Parnalee smiled with drowsy contentment as he climbed on the dolly and settled himself at the controls. As soon as he’d waked the part of her he could reach through the tap, she’d gone hunting for her sister. Found her, too. And he knew what she knew, once he convinced her to trust him; though most of her slept still, she was awake enough to print a map for him. Awake enough to run a jolt through him so he could share her exaltation as she celebrated the power that would soon be hers. And his.
He stopped the dolly, got down so he could crank open the first of the twelve hatches ahead of him, coughed as his feet stirred fine gray dust that had lain undisturbed for millennia. He sprayed oil he’d found in the interface stores over the mix of sheddings, exuda and other muck age-bonded to the gears, slammed his fist cautiously against the handle, hit it again without budging it. He poured clear liquid handcleaner over the slowly softening glue to thin it out yet more, then leaned on the handle. The crank groaned and resisted; sweat popping out on his forehead, he put more pressure on it, half-afraid he was going to break the thing. It shrieked and moved a hair; he sprayed more oil, doused on more cleaner, worked the crank back and forth until the seal gave way and it began to turn, slowly at first then more smoothly. The hatch squealed open, slid into the wall. One down. Eleven to go. He wiped his hands on his tunic sides, rubbing vigorously to get rid of both oil and cleaner, especially the cleaner which had a strong, oversweet smell and a soapy, slimy feel. The stims were doing the job, his head was clearing, he felt as charged as the Dark Sister. He thought of Adelaar’s face when the pads died under her fingers. He smiled.
16
I watched the last load leave with Churri riding herd on it; I wasn’t planning to sell any of this bit of salvage; I don’t approve of arms dealing and anyway it’s a lot too dangerous for the payoff, but given some of the places I take Slancy into, it’s comforting to have that kind of firepower available and it’s not the sort of thing you can buy whenever you take a notion. And there was Bolodo. If Bolodo execs had any scruples about anything, I hadn’t come across them yet. And I hadn’t a sliver of a doubt there was a destroyer or two stashed somewhere handy where the execs on Helvetia could set them up to take us when we showed. I’d done what I could to pull some cover around us, but cover has a way of springing leaks when you need it most.
Jamber Fausse was squatting by the door with a couple of his men. He got to his feet and came sauntering over to me. “Time?”
“Time. One of you has to go to the Bridge to let Adelaar yabass know we’re ready; she’s still sealed off, I can’t reach her.”
“Tube?”
“Right. The way we got here.”
“Vehim Feda, go.” The younger of the two men got to his feet and went trotting out. “What will you do if Adelaar yabass has not discovered the Dark Sister?”
“Sit here and wait. Nothing else I can do.” I went over to the implosion torp on its dolly. There was a lot of crud still on it, but the batteries were charging steadily, no sign of trouble there, no breakdowns in the timerprogram if the probe wasn’t looping on me. I toured the testmeters and their readings were all good, no glitches. I climbed onto the dolly’s front bench, put my feet up on the console.
“Ah.” Jamber Fausse dropped to a squat beside the door. “Something I know about, sitting and waiting.”
I didn’t expect to do much waiting; Adelaar didn’t waste time or energy when she was working and Vehim wouldn’t be more than a few seconds tubing up to her. I arranged myself so I could see the screen; it was over the door. I counted seconds and got to fifty before it lit up and Adelaar was looking at us.
“Quale,” she said. “I see you’re ready.” She didn’t seem to expect a response so I didn’t give her one. “The auxBrain is scattered through more than a dozen nodes, there’s no way you’ll be able to get them all.”
“Shit! What…”
“Relax. You don’t need to. Do a thorough job on the interface and you’ve neutered our Dark Sister. There’s a weakness in the design. The nodes are connected through that interface. They don’t operate independently unless most of the ship is dead. Not enough power. They’ll probably kick on when she hits the sun, but that’s a bit late to do any good. Implosion torp?”
“Yeh.”
“I thought I recognized the configuration. Under all those meters.” She laughed, a nice sound; she was feeling pleased with herself. “It’s viable?”
“Yeh.”
“That’ll do it. We’d better be outside the skin when it blows.”
“Yeh.” I wasn’t going to argue with that; the Warmaster was big and tough enough to absorb a lot more punishment than one little torp, but she was older than time and there was rot in her hide. “Tubeflow?”
“I’ve reset the tubeflow from your gate, it’ll take you straight in to the clone interface. I’ve given you two minutes to get to the interface, starting when we finish this, five to get set up, plus three for holdups. The three will kick on only if you haven’t gone through the gate there before then. The flow switches outbound automatically, endpoint the lander lock area. Where we’ll be sitting, waiting for you.”
“Bridge?”
“I’ve programmed the mainBrain to clamshell after we’re out.”
“Any sign of the Proggerdi?”
“I haven’t bothered looking.”
I gave a yell for the teddybear. His ears were up fluttering, his lips curled back to show his tearing teeth. He didn’t need telling to watch out for ambushes, but I told him anyway. “That fruitcake could be anywhere,” I said. “Get hold of the tug before you start and have a bodyguard waiting at the tubegate. Adelaar, no arguments. I don’t get paid if I don’t get you back to Helvetia and I intend to collect. You hear?”
She laughed again. Almost hysteria, coming from her. “I hear,” she said. “Time is, Quale. Get yourself in gear or miss the boat.” The screen went dark.
“Right,” I said. “Hop on, Jamo, you and your friend, it’s time to roll.”
17
The curved wall of the massive sphere was a gray-black chimera behind the container shield, there and not there, ominous though not quite tangible, the mass of a small star prisoned in gossamer. Parnalee brought the dolly to a gentle stop before it, lifted the link from the seat beside him. “Open,” he murmured, then waited for the Dark Sister to coax an opening for him.
The surface shimmered, a black pinhole appeared, dilated swiftly until it was wide enough to admit the dolly then pulsed like a wet black mouth, a mouth that could close on him if it chose; he eyed it with distaste, but the bulk of the Bright Sister was in there and there was no other access. He edged the dolly toward the opening, took it through.
Thinking he was a repair tech, the Bright Sister brought up the lights so he could see what he was doing.
He eased the dolly and its burden as deep into her heart as the narrowing serviceways between the Brain’s components would let him go. Then he cycled down the power of the liftfield, let the dolly sink to the floor, gently, gently, don’t crack the egg, not yet. Not. Yet. Off. Yes. He slid the link into his belt pouch, climbed over the bench back and squatted on the bed beside the torp. He activated it, set its timer for an hour on; he needed an interval to get back to the interface where he’d be in touch with and protected from the fury of the Dark Sister. Before he touched the triggering sensor and started the timer humming, he set his hand on the casing of the torp and savored the triumph that was going to be his. One hour. He patted the bomb. Gently. Very gently. “Yes.” He set his forefinger on the sensor and felt the hum in his bones. “Yes.” He slid off the dolly and trotted for the mouth.