Vrell first eyed what was left of the hooder, squirming over near the portal. It seemed more lively than before, looked longer and thinner, and gaps were growing between its segments. The Prador decided it might be quite a good idea to dump the thing outside sometime very soon, then turned his attention to his prisoner.
The King’s guard was down on its belly with its legs folded underneath and its claws stretched out slack on the floor before it. Its armour seemed to conform to the pear shape of a Prador first-child, but now, on closer examination, Vrell saw that it was just too big for that. A Prador of this size should be an adult, and therefore lacking some limbs. This one seemed to have all its legs and both its claws, and doubtless, underneath, all its manipulatory arms. Vrell speculated on the possibility that some of these limb casings might be empty of arms or legs, and instead wholly motor-driven. He would not know for sure until he took a look inside it.
After opening his tool chest, Vrell removed a powerful short-range microwave scanner, and began running it over the golden carapace before him. Soon ascertaining which areas of the armour shielded no vital systems, he summoned his drone over with a thought.
‘Cut here,’ he directed, stepping back.
The drone extended its thermic lance, which ignited with an arc-light flash. Soon the room was full of metallic smoke, and fans hidden in the ceiling began automatically drawing it away. The guard tried moving its claws and legs, but they only quivered a little. It would, in a moment, realize that there was only one way it might survive, and that would be without the encumbrance of dead armour. Vrell felt some satisfaction when he heard the sound of locks disengaging. He silently relayed another instruction to his drone, and moved further back.
The armour opened with a sucking crump, the entire upper carapace rising on silver rods, then hinging back. The ejection routine was fast, compressed air blowing the occupant’s limbs from their casings. But not fast enough: as the grey and distorted Prador head lifted on a ribbed neck, and one claw and the legs on one side pulled free, the drone repositioned the lance and drove it straight into its grey body. The guard screamed, trying to bring to bear a short assassin-spec rail-gun. The drone snipped that manipulatory arm away, closed its claw on the creature’s neck, and drove the thermic lance deeper into its body, searching out the major ganglions. The guard kept struggling and screaming for some time, green blood and smoke issuing in gushes from its mouth and over its grating mandibles. Eventually its struggles diminished, but never entirely ceased. Vrell knew that, unless this body was utterly destroyed, it would regenerate, though into what was open to speculation. After the drone dumped it down on the floor, beside its armour, Vrell moved over to investigate.
The Prador was almost the same size as himself, and its mutation quite similar, the only differences being its lighter colour, the saw-tooth edges on its legs and a thicker carapace around its neck. Was this what Vrell would eventually become? Next he turned his attention to the armour.
The fusion bomb was easy to locate and remove. It did not require disarming for the EM blast had completely fused its U-space receiver. It was also accessible to the armour’s occupant, so clearly the latter was not expected to try shutting it off. This meant that these guards were utterly loyal to their chain of command, leading up to the King himself, which indicated pheromonal control. What then was this creature? What was Vrell himself? Were they adolescent or adult, or something else entirely?
Stepping back from the armour, Vrell studied it long and hard. He considered carefully all that its occupant implied—what it meant to the Kingdom and where he himself might fit in, if at all. Eventually he began to turn away, realizing at last the truth of his situation. He would not survive to leave Spatterjay in this ship, even with the U-space engine repaired.
He must die.
The Warden dispatched a recording of all recent events through an open link to Earth, and thereafter kept the leading AI up to date with current events. Earth Central could do nothing about what was happening here, except make promises of retribution.
‘I am in contact with Oboron,’ the Earth AI replied. ‘Obviously there is more to this than we suspected.’
No shit, thought the Warden, privately.
As a result of five coil-gun projectiles obliterated by Vrell’s particle cannons, incandescent gases billowed in high atmosphere. The blast from the second from last projectile, had it struck Vrell’s spaceship, would also have smashed the Sable Keech into burning fragments and scattered them across kilometres of ocean. The last projectile would have left little of the ship but ash, since when it was fired its target was parked right underneath the sailing vessel. Both missiles would have resulted in a wave sweeping past the island to strike the two approaching Hooper ships with the force of a bullet.
There seemed little doubt: the moment Vrell’s weapons were fully engaged defending himself from Vrost’s troops, that coil-gun would fire again, and then again. The Warden could do nothing. By his actions, Vrost had called the AI’s bluff.
Vrost, of course, could not resist commenting on this. ‘I must assume then that you have decided not to use your U-space weapons against me?’The translated voice of the Prador was flatly devoid of emotion, but the sarcasm was implicit.
The Warden replied, ‘I am consulting with Earth Central on the matter, and EC is talking to your King. I estimate it will take a few more hours before Vrell is completely engaged with your forces, and therefore before you can make an effective coil-gun strike. By then I will have received my instructions.’
‘I see,’ said Vrost. ‘I was beginning to think that perhaps your U-space weapons had malfunctioned.’
Screw you and the horse you rode in on.
The Warden felt brief disquiet at his own angry reaction, for that seemed very like something Sniper would say, then assigned this pointless banter to a submind and turned his attention to communication with Earth Central.
‘Oboron was apparently unaware of Vrost’s actions there, and is now attempting to open a communications channel. But he is apparently experiencing some difficulties in that respect.’ The Earth Central AI’s sarcasm was all too evident. ‘I would suggest, however, that the King is in constant com with Vrost. I am therefore about to inform Oboron that Vrost’s actions will not be tolerated. ECS beta-class dreadnoughts, though some distance from Spatterjay, are in a position to intercept Vrost’s spaceship upon its return to the Prador Kingdom. I suggest you meanwhile raise the underlying issue here with Vrost.’
The Warden acknowledged that, and returned his full attention to communicating with the Prador captain. His submind was saying, ’… I am attempting to adjust U-space targeting so as not to completely obliterate your ship, but those adjustments are very finely—’ The Warden absorbed the temporary mind in a microsecond, and in another microsecond scanned the previous exchange for anything of relevance. Word games: bluff from his submind and contempt from Vrost. Allowing a pause of some seconds the AI continued, ‘It occurs to me, Vrost, that with your warriors and drones in the sky, and your ship in constant orbit, Vrell is unlikely to ever be leaving the planet. This being the case, I have to wonder at your anxiety. What is so dangerous about one post-adolescent Prador, that you need to kill it so quickly, despite risking the ire of Earth Central in doing so? We can surely wait until he attempts to leave, and destroy him once he is clear of the ocean and collateral damage minimized?’
A long pause ensued. Doubtless Vrost was speaking to Oboron and learning what lay in store for himself and his ship once he left Spatterjay. Clearly there was something Oboron did not want the Polity to learn about Vrell, but would the King want to sacrifice so large a ship as Vrost’s to that end, or—the Warden now considered Vrost’s destruction of that guard—allow that ship to be captured and its occupants studied?