Swat this, you bastards, she thought.
She passed each weapon amongst the eight, slowing down her propulsion pack long enough to make sure nothing had changed since her last inspection. Nothing had. The weapons hung in their armoured cradles precisely as she had left them. They looked just as foreboding and sinister, but they had not done anything unexpected.
‘These are the eight I’ll need, Captain,’ she said.
‘Just the eight?’
‘They’ll do for now. Mustn’t put all our chicks in one egg, or whatever the metaphor is.’
‘I’m sure there’s something suitable.’
‘When I say the word, I’ll need you to deploy each weapon one at a time. You can do that, can’t you?’
‘When you say “deploy”, Ilia . . . ?’
‘Just move them outside the ship. Outside you, I mean,’ she corrected herself, having noticed that the Captain now tended to refer to himself and the ship as the same entity. She did not want to do anything, no matter how slight, that might interfere with his sudden spirit of co-operation. ‘Just to the outside,’ she continued. ‘Then, when all eight weapons are outside, we’ll run another systems check. We’ll keep you between them and the Inhibitors, just to be on the safe side. I don’t have the feeling that we’re being monitored, but it makes sense to play safe.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, Ilia.’
‘Right then. We’ll start with good old weapon seventeen, shall we?’
‘Weapon seventeen it is, Ilia.’
The motion was sudden and startling. It was such a long time since any of the cache weapons had moved in any way that she had forgotten what it was like. The cradle that held the weapon began to glide along its support rail so that the whole obelisk-sized mass of the weapon slid smoothly and silently aside. Everything in the cache chamber took place in silence, of course, but nonetheless it seemed to Volyova that there was a more profound silence here, a silence that was judicial, like the silence of a place of execution.
The network of rails allowed the cache weapons to reach the much smaller chamber immediately below the main one. The smaller chamber was just large enough to accommodate the largest weapon, and had been rebuilt extensively for just this purpose.
She watched weapon seventeen vanish into the chamber, remembering her encounter with the weapon’s controlling subpersona ‘Seventeen’, the one that had shown worrying signs of free will and a marked lack of respect for her authority. She did not doubt that something like Seventeen existed in all the weapons. There was no sense worrying about it now; all she could do was hope that the Captain and the weapons continued to do what she asked of them.
No sense worrying about it, no. But she did have a dreadful sense of foreboding all the same.
The connecting door closed. Volyova switched her suit’s monitor feed to tap into the external cameras and sensors so that she could observe the weapon as it emerged beyond the hull. It would take a few minutes to get there, but she was in no immediate hurry.
And yet something very unexpected was happening. Her suit, via the monitors on the hull, was telling her that the ship was being bombarded by optical laser light.
Volyova’s first reaction was a crushing sense of failure. Finally, for whatever reason, she had alerted the Inhibitors and drawn their attention. It was as if just intending to deploy the weapons had been sufficient. The wash of laser light must be from their long-range sensor sweeps. They were noticing the ship, sniffing it out of the darkness.
But then she realised that the emissions were not coming from the right part of the sky.
They were coming from interstellar space.
‘Ilia ... ?’ the Captain asked. ‘Is something wrong? Shall I abort the deployment?’
‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ she said.
‘Knew about what?’
‘That someone was firing laser light at us. Communications frequency. ’
‘I’m sorry, Ilia, but I just...’
‘You didn’t want me to know about it. And I didn’t until I tapped into those hull sensors to watch the weapon emerging.’
‘What emissions ... ah, wait.’ His great deific voice hesitated. ‘Wait. I see what you mean now. I didn’t notice them - there was too much else going on. You’re more attuned to such concerns than me, Ilia ... I am very self-focused these days. If you wait, I will backtrack and determine when the emissions began ... I have the sensor data, you know . . .’
She didn’t believe him, but knew there was no way to prove otherwise. He controlled everything, and it was only through a slip of his concentration that she had learned about the laser light at all.
‘Well. How long?’
‘No more than a day, Ilia. A day or so . . .’
‘What does “or so” mean, you lying bastard?’
‘I mean . . . a matter of days. No more than a week ... at a conservative estimate.’
‘Svinoi. Lying pig bastard. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘I assumed you were already aware of the signal, Ilia. Didn’t you pick it up as your shuttle approached me?’
Ah, she thought. So it was a signal now, not just a meaningless blast of laser light. What else did he know?
‘Of course I didn’t. I was asleep until the very last moment, and the shuttle wasn’t programmed to watch for anything other than in-system transmissions. Interstellar communications are blue-shifted out of the usual frequency bands. What was the blue shift, Captain?’
‘Modest, Ilia ... ten per cent of light. Just enough to shift it out of the expected frequency band.’
She did the sums. Ten per cent of light . . . a lighthugger couldn’t slow down from that kind of speed in much less than thirty days. Even if a starship was breaking into the system, she still had half a month before it would arrive. It wasn’t much of a breathing space, but it was a lot better than finding out they were mere days away.
‘Captain? The signal must be an automated transmission locked on repeat, or they wouldn’t have kept up it up for so long. Patch it through to my suit. Immediately.’
‘Yes, Ilia. And the cache weapons? Shall I abandon the deployment? ’
‘Yes . . .’ she started saying, before correcting herself. ‘No. No! Nothing changes. Keep deploying the fucking things - it’ll still take hours to get all eight of them outside. You heard what I said before, didn’t you? I want your mass screening them from the Inhibitors.’
‘What about the source of the signal, Ilia?’
Had the option been available to her, she would have kicked part of him then. But she was floating far from anything kickable. ‘Just play the fucking thing.’
Her faceplate opaqued, blanking out the view of the cache chamber. For a moment she stared into a dimensionless sea of white. Then a scene formed, a slow dissolve into an interior. She appeared to be standing at one end of a long austerely furnished room, with a black table between her and the three people at the table’s far end. The table was a wedge of pure darkness.
‘Hello,’ said the only human male among the three. ‘My name is Nevil Clavain, and I believe you have something I want.’
At first glance he appeared to be an extension of the table. His clothes were the same unreflective black, so that only his hands and head loomed out of the shadows. His fingers were laced neatly in front of him. Ropelike veins curled across the backs of his hands. His beard and hair were white, his face notched here and there by crevasses of extreme shadow.
‘He means the devices inside your ship,’ said the person sitting next to Clavain. She was a very young-looking woman who wore a similarly black quasi-uniform. Volyova struggled with her accent, thinking it sounded like one of the local Yellowstone dialects. ‘We know you have thirty-three of them. We have a permanent fix on their diagnostic signatures, so don’t even think of bluffing.’
‘It won’t work,’ said the third speaker, who was a pig. ‘We are very determined, you see. We captured this ship, when they said it couldn’t b
e done. We’ve even given the Conjoiners a bloody nose. We’ve come a long way to get what we want and we won’t be going home empty-handed.’ As he spoke he reinforced his points with downward swipes of one trotterlike hand.
Clavain, the first speaker, leaned forward. ‘Scorpio’s right. We have the technical means to repossess the weapons. The question is, do you have the good sense to hand them over without a fight?’
Volyova felt as if Clavain was waiting for her to answer. The urge to say something even though she knew this was not a real-time message was almost overwhelming. She began to speak, knowing that the suit could capture whatever she was saying and uplink it back to the intruding ship. There would be a hell of a turnaround on the signal, though: three days out, at the very least, which meant she could not expect a reply for a week.
But Clavain was speaking again. ‘Let’s not be too dogmatic, however. I appreciate you have local difficulties. We’ve seen the activity in your system, and we understand how it might give cause for concern. But that doesn’t change our immediate objective. We want those weapons ready to be handed over as soon as we break into circumstellar space. No tricks, no delays. That isn’t negotiable. But we can discuss the details, and the benefits of mutual co-operation. ’
‘Not when you’re half a month out, you can’t,’ Volyova whispered.
‘We will arrive shortly,’ Clavain said. ‘Perhaps sooner than you expect. But for now we’re outside efficient communications range. We will continue transmitting this message until we arrive. In the meantime, to facilitate negotiations I have prepared a beta-level copy of myself. I am sure you are familiar with the necessary simulation protocols. If not, we can also supply technical documentation. Otherwise, you can proceed to a full and immediate installation. By the time this message has cycled one thousand times, you will have all the data you need to implement my beta-level.’ Clavain smiled reasonably, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness. ‘Please, will you consider it? We will of course make any reciprocal arrangements for your own beta-level, should you wish to uplink a negotiating proxy. We await your reaction with interest. This is Nevil Clavain, for Zodiacal Light, signing off.’
Ilia Volyova swore to herself. ‘Of course we’re familiar with the fucking protocols, you patronising git.’
The message had cycled more than a thousand times, which meant that the necessary data to implement the beta-level had already been recorded.
‘Did you get that, Captain?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Ilia.’
‘Scrub the beta-level, will you? Check it for any nasties. Then find a way to implement it.’
‘Even if it contained some kind of military virus, Ilia, I doubt very much that it would harm me in my present state. It would be a little like a man with advanced leprosy worrying about a mild skin complaint, or the captain of a sinking ship concerning himself with a minor incident of woodworm, or . . .’
‘Yes, I get the point, thank you. But do it anyway. I want to talk to Clavain. Face to face.’
She reached up and de-opaqued her faceplate just in time to see the next cache weapon commence its crawl towards space. She was furious beyond words. It was not simply the fact that the newcomers had arrived so unexpectedly, or made such awkward and specific demands. It was the way the Captain appeared to have gone out of his way to conceal the whole business from her.
She did not know what he was playing at, but she did not like it at all.
Volyova took a step back from the servitor.
‘Start,’ she said, not without a little wariness.
The beta-level had conformed to the usual protocols, backwardly compatible with all major simulation systems since the mid Belle Époque. It also revealed itself to be free of any contaminating viruses, either deliberate or accidental. Volyova still did not trust it, so she spent another half-day verifying the fact that the simulation had not, in some exceedingly devious way, managed to infiltrate and modify her virus filters. It appeared that it had not, but she still did her best to make sure it was isolated from as much of the ship’s control network as possible.
The Captain, of course, was entirely correct: he was, in all major respects, now the ship. What attacked the ship attacked him. And since he had become the ship thanks to his own takeover by a super-adapted alien plague, it appeared highly unlikely that anything of merely human origin would be able to piggyback its way into him. He had already been stormed and corrupted by an expert invader.
Abruptly, the servitor moved. It took a step back from her, almost toppling before it righted itself. Dual camera-eyes looked in different directions and then snapped into binocular mode, locking on to her. Mechanical irises snicked open and shut. The machine took another step, towards her this time.
She raised a hand. ‘Halt.’
She had installed the beta-level into one of the ship’s few fully androform machines. The servitor was a skeletal assemblage of parts, all spindly openwork. She felt no sense of threat in its vicinity, or at least no rational sense of threat, since she was physically stronger and more robust than the machine.
‘Talk to me,’ she said. ‘Are you properly installed?’
The machine’s voice box buzzed like a trapped fly. ‘I am a beta-level simulation of Nevil Clavain.’
‘Good. Who am I?’
‘I don’t know. You haven’t introduced yourself.’
‘I am Triumvir Ilia Volyova,’ she said. ‘This is my ship, Nostalgia for Infinity. I’ve installed you in one of our general-mech servitors. It’s a frail machine, deliberately so, so don’t think of trying any monkey business. You’re wired for self-destruct, but even if that wasn’t the case I could rip you apart with my fingers.’
‘Monkey business is the last thing on my mind, Triumvir. Or Ilia. What shall I call you?’
‘Sir. This is my turf now.’
It appeared not have heard her. ‘Did you arrange for your own beta-level to be transmitted to Zodiacal Light, Ilia?’
‘What’s it to you if I did?’
‘I’m curious, that’s all. There’d be a pleasing symmetry if we were both represented by our respective beta-levels, wouldn’t there?’
‘I don’t trust beta-levels. And I don’t see the point, either.’
Clavain’s servitor looked around, its dual eyes clicking and whirring. She had activated it in a relatively normal part of the ship - the Captain’s transformations were very mild here - but she supposed she had become accustomed to surroundings that were still quite odd by the usual criteria. Arcs of hardened, glistening plague-matter spanned the chamber like whale ribs. They were slick with chemical secretions. Her booted feet sloshed through inches of foul black effluent.
‘You were saying?’ she prompted.
The machine snapped its attention back on to her. ‘Using beta-levels makes perfect sense, Ilia. Our two ships are out of effective communication range now, but they’re getting closer. The beta-levels can speed up the whole negotiation process, establishing the ground rules, if you like. When the ships are closer the betas can download their experiences. Our flesh progenitors can review what has been discussed and take appropriate decisions much more rapidly than would otherwise be possible.’
‘You sound plausible, but all I’m talking to is a set of algorithmic responses; a predictive model for how the real Clavain would respond in a similar situation.’
The servitor made itself shrug. ‘And your point is?’
‘I’ve no guarantee that this is exactly how Clavain really would respond, were he standing here.’
‘Ah, that old fallacy. You sound like Galiana. The fact is, the real Clavain might respond differently in any number of instances where he was presented with the same stimuli. So you lose nothing by dealing with a beta-level.’ The machine lifted up one of its skeletal arms, peering at her through the hollow spaces between the arm’s struts and wires. ‘You realise this won’t help matters, though?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Putting me in a body
like this, something so obviously mechanical. And this voice ... it’s not me, not me at all. You saw the transmission. This just doesn’t do me justice, does it? I actually have a slight lisp. Even play it up sometimes. I suppose you could say it’s part of my character.’
‘I told you already . . .’
‘Here’s what I suggest, Ilia. Allow the machine to access your implants, will you, so that it can map a perceptual ghost into your visual/auditory field.’
She felt oddly defensive. ‘I have no implants, Clavain.’
The buzzing voice sounded astonished. ‘But you’re an Ultra.’
‘Yes, but I’m also brezgatnik. I’ve never had implants, not even before the plague.’
‘I thought I understood Ultras,’ Clavain’s beta-level said thoughtfully. ‘You surprise me, I admit. But you must have some way of viewing projected information, surely, when a hologram won’t work?’
‘I have goggles,’ she admitted.
‘Fetch them. It will make life a lot easier, I assure you.’
She did not like being told what to do by the beta-level, but she was prepared to admit that its suggestion made sense. She had another servitor bring her the goggles and an earpiece. She slipped the ensemble on, and then allowed the beta-level to modify the view she saw through the goggles. The spindly robot was edited out of her visual field and replaced by an image of Clavain, much as she had seen him during the transmission. The illusion was not perfect, which was a useful reminder that she was not dealing with a flesh-and-blood human. But on the whole it was a great improvement on the servitor.
‘There,’ Clavain’s real voice said in her ear. ‘Now we can do business. I’ve asked already, but will you consider uplinking a beta-level of yourself to Zodiacal Light?’
He had her in a spot. She did not want to admit that she had no provision for such a thing; that would really have made her look odd.
The Revelation Space Collection Page 209