The Neutronium Alchemist

  “What’s your problem, boy?” the green man asked scornfully.

  “Is that not apparent, sir? I find it difficult to see how even a gentleman of your tenor can bring it upon himself to threaten three frightened ladies.”

  The green man’s mouth split into a wide smile. “Oh, you do, do you?” White fire speared out of his fingers. It struck the newcomer’s blue jacket and flared wide into clawing braids. He stood calmly as the coils of incandescence scrabbled ineffectively across him, as if he wore an overcoat of impervious glass.

  Unperturbed by his failure, the green man swung a fist. It didn’t connect. His opponent ducked back with surprising speed. A fist slammed into the side of the green man’s torso. Three ribs shattered from the enhanced blow. He had to exert some of his own energistic strength to stave off the pain and repair the physical damage. “Fuck,” he spat, shocked by this inexplicable recalcitrance on the part of someone who was supposed to be a comrade. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I would have thought that obvious, sir,” the other said from behind raised fists. “I am defending the honour of these ladies.”

  “I don’t believe this,” the green man exclaimed. “Look, let’s just get them possessed, and forget it. Okay? Sorry I mouthed off. But that girl has the devil’s own tongue.”

  “No, sir, I will not forget your threat to the child. Our Lord may have deemed me unworthy to join Him in Heaven. But, still, I count myself as more than a beast who would commit rapine upon such a delicate flower.”

  “Delicate … You have got to be fucking joking.”

  “Never, sir.”

  The green man threw his hands in the air. He turned to the other three who had accompanied his opponent from the farm. “Come on, together we can boil his crazy brain and send him back to the beyond. Or maybe you can ignore them pleading to be let back into the world,” he added significantly.

  The three men exchanged an uneasy glance.

  “You may indeed best me,” the man in the blue jacket said. “But if I have to return to that accursed nowhere, I will take at least one of you with me, possibly more. So come then, who will it be?”

  “I don’t need any of this,” one of the three muttered. He pushed his way past the other two and started to walk down the road towards the town.

  The man in the blue jacket gave the remaining two an inquiring look. Both of them shook their heads and set off down the road.

  “What is it with you?” the green man shouted furiously.

  “I believe that is a rhetorical question.”

  “Okay, so who the hell are you?”

  For a moment his handsome face faltered in its resolution. Pain burned in his eyes. “They called me Titreano, once,” he whispered.

  “Okay, Titreano. It’s your party. For now. But when Quinn Dexter catches up with you, it’s going to be the morning after like you’ve never fucking believed.”

  He turned on a heel and stalked off along the road.

  Carmitha finally remembered to breathe again. “OhmyGod!” Her knees gave out, and she sat down fast. “I thought I was dead.”

  Titreano smiled graciously. “You would not have been killed. What they bring is something far worse.”

  “Like what?”

  “Possession.”

  She gave him a long, mistrustful stare. “And you’re one of them.”

  “To my shame, my lady, I am.”

  Carmitha didn’t know what the hell to believe.

  “Please, sir?” Genevieve asked. “What should we do now? Where can Louise and I go?”

  Louise patted Gen’s hands in caution. This Titreano was one of the devils after all, no matter how friendly he appeared to be.

  “I do not know this place,” Titreano said. “But I would advise against yonder town.”

  “We know that,” Genevieve said spryly.

  Titreano smiled up at her. “Indeed you do. And what is your name, little one?”

  “Genevieve. And this is my sister, Louise. We’re Kavanaghs, you know.”

  Carmitha groaned and rolled her eyes. “Christ, that’s all I need right now,” she mumbled.

  Louise gave her a puzzled frown.

  “I regret I have not heard of your family,” Titreano said in what sounded like sincere regret. “But from your pride, I venture it is a great one.”

  “We own a lot of Kesteven between us,” Genevieve said. She was beginning to like this man. He’d stood up to the horrors, and he was polite. Not many grown-ups were polite to her, they never seemed to have the time to talk at all. He was very well spoken, too.

  “Kesteven?” Titreano said. “Now that is a name I do know. I believe that it is an area of Lincolnshire. Am I correct?”

  “Back on Earth, yes,” Louise said.

  “Back on Earth,” Titreano repeated incredulously. He glanced over at Duke, then switched to Duchess. “Exactly what is this world?”

  “Norfolk. It’s an English-ethnic planet.”

  “The majority,” Carmitha said.

  Louise frowned again. What ever was wrong with the Romany woman?

  Titreano closed his eyes, as if he felt some deep pain. “I sailed upon oceans, and I thought no challenge could be greater,” he said faintly.

  “And now men sail the void between stars. Oh, how I remember them. The constellations burning so bright at night. How could I ever have known? God’s creation has a majesty which lays men bare at His feet.”

  “You were a sailor?” Louise asked uncertainly.

  “Yes, my lady Louise. I had the honour to serve my King thus.”

  “King? There’s no royal family in the Earth’s English state any more.”

  Titreano slowly opened his eyes, revealing only sadness. “No King?”

  “No. But our Mountbatten family are descended from British royalty. The Prince guards our constitution.”

  “So nobility has not yet been overthrown by darkness. Ah well, I should be content.”

  “How come you didn’t know about old England?” Genevieve asked. “I mean, you knew about Kesteven being a part of it.”

  “What year is this, little one?”

  Genevieve considered protesting about being called “little one,” but he didn’t seem to mean it in a nasty way. “Year 102 since settlement. But those are Norfolk years; they’re four Earth years long. So back on Earth it’s 2611.”

  “Twenty-six hundred and eleven years since Our Lord was born,” Titreano said in awe. “Dear Heaven. So long? Though the torment I endured felt as if it were eternal.”

  “What torment?” Genevieve asked with innocent curiosity.

  “The torment all us damned souls face after they die, little one.”

  Genevieve’s jaw dropped, her mouth forming a wide O.

  “You’ve been dead?” Louise asked, not believing a word of it.

  “Yes, Lady Louise. I was dead, for over eight hundred years.”

  “That’s what you meant by possession?” Carmitha said.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said gravely.

  Carmitha pinched the top of her nose, wrinkling her brow. “And how, exactly, did you come back?”

  “I do not know, except a way was opened into this body’s heart.”

  “You mean that’s not your body?”

  “No. This is a mortal man by the name of Eamon Goodwin, though I now wear my own form above his. I hear him crying inside me.” He fixed Carmitha with a steady eye. “That is why the others pursue you. There are millions of souls lost in the torment of beyond. All seek living bodies so they may breathe again.”

  “Us?” Genevieve squeaked.

  “Yes, little one. You. I’m sorry.”

  “Look, this is all very interesting,” Carmitha said. “Complete drivel, but interesting. However, just in case you haven’t caught hold, right now we are drowning in deep shit. I don’t know what you freaks really are, possessed zombies or something nice and simple like xenocs with psychic powers. But when that green bastard reaches Colsterwo
rth he’s going to be coming back with a lot of friends. I’ve got to unhitch my horse, and we three”—her gesture took in the sisters—“have got to be long gone.” She arched an eyebrow. “Right, Miss Kavanagh?”

  “Yes.” Louise nodded.

  Titreano glanced at the passive cob, then the stallion. “If you are serious in your intent, you should travel together in your caravan. None of you has a saddle, and this mighty beast has the look of Hercules about him. I’ll wager he can maintain a steady pace for many hours.”

  “Brilliant,” Carmitha snorted. She hopped down onto the hard-packed dirt of the road and slapped the side of her ruined caravan. “We’ll just wait here for a wheelwright to come along, shall we?”

  Titreano smiled. He walked over to the ditch where the wheel had fallen in.

  Carmitha’s next acidic phrase died unspoken as he righted the wheel and pushed it (one-handed!) up out of the ditch, treating it as though it were a child’s hoop. The wheel was five feet in diameter, and made of good, heavy tythorn wood. Three strong men would struggle to lift it between them.

  “My God.” She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful or horrified at such a demonstration. If all of them were like him, then hope had deserted Norfolk long ago.

  Titreano reached the caravan and bent down.

  “You’re not going to …”

  He lifted it by the front corner—two, three feet off the road. Carmitha watched as the broken axle slowly straightened itself. The splintered fracture in the middle blurred, then for a brief moment the wood appeared to run like a liquid. It solidified. And the axle was whole again.

  Titreano jemmied the wheel back onto the bearing.

  “What are you?” Carmitha whispered weakly.

  “I have already explained, my lady,” Titreano said. “What I can never do is bring you to believe what I am. That must come of its own accord, as God wills.”

  He went over to the stallion and held his arms up. “Come on, little one, down you come.”

  Genevieve hesitated.

  “Go on,” Louise said quietly. Plainly, if Titreano had wanted to harm them, he would have done it by now. The more she saw of these strange people, the more her heart blackened. What could possibly fight such power?

  Genevieve smiled scampishly and swung a leg over the stallion. She slithered down his flank into Titreano’s grip.

  “Thank you,” she said as he put her down. “And thank you for helping us, too.”

  “How could I not? I may be damned, but I am not devoid of honour.”

  Louise got most of the way down the stallion before she accepted his steadying hand. She managed a fast, embarrassed grin of thanks.

  “I’m sore all over,” Genevieve complained, hands rubbing her bottom.

  “Where to?” Louise asked Carmitha.

  “I’m not sure,” the Romany replied. “There should be a lot of my folk in the caves above Holbeach. We always gather there if there’s any kind of trouble abroad. You can hold those caves for a long time; they’re high in the cliffs, not easy to reach.”

  “It would be a short siege this time, I fear,” Titreano said.

  “You got a better idea?” she snapped back.

  “You cannot stay on this island, not if you wish to escape possession. Does this world have ships?”

  “Some,” Louise said.

  “Then you should try to buy passage.”

  “To go where?” Carmitha asked. “If your kind really are after bodies, exactly where would be safe?”

  “That would depend on how swiftly your leaders rally. There will be war, many dreadful battles. There can be nothing less. Both our kinds are fighting for their very existence.”

  “Then we must go to Norwich, the capital,” Louise said decisively. “We must warn the government.”

  “Norwich is five thousand miles away,” Carmitha said. “A ship would take weeks.”

  “We can’t hide here and do nothing.”

  “I’m not risking myself on some foolhardy errand, girl. Fat lot of good you precious landowners will be, anyway. What has Norfolk got which can fight off the likes of him?” She waved a hand towards Titreano.

  “The Confederation Navy squadron is still here,” Louise said, her voice raised now. “They have fabulous weapons.”

  “Of mass destruction. How’s that going to help people who have been possessed? We need to break the possession, not slaughter the afflicted.”

  They glared at each other.

  “There’s an aeroambulance based at Bytham,” Genevieve said brightly.

  “That could reach Norwich in five hours.”

  Louise and Carmitha stared at her. Then Louise broke into a grin and kissed her sister. “Now who’s the clever one?”

  Genevieve smiled around pertly. Titreano made a face at her, and she giggled.

  Carmitha glanced down the road. “Bytham’s about a seven hour journey from here. Assuming we don’t run into any more problems.”

  “We won’t,” Genevieve said. She took hold of Titreano’s hand. “Not with you with us.”

  He grinned halfheartedly. “I …”

  “You’re not going to leave us alone,” a suddenly stricken Genevieve asked.

  “Of course not, little one.”

  “That’s that, then.”

  Carmitha shook her head. “I must be bloody mad even thinking of doing this. Louise, tether your horse to the caravan.”

  Louise did as she was told. Carmitha climbed back up on the caravan, regarding it suspiciously as she put her weight on the driver’s seat.

  “How long is that repair going to last for?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” Titreano said apologetically. He helped Genevieve up beside Carmitha, then hoisted himself up.

  When Louise clambered up, the narrow seat was cramped. She was pressed against Titreano, and not quite sure how she should react to such proximity. If only it were Joshua, she thought wistfully.

  Carmitha flicked the reins, and Olivier started forwards at an easy trot.

  Genevieve folded her arms in satisfaction and cocked her head to look up at Titreano. “Did you help us at Cricklade as well?”

  “How’s that, little one?”

  “One of the possessed was trying to stop us from riding away,” Louise said. “She was hit by white fire. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “No, Lady Louise. It was not I.”

  Louise settled back into the hard seat, unhappy the mystery hadn’t been solved. But then by today’s standards it was one of the lesser problems confronting her.

  Olivier trotted on down the road as Duke finally disappeared below the wolds. Behind the caravan, more of Colsterworth’s buildings had started to burn.

  ***

  Guyana’s navy spaceport was a standard hollow sphere of girders, almost two kilometres in diameter. Like a globular silver-white mushroom on a very thin stalk, it stuck out of the asteroid’s rotation axis; the massive magnetic bearings on the end of the connecting spindle allowed it to remain stationary while the colossal rock rolled along its orbital track. The surface was built up from circular docking bays linked together by a filigree of struts and transit tubes. Tanks, generators, crew stations, environmental maintenance machinery, and shark-fin thermo dump panels were jumbled together in the gaps between bays, apparently without reference to any overall design logic.

  Narrow rivers of twinkling star-specks looped around it all, twining in elaborate, interlocked figure-eights. The rivers had a current, their points of light drifting in the same direction at the same speed; cargo tugs, personnel commuters, and MSVs, firing their reaction drives to maintain the precise vectors fed to them by traffic control. Ombey’s code three defence alert had stirred the spaceport into frantic activity for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time instead of preparing to receive a single craft, frigates and battle cruisers were departing.

  Every few minutes one of the big spherical Royal Kulu Navy ships would launch from its docking bay, rising
through the traffic lanes of smaller support craft with an arc-bright glare of secondary fusion drives. They were racing for higher orbits, each with a different inclination; Strategic Defence Command positioned them so they englobed the entire planet, giving full interception coverage out to a million kilometres. If any unidentified ship emerged from a ZTT jump within that region, it would be engaged within a maximum of fifteen seconds.

  Amid the departing warships a lone navy flyer rose from the spaceport. It was a flattened egg-shape fuselage of dark blue-grey silicolithium composite, fifty metres long, fifteen wide. Coherent magnetic fields wrapped it in a warm golden glow of captured solar wind particles. Ion thrusters fired, manoeuvring it away from the big frigates. Then the fusion tube in the tail ignited, pushing it down towards the planet seventy-five thousand kilometres below.

  The one-gee acceleration sucked Ralph Hiltch gently back into his seat, making the floor stand to the vertical. On the seat next to him, his flight bag rolled over once to lie in the crook of the cushioning.

  “This vector will get us to Pasto spaceport in sixty-three minutes,” Cathal Fitzgerald datavised from the pilot’s seat.

  “Thanks,” Ralph replied. He widened the channel to include the two G66 troopers. “I’d like you all to access the briefing that Skark gave me. This kind of information could be critical, and we need all the breaks we can get around here.”

  That earned him a grin and a wave from Dean Folan, a noncommittal grimace from Will Danza. They were both sitting on the other side of the aisle.

  The sixty-seater cabin seemed deserted with just the four of them using it.

  None of his little team had complained or refused to go. Privately he’d made it quite clear they could pull out without any indiscipline action being entered on their file. But they’d all agreed, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Even Dean who had the best excuse of all. He’d been in surgery for seven hours last night; the asteroid’s navy clinic had to rebuild sixty per cent of his arm. The boosted musculature, ruined by the hit he’d taken in Lalonde’s jungle, had to be completely replaced with fresh artificial tissue, along with various blood vessels, skin, and nerves. The repair was still wrapped in a green sheath of medical nanonic packaging. But he was looking forward to levelling the score, he’d said cheerfully.