Everything flashed apart from the central target. The earlier haze had gone. The pulverised remains of the specks that had been floating away formed the haze now, flashing violet and light green and dissipating, filling her field of vision; sumptuous, scintillating. In some ways it was the most beautiful firework display she had ever seen. It began to end as the violet ship in the centre of the view grew in brightness, going from a distinct but un-showy glow to a sky-splitting glare in a few seconds — much slower than anything else had reacted. When it faded, there was more violet/lime green flashing debris, scattered everywhere, all slowly spreading, fading, going dull and disappearing, leaving just the stars to be seen once more; calm, faint, tiny, far away and unchanging after the shattering, psychotic tumult of flickering images that had kept her rapt, shocked, transfixed till now.
She felt herself let out a deep breath.
Then — bizarrely, even shockingly — Demeisen was there in front of her, lounging in what looked like the control seat next to hers, but somehow straight in front of her, against the star field. He was gently lit from above, his feet up on something invisible and his hands clasped behind his neck.
He turned to look at her, nodding once. ~There you go, he said. ~You’ve just seen one of the most significant military engagements of modern times, doll; lamentably but fascinatingly one-sided though it turned out to be. Strongly suspect they just weren’t giving their ship Minds full tactical authority. Demeisen shook his head, frowned. ~Amateurs. He shrugged. ~Oh well. Hopefully not the start of an actual proper all-out war between the Culture and our over-cute tribute civ — perish that thoughtlet — but they did shoot first, and it was with what they assumed would be full lethal force, so I was entirely within my rights to waste the miserable trigger-happy fuckers to a soul, without mercy. He sighed. ~Though I am obviously anticipating the inevitable board of inquiry and I do slightly worry about being ticked off for being just a tad over-enthusiastic. He sighed again, sounding happier this time. ~Still. Abominator class; we have a reputation to protect. Fuck me, the others are going to be so jealous! He paused. ~What?
~Were there people in those ships? she asked.
~GFCF navy? Definitely. Very quick deaths, even given that they would have been wired in and speeded up, if I may just leap in front of any nascent and entirely vicarious moral qualms you may be about to suffer from, tiny human. Military personnel, babe; put themselves in harm’s way when they signed up. Just that the poor fuckers didn’t know it was my harm they were putting them-selves in the way of. That’s war, doll; fairness comes excluded.
The doubly unreal vision of the avatar floating in space looked away, as though gazing contentedly round at the almost unseeably small debris floating around him. ~That’ll fucking learn the bastards.
Lededje waited a short while but he kept on looking about him, sighing happily and seemingly either ignoring or having forgotten all about her. ~Fuck me, she heard him say quietly, ~I just blighted an entire fucking fleet there. Without even stretching a limb. Squadron, at the very least. Fuh-zuck-elling hell-cocks, I’m good.
~I think I’d like to get back to Sichult now, if that’s all right, she told the avatar.
~Of course, Demeisen said, turning to her with a neutral expression. ~There’s that man you want to kill, isn’t there?
Veppers had to slide slowly down the carpeted floor of the corridor beyond the door; it was too steep to try to walk down. The first thing he found was Jasken attempting to climb up towards him, pushing open another dented door. Behind Jasken there was dim light, and the sound of crying and moaning. A breeze rolled up the tipped corridor, from behind Jasken.
“Sir! Are you all right?” Jasken said when he recognised Veppers in the gloom.
“Alive, nothing broken. I think some fucker tried to nuke me. Did you see that fucking fireball?”
“I think the pilots are dead, sir. Can’t get into the flight deck. We’ve a door open to the outside. There are some dead, sir. Some injured, too.” He waved the arm that had been in the fake cast. “I thought it might be time to discard—”
“Is there any help on the way?”
“Don’t know yet, sir. There’s a hardened comms set in the compartment somewhere; the two Zei left are checking the emergency storage.”
“Two? Left?” Veppers said, staring at Jasken. There had been four of his clone guards aboard, hadn’t there? Or had they called off at the last moment?
“Two of the Zei died in the crash, sir,” Jasken told him.
“Fuck,” Veppers said. Well, you could always grow more, he supposed, though it still took time to train them. “Who else?”
“Pleur, sir. And Herrit. Astle’s got a broken leg. Sulbazghi’s unconscious.”
They descended into the passenger compartment. It was lit by emergency lighting and the daylight from outside coming through the small oval portholes and the opened emergency door. The place smelled bad, Veppers thought. Moaning sounds and people crying. Thankfully it was hard to see too much. He wanted to get out immediately.
“Sir,” one of the Zei said, approaching them over the tipped chaos of seats and spilled possessions. He was holding a comms transceiver. “We are glad you are alive, sir,” he said. He’d bled heavily from a wound on his head and his other arm hung oddly.
“Yes, thank you,” Veppers said as the Zei handed the set to Jasken. “That’s all.” He nodded to the Zei to go. The big man bowed, then turned and walked back awkwardly over the seats.
Veppers brought his mouth close to Jasken’s ear as the other man checked the transceiver and activated it. “Whatever turns up first, even if it’s an ambulance flier, you and I get on it alone,” he told Jasken. “Understand?”
“Sir?” Jasken said, blinking.
“Make sure there’s enough other craft to get everybody else off, but we take the first thing that arrives. Just us, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And where are your Oculenses? We might need them.”
“They’re broken, sir.”
Veppers shook his head. “Some fucker wants me dead, Jasken. Let’s let them think I am. Let’s let them think they succeeded. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Jasken shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “Should I tell the others to say that you were killed?”
“No, they’re to say that I’m alive. Injured, perfectly well, traumatised, missing, in a coma; more different stories the better. Point is I don’t show, I don’t appear. Everybody will assume they’re all lying. They’ll think I’m dead. Possibly you, too. You and I are going to hide, Jasken. D’you ever do that when you were a kid, Jasken? Hide? I used to. Did it a lot. I was great at it. So we’re going to do that now; we’re going to hide.” Veppers patted the other man on the shoulder, hardly noticing that he winced when he did so. “Shares will go into a tail-spin, but that can’t be helped.” He nodded at the transceiver. “Make the call. Then find me a flight suit or something to use as a disguise.”
Twenty-five
Auppi Unstril felt very hot now. The cold would win eventually though — it would be creeping in from all sides, making its way towards her from the Bliterator’s hull; seeping its way inwards to where she lay, at the craft’s centre, as the vessel’s heat leaked away, radiating into space. She would be the last bit to go completely cold. She was the little pit, the stone at the heart of the fruit… well, more its soft centre, the mushy middle.