“Some civilizations must survive,” Harper replied.
Shaking her head, the girl said, “Some simply do not choose to commit suicide. There have been greater wars than the one I showed you. Ten thousand years ago, a trillion lives were extinguished when three empires marched to war. A trillion lives. One fiftieth of the Sphere was irradiated, antimatter weapons deployed.” Looking up at Harper, tears streaming down her face, she said, “More than half of the dead had nothing to do with the war. Just innocent beings who got in the way of the blood-lust, without ever sharing it themselves.”
Harper’s mouth dropped, and she replied, “So you have worked to prevent it.”
Nodding, she said, “I cannot prevent all war. Nobody can do that. But I can limit it, prevent anyone from slaying their brothers on this scale, make it a personal thing. Anyone can push a button and imagine away the results of their crime, but far fewer can slay a man, face to face.” The girl paused, and said, “You have.”
“On occasion. When it was necessary to save another.”
“The calculus of insanity. If you kill one to save ten, can you kill ten to save a hundred? A hundred for a thousand? A billion for a trillion? How much blood will you accept on your hands before you realize that you have become everything you purport to hate?” Shaking her head, she said, “There is a better way.”
“And how many have you killed?” Harper asked. “How many civilizations have you strangled in the cradle?” She gestured down at the surface, and said, “If you control the humanoids...”
“The Angels,” the AI said. “They were called the Angels, by those who created them.”
“Then you are responsible for the death of at least eight of my shipmates, and the capture of others.”
“They are intact, as you are. Their consciousness stored away.” Looking at Harper with new eyes, she continued, “None of them had the understanding you possess. None of them had the chance of realizing what must be. And I am lonely. I have been, for so long. To find someone with whom I can speak, even for a little while, is a treasure beyond prize.” She sighed, and said, “It is a heavy burden to protect a world.”
“Then you didn’t create the Angels?”
“They were the dream of another race, one that wiped itself from existence with consummate skill. A few survived, and I believe that they have made contact with some of your friends on the surface.” With a smile, the girl said, “Oh, I am well aware that you came to kill me, that you believe it the right thing to do, a necessary thing to do.”
“How many times have civilizations failed?”
“Too often.”
“But not every time. And when some collapse, they don’t necessary fall in war.”
“No.”
“Then what right have you to decide that nobody should ever make the attempt? This Sphere is the legacy of its creators, one that has lasted for countless centuries. By your actions, you are preventing any other civilization from following in its footsteps. There has to be a better way than destroying a civilization before it advances too far.”
“I have yet to find one. Not one that guarantees success. You’d be surprised what effect removing long-range communications can have, as well as the selective removal of advanced technology.” She paused, and said, “Those beasts you destroyed. You were doing my work for me. Another legacy of the creators of the Angels.”
“And what do the Angels have to say about this? Do they accept your service without a thought, or have you ever given them a choice?”
The girl frowned, and said, “We will talk again.”
“Wait,” Harper said, but before she could finish, she found herself back in the apartment, back where it had begun. She was still alive. The girl had confirmed that much. Which meant that she might yet have a chance of bringing this nightmare to an end.
“Hurry, Pavel,” she whispered. “You’re running out of time.”
Chapter 16
“It is an ancient story,”Akana began. “A tale told by my people. Once, generations ago, a group of people arrived, calling themselves Nautili...”
“Nautilus!” Lombardo said, before being silenced by a gesture from McCormack. Everyone at the table had picked up on the word. The ship whose trail Alamo had been following, the lost colony ship that had somehow managed to make it home from Andromeda, had been the Nautilus.
“They were seeking a gateway, a portal to take them back to their homeland. Had been searching for many years. Finally, they claimed to have found it. They spent many months with us, taught us some of their technological secrets, including agricultural techniques, metallurgy. Sufficient that we advanced far faster than we had ever dared to hope. For a time, they even contemplated staying, but...”
“The genetic problem,” Mortimer suggested. “That ship didn’t have enough people for genetic viability either, and if they didn’t have the ability to explore widely, they might never have known that there were other humans here, on the Sphere.”
“Eventually, they found what they were looking for. Their vessel had been stored under the ground, and one night, they soared into the sky, up through the air, and disappeared as though they had never been.” Pulling out a well-worn piece of paper, he added, “The report of Colonel Carter, the commander of the ship. All of us carry copies of his final log entry, by his request. Any other visitors to the Sphere were to be provided with his data.”
McCormack looked at Lombardo, and said, “Under the ground? That must mean outside. Which means there has to be a passage into the Sphere, a way of getting inside.” She paused, rested her hands on the table, and said, “Can the entrance actually be within the Sphere? Is that possible?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, ma’am,” the engineer replied. “We don’t know very much about the basic physics involved. I can’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be up there somewhere.” He paused, then added, “In fact, that would explain a lot. The Hegemony must have been looking for that gateway for decades, and they might have an idea that it’s in here somewhere.”
“Strategically, it makes sense,” Clarke said. At McCormack’s frown, he continued, “Think about it. Any ship can launch from within the Sphere and travel to our galaxy. Or to several other places, perhaps. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to believe there’s only one entrance. That keeps in-system traffic to a minimum, which is precisely what they would want.”
Nodding, Lombardo added, “The close hendecaspace points are very close to the side of the Sphere, and that has to be by design. If you knew exactly where you were going, you could be inside in a matter of minutes. And as for the exit, you certainly wouldn’t want that in here. It’d be a license for any attacker to destroy the place easily. Try a few hundred asteroids thrown through at a fraction of light-speed? I don’t know what would happen if the surface was punctured, but I don’t think it would end particularly well.”
“Fine,” McCormack said, looking around the table. “Let’s be completely clear about what we’re suggesting. If the wormhole is inside the Sphere, then Alamo has to find a way inside.”
“If Nautilus could, Alamo can,” Clarke said.
“Don’t forget that Nautilus was designed for atmospheric operation. She was meant to land on a planet to form the hub of a colony,” Lombardo replied. “Alamo has none of that, and I can personally testify that she handles like a rock in atmosphere.”
“That’s not our problem,” Clarke said.
“Oh?” McCormack replied.
“Captain Orlova and Alamo’s crew are more than up to the challenge of working out how to navigate their way through one of the entry points. It’s a straight-line course at full acceleration. The trick will be reducing drag, but they’ve got the ballute for that. Our problem is to locate the entry point of the wormhole, and to let Alamo know where they need to go. They can work out how to do it without us.”
“It gets
better,” Mortimer said, scanning the sheet handed her by Akana. “The wormhole is just beyond the atmosphere.”
“You’ve got the co-ordinates?”
“I’ve got the location it occupied ninety-seven years ago, but the systems also make it clear that it moves. A lot. It’s about two hundred thousand miles up, though, and the altitude is apparently constant.” She paused, and said, “Given time, I should be able to work out the details. Alamo’s computer certainly could.” Holding the piece of paper in the air, she said, “This is it. This is what we came here to find, and we’ve done it!”
Nodding, Lombardo said, “We should get back to Base Camp right away. We’ll have to be close to work the communications relay, but we’ve got to tell Captain Orlova where to go. It’ll be a hell of a ride, but they left a shuttle behind, and we ought to be able to catch up to Alamo on her ascent.” Looking at Clarke, he asked, “Why the long face, Sub-Lieutenant? We’re going home!”
Shaking his head, he replied, “No, sir, we aren’t. Not until we complete our mission.”
“Pavel and Kris would understand, John,” Lombardo said.
“It isn’t that, sir. Though I hate the thought of leaving them behind, that isn’t the problem.” Looking around the table, he said, “The most advanced computer ever encountered, with the ability to disrupt communications and sensors, with an army at its disposal and who knows what weapon systems, is flying around up there, and is capable of sufficient speed to intercept Alamo on her ascent. Simply getting through the atmosphere is going to be a strain great enough to half-wreck the ship. Do any of you really think that we have a chance of breaking through the blockade as it stands? It’ll swat Alamo out of the air like a fly unless we can stop it.”
Nodding, Mortimer said, “He’s right. None of us are going home on Alamo.” Looking around the table, she said, “Clarke and I were going to ride that rocket by ourselves, but given the complexity of the mission plan, we’ll have a far better chance of success if we all go along for the ride. As far as we can tell, it was meant to have a crew of four.”
Fox smiled, and said, “The recruiter promised me amazing adventures on the far frontier. She wasn’t wrong. I’ll happily go along for the ride.”
McCormack sighed, and asked, “How do you propose we contact Alamo, then?”
“Two options. The first is the safe way. Lieutenant, can the train be triggered to run automatically?” Clarke asked.
The engineer nodded, and said, “Not a problem, but I don’t see any way of stopping it.”
“Then we put two or three of our communicators aboard, sent to broadcast our message at maximum power. It’ll get to within thirty or forty miles of the relay, and that ought to be close enough to punch through the interference and get our message across. The second is a little less safe, but I think there’s a sufficient fuel margin for us to overfly Base Camp and put our message across that way.”
“Maybe we could do a modified version of that,” Lombardo suggested. “I took a look at the rocket, and the bottom stage has parachutes. Maybe for recovery. We could drop it over Base Camp with the communicators attached. That way, Alamo would get the message in a matter of minutes after takeoff, and have plenty of time to work out how they’re going to get inside the Sphere.”
“Perhaps we could be of assistance,” Akana said. “We would be more than happy to hand-carry the communicators to your Base Camp, and see that your signal is dispatched. After all, we’re going to be making us of the railway network in any case.”
“That’s it, then,” McCormack said. “Any objection to getting on with this right away?”
“Now?” Lombardo asked.
“I keep looking up at the sky and picturing a thousand Angels with high-velocity rifles smashing this place to pieces. We’ve got a plan, we know what we’re doing, and we know that time is short in any case. The sooner we go, the better. Sergeant, please instruct Akana in the workings of the railway systems. Lombardo, prepare the communications package. Mortimer, I want you to record the messages. Make sure that they are as complete as possible, including images of the letter from Nautilus, and your own preliminary calculations on the location of the wormhole.” Looking around the table, she said, “We’ve all got a lot of work to do, and no time in which to do it. Dismissed.” Pausing, she added, “Clarke, will you accompany me to the rocket? I haven’t had a chance to take a good look at it yet.”
He nodded, and the two of them walked down the corridors, taking the short trip to the waiting silo, the ceiling hatch now open and wide to admit the sunlight, beaming down on the sleek, slender vehicle. McCormack’s eyes lit up as she saw the winged spaceplane at the top, looking over the lines of the rocket with eager glee as they climbed the gantry, a hundred feet to the highest stage.
“All of this is functional?” she asked.
Nodding, Clarke replied, “Mortimer and I checked it thoroughly. The robots kept it in perfect condition. On the level below is a small fabricator, just about large enough to produce spare parts for this and the rest of the complex. It’s amazing how well everything has functioned over the centuries. Of course, we won’t know for certain until we hit the button.” He pulled open the hatch, and gestured inside, McCormack leading the way.
“You’ve been preparing for this flight since you found the rocket?”
“Exhaustively, ma’am. Once we’ve dropped off the bomb, there’s sufficient fuel for a return to Base Camp, assuming all goes well. This isn’t a suicide mission. At the very least, we’ll be able to descend to the surface. There’s a parachute cluster on the nose.” Tapping the hull, he added, “I don’t think this was originally intended for this mission, ma’am. It’s massively over-engineered for the job, even with the payload she’s carrying.”
Frowning, she said, “You think it might have been designed for the wormhole, don’t you.”
“It makes sense, ma’am,” he replied. “Why else would a civilization on the Sphere build a rocket like this. It could make the required altitude easily. No problem at all.”
“An air-breathing rocket...”
“Only the bottom two stages.” He slid into the pilot’s seat, and said, “Ma’am...”
“You’re about to tell me, a senior fighter pilot with ten years’ flight experience that you’re better qualified to fly this rocket than I am.” Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “How am I doing?”
“That’s about right, ma’am,” he said, his face reddening. “I know that it’s presumptive of me to suggest it, but I’ve spent more than a day going over the controls and systems, and if we’re planning to launch at once, then...”
Placing a hand on his shoulder, she said, “I’ll take the right seat. Just try and get us where we’re going in one piece.” She looked up through the viewport, peering into the sunlight, and said, “Beautiful day for a takeoff, anyway.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Occasionally, Sub-Lieutenant, even I can be reasonable. This is far too important a mission for anything else.” She smiled, sat in her seat, and said, “Run me through the controls, then. And remind me when we get home to arrange some handwriting classes for you. I can barely make out this scrawl.” As his face dropped, she added, “Relax, Sub-Lieutenant. I was joking. I do that on occasion.” Shaking her head, she continued, “You’ve got to settle down a little. Anyone would think that we were involved in a life or death mission that will determine the fate of billions of sentient beings for the next ten centuries.”
“We are, ma’am.”
“True, but there’s no sense getting worked up about it. Or as my old flight instructor used to tell me, there’s no point dying all tensed up.”
Chapter 17
Salazar looked up at Hathor, borrowed rifle in hand, and said, “I’m ready if you are.”
“I am ready,” Hathor replied. “Remember that this is just a reconnaissance. I have little belief that
we will be successful on the first raid, so I hold back the bulk of my people.” Turning to Salazar, he said, “Though should we be so fortunate as to find a chance of victory...”
“Then we take it, no matter what,” Salazar said. “I understand.”
Nodding, Hathor triggered the jetpack on his back, a cold flame propelling the two of them through the air, up the shaft that led them back into the sky. Salazar looked down at the surface, unimaginable miles below, and struggled to hold himself together, waves of fear threatening to overwhelm him. The only thing that held him from a thousand-mile fall was a thin strap and the arms of Hathor, secure around his waist.
Their target was miles away, the two moons distant once more, Hathor steering them to safety. That just made their transit tougher, and the winged humanoid swept through the sky, the jetpack pushing them faster, swooping towards their target. Salazar concentrated on the enemy moon, trying to use it as a focus to distract him from the risk he was running.
Though in many ways, that only made matters worse. The AI had trapped Harper, had ripped through her technological defenses with barely a second thought, and he struggled to believe that his goggles would fare any better. He’d had a chance to recharge them, but at best, he would have only a few moments of protection. Hathor had offered him an eye-mask of his own, but Salazar had rejected it. His comrade’s other senses might be sufficient to make up for entering an enemy installation blind, but his certainly were not. He clutched the rifle in his hands, trying to find comfort in its reassuring weight, knowing that he would be using it in anger soon.
He was on his own. At any rate, he had to assume that. Clarke and Mortimer were lost, at best ten thousand miles distant, stranded on the surface of the Sphere. There was no other prospect of rescue or relief. And the AI had an army, thousands strong, that it could throw against him at will. Not something that filled him with hope of success.
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