“Right. And this Dolgoprudnensky is powerful enough to influence your government?”
“Influence is a strong word. They would not be able to buy our parliamentary cabinet members, not outright. But then, does Julia Evans actually hand over cash to make the New Conservatives do her bidding?”
“Point taken.”
“They are everywhere, Gregory, our bureaucracy is rotten with them. It is only natural, they are the Communist Party’s successors. They grew up in the party’s shadows in the eighties and nineties. There were eight or nine of them in Moscow alone in those days, the Podolsk, Chechen, Solntsevo, others, but the Dolgoprudnensky was the largest even then. It was inevitable they would absorb the rest. Now there is only Dolgoprudnensky, stretching right across the republic. There had been criminals in the Soviet Union before them, but never so well organized, nor so brazen. Afghanistan was the start, the youths who returned from it were a breed the authorities had never dealt with before. The Afganrsi. They had no respect, no morals, no conscience. The war had burnt it out of them, they could see they were fighting for nothing, and worse, for a lie. Not all of them, of course, but enough, a hard core that turned to crime. Then the Communists fell, and the gangs began to fill the vacuum they left behind. The corruption, Gregory, the sheer misuse of power. Westerners still have little conception of how the Communists ransacked our country to maintain their personal status. Dolgoprudnensky doesn’t have their stature, but it is just as insidious, with its rackets and syntho vats, and prostitutes; its legitimate companies defrauding factories and farmers, and the bought officials sanctioning both. We fight them through the police and Justice Ministry, Gregory, fight and fight, until buildings burn and blood is spilt, but the best we can do is hold what ground we have.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“No, it is I who am shamed. It is a terrible thing to tell someone this is the land I am sworn to defend, the kind of people I will die for.”
“We all have organized crime, Vassili. The number of people involved is so small you can’t even call them a minority.”
Vassili handed Greg’s cybofax back. “But the trouble and misery they cause is vast. See what they’ve done to this old man, made him unable to look his friend in the face.”
“Can we help?” Greg asked. “Hand over what we’ve got to the Russian Justice Ministry?”
“What have you got, Gregory? Fifteen companies traded with someone whose airship you say was attacked by tekmercs. Kombinates are jockeying for advantage over a new technology. How can this help us?”
Greg toyed with his empty cup, feeling stupid. “Yeah, right.” For Victor Tyo it would’ve been enough, for a tekmerc it would’ve been enough. Circumstantial proof which condemned for all of time. How strange that illegality could accept what the law couldn’t.
“I tell you this, Gregory, if you ever meet any of the Dolgoprudnensky face to face, then you shoot. That is the best help you can give us. Shoot. Shoot them down like rabid animals.”
“Is there a name?” he asked. “A leader? I like to have a name for what I’m up against. I can form a picture that way.”
“Kirilov. Pavel Kirilov. The bastard, he lives like a merchant from the decadent imperial days, he flaunts his wealth and luxuries, he has many young girls to amuse him. But he is smart, cunning. Nothing ever holds against him in the courts, he laughs at the very best our prosecutors can do.”
Greg climbed to his feet. The sun was completely above the horizon now, casting long shadows. A thick blanket of mist had risen, glowing pink in the sunlight; it swirled gently above the cultivated land, filling Nova Kirov’s broad streets. People and horses looked like they were wading through it.
“What will you do?” Vassili asked.
“Find out where Charlotte Fielder got the flower from, then go and meet the alien.”
Vassili gripped both of his hands. “Gregory, if this alien turns out to be a threat, do not keep the knowledge to yourself. Do not become like the kombinates, and seek to gain advantage from it. It is the concern of all the peoples of this world.”
“If it’s dangerous, I’ll scream the house down, no messing. No matter what Julia Evans or Royan might say.”
“Good, for I confess, what you have told me about this alien has frightened me. This is very strange behaviour for a sentient creature. I am forced to say suspicious. Hiding like this, contacting weapons merchants before governments. Not good. You listen to me, my command network is plugged into the Chinese and Eastern Federation Co-Defence League’s Strategic Defence platforms, and I am authorized to use them. I have the codes, and I am prepared to activate the systems, Gregory, on your word.”
“That’s… quite a responsibility.”
“You are a soldier, Gregory, a true soldier. You will do what’s right, I know you will.” Vassili let go of his hands, and clapped him on the shoulder again, grinning. “Besides, since when did you go into battle without covering fire, eh? A soldier’s most important maxim. Backup, Gregory. I will be your backup, once again.” He shook his head, grin turning to a mock scowl. “Bah, listen to us. Two ageing warriors lost in the past. Portentous, are we not?”
“Very, but at least nobody else knows.”
Vassili laughed.
“One last thing,” Greg said. “Can you run another name through the Federal Crime Directorate memory core for me?”
“Surely. Whose criminal misdeeds do you wish exposed now?”
“Dmitri Baronski.”
CHAPTER 25
They told Charlotte about Baronski after she woke up. It was his death which finally cancelled all her links with the past. She had relied on him so much, which she hadn’t realized up until then. But now there was nothing left for her, nothing at all; no one to call, nowhere to go.
So she made it her job to look after Fabian. The last promise made to a dead man. And Fabian needed looking after. His life had been fifteen years of luxury, of staff existing solely to run around after him, of any material possession he wanted a single phone call away. That was all he knew. He went into major sulks if his meals weren’t ready on time. And now he’d seen his home and father fall out of the sky. Burning.
She was sure the Event Horizon medics didn’t appreciate how deep it went. They had written him off as another shock case. Tranquilizers, a couple of weeks’ therapy, a few months to recover, and it would all be over. They were used to treating combat casualties, not lost, traumatized teenagers.
He wouldn’t even cry any more. They were given a room together in the platform’s little clinic. She had woken some time after midnight to see him lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He spent the rest of the night nestled in her arms, dozing off in the early hours.
After breakfast the duty nurse found her some clothes; a pair of stonewashed Levi’s, trainers, and an Organic Flux Capacity tour sweatshirt. She turned up the bottom of the Levi’s to stop them from flopping over the trainers, and asked for a belt to pinch the oversize waist. Charlotte stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and shuddered. A Grunge disciple dressing down. At least nobody I know will see me wearing this, thank heavens.
Then it was time to wait again. None of the clinic staff quite seemed to know what their status was, whether they were guests or prisoners.
Suzi had been in the next room, her knee wrapped in bioware membranes, plugged into medical ‘ware stacks with thick bundles of fibre-optic cable. Charlotte had thanked her for getting them off the Colonel Maitland, had a few words; but Suzi didn’t know what was going on either. “Greg’ll be back soon,” she said. “We’ll find out what’s going down then. And you’ll have your big moment.” The casual way she said it chilled Charlotte, like she didn’t have any choice but to tell them what they wanted to know, reducing her to a cyborg. Her life was being programmed by others. Nothing really new in that. But that didn’t make it the same.