“I can’t let them damage the water station,” North America said. “Edmonton’s operating margins are becoming critical as it is, thanks to Quinn’s vandalism.”

“I know,” Western Europe said. “And our big friend has to know that as well. Use the snipers to target the waster scum, but don’t let them shoot this new possessed. I’ve become very curious about his attitude.”

“Haven’t we all.” North America issued his orders to the tactical team, who started to take up position inside the water station hall.

Internal sensors showed the sabotage group sneaking in through the new door, glancing from side to side to make sure no one was watching them, then stalking along the catwalk in an almost theatrical mime of caution. Nine of them went inside. Then the possessed man grabbed Billy-Joe’s shoulder with a meaty hand and pulled him back just as he was about to slip through. White fire spat from the fingertips of his free hand, soaring into the hall. A couple of balls struck an electrical junction panel, detonating loudly.

“What the fuck?” Billy-Joe gasped. He struggled uselessly in that implacable grip as his colleagues shouted in panic. The door slammed shut with a vociferous bang , and vanished. “You bastard!” Billy-Joe screamed. He swung his laser pistol round, and fired at the chuckling possessed at point blank range. Nothing happened. The weapon’s electronics had crashed.

Several explosions sounded inside the hall, reverberating through the solid wall. Both supervisors watched with little interest as the tactical team eliminated the saboteurs. Their attention was focused almost entirely on the small, intense drama unravelling outside in the alley.

“Traitor!” Billy-Joe yelled recklessly. “You killed them, they’re dying in there.”

The possessed man’s grip tightened, lifting Billy-Joe off the floor, and bringing their faces close together. “Quinn’s gonna chop you into rat bait,” Billy-Joe hissed in defiance.

“I spared you so you can deliver a message to him.”

“What? What . . . I—”

A palm slapped into Billy-Joe’s cheek. It was hard enough to make bones rattle. A red veil flashed up over Billy-Joe’s vision, like someone had shot the omniview band with a targeting laser. He groaned, tasting blood. “Are you listening to me?” the possessed purred.

“Yeah,” Billy-Joe whimpered miserably.

“You tell Quinn Dexter that the friends of Carter McBride are coming for him. We’re going to piss all over his crazy little schemes, then we’re going to make him pay for what he’s done. Understand? The friends of Carter McBride.”

“Who are you?”

“I just told you, dickhead.”

Billy-Joe was dropped to stumble among the slippery bags of trash and fleeing rats. A boot kicked his ass with terrible force, sending him flying. He hit the wall and rebounded, crying out at the pain stabbing through his buttocks.

“Now start running,” the possessed said. “I want you out of here before the cops start hunting us.”

“Keep the tactical team away from them,” Western Europe said. A shout had almost escaped from his lips, the revelation was so astounding.

“Thank you for your insight,” North America said caustically. “They’ll stay clear.”

“My God, we’ve got an ally. A bona fide ally. A possessed at war with Quinn Dexter.”

“We won’t have him for very long, I suspect.”

The big possessed man was almost chasing a terrified Billy-Joe along the alley. They emerged onto a broad patch of wasteland, cracked sheets of carbon-concrete with rows of severed metal support pillars sticking up all along the edges. Typical of that area on the edge of dome, dominated by warehouses and shabby industrial buildings.

“What are you talking about?” Western Europe demanded.

“Smart boy, this friend of Carter McBride. He’s heading for the utility labyrinth.” North America datavised the file over.

Neural icons flowed together, producing a horrendously complex three dimensional maze for Western Europe to examine. Pipes, tunnels, subway tracks, underground cargo roads, power conduits, they all seemed to interlock under that one section of the dome. It was a nexus where utility providers and transport industries joined together to supply Edmonton with the essentials its inhabitants expected; the busy powerhouse behind the public stations, efficient suppliers, and immaculate malls. The ground for kilometres around the water station was riddled with concrete warrens and bunkers, with a thousand entrances and ten thousand junctions.

“And those are just the ones marked on the file,” North America said bitterly. “Christ knows what’s actually down there.”

The possessed man and Billy-Joe stopped beside a giant metal trapdoor whose rectangular rim was marked out by thin lines of thistles. It hinged upwards, tearing the tangle of yellow tap roots with a loud ripping sound. Crumbs of soil dribbled down into the chasm revealed underneath. The top rungs of a rusty ladder were just visible. Billy-Joe started to climb down. The possessed man followed. As soon as his head was level with the ground, the trapdoor closed over him. For a second, the rim glowed purple, as if it had been haloed by neon tubes.

“I bet he just sealed it up,” North America said.

“Get the tactical team over there fast,” Western Europe said. “Welding the edges isn’t going to stop them cutting it open, not with their firepower.”

“They’re on their way.”

“Can the AI track him down there?”

“It’s already accessed all sensors and processors in the labyrinth. But that shaft they went down was an inspection and maintenance access for an old industrial heat exchange coolant fluid pipe. There’s no active electronics in there, it hasn’t been used for fifty years. They could come out anywhere.”

“Damnit. Flood the place with your bitek insects. Use every operative you have to physically cover the exits. We cannot let him escape.”

“Please. Don’t tell me how to manage my assets. I have some experience in these matters.”

“I apologise,” Western Europe said. “Damn, this is so frustrating. That possessed could be the real break we’re looking for. He might manage to neutralize Dexter for us. We have to make contact.”

The tactical team reached the metal trap door and promptly carved a circle out of it. One by one they hurried down the ladder.

“Billy-Joe would probably lead us direct to Dexter,” Western Europe said. “If we could just find him when he comes out.”

“Maybe,” North America said. “I’m not making any promises.”

Searching the labyrinth was a huge operation, though subtle enough to avoid the attention of the media. Police were diverted from their usual patrol routes to cover every entrance. Swarms of bitek spiders, bees, earwigs, and roaches were released into the maze of tunnels and passageways, their examination coordinated by North America’s subsentient bitek processor array. Every employee working in the labyrinth was stopped and questioned as they came on and off shift. The AI assumed direct control of every mechanoid the labyrinth companies used, reassigning them to assist the search.

North America discovered several stim dens, enough deadbeats to populate a couple of condos, caches of weapons dating back decades, and enough illegally dumped toxic waste canisters to warrant urgent official attention. There were also a large number of bodies, ranging from the freshly dumped to skeletons picked clean by the rats.

Of Billy-Joe and the friend of Carter McBride there was no sign.

“Carter McBride?” Incredulity swept all Quinn’s anger away as the name finally registered. “God’s Brother! This possessed definitely said Carter McBride? You’re sure?” Quinn could barely remember Carter’s face, just one of the little brats running loose round Aberdale. Then, as he found out later, Laton had the boy murdered, making it look as though the Ivets had done it. The villagers had systematically set out to kill Quinn and his colleagues in revenge.