Stealing Light (17 page)

How long till we rendezvous with the coreship ?

Piri
replied.

After she’d had her new Ghost implants installed, Dakota had spent a year serving aboard a coreship very like the one they were now approaching. There were entire branches of human science devoted to studying the vast spacecraft despite the Shoal’s strict limitations on such observations. Tiny probes would scan their drive spines, measuring and recording the exotic energies the coreships left in their wake, across every possible wavelength and spectrum. These Shoal craft truly were worlds unto themselves, enormous environments in which a dozen different species could be contained at once, yet kept entirely separate in their own carefully constructed habitats.

Piri
reported.

How many people are currently on board the Hyperion?
Dakota asked.

We’re going to have to find a vacant slot to put you in.

And, she wondered, could she really be sure of stowing her ship in the cargo bay without anyone finding it?

Piri, have you managed to scan the current contents of the cargo bay yet?

Meaning asteroids, Dakota concluded.

Then make sure your encryption is even better, and find yourself a good hiding place while you’re at it.

—

Dakota’s next stop was the airlock complex located towards the aft. As she crossed the
Hyperion,
her Ghost generated a mental image of the coreship with which they would be rendezvousing. Intense bursts of radiation indicated where the alien craft had emerged outside of Neptune’s orbit, signifying a mortal clash between normal space-time and the complex multi-brane spatial geometries the craft was believed to generate in order to jump across light years.

Dakota entered an airlock and shed all her clothes, placing them in a satchel before slinging it over her bare shoulders. Her filmsuit then emerged and coated her flesh. Once it had sealed her lungs, anus, vagina and nasal cavities, she began to run the depressurization cycle. A few moments later a deep silence fell, then the external door swung open to reveal the vast emptiness beyond the
Hyperion’s
hull.

Protective molecular niters formed themselves out of the filmsuit and coalesced over her irises, momentarily magnifying the distant bright mass of faraway Mesa Verde until surface details stood out in near-hallucinatory detail before they balanced out. The stars looked like a fine dusting of diamonds across the universe.

Dakota took a firm hold on an exterior rung and swung herself out and onto the surface of the hull itself. She pushed herself off, glimpsing the airlock door silently cycle shut once more. Floating free of the
Hyperion,
she began moving further and further away with every passing second.

When she was thirty or forty metres distant, Dakota reached inside her satchel and withdrew a kinetic pistol, taking care to wrap a thick cable that extruded from its grip around both of her wrists.

Ready,
she informed
Piri.

She then aimed the pistol towards the behemoth bulk of the frigate, both hands firm on its grip. Several seconds passed in silence.

Piri
began counting down from five.

She squeezed the trigger. The pistol jerked in her grip, and bright flame jetted from its wide nozzle. Suddenly the
Hyperion
started to move away at an increasing rate.

OK. Did anybody pick that up?

What about the Hyperion?

Hyperion’s
external sensors remained locked down and blind, as expected, at the time the pistol was fired. The ship’s main systems have so far failed to recognize any discrepancies. I am now thirty kilometres away and accelerating to match velocity. Estimated arrival is in approximately twelve minutes.>

What does the Hyperion think you are?
Dakota queried.

I’m aware of that.

Dakota waited several long, tense minutes until she picked out a course-correction flare from the approaching
Piri Reis,
stars winking out of view as they were occluded by its dark bulk. Dakota herself was now some distance from the
Hyperion,
moving towards the rendezvous point with her old ship.

The
Piri
made its final velocity-matching corrections: now it was moving at exactly the same speed as the
Hyperion,
both craft thereby appearing stationary in relation to each other. Dakota then boosted herself over to the
Piri’s
airlock.

Information flowed in a cascade between Dakota and the two ships, the murmur of data transfer like a distant waterfall in her thoughts, but one where she could still pick out the sound of every droplet as it tumbled.

A fat chunk of her initial payment from the Freehold had gone into reacquiring the
Piri
from the salvage firm it had been sold to, and then paying the necessary bribes to make sure the transaction stayed off the official records. The counter-intelligence ordnance on board the
Piri Reis
being superior to the sum total carried by the
Hyperion,
the
Piri Reis
was to all intents and purposes invisible, slipping past the Freehold ship’s detection systems like an unseen wraith passing through a wall.

Dakota swam into the heart of the
Piri Reis,
the lights low and the air warm.

Take us in, Piri.

Heavy doors rumbled apart just fore of the
Hyperion’s
engines. The
Piri Reis
slipped through them like a minnow catching a ride in a whale’s belly.

From the inside, the cargo bay area formed a hexagonal tube extending almost a third of the way into the hull’s interior. Shield generators and massive docking frames of strengthened alloy were arrayed at regular spaces, half of them already occupied by equipment crates. The
Piri Reis
manoeuvred itself into an empty slot and field generators flickered on automatically, binding it against the cargo bay’s interior wall.

Dakota waited. She really expected alarms and flashing lights, but there was only empty silence.

—

Reactivating her filmsuit, she exited her ship again, and entered the depressurized space of the cargo bay. Her implants meanwhile twisted the data topography of the
Hyperion’s
surveillance systems into knots, rendering her undetectable to any cameras or detection systems. She next floated into an airlock, letting her filmsuit evaporate before unslinging the satchel and hurriedly pulling her clothes out of it, as soon as the airlock had repressurized.

A few moments later there was a ping, and a door swung open to reveal a corridor with signs pointing towards the engine maintenance systems. Inhaling deeply, she pulled her now empty satchel back over her shoulder and stepped out into the corridor.

Against all rationality, she’d almost convinced herself someone would be waiting for her there. Surely someone must have spotted her, and would have figured out what she was up to. Instead it looked like she was completely alone.

Dakota leant her forehead against the cool metal of the wall and forced herself to relax, taking slow, deep breaths. She started to laugh, but it came out more like a half-sob. She was clearly letting her worst fears get to her.

Eleven

Trans-Jovian Space

Gregor Arbenz studied the projection floating a few centimetres in front of his nose, but failed to make any sense of it whatsoever. Numbers and decimal points fluttered like brightly lit confetti in the air above the conference table. But the one thing he did understand -that the projection now ably demonstrated—was the degree of control that the machine-head had over their ship. For the Senator, it made for less than comfortable viewing.

He didn’t look up when both Kieran and Udo Mansell entered, moving towards seats at the far end of the table. Instead he continued to stare intently at the display, imagining he might come to a greater understanding of the
Hyperion’s
highly complex systems if he simply looked long enough.

But in truth, there were other things currently on his mind.

Udo, in his typical pig-headed and insolent way, swung his feet on to the table as he sat down. Really, if it were not for Kieran’s controlling influence, Arbenz would have found a way of losing Udo in some challenge years ago. The security man was unpredictable, volatile and prone to irrational tempers.

His brother Kieran, by contrast, was calm, calculating, and by far the more dangerous of the two. He sat with his hands clasped before him, a knowing half-smile on his face. It was a smile that seemed to imply a commonality between Kieran and the Senator, a shared world-view born of experience, of having honourable blood on their hands, and of being forced to deal with an equal share of idiots. Kieran glanced towards Udo before shrugging at the Senator as if to say,
What can you do?

Arbenz struggled to control his contempt. He could not be sure either one of the brothers was not secretly reporting to other members of the pro-war faction back on Redstone. Senator Abigail Muller, for one, resented his leadership, and she had openly voiced her disagreement to the way he was handling the retrieval of the derelict.

The time would come when Senator Muller would have to suffer an accident, but that would need to wait until his triumphant return to Redstone aboard a functioning starship.

‘I’m concerned about this woman Oorthaus,’ said Kieran in his typical clipped tones. ‘Something doesn’t feel right about her.’

Gregor shook his head and waved a hand dismissively, before turning the display off. ‘That’s it? That’s your report?’

Kieran shot him a dark look. ‘It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but she’s keeping something from us. I’m sure of it.’

‘Another one of your “feelings”, Kieran? And she’s a machine-head, remember, so of course she’s keeping something from us. It’s called maintaining a sense of self-preservation. Or are you talking about something more significant?’

‘I’m talking about us allowing her so much control—’

‘No, Kieran,’ Gregor cut him off abruptly, ‘we’ve been over this and it’s not your decision.’

‘But you are supervising this expedition,’ Mansell reminded him. ‘That gives you some leeway, depending on circumstances.’

‘Enough, Kieran, unless you can give me something more concrete.’

Udo swung his feet off the table and leaned forward dramatically. ‘We only have this man Marados’s word for it that she is who she says she is.’ His sibling nodded emphatically in agreement.

‘More than just his word,’ Arbenz argued, addressing Kieran. ‘Everything checks out. You did some of the checking, as I recall.’

‘Yes, but one way or another, ultimately everything we need to know about her comes through channels of information controlled by Marados’s company. Remember, Black Rock just about owns Mesa Verde, so this is an unacceptable risk.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that, but there aren’t any alternatives—not given our current time frame. We’re taking a chance that the Shoal, or anyone else, won’t stumble on our secret. We’re also taking a chance that the Uchidans won’t attempt to disrupt our survey. If they or anyone else cause us problems, we’re going to need Oorthaus to do the job she thinks we hired her for to help defend us. So unless you can find much more solid ground for your concerns, I don’t want to hear any more about this. Is that understood?’

Udo remained silent, but his lips were pursed in anger. ‘We’ll keep our eyes and ears open,’ Kieran said at length, nodding gravely.

Yes, you will, thought Arbenz, and felt something very like a flash of pity for Oorthaus. If there were anything irregular in her history, anything that might negatively affect the outcome of this expedition, the Mansells would be particularly vicious when it came to dealing with her.

Even by the standards of a society that selected its voting citizens through the challenge system or from the active military, the two brothers’ mutual taste for violence was unpalatable. Now the Senate had been battered by defeat after defeat in the Freehold’s war of attrition with the Uchidans, more liberal voices were speaking out. Several, like Senator Corso, had dared speak openly against the challenge system itself.

Arbenz had long ago decided that Freehold was in danger of absolute collapse unless he and Abigail Muller and the other members of the pro-war faction reestablished absolute moral authority back home—and recovering this derelict alien craft would surely represent an enormous step towards reversing those fortunes. With luck, the Freehold could become infinitely more powerful than its founding members ever dared to dream.

The Mansells’ death squads had certainly helped hold back the rot, but the brothers had started to become careless. There had been witnesses to some of their recent atrocities, and Arbenz and his supporters were not yet strong enough to survive any proven link between themselves and the recent wave of brutal arrests and assassinations. But at least out here, so far from home, he could keep an eye on the two brothers.

‘All right,’ said Arbenz, moving on to the next item of business. ‘You told me you had some information on our friend Mr Gardner.’

Kieran nodded, leaning forward. ‘We’ve looked a little deeper into his previous dealings, and there may be some connection between him and Alexander Bourdain, and therefore with whatever destroyed that asteroid.’

Arbenz nodded, impressed by this news. Spectacular footage of that boosted world disintegrating had been playing non-stop for weeks across every media platform imaginable. ‘Now that
is
interesting.’

Kieran continued: ‘His family’s been closely tied into the Mars-Jupiter mining industries since the 2100s. So we’re talking old, old money here. But that took a hard knock when the Shoal turned up. The Gardners are still wealthy, still highly respected in the business community and in the Consortium, but over time their fortunes have been dropping lower and lower. I believe Mr Gardner’s been recently trying to revive those fortunes in ways he’s neglected to mention to us.’

Arbenz nodded, already aware that Gardner’s dissipating fortunes were the impetus for his involvement in the new colony. The businessman had lost his majority ownership in Minsk-Adler Propulsions several years ago, following an investigation into serious financial misdealing. That hadn’t been enough to put him permanently out of business, but it had certainly encouraged him to get involved in financing grey-market investments like planetary surveys.

Unfortunately, the Freehold needed Gardner and his not inconsiderable financial resources just as badly as he clearly needed them. The Freehold was now almost bankrupt, despite the Redstone system’s enormous mineral wealth. The never-ending war had seen to that.

‘So what’s he been up to?’

‘He’s clearly involved in smuggling off-limits alien technology. It’s likely that some kind of weapon, possibly Shoal in origin, was used to destroy Bourdain’s Rock.’

Arbenz nodded, not entirely surprised by this news. It was unlikely any conventional weapon could have been used to take Bourdain’s Rock apart so quickly. Secretly, he wanted to bless the man or woman responsible; it was, after all, a victory for common sense. The culture he had briefly witnessed on Earth had been everything he’d been warned it would be: depraved, corrupt and morally backward. Yet long before its completion, Bourdain’s Rock had already become notorious even there.

‘Then I suppose it’s reasonable to assume the Rock was destroyed deliberately.’ Concorrant Industries had since been claiming the asteroid’s destruction was the result of an industrial accident.

Kieran sniggered. ‘Whatever Bourdain says, I don’t think anyone believes for a moment what happened there was an accident.’

‘It might also then explain why Gardner was suddenly so keen to invest in an expedition that would take him a long way from Earth,’ Udo added.

Arbenz nodded, pleased. ‘Good work, Udo, Kieran. How’re things progressing with Lucas Corso?’

Udo made a snort of contempt. He’d never attempted to hide his distaste for the young man and his liberal views.

Kieran answered. ‘There is already definite headway in penetrating the derelict’s systems.’

‘I’m concerned that Corso might reveal to Oorthaus that we intend for her to pilot the derelict.’

Udo shrugged. ‘We could simply just keep them apart.’

Arbenz shook his head. ‘That’s not an option. They’ll need to work together eventually, once Corso finds a way to get control of the derelict.’

Udo looked up with an innocent expression. ‘And if, when the time comes, she objects to piloting the derelict?’

‘For her sake, she’d better not,’ Kieran growled.

Arbenz nodded. ‘She’s an illegal, and she’s clearly far from squeamish when it comes to dealing in the black-market and smuggling operations that, so I understand from Gardner, are her main forte.’ He allowed himself a small smile. ‘You should remember her only way out of the Nova Arctis system, once we reach it, would be through us.’

‘Or she could simply hijack the
Hyperion
from us,’ Udo commented. ‘Or the derelict, for that matter.’

Arbenz’s smile grew more fixed. ‘An interface chair has been set up on board the derelict to allow her to communicate with it. Corso is meanwhile installing fail-safes in the same chair that will allow us to override her control. Each of us will have a way of activating that override, using a handheld unit, if at any time she tries to work against us. Think of it as an insurance policy, in case she doesn’t work out the way we hope.’

Udo looked impressed, but Kieran less so. A cautious man indeed, the Senator noted. Much of that caution doubtless grew out of his clear disapproval of this expedition in the first place. In truth Arbenz could sympathize with him, because carrying out a planetary survey was as good as admitting they were getting ready to hand Redstone over to the Uchidans.

Until the discovery of the derelict, the Senator himself would have stood shoulder to shoulder with Kieran on that particular issue. It was their moral duty to protect Redstone, their home planet, to the death. But now . . . now, everything was different. With a functioning transluminal drive, there was no limit to what the Freehold might become capable of. The stars would quite literally be within their grasp.

But that was where Gardner, with his innumerable connections and illegal research facilities, came in.

It was an awesome vision, one Arbenz felt sure they could pull off. The Shoal’s long-term claim had been that they themselves had somehow developed a technology beyond the scope of any other species encountered within a galaxy comprising a hundred billion stars. The discovery of the derelict had put the lie to that claim.

If Arbenz was sure of one thing, it was that humanity was destined to roam those same stars, perhaps even to conquer them.

Or rather, he reminded himself, the Freehold were meant to conquer. By the divine right of genetic imperative, they would find their destiny in the high yonder—from the furthest reaches of the spiral arms to the very heart of the galaxy itself.

And all they had to do was seize this God-given opportunity.

Arbenz smiled to himself, imagining himself repeating these very same words to a massed audience after they returned home in triumph with a captured starship. He toyed with his failsafe for a moment, sliding it between his fingers, then dropped it back in his pocket.

—

Again and again, Dakota’s thoughts came back to the figurine.

Ever since she’d first handled it—opened up the delicate wrapping in which the alien had placed it, then turning it over in her hands, studying its outstretched hands—the awareness that she had previously encountered this very same figure had been constantly in her mind. Yet the memory of exactly where she had encountered it remained maddeningly distant.

But the memory simply wouldn’t come.

The
Piri Reis
had been trying hard to break the cargo bay’s encryption, so that she could ascertain just what the other sealed units within it contained. But, given the nature of what she’d uncovered so far, it was probably something pretty nasty. She’d already identified robotic phage-delivery systems: long-range hunter-seekers designed to worm their way inside a ship’s hull and deliver a deadly cargo of engineered virals into its life-support system. There were also knife-sharks—vile little things that whirred through the air, seeking organic life to slice into, like airborne shredders. There were other items that Dakota did not yet have the stomach to analyse too closely.

Her Ghost allowed her to sense the Shoal coreship as it decelerated rapidly towards Jupiter’s orbit. Once she’d brought the
Piri Reis
on board the
Hyperion,
Dakota had returned to the quarters allotted to her there, resting in her cot while the
Hyperion
continued to funnel a storm of data through her implants.

At that very moment, her Ghost tagged and flagged a news item originating from Mesa Verde. It took only a moment for her to absorb the information it contained.

She pushed herself upright, suddenly feeling alert. A moment later a screen came to life, in response to her unspoken command. The flagged news item appeared there, bearing the Mesa Verde tach-net ident.

Josef?

Josef was dead.