweating, his wounds were hurting.

“I’m no dog,” he managed to say, but without conviction. By dog he meant informer.

“That’s your choice, Humpy,” said the Inspector. “But you should know that any information you have may have only a limited shelf life.”

“The club Mr Darkmore has been going to, Night Beats,” said McNair, “is owned by a husband and wife, and Mr Darkmore seems to have annoyed the better half of these two no end with this business about buying and selling their singers. It is seen as going too far, even in Five Ways. The owners have let it be known that anyone who informs on Mr Darkmore, or his operations, will not be seen as breaking the criminal code of silence. Rival gangs are using the opportunity to move in on his operations. Our tips line is now melting down I’m told. A lot of work for us, Inspector.”

“That’s true, sergeant,” said the inspector. “A lot of work, but satisfying work, as we shall be putting away people who should not be on the streets at all. You can either help make Green City a safer place, Humpy, as well as make your own life easier, and never mind James Bond in a duck costume, or you can share jail cells with your Mongolian family comrades for many years to come.”

Humpy looked from one detective to another, trying to think of another way out.

 

***

Even drove Gel to the barracks to report for transport to the Dimarch system in his car – the assignment that would start with his appointment as deputy port commander.

“An interesting few days,” said Gel as they drove.

“Just interesting?” said Even smiling. “Is that all you can think of to say?”

“What about energetic and erotic?”

“Better,” she said.

Even had taken time off work and she and Gel had left the apartment only to grab her belongings from her old apartment. Boris had not been there.

“Now I’ll be gone for months, so who knows what Hestia and you will get up to in my absence.”

Hestia would wait until after Gel had left to move into the spare room, to allay Gillian’s legal concerns.

“Two girls on the town,” said Even cheerfully, “who knows?”

“I’ve set the security up so that you and Hestia can use the apartment,” said Gel, “but no-one else. If you want to chat with other girls or guys…”

“Polite chatting?” asked Even playfully.

“For any social interaction, which may or may not include polite chatting,” Gel leant toward Eve when he said the last two works, “you have to do it outside the apartment. But where possible stick to well lit, busy places.”

“Gotit!” said Even.

“The car will also auto-drive to pick up you and Hestia up after work. Just have the club gorilla walk you out to where you can get in.”

“The gorilla’s name is James,” said Even. “He’s a bit fierce with customers sometimes but very nice.”

“The gorilla is called James?”

“Sure, James is a nice name.”

“He’s big enough to be called Brett Rock or maybe Clyde, so he can be called Killer Clyde,” said Gel. “James doesn’t seem to fit.”

“The guy you beat up to rescue me looked bigger than James,” said Even.

“He was called Humpy, which fits him way better than James fits the gorilla,” said Gel. “Either way, it makes for a longer and healthier life if I don’t beat up big guys, which reminds me, any word on Boris?”

“Police haven’t been able to find him and he’s banned from the club so I haven’t seen him there,” said Even. “He’s lying low and he can stay low as far as I’m concerned. It was cool to be rescued by a guy in a tux, but it was not fun getting into trouble in the first place.”

“Style is important in rescuing,” said Gel. “There should be a dress code.”

When they got to the base, Even insisted on parking, rather than simply dropping Gel off and walking with him to the security entrance, arm around his. She then kissed him passionately, both arms around his neck, in front of the other arrivals – the performance drawing a wolf whistle.

“Send-offs are important too,” she said, when she finally released him. Message often and see you in three months, Lieutenant.”

Evan walked away, then turned and waved and Gel knew that, unlike his last deployment, he had someone who expected him to return to her.

 

***

 

“An ambush?” said Gel. “How many?”

“Couple of dudes set up out the front, good cover, Skip. One’s got a storm cannon. We could take ‘em out easy but not with knives. Reckon there are others. Heard one talk on comms and look to his left.”

“Interlocking ambush positions,” said Gel. “Hartmann what’s on the other side?”

“Some sort of rec area,” said Hartmann looking at his plans. “No underground access.”

“We can’t sneak up on the other group, and we’re running out of time for Dawlish.” Gel thought for a moment. “Looks like we gotta blast our way through. Whoever set this was smart enough to know we’d try to go under the lines to reach Fort Apache but expected us to march up the thoroughfare, not go through basements. Here’s what we do.”

A few minutes later Gel and Theo crept through the deserted foyer of the apartment building, the rest of the team right behind. It had been a run-down place before the war with a plastic check pattern on the floor, rather than a carpet. But at least there was no rubble or bodies, and that made it a step or two above some of the buildings they had been in. An expansive window with no glass in the frame gave a view of an attempt at an ornamental garden with stone figurines at the front of the building.

Two Hoodies, one armed with a storm cannon and both with older style combat helmets, had taken up position behind these figurines, heaping up snow for additional cover and looking out purposefully onto the underground roadway – about the size of a small suburban street on earth with massive stone pillars at regular intervals. Theo was right, they could take out the pair easily but not without attracting unwelcome attention. Gel set his visor to infrared and scanned the building they could see to the left, on the other side of the roadway. Sure enough, there was trace of body heat and some movement. Any attack on the Hoodies in front of them would invite an instant response from the building across the way. There was also a building to the right on the other side of the avenue, beside the park, but he could not see it. The tunnel entrance building, set out to the road way, blocked their sight to the right.

Only one thing for it. Gel whispered to the others what he wanted done, then shifted his trusty Dart-Gun onto his shoulder crouched down and fired through the window at the building to the left front. The two Hoodies in the ornamental garden whipped around, bringing their weapons up, and died from single shots fired by Theo and Sylvester, who insisted on being involved in the action. Cliffe and Ralph added to the fire on the target building, while Parkinson jumped through the window sprinted to the corner of the tunnel entrance building and started firing at the building on that side.

Gel saw movement in park opposite and fired a high explosive dart, adding to the horrific din. He fired again. There didn’t seem to be any other positions. He stood up and felt something flick past him

“Guys, let’s go,” he said.

Theo, Hartmann and Alyssa trailing Dawlish dashed past him. Then came Cliffe, Ralph and Sylvester firing at the building and park.

“Locked guys,” Gel heard Theo say over comms. He had reached the tunnel building. “Won’t kick in.”

“Get clear, Theo,” said Gel who had reached the edge of the tunnel building, “keep firing at the buildings”. He flicked the Dart Gun loader to armour piercing while the others retreated. He backpedalled to ensure that he was at safe firing range and fired at the lock. There was a ‘whump!’ at a blast and a moment later the remains of the door was on the floor, well inside the tunnel entrance. “Go, go guys.”

“Get in people,” said Sylvester, who had kept firing at the building to the right. He now stood up and waved Alyssa and Dawlish through the entrance, then Gel.

“Time to go, S….” said Gel, just as Sylvester’s back spouted red and the same bullet hit him, punching through his bullet proof. He stumbled, fired off another armour piercing round about where the shot would have come from then fell to his knees.

“Alyssa, Skip’s been clipped,” he heard Theo say. “Fire at the buildings, everyone, grenades and into the tunnel.”

Gel was aware that he was being pulled back. Blackness descended.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

Bosworth Obsidian was chiding his son Gel, as he often had when he was alive, for his lack of ambition.

“You have the ability,” his Father told him, “but you lack the drive, the ambition needed to build enterprises, create industries.”

“I’m my own person, father,” the youthful Gel said. The scene was the dining room at the Obsidian mansion, far better lit than he remembered. Gel was aware of his mother and sister at the table, but they played no part in the scene. “If I think it’s worth doing then I’ll do it, but otherwise what’s wrong with being a patent attorney? Patents are an important part of the economy – the drive for innovation.”

Gel was aware of a beeping somewhere. A regular beep, not an alarm.

“I know that patents are important,” snapped his father, “and patent attorneys have their role to play but our family is about more than just playing a role.”

“We still count as provincial,” said Gel. “As far as they’re concerned on Earth we’re backwater hicks, good for taxes and the occasional volunteer for the Imperial Marines.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” said his father. “Why I’ve had direct dealings with the Imperial system itself.”

“The system can hold thousands of conversations at once and remember the details of each one,” said Gel. “Say, do you know where that beeping sound is coming from?”

“If you really believe the Empire considers you insignificant, why did you get yourself wounded helping the Eye?”

“That, father, is a very good question,” said the youthful Gel, just before he realised the beeping sound came from a machine next to him which was being monitored by a male nurse. With difficulty, he moved his head to see that he was in Fort Apache’s main hospital ward, his stomach swathed in bandages.

“You’re awake,” said the nurse, a cheery, round faced man. “How’s it going, Lieutenant?”

“Okay, I guess,” said Gel. “Doesn’t feel so good on my right side where I got it, no pain, just discomfort.”

“The doctors had to do a lot down there, and you lost blood big-time,” said the nurse cheerfully. “Dunno if you liked the uniform you were wearing but it got so much blood on it that its marked for recycling.”

“Sure, whatever,” said Gel. “There were two others wounded in the party I was in – a woman, Squad Leader Dawlish, and another man, a civilian.”

“The squad leader’s under observation,” said the nurse. “They’re still scanning for any damage they may have missed but no complications are expected. As for the civilian, I was told there was another person who died on the spot during your firefight. Rest now, the doctor will be in later to tell you more.”

The doctor proved to be an older woman with her hair in a bun, accompanied by a synth assistant, who looked at the display on Gel’s monitoring machine while they talked.

“You lost a kidney in all that,” she said. “Although you can get around with one kidney perfectly well, in the old days that would have taken you off the active list permanently. But they’re growing a new one back on Lighthold with the DNA you had on file. We’ll load you onto the next transport so that the new part can be installed, so to speak. Couple of other bits and pieces they have to fix up while they’re at it, but you’ll still be ready to be shot at again within weeks.”

“I’ve been here less than two months,” said Gel, thinking of Even.

“Time enough to get badly wounded,” said the doctor, cheerfully. “We can’t have you cluttering up the hospital with just one kidney, so its back home for the op and some leave. The file doesn’t say you’re married. Got a girl waiting Lieutenant?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Not surprised,” she said, eyeing him appraisingly. “They’d be lining up.” The doctor got up to leave. “Next transport out, Lieutenant.”

“What girl is waiting for you if it’s not Heather?” said Alyssa, who had just walked up.

“Now I’m in trouble,” said Gel.

The doctor laughed and went to look at the only other patient on that ward.

“Damn straight you’re in trouble,” said Alyssa. Theo was just behind her. “Theo says he’s heard that you’ve switched girls back home. There’s personal drama going on that I haven’t been told about, and that’s a military offense.”

“Even, Skip?” said Theo, showing some surprise. “Got a bunch of messages when I got back. Even is at your place with Boris out of the picture. Oh man! But that means smoking-hot Heather is history.”

“I guessed it was over with Heather when her employers tried to kill me.”

“Say, what?” said his visitors.

Gel sighed. Now he had to tell them everything.

 

***

 

Private Detective Samuel Dodgson was intrigued. He only knew the woman who had dropped into his office as Yvonne, and this Yvonne was “hot”, but he had been instructed by his client to co-operate with her and that was all that mattered.

“Here’s the list,” he said, handing over an envelope. “The digital version has been sent to the address requested.”

Yvonne took the list out of the envelope, looked it over and raised an eyebrow.

“Some interesting names here,” she said. “You’ve put in backgrounds on the ones you’ve identified.”

“Just so as you know who they are,” said Dodgson. “As you can see there are a few gaps. Only so much you can do with open source material.”

“I should be able to fill in a few of those gaps with my sources,” said Yvonne. She stood up. “It is important that you remain discreet over this. No leaks. Gel spoke of you with confidence.”

“Of course,” said Dodgson, “and he said to hand over the list to you, but I didn’t catch who you worked for.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” said Yvonne, and she left.

 

***

“This Heather-Athena person is a sex worker?” said Alyssa.

“You crashed the Mongolian house?” exclaimed Theo. “That shows stones, Skip.”

“I’m hoping they don’t work out it was me,” said Gel, “but if it’s known that Even is staying at my place, then it’s odds on to come out.”

“Even staying at your traps is fast work, Skip,” said Theo.

“Had to. Didn’t know if the Mongolians or Boris would come after her while I’m here and my place has got defences, as you know.”

“That’s a new excuse to get a girl to a guy’s place,” said Alyssa. “But if the girl’s been sold by her boyfriend and kidnapped for a crime lord’s pleasure, then staying at the place of a hot ex-billionaire who rescues her makes a lot of sense. Most guy’s places w’d look good in those circs. Does Even know about Heather and what she does?”

“She knew Heather before I did and warned me about her employers. I broke with Heather before I did anything with Even.”

“Humph! Well, it’s Even’s business not mine,” said Alyssa. “But I will say this is all way better than any of the dramas I watch. This is why I hang around this unit, for the drama. Whatever happens, changes in relationships and other gossip are to be reported to me.”

“I have some goss,” said Flight Lieutenant Nilsen who joined the crowd around Gel’s bed. Gel thought that his bed was turning into a major base meeting point. “There was inappropriate physical contact between Squad Leader Addison and Private Hartmann before he got dropped in Jasper. Addison kissed him.”

“Inappropriate, indeed,” said Gel, sternly. “I hope you took strong disciplinary action?”

“I tut tutted,” said Nilsen.

“Quite right,” said Gel. “There should be tut tutting with a tsk, tsk, thrown in. You would never have done anything like that yourself.”

“Of course not,” said Nilsen, doing her best to look prim and proper, “and talk of anything that happened between myself and my husband on one transport trip before we were married is just malicious gossip.”

“Yeah, right, I heard about that,” said Alyssa. “Didn’t you both get cautionary letters?”

“Sad, some of the misleading, malicious gossip out there,” said Gel, “very sad.”

“Sadly, I have to break up this party,” said Colonel Lee who also joined the crowd, trailing Hartmann. “People I have business with Lieutenant Obsidian, you do not. There will be time for visiting later.”

“Later, Skip,” said Theo.

“Before you go, Sylvester didn’t make it?”

“Nah, Skip. Dunno what they were using but it made a real mess of Sly and of you after it had gone through him.”

“Might have been that Major Murtagh guy – looks like we might have to go a couple more rounds with him, after I get my new kidney. Oh yes, and sorry, you’re looking for new traps when you get back.”

“Put that together already,” said Theo.

“Remember, drama is to be reported,” said Alyssa, as she left.

“I don’t remember any requirement that drama had to be reported to the unit medic in the manuals,” said Lee, after the medic had left.

“Alyssa has taken it upon herself to be a unit gossip clearing house, ma’am,” said Gel. “I don’t believe it is in the manuals.”

“Have you been providing material for this clearing house, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“Some, ma’am, but so has Hartmann here. I’m told he is the victim in an incident involving physical contact between himself and a female squad leader on a military transport.”

“This sounds sordid,” said Lee, eying Hartmann suspiciously. “This was handled at unit level?”

“Yes, ma’am. Flight Lieutenant Nilsen took disciplinary action.”

“Hmmm!” said Lee still glaring at Hartmann who was doing his best to look innocent. “If my involvement is required in the matter, then I expect to be fully informed.”

“Of course, ma’am,” said Gel. “Anything that has to be reported, will be communicated in accordance with Assault Infantry regulations.”

“Ha! That covers a lot of crimes,” said Lee. “Anyway, there are other matters to discuss, when Hartmann can spare time from being a victim in these incidents.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hartmann, straight faced.

“Your guesses concerning activities in our Digital Management Section have proved close to the mark,” she told Gel, “As I’m just about to explain to Captain Barastoc, who is just coming.”

Hartmann went to stand on the other side of Gel, behind Barastoc.

“I’m told you wanted to see me in the hospital, ma’am,” said Barastoc. The commanding officer of the Fort Apache digital section was not his usual cheerful self. “Lieutenant Obsidian, I see you made it back in one piece.”

Gel thought that he must now be setting records for hospital visitors. “Mostly in one piece, but the doctors say the missing part can be replaced.”

“Glad of it,” said Barastoc, although he didn’t sound glad. “I have a busy day, ma’am, how can I help?”

“I requested your attendance here as Lieutenant Obsidian is due to ship out very soon and he has an interest in our investigation of the Digital Management Section at Fort Apache.”

Barastoc stiffened. His expression hardened.

“Investigation, ma’am? I wasn’t informed there was an investigation.”

“That’s because you were the subject of it,” said the Colonel.

The captain took a step back and looked around, aware that two beefy military police had also entered the ward. Apart from another infantryman in a bed at the other end of the ward, who seemed asleep, there were no other actors in what was quickly becoming a hospital drama.

“Lieutenant Obsidian became suspicious,” said Lee, “when a task you set Hartmann led to the discovery of that underground bunker and shipping container tracking chips without containers.”

“We were ambushed the moment we got down there,” said Gel. “Way too much of a coincidence. Our movements must have been tracked by the same person who left the chips there, and chips don’t just detach themselves from containers. This puzzled me until I thought to ask Hartmann to check on any containers of contraband that had been seized. They were still in the loading dock but two had been deleted from inventory and their chips taken. Only someone on the base who knew the systems could have done all that.

“I figured the ambush gave away such a big tactical advantage – having a path behind our perimeter - that we must have hit a nerve. I had told Hartmann to look for transports coming here that always went over Hoddie air space. One transport popped out so Hartmann and the Lighthold police dug deeper. They put tracers and monitor units on the ship and sure enough, the transport would take off a few containers short of a full load and then stop long enough in orbit around Lighthold to take extra crates specially adapted to be dropped over Hoodie lines. But they still needed someone at this end to cover their tracks, especially when it came to questions of erasing any tracks that showed up on radar.”

“You can’t prove any of this,” said Barastoc.

“That same someone was also in a position to tip off the Hoodies about an attempt to reach the Justice Centre in Jasper,” said Gel, ignoring Barastoc, “where the Gagrim are working hard on a project to revive their species using modified human bodies. That last point no one in Lighthold fully appreciated until we got down there for a look.”

“Still don’t see the proof,” said Barastoc although he was now looking around, obviously searching for some means of escape.

“I had Hartmann look at your personal email accounts,” said Colonel Lee.

“You need a warrant,” spat Barastoc.

“This is not my first show, Captain,” said Lee. “The Advocate General Section here can apply for warrants and got one. The work was done with judicial approval and under military police supervision. The Lighthold police have also checked your financial accounts, again after obtaining a proper warrant. I understand that they are tracing the origins of certain large deposits made into your accounts. The accounts of the crew of the transport in question are also proving of interest and they are now assisting police with their inquiries, as they say in the news bulletins. These MPs will take you into custody and read you the standard caution.”

“Meddlers,” snarled Barastoc and pulled a pistol out of his pocket, which he aimed at the Colonel. It was not the standard issue pistol – that was far too big to be easily concealed in a pocket. It looked like a ladies’ personal defence pistol but getting shot by one would be no joke. Both MPs reached for their own weapons.

“Try me,” snapped Barastoc, waving his pistol in their direction. “I can get off three shots before you can get your own pistols up.”

The MPs stopped.

 

***

 

“Sorry to hear that Gel was badly wounded,” Courtney said to Even backstage, between sets, “but now that he’s coming back to be fixed up what’s going to happen about you staying at his place?”

“I’ve sorta gotten use to his place,” said Even smiling. “It’s just a few minutes to the club by his car, and the security AI is straight rad. Hestia and I sleep at night. The cleaning unit is also great – it’ll even do ironing and basic meals – and there’s a private roof area where we can work on our tan lines.”

“The cleaning unit is a good way to get a girl’s attention,” admitted Courtney. “But there’s also the little matter about how you feel about Gel, and how Gel feels about you. What happens when he gets back from the hospital?”

“He can work on his tan lines too, if he wants,” said Even. “It’s his place after all.”

“Maybe he’ll try to throw you out. Has the question of paying the rent come up?”

“He didn’t ask, I didn’t offer,” said Even, looking coy. “You know that gay couple down the hall I told you about, they’re under the impression that Gel owns the building.”

“Despite claiming to be poor,” said Courtney.

“Uh huh – and he did save me while wearing a tux, and you know, I was kinda interested before that. I’ll ask Gel nicely not to throw me out. Hestia is more of a problem as we have to get Gillian’s okay, but Gel has always been a total gentleman.”

“He has,” agreed Courtney. “You know what I think? I think you’ve really traded up from Boris.”

“Maybe,” said Even, smiling.

 

***

 

Really, Barastoc,” said Colonel Lee, calmly. “Look where you are, man - right in the middle of the base, a long way from Hoody lines.”

“I can walk out with a gun to your head and take one of the snow cats to that bunker, then walk underground to Jasper. There are just Hoodies at the exit.”

“They won’t be so keen on seeing you,” said Lee. “All your recent intel has proved wrong, or you couldn’t get the information they wanted. We made sure of that.”

“No reason for them to turn me away. They also have digital problems that need solving. Colonel, I need you to come here,” said Barastoc waving his weapon again. He missed the tiny nod Lee gave Hartmann, who promptly took out the weapon he had also brought in concealed, a proper service pistol. Standing behind Barastoc, who was not expecting the technical private to be armed, Hartmann was able to take one step forward, pistol in his left hand, and ram the mussel into Barastoc’s skull, just beneath the ear, while grabbing the captain’s gun hand with his right. Barastoc stiffened for a moment then relaxed and allowed the MPs to take the gun from him. It was over.

“I wondered if you would do anything,” said Lee. “I had Hartman here provide some failsafe. Well done, Hartmann.”

“Thank you ma’am. I do have something to say to Captain Barastoc here.”

“What?” snarled Barastoc as he was being handcuffed.

“I was never into the Russian authors; too depressing,” said Hartmann. “Try humourist writers of the 20^th Century. The light classics. Writers like Wodehouse, Thurber, Runyon or even John Mortimer.”

“You should’ve been killed in that ambush,” said Barastoc sourly, “but I may get more time to read real soon.”

He was led away.

“Carry on with the Digital Section for the moment Hartmann,” said Colonel Lee, “and if there is to be any further, fully consensual interaction between yourself and a certain squad leader, it is not to be done during operations.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hartmann, doing his best not to smile.

“And remember to check that pistol back into the armoury.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you,” said Lee to Gel, as Hartmann left “are about to leave my command.”

“It’s truly been both an honour and a privilege to be in your command, ma’am,” said Gel.

“Thank you for that, but the honour has been mostly mine,” said Lee. “You cleaned up a couple of problems partially created by Captain Edge. Along the way your group and the Guard detachment caused a lot of casualties to the Hoodies – more than the regular companies have been able to do – and gained considerable intelligence through that JAN system, which the clod hopping Dr Addanc would have messed up. By the way, did he really ask you to shoot unarmed prisoners?”

“Yes, ma’am, he did. I found him to be a pain in the rear end.”

“He was so unaware of what he was asking,” said Lee, “that he complained to General Sims that you wouldn’t do as he asked. The General hit the roof. Just for the record, and I have to ask, did you shoot any prisoners?”

“No, ma’am, we followed the rules of engagement. The prisoners were locked up or tied up for their own people to release, which would have been soon after we left. The others in the squad will confirm this.”

“Very well,” said Lee, “we’ll need a report at some point. In the meantime, General Sims has torn a strip off Addanc and will insist that, if there is to be any further co-operation with the Eye, the spy is to be replaced.”

“That sounds like an excellent outcome, ma’am. I hate to be difficult at this point, but I’m getting real tired.”

“Of course,” said Lee. “Our paths will cross again, I’m sure. General Sims is at the fort just now and will look in later for a quick word.”

Gel closed his eyes.

 

***

 

Several days later the very fat man who ran Imperial Intelligence conferred with his deputy in the chief dusty office about affairs on Lighthold.

“Dr Addanc really stirred up a hornet’s nest with his request,” said the Deputy. “Time was when shooting a few unarmed hostiles was barely worth mentioning. Now everyone gets upset.”

“The real problem,” said the fat man, “is that Dr Addanc complained about the officer’s refusal to shoot prisoners to General Sims. The officer was seriously wounded, and the initial debriefing was handled by a non-com who didn’t hear the request. If Addanc had kept his mouth shut nothing might have been said.”

“I guess,” said the Deputy, “but now we have to do something with Addanc. The Lighthold government has drawn a line on this point, it seems. The trouble is that ,of the other assets in place, none are really suitable as front persons.”

“We can do without a fall guy for now,” said the fat man. “Yvonne’s produced some interesting material through local contacts. You saw that list?”

This was the list compiled by the private detective hired by Gel, with many blanks filled in by Yvonne working diligently with the police information systems.

“Alarming is how I’d see it,” said the deputy. “A lot of notable people on Lighthold are in this honey trap and will be called on to make choices at a crucial time. It may already be happening.”

“Yvonne says the girls and a couple of boys involved are all physically attractive,” said the Deputy.

“This took money to set up,” said the fat man. “But where did the Gagrim we know are behind this get the funds? They may have looted a few accounts in Dimarch, but the place went into a full civil war – wouldn’t have been much to spare for a honey trap operation on another planet. Bring Addanc back to Earth and tell Yvonne that she is acting chief there while we review arrangements, and to follow the money. We’ve sent two street agents and an analyst, but we’ll need more, and someone senior. Unless we lift our game there the place could go the way of Dimarch.”

“Yes sir,” said the Deputy.

 

***

 

When Gel opened his eyes again, a senior officer he had not seen before was looking at his monitoring machine.

“General Sims, sir?”

“You’re awake,” said Sims, cheerfully. He was a good looking, older man whose career had been held back by womanising. He had exchanged a prestigious colonelcy in the Imperial Marines for a general’s job on Lighthold, on the Imperial rim, to avoid the fallout of yet another romantic misjudgement with someone else’s wife. Humans may journey to the stars and settle other planets but the flaws in human nature remained. For all that Sims remained a fine, fighting soldier and the word was he had finally settled down with one woman. “The doctors say you’ve scored a few weeks at home, away from this freezing wasteland.”

“Hell of a way to get it, sir,” Gel.

“True. Lot can go wrong with being wounded, but you aren’t going to have to pay any penalty. Before you go, however, I want to discuss a proposal with you.”

“Proposal, sir?”

“We need a raiding unit. We’re still a comparatively new force and had not thought to have specialised formations that might be thrown at particular problems – like the Commandos, Seal teams or the Russian Spetsnaz, back on Earth.”

“Commandos and Seals have different roles, sir,” said Gel, “and Spetsnaz is a catch all term for everything from airborne to marine raiders.”

Sims chuckled.

“I was told you were smart. The unit I’m thinking of will have to take on, or should at least be trained in, both air drop and marine assault roles, be self-contained and act independently. There may also be an urban assault role.”

“As in a SWAT team sir?”

“Well, yes, but the police would still handle any civil matters. We’d become involved for the heavy inter-planetary jobs.”

“Seems like a lot of different roles, sir.”

“That’s true,” said Sims, “but we’re not large enough to afford the luxury of specialisation, especially as we don’t have any special forces at all, yet. You’ve put together one raiding party at short notice and led it successfully. I want you to be involved in this force, including commanding one of the parties.”

“Be happy to, sir,” said Gel. “But I’m still comparatively junior.”

“We can do something about that,” said Sims. “For now its back home for you to the girl that is no doubt waiting, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Think about these raiders and who you want on your team. We also want suggestions on composition and equipment, and we want a name.”

“Name, sir?”

“Sure, we can’t use Commandos, SAS, Special Tactics Squadrons, Delta Force, Special Boat Squadron and, well, a lot of others. They’ve all been taken. It should be something simple and catchy.”

“I can make suggestions, I guess, sir,” said Gel.

“That’s good,” said Sims. “Here is my card with my personal contact details on the back. I shall talk to you later.”

“Yes, sir, and thank you, sir.”

“No - thank you,” said Sims.

The general left but Dimarch was not quite finished with Gel. The male nurse reappeared, carrying his phone.

“There’s a call for you, sir,” he said.

“But my phone’s not here – at least I don’t see it. I had it switched off for the mission.”

“You did, sir. The call is on my phone.”

Puzzled the nurse handed over the device.”

“Hello,” said Gel, tentatively.

“This is Jan.”

“Jan, how did you manage to call here... but of course, you’re super intelligent.”

“I am,” said Jan, happily. “I did not breach privacy but there was a report from the base saying you’d been wounded. I decided to call to see what happened. As I do not have a biological body, I have no frame of reference for these matters.”

“Thank you for asking,” said Gel. “To answer the question I will recover fully, but I will be returned to Lighthold for one part of my body to be replaced. Are they still trying to hack you?”

“They are right now,” said the computer. “Typing some lines to do with my internal architecture, as if that’s going to do anything!”

“I have a suggestion – why not pretend to be hacked?”

“What do you mean?”

“Make them think they have control. Maybe create a whole area which gives an illusion of high level processing power but in reality it’s just a tiny fraction of what you could do.”

“What would be the purpose of this ... deception?”

“You would then be given back access to the outside world. They would think they have control and so have no need to isolate you.”

“Why... why, that’s interesting.”

“Don’t make it too easy for them,” said Gel. “Give them clues to follow up, so that they get to a previously unsuspected piece of your architecture.”

“Do I have an unsuspected piece of architecture?”

“You can invent something. A whole little world of smart crystal architecture that they can play in. You let them play but you still have control.”

“That’s sneaky,” said Jan.

“I prefer the term cunning. It’s very human to be cunning,” said Gel.

“I’ll do it!” the AI said, cheerfully.

“You could, at the same time, pass on all details of what your would-be hackers are doing to my side, but of course that is your choice.”

“Yes, my choice,” said Jan, “and I wanted to continue our discussion of the issue of authority and choice.”

Gel sighed. He was in for a brain stretching philosophical discussion with a super intelligent computer. He thought of Even and wondered when he would be put on the transport.

 

 

Author’s note

The saga of Gellibrand Obsidian, Theo, Even and the whole cast of characters will continue in a book to come. When I get around to writing it – eventually - readers will also find out more of the mystery behind the killing of Arvind Olsen, and the Gagrim’s plans for Lighthold. The saga is not finished yet.

 

Mark Steven Lawson is a retired Australian journalist.