Dan Abnett - Border Princes

‘It talks to you?’

‘Of course. We’ve bonded, the two of us. Two old soldiers together. It sees my past in me, and respects it, which is nice. I have to say it’s very clever, the way you built it to do that.’

‘We are very clever, Davey,’ said Toshiko.

‘It knows me and I know it. We’re mates. I fancy I’ll miss it when you take it away.’

‘Of course you will.’

‘Thing is,’ said Davey, scratching his head, ‘as I said on the phone, it did a bad thing. Very bad. Oh, no one round here will miss them , but even so, it wasn’t right.’

‘Miss who?’ asked Toshiko.

‘The yobbos. The bloody bastards. They killed my cat, I’m bloody sure. And they gave me this eye.’

‘Davey,’ asked Toshiko. ‘What did this thing do to these… yobbos?’ She nodded to Owen, who got up and moved quietly towards the sitting-room door.

‘Stitched them up, of couse,’ said Davey. ‘Stitched them up a treat.’

‘Right. And where is it now?’ asked Toshiko.

‘In my bathroom. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Owen had slipped outside, into the cold, narrow space of the hall. The bathroom door was ajar, letting out a bar of light.

He pushed the door open.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ he started to say.

Mr Dine felt the pull. No prior warning. Alert protocols lit up his nerves in a warm surge.

He’d been enjoying the paintings. The gallery was pleasant and quiet, and no one bothered him. He rose from the settee in front of the Expressionists and walked towards the exit, his pace swiftly increasing.

Investment was beginning. The upload had connected by the time he reached the street outside. Significant threat to the Principal. Jeopardy.

But the pull was good, this time. A clean, steady fix. Definitive location.

He began to run. As he ran, he began to invest, to recompose and to vanish from human sight.

‘Wrigley Street,’ said Jack. James slewed them around the junction.

Gwen was listening to her headset.

‘Ianto says he’s had Tosh on the line, but he just lost her. He says the transmission’s being jammed.’

‘Still hot?’ asked Jack.

‘Smoking,’ Gwen replied.

‘No, no, no, no!’ cried Davey, raising a warning hand. He pushed Owen behind him. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right! He’s a friend. Don’t look at him like that.’

A low hum. A slight change of pitch.

‘I think you spooked it,’ Davey whispered to Owen.

‘I spooked it ?’ Owen replied.

They were in the hall, with the front door behind them. At the other end of the narrow corridor ahead of them, the thing stood there, framed in the kitchen doorway. Toshiko was out of its line of sight, just inside the door of the sitting room. She caught Owen’s eye, and made a pantomime shrug. He shook his head quickly. She couldn’t see what he could see.

It was a human figure made of metal, thin and sharp. Its limbs were long and slender, like piston rods. Its hands were huge clusters of oily, steel hooks. Its torso, neck and head were narrow and sculptural, sleek like a missile, paint-chipped like a forgotten, unexploded bomb. The top of its ovoid head brushed the ceiling. It had no real features, just a burnished relief of lines and crests that vaguely suggested a human skull. There was a cold, tarry smell. The thing hummed.

‘So that’s… that’s it, then?’ Owen whispered.

‘Of course,’ said Davey.

The thing stirred slightly at the sound of their voices. Electric light from the bathroom slanted across it. It took a step. The hum changed pitch.

‘All right, all right!’ Davey called, soothingly. ‘There’s nothing to worry about! Don’t be getting any ideas, now.’

The hum changed pitched again.

‘Well, I realise that obviously,’ said Davey, ‘but you have to trust me.’

Another pitch change.

‘That’s what I said. You can trust me. We’re going to sort it all out. That’s why I called this bloke round. So we can sort things out. You do trust me, don’t you?’

The hum warbled.

‘That’s right. That’s right. You know me.’

Hum.

‘Taff the soldier, that’s it. Now let’s be nice and calm. Nice and calm, now. Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea, maybe.’

The thing stood still for a moment, then cocked its head slightly. Another hum.

‘Davey,’ Owen whispered. ‘I need you to step into the sitting room with my colleague now.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Davey. ‘That’s not a good idea. I’d best stay in sight. It’ll be reassured if it can see me.’

‘Davey, you’ve done a great job sorting this out,’ said Owen very softly, ‘but this is our responsibility now. We’ll take it from here.’

‘You sure?’

‘MOD work, Davey. Trust me.’

In the sitting room doorway, Toshiko quietly beckoned to the old man. Reluctantly, he limped into the sitting room with her.

Owen faced the thing.

‘Wotcha,’ he said.

It straightened slightly.

‘Let’s not do anything rash,’ said Owen. ‘We’ve got to find a way through this situation. What I need you to do is maybe shut down, or back out into the yard. Can you do either of those things for me?’

The thing hummed.

‘Yeah, whatever. Do you understand? Understand? Can you please shut down or just back away outside?’

The thing took a sudden, purposeful step towards Owen.

‘Crap!’ Owen cried. His handgun came out from under his jacket. He emptied the clip on automatic. Sparks flashed and blinked across the thing’s chest as multiple high-velocity rounds struck it. And disintegrated.

Owen eyes widened. ‘Oh, shit,’ he said.

The thing looked at him. There was a pulse of dull yellow where its eyes should have been.

They got out of the SUV, looking around.

‘Which house is it?’ James asked.

Twenty yards away, the front door of a house vaporised in a sheet of light and wooden fragments. The blast took out the doorframe too, blew the garden gate off its hinges and stove in the side of a parked car, which promptly exploded in a belching, expanding cloud of flame.

Pieces of glass and debris rained down. Car and house alarms all down the street began ringing and whooping.

‘I’m going to say that one,’ said Jack.

Acrid smoke billowed through the hallway and the sitting room.

‘Owen?’ Toshiko cried. ‘Owen?’

The smoke caught at her throat and she began to cough.

‘Owen?’

Davey was fumbling about behind her, dazed and blinking. The picture of the Scottish Highlands had fallen off the chimney breast and shattered on the hearth.

Toshiko peered out into the hallway. The blast had snapped all the banisters on the stairs. The carpet was scorched, and the old wallpaper was bubbling and peeling.

‘Owen?’

No reply.

She thought about drawing her side-arm, but realised that it was pointless. Owen had proved that much, in what had probably been the last moment of his life.

She dropped down and crawled forward, peeking out into the hallway. The front door had entirely gone, and a cold draught was stirring in through the smoke.

She looked the other way. At the end of the hall, the kitchen door was splintered open. There was no sign of the thing.

She got up. Something stirred at the foot of the stairs, and she pulled her gun anyway.

It was Owen. He was curled up in a ball.

‘Owen?’

‘What?’ he answered, over-loudly.

‘Owen, be quiet.’

‘Bloody well deafened me,’ he said.

‘Shush. How are you alive?’

‘What?’

‘How are you still alive?’

‘I ducked. Onto the stairs. Jesus Christ, that thing plays for keeps. Where is it?’