Fuck that.
We are a minnow.
And the vessel we approach is a shark.
As the Uplift mother ship comes into view, the shock tries to rip breath from my body and I have to bite down to stop myself being impressed. The others are slower to get a grip and Rachel actually points. We’re not even fleas on a dog cocking its leg against their post.
Take a vessel larger than the entire Bosworth landing fields and glue it to one of the smaller ring worlds. I’m not surprised Hekati is hurting. The Silver Fist ship is gripping her like some rapist.
This is what it is.
An air tube, fat as a motorway, penetrates Hekati through a gash sealed with stonefoam. The ship and habitat are fucking, that is what it looks like. Water pipes pulse as the ship takes what it needs. The Uplift even have their gravity generators off, each rotation of the habitat giving gravity to their ship as well.
Just how vast the Uplift vessel is I discover as an iris opens and our craft rises through the opening, then flips itself over and touches down on a deck large enough to swallow any city on Hekati. It is a five-minute walk to the edge of the field.
Welcome to Victory First Last and Always, says a voice. Flagship of the Third Uplifted Legion.
When Neen puts his hands to his head, I realize the sound isn’t just inside my skull. Whatever speaks doesn’t sound human to me. I’m still thinking this, when Rachel sobs, and I turn to find Haze trying to catch his own vomit. A second later, he’s on his knees and not bothering about catching anything much. Blood runs from both nostrils. A dark stain says he’s pissed himself.
‘What’s happening? ‘ demands Vijay.
It’s the five-braid who answers, though he takes time out to glare at me first. ‘Formatting,’ he says. ‘Always tough.’ And then gets to his question. ‘How did you know he was Enlightened?’
‘His hair fell out, his scalp started bleeding.’
‘So he definitely didn’t have braids when you captured him?’
‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘Those are new.’
The braid considers this. Obviously decides it’s possible. At his nod, two guards break from a squad by the wall to carry away Haze between them. Given he’s pissed himself and drips vomit they treat him well. But then he is Enlightened. Only now, he’s an Enlightened who just formatted, and that doesn’t sound good to me.
‘And us?’ I demand.
‘Oh,’ says the five-braid. ‘We’ll get to you later.’ I struggle to keep my temper, which amuses him. It doesn’t come easy. Vijay and Neen stand beside me, and Emil stands a step behind them, flanked by Rachel and Franc. So far, he has kept his mouth shut. A bit of me wonders if having given his parole really means that much to him. The other bit assumes he knows I’ll cut his throat before he gets out more than one word.
Chapter 42
Victory First last and always runs to digital time, a hundred kiloseconds to a d/M, which translates as 1.125 standard days, or the time it takes light to travel 29,139,826,917,600 metres in a vacuum. Not sure what is wrong with miles and hours myself.
The mother ship’s mostly shut down. It is still giving off an infrared trace, the SIG tells me. How obvious this is against Hekati’s own signature is another matter. Maybe that’s the point. The Victory First is certainly busy bleeding the habitat dry.
Oxygen and power are taken freely. Piggybacking the habitat’s spin to give the mother ship gravity puts an intolerable strain on Hekati. But everything the Enlightened steal is one less thing they need to produce for themselves. One less clue for anyone hunting heat signatures or electromagnetic traces.
It’s not the U/Free from whom the Silver Fist hide.
It’s our glorious leader. I work this out for myself and feel smug about it. Thinking isn’t so hard when you get the hang of it.
‘You all right?’
‘Sure,’ I tell my gun. ‘Why?’
‘Oh,’ it says, ‘I’m registering a headache.’
It shuts down ungracefully, then flicks back to life to check I really did want it to shut down. Maybe it’s tied tighter to my limbic system than I imagine, because I am not sure I do.
Someone knocks at the cell door. Now, that’s not what you expect as prisoners. Colonel Vijay glances at me, and then glances at Emil. Rachel just waits for my nod, then goes to the door and tries the handle. Someone has released the lock.
‘You’re the sniper, right?’
She nods at the Death Head’s captain we met earlier. Out of his armour, he’s young and handsome, with dark hair that flops over one side of his face. A scar decorates the other side. It is a very elegant scar. Probably had it put there himself.
‘Any good?’ he demands.
‘Try me,’ she says.
‘Oh,’ says the captain, ‘I’m going to.’ And he grins when she flushes. No, I didn’t think he was talking about rifles either.
Seeing me, he comes to attention.
His uniform is standard, except for a shoulder patch I don’t recognize. But the real surprise comes as he turns to look at our cell. Three tiny braids hang down his scalp, and they are the real thing, because they move on their own. ‘Sorry about the cell, sir. We’ll find you proper rooms later.’
‘We’re prisoners?’
‘Guests, sir.’
‘Of that metalhead?’
He’s smooth, this boy. But not smooth enough to keep anger out of his eyes. ‘No, sir,’ he says. ‘Of General Tournier. Who wants to see all of you.’
Turning on his heel, he makes for the door.
After a second, I lead the others out of our room. Fifty paces to a bank of elevators, a seventeen-floor drop and three hundred paces straight down a corridor. On Jaxx’s mother ship, this would be the entertainment district. Turns out, it’s the entertainment district on this ship. General Tournier’s Uplift friends just go in for a different kind of entertainment.
Bots have stripped back the walls of an area twice the size of Golden Memories, and they’ve eaten away the ceiling above to create a double-height arena. The new space is edged on all four sides with tiers that rise well beyond where the old ceiling used to be.
The Silver Fist are obviously professional at enjoying themselves. Because instead of endless banks of seats, each tier features dining tables, covered with white cloths and laden with cutlery.
A thousand people? I wonder. Two thousand . . . ? Three thousand . . . ?
Colonel Vijay and I are being led towards the biggest table on the lowest tier, and there are half a dozen knives and forks, plus assorted spoons and seven different wine glasses for each setting.
Assholes, I think.
The five-braid glances up, and I wonder what he sees on my face.
Unless he is working at a deeper level. As I watch, Neen, Rachel and Franc head for a higher table, eight rows back. They sit together which is good. That way they can keep an eye on Emil. Although the longer Emil remains silent, the harder it becomes for him to betray us, since the Ninth would regard him as having betrayed them with his silence already. As my ADC, Vijay doesn’t get to sit at all. He stands at my shoulder.
‘General,’ says the five-braid. ‘Let me introduce Colonel Sven Tveskoeg.’
‘Never heard of you.’
‘Never heard of you, either.’
Around me, half a dozen officers hold their breath.
His laugh is abrupt, sharp as the bark on a dog. At least half the officers release their breath, and when General Tournier nods to me, the rest of them decide to do the same.
‘Kill him now,’ Colonel Vijay whispers.
It’s all I can do not to punch him. Hell, he’s meant to be the one who understands strategy. Also, what is he doing speaking to me without being spoken to first . . . ?