use with our somewhat backward comms ...'
Just then the circular screen lit up, showing an odd
schematic of radial spikes and funicular shapes that
moved around in 3D.
'Is that what I think it is?' Theo said.
Barbour nodded. 'Target's making another call . . .
keep talking, you scumsucking dog . . .'
Moments ticked away as Barbour tracked a glowing
line through a strange shifting maze of cones, helices
and blocks of numbers, occasionally switching to a
Hammergard map for a quick look. About a minute
and a half later the signal went dead, but Barbour had
the address.
'Abercromby Hall on Athole Road - it's a Corps
training barracks.'
'Is that off Westerling Street?' Theo said as he
engaged the spinner.
Frowning, Barbour nodded. 'Why are they interested
in a training barracks?'
'Could be a staging area?' Theo said, heading north.
'Maybe just a meeting place?'
'Could be,' said Barbour, sounding unconvinced.
The even darkness of night had fallen by the time
they reached Abercromby Hall, a modest brick building
set between a furniture warehouse and a garment man-
ufacturer. Theo and the others waited by the car while
Barbour went to speak with the duty officer. Moments
later he was back, his face grim as he thumbed the keys
on his comm.
'Everyone back in,' he said. 'We've got trouble.'
'What kind of trouble?' Theo said, ducking back
inside.
'The worst - there's no trainees or cadets stationed
here just now, but last night they were providing tem-
porary accommodation for an escort squad on
detachment from the Second Division. This is the squad
assigned by the president to guard High Monitor Kuros;
Kuros and Ambassador Horst are at Port Gagarin,
where the Brolturan ambassador is about to arrive . . .
he's the target, has to be.'
'My God,' said Theo. 'You think someone in that
unit is collaborating with the FDF?'
'Or our gunman has substituted himself for one of
them ...' he snarled, and tossed his comm onto the shelf
above the dashboard. 'And Pm not getting through to
anybody in Port Gagarin on this thing! Right, let's get
moving and drive there ...'
'They've got nearly half an hour's head-start,' Theo
said as he swung the spinnercar round in a U-turn and
headed for the coast road.
'Maybe we'll get lucky,' Barbour said. 'The Brolturan
shuttle might develop a fault and be called back, the
weather might have the same effect, or the hitman might
already have been caught... or he might miss ...'
'Aye, right,' said Rory from the back seat. 'And the
baro might not shit in the woods, and the bishop of
Trond might turn out tae be an atheist! - is that whit yer
saying?'
Theo glanced at Barbour and saw him grinning.
'You'll have to excuse him - his glass is a bit half-empty
tonight.'
'Better a half-empty glass of truth,' Barbour said,
'than a keg full of deluded hopes, is that it, Rory?'
'Better a cynic than a sucker, sir.'
'Remind me not to be marooned on a desert island
with you - the optimism would kill me.'
31
ROBERT
The passenger lounge serving Port Gagarin's Landing
Bay 2 was closed to the public and the rows of seating
had been moved well back to make room for the
Hegemony and Earthsphere entourages - one with
nineteen members, the other with just two.
Harry, dressed in a long grey coat over a dark formal
suit circa 1930s America, was smiling as he observed the
High Monitor Kuros and his escort of four Ezgara com-
mandos, twelve DVC soldiers and three attendants.
'Robert, sometimes I don't think the Diplomatic
Service takes your safety seriously enough - hell, you
don't take it seriously enough. Yesterday, Sundstrom
offered you your very own personal escort, just like
Kuros, but you turned it down. Why?'
'I've told you already,' Robert said in a low murmur.
'My secretary and his assistant are both armed - any
more would be an unnecessary burden and would get in
the way.'
'Yes, well, I didn't believe you yesterday and I don't
believe you now, so what's the real reason?'
Robert glared at his AI companion, which elicited
only a sunny smile in response. He sighed.
'If you must know, an openly armed escort would
make me feel as if I really was in danger. If this was a
non-Human world, like when we were on Giskhn 4 a
few years ago, I could see the point. But here . . . well, it
would feel like an admission of defeat. These are our
people - we can't fail them so we must make sure that
the special accord between Earthsphere and the
Hegemony actually means something.'
'I'm sure it means something to the exalted Kuros,'
Harry said. 'Loyal dependability, for example.'
For a few moments they regarded the Hegemony
envoy. The tall Sendrukan was attired in a more martial
manner than on previous occasions, his sleeves and leg-
gings resembling ancient metal armour, his headgear
looking more like a helmet than a hat. Also, oblivious to
his guards or Robert, he was clearly in conversation
with his own AI companion, going by the lip move-
ments and infrequent hand gestures. Robert realised that
in the absence of reporters and their cams - banned
from this event - Kuros felt more able to relax. Even the
terminal security cams had been switched off by the
express wish of Diakon-Commodore Reskothyr, the
Brolturan ambassador to Darien.
The other main condition of Reskothyr's visit was that
President Sundstrom not be present, since the Brolturans
insisted on dealing initially only with responsible author-
ities, i.e. Earthsphere. Inevitably Sundstrom was annoyed
but he had quickly grasped the diplomatic realities and
displayed considerable leadership qualities by the speed
with which he reconciled himself to the situation.
'I've met him, you know,' Harry said. 'Kuros's com-
panion.'
Robert stared at him. 'You've met him? You can com-
municate with Hegemony AIs?'
Harry gave him a droll look. 'It's not such a hard
concept to grasp, Robert - avenues for dialogue exist,
according to stringent protocols laid down by both gov-
ernments, and quite recently I chanced to encounter the
High Monitor's companion.'
'I'm fascinated - what was he, or it, like?'
'He's an ogre. His persona is a detailed remap of one
General Gratach, who was a Principal Abrogator during
the Three Revolutions War, an especially gory episode in
Hegemony history.'
'I've seen some recordings from that period. Gory
doesn't begin to cover it.'
'Well, old Gratach was up to his elbows in it, helped
put the first Serrator Hegemon on
the throne - both
times. If he's Kuros's companion it might be worth going
over some of his campaigns, just to get a feel for his
strategic style.'
Robert nodded. 'I wish I'd known about this a couple
of days ago, Harry.'
'Well, when I say quite recently it was really pretty
recently. Like last night.'
Robert was about to reply when his comm beeped
softly - it was Gagarin Terminal's security chief,
Porteous.
'Mr Ambassador, I am to inform you that the
Purifier's shuttlecraft has landed and that the Brolturan
delegation will be with you very shortly.'
'Thank you, Mr Porteous. Please extend my sincere
gratitude to all your staff for their efficient profession-
alism today.'
'You're very kind, sir - I shall do so at the earliest
opportunity.'
'Incidentally, any news on the comm network?'
'Sorry, sir, we're still restricted to a local service. I
understand that engineers are working on the local hub
now.'
Harry grinned as Robert put away his comm.
'Relax, it's probably just a blown fuse or melted cir-
cuit, given the backward state of the cell network here.
I've seen the plans - it's a wonder it works as well as it
does.'
Robert shrugged. 'It's my job to worry. How else do
I earn the fabulous salary they don't pay me? But never
mind - what about Kuros? With a brutal old Hegemony
general for a companion, you'd think he would be
rather less than even-tempered ...'
He broke off, seeing figures descending a spiral stair-
case which lay beyond a tall glass wall at the other end
of the passenger lounge. He turned and signalled to his
secretary, Omar, who hurried over from the seats with
the welcoming gift, a hand-carved chess set. Glancing
over, he saw Kuros also receiving a package from one of
his assisters.
'Could be awkward if it's another chess set,' said
Harry.
'Kuros strikes me as more of a poker player,' Robert
said. 'Keeping his cards close to his chest, that sort of
thing.'
'What about our new guest?'
'His game of choice? Something with the ornate qual-
ity of chess and the brute directness of boxing, maybe.'
The Brolturan procession had reached the foot of the
spiral stairs and turned towards the wide open double
doors that led into the lounge. Reskothyr's livery ran to
blood-reds and silver-grey, as manifested in the attire of
the four bodyguards and six officials, while he himself
wore perfect black, a collarless, knee-length coat of aus-
tere cut: his head was bare and shaven, his hands
covered by gleaming black gauntlets. Before them strode
two standard-bearers dressed in plain crimson uniforms
and grey metal helmets. As Robert made Omar stand a
pace behind with the wrapped gift, ready to hand it for-
ward, he realised that there was some kind of music
coming from the approaching entourage, a deep vocal
drone.
Then the procession came to a halt, except for the
standard-bearers. They continued several paces further
on then diverged, one carrying his standard over to the
Hegemony envoy, the other to the Earthsphere ambas-
sador. As the choral droning grew louder Robert realised
that it was coming from a small black cube at the top of
the standards. Then with the huge Sendrukan looming
over him, Robert bowed to the standard, a long banner
of thick, dark blue cloth fringed with jewelled honours
and carrying the duty and family crests of Diakon-
Commodore Reskothyr.
That was when the shooting began.
PART THREE
32
KAO CHIH
Drazuma-Ha* had explained about Bryag Station's sin-
gular security precautions, the outer perimeter markers,
the sensor web enclosing several cubic lightyears of
emptiness, and the semi-random route that the station
followed through it all. But Kao Chih could not help but
feel a gnawing exasperation when they encountered the
third marker buoy. According to Tumakri's itinerary
notes they had been due to contact a Piraseri at the sta-
tion almost three days ago.
Seeing the marker-buoy signal on the console display,
he shook his head and slumped back in the couch.
'Another one?' he said. 'This is beyond paranoia.'
'If I could shrug,' said Drazuma-Ha*, 'I would. But
it's their security and their rules - to my certain knowl-
edge, Bryag has only suffered two attacks since
deploying this system a century ago, once by an
Earthsphere operative, the other by a Kiskashin blood
smuggler with a grudge against the ruling Vusark
Enclavol - both times damage was minimal and no one
died . . . well, no one of consequence . . .'
Just then the intership channel clicked and a syn-
thvoice spoke in 4Peljan, a Vusarkic trade language that
Kao Chih recognised from his dockside work on
Agmedra'a. His linguistic enabler translated it perfectly.
'Attention vessel 433 dash 2506 - you are being
scanned to ascertain your fitness and trustworthiness
with regard to a Bryag Station boarding permit.. . scan-
ning ... all passengers must remain still for 12
seconds . . . scanning . . . speech pattern scan will com-
mence in 15 seconds
Which was a word-for-word repetition of the last two
encounters, both of which had resulted in being offered
course data for a 'stage continuance' or an 'area exit'
microjump. Of course, both were essential, since the
vast sensor web - and thus Bryag's wanderings - were
confined to the fringes of the Omet Deepzone where
dense, swirling clouds of dust and things they hid dis-
torted any attempt at hyperspatial computation.
Travellers had to rely on Bryag's course data or not
bother travelling there at all.
As they waited, Kao Chih gazed out of the viewport
at the foggy darkness of deepzone space. Here and there
the concentrated light of stellar clusters and the nearest
stars managed to pierce the dust veils that glowed
muddy orange and purple, distorted whorls of amber,
stretched ripples of violet. The Omet Deepzone, as
Drazuma-Ha* reminded him, was the source of the
great Achorga Swarms which 150 years ago had torn
through hundreds of star systems in the vicinity, rav-
aging and wrecking entire planets, amongst which was
the homeworld of Humanity, Earth. That particular
Achorga outbreak was not their first and others had
occurred since, many of them sweeping into Indroma
territory, causing havoc and destruction on a vast scale.
Somewhere out there, he thought, in the dark heart of
all that dust and debris, was the world of the Swarm, the
Achorga. Without them there would have.been no
Swarm War, and no desperate, blind launch of the three
colonyships. The Tenebrosa would never have plunged
> blindly through hyperspace and arrived at the beautiful
world which the first settlers had named Virtue In The
Valley, nor would they have suffered those attacks and
the sight of their world being mined and scoured around
them, the long indenture for those who escaped . . .
'Scan complete. Permit approved.'
Kao Chih sat up straight, gaping then grinning as the
marker buoy went on.
'Please state course required - station access or area
exit?'
'Station access,' Drazuma-Ha* said swiftly, a neon
yellow microfield extensor flicking out to operate the
com panel. 'Polydigital channel open.'
'Fastchaining data ... fastchain complete. You may
now depart.'
'And not before time,' said the mech, who was
already merging the new course data into the naviga-
tionals. Kao Chih just had time to strap in before the
hyperdrive forcewaves cohered and twist-hurl-dropped
them back into the first tier of hyperspace.
Another half-hour microjump during which he again
went over the notes in Tumakri's documenter, making
sense of the Bryag Station contact - a Piraseri vacsuit
vendor named Milmil S'Dohk - and how to recognise
his suspensor-mobile establishment. After that he spent
a further twenty minutes playing halfboard chess against
the ship's gaming subsystem until hearing the strap-in
alert. Moments later the Castellan emerged-fell-spun
from hyperspace just a few klicks away from their des-
tination. Drazuma-Ha * powered up the manoeuvring
thrusters and soon they were vectoring in on a guidance
beacon.
Set against the dust swirl colour-glow of the Omet,
Bryag Station was a sight. Coasting along on its never-
ending peregrination, it looked to Kao Chih oddly like a
colossal bivalve seashell, like a cockle gaping wide open,
the central hinge pointing the way ahead. Each half was
full of structures, towers, domes, globe clusters, spars,
cables, as well as scores if not hundreds of bots, hopcraft
and jetsuited creatures darting this way and that. The
outer surface of the station's hull halves were dark grey
carapaces of heavy plating, shielded ducts, maintenance
housings and armoured drive vents, pitted and scored by
the Omet's plentiful dust and micrometeorites.
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 31
