The Nano Flower gm-3

by Peter Hamilton

  It resulted in the five independent defence networks, assembled more or less along regional groupings rather than the political combinations which dominated the previous century. A triumph of practicality over ideology, Julia always thought, with nominally hostile neighbours co-operating. She had drawn a lot of comfort from that at the time; political commentators were hoping it would lay the foundations for a more stable world order. There were even discussions of combining some of the networks into a single global defence system under the control of the UN. But so far nothing had come from them.

  The geostationary platforms were a good reminder that for all the progress made in defusing the worst international tensions, there was still a long way to go. There was so much commercial hardware in geostationary orbit, along with national military communications satellites, that the aerospace-force generals and marshals had worried about harpoons being hidden among the antenna platforms. Squadrons of sensor satellites from the Asian-African Pact and the Greater European Alliance had been positioned in geostationary orbit to watch for clandestine harpoon launches. They were swiftly followed by similar spysats from the Chinese and Eastern Federation Co-Defence League, and the Pacific Treaty Nations. The Southern and Central American Defence Partnership brought up the rear three months later. And after the sensors came the weapons platforms. Strictly for defensive interception duties, the network chiefs said.

  Julia observed them glimmer in the raw sunlight with a feeling of sad resentment. How little the politicians change. Watching you watching me; the old Cold War slogan resurrected and given fresh respectability. It was bandied about quite a lot on the current affairs 'casts these days. Pure governmental machismo.

  As well as the capability to attack other systems in geosynchronous orbit the high-orbit platforms could also launch an assault on New London. She had seen confidential intelligence assessments about New London and the other four asteroids currently being manoeuvred into Earth orbit. Military intelligence was always defined in terms of potential, and what was worrying the generals was the sheer mass of rock available: enough to flatten every city on the planet a thousand times over if it was ever flung down.

  Potential.

  Possible threat.

  Theoretical capability.

  I was right not to warn the government about Royan's alien.

  Superimpose Radar Return.

  Two stars turned red, and the 'ware assigned them five-digit codes, followed by velocity readings, size, and projected course vectors.

  NEGATIVE TRANSPONDER RESPONSE, the Falcon's 'ware reported, printing it over the image.

  "They don't want us to know who they are," Maria said.

  Exit Falcon Command Circuitry.

  Julia looked over at Victor. "Coincidence?" she asked archly.

  "There's no need to get nasty. The question is, which two?"

  "Clifford Jepson and Leol Reiger are tied in together, so one of them has to be carrying Reiger. Whether Clifford would come up with him, I don't know. He was pretty desperate for that generator data."

  "I'm not having Reiger inside New London," Victor said flatly.

  "No," she agreed. "Maria, can I have a communication channel to Sean Francis, please."

  Maria unclipped a handset from her chair, and handed it back to Julia.

  "Yes, ma'am?" Sean Francis said.

  "There are two spaceplanes on a rendezvous trajectory with New London."

  "Yes, we know. We've been tracking them."

  "Open a datalink to them, and order them to stop outside your flight-control zone. If they come inside, use the defence systems to kill them. Under no circumstances are either of them to dock with New London."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good enough?" she asked Victor.

  "Yes. I wish we could find out if Reiger really is on board one of them."

  "Not without X-ray sight."

  "Can you get an ident on the type of craft?" Victor asked Maria.

  "I'll run a comparison program on the nearest, see what the 'ware's best guess is. But the furthest one is well outside sensor definition range."

  The handset bleeped.

  "Yes?" Julia asked.

  "No reply, I'm afraid," Sean Francis said.

  "Put the message on repeat, and keep sending it until they violate New London's flight-control zone."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "No good," Maria said. "It's jamming the sensors. I can't burn through their ECM at this range."

  "Well, that confirms they aren't legitimate," Victor said mordantly.

  "Yes, there is that," Julia said. But it did clear up a lingering doubt about ordering Sean Francis to use New London's defences.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  There was more to Julia's cautious walk than the one-third gravity field. Victor knew her well enough to see how shaken she was by the two unidentified space-planes following them up to New London. By now every major player would know the alien was in the asteroid. Isolating New London bought Julia some time, but there was the question of what the opposition would do next.

  The confined titanium airlock tube gave way to the VIP reception room; noise, light, smells, and people registered again. It was a sharp transition from the isolation of the Falcon's cabin. Sean Francis, Lloyd McDonald, and three hardline bodyguards were waiting for them.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" Sean Francis asked. He was even more hyper than usual, pale and anxious.

  "Yes, thank you, Sean." Julia gave him a tired little smile.

  "What are the spaceplanes doing now?" Victor asked Lloyd McDonald.

  "The first one altered its trajectory as soon as our target acquisition radars burned through its ECM and locked on. It matched orbits with New London, and it's holding station five and a half thousand kilometres ahead of us. Outside the defence perimeter, you'll note. We identified the model as an Alenia COV-325; so with its capacity it could be carrying up to thirty hardliners. The second spaceplane is fifteen thousand kilometres out, and closing. And just to add to the situation: all five Strategic Defence networks placed their geostationary platforms on amber alert status as soon as we targeted the Alenia and powered up our weapons platforms."

  "Have there been any transmissions from the spaceplanes yet?"

  "None. We're monitoring continually, of course."

  "Good. I need to know who's on board. If Reiger is in one of them he must be snuffed immediately."

  "Difficult," Lloyd said. "We don't have any kinetic harpoons; our platforms are all equipped with energy weapons. It really is a defensive system."

  "Politically expedient not to base offensive weapons here," Julia said with a hint of regret. "Sorry, Victor."

  "Five hundred kilometres beyond the defence perimeter," Victor mused. "That's not much of a margin for them."

  "We're geared to halt incoming hostiles," Lloyd said. "You start shooting outside the perimeter and you run slap bang into the inverse-square law. The nearest platform to the COV-325 is over a thousand kilometres away, the lasers wouldn't even melt plastic at that distance."

  "So move one of the platforms in range," Victor said automatically.

  Lloyd looked at Sean, who nodded thoughtfully. "Could do, yes?"

  "OK," Lloyd said. "But the platforms aren't equipped with high-thrust engines. It'll take time."

  "Time we have plenty of," Victor said.

  "Just as long as they can't get in," Julia said.

  "They won't," Sean said. "Our hardware is the best, yes?"

  He gestured to a waiting lift. "Greg and his people are in the security centre. They've just got back."

  "Did they find Charlotte's Celestial priest?" Julia asked.

  "Absolutely, yes. He's a funny old bird, though. Don't know what you'll make of him."

  Julia stepped into the lift. They all crowded in around her, Lloyd talking into his cybofax, organizing the platform realignment.

  "How are you coping, Sean?" Julia asked as the lift began to move down.

  "Pretty
good, considering. I've declared an official biohazard alert, which I think added to the Strategic Defence commander's jitters. But it gives me the authority to quarantine the colony without any legal comeback. Shutting down the communication circuits is stretching the principle a little, mind."

  "But our lawyers can fight it if anyone objects," she finished for him. "Good. Well done."

  Victor reckoned that if he ever got lost in New London's southern endcap complex his processor implant would be the only thing to save him wandering through the labyrinth of corridors for the rest of his life. There was a kilometre and a half of rock between Hyde Cavern and the hub docking crater, a termite nest of housing, offices, tunnels, corridors, hydroponic farms, fish farms, light-industry factories, and chambers full of environmental support machinery. It wasn't that he was claustrophobic, but there was so much smooth featureless rock, and very few windows.

  Sean Francis led them through the security centre without any hesitation. But then of course, everything he did was perfection. One of the reasons nobody felt quite at ease with him, not even Julia, and that was quite an accomplishment.

  The briefing room had a window-wall looking out into Hyde Cavern. Heavy drops of rain trickled down the glass.

  All Victor could see outside was a solid sheet of bleak mist, tinted by a slight orange-pink fluorescence.

  There were active holograms on the walls, illuminated landscapes, all of them pre-Warming. A circular table of brown smoked glass stood in the centre of the room; most of New London's furniture was glass and metal. Tourist zones could afford to import wood, the security budget didn't stretch to that. Suzi and Melvyn stood in front of the window, silhouetted against the mist, talking quietly. Greg, Rick, and Charlotte were sitting in the aluminium-framed chairs around the table; a couple of the crash squad hardliners he didn't recognize were in the chairs lined up along the wall.

  Julia pulled her shipsuit cap off, letting her hair fall loose. Greg gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  "You found him all right?" Julia asked.

  "Charlotte's contact, yes; his name is Sinclair. Royan is proving a little more elusive." Greg sighed. "I had hoped he'd contact me. He must know I'm here, he'll have monitor programs loaded into every 'ware core in New London by now. I know Royan."

  "He'll know I'm here too," Julia said. She turned and gave Charlotte a long stare.

  Charlotte dropped her gaze, looking fixedly at the olive-green carpet squares. Victor almost felt sorry for the girl, a cool Julia Evans was a daunting prospect. And of course Charlotte wouldn't have known not to access any datanets, even at secondhand through the American Express office. The oversight was as much his fault as hers, she should have been fully briefed.

  "Can we get on with the problem in hand?" Victor said.

  He pulled a chair out for Julia.

  She turned from Charlotte and sat down, giving him a private sly grin. "Male hearts and fallen angels," she murmured in a tiny voice.

  Victor could feel the warmth creeping up his face.

  "Royan used a drone to hand the flower over to Sinclair," Greg said. "If we want him, he'll be somewhere in the tunnels and caves the Celestial Apostles use."

  "Intuition?" Victor asked.

  "Not really. Royan spent a couple of days with the Celestials, that means he'll have learnt all about their set-up, what they know about the caves, the ones they use. Once he cross-referenced that with security and police procedures he would have found himself a totally secure location for his trials, safe from anybody interrupting, just in case anything did go wrong. Presumably that's where the alien is as well."

  "So what do we do?" Lloyd asked. "Conduct a mass search? I'd hate for any of my people to stumble on this alien. If you say it exists, ma'am, then I'll believe you. But you're not going to convince everybody."

  "Tell you, there's no need for a search," Greg said. "Sinclair will take us into the caves and show us where the drone gave him the flower. We'll see what we can find there. Another personality package maybe. Royan has to have left some method of guiding Julia to him."

  "Sinclair!" Suzi grunted. "You're going to rely on that overmicrowaved fruitcake? Jesus, Greg, he's totally brainwarped."

  Amusement and annoyance chased across Greg's face.

  "Sinclair's not exactly rational," he said slowly. "But neither is he insane, no way. I think he might be slightly timeloose."

  "Trust you to stick up for him then," Suzi said.

  "Sinclair is a precog?" Julia asked.

  "He has some ability along those lines, certainly. Although the talent seems somewhat erratic. He's very aware that there's a big concentration of events and interests focusing on New London right now. It's what he's been predicting all along. Quite a formidable prescient vision, really. Given that he's been up here for seven years."

  "All right," said Julia. "If you think Sinclair is reliable enough, then we'll try it."

  Victor groaned inwardly. He'd known this was coming. One whiff of Royan and she'd charge off without thinking. She was so methodical and prudent about everything else in life; the man was a dangerous blind spot. "Julia." The quiet, purposeful way it came out made everyone look at him.

  Julia's eyes narrowed challengingly. "Yes?"

  "If you go into the caves then you wear proper protective gear, and the crash team goes with you. You don't go in otherwise."

  Suzi chuckled in the dead silence that followed.

  "Will Sinclair buy that?" Julia asked Greg.

  "It's not up to him," Victor said.

  "Victor's right, I'm afraid," Greg said apologetically. "That flower was a warning, after all. And I know the alien's here even if nobody else quite believes."

  Julia raised her hands in good-humoured capitulation. "OK. The crash team it is."

  Charlotte stayed with him. It made sense, her part was over, and Greg didn't want her with him in the caves where she'd be a liability. She said she didn't fancy spending the night sitting in the Governor's Residence with a hardliner. He certainly wasn't going to let her go out into the cavern again. So the security centre it was.

  Besides, Victor thought, she was so bloody easy to look at.

  They were in Lloyd McDonald's office, an impersonal standardized cube with two glass walls and two of rock. One of the glass walls gave him a view across the Cavern, the other showed a secretary's office on the other side. The hardline bodyguard Lloyd had assigned to him was lounging in one of the reception area chairs outside.

  Charlotte had curled up on a low black leather settee, chin on her hands, looking dolefully out into Hyde Cavern. She still seemed nervous, always glancing at her watch. It had stopped raining now, allowing the mist to clear away. The lighting tube had dimmed to a sylvan glimmer, a lone moonbeam threaded between the endcap hubs. Buildings across the parkland were picked out by floodlights, a weird mix of architectural styles, the best classical representation of each era, scattered about without thought.

  New London always put him in a contemplative mood.

  The eye-twisting geometry and the determination with which the residents pursued life insisting on introspection.

  He was sitting in front of Lloyd's desk terminal, watching the intricate jockeying of the Strategic Defence platform as it inched towards the Alenia COV-325. New London's electronic warfare satellites were blocking the spaceplane's sensors, preventing it from observing the manoeuvre. It would be within laser range in another ninety minutes.

  The spaceplane pilot must know. It was the obvious tactic. They would have to pull back.

  COV-325 performance perimeters streamed through Victor's processor node. He reckoned the spaceplane had another thirty-two hours' life-support capacity left before they would have to de-orbit and head back to Earth.

  The Typhoons from Listoel would catch it. A spaceplane lumbering down through the atmosphere would be no match for front-line fighters.

  Charlotte shifted round on the settee. It was distracting. Her legs belonged to someone at least thr
ee metres tall.

  He started to enter the code for Listoel into the terminal, then the alarm went off.

  "What's that?" Charlotte demanded.

  "Status one security alert," he said.

  Access Security Centre Command Circuit. Query Alarm. New London Strategic Defence Operations Room Violation. Five Possible Penetration Agents. Sector Isolation Procedures Activated.

  "Bloody hell," Victor blurted. He made for the door, Charlotte scrambled to her feet behind him.

  "Stay here," he ordered. "And you," he told the bodyguard, "stay with her."

  Charlotte looked like she wanted to protest, but the strength in his voice stopped her. Her shoulders slumped.

  Display Security Centre Floor Map. As the outline squirted into his mind he drew the Tokarev pistol from his shoulder holster and flipped the safety off. A rush of adrenalin buzzed in his veins when he came out into the broad central corridor. Security personnel were ignoring the moving walkways, half-running past him, grim faced. They all seemed to know what to do, where they should be going. The alarm was still blaring away.

  Victor saw a lift opening, and ran for the doors.

  There was a press of people at the head of the corridor T-junction. Two drone stretchers slid past Victor as he arrived, black bodybags zipped up. A couple of meditechs in white jumpsuits followed them down the corridor.

  Lloyd McDonald watched them go with an expression of controlled fury. "Tekmercs, hardline flicking tekmercs active in New London," he said. "Hell, Victor, I'm sorry, this is one almighty great cock-up."

  "Damage assessment?" Victor asked. It was the only way to do it, job first, shout and mourn later.

  "They're inside," Lloyd shook his head disbelievingly. "They got into the Strategic Defence Ops Room. They loaded a top-grade virus into the screening 'ware, and shot their way in. Now they're holed up in there but tight. My people think they winged two of them, with one possible fatality. But there are still three confirmed actives left."

  The corridor was four metres wide, three high; walls, floor, ceiling were solid rock, a single biolum strip ran along the ceiling. A lead-coloured slab of titanium/carbon alloy had risen out of the floor ten metres past the T-junction, solid and irresistible. Lloyd's people were already working on it.