The Thousand Emperors

SEVENTEEN
Bottomless grief knotted every muscle in Vasili’s body. Every night for the past several days had been long and sleepless, every thought wracked with remorse.
It was more than Luc could bear. He let go of the book Maxwell had left him with and fell back in his seat, the breath shuddering in his throat.
The library around him was silent and still. Maxwell hadn’t returned yet, and Luc was starting to get the feeling he might not be back for a while.
He took a breath, and again pushed his fingers against the pages.
Bright sunlight illuminated the spines of the books all around Vasili where he stood in his library. Winchell Antonov stood with his back to the patio doors, his small, inquisitive eyes set above a thick black beard. Only the faint rainbow shimmer of light around his outline revealed the renegade to be a data-ghost. Some flaw in the projection made him appear to be hovering just a fraction above the floor.
‘I’ve already proved to you that Ariadna was deliberately murdered,’ said Antonov. ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it? Proof.’
For so very long, Vasili had been convinced of a cover-up over Ariadna’s death. The inquest had been filled with flawed and circumstantial evidence, while the final verdict implied she had been careless, ignoring and failing to take action on priority alerts issued by the very flier she had died in.
But the more he had learned, the more convinced he had become that the verdict was a crock of shit. There were too many unanswered questions over how the flier’s navigational systems could possibly have failed without it alerting anyone else to the danger, and that led in turn to the suspicion that its programming had been deliberately altered – in other words, sabotaged. And on top of that, an overseer responsible for the maintenance of many of Thorne’s fliers had died under equally mysterious circumstances before he could provide vital expert witness testimony. Vasili’s own private researches had uncovered yet further, damning evidence.
But who would have the motive or reason to bring about her death?
Ariadna had been a Lost Russian like himself, part of that generation growing up on what had been the Russian Federation’s Pacific coast, prior to the Chinese occupation. Much, much later, long after she had become estranged from Winchell, and on the very day the Coalition’s occupation of Newton crumbled under the sustained assault of Cheng’s guerrilla armies, they had become lovers. Until then they had been only comrades in arms, working on strategies to trigger shutdowns in enemy military networks, their relationship up to that point purely professional.
The first time they made love, by the light of burning furniture tossed from the windows of a Coalition barracks, it had been a spontaneous act brought about by their shared revolutionary fervour. He remembered the triumphant shouts of their compatriots filling the air, the sweet ecstasy of victory mixing with the pleasure of Ariadna’s aroused flesh.
‘Proof.’ Vasili licked his lips, unable to keep a slight tremor out of his voice. ‘This was all so much easier when everybody thought I was insane.’
‘You weren’t insane,’ Antonov replied gently. ‘For a long time I hated you for taking Ariadna from me, but then I realized it was I who had pushed her away.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘When I found out what had happened to her, I instigated my own investigation into the circumstances surrounding her death, but it took a very long time to bear fruit. For a while I foolishly believed that you yourself might be her murderer, but my jealousy for your long life with her had blinded me. For that, I ask forgiveness. By asking as many difficult questions as you did, Sevgeny, you proved to me that you are an honourable man, and for that you have my respect, however much we might disagree on other matters.’
‘They told me I had lost my senses,’ muttered Vasili. ‘That I was unable to . . . to accept there was no meaning to her death.’
‘But you never stopped being suspicious, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ Vasili snapped, slamming one hand against a bookcase, taking a certain relish in the sudden burst of pain.
He could hardly believe he had consented to this meeting. Antonov represented everything he stood against – an enemy of order and sanity, a man who had proven himself more than willing to risk bringing the same destructive forces that had once destroyed the entire Earth raining down upon the colonies.
And yet here Antonov was, in his very home, offering answers to questions he had come to believe would never be answered. Ever since that terrible day when Ariadna had died, he had focused on his work as a way to avoid the despair of grief, fulfilling his duties both to the Council and to the Tian Di to the utmost. But it still had not been enough to prevent his slow abandonment by Cheng, a man he had once considered the closest thing to a friend.
‘I’ve already given you a taste of what I know,’ said Antonov, his voice calm and steady and infuriating in equal measures. ‘Your wife was asking too many questions for the comfort of certain of your fellow Eighty-Fivers.’
Vasili’s thoughts flashed back to a few days before, when an anonymous and heavily encrypted message had been delivered by a decrepit mechant, its hull pitted and rusted, its livery indicating it had belonged to Antonov prior to his fall from grace. God only knew where on Vanaheim Antonov had secreted it all these years.
Despite considerable misgivings, Vasili had loaded the message into his sensorium, curiosity overcoming his normal caution. He soon found himself watching shaky footage from the point of view of a Sandoz missile flying low across Thorne’s rock- and boulder-strewn landscape, before homing in on a single flier as it passed over a range of crater-pocked mountains.
‘You said Sandoz forces were ordered to kill her,’ said Vasili. ‘But who gave them their orders?’
‘To find out the answer to that,’ Antonov replied, ‘you must first go somewhere I cannot.’
‘You said she was asking too many questions. Questions about what?’
Antonov rolled his shoulders, as if one of them were slightly kinked. ‘I need to get access to the information stored in a private data-cache maintained by Cheng – one that nobody else knows exists, and that contains, or so I believe, damning proof regarding Ariadna’s death.’
Vasili stared at Antonov, his eyes burning. ‘You’re using me,’ he rasped. ‘You never gave a damn about me before now, and I’m not stupid enough to believe you’re here solely for my benefit.’
Antonov laughed. ‘Ever the pessimist, Sevgeny? Of course I’m using you. What kind of fool would I be, if it were any other way?’
‘You’re a devil,’ rasped Vasili. ‘When you go to hell, they should put you in charge. I swear you were made for the job.’
‘I seek evidence of a different kind,’ Antonov told him. ‘Proof that your beloved Father Cheng has not only discovered a second entrance to the Founder Network, but is exploiting its discoveries just as recklessly as the idiots who brought about the Abandonment.’
Vasili stared open-mouthed at Antonov’s data-ghost. ‘Impossible!’ he cried. ‘I stood by Joe’s side through almost every major policy decision the Council has made since its inception. He—’
‘Used you,’ Antonov finished, ‘to get into power, then finally discarded you once you proved to be a liability. You know he always treated Ariadna with disdain; he allowed you to become part of his inner circle, but not her – and why? Because she asked the questions you refused to face. There’s a reason, Sevgeny, that people called us the Thousand Emperors – because that’s what we became, figureheads spouting the same old monopolistic bullshit to justify their grip on power.’
‘And who would you prefer we emulated?’ Vasili yelled. ‘The Coalition? Their decisions nearly destroyed the human race!’
Antonov slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘When we fought them to a standstill all those years ago, Sevgeny, they were tyrants – no doubt about that. They used the chaos of the Abandonment to take our colonies by force, and I fought them as hard as you or anyone else, but that was centuries ago. Centuries.’
He stepped back slightly. ‘They’ve evolved so much during the long separation of our two civilizations, while we’ve stood resolutely still. Their old guard are long gone, dissolved in the sweeping changes that overtook them. It’s only us who call them the Coalition – they just call themselves the human race.’
‘Human?’ Vasili laughed. ‘Like that Ambassador of theirs? Have you or anyone else ever even seen behind that f*cking mask of his?’
‘We could argue forever, Sevgeny, and we’d never see eye to eye, because we’ve become set in our ways, as impermeable to change as Joe, and that is precisely why none of us should be allowed to rule any longer.’ He reached out a hand. ‘Accept my offer or not. It’s your choice, and one I cannot force upon you.’
‘Damn you,’ Vasili hissed, his hands twisted into claws. ‘Damn you to hell.’
‘No.’ Antonov shook his head, eyes glistening. ‘Damn them to hell, Sevgeny.’
Something inside Vasili gave way, as if he were no longer able to contain so much anger. He collapsed into a chair in exhaustion, and stared out past the patio towards the courtyard and the ocean beyond.
‘All right,’ he said, too weary now even to be angry, ‘where is this data-cache?’
‘That’s where it gets complicated,’ Antonov replied. ‘You first need to go to Javier Maxwell. A set of communication protocols are hidden in that library of his; these will lead you straight to the location of the data-cache.’
Javier Maxwell. Sevgeny shook his head and sighed. He should hardly be surprised Maxwell was involved in all of this somehow.
‘Why do you need me to do your dirty work, Winchell?’
‘You know I’d be risking detection if I data-ghosted into his prison, Sevgeny. You, however, have the right to enter his library at any time.’
It all suddenly became clear. ‘So that’s why you’re here,’ said Vasili. ‘Javier knows about these protocols?’
Antonov shook his head. ‘I’m far from sure he has any idea whatsoever that they exist. But remember, he acts as custodian to data-repositories to which you also have access. My researches show that the protocols are buried deep inside them, and I can tell you just how to locate them with his help.’
‘And what do you expect me to do, once I’ve uncovered this hidden goldmine of reputed scandal?’ Sevgeny asked, feeling suddenly tired and old. ‘Bring the curtains down on the Temur Council? Inspire a fiery revolution and watch the worlds burn?’
‘I’ll leave revolution to others younger than myself,’ Antonov replied. ‘I need solid, independently verifiable proof of Cheng’s secret exploration of the Founder Network, which I believe this hidden data-cache will supply. All I’d been able to find until recently were hints – pieces of a puzzle that together implied a much greater picture. While you’ve been out in the rain – metaphorically speaking, of course – Cheng, Cripps and his fellow conspirators in the Sandoz Clans have been getting up to things that threaten the existence not only of the Tian Di, but of the human race as a whole.’
‘What kind of things?’ Vasili demanded.
‘They have been searching for weapons,’ Antonov replied, ‘that Cheng believes will help him maintain his power and turn back the changes reunification with the Coalition would otherwise force upon the Tian Di. Or do you really believe Cheng is suited to survive those changes, Sevgeny?’
Vasili sighed and looked away. ‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted, feeling as if treason were spilling from his lips.
‘I’ll leave my mechant in your care for now,’ said Antonov. ‘Use it to get back in touch with me once you’ve spoken with Javier – and maybe you and I can work together again, the way we used to, back in the old days when we were young and burning with life.’
His data-ghost vanished, and Vasili sank deeper into his chair, staring at the cold stone walls surrounding him. More than ever, his home felt like a mausoleum, with him its premature guest.
He thought of Ariadna, and wept.

Luc found himself back in the library, the book in his lap, fingers aching from gripping its pages. He let out a shuddering breath, then pushed the book onto a table.
From the outside, Vasili had appeared an entirely cold and unlovable figure, his face bent into a permanent scowl; and yet his love for his deceased inamorata had burned with such intensity that Luc’s own feelings for Eleanor seemed pale by comparison.
But that wasn’t what made his hands shake as he lifted them from the book. In a few minutes his world had, almost literally, been turned upside down. A secret entrance to the Founder Network, one that was being recklessly exploited by the leaders of the Tian Di? It sounded absolutely preposterous. And yet it didn’t explain the hammering of Luc’s heart, or the sick feeling welling up in his chest.
He glanced towards the door, hearing hurried footsteps approaching. Javier Maxwell burst in a moment later, looking harried and wild-eyed.
‘You have to leave,’ Maxwell barked. ‘Now.’
Luc sat up, alarmed. ‘Why?’
‘Cripps is on his way here, with a detachment of Sandoz. It won’t be long before they arrive.’
Shit.
‘They must be looking for you,’ Maxwell continued, twisting his hands together, ‘or at least that’s the logical conclusion.’ He shook his head. ‘The Sandoz have never come here in force like this before. Never.’
‘Or maybe,’ suggested Luc, ‘they figured out that the Ambassador was here.’
Maxwell regarded him uneasily. ‘Or that Zelia sent you here. I won’t know one way or the other until they arrive – by which time, I suggest, you should be as far away from here as possible.’
‘No,’ said Luc, ‘not yet.’
‘There isn’t the time—’
Luc held up the book. ‘It was Father Cheng, wasn’t it? He gave the order to kill Adriana Placet.’
‘It seems you’ve been making good use of your time,’ said Maxwell, nodding at the book.
‘Antonov said that Cheng found a second entrance to the Founder Network. He also said Adriana Placet was killed because she was asking too many questions. Was it because she found out what Cheng was up to?’
‘She knew something was going on, but not necessarily what.’ Maxwell stepped closer, taking a grip on Luc’s arm. ‘You need to finish what Sevgeny started.’
Luc stood and pulled his arm away. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I may not know all the details, but I certainly know enough to understand that Father Cheng is doing something that is endangering us all. You need to go to that station Sevgeny visited and locate whatever data he found, and show the Tian Di what Cheng is doing. But that won’t happen unless you get the hell away from here first.’
‘But how can I possibly do that if I don’t have the protocols Vasili—’
‘You had the protocols in your hands,’ Maxwell said softly. ‘Hence my concern when you didn’t bring them back.’
Luc stared at him for a moment, then cursed under his breath. ‘The book I found on Vasili?’
Maxwell nodded. ‘Which is why you must find it again.’
‘Surely you must have copies of the protocols!’
‘Whoever it was amongst the Eighty-Five who hid the protocols in the library’s databases erased them remotely some time very recently, presumably once they realized Sevgeny was on their trail. That means, unfortunately, that the copy of them in Sevgeny’s book is now the only one still in existence.’
‘I don’t even know if the book is still in Vasili’s home. For one thing, it was damaged by the heat from the blast that killed him. For all I know, his house mechants threw the damn thing out.’
‘That’s a chance you’re going to have to take. Without that book it would take you months to find the station.’
‘But how can I possibly get away from here? I’m stranded since Zelia’s flier disappeared.’
‘There’s a hangar below us, with a flier for emergency use by Cheng or anyone else in the Eighty-Five with an urgent need to make use of it,’ explained Maxwell, stepping closer to the door. He gestured to the book still in Luc’s hands. ‘Take that with you and learn what you can once you’re away from here.’
Luc hesitated for a moment, then stuffed the book into a large pocket on the inside of his jacket, taking care not to let his fingers brush against the pages.
‘Why can’t you use that flier to get out of here yourself?’
‘It’s programmed to refuse my orders under any circumstances,’ Maxwell replied.
‘But if I took you on board with me—’
Maxwell shook his head. ‘Then it would never even take off.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, where the hell could I go?’
Luc followed him along a short corridor, then down a winding stairwell, its walls bare and undecorated compared to the rest of the library complex.
‘But where can I go from here?’ he called after Maxwell’s retreating back. ‘I’ve got no idea what the hell’s happened to Zelia, where she’s gone or if she’s in trouble of some kind. Without her, there’s nowhere for me to go.’
They came to a single steel door at the bottom of the stairwell. The temperature had plummeted, the air frosting with their every breath.
‘I knew Zelia well, back in the day,’ said Maxwell, stopping for a moment, ‘and she’s more resourceful than you imagine. Whatever’s happened to her, I wouldn’t assume you’ve seen the last of her just yet.’
Luc followed him through this last door. Suddenly he was outside, a freezing wind sucking all the heat from his skin, as he found they had emerged into the cavernous hangar he had first sighted from the foothills. There was, he saw, enough space to park a fleet of fliers.
The storm that nearly killed him had passed, and the sun hung sharp and bright in a sky striped with narrow wisps of cirrus. He stepped forward, hugging himself against the cold, and realized belatedly that he’d left his cold-weather gear behind. Idiot.
Mechants dropped down from some point in the cavern’s ceiling and moved towards them, weapons unfolding from their bellies. Luc turned to look at Maxwell, who had come to a halt just a short distance beyond the steel door.
‘This is as far as I go, I think,’ said Maxwell, retreating closer to the door.
Luc glanced between Maxwell and the approaching mechants. ‘Are we in any danger?’
‘I certainly am, if I try and go any farther than this. I don’t see any reason why they would want to harm you, however.’ He pointed towards a low-slung shape parked nearby and partly hidden beneath a heavy grey tarpaulin, AG field generators bulking out its sides.
‘That’s the flier you were talking about?’
Maxwell nodded. ‘I don’t see any others, do you?’
‘How did you do it?’ asked Luc, staring back at Maxwell in wonder. ‘I came here looking for Ambassador Sachs, and somehow I wound up working for you.’
Maxwell smiled faintly. ‘This is all Winchell’s doing, remember? Vasili would never have sought out the protocols or Cheng’s data-cache if not for that old renegade.’ He nodded towards the flier. ‘Go now, Mr Gabion, before the Sandoz arrive.’
‘One last thing. You said the Ambassador came to you for advice. About what?’
Maxwell’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. ‘When I say there isn’t much time, I mean—’
‘Please,’ Luc begged.
‘He was trying to prevent a war, Mr Gabion. A war between the Tian Di and the Coalition.’ Maxwell almost shouted the words in his agitation. ‘I’d tell you more, but there simply isn’t the time.’
Luc glanced towards the horizon beyond the foothills, and saw a tiny black dot moving across the sky towards them. ‘If I take off now, they’ll see me.’
Maxwell took a step forward, only for the mechants to drop down in front of him, blocking his path. ‘This really isn’t the time for debate,’ he yelled. ‘Stay here, and you’re dead for sure.’
Luc ran towards the flier, and felt a flush of relief when the mechants guarding Maxwell made no move towards him. He quickly pulled the tarpaulin to one side, revealing a hatch in the side of the craft that hissed open automatically. Gazing into its darkened interior, he then turned back to Maxwell.
‘Go back inside,’ Luc yelled over to him, ‘and wait there. I’ve got an idea.’
‘What the hell are you doing, Mr Gabion?’
‘You’ll see.’
He climbed in through the open hatch, then turned, yanking the tarpaulin back down until it was draped back over the side of the craft. As he clambered into the cockpit, the hatch closed once more, sealing him inside.
Once there, he sat in the pilot’s seat and waited for the Sandoz to arrive, wondering if what he was about to attempt wasn’t in fact the stupidest thing he had ever done.

‘This is insane,’ Maxwell hissed.
‘Just bear with me, okay?’
He stood side by side with Luc’s data-ghost in the library’s main hall, a real-time projection of the hangar floating before them. They could see that an armoured Sandoz heavy-lifter had just dropped down to a landing not far from the parked flier, still stationary beneath its grey tarpaulin. They watched as several figures emerged from the heavy-lifter, too far away to be immediately identified. All but two of the figures wore the heavy armoured suits of Sandoz warriors.
Maxwell made a gesture, and the view zoomed in towards the two in question. Luc saw with a spasm of shock that one of them was Eleanor; she wore her SecInt uniform, and was accompanied by Bailey Cripps.
They watched as Cripps, Eleanor and the soldiers made their way inside the library. Luc flexed his fingers by his sides, the breath catching in his throat.
Even though he had data-ghosted many times before, the depth of experience afforded by his lattice made it an effort of will to remember where he was, in reality, aboard Maxwell’s flier, and not in fact standing next to Maxwell in the library. He’d tried to persuade Maxwell to do the same – hide elsewhere in the library and present only his data-ghost to Cripps – but, as Maxwell himself had pointed out, there were only so many places for him to hide. Something in the other man’s manner gave Luc the sense that this was a confrontation the Councillor had been anticipating for a very, very long time.
‘She shouldn’t be here,’ Luc muttered. Cripps must have followed up on his threat. He should have anticipated something like this.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Maxwell.
‘That’s Eleanor Jaq. She’s a SecInt officer. Cripps threatened to arrest her at one point, to try and force me to turn informant for him.’
‘Ah.’ Maxwell nodded. ‘You believe she is his prisoner.’
The view changed, showing Cripps leading Eleanor and the Sandoz through the steel door connecting the hangar to the library, then up the steps leading to the main atrium. Eleanor walked side by side with Cripps, who leaned in towards her and said something inaudible into her ear. Eleanor smiled uncertainly in response.
‘If I had to be honest,’ said Maxwell, nodding towards Eleanor’s image, ‘she’s not acting like a prisoner. And perhaps you haven’t noticed, but she is armed.’
Luc started to say something, but the words died in his throat when he saw Maxwell was right. She had a holster on her hip.
‘There’s only one of her,’ Luc managed to say, ‘and several of them. If she tried to . . .’
‘I think you know as well as I do they would have disarmed her immediately if she was under arrest,’ Maxwell pointed out. ‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘Just what I was going to do anyway,’ he said, feeling the first curdling threads of betrayal knot themselves around his stomach.
‘Then you’d better start now,’ said Maxwell, ‘because they’re going to be here any second.’
Luc nodded tightly. ‘Good luck.’
‘My luck ran out long ago, Mr Gabion,’ Maxwell replied with a sigh. ‘If I had any to spare, I’d let you have it. You’re going to need it.’
Luc’s data-ghost vanished from Maxwell’s side, reappearing a moment later at the far end of the library’s central atrium, and positioned slightly behind one of several pillars supporting a first-floor gallery. Local micro-relays fed him the sound of voices echoing from the high, vaulted ceiling, and he peered round the side of the pillar to see Cripps emerge from the stairwell, followed by Eleanor and the Sandoz. A library mechant came swooping down, falling into a stationary position to the one side of and slightly above Maxwell, its audio circuits open so Luc could hear everything that was said.
Cripps stepped up to Maxwell while the Sandoz hung back, their eyes scouring the library.
‘It’s been a long time, Bailey,’ said Maxwell, stepping towards him. ‘What brings you here?’
Luc saw Cripps unfasten the holster at his side. ‘Master Rachid,’ Cripps said over his shoulder, ‘tell your men to search everywhere until you find Gabion.’
Luc pulled his data-ghost back into the shadows, not wanting it to be seen just yet, and watched as Rachid ordered four of the soldiers to the nearest elevator platforms. At the same time, he fired a command to Maxwell’s flier. It lifted up from the frozen concrete, the tarpaulin that had been covering it falling away as it rose. Within seconds it was accelerating towards the clouds covering the nearby mountain peaks.
‘To be honest, Javier,’ said Cripps in that same moment, turning back to Maxwell, ‘it’s not been nearly long enough.’ Eleanor remained silent by his side, her expression pale and nervous. ‘Why don’t you save us the time and trouble and tell us where Luc Gabion is?’
Maxwell affected mild confusion. ‘Who?’
Cripps’ face darkened. ‘Don’t waste my time. We both know Zelia de Almeida sent him here. Where is he?’
Maxwell affected a tone of distant curiosity. ‘Why are you looking for this man?’
‘Zelia has been conspiring to assassinate Father Cheng and destabilize the Tian Di – a conspiracy I have reason to believe you are part of. Gabion is a Benarean Black Lotus agent under her command. Now tell me where he is.’
‘Or what? You’ll kill me? Surely you can do better than that.’
‘I know where every one of your backups are located,’ Cripps barked. ‘Don’t think I would hesitate to wipe every damn one.’
‘It makes no difference,’ Maxwell replied with a shrug. ‘I have no idea who or what you’re talking about.’
‘F*ck it,’ said Cripps, sliding the pistol from its holster and shooting Maxwell at close enough range that the blast very nearly decapitated him. Blood hissed as it splashed against the floor and nearby furniture.
Cripps turned to the two remaining Sandoz and muttered something indistinct as Javier Maxwell’s body crumpled to the floor. A moment later one of the Sandoz opened fire on the library mechant. It jerked backwards under the sudden assault, and Luc lost contact with it. He saw its blackened remains thud to the floor.
‘Hey!’
Luc glanced up from behind the pillar to see a Sandoz staring down at him from the upper gallery. He darted backwards, moving fast, and a loud, hollow thud filled the air at the same moment that a crater appeared where his data-ghost had been standing only a moment before.
Maxwell had allowed Luc to upload a map of the library once he had explained his intentions, and he now retreated towards a doorway leading out of the atrium and into a maze of reading rooms. He ran past low tables and couches and through several more doors connecting each room to the next, hearing muffled shouts and heavy footfalls following not far behind.
By now, Maxwell’s flier had very nearly reached low orbit. Luc felt his weight begin to fall away. He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat trickling down his brow, and focused on what was happening in Maxwell’s library, already some hundreds of kilometres behind him.
‘Gabion!’ Cripps’ amplified voice boomed through the library as he ran. ‘My men are seeding this place with explosives. You can either surrender, or go down with it. Your choice.’
Go to hell, thought Luc, guiding his data-ghost into a corridor lined with yet more doors. He checked Maxwell’s map and saw that the corridor joined another up ahead to form a T-junction. That second passageway angled back at both ends to wrap around the reading rooms.
Another Sandoz appeared from around the corner of the T-junction, taking aim.
Luc dived through a door to one side, finding himself inside a reading room indistinguishable from any of the others, then ran through the door set into its opposite wall. He could hear the Sandoz stamping after him.
He passed through more doors and more rooms until he came out into a corridor, and saw an elevator platform tucked into an alcove to his left, right where he’d known it would be. Heavy, muffled footsteps came slamming through the reading rooms behind him, getting closer with every second.
In the blink of an eye, Luc was standing on the first floor gallery, looking down at Eleanor, who hadn’t moved. There was no sign of Cripps.
‘Eleanor?’ he screamed down at her. ‘What the hell is going on? Is Cripps holding you prisoner?’
She looked up at him, lips set in a thin line. ‘None of this would have happened if you’d just listened to me and talked to Director Lethe, like I asked you to.’
‘Eleanor, you have to listen—’
‘No, Luc, you need to listen to me. I spoke to Lethe on your behalf and told him everything – about what really happened on Aeschere, about the lattice and Zelia de Almeida – all of it. I had to, don’t you see?’
‘I thought you understood,’ he said. ‘I trusted you more than anyone else. Or do you really believe what Cripps just said about me?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘No, of course I don’t. But we need to find a way to fix you first. Then you can explain your side of things.’
Luc felt like she’d torn him open with claws of steel and left him to bleed to death. He stared down at her, suddenly lost for words.
Hearing a high-pitched beep to his right, he turned to see a Sandoz mechant accelerating towards him.
Instantly he ran, explosive rounds ripping chunks of wood and brick from the walls and shelves behind him, the mechant banging into walls as it came veering after him.
He was running blind now. Incredibly, Cripps still hadn’t worked out he was already long gone.
Turning a corner, he came face to face with yet another Sandoz warrior. The suited figure lunged towards and then through him, and Luc heard the warrior grunt with surprise as he slammed into the balustrade overlooking the library floor.
Luc stood where he was and made no effort to escape. There was no point in running any more.
‘Sir!’ the Sandoz yelled, staring around at Luc. ‘It’s a data-ghost!’
Luc ignored him, stepping over to the balustrade. Cripps came darting out of a doorway, pistol in hand, and stared up at him.
‘Very clever,’ said Cripps, his voice echoing as he re-holstered his weapon. ‘But wherever you’re hiding, you must know you’re only delaying the inevitable. You can’t escape through the Hall of Gates now.’
‘Why did you kill Maxwell?’ Luc demanded.
‘Because he’d become too dangerous for his own good,’ Cripps snapped.
Another Sandoz came running over to Cripps and whispered something in his ear. Cripps whipped around to glare at Luc, his face full of hatred.
‘Turn that goddamn flier back!’ Cripps screamed up at him.
‘And get my head blown off like Javier Maxwell did?’ Luc shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Sevgeny Vasili knew who was coming to kill him – and I’m pretty damn sure you’re the one who pulled the trigger.’
Luc dropped the connection before either Cripps or Eleanor could say anything else.

He found himself back in his own body, staring up at the curved hull of the flier’s cramped cockpit.
Eleanor’s betrayal had shaken him to the core. He felt more alone than he had ever felt since he’d lost everything back on Benares as a child. The nearest thing he had left to a friend or ally was Zelia de Almeida, and he still wasn’t sure if that was better than having her for an enemy.
<Zelia,> he sent, <if you’re out there, for God’s sake, answer.>
Still nothing. As he’d expected.
He had gained, at most, a few minutes head-start – and even then, he still didn’t have an answer to the question he’d asked Maxwell: where the hell could he even go?
He was alone, on a hostile world, with no way home. All he could really do until he figured something better out was find somewhere to hide where Cripps might never find him.
Switching to the flier’s external senses, he saw Vanaheim’s sun burst over its horizon, making the oceans below looks like pools of golden fire, and remembered what Maxwell had said: if his lattice could bypass the encryption on the books in his prison, what else could it achieve?
<Zelia!>
Still no answer.
He had the flier dip back down into the upper atmosphere, soon feeling it shudder around him as it bit into denser air. Before long a steady rumble sounded through the tiny vessel’s hull. He’d picked his next stop at random – an archipelago of islands dense with forest, just off the coast of a minor continent, black smoke trailing from one peak that was clearly volcanic.
Most importantly, the flier’s records indicated the archipelago was entirely uninhabited, and rarely visited. He had no idea whether Cripps or anyone else would be able to track him there, but he was all out of any better ideas.

The flier made landing in a clearing about forty minutes later, dirt and leaves tumbling down after it as it broke through the forest canopy. The soil beneath the canopy was filled with a half-light that filtered down from above.
Sweat prickled his skin the moment he exited the flier. Luc stumbled over to a boulder thick with moss and sat there for a few minutes, trying to will his heart to slow down and his hands to stop shaking. The air was thick with small, buzzing things, and all he could do was hope that none of de Almeida’s surveillance mechants were amongst them.
Thank God he’d taken the opportunity to eat something at Maxwell’s library. If he was going to hide out here for any significant length of time, his first priority would have to be locating a source of fresh water, followed by trying to work out what, amongst Vanaheim’s bio-engineered flora and fauna, might be edible.
And after that . . .
Maybe it was better not to think about after just yet.
He went exploring, making his way to the edge of a deep gorge that fell away to a river sluicing between dark granite walls on its long descent from the island’s central peak. He worked his way deeper into the forest, keeping the gorge to one side, taking care not to stumble or fall in the permanent twilight beneath the canopy.
After a while he came across a shallow cave, and had an idea.
Making his way back to the flier, he guided the vehicle back above the canopy until it spread out below him like a sea of green, then flew low until he was hovering above the river gorge. He followed the river upstream, then carefully manoeuvred the flier back through the canopy; and before long, he had parked it just inside the mouth of the cave. Even with the canopy covering the flier over, it had still felt somehow exposed. There were no guarantees the Council didn’t also have access to surveillance technology that could see through rock, but he’d take that chance.
He slept fitfully inside the flier, and found himself troubled by dreams in which he argued with Winchell Antonov. When he awoke, he could remember nothing of what they had said to each other. Staggering back outside, he worked his way downstream until the gorge flattened out sufficiently that he could cup the lukewarm water in both hands, drinking down as much of it as he could.
Upon his return to the flier, tired, grubby and still hungry, he failed at first to register that a light on one of the cockpit’s virtual panels had begun to blink. He stared at it for several moments, fatigue making him unsure if it had been blinking the whole time and he’d only just noticed it.
Tentatively, he reached out and touched the panel with a finger.
<Shit, it really is you. I don’t know how the hell you managed to stay alive, but you did.>
Luc let himself fall into the flier’s crash couch, a fat grin spreading across his features. It was Zelia.
<What happened to you?> he demanded. <I managed to talk to Maxwell, but he didn’t have any better idea where you were than I did. I thought maybe Cheng had finally ordered your arrest.>
<You actually talked to Javier? Where the hell are you?>
<Hiding on an island in the middle of nowhere. Maxwell rescued me and brought me into that weird library of his, but Cripps got wind of it and turned up with some Sandoz in tow. I got away, but Cripps is looking for me now.>
<I don’t want to talk like this too much,> she sent back. <It’s better we meet face to face.>
<How the hell did you even manage to track me down?>
<There are back doors inside the security networks nobody else knows about. It took a while to get control of them back, but after that it was just a matter of time before I figured out how to find you. Now listen – I’m uploading coordinates to you. I need you to go to them and rendezvous with me there.>
<Maxwell’s dead,> he told her. <I saw Cripps kill him. I learned a lot in that library, Zelia. I even have a pretty good idea just why Vasili was murdered.>
There was a brief pause before she replied. <Javier Maxwell is dead?>
<More than just dead. Cripps made a point of saying he was going to wipe Maxwell’s backups. He was getting ready to blow the whole damn library to kingdom come when I got away.>
<God damn it, he can’t . . .> She broke off for a moment, then came back. <Just get here, Gabion. I need you to brief me on everything that’s been happening.>
Luc listened to the buzz of life from outside the flier’s open hatch, the wind rattling the high branches of the trees shielding the mouth of the cave from view.
<You knew a lot more than you were letting on, Zelia. A lot more.>
<What?>
<That whole story about bringing me in to investigate Vasili’s murder because of the work I’d done in the past. That was just bullshit, wasn’t it?>
<You have no idea what you’re talking about.>
<This all started after Antonov told me in a dream to alter a record in Archives as a message – to whom, he didn’t specify. I felt like an idiot making those changes based on something in a Goddamn dream, but the next thing I knew Cripps had turned up out of the blue and I was being hauled off to Vanaheim to take a look at charred corpses on your behalf. I’d have to be an idiot not to make the connection.>
<You think Antonov’s message was meant for me?>
<A lot of things that happened on Thorne while you were still its administrator got swept under the carpet, Zelia.> He remembered the fleeting vision he’d had of her wearing a contamination suit, and walking through a biome filled with corpses. <But one of the worst was a containment breach involving unauthorized biotech research. Hundreds of research and development staff died and the whole thing stirred up a huge scandal. You resigned from your post as Director of Policy for Thorne after the investigation into the whole mess collapsed without ever working out who was responsible.>
<Luc, I sincerely hope you’re not implying that I caused that breach.>
<Antonov said the message was for someone who’d done something they shouldn’t have, a long time ago. The fact that he had me alter that particular record tells me that that something must have been the containment accident. And the first thing that happened after I’d altered that record was you first bringing me to Vanaheim, then sneaking me off to your own lab the instant I collapsed.>
<That’s preposterous,> she scoffed. <How could I even know any such record was altered?>
<I figure my changing that record triggered a prearranged signal. It was a way for Antonov to contact you. So yes, I think you were the one responsible for that biotech accident, but after you covered it up, Antonov found out the truth and held you to ransom against the day he needed something from you. I also know there’s no way I would have been able to alter that record without revealing my identity, and that’s why you brought me into the investigation – not just because you were desperate to avoid being exposed, but so you could try and figure out how I fit into the scheme of things.>
<And what possible advantage could Antonov gain from all this?>
<Access to Vanaheim,> Luc replied, <through me, even after his physical death.>
<I should leave you there in that jungle to rot,> she hissed. <You have no real understanding of what took place on Thorne – it was an accident, but one that involved secret research carried out on behalf of an internal committee of the Eighty-Five. They made me take a bullet when they removed me from my post, not that it would have made a difference to Antonov. He thought I was little better than a butcher, same as you clearly do.>
<What I think about you doesn’t matter. And I don’t need to come to you to tell you what I know – Vasili found out the location of a secret data-cache belonging to Cheng, one containing the proof of Ariadna Placet’s death – and Cripps murdered him for his efforts. And he would never have found that cache without Antonov’s help.>
<You’re not seriously suggesting Vasili and Antonov were working together?>
<Why not? You were collaborating with Antonov, whether you liked it or not. But Vasili found much more than he’d anticipated in that data-cache, enough to exonerate you and get me out of Vanaheim alive if I can find it. Which brings me to my next question – I need you to tell me how to find Vasili’s island.>
Luc’s fingers reached out and touched the edge of the book he’d taken from Maxwell’s prison, still tucked inside his jacket. He’d save the revelations about the Founder Network for the moment.
<Vasili’s island? Why?>
<There’s something there I need to try and find.>
<Tell me what.>
<No, Zelia. I’m not sure if I trust you well enough to hand you all my cards.>
<Then that leaves us at an impasse,> she replied, <because as I think I already made clear, trust does not come easily to me.>
<Then think of this as a new and life-enhancing experience,> he responded, feeling his temper slip, <unless you really think you can dig your way out of this mess without my help.>
He waited a long time before her response came. So long, in fact, he was starting to think she had cut the connection.
<You’re only going to get yourself killed if you go anywhere near Vasili’s on your own, you understand that, don’t you?> she said, when she finally came back.
Luc let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. <I’ll take that chance.>
<His house mechants will have been set to guard against intrusion. You can’t fight them on your own.>
He waited in silence.
<Damn you, I . . .> She paused. <Fine, Gabion. You win. I’ll give you the coordinates to his island. But I want you to wait at least an hour before you leave for there.>
<What are you up to, Zelia?>
<I’m not trying to stop you, Luc. But I meant it when I said you can’t do this on your own. Just wait an hour before you leave for there – agreed?>
<One hour> he said, and cut the connection. Despite his misgivings, he knew she was almost certainly right.

Luc reached Vasili’s island a little under two hours later, having travelled more than a third of the way around Vanaheim’s circumference. The flier dipped back down through the cloud cover and dropped towards storm-tossed cliffs he had first set his eyes on just days before.
Words materialized in the air before him, floating against the dim light of the cockpit. UNAUTHORIZED APPROACH. PLEASE TURN BACK OR SEEK CLEARANCE.
Ignoring the warning, he guided the flier to a landing on a rocky beach by a cliff on one side of Vasili’s island before disembarking. He squinted into bright sunlight, then looked around until he saw the steps cut into the cliff that he’d spotted on the way down.
Just before Luc reached the top of the cliff, something dark passed overhead. Immediately he froze, afraid he might have triggered the house security systems.
The dark shape resolved into a large craft, nearly twenty metres in length. It came to a halt over the roof of one of the buildings comprising Vasili’s home, turning through one-third of its circumference before drifting a few metres to one side and settling down on a flat grassy area at the top of the cliff. The craft, he saw, had Zelia’s livery painted on its hull.
Luc pulled himself up the last of the steps and found himself standing at one end of a gentle, boulder-strewn slope, leading upwards from the cliff towards the nearest of the buildings. As he watched, the rear of Zelia’s ship slid open, and over a dozen of her walking dead experiments emerged unblinking into the sunlight, shambling down a ramp.
Luc’s skin crawled at the sight of so many of them. He found he could make out subtle differences between each of them, although they all followed the same basic pattern: most of their primary sense organs had been replaced; all had pin-studded structures where their eyes should have been; all wore loose, filthy clothing little better than rags. But they were also, Luc noted with a mixture of alarm and relief, heavily armed.
He turned towards Vasili’s home in time to see one of the house mechants come rocketing over a rooftop. Before he could so much as react, one of Zelia’s monsters had fired off a shot. The mechant wobbled in the air, then span hard as a second shot hit home.
Zelia was creating a diversion.
He ran upslope towards a narrow alleyway separating two buildings and ducked down it, emerging a moment later into a smaller version of the courtyard Zelia’s flier had brought him to on his first visit. He glanced behind himself to see Zelia’s creations were now following him down the alleyway.
Two more mechants hovered into view above the courtyard, their weapons swivelling in different directions. Luc saw an open door to his left and threw himself through it, into a gloomy, unlit hallway thick with dust, its walls damp and streaked with mould.
Explosive fire flared through the doorway behind him, and he made his way deeper into the building with considerable haste. He passed through room after room, each more desolate and ruined than the last, making it obvious that outside of the library and perhaps a few other rooms, Vasili had let most of the island’s buildings fall into a state of considerable disrepair.
Luc came to a dirt-streaked window and peered out. A narrow strip of beach to his left was partly obscured by wild-growing bushes, but almost directly below his vantage point was a walled garden in far better condition than anything else he had seen so far, and a set of patio doors that were immediately familiar. By the look of it, the drop to the ground was no more than a couple of metres.
He looked around, then jogged into the next room to the left, finding a chair lying on its side. Carrying it back through, he slammed it against the window. The glass fractured and bowed outwards, but it took several more attempts before it finally shattered.
Salty air flowed in through the window, stirring up dust and dirt. Something hummed from one of the other rooms, sounding like it was coming nearer. Luc used his elbow to knock out a couple of shards of broken glass still sticking out of the frame, then scrambled over the window ledge, dropping down to land in the walled garden.
The landing knocked the wind out of him. Shots echoed over the rooftops, followed by the hum of another kind of weapon; light flashed in the air above a rooftop, and a thin trail of greasy dark smoke rose up, only to be rapidly dispersed by the wind. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards the patio doors leading into Vasili’s library.
Vasili’s body was long gone, as was the carpet his body had lain on, but the floor where he had fallen was still charred. Luc stared around the towering bookcases receding into the library’s dim recesses with a feeling of hopelessness. The bookcases were arranged in orderly ranks, a dozen or so on each side of the library, with couches and low tables arranged in the empty space between.
There must have been thousands of books there – even more than Luc remembered from his previous visit. It hit him how little time he really had to try and find the book Maxwell had given to Vasili, assuming it hadn’t simply been thrown out by the mechants charged with removing his corpse.
He heard the hum of an AG field through the closed door, beyond which lay the hall where he’d first met Zelia. Something then bumped against the door, and Luc instinctively ducked between two bookcases, making his way to a corner of the library that was hidden in deep shadow. His fingers itched for lack of a weapon of some kind.
The door swung open, and one of the house mechants drifted into the library. It came to a halt after a few metres, rotating on its axis until it faced Luc’s hiding place.
Something silvery slid out of a recess in its belly.
Luc grabbed the nearest, heaviest volume he could get his hands on and threw it towards the mechant. He scored a direct hit, and the machine wobbled slightly in the air. Before the machine could recover, he ran past it, diving into the shadowy recesses of the bookcases on the opposite side of the library.
The mechant corrected itself and turned to follow. It fired as Luc dived into the narrow space between one end of a bookcase and the wall of the library, feeling heat sear the back of his neck.
He kept moving, running back towards the light streaming in through the patio doors, the wall to his left and ranks of bookcases to his right. Glancing behind himself, he saw through gaps in the open shelves that the mechant had passed between two of the tall bookcases. It had come to a halt, as if suffering a moment of indecision.
Luc dashed in between two bookcases, turning until he could see the mechant through more gaps between books. It didn’t appear to have spotted him yet. Pressing his shoulders up against the bookcase behind him, he then kicked at the one before him, feeling it rock slightly on its base.
The bookcases were heavy, and therefore given to considerable inertia, but the one he’d just kicked was top-heavy, its lower shelves almost entirely empty.
Kicking at it again, he lifted both feet up, pressing them against the top-heavy bookcase, pushing hard, and then tried again, grunting with the effort.
The bookcase rocked away from him once more and tipped back towards him, before finally settling back into place with a thump. A few volumes slid noisily to the floor.
The mechant hummed and ticked as it swivelled this way and that, apparently waiting to see whether he might come out of hiding. He guessed Vasili had programmed it to protect the books, placing the machine at an impasse.
Luc drew on whatever reserves of energy he still had left and again kicked and pushed at the bookcase, yelling and cursing. It rocked away from him, and then back, yet more volumes crashing to the floor.
He kept pushing. This time, the bookcase kept going the other way, finally overbalancing and sending a torrent of books falling to the floor as it toppled against its nearest neighbour. That one, in turn, crashed into the next, and so on, until the mechant was caught in an avalanche of paper and wood.
Clouds of dust rose into the air. Luc pulled himself up from where he’d slid to the floor and heard the mechant buzzing as it tried to fight its way out. It was, however, clearly trapped.
He turned towards the patio doors in time to see another mechant come crashing through them, sending splinters of glass flying everywhere. It aimed its weapons at him and Luc froze, expecting to die at any moment.
There was a sound like a muffled grunt and the mechant spun, apparently out of control. A second grunt slammed the mechant against the ceiling. It fired wildly, a beam of energy cutting a burning swathe across one wall, nearly blinding Luc with its intensity. He dropped to the floor, heard a third grunt, and when he looked back up, bright spots obscured his vision.
By the time he could see again, he found that the mechant had fallen to the floor, smoke trailing from several holes in its shell. One of Zelia’s monstrosities stood at the entrance to the hall, the weapon it had used to down the mechant gripped in both hands.
The creature looked over at him, its head twitching from side to side as if it had difficulty focusing on him. A brief burst of static issued from its mouth-grille, and it returned its attention to the fallen mechant.
Luc staggered to his feet, only slightly less afraid of Zelia’s machine-man than he had been of the mechant. He could hear the asthmatic rattle of its breath.
The library was a wreck, half of its bookcases collapsed and innumerable volumes scattered everywhere. Luc stared around himself, again feeling a fool for thinking he stood any chance of finding Maxwell’s missing book. Surely the house mechants would have alerted someone that Vasili’s home had been invaded?
But he still had to try.
Think. Heading for the couches close by the patio doors, he tried hard to picture Vasili’s body just as it had been when he had first encountered it. The scorch marks on the floor of the library made that act of visualization a great deal easier than it might otherwise have been.
He squatted down where Vasili’s body had been, staring around himself until his gaze alighted on a still-upright bookcase within easy reach. When he had suffered the seizure that had seen him spirited away by Zelia, he had leaned against it for support. He noticed for the first time that the bookcase, like all the rest of them, stood on legs, meaning a narrow gap of a few centimetres separated the lowest of its shelves from the floor.
It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
Dropping down until his cheek was pressed against the cold flagstones, Luc peered into the darkened space beneath the bookcase.
He could see something, wedged underneath. A book.
His fingers soon worked their way into the gap beneath the bookcase, seeking out the nearest edge of the trapped volume, but in his desperation to get hold of it, he wound up pushing it slightly further out of reach.
Pausing, he took a deep breath and tried again, working much more carefully this time. Teasing the book around until he could just about grasp the edge of the book’s cover between two fingers, it took him another minute or so to gradually slide it back out from where it had become wedged.
Clutching the book to his chest, he was almost giddy with joy. Despite the scorch marks blackening the spine, he could still read the title: A History of the Tian Di, by Javier Maxwell. It must have slid out of sight, or been accidentally pushed beneath the bookcase when Vasili’s mechants had removed his body.
A shadow loomed over Luc; he rolled onto his back in a panic, thinking he was about to come under attack from another mechant. But instead he saw Zelia’s creature standing over him, its rifle gripped in both hands like a club and held high over its head.
Luc rolled out of the way just as the creature swung the rifle down in a long arc, the breath rattling from its grille mingled with static that almost sounded like words.
Scrambling to his feet, he tried to rip the rifle from the creature’s grip before it could either take another swing or, worse, try and shoot him. They struggled, rapid bursts of static emerging from the creature’s throat. But its movements were slow and ponderous, and it took relatively little effort to tear the rifle from its grasp.
Luc staggered back and fell onto one of the couches, then aimed the rifle at the machine-man, pulling the trigger. The creature clattered back against a bookcase before sliding to the floor, half its head sheared away, the buzzing from its mouth-grille diminishing into silence.
For a few seconds all he could do was lie there on the couch, panting. Zelia had tried to double-cross him, letting him find what he was looking for so she could then steal it from him.
The rifle’s readout told him it still had several slugs remaining. Standing back up, he slung it over his shoulder by a strap before making his way through the hall adjoining the library to the courtyard. There he found several more of Zelia’s monstrosities waiting, and they moved towards him as soon as they saw him.
He ducked back inside the hall and slammed the door shut, then glanced to one side and saw a heavy-looking table nearby. Grabbing hold of one edge of the table, he tried to drag it across the door but it proved too heavy, so he went around its far end and managed, not without considerable effort, to finally push it into place.
For a moment he reeled, sweat burning his forehead, and listened to the muffled bursts of static from the other side of the door as Zelia’s minions tried to force their way through. They’d manage it soon enough, but not, he hoped, before he had himself a good head-start.
Looking around, he spotted another way out of the hall, and a few seconds later found himself back outside, in another narrow alleyway running between two buildings. He headed left until he came to a low wall running along the top of the cliff, below which lay the beach.
Following the wall back around to where Zelia’s heavy-lifter was still parked on a slope, he found she had left only one of her monstrosities behind to guard it. It grunted static as it saw him, and came shuffling forward.
Luc made for the steps leading back down to the beach, the rifle still slung over his shoulder, and sprinted for the waiting flier. The hatch hissed shut behind him as he boarded, and he took off immediately, driving hard towards the clouds lying low over the water.