by Gary Gibson
‘Which would leave the Peacekeeper Authority without any purpose. Or authority.’
Lamoureaux’s expression was carefully non-committal.
‘Yugo,’ Corso asked, ‘your thoughts?’
‘If I can speak candidly?’
Corso nodded.
‘I think Ted’s right. If we don’t make major concessions now, the Legislate might claim we’re being unreasonable and merely blocking them. That might be just enough of an excuse for them to try and make a grab for the Tierra cache. The Allocation Treaty means a certain proportion of finished drives go to them, so if they then decided to carry out a military action against us, they’d have the means and resources to do it.’
‘Not to mention,’ Lamoureaux added, ‘a lot of ships are being retro-fitted to make it harder for them to be remotely grabbed by machine-heads. That means we might not be able to stop them, even with the help of the Magi ships. Unless we threaten to blow up their suns.’
‘Not even remotely funny,’ Corso muttered. Clearly he was going to have to intervene directly over the business of Eugenia’s drive. ‘Whatever else it is you came here to tell me, I really hope it’s good news.’
‘We received a transmission from Dakota Merrick.’
Corso tried not to look too startled. ‘It’s been, what, more than a year? I was beginning to . . .’ To wonder if she was even still alive, he almost said.
‘She’s rendezvoused with the Maker,’ Lamoureaux continued. ‘We received a targeted burst from her several hours ago. According to what she sent us, the Maker is really a swarm of space-going machines, quite vast in number. The evidence points to a single, unified intelligence, even though its individual components are apparently spread out across a number of light-years.’
Lamoureaux reached out to the imager once more, and the Tierra cache was replaced by something that looked more like a metal sculpture created by a psychotic than it suggested a space-going vessel.
There’s something evil-looking about it, Corso thought, even though he knew it was pointless to attribute human qualities to something so very clearly alien.
‘The swarm possessed data relating to something called the “Mos Hadroch”, which it apparently regards as a serious threat,’ Lamoureaux explained. ‘According to the Magi’s own records, it’s some kind of weapon of phenomenal power, but – until now – there was never any evidence that it even existed.’
Corso stared at the image of the swarm-component. ‘And this means it does?’
‘Dakota came up against a blank wall, and asked us to see if we could find any correlation with anything known to us. Imagine our surprise when we did. Now, look at this.’
The swarm-component was replaced by an image of a lumpy-looking asteroid. ‘This is an Atn clade-world,’ Lamoureaux explained. ‘You can find them out on the edge of many systems in the Consortium.’
‘I know something about them,’ observed Corso. ‘I studied some of their machine-languages. They travel everywhere at sublight speeds.’
‘And they usually stick to the very remotest part of a system. If Dakota’s findings are anything to go by, the depths of interstellar space are even more densely infested with them than we thought.’
An image of an Atn now appeared next to the hollowed-out asteroid. A large, rectangular metal body, covered in a curious alien calligraphy, sat on top of four stumpy legs. At the end of each leg, thick, splayed metal claws gripped the ground, while a mass of mechanical manipulators extended from a slot just below the brick-shaped head.
‘Since they can visit parts of the galaxy we ourselves couldn’t until recently, there was always the chance we might learn something from them,’ Lamoureaux continued. ‘Which is why we’ve been studying them carefully ever since we came into contact with them.’
Corso nodded. ‘And?’
‘Imagine our surprise when we stumbled across references to a “Mos Hadroch” in some research papers written just a couple of decades ago by a specialist who’s still around. The term crops up in relation to one specific Atn clade called “Eclipse-over-Moon”.’
‘So what do we know about them?’
‘Practically nothing, and the term shows up only once, and in an oblique reference at that. But the man who actually wrote the papers knows more about this particular clade-family than anyone else alive.’
Corso nodded. ‘Then we need to track him down.’
There was a look on Lamoureaux’s face as if he was trying to make up his mind whether or not to tell Corso something. ‘Already on it, and . . . I’d like your permission to get him to Ocean’s Deep as soon as possible.’
‘Granted. Who is he?’
‘His name is Ty Whitecloud, Senator.’
Corso sat stock-still for a moment, then stood up carefully. ‘No,’ he said, very simply, and turned towards the door.
‘Senator, there isn’t anyone else who knows as much about the Atn as he does.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time, Ted. I said no. There are other people who could—’
‘With the greatest respect, Senator, but there aren’t,’ said Stankovic. ‘It’s a pretty rarefied field.’
‘I know a little about Atn machine-languages, Yugo. I’ve even read one or two of Whitecloud’s papers. But there are others we could try.’ He thought for a moment. Anton Laroque and Sophie Sprau, for a start. They’re leaders in the field.’
Lamoureaux shook his head. ‘We checked them out already. Laroque was in Night’s End when it was destroyed, and Sprau’s extremely elderly and on life-support back on Earth. She isn’t expected to survive more than another couple of weeks. That leaves only Whitecloud.’
‘He’s a war criminal,’ Corso barked.
‘Sir?’ asked Stankovic, looking puzzled.
Stankovic was from Derinkuyu, Corso remembered then, a long way from Redstone. ‘Whitecloud is a Uchidan,’ Corso explained. ‘Or at least he worked for them. One of the bright lights of their scientific community at one time. Do you remember the Port Gabriel incident?’
Stankovic’s eyes slid to one side as he strove to recall buried memories of media reports from years before. ‘In the general details only.’
‘The Uchidans found a way to control the minds of machine-heads sent to Redstone as part of a Consortium peacekeeping force. Uchidan skull implants aren’t, after all, that fundamentally different from those of machine-heads. They identified a flaw in the machine-head architecture and exploited it. The result was a massacre that killed a huge number of non-combatants.’
‘And Whitecloud was implicated?’
‘He was,’ said Lamoureaux, cutting in, ‘but he was a minor figure in the research project, not at all involved in the actual implementation. It’s important to make that distinction.’
‘That doesn’t make him any less respon—’ Corso snapped his fingers. ‘I remember now. Whitecloud escaped from custody, years ago. And now you know where he is?’
Lamoureaux nodded. ‘Legislate agents tracked him down in Ascension a couple of weeks back and he’s being held in a barracks prison there. Turns out he’d been hiding under an assumed identity for years. It’s possible we could spring him, but we’d have to move fast.’
Corso regarded him with a pained expression. ‘Ted . . . if it came out that we were employing war criminals, we’d be kissing any chance of concord with the Legislate goodbye for ever.’
‘Well, that gives us a serious problem, Senator,’ Lamoureaux replied, ‘because if Dakota’s on to something, we’re going to need Whitecloud very, very badly.’
Corso glanced at the door and fantasized for a moment about just walking out of there and having nothing to do with what Lamoureaux was suggesting. And yet, at the same time, he sensed – not for the first time – the inevitability of having to compromise what he had once considered the immutable beliefs and values he had long held dear. After the last couple of years, he was almost getting used to it.
He sighed and sat back down. ‘You’re
a machine-head yourself, Ted. How can you even contemplate this?’
‘Because sometimes you just have to live with the cards life deals you, Senator. I have good friends who would never talk to me again if they had any idea what I’m suggesting here. If there was another way, believe me, I’d take it. But Whitecloud was far from the worst of them.’
‘And that’s in your best professional judgement?’
‘It is, but we need to move fast on this. Most of the Emissary forces are still kiloparsecs away, but advance scouts have been observed engaging with Shoal fleets a lot closer to home. I’d like to go to Ascension and take charge of this myself, with your permission.’
‘Alright, fine, if that’s what it takes,’ Corso replied, a void seeming to form deep inside his chest. ‘Tell Willis he’s to rendezvous with you there as well. Olivarri can take care of things at Ocean’s Deep for now. You understand,’ he added, ‘that if any word of this gets out . . .’
‘It won’t.’
Lamoureaux left a few moments later, and Corso noticed the fusion globes outside were beginning to dim in preparation for evening, the ghostly band of the Milky Way gradually becoming visible.
Somewhere out there, entire star systems were being destroyed all along the frontiers of the Long War, a vast region encompassing the outer rim of the Orion Arm. There were reports of fleets so vast they were almost beyond comprehension, and these made the idea that Dakota or anyone could possibly affect them seem hopelessly deluded. But they had to try.
‘If this doesn’t work,’ Corso said, so quietly that Stankovic had to strain to hear him, ‘then the only thing left to do is save what we can.’
‘Senator?’
Corso stared out beyond the fading fusion globes, picturing the light spreading out from distant novae like a fiery cancer. ‘If we don’t find a way out of this mess, we’re going to have to dispatch ships, as far away as we can, and found new colonies in some other part of the galaxy where the war can’t reach them. At least that way we might save some.’
He stood and moved towards the door. ‘Arrange for a priority message back to Dakota. Let Ted know about it, too. Tell her what we’ve found out and make sure she’s kept up to date whenever something new comes up.’
Lamoureaux hesitated. ‘What about Whitecloud? Do we mention him?’
‘Dakota was at Port Gabriel during the massacres. I think we’d better not mention him at all, don’t you?’
Chapter Four
Next time, the interrogators were different.
The first one to enter Ty’s cell was balding and middle-aged, with loose wisps of hair curling around his ears. A younger man closed the door behind him, his own head carefully shaved. The older one had the look of a civil servant, and wore a sombre-looking suit with a high collar. His younger companion was dressed more casually.
‘My name is Rex Kosac,’ the older man explained, as Ty lifted himself up from the narrow plastic shelf that served as his bed, ‘and my colleague here is Horace Bleys.’
Ty gazed at them warily, trying to adjust the thin paper uniform he’d been given to wear. ‘You’re not part of the staff here, are you?’
Bleys glanced around the tiny cell and wrinkled his nose, perhaps becoming aware of the perpetual scent of detergent and urine that clung to every surface. His flattened nose, thick, muscled hands and general air of barely suppressed violence suggested he was Kosac’s bodyguard.
‘On the contrary, Mr Whitecloud, I administrate this facility,’ Kosac replied.
Ty sat up straighter. ‘When they brought me here, they said I would be formally arraigned within a couple of days.’
Kosac shook his head sadly. ‘That’s not why I’m here, Mr White-cloud. I just wanted the chance to meet you before . . .’ he glanced at Bleys with a smile, as if he’d caught himself on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t. ‘Well, you’re our most famous resident, as a matter of fact.’
A helicopter passed over the prison, the sound of its blades dopplering as it descended towards a nearby landing pad. The muffled sounds of men shouting and trucks pulling up outside continued unabated day and night.
‘Would you like to know how we found you so quickly?’ asked Kosac, his grin increasingly feral.
Ty cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry and his tongue feeling heavy. ‘I assumed it was the blood sample.’
Kosac frowned. ‘Blood sample?’
‘A doctor took it from me at a clinic. I assumed you were running automatic gene-profiling and matched it to a sample that was taken from me before I was due to be handed over by the Uchidans.’
Enlightenment crossed Kosac’s face. ‘Ah! I see. No, on the contrary, we picked up a friend of yours a couple of months back. Ilsa Padel – you know her?’
Ty nodded, a terrible feeling of inevitability beginning to overcome him.
‘She tried to exit the coreship along with a group of refugees. She almost got past us before we figured out who she was. She was extremely helpful when it came to identifying key members of General Peralta’s senior staff in return for certain concessions. Even if we didn’t have the blood sample, Mr Whitecloud, it was still only a matter of time. And hiding right there in the clinic! Well,’ – Kosac shook his head as if sorrowful, ‘that was always going to make it easy for us, wasn’t it?’
Ty slumped back against the wall. ‘I see.’
Ilsa. Few others could have had the opportunity to betray him so thoroughly. Apart from her, only Peralta had been aware of his true identity. Ty felt a tide of bitter melancholy well up as he remembered all the times he had searched for her, unaware she had already bartered him for a more comfortable cell or a shorter sentence.
His first sight of the barracks had been at dawn. The block-shaped prison building was tucked into one corner of a large fenced compound belonging to the permanent Consortium military presence stationed in the coreship. Rover-units with heavy armaments mounted on their backs surrounded it, while supply trucks and transports constantly arrived or departed. The corridors within teemed with black-suited troopers, their faces more often than not hidden behind visors.
His first night in this cell had convinced him that he would not survive to see the morning. The single window above the toilet bowl looked out over a courtyard surrounded by a high concrete wall. An automated gun-tower equipped with IR and motion sensors stood on a skeletal tripod in one corner of the courtyard, while most of the rest of it was stacked with pallets containing emergency supplies, the spaces in between forming narrow corridors.
Ty had watched as guards dragged three men in rags past this maze of pallets and towards the courtyard’s rear wall. One of the troopers raised a pistol to the back of the head of each in quick succession, dispatching them with quick and brutal efficiency. The pistol emitted a muted bass thump with each shot that Ty felt more than he heard.
He had soon collapsed on to the plastic shelf and spent the rest of the night waiting for his own turn to come. He could imagine the cold biting wind on his face, the chafing of the plastic ties around his wrists, and his last sight of those cracked grey concrete walls before a single shot took out the back of his skull. Instead he woke to another day, and then another after that. But every night the same drama was repeated: one or more figures would be marched out to the rear of the courtyard and executed. Yet nobody ever came for him.
Not until now.
Kosac stepped over to the window and peered out. ‘Tell me,’ he asked, ‘how did you wind up with the Uchidans? I believe you grew up in the Freehold.’
‘I grew up on a farm, Mr Kosac. My father was murdered on the orders of a corrupt senator, and I had to stand and watch as an entire agricultural facility and several thousand acres of land that should have been my inheritance were stolen from my family.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, switching sides was easy.’
‘I see.’ Kosac stepped away from the window. ‘You trained originally in biotechnology, but switched careers. Why?’
‘After I arri
ved in the Uchidan Territories, I developed an interest in the Atn. They’re a form of extreme biotech, after all, engineered rather than evolved, so it wasn’t really that much of a career change. I obtained a Consortium-funded research grant and made a name for myself studying them. My work took me all across human-occupied space, and I spent several years far from home. But when the war with the Freehold became intractable, I found myself conscripted into Territorial Research and Defence when I finally returned.’
‘And so you did your duty, because of your faith in God?’
Ty regarded him with a weary look. ‘Uchidanism has nothing to do with faith, Mr Kosac. It has much more to do with logical certainties and inescapable mathematical truths.’
‘Really,’ said Kosac, clearly unimpressed. ‘Perhaps you could elaborate for me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
Kosac nodded briefly at his companion. Bleys stepped forward and grabbed Ty’s hair, then slammed the back of his head against the wall behind the shelf he sat on. Ty groaned and slithered on to the floor, tasting blood where he’d bitten his tongue.
‘Humour me,’ said Kosac.
The two men waited while Ty pulled himself back up on to the shelf. He dribbled blood and Bleys handed him a handkerchief. Ty took it, pressing it to his mouth until he was ready to continue.
‘Uchidanism is . . . is based on objective observation and statistical probability.’
‘What probabilities?’
‘That life, by its very nature, always seeks to preserve itself within a universe that has a finite span, and that the ultimate endpoint of technological development is the direct manipulation of the most fundamental laws that govern nature.’
Ty swallowed again. The words came easily, memorized long ago but still clear in his mind. ‘There are good reasons to believe we live not in the original universe but in a simulation, possibly one of many. Reality, at its most base level, is little more than an expression of various mathematical formulae; therefore, once you acknowledge these simple truths, the idea that our world could be anything other than created becomes ridiculous.’