Goliath, p.2
Goliath, page 2
Tin Man was right. A small child of three or four was lying behind a bush, some pebbles burying her feet where she had slid down the slope. Blood caked her face where she had knocked her head on a rock. Her clothing was as impractical as her mother’s. A pretty frock, dusty and torn. Certainly not the sort of thing to be wearing out here. She was still alive, he could see her chest rising and falling, but other than that there was no sign of life.
Enderby aimed the rifle quickly and fired. He didn’t pause to see the results before clicking on the safety and heading back out into the open. “You’re looking for me then?”
He saw Tin Man settled on an outcropping, idly watching Enderby going about his business. It was an old machine—all of its kind were—and it showed. Its once gleaming carapace was dented and corroded, leaking fluids etching trails down its humanoid limbs. Designed to fit any tool, drive any vehicle or use any weapon a human could, Tin Man’s proportions were not dissimilar to Enderby’s own. As a silhouette it could easily be mistaken for human. It was only in the full light of day its origins became apparent. Mostly it was its head. With no nose or ears, eyes that were little more than dark glassy slits and a mouth that did not move when it talked, it was very inhuman indeed.
Of course Tin Man was not its real name, that was an eponym Enderby had given it out of a obtuse sense of amusement. Particularly as it had annoyed the machine at the time. In the decades since they became travelling companions, the name had stuck. It was, after all, easier on the tongue than Trinary Cy 2.
“I know we’ve had this conversation before, however I did not supply you with D-ASSIT for this purpose.”
Enderby leaned against the slowly rotting stump of a long dead tree and fished in his knap sack. He extracted a water bottle and took a quick swig. “It works just as well.”
“You’re taking quite a risk. Sooner or later you’re going to be caught.”
“That’s why I use the ASSIT. There’s never anything to find.”
Tin Man said nothing for a moment, its implacable face hiding its true thoughts. Delimited ASSIT was its gift to Enderby, something meant to keep him safe. Tin Man had tailored it itself, designing it to work specifically on the genetic structure of the people of this world. It took only the slightest drop for the ASSIT to start replicating, eating its way through its substrate as it went. In minutes any body would be reduced to a fine grey dust, upon which time the ASSIT would commit suicide, ripping its own structure apart so that nothing remained. Not an easy substance to create, wasn’t ASSIT. And it offended the machine to see it used so profligately.
“They will notice the disappearances and come looking for the source. They will find you.”
Enderby shrugged. “So what? Let them. I’ve been here long enough.”
“It’s a death wish is it? Why don’t you just walk into Ipos and tell them who you are?”
Enderby laughed. “They wouldn’t believe me.”
“Fair point. They wouldn’t.”
“So, what was it you wanted?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
That gave Enderby cause to hesitate. This did not happen often. “Go on.”
“I need you to watch the News at Ten. On television,” it clarified.
“What?”
Tin Man held up a hand. “Allow me to continue. There is a feature I think you will be interested in. When you have seen it I think—hope you will know what to do.”
Enderby pushed the water bottle back into his knapsack and stood straight. “Television’s busted. Has been for ages. There’s nothing on I want to watch.”
“It was just unplugged. I checked before coming here.”
“Shit.” Enderby turned his back and started picking his way out of the gully.
“You will watch it?”
“I’ll see!” he called over his shoulder.
Chapter Two
Wives, he had discovered, did not get along well with the notion of their man sleeping with other women. Even if they showed no interest in performing that particular duty themselves. Which explained the unopened boxes that were strewn over his living room floor. It did not explain why they had remained unopened for over two years. Laziness, perhaps, explained that. He knew, or perhaps he had known—as he had long since forgotten—what was inside. Clothes, shoes, personal grooming products. Far easier to simply buy new than re-arrange the detritus of his previous life. Laziness also explained why he hadn’t simply discarded the boxes and their contents, if only to clear some space on the floor.
He didn’t care. His ex-wife could keep the house. The penthouse above the Randy Dogg served his needs perfectly.
“Shit,” he proclaimed, scratching himself through a stained pair of Y fronts with one hand while fiddling with the TV clicker with the other. The picture flickered as the wind rattled the antenna on the roof, making it almost unwatchable. “Shit,” he said again, throwing the clicker at the set. It clanked off the glass of the cathode ray tube, cracking the clicker’s housing before skittering under a table. There was nothing on anyway, he had seen it all before. He couldn’t remember when Terrestrial One stopped showing original programming, relying on repeats from their archives instead. Even the news was boring. There hadn’t been a decent riot in years.
“What’s wrong with you?” Adele stepped from the bathroom, towelling her long auburn hair, her head craned to one side so she could get to the back of her head. She was tall, almost a head taller than he was. He did like them tall. There were many other things he liked about her too, most of which were barely held in check by the shirt she had loosely buttoned over her nakedness. Unashamed she perched on a bar stool beside the breakfast table, well aware that he was afforded a good view of hair beneath the hem.
Davido stopped scratching himself self consciously, aware of his sudden arousal. He admired the long sinuous length of her legs and what they led to. Adele certainly looked good on his arm, not to mention in his bed. Still, he did not keep her around for conversation. He paid enough toughs for that. They, at least, didn’t contradict him.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observed.
“Prefer me to walk around naked?” She finished rubbing her hair dry, straightening it by combing her fingers through it.
“That is silk,” he continued.
“Fucking silk it is?” She dropped the towel to the floor and started working on the buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you your shirt back.”
“What’s wrong with your clothes?”
“I seem to remember you puking on me. I guess you don’t remember that. You were drunk, as usual. There.” Finished with the buttons she slipped the shirt off her shoulders and balled it up before throwing it at him. “Silk is it?”
“Damn, woman. You can’t get these no more.” He caught the wad and carefully smoothed out the material before hanging it over a chair arm.
“Maybe you should lock it up in your vault then. Along with everything else you care about.” Adele put both elbows on the breakfast table, pushing out her chest to amplify her breasts. They didn’t need the help. She smiled thinly; well aware of the effect she was having on him.
She was in her mid twenties, under duress he would be forced to admit he didn’t know her precise age. It barely mattered. He did know her birthday though: 23rd March. He dared not forget that. She had been a stripper when he discovered her in a rival club. Performing lap dances and other assorted sexual favours to supplement her meagre income. She had never baulked at selling her body for money, and there were always men willing to pay. To her Davido was simply another john. Perhaps with a bigger cheque book and a free studio flat a floor beneath his, but a john nevertheless. Once he grew bored of her there would be others.
Adele smiled at his lascivious expression. “No,” she said. “I’ve just had a shower and I don’t fancy getting all sticky again. You could do with a shower yourself. A cold one.”
“What time is it?”
“Too bloody early to be asleep.”
He grunted and stood, holding his damaged shirt carefully he walked into the bedroom, cursing under his breath as a bare toe caught the hard edge of a box. He slung the shirt over the back of a chair and picked a dressing gown off the floor. It stank of vomit and alcohol. Wrinkling his nose he pulled it on and re-entered the living room.
“Give me a drink.”
Adele glanced up at him from where she was pouring herself a generous glass of gin. Ignoring the request she pushed the bottle over to him and downed her own drink in one. “Aaah, that’s good.” She bared her teeth as the fiery liquid coursed down her throat.
Davido picked up the bottle and took a swig from the neck. Damn, he felt bad. What time had he started drinking today? Lunch? He couldn’t remember. Nor could he remember bringing Adele upstairs. Maybe he needed a new girl. If he couldn’t remember her, what good was she?
A tentative knock on the door interrupted his musings. “What the hell now?” Davido put down the bottle and walked to the door. It was not a large penthouse; nothing was very far from anything else. “Who is it?” He refrained from standing directly in front of the door, one hand not far from the revolver he had left on a sideboard.
“Just us, boss,” came the hesitant voice of Boxon, the club’s doorman.
“What you want?” Davido peered through the peephole. There were four of them, Boxon, the Smithy brothers and someone he had hoped never to see again. “Bloody hell, what does he want?”
“It’s Richard Payce, boss. Says you know him. Says he has a letter for you,” Boxon said.
“Shit.” Davido yanked aside the deadbolt and opened the door, ignoring the indignant squawk from behind him. “Get in here.” He reached out and pulled Boxon inside. The big man hesitated, surprised at the sudden move. “Get your ass in here. All of you,” Davido hissed.
“Hey, I’m naked here!” Adele complained, her hands doing a thoroughly inadequate job of covering herself.
The four trooped inside, crowding the small sitting room, each of them staring at the naked woman sitting on the barstool. Boxon was a massive man, all belly and double chin, his cheap navy coloured suit stretched to breaking point to contain all of him. His bald head was moist with sweat under the bright ceiling light, his piggy eyes lost in the shadow of his brow. The Smithy brothers were twins, although far from identical. A head shorter than Davido, Marco was the brains of the duo, his blonde hair fashioned in a crew cut, his street fighter’s body compact and hard. His knuckles almost always bruised and bloody from where he had struck someone—anyone. A barmaid, one of the dancers, a passer by. It was all the same to him. His larger brother had a vacant expression in his eyes. Brain damaged after an accident when he was a child it was all Duncan could do to follow his brother around, following simple instructions, many of them involving him closing his mouth and not drooling. His own blond hair was long and curly, almost feminine. Even though he was larger than his sibling he was not as strong or as quick to temper, however he didn’t feel pain in quite the same way most people did, so he was the ideal person to send into any fight first.
It was Duncan who spoke first. “She nekkid.” He giggled.
“Shut it, Dunc,” Marco said, unable to stop staring himself.
“Get out,” Davido said to Adele without looking in her direction. This was going to be a private conversation.
“I think Dunc’s got a point there, I am naked,” she returned.
“I don’t bloody care. Get out!” Davido held the door open.
Adele hesitated, her face flushing red. “Well, ok then.” Forgetting her nakedness she stood and walked out, quite consciously wiggling her delicious ass as she went. “Have a good look boys,” she muttered. Davido slammed the door behind her.
He tied the dressing gown’s belt tightly about his belly. “So, what’s this all about? You were never supposed to come here again.”
Payce slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, hesitating as the brothers reached for their pieces, wary of any surprise moves. “It’s just a letter.” He removed an envelope gingerly and held it up. “It’s from Sissy.”
“Sissy?” Davido stared at it as if it was a snake that had just slid out from behind a cabinet. He didn’t reach for it.
“What does she want?”
Payce stared at the letter himself, as if unsure how to answer the question. “She said if she got into trouble I was to come here and give you this. I don’t know what it says.”
“Bloody hell.” Davido did not take his gaze from the envelope. Sissy was his sister. A heretic, a demon lover. They had become estranged when her nocturnal activities started to threaten his business interests. He certainly could not be seen to consort with any demon lovers. A man in his line of work ... that would be trouble. That was seven years ago, just before she moved to Mammon, a city four thousand kilometres east. He hadn’t heard from her since. Payce was her boyfriend, lover, whatever.
“You three, get out too.” Davido opened the door again.
“You sure boss? He looks like trouble,” Boxon said.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He nodded to the revolver beside the door. “He won’t be trying anything.”
“OK, boss.” Boxon herded the brothers out. “We’ll be just outside.”
“At the end of the passage,” Davido said.
“Yeah, sure boss.”
Davido closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment, as if unsure what to do next. Taking another look at the letter still firmly gripped in Payce’s hand he crossed to the counter and poured himself a stiff drink in Adele’s drained glass. He didn’t think to offer one to his visitor. “So, my sister is in trouble?”
“I—“ Payce hesitated. “Truthfully I don’t know. She left two weeks ago, wouldn’t tell me where she was going. She did promise she would be back in a week. If she wasn’t I was to bring you this.” He put the envelope down before Davido. Davido’s name was clearly visible, written in Sissy’s neat handwriting. “She said if anyone could help it would be you.”
Davido slammed the glass back down on the counter, making Payce jump. “Ha,” he said. Without further word he scooped up the envelope and crossed to the couch. He collapsed heavily onto it and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. The headache was not going away. “OK, so what does she have to say?” He tore the envelope open roughly and pulled out a single sheet of A4.
To my Brother
I know you owe me nothing, so I hesitate even asking this of you. However I have few options, and I hope that our shared blood means something after all. If Richard comes to you bearing this letter I am afraid it means I have entered into something I could not control. You might say it was unwise and I fear you would be quite correct.
I can say little here, as it would be too dangerous to all those concerned, you included. And after all, you are my brother; I would never see you placed in harm’s way. So, I am afraid this may be somewhat cryptic. For that I do apologise. I can say that I have embarked on a mission I hope will prove me right. I must go somewhere where the subjects of my studies have not been castrated as they have in the cities. I need to find examples that have not been tampered with, that are still as they were designed to be. There are few places where such can be found, and that is where I have gone. If I am not back by the time you read this letter, I think I will need rescue. It is a lot to ask, as you will see. For that, I apologise also.
Sistine Davido
“What the hell does this mean?” Davido waved the letter at Payce. The man could only find it in himself to shrug. “So, where did she go?”
“I don’t know, she didn’t tell me.” Payce looked distinctly uncomfortable, like a man on a job interview he knew he was not qualified for.
“Rescue? What do I bloody look like?” He read the letter again, hoping it would be more enlightening the second time around. It wasn’t. The subject of her studies: demons. But where could demons be found that were not castrated? Demon castration was law. The Mentors decreed it. And what the Mentors decreed was law.
“She must have told you something. You are in the same cult,” he observed.
“No. Lately she has been talking to engineers. There are one or two in our group. They stopped talking to demons years ago, though. They said there was little point.”
“There was never any point talking to a demon,” Davido said. “They only swear at you. They hurl abuse because that is all they can do. If the prefect had not castrated them they would have done far worse by now. Who knows what kinds of weapons they would have used against us. We’d all be dead.”
“Sissy wanted to prove that wrong,” Payce said.
“Every demon I have ever met made it pretty clear what it would do to me if it could,” Davido said. “Some of it was nasty. Children could hear that for pity’s sake. I’m with the Conservatives who want to have the lot destroyed once and for all.”
“We cannot. They are the one link to our past. They alone possess our legacy. Without them we are children, with no memories of anything before our ancestors came here. We might not like it but it’s true.”
Davido waved away his proselytising. “Preach to someone else. They lie. They do nothing but lie. What kind of legacy would that be? Best to get rid of them and start afresh. But how does that help us? Where did Sissy go?” Where would she find an AI that had not been castrated? Nowhere. There weren’t any.
“Well—“
“Yes?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. There’s only one place to find an uncastrated demon.”
“Go on.”
Payce noticed movement on the muted television set. It was the News at Ten. For once something interesting was happening. “I think this might be it.” He reached out and tweaked the volume knob.
“—Unded by Prefect Dreyfus himself the mission was to investigate the wreck of the largest vessel in the Parking Lot,” a pretty news reader was saying, reading off the autocue. “Their target was this vessel here, as seen from the Mammon Observatory earlier today.” The image changed to a blurred picture of an object in orbit. Even without a frame of reference it was easy to see it was massive. A giant spearhead shape, painfully bright even in the daytime sky. “This is the hulk of the CSS Goliath, supposedly the largest super dreadnaught ever built, easily the largest vessel in the combined Confederate and Commonwealth navies. The team of six engineers were to investigate the possibility of bringing the vessel down in the temperate regions of Russou, creating the first new city in almost eighty years. The team launched from Mammon twelve days ago.” There was a quick sequence of still photographs, showing jumpsuited figures stepping into one of the few remaining shuttles on the planet. “Unfortunately telemetry from the shuttle was lost six days ago, presumably due to a technical malfunction.” The picture returned to the newsreader. “Today the prefect’s office has released this statement,” she looked down to read from a stack of papers before her.
