by Gary Gibson
‘You want the same thing to happen to the colonies?’
‘Of course,’ Mitchell replied, sounding surprised as if the answer were self-evident. ‘The pools showed me everything: a grand strategy, to recover sentient life from all through the period of the universe fixed by the wormhole networks, and rebirth it in the deep, deep future, at a point when the wormholes no longer exist. They showed me glimpses of it, Saul. It’s beautiful – and we can all be a part of it. But if you shut the Array down, you’re dooming the colonies to a living death. That’s why I had to stop you any way I could, because I knew you would never understand. Not if you hadn’t seen what I’ve seen.’
Saul paused, letting his helmet rest gently against a rung. He felt like he couldn’t move an inch further, but he had no idea just how far down the shaft went. He forced himself to start moving again, tightly clenching his jaw, and stopped only when a black wave of dizziness threatened to suck him into unconsciousness. He then thrust his elbows through the bars of the ladder to support him, and waited until it passed.
He finally reached the bottom a few minutes later, his suit lights showing polished rock walls. Saul slumped down on the floor and waited for the agony in his muscles to pass. A new menu appeared, listing the location of emergency air supplies.
‘Mitchell? Whatever those pools told you, did it ever occur to you that maybe they were feeding you lies? How can you know that any of what they told you is really true?’
Silence.
Saul staggered back upright and headed, as quickly as he was capable, down a long, low-ceilinged corridor that forced him to hunch over. He soon left the shaft behind, whereupon his universe shrank to encompass only the bubble of light projected by his suit and the sound of his own laboured breathing. The muscles in his legs threatened to cramp up once more and, when he sucked at the water pipe inside his helmet, a warning flashed up that he’d already used up most of it.
Just when Saul started seriously considering turning back, he noticed a certain greying of the surrounding darkness.
He pushed on and a dim light grew until he could see where the corridor ended at another ladder, extending downwards into brightness. He halted there and peered down, noting that this second shaft was nowhere near as deep as the previous one. He could just make out a door no more than thirty metres down, and he descended quickly towards it.
It proved to be part of an airlock complex, which he stepped through, cycling the atmosphere and pulling his helmet off once the pressure had equalized. The air tasted cool, and sweeter than it had any right to.
He thought of Amy, almost certainly still grieving for Lester, back there in the lander.
Got to move. He stripped his suit off, abandoning it on the floor of the airlock. He next pulled his own clothes out of a backpack slung beneath his air supply, and changed into them quickly.
He had emerged from the airlock to find himself at one end of a curving corridor located in a service and maintenance area close to the southern tip of the Lunar Array. Hanover had told him he needed to get to the ASI offices, but he guessed they were still at least thirty minutes away on foot, or less if he could find transport. As he started walking, he again hailed Mitchell, but the man had fallen silent once more. The only thing Saul could feel sure of was that he hadn’t seen the last of him.
Saul eventually came to the first of thirteen enclosed concourses, each of which accessed a different wormhole gate. The place was eerily silent and clearly abandoned. Heavily reinforced windows at one end of it looked out towards the far lip of Copernicus Crater, a hundred kilometres away. The bright lights of the city were clearly visible closer to hand, and only a little further around the inner rim of the crater wall. Escalators at the concourse’s opposite end led to a higher level not far below the roof, where shuttle-cars that normally carried passengers through the wormhole gate to the Clarke colony waited in silent ranks.
He walked past empty shop fronts and flickering UP-ads, until he discovered a small service car abandoned next to an information booth. He grunted with satisfaction on finding it to be fully charged.
The concourses were all linked to each other by a wide lane that ran through the whole Array, along its inner edge and just below the windows. Automated transport vehicles used for shifting heavy goods had been abandoned all up and down this route. Saul boarded the service vehicle and guided it along the lane, the vaulted space all around him so still and quiet he could alm believe the entire facility had been abandoned for a century, not just a few hours.
He drove steadily, though the car’s top speed wasn’t much more than a few kilometres per hour, till he passed through an archway and into the next concourse, which proved to be equally abandoned. As he passed through the one after that, he had to guide his vehicle around the still-smoking ruins of a Black Dog, dark smoke spiralling upwards to the curved ceiling far overhead.
He came across further evidence of fighting when he reached the Kepler–Copernicus gate. Half a dozen armoured personnel carriers stood parked close together below the embarkation area, all of them showing the signs of having come under heavy fire. One still burned fitfully.
Saul drove closer, constantly ready to hit the accelerator if he ran into trouble. The bodies of troopers were scattered all around the APCs, and the air reeked of cooked meat. He stepped out of the car to retrieve a Cobra from the outstretched hand of one of the troopers, seeing from the weapon’s readout that it was fully loaded with concussion shells. He adjusted the strap and slung it over his shoulder, feeling more confidence in it than in Amy’s home-brew concoction, which he now abandoned in the rear seat.
He noticed two APCs standing about twenty metres away from the huddle of vehicles surrounded by corpses. They had suffered less damage, but had clearly also come under fire at some point. He moved closer and saw a body slumped in the driving seat of one of them, while another corpse rested against a wheel, with a Cobra cradled in his hands.
Something in the way these bodies were positioned, and the fact that this one group of APCs stood apart from the rest, made Saul sure there had been infighting here of some kind. He wondered if some of the troopers had countermanded their orders and been executed for their trouble. Perhaps they had families back home, and hadn’t wanted to be forced to leave them behind.
He finally climbed inside the less badly damaged APC, trusting it to get him further faster, and to afford him a much greater degree of protection at the same time. Saul placed a hand on the dashboard and waited until it blinked, accepting his authorization, the wheel unfolding to become rigid enough for him to take a grip on it. He drove it straight back on to the transport lane leading to the Copernicus–Florida gate, from where he could take an elevator down to the ASI’s main operations room.
Saul smelled smoke not long before he passed through the archway leading into the Copernicus–Florida concourse.
At one end of the open area stood all that remained of a terminal station for passengers arriving from Copernicus City. Much of it had been reduced to rubble, and a cool swift breeze told Saul that the Array’s atmospheric integrity had been compromised. Several Black Dogs stood motionless at the foot of the escalators leading up to the station itself, their weapons systems clearly active still.
Saul glanced the other way, towards the departure area, accessible by another bank of escalators. He could see shuttle-cars standing at the top of them in silent and empty rows. No Dogs had been set to guard them, although there were numerous crowd-control stg tbarricades arranged in rows at the bottom.
One of the Dogs turned itself in a half-circle as Saul drove towards the middle of the concourse, tracking his progress with an eyeless gaze. Saul watched with deep trepidation as the weapons systems mounted between its shoulders whined and shifted. He slowed the vehicle to a crawl and eased the driver’s-side door open in case he had to make a run for it, but the machine merely continued to track him without taking any further action.
He got out of the car, eased the Cobra
off his shoulder and stared around. There were the corpses of yet more troopers by the barricades, so clearly fighting had occurred here as well. The only sound he could hear now was the occasional click-whir of the Black Dogs echoing across the concourse.
At the centre of the concourse was a recreation and dining area, consisting of several low buildings and open-air restaurants surrounding a paved courtyard, where a small fountain stood in the middle, surrounded by shrubs. Saul looked around, but there was still no sign of life. If Mitchell was really determined to prevent him from shutting down the gates, he was certainly taking his time about it.
Saul made his way towards an elevator set into a recess beneath a plaque reading ‘ARRAY SECURITY AND IMMIGRATION’. His shoes squeaked slightly on the polished floor of the silent concourse, sounding unnaturally loud to his ears.
Something suddenly clattered to the ground at an indeterminate distance away. Glancing immediately towards the row of Black Dogs, Saul noticed that the same one that had tracked him earlier was now turning to face the other way, as if something on the far side of the recreation area had drawn its attention meanwhile.
Something, or someone?
It had to be Mitchell. He was obviously hiding somewhere close, and Saul wondered what he was waiting for. He took a firmer grip on the Cobra, ignoring the rapid tattoo that his heart was beating against the inside of his chest, and tapped on the weapon’s screen so that it integrated with his contacts. Targeting information instantly superimposed itself over everything he saw.
He scurried towards the elevators, crouching low, passed through a cordon that would normally be manned. Recognizing his UP, one of the elevators opened at his approach. Saul stepped inside, pressing his back against the interior wall, while aiming the Cobra back in the direction he had come.
Just before the doors closed, he caught sight of movement somewhere by the fountain. Mitchell, he decided: it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.
THIRTY
Lunar Array, 11 February 2235
Saul logged into the Array’s localized security network. As he stepped into the lobby of the operations room, he saw personal belongings scattered on desks and jackets hooked over the backs of chairs, as if the staff here had simply got up in the middle of their work and departed en masse. Perhaps, he thought, that was exactly what they had done, and he wondered just how much warning they’d received. If that was the case, had they chosen to flee, or simply gone back home to be with their loved ones?
He slung the Cobra back over his shoulder, its targeting data fading the moment his fingers released the barrel. Moving on quickly, past the empty desks and workstations, he began activating the code given him by Hanover. A further layer of information appeared on top of his usual UP overlay, guiding him towards the single elevator that serviced the executive suites assigned to the members of the ASI’s directorate. It carried him yet further below the lunar surface, depositing him in a carpeted corridor, where he headed past conference rooms and numerous locked doors until he was guided to the suite of offices belonging to Thomas Fowler, the Director of the ASI himself.
The door was locked, and there didn’t appear to be an option in the EDP overlay that would allow him to bypass it. He swore softly under his breath, then unslung the Cobra and fired a short burst directly into the door. It swung inwards as if it had been kicked.
Saul entered to see an enormous oak desk to one side, a couch and several leather armchairs on the other, along with a wall-sized display of a beach at sunset.
The EDP overlay drew him towards Fowler’s desk. As he sat down in the chair, the surface of the desk automatically came to life, with sets of icons floating above its surface. He followed the overlay’s instructions, reaching out to one icon in particular and once again entering Hanover’s code.
Hearing a click from somewhere next to his knee, Saul pushed the chair back to find one of the desk drawers had slid open. He dipped a hand inside and withdrew a single unmarked keycard.
He stared at it dry-mouthed. It looked so innocuous for something that could change the fate of the human race. That caused a momentary flicker of doubt, and he wondered if perhaps Hanover had tricked him deliberately, and the keycard served some other purpose.
Only one way to find out.
He stood up, letting the overlay guide him to a single unmarked door at the far end. The door was locked but a single slot, at waist height, was just about the right size to accommodate the keycard. Saul inserted it and the door swung open with ease.
Saul retrieved the keycard and let the door swing shut behind him. He found himself standing in a functional-looking space that was almost as large as the office itself. Apart from a couple of terminals facing each other from opposite walls, the room was entirely bare.
This, then, was the secret terminal room that Hanover had told him of.
Security menus appeared as Saul walked further into the room. He waved them to one side, while the overlay directed him towards the terminal set against the right-hand wall. He stepped right up to it, more menus appearing around him. He scanned them quickly, then reached out to touch one in particular. Following its instructions, he then re-entered the access code.
With one trembling hand, he placed the keycard into a slot and waited to see what happened next.
Nothing.
Of course. He’d almost forgotten Hanover’s warning that the two-man rule was only rescinded when one of the pair of security servers fell out of contact with the other.
Maybe, he surmised, that was the reason the Copernicus–Florida gate had never been shut down. Maybe the paired servers had stayed in contact with each other until it was much too late, and the force devastating the Earth had done the same to Copernicus.
If that was the case, maybe he was going to need someone else’s help after all. He slammed a fist against the wall next to the terminal in fury, nearly weeping with frustration.
At that moment, he heard the sound of movement through the door leading back into Fowler’s office.
Saul gripped the Cobra close to his chest, remembering the speed with which Mitchell had moved inside the lander.
He stepped cautiously back out into the main office, swinging the barrel of his weapon from side to side.
Nothing to be seen.
He licked his lips and moved on past the desk, and towards the ruined door.
From of the corner of his eye, he saw part of the image in the wall-display move, the beach-front houses rippling. The scene looked like it might be somewhere in the Florida Keys.
Too late, he realized it was a trooper with his chameleon circuitry activated. Saul caught a brief flash of an angry face before something slammed into his skull with terrible force, plunging him into darkness.
Saul woke to the smell of smoke and an intensely bright light shining into one eye.
‘He checks out,’ said a voice from somewhere close by. ‘Minor concussion, but that’s it.’
‘Fine,’ said a second voice, as the light receded.
Someone kicked Saul in the shin. ‘Get the hell up,’ ordered the second voice.
With a groan, Saul heaved himself upright. He looked around to see he was back on the concourse that served the Copernicus– Florida gate. Six troopers – four men and two women – stood in a semicircle gazing down at him, where he had been propped against the wheel of an APC. Their faces streaked with grime, their eyes uniformly bloodshot, they looked more like the walking wounded than anything else.
‘Where the hell did you come from?’ asked Saul, rubbing at the back of his neck. He noticed that the owner of the second voice was a man in his late thirties, his sandy hair cropped short above frightened eyes. The UP ident floating next to his head identified him as a Colonel Bailey.
Bailey responded by dragging Saul to his feet, then slamming him hard up against the APC. ‘How about you tell me what you were doing here in a restricted area?’
Saul glanced to one side, at the open back of the APC, and saw that i
t was loaded with several crates. The top of one had been ripped open, revealing a load of flat, grey bricks that stirred up a mote of recognition. He knew that he should know what they were, but somehow he couldn’t seem to recall.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ replied Saul. ‘You can see my UP, can’t you? I have clearance.’
‘Yeah – and, according to the last update we got before everything went quiet back home, you’re currently wanted for attempted murder, sabotage and terrorism.’
‘Listen to me, will you? There’s a man here planning to kill us all. We’ve got to stop him.’
‘Answer my question, Mr Dumont.’
‘I’m trying to prevent whatever’s happening back home from happening to the colonies as well.’
‘Well, shit,’ said one of the women, ‘that’s exactly what we’re here to do. We got sent back through from Clarke, and—’
‘Shut up, Peggy,’ snapped Bailey, before returning his attention to Saul. ‘Prevent it how?’
‘Emergency destruct protocols,’ said Saul. ‘You know what that means?’
‘I do – and so do you, clearly.’ Bailey pulled out Saul’s keycard to the terminal room and held it up. ‘Mind telling me who gave you the access code?’
‘I got it from Constantin Hanover. He’s a task-force leader. I was about to shut down the whole Array, when you smacked me over the head.’
‘The whole Array?’ Bailey frowned. ‘The only gate you need to shut down is the one leading back to Florida. Why the hell would anyone want to cut off the colonies from each other?’
‘Maybe he’s working for the separatists,’ suggested one of the others. ‘Maybe he’s one of them. Maybe that’s the real reason he was there.’