Xenopath, page 30
The gate swung slowly open and Vaughan slipped through and approached the mansion through a garden arrayed with miniature palms and bougainvillaea, the sunlight bringing him out in an uncomfortable sweat. Guards strolled along the crazy-paved pathways, armed with laser carbines. Around the perimeter fence, more guards patrolled with snarling dogs.
Vaughan paused before the front door, wondering whether protocol dictated he should enter or ring the bell. No sooner had he had the thought, than he felt a stirring in his head. Khar, dictating his actions...
He rang the bell, and a second later a silver-suited heavy pulled open the door and ushered him in. “The Old Man’s in his study, Keilor. Go on through.” The bodyguard indicated a door at the end of a long, timber-floored corridor. Vaughan nodded and made his way towards it, Khar subliminally easing his nerves.
The first hurdle over, he thought. The chu fooled the heavy, at least.
Be calm, Khar said. You will succeed.
He paused before the door, took a deep breath and knocked. Of course, if Scheering were not alone...
“Come in, Keilor.”
He opened the door and stepped inside. The first thing that struck him was the size of the room. He had expected a medium-sized study, not this great open space of timber flooring and white walls, backed by a vast window that looked out over the dazzling azure sea.
The second thing Vaughan noted, with relief, was that Scheering was alone.
The head of the Scheering-Lassiter organisation, the biggest multicolonial concern in the galaxy, one of the wealthiest men on this or any other planet, sat behind a big wooden desk at the far end of the room, leaning forward and staring at his visitor. He was silver-haired and heavy-jowled. Even seated, there was something imposing, almost regal, in his bearing. He was like an enthroned monarch, imperiously aware of his power.
“The girl? You said you’d bring her in by midday.”
Vaughan knew he should approach the desk and spray Scheering in the face with the anaesthetic, take no risks and get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Instead, something made him deviate from the script. He walked across the room until he was a couple of metres from the desk, staring down at Scheering.
Then he slipped the pistol from his jacket and levelled it. “Raise your hands. Stand up and back away from the desk.”
Scheering’s big face formed a faltering smile. “Keilor, this is some kind of stunt, right? A joke?”
“Stand up!” Vaughan snapped, stepping forward and aiming the pistol at Scheering’s forehead.
Scheering stood quickly, toppling his chair and backing towards the picture window.
“Hands up!”
Obediently, Scheering raised his fat paws. “Keilor?” he peered at Vaughan, doubtfully.
Be careful, Khar warned.
Vaughan reached up and removed the chu.
The colour drained from Scheering’s face. He shook his head and said in a croak, “What do you want? If it’s money, that can be arranged.”
Vaughan could not help but smile. “Is that how you get out of every problem, Scheering? Throw money at it? Or are some problems too difficult to buy your way out of? What do you do then?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you can’t buy what you want, you employ violence, right? You either hire assassins like Keilor, or send your armies in to kill innocents.”
“What do you want?” Scheering tried to imbue the question with authority, but his voice wavered.
“I want to bring an end to the slaughter of aliens on Mallory,” Vaughan said, and delighted at the look of alarm that briefly filled Scheering’s eyes.
He walked around the desk, keeping the pistol aimed at Scheering. “Sit down. On the floor!”
The big man looked at the polished timber flooring as if the indignity of sitting upon it was beyond him. Vaughan stepped forward, brandishing the weapon, and Scheering clumsily fell to his knees, then manoeuvred his bulk into a sitting position against the glass.
Vaughan swivelled the chair Scheering had just vacated and sat down, leaning forward. “Tell me something, do you manage to sleep with the thought that you’re personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds, thousands, of aliens?”
Scheering managed a smile. He seemed to have overcome his initial shock, taken stock of the situation. He rallied, perhaps buying time. “It was a choice between the continued prosperity of six million colonists on Mallory and the lives of a few thousand aliens.” He shrugged. “It was no choice, my friend. I look after my people.”
“You look after yourself,” Vaughan said. “You look after your investors, your shareholders. You do evil and call it good.”
“As I am fond of telling the man you impersonated,” Scheering smiled, “there is no such thing as good and evil, only—”
“Only those who are strong, and those who are weak,” Vaughan finished.
Scheering stared at him. “And Keilor?” he said. “What did you do—?”
“He’s dead,” Vaughan replied. “He wasn’t strong enough, in the end.”
Fear showed in Scheering’s eyes. “What do you want?”
“Personally,” Vaughan said, “I want to kill you. The animal in me wants recompense for all the misery and suffering you and your company have caused, to aliens and humans alike.”
Scheering was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming in through the window at his back. A trickle ran from his brow and tracked down the side of his nose. For a second, Vaughan mistook it for a tear.
Scheering said, “You do realise, don’t you, that this office is monitored? You don’t think I’d overlook such a security risk?”
Vaughan smiled. “Monitored? Then your security team must be looking the other way. I don’t see anyone rushing to your aid.”
Scheering moved, then. For a man of his bulk, he leapt up with surprising agility. He flung himself towards the wall, reaching out for a security alarm.
Vaughan stood and kicked out, connecting with the man’s padded gut. Scheering grunted and slumped to the floor. Vaughan stood over him and kicked out again, this time turning Scheering onto his back.
The millionaire stared up at him, something quailing and defeated in his eyes. Vaughan smiled. Revenge was sweet.
“How would you like to die, Scheering? A quick laser pulse to the head, killing you instantly? Or should I strangle you, slowly? Give you time to think about all the people you ordered Keilor to murder, all the Hortavans you massacred?”
“Don’t kill me!” Scheering pleaded.
Vaughan laughed. “Kill you? I’d like to, but death’s too good for you. I came here with not the slightest intention of killing you.”
Scheering blinked up at him. “Then what?” he said, a pitiful note of desperation in his voice.
“I want you to live to regret your actions on Mallory,” Vaughan said. “I want you to see the error of your policy there, and overturn it.”
Scheering blinked. “I... I understand. My life, for promises—”
Vaughan cut in. “As if I’d trust you to keep promises!”
The millionaire stammered, “Then how?”
Vaughan smiled. “Think about it. How can I let you live, and be assured that things will change on Mallory? You’re a greedy man, Scheering. You have vested interests. Nothing comes between you and profits. Not even a race of innocent aliens.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I said think about it. I’m going to let you live, and you’re going to change your policy on Mallory.”
Sudden understanding flared in Scheering’s eyes. “No!”
Vaughan smiled. “Yes. I have a Hortavan xenopath riding in my head.”
He was rewarded, then, by an expression of total fear on Scheering’s overweight face. “No! You can’t!”
Vaughan moved. He knelt on Scheering’s chest, ensuring he hurt the millionaire. “This is for all those innocent whose lives you’ve destroyed, Scheering.”
He pulled the spray from his pocket and gave Scheering a short blast, just enough to subdue him without knocking him out entirely. He wanted the bastard awake while he did what he had to do next.
He ripped open the front of Scheering’s silk shirt and located the discreet bulge of his implanted mind-shield just below the right clavicle. Scheering stared up at him, terror in his eyes. He looked, Vaughan thought, like a rat confronted by a cobra about to strike.
The millionaire slurred, “No, please...”
Vaughan sliced with the scalpel, making a bloody incision through the man’s chest. Scheering made a low moan of pain and protest, and when Vaughan looked up he saw that the millionaire was weeping.
He pressed down on the rectangular bulge beneath Scheering’s flabby pectoral, and the bloody mind-shield slipped out. He tossed it across the room.
His implant still activated, Vaughan was swamped by a maelstrom of rage and ego, fear and dread. The millionaire knew what was about to happen, and Vaughan read a terrible sense of loss as Scheering began to understand that everything he had worked and schemed for, the power he had accrued over the decades, was quickly coming to an end.
The ego of the man sickened him, and he deactivated his implant. The ensuing mind-silence was an instant relief.
“No,” Scheering moaned. “You can’t do this.”
“Think again, pal.”
Khar stirred in Vaughan’s head. There are no words to thank you enough, my friend. I will be in touch. Goodbye, Vaughan.
Farewell, Vaughan thought, and felt a dizzying heat pass through his head as Khar vacated his mind and lodged itself in Scheering’s consciousness.
Vaughan retrieved the shield and slipped it back under the sliced flesh of Scheering’s chest, then sealed the wound with synthi-flesh. The millionaire struggled, too enfeebled to get to his feet.
“Vaughan...”
It was Scheering’s voice, but modulated, softened.
“Khar?”
“I am in control, Vaughan. If you would assist me...”
Vaughan helped the millionaire to his feet, then eased him onto the chair behind the desk.
Scheering stared at him, and Vaughan told himself that he could detect, somewhere behind the man’s eyes, the tempering sensibility of the alien.
Scheering gestured. “I... I am in full control of Scheering, though to inhabit the mind responsible for such atrocities...” He fell silent, then smiled. “To have such power at one’s fingertips,” he said, “such means to effect good in the galaxy...”
Vaughan said, “What will the world think when Scheering becomes an altruist?”
Khar-in-Scheering smiled. “That,” he said, “will be very interesting.”
Vaughan moved around the desk, found the chu where he’d dropped it and pulled the mask over his head.
He reached out and shook the man’s hand. “Goodbye, Khar,” he said.
“I will be in contact, Vaughan. Perhaps you and your family would like to visit Mallory, one day?”
Vaughan nodded. “I’d like that,” he said.
“The blessings of my kind go with you, my friend.”
Vaughan turned and left the study. He walked along the corridor, towards the front door. The heavy appeared, grinning. “The Old Man give you a roasting, huh?”
Vaughan smiled. “Too right, bud,” he said, and stepped through the front door.
The sunlight dazzled, warming him. He crossed the garden, affecting nonchalance as he passed the guards, hurried through the wrought iron gates to the landing pad.
He slipped into the back seat of the air-taxi.
Kapinsky peered at him. “You took your time. I was getting worried.”
He pulled off the chu and passed it to Kapinsky, along with the pistol. “It’s done,” he said, and sat back as the flier lifted, turned and carried him south, towards home.
He felt, suddenly, very light-headed. He thought ahead, to life with Sukara and their daughter. He would throw himself with pleasure into such small-scale domesticity, while on a distant colony world an alien race enjoyed a secure future. It was a dichotomy too wondrous to comprehend.
He stared out through the side window at the Station passing far below, and something in him wanted to laugh out loud in delight.
EPILOGUE
FAMILY LIFE
PHAM COULDN’T STOP herself from crying when Sukara passed her the baby.
They were sitting in the sofa bunker in the Level Two apartment. Sukara had arrived home from hospital just an hour earlier.
“Like to hold her, Pham?” Sukara asked.
Pham stared at the tiny, scrunched up baby in the crook of Sukara’s arm. She looked up at Jeff, as if asking his permission. He smiled and gestured for her to go ahead.
Sukara eased the tiny bundle into her arms, and Pham stared at little Li’s tiny face, touched her minuscule fingers, and she wept. Sukara leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
“So beautiful,” Pham murmured.
Jeff’s handset chimed and he accessed the call.
The screen showed the thin face of Lin Kapinsky, Jeff’s business partner. “Hey, Jeff—you heard the news?”
“What?”
“Switch on to Channel Ten.”
Sukara grabbed the controls and zapped the wallscreen across the room. The screen flared, showing an overweight Westerner in a silver-grey suit. He was standing at a dais, flanked by other important-looking men and women, and reading from a softscreen.
“Hey,” Jeff said. “That’s Scheering.”
He looked at Pham and smiled. Scheering was the man who Khar now lived in, she knew. She watched the screen as the man made his speech.
“And therefore the scaled withdrawal of the human population on the former colony world of Mallory will begin at midnight tonight, and from today forward the rights of the sentient beings known as the Hortavans will be recognised as sovereign...” He went on, detailing the exodus.
On Jeff’s screen, Lin Kapinsky said, “Scheering contacted me an hour ago, Jeff. He’s finalised payment for the work you did on Mallory. How does fifty thousand baht sound?”
Jeff smiled. “Should keep the wolf from the door for a while.”
“Of course, I’ll be taking my cut.”
“And me with my growing family,” Jeff smiled.
Lin said, “Oh, I almost forgot about that—congratulations, Jeff. What does it feel like to have a daughter?”
Jeff reached out and stroked Li’s cheek. Then he lifted Pham onto his knee. “Two daughters, Lin. We officially adopted Pham a couple of days ago.”
“Hell, Jeff, you’ll be so busy housekeeping you won’t have time to work for me. Speaking of which...”
“I’m on holiday, Lin.”
The face on the screen smiled. “Sure you are, Jeff. But back next week, okay? We have work to do!”
Jeff laughed and cut the connection.
Pham looked up at him and stroked his unshaven chin. “Fifty thousand baht, Jeff? Ice creams all round?”
Sukara laughed and ruffled Pham’s hair.
“Hey,” Jeff said. “Why not? Let’s find an expensive café up top and celebrate, okay?”
His handset chimed again. Pham made out a small, wrinkled face staring out of the screen.
She looked up at Jeff. He seemed amazed. “Breitenbach? Christ, where the hell are you?”
The old man laughed. “Where else?” he said. “Bengal Station.”
“When did you get in?”
“This morning,” Breitenbach said. “It appears I’ve been evicted from Mallory.”
“I’ve just heard the news.”
“You know something? I think I’ll miss those mountains.” The old man laughed. “Anyway, I was hoping we might meet. I want to hear all about what happened.”
“That’ll be great.”
Breitenbach smiled, then said, “I have a lot to thank you for, Mr Vaughan.”
Jeff arranged to meet the old man later that day, and cut the connection.
“Who’s Breitenbach, Jeff?” Pham asked.
“Tell you all about him over ice cream,” he said. He reached out and stroked Sukara’s cheek.
Pham looked down at the tiny baby in her lap. My little sister, she thought. And it came to her with amazement, not for the first time, that she was part of a real and loving family.
The girl who, three months ago, had left Level Twenty would never have believed it possible.
Later, with Li swaddled in a papoose on Sukara’s chest and Pham riding on Jeff’s shoulders, they left the apartment and rose into the sunlight.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eric Brown’s first short story was published in Interzone in 1987, and he sold his first novel, Meridian Days, in 1992. He has won the British Science Fiction Award twice for his short stories and has published thirty books: SF novels, collections, books for teenagers and younger children, and he writes a monthly SF review column for The Guardian. His latest books include the novella, Starship Summer, and the novel Kéthani. He is married to the writer and mediaevalist Finn Sinclair and they have a daughter, Freya.
His website can be found at: www.ericbrown.co.uk
Once the Enginemen pushed bigships through the cobalt glory of the nada-continuum. But faster than light isn't fast enough anymore. The interfaces of the Keilor-Vincicoff Organisation bring planets light years distant a simple step away. Then a man with half a face offers ex-Engineman Ralph Mirren the chance to escape his ruined life and push a ship to an undisclosed destination. The nada-continuum holds the key to Ralph's future. What he cannot anticipate is its universal importance - nor the mystery awaiting him on the distant colony world.
Engineman is a thrilling action adventure by the author of Helix and Kethani. Also in this volume are eight stories set in the Engineman universe, including the Interzone award-winning 'The Time-Lapsed Man.'
www.solarisbooks.com
