was her business.
He smiled regretfully, thinking of his own latest affair. A girl in the air corps, keen on skiing and ancient flying machines; long red hair and a wicked laugh.
Never again, he thought. Never again.
Well, he could be her incubus, of course, but it would never be quite the same.
Perhaps if he appeared to her in the guise of an antique airman . . .
... Anyway, he would call Nifel, the clan Security chief; the man was ferociously efficient and he felt they had become friends over the years. Probably never have got into this mess if Nifel had been in charge; trust the Army. Nifel; just the man, Sessine thought. He turned the screen on, sound only.
‘Nifel, Mika; officer clan Aerospace, Serehfa.’
‘Nifel’s agent-construct.’
‘Sessine.’
‘Count. We have heard. Commander Nifel is shocked and saddened. He—’
‘Really? How unoriginal of him.’
‘Indeed, sir. He wishes to know why you did not want the in-crypt support systems instigated around your data-set.’
‘But I do,’ Sessine told the construct, and felt fear. ‘I always did. Kindly institute them immediately and tell Nifel the Army may be behind all this; Army intelligence, especially. I am down to my last life in here and whoever killed me the other seven times comes very well-equipped, very well-informed and with the ability to intercept calls from the crypt to specific Army high staff.’
‘I shall inform Commander Nifel—’
‘Never mind informing him; first get those support systems running and give me some back-up down here.’
‘It is being done.’ There was a pause. ‘What is your location, sir?’
‘I’m in . . .’ Sessine hesitated, then smiled. He had died eight times today; seven of them in the space of about a tenth of a second, real time. He was becoming cagey at last. ‘First,’ he said, ‘complete this phrase, if you will: Aequitas sequitur . . .’
‘Legem, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ Sessine said.
‘. . . your location, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon. Of course. I am near the representation of a place called Kittyhawk, North Carolina, North America.’
‘Thank you, sir. Commander Nifel, on your instructions—’
‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’
‘Sir.’
He switched the machine off and sat on the bed for a moment, his head in his hands.
So there was nowhere in the real world to turn.
Aequitas sequitur funera had been the more mordant version of the saying he and Nifel had settled on.
He stood, looked once around the room, then opened the door and left. The gun’s bulk simply vanished from the small of his back as soon as he crossed the threshold. He paused.
Well now, he thought, for the duration of these real days I am like the ancients used to be; restricted to one careful life in a time of danger. Every instant might be his last, and the only memories he could access were those in his own mind.
Nevertheless, he told himself, he was still better off than those of purely mortal ages; he could hope that he would wake up again after his funeral, and rejoin the universe of the crypt for at least a little of eternity. Somehow, though, given the ferocity and apparent profundity of the forces ranged against him, he doubted that was really likely, and suspected he was indeed on his own, with one slim chance of survival. Desperado , he thought, and smiled, amused at his fall from power and grace.
He wondered anew how the ancients had endured such fragility and ignorance, then shrugged, closed the door and walked down the dim, deserted corridor.
Aequitas sequitur funera. Justice follows the grave, not the law.
It had not occurred to him he would ever employ that mutated phrase in circumstances that might give him the chance to verify it.
Or refute it, of course.
4
Ince thi sky woz ful ov birdz; used 2 go blak wif birds it did & birdz roold thi air (wel, apart from thi insectz) but thas all changed now; hoomins came along & startd shootin &
He smiled regretfully, thinking of his own latest affair. A girl in the air corps, keen on skiing and ancient flying machines; long red hair and a wicked laugh.
Never again, he thought. Never again.
Well, he could be her incubus, of course, but it would never be quite the same.
Perhaps if he appeared to her in the guise of an antique airman . . .
... Anyway, he would call Nifel, the clan Security chief; the man was ferociously efficient and he felt they had become friends over the years. Probably never have got into this mess if Nifel had been in charge; trust the Army. Nifel; just the man, Sessine thought. He turned the screen on, sound only.
‘Nifel, Mika; officer clan Aerospace, Serehfa.’
‘Nifel’s agent-construct.’
‘Sessine.’
‘Count. We have heard. Commander Nifel is shocked and saddened. He—’
‘Really? How unoriginal of him.’
‘Indeed, sir. He wishes to know why you did not want the in-crypt support systems instigated around your data-set.’
‘But I do,’ Sessine told the construct, and felt fear. ‘I always did. Kindly institute them immediately and tell Nifel the Army may be behind all this; Army intelligence, especially. I am down to my last life in here and whoever killed me the other seven times comes very well-equipped, very well-informed and with the ability to intercept calls from the crypt to specific Army high staff.’
‘I shall inform Commander Nifel—’
‘Never mind informing him; first get those support systems running and give me some back-up down here.’
‘It is being done.’ There was a pause. ‘What is your location, sir?’
‘I’m in . . .’ Sessine hesitated, then smiled. He had died eight times today; seven of them in the space of about a tenth of a second, real time. He was becoming cagey at last. ‘First,’ he said, ‘complete this phrase, if you will: Aequitas sequitur . . .’
‘Legem, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ Sessine said.
‘. . . your location, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon. Of course. I am near the representation of a place called Kittyhawk, North Carolina, North America.’
‘Thank you, sir. Commander Nifel, on your instructions—’
‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’
‘Sir.’
He switched the machine off and sat on the bed for a moment, his head in his hands.
So there was nowhere in the real world to turn.
Aequitas sequitur funera had been the more mordant version of the saying he and Nifel had settled on.
He stood, looked once around the room, then opened the door and left. The gun’s bulk simply vanished from the small of his back as soon as he crossed the threshold. He paused.
Well now, he thought, for the duration of these real days I am like the ancients used to be; restricted to one careful life in a time of danger. Every instant might be his last, and the only memories he could access were those in his own mind.
Nevertheless, he told himself, he was still better off than those of purely mortal ages; he could hope that he would wake up again after his funeral, and rejoin the universe of the crypt for at least a little of eternity. Somehow, though, given the ferocity and apparent profundity of the forces ranged against him, he doubted that was really likely, and suspected he was indeed on his own, with one slim chance of survival. Desperado , he thought, and smiled, amused at his fall from power and grace.
He wondered anew how the ancients had endured such fragility and ignorance, then shrugged, closed the door and walked down the dim, deserted corridor.
Aequitas sequitur funera. Justice follows the grave, not the law.
It had not occurred to him he would ever employ that mutated phrase in circumstances that might give him the chance to verify it.
Or refute it, of course.
4
Ince thi sky woz ful ov birdz; used 2 go blak wif birds it did & birdz roold thi air (wel, apart from thi insectz) but thas all changed now; hoomins came along & startd shootin &
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