“How is the hosting of these fragments accomplished?” Akreen said.
“There is some state-alteration involved, but we are not entirely sure how this is achieved,” said the remote. “When the Human received his portion of the shards they sank into his flesh. For a Zavri it may be the same, or it may not.”
“Very well, I am ready–should I go over to the centre?”
“If you would be so good. The coalescent awareness of the shards understands our purpose and is likewise ready to proceed.”
There was little else to say. Akreen strode over to the plinth, feeling some of the hard fragments underfoot as he did so. With every step he could feel tickles of energy, as if he were entering an invisible web.
[It is a faint motile field mesh and you are the focus, said Gredaz.]
Akreen had just reached the plinth when something struck him in his right thigh. There was a curious sensation at the point of impact, a tiny vibrant sound, and when he looked down he saw a dark splinter sink into the silvery texture of his skin, leaving no mark behind. Another struck him, in the neck, then another in his chest, and another, and another. In seconds it became an incoming torrent of shards and he stood there, eyes closed, arms outstretched, revelling in the reverberant song that hummed and trembled through his body. The vibrations of it coursed through his skull, his mouth and his eyes, a thunderous metallic storm of beauty.
When the ending came it was swift, a sudden tailing off, a scattering of stragglers, then an amazing, serene silence. He opened his eyes, stared down at his form and saw a fading pattern of overlapping circles.
“You now carry the Incarnalith of Kaldro-Vryn,” said the Inheritor remote. “The greater part of it, anyway.”
[A peculiar situation, said Zivolin. There is a new presence but it resides in your body not your mind. Like some kind of half-aware warbeast, prowling and hungry.]
[An over-fanciful evocation but correct in the essentials, said Gredaz. Your new passenger is a vestigial sentience like your precursors, but it relies on the instincts of a warrior.]
Akreen regarded the Inheritor remote as it floated over to join him.
“What is the next step?” he asked. “Given your superlative mastery over the portal web, should I expect a portal gate to the Sunheart shortly to open before me?”
“The Warcage, as we said earlier, is a domain of secrets and secret places. Everyone must, however, live with the consequences of the errors of the past and we are no different. In the closing stages of the usurpers’ war, we fortified several worlds against the enemy alliance but all fell in the end to vicious and extreme weapons, like the mantle munitions, which were then used to smash those worlds and others into uninhabitable wrecks. Victory only served to sharpen their lust for destruction…”
“… which led to the Wrecked Worlds. Even Zavri juveniles have to learn the history, though it speaks of those events from a somewhat different perspective.”
“The victors are permitted all manner of atrocities since they can be attributed to the despised enemy when it comes to writing the histories,” said the remote. “But we go over these grim happenings so that you may understand what lies ahead of you. What do you know of the Ruined Road?”
[Ah, I see, Gredaz murmured in Akreen’s thoughts.]
Akreen curbed his irritation and said, “It sounds vaguely familiar–I must have heard the name some time ago but without any informative context.”
“It was the path that Maklun took to reach the Citadelworld of the Shuskar.”
Maklun was the leader of the rebel underworkers of Beshephis, whose uprising spread to a dozen worlds including one of the fleetworlds. His revolt threatened to overwhelm the Shuskar dominion until they retaliated with biological warfare so lethal that seven worlds had to be quarantined and, after the collapse of the rebellion, patrolled until they could be replaced with new harvest worlds.
“Maklun was from one of the Valzo pit-cities,” said Akreen. “Notorious hotbeds of malcontent and criminality.”
“Maklun was no Valzanian,” the Inheritor remote said. “That was a story put about by Shuskar misleaders. But that’s incidental–our point is that Maklun travelled the Ruined Road with our help, he and a small band of followers. It is a string of portal gates that lead through the Wrecked Worlds, ending in that rarity, a hub-gate.”
Akreen frowned. Normal portal gates provided travel to one, occasionally two, other Warcage worlds but a hub-gate could provide a choice of a dozen. “None of the Wrecked Worlds, or even those of your allies that escaped the greater retaliation, hosted a hub-gate.”
[There have only ever been three, Gredaz said. At Nexus City on Togema, in the White Insilica, Grand Escalade headquarters on Ivazal, and on the Citadelworld. At least, this is what we are told.]
“The Builders were methodical when it came to large-scale designs, always testing their concepts with pilot projects, and the portal web was no exception. They ordered the construction of a prototype hub-gate on an agri-world and tests were run on the rest of the portal gates as they were gradually encoded into the shadow-force lattice that holds all the worlds in place. More powerful and sophisticated hub-gates were built and hooked into the portal web. Everything worked perfectly, like an intricate dream made real.”
“So the Builders decided against dismantling their prototype,” Akreen said. “Why?”
“Official reason given was its research value as a testbed for future improvement, but we think that the Builders could not bear to demolish a hand-built thing of beauty. As well as being superlative technologists, they were also great aesthetes.”
Just then Akreen became aware of a cold tingling in his hands. Looking down he saw groups of Zavri letters slowly appearing and disappearing on his palms, across his knuckles, around his wrists, the same word over and over–Vengeance.
“Such consistency,” remarked the remote. “Kaldro-Vryn was never one to curb his impatience.”
[Ah, splendid, a lover of battles and slaughter, said Zivolin. Your recently ousted precursors should take him to their shrivelled little hearts!]
Another remote flew into the chamber, carrying a small oval object in its bearer field while the speaker remote continued.
“The portal gates that were damaged in the war we repaired, slowly over several centuries, now that the victors had turned their attention to other matters. Our resources were rudimentary, almost inadequate, so the repairs lacked the necessary precision. Portal target accuracy is, shall we say, variable but you should still arrive within three evrn of the next gate. This detector will keep you on track.”
The newcomer remote floated up to him and dropped the oval device into his outstretched hand. At the same time pinpoints of light began flickering in a narrow portion of the chamber wall. The flickering points formed a tall arch which soon filled with the pulsing shimmer-darkness of a portal gate.
“Some final advice,” said the Inheritor remote as Akreen moved towards the portal. “Some of the worlds you will have to traverse were so devastated that they have no atmosphere–others were so poisoned that only the most viciously mutated lifeforms could hope to survive. The Zavri are exceptional warriors but even you should exercise caution on the Ruined Road.”
“How did Maklun survive?” Akreen said.
“Ah, he was the warrior-supreme,” the remote said. “And we did give him a suit of power armour!”
[Oh well–at least we have the splintered remains of the long-departed Kaldro-Vryn embedded in our epidermis, said Zivolin. Who or what would dare stand against us?]
Akreen allowed himself a sardonic smile as he walked up to the dark portal and stepped through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Their arrival in the high orbital shell of Nagolger was smooth and quiet and apparently unnoticed. The Scarabus went in fully stealthed, deception tactics at the ready, all sensors running on maximum passive. By the time they reached the low orbit shell the fleetworld’s defences should have noticed something and t
he Scarabus AI would have started deploying countermeasures and cycling through the spectrum of ploys and cloaks and misdirects.
But there was nothing. The passive detection system had registered long-range scans from orbital and ground defence installations but there were no widecast challenges or warnings, no targeting beams probing for them, and no sign of attack fliers scrambling or heading their way.
“Something is wrong,” said G’Brozen Mav. “Could this be an elaborate trap?”
Toolbearer Hechec kept his eyes fixed on his console display as he replied. “Far from it, my leader–I think we may have strayed into some kind of ongoing insurrection. And there are no Chainers involved.”
Sam and G’Brozen Mav exchanged an astonished look before turning to await further explanation.
“The ship AI has been monitoring all the standard communication channels but there is a strange silence in the frequencies, an absence of what should be a busy spectrum of transmissions.” Hechec shook his hooded head. “This is a planet with a hundred-million plus inhabitants, one of the Shuskar’s two fleetworlds, and there’s not a signal to be found. But–this ship’s hyperspace systems have picked up something unusual. Scar, would you explain?”
“Certainly,” said the ship AI. “Shipboard systems have been tracking unusual field resonances emanating from the subspace layer between real-space and hyperspace. Data analysis leads to the conclusion that several subspace jammers have been activated at locations across the settled areas surrounding the shipyard complex. Communications frequencies have been rendered unusable.”
“Deliberately?” said G’Brozen Mav.
“Unquestionably, my leader.”
Mav gave a surprised laugh. “So some others have been planning their own rebellion, separate and secret from us. How long until we enter atmosphere?”
“Less than two minutes,” said Hechec. “Are we holding to the original landing destination?”
The Chainer leader nodded. “It cannot be a coincidence that we and our unknown possible allies chose one of the fleetworlds to move against. By the time we touch down they should know we’re here, then we’ll find out if they want to talk.”
Or fight, Sam thought but just nodded and smiled, joining in the guarded optimism. Her own anticipations had by now dwindled to nothing. If some kind of new alliance was about to emerge then her chances of seizing the Scarabus and going to search for Rensik were very slim indeed. On the other hand, her chances of dying in a firefight thousands of light years from home had just improved dramatically. Terrific.
As their descent flightpath followed its preconfigured curve, mapping sensors began providing layouts of the terrain surrounding the multiyard complex, geographical highlights and topographical landmarks. The datastreams fed more details into the maps, transport links, urbs and suburbs, residential and industrial patterns, all confined to a rough crescent stretching about eighty miles at its widest. Hechec said that this distributed, connected conurbation went by the name of Craitlyn City, although it lacked a true centre. And in the concavity of Craitlyn City lay the yards, the focus of both the city and the planet Nagolger itself–five immense construction canyons radiating from one side of a circular launch basin over a mile across. Each yard was over half a mile long, with nearly all of its workings confined below ground, levels of workshops, foundries, labs, immense lifting equipment, ancillary assembly lines, and all of it automated. And beneath that was an immense arsenal of mothballed ships, quietly slumbering in their metal cocoons. Or so Hechec said.
On the other side of the circular launch basin was a large, fan-shaped facility which, according to the Toolbearer’s mysterious personal archive, was an unused and abandoned repair and recovery drome.
As the Scarabus descended through the cloud layer the bright, sunny view of pure white softness turned into rushing, blurring greyness. As they emerged from the clouds it soon became clear that a rainstorm was currently sweeping across this part of Nagolger. The multiyard and its surrounding city were situated on the eastern side of a sizeable peninsula jutting from the northern coastline of Nagolger’s single large continent. This was a temperate zone and the eco-system was lush and abundant. Through the veils of rain Sam could see clusters of buildings and webs of roadways, even before they reached the outskirts of Craitlyn City.
This really is a substantial metropolis, Sam thought. Hechec said earlier that Craitlyn City is the planetary capital, so what level of security is guarding the shipyards? If the local commander is hunkering down to defend them against any moves from these unknown rebels, any plan to steal a mothballed ship could be a non-starter.
“Combat alert!” said the ship AI suddenly. “Missile contact–inbound from starboard 53.7, declination 18.1–hull sensors report laser tagging, variation indicates manual operation–hull stealthing has been engaged… missile veering off course.”
G’Brozen Mav and Toolbearer Hechec looked visibly relieved but Sam’s instincts told her that similar attacks should be expected. But then, she also knew what Pyke’s ship was capable of.
“We’ll be okay,” she told the others. “The Scarabus has some pretty sophisticated evasion systems. But prepare yourselves–if the situation on the ground is chaotic, someone else might take a shot at us before we reach the LZ.”
As it turned out, there were two further attacks before they slotted into the final approach: another missile launched from directly beneath their flightpath and a volley of short-range exploder rounds from a rooftop air-defence battery. The former required a combination of sideslip manoeuvring while close-quarter projectors blinded the missiles sensors; the latter were neutralised by augmented flank shields which deflected incoming shells and partially absorbed their explosive force.
The landing zone was an open grassy area along one side of a large park just to the west of the multiyard complex. A wide hexagon was marked out on the grass, perhaps for a community game of some sort, Sam thought, as the Scarabus swooped in, slowing amid a whirling cloud of leaves caught up in the suspensor helices. There were faint bumps when the ship touched down on its landing gear, followed by a slight lurch or two as the auto-levelling system did its thing. The sense of relief was palpable and shared, even though nerves were still on edge.
“Any signs of activity in the immediate vicinity?” G’Brozen Mav said.
“Two lifeforms within light arms range,” said Hechec. “No energy-weapon signatures detected. Nearest other lifeforms are clusters of inhabitants in the round tower blocks beyond of the landscaped ground west of our position.”
Sam felt a twinge of hope–if their arrival had gone unnoticed by those fighting in the city, Mav might keep to his original plan to reconnoitre the yards and thereby make it possible for her to take control of the ship. But with his next sentence Toolbearer Hechec eliminated any chance of that.
“We are detecting a large ground transport approaching along the multiyards perimeter roadway. Carrying eleven lifeforms, some with energy weapons.”
G’Brozen Mav frowned. “Not an assault force, more like a delegation–but we’ll all go armed if a face-to-face is what they want.”
Trying to look enthusiastic, Sam nodded and smiled while taking out her factab, which had been recharging off her body heat. She had been checking it regularly since the flight from Armag, forlornly hoping for a message from the Construct drone, Rensik, but to no avail.
Until now.
Her hopes leaped at the sight of the little green book icon; she quickly tapped through to the contents and found… only a letter “o”? For a moment she was puzzled and irritated, then she took a closer look and saw that it wasn’t a letter but a tiny image, a black circle with a black dot at the centre and a green dot halfway between. Sam stared at it then nodded to herself.
So the idiot machine is on the Shuskar Citadelworld of all places, she thought, feeling both relieved and daunted. But how the hell are we going to get there?
The big ground transport had veered off the perimeter road
and powered its way over hillocky grass to halt a short distance away from the Scarabus, partially screened by high bushes. Three figures in long billowy cloaks and odd headgear had emerged and were waiting just outside the big white hexagon. G’Brozen Mav had chosen Sam to accompany him, along with Toolbearer Hechec and two of his personal guards, who flanked him as they descended the ramp from the main hold entrance.
Sam’s nose twitched, smelling odd woody smells on the air. The grass underfoot was short, bristly and blue-green. The sky was full of broken clouds hurrying overhead on high winds while the occasional fresh breeze gusted in from the north to stir tinkles and rattles from the peculiar trees of this world. And the cloaks of the three who waited also streamed and flapped.
As they drew close Sam saw that they were at least humanoid, yet their faces were narrow and vaguely feminine. The tallest of the three wore an odd conical hat with a gold triangle perched upon it. The other two wore close-fitting yellow caps marked with red spiral symbols.
G’Brozen Mav halted a few paces away and gave a gracious but closely measured quarter bow. The responding bows were equally finely gauged.
“Welcome to Nagolger,” said the tallest of the three. “Am I correct to name you, sir, as G’Brozen Mav, now sole leader of the Chainer rebels?”
Mav inclined his head. “I am he, and your own appearance is very similar to that of the troops of the Syluxi Host–does General-Father Possal still command?”
“The illustrious Possal retired very recently–I am General-Mother Belwaris, commander of all Syluxi forces on Nagolger.”
“It is an honour to exchange amicable terms,” said G’Brozen Mav.
“An urgent question for you, Noteworthy Mav,” the General-Mother said. “Does your vessel go under the name of the Sca-ra-bus?”
G’Brozen Mav could not keep his surprise from showing. “Yes, General-Mother, it does! I am at a loss to know how you could possibly know that…”
Ancestral Machines Page 36
