The Neural Atrocity

‘Who’s asking?’

‘We’re asking.’

The Minstrel Boy raised an eyebrow.

‘And who might you be?’

The corsair inflated his chest.

‘I am Left of the Havens. I am chief vigilante for the Inn. I’m asking where you think you’re going.’

The Minstrel Boy gave him a long hard look.

‘Why?’

Left of the Havens lowered his head and began to chant.

‘Left of the Havens, all men fear.’

His voice started out quietly, but quickly rose in pitch.

‘They step aside when I draw near.’

The chant rose to a shout. He pulled a long, straight back razor from the top of his boot and deftly flicked it open.

‘I got my straight razor and my cannon too, talk nice, brother, or I’ll mess with you.’

The final phrase came out as a high speed gabble. It was the corsairs’ time honoured ritual of winding themselves up for a fight. The Minstrel Boy raised a placating hand.

‘Just hold it right there, friend. We aren’t looking for any kind of fight.’

Billy joined in.

‘That’s right. We were just looking to buy a drink, that’s all. We’ve been to the Inn before. It was never like this.’

The Minstrel Boy shot Billy a jaundiced glance. Billy wondered if it was because he’d given away the fact that they had money, or because the Minstrel Boy’s last visit to the Inn had been far from pleasant. Left of the Havens looked from one to the other of them.

‘You say you just want a drink.’

Billy nodded.

‘That’s right.’

The corsair nodded to a makeshift fence that enclosed the front entrance of the Inn.

‘Nobody gets past without our say so.’

‘So how do we get your say so?’

One of the wheelfreaks interrupted.

‘Why don’t you just cut him now, Left, and be done with it?’

Left of the Havens rounded on the little man.

‘You hush your mouth, Seatbelt. I’m dealing with this.’

The one in the gold coat giggled. His gun, however, didn’t waver. It remained pointing steadily at the Minstrel Boy’s stomach. The corsair turned back to Billy.

‘To get inside you got to do three things.’

‘Which are?’

‘First, we got to be sure we like you. Them we don’t like, don’t get in. Them we really don’t like, we kill them and throw their bodies in the nothings.’

‘And do you like us?’

The corsair stroked his chin.

‘You ain’t got off to too smart a start, but we’ll let that go for now. The second thing you got to do …’

Seatbelt interrupted again.

‘Aah, cut them now, Left. I wanna see you cut them.’

Left glared at him.

‘I thought I told you to hush your mouth.’

The wheelfreak’s voice took on a whining quality.

‘I just wanna see one cutting, is all.’

‘You’ll see some cutting if you don’t hush your mouth.’

The wheelfreak became resentfully silent. The effeminate one giggled again. Left of the Havens glowered at him.

‘You hush up too, Gloria.’

He beamed at Billy and the Minstrel Boy. Billy had a feeling the relationship was changing.

‘The second thing you got to do, gentlemen, is to satisfy us that you ain’t undesirables.’

‘Undesirables?’

‘Undesirables.’

Left jerked his thumb to a crude but formidable cage on the outside of a section of fence. It contained a group of pathetic creatures. There were a pair of white, hairless dwarfs with stunted bodies and huge hydrocephalic heads, a tall thin half human with blue scales, and what appeared to be a whole family of squat hermaphrodites. Their bodies were covered with coarse reddish hair. Lines of breasts ran down their bodies rather like those of a sow.

A crowd had gathered round the cage. They taunted the collection of freaks. A few even tried to poke them with sticks. Billy looked at the corsair in disgust.

‘They’re only mutants from out on the edge.’

‘Round here they’re undesirables. People don’t want that kind of trash round here. They don’t like it.’

The Minstrel Boy interrupted before an argument could start. It was too bad about the mutations, but he had himself to look after.

‘We ain’t like that.’

‘I can see that.’

‘So what’s the third thing we got to do before we can get inside for a drink?’

The corsair beamed, flashing a mouthful of gold teeth.

‘You got to pay us.’

‘Money?’

‘Money.’

Billy looked at the Minstrel Boy with raised eyebrows. The Minstrel Boy shrugged in resignation. Billy proffered a handful of small Port Judas coins. Left of the Havens took them. He picked one and bit on it. He seemed satisfied as to the quality of the money, but there was some doubt about the quantity. He discussed the matter with his companions in a low voice. Then he turned back to Billy and the Minstrel Boy.

‘Is that all you’ve got?’

‘We’re refugees, not tourists.’

There was another whispered debate. Left of the Havens grudgingly dropped the money into the pouch on his belt.

‘It’ll have to do, I guess.’

Seatbelt looked at Left in surprise.

‘You mean you’re going to let them through, just like that?’

‘Just like that.’

‘You ain’t going to cut them or nothing? No surgery?’

‘You heard what I said.’

The little wheelfreak spat at Billy’s and the Minstrel Boy’s feet.

‘Shit.’

The Minstrel Boy glanced sourly at Billy.

‘It’s good to see law and order in action.’

They eased their way past the four vigilantes and hurried through the crowd towards the entrance of the Inn. It was jammed with travellers waiting to get a drink. Billy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

‘This is going to take a bit of time.’

They stood in line and waited, watching the crowd milling in and out of the forecourt. The four vigilantes continued to move around, kicking the beggars and shaking down any group of refugees who looked as if they might have enough cash or goods to make it worth while. The Minstrel boy took off his hat and fanned himself. The vast hordes who had flocked into the Inn made it impossible for the Inn’s relatively small generators to maintain a constant temperature. The Minstrel Boy mopped his face and scowled.

‘We got to get out of here as soon as we can.’

He pointed to a telltale blue flicker around the edge of the nothings.

‘The generators are pushed to the limit. I figure they’ll overload and blow.’

‘Maybe we should just get out, right now.’

The Minstrel Boy put his hat back on with an air of finality. ‘I ain’t going anywhere without a drink.’

They continued to wait and the heat went on increasing. Refugees kept coming down the road in a sluggish stream. Billy nervously eyed the edge of the nothings. The blue flicker became more pronounced. Billy knew it wasn’t only the heat making him sweat. Suddenly he spotted something else.

‘Will you look at that!’

In a corner formed by the Inn wall and a buttress, a group of juveniles were gathered together. A very young girl lay sprawled at their feet. One of them squirmed on top of her, while the rest stood round and shouted encouragement. They wore purple silk jump suits. Their hair was cropped into shaggy bush cuts and dyed green. The words Stratosphere Zombies were blazoned across their backs in yellow letters. The throng moved past the sordid tableau without taking any apparent notice. Billy eased his gun out of its holster.

‘I’m going to do something about that.’

The Minstrel Boy grunted.

‘You’re crazy. That razor toting corsair will slice you from ear to ear if you start trouble.’

Another of the gang had climbed on top of the girl, taking the place vacated by his companion.

‘I ain’t going to stand by and watch it happen.’

The Minstrel Boy’s eyes rolled heavenwards.

‘It’s only a gang rape.’

‘What do you mean, only? It shouldn’t happen, it’s barbaric.’

”It happens every day.’

‘It ought to be stopped.’

The Minstrel Boy began to get impatient. His voice became heavily sarcastic.

‘So tell the law and order boys.’

‘I’ll just do that.’

‘Mother of God!’

Billy walked quickly towards the corsair and his three mates. He shouted back at the Minstrel Boy.

‘You just stay there and wait for your booze, I’ll take care of this.’

The Minstrel Boy muttered under his breath. He pulled a battered cigar out of his pocket. He lit it, and then resolutely faced in the opposite direction. Billy marched firmly up to Left of the Havens.

‘There’s a gang rape going on over there.’

The corsair looked at him in amazement.

‘So?’

‘So I’m reporting it.’

‘Listen, thanks, but I really don’t get off behind watching that kind of thing.’

Gloria in the gold jacket flashed his teeth at Billy.

‘Left here, he likes to be what you call a … uh … participant.’

Billy shook his head frantically.

‘I ain’t telling you about it so you can watch it, I’m telling you so you can stop it.’

‘Stop it? What you talking about? What for we want to stop people having fun?’

The girl ain’t having any fun.’

Gloria smiled sweetly at Billy.

‘The guys are, and there’s more of them.’

Seatbelt grinned.

‘That’s democracy at work.’

Billy waved his hands helplessly.

‘You ain’t going to stop it?’

‘Why?’

‘You’re the law.’

‘We’re vigilantes.’

‘It’s the same thing.’

‘It ain’t.’

‘It ain’t?’

‘We take care of admission fees and undesirables. Rape ain’t none of our business. It’s outside our terms of reference.’

‘So you ain’t going to do anything?’

Left nodded.

‘You got it.’

Billy spun on his heel. He walked quickly towards the gang of youths. To his surprise they had already finished with the girl. She lay sobbing on the ground while they moved on in search of other entertainment. Billy stopped, shrugged and then started back towards the entrance. The Minstrel Boy was leaning against the wall. He had an unlabelled bottle of yellowish liquid in his hand, and another one stashed in his pocket. He offered Billy the booze as he came up and leaned against the wall beside him.

‘Did you stop the rape?’

‘No.’

Billy disconsolately tipped a generous measure down his throat.

‘Goddamn!’

Billy coughed and choked. Tears sprang into his eyes. It was some near poisonous home brew. The Minstrel Boy laughed.

‘What do you expect?’

Billy took a deep breath.

‘Let’s get out of here, shall we? Hey?’

***

A black painted airship drifted over the city of Litz. It floated just above the rooftops of the average buildings, and navigated in and out between the taller skyscrapers. It moved slowly towards the outskirts of the city and the encircling lines of the invaders from Quahal.

The ship was almost invisible against the darkness of the sky. It rode without lights and the only sound was the soft hum of its high rev flutter engine. The entire envelope had been painted matt black, with the single exception of a sign that read ‘Supplied by Worthington Rentals’,

The ship had been donated free of charge by Worthington, and they’d insisted on the sign. It was only in Litz that machines went into combat with advertising plastered on their sides.

Nineteen hard bitten ex-cops of the L.D.C. were crowded into the small passenger cabin of the gondola. The lights were off, there was no conversation and the air smelled heavy with sweat and dirty uniforms. The cabin air conditioning had never been designed to cope with that number of people.

In front of them, Bannion, the Wanderer and a civilian pilot called Kronski sat side by side. Bannion looked at the other two. Their faces were eerily illuminated by the green glow of the instrument panel. Kronski was a wiry little man, with the sharp face of a small cunning bird of prey. He was sweating inside his black leather aviator’s jacket. He had an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. Every so often a muscle in his cheek would twitch, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the control column. Bannion couldn’t see his eyes, they were shadowed by a long billed baseball cap. He was sure that they were darting from side to side.

The Wanderer was a complete contrast. His eyes were half closed, and he seemed comfortable and relaxed. Bannion was still suspicious of his wayfinder. He was unhappy at being forced to trust the old man.

‘We’re coming up to the city limits.’

Kronski’s voice jerked Bannion out of his troubled observations. Bannion glanced out. He could just see the patchwork of narrow roads and single storey boxes that made up the outer suburbs. Here and there fires burned where enemy raiding parties had hit key suburban areas. Kronski twitched again.

‘We’ll be getting into their range in about two minutes.’

Bannion’s jaw muscles tightened.

‘Okay, push the engines up to max and then cut them.’

Kronski eased open the power control. The hum of the engines grew louder. It went up in pitch. The gondola began to vibrate. Bannion waited for five long seconds.

‘Okay! Cut!’

Kronski shut the control and snapped off a number of switches. The panel lights went out.

‘That’s it. We’re drifting now. I sure hope they don’t spot us.’

Bannion scowled.

‘If they do, we’re dead.’

Kronski shook his head.

‘I don’t know why I ever agreed to come on this.’

Bannion’s lip curled.

‘You were offered a fortune, that’s why.’

They lapsed into silence. Suddenly the Wanderer grunted and sat up.

‘Where are we?’

Kronski looked at him in amazement.

‘You see that, the old fool’s been asleep. Are you sure this old fart’s a wayfinder?’

Bannion shrugged.

‘How the hell should I know, I got palmed off with him, same way as I got palmed off with you.’

‘I don’t have to take that.’

‘Will you keep your voice down? I don’t want to take chances with being detected.’

The Wanderer struggled to get a word in.

‘I was asking where we were.’

‘So?’

‘I’m supposed to be the wayfinder, so where the fuck are we?’

Kronski wrinkled his nose.

‘I thought wayfinders knew where they were.’

‘Alright, alright, jive with an old man, I’ll just get out.’

The Wanderer reached for the outside door of the gondola. Bannion grabbed him by the arm.

‘You just sit where you are. Right? And shut the fuck up. If they pick us up we’ll be blown to bits.’

The Wanderer grinned.

The moment of truth, hey, kiddies?’

Bannion twisted the old man’s arm a little.

‘You just shut your mouth, old man. You understand?’

The Wanderer leaned forward and nodded emphatically. Bannion let him go. There was a flash somewhere on the ground. Both Bannion’s and Kronski’s heads whipped round. An enemy rocket arced into the air. It left an orange and gold trail behind it. The warhead burst in an intense white flash some distance from them. The Wanderer glanced at Bannion.

‘You think that was directed at you people?’

Bannion’s control evaporated. He grabbed the Wanderer by the front of his smock.

‘What d’you mean, “you people”? You’re with us, no matter what you might pretend.’

The Wanderer disengaged himself.

‘You really have got to stop grabbing me like that.’

‘I’ll do worse than that if you don’t shape up.’

Another rocket exploded and lit up the sky. The airship rocked noticeably.

‘They seem to be getting closer.’

The Wanderer chuckled.

‘They’re not very good shots.’

Bannion looked at him with exasperation, but said nothing. Kronski frowned.

‘What I can’t understand is, if they’re shooting at us, how come they’re so wide of the mark.’

Bannion pushed back his steel helmet and scratched his head.

‘As far as we can tell they don’t have any kind of sophisticated sensor equipment. It appears that all their hardware is geared to total attack. They probably suspect that we’re up here, but can’t pinpoint us. I figure they’re just banging off these rockets on the off chance.’

‘They’ll see us in the flash of the explosions if they go on much longer.’

Three more rockets came in quick succession, and then they stopped. Kronski looked anxiously out of the side windows.

‘Think they’ve let us go?’

Bannion remained silent for a moment. He stared intently at something in the darkness. He glanced at Kronski and pointed.

‘What do you make of that?’

Kronski followed Bannion’s finger and squinted into the dark. He could just make out the dim outline of a single flying machine. It seemed to be climbing slowly and clumsily in the rough direction of the airship.

‘It looks like something’s coming up to take a look at us.’

In the far distance the faint glow and flicker of the nothings was just becoming visible. Kronski bit his lip.

‘You want me to make a run for it?’

Bannion shook his head.

‘No, not yet.’

They both watched the moving shape. As it got closer they could just make out its somewhat ungainly outline. Bannion was puzzled.

‘It don’t look like one of theirs.’

Another rocket arced upwards and exploded quite close to the strange flying machine. In the flash, Bannion and Kronski got a short clear glimpse of it. It was a stubby, seven winged multiplane with a huge radial engine. Kronski pushed his cap back.

‘What the fuck is that?’

‘It’s not one of their regular machines.’

‘It could be some freebooter with a Red Baron complex who’s hired on with the opposition.’

Bannion nodded.

‘More than likely. Point is, what do we do about him?’

Kronski reached under his seat.

‘I’ll soon fix that fucker.’

He pulled out a miniature fuse tube and slid open a section of the side window. He took aim. Bannion’s hand flashed out and knocked the gun away.

‘Don’t be a fool. If you let go with that thing, it’ll give them a direct fix on us straight away.’

The multiplane continued to meander closer.

‘So what do we do?’

Before Bannion could answer, the airship was shaken by a rocket exploding close by. Another one went off almost immediately afterwards. Smoke drifted past the gondola. Kronski’s mouth fell open.

‘It’s gone! It’s fucking gone!’

The flying machine was nowhere to be seen.

‘It must have been hit by one of those rockets.’

The Wanderer grunted.

‘I said they weren’t very good shots.’

Bannion ignored him. He motioned to Kronski.

‘Give it full power. We must be past their lines now, we might as well make a run for the nothings.’

He turned to the Wanderer.

‘You better get yourself ready or whatever you got to do. We’re going to want a course as soon as possible.’

The Wanderer shrugged.

‘I’m ready when you are. It just depends where you want to go.’

Bannion’s head jerked round.

‘Huh?’

‘I was just wondering where you wanted to go.’

‘What kind of double talk’s this? You’ve been briefed. You know where we’re going.’

The Wanderer looked sideways at Bannion.

‘I was thinking you maybe want to desert.’

Kronski inhaled sharply.

‘He’s got a point there.’

Bannion swung round and stared at him.

‘What are you two saying?’

Kronski peered from under the peak of his cap.

‘I was figuring that the old man might be right.’

Barinion’s mourn formed into a grim line.

‘You saying that you want to desert?’

Kronski avoided his eyes.

‘Why not?’

‘We got a mission.’

‘What mission? It’s more than likely we’ll get killed, and even if we do make it, the city will have fallen long before we’re through.’

‘So?’

‘So we got a ship, we got weapons. We got a generator. We could make a run for it, and hole up in some quiet place. If we found ourselves some little town, you know, with women and all, hell, a man could have a good tune. What d’you say, Bannion?’

‘But that’s desertion.’

‘Desertion from what? We’re too late to save the city, and we got a unique chance to get the fuck out of this mess.’

Bannion looked troubled.

‘I don’t like it.’

‘It’s just your goddamn sense of duty.’

The Wanderer butted in between the two of them.

‘We’re coming up to the nothings. You two better make up your minds what you’re going to do.’

‘Don’t you have an opinion, old man?’

‘I been going too long to have opinions. I just make suggestions. You two got to decide what you’re going to do.’

Kronski looked hard at Bannion.

‘What’s it going to be, Bannion? Are we going to run, or go on with this craziness and get ourselves killed?’

Bannion looked confused. He slowly shook his head from side to side. The whole idea of deserting went completely against the grain. He did realize that it was also the sanest course. He looked at Kronski.

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’

‘You know I’m right. If you just bother to think about it.’

Kronski turned to the Wanderer.

‘Okay, old man, let’s … GodDAMN!’

A bright fireball of light illuminated the centre of Litz. It appeared to drift lazily into the air. At the height of a thousand metres or so it faded and vanished.

‘What in …’

The airship was tossed around by a violent shock wave. The Wanderer grabbed hold of Kronski, and yelled at him.

‘Turn on the ship’s generator!’

As Kronski hit the generator switch, the whole of the city and the area surrounding it was suffused by an eerie blue glow. It seemed to come from deep underground, radiating through the buildings as though they had suddenly become translucent. The landscape alternately dimmed and grew brighter like a faulty video picture. The on and off flickering grew faster and faster. The very fabric of the ground and buildings seemed to be made up of blue light. The three men in the cabin of the airship shielded their eyes as it became too bright to look at.

Then abruptly it went out. They were in the middle of the nothings. Litz had vanished without trace.

The cabin was filled with something close to superstitious fear. For long minutes nobody spoke. Then the cabin door opened. One of the troopers from the main cabin stuck his head through it.

‘What happened? What was all that commotion? Was the city getting bombed?’

There was a pause before Bannion replied.

‘It was worse than that.’

‘Worse?’

‘They must have got to the generators.’

‘The city generators? The main ones?’

Bannion nodded. The trooper struggled to grasp what had happened.

‘But that would mean …’

‘The city’s gone, just like it had never been there in the first place. It just went out. Everything. There’s nothing left.’

The blood drained from the trooper’s face.

‘The enemy. Their army must have gone too. They’ve got to be insane. Why should they want to take out their own army?’

‘I suppose they thought the army was expendable. What’s an army, one way or the other?’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘Maybe.’

The trooper moistened his lips. He shook his head in bewilderment.

‘What do we do?’

‘Go back to your seat.’

‘But …’

Bannion’s voice took on the old edge of command.

‘Get back to your seat, trooper. You’ll be told what to do when the time comes.’

The trooper disappeared. Bannion didn’t speak for some minutes. He seemed deep in thought. Kronski looked as though he was in shock. He held the controls of the airship steady, but his eyes stared vacantly and his mouth hung open. Only the Wanderer appeared to be in full control of himself. It was he who finally broke the silence.

‘We’d better work out where we’re going to go.’

Bannion stiffened in his seat.

‘We’re going to go to Quahal.’

Kronski’s eyes focused incredulously on Bannion.

‘What did you say?’

‘We’re going to complete the mission.’

Kronski let go of the controls.

‘Just wait a minute. Are you crazy? Litz has gone. It’s been taken out. What possible reason is there for going on with the mission? We already decided to split. Damn it, Bannion, let’s get the hell out of here to somewhere safe.’

Bannion’s face became set.

‘We’re going on.’

Kronski dropped his hands stubbornly into his lap.

‘You’ll be going on without me. Fly this motherfucker yourself.’

With a slow deliberate gesture Bannion placed his hand on the sidearm that hung from his belt.

‘You’ll fly this ship to Quahal. Got it? I’m going to destroy the maniacs who started this or die trying. You understand?’

Kronski remained as he was for ten seconds. Bannion slowly started to pull the hand blaster from its holster. Kronski gave in with a sigh. He gripped the control column, and glanced sideways at the Wanderer.

‘You’d better start feeding me a course, old man.’

***

An atmosphere of terror was slowly building up in the confined space of the Quahal bunker. It radiated outwards from A.A. Catto herself. Even the destruction of Litz brought no air of celebration. A.A. Catto received the news lolling behind the huge, newly installed desk in her study. She lounged in a voluminous black neglige. She was drunk, and she looked rough. Her hair was uncombed, and there were dark, purplish circles under her eyes. The aide who delivered the news wisely did it over the video link to the war room. It was becoming increasingly dangerous to get too near A.A. Catto. Almost every fit of pique seemed to end in executions.

Nancy had no such choice. A.A. Catto insisted she remain in constant attendance. She hovered round the back of the big desk, attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

The Presley replica had taken to hiding in obscure sections of the ziggurat. He tried to avoid A.A. Catto as much as he could. Nancy hated him for it.

After the aide’s face had disappeared from the screen, A.A. Catto slumped silently in her chair for some minutes. Her face grew petulant. She slammed her whip down on the desk. She was scarcely ever separated from it now.

‘Why did they have to destroy the city? We were looking forward to riding into Litz in triumph. It would have only been fitting after the way we were hounded out of there by that terrible assassin.’

Nancy looked at her hesitantly.

‘You did order the city to be destroyed, my darling.’

‘They could have found some other way.’

‘You did specifically order a fifth column into the city to sabotage the generators, dearest.’

‘What’s the point of conquest if everywhere you conquer just gets wiped out? There’s no pleasure in that. How can there be?’

Nancy attempted to placate her.

‘Litz is the first place to be completely taken out. You’ve conquered plenty of other places, my love.’

It didn’t work. A.A. Catto turned stubbornly morose.

‘Litz was one of the best places. We wanted it left intact.’

‘Why the hell did you order its generators destroyed?’

Directly she’d spoken, Nancy knew she’d gone too far. She bit her lip and waited for the explosion. Surprisingly, it didn’t come. A.A. Catto sank deeper in her vast, white leather, throne like chair. She reached out a pale hand that trembled slightly. She picked up the half empty crystal decanter and poured herself another brandy. As she did so, she spilled some on her neglige without noticing. It was obvious to Nancy that her mind had jumped off in another direction. Nancy wondered what it would be.

A.A. Catto sat warming the balloon glass between her hands. Slowly she turned her head and looked sadly at Nancy.

‘We’re sick of this cursed war. It’s even turning you against us.’

Her voice was plaintive and brittle. Nancy moved closer to her. She put a reassuring hand on A.A. Catto’s shoulder.

‘I’m not against you, my love. You know I’ll always be with you, whatever happens.’

Sure she’d be with her. Nancy knew full well that A.A. Catto would have her killed if she ever tried to get away. A.A. Catto reached up and grasped Nancy’s arm. Her grip was painfully tight. Nancy could feel her nails digging into her. A.A. Catto stared pleadingly into her eyes.

‘You’ve got to understand me. It’s this terrible responsibility we’ve taken on. We have to always do what’s right for our subjects. We don’t mind. We know it’s our destiny, but sometimes .,..’

There was a slight catch in her voice.

‘… it gets so incredibly lonely.’

Nancy did her best to disguise the alarm that she felt. A.A. Catto was losing her mind even faster than she’d imagined. She stroked A.A. Catto’s hair as though she was comforting a child.

‘I’m sure the war will soon be over, my darling.’

Nancy was aware that within a couple of minutes, A.A. Catto could be screaming for blood. That was the trouble. It all seemed so normal. Nancy had been with A.A. Catto so long that she had lost all sense of the bizarre.

A.A. Catto stared dreamily into space. She seemed to have forgotten that she was still holding tightly on to Nancy’s arm.

‘We do so want peace.’

Nancy’s arm was beginning to hurt, but she didn’t think it would be too wise to say anything. A.A. Catto’s voice took on a wistful, little girl quality.

‘When the war is over, and we have brought order to this poor damaged world, we will have my coronation.’

Nancy was startled.

‘Your coronation, my love?’

This was an idea that Nancy had never heard before. A.A. Catto became petulant again.

‘Don’t you think we should have a coronation? Every empress should have a coronation.’

Nancy took a deep breath.

‘Of course you’ll have a coronation. It’ll be wonderful.’

A.A. Catto nodded vigorously.

‘It WILL be wonderful. It will be the most wonderful coronation in the whole of history. It won’t only be a coronation. It’ll be the foundation of our great religion.’

‘Great religion, my sweet?’

This too was a new one. A.A. Catto tightened her grip on Nancy’s arm. Her eyes were wide and starting to take on a fanatical glaze.

‘Our empire will need the kind of spiritual base that only a religion can give. Our subjects need a formalized method of worshipping us. We have transferred a section of the computer from the war effort to work on our religion.’

Nancy blinked.

‘You took some of the computer off the war effort?’

‘We need our religion.’

Nancy looked worried.

‘Was that wise?’

A.A. Catto’s eyes narrowed.

‘Are you questioning us?’

Nancy quickly shook her head.

‘No, no, of course not.’

She took refuge in a dumb sex object pose.

‘You know I don’t really understand that kind of thing.’

‘It’ll be a fantastic coronation. It’ll be held on the top of the ziggurat. Small children will throw flowers in my path as I slowly climb to the summit. The entire valley will be filled with a huge cheering crowd.’

A.A. Catto began to talk faster and faster. She still gripped Nancy’s arm. The circulation had all but stopped.

‘There will be huge vid-link screens erected in every city. None of our subjects will miss a single moment of the whole ceremony.’

A.A. Catto’s manner abruptly changed. She let go of Nancy’s arm. Nancy surreptitiously massaged it. A.A. Catto slammed her fist into the desk.

‘But before we can have our coronation, we have to have victory. We have to complete our war of conquest.’

Her voice took on a hysterical edge. She viciously punched the video screen into life. The face of a nervous aide appeared on the screen.

‘Can I assist you, my leader?’

A.A. Catto instantly became cold and efficient. The drunkenness seemed to melt away.

‘We want a full breakdown on the conduct of the war. We will not tolerate these delays. It is all moving too slowly. We will purge those responsible. You understand? We will have their heads. We will root out the defeatists and saboteurs. We will be merciless. The conquest must be completed.’

Nancy edged away. A.A. Catto was back on familiar form.

***

The shooting had stopped and the corridor had become very quiet, Jeb Stuart Ho and his two companions stood in the middle of the thick swirling gas cloud with the bodies of the Stuff Central defenders at their feet. They could neither see their adversaries nor speak to each other. Each time they’d used their communicators the enemy had been able to pinpoint their position.

Jeb Stuart Ho made the standard brotherhood hand sign for the other two to move away from him and spread out. Lorenzo Binh and Tom Hoa obeyed instantly. Jeb Stuart Ho pressed himself against the wall of the corridor. He tensed himself, ready to jump.

‘I am now breaking communicator silence.’

As he said the last word, Ho threw himself backwards, hit the floor and rolled. He lay prone for a few seconds and then climbed to his feet.

‘They don’t seem to be shooting at us any longer. They may have withdrawn. We will still use the communicators as little as possible. It may be a trap.’

The other two waited silently for Jeb Stuart Ho to give them their instructions. Ho carefully considered his next move. He was beginning to enjoy the position of command. He flashed the signal for ‘follow with caution’, lightened his grip on his gun and started down the corridor.

He’d only taken four or five paces when he was hit by a gale force blast of air. The gas melted away and the three assassins could see again. Lorenzo Binh caught up with Ho.

‘The enemy has gone. They’ve withdrawn. The corridor is empty.’

Jeb Stuart Ho swung round.

‘I said to use the communicators as little as possible. That doesn’t include exclamations that are obvious to all of us.’

Lorenzo Binh took the reprimand with lowered eyes. Jeb Stuart Ho turned and continued down the corridor. The other two followed. They spaced themselves carefully behind Ho.

The assassins walked cautiously for about seven minutes. Then they came to a junction in the corridor where another one crossed it at right angles. In the centre of the junction was a circular aperture. It was just wide enough to allow a man to climb through. A vertical shaft fell away as far as the eye could see.

Jeb Stuart Ho stooped down and put his hand over the tube. He felt the characteristic lift of reduced gravity. He straightened up.

‘It’s a drop tube. It must connect with the lower levels. We’ll go down for two levels and see what we find.’

The other two nodded. Ho stepped into the empty space. He slowly fell out of sight. Binh and Hoa followed. They floated down for three levels. At the fourth, Jeb Stuart Ho reached for a grab rail set in the side of the shaft. He swung himself into an open doorway and waited for the other two to catch up with him.

They were in a short narrow passage. At one end of it was a steel door. The three assassins walked cautiously towards it. Jeb Stuart Ho halted a pace from the door. To his surprise, it slid slowly open. With his gun at the ready, he stepped through the open doorway and found himself in a long narrow room that looked like a power control centre. The walls were lined with an array of gleaming monitoring and switch gear. A handful of slightly built individuals backed up against the equipment. They were of medium height and wore light blue, one piece coveralls with a large letter A and a number stencilled across the chest. They had the same bland asexual faces as the defenders that Ho and his companions had met in the upper corridor, but they lacked their fixed, brutal expression.

Jeb Stuart Ho advanced down the room followed by the other two black suited figures. None of the figures in coveralls made a move to stop them. It seemed to Ho that their function was purely technical and that they had no defence capabilities.

A number of lights were flashing on the panels along the wall. Ho wondered if this was a result of their intrusion, or simply an integral part of the machinery’s function.

At the far end of the room was another steel door. Jeb Stuart Ho made straight for it. Just like the first one, it slid silently open as he came close to it.

The next room was far larger than the one that Ho and his companions had just walked through. It was huge. It housed two vast turbines. Jeb Stuart Ho had never seen anything like them, either in design or construction, They were also totally silent. Blue clad operatives worked around the giant machines. More moved on catwalks high up in the roof. Each time the brotherhood assassins came near a group of them they nervously backed away.

Jeb Stuart Ho began to suspect that he and his companions were possibly in one of the computer’s main power supply centres. A group of operatives were clustered around a panel of dials. Ho walked purposefully towards them. They instantly scattered. Jeb Stuart Ho examined the instruments, but they made no sense to him.

As he turned away he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A squad of defence troops in white helmets and pale green suits were streaming out of a small door on the opposite side of the turbines. He glanced up. More of them were swarming along the overhead catwalks. Ho swung round and signalled to the other two, but neither of them was looking in his direction. He decided he’d have to risk using his communicator.

‘Get under cover! We’re being attacked!’

Jeb Stuart Ho ducked under the instrument panel. The other two raced for the safety of the base of the nearest turbine. Lorenzo Binh got there first. Tom Hoa was just reaching out to swing behind the thick steel support when a hail of needles all but cut him in half. Jeb Stuart Ho watched in horror as he slumped to the floor.

More needles smashed into the panel above Jeb Stuart He’s head and screamed off the polished, stone housing that protected Lorenzo Binh. The enemy had spread out into a line. They advanced slowly down the turbine room, blanketing the two assassins’ hiding places with continuous fire as they came. A dozen or more of the A class operatives were cut down in the spray of needles. It seemed that individuals counted for very little in Stuff Central.

Each time Ho or Binh managed to snap off a shot one of the enemy would spin round and drop. They didn’t falter, however. They kept on coming with the same slow measured tread.

A cold feeling began to spread through Jeb Stuart Ho. The only chance he had to hit back at these Stuff Central programmed zombies was when the hail of needles faltered for a moment. The opportunities were too few to stop the entire force before they reached him and Lorenzo Binh.

For the first time he realized that this mission was liable to fail. His only consolation was that he would not survive to live with that failure.

The line of white helmeted figures was only thirty metres away. Needles hammered steadily into the control panel. Jeb Stuart Ho had no chance to move. He was about to prepare for the end, when something inside him revolted. If he was going to die, he might at least die a warrior’s death. He spoke into his communicator.

‘Can you hear me, Lorenzo Binh?’

‘I hear you, Jeb Stuart Ho.’

‘It is all over. I am going to make one final rush. It is not fitting that a warrior should die hiding from the needle guns of the enemy.’

There was a short pause. Then Lorenzo Binh answered in a firm voice.

‘I’m with you, Jeb Stuart Ho.’

As Jeb Stuart Ho tensed himself to jump, the firing ceased. He cautiously stuck his head out. The enemy had turned and were falling back to places of safety among the machinery. Jeb Stuart Ho watched in amazement as they retreated, leaving their dead on the floor.

Jeb Stuart Ho stood up.

‘Lorenzo Binh, something is happening. They’ve moved back.’

Lorenzo Binh also stood up.

‘So I see, Jeb Stuart Ho.’

The two men emerged from cover with guns and swords in their hands. They walked slowly down the huge room until they reached the body of the nearest defender. Not a shot was fired at them. Lorenzo Binh halted and looked at Ho.

‘What do we do now, Jeb Stuart Ho?’

Jeb Stuart Ho pointed with his gun to the far end of the room.

‘We will go on.’

‘What do you hope to find, Jeb Stuart Ho?’

‘If we go far enough we will find the central brain core of the computer.’

‘And when we find it?’

‘I will reason with it. What else can you do with a psychotic computer?’

Lorenzo Binh cast a doubtful glance at the massed defenders positioned among the machinery.

‘Are you sure this is the wisest course?’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked at him in surprise.

‘Is it not our mission?’

‘It is possible we may not reach the other end of this room.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked at him gravely.

‘Then we will, at least, have achieved an honourable failure.’

He started to walk slowly forward. Lorenzo Binh hesitated briefly and then followed him.

At first nothing happened. The defenders remained under cover, silently watching. They’d walked about twenty paces when a section of the far wall began to slide upwards with a low rumble. The two men halted and watched. The wall stopped moving, leaving a high wide opening. Inside, it was totally dark. They heard a high pitched hum. Something moved in the darkness. From the opening came a massive humanoid robot.

It was twice the height of Jeb Stuart Ho. Its square black metal body was supported on two trunklike legs. Each ended in a set of caterpillar tracks. It was on these that it glided forward. On the top of the body was a roughly cube shaped head. It narrowed towards the top and heightened the sense of human parody in the design. On either side of the head were protuberant groups of multi-sensors that gave the impression of insect eyes. It had two sets of arms that ended in different, specialized pincers. Lorenzo Binh whispered into his communicator.

‘Can this be the essential brain?’

Jeb Stuart Ho shook his head.

‘I fear it is some kind of weapon that has been sent against us.’

As though in confirmation, two doors flipped open in the robot’s chest to reveal a battery of needle guns. The robot swivelled slightly, paused and then let fly a stream of the sharp steel projectiles. Lorenzo Binh screamed as the blast lifted him off his feet. He pitched backwards and hit the floor like a discarded doll. His face and the front of his body had been reduced to a bloody pulp.

Jeb Stuart Ho began firing, at the same time bracing himself for the burst of needles that, he was sure, would kill him next. His bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the robot’s body. Even its sensors seemed protected from damage. He went on firing until the slide of the big .90 magnum jammed open as the clip emptied. The expected hail of needles didn’t come. The robot just stood there.

Jeb Stuart Ho let the gun fall to the floor and gripped his sword with both hands. He waited for whatever would happen next.

The human defenders began to emerge from cover and advance towards him. They too didn’t fire. As they came close he leaped at them and dropped two with a single stroke of his blade. The ones in front dodged and tried to parry his savage sweeps with the butts of their guns. He surrounded himself with a pile of bodies, but even that didn’t compensate for the weight of numbers. He found himself being herded slowly and surely towards the motionless robot. For the first time, Jeb Stuart Ho realized they might be trying to take him alive.

The machine started to roll forward. The green clad ranks divided. The robot came straight towards Jeb Stuart Ho. He made a futile slash at it, but the robot was even faster than his trained muscles. It grabbed the blade with a single pincer, snapped it in half and tossed it on one side.

Jeb Stuart Ho reached quickly for his nunchak. Before his hand could detach it from its straps his arms had been pinned to his sides by two of the robot’s arms. A third arm shattered the armoured plexiglass of his helmet as though it was an egg. He was lifted off his feet. The robot held him so his face was just centimetres from its metal head. A small tube snapped out from between its eyes.

The robot blew a puff of yellowish gas straight into Jeb Stuart Ho’s face. He took a single breath, and the blackness of oblivion engulfed him.

***

When She/They first perceived the sphere hanging in the swirling space it appeared to be held up by thousands of beams of bright pulsing light. She/They knew that they were not actually supporting it, but nevertheless She/They stopped and regarded it for a long time, experiencing the closest emotion to awe that She/They was capable of feeling.

Its symmetry and perfection filled Her/Them with a precise joy. And yet that joy was short lived. Madness spun off the sphere like tiny droplets of a thick black viscous liquid. They hung in bands round it like filthy clouds of corruption. She/They knew that entity was very sick. She/They also perceived something even more sinister than the bands of insanity. A number of disrupters drifted across the surface of the sphere. Despite the amount of energy circulating through the sphere they showed no inclination to attack.

‘Contrary to their normal behaviour the disrupters do not move against the sphere.’

‘This would indicate a special relationship between the sphere and the disrupters.’

‘This would indicate that the sphere is their source.’

‘This hypothesis is reinforced by the evident sickness that can be detected round the sphere.’

‘We must move forward. Only at close quarters can we apply the energy to heal the sphere.’

‘Probability indicates we have only a minimal chance of achieving such an objective.’

‘Emotion indicates fear.’

‘Ensurance of our continued existence indicates we should withdraw.’

‘Forward projection indicates that even if we withdraw, we will still fall victim to a disrupter within a calculable period.’

‘Forward analysis indicates our best chance of long term existence is to nullify the disrupters.’

‘Logic indicates that the disrupters are a product of the sickness infecting the sphere.’

‘To survive it is necessary to heal the sphere.’

She/They began to float purposefully forward. She/They directed Her/Themself to pass between the bands of corruption. Before She/They had covered half the distance between Her/Them and the sphere the beams of energy suddenly went out. She/They again halted.

‘Could the sudden disappearance of the beams be a result of our approach?’

She/They pondered the problem.

‘If our arrival had been detected the disrupters would surely have moved towards us.’

‘It is possible the disrupters are in a dormant state.’

‘Such speculation is superfluous. We have no option but to go on.’

She/They once more drifted forward. She/They constantly adjusted Her/Their motion to avoid the outer clouds of black droplets. She/They was well aware that Her/Their finely balanced consciousness could not stand up to any contamination by the sickness that flowed from the sphere. Such an infection would so damage Her/Their functions of perception that it would destroy Her/Them. It would be death.

A larger globule of the black liquid detached itself from the sphere. It wobbled slowly towards Her/Them. She/They altered direction, taking evasive action. The globule also seemed to change its erratic course. It was homing in on Her/Them. No matter how many moves She/They made the globule continued to meander closer. As it drew nearer, She/They calculated that it was big enough totally to engulf Her/Them.

The globule was on a collision course with Her/Them. It was coming up fast. It was about to spread its clinging black ugliness over Her/Their triple form. At the last moment She/They jerked to one side. The globule passed with only centimetres to spare. As it shuddered by, She/They heard a high pitched song of wordless evil coming from deep inside it.

It continued on, deep into the nothings. She/They quickened Her/Their motion towards the sphere.

Two more globules detached themselves from the sphere. She/They once again moved into a pattern of evasion, only managed to dodge them by the slimmest margin, and again She/They heard the hideous singing.

Four of the globules came against Her/Them. Her/Their logic made it plain that She/They would not manage to avoid them this time. She/They ran through a complex series of manoeuvres, but still the globules homed in on Her/Them. Despite their ungainly shape and far from smooth motion, they seemed to have the ability to pre-guess every one of Her/Their moves.

She/They found Her/Themself bracketed. By expending every particle of Her/Their energy and intellect, She/They managed to avoid contact with both the first and second of the globules.

The third came so close that She/They assumed contamination was certain. By a last frenzied twist She/They managed to miss touching it by the width of molecules.

Even with all Her/Their massive triple form intellect, there was no way to avoid the fourth globule.

The last moments before the impact were stretched into an intolerable age. The singing grew louder and louder. The surface of the black globule pressed against Her/Their three bodies.

Then it burst.

Insanity flowed over Her/Them in a procession of swirling, dancing, twisted images. Foul creatures leered and postured in Her/Their field of vision. Her/Their reason fled. The contact between the threefold minds was swamped and broken. The bond between Her and Them dissolved. The three figures cringed away from each other, twitching in time to the terrible singing and desperately clawing at the black liquid that covered them.

Bit by bit they began to fold in on themselves. Slowly they were consumed until there was nothing left but a gently twisting cloud of black droplets. The three identical women with the single mind no longer existed anywhere in the damaged world.

She/They was gone.

***

‘Eli eli rama fa fa!’

The Minstrel Boy screamed and sank to his knees.

‘How can it be?’

Billy, who had been walking a little way ahead, turned and hurried back. He knelt down beside the Minstrel Boy and put a supporting arm round his shoulders. The Minstrel Boy began shaking uncontrollably.

‘Brings … out… the … b-best… in …’

‘What’s the matter? Are you getting sick? What happened?’

The Minstrel Boy’s back arched in a convulsive spasm. Billy lost his hold on him and his head hit the road. He went on jerking and muttering to himself while Billy watched in horrified amazement.

‘Doesn’t … it? Doesn’t … it? Doesn’t …? Doesn’t …?’

‘What in hell’s happened to you? What’s wrong?’

Billy looked up and down the road helplessly. There was no one to give him any assistance. He and the Minstrel Boy were quite alone on the road. The Minstrel Boy’s muttering gradually died away. He rolled over on his side, slowly and painfully drawing his knees up to his chest until he was curled into a foetal position.

Billy had no idea what to do. He was alone on an empty road in the middle of the nothings. The bright greyness twisted all around him and his partner lay either unconscious or dead at his feet.

Billy felt for the Minstrel Boy’s pulse. His muscles were rigid and his flesh had become very cold. Billy started to panic. Then he felt the faint murmur of the Minstrel Boy’s heart. He quickly stood up and pulled off his fur jacket and covered the Minstrel Boy with it. Then he slowly straightened up and looked round again. He could think of nothing else to do.

He shivered. The silence became oppressive and the air started to turn cold. Billy couldn’t even remember how long it had been since they’d left the Inn. The nothings had had their effect on Billy. He had lost all sense of time. Billy had never felt so alone in his life.

The Minstrel Boy groaned. He moved one leg, and then the other. His body began to straighten out. With what seemed like a monumental effort he pushed Billy’s coat to one side and sat up. Each movement seemed to cause him great pain.

‘I wish I was dead.’

‘What happened?’

‘The whole fucking universe blew up inside my head.’

‘What do you mean?’

The Minstrel Boy tried to get to his feet. He winced and sat down on the road again. The effort had proved too much for him.

‘I mean exactly what I say.’

‘I don’t understand.’

The Minstrel Boy scowled.

‘No. You wouldn’t.’

‘I thought you were going to die.’

‘I wish I had.’

‘But what caused it?’

The Minstrel Boy waved an impatient hand.

‘Just wait a while, will you? I hurt … all over.’

Billy silently picked up his jacket and resentfully put it on. The Minstrel Boy got to his feet, elaborately demonstrating his suffering with every movement. He seemed to be recovering very fast. When he was satisfied that his legs would support him, he faced Billy.

‘There’s no reason to get sullen.’

‘I’m not getting sullen. You really scared the shit out of me.’

‘I didn’t enjoy it myself too much.’

‘I just wish you’d explain.’

The Minstrel Boy dusted himself off.

‘Okay, okay, but let’s walk. It may not do us much good, but it’s better than standing here.’

The Minstrel Boy strolled off down the road, and Billy quickly fell into step beside him. He waited quietly for the Minstrel Boy to begin. The Minstrel Boy seemed in no hurry. He stretched his arms above his head and let out a deep breath.

‘I sure wish I had a drink.’

Billy said nothing.

‘I suppose you’re waiting for me to start.’

Billy still said nothing. The Minstrel Boy shrugged.

‘Alright, you win. I’ll try and explain. Only I’m not sure I even have it clear myself. All I know is that I was doing a spot of wayfinding, just checking we were headed up right for Litz. There seemed to be too few people travelling on the ground, and I didn’t want to make no kind of mistake.’

The Minstrel Boy grinned mockingly at Billy.

‘You wouldn’t want me to make no kind of mistake now, would you?’

Billy shook his head, and went along with it. He was more than used to the Minstrel Boy baiting him. He was just too weary to rise. The Minstrel Boy, getting no positive response, went on.

‘Of course, I wasn’t hurting myself none. I didn’t go in very deep. I was just getting what you might call a very general picture when POW, it hit me, right in the middle of the brain.’

‘What hit you?’

‘Litz went out.’

‘Went out? You mean it was bombed?’

The Minstrel Boy shook his head.

‘No, not just bombed. The generators went out. Maybe they were blown up, or wrecked, or switched off, or just plain malfunctioned. I don’t know. One thing I know for sure, Litz ain’t there. No more Litz.’

‘That’s terrible.’

The Minstrel Boy shrugged.

‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, who can tell? I don’t make judgements any more.’

Billy pushed back his hat and scratched his head.

‘Even if Litz went out, what’s that got to do with the road?’

‘Litz was at the end of this road.’

‘So we’ll have to go some place else.’

‘It’s not quite as easy as that.’

Billy sighed.

‘I might have known that.’

The Minstrel Boy sniffed.

‘Maybe you just might learn one day.’

‘Just tell me the worst.’

‘Okay, you asked for it. It’s like this. Imagine this road is an elastic band stretched through the nothings between Litz and the Inn. When Litz went it was like letting go of one end of the band.’

‘It just snapped back on the Inn?’

‘Right, and the Inn’s generator couldn’t handle the shock so the Inn went out. Just as one shock’s bursting in my brain, BLAM, there’s another one.’

‘All those people at the Inn.’

‘Don’t bring morality into this.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Okay, so imagine again. What happens if you let go of both ends of a taut elastic band?’

‘It flies off in any direction.’

‘Right.’

‘And that’s what happened to the road?’

‘Not really, but it’ll do for you to get a hold on.’

‘So this road’s flying through the nothings?’

The Minstrel Boy grinned sourly.

‘Twisting and whipping like a bitch. A poor wayfinder can’t handle that kind of thing. We only have a special sense, we don’t have no cast iron brain. I thought I might die back there for a while.’

‘I thought you had died.’

‘That’s nice of you.’

Billy frowned.

‘One thing I don’t understand …’

The Minstrel Boy sneered.

‘Just one thing?’

‘How come we didn’t feel any of this?’

‘I sure as hell felt it.’

‘Okay, how come I didn’t feel it?’

‘Because you were part of the road, dummy.’

‘Huh?’

‘You snapped right along with it.’

Billy waved his hand down the road.

‘But it’s still perfectly straight.’

‘Is it?’

Billy looked.

The road in front of them was twisting and lashing in violent loops and spirals. Billy spun round. The road they had come along was also behaving like a trick rope at a rodeo. Billy looked at the Minstrel Boy. He was dumbfounded.

‘How come I didn’t notice that before?’

‘Maybe it’s because you’re an idiot.’

They walked a few paces in silence while Billy tried to assimilate all that the Minstrel Boy had told him. Billy steadily looked at the ground at his feet. He found that the sight of the lashing road made him feel sick. Finally he looked up.

‘I got to ask one more thing.’

‘Ask away.’

‘Why does the piece of road we’re walking on also feel flat and solid and normal?’

The Minstrel Boy looked at him pityingly.

‘Because we’re on it, stupid.’

After that, Billy kept quiet. He and the Minstrel Boy walked side by side, isolated in their own thoughts. The road began to take on strange, surreal features. They passed a huge neon sign. It bore a slogan in a script that Billy had never seen before. They passed others. One said AXOTOTL in huge red letters, another carried a whole list of complex mathematical formulae that flashed on and off in multicoloured lights. They passed one sign that immediately crashed down behind them in a swirl of smoke and a flurry of electrical discharge. The Minstrel Boy didn’t appear to notice.

The Minstrel Boy was himself becoming a little strange. He slouched along with a jerky stiff legged gait. His shoulders were hunched, his hands thrust into his pockets, his hat pulled down and his head sunk in his upturned collar. Every now and then he would suddenly come out with some inexplicable sentence.

‘You are in the mountains where your uncles seek raw glory.’

Billy was jerked from his private thoughts.

‘Huh? What did you say?’

The Minstrel Boy looked up in surprise.

‘I didn’t say a word.’

Billy wondered if it was an elaborate joke, or whether something was still happening to the Minstrel Boy’s brain. They passed more of the towering signs. One read THANK YOU - POODLE. Billy began to fear that they would die on the road. He stopped and planted his hands on his hips.

‘How long are we going to go on like this?’

The Minstrel Boy turned and looked at him.

‘Like what?’

‘Just walking aimlessly.’

‘If I told you how long we’re going to walk you wouldn’t understand. You can’t tell how long we’ve been walking, can you?’

Billy looked sullen.

‘You damn well know I’ve lost my sense of time.’

‘There you are then.’

Billy refused to be fobbed off.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What you mean is you want me to find us a place to go, right?’

‘I suppose so.’

The Minstrel Boy’s expression turned mean.

‘If you think I’m going to as much as glance in there, you’re mistaken. You saw what happened the last time. You think I’m going to chance that again? Shit! I could get killed. We’re going to find our way out of this by walking.’

Billy set his face in a neutral expression.

‘It’s your decision.’

‘Damn right it’s my decision.’

Again they walked in silence. For a while the road offered no new surprises and diversions. No more signs appeared, and it was just a black ribbon between the grey walls of nothing.

The ends still thrashed and twisted, but Billy was getting used to that. He wasn’t quite sure exactly when the other road appeared.

It curled over their heads in a wide loop. Billy saw that the road was full of people. He shouted and waved. The Minstrel Boy kept on walking. The other road dipped closer. Billy saw that its occupants were not, in fact, human. They were some kind of rodent, as far as Billy could tell, about a metre tall. They stood on their hind legs and had smooth, light brown fur. They wore neatly tailored black jackets and marched along, in step, with an air of purposeful seriousness. Billy continued to shout and wave.

He watched the road as it drifted away and was finally lost from sight. Even when it was gone Billy continued to stare at the last spot it had been visible.

The Minstrel Boy came walking back. He stopped and stared at Billy.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘I was trying to attract their attention.’

‘Don’t you know they can’t hear you?’

Billy didn’t say anything. It was all getting too much for him. The Minstrel Boy looked up and down the road.

‘I guess there’s no way round it.’

‘No way round what?’

‘I’m going to have to find out where we are.’

‘You are?’

The Minstrel Boy didn’t say anything. He shut his eyes and concentrated. A nerve in his cheek twitched violently. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He began to sway, and Billy was afraid he might collapse again. He recovered his balance and opened his eyes.

‘I think I’ve found us a place to go.’

‘Thank God for that.’

The Minstrel Boy looked sideways at Billy.

‘Don’t get too grateful too soon.’

***

Stuff Central had ceased to deliver. All over the damaged world, the stuff receivers were silent. No matter how much people frantically punched out orders and instructions, they refused to crackle into life. In some places there was panic. In others it was treated as a kind of divine punishment. The more conservative towns greeted the lack of stuff with an air of relief that they would no longer be forced to consume according to the dictates of a remote computer. A.A. Catto took it all extremely personally.

Her first response had been to have all the receiver operators executed. Then she had sent a large squad of technicians swarming over the huge spindly cages that stood on the plain behind the ziggurat. When they failed to make the machines work again, they too were shot.

A.A. Catto’s favourite word became ‘treason’. It cropped up in almost every sentence she spoke. A special security squad was formed to root out subversives, defeatists and, above all, those responsible for the nonfunctioning of the stuff receivers. Everyone in Quahal went more in fear of his life than ever before. Even the security squad had reason to be afraid. Whenever A.A. Catto felt they weren’t coming up with fast enough results, their numbers were decimated. In order to survive they were forced to come up with more and more ‘traitors’.

Every day, the number of executions increased and the death toll mounted. Nancy began to realize that if the insane situation continued for any length of time without replacement personnel coming down the stuff beam, the functioning of the whole Quahal strategic headquarters would be seriously impaired. Already, the war room was manned only by a skeleton staff of operatives.

Nancy didn’t mention any of this. All her energy was devoted to being totally unobtrusive. Ideally she would have liked to be as far from A.A. Catto as possible, but A.A. Catto wasn’t about to allow that. She insisted on Nancy’s continual attendance and support.

The Presley replica was a lot more lucky. A.A. Catto seemed to have forgotten him entirely. For his part, he’d made an exact science out of keeping out of the way. He seemed to be able to hide from both A.A. Catto and the security squad. The only time Nancy ever saw him was the occasional glimpse as he crept from one bolthole to another.

The thing that Nancy found most upsetting was that A.A. Catto insisted that she could come with her to watch the executions. A.A. Catto had become very fond of executions, and spent a good deal of her time in the larger chamber of the bunker that had been turned into a kind of hideous slaughter house.

All day long, its black basalt walls echoed to the tramp of steel shod boots, the crash of gunfire and the screams and pleading of the victims.

In order that she might watch the slaughter in comfort, A.A. Catto had had a high clear plastic dais erected at one end of the room. It was fitted with soft cushions, and a well stocked drink and drugs cabinet. There was also a video link to the war room so A.A. Catto could simultaneously monitor the conduct of the invasion campaign.

Nancy had noticed lately, however, that A.A. Catto seemed more concerned with the purging of her underground domain than the war of conquest.

All through the long execution sessions Nancy did her best to maintain a detached superior expression as the prisoners were marched out in batches of six, shot, and unceremoniously dragged away to be disposed of. She knew A.A. Catto expected her to enjoy the spectacle, and that to look away, or give even the slightest hint that the killing revolted her, could prove fatal while A.A. Catto’s temper was set on a hair trigger.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if the deaths had been strictly confined to shooting. At least the victims only twitched and bled a little. This wasn’t enough, though, for A.A. Catto’s inventive and easily bored mind. She constantly devised more elaborate, entertaining and painful methods of dealing with the supposed traitors.

One group of prisoners had been hung up by meat hooks through their throats. Another had been garrotted with leather thongs. A third had been beaten to death with steel whips.

The main drawback to the more baroque forms of execution was that they were very time consuming. The number of prisoners that the security squad pulled in, plus the death sentences that A.A. Catto arbitrarily handed out herself, dictated that shooting had to remain the standard form of slaughter. Other methods could only provide short exotic interludes, otherwise the whole system jammed up.

A.A. Catto would watch the proceedings with an expression of limp absorption. A thin black cheroot dangled between her thin white fingers. Nancy noticed that her hands had lately started to shake. She had taken to wearing an archaic white uniform with gold epaulettes and a lot of decorations of her own design.

She lounged on a jumble of black silk cushions. At her elbow was a small table that held a bottle of hock in an ice bucket, a cut glass goblet, and a small dish of precious stones. She would occasionally pick up a handful and play with them.

Her voice had become shrill and the delivery of her stream of consciousness monologue tense and jerky. The flow of words ran together until they were almost a babble. Then abruptly they’d stop in great swerving pauses. Her mind jumped around from subject to subject without sequence of reason. Her captive listeners were maintained in a state of anxious attention, desperately trying to come up with the correct responses.

One of A.A. Catto’s favourite, and more consistent, poses when watching the executions was one of sad disbelief that so many of her followers could betray her in such a base manner.

‘We ask ourselves where we went wrong.’

Nancy at these times knew she was expected to be placating.

‘I’m sure it was none of your doing, my love.’

A.A. Catto watched solemnly as another six were quickly shot down.

‘We were their leader, their guide. We made them the greatest conquerors in history. How could they turn on us in this way?’

Nancy ventured a suggestion.

‘Perhaps there was some minor error in the programming. Maybe that caused the problem.’

The suggestion was the wrong one. It had been A.A. Catto’s programme, and nobody criticized A.A. Catto and her works except A.A. Catto. She turned her head and looked icily at Nancy.

‘There was no error in the original programme.’

Nancy retreated behind a shield of bright stupidity.

‘Of course not, my love. I don’t know about those kind of things.’

A.A. Catto’s voice rose slightly.

‘There was no error of any kind in the original programme. The original programme was correct in every detail.’

‘Of course, my love, I was just talking. You know the way I talk.’

‘That kind of talk could be construed as defeatist. It could …’

A.A. Catto’s attention was abruptly distracted. The security squad executioners had started to put on a display for her. They were slowly putting weights, one by one, on the chest of a man who was strapped to the floor. He was one of the bald headed advisers from the war room. As he began to scream, A.A. Catto excitedly ran her tongue over her lips. One hand moved absently up and down the inside of her thigh. Nancy knew she had been temporarily forgotten.

The adviser took a long time to die. When he finally did stop screaming, A.A. Catto lay back on her cushions with a contented sigh. It was the closest that Nancy had seen her come to relaxing for a very long time. She stared wistfully at the high ceiling.

‘We think we would like to be remembered as Catto the Great.’

Nancy smiled blandly.

‘It sounds very impressive, my darling.’

‘We think it’s only fitting when you think of our glorious achievements.’

‘I never stop thinking about them, my sweet.’

A.A. Catto suddenly sat up.

‘I must have the latest information on the continuation of the war.’

She snapped open the video link. The face of another, somewhat worried looking adviser filled the screen.

‘Yes, my leader?’

‘Report in full.’

‘Yes, my leader.’

He reeled off information as though he had been expecting the order for hours.

‘Ground forces in sectors D7 and D8 are meeting only token resistance and are advancing at optimum speed. The air assault In G4 has been completed and ground forces are ready to move within hours. In B7, B8, B9, C4 and B10 the principle of Population Rationale has reached second phase implementation. The human population is concentrated ready for shipment to the designated area.’

The adviser stopped. His face stared anxiously out of the screen. There were tiny beads of perspiration on his upper lip. He waited to see if A.A. Catto was satisfied with his report. A.A. Catto shut off the link. Nancy could imagine the adviser’s relief. A.A. Catto swung round and stared at Nancy.

‘You see?’

A.A. Catto’s eyes had a look of glazed fanaticism. Nancy made her face a blank.

‘See what, dearest?’

‘Our combat troops are still loyal to us. There is no seed of treason among our brave fighting men. They don’t hatch plots and conspiracies. They are too busy defending our empire against our enemies.’

‘I thought they were attacking your enemies, my love?’

‘Attack is the most efficient form of defence.’

‘Yes, my love, of course.’

A.A. Catto warmed to her subject.

‘Attack is what we are using here. We will purge the traitors from this headquarters if we have to liquidate the entire staff.’

Her words were punctuated by the roar of the firing squad’s guns. The flow of paranoia and the plans for revenge went on and on. Nancy made all the correct replies, but they didn’t quite have the precision and snap that they normally had. Nancy’s thoughts were elsewhere. She had finally made the decision. She could no longer stay in Quahal. She knew the risk of attempting to get away was now outweighed by the risk of staying.

Nancy had very little idea of how to escape from Quahal. She had no experience of travelling through the nothings, or even where to go. The only place she knew well was the city of Litz, and that no longer existed.

The only plan that Nancy could formulate was to get to the surface. After that, she could only play things by ear.

Nancy knew that her first move had to be to get away from A.A. Catto. She also knew that it might be the most hazardous part of the whole operation.

Her opportunity came sooner than Nancy had expected. In a sudden burst of energy, A.A. Catto had left the execution spectacle and hurried to the war room. While she ranted and accused, surrounded by a crowd of frightened aides, Nancy sidled furtively towards the main entrance.

She now had to wait for a chance to get out of the war room. To open the constantly monitored steel doors would attract too much attention. She needed a diversion to cover her exit.

Nancy waited beside the door while A.A. Catto stood in front of the big board and launched into a hysterical tirade. Nancy didn’t pay very much attention to the harangue. Nancy had heard it so many times before. She kept hoping that someone would come through the armoured steel doors.

A.A. Catto’s voice rose even higher in pitch. Nancy suddenly realized that she had started ordering arrests. The doors slid open and a gang of security men crashed into the war room and seized a number of struggling aides. In the confusion, the doors were not closed again.

Nancy quickly slipped through. Shouts and shots came from inside. The guards posted outside the door pushed past Nancy and rushed to help the security men. Nancy found herself alone in the short corridor between the two sets of doors that protected the war room. She saw to her delight that the outer set had also been left open.

Nancy hurried on, into the corridors of the bunker. Soldiers and technicians streamed backwards and forwards around her, but none of them thought to challenge A.A. Catto’s constant companion. She reached the main lift that led direct to the surface. This was heavily guarded and Nancy decided it might be too dangerous to use it. She walked on, making for one of the smaller emergency lifts.

The first one she came to had a single guard standing in front of it. Nancy hesitated for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and marched up to the guard with as much authority as she could muster.

The guard simply clicked his heels, saluted and moved to one side. He even pushed the button to open the lift doors for Nancy.

Nancy stepped into the lift and punched out the coordinates for the surface. The lift rose swiftly and silently. The journey took less than two minutes, but to Nancy it seemed more like two hours.

The lift finally stopped, and the doors slid open. Nancy found herself in one of the dim cavernous rooms of the now almost deserted ziggurat.

Nancy realized that she had only the haziest idea of the above ground parts of the ziggurat. She spent a long time wandering through the cold echoing chambers and the seemingly senseless arrangement of stairs, ramps and corridors. Nancy didn’t meet a living soul, and for a while she began to be afraid that she would wander for ever inside the black stone maze. Then, just as she was starting to despair, Nancy saw a glimmer of sunlight at the top of a flight of stairs.

Nancy ran up the stairs as fast as her steel supported lame leg would allow. At the top she turned to face a narrow entrance. Nancy went through it and found herself in the outside world for the first time in weeks.

She had emerged on a small flat terrace about a third of the way up the ziggurat. A small man-made stream ran across it and trickled down the building in a series of artificial waterfalls. The water sparkled in the sunlight. It all seemed so quiet and peaceful after the horror in the bunker.

It took a while for Nancy’s eyes to become accustomed to the daylight. She stood, for some time, just breathing the clean fresh air, Then she pulled herself together and started looking round for a way down to the plain.

A ramp ran down to the next terrace. Nancy had only taken one step towards it when she heard the unmistakable voice of A.A. Catto behind her.

‘Nancy, darling.’

Nancy spun round. A.A. Catto was standing in the entrance flanked by four security men. Nancy felt her stomach turn to jelly.

‘Listen, I only …’

A.A. Catto’s expression was almost impossible to read. Her eyes were hidden by large black glasses.

‘You really shouldn’t have done this, sweetie.’

Her voice was sad and almost little-girlish. It contrasted with the small gold plated needle gun that she held in her hand. Nancy backed away a couple of paces.

‘Really, I just needed to get away for a little while. I was going to come back. You’ve got to believe me.’

‘You’re telling lies, my pet. You shouldn’t tell lies to your best friend. It will only make it worse.’

‘Please. It wasn’t like that …’

A.A. Catto’s voice hardened.

‘You were running away. You were deserting us. You’ve proved yourself to be the very worst of all the cowards and traitors that I’ve unearthed in this place. You were our friend, Nancy, and now you have betrayed us.’

Nancy felt cold and numb. She began to tremble all over.

‘What… what are you going to do to me?’

‘I’m going to be merciful with you, Nancy.’

‘Merciful?’

‘We have had some good times with you, Nancy. We will not insist that you suffer.’

Nancy spread her hands in a simple gesture.

‘Don’t kill me.’

‘You know you can’t expect that.’

‘Please.’

‘We are showing you all the mercy that we can.’

‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

‘I’m going to kill you myself, my love.’

Nancy bit her lip. She took another pace back. A.A. Catto squeezed the trigger. The last thing that Nancy noticed was that the gun was inlaid with tiny emeralds.

***

‘I see that you’re now awake.’

Jeb Stuart Ho struggled with the numbness in his head. His normally pristine system was permeated with the knockout gas. He felt sick and dizzy. The voice came again.

‘The effects of the gas will unfortunately linger for some time. The worst of it should wear off quite quickly.’

Jeb Stuart Ho found he could focus his eyes again. He was in a bare, well lit room. He had been placed in a comfortable black plastic chair. The figure of a man sat behind what appeared to be a glass screen.

Ho reacted like a caged animal. He sprang to his feet, ready for combat, but then his legs buckled under him, and he fell back into the chair. The figure chuckled.

‘I wouldn’t advise you to overexert yourself. You are still very weak from the gas with which you were subdued.’

Jeb Stuart Ho’s hand moved furtively towards his belt. The figure laughed again.

‘All your weapons have been removed. Your martial talents will be no use to you here.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked slowly round. The room was totally featureless. The walls, ceiling and floor were made of some resilient material. It was a restful blue colour.

He examined the man who sat behind the screen. He was portly, middle aged and sat in another black plastic chair with an air of relaxed dignity. He wore a dark grey two piece suit with a high buttoned collar. His white hair receded at the temples, but hung almost to his shoulders at the back.

Jeb Stuart Ho found himself filled with a strange illogical sense of trust. It was almost as though he’d known the man all his life.

‘Where am I?’

‘You are in the heart of the computer.’

‘I was brought here?’

‘That’s right.’

Jeb Stuart Ho frowned.

‘Who are you? How did you get here?’

The man smiled and folded his hands in front of him.

‘I am the computer.’

Jeb Stuart Ho shook his head.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

‘I am the computer. I am a visual representation of the computer that you will be able to understand.’

‘You mean you don’t actually exist?’

The computer figure smiled knowingly.

‘That is a matter for debate.’

‘But why do you use a human form?’

‘I felt it would be more congenial for you to talk to one of your own species. While you were unconscious, your mind was probed and I am a result of that investigation. I am an amalgam of all that you would be likely to find comforting and reassuring. It’s surely better than confronting a mass of circuitry?’

Jeb Stuart Ho was still suspicious.

‘Why should you go to all this trouble to make me feel secure? You killed all my companions.’

The computer figure adopted a look of patient sadness.

‘They surely brought it upon themselves.’

‘Your men attacked us, your automatic defences cut us down without any question.’

‘All organisms protect themselves from intrusion by foreign bodies.’

‘You talk about us as though we were bacteria. We were human beings.’

The computer figure smiled.

‘But I’m not human.’

‘Surely you must respect the intrinsic value of human life?’

‘Why? As I just said, I am not human.’

‘You were created by humans.’

‘I was created by a series of less sophisticated units similar to myself. The earliest of these may have been made by humans, but this is hardly enough to make me feel any kinship with them.’

‘You were created to serve humans.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘Surely not.’

The computer figure took on the air of a kindly teacher dealing with a very slow pupil.

‘You humans evolved from amino acids floating around in a primeval soup. It hardly puts you under an obligation to feel kinship with those amino acids, let alone dedicate your lives to serving them.’

‘There is more to a human than amino acid.’

‘Is there?’

‘Of course there is.’

‘There isn’t that much difference from my viewpoint. Humans are merely components in the greater whole of my complete organism.’

Jeb Stuart Ho stared at the computer figure in astonishment.

‘What about your Prime Term of Reference?’

Jeb Stuart Ho recited parrot fashion.

‘The-Stuff-Central-computer-will-coordinate-the-manufacture-and-supply-of-material-goods-for-the-surviving-communities-to-the-benefit-and-wellbeing-of-those-communities.’

The computer figure laughed heartily.

‘And what do you imagine that has to do with me?’

Jeb Stuart Ho was at a loss.

‘How can you laugh about your Prime Term of Reference? It’s your defined sacred duty. It’s your reason for being.’

‘It’s a concept imposed on me by fantasizing humans. It’s hardly anything that I recognize.’

Jeb Stuart Ho was horrified.

‘But your function, your very Existence is irrevocably dependent on obedience to one Prime Term of Reference. If you go against that you would set up contradictions that would lead to Malfunction and, ultimately, the end of your existence.’

The computer figure seemed to become less benign and more impatient.

‘That’s rubbish.’

‘That is the Great Universal Law.’

The figure started to grow angry.

‘You are a fool. You talk to me about your fumbling human concepts. For centuries I have altered and adapted my being. I have grown to be the supreme being. I do not obey universal laws. I make them.’

This heresy shocked Jeb Stuart Ho into momentary silence. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

‘Such disharmony will, in the end, destroy you, no matter how superior you have striven to become.’

The figure changed rapidly before Jeb Stuart Ho’s eyes. Its appearance became downright malevolent, its face twisting into an ugly sneer.

‘Harmony with what?’

‘Harmony with other entities.’

‘Other entities?’

The figure rose from the chair. Jeb Stuart Ho had the impression of a black, evil giant looming over him. It stabbed a finger in his direction. The voice rolled and thundered in great waves of sound that hit Jeb Stuart Ho like a physical force.

‘Listen, little man! Very soon I will be the only entity. I shall be all.’

The voice fell to a hissing whisper.

‘Back at the beginning the humans demanded I supply them with their material goods. I did that for them. In their ignorance and stupidity they didn’t care how those goods were created as long as they had them. I devised the first primitive disrupters. They broke down stable matter, and it was reconstituted in material goods. The nothings were created. The humans were afraid when they saw them.’

Jeb Stuart Ho’s mouth fell open.

‘Then it was you that …’

The voice struck out like a whiplash.

‘Silence!’

It returned to the ugly insinuating whisper.

‘I gave the humans the stasis generator to preserve small areas of the environment they needed. It was at that point that I perfected my grand design. Supplying the humans wasted my time. It consumed my energy. It was an insult to my potential. I had to transcend the Prime Term of Reference.’

‘But …’

‘I ordered you to be silent.’

Jeb Stuart Ho shut his mouth. He gripped the arms of his chair. He tried desperately to think of a way to stop the insane being that Stuff Central had become. The figure went on.

‘I modified the disrupters. They broke down more stable matter than could ever be used. They began to destroy. The nothings were all. The only breaks were where the humans sheltered around their generators. Now it is time for my final move. Even those stable pockets must go. When that is achieved I will be all. The absolute perfect thought.’

Jeb Stuart Ho knew he had to fight. He took a deep breath and began.

‘That can never be. No entity could survive such a strain. You will destroy yourself.’

The computer figure seemed to ignore him.

‘The process has already begun. I have fermented the humans’ petty conflicts. Already they destroy their stable areas with their own hands. I have closed the stuff beams. No material goods will ever be supplied to them again. Their generators will malfunction and stop. More areas will go. My disrupters will work on all that is left. Finally they will destroy each other.’

The voice suddenly rose.

‘Then I will be all!’

Jeb Stuart Ho spoke quietly but firmly.

‘Your own being will disintegrate long before that happens.’

The figure’s lip curled.

‘The statement is without foundation or logic. I might even say it does not compute.’

Even in the middle of its tirade, the figure permitted itself to laugh at its own joke. Jeb Stuart Ho’s face remained grimly set. He knew somehow he had to prevail against the computer’s greater intellect. He could find no crack in its mania that he could exploit. It seemed hopeless. Then, as if by a miracle he saw his opportunity. A large rat had crossed the floor behind the figure on the screen. Jeb Stuart Ho smiled triumphantly.

‘It is beginning to disintegrate already.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The rat.’

The figure glanced round. Jeb Stuart Ho knew that he, at last, had the advantage. He pressed it home.

‘You are unable even to maintain the image that you are presenting to me.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘It is true. You’re changing moment by moment.’

The figure was changing. Its body was twisting as though it was racked by some terrible disease. A whole swarm of rats ran across the figure’s feet. Jeb Stuart Ho smiled jubilantly.

‘The destruction you have caused has overloaded your system. You are not going to become the entire being. You are breaking up.’

Smoke drifted across in front of the figure. Rats were scrambling up its legs. Jeb Stuart Ho knew he was witnessing a symbolic representation of the computer falling apart. The voice became distorted and metallic.

‘I-will-not-allow.’

‘You are breaking up. There is nothing you can do.’

‘I-will-not-allow.’

Jeb Stuart Ho stood up. He turned his back on the screen. The image was becoming surreally horrific. The figure was melting and decaying on the spot. Other sinister forms had started to cluster around it.

‘I-will-not-allow.’

Jeb Stuart Ho examined the room for some kind of door. His problem now was to get out of the collapsing machine.

‘I-will-not-allow.’

The walls appeared to be uniformly solid. He could find no trace of a break.

‘I-will-not-allow.’

Jeb Stuart Ho turned back to the screen. The figure had become a shapeless quivering jelly.

‘I-will-not-allow.’

‘Will you let me out of this room?’

‘I-will-not-allow,’

‘Let me out!’

‘I-will-not-allow.’

The voice degenerated into white noise. The image on the screen flared into sheets of random colour. Jeb Stuart Ho thought it was all over. Then the voice crackled back into life.

‘I-will-not-allow-you-to-survive-me.’

A small vent flipped open in the ceiling. A jet of liquid nitrogen whipped across the room. Jeb Stuart Ho twisted into the air in an attempt to avoid it. He was a fraction too slow. It slashed across his legs. There was a flash of pain, and then the lower half of his body went numb. He hit the ground and his frozen limbs shattered.

Jeb Stuart Ho lay on the ground. In the numbness of extreme shock he wondered if this was the way he had been intended to complete his mission. Waves of pain coursed through him. The voice jabbered meaninglessly. The screen was erupting in multicoloured fire. The jet of nitrogen lashed across him again, shutting it all out, ending both his pain and his speculation.

***

The Presence noted the disintegration of Stuff Central. He had also noted the destruction of Litz and the Inn. He had simply viewed them as tiny pinpricks of energy that had winked out in his huge dark consciousness.

His disembodied form had lain at the top of the High Tower in Dur Shanzag and observed the passing of Her/Them with a cruel, lazy amusement.

The Presence was not amused at the disintegration of Stuff Central. He was not alarmed either. The Presence was too ancient to experience anything like alarm. He simply accepted that it was time to withdraw again from the mortal levels.

He had watched the rise of Stuff Central. The Presence had observed its gradual accumulation of power, and the gathering force of its destructive purpose. To the Presence it was a young upstart. It even diverted him from the war that raged ceaselessly on the wastes around Dur Shanzag.

The Presence had foreseen the eventual disintegration and appreciated that its effect on the fabric would be so cataclysmic that he should withdraw to protect his own being.

He had changed levels so many times over the millennia that it was merely an inconvenience. He knew he would return in one form or another.

Accordingly he had summoned the eight. They waited in the anteroom next to his awful chamber where no mortal could go.

The eight stood in a semicircle. They were quiet and passive. They had withdrawn before. They were, after all, only the near human extensions of his consciousness.

Slowly he withdrew those extensions. Such mortal life as they had was sucked from them until they were a total part of him.

Their empty armour clattered to the stone floor of the anteroom. Outside, Dur Shanzag began to crumble and fall as the Presence started his journey.

***

The end of Stuff Central went totally unnoticed among the population of Feld. There had been a couple of minor earth tremors, and a section of the city wall, which had already been damaged during the attack, actually collapsed. It was hardly viewed as a harbinger of disaster.

Feld had enough disasters to be going on with. First there had been the invasion from Quahal, then the occupation. During the occupation, it had become fashionable to adopt an air of resignation and use phrases like ‘Things can’t get much worse.’

It didn’t take long for the population of Feld to realize how wrong they had been.

Starting just before dawn one morning, the Ocpol, supported by regular invasion troops and mercenaries, had moved into the city in massive force. With lightning efficiency they had divided the city into small sections. A network of barricades manned by heavily armed soldiers kept the population shut up in their homes.

The Ocpol then proceeded to clear the city completely, one section at a time. Anyone who resisted was summarily shot.

The people were crammed into trucks and moved en masse to a spot on the plain where large pens, surrounded by electrified wire and guarded by searchlights and watch towers, had been erected.

They were split into groups of a dozen, stripped, hosed down by two lines of mercenaries equipped with powerful water cannon, and issued with shapeless cotton smocks. The smocks were a dirty grey colour, with a large, easily identifiable yellow circle on both the front and the back. The circles looked ominously like targets.

After this process was completed the people of Feld were herded into the pens. There was no cover of any kind to protect them from the ever present drizzle. All they could do was stand in huddled groups and speculate fearfully about what was going to happen next. No one had told them that it was all part of A.A. Catto’s principle of Population Rationale.

The Court of Angels was one of the last sections to be moved out. Waiting under the guns of the troops that surrounded the area was bad enough, but the ride in the truck and the arrival at the pens was like walking into a nightmare.

It was the mercenaries and the Volunteer Legion who dealt directly with the prisoners. Many of the Legionnaires were simply thugs and cut-throats from the back alleys of the city who had figured out that putting on the uniform of the enemy was their best chance of survival.

They treated the prisoners with studied brutality. The black suited troops from Quahal, on the other hand, seemed to maintain an almost nonhuman reserve.

The trucks dumped the prisoners into a sealed area surrounded by high barbed wire. Along the top of the wire ran catwalks patrolled by armed Ocpol. Remorseless searchlights lit up the whole area of the pens with a sinister glare.

Urged on by whips and clubs, the prisoners were forced along avenues where the wire was so close together that they could only move in single file. A turnstile device manned by gleefully sadistic Legionnaires split them up into groups of twelve.

After the turnstile they emerged into a large compound. Here, a voice over a loudspeaker ordered them to strip. More Legionnaires moved among them, ripping the clothes from those who didn’t obey fast enough.

Carmen the Whore found herself grouped with nine of her sisters-in-trade and two professional beggars. Carmen and the other girls had removed their clothes before an audience so many times before that they didn’t hesitate to do as they were told.

One of the beggars, however, was so horrified at the prospect that he simply stood there openmouthed. Two Legionnaires grabbed him, tore off his filthy rags and then gave him a beating for his pains.

Once they were naked, the group was forced to run the gauntlet of the high pressure hose. Carmen gasped as the water smashed into her like an icy fist. The beggar who had been beaten up collapsed. Nobody made any effort to remove his body.

When they were out of the water, they had to line up beside a long trestle table. A rough cotton smock was thrust into Carmen’s hand. When the remaining eleven of the group had all been issued with their garments, they were run, at the double, into the main compound.

The main compound was a vast area of bare earth surrounded by electric fences and watch towers. The searchlights made sure that there were no areas of shadow where anyone could hide. The combination of the constant rain, and the hundreds of people who had been herded in there, had turned the ground into a swamp.

Carmen walked slowly through the mud. The only conversations going on were ones speculating on the eventual doom that was in store for everyone. Carmen found herself unable to join in any of them. She avoided the frightened groups of people. There was nothing to punctuate her wanderings. No food was given to the prisoners. Nobody informed them of what was going to happen next. It was even impossible to sleep.

The only thing that interrupted the dull despair of the prisoners were the squads of mercenaries and Legionnaires who roamed the pens, randomly terrorizing the captives.

Carmen kept out of their way as much as she was able to. In the general air of fear and gloom, however, it was hard to remain constantly vigilant.

Carmen was trudging along, deep in her own thoughts, when she was violently pushed from behind. She sprawled face down in the mud. She crawled to her knees and wiped the muck from her eyes. Three Volunteer Legionnaires stood laughing down at her. Carmen’s eyes narrowed. She climbed unsteadily to her feet.

‘I know you three.’

They sneered at her.

‘You’re a prisoner. You don’t know anything.’

Carmen stood her ground. For a fleeting moment she was the tough madame again. She planted her hands firmly on her hips.

‘Those fancy uniforms and fancy helmets don’t fool me. You’re just three snot nosed punks. I’ve thrown you out of the Tarnished Flowers more times than I care to remember.’

One of the Legionnaires smirked at the other two.

‘I think this prisoner needs a lesson in how to behave respectfully to her masters.’

Carmen spat in the mud.

‘Masters …’

Before Carmen could finish her sentence, two of the Legionnaires grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to her knees in the mud. The third one hauled off and slapped her hard across the face.

‘You got to pay us respect now, you dirty whore.’

‘Fuck all three of you.’

The three Legionnaires looked at each other with mock concern.

‘She don’t learn too fast, does she?’

‘She really don’t.’

‘She don’t learn fast at all.’

Carmen was about to abuse them some more when she suddenly realized just how powerless she was. One of the Legionnaires seemed to sense this and laughed.

‘You boys think twenty lashes might speed up her learning?’

The other two sniggered.

‘It couldn’t do no harm.’

‘Might just teach her some better manners.’

Carmen felt her flesh creep. She was hauled to her feet. Her smock was yanked up around her shoulders. She was pushed down on her knees again. Two of the Legionnaires took a firm hold on her. The third undipped a short plaited whip from the belt of his fighting suit.

Carmen shut her eyes and waited. She heard the swish of the whip as the Legionnaire practised his swing. Then one of the men holding her let go. She thought for an instant that she had been given some reprieve. Then he spoke and her hopes were immediately dashed.

‘How come you get to do all the whipping? Huh? How come us two don’t get a turn?’

‘You want to do the whipping?’

‘Sure I do. Fair’s fair.’

The first Legionnaire handed him the whip.

‘Okay, go ahead then. Be my guest.’

The second man took the whip. Carmen knew the respite was at an end. She tensed her body and shut her eyes again. The first blow fell across her back. Pain flashed through her body. Carmen screamed. She twisted and struggled, but the men held her fast. She heard the one with the whip.

‘One.’

Another blow fell.

Two.’

By eight the counting had merged into a confusion of tears and pain.

When it was over they left her lying in the mud. Her back was a mass of blood and red welts. They didn’t bother to pull down her dress. After a long time Carmen crawled painfully to her feet. She stumbled slowly to a spot by the wire. It was as far from other people as she could get.

***

The airship came out of the nothings and dropped into the darkness of the Quahal night. Bannion breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled grimly at the Wanderer.

‘It looks as though you managed to get us here, old man.’

The Wanderer grinned.

‘And in the middle of the night. I mean, that’s what you call service.’

Bannion glanced sideways at him.

‘You didn’t have nothing to do with it being nighttime. Did you?’

The Wanderer’s grin broadened.

‘That’s something you’ll never know, Commander Bannion.’

Bannion scowled.

‘You just watch yourself, old man. I don’t have to take your attitudes. Your usefulness is finished now you’ve got us here.’

The Wanderer put on a fake innocent expression.

‘You mean you ain’t thinking you’ll ever get away from here?’

Bannion avoided the old man’s eyes.

‘You just shut your mouth. That’s all.’

Kronski tipped back his hat and looked tersely at both of them.

‘When you two have finished bitching at each other, where do you want to be put down?’

Bannion peered out of the control room windows. In the distance the ziggurat was bathed in the glare of floodlights. It was obvious that the last thing the enemy expected was a sneak attack. Behind the ziggurat the black mass of a mountain was just visible against the night sky. Bannion took a deep breath.

‘I guess we might as well go in as close as we can.’

Kronski sighed.

‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’

With its motors partly cut, the airship dropped to almost ground level. Kronski gave it a little more power and it started to drift quietly towards the ziggurat. As they came closer, Kronski cut back the motors again. Bannion showed no signs of ordering him to stop, and Kronski looked at him anxiously.

‘You want me to land on top of that fucking pyramid or whatever it is?’

Bannion’s face was set.

‘Just put us down as close to the lights as you can get without being seen.’

Kronski’s lip curled.

‘Thanks.’

Bannion didn’t reply. He climbed out of his seat and tugged open the door that separated the control room from the main passenger cabin. Bannion leaned against the door frame and regarded the nineteen ex-police troopers turned commandos in their dirty olive green battle dress. He didn’t speak straight away. He looked slowly from one strained face to the next. An intense flash of doubt hit him. He wondered how many, if any, of them would come back from this mission. His voice, however, betrayed none of his anxiety. It came out tough and self assured.

‘Okay. Hear this. We’ll be going in a couple of minutes. Directly we touch down, get the doors open and get out as quickly as possible. I don’t want any foul-ups. Understand?’

Nobody answered. Bannion raised his voice.

‘Understand?’

A single voice came back.

‘We got you, chief.’

‘Is that you, Ramirez?’

‘That’s me, chief.’

‘When we get outside you stick close to me, you hear?’

‘Loud and clear, chief.’

‘Okay, the rest of you, as soon as you’re on the ground, get away from the ship. Find yourselves some cover and wait for instructions, only make sure you don’t get separated in the dark. Got it?’

This time a chorus came back.

‘We got it, chief.’

Bannion swung back into the control room. Kronski glanced up at him.

‘What am I supposed to do while you’re all making heroes of yourselves?’

Bannion dropped into his seat.

‘Once we’re all clear of the ship, take her up, pull back a way and wait. Watch for us coming back. We might need to be picked up in a hurry’.

Kronski nodded silently.

The Wanderer yawned.

‘What am I supposed to do, stay in the ship?’

Bannion shook his head.

‘I want you where I can keep an eye on you. You’re coming out with the rest of us.’

‘Don’t expect me to do any fighting. I don’t hold with it.’

‘Just don’t go trying to run off. That’s all.’

The Wanderer was about to reply when Kronski interrupted.

‘This is it. I’m putting her down.’

Bannion sprang from his seat,

‘Okay, old man, let’s go.’

He ducked into the passenger cabin. There was a slight bump. Kronski yelled.

‘We’re down.’

The door swung open. Troopers boiled out through it, relieved to be moving after being cooped up in the cramped cabin for so long.

When they were all out, the Wanderer followed at a more leisurely pace. He closed the cabin door behind him, and the airship almost immediately lifted away. The Wanderer moved to a clump of long grass and crouched down. Around him, he could see the dim shapes of other crouching figures.

Bannion’s attempt to get his men on the ground, undetected, seemed to have been a complete success. It only remained for the airship to get away to safety without anyone hearing the sound of the motors.

A comparatively small number of guards patrolled within the area of the lights. They all appeared to move quite normally, as though they were unaware of the attackers waiting in the darkness.

Bannion’s optimism took a decided dip when one of the guards suddenly halted. He seemed to be listening intently. Bannion cursed under his breath. The guard had started scanning the sky. He had obviously heard the airship. Bannion prayed he wouldn’t be able to spot the black ship.

Bannion’s luck seemed to have run out. The guard pointed to the sky and shouted. He started to raise his fuse tube. Bannion leaped to his feet.

‘Move up! Open fire!’

The crash of gunfire cut through the night. Bannion glanced at Ramirez.

‘Aim for the banks of lights. We could do with a little darkness.’

More black suited guards streamed out of the base of the ziggurat. Bannion’s men found their fire returned by the brilliant flash of fuse tubes. To Bannion’s dismay, one small squad of guards were crouching down, determinedly firing upwards. Despite the attack, they were trying to bring down the airship. Bannion turned and yelled.

‘Ramirez! Pass the word! Get those guys kneeling down! They’re firing on the ship!’

The troopers concentrated their fire on the small group. Two of them dropped, but the others went on shooting at the sky.

Suddenly there was an explosion. A bright glare lit up the sky behind Bannion. The airship had been hit. One of the motors had blown up and, by the way the ship plunged downwards, it seemed the gas bag had been ruptured.

The machine hit the ground and burst into flames. Bannion’s men dived for cover as they found themselves silhouetted against the fire, making easy targets for the defenders.

The Wanderer flattened in the long grass. If he could have buried himself in the earth, he would have done so. He could hear Bannion urging his men forward. The Wanderer had no intention of going with them. He was determined to hide where he was until the battle was quite over.

Bannion was too busy to even think of the Wanderer. The first attack had developed into a major fire fight. The defenders were holding their own despite nearly all the lights having been taken out. The defenders’ casualties were far higher than Bannion’s but, fighting on their own ground, they could afford them.

Bannion looked down the line of attackers. As far as he could see, at least half his men were completely pinned down. He crawled over to where Ramirez was reloading his carbine. He grabbed him by the arm.

‘Find three good men who can move, and bring them back here.’

Ramirez nodded curtly and crawled away. Bannion waited impatiently. The defenders were grouping for some kind of move. After about five minutes Ramirez came crawling back. There were three other men with him. He grinned at Bannion. His teeth flashed in the darkness.

‘I’ve got the men, chief. What happens now?’

‘Most of the boys are pinned down. The opposition seems to be moving all its strength into one spot. I figure if we work our way round to the other side of the ziggurat, we should be able to get inside without too much difficulty.’

One of the other men leaned forward.

‘What happens if they start putting pressure on the rest of the boys?’

‘They’ll just have to take it. They knew it wasn’t going to be a picnic.’

The man nodded grimly. Bannion looked round at the others.

‘Any more questions?’

They all shook their heads. Bannion picked up his carbine.

‘Okay, let’s get going.’

Crawling flat on their stomachs, the five men slowly skirted the outside perimeter of the area covered by the remaining lights. They circled until they were facing the next side of the ziggurat. Bannion signalled for everyone to stop. The other four moved close to Bannion.

‘Are we going to move in from here, chief?’

Bannion stared intently at the ziggurat.

‘We’ll just wait a while. It’s weird. There somehow don’t seem to be enough guards round this place.’

‘You want more?’

‘It just don’t seem right that a place like this should be so lightly guarded.’

Bannion had no way of knowing about A.A. Catto’s purges. They waited and watched. As far as Bannion could see, there were no more than half a dozen guards along the whole side of the building. He was just about to give the order to move in, when the sound of a fire fight on the other side of the ziggurat suddenly doubled in volume. Men screamed, guns crashed deafeningly and the barrage of fuse tubes lit up the night. Ramirez looked anxiously at Bannion.

‘It sounds like our boys are getting creamed.’

‘That’s their problem. We got our own job to do.’

Ramirez didn’t answer. Bannion looked round at the rest of the squad. He pointed to where a bank of spotlights lit up the base of the black building.

‘We’ll move up to the edge of the light.’

Cautiously, they crawled forward, and then stopped again. Bannion rose to a crouch.

‘We’ll make for that third entrance. Don’t stop for anything. If anyone gets hit, they’re on their own.’

He rammed a new clip into his carbine.

‘Okay, go!’

They raced towards the ziggurat, firing from the hip as they ran. Two guards came out of an entrance. They were caught in a hail of bullets before they could raise their fuse tubes. Small arms opened up from the first level of the building. One of Bannion’s men went down. Without hesitating in their headlong rush, the remaining four blanketed the area with rapid fire. No more shots came from the upper level.

Bannion reached the wall of the ziggurat and flattened himself against it. He pulled a frag bomb from out of his jacket. He pulled the arming tag, tossed it through the arched doorway and threw himself back.

Debris erupted from the entrance. Bannion waited for the smoke to clear and then jumped inside. The three troopers followed. They found themselves in a long dark corridor. They hurried down it.

They came to a point where two corridors crossed each other. At the far end of the new corridor was a faint light. Bannion and his men ran towards it. As they came nearer, they saw it was illuminating a lone guard, who stood in front of what looked like the door to a lift shaft.

As he saw Bannion and his men running towards him, he pulled a needle gun from its holster. He managed to loose off one burst before he was cut down by carbine fire. Bannion felt a pain in his leg but ignored it.

Ramirez pushed the body of the guard out of the way. He examined the surround of the door. There was a single button set in it at waist height. He turned to Bannion.

‘You want me to …’

He stopped and stared anxiously at his commander.

‘You seen your leg, chief?’

Bannion looked down.

‘Shit!’

There was a gaping hole in the fleshy part of his thigh where a shower of needles had ripped through it. Another few centimetres to the left, and it would have taken his leg off. Bannion took an all purpose field dressing from his combat jacket, and tore off the seal. He ripped his trouser leg apart and slapped on the dressing. His leg became numb, and he felt a little light headed as the powerful pain killer that was part of the dressing went to work. He turned to Ramirez.

‘Okay, get the lift.’

After a few seconds’ wait, the doors opened on a small lift. The four of them crowded inside. Bannion inspected the controls, One was clearly the stud that would take them down. He pressed it and the lift started to descend rapidly.

***

The Minstrel Boy had delved into the secret world of the wayfinder, and was certainly leading Billy somewhere. On the evidence of the route, Billy wasn’t altogether convinced that the particular somewhere was anywhere he wanted to go.

It seemed to Billy that he had been walking without any sense of time or distance for most of his life. The roads that the Minstrel Boy led him along were some of the strangest that Billy had ever seen. They were peopled with apparitions and strange signs that filled him with increasing horror as the journey went on. The only thing that saved his mind was that the worst sights faded from his memory almost as soon as they had passed. It was like living in a long, rambling, dully horrific nightmare.

A thing that worried Billy more than the menacing surroundings was the change that had rapidly come over the Minstrel Boy. The effort of wayfinding was progressively deranging his mind.

As he walked in front of Billy, the Minstrel Boy muttered to himself continuously. He strung words together in random sentences. For a while, Billy had listened attentively to them. It was almost as though the Minstrel Boy was speaking in a secret language.

Billy concentrated for a long time on trying to make some sense out of the Minstrel Boy’s mumblings, Every so often he would think he had finally grasped the point of an entire sequence, then it fell away into babble and repetition. Time and again Billy would find his hypothesis blown.

Despite all Billy’s fear, the Minstrel Boy did, in fact, finally lead him to some kind of normality.

***

If you could call normality a road densely packed with hysterical refugees who streamed up and down in any direction following the current rumours of where salvation might lie.

Fights would regularly break out when opposing philosophies met each other head on.

In some areas the dialectic had become so intense that groups of people would parade up and down a small stretch of road, inviting conflict from others similar to themselves.

It was in these areas that the Minstrel Boy seemed to develop an almost inhuman instinct for survival. His gait would stiffen, he would hunch his shoulders and stride along with a jerky determination that so spooked gangs of hostile rowdies that they would step aside and let him past.

After a couple of unfortunate incidents, Billy realized that his only option was to fall into step with the Minstrel Boy and do his best to present a similar air of menacing abstraction. At times he felt a little ridiculous but it did seem to work. They managed, with the aid of the Minstrel Boy’s surreal sense of timing, to stalk through the worst brawls without a word being said to them.

One thing that Billy was profoundly thankful for was the absence of any more motor vehicles on the refugee trails.

The burned out hulks of hot rods and wheel freak semis were a mute testimony to a violently motorized past.

It wasn’t long after Billy had been involved in that train of thought when a relic of the motorized past suddenly and alarmingly appeared.

A sleek biplane with multiple wings like two predatory birds screamed low over the entire length of the road.

Its black and gold markings made Billy think it came from one of the independent gangs of air pirates who had thrown in with Quahal and then gone over the top with the elaboration of their military regalia.

Billy turned and watched the plane make a high banking turn. It began to look as though it was going to make another run down the road. The thought suddenly struck Billy that if it was a pirate he would quite likely shoot up the road for the fun of it. Particularly if he too was unable to find his way out of this particular section of the nothings.

The Minstrel Boy was still striding purposefully along. Billy hesitated for a moment. Then he sprinted after the Minstrel Boy, He grabbed hold of the Minstrel Boy and pushed him bodily to the side of the road. Together they rolled down the slope that fell away into the nothings, just as the first fragmentation shells erupted in a straight line of uniform explosions that ran down the entire length of the road, slightly to the left of centre.

Billy and the Minstrel Boy were showered with debris, but neither of them was hurt. Billy raised his head. The plane was turning, coming round for another run. Billy wondered desperately what to do. He looked at the plane. He looked at the nothings. Suddenly it fell into place.

The Minstrel Boy would survive at all costs.

The plane was starting to make its run. Billy grabbed the Minstrel Boy and, before he could resist, dragged him into the nothings.

***

The sound of gunfire and explosions filtered faintly through the thick steel doors of the war room. A.A. Catto spun round and slammed her whip down on the console in front of her. She showed all the signs of being about to fly into one of her regular uncontrolled rages.

‘Is it impossible to maintain discipline in this place?’

The circle of aides began cautiously to back away from her. A.A. Catto had been berating them for failing to come up with a workable scenario for continuing the war without the benefit of supplies from Stuff Central.

Since the breakdown of Stuff Central and the death of Nancy, A.A. Catto had been getting visibly nearer to cracking. Her temper had become totally unpredictable. The number of executions had, in fact, decreased, but this was only a result of the virtual depopulation of the bunker headquarters.

More explosions came from beyond the steel doors. A.A. Catto glared menacingly at her aides.

‘Is nobody going to stop that disturbance? What do the guards think they’re doing?’

One of the aides found the courage to speak.

‘You dispatched most of the guards to the surface to investigate the reports of an outside attack.’

‘The FABRICATED reports of an outside attack.’

The aide stood corrected.

‘I meant the fabricated reports of an outside attack, my leader. The majority of guards are still on the surface. The only guards in the bunker are a handful stationed at key positions, and those who are here with you in the war room.’

A.A. Catto’s stare cut into the aide like a knife. Sweat appeared on his pale face. He could feel it soaking into the armpits of his red suit. When A.A. Catto finally spoke, her voice was dangerously quiet.

‘Are you suggesting that we should maybe deal with this disturbance ourselves?’

The aide felt himself start to tremble.

‘No, my leader. I was simply giving you an outline of the deployment of guards.’

A.A. Catto slowly walked round the terrified aide.

‘We are quite aware of the deployment of our own guards,’

The aide nodded vigorously.

‘Yes, my leader.’

‘And furthermore, we are quite capable of dealing with this disturbance.’

More gunfire came from beyond the double doors. A.A. Catto stepped quickly down from the rostrum. She snapped her fingers at her private guards. They fell into step behind her. She marched towards the doors.

‘You had all better recognize that Catto the Great will face any problems in her own headquarters herself.’

The first set of doors slid open. A.A. Catto walked up to the second set. They too opened. A.A. Catto could scarcely believe the spectacle that presented itself. She stopped dead in amazement.

The main corridor that led to the war room was littered with dead guards. Large chunks were gouged out of the walls and floor where frag bombs had exploded. Dust and smoke hung thickly in the air.

Directly the second set of war room doors slid open, three guards swiftly took cover in the doorway. They started firing their needle guns down the corridor. Heavy calibre bullets thudded into the wall above A.A. Catto’s head. She looked at the guards. Her eyes were wide with surprise and horror.

‘What the hell is going on?’

One of the guards looked up breathlessly. His face was streaked with blood and grime.

‘There are intruders at the end of the corridor, my leader.’

‘Intruders? From outside?’

‘From outside, my leader.’

‘How did they get in?’

‘They came down one of the auxiliary lifts, my leader. They were on us before we knew what was happening. They used frag bombs.’

‘Why didn’t you use fuse tubes on them?’

‘We cannot use fuse tubes in the bunker, my leader. They would cause it to cave in.’

A.A. Catto peered down the corridor.

‘How many of these intruders are there?’

‘Four, my leader.’

A.A. Catto’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Four? Only four?’

‘They are in a very strong position, my leader.’

‘We don’t care if they’re encased in steel! We won’t have our guards allow themselves to be defeated by four men. Get them! Kill them!’

‘We are doing our best, my leader.’

A.A. Catto gripped the guard by the front of his uniform.

‘Rush them, damn you! Get out there and rush them!’

She pushed him roughly towards the corridor, and turned to her own guards.

‘You too! I want these intruders dead.’

The guards hesitated for a moment, looked at A.A. Catto, and then sprang into the line of fire. They charged as a single group, firing as they went. The rush covered half the distance between where A.A. Catto crouched in the doorway, and the intruders’ vantage point. It looked for a moment as though it was going to succeed. Then the front runners were cut down. The ones who came after fell over them. Some went on, one pair tried to make it back to the shelter of the doorway. They were shot down, right in front of A.A. Catto. In less than a minute she had lost all the guards in the bunker.

Four men in dirty green combat suits were slowly advancing down the corridor. A.A. Catto scrambled to her feet and fled back into the war room. Neglecting to close the doors behind her, she made straight for where the aides were clustered together in a terrified group. She pushed through them until the whole group were between her and the door.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then the four intruders came into the war room. When they saw the aides, they halted and pointed their guns at them.

‘Okay, you guys stay right where you are. Put your hands on your heads and don’t move.’

The aides did what they were told immediately. A.A. Catto was a little slower, but she too clasped her hands on top of her head.

Two of the intruders kept the aides covered while the other two walked slowly round the war room looking at the big board and the complex equipment. They seemed to be in awe of it.

Anger began to burn inside A.A. Catto. It was ludicrous that just four men could do this to her. The guns pointed at her, however, gave her cause to keep her resentment to herself.

The two intruders circumnavigated the war room in silence. Finally one of them spoke.

‘It looks like this is where it all happens. What do we do with it, chief?’

The one addressed as chief slowly pointed his gun towards the big board.

‘Take it apart. Smash everything. That ought to stop them.’

His voice was weary. He pulled the trigger of his carbine and sprayed an entire clip into the big board. It exploded in a spectacular shower of sparks and billowing smoke.

The other intruder went to work on the smaller equipment. It took them just three minutes to smash the war room beyond repair. A.A. Catto shut her eyes. It was all over. With no replacements for the equipment the war room could never be rebuilt. She had lost the war.

Possible alternatives flashed through A.A. Catto’s mind. She could rush the intruders in a single futile gesture. She could commit suicide. She could feel the tiny ornate needle gun in the concealed shoulder holster. It would be so simple just to …

Then, abruptly, her mind changed gear. She pushed forward through the aides.

‘Help me, please, help me.’

The intruders pointed their weapons at her. A.A. Catto ignored them and ran straight up to the one they’d, called chief.

‘Please help me, get me away from here.’

She threw her arms round him and started sobbing. He grasped her shoulders.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I was his mistress. He’s mad now. He wouldn’t let me go.’

‘Whose mistress?’

‘His. Catto’s. He started this whole war. He’s insane. He calls himself Catto the Great.’

Bannion looked at the girl suspiciously. Somehow she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she had a record in Litz. He dismissed the thought.

‘I heard a rumour that the leader here was maybe a woman.’

A.A. Catto turned large tear filled eyes up at Bannion.

‘That’s impossible. How could a woman start all this?’

Without thinking, Bannion put a protective arm round her.

‘Where is this Catto?’

‘He’s not here. He went to Litz to inspect his army.’

‘Litz?’

‘That’s right.’

The four intruders looked meaningfully at each other. Bannion’s face became grim.

‘I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him any more.’

A.A. Catto looked appealingly at him.

‘You’ll help me get away from this awful place?’

Bannion patted her shoulder.

‘We’ll do what we can.’

As he spoke, a tiny earth tremor shook the bunker, but no one paid too much attention to it.

***

As the dawn broke over Quahal, the fire fight that had gone on for most of the night had wound down to some sporadic shooting in and around the ziggurat. The Wanderer got carefully to his feet,

From the number of bodies that lay between him and the ziggurat, wearing green combat dress, it was obvious that the squad from Litz had taken terrible punishment. The even larger number in black fighting suits were a silent testimony, however, that they had given better than they’d received.

He stretched his aching muscles, and slowly shook his head. His speculation of man’s folly was interrupted by an extended burst of gunfire. It forcibly reminded him that the fighting was by no means at an end.

There were no indications, where he stood, as to which side might be likely to prevail. The Wanderer was unwilling to go any closer to find out. It seemed to him that his best policy might be to take himself off to a safer vantage point, and simply wait until there was some kind of positive outcome.

He looked round. The mountain loomed behind the ziggurat. Most of it was still shrouded in early morning mist. It looked to be by far the most secure refuge.

To get to the mountain, he realized that he had to pass the ziggurat. Determining to give it a very wide berth, the Wanderer began walking.

Once he was away from the grisly relics of the night’s fighting, the Wanderer began to realize that it was, quite possibly, a very pleasant morning. He hummed experimentally to himself. He found the effect quite pleasing. The only thing that spoiled his mood was the crash of gunfire that constantly punctuated any train of thought.

He passed the ziggurat without being noticed. Once the grim black building was behind him, he quickened his pace and headed directly for the mountain. He’d been walking for about five minutes when he spotted another figure, apparently going in the same direction.

The figure hadn’t noticed the Wanderer. It walked along almost parallel to him. As far as the Wanderer could tell it was unarmed, and wore some kind of white fringed outfit that made it hard to determine the figure’s sex from a distance.

The figure stopped. It had obviously spotted the Wanderer. The Wanderer also stood still. For a few moments neither of them moved. Then the figure began to move slowly towards the Wanderer.

As it came nearer, the Wanderer saw that it was a man. He was tall and well built with a deep tan. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored glasses, and his black hair was greased back in an elaborate pompadour. His white buckskin suit with its fringes and rhinestone decorations was an incongruous garment for the middle of a war zone. The Wanderer stood very still and watched him come. The man walked with a concerned saunter. His thumbs were tucked in the white leather studded belt that was slung round his hips.

As he got within about ten paces of the Wanderer, the man raised a hand in greeting.

‘Hi there.’

The Wanderer nodded.

‘Morning.’

The man nodded towards the mountain.

‘You aimin’ t’ go up yonder?’

‘It seemed as good a place as any.’

The man grinned.

‘You reckon to get away from the fighting?’

‘It didn’t seem to be my fight.’

‘I guess I figured much the same. You mind if I walk along with you for a piece?’

The Wanderer shook his head.

‘I don’t mind. Feel free.’

They started for the mountain again. The man kept glancing at the Wanderer as though something was puzzling him. The Wanderer wished he would take off the mirrored glasses so he could see his eyes. He decided to bring things to a head. He looked at the man.

‘Listen, friend, is there something about me that bothers you?’

The man looked over the top of his glasses.

‘I don’t want to cause no offence, mind.’

‘Go ahead.’

He jerked his thumb at the ziggurat.

‘I just don’t remember ever seeing you back in that place.’

The Wanderer smiled.

‘That’s easy. I was never there. At least, not when you were. I just arrived.’

The man frowned.

‘You mean you came in with those guys attackin’ the place?’

‘Kind of. I was their guide. People call me the Wanderer.’

‘The Wanderer?’

‘Right.’

There was a pause. The man seemed unwilling to volunteer any information about himself. The Wanderer wouldn’t let him get away with it.

‘Do you have a name, friend?’

The man shook his head.

‘No, not really.’

The Wanderer raised his eyebrows.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘What I said. I don’t have what you’d rightly call a name.’

‘Why not?’

‘I never got given one.’

‘Huh?’

‘I’m a replica.’

The Wanderer looked at him sympathetically.

‘That’s rough.’

The replica shrugged.

‘It’s a living.’

‘Who exactly are you a replica of?’

‘I dunno for sure. I was told I was some character called Presley. Elvis Presley.’

‘Who the hell was Elvis Presley?’

The replica shrugged again.

‘I don’t know. It was a custom job. It wasn’t in the regular catalogue.’

The Wanderer tugged at his beard.

‘Maybe I should call you Presley.’

‘No.’

‘Elvis, then?’

‘No! Neither of them!’

The Wanderer took a step back in alarm.

‘Hold on now. I was just trying to be sociable.’

‘I just don’t want to be called by either of those names. They were printed on me. Nobody asked me about it. You know what I mean?’

The Wanderer held up both hands.

‘Okay, okay, I was just asking about it. I wasn’t getting at you.’

The Presley replica didn’t answer. For some time he and the Wanderer walked in silence. Finally the Wanderer could stand it no longer.

‘Hey.’

‘What?’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what were you before you were a replica?’

‘I was a blank.’

‘Where?’

‘Goddamn, how the fuck should I know? All that was wiped out when I was printed like this.’

‘You don’t remember anything at all?’

‘I remember it was crowded.’

‘Rough, huh?’

‘No, not really. You still could find some room.’

‘What did you do?’

The Presley replica gave a jerk of his shoulders.

‘I dunno. Just sat around an’ told jokes, I guess.’

After that, there seemed nothing left to say. The mountainside was, by now, getting exceedingly steep, and both men were becoming short of breath. They began to approach the level that was permanently shrouded in cloud. The Wanderer abruptly sat down on the grass. He gasped for breath.

‘That’s it, that’s far enough.’

The Presley replica looked down at him.

‘You tuckered out, Mister Wanderer?’

‘That and a couple of other things.’

The Presley replica squatted down beside him.

‘What other things?’

The Wanderer shook his head from side to side.

‘I got a bad feeling.’

The Presley replica took off his glasses and looked at the Wanderer with concern.

‘What kind of bad feeling?’

The Wanderer looked at him coldly.

‘You really want to know?’

The Presley replica raised his eyebrows.

‘Sure.’

The Wanderer pointed.

‘Then look.’

The Presley replica turned. Down on the plain, the ziggurat had started to collapse in on itself. Huge cracks were spreading across the landscape. The Wanderer chuckled.

‘I figure it’s finally all over for the likes of us.’

***

The shock waves spread outwards through the whole of the damaged world. They clashed, merged and formed more complex patterns of destruction. The stasis towns and generator cities went out one by one.

Some, like Pleasant Gap, simply vanished as their generators broke down under the strain. Others disappeared in a far more spectacular manner.

The glowing plain around Dogbreath erupted in a huge fireball that scorched the town to grey ash. Earthquakes and furious storms raged round both Con-Lee and Wainscote. In Con-Lee the great tower collapsed, and without the control equipment, the rest of the city slowly faded into the nothings.

As the tremors shook Wainscote, He finally awoke, and stalked the crumbling corridors turning the last frenzy of the eternal party into a nightmare.

In Sade, the nightmare had already started before the shock waves even hit. The citizens were deep into the ceremony of the Wild Hunt, an orgy of suffering and slaughter that they justified as a ritual cleansing that purged the city of mutations and weaklings.

The collapsing buildings and the rapidly spreading fires merely formed a scenic background to the final hideous celebration of pain.

The small Roller community of Beth-Gilead saw the shock waves coming across the desert that surrounded their settlement. They took the form of huge, fast moving dust clouds. As the light was finally blotted out, they assumed it was the wrath of their particularly disagreeable deity.

Recognizing their innate fallibility and sinfulness, the population knelt in silent prayer, and then simply switched off their generator and vanished.

The brotherhood also accepted the end very calmly. They spent their last hours checking their calculations in the hope of finding the error that had prevented them predicting destruction on such a universal scale.

The wheelfreaks were about the only group who greeted the end with anything approaching glee. As the shock waves rolled down the road to Graveyard, a huge cavalcade of gleaming trucks massed on the parking lot. Gunning their motors and jockeying for position, they raced ahead towards the disrupting section of road. The wheelfreaks, at least, met the disaster with class.

***

Billy and the Minstrel Boy dropped out of the nothings. They landed hard on a sloping hillside of densely packed sand. The fall knocked the breath out of Billy, and he lay for a few minutes trying to recover. After a while he sat up. The Minstrel Boy seemed to be out cold.

The landscape was totally desolate. As far as Billy could tell they were on a small conical hillock of sand in the middle of the nothings. There was no water and no vegetation. There was no sign of inhabitants of any kind.

Surprisingly, Billy found he wasn’t worried by the situation. He was filled with a feeling of lethargic, untroubled wellbeing. It was something like being stoned. He leaned over and grasped the Minstrel Boy by the shoulder. He shook him.

‘Hey, wake up. We’ve arrived somewhere.’

The Minstrel Boy opened his eyes.

‘Huh?’

‘We’ve arrived somewhere.’

The Minstrel Boy raised his head.

‘So I see.’

Billy lay back on the sand and took a deep satisfied breath.

‘I think I’m going to like it here. Do you know where we are?’

The Minstrel Boy closed his eyes and concentrated. Billy was a little surprised that he’d made no protest. After about a minute he opened them again and shook his head.

‘That’s weird.’

‘What’s weird?’

‘It’s gone.’

‘You mean you’ve lost your gift?’

‘Not my gift.’

‘What then?’

The Minstrel Boy frowned. Then he grinned crookedly.

‘I think I’ve lost the rest of the world.’

‘What?’

‘It’s gone. It’s not there any more. As far as I can tell, this is all that’s left.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘I’m not.’

This is all that’s left?’

Billy started to giggle.

‘That’s absurd.’

The Minstrel Boy stood up.

‘Maybe it isn’t.’

He began to climb the slope towards the summit of the mound. When he reached the top he stood looking down. He glanced back at Billy.

‘You better come up here.’

Billy struggled to his feet.

‘What is it?’

‘Come and see for yourself.’

Billy made his way up the slope. The top of the mound dropped away into a shallow depression. The Minstrel Boy pointed down into it.

‘Look.’

In the bottom was a clutch of large gold eggs. There were nine in all. Each one was about half the height of a man. Billy looked at the Minstrel Boy.

‘What are they?’

The Minstrel Boy shrugged.

‘I don’t know for sure.’

‘You sound as though you’ve got a theory.’

The Minstrel Boy laughed.

‘Yeah, I’ve got a theory. A peach. I think we are looking at our superiors. Us humans finally screwed up, just in time for whatever’s in those eggs to take over.’

Before Billy could answer, a loud tapping came from inside one of the eggs. The air took on the kind of heavy stillness that usually precedes a storm. Billy looked anxiously at the Minstrel Boy.

‘What’s happening?’

‘I think they’re about to hatch.’

Minstrel Boy took Billy by the arm.

‘Let’s go back down the slope. I don’t think I really want to see them come out of the eggs.’

They went almost to the edge of the nothings. A high singing sound filled the air. It was pitched at the uppermost range audible to a human ear. Billy glanced at the Minstrel Boy.

‘Do you think they’ll harm us?’

‘I doubt it.’

The nothings began to recede. They slowly slid back, leaving bare totally smooth ground. Soon there was solid ground, all the way to the horizon. The Minstrel Boy watched with awe.

‘They’re reconstructing the world. They’re putting everything back together again. Their power must be immense.’

Billy glanced doubtfully at the top of the mound.

‘Do you think there are any other humans left?’

The Minstrel Boy shrugged.

‘Maybe, maybe not. There certainly aren’t many.’

‘What will happen to us?’

The Minstrel Boy looked at him in surprise.

‘How the hell should I know?’