A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle) (32 page)

You turned into Rafe.

Bullshit. Rafe got what he deserved. You should've let him go free? After what he did to Silas?

"Gideon wasn't your brother," Diomedes muttered.
He swallowed. "And he's not dead, either."

"Oh?"

"Shouldn't have survived that shot. But he did. Came back a few days ago and attacked me, like some sort of damn ghost. Hell, maybe you and Hiatt're right: I shouldn't have shot him. Maybe he can't
be
killed." Diomedes chuckled bitterly again. Brain half blown away and he's back. Disappears in a fall off the garage. Wraith, they called him. And he's out there somewhere.

He's just a man.
You can kill him again if you have to.

Isn't that what got you into this whole mess?
He's connected to the woman who set you up. Michael was right.

"You know," Michael said suddenly, "after I stood up to you, I had
next to nothing left. I hung my hopes on you so much I didn't know what to do. You know one of the things that made it easier? I realized in time you probably would've done me the same way you did Gideon."

Diomedes only shook his head.
"You're different from Gideon." He didn't know Gideon the way he'd known Michael, or for as long as he'd known Michael.

Michael scowled and
looked away. "Yeah, well, he was dead as a doornail when you left him, that's all I know."

"Maybe he can't be killed,
" Diomedes muttered again, too quiet for the kid to hear. Some sort of invincible specter, like Rafe, come back for his own revenge. . .

No, that was crazy, wasn't it?
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus. Gideon was on Earth. For now, he had a job to do. He pulled out the signal rod that would shut down the nanopoison and checked to see if it had been used. If they found the access cards, they probably found the rod, too.

"
What's that?" Michael asked.

"None of your business, that's what."
A quick check showed the poison was still active. If they'd found it, they didn't know what it did. They were still clueless. He put it back in his pocket, not entirely sure what to think about that.

She shouldn't be doing this, Ondrea scolded herself.
She knew she shouldn't be doing this.

She walked beside Gideon on the top level of
Sunrise Station's main concourse as he looked out the windows to one side and at the people to the other. She'd tried to steer him to a less-populated area on one of the lower decks, but he insisted on coming here. It was the top level, where four stories' worth of open space rose above them and food and gift shops lined the inner wall opposite windows separating them all from the vacuum of space. People everywhere. A part of her thought the people would possibly even help to put him at ease; the other part was just afraid to argue with him more than she had to.

He'd needed to go out, again, getting increasingly agitated and disoriented.
He'd simultaneously needed to go "look for Isaac" and been impatient to start the lunar mission. The only thing she could think of was to appease him: try to satisfy that need somehow in the hope that it would calm his mind and let him focus on what he needed to do before she could manage a more permanent fix.

As the minutes ticked away, the fear that he didn't have enough time took an increasing hold on her heart.
There was another way, but Marquand would destroy her if she went that route, and possibly Gideon along with her.

Gideon stopped walking to stare out the windows to their right.
A pair of patrolling security guards had to step around him where he'd stopped, but they gave no real protest. "Isaac's long dead, Ondrea," Gideon whispered. "Why are we looking for him?"

The utter lack of a good answer to that stymied her.
"I don't know, Gid. You just wanted to go for a walk before you got to the Moon. C'mon, we should go back now."

Gideon
fixed her with a far-away stare. "Who is Joseph Curwen?"

She didn't think fast enough to hide her shock, but her phone beeped before he could answer. Though half glad for the distraction, she soured at its source. Tse
ng.

"Hang on, Gid."
She answered and bit off a greeting. "What?"

"
All lack of courtesy aside, Ondrea, just what do you think you're doing?
"

Goddammit! Beck called Tseng?
She turned from Gideon in a futile attempt at privacy. "Sir, I don't know what Beck told you, but there's no reason the problem should affect the project."

"
The problem? What
problem
?
"

Oh, hell.
"Sir, maybe I misunderstood. Why are you calling?"

"
I'm calling because I checked with D.K. and he said you took him out for another stroll before zero hour! What's this about a problem?
"

"It's nothing, sir, as I said, just a
—"

"
If I call Beck, will he say it's nothing? You're hiding something, Ondrea. If you think you're going to—
"

"I'm no
t hiding anything." Ondrea took a breath to hide the pounding of her heart. "It's just going to take one or two more adjustments than we'd planned."

"
And those adjustments require walks through crowded public areas?
"

Searching for her next words, Ondrea glanced behind her.
"Oh, damn it."

Gideon was gone.

Eyes tuned to thermal imaging, Diomedes gazed through the wall of the compartment as bodies passed back and forth beyond.
When the area was clear, he nodded to Michael. "Go."

The kid opened the compartment door and scrambled out before calling for Marc to follow.
Diomedes was on his own way out a moment later, squeezing through the opening on his back and rolling to his feet as soon as possible. Two travelers rounded the nearest corner immediately afterward, but gave no sign of alarm. They were out; now they had to make the shuttle. Diomedes gathered his bearings and picked a direction.

"This way," he ordered.

Diomedes led the way down the corridor, soon spotting a sign directing them up to the main concourse. From there they would get an elevator to one of the flight decks along the station's axis. Pick up Marc's bag from the locker he was whining about needing. A short walk to the shuttle from there, and they'd be bound for the Moon. He checked to see if anyone was watching or following. So far, so good.

"End of the line for you once we get to the shuttle, kid," he reminded him.
"Just Marc and me after that."

"I'd like to at least see if I can fit," Michael argued.
Again. That he was currently tagging along to see them off at the shuttle at all was a concession Diomedes made at the last minute when the kid had bugged him about it in the compartment. It was a bad idea, and it made it harder to keep him from coming any further. Diomedes shouldn't have allowed it.

Maybe it was because Michael didn't ditch him earlier.
He could have. He should have. It's what he would have done himself: taken the access cards and gone. Damn kid missed his chance, and why did that piss him off so much?

You don't like remorse, do you?

"There's no room," Diomedes told him again. "No more to say about it."

"You
said you don't even know what kind of shuttle it is. So I guess we'll see."

They
made their way to the main concourse. The place was filled with people under a high ceiling that rose all the way up to the rotation axis of the station. "Shut up about it while we're in the crowd," he ordered, and then led them toward the elevators. Their transparent shafts rose above the crowd against the inner wall. Just a little further.

He didn't like this place.
This spot. Something about it made his stomach twist. They were walking through a section set lower than the rest—what amounted to a divot in the deck, bordered ahead and behind them by other escalators that angled further up to connect the area with the rest of the deck that continued on a higher level. Railings lined the edges of that higher level. A few people loitered along the railings.

No, not a divot. A pit. The perfect place for an ambush. He pushed faster toward the
elevators that would take him out and to the flight decks. He wasn't really expecting an ambush, but he disliked the position anyway. Too vulnerable.

There was too much to worry about lately.
So many nets out to catch him. Bounty hunters, Gideon, the blond woman, Fagles. But it would be over soon, if he pulled things off.

He'd been wanted before
, but never so exposed. Too much had changed, changed for the worse like it always did. Damn it, why did he tell the kid about Silas? He'd lost Silas, Janette, and others who—if
they
were still around—would probably give him up for the bounty that was on his head ever since the blond woman turned on him.

H
e was so damned tired of change. Was it so fucking much to ask that something stay constant?

Ondrea's phone was off and in her pocket without another word to Tseng before she spotted Gideon thirty feet away. He stood by an escalator leading down to a lower section in the deck beyond. She rushed to him as he gazed out over the railing.

"Gid,
please don't wander off like that. C'mon, we need to get back now." If they could make it back before Tseng got hold of Beck. . .

B
ut then what?

Instead of answering, Gideon lifted an arm to point out over the low section to the railing on the opposite side.
"It's them." Looking at where he pointed, she spotted two familiar figures just getting on the down escalator opposite her and Gideon's position.

If Michael dies—if you kill him—that will be another change, won't it?
The small voice repeated the question. It grew louder as the transparent elevator doors closed.

It's already a change, he thought, fighting the idea, though it felt like a losing battle. Diomedes forced his attention to the crowd below as the elevator began to take the three of them upwards. Not much time now.

You do this right and he'll trust you again.

No.

Turn off the poison.
He doesn't have to know. Let him come to the Moon. You know Fagles will try to screw you anyway. Let Michael back in.

It's not that easy!

You've got a choice: face your fear or deal with the change.

He didn't want to think about it
. It was at that moment he caught sight of the man below with a start, a familiar figure by the railing overlooking the pit out of which they were rising:

Gideon!

He was following, tracking him! Here? Even
here?
No! The large voice swept him up in a storm of panicked rage:
Kill him! Kill him now! While you still have the shot!

Diomedes ripped his weapon out of his coat with one hand
and shoved Michael back with the other. "Get down! Now!"

Ondrea stepped between Gideon and the railing for a better look at the man and woman at which Gideon had pointed. It was definitely them, though she could hardly believe it. "They followed us?"

Gunshots exploded from above, and pain tore through her
before she could say more. Fighting against shock, she barely felt her brother yank her aside and down to the floor.

Michael had just enough time to grab Marc and pull him to the floor of the elevator. He didn't know what was happening or why, only that Diomedes had gone berserk and was firing an auto-pistol through the now-shattered elevator glass down into the crowd below. His instinct to protect Marc widened to the rest of the people below. Even if Diomedes didn't hit anyone, if the bullets pierced the exterior of the station—

His move to stand again and somehow stop
it all got cut short as sizzling bursts of dark red flung into the elevator at Diomedes. Michael threw himself back to the floor and tried to shield Marc.

Someone was firing back.

Diomedes cursed as his first volley hit the blonde when she stepped in front of his target.
Gideon grabbed her and tried to shield her with his own body.
You won't miss
this
time! Empty it into him!

He switched the weapon to full-auto as people scattered below.
Only Gideon mattered. He took aim again and fired. The gun's violence bucked in his hand. Even with his artificial arm he had to fight to keep it on target as recoil and rage shook through him. Bullets scattered about Gideon. Had any hit? Diomedes wished for a rifle and cursed that he wasn't closer.

Then daggers of fire punched through him out of nowhere.
He
was shot?! Only for a moment did he see the station security forces scattered across the area below, thermal rifles pointed, all firing. He screamed soundlessly, unable even to move out of the way. Pain flared through him.

Everything burned.

He saw it all then: Gideon still covering the woman's body. Michael yelling something as Marc lay flat. He saw the guards below, still firing energy into him that cooked his flesh and blinded one eye. When their last bolt hit, it was as if he could see himself fall backward and useless. Beaten. Destroyed. When his body crashed onto the floor of the elevator, he didn't know where his gun had gone.

O
dd that he no longer cared.

So fast, he was dying.
He was alone. Even with the other two there, he was alone. Michael, still shielding Marc, was watching him, saying something that Diomedes couldn't hear. Quiet, so quiet. Even the voices, large and small, were gone. The bolts had stopped. The elevator was dropping. He saw Michael move closer. He was going for the access cards—no, not the cards, but checking his wounds. It was pointless. Diomedes could hardly breathe. He burned inside.

Diomedes watched Michael
—the man Diomedes once was, he realized, maybe the man he might have been—make his futile effort to save him. Diomedes fumbled into his pocket and drew out the nanopoison signal rod and the cards in one handful. They weren't hit, but there wasn't much time now. Things were going dark, and Michael was becoming just a shape in a field of green.

All so quickly.

He found the kid's hand and pressed the items into his grip. His vision faded. "There's a poison," he struggled to whisper, "in your blood. Use the rod. . . code 0909. Maybe I shouldn't have done it. Doesn't matter now. . . Sorry."

Then Michael faded completely.

He hadn't even finished Gideon. He couldn't even do that much. The others must have been right about the man, and he no longer had the strength to care. Death was a change he could deal with, he realized, mostly because he was sure now that he wouldn't remember. It ought to piss him off, and in the distance he did see himself lying there, pissed off and dying. What a joke: Diomedes the Eternally Pissed.

His last thought, ever, was that Fagles was probably just as screwed as he was.
Were Diomedes able, he would have laughed.