Fuselage internal camera review. The cameras fixed to the geodetic framework were all black and white, providing her with pictures of the narrow dimly lit longitudinal walkways, the gasbags looming oppressively. Next came pictures of ladders and stairs pinned to the transverse frames. Cylindrical maintenance drones sliding along their rails, folded waldos at both ends, like cybernetic mandibles.
Someone was climbing up a ladder near the stern. A woman in a maid’s dress, totally unaffected by the psi effusion. At three hundred metres she was too far away from Greg, the effect was localized, centring round the gondola.
Julia accessed the crew records, matching the face with a file image. The maid’s name was Nia Korovilla, she had been a crew member for eight years. A Russian national, with good references from three hotels, a clean employment record.
There was no reason for her to be where she was. Julia assigned a subroutine to keep watching her.
Internal camera, gondola lower deck, Fabian’s cabin. The tekmercs with the steward broke in. They didn’t bother with the lock, simply punching out the door. It swung inwards, buckled by the first tekmerc’s kick. The four of them entered, rip guns held ready.
Tekmerc squad inter-suit radio communication.
Tekmerc four: “Leol, Frank here, there’s no one in the boy’s cabin.”
Leol Reiger: “OK, Frank, try the girl’s. And ask the steward if there’s anywhere else they’re likely to be. Find her!”
Tekmerc four, identified, Frank: “Will do.”
Tekmerc five: “Hey! Hey feel that, it’s stopped.”
Tekrnerc six: “Christ yeah.”
Tekmerc seven: “Bout time.”
Tekmerc three: “Hell, I can see properly again.”
Leol Reiger: “Chad, Chad, check in.”
Tekmerc six: “He had to win. Man, he’s got some power, turn your brain inside out from half a klick.”
Leol Reiger: “Chad, answer, fuck you.”
Tekrnerc two: “Come on, Chad!”
Leol Reiger: “Right, scratch Chad. If he couldn’t handle some fucking geriatric Army relic he’s better off out of it. Don’t make no difference to us, he was just a convenience. We go through all the cabins until we find the whore. Right out of the manual. Now let’s see some action out of you bastards.”
Internal camera, gondola upper-deck cabin. Chad’s jetpack was still pressing him up into the corner of the cabin, helmet pushing against the ceiling. His legs had stopped running, arms hanging limply. A phone mike was picking up the jet-pack noise, a strident whine. The bed’s counterpane had been caught in the efflux, blown towards the hole in the wall where it had snagged on the edge, flapping vigorously.
Internal camera, fuselage keel. Suzi had climbed up the stairs from the gondola, her Browning pistol pointing ahead along the walkway. Greg followed, looking enervated, the skin around his eyes baggy and dark, but he was alive.
Julia knew her flesh and blood self would be flooded with relief that he had beaten Chad.
Logically, if Charlotte Fielder wasn’t in the gondola, and Greg and Suzi were heading up into the fuselage, then Charlotte Fielder must be in the fuselage too. Somewhere.
Julia reviewed the airship structural schematic again.
Behind the last full-sized gasbag there was an engineering bay that held the giga-conductor cells, and heat exchangers.
In the centre was a disused chamber that used to hold the MHD units. It was drawing power from the main electrical bus.
She plugged into the chamber’s fibre-optic cables.
Internal camera, upper gondola deck cabin, provisionally assigned resident: Charlotte Fielder. The four tekmercs were inside. One of them walked through the wooden slat door to the bathroom, snapping it apart without breaking stride. Three had his rip gun trained on the steward who was hugging his chest, jaw clenched.
“Where else would she be?” the tekmerc asked. He prodded the steward with the barrel of his rip gun. The man’s cheeks bulged out.
“Pool, she used the swimming-pool a lot, or Fabian’s den. He’s always up there.”
“I’ve got the pool location loaded in my suit gear, but which room is the boy’s den?”
“Not in the gondola,” the steward said. “It’s up in the fuselage, right back at the tail. Some sort of old engine room, he plays his music deck-up there, stuff like that.”
Tekmerc squad inter-suit radio communication.
Frank: “Leol, I think we may have her. The Whitehurst boy hangs out up in the fuselage tail, he’s got some sort of den up there. We’re going up to check the pool first, then we’ll try the tail. It must be in the engineering bay.”
Leo Reiger: “OK, I’m putting the squeeze on the old man. Let me know the instant you get anything.”
Frank: “What if we meet the psychic? He must know where Fielder is, he and Suzi will be heading for her now.”
Leol Reiger: “Snuff the psychic bloke, Mandel, but save Suzi bitch for me.”
Frank: “Christ, Leol, I don’t know, that woman, she’s one major hazard. I see what she did to Nathe and Joely back at the Prezda. Two shots, that’s all it took her. Catching her, that’s maybe not such a good idea. It’s complicated, Leol. We don’t need it.”
Leol Reiger: “Give the flicking verbals a rest. You got armour. You got stunshots for the Fielder whore, ain’t you? Use ‘em. Triple bonus for the one that wings Suzi bitch for me.”
Frank: “All right, Leol. You say.”
Leol Reiger: “I do.”
Internal camera, aft fuselage keel walkway. Greg and Suzi were approaching the tail section, moving at a steady jog. He seemed to be recovering from his gland-induced lethargy, limbs flowing in an easier, more fluid rhythm.
Julia used a key on a nearby transverse frame to plug into Greg’s cybofax. It bleeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket.
“I wondered where you’d got to,” he said.
Suzi stopped and looked at the cybofax screen.
“I take it you’re trying to find Charlotte Fielder,” Julia said.
“Yeah, she’s somewhere around here. I sensed her earlier, I was just about to have another sniff round.”
“I believe she is in the old MHD chamber, along with Fabian Whitehurst. It’s in the middle of the engineering bay; I worked out a route for you.” She squirted the data into the wafer, lining the walkways and ladders they would have to use in red. “You’d better get a move on. There is a woman in front of you, Nia Korovilla, one of the Colonel Maitland’s maids; I don’t know what she’s doing there, but she’s closing on the chamber. And four of Leol Reiger’s tekmercs are behind you, also heading for the MHD chamber.”
“Oh, great,” said Suzi.
“Once you get Fielder, I can keep you ahead of the tekmercs,” Julia said. “I have them all under observation.”
“Thanks, Julia,” Greg said. “We’re on our way.”
Internal camera, study. Both of Jason Whitehurst’s hardline bodyguards were dead. They lay on the floor, bodies torn open by rip-gun bolts, blood pooling around them. The maid Leol Reiger had hauled along had gone into catatonic shock, curled up against the settee in a foetal position, eyes squeezed shut.