Hubris said, 'One hour ago there was an energy emission directed away from the Andellan system. It was full-spectrum lased light. The reading was in the giga-joule range. If the same pattern is being followed this time round, another emission will occur in fifty-four minutes. I am moving the ship to the other side of the planet, and have left just one observer probe.'
At that particular moment Cormac felt he would rather be on the other side of the galaxy. Was Dragon getting ready to destroy them? If it was they were in serious trouble.
'Anything else?'
'I am also picking up emissions across all spectrums. Some of them have some internal logic and mathematical coherency, but I have not as yet been able to translate. These emissions are directionless.'
'OK,' said Cormac, and the screen flicked back to the scene Chaline had been observing. He studied her and noted how she was deliberately keeping her face free of expression.
'All yours,' he said with a smile.
'Thank you so much,' she said, then pushed her chair back and stood up. 'Unfortunately some of us have work to do.'
Cormac made a gesture of appeasement, but Chaline walked away. He couldn't decide if she was angry or amused. Involvement, he thought, trying not to feel guilty. He sat there sipping for the next few minutes, then called up again the scene from the probe.
Dragon was rippling even faster now, and its spherical shape was being distorted.
'Hubris, are you sure we're safe here?' he asked.
The AI's reply was succinct. 'No.'
The fifty-four-minute mark passed. Sixty minutes was reached, sixty-five… The flash momentarily blacked out the picture from the probe. When it came back, Dragon was spherical again, the ripples moving across its surface just as Cormac had first witnessed.
'Hubris, where did that one go?'
'The planet's surface. Imaging in… the probe has it.'
The picture showed a spreading black cloud with hellish red fires at the centre of it.
'That was Mount Prometheus,' said Hubris.
Cormac shook his head in amazement. Enoida Deacon would not be displaced from her niche in the history books, but what the hell was Dragon doing?
'I have picked up something from Dragon. It's in all human languages.'
'Let's hear the English version then.'
Dragon's voice boomed from the speakers. 'Escaped! Escaped! Criminal! Bastard! Damn! Fuck! Fuckit!'
Cormac sat there with his mouth open. So that was what Dragon was doing - it was having a tantrum.
20
Chameleon: How often there is confusion and misuse of the extensions of this word. The 'chameleon-wear' refers only to clothing made from the photoreactive fibres developed by ECS in 2257. It is merely an effective form of camouflage, and does not render the wearer invisible. It just blends said wearer in with his or her background. The 'chameleonware' is a different matter. It is hardware that, using field technologies, can bend light round an object, blank out heat signatures, blur air disturbances, and make said object radar and sonar inert.
From Quince Guide, compiled by humans
Pelter took one pass over the lake before banking the bird and coming on in. The screen, set to infrared, showed him all he needed to see, in pastel shades of blue and green like the negative of a colour photograph. He applied the aerobrakes and noted small contrails that revealed the wings, but that was no problem at this altitude. Through Mr Crane's eyes he studied the collapsed bulk of Stanton lying on the floor, and considered how to kill him. His enjoyment at wiping out that arrogant ship captain had quickly faded. Now he surprised himself wim the acknowledgement that Stanton's death was not something he wanted to see. The mercenary had to the because of his intended betrayal, but he had been a good friend for some years. There was a bitter taste in Pelter's mouth as he watched the lake come into sight. In his aug he called up an image of Stanton and slipped it in to the requisite slot of a program in Crane's command module. It was the same program he had used for Tenel and many others. He would set it running when he felt ready, and then did not have to watch.
The whisde of the wind across the skids as he lowered them was the loudest sound heard during their long flight to land. The next cacophony was when diose skids hit the surface of the lake. Pelter glanced back and saw the foaming wake, and that was all right as well, for anything they did now would be beneadi the notice of the runcible AI - or, rather, anything they did from now up to the point when they started using proscribed weapons. Pelter eased the bird round and directed it to the shore of the lake. The land beyond rose not much above the surface level of the lake. In the distance there was a collection of boulders, and beyond that was what Pelter knew to be the beginning of a huge forest, though of what type he did not know. The highest items nearby were reeds and sedges growing at the edge of the water, apart from the dropbird itself. Only a couple of blasts of the compressed-air impeller were required to push the bird dirough the reeds and onto the squelchy shore. Pelter undipped his belt and looked round at them.
'A few solstan hours until sunrise,' he said. 'We'll rest until then.'
'What about him?' said Corlackis, stabbing a finger at Stanton.
'In the morning,' Pelter replied, then eased his seat back into a rest position and closed his eye. The four behind did the same. He watched them through Mr Crane's eyes before eventually allowing himself to rest completely.
His body felt like a block of lead on the soft ground. He felt sick and his shoulder hurt, and a tiny blacksmith was making horseshoes inside his head. This was worse than the worst of hangovers. The smell of peat filled his nostrils and he tasted earth in his mouth. Opening his left eye he got a low view of palegreen ferns sprouting from the black soil. Beyond them some thick green growth was smeared across the ground. For a moment he had absolutely no idea where he was, or what was happening. When memory returned, he discovered it was possible to feel worse than he already felt.
Jarvellis.
Stanton heaved himself up onto his elbows, then puked yellow bile. Pain lanced his skull at every convulsion. In a way that was preferable to the other pain.
'Give him another shot,' said Pelter.
Stanton just managed to look round as Corlackis squatted by him and pressed an injector against his neck. He felt the stuff go in and immediately start to kill his nausea. The pain in his head started to fade also. He felt he might be able to stand now, but just didn't want to. The other pain had expanded to fill every space.
'Get up, John,' said Pelter.
Stanton tried to feel angry, but found he just couldn't find the energy for it. He pushed himself to his knees, then unsteadily to his feet. Mennecken and Svent were sitting on a crate unloaded from the dropbird. Dusache was leaning against the bird itself, grounded on the shore of the lake. A curious sight, as he seemed to be standing at an impossible angle. Corlackis stepped aside and Stanton was looking at Pelter, who had Mr Crane at his back. No chance to hit him, Stanton thought. Of course, given the opportunity he would kill Pelter, but he knew he would not be given that opportunity.
'His knife,' said Pelter.
Corlackis reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a plastic-wrapped package. It hit Stanton on the chest, and fell to the ground. He continued to stare at Pelter.
'It's your knife, John. Pick it up and return it to its sheath.'
Stanton did as he was told. What was the game now? Him with a knife up against Crane?