The Marriage of the Living Dark

CHAPTER-11

BROWNIAN MOTION

“Sit down!”

Michael sat He’d learned not to argue when the barrel of a loaded gun was jammed into his chest.

Through the open frame of the window he could see right down the valley to the distant mountains, their snow-covered peaks bathed in light Outside the cabin, just out of sight, the villagers were going through the carts, looking for anything they could eat or use. He could hear them talking among themselves, their frustration rising by the moment The guard backed away, his ancient gun still covering Michael, and went to the window. Michael watched him take a furtive glance outside, then look back at him, scowling threateningly.

How old was the guard? Fifteen? Thirty? It was hard to tell. Living out here on the edge of the Wilds took its toll on a man. But there was a gauntness, a furtiveness, about him that Michael found all too familiar. He looked about him, taking in his surroundings. It was an old log cabin of a fairly universal design, the walls undecorated. Apart from the chair he sat on, there was a small wooden table and, in the far corner, a chest; otherwise the room was unfurnished. On the wall just to his right someone had pinned up two posters. One was a printed list of rules and regulations - evidence that DeVore’s patrols reached even this far out - the other was a Wanted poster, a side-on picture of Emily above the writing.

Seeing it there, Michael smiled. Ten million yuan? You’re worth a thousand million, my love.

He turned back, looking at the young-old man. “Who do I speak to?” Again, the guard scowled, the thinness of his face and his poor complexion making it the most ugly of expressions. “Shut up! Masso will see you when he’s ready!”

Michael smiled, knowing it would infuriate him. “Thanks.” He could have jumped the boy and disarmed him. It would have been easy, but he had his men to think of. Robbers they might be, but murderers they weren’t - not unless they were provoked. Best then to let them take what they wanted. He looked down briefly, annoyed with himself. He should have taken the eastern path through Leukerbad. It might have taken longer but at least it would have been safe. Haste had forced him into a poor call, and here he was, sat in some draughty hut with Master Scowl, while some tin-pot Village Head went through his things.

Masso, eh?

Again he smiled. A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched. He clearly didn’t like Michael’s calmness. Nor did he like being left alone in the cabin too long with him.

There was a shout outside, a fierce exchange of words between two of the villagers, then the door crashed open. A big man stood there. He had dark hair that fell in long curls and a handsome face, but his eyes were small and greedy and his clothes were the clothes of a small-time bandit “What is this shit?”

He threw down one of the packets so that it split open on the floor, a faintly unpleasant smell coming up from it “You’re Masso, I presume,” Michael said, ignoring the question. Masso’s eyes flared with anger. He stepped across and grabbed the front of Michael’s sheepskin. But before he could say another word, Michael had stood, pushing him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Masso blinked, reassessing the situation. Then he laughed. “You’re a proud one, my friend, but if 11 do you no good. We’ve got the guns.””Touch me again and I’ll ram your gun up your arse.”

Masso stiffened, then he relaxed. Whatever Michael said, he knew he had the upper hand.

“So what is it, Trader? You make drugs out of it?”

Michael smiled, deciding he’d tell the arse-hole the truth. “They’re chemicals.

We were going to make bombs out of them.”

“Bombs?” There was a flicker of uncertainty in the man’s eyes. “What you want to make bombs for?”

“To blow the shit out of the Man’s soldiers.”

He saw Masso put two and two together; saw how his eyes flicked toward the poster, then back to his face.

“You know the Woman?”

Michael shook his head. “No one knows her. But I work for her. I bring her things.”

It was a lie, of course, but he wasn’t going to tell this shit that he slept beside her most nights.

“Then she’d pay for this stuff?”

Michael shook his head. “This is hers. You steal it and you’ll answer to her.

You want that?”

Masso thought about it a moment, then, a flicker of anger crossing his face, he kicked the broken package across the room. “Just our fucking luck! Still ...” His eyes went to Michael’s sheepskin and again the smile - a smile of cunning - came into his eyes.

Michael, reading him like a tape, shook his head. “You take our coats we’ll die.”

Masso glowered. “You chose to come this way, Mister Trader, not me.”

“Then kill us now.”

Masso lifted his chin, responding to Michael’s challenge. “Maybe...”

But the next word was choked off. Michael’s hand had closed about his throat. “Let me tell you something, little man. If I don’t return on time, she’ll come looking. And if she conies looking she’ll find you, have no doubt about it So back off, okay? Go bother some other poor bastard who’s lost his way.” And with that he pushed Masso away.

Masso bent down, holding his throat, surprised by how strong Michael’s grip had been, unaware of the prosthetic enhancement in the arm. His eyes were fearful now.

Michael glanced at the guard and saw at once how jumpy he was. It wouldn’t do to push too hard right now.

‘Til tell you what,” he said. “You help us and we’ll help you, eh? After all, there’s no need for us to be enemies. Life’s hard and one has to make a living.” He saw how Masso’s pride was mollified by that He rubbed at his throat a moment longer, then shrugged. “So what’s the deal?”

“You get us to Saanenmoser and I’ll have the woman send you coats. Coats like these. And food.”

Masso’s eyes narrowed. “How much food?”

“Enough to feed fifty men for a month.”

Masso shook his head. “If s not enough.”

Michael laughed. “You’re a greedy little shit, Masso. If s more than enough, and you know it Now, have we a deal?”

He put out a hand.

“How do I know I can trust you, Trader?”

“Because you can’t afford not to.”

For a moment longer Masso hesitated then, reluctantly, he clasped Michael’s hand in his own. “Okay. But you keep your word, eh, Trader-man? You keep your fucking word.”

Emily looked up from where she was working at her desk, then set her glasses aside. “Chao? What is it?”

Lin Chao smiled, then came into the room. “We’ve news,” he said. “It seems someone saw Michael three days back, at Chamonix.” Emily frowned. “Then he should have been back by now.” “No. It seems they’ve had bad weather. The Montets Pass was blocked. He would have been delayed.”

She looked down, clearly relieved to have some kind of explanation. Then, pushing aside the report she’d been working on, she stood.He watched as she pulled on her over-jacket and began to button it “Mother?”

She looked across. “I’m going to meet him.” “But...” “No buts. I’m going, and thafs that.” He shrugged. “Okay. But I’m coming with you.” “Don’t you think I can look after myself, Lin Chao?” “Oh, I’m sure you can, mother, but I’d like to come, so humour me.”

“All right But what about your duties?” “Tybor will fill in for me. He owes me a favour or two.” Emily looked at her adopted son sceptically, then shook her head. “Okay. Then gather together eight men and supplies for three days. If I know Michael, he’ll head for Saanenmoser.”

DeVore stood at the head of the stairs, looking out across the echoing chamber, his chest puffed out, his voice full of pride.

“There, Ben. What do you think?”

The four creatures at the far end of the chamber were massive - maybe eight times the body weight of humans -and their eyes ... “Can we speak to them?”

DeVore looked to him and smiled. “Of course. They’ll be pleased to have some intelligent conversation for a change.”

Ben laughed. “If these are what I think they are, then it ought to be interesting.”

DeVore narrowed his eyes. “And what do you think they are?”

“The next stage in your plan.”

“Which is?”

To populate the galaxy. To fill a million worlds with images of yourself. But all he said was, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Come,” DeVore said, taking his arm, “let me show you them.” But Ben paused a moment, reaching out to touch DeVore’s arm lightly. “Forgive me, Howard, but what exactly are they doing?”

BROWNIAN MOTION

DeVore looked to him and smiled. “They are making me a coat.” Ben looked back. A coat? He laughed, thinking of the tale of the Emperor and his new clothes. “But there’s nothing there.”

“Not nothing, Ben. Nothingness. They are making a coat of nothingness, or rather, of folded space. It will fit over my normal coat, the field generated by my buttons and epaulets, and by tiny transmitters sewn into the arms and edges of the jacket The field will be only microns across, but that will be sufficient enough to prevent anything from penetrating it” “And your head?”

“My head, like all my vital functions will be inside the field.”

“So how do you breath?”

“The field switches on and off at over three hundred times a second. That’s enough to allow oxygen molecules to pass through the field. But anything larger and ... pfff ... it ceases to be in an instant” Ben smiled, impressed. “Clever. Who thought of it?” “Hannem. But come, let him tell you himself.”

It was late morning when they came down from the passes and out into the valley. They were still high up, on the eastern slope, and the valley floor and the river that wound through it were still some six hundred metres below them, but the day was bright and visibility good. Saanenmoser was at most an hour away. Emily was at the front of the group, flanked by two of the older rebels. Just behind her, walking alongside young Yuen Ho, was the boy, Daniel. Behind them were four more of Emily’s most trusted men, and, bringing up the tail, Lin Chao. Chao was unhappy. When the boy had asked to come, he had counselled his mother against the idea. We can’t be sure about him, he’d argued; not until we’ve made all the proper checks. But Emily had overruled him. She’d spoken to the boy and liked him.

Which was why Chao was hovering at the back, watching him like a hawk. Why he’d insisted that the boy should be unarmed. For if this was DeVore’s work ... He didn’t like it. Not one tiny little bit In fact, every instinct he possessed twitched at the thought of the boy. Something about him was wrong. Badly wrong. Like the very fact that he had won his mother’s trust so quickly. You’re jealous, a little voice inside him said. You don’t like him because your mother does.

But even if that was true, it did not mean that he should abandon good sense. DeVore would go to any lengths to kill his mother. And seeming was his trademark.

The boy seemed harmless, and yet he’d shot two morphs dead with single shots between the eyes from over five hundred metres. If that was harmless then what precisely did he need to do to be thought a threat? Besides, he’d watched the boy. He’d seen how his eyes took in everything, like cameras.

And who was to say that wasn’t what he was? Why, even now DeVore might be staring through Daniel’s eyes, watching Emily’s back. No, they ought to have checked him out thoroughly before trusting him on a mission like this. And that included a thorough medical check Why, for all they knew he could be a walking bomb. Chao shook himself. Paranoid, he thought I’m getting paranoid. But then, he had every reason to be. He had seen enough of DeVore’s tricks to last him a lifetime.

He looked up. The sky was clear, not a cloud in the sky. Perfect patrol weather. But they would hear any cruisers long before they’d come close enough to spot their tiny group.

A hawk called, high and clear. Chao stopped dead, turning to look, his lips parting in a smile Yet even as he saw it, circling high above the opposite slope, he heard an “ufff and a muffled cry.

Chao looked back to see Yueh Ho down, his gun in Daniel’s hands, the barrel aimed straight at Emily’s back.

“No-o-ohJ”

The gunshot echoed across the valley.

There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Daniel threw the gun down. Emily turned, staring at Daniel, her face a study in shocked surprise. Then, turning back, she walked across and stood over the shattered machine. It fluttered and sparked, then lay still, smoke wisping from its splintered casing.

Daniel stepped up alongside her, then crouched, poking at the broken thing.

“Mimics,” he said quietly.

“You’ve seen these before?” she said, watching him.

He nodded. “In the Garden.”

There was a murmur of surprise from all sides.

“You’ve been in there?” she asked, looking at him in a new light “Five times.”

“Five ...” Emily turned, looking to Chao. But Chao was staring past her at the shattered fragments of the machine that had almost - almost - killed his mother. “This is new,” Daniel said, looking up again.

“New?” Emily shook her head. “No, Daniel. These things...”

“It’s new,” he insisted. “He’s been developing new versions of these things.