Marauder (37 page)

They had just killed Sol.

She looked around the room that had been her home for the past couple of months. Barely any time at all, really, but she already had so very, very many memories. The people here were utterly
unlike anyone else she had ever met: kind and thoughtful and full of joy, with stories and gossip and friendship that made Gabrielle want so very badly to experience life a long way away from
chilly Redstone. It was all a far cry from the cloistered existence she had known back in the People’s Palace.

Martha Stiles had become something like a mother to her, far more than Mater Cassanas ever had been. She had set the outpost’s fabricators to printing out special obstetrics equipment,
then, with the aid of the medbay’s AI, had taken Gabrielle through every step of the birthing process. And when Martha had first laid the tiny baby against her breast, just a few days ago,
Gabrielle, her damp hair still stuck to her forehead, had finally felt the last vestiges of her old life slip away.

Evie had been the name of Martha’s daughter, and when she had told Gabrielle the story of her child, and the illness which claimed her life, the name had somehow fitted. The first time
Gabrielle had spoken to the tiny bundle in her arms, the baby smiled and let out a sound that was half gasp, half cry of delight.

Gabrielle shuffled, on her knees, across the floor of her room and squeezed herself into the tiny gap between the bed and a wall. Evie grasped at her mother’s face with her fingers, but
she had stopped crying for the moment at least.

Gabrielle remained there waiting until the door finally swung open. Evie’s father entered, dragging Martha Stiles after him, one side of her face so badly swollen that one eye had almost
closed. Her mouth was stained with blood.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Martha huskily. ‘They threatened to kill even more of our people if I didn’t tell them where you were.’

Tarrant meanwhile said nothing, his face an emotionless mask.

A Freeholder guerrilla wearing fatigues stepped up behind him. ‘Find Anil Sifra,’ Tarrant turned to him, ‘and tell him to come here.’

With a nod, the guerrilla went on his way.

Tarrant’s gaze drifted down towards the tiny bundle clutched against Gabrielle’s shoulder.

‘Her name’s Evie,’ Gabrielle told him boldly, then watched as a clutch of emotions went to war across the man’s face. Perhaps there still was something human left within
him after all.

He then let go of Martha, thrusting her towards another man with a scraggly blond goatee who had at just that moment appeared in the doorway. She guessed this newcomer must be Sifra. Gabrielle
kicked out and screamed as Tarrant stepped forward, reaching down to drag her out of her hiding place.

Evie began crying, much louder this time.

She didn’t have the strength to resist as Tarrant took Evie from her grasp and lifted the child to his shoulder. Then Sifra stepped forward, and struck Gabrielle across the face with the
back of his hand, before grabbing hold of her and dragging her into the corridor outside.

They hustled her and Martha along to the refectory, passing Sol’s slumped body on the way. Half his head was missing, and the wall behind him was liberally spattered with
his blood.

The rest of the outpost staff were already gathered in the refectory. Tables and chairs had been pushed to one side, and they had been forced to kneel with their backs to a wall, their hands
resting on top of their heads.

She could hardly bear to look at those white and terrified faces. The bodies of two of them already lay in the centre of the room, seemingly shot at point-blank range.

This carnage, she realized, was all her fault. If she and Megan hadn’t sought refuge . . .

Three Freehold guerrillas kept watch over the prisoners. They were dressed in grey-and-white camouflage, with breather masks hanging from straps around their necks, and all of them armed with
rifles. Bash stood amongst them, restrained by a light grip on his upper arm.

No matter where she went, she seemed to find herself surrounded by death.

‘You didn’t need to do this,’ she reproached Tarrant, her voice a hoarse whisper and her whole body trembling. ‘You didn’t need to hurt any of them.’

‘They were trying to hide you from us,’ snapped Sifra in clipped tones. ‘Now tell me exactly how the hell Jacinth managed to steal the Ship of the Covenant.’

She stared at him in utter confusion.

‘Speak up, Gabrielle,’ ordered Tarrant. ‘She must have told you what she was going to do.’ Evie gurgled quietly against his shoulder, one of her hands touching his
neck.

‘I swear I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,’ she replied, completely baffled. ‘She left here to find help, that’s all I know. That’s all
anybody
knows.’

‘She’s lying,’ snarled the man with the goatee.

‘No, Anil,’ said Tarrant, without taking his eyes off her. ‘Just look at her. She doesn’t have a damn clue what we’re talking about. None of them does.’

He stepped closer to the frightened woman. ‘Megan was sighted in the immediate vicinity of the Ship of the Covenant, just shortly before it lifted up from Dios. I had people tracking her
from the moment she entered the city, and they watched her actually go
inside
the ship. How could she do that, when so many other machine-heads have failed during all the centuries since
that thing landed?’

‘It must be because—’ Gabrielle started to say, almost automatically, then she stopped mid-sentence.

‘Must be because
what
?’ demanded Sifra.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

Sifra was now looking dangerously unconvinced. He unholstered a pistol, then gestured towards the kneeling row of terrified scientists. ‘Bring one of them over here,’ he ordered a
guard.

Gabrielle felt sick with dread as a young man whose name was Josh was dragged into the centre of the room, then pushed down onto the floor next to the two corpses. He had soft, dark eyes, and
she had often noticed him sitting quietly in the gene lab, studying endless virtual projections of organic molecules. He knelt on the floor with his hands on his head, issuing high-pitched,
panicked gasps as Sifra pressed the pistol against the back of his head.

‘Start talking,’ Sifra said to her, his voice strangely calm. ‘If you don’t tell us
right now
what you were about to say, your friend here dies. It’s your
call.’

‘I wasn’t going to say anythi—’

The sound of the gunshot cut off the rest of her words. She stared, speechless, at Josh’s slumped form – and the dark red crater where the back of his head had been.

‘Well?’ demanded Sifra, gesturing towards the remaining prisoners with his pistol. ‘How many more of them do I have to kill before you start talking?’

Gabrielle stared at Sifra, seeing only Thijs wearing a different skin. They were the same man, really: calculating, vicious, and ultimately weak.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘You want me to break down and tell you everything, and then you’re going to murder every last one of us, regardless. So why should I tell you
anything?’

Sifra stared at her impassively, his fingers flexing around the grip of his gun. Gabrielle felt a strange calm come over her. She knew she was going to die; she had already accepted it.
At
least this way
it’s my choice.

‘Fine,’ Sifra said at last. He beckoned to Tarrant, still cradling Evie against his shoulder. ‘The kid – give it to me.’

Tarrant stared at him uncertainly.

Gabrielle felt her sense of calm melt away as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Gregor,’ she said, ‘no.’

Tarrant was clearly experiencing a deep internal conflict, and for a moment she thought he might refuse. But then he lifted Evie away from his shoulder and handed her to his colleague.

‘No,’ said Gabrielle again, and began moving towards Sifra.

Hard, rough hands seized hold of her from behind.

‘Bring her over here,’ said Sifra, carrying the child over to the far end of the room, and laying her down on a small table by the entrance.

A guard dragged Gabrielle over beside him. Sifra had reversed his pistol in his hand, so he was now holding the butt over Evie’s tiny, fragile head.

‘Time’s up,’ said Sifra. ‘Start talking.’

Gabrielle struggled to breathe, her lungs aching with a kind of pain she had never experienced before. She didn’t want to believe what was happening was real, or that she was really
here.

‘Just tell him what he wants to know,’ Tarrant grated, stepping up behind her.

‘She’s your daughter,’ she croaked, twisting round to face him. ‘How could you let him
do
something like this?’

Instead of answering, he looked away.

‘Well?’ asked Sifra, raising his pistol a little higher.

‘Megan Jacinth isn’t her real name,’ Gabrielle finally said, in a rush. ‘She was the last Speaker-Elect before me. They made up the story about a kidnap attempt to hide
the fact that she had managed to escape on her own – but not until after she’d merged with the Ship of the Covenant.’

Sifra and Tarrant stared at each other.

‘Bullshit,’ said Sifra, raising his pistol again as if about to bring it smashing down.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Tarrant, putting out his hand.

Sifra halted.

‘How do you know all this?’ Tarrant asked her. ‘Did Megan tell you?’

‘She’s making this up,’ Sifra was shaking his head. ‘Don’t seriously tell me you believe her?’

‘I want to be clear about this.’ Tarrant was staring at Gabrielle. ‘You’re telling me Megan is also a clone of Dakota Merrick?’

Gabrielle nodded.

‘Gregor, what are you . . . ?’ began Sifra.

Tarrant turned to regard him with a look of triumph. ‘Think about it for a moment,’ he said. ‘It obviously makes sense.’

‘How?’ demanded Sifra.

‘If Megan escaped from the Demarchy
after
merging with the ship,’ said Tarrant, ‘then she must also possess Dakota Merrick’s thoughts and memories,
right?’

Sifra lowered his gun, suddenly looking less certain.

‘It explains so much, doesn’t it?’ Tarrant continued. ‘Otherwise how could she get on board the Ship of the Covenant so easily, and simply fly away with it?’

Sifra’s eyes grew wide in realization. ‘Nobody but her could ever make sense of the Wanderer,’ he murmured. ‘Nobody could get Bashir to respond the way she did, let alone
survive the experience.’

‘All that time, the one thing – the one
person
– we needed to get the Wanderer to deal with us was right there on the
Beauregard
along with us,’ said
Tarrant. ‘And we never even suspected.’ He shook his head in disbelief and laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s too much of a jump ahead to guess where she’s headed.
She’s clearly after the same damn thing we are.’

‘Okay, fine,’ said Sifra. ‘You’re right, it
does
make sense. But it still leaves us with a problem: how do we get the Wanderer to deal with us if we don’t
have Megan – or Merrick or whatever her damn name is?’

Tarrant’s gaze settled once more on Gabrielle. ‘I was wondering the same thing, but then it hit me.’

Sifra followed the direction of his gaze. ‘What?’

‘Anil, we have
her
,’ he said, pointing at Gabrielle. ‘Remember, she has the identical DNA to Megan.’

‘So?’ asked Sifra.

Tarrant made an exasperated sound. ‘Think about it. They’re both linked in some way to the Ship of the Covenant. They’re both machine-heads. Maybe that means she can do the
same things with Bashir that Megan could.’

‘You want to use
her
to talk to the Wanderer?’ said Sifra, looking uncertain. ‘You think it could work?’

‘It’s got to be worth a shot, hasn’t it? We’ll take her and Bash up to orbit, then we’ll run a trial experiment with them.’

Sifra nodded, his expression speculative. ‘You’re right. We’ve got nothing to lose, anyway, have we? But she’s not bringing that brat of yours on the ship with her,
Gregor.’

Oh no
, thought Gabrielle.
Oh, please, no.
They were about to kill Evie.

Tarrant stared at Sifra, his expression unreadable. ‘I’m not sure that’s necessary—’

‘Your job,’ said Sifra, ‘was to infiltrate the Demarchy and bring out the girl. Getting her pregnant wasn’t part of it. This is your mess, Gregor, and you’re going
to have to . . . clear it up.’

Tarrant glanced at her briefly, then back at Sifra. ‘There must be an alternative,’ he said.

‘
Alternative?
’ Sifra hissed. ‘Don’t waste any more of my time.’ He stabbed a finger towards Stiles and her staff, still kneeling at the far end of the
refectory. ‘I want you to
take care
of them while I fetch Bashir back to the dropship.’ He turned to the Freeholder still gripping Gabrielle’s arm. ‘Think you and
your men can handle that?’

The man nodded. ‘No problem.’

‘I’ll see you shortly, Gregor,’ said Sifra. ‘As soon as you’ve settled matters here.’ He signalled to the guard left in charge of Bash. ‘Bring him
along.’

The guard nodded, and led Bash back out of the refectory in Sifra’s wake.

The one in charge of Gabrielle turned to Tarrant, and nodded towards the prisoners. ‘Should we . . . ?’ he asked, in a low voice.

Tarrant nodded stiffly. ‘Do it,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Don’t give them any warning – there’s a lot more of them than us, and I don’t want to take the
chance they might try and rush us. But leave Stiles alive. I still want to talk to her.’

Gabrielle tried to pull free of the guard’s grip. ‘No,’ she protested, ‘you can’t. They haven’t done anything. You—’

Tarrant responded by first unclipping his own pistol, then pulling Gabrielle close to him, covering her mouth with one hand while pushing the barrel of his gun against her cheek with the
other.

‘Shut up,’ Tarrant snapped at her, his expression furious. ‘For once in your fucking life, just
shut up
.’

She continued struggling as the guard stepped away from them to join the other one covering the research staff with his rifle. They conferred briefly, then both raised their weapons to unleash a
volley of shots before their prisoners could have a chance to react.