by Neal Asher
“Is there something you want to say to me, Cvorn?” he asked.
“Just that you’ve made a serious mistake, Sverl,” said Cvorn, “I put that down to what you’re turning into.”
In this situation, a human military commander would never have replied in such a fashion. Sverl was also now thoroughly aware of his mistake. Any other prador would have had to ask, thus giving Cvorn a chance to brag and threaten. But Sverl just cut communications and considered the situation as it now stood. Cvorn and Skute had long since refused to return to the Kingdom because, like Sverl, they felt that ending the war was a big mistake. Their rabid hate of humanity had not waned and it had taken all Sverl’s powers of persuasion to stop them ripping apart the first shell people to arrive here. And, in later years, he’d barely prevented them from eradicating Carapace City. He’d told them it was better to learn from the humans, so they could gauge how best to exterminate them in vast numbers, rather than just wipe out a few—the kind of argument prador liked.
But apparently Cvorn, possibly Skute and quite likely the Five, had been well aware of Sverl’s encounter with Penny Royal and the changes he had undergone. Typical of prador, they no longer considered him one of them. It was likely they were now preparing to act against him and he must be ready for that.
Why they had not moved against him before now could be down to an established principle of prador military tactics—that two destroyers had a destructive power equal to one dreadnought. In preventing the Five from controlling their ship, he’d maintained a balance of power here. And by relinquishing that control, he’d shifted that balance. Sverl immediately tried to link through to the Five’s destroyer, and was completely unsurprised to find his access to its systems now blocked.
While previously he’d considered laying a trap of some kind for the AI here in the ocean, for surely it was here for him, the situation had now changed. If he stayed down here, his ship stood a good chance of being destroyed. But he faced yet another mental conflict. The humans in Carapace City and elsewhere were now in danger. In fact, “in danger” wasn’t really strong enough. Even if Cvorn and the others didn’t act against him, they would certainly exterminate the humans here as soon as his protection was removed. Sverl was very much against that and wondered if his long fascination with them could now be styled affection.
What could he do?
One of the human traits he’d acquired, and could really do without, was a tendency to be indecisive and procrastinate. However, he was part AI, so could also think with utter logic and come to the most rational conclusions. He coldly considered options as he watched The Rose descend towards the space port. He couldn’t fully protect the shell people and himself. The three prador destroyers possessed CTDs, atomic and even chemical weapons. Just one of these could annihilate Carapace City, and he simply didn’t have the hardfields and anti-munitions to stop one getting through. Especially if he was using them to protect himself.
Sverl began to prepare. He first sent an alert to all his children to bring them to battle readiness and applied a higher level of security protocol. He didn’t want the others sneaking some weapon either close to or aboard his ship. Next, he began ramping up power accumulation from his fusion reactors and running diagnostics on his weapons systems. It then occurred to him that now might be a good time to get a little sneaky too. His ship rested on the seabed, but was adjacent to a drilling and mining installation he’d been using to obtain hydrocarbons. That installation had now shut down—its equipment being withdrawn—but a convenient mineshaft still lay available. He selected one of the midrange CTDs from his weapons cache, set up automated systems to transfer it to his drone cache, then ordered two drones to transfer it down the mineshaft.
This one device would be enough to cause plenty of damage to Skute’s ship and minimal damage to the other two. He could’ve chosen something more destructive, but the resultant tsunami would have swept away Carapace City, while this lesser device should result in a wave only a few metres high. Next, he selected other devices from his armoury, some of them of Polity manufacture, and set them loading to his railgun carousels. He paused then, with everything in motion around him and the volume of noise in his ship increasing. He had done all he could here for now.
Time to make a call.
The call he made was through Carapace City’s communication network. He used only a static image of how he’d once looked—as he’d appeared when he last used this channel, four decades ago. He also ensured it remained completely and deliberately unsecured, though he kept tracing software running.
“Yes,” snapped a shellman, his gaze off to one side, probably watching his strange recent customer departing.
“Taiken,” said Sverl, waiting for the man to look at the screen. Taiken, of Taiken Fuels, the most powerful trader here and de facto ruler of the shell people, swung his attention back to the screen. His eyes widened in shock and his mandibles dropped to expose his human mouth.
“Father-Captain Sverl!” he exclaimed, then made a gobbling noise only vaguely reminiscent of that made by an obsequious first-child. The cam on his system tracked him as he made some half-human attempt to grovel.
“You must order the population of Carapace City evacuated inland, immediately,” said Sverl. “You are all in extreme danger.”
Taiken just crouched there for a moment with his human mouth trying to frame words and failing. Eventually he pulled himself back upright and managed, “Why?”
“You are a shellman so understand that you are all here on sufferance. Only my intervention with my fellows has prevented them from eradicating you. I am now no longer in command here and soon my fellows will begin cleaning house. Their first action is likely to involve them firing a CTD at your city.”
“They wouldn’t,” Taiken said, showing that thoroughly irritating human tendency for self-deception.
“They would,” Sverl affirmed. “And then they would take great pleasure in hunting down any survivors. The best chance your people have of surviving is to head inland and disperse in the mountains—the mountains because there may be actions out here in the sea that will result in tsunamis. My fellows have not appreciated my protection of you and your people, so my departure from this ocean may not be a quiet one.”
“But we’re shell people,” Taiken managed.
By now, at least five other individuals were overhearing this exchange. Sverl traced four of them. Two were shell people and Taiken’s competitors, another was a standard human competitor who had arrived from off-world a decade ago, while the fourth was Cvorn. Usually Stolman or one of his employees would be listening in too, but not anymore …
“And you are deluded,” Sverl replied, “if you think that changing yourselves has raised you in prador estimation. While we may hate the humans of the Polity, they do have our respect, whereas for you people we only hold contempt.”
“But I thought—”
Sverl interrupted. “You have been warned—and I calculate you have less than a day and a night to get out. That is all.” Sverl cut the communication to Taiken but, leaving the com open, he now began to apply some security. Cvorn and the humans were easy to block out, but the remaining listener was still there.
“Drone,” Sverl said. “I know you’re listening.”
“You’re surprisingly smart for a prador,” it replied.
“I know you’re ECS,” said Sverl.
“No shit, Sherlock,” said the drone. “And I know what you are too.”
It took Sverl a moment to translate the first phrase, then a further moment to digest the second one. How many didn’t know what had once been his most intimate secret? He continued, “As you heard, the people of the city are in danger. Taiken, if he can bring himself to accept my warning, will only pass it on to his own people.”
“Hence your lack of security on that call,” said the drone.
“And hence my speaking to you now. My fellow prador here will certainly act against the human population there,
even if they don’t act against me.”
“I would say that ‘fellow prador’ might be stretching things a tad, especially since you’re showing such concern for the disgusting humans here. So I take it you’re leaving us, Sverl?”
“I may be,” said Sverl, irritated. “But I’m speaking to you as I’m sure you have ways of spreading my warning, convincingly, amidst the entire human population there. And of course, being an ECS drone, I’m sure you are sufficiently moral to want to.”
“Already doing it,” said the drone. “Your little chat with Taiken is now playing on every piece of computing in Carapace City. I’m setting up embarkation points, have seized control of all robot transportation and am having it converge on these. Even now, grav-coaches and other large vehicles are taking on passengers to ferry them inland. They’ll be deposited in the mountains.” The drone paused for a second. “Already over six hundred people have boarded in the initial panic … I’ve also made contact with the captains of the two ships whose shuttles are in the space port and am organizing Galaxy Bank payment for them to take on passengers. One trip up only, unfortunately, since both captains want to get away from here just as fast as they can. But still, between them those shuttles could get over a thousand away from here.”
Sverl took a moment to absorb that, then began to run some checks. The drone wasn’t lying: it really had set all that in motion in just a few minutes. Recordings of his exchange with Taiken were running on four of his screen feeds from the city and a list of embarkation points was up on other screens along with instructions. He also noted that all fire klaxons, reaverfish alert sirens and other warning devices were either sounding or flashing. The drone had just demonstrated how powerful it was and how deeply it had infiltrated here.
“Shame the other two ships at the space port are … unavailable,” he commented.
“Yes, a shame,” said the drone, “but, as we know, people on Satomi’s ship would end up either eaten or sent for coring. While their fate aboard the other ship could be even worse. Incidentally, Blite’s ship just changed course.” The drone paused for a second, then continued, “So, Sverl, with Penny Royal arriving here you decided to act. And in acting, you shifted the balance of power down there. Your ‘fellow prador,’ who incidentally learned of your transformation over twenty years ago, now see an opportunity to attack something they find more detestable than shell people. Bit of a pickle you’re in there.”
“You’re remarkably well informed.”
“I certainly am. Anyway, this has been on the cards for a while. Even without Penny Royal, you may have agreed to release the Five’s ship with the same result. By the way, they do intend to head back to the Kingdom, after they’ve fulfilled what they see as their side of their bargain with Cvorn. Silly of them—they’ll end up sizzling in some prador sea.”
“Thank you for filling in the detail for me,” said Sverl drily.
“Maybe you can give me some more detail in return. You said ‘less than a day and a night’ but a more accurate timeframe might be useful.”
“I can be no more accurate than that,” Sverl replied. “I will delay for as long as possible, but the onset of conflict is down to Cvorn and the rest.” Meanwhile Sverl checked up on The Rose and felt a moment of bafflement.
“Okay.” Sverl imagined the drone shrugging. “I’ll do what I can for them, but there’s almost certainly going to be a lot of deaths.”
“Goodbye, drone,” said Sverl and cut the communication.
He gazed at his screens, still baffled and, in a strange way, disappointed. It seemed Penny Royal was not coming directly to him. The Rose had just fired up its steering thrusters and was now grav-planing away from the space port, heading directly towards Carapace City.
TRENT
The autodoc worked over his torso first, slicing him open to expose shattered ribs. It repositioned some pieces, discarding others, then bone welded them—in some cases fitting dissolving clamps. Before sealing up his flesh, fat and skin, it inserted tentacles to make repairs to the internal damage. It turned out this wouldn’t have killed him but would have, as he had supposed, had him pissing blood.
Trent lay there, naked and conscious, trying not to look at the thing working but morbid curiosity occasionally drew his gaze back. The doc had offered him complete unconsciousness but he had demurred, going for nerve blockers instead. He had relayed the feeds from cameras positioned on the hull of the Moray Firth and was also checking news feeds from Carapace City. There had been one small item about the battle at the Reaverson Warehouse. This was surprisingly detailed, and was also correct in its suppositions about what Stolman had been after and how Isobel had responded. It even showed footage of him winging away in the grav-harness, then had a later clip of Isobel departing the place with Stolman’s Golem in tow. Now there was only one repeating broadcast, this being a communication between the prador father-captain under the sea and a shellman called Taiken. Isobel needed to get back here, and fast.
The doc finished its work inside him and closed him up neatly. The scar lines of the new skin welds precisely overlay those left previously—the last time it repaired his ribs. It then moved onto his hand and began to take it apart like a Meccano model. Holding a remote control in his other hand Trent flicked back to the four cam views outside, and saw that Isobel had arrived.
Gazing at the stretch of space port lying between the Moray Firth and the terminal building, Trent watched Isobel writhe towards the ship. Surprisingly, despite the news, she had succeeded in her aims. Behind her walked the Golem and behind it came a large grav-sled loaded with barrels. A primitive wheeled hydrovane fuel tanker was also trundling its way. Isobel came in through the airlock while the Golem led the grav-sled to the hold door, which was already opening. By the time Trent heard her clattering down the corridor towards him, the fuel tanker had parked and was attaching itself to a fuel port. Then the door into Medical opened and she entered.
“How are you?” she asked.
Trent stared at her, thinking how prosaic that sounded, coming from her as she was now. He also realized how such a visit and apparent show of concern from her wasn’t really normal—it wasn’t really the Isobel he knew. Remembering Stolman’s screams, he glanced down at the mess of his injured hand as it was being steadily reassembled.
“Being repaired,” he said, his clamped and bone-welded jaw aching and still not feeling right. He was also conscious that his tooth implants were too white. “Just another ten or twenty bones to go. You’ve seen that communication?”
“I’ve seen it,” she replied, raising her hood so her rows of eyes were directed towards his face rather than his hand. He noted that she was bigger now, fatter and longer with gaps in her carapace exposing skin that was a lovely shade of cyanosis blue.
“We need to get out of here,” he said.
“Yes,” Isobel agreed, but she didn’t sound sure.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Another ship arrived,” she explained. “It was aiming to land at the space port but then diverted to Carapace City. It’s Blite’s The Rose.”
“And?”
“Penny Royal was aboard The Rose—I told you how our U-drive was fixed.”
“How does that change anything?” he asked. “Surely your main target is Spear?”
“It is,” Isobel agreed, dipping her hood in acknowledgement, “but I have my contacts and have just received a further notification. Spear’s ship just arrived in the Masadan system. He’s still looking in the wrong places for Penny Royal.”
“We can’t go there.” It was stating the obvious, really. Neither of them wanted to put themselves within reach of Polity justice.
“No.” There seemed some doubt there, and some confusion, though she was rather difficult to read.
“What’s bothering you, Isobel?” Trent asked, surprised he felt able to ask her such a question and amazed that they were having a conversation at all. Isobel generally gave orders and expected them to be obeyed.
She didn’t often show doubt, very infrequently discussed such matters and never sought advice.
“Why is Penny Royal here?” she asked.
Trent shrugged, then wished he hadn’t as he felt broken bones grating together. “Why did it fix our drive? Why was it accepted back into the Polity and why did it leave? I find it difficult enough working out the other people’s motivations, let alone something even Polity AIs puzzle over.”
“Penny Royal could reverse the changes I’m undergoing,” she said flatly, almost testingly. “It has answers. It can bring matters to a … resolution.”
Trent abruptly felt very worried about her. Sure, Penny Royal could reverse the changes she was undergoing, but was it likely to do so? Even if the Polity had accepted it, that didn’t mean it’d become any less nasty. If it was acceding to the will of Polity AIs, it might well carry out her death sentence … though of course that didn’t tie up with it repairing their drive. However, it wasn’t her statement about changes that worried him, it was her comments on “answers” and “resolutions.” These were very vague, which wasn’t like Isobel at all.
“Your best option,” he said, “is to stay well away from that AI and just go after Spear if he ever comes back out of the Polity. Or, even better, forget both of them and just get back to business.”
“Business,” she said. “Why?”
“Money, power, leverage,” said Trent. “We had a chance to take that dreadnought from Spear and that would have resulted in plenty of the first. Now he’s inside it and in full control, so going after him and killing him isn’t going to benefit us in any way. We would probably have to destroy the ship to kill him, even if we could. Better to go back to business, Isobel, then try to hire in some Polity expertise to deal with your … problem.”
Isobel turned away, the door opening automatically ahead of her.
“I don’t know that it is a problem anymore,” she said as she departed, then clattered her way towards the bridge.