Goliath, p.11
Goliath, page 11
“Right, so what are we doing?” Davido asked, boring with the chatter. “We clearly need to get closer.”
“We do,” Sollander agreed, clearly relishing the idea. “How reliable are your pressure suits?” She turned to Prentice.
“They’ve always been good enough before,” Prentice said, her tone clipped. She clearly didn’t like having the engineer aboard.
“How much oxy do they carry?”
“They vary. Between four hours and three days.” She shrugged. “Depends on the design. The shop I bought them from had limited stock.”
Sollander ignored her sarcasm. “We need a plan. We can’t just dock and start wandering around in the dark. That’d just be inviting trouble.”
“I have done this before,” Prentice said, her voice cold.
Sollander paused, turning to study the shorter woman. For a moment Davido thought she was going to respond in kind. He groaned, this was all he needed, two women vying for dominance. They had a job to do here. Then Sollander smiled and inclined her head slightly. “You have. So, what do you suggest?”
Prentice opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again after a moment’s consideration. She nodded. “OK. There are twelve of us. We can’t count Jeno or your girlfriend,” she glanced at Davido. “So that makes ten. We should split into two groups. The group with the higher oxy load to venture deeper into the ship, looking for signs of the first party. The other group to remain in the vicinity of the shuttle. We need to ensure the area is secure and there may be some resources we can use.”
Davido smiled. What she meant was: there could be something of value aboard. As no one had ventured aboard a warship before anything she discovered would be unique. She could charge what she wanted and there would be no end of bidders who would happily pay it. Clearly Prentice intended on making a profit from this trip. Of course he would insist on his cut. That was part of their agreement. He might be here to look for his sister, but he was no fool.
“Means leaving Jeno and Adele aboard alone,” Sollander observed.
“I’m not going aboard that thing,” Adele spoke up. “You did promise, Armand.” She glanced towards the unconscious Jeno. “And if he tries anything I’ll kick his ass.”
“Sounds like a plan, then,” Davido agreed. He ignore Payce as the man looked about to protest. He didn’t want to be here either.
“Well, let’s not get carried away, we need to get docked first.” Sollander stalked back into the cockpit. Armand followed, lowering himself into the right hand seat as the engineer took control of the shuttle again.
“What’s that noise?” Davido heard a murmuring, like a child locked in a cupboard.
Sollander smiled, easing forward on the controls, guiding the vessel towards the waiting chasm. Readouts glittered about her, wrapping her in a veil of light. With no hands free she nodded towards the centre of the console. A glob a wax had been dripped over a grille, sealing the vents. “Don’t like demon backchat while I’m trying to fly,” she said in explanation.
Davido chuckled. “That's the only way to treat them,” he commented.
The shuttle jolted suddenly, a drive unit misfiring. Sollander gritted her teeth, attempting to compensate. The flight into orbit had been reasonably smooth—apart from the odd jolt from the drive. Quite a feat for a vessel eighty years out of warranty. Still it was annoying, ruining an otherwise perfect flight. The shipboard regrav systems didn’t seem able to cancel it out either. Which was odd in itself. The inertial dampening regrav systems were designed to cancel out all sensation of movement, either due to acceleration or turbulence. The system seemed to work well, except when the drive system jolted, knocking everyone off their feet. It was annoying but hadn’t caused any real damage.
As long as it didn’t happen while they were within the Goliath. That could be dangerous.
The shuttle passed into shadow, dropping into the mouth of the passage. The glare of sun beaten metal vanished as abruptly as if someone had clicked the lights off. After a moment’s hesitation, as Sollander searched for the control, the shuttle’s landing lights flared to life.
The tunnel was not simple, plain steel. It was studded with odd protrusions and what appeared to be emergency lights (now dead). Multicoloured lettering and arrows were scrawled over it. Their significance was lost on Davido and Sollander alike. The Confederates had not been thoughtful enough to leave any directional markers where potential boarders could find them.
“How far down does this thing go?”
“Dunno,” Sollander admitted. “A very long way. If it is a channel for the gas scoops it could go all the way to the drive rod. That's a good two kilometres straight down. There will be boarding doors on the way though. I doubt they will be open.”
“I didn’t see anything that looked like a scoop.”
“They used force fields.”
He nodded. Of course they did.
“So, tell me, Armand ... can I call you Armand?”
He shrugged. “Of course,” he said, when he realised she wasn’t looking at him. “It’s my name.”
“Armand, what brings you to this place?”
“My sister’s here somewhere. She was on the first mission.”
“Oh. What was her name?”
“Sistine Davido.”
It was her turn to shrug. “Her name wasn’t on the crew list. She must have used a different name. What brought your sister here?”
Foolishness, he almost said. “She has this romantic notion that demons... AI’s are not what the Mentors make them out to be. She wanted to find one that wasn’t castrated.”
“Oh?” That seemed to interest the engineer. “She was a heretic?”
Davido refrained from answering the question, preferring to watch for an opening in the steel wall. They were a good fifty metres beneath the surface here and there was still no sign of an entrance.
“A dangerous endeavour. Uncastrated AI’s tend to be somewhat homicidal,” she continued.
Davido kept his thoughts to himself. He did not know this woman. “You’re not obliged to be here either, I notice. In fact I believe you gate crashed our little gathering.”
She smiled sweetly at him, flashing perfect white teeth. It was then he realised how handsome a woman she was. Something she concealed beneath her androgynous grey Engineering Corps jumpsuit. His gaze dropped to admire how her breasts filled out her coveralls. Noticing his attention she arched her back slightly, pushing her chest forward.
“A man like you, I’m surprised to find you in a place like this.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re clearly a man of some influence. A man feared by lesser men. It’s obvious.”
Davido pulled his gaze away. Dammit, she was playing him. His face flushing red he returned his attention to the tunnel. Of course, she had not answered the question.
“This looks like something.” Sollander paused the shuttle’s descent, the landing lights picking out an opening in the tunnel.
They were doors of some description. Partly rolled aside they revealed a narrow gap, the lights failing to penetrate into the depths. Sollander positioned the shuttle carefully, trying to position the lights so they shone through the opening. Massive grey shapes lurked beyond, blocking their view deeper into the chamber.
“It’s about fifty metres in height and thirty wide. Could be a loading dock of some type,” she said. “Could be a good place to start.”
“Found something?” Prentice stepped into the cockpit, leaning over Davido’s chair to see out of the windscreen. “What is it?”
“An entrance. Looks like this is where we go in,” Davido said with a bravado he did not feel. He didn’t like the look of it.
“We won’t get the shuttle through there,” Prentice observed.
“We can moor it here and go in in the suits,” Sollander said. “The second group can try to find if there's enough power to open them wider.”
“Well, the first shuttle didn’t come this way,” Davido said. “It would still be here.”
“We’ll give it a good looking over. If there’s nothing to find we can continue deeper. You up to that?” Sollander smiled, noticing Davido’s discomfort.
“Whatever it takes.”
“Right, let’s get moving.” Prentice stepped back into the cabin.
Sollander did nothing for a moment, looking back into the short passageway that separated the cockpit from the passenger cabin. “This is no place for her,” she said finally.
“Excuse me?”
“What’s she on?”
Davido felt his face reddening. What did this woman know about anything? She was a stranger to them all. She did not have the right to judge any of them. “Does it matter? I trust her.”
Sollander studied him for a moment. “Never trust an addict,” she said.
“Fly the fucking ship.”
Sollander shrugged and activated a small magnetic grapple. Steel wire whirred on its reel as the grapple sped away from the shuttle, slamming into the steel wall. She fired another towards the opposite wall and wound in the cables, suspending the shuttle between them. “That should do it. The Goliath is spinning slightly, which will tend to throw the shuttle back out into space.” She grinned to Davido as she slipped out of the pilot’s couch and followed Prentice. “We don’t want that.”
The pressure suits were a ragtag collection Prentice had assembled over the years. Davido was surprised to find that three of them were little more than emergency suits, designed to do nothing more than keep the occupant alive for a few hours in an exposed compartment while awaiting rescue. Not the sort of thing to roll out time and time again for lengthy explorations aboard unknown ships. He was relieved when he was offered something more robust.
“What’s this mark here?” He studied the black stain on the suit’s shoulder.
“Blood,” Prentice said matter of factly.
“Great. There’s blood on it.”
“It works.” She shrugged.
“So, what happened to the original owner?” He rubbed at the stain with a finger. Prentice slapped his hand away so she could attach his gloves, quickly twisting the pressure seal until it was tight.
“Well,” she smiled. “You know what they used to call the Mentors?”
“All kinds of things. None particularly pleasant.”
“Eaters,” she said. “They called them the Eaters. So, figure out what happened to the original owner yourself. Like I said, the suit still works, so who cares? I've replaced the helmet so you’ll be fine.”
“Shit.” Davido cringed. Knowing someone had died while wearing the suit did not fill him with much comfort. That they had died a horrible, gruesome death left him feeling more than slightly disturbed. Damn, he needed a drink. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem any way he could attach a bottle of bourbon to the suit.
Looking relieved not to be included Adele watched them suit up, her lips pursed in distaste. “How long you gonna be? This place creeps me out.”
“Long as it takes, honey,” Prentice smiled at her, fastening the last of Davido’s clasps. “There.” She inspected the helmet seal. “Just breathe normally.”
“Shit. It smells in here. It smells like a corpse.”
“That’s just you. Bathed lately?” She sneered.
“Fuck off.”
“Hey, that’s the best suit I got. You don’t like it I can swap it for another. I have a spare ... I've taped up the tear so it should be good.” She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m just fine, thank you.”
Sollander watched as they helped each other into their suits, a thin smile of amusement on her face. She found herself hoping the warship was still pressurised and heated. True, the sunlit surface of the Goliath might be blisteringly hot, but there was almost a hundred metres of armour between here and there. If the ship was completely powered down they were about to step into a meat locker. All the vessel’s internal warmth would have leeched out into the vacuum of space within a few years of being parked here. Now the internal temperature would be way below freezing. Of course Prentice could not know that. The vessels she boarded had all been civilian, none boasting a hull more than a few centimetres thick. Roasting in the glare of the sun like a boar on a spit their internal spaces would all be comfortably warm. Here, her previous experience meant nothing.
The engineer checked the seals on her own suit. It was a simple, rugged design, as all things designed by the Shoei were. Still, it was effective. Lovingly maintained it was in perfect working order. Even the air, when she activated the life support system, was fresh and cool. The HUD lit up, informing her of the suit’s status, oxy and power reserve levels. All systems were nominal. When your life depended on it, always choose Shoei. The Confederates tended to overcomplicate everything, building in smart systems that would only break down. Or try to kill you.
“Let’s go.” Sollander stood and clumped over to the airlock, her heavy boots scuffing the already well scratched deck.
“Yeah, I think we’re about ready,” Prentice said, checking her own readouts. Most of her life signs were flashing amber. She paid them little attention. She knew what she needed to know. Her seals were good and she had enough power and air for thirty-two hours. She didn’t intend on staying aboard the warship more than a few hours—at first anyway.
“Right, before we step out there, be warned,” Sollander said. “Be careful what you touch and what you stand on. There might be regrav aboard, there might not. There may or may not be air pressure, and we certainly don’t know what the temperature will be.”
“I've done this before,” Prentice commented, opening the inner air lock door. “Just once or twice.”
“We don’t know how damaged the ship is,” Sollander continued.
“Seen it all before.” Prentice grinned and ushered in the first group. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Eleven
The senate convened within a vast chamber in Buer Adjunct, the floor and walls glittering pink marble, cut and dressed using industrial lasers from a quarry on the other side of Russou. Slender pillars held up the sweeping roof, leaving a perfectly circular gap in the very centre of the dome, allowing in the last of the afternoon sun. There were only six senators, one for every city, but the senate floor was still crowded; aides, officials and hangers on scuttling to and fro, going about the business of state. Everywhere there was movement, a tide of flesh breaking against the dais where a small island of calm persevered. The prefect’s seat was unoccupied, Drefus himself absent. Without him the evening’s proceedings could not begin.
It was an important occasion. The victors of the Two City Rod Race had been invited to attend, to make their traditional Upper House speech and request. After the catastrophe that had eliminated both the front-runners, the Spurious Moment had ultimately won. An upset neither the crew nor the race officials quite knew how to handle. Dr Spurio and her crew had not expected to win against the likes of the Redemption and the Express. A far smaller rod, the Moment had been almost five minutes behind the front-runners, leading up the pack of novice and part time racers. They had never been serious contenders. As such Singh doubted the good doctor had even bothered to write a speech until after the race was over. She certainly looked extremely uncomfortable now, standing at the front of the v formation of her crew, patiently waiting for the start of the evening’s proceedings.
They were not the only ones waiting on the prefect. It was getting late. The senators were becoming restive.
The only stationary figure in the chamber, Singh watched the activity with some amusement. He didn’t quite know why he had been summoned here at such short notice. Nor did he know why they were being forced to wait. He didn’t typically attend these meetings, for which he was rather grateful. They were tedious for one, and secondly he couldn’t abide the company of his father.
“This is intolerable!” Agher spluttered, failing miserably in her attempts to keep her ire in check. The senator for Mammon stood and slammed a fist onto a marble chair arm. She winced as she bruised her knuckles. “Why are we waiting?”
Sing could do nothing but bow politely. “I am afraid the prefect has not shared his instructions with me, Senator.”
“What good are you then?” She demanded, rubbing her injured hand. She was a large woman, her pale business suit bulging in its attempt to contain all of her. Her hair, Singh knew, was a wig. Her own hair was a tangled mess of yellow straw, testament to too many decades of failed beauty treatments. “Go on, go find him. Shoo, shoo.” She waved at him dismissively.
“Perhaps you should do as she says,” Senator Fallan said. As senator for Buer, the largest and wealthiest city on Russou—and also the host city for the senate—he was the most influential amongst them. He was a tall, slender man, his features sharp and somewhat effeminate. A contrast to Agher who sat opposite him across the debating floor.
“Senator, with due respect, I am where I should be at times like these.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lendar, the senator for Ipos demanded. She was a stocky, tall woman, draped from head to foot in creaking black leather. A sign of mourning, he understood. Although he didn't know what, or whom, she was mourning. Her short, almost shaven hair was black, framing an angular, hooked nosed face. “How often do you attend the senate, hmm Toady?”
Singh felt blood suffusing his face. It took all of his self-control not to glance in his father’s direction, where he was sat as senator for Appolyon. He could feel the waves of arrogance and loathing emanating from the tall, hawk nosed man. He knew AN Yough despised him, the man had told him so.
As there were only six settlements of any size on Russou, the structure of the government was straightforward. It was split into two houses, the Upper and Lower Houses. The senators sat in the Upper House. One senator was elected every four years from each of the cities. An election process that was more than slightly corrupt, and openly so. Even though every man and woman over the age of eighteen was entitled to vote, only those sufficiently motivated ever bothered to do so. Typically, only the rich and powerful could ever supply that motivation. There were no political parties or trade unions on Russou, they had been outlawed in one of the first proclamations the prefect made as he took the reins of government. A move that was good for big business, certainly, but could never be good for the average citizen. Civil liberties were virtually unheard of.
