“Difference?”
“Between Cryptic and Enigmatic.”
“Well?”
“I’ll leave it unspoken.”
The more complicated part was the preparation and launch of the two missiles. It was more complicated only because the missiles were what shaped everything else. If they didn’t work, She would pass by unhindered to visit Sakhra, and the Charles Manson would go down to visit Horus 4.
But they would work. Nothing Enigmatic about them. They were simple, relatively small, and—most important of all—inert. They would be released quietly before the Charles Manson entered its orbit, at a point (calculated) which would put them in orbits parallel to the Charles Manson’s but further from Horus 4, where they would not be trapped.
They were almost nothing but drives and warheads. Their warheads, cramming every inch of their limited size, were charges of E91, the most concentrated conventional explosive ever made. It did exactly what it said on the packet, and, over a small area, did it with nuclear intensity; but unlike a nuclear device, it was inert and undetectable until the moment of its explosion. Their drives were high-intensity particle motors, giving huge initial acceleration but only over a short range. Each missile had in its nosecone a lense and low-power microcomputer, programmed to recognise only Faith, from whatever angle they saw Her. They would project nothing and transmit nothing; and receive nothing, except Her image.
The missiles would float like fragments of Horus 4, dark and dead, and too inert—Foord hoped—to be noticed by Her as She approached. She would realise that apart from the two high points of the elliptical orbit, the Charles Manson was genuinely trapped; it could still fight, but could not move out of its orbital path. It would be fatally hampered. She would choose somewhere midway between the two high points for Her attack. She wouldn’t have to destroy the Charles Manson, just damage it enough to make it unable to break free at the high points. Then, She could pass on to Sakhra while Horus 4’s gravity did the rest; or She could stay and watch, and then pass on to Sakhra. Either way it would be decisive, and at decisive points in any engagement She always unshrouded. That was where Foord’s two missiles came in.
“Cyr, if you know what the difference is, you can’t say that you’ll leave it unspoken. You can’t use speech to announce that you’re leaving something unspoken.”
“If I didn’t say I was leaving it unspoken, Commander, nobody would know about it.”
“Exactly.”
This word-construct was getting more and more self-indulgent, thought Foord, but its whimsicality somehow worked: considering what they intended to do, it seemed oddly right. They could each murmur their additions to it while they worked towards creating Her destruction.
The lenses in the nosecones of the missiles would be shortsighted, almost squinting. And they would not be sending, only receiving. They were no more than automatic cameras: operating on low power, absolutely conventional, and programmed to recognise Faith’s image from any angle the moment She came in their sight. She would obviously approach slowly and cautiously, drawn by the Charles Manson, this strange opponent who’d got more out of Her than any other; drawn by the Charles Manson’s predicament, but never becoming anything less than cautious.
The missiles would not be in any way controlled by, or in communication with, the Charles Manson. There would be nothing, no signal or emission, for Her to detect. Almost every part of them would be inert. When the cameras recognised Her, which they would only do over short range, the missiles would activate. They would—Foord hoped—be almost point-blank and would reach Her too quickly even for Her flickerfields.
This was the idea which Foord had always seemed to have in him. It depended on a lot of Ifs: if She didn’t pass them by, if She didn’t detect the missiles, if the missiles worked, if She came close enough, if She unshrouded. And, of course, if they’d calculated Horus 4’s gravity correctly. It was simple, and might be decisive; high-risk, but dependent on low-tech devices. It was the kind of thing nobody had ever offered Her before: a threat. If it succeeded, then Faith, if not destroyed, would be damaged; too damaged—Foord hoped—to prevent the Charles Manson from reaching the high point of its orbit, breaking free, and finishing Her. That was likely to be, as Smithson had said, the point where Some Of Us Will Die. But nobody before them had gained any advantage over Her, and here they were, realistically working towards defeating Her. And even, along the way, snatching some self-indulgent wordplay while they worked.
“Smithson.”
“Commander?”
“Let’s suppose She did plant the idea. But not to win the engagement. Only to plant the idea that She’d planted the idea.”
“You think so?”
“I only said Perhaps.”
“You didn’t say Perhaps, Commander.”
“Yes I did, at Joser’s funeral. Remember? But I intended it for now.”
Self-indulgent, Foord thought again; but the tone, dry and lazy and circling, made it a counterpoint. What they were about to do needed a counterpoint.
They had plenty of time to complete the final preparation of the missiles, and had done most of it already; but they still triple-checked them. Since the missiles would be launched inert, there was very little pre-launch priming to be done. Nevertheless they did it, then did it again, and again; especially the lenses and nosecones.
The preparations continued, lazily but thoroughly, and so did the word-construct they were building together. They each added a part, as the impulse moved them. They liked it for its intricacy. It was quiet and nuanced and understated. It felt like it belonged on the Charles Manson, just as Foord himself belonged there. It was almost like building a replica of Foord, something subtle and complex which they admired but didn’t fully understand.
“Cryptic or Enigmatic,” Cyr mused. She turned to Smithson, and smiled engagingly. “What do you think?”
“Perhaps both, perhaps neither. How about Unreadable?”
“Like the Book of Srahr?” Foord immediately wished he hadn’t said that, but Thahl didn’t respond.
Their mood started to change. The word-construct had grown over-intricate. Like Her pyramid in the Belt, they left it behind them. Its time had passed, and something else was beginning.
4
“She’s disappeared, Commander,” Thahl said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” Kaang said. ”Where’s She gone?”
“He didn’t say Gone, he said Disappeared.” And don’t, thought Foord, ask if there’s a difference.
“Is there a…”
“She’s cut Her drives, Commander,” Thahl said. “She’s shrouded, so we can only track Her by drive emissions. And She’s cut them. All of them.”
“Is there a…” Kaang began again, then “Oh. I see.”
“I think it might be working, Commander,” Thahl said. “She’s slowing. I think it means She’s coming for us before heading for Sakhra.”
“It’s really beginning,” Foord said softly. “We’ve passed the first If. You know what to do next.”
The next part had been calculated, but it could not be allowed to look that way. Making it not look that way was part of the calculation.
•
Like water dripping in an empty building, something moved inside Her.