by Neal Asher
The sergeant shook his head.
'Very well, get going.'
'You want me out of the way,' said Mika.
Cormac nodded and turned his attention to the draco-men. 'Dragon wanted you here. You have been useful, but I cannot see what purpose you might serve now. Do you have any suggestions?'
The dracomen stared at him in silence.
'Very well, Mika, take them with you and stay with that AGC. If we run, be ready to come with us back to the runcible. Let's go.'
The men broke and headed off into the surrounding trees. Cormac stooped down and picked up the two boxes at his feet. By men the sergeant was already in the carrier. There was a low thrum of AG and a backwash of dust as he took it into the sky. Five sky-bikes followed him up. Cormac gestured to the three with him and walked over to the two remaining sky-bikes.
'There been any movement in the ruins?' he asked
Aiden replied, 'No movement, but the Maker is certainly in one of the underground silos. Viridian reported a change in energy levels last night during the attack, but that was all.'
'OK, we'll land as close as we can get and go in on foot. I want some idea of what we're dealing with. That at least.'
'We're dealing with the thing that killed Gant,' said Thorn.
Cormac studied him speculatively before going on. 'We're still operating on the premise that what Dragon told us is true. I don't like that, but those are my instructions. We'll try the proton guns first. I don't want to be responsible for levelling a heritage site just yet.' He glanced at Cento and Aiden. 'You two can fly them. Thorn and I will go pillion. If there's any kind of attack, take us down into the forest on the other side.'
The two Golem mounted the sky-bikes. Cormac placed the two boxes in a pannier before mounting up behind Cento. As Cento lifted the bike into the sky behind Aiden and Thorn, Cormac wondered at the Golem's lack of comment.
'Do you have a problem with what I'm doing?' he asked.
'I have no problem. The mission is paramount and you cannot wait for an attack that may or may not come.'
'Then it's the broken Golem, isn't it?'
Cento took a moment to reply. When he did reply his voice was flat and characterless.
'If there is a hell for us, then that is where this Mr Crane is.'
26
I have to state categorically that I believe in him. The Quince Guide (which I do not believe was compiled by humans; more likely it was compiled to mislead humans) has it that he is a mythical character comparable to Robin Hood or King Arthur. Let's look at the legend. He is supposed to be immortal, and supposed to possess powers the like of which enabled him to survive the destruction of his home city of Hiroshima. He is supposed to have meddled with human destiny, and to still be meddling… Oh hell, I'm rambling. The plain truth of the matter is that I believe in him because of his name. For Chrissake, what myth-maker worth his salt would come up with such a ridiculous name for someone who is practically a demigod? Horace Blegg, I ask you…
From How It Is by Gordon
Jarvellis woke feeling sick, but not from pain or injury. It struck her as ironic that here she was, a starship captain without a ship, and suffering from space sickness. Her condition, she supposed, aggravated the sickness. But the main reason was that she was too soft these days. It had been, as far as she could recollect, nearly five solstan years since she had experienced weightlessness. What need was there to experience it when every ship and station had gravplates? What need was there to experience its antithesis, when AG could waft a ship into orbit? Even visiting heavy-G worlds was not a problem. She either stayed in the ship or in areas adjusted to Earth gravity. With such thoughts she occupied herself as she fought nausea, and wondered when the Outlink-ers would be back to take her out of this damned frame. It was Tull who returned first. She could see that something more than her dangerous presence was worrying him. He came in and hovered over her, inspecting the sealed wounds. After a moment he went to inspect a readout on the medbot.
'Will you let me out of this?' Jarvellis asked. Tull stared at her long and estimatingly. Til be careful of you,' she added. Tull made no move to release the clamps. Some of them were through to bone, and Jarvellis felt no inclination to fight them.
'I cannot contact the surface,' said Tull. 'Understandable,' said Jarvellis. 'You weren't much further from the EM pulse than me. It'll have knocked out your com.'
Tull nodded thoughtfully. 'I have cameras that track all objects that might represent a danger to this station. I've just looked at the replay.'
'Quite a firework display,' said Jarvellis uneasily. 'Yes, planar explosives unless I miss my bet. By the vector of the explosion, I would say it hit your under- space engine. My concern is why you would have such explosives onboard.'
Jarvellis found she just did not have the energy to lie creatively, so she kept her mouth shut. Tull pushed himself away from the frame and she tried to follow, with her eyes, where he went. He was out of sight only for a few seconds when something touched against the back of her neck. Numbness rolled down her body. Nerve-blocker. Everything bar the autonomics inclusive of breathing and heartbeat was shut down below her neck.
'What are you doing?' she asked.
'We are not uncivilized, Captain Jarvellis, but we are very aware of our fragility, as you know. I can only assume by your silence that you have been involved in something illegal, and that perhaps you would want to avoid talking to the ECS investigators when they eventually come up here.'
'Look,' said Jarvellis, 'just let me go. I won't cause you any problems. I've been through too much already.'
Tull came back into view. Jarvellis heard the clamps snapping off her body. To one side of Tull she saw a line of small ruby peas coiling away. Tull wiped them from the air with an absorbent pad. The cell-welder hummed briefly.
'That's it,' he said. 'I've given you two pints of synthetic blood so you shouldn't experience too much dizziness or nausea. The clamp and probe holes may be a bit sore, but they will quickly heal.'
'Then you can take the blocker off,' Jarvellis said.
'Not until I'm sure that myself and Jeth are utterly safe,' he replied.
'You're going to keep me like this until the investigators get here?'
Tull shook his head. 'I told you we are not uncivilized.'
Jarvellis felt herself drifting from the frame. Tull was propelling her to the door.
'It won't take me long to run a diagnostic and initiate another dish. In fact our transceiver will be back on line within the hour. It may take some time for the investigators to get here. For a ship blown in orbit with planar explosives, I should think we'll get someone from Earth. Nerve-blocking, for any length of time, can become a very unpleasant experience. There is also the chance that it might damage the innocent life you carry.'
He had her to the door now, and then through it. To her right the little robot had appeared and was swinging along with her.
'Are you sure about this?' she heard Jeth saying, but she could not see Tull's wife.
'Oh, I'm sure. Laser burns through her suit, planar explosives… we know what that means,' said Tull.
Jarvellis wondered what he would say if she told him how she had actually received the laser burn. Best not -he might keep her blocked for her own safety, and the safety of that 'innocent life', rather than for that of himself and his wife.
Soon Tull had her in the elevator and had pushed her to what would be the floor in the outer ring. Now she could see that Jeth was holding a bundle of clothing and a bag filled with blocky items. The Outlinker pressed these down beside her.
Tull said, 'When you reach the outer ring, Sam will remove your blocker. After that all the elevators will be shut down. Now, there are service tubes you could find to get back here, but be aware that, should you try that, we will immediately leave the station, so you'll achieve nothing.'
Jeth said, 'Here's food and clothing.' She pointed to these items and turned away guiltily.
'
I wouldn't have hurt you,' said Jarvellis. 'I've never hurt anyone.'
'Yes,' said Tull, stepping back with his wife, then closing the elevator door on her.
Jarvellis considered what she had just said. It was true: personally she had never inflicted injury on anyone. What concern was it of hers what people did with the weapons she smuggled? They were the criminals. She was just trying to make a decent profit. That was all right, wasn't it?
Weight returned and pulled her head down onto the worn decking. The elevator door slid open and, as it did so, feeling returned to her body. Jarvellis sat upright and looked down at Sam. The little robot held the nerve-blocker in one three-fingered claw. It held it up above itself as if frightened she was going to hit it and so was demonstrating how it had helped her. She looked to the bundle of clothes and the food. The latter was out of the question at the present. The one-quarter G that dispelled space sickness was pulling at and twisting those places where she had been cell-welded, and where the clamps and probes had been pulled out. She now effectively felt as if someone had methodically pinched over her skin with a pair of pliers. She reached for the clothing: disposable underwear and deck shoes, a soft cloth shirt and padded trousers. With hands that did not seem to have any grip in them she slowly dressed herself. Once this was done she felt better, and began to think what the future might hold for her. Her prospects did not seem much better than they had done outside. Now though, she was beginning to feel hope. Maybe John was not dead yet. Maybe, even if he was, she could get to that bastard Pelter. Maybe she could live.
'Please take the bag and step out of the elevator, Captain,' said Tull over an intercom.
Jarvellis did as she was told, faintly amused that the intercom had crackled like the one in the Lyric, only this intercom crackle was genuine.
'The cabins to your left you will find comfortable. We maintain them for visitors from the surface.'
She headed in that direction, wondering where Tull might have positioned pinhead cameras, then it occurred to her that the EM pulse might have knocked those out as well. Any systems on the outer ring of the station, unprotected by its bulk, would have gone down, and the little cameras were prone to do so. Then again, maybe there were no cameras. She was assuming he might be as paranoid as herself. She stopped at a door and pressed one of the two square buttons beside it. A buzzer sounded inside. She pressed the other button and the door slid open. At the threshold she paused; she might well be walking willingly into her own prison. She shook her head and stepped back. When the door closed again, she squatted down and opened the bag.
It contained fresh fruit, probably from the station's hydroponics, film-wrapped sandwiches with some sort of meat filling, even a small bottle of a wine that bore the name 'Passion' on its label. As Jarvellis looked up from the bag, it occurred to her that she would not remember the Outlinkers' generosity. After ECS tried her for arms smuggling, and then mind-wiped her, she would remember nothing. She'd be a pregnant mother operating on instinct: a mere animal until they downloaded a personality into her, and - whether construct or real -that personality would never be her own. She closed the bag, stood up, and began walking. In the cabin she could just hear Tull's voice speaking over the intercom. No cameras, then. She knew that the Oudinkers would have some sort of AG shuttle at the centre of the station for their own use. What she now wondered was if any of the station's original shuttles remained in this outer ring.
Dawn flung greenhouse light across the land. It seemed, with this coloration to the light, that the temperature should be high. But the day began wintry and showed no sign of changing as it advanced. Viewed from above, the ruins had the appearance of an impact site in the forest of blue oaks and chequer trees, and perhaps at one time that was precisely what this had been. The two bikes skimmed over crumbling buildings towards the central ring of the broken dome. They came in to land at the edge of the dome, where there was just enough room to fit the sky-bikes close together on apparently firm ground.
Donning their helmets, the four advanced through the wreckage, their boots crunching on broken glass and heat-splintered plascrete. All around, old wiring and the remnants of computer systems were sinking into decay.
Most surfaces were covered with grey and yellow lichens. This ruin could have been thousands of years old, rather than the few hundred it actually was. Soon all four stood at the rim of the dark shaft of one of the underground silos.
Cormac gazed into that dark and contemplated what these ruins meant. This is what happened when worlds seceded from the Polity. This is what happened when base humanity tried to govern itself.
'Cormac,' came Mika's voice over his comunit. 'The dracomen just grabbed the AGC. They're coming your way'
'Shit!'
Cormac looked up at the sky, but could see no craft. What was Dragon up to? What were the dracomen up to? He was tempted to put a hold on the mission until he found out, but, after thinking about the chances of getting some answers out of the dracomen, he decided to go on.
'Thorn, put a shot down there and see what stirs.'
Thorn leant over the edge and fired. The purple flash disclosed the depth of the silo before rubble exploded from it on a hot flash. Something began screeching in the ruins behind them and they turned to see a couple of corvine birds flap raggedly into the sky. Thorn tracked their course for a moment, and then turned back to the silo. The rest of them turned with him and, as smoking stones rained down, they waited expectandy.
Eventually Thorn said, in a bored voice, 'Nothing stirring.'
'Try the next one,' Cormac told him.
They circled the edge of the silo, well back from the corroded metal at its lip. Thorn made adjustments on his weapon.
'If this doesn't work, do we move on to the CTDs?' he asked casually.
'Have to,' said Cormac.
He could see Thorn's smile of satisfaction.
Shortly they reached the lip of the next silo.
'Energy readings… difficult to locate,' said Aiden.
Thorn moved forwards. 'We'll see—'
It shot out of the next silo like a white-hot jack-in-the-box. Cormac's visor polarized, re-adjusted - and before him was the fantastic creation of some godlike glass-maker. It was a dragon, a real dragon. Then, the next moment, it was not.
The Maker seemed to be made of glass supported by bones that were glowing tungsten filaments. It had a long swanlike neck ending in a nightmare head that had something of a lizard and something of a praying mantis about it. Wings opened out, seemingly batlike at first, then taking on the appearance of a mass of sails. A heavy claw gripped the edge of the underground silo, or was it a hand shaped like the body of a millipede, with hundreds of leglike fingers? A glowing bullwhip tail thrashed the air, sprouted sails, fins, light. Cormac froze. The Maker was about five metres high. How had it gotten through a twenty-centimetre hole? Then he realized: it was not matter, it was energy; it could probably be any size. He had just never seen anything like it before. Was it Dragon's ultimate joke to name itself thus, when the kind that had made it looked like this?
'Bastard!' came Thorn's voice over the static on com. He fired. The proton beam hit the Maker and diffused from the other side. It jerked back and a bolt of white light shot from its jaws, splashed into Thorn and wrapped around him. For a moment he seemed to be struggling against snakes of light, then, as if the force of it had only just caught up, he was flung back. Cento and Aiden fired too. In return, two bolts of a different colour hit them. They both sat down with an undignified thump. Cormac lowered his weapon as the creature rose over him. Then an AGC streaked past its head, and it turned to watch the car as it circled and came back. The top of the car had been ripped away, and the dracomen were visible. One of them was firing a laser carbine. Pins of red light were flickering in the Maker's body; beyond this there was no visible effect. The car streaked past again and kept going. The Maker made a sound like the gusting sigh of a strong wind, watching them go, then turned its attention back to Corm
ac.
Cormac stooped down and placed his weapon on the ground. Over his comunit he could hear strange whistlings and creakings. The Maker brought its head closer to him. He could feel the energy of it; as a tension in his face and a thrumming in his bones. He could see that it possessed three of what seemed to be eyes. Mandibles of glass opened from the sides of its jaws. Cormac looked into the throat of hell.
Again: laser fire flickering inside the glassy body. The dracomen were back. The AGC circled and the draco-man with the carbine fired continuously. The Maker made that wind-sound again, but now there seemed to be to Cormac an element of anger in it. Fire flashed from its mouth and struck the AGC. The car shuddered and pieces of it fell from the sky. It shuddered again and something detonated under its cowling. Trailing black smoke, it went into a dive and eventually fell into the forest to the north of the ruin. The Maker turned its head and looked at Cormac again, its glass mandibles opening and closing as if in indecision, or anticipation. Then, with a surge of power and light, it launched itself into the sky, remained poised there for a moment, then shot down into the trees.
'Oh my God! Ohmegod!'
'Colonel, sir, please respond. The creature—'
'What the fuck?'
'Will you look at that!'
'Shaddup, Goff! Colonel? Colonel?'
Cormac did not want to answer. He could do without those jabbering human voices. There was a stillness here that he wanted to savour. But, as he stood motionless, his sense of duty re-asserted itself. He sighed and returned to the world.
'Cormac here.'
'Sir, an AGC just went down in the forest, a thing… light… It landed where the AGC crashed.'