Part 20 (2/2)

Fitz was seized with a sudden impulse to tell his friend everything. He fought it down. Too b.l.o.o.d.y late now anyway. Why hadn't he warned anyone? Didn't want to harm the timelines. What utter b.o.l.l.o.c.ks! Millions were going to die Il-Eruk, Zabulong, Val, President Vargeld and his goons and he could have prevented it. You could have done something, Fitz Kreiner. You could have made a difference, but what did you do? You tried to run away, and failed. You got p.i.s.sed out of your face. You ran away with the President's girlfriend only to be caught and that's why you're here now, you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Arielle. She was probably still on Yquatine now, still in a coma. She may even be dead. Fitz hoped she was. He couldn't stand the thought of her face staring up at the sky as the black s.h.i.+ps polluted the air with their filth, screaming as the first spots of acid rain hit her skin Fitz fell to his knees, pressing his eyes shut, his gloved hands clawing at the dome of his helmet. He screamed in frustration and confusion, letting out all his pain, all his fear. How had he come to this? Why was the universe doing this to him? What had he done to deserve this?

Hands on his shoulders, a voice crackling in his ear, the concern evident even through the small speaker. 'Hey, friend, what's the matter?'

Fitz couldn't wipe the tears away, nor the snot that had begun to trickle from his nose. ''S all right,' he said, his voice thick and numb, his throat aching. 'I get a little claustrophobic in these suits '

'Shh!' The sound was a harsh burst of static. 'Don't let Dakrius hear that or he'll send you straight back to the Centre!'

Fitz bit his bottom lip. 'Course, yeah.' The thought of being sent back to Yquatine right now brought him back to his senses and he got to his feet, allowing Sorswo to help him, his qualm over.

Get a grip, Fitz. Don't give in to insanity. Was he p.r.o.ne to it? Would he end up like his mother? Would madness be a welcome release? Was that how it been for his mother?

So easy to give in, to abdicate responsibility for yourself.

As he stood, these dark thoughts swimming through his mind, something flashed on the horizon off to his right. He blinked, looked again. There, in the distance, was a silver shape, bright against the darkness of s.p.a.ce.

He pointed. 'Look.'

Sorswo looked. 'Well, I say.'

It was a s.p.a.cesuited figure. a few miles distant, standing on a low scarp of grey rock which bordered the horizon. As they both stared, the figure ducked down sunlight flas.h.i.+ng off its visor and was gone.

'That was odd,' muttered Sorswo. 'Section Leader, sir!'

Dakrius's voice crackled in Fitz's helmet. 'What is it, Sorswo?'

'Is everyone accounted for?'

Dakrius confirmed that they were. 'Why do you ask?'

'We saw someone, on the horizon.'

Dakrius sounded indifferent. 'Probably someone from the university.'

'That's kilometres away,' said Sorswo. 'On the other side of the moon! It might be someone in trouble.'

Dakrius sighed. 'OK, finish up at the dome and then take the buggy.' Satisfaction crept into his harsh, grating tones. 'I'll be watching you, don't worry.'

A few minutes later, Fitz and Sorswo were rolling across the lunar landscape in the small buggy used to ferry prisoners and materials between domes.

This was clearly their one chance to escape, though Fitz dared not voice the thought. Dakrius was monitoring their conversation.

They climbed the escarpment. It sloped down gently on the other side. Footprints could clearly he seen, leading down the slope, towards a range of small mountains.

They drove the buggy to the edge of this. There was a small pa.s.sageway into the mountains.

Sorswo described the conditions to Dakrius.

Silence, then: 'Proceed, but be careful.'

Sorswo shot Fitz a rueful glance from beneath his faceplate. The look said it all: we're criminals, we're expendable.

They dismounted from the buggy and Sorswo led the way along the pa.s.sage. Walls of rock reared up on either side at wild angles, there was little light. Fitz switched on his helmet lamp.

They walked for what seemed like ages.

They came out into a clearing a deep, bowl-floored crater with walls hundreds of feet high.

Fitz and Sors...o...b..th cried out in exclamation at what they saw on the floor of the crater.

'What is it?' came Dakrius's voice.

How to describe the thing? It crouched in the bottom of the crater, like a giant, sprawling black flower or a mutated spider. The central ma.s.s was a pulsating abdomen the size of a house. Trailing out from it were hundreds of thin, black, hairlike roots or legs which shuddered and trembled as if alive.

And standing in front of the thing was the figure in the s.p.a.cesuit, one hand behind its back. Its faceplate was black, as if it had been coated from the inside.

'There's someone here, and some sort of growth,' began Sorswo. 'It's '

The figure took its hand from behind its back. It was holding a gun, with which it shot Sorswo.

He was blasted against the wall of the crater, a smoking hole in the fabric of his suit.

Fitz sank to his knees as Sorswo's dying screams and Dakrius's urgent enquiries reverberated inside his helmet. He reached up and, although it was forbidden, shut the speaker off.

Silence.

His ears ringing, Fitz gazed up dumbly as the figure approached him, the blaster hanging from a gloved hand.

Fitz tensed, waiting for the killing shot.

But it never came.

Instead, the figure holstered the weapon, reached up and started undoing the catches on its helmet.

Fitz watched mesmerised as the figure removed its helmet.

He couldn't find the voice to scream as the face beneath was revealed.

There before him, golden hair floating in the low gravity like a mermaid's in the deep ocean, eyes gleaming black, was Arielle.

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