The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [16]
“Am I the only person here who doesn’t know what’s going on?”
“Probably.” He grins. “Nothing to worry about, ol’ buddy.” He glances at my Treo. “Would you mind not pointing that thing at me?”
“Oh, sorry.” I lower it hastily and eject the second camera that turns it into a SCORPION STARE terminal, a basilisk device capable of blowing apart chunks of organic matter within visual range by convincing them that some of their carbon nuclei are made of silicon. “Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”
“Sure.” He sounds unconcerned. “You’re being destiny-entangled with a new partner, and we’re here to make sure she doesn’t accidentally kill and eat you before the ritual is complete.”
“I’m being what?” I hate it when I squeak.
“She’s from the Black Chamber. You’re supposed to be working together on something big, and the old man wants you to be able to draw on her abilities when you need help.”
“What do you mean draw on her? Like I’m a trainee tattooist now?” I’ve got a horrible feeling I know what he’s talking about, and I don’t like it one little bit: but it would explain why Angleton sent Pinky and Brains to be my backup team. They’re old housemates, and the bastard thinks they’ll make me feel more comfortable.
The closet door opens and Brains steps out. Unlike Pinky he’s decently dressed, for leather club values of decency. “Don’t get overexcited, Bob,” he says, winking at me: “I was just drilling holes in the walls.”
“Holes—”
“To observe her. She’s confined to the pentacle on your bedroom carpet; you don’t need to worry about her getting loose and stealing your soul before we complete the circuit. Hold still or this won’t work.”
“Who’s in what pentacle in my bedroom?” I take a step back towards the door but he’s approaching me, clutching a sterile needle.
“Your new partner. Here, hold out a hand, this won’t hurt a bit—”
“Ouch!” I step backwards and bounce off the wall, and Brains manages to get his drop of blood while I’m wincing.
“Great, that’ll let us complete the destiny lock. You know you’re a lucky man? At least, I suppose you’re lucky—if you’re that way inclined—”
“Who is she, dammit?”
“Your new partner? She’s a changeling sent by the Black Chamber. Name of Ramona. And she is stacked, if that sort of thing matters to you.” He pulls an amused face, oh so tolerant of my heterosexual ways.
“But I didn’t—”
A toilet flushes, then the bathroom door opens and Boris steps out. And that’s when I know I’m in deep shit, because Boris is not my normal line manager: Boris is the guy they send out when something has gone terribly wrong in the field and stuff needs to be cleaned up by any means necessary. Boris acts like a cut-rate extra in a Cold War spy thriller—right down to the hokey fake accent and the shaven bullet-head—although he’s about as English as I am. The speech thing is a leftover from a cerebral infarction, courtesy of a field invocation that went pear-shaped.
“Bob.” He doesn’t smile. “Welcome to Darmstadt. You come for joint-liaison framework. You are attending meeting tomorrow as planned: but are also being cleared for AZORIAN BLUE HADES as of now. Are here to brief, introduce you to support team, and make sure you bond with your, your, associate. Without to be eated.”
“Eaten?” I ask. I must look a trifle tense because even Boris manages to pull an apologetic expression from somewhere. “What is this job, exactly? I didn’t volunteer for a field mission—”
“Know you do not. We are truly sorry to put this on you,” says Boris, running a hand over his bald head in a gesture that gives the lie to the sentiment, “but not having time for histrionics.” He glances at Brains and gives a tiny nod. “First am giving briefing to you, then must complete destiny-entanglement protocol with entity next door. After that—” he checks his watch “—are being up to you, but estimating are only seven days to save Western civilization.”
“What?” I know what my ears just heard but I’m not sure I believe them.
He stares at me grimly, then nods. “If