by Neal Asher
“You got them,” said the girl. “We’re safe now.”
“I wish I could agree with you,” said Chapra, stepping up into the control cockpit. She grinned at Abaron, but saw he did not look happy. “What is it?” she asked. He was studying the radar display.
“We’re ahead of it at the moment, but there’s a craft coming after us.”
“Not missiles?”
“No.”
Chapra sat down and began using the onboard computer. “We’ll be able to get into orbit and land before it catches us. We’ll be a couple of hours ahead of it.”
“Will that help?”
“Of course it will.”
Chapra’s smile was set. She thought about infrared tracking and scanning, about the weapons that craft might have. She checked the time piece under her fingernail. They had roughly fifty hours until the Cable Hogue arrived. They just had to survive that long.
* * * *
In high definition hologram, Schrödinger’s Box died. It drifted in space surrounded by a swarm of smart missiles and a spreading halo of dispersing air and water crystals. Occasionally a missile or two would detach from the swarm, dart in through the laser defence to pierce the hull and detonate far inside. The long tail of the ship had broken away as had many of the external sensors and probe ports. There were gaping holes in the hull rimmed with skeletal members black over red internal fires.
“There’s a com laser in the nose section,” said Speck, his hands moving in a caress across the weapons console. A smart missile moved in close, flashing red in coms laser fire. Another went in underneath it like a pack dog going for the underbelly. It flashed and, trailed vapour, detonated above the science vessel’s skin. That area of the hologram went black for a moment, then cleared to reveal a warped and glowing area of hull. “It’s down. Couple more like that to deal with and we can send one of the General’s gunships across.”
Kellor glanced at Conard then returned his attention to the hologram. It wasn’t enough that the ship was gutted: Conard wanted no less than total annihilation, which on a ship of that size was a demolition job rather than an attack.
“There won’t be anyone alive over there,” Kellor said, just for the hell of it. “They’re away in that shuttle.”
“That will soon be remedied. I have some of my best men on it,” said Conard tersely. Kellor smiled to himself. He had met the soldier Beredec and immediately recognised a career mercenary. Conard’s best men were not the usual Confederation grunts. Conard went on, “There is no-one alive over there, but there are AIs. I want them all.” He turned to one of his aides. “Take four men over with you. Let Davis carry the CTD.”
The aide grinned nastily and turned on his heel. Kellor looked at Jurens, who pressed a thumb against his chest then tapped the knife at his belt. Kellor gave a slight nod and Jurens grinned, exposing artificially white teeth in his bearded face. He had lost his original set to an officer just like that aide.
* * * *
Atmosphere thundered against the ceramic undersides of the shuttle’s stubby wings and wide body. Haden was an orange and white arc cutting the screen in two. Around the edges of the screen was a red glow from the heating hull. They had managed to dump velocity with ion engine braking but were still entering atmosphere at design limits. The shuttle gravity was sluggish to compensate for this kind of treatment and they were not completely cushioned from the violence of entry into atmosphere.
“It’s going to have to be the sea,” said Chapra. “We won’t be able to get the speed down enough for a vertical landing. Take too long. I suggest we all get into full environment suits.” She did not comment on their chances of surviving in a sea of boiling water if the shuttle broke up. Perhaps it would be better not to wear a suit at all then death would be quicker.
“Can’t you use the AG units to slow us?” asked Abaron.
“A little, if I tilt them. We don’t want to end up skating across the gravity field else we’ll take as long to slow as if we’d stayed airborne.”
Abaron nodded then went back into the passenger compartment. He was gone for a little while before he returned wearing an environment suit with the visor flipped up and carrying another suit for Chapra.
“I almost forget,” he said.
“What?”
He gestured with a thumb into the passenger compartment. “She doesn’t need one.” Chapra nodded, then handed the controls over to him while she pulled on her suit. In a short time the view through the screen was of the crinkles of mountains, red flat deserts and jungles of light green vegetation. The sun was bright orange, oblate, and its corona filled half the sky with concentric bands of its refracted spectrum. The rest of the sky was a red ochre that reminded of African earth.
“Are you well-strapped in back there?” Chapra asked.
“I am,” replied the girl.
“Okay, be ready to be thrown about a bit. We’re landing on the ocean and internal gravity is unlikely to be able to compensate quickly enough. Could be bumpy.”
“I am prepared,” said the girl, which was not really a little girl sort of thing to say. The edge of the land mass came into view. An orange sea foamed against slabs of rock and wide sandy beaches. Out beyond this they lost sight of the sea as Chapra turned the shuttle to its optimum braking attitude. The constant roar increased in pitch and hot sparks of something skated across the screens.
“I’m using braking thrusters!” she shouted over the noise. The braking thrusters added to the roar and the labouring AG units, normally only used for gentle manoeuvring, made a deep thrumming sound. There was no perceptible change of velocity.
“Going in!”
The noise was terrible. They were jerked forward against their straps, flung back. Spray and volatile water foamed across the screen. Then the nose abruptly dipped and ploughed into the sea. A hand of force flung them forwards again and held them against their straps. Chapra could not get her breath. The pressure was huge, and this was with the shuttle gravity compensating, unless it was out. How was the shuttle holding together? The roar went on and on then slowly started to diminish. The pressure came off, and as it did so, Chapra turned off the AG. She looked up. Spray quickly slewed from the screen’s frictionless surface. The braking thrusters were slowly bringing them to a halt. Outside was a rolling sea. A quarter kilometre ahead of them was one of a wide scattering of jungle-covered atolls. Chapra checked the radar and shivered when she saw how many of them they had missed.
“We’ve got a couple of leaks,” said Abaron. “Automatics are dealing with them.” Chapra studied a schematic on one of the lower screens. There were more than a couple of leaks. She made some adjustments.
“I’m bringing up internal pressure to match,” she said. “What’s the mix out there?” Abaron said, “We could breathe it if it was cooled down a bit.”
“Funny man.”
“I’m a barrel of laughs. By the way, we’re sinking.”
Chapra compensated with the AG; making the shuttle light as a wooden ship so it floated and bobbed on the sea. They both peered through the screen. It was Earthlike out there, yet, only the two atmospheres of pressure kept the sea from boiling. If they stepped outside the shuttle without environment suits the heat would flay them. They might survive for a few minutes while they were being boiled alive. Chapra swallowed dryly. And they must go out there.
“That’s it,” she said, and flicked off the braking thrusters. For a moment there was quiet then she turned on external microphones and the shuttle filled with the sound of sea. Only the sea gulls were missing.
“What have we got?” asked Abaron as he unstrapped himself.
“The edge of the continent is twenty kilometres away. We should be able to get there on AG and thrusters in about an hour.” She checked the time. “Forty-five hours before the Cable Hogue gets here.” She increased the shuttle’s AG and it rose higher, came out of the water, then using the thrusters in short burst she turned it on course for the continent. “You s
ort out some travelling packs: medical supplies, food, spare power packs for the suits. Jesu! Will you look at that!” Abaron leant forward and looked down at the sea. Tentacles thrashing the sea’s surface and just below the waves a giant nautiloid was dragging down a huge lobster-thing with a long eel’s tail and more legs than seemed probable.
“I’m glad you didn’t suggest swimming,” said Abaron.
Chapra glanced at him. He seemed almost happy. Perhaps he was enjoying the buzz.
* * * *
Davis hurt and the pain-killing patch on the side of his chest was not enough. Perhaps this was because of his previous overindulgence in such patches for recreation, though he wouldn’t put it past Conard to order him under-dosed. He had a hidden supply, but dared not use it. He needed to keep his wits about him to survive the next few days. It would take very little provocation for Conard to set one of his trained dogs on him, and maybe it was the General’s intention for Davis to die up this particular shit creek. His ribs were broken and not only was he likely under-dosed, he had been denied access to the bone welder. That he might come back to the ship with a punctured lung was the least of his worries. He wondered if he would be coming back at all.
“This is not a good day,” said Artris, fingering the settings on his pulse gun. He too was one of Conard’s least favourite soldiers.
“Surprise me,” said Davis.
“There’ll be Golem over there,” Artris told them.
Davis moved all his weapon’s energy settings up to their highest. His ribs started to ache even more.
“Golem?” said Jan, the youngster.
“Cut the chat back there!” yelled Conard’s pet, Talist.
“Guess who’ll be directing operations from the Junger,” mumbled Artris. Talist glanced around from the flight controls but said no more when the bay doors opened. The clang of docking clamps releasing shook the hull and the Junger moved slowly forward on its track. The soldiers closed down their masks limiting all talk to com.
“Out and away,” said Talist. “ETA five minutes maximum.” Once the Junger was out past the doors and sliding into the light of the burning ship it accelerated and corrected. The wrecked science vessel came into view and rapidly grew in the screen. When Davis saw the size of it he once again wondered about the futility of the Separatist cause. This was just a science vessel and it was the size of a city. Polity battle ships were bigger, a lot bigger.
“God be with us,” said Sheena, the other member of the troop. This elicited no reply.
“Weapons check,” said Talist, then, “Davis, you take the CTD in.” It figured. Davis checked over his weapon then took up the chrome cylinder from its clamps on the floor and fixed it to his suit straps. There was no AG in the shuttle but the device seemed heavy. No one said anything more for the long five minutes.
Talist matched the ponderous spin of the Box then carefully manoeuvred the Junger to a cavity in the wall of wreckage.
“You all know what is expected of you. We want the CTD as near to the ship AI as you can get it. Just get in there and get the job done. Any trouble and I want to know about it right away.” Trouble started when they were halfway into the ship on their suit jets.
“What’s that? Something moving above you, Artris,” said Sheena. Artris’s weapon strobed and slagged wreckage, blew it into vacuum. The sound over the radio was like a diesel engine starting. Nearby something silver and spidery darted aside. Davis opened up, a line of flashes down a structural member, a blur of movement, and a silver leg spiralling through vacuum. Golem; without the hindrance of artificial skin, metal skeletons. One landed on Artris and he managed to yell before his breath gusted out through his smashed visor. He hung in vacuum struggling for breath he would not find as the Golem efficiently completed its task by opening up his suit from neck to crotch. Davis got it when it used Artris as a launch platform to come at him. Spewing molten metal it fell past him.
“What’s going on in there!? What’s happening!?”
“Golem. Got Artris. Shit! Over there! Move!”
The static from weapons fire drowned out anything else. They opened up their suit jets and traversed the corridor of wreckage at lethal speed. More Golem appeared out of the tangled metal. Subliminally Davis saw Sheena impaled on a stanchion, her blood a candy floss cloud all around her. He fired in bursts. Metal splashed like solder. Ceramal ship’s skeleton retained white heat, sometimes warped. The CTD was a heavy pain against his ribs. Jan screamed as a skeletal silver hand slammed him to a halt. Even over the suit radio Davis heard breaking bone. Spinning in mid flight he hit that Golem once and it released Jan. Out of control the boy slammed into a metal wall.
“I’ve got a leak! I’ve got a leak!” he had time to yell before a Golem came running past on magnetic feet and kicked the helmet from his head. Davis tumbled through the air, his suit warning bleeping as a laser flashed across his legs. He was in a chamber near the centre. As he got himself under control he saw a ship’s runcible below his feet. It was operating when it should have nowhere to open to. Perhaps that was where the dark-skinned Golem was going with the silver ovoid of the ship AI: nowhere. Davis aimed at them but did not fire. The Golem stared at him, perhaps expecting to die. Davis glanced at the CTD display as it told him in glowing letters that it was armed and how so very little time he had left to live. Talist was probably halfway back to the Samurai even now. Davis released the straps and kicked the device away. So the runcible might be open on nothing and no one ever came back from that. But who was to say no one ever survived? To the best of his knowledge no one survived a CTD blast at this range. He slammed on his suit jets and followed the Golem and the AI through the cusp. He entered blackness on the edge of white-hot light.
* * * *
“You know, we really should think of a name for you,” said Abaron as he released the girl’s safety straps. She smiled at him and sat on the edge of her seat.
“How about Jane?” she suggested.
“Hah!” Abaron surprised himself with that bark of laughter. But then in the last few hours he had been surprising himself a lot. He had never before felt so alive.
“Chapra, what do you think?”
“Think about what?”
“A name for our friend here. She suggests ‘Jane’.”
“Sounds fine to me. Have you got those packs ready yet, Tarzan?”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind.”
Abaron looked down at the two packs. He had tried to cover every conceivable bet, but there was so much they could not take. He put the packs next to the airlock then turned back to the girl. “I think it might be an idea to put you in a suit anyway, Jane. What do you think?”
“It will offer some protection, though obviously I do not need it for the same purpose as yourselves.” Abaron winced, realising he was patronising her. She might look like a little girl, but in that body was an alien mind probably far superior to his own. He pulled a small suit from a locker and handed it to her. Without assistance she put it on and reduced it at all the expansion points. Shortly after he felt the thrusters cut out and the AG go off. Chapra came through from the cockpit.
“Let’s move it,” she said. “We’ve only half an hour to get clear of the shuttle. That other craft is nearly here.”
Abaron pulled his visor down and popped the inner door. He took up both packs and handed one to Chapra. He noted the singun hung on her utility belt. He went first into the lock, and remembering those monsters they had seen in the sea, pulled a short range cutting laser from his pack and held it ready as he opened the outer door.
Nothing immediately attacked. The shuttle was up on a beach of red sand scattered with nautiloid shells up to a metre across, into the cover of which scurried thumb-sized lobster things as soon as he stepped out. Two steps from the lock he looked out to sea at the swarm of atolls and saw the heave and glistening backs of great beasts swimming between them. Inland towered trees the size of redwoods, but with globular blue objects on their
branches rather than needles. Jammed between these giants was a tangle of life that on Earth would have consisted of smaller trees, bushes, and vines. The only resemblance these growths bore to such was that they filled the same niche. It seemed a frightening place to negotiate and a perfect place to hide. Abaron wondered what creatures were making the racket of groans and shrieks issuing from there. Soon Jane and Chapra joined him. Chapra led the way into the hot shadows under the trees. There she drew the singun and aimed it at something on the ground. Abaron stepped forward in time to see a giant leech heaving itself out of her way. Half an hour into the tangle Abaron was thoroughly grateful for his suit’s impenetrable fabric and the hard chainglass visor. There were insectile horrors here: blood-suckers and flesh eaters with all their cutlery in their mouths. Beetles as big as hiking boots landed on him and immediately tried to bite him. His chest ached where a wingless mosquito-thing the size of a cat leapt up and tried to ram into him probosces like the barrels of a shotgun. That thing he cut away with the laser before it broke his ribs. Chapra twice used the singun on things charging out at them with intent that did not seem joyous greeting. They bore appearance of Rottweilers crossed with hornets, before the singularity converted them to sludge. The expected danger revealed itself to them when they had been travelling for an hour. The explosion was loud and brief, and it silenced the jungle racket for a few minutes.
“The shuttle,” said Chapra.
“Will they come after us?” asked Abaron, then he fell silent at the sound of boosters overhead. The three of them stood waiting. They could see nothing through the foliage. Nearby an actinic flash then blast was followed by the monolithic fall of a great tree.
“Can they detect us?” asked Abaron.