‘Guilt cannot be outrun.’
A jolt of surprise and a sudden intake of breath … and he was back in the roothouse.
Sad, sombre and resolved, he bowed his head. He knew what had to be done.
GREG
With a bloody nose and a twisted ankle, he staggered through the dying ship, desperately searching for a still functioning escape pod. The one he had been on the point of departing in had come under bludgeoning attack from a Legion cyborg trying to gain access to the ship. He remembered hearing the shriek of tortured metal as the thing ripped and cut its way through the ejection hatch then started on the hull of the pod itself. Ash and the others were already gone and he was on his own with only his instinct to guide him.
So he had scrambled back out of the pod, closed it up then resealed the heavy access hatch out in the gallery. Then he had hit the manual launch, sending the last pod in the port aft gallery away on its travels. He knew that the starboard aft pods had been wrecked by repeated missile strikes and that the starboard midsection ones had all been taken by the Tygran crew. That left the port midsection pod gallery. There was another cluster of them up in the bows but beam attacks had cut through the hull, turning the connecting corridors into mazes of razor-sharp debris blown open to hard vacuum.
So here he was, limping along with a knackered ankle and a bloody nose, earned when part of the deck grav fluctuated wildly earlier. In one hand he had a small foam extinguisher and in the other was a heavy beam pistol, while praying that he’d never have cause to use either. The corridors were smoky from onboard fires, concealed or otherwise, which the automatics were struggling to get under control. Yet worse than that were the never-ending sounds of activity out on the Silverlance’s hull – thuds, clanks, hammering, the squeal of rotary blades. In some respects the Legion cyborgs were incredibly low-tech but their weapons and implements were very effective at close quarters. Luckily, thus far they had confined their activities to the ship’s hull but he knew that this couldn’t last – he had seen what a dense flock of them could do to a vessel, similar to watching a seethe of midden-beetles strip the meat off a dead baro.
‘Warning, Acting Commander Cameron, low orbit continues to deteriorate.’
Greg grinned and patted the comm in his jacket’s chest pocket.
‘Good tae hear yer voice, Silverlance. Thought maybe you’d packed in.’
‘This intelligence continues to maintain overall integrity despite localised difficulties. Note that atmospheric entry will commence in nineteen point three minutes, and that vessel Silverlance will cease to be habitable in twenty-one point eight minutes. Disembarkation via escape pod is urgently advised.’
‘Right, aye, I’m working on it. What’s the latest on our guests outside?’
‘External sensors continue to degrade. So far, two large cyborg units confirmed, bulbous carapaces with heavy-duty edged, serrated and pincer extremities; also confirmed, at least nine lesser units, which appear at least semi-autonomous. One or two of them examined the outer personnel lock near the bridge deck – this lock sustained no damage from earlier attacks and the lesser units did not return to it. Housing and hull assembly scavenging continues … wait … signal … reroute … ’
The comm went dead. Greg shook his head and hastened onwards. Up ahead was a sliding section hatch leading to a junction of companionways, one of which led down to a lateral passage that ran straight to the port-side escape pods. But as he drew near he could see that the hatch was slightly canted to one side, and when he thumbed the open switch there was a whine, a tiny jerk of movement, then nothing.
He cursed and retraced his steps, hurrying now. He would have to go up a deck, pass through another section hatch then head down to the junction that way …
Well, I’ll not be stuck for tales to tell the grandkids when they ask what I did in the Battle of Darien – ‘Aye, well, boys and girls, it was like this – there I was, the last crewman aboard the brave ship Silverlance on its final doomed plunge into the planet’s atmosphere … and, eh, I kinda got lost on my way to the lifeboat … ’
He smiled, then realised that relating the Legion’s arrival would be the real crowd-pleaser – the details of that and the ensuing chaos were something that he would never forget.
First there had been the blue glow, lighting up the racks of dense cloud from beneath. And Greg had known that it was the Darien colony below and that the light had to be coming from Giant’s Shoulder, from the warpwell. The Silverlance and a handful of other ships, including the Imisil command vessel, had been about to launch a two-pronged attack on the huge Hegemony flagship, which was in stationary orbit around Nivyesta, the forest moon. The multi-channel shriek of interference and the sudden appearance of the glow had interrupted a few chases and skirmishes, but most of the ongoing pursuit and destruction of Darien’s dwindling groups of defenders continued.
The Silverlance and three Earthsphere warships were to provide the diversion of a frontal assault while the two remaining Imisil ships came in under stealth shields and attacked the flagship’s drives at the stern. They had begun the final approach, circling round Nivyesta, almost brushing the upper atmosphere, and the weapon-heavy Hegemony flagship was coming into view when …
When the holopanel with the view of Darien showed a stream of small black objects ascending from the glow in the clouds, which had turned into a strange swirling vortex. The Hegemony flagship was breaking orbit and ramping up its main thrust drives as it brought its nose round in the direction of the planet.
Orders from the Imisil commander had been to pursue with the aim of completing the planned assault. Ash had frowned but agreed.
Yet the long-range visual was showing that the stream of black objects had widened and become more densely packed. Greg had tried to recall what he had learned from the Zyradin and Chel – the ancient enemy of the Forerunners were known as the Legion of Avatars, not so much a race as a regimented civilisation zealously committed to a kind of union of flesh and machine, a cyborgisation of organic life, a deliberate blurring of the lines between organism and mechanism. The Forerunners had used the warpwells to defeat them and imprison them in the abyss of hyperspace. Released from that prison, they would wreak unimaginable chaos.
And still the rising stream grew, spreading out into milling formless clusters – until a Hegemony warship rushed in at them, weapons blazing. Heedless of the particle beams scything through their numbers, destroying dozens with every sweep, or of the missiles that vaporised scores as they detonated, the mass of them surged towards the attacking vessel, engulfing it so completely that no part of it was visible. Minutes later, the conglomeration of Legion cyborgs broke away like black webs unfurling, dissolving, reforming, and left behind a gutted shell drifting amid a haze of detritus. Then the Supreme Overcommander’s flagship came within firing range, along with a squadron of Hegemony cruisers, after which everything went to hell.
And still the Legion cyborgs continued to rise up from the surface of Darien, a gleaming black river of deadly brutal forms. There had to be thousands of them by now, but what if there were millions yet to emerge?
At that point Ash had reached a similar conclusion and ordered a course change, but even as the Silverlance moved off its trajectory, the ship AI warned of approaching hostiles. Moments later a cloud of cyborgs had converged on the Tygran and Earthsphere ships as they tried to escape.
That had only been a few hours ago. All the battles and skirmishes around Darien had merged into a single gargantuan convulsion of offensives and counter-offensives, barrages and forays, berserk charges and unavoidable routs. And from the surface of the planet still more cyborgs of the Legion poured forth in an unbroken torrent.
All the subsequent fighting, the collisions and near misses, and the devastating attack on the Silverlance by a Hegemony cruiser, was still clear and sharp in his mind as he clattered down the last companionway, coughing on the smoke. The lateral passage was about fifteen yards long and there, at the T
-junction at its end, was the entrance to the escape pod gallery.
‘Alert for … Commander Cameron … alert … ’
‘Having problems?’ Greg said as he hurried along the passage.
‘External interference exacerbating comm-net incapacity … alert – seven point two minutes until this vessel enters atmosphere … ’
An acerbic riposte came to Greg’s lips but died when an indistinct figure dashed across the T-junction up ahead. There was something familiar about that slight physique and barefoot stride …
‘Silverlance,’ he said, ‘I just saw someone run past at the end of the corridor, heading aft – who else is still on board?’
‘All crew accounted for. Apart from yourself, there are no other living persons aboard this vessel.’
‘Well, I didna imagine it … ’ he began, then wondered if his mind was starting to misfire under the burden of stress and exhaustion.
This is an ex-Hegemony ship, not a Forerunner monument – there’s no way that Catriona could be here …
Hurrying along, he had just reached the junction when the deck lurched underfoot, making him stumble and fall to his knees.
‘I am sorry, friend Gregory,’ said a voice from close by. ‘So very sorry … ’
The speaker sounded like Chel and seemed to be very near, but as Greg regained his feet he caught sight of a diminutive Uvovo figure back along the way he’d come. He raised a hand but before he could call out the deck jolted again, worse this time, knocking him sprawling.
‘Alert! – hull breach on bridge deck!’ said the ship AI. ‘Cyborg intruders have gained access to ship interior. Depressurised passageways have been sealed off. Five point seven minutes until atmospheric entry.’
Greg struggled to his feet, looking wildly around, but saw no one else. I definitely did not imagine that! But why did he say sorry? …
He dived into the escape pod gallery … and found his worst fears realised as he hurried along the line of pod hatches. Out of six, two had been launched while the rest had been wrecked by enemy fire. A sick dread filled his chest and he leaned back against the gallery partition wall.
‘Acting Commander, what is the pod status?’
He sighed. ‘Junk, or gone. Guess that’s that … ’
‘I would recommend trying to reach the pods in the forward section,’ said the ship AI. ‘There is a maintenance airlock forward of your location … ’
‘Is there time?’
‘If you can cross the hull to one of the forward maintenance locks you can still get to an escape pod. And remaining suited will shield you from any temperature increase for a while.’
He nodded, feeling his heart race. ‘Okay, then. Let’s give the dice another wee roll, eh?’
Running, he reached the windowed inner hatch of the maintenance airlock – and heard a bang and clatter come from back along the corridor, veiled by the smoke. Greg wasted no time, yanked open the hatch, slipped inside and slammed it shut, flipping all the safety catches – just as a black, hulking creature rushed into view and charged at the hatch. There was a deafening crash. Through the small oval window he saw what might have been eyes or lenses peering back at him from within an armoured carapace. Greg stared for a frozen moment, then grabbed a vacuum suit and began pulling it on.
The Legion cyborg was hammering, drilling and tearing at the hatch and inner bulkhead. Greg could hear the creak of breaking metal by the time the lock had been depressurised and he was clambering out onto the hull. Darien loomed overhead – the Silverlance was canted over to port relative to the planet as it rushed onwards in its decaying orbit. Darien filled the view with a dwarfing magnificence.
‘How long … have I got left?’ he said as he turned towards the bows and cursed when he saw another of the Legion cyborgs ripping up pieces of plating which its servitor machines were fixing to its carapace and occasionally their own.
‘Two point one minutes,’ said the ship AI. ‘Have you encountered difficulty?’
‘Aye, ye could put it that way,’ he said, shuffling forward, keeping the suit’s sticky boots near the hull. ‘Another Legion monster and its flock of mini-horrors. But I’m gonnae give it a shot … ’
Keeping his pace even and as quick as possible, without raising his legs too high, was draining. But he built up a rhythm and after a minute circling round the curve of the hull it looked as if he might reach the forward airlock in time. Until he came to a wide stretch of plating that was seared, dark and slightly deformed, and when he pressed the sole of one boot onto it there was no adherence. A beam strike must have damaged the plates and the darkened area was about four yards across and ran diagonally all the way across the ship’s forward flank. There was no time to go around it.
Greg raged and swore for all of ten seconds then, furious at this obstacle, he squatted down and leaned forward slightly. Then he pushed with his feet, propelling himself along, grabbing at any warped plate or protruding edge to keep himself on course. He nearly made it, getting to within a few feet of undamaged hull, but a misjudged reach punted him very gently away from the ship. Desperately he grabbed for purchase but found nothing – the action actually pushed him away faster.
So this is it, he thought. Is this why Chel said he was sorry? Did he know I was going to die but couldn’t help me?
He was still falling along the same path as the Silverlance, the same decaying trajectory. The Legion cyborgs and their slave machines were starting to leave the doomed vessel. Noting their departure, he looked up at the planet, intermittently glimpsing landmasses through the swirling cloud formations, crinkled coastlines, the deep dark blue-green of Darien’s oceans. He wondered if Catriona was still alive somewhere on Nivyesta, not so much a ghost in the machine as a spirit in the forest.
I wish I’d stayed, he thought. We could have been spirits together …
And the realisation came to him that he’d rather suffocate than die burning, and he reached for his helmet fastening ring …
‘Mr Cameron?’
He froze. The voice was coming over on the helmet comm. And it was oddly familiar.
‘ … if you can hear me please respond.’
‘Kao Chih? Is that you?’
‘Indeed it is, Mr Cameron. We seem to have located you in time.’
Greg’s mood lifted as he looked around him, seeing nothing but the ravaged hull of the Silverlance.
‘And where are ye … exactly?’
‘On the other side of Darien, roughly a third of an orbit away from your current position, surveying the disposition of the Legion of Avatars.’
His heart fell. ‘So you’re not really able to help me out, then … ’
‘On the contrary, Mr Cameron – if you look over to the port side of your warship your escape vehicle should be drawing near.’
Sure enough, a slender tapered shape rose into view, parallel to the Silverlance, and then smoothly glided towards Greg. He grinned widely and let out a whooping laugh.
‘I’m definitely impressed,’ he said. ‘But if you’re away round the back of Darien how are you tracking me?’
‘Mini-probes, Mr Cameron – we seeded Darien’s near-space orbital shell with them soon after we arrived.’
‘And who’s “we”?’
‘Oh, the Roug, Mr Cameron! – I’m aboard a Roug combat vessel, the Vyrk-Zoshel. I can show you a live image once you are inside the foray-pod … ’
The slender Roug craft had few curved surfaces, its rectilinear sections running lengthwise, widening at the stern into an oval fairing. A dark triangular canopy amidships slid open, revealing a cockpit couch, blue-lit by the pilot console.
‘I can activate retrieval cables if you like, Mr Cameron.’
‘Aye, if you could – these suits aren’t fitted with anything as sensible as manoeuvring jets.’
A pair of silvery lines sprang out of the cockpit, snagged him by waist and leg and hauled him to within arm’s length. As he clambered in and strapped himself into the strangely el
ongated couch, some of the bulbous controls pulsed brightly. A small square display screen went from pastel blue to cold black, showing an expanse of interplanetary space dominated by an immense grey vessel. Astonishingly, it was shaped like a bizarre, six-legged chimeric creature with its fangs bared and claws extended. A couple of small craft similar to the foray-pod seemed to be flying escort and they were tiny in comparison. The ship had to be at least a kilometre long.
‘Are you watching the screen, Mr Cameron?’
‘Certainly am.’
‘The sizeable grey vessel is the Vyrk-Zoshel, the last great war-vaunt of the Roug – I am speaking to you from the prime tactical chamber where a number of Roug interguides coordinate the foray-pod squadrons.’
‘So how is the battle going?’ he said, almost reluctant to find out. ‘Last strategic estimate I saw put the Legion cyborgs at about 350,000 and still growing … ’
‘The Roug sensors report their numerical strength to be in excess of 600,000 units,’ Kao Chih said, his voice level and unperturbed. ‘Fighting continues fiercely all around the planet’s orbital shell with chases and running skirmishes occasionally moving out as far as the orbit of the forest moon. As the groups of Hegemony, Earthsphere and other resisting warships diminish, we will soon become the primary target for the Legion’s threat-response consensus – we expect to be drawn into a major engagement in less than five minutes.’
‘I’m surprised that the Roug could spare this nice wee boat just to rescue me.’
‘The sad truth, Mr Cameron, is that they have more attack craft than they do pilots. It was easy to persuade them to allow me to use the mini-probe net to search for you, after learning of your difficulties from Lieutenant Ash upon our arrival … ’
‘Ash is still alive, eh?’
‘According to the last update we had from his ship,’ said Kao Chih. ‘His situation, I regret to say, is looking somewhat bleak.’
Greg nodded. ‘So – what do you have in mind for me? Bringing me over to that splendid ship of yours, or sending me back down to Darien?’
The Ascendant Stars Page 42