by Neal Asher
There it is. Somehow Davidson had managed to do a bit of reprogramming of his own – the ship’s computers were telling Harald’s programs that there was one less broadcasting array than there actually was, so they were ignoring it, ignoring the one Davidson was using. Harald began to cut and paste some of his control programs to get around this problem, meanwhile wondering how much help Davidson might have received from other supposedly loyal officers.
The Captain continued, ‘We see it revealed in Uskaron’s history, when he asks why it is that some of the worst monsters seem to be the most capable of men, when the—’
With tired contempt Harald shut down Davidson’s ability to communicate. What a puerile question, and certainly not the one Uskaron – who had Harald’s utmost respect – actually did ask. As Harald recollected, the question was rhetorical: Why do people follow capable monsters into war? And the answer to this provided a whole chapter on fear, manipulation and the powerlessness of the individual.
Abruptly weary, Harald slumped back in the Admiral’s chair.
It didn’t seem so comfortable now.
Director Gneiss
Upon observing Harald’s failure with Resilience, Gneiss allowed himself a tight little smile, which faded as soon as he brought his attention back to the other rebel hilldigger, Stormfollower. Within a few hours it would hit atmosphere like Ironfist and Desert Wind, but without the benefit of engines to keep its million-ton weight in the sky. Making some calculations, Gneiss assessed that the ship would remain pretty much intact on its way down, though by the time it hit the Brak sea it would be burning inside, and any of the 4,000 or so aboard who survived the descent would probably be glad to finally die. Perhaps because of a strange kind of excitement he felt at the prospect of finally meeting the Consul Assessor, Gneiss also felt impelled to take an action that was rather out of character. He abruptly opened communications with the Station Director of Corisanthe III.
‘Roubert, how are you holding up there?’ he asked.
Glass gazed at him suspiciously. ‘That depends almost entirely on what you are going to request of me, and how much it is going to cost this station in wealth and lives.’
‘Do I seem so transparent to you?’ enquired Gneiss.
‘On the few occasions when you want your intentions to be read, you are utterly transparent; the rest of the time you are as opaque as the Worm itself.’
Gneiss just stared at him, not quite sure what to make of that.
‘What is it you want, Gneiss?’ Roubert Glass asked impatiently.
The question seemed to knock Gneiss’s mind back into motion, as if for a while it had simply stalled. ‘You have now only to defend your station against the attacks from hilldigger Wildfire, and I see that you’ve been able to launch some supply ships to service Defence Platforms Three and Four.’
‘Yes, we sent eight ships, and lost one of them. What’s your point?’
‘My point is that there, within Corisanthe III, you have two space liners near to completion – ships capable of taking thousands of passengers . . . tourists . . . on cruises beyond Sudoria.’
‘Those lumbering giants won’t be able to help us.’
‘I don’t intend for them to help us. I am thinking about 4,000 or so Fleet personnel.’
‘Why would I want to risk my own people to save them? In fact, it’s distinctly possible that if I order my men to do so, they’ll mutiny.’
‘I’m talking about Stormfollower,’ said Gneiss.
‘I know precisely what you’re talking about, Gneiss, and I think this is one for the Oversight Committee. You’ve been given powers to conduct our defence, but I’m not entirely sure this is a defence matter.’
Gneiss sat back, thinking how easy it was to forget the limitations of his powers. After a moment he put out a call on the conferencing channel reserved for Oversight. His screen immediately divided into six. One of the frames remained blank, his own; Glass occupied another frame, then over the next few minutes other members of the committee began to appear. Only one frame did not fill, that of the Director of Corisanthe II, who probably had enough problems already to deal with. However, a number in the corner of that frame showed that Rishinda Gleer had been made his proxy. Once assembled, Gneiss explained his plan to them all.
‘It all seems very altruistic,’ said Rishinda, ‘and I am wondering if at present we can actually afford altruism.’
‘Then try to look at it from a completely selfish perspective,’ said Gneiss. ‘Very shortly we’ll be receiving evidence that exonerates us in the current crisis and confirms Fleet’s aggression as the cause. Once this fight is over, such evidence will put us in a very good position, as far as planetary politics is concerned. However, many in Fleet and many supporters of Fleet will still be strongly against us. A life-saving rescue such as this will likely put over 4,000 Fleet personnel in our debt, and may go a long way to change the attitude of the rest.’
‘Gratitude is very much overrated,’ observed Glass, ‘and can quickly sour.’
‘That is all a matter of degree,’ said another committee member, ‘and something that can be debated endlessly.’
‘We do not have time for debate,’ added Rishinda.
‘Then let’s consider the possible cost,’ said Glass. ‘Our liners are unarmed, so if we send one out it will have to remain, where possible, under our shields, and where that is not possible would have to be defended by war-craft. This could not only cost us lives, it could well cost us the liner itself.’
‘Why would Harald want to attack an unarmed liner heading away from where he is conducting his attack?’ asked Gneiss.
‘It would be nice to think the man is operating with utter logic,’ said Glass. ‘But remember it was he who sent Stormfollower on its way down anyway. What purpose does that serve?’
‘Maybe an object lesson to the crews of the other ships whose control he has usurped?’
‘We have no time for all this,’ interjected Rishinda, peering at something off-screen. ‘I suggest we put it to the vote now.’
‘Seconded,’ said Gneiss. ‘Those against sending the liner?’ Two vote icons clicked up. ‘Those for sending it?’ Four, including Gneiss’s own, now clicked up. Assuming that Glass voted against the rescue mission, that meant Rishinda and her proxy vote must have voted for it, since if she had not there would have been three votes against. The frames then began to wink out until only Glass remained, his image brought forward to fill the entire screen.
‘How long will it take you to prepare a liner for launch?’ asked Gneiss.
Glass peered at him carefully, his expression amused. ‘Very little time at all. Guessing that this idea might be mooted, I started fuelling the liner and warming up its reactors some while ago.’ He checked something to one side. ‘In fact a small command crew is boarding right now.’
Gneiss found himself annoyed at his own assumptions. Of course there was no way he could tell if Glass really had voted against rescue. Maybe Rishinda’s votes had been the two opposing ones. He shut down the connection with Glass and leaned back. Then, observing that Dalepan was trying to contact him, he opened that connection next.
‘We’ve had a problem with our visitors,’ announced the OCT.
‘Problem?’
Dalepan was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Internal security has been very tight. We could not afford any attempts at sabotage.’
‘What are you trying to tell me, Dalepan?’
In a flat monotone, Dalepan imparted the bad news.
18
After Fleet’s hilldiggers had finished pounding Brumal, ground forces were landed and hand-to-hand fighting ensued. Fleet marines and GDS troops had already fought their enemy in this way aboard ships and stations, often when the objective had been to obtain intelligence, capturing prisoners to interrogate or technology to study. Initially the groundside fighting was savage, especially against the surviving units of the quofarl, but the Brumallians had been demoralized by the blows
struck against them, and that firm consensus that had maintained them for a century was breaking down. Gradually they just abandoned their effort, and the Sudorian forces, still fiercely keen to exact vengeance for a century of war, ceased to be units of soldiers and instead became extermination squads. I have no doubt that the intention of many serving in Fleet was genocide, but luckily the Admiral and a majority of his Captains became appalled by the atrocities committed on the planet below them, and were also sensitive to the growing revulsion felt by those back at home to what the media managed to broadcast of their ‘Sudorian Victory’. The killing then ceased, fortunately before the discovery of three surviving Brumallian cities. We won the War, it was finally over, but few felt the inclination to celebrate victory, seeing it rather as a timely ending to something sordid and demeaning.
– Uskaron
Harald
Wildfire’s bombardment was not sufficient to keep Corisanthe III nailed down, but then his original plan had been for more than just one hilldigger to deal with that major station. He rubbed at the line of hardened glue on his head. The ache seemed to have now travelled down to seat itself in his eye-socket, which was making him increasingly irritable, so those abrupt surges of anger were occurring more often. He guessed this was as much due to the pressure he was under as his injuries. How much easier it would have been if he could depend totally on those around him.
As his own ship Ironfist, accompanied by Desert Wind, now approached the next Defence Platform, Harald studied Corisanthe III on one of his screens. He instantly noted a deal of activity to one side of the point where the resupply ships had been departing. Combine assault ships were now gathering there, and he wondered if this was the beginning of some attack planned on Wildfire. Then he observed a line cutting down the surface of the nearest section of station. This line grew wider and wider and after a moment he realized he was watching a massive set of space doors opening. They finally slid back to their limit, then something huge began to nose out. In shape it was like the bow of an ocean-going ship, the glint of wide inset windows along its sides.
Some new weapon, perhaps?
His eye-socket throbbed as if in response to this thought and, folding aside his eye-screen, he ground the heel of his hand into his eye. It seemed this discomfort was the price he must pay, since to remain alert he must continue with the stimulants, and they tended to negate part of the analgesic’s effect. Nevertheless, he took another of the pills and, while it dissolved in his mouth, returned his attention to the screens.
While it was always possible that this was some new weapon, Fleet intelligence had long ago identified Corisanthe III as the final assembly point for Orbital Combine’s newly constructed space liners. So it now seemed rather likely that one of these passenger vessels was being brought into the fray. What they hoped to achieve with a civilian-format vessel, he had no idea, since it would possess no more than anti-meteor defences and certainly could be no match for a hill-digger.
Just then, Ironfist juddered in the shock wave of a nearby nuclear detonation, and this returned Harald’s attention to his ship’s present surroundings. At this moment, both hilldiggers were using defensive fire only, and that was mainly directed against Combine assault craft, since the platform itself could not bring much weaponry to bear on them. Though he felt no affinity with such emotions at that moment, it was both sad and amusing that these giant Defence Platforms were so vulnerable to attack from their underside. He recollected that the reason for this was that Parliament did not like the idea of Combine being able to point massive weapons down towards Sudoria, so political wrangling had resulted in certain alterations to the original plans. However, Harald could not allow himself to feel too complacent about that, since Combine had already deployed weapons sufficient to destroy Fleet bases down there.
‘Engines to one-sixteenth,’ he instructed. ‘Franorl, go to a sixteenth at 200 miles’ separation. No changes to current plan.’ The other Captain gave a sloppy salute over his side arm, while keeping his attention focused on his tactical screens.
Desert Wind now quickly pulled away from Ironfist. Ahead, and above them, the Defence Platform hung in a purple-blue firmament in which the stars were just visible. Unlike the other versions of these platforms, like the ones he had already destroyed, this one was not discshaped, but a flat square pierced through with a central spindle, its armaments spread over the upper surface and the docking facilities on the surface below. Four ships were currently docked there, two of them obviously some kind of assault craft, the other two being large inter-station shuttles regularly used to transport both personnel and cargo. Even as he watched, one of the latter began to depart. Maybe they were evacuating; Harald decided to let the shuttle go.
‘Firing Control, prepare loads for Silos One to Four, then fire on positional confirmation,’ said Harald, irked that he still felt the need to speak when already his orders had been given. Checking through the ship’s control systems, he found the missiles already loaded and prepped to fire once Ironfist reached a predetermined location. In reality, his presence here on the Bridge was superfluous, or at least until something did not go quite to plan.
Desert Wind passed far below the platform, detonations from intercepted missiles lighting the air above the ship and spreading a laminated haze, the occasional Combine assault craft blazing and going out like a meteor.
Then Ironfist reached its firing point and Harald felt the ship shudder.
Balanced on blades of flame, the four missiles launched and wrote smoky curves in the sky as they accelerated up towards the platform. Outside views then became intermittent and hazy, as beam weapons fired down from the platform at the approaching missiles also impacted on the ship’s shields and filled surrounding atmosphere with ionization. However, there was enough reception for him to see the four missiles throw out a red glow and begin fragmenting, then turn painfully bright and just burn away, their four smoke trails expanding and abruptly petering out.
‘Do you have them located, Franorl?’ Harald enquired once com came back online.
‘I’m sending you the coordinates now,’ replied the other Captain.
Harald sat back, clamping down on the urge to take yet another painkiller, for now he most definitely must remain alert.
The first four missiles had actually been duds, but those on the Defence Platform weren’t to know that. They most certainly would have employed every weapon they had available, believing that if just one missile got through they were dead. Franorl, with his uninterrupted view, had now located the exact positions of those weapons aboard the platform.
‘Let’s take out those firing positions and send them the real thing now,’ said Harald.
Ironfist seemed to heave under the recoil of multiple launches, coupled with the increased vibration from generators taking load. Coil-accelerated projectiles began impacting on the platform, not as effectively as those that could be fired from Ironfist’s main coil-cannon, but hard enough to rattle any shields that could be deployed or otherwise tear off chunks of armour or punch holes through the platform. The two assault ships that had been nested below the platform – raptor-bodied and with short elbowed-back wings – abruptly dropped, fusion engines igniting, and accelerated away. Harald did not for a moment suppose they were running. As expected, their courses began to curve round to bring them back towards Ironfist. They did in fact reach the hilldigger, for Harald heard fragments of them impacting on the hull.
Beam weapons turned metal glowing, sometimes molten. Fired upon from both the widely spaced hilldiggers, the platform ultimately could not sustain the attack. Finally, its defence collapsed, and the attackers could rake the platform’s underbelly without hindrance.
‘Firing Control, prepare loads for Silos Five to Eight, and fire at your convenience,’ Harald ordered. Meanwhile, on one of his larger screens, he called up a closer view of the Defence Platform. Hearing the low sound of these latest missiles launching, he glanced to a side screen and watched them ac
celerating up from Ironfist. Halfway to the platform he observed one of them impact against a shield and spew glowing debris in every direction. It did not detonate, however, as the missiles were set for positional detonation, since the premature explosion of one missile might throw all the others off course. As he watched, the last interstation shuttle dropped away, accelerating hard. He rather suspected the last of the platform crew was aboard it, and had most recently been operating the platform weapons via remote consoles. The three missiles passed close by the departing shuttle and punched right into the platform’s underside. A heartbeat, and then the platform seemed to expand as if the very fabric of space was being stretched. Next came a brief glimpse of its structure parting over an expanding ball of fire, then all was consumed by an inferno that grew painfully bright, before filters cut out the glare.
The shuttle by now lay well clear of the fireball, but even so it could not outrun the shock wave. Abruptly it jerked sideways, then began to fall, rolling along its axis with fragments tearing away from it. It fell for five miles, attitude jets firing to try and straighten its course. Yet, even though they achieved this, it now seemed they were all it possessed to keep it in the air. Harald watched a deliberate hard change of course, and was unsurprised to note the vessel being set to collide with Ironfist. As it hammered down towards the hilldigger, it spat out a sequence of spheres – one-man re-entry pods.
‘Firing Control, is someone going to do something about that shuttle?’ he enquired tightly.
‘Yes, Admiral, I was waiting until the pods were clear,’ came the harried and somewhat off-hand reply.
‘Well, whoever put it on a collision course with this ship should have thought of that!’ he shouted. ‘Destroy it now!’
‘Yes, Admiral! At once, Admiral!’
Harald seethed as he watched a short-range interceptor missile streak up and pierce the shuttle’s belly. Thermal load: the shuttle flew apart in another fireball, most of it vaporized or turned molten. Beyond it the pattern of re-entry pods disrupted. The technology of such pods was tough, so Harald reckoned that most of them would be able to deploy their parachutes. Their contents were not so rugged, however, and he estimated that about half of the parachutes would be dangling corpses to the ground.
