Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

Elite Scab turned to the guide, who was speaking.

‘Since you all arrived here at the same time, we thought you might all benefit from a conversation. We can only assume that you will all have plenty of opportunities to kill each other once you are far away from Pangea, but for now there will be no more killing.’

Elite Scab nodded as if he was taking this in, but Vic recognised the signs that he was preparing to do something awful – he’d seen similar behaviour in his own Scab. There was little they could do. It was pointless attacking an Elite at the best of times, let alone unarmed. He respected the guide for standing up to Elite Scab, but it had seemed foolish to let him into the city in the first place.

‘Look, can everyone called Woodbine Scab, clone or not, please just be reasonable for a moment,’ Vic ventured.

Elite Scab looked a little bit exasperated at this, as he reached out and touched the wall of the Living City. It had taken years of research and untold amounts of debt relief to develop the Seeder-tech-derived programmable virus that coated Elite Scab’s hand, but he still made its application look casual.

The guide screamed. The City shook, convulsed; there was a palpable feeling of pain and distress that even Vic picked up on. Through the transparent flesh they saw a helical artery crushed by a convulsion of muscle, the people in it reduced to squirts of luminescent flesh and blood. The guide sank to his knees in pain. The Monk moved around the table to help him to his feet despite her ruined arm.

‘Apparently not,’ Vic said.

‘Mr Scab,’ the guide, who Vic was beginning to think was a bit more than just a guide, said to Elite Scab as the Monk helped him to a seat, ‘we of course respect your power, and you could cause us great harm, perhaps even destroy this city, but we would live on. What I don’t think you could do is destroy this city before we kill you. I wonder if you have ever been this close to destruction before?’

‘You think I care? I’ve razed planets, I’ve been worshipped as a god. I’m bored and I could kill my copy with a thought.’

‘I’m not the copy,’ Scab said quietly, dangerously.

‘I don’t think that harming us or killing your copy was what you were instructed to do,’ the guide said to Elite Scab evenly. ‘Though I confess I’m not sure of the purpose of your presence here.’

Vic could see his Scab bridle at this. There it was, the problem with being a killer god: you had to do someone else’s bidding. It was hardwired into the Elite. It had to be or they would rule Known Space or simply run amok to see if they could grow bored with the killing. Elite Scab’s features were still unreadable, but Vic guessed he didn’t like being reminded that he was a servant either.

‘You are both an unreasonable pair of fucktards!’ Vic was surprised to find himself shouting. He was less than pleased to find that his involuntary outburst now had the attention of two of the most dangerous professional arseholes in Known Space. ‘I mean really! I know we’re all well armed and Known Space is a dangerous place, but there are other fucking means of conflict resolution where mutually assured destruction isn’t a fucking certainty! I mean, what? Will your heads explode if we have a conversation, or will you find yourself unable to sustain an erection for the next five fucking years because an hour went by and you didn’t manage to kill something?! I mean really! Grow! The! Fuck! Up!’ Vic finally managed to get control of himself and waited for the inevitable killing.

‘I’d clap if I had use of both arms,’ said the Monk, who Vic was beginning to like and think of in relation to his egg-fertilising wand.

‘We want the bridge tech,’ Elite Scab said.

‘Who wouldn’t?’ the guide said. ‘But we do not have it.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ the Monk said.

‘We would be prepared to offer Pangea membership in the Consortium, a senior seat on the board.’

‘We are not interested,’ the guide said. ‘And we have not acquired bridge technology since you last mentioned it a moment ago.’

This is weird , Vic thought. It was as if the Consortium was showing its hand. They had sent an Elite out with little to negotiate with. It was almost as if the Elite had been sent here to be humiliated.

‘You realise that if Pangea gains unrestricted access to bridge tech then there will have to be a military response from the Consortium systems.’

‘Well yes, and we still don’t have access to it.’

‘Don’t you get tired of being prisoners of the Church?’ Elite Scab asked.

‘You are asking the wrong people. We have all we need here.’

‘Until you’ve sucked this world dry.’

The guide said nothing.

‘You’re the Elder, aren’t you?’ Vic asked the translucent glowing man. He smiled.

‘The essence of the Lord of Pangea is contained within the cities and we are all linked. We are one.’

‘So everyone on Pangea is aware of this conversation?’ Scab and Elite Scab asked at the same time. The Elder nodded. Both looked less than pleased.

‘Fucking amateurs,’ Elite Scab muttered.

‘You’re thinking of it in terms of millions of individuals knowing your secrets, but we are as one and can be discreet when we choose. Now, you have delivered your message, though I’m not sure what it was. Please leave.’

Elite Scab’s features were unreadable as he walked to the wall, Scab following every move. Elite Scab started to vibrate – it looked like he went out of phase – and then he just pushed through the wall and out into the freezing skies of Pangea. The Elder cried out again, and the room seemed to flinch. Elite Scab was hovering outside the transparent flesh. He turned to look at them, then the exotic matter of his armour leaked through his skin like oil. The black glass material formed into its coffin-like configuration and he disappeared into the sky.

‘Well, he seemed nice,’ Vic muttered. When he looked up he found Scab looking at him. Both were then distracted by a cracking noise and a shout of pain. They turned to the Monk, who had just put her arm back into place. It looked like it was starting to heal. Scab’s face was returning to its normal dimensions as well, though it was still covered in drying blood.

‘I’m a little confused as to who you’re working for,’ the Elder said to Scab. ‘Because if you’re not working for Consortium interests…’

‘Then you would be the next most likely client,’ the Monk said as she sat down, grimacing slightly.

‘Though there are competing interests in the Consortium,’ the Elder said.

‘Not for something like this,’ Scab pointed out.

‘Do you have a name?’ Vic asked the Monk, feeling slightly smitten.

‘Yes. Who doesn’t?’ she answered irritably.

‘What are you doing?’ Scab asked her.

‘What does it look like?’ There was pain written across her face, presumably from the healing process. ‘I’ve worked quite hard to get to the point where I can have a reasonable conversation with you.’

‘How did you find us? I put a week-long block on the information we got from Pythia.’

‘I guessed,’ the Monk said.

‘You’re lying,’ Scab said with certainty.

‘Well, let me just explain to you all the secrets of my trade,’ she offered sarcastically.

‘We have business to discuss with the Elder here. We can’t do it with you here. Either leave or…’

‘What?’ Vic asked. ‘Get scolded by petulant psychopaths? The Living Cities have made it clear that not even Elite arseholes, no offence, are getting to push people around.’

‘Mr Matto is right. It seems to require a great deal of effort and indeed the death of some of our people just to get you to have a reasonable discussion.’