Simon Green - Ghost of a Chance

“Excuse me. This may be a silly question, but who’s driving this train? And do they have any particular destination in mind?”

“We are driving,” said Natasha, not looking round, her voice disturbingly far away. “We are in control. And a little less distraction would be fine by us. This isn’t easy, you know.”

“The train is fighting us,” said Happy. His voice sounded eerily like Natasha’s. “It isn’t really a train, you know. It’s something the Intruder brought with it and made over into a train. So it could abduct commuters without being suspected. The Intruder has a use for commuters.”

JC leaned forward. “What use?”

“The train doesn’t know,” said Natasha. “It doesn’t ask questions. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say it’s sentient, but it’s as close as dammit. A living construct, something the Intruder made to love and serve it.”

“So the enemy can make real things,” said JC. “Not only illusions.”

“It’s growing stronger all the time,” said Happy. “The longer it stays in our world, the stronger it gets. Our world . . . is just something for it to play with. To change and manipulate as it chooses.”

“What is it?” JC said urgently. “Can you see what it is?”

“Old,” said Natasha. “So very old, and wild, and horribly powerful. It’s come here to kill us all. Isn’t it all simply too exciting for words?”

“Ignore her,” said Erik. “I do, as much as possible.”

“Take us back to our original base, on the southbound platform,” said JC. “You said you needed your equipment, Melody.”

“Damn right.” She looked at Happy and leaned forward to stare into his face. “Are you all right? Your face is flushed, and the sweat is pouring off you. Have you been . . .”

“Don’t need them,” said Happy. “For the moment. I’ve never experienced power like this. It’s like running in a top gear you didn’t even know existed.”

Melody checked the pulse in his neck, then laid her hand briefly across his sweltering forehead. “Happy, you’re burning up! Your body isn’t designed to operate under such pressure!”

“Nothing we can do,” said Natasha. Her face was flushed and perspiring heavily, too. “If we lose control of this train, even for a moment, it’ll turn on us. But don’t worry. This really is quite exhilarating.”

“Yes,” said Happy. “Lovely.”

Melody moved to sit at JC’s other side, so she could lean in close and whisper. “They’re spending too long locked together. They’re already acquiring each other’s speech patterns. God knows what information she’s picking out of his brain, or what nasty habits he’s picking up from her. We need to separate them while we still can.”

“We can’t do anything until the train gets us where we’re going,” said JC. “You have to work your instruments, find us a way to fight back.”

“Oh right; load everything on me.”

“We all do what we have to,” said JC. “Now concentrate. The first thing we need is some idea of who or what our unseen enemy is. We need a name, an identity, some indication of its powers and limitations. And, hopefully, its weak spots. Next, we need to nail down its exact physical location in the Underground. It used the energies created by Kim’s murder to open a portal onto this plane, and now it’s using her continued ghostly existence to maintain its presence in our world. That makes it vulnerable. So we have to find and face the Intruder, hurt it enough to weaken it, then break the bonds that connect it to Kim so we can drive it out of our world and slam the door shut behind it.”

“Oh,” said Melody. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t he wonderful?” said Kim, beaming. “He’s got a plan for everything!”

“Not necessarily,” said Melody. “It could be that the only way to banish the Intruder from our world . . . is to remove the focal point that holds this haunting together. Which is you, Kim. Your existence makes the Intruder’s presence possible. To get rid of him . . .”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said JC. “There’s a lot of things we don’t know for sure yet.”

“But could you sacrifice her?” said Melody relentlessly. “If that’s what it takes?”

“He won’t have to,” said Kim. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to save my world.”

“Isn’t she wonderful?” said JC.

“You poor damned fools,” said Melody. “There’s no way this can have a happy ending.”

She turned her back on JC and Kim and wouldn’t look at them for the rest of the journey.

The train brought them back to the southbound platform without incident. The car doors opened, a little blood leaked out, and everyone disembarked. Melody ran straight to her waiting equipment and did her best to embrace them all at once.

“Babies!” she said, not caring who heard her. “Mommy’s back, and everything’s going to be fine again.” She straightened up suddenly. “All right, who’s been messing with my equipment? These aren’t the settings I established. Somebody had better speak up right now if they like having their testicles where they are.”

“It was me, I admit it!” said Eric. “I was very careful, and very respectful.” He looked at Natasha. “And I think I’m going to hide behind you for a while if that’s all right with you.”

Natasha’s head snapped round suddenly, looking behind her. Happy’s head turned, too, at the exact same moment. Everyone else turned to look and found that the hell train had vanished, without a sound. Natasha let out her breath in a long sigh and shook her head slowly. Happy mopped sweat from his face with a handkerchief and smiled sickly.

“Wow, what a rush . . . Can’t say I’m sorry it’s over, though.” He glared at Natasha. “That woman has a mind like a bucketful of boiling cats. Sharp and vicious and downright nasty.”

“You loved it,” Natasha said calmly. “Your mind isn’t exactly a luxury hotel. I’ve never lived in such a small place. Though there were many interesting new chemical flavours . . . It’s a wonder to me your synapses still function.”

Happy looked at JC. “Don’t ever ask me to do that again. There aren’t enough pills in the world to flush that woman’s thoughts out of my head. I may put in for compensation for post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“You were born with that,” said JC.

“True.”

And then they all stopped talking to look at Kim as she advanced slowly but remorselessly on Erik. He backed away, clutching his cat-head computer to his chest. There was something new about Kim, something different, and disturbing. As though she wore the cold presence of death like a cloak. Erik swallowed hard as Kim drifted down the platform after him.

“What . . . what do you want?” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “I’ve been good. I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me.”

“Put down the computer,” said Kim.

Erik clutched the machine tightly. “No. It’s mine. I made it. I dreamed it up. I made it real.”

“Put down the computer,” said Kim. “While you still can.”

Erik looked into her eyes, and whimpered. He put the box down on the platform and scuttled quickly backwards. Kim knelt and peered into the cat head’s unblinking eyes. It tried to purr for her.

“Poor little kitty,” said Kim. “No more screaming, no more crying. Sleep.” She extended her ghostly hand down through the cat head and into the glowing workings of the box beneath; and the whole computer shuddered. It turned and twisted unnaturally, imploded, and was gone in a puff of displaced air. The cat’s head was left behind on the platform, quite dead. Kim smiled and turned back to face the others.