General-Mother Belwaris smiled, half turned and raised a hand. “Bring them forth!”
From the rear of the big transport, half hidden by foliage, five figures emerged, descending a ramp, flanked by a pair of Syluxi troopers as they walked round and came into view. As soon as she saw the tall, willowy Egetsi and the hulking bearish Henkayan, Sam knew that they had to be the crew of the Scarabus, so the dark-haired, rangy man in the lead had to be their captain, Brannan Pyke–even if his clothes looked as if they’d been attacked by scissors.
She knew the circumstances whereby G’Brozen Mav had come into possession of Pyke’s ship so when Mav stiffened and muttered something under his breath as he saw who was approaching, Sam suddenly wondered how this rematch was going to work out.
Yet Pyke seemed quite amiable as he approached, perhaps even pleased to see G’Brozen Mav–and Sam had to admit that he was good-looking in a keen-eyed, unflappable kind of way. But what was the problem with his clothes? At close quarters, they looked ready to fall to pieces.
General-Mother Belwaris beckoned the captain and his crew forward and it was a smiling Pyke who came up to G’Brozen Mav, hand outstretched.
“Mav! Damn, but it’s good to see yer okay, still fighting fit and ready for a barney, eh?”
The Chainer leader appeared baffled and open-mouthed as he shook hands. “Captain… yes… you look well…”
“Can’t complain, Mav, cannot complain. We’ve had our ups and downs, haven’t we, lads? And the sights! Some of the things we’ve seen would make your eyes bug right out.” Pyke paused to point at the Toolbearer. “Hechec! Still following this crazy man’s quest?”
“It is my vow, Captain, as always. The ship flies well, too, as always.”
“Good to hear.” Finally, Pyke turned to Sam. “A newcomer, I see, and from my corner of the starry skies, if I’m not mistaken.” He gave a slightly ironic bow. “Brannan Pyke, ma’am, captain and owner of the free-trader, Scarabus.”
She allowed herself a professional smile. “Lt Commander Samantha Brock, Earthsphere Intelligence.”
The eyebrows went up and he smiled brightly.
“Is that a fact, now? If this is about those unpaid docking fees, I swear I was about to—”
“It’s all right, Captain, I have no interest in unpaid bills,” she said. “For the moment.”
Pyke chuckled, a little uncomfortably. “In that case, Lt Commander, I am at your disposal–for the time being.”
“I am deeply gratified,” announced General-Mother Belwaris, “to have been instrumental in reuniting old friends but my time is limited so I must bring this to a close. Now, this wordy rascal”–she glanced at Pyke–“insists that he came to Nagolger to steal one of the Shuskar ships then leave the Warcage forever, fully intent on resuming a career of illicit activities.”
“One man’s unguarded vessel is another man’s legitimate business opportunity,” said Pyke.
“But is this truly the case?” the General-Mother went on. “Captain Pyke could be telling the truth or he could be telling a version of it. When I turn to the renowned G’Brozen Mav, however, I am certain that he is here to seize a ship or ships in order to bolster his campaign against our Shuskar masters, despite the lamentable defeats he and the Chainers have suffered in the last few days.”
She smiled a cold smile and an awkward silence held sway for a long moment, maybe two, before G’Brozen Mav shrugged and spoke.
“I do not deny it, General-Mother–after all, we are clearly on the same side.”
“If we were, you would have been made aware of our existence and our clandestine preparations long before now,” Belwaris said. “Our secret insurgency includes other armies and has been long in the planning but it depended on the squabbling Chainer rebels triggering uprisings on several worlds–once the Shuskar, already distracted by the unshackling process, committed all their meagre forces and their attention was wholly occupied, then we could act. This is just one among thirty-seven worlds that we have or are in the process of capturing, all under a shroud of dead communications.”
“Impressive planning and secrecy, General-Mother,” Mav said. “But if we’re fighting the same enemy, I fail to see why we’re not on the same side. Please, allow me to have a Shuskar ship and we can be on our way.”
“I do not mean to sound dismissive but, truth is, the Chainers are not entirely trustworthy. Look at all that chaos which the spy Khorr caused for you.”
G’Brozen Mav glared at Pyke. “Ah, so you felt the need to unburden yourself of these matters.”
“Hah, well, y’know how it is–you get rescued from unfriendly locals, you get offered food and very passable drink, you get sociable, sharing stories and the like, and that’s how—”
“In any case, noteworthy G’Brozen Mav, you will not be taking delivery of a freshly unwrapped Shuskar vessel, nor will anyone.” General-Mother Belwaris’s expression was sour. “The entire multiyards complex has been sealed by the security forces in charge. Heavily armoured shutters and blast doors block every point of entry and the armour is impenetrable–we know, having used every available weapon on it, resulting in not a dent, not so much as a scratch. So, leader of Chainers, I am afraid that your journey to Nagolger has been for nothing.”
Sam saw a flicker of weary despair in G’Brozen Mav’s face, but only for a moment.
“This is indeed discouraging news,” he said. “I am grateful to you for sharing it with me so openly. Of course, my… our ship carries several detection modes which we would be willing to employ on your behalf, to scan the multiyards for any weakness in their defences…”
“A generous offer,” said the General-Mother. “But unnecessary–our own survey teams have been most thorough. Now, I must return to my duties–my subordinate captains can only achieve so much without my personal oversight.” She looked at Captain Pyke and G’Brozen Mav. “You are welcome to stay on Nagolger as observers, but if you feel the need to stray and scavenge for supplies I require that you avoid tangling with the Shuskar Governor’s soldiery, which means keeping away from conflict areas. You should also consider the multiyards a restricted zone.” The General-Mother smiled and spread her arms, fanning out the cloak which was attached to her wrists. “Or you could simply embark and depart, return to lead the Chainers. I am sure they have need of your talents.”
With that she and her attendants turned to leave–and Pyke uttered a theatrical clearing of the throat. Belwaris paused to regard him.
“Captain? You wished to say something?”
Pyke’s smile was relentlessly amiable. “Your shining excellency, I think your guards still have a few of our things…”
“Why yes, I believe you may be right!” The General-Mother snapped her fingers, one of her attendants hurried off to the big transport and returned with a rustling blue plastic bag and a bulky, cloth-wrapped object.
“I remain intrigued by this device, Captain,” she said, patting the wrapped bundle. “The workmanship has an archaic quality, like something out of antiquity.”
Pyke spread his hands and smiled. “Most exalted General-Mother, as I said, it’s just an energy field cooker–if I had a replacement focus grid and a few ingredients I could whip up a tasty snack for you. As it is, it’ll be put away in storage until we find someone selling the right spares.”
The Syluxi general gave him an intimate smile. “How plausible–I almost believe you. May you and your friends continue to live safely.” She turned to leave, waving a farewell that could have been for everyone or no one, and sauntered off towards the big transport, flanked by her attendants. Sam watched her go, waited till they were climbing aboard, then faced Pyke.
“We really needed that ship!” she said. “It would have been useful if you had used your influence—”
“Well, y’see now, the problem with influence is that once you use it you then find that you’ve got less than you did before!” Pyke grinned. “I decided to use that finite resource to hang onto something important.”
Pyke held up a hand. “It’s all right, Lieutenant, I know what kinda fix you’re in–in fact, I bet I know more about it that you do yourself.”
“How can that be possible, Captain?” said G’Brozen Mav. “We didn’t know we were coming here until some hours ago.”
“I was briefed by, let’s say, an interested third party.”
Sam’s smile was bland and composed. Was Pyke naturally irritating or was it a facade?
“Trust is based on openness, Captain,” Sam said. “What party are you referring to?”
“You know, we’re wasting such an awful lot of time when we could be—”
“Please, Captain,” G’Brozen Mav said. “Who have you been conversing with? If we are to work together, don’t we deserve to know?”
Pyke frowned and studied the ground for a moment or two, then nodded. “A machine intelligence which claimed to be a survivor from the time of the Builders.”
G’Brozen Mav was wide-eyed. “Are you sure it was an artificial sentience? Where did this take place?”
“We were pretty sure it was an AI, all right,” Pyke said. “We encountered it on a world called Gatuzna—”
“One of the Ashen Worlds,” Mav said. “Where the machine minds stood their ground and tried to stem the onslaught of the Shuskar!”
“So these AIs are still around?” Sam said, suddenly anxious at this new development.
“It certainly looks that way,” said Pyke. “They said they still have access to the portal web and can listen in on some of the comms traffic–they were able to use the portal system to send us here, to the vicinity of the yards, which is where the General-Mother picked us up.”
“And these AIs sent you here?” Sam said. “For what purpose, exactly?”
“Why, to provide you with the incomparable talents and hard-won expertise of myself and my crew,” Pyke said with a smile that verged on smugness.
Sam shook her head. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence–why are you really here?”
“To help you get to the Citadelworld!” Pyke spread his hands. “It’s where you wanna be, ain’t it?”
“Did the machines tell you that we were coming here to commandeer a fleetworld ship?” said G’Brozen Mav.
Pyke smiled. “Commandeer–that’s exactly the word that the machine used. Now, a ruffian like myself on occasion might say ‘purloin’ or ‘liberate’ but really, let’s get honest–we are talking about downright burglarious thievery and that, good people, is our area of expertise!”
“How sad, then,” Sam said, irritated by his grandiosity. “Because those yards are locked up tighter than a vacuum seal so you won’t be getting to play master thief, I’m afraid.”
Still smiling, Pyke crossed his arms. “And that’s where you’re wrong.” He glanced at G’Brozen Mav and Toolbearer Hechec. “Anyone notice that there’s a sizeable facility just north of that honking big launch basin?”
“We scanned it during the approach, Captain,” said Hechec. “Old surveys said it was at one time a repair and refit dock. Sensors showed it to be disused and half blocked with wreckage. Also picked up clusters of very weak energy sources but no sign of power generation or feeds.”
The captain nodded. “Aye, well, seems that wreckage used to be a transorbital lifter, a massive vessel that they used to carry ships from orbit down into the repair docks and back again. It would appear that about eighty-odd years ago one such lifter was on its way down, fully laden with some Shuskar thug-wagon that got a bit belted during one of their homicidal police actions. Anyhow, this big damn lifter was on the last stage of its descent when it lost power and fell out of the sky, basically, plummeted a mile and slammed right through the shutters and down into the repair docks. Because that was the last working lifter they had–and also because the docks were so trashed–they salvaged what they could, buried the dead, abandoned the place.”
At the very moment that he paused, both Sam and G’Brozen Mav breathed in and made to speak, so Sam, in the cause of diplomacy, smiled through gritted teeth and gestured for the Chainer leader to go ahead.
“A very detailed summary, Captain,” he said. “How could you possibly know all this?”
“Well, funny thing–the Syluxi decided to recruit some of the locals, the Irnagol, into a militia to carry out a few support functions, like guarding the weird offworlders recently detained in the vicinity of the yards!” Pyke grinned. “I got talking with one of our guards, a gabby old boy called Egltny who had a few illuminating gems to relate–seems his father witnessed the Carrier Crash, as they call it, and wrote a report on it for the local blabsheet back then.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll get to the point of this digression,” Sam said. “I’m just concerned how much longer it’s going to take.”
“Please, Captain,” said G’Brozen Mav. “Time is not our ally. The sooner we can reach the Shuskar Citadelworld, the sooner we can wreck their command centres, and perhaps save other worlds from punishment.”
Sam noticed a hard look in Pyke’s eyes for a moment, then he shrugged and was all roguish geniality again.
“Okay, then, fine, shame on me for trying to bring a lyrical touch to the proceedings. Right, this is the way of it–to safely cross the Warcage we don’t need a Shuskar ship, we just need the signalling beacon that tells the defence systems to leave well alone.”
Understanding lit up Sam’s thoughts. “And there’s a beacon like this on every Shuskar ship!”
“You’ve nailed it, Lieutenant. Question is, how to search or track for one–according to Egltny, his father said that there were several ships down in the repair facility when the lifter crashed right into it.”
“That might account for some of the sensor data we collected during the approach,” said the Toolbearer. “We detected a scattering of weak energy sources–are or were there any security units guarding it?”
“Nothing–it was evacuated, then all connecting tunnels and access ways were permanently sealed.” Pyke glanced at his crew. “All we need, then, are some configured hand detectors and we can get to work.” He gave the nod to one of his crew, a wiry, dark-haired man whose stained overalls were covered in pouches and pockets. “You about ready for that, Ancil?”
“What, scavenging through decades-old abandoned shipwrecks while time’s running out? Honestly, chief, you get us all the best jobs!”
While aboard the Shuskar flagship, the Gun-Lord’s hooded servitors switched the Construct drone from the sealed transparent box to a slightly larger container with a solid floor and lid and walls consisting of a finely made triangular mesh. Rensik could see why–the elaborate suppression field was more easily and closely controlled via such a mesh, ensuring that he was unable to project any field or energy wave beyond it. He was isolated from the world of data communication so completely that it was as if he were encased in silence.
But as they moved him from one prison to another he was pleased to note how they left the lid of his previous oubliette sitting to the side.
His new confinement, however, still allowed him the opportunity to study his surroundings. The cams and sensors built into his casing provided a wealth of detail in the visible spectrum alone. On arrival at the Citadelworld he was retrieved from the armoured cell he had been in since his capture near Armag, and carried off as part of the retinue that trailed after the Gun-Lord wherever it went. The Human figure of Dervla was nowhere to be seen, however, so Rensik was quick to survey the vicinity and build up a picture of his current location.
The Citadelworld was a small, tidally locked and airless planetoid orbiting at some thirty-odd million miles with one hemisphere always facing the Warcage sun. The Shuskar headquarters, melodramatically named the Shadow Bastion, was on the nightside, a broad, stepped tower rising from out of a deep, artificial crater. Adjoining it, a great engineered canyon provided dock and yard f
acilities for visiting ships. The Construct drone took note of the echoing emptiness of the place, especially the darkened docking levels above and beneath where the flagship rested upon a series of immense ceramic and metal cradles.
The place is almost deserted, Rensik thought as a rattling cart whisked his cage and a selection of containers and luggage along a depopulated concourse, accompanied, of course, by a pair of stern and heavily armed servitors. How nice–they have me cooped up in my very own portable dungeon yet they still do me the courtesy of treating me as if I pose a threat. Which, of course, I do.
On the blindside of the drone’s boxy casing, out of sight of the guards, a small aperture slid open and a dull metal tetrahedron no bigger than a fingernail fell out. The ticking sounds it made as it landed on the floor of Rensik’s cell were masked by the rattling of the cart. Moving on tiny roller beads it passed through a gap in the mesh, zipped over to the edge of the cart and was gone. It was the third such metamodule he had produced since being stuck in the mesh cage, although he had waited until leaving the flagship’s hold before releasing the first two. His retasked nanorepair node was more than halfway to completing the fourth and final one, due for despatch in less than a minute.
Pragmatism had made it clear that his chances of escaping from the suppressor cage were pathetically low, so after running up an inventory of all resources contained within his chassis-shell he settled on a drastic scheme. He would cannibalise non-essential parts from his own sub-assemblies and reconfigure the nanorepair node to build a minidrone, directed by a cut-down, streamlined version of himself, which would mean contributing a segment of his own substrate. The loss of archived data would be worth the chance of sticking a wrench into the evil engine of the Gun-Lords’ plans.
The minidrone’s orders were straightforward–after assembling itself, it was to find some kind of data port and hack into the comms system of the Shadow Bastion, and send a brief message via the portal web, keyed to Sam Brock’s work tablet and set for hidden repeat every hour or so. Like the previous message, it would be a tiny graphic, only now it would be a red dot at the centre of a circle, hopefully clear enough for even a bumbling organic to decipher. By this time, her negotiations with the Chainer leaders should have borne fruit and they might be persuadable towards the notion of mounting a rescue operation of some kind.
Ancestral Machines Page 37
