Something about the voice which came from out of the air
itself, seemed to give a pulse, a beat of blood flow, to this place. A spark of
nervous energy along the canyons of
the city . A jaded serenade to the night.
He didn't mind the
voice. After the ceaseless jangle of the voices in the day's hours, this one
seemed to swamp them all out. Rhythm in discord, strangely satisfying to the
warped twists within the soul.
Something about the
voice tonight - attracted his attention more than ever before.
He remembered -
that he had always liked hearing that voice, here in the warrens of mortals.
Tonight -there
seemed just an extra edge to that voice, which made him lift his head, his teeth
gleaming in the dark.
"The dark
seems to be hungry tonight, children. Take care where you step, and keep
yourselves cloaked in the light as far as possible.
"They found
another shell-o'-the-dead today, people. They've been broadcasting th' results
of th' find all day, while ol' Vector's been tryin' to sleep. The dogs of
sensational true-crime have been out howling around all your neighbourhoods, and
they don't particularly care if your shiny jarked-up faces are next on
tomorrow's breakfast eye-spike trans.
"In fact,
they'd look forward to it, th' rodents. It's ratings time, again, and whoever's
husking Kerav's population one at a time is answering all the wildest prayers of
the bureau boys.
"T'hell
with this. Like I said, I didn't get enough sleep today. Walk your own walk,
people -that's what your destiny is mapped for. If I see what's left of you
tomorrow over my bowl of crunchies -I'll shed a tear.
"The dark
is hungry tonight.
"And I'm putting on th' theme of doom for all your listening pleasure, riqht now. Even death needs a sound track, now and then.”
Oh, yes, so
very right, Vector Jones.
Death has a music
all its own. What greater beauty is there, then the hum of a killer as the prey
shrieks red into the night? Death is a dance, and the dance must have its own,
sweet, savage symphony.
This ageless
enforcer, this Guardian of the Bounds of Time -was hungry .
To the
driving rhythms of the music of the night, Securio lunged, to satisfy that
hunger.
At just the
right moment, the death scream became the music, then faded away in harmony.
As the music
drifted away, that voice returned.
" Why
do I have th' feeling another of you has gone, children ? Why do I have
the feeling that the night just got emptied of a bit more of the future?
"The
seccers are starting to flock, children. Hide your sins, and lay low for now,
'cause there'll be another sideshow in th' morning. Dammit, all those old
bastards were right, all those centuries ago, when they wrote the stuff to scare
the children right back into their beds:
"'Something wicked this way comes. .."
ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚
7.30
am
"I don't like what's going
on."
"Sir?"
A pause. A breath puffed around
the aromatic tang of a cigar.
"Are you back on 'stupid'
pills, or did your mother drop you on your head fresh out of the hovercot?"
A stubby hand, the lines softened and blurred by a mix of age and the spice of
living, waved about in the blue smoke haze, carving crazy patterns in the
floating fumes.
Tight, pinched features beyond
the choking veil tried extremely hard not to cough. Hoped like mad that the eyes
wouldn't water, that the sinuses wouldn't well up like a child's and spoil the
professional air he tried so very hard to cultivate. Especially in this office.
"The
killings. I don't like this, Porter. I don't like it at all." The
end of the cigar glowed as red-orange as the heart of a sun for a moment, as the
smoker inhaled, carelessly. Then, the cigar acted as a pointer. "And I don't
like that," as the embered end waved vaguely toward the muted colours
of a chan- screen silently declaring the news of another killing from out of the
depths of Moloch Town.
"Fix
it," came the command.
"Sorry,
sir?"
"Make
sure," another puff, "that I don't see all that again when I
get up tomorrow and turn on the screen."
"Uh,
sir? I don't really see what I could possibly do about -"
"If
you want to continue working for me, Porter," came a silky response, and
Porter paled.
"Yes,
sir," Porter said, and backed away, only turning when he was halfway across
the room, shaking slightly as he heard the pressure door hiss shut behind him.
ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚ƒ‚