by Neal Asher
"I find that a little difficult to believe," said Gneiss, still from the script.
"Did my siblings advance themselves simply out of curiosity about our mother's death?" Yishna countered. "No, they did not. From a very young age we all sought and found our vocations in life and pursued them, despite attempts by those in the Sudorian education system to hold us back. Harald wanted to join Fleet, and he has done so. Rhodane's interest has always been biology, and she is conducting much research in that area now. Orduval…"
Gneiss leant back, his mouth clamped in a narrow line. He did something strange then, reaching up a hand to press a finger directly below each of his eyes, as if pointing out their weirdness. Because she could not understand this action, it frightened Yishna.
"Yes, I know about your brother Orduval." Gneiss lowered his hand. "Unfortunate—but let us return to you. Your own interests span a wide area, covering physics, electronics, computer science and many other subjects. So you claim you are not here just to clarify your family history?"
She stared back, couldn't help putting something lascivious in her expression, and realised that this response was purely due to her fear. "Knowing my interests and my abilities, where lies the frontier of research for me?"
He smiled tightly and without true emotion. "Corisanthe Main, obviously."
"But you are not going to let me go there." She chose her words carefully so as not to appear arrogant. Reading only the surface of them, the Director's choice of words had telegraphed his intentions. She gave a moue of disappointment and let him get to it in his own time. Let him enjoy his munificence, even if it was only a skin over reality.
"I did not say that," he replied. "I just wanted to be sure your aims did not stem from some misguided urge to find out the truth about your mother. I take the same view that Fleet took with your brother Harald, of this being an opportunity we cannot afford to miss. You are undoubtedly brilliant, Yishna, so the alterations you made to your record will be corrected, and you will go to Corisanthe Main. The only proviso is that, once there, you will report regularly to the base psychologist."
"I'm going?" Now she was delighted.
"Yes—but you heard what I said about reporting to the base psychologist?" His reply was toneless, playing the game to its conclusion without any emotional investment.
The rise of practitioners of psychology to positions of power had been increasing apace with the growth of mental illness on Sudoria. Yishna often speculated that their increased numbers had in fact resulted in the growth of mental illness, rather than been merely a response to it.
"Why do I need to do that?" Yishna asked meekly, though knowing precisely why.
"Because, though you are brilliant, your emotional development is still that of a fourteen-year-old girl." He sat back. "It is understandable how you got so far. Nutrition has substantially improved since the war years, and girls develop a lot faster now than then. But you are still a girl nevertheless."
He gazed at her steadily and it seemed, almost palpably, that between them some kind of understanding formed. He secretly knew she was no girl and somehow she knew him. This understanding was not open to logical analysis, it was just there, and real.
"I understand," said Yishna, bowing her head to his ostensible wisdom, and wondering what kind of little-girl persona to adopt for the psychologist. It had been such a relief to stop playing that part when she had finally departed Sudoria. Really, from the age of four she had felt a hundred years old, and necessarily played the child because others never understood the real Yishna, and just became very frightened of her. But to play that role again…why not? It might be amusing to probe the depth of the base psychologist's understanding of the human condition. Yes, she would play such games with whoever came to analyse her—but there would be no such games with Gneiss.
He was…something else.
— Retroact 3 Ends—
McCrooger
Our journey back into the inner system took two weeks, and towards the end of that time I was suffering fewer of those episodes that struck me as worryingly like the onset of schizophrenia. The length of time taken to travel such a short distance (in Polity terms) made me realise how badly these people needed U-tech, but I was glad of the extended opportunity to come to my senses. I kept busy, perpetually accessing Sudorian histories through my palm screen and taking time out only to get to know the layout of the ship better—wherever Fleet personnel allowed me—and to discuss with Duras the potential siting of the Consulate on Sudoria. But that siting was all somewhat beside the point. Quite simply, Sudoria resembled Earth of a millennium ago, when the politics of nation states were shaped by politicians, the media and public opinion—of the three the media becoming the most powerful. All a very complicated and messy process. By those who wanted greater contact with the Polity I would be employed as a media weapon—my being here already considered a victory. Of course the downside of this was that those—mainly Fleet—who did not want any contact with the Polity, would try to use me negatively in the media too. But I intended to sell the advantages, and they were many, maybe enough to eventually influence Fleet personnel, who also possessed their own voting system and their own little internecine conflicts. Maybe this was why Fleet did not seem in much of a hurry to let me go.
"It has been turned against us," said Duras.
"If you could explain?" I prompted.
Once again we were sitting around that same central table in Duras's cabin. He eyed me carefully. "I hoped the charges I filed against Inigis would prevent any further attempts on your life during our journey to Sudoria. But Inigis was last night arrested by his own lieutenants and confined to his cabin."
"Surely this is a good thing?"
"Not," said Yishna.
Duras continued, "Fleet claimed Inigis must be tried by them, and pushed this demand through Parliament." He explained further, "The twentieth anniversary of armistice is only a few months away, and there has been much media programming concerning the War, and also, despite Uskaron's book, much nostalgic sympathy aroused. So when Fleet said, 'We must try him in full public view to wipe this slur from our integrity' and then put it to the vote, they received the support of most of the planetary delegates." Duras glanced at Yishna. "Even some of the Combine delegates voted in favour."
Yishna said, "Membership of Combine does not automatically eliminate stupidity."
"So now either you suspect another attempt on my life, or some attempt to traduce me?"
Duras continued, "While you are out here, we can't protect you too well. They don't want to move against you overtly, and by now Admiral Carnasus and the rest realise that you are not going to shuffle off your mortal coil with a mere whisper and a sigh. Inigis was a fool, who thought he could raise his position in Fleet Command by getting rid of you. Carnasus, however, will not want you to die aboard a Fleet vessel. After all, Fleet is responsible for you, and will get to look bad if you die wholly in their care, and in such circumstances Combine representatives," he glanced at Yishna, "myself and the other members of Parliament would be pushing for Carnasus and his staff to be charged with murder."
"So, the alien will instead be paraded in court and made to look foolish, dangerous, sly, or any combination of the above?"
"We rather suspect so. It will be an open session aboard the Ironfist—all media representatives allowed. However, aboard Ironfist the Fleet Admiral, Carnasus, himself wields the power. And that ship is presently in orbit around Brumal."
Yishna shook her head. "Fleet will probably draw comparisons between you and the Brumallians. This won't be about Inigis, but about you. Certainly they'll try to find some reason to eject you from the system…perhaps because of that 'organic technology' Inigis detected inside you."
"So, how do you think I should deal with this situation?" I asked.
"We will prepare you as best we can," said Duras. "There is no system of advocacy in Fleet courts, so you must represent yourself." He grinned. "But in the time I have co
me to know you I feel you to be quite capable of that."
Our meal time then became a rather morose affair, with further speculations about what Fleet intended. Eventually I changed the subject. I turned to Yishna.
"Tell me about your brother Harald," I asked.
Her usually seductive expression hardened for a moment, then with a false indifference she said, "Why must I tell you about him? He is not my only brother."
"Whatever."
There were obviously painful memories there she did not want me to probe. Instead she told me about her brother Orduval, but I failed to see how the memories of him could be any less painful.
— RETROACT 4—
Orduval —in childhood
The displays—inside ranks of glass cases stretching into the distance, within the Ruberne Institute's museum—were of more interest to Orduval because of what they signified, rather than what they were. Of course Yishna, Harald and Rhodane were utterly absorbed—studying every item intently and whipping through the readout projected up in the glass of each case before moving onto the next. Orduval studied every item no less intently, but his concentration focused primarily on the readouts. Why that choice of words, why this aspect of the exhibit emphasised over that, why phrase the description in quite that way? He made comparisons between readouts obviously written before the War, those written during the War prior to this place being closed down and the exhibits being stored away, and those written within the last seven years, after the War had ended and when the exhibits had emerged from long storage. The changing Zeitgeist of Sudoria and the political consciousness of the author of each readout became all too evident to him. Before the War he found the optimism of the times and the societal wealth reflected in the pretentiousness of the writing—in the flowery language and literary flourishes. In the subject matter concerning artefacts from the Procul Harum, emphasis was on their archaeological significance only, which contrasted with the Military Intelligence 'Eyes Only' labels fixed on some of these, like the ancient notescreen he presently observed, evidencing how during the ensuing War they had been taken away by wardens of GDS—Groundside Defence and Security—doubtless in an attempt to recover lost technologies. Readouts written during the earlier stages of the War itself were quite often either plain wrong or full of grammatical mistakes—the author obviously being distracted by contemporary events. Some of those written deeper into the War, especially if they concerned Procul Harum artefacts, became propagandist, and often a disparaging commentary about the Brumallians crept in, even when the item in question did not require any mention of the enemy at all. Others written a little later seemed devoid of emotion: the exhausted Sudorian now beyond any irrelevancies, merely wise, bitter and tired. Next, viewing a skirl nest sectioned to show its internal construction, Orduval did note a recent addition to the readout that began to wax a little too lyrical for his taste. Obviously this indicated that wealth and optimism were again on the rise.
Here he paused, noting his sister Rhodane a few paces further along, her face hovering close to a display case, and with her hands pressed against it on either side of her blonde head. She seemed unnaturally still as if frozen in the process of trying to force her way through the glass. Out of curiosity he strolled over to her and peered into the same case.
"Almost certainly it will become politically unacceptable to have such items on display within the next five years," observed Orduval. Checking the readout confirmed its authorship during the War, just before all the museum items were stored, and that the Brumallian, grotesquely stuffed and mounted in a threatening pose, had been placed inside the case during that harsh time.
Slowly, Rhodane turned towards him. "I know now," she announced. "This is where I fill the gap…cancel out the black."
She had mentioned this before, this gulf in her mind. He always assumed it to be the onset of clinical depression, though he did not entirely understand it himself. At the core of his own mind a white star seemed to burn, around which lust for knowledge spun in ever tighter orbits.
"Perhaps you could explain?" he asked.
"It's my place—my compass."
Yishna felt this certainty—as did Harald, stronger than any of them. Orduval felt only blurred and frustrating reaches of self-direction. A surge of jealousy filled him, and immediately upon that followed confusion and unease. "That's nice for you," he muttered, and with a feeling almost of desperation, headed away.
Moving on through the museum Orduval realised that, continuing at his present rate, he would not see more than a quarter of the artefacts during the day Utrain had allowed them, so he must now manage his time more efficiently. Having strayed into the planetary biology section (where the Brumallian did not really fit) he turned around and began working his way back along another section of Procul Harum exhibits. Here he observed family heirlooms on loan to the museum: books, old notescreens, pens, timepieces graded in terran time, clothing and jewellery. One long case even contained pieces of the ship itself—some recovered from old buildings and others dug up from the landing site. Orduval halted by a plaque engraved in some ancient pictographic Earth language, and stared at it for one long confused moment, realising he simply did not understand it. Desperately searching through the readout he discovered only that the language was Chinese, but not what any of it meant. He would need to research this.
Moving on, he halted before a mannequin representing a pre-landing human and stared at it intently. But the pictographs on the earlier plaque seemed to have come with him, imprinted on his retina and flickering across his vision. Some part of his mind refused to give up trying to understand them, refused to accept that until he learnt more, elsewhere, understanding would be beyond him. He tried to stop the thought process, tried to think of other things, but the spinning in his head just grew faster and faster and the star grew brighter.
Migraine?
He knew the effects, and a blind spot was now developing so that when he looked at the mannequin's face it folded into non-existence. Next the mannequin itself disappeared and something slammed into his face.
I fell over…
He was down on all fours when the star flashed bright white light through his mind, and everything went away for a time. It was an experience to which he never grew accustomed.
— Retroact 4 Ends—
McCrooger
Brumal hung there in the blackness like a mouldy apple, a glittering ring encircling it. Red and green predominated on the surface, and cloud masses the colour of iron and cheese mould swirled over this. A greenhouse effect raised the surface temperature here which, were this world like Earth and possessed of a moon to strip atmosphere, would have been cold enough to freeze brine. I studied the planet long and hard, finally discerning the mountain ranges like raised red scars in the green. Many of those were not there just over twenty years ago. In their place once lay cities—nest-like arcologies spreading underground. Those peaks now stood like tombstones over mass graves containing over a hundred million crushed and suffocated dead.
"So what made him decide to open up this?" I gestured down the corridor lying alongside the hull, from whose windows armoured shutters had been raised.
Duras grimaced. "Despite your request and my request, First Lieutenant Drappler was not prepared to do anything that lay outside Fleet regulations. He has not taken too well to such a level of responsibility, and is not comfortable giving orders while his captain is still aboard, though confined to his cabin. I rather suspect he contacted Fleet Command for guidance."
Upon learning of the presence of this viewing gallery aboard, I had immediately tried to gain access to it for, being accustomed to Polity ships with their chainglass screens, panoramic windows and virtual displays providing you on request the illusion that you stood out in vacuum, I was growing claustrophobic.
"There, do you see it," Duras pointed, "just coming into silhouette?"
With the raised light sensitivity and magnification of my augmented eyes, I'd noticed it much e
arlier, but was waiting for Duras to apparently spot it first. This was not because I didn't want to give away too much about my enhanced abilities, but because I did not want to hurt the man's feelings, did not want to make him feel inferior.
"So that is a hilldigger," I said with due reverence.
From this distance all Duras himself must be seeing was something like a black finger passing across the face of Brumal. I could clearly see its long rectangular body, the big fusion engines to the rear, the weapons blisters spaced evenly down its two-miles length, and the larger Bridge and command area positioned at the nose, and directly behind and below that, the two fins that were the business ends of a gravity-disruptor weapon. Yes, there were Polity ships large enough to store hilldiggers in their holds, but the vessel in front of us seemed no less formidable for that. I just needed to look at those mountain ranges behind it to be reminded.
"Yes," sighed Duras, with satisfaction.
The Sudorians were proud of their hilldiggers, an attitude especially prevalent amongst Fleet personnel, and present in both Yishna and Duras though their interests conflicted so violently with those of Fleet. But I understood that, because Yishna had told me she was born during the war, and Duras informed me he had once been a Fleet conscript. It is too easy for those standing at a distance to question such pride. As anyone ever involved in a war would say: "You just had to be there." The hate may eventually evaporate, but the pride and the grief remain. And, in the end, all Sudorians rightly believed that the hilldiggers ended a conflict that could have dragged on indefinitely exacting a huge Sudorian death toll. I considered parallels to this throughout human history, especially the first use of nuclear weapons on Earth over a millennium ago. Of course those weapons were used against the bad guys—but here that matter had recently become debatable.
"What were the enemy's warships like?" I asked.
"Big, like this," Duras sketched a teardrop shape in the air, "and in their space stations they were able to manufacture them faster than we could make ours." He glanced at me. "They just kept on getting closer and closer to Sudoria. By the time we manufactured the first hilldigger they'd managed to get eight thermonukes past our planetary defences."
