Ghost of a Chance

SIX ALL KINDS OF APPETITES

Melody was fighting well, and Erik was fighting dirty, and it was still as near a draw as could be. Melody spun and pirouetted, her feet cracking out like the wrath of God Himself, and still she couldn’t seem to land a blow on the madly dodging and ducking Erik. He was panting hard by then, his face flushed an unhealthy shade of purple, and he was waving his Aboriginal pointing bone around with less and less accuracy; but the little creep wouldn’t go down. Melody finally threw caution to the winds, stepped inside his reach, and deftly kicked the pointing bone right out of his hand. Erik watched dumbly as it flew through the air, and Melody moved in to beat the crap out of him. Erik laughed breathlessly, right into her face, and his other hand came up holding his specially modified taser. He jammed the metal horns into her gut and hit the button.

Melody convulsed, her whole body going into spasm after spasm as she was thrown backwards by the massive contractions in her muscles. She crashed to the platform, hitting it hard, and lay there, twitching and shuddering. Her eyes were wide, and drool ran from her slack mouth. Erik strolled unhurriedly forward to lean over her, studied her thoughtfully, and hit her with the taser again. She convulsed once more, arms and legs flailing while her back and the back of her head slammed against the unyielding platform. She made brief grunting sounds of agony, and Erik laughed happily.

He set the taser’s metal horns against the trembling skin at Melody’s bare throat, then raised his voice.

“Happy! If you don’t surrender to Natasha, right now, I’m going to give your little techno-geek girl-friend a full-scale shock, and you can listen to her brains frying.”

Distracted, caught between two thoughts and intentions, Happy’s concentration was shattered; and Natasha slammed through his mental shields like they weren’t even there. Her thoughts overwhelmed his, and, in a moment, she had shouldered her way inside his mind and taken control. Happy didn’t even get a chance to cry out. He simply stood there before her, utterly still. A prisoner inside his own head. Natasha relaxed abruptly, like a runner at the end of a race. She breathed heavily and grinned widely, even as sweat ran down her face.

It had been a near thing, much nearer than she’d expected. And it hadn’t been the pills, either; Happy was a lot stronger than he allowed himself to believe. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to match Natasha in a fair contest. Mainly because Natasha didn’t believe in fair contests; she believed in winning. She moved forward, kicking aside some feebly moving rose petals, so she could laugh right into Happy’s unmoving face.

“Think you’re so good. Think you’re so big-time! I would have kicked your arse even without Erik’s distraction.”

Something in Happy’s inscrutable face still managed to suggest he rather doubted it. So Natasha took control of his right arm and his right hand, and made Happy punch himself repeatedly in the face. The sound of bone cracking into bone was shockingly loud in the quiet, and Natasha clapped her hands together delightedly as blood gushed from Happy’s nose and spilled from his rapidly swelling mouth. Happy hit himself again and again, and Natasha never got tired of it.

“Look over here, Natasha!” said Erik, not wanting to be left out. “Look what I can do!”

And when Natasha looked, he jabbed Melody in the gut with his taser and giggled as she jumped and kicked, her head jerking helplessly back and forth. The agonised sounds coming from her mouth were more animal than human.

Natasha sniffed and looked at Happy. “You can stop that now. Just stand there till I have need of you.” She put a hand to her forehead. “You have no idea what it’s like inside that man’s head, Erik. So many chemicals, so many reactions, so many side effects . . . his thoughts rise and fall like tides, and his emotions surge back and forth like icebergs. It’s a wonder to me he still knows who he is. No, Erik; no more taser, no more playtime. Revenge is one thing, giving in to our baser natures is quite another. Control, Erik, control; discipline at all times. We must always be in control of our passions and not the other way round.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, considered a very cutting comeback, then quickly decided against saying it. He put the taser away and recovered his pointing bone.

“You’re no fun any more,” he said accusingly. “How else are we supposed to make them talk?”

“Who cares what these two have to say?” said Natasha. “I doubt very much they know anything we don’t. No; we’ll use them as bait to get what we want, then kill them. That is what we’re here for, after all. Now, did you happen to see where JC went?”

“Last I saw he was running for the exit,” said Erik. “Chasing that ghost woman.”

Natasha frowned and tapped a single pink-leather-gloved fingertip against her lower lip. “Why would he abandon his fellow team members to go haring off after a ghost? I mean, what’s so special about her?”

“Nothing I could see,” said Erik. “Maybe he fancies her.”

“Oh please!” said Natasha, curling her upper lip magnificently. “One of us and one of them? I don’t think so. Necrophilia is so . . . tacky. And JC is, after all, a professional.”

“You’re jealous!” said Erik delightedly. “You are!”

“You want a slap?”

Erik took a careful step backwards. Natasha turned her back on him cuttingly and considered the motionless Happy and the still-twitching Melody.

“On the whole, I don’t think Vivienne MacAbre will be at all pleased with us if we give up now. We were sent down here to kill JC. Having to admit that we let him get away while we concentrated on these two lesser fish . . . would not go down well. So, we use them as bait, to draw him back.”

“I could still make use of them,” said Erik, hopefully. “I have a full surgical kit in my back-pack. I could do all kinds of interesting things with them. Really. You’d be surprised.”

“Quite possibly,” said Natasha. “But we don’t have the time. There’s something really big, and really powerful, down here in the dark with us, something Vivienne never even mentioned. And I want it.”

“I don’t know,” said Erik. “That wasn’t the mission. You heard the cat head. Something very old. Something from the afterworlds.”

“I know,” said Natasha. “I can feel it, like a constant pressure on my mental shields, trying to force its way in . . . It’s big, Erik, you have no idea how big. This could be the biggest catch of our career.”

“Can you pinpoint its location?” said Erik, cautiously.

“Not without giving the problem my full concentration,” said Natasha, glancing at Happy. “He’s still fighting me, you know. Like a fox with his paw caught in a trap. The chase is over, but he still won’t admit it.”

“We need more information on this . . . prize,” said Erik.

“Big, powerful, and nasty,” said Natasha. “And not in any way human. What more do you need to know?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just seeing your own reflection?” said Erik from a safe distance.

Natasha was in such a good mood she smiled at him sweetly. “I shall make you suffer for that, little man, at some future time. For now, make yourself useful and consult your little cat computer. From the mental traces I’m picking up . . . I’d venture that what we have down here is almost certainly other-dimensional in origin.”

“Oh crap,” said Erik.

“Precisely,” said Natasha. “We’re going to need a really sharp hook and a really strong line to haul this one in.”

“We need reinforcements!” said Erik. “In fact, we need to get the hell out of here, right now, at speed, and put as much distance as possible between us and London, and let some other poor fool deal with it.”

“Where’s your spine?” said Natasha. “This is our big chance to prove our worth to the high-and-mighty Vivienne MacAbre. If we deliver not only the heads of JC, Melody, and Happy, but also the tamed and caged remains of an other-dimensional Intruder, on a plate . . . she’ll make us an A team, with all their wonderful pay and privileges, on the spot.”

“All right, I’m tempted,” said Erik. “But I’m not committing myself to anything until I’ve got some hard data to look at.”

“Then unpack your cat thing and get this show on the road,” said Natasha.

Erik took his time unpacking his cat-head computer and making sure it was all functioning as it should be. Shimmering mechanisms of pure energy whirled and revolved, enforcing their strange designs upon the world; and then the cat head opened its eyes and spat fiercely. Erik tweaked one of its whiskers playfully and snatched his hand back before the teeth could reach him. He knelt before the computer, so he could look right into the cat’s slit-pupilled eyes.

“There’s something down here with us,” he said bluntly. “What is it? What is it doing down here?”

“It’s watching you,” said the cat head in its harsh, unnatural voice. “It knows all about you. It wants you.”

“Who doesn’t?” said Erik. “But what is it, precisely? Demon, demiurge, one of the Great Beasts, perhaps?”

The cat head considered the question for a long moment while its glowing mechanisms went quietly mad. “It’s not from around here,” it said finally. “From over the hill and far away. From out of the past, to put an end to the future. The wolf has come down upon the fold, and it’s bigger than anyone ever dreamed of.”

“Forget the poetry,” snapped Natasha. “What does it want?”

“Everything,” said the cat head, turning its eyes to look directly at her. “It’s going to eat you up.”

Natasha glared at the head. “Technology should know its place. You watch your manners, kitty cat, or I’ll pluck out your whiskers.”

“Please don’t threaten the machinery while it’s working,” said Erik. “And let us not get distracted, please.”

“Well,” said Natasha, “the cat started it.”

“We should have been told about this before we came down here,” said Erik.

“What if . . . nobody knows, but us?” said Natasha, thoughtfully. “We could do anything we wanted, down here, and no-one could do anything to stop us.”

“Let’s not lose track of what’s important,” Erik said stubbornly. “I am not going back to Vivienne MacAbre without, at the very least, JC’s heart and brains in my little collecting box. As ordered. I have to say, I am far more afraid of displeasing Vivienne than I am of facing some other-dimensional Intruder. I know what your problem is,” he said craftily. “All these manifestations down here are giving you an appetite. Why don’t you indulge yourself? Maybe you’ll think more clearly with a full stomach. So to speak.”

“Don’t try to get round me, little man,” said Natasha. “The ghosts make me stronger. That’s all that matters.”

“Of course, of course,” said Erik. “And you will need to be so very strong, for this.”

Natasha turned to Happy, still standing absolutely motionless, where she’d left him. Blood continued to drip from his face. She smiled at him sweetly. “Work with me, little telepath. Lend me your energies. It’s time for Daddy’s bad little girl to go hunting again.”

She reached inside him and drew on his power, despite everything he could do to stop her, sucking it right out of him. Natasha laughed out loud as new strength filled her from head to toe. Faces and figures flickered on and off before and around her, echoes of people and personalities soaked into the surroundings, imprinted on Time itself. They came and went like so many swiftly shuffling cards, until Natasha spotted one that appealed to her and pounced.

A man appeared, standing stiffly on the very edge of the platform, his feet planted well past the yellow safety line. He was only a man, no different from many others, except that perhaps his suit was that little bit too hard worn, too shabby. He looked older than his years, beaten down and hard done by, and his hands were clenched into determined fists at his sides. His face was beaded with sweat and full of a great concentration. There was the sound of a train approaching, and the man’s head jerked round to look for it. The sound grew louder and louder, then the man threw himself forwards, into the path of the on-coming train.

His body all but exploded under the force of the impact, blood flying everywhere, and the remains were carried the length of the platform before finally slipping down to be finished off under the grinding wheels. There was nothing defiant or even meaningful about the suicide—only a small broken man, doing something pitiful. It was like looking at a child that had fallen and would never get up again.

There was never any sign of the train itself, only the sound it made and the awful things it did to the fragile human body. The man was the subject of the haunting, nothing else.

And then the man was back, unharmed, standing at the edge of the platform again, waiting for his train. Repeating the last few moments of his life, for all eternity. Trapped in the Hell he’d made for himself. Natasha and Erik watched the ghost kill himself several times until they grew bored with it.

“Could be a stone tape,” said Erik, critically. “Nothing there but a recording. Want me to check it out with my little catty box of tricks?”

“No need,” said Natasha. She was smiling, and it was not a nice smile. “This was a suicide, so some small part of him remains here still, trapped in the moment. A part of his consciousness, or his soul, whichever you prefer—forever here, eternally suffering. And I want it.”

She strode forward, barely controlling her eagerness, and moved in right beside the suicide ghost, concentrating all her attention on him. And when she’d made herself as real to him as the on-coming train, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder, just as he was about to jump. He spun round, startled, and looked right at her. He looked into her eyes and screamed at what he saw there. Natasha enfolded him in her arms and clamped her hungry lips onto his screaming mouth, smothering the sound.

Unlike the homeless man, the suicide ghost fought her savagely. He had chosen the manner and moment of his death, and he was damned if he’d have it stolen from him. He struggled in her arms and resisted her with all his will; but it didn’t stop Natasha, or even slow her down. Because she was a Class Ten telepath, and an experienced eater of souls; and he was nothing more than a sad little ghost. She ate him all up, every last bit of him, until there was nothing left in her arms. Natasha straightened up slowly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh, you little tease,” she said thickly. “I do so love a bit of foreplay . . .”

Erik applauded languidly. You couldn’t stay shocked all the time around Natasha; it wore you out. “I do so love to watch a professional doing what she does best. Speaking of which. Perhaps now we can get on with what we’re supposed to be doing down here . . .”

“No,” said Natasha. “I’m not done yet. He was fine for an appetiser, but I’m still hungry.” She jerked suddenly round to glare at Happy. “You! Stop fighting me! Or I’ll let Erik play with science girl some more. Now, work with me. Find me something more filling, more satisfying. Because you’re starting to look pretty tasty yourself, little man . . .”

And then she broke off, looking round sharply. Something had changed on the platform; she could feel it. Even Erik’s head snapped round, looking for something he could sense, if not put a name to. Natasha looked slowly round her, then stopped as she realised something had changed in the poster on the wall beside her. It didn’t look like a poster any more. The gaudy colours in the painted advertisement had come alive, taken on depth and meaning and reality, like a window into another world. Natasha moved slowly back to stand with Erik, putting the cat computer between her and the strangely altered poster.

Glorious country-side seemed to stretch away forever under a gorgeous summer sky. A peaceful scene, with wide green fields untroubled by any sign of civilisation. A long, green dream of England. Except for the young man, tall and lithe and almost unbearably handsome, in a stylish white T-shirt and smart new jeans, standing at his ease under the spreading branches of an old oak tree. Almost bursting with glamour and masculinity, handsome as the Devil and twice as smooth, the young man looked out over the country scene as though he owned it. Natasha was pretty sure the original poster had been a somewhat overdone ad for a new deodorant, the last time she looked; but it was alive now, and so was the young man. He turned his head, looked at Natasha, and smiled lazily. The smile of a man who knew he was handsome, and charming, the smile of someone who knew he didn’t have to try too hard. Exactly the kind of man Natasha would have enjoyed cutting down to size under normal conditions.

But this was different, and so was he.

“You’re not what I was looking for,” she said. “You’re not a ghost, and you’re not a man. What are you, exactly?”

The handsome young man pushed himself away from the tree and stepped casually out of his country-side scene and down onto the station platform. He seemed to bring a little of the other world with him, a breath of fresh country air, rich with the scents of trees and flowers and earth. Natasha gasped, as a sudden erotic frisson rushed through her.

The young man ignored his new surroundings, his dark gaze intent on Natasha. He didn’t even glance at Erik. The young man stretched slowly, to show off his fine lithe frame, then walked unhurriedly down the platform, smiling at Natasha with disturbing intensity. She stood her ground, waited until he was almost upon her, then put out a hand to stop him. Her pink-leather-gloved palm actually slammed against his chest before he stopped. She hadn’t realised she’d let him get that close. The broad chest under the T-shirt was solid and real. He was undeniably there, smiling right at her, his eyes full of laughter and mischief. Natasha could feel her heart racing.

Behind her, unnoticed by either of them, Erik was kneeling beside his cat-head computer. “What is that?” he said quietly. “Is it a ghost of some sort? Is it real? Really real?”

“No,” said the cat head. “Not even close. Real enough to be dangerous, though.”

“I know he’s not a ghost!” snapped Natasha, not looking round. “I’m a telepath, remember?”

“So what are you picking up from him?” said Erik.

“Mostly . . . appetite,” said Natasha. “And I don’t mean he’s feeling a bit peckish.” She fixed the handsome young man with a steady gaze. “Flattery will get you nowhere; and I’m well past the point where I can be swept off my feet by raging hormones. So throw a bucket of water over it and talk to me. You’re not a ghost, and you can’t be real, so what are you?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” said the young man. “Your fantasy. Your dream. I am your secret need and your heart’s desire. I’m everything you ever dreamed of, including all the things you wouldn’t admit to on waking. And you have dreamed of so many things, haven’t you, Natasha?”

“How do you know my name?” Natasha wanted to be suspicious and on her guard, but there was something about his voice . . . something in its tone and timbre that made her feel like a teenage girl again, trembling in the grip of her own sexuality. She wanted him, she really did, even while another part of her mind yelled at her to kill him, immediately, while she still had the chance.

“I know everything about you,” said the man. “You called to me.”

“No,” said Natasha. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t. You know my name; what’s yours?”

He smiled engagingly. “I have many names but one nature. I am the fire on the heath and the shriek in the night. I am the look that challenges and the glance that quickens the heart. I am the cat who is always grey and the cuckoo in the nest. Don’t you know me, Natasha?”

“I didn’t call you,” Natasha said sternly, ignoring her increased breathing, the fluttering in her stomach, and the pleasant ache between her thighs. “I don’t want you. You can go now.”

“You want me,” said the man, so close to her by then she could feel his breath on her mouth. “You need me. You can’t live without me.”

“Don’t put money on it,” said Natasha.

Her breath caught in her throat as the man changed subtly before her, becoming even more handsome and glamorous, every detail intense and overwhelming . . . But at the same time, he was too much of a good thing. Like every treat you know is bad for you; like the poison that tastes sweet even as it kills you. Natasha backed away, and the man went after her.

And Erik, forgotten by both of them, stepped in behind the young man and stabbed him in the neck with his taser turned to full strength. Lightning flared, and the man stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth stretched in a wild, inhuman howl. Natasha almost cried out as the man’s face changed abruptly before her, the details blurring and slipping. He lurched forward another step, his hands reaching imploringly out to Natasha; but they weren’t hands any more. He didn’t look like a man any more. The slumping figure turned abruptly and lashed out at Erik, one overlong arm scything through the air with deadly speed. But Erik was no longer there.

He’d put away the taser and taken out his pointing bone. And as the figure changed still more, sloughing off its veneer of Humanity to become something so disturbing that human eyes could not bear to look at it, Erik shielded his eyes and stabbed the pointing bone in its direction. The figure cried out again, in pain and horror and thwarted rage, and disappeared.

Erik lowered his trembling hand and moved forward to make sure the thing was really gone. He waved both his hands through the air where it had been, and only then did he go over to join Natasha, who was leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, breathing hard. Erik stopped a safe distance away and waited. He knew better than to touch her, or even say something reassuring. He looked at the poster on the wall. The countryside was simply a painted scene again, but interestingly, there was no trace anywhere of the young man. No-one stood under the oak tree any more.

Erik glanced down at his cat-head computer. “Don’t suppose you’ve any idea as to what just happened?”

“It wasn’t a ghost, and it wasn’t real,” said the cold, inhuman voice. “It was a signal, broadcast by the bad thing that’s waiting for you. The taser interrupted the signal, and the pointing bone dispersed it. The bad thing knows you’re looking for it. It was testing you. Or perhaps it was playing. Who knows why the gods do anything?”

Erik looked at it sharply. “Gods?”

“Manner of speaking,” said the cat head, and it stopped talking.

Natasha pushed herself away from the wall and stood up straight, pulling at her leather outfit here and there to make sure she looked good. She took one last deep breath, let it out slowly, then glared at Erik, herself again.

“Next time, don’t take so long.”

“You’re welcome,” said Erik. And then he went for her, his clawed hands reaching for her throat.

Happy had been biding his time. With Natasha weakened and distracted, he eased free of her mental domination without her even noticing. So it was the easiest thing in the world for him to take control of Erik and throw the nasty little man at Natasha. It helped that Erik had often thought of doing it, and for a moment even thought it was his own idea. He grabbed the front of Natasha’s pink leather jacket with both hands and slammed her back against the wall. He crowded in close, holding her there with his full weight, pushing his face right into hers, his eyes and his smile full of all the awful things he wanted to do to her. When it came to the domination game, Erik had always been happy to swing both ways. He knew by then that he was acting under Happy’s direction, but he didn’t care. He savoured the moment, delighting in the chance to do really appalling things and still be able to claim it was nothing to do with him.

And while the two of them were struggling, Happy grabbed Melody, hauled her to her feet, and half led and half carried her to the nearest exit. She was only half-conscious, but once he got her feet under her, she got the idea fast enough.

Natasha kneed Erik in the balls so hard it practically drove his testicles up into his chest cavity. He fell away from her, all but paralysed by the terrible pain between his legs, and Natasha thrust her thoughts inside his head and broke Happy’s control in a moment. Erik contracted into a full foetus on the platform, wrapped tightly around his pain, fighting to get his lungs working again. Natasha looked for Happy and Melody, but they were already gone, and she knew better than to go chasing after them. Far too many dark places and ambush points. She tried to follow them with her mind, but Happy had his shields firmly back in place, and Natasha couldn’t even detect the shields. She cursed once, briefly and dispassionately. Erik rose slowly to his feet, tears rolling down his face, still bent over the pain coursing through him. Natasha slapped him viciously across the face. Erik rocked on his feet from the blow but took it.

“Talk to your nasty little computer,” Natasha said coldly. “Find our two runaways.”

Erik was glad of an excuse to kneel again, but the cat head wasn’t of much use. Happy’s shields really were first-class.

“Interesting,” the cat head said finally. “I cannot see Happy or Melody, or JC, or the ghost he’s chasing. Something is muddying the aether. But I am picking up another human presence down here in the station with us.”

“You’re sure it’s not JC?” said Natasha.

“I know what he looks like,” said the cat head. “This isn’t him. No; a very interesting mind, this, very . . . odd. Not one of the Project’s people and not one of the Institute’s field agents. Very odd . . . I can see him, but I can’t lock on to him. He’s . . . protected.”

Erik and Natasha looked at each other. Erik made himself ask the obvious question. “Who’s doing the protecting?”

“Can’t you guess?” said the cat head. “The bad thing, of course.”

Erik rose painfully to his feet again. “My machine’s too limited for this.”

“Speak for yourself,” said the cat head.

“Shut up,” said Erik. “Melody wouldn’t have come down here without all the very latest devices the Institute could provide. They might be able to help us more. Can you tell us where they are, cat?”

“Of course. Southbound platform, not ten minutes’ walk from here. I can guide you right to it.”

“Institute agents always get the best toys,” said Erik. “I mostly have to design my own, on a budget significantly less than I was promised. And you have to order parts three months in advance . . . Luckily, I can usually make my own. Providing there’s a zoo or a hospital nearby.”

“I can feel too much information coming on,” said Natasha. “Move it.”

Melody’s precious machines were right where she’d left them, and Erik almost cooed with pleasure as he ran his fat little hands over them. It didn’t take him long to get the hang of the sensors and track down the Institute agents. Happy and Melody were still moving steadily through the deepest parts of the system, but JC, surprisingly, wasn’t that far away. Still chasing his ghost.

“We’ll take him from behind while he’s distracted,” said Natasha. “No time for anything fun; shoot him down. Aim for the body; I don’t want his pretty face damaged. We can use him as bait to attract the other two. And then . . . we can give our full attention to sorting out whatever it is that’s going on down here. After all the trouble I’ve been put through, I think I deserve a really big prize.”

“I think we need to think about this some more,” said Erik, diffidently. “The cat head said other-dimensional, and I’m inclined to believe it. These instruments are picking up some strange readings. Really powerful readings; almost off the scale. We don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”

“You speak for yourself,” said Natasha.