by Neal Asher
The Clade unit exited a meniscus, fast, hurtling across the floor, coiled up into a ring. Chameleonware came online and it faded to invisibility. It hit an armoured wall, uncoiled and flattened out, checking for scanning, as well as itself passive scanning its surroundings. After a moment, it ascertained it had not been detected. Bounce gates had one function: to draw U-space missiles back into that continuum and defend ships from their blast. The female prador ganglions that controlled them served this purpose only. They weren’t even formatted to detect an arrival through such a gate, since that was supposed to be impossible. But it was possible through the gates in these prador ships. The technology Earth Central had allowed the prador to steal wasn’t quite what it should have been. EC had deliberately introduced a fault it could use against the prador in the event of war. Only Earth Central, some high AIs and commanders like Diana Windermere knew of it. The Clade had discovered it while repairing the damaged bounce gate aboard the reaver Brogus currently occupied. The gates the prador were using were, in fact, an access point to their ships.
Still, caution was necessary, especially here. Many of the unit’s fellows had the easier option of boarding old-style dreadnoughts, captained by pra- dor that weren’t so smart. This ship, however, was a reaver with the Guard aboard. They would be a lot more alert to anomalies, while the onboard security systems were higher spec. But on the upside, a reaver was a more effective weapon of destruction. It was a shame, the unit felt, now thinking more for itself, that boarding the Kinghammer was too risky. The presence of an AI aboard that ship raised the risk of detection far too high.
The unit slid along the wall to the diagonally divided door. Opening this would not be a good idea because that was the kind of anomaly the captain of this ship would react to—probably increasing internal security and sending his fellows to the area with weapons and high-intensity local area scanners. The unit therefore compressed itself flat, and flatter still, spreading out a yard wide and as thin as a chain-glass blade. It flowed into the gap around the door to encounter a simple neoprene seal. It sliced through that and slid on into the corridor beyond. Prador internal doors were not as airtight as those aboard Polity ships, because prador could withstand large changes in air pressure and even survive in vacuum for an appreciable time. That was especially so for the prador here, since they were only infrequently without their armoured suits.
The corridor contained EMR sensors that scanned in random bursts. These were not a problem since the unit was emitting no EMR. The unit’s chameleonware responded to other scanners searching the corridor by sending back the expected return signal. Even if it didn’t, the scanners probably weren’t sensitive enough to detect a thicker patch along one wall. However, the motion sensors, surprisingly, were a problem. Having studied them aboard Brogus’s ship, the Clade knew they matched scan schematics and measured air disturbances. They would have already detected it coming through the door, but the alert would be at the “wait and see” level. This system primarily measured damage to the ship during conflict, and its role of detecting intruders required a certain level of data to take it above a set threshold.
The unit began moving, but very slowly and below the threshold— sliding up the wall like a slime mould. At this rate, it would take weeks to reach its destination. However, it was patient and knew that its chance would come soon enough. It had nearly reached the ceiling when the opportunity arrived. Doors opened far up the corridor and the subsequent air disturbance was enough to cover its faster move right up onto the ceiling. Clattering down the corridor came an armoured prador. It wore the armour of a large second-child, but the unit knew that what lay inside bore little resemblance to such a creature. It was loaded with tools stuck to its upper carapace and clicking one claw as if to some rhythm. Perhaps it was listening to music—the King’s Guard could be wildly at variance from normal prador.
As the prador drew in below, the Clade unit detached from the ceiling and dropped on it, narrowing and twisting its body to fit amidst the tools. The prador paused, despite the unit’s feather-light touch, then shrugged and moved on. It wasn’t heading in the right direction but, eventually, it shifted into the path of another who was. The unit changed mounts, then again and again, gradually closing in on its destination. Transferring to an air vent was a mistake, since it contained sensors designed to detect assassin drones. This, nominally, was what Clade units were. Another mount took it elsewhere, and a duct for power and data lines was a boon, since the superconductor and optics weren’t as efficient as they could be and their EMR offered cover. Finally, after many hours, the Clade unit departed a final mount at its destination: the captain’s sanctum.
The doors were a problem and the unit watched four of the Guard amble past before a fifth stopped and opened them. It followed this creature inside and dropped from it beside a ship louse on the floor—the captain here must have had some nostalgic attachment to the things. The Clade ripped off its antennae and inserted tendrils to guide it, matching its course along the floor to the captain, who was squatting over his saddle control.
“The energy anomaly still cannot be traced,” said the arriving pra- dor, clattering and bubbling. “But I’m sure it’s due to the disruption here.”
“It is good to be sure . . .” replied the captain.
“Apologies—that seems the most likely explanation.”
“Likely, but we are limited by our lack of full understanding of bounce gates.”
“Yes, but we have no way past that, as yet.”
“Continue on this until something more critical occurs, as seems probable.”
This was worrying for the Clade unit. Obviously, they had detected its arrival here. This might become a problem if the prador spotted similar energy anomalies in other ships and the AI aboard the Kinghammer joined the dots. It was time to act, but first the other prador needed to leave.
Much less patient now, the Clade unit waited until the exchange concluded. It was frustratingly long because it seemed that King’s Guard actually engaged in conversation—such talks would be brief and businesslike and probably involve casual violence aboard the older dreadnoughts. But finally the prador departed.
The Clade unit hurled itself up from the floor and attached to the hatch in the armour covering the captain’s anus. No further need for subtlety; it projected a shearfield around the spike of its tail and cut into the latch. A moment later, it flipped up the hatch, even as the captain was pushing up from his saddle in surprise, and stabbed in. The captain shrieked and bubbled as the unit shoved up through his intestines. Full scanning on the unit saw the shape of the creature it had penetrated. The captain looked more like a giant parasitic copepod, sans carapace, than any prador. Careless of damage, the unit located his major ganglion. This was a horseshoe shape rather than the usual ring, but the required regions were easy enough to find. Inserting its head right in the middle of the thing, the unit excreted its nano-fibres, neurochem tubes and synaptic plugs. A viral paralytic stilled the captain as the unit quickly made connections. It began modelling and absorbing the captain’s mind, stealing useful data. Then it linked into the main cord to the rest of the prador’s nervous system, seizing control of autonomics, and relaying sensory data to itself.
Within just a few minutes, the Clade unit was gazing from the captain’s collection of eyes and adapting itself to the unusual body. The first thing it did was insert a claw into a pit control and call up data on the screens. Telemetry logs showed there had yet to be an update on the bounce gate anomaly. It killed that, making sure it would not be relayed to the Kinghammer. Next, just like a prador, it inspected the weapons systems knowing that, in another hundred and ninety-nine ships, its fellows would have been doing, or were about to do, the same.
GEMMELL
The Obsidian Blade streaked through atmosphere, close to the surface, a vortex trail of water vapour behind, and dust exploding from the land below. A particle beam lanced down from orbit, royal blue in vacuum then violet in th
e air. The attack ship jerked and shed fire, seemed to deform and writhe, but kept going. Gemmell reconsidered . . . it probably did deform and writhe if his reading of its updated schematics was anything to go by. The beam snapped out as it veered, touched it once more and snapped out again. The prador were being very careful to ensure they were on target, Gemmell realized. Then the ship disappeared in a long white explosion of water and steam.
“You are in contravention of agreements,” stated the prador in charge here, Ksov, his image up in a frame on the main screen.
“I am not in contravention of agreements,” said Morgaine. “That black-ops attack ship was heavily damaged and, it seems likely, under the influence of the creature whose . . . instructions we are adhering to.”
“Dragon?” Ksov enquired.
“That ship was inside Dragon when it came here—you saw that. We made some necessary repairs and put it back to work, whereupon it went rogue.”
Ooh, you liar, thought Gemmell.
Morgaine drove in for the kill. “Bear in mind that you would have been in contravention if just one of your shots had missed, and you will be in contravention if you fire now.” This was because, after hitting the Clade, Blade had made the sensible decision to head straight for the ocean. It was now probably a mile deep. “And I will of course have to respond.”
“Matters are unclear,” said Ksov. The frame containing his image blanked.
“They are rather murky,” said Gemmell. “Do we take out the facility now?”
“No, we do not.” She grimaced at him. “And I wonder if we would be able to without depopulating the continent down there.”
A frame opened up in the main screen to show the giant alien ship moving slowly out of the accretion disc. He had seen it already via his gri- dlink, since he was staying on top of the tactical data exchanges between the two fleets. But seeing it displayed in all its glory on the screen had a sobering effect.
“Big fucker,” he commented.
“Diana’s orders are clear,” Morgaine told him. “We know that the Clade wanted us to destroy the facility, and the prime directive of the weapons platforms can only be changed from there. If it is not changed, those platforms will fire on the vessel. So this must be the objective of the Clade and hence that of the Wheel . . .”
“Doesn’t really add up, does it?” said Gemmell.
“Elaborate,” said Morgaine.
“That’s a Jain ship and we should suppose it sent the Wheel in order to facilitate its escape from the U-space blister in the accretion disc sun. Why would whoever or whatever is in that ship want us to fire on it?”
Morgaine just stared at him. She had to have seen this but she had no answers. After a moment she said, “All we do know is that those weapons platforms have to be stopped. Diana is talking to them but they are absolutely set on their purpose. The best chance of stopping them is here, and we can see that Orlandine has entered the facility.”
That had been a surprise, but went some way towards explaining why Dragon had not wanted them to fire on the planet. And the fact that she had been guarded by enclave prador hinted at some of that entity’s unknown exchanges with the prador here, as well as with the war drones down there.
A hologram shimmered and expanded in the bridge. Gemmell took an involuntary step backwards. He told himself it was just surprise but still felt embarrassed. After all his years of fighting alongside them, he should be used to the ferocious appearance of war drones.
“Do you require assistance?” asked Morgaine.
“It would be good right now,” replied Knobbler, “but by the time your marines get here—” Knobbler stabbed a tentacle, terminating in something that looked like a sword blade, at Gemmell—”it will all be over.”
“Do you have communication with Orlandine?”
“Not yet. EMR from the hardfield blowout fried prador coms. We know which ejection shaft the enclave prador are in below and are keeping the Clade back from there.”
“The sentinel drones?”
“Bludgeon took them down. He used a Jain virus he stored from Orlandine’s collection, taken when we were helping her deal with that Wheel submind—nothing else would have worked.”
“Is Orlandine alive?”
“Well she was when she went in, but after that hardfield blowout, not known. Bludgeon is trying to make a link to that ex-legate Angel, but the Clade is blocking.”
“She has to know what to do,” stated Morgaine.
“She will,” Knobbler replied, “but whether she can do it is another matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, rather busy down here.” The hologram winked out.
“You linked com to the surface,” Gemmell noted.
“We have to focus on primary objectives,” said Morgaine. Then, “Are you focused?”
The blank screen frame showed Ksov again, squatting in his sanctum. “I am focused,” he replied. “Orlik has commanded me to offer every assistance. While there was some fear of Polity subterfuge, he states that even Earth Central is not capable of hiding a seven-hundred-mile-wide ship inside a sun just to get one over on the prador. How can we assist?” “At last,” said Morgaine. “You listening, Blade?”
“All ears,” replied the attack ship sitting down underneath the ocean. “Get back to that facility and see what you can do.”
“On my way.”
“All ships. One hundred per cent positive targeting on any Clade units that stray out of the Ghost Drive Facility’s defences. Use pulse-burst BIC lasers, highest concentration and coherence . . . at least for now. Hit nothing else.” She turned to Gemmell. “Your men are waking up. You’re heading down to the surface.”
“That drone said it will all be over by the time we get there,” Gemmell replied. “I tend not to doubt the assessments of war drones.”
“You go to the city. We’ve been given the chance to establish forces down there without prador interference and we’re taking it,” said Morgaine, then adding slyly, “Would you rather stay up here?”
He bristled at that, then asked, “The disaster response stuff down there?”
“Moving in closer but holding off. We don’t know for sure that there are no Clade remaining in the city.”
Gemmell rather hoped some had stayed. He turned to leave, shooting over his shoulder, “This still doesn’t make sense. We are reacting without all the facts and I don’t like that.”
“You and every other soldier throughout history,” Morgaine replied. He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head, and went on his way.
ORLANDINE
Orlandine struggled in the gritty darkness of the rubble pile, until Cog flipped over the slab Angel had dropped across her earlier to protect her. He did it easily, one-handed. But that was perhaps necessary as his other arm had been burned down to the bone.
It had happened so fast. One moment they were preparing to ascend the framework leading up into the ejection shaft, the next the generator above was screaming and fire had belched down the shaft. Orlandine had known the cause at once, but not how to react. Angel did, and fast. She now focused her attention on the android. He stood further down the rubble pile. His clothing was in smoking tatters, while his skin was shifting like that of a layer forming on molten metal. In places he was glowing. He looked round at her.
“Croos and two others,” he said.
She peered across the cavern. In the middle of the tilted floor was a glowing crater, spatters of molten metal and rock radiating out around it. Up against the wall to her right lay the remains of three prador. Two of them were pinned to the wall by the remnants of the shield generator, armour smashed, split open, fire and black smoke belching from inside. A third lay on his back over to one side, his under-armour gone and nothing inside but glowing charcoal.
Orlandine took all this in and then turned to Cog. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” Cog raised his burned arm and opened and closed his hand. Pieces of flesh and skin crunched, dropping away like over-cooked crackling.<
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Orlandine nodded, stood up and walked down the rubble pile. Two prador were at the foot of the slope, squatting with their legs folded protectively underneath. Over the other side of the crater, another five had arrayed themselves like shields, their heavier upper carapaces tilted towards the fire. As she stepped past Angel, the two rose creakily and unsteadily.
“The next cavern,” she said, and pointed.
She kept walking, skirting the crater and stepping only where the rock looked solid. Her HUD gave her a caution about the exterior temperature but the suit could handle it. After the warning went out, the temperature display remained in place. Movement to one side. Cog had taken a run-up and jumped. He landed far beyond the crater and rolled, stopping himself with a foot against one of the prador on the other side.
She guessed even his tough, ancient hooper body had its limits. The five there began to move, shrugging themselves and heaving upright.
Once she made it beyond the crater, the temperature steadily began to drop. A fog had appeared, gusting from the next cavern. Glancing up, she saw a stratum of black smoke across the ceiling. Almost as if in response to her nascent thought on this, her HUD gave her an atmosphere reading, plus a reading on its own air supply. The air in the cavern was bad—oxygen was low. She glanced over at the dead prador and saw that their fires were going out, then to Cog. He wasn’t gasping or collapsing, but then, he wasn’t exactly human.
“The attack has ceased,” said Angel, moving up beside her, “but now the Clade is in the facility.”
“How do you know?”
“Short burst of communication from a drone called Bludgeon. He gets through occasionally, but the Clade is blocking.”
Orlandine smiled. “Bludgeon, of course.”
The prador ahead were now up and heading through into the next cavern. Orlandine hurried after them. It seemed as if they were entering some creature’s mouth, so closely did the stalactites and stalagmites here resemble glassy teeth. A stream gushed from a hole in one wall and flooded across the tilted stone. This was the cause of the fog, and why the temperature reading in her HUD was dropping so rapidly. She stepped over a pool in which blind white fish with branched tails and remora-tipped limbs crawled slowly. They were after things that looked like excised eyeballs, dragging themselves with optic-nerve tails. Beyond this she eyed the framework leading up to another ejection tunnel in the ceiling.
