Marauder (41 page)
Authors: Gary Gibson
The ship’s computers showed her the course that the
Ingersoll
would follow, a parabolic curve bringing them within a few million kilometres of the star’s bloated surface,
before hurtling them back outwards once more towards the moon where the Wanderer waited.
Curiosity prompted Gabrielle to access an exterior image of the
Ingersoll
. She was thus able to see a mid-section bulge that contained the linked rings in which she and the crew
resided. Something about this image made her think of a snake that had just swallowed something much larger than itself.
The thought of what she might experience were she to be given full, unrestricted access to the
Ingersoll
’s navigational systems left her with an ache deep in her belly. She
promised herself that if by some miracle she survived the coming days, she would become a pilot.
They were drawing closer to their rendezvous with the star, which loomed larger by the hour in the shipboard monitors. She quickly learned that the path of a spacecraft was determined not in
terms of straight lines, but rather by its movement between various orbits involving greater and lesser expenditures of energy.
Before long, the whole crew were ordered to climb into acceleration couches, in advance of the
Ingersoll
’s slingshot manoeuvre around the star. Schelling was desperate to catch up
with the Ship of the Covenant, which was well ahead of them by now and already approaching a final rendezvous with the moon and the Wanderer itself. He had already ordered their nova mine to be
launched into a solar orbit during the moment of their closest proximity with the star.
One of the
Ingersoll
’s security staff then came to fetch her and Bash to one of several suites specially designed with such high-g manoeuvres in mind. Tarrant and Sifra were
already present and strapped into their own couches, along with several others she did not recognize, and none of whom so much as acknowledged her presence. She wondered if they had been instructed
to ignore her.
For a few hours, Gabrielle’s body weight grew and grew, pressing her deeper and deeper down into her couch. The ship’s external sensors presented her with the heavily filtered image
of the star’s surface, mottled and twisted and ugly and floating against a perfect black void. The
Ingersoll
’s bulkheads sang and creaked under the stress.
Then, finally, the pressure lifted, before fading away entirely. They were now coasting on their way back out from the star.
Back in their shared quarters, Gabrielle guided Bash over to his bunk, then listened carefully for the sound of footsteps outside.
Once she felt reasonably sure they would not be disturbed any time soon, she kneeled by her own bunk and carefully lifted up one side of the mattress, feeling around beneath it with her fingers
until she found the small roll of stained fabric she had long ago torn from the edge of a bedsheet.
She glanced once more towards the door, then headed over to a set of drawers fitted into a recess. She slid the lowest one out and dumped its contents on the floor, then carefully unrolled a
pair of Bash’s socks to reveal a narrow strip of metal, about ten centimetres in length. It had formerly been a side-runner attached to the drawer itself, and one end had been sharpened to a
razor-edged point.
Removing the screws had taken her an eternity, since she had little choice but to work at them with nothing more than her fingernails. She had spent literally weeks gently prising out each of
the tiny screws, one after another, until they became loose enough to remove.
With fingertips torn and raw, she had worked with the constant awareness that she might be interrupted at any moment, and more than once she had needed to slide the drawer hurriedly back into
place, before making a pretence of tidying up its contents. She would then publicly chew at her fingernails in case anyone noticed the damaged tips and asked questions.
After that had come many long and boring hours of first flattening out and smoothing the metal strip, then gradually producing a sharpened point by whittling one edge against the grille covering
the ventilation system.
She now wrapped the strip of sheet fabric around the unsharpened edge and tied it off. It felt too light, too insubstantial in her hands, more like a toy than a weapon, and yet beneath the
overhead lights its edge glittered as sharp and deadly as she might wish. It could certainly cut a throat . . . or slice a wrist.
Could
she take her own life, or even Bash’s, if it came to that? She had no idea. She’d dreamed often enough of cutting the throats of Tarrant or Sifra. Could that be so
hard, after poisoning a roomful of people or murdering a stranger with a crowbar?
Every now and then, she would stare at the makeshift shank clasped in her hand, and think back to the days of luxurious bedchambers and servants. What would that other Gabrielle have thought,
she now wondered, if she had ever been able to foresee what lay in her future?
She studied it for a little while longer then, as always, tucked the long metal strip back inside a pair of socks, before returning the fabric grip beneath her mattress. She did it all with the
exactitude of a priestess performing a complicated but long-practised rite.
The next day, Tarrant himself came to fetch her, instead of just the usual guards.
‘It’s time for you to have a chat with Megan,’ he declared, leading her back along the passageway. ‘Make it very clear to her just how much is at stake if she
interferes.’
‘What about Bash?’ asked Gabrielle, aware he was still asleep in his bunk.
‘The guards will fetch him in a little while,’ replied Tarrant. ‘You don’t need him for you to talk to Megan.’
‘There’s something I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Megan told me what happened to those other machine-heads when they got here. How come I’m not affected
– or the
Ingersoll
’s pilot?’
‘The
Ingersoll
has been refurbished with shielding specifically designed to resist the Wanderer’s informational attacks,’ Tarrant explained. ‘You’ll be
safe from any such interference when you link to the Wanderer through Bash. And, if we still have any problems, we can always fully reactivate your inhibitor.’
They entered the communications suite where the bridging sessions were carried out. Schelling and Sifra were already there, waiting for them. Gabrielle automatically took her usual seat but, for
some inexplicable reason, she felt more vulnerable there without having Bash seated across from her.
Tarrant moved around in front of her. ‘Remember,’ he said. ‘There’s a nova mine in close orbit around Bellhaven’s sun. So if she doesn’t—’
‘I didn’t forget,’ she interrupted him. ‘Anything else?’
‘Find out if she got a response from the Wanderer,’ said Sifra. ‘And remember, we’re routing you through the navigational systems so as to let you talk to her. It’s
going to be a step up from what you’re used to.’
‘And be careful what you tell her,’ warned Schelling. ‘Gregor will be monitoring your conversation.’
A virtual panel appeared directly before her. ‘That’s your interface,’ explained Tarrant. ‘Pick the control access option – it’s the red icon at the
centre.’
She did as she was told. The icon flashed briefly, then a rippling darkness spread out from the panel to consume the entire room. Gabrielle lost any immediate sense of her body, as if her soul
had been cut free of her flesh. She found herself now looking out on to naked vacuum.
She discovered she could rapidly cycle her viewpoint through dozens of different vantage points, each one flickering by with such speed that she could hardly take in what she was seeing and
experiencing.
Szymurski is riding along with you
, said Tarrant, as if from very, very far away.
The Ingersoll’s pilot. You’re seeing everything he does, but you can’t control anything. You’ll be able to talk to Megan – but that’s about it.
This, then, she realized, was what it felt like to have full access to a starship’s senses.
Szymursky?
asked Tarrant.
Yes. Why?
You won’t have to
, replied Tarrant,
Szymursky reports only to me, not Schelling. We’re hooking you into the transceiver array now
, he continued.
If
Megan’s monitoring our comms traffic – and she will be – she should know just about straight away that you’re here.
Gabrielle’s viewpoint changed to show the Ship of the Covenant locked into orbit around the desolate moon that lay ahead. She could also see the equally lifeless surface of the world
around which the moon orbited.
Megan replied.
? But . . .> So much for the element of surprise that Tarrant had been hoping for.
Megan’s relief was palpable.
staff.
Gabrielle realized that Megan’s presence had slipped away even while she’d been talking, just like a radio signal fading in and out.
<. . . thing’s happening,> sent Megan, suddenly fading back in.
The signal faded, then died. Gabrielle could still sense Szymurski as a distant presence.
<. . . want with Bellhaven?>
Silence fell. Then, deep in her gut, Gabrielle knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
Megan
The Wanderer struck without warning and, even though Megan had been prepared for such an attack, it came with startling swiftness.
She reclined on a cantilevered chair of metal and plastic with her eyes closed, in a grey-tiled communications room that probably hadn’t even existed until a few moments before she entered
it.
The Wanderer is aggressively testing our defences
, the Librarian informed her.
It appears to be recomputing the underlying informational structure of space-time within the body of
our ship.
How is that even possible?
she asked.
It has some means of temporarily redefining certain physical constants on a quantum-scale level
, said the Librarian.
You’re saying it can alter reality?
On a minute and highly localized scale, yes.
But why?
In order to subvert and access our memory banks
, it replied.
Megan shifted her subjective experience of time until the universe beyond the ship came, from her point of view, to a near standstill. She swam through the ship’s memory, and saw that
great swathes of it had fallen forever dark and silent as they were consumed by the informational equivalent of a forest fire. Cancerous pockets, under the apparent influence of the Wanderer,
sprang up in their place – only to be swiftly isolated and destroyed by the Librarian.
Eventually, the Wanderer withdrew its attack. Outwardly, nothing had changed; both it and the Magi ship continued their separate, apparently serene orbits around the moon.
How bad is the damage?
she asked, coming back into normal time.
The ship has sustained severe damage
, said the Librarian,
and is in an even more greatly weakened state than before.
She remembered all those long hours she’d spent kneeling by Bash in his quarters, communing with the Marauder via a mind-to-mind link.
I thought it and I had an agreement.
Our current prognosis is that it was merely testing our defences to ascertain whether we were weak enough to overcome.
It really can’t be trusted, can it?
No
, the Librarian agreed.
We could, if necessary, transmit your current mind-state to the nearest Magi ship, if we appear to be facing certain destruction.
No
, she replied.
That’d use up too much of your resources. Save it for the battle, if it comes.
There were other versions of her out there, after all, preserved in the
memories of those other Magi ships. They could have their turn to live if it came to the worst here.
She returned her attention to the
Ingersoll
, which was clearly preparing to decelerate for its final approach to the moon. The starship was so heavily shielded against
any informational attack that she could not even pinpoint Gabrielle’s physical location aboard it.
