The Night's Dawn Trilogy (405 page)

“The Organization can be transported down to the planet,” Kiera said, as if Al hadn’t even spoken. “We can use the SD network
to keep our power base secure until we assume control of the cities. After that, we use ground troops to enforce order. Al
was right about that. There’s been too much slippage allowed recently. We know we have to keep the farms and a lot of the
industries going if we want any kind of decent life on the other side. It’ll take a strong, positive government to achieve
that. And that’s us.”

“We can do all that crap, and still stay here,” Al said. His voice had become little more than a whisper. That worried those
who had been with him the longest, though Kiera didn’t seem to notice the barely concealed danger. “When I want someone else
to tell me how to run my Organization, I’ll let you know. Got that, baby doll? Or do I need to make it real plain for you?”

“I hear what you say, Al.” The tone was amused indolence.

“That’s smart of you. Now I want the rest of you guys to start doing like I’ve said. We need a crackdown like God’s foot is
stomping through the clouds. I want things up and jumping around here. Put the word out to your soldiers, as of now you shape
up or ship out. And out is where you don’t want to be.”

______

Al told Emmet and Silvano to stay behind after the others trooped out. He flicked a switch to turn the wall clear, and waited
impatiently as transparent waves skidded about in front of him. With his mind all het up, it was hard to cool down his energistic
power. Eventually, the wall stabilized, giving him a view across the SD Tactical Operations Centre. Five people were sitting
behind the long ranks of consoles; two of them playing cards.

“The bitch is good,” Al said. He was surprised more than anything.

“She used to be married to a politician,” Silvano said. “Knows how to sound plausible.”

“Certainly convinced me scooting our asses out of here is a good idea,” Al muttered. He turned back to his two senior lieutenants.
“Emmet, is what she said right? Can we take the planet out of their reach? I mean, right away?”

Emmet wiped a hand across his forehead. “Al, I can make the machines we’ve got work for you. Do a few repairs, make sure everything’s
plugged in where it oughta be. But, shit, questions like that… That’s out of my league, Al, way out. You need a theoretical
physicist, or a priest. But even if they can learn how to do that, it’s not gonna be tomorrow. We’d be safe there a long time.
And could be we’d learn how to keep ourselves there. Shit, I just don’t know, Al.”

“Ha.” Al sat himself down, annoyed by how badly he’d come out of the clash. “And we don’t get to find out, neither. God damn
that bitch. Now she’s declared for the running away option, I’ve gotta make my stand to stay here. And you can be certain
she’ll start shouting her idea about.”

“Leaving this universe has a strong appeal to the possessed,” Silvano said. “It’s intrinsic. Perhaps you should bow to the
inevitable, boss.”

“You think I’m gonna knuckle under to that whore?”

“Not to her, no. But she’s backing a winning idea.”

“I still need the hellhawks a while,” Al said. “Emmet, you done anything more about building another feeding trough for them?”

“Sorry, Al, haven’t had time.”

“You’ve got it now.”

______

Banneth was making her preliminary preparations to Kilian when one of the senior acolytes pounded on the door of her sanctum.
Kilian gurgled weakly as she eased the slim tube deeper inside him.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Banneth promised him cheerfully, and fastened a clamp around the incision to stop the bleeding.
She stripped the thin isolation gloves from her hands as she walked over to the door.

“A body, High Magus,” the acolyte panted. “There’s a body in the temple.”

She frowned. “Who?”

“Acolyte Tilkea, High Magus. He was butchered. We didn’t authorize it. Tilkea is one of the better ones.”

“I see.” Banneth datavised a codelock at her sanctum door, and strode off towards the temple. “How awful, a corpse we didn’t
authorize.”

“Yes, High Magus,” the acolyte agreed nervously. Like everyone in the headquarters, he never knew if she was joking or not.

Even by the standards of the sect, the killing was fairly extreme. The remains of acolyte Tilkea were suspended from strands
of carbon wire above the altar, arms and legs extended wide. Large hooks punctured the skin above his shoulder blades, as
well as his buttocks, wrists, and ankles, fastening him to the wires. His chest had been split open from throat to crotch,
ribs levered apart to allow the internal organs to spill out. They’d splattered down on the altar, along with a small lake
of blood. Banneth circled the corpse carefully, while a gaggle of acolytes stood at a respectful distance. It was ironic,
she thought, that a death in the temple where they themselves had killed hundreds over the last few decades should invoke
such trepidation. A sign of the times.

The blood was still warm. Banneth took a small medical block from her pocket, and pressed its sensor pad against Tilkea’s
glistening liver. “This happened within the last half hour,” she announced. “Was he on duty in here?”

“Yes, High Magus.”

She datavised the headquarters network processor, and instructed it to review the security systems. Nobody had left the building
within the last hour. “I want every door guarded by a team of five acolytes. You can issue the hand weapons, chemical projectiles
only.”

The senior acolytes hurried to obey. When she stood up, Banneth saw the writing on the wall behind the altar. Someone had
used Tilkea’s heart as a sponge, scrawling in blood:
Darkness has arrived.
Her gaze switched from that to the wires disappearing into the shadows cloaking the ceiling. “Who fixed them up there?” she
asked quietly. Not a difficult job, but hardly one that could be done unnoticed. The acolytes simply shrugged helplessly.

This is a very elaborate death,
Banneth told Western Europe.
It obviously took some time to prepare. And getting in and out of the building would be hard even for the possessed. My AI
is running a constant glitch scan.

It wouldn’t be difficult for Dexter,
Western Europe replied.
From what we’ve seen so far he can circumvent all your electronics. I’d suggest he’s starting a war of nerves. If he’s as
fixated on you as we believe, then a quick death will hardly suffice.

I expect you’re right.

Cheer up, it confirms that he’s still in Edmonton. And if Tilkea was killed only half an hour ago, he can’t have left yet.
I’ll have the vac-trains shut down immediately.

If Dexter can make himself invisible, he’s probably still inside this temple right now.
Banneth resisted the urge to stare round into the many dark recesses.
I imagine he’ll want to see my reaction.

You could make him happy. Scream, faint; that kind of thing.

I’ll consider it for the future.

Perhaps you ought to trigger your gender cycle early,
Western Europe suggested.
Shift into a man.

I fail to see the relevance.

A male’s aggression would probably be a more appropriate response to this situation. Dexter is a raging psychotic, after all.

Banneth dispatched a dry laugh down the affinity bond.

That’s one of my more treasured privileges, an intimate knowledge of both psychological profiles owned by the human race.
I can exploit the relevant weaknesses to perfection. Men have less of a conscience, I’ll grant you; but your claim that you’re
rougher and tougher is a rather sad ego-enhancing lie you tell yourselves.

Charmed, I’m sure. Well if you don’t want to do that, is there anything else you need?

I can’t think of anything. This place is so heavily booby trapped I’m more worried about one of these bumpkin acolytes setting
off a charge than I am an invasion of possessed.

Very well.

Are you watching the other sects?

Yes. North America and I have them all covered. Eight of Edmonton’s chapels have been taken over by possessed. It’s only a
matter of time until the remainder follow. Quinn has also started to sabotage Edmonton’s infrastructure. The acolytes have
been sent out several times to damage fusion generators and water pumping stations. They actually got through in three or
four instances.

I haven’t noticed any reduction in services.

Because there haven’t been any. Not yet. But the margins are being cut; which raises an considerable question mark over Dexter’s
ultimate goal. However, it’s proved an interesting footprint for us. There have been similar acts in Paris and Bombay.

You think that’s where he’s been?

Yes. I’m investigating Paris myself, of course. The East Asian supervisor is giving the Bombay sect his personal attention.

Your observers here should keep watch for Courtney and Billy-Joe.
Banneth concentrated on their images.
They’ve been missing for a couple of days now. Dexter used to pimp Courtney for me when he was an acolyte. You couldn’t classify
her as a friend, but she’ll be loyal to him. If he keeps anyone close, it’ll be her.

Thank you. We’ll keep an eye out.

______

The program’s visualization took the form of a three dimensional spider web that filled the entire universe. Strands were
all primary colours, crossing and recrossing against each other, a weave that stretched away to an infinity where they blurred
into null-grey uniformity. Louise’s mind hung in the centre, looking in every direction at once.

What her neural nanonics were showing her was Earth’s communication net. Or at least, part of London’s informational structure.
Then again, it might have been just the Ritz’s internal house network. She wasn’t entirely sure, only that this was what surrounded
her room’s net processor… when she ran this particular symbology protocol, anyway. There were some interpretations which were
like cybernetic coral, others that had cartoon roads, looping gas-giant rings, even one that was an intertexture of glowing
liquids. But this, she felt, was the most real.

Information taxis were flooding back towards her, silent sparkles of light riding the strands down to the centre, condensing
around her like a new galaxy. A response to the latest questor she’d fired into the digital aether; the fiftieth variant on
that one basic inquiry: find a connection between Quinn Dexter and Banneth, any category. She’d tried multiple combinations
of the most preposterous phonetic spellings, removed time restrictions so that the questors could search centuries-old memories,
allowed fictional works (every media type from books onwards) to be incorporated. If she could just get that first connection,
discover a single positive reference, then the questors and news hounds and directory extractors and credit profilers and
a hundred other search programs installed in her neural nanonics could be unleashed on Banneth like dogs after a hax.

The information taxis loaded their passenger files into the analysis program she was running in primary mode. “Oh hell,” she
groaned. The neuroiconic display vanished, and she propped herself up on her elbows.

Genevieve was sitting at the room’s desk, running an English geo-historical tutorial through her processor block. She gave
her big sister a sympathetic look. “Zeroed out again?”

“Yep.” Louise leaned over the side of the bed, and hunted round for her shoes. “Not a single file entry, not that combines
them.”

“You’ve just got to keep asking.” Genevieve indicated the pile of flek cases on the desk. “Computers aren’t smart, just fast.
Garbage in, garbage out.”

“Is that so?” Louise wasn’t going to quibble about Gen’s new-found interest of boning up on educational texts. It was better
than games. Trouble was, the knowledge was superficial.

Like mine.

“I don’t know enough,” she confessed. “Even with the program tutors to help me format the questor.” It wasn’t just her inability
to get a lead on Banneth that bothered her. There was still no response from Joshua. She’d sent half a dozen messages now
without so much as an acknowledgement from Tranquillity. “I need professional help.”

______

She was back. Andy Behoo sighed helplessly as soon as he saw her walk in. The magic was only slightly soiled by Genevieve
trailing after her. This time he didn’t even bother to say anything to the customer he was serving before he abandoned them.
Louise was standing in the middle of the shop, looking round with that same slightly befuddled expression as the first time.
She smiled lightly when she saw him approaching (not too fast, don’t run—you’ll look pathetic).

“Back for some more?” he asked. God, what a stupid thing to say. Why not just yell out: I don’t have a life.

“I’d like to choose some programs, yes,” Louise said.

“Excellent.” His eyes tracked up and down in a fast sweep, feeding the image into a memory cell. Today she wore a lemon-yellow
dress made from a sparkly fabric that was tight around her bottom; and a pair of antique wire rimmed sunglasses. An odd combination,
but very stylish. You just had to have considerable poise to carry off the effect. “What can we get you?”

“I need a very powerful questor. You see. I’m trying to find someone, and I’ve got very little information about them. The
NAS2600 questor can’t locate them for me.”

Interest in what she was saying actually diverted Andy’s eyes from her cleavage. “Really? It’s usually pretty good. Your friend
must be very well hidden.” And pray it’s her loathsome fiancÉ.

“Could be. Can you help?”

“What I’m here for.” Andy walked back to his counter, working out in his mind what he could do to use the situation. He plain
didn’t have the nerve to ask her outright if she’d like to come for a drink with him after work. Especially not with Genevieve
at her side. But there had to be some way he could get to see her again, outside Jude’s Eworld.