Nova War (30 page)

Following that first fleeting contact made on their arrival, the Ocean’s Deep derelict had fallen silent, manifesting now as little more than a brooding, dimly sensed presence. It made Dakota feel like some medieval pauper seeking shelter in a castle, only to find the drawbridge raised and the windows darkened.

‘Well, in any case, our defensive drones are more than capable of dealing with an attack,’ Roses was explaining when she opened her eyes again. She wondered which one of them he was trying to reassure.

‘From what –
other
Bandati drones? Those things hunting us are Emissary. Last I heard, they’re on a technological par with the Shoal. Have the Bandati ever taken on something like that?’

‘No,’ Roses admitted, ‘but then again maybe you shouldn’t judge a battle before it’s started. The local asteroid bodies should help confuse the enemy, and our own defensive drones are designed to give off exactly the same heat and radiation signatures as this scout-ship. Even if they know we’re here, by the time they figure out exactly where we are we’ll already be at the station.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’

‘All we can do, Dakota, is watch and wait.’

Watch and wait?

Boredom overcame fear as the hours passed, and Leviathan’s Fall expanded from a pale bright dot to a growing circle. The scout-ship and its accompanying drones performed a complicated dance, accelerating, braking and suddenly changing position, though spread out over millions of cubic kilometres. The tedium was enlivened only by sudden, unpredictable accelerations and equally violent braking manoeuvres that slammed them into their respective gel-chairs.

Dakota even fell asleep for a short while, albeit fitfully. It had been days since she’d really slept properly. She finally snapped awake during a particularly brutal manoeuvre. A sharp, acid stench suddenly filled the cabin, and Dakota twisted around in terror, trying to see where the fire was coming from. No smoke, nothing; just that all-pervasive smell of electronics burning.

‘It’s only an alert,’ Roses told her, by way of reassurance.

‘What is? For God’s sake, I can smell something burning!’

‘That
is
the alert,’ Roses informed her with what she imagined was a degree of impatience. ‘It means we’re going to come under attack at any second.’

The craft shook around them and Dakota held her breath, petrified, her thoughts filled with an overwhelming desire to get out of this cramped scout-ship . . .

Except there was nowhere to go.

A dozen Emissary hunter-killers had meanwhile boosted from rock to rock, communicating with each other over their own, ever-shifting communications network before they stumbled on the scout-ship.

They had already catalogued tens of thousands of black-body objects ranging in size from boulders to mountains, before finally capturing one of the scout-ship’s defensive drones – identified by the sudden pulse of its rapid-acceleration systems. One of the hunter-killers tore the drone apart with machine-mandibles, drawing the components into the interior of its own, larger body, while simultaneously decrypting and analysing the data traffic still flowing to and from the drone’s transceiver in order to try and identify the scout-ship’s precise location.

The hunter-killers shared their data, and then turned their attention to one particular region of the sky. They didn’t have to wait long before their strategy bore fruit. Their sensors had picked up a flare of fusion energy consistent with a craft big enough to carry organic passengers.

They moved towards the scout-ship’s location, vectoring in on their prey like sleek black hounds chasing an elusive quarry through a Stygian forest.

The scout-ship accelerated hard for several seconds, then started to judder around them, just as every screen in the tiny cabin flared white and died. A fresh slew of alerts went off a bare second later.

Dakota glanced over at Roses with a questioning look.

‘That was unpleasantly close,’ he confirmed.

Her mouth felt bone-dry. ‘Can we try to get away from them?’

‘I don’t know. There’s at least a dozen of them, and there are more on the way. I’m not sure there’s any way we can slip them.’

An icy calm slid over Dakota. She had come too far, been through too much, just to lose now.

But who was to say anything in the universe gave a damn what she wanted?

‘We’re being targeted again,’ Roses informed her, in unchangingly bland machine tones. ‘I don’t see how we can get out of this. I’m sorry.’

Sorry
? Dakota wanted to scream, to reach out with invisible fingers and tear the approaching missiles out of the eternal night and throw them straight back towards the Emissaries – back towards Trader, who was still out there somewhere, and still dangling the threat of genocide over her home world.

She wanted to—

She heard a sound like a gong, and suddenly remembered the scent of honeygrass from a school trip to one of Bellhaven’s largest hydroponic farms. Something was dazzling her, too, like a torch pointed directly into her eyes.

She reached out—

Shielding her eyes with fingers spread against the sunlight, she peered up at an intensely blue sky. Soft winds tugged at her hair and she lowered her gaze, seeing the honeygrass spreading out towards an endless horizon.

The scout-ship was gone. For a moment she wondered if she was on some world in the Ocean’s Deep system, but that was impossible . . .

The derelict
?

She laughed, because the Ocean’s Deep derelict had finally spoken to her more directly than at any time since her arrival in its system.

It had lowered its drawbridge.

She turned, and saw the familiar spires of a Magi library-complex rising out of a distant horizon, reaching up and beyond the clouds.

She looked around, trying to find a clue as to where she would go next.

Of course, she was still on the scout-ship, only moments from death, but the simulated worlds inside the Magi ships could provide endless experiences like this within a single moment.

There was a trail leading through the grasses, as if worn down by years of treading feet. It began only a few metres away from her, stretching from them towards the library-city in the distance.

So she started to walk.

Twenty-two

The shuttle carrying Corso, along with Honeydew and several other Bandati warriors, had now moved towards one end of the station’s hub. Huge angled mirrors reflected sunlight in towards the rings surrounding the spindle, and Corso caught a glimpse of verdant jungle within one of them through a long, translucent window. The station was decorated in a manner markedly like that adorning the towers back on Night’s End. Wide horizontal stripes, alternating between pale shell-pink and cream, covered the hub itself, while intricate glyphs were emblazoned across the encircling rings.

The hub turned out to be hollow, for a huge door opened at the very end, allowing the shuttle to enter, before dropping into a wide shaft that seemed to run the entire length of the station.

Before long the shuttle slowed to a crawl and eased in towards one internal wall of the shaft. Corso caught a glimpse in the view screen of a mechanism reaching out to grab the small craft, then pulling it inwards.

Before long the shuttle was deposited on an enormous elevator platform, which almost immediately started to drop down a second shaft.

As Corso watched the encompassing walls rise up past the shuttle with considerable speed, he tried asking Honeydew where they were taking him, but got no reply. His guardian was deep in chittering conversation with the rest of the Bandati team, and was obviously not interested in telling Corso anything he didn’t strictly need to know.

But if he had to guess, Corso imagined they were now moving through one of the radiating spokes that attached the series of rings to the hub.

They came to a halt about twenty minutes later, and the Bandati quickly released themselves from their restraints. Honeydew pulled Corso out of his gel-chair and led him outside the shuttle.

Corso stared around him in a daze, his muscles aching from the long hours in a confined space.

The platform on which the shuttle now rested was surrounded by a series of wide archways that revealed dense, alien-looking jungle beyond, and through which could be heard the distant calls and cries of wildlife. The archways were cut into the base of the spoke-shaft where it joined to the inner surface of the ring; Corso looked up to see the shaft rising above him, merging into a vanishing point beyond which lay the station’s hub. Looking back down and through the archways, he could see hundreds of thick cables reaching up from the curving inner surface of the gigantic pressurized tube in which they were now standing before, presumably, connecting with the shaft’s exterior. They reminded him of high-tension cables on a suspension bridge, and he realized that they served the same purpose.

He could not fail to notice how run-down and patched-up everything looked, as if this particular ring had been abandoned for a long time. There was vegetation sprouting everywhere and, although far from unusual in the enclosed environment of a space station, it was clearly out of control. Vines clogged vents and crawled up the inner walls of the shaft.

Something roared into life behind him and he turned, alarmed, to see that a flat-bed truck with enormous wheels had emerged from the shuttle’s cargo hold. Honeydew’s warriors spread out in a wide circle to surround the truck, their weapons at the ready and scanning the walls of the shaft. A small pulse-cannon array was mounted on the rear of the truck, which had no enclosed cabin, merely a steering column and controls at the front.

Corso was guided onto the back of the truck, along with the rest of the Bandati. The vehicle lurched to life and shot across the open platform and through one of the adjoining archways.

The truck soon slid to a halt, and Corso saw how half-ruined buildings surrounded the base of the shaft, all of them infested with plant-life gone wild. The Bandati conferred amongst themselves, presumably trying to figure out which way to go next.

Corso stared up and up towards the roof of the ring, far above their heads. It wasn’t on the scale of a coreship environment, but it was pretty damned impressive nonetheless. Bright sunlight, reflected from external mirrors, shone through enormous windows cut into the roof before falling across the buildings surrounding them. He peered along the length of the ring, to where the jungle terrain rose out of sight. He could just make out the lower section of the next spoke-shaft along where it dropped down to connect to the ring’s inner surface.

Something came arcing down from out of a weed-infested window and landed on the truck next to Corso. He looked down and saw a thick green leaf wrapped around what might be a large black rock or an enormous seed of some kind. It immediately began to steam and bubble, giving off clouds of noxious fumes.

Corso was still staring down at it in stupefied amazement when one of the Bandati warriors reached over, scooped the strange package up and lobbed it far away from the truck.

The truck again lurched forward, nearly hurling Corso off his feet. At the same time, the Bandati warriors all around him opened fire, their weapons burping and booming as they fired bullets and incendiaries high into the surrounding buildings. They appeared to have little trouble coping with their driver’s manoeuvring, but Corso had to hold on to a support rail with both hands and crouch low.

The leaf-wrapped package detonated behind them, sending rock-hard black chunks arcing into the air. Corso felt a chill run down his spine as he realized how close he’d come to having his legs blown off.

More of the same objects – leaf-grenades as Corso now thought of them – came raining down on them from on high, dropped from rooftops or thrown from windows and balconies. Winged figures were occasionally visible darting from rooftop to rooftop, wings spread wide and leaf-grenades gripped in hands or feet.

Corso crouched lower, hands clamped over his ears, as the air was filled with noise and fury. A few more of the leaf-grenades landed on the truck itself, but were immediately scooped up and tossed some distance away.

They drove down a narrow alley between two tall buildings, the truck bouncing and crashing under them, and then suddenly they were in the open and out of danger.

For the first time, Corso got a sense of the true scale of the ring. It was like being at the bottom of a jungle-filled valley with impossibly steep sides. An enormous tree-like organism – its trunk bulging with air sacs – drifted overhead like a grotesquely oversized dandelion seed. The moist air was filled with unidentifiable smells, and the surrounding landscape was decorated with steep-sided artificial hills, some of whose slopes were stepped as if for cultivation. Everything else was covered by dense foliage or tall, swaying, tree-like growths.

More leaf-grenades came dropping down towards them, hurled by more winged figures flying far overhead. Honeydew, along with the rest of the Bandati warriors, retaliated by firing straight up into the air. Corso ducked again, covering his ears, and just waited. Similar missiles now came arcing out from the densely wooded slopes of a nearby hill, till one of Honeydew’s warriors took control of the pulse-array, and the entire hillside burst into flames a moment later.

The truck moved forward again, following a narrow trail leading around the outer curve of the giant ring, metal gleaming dully here and there through the all-enveloping mud and soil. Leaf-grenades still came sailing out of the greenery all around them, and Corso spotted a couple of Bandati gliding between the massive tree trunks, apparently trailing them. As the truck’s pulse-cannon ripped a swathe through the surrounding jungle, billows of smoke began rising up alongside the ring’s algae-smeared walls.

‘Who are they?’ Corso screamed at Honeydew. ‘They’re your own people! Why are they trying to kill us?’

Honeydew paused from clicking and muttering into his interpreter. ‘They have diverged from the path of their true Queen,’ he responded, glancing momentarily towards Corso. ‘They have engaged in a perversion.’

‘A what?’

‘They are attempting to breed their own Queen,’ Honeydew replied, as if that explained everything.

They were now heading for a hill that rose considerably higher than the rest, with a dome-shaped building perched on its summit. Corso momentarily caught sight of the gas giant wheeling past. The trail climbed steeply up the hill and the truck headed straight on without stopping. Corso scrambled to maintain his foothold as the incline grew steeper and steeper.

Finally, there was sight of someone waiting for them, for several Bandati, presumably native to the station, were gathered on the paved plaza surrounding the domed building Corso had glimpsed earlier. As the truck crunched to a halt, the Darkening Skies warriors drew their weapons and approached these natives. Clicks and screeches soon filled the air.

Corso crawled carefully down from the truck bed, his legs feeling like rubber. He staggered over to one side of the plaza, taking in the superior view afforded by the hilltop.

He noticed that the local Bandati’s wings were covered with coloured rags, like gaudy streamers, and Corso watched apprehensively as Honeydew began an intense discussion with one of them. He had a strong sense the locals didn’t want these newcomers anywhere near the domed building itself.

Honeydew had mentioned something earlier about maul-worms, whatever the hell they were. But a stony-cold feeling in Corso’s gut told him he didn’t want to find out.

The dome was made from carefully shaped blocks of curving stone, with a variety of glyphs worked into the surface. A winch mechanism stood at the very apex of the dome, with a cable extending downwards through a slit in the roof.

He flattened himself on the ground as Honeydew and the rest of his warriors suddenly opened fire on the local Bandati. In an instant, broken and bleeding bodies were scattered far and wide across the plaza.

Corso glanced towards the jungle all around, and wondered how far he would get if he made a break. But that only brought with it the question of precisely where he could go then, alone here on a remote space station filled with a bunch of extremely hostile aliens.

Honeydew gestured to his troops and two of them moved towards Corso. His survival instinct then asserted itself and he made a run for it. As he fled down the hillside, a dark shape flew over him and he was felled to the ground. Two Bandati landed on either side of him and began dragging him back up the hill and towards the dome-shaped building.

He saw now that the dome had a narrow, slit-like entrance. They led him inside, and the sounds of their footsteps echoed loudly in the enclosed space. Inside it was dark and cool. A heavy circular grating was embedded in the stone floor, while just above it hung the cable he’d seen extending through the ceiling, a heavy hook attached to its lower extremity. Heavy chains also hung loose from a peg set into the curving wall.

Honeydew was the last to enter, and he stepped over to Corso.

‘Will you now tell us exactly
how
you sabotaged the protocols?’

Corso glanced at the hook-tipped cable and the grating below it. ‘I was telling you the truth. I swear I didn’t do what you think. I don’t know why the Emissaries reacted the way they did, but I swear on my life it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Ah.’ Honeydew flexed his wings. ‘A pity, then. Nonetheless, I am bound by my duty.’

Honeydew gestured and clicked briefly to the troops who had also entered the dome. They fetched several chains from the wall peg and used them to bind Corso, after first forcing him to his knees. He struggled at first, till a harsh blow to the back of his neck nearly knocked him unconscious. He slumped forward, coughing and moaning, as the heavy links were secured around his arms, chest and legs. Another of Honeydew’s warriors then came forward, and proceeded to attach a number of small, thumb-sized devices to the chains wrapped around Corso’s body.

One of them went over to an electronic panel set into the wall and tapped on it. The cable dropped in response, until the hook clanged against the metal grating. Corso was then dragged forward and the hook inserted under the chains binding his feet.

Then the grating beneath him was pulled over to one side and Corso shrieked in terror as he was lowered upside-down into the pit that had been hidden beneath it. Its sides were slippery with greenish-brown algae, and from it emerged a rich variety of unidentifiable yet undeniably unpleasant odours. He continued to yell and scream as Honeydew and the others quickly exited the dome, leaving him alone in the darkness.

The chains were tight enough to have him struggling to breathe, and he could feel blood filling his head with a muted, pulsing roar.

The only light now came through the narrow slit providing the dome’s entrance and the aperture in the ceiling through which the cable passed. Corso’s own panicked breathing now echoed back at him from the narrow funnel of the pit surrounding him. What were they going to do next – drown him? Was the pit filled with water?

Then he heard muted roaring and slithering sounds from the black depths below him. At almost the same time, Honeydew’s amplified voice came seemingly out of nowhere.

‘Please look up, Lucas. Can you see the devices we attached to your chains?’ The words boomed through the empty darkness.

‘What?’ Corso twisted his head up. ‘It’s too dark. I can’t—’ And then he spied the faint points of dim red light dotted all around the chains binding him. Machines of some kind, each secured to a different metal link.

The roaring and slithering seemed to be getting closer.

‘Listen. I can get the protocols working right really, really soon. I can—’

‘The truth or nothing, Lucas.’

The roaring from below had become deafeningly loud. ‘You were right! I sabotaged them, but I can fix them! Just get me out of here!’

He froze and stared down into the empty darkness below him.

Something was moving down there.

Something big.

‘So you did in fact alter the fragments in such a way as to make them unworkable?’

‘Yes!’ Corso screamed. ‘I was lying to you earlier! I just . . . I wanted to buy myself some time!’

‘Ah, very clever,’ came the answer. ‘But perhaps that also is a lie.’