Nova War

by Gary Gibson

  The hub turned out to be hollow, for a huge door opened at the very end, allowing the shuttle to enter, before dropping into a wide shaft that seemed to run the entire length of the station.

  Before long the shuttle slowed to a crawl and eased in towards one internal wall of the shaft. Corso caught a glimpse in the view screen of a mechanism reaching out to grab the small craft, then pulling it inwards.

  Before long the shuttle was deposited on an enormous elevator platform, which almost immediately started to drop down a second shaft.

  As Corso watched the encompassing walls rise up past the shuttle with considerable speed, he tried asking Honeydew where they were taking him, but got no reply. His guardian was deep in chittering conversation with the rest of the Bandati team, and was obviously not interested in telling Corso anything he didn’t strictly need to know.

  But if he had to guess, Corso imagined they were now moving through one of the radiating spokes that attached the series of rings to the hub.

  They came to a halt about twenty minutes later, and the Bandati quickly released themselves from their restraints. Honeydew pulled Corso out of his gel-chair and led him outside the shuttle.

  Corso stared around him in a daze, his muscles aching from the long hours in a confined space.

  The platform on which the shuttle now rested was surrounded by a series of wide archways that revealed dense, alien-looking jungle beyond, and through which could be heard the distant calls and cries of wildlife. The archways were cut into the base of the spoke-shaft where it joined to the inner surface of the ring; Corso looked up to see the shaft rising above him, merging into a vanishing point beyond which lay the station’s hub. Looking back down and through the archways, he could see hundreds of thick cables reaching up from the curving inner surface of the gigantic pressurized tube in which they were now standing before, presumably, connecting with the shaft’s exterior. They reminded him of high-tension cables on a suspension bridge, and he realized that they served the same purpose.

  He could not fail to notice how run-down and patched-up everything looked, as if this particular ring had been abandoned for a long time. There was vegetation sprouting everywhere and, although far from unusual in the enclosed environment of a space station, it was clearly out of control. Vines clogged vents and crawled up the inner walls of the shaft.

  Something roared into life behind him and he turned, alarmed, to see that a flat-bed truck with enormous wheels had emerged from the shuttle’s cargo hold. Honeydew’s warriors spread out in a wide circle to surround the truck, their weapons at the ready and scanning the walls of the shaft. A small pulse-cannon array was mounted on the rear of the truck, which had no enclosed cabin, merely a steering column and controls at the front.

  Corso was guided onto the back of the truck, along with the rest of the Bandati. The vehicle lurched to life and shot across the open platform and through one of the adjoining archways.

  The truck soon slid to a halt, and Corso saw how half-ruined buildings surrounded the base of the shaft, all of them infested with plant-life gone wild. The Bandati conferred amongst themselves, presumably trying to figure out which way to go next.

  Corso stared up and up towards the roof of the ring, far above their heads. It wasn’t on the scale of a coreship environment, but it was pretty damned impressive nonetheless. Bright sunlight, reflected from external mirrors, shone through enormous windows cut into the roof before falling across the buildings surrounding them. He peered along the length of the ring, to where the jungle terrain rose out of sight. He could just make out the lower section of the next spoke-shaft along where it dropped down to connect to the ring’s inner surface.

  Something came arcing down from out of a weed-infested window and landed on the truck next to Corso. He looked down and saw a thick green leaf wrapped around what might be a large black rock or an enormous seed of some kind. It immediately began to steam and bubble, giving off clouds of noxious fumes.

  Corso was still staring down at it in stupefied amazement when one of the Bandati warriors reached over, scooped the strange package up and lobbed it far away from the truck.

  The truck again lurched forward, nearly hurling Corso off his feet. At the same time, the Bandati warriors all around him opened fire, their weapons burping and booming as they fired bullets and incendiaries high into the surrounding buildings. They appeared to have little trouble coping with their driver’s manoeuvring, but Corso had to hold on to a support rail with both hands and crouch low.

  The leaf-wrapped package detonated behind them, sending rock-hard black chunks arcing into the air. Corso felt a chill run down his spine as he realized how close he’d come to having his legs blown off.

  More of the same objects – leaf-grenades as Corso now thought of them – came raining down on them from on high, dropped from rooftops or thrown from windows and balconies. Winged figures were occasionally visible darting from rooftop to rooftop, wings spread wide and leaf-grenades gripped in hands or feet.

  Corso crouched lower, hands clamped over his ears, as the air was filled with noise and fury. A few more of the leaf-grenades landed on the truck itself, but were immediately scooped up and tossed some distance away.

  They drove down a narrow alley between two tall buildings, the truck bouncing and crashing under them, and then suddenly they were in the open and out of danger.

  For the first time, Corso got a sense of the true scale of the ring. It was like being at the bottom of a jungle-filled valley with impossibly steep sides. An enormous tree-like organism – its trunk bulging with air sacs – drifted overhead like a grotesquely oversized dandelion seed. The moist air was filled with unidentifiable smells, and the surrounding landscape was decorated with steep-sided artificial hills, some of whose slopes were stepped as if for cultivation. Everything else was covered by dense foliage or tall, swaying, tree-like growths.

  More leaf-grenades came dropping down towards them, hurled by more winged figures flying far overhead. Honeydew, along with the rest of the Bandati warriors, retaliated by firing straight up into the air. Corso ducked again, covering his ears, and just waited. Similar missiles now came arcing out from the densely wooded slopes of a nearby hill, till one of Honeydew’s warriors took control of the pulse-array, and the entire hillside burst into flames a moment later.

  The truck moved forward again, following a narrow trail leading around the outer curve of the giant ring, metal gleaming dully here and there through the all-enveloping mud and soil. Leaf-grenades still came sailing out of the greenery all around them, and Corso spotted a couple of Bandati gliding between the massive tree trunks, apparently trailing them. As the truck’s pulse-cannon ripped a swathe through the surrounding jungle, billows of smoke began rising up alongside the ring’s algae-smeared walls.

  ‘Who are they?’ Corso screamed at Honeydew. ‘They’re your own people! Why are they trying to kill us?’

  Honeydew paused from clicking and muttering into his interpreter. ‘They have diverged from the path of their true Queen,’ he responded, glancing momentarily towards Corso. ‘They have engaged in a perversion.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘They are attempting to breed their own Queen,’ Honeydew replied, as if that explained everything.

  They were now heading for a hill that rose considerably higher than the rest, with a dome-shaped building perched on its summit. Corso momentarily caught sight of the gas giant wheeling past. The trail climbed steeply up the hill and the truck headed straight on without stopping. Corso scrambled to maintain his foothold as the incline grew steeper and steeper.

  Finally, there was sight of someone waiting for them, for several Bandati, presumably native to the station, were gathered on the paved plaza surrounding the domed building Corso had glimpsed earlier. As the truck crunched to a halt, the Darkening Skies warriors drew their weapons and approached these natives. Clicks and screeches soon filled the air.

  Corso crawled carefully down from the truck bed, his l
egs feeling like rubber. He staggered over to one side of the plaza, taking in the superior view afforded by the hilltop.

  He noticed that the local Bandati’s wings were covered with coloured rags, like gaudy streamers, and Corso watched apprehensively as Honeydew began an intense discussion with one of them. He had a strong sense the locals didn’t want these newcomers anywhere near the domed building itself.

  Honeydew had mentioned something earlier about maul-worms, whatever the hell they were. But a stony-cold feeling in Corso’s gut told him he didn’t want to find out.

  The dome was made from carefully shaped blocks of curving stone, with a variety of glyphs worked into the surface. A winch mechanism stood at the very apex of the dome, with a cable extending downwards through a slit in the roof.

  He flattened himself on the ground as Honeydew and the rest of his warriors suddenly opened fire on the local Bandati. In an instant, broken and bleeding bodies were scattered far and wide across the plaza.

  Corso glanced towards the jungle all around, and wondered how far he would get if he made a break. But that only brought with it the question of precisely where he could go then, alone here on a remote space station filled with a bunch of extremely hostile aliens.

  Honeydew gestured to his troops and two of them moved towards Corso. His survival instinct then asserted itself and he made a run for it. As he fled down the hillside, a dark shape flew over him and he was felled to the ground. Two Bandati landed on either side of him and began dragging him back up the hill and towards the dome-shaped building.

  He saw now that the dome had a narrow, slit-like entrance. They led him inside, and the sounds of their footsteps echoed loudly in the enclosed space. Inside it was dark and cool. A heavy circular grating was embedded in the stone floor, while just above it hung the cable he’d seen extending through the ceiling, a heavy hook attached to its lower extremity. Heavy chains also hung loose from a peg set into the curving wall.

  Honeydew was the last to enter, and he stepped over to Corso.

  ‘Will you now tell us exactly how you sabotaged the protocols?’

  Corso glanced at the hook-tipped cable and the grating below it. ‘I was telling you the truth. I swear I didn’t do what you think. I don’t know why the Emissaries reacted the way they did, but I swear on my life it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Honeydew flexed his wings. ‘A pity, then. Nonetheless, I am bound by my duty.’

  Honeydew gestured and clicked briefly to the troops who had also entered the dome. They fetched several chains from the wall peg and used them to bind Corso, after first forcing him to his knees. He struggled at first, till a harsh blow to the back of his neck nearly knocked him unconscious. He slumped forward, coughing and moaning, as the heavy links were secured around his arms, chest and legs. Another of Honeydew’s warriors then came forward, and proceeded to attach a number of small, thumb-sized devices to the chains wrapped around Corso’s body.

  One of them went over to an electronic panel set into the wall and tapped on it. The cable dropped in response, until the hook clanged against the metal grating. Corso was then dragged forward and the hook inserted under the chains binding his feet.

  Then the grating beneath him was pulled over to one side and Corso shrieked in terror as he was lowered upside-down into the pit that had been hidden beneath it. Its sides were slippery with greenish-brown algae, and from it emerged a rich variety of unidentifiable yet undeniably unpleasant odours. He continued to yell and scream as Honeydew and the others quickly exited the dome, leaving him alone in the darkness.

  The chains were tight enough to have him struggling to breathe, and he could feel blood filling his head with a muted, pulsing roar.

  The only light now came through the narrow slit providing the dome’s entrance and the aperture in the ceiling through which the cable passed. Corso’s own panicked breathing now echoed back at him from the narrow funnel of the pit surrounding him. What were they going to do next – drown him? Was the pit filled with water?

  Then he heard muted roaring and slithering sounds from the black depths below him. At almost the same time, Honeydew’s amplified voice came seemingly out of nowhere.

  ‘Please look up, Lucas. Can you see the devices we attached to your chains?’ The words boomed through the empty darkness.

  ‘What?’ Corso twisted his head up. ‘It’s too dark. I can’t—’ And then he spied the faint points of dim red light dotted all around the chains binding him. Machines of some kind, each secured to a different metal link.

  The roaring and slithering seemed to be getting closer.

  ‘Listen. I can get the protocols working right really, really soon. I can—’

  ‘The truth or nothing, Lucas.’

  The roaring from below had become deafeningly loud. ‘You were right! I sabotaged them, but I can fix them! Just get me out of here!’

  He froze and stared down into the empty darkness below him.

  Something was moving down there.

  Something big.

  ‘So you did in fact alter the fragments in such a way as to make them unworkable?’

  ‘Yes!’ Corso screamed. ‘I was lying to you earlier! I just . . . I wanted to buy myself some time!’

  ‘Ah, very clever,’ came the answer. ‘But perhaps that also is a lie.’

  And then a hideous monster came roaring up out of the darkness and ate Corso.

  Except it wasn’t quite like that.

  The miniature devices attached to his chains turned out to be portable field generators of a type that, in sufficient numbers, could surround a user with a personal field-bubble. Hanging upside-down as he was, Corso didn’t notice them suddenly snap on and surround him with a protective field that revealed its presence only through a dim sparkle. But he certainly did see the great wormy shape that came lunging out of the pit’s inky depths; he did see its pale lips spreading wide, and he could just make out the soft, palpitating flesh of its throat as it swallowed him whole, those powerful peristaltic movements attempting to suck him deep down into its gullet.

  Except, of course, it couldn’t, because the bubble of energy surrounding Corso sent burning spasms through the worm’s flesh. The creature bucked and twisted violently before retreating, sliding a short distance back down the pit, while its intended meal remained dangling face-down towards it.

  Corso felt a warm trickle of urine slide down over his chest as he hung there, hyperventilating. There were, he now realized, worse things than even Emissary KaTiKiAn-Sha.

  ‘Corso?’ Honeydew’s synthesized voice emerged again from out of the darkness.

  ‘Yes?’ he croaked.

  ‘Watch carefully.’

  The field-bubble dissipated instantly, and the maul-worm came rushing upwards a second time. Corso croaked in horror, incipient madness fracturing his thoughts.

  Just before those vile lips closed around him, the field generators snapped on a second time. Pale striated throat-muscles vainly attempted to crush the uncrushable.

  Again, the monster retreated. Honeydew’s voice once more came out of the darkness.

  ‘The next time, we might not switch on the field-bubble, Lucas. We might just let the maul-worm eat you. Tell me, do you think you’re still useful enough for us to let you live?’

  Something snapped inside Corso, and he bellowed to the walls around him. ‘Don’t you understand that it doesn’t matter whether you or the Emissaries, or anyone else, has working protocols or not, Dakota is here in this system, and she could be in touch with the derelict already. Those protocols won’t make a damn bit of difference if she decides to take the derelict away from you!’

  ‘Is he telling the truth?’

  Corso tensed, his muscles rigid, his eyes staring down into the darkness. It wasn’t Honeydew who had just spoken. The voice he’d heard was unmistakably human.

  Not only that, it was one he recognized.

  ‘I believe so, yes,’ he heard Honeydew reply.

  �
�And she can do that? Just . . . grab the derelict and fly away with it?’ the human voice continued.

  The accent was Redstone old colonial: soft, rounded tones that spoke of a life of privilege.

  ‘So our previous interrogations suggest, assuming we can’t find a way of preventing it.’

  ‘But it’s so obviously unbelievable. How can you possibly give credence to something so—’

  ‘She’s already destroyed one derelict. If there’s any chance we can find the means to keep her from doing the same to the one located here, we must find the means.’

  ‘Yes, but like this? This is . . . barbaric.’

  Sal?

  Sal.

  Sal who’d driven down to Fire Lake with him when he’d been determined to kill Bull Northcutt. Sal who had been one of his oldest friends, and whom he’d last seen while looking out of the cockpit window of a helicopter lifting up from a frozen Redstone shore a million years ago.

  ‘Sal!’ Corso screamed, just as he was being winched lower into the pit. He glanced upwards, dizzy from the blood pooling in his head, and saw only a dim circle marking the rim of the pit.

  His throat was too sore to scream, but he could hear the monster approaching once more. He could smell its awful fetid breath, a stench even worse than that of the pit’s slimy walls.

  The worm surged up towards him and, at the very last moment, the shaped fields switched on. Corso closed his eyes tight and prayed for oblivion, not wanting to see the monster’s throat as it tried to crush the fields surrounding him.

  The worm slithered back down the pit, and the field snapped off. Again.

  As if awaiting its cue, the worm immediately rushed up and engulfed him. Once more the shaped fields snapped on at the very last moment.

  Corso tried to scream for mercy, but his throat was so raw that the words were unintelligible.

  The worm retreated for the last time.

  ‘—God’s sake, that’s enough!’ he heard Sal yell. ‘If you kill him, he’s no use to anyone.’