'Oh G.o.d. . . '

Dragging his eyes from those of the child, he discovered Veta at his side gazing into the 'gram with her mouth loose open and the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The impostor Domecq lay bloodied and crumpled on the floor.

Foley felt sick. Physically sick. Standing on the sidelines, she put all her effort into appearing impa.s.sive, but she was sure her cheeks were burning with rage and discomfort. Military training was supposed to bolster you against such emotions, but in the case of this Doctor Whoever He Was, Foley's training had somehow slipped off-track. She remembered his casual chattiness on the way up in the elevator. His childlike enthusiasm and energy. His determination out in the storm to recover his friend, regardless of the obvious danger to himself.

She'd very quickly developed an uncharacteristic respect and affection for this man. It was a revelation to realise just how uncomfortable she could feel at his mistreatment.

Lucky for her that Zach plainly didn't share her esteem. He'd quite eagerly stepped forward to offer his services when Tyran had discarded the useless mindprobe in favour of more traditional methods. They'd removed and searched his jacket, finding nothing except a bag of soft-jelly sweets shaped 139 like fat little people, some odds and ends and trinkets including a yo-yo and a monocle. Then they'd replaced the cuffs and fastened the impostor Doctor back into the chair. By this time he was more or less devastated by the effects of the probe, but that didn't stop Zach expertly and energetically laying into him while Tyran punctuated the proceedings with quick-fired questions.

Meanwhile, she'd concentrated on the real Domecq, doing her best to shut out the impostor's cries of pain and the repeated dull thuds as Zach enjoyed his job. Domecq had remained in his seat, arm curled over the back and legs crossed as if he were nonchalantly watching a game of chess. There was no reaction in his face, no repulsion, and he didn't take his eyes off the action for even a second. Her instant initial a.s.sessment of Domecq had not been off-target.

'We're getting nowhere,' Tyran announced abruptly, sneering at the pul-verised impostor.

Foley felt a surge of relief.

'Get him out of here,' Tyran snarled, and she realised with a start that he was talking to her.

Clipping her rifle into her shoulder harness, she knelt by the impostor and grasped him by the arm, wondering if it was broken as she pulled him up into a sitting position. His face was smeared with blood, and there were cuts around his eyes and lips. He appeared unfocused, unable to look her in the eye, and she was grateful she didn't have to suffer the indignity of having to connect with his look.

Dragging him to his feet, she swept his arm around her shoulder and Zach took his other arm to help her carry him from the room.

'Medicare?' Foley asked.

Tyran looked brooding. 'No,' he said. 'Throw him in the cells.'

'But sir,' she began.

The look Tyran gave her stopped her in her tracks. He didn't have to say a single word. She shut up and nodded, and allowed Zach to tug her towards the door. They took Tyran's private elevator and descended swiftly to the lower levels. None of them spoke, until they reached the cells and a burly guard indicated a door near the main desk. While the guard opened up the door, the impostor managed to take his own weight and as he was about to step inside he turned to Foley with a smashed face that contained a smile.

'Remind me to take my thick cardigan next time we go anywhere together.'

She felt her lips spasm, automatically trying to form a smile that she just couldn't condone. She saw him hobble over to the bunk and the door sliced 140shut with that hollow, desolate clang that all such doors are designed to make.

They used the staff route to return to medicare, Peron holding the creature swaddled inside her jacket in case they came across anybody, Danes frog-marching Kapoor with his face a cold, fixed mask and his phase pistol tight in his grasp. Kapoor hadn't said a single word since repeating her strange utterance over and over. The words had stopped the moment Peron removed the creature from her, and she'd allowed herself to be brought back without resistance, almost as if she were in a trance. When they got back, Peron instructed Danes to return Kapoor to med-ops and ensure that she couldn't sneak out again.

'Sir?' Danes queried.

'I want her strapped and zapped,' Peron told him.

She saw Kapoor's eyes, which had miraculously returned to their normal human coloration, widen. She couldn't resist the hateful smirk that escaped into her features.

'If you will insist on making such a nuisance of yourself,' she told the girl, 'then you'll receive the appropriate punishment.'

But Kapoor was gazing at the bundle in Peron's jacket, lines of anxiety etched into her face.

'Don't even think about it,' Peron cautioned. 'I'm posting a permanent guard on these things. Until they're disposed of.'

Kapoor appeared anguished, but she received a rough shove from Danes that sent her staggering down the corridor. Peron was sure she was about to yell something back, until she saw Danes's pistol aimed straight at her head. Peron watched her being bulldozed out of sight, before she marched with the creature back to the cells.

The clang of rattling metal was almost deafening when she entered the holding bay. The eleven t.i.tanium doors were being reverberated from inside the occupied cells, and as she stepped down between the doors, Peron felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristling. She stood stock-still for a moment, trying to understand the reasons for her own fear. It was an irrational reaction, she knew, but one for the life of her she couldn't fathom or prevent. It was something in their air. A kind of supernatural presence. She stood there feeling like a small child alone in the dark.

Opening a gap in the jacket that wrapped the creature, she found the great black eyes gazing at her without emotion. The face was blank and expression-less, entirely void of any human response.

141.

'Get them to stop,' she snarled.

The sound continued, and there was the sudden, dread realisation that the banging was exactly in time with her own heartbeat.

Letting the jacket fall to the floor, she grasped the creature by the scruff of the neck, and watched its eyes widen with what must have been fear.

'I'm not going to warn you again,' she told it.

But the sound persisted, now getting louder and just a little bit faster, until Peron snapped and hurled the creature down the short corridor. It landed with a thud, a pile of twisted arms and legs, the ridiculous head bent awkwardly over to one side. The breath exploded out of its lungs and Peron heard the soft low sound of its voice.

The door rattling endured, and Peron swept across the tiny s.p.a.ce to grasp the creature again. The thing's eyes were wide with terror, and Peron sensed a huge loathing inside her, threatening to consume her completely. There was a moment of stasis, a stalemate when the doors clanged and boomed through her skull while the anger boiled through her.

Then all the pent-up rage escaped All too aware of the pistol held to her head, Anji lay back while Danes placed her wrists and ankles into the restraint straps and slipped the bolts into place.

She felt cold and confused, with only the most hazy memory of how she'd managed to get herself and the child out there in the storm. What she did remember, however, was the distinct feeling that they were all intruding. That was clear as a bell. They didn't belong here.

She'd sensed a deep bond with the child, beyond any physical attachment: an invisible connection. No words to describe it. Something inside so strong.

It tugged at her soul like. . .

mother and child Oh G.o.d! Anji had never thought seriously about motherhood. Not seriously.

It had always been one of those Major Life Decisions she was just not quite yet in a position to make. There were things to achieve first: money to make, investments to consolidate to protect against Future Eventualities. She needed a pension, a substantial rainy-day fund, a pot to cover school fees and uni costs.

The thought had crossed her mind after about eighteen months with Dave that she really ought to be planning her finances with a little more urgency if there was a chance they might want to get pregnant in their early thirties. But then he'd come home with the holiday brochures. And the urgency would somehow evaporate.

142.mother and child Her only real experience of maternal longings was when she was little and Rezaul had appeared on the scene. She remembered constantly having to babysit while her mother served in the shop. She'd made a great show of resenting the loss of her freedom. But, secretly, she wouldn't have changed those babysitting days for the world. She remembered dressing Rezaul in her Cry Baby clothes and popping him in the Cry Baby buggy to take him for walks round the garden. She remembered plonking him down to tea, all propped up with pillows, and spooning baby slop into his plump face. She played mother so well she remembered being the one who woke in the night at the slightest sound. She remembered feeling. . .

mother and child Danes had her arms secured and now he was wheeling the med unit into place near her head. He switched the unit on, but it refused to respond. He began to prod the controls, becoming more agitated by the second until he finally slammed his fist down on top of the machine with a crash. He shot Anji a severe look full of fury, but there was other movement on the other side of the bed. She turned to find the child, eyes wide and black and fearful. The room around him was shimmering, as if she were seeing him in a heat haze, or a dream, or a memory. She tried to reach out to him, but her arms were locked in place. He began to squirm, his hands clutching at his chest and his face as if he were being invisibly punched. She caught the look in his eyes again Wide and black and fearful.

Hysteria exploded inside her like an incendiary device going off.She wrenched the restraints, trying to force herself up on the bed. Danes pushed her back. She flailed and yowled and lunged with her teeth for his hand, catching him and drawing blood. He slapped her viciously across the face, so hard she was momentarily stunned. Then he was gone and she saw him rooting through a cupboard on the opposite wall. When he turned back he was holding a syringe up to the light to expel the air. He returned to her side and she thrashed and wrestled the bonds.

The child was still there, but his image was fading, folding in and out of reality like a flickering television signal. She had to get out. Had to reach him.

Had to help.

But Danes leaned over her with the syringe, leering like a deranged scientist in a creaky old horror film. Gleaming eyes and gleaming white teeth. Karloff on acid. She pulled away but it was no good: her arms were fastened tight and the syringe was closing in.

143.

His leering face swooped in and he paused to enjoy her fear. He was getting a kick out of this, the s.a.d.i.s.tic b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The straps burned her wrists, searing into the flesh. Closer he came, and abruptly his eyes widened further, his face froze in a death grin before he toppled forwards and collapsed on top of her.

The syringe clattered to the floor. Struggling with renewed vigour, Anji felt the straps give way and her arms came free. Pushing Danes off her, she sat up on the bed and gazed about in shock and confusion.

Danes had tumbled beside the bed, and now she could see the syringes sticking out the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. The cupboard door across the room was wide open as he'd left it, but the entire a.r.s.enal of stock had been plunged into him. There was n.o.body else in the room.

Releasing the ankle straps, Anji clambered off the bed and lumbered across the room, still shaking. By the door there was a mirror and she caught glimpse of herself as she was about to leave. She looked drained and windblown, and there was something wrong with her eyes. Peering closer, she watched in cold horror as the pupils began to grow. They spread outwards like an oil slick until there was nothing left but black.

The ice in Bains's drink had melted, and now the alcohol was diluted and insipid. Which, as it happened, just about matched his mood.

For'ard Obs wasn't as busy tonight, and he'd quite easily managed to secure the same table as yesterday so he could gaze out into the tempest. It seemed these tables with a view weren't very popular, these days. Not since the city-machine had entered the stormy season. Perhaps the restlessness of an alien world made people uneasy.

After a full day on the accelerators Bains felt well, but tired. The memory of his beating at the hands of Military One was still raw, but otherwise the med unit had worked its marvellous magic and since his brief meeting with the Doctor he'd felt at something of a loose end. The Doctor's enthusiasm and urgency had stoked his stubborn old fire, but his abrupt disappearance had left Bains with a sense of disappointment.

He'd deliberately returned to the seat where Carly had approached him, hoping for a follow-up visit. But he'd been here over an hour now, and there was no sign of her. Not that he was too sure if he really wanted to see her anyway.

He'd kind of remained in the comfortable old habit of being alone since Jazz.

That was the way he'd wanted it to stay. Bains and his work. Just the two of them. Inseparable buddies. But Carly had sparked something off. He hadn't realised it at first, but he'd woken today from anaesthetic to discover that she'd 144been bothering him in his sleep. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was a vague feeling that she'd been desperate, haunted. She certainly hadn't communicated that through her body language or manner. She'd managed to come on strong, putting herself over in a predatory role. At the time that was all he'd seen. But there was more to her than that, and now he felt they ought to talk.

A woman squeezing between the tables appeared to be heading his way, and for a second he thought it was her. But she was smiling at someone a few tables beyond, waving a greeting and sweeping on her way oblivious to his presence.

So he sipped his drink. The same drink he'd been touching to his lips for the past hour in pretence that he was actually enjoying it. And he lost himself in his thoughts. . .

'Penny for them?' he'd asked Jazz.

'Huh?'

She'd looked up from her meal, eyes far off in another time, another place.

'What's wrong?' he'd pressed.

'Nothing.'

'Of course it's something.'

She'd refused to talk, refused even to look him in the eye. And had gone on for weeks before he'd come home from work to find their apartment cold and quiet weeks before he'd come home from work to find their apartment cold and quiet and lonely. Before, he'd come home from work to find his life cold and quiet and and lonely. Before, he'd come home from work to find his life cold and quiet and lonely. Over the years to her leaving, Jazz had become the core of his existence. lonely. Over the years to her leaving, Jazz had become the core of his existence.

All his dreams revolved around her. All his hopes. All his desires. And without her, everything crumbled to meaningless grey dust. everything crumbled to meaningless grey dust.

There was no parting 'gram, no note, no sign of what might have driven her away. He'd talked to their friends, and found them all as mystified as he was. away. He'd talked to their friends, and found them all as mystified as he was.

He'd used an agency but they'd been able find nothing. For a year he'd looked, for a year he'd kept in touch with the agency, and for a year he'd feared that for a year he'd kept in touch with the agency, and for a year he'd feared that something terrible had happened to her. something terrible had happened to her.

The agency call had come out of nowhere. Jasmine Bains had been found. They sent him the 'gram by email and he replayed it over and over and over. sent him the 'gram by email and he replayed it over and over and over.

There she was. Jazz. His Jazz. Walking and laughing and dancing and quite obviously head-over-heals slap-bang in love with another man. The 'gram followed obviously head-over-heals slap-bang in love with another man. The 'gram followed them, hit and miss, sometimes through areas of low-resolution graphics, until them, hit and miss, sometimes through areas of low-resolution graphics, until finally they arrived back at a huge ocean liner with smart white fins and invisible finally they arrived back at a huge ocean liner with smart white fins and invisible dollar signs, scrawled all over it. The camera followed them as they ascended dollar signs, scrawled all over it. The camera followed them as they ascended the ramp, and there he saw on the side of the liner, just for an instant so that the ramp, and there he saw on the side of the liner, just for an instant so that 145 145 he was forced to rewind the image and freeze it to be sure, the word 'Jasmine' in immaculately italicised letters. immaculately italicised letters.

He felt so stupid. What a dolt. There she was having the time of her life while his life had fallen apart and lay in pieces at his feet. How stupid could he be? his life had fallen apart and lay in pieces at his feet. How stupid could he be?

How. . . stupid. . . ?

So he'd moved on, accepting a job with SysTime that took him under the Gobi for five years. Field research that would keep him busy and take his mind off for five years. Field research that would keep him busy and take his mind off things. He sold the apartment and rented a place near his work. He took the things. He sold the apartment and rented a place near his work. He took the decision to obliterate every shred of evidence he possessed that she'd ever existed. decision to obliterate every shred of evidence he possessed that she'd ever existed.

All the pictures, the 'grams, her letters and her emails. And gradually, through a great effort of will, he'd managed to forget her. Almost. Just about. great effort of will, he'd managed to forget her. Almost. Just about.

Except when be tried to sleep. Or when he tried to enjoy himself. Or when he tried to start a new relationship. Or when he. . . From the Gobi he'd gone to work tried to start a new relationship. Or when he. . . From the Gobi he'd gone to work on campus in 'Zona. There had been many chances there to start a new life and on campus in 'Zona. There had been many chances there to start a new life and a new serious relationship. But somehow he was never, ever in the mood. After a new serious relationship. But somehow he was never, ever in the mood. After only a year he was ready to move on, looking for work that would put him as far only a year he was ready to move on, looking for work that would put him as far away as possible from other people. He worked on Gildus Prime, finding a post away as possible from other people. He worked on Gildus Prime, finding a post there that allowed him to vanish into the wilderness for weeks on end. But Gildus there that allowed him to vanish into the wilderness for weeks on end. But Gildus Prime had proven a lifeless rock that was hazardously close to a spatial anomaly. Prime had proven a lifeless rock that was hazardously close to a spatial anomaly.

Nothing there for an archaeologist to work on. The attempts at settlement were a disaster, and the place had been finally abandoned after years of speculation. a disaster, and the place had been finally abandoned after years of speculation.

Now it contained a remote-controlled comp base and the anomaly was used to gatecrash the subether system for info-freight but nothing heavier than electrons. gatecrash the subether system for info-freight but nothing heavier than electrons.

A whole string of solitary jobs followed. Danyal Bains had grown happy in seclusion. He'd grown into selfish habits. He'd grown into a dour old sod. seclusion. He'd grown into selfish habits. He'd grown into a dour old sod.

Then, thirty whole years later, the 'gram came through. A message lodged on his answer service. One of a large batch that he almost wiped without scanning. his answer service. One of a large batch that he almost wiped without scanning.

Christ knew how she'd tracked him down.

She'd unfolded into the air in front of him, her face lined with fear. Her eyes were everywhere, wild and terrified. The tension gripped his guts and he glared at were everywhere, wild and terrified. The tension gripped his guts and he glared at the face he hadn't seen for three decades. the face he hadn't seen for three decades.

'I'm sorry, Dan,' she'd said. She was close to tears. 'I'm sorry. We need to talk.

We need to meet. . . '

To meet! After thirty years! To meet! His reaction was understandable. He cancelled the 'gram and forgot all about it. For several minutes. Then he'd mulled cancelled the 'gram and forgot all about it. For several minutes. Then he'd mulled over what on Earth the gram could mean for the next two weeks. And finally his over what on Earth the gram could mean for the next two weeks. And finally his curiosity had got the better of him and he'd retrieved the 'gram from his bin, where curiosity had got the better of him and he'd retrieved the 'gram from his bin, where it had lain waiting to be wiped when he got round to it. it had lain waiting to be wiped when he got round to it.

146.She'd set up a rendezvous for the following week.

So off he went. As arranged. An apartment in a block on the expensive side of the town where they first met. Her 'gram had contained a pa.s.scode and that of the town where they first met. Her 'gram had contained a pa.s.scode and that worked fine to get him in. But he found the place deserted. At first he thought worked fine to get him in. But he found the place deserted. At first he thought she hadn't turned up. He waited a couple of hours, using the holowalls to fill the she hadn't turned up. He waited a couple of hours, using the holowalls to fill the time. Then he'd got bored and started to nose around, checking all the rooms. The time. Then he'd got bored and started to nose around, checking all the rooms. The master bedroom contained a wall of mirrored doors, and he found himself in front master bedroom contained a wall of mirrored doors, and he found himself in front of them watching the scruffy figure he'd become gazing back out at him like a lost of them watching the scruffy figure he'd become gazing back out at him like a lost soul. soul.

It was then he'd heard the breathing. Such a soft sound. Hardly audible at all above the m.u.f.fled background buzz of traffic and heating and air conditioning. above the m.u.f.fled background buzz of traffic and heating and air conditioning.

But he'd heard it and he opened the mirrored door to find her slumped inside.

She was as beautiful as the day they'd first met. Slim and dark-haired. But she crouched there in the bottom of the empty wardrobe, knees thrust up and hands crouched there in the bottom of the empty wardrobe, knees thrust up and hands lying loose at her sides. Her face was bent in his direction but she gazed right lying loose at her sides. Her face was bent in his direction but she gazed right through him. He knelt in front of her, afraid to touch, and she didn't react at all. through him. He knelt in front of her, afraid to touch, and she didn't react at all.

'Jazz?'

Silence, except for the hardly audible sound of her breathing. Eyes wide open n.o.body home. Autonomic pilot. Her empty eyes were the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. he'd ever seen.

Somebody laughed. A burst of mirth that brought Bains back. The drink was still in his hand, in a state of suspended animation, frozen in the s.p.a.ce in front of his face.

He watched a group of people in comptech uniforms sitting at a nearby table.

They all looked fit to drop. Since the city had been experiencing progressively more frequent power glitches, Bains supposed they were working extended shifts trying to clear the problem.

He glanced out of the observation screen. Wind and sand and swirling night.

Tumultuous stuff like he felt inside. He scanned the vast area that was For'ard Obs, trying to locate Carly. There weren't a lot of people in tonight. And Carly wasn't one of them.

Yan Leung had signed up for Military One with visions of Important Roles in civilian disasters. He saw himself as a dynamic hero dashing in to save lives where others feared to tread. He saw himself hanging by the tips of his fingers from dangerous precipices, stretching inexorably to grasp wide-eyed children from the very jaws of oblivion. He saw himself tearing across the still bur-bling surface of a seismic collapse, screaming through gritted teeth, face all 147 smeared with fresh-churned mud, a man on each shoulder as he punched his legs with dogged determination towards safety and salvation. He spent long, hard hours punishing himself in the military gym, finely honing his already powerful physique in preparation for just such eventualities.