Ascendance (21 page)

If the laws of classical physics hadn’t changed – okay, yes, objectively they had – and the kinetic energy of a non-rotating object of mass, ‘m’, travelling at a speed, ‘v’, was still . . .

‘Oh fuck it.’

He followed her across the top of the crowd. It was surprisingly easy and the chances of anyone exploding when he hit play again were probably very small.

*

The 69th Infantry, New York’s own ‘Fighting Irish’, was a regiment of such storied renown that the staffs bearing its colours were one foot longer than the standard length authorised for normal and much less vaunted units. From Bull Run to Baghdad, the 69th had fought. On this dark night of September, they fought in the concrete canyons of their home town; one understrength light infantry battalion supported by two superheroes, elements of the Emergency Services Unit of the NYPD, a fifty-strong detachment of the Patriot Guard on Harley Davidsons and an FBI SWAT team which, coincidentally, had just a few days earlier been tasked with arresting one of those superheroes.

But that was before she was special.

Dave landed in the area kept clear by the platoon and their improvised stockade.
The bikers of the Patriot Guard had been present for his brother’s funeral, which was more than Dave had managed. They mingled with steel workers, gang bangers and a trio of heavily armed drag queens. Dave hurried up the steps, eager to put the desperate scenes behind him. He caught up with Karen in a vast auditorium space, filled with cots and blankets and hundreds of refugees. They were all caught outside the warp bubble, and he could see the fear and exhaustion on their faces as though each had been photographed especially to haunt him. But he could also see that the animal terror which animated the mob outside was not present in here. For the moment, these people felt safe, or at least a little safer than they had a short while ago. Such a profound difference, he thought. A few steps and they were delivered from evil.

Maybe.

‘We should probably find Heath and the others, or at least whoever’s in charge, before I flip the switch again,’ Dave said. ‘We can get some food here, fuel up.’


‘This way,’ Karen said, heading off at a fast walk that was closer to a jog. He followed her through the crowds of displaced New Yorkers. Most were women and children, but a surprising number of them were grown men too. Single guys, like him.

‘Who are these guys?’ he called after Karen.

‘Family, I’d say,’ she called over her shoulder, not slowing or looking back at him.

‘Lot of guys,’ he said, swerving around a cot on which a man in an expensive suit sat with his head in his hands.

This time she did stop and turn around.

‘You really are a dinosaur, aren’t you? A quarter of the complement of this regiment is probably female. Could be more. They’ll have brought their partners in too.’ She shook her head, as if amazed at his ignorance. ‘Just keep up, would you?’

‘You seem to know this place well,’ Dave said as they left the auditorium and plunged into a long stone corridor with rough-hewn walls. ‘Did you, like, spy on it or something? I mean, no biggie if you did. We all got our jobs and stuff, but . . .’

She laughed at him.

‘No. I didn’t spy on them, Hooper. The army rents out these spaces all the time. Deb balls, fashion parades, gallery shows. I’ve been here before. As a curator, not a spy.’

The corridors were poorly lit and over crowded, but nowhere near as catastrophically as the streets outside. The military personnel they passed wore battle dress uniform. Dave could recognise that sort of thing now. His brother would be amused. The soldiers all wore sidearms and many of them carried assault rifles. He saw magazines and hand grenades clipped to webbing and many of the troops wore helmets with night vision rigs. For every soldier he saw, there were another two or three civilian-looking types carrying a motley assortment of weapons and gear. They turned off the main hall floor and proceeded down a crowded corridor. Those not in gear were in the process of shuffling past with tablets, files and maps. At one door a line of men and women in civilian gear stood waiting to talk to a soldier inside.

‘They’re arming anyone who can be halfway trusted with a weapon,’ Karen said. ‘I approve. This, at last, is very Russian.’

She turned down another corner, past a drinking fountain, through a hallway covered on both sides by pictures and paintings which depicted the unit’s long history.

‘Not Russian. Just practical,’ Dave said.

‘Okay,’ Karen said as she put her head around a door to peer into an office. ‘We found them.’

21

T
he small band of gallant heroes, of scientists and soldiers tasked with saving the world, was watching TV in a tight conference room. Dave and Karen wouldn’t have to crawl over a table to find a seat but it was close-quarters filled with bad coffee, stale sweat, and leftover pizza. Dave kept them in suspense, literally, for a few moments longer while he scoffed down some pizza and checked out the scene in the cramped briefing area. Heath was there, looking even more severe and judgmental than usual, and Emmeline, bruised and scraped and bandaged back together after Omaha. She looked like she’d dropped a few pounds. She looked kind of hot, actually, a little sleeker and all roughed up like that. It took the polish off her very English . . .

‘Hooper,’ Karen snapped. ‘I’m right here.’

He threw up his hands.

‘I’m just getting ready is all. I didn’t do so well last time I spoke to these guys.’

Zach Allen and Igor, big gay Igor, had crammed in as well. They were outfitted in full combat harness, and both men packed serious-looking weapons, assault rifles with underslung grenade launchers. Pouches for the bomb throwers were heavy with fat, bullet-shaped rounds.
Igor also carried over his shoulder the long brutal-looking sniper rifle he’d used to put down the Tümorum. Compton was missing, of course. Another man in the same grey digital camouflage as the soldiers sat at the head of a dark wood conference table which
dominated the cramped confines of the room. From his age and the fact that he was the only one sitting down, besides Emmeline with her injuries, Dave supposed him to be some sort of higher-up.

‘You know him?’ he asked Karen.

‘Yeah, sure,’ she snarked. ‘He’s the guy in the army uniform. Moscow totally told me to keep a close eye on him. Are we done?’

No, he wasn’t. Now that the moment had arrived, Dave knew he really wasn’t ready for it. Annie would laugh, harshly, but he’d never been one for conflict. Dave was happiest when he was . . . happy. As dumbass simple as that sounded. And falling out with people, feuding with them, carrying grudges and measuring slights, all that shit, that wasn’t the path to happiness. He hated it. In his heart, he just wanted to get along. But others weren’t like that. Not his wife, and not the crazy KGB
monstr huntr
he seemed to have fallen in with, that was for damn sure. And none of these guys, either. Not Heath with his Old Testament severity, nor Emmeline with her uppity fucking Asperger’s, and certainly not Igor. Not with everything he loaded into that swing he took at Dave back in Nebraska.

Maybe Zach, though.

Zach was one of those rare Christians who seemed to practise all the preaching. He didn’t look it, encased in body armour and weaponry, but he was the forgiving type. His brand of faith left him no option.

Dave dropped out of warp, causing the map of Lower Manhattan which covered the table to flutter slightly in the breeze of displaced air.

‘Hi. Thought we’d pop in.’

The older guy seated at the desk jumped in surprise. He was unused to having people materialise in front of him with no warning.

‘The fuck?’ he gasped, before seeming to realise what had happened. ‘It’s him, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Emmeline. ‘It’s Super Dave.’

‘And Aeon Flux,’ said Igor, studiously avoiding eye contact with Dave by way of staring at Karen. She was worth staring at, Dave thought, but not if your tastes ran to Töm of Sweden. Maybe Igor was diggin’ on all the leather she wore.

‘Dave, thank you for getting here,’ Heath said. ‘I’ll assume it was a hell of a commute.’

He used a remote to pause whatever they’d been watching on the television, some video of a juvenile Thresher by the look of it. ‘This is Shane Gries, Colonel, US Army. He is the acting commander of all forces south of 42nd Street.’

‘Mr Hooper,’ said the colonel, but like Igor his eye was drawn to the striking figure of the woman with Dave. Torn and bloodied leathers, filthy blonde hair tied back in a rough ponytail, a vicious-looking antique samurai sword angled across her back.

‘Where is Colonel Rowe?’ Karen asked.

Gries sighed. ‘I’m afraid he is dead, decapitated by one of those things wielding a machete the size of a light pole.’

‘This is my, er, friend . . . Karen,’ Dave said. ‘She kills monsters too.’

‘We know who she is, Dave,’ Heath said, and turning to Karen, Dave thought Heath might salute her. The moment had that sort of feeling about it. Instead, he offered his hand in an unusually casual manner. ‘Colonel Varatchevsky, I’m Captain Michael Heath, US Navy.’

She hesitated for a brief moment before taking his hand in hers. ‘Gentlemen, I’m sure I’m delighted to meet you.’

Dave had half expected her to let the cover fall away. But she didn’t start speaking in some thick Slavic accent. If anything her waspy, New England manner was preppier than ever.

‘This armoury has always been a special place for me. I was MC here for the Michael Kors show during Fashion Week.’

‘And how are you, Doc?’ Dave asked Emmeline, aware of how difficult she’d be finding her proximity to him. ‘You doing okay? With all your scrapes and bruises and . . . you know crushing on me and stuff.’

The high colour of her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, the colour spreading down her neck. He heard Karen snort in amusement.

‘Hooper,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m fine. Just leave me be. Let me do my job.’

‘Zach,’ Dave said, taking Em at her word. He couldn’t bring himself to say Igor’s name, simply nodding in the big man’s direction. The giant commando, for his part, seemed content to play his role by staring into the middle distance like some anonymous spear carrier.

Karen clapped her hands, startling everyone.

‘So. This isn’t awkward at all. Colonel Gries, you’ve got an angry, terrified mob at the door, which I can guarantee you will act as a giant honey pot at some point in the next few hours, drawing the ravenous Horde down on you. And Captain Heath, you’ve no doubt had all sorts of adventures since you lost Captain Duhmerica here to the blandishments of the charming Agent Trinder. So perhaps you’d care to bring us up to speed while Colonel Gries figures out how to avert the horrifying massacre that’s shortly to unfold on his doorstep.’

Dave broke the uncomfortable silence which followed by saying, ‘She’s not really with me.’

‘She has a point about the crowd,’ Gries said to Heath. ‘I’ve armed anyone I think can be trusted and pushed a roving perimeter out five blocks up to 31st Street, extending out to the East River and into Manhattan as far as Madison Square Garden. That is the closest thing I have to an LZ and the pilots tell me it is hairy enough getting in and out of there.’

‘It was pretty sporty coming in,’ Zach offered, not looking at Dave. ‘A lot of people tried to get out on the bird we flew in on. That sucked.’

Colonel Gries continued, ‘Is there anything your people can do to help with that? I only have the one battalion here, and a quarter of them are still outside the gates, trying to get through with their families.’

‘All those guys in the auditorium?’ Dave asked.

‘My acting command is a collection of National Guard soldiers who are part-time by nature, plus whatever other units from the other services I am in contact with. I told my guard counterparts they could bring their families in here when we mobilised. It meant three-quarters of them turned up on time, rather than half, and more than a few of the dependants are veterans who were willing to help. Who was I to turn them back? I need every trigger puller I can find.’

‘Just asking, not judging,’ said Dave.

‘Michael, we’d better fill him in on Compton,’ Emmeline said. Like Igor, she wasn’t looking at Dave either.

Heath nodded agreement and Emmeline picked up the remote and pointed it at the flat-screen TV on the wall. But she didn’t restart the recording.

‘What do you know, Dave? About Compton?’

He exchanged a glance with Karen.

‘I haven’t had time to catch up on my TiVo.’

‘All right,’ said Emmeline. ‘You’ve been busy. Just watch this.’

She hit play and the video rolled. Something that looked like Monty Python’s giant hell toad with a buzz saw in its mouth and maybe two dozen eyestalks swaying above it started to talk.

‘People of Earth!’ it barked. ‘I am Compt’n ur Threshrend, dar Superiorae dar Threshrendum ur Grymm. I speak for Lord Commander Guyuk ur Grymm, and through him for our Dread Majesty, She of the Horde.’

*

‘Damn. It didn’t sound much like Compton. Did it?’

‘We haven’t had time to run linguistic software over it,’ Emmeline said. ‘But no, apart from the little bugger calling itself Compton, er. . .’

‘Compt’n,’ Dave and Karen both said at once, correcting her pronunciation.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Apart from that, this is the Compton playbook.’

Emmeline pointed at the screen. ‘Everything that’s happened in the last six hours, the massively distributed attacks on soft targets by militia-style irregulars, the initial
non
-targeting of comm networks to allow them to spread confusion and terror, the avoidance of contact with counter-force units . . .’

Dave looked quickly over to Karen. She’d used just that phrase. She was concentrating on Ashbury, however.

‘Compton war-gamed all of these tactics years ago,’ the exobiologist explained. ‘Before he’d even done the Human Terrain studies. It was what brought him to DoD’s attention.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Dave said.

Karen answered before Heath or Emmeline could.

‘Professor Compton built scenarios,’ she said, her impatience with having to explain it to him clear in her voice. ‘Worst case scenarios. For instance, if bin Laden wasn’t a dumbshit goat fucker who fell ass backwards into a puddle of oil money, if he got smart and really zeroed in on all the points of critical failure in a modern post-industrial society, what would he hit? He wasn’t even partway there on 9/11. Your friend Compt’n worked out the blueprint for going all the way.’

Dave saw from Heath’s nod that she was right.

‘But how would you know . . .’

She brushed off the question.

‘Everyone tries to get inside the heads of their enemies. For you it’s Islamists. For us, too. But also Chechens, Georgians, Ukrainians and whoever stands in the way of the born-again Russian Empire.’

Everyone was staring at her now. Coming from Karen in that cultured north-eastern accent, which sounded as though it should be doing radio spots for organic yoghurt, it was just one hit too many from the crazy bong.

‘Okay. So, say it’s Compton,’ he conceded. He didn’t want to, because that path led back to Omaha and his decision to rescue Emmeline instead of going after the neckbeard from Hell like he’d been told. ‘You must have, like, counter plans or something?’

‘There’s always plans, Mr Hooper,’ said Colonel Gries. ‘But they rarely survive contact with the enemy. If you look out a window you’ll see why.’

‘There’s more,’ Heath said. ‘You’re missing a fairly obvious point.’

‘I am?’


‘Of course, you are,’ Emmeline put in. ‘The video. Who shot it? Cut it together. Released it? The Horde haven’t got around to hiring a PR company yet.’

‘Oh,’ said Dave. ‘Right.’

She restarted the playback again, fast-forwarding a minute or so until it came to vision of a young woman. Emmeline paused the image.

‘This is Polly Farrell. A post grad media and communications student interning at WYNY. She says she was part of a group ambushed and captured by the Grymm. She interviewed a demon that spoke English in an uneducated American dialect. She described the creature as sounding like a “mall rat”.’

‘Like the one I spoke to on the plane?’ Dave said.

‘Yes. It was strangely well versed in media management, however,’ Emmeline went on. ‘It demanded the news people shoot a press statement for it, and promised to release all the captives if its demands were met.’

‘And did it? Release everyone?’ Dave asked, assuming the answer was no; it ate everybody.

‘Yes,’ Emmeline said. ‘It did. And now the survivors are all doing their own interviews, supporting this . . .’ she struggled to find the right words, ‘. . . this Compt’n creature’s claims to only want to negotiate a ceasefire in good faith. If we don’t negotiate, the attacks will escalate, and not just from the Horde.’

‘But it can’t talk for the sects,’ Dave said.

‘No. It’s talking about them,’ Emmeline replied.

‘It’s a class-A clusterfuck for sure,’ said Colonel Gries. ‘The president is en route to a secure location. The vice-president is already buttoned up somewhere. Congress is supposed to be debating a declaration of war against the Horde. The debate is more than a little demented, and is being held up by a move to impeach the president for letting these things loose in the world. President Obama’s recalled all US forces from overseas. All of them. The world is losing its shit because of course these damned things are coming up all over. And now, just as they’re hitting us in the nuts, the usual idiots and peacemongers are bleating about the need to negotiate and compromise with an enemy that is literally eating us alive.’

‘Here in the city,’ Heath said, ‘the terror has worked. We’re gridlocked. The attack on that apartment you suppressed? It was being live tweeted and Facebooked as it happened.’

‘Who the fuck bothers tweeting when there’s a monster at the door?’ Emmeline said. ‘Honestly. There’s natural selection at work, right there.’

‘And now they’re hitting the value targets,’ Heath said. ‘Collapsing the infrastructure. It’s following Compton’s blueprint almost point by point. In his original war game he didn’t have infantry formations
or heavy lift assets to play with
. . .
Big planes to move people around,’ Heath explained when he saw Dave’s confused expression. ‘If this really is his plan in operation, he has those assets now. Or something just as good. As everything has fallen apart, making it difficult to deploy our own forces in any sort of order, the Horde have been putting company-sized formations directly into critical nodes.’

‘We saw that at Grand Central,’ Dave said. ‘We stomped them pretty hard.’