Night Without Stars (Chronicle of the Fallers Book 2)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Chaing kept his eye to the viewfinder, hoping his stillness wasn’t betraying him. Fat chance; she was PSR trained in interrogation. She knew all the body’s tells. Especially mine. Stupid. Stupid!

  ‘Chaing? Why did you call her Paula?’

  Nothing for it; he would have to confess. He looked directly at her, seeing the mass of suspicion churning in her thoughts. And her hand was slipping into her jacket – but not to her holster. That’s a comfort response. So what is she reaching for? ‘Because she told me.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘The Warrior Angel.’

  ‘You are crudding joking! You spoke to her? When?’

  ‘A couple of days ago, just before we got the red one code.’

  Jenifa sagged as if she’d absorbed a physical blow. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’ she raged.

  ‘I have a Section Seven mission here, corporal. You’re not cleared for it.’

  ‘Screw you!’

  ‘It was only for a minute. Stop panicking.’

  ‘You met her,’ Jenifa grunted as if repetition would make it more acceptable. ‘Talked to her. What did she say? And don’t give me any Section Seven classified crud. This is me.’

  ‘She asked me to arrange it so she could talk to Stonal.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She wants to make some kind of deal.’

  ‘A deal?’

  ‘I know. Wild, huh? But Stonal actually wants to talk to her, too – so maybe not so crazy after all. This is politics at the master-class level.’

  ‘What did Stonal say?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to contact him. His office says he’s travelling.’

  ‘Do you think he’s been . . . ?’

  ‘Taken out? It had occurred to me. What better way to start the apocalypse than eliminating our top officials, especially PSR ones?’

  ‘But the second-in-command would just replace him.’

  ‘Yes, which is why I’ve been holding on. His office says he’ll be back to talk to me this evening Varlan time. Another four hours.’

  ‘But . . .’ She gestured at the Gothora III. ‘They’re leaving now.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s on that crudding ship, isn’t she? I missed her.’

  ‘No, she was talking to me just before your infiltration mission.’

  ‘How soon before?’

  ‘About half an hour, or so.’

  ‘So . . . she was up here?’

  ‘No. I was in a cafe to meet Captain Fajie.’

  Her hand came down on the sniper rifle, knuckles whitening as her fingers closed on the stock. ‘Were you up here covering me or not?’

  ‘You got off without any trouble, didn’t you?’

  ‘You crudding bastard!’

  ‘Contact with the Warrior Angel is our number-one priority.’

  ‘How did she know how to find you? Wait! Does she know we’re watching the Gothora?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He fought the impulse to glance at his hand. The organic circuit tattoo was invisible, but the guilt was strong in his mind. And in truth I don’t know what it does. She could be tracking me through it.

  Jenifa shook her head slowly, regarding him as she might a wild beast. One hand went snaking down the side of her uniform jacket, then stopped. ‘Who are you working for, sir?’

  ‘She can get us out of here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Warrior Angel. She told me. The wormhole Laura Brandt repaired when she killed the Prime, it’s still there under the palace, still working. Paula can use it to evacuate people to Aqueous if the apocalypse starts. I can probably get her to take us.’

  ‘You are crudding kidding me!’

  ‘No. I don’t think the Warrior Angel can hold off the apocalypse. She practically admitted that. That’s why she wants to talk to Stonal, so she can use the wormhole to save some of us.’

  ‘This is bollocks. How did she know where you were? Even I didn’t know you weren’t up here.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered with hot indignation, trusting that would cover his guilt. ‘Because she’s the Warrior Angel and Corilla’s probably been reporting our every movement to her. Like we wanted. Remember?’

  ‘This is crazy—’

  Voices suddenly started shouting out of the radio.

  ‘Code five! Code five!’

  ‘We’re under attack!’

  ‘Explosion! Second floor hit!’

  ‘They’re using a bazooka!’

  ‘Return fire! Return fire!’

  ‘Nail the scum!’

  ‘Call the regiment, get some support here!’

  Chaing stared at the radio in shock. It was tuned to the local PSR frequency. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘They’re attacking the office,’ an aghast Jenifa grunted.

  ‘Who’s attacking?’

  ‘It has to be the Fallers. Is it the start? Is this it?’

  He stared at her, not wanting to even think the possibility.

  The secure telephone started ringing. Chaing had got a PSR technician to install it a day ago, splicing a line into the lighthouse’s main cable and doing whatever it was technicians did at the main exchange to make it secure. He knew he couldn’t trust radio communications with Fajie; both Eliters and Fallers would be monitoring radio frequencies. He turned down the radio and picked up the handset.

  ‘Chaing?’ Fajie asked.

  ‘Here. Do you know who’s attacking the office?’

  ‘No, but they’re moving.’

  ‘Yeah, I know; we’ve been watching them cast off. I don’t like the timing.’

  ‘No,’ Fajie said. ‘Not the Gothora. The nest!’

  More shouting burst from the radio. Another bazooka round had been fired. There were casualties. Structural damage. PSR officers were returning fire, strafing the street outside. Chaing closed his eyes, seeing the outside of Cameron’s, the sudden deadly sweep of machine-gun fire riddling the vans of the tactical team.

  ‘What?’ he barked.

  ‘The nest, they’re moving. They’re out on the dock.’

  ‘Crud!’ He looked through the lighthouse’s high window, and beckoned urgently at Jenifa to give him the binoculars. ‘How many?’

  ‘We’ve confirmed five of them. Heavily armed.’

  He stood next to the curving glass and trained the binoculars down on the long dockside. Sure enough, two men and three women were walking along the crane rails, leaning into the wind, each openly carrying what looked like a heavy-calibre machine gun. Same type as they had at Cameron’s! He moved the binoculars to the Gothora III, seeing white water churn at the stern as the propellers started up. ‘But the ship’s already leaving. They’ve pulled in the gangplank. What’s the point?’ He looked up from the binoculars, working out distances. Reckoning put the nest members a good seven hundred metres from Gothora III. Then he saw the muzzle flash; a second later, the crack of gunshots arrived, muted through the glass.

  ‘Crud.’ Through the binoculars, he could see a dock worker was sprawled on the floor, red blood pooling. The nest ignored him as they walked past.

  ‘What in Uracus . . . ?’

  ‘What is it?’ Jenifa demanded.

  ‘I don’t know. The nest is going active, but Gothora is leaving.’

  ‘There’s more on the move,’ Fajie announced.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Warehouse three.’

  He slid the binoculars round. Sure enough, a flatbed truck was driving along the docks, seven men in the back, all holding weapons. Two of them had a bazooka. It was too much to ignore. He picked up the radio microphone, and switched to the second channel. ‘Chaing calling Major Danny, come in, Danny.’

  ‘Danny here,’ the receiver cracked.

  ‘We have an active nest on the docks. I need you to deploy, landing strategy four. Repeat, strategy four. Take them out.’

  ‘Roger that, Chaing. What about Gothora III?’

  Jenifa was looking at him expectantly as
the first drops of rain began to smear their way down the thick glass wrapped round the top of the lighthouse. ‘Strategy four only,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Confirmed.’

  Jenifa let out a feline hiss of censure.

  He replaced the handset and turned up the radio volume. The speaker spewed out anger and determination as the PSR office fought back against the treacherous attack. When he looked out into the wide estuary mouth, he could just see the Lanara start to move.

  ‘You’re letting her go,’ Jenifa said.

  ‘She’s not on board.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she challenged.

  ‘There’s a whole nest out there, gunning down civilians. We’re PSR officers.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘For crud’s sake—’

  The phone rang again. Chaing snatched it up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Chaing,’ a female voice said. ‘The Fallers have arrived.’

  ‘What? Who is this?’

  ‘Corilla.’

  Jenifa frowned, and stepped closer to listen.

  ‘What the crud are you doing with Fajie?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not. Friends spliced me into your phone line.’

  ‘How the . . . ?’

  ‘Chaing, listen to me. The Fallers are in Port Chana. They just arrived on a train from Portlynn.’

  ‘What?’ How do you know that?’ Instinctively he stared out across the warehouse district. The train station was on the other side of the huge corrugated roofs. So close.

  ‘We’ve been looking for them just as hard as you, Chaing. For Giu’s sake, they’ve got the missing nukes! They’re taking them off the train right now. Putting them on lorries.’

  ‘No,’ he whispered.

  ‘Listen to me, the nukes are here in Port Chana! That attack on your office, it’s a diversion. You have to order the regiment and the Marines to intercept the lorries.’

  ‘This is the real diversion,’ Jenifa said forcefully. ‘The Eliters want us to let the Gothora go. Corilla’s an Eliter, Chaing. She’s lying to you.’

  ‘No,’ he said, trying to consider all the variables rationally. The threat is real. ‘I’ve already given intercepting the nest full priority, and we cannot ignore Corilla’s claim about the nukes. The attack on the PSR office only makes it more likely.’

  ‘Unless it’s the Eliters who are shooting at us.’

  ‘That’s too much paranoia, Jenifa. They have no reason to.’

  ‘To divert us from the Gothora!’

  ‘They know everything!’ he snapped at her. ‘Don’t you understand that? They are not the enemy. They’re not the ones shooting at us. And they are the ones who will stand beside us when the apocalypse starts. But this – this is the Fallers.’ He brought the radio microphone up to his mouth. ‘Danny, I’ve had intel that the Fallers might be bringing the missing red one packages to the party.’

  ‘Crudding Giu,’ Major Danny grunted. ‘Confirm that. Suspect packages in the picture. Do you have a location for me?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘They’re storming a ship,’ Jenifa said, tight-lipped.

  ‘Who?’ Chaing asked.

  ‘The nest. Look.’

  He peered through the thick curving glass. Big cold raindrops were slamming into it, smearing his vision. More muzzle flashes penetrated the sleet. They were coming from one of the ships moored to a wharf. ‘That’s the Sziu?’

  ‘I think so.’

  The Gothora III was surging past the end of the harbour wall. He looked down at its bridge, almost expecting to see Florian and her inside. Instead, all he could make out were a few smudged figures. The ship was travelling fast. Fishing boats were desperately trying to move out of the way, scattering in mimicry of the shoals they themselves had chased scant hours before.

  Lanara was hurrying in the other way. They passed within a hundred metres of each other, causing even more chaos among the fishing fleet stragglers. Their wakes clashed, sending swirling surf-topped waves curling out across the harbour. Angry foghorns sounded in protest.

  ‘Oh great Giu,’ Jenifa whispered.

  It was the fear in her voice that made Chaing turn. He wasn’t used to that, anger yes, but this . . .

  Four canvas-covered lorries were rolling along the side of the docks. The first one stopped beside the Sziu. Chaing looked on in disbelief as a monster lumbered out of the back. It was huge, the size of a horse, with a grey-blue hide made up of rigid plates of armour bone. Four thick legs supported a squat body, while a pair of multijointed arms protruded from shoulders below the raised neck. A crown of short sharp horns bristled from the fat skull. It was carrying what to Chaing looked like a pump-action bazooka. The weapon was huge; a human would have trouble just trying to lift it. This thing swung it around as if it were made of paper.

  ‘Breeder Fallers,’ Chaing breathed in shock.

  More of the vile creatures were emerging from the other lorries. There were even some of the hulking humanoids he’d encountered at Xander Manor.

  ‘Oh crudding Uracus,’ Jenifa moaned. ‘This isn’t happening!’

  ‘Danny!’ Chaing shouted into the microphone as the heavy squalling rain pounded across the harbour. ‘Danny, the nest has breeder Fallers. Repeat: breeders. They’re huge and armed.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Danny’s voice came from the radio, completely emotionless. ‘We can see them.’

  ‘Why don’t they just use the nukes?’ Jenifa murmured shakily.

  ‘Because they haven’t seen the Warrior Angel go on board, either,’ he replied.

  One of the monsters on the dockside swung round and brought his weapon up, lining it up across the harbour. ‘Noooo!’ Chaing growled as he realized what it was being aimed at. There was a gigantic muzzle flash. The projectile hit the Lanara amidships, sending a seething orange flame-cloud roiling out.

  ‘Fucking Uracus!’

  The monster pumped the weapon’s mechanism. Fired again.

  Chaing slapped the sniper rifle’s safety off. Settled the stock against his shoulder and peered through the telescopic sight as he swung it round. Don’t hurry. Be smooth. The monster flew across his narrow field of view. He tracked back. That is thick hide. The bullet might get through, but it won’t do much damage. He steadied his breathing. Has to be a headshot. Crosshairs found the monster. He adjusted slowly, taking his time. Watching it prepare for another shot on the Lanara, anticipating the moment when it would be still.

  His finger squeezed the trigger just as the monster fired.

  He saw one of the spiky horns shatter. Then the monster was jumping about.

  ‘Well, that annoyed him,’ Jenifa grunted as she watched through the binoculars.

  Chaing did his best to ignore the vicious sarcasm in her voice, concentrating on the furious juddering monster. He worked the bolt, flipping the spent cartridge onto the floor, and sent the next sliding into the chamber. When he settled himself again, the monster had stopped shaking itself and was scanning round slowly. Chaing took two measured breaths, then inhaled and held himself still, watching the Faller.

  This shot hit just below the creature’s left eye, and blew out a large chunk from the back of its skull. The body collapsed instantly.

  ‘Nice!’ Jenifa exclaimed, the tip of her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips.

  Chaing looked up from the scope, seeing the big Fallers scatter for cover across the docks. Two of the monsters hunched down behind lorry bonnets, their pump-action weapon barrels sticking up vertically like dull exhaust pipes, betraying their positions. Out on the Lanara’s deck, Marines were deploying, crouching behind the superstructure, opening fire with heavy-calibre weapons. A couple of them were readying grenade launchers.

  Movement by the lorries. Chaing peered through the scope, seeing one of the beefed-up humanoid-Fallers scuttling between vehicles. He took aim. Fired.

  Blue blood erupted from the Faller’s chest and it spun round before crumpling to the ground.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Jenifa cr
ied. ‘Good shot!’

  Chaing worked the bolt again, and checked the scope – just in time to catch one of the monsters rise up and level its bazooka at the lighthouse. The gaping hole at the end of the barrel seemed to expand in a single distorted lurch, filling the scope with lethal blackness.

  ‘Move!’

  They both lunged for the narrow doorway as the tip of the lighthouse’s spire exploded. Blast pressure cracked most of the thick curving glass into a crazed mosaic, searing in through the open window to hurl the rifle and camera against the huge lens. Jenifa went tumbling into Chaing, the pair of them falling painfully down several stone steps together before thudding into the wall.

  ‘Keep going!’ Chaing shouted. Wincing against the pain that flooded in from too many places, he half-fell down several more steps, Jenifa pressing awkwardly into his side, as if she was trying to push past.

  The next bazooka shot hit the top of the lighthouse full on. A barrage of stone and dust and smoke slammed down the spiral stairwell, sending them crashing forwards.

  *

  The submarine surfaced just a few metres off the Gothora III’s portside. A rope ladder was lowered for Florian, Ry Evine, and the ANAdroids to clamber up. Kysandra and Paula used their force fields, expanding them out like sparkling bubbles to give them neutral buoyancy in the air, so they could float up onto the deck.

  Florian heaved himself over the gunwale just as the crew were applauding Kysandra’s elegant landing. He scrambled for a hold on the smooth metal as he straddled the top. His balance began to go – then Paula came over and helped him right himself before he lost all dignity.

  ‘Thanks,’ he grumbled.

  Ry – naturally – came over the gunwale in a nimble gymnastic movement. Marek was equally at ease, and he was carrying a huge backpack.

  Florian stood beside Paula as he looked round. The decking was still wet from the morning’s final squall. Away on the northern horizon, the last dark storm clouds were tumbling away.

  Demitri was shaking hands with Captain Jymoar – a lean-looking thirty-five-year-old with his olive skin darkened by years of sun and sea weather. A handsome man, Florian admitted to himself, with curly black hair cropped short and a knowing smile that was all perfect white teeth, like a badge of confidence. Maybe too much confidence. Jymoar stepped forward and kissed Kysandra – a lot more than a welcome touch on both cheeks. Florian stared in surprise, then angry embarrassment, as she twined her arms round his head and returned the kiss with abandon. Most of the crew were grinning.