Ghost of a Smile (23 page)

“What if they're not superhuman?” Happy said doggedly. “What if they're posthuman? What if they are gods?”

“Good question,” said JC. “In which case, presumably some kind of sacrifice will be required, and I will nominate you.”

“Are you really planning on using that Hand of Glory thing against the New People?” said Melody.

“Not if there's any other option,” said JC. “The Hand is very definitely a last resort. If you see me draw it, start running.”

“Way ahead of you there,” said Happy.

“No-one said anything about taking on gods and monsters when I joined up with the Institute,” said Melody.

“Should have read the small print,” said JC. “Onwards and upwards, my children.”

They made their way slowly up the last remaining stairs, taking their time. They were all really tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally. They paused to glance at each set of swing doors they passed, straining their ears against the quiet, but they never saw or heard anything on any of the other floors. The only sounds were their feet scuffing on the steps and their own harsh and laboured breathing.

But the higher up the building they went, the heavier the atmosphere became. Every floor they passed brought them that much closer to the territory of the New People and added an extra weight to the body and the soul. JC struggled on, every step that little bit harder, calling for more strength, more nerve, more concentrated will. As though he was fighting a part of himself that didn't want to go any further. That didn't want to know who or what these New People might be. It is a terrible thing, to contemplate placing yourself in the hands of living gods. But JC lowered his head and bulled on because he was damned if he'd give in to any pressure, from outside or inside. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. It was perhaps the only thing he really believed in.

“Can't shake off a feeling we're being watched,” said Melody. “Is anyone else feeling it?”

“We're heading towards Something,” said Kim. “I can feel that.”

“They know we're coming,” said JC. “The New People. They're waiting for us. Smug bastards . . .”

“I am definitely not standing anywhere near you when we meet them,” said Happy. “What do you think they'll look like?”

“Probably a lot like us,” said Melody. “I mean, come on—whatever changes or improvements ReSet has worked in these people, they're mostly likely to be on the mental and psychic level. Even the Beasts, Gog and Magog, were still basically human in shape. Their mindsets had been affected the most, making them what they were. I think we're building these New People up into far more than they can reasonably be.”

JC stopped abruptly, leaned heavily on the railing to get his breath, and looked back down the steps at the others. “If I've been counting off the floors correctly, and I have, the stairs around the corner above us will lead to the final set of doors, and the final floor of this building. Happy, are you picking up
anything
?”

“Something big and scary,” said Happy. He leaned heavily on Melody's shoulder, his face wet with sweat, flushed a really unhealthy colour. “It's taking all my shields to keep it outside my head. Don't ask me what it is, JC. Or what's causing it. I think . . . it's the presence of the New People, weighing down on reality, overwhelming everything else. Just by being here, by existing . . . they're the most important thing there is.”

JC frowned. “You haven't started taking your little pills again?”

“I wish,” said Happy. “I would love to be able to float off on a soft pink cloud of medication. But I daren't. I daren't be that open, that vulnerable. Operating at anything less than one hundred per cent in this situation will get us all killed. You can put good money on it.”

“My little boy is growing up,” said JC. “I am so proud.”

“Up your arse with a bent banana,” said Happy.

Suddenly, a voice spoke to them from above. A very human, very familiar voice.

“Well done, thou good and faithful servants. I really wasn't sure you'd get this far.”

They all stared intently at the corner above them, as slow and steady footsteps descended towards them. And then he came round the corner, and there he was, standing at the top of the stairs, smiling urbanely. Robert Patterson, sharp and immaculate as ever in his smart city suit, looking very pleased with himself. Tall, black, a shaven head and a noble brow, handsome features and a condescending smile—a high-up functionary in the Carnacki Institute who very definitely should not have been there. JC looked at him for a long moment.

“What the hell are you doing here, Patterson?”

“You'd forgotten all about me, hadn't you?” said Patterson, extending one perfect white cuff and flicking an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve. “That's all right. Everyone does. For all my high-ranking duties in the Institute, I'm really nothing more than a glorified messenger boy, sent here and there at the Boss's whim, to carry out all the dreary day-to-day business that our dear Catherine Latimer can't be bothered with. All the soul-destroying shitwork that makes the Institute run smoothly—Patterson will take care of that. But, unfortunately for all concerned, that hasn't been true for some time. I don't answer to the Carnacki Institute, or Catherine bloody Latimer, any more. I'm part of something bigger and far more important, now. An organisation, a cause, greater than anything you could hope to understand.”

Happy looked at JC triumphantly. “You see? You see! I told you there was something going on behind the scenes! I told you there were secret enemy forces, operating in the shadows, working to undermine us, while we were all kept distracted with everyday missions . . .”

“Try not to sound quite so pleased about it,” said Melody. “If I'm reading the situation right, Patterson's presence here means we are in even deeper doo-doo than we thought . . .”

“Oh yes, you are all screwed,” said Patterson. “You are all quite monumentally screwed and shafted. You were out of your depth the moment you walked through the lobby doors.”

“How did you get up here ahead of us?” said JC. “I saw you leave, in that hideously overstretched limo.”

“I never really left,” said Patterson. “I had the driver stop the car once we were safely out of sight round the far corner, got out, came back here, and entered through the back door. Yes, I know you were told there wasn't one. How remiss of me. And then . . . I used the elevator. That is what it's for . . . I've been ahead of you all along.”

“Whom do you represent?” said JC.

“Like I'm going to tell you,” said Patterson. “You don't need to know. You can all die like you've lived, in ignorance.”

“If you're not going to hit him, make way for someone who will,” said Melody.

“Stay right where you are!” said JC, not looking back. His gaze was still fixed on Patterson, who didn't seem that bothered by the golden glare behind JC's sunglasses. JC chose his words carefully. “If you and your organisation, whatever it is, are responsible for funding the ReSet drug, then you're responsible for everything that's happened here.” His voice was cold and harsh enough to wipe the smile off Patterson's dark face. JC moved up a step. “All the deaths and all the horror and all the things that might still happen. All down to you. Plus the deaths of the policemen and the security men called to investigate. Am I right?”

“Of course,” said Patterson, pulling his arrogance around him like a shield. “It wasn't difficult. They all trusted an obvious authority figure like me, right up to the moment when it became clear that they really shouldn't have. I killed them all because they were in the way, disposed of the bodies, and held their ghosts here, or what was left of them, to guard the lobby. I knew our revered Boss would be sending a team in soon. I should have known it would be you. You do have a reputation for crashing in where you're not wanted.”

“Hold it,” said Happy. “The Boss wanted us here? I thought MSI insisted we be sent in?”

“Oh please,” said Patterson. “MSI haven't a clue about what's been going on in their building. Haven't known for ages. ReSet was our very own cuckoo's egg, set in place to force everything else out of the nest. I only told you MSI insisted on your presence to throw you off the scent.”

“Are you also the one who's been feeding us information through the building's computers?” said Melody.

“Smart girl,” he said. “I've been telling you what you needed to know, or what I wanted you to know, so you wouldn't go looking in places I didn't want you looking. I've been leading you round by the nose, all along.”

“All right,” said JC. “ReSet was your baby. Let's jump to the big question. Why?”

“Human is as human does,” said Patterson. “And frankly, that's not good enough. What we've done with the world so far has been very disappointing. So events were arranged here to lead to the creation of something more than human, better than human. Something that would surpass Humanity and achieve all the things our limited and self-centred species has so signally failed to achieve. Remember poor misunderstood Nietzsche—Man is something to be overcome.”

“How come secret organisations never want to do anything nice?” Kim said wistfully.

“The clue is in the description,” said Happy.

“We've been planning this for a very long time,” said Patterson. “And we're not about to let you butt in and screw it up now. The greatest minds of this generation have been considering a single fundamental question—What if Man was a mistake? What if we were supposed to be so much more, but we fell short of our true potential? We were never meant to be something as small and limited as Man! We were supposed to fly like angels! We were all supposed to be living gods and walk this world in majesty and glory! And it's not too late. We can all blaze like suns. We can all shine like the stars!”

“Is this like the sixties?” said Happy. “When people thought that taking lots and lots of LSD would turn them into superheroes? The mind's true liberation, through frequent frying of your neurons? Trust me—that really didn't work out too well.”

“You think so small,” Patterson said coldly. “Little man. Touched with the gift to see the world clearly, and all you've ever done is complain about it. Wake up and smell the gravitas! We weren't supposed to be like this! We weren't supposed to suffer, to get ill, to get old and die! ReSet will set us free from all that. We will go on and live lifetimes and become what we were always supposed to be!”

JC considered him thoughtfully. “What if these New People you've brought about aren't human? What if they don't look like us, think like us, feel like us?”

Patterson smiled. “Would that really be such a bad thing? Would the complete replacement of Humanity be such a great loss?”

“Okay, someone's taken the train to freaky town,” murmured Happy.

“Why are you here now?” said JC, moving up another step towards Patterson. “Why show yourself to us? You've been conspicuous by your absence, until now.”

“You were never really meant to get this far,” said Patterson. “I let you in because . . . we had to let somebody in. We needed someone to clear up the mess. All the unpleasant side effects to our glorious creation. But now it falls to me to stop you here. To stop you interfering with things you're incapable of understanding or appreciating. My organisation has plans for the New People. And we can't have you upsetting them with your unwanted presence.”

“Given everything we've overcome and dealt with to get this far,” said JC, “how do you plan to stop us?”

Patterson actually smirked, he was so pleased with himself. “You think you're the only one to quietly remove useful and highly dangerous items from the Carnacki Institute Armoury? Look what I've got here . . .”

He extended one hand, so they could all see what was nestling on his palm. A small black box, gleaming and glistening, covered with rows of curling brass sigils. Everyone looked at the box, then looked at Patterson.

“I have to say,” said Melody, “I have eaten things that looked more interesting than that.”

“Hell,” said Happy. “I've crapped more interesting things than that.”

“Typical,” said Patterson. “I show you a wonder of the world, and all you can manage is vulgarity. This . . . is a Boojum. Because it makes things softly and silently vanish away. I say the Word, and whatever I point the box at . . . isn't, any more. You're all going to disappear, right here, and no-one will ever know what happened to you. You'll be a small part of the great Chimera House Mystery—all the people who worked here, or walked in one night and were never seen again.”