Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1

by Seeds of Earth

  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.