The silver fleet the com.., p.104
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 104
Markham was standing off to one side, watching all of this with his arms folded. It was odd seeing him like that as he knew that Markham liked getting his hands dirty along with the rest of his troopers. It wasn’t like him to appear so aloof.
Markham’s whole expression changed when he spied Webster though and he came over with his hand extended. They’d long since dispensed with formal salutes. Even though there were supposedly no Da’al troops left on the planet, they couldn’t dismiss the idea that they weren’t somehow being watched.
“Good to see you again, sir. I trust you’re well.”
“As well as can be expected,” Webster had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the sound of the drilling. “Nice to see you’re keeping the men occupied.”
“Nothing to do with me. This is all Nash’s doing.”
“Oh, I see.”
Webster looked over to see if he could locate Nash amongst the others but he had no luck. The glare off the ice was too dazzling. What he did notice however was one of the scientists coming over from the direction of the camp. He couldn’t be sure at that distance but, from the size of him, he had to guess that it was Kekkonen.
“And you’re happy with all this?” he asked. “Nash taking charge?”
Markham unfolded his arms and turned to Webster. “He told me that you’d given him the go ahead.”
“Oh, okay,” Webster felt his face begin to redden. “I suppose that’s fine, then. He does have general authorisation for pretty much anything he wants to do, I suppose.”
Markham stirred uneasily. “I know, but what’s all this about? It’s like he’s working to some kind of deadline. One he’s choosing not to share with the rest of us.”
“What is it with these cables? Is he trying to drag the ship clear? Is that it?”
“These aren’t just any old cables,” Markham remarked. “He brought these with him. Smart cables, similar tech to what they used on Blackthorn’s umbilical. Pretty much unbreakable not to mention partially sentient. You program these things with what you want and they’ll pretty much do the job for you.”
“Okay then, so what’s with all the drilling?”
Markham leaned in and covered his mouth so that he didn’t need to shout to be heard. “You’re not going to believe this. I confess that I didn’t when I first found out: the plan is to pass the cables under the ice so that they can construct some kind of cat’s cradle…”
Webster made a face and stepped back, as though he feared catching whichever kind of madness had infected Markham.
Markham laughed. “Like I said: pretty unbelievable. But one of my guys has an engineering degree. He reckons that the figures all add up.”
“So, Nash’s intending on doing what? Lifting this ship up off the deck? Is he crazy?”
Kekkonen was about twenty metres away and he raised his hands in greeting.
“The thing is, sir, we’re not the ones he has to convince,” Markham went on. “There’s obviously a lot of thought gone into this. I’m no expert but the cost of those cables alone is a huge investment for somebody.”
Webster looked again at what the troopers were doing. They certainly appeared to be very well organised. And what did he know about this kind of set-up, anyway?
He decided not to say anything else until Kekkonen had joined them.
After the normal round of handshakes, Webster gestured towards the crashed ship.
“What do you think, Jenho? Reckon this is going to work.”
Kekkonen shrugged. “Don’t ask me. If I’ve learned anything in all the time I’ve been doing this it’s that there’s still so much we don’t know. If this ship was the product of earth-based technology then as soon as those cables started taking the strain there’s a good chance we’d snap it in half. But with this kind of technology – who knows?”
“You think it’s that different, do you?”
“It’s more than that. This stuff is different different. Unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. That’s why we’ve been studying it so carefully. For example: we don’t know how this is happening, but there’s evidence to suggest that this ship is capable of repairing itself.”
“Repairing itself?” He looked to Markham for his response but he just pulled a face. “Really?”
“Yes, and I’m not talking about servitors or telefactors doing the work. I’m saying that the ship is capable of repairing key components by itself. The only thing that’s stopped us from studying it in more detail is because we’ve so far hesitated about bringing it fully on-line.”
“Are you talking about some type of machine intelligence here?”
Kekkonen threw up his hands. “I’m not sure what we’re looking at. Something very unique, I know that, at least.”
“Doesn’t change the current situation though,” Webster pointed out. “Nash can do whatever he likes with all that equipment but he’s going nowhere without some kind of outside help. Currently, we can’t even get ourselves into orbit, so how is he planning to salvage something like that?”
Kekkonen and Markham shared a look.
Then Markham said, “I think I’m just going to go check on my guys.”
When he’d gone, Webster gave Kekkonen a quizzical look.
Kekkonen said, “Sergeant Markham has a spotless service record, I assume?”
Webster said nothing.
“So, he wants to build in some plausible deniability at this point. Up until yesterday, Alex, I’d have to say that I’d have agreed with your analysis of the situation.”
Webster watched Markham as he stopped to speak to a group of troopers.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What happened yesterday?”
Kekkonen put his head down and gave a little sigh. Then he did an odd thing. He moved around so that he was standing with his back to the wrecked ship.
Webster saw at once what he was doing: he was making it virtually impossible for anyone in that direction to eavesdrop on what he was saying.
“Yesterday, Mr Nash received a communication.”
Webster could sense his grasp of the situation starting to dissipate.
“And why wasn’t I notified?”
“You’ll have to ask Mr Nash about that. He had some authorisation affording him top level encryption. Secret squirrel crap.”
“Any idea where this communication came from?”
Kekkonen indicated that Webster should copy him by facing away from the stricken ship and Webster was happy to comply.
“It was a tight beam communication from Blackthorn.”
“But it didn’t come from Blackthorn originally?”
“I’m guessing not.”
Kekkonen knew all about the communication drone he and Nash had sent back to Lincoln Station. But that was over ten days ago.
“So, what do you think this message was all about?”
“Same thing you do,” Kekkonen favoured him with a knowing smile. “They’re sending in the big boys.”
“Some kind of major league haulage team,” Webster let out a low whistle. “But how’re they going to do that? They’re going to have to operate in atmosphere to have any chance of pulling this off.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”
“That’s an awful lot of trouble to go to just so they can get their hands on one ship.”
“I don’t think it’s the ship they’re concerned about.”
“What? You’re talking about the weapons system?”
“That’d be my guess.”
Webster surveyed the skies overhead. “And that’s without the issue of there still being a Da’al ship up there.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ve already thought about that.”
Webster allowed himself to look back at the fallen ship, seeing it now as if for the first time.
“You think they’re going to be able to pull it off?”
Kekkonen shrugged.
“I don’t know. But it’s going to be kinda cool watching ‘em try.”
*
Dr Sands was waiting for her when she arrived in the main Convalescent Ward.
He looked apprehensive and kept checking his tablet as though waiting for bad news to be confirmed.
“How are things?” she asked.
She could see from his expression that they weren’t good.
“The patient has regained consciousness, though only recently.”
Sands was careful not to use Faulkner’s real name. He had him listed as a Petty Officer Charles Linz. Linz himself was real enough but has been taken off the ship at Blackthorn with kidney problems. Eventually, Linz’ paperwork would catch up with them and people would start asking questions but Sands was confident that by the time that came to pass, Faulkner would be long gone.
“I’d like to see him.”
“I understand, governor, only at this stage, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Ardent gave Sands one of her ‘disappointed’ looks. It rarely failed.
“Still, I’d very much like to see him.”
Sands checked something on his tablet. “He’s under a lot of sedation. I doubt you’ll get much out of him.”
“That’s fine. I don’t intend to question him, I just want to see him.”
“Then we’ll have to get you ready. He’s in a sterile environment.”
Sands took her down a side corridor and knocked on one of the doors. From the noise coming through the door, it sounded like some kind of rec. room, which was exactly what it turned out to be.
One of the nurses came out, adjusting her uniform. She seemed surprised to see Sands but not as surprised as she was to see Ardent. She clearly knew who she was and seemed a little unnerved by her presence.
This, Ardent reflected, was the problem of trying to be discrete when half the system knew who you were.
The nurse led her out through a small spa area into a surgical changing room. There she over-saw Ardent as she first stripped and then showered before leading her into a tiled chamber where she was given a pair of dark, almost black, goggles to wear.
Ardent didn’t know what to think standing there totally naked, barely able to see anything. Then came three enormous flashes, each so bright that they left her with a stark after image. She was still struggling to see when the nurse came in and handed her a fresh towel. Ardent removed her goggles and when she looked down was surprised to see her top layer of skin had been reduced to a fine powder. She used the towel to brush away as much of it as she could.
The nurse took her through to the changing room and showed her where her new clothes were hanging. These consisted of a shapeless full body gown, disposable clogs, gloves and a full-face mask. Only when the nurse was happy with her appearance was she ushered through into the next room.
It was of medium size and completely bare except for a single hospital bed with its own bank of observational equipment.
The figure lying on the bed seemed far too big to be Faulkner and yet, as she drew closer, that was indeed who it turned out to be.
“It’s the swelling,” Sands said, appearing behind her. “The body’s defences are responding to the new tissue as a foreign invader so they’re trying to fight it. We’re using medication to switch off these defensive capabilities but it’s taking a little longer than we’d anticipated.”
“And will he be on this medication permanently?”
“No. That might have been the case fifty years ago but we’ve moved on a bit since then.”
She went and stood over Faulkner, fighting back a fresh pang of guilt.
He looked terrible and she couldn’t help thinking that she was the one responsible. What if he didn’t survive this? What then?
And yet Faulkner wouldn’t have thanked her for taking the easy option: seeing him drummed out of the service on a disability pension. No, she couldn’t do that to him, it would have been a betrayal. She had to at least give him the chance of returning to a normal life.
Faulkner lay on his back. Both sides of his head had been shaved and covered with a fine gauze. He had a ventilator over his mouth and nose and was breathing with the kind of regularity that can only be achieved with the help of a machine.
A complex system of tubing and electrical cables fed into his system at various points. His whole body was cocooned in a hard shell with rigid black spikes sticking out not unlike a porcupine.
“What the hell are these things?”
“They’re part of his new exoskeleton. Don’t worry, they’re not permanent. They responsible for sending out various electrical pulses. It’s a way of encouraging the nanites to keep doing their job. At this stage, his new bones are still incredibly soft and it’s up to the nanites to strengthen them, though that does take time. But the most important thing is that there are no obvious signs of rejection.”
“Could that happen?”
“We’re doing everything we can to ensure that it doesn’t,” he stressed.
“But there is still a chance.”
“Normally, there’s a twelve percent chance, but that rises to a seventeen percent chance with older patients.”
“Good,” she said. “I like to know what we’re up against.”
“Elsbeth? Is that you?”
Ardent bent over him, startled just by hearing his voice. It slowly dawned on her who he was referring to.
Elsbeth Morton.
The chief surgeon back on the Mantis.
She was surprised to hear him speak with such tenderness. Surprised and not a little hurt.
“Elsbeth’s not here at the moment,” she eyed Sands who was nodding his approval. “She’ll be back later.”
Faulkner said something else but because of the respirator she couldn’t make it out. She moved closer, lifting the respirator clear of his face. Sands moved in beside her, lips pursed, imploring her to be careful.
“Say that again,” she said, lowering her ear close to his mouth.
For a second all she could hear was the sound of him struggling for breath then, in the faintest of voices he said, “Did we do it?”
“I’m sorry, what…”
“Blackthorn. Is it safe?”
“Yes, captain,” her heart swelled. “Blackthorn is safe. Thanks to you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The fact that they had made a terrible error of judgement became apparent to LaCruz and Barnes within a very short time of them setting off for the distant peak. What made matters worse was that the higher they climbed, the better their view became of the lower peak.
For while the main plateau was exposed and vulnerable from a number of different directions, the paths which ran around it seemed flush with various caves and bolt holes into which they could have withdrawn prior to mounting a rear-guard action. The importance of that couldn’t be overestimated, especially with a major cold front moving in from the north. In an engagement like this, the weather might well be the deciding factor. In some ways, it looked perfect for what they were after.
Conversely, here they were, struggling up the side of a mountain which was, in places, all but impassable. And if the snow closed in, as it threatened to do, they might well find themselves completely cut off. On foot their progress would have been difficult enough but, in their suits, robbed off their ability to look directly down, it was treacherous. At no point could they be confident that the trail they were navigating was safe to cross and on several occasions LaCruz had simply frozen, convinced that she was mere seconds from plunging to her death. It was tiring, nerve shredding work and at one point, their progress was reduced to just ten metres per hour.
In some places, the gusts were so strong that it was impossible to proceed and they would have to wait, sheltering against the rock face until the wind dropped long enough for them to proceed. The width of the path they were traversing also varied widely. At times, it was wide enough to drive a truck through while at others it was possible to proceed only if they turned their suits sideways and progressed along the ledge like a crab.
But it was the actual cold itself which LaCruz found most challenging.
The suits might well be telling them that the exterior temperature was minus thirty but when the wind chill factor was factored into that it could well be a good ten degrees colder and for all that the suits were very efficient at recycling their heat, they couldn’t realistically be expected to keep doing this indefinitely.
On several occasions, when LaCruz was traversing up the side of the mountain she was forced to stop as their presence triggered another one of the rockslides which they had learned to contend with. There were times when she had to just stand her ground, praying that the whole section she was standing on didn’t just give way completely, sending her crashing down onto the rocks below.
Although there were no natural stopping places which might allow them some respite, there were one- or two-blind openings which they might be able to turn to their advantage. They would stop every now and then, to apprise the viability of setting up an ambush. But after considering their options they’d invariably shake their heads and move on, a little disconsolate perhaps but assured that their critical faculties had not been compromised by the cold.
The urge was simply to keep going, climbing higher and higher until they could go no further. At that juncture, having backed themselves into a corner, they’d be forced into a simple bloody reckoning. One which they knew they were destined not to win.
The only thing which succeeded in breaking up the monotony of their ascent was Barnes’ propensity for setting booby traps. Although he assured LaCruz that he did it in order to test the resolve of the Da’al troops it was clear that this wasn’t entirely true. Tactically, it served little purpose, other than possibly thinning out the opposition, but psychologically it provided them with an enormous boost. For no matter how hard they were suffering they knew that at least they didn’t have to contend with someone up ahead setting up booby traps.
