Dan Abnett - Border Princes

They slowed down, but continued to advance.

‘I mean it!’ James cried.

They halted.

‘I want you to leave me alone. Leave me alone!’

That is not possible, ever .

‘What?’

The safety of the Principal is our paramount concern .

‘Which of you said that? Who said that?’

The dark-haired man took a step closer.

‘Whoa! No you don’t!’ James exclaimed.

The dark-haired man stopped.

We are here only to protect the Principal.

‘Yeah, so you said.’

Your actions and behaviour are contrary to the Principal’s best interests.

‘Great. Maybe I can help with that.’

The blond man smiled. ‘That is unlikely. You have been compromised.’

‘I’ve been what?’

‘You have been compromised,’ said the dark-haired man. ‘Your investment has been damaged and, as a result, your self-protection protocols have been compromised.’

‘I really don’t understand,’ said James, keeping his hands raised, aimed at both of them.

‘That is the point,’ said the blond man. ‘You don’t understand. By now, you should, but you clearly don’t. We see this. This proves your investment has compromised you.’

‘Lower your hands,’ said the dark-haired man.

‘Just explain… please. Explain what you mean,’ James said, keeping his hands up.

The blond man sighed. ‘Explanation should not be necessary. The jeopardy upload should have re-installed your base consciousness by now. This also proves that your self-protection protocols have been compromised. You should know yourself and understand this situation. You should not be resisting. You should be ready and willing for extraction.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ said James, ‘whatever that means.’

‘You are-’ the dark-haired man began.

‘You, shut up,’ warned James. ‘I’m listening to you both. I want to understand, but you’re going to have to start making sense really soon. Speak plainly. Explain it in terms I can grasp.’

‘Plainly?’ asked the dark-haired man.

‘Information evidently must be seated in terms that can be understood using this milieu’s frames of reference,’ said the blond man. ‘Like the fact that chocolate ice cream… is animal fats and flavourings, pretty much.’

The dark-haired man looked uncertain. ‘None of this is important. Only the duty is important. The Principal must be protected and recovered.’

He moved forwards.

‘Back off!’ cried James.

The dark-haired man did just that. With a groof! of punched-out air, he flew back down the underpass and fell down, rolling hard.

The blond man sprang at James. James tried to ward him off, but the blond man clutched him tightly.

James swung around and slammed the blond man into the wall. Tiles shattered and flew off their cement settings.

The blond man dug his fingers in tighter, and James whirled him in the opposite direction. Another wall, another impact. Yet more cracked and fragmented tiles.

Don’t do this. Don’t do it. This is a mistake. You will come to see that. This is an ugly thing that stains my duty and tarnishes my -‘Shut up!’ James cried. He wheeled around and threw the blond man into the ceiling. The blond man crunched into one of the recessed lights and shattered it.

He fell onto the floor, landing on his hands and knees in a rain of clear plastic debris.

The dark-haired man was running at James. James reached out and his fist connected. The dark-haired man turned three, boneless somersaults on his way back down the underpass.

James turned and made his escape. He took the underpass steps three at a time. He heard sounds behind him.

He ran off down the street, and jinked left into a residential side-street, a quiet, exclusive mews.

He glanced behind him.

They were coming after him. They had changed. They had revealed their true forms.

They were grey shades, thorny shadows from the high walls in his dream, leaping and scurrying, like whispers, like wraiths. They were barbed, and armed for killing.

They ran faster than he could. They were made that way. They ran faster, leaping, bounding, closing the distance. They made no sound. Not even footsteps.

Still running, he looked over his shoulder. The shades were there.

One pounced-

Jack’s Webley went off, deafeningly loud in the narrow mews.

He was flanked by Toshiko and Owen. Both of them had side-arms aimed, circling, hunting for targets. Jack held up the black tile. Its surface danced with lights.

‘Know what this is? Anyone? Anyone?’ Jack called out.

James sank to the ground at their feet, panting.

‘Jack?’ he gasped. ‘Jack? They’re right behind me’

‘It’s OK.’ Jack told him. Jack kept the tile held up high.

‘Come on. Are you a coward? I’m just a guy with an old gun and few friends. You afraid of that? I don’t think so. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you take down a Serial G with your bare hands. You’re a proper killing machine. Nothing like me, I’m a pussycat. You could take me, pop, just like that. So stop being coy. Damn well show yourself.’

‘Oh crap,’ Owen breathed.

Smoky grey shapes prowled forwards into the mews from the shadows. A pair of them. They were there and they weren’t there, like subliminal messages or peripheral images. Grey thorns rippled and swirled, fading in and out of real-time.

‘OK,’ said Toshiko, swallowing, ‘two of them?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jack replied quietly. ‘One would be enough to kill us. Two, what’s the difference? We can only be so dead.’

‘I love it when you’re jolly,’ said Toshiko.

Jack waggled the tile. ‘You’re busy,’ he called out to the grey shapes. ‘I realise that. Busy and intent on your purpose. That’s fine. We won’t get in your way. Hell, we couldn’t if we wanted to. Just tell me something. Do you know what this is?’

Yes, Jack Harkness.

Jack winced. The words had passed through him like a knife. He forced up a smile. ‘Great. So, are you going to tell me about it?’

The two grey things in the limits of the shadows swished and bristled their thorny backs.

‘Here’s an idea,’ said Jack. ‘Look me in the eye. Look me in the eye, you sons of bitches.’

The grey things growled. One moved forward, its thorny greyness pouring off it like folds of dirty smoke.

It re-formed as its invested self melted away. It became a lean, blond man wearing a black suit. It stepped towards Jack.

‘You got a name?’ Jack asked.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Dine.

‘This wide open enough for you?’ Jack asked.

He and the individual called Mr Dine were walking down Mermaid Quay towards the Bay. It was getting late and growing dark. The sky was smudging over. There was a threat of rain on the wind.

Jack gestured to a bench facing the railings and the sea.

Mr Dine nodded and they sat down. Mr Dine kept glancing back down the Quay. Mr Lowe was following them at a distance, a sliver of shadow.

‘Your pal, he doesn’t like this, does he?’ Jack asked.

‘No,’ said Mr Dine. ‘Mr Lowe has only recently been inserted here. He does not understand the nuances of this place or your society.’

‘And you do?’

‘Not terribly well,’ admitted Mr Dine. ‘Better than my colleague, I think.’ Jack nodded.

They looked at the sea.

‘Where are you from?’ Mr Dine asked.

‘Not from round here,’ Jack replied.

‘I realised that.’

‘You?’

‘I’m from precisely around here, Captain,’ replied Mr Dine.

‘Because of the Rift, right?’