by Alex Kings
Yilva was at the panel immediately, holding her tablet out.
“Hangar, please,” said Hanson.
Yilva tapped at her tablet. “Oh. We can't,” she said.
“What?”
“We're locked out. Same as with the hatch.”
Hanson swore under his breath. “Okay, take us to 'Growth' – We'll see what we can do from there.”
Yilva went back to her tablet, and a moment later, the lift's doors closed, and they began to descend.
Chapter 41: Pacify All Ground Resistance
Mr. Bell was on the cramped CIC of the Zephyr as it made a final jump into Iona's system. He stood at the command console beside the captain.
On the overhead displays the gas giant appeared: a swollen sphere in ochre and brown and cream, thousand-kilometre-wide storms roiling its surface. They were close – inside the planet's narrow silver ring, inside the orbit of its moons, where the magnetic flux and radiation would obscure them from any normal sensors.
The Glaber hunter ship was already waiting for them, its jagged silhouette outlined against the gas giant's storms.
“We're getting a hail from the Glaber ship,” said the comms officer.
The captain gave a questioning look to Mr. Bell, who nodded. “Put it up,” said the captain.
Sruthur's face appeared on one of the displays, with a grin that looked like a snarl. “Here at last, Mr. Bell,” he said.
Mr. Bell knew Glaber psychology: Sruthur was, without a doubt, keenly aware that the Zephyr was a relatively small and weak ship, and couldn't stand up to an attack from the Glaber hunter ship. Sruthur could, if he wished, kill his employer. Strategically, this would do nothing for him, of course, but a Glaber couldn't help but feel the power relation.
“Hello Sruthur,” said Mr. Bell with a smile. “If you've had time to deploy probes, could you patch us through to them?”
A dozen small probes – no bigger than a basketball, and nearly invisible, could sit in open space and watch Iona and the Dauntless. Thus the ships in orbit around the gas giant could see without being seen.
Sruthur pushed away at some control panel out of sight. “We're receiving the telemetry now,” noted one of the CIC officers.
Mr. Bell looked over the data as it was piped to the command console. The Dauntless was in orbit over Iona, holding position. It looked like it had taken a beating in leaving the Afanc – the outer hull and armour near the aft were chewed up, sometimes so deep as to leave parts of the interior open to space. The sight pleased him – to see the ship that had so rudely interrupted him hadn't got away unscathed.
“Our first priority is to get the datachip,” he told Sruthur. “The second is to destroy the Dauntless.”
“That shouldn't be hard,” said Sruthur with a laugh.
“They'll surprise you. But you're right: The hard part is getting the datachip.” He looked Sruthur in the eye. “I want two of your people.”
“Two?”
“That's all we have space for,” said Mr. Bell. “I have a stealth shuttle on board. It will carry two of your men, and rendezvous with the facility on Iona to pick up two blanks. It will take the team to the Dauntless – one of those aft scars will make a convenient landing point. There, they will extract the datachip and leave a bomb behind.”
Sruthur growled. “This is a suicide mission,” he said. “Even if your team can get into the ship unnoticed, they will be seen in the corridors! They will encounter resistance while they search for the datachip.”
“I don't think so.” Mr. Bell smiled up at Sruthur. “We have the schematics for ships of that class. We designed it. With its current crew complement, there is only space for one extra room. That is where the Petaur will be staying, and that is where she will keep the datachip. The infiltration team can get to it very quickly.”
“It's not enough,” said Sruthur.
“No, it isn't. That's why, when the time is right, I want you to make an appearance. Threaten them. Keep them occupied. And if the bomb doesn't work, well, you can just shoot them down.”
The Glaber bared his teeth. He was skeptical, but aware voicing more objections might seem cowardly.
“Buck up, Sruthur!” said Mr. Bell, grinning at him. “If we pull this off, the galaxy will be ours.”
“Send your stealth shuttle over,” said Sruthur. “I will have my soldiers waiting.” He cut the signal.
*
The lift doors opened on the familiar white-balled, black-floored, fluorescent-lit corridors of the facility. Hanson, pistol ready, stepped out.
A broad window ran along the left wall, looking out over the bay. The ship sat there, a squat, oversized thing – a freighter, designed for storage space above all else. Six rubbery hammocks of smart matter were slung under its belly to support it. Several docking tubes connected it to the level beneath them. A couple of people moved across the open walkway.
Agatha pulled the Ancient weapon out and waved it at the sapphiroid. “In case we can't find a better way.” She took another look. “Or maybe not.”
Hanson looked straight down. The drop was close to thirty metres down onto a concrete floor.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
“Or, you know, I could just point it straight down. Go through the floor. That would be fun,” suggested Agatha.
A little way down the corridor, they came to a door marked G1. Hanson listened at the door, then called Yilva over to open it.
Inside, there was a soft electric hum and the regular beep of some sort of medical monitor. The wet sound of some thick fluid being pumped came a second later.
It was a long room, with two long banks of machinery running down the middle. At first glance, they resembled the stasis pods – about the right size and shape – but the design was different. These ones were festooned with monitors, connected to bundles of pipes, fronted with small computer terminals. And each had a much large window running the entire height of the pod.
Hanson moved round so he could get a better look inside.
“Christ,” said Moore.
Agatha said nothing.
It was a blank, but not an adult. Half grown, about the size of a child. It was suspended in a thick, syrupy fluid. Something was clamped over its eyes. Inside, four pipes through the fluid punctured its belly and spine.
“Yilva,” said Hanson softly.
“I'm recording it,” she assured him.
“Good.”
Her tablet buzzed slightly, and she extended it. “We've got it!” she said. “Someone with top-level permissions just entered the facility. We can get to the ship.”
He looked back at her. “Full access?”
“Yeah!”
They still had to sabotage the ship, but there was another opportunity that presented itself. “Those terminals,” he said. “Are they connected to the main facility's network, or are they just local.”
“I'll have to check.”
“Do it.”
Yilva plugged her tablet into the terminal and spent a few moments gesturing at it. “It's here,” she said, moving to the terminal.
“Anything we can use?”
“Yeah …” said Yilva. “A lot. I'm downloading it …” She cocked her head. “There's a map here. 'All known Ancient technology sites.'”
Hanson stared at her. “That's it,” he said. “Project Renaissance. The connection between growing these things – ” He gestured at the tanks. “ – and the Ancient technology. Do you see anything about why they might be doing both?”
“Hold on … I have something.” Yilva's tail, formerly waving idly back and forth, froze. “Oh, wow. This … this is really weird.”
“What?”
“A statement of purpose. Or a manifesto for Project Renaissance. Something like that.” She gestured upward like she was skimming through some document. “They want to overthrow the Tethyans. Establish a 'new world order' with humanity on top. Listen: 'Ancient technology will give an overwhelming military superiority in space
, and mass-produced Blank troops will pacify all ground resistance.' And 'IL will become a new galactic government. The loyalty of Blank troops will prevent any chance of a coup.'”
“Bundle of laughs, these lot,” said Agatha. “I know learning is fun and all, but maybe we should hurry up and find a way to stop these guys from starting their crazy galactic dictatorship?”
“Agreed,” said Hanson. “If you've got everything, Yilva, let's move. We need to stop that ship.”
Chapter 42: Invasion
“We're getting a communication from the stealth shuttle,” said one of the Zephyr's officers. “They've docked with the facility and picked up two blanks. They're preparing now for docking with the Dauntless.”
“Good,” said Mr. Bell. He felt a wave of relief go through him. Sruthur had been right to be worried. This was a risky mission from the beginning.
First, just sending the stealth shuttle all the way from the gas giant to Iona had required pushing its engines to the limit, getting maximum acceleration for an extended duration, to get it there in a reasonable time. A little over an hour and a half by Iona's clock. In the middle of its journey it had been pushing relativistic velocities. Then it had had to slow to nearly a complete halt before entering the atmosphere; aerobraking would be too easy to see.
The shuttle hadn't been designed for such punishment, but it had stood up very well. The Dauntless still hadn't seen it – at least as far as he could tell.
But the hardest part of the mission remained. The most critical part – if the infiltration team were detected too early and shot, if they couldn't find the datachip, if the shuttle was destroyed before it left, everything would be lost.
“There's something else,” said the communications officer.
Mr. Bell's attention snapped back into focus. Fears swam in his mind. “What?” he hissed, before the Zephyr's actual captain could respond.
“They picked up this image as they descended on the facility,” said the officer. He transmitted the image to the command console's display. It showed the facility from above – and next to the bay doors was a shuttle. Clearly hiding behind them, from the view of the facility.
“The bastard's got into the facility,” Mr. Bell whispered to himself. He stared at the image for a few seconds. The captain looked at him, waiting for a response.
No. This was still workable.
“First,” he ordered, “send a message to the facility. Tell them there is an intruder, but order them not to engage and not to sound the alarm. Hanson must not know that we know.” He wasn't willing, after the mess on the Afanc, to try another shoot-out. “Tell them to jam all Alliance frequencies going through the facility. As soon as that's done, I want all personnel aboard that ship. Drop all nonessential tasks, even loading the remaining blanks. We need to get that ship out of there asap.”
“Done, sir,” said the communications officer.
“Good. Now send this image to the Glaber hunter and get them on the line.”
A moment later, Sruthur's face appeared on the screen.
“You see what that means?” said Mr. Bell. “Hanson is in the facility. We need to stop him. Even if we destroy his ship, he could be dangerous. So I'm updating the plan. I want you personally to go down and stop him. Take one of your shuttles and leave the moment your ship jumps in.”
“They will see me,” said Sruthur.
“Yes, they will. That's a good thing,” Mr. Bell patiently explaining. “For the Dauntless, you'll be another distraction. Anything that keeps their attention away from the infiltration team is in our favour. But they won't be able to contact Hanson, so you'll still catch him by surprise. The facility is empty.” He gave Sruthur a broad smile. “Happy hunting. Now hurry up. We're ready to begin.”
“As you wish,” said Sruthur. He cut the comms without ceremony.
*
As the stealth shuttle rose from the human planet's surface, Urrut found himself squeezed between the bulkhead and one of the Blank soldiers in its glittering camo armour.
The shuttle was tiny. And with its full load – the bomb, two Glaber, and two blanks – they were packed in like tinned worms.
The Blank opposite him held a rolled up sheet of smart matter, half a metre wide and less than an inch across. It didn't speak, didn't move, not even to make itself more comfortable. A couple of times he wondered if it might be dead, but it had seemed perfectly healthy when it boarded the shuttle ten minutes ago. Right now, if it was alive, it was reviewing over and over again the precise instructions given to it by Mr. Bell.
The thing creeped him out. Word from the hive was that the blanks were perfectly loyal. Urrut, ranking low in the hive, was perfectly loyal. But he still enjoyed talking with his friends, stretching, scratching, spitting. The Blank did none of these things. It looked human, but humans in Urrut's experience were usually soppy and weak, whereas the Blank went too far the other way: As cold and free of will as a gun.
To distract himself, he checked the displays on the inside of his helmet. They were nearly upon the human ship. The holes in its aft surfaces looked like claw-marks, he thought. He called up for comparison the schematics he'd been given, with the target room marked. Deck 2, starboard, slightly towards aft. An easy walk – at least until the humans saw someone was aboard their ship.
Something sounded inside his hemet. A signal: Get ready.
The shuttle was almost upon the ship. It slowed as it approached one of the ragged holes in the hull, and passed the charred rim at a crawl. They passed the remains of tanks and pipes, turned into shapes like melted wax by the heat of an unshielded laser hit, then through another hole into the opened remains of some storage cabin.
Another alarm sounded in Urrut's helmet, and a moment later the stealth shuttle opened up like a clamshell. Urrut found himself floating a few feet above the floor. Immediately the Blank was in motion, firing its suit's thrusters. It moved through a half-melted doorway. Urrut followed.
On the far side was a segment of corridor. The gravity returned, and Urrut's boots thumped against the floor. It was dark. His suit's headlamps lit up the chromed walls: slightly cracked, but mostly undamaged. A couple of metres away, a barrier had shut off the corridor. They just had to get through that.
Behind him, their two colleagues – another Blank and another Glaber, were carrying the bomb. A metal-plated cylinder about a metre in diameter. They brought it floating into the corridor, where it thumped against the floor under the sudden gravity, then moved it against the wall. Here it would be deep enough inside the ship to destroy it. The second Blank affixed it to the floor with a spray of fast-acting glue, then set a timer with a control panel on the top. Urrut didn't know how long they had. The panel gave nothing away.
The first Blank moved to the door and unrolled the sheet of smart matter from top to bottom. When it was fully opened, he pressed it into the hole and activated. The sheet gripped the edges of the hole, forming an airtight seal.
The first Blank readied its rifle. “Team one,” it said in Isk, pointing to itself and Urrut. “Team two.” It pointed to the others. The voice was entirely artificial, generated from speakers set into its suit.
It didn't elaborate further. Urrut knew their orders: Team one was to go into the Petaur's quarters and retrieve the datachip. Team two would provide extra defence and, if need be, split off and head to another part of the ship to divide the internal security forces.
The two blanks, standing side by side, each raised a cutting torch to the barrier opposite and with a narrow blue flame began to cut through the barrier. A few seconds later Urrut heard the faint whisper-whine of air filtering into their segment of the corridor. The whine grew into a hiss, then a rushing sound as the blanks continued to cut. Soon, the corridor was back to normal pressure, and all Urrut could hear was the sound of the cutting torches.
The two blanks finished their work, torches meeting again near the floor. They pulled away a rectangle of metal and lay it against the wall. On the other sid
e, the corridor continued, normally lit and undamaged.
A human stepped into the corridor from one of the adjacent rooms. It was studying a tablet and didn't notice them right away. By the time it had seen them, Urrut had his silenced pistol aimed. He fired once, with a small pop, and the human collapsed.
The corridor was silent. The blanks stepped through the hole, and Urrut and his companion followed them.
They were finally inside the Dauntless.
Chapter 43: No Signal
By the time Hanson's team left the lab, both of the facility's lifts were occupied. Supposing there must be stairs, they began a quick search of the level. On the way back through the facility, they heard hurried footsteps coming towards them.
“In here,” Hanson whispered, gesturing at the room they'd just come from.
They ducked inside closed the door. A second later the footsteps came by. Hanson listened by the door, but couldn't make anything out, except that whoever had just passed them was a hair away from running.
When it was clear, they headed out again.
After a minute or so of checking corridors, they heard more workers hurrying down the corridor, and had to hide again.
“Seems a whole lot busier,” said Moore once the corridor was clear. They headed together out into the corridor, heading for the access to the stairs.
Hanson nodded. “Something's changed.” He came to a halt. “Wait a moment …” The loaders, moving constantly back and forth across the storage levels to move the stasis pods, had stopped. It had been easy to forget about, but now he noticed it, the absence was conspicuous. He told the others.
“Hanson,” growled Srak. The meaning was obvious: We know. Let's get a move on.
And he was right. Hanson started walking again, then broke into a jog. “If they are about to leave,” he said, “I don't fancy our chances of getting aboard unnoticed. And I'd rather not have this mission end in a bloodbath.”
