Helix (34 page)

She
had willed herself to act calmly in the days that followed, to behave normally
in his company, even though the sight of him filled her with panicky terror.

Over
the course of the following week, she had worked out what she would do.

Beneath
her, now, Joe coughed, gasped in pain and tried to sit up.

After
so many negative thoughts, after all the pain and hatred, the fact of Joe
Hendry coming to life filled her with pleasure.

She
stroked his head and smiled. “Hey, Joe. Take it easy, okay? You’ll be fine.”

He
blinked up at her, even managed a smile. “How long-?”

“Perhaps
an hour. Someone came in to see us. A rat in a red robe.”

“A
rat?”

“Well,
whatever they are.”

He
smiled, reached out and squeezed her arm. “They hit you too?”

“I
got off lightly.” She touched the side of her head, which was tender. “But they
mashed my suit’s smartware. The thermostat’s gone.”

He
laughed gently. “Wondered why you were getting so intimate.”

“Fool.
I would have snuggled up whatever, okay?”

He
winced, tried to sit up. She helped him. They sat side by side against the back
wall, his arm around her. His head fell onto her shoulder, and when she peered
down at him she saw that his eyes were closed.

She
looked across the cell at Olembe. He hadn’t moved in all the time they’d been
there, and for a second she wondered if he was dead. Then she detected the
slight rise and fall of his bull-like chest.

Oddly,
she felt a quick stab of relief. Even though a part of her would not mourn his
death, she wanted him to live. Dead, he would never find out what pain he had
caused her, would never meet his deserved punishment.

During
her last week on Earth, she had put together the package that would eventually,
one far off day, spell Friday Olembe’s nemesis. She had accessed an old UN data
file on a fugitive war criminal, broken the encryption and copied it to a
personal pin. Then, working in her room well into the early hours, she had
patched in Friday Olembe’s personal details, erasing all trace of the identity
of the original war criminal so that to all intents and purposes it was Olembe
who had given the order for the execution of the five hundred Moroccan
civilians.

It
would never have convinced people on Earth, of course, where the original
records would have pointed up the dissimulation. But hundreds or thousands of
years later, with only the UN data pin to go by, it would be compelling
evidence to a fledgling colony that they had a mass murderer in their midst.

She
had planned to splice the data into the core smartware system just as soon as
everything was up and running, introduce the details of his spurious past into
his personal identity entry and wait for someone in administration to make the
discovery. Now, things were on hold. She might never get the opportunity to
enact her revenge—in which case she would have to think of some other form of
punishment for the bastard.

Meanwhile,
she tolerated his odious presence.

Carrelli
coughed, rolled over onto her side and groaned. She tried to push herself onto
all fours and failed. Kaluchek left Joe and moved across to the medic, taking
her shoulders and easing her onto her back. Her beautiful, oval ballerina’s
face was marred by a growing contusion that discoloured her left eye and cheek.

Carrelli
sat up, shuffled to the wall next to the seeping Joe and slumped against the
brickwork. She closed her eyes, breathing hard.

Kaluchek
touched her hand. “You okay?”

Carrelli
opened her eyes and smiled at her. “Nothing broken, I think. You and Joe?”

“I’m
fine. Bastards smashed my suit controls, is all.” She looked at Joe. “I think
he’s okay. He came round a while ago. I think he’s sleeping now.”

Carrelli
frowned.

“Is
that bad?” Kaluchek asked, heart leaping.

“It
might not be good. It is hard to tell.”

“Joe’s
tough. He’ll be fine.”

Carrelli
smiled. “You like Joe a lot, don’t you?”

Kaluchek
found herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

Carrelli
touched her hand. “That’s nice. Joe’s a good man. Look after him, okay?”

Kaluchek
smiled, and wondered what exactly the medic meant by that. Did she intend not
being around for much longer? The thought frightened her: the cool, intelligent
Italian was a foil to Olembe’s illusions of power.

Across
the cell, Olembe cursed under his breath and rolled onto his back. He blinked
up at the ceiling for a second or two, then propped himself up on his elbows,
taking in the bars and the corridor, then looking around at his fellow
prisoners.

He
sat up, moved to the bars and leaned against them, as if putting as much
distance as possible between himself and the other three—which suited Kaluchek
fine.

He
wore a face like thunder. “Well done, Carrelli. Fucking ace tactics. Look where
it got us. We should have attacked the bastards when we had the chance.”

Carrelli
stared at him, calm. “I think we did the right thing, Friday.”

He
looked incredulous. “The right thing? You kidding? What if the bastards had
killed one of us back there?”

In
reply, Carrelli pointedly looked from Joe to Kaluchek, and back to Olembe. “It
looks to me, Friday, as if we’re all still alive.”

“Yeah,
but for how much longer? How long before they decide we’re a threat and execute
us?”

At
this, the Italian smiled. “I don’t think they will do that, Friday. You’re
being overdramatic. They have more to gain from keeping us alive.”

Olembe
looked disgusted. “We’ve listened to you long enough, Carrelli. From now on we
do what we should have done in the beginning. We’re bigger and smarter than
these fucking animals. Let’s show it.”

He
would have gone on, but Joe groaned and hung his head between his knees.
Carrelli moved quickly to examine him, peering into his eyes and taking his
pulse.

“Joe?”
Kaluchek said, heart racing.

He
smiled weakly. “I’m fine, Sis. Well, I feel like shit, but...”

Carrelli
knelt before him and nodded. “You’ll be fine. Just take it easy.”

He
smiled. “Will do. Give me a comfortable bed and I’ll go back to sleep.”

Kaluchek
moved closer to Joe and put an arm around him, easing him to her and staring
defiantly across at Olembe.

Joe
said, “Any water? I’m thirsty.”

Olembe
said, “Water? You kidding, Hendry?” They froze at a sound from beyond the
corridor. Sliding bolts cracked like gunfire and the door swung slowly open.

The prison wagon
slid
along the ice canal, heading south. Ehrin and Kahran huddled in the darkness of
the cart, shivering. Neither had their padded jackets and the sub-zero
temperature cut to the bone. They held each other, gaining little warmth but
some sense of comradeship.

Kahran
said, “The most important thing to remember is that we need to get out as soon
as possible. The last thing we want is to anger Cannak and the Inquisitors. We
admit our mistakes, claim drunkenness as Sereth advised, and apologise. We must
remember that our personal feelings are of little account. Do you understand?”

Ehrin
nodded. “I’ll try to smile at Cannak when he’s strutting before the
Inquisitors.”

“Good,
do that. But no heroics, Ehrin. Do you promise?”

Ehrin
nodded. “Of course, the sooner we’re out of there, the sooner we can aid
Havor.”

“And
that’s what’s important.” He stopped. “Hello, I think we’ve arrived.”

The
wagon had slowed. The susurration of the runners on the ice was replaced by the
panting snorts of the zeer. Ehrin heard shouts, then the opening of a timber
gate. Seconds later the wagon started up again, moved a short distance, then
stopped.

“Take
heart, Ehrin,” Kahran said. “We’re closer now to the truth than we ever were
before. Remember that.”

The
doors of the wagon opened. Four guards climbed aboard without a word and
grabbed Ehrin and Kahran as if they were lifeless goods to be unloaded. Ehrin
was dragged to the ice, striking his knee painfully on the ground. Kahran was
hauled out after him, protesting feebly.

In
the darkness Ehrin was aware only of the intense cold rising from the ice, the
dark shapes of the Church militia and the pain knifing through his kneecap.

He
was dragged through a door, down a long, dark corridor, and thrown into a cell.
A second later Kahran joined him, fetching up against the far wall. Ehrin
helped him into a sitting position. The old man was dazed, his eyes frightened.

He
tried to smile. “This brings back painful memories, Ehrin.”

Ehrin
gripped his hand. “This time things are different. We’ll soon be out of here.
Then—”

“Then
we’ll show the bastards, eh, Ehrin?”

Ehrin
smiled, cheered by the old man’s spirit.

He
looked around the cell. A barred window was set high up in the back wall, way
out of reach. The only other things in the cell beside themselves were a rusty
bucket and a pile of straw.

He
had expected to be left here a while, possibly hours. He was startled, minutes
later, when the cell rang to the report of bolts being shot. The door swung
open and four silent guards—perhaps the same four who had arrested them—marched
in, took Ehrin and Kahran roughly by the arms and dragged them from the cell.

The
guards had perfected their technique. They held their victims a few inches off
the ground, so that their gripping fingers dug painfully into the prisoners’
armpits. By the time they reached the second chamber, Ehrin had lost all
feeling in his arms.

They
were marched into a brightly lit room. Something about it sent a shiver through
Ehrin’s soul. Its walls were white, as if recently painted, and the slabbed
floor sloped slightly towards a sinkhole in the corner.

Two
chairs awaited the prisoners. They were odd chairs, as terrifying in their way
as was the rest of the room. Their arms were equipped with semicircular
manacles, and their backs were open frames, through which the spine of the
prisoner could be accessed.

But
perhaps the most frightening thing was Kahran’s reaction. The old man,
following Ehrin into the room, said under his breath, “Oh, mercy upon us...”

The
chairs were set back to back. Ehrin was strapped into the chair facing the
door, Kahran into the second. The manacles secured his wrists to the splintered
timber armrests. Then the guards left the room.

Kahran
said, “They’re trying to frighten us, Ehrin. They wouldn’t... they wouldn’t go
through with...”

Ehrin
interrupted. “You’ve been here before?” Despite himself, he tried to make the
question light-hearted.

“Only
once,” Kahran said, and fell silent.

The
door opened and a tall figure in black strode into the chamber. It was the
Elder, Velkor Cannak.

He
strode around the chairs in the centre of the room, the Book of Books lodged
under his left armpit. He regarded the stone slabs beneath his feet as he
paced.

The
Elder’s expression of smug supremacy, barely suppressed, was what angered Ehrin
most.

“Gentlemen,”
Cannak said at last, “it is unfortunate indeed that we meet again in such
circumstances. However, I need not detain you for long. I require, quite
simply, a number of truthful answers to a few straight questions. I am sure
that men of your learning will oblige me. After which, we can all repair to our
respective homes.”

He
continued pacing, around and around the seated pair.

“I
am sure you are both aware of the reason for your presence here.”

“Isn’t
this a little excessive,” Kahran interrupted. “So we baited you back on the
skyship. I thought the Church was bigger than—”

Cannak
laughed, silencing Kahran.

“A
little theological debate, even with people as ignorant as yourselves, never
troubled me,” Cannak said. “But I think you know that the charge of sacrilege
is the least of your worries.”

Ehrin
looked up and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cannak
paced. It was no doubt a practised ploy, to disconcert the prisoner,
destabilise his focus. “No? Are you quite sure? Cast your minds back, if you
will, to our last night out on the western plains. Recall the thunderclap, the
streak of light through the air—the meteorological effect, you called it?”

“What
of it?” Kahran snapped.

“You
investigated. You found something. You were gone for quite a while. I thought
little of it at the time. Only later did I begin to wonder...”

“You’re
talking in riddles, Cannak,” Kahran said.

Ehrin
hoped that Cannak would not notice the beads of perspiration gathering on the
fur of his snout. The Elder suspected, that much was clear. Perhaps the militia
had searched the hangar after the arrest, and found Havor?