Ian OFlaherty had brought the blade thirty-eight centimetres down towards Desmond Lafoe when he felt a million lacework rivulets of fire igniting inside his body. The blade fell another four centimetres before his muscles were convulsed by the besieging deluge of impulses. His nerves were burning out, overloaded by the nanonic darts diabolical signal, ordering the massive uncontrolled release of energy along each strand, a simultaneous chemical detonation inside every neuron cell.
Breath rasped out of his wide mouth, aghast eyes looking round the room in a final plea for life. His skin turned red, as if afflicted by instant sunburn. His muscles lost all strength, and he toppled limply onto the floor. The fission blade skittered about, shaving flakes of rock from the floor whenever it touched.
No one else was fighting any more.
Desmond Lafoe gave Erick a puzzled, pain-filled glance. What ...
He would have killed you, Erick said in a quiet voice; he lowered his left arm. Everyone in the bar seemed to be staring at the offending limb.
What did you do to him? a horrified Harry Levine asked.
Erick shrugged.
Screw that, Andr Duchamp rasped. There was blood running out of his left nostril, and his eye was swelling rapidly. Come on.
You cant just go! Hasan Rawand shouted. You killed him.
Andr Duchamp tugged Bev Lennon to his feet. It was self-defence. That Anglo bastard tried to kill one of my crew.
Thats right, Desmond Lafoe rumbled. It was attempted murder. He waved Erick on towards the door.
Ill call the cops, Hasan Rawand said.
Yes, you would, wouldnt you? Andr Duchamp sneered. Thats your level, Anglo . Lose and weep, run to the law. He fixed the shock-frozen barkeeper with a warning stare, then jerked his head for his crew to go through the door. Why were we fighting, Hasan? Ask yourself that. The gendarmes certainly will.
Erick stepped out into the rock tunnel which connected the Catalina with the rest of the vertical citys corridors and lifts and lobbies, helping a white-faced Desmond Lafoe to limp along.
Run and hide then, Duchamp, Hasan Rawands voice echoed after them. And you, murderer. But this universe isnt so large. Remember that.
True night, with its darkness and lordly twinkling stars, had come and gone above Cricklade. It lasted less than eight minutes before the red blaze of Duchess-night began, and even those scant minutes hadnt been particularly dim. The ring of orbiting starships had looked spectacular, dominating the cloudless northern sky with their cold sparkle. Joshua had gone out onto the manors balcony with the Kavanagh family to see the bridge of heaven after theyd finished their five-course dinner. Louise had worn a cream dress with a tight bodice; it had come alive with a pale blue fire under the cometary light showering down. The amount of attention she had shown him during the meal verged on the embarrassing, it was almost as bad as the hostility he got from William Elphinstone. He was rather looking forward to being shown round the estate by her tomorrow. Grant Kavanagh had been enthusiastic about the idea once it was announced. Without consulting his neural nanonics he couldnt be quite sure who had brought the subject up at the dinner table.
There was a light knock on his bedroom door, and it opened before he could say anything. Hadnt he turned the key?
He rolled over on the bed where hed been lying watching the holoscreen with its inordinately bland drama programmes. Everything was set on Norfolk, where nobody swore and nobody screwed and nobody scrapped; even the one news programme hed caught earlier was drearily parochial, with only a couple of references to the visiting starships and nothing at all about Confederation politics.
Marjorie Kavanagh slipped into the room. She smiled and held up a duplicate key. Scared of things that go bump in the night, Joshua?
He grunted in dismay, and flopped back down on the bed.
They had met for the first time just before dinner, a formal drinks session in the drawing-room. If the line hadnt been so antique and pass he would have said: Louise didnt tell me she had an elder sister. Marjorie Kavanagh was a lot younger than her husband, with thick raven hair and a figure which showed that even Louise had still got quite a way to go yet. Thinking about it logically, he should have realized that someone as rich and aristocratic as Grant Kavanagh would have a beautiful young wife, especially on a planet where status ruled. But Marjorie was also a flirt, which her husband seemed to find highly amusing, especially as she delivered her teasing innuendos while clinging to his side. Joshua didnt laugh; unlike Grant he knew she was serious.
Marjorie came over to stand by the side of the bed, looking down at him. She was wearing a long blue silk robe, loosely tied around her waist. The heavy curtains were drawn against the red gleam of Duchess-night, but he could see enough of her cleavage to know she wasnt wearing anything underneath.
Er ... he began.
Not sleeping? Something on your mind, or southwards of there? Marjorie asked archly; she looked pointedly at his groin.
I have a lot of geneering in my heritage. I dont need much sleep.
Oh, goodie. Lucky me.
Mrs Kavanagh
Knock it off, Joshua. Playing the innocent doesnt suit you. She sat on the edge of the bed.
He raised himself up on his elbows. In that case, what about Grant?
A long-fingered hand ran back through her hair, producing a dark cascade over her shoulders. What about him? Grant is what you might call a mans man. He excels in the more basic male pursuits of hunting, drinking, filthy jokes, gambling, and women. If you havent yet noticed, Norfolk isnt exactly a model of social enlightenment and female emancipation. Which gives him full licence to indulge himself while I sit at home playing the good wifey. So while hes off rogering a pair of teenage Romany girls he spotted helping out in the groves this afternoon, I thought: Fuck it, Im going to have some fun myself for once.
Do I get a say?
No, youre too perfect for me. Big, strong, young, handsome, and gone in a week. How could I possibly let that opportunity go by? Besides, Im fiercely protective when it comes to my daughters, a proper hax bitch.
Er ...
Ah ha! Marjorie grinned. Youre blushing, Joshua. Her hand found the hem of his shirt, and slid across his abdomen. Grant can be so very idiotic when it comes to the girls. He had quite a chortle at the way Louise took to you at dinner. He doesnt think, thats his problem. You see, here on Norfolk they are in no danger at all from the local boys, they dont need chaperones for dances nor guardian aunts when they stay with friends. Their name protects them. But youre not a local boy, and I saw exactly what was going on inside that testosterone-fuelled mind of yours. No wonder you and Grant get on so well together, I can barely tell you apart.