The Valhalla Covenant

In step with the precise disciplines of phenomenological observation, Reimas frequently recorded the content of his dreams. Such notes were usually direct and incisive but when he woke on the morning after his first dream lab session, he felt strangely dull.

Every effort to focus on the threats and fears that had seemed so relevant yesterday was obscured by a swathe of other trivial concerns, and he found himself going around in pointless mental circles. As he lay in bed considering the day ahead, he had the distinct feeling he’d already been given something significant but had not fully clicked to it.

After a while, he became conscious that his breathing was shallow and intermittent.

Damn, he thought, flicking back the curtain to see that the window was open and that he had forgotten to switch on the air conditioning. Atmospheric oxygen averaged a bare seventeen percent lately in most urban areas.

An expensive, well-appointed house like Jos’s typically had oxygen-accumulating air, which at twenty-five and above made things a lot more comfortable if you thought to turn it on.

With a slap of the switch, he fell back into bed and his breathing soon eased into a smooth rhythm. He began to remember the dream of the day before much more clearly.

The white ship and the garden in yesterday’s dream might well have been analogies for the natural purity of the remote countryside. The good air in his lungs now gave him a thirst for the forested countryside of the alpine areas where it still occurred naturally.

When he began to think about today’s scheduled mission again, it didn’t sit easily with him. All the same, as he pondered the rift in his mind between the need for action and the appalling reality of what it entailed, something eased within him.

Vivid images and impressions of natural ambience flooded in and soon afterwards he recalled the greater part of yesterday’s dream sequence — the beautiful sky, grass and trees, as well as the delicious scents of the garden that preceded the marine sequence.

Decisiveness returned.

Xoldin was a target he couldn’t refuse. He’d do what had to be done then self award an incentive for the next difficult job. That was a trip home, and the thought of the old house deep in the wilderness with its rambling gardens and surrounding forests was compelling — worth every moment of the five hundred or so clicks he’d have to drive to get there.

A quick consultation with Laurence, already at work in his lab, confirmed that he could easily come up with a portable version of the dream lab equipment.

As he assembled the necessary items, Reimas made his way to the kitchen.

Jos was already there with the girls — not including Chenault and Hope, who still remained underground except after sunset — and a mutual friend, Finn, who Reimas had not seen for some weeks. Finn was one of a select group of Reimas and Jos’s close friends harking back to times when they’d played marbles in junior school and mercilessly chased those keen to be caught local girls.

A little self-indulgent and dissolute nowadays, he was yet a fierce contender in the battle to build a better world and had long been active in the Institute in a number of ways. He was and always had been seriously wealthy, but now that he’d inherited the bulk of it, the last thing on his mind was serious, and his propensity to flaunt the stuff was shameless.

Reimas’s father had died when he was nine, and his mother had sometimes struggled to get by. There had been times when Reimas envied Finn, but when push came to shove he wasn’t the type to judge people in superficial terms.

In any case, his mother had more than made up for the lack with love, and friends had pitched in when they were hard-pressed. In fact Finn’s parents, as it happened, had been amongst the most helpful.

Many in the peninsular enclave were easily Finn’s equal in sheer wealth but few were so generous, and it had to be said that none went about the absurd business of showcasing their decadent privilege with such cutting wit and so measured a sense of irony.

He had no difficulty in making good use of his money, but habitually playful, he was also adept in the dark art of pranks and surprises. His parties were eagerly anticipated but his pranks weren’t confined to that context alone.

“Look out,” said Reimas, coming into the kitchen. “What’s the tide washed in today?”

“Ha,” Finn grumbled. “Washed out, more like it.”

Reimas laughed.

“Serves you right.”

“You have to party.”

“Thanks for not asking me.”

“It was more a spur of the moment thing,” said Jos.

“Not to worry. I’ve quite enough of my own cobwebs this morning.”

“Too much sex,” Finn laughed, glancing in Heidi’s direction, which earned him a scowl from Anna.

“Or too little,” said Jos.

Erin had flown out to Melbourne yesterday, but no one found it necessary to make explanations.

“We’re the decoys today,” said Jos, changing the subject.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’ll use trucks to stop the traffic then it’s all up to you. There’s a multi storey car park nearby, with good cover.”

“How can I be sure he’ll be in the target vehicle?”

“You can’t,” Laurence said, “but it doesn’t matter. His convoys are heavy duty. Full armour. The rockets won’t kill; just stop them in their tracks. When they get out they’ll all be dressed the same. You won’t be able to pick him, but I’ve developed image recognition that uses a range of subtle indicators — peculiarities of gait and so forth. It’s built into your sights, so you should be able to take him out with a single shot.”

“Good. I’ll do it, but I’m out of here after this for a while. Jos, you’ll know where to find me, but don’t.”

“It’s a long drive up that way,” he replied. “Why don’t you treat yourself to a real pony instead of your usual plodder?”

The plodder was an old Lexus sedan that Finn always referred to jovially as the Rolls Canardly — the least distinguished from Jos’s stable. It was certainly nothing to behold but, contrary to what the nickname indicated, it went pretty well and was reliable, as Reimas well knew.

“Don’t know if I’m in the mood for anything highball right now.”

Finn’s eyes opened wide and for a moment he actually seemed to struggle to stop himself from falling over backwards, much to Anna’s amusement.

Reimas’s apparent indifference in the face of such an offer might have been sheer cheek but in fact it reflected little more than his internal preoccupation. In any case, it did arouse a degree of curiosity.

“I couldn’t think of anything better to blow away a few cobwebs,” Finn said in wonder.

Jos though, had something else up his sleeve.

“Could be you’d like to try my new toy,” he mused, his face a study in nonchalance. “That old Ferrari’s a bit raw on the nerves, I grant you, but my new McLaren … that’s another story. You’ll have to put up with a short lesson on how to drive it, though.”

“There’s everything from multi-phasic four-wheel drive traction control to auto GPS pilot and out-of-sight traffic recognition,” Finn interjected, beating Jos to the punch.

“A lot of it you can switch off if you want to,” Jos added, as if to indicate there might be merit in doing without at least some of the hi-tech stuff.

“What fuel?”

“Jet turbine hybrid,” Finn butted in again effusively. “Turbine charges the batteries on almost any kind of fuel when you can’t get recharged battery fluid. The black beast has just about everything ever invented.”

“Blue, midnight blue,” Jos growled.

“Wouldn’t something less distinctive be better for this?”

“Reverse psychology, my boy. Who’d use something like that for a hit?”

One on either side, they escorted Reimas down to the garage, where Jos’s mechanic, Red, was already tinkering. Reputedly, he was as passionate about Jos’s stable as he was of his own wife.

Amongst numerous pieces of startling motoring history, the flowing muscle of the dark blue smooth-panel convertible McLaren — the latest 2050 model — stood out. As a work of art, it more than held its own in visual terms amongst its classic stable mates, but also hid the sort of potency and sophistication that put it way ahead.

Jos slid over the side and settled into the driver’s seat. He pressed something on the touch sensitive dashboard display and the charging turbine caught a moment later. It was strangely quiet — the jet made only a slight roar like an oxy torch.

“You can barely hear it even when the gen-jet’s on,” Reimas observed.

“Faster than anything else in here and uses half the fuel,” Jos replied.

“I’ll take it, but don’t expect to get it back any time soon.”

“You seem to have a convert,” Laurence observed, approaching with a large bag of equipment.

Finn shook his head.

“Hardly surprising. I wouldn’t mind a go myself.”

“Not on my watch,” Jos responded. “Get on the waiting list then you can wreck your own.”

Laurence set to packing the bag away, and Jos nudged Reimas into the passenger seat, keen to demonstrate the machine at least for the short distance down to the punt at the public jetty.

To Reimas, it seemed much like any other hyper car until it approached the boarding ramp, but at that point with minimal fuss, the suspension lifted rapidly and surprisingly high, allowing the normally very low machine to roll easily up the steep ramp.

Jos smiled a little at Reimas’s surprise and glanced pointedly towards a switch on the floor.

“It’s a low mother,” he said, “so don’t forget the switch.”