Peter Hamilton - A Quantum Murder

"The crash team is just taking off," he told her. "Philip, have they got stunshots with them?"

"Sure thing, boy."

"Tell them to use the stunshots wherever possible, remember these people aren't responsible for what they're doing."

"I'll tell 'em."

"Upstairs," he said to Eleanor. They started to pound up the staircase.

There was an almighty crash of breaking glass from the lounge when they were halfway up.

Knocking the whole window out by the sound of it, Greg thought. He handed Eleanor the stunshot when they reached the landing. At least if she did have to shoot she would never have the guilt of killing a complete innocent. He could always use the rifle to immobilize, If he had time, if the mêlée didn't become too confusing, if he could hang on to his scruples. They ran down the landing to the master bedroom.

"Philip, plug Royan in," Greg said.

"Right-oh, boy."

The landing's biolums came on just as they reached the bedroom door, three sets of wall globes shaped like lilies. Greg shot them out with the rifle. They disintegrated with loud popping sounds, showering the landing with radiant flakes that died as they bounced along the carpet.

From a tactical standpoint there was little improvement; biolum light shone up from the hall, casting long delusive shadows over the landing walls. He could hear people moving about below.

They went through into the bedroom. "Keep watching the stairs," Greg said. "Anyone comes up, shoot 'em."

"Right." Eleanor knelt down beside the door, peering through the crack.

The photon amp's time numerals and guido co-ordinates blurred then merged into a single wavery band of yellow light. There was a moment's pause, then the display printed: I'M HERE, GREG.

"Great. Listen, I've got about half a dozen people who think they're Liam Bursken coming at me. Now there has got to be some way to flush that paradigm out of them. We know it erases itself after a set time. Access the recording you made and look for the magic photons sequence, see if there's any way we can activate it prematurely."

GOT YOU. ACCESSING NOW.

"They're here, Greg," Eleanor called softly. She fired the stunshot, ten or twelve pulses zinged along the landing, scorching long burn marks into the wallpaper, blistering the paint on the banister rail.

He was aware of the minds on the stairs. One of them ruptured in a flurry of pain, the thought currents fragmenting into comate insensibility. "You got one."

GREG, HAVE YOU GOT A LASER WITH YOU?

"Yeah, a Heckler and Koch hunting rifle."

TOO POWERFUL. HAS IT GOT A TARGETING IMAGER?

"Yeah."

GOOD GOOD GOOD. PLUG THE IMAGER INTO YOUR SUIT 'WARE.

"Right."

"The crash team has left," Philip said. "Be with you in eight minutes."

It was going to be too long, that much was obvious. Greg tugged the rifle's targeting imager monocle out of its recess, and detached it from the fibre optic cable. The interface was standard—thank Christ. He plugged the cable into a socket on the guido 'ware module. Blue target circles hardened in front of him, angling down towards the carpet, the same line as the rifle barrel was pointing.

"Come out, Mandel," Ronnie Kay shouted up from the ball, "or we will burn you out. Fire is always the great purifier. Your wife will die with you then. Come out."

"Don't you dare," Eleanor said.

"Royan?"

I'VE DECRYPTED IT STRANGE. NOT LIKE SOFTWARE. NO SUBROUTINES. EVERYTHING STRUNG TOGETHER, SIMILAR TO PIXEL CODES, MUCH HIGHER BIT RATE THOUGH.

"Have you found the magic photons sequence?"

WORKING ON IT

Greg went over to the window, standing beside it with his back to the wall, expanding his espersense outwards. There were three minds below. He edged the rifle out past the curtains and activated the imager. The photon amp's picture of the bedroom faded away, replaced by a view of the garden below. Three men were standing on the lawn, waiting patiently. One of them held what looked like a shotgun, the other two were carrying clubs of some kind.

"Come out, Mandel."

Eleanor fired another barrage of stunshot pulses down the landing.

"We'll burn your flesh to ashes. Your last minutes will be the torment of Hell. Repent."

THINK I'VE GOT IT

"Thank Christ for that."

THERE ARE TWO SEPARATE SEQUENCES, BOTH BECOME ACTIVE AFTER A MEASURED INTERVAL FOLLOWING IMPRINT TIMED BY HEARTBEATS. CLEVER THAT THE FIRST SEQUENCE CONTAINS THE PARADIGM ITSELF AND THE INSTRUCTION TO KILL KITCHENER, ALONG WITH ADDITIONAL ORDERS TO DESTROY HIS RETROSPECTIVE NEUROHORMONE WORK. IT ACTIVATED ITSELF AFTER APPROXIMATELY NINE HOURS. THE SECOND SEQUENCE IS THE MAGIC PHOTONS, WHICH ACTIVATES TWO HOURS LATER.

Even now, Greg couldn't quite shake off his fascination with the case. Nicholas must have been hit before the storm, before the rising waters of the Chater closed the ramshackle bridge.

"Can you trigger the magic photons sequence?"

YES. I'VE ISOLATED ITS ACTIVATION CODE FROM THE PARADIGM'S TIMER SECTION.

"OK, there are three people we can try it on."

The target circles vanished as Royan took command of the rifle's 'ware. Greg watched the imager's laser sending a fan of ruby light sweeping across the lawn. The grid emerged in its wake, splitting into three sections, folding around the waiting men.

HERE GOES.

The contoured lines around the central figure began to flash.

NOW.

Greg saw a single strobe-like flicker of pink douse the man's face. His espersense showed him the man's thought currents start to seethe furiously. A loud destitute wailing penetrated the glass.

"What's happening?" Eleanor demanded.

"I'm not sure." Even as he spoke he sensed the new tide of personality usurping Bursken's resolute thought currents. His empathy was caught by the backlash of petrified bewilderment raging inside the abused brain, feedback sending a quake of dismay shuddering along his own synapses. Then the man was dropping to his knees, curling into a foetal position, mind rushing headlong into welcome oblivion.

"OK, we got him. Zap the other two, Royan."

Their grid outlines began to flash. The targeting laser fired twice.

"Flames, Mandel," Ronnie Kay shouted. "They will consume you. There will be no redemption."

Wait," Greg shouted back. "I'm coming out."

"Greg!" Eleanor pleaded.

"Those crazies will torch the place if I don't. We have to clear them out."

"Let the crash team do it."

"That bastard MacLennan is still out there. He can load Bursken's mind into them as soon as they land. Then where will we be? They are armed and armoured, Eleanor. At least the lynch mob only have shotguns."

"Come then, Mandel. Come to us."

She drew a sharp breath through her teeth. "God, you be careful, Gregory—"

He knew exactly how much that cost her to say. "No messing."

They waited in the hall at the foot of the stairs. Five of them, a tight arrowhead, with Ronnie Kay at the front. Two shotguns followed him with mechanical precision. Their mouths were curved up in the same slight, vapid smile.

His espersense flowed round them, along the hall, through the empty rooms. They were the only ones inside. Right at the back of his head was the faint thrumming of pressure, the neurohormones stressing his synapses to their limit.

He held the rifle casually at his hip as he descended.

"Take the ones with the shotguns first," he whispered.

RIGHT

The grid appeared again, peeling into five segments like cybernetic butterfly wings. Closing fluidly around their ignorant prey.

Ronnie Kay blinked, glancing distrustfully at the rifle. "Put it down, Mandel."

READY

"Now."

The laser lashed out, spiking each of them in turn. Elapsed time seven-tenths of a second.

They wilted in unison, filling the air with a grotesque catlike puling. Arms and legs were infected with a life of their own, waving and flexing at random.