Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

Julia turned all of the lightware cruncher’s spare capacity to interpreting the den’s ‘ware. She ordered one camera to zoom in on Nia Korovilla’s face; her pupils were dilated; her grip on Fielder looked effortless. The woman was taking some kind of narcotic. Memory correlation assigned the highest probability to cleardust. Korovilla would be quite capable of killing Fabian Whitehurst and Charlotte Fielder with her bare hands.

Charlotte Fielder shoved Fabian Whitehurst away. He stumbled back, swaying for balance.

The den’s circuits were defined, operational codes pulled out of the ‘ware cores. Julia turned on the mikes, the flatscreens, the music deck speakers.

“Oh God no,” Charlotte Fielder cried.

Fabian was getting ready to charge again. There was blood running down his chin.

Julia rammed the music deck volume up full. “Enough of this. Fabian, stay where you are.”

The three figures froze in surprise.

Julia activated a visual synthesizer program, plugging it into the flatscreens.

“Julia Evans,” Charlotte Fielder gasped.

“Hello, Charlotte. I think it’s about time you and I had a talk.”

“Not a chance,” said Nia Korovilla.

“Your position is not a strong one, Nia,” Julia said. “There is a tekmerc squad loose in the gondola, two of my agents survived the Messerschmitt attack, and an Event Horizon security crash team is en route. Whoever you work for, they’ll have to fight through all those groups to reach you.”

What’s happening?” Charlotte Fielder implored. Her beautiful face was screwed up in pain. “What attack?”

“The Colonel Maitland is currently under siege by tekmercs,” Julia told her. “You are the target, you possess some unique information which several people would like to obtain.”

“Not me, no I don’t.”

Julia could see the girl was near to cracking up.

“Please, Mrs Evans,” Fabian Whitehurst ca’led. “Tell Nia to let Charlotte go. Please.” There were tears trickling down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his chin, droplets spilling onto his jacket.

Nia Korovilla’s free hand moved up to clamp around the back of Charlotte Fielder’s neck “That isn’t an option.”

Internal camera, fuselage keel. The four tekmercs under Frank’s command had come up the stairwell from the gondola. They were clumping along in single file, helmets brushing the gasbags. The walkway hadn’t been designed for armour suits, arms kept knocking against the hand rails, bending them. The grid mesh was creaking under their weight.

Julia sent out a string of instructions to the maintenance drones, directing them down the fuselage to the tail. They began to slide smoothly along their rails.

Internal camera, fuselage engineering bay. Greg and Suzi were stepping off the ladder on to the walkway that would take them to the MHD chamber. One side of the walkway looked out over the engineering bay, a circular lattice of girders like a metal spiderweb. Massive cylindrical heat exchangers, and chrome-silver giga-conductor cells were cocooned Within it, concentric rings of metal eggs. Cables and thick pipes wound around the girders; the air carrying a steady thrumming from the machinery. On the other side of the walkway was the featureless shallow curve of the main spherical gasbag, ringed by one of the doughnut-shaped bags.

Greg consulted his cybofax. “This is it,” he said. “Straight ahead now.”

“Right.” Suzi’s acknowledgement was strained.

Julia called them through the cybofax. “Bad news, the maid, Nia Korovilla, is some kind of hardliner.”

“Jesus wept,” Suzi said hotly. “Last time I ever take on an Event Horizon deal.”

“I’m sorry,” Julia said. “I didn’t realize what was involved when we started out. The situation is becoming very fluid.”

“Fluid,” Suzi snorted.

“What about the maid?” Greg asked.

“She’s cleardusted, and using Charlotte Fielder as a shield.”

“So what do you want us to do?”

“The only viable option is to eliminate her. We cannot risk Fielder; and Korovilla has her hand round Fielder’s neck, ready to snap it.” Julia squirted the den’s camera image into Greg’s cybofax.

Suzi craned her neck to look at it. “Not good,” she said. “We’ll have to go straight in and sharpshoot. Korovilla won’t be prepared. Even if someone does come in she won’t expect them to fire right off. Everyone takes time to assess a new situation.”

“All right,” Greg said reluctantly.

“I do it,” Suzi said flatly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s what you brought me for. I can shoot straight, I’m familiar with the Browning. And you might hesitate, with her being a woman.”

Greg pulled a sour face. “All right.”

“OK. Julia, is she carrying?”

“No, not that I can see.”

“That’s something.”

“I’m negotiating,” Julia said. “But I can’t hold her much longer. And the tekmercs are two minutes behind you. I’ve arranged a delay, but I can’t guarantee how long that’ll keep them.”

“We’re gone,” Suzi said. She began to run lightly down the walkway towards the MHD chamber, fifty metres ahead. The camera showed a hard grey fan of light spilling out of its door.

Internal camera, MHD camera. Charlotte Fielder clamped her jaw shut as Nia Korovilla’s hand tightened. The skin of her long neck was showing white around the maid’s fingers.

“Be logical,” Julia urged. “My company’s infiltration of the Colonel Maitland’s ‘ware systems is total. Whatever questions Charlotte answers for you, whatever she says, wherever she is in the airship, we will hear them. There will be no advantage to your backers now. I offer you this: if you release her my security crash team will leave you alone, you may even have free passage to the destination of your choice.”

Nia Korovilla gave a guttural laugh. “And I will tell you this. The whore is too valuable for anyone to risk harming her. Except for me, I’ll have nothing to lose in a last resort. If anyone, you or the tekmercs, tries to interfere I will break her elegantly crafted little neck.”

Julia made her voice austere. “You will not be allowed to leave with her.”

“You may not have her;’ Nia Korovilla growled.

“Stop it!” Fabian Whitehurst wailed. “Stop it, stop it. Let her go. Just let her go.” The creases down his cheeks were like an old man’s.

“Don’t get in anyone’s way, Fabian,” Charlotte Fielder said, her voice was very faint. “These people won’t even notice you.”

“I revise my offer,” Julia said.

“I’m listening,” Nia Korovilla said.

“Contact your backers, we will explain the current situation, and I’ll offer them an atomic structuring manufacturing partnership with Event Horizon.”

For the first time Nia Korovilla seemed uncertain.

Suzi stepped into the den. Her Browning pistol was held level with her face, one eye closed.

“If you-” Nia Korovilla began. Directly above her left ear a circle of hair one centimetre wide puffed into bright, almost invisible flame, singing the surrounding strands. She fell backwards, knees buckling.

Charlotte Fielder staggered forwards as the grip around her neck and arm was relinquished. She twisted to look at the maid’s body, lying with limbs akimbo on the decking. The eyes had rolled back, leaving only the whites showing.

Charlotte Fielder groaned, looking as if she was about to be sick. Then she found Fabian Whitehurst who was staring numbly at the body. They moved into each other’s arms, and locked like magnets.

Internal camera, aft fuselage access way. The four tekmercs of Frank’s squad had begun to climb the transverse frame ladder up to the midsection of the engineering bay. Eighteen maintenance drones were lined up along the side of the ladder. Another two glided down their rails and stopped.