Prador Moon: A Novel of the Polity

by Neal L. Asher

  “Enter and stand before me, Gnores.”

  The first-child Prime stepped inside on quivering legs. He scanned all around inside the sanctum and once whirled round when a second-child scuttled along the corridor outside. Finally he cringed before Immanence.

  “Let us watch this,” said Immanence, and swung back round to face the screens.

  Gnores moved warily around the captain to stand at his side.

  “It is unfortunate that thrall implantation in humans does not seem to be working,” Immanence noted.

  “But… I am obtaining some results… Father,” Gnores replied.

  “Results, yes, but no positive ones.”

  The doors into the hold opened, and a hundred second-children clattered in, led by Scrabbler who, now a fully grown first-child, loomed over his fellows. Many humans stood, but many more remained prostrate on the floor. The children did not hesitate; eager for the kill they swarmed towards the humans. Scrabbler reached them first, beheaded a man with one claw and impaled a woman on the tang of the other, then hurled her behind him. Screaming arose and the stink of human fear wafted around the sanctum from scent projectors. The man with the bone managed to stove in the head of a second child before others swarmed over him, tearing him apart. The second-children then lost themselves in frenzied abandon. Limbs, torsos and heads were flying all over the place. Immanence supposed Scrabbler would be conducting no autopsies on these humans.

  Immanence eyed Gnores and saw him lifting his feet up and down and reflexively opening and closing his claws. “Once we depart U-space, Gnores, you will take one hundred second-children in the shuttle over to the Boh runcible and secure it for me.”

  Gnores froze, then slowly turned his eye-palps towards his father, his mandibles vibrating. First the excitement of all the killing in the hold, and now this? Immanence understood Gnores’ confusion. The captain considered killing Gnores and promoting Scrabbler, but that would be premature. It was always best to have first-child replacements ready behind each newly promoted Prime, and the captain needed to find a possible replacement for Scrabbler, though there were one or two likely second-child candidates in that hold. Equally, if he killed Gnores and sent Scrabbler to secure the runcible, and some problem arose resulting in Scrabbler being killed, he would end up with no Prime at all—a lamentable circumstance.

  “You will of course kill any humans you find there. I don’t think we’ll be taking any more prisoners for experimentation until all the data you and Vagule collected has been analysed.”

  “And the human world—will I be leading assaults there?” Gnores asked, his enthusiasm returning.

  “Trajeen serves no tactical purpose so, unfortunately not. We will make a close pass around the world and see how well Scrabbler’s viral strains do. I won’t even bomb the place, since we’ll want the runcibles to continue functioning, hopefully spreading the virus throughout the Polity.”

  Gnores bowed down, disappointed.

  “There will be other worlds, and other humans,” Immanence assured him.

  The door to this particular administrator’s office stood open and the signs of a hasty departure were evident everywhere: memcrystals scattered on the floor from an open box, a cup of coffee spilt across a table, and a half-finished sandwich abandoned on the desk. The console on the desk linked into the complex’s discrete network, but also possessed a secure connection to the Trajeen network. Most consoles here were like this. Moria did not need anything special to try what she intended, all she needed were command protocols and codes which should be available to her now. She walked over to the swivel chair and seated herself.

  The records Jebel Krong made available to her were enlightening. From them she learnt about Conlan’s subversion techniques. But the main thing had been simply learning that the man used an optic link directly into any system, thus making his aug more than just a discrete node in any network, but actually plugging into it and becoming more of an integral component. Mentally she sent the instruction—wordless code—to open the casing on her aug. It clicked behind her ear and she reached up to hinge open the little lid. Using a vanity mirror brought for the purpose, she found the socket and inserted one plug of an optic cable, then inserted its other plug into the requisite socket in the console.

  LOGON CODE>

  Could it be as simple as that?

  Via her aug, Moria input her code and discovered that no, it would not be that simple.

  NAME>

  MORIA SALEM

  MOTHER’S NAME>

  GILLIAN AN-PARS SALEM

  So, it seemed a lengthy question-and-answer security check would ensue—based on her record—probably followed by obscure questions concerning her personal history. However, the next question to come up was unexpected.

  SOLVE> 0.004532 DISPARITY BETWEEN G3 AND G2

  Now her aug flicked into full-blown modelling mode and it seemed she was again at Boh, as a virtual model of the two gates filled her perception—distances truncated as before. She created the underlying maps for gravity, system energy and U-space coordinates and placed over them models of the two runcibles’ energy systems she recalled from her aug’s memspace. Warp initiation. The cusps formed, the meniscus expanding as the gateposts irised apart. No cargo ship this time. She checked her figures and discovered the disparity this time to be one decimal place different from before 0.004532 rather than 0.0004532. She began to make the correction and as channels opened to her she felt elation, rather than the terror of her first experience of this. She easily opened extra processing space as the massive data flow threatened to overwhelm her. Her calculations to superpose her corrected model on reality ran easily at first, but then she realised that the decimal point made things substantially more difficult. She applied for more processing space, received it from somewhere. Almost in horror she realised that one corrective model would not be enough. She needed five. More space. Five copies made and calculations running to alter them to a stepped correction. She was getting there.

  I NOW GIVE YOU TOTAL CONTROL OF THE BOH OUTER GATE >

  SOLVE >

  Fucking comedian!

  The cargo vessel now suddenly appeared in all her models, throwing everything into disarray. Solved: model one, two, three… four and five. Through, the cargo vessel was through. Buffer feedback figures.

  There!

  Suddenly she realised what had gone wrong during the real test. The energy at the meniscus, just a few points out because she did not include in the calculation the cargo vessel’s transition time through the warp. It seemed so obvious, and so easy to move, in the mathematical realm, beyond it. Again she glimpsed beyond the warp seemingly into U-space itself. Terror lay there, and epiphany. Logic began to break down and it felt to her as if something tore in her head. Briefly she saw the cargo ship leaving the Boh gate, and remaining intact. Then the models began to erase one after the other.

  FULL SYSTEM ACCESS

  WELCOME MORIA >

  Moria smiled and felt a godlike omniscience, then messages began to come through one after another:

  A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS

  THROW DIRT ENOUGH, AND SOME WILL STICK

  THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

  She pulled the optic lead from her aug and leapt out of the chair as if a snake had appeared on the desk.

  The AI is still in the system?

  No, but maybe some fragments of it remained… like George. She shouldn’t let it spook her like that. Getting her breathing under control she sat down again and reconnected. The proverbs kept coming, so she routed them into memstorage in her aug and concentrated on her access to the systems controlling both runcibles. Soon she ascertained that Jebel Krong had turned off the positioning drives so that the whole complex no longer accelerated towards Trajeen. A sensible decision really, what with him intending to detonate CTD mines aboard. She tracked through the sensors previously used by the AIs and finally located two spacesuited figures working at one of the gateposts,
placing a nondescript cylinder inside one of the access hatches. Moving on she began testing her control, applying models in her aug but not actually initiating any action. She could turn the positioning drives back on, here and at Boh, and she could initiate the warp, though doing that would require processing space from the Trajeen networks which were currently crammed with traffic. She possessed complete exterior control of the runcibles, though without an AI, no chance of sending anything through, so what was the point? A moment of power before the shit-storm hit, and with that power she could do nothing.

  AND HAND IN HAND, ON THE EDGE OF THE SAND,

  THEY DANCED BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON,

  What?

  She was routing all that into storage, so why had her aug brought that one to her attention? A quick search rendered the answer to her: this was no proverb, but part of the nonsense verse penned by Edward Lear, the one Iversus Skaidon, the inventor of runcible technology, had so loved.

  Why, why that?

  THE MOON

  THE MOON

  THEY DANCED BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.

  Hand in hand.

  A shiver ran through her as she clearly visualized Jebel Krong standing haloed by Trajeen, Vina speeding over above him.

  The moon.

  Was she just imagining things? Groping desperately? This must be madness. But … Jebel intended to install an aug on George … would there be enough of the AI left? And those proverbs, didn’t they make a weird distorted kind of sense?

  Moria sat back, seemingly paralysed by the enormity of what she was thinking. Then, after a long pause, she sent the instruction to start up the positioning drives again, to speed the runcible back on its way towards Trajeen.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” Jebel said, his words directed out into space to a Polity dreadnought captain called Tomalon. The news had only just reached him and at first he found it difficult to credit, but the cheering from his Avalonians seemed to drive it home. The Occam Razor—there a name to go down in history. A Polity ship had actually destroyed one of those fuckers. But Jebel’s good mood rapidly faded. Apparently the Occam Razor, though still in pursuit, was severely damaged. And with Jebel’s Prador ship still on the way, that victory brought no respite at all. Then other recently received information surfaced in his mind.

  I guess, Cirrella, you were lucky.

  The news only recently reached Jebel an hour before that about the Occam Razor, though it had been known after the questioning of the survivors from Avalon Station. The AI’s best estimate of those taken aboard the Prador ship stood at around seven hundred, and Jebel wished he possessed less imagination, less of a clear vision of what might be happening to them, still happening to them. He supposed their number would be much depleted now, if any remained alive at all. Rescue was of course impossible, but now there seemed some small possibility of an ending.

  Jebel up-close-and-personal Krong.

  He had killed so many of them that way, sticking mines on their carapaces and blowing the bastards to bouillabaisse. In the beginning, every death brought some satisfaction, but as the war progressed and he came to realise that Prador adults cared very little about the deaths of their numerous children, his feelings of satisfaction diminished. And always the ship remained, with Immanence still comfortably ensconced aboard it.

  This time, by mining the Boh runcible, maybe Jebel could get to the Prador captain, really plant an explosive on a carapace where it would hurt, for Immanence would certainly try to seize that runcible first. Or was he kidding himself? Wouldn’t the Prador captain expect something like this, wouldn’t he send his children to scour the Boh runcible first? Jebel frowned. Damn he wanted to go out there, just to get close to the ship, just to have the opportunity, no matter how small to—

  “What is it, Urbanus?” He turned as the Golem entered the lounge.

  “We are under power—the positioning drives have been restarted.”

  “What?” Jebel felt a flash of irritation. “Well turn them off again and cut the power supply.”

  “We can’t. It seems they were reinstated by executive order.”

  It took Jebel a moment to absorb that. “Moria Salem?”

  “She is the only one who could do that, unless the override came from one of the planetary AIs. One of them is presently trying to extract information from George, and it tells me no such override has been initiated.”

  “Bring her here—she’s got some explaining to do.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Moria strode into the room.

  Jebel assessed her. He had rather liked her forthright attitude and hardheaded approach to the situation they faced. He rather liked her. But now he could see she was frightened and rather less sure of herself.

  She turned to Urbanus. “Have you fitted George with an aug?”

  Urbanus glanced towards Jebel, who inclined his head slightly.

  “I have. George is currently linked to one of the planetary AIs.”

  “Have you discovered anything?” She nervously rubbed her hands together and could not conceal her disappointment when the Golem shook his head. Now she turned towards Jebel. “I think I understand it all now, but it’s a matter of positioning and … this Conlan.”

  “Woman, you had better start making sense sometime soon or you will be joining him in his cell.”

  “I’m presuming Conlan possessed some means of communicating with the Prador ship when it arrives?”

  “He was to use his aug to make com connection on the back of the U-space link to Boh—the runcible control signal. He’s generously given me the code he intended to use, and when the Prador ship does arrive he will be informing them that he has complete control of the two runcibles. I’m hoping this will make them less diligent in searching for any nasty surprises on the Boh runcible.”

  “Good, that’s exactly what I want.”

  “I won’t warn you again.” Jebel tried to keep it under control, but felt himself close to losing his temper. Moria seemed oblivious to this—off somewhere in her own mind.

  “Positioning. You told me an ECS dreadnought is pursuing the Prador ship?”

  Jebel stared down at the floor, took a deep breath and tried to find some calm within himself. “It is,” he said tightly, “though it is severely damaged and I doubt it will be up to much.”

  “And how soon after the Prador ship will it arrive?”

  “Almost on top of it, I’m told.”

  “It is damaged … but it should possess sufficient armament to destroy the Boh runcible?”

  “Yes, but we’ll be mining that, so there will be no need.”

  “And I should be able to communicate with that ship from here?”

  “Yes…if I give you the required frequency and codes, which I have no intention of doing until you start making sense. I’ve no intention—”

  Jebel gaped at the apparition that now appeared in the doorway: George, with a smear of blood behind his newly installed aug, which stood open, the optic connection dangling.

  Moria turned. “You know, don’t you? You realised,” she said.

  George replied emphatically, “When one door shuts, another door opens.” Then added, “Faith will move mountains.”

  Moria whirled back to Jebel. “That confirms it for me, do you agree?”

  “Agree with what!” Jebel bellowed.

  “Oh yes,” Moria said, and told him

  After availing himself of the meagre facilities, which were substantially better than those in his prior accommodation, Conlan paced the small cabin, then paused when he felt that weird shifting telling him the ship was just surfacing from U-space. A short in-system jump, then. In his estimation that meant their destination could only be one place: the Boh runcible. He considered what that might mean, but could come up with no sensible answer, so he sat down and waited. Within a few minutes the door to his cabin opened and Jebel Krong entered.

  “Ah, you are considerably more sweet-smelling than when last we met,” said Kro
ng.

  “Besides that,” said Conlan, “and the fact that I am aboard this ship and still breathing, I rather suspect you want something from me.”

  The expression on Jebel’s face told Conlan that only what the man wanted prevented him from beating Conlan to a pulp. And as Conlan was well aware, Jebel Krong could easily do just that.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, we’ve just arrived at the Boh runcible. Urbanus and Lindy will shortly be suiting up to conceal CTD mines throughout the structure. You and I will be going down there, where you will key in with your aug to the U-space connection. When the Prador vessel arrives you will tell its captain precisely what I instruct you to tell him.”

  “And why should I do this?”

  “Would you like me to start becoming uncivilized again?” Jebel enquired.

  “What have I got to say?”

  “You’ll first tell the Prador captain that you and your people now occupy the Trajeen runcible and, through it, control the Boh runcible. With the proviso that some technicians aboard the Trajeen runcible have managed to evade you, though you’ll state that they should not be a problem.”

  “Then?”

  “When the time comes I’ll inform you.”

  “Well, I won’t say what you want, not without certain guarantees.”

  “I can offer you one guarantee.” Krong pulled two objects from the pocket of the light spacesuit he now wore and tossed them down on the nearby cabin bed: a pair of pliers and a pair of metal snips.

  Conlan stared at the two tools, his mouth arid. “Yes… you can hurt me, but that won’t help you get what you want. If I’m in pain I won’t have much aug control, but even if I do, I might forget some key phrases necessary for me to use with that Prador captain, to assure him that I am not being coerced.”

  “What is it you want, then?” Krong asked, teeth gritted.