by Gary Gibson
Nova War
Also by Gary Gibson
ANGEL STATIONS
AGAINST GRAVITY
STEALING LIGHT
Gary Gibson
Nova War
Second Book of the Shoal Sequence
TOR
First published 2009 by Tor
This electronic edition published 2009 by Tor
an imprint of Pan Macmillan Ltd
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Copyright © Gary Gibson 2009
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Contents
Prologue
Night’s End
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Ocean’s Deep
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Prologue
Orion-Perseus Arm/Milky Way
32,000 light-years from Galactic Core/2,375 light-years from nearest edge of Consortium space
0.15 GC Revs since Start of Hostilities (approx. 15,235 years [Terran])
Consortium Standard Year: 2542
Inside a Shoal reconnaissance corvette, lost and hunted through a dense tangle of stars and hydrogen clouds a thousand light-years wide, a Bandati spy was being tortured by having his wings pulled off one by one.
In order to accommodate the prisoner, who was an air-breather, the bare steel vault of the corvette’s interrogation chamber had been drained of its liquid atmosphere. Misted brine formed heavy, wobbling droplets in the oxygen/nitrogen mix that had replaced it, floating in the zero gee like tiny watery lenses.
The Bandati had been pinned to an upright panel placed in the centre of the chamber, where the floor dipped to form a shallow, stepped well. The Shoal-member known as Trader in Faecal Matter of Animals noted the enormous iron spike that had been driven through the creature’s lower chest in such a way that he was held immobile without, to his surprise, immediately threatening his continued survival. Nonetheless, it was not difficult to discern from the Bandati’s ceaseless struggling that he was in some considerable distress.
A sound like a hammer hitting metal set the bulkheads shaking briefly, announcing the successful circumvention of the corvette’s shield defences by an enemy attack drone. Trader listened to the damage reports as they flooded in through a private data-feed, but nothing essential had been hit. Yet.
Cables had been fastened to the chamber wall directly above the scout’s head, and hooks attached to the opposite ends of these cables had been inserted into the outermost edges of his five remaining wings. The tension in these cables pulled the wings wide, as if the Bandati were frozen in the act of gliding through the dense atmosphere of the world on which his kind had originated. Trader was reminded of a display he had once seen of small winged invertebrates, row after row of dried husks pinned to a wall, carefully mounted, labelled and categorized.
Clearly, the interrogators had been in a creative mood when they were ordered to extract as much information as possible from this spy.
Colour-coded projections floated in the air around the creature, simultaneously revealing his inner structure. The Bandati species were bipedal, about the same size and approximate shape as a young human adult – and there the similarity ended. The scout’s four primary limbs, apart from the wings, were long and narrow, the arms tapering to long, fine fingers, while his narrow, deceptively frail-looking frame was coated in fine dark hairs. The skull was like an oval laid on its side, the mouth small and puckered, while the skin, on closer inspection, had the appearance and texture of tightly coiled black rope. But the first things one noticed above all else were the iridescent, semi-translucent wings that entirely dwarfed the rest of the creature’s frame.
If Trader had ever seen a terrestrial bat, he might have recognized a certain passing resemblance. Even now, the scout’s tiny mouth twisted in a shrill of agony as a shimmering blade of energy sliced into the ligatures and bony struts connecting one of his five remaining wings to his upper body.
The eyes, rather than being compound in the manner of the insects the Bandati had been partly modelled after, were round black orbs mounted in a fur-covered face that featured a variety of exotic sense organs designed – tens of millennia before – by the Bandati’s legendary predecessors. Their lungs were equipped to draw in extraordinary quantities of oxygen to power them while in flight.
Trader watched the proceedings from a vantage point just outside the interrogation chamber’s entrance, where the ship’s liquid atmosphere was maintained at pressures substantial enough to crush an unprotected human – should any have ventured within a few thousand light-years – and was prevented from re-flooding the chamber by a shaped energy field spanning the entrance. Trader himself matched about half the body mass of a typical human, and took the shape of a chondrichthyan fish. His dark, compact body was tipped by multihued fins and a tail, which wafted slowly in the water all about him.
The Shoal interrogators within the chamber itself occupied bubbles of water prevented from dissipating by tiny disc-shaped field-generators that formed a protective sphere around each of them. Trader flicked one of his manipulator-tentacles, and in response dozens of identical discs freed themselves from nooks set into the walls around the entrance, whirling chaotically before – each equidistant from the next – finally forming the outline of another sphere with Trader at its centre.
He swam forward and through the barrier, the discs keeping pace and retaining the water he needed to breathe. Water splashed and pattered down onto slime-slicked metal as he entered.
The Bandati spy was trembling, his remaining wings twitching feebly but still held in check by the hooks tearing through their gossamer-fine flesh. Blood from the prisoner’s wounds stained the panel on which he had been so brutally mounted. One recently severed wing lay on the deck to one
side, and Trader could see that the knot of muscle and tissue where it had been severed was blackened and burnt. A streak of green-blue liquid directly below the panel suggested that the spy had defecated involuntarily.
The Bandati chittered, and the Shoal-member responsible for running the interrogation studied the creature’s response as it was automatically translated into some approximation of Shoal-speak. Trader watched as another interrogator operated a set of mechanical, vaguely arachnoid arms attached to a device mounted on the ceiling directly above the prisoner. The device’s arms were variously tipped with blades, probes and the hissing jet of a blowtorch, this latter now directed towards another of the unfortunate Ban-dati’s wings.
Seeing what was about to befall it once more, the Bandati struggled ever more feebly to escape. Trader ignored the increasingly desperate cries as he approached his old patron, Desire for Violent Rendering, who was supervising the entire interrogation.
‘Ah, there you are.’ Desire turned from where he had been quietly watching the proceedings. ‘We’ve been enjoying ourselves here. What kept you?’
A second booming sound rolled through the air, and the bulkheads rattled yet again, while the harsh white lights dotted around the chamber flickered briefly. Trader noted a series of projections that hung in the air by Desire’s side, complex real-time simulations and battle projections that illustrated the swarm of Emissary hunter-killers slowly gaining on the corvette. Helpful colour-coded lines of trajectory and time-to-impact estimates provided a running commentary on their rapidly dwindling chances of survival, the longer they remained this deep inside enemy territory.
Trader’s superluminal yacht had rendezvoused with the corvette barely an hour before, at a set of coordinates barely light-minutes distant from a small, rocky world constituting part of a system sufficiently nondescript to warrant only a catalogue number for a name. Nonetheless, it appeared that Emissary drones had been seeded there millennia before, and had been busily attempting to penetrate the corvette’s defensive systems ever since its arrival.
Trader’s yacht had been targeted immediately, and he had experienced some tense moments while his onboard battle-systems meshed with those of the corvette, allowing his ship to be drawn into the relative safety of the larger ship’s main bay.
The Emissary drones employed offensive technologies ranging from the most primitive directed-energy weapons all the way up to subquantal disruptors, intended to tear holes in the corvette’s shaped fields and allow tiny, nuclear-tipped missiles to reach the relatively fragile hull within. At the same time, a constant barrage of supercharged plasma rained down on the corvette, a strategy that was rapidly depleting the batteries powering its shields.
There were hundreds of drones, too many for the corvette, which had been designed to operate as a lightly armed escort to larger, better-equipped ships. And yet, Trader could see, the engineers aboard the corvette were trying to divert spare power from the shield batteries in order to reach jump speed more quickly. They clearly knew what they were doing, but it was a dangerous game to play.
‘What kept me,’ Trader replied to his superior’s query with more than a touch of acid, ‘was your failure to inform me that I’d be shot at the instant I got here.’
Ah, yes,’ Desire acknowledged. ‘That is unfortunate. We caught up with this little fellow here’ - as if in response, the Bandati screamed shrilly as another of his wings was fully severed from his body – ‘and the next thing we know is we’re stuck in the middle of a bloody ambush. But the commander assures me we’ll be out of here in no time.’
‘Presumably you brought me here to tell me how this Bandati managed to wander so far from his species’ permitted territory’ Trader wriggled his fins in a manner intended to imply a state of wide-eyed innocence bordering on imbecility. ‘But do you think it’s possible this ambush might be connected in some way?’
Under the wide curve of his belly, the General’s manipulators twisted in an expression of nonchalance. ‘We were merely unlucky. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you we’re still a long way from the zone of primary conflict.’
‘You sent a secure transmission telling me you’d found something important,’ Trader replied. ‘Something that might change the outcome of the Long War?’
The General twisted his manipulators again, in the Shoal equivalent of a nod, before guiding Trader towards a more secluded corner of the chamber.
‘Surely we don’t need to hide from your own interrogators?’ Trader protested.
‘Forgive an old fish’s habits, but I’d feel better if we spoke with at least the illusion of privacy’ The General switched their comms mode over to a private one-to-one network, the timbre of his voice changing slightly as a result. ‘We have a discovery of major importance here, my old friend. And it’s not necessarily good news.’
A leaden weight sank to the very core of Trader’s being, like a falling star plummeting to the depths of the Mother of Oceans. He knew immediately he wasn’t going to like whatever the General had to tell him, because the old fool would never have dragged him all this way if Trader himself weren’t already somehow deeply involved.
‘Continue,’ Trader replied at length.
‘We have been tracking the movements of several Bandati scouts for some time now,’ the General explained. ‘They each separately boarded a coreship visiting a Bandati system known as Night’s End, then exploited a flaw in our security protocols to smuggle themselves into areas of the galaxy not normally permitted to their species. Once we discovered the breach in security, we managed to keep track of our friend here through four different star systems and three different coreships before he briefly fell off our radar.’
Coreships were the means by which the Shoal ruled a substantial part of the galaxy, having jealously guarded the secret of faster-than-light travel for more than a quarter of a million years. They were planet-sized multi-environment starships, capable of carrying entire populations rapidly between different systems. The majority of species were rarely allowed to travel more than a few hundred light-years beyond their home systems, but with sufficient subterfuge, some might find the means to travel further.
‘So a Bandati was sent to do a little illicit exploring, and slipped our attention,’ Trader replied wearily. ‘Is this all you have to show me?’
Desire ignored the implied reproach and gestured with one fin. In response, a solid-looking projection displaying a series of animated Shoal glyphs appeared in the air between their respective field-suspended spheres.
‘It appears the Bandati Hive responsible for sending this spy somehow acquired the shell of a deceased Atn. Towards the end of his journey, he concealed himself within that shell, along with the cryogenic facilities to keep himself alive. Our best conjecture suggests the shell was subsequently ejected into interstellar space during one of the coreship’s scheduled stops for navigation checking. Since this particular scheduled stop was within a hundred or so light-years of here, it was apparently no great matter for an Emissary scouting party to pick him up by prior arrangement, once the coreship had departed.’ The chamber shook once more, indicating that something had managed to slip past the corvette’s defences. Trader checked with his yacht’s battle systems and saw that something metallic and worm-like was digging its way through the corvette’s hull. The machine began to melt and shatter as secondary defensive beam weapons targeted it with precision fire.
At least the corvette was almost ready to make the jump back into superluminal space, and safety.
Trader brought his attention back to the interrogation chamber. He glanced over to see the Bandati spy still struggling wildly as yet another of his wings was messily severed from his body. Small globules of blood spun in the zero gravity, wreathed with dark, oily smoke from the effects of the blowtorch.
The Bandati abruptly ceased his agonized struggles and slumped forward, having almost certainly died of his injuries. All this effort for one insignificant creature, Trader thought. He felt a
curious and unpleasant tightening of the skin across the back of his tail, an instinctive reflex born of fear.
‘An Emissary scouting party,’ Trader repeated. That the Bandati should even have become aware of the Emissaries’ existence was in itself a revelation to Trader. ‘This makes no sense, General. Why would the Emissaries agree to such a thing? There’s nothing the Bandati could possibly have to offer them.’
‘Or perhaps, my dear Trader, they do have something to offer. A Bandati Hive known as “Immortal Light” controls Night’s End, and we know for an absolute fact that this Hive has been communicating with the Emissaries via encrypted tach-net transmissions. By the time we managed to break their encryption, their spies were already long gone on their way. This one’ – Desire swivelled within his briny sphere, and glanced at the still pinned but slumped body of the spy – ‘was returning from his liaison with the Emissaries when we apprehended him.’
Desire next indicated a secondary projection, which contained a schematic of a superluminal drone adapted to carry a single passenger. Apparently it was designed to self-destruct once it had returned the Bandati spy to the nearest coreship-linked system, but the corvette had intercepted the drone when it had dropped back into subluminal space for a navigation check.
Since the Shoal jealously guarded the only means of travelling faster than light, any other civilization they encountered desiring to travel between the stars could do so only aboard the Shoal’s own coreships. As far as the vast majority of such client races were concerned, the Shoal were the only species to have yet developed superluminal technology, anywhere within the galaxy.
That was, of course, a lie.
The Emissaries were the Shoal’s one real rival for dominance of the Milky Way. Unlike the Shoal, they had acquired their FTL technology directly from a Maker cache, and had used it to gain control of a substantial section of one spiral arm.
For the better part of the last fifteen millennia, the Shoal and the Emissaries had battled each other across a beachhead of star systems and nebulae positioned on the dust-wreathed edge of the spiral arm within which humanity’s own home lay. The Emissaries had long ago crossed the relatively starless gulf from a neighbouring spiral arm, and the point at which their expansion met the borders of the Shoal Hegemony marked the primary zone of conflict that had become known as the Long War.
