The Orphaned Worlds

by Michael Cobley

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain,’ said Velazquez. ‘When you appeared in system, you tripped every peripheral alarm, causing the Brolturans to elevate their active status to Battle Ready, and to launch a dozen interceptors.’

  Janicek’s face paled. ‘My sincerest apologies, Captain, I did not realise …’

  ‘We had no advance warning of your arrival, Captain Janicek, no communication from the Vox Humana government at all, so you can understand the reasons for our caution. Now, we shall be making enquiries with the authorities on Daliborka, after we’ve inspected your vessel and questioned you and your crew.’

  ‘I am more than happy to comply, Captain,’ Janicek said. ‘In fact, I was going to ask for permission to come alongside your vessel while we make repairs to our forward port suspensors …’

  Smeraldi looked at the Sensory AI, Hugo. ‘Are you reading that?’

  ‘Yes – if they attempt to manoeuvre between low orbit and the planet surface, the necessary compensation would very likely render one or more suspensor units inoperable. I have fed this information to Captain Velazquez’s interface but there are some other anomalies I wish to raise with you.’

  Smeraldi paused to catch the ongoing dialogue – Janicek was giving the captain a rundown on his cargo manifest – then asked Hugo to explain.

  ‘There is something non-standard about their hyperdrive. Analysis of its shutdown emissions reveals strange field resonances with fine tolerance levels, similar to high-grade drives installed in small, expensive pleasure yachts. Also, the mass distribution does not match the available hold capacity: cross-reference produced a match for the hull, which is a container barge, built in their thousands by shipyards of the Omb Sortilegarchy for the Sarsheni slavers. Such hulls would permit a more even distribution than is indicated.’

  ‘Has the hull interior been modified?’ said Smeraldi. ‘Would that account for the unusual readings?’

  ‘Probability is greater than medium,’ said Hugo. ‘However, the most anomalous aspect is the power distribution … wait, there is an underhull temperature spike on the aft-starboard flank; no system response; monitors must be faulty. I am alerting Captain Velazquez …’

  Swiftly, Smeraldi switched back into the captains’ exchange, simultaneously opening an enhanced long-range visual of the Vox Humana ship.

  ‘… looks serious, Captain,’ Velazquez was saying. ‘May I suggest that you deal with that and we’ll resume our discussion later?’

  ‘Agreed, Captain, but this should not take long to …’ There was activity on the small bridge behind Janicek, who turned to examine another monitor at the behest of one of his officers. His face was full of worry when he looked back. ‘Captain Velazquez, I’m afraid that …’

  Suddenly the image was gone, the holosector blank.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Velazquez. ‘Re-establish contact!’ ‘Sir, I am scanning for it,’ Smeraldi said, fingers flying between his touch-console and the holopanel. Hugo appeared in the empty holosector and shook his head. ‘We’re not getting any signal from the Kasimir.’

  At that moment, there was a bright flash from the long-range visual of the cargo vessel. Startled, Smeraldi caught his breath while the holoimage zoomed in on the ship and an inset ran a slomo replay: it showed an explosion blossoming from the aft starboard hull, an outburst of flaring gases, blasts of escaping fluid flashing into jets of frozen crystals. The Kasimir was heading for the Heracles at a constant 800 km/h but the force of the explosion threw it into a spin and altered its course towards Darien itself.

  Second Lieutenant Smeraldi watched the Vox Humana ship pinwheel through space and felt a hollow helplessness, wondering if Janicek and his crew were still alive.

  ‘Hugo,’ he said. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Only a faint regular blip from their comms cycling ready state. The captain is being kept updated.’

  ‘Are we going to send a rescue tug?’

  ‘Flight has one prepped and ready,’ said Hugo. ‘But they will only launch if the Kasimir responds to hails within the next nine and a half minutes – after that the Brolturans will open fire with the Purifier’s heavy projectors.’

  ‘Our glorious allies don’t believe in half-measures, do they?’

  The minutes dragged past. Mazwai and the other two operators could only sit at their consoles and watch events unfold since their interfaces were locked out. As he waited, Smeraldi dipped into a couple of section comm channels, Weaponry and Flight, listening in on the chatter and background checks. Then, with one minute and eight seconds left, the Kasimir’s channel abruptly came to life.

  ‘… to Heracles, please respond …’

  Velazquez was suddenly back in presence.

  ‘Kasimir, this is Captain Velazquez – confirm your status.’

  For a moment there was only audio hiss, then the holovisuals flickered on, a hazy lorez image of Janicek, now with a small healstrip on his forehead.

  ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘My sincere apologies for this difficulty. One of our fuel cells blew and wrecked half of our control net. But we have been rigging up new connections like crazy people, cables everywhere! We should have control of our stabilisers …’ He glanced sideways and spoke to someone out of sight. ‘… Good, any moment … now!’

  On the tracking visual, pale jets burned near the Kasimir’s prow and the vessel’s spin slowed and stopped, its nose pointing where it was still heading, towards Darien.

  ‘Congratulations on regaining control, Captain,’ Velazquez said. ‘Now you need to alter course back to Heracles. One of our rescue tugs will meet you midway.’

  ‘Certainly we shall, if it is possible,’ Janicek said. ‘Our controls for the main thrusters were blown too, but my navigator thinks we can use the manoeuvring jets to skip off the upper atmosphere then come round to you again, yes?’

  ‘Very well. By then the tug will be able to get its line on your hull.’

  Janicek nodded, looking relieved, and was about to reply when a loud thud came from somewhere on the Kasimir’s cramped bridge. Janicek said, ‘What was … ?’ – then the holovisual was suddenly empty.

  ‘Get that signal back!’ said Velazquez.

  Then the expert system Hugo spoke. ‘Sir, gaseous venting detected from the Kasimir’s forward section – also the main thrusters have just ignited and are ramping up quickly.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on in that ship?’ the captain growled. ‘Keep the updates coming – I’ve got the Father-Admiral on the line …’

  As Velazquez’s channel went secure, Hugo caught Smeraldi’s attention with long-range telemetry.

  ‘The Kasimir is now up to full burn,’ the AI said. ‘Unless there are course corrections it will enter the planet’s atmosphere in a nosedive.’

  Smeraldi stared at the long-range visual in horror, trying not to imagine being aboard the doomed craft.

  ‘What do you think happened?’ he said.

  ‘Possibilities include some kind of explosion in the bridge or an adjacent compartment,’ said Hugo. ‘The rescue tug is still in pursuit, however, which may account for the Brolturan commander’s communication.’

  ‘And how are our illustrious allies reacting?’

  ‘The Purifier’s main projector battery had been tracking the Kasimir from the moment it dropped out of hyperspace. But the tug’s proximity may put it at risk …’

  Smeraldi shook his head and offered up a small prayer to the deities of infinite space, hoping for something unforeseen.

  On board the plummeting Kasimir, cradled within an intricate metal framework stretching the length of the barge’s main hold, the Legion Knight focused all his mental capacity on this daring gambit. In his biocrystal chines, schemators were modelling likely consequences of the Brolturan battleship opening fire and none resulted in his survival at this stage. Which was why he plunged this patchwork hoax vessel into a vertical dive – if the Brolturans believed that it was falling to its complete destruction then there would be little
point in expending valuable energy on a beam barrage. The other reason was that the sooner he entered the atmosphere, the sooner he would be shielded from the worst that the Brolturan ship could deliver, and atmospheric impact would begin in just a few moments.

  He reflected upon the intense, accelerated frenzy of drone work that had rebuilt the interior of the Bargalil container barge. The shock-absorbing cradle for his cyborg body, the shielding, the rewiring of control systems, the thrust drive augmentations, all were carefully developed and undertaken even as he was planning the Kasimir’s chain of perilous circumstances, the energy emissions, the fuel cell blowout, and the break in communications. It was a contrived drama made compelling by the simulated Human cast assembled with the help of data schemators freely available from certain users of the tiernet, the interstellar, intercultural information grid. Although previously aware of the tiernet’s versatility, the Legion Knight had not understood its immersive nature or the range of resources that were simply being given away. Employing imagery mined from an ancient Earth entertainment, he simulated a small control room with a handful of personnel and a commanding officer who was his mouthpiece. Janicek’s accented Anglic and the bridge crew exchanges were fed through a language bank, while the entire simulation was sync-rendered for ambient authenticity.

  And the Humans believed it, every word, every simulated gesture, every concocted incident.

  The seconds counted down and when the first hull vibrations registered he knew that the barge had entered Darien’s atmosphere.

  He was coming down over a mountainous area in the south-west region of the larger of the planet’s two continents, almost three thousand miles from the Human colony settlements. He throttled back the main thrusters and prepared to redirect their plasma jets, intending to swing the aft of the barge down before engaging the suspensors, which were all working perfectly. Once the barge regained stable flight, the Legion Knight planned to release an explosive device whose detonation would mimic that of the barge hitting the ground.

  At 20,000 feet he activated the directional ducts and began altering the falling vessel’s attitude. Seconds later, external sensors picked up an object heading swiftly toward his location, no, two objects, both in flight. Sentries, he reasoned, not crewed, more likely guided by machine-mind pilots, stupid but relentless. He decided against dropping the impact-mimic bomb and instead brought the suspensors online, braking his descent, directing his momentum along a course away from the oncoming sentry drones.

  Cloud cover was low and icy gusting winds were scouring the mountains with a heavy blizzard. Cutting the plasma thrusters, the Legion Knight steered the barge down into the white, howling storm, flying on antigrav alone. Minutes later, as he was rushing along a rocky ravine, a missile arced down out of the snowy murk and slammed into the upper hull, over the midsection. The missile was clearly meant for use against energy shields – there was no breach – but even so the explosive impact was sufficient to demand a chain of course corrections and suspensor rebalancing. Those missiles must have some kind of mass or motion detection ability, he realised, which meant that there was little point in not using the thrusters. He reignited the plasma drives and as the velocity built he increased altitude and instituted evasive manoeuvres.

  Beams stabbed briefly at him out of the clouds above, aggressive probes that would reveal hull composition. A moment later, dazzling spears of energy lanced down in a pattern of cutting strokes, but the Legion Knight had already thrown the barge into a tight swerve, forcing the ungainly craft to bank steeply. Thus he dodged most of the beam attacks, apart from a few that cut into the unshielded hull though not deeply enough to damage anything vital.

  This changed as the pursuit plunged on into darkness, the wall of night moving around the planet, the terminator of daylight. The Legion Knight attempted every evasive ploy he could devise, employing wooded hills, narrow gullies and dense forests, but the sentry drones, now numbering three, stayed on his trail, inflicting slow destruction with beam and missile. Less than four hours after the atmosphere descent, suspensor lift was down to 58 per cent and four out of six plasma drive apertures were wrecked by enemy fire; shedding the barge shell was tempting since his carapace armour could take far more punishment than this crude hull. But the sight of his atypical cyborg exterior could attract attention and excite the kind of curiosity that would make his mission still more difficult.

  Options were limited. His only hope now was to find a hiding place that would amply conceal the barge, and it appeared that he had found one. Four hundred miles to the north-west, and eight hundred miles west of the Human settlements, was a large lake – if he could survive to reach it, he could dive into its depths, free himself of the barge shell and move to another part of the lake before triggering the bomb.

  The barge suspensors finally ceased functioning a quarter of a mile from the edge of the lake and at an altitude of roughly three hundred feet. The Legion Knight’s own suspensors, protesting under the weight, kept both it and the barge in the air for several seconds more. The drones were closing in, as if scenting a kill. The barge, possessing the aerodynamic qualities of a brick, hurtled towards the dark, choppy waters and the Knight, suddenly struck by an intuitive hunch, triggered the bomb release just before it plunged nose first into the lake.

  Cutting the plasma thrusters, he used the manoeuvring jets to drive down into the hazy depths. Sensors mostly blind, he was still getting readings from the bomb, which had been built into a survival pod – the sentry drones were converging to investigate. Meanwhile, the lake floor was coming into view, an underwater vista of shattered boulders, jagged fissures and upthrust fangs of rock scores of metres long, almost as if it were some weed-choked battlefield that had lain here, drowned, for centuries. Seeking out a shallow ravine, he brought the barge to rest at the bottom, kicking up clouds of sandy mud, then triggered the bomb.

  There was a brief lag before the booming sound wave hit, closely followed by a shock wave. The roaring and the shuddering and buffeting arrived all at once, then the bangs and thumps of rocks bouncing off the hull. For a second or two the cacophony lessened … before something massive crashed down onto the barge, then a second and a third. The hull cracked, and emergency alerts clamoured as datalines were severed. Feeling panic, and at once suppressing it, the Legion Knight opened up the manoeuvring jets. Nothing. He tried to use the plasma drive but the controls were dead. Internal monitors reported flooding in several sectors and the imminent failure of the upper hull support, which would flood the main hold and transfer the load onto the cradling framework.

  No external sensors were functioning but he did still have a squad of Bargalil work drones left over from the in-flight rebuild. The smallest one he sent to a secondary airlock, cycling it through to the outside where it was able to send back a few seconds of visuals before the pressure and the water overwhelmed its systems.

  A massive shard of rock had fallen into the ravine, breaking into several pieces which had buried the barge. Now he was trapped, interred alive, entombed by unforeseen consequences. Fury and frustration clawed at him. The hull was failing and the compartments were flooding; after all his long ages of survival, after all his planning and building and brilliant guile, how could it all end here?

  JULIA

  The procession ascended the rough-hewn tunnels at a stately pace. Steel girder supports braced the walls and bright pinlights shed harsh white light on the two large dark blue missiles as they glided along on agrav loaders. Heavily armed Henkayan fighters led the way and brought up the rear while Julia and the others followed directly behind. Irenya was on her left and Konstantin on her right, both appearing drawn and weary yet still tensely alert. Thorold and Arkady were a pace or two back and last time she glanced round they had looked the same.

  Not surprising, she thought. We don’t know if we’re walking towards more captivity or to our deaths.

  Their guards were the same ones who had secured the underground workshops where the
y had been confined for the last three weeks. Julia had grown tediously accustomed to the malicious sneers and hate-filled glares that these pious warriors had bestowed on their lowly Human prisoners. In her mind’s cortical net she had been running hierarchic-dependent social power models, trying to foresee how their captors might deal with them, now that the holy weapons were ready. Every time it came down to the level of piety, the intensity of memetic internalisation. On one hand, the Enhanced humans’ knowledge and skills could not outweigh their blasphemous origins, but on the other hand their value might now be exhausted, leading only to the extermination of abominations.

  She shivered. The tunnel air was cold and had a powdery quality that she could feel on her tongue. Before departing the workshops they were told to put on knee-length hooded shifts of some thin, pale yellow material that did little to retain body heat. However, it was very good at reminding her that, like the others, she had not bathed properly for nearly four weeks. She tried to convince herself that it was a minor discomfort compared to the threat of the cretinous, prayer-babbling guards with their guns, but didn’t always succeed.

  From the bay doors of the main machine shop, the ascending tunnel had so far made two 180-degree turns, the width sufficient to accommodate the thirteen-metre-long missiles. As the procession approached the third turn, a Human female came round the corner and walked jauntily down to meet them. She had on a dark blue onepiece, the kind of thing a tech worker would wear, red gloves on her hands, a tool belt, and a pair of paint-splashed heavy boots. Her hair was short and black with bleached highlights and her features were small, neat and arrestingly beautiful. The eyes were dark, clear and almost seemed to twinkle with merriment; only frequent acquaintance would show it to be a cold cruelty.

  Julia steeled herself. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, then Corazon Talavera’s are cracked.