Asgard's Conquerors (38 page)

"The
Scarids don't know anything about electronic security," he told us all,
"but it didn't take me long to show them what was going on in Skychain
City. Was a lot sharper than the Tetrax gave me credit for, that's for sure.
Then I fell ill, and they shipped me downstairs with the others. When we all
broke out, though, they discovered just how useful the information I'd given
them was. Tracked us here—no more than a couple of days behind."

It was
interesting enough, in its way, but it was distracting us from the issue at
hand. I turned back to the man with sky-blue eyes.

"The
situation's changed now," I told him. "The Isthomi in the camp. . . ."

"You
bet the situation's changed," Finn interrupted. He wanted to be in charge—to
call the tune. "Skychain City is in the hands of the Tetrax again, and
they're shipping in war materials just as fast as they can."

I
ignored him, and continued to appeal to the man with blond hair. "Lives
are being lost," I told him. "The Tetrax will run right over you if
your people don't capitulate. There's no help for you here—not the kind of help
you're looking for. These people aren't your ancestors, and they can't give you
any superweapons to help you turn the tide of battle. All they can do is make
their own peace with the Tetrax—and they have a great deal to offer. They have
already begun to talk to your people, back in your own levels. You can only
foul things up by running around with guns down here. Believe me, it's all out
of our hands."

It was
no good. He was only a soldier. I might as well have been talking to a brick
wall. It wasn't just that he didn't believe me—I just wasn't making any sense
at all. I had to try harder, but I didn't even know where to start.

I
glanced sideways at Finn, wishing he weren't there to complicate matters.
"What exactly do you intend to do?" I asked, in a tone as gentle as I
could manage

"We
want weapons," said Sky-blue, as though it were perfectly obvious.
"We want the mindscramblers you described to Dyan. We want weapons
powerful enough to stop the Tetrax and drive them offworld again. We want to
take control of Asgard, and keep it."

"And
how do you intend to proceed?" I asked, trying not to be sarcastic. I
turned briefly to look at the scions, who seemed utterly bemused by it all.
They were content to leave it to me for the time being, it seemed. I was
flattered by their confidence, but I couldn't believe that I was actually
making any headway in this crazy discussion.

"We
want to speak with the immortals," said the blond- haired soldier, in his
best heroic manner. "We want you to take us to the people who rule this
habitat."

"I
don't need to take you to them," I told him. "They're here. Not just
Thalia and Calliope—the walls, the floor, the ceiling. They're not people like
you and me—they're electronic personalities. Sentient computer programmes.
They don't have bodies as you understand them. They're all around us." His
eyes were blank, and I knew that I wasn't getting through. "I can't help
wishing that they'd take a more active part in all this," I went on.
"I wouldn't object in the slightest if they put us all to sleep with one
of their fancy tricks, and let us sort things out without those guns you're
waving around."

I was
assuming, of course, that the Nine were quietly observing all this, as they'd
quietly stood by while the Star Force settled accounts with Amara Guur on my
last visit. I assumed that they had the situation completely in hand: that
these cowboys had been detected and closely watched ever since they had
penetrated this level, and that the only reason the Nine hadn't yet acted was
that there was no need to panic. I wished, though, that they could take a hint.

But nothing
happened, and I couldn't help casting an anxious glance at Thalia and Calliope.
I realised that I didn't really know how badly the Nine had been injured by
their software skirmish. Maybe they hadn't been paying attention when the Scarid
soldiers sneaked up. I knew they were supposed to be paying attention now,
because Myrlin had told me that they'd be eavesdropping on my conversation with
the scions. But there was only silence and inaction.

Was it
possible,
I wondered,
that the Isthomi
no longer had sufficient control of their own systems to take effective action
against the invaders? And if so—then where, oh where, was Myrlin?

"You're
not in any position to make demands," I told Sky-blue. "Surely you
must realise that."

"As
it happens," said the Scarid, "we are in a stronger position than you
think. I believe you were wounded when they brought you down here. You didn't
see the machine or the shaft connecting this level to the ones above. It's a
very deep and unusually wide shaft. I don't know how many levels it extends to
below this one, but I know there are many hundreds above. The total volume of
the shaft must be immense."

"So
what?" I said.

"So
it's evacuated," said Finn, with a sneer. "The warning signs aren't
in any language we know, but whoever posted them intended them to be clear to
anyone with an atom of intelligence. We had a long journey down here, and
plenty of time to figure out the graffiti. That cage goes smoothly up and down
in an evacuated shaft which is deep enough to suck an awful lot of air out of
this habitat. All it takes is enough high explosive to blow the lock. We can do
a lot of damage with one big bang, and if the people of this level like air,
perhaps they ought to talk to us, okay?"

I shook
my head in disbelief. "You don't get it, do you?" I said
exasperatedly. "You have no idea what kind of a universe we're living in.
I don't know whether you really have enough explosives to blow a hole in this
habitat—maybe you do. But you can't hurt the Isthomi. They don't need air any
more than they need light, and you could blast away at them for years with your
stupid popguns and not hurt them. Can't either of you get it into your heads
that your firepower isn't any good any more?"

They
looked at the guns in their hands, which were still pointed at my chest.

I turned
again to Thalia and Calliope, appealing for some assistance. I felt that I had
done all I could, and that it was their turn now. I had the uneasy suspicion
that they were still observing, in fascination, the interactions of all these
strange alien beings, as though they were watching down the barrel of a
microscope as a culture of bacteria underwent some kind of awful crisis.
Perhaps they weren't even wondering whether they ought to care.

"We
can take you to a place where you may communicate directly with the Nine,"
said Calliope.

I wasn't
entirely sure what she meant. Surely the Nine were here. They were in the
walls; they were in the sky.

They were hearing
every word. We didn't have to go anywhere. Or was it me that didn't
understand?

It was
hardly for me to complain. I was only an innocent bystander.

"Haven't
you seen them already, Finn?" I asked. "Didn't you see any ghosts
when you woke up?"

"I
don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

"I
should have told Myrlin to let sleeping dogs lie," I said. "You did
meet Myrlin?"

"The
big guy who brought me out of that weird maze? Sure. He went back in again—that
was just before I found my friends here."

"They're
not your friends, John," I told him, switching from parole into English.
"Compared to these guys, the Star Force is your father and your mother.
You may be a piece of shit, but you're a piece of shit in Susarma Lear's
command. Her you can trust. The Neanderthalers would shoot you in the back as
soon as look at you."

Sky-blue
was waving his gun, to suggest that he didn't like what I was doing.

"Shut
up, Rousseau," said Finn, in parole.

"I
want to be taken to someone in authority," said Sky- blue.
"Now."

Thalia-7
intervened, and began talking to the invaders in what I assumed to be their own
language.

The officer
replied in kind, and all of a sudden he was launched into a dialogue with the
two scions. I felt a little hurt about my sudden exclusion, and also a little
anxious. The most obvious reason for switching languages was that Sky-blue's
non-parole-speaking friends could now understand what was being said, but
there was a nagging doubt in my mind that it might be because they didn't want
me to understand. I reminded myself that the scions might look like elongated
teddy bears, but there was no way to be sure that they cared one way or the
other what became of me.

About
three minutes went by before they switched back to a language I knew. Then it
was Calliope who spoke—to me.

"We
will do as this man wishes," she said, confirming the apparently
nonsensical suggestion she'd made earlier. "We will guide him through the
corridors, so that he may speak directly with the Nine."

If she
wanted to shoot them a line, that was okay by me. It was the Nine's world, and
the rest of us, whether we knew it or not, were probably about as important to
them as insects, no matter how interesting we might be. The Nine were in control—I
didn't doubt that for a moment—and I was ready to play along with anything they
said.

"Okay,"
I said. "If that's what it takes."

So we
set out to retrace my steps into the maze of corridors that was one tiny part
of the body of the Nine. As we went, I was uncomfortably aware of John Finn
walking behind me, reveling in the fact that he had a gun pointed at my spine.
I consoled myself with the one small measure of unholy glee that I could
discover. If Finn had got away without facing ghosts before, I thought, he
certainly wasn't going to get away without facing them now.

29

In order to go
through the narrow corridors we had to string ourselves out somewhat. Thalia-7
and Calliope-4 walked together in the lead, with the Scarid officer and one of
his bully boys behind them, guns in a threatening position. Then there was me,
with John Finn sticking close, still getting a kick out of being able to hold
the gun on me. Two more Scarid soldiers brought up the rear—there had been
further reinforcements waiting outside the igloo. Another two remained outside,
theoretically protecting the expedition's rear.

As we
marched through the maze I kept expecting the walls on either side to come
alive, wresting control of the situation from our captors with a mindscrambling
flourish that would be as contemptuously easy as taking candy from a baby. But
nothing happened, and the doubts continued to creep up on me. Somewhere up
ahead were Myrlin and 994-Tulyar, but I had no idea whether they'd been warned
about what was happening. Were the Nine just sitting back, like the audience at
a play, waiting to see who would get shot?

Once, as
we passed a dark side-corridor, I considered making a break, but Finn was too
close to me, and too obviously ready to punish any indiscretion. In any case,
I had no place to go.