Free Necropath by Eric Brown Page A

foot, and the pyre ignited with a roar like a jet
engine. The heat beat Vaughan further back and he stood with his
forearm protecting his face, squinting to see the dark outline of the
body in the orange heart of the leaping flames as the monk intoned a
monotonous chant. Vaughan sat cross-legged, hung his head, and closed
his eyes.
    Seconds later he became aware of sad
mind-emanations. He opened his eyes. Gathered around the pyre were
perhaps ten young boys and girls, quietly watching Tiger’s body
burn in the raging flames.
    Dr. Rao, Vaughan noted, was not present. As if
he’d really expected the rapacious doctor to pay his last
respects...
    From time to time the monk added fuel, and the
pyre exploded as if in anger. The sound of the flames, the cracking
and popping of bones, lulled Vaughan to the edge of sleep.
    He awoke suddenly, jerking upright, disoriented
for a second. He was the last mourner at this funeral: the children
had departed. To the east, the sky was gradually lightening: it was
almost dawn. Before him, the monk was sweeping the remains of the
pyre into the sea with serene, measured strokes of his broom. Only a
dark, oval stain remained on the deck to mark the position of Tiger’s
pyre.
    Vaughan climbed uneasily to his feet, hung-over,
his head throbbing. The monk called to him in Thai, waved at him not
to leave. The old man hurried over to Vaughan and pressed something
into his palm, patting Vaughan’s fingers shut around the gift
like a magnanimous uncle. Vaughan watched the monk scurry across to
the funeral parlour, and only when the holy man passed from sight did
he open his hand.
    A small vial, containing a portion of Tiger’s
ashes...
    Vaughan moved towards the edge of the ghats and
climbed down the deep steps until he was standing before the slow
swell of the ocean.
    He unscrewed the lid, then scattered the grey
ashes into the sea. When it was empty, he tossed the vial in after
them. He stood and watched the ashes turn the colour of the brine and
disappear, and then he climbed the steps and crossed to the upchute.
    He rose to the fourth level and walked the rest of
the way to his apartment. Ten minutes later he opened the door,
closed it behind him, and locked out the world.
    He pushed his armchair into position before the
window that comprised the entire out-facing wall, then slumped into
the chair and stared out at the two-tone view, the blue of the sea
and the lighter blue of the dawn sky.
    He reached out, and from the table took the bag of
red powder, the rhapsody, that had killed Tiger. He opened the bag
and stirred the contents with a finger. It would be so easy to take
the drugs in a glass of beer and end it all, to go the way of Tiger.
    Then he considered what Jimmy Chandra had
discovered, and what Weiss might be doing, and as ever he postponed
the decision to terminate his existence. He had a sudden flash vision
of the minds he’d read back in Canada, and the truth that
experience had given him. Anything but that, he thought to himself. He could get lower, he knew from experience,
much lower than this. He was in the situation he was in now through
his own stupid mistakes. He should never have allowed Tiger to get
close to him—he should never have allowed himself to get close to her.
    But it would never happen again. He told himself
that he would allow no one to penetrate his defences from now on.
    Vaughan replaced the rhapsody on the table, lay
down on his bed without undressing, and slept.

SEVEN : THE PRIDE OF VANDERLAAN
    Vaughan stood on the windswept deck of the
spaceport, his stomach knotted with apprehension as he waited for the
freighter to complete its transfer from the void.
    It was all very well planning to board the ship in
the comfortable safety of Nazruddin’s, but the fact of what he
was about to do—the danger he might face aboard the ship—only
became real as the time to act approached.
    As he watched, the Pride
of