‘It will be a little more to travel to New York,’ Rivid said. His voice was tinny from the cheap speaker, though still heavily accented. ‘More fuel and more… excitement. We will have to stop at the Faroe Islands.’
‘Have you been there before?’ Pagan asked. There was static over the cheap loudspeaker which I realised was actually laughter.
‘Of course! I’ve been to Barney’s World! Why wouldn’t I go to New York as well?’
I wasn’t sure I followed his logic. ‘Is it as bad as they say?’ I asked.
‘Worse! Very bloody! Very… exciting! Dangerous unless you’re a pirate.’
‘Do you want to go there?’ Pagan asked Rivid.
‘Why not! More money for me.’
Pagan seemed to sag and then turned back to me in the cramped quarters. We found ourselves pushed back up into the bucket seats, as the sled’s compensators didn’t quite remove all the Gs. We were banking hard to the left and I was against the right-hand bulkhead. I found myself looking down at Pagan and Morag strapped in opposite me.
‘Sorry,’ came the cheerfully unrepentant-sounding voice of Rivid.
‘Look,’ Pagan began. ‘We risk everything if we go there. Let’s just go and finish our project,’ he said, meaning God.
‘You think Russia will be any safer?’ I asked. ‘Like you say, everything’s for sale. They’ll be able to outbid what you pay for privacy, and you know it. Also, the Russian authorities, criminal or not, will cooperate with the people who are looking for us in a way that Balor’s lot won’t.’ Morag shivered at the sound of Balor’s name. Like most people her age, she knew Balor’s reputation as a criminal bogeyman. A cyborg transformed to look like some mythical sea monster that ran his pirate kingdom from within the ruins of New York City.
Pagan and I knew more. Balor had been special forces, SBS. He may even have served under Rolleston.
Some soldiers, most of them originally street punks, had themselves altered to look like monsters. There were entire units made up of werewolves, goblins, even things from old medias like the Klingz. Often it wasn’t just cosmetic alterations. A werewolf would have his olfactory senses enhanced, claws, fangs, etc. Needless to say, while this sort of stuff may be useful on the streets it had been pointless in the war. In squaddie circles people doing this were thought to be trying too hard and considered something of a joke. They rarely made it into any special forces. Balor and his crew were the exception. He didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. He just wanted to be different. He did not want to be human. He wanted to be the sea.
Balor spent most of his operational existence fighting on Proxima Centauri, deep in the cold dead oceans of a cold dead planet. He had been extensively rebuilt for submarine operations at incredible depths. Pretty much most of his body had been replaced. At the same time he had his body sculpted to resemble some primordial sea demon from mythology. The body sculpt had been so good that it gave me pause the one time I’d seen him. There seemed to be nothing human about him: it was as though he was as alien as one of Them. There also was a rumour that he’d undergone neurosurgery to change his thought patterns into something that was no longer human.
And then there was the eye. While it may have been an affectation, a reference to obscure ancient mythology, there were more damn rumours about that eye than there were about Them. An experimental weapon, self-mutilation, Themtech, even some particularly unpleasant sexual practices involving eye sockets were suggested, though probably not within his earshot.
Balor had been a senior NCO, I forget what rank. His outfit was called the Fomorians. The majority of them had been navy divers and not Royal Marines like most of the SBS and they loved Balor. He commanded their total loyalty. Most of them were transformed for deep ops and most of them also had themselves sculpted to look like sea monsters.
Again it was only rumour, but apparently he stopped listening to the officers and started making up his own missions. Command became worried first and then scared about their inability to control Balor and his people. He was asked to leave the service. The Fomorians went with him and nobody tried to stop them. They disappeared.
That was ten years ago. Three years later they turned up again. They were at the head of a coalition of maritime-based criminals and veterans chosen from various navies and maritime special forces. Units like the SBS, Navy Seals, Italy’s San Marco Marines, the US Marines Maritime Special Purpose Force and Russia’s Naval Spetznaz. They took over the ruins of New York, pushing out the existing gangs and nearly feral tribespeople, who had lived in the city since it had been evacuated in the wake of rising waters. They fortified the partially submerged city, turning it into a maze-like death trap for any who entered without their permission. Under Balor’s control it became a free port, a base for piracy, smuggling and just about every other criminal enterprise imaginable.
There had been a few half-hearted attempts by the American government to retake the city, but in the end it proved to be more trouble than it was worth. Again rumour had it that the American government cut a deal with Balor. They rerouted what shipping they could and paid protection money for what shipping they couldn’t, like everyone else, and learned to tolerate the self-styled pirate king of New York.
See, that was the problem when talking about Balor; he based himself on myth and all anyone really knew about him was rumour. However, by far and away the scariest rumour that I had ever heard about him was that he had been the Grey Lady’s lover. For some reason I found that more worrying than the atrocities, the general weirdness and his ability to scare governments.
‘You ever meet him?’ I asked Pagan.
‘Balor? No. You?’ he said, still not looking happy.
‘Saw him once. He was coming back, I think for the last time. I was shipping out to Sirius for the first time. I saw some really hard men and women get out of his way.’ I thought for a while about the eight-foot-tall monster I’d seen in the disembarkation lounge of the Kenyan Spoke. It still sent a shiver down my spine. I looked at Morag’s concerned expression. I don’t think the two ex-special forces operators accompanying her were being particularly reassuring.
‘Still,’ I said. ‘We won’t be having anything to do with Balor himself. We’ll just keep our heads down, find Mudge and then decide what to do.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Pagan said. ‘Morag, what do you think?’ Morag looked surprised that she was being asked her opinion. She thought about it for a while.
‘I think the program’s the most important thing,’ she finally said.
‘The God thing? You serious?’ I said, surprised.
‘Do you think this Mudge can help?’ she asked me.
‘Help what? You guys find God? Not really.’ I was beginning to lose a point of reference for the conversation.
‘Maybe we should go to Russia then.’ She sounded unsure of herself.
‘Look, you guys do what you want. I’ll make my own way to New York and find Mudge myself. Besides, I think New York is the one place that Rolleston may have some problems killing me,’ I told them. I was pissed off for no good reason I could think of. Morag looked away from me and an awkward silence followed.
‘I’m going with Jakob,’ she suddenly announced. Pagan looked between the two of us. It was obvious that he was not happy with her decision.
‘Well I guess we’re going to New York,’ he said.
Hot LZ. I could hear Buck’s guitar solo accompanied by the near-constant whining rhythm of the gunship’s six slaved minigun turrets. It seemed strangely calm as my audio dampeners kicked in, taking out the worst of the noise, and I watched the tracer light display fill the air with disinterest.