Simon R. Green - Nightside 5 - Paths Not Taken

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Paths Not Taken

Nightside 05

Simon R. Green

My name is John Taylor. You can frighten people with that name, in certain places. I operate as a

private eye, though I've never held a license or owned a gun. I wear a white trench coat, if that's any

help. I'm tall, dark of eye, and handsome enough to get by. I have a gift for finding things, whether they

want to be found or not. I help people, when I can. I like to think I'm one of the Good Guys.

I operate in the Nightside, that sick magical city within a city, London's best-kept secret. It's always

night in the Nightside, always three o'clock in the morning, the hour of the wolf, when most people die

and most babies are born. That part of the night where it's always darkest just before the dawn, and the

dawn never comes. Gods and monsters walk openly along rain-slick streets, basking in the sleazy glow

of hot neon, and every temptation you ever lusted after

in the darkest reaches of your heart is right there to be found, for a price. Most often your soul, or

someone else's. You can find joy and horror in the Nightside, salvation and damnation, and the answer to

every question you ever had. If the Nightside doesn't kill you first.

I have something of a reputation on those dark streets, and not in a good way. My father drank himself

to death after finding out my mother wasn't human after all. A mysterious group of Enemies have been

trying to kill me ever since I was a small child. There are those in the Nightside who see me as a King in

waiting, and others who have named me Abomination. To the Authorities, that faceless group who like to

think they run things, I'm just a rogue agent and an unrepentant pain in the arse.

Only recently I found out my mother was a Biblical myth: Lilith, Adam's first wife, driven out of Eden for

refusing to accept any authority other than her own. She created the Nightside, thousands of years ago,

to be the one place on Earth free from the eternal battle between Heaven and Hell. She's been away; but

now she's back. And everyone's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I once saw a possible future for the Nightside. In it everyone was dead, the whole world a wasteland.

And all of it was my fault, because I went looking for my mother. I swore an oath to die rather than let

that happen.

But, of course, nothing's ever that simple-in the Nightside.

one

There Are Reasons Why I Never Go to My Office

There's never enough time in the Nightside, which is odd, because you can buy everything else. I had

much to do and enemies on my trail, so I went walking through the streets of the Nightside, and was

surprised to see the streets cringe away from me. People, and others, were giving me even more room

than usual. Either the news about my mother's identity was already getting around, or they'd heard that

the Authorities had finally declared open season on me, and no-one wanted to be too close when the

hammer came down.

The night sky was brilliant with stars, laid out in constellations never seen outside the Nightside, while the

full moon was a dozen times larger than most people are used to. The air was hot and sweaty like a fever

room, and all around gaudy neon blazed come-ons for every kind of sin

and temptation. Music drifted out the propped-open doors of every kind of club, from the slow moaning

of saxophones to the very latest throbbing bass beats. Crowds surged up and down the pavement, faces

alight at the prospect of getting their hands on something they weren't supposed to. Pleasures, and other

things, that the outside world would never approve of. It was three o'clock in the morning, just like

always, and the Nightside was jumping.

Dreams and damnations at marked-down prices, and a little shop-soiled.

I was on my way to visit my office. I'd never been there before, and was quite looking forward to seeing

what it looked like. My teenage secretary Cathy (she adopted me after I rescued her from a house that

tried to eat her, and no, I didn't get a say in the matter) set up the office for me after I came into some

serious money. (I tracked down the Unholy Grail for the Pope. I also started an angel war in the process,

but that's the Nightside for you.) Cathy ran my office and my business with frightening efficiency, and I

was happy to let her do it. Being organised has always been an alien concept to me, along with regular

exercise, clearing up after myself, and remembering to do the laundry.

But this night I was considering a course of action that was dangerous in a whole bunch of ways that

were new even to me, and I felt the need for some serious research and advice. If I was going to get at

the truth about who and what my mother really was, I was going to have to go back through Time, to the

very beginnings of the Nightside, more than two thousand years ago. And that meant talking to Old

Father Time, that immortal incarnation who was scarier and far more powerful and more dangerous than

I would ever be.

Still, forewarned was hopefully fore-armed, and I had some truly powerful computers on my side. They

were supposed to be Artificial Intelligences from some potential future, on the run from something they

preferred not to talk

about. Cathy picked them up in a really good deal, the details of which she preferred not to discuss.

Business as usual, in the Nightside. The AIs put up with being owned and used because they were

datavores, information junkies, and they'd never seen anything like the Nightside.

Time travel, up and down the line, was a common enough occurrence in the Nightside, but far too

arbitrary to do anyone any good. Timeslips could spring up anywhere, without warning, offering brief

access to the past or any number of potential futures. No-one knew how or why Timeslips operated,

though down the years people had come up with some really disturbing theories. All the Authorities ever

did was set up barriers and warning signs around the affected areas and wait for the Timeslips to

disappear again. There was a Really Dangerous Sports Club, whose members would come running from

all directions to dive into a Timeslip, just for the thrill of it. Danger junkies, for whom the thrill of setting

themselves on fire and jumping off high buildings just didn't do it for them any more. They must like what

they find at the other end of their rainbow, because none of them ever come back to complain.

There was only one person in the Nightside powerful enough to send someone through Time with any

degree of accuracy, and that was Old Father Time. A Power and a Domination so mighty, his services

could not be bought or commanded by anyone, very definitely including the Authorities. You had to

approach him in person, in the Time Tower, and convince him that your trip was ... worthwhile. And

given my chequered reputation, I was going to have to be very persuasive. I was relying on Cathy and

her computers to come up with the necessary ammunition.

(The Authorities did operate their own Time Tunnel for a while, back in the 1960s, but apparently it was

never very accurate, and was shut down under something of a cloud.)

I finally tracked down the address Cathy had given me, and was surprised to find my office was located

in a

reasonably up-market area. There were more business offices than establishments, and the streets

boasted a much better class of sinner. Rent-a-cops lounged around in gaudy private uniforms, but

somehow always found something else to be interested in whenever I looked in their direction. My office

was in a tall high-tech building, all gleaming steel and one-way windows. I gave my name to the snotty

simulacrum face embedded in the front door, and Cathy buzzed me in. I sneered at the face and

swaggered into the oversized lobby like I owned it.

An elevator with a really posh voice took me up to the third floor, invited me to have a really nice day,

and complimented me on my trench coat. I strolled down the brightly lit corridor, checking the names on

the doors. All very professional, very impressive, big names and big money. I'd clearly come up in the

world. The door to my office turned out to be solid silver, deeply scored with protective signs and sigils. I

nodded approvingly. Security can be a life-and-death matter in the Nightside, and sometimes even more

serious than that. There was no bell, or handle, so I announced myself loudly, and after thinking about it

for a moment, the door swung open.

I entered my office for the very first time, looking suspiciously about me, and Cathy came forward to

greet me with her very best winning smile. Most people are charmed by that smile, because Cathy is a

bright, good-looking blonde teenager bubbling over with life and high spirits. I, on the other hand, was

made of sterner stuff, so I nodded briefly and went right back to glaring around me. My new office was

bigger than some of the places I've lived in, broad and spacious and absolutely packed with all the latest

conveniences and luxuries, just as Cathy had promised. It was bright and cheerful and open, representing

Cathy's personality and absolutely nothing of mine. A long way from my last office, a pokey little room in

a seedy building in a really bad area of London. I'd run away from

the Nightside some years ago, to escape the many pressures and dangers involved in being me, but I'd

never been very successful in the real world. For all my many sins, I belonged here in the Nightside, with

all the other monsters.

I cautiously decided that I approved of this new office, with its colourful walls, deep pile carpet, and

enough room to swing an elephant. But it had to be said that Cathy had not been entirely truthful about

everything. To hear her talk she was the soul of tidiness, with a place for everything and everything in its

place. In fact, the office was a mess. The great oaken office desk was so buried under piles of paper that

you couldn't even see the in- and out-trays, and more folders were piled up on every other flat surface.

Large cuddly toys observed the chaos from assorted vantage points. Polka-dot filing cabinets lined one

wall, and shelves of reference books covered another. We rely a lot on paper in the Nightside. You can't

hack paper. On the other hand, you can't get fire insurance for love or money. Mysterious pieces of high

tech peered out from under each other, crammed together in one corner as though in self-defence. I

finally looked back at Cathy, and she hiked up the wattage of her smile.

"I know where everything is! Honestly! All I have to do is put out my hand, and ... It may look like a

mess-all right it is a mess-but I have a system! Have I ever lost anything? Anything that mattered?"

"How would I know?" I said dryly. "Relax, Cathy. This is your territory, not mine. I could never run my

business as well as you do. Now why don't you pretend to be my secretary and fix me a pot of

industrial-strength coffee while I do battle with these super-intelligent computers of yours."

"Sure, boss. The AIs are right there, on the desk."

I looked where she indicated and sat down behind the desk, after clearing some folders off the chair. I

considered the simple steel sphere before me. It couldn't have been

more than six inches in diameter, with no obvious markings or controls or... anything, really. I prodded it

tentatively with a fingertip, but it was too heavy to move.

"How do I turn the thing on?" I said, somewhat plaintively. I've never been good with technology.

"You don't," the steel sphere said sharply, in a loud and disdainful voice. "We are on, and fully intend to

stay that way. You even think about trying to shut us down, and we'll short-circuit your nervous system,

primitive."

"Aren't they cute?" beamed Cathy, from the coffeemaker.

"Not quite the word I had in mind," I said. I glared at the sphere, not wanting to appear weak in front of

my own computers. "How am I supposed to work you, then? There don't appear to be any operating

systems."

"Of course there aren't! You don't think we'd trust an over-evolved chimp like you with operating

systems, do you? You keep your hands to yourself, monkey boy. You tell us what simple things you

want to know, and we'll supply you with as much information as your primitive brain can handle. We are

wise, we are wonderful, and we know everything. Or, at least, everything that matters. We are plugged

into the Nightside in more ways than you can imagine, and no-one suspects a thing. Ah, the Nightside ...

You've no idea how far we had to come to reach this place, this time. Such a glorious extravaganza of

data, of mysteries and enigmas and anomalies. Sometimes we orgasm just thinking about the possibilities

for original research."

"We are definitely heading into the area of too much personal information," I said firmly. "Tell me what

you know about Time travel in the Nightside, with special reference to Old Father Time."

"Oh, him," said the sphere. "Now he is interesting. Let us consider for a moment. You go count some

beans or something."

Cathy came bustling over to pour me a mug of very black coffee. The mug bore the legend property of

nightside csi, but I knew better than to ask. Cathy led a busy and varied private life, and the less I knew

about it the happier I felt. I took a sip of coffee, winced, and blew heavily on the jet-black liquid to cool

it. Cathy pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. We both looked at the steel sphere, but apparently it

was still considering. I looked at Cathy.

"Cathy..."

"Yes, boss?"

"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about..."

"If it's about that sexual harassment suit, I never touched him! And if it's about me maxing out all your

credit cards again..."

"Wait a minute. I've got more than one credit card?"

"Oops."

"We will come back to that later," I said firmly. "Right now, this is about me, not you. So for once in

your teeny-bopper life sit still and listen. I thought you ought to know; I've made a will. Julien Advent

witnessed it, and I've left it with him. The way things have been going lately, I thought it might be wise.

So, if anything does happen to me... Look, I always meant for you to inherit this business. It's as much

yours as mine, these days. I just never got around to putting it in writing. If anything should ... go wrong,

you go and see Julien. He's a good man. He'll take care of everything, and see that you're protected."

"You've never talked this way before," said Cathy. She was suddenly serious, older, almost frightened.

"You're always so ... sure. Like you could take on anyone, or anything, tie them up in knots, and walk

away laughing. I've never seen you back down from men or monsters, never seen you hesitate to walk

into any situation, no matter how dangerous. What's happened? What's changed?"

"I know who my mother is now."

"You really believe that crap? That she's Lilith, the first

woman God created? You believe in the Garden of Eden and all that Old Testament stuff?"

"Not as such," I admitted. 'To be fair, my mother did say it was all a parable, a simple way of explaining

something much more complicated. But I do believe she's incredibly old and unimaginably powerful. She

created the Nightside, and now I think she's planning to wipe the whole place clean and start over. I may

be the only one who can stop her. So, I'm planning a trip back through Time, in the hope of finding some

information and maybe even weapons I can use against my mother."

"All right, I'll go with you," Cathy said immediately. "I can help. The office can run itself without me for a

while."

"No, Cathy. You have to stay here, to carry on if I don't come back. My will leaves pretty much

everything to you. Use it as you see best."

"You can't lose," said Cathy. "You're John Taylor."

I smiled briefly. "Even I've never believed that. Look, I'm just being ... sensible, that's all. Seeing that

you're provided for."

"Why me?" said Cathy, in a small voice. "I never expected this. I thought you'd want to leave everything

to your friends. Suzie Shooter. Alex Morrisey."

"I've left them some things, but they're only friends. You're family. My daughter, in every way that

matters. I've always been so proud of you, Cathy. That house would have destroyed anyone else, but

you fought your way back, made yourself strong again. Made yourself a new life here in the Nightside,

and never once let this damned place tarnish your spirit. I'm leaving it all to you because I know I can

trust you to carry on the good fight, and not screw it up. If this is ... too much for you, you can always sell

the lot and move back out to London. Go home, to your mother and father."

"Oh shut up," said Cathy, and she hugged me tightly. "This is home. And you're my father, in every way

that

matters. And I... have always been so very proud of you."

We sat together for a while, holding each other. She finally let go and smiled at me, eyes bright with tears

she refused to shed in front of me. I smiled, and nodded. We've never been good at talking to each other

about the things that matter, but then, what father and daughter are?

"So," she said brightly, "does that make me Lilith's grand-daughter?"

"Only in spirit."

"At least take some serious backup with you on this trip. Shotgun Suzie, or Razor Eddie."

"I've put word out for them," I said. "But last I heard Suzie was still running down an elusive bounty, and

Razor Eddie hasn't been seen since doing something really unpleasant in the Street of the Gods. It must

have been really appalling, even for him, because for a while you couldn't move outside the Street for

gods running around crying their eyes out."

'Time travel," the sphere said suddenly, and we both jumped a little. The artificial voice sounded

distinctly smug. "A fascinating subject, with more theories than proven facts. You probably have to be

able to think in five dimensions to appreciate it properly. We won't talk about Timeslips, because their

very existence makes our head hurt, and we don't even have a head. The only reputable source for

controlled travel in Time is the Time Tower. Which is not natural to the Nightside. Old Father Time

brought it here from Shadows Fall, just over a hundred years ago, saying only that he thought it would be

needed for Something Important."

"Shadows Fall?" said Cathy, frowning.

"An isolated town in the back of beyond, where legends go to die when the world stops believing in

them," I said. "A sort of elephants' graveyard for the supernatural. Never been there myself, but

apparently it makes the Nightside look positively tame. And boring."

"I'll bet they have great clubs there," Cathy said wistfully.

"If we could stick to the subject at hand," the sphere said loudly. "We will not discuss Shadows Fall

because it makes the head we don't have hurt even worse than Time-slips. Some concepts should be

banned, on mental health grounds. Let us discuss Old Father Time. An enigmatic figure. No-one seems

too sure exactly what he is. An incarnation, certainly, and immortal; but not a Transient Being. Some say

he is the very concept of Time itself, given a human form to interact with the human world. Why this was

ever considered necessary, or even a good idea, remains unclear. Humans do enough damage in three

dimensions, without giving them access to the fourth. Anyway; the one thing everyone agrees on is that he

is extremely powerful and even more dangerous. The only person ever to tell the Authorities to go to Hell

on a regular basis and make it stick. You don't argue with someone who can send you back in Time to

play with the dinosaurs. Well, not more than once, anyway. Old Father Time is a native of Shadows Fall,

and still lives there, but he commutes into the Night-side when he feels like it.

"It takes a lot of power to move someone through Time. All the Nightside's major players working

together would have a hard time sending anyone any when with any degree of accuracy. That's if you

could get them to work together, which you almost certainly couldn't. So the only way to travel safely

through Time is via Old Father Time's good offices, by convincing him that your trip is in everyone's best

interests. Lots of luck selling him that one, Taylor. Right; that's it. Anything else we might have to say

would only be guesswork. So off you go, run along, and be sure to give Old Father Time our warmest

regards before he throws you out on your ear."

"You know him?" said Cathy.

"Of course. How do you think we got here in the first place?"

I was about to follow that one up with a whole series of probing questions when we were interrupted by

a polite knock at my door. Or at least as polite as any knock can be when you have to hammer on solid

silver with your fist just to be heard. I looked sharply at Cathy.

"Are we expecting anyone you might have forgotten to tell me about?"

"There's no-one in the diary. Could it be Walker? Last I heard, the Authorities were seriously upset with

you."

"Walker wouldn't bother to knock," I said, standing up and staring at the closed door. "If he even

thought I was in here, he'd have his people blow that door right off its hinges."

"Could be a client," said Cathy. "They do turn up here, from time to time."

"All right," I said. "You open the door, and I'll stand back here and look impressive."

"I wish you'd let me keep guns in here," said Cathy.

She moved warily over to the door and spoke the Word that opened it. Standing outside in the corridor,

and looking more than a little lost, was an entirely ordinary-seeming man in a smart suit and tie. He

peered hopefully at Cathy, then at me, but didn't look particularly impressed. He was average height,

average weight, somewhere in his forties, with thinning dark hair shading into grey. He edged into my

office as though expecting to be ordered out at any moment.

"Hello?" he said tentatively. "I'm looking for a John Taylor. Of Taylor Investigations. Have I come to the

right place?"

"Depends," I said. Never commit yourself to anything until you have to. My visitor didn't seem too

obviously dangerous, so I came out from behind my desk to greet him. "I'm Taylor. What can I do for

you?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I think... I need to hire your services, Mr. Taylor."

"I'm rather busy at the moment," I said. "Who sent you to me?"

"Well... that's rather the point. I don't know where this is, or how I got here. I was hoping you could tell

me."

I sighed heavily. I knew a setup when I saw one. I was being made a patsy, I could feel it; but

sometimes the only way to deal with cases like this was to walk right into the trap and trust that you're

bad enough to kick the crap out of whoever it was behind it.

"Let's start with your name," I said. "If only so I know whom to bill."

"I'm Eamonn Mitchell," my new client said nervously. He ventured a little further into my office, looking

about him dubiously. Cathy gave him her best welcoming smile, and he managed a small smile in return. "I

appear to be lost, Mr. Taylor," he said abruptly. "I don't recognise this part of London at all, and ever

since I got here ... strange things have been happening. I understand you investigate strange things, so I'm

come to you for help. You see ... I'm being haunted. By younger versions of myself."

I looked at Cathy. "You see? This is why I never come to the office."

TWO

Paths Not Taken

So we sat Eamonn Mitchell down, after I cleared off a chair, and Cathy poured some of her life-saving

coffee into him, and bit by bit we got the story out of him. He relaxed a little, once he realised we were

prepared to take him seriously, no matter how strange his story seemed. But he still preferred to talk

mostly to his coffee mug rather than look either of us in the eye.

"My... hauntings weren't exactly ghosts," he said. "They were quite solid, quite real. Except... they were

me. Or rather, myself at a younger age. Wearing clothes I used to wear, saying things I used to say, used

to believe. And they were angry with me. Shouting and pushing, haranguing me. They said I betrayed

them, by not becoming the kind of man they'd intended and expected to become."

"What kind of person are you, Mr. Mitchell?" I said, to prove I was paying attention.

"Well, I work for a big corporation, here in London. I'm quite successful, I suppose. Good money ...

And I'm married, with two wonderful children." And then nothing would do but to interrupt his story to

get out his wallet and produce photos of his wife Andrea, and his two children, Erica and Ronald. They

seemed nice enough, good ordinary people just like him. He smiled fondly at the photos, as though they

were his only remaining life-line to a world he knew and understood, then reluctantly he put them away

again. "I was coming home from work this evening, on the tube, checking over some last bits of

paperwork. I was mentally counting off the stops, as usual, and when it got to my turn I got off the train.

Only when I looked around, it wasn't my stop. I'd disembarked at a station I'd never seen before, called

Nightside. I turned round to get back on the train, but it was already gone. I hadn't even heard it leave.

And the people on the platform with me ..." He shuddered briefly, looking at me with large, frightened

eyes. "Some of them weren't people, Mr. Taylor!"

"I know," I said reassuringly. "It's all right, Mr. Mitchell. Tell us everything. We'll believe you. What

happened next?"

He drank some more coffee, his lips thinning from the bitterness, but it seemed to brace him. "I'm

ashamed to say I ran. Just pushed and forced my way through the crowd, up out of the station and onto

the street. But things were even worse there. Everything was wrong. Twisted. Like walking through a

nightmare I couldn't wake up from. The streets were full of strange people, and creatures, and... things I

couldn't even identify. I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life.

"I didn't know where I was. Didn't recognise any of the street names. And everywhere I looked there

were shops and clubs and.. . establishments, offering to sell me

things I'd never even thought about before! Awful things ... After that I stared straight ahead, not looking

at anything I didn't have to. All I could think of was to get to you, Mr. Taylor. Somehow, I had your

business card. It was in my hand when I got off the train. It had your address. I nerved myself to ask

some of the more ordinary-seeming people for directions, but no-one would talk to me. Finally, a rather

shabby and intense gentleman in an oversized grey coat pointed me in the right direction. When I looked

back to thank him, he'd already disappeared."

"Yeah," I said. "Eddie has a way of doing that."

"All the way here, it felt like someone was following me." Mitchell's voice dropped to a whisper, and his

knuckles whitened as he gripped his coffee mug. "I kept looking back, but I couldn't see anyone. And

then a man jumped out of an alleyway and grabbed me by the shoulders. I started to cry out, thinking I

was being mugged, but then I saw his face, and my throat closed up. It was my face ... only younger. He

grinned nastily, enjoying the shock he saw in my face. His fingers were like claws digging into my

shoulders.

"Did you think you 'd get away with it? he said. Did you think you 'd never be called to account for what

you 've done?

"I didn't understand. I told him I didn't understand, but he kept shouting into my face how I'd betrayed

everything we ever believed in. And then someone pulled him away, and I thought I was being rescued,

but it was another me! Older than my attacker, but still younger than I am now. You can't imagine how

terrifying it is to see your own face, looking right at you with hate in its eyes. He was shouting, too, about

the waste I'd made of my life. His life. And then there were more of them, these doppelgangers, all of

them from different periods in my life, pulling and yelling at me and at each other, fighting each other to

get to me. A whole crowd of shouting, struggling people, and all of them me! -

"I ran away. Just put my head down and ran, while they were distracted with each other. I never thought

of myself as a coward before, but I couldn't face all those other versions of me, saying such hateful things,

blaming me for doing something ... terrible." He took a deep breath, and looked at me with a strained

smile. "Tell me the truth. Please. Am I in Hell? Have I died and gone to Hell?"

"No," I said quickly. "You're still very much alive, Mr. Mitchell. This isn't Hell, it's the Nightside. Though

sometimes you can see Hell from here. Basically ... may I call you Eamonn? Thank you. Basically,

Eamonn, you have stumbled into a place you have no business in. You don't belong here. But not to

worry; you have fallen among friends. I'll get you back where you belong."

Eamonn Mitchell actually crumpled in his chair, as relief flooded through him. Cathy had to grab his

coffee mug as it slipped from his fingers. She patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. And then my solid

silver, reinforced, security-spelled office door banged open, catching us all by surprise, and two more

Eamonn Mitchells stormed in. It was quite clearly the same man, at different ages. The youngest looked

to be about twenty, probably still a student, with a save the whales T-shirt, bright purple bell-bottoms,

long hair, and an unsuccessful beard. He would have seemed ridiculous if he hadn't looked so angry and

so dangerous. The other man was maybe ten years older, in a sharp navy blue suit, clean-shaven, with

seriously short hair. He looked just as angry, and perhaps even more dangerous because he was more

focussed, more experienced. I decided to think of them as Eamonn 20 and Eamonn 30, and my client as

Eamonn 40, just to keep my head straight. I moved to stand between the newcomers and my client, and

they transferred their angry gaze to me.

"Get out of our way," said Eamonn 20. "You don't know what this bastard's done."

"Get out of our way, or we'll kill you," said Eamonn 30.

"Oh, Security!" said Cathy.

A closet door I hadn't noticed before sprang open, and a huge and impressively hairy hand shot out of

the closet and wrapped itself firmly around both the invading Eamonns. They struggled fiercely against the

great gripping fingers, but with their arms pinned to their sides, they were both quite helpless. They

shouted and cursed until I strolled over and gave them both a brisk warning slap round the back of the

head. A thought struck me, and I looked back at Cathy.

"Can I ask what's on the other end of this thing's arm?"

"I find it best not to ask questions like that," Cathy said, and I had to agree with her.

I gave the two intruders my best intimidating glare, and they glared right back at me. Proof, if proof were

needed, that they were newcomers to the Nightside. Anyone else would have had the sense to be

scared.

"Look," I said patiently. "You are currently being held by a hand big enough to give all of us seriously

worrying thoughts about what it might be attached to. A hand that will do whatever I tell it to. So not only

are you not going anywhere anytime soon, but if I were you, I'd be giving some serious thought about

what might happen if I don't start getting some answers out of you. Words like crunch and squish should

be echoing uneasily through your heads. So, why not tell me what it is you're doing here and what you

have against my client? There's always a chance we can work this out peacefully. Not a very big chance,

admittedly, this is the Nightside after all; but I feel we should make the effort."

"He betrayed me!" said Eamonn 20, almost spitting out the words, his face dark with rage. "Look at

him! Just another faceless drone in a suit and tie. Everything I ever hated and despised. I was never going

to be him! I had

dreams and ambitions, I was going to go places and do things; become someone who mattered, doing

things that mattered! I was going to change the world ... live a life I could be proud of ..."

"Dreams are nice," said Eamonn 30, his voice cold but controlled. "But we wake up from dreams. I had

drive and ambition. I was going places, going to make something of myself. Be a mover and shaker in the

business world. I never intended to settle for being just another cog in the machine, like him! Look at

him! Middle-aged middle-management, filling in his days till his pension."

"I was going to be an ecowarrior!" said Eamonn 20. "Fight the good fight for the environment! No

compromise in defence of Mother Earth!"

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PathsNotTaken Nightside05 SimonR.Green MynameisJohnTaylor.Youcanfrightenpeoplewiththatname,incertainplaces.Ioperateasaprivateeye,thoughI'veneverheldalicenseorownedagun.Iwearawhitetrenchcoat,ifthat'sanyhelp.I'mtall,darkofeye,andhandsomeenoughtogetby.Ihaveagiftforfindingthings,whethertheywanttobefoun...

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Simon R. Green - Nightside 5 - Paths Not Taken

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