She was going to need them. The Icebreakers had spread themselves about the Hub, but were clearly paying the most attention to the humans, now herded into the middle. A single man was standing nearby to Zarka and Zokan, and his eyes were not on the ambassadors.
Don’t let me down, boys, thought Hunter. The moment of truth was approaching; as Ricardo continued to grandstand before the Matans, she turned to her crew and began indicating with subtle hand gestures who should do what. She felt rather like Lord Cardigan preparing his troops for the Charge of the Light Brigade, but there was still a surge of pride as she saw understanding and determination in face after face, even those who’d joined the mutiny against her. At least they’d die together.
“So,” said Ricardo, abruptly turning back to the crew. “So, my ladies … I fear it is time for the unkindest cuts of all. I am programmed with the knowledge of five hundred and eighty-nine distinct techniques to sexually please a woman; surely I can conceive twelve varied ways to end your lives.” He rubbed his hands together in a show of eagerness. “How about a simple neck-snap to begin? Any volunteers? Please bear in mind, later options may be slower and more painful. No? No hands raised? Then I must choose…” Springing directly from a standing pose without warning, Ricardo seized Barbara Young from the fringe of the group, like a cheetah picking off a stray wildebeest. He clasped one hand around the brunette’s forearm, the other about her throat, and was already bearing her away before anyone could react.
“Now!” cried Hunter, lunging after Ricardo.
She was immediately aware of an Icebreaker raising his gun dead ahead of her, of Zarka diving for cover … but Zokan, bless him, charged the Icebreaker at once, and began grappling with the man for possession of his rifle. The weapon discharged wildly, probably destroying some multi-million-dollar equipment, but Hunter herself was spared.
The lack of gunfire from behind her indicated that Bala, previously playing possum on the floor, had risen to tackle her Icebreaker as hoped. That still left two free to fire. Hunter had assigned three women to each of these. The consoles would provide them with some cover, but they were up against experienced fighters – even with the weight of numbers on their side, they had very little chance.
There was a roar of gunfire to the left, and Lorna Costa, who was to help Hunter against Ricardo, fell with a wild scream, swiftly terminated. The captain herself managed to reach Ricardo and attempted to barge him over. While maintaining his grip on Barbara’s throat, the rogue ACM caught Hunter easily with his other hand and flung her across the room. Losing her footing, she slid along the floor for several feet and bumped into the door to the Meeting Room, which belatedly slid open.
By the time she managed to reorient herself, Hunter saw that Ricardo had both hands around Barbara’s neck. Defiant, the woman managed to connect with a solid punch that turned Ricardo’s head ever so slightly. Then, after glancing back to make sure that the captain was watching, he smiled his charming smile and snapped the unfortunate gardener’s neck with a swift, brutal motion.
Dropping the body, he started toward Hunter.
As if her situation wasn’t already perilous enough, the captain saw Lupa dart across from right to left in front of her, crouching and firing back the way she’d come. In that instant, the chief Icebreaker noticed Hunter in the periphery of her vision. Without hesitating, she swung her weapon up to fire.
Then someone charged into Lupa, knocking the gun from her hands. A dark blur, moving at inhuman speed. Salomon.
And there, at the opposite side of the Hub, was Ivan, charging into the attack. His bearded face held an expression somewhere between anger and delight as he leapt into a flying kick, managing a solid connection with one of the terrorists despite being shot with a handgun in mid-flight. The two crashed down together, out of Hunter’s sight.
Hope flared in her heart. But Ricardo was still advancing on her, still smiling, shrugging his indifference to this latest turn of events. Hunter wanted to stand, but found she could not. One fall too many, perhaps – she’d banged her head this time, and it was still ringing. The most she could manage was to crawl back into the Meeting Room, while the ACM pursued her. He was in no hurry, content to move at walking pace, turning to touch the door controls as he crossed the threshold. A metallic swish, and the sounds of combat were reduced to a muffled cacophony.
“Just the two of us, Signora Capitana. As it should be. An intimate end.”
Hunter crawled under the meeting table, a desperate attempt to find shelter, which ended when Ricardo grabbed the heavy oaken furniture and lifted it off the floor. He heaved it into the wall, where it hit with a mighty crash but did not shatter. A single chair by Hunter’s head was left standing; she used it first to haul herself upright, then as a final weapon to fling at Ricardo. He batted it aside with ease and continued to advance, forcing Hunter to back up until the unyielding steel of the wall at her back meant she could retreat no further.
“Kill me, then. You’re losing the fight out there. You were always going to lose; one malfunctioning mass of circuits, whose quest to be evil was a joke no-one else will ever hear.”
Ricardo’s grin deepened. He was missing a small scrap of flesh from his right cheek, the captain noticed. Barbara’s punch had left a mark, if nothing else.
“If I have lost, then have you won? No, I rather think not. I counted half a dozen of your crew dead out there, and you yourself have but one choice left to make. How will you die?”
Hunter felt a sick rage rising in her throat. The machine was right; whoever survived, there would be no completing their mission; she saw only a grim future in an alien land.
Then she saw the metal deck plates behind Ricardo ripple like water in the breeze.
“This is my choice.” Kicking off from the wall, Hunter wrapped her arms around Ricardo’s waist and drove them both to the deck. The ACM could surely have stayed upright if he chose, but he was content to fall backwards and cushion her impact. He returned her grip, arms folding behind her back and quickly beginning to tighten.
“My love, such a romantic choice! The last thing you feel shall be my embrace, as it takes your breath away.”
Beneath them, the floor sagged and collapsed.
The robot’s beatific smile transformed at once into an expression of shock. The metal deck plates were transforming, becoming the talons of a claw which ensnared him, pulling at his arms until he was forced to release Hunter. Tendrils of living metal pushed the captain herself to safety, gently depositing her at the edge of the newly formed pit.
Looking down, she saw Ricardo struggling futilely against what had now become a writhing mass of shining snakes. Over his shoulder appeared the pale face of Chamonix, unblinking as she focussed on her task.
If the rogue ACM had succeeded in making Hunter feel hate, his plight now did not move her to pity. It was with satisfaction that she spat the words, “Here’s a new lover for you, Ricardo…”
Chamonix reached a hand across Ricardo’s chest, and sank her fingers into the spot where a human’s heart would be. Hunter didn’t know whether an ACM could feel pain, but Ricardo certainly screamed as though he did, eyes wide and wild, limbs straining artificial sinews against his bonds. All traces of the Latin lover persona were gone.
Then Chamonix gave a sudden twist of her hand, and Ricardo came apart, his skin seeming to turn, insides flowing outside, plastic and wires and microchips peeling apart like confetti, then disintegrating completely, becoming a cloud of dust that drifted down past the hybrid in a shower. His head was the last part to go, a curiously petulant expression crossing his face before it collapsed into nothing, as though he couldn’t quite believe anyone could be so cruel as to ruin his fun.
With a strange exhalation, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, Chamonix rose from the pit, propelled upwards by more of the metal tendrils. The captain took an instinctive step back. For a moment, she saw Chamonix as she had been that first day on Mahi Mata, as a cold-eyed killer, the child o
f the Earth God. Then expression and humanity crept back into her face.
“Captain. I apologise for taking so long.”
“I thought they’d killed you.”
“I believe that was the plan. I felt them coming with their guns, and wasn’t sure I could win a head-to-head fight. I therefore let them believe that I had fled the ship, while concealing myself within the walls.”
“There’s still a fight going on out there. Can you help?”
“I can certainly try…”
At that moment, the door swished open and an Icebreaker staggered through, head coverings torn and blood running from a deep gash in his brow; Hunter thought it was the same sergeant who’d tried to shoot Ricardo earlier. The man was without his rifle, but still possessed a sidearm, which he promptly aimed in her direction.
Chamonix stepped quickly between them. The gun spat out three bullets, each of them on target, before clicking empty. Hunter heard each shot strike the hybrid with a vaguely metallic clunk, none passing through to reach their more vulnerable human target. Chamonix herself was rocked by the impact, but did not fall; she had braced herself by temporarily welding her feet to the decking.
When the sergeant threw his weapon aside and drew a long knife from his robes, Chamonix freed herself from the floor and went on the attack. Letting forth a chilling scream, she advanced on her prey, transforming with each step, her limbs stretching and becoming spidery in their articulation, until her head brushed the ceiling, eight feet up.
The sight was too much for the lone Icebreaker. His knife slipped through nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor; placing his arms over his head, he backed into a corner, seeming to shrink even as Chamonix grew. The hybrid seized him, lifted him high.
“No killing,” cautioned Hunter.
Chamonix shot her a look of grim amusement, as though to say, You think one more will make a difference? Then she struck the man sharply, knocking him out. “Satisfactory?” she enquired.
“Come on,” said Hunter. “We have to get out there and help with the fight.”
“Help with the wounded, perhaps. The fight is over.”
Even as she staggered to the doorway, Hunter could hear that Chamonix was right. There were no more automatic weapons roaring, no more cries of pain or fury. When she stepped back into the Hub, a light haze hung over everything. People both living and dead were scattered haphazardly. To Hunter’s left, Annie stood with her head in her hands, weeping. Bala was supporting her with a arm about the shoulder, though she looked on the verge of collapse herself. Beyond them were the two Kerinian ambassadors. Zokan, whose bravery had saved Hunter’s life, lay dead on the floor; Zarka, who had fled, knelt unscathed at his colleague’s side, eyes wide with shock.
No justice here.
Stepping unsteadily forward, Hunter found Daniella Winters trying to comfort Jess Ryan in her last moments. The fallen woman’s blouse was red, her torso torn open by two angry slashes which looked to have been made by a knife. Hunter arrived just in time to see the light of life vanish from her eyes.
“Captain, I need a stretcher.” Iris’ tone was subdued but calm. She was crouched over Wanda Little, expression clinical as she assessed her senior colleague’s condition. Iris herself seemed largely unharmed, the blood on her hands likely not her own. “Wanda’s alive, but I need to scan her for possible haemorrhage or haematoma.”
“Yes,” said Hunter. “Daniella, Annie, could you bring two or three stretchers from Medical, please?”
To their credit, both women got moving quickly, but Iris held up a cautioning hand. “I only need one stretcher, Captain.”
“Why?”
“Everyone else is dead.”
The statement seemed absurd to Hunter. There were only five of them on their feet – that couldn’t be all that was left, surely? How many had they lost? Her mind rebelled, refusing to make the calculation. She began to wander about the Hub, looking for survivors, though Iris had surely checked every body already. At least, she thought, if I could speak to one of them before they die. Let them know how proud I am of all they’ve done. That I forgive them.
But the most she could do for her crew now was to shut lifeless eyes.
Finally, reaching the pilot’s chair, she found Ivan and Salomon. The former was propped awkwardly against the foot of the chair. Lupa’s body was at his feet. Bullet holes riddled his chest and head.
“Ivan has suffered fatal mainframe damage,” explained Salomon grimly. “A cascade failure. His processors are overheating; his personality will be destroyed. Death.”
“A good death,” said Ivan. His voice was echoey and rattling, and no longer quite matched the movements of his lips.
Hunter realised that this was the only goodbye she’d be able to give today. An irony – she wasn’t convinced, even now, that machines had lives to lose.
“I’m sorry, Ivan. I never trusted you. I was wrong.”
“Only ever wanted … to be a hero.”
Hunter was speaking to all the dead when she replied, “You are.”
* * *
The KSD readouts were unchanged. Somehow, Annie had expected them to be inverted or otherwise perverted, reflecting the catastrophes of the day. But the mechanism was designed to care only for itself, not for the humans who used it.
Eight women had died. Eight. Al-Hawsawi, Rivers, Jackson, Ryan, van der Meyde, Antakova, Young, Costa. All gone. And the whole thing had lasted barely an hour, from Rivers’ ill-judged mutiny through to Ricardo’s insanity and the final battle on the Hub. Annie thought about the world she’d woken up to that morning, wondering where it had gone, and how she might get back to it.
There was no going back. The crew had failed their ultimate test, and Earth had never been further away.
At least some of them had survived, thanks to Chamonix. More might have been saved – the hybrid had planned to burst up through the floor of the Hub, while Ivan and Salomon simultaneously attacked through the doors. Unfortunately, events had escalated before she could get into position.
Annie didn’t know where the hybrid was now; back in her room, probably, doing whatever weird stuff she did up there. Hunter and Prime Minister Safri were leading the mopping-up operation. Dozens of Icebreakers had been caught in the forest and arrested, together with the solitary member who had survived the skirmish in the Hub. Safri had of course been highly apologetic about the damage wrought by his fellow countrymen.
Soon, they’d draw up a repair schedule for the Bona Dea. The Monosadans would help – there weren’t really enough women left on board to do the work alone. As to flying the ship, Annie thought that might be possible in the short term, with a skeleton crew stretched to the limit.
Sure, but where we gonna fly it to? Ain’t got no place to go…
The roaring of guns still echoed in her ears even now, hours after the firing had stopped. She’d survived by pure luck – the Icebreaker she’d been assigned to charge had been presented with two targets simultaneously, her and Ekaterina Antakova, but only enough time to shoot one. The choice had been arbitrary. Annie had lived, Antakova had died. The terrorist had dealt easily with Annie’s attack, knocking her down with an elbow, but hadn’t ever fired the killing shot. She didn’t know why – distracted by another attack, maybe, or just saving the ammo for someone who was still on their feet.
What did it matter? She was alive, and right back where her day had started, with eight more scars to bear.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Annie yawned. It had been over twenty-four hours without sleep, but she was afraid to lie in her bed. When her eyes were closed, the faces of the dead would visit her. Perhaps she’d be safe from that here.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The insistent noise abruptly penetrated her fatigue-addled mind. It was coming from two directions at once, she realised – both her wristband and the KSD’s interface panel.
Annie looked up at the status screen with dawning comprehension. Displays that usually showed
a smooth curve were jagged around the edges. The merest breath of a change, but she recognised it for what it was.
Gypsy was calling home.
X
The brightest star that warms the night
must fade away to naught but dust
It cannot keep its sacred light
the brightest star that warms the night
Beneath the frigid heavens’ sight
all beauty dies, like summer lust
The brightest star that warms the night
must fade away to naught but dust
– Gypsy Cumberland
“Your poem has a pleasing rhythm,” said Dr. Koli, tapping the page thoughtfully.
“I agree.” Gypsy swept her chancellor horizontally across the Jigadi board, and leant back in her chair. “Triolet’s a naturally aesthetic form. You’ve only got to follow its rules to produce decent poetry.”
“The subject is rather bleak, however…”
“Bleak? Realistic, I’d say. Heat Death, I’m calling it – a reminder that it’s not just we mortals who’re on the clock. I wonder, if stars could think, would they worry that the millennia are ticking by? Would they weep for their lost beauty as they grow fat and red? Maybe they would. Maybe we’re better off with our short existences, half-gone before we really start to miss them. The shorter the life, the better – you’ve shown me yourself that it’s healthy to think in terms of a series of one-day existences.”
“That’s true, but koro philosophy is supposed to give us an appreciation of the beauty that lives today. Looking ahead to the death of that beauty? That’s unlikely to lift the spirit.”
Gypsy smiled without warmth. “I don’t mind my spirits failing to go up, so long as they don’t go down. You’ve taken away my pain, and that’s all I could ask. Any pleasure I might experience is a bonus. By the way, I wouldn’t spend too much time staring at the Jigadi board. I’ll win in eight moves at most. Would you like me to show you how?”
Omphalos Page 22
