Part 26 (1/2)

'You were here the month before.'

No, something in the back of her mind said, no, you were somewhere else. no, you were somewhere else.

You were somewhere else.

'No,' she said, 'I was . . . I was . . . ' That was odd. She couldn't remember.

Where had she been? Martle's funeral was fresh in her mind, as was the raid, but the time in between was a blur.

'You were here,' Dantalion repeated. 'You were brought here. I was paid to remove a memory from your conscious mind and hide it where you would never find it.'

She shook her head wildly. 'No, it's not true.'

'It is true. And now I want to put it back again. That's the payment.'

The alien s.h.i.+p was closing rapidly on the Moorglade Moorglade. A vast maw had opened up in its prow, ready to catch the s.h.i.+p. Beltempest guessed that the fringe of blunt appendages surrounding it like tentacles were part of whatever device had located them in hypers.p.a.ce and pulled them back into the real universe.

'Better fasten your safety belts,' Provost-Major Beltempest called back to the compartment behind him. 'We're in for a b.u.mpy ride!'

Beltempest uncoupled the controls from the autopilot and threw the shuttle hard to port, then dived beneath the approaching monster. The feel of the responsive controls beneath his fingers brought back memories of training sessions, many years ago. No simulators for the Landsknechte; they used and abused real s.h.i.+ps. He'd stripped the spatial synchronets from more engines than he could count, pulling sharp turns in mock dog fights. It was all coming back to him now.

'What's happening?' a voice wailed from the loudspeakers in his suit.

159.'Doctor, glad to see you're still alive. We've been hijacked out of hypers.p.a.ce.'

'By whom?'

'If I knew, I would tell you. But they appear to be aliens.'

'Well, try evasive manoeuvres!'

'Yes, thank you, Doctor. I'll do that.'

He shut off the connection in exasperation. Civilians! he thought, and concentrated on his screens. They appeared to be in clear s.p.a.ce no suns, no planets, no rogues nothing but stars and the odd hydrogen atom. And the alien craft. It had turned slowly until it was facing him again, and was in the process of lumbering slowly up to speed. It would never catch him at that rate, and the pilot must know it. That meant He peeled sideways again, just as a pale violet beam transected the portion of s.p.a.ce his s.h.i.+p had occupied only moments before. Gravity beam!

These creatures, whoever they were, were heavily armed. He didn't recognize the design of the s.h.i.+p, and he'd been through all the military identification courses. Daleks, Sess, Sc.u.mble, Drahvins, Falardi: names, shapes and regis-tration details of every s.h.i.+p in their fleets memorized. But this one was new.

d.a.m.ned aliens, always trying to put one over on the Empire. Slap them down hard, that was the only language they understood.

The craft had reorientated itself, and was coming after him again. The pilot was good, for an alien. Really quite good. Probably trained by humans. Yes, that would explain it.

Beltempest examined his options with finely honed tactical skill. If he tried to jump into hypers.p.a.ce, the s.h.i.+p would just yank him out again. It had that capability. However, if he destroyed that capability . . . All he had to do was to shoot off those tentacles and, as the old phrase had it, Robert would be his interlocutor's father's brother.

Except that Dis had strict rules about armed s.h.i.+ps attempting to come within range of its laser turrets. The Moorglade Moorglade's weapons had been removed before it left Purgatory. Not just disarmed. Removed.

'd.a.m.n! d.a.m.n and blast! d.a.m.n and blast and '

Instinctively he threw the s.h.i.+p into a corkscrew turn, just as the gravity beam flashed past. The beam spiralled with him, always a few hundred metres behind but in perfect synchronization. He counted seconds, antic.i.p.ating the operator's reaction time, then, at the moment the operator manually dragged the beam across the spiral, he broke away and took the s.h.i.+p in a curving path away from the alien craft, downwards, under its belly and up towards its rear.

Where another gravity beam caught him in its violet grip. The Moorglade Moorglade rang like a cracked and rather old bell. rang like a cracked and rather old bell.

Two gravity generators. That looked suspiciously like overkill to him.

160.'Imperial Landsknecht shuttle,' a voice boomed in his ears. He'd turned the communications systems off, so they were probably using some sort of modulation on their gravity beam. Smart. For aliens. 'Imperial Landsknecht shuttle, heave to. We are about to board.'

Standard Landsknecht message format as well. They must have been on the end of it themselves a few times. That gave him some clues. Obviously a race that had felt the sharp end of Imperial justice before. Not that it narrowed the field much.

The alien craft grew in his screens. He bent to retrieve his weapons from the floor. Try to board his shuttle, would they? He'd show them how the Landsknechte reacted to that kind of thing.

Chirell Tensen refastened the access plate and sat back on his heels. 'Never understood why they can't get a bot to do this,' he grumbled, disengaging his heavy diagnostic unit and glancing around the room at the hulking but eerily silent null-grav generators. He didn't like being down in the lowest level of the towers. Too close to the Undertown for his liking, what with the riots and all.

'What?' his colleague Trav Chan shouted. He was still working on the other side of the unit, and the constant high-pitched whine of the generators made it difficult to hear.

'I said I don't know why they can't get a bot to do this,' he shouted.

'Accountability. If we screw up, we're responsible. If a bot screws up, there's n.o.body's b.u.t.t in the sling.'

Chirell rubbed his temple. His head was throbbing fit to burst, and the strap of the diagnostic unit was biting into his shoulder. His wife had bought a cheap body-bepple kit as a surprise birthday present for him, and he couldn't stop thinking about the new softness of her skin and the fresh curves of her body. She was probably still asleep, curled up in the warmth of their bed.

G.o.ddess, he wished he were back there with her, running his fingernail up her back.

'If we screw up, this tower drops all the way down to the Undertown,' he snapped. 'They won't be able to find enough of our b.u.t.ts to put in a nutsh.e.l.l, let alone a sling.'

'No chance of that,' Chan said. 'These things are built with so much redun-dancy, you wouldn't believe.'

The pounding in Chirell's head was making it difficult to think. He turned to look at Chan, but something was wrong with his eyes. All he could see was a red blur.

'Screw it,' he snarled. 'I just want out!'

161.He stood up, but a sudden wave of nausea made him stagger. Something flashed into his mind: a picture of Chan's hands wandering across his wife's b.r.e.a.s.t.s and b.u.t.tocks.

'Hey, you okay, man?' Chan asked in concern.

Chirell's head was pounding. He wanted to lash out, to smash something, to hear somebody scream. In his mind, Chan was holding his wife down while she bucked and moaned in pleasure. Chan was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his wife! How could he have been so stupid?

Chan caught hold of his shoulders. 'Hey, you want we should '

His words were cut off as Chirell smashed the sharp corner of the diagnostic unit into his forehead.

Green light. Bright light.

Forrester crept closer to the doorway of the hotel room, vibroknife held tightly in her hand. From inside, Fenn Martle's voice snapped something short. He in her hand. From inside, Fenn Martle's voice snapped something short. He sounded angry. No, he sounded furious. sounded angry. No, he sounded furious.

What in G.o.ddess' name was the moron doing here, especially without backup?

It had been obvious back at the lodge that he was on edge about something. It had also been obvious for some time that he was following up leads on a case had also been obvious for some time that he was following up leads on a case but wasn't sure enough of himself to make it official meetings at odd hours, but wasn't sure enough of himself to make it official meetings at odd hours, mysterious actions while on cases, a general air of preoccupation. The big idiot. mysterious actions while on cases, a general air of preoccupation. The big idiot.

Couldn't he ever leave the job alone? He had to be the most dedicated Adjudicator that Forrester had ever come across. that Forrester had ever come across.

Knowing how he could go off half-c.o.c.ked sometimes, Forrester had followed him from the lodge in an unmarked flitter. She'd had to leave her judicial blaster him from the lodge in an unmarked flitter. She'd had to leave her judicial blaster behind; their use was tightly controlled, and Adjudicators weren't allowed to sign behind; their use was tightly controlled, and Adjudicators weren't allowed to sign them out after work. Spiralling up in the wake of his expensive sportster model them out after work. Spiralling up in the wake of his expensive sportster model towards the Overcity, she had felt an unaccustomed excitement blossom within towards the Overcity, she had felt an unaccustomed excitement blossom within her. If Martle had discovered some kind of connection between the Undertown her. If Martle had discovered some kind of connection between the Undertown gangs and the Overcity crime bosses, this could make their careers. Even better, gangs and the Overcity crime bosses, this could make their careers. Even better, they might at last be able to get a handle on Olias and her sordid little dealings. they might at last be able to get a handle on Olias and her sordid little dealings.