by Neal Asher
Some 300 yards beyond the last generating station, Tigger entered a wide slice through the rock, where only a few remnants of the pipe remained, the river now spreading out into a wide shallow flow that disappeared off into darkness on either side. Ahead, he eventually came upon a continuation of the pipe again, bone-dry and high up in a rock face. He entered this and cruised along to where the pipe terminated in a canal bed, now roofed with stone where there had been open space. Either side of him there had once been a glittering grotto of underground tower blocks, homes, factories, shops: all the panoply of human civilization. After the attack it had all been compressed down to a layer about three feet thick in which the humans had become thoroughly melded with their civilization. He passed a barge lying on the canal bed, disconnected skeletons scattered all around it, the distorted skulls of Brumallians presenting nightmare mandibles. Further skeletons revealed broken bones. He wondered if they had died of their injuries here or drowned before the water drained away. There was no way of telling without some forensic work, and that was not what he was here for.
Tracking through the canal system the drone eventually reached a point where a crevice opened above him. Closer now to this feature he had often scanned from above, he scanned it again to confirm his supposition. Tigger mapped the weaknesses in the rock then after a short while rose to a preselected point, before extending a metallic protuberance from his body which flashed and emitted the turquoise glare of a particle beam. After a few seconds the light went out. He withdrew the device then in its place extended a tentacle holding a brushed aluminium cylinder which he inserted deep into the glowing hole he had just cut. Then he dropped back down to the canal level and sped off a mile away before sending the detonation signal.
Even at that range the blast wave knocked Tigger back a hundred feet. After a cautious pause he advanced again, ultrasound scanning the rock above him for weaknesses. Finally returning to his original position he peered at the huge slab of rock that had dropped down into the canal. Above this the crevice was now much wider, opening up into darkness above. He rose up into this gap, testing the air with his sensors. It smelled foul, still full of organics, still redolent with the stench of death after all this time.
Even though much of the section of city above – the ceiling of this section – had fallen, still some buildings had remained standing. Giant boulders and tons of rubble jammed the rest of the tubular city above. It was a shame the populace trapped here had not thought to drill downward rather than up, for then they might have escaped via the route Tigger had entered.
The dead were stacked in their tens of thousands along the course of a dried-up canal. At first the survivors had filled the ground in above the corpses, then – perhaps as water, energy and hope ran low – they ceased to cover them. Tigger observed the heavy drill they had been using to cut right through one wall to one of the big vent pipes – to their minds their nearest possibility of escape – and did not have to speculate on how they must have felt upon finding that the pipe itself had simply disappeared, closed up by the massive quakes caused here. He cruised along, studying the temporary accommodations the survivors had made for themselves, the equipment salvaged, the food supplies – soon emptied – the attempts at making water condensers and air scrubbers. And the little huddles of bones representing those who had survived long enough so as not to have anyone else to throw their corpses in the canal.
After a few hours of surveying this mass grave, and recording all of it, he eventually headed over to one particular building, whose upper floors had been crushed by the falling ceiling but whose bottom two levels remained intact. He entered the foyer through a space for wide doors that now lay some distance behind him, having been blown off by the compressive effect of so many levels above being crushed. After scanning for a little while he settled to the floor and detached his tiger half from his sphere. This tiger form was small enough to negotiate the narrow corridors inside. There were bones evident here, but none belonging to the survivors. He supposed the place had not been considered safe. Eventually he entered a room where, surprisingly, a mummified and perfectly intact Brumallian sat in a chair by one of the cylindrical storage containers. No clue as to how he had died, until scanning revealed the effects of massive compressive shock. Strange how this particular container was the one Tigger sought.
The drone did not need to search now, for he understood precisely how Brumallians filed things. He reached up with one extended claw and flipped open a quadrant drawer. From this he removed a single recording disk. He slipped this into his mouth, shunted it through, played it inside himself, and confirmed that he had what he wanted.
Whether Orduval would be pleased with this trophy was debatable, but hopefully it might prevent further graveyards like the one presently all around Tigger.
– Retroact 16 Ends –
Harald
As Harald stepped onto the Bridge, he glanced around at the replacement personnel he had organized and concealed his satisfaction. Everyone was now in position, and the Bridge was abuzz as Ironfist slowed to its new position and prepared for the retaliatory strike against the Brumallians.
He walked over to Firing Control and stood behind the officers operating the instruments aligned there. After a moment he set his headset to route his voice through the ship’s public-address system.
‘Everyone, I want you to listen closely.’ The buzz of activity cooled and everyone on the Bridge turned towards him. ‘We have now confirmed that the missile strike against Captain Inigis’s ship was instigated by a rogue schism within the Brumallian society designated BC32 – otherwise known as Vertical Vienna. It has also been confirmed that this dissident group was assisted by as yet unidentified agents of a Sudorian organization.’
Harald scanned the room as a disbelieving mutter arose from many – but many more just waited, hard-faced and patient. He considered how most of those here had been children during the War, and how they would react to his next words.
‘Parliament, having reinstated our wartime prerogative of independent crisis management up to and including the use of lethal force, therefore approves of the action we must perforce take.’ He glanced down at those looking up at him from Firing Control. ‘Let us now remember why Fleet exists. Many of you here did not fight in the War. I did not either. But many did, and many more died for the freedoms we enjoy today. Millions of Sudorian citizens died, millions lived lives of privation and died never knowing peace. We cannot let that happen to us again. It is our duty to prevent it happening again, and to that end we must be harsh and uncompromising.’
He pointed to the Munitions Officer. ‘Prepare for a warhead launch from Silo Fourteen, back-up in Thirteen.’ Now he pointed to the Targeting Officer. ‘Target BC32.’
Looking around the room, Harald registered the expressions of shock.
‘It is a terrible thing we do here today, but the consequences could be more terrible still if we did nothing. We cannot allow this provocation to pass. We cannot allow the war to begin again.’ Harald paused. ‘I will now obtain confirmation from Admiral Carnasus himself.’ Stripping off the headset he headed for the stair, knowing that many would question his orders, but none would disobey him. As he reached the stair he glanced across at the four Bridge guards near the main doors. Two of them immediately detached from their group and slowly, casually, began making their way over. It was all working perfectly to plan – perfectly visualized and now being exactly executed – yet now the reality was beginning to bite. Harald felt his stomach tighten and a sudden onset of nausea. He paused, removing his side arm, as protocol dictated, then felt the sudden need to just turn and run. But he also felt like simply one cog in the unstoppable machine that was his own plan. Teeth gritted, he climbed, finally stepping up into the Admiral’s haven.
‘So, Harald, is everything prepared?’ asked Carnasus.
Harald eyed him, realizing the Admiral was in his more lucid mode. The old man stood with his hands behind his back, gazing t
hrough the narrow window across the body of the hilldigger, which now stood in silhouette against the backdrop of Brumal. Harald glanced around and noted Lieutenant Alun seated on a couch just in front of the glass case containing the Admiral’s collection of trophies and awards.
‘It is all prepared,’ Harald replied.
Carnasus turned. ‘So why a five-megaton warhead?’
‘Because, though Parliament will accept our necessary excision of BC32, it would not be prepared to accept the damage a larger warhead or a gravity disruptor might cause to BC31, which is indirectly linked by tunnels to our target.’
‘But you think they will accept the destruction of Vertical Vienna itself?’
Harald paused for a moment. He had expected Carnasus to be more lucid than usual now, since the exigency of the situation could produce no less than that effect, but the old man seemed worryingly sharp. Here then was a hint of the Carnasus who had commanded this ship during the last five years of the War. A man to be admired, and not just . . . Harald could feel the sweat slick on his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt something shift inside his head. Yes, what happened now was inevitable, and regret was merely wasted energy. He opened his eyes, dried his palms against his foamite suit – and knew they would now remain dry.
‘They will have to accept it,’ he confirmed.
‘Yes, they would have . . .’ Carnasus blinked, looked momentarily confused, then hardened again. ‘Return to the Bridge, Harald, and cancel the strike.’
‘Why do you—?’
‘Are you questioning my orders, Tacom?’
‘Yes, I am. I am questioning the orders of a man who is obviously no longer fit to be Admiral. We cannot let the Brumallians get away with this.’
Carnasus glared at him, then slowly his expression softened. Harald noted Alun stand up and begin moving over. Like Harald he appeared unarmed – having left his side arm down below.
‘Harald,’ said the Admiral, ‘I have always wanted to see Fleet remain pre-eminent in the Sudorian system, and I have always felt that we should have exterminated all the Brumallians. But I would rather see our hilldiggers scrapped in the sun than stand by and watch you start a civil war.’
Harald could not believe that he now wanted to cry. Angrily he clamped down on the feeling. ‘Then you are a fool.’
Carnasus just looked tired as he raised his arm and spoke into a wrist communicator. ‘Guards, get up here now.’ Lowering his arm he stepped closer to Harald. ‘The loss of the Consul Assessor is no particular loss to me, and I could even accept that you used a Fleet Special Operations team to accomplish it. But Combine, Harald? A civil war between Fleet and Orbital Combine?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Harald, something catching in his throat – and he truly was. Hearing the sound of boots on the stair leading up, he stepped sideways, spun, the edge of his hand cracking hard against Alun’s temple. The man dropped instantly, without a sound.
‘So sorry,’ Harald repeated, reaching inside a belt pocket to withdraw the small Combine-manufacture pistol he had obtained many months before. Two shots spun the old man off his feet. Harald stepped over, glancing back as the two guards entered. He stood over Carnasus and shot him twice more, through the head, then turned as his guts suddenly twisted up. After a second he staggered to one side, abruptly crouched and vomited on the floor. This physical reaction had been unexpected. He gave himself a moment to recover, then stood up again and wiped his mouth. One of the guards, he saw, was staring up at the recording heads mounted in the ceiling. ‘Don’t worry about them. They’ll show exactly what I want them to show.’ Walking over, he dropped the pistol down beside Alun. ‘Just as the recordings of this one’s interrogation will.’
One of the men stooped to turn the unconscious officer over and cuff him.
‘Now,’ said Harald, ‘I have some terrible news to deliver about the assassination of our Admiral by Orbital Combine. And I have a missile to launch.’
Tigger
Right, stop Fleet from destroying Vertical Vienna, thought Tigger.
Preventing the first missile reaching the planet’s surface was no problem, but what about the next one? He could introduce some massive fault into Ironfist’s systems to prevent further firings, but then there were still five other such ships within a day’s travel of Brumal, so what about them? If Fleet proved utterly relentless in its purpose, Tigger’s continued actions would eventually reveal his presence, then the problems would really start.
Accelerating up through atmosphere, Tigger separated into his two parts – his tiger aspect dropping back down towards the planet’s surface. Of course, even without McCrooger’s instructions, Tigger would have intervened to prevent such wanton death and destruction, for he had seen the bitter results, close up, when he retrieved that disk for Orduval. Descending from the sky his tiger half landed on an icy canal path leading towards the ground-level cap of Vertical Vienna. His sensorium divided – since his consciousness also occupied his sphere half – he also left atmosphere and distantly observed the hilldigger Ironfist. Listening in to com channels he realized the launch of a missile was imminent.
On the surface, the cat half of Tigger scanned down inside the hive city and realized, with some relief, that the Brumallians were rapidly evacuating it. He estimated that within two hours not a living soul would still occupy the tunnels. This made his task somewhat easier, since he only needed to delay things that long and then Fleet would be destroying an empty city. Of course, there was nothing to prevent them then firing on other Brumallian cities. If that proved to be the case, Tigger decided he must come out into the open and yell for help from Geronamid. The AI, though against taking overt action, would not countenance blatant genocide here.
Still listening to com channels, Tigger then heard about the assassination of Admiral Carnasus. Apparently a Fleet officer had gunned him down in his Admiral’s Haven. When Tigger learnt that Harald Strone had assumed command until Captain Dravenik could be recalled, he felt a deep disquiet. He needed to find out more, but that would have to wait, since he could now see the tops of two missile silos opening on the body of the hilldigger Ironfist.
Scanning, Tigger learned just enough to ascertain which missile was the main one and which the back-up. He focused on the main missile but found shielding and hardened systems defeating his probing. A lot of that shielding lay within the silo itself, so best to wait until after the missile was launched. Cruising 1,000 miles down, and to one side of the hilldigger, the drone decided his best option would be to introduce a fault into the guidance system, then return to the ship and tamper with those systems that loaded guidance to the missile. This way Fleet’s inability to destroy Vertical Vienna right now would be seen as just one random fault, and thus be less likely to arouse suspicion.
The missile launched and Tigger began vectoring in on it. Scanning again he realized the missile itself was hardened against informational attack. It therefore looked like he would have to physically intercept it to introduce the fault. He sighed and accelerated. He would have to drill through the casing and inject micromanipulator tentacles to tamper with its hardware. Merely pushing it off course would not work, since the guidance system would automatically correct. As he closed, he wondered at the degree of paranoia within Fleet – at them using a missile as difficult to interfere with as this. Did they think the Brumallians still possessed the ability, or the will, to maintain electronic warfare devices? If so, it showed that those in command of Fleet did not understand their old enemy at all.
Eight hundred miles from Ironfist, the missile’s drive shut down. Tigger closed in on it, extending four cell-form metal grabs to close around the armoured cyclindrical body. A rosy glow bloomed from the missile’s nose cone as it entered thin atmosphere, and streaks of orange fire spat past the clinging drone. He extruded a chainglass drill and began cutting through metal. Then a sudden horrible and aberrant thought occurred to him and he put together some wildly disparate facts. There was that cer
tain recent research undertaken on Corisanthe Main, which Fleet had access to despite its hostility towards Combine. And Harald, like his three siblings, was never to be underestimated.
‘Oh shit.’
A second sun ignited high in Brumal’s stratosphere, rolling out nuclear fire that skated on lightnings around the curve of the globe. On the surface, a running silver tiger howled and coiled in on itself, crashed into hard ground and skidded into the nearby canal, breaking ice as it entered the water, and sank.
Harald
Frowning, Harald studied the telemetry on his eye-screen.
‘I don’t understand, sir,’ said one of the officers at Firing Control. ‘The missile was set for impact detonation and was hardened against interference.’
‘I can only suppose, then,’ said Harald, ‘that the Brumallians have developed some way of getting through our shielding.’
He stood upright, inspecting a view only he could see, then ran it again. Now the shadows looked right as well. The scene showed Admiral Carnasus interrogating Lieutenant Alun in Harald’s presence. It showed Alun pulling out a gun and shooting Carnasus, then stepping over and pumping further shots into the Admiral’s head. Harald needed to work on the interrogation next, altering stored footage of previous interviews with Alun to suit his purpose. Of course it still might be possible for an expert programmer to divine the falsity of these recordings. However, Harald intended events to move too swiftly now for anyone to get a chance to inspect them too closely.
Switching his headset to general address, he began, ‘I have an announcement to make,’ then paused until everyone was facing towards him. ‘Evidence has been accumulating that the Brumallians were not working alone. It would now appear that Lieutenant Alun was in the secret employ of Orbital Combine.’ First a shocked silence, then sudden heated debates all around him. Now Harald opened a channel to Ship’s Security, ‘Order all Combine personnel aboard confined to quarters for the present.’
