The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [80]
A hypnocontroller and a fragment of radioactive meta-cobalt in each of them implanted we, and into forgetting the operation them hypnotized we. Then scattered around the planet them left we, knowing that when all of the races had agreed to come and the envoys were on their way, the carriers together call using the hypnocontrollers could we. As soon as the envoys had all arrived the final command gave we, and for Laputa headed all the carriers.
Destroy them the security systems won't because the weapon exist won't until in a small enough space gather together the carriers. As soon as they do that the meta-cobalt critical mass achieves and a huge explosion there will be - big enough the island to destroy and kill all the envoys. The Armageddon Convention a byword for disastrous meddling in other people's wars will become, and in profit again will be the Greld."
"What... If... Some... Of... Them... Die... Too... Early?" Vicki struggled to force the words past her numb lips, but she knew that she might never get the chance to question Albrellian like this again.
"The ability to regenerate flesh and control pain have the hypnocontrollers. Few injuries would actually prove fatal, and if died a carrier then the hypnocontrollers to what had happened would alert us. To wherever the body was would travel one of us, the meta-cobalt and hypnocontroller would remove and reimplant in another human," Albrellian said off-handedly. "Everything thought of we."
Vicki opened her mouth to say something, but a wave of darkness suddenly swept over her. This time she did not dream.
Shakespeare's head was in a whirl as the three of them were hustled along a path through the jungle by the stick-men. What brave new world could have such... such creatures in it - more devils than vast Hell itself could hold? Truly this was all some phantasma, or a hideous dream. A fever-dream, perhaps, caught from some old salt who had passed him by in the street. Soon he would wake up and find himself under a table in a tavern in Cripplegate, or lying on a lawn in Richmond. These things could not be happening - not in a sane, rational world. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.
A bony finger poked him in the centre of his back. He turned, and found himself staring into the mad red eye of one of the stick-men.
If it was a dream, t'were one done well.
The path opened out onto a flat plain of grey stone at the base of one of the lofty towers. Ferns and trees rose up all around, giving the area a secluded, claustrophobic feel. A man was waiting for them. He had a lean and hungry look - although compared to his minions he was positively Falstaffian - and he wore spectacles. His hair was straight and mouse-brown, and it fell in a slight curl over his eyes.
"Doctor," he said as the party halted in front of him, "I'm sorry that this little reunion has to take place in such a manner, but needs must when the devil drives."
"Braxiatel, my dear chap!" The Doctor strode forward and shook the man's hand. "Good to see that you followed my example and left them too."
Braxiatel. Shakespeare's confused mind hung on to that name. Kit Marlowe had used it back in Venice. Braxiatel had been the man whose cellar Kit and young Steven had investigated: the man whose name the Doctor had reacted so strongly to. He was obviously a prime mover in this nightmarish conspiracy, and perhaps a link to whatever negotiations were going on with this mysterious empire of which Marlowe had heard.
"Oh, they allowed me to leave," Braxiatel replied, "and I've spent most of my time since trying my best not to follow your example."
"So," the Doctor said, "tell me about these aliens flying around Venice, and the spaceships