Ishira stared at the gowns, mortified. ‘I just went through hell to avoid wearing those damned things.’
‘Then you’re an idiot,’ Evelyn snapped back. ‘Best chance we have to get out of here is to not be locked in these cells. Your daughter is up there right now. You think you’re doing her any favours by getting yourself killed down here?’
Ishira fumed in silence as Evelyn tried to work out which way round the gowns went on.
‘This isn’t exactly my sort of thing,’ Teera said as she unzipped her flight suit. ‘And we can’t conceal weapons in them.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Evelyn said as she glanced at Ishira. ‘You said your father was here too?’
‘Working on the Arcadia, I think,’ Ishira replied. ‘We got separated when we arrived.’
Evelyn thought for a moment and then she looked at Teera.
‘If the Arcadia was captured recently, it’s unlikely that Salim’s people could have completely hacked her systems and computers.’
‘Doesn’t matter much, does it?’ Teera asked. ‘There’s no way we can get a team down here to check, and a Marine assault is out of the question.’
‘We might not have to,’ Evelyn said as she slipped out of her flight suit and draped the slender robe over her shoulders. ‘We might be able to use the Boarding Protocol.’
‘The what?’ Teera asked.
‘All Colonial capital ships share the same computer codes and contain hidden overrides that are designed to allow remote control from a sister vessel.’
‘You mean Atlantia could take control of Arcadia?’ Ishira asked.
Teera stared at Evelyn and grasped her own head with one hand.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I remember something of that from the training. The codes were designed so that if a ship was successfully boarded by attackers, the rest of the fleet could both contain and control them, turning the attack into a capture.’
Evelyn’s and Teera’s military training had been compressed into six months instead of three years, and much of the detail had been missed in order to bring them to combat-ready status, but pilot chatter and building experience meant that many of those missed details were steadily being filled in. Both Mikhain and Captain Sansin had occasionally spoken of the Boarding Protocol, which had only been used once during a battle between a Colonial scout vessel, Patriot, and a Veng’en cruiser, code-named Rage, during a confrontation a decade previously.
Ambushed during a routine patrol on the Icari Line, the Patriot had been hopelessly out-matched by the much larger and more powerful Rage. Choosing to flee, Patriot’s captain had elected to head not for Etheran space but instead for the nearest Colonial outpost. The faster Patriot could have made it to the outpost ahead of Rage, but her captain was unwilling to risk the lives of the outpost’s personnel should the Veng’en push their attack further. Instead, he undertook an ingenious deception.
Nearing the outpost, he sent an alert signal ahead and then deliberately weakened his own aft shields, allowing the Veng’en cruiser to achieve a hit on the smaller vessel. Feigning crippling damage, the Patriot slowed and the Veng’en cruiser both caught and boarded her. The Veng’en boarders reached the bridge, only to find it abandoned. Calling their own crew aboard their ship for assistance, they were surprised to receive no reply.
The Patriot’s captain and crew had counter-boarded the Veng’en cruiser, now short of armed personnel, and successfully took the bridge. Moments later, the Colonial outpost took control of the Patriot and sealed her, trapping the boarders inside. In the space of an admittedly tense hour, the Patriot’s captain took his crew from certain defeat to complete victory with barely a shot fired, an event that had gone down in Colonial history and earned the captain his promotion to admiral.
‘The problem is,’ Teera pointed out, ‘we don’t know if anybody is aware on Atlantia that there’s a Colonial frigate down here.’
‘They will,’ Evelyn replied. ‘That’s our job. As long as Salim or his people are talking to Atlantia, we need to be there to try and send a signal to let them know what’s down here. As soon as they figure it out they might be able to take control of Arcadia and shut her defence systems down, then launch an assault to liberate us.’ Evelyn looked at Ishira. ‘All of us.’
Ishira looked at Evelyn for a long moment and then she stooped and picked up one of the robes.
‘This had better be worth it,’ she uttered.
Evelyn looked down at herself and tried to ignore the cold flushes washing through her body, provoked by more than just the cold. It could not be long before the withdrawal fevers that she had heard about began, horrific pangs of agony that wracked the sufferer’s body for days or even weeks on end.
The robes were of a creamy-white satin fabric, two lengths over her shoulders that reached down to a clasp at her waist, and two more lengths that extended almost to the ground. Her mid-riff was bare, far more skin showing that was covered, and the tiny shoes that came with the robes were thin-soled and not good for running or fighting of any kind.
‘We’re not going to be able to thump our way out of here,’ she warned Teera and Ishira. ‘We’ll need our wits for this, understood?’
Her two companions nodded, and they waited together for the Ogrin to return.
***
XXIII
Qayin strode through the ship toward the holding cells, a hundred thoughts skimming around through his mind like flashes of awareness in an immense darkness.
The farmer in the sick-bay was still unconscious and unable to communicate with Doctor Sansin, a state of affairs that Qayin would very much like to become permanent. But security was high around the patient’s bed, with little chance of Qayin making his way inside without being observed. Likewise, there were now three Devlamine dealers in custody, and only the threat of violence against their families forcing them to maintain their silence. Qayin knew that his threat could only hold for so long before the men folded. He needed a way out and off Atlantia, the sooner the better.
On Chiron IV an entire armada of pirate vessels were commanded by a man whose exploits out beyond the Icari Line were almost legendary. Qayin did not like what he had heard about the man, but then he did not like what he had heard about most pirates, or even drug dealers for that matter. There were no such things as friends in Qayin’s business, only accquaintances who gained or lost favour through their ability to supply or pay for goods. Nothing much else mattered, really, and that was the kind of lifestyle that Qayin yearned for once again.
The complexities of proper relationships frustrated him at the best of times. The constant sacrifices, both large and small, to maintain the trust of people who thought of themselves as friends was a drain on Qayin’s patience that he could ill afford. Stuck aboard Atlantia Five as a high-security convict for two years and another two aboard Atlantia herself as a Marine had driven him almost insane. Now, liberation was at hand, a chance to break free from the stifling coils of Colonial life that no longer existed anywhere else in the cosmos anyway. Every order, ever command and every duty strained the limits of his endurance, but not for much longer.
Qayin entered the cells, the two Marines guarding them stepping aside as they recognised him. Both were former convicts and servants of Bravo Company but, to themselves, servants of Qayin. Loyal men, who knew how to fight and who had expressed a desire to leave the Atlantia as the first reasonable opportunity. Qayin nodded discreetly at them as he strode into the cells and down to where a lone man was sitting on a bench staring at the deck.
Qayin knew a little about Taron Forge, not least of all that he was the estranged son of the celebrated Admiral Tyraeus Forge, a man as famous as Salim Phaeon for entirely opposing reasons. A valiant commander with many courageous battle actions to his name, lost now to the Legion.
Taron looked up at Qayin without interest at first, but then he spotted Qayin’s bioluminescent tattoos and a sparkle of curiosity twinkled in his expression.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Qayin replied.
Taron stood and looked the Marine up and down. ‘Last person I’d have thought would stoop to becoming a Colonial foot soldier. What happened?’
‘Cicrumstances,’ Qayin replied. ‘Better to be free up there than locked away down here.’
‘That depends on what you call “free”,’ Taron pointed out. ‘You here to escort me to more comfortable surroundings?’
‘No,’ Qayin said. ‘I’m here to make you an offer.’ Taron’s eyebrow lifted and he glanced over Qayin’s shoulder. The big Marine turned and saw a petite but somehow dangerous looking woman with exotic features watching him in silence from the opposite cell. ‘Both of you,’ Qayin added.
‘What kind of offer would that be?’ Taron asked. ‘Working for the Man?’
Qayin shook his head, his gold and blue locks shimmering and his glowing tattoos sparkling as though with mischief.
‘Working for yourself,’ he replied, ‘through me.’
Taron eyed the Marine thoughtfully. ‘Just the kind of thing Sansin would pull as some sort of loyalty test, I presume. See if I can be trusted?’
Qayin stepped closer to the bars.
‘See the guards by the block entrance?’ Taron glanced to his left, and when Qayin was sure he was looking at the Marines he spoke again. ‘They’re my men, not Sansin’s or anybody elses. Half of Bravo Company is waiting for my word to pull the hell off this damned ship and get back to business.’
Taron watched the two Marines for a long beat and then looked back at Qayin.
‘What’s your trade?’
‘Devlamine, but I’ll shift whatever turns a profit.’
‘User?’
‘Seller,’ Qayin grinned, ‘supply and demand is all I’m interested in.’
‘Where’s your market?’
‘Chiron IV. Salim already knows the drugs are aboard Atlantia, and the captain is searching for them as we speak. He won’t find them yet because they’re well enough hidden, but the wider the search goes the sooner they’ll be found. Captain plans to exchange the entire stash for Salim’s hostages. I disagree. Best place for them is with the customer, don’t you think?’
‘Where is your supply?’ Taron demanded.
‘Safe, below decks,’ Qayin assured him.
Taron glanced at Yo’Ki before he spoke. ‘What’s your price?’
‘Salim’s reckoned to have a lot of ships down there, a lot of merchandise he’s picked up since the apocalypse. We trade for transport and supplies, and make sure we hold back the crystals that are the Devlamine source. Keep Salim dependent on us for supply.’
‘The small matter of getting the Devlamine down there?’
‘Leave that to me,’ Qayin replied. ‘I can get you both out of here with the Devlamine, and back to Chiron.’
‘And I take it that your Marines will be coming along?’
‘If not now, then imminently. Captain will be forced at some point to launch an assault, and we’ll be there. A small matter to switch sides once we’re on the ground.’
Taron frowned.
‘And if any assault by Atlantia is successful? You’ll be trapped down there with Salim and blasted to hell.’
‘No gain without risk,’ Qayin countered. ‘Sansin won’t bombard the compound if there’s even the hint that he’ll hit his own people. Better than that, there are ships down there for the taking. If we can’t get off with Salim’s crowd, we’ll just take what we need ourselves.’
‘My ship’s not for the taking,’ Taron growled.
‘Yours is free,’ Qayin grinned. ‘We’re on the same side, remember?’
‘We’re all on our own side.’
Qayin smiled broadly. Taron was nobody’s fool, and he was clearly thinking much along the same lines of Qayin: look after Number One, and then worry about everybody else if you felt so inclined.
‘You know Salim personally,’ Qayin said. ‘I don’t. You’re the link we need to make this work, somebody Salim trusts and will listen to. I don’t doubt that he’ll be interested in a direct line to the drugs and having a few dozen trained Marines to add to his arsenal.’
‘You want to join his little clan?’ Taron asked.
‘Only for as long as it takes to cut Atlantia loose,’ Qayin replied. ‘The rest we’ll figure out from there on in.’
‘We’ll be leaving as soon as the dust settles,’ Taron said as he glanced again at Yo’Ki.
‘Then we’re clear,’ Qayin said finally. ‘We focus on getting free of this damned ship, and then after that we all decide where we want to go. I’m guessing anywhere but here is just about fine for the both of you?
Taron watched his co-pilot and Qayin saw her nod fractionally.
‘Done,’ Taron replied. ‘You get us out of here, we’ll get you and your men to the surface and help the trade with Salim. Then we’re even.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Qayin said.
The Marine turned and marched off the block, a satisfied grin on his face.
*
Corporal Djimon leaned over the computer console in the control room outside the cells and watched as Sergeant Qayin strode away, an expression of delight etched into his features and his glowing tattoos fluorescing brightly enough to be visible on the monitor.
The guard seated behind the monitor looked up at the corporal.
‘You want me to call it in?’ he asked. ‘Sergeant Qayin has every right to be here if his men are guarding the prisoner and I saw no evidence of suspect behaviour.’
Djimon shook his head. Both Qayin and Taron had spoken softly enough to not be heard by the camera’s microphones.
Alpha and Bravo company shared shifts on guard duties, each taking responsibility for the onerous task on an alternating basis. Both of the guards present were Bravo Company and likely loyal to Qayin, as were so many it seemed, and if questioned by would say nothing untoward had occurred. Likewise, General Bra’hiv would not see any cause for concern. He did not share Djimon’s dislike of Qayin, although he did still harbour a healthy mistrust of the former convict.
Djimon stood up and took a deep breath as he considered his options.
‘No, leave this with me.’
***
XXIV
Meyanna Sansin stood before the magnetic confinement chamber in her laboratory and peered in at the Hunter hovering within, entrapped by intense magnetic fields. She shivered as she moved from side to side and saw the small machine’s photoreceptors follow her. It both recognised her presence and appeared self-aware, reacting to her.
Alive.
And yet its circuitry was confined to too small a space for it to be truly intelligent, its reactions to her the programmed responses of an otherwise soulless machine.
Meyanna had spent many hours observing the Hunter. Captured by Evelyn from the merchant vessel Sylph many months before, it had been just one of countless millions aboard the ship. In her analysis, Meyanna had surmised that this Hunter had been constructed from the same metals and materials Sylph had been built from. Once aboard a foreign vessel, the tiny Infectors’ secondary role after infecting humans was to replicate both themselves and then larger machines like Hunters, drawing on whatever materials and resources surrounded them.
What interested Meyanna the most was not what the machines were built of, however. She was fascinated by what they all shared, the internal circuitry and architecture that they must all possess in order to work as one, as a cohesive force. The fact that it was she doing the research and not somebody from the engineering department was because although the Legion was chiefly constructed from metals and plastics and computer circuits, their internal organs were far more the work of biology and chemistry.
Kordaz, the Veng’en who had joined the crew after the encounter with the Sylph, had revealed that Veng’en research had discovered that the Legion used chemicals with which to communicate and operate as large formations in perf
ect harmony. The method, clearly inspired by swarms of insects, allowed the Legion to move in their millions almost like a single, gigantic organism and overwhelm any foe in their path.
Meyanna’s task was to unravel the complexities of their bio-mechanical circuity and the language of their chemical communications, and then come up with a suitable defence or weapon to be used against them. If somehow they could learn to disrupt the Legion’s ability to coordinate itself, or perhaps even completely prevent them from cooperating with each other, then the Word’s most powerful weapon would be neutralised and the chances of their success in retaking Ethera massively improved.
‘Sounds easy if you say it fast enough,’ she murmured to herself as she looked at the Hunter before her.
Some other means of technical wizardy had clearly also been employed by the Word to enhance the performance of these murderous little machines. It could be anything from neuronal networking to some super-advanced programming to quantum computing: all that Meyanna could be sure of was that it would have its origins in human endeavour, for the Word’s knowledge was all based on humanity’s own immense store of information. Although the Word could learn independently, Meyanna was not required to undergo the same laborious task: here, she could reverse-engineer the Hunter and…
The machine’s gaze switched position as Meyanna was examining it and turned to look over her shoulder. Meyanna whirled and saw a man’s arms smashing down toward her.
She screamed and hurled herself to one side as a metal specimen jar smashed against the magnetic confinement chamber and shattered it. The twisted face of the drug-addict glared at her, his eyes jaundiced and poisoned with delirium and rage as he staggered toward her, incoherent words and drool spilling from his lips as he screamed and ranted.
Meyanna whirled and hit an alarm switch on the wall that sent a blaring claxon screeching through the sick bay. Instantly, half a dozen nurses and orderlies dashed toward the laboratory, but the sick man was standing between Meyanna and her escape, one trembling arm pointing at her, ripped IV lines dangling from veins and trailing blood in slick red smears across the floor.
Atlantia Series 3: Aggressor Page 17