by Gary Gibson
In that same moment, Corso saw that Lunden and Ivanovich were gone. They would find no trace of their bodies now, as had been the case with anyone else who had disappeared into the derelict’s maw.
Kieran’s face turned pale and he slid to the ground, unconscious. Corso dropped down next to him and found the man still had a pulse, but his pupils were dilated and his breathing staccato and shaky. Corso didn’t feel that much better himself—sheer terror had helped him forget temporarily about the pain. One of the troops saw what had happened and headed back their way again, lifting Kieran up and leading the way back into the submersible.
He’d been so sure the derelict would accept his programming. He still couldn’t believe he’d overlooked anything. But would the Senator understand that when he demanded to know what had happened?
Twenty
At first, when Dakota quietly entered the surgery, Corso had been staring down at a workscreen he held in both hands, a faraway look on his face. One shoulder was encased in a flexible med unit that kept his damaged tissues anaesthetized, while repairing the damage beneath at an accelerated rate.
Both Corso and Kieran Mansell had been brought back to the Hyperion a few hours previous, since it apparently had better medical facilities than the base on Theona.
Empty medical caskets were stacked up on either wall, in steel racks extending the full length of the medical facility. Udo was still encased inside one of these, but he was likely to be back out in a day or two. The external readings made it clear he’d been undergoing a slow and difficult recovery.
His brother Kieran was in better shape, but only just. He was in the intensive treatment bay, an adjustable palette with an autodoc suspended from the ceiling above his deeply sedated form. Its articulated arms were at the moment curled up and at rest, like some enormous metallic spider.
Dakota studied Kieran’s life-signs monitors and wondered what would happen if she smothered him with one of his own pillows. At the very least it would be a mercy killing.
Corso, on the other hand, was conscious and sitting up. His complexion was pale, as if the blood had been drained out of him.
She stared at him, full of nervous energy, until he finally looked up and became aware of her presence. He blinked in surprise as if he wasn’t sure her presence was a good or bad thing.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
He took a moment to think about this. ‘Been better.’
‘I heard about what happened, how the derelict attacked you. What went wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Corso shook his head, no longer looking at her, an abstract expression on his face. ‘That’s the whole problem.’
Dakota went silent in blank incomprehension.
Corso elaborated. ‘I mean, I did everything right. What happened . . . shouldn’t have happened. It was like . . . sabotage.’ He shrugged. ‘I swear, it was like deliberate sabotage.’
‘Did you know the derelict sent a transmission the exact same moment we lost contact with you?’
Corso was clearly taken aback by this.
‘The signal was very tightly focused, aimed towards the inner system,’ Dakota explained. She nodded at his workscreen. ‘Any ideas?’
Corso glanced down at the workscreen, clearly confused. ‘I don’t know anything about a transmission. They didn’t. . .’
He stared up at her dumbly.
Dakota decided there wasn’t any more time to waste.
‘We’re going to have a long talk, Lucas, somewhere where we can’t be found. A lot has happened over the past couple of hours, and that’s why they’re keeping information from you.’
She put a hand under his arm and tried to guide him off the cot. Indicators flashed red on the wall behind him and he jerked his arm back.
‘Hey—’
‘Do you want to get out of here alive or not?’ she hissed. ‘I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news, but the fact is we’re both as good as . . .’
She glanced to one side, seeing Kieran was still unconscious in his bay. Even so, speaking seditiously like this anywhere near him made her deeply uncomfortable. She grabbed Corso’s arm again, this time violently wrenching him sideways across the cot until his feet slid towards the ground. He pushed her away.
‘Shit,’ he said with a grimace. ‘What the fuck is the matter with you?’ he scowled. ‘Just . . . wait a minute.’ He stood up, carefully.
‘No time,’ she replied, pulling him towards the door. He stumbled after her in a daze. She shoved him through into the corridor beyond and pushed him up against a wall. ‘Now listen,’ she said, her voice still a low whisper. ‘I’ve been monitoring tachyon-net traffic between the Agartha and Redstone, and if what I’m nearing is true you and I might be as good as dead. Now tell me: who exactly is Senator Martin Corso? Is he a relative of yours?’
Corso stiffened, his eyes growing wide.
‘How about Mercedes Corso?’ she tried.
‘Where did you hear those names?’ he demanded.
‘You once told me the Senator and the rest of them were your enemies. You also said you were coerced into coming here. Care to elaborate on that?’
Corso made a move to grab her by the throat, but she caught his arm and held it away. ‘I’ll tell you how I know, but first you need to calm down,’ she hissed. ‘I think you’re in almost as much trouble as I am, and I can prove it.’
He laughed, the sound bitter. ‘You’ve barely said a truthful word since I first set eyes on you. You came on board under a false ID—’
‘And you know why? Because I’m a machine-head. I trained to be one all my life. I come from Bellhaven. It’s a job that came with serious prestige, until everything turned to shit and the Consortium shut down the development programmes.’
She swallowed hard. This wasn’t easy for her to talk about. ‘And, ever since, I’ve had to deal with people who treat me like I’m some kind of monster. I wasn’t responsible for what happened on Redstone but every machine-head in the Consortium, most of whom probably hadn’t even heard of Redstone, got punished for it. Every single day that I wake up, I remember what happened there. In detail. So yes, Lucas, I came on board under a false ID, but that’s mainly because I was getting on board a ship filled with Redstone Freeholders.’
Corso reached up and gently prised Dakota’s remaining hand away from his shoulder. ‘Senator Corso is my father, and Mercedes is my younger sister. They’re all the family I have, and they’re hostages to a faction within the Freehold government that’s headed by Arbenz. If I don’t do exactly what Arbenz wants, they’re both as good as dead.’
‘You’re being blackmailed?’
‘Yes.’
Dakota felt the blood drain from her face. In a moment, everything had changed. Everything. She glanced back through the door to where Kieran still lay comatose. Colour-coded displays of his nervous, respiratory and muscular systems flickered from moment to moment.
‘There’ve been some recent events back on Redstone,’ she explained. ‘I don’t think Arbenz or the rest of them were likely to go out of their way to tell you.’
‘What happened?’ Corso demanded, pushing her away. ‘Shit, is it my father?’
Dakota realized Corso was already heading for a comms panel by the medical bay’s entrance.
‘Lucas! If you talk to Arbenz, he’ll be aware I have a way of getting around his censor blocks. And there’s more news besides. Some kind of fleet is on its way here.’
One hand up to the panel, Corso turned and stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Just listen to me, will you. I’ve been tapping into what’s supposed to be an encrypted tach-net transponder on board the Agartha. That’s how Arbenz is staying in touch with Redstone, but they’re incredibly sloppy with the encryption.’
Corso was fully facing her again, a hard look on his face. Everything she said to him sounded stunningly incriminating, she knew, but she didn’t have any choice. It was a drastic way to gain an ally.
Corso turned back t
o the panel and touched his fingertips to its surface. Ident codes and authorizations flickered briefly, before several screens appeared in response.
‘I can’t access any tach-net transmissions more than a few days old,’ he said after a moment. ‘Yet the networks aren’t down.’
‘I told you, they’re trying to keep something from you. I can prove it.’
He glared at her balefully. ‘I’m finding less and less reason to trust you an inch.’
‘Then who do you trust?’
He didn’t answer at first. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally admitted.
‘The only reason I can think of for any fleet turning up here is because they know about the derelict. They aren’t here yet, but they will be soon, on board another coreship. Maybe it’s the Uchidans, or maybe it’s someone else. Either way, they get here in less than a couple of days, which means this whole salvage operation is in deep, deep trouble.’
‘You know, it’s funny, but I believe you. Or at least I think I do.’ He had a faraway look in his eyes that made Dakota realize his anti-shock medication was beginning to wear off.
‘Can you walk properly?’ she asked.
‘Sure, I guess so.’
‘Good—because I meant it when I said you’re in as much trouble as I am.’
‘Are they dead?’
‘Who?’
‘My father and my sister.’ He took hold of her upper arm, gripping her painfully. ‘Tell me.’
‘First, we get somewhere safe—’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Dakota. I’ve got to—’
‘It’s over, Corso!’ she yelled at him, her voice echoing from the bulkheads around them. ‘It’s over,’ she said more quietly. ‘Think about it. This whole thing was compromised from the start. Your secret is out. Your boss is a murderous nutcase with wild delusions of grandeur who wants to go up against a civilization that controls a fucking galaxy. When it all goes tits up and the Senator goes looking for someone to blame, who do you think they’re going to start with?’
Corso’s lips grew thin. ‘There’s nowhere we can go.’
‘Wrong.’ She peeled his hand off her upper arm with some difficulty. They were now in the Hyperion’s gravity wheel. She led him down a corridor towards the centre of the wheel, the gravity dropping to zero the further they moved away from the wheel’s rim.
To her surprise, Corso followed her with little protest. His eyes still had that faraway look.
‘At least tell me where we’re going,’ he grumbled eventually.
‘The cargo bay.’
‘What the hell’s there that’ll make any difference?’
She hesitated for a moment, and felt her resolve wobble. He’s still a Freeholder, she reminded herself.
‘Trust me,’ she replied.
—
Corso gazed through a window overlooking the interior of the cargo bay, seeing the assemblage of weapons and equipment stored there. Then he frowned and nodded towards the far wall.
‘Over there. It looks like . . .’
‘That,’ Dakota replied, ‘is my ship.’
He glanced to one side, as if trying to remember something. ‘This is what you wanted me to see? What’s it doing here? How the hell did you even get it on board?’
‘Anything we want to talk about, we can say it aboard my ship without any fear of being overheard. If there’s any attempt at surveillance, I’ll know immediately. As far as the manifest is concerned, the Piri Reis doesn’t even exist, and it doesn’t show up on any external surveillance systems either.’
‘You can still eyeball it, though,’ he replied, looking thoughtful. ‘Assuming anybody happened to look through this window and spotted it?’
‘Nobody has, yet.’
She drew him towards an airlock complex that led further into the cargo bay’s depressurized interior, and there had him pull on a light pressure suit. She did the same herself: letting him know about her filmsuit felt like a step too far just yet. Then she cycled the air out of the lock and moments later they were floating towards the Piri Reis.
—
It felt strange having someone else inside her ship. Once they were on board, he looked around the Piri’s compact interior with an astonished gaze.
He finally turned to Dakota as he peeled off his pressure suit. ‘Frankly,’ he said, ‘I still think you’re the one who needs to do the talking.’
‘This craft is the Piri Reis, and I brought it on board. Apart from me, you’re the only one who knows about it, and I’d like things to stay that way.’
Corso nodded carefully. ‘You said Arbenz was sending and receiving secret communiqués to and from Redstone.’
‘Use that screen,’ she said, pointing. ‘You’ll find it won’t block you when you try to access the latest tach-net updates.’
Corso grabbed a handhold and swung himself up into a sitting position on a fur-lined bulkhead, then waited a moment as the screen turned itself towards him. Dakota watched as a series of icons appeared on the screen: the latest news updates from the interstellar tach-net transponder network. She chewed nervously on a finger as he read.
Piri, is there any reason to doubt the information from Redstone?
Corso became very still as he concentrated. Eventually Dakota got tired of waiting and went over to where he squatted intently, putting a hand on his shoulder.
It seemed it was all over for Senator Arbenz. The assault on the Rorqual Maru and the Uchidan encroachment on the Freehold capital had proved the tipping point for a coup led by Senate members with more liberal leanings—liberal, that is, by the standards of the Freehold.
‘I should be there,’ he said, sounding stunned.
‘But you can’t be. Look, they don’t say who was executed . . .’
He turned to gaze at her, and she fell silent. ‘They don’t need to. According to this, the pro-war faction -and that’s basically Senator Arbenz—killed every hostage they held when the Senate was stormed. That means my father and my sister.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘They’re dead.’
‘You don’t need to do what Senator Arbenz tells you any more. He doesn’t have any—’
‘Yes, I know that,’ he snapped, and Dakota decided that erring on the side of silence might be the better option.
He stared off into space for a while, his expression bleak. ‘I knew this would happen, you know. It’s not even a surprise.’
‘What do you mean?’
He gazed at her levelly. ‘Arbenz and the Mansell brothers were all connected with death squads. They wanted to achieve political change through terror. It’s an old, old political stratagem. I’m just. . .’
He shrugged and sighed. ‘I’m just not surprised,’ he said, and pushed himself away from the screen. T need to go.’
‘Go where?’ she asked, alarmed.
‘I need to ... I need to get some things.’
She looked at the expression on his face. It was much like she’d imagined her own expression might have been, following the mandatory removal of her original implants. A look of loss and betrayal—and something else there weren’t quite the words for.
‘Do you want me to—’
‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘But you should know I won’t be telling the others about this. You’ve got my word on that.’
She nodded mutely in reply, then watched as he pulled his pressure suit back on and re-entered the Piri’s tiny airlock.
‘And then you’re coming back?’
He looked at her strangely, but nodded after a moment.
Half of her was sure he would come back, but the other half was even surer he wouldn’t.
—
All dead.
It hadn’t quite sunk in. He knew from past experience—from Cara’s death—just how long that could take.
He considered the possibility that, in a very real way, his life was over. He
hadn’t missed the look on Dakota’s face when he’d departed her ship, but if he’d told her what was going through his mind, she might have tried to stop him.
Even worse, he might have let her stop him.
Disregarding some kind of coup, they were still under Senator Arbenz’s thrall so long as they remained within the Nova Arctis system. Yet the fact remained both Corso and Dakota were still essential to Arbenz’s plans.
There was a series of observation bubbles ringing the Hyperion’s hull, about halfway along its length. They were tiny clear blisters that looked out on the stars and Theona’s frozen surface far below. These bubbles were the only places aboard the frigate where you could look directly out at the universe beyond the hull and be absolutely, unwaveringly certain that what you were seeing was real, and not—assuming you were sufficiently paranoid to let it concern you—merely a deluge of false information fed through the ultimately fallible conduit of the Hyperion’s sensor and communications arrays.
As soon as he was back in the Hyperion’s pressurized corridors, Corso made his way immediately to one of the bubbles, letting his mind empty of thoughts, regrets and the pains of loss even as he went.
Despite this, he felt the tears streaming down his cheeks as he made his way down hollowly clanging drop shafts. But the frigate was so vast, there was little chance of running randomly into another human being, even with the half-dozen crewmembers Arbenz had now installed.
Finally he reached one such blister, and pulled himself up a ladder and into a low-ceilinged room with a clear roof that looked out on the stars. He ignored the automated warnings that spoke quietly as he entered. The lights dimmed automatically as the hatch closed beneath him and he let himself slide into the comforting warmth of an observation chair that automatically tilted to better accommodate his view of the universe.
Music played automatically, a soft swelling and ebbing of notes more like the rising and falling of the ride than anything orchestrated by human beings. He couldn’t summon the mental energy even to tell the Hyperion to turn the damn noise off.