Dan Abnett - Border Princes

Owen shrugged. ‘I suppose. But don’t forget the Hub’s set up to monitor that kind of thing and sound all the bells and whistles if it finds something.’

‘It doesn’t matter how clever we are,’ said James. ‘We’re not going to recognise everything.’

‘Back to that, are we?’ Owen pouted. ‘Look, I did the work. Hand on heart, you’re clean. There’s nothing that would explain why you think you jumped over a seven-foot wall or tossed a supermarket trolley the length of a checkout.’

He glanced at James slightly warily. ‘Well,’ he added.

‘What?’

‘You’re clean physically. And the cognitive tests were thorough, but I can’t dismiss all psychological possibilities.’

‘It’s in my head, you mean?’

Owen nodded. ‘Lot of stress involved in what we do. Hell of a lot of stress this week. Every single thing you’ve told me about happened bang in the middle of a high-stress situation. The Serial G right on top of you. That idiot you chased the length of Pontcanna. The mind does things under stress, James. Afterwards, you might think, “What the hell was that?” But it wasn’t anything at all. Stress pisses about with perception, and with memory. And don’t forget the Amok subjected us to severe mental… buggeration. That on its own left us tired and vulnerable to all kinds of lapses and mind tricks.’

‘So it’s just me, then?’

Owen laughed. ‘You’ll be fine. Bit of rest, weekend off, glass of wine, the love of a good woman.’

‘Speaking of which,’ he added, and strolled off, passing Gwen coming the other way.

‘Thanks, Owen,’ James called.

Owen waved a dismissive hand as he walked away.

‘Thanks for what?’ Gwen asked, looking over her shoulder at Owen’s receding figure.

‘Just keeping an eye on me,’ said James. ‘He’s all right, really.’

She turned and looked up into his face, as if studying it.

‘What?’ he asked her.

‘Just looking for a bit without a bruise on to aim a kiss at.’

He pointed to his mouth.

‘That’ll do,’ she said.

They walked along the Quay, arm in arm.

‘So Jack said to take an early mark, provided we left our phones on,’ Gwen said.

‘POETS?’

‘Indeed. What do you want to do?’

James shook his head. ‘Not much. Go home, relax. Maybe get a film.’

‘OK.’

They walked on a little further.

‘I thought I’d ring Rhys,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘I thought I might arrange to meet him. Tomorrow, maybe, or Sunday. Have that talk.’

‘The big one?’

‘Yep, the big one. I’ve left it long enough. Is that all right?’

‘It’s all right with me,’ he said.

Owen walked back into the Hub and sat down at his work station. Toshiko called out a goodbye as she headed off.

Jack came out of his office and walked down the concrete steps to Owen’s level.

‘What d’you tell him?’ Jack asked.

Owen looked around, hard-faced. ‘I told him the truth.’

‘That all?’

‘I didn’t tell him that you knew. Or that you had already suspected something yourself. He’d have thought I’d squealed on him, and he’d never have trusted me again.’

Jack sat down on Toshiko’s wheelie stool and rolled himself backwards and forwards looking at Owen. ‘He’d have forgiven you,’ Jack said. ‘He’d have soon realised that you can’t get away with conducting the raft of tests you did today without me noticing the medical bay was running overtime.’

Owen huffed.

‘Come on, Owen, you should have brought it to me anyway,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a security issue.’

‘No, it was a favour for a mate. He was scared. I was able to put his mind at rest. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not sick, he’s not compromised, and he’s not a bloody shape-shifting alien invader.’

Jack stood up. ‘It’s a security issue whichever way you want to dress it up. There’s something going on. It may be just stress, or something psychological like you say. Or it may be something different. Something that we can’t read or taste or scan for.’

‘We’re talking about James,’ said Owen.

‘We are.’

‘Our own Captain Analogy.’

‘Yeah. And that’s why I’m taking it End of the World seriously.’

Owen rapped his fingers on the edge of his station. ‘Just say,’ he said, ‘just say there is something up with him. Something bad. Should we be letting him go home with Gwen like that?’

‘Gwen’ll be fine.’

‘I thought you said this was a security issue?’

‘Gwen’s a big girl,’ said Jack. ‘If something comes up, she’ll let us know.’

Friday night was typically busy from six until eight thirty. Then the lull came, like the eye of a storm, before the pubs turned out later.

As soon as things quietened down, Shiznay took a break, and told Dilip, the cover waiter, she’d be upstairs for five minutes.

‘Call me if my father needs me,’ she said. Her father was busy in the kitchen, supervising the phone orders and yelling at the moped drivers.

She went upstairs with the foil takeout punnets of salad, rice and lamb pasanda, and a bottle of lager.

Her mother and her aunts were in the living room, chatting loudly and watching the television. They were laughing at the antics of a quiz show host.

She scurried down to Kamil’s room, and let herself in.

Mr Dine lay on the bed, apparently exactly where she’d left him. She put the food and the beer bottle down and turned to see if she could wake him.

Another man was standing in front of the window, beside the wardrobe. She hadn’t seen him when she had first entered the room. He was so deep in the shadows he seemed to be made out of them.

At the sight of him, she felt terror wash through her, an awful, vicing effervescence of fear and shock. She made a noise in her throat and backed away sharply, knocking into Kamil’s hi-fi stand.

The man in the shadows stepped towards her swiftly, and reached out his hand, as if to touch her face or choke her. His expression was utterly blank. There was no rage, or anger, or malice in it, no smirk of lust, or grin of cruelty.

Before he could touch her, Mr Dine stopped him. He was suddenly just standing there, between the two of them, one hand raised to block the other man’s extending grasp.

‘No,’ he said.

The intruder blinked. He was wearing what seemed to be a plain grey T-shirt and dark jeans. He was lean, and of a similar height and build to Mr Dine. His hair was dark and close-cropped.

Shiznay’s eyes were very wide. Her voice seemed to have vanished entirely.

The intruder tried to move his hand. Mr Dine held it tightly and refused to allow it to stray.

‘No,’ he repeated.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Mr Dine let go. The intruder withdrew his hand and took a step backwards.

Mr Dine turned and looked at Shiznay. She shook.

‘W-who is… who is…?’

Mr Dine looked into her eyes. Immediately, she felt a little better. He raised a slender finger and put it to his lips. ‘Shiznay, go down stairs. Return to work. Do not be afraid. You will not remember this.’ His voice was level and heavy.

She nodded, and went out, shutting and locking the door to Kamil’s room behind her.

She took a few steps down the corridor, and then stopped, frowning. She heard her mother and her aunts laughing raucously.

‘Shiznay?’

She shook herself. Her father was calling to her up the stairs.

‘Shiznay!’

‘Yes, Father?’

‘What are you doing up there, girl?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I said… I’m just coming, Father.’

In the dark, cluttered bedroom, in the amber glow of the street-lamps shining in through the rumpled curtain, Mr Dine turned back to face the intruder. A car went by outside, and white stripes travelled across the ceiling’s shadows like the luminous, sweeping hands of a clock.