by Gary Gibson
She put on display the video feeds from the spiders.
'You can see how badly trashed the hold is, but Ted was right: those landers look like they survived pretty much intact.'
Corso nodded and stepped back down from the dais. 'Dan, come with me,' he said to Perez, then stopped, before he left the bridge, to look back at her. 'See what else you or Ted can discover before we arrive there,' he said.
'I'll send a spider out on to the hull to retrieve a couple of field-generators,' she said. 'If we're going to attempt a landing, we're going to need all the protection we can get.'
Corso nodded and left, with Perez following.
Dakota linked into the remaining Meridian drones and prepped them for combat. At the same time, she noticed it was early evening, shipboard-time. She settled back in the chair and wished she had asked Perez for another shot.
Whatever happened after this, she already knew it was going to be the longest night of her life. Trader swam through the dense, pressurized waters that filled his craft. Schools of tiny fish swam around him, and he snatched some up with his tentacles, devouring them as he studied the multicoloured projections all around him. The first jump had brought him within a few light-hours of the target system; subsequent jumps brought him closer to the inner system.
Defensive networks pinged his yacht constantly as it accelerated inwards, but he had obtained automatic response codes, leached from captured Emissary vessels, which fooled the networks into thinking he was one of their own. They would see through it eventually – particularly once he got within range of the cache – but it would meanwhile get him close enough.
He entered the chamber in which he had placed the Mos Hadroch. It hung there in the air, suspended in a series of interlocking shaped fields. Its mass was much greater than might be expected, but of course much of that extra mass was hidden in nonlocal spatial dimensions.
His ship spoke to him: All propulsion systems are currently optimal. The local Emissary population is primarily located aboard habitats orbiting the fourth world. Local comms traffic implies they are engaging in one of their periodic purges.
Trader's fins shivered at the mention of the purges. The Emissaries were bad enough when it came to dealing with other species; they were hardly less harsh on themselves. Every now and then, they would set about destroying their weaker members in orgies of slaughter.
The ship provided him with images of the system's innermost world. He saw enormous machines scattered and apparently abandoned all across its scarred and airless surface. Great holes had been drilled deep into the planet's crust, so that Trader could see manufactories extending deep into the core. Godkillers guarded it, patrolling the volume of space surrounding the star, their hulls black and crystalline, and forbidding in their sheer strangeness.
Even a cursory analysis made it clear that almost everything in this system was old. His yacht was still pulling in data from local data networks which did nothing but assure him of what he already knew, that this system was a backwater, and therefore only lightly guarded by the Emissaries' usual standards. ‹We're coming under fire out here. Can you get them off our tail?›
Working on it, Dakota sent.
She had folded the interface chair's long petals up around her, enveloping her in silence and darkness. She could see the suited figures of Corso and Perez through the eyes of a single spider-mech hovering in the twisted wreckage of the hold. One of them was using a welding torch to cut away wreckage blocking in a lander.
She switched her viewpoint back to the battle taking place all around the Mjollnir. So far, the Meridian drones in conjunction with the field-generators were doing a good job of protecting the frigate but, for all their extraordinary power, they were being pushed to their limit by the onslaught of scouts. Worse, a godkiller had now appeared a couple of light-seconds away, vectoring towards them on an intercept course.
Dakota didn't want to think about what would happen if it got within range before they had a chance to jump.
‹Dakota.› Corso's voice sounded terse and strained. ‹I think something got in here with us.›
She switched her view back to one of the spider-mechs and searched through the shadows until she saw it: the scout that was part hidden in the twisted shadows of wreckage. As she watched, its carapace began to slide apart, revealing a variety of deadly-looking machinery. The hold was now a weak spot, since most of the field-generators meant to protect it had been destroyed during Trader's jump.
The scout began to cut and burn its way through an exposed bulkhead leading to the frigate's interior.
I've got it.
A Meridian drone peeled off from the rest, darting back inside the wreckage and reducing the scout to white-hot slag within moments.
How's it going with that lander?
‹Nearly done,› Perez replied. ‹She'll be good to go just as soon as we've finished mounting the field-generators on her hull.›
One hundred and eighty seconds to the next jump. Get back inside the instant you're done.
‹We'll be done by then.›
Dakota drew the drones back inside the frigate while Corso and Perez retreated through a still-functioning airlock that led into the rest of the ship. Less than three minutes later, the Mjollnir fell once more between the folds of the universe. The frigate dropped back into space less than twenty thousand kilometres from the surface of the cache-world. The system's star now filled the sky, huge and terrifying, while the hull's sensor arrays showed the world itself as a circle of black imposed against this seething light.
New data came in: vast, apparently abandoned craft circled the star in long, eccentric orbits, along with a halo of less easily identifiable junk. The surface of the target world itself, outside of the cache, was pocked with what might have been machinery or habitats of some kind. There were two… no, three godkillers in orbit around the target world.
As she watched, they started to move out of orbit. Because of me, she thought, with no small amount of horror.
A few moments later, Emissary scouts began to materialize all around the frigate.
She picked up Trader's yacht, already dropping down towards the planet's surface. He was being chased by several scouts himself, and automated defences positioned on the surface of the planet were firing on him. Trader became aware of the Mjollnir 's arrival at about the same time his ship warned him that its primary defences were approaching catastrophic failure. The scouts that had been chasing him decelerated almost at once, reversing their thrust and heading back towards the frigate.
Within his yacht, the waters remained dark and cool. Trader studied the data coming in from his hull arrays, but no matter how often he looked he still couldn't quite believe what it was telling him. ‹Dakota. I see that you are still alive.›
Trader?
‹I did not expect you to make it this far.›
What can I say?. I'm tenacious when I'm really fucked off. When we're done, I'm going to take that damn artefact and ram it up your-
‹Dakota, according to my instruments, the Emissaries have just dropped a nova mine into their own star. The neutrino flux is quite unmistakable.›
You can't be serious.
He waited while she checked the readings from her own ship's sensors. When she came back, he could feel her panic surging across the connection between them in bright hot waves.
But why? They can't possibly know about the artefact. Can they?
‹Perhaps Hugh Moss knew about the Mos Hadroch. If so, he may have passed the information on to the Emissaries.›
I told Moss you had a way to stop the war. I thought he might…
‹Listen to reason?›
Go to hell.
‹A most infelicitous disclosure, Dakota. Certainly enough for him to infer the existence of something approaching the nature of the artefact.›
But why blow the whole damn system up?
‹It is in the Emissaries' nature to lay waste all around them. If the sun detonates before
I can implement the Mos Hadroch, the cache will be destroyed, and with it any chance of stopping them. They are, after all, not lacking for other caches in other parts of their empire. Do not attempt to take over my yacht again, Dakota. Not if you value our purpose in being here.›
Trader! Wait-
But once again, he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-six
As some of the field-generators were finally overwhelmed, scouts began to whip in towards the frigate's hull, their blades and cutting implements slicing through the thick armoured plates. The Meridian drones were meanwhile dying, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the scouts.
Dakota watched it all with a growing sense of frustration and panic. The scouts were attacking the Mjollnir because of herself, specifically because of whatever it was Moss had put inside her.
It was time for something drastic.
A minute or two later she sensed Lamoureaux entering the bridge. Indecision froze her for a moment, then she forced herself to stand, the chair's petals folding back around the base of the dais in response.
Martinez was still on the bridge, crouching over a console, talking to Perez over a comms link. He was paying no attention to either Ted or Dakota.
She stepped down and seized Lamoureaux by the arm, as he approached her, pulling him instead towards the exit. Her voice was just above a whisper as she spoke.
'I need your help, Ted. Things just went from bad to worse.'
'What do you mean?'
'Take a look,' she said, transferring the neutrino flux data to him via a link.
His eyes became momentarily unfocused, and his jaw flopped open. 'How long have we got?' he exclaimed, once he had recovered.
'Quiet!' she hissed, nodding towards Martinez, but the Commander was still talking to Perez, still oblivious to the pair of them. 'We've got maybe twelve hours maximum before this whole system goes up.'
Ted looked befuddled, glancing quickly at Martinez and then back again. 'And you want to keep this a secret?'
'No, just… wait for twenty minutes before telling them.'
He eyed her with increasing suspicion. 'Dakota, what the hell are you up to?'
'Here.' She linked with him again and transferred over the command structure for the Meridian drones. 'You can handle them just as well as I can.'
Over Lamoureaux's shoulder, she saw Martinez glance up and study them for a few seconds, then look away again.
She nodded silently towards the passageway outside the bridge. He picked up the hint and followed her.
'Take the chair and run the drones for me,' she told him once they were outside.
'Why can't you do it yourself?'
The ship's data-space informed her that Corso and Perez were on their way back from the hold. One of the landers was hooked up to an airlock and ready for launch.
'Do you remember what I said earlier, that there was something on board this ship that was leading the Emissaries straight towards us?'
He nodded.
'That something is me, Ted. I don't know what it is or how he did it, but a man called Hugh Moss planted something on me. Not even my Magi ship realized it was there. While you're running the drones, I'm going to get on board that lander and use it to draw the scouts away from the frigate. That way you'll have a better way of staying alive, while I can go after Trader. Nobody else needs to be down there at the cache but me, anyway.'
'Dakota, no.'
'For God's sake, Ted! I need to do this. I need to put an end to it all.' She could feel tears prickling the corners of her eyes.
'We should wait for the others to get here. Besides…' He shook his head. 'No, this is beyond just crazy. Even if you're determined to go down there on your own, nobody's going to be mad enough to let you.'
Her expression became icy calm. 'Don't get in my way, Ted, or I'll shut down the drones. The frigate would be left totally defenceless.'
He swallowed. 'I'd reactivate them.'
'But it might take you too long. There are already things out there trying to burrow their way through the hull.'
'I don't think you'd-'
'Try me, Ted.'
She watched him studying her, trying to make up his mind whether she was serious.
'You're out of your mind,' he said eventually. 'That's what they've all been saying, and I defended you. But they were right, Dakota. You're out of your fucking mind.'
'Don't let anyone come after me. Do you understand me?'
He stared back at her in silence, filled with impotent fury, as she turned and ran down the passageway. Trader's yacht had utilized a maximum-evasion pattern as it descended towards the surface of the cache-world, but it had still suffered enormous damage from the ground-based defences. Once his ship had dropped into the cache's main shaft and begun its descent deep below the planet's surface, however, the shooting stopped.
Thousands of passageways had been cut into the rock all the way down the shaft. Before very long, Trader guided his yacht to a landing in one specific passageway where he knew he would find the cache's drive-forge. Once he had exited his ship, he took a moment to approach the lip of the passageway, in order to gaze down into the abyssal depths below.
Rows of lights descended the shaft's smooth walls, all the way down to where they appeared to converge tens of kilometres below his vantage point. On the far side of the shaft he saw a city-sized factory complex imbued with that same ineluctable air of decay and abandonment.
The walls around him had a half-melted look, with more ruined machinery lying abandoned. It didn't require a great deal of conjecture to realize it had been a very long time since any new drive-cores had been manufactured here.
The Emissaries, despite the advance warning, had clearly not expected the cache itself to be targeted. That they had then chosen to destroy the entire system made it clear they had finally recognized their error, even if much too late.
Trader swivelled in his field-bubble, then guided it deeper into the gently curving passageway, dodging past the blackened hulks of dead technology. 'I don't give a damn what she said!' Corso screamed. 'We have to go after her!'
'You want to go after her, fine,' said Lamoureaux, 'but I'm not willing to call her bluff. She looked crazy enough to do it.'
'It's too late anyway,' said Martinez, from across the bridge. 'She's already boarded the lander and taken it out. She must have sneaked right past you and Dan while you were on your way here.'
'We got a distress call,' explained Perez. 'That's why we came back here as fast as we could.'
'Ship-wide or direct to your helmets?' asked Lamoureaux.
'Direct,' Perez replied. 'Not…' He fell silent mid-sentence.
Lamoureaux nodded. 'She faked that alert.'
Perez rubbed his face with both hands and dropped into a nearby seat. 'I knew we should have stayed with the lander.'
'Here's the thing I don't understand,' Corso growled, moving closer to Lamoureaux. 'You could have warned us – and you didn't even try to stop her. Why?'
Lamoureaux's nostrils flared angrily. 'I already told you. She threatened to shut the drones down, and leave us defenceless. What did you expect me to do?'
Corso shook his head vehemently. 'I refuse to believe she'd make a threat like that, let alone follow through on it.'
'She did make a threat like that,' Lamoureaux yelled. 'Maybe, Lucas, you don't know her nearly as goddamn well as you think you do.'
Corso punched him in the nose.
Lamoureaux staggered back, then stumbled, collapsing to the deck. Corso loomed over him, his expression furious.
Strong hands pulled Corso away. A moment later he was pushed into a chair and found himself face to face with Martinez, the Commander's hand planted firmly against his chest.
'I was on the bridge when all of this happened,' said Martinez. 'Now, I didn't hear what Dakota and Ted were saying to each other, but the responsibility is still with me. So if you want to take a swing at anyone, try me.'
Lamoureaux wiped
blood away from his nose and glared at Corso. 'Want to know what else she told me, Lucas? She's the reason the Emissaries knew where to find us.'
Corso stared at him. 'What?'
Lamoureaux laughed, and then coughed. 'That's exactly what she told me. The Emissaries are tracking her, not the frigate. That's all I can tell you.'
'He's telling the truth.' Martinez nodded towards the overhead display, which still tracked the ongoing engagement. 'The scouts are breaking away and going after the lander.'
Corso stared up at it, too, with a stricken expression. 'She'll never make it.'
Lamoureaux staggered upright and pulled himself back into the interface chair.
Martinez let go of Corso and stepped over to Lamoureaux, handing him a handkerchief. Ted took it from him with mumbled thanks.
'Dan, keep an eye on Mr Corso here. If he tries taking a swing at anyone else, find somewhere to lock him up. Meanwhile, Mr Lamoureaux, I want you to do some calculations. Work out how long you think we have left before the star blows, and how much power we'll need to jump out of the vicinity in time, before it does.'
'She's abandoned us,' Corso muttered, half to himself.
'Don't be so sure,' said Martinez. 'I'd say she's given us some breathing room. Ted, put her current trajectory and location on the overhead.'
An image of the cache-world and its star appeared overhead, complete with outsized representations of both the Mjollnir and the lander, the latter already fast approaching the planet's surface.
Lamoureaux's reply was muffled by the handkerchief pressed to his face. 'If she can stay alive long enough, she should reach the cache itself in about fifteen minutes.' The lander received a direct hit that sent it spinning so hard that Dakota was almost ripped out of her seat restraints. A sudden roar blanketed out the whine and screech of the bulkheads as the atmosphere vented, while her filmsuit enveloped her instantly.
Prior to this, dozens of direct hits and near-misses had finally overwhelmed one of the two field-generators attached to the lander. Apart from her filmsuit, the only thing between her and certain death was a couple of Meridian drones she had peeled away from the main pack. She had been worried Lamoureaux might not allow her control over them, but in the end he hadn't tried to stop her.
