Bloc glanced over his shoulder to check the Old Captains and the others were still back by the walkways. He did not know why they had come down to the foot of the stair. Did they expect him to try to escape?
‘We have to retake the Sable Keech, More reifications will want to make this voyage here. I can offer you a percentage of the profits.’
As Aesop made a harsh hacking sound, Bloc realized the reif was trying to laugh.
‘Oh Taylor Bloc,’ he eventually said, ‘and how do you think we would fare against three Old Captains? Or against reifications who now hate you because you’ve brought them here to final death? Or against the Hoopers—and against Sable Keech?’
‘There is always a way.’
‘It’s over, Bloc. You wanted to come here to the Little Flint, because it was your mission, your calling, your destiny… whatever. So enjoy it—and remember it until that moment they wipe your mind.’
Bloc turned away to study the Old Captains standing on the stairway, along with Erlin, Janer and Keech.
‘Anyway,’ continued Aesop from behind him, ‘you’re all alive again, and my, don’t you look pink. We might as well have ourselves some fun here, as it’ll make no difference to the sentence we receive back in the Polity. What do you think, Bones?’
The snicking sound as Bones extruded the blades from his finger ends was all too audible. Bloc turned, shuddering with horror at the memory of sharp blades cutting into his former flesh. He tried to back away, but Aesop’s decaying hand closed firmly on the front of his coverall.
‘No no… You don’t understand,’ he stammered.
‘Too late now,’ hissed Aesop.
Bloc heard a shout from behind, and glanced back to see Sable Keech running towards him. It was too late. Too late for all three of them. The other two had not seen the huge iridescent shell rising behind them, nor the dinner-plate eye, nor the enormous tentacles now reaching across the Little Flint.
Sniper closed his own tentacles around the Prador drone and began decelerating before they both burnt up on reentry. He gripped tightly and kept his weapons systems online, just in case. They descended in a long arc that took them out of night into twilight, then towards daylight. As Sniper brought the drone down on an atoll just catching the rays of the morning sun, he once again opened communication with the Warden.
‘What are you doing?’ Thirteen asked meanwhile, detaching itself from Sniper’s armour and swinging in a circuit around the Prador war drone.
‘Repaying a favour.’
‘And what was so funny earlier?’ asked the little drone.
‘You’ve not figured it out?’
‘Knowing your humour, I suspect you somehow knew what Vrell intended to do to Vrost’s ship. But how did you know?’
‘It wasn’t that,’ the old drone replied. ‘Vrost’s ship is probably very badly damaged, but not enough to leave it unable to jump. I’d guess he’s now recalling all his forces in preparation to pull out of the system.’
Sniper then concentrated on scanning the Prador drone. Its missile store was thoroughly depleted and its power so low it could not block his scans. Quite possibly the flash-frozen Prador brain inside there had been fried. Sniper began to go to work on the armour, worming his tentacles in through the weapons ports and connecting to some internal systems.
‘So?’ asked Thirteen, settling on his tail on top of the Prador drone.
‘Was it sufficiently damaged for most of Vrost’s security protocols to be knocked offline, do you think?’ Sniper asked.
Sniper found the required system, short-circuited it, then injected power down one of his tentacles. A loud crump ensued as a triangular hatch opened in the drone’s side and slowly hinged down, exposing the tightly packed components inside. Sniper noted the captive’s remaining claw moving weakly, as if the drone was trying to reach up and close the hatch again.
‘Why is that relevant?’ asked the little drone.
‘Tell me, Thirteen, don’t you think Vrell has received rather shoddy treatment from his own kind?’
‘This is how Prador generally treat each other. How they ever managed to organize a civilization beats me.’
‘But who do you think is the better between Vrost and Vrell?’
‘Neither; they’re both monstrous.’
‘Then, in conflict, which of them would you prefer to win?’
‘Neither, if possible.’
‘Please just answer.’
‘As the Warden would put it, the one who causes the least collateral damage to Polity citizens.’
‘What about internal conflict leading to a weakening of the Third Kingdom? Surely this would be a good thing for the Polity?’
‘I guess so.’
Sniper transmitted the latest bit of data he had acquired. Thirteen shut down for a moment to digest it.
With cables and various components hanging about him like fruit-laden vines. Sniper finally found the main power conduits from the Prador drone’s batteries. Only a trickle of current was getting through and, tracking back, Sniper found that the cables used to top up the batteries from the fusion reactor were severed, as were the cables providing a direct feed from the reactor into the drone’s systems. He cut out some less essential S-con cables and used them to replace those necessary ones, then withdrew. With a cycling whine the drone began to charge up to power again. Eventually it spoke.
‘You will get nothing from me,’ announced the Prador war drone that was called Vrell.
‘You don’t have any information I want, anyway. I know about your other self’s viral infection and what that infection caused, down to the last detail. I also know about the King’s guard, and the orders you were given, and why.’
The Prador drone now lifted slightly, testing its AG. Sniper backed away and observed it drawing inside itself the components and cables he had pulled out. The drone’s self-repair mechanisms, now under power, were taking over. The hatch closed, but the drone could not yet block any scan, so urgently was it engaged in diverting power to those batteries and accumulators mainly concerned with its energy weapons.
‘Then what do you want?’ it asked.
‘To repay a favour—to save you.’
‘Why?’
‘Why didn’t you let me fly into your master’s defences?’ Sniper countered.
‘Because I was not ordered to.’
‘Then the same answer will do. But tell me, what are your orders now?’
The drone paused, unable to readily supply an answer. It lifted higher into the air.
Sniper suggested, ‘Your final order should have resulted in your destruction, so I doubt there are any further orders for you to follow.’
‘I have no orders. What do I do?’
‘Whatever you want,’ Sniper replied.
The Prador drone dropped back down onto the stone surface. Sniper noted how it had reduced the power feed to its weapons and was now concentrating on self-repair. While it was mulling over its present circumstances, Thirteen came back online, having finished studying the data.
‘I see,’ the little drone said. ‘Only one Vrell was aboard—this drone.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Shouldn’t you tell the Warden?’
‘Probably, but I’m not going to.’
A snaking tentacle looped around Bones and crushed him like a handful of straws, then discarded him. Aesop had Bloc down on the stone and was pummelling him. It seemed the reif had still not seen what was looming behind. Bloc had seen it, though. He was yelling incoherently and, under the onslaught, trying to crawl towards the walkways. The monstrous whelk finally heaved itself up onto the Little Flint’s rim, as if it was reluctant to emerge fully from the sea.
Erlin felt an almost drunken hilarity inside her. Ambel rested a hand on her shoulder.