by Neal Asher
As Cormac stepped from the stage-one runcible on Samarkand the cold hit him like a hammer of ice. There were hastily rigged heaters in the containment sphere, but the temperature was not much above the lower limit necessary to sustain human life. Ahead of him, Aiden was half-carrying Thorn towards the exit and the covered walkway beyond. He surveyed the sphere as Mika ran past him. The proton weapon he had requested was resting on one of the heaters. He eyed it, then glanced over as his three companions hesitated at the exit.
‘Get in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.’
He went over to the weapon and touched it with his fingertip. It was cold, but, with conduction from the heater, not so cold as to take his skin off. He raised it, pointed it at the floor to the left of the runcible and, with the beam narrowed to pencil thickness, fired. The beam struck, diffracted through, and lit up everything underneath so that the black floor became transparent. As he traversed the beam, molten glass drained away behind it. With the hidden machinery revealed, Cormac found a duct and burnt through it. After the beam went out, fires still burnt under the glass. He looked at the resultant mess thoughtfully for a moment, then followed the others to the exit.
The AGC stood only four metres from the sphere, and the others were inside waiting for him. He reached the door of the car and ducked halfway inside. Then, estimating relative positions, he pointed the weapon at the wall of the covered walkway.
‘What the hell . . . ?’ said Thorn.
‘I’ve got to hit at least one of the buffers from the outside. All I did in there was burn out some of the safety automatics.’
Cormac fired wide-beam. A section of wall, two metres long by a metre wide, disappeared in a purple flash. He could now see the edge of the buffer, and redirected the beam. Metal flashed away in seconds, exposing coils of doped superconductors and paralectric crystals. A hidden canister blew its contents and leapt into the sky on a tail of gas and flame. As Cormac shut down the beam, a fog of CO2 vapour obscured all, then CO2 snow began to fall. Cormac ducked into the car and slammed shut the insulated door, just before his eyes froze over.
‘Out of here . . . now . . .’ he managed to gasp, and began to shiver violently. He was not the only one, for the inside of the car was as cold as the inside of the containment sphere.
Aiden slammed the AGC up into Samarkand midnight, not bothering to disconnect from the walkway. The walkway held for a moment, then broke and fell away like a snake that has just missed its prey. From the windows of the AGC they could see one of the runcible buffers glowing with the colours of magma.
‘OK . . . Aiden, no airspeed restrictions here. What’s it capable of?’
‘Fourteen hundred kilometres per hour, in safety; any faster than that and I might lose it.’
‘Fast enough,’ said Cormac. ‘Fast enough.’
He leant back in his seat next to Mika and looked across at the dracoman, then he glared out through the window. Poised in the sky, like a watching moon: Dragon.
‘I knew it wouldn’t miss this. Gloating bastard.’
Mika turned to him questioningly, but he offered up no further comment, for just then Aiden applied full acceleration. They were all thrust back in their seats so hard they had not the breath to speak anyway. Only when the AGC was streaking along at its maximum speed did the pressure relax. Cormac looked at the clock set into the dash. It was on solstan time, permanently updated by a signal from Samarkand II.
‘I wonder when it will come through,’ said Thorn carefully.
‘Any time now, I should imagine,’ said Cormac flatly. ‘Could be right this . . . second.’
At that moment Samarkand experienced a premature day. The light was hard and white: an ungentle light that lasted for twenty seconds and seemed to find and burn away every shadow. When it went out, they looked back at a growing sphere of yellow fire, cut through with sheetlike flashes of lightning.
‘One unmade Maker,’ commented Cormac.
Thorn looked at him in exasperation, about to say something. Cormac gave a fractional shake of his head, and flicked his eyes at the dracoman.
‘How long till we reach the complex?’ he asked Aiden.
‘Not long: quarter of an hour.’
Thorn turned to face forwards. He asked no more questions.
‘I think you can slow up now,’ said Cormac, and closed his watering eyes.
* * *
It was difficult getting their coldsuits on in the confinement of the AGC, so they had only managed to get fully clothed by the time Aiden was bringing them in to land. With his body temperature rising, Cormac began to feel the coldburn on his face and the backs of his hands. When the temperature reached its optimum, he felt in some pain, and did not relish the prospect of pulling off his gloves.
Aiden set them down at the edge of the complex and, as they left the car, three suited figures came out to meet them. The dracoman began shivering, but this was the only effect the extreme cold had on it. It otherwise walked along as if taking a stroll on a mildly wintry day. Aiden walked likewise.
‘Y’ made it then,’ came Blegg’s voice over the com.
‘Yes, and the Maker has paid for its crimes,’ replied Cormac.
‘And a perfectly good stage-one runcible obliterated,’ muttered Chaline.
Cormac did not reply to that. ‘Let’s get inside,’ he said, ‘I want to see how much skin I’ve lost.’
The building they entered was a recent addition to the complex. They passed through a cold lock to get inside, and had to wait for a few minutes while their suits and the air around them was heated. Beyond this was an unsuiting room, with its lockers for the suits, showers and blow dryers, a machine for dispensing hot drinks, and lockers containing fresh clothing. Mika and Thorn were quickly out of their suits and soon drinking cups of hot soup. The other three—Blegg, Chaline and surprisingly, Carn—got unsuited just as quickly. Cormac took his time, leaving his gloves for last.
‘Ow! Shit!’
Patches of skin lifted off the backs of his hands and his fingers. His face was not a lot better. Chaline reached into a nearby locker, took out an aerosol and approached him.
‘Synthiskin—it will seal the burns and kill the pain. It’s good that it hurts. If there had been no pain, you’d then have had cause to worry.’
He held out his hands, and as she sprayed them they went gloriously numb. She did the same for his face, holding her finger over each of his eyelids in turn to prevent them becoming sealed shut.
‘Thorn? Mika?’ She turned to them next.
Both of them had a redness to face and hands, but neither had caught the brunt of it like Cormac.
‘I’m fine, just a little coldburn,’ said Thorn.
Mika held up her hand when Chaline turned to her queryingly, and continued sipping at her soup.
During all this, Blegg had stood silently to one side.
Cormac eventually addressed him: ‘I want to get back to Hubris.’
‘More?’ wondered Blegg.
‘More,’ Cormac confirmed.
Chaline looked from one of them to the other. ‘What’s—’
Cormac interrupted. ‘You can stay here and get on with setting up the stage-two runcible. Ten hours, didn’t you say?’
‘Less now, we’ve already been working on it,’ she said.
‘Good . . . Good.’ He turned back to Blegg. ‘Any communication from Dragon while we were on Viridian?’
‘Nothing of any consequence . . .’
Cormac shot a question at Chaline. ‘What condition is Hubris in now?’
‘Pretty good,’ said Chaline, eyeing him warily.
‘Is there a shuttle ready to leave now?’
Blegg said, ‘One hour. You can wait that long.’
Cormac looked about to argue, then said, ‘Yes, I’ll take a shower, I think.’
* * *
It was the heavy-lifter they boarded after that tense one hour. Cormac had been unable to relax. He toyed with his food and drank lots of coff
ee. He even wished he had picked up the smoking habit from Gant. Now would have been a good time to use it. Halfway through that same hour, Mika came with some instruments to run tests on the dracoman.
‘I would like to find out what—’
‘No,’ said Cormac.
Mika looked at him in surprise.
‘No tests, none at all.’
He stared at her levelly. She met his gaze, then packed away her instruments. They continued waiting.
The lifter was empty of cargo, and on its last trip before being restored. It had been used to bring down the old engine casings for transmission to Minostra; even damaged, they were too valuable to scrap. This had now been done, and the lifter was ready to return.
As Cormac settled in his seat, he said, ‘When we board I want all communication channels to Dragon closed down. Should it try to contact us, we ignore it.’
‘Why?’ asked Thorn. ‘Surely you can—’
‘I’m giving orders, not making suggestions. Just listen—and shut up,’ said Cormac.
Thorn went suddenly still, icy. Blegg leant across and caught hold of his arm. Thorn turned in cold irritation to look straight into those flecked eyes. No words were spoken out loud, but Thorn jerked away as if he had been snarled at. He stared at Blegg in amazement, then relaxed back in his seat with a nod. Blegg released his arm.
Mika stared at Blegg in perplexity for a moment, then turned her attention to Cormac. ‘There’s something else as well,’ she said.
‘Yes, the dracoman goes straight into Isolation. Total isolation. That means no probes, no testing, no scanning.’
Mika nodded.
Cormac checked the viewing screens nervously. One of them revealed the distant mote of Dragon on a far horizon. When he spotted it, Cormac’s face hardened and he then watched it constantly.
Hubris opened for the lifter and accepted it back into its bright-lit guts. Before they stepped out into the bay, there was a delay as clamps took hold of the vehicle and pulled it into place against banks of shock absorbers. They exited across a long ramp that crossed the chasm in which the lifter nestled. As they stepped from this ramp, huge floors and walls began to turn and shift like the wheels in some giant clock as Hubris locked the huge vehicle away.
‘Hubris,’ said Cormac, as he stepped from the drop-shaft that had wafted him up to the living quarters, ‘I want you to secure for impact, and clear the area around Isolation once Mika has delivered the dracoman. All communication channels with Dragon are to be closed. The dracoman is to be sealed in; weld the unit shut if you have to.’
‘Proceeding as directed.’ Lights began to flash in the corridors as Cormac headed for Downlink Com.
Hubris announced, ‘Proton guns charging.’
Cormac came to an abrupt halt, his hands clenched into fists. He looked at Blegg and then Thorn. After a moment he said, ‘There will be no need for those. Charge them down.’
‘Ship’s safety is my first priority. Dragon is trying all channels. The indications are that there will be another attack. I cannot charge down proton guns without a direct order from agent Prime.’
Cormac looked at Blegg. ‘You have the authority now. I want you to order Hubris to charge down the proton guns. They were damaged in the previous attack so are unsafe to use,’ he said carefully.
‘Y’heard that. Close ‘em down,’ said Blegg.
‘Proton guns charging down.’
Cormac continued walking. ‘I also want all information systems closed off. All access is to be denied. If it looks like unauthorized access can get through at any time, I want those information banks dumped or destroyed.’
‘I cannot initiate this without a direct order from agent Prime,’ said Hubris stubbornly.
‘Y’got my order,’ said Blegg.
‘Initiated.’
‘You want Dragon to—’ began Thorn.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Cormac irritably. ‘But everything we say or do is recorded somewhere, and therefore possible to access. So keep it to yourself.’
This time there was no one in Downlink Com. Cormac dropped in a chair before the communications console, and called up a view of Dragon.
‘At least this time we won’t be shutting down Chaline’s operation. Samarkand II will be operating everything down there. I think she’s had about as much as she can take of my interference.’
‘Nothing is more important than runcibles to her,’ Thorn observed, as he pulled up a chair.
‘Very shortsighted of her,’ replied Cormac. Then he said, ‘Hubris, prepare for a major breach. Get everyone out of the areas on the route of Dragon’s previous attack, then close all blast and security doors. Stand by with seals and foam.’
‘Initiated.’
Cormac looked at Blegg and Thorn. ‘Patience,’ he said.
‘Oh, I’ve always had that,’ said Blegg. Thorn just appeared uncomfortable.
‘Attempts to open a communication channel have ceased,’ said Hubris. ‘Dragon accelerating.’
‘Pull away in close orbit. That should slow it,’ said Cormac.
‘Secure for impact. Secure for impact. All personnel to emergency modules.’
Cormac closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply and evenly, his brow beaded with sweat. The three of them could feel the vibration through Hubris as it accelerated away, and the slight pull to one side as the ship’s gravity did not quite compensate for the vector of its course.
‘Impact in three minutes twenty seconds. Mark . . . Impact in three minutes ten seconds. Mark.’
At that moment Mika entered Downlink Com. Cormac watched her frantically trying to read the situation, and lick her lips as she prepared herself for a question. He glanced past her to the door which had a flashing yellow-and-black-striped light above it.
‘I see you got through just before the main doors closed,’ he observed.
She nodded, staring at him.
‘We’d best get ready then,’ he said.
They locked down all the chairs in Com and any instruments that were loose. Then they went through to the emergency module; a circular room with twenty acceleration couches secured all round. This module, like many others scattered throughout the ship, contained its own separate life-support, and theoretically could withstand the break-up of the entire ship. The four of them lay down on couches and strapped themselves in.
‘Impact in one minute ten seconds. Mark . . . Impact in one minute. Mark.’
It was not particularly reassuring to see the piped-in image of Dragon’s all-too-rapid approach. It grew on the screen until they could see the pseudopods breaking from its surface.
‘Impact imminent! Impact imminent!’
It was not as bad as the first time. The ship boomed, but did not seem to be breaking. Cormac still wondered how many people he might have killed. As the shuddering stilled, he unstrapped himself and exited the emergency module.
‘Unauthorised information access at external port. I am isolating all systems . . . Shuttle-bay doors opening.’
‘It knows the ship better this time,’ said Mika.
Cormac glanced at her, then turned back to watch the pseudopods flooding into the shuttle bay, and squirming across the floor to the drop-shaft.
‘Intruder-defence systems online.’
‘Take them offline until my order,’ said Cormac.
‘Unauthorized access . . . all consoles and ports closed down in shuttle-bay area. Stress readings at drop-shaft doors.’
They watched, as for the second time, the safety doors buckled and crashed into the drop-shaft, and the pseudopods flooded down it.
‘Vocal communication from Dragon.’
‘No reply, but let’s hear it,’ said Cormac.
‘Cormac! Cormac!’ screamed the speaker. Only then did Cormac see the pterosaur head amongst the pseudopods. It rose out of them and came up against the camera.
‘Cormac!’ it screamed again, spraying the lens with milky saliva.
‘Sounds pissed off,’ sai
d Thorn.
‘Yes, and scared,’ said Cormac.
Mika looked at him sharply, then returned her attention to the screen.
‘Give me what is mine!’ shrieked Dragon.
‘Wants the dracoman,’ said Mika.
‘Do you wish Isolation unsealed?’ asked Hubris.
‘No, keep it sealed. If it wants its dracoman, then it’ll have to take the whole chamber.’
‘There will be extreme damage to the interior of the ship.’
The Dragon head appeared next in Isolation. ‘Open! Open!’ it shrieked.
Cormac began to rattle his fingers on the console. He was humming a tune and chewing his lip at the same time. After a moment he said, ‘Then prepare for extreme damage to the interior of the ship . . . Tell me, what could the intruder-defence systems do now?’
‘Specific nerve gases, low-intensity lasers, EM pulse-guns, evacuation of sealed areas—’
‘Use low-intensity lasers and the EM guns.’
‘Beton-twelve nerve gas—’
‘Just! . . . as I said.’
Over the intercom they heard the high-speed crackling of the pulse-guns. Pseudopods began to fly apart and become charcoaled with black lines; but where one pseudopod was destroyed, another took its place. The ship convulsed.
‘Charge up proton guns.’
‘Charging. Stress readings all round Isolation Chamber One. Stress reading along all corridors to drop-shaft. Stress readings in drop-shaft.’
The screen showed walls and struts being torn away in Isolation, wads of insulation falling, pipes bursting and snaking through the air on jets of vapour, then it showed walls buckling and being pushed back into the corridors. One scene flickered out as a camera was destroyed. The screen then showed the whole of Isolation Chamber One peeled down to its armour, and being shifted by the pseudopods.
‘Cormac! Cormac!’ screamed the Dragon head.
‘Target that head.’
The head was suddenly latticed with black lines, and then EM pulses began to blow pieces of it away. It shrieked and drew back out of Isolation. The chamber was dragged along after it, tearing walls, folding out ceilings. Sparks rained down, and cameras went out one after another.
‘Isolation chamber in drop-shaft. Stress readings at drop-shaft doors. Ventilation seals breached, closing secondary seals.’