‘That’s his idea of safe passage?’ Merlin asked.
But he moved to a compartment in the cabin wall and pulled out a tray of coiled black devices, each as small and neat as a stone talisman. He removed one of the translators and pressed it into his ear, then offered one of the other devices to Struxer.
‘Tell him it won’t bite,’ he said. ‘My ship’s very good with languages, but it needs a solid baseline of data to work with. Those transmissions helped, but the more we talk, the better we’ll get.’
Struxer fingered the translator in the battered glove of his spacesuit, curling his lips in distrust. ‘Cohort man,’ he said, in clear enough Main. ‘I speak a little your language. The Prince made us take school. In case Cohort come back.’
‘So you’d have a negotiating advantage over the enemy?’ Merlin asked.
‘It seemed prudent,’ Baskin said. ‘But most of my staff didn’t see it that way. Struxer was one of the exceptions.’
‘Be careful who you educate,’ Merlin told him. ‘They have a tendency to start thinking for themselves. Start doing awkward things like defecting, and holding military computers to ransom.’
Struxer had pushed the earpiece into position. He shifted back to his native tongue, and his translated words buzzed into Merlin’s skull. ‘Ransom – is that what you were told, Cohort man?’
‘My name’s Merlin. And yes – that seems to be the game here. Or did you steal the Tactician because you’d run out of games to play on a rainy afternoon?’
‘You have no idea what you’ve been drawn into. What were you promised, to do his dirty work?’
Teal said: ‘Merlin doesn’t need you. He just wants the Tactician.’
‘A thing he neither understands nor needs, and which will never be his.’
‘I’d still like it,’ Merlin said.
‘You’re too late,’ Struxer said. ‘The Tactician has decided its own fate now. You’ve brought those patrol groups closer, with that crude display of strength. They’ll close on Mundar soon enough. But the Tactician will be long gone by then.’
‘Gone?’ Baskin asked.
‘It has accepted that it must end itself. Mundar’s remaining defences are now being turned inward, against the asteroid itself. It would rather destroy itself than become of further use to Havergal, or indeed Gaffurius.’
‘Ship,’ Merlin said. ‘Tell me this isn’t true.’
‘I would like to,’ Tyrant said. ‘But it seems to be the case. I am recording an increasing rate of kinetic bombardments against Mundar’s surface. Our own position is not without hazard, given my damaged condition.’
Merlin moved to the nearest console, confirming for himself what the ship already knew. The opposed fleets were altering course, pincering in around Mundar. Anti-ship weapons were already sparking between the two groups of ships, drawing both into closer and closer engagement.
‘The Tactician will play the patrol groups off each other, drawing them into an exchange of fire,’ Struxer said, with an icy sort of calm. ‘Then it will parry some of that fire against Mundar, completing the work you have begun.’
‘It’s a machine,’ Baskin said. ‘It can’t decide to end itself.’
‘Oh, come now,’ Struxer said, regarding Baskin with a shrewd, skeptical scrutiny. ‘We’re beyond those sorts of secrets, aren’t we? Or are you going to plead genuine ignorance?’
‘Whatever you think he knows,’ Merlin said, ‘I’ve a feeling he doesn’t.’
Struxer shifted his attention onto Merlin. ‘Then you know?’
‘I’ve an inkling or two. No more than that.’
‘About what?’ Teal asked.
Merlin raised his voice. ‘Ship, start computing an escape route for us. If the kinetics are being directed at Mundar, then the defence screen ought to be a little easier to get through, provided we’re quick.’
‘You’re running?’ Baskin asked. ‘With the prize so near?’
‘In case you missed it,’ Merlin said, ‘the prize just got a death-wish. I’m cutting my losses before they cut me. Buckle in, all of you.’
‘What about your syrinx?’ Teal demanded.
‘I’ll find me another. It’s a big old galaxy – bound to be a few more knocking around. Ship, are you ready with that solution?’
‘I am compromised, Merlin. I have hull damage, weapons impairment and a grievous loss of thruster authority. There can be no guarantee of reaching clear space, especially with the build-up of hostile assets.’
‘I’ll take that chance, thanks. Struxer: you’re free to step back out of the airlock any time you like. Or did you think all your problems were over just because I didn’t shoot you with the gamma-cannon?’
Tyrant began to move. Merlin steadied a hand against a wall, ready to tense if the gee-loads climbed sharply.
‘I think our problems are far from over,’ Struxer answered him levelly. ‘But I do not wish to die just yet. Equally, I would ask one thing.’
‘You’re not exactly in a position to be asking for anything.’
‘You had a communications channel open to me. Give me access to that same channel and allow me to make my peace with the Tactician, before it’s too late. A farewell, if you wish. I can’t talk it out of this course of action, but at least I can ease its conscience.’
‘It has no conscience,’ Baskin said, grimacing as the acceleration mounted and Tyrant began to swerve its away around obstacles and in-coming fire.
‘Oh, it most definitely does,’ Struxer said.
Merlin closed his eyes. He was standing at the door to his mother’s parlour, watching her watching the window. She had become aware of his silent presence and bent around in her stern black chair, her arms straining with the effort. The golden sun shifted across the changing angles of her face. Her eyes met his for an instant, liquid grey with sadness, the eyes of a woman who had known much and seen the end of everything. She made to speak, but no words came.
Her expression was sufficient, though. Disappointed, expectant, encouraging, a loving mother well used to her sons’ failings, and always hopeful that the better aspects of their nature might rise to the surface. Merlin and Gallinule, last sons of Plenitude.
‘Damn it all,’ Merlin said under his breath. ‘Damn it all.’
‘What?’ Teal asked.
‘Turn us around, ship,’ he said. ‘Turn us around and take us back to Mundar. As deep as we can go.’
They fought their way into the thick broil of the dust cloud, relying on sensors alone, a thousand fists hammering their displeasure against the hull, until at last Tyrant found the docking bay. The configuration was similar to the Renouncer, easily within the scope of adjustments that Tyrant could make, and they were soon clamped on. Baskin was making ready to secure his vacuum suit when Merlin tossed him a dun-coloured outfit.
‘Cohort immersion suit. Put it on. You as well, Struxer. And be quick about it.’
‘What are these suits?’ Baskin asked, fingering the ever-so-ragged, grubby-looking garment.
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Merlin nodded at Teal. ‘You too, soldier. As soon as Tyrant has an electronic lock on the Tactician it can start figuring out the immersion protocols. Won’t take too long.’
‘Immersion protocols for what?’ Baskin asked, with sharpening impatience.
‘We’re going inside,’ Merlin said. ‘All of us. There’s been enough death today, and most of it’s on my hands. I’m not settling for any more.’
It waited beyond the lock, the only large thing in a dimly-lit chamber walled in rock. The air was cold and did not appear to be recirculating. From the low illumination of the chamber, Merlin judged that Mundar was down to its last reserves of emergency power. He shivered in the immersion suit. It was like wearing paper.