Jack Yeovil - Demon Download

She had been sitting at her console for six straight hours now, testing everything. It was her way of keeping her head down and trying to live out the crisis.

Rintoon was stone crazy, and seemed to be taking Lauderdale along for the ride. All the people who had spoken up when there still might have been a way to end the craziness at Fort Apache were dead. It seemed that new corpses were felling out of the closet all the time. Finney hadn't expected to wake up alive for this shift.

Colosanto called the names of the units still out there. Almost everyone had returned to base by now. She listed Tyree and Stack as overdue, even though everybody had given up on them by now. They were dead, for sure.

Finney's screen lit up green, with four inch-high wavering letters picked out in black.

HELLO, it said.

HELLO, CATHERINE.

She started, and looked around. The other operators were absorbed in their own work, or staring disconsolately off into space.

IT'S JUST YOU AND ME, CATHERINE, the screen said.

"So?" she tapped.

SO, LETS PAAAARRTEEEE!

Sunbursts went off behind the writing. Skulls, bats and party hats danced in the comers. A deathshead blew a vibrating raspberry.

"Who are you?" she typed out.

THAT'S FOR ME TO KNOW, AND YOU TO FIND OUT.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed.

GOOD GUESS, BUT WRONG, WRONG, WRROONNNNGG!

"Please identify yourself."

FREAK OFF, RATSKAG!

"Lauderdale?"

KEEP SPINNING THE STRAW INTO GOLD, MY PRETTY. RUMPLESTILTSKIN'S NOT TELLING.

Site turned in her chair, and considered calling someone over. She decided against it. This weirdness was way off the scale. Colosanto finished her List, and sat down again. The Lieutenant was near the breaking point, Finney knew. It was surprising that so few personnel had gone Section Eight.

She looked back at the screen. A dog like the one in the Tom and Jerry cartoons was battering a cartoon cat with a baseball bat. The cat's head was knocked shapeless with each blow.

HERE, KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!

The cat's head blew up like a helium balloon and floated off. The dog growled and vanished in an iris.

I TORT I TAW A PUTTY TAT!

"Why are you here?" she asked.

…TO PLAY THE DEVIL.

The printer started up, and Finney could have sworn she heard a mocking laugh in its noise. Or the "Th-th-that's All Folks!" tune from the end of the Warner Brothers cartoons.

It was printing out a complete listing, in alphabetical order, of all the personnel in the fort. It was mostly in regulation black, but certain names were printed red.

She recognized them. They were the dead ones.

I'LL SAVE YOU, the screen offered.

Finney furrowed her brow. Why was whatever was lurking in the machine offering to save her?

I'LL SAVE YOU TILL LAST.

"Fort Apache does not respond."

"That's not possible," Stack said.

Chantal accelerated as Federico hit the flat. They were out of the mountains now, back in the desert proper. The road ahead was clear. There was no traffic at all today. Even the road-rats were laid up somewhere. Not that any of them could have given Federico much of a chase.

"But it is so. I've tried all the frequencies. None of them are open."

"Let me try."

"You are welcome."

She handed him the laptop, and he punched in his Cav callsign. A code number flashed.

"It's acknowledging, but it's not putting me through. It's like we've been put on hold, at the back of a queue."

"Freak."

"I didn't think nuns used language like that."

"You've obviously never met one before."

"That's true."

Federico held the road superbly. Stack envied Chantal her vehicle.

"It is possible that all the fort's communications channels are in use to deal with some emergency," she said.

"But unlikely."

"Even so, it's possible."

"I've never heard of anything like that, and I've been in the blue for fifteen years."

"In that case, the demons are in control of the fort. That's bad."

"You're telling me."

"No, it's worse than you think. Fort Apache is a node on the datanet. It's more complicated than St Werburgh's. The systems all interface. If our enemy builds up significant strength, it can launch an attack on El Paso, and if El Paso falls, then all of Central and South America will fell."

"Serves 'em right."

"Spoken like a true American. Do you really imagine that national boundaries count for much in Hell? If your neighbours go down in flames, they'll drag you too. El Paso is strategically placed for plenty of databases within the United States as well."

"I've got a legitimate grievance against the CAC, Sister. My father died in action in El Salvador in "73."

His Dad had been career army. He had been killed in a battle with socialist guerillas during the Intervention. It wasn't even supposed to be a shooting war.

Chantal was quiet for a moment. "My father, too, is dead. I'm sorry."

Stack caught something new in her voice, a touch of doubt, or fragility.

"When they shipped him out, he knew he wasn't coming back. Don't ask me how, he just knew. Before he left. Dad told me to do anything with my life except join the army. And here I am with stripes down my legs and none on my shoulder. Your old man, how did he feel about your…your calling?"

She flicked a row of switches on the dash. The windshield darkened against the glare of the sun. "I did not develop a vocation until after his death. He was not especially devout, but I hope he approves of my life. He too was a soldier, in a manner of speaking…"

"You said you were Swiss, didn't you? I thought Switzerland was neutral?"

"Switzerland, yes. My father, no. He was, in his way, a crusader. He fought in the international courts for a better world. His name was Thomas Juillerat. He was murdered. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"It doesn't matter. Europe must seem very remote from here. I think my father made a difference. I think he did something for the world."

"The world, huh? The same one you've retreated from?"

She turned to him. "I am not a member of a sequestered order, Stack. I'm as much in the world as you are."

"You sure aren't like Sister Bertrille."

Chantal laughed. "Sally Field, The Flying Nun , 1967 to l970. Not one of the finer moments of American popular culture."

"Is there anything you don't know?"

"The future."

"Yeah, that…"

Lauderdale was washing his hands under the tap in the storeroom. He was being wilfully wasteful of the fort's recycled water. There was no one to stop him.

He could do whatever he wanted now.

His androids were still stood to attention. He saluted them, and laughed. The GloJo he had popped was taking effect. He needed the extra buzz. He had been under a lot of strain recently.

Under its dustsheet, one of the androids saluted back. Lauderdale jumped, his heart catching, and reached for his side-arm.

There was someone under there posing as an android.

He fired, and heard the slug ricochet off a durium skin. It was a real android, all right. The spent bullet spanged against the wall and fell to the floor.

With his gunbarrel, he tore the polygene away from the saluting form. It was an android all right, faceless and expressionless.

Could there be a malfunction?

Carefully, he approached. He had his access cardkey. The inspection plate was in the small of the thing's back.

"Yo, there major, gimme some skin…"

The flipper-hand descended from its salute and struck the hot gun from Lauderdale's hand.

"Yo, bro…"

"What?!"

The android stepped off its podium, loose-limbed and gyroscopically balanced.