The seibear had a big coiran clamped between its jaws; the poor fish was still thrashing about. Florian winced as the seibear bit the fish clean in half. The two chunks flopped down on the ice, dark carmine blood gushing out.
‘That is one brute of an animal,’ Paula said. ‘Funny how polar continents always evolve the most menacing creatures.’
‘Penguins are menacing?’ Demitri said.
Paula gave him a thoroughly disapproving glance.
‘Always?’ Ry Evine asked.
Florian hadn’t noticed the astronaut approaching.
‘Rule of thumb,’ Paula told him.
‘Have you seen many?’
‘Enough to know never to get close.’
‘That sounds like good advice,’ Florian muttered as he watched the seibear eating, its jaws making short work of the coiran.
‘Let’s hope they haven’t turned the Viscount into a lair,’ Ry said.
‘If the Viscount did crash here, those things would certainly go a long way to explaining why there were no survivors,’ Paula said.
‘About our force-field skeletons . . .’ Florian began nervously.
‘Don’t worry,’ Paula told him. ‘I was exaggerating. Your suits are easily strong enough to stand up to anything an animal can do to you. If a seibear tries to bite you, it’ll break its teeth.’
‘Fangs,’ Ry corrected with a grin.
‘Oh. Nice. Thanks,’ Florian grunted.
The last ge-eagle flew away into the frigid cloudless sky. Florian could already see the rest soaring up into their scan formation. Ultimately they would hold position two kilometres apart, producing a line a hundred kilometres wide. Then they would fly back and forth across Lukarticar, scanning every square metre of the surface.
‘Ah,’ Paula said. ‘They’ll launch the com-drones now.’
A dark-grey flattened teardrop shape three metres long ascended vertically out of the hold, emitting a faint whirring sound as its internal fans spun at full power. Flexible vents in its trailing edge flipped down and it began to accelerate upwards, climbing at a much shallower angle than the ge-eagles. It was followed by a second. As they rose above the ship their wings began to extend, plyplastic flowing out and becoming thinner. Within a minute, the wingspan measured over twenty metres, and it was still expanding.
The drones, like the ge-eagles, had been manufactured in the remaining semiorganic synthesizers below Kysandra’s farmhouse. They would operate at twenty-five kilometres altitude, far above any possible bad polar storms, where they would fly a slow holding pattern above the Gothora, acting as a link relay between ge-eagles and ship.
‘Are we going down Macbride Sound now?’ Ry asked.
‘No,’ Paula said. ‘If the Sziu found us in there, they’d have us cornered. It’s always harder to find a moving target, so we’ll sail along the coast at random. And if the Sziu does come close, the drones will spot it long before it sees us. We’ll be able to stay out of sight and range.’
‘Makes sense,’ Florian admitted. Part of him wanted to confront the Fallers. He knew Paula and Kysandra would be able to take out the Sziu, yet at the same time he was anxious to find the Viscount – to actually see a real Commonwealth starship.
And when they did travel over Lukarticar to see if any of the equipment still worked, Jymoar would be staying here on the ship. Not that that’s important.
*
Tumours were the easy part. A mass of filaments thinner than human hair slid into Adolphus’s body, surrounding the lethal cancer cells like a conquering army, breaking them up and syphoning away the constituent molecules, repairing the tissue damage left in their wake.
The prime minister’s brain was an altogether more complex problem. That required a very different set of filaments, even more intrusive. These sought out critical path synapses, carefully infiltrating the electrochemical exchanges in order to manipulate the unconscious personality.
Memory downloads were an old Commonwealth medical technology, developed in tandem with rejuvenation and re-life procedures over a millennium ago. Extracting Adolphus’s memories was no problem for the medical capsule. It took two hours to successfully download his mind into a secure store.
Once the external duplication was complete, the filaments set about erasing those same memories and thought routines from his brain. Also a well-understood procedure – though usually there was a lot more time available. The medical module’s smartnet told Joey this rushed procedure was likely to leave a considerable amount of Adolphus’s subconscious remaining.
The final stage was inserting Joey’s memories and personality into the waiting brain. This process was a modified version of psychoneural profiling – which had long been illegal in the Commonwealth. But Joey wasn’t entirely surprised to find Nigel had loaded the ability into the medical module’s smartnet.
With the download underway, the medical module made its final alterations. A genome reading showed Adolphus had Advancers somewhere in his heritage, but the sequences passed down through the generations had weakened and corrupted, leaving only a few specialist cellular clusters with about as much functionality as an appendix.
Time was now becoming critical, so Joey settled for several old-style OCtattoos for communication and sensory augmentation – they were quick and simple to add to the prime minister’s body. While they were being written onto his new/old skin, the life-support pod’s synthesizers extruded some small weapon modules – slim cylinders which were neatly inserted into the fleshy hands and forearms.
Then the filaments withdrew, knitting together the minute holes they had created as they snaked out, and Joey began to regain consciousness in Adolphus’s body.
It was wrong on so many levels. There was a headache for a start. His thoughts were slow, memory triggers sluggish. Without macrocellular clusters running secondary routines, he lacked so much mental agility; even simple maths was almost impossible. Coordination was a bitch, too.
Then there was his body. It was old – the first shock. Overweight; he actually grimaced as he felt folds of fat sagging against his skeleton. Joints ached without even moving. Every time he breathed he wheezed, as if he never got enough oxygen into his lungs. And his heart . . . The way it was hammering away in his chest made him worry he was about to have a major coronary event. Hopefully that was just an adrenalin panic to his own semi-dazed awareness of his new identity/location.
Exovision icons burned across his vision, slowly stabilizing. He opened a link.
‘You all right?’ Joey-in-the-pod-smartnet asked.
‘I will be,’ Joey-in-Adolphus’s-brain replied.
‘Weird, huh?’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Can you move?’
‘Let’s find out. Open the pod doors, pal.’
‘Ha, well at least plenty of our memory transferred okay.’
Joey (in-Adolphus’s-brain) opened his eyes to see a soothing pale blue light. Then the plyplastic door dilated and the altogether sharper light from the crypt’s overhead bulbs assaulted him. He slowly climbed out, knees creaking as he stood up. Goosebumps rising everywhere. Blinking the world into focus.
Stonal was standing there beside Laura’s ancient exopod, watching him suspiciously. Adolphus had been inside the medical capsule for five hours, and Stonal had walked out of the crypt as soon as the prime minister had climbed in, only returning after ninety minutes – but Adolphus wouldn’t have known that.
‘Where do you think he went?’ he asked Joey-in-the-pod-smartnet through their link.
‘I don’t know. Faustina said he was badly agitated when he quizzed her; he doesn’t trust her any more. Just be careful. There’s nothing more dangerous than a paranoid spook.’
‘He can’t touch me; I’m the prime minister.’
‘And let’s not add that to history’s list of famous last words, shall we?’
‘Sir?’ Stonal enquired. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Joey croaked. He cleared his th
roat. ‘Ask it if I’m cured.’
Stonal raised the microphone. ‘Was it a success?’
‘One hundred per cent. The tumours were excised. He’s clear.’
‘Oh, thank crudding Giu,’ Joey exclaimed with appropriate gratitude and relief. Being trapped in a timeloop was weird, but listening to his own voice coming from a duplicate personality while in a stolen body possibly qualified as weirder. It might even impress Ozzie.
He picked up his shirt. His new fingers were chubby and not very flexible. It took time to do the buttons. How did people ever live growing old?
‘What now?’ Stonal asked.
That’s got to be a test – the first of many, no doubt. ‘Make contact with the Warrior Angel. You were right; change is inevitable now. But we must be careful how it is introduced. We have to retain control over the process.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll call General Delores and order a Liberty flight launch into polar orbit.’
‘That might take a while.’
‘They always say that. This is an emergency, and the Astronaut Regiment must be made fully aware of that. I will fly out there myself to supervise; that should convince them.’
‘You are going to Cape Ingmar?’
‘It’s one of the most secure places on the planet, so my personal security won’t be an issue. And it’s also where they communicate with the Liberty capsules, is it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘So that is how I can talk directly to the Warrior Angel. I wish to ensure this Paula woman has access to—’ He waved his hand at the wormhole. ‘Once we have a deal for evacuating essential government personnel and a Marine task force to Aqueous, we can proceed with combating the so-called apocalypse. I don’t like it, but I can see the time coming when we have to combine forces with the Warrior Angel. After all, your father did the same thing with her to destroy the Prime that landed on Fanrith, didn’t he?’
Stonal nodded. Joey almost smiled at how the spy chief’s jaw muscles were working hard to keep his expression neutral.
‘That’s settled then. I’m going back to the bunker now. I need to talk to the Marine commander. I want an armed ship to sail for Lukarticar tonight. I’m going to authorize them to carry nuclear weapons. If that Liberty does its job properly, it can guide them to intercept the Sziu. That should convince the Warrior Angel we’re serious about an alliance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Joey bent down to tie up his shoelaces, keeping a keen eye on Stonal. If the spy chief had any suspicions, he wouldn’t waste time. He wasn’t the type.
‘Right, then.’ He stood and took the microphone from a frowning Stonal. ‘Thank you, Joey.’
‘You’re welcome,’ came the reply.
‘I’m going to have the science director bring in regular progress reports on the sensors you gave us; it’s essential we have them as soon as possible. If you can offer any insights into speeding up the production process, I’d appreciate it.’
‘Of course. And our arrangement?’
Joey gave Stonal a conspiratorial grin, praying his facial muscles were working correctly. ‘If you’re helping us, we will all survive together, won’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And if the worst comes to the worst . . . Well, you’re right next to the wormhole.’
*
Florian was woken by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. It was dark in the little cabin, and quiet. His u-shadow told him it was half past four in the morning. The Gothora’s engines were off, but the cabin heater was thrumming like a trapped bussalore. He squinted up as visual enhancement routines showed him Kysandra standing over the cot. The smile on her freckled face made her look heartachingly lovely.
‘They found it,’ she said.
‘Huh?’
‘The Viscount. Access the drone link.’
Florian sat up fast. His u-shadow established a link with the drones circling so far overhead. The ge-eagles were also circling, seven hundred kilometres away. It had been five days since they launched, and they’d covered nearly a third of Lukarticar in that time. Then around midnight, their field scan sensors had picked up a big density anomaly, and ten of them had closed in to confirm the find, spiralling down to a hundred metres altitude to produce a more detailed examination.
Their visualization was a three-dimensional image mainly of translucent emerald, which was the ice cap, showing a depth of just over three kilometres resting above the bedrock. A dark purple shape over a kilometre long – nearly cylindrical – was buried under the surface at a forty-degree angle, with its highest point thirty metres beneath the fresh snow crust. Several other purple shapes were scattered around it, at varying depths.
His navigation routine pulled up a map of Lukarticar and overlaid the ge-eagles’ location. It was nearly seven hundred kilometres west of the Gothora’s current position entering the Straits of Tyree, and two hundred kilometres inland.
‘Great Giu,’ he breathed. ‘It’s real. Paula was right!’
Kysandra’s lips twitched. ‘Commonwealth people do make a habit of that.’
‘And it’s intact!’
‘Well, almost. There was some break-up, but that happened to Vermillion, too. It certainly didn’t smash apart when it came down, which is supremely good news. There should be a lot of equipment we can salvage.’
He started to wiggle his way out of the thick sleeping bag, careful not to tip off the edge of the cot; he’d done that a couple of times the first night, it was so narrow. ‘Great Giu, will there be weapon drones? Maybe we won’t even need Paula’s plan to visit Valatare. And there will be full Neumann-level synthesizers; we can extrude a whole drone army. And fliers! They had atmospheric flyers, I know. I checked the general inventory; Nigel had copies. And—’
She stopped him with a kiss. Florian gave her a surprised look; she was smiling happily. ‘That’s the Florian I remember,’ she said huskily.
He knew his expression was twisting to guilt, and maybe some resentment, too. Laughing softly, she kissed him again.
‘But—’
Her forefinger lifted his chin. ‘We need to celebrate,’ she said solemnly. ‘And no matter which way this expedition plays out, it may be our last time.’
‘Oh. Er, don’t we need to get ready to go?’
‘The blimp takes a while to inflate. We have time.’
The ANAdroids had brought the anchor mast up first – a fat plyplastic rod barely two metres long that they fastened to the deck just behind the superstructure using molecular epoxy. The envelope case was next – a big heavy trunk that took three of them to lift. It opened easily, and a mini-avalanche of tissue-thin fabric slithered out. Valeri connected the nosecone’s tether cable to the top of the mast, and they were ready to begin.
Helium was stored in heavily compressed tanks designed to look like oil barrels. They started to inflate the fifteen separate gas-cells inside the envelope. As the mass of super-strength polymer rose into the air, the plyplastic gondola unfolded underneath it. The ANAdroids attached ducted fans to both sides.
By the time Florian and Kysandra arrived on the deck, thin ring light showed them that the blimp was two thirds inflated, suspended like a flaccid silver-grey moon above the Gothora. The anchor mast had telescoped upwards to keep level with the blimp’s nose as the envelope continued to expand. Most of the crew was gathered together around the mast, gazing upwards in admiration.
‘It’s huge,’ Florian declared. The blimp was already longer than the Gothora, its cruciform tail hanging a long way out beyond the stern.
‘Needs to be,’ Fergus said. ‘The temperature around here kills the lift, and it’s got to carry eight of us along with our supplies.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Ry said.
‘Me, neither,’ Paula said. ‘Not outside history files, anyway. But it was easy for the synthesizers to manufacture. And all it has to do is get us there.’
‘No problem,’ Fergus said. ‘Vis
count is only seven hundred kilometres away, and the weather is reasonable. It shouldn’t take more than twelve hours.’
Florian tried to see the coast, which his u-shadow navigation routine was telling him lay twelve kilometres to port, but it was too dark even for his enriched retinas to make out. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to spend twelve hours flying over that hostile wasteland in what was essentially a balloon with engines, even if it had been manufactured by Commonwealth synthesizers. The envelope skin looked so thin, like a soap bubble, and just as delicate. He knew that the gas cells inside were even thinner. A single peck from a yigull would probably send them all plummeting to icy oblivion.
It took another twenty minutes to complete the inflation. When the gas cells were full, the blimp strained at the anchor post, its tail tilting up at fifteen degrees even with full ballast tanks. The ANAdroids passed up their equipment cases, stowing them in the gondola. Then it was time to embark.
Florian slipped his small backpack straps over his shoulders, and climbed up the short rope ladder. Two crew were holding it steady for him. With everyone watching, he couldn’t show any weakness – though he’d spent the last week worrying if he’d actually have the courage to do this when the moment arrived. It was one thing to plan to hunt for the Viscount, but actually finding it was making everything acutely real. The Faller Apocalypse was imminent, Paula was going to try and reach another planet, which was actually a prison, where there might be aliens who could save them, and he was at the heart of it all. So when it was his turn, he didn’t hesitate.
The gondola was a narrow space – four very basic seats on either side with bulky equipment packs stowed underneath, and a tiny toilet bucket at the back (not even a curtain). Florian crammed his backpack onto the overhead luggage rack; he’d been allocated the rear portside seat, which he squeezed into, grumpy to find how little legroom the design gave him. The fuselage walls had long rectangular windows, and the curving prow was completely transparent. There were no manual flight controls of course. Demitri had nominal pilot duties, so he was linked to all the control surfaces and engines.
Night Without Stars (Chronicle of the Fallers Book 2) Page 56