by Neal Asher
“Desist.” The word came through as a short quack because the AI saying it had spoken quickly, before compensating for the temporal effects of U-com. When next it spoke, Earth Central was more measured. “I had considered an option like this,” it said, “and was even preparing for it.”
“This still does not negate the need for examination!” Mobius Clean insisted.
A brief pause ensued, during which it became evident EC had a short, private chat with the forensic AI. It abruptly rolled up its feathery appendages and, as a brain-like ball, shot into the access tunnel and disappeared.
“So what do you think?” asked Blade.
“I think that were you restored to your former self you would not contemplate this,” the ruling AI of the Polity replied. “However, change is growth, you are at the location, you have the motivation . . . and I have no particular need for a black-ops attack ship there.”
“I will withdraw,” said Caliban.
The dreadnought AI retreated and control of the reconstruction bay, along with its sub-AI, fell to Blade. It was now free to do . . . what it would do.
“So that’s a yes?” it said.
“Proceed,” EC replied.
GEMMELL
Gemmell stood up to watch a replay of the explosion. He saw that an old ore hauler had surfaced into realspace some distance out from the prador fleet here, and then accelerated towards it under fusion. “What the hell?” he asked.
“The prador told it to stand off and delivered warnings,” said Morgaine, “but still they were a little hasty on the trigger.”
“Is it that on edge here?” Gemmell wondered.
“It is, but there are other factors involved. The prador knew where that ship came from.”
He turned and looked at her, then wondered why, because he could see no expression on her face. She wasn’t even using her vocal cords and mouth to speak to him.
She explained, “Orlandine has for centuries had a diverse collection of war and assassin drones on call. They are the ones that operated the runcibles she used during the conflict with the AI Erebus, and who built the runcibles she used at the accretion disc. They were stationed in the outer system here and Diana told me to keep a watch on them, since there’s no telling what they might do.”
“Do the prador dislike war drones any more than they dislike us?” Gemmell asked.
“These are drones that weren’t very accepting of the truce between the Kingdom and the Polity—rather like the rebel prador who gathered in the Graveyard after the war.”
“So just the kind that Erebus would have recruited in its fight against the Polity?”
“I think even Erebus would have had problems keeping this lot in order. They are loyal to Orlandine but, to the prador mind, are the sort of loose cannons that could turn things nasty here. The prador probably thought they were trying for a kamikaze run.”
Gemmell reviewed the size of the explosion in his mind. It hadn’t been a particularly big one, so there was no way had it contained a load of CTDs—antimatter bombs tended to be a bit more . . . dramatic.
“But apparently it wasn’t a kamikaze run,” he said. “So what was the point of that?”
“The ore carrier was a distraction—on automatic with no one aboard. Sensor data indicate the prador are now on high alert and watching the outer system intently.”
“Ah . . .” Gemmell understood, just a second before a great cluster of indicator tags appeared onscreen above Jaskor. The drones had sent the ore carrier to make the prador concentrate their attention outwards, and then made a U-jump dangerously close to the planet—well inside the perimeter the ships of the two small fleets had formed.
“Firing,” Morgaine intoned.
Why the hell was she opening fire now? With his attention on the screen, he reached out and grabbed the indicators, pulling the prador fleet into view. Then he gridlinked for tactical data and found himself allowed into the main tactical feed. He could hear the chatter, see the battle stats and intended aims.
Unbelievable...
Morgaine had just railgunned the prador fleet, and the other Polity ships had opened fire a moment later. Energy readings aboard the reavers and other ships changed as they began throwing up defences. A second later, the railgun slugs reached the prador hardfields. Was he watching the start of a battle here? Maybe, though having absorbed the tactical data, he could now understand Morgaine’s intent. Everything depended on how the prador reacted.
Multiple explosions blossomed around the prador ships, lighting hardfields like polarized glass scales floating in vacuum. But the size of the blasts and energy readings were all off. Then things started to get a little hazy—even his screen view had to continuously correct itself. Space filled with glittering surfaces. Reavers and prador destroyers suddenly popped into existence. The ships that were first visible seemed to ride over distortions and shift position by thousands of miles. Checking Polity sensor data, he saw whole bands of the spectrum completely blanked out.
“So when did the tech get rugged enough to survive inside a railgun slug?” he asked.
“About a century ago,” replied Morgaine.
The Polity fleet had not fired destructive weapons at the prador, but slugs carrying chaff. It overloaded sensors, created ghost images and disrupted positional data. It had rendered the prador blind and confused and, Gemmell noticed, had the required effect. He saw that the drones and drone vehicles were now down in low atmosphere and some were even landing. It was to be hoped that the prador wouldn’t feel inclined to open fire on them, especially since they were over and around the planet’s main city. However, the prador did know the position of all the Polity ships and, typically, responded.
The deck jerked under his feet and the screen view turned momentarily blinding. Still keyed into the tactical feed, he saw in his mind real railgun slugs impacting on Polity hardfields, the burning comets of molten projectors ejecting into vacuum, particle beams slicing across. He saw an attack ship spewing projectors, then tracked end to end with a particle beam. Next came some massive impact on a destroyer, blowing away its back end and sending it tumbling. He listened in on a terse exchange.
“You have divined the purpose of my fusillade,” said Morgaine.
“You have allowed rogue drones to reach the planet,” replied Ksov—the prador nominally in charge of the fleet here. “I am seeking clarification.”
“Desist,” said Morgaine, “or I will be forced to respond.”
“Our response was required,” said Ksov.
“And why was it required?”
Ksov did not reply but Gemmell knew why it was, anyway. It wasn’t payback for the chaff, or even because she had prevented him firing on the drones, if that had been his intention. It was just to affirm that the prador were no walkover. It was notice that they would respond and was a demand for respect, military style.
“My apologies,” said Morgaine, even as one Polity dreadnought lost a square mile of armour in a titanic explosion. “I was not sure if you were aware that the rogue drones in question are actually employees of Orlandine, and of Dragon, and come under the agreements we made for the independent state here.”
“Orlandine is dead and Dragon is gone again,” said Ksov.
Now only stray missiles struck hardfields because the prador had ceased firing. It seemed Ksov had received his reply from the prador admiral out at the accretion disc. Gemmell watched the tactical whole for a while longer, then began limiting his connection. Two small fleets faced off above Jaskor, but small was a relative term. If they went fully head-to- head, it would take the flip of a coin to decide who’d win. Certainly the planet below would be a loser of the smoking ruin kind. He stepped back to his chair and sat down, and felt a trickle of sweat run down his side from his armpit.
8
So often I come back to that enigma that is Dragon. Four spheres of it were on the planet Aster Colora before it made its dramatic departure. One of them turned up at the planet Samarkand an
d was responsible for the runcible disaster there. It was subsequently blown to pieces by some shady Polity agent, about whom I can glean no information at all. Another of them is AWOL—nobody has any data on it at all. Two of them entered the Jain-tech accretion disc during the Erebus debacle and one may have been destroyed—confirmation is lacking. The last remaining is at the accretion disc assisting in the defence there against Jain technology.Now, here’s something interesting: I know that when Dragon was first found, its spheres were just a mile or so across. Then, in a very short time, the two that entered the accretion disc were fifty miles across and highly weaponized—fast growth and big alterations. I also know that Dragon is quite capable of crafting complex life forms. It created the race of dracomen who are now regarded as Polity citizens. So, here’s a thought: can Dragon reproduce itself? Could it be that the missing sphere is the template kept well out of danger, while the others jog about the galaxy causing trouble? Could it be that even now, on some remote world or in some dense gas cloud, Dragon spheres are sprouting and growing like mushrooms?Much as I find Dragon frustrating, opaque, irritating and smug, I certainly hope so. The universe just wouldn’t be the same without him.
—from How It Is by Gordon
TRIKE
They came in at the end of the precinct in a perfectly even formation.
“Okay,” said Cog, “we have to go through them.” But by then Trike was already running.
A violet-blue beam, sizzling in the air, stabbed past him to the right. Cog’s first particle beam shot struck one unit straight in the face. The blast stopped it in mid-air, shedding molten metal. It took it for a moment, then shot sideways, crashing through a door. Angel nailed one high up, twinned pulse shots drawing a line of bright yellow punctuations to his target. The effect was not as powerful as Cog’s weapon but Angel’s aim was better. The thing dodged and weaved in the air but the pulse shots kept hitting it at a point just behind its head. Finally it had had enough and dropped out of sight on a rooftop. Other units began to shift their formation, then, in a joint decision, the formation broke. Clade units crashed through doors and windows in the surrounding buildings. But Trike knew it wasn’t over and that they were only utilizing the cover available.
Directly ahead of Trike, a foamstone slab shattered and a unit rose up out of it in an explosion of debris and a fountain of water. It must have traced the route of some underground water main. One-handed, he fired his carbine, slicing down its length, but it just sizzled and blew steam as it looped towards him. Angry joy in the pit of his stomach flooded into his right arm and with a roar he brought his machete down squarely on its head. With a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a bell, it cut in, and jammed. The unit shrugged and he felt the machete torn from his hand, but he didn’t stop. Dropping his carbine to hang from its strap over his shoulder, he lunged forwards and grabbed the thing as if to strangle it.
“Fucking die!”
As he slammed it on the ground, he saw another unit crash down nearby, its body hot and smoking. The thing tried to rise up, but twinned pulse fire blew its already semi-molten head apart. Even as he registered this, Trike’s own opponent’s tail whipped over and stabbed in. He felt its point go into his shoulder but jam, just like his machete had. Rage and power boiling in him, he brought a knee down on the centre of its body and heaved upwards. With a crackling sound, the length of spine-like body between his knee and his hands grew long and thin and oddly translucent. He twisted, hammered its head against the ground, then released one hand and brought his fist down on it, hard, driving its head into the foamstone. He grabbed the machete handle and tugged, but lost hold of it as the unit tried to rise again. It shook itself and the machete fell away, swinging round towards him. Its head was open, exposing tangled silvery electronics. He lunged with both hands, jamming his fingers into the gap, then heaved it apart. With a crump and an electrical discharge, the head separated and the unit finally sagged.
No time for victory. Trike dived and rolled, coming up in a crouch with his machete held two-handed as another unit skimmed over his head. Everything knotted up in his core came flooding out. He spun and hacked and this time the weapon didn’t jam—the Clade unit he hit simply fell in half. He swung again and, with a high ringing, took the top off its head. Glancing round, he saw Angel stab long fingers into the eye of one unit, then discard it. The thing coiled up into a knotted ball and dropped heavily, as he next opened fire on another exploding out of a nearby wall. Cog was down, two of the Clade wrapped around his body. Then he heaved himself up, holding one by the tail and slinging it away from him. It coiled round in mid-air and simply exploded, the blast sending Cog and his remaining opponent bouncing along the street. Cog had used one of his mines.
Trike started running towards Cog, but a tail smacking into his chest brought him to a shuddering halt. Suddenly the air all around him was full of the things. Bellowing, he began to hack, his machete ringing and shedding sparks, the handle growing hot in his hand. Metallic vertebrae and severed amphibian heads bounced on the ground. Deep in his mind he knew the odds against him were too great, but it didn’t seem to matter. It felt as if a reactor had fired up in his chest to power his limbs. Then came the first deep crump of an impact and the units drew away from him. He saw a unit nearby simply disappear into the paving, and then that erupted in a violent, sun-hot explosion.
“Run!” Cog shouted, discarding the mangled remains of his last opponent.
He did run, but in pursuit of Clade units fleeing before him. Further vertebrae and severed Clade heads rained down, but this wasn’t him. He looked up to see a thing like a giant mantis amidst the Clade, limbs glinting razor light as they hacked and slashed. Further along the street a big object came on hard, blowing out a wave of debris. Then it casually climbed out of the crater it had made, spitting high-intensity lasers, snatching and dismembering Clade units with heavy tentacles.
Ahead, Angel had hauled up a large grating and tossed it aside. Trike stumbled to a halt at the lip of this then turned. Behind him, what looked like a giant water scorpion stabbed its forelimbs into a unit and held the thing there shaking, then glowing like a light bulb filament, and finally exploding. Another like a great clam of brassy metal hurtled over with a sonic crackling of railgun slugs, Clade units blown to pieces all around it.
“War drones,” said Angel.
Trike turned to look at him as he dropped into the storm drain. Angel was going wherever it was Dragon had directed him, but Trike decided he would stay. Here he had an enemy he could fight without reserve, while being near Angel was . . . difficult. Cog, however, had other ideas. The big Old Captain slammed into Trike hard, cabled arms wrapped around his body, and hurled the both of them into the drain. As they hit the water Trike shoved at Cog’s face, hard, and the man’s grip on him slipped away. But the flood had taken hold and his massive strength availed him nothing—it was carrying him away from the Clade. Briefly he saw Angel and reached out to clamp a hand on the android’s arm. He still held his machete and suddenly had no reason not to use it, at all. But Angel looked into his face and suddenly his arm turned slippery. Trike lost his hold and the android slid away, buoyant and supple as a silver fish.
In his rage, Trike’s grip on coherent thought deserted him and, with that, his ability to even swim. His densely packed body took him down. He tumbled along through a muddy maelstrom and took his first breath of water straight into his lungs. Managing to rise up out of it, he saw something strange. A mass of tendrils, tentacles, worms flopping through the water towards him. It struck him, knocking him back down into the muddy swirl. He felt it crawling along his limbs, under his clothing, then sudden stabbing pains from head to foot. Another breath of water and blackness edged into his mind. Yet, in that blackness he saw stars and then a glimpse of a gas giant, moons and half-dismantled structures floating in vacuum. Then the last dregs of his consciousness drained away from him.
THE CLIENT
The Client resided utterly in her remote fo
rm as it squatted atop her life-support cylinder. The thing Dragon had sent drifted through vacuum—probably like her it was saving energy for the imminent encounter. At length, Weapons Platform Mu fell into orbit of the gas giant and swung round it, putting Dragon and its remote out of direct sight. But she left attack pods scattered around the orb to keep watch and saw when Dragon’s remote abruptly fired up a drive to send it closer to the giant.
Next, swinging back to come adjacent to Dragon, the Client slowed the platform, finally bringing it to a relative halt. It was time. She launched from her cylinder and, under an internal EM drive, sped through vacuum towards the other remote. Even as she did this she saw the purpose in the other’s change of course. Dragon had set a time limit on this battle, intending for both remotes to fall into oblivion in the gas giant. She issued orders and, in response, those of her attack pods that were further away fired up their fusion drives to bring them in. Four of them, close over Dragon, began sowing U-space disruptor mines. If Dragon expected only a battle of remotes it was in for a surprise.
The distance steadily shortened and the other remote turned, spreading out its tentacles like a squid preparing to attack. She extended her own and, in special portions of her mind, prepared viruses, worms and other hostile computer organisms that were the unseen weapons of attack. Closer still and she felt a warfare beam latch on. That was unexpected—Dragon launching an attack before they were physically together. Yet a deeper part of herself asked why a logical tactic to employ was unexpected. She felt it sweeping through her, generating data-steal- ing viruses, and countered it as best she could. She seethed, because Dragon was now learning about her remote while she knew nothing of its. Then they slammed together.
