Pandora's Star cs-2

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Driving with them were eight matte-black Land Rover Cruisers, vehicles in common use among Commonwealth police and paramilitary forces operating in remote areas. On the road, they rode low on six independent suspension wheels, which could extend down and out to carry them over really rugged ground. The rest of the convoy was made up by a huge fuel tanker, and a couple of tow/repair trucks.

  When they reached the last stretch of road before the start of the Institute valley, it was already twilight. The scouts saw the headlights blazing ahead of them, visible for kilometers across the rumpled countryside, advertizing their presense. A couple of the Cruisers were out in front, their drivers accelerating eagerly now they could see the sodium orange corona from the Institute’s little town crowning the hill ahead.

  The dark sky was ripped apart by three blinding streaks of plasma as the McSobels opened fire from the top of the ridge. Two of the bolts struck the lead truck, blasting it apart. Inertia kept the disintegrating bulk tumbling forward as the freight containers spewed out great streamers of flame. After a couple of seconds the flaming wreckage flipped over and skidded to a stop, blocking the road. The third plasma bolt hit the fuel tanker. A tremendous explosion bloomed out, the fireball eruption swelling in seconds until it was over thirty meters wide, lighting up the whole convoy with garish menace. The trucks directly ahead and behind were completely engulfed, their own subsequent detonation adding to the devastation.

  Every vehicle in the convoy emergency braked as the attack began, wheels locking and screeching as they scored huge scars of black rubber along the enzyme-bonded concrete. Several of them came dangerously close to fishtailing as their automatic systems fought to stabilize the braking sequence.

  Another three plasma bolts flashed down. Two of them found their targets, smashing trucks apart in swarms of flaming debris. But the driver of the third truck had reflexes fast enough to activate his force field as he struggled to halt the bucking vehicle. A hemispherical shell of air solidified around the truck, sizzling electric blue as the bolt hit. Spikes of lightning lashed off in every direction. Long jagged lines of concrete ruptured into gravel and soot as the energy discharge pounded the road. Slim streamers of lava welled up in the gashes. There was nothing the force field could do to protect the truck from them as it slithered onward. Tires burst apart as they touched the molten rock, tipping the wheel hubs onto the ground. The front edge of the cab gouged out a huge scar as it shuddered to a violent stop.

  By then every other surviving vehicle had a force field surrounding it. Drivers shouted into their radios for help and instructions, receiving nothing but thick static even on the encrypted security channels. The road was completely blocked; if they were going to get to the safety of the valley they would have to drive across open ground. Force fields made progress along a flat surface difficult; to travel over such rugged terrain the strength of the protective hemispheres would have to be reduced. Nobody wanted to do that. A further series of plasma bolts whipped down, hammering at the force fields like the spears of angry gods. None of them penetrated, but the pyrotechnic electron display was lighting up the countryside for kilometers around. Waiting in their cabs, engines running, praying for reinforcements, the drivers watched in horror as the strobing incandescence revealed a dark horde of horsemen rushing down the ridge toward the road.

  Kazimir had fitted active lenses into his eyes long before the scouts reported the convoy was approaching. The view they presented him gave the world a pale emerald tint, but it stayed sharp and clear as the sun went down. Along with the rest of the Charlemagnes he hung back from the top of the ridge so the enemy had no hint of their presence. Then the McSobels fired the plasma cannon. His lenses simply refused to let that much light through into his eyes; he saw them as pink lines blinking on and off, like an afterimage of the noon sun traced across his retina. That was the signal to advance. With the sound of the exploding trucks reverberating around him, he urged Kraken forward to the crest of the ridge. A quick sideways glance showed Bruce at his side, laughing like a demon as the massive warhorses picked up speed. Then they were over the ridge, and the entire panorama glared brilliant jade below them as the diminishing tanker truck fireball ascended into the sky. He watched the trucks skidding about on the road, their force fields haloed by pieces of flaming wreckage that bounced and skittered across the invisible screens. The Cruisers had all turned off the road, and were driving straight toward the clan raiders as they charged down the slope.

  As the distance quickly shrank, the raiders started to fire their ion pistols and the larger carbines. Force fields protecting the Cruisers flared chrome-yellow, but none of the shots got through. The thunder of hooves was now as loud as the howl of flames bursting out of the ruined tanker and the crackling energy weapons. Kinetic rapid-fire guns on the front of the Cruisers opened up. Tall gouts of earth sprayed up around Kraken. One of the projectiles struck Kazimir. His force field rang like a sepulchral church bell, completely deafening him. Vibrant slivers of energy rippled down the dark confining field, then surged through the curlicues embroidered in the warhorse’s shield blanket, turning the metal a glimmering white, before grounding out through the bottom of the tassels. Blue and purple sparks fizzed out around Kraken’s hooves as they charged onward. The air was filled with the sharp tang of burning metal. All around him, the clan raiders were trailing fabulous streamers of Saint Elmo’s fire as the projectiles hammered into them, human comets streaking across the gloom. Warhorses screamed as the gunfire tore their flesh open, falling to the earth as blood poured through huge tattered wounds.

  A flight of missiles soared overhead. The Cruiser guns switched their aim upward, trying to lock on to the elusive barrage. Soldiers jumped out of the rear of the vehicles, sprinting for cover. They started firing ion rifles at the raiders. Their armor suit force fields became vivid coronal beacons as they were shot at in turn.

  The front line of warhorses wavered as their casualties built up. They were almost level with the lumbering Cruisers now. Small groups peeled away. Kazimir urged Kraken toward the front end of the convoy. There was little thought involved, he simply remembered that was where he was supposed to go. Five times he’d been hit by kinetic bullets or ion rifle fire. So far his armor suit’s force field had held. Terror and exhilaration surged through his body, crushing almost all rational thought. Only some faint recollection of the plan kept him moving in the right direction. He loved the vivacity of the mad ride straight into the lethal muzzles of the Institute soldiers. Simultaneously, the constant fear of being cut to shreds any second made him scream wordless defiance at his foes, while shooting his ion pistol wildly. It was insanity, and utterly beautiful. Even Kraken seemed to share the recklessness, pounding on into the heart of the bedlam. Blood from two craterous wounds was running down the warhorse’s flanks, soaking the shield blanket.

  Bruce was still level with him, still wearing the same rictus grin that had begun on the top of the ridge. He yelled something that Kazimir never heard above the clamor. Then he was gesturing urgently with the long barrel of his ion carbine. Kazimir glanced ahead. The road was only fifty meters away now, as brilliantly lit as any city, showing a zigzag jam of trucks. Bruce gestured again at the second truck, which had come to rest with its force field just nudging into the sputtering flames of the ruined lead truck. Kazimir’s heated zeal subsided enough for him to nod sharp agreement, and they both altered track for the trapped vehicle. Kraken galloped over the road in front of the flames, with Kazimir pulling on the reins to slow their unruly flight and curve back to the second truck.

  It was at that moment he saw into the Institute valley for the first time in his life. He couldn’t see far down it, the angle was wrong for that. From his position all he could make out were a few nondescript low buildings clustered around the end of Highway One. Beyond them, however, the aft section of the alien arkship was just visible. Kazimir had always known its dimensions, and how only something that large could survive centuries of travel b
etween the stars. But all the statistics Harvey had coached him in had never registered the way seeing it for real did. The diabolical thing was big. Its fuselage design followed a simple cylindrical geometry, with various protrusions and fins breaking the uniformity of its eight-hundred-meter length, and a complex wart-cluster of force field generators at the prow. At the rear it was a sheer circular cliff of metal two hundred fifty meters in diameter, with the eight stubby nozzles of its fusion drives sticking out. The Institute had set up a ring of powerful arc lights around the ship, centering it in a huge pool of bright monochrome light. Not that Kazimir could see many of the slate-gray metal hull plates. Vast arches of scaffolding had been erected around theMarie Celeste , supporting access walkways running the length of the fuselage. The shapes of humans and bots were discernible moving along the aluminum planking, tiny scavenger insects swarming over some fallen corpse. Cranes rose from the apex of the scaffolding, their long gantries hauling up big freight containers to the loading bays on every walkway level. Flashes of ruby laserlight were coming from the dark cavities of the fusion drive nozzles, evidence of a great deal of activity within.

  A sudden chill washed across Kazimir’s skin, sobering his thoughts. Actually seeing the enemy that his clan was sworn to destroy was a humbling experience. The power and purpose reflected in the massive arkship was formidable, an extension of its master’s will. He felt pathetically small by comparison.

  “Come on!” Bruce yelled as he galloped past. “For fuck’s sake, Kaz.”

  Kazimir dropped his gaze from the ship and saw a fleet of black Land Rover Cruisers tearing out of the Institute town, accelerating toward them.

  He grunted, “Oh, shit,” under his breath and urged Kraken around toward the intact truck. His hand fumbled with the equipment belt hanging from the side of his saddle, but he eventually found the dump-web unit and pulled it free. Ten meters ahead of him, Bruce was holding his own dump-web, leaning forward in his saddle as he rushed up to the force field surrounding the truck. His arm began to sway to and fro, calculating the weight and closing distance. Then as the warhorse was only a meter from the edge of the force field he swung the unit in a short arc and let go. The dump-web hit the ground and bobbled along until it reached the shield.

  Kazimir had little chance to check his friend’s accuracy. He was doing the same thing with his own unit, letting it swing slightly, watching the force field as he hurtled toward it. Speed, distance, angle—he judged them all and dropped it at what he knew was the right moment, squeezing the activation trigger as it left his hand. The heavy gadget bounced a couple of times, then slapped into the force field. Internal sensors detected the coherent energy structure and immediately deployed the compressed nest of conductive filaments at the core of the unit. Fine dark strands expanded quickly, sliding their way along the curve of the shield like a stain spreading upward. The flimsy mesh began to leach energy out of the force field, channeling the flow down into the ground. Smoke began to rise up from the enzyme-bonded concrete where the lower half of the web was unfurling. On the back of the truck, behind the cab, the force field generator began a near-subliminal whining as it consumed more and more power, trying to reinforce the relentless drain that was gnawing into it in two places. The driver watched helplessly as more and more indicators on the cab dashboard turned from amber to red.

  Thirty seconds after Kazimir let go of his dump-web, the huge quantity of energy that the generator had to pull from its superconductor battery to maintain the shield’s integrity exceeded its rated wattage. The force field collapsed as small turquoise flames jetted out of glowing cherry-red cooling fins on the generator casing. Several hundred meters overhead, loiter missiles launched by the McSobels detected the failure. Their sensors acquired the naked truck. Solid rocket boosters ignited, and they screamed down vertically at Mach four.

  Kazimir was halfway back to the bottom of the ridge when the truck exploded behind him. He risked a quick look over his shoulder and whooped for joy at the sight of the billowing flames. There must have been some volatiles in one of the containers; flaming aquamarine globules were spinning out of the main explosion, soaring across the night sky like rampant fireworks.

  Another convoy truck’s force field vanished, and long rocket plumes blazed high above as missiles locked on. Several clan raiders were circling the remaining trucks, ready to throw their dump-webs. Spread out between the road and the ridge, the firefight between Institute soldiers and the remaining mounted raiders was intense. The rapid-fire guns on the Cruisers were inflicting heavy casualties among the Charlemagnes. Retaliatory ion carbine shots were directed at the vehicles, turning their protective force fields into seething bubbles of light.

  Kazimir tugged the reins slightly, steering Kraken away from the stationary Cruisers. According to the plan, all he had to do now was get back to the top of the ridge, and from there the rendezvous point. At that moment he hadn’t realized how close the Institute reinforcements had come until the rapid-fire guns on the first of the new Land Rovers opened fire. A patch of ground along the side of Kraken tore open, throwing up a ragged curtain of earth and vegetation. The big beast bellowed in shock, jerking sharply to one side. Kazimir clung on grimly.

  Bruce was slightly ahead of him, staying low in the saddle. Ten meters beyond him, three Institute soldiers jumped up from nowhere and opened fire with their ion rifles. Bruce’s force field glared like a fragment of captured sunlight, the howl of its energy stresses louder than any thunderclap. Perilously thick tendrils of electricity writhed across his Charlemagne’s shield blanket, punching out of the tassels like a jet exhaust. Kazimir was already shooting back at the soldiers, forcing them to stop, when Bruce’s warhorse reared up as if to charge its attackers. Kinetic projectiles from a Cruiser rapid-fire gun plunged into its underbelly, shredding hide, organs, and bone in a cloud of crimson vapor. Time and gravity withdrew for a moment, allowing the mighty warhorse to hang poised on its hind legs. Then it slowly toppled over. Kazimir howled, “NO!” as he watched Bruce slide off the saddle, instinctively seeing the shape that the fall would take. Bruce hit the ground first, and ion rifle fire pummeled at him, straining his armor toward overload. The warhorse collapsed on top of him, its momentum rolling it over. Kazimir froze, staring in agony as more and more of his friend was engulfed by the massive carcass. Bruce actually managed to lift one arm, as if he were clawing his way free. Then the force field nimbus flickered and died. The warhorse completed its roll, crushing the human beneath an avalanche of dead steaming flesh.

  More trucks exploded as missiles slammed down. The newly arrived Land Rovers rushed onward, driving straight for the retreating groups of warhorses. Clan raiders concentrated their fire on individual Institute soldiers, overwhelming their armor.

  Kraken stood perfectly still as the battle raged around them. Kazimir hadn’t moved, his stare fixed on the bloody remains of Bruce’s warhorse, unaware of anything else. Waiting, waiting…

  Another clan raider charged past, screaming something at Kazimir, half of it obscenities. Sound and light swooped back into Kazimir’s universe. The raid was over. They were supposed to be leaving. Already, most of the warhorses were galloping back up the slope. He spurred Kraken on, searching the ground ahead. A couple of the Institute soldiers were kneeling beside a clump of thick bushes not twenty meters away, shooting at the raiders on the slope above. Kazimir was never sure if it was him or Kraken who chose the direction, only that it was the right direction. They were suddenly moving toward the soldiers, picking up speed. The soldiers had a few seconds’ warning, both of them turning to gape in consternation at the terrible medieval vision of vengeance bearing down on them. One ran. One brought his rifle up. Kraken lowered its head, the titanium blade of its horn level with the soldier’s chest. Kazimir’s face was contorted into a vicious sneer of triumph as the tip rammed home into the soldier’s force field. There was a brief cascade of sparks, streaming out of his torso like some ephemeral flower. Then the carbon-bonded b
lade punctured the armor, slicing clean through the sternum and into the soft tissue of the organs inside the rib cage. That was when Kraken shoved its neck back, ripping the blade upward. The soldier’s body left the ground, dragged upward as the blade continued its scythe through his upper half before it pulled out with a last violent shake as Kraken twisted. The torn figure spun lazily through the air, squirting arterial blood as it went.

  Kazimir knew he should have felt joy. The sweetness of revenge. But it was a hollow, meaningless victory. It mattered nothing to Bruce that the soldier was dead. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t rejoice back in West Dee, wouldn’t down glass after glass of beer, would never get his chance with Bethany. Bruce was dead.

  As if knowing Kazimir’s confusion, Kraken sped away back up the slope on its own accord, carrying its rider back to the safety of the forest.

  The rendezvous spot was a patch of clear ground alongside a small stream, deep in the forest. There should have been twelve McFosters gathered there. Instead, there were only nine. A somber Scott McFoster began the roll call. Kazimir listened to the names with eyes closed and tears leaking down his cheeks.

  The roll call was the formal end of every raid. Unless you were there and confirmed your name to the squad leader, there could be no readmission to the clan and its places, the villages, farms, and forts. Too many fighters had fallen in battle only to be caught and enslaved by the Starflyer. Many of them were sent back to infiltrate and kill the very clansmen and women they had grown up among. The roll call prevented such treachery from reoccurring.