Страница 43 из 84
It's all right, Eddie, said Ethel, her voice bright and bouncy again. The activation signal couldn't get through the armour, and I've already sent strange matter into the bombs, to disrupt the timers. You can come out now; the bomb's perfectly safe. So, that's atomic… nasty little weapon.
And then, finally, one by one the Accelerated Men started to fall over. Aging, withering, dying, as the Drug used up the last of the energies that drove them. None of them had got anywhere near the main entrance to the Hall. The dimensional door slammed shut, before any of us could reach it. And just like that, the assault was over.
One by one, we armoured down. I stood up slowly, leaving the deactivated bomb at my feet. I took a deep, deep breath, and the cool morning air tasted good, so good. The man who'd strapped the nuke to his chest had died, somewhere along the line. I couldn't bring myself to care. All over the lawns, exhausted men and women stumbled back towards the Hall, and family. Dead bodies lay sprawled everywhere, in the crimson mud and churned-up grass. Most of them were Accelerated Men, but not all. We'd lost a lot of good men and women, this morning. They would be avenged.
"Get the nukes down to the Armoury, and I'll take them apart," said the Armourer. He was standing not far from me, looking tired and a lot older. He glanced down at the Kirlian gun in his hand, as though he couldn't remember what he was doing with such a thing, and then he grimaced, and made the gun disappear. "I want the Accelerated Men, too. We need to know more about this damned Drug. I'll have my people run some autopsies, see what we can find. And then… I'll make us a whole new batch of scarecrows, to defend the Hall."
I'd never seen him this mad, this vicious. It was easy to forget that the kindly old Armourer had once been one of the most feared field agents, of that coldest of Cold Wars. And truth be told, I couldn't find it in me to feel any remorse, for what was in store for the fallen enemy. They shouldn't have threatened the Hall, the family, the children.
The Sarjeant-at-Arms came over to join us. He was puffing heavily, but all things considered he looked quite cheerful. The man was in his element.
"No one's tried to nuke us since the Chinese, back in the sixties," he said. "We must be getting close to something really important, if they want to stop us this badly. Whoever's behind this."
"Could be Doctor Delirium, could be Tiger Tim, could be both of them working together," I said. "They're the only ones we know are definitely linked to the Apocalypse Door. But where did they get all those people? Or those incredible weapons?"
They took my strange matter from me! said Ethel. By force! That's… impossible!
"Nothing's impossible, for the Immortals," said the Armourer.
"Hush!" the Sarjeant said immediately. "Not in public!"
I looked at him thoughtfully. "You still going to try and arrest me, Sarjeant?"
"No," he said. "My investigations have cleared you of all involvement."
"Well," I said. "That's nice. Now all I have to do is clear you as a suspect."
It was worth it all, to see that look on his face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Only Good Traitor The Armoury had come alive again. Blazing bright lights, people ru
"Well done, very good, nice reaction times everyone, but we are not the enemy. We have met the enemy, and he is dead. Now, everyone back to work! I want full reports on all exterior and interior defences, and in particular why most of them didn't bloody work."
The weapons disappeared, and the lab assistants went back to shouting at each other and bullying their computers. Some were clearly exhausted from fighting, while others were still yawning from being dragged from their beds. All of them were giving everything they had to the problem of why so many of our defences had failed us in our hour of need. The Armourer moved quickly among them, peering over shoulders and asking pertinent questions, like why had the robot machine guns and the automatic energy weapons been the only systems to kick in? I'd been wondering that myself. There should have been force shields, shaped curses, floating invisible incendiaries, nerve gas clusters and teleport mines… The Armourer kept reeling them off, and the answer was always the same. Someone had shut them all down, in advance, inside the Hall. Someone inside the family. No one else had the codes, or access to the security computers. The automatic weaponry had remained on line only because they were controlled by the Armourer's personal computer.
I found an empty chair, by stealing it from someone else when they weren't looking, and sank into it. It felt really good to be off my feet. I was aching in all my muscles and some of my bones. My clothes were soaked with sweat, like I'd run a marathon. The armour provides us with strength and speed, but it's still all down to the man inside. Someone thrust a cup of hot tea into my hands, and was gone before I could ask for a splash of whisky in it. I burned my mouth on the hot liquid, and blew on it for a while. After all I'd seen and been through, I felt like I could sit there forever.
The Armourer didn't look tired. He raged back and forth, striding up and down the length of the Armoury, driving on his assistants, constantly coming up with different approaches and new leads of inquiry. He hurried from post to post, encouraging and remonstrating, his voice flat and harsh, his eyes cold. Just the thought of a traitor in the family had filled him with a terrible fury. He finally came back to stand before me, scowling furiously.
"A traitor! Inside the family, working against us, leaving us wide open to our enemies! We've had rogues gone bad in the past, but never anything like this. Even Zero Tolerance didn't want to put the family at risk! Once, I would have sworn something like this was impossible, but now, after the Matriarch's death, and Molly's, I don't know what to think. It's like everything's been turned upside down. You can't trust anyone or anything."
He found another chair and sat down beside me. His back was still straight, but his hands moved uncertainly, unable to settle, and his eyes looked strangely lost.
"This is serious, Eddie. Deadly serious. We could have lost, out there. We could have fallen, and the family could have been wiped out."
"But we didn't, and we weren't," I said. "Because we're Droods."
We sat and watched a steady stream of bodies being carried through the Armoury on stretchers, on their way to the attached hospital wards. Dead Accelerated Men on their way for autopsy and examination. Most of the bodies were in pretty bad shape, withered, desiccated, almost mummified. Others had been struck down and torn apart by golden armour, and those bodies left bloody trails behind them. Some were in pieces, roughly assembled on stretchers; others were just bits and bobs, collected in black plastic garbage bags. A part of me found that entirely suitable. There was no room left in me for mercy, or compassion. If we could have brought the dead men back to life I would have spent all day killing them again, and gloried in it. I shook my head slowly. That wasn't me. That was the tiredness talking. The stretcher bearers just kept passing before us, more and more of them.
"How many died?" I asked the Armourer. "Do we know yet?"