The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “The Starflyer is MorningLightMountain?” Mellanie asked.

  “An alienPrime version of MorningLightMountain, yes. It was on a starship that must have been in space between Dyson Alpha and Beta when the barriers were established. When it couldn’t attack its target, or go home, it must have flown off into interstellar space, and finally crashed on Far Away.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Wilson said. “I checked with the Institute director, James Timothy Halgarth, personally. The Marie Celeste couldn’t have come from Dyson Beta; it hadn’t been in space long enough to travel that far.”

  “If you’re basing that assumption on information from the Institute, then it must be regarded as invalid,” Paula said. “The Director would have lied to you to cover up the Starflyer’s true nature.”

  “We’ve been sucked into the worst kind of war,” Nelson muttered.

  “In what way?” Campbell asked.

  “This is a civil war. They’re always the most violent and hard fought. And we’re caught in the middle of it.”

  “No, we’re fighting for the Starflyer,” Nigel said. “We’re its storm troopers, whether we like it or not. If what Dudley has told us about the original Primes is true, then the Starflyer knows they will never allow the alienPrimes to survive. It’s using us to fight them, and conveniently ourselves, into destruction. We’re the new class of motile, to be manipulated and sent out to die while it remains intact behind the battle lines.”

  “That’s why MorningLightMountain had flare bombs,” Wilson said in a relieved tone. “The technology didn’t leak from us to Dyson Alpha; the Primes had it all along. The Starflyer fed the theory to us. Oh! Wait. When the barrier fell we detected an unusual quantum signature inside the Dark Fortress. It wasn’t there before.” He turned to Nigel. “Have you got secure access to navy records?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get your physicists to compare that signature to the flare bombs.”

  “Good idea.” Nigel’s expanded mentality extracted the records and began running comparisons. He still found it amusing the way people always forgot what he was before everything else; all they ever saw today was the imperial Dynasty leader, never the old physicist pushing back the frontier of human knowledge.

  “This still doesn’t make sense,” Anna said. “The Starflyer obviously has the ability to switch off the barrier. Why didn’t it just do that when it arrived at Dyson Alpha in the Marie Celeste and launch the flare bomb? Or go back to Dyson Beta and let its own kind out?”

  “The barrier builders were still around, maybe?” Wilson said. “It needed a decent interval to elapse before it could risk any kind of rescue attempt. That’s probably why it fled so far in the first place.”

  “Even so, it engineered the Second Chance mission; why not have us sent to Dyson Beta and release the alienPrimes? The original Primes would remain locked up.”

  “It didn’t know what would happen any more than we did,” Paula said. “This way it wins whatever the outcome. If the barrier builders were still around and it had tried to switch off the barrier around Dyson Beta, they would have detected the attempt and stopped us. By making the attempt at Dyson Alpha, it gets to see if the barriers are still guarded. If not, it releases an ultra-hostile species directly into conflict with us, a race with a proven record of warfare and a technology base advanced enough to construct the kind of weapons necessary to fight an interstellar war. The two of us fight and weaken ourselves, leaving it free to unlock Dyson Beta so its own kind can emerge into a galaxy where the two nearest threats have blasted each other to the edge of extinction.” She pursed her lips ruefully. “Almost exactly what Bradley Johansson claimed all along.”

  Results slipped into Nigel’s virtual vision. “The quantum signatures are similar,” he told the room. “Not identical, but they’re certainly based around the same principle. From what we could determine, the Prime flare bomb works by altering the properties of the surrounding mass, which in itself is a none too distant relation to our own quantumbuster. We can surmise that if you change the properties of enough components in the Dark Fortress, then they’ll simply be incapable of performing their intended function: the barrier will fail.”

  “So we finally know what we’re facing,” Justine said. “I take it nobody minds if I tell Johansson.”

  “As long as he keeps quiet about it until the Starflyer problem has been dealt with,” Nigel told her. “This still isn’t for public release.”

  “Well, how much of a problem have we actually got left?” Justine asked. “We have a weapon which in all probability the Starflyer didn’t expect us to produce. Your nova bomb will give us a total victory over MorningLightMountain. Now we know it exists, we can effectively neutralize it.”

  “Paula?” Nigel asked. “Can we neutralize it?”

  “I’m not certain. Qatux, do you know how far its influence extends?”

  The portal image showed the Raiel watching them patiently. “This is obviously exciting for all of you,” it said in its soft wind-chime voice. “I wish I could share the experience.”

  “Qatux, please answer the question,” Paula said sternly.

  “Isabella Halgarth came into contact with many people who suffered the same compulsion overlay. They are arranged in a three-person structure based on the old human spy cell system. The controller can put them in touch with each other for specific operations, but apart from that they operate in isolation.”

  “So you understand the method which the Starflyer uses to control her and the others?”

  “It is a sophisticated technique, indicating the controller has a great deal of experience in manipulating the thought routines of other creatures. A Prime-type entity would have an obvious advantage over singleton mentalities; its understanding of mental constitution operates at an instinctive level.”

  “What did it do to Isabella?” Mellanie asked, her voice heavy with trepidation. She obviously feared what she was about to hear, but had to know anyway.

  “Her thought routines, what you would term the personality, were infiltrated with alien behavioral modifiers. She performed as a normal human under everyday circumstances, but within that framework she acted solely in the interests of the Starflyer. Think of it as having your mind cored like an apple, and the hole being filled with the Starflyer’s desires.”

  “How old was she when this happened?” Paula asked.

  “Five or six. The memory is hazy. She was on Far Away with her parents. They took her into a room that resembled a hospital; she was scared. After that, her mind was no longer hers.”

  “Urggh.” Mellanie wrinkled her nose up. “It did that to a six-year-old? That’s so shitty.”

  “Ahh,” Qatux sighed. “Sentiment. I have experienced it often in human memories. It is one of your more exquisite feelings. Would you consider sharing yours with me, Mellanie?”

  “Uh. Like: no!”

  “So you don’t actually know what the Starflyer is thinking?” Paula said.

  “No,” Qatux said. “However, there are residual traces of its presence within her mind which betray certain aspects of its character.”

  “Such as?”

  “Alterations made to the original directives. Isabella and other agents very abruptly received new instructions when the Commonwealth first announced it was building a starship. They were originally working on the assumption that a series of wormholes would be opened to Dyson Alpha. Its whole strategy had to be altered to incorporate the development of superluminal travel. Isabella was also unaware of your quantumbuster weapon, she was expecting the navy to use flare bombs against MorningLightMountain’s second invasion. That was the information which her kind were supplying to the Seattle team.”

  “And we improved on it,” Wilson said tightly.

  “Has Isabella got any memory of Alessandra Baron being a Starflyer agent?” Mellanie asked eagerly.

  “Yes. Isabella was brought into the operation to hide the New York lawyers when Alessandra Baron learned y
ou were investigating them.”

  “Gotcha, you bitch!” Mellanie punched the air. “Yes!”

  “Not relevant at this point,” Paula said dismissively. “Qatux, does Isabella know where the Starflyer is, or will be?”

  “No. She only knows what she is supposed to do. She was on Illuminatus to join up with the lawyers after they had been given new identities. They would all receive their assignment then.”

  “Johansson says it will now return to Far Away,” Justine said.

  “It can’t,” Nigel told her. “Not unless it’s already on Boongate, in which case it might stand a chance. The wormhole from Wessex to Boongate will not be opened to transport again.”

  “Then it is confined to the Commonwealth,” Paula said. “Qatux, if we take known Starflyer agents into custody can you read their memories for us? At some point, we should encounter one who knows where it is. It is important that we apprehend it as swiftly as possible. Will you come to the Commonwealth to assist me?”

  “I would find such a venture most appealing. I would wish to be engaged through your own perception and interpretation facilities.”

  Paula faced the Raiel’s image, her face devoid of any expression. “We have discussed this before. You may not leech my emotional state.”

  “Is not your task an urgent one? Is this not how humans behave? Is not the price negotiated in advance?”

  “Well, yes,” Paula said, flummoxed by the request. “But you will access the agent’s thoughts, you will experience their emotions. That is our standard payment.”

  “Their emotional levels are much reduced, suppressed by the Starflyer’s behavioral modifiers. They mimic true feelings, they do not experience them for themselves, there is nothing there for me. You, though, Investigator, would feel a great deal as this case is wrapped up, the culmination of a hundred thirty years of work. I would know what that is like.”

  “I …” Paula looked around the study for help.

  “I should let you stew in that one,” Mellanie said. “But I’ll be big. My price is an interview when all this is over.”

  “You’ll let it feel through you?” Paula asked.

  “No, but I know a girl who will, and she’s already wetwired for it.” Mellanie turned to the portal, already looking victorious. “Qatux, how about I get you someone who’s a lot more emotional than the Investigator is? Let’s face it, she’s a bit of a cold fish.”

  “That would be acceptable.”

  “Great. Nelson, I’ll need some bodyguards to help me collect her.”

  “Bodyguards? You’re not going to kidnap someone, are you?”

  “Not for her, for me. I’m not very popular with her friends.”

  “You can have bodyguards,” Nigel said. He grinned admiringly. “Anything else?”

  “An express ticket to Darklake City.”

  “Of course.”

  “Who are you going to arrest?” Mellanie asked Paula.

  “Every agent Isabella came in contact with.”

  “Good, that’ll include Baron, then. I’ll cover that arrest for Michelangelo.”

  “It wasn’t her that used and abused you,” Paula said. “She is no longer human.”

  “She never was,” Mellanie said gruffly.

  “Assuming all this leads us to the Starflyer, what are we going to do with it when we find it?” Justine asked.

  “Execute it,” Wilson said.

  “Quietly,” Nigel said quickly.

  “If Johansson is right about it trying to return to Far Away, and he’s been right about everything else, then it will have to reach Boongate via Wessex,” Justine said. “The Guardians are watching for that. Now might be a good time to help them. We’ve got Morton and his squad; they’d be able to take out anything guarding the Starflyer’s train.”

  Nigel gave Nelson a questioning glance.

  “They could spearhead,” Nelson said. “But it would have to be our operation; I’m not having rogue groups running around near the wormhole generators, no matter how good the cause. We’ve seconded half of our technical personnel to Narrabri to help modify the wormhole generators for the future settlement project. We can’t risk any kind of firefight there.”

  “All right,” Nigel said. “We’ll set up at Narrabri. There’s enough space in our planetary station to hide this, and we can get Qatux there without drawing attention. Let’s get started.”

  The stealth coat wrapped Stig in a gray-black haze as if he’d been devoured by his own private event horizon. Above him, the midnight sky was dominated by the twinkling stars of Neptune’s Trident, the constellation that marked his birth. Directly ahead, the chain-link fence stretched out for kilometers, a straight line slicing through the low grass like some kind of border between nations rather than a mere aerodrome perimeter. Even with the starlight it was dark out in the surrounding fields where he’d been waiting. His retinal inserts were switched to enhancement, giving the damp land a blue-gray hue. Sleeping sheep were huddled together for warmth. There were flocks on both sides of the fence. The aerodrome was spread over such a big area it was cheaper to give the local farmers grazing rights than buy and maintain a fleet of mowerbots.

  He reached the fence in the middle of a hundred-meter section where there were no lights. The poles and the fittings were there; they just didn’t work. His bolt cutters cut through the slim strands of rusted metal as if they were paper. By now he was feeling ridiculous with the whole superagent covert mission setup. There was no real security at the aerodrome, just a couple of overweight guards who spent their nights sitting around the management building raiding the canteen kitchen and watching local dramas on their portals. He could have walked in through the main gate and they’d never know.

  Usually.

  And that was the one thing that Adam had lectured him about ceaselessly. There was no usual. So here he was jogging over a kilometer of open field between the gate and the back of the vast hangars for the sake of procedure.

  “How’s it going?” Olwen asked.

  “Good. Be there in five minutes or so.” Sweat was running down his skin now; the stealth coat on top of his usual jacket, force field skeleton, and weapons meant he was carrying quite a weight.

  He reached the first row of hangars, and jogged down the strip of hard ground between them, where mosses and weeds were smothering the crumbling gray concrete. On either side of him the ends of the vast buildings presented perfect black semicircles against the star-filled sky. Almost sixty meters high at the apex, their sliding doors had been shut against the elements decades ago, never to be opened again. They rattled constantly now as the gentle breeze from the North Sea swept over the aerodrome. Built by the revitalization project, they were made out of the ubiquitous carbon panels pinned to a geodesic grid of carbon girders. Age and neglect had seen the pins and epoxy decay and fray, allowing blustery weather to worry away at the edges and joints. Each hangar had lost hundreds of panels to the wind, while others now hung by a single tenuous pin, swaying from side to side in the slightest gust. They clattered away against the framework as Stig moved deeper into the deserted ghost city. He turned off the wide thoroughfare to cut through toward the next row. The irregular gaps in the curving walls of the hangars on each side gave glimpses of the interiors. All of them were empty, stripped of machinery and support equipment. Dead cabling and pipes dangled down from unseen conduits overhead. Water leaked in through the missing panels to pool in long dank puddles on the concrete floor.

  The final row of hangars, which the remaining blimpbots operated out of, were kept in a better state of repair, with so many new panels fixed to the framework they produced a check pattern so pronounced it looked like the original design. Maintenancebots stood along the base of the walls, their wide, flexible crawler trolleys looking alarmingly spindly for the weight they had to carry.

  Powerful halogen bulbs on the top of the hangars produced elongated smears of light down the thoroughfare, which were easy enough for Stig to avoid. His sensor
s couldn’t detect any kind of electronic activity, anyway. The management building was at the end of the row, another construct of molded carbon panels that had been modified and added to over the years to become a strange amalgamation of cubes, cylinders, and domes.

  Stig avoided the main entrance, and walked around to one of the smaller doors at the side. It wasn’t even locked. Every light was on inside. He moved through the corridors, going up and down stairs, checking rooms. The whole place was completely deserted, not even the guards had turned up for their shift.

  Stig finished up in the security office, and opened a link to Olwen. “Everything clear in here. I’ve loaded our software into the arrays. I’m opening the gate for you now.” A bank of screens showed various camera images of the aerodrome, with the biggest concentration around the main entrance, the management building, and the inside of the operational hangars. He watched the barrier at the main entrance lift up. A couple of minutes later, the Guardians drove their three trucks through.

  He met them outside the service door on the first hangar; it occupied a small corner segment of the flight doors, but it was still big enough to take two trucks side by side. Olwen climbed down out of the cab once they were inside.

  “I’ve never been this close to one before,” she said in admiration.

  There were two blimpbots tethered end to end inside the hangar. The dark ellipsoid shapes were a hundred fifty meters long, and fifty meters high. With their ducted fans folded back along the fuselage their resemblance to airborne whales was even more acute.

  “Me neither,” he admitted. Up close, the blimpbots weren’t quite so impressive. Their fuselage envelopes had as many patches as the hangar that sheltered them, although they were a lot neater. The series of payload bay doors that lined the belly were open, showing various mechanical latches and grabs in the cavities. “I didn’t expect them to be this crude.”

  “But they’ll do the job,” she said. “How many are there?”

  “Twenty-two in the hangars. Three have had their flightworthiness certificate withdrawn, pending maintenance, but they’ll do for what we want.”