parked among. A needle fuselage with sleek wings that didn’t quite match, as if they’d come off another, larger craft.
Genevieve had recovered by the time they arrived, though she was very subdued, pressing into Louise’s side the whole time. Fletcher helped her down out of the farm ranger, and she glanced mournfully over to where the stain of black smoke was spreading over the crimson horizon. One hand gripped the pendant which Carmitha had given her, knuckles white.
“It’s over, now, all over,” Louise said. “I promise, Gen.” She ran her thumb over the Jovian Bank credit disk in her pocket as if it were a talisman as potent as Carmitha’s charm. Thank heavens she’d kept hold of that.
Genevieve nodded silently.
“Thank you for your assistance, Corporal,” Fletcher said. “Now I think you had better return to your commanding officer and see if you can help with the fire.”
“Sir.” He was dying to ask what was going on. Discipline defeated curiosity, and he flicked the throttle, driving off down the broad strip of grass.
Louise blew out a huge sigh of relief.
Furay waited for them at the bottom of the airstairs. A half-knowing smile in place; interested rather than apprehensive.
Louise looked straight at him, grinning in return—at their arrival, the state they were in. It was a relief that for once she didn’t have to concoct some ludicrous story on the spot. Furay was too smart for that. Bluntness and a degree of honesty was all she needed here.
She held up her Jovian Bank disk. “My boarding pass.” The pilot cocked an eyebrow towards the smoke. “Anyone you know?”
“Yes. Just pray you never get to know them, too.”
“I see.” He took in Fletcher’s uniform. When they’d met at lunchtime Fletcher had been in a simple suit. “I see you’ve made lieutenant in under five hours.”
“I was once more than this, sir.”
“Right.” It wasn’t quite the response Furay expected.
“Please,” Louise said. “My sister needs to sit down. She’s been through a lot.”
Furay thought the little girl looked about dead on her feet. “Of course,” he said sympathetically. “Come on. We’ve got some medical nanonics inside.”
Louise followed him up the airstairs. “Do you think you could possibly lift off now?”
He eyed the ferocious blaze again. “Somehow, I just knew you were going to ask that.”
Marine Private Shaukat Daha had been standing guard outside the navy spaceplane for six hours when the hangar caught fire on the other side of Bennett Field. The major in charge of his squad had dispatched half a dozen marines to assist, but the rest were told to stand firm. “It may just be a diversion,” the major datavised.
So Shaukat could only watch the extraordinarily vigorous flames through enhanced retinas on full resolution. The fire engines which raced across the aerodrome were quite something, though, huge red vehicles with crews in silvery suits. Naturally this crazy planet didn’t have extinguisher mechanoids. Actual people had to deploy the hoses. It was fascinating.
His peripheral senses monitor program alerted him to the two men approaching the spaceplane. Shaukat shifted his retinal focus. It was a couple of the locals, a Christian padre and an army lieutenant. Shaukat knew that technically he was supposed to take orders from Norfolk officers, but this lieutenant was ridiculously young, still a teenager. There were limits.
Shaukat datavised his armour suit communications block to activate the external speaker. “Gentlemen,” he said courteously as they came up to him. “I’m afraid the spaceplane is a restricted zone. I’ll have to see some identification and authorization before you come any closer.”
“Of course,” Quinn Dexter said. “But tell me, is this the frigate
“It is, yes, sir.”
“Bless you, my son.”
Annoyed at the honorific, he tried to datavise a moderately sarcastic response into the communications block. His neural nanonics had shut down completely. The armour suit suddenly became oppressively constrictive, as if the integral valency generators had activated, stiffening the fabric. He reached up to tear the shell helmet off, but his arms wouldn’t respond. A tremendous pain detonated inside his chest. Heart attack! he thought in astonishment. Allah be merciful, this cannot be, I’m only twenty-five.
Despite his disbelief the convulsion strengthened, jamming every muscle rock solid. He could neither move nor breathe. The padre was looking at him with a vaguely interested expression. Coldness bit into his flesh, fangs of ice piercing every pore. His guttural cry of anguish was stifled by the armour suit tightening like a noose around his throat.
Quinn watched the marine tremble slightly as he earthed the man’s body energy, snuffing out the chemical engines of life from every cell. After a minute he walked up to the dead statue and flicked it casually with a finger. There was a faint crystalline
“Neat,” Lawrence said in admiration.
“It was quiet,” Quinn said with modest pride. He started up the spaceplane’s airstairs.
Lawrence examined the armour suit closely. Tiny beads of pale hoarfrost were already forming over the dark leathery fabric. He whistled appreciatively and bounded up the airstairs after Quinn.
William Elphinstone rose up out of the diabolical cage of darkness at the center of his own brain into a riot of heat, light, sound, and almost intolerable sensation. His gasp of anguish at the traumatic rebirth was deafening to his sensitive ears. Air seemed to rasp over his skin, every molecule a saw tooth.
So long! So long without a single sense. Held captive inside himself.
His possessor had gone now. A departure which had freed his body. William whimpered in relief and fear.
There were fragments of memory left behind from the time he’d been reduced to a puppet. Of a seething hatred. Of a demonic fire let loose. Of satisfaction at confounding the enemy. Of Louise Kavanagh.
Louise?
William understood so very little. He was propped up against a chain-link fence, his legs folded awkwardly below him. In front of him were hundreds of planes lined up across a broad aerodrome. It wasn’t a place he’d ever seen before.
The sound of sirens rose and fell noisily. When he looked around he saw a hangar which had been gutted by fire. Flames and smoke were still rising out of the blackened ruins. Silver-suited firemen were surrounding the building, spraying it with foam from their hoses. An awful lot of militia troops were milling around the area.
“Here,” William cried to his comrades. “I’m over here.” But his voice was a feeble croak.
A Confederation Navy spaceplane flew low over the field, wobbling slightly as if it wasn’t completely under control. He blinked at it in confusion. There was another memory associated with the craft. Strong yet elusive: a dead boy hanging upside down from a tree.
“And what do you think you’re doing here?” The voice came from one of the two patrolling soldiers who were standing three yards away. One of them was pointing his rifle at William. The second was holding back a pair of growling Alsatians.
“I . . . I was captured,” William Elphinstone said. “Captured by the rebels. But they’re not rebels. Please, you must listen. They’re devils.”
Both soldiers exchanged a glance. The one with the rifle slung it over his shoulder and raised a compact communications block.
“You must listen,” William said desperately. “I was taken over. Possessed. I’m a serving officer from the Stoke County militia. I order you to listen.”
“Really, sir? Lost your uniform, did you?”
William looked at what he was wearing. It
