The Voyage of the Sable Keech s-2

by Neal Asher

  ‘I am in contact with Oboron,’ the Earth AI replied. ‘Obviously there is more to this than we suspected.’

  No shit, thought the Warden, privately.

  As a result of five coil-gun projectiles obliterated by Vrell’s particle cannons, incandescent gases billowed in high atmosphere. The blast from the second from last projectile, had it struck Vrell’s spaceship, would also have smashed the Sable Keech into burning fragments and scattered them across kilometres of ocean. The last projectile would have left little of the ship but ash, since when it was fired its target was parked right underneath the sailing vessel. Both missiles would have resulted in a wave sweeping past the island to strike the two approaching Hooper ships with the force of a bullet.

  There seemed little doubt: the moment Vrell’s weapons were fully engaged defending himself from Vrost’s troops, that coil-gun would fire again, and then again. The Warden could do nothing. By his actions, Vrost had called the AI’s bluff.

  Vrost, of course, could not resist commenting on this. ‘I must assume then that you have decided not to use your U-space weapons against me?’The translated voice of the Prador was flatly devoid of emotion, but the sarcasm was implicit.

  The Warden replied, ‘I am consulting with Earth Central on the matter, and EC is talking to your King. I estimate it will take a few more hours before Vrell is completely engaged with your forces, and therefore before you can make an effective coil-gun strike. By then I will have received my instructions.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vrost. ‘I was beginning to think that perhaps your U-space weapons had malfunctioned.’

  Screw you and the horse you rode in on.

  The Warden felt brief disquiet at his own angry reaction, for that seemed very like something Sniper would say, then assigned this pointless banter to a submind and turned his attention to communication with Earth Central.

  ‘Oboron was apparently unaware of Vrost’s actions there, and is now attempting to open a communications channel. But he is apparently experiencing some difficulties in that respect.’ The Earth Central AI’s sarcasm was all too evident. ‘I would suggest, however, that the King is in constant com with Vrost. I am therefore about to inform Oboron that Vrost’s actions will not be tolerated. ECS beta-class dreadnoughts, though some distance from Spatterjay, are in a position to intercept Vrost’s spaceship upon its return to the Prador Kingdom. I suggest you meanwhile raise the underlying issue here with Vrost.’

  The Warden acknowledged that, and returned his full attention to communicating with the Prador captain. His submind was saying, ’… I am attempting to adjust U-space targeting so as not to completely obliterate your ship, but those adjustments are very finely—’ The Warden absorbed the temporary mind in a microsecond, and in another microsecond scanned the previous exchange for anything of relevance. Word games: bluff from his submind and contempt from Vrost. Allowing a pause of some seconds the AI continued, ‘It occurs to me, Vrost, that with your warriors and drones in the sky, and your ship in constant orbit, Vrell is unlikely to ever be leaving the planet. This being the case, I have to wonder at your anxiety. What is so dangerous about one post-adolescent Prador, that you need to kill it so quickly, despite risking the ire of Earth Central in doing so? We can surely wait until he attempts to leave, and destroy him once he is clear of the ocean and collateral damage minimized?’

  A long pause ensued. Doubtless Vrost was speaking to Oboron and learning what lay in store for himself and his ship once he left Spatterjay. Clearly there was something Oboron did not want the Polity to learn about Vrell, but would the King want to sacrifice so large a ship as Vrost’s to that end, or—the Warden now considered Vrost’s destruction of that guard—allow that ship to be captured and its occupants studied?

  After a few minutes the Warden detected the coil-gun powering down, then watched it fold back into Vrost’s ship.

  ‘Agreed,’ said the Prador captain. ‘I have finally managed to open a communication channel back to the Kingdom, and received instructions from Oboron. He has informed me that I must make this particular task my primary objective, rather than those other matters concerning me. My anxiety was due to my wish to quickly complete this chore.’

  Other matters. Yeah.

  ‘I appreciate your cooperation,’ the Warden replied.

  Then, utterly to the AI’s surprise, he observed Vrost’s other forces withdrawing out of range of Vrell’s weapons. It seemed the storm had paused.

  * * * *

  Erlin gazed down at the sea, eyeing the countless remains of marine denizens—most of them adolescent rhinoworms—floating on the surface. Clearly the underwater battle had been just as vicious as the one in the sky. Though it was night and Coram had yet to breach the horizon, she could see everything clearly. Even the ship’s lights looked dim in the glare of the luminous clouds smeared across half the firmament. As she gripped the rail, her expression was stormy. She guessed at the cause of those clouds—the kind of weaponry recently employed from orbit, and fortunately negated—and how close they had all come to extinction. But now the dark weapons turrets of the Prador ship were still, and she could no longer hear the sound of distant thunder. Perhaps they had made a truce, but it seemed more likely to her that they had run out of ammo.

  Erlin knew her cynicism was due to weariness and frustration, though not necessarily unfounded. But she was busy—and that was important to her. She had spent many hours going from cabin to cabin, checking on the reifications. Though most of them could tell her if they needed help, a proportion of them possessing older reification hardware had been knocked out by the EM overspill from the surrounding battle. A steady stream of reifs had been going into the tanks, for their by-no-means-certain resurrection. One nanochanger had completely dissolved a reif and filled that particular tank with a slimy mass of intestines. But that was the least of her problems.

  She assessed all they thus far knew: Vrell was alive and well and parked directly beneath them in his father’s spaceship; a larger vessel had then arrived from the Kingdom with the obvious intent of turning Vrell into Prador kebabs while the Warden had been trying to prevent collateral damage. Communication with the AI up on Coram had been intermittent at best, and even when they achieved it, the Warden did not have much to say. The AI probably felt that informing them they were about to die would only prolong the general anguish. The planetary server was also not doing so well and, what with the same EM interference that had done for the reifs, the Sable Keech’s com system was down too. But the attack had ceased, so what now?

  ‘Thirteen!’ Erlin bellowed.

  Perhaps trying to find out more might be an unwise move. Really she should just head for her bunk, as had been her intention.

  ‘Thirteen!’ she bellowed again.

  ‘I’m here.’

  The seahorse drone rose up beside the ship and hovered before her, glinting in the light of the burning sky.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ said Erlin. ‘This is not exactly the safest place to be at the moment.’

  ‘It was safer here than trying to get to elsewhere. Even though I am small, Vrell’s systems would still have detected me and shot me down.’

  Erlin observed the water dripping from the drone’s iron-coloured skin. ‘You’ve been down to Vrell’s ship.’

  ‘Vrell’s internal security is good, but not that good.’

  ‘Anything to report?’

  ‘I managed to slip inside through a damaged section of the hull. Vrell is in serious trouble. Not only does he have one of his relatives intent on obliterating him before he can leave the planet, but he cannot leave anyway.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘He has some of the Vignette’s crew working on the U-space engine. I scanned it. It’s damaged and I very much doubt he possesses the facilities to repair it,’ replied the drone succinctly.

  ‘Vignette?’ asked Erlin.

  ‘Ah, you don’t know,’ said Thirteen, then explained.

  Erlin contemplated the si
tuation. Ron, having fought the Prador in that long-ago war, and being simply what he was, an Old Captain, would not be at all pleased. And certainly, knowing Hoopers were enslaved in the ship below him, he would want to act. She herself understood the horror of the situation, and realized that something must be done.

  ‘The rest of the Vignette crew?’ she asked.

  ‘They are secured in a holding area, their thralls keeping them somnolent.’

  ‘And Vrell himself?’

  ‘As far as I can ascertain he is working in the drone cache. I avoided him completely—evading the spaceship’s security systems was difficult enough.’

  Erlin nodded. ‘Why’s the shooting stopped?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Then ask the Warden.’

  The drone bobbed in the air, as if undecided, then agreed: ‘Very well.’ The delay before the drone’s next utterance was brief. The voice, however, sounded different. ‘Ah, Erlin, you seem well enough after your recent adventures.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Warden. Now perhaps you can update me somewhat on current events?’

  Still speaking through Thirteen, the Warden replied, ‘Vrost, the Prador who recently turned this area into a war zone, has desisted for the moment. How long this will last is open to conjecture.’

  ‘And what are we supposed to do, meanwhile?’

  ‘Do you have by chance any religious inclinations?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Then any suggestion that you pray would be wasted. I will let you know if there is any means I can use to get you out of this trap.’

  The light advancing and retreating in its eyes, the drone jerked as the Warden suddenly withdrew.

  To Thirteen, Erlin said, ‘Wade tells me there’s a submarine aboard. Maybe, with that, something can be organized to rescue at least some of the Vignette’s crew?’

  ‘The hull of Vrell’s ship is only three metres down,’ the drone told her.

  ‘Just breather gear or good lungs should do then.’ She pointed to the dead creatures floating in the sea. ‘It’s not very lively down there at the moment. Tell Captain Ron I’ll join him on the bridge shortly. I’m sure we can work something out between us.’

  The drone drew back a little way, as if mulling over her suggestion. Erlin sniffed and wrinkled her nose. A putrid odour had infected the air. Somewhere close by was a virus-infected reif. Then Thirteen swivelled abruptly and bellowed, ‘Watch out!’

  Bony fingers closed around her throat, dragging Erlin back from the rail. Another skeletal hand opened before her face, extending blades from its fingertips. Then a blinding flash of ruby light cut the air, and she saw Thirteen fall from sight, canted to one side with steam pouring from it.

  ‘Yes, let’s join Captain Ron on the bridge,’ said Taylor Bloc, from the shadows.

  Aesop, clutching a laser carbine, stepped over to the rail and peered down into the sea.

  ‘Fragile hardware,’ he commented.

  ‘Yes, Polity technology often is,’ agreed Bloc, as he stepped hideously into view, five of his Kladites crowding behind him.

  Erlin at once realized Bloc had not been looking after his physical condition. She also knew what it took to bring down a Polity drone like Thirteen. She remained silent about both matters.

  * * * *

  Over a wide area, few creatures were moving. The underwater shock waves had ruptured leeches, prill and glisters; EM pulses had disrupted the senses of other bottom dwellers; and infrasound and ultrasound weapons had done for the remainder. However, right beside two downed Prador drones, a silvery eye extruded on a stalk from the settling mud.

  Even though chameleonware had always been the form of concealment favoured by the Polity, Vrell, having installed such tech in his own drone, had expected no less from his Prador attackers and so had designed a defence to counter it. The attacking drones and armoured Prador had indeed used chameleonware, which was surprising to Sniper, but Vrell used EM pulses to disrupt the ‘ware long enough for any attackers to be detected and destroyed, and the ‘ware, not really being efficient in a medium like water, Vrell’s torps had homed in on the holes it created. However, there remained one hole in Vrell’s defence: conventional concealment.

  Since his chameleonware would conceal him neither in the sky nor sea, approaching that way would have been suicidal. However, the mud beneath lay metres deep and, clinging to the rocky bottom below it, the old Polity drone had been able to drag himself, so far undetected, to within a few kilometres of Vrell’s ship. Now it seemed the battle was over, there being no disrupting EM pulses coursing through the water. But Sniper was not fooled: the line of detectors might be a few kilometres behind him, but they would still pick up his absence in the water if he emerged from the mud and turned on his ‘ware.

  ‘What do you hope to achieve, Sniper?’ enquired the Warden over U-space com.

  Sniper paused and considered numerous foul responses. Instead he chose to be reasonable. ‘If I can get to Vrell, this could all be over in the time it takes me to pull off his legs.’

  After a pause, the Warden replied, ‘Continue, then, and inform me the moment you are aboard his ship—should that remote possibility occur.’

  Sniper retracted his eye and dragged himself onwards. Only another ten kilometres to cover.

  * * * *

  The bar had no closing time. As rhinoworms were no longer trying to scramble aboard, and no local monsters seemed likely to try while the Sable Keech sat on a bloody great Prador spaceship, Janer decided there was nothing else for it but to enjoy a good drink or two then head for his bed.

  ‘If Zephyr tries to leave now, Vrell’s weapons would destroy him,’ he observed to Wade, sitting opposite him at the table.

  ‘This is true,’ said the Golem.

  ‘What was your plan then?’ asked Janer. ‘If our friend had not appeared below, and Zephyr did head off?’

  ‘Follow him and try to dissuade him from his course, then if all else failed, destroy him.’

  ‘It all sounds wonderfully simple, except for one problem. You can’t fly.’

  ‘Wrong, Mr Anders. I keep an AG harness in my cabin.’

  Janer took another slug of rum. ‘Just one?’

  ‘Yes, just one.’

  Janer liked Isis Wade and understood some of his motivations, but his trust of the Golem remained limited. Wade was here, apparently, to heal a rift in an ancient hive mind’s personality and, failing that, to altruistically prevent a catastrophe which the other half of that personality might cause. That all sounded fine, but how close to the edge would Wade play it? Would he wait until Spatterjay and all its inhabitants were teetering on the edge of disaster? Would he wait too long and be unable to prevent Zephyr using the virus? Janer realized that if Zephyr flew and Wade pursued, he must somehow follow as well, but he was not sure how he could manage that.

  Then other matters intruded. The ship’s intercom gave an ersatz crackle and Ron began to speak. ‘All passengers and crew must return to their cabins for the duration of the current crisis. This order comes direct from Taylor Bloc. Anyone seen on deck or in the ship’s corridors will be shot on sight and tipped over the side… and that includes all you Hoopers out there. Go immediately to your cabins, and stay there or answer to me. Janer Cord Anders is to report to the bridge.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ murmured Janer, inevitably.

  Reifications were getting up from the nearby tables. None of them could show much in the way of expression, but Janer guessed they must be scared. It seemed Bloc had finally gone completely power crazy, and the ancient expression control freak now occurred to him.

  ‘So, what do we do?’ he hissed to Wade.

  The Hoopers were leaving as well. They could have quite easily dealt with any Kladites on deck and were probably not much concerned about anything else Bloc might do, but he knew that there were few Hoopers who dared risk Captain Ron’s wrath.

  ‘You will go to the bridge,’ said Wade, his head tilted to one
side as if he was listening to something. ‘And you will do nothing with that nice little gun of yours, no matter how tempting that might seem.’ Wade smiled tiredly. ‘Of course, even Zephyr and myself have been experiencing problems after the recent EM emissions, so I very much doubt that any of the security systems are still operating below decks.’

  ‘So?’ said Janer.

  Wade held out the flat of his palm. ‘It won’t be your concern, Janer.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘You had better go now. You’ve just half an hour, and the bridge is not that close.’

  Janer swore, got out of his chair, and headed for the door.

  * * * *

  Drooble and Shalen stood behind the Prador, handing it the tools it required. Orbus and Lannias stood back against the wall, out of the way but ready should Vrell summon them. Orbus blinked, comprehending the scene from inside the rigid Prador grip on his mind, like a glister wrapped in the tentacles of a giant whelk. When he managed to fix his mind on the contents of the engine casing, comprehension fled him for a moment, for there were things in there that twisted out of human perception, but it returned even stronger as his gaze fell away.

  I’m beating the thrall, just like Captain Drum did, he realized.

  Keeping his eyes averted he peered down at his hands and tried to move them. Nothing for a moment, then, as if his right forefinger suspended the full weight of a man, it slowly eased itself out from his thigh. He snapped it back down, his eyes facing forwards, when Vrell abruptly turned and himself selected from the tool chest something that seemed to bleed shadow. Orbus realized, by what feedback he could understand through the controlling link from the Prador, that the creature was not fully repairing the engine. He sensed the shifting of plot and counterplot in an incredibly complex mind, but could understand no more than that. Eventually, however, the Prador was satisfied. Hissing, it drew back from the compartment and its hinged upper half closed down on the incomprehensible components inside it. New orders then came through the Captain’s thrall, and with Lannias he stepped forwards to go to work.