them.
‘Where the hell is my autodoc? My new autodoc!’
‘I can’t—’ The nearest medic had paled. ‘No one came past us.’
But scarlet alarm-icons continued to flare.
‘Look.’ Dr Keele opened a holovolume. ‘See?’
In the holo, a narrow-bodied woman with dirty-blond hair came into this room, tu-rings blazing on her fists, and commanded the autodoc to open. She stopped, stared into whatever area of wall had recorded this, and pulled a rictus expression, a corpse’s smile.
Bitch
.
Her eyes were colder than a reptile’s. Or perhaps it was simply this: he knew what she had done, what she had caused with her manipulation.
You fucking bitch
.
Inside the image, Helsen climbed into the autodoc, and crouched as it sealed up. Roger could not help his grasping gesture; but it was too late to catch her, at least like that.
I will kill you
.
Beneath the autodoc, the quickglass floor began to spiral, creating a viscous vortex into which, seconds later, the autodoc sank. Then it was completely under. Movement showed as a rippling shadow, then nothing, as if a pond-fish had flicked its muscles to swim from sight.
‘She walked right in,’ said Dr Keele.
‘That’s not possible.’ Another medic was shaking his head. ‘Not without light-bending tech to create invisibility … but even so, we were right outside.’
‘Not light-bending,’ said Roger.
It was the darkness that was the enemy, not just a single, manipulative, psychotic woman.
‘Not—?’
‘Mind-bending,’ said Roger. ‘She’s very good at it.’
‘You
know
her?’ Dr Keele, unsympathetic before, used her voice like a flail. ‘What is this about, Pilot Blackstone?’
The other medics looked surprised. Roger was still wearing smartlenses.
Just as well
.
Because energies were building inside his eyes: energies he wanted to let loose, coruscating and deadly; but there was no point because the bitch from hell was gone.
‘That was Dr Petra Helsen, formerly of Lucis Multiversity on Fulgor,’ he said. ‘And I’ve reason to believe she engineered the coming of the Anomaly.’
The medics stared.
You think I care about a piece of stolen med-kit?
Movement caused his attention to flick to a new location: a doorway where a scar-faced man was entering. His shoulders were thick, his limbs stocky and muscular; but that was not why the medics moved back. Authority came from his gait and gaze.
Law enforcement.
‘Pilot Blackstone,’ he said. ‘I think you and I might have a useful chat. My name’s Tannier.’
‘All right,’ said Roger.
But less than an hour and a half remained before Jed’s reinsertion into realspace, and Roger’s only chance of getting away from this place.
Helsen is here
.
Dr Keele’s harsh face was a reminder that doing the right thing was a matter of seeing straight and planning: something Roger needed to do more of. He could start by clarifying what he wanted.
‘Catch Helsen,’ he said. ‘Just catch her.’
‘If we can,’ said Tannier. ‘She’s disappeared, and that’s quite a trick for an offworlder.’
‘Disappeared with an autodoc?’ Dr Keele sounded scathing. ‘How can that be?’
‘About as easy,’ said Tannier, ‘as stealing it from under your noses, Doctor.’
Roger felt his mouth twitch.
‘Take me in to headquarters, or whatever you do,’ he said. ‘And I’ll talk to you gladly.’
He looked at Helsen’s image as the video log replayed.
My enemy
.
And Tannier’s reply was lost in the surf-sound of auditory exclusion, a facet of the adrenal stress response that Roger was becoming used to: his neuromuscular system reacting to the threat of lethal danger, the atavistic recognition of a nonhuman predator, because that was what Helsen had become: a conduit for the darkness, a vessel for a power that had created a mind-consuming planetary entity for unknowable purpose. Helsen was a thing that needed to be stamped out, crushed into particles that could never form a
‘Where the hell is my autodoc? My new autodoc!’
‘I can’t—’ The nearest medic had paled. ‘No one came past us.’
But scarlet alarm-icons continued to flare.
‘Look.’ Dr Keele opened a holovolume. ‘See?’
In the holo, a narrow-bodied woman with dirty-blond hair came into this room, tu-rings blazing on her fists, and commanded the autodoc to open. She stopped, stared into whatever area of wall had recorded this, and pulled a rictus expression, a corpse’s smile.
Bitch
.
Her eyes were colder than a reptile’s. Or perhaps it was simply this: he knew what she had done, what she had caused with her manipulation.
You fucking bitch
.
Inside the image, Helsen climbed into the autodoc, and crouched as it sealed up. Roger could not help his grasping gesture; but it was too late to catch her, at least like that.
I will kill you
.
Beneath the autodoc, the quickglass floor began to spiral, creating a viscous vortex into which, seconds later, the autodoc sank. Then it was completely under. Movement showed as a rippling shadow, then nothing, as if a pond-fish had flicked its muscles to swim from sight.
‘She walked right in,’ said Dr Keele.
‘That’s not possible.’ Another medic was shaking his head. ‘Not without light-bending tech to create invisibility … but even so, we were right outside.’
‘Not light-bending,’ said Roger.
It was the darkness that was the enemy, not just a single, manipulative, psychotic woman.
‘Not—?’
‘Mind-bending,’ said Roger. ‘She’s very good at it.’
‘You
know
her?’ Dr Keele, unsympathetic before, used her voice like a flail. ‘What is this about, Pilot Blackstone?’
The other medics looked surprised. Roger was still wearing smartlenses.
Just as well
.
Because energies were building inside his eyes: energies he wanted to let loose, coruscating and deadly; but there was no point because the bitch from hell was gone.
‘That was Dr Petra Helsen, formerly of Lucis Multiversity on Fulgor,’ he said. ‘And I’ve reason to believe she engineered the coming of the Anomaly.’
The medics stared.
You think I care about a piece of stolen med-kit?
Movement caused his attention to flick to a new location: a doorway where a scar-faced man was entering. His shoulders were thick, his limbs stocky and muscular; but that was not why the medics moved back. Authority came from his gait and gaze.
Law enforcement.
‘Pilot Blackstone,’ he said. ‘I think you and I might have a useful chat. My name’s Tannier.’
‘All right,’ said Roger.
But less than an hour and a half remained before Jed’s reinsertion into realspace, and Roger’s only chance of getting away from this place.
Helsen is here
.
Dr Keele’s harsh face was a reminder that doing the right thing was a matter of seeing straight and planning: something Roger needed to do more of. He could start by clarifying what he wanted.
‘Catch Helsen,’ he said. ‘Just catch her.’
‘If we can,’ said Tannier. ‘She’s disappeared, and that’s quite a trick for an offworlder.’
‘Disappeared with an autodoc?’ Dr Keele sounded scathing. ‘How can that be?’
‘About as easy,’ said Tannier, ‘as stealing it from under your noses, Doctor.’
Roger felt his mouth twitch.
‘Take me in to headquarters, or whatever you do,’ he said. ‘And I’ll talk to you gladly.’
He looked at Helsen’s image as the video log replayed.
My enemy
.
And Tannier’s reply was lost in the surf-sound of auditory exclusion, a facet of the adrenal stress response that Roger was becoming used to: his neuromuscular system reacting to the threat of lethal danger, the atavistic recognition of a nonhuman predator, because that was what Helsen had become: a conduit for the darkness, a vessel for a power that had created a mind-consuming planetary entity for unknowable purpose. Helsen was a thing that needed to be stamped out, crushed into particles that could never form a
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