Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The McPeierls were the widest-roaming clan of all, and they gathered intelligence on Institute activities from all over the planet. They also collected the advanced equipment which Johansson smuggled through the gateway along hundreds of innocuous routes. This evening, their members were distributing the final pieces of technology and weaponry required by the raiders.

  McKratzs, who farmed and raised cattle out across Far Away’s sweeping plains and tricky mountain pastures. They were the ones who bred the Charlemagne herds and lynx-hounds packs, and other domestic animals used by the clans. Throughout the year, they insured the more nomadic clans were fed and supplied.

  And everywhere in the main cavern moved the McSobels, the armourer clan, also responsible for general technology. Lugging their test equipment over the rock floor, stopping beside each fighter and warhorse, running test programs through the arrays. Scarlet superconductor cables were pulled about behind them, supplying top-up charges to batteries and weapon magazines. Seven of them had been assigned to the raid, dressed in kilts that were matt black with a plain grid pattern of thin dark-grey lines, and equally black coats. Five were bringing the missile launchers and medium-calibre plasma cannon, bulky titanium-cased units hanging from their Charlemagnes, who didn’t even seem to notice the extra weight. The remaining two operated electronic warfare systems intended to neutralize the Institute communications and throw in as much confusion and false data as possible.

  Walking up to his own warhorse, Kraken, Kazimir felt the gooseflesh rising as the prospect of the coming raid grew more real. The Charlemagne snorted like a small thunderstorm, lifting and turning its head slightly so it could watch him walk round to its flank. Kazimir had absolutely no instinct to pat the creature reassuringly – this was nothing like the normal ponies and horses he’d learned to ride on. It was enough that the beast didn’t simply try and bite his head off on sight, the carnivore tusks it had curving over its rubbery lips were thicker than his fingers.

  He began to check his pack once more.

  ‘So are you two screwups ready?’ a rasping voice asked.

  Kazimir smiled round at Harvey McFoster, his old tutor. The man was a veteran of many clan raids against the Institute, and had the scars to prove it. Years ago, an ion beam fired by an Institute soldier had vaporized a superconductor battery beside him, the superenergized molecules had penetrated his armour force field. After his injury, he spent his time teaching rather than fighting. He was lucky he survived the toxic shock. Clan medics spent six months repairing as much tissue as they could; even so the skin on a third of his body now had a melted appearance, and he could never raise his voice to shout. Not that he needed to, his presence alone inspired awe in his pupils. Kazimir considered himself privileged to have been one.

  ‘Doing my best to be ready,’ he said.

  ‘Good enough,’ Harvey said. ‘And you, Bruce, are you scared yet?’

  ‘Ha.’ Bruce gave the ion pistol on his belt a confident pat. ‘No, sir.’

  Harvey’s cheek muscles moved his too-thick skin into a grimace, looking even more like some Halloween grotesque. ‘If you had a brain, lad, you would be.’

  Bruce’s eternal cockiness vanished.

  ‘Be nervous,’ Harvey said. ‘Their soldiers are trying to kill you, or worse. Fright is your friend, it keeps you alert. That gives you a chance out there.’

  ‘Only heroes are fearless,’ Kazimir said. ‘And they die young.’

  ‘I’m glad you heard something I said,’ Harvey told him. ‘Even if it is just an old lyric.’

  ‘We’ll make you proud,’ Bruce insisted.

  Harvey’s hand closed on his shoulder. ‘I know you will, lad, although I’d prefer it if you just stay alive. Remember, keep your eyes focused in front of you the whole time, not on your dick.’ He gave a laboured wink towards the McNowak group, then walked off.

  Kazimir and Bruce smiled at each other in the same way as they had when they got caught playing truant. Bruce lifted his pack up and fastened it behind his saddle. ‘He’s right, you know.’

  ‘I know. We mustn’t let our attention slip.’

  ‘No, you idiot, about them.’

  ‘Huh?’ Kazimir followed the line his friend was surreptitiously indicating. Four of the McNowak fighters were young women. Kazimir had even chatted to a couple of them yesterday when they arrived in Rock Dee.

  ‘That one with the dark hair, she hasn’t stopped looking at you since we came in.’

  ‘Andria?’

  ‘Oh ho, you already know her name. Quick work, my friend. So who’s the one next to her? I wouldn’t mind a tumble with her after the raid.’

  ‘That’s Bethany. I think she’s paired with one of the McOnnas. And anyway, what about Samantha? It’s only another month until she’s due.’

  ‘So? This is why I love being a McFoster. We exist to kill the Starflyer and breed enough warriors to make the cause successful. That’s our duty. We fight. We fuck. When you think about it, what else is there worth doing? And believe me, that Bethany over there, she’ll be thinking along the same lines.’

  ‘Dear heavens. Bruce, she’ll be thinking how to brain you with her pistol butt, is all. Can’t you ever get a grip on yourself?’ Kazimir unfolded the lightweight shield coat, and threw it over Kraken’s back, bracing himself should the beast not want it, and react with a fast kick. The dark fabric was embroidered with glittering black metal curls and spirals, and long tassels hung from the lower edges, almost touching the ground. He started to smooth it over the warhorse’s thick skin, and used its straps to tie it to the bolt rings.

  ‘I’m being honest,’ Bruce protested with genuine hurt feelings. ‘You know that. This raid is going to make every female fighter incredibly horny afterwards. It does me. What better way to celebrate our glorious victory?’

  ‘How about in a civilized fashion?’

  ‘Ha! I remember the west Irral raid. You were drunk for a week after. And you vanished off with that McSobel. What was her name?’

  ‘Lina.’ He didn’t mention it was because in the midst of his happy drunken haze Lina had looked more than a little like Justine.

  ‘That’s the one. So don’t go all noble on me. You and I are the same.’ Bruce’s arm went round his friend’s shoulder. He turned the reluctant Kazimir until they were both facing the young McNowak women, and gave them a cheery wave. Andria returned a sly smile, her gaze lingering on Kazimir before turning to her Charlemagne. Her three companions went into a huddle with her. The boys heard giggling.

  ‘Now tell me that wasn’t an invitation,’ Bruce insisted. ‘Look at her. What a figure. I bet she’ll be as lusty as hell in bed. And those breasts, dear heaven, they’re huge.’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ Kazimir tried to clamp his hand over Bruce’s mouth. ‘They’ll hear you.’

  ‘You’re such a virgin. Ohooo, be quiet, or they’ll hear how much we like them. Wake up and smell the coffee, Kaz, you’re not going to live for ever. And it’s such a beautiful life in the meantime, especially when it’s got breasts that size in it.’

  ‘Stop it!’ He started plucking at Bruce’s shirt, peering under the collar, checking the cuffs.

  ‘What are you doing, Kaz?’

  ‘Looking for the off switch. Please, heaven, let there be one.’

  Bruce laughed, pushing his friend away. ‘No man can stop thinking about women, especially not at a time like this. Battle fires up all the primitive instincts.’

  ‘That explains a lot; nobody gets more primitive than you.’

  ‘Let’s get over there, we’re wasting time.’ He took a step forward.

  ‘No!’ Kaz almost had to lunge to grab hold of Bruce’s shoulder and stop him. All four McNowak women were staring at their antics now. ‘I swear I’ll shoot you dead on the spot if you make a scene with them,’ he growled at Bruce.

  Bruce allowed himself to be halted in mid-stride. ‘Kaz! You do care about Andria.’

  ‘I don’t want the whole raiding party to thi
nk we’re a pair of jerks, that’s all. Which is what they will do if we go over there and you spin them your usual bullshit lines. Now will you quit being such an ass in public.’

  ‘Okay: I will be quiet if you promise you’ll bed her after the raid. Deal?’

  ‘And that’s really a promise I can make.’ Kazimir wished his traitor mouth wasn’t trying so hard to smile. It seemed as though from the moment he and Bruce became teenagers every second of their time together had been spent plotting strategies to meet and impress the opposite sex. Now when relationships were more adult, casual and easier, he wasn’t interested. Though Andria was genuinely attractive, and it had been pleasant talking to her earlier. And it had been a very long time since Lina. I wonder if Justine has found a lover? She would never lack for young men pursuing her.

  ‘If you don’t, I’ll take her.’

  Kazimir grunted in utter contempt. ‘Oh yes, and that’s even closer to reality. Everyone knows your reputation. And if she didn’t know about Samantha, I’d tell her. I’ll go over there, and . . .’

  ‘You’ll do it then?’ Bruce face was radiating delight.

  ‘Anything to shut you up.’

  Bruce hugged him heartily. ‘Thank heavens. You have no idea how badly you need to get laid. Every second since your offworld nympho left has been torture for your friends.’

  ‘Good! So now you know what my life is like having to listen to you the whole time.’ Kazimir lifted up his saddle, and slung that over Kraken’s back, settling it on top of the blanket. He was convinced that even the warhorse was laughing at him.

  *

  The raiding party left Rock Dee an hour after nightfall, fully eighty clan fighters filtering out of hidden clefts amid the desert side foothills of StOmer. They led their warhorses at first, negotiating the tricky passes and steep dune banks. Before midnight, they had all reached the southern side of the mountain, and mounted up to start their descent into the lowlands. Small tufts of wiry dry grass the colour of straw were appearing in the gritty sand. As the gentle folds in the land began to deepen into distinct valleys so the grass turned greener, and began to spread out into patches which soon joined together into a single carpet. This far down, and facing due east, a cold wind blew at them. For the first time they felt a tinge of moisture against their exposed skin.

  The air warmed quickly as they moved steadily lower, even though it was now deepest night. They were only a few degrees south of the equator. A thin belt of giant heather formed the upper border to the forest which covered the lower half of StOmer’s eastern slopes. By daybreak they were safely under cover of the lush trees, and moving in small groups along the myriad hidden tracks.

  They had a long break at midday, taking time to sleep as best they could as the heavy warm rain pattered against the broad canopy of leaves overhead. A quick cold meal at the start of the afternoon, and they were on their way again. As the light began to drain out of the sapphire sky they had reached the edge of the forest, where the land fell away in a steep shingle and grass ridge. The captains of every squad sent out scouts, who crept up to the edge of the ridge to check the ambush point. Several of them were McSobels, who pinpointed and neutralized the remote sensors which the Institute had installed along the road below.

  Far Away only had one major road: Highway One, which ran southwards from Armstrong City to cross the equator where it snaked along the western side of the Great Iril Steppes until finally driving into the valley where the Marie Celeste had crash-landed and the Institute had been built to study it. The road provided the sole supply route from the gateway in the city to the Institute, a twin-lane strip of enzyme-bonded concrete extruded by the only pair of tracked roadbuilders ever to be exported to Far Away. They’d been brought in specifically for that one job, although once they’d finished the long north–south route they’d managed to keep going long enough to lay down a few smaller roads linking Armstrong City with the larger towns in the north. But after they finally broke down no spare parts were ever brought in to fix them.

  From their position atop the ridge, the clan scouts could see the stone-grey ribbon of the road curving round the hill which marked the entrance to the alien arkship’s valley. It was late afternoon, and the thick cover of vegetation which lay across the lowland was still steaming gently. Carried on the air, echoing and drifting out of the valley which contained the Institute, was the faintest of mechanical sounds. For over a year now, scouts had been reporting increased activity round the massive metal hull. The news had been given an ominous reception by the clans, its synchronicity with the work on the human starship was too strong to be ignored.

  But now, from the vantage point of the ridge, there was no sign of any activity. Nobody was using the road. The scouts settled down and waited; their information on the convoy was good, it was only a matter of time.

  There was normally a supply convoy every couple of weeks delivering food and equipment to the Institute. It took at least a week to drive the route down from the city; often longer, depending on the road’s state of repair, and the level of sabotage by the Guardians. Each convoy was protected by soldiers that were hired by the Institute and licensed by the planetary governor.

  The Guardians had been monitoring this convoy since it left Armstrong City. There were twenty big trucks hauling the cylindrical freight containers which had arrived through the gateway over the last fortnight. They were all FordSaaB VF44s; sixteen-wheel, twin-axle, diesel-fuelled, and manual-drive – even the most sophisticated arrays would have trouble coping with Far Away’s poor surfaces and absence of satellite positioning systems. The Institute had chosen them for its transport fleet because they were designed for low maintenance and rough terrain.

  Driving with them were eight Land Rover Cruisers, a vehicle in common use among Commonwealth police and paramilitary forces operating in remote areas. Their matt-black bodywork was blunt enough to qualify as a mobile brick. On the road, they rode low on six independent suspension wheels, which could extend down and out to carry them over really rugged ground.

  The rest of the convoy was made up by a huge fuel tanker and a couple of tow/repair trucks.

  When they reached the last stretch of road before the start of the Institute valley, it was already twilight. The scouts saw the headlights blazing ahead of them, visible for kilometres across the rumpled countryside, advertising their presence. A couple of the Cruisers were out in front, their drivers accelerating eagerly now they could see the sodium orange corona from the Institute’s little town crowning the hill ahead.

  The dark sky was ripped apart by three blinding streaks of plasma as the McSobels opened fire from the top of the ridge. Two of the bolts struck the lead truck, blasting it apart. Inertia kept the disintegrating bulk tumbling forwards as the freight containers spewed out great streamers of flame. After a couple of seconds the flaming wreckage flipped over and skidded to a stop, blocking the road.

  The third plasma bolt hit the fuel tanker. A tremendous explosion bloomed out, the fireball eruption swelling in seconds until it was over thirty metres wide, lighting up the whole convoy with garish menace. The trucks directly ahead and behind were completely engulfed, their own subsequent detonation adding to the devastation.

  Every vehicle in the convoy emergency-braked as the attack began, wheels locking and screeching as they scored huge scars of black rubber along the enzyme-bonded concrete. Several of them came dangerously close to fishtailing as their automatic systems fought to stabilize the braking sequence.

  Another three plasma bolts flashed down. Two of them found their targets, smashing trucks apart in swarms of flaming debris. But the driver of the third truck had reflexes fast enough to activate his force field as he struggled to halt the bucking vehicle. A hemispherical shell of air solidified around the truck, sizzling electric blue as the bolt hit. Spikes of lightning lashed off in every direction. Long jagged lines of concrete ruptured into gravel and soot as the energy discharge pounded the road. Slim streamers of lava welled
up in the gashes. There was nothing the force field could do to protect the truck from them as it slithered onward. Tyres burst apart as they touched the molten rock, tipping the wheel hubs onto the ground. The front edge of the cab gouged out a huge scar as it shuddered to a violent stop.

  By then every other surviving vehicle had a force field surrounding it. Drivers shouted into their radios for help and instructions, receiving nothing but thick static even on the encrypted security channels. The road was completely blocked. If they were going to get to the safety of the valley they would have to drive across open ground. Force fields made progress along a flat surface difficult; to travel over such rugged terrain the strength of the protective hemispheres would have to be reduced. Nobody wanted to do that. A further series of plasma bolts whipped down, hammering at the force fields like the spears of angry gods. None of them penetrated, but the pyrotechnic electron display was lighting up the countryside for miles around. Waiting in their cabs, engines running, praying for reinforcements, the drivers watched in horror as the strobing incandescence revealed a dark horde of horsemen rushing down the ridge towards the road.