Got it, Quinn, Lawrences voice called triumphantly.
Fingers gripped Gwyns right thumb, bending it back.
Pattern copied, Quinn said. Lets see what hes got. There was a short pause, then a whistle. Four thousand three hundred fuseodollars. Hey, Gwyn, wheres your faith in your new planet?
Cruel laughter followed.
OK, its transferred. Lawrence, put it back where you found it. They cant activate it once hes dead, theyll never know its been emptied.
Dead. The word cut through Gwyns sluggish thoughts. He groaned, trying to lift himself. A boot slammed into his ribs. He screamed, or tried to. The gag was virtually suffocating him.
Hes got some handy gear here, Quinn, Lawrence said. Fission knife, firelighter, and thats a personal guido block. Spare power mags for the rifle, too.
Leave it, Quinn ordered. If anythings missing when they find him, they might get suspicious. We cant afford that, not yet. It will all belong to us in the end.
They lifted Gwyn, carrying him on their shoulders like some kind of trophy. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness as he jounced about, twigs and vines slapping against him.
The light was darker when they finally slung him down. Gwyn looked about, and saw the smooth ebony trunk of an old deirar tree twenty metres away, its single giant umbrella-leaf casting a wide circular shadow. A sayce had been tethered to it, straining at the unbreakable silicon-fibre rope, forelegs scrabbling at the loam as it tried to reach its captors, its snapping jaws dripping long chains of saliva. Gwyn suddenly knew what was going to happen next. His bladder gave out.
Get it riled good and proper, Quinn ordered.
Jackson and Lawrence started throwing stones at the sayce. It keened in torment, its body jacking about as though an electric current was being run through it.
Gwyn saw a pair of boots appear twenty centimetres from his nose. Quinn squatted down. Know whats going to happen afterwards, Gwyn? Were going to be assigned to help out your widow. Everyone else is busy with their own little plots of heaven. So itll be the Ivets who get dumped on. Once again. Im going to be one of them, Gwyn. Im going to be a regular visitor to poor, grieving Rachel. Shell like me, Ill make sure of that. Just like you and all the others, you want to believe that everythings so perfect on this planet. You convinced yourselves were just a bunch of regular lads who got a bad break in life. Anything else would have cracked your dream open and made you face reality. Illusion is easy. Illusion is the losers way out. Your way. You and all the others grubbing round in the dirt and the rain. In a couple of months Ill be in the bed you made, under the roof you sweated over, and Ill have my dick rammed up inside Rachel making her squeal like a pig in heat. I hope you hate that idea, Gwyn. I hope it makes you sick inside. Because thats not the worst. Oh, no. Once Im through with her, Ill have Jason. Your shiny-eyed beautiful son. Ill be his new father. Ill be his lover. Ill be his owner. Hell be joining us, Gwyn, me and the Ivets. Ill bind him to the Night, Ill show him where his serpent beast is hidden within. Hes not going to be a dickhead loser like his old man. Youre only the first, Gwyn. One by one I will come to you all, and very few will be given the chance to follow me into darkness. Inside of six months this whole village, the only hope for a future you ever had, will belong to Gods Brother.
Do you despise me, Gwyn? I want you to. I want you to hate me as much as I hate you and all you stand for. Then you will understand that Im speaking the truth. You will go to your pitiful Lord Jesus weeping in terror. And you will find no comfort there, because the Light Bringer will be the ultimate victor. You will lose in death, as you have lost in life. You made the wrong choice in life, Gwyn. My path is the one you should have walked. And now its too late.
Gwyn strained and wheezed against the gag until he thought his lungs would burst from the effort. It made no difference, the shriek of hatred and all the threats, the curses condemning Quinn to an eternity of damnation, were left jailed inside his skull.
Quinns hands curled round the lapels of Gwyns shirt, hauling him upright. Jackson took his feet, and the two of them swung him back and forth, building momentum. They let go, and Gwyns tumbling body flew in a shallow trajectory right over the top of the berserk sayce. He hit the loam with a dull thud, face contorted with insane dread. The sayce leapt.
Quinn put his arms round the shoulders of Lawrence and Jackson as the three of them watched the sayce mauling the man, its teeth tearing out great strips of flesh. The power to bring death was equal to that of bringing about life. He felt enraptured as the hot scarlet blood flowed into the soil.
After life, death, he chanted. After darkness, light.
He looked up, and stared round until he found the brown bird. It was perched up in a cherry oaks branches, head cocked on one side, observing the carnage.
Youve seen what we are, Quinn called out. Youve seen us naked. Youve seen were not afraid. We should talk. I think we have a lot to offer each other. What have you got to lose?
The bird blinked as if in surprise, and launched itself into the air.
Laton let the kestrels wonderfully clear sensorium fade from his mind. The sensation of air flowing over wings remained for several minutes. Flying the predator via affinity was always an experience he enjoyed, the freedom granted to creatures of the air was unsurpassed.
The ordinary world rushed back in on him.
He was in his study, sitting in the lotus position on a black velvet cushion. It was an unusual room, an ovoid, five metres high, its curving walls a smooth polished wood. A cluster of electrophorescent cells were fitted flush with the apex, supplying a glimmer of jade light. The single cushion on the cup of the floor was the only thing to break the symmetry; even the door was hard to see, its lines blending with the grain.
The study possessed a unifying simplicity, freeing his mind of distractions. In here, his body motionless, his affinity expanding his consciousness through bitek processors and incorporated brains, his mentality was raised by an order of magnitude. It was a hint of what could be. A pale shadow of the goal he chased before his exile.
Laton remained sitting, thinking about Quinn Dexter and the atrocity he had perpetrated. There had been a lurid flash of gratification in Dexters eyes as that helpless colonist had been thrown to the sayce. Yet he must be more than a brainless sadistic brute. The fact that he had recognized the kestrel for what it was, and worked out what it represented, was proof of that.
Who is Gods Brother?laton asked the houses subsentient bitek processor network.
Satan. The Christian devil.
Is this a term in wide use?
The term is common among Earths waster population. Most arcologies have sects built up around the worship of this deity. Their priest/acolyte hierarchy is a simple variant on that of the more standard officer/soldier criminal organization. Those at the top control those at the bottom through a quasi-religious doctrine, and status is enforced by initiation rituals. Their theology states that after Armageddon has been fought, and the universe abandoned to lost souls, Satan will return bringing light. The sects are unusual only in the degree of violence involved to maintain discipline among the ranks. Because of the level of devotion involved, the authorities have been generally unsuccessful in eradicating the sects.