‘In these sorry times, I feel quite privileged. I am the last person alive who appreciates the culture of ephemeral modernity.’ Motors whirred again, and slim wires Ollie hadn’t noticed before lifted Larson’s arms into a benediction posture, as if he were the puppet of an unseen deity. ‘So every relic I desire now flows to me, as your presence proves. I am become the ultimate steward of this glorious genre of human creativity. As such, I have determined that when we fall to the Olyix, I will welcome them here into my temple of unparalleled artistic wealth. And together, we will carry this unique trove to the end of time. Their god will rejoice in what I bring.’
‘Uh . . .’ Ollie let out a long breath of dismay, as he realized that Larson was utterly crazy. But the information about Nikolaj’s location was in that deranged head of his. ‘Isolate the penthouse,’ he told Tye.
‘Done.’
‘Please hold the Nightstar up,’ Larson said. ‘It looks truly magnificent. You say it is handmade?’
A smiling Ollie proffered the Nightstar as if it was a religious artefact. ‘Tye, disengage the hoist.’
Larson’s shiny forehead crinkled into a frown. ‘Something is wrong.’ He sucked on the air tube again, then let out a wild mewling sound as the cables that held him started to unwind off the winch drums. He toppled backwards in a curious slow motion, as if gravity hadn’t quite established a decent grip on him. The toys and books he landed on bent and crumpled in a grinding dissonance.
Ollie pushed his hand into the Nightstar’s hangar deck and tugged out his nerve-block pistol. It occurred to him that using it on Larson might not be the smartest idea. Who knew what would happen to a body like that if the nervous system suffered a failure? Tye was busy splashing up the medical data from the man’s modules. Ollie wasn’t much good at reading the details, but the number of amber icons was unnerving. He fished the synth slugs from the Nightstar and clambered over the ridiculous memorabilia to stand where Larson could see him.
‘Take – take—’ Larson gasped. He sucked frantically at his air tube.
‘Take what? No, listen, I don’t care about this junk. I’m here to find out where Nikolaj is. That’s it, that’s all I need, understand? So, where is the Paynor family house where she’s holed up? Tell me that and I’ll let you up again.’
Larson’s frightened eyes stared up at him.
‘Tell me.’ He held up his ace, the synth slugs, remembering the speech he’d given Schumder. Though to be honest, he wasn’t sure he could even find a bone on Larson without some kind of hospital scanner.
‘I – I – Help!’
Ollie set his jaw as several of the medical icons turned red. He had to do this. And quick, because – ‘These are synth slugs, and they’ve got this sparkle. Okay, forget that. They’re like a diamond – they are diamonds. Girl’s best friend right, cos they’re fucking hard, like me. And I’m going to let them eat you – er, no, eat through you. Yeah. That’s going to be agony, see. If you don . . .’ A whole series of Larson’s medical icons turned scarlet. One of the modules on the harness started screeching out an alarm.
‘Fuck!’ Ollie shouted.
Larson’s mouth was opening and closing feebly. Obese fingers wiggled like electrocuted worms.
‘Air?’ Ollie cried. ‘Do you need air?’ He knelt down fast and tried to lift Larson’s head. The pile of crap he was poised on shifted alarmingly, jolting the pair of them. For one horrific moment Ollie thought the massive body might roll on top of him. Larson’s tongue was protruding between his lips.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ollie yelled. ‘Oh, fuck, fuck!’ The medical modules were trying to send an emergency call to a specialist cardiac hospital in Chelsea, but his own darkware was blocking it perfectly. ‘No! No, please. Tell me where Nikolaj is. Please! I’ll call the paramedics. I swear. They’ll save you. Just tell me.’
‘He has gone into cardiac arrest,’ Tye announced.
‘No, no, no! He can’t do that.’
‘Life signs are flatlining.’
Ollie looked pleadingly at Larson’s vacant face. ‘Where are the Paynors?’
‘Multiple organ failure. Support machines unable to sustain basic body functions.’
Larson stopped breathing.
‘You piece of shit,’ Ollie screamed, and hit him, fist slamming directly into that wretched pudgy face. Hit him again. A third time. Nothing. ‘You bastard! You stupid, stupid bastard! Why did you let yourself get like this? Why?’ Ollie sagged back, gazing in disbelief at the one chance he’d had to find Nikolaj, to save Gran and Bik. Two years. Two fucking years to find him. And he fucking DIES?
*
Ollie had no real awareness of walking downstairs and back out of the Icona building. It was only when the light and sound of London’s devil-sky engulfed him with a greater vehemence than usual that he started to notice the external world again. Buildings and docks were just smears of drab colour. Even the abrupt change of the data splashed across his tarsus lens didn’t really grab his attention. It was only Tye saying, ‘Eight targeting lasers have now acquired you,’ that jolted him alert again. His surroundings crunched into extreme focus.
Paramilitaries in black armour were crouched at the corners of nearby buildings. Overhead, three ugly urban counter-insurgency drones hovered just above the Icona’s roofline. Various barrels pointed down at him.
Ollie let out a wordless scream of hatred, clenched fists rising.
‘Ollie Heslop, you are under arrest,’ a voice boomed out. ‘Deactivate any peripherals and get down on to your knees. Put your hands behind your head and lock your fingers together.’
‘Fuck you!’ Ollie bellowed back. There were tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d walked through the Icona’s entrance ready to get Nikolaj’s location, to start saving Gran and Bik. Now he had nothing, and Special Branch had found him. Bik and Gran were lost, doomed to be taken by the Olyix when London’s shield finally broke.
‘You will not be told
