The Neutronium Alchemist

  Cheers and raucous whoops of encouragement were hurled from all across the lounge. Someone picked up one of the big potted plants and threw it at a distracted nurse. An alarm shrilled. The staff began to draw their nervejam sticks.

  “Marie! Baby, I’m here.” Gerald had finally reached the holoscreen, thrusting his face against the cool plastic. His nose was squashed almost flat. She grinned and flirted mere centimetres away, her figure composed from a compact cellular array of small glowing spheres. “Marie! Let me in, Marie.” He started to thump on the screen. “Marie!”

  She vanished. The handsome anchorman smiled out. Gerald shrieked in anguish, and started pummelling the holoscreen with all his strength.

  “Marie. Come back. Come back to me.” Smears of blood from torn knuckles dribbled down the anchorman’s tanned features.

  “Oh, Christ,” the first supervisor grunted. He aimed a nervejam stick at Gerald’s back and fired. Gerald froze, then his limbs started to quake fiercely. A long wretched wail fluted out of his lips as he crumpled onto the floor. He managed to gasp one last piteous “Marie” before unconsciousness claimed him.

  Chapter 14

  Given the propensity for mild paranoia among Tranquillity’s plutocrats, medical facilities were always one aspect of the habitat never short of investment and generous charitable donations. Consequentially, and in this case fortuitously, there was always a degree of overcapacity. After twenty years of what amounted to chronic underuse, the Prince Michael Memorial Hospital’s pediatric ward was now chock full. A situation which produced a permanent riot along its broad central aisle during the day.

  When Ione called in, half of the kids from Lalonde were chasing each other over beds and around tables, yelling ferociously. The game was possessed and mercenaries, and mercenaries always won. The two rampaging teams charged past Ione, neither knowing nor caring who she was (her usual escort of serjeants had been left outside). A harassed Dr Giddings, the head of the pediatric department, caught sight of his prestigious visitor and hurried over. He was in his late twenties, effusiveness and a lanky frame marrying to produce a set of hectic, rushed mannerisms whenever he spoke. His face inclined towards chubby, which gave him an engagingly boyish appearance. Ione wondered if he’d undergone cosmetic tailoring; that face would be so instantly trustworthy to children, a big brother you could always confide in.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” he blurted. “We had no idea you were coming.” He tried to reseal the front of his white house tunic, glancing around fretfully at the ward. Cushions and bedclothes were scattered everywhere, colourful animatic dolls waddled around, either laughing or repeating their catch phrases. (Probably wasted, Ione thought, none of these children would recognize the idols from this season’s AV shows.)

  “I don’t think I’d be very popular if you made them clean up just for me,” Ione said with a smile. “Besides, I’ve been watching them for the last few days. I’m really only here to confirm they’re adapting properly.”

  Dr Giddings gave her a careful glance, using his fingers to comb back some of his floppy ginger hair. “Oh, yes, they’re adapting all right. But then children are always easy to bribe. Food, toys, clothes, trips into the parkland, every kind of outdoor game they can play. Never fails. This is Heaven’s holiday camp as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Aren’t they homesick?”

  “Not really. I’d describe them as parent-sick more than anything. Separation causes some psychological problems, naturally.” He gestured around. “But as you can see, we’re doing our best to keep them busy, that way they don’t have time to think about Lalonde. It’s easier with the younger ones. Some of the older ones are proving recalcitrant; they can be prone to moodiness. But again, I don’t think it’s anything serious. Not in the short term.”

  “And in the long term?”

  “Long term, the only real cure is to get them back to Lalonde and their parents.”

  “That’s going to have to wait, I’m afraid. But you’ve certainly done a wonderful job with them.”

  “Thank you,” Dr Giddings murmured.

  “Is there anything else you need?” Ione asked.

  Dr Giddings pulled a face. “Well, medically they’re all fine now apart from Freya and Shona; and the nanonic packages are taking good care of those two. They should be healed within a week. So, as I said, what the rest could really do with right now is a strong, supportive family environment. If you were to appeal for foster families, I’m sure we’d have enough volunteers.”

  “I’ll have Tranquillity put out an announcement, and make sure the news studios mention it.”

  Dr Giddings grinned in relief. “That’s very kind, thank you. We were worried people might not come forwards, but I’m sure that if you back the appeal personally …”

  “Do my best,” she said lightly. “Do you mind if I wander around?”

  “Please.” He half bowed, half stumbled.

  Ione walked on down the aisle, stepping around a thrilled three-year-old girl who was dancing with, and cuddling, a fat animatic frog in a bright yellow waistcoat.

  The twin rows of beds had channeled an avalanche of toys along the main aisle. Holomorph stickers were colonizing the walls and even some of the furniture, their cartoon images swelling up from the surface to run through their cycle, making it appear as if the polyp were flexing with rainbow diffraction patterns. A blue-skinned imp appeared to be the favourite; picking its nose, then flicking disgusting tacky yellow bogies at anyone passing by. No medical equipment was actually visible, it was all built unobtrusively into the walls and bedside cabinets.

  The far end opened up into a lounge section, with a big table where they all sat around for meals. Its curving wall had two large oval windows which provided a panoramic view out past the curving habitat shell. Right now Tranquillity was above Mirchusko’s nightside, but the rings glinted as if they were arches of frosted glass, and the smooth beryl orb of Falsia shone with a steady aquamarine hue. The stars continued their eternal orbit around the habitat.

  A girl had made a broad nest of cushions in front of a window, snuggling down in them to watch the astronomical marvels roll past her. According to the neural strata’s local memory, she’d been there for a couple of hours—a ritual practised every day since Lady Mac had arrived.

  Ione hunched down beside her. She looked about twelve, with short-cropped hair so blond it was almost silver.

  > Ione asked.

  >

  “Hello, Jay.”

  “I know you.” Jay managed an aslant frown. “You’re the Lord of Ruin.”

  “Oh, dear, you’ve found me out.”

  “Thought so. Everyone said my hair is the same as yours.”

  “Hum, they’re almost right; I’m growing mine a bit longer these days.”

  “Father Horst cut mine.”

  “He did a good job.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “Cutting hair isn’t the only thing he did right by all accounts.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not joining in with the games much, are you?”

  Jay wrinkled her nose up contemptuously. “They’re just kids’ games.”

  “Ah. You prefer the view then?”

  “Sort of. I’ve never seen space before. Not real space, like this. I thought it was just empty, but this is always different. It’s so pretty with the rings and everything. So’s the parkland, too. Tranquillity’s nice all over.”

  “Thank you. But wouldn’t you be better off in the parkland? It’s healthier than sitting here all day long.”

  “Suppose so.”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just … I think it’s safer here, that’s all.”

  “Safer?”

  “Yes. I talked to Kelly on the flight here, we were in the spaceplane together. She showed me all the
recordings she’d made. Did you know the possessed were frightened of space? That’s why they make the red cloud cover the sky, so they don’t have to see it.”

  “I remember that part, yes.”

  “It’s sort of funny if you think about it, the dead scared of the dark.”

  “Thank heavens they’re scared of something, I say. Is that why you like sitting here?”

  “Yes. This is like the night; so I’ll be safe from them here.”

  “Jay, there are no possessed in Tranquillity, I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that. Nobody can.”

  “Okay. Ninety-nine per cent, then. How’s that sound?”

  “I believe that.” Jay smiled sheepishly.

  “Good. You must be missing your family?”

  “I miss Mummy. We went to Lalonde so we could get away from the rest of our family.”

  “Oh.”

  “I miss Drusilla, too. She’s my rabbit. And Sango; he was Mr. Manani’s horse. But he’s dead anyway. Quinn Dexter shot him.” The tenuous smile faded, and she glanced back at the stars in a hunt for reassurance.

  Ione studied the young girl for a moment. She didn’t think a foster family would be much use in this case, Jay was too clued up to accept a substitute for anything. However, Dr Giddings had mentioned bribes …

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, I think you’ll get on very well with her.”

  “Who?” Jay asked.

  “She’s a friend of mine, a very special friend. But she doesn’t come down into the starscrapers; it’s tricky for her. You’ll have to come up and visit her in the park.”

  “I ought to wait for Father Horst. We normally have lunch together.”

  “I’m sure he won’t mind just this once. We can leave a message.”

  Jay was obviously torn. “I suppose so. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

  To see Tranquillity’s bishop, but Ione didn’t say it.

  ***

  “I wonder why you saw the demon as red?” the bishop was asking as the two of them walked the old-fashioned grounds of the cathedral with its century-old yew hedges, rose beds, and stone-lined ponds. “It does seem somewhat classical. One can hardly credit that Dante did actually get shown around Hell.”

  “I think demon might be a simplistic term in this instance,” Horst replied. “I’ve no doubt that it was some kind of spiritual entity; but given the clarity of hindsight, it seemed to be more curious than malevolent.”

  “Remarkable. To come face-to-face with a creature not of this realm. And you say it first appeared before the Ivets performed their dark mass?”

  “Yes. Hours before. Though it was definitely present at the mass; right there when possession started.”

  “It was the instigator, then?”

  “I don’t know. But I hardly think its presence can be a coincidence. It was certainly involved.”

  “How strange.”

  Horst was disturbed by how melancholic the old man sounded. Joseph Saro was far removed from the tough realist of a bishop Horst had served with back at the arcology; this was a genteel jolly man, whose subtlety was perfectly suited to an undemanding diocese like Tranquillity. With his almost-white beard and crinkled ebony skin, he had evolved a cosy dignity. More of a social figure than religious leader.

  “Your grace?” Horst prompted.

  “Strange to think that it is two thousand six hundred years since Our Lord walked the earth, the last time of miracles. We are, as you said earlier, so used to dealing in the concept of faith rather than fact. And now here we are again, surrounded by miracles, although of a singularly dark countenance. The Church no longer has to teach people and then pray that they come to believe in their own way; all we have to do today is point. Who can refute what the eye beholds, even though it doth offend.” He finished with a lame smile.

  “Our teachings still have purpose,” Horst said. “More so than ever now. Believe me, your grace, the Church has endured for millennia so that people alive today can know Christ’s message. That is a tremendous achievement, one we can all draw comfort from. So much has been endured, schism from within, conflict and assaults from outside. All so His word can be heard in the darkest hour.”

  “Which word?” Joseph Saro asked quietly. “We have so many true histories now; old orthodoxies, revelationist scrolls, revisionist teachings; Christ the pacifist, Christ the warrior. Who knows what was really said, what was altered to appease Rome? It was so long ago.”

  “You’re wrong, your grace. I’m sorry, but the details of that time are irrelevant. That He existed is all we need to know. We carried the essence of Our Lord across the centuries, it is that which we’ve kept alive for so long, ready for this day. Christ showed us the human heart has dignity, that everyone can be redeemed. If we have faith in ourselves, we cannot fail. And that is the strength we must gather if we are to confront the possessed.”

  “I’m sure you’re right; it’s just that such a message seems, well … ”

  “Simplistic? Fundamentals are always simple. That is why they endure for so long.”

  Joseph Saro patted Horst’s shoulder. “Ah, my boy, I envy your faith, I really do. My task would be so much easier if I believed with your fervour. That we have souls is of no doubt to me; though we can be assured our scientist brethren will seek a solid rationale among the grubby shadows of quantum cosmology. Who knows, perhaps they will even find it. Then what? If our very souls are given a scientific basis, what use will people have for the Church?”

  “I don’t believe the Church’s ethos can change simply because we have learned more of ourselves. The love of Christ will be no less valid for us now than it has been for the billions of past believers who lived in ignorance. His message uplifts the spirit, no matter what the substance of that spirit is revealed to be. If anything, the message becomes more important. We must have some hope as we face the beyond.”

  “Ah yes, the beyond. Purgatory indeed. It frightens people, Horst. It certainly frightens me.”

  “It shouldn’t, your grace. There is more than purgatory awaiting us. Much more.”

  “Goodness me, you believe that as well?”

  “Yes.” Horst half smiled, as though he had only just realized it himself.

  “We can’t pick and choose what parts of Christ’s teachings to believe in; those sections which are convenient, or comforting, and disregard the rest. Above everything, he gave us the hope of redemption. I believe in that. Completely.”

  “Then the heavenly city awaits?”

  “Some version of it, some sheltered haven for our souls where we can be at peace with our new existence.”

  “Did any of the lost souls you talked to happen to mention seeing such a place?”

  “No.” Horst smiled. “To demand proof is to lack faith.”

  The bishop laughed heartily. “Oh, well done, my boy. Teach the master what he once taught. Very good.” He sobered. “So how do you explain the different faiths? Their myriad versions of the afterlife, and reincarnation, and spiritual development. You are going to have to think of that now. God knows, others will. Now spirituality is real, religion—all religion—will come in for scrutiny as never before. What of the others who claim theirs is the true path to God in his Heaven? What of the Muslims, the Hindus, the Buddhists, the Sikhs, the Confucians, the Shintoists, even the Starbridge tribes, not to mention all those troublesome cultists?”

  “The origin of each is identical, that’s what’s important. The notion that we are something more than flesh and mind alone. People must have faith. If you believe in your God, you believe in yourself. There is no greater gift than that.”

  “Such murky waters we are adrift in,” Joseph Saro murmured. “And you, Horst, you have grown into a man with the clearest of visions. I’m humbled, and even a little frightened by you. I must have you deliver the sermon next Sunday; you’ll bring them flocking in. You may very well be the first of the Church’s new evangelists.”

  “I don
’t think so, your grace. I’ve simply passed through the eye of the needle. The Lord has tested me, as He will test all of us in the months ahead. I regained my faith. For that I have the possessed to thank.” Unconsciously, his hand went to his throat, sensitive fingertips feeling the tiny scars left over from when invisible fingers had clawed at him.

  “I do hope Our Lord doesn’t set me too hard a test,” Joseph Saro said in a forlorn tone. “I’m far too old and comfortable in my ways to do what you did on Lalonde. That’s not to say I’m not proud of you, for I certainly am. You and I are strictly New Testament priests, yet you were set a decidedly Old Testament task. Did you really perform an exorcism, my boy?”

  Horst grinned. “Yes, I really did.”

  ***

  Captain Gurtan Mauer was still dry retching as the lid of the zero-tau pod closed over him, blackness suspending him from time. The tortures and obscenities might have wrecked his dignity, the pitiful pleas and promises were proof of that, but he was still cold sober sane. Quinn was quite determined in that respect. Only sane, rational people were able to appreciate the nuances of their own suffering. So the pain and barbarism was always pitched a degree below the level which would tip the Tantu’s ex-captain into the refuge of insanity. This way he could hold out for days, or even weeks. And zero-tau would hold him ready for when Quinn’s wrath rose again; for him there would be no periods of relief, just one long torment.

  Quinn smiled at the prospect. His robe and hood shrank to more manageable proportions, and he pushed off from the decking. He’d needed the interlude to regain his own equilibrium after the disaster in Earth orbit, the humiliation of retreat. Gurtan Mauer provided him with a valid focus for his anger. He could hardly use the starship’s crew; there were only fifteen of them left now, and few were inessential.