"The Naked God - Faith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F.)Chapter 03Rocio waited a day after the Organization’s convoy returned from the antimatter station before he abandoned his routine high orbit patrol above New California and swallowed out to Almaden. Radar pulses from the asteroid’s proximity radar washed across In turn, Rocio focused his own senses on Almaden’s docking ledge. Each of the pedestals had been struck by laser fire, spilling a sludge of metal and plastic out across the rock where it had solidified into a grey clinker-like puddle with a surface badly pocked by burst gas bubble craters. The nutrient fluid refinery and its three storage tanks had also been targeted. Rocio shared his view with Pran Soo who was back at Monterey. What do you think?he asked his fellow hellhawk. The refinery isn’t as badly damaged as it looks. It’s only the outer layers of machinery which have been struck. Etchells just ripped his laser backwards and forwards over it, which no doubt looked spectacular. Lots of molten metal spraying everywhere, and tubes detonating under the pressure. But the core remains intact, and that’s where the actual chemical synthesis mechanism is. Typical. Yes. Fortunately. There’s no practical reason why this can’t be returned to operational status. Providing you can get the natives to agree. They’ll agree,rocio said. We have something they want: ourselves. Good luck. Rocio shifted his senses to the counter-rotating spaceport, a small disk whose appearance suggested it was still under construction. It was mostly naked girders containing tanks and fat tubes, with none of the protective plating that spaceports usually boasted. Three ships were docked: a pair of cargo tugs and the Rocio opened a short range channel. “Deebank?” “Good to see you.” “Likewise. I’m glad you haven’t been thrown out of your new body.” “Let’s just say, there are more people sympathetic to my cause than there are to the Organization.” “What happened to the lieutenants?” “Complaining to Capone direct from the beyond.” “That was risky. He doesn’t take rebellion kindly. You may find several frigates arriving to make the point.” “We figure he’s got enough problems with the antimatter right now. In any case, the only real option he’s got left against this asteroid is to nuke us. If that looks likely, we’ll shift out of this universe and take our chances. We don’t want to do that.” “I understand perfectly. I don’t want you to do that, either.” “Fair enough, you and I both have our own problems. How can we help each other?” “If we’re going to break free from the Organization we require an independent source of nutrient fluid. In return for you repairing your refinery, we are prepared to transport your entire population to a planet.” “New California won’t take us.” “We can use one which the Organization has already infiltrated. Myself and my friends have enough spaceplanes to make the transfer work. But it will have to be soon. Without the antimatter station there will be no new infiltrations, and those that have been seeded will not remain in this universe for much longer.” “We can start repairing the refinery right away. But if we all leave, how are you going to maintain it?” “Spare parts must be manufactured in sufficient quantity to keep the refinery functional for a decade. You will also have to adapt your mechanoids for remote waldo operation.” “You’re not asking for much.” “I believe it’s an equal trade.” “Okay, cards on the table. My people here say the components shouldn’t be any problem, our industrial stations can handle that. But we can’t produce the kind of electronics which the refinery needs. Can you get hold of them for us?” “Datavise a list over. I will make enquiries.” Jed and Beth had listened to the exchange in the stateroom cabin they’d moved into. They were spending a lot of time in the neatly furnished compartment by themselves. In bed. There wasn’t a lot else to do since Jed’s mission to resupply their food stocks. And despite Rocio’s assurances that his plans were progressing smoothly, they couldn’t shake off their sense of impending disaster. Such conditions had completely suppressed their inhibitions. They were lying together on top of the bunk in post-coital languor, stroking each other in cozy admiration. Sunlight streaming in through the wooden slats that covered the porthole was painting warm stripes across them, helping to dry damp skin. “Hey, Rocio, you really think you can make this deal swing?” she asked. The mirror above the teak dresser shimmered to reveal Rocio’s face. “I think so. Both of us want something from the other. That is the usual basis for trade.” “How many hellhawks want in?” “A sufficient number.” “Oh yeah? If a whole load of you bugger off, Kiera’s gonna do her best to cripple you. You’ll have to defend Almaden for a start. You’ll need combat wasps for that.” “Good heavens, do you really think so?” Beth glared at him. “There are no suitable asteroid settlements available in other star systems,” Rocio continued. “This is our one chance to secure an independent future for ourselves, despite its proximity to the Organization. We will make quite sure we’re capable of defending that future, never fear.” Jed sat up, making sure the blanket was covering his groin when he faced the mirror (Beth never did understand that brand of shyness). “So where do we fit in?” “I don’t know yet. I may not need you, after all.” “You gonna turn us in to Capone?” Beth asked, hoping her voice didn’t waver. “That would be difficult. How would I explain your presence on board?” “So you just let Deebank and his mates in here to take care of us, huh?” “Please, we are not all like Kiera. I had hoped you’d realize that by now. I have no desire to see the children possessed.” “So where are you going to let us off?” Beth asked. “I have no idea. Although I’m sure the Edenists will be happy enough to retrieve you from my corrupt clutches. Details can be worked out when we have locked down our own position. And I have to say that I’m disappointed by your attitude, given what I saved you from.” “Sorry, Rocio,” Jed said immediately. “Yeah, didn’t mean no offence for sure,” Beth said, one degree above sarcasm. The image faded, and they looked at each other. “You shouldn’t annoy him so much,” Jed protested. “Jeeze, babe, we’re like totally dependent on him. Air, water, heat, even bloody gravity. Stop pushing!” “I was just asking.” “Well don’t!” “Yes, sir. Forgot for a moment that you were in charge of everything.” “Don’t,” Jed said remorsefully. He reached out and stroked her cheek tenderly. “I never said I was in charge, I’m just worried.” Beth knew full well that when he looked at her body the way he was doing now, what he actually saw was the memory of Kiera’s fabulous figure. It didn’t bother her any more, for reasons she didn’t question too closely. Need overcoming dignity, most likely. “I know. Me too. Good job we’ve found something to keep our minds off it the whole time, huh?” His grin was sheepish. “Too right.” “I’d better get going. The kids’ll be wanting their supper.” Navar squealed and pointed when they walked into the galley. “You’ve been at it again!” Jed tried to bat her hand away, but she dodged back, laughing and sneering. He could hardly rebuke her; he and Beth hadn’t exactly been secretive about what they were doing. “Can we eat now?” Gari asked plaintively. “I’ve got everything ready.” Beth gave the preparations a quick inspection. The girls and Webster had prepared six trays for the induction oven, mixing food packets together. Potato cakes with rehydrated egg mash and cubes of carrot. “Well done.” She keyed in the quantity on the oven’s control panel, and activated it. “Where’s Gerald?” “Going crazy in the main lounge. What else?” Beth gave the girl a sharp glance. Navar refused to give ground. “He is,” she insisted. “You dish the food out,” Beth told Jed. “I’ll go see what the problem is.” Gerald was standing in front of the lounge’s large viewport, palms pressed against it, as though he was trying to push the glass out of its frame. “Hey there, Gerald, mate. Supper’s ready.” “Is that where she is?” “Where, mate?” “The asteroid.” Beth stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. Almaden was centred in the viewport. A dark lump of rock, rotating slowly against the starscape. “No mate, sorry. That’s Almaden, not Monterey. Marie isn’t in there.” “I thought it was the other one. Monterey, where she is.” Beth gave his hands a close inspection. The knuckles were lightly grazed from pounding on something. Fortunately, they weren’t bleeding. She gently put her hand on his forearm. Every muscle was locked rigid beneath her fingers, trembling. His forehead was beaded in sweat. “Come on, mate,” she said quietly. “Let’s get some tucker down you. Do you good.” “You don’t understand!” He was near to tears. “I have to get back to her. I don’t even remember when I saw her last. My head is so full of darkness now. I hurt.” “I know, mate.” “Know!” he screamed. “What do you know? She’s my baby, my beautiful little Marie. And she makes her do things, all the time.” He shuddered violently, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, Beth thought he was going to fall over. She tightened her grip as he swayed unsteadily. “Gerald? Jeeze . . .” His eyes abruptly sprang open, hunting frantically round the room. “Where are we?” “This is the “Yes.” He nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s right. We have to go there. She’s there, you know. Marie’s there. I have to find her. I can free her, I know how to. Loren told me before she left. I can help her escape.” “That’s good.” “I’m going to talk to the captain. Explain. We have to fly back there right away. He’ll do it, he’ll understand. She’s my baby.” Beth stood completely still as he turned round sharply, and hurried out. She let out a long despondent breath. “Oh shit.” Jed and the three kids were sitting round the small bar in the galley, spooning up the pinkish mush from their trays. They all gave Beth an apprehensive glance as she came in. She tilted her head at Jed, and retreated back into the corridor. He followed her out. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor, or something,” she said in a low voice. “Told you that the day we first saw him, doll. The fella’s a genuine braincrash.” “No, it’s not just that, not just in his head. He’s really ill. His skin’s all hot, burning, like he’s got a fever, or a virus.” “Oh She hated him for being right. Being completely impotent, not to mention dependent on Rocio, was tough. “Come on.” With a final check on the kids to make sure they were eating, she hauled Jed into the lounge. “Rocio.” A translucent image of his face materialized in the viewport. “Now what?” “We’ve got a real problem with Gerald. Reckon he’s sick with something. It’s not good.” “He’s here on your insistence. What do you want me to do about it?” “I dunno for sure. Have you got a zero-tau pod? We could shove him in there until we leave. The Edenist doctors can give him a proper going over then.” “No. There’s no working zero-tau pod anymore. The possessed are understandably nervous about such items; the first ones to come on board broke it up.” “Bugger! What do we do?” “You’ll have to nurse him along as best you can.” “Terrific,” Jed muttered. Almaden began to slide across the viewport. “Hey, where are we going now?” Jed asked. The asteroid vanished below the rim, leaving only stars which were slicing thin arcs across the blackness as the hellhawk accelerated in a tight curve. “Back to my patrol route,” Rocio said, “and hope no one has noticed my absence. Deebank has datavised the list of electronic components they need to get the nutrient refinery functioning again. They’re all available at Monterey.” “Well glad to hear it, mate,” Jed said automatically. A cold thought ran clean through his brain. “Wait a minute. How are you going to get the Organization to hand them over?” Rocio’s translucent image winked, then vanished. “Oh In peacetime, Avon’s starship emergence zones were positioned round the planet and its necklace of high-orbit asteroids at convenient distances to the stations and ports which they served. The one exception was Trafalgar, which, of necessity, was always on alert for suspicious arrivals. Following the official outbreak of war, or as the diplomats in Regina preferred: crisis situation, all the emergence zones were automatically shifted further away from their port. Every Confederation almanac carried the alternative coordinates, and the onus was on captains to ensure they were aware of any official declaration. Emergence zone DR45Y was situated three hundred thousand kilometres away from Trafalgar, designated for use by civil starships flying with government authorization. The sensor satellites which scanned it were no less proficient than those covering the zones designated for various types of warships, there was after all no telling what vessels an enemy might employ. So when the gravitonic distortion scanners began to pick up the familiar signature of a ship starting to emerge, additional sensor batteries were brought on line within milliseconds. The rapidly expanding warp in space-time was the focus of five SD weapons platforms. Trafalgar’s SD control also vectored four patrol voidhawks towards it and put another ten on rapid-response alert status. The event horizon expanded out to thirty-eight metres and vanished, revealing the starship’s hull. Visual-spectrum sensors showed the SD controllers a standard globe coated with dull nulltherm foam. All perfectly normal, except for a single missing hexagonal hull plate. And the ship was impressively close to the centre of the zone; the captain must have taken a great deal of care aligning his last jump coordinate. Such a manoeuvre indicated someone anxious to please. Radar pulses triggered the starship’s transponder. Trafalgar’s AI took under a millisecond to identify the response code as the Following the standard transponder code, the Both codes were linked to grade two security protocols. The CNIS duty officer in Trafalgar’s SD command centre took immediate charge of the situation. Another, altogether quieter, alert was initiated within the asteroid’s secure communication net, of which the CNIS knew nothing. The televisions, radios, and holographic windows inside The Village’s clubhouse abandoned their nostalgiafest to warn the observers of this latest development. Tracy sat up to stare at the screen. The large lounge had fallen very quiet. Colourful SD sensor imagery was scrolling down the big Sony television set as various weapons locked on to the starship’s fuselage. She backed up that somewhat poor supply of data with a more comprehensive summary from Corpus as it gathered information from a variety of sources in and around Trafalgar. “They won’t let the ship get near them,” Saska said in a hopeful voice. “They’re far too paranoid right now, thank the saints.” “I hope you’re right,” Tracy muttered. A quick check with Corpus showed her Jay was still in the Congression with Haile. Best place for her right now; Tracy definitely didn’t want her to pick up on all their doubts and worries. “Hell alone knows how Pryor managed to worm his way off Ethenthia.” “Ethenthia’s possessed could probably be cowed with Capone’s name,” Galic said. “Bluffing your way into the headquarters of the Confederation Navy is a very different matter.” The CNIS duty officer appeared to share the thought. She immediately declared a C4 condition, prohibiting the suspected hostile starship from moving, and requesting the patrol voidhawks to interdict. Warnings were datavised directly to the Kingsley Pryor datavised his personal code to the CNIS duty officer, identifying himself as a Confederation Navy officer. “I’ve managed to elude New California to get here,” he told her. “I secured a lot of tactical data on the Organization fleet before I left. It should be delivered to Admiral Lalwani as soon as possible.” “We are already aware of your period with Capone,” the duty officer said. “Our undercover operative Erick Thakara’s report of his time crewing with the “Erick is here? That’s good, we thought he’d been caught.” “He’s filed charges of desertion and collaboration against you.” “Well even if I have to undergo a Court Martial to prove my innocence, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m carrying a great deal of useful information. The admiral will want me debriefed properly.” “You will be. The patrol voidhawks will escort you to a secure dock once we have confirmed your ship’s status.” “I assure you, there are no possessed on board. Nor is this ship a military threat. I’m amazed we even managed to get here at all given the state some of our systems are in. Captain Duchamp is not the most proficient of officers.” “We know that, too.” “Very well. You should also be aware there is a nuclear device embedded in hull plate 4-36-M. It has a decimal three kiloton yield. I have the control timer’s reset code, and it’s currently seven hours from detonation.” “Yes, that’s Capone’s standard method of ensuring compliance. We’ll confirm its location with a remote probe from one of the voidhawks.” “Fine; what do you want me to do?” “Nothing at all. The hull plate will be removed before you can proceed to dock. Duchamp must open the flight computer to us, and remove all access restrictions. You will be given further instructions as we proceed with our analysis.” On the bridge, Kingsley removed the straps securing him to his acceleration couch, and gave the seething captain a detached glance. “Do as she requests. Now.” “But of course,” André growled. A thousand times during the flight he had considered simply refusing to go any further, calling Pryor’s bluff. Arriving at Trafalgar was going to put an end to his life, permanently. The André datavised a set of instructions into the flight computer, enabling the SD command centre to take control. The procedure was well established now. All internal sensors were activated, verifying the number of crew on board, establishing their identities. They were then required to datavise files and physiological data to SD Command; stage one in corroborating that they weren’t possessed. Stage two would be an intensive sensor examination once they had docked. Once SD Command had provisionally classified the five people on board as non-possessed, diagnostic routines were run through every processor in the starship. In the case of the André was allowed to deploy the thermo-dump panels, relieving the heat sinks. Thrusters fired, stabilising their attitude. An MSV from one of the voidhawks slid out of its hangar and manoeuvred itself over hull plate 4-36-M. Waldo arms reached out, ready to detach the section. Tracy watched the camera feed on the big Sony television screen as the anti-torque keys engaged around the panel’s rim. “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “They think it’s safe!” “Be reasonable,” Arnie said. “Those precautions are good enough to locate any possessed skulking on board.” “Except Quinn Dexter,” Saska grumbled. “Let’s not complicate matters. The fact is, the navy is being very prudent.” “Rubbish,” Tracy snapped. “That CNIS officer is criminally incompetent. She must know Capone had exerted some kind of coercive hold over Pryor, yet she’s not taken that into account. They’ll let that bloody ship dock once they’ve unscrewed the hull plate.” “We can’t stop them,” Saska warned. “You know the rules.” “Capone and his influence are waning,” Tracy said. “No matter what delusory victory he inflicts he cannot regain what he’s lost, not now. I say we cannot permit him this gesture. The overall psychological dynamic of the situation has to be taken into account. The Confederation must survive, not only that it must be the entity which brings this crisis to a successful resolution. And the Navy is the embodiment of the Confederation, especially now. It must not be damaged. Not to the extent Pryor’s mission is capable of.” “You’re being as arrogant as Capone,” Galic said. “Your thoughts, your opinions, are the ones which must prevail.” “We all know very well what has to prevail,” she replied. “There has to be a valid species-wide government mechanism to implement the kind of policies which are going to be needed afterwards, and oversee the transition phase. For all its faults, the Confederation can be made to work properly. If it fails the human race will fragment, socially, politically, economically, religiously, and ideologically. We’ll be right back where we were in the pre-starflight age. It’ll take centuries to recover, to get us back to where we are today. By that time we should have joined the transcendent-active population of this universe.” “Yes. We. We privileged few. Just because we were engineered here doesn’t mean we’re not human. Two thousand years spent walking amongst our own people makes this the alien world.” “Now you’re being melodramatic.” “Call it what you like. But I know what I am.” The internal sensors on the With the remote electronic survey complete, and hull plate 4-36-M now detached and held in the MSV’s waldo, André was given a vector taking them in towards Trafalgar at a tenth of a gee. SD Command observed the flight computer responding to the crew’s instructions, coaxing the fusion tube to life. They were following the security protocols to the last byte. Kingsley drifted the last few centimetres down onto the decking, and suppressed a whimper at what that meant. During the flight he’d elevated his dilemma to a near physical pain, every thought he had concerning his destination burned from within. There simply was no way out of the box Capone and his whore had trapped him in. Death surrounded him, making him more compliant than any set of sequestration nanonics could ever achieve. Death and love. He couldn’t allow little Webster and Clarissa to vanish into the beyond. Not now. Nor could he let them be possessed. And the only way to prevent that from happening also could not be permitted. Like men in his position throughout history, Kingsley Pryor did nothing as events swept him to their conclusion; simply waiting and praying that a magical third option would spring from nowhere. Now with the fusion drive pushing the starship towards Trafalgar, hope had cast him aside. The power he had been given to inflict suffering was insane in its size, yet he could The cabin sensor had enough resolution to observe his lips contracting into a bitter smile. It looked as though a scream was about to burst loose. The CNIS duty officer shook her head at the way he was acting. Looks as though his brain’s cracked, she thought. Though he was keeping passive enough. What the sensor never showed her was a patch of air beside Kingsley’s bunk thicken silently into the shape of Richard Keaton. He smiled sadly down at the stricken Navy officer. “Who are you?” Kingsley asked hoarsely. “How did you hide on board?” “I didn’t,” Richard Keaton said. “I’m not a possessed here to check up on you. I’m an observer, that’s all. Please don’t ask for who, or why. I won’t tell you that. But I will tell you that Webster has escaped from Capone, he’s no longer on Monterey.” “Webster?” Kingsley cried. “Where is he?” “As safe as anyone can be right now. He’s on a rogue ship that takes orders from no one.” “How do you know this?” “I’m not the only person observing the Confederation.” “I don’t understand. Why tell me this?” “You know exactly why, Kingsley. Because you have a decision to make. You are in a unique position to affect the course of human events. It’s not often an individual is put in this position, even though you don’t appreciate all the implications stretching out ahead of you. Now, I can’t make that decision for you, much as I’d like to. Even I can’t break the restrictions I work under. But I can at least bend them enough to make sure you have all the facts before you pass your judgement. You must choose when and where you die, and who dies with you.” “I can’t.” “I know. It’s not easy. You just want the status quo to carry on for so long that you become irrelevant. I don’t blame you for that, but it isn’t going to happen. You must choose.” “Do you know what Capone did to me, what I’m carrying?” “I know.” “So what would you do?” “I know too much to tell you that.” “Then you haven’t told me everything I need to know. Please!” “Now you’re just looking for absolution. I don’t provide that, either. Consider this, I have told you what I believe you should know. Your son will not suffer directly from any action you take. Not now, nor in the time which follows.” “How do I know you’re telling the truth? “I am telling you the truth, because I know exactly what to tell you. If I wasn’t what I say I am, how would I know about you and Webster?” “What should I do? Tell me.” “I just did.” Richard Keaton started to raise his hand in what could have been a gesture of sympathetic compassion. Kingsley Pryor never found out, his visitor faded away as beguilingly as he’d arrived. He managed a small high-pitched snigger. People (or xenocs, or maybe even angels) were watching the human race; and were very good at it. It wouldn’t take much to see what was going on among the Confederation: a few carefully placed scanners could pick up the appropriate datavises, the CNIS and its counterparts did that as a matter of routine. But to secrete observers among the possessed cultures was an ability far beyond any ordinary intelligence agency. That kind of ability was unnerving. Despite that, he felt a small amount of relief. Whoever they were, they cared. Enough to intervene. Not by much, but just enough. They knew the devastation he would cause. And they’d given him an excuse not to. Kingsley looked straight at the cabin sensor. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ve been very weak to come this far. I’m ending it now.” He datavised an instruction into the flight computer. On the bridge, André twitched in reaction as red neuroiconic symbols shrilled their warnings inside his skull. One by one, the starship’s primary functions were withdrawn from his control. “Duchamp, what are you doing?” SD Command queried. “Return our access to the flight computer immediately or we will open fire.” “I can’t,” the terrified captain datavised back. “The command authority codes have been nullified. Madeleine! Can you stop them?” “Not a chance. Someone’s installing their own control routines through the Management Operations Program.” “Don’t shoot,” André begged. “It’s not us.” “It must be someone who had direct MOP access. That’s your crew, Duchamp.” André gave Madeleine, Desmond, and Shane a frightened glance. “But we’re not . . . “We’re powering down,” Desmond shouted. “Fusion drive off. Tokamak plasma cooling. Damn, he’s opened the emergency vent valves. All of them. What’s he doing?” “Get down there and stop him. Use the hand weapons if you have to,” André shouted. “We’re cooperating,” he datavised at SD Command. “We’ll regain control. Just give us a few minutes.” “Captain!” Shane pointed. The hatch in the decking was sliding shut. Orange strobes started to flash with near-blinding pulses in time to a piercing whistle. SD sensors relayed a perfectly clear image of the Had it just been Duchamp and his crew on board, she would have vaporised the starship there and then. But Pryor’s actions and enigmatic statement just before his cabin sensor had gone off line stayed her hand. She was sure he was doing this; and the one routine which the starship had left open to Trafalgar’s scrutiny was fire control to the combat wasps. Pryor must be trying to reassure SD Command. None of the lethal drones had been armed. “Keep tracking it with a full weapons lock,” she datavised to her fellow officers in the SD Command centre. “Tell the voidhawk escort to stand by.” Long jets of snowy vapour were squirting out from the “They’re not going to have any fuel even if they do regain control of the propulsion systems,” the SD guidance officer said. “The ship will impact in another two minutes.” “If it gets within ten kilometres of Trafalgar, destroy it,” the CNIS duty officer ordered. The multiple vent continued unabated for another fifteen seconds, giving the ship a highly erratic tumble. Explosive bolts detonated across the fuselage, punching out dry plumes of grey dust as they severed the outer stress structure. Huge segments of the hull peeled free like dusky silver petals opening wide, exposing the tight-packed metallic viscera. Sharp bursts of blue light flashed beneath the surface, visible only through the slimmest of fissures; more explosive bolts, detaching equipment from the internal stress grid. The starship began to break apart, its tanks, drive tubes, tokamak toroids, energy patterning nodes, heat exchangers, and a swarm of subsidiary mechanisms forming a slowly expanding clump. Three high-thrust solid rocket motors were clustered around the base of the life support capsule which contained the bridge; they ignited with only the briefest warning, thrusting the sphere clear of the cloud of technological detritus. Duchamp and the others were flung back into their acceleration couches, bodies straining against the fifteen-gee acceleration. “My ship!” André screamed against the punishing force. The Kingsley Pryor didn’t ignite the rockets on his own life support capsule. There was nowhere for him to escape to. The debris of the Floating alone in a cabin illuminated only by tiny yellow emergency lights, Kingsley datavised the off code to an implant in his abdomen. The little containment field generator represented the peak of Confederation technology; even so it pushed way beyond the kind of safety specifications normally used for handling antimatter. The ultra-specialist military lab in New California which manufactured it had neglected to include the standard failsafe capacity which even the most cheapskate black syndicates employed. Capone had simply decreed that he wanted a container defined by size alone. That’s what he got. When the confinement field shut down, the globe of frozen anti-hydrogen touched the side of the container. Protons, electrons, anti-protons, and anti-electrons annihilated each other in a reaction that very, very briefly recreated the energy density conditions which used to exist inside the Big Bang. This time, it didn’t result in creation. SD platform lasers were already picking off the gyrating chunks of equipment around the fringe of the debris cloud that had once been the Kingsley Pryor’s life support capsule was twenty-three kilometres and eight seconds away from the spaceport when it happened. Another three seconds and the SD lasers would have targeted it, not that it would have made much difference. Capone had intended to do to Trafalgar what Quinn Dexter had done to Jesup; with the antimatter detonating in one of the biosphere caverns the asteroid would have been blown apart. Even if Kingsley didn’t cheat his way past the inevitable security checks and had to kamikaze in the spaceport, the damage would have been considerable, destroying the counter-rotating sphere, any ships docked, and possibly dislodging the asteroid from its orbit. By switching off the confinement chamber outside Trafalgar, Kingsley would be reducing the damage considerably. Enough to salvage his conscience and allow him to return to New California claiming a successful mission. However, in physical terms, he wasn’t doing the Confederation Navy much of a favour. Unlike a fusion bomb, the antimatter explosion produced no relativistic plasma sphere, no particle blast wave; but the energy point which sprang into life had the strength to illuminate the planet’s nightside a hundred thousand kilometres below. The visible and infrared spectrum it emitted contained only a small percentage of the overall energy output. Its real power was concentrated in the gamma and X-ray spectrums. The surrounding shoal of metal trash which had been the Hundreds of starships were caught by the micro-nova burst. Adamist vessels were luckier, in that their bulky structure shielded the crews from the worst of the radiation. Their mechanical systems underwent catastrophic failure as the X-rays penetrated them, instantly turning them into flying wrecks, coughing out vapour like the Exposed voidhawks suffered badly. The ships themselves died wretchedly as their cells’ integrity was decimated. The further they were from the detonation, the longer their misery was dragged out. Their crews in the thin-walled, exposed toroids were killed almost instantly. Trafalgar’s spherical counter-rotating spaceport buckled like a beachside shack in a hurricane. The nulltherm foam coating its girders and tanks crisped to black and moulted away. Air in the pressurized sections was superheated by the radiation, expanding with explosive force, ripping every habitable section to shreds. Tanks ruptured. Fusion generators destabilised and flash vaporised. The concussion was totally outside the load capacity of the spindle. With fusion generator plasma roaring out of the collapsing sphere, the slender gridwork started to bend. It snapped off just above the bearing and took flight, deflating into a flaccid carcass beneath the short-lived fireballs puffing open across its superficies. A dozen datavised emergency situation alerts vibrated urgently inside Samual Aleksandrovich’s skull. He looked up at the staff officers conducting the daily strategy review. More worrying than the initial crop of alerts was three of them immediately failing as their processors crashed. Then the lights flickered. Samual stared at the ceiling. “Bloody hell.” Information pouring into his mind confirmed there’d been an explosion outside the asteroid. But big enough to affect internal systems? Outside his panoramic window, the central biosphere’s axial light gantry was darkening as the civil generators powered down in response to losing their cooling conduits. Whole sections of the asteroid’s ultra-hardened communications net had gone off-line. Not a single external sensor remained active. The office lighting and environmental systems switched to their back-up power cells. High-pitched whines, the daily background sound pervading the entire asteroid, began to deepen as pumps and fans shut down. Seven marines in full body armour rushed into the office, a detachment of the First Admiral’s bodyguard. The captain in charge didn’t even bother to salute. “Sir, we are now in a C10 situation, please egress your secure command facility.” A circular section of floor beside the desk was sinking down to reveal a chute that curved away out of sight. Flashing lights and sirens had begun to echo the datavised alarms. Thick metal shields were closing across the window. More marines were running along the corridor just outside the office, shouting instructions. Samual almost laughed at how close such dramatics came to being counter-productive. People needed to remain calm in such events, not have their fears accentuated. He considered refusing the earnest young captain’s directive; gut instinct, acting out the role of gruff lead-from-the-front commander. Trouble was, that kind of gesture was so totally impractical at his level. Preserving the authority of the command structure was essential in a crisis of this magnitude. Threats had to be countered swiftly, which only an uninterrupted chain of command could achieve. Even as he hesitated, the floor trembled. They really were under attack! The concept was incredible. He stared at the cups on the table in astonishment as they started to jitter about, spilling tea. “Of course,” he told the equally apprehensive marine captain. Two of the marines jumped down the chute first, their magpulse rifles drawn ready. Samual followed them. As he skidded his way down along the broad spiral an assessment and correlation program went primary in his neural nanonics, sorting through the incoming datastreams to discover exactly what had happened. SD Command confirmed the The secure command facility was a series of chambers dug deep into Trafalgar’s rock. Self sufficient and self-powered, they were designed to hold the First Admiral’s staff officers during an attack. Any weapon powerful enough to damage them would split the asteroid into fragments. In view of what had just happened, it wasn’t the most comforting thought Samual had with him as he came off the end of the chute. He strode into the coordination centre, drawing nervous glances from the skeleton crew on duty. The long rectangular room with its complex curving consoles and inset holographic windows always put him in mind of a warship’s bridge; with the one advantage that he’d never have to endure high-gee manoeuvres in here. “Status please,” he asked the lieutenant commander in charge. “Only one explosion so far, sir,” she reported. “SD command is trying to re-establish contact with its sensor satellites. But there were no other unauthorised ships within the planetary defence perimeter when we lost contact.” “Don’t we have “There are some sensors functional on the remaining spaceport, sir. But they’re not showing us much. The antimatter’s EM pulse crashed a lot of our electronics, even the hardened processors are susceptible to that power level. None of the working antennas can acquire an SD platform signal. It could be processor failure, or actual physical destruction. We don’t know which yet.” “Get me a GDOS satellite, then. Link us to a starship. I want to talk to somebody who can see what’s going on outside.” “Yes sir. Combat back-up systems are deploying now.” More of the coordination centre crew were hurrying in and taking their places. His own staff officers were coming in to stand behind him. He caught sight of Lalwani and beckoned urgently. “Can you talk to any voidhawks?” he asked in a low voice when she reached him. “Several.” Deep pain was woven across her face. “I feel them dying still. We’ve lost over fifty already.” “Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “I’m sorry. What the hell’s happening out there?” “Nothing else. There are no Organization ships emerging as far as the survivors are aware.” “Sir!” the lieutenant commander called. “We’re reestablishing communications with the SD network. Three GDOS satellites are out, they must have been irradiated by the explosion. Five are still functional.” One of the holographic windows flickered with orange and green streaks, then stabilized. The image was coming from an SD sensor satellite; it was positioned on the perimeter of Trafalgar’s defence network, ten thousand kilometres away. None of the inner cordon of satellites had survived. “Hell,” the First Admiral muttered. The rest of the coordination centre was silent. Half of Trafalgar’s lengthy peanut-shape glimmered a deep claret against the starscape. They could see sluggish waves of rock crawling across the ridges, boulder-sized globules sprinkling from the crests, cast away by the asteroid’s rotation. The ruined spaceport was retreating from its fractured spindle, turning slowly and scattering blistered fragments in its wake. Igneous spheres drifted without purpose around the stricken rock, squirting out sooty vapour like cold comets: the ships too close to the antimatter blast for their crews to survive the radiation blaze. “All right, we’re intact and functional,” the First Admiral said sombrely. “Our first priority has to be re-establishing the SD network. If they have any sense of tactics, the Organization will try to hit us while our weapons platforms are disabled. Commander, bring in two squadrons of 1st Fleet ships to substitute for the SD platforms, and reassign the planetary network to provide us with as much cover as it can. Tell them to watch for an infiltration mission, as well; I wouldn’t put that past Capone at this point. Once that’s done, we can start initiating rescue flights for the survivors.” The coordination centre crew spent an hour orchestrating the surviving 1st Fleet squadrons into a shield around Trafalgar. With more and more back-up communication links coming on line, information began pouring in. Three quarters of the asteroid’s SD network had been wiped out in the blast. Over a hundred and fifty ships had been completely destroyed, with a further eighty so radioactive they were beyond rescue. Of the spaceport facing the Once his orders were being implemented, the First Admiral reviewed the SD command centre files on the “The possessed are only limited by their imagination, Admiral,” the medical liaison officer said politely. “They could apply a great deal of pressure to individuals. And Lieutenant-commander Pryor had his family stationed with him on New California, a wife and son.” “I pledge to place myself and my actions above all personal considerations,” Samual quoted quietly. “Do you have family, Lieutenant?” “No sir, no direct family. Though there is a second cousin I’m quite fond of; she’s about the same age as Webster Pryor.” “I suppose academy oaths and good intentions don’t always survive the kind of horror real life throws at us. But it looks like Pryor was having second thoughts at the end. We should be grateful for that. God alone knows what kind of carnage he would have unleashed if he’d got inside Trafalgar.” “Yes, sir. I’m sure he did his best.” “All right, Lieutenant, carry on.” Samual Aleksandrovich returned to the situation display swarming through his mind. With the Strategic Defence redeployment under way and ships assigned to rescue duties, he could concentrate on Trafalgar itself. The asteroid was in bad shape. Essentially all of its surface equipment had been vaporized; and that was ninety per cent heat dump mechanisms. The asteroid was generating almost no power, its environmental systems were operating on their reserve supplies alone. None of the biosphere caverns or habitation sections could get rid of their heat into space, the emergency thermal stores had ten days’ capacity at most. When the habitat was designed no one had envisaged this kind of absolute damage; it had been assumed that the heat dump panels wrecked by a combat wasp could be replaced in the ten-day time scale. Now though, even if Avon’s industrial stations could manufacture enough hardware fast enough, it couldn’t be attached. Half of the rock surface was so radioactive it would have to be cut off to a depth of several metres. And that same half was also extremely hot. Most of that heat would radiate outwards over the next couple of months, but a considerable fraction would also seep inwards. Left unchecked, the temperature in the biosphere caverns would rise high enough to sterilise them. The only way to prevent that from happening was with heat dump mechanisms, which couldn’t be replaced because of the heat and radiation. Samual cursed as the civil engineering teams datavised their various assessments and recommendations. Cost aside, he couldn’t possibly begin a program like that in the middle of this crisis. He was going to have to evacuate the asteroid. There were contingency plans for dispersing the Navy institutions and forces around Avon’s moons and asteroid settlements. That wasn’t the problem. Capone had won a profound propaganda victory. The headquarters of the Confederation Navy bombed into extinction, whole squadrons lost, voidhawks dead. It would completely negate the entire Mortonridge Liberation campaign in the opinion of the general public. Samual Aleksandrovich sank back into his chair. The only reason he didn’t bury his head in his hands was because of all the eyes watching him, needing him to remain confident. “Sir?” He looked up to see Captain Amr al-Sahhaf’s normally calm face contaminated with apprehension. Now what? “Yes, Captain.” “Sir, Dr Gilmore reported that Jacqueline Couteur has escaped.” A cold fury that Samual hadn’t experienced for a long time pushed its way through his rational thoughts. The damned woman was becoming his “No sir. The demon trap’s integrity has been maintained throughout the assault.” “Very well, assign a squad of marines, and whatever else Dr Gilmore says he needs to find her. Full priority.” He ran a search program through several files. “I want lieutenant Hewlett placed in charge of the search mission. My orders to him are very simple. Once she has been recaptured, she is to be put directly into zero-tau. And I do mean: directly. In future, Dr Gilmore can use someone less troublesome for his research.” By the third doorway, it was noticeably warmer than usual in the broad corridor leading towards the CNIS secure weapons laboratory. The heat given off by the armour of thirty-five marines was accumulating in the air. Conditioning vents running along the ceiling were operating on reduced cycle mode; only a third of the light panels were on. Murphy Hewlett took point duty himself, leading his squad along. They were each armed with static-bullet machine pistols modelled on Ombey’s design, with five of the team carrying Bradfields just in case. Murphy had taken time to brief them personally while they suited up; laying down simple procedures for engaging the possessed, hoping he was coming on confident. As they arrived at the third door he signalled their technical sergeant forward. The man walked over to the door’s control processor, and studied his own block. “I can’t find any time log discrepancies, sir,” he reported. “It hasn’t been opened.” “Okay. Front line ready,” Murphy ordered. Eight marines spread out across the corridor, lining their machine guns up on the door. Murphy datavised Dr Gilmore that they were in position and ready. The door swung up, hissing from the pressure difference. Tendrils of pale white vapour licked around the edges as hot and cold air intermingled. Dr Gilmore, five other researchers, and three armed marines were standing just inside. No one else was visible. Murphy switched on his suit’s audio circuit. “In!” he ordered. The marine squad surged forward, forcing the scientists to bunch together as they bustled past. Murphy datavised a close order at the door’s processor, and entered his own codelock. The big slab of metal swung down again, sealing into place. “Jacqueline isn’t in this section,” Dr Gilmore said, bemused by their military professionalism. In answer, Murphy beckoned him forwards and touched a static sensor against his arm. The result was negative. He told his squad to check the others. “If you say so, Doctor. What exactly happened?” “We think the EMP interrupted the electricity supply we were using to neutralize her energistic power. It shouldn’t have done; we’re exceptionally well shielded in here, and our systems are all independent apart from the heat exchange mechanisms. But somehow she was able to overcome the marine guards and break out of the isolation laboratory.” “Overcame, how, exactly?” Pierce Gilmore gave a humourless smile. “She killed them, and two of my staff. This escapade is a futile gesture of defiance. Not even Jacqueline can walk through two kilometres of solid rock. She knows this, of course. But causing us the maximum amount of disruption is part of her tiresome little game.” “The whistle has just been blown, Doctor. My orders are that upon capture she is to be placed in zero-tau. They came right from the First Admiral, so please don’t query them.” “We are on the same side, Lieutenant Hewlett.” “Sure thing, Doc. I was in the courtroom. Remember that.” “I am on record as objecting to that adventure. Couteur is extremely duplicitous, and intelligent. It is a bad combination.” “We’ll bear that in mind. Now how many of the lab staff have you accounted for?” Gilmore glanced along the main corridor running round the laboratory complex. Several of the silvery doors were open, with people peering out nervously. “Nine have not responded to my general datavise.” “Shit!” Murphy accessed the floor plan file in his neural nanonics. The laboratory complex covered two levels; essentially a ring of research labs on top of the environmental and power systems, with storage and engineering facilities included. “Okay, everyone is to return to their office or lab, wherever they are now. The existing marine detail is to stay with them and guard against intrusion. I don’t want anyone moving round except for my squad, and that includes you, Doctor. Then I want an AI brought on-line to monitor the complex’s processors for glitches.” “We’re doing that already,” Gilmore said. “And it can’t find her?” “Not yet. Jacqueline knows how we track possessed, of course. She will be concealing her power. Which means she will be vulnerable during the first few seconds after you locate her.” “Yeah. Tell you, it’s all good news, this assignment, Doc.” The procedure Murphy initiated was a simple enough one; five marines were left behind to cover the door in case Couteur made a break for it. Unlikely, Murphy admitted to himself, but with her there was always the prospect of double bluff. The remainder of the squad he split into two groups, going in opposite directions to work their way round the ring. Each laboratory was examined in turn, using electronic warfare blocks and infrared (in case Couteur was disguising herself as a piece of equipment). All the staff were tested and verified; they then had to leave their neural nanonics open to the CNIS office overseeing the mission, to confirm they weren’t being possessed after the marines left. One room at a time, and even scanning the corridor walls as they progressed. Murphy was leaving absolutely nothing to chance. He led the group going counterclockwise from the door. The laboratory corridor might have been a much simpler geometry than Lalonde’s jungle, denying her any real ambush opportunity, but he couldn’t get rid of the old feeling that the enemy was right behind him. Several times he caught himself turning to stare past the marines following along behind. That wasn’t good, because it made them jumpy, distracted. He concentrated hard on the curving space ahead, securing each empty room. Taking it a stage at a time, setting a proper example. Despite the jumble of equipment in most labs, it was a simple enough task to scan their sensors round. The scientists and technicians inside were profoundly relieved to see them, although each welcome was subdued. Every time, they were checked out then sealed in. The biological isolation facility, where Couteur had been held, was the ninth room Murphy visited. Its door had been forced half-way open, buckled metal runners preventing it from moving further. Murphy signalled the technical sergeant forward. He flattened himself against the wall, and gingerly extended a sensor block around the edge of the door. “Clean sweep,” the sergeant reported. “If she’s in there, she’s not in range.” It was a perfect double cover advance into the room. The marines deployed inside, scanning every centimetre as they went. A glass wall divided the room in half, with a large oval hole smashed through it. That, Murphy was expecting, along with the bodies torn by unpleasantly familiar deep char marks. There was a surgical table on the other side of the glass, surrounded by equipment stacks. Tubes and wires were strewn around it, a complement to the limb restraint straps which hung limply over the edges where they’d been severed. Who could really blame the occupant for breaking free? Murphy didn’t appreciate being made to ask that question. They left two sensor blocks behind to cover the broken door as they filed out, in case she returned. The next room, an office, had one of Couteur’s other victims sprawled on the carpet. They scanned the corpse first, and applied the static sensor. Murphy wasn’t going to be caught out that way. But it was a genuine corpse, with a large number of small burns and several broken bones. A characteristics scan confirmed it was Eithne Cramley, one of the physics department technicians. Murphy was sure Couteur had tried to make Cramley submit to possession, but wouldn’t have had enough time to make a success of the process. The rest of the room was empty. They sealed it and moved on. It took ninety minutes for the two marine groups to meet up. All they’d found was six of the staff who didn’t respond to Gilmore’s datavise. “Looks like she’s lurking in the basement,” he told them. He ordered ten marines to stand guard at the top of the stairs, and took the remainder down with him. This, he thought, was more her territory. The construction crew hadn’t lavished the same kind of care down here as they had up in the ring of laboratories. They’d made it spacious enough, and well lit; but in the end it was just six caverns drilled in a line to house utility systems. Again the marines deployed in perfect formation when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Murphy supervised them with growing unease. His heart rate now had to be regulated by his neural nanonics he was wired so tight, even the regenerated flesh on the fingers of his left hand was tingling with phantom sensation. He just wished it was a reliable way of warning him as a possessed was coming close. With each meter they advanced he was expecting Couteur to launch some vicious attack. He just couldn’t understand what she was doing. Most likely scenario was that the three staff they hadn’t located yet were now possessed. But she would know he’d be working on that assumption. There was nothing in this for her. Except being free of her bondage for a few hours. A reasonable enough impetus for most people. Murphy couldn’t forget that voyage back to Trafalgar on the Advantage, that was her sole ambition, gaining the upper hand. This escape couldn’t provide that for her. Not unless there was some enormity he’d overlooked. He felt as though his brain was being fossilised by the pressure of worry. “Sir,” the marine on point duty shouted. “Infrared signature.” They’d reached the environmental processing machinery. A hall of naked rock with seven big, boxy, air filter/regenerator units in a row down the centre. Pipes and ducts rose out from them in conical webs, leading away into glare of the overhead lighting panels. The marines were advancing along both sides of the bulky grey casings. Someone was crouching down on top of the third, secreted amid a twist of metre-wide pipes. When Murphy switched his retinas to infrared, a distinctive thermal emission hazed around the edge of the pipes like a pink mist. Neural nanonics computed the output as consistent with a single person. “Wrong,” he muttered. His suit audio speaker boosted the word, sending it rumbling round the hall. Okay, she’d made an effort to hide, but it was a pitiful one. Going through the motions. “Dr Gilmore?” Murphy datavised. “Is there any kind of super weapon she could have stolen from one of your laboratories?” “Absolutely not,” Gilmore datavised back. “Only three portable weapons are undergoing examination in the laboratory. I verified their locations as soon as we knew Couteur had escaped.” Another explanation gone, Murphy acknowledged miserably. “Encirclement,” he datavised to the squad. They began to fan out along the hall, keeping behind the pipes and machinery. When they had her surrounded he cranked the volume up further. “Come along, Jacqueline. You know we’re here, and we know where you are. Game over.” There was no visible response. “Sir,” the technical sergeant said. “I’m picking up activity on the electronic warfare block. She’s increasing her energistic power.” “Jacqueline, stop that right now. I have full shoot to kill authorization on this mission. You really have pissed off our top brass with these stunts of yours. Now take a good look at what you’re sitting on. That casing is all metal. We don’t even have to use our machine guns, I’ll just order someone to lob an EE grenade in your direction. You ought to know what electricity does to you by now.” He waited a few seconds, then fired three rounds at the pipes just above the thermal emission. The bullets sliced a dim violet streak across his vision that vanished as soon as it began. Jacqueline Couteur slowly stood up, hands raised high. She glanced round with supreme disdain at the marines crouched beneath her, their weapons gripped purposefully. “Down on the ground, now,” Murphy ordered. She did as she was told with insultingly measured slowness; descending the rungs welded on to the side of the conditioner. When she reached the ground five marines advanced on her. “On the ground,” Murphy repeated. Sighing at how she’d been wronged she lowered herself to her knees, and slowly bent forward. “I trust this makes you feel safe?” she enquired archly. The first marine to reach her shouldered his machine gun and took a holding stick from his belt. It telescoped out to two metres, and he closed the pincer clamp around Couteur’s neck. “Scan and secure the rest of the hall,” Murphy instructed. “We’re still missing three bodies.” He walked over to where Jacqueline Couteur was being held fast. The pincer was riding high on her neck, tilting her jaw back. It was an uncomfortable position, but she never showed any ire. “What are you doing?” Murphy asked. “I believe you’re in charge.” The tone was calculated to annoy, superior and amused. “You tell me.” “You mean this is all you’ve achieved? Two hours’ liberty and you’re sulking about down here? That’s pathetic, Couteur.” “Two hours tying up your resources, frightening your squad. And you, I can see the fear clouding your mind. Then I also eliminated several key CNIS science personnel. Possibly I engendered some more possessed to run loose in your precious asteroid. You’ll have to find that out for yourself. Do you really regard that as insignificant, lieutenant?” “No, but it’s beneath you.” “I’m flattered.” “Don’t be. I’ll find out whatever scam you’re pulling, and I’ll blow it out the fucking airlock. You don’t fool me, Couteur.” Murphy pushed up his visor, and shoved his face centimetres from hers. “Zero-tau for you. You’ve abused our decency for way too long. I should have shot you back on Lalonde.” “No you wouldn’t,” she sneered. “As you said, you’re too decent.” “Get her up to the lab,” Murphy snarled. Gilmore was waiting for them at the top of the stairs; he directed them to professor Nowak’s laboratory where a couple of technicians had prepared a zero-tau pod. Jacqueline Couteur hesitated slightly when she saw it. Two machine guns prodded into the small of her back, urging her forwards. “I ought to say sorry for any suffering you’ve undergone,” Gilmore said awkwardly. “But after the courtroom, I feel completely vindicated.” “You would,” Jacqueline said. “I shall be watching you from the beyond. When your time comes to join us, I’ll be there.” Gilmore gestured at the zero-tau pod, as if getting in was voluntary. “Empty threats, I’m afraid. By that time, we shall have solved the problem of the beyond.” Couteur gave him a final withering glance, and climbed into the pod. “Any final message?” Murphy asked. “Children or grandchildren you want to say something to? I’ll see it’s passed on.” “Go fuck yourself.” He grunted and nodded to the technician operating the pod. Couteur was immediately smothered beneath the jet-black field. “How long?” Murphy asked tensely. He still couldn’t believe this was all there was to it. “Leave her in for at least an hour,” Gilmore said with bitter respect. “She’s tough.” “Very well.” Murphy refused to allow the door connecting the secure laboratory with the rest of the asteroid to be re-opened, not with three people still unaccounted for. The marines continued their sweep of the utility caverns. As well as people, Murphy had them examine the fusion generators. Since the loss of the external heat exchangers, they’d been operating in breakeven mode, shunting their small thermal output into the emergency heat storage silo. Couteur couldn’t rig them to explode, but the plasma could do a lot of damage if the confinement field had been tampered with. The technicians reported back that they were untouched. After another forty minutes one of the missing bodies was found, dead, and stuffed behind an air conditioning vent. Murphy ordered the squad to go back through the rooms they’d covered and open all the remaining grilles, no matter what size. A possessed could easily hollow out a small nest for themselves in the rock. He waited seventy minutes before ordering the zero-tau pod to be switched off. The woman inside was wearing a tattered and burnt laboratory tunic with the CNIS insignia on her shoulder. She was weeping fervently as she tottered out, clutching at a bloody wound across her abdomen. Murphy’s characteristics recognition program identified her as Toshi Numour, one of the weapons section’s biophysics researchers. “Shit,” Murphy groaned. “Dr Gilmore,” he datavised. There was no reply. “Doctor?” The communications processors in the secure laboratory complex reported they couldn’t acquire Dr Gilmore’s neural nanonics. Murphy burst out into the main corridor, and shouted at his squad to follow. With ten suited figures clattering along at his heels, he sprinted for Gilmore’s office. As soon as the black shell of the zero-tau field had snapped up around Jacqueline Couteur, Pierce Gilmore headed back for his office. He didn’t protest at Hewlett’s continuing restrictions in preventing them from leaving the secure laboratory complex. In fact, he rather approved. He’d received a nasty shock when Couteur escaped, on top of the asteroid physically shaking in the wake of the antimatter blast. Under the circumstances, such precautions were both logical and sensible. The office door slid shut behind him, and some of the lighting came on. Current power rationing permitted him only four of the ceiling panels, the kind of light provided by a cold winter afternoon. None of the holographic windows were active. He walked over to the percolator jug, which was still bubbling away contentedly, and poured himself a cup. After a moment of regret, he switched it off. There probably wouldn’t be enough space in his evacuation allocation to take it or any of the bone china cups with him. Assuming there would be any allocation for personal effects. With over three hundred thousand people to evacuate in a week, the amount of baggage they could take with them would be minimal to zero. The small solaris tube running above his orchids was also off. Several of the rare pure-genotype plants were due to flower, their fleshy buds had almost burst. They never would now. There would be no light and fresh air, and the heat would arrive soon. The secure laboratory was closer to the surface than most of the asteroid’s habitable sections, it would receive the worst of the inward seepage. Furniture, equipment, it would all be lost. The only thing to survive would be their files. Pierce sat behind his desk. In fact, he really ought to be drawing up procedures to safeguard the information ready for when they transferred to their secondary facility. He put his cup down on the leather surface, next to an empty cup. That hadn’t been there before. “Hello, Doctor,” Jacqueline Couteur said. He did flinch, but at least he didn’t jump or yelp. She didn’t have the satisfaction of witnessing any disconcertion, which in the game they played was a big points winner. His eyes locked on an empty section of wall directly ahead, refusing to turn round and look for her. “Jacqueline. You have no feelings. Poor Lieutenant Hewlett really won’t enjoy being outsmarted in this manner.” “You can stop trying to datavise for help now, Doctor. I disabled the room’s net processors. Not with my energistic power, either, there was no glitch to alert the AI. Kate Morley had some knowledge of electronics, a couple of old didactic courses.” Pierce Gilmore datavised the comprehensive processor array installed in his desk. It reported that its link with Trafalgar’s communication’s net had been removed. Jacqueline chuckled softly as she walked round the desk into his line of sight. She was carrying a processor block, its small screen alive with graphics that monitored his datavises. “Anything else you’d like to try?” she enquired lightly. “The AI will notice the processors have gone off line. Even if it isn’t caused by a glitch, a marine squad will be sent to investigate.” “Really, Doctor? A lot of systems were damaged by the EM pulse. I’ve apparently been caught and shoved into zero-tau, and the marines have already cleared this level. I think that gives us time enough.” “For what?” “Oh dear me. Is that finally a spike of fear I sense in your mind, Doctor? That has got to be the first arousal of any kind you’ve had for many a year. Perhaps it’s even a hint of remorse? Remorse for what you put me through.” “You put yourself through it, Jacqueline. We asked you to cooperate; you were the one who chose to refuse. Very bluntly, as I recall.” “Not guilty. You tortured me.” “Kate Morley. Maynard Khanna. Should I go on?” She stood directly in front of the desk, staring at him. “Ah. Two wrongs making a right? Is that what I’ve reduced you to, Doctor? Fear does things to the most brilliant of minds. It makes them desperate. It makes them pitiful. Is there any other excuse you’d like to offer?” “If I was facing a jury, good and true, I could offer several justifications. Such arguments would be wasted on a bigot.” “Petty, even for you.” “Cooperate with us. It’s not too late.” “Not even clichés change in five hundred years. That says quite a lot about the human race, don’t you think? Certainly everything I need to know.” “You’re transferring onto an abstract concept. Self-hatred is a common aspect of a diseased mind.” “If I’m the one that’s ill and incapable, how come you’re the one in terminal trouble?” “Then stop being the problem, and help us with a solution.” “We are not “You’re taking your situation far too personally. Understandably, after all, you can hardly retreat from it. You lack the courage for that.” “No.” She straightened up. “But I can make my last noble stand. And depriving the Confederation Navy of your so-called talent will be a satisfactory achievement for me. Nothing personal, you understand.” “I can put an end to this, Jacqueline. We’re so very close to an answer now.” “Let’s see how your rationality endures the reality of the beyond. You will now experience every facet of it. Being possessed by one of its inhabitants; living within it, and if you’re really fortunate, as a possessor, forever terrified that some lucky living bastard is going to rip you out of your precious new prize and send you back screaming. What will your answer be then, I wonder?” “Unchanged.” He gave her a sad defeated smile. “It’s called resolution, the ability and determination to see things through to the end. However unexpected or disappointing that end turns out to be. Not that anyone will ever know now. But I held true to myself.” Alarmed by his mind tone, Jacqueline started to point her right arm. Slivers of white fire licked up from her wrist. In Gilmore’s mind the alternatives were stark. That she would torture him was inevitable. He would be possessed, or more likely damaged so badly that his body died, banishing his soul to the beyond. That was where logic broke down. He believed, or thought he did, that there was a way out of the beyond. Doubt undermined him, though. Factious, unclean human emotion, the type he hated so. If a way through the beyond existed, why did the souls remain trapped? There was no certainty any more. Not for him, not there. And he couldn’t stand that. Facts and rationality were more than the building blocks of his mind, they were his existence. If the beyond was truly a place without logic, then Pierce Gilmore had no wish to exist there. And his own sacrifice would advance human understanding by a fraction. Such knowledge was a fitting last thought. He datavised the processor array for the latest version of the anti-memory. Jacqueline’s hand was already lining up desperately on him when the desktop AV projection pillar silently pumped a blindingly pervasive red light across the office. Sixty minutes later Murphy Hewlett and his squad blew the office door out with an EE charge, and rushed in to the rescue. They found Gilmore slumped over his desk, and Kate Morley lying on the floor in front of it. Both of them were alive, but completely unresponsive to any kind of stimulus the squad medic could apply. As Murphy said later during his debriefing, they were nothing but a pair of wide awake corpses. |
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