"Right. Why are we in here?"
A dark human silhouette moved across the window, eclipsing the chalets. The head glowed brightly in grades of red, hot blood highlighting the cheeks and nose; eyes were cooler, darker. It contained the familiar thought currents of Liam Bursken.
"Shush." He gripped her hand tighter. Even with the infrared's ambiguous slant, he could recognize the features of the face pressed to the glass. Brendan Talbot, an engineer who lived in Hambleton.
Christ, how many people had MacLennan loaded the paradigm into?
Greg's free hand closed around the stock of the Heckler and Koch rifle lying on the desk. A real weapon.
Ronnie Kay appeared next to Brendan Talbot, and hurled a brick straight through the study window. Eleanor yelled in fright. A torch shone into the room with the force of a solar flare.
The photon amp filters responded immediately, reducing the glare until it was a manageable corona. Greg could see Talbot, his hand reaching through the jagged hole in the glass, scrabbling round for the catch.
"Face your judgement, Mandel," Kay shouted. "Embrace us. We will deliver you from sin."
Greg levelled the rifle at Talbot. And couldn't pull the trigger. It wasn't Talbot, only his body. Brendan had a wife, a six-year-old daughter.
"Shit!" he roared. In his army days it wouldn't have made any difference. None. See a hostile and snuff them. Nothing else had ever been allowed to interfere with that maxim. It was simple survival. Life was so fucking easy in those days. Uncomplicated.
Brendan Talbot's fingers closed around the catch.
Greg yanked the stunshot round, strap cutting into his shoulder. Aim and fire. The pulse hit the glass, and splattered, minute static tendrils writhing across the oblong pane. "Shit shit shit." Aim and fire. This time the pulse struck Talbot's hand. There was a muffled grunt, and he was flailing backwards. His wrist caught the spikes of glass around the edge of the hole, skin tearing. There was a confused splash of heat.
The torch beam wavered about as Kay tried to catch him.
"Let's go," Greg said.
Runnels of Talbot's blood were seeping down the window below the hole, glowing like radioactive sludge.
"What's happening now, boy?" Philip asked anxiously.
"Trouble. Where's the crash team?"
"They're getting into the tilt-fan now."
"Jesus!"
Eleanor gave him a frightened glance as they charged back into the hall.
"The crash team is just taking off," he told her. "Philip, have they got stunshots with them?"
"Sure thing, boy."
"Tell them to use the stunshots wherever possible, remember these people aren't responsible for what they're doing."
"I'll tell 'em."
"Upstairs," he said to Eleanor. They started to pound up the staircase.
There was an almighty crash of breaking glass from the lounge when they were halfway up.
Knocking the whole window out by the sound of it, Greg thought. He handed Eleanor the stunshot when they reached the landing. At least if she did have to shoot she would never have the guilt of killing a complete innocent. He could always use the rifle to immobilize, If he had time, if the mêlée didn't become too confusing, if he could hang on to his scruples. They ran down the landing to the master bedroom.
"Philip, plug Royan in," Greg said.
"Right-oh, boy."
The landing's biolums came on just as they reached the bedroom door, three sets of wall globes shaped like lilies. Greg shot them out with the rifle. They disintegrated with loud popping sounds, showering the landing with radiant flakes that died as they bounced along the carpet.
From a tactical standpoint there was little improvement; biolum light shone up from the hall, casting long delusive shadows over the landing walls. He could hear people moving about below.
They went through into the bedroom. "Keep watching the stairs," Greg said. "Anyone comes up, shoot 'em."
"Right." Eleanor knelt down beside the door, peering through the crack.
The photon amp's time numerals and guido co-ordinates blurred then merged into a single wavery band of yellow light. There was a moment's pause, then the display printed: I'M HERE, GREG.
"Great. Listen, I've got about half a dozen people who think they're Liam Bursken coming at me. Now there has got to be some way to flush that paradigm out of them. We know it erases itself after a set time. Access the recording you made and look for the magic photons sequence, see if there's any way we can activate it prematurely."
GOT YOU. ACCESSING NOW.
"They're here, Greg," Eleanor called softly. She fired the stunshot, ten or twelve pulses zinged along the landing, scorching long burn marks into the wallpaper, blistering the paint on the banister rail.
He was aware of the minds on the stairs. One of them ruptured in a flurry of pain, the thought currents fragmenting into comate insensibility. "You got one."
GREG, HAVE YOU GOT A LASER WITH YOU?
"Yeah, a Heckler and Koch hunting rifle."
TOO POWERFUL. HAS IT GOT A TARGETING IMAGER?
"Yeah."
GOOD GOOD GOOD. PLUG THE IMAGER INTO YOUR SUIT 'WARE.
"Right."
"The crash team has left," Philip said. "Be with you in eight minutes."
It was going to be too long, that much was obvious. Greg tugged the rifle's targeting imager monocle out of its recess, and detached it from the fibre optic cable. The interface was standard—thank Christ. He plugged the cable into a socket on the guido 'ware module. Blue target circles hardened in front of him, angling down towards the carpet, the same line as the rifle barrel was pointing.
"Come out, Mandel," Ronnie Kay shouted up from the ball, "or we will burn you out. Fire is always the great purifier. Your wife will die with you then. Come out."
"Don't you dare," Eleanor said.
"Royan?"
I'VE DECRYPTED IT STRANGE. NOT LIKE SOFTWARE. NO SUBROUTINES. EVERYTHING STRUNG TOGETHER, SIMILAR TO PIXEL CODES, MUCH HIGHER BIT RATE THOUGH.
"Have you found the magic photons sequence?"
WORKING ON IT
Greg went over to the window, standing beside it with his back to the wall, expanding his espersense outwards. There were three minds below. He edged the rifle out past the curtains and activated the imager. The photon amp's picture of the bedroom faded away, replaced by a view of the garden below. Three men were standing on the lawn, waiting patiently. One of them held what looked like a shotgun, the other two were carrying clubs of some kind.
"Come out, Mandel."
Eleanor fired another barrage of stunshot pulses down the landing.
"We'll burn your flesh to ashes. Your last minutes will be the torment of Hell. Repent."
THINK I'VE GOT IT
"Thank Christ for that."
THERE ARE TWO SEPARATE SEQUENCES, BOTH BECOME ACTIVE AFTER A MEASURED INTERVAL FOLLOWING IMPRINT TIMED BY HEARTBEATS. CLEVER THAT THE FIRST SEQUENCE CONTAINS THE PARADIGM ITSELF AND THE INSTRUCTION TO KILL KITCHENER, ALONG WITH ADDITIONAL ORDERS TO DESTROY HIS RETROSPECTIVE NEUROHORMONE WORK. IT ACTIVATED ITSELF AFTER APPROXIMATELY NINE HOURS. THE SECOND SEQUENCE IS THE MAGIC PHOTONS, WHICH ACTIVATES TWO HOURS LATER.
Even now, Greg couldn't quite shake off his fascination with the case. Nicholas must have been hit before the storm, before the rising waters of the Chater closed the ramshackle bridge.
"Can you trigger the magic photons sequence?"
YES. I'VE ISOLATED ITS ACTIVATION CODE FROM THE PARADIGM'S TIMER SECTION.
"OK, there are three people we can try it on."
The target circles vanished as Royan took command of the rifle's 'ware. Greg watched the imager's laser sending a fan of ruby light sweeping across the lawn. The grid emerged in its wake, splitting into three sections, folding around the waiting men.
HERE GOES.
The contoured lines around the central figure began to flash.
NOW.