The Line of Polity (22 page)

I bet you would.

Cormac turned his attention to the dracoman who had come up with Mika from Medical. Scar stood behind the chairs — he found human seating arrangements difficult — his attention fixed firmly on the screen. Cormac wondered just what was going through his head. Scar possessed curiosity, and the need to survive, but few recognizably human motivations beyond that, and that kilometre-wide sphere of living matter out there was the twin of the one that had created him.

"If your hand was exposed to that level of radioactivity, what would you do?" Cormac asked him. Mika turned and inspected the dracoman with intense curiosity. Scar's gaze slid to Cormac.

"What level?" the dracoman asked.

Cormac nodded to the screen where Tomalon had obligingly supplied the figures.

"Cut it off. Grow another," said Scar after inspecting those figures.

Mika's eyes widened in shock. Cormac hoped she had now learnt just how informative direct questioning could be.

"And if the contamination affected more vital organs?" he asked.

"Isolate organs. Drop to minimal function. Grow more."

"Do you think this is what this Dragon sphere is doing?"

By now, most of those on the bridge were staring at Scar. Even the Captain had come back from the ship's sensors and was watching. Aiden and Cento had turned as one to watch and listen. Gant, moodily slumped in his chair, was the only one with his attention still on the screen. He seemed to be trying to outstare Dragon. Scar was a long time in replying.

"Maybe," he said finally.

"What alternatives are there?"

"Dying," said Scar.

They all turned back to look at the screen, except for Mika, who was fiddling with some instruments in the top pocket of her coverall and gazing speculatively at Scar. No doubt the dracoman was in for another battery of tests, and it was lucky for Mika that he did not seem to mind.

"What does deep scan of the undamaged areas reveal?" asked Cormac.

Tomalon's eyes went opaque again and he spoke consideringly.

"There are signs of life, but I cannot tell if they are normal or not."

"The temperature would be a good indicator," suggested Mika.

"A range between twenty and thirty Celsius, nominally twenty-two a metre under the skin," said Tomalon.

"I would say it is not dead, or has died only recently," said Mika, checking figures on her laptop. "It would take some time for it to cool, as it is well insulated. But if it had died shortly after its attack on the Masadan ship, its temperature would be well below twenty by now."

"Send an all-radio-band signal to it. See if we get a reaction," said Cormac.

"Is that a good idea?" asked Gant, still staring broodingly at the screen. "Wouldn't it be better to stick a missile in it, then move off?"

Cormac had already considered that, but there were things to learn, and even a fully capable Dragon sphere would not have been much of a problem to the
Occam Razor.

"Things to learn," he therefore said simply.

"Rise in temperature in a lobular structure at its centre," said Tomalon.

"The brain," explained Mika.

"I'll speak to it," said Cormac. "Send my voice." Tomalon nodded to him and he continued, "Dragon, this is Ian Cormac. Please respond."

On the screen, there were signs of movement. Tomalon brought up another view, this one close to the edge of the damaged area: pseudopodia were breaking from a scaled plain of fleshy blue eyes directed towards the
Occam Razor.

"Cormac," said Dragon — and that was all it said for some time.

"Dragon?"

"I... listen ... you will kill me now?"

"Not unless that's what you want."

"Vengeance!"

"For what?"

"The engines ..."

"What about the engines?"

"They turned them on."

"This is how you were damaged?"

Silence.

Cormac asked, "Is there any way we can help you?"

Silence.

"Dragon, why did you attack the Masadan ship?"

"Vengeance!"

"Please explain."

"You will help me?"

"If I can."

"They used it on the station."

"Station
Miranda
?"

Silence.

"Are you talking about the mycelium?"

"They used it on the station."

"Did you provide them with it?"

"Yes."

Cormac looked around at the others in surprise. He had not expected so direct an answer. Dragon was the antithesis of Mika: whereas she disliked asking questions, Dragon disliked answering them.

"Why did you provide them with it?"

Silence.

"How did they tell you they were going to use it?"

"Prevent runcibles on Masada."

"So you attacked their ship because they did not use the mycelium for its intended purpose? Is this what you are saying?"

"Blamed me! Vengeance!"

Cormac glanced at Tomalon and made a cutting gesture with the edge of his hand.

"Communications link cut," said the Captain.

"What a load of bollocks," said Cormac. He looked to the others. "What do you think?"

"It could be true," said Mika. "This is not the same sphere as the one you destroyed at Samarkand. They are not all necessarily hostile. It could be this area is its hideaway and it considered the Masadans its allies."

Cormac made no comment on that. Mika had her reasons for looking as kindly on Dragon as he himself looked unkindly. He glanced to Cento and Aiden.

Aiden said, "It would be interesting to know what Dragon was to receive in exchange for the mycelium — and if it received it."

"Yes." Cormac nodded approvingly: clear thinking is thinking necessarily separated from glands and all the other paraphernalia of humanity. He turned to Gant.

"I agree, grudgingly," said Gant. "Its attack may have been because it received no pay-off. It's doubtful Dragon would care that much about how the mycelium was used. We know human life means nothing to it."

Mika said, "You are still judging this Dragon sphere by the actions of the one at Samarkand. You have to remember that the four of them separated twenty-seven years before."

"Does it matter?" asked Gant. They all looked at him and he shrugged. "The Masadans destroyed the station — all the evidence points that way — and this Dragon sphere had given them the mycelium. If they had used it on a runcible, there would still have been deaths. I say put a missile in it."

A definite point.

"I think you are overreacting," said Mika, staring at Gant analytically. "You have not yet recovered from your death."

Low blow.

Gant took that in good humour, but Cormac could see that he was formulating a slap-down retort. But much as he would have liked to see the results of such a confrontation, there was work to do. He cut in with, "The situation in the Masadan system is my main concern and anything I can learn about that situation, before jumping into it, I will be glad of. For this reason: no missile."

"And what will this 'jumping in' involve?" asked Gant, grinning.

"You will all be briefed when I consider the time right."
And when I know what the fuck I'm going to do.

The bay was large and crowded with shuttles flown in from the huge conglomeration of ships outside, and with small ships like
Lyric II
. As he walked down the ramp from his ship, with a small flat briefcase held close to his side, Stanton watched another ship — this one a sharp metallic cone — easing in through the huge shimmer-shield that prevented air, people and ships from exploding out into space. Quickly catching up with him, Jarvellis linked her arm through his and gestured back towards
Lyric II
. "You know, friend Thorn will see we've taken on more cargo when we do wake him," she said.

Stanton nodded as he observed the cone-ship swinging into its allocated docking area. "Tough," he said. "I just don't want a Polity agent stepping on my heels — especially here." Gesturing to another ship nosing in through the shimmer-shield — this one a flattened ovoid of red metal with stubby wings terminating in ion engines the shape of caraway seeds — he continued, "Another one. I think about half the ships here I already saw at Huma, running arms for the Separatists."

"As did we too," Jarvellis pointed out.

"As did we," Stanton allowed, "but we learnt better. I don't reckon Dreyden quite realizes just how nasty the Polity can get."

Jarvellis squeezed his arm. "Of course he does, darling. He knows it's just a matter of balance. He knows that somewhere there's an AI comparing the likely loss of life here if there was a Polity takeover against lives lost as a consequence of the illegal arms trade. I would also guarantee that this place is scrutinized very closely — and at least here the Polity can do that quite easily. Out-Polity dealing is a little more difficult to keep track of."

"I'd have gone Out-Polity," said Stanton, "if I didn't know for damned sure the Polity want me to have these particular items." Stanton remembered how the dealer on Huma, after selling him the bulk of
Lyric II
's cargo, had then told him how the drug manufactories could only be obtained here — and that other special items could also be obtained here. Stanton also remembered the watchers in the streets of Port Lock on Huma — Golem every last one of them.

Jarvellis said, "I think you credit them with far too much deviousness — when you have ships capable of wasting planets, you don't have to be devious, just careful not to step on something you might have wanted to preserve ... Ah, here come those charmers, Lons and Alvor."

Stanton looked across at the two men making their way towards him. Whatever could be said about their charm or otherwise, Stanton knew that these two men were consummate professionals. As he understood it, Dreyden, having climbed so high, was beginning to realize just how far he could fall, and was becoming a bit twitchy about the possibility of Polity intervention here, and starting to clamp down on the arms trade. These two men maintained the fragile balance despite Dreyden's often idiotic meddling: they allowed enough arms to be passed on to the Separatists to prevent
Elysium
becoming a target, but kept the quantity supplied low enough to keep ECS from doing anything drastic against them.

"Good to see you," he said to Lons, who as always stayed a few paces back from Alvor and acted the silent heavy — a position that led people to make the misguided assumption that he was secondary to Alvor and less intelligent. Stanton, however, knew that they had equal standing below Dreyden, and, if anything, Lons was the sharper of the two. Lons nodded, and Stanton turned to Alvor who always did the talking.

"Alvor," he said.

"Good to see you, John Stanton. And as always it is a pleasure to see you, Captain Jarvellis," said Alvor, grinning his chrome grin.

"I can't say the pleasure's mutual," said Jarvellis. "But I think you are already aware of that."

Stanton knew that these two had a history, but what lay between them was not hate, just a kind of lazy bickering. Had it been hate, he would have wanted to know why, and then would probably have to kill Alvor.

"Do you have my cargo ready?" said Jarvellis.

"Of course. The main package can be loaded right now." Alvor looked pointedly at the briefcase Stanton carried. "And the two extra items you ordered are with Dreyden, who would like to extend his hospitality."

Stanton considered suggesting Jarvellis should stay with the ship, when he saw her expression, but knew she would refuse.

"Then we accept," said Stanton.

Alvor grinned again, and rested his forefinger against his aug in a somewhat effeminate gesture. "And so your main cargo is on its way. Will we require locking codes?" he said.

"Lyric will handle it," said Jarvellis.

The two men turned to keep pace, as the four advanced across the bay.

"Oh yes, you have an AI on this ship," said Alvor. "Do you trust it?"

"More than I'd ever trust you," replied Jarvellis.

"That's nice," said Alvor as they moved on out of the bay.

"I am dying."

Cormac was alone in his cabin when Dragon told him that. He was lying on his bed transmitting through the submind. No doubt Tomalon would be listening in, but there was not much Cormac could do about that, nor wanted to.

"Is there no way we can help you?"

Silence.

"There is a very good xenobiologist on this ship and the bioscience facilities are the best." Cormac thought his offer faintly ridiculous. Got any wound dressing that's a quarter of a kilometre wide? And how about ten thousand gallons of unibiotic?

"Why would you want to help me?"

"Why not?"

"You avoided the contract killers."

Ah.

"It was you then, not your fellow I killed at Samarkand — or the other two?"

"They are far from here."

"Did you organize things through the Masadans?"

Silence.

"How long until you die?"

"I will have vengeance first."

"What are you waiting for, then?"

"Take me there."

Cormac chewed that one over. "You've lost the ability for trans-stellar flight."

"Yes."

"Why should I help you kill people?"

Silence.

"What would you do if we transported you to Masada?"

"Destroy until destroyed."

"And how much damage could you do?"

"Enough."

"I couldn't be a party to such
indiscriminate
destruction."

"Vengeance!"

"You're repeating yourself, but your impulse could serve my purposes."

Silence.

"We could transport you there. In return, I would want you to
only
attack orbital facilities. This we can enforce. You are aware of the capabilities of this dreadnought?"

"I am aware."

"Specifically, then: geostationary over the populated area of Masada are laser arrays. Destroy them — only them. Is it agreed?"

"Agreed."

Cormac cut communication.

"You trust this creature?" asked Tomalon.