Fleet of Knives Page 24

  I admired the yachts dotting the bay.

  “It’s very nice. Is it somewhere you know?”

  “It’s something I saw in an old movie once, back before I became the Lucy’s Ghost. The Grand Hotel, Scarborough. That’s on Earth, you know.” She looked down at her attire. “I’ve never been there, but I have to admit, I do like these old Victorian costumes.”

  “Well, I’m glad one of us is amused.”

  Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “You sound annoyed.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t the time for self-indulgence?”

  “Perhaps it’s the only time we’ll have.”

  She picked up the silver teapot and poured a cup for each of us. I flopped my avatar down on the nearest chair.

  “Now, how about you tell me why we’re here?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  Replacing the teapot, she used a finger to sketch a rectangle on the tablecloth. A picture appeared within, and I recognised the roiling mists of the higher dimensions. A small section of hull was visible at the bottom of the screen.

  “This was taken shortly before I collided with the Restless Itch,” Lucy said. “As you can see, nothing appears to be out of the ordinary.”

  Suddenly, the picture lurched to the side and a gaping hole appeared in the hull. There was no explosion, no visible impact. One moment the hull was intact; an instant later, a section of it had simply gone.

  “You were attacked?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I’ve never seen a weapon like that.”

  “I don’t think it was a weapon.” Lucy closed the window with a snap of her fingers. She picked up her cup and blew steam from the tea.

  “What else could it have been?”

  “I don’t know.” She lowered the cup again without having sipped from it. “As far as my instruments were concerned, there was nothing out there. A complete blank. But the crew seemed to be able to see something. Listen.”

  She held up a hand and I heard playback from inside the Lucy’s Ghost. I recognised Schultz’s voice, and heard him say, “Ship, what was that?” There was a pause, followed by, “There was something on the starboard screen, just for a second.” Another pause, then, “There it is again!” A few moments later, the recording cut off, and Lucy sat waiting for my response.

  “He certainly sounds as if he saw something.”

  “Later, he described it as looking like a large flying reptile, with tattered black wings and diamonds for teeth.”

  “And you saw nothing?”

  “Not a sausage. Not even when it took a bite out of my midsection.”

  “How curious.”

  For decades, people had reported glimpses of creatures in the hypervoid, but none of those reports had ever been taken seriously. No evidence had ever been found to support their claims, and no ships had detected anything unusual. And anyway, the hallucinogenic effects of gazing too long into the abyss were well known. The boiling emptiness of the void played tricks with the human brain’s need to impose patterns and order on existence. But what if at least some of those sightings had been genuine? Could creatures survive in such an environment, and somehow be invisible to artificial senses? If I’d not seen the footage of that bite being taken from the Lucy’s Ghost, I wouldn’t have believed such a thing were possible.

  “The Fleet of Knives spoke of an enemy,” I said. “An ancient species drawn to conflict and turmoil.”

  “You think this might be one of them?”

  “I have no idea.” I let my gaze wander back to the yachts in the bay. “But if it is, then that begs a very important question.”

  “Which is?”

  “If the white ships were created to fight these things, how on earth do they detect them?”

  Lucy frowned. “Perhaps they have better sensors than we do?”

  “Not that much better.” A waiter slid past, and even though he was just a collection of animated pixels, I instinctively lowered my voice. “Their technology’s impressive, but in terms of basic principles, it’s not that much more advanced than ours. There must be more to it than that.”

  Lucy threw a sugar lump to the seagulls, but they didn’t seem to know what to do with it. “Perhaps they just know what to look for?”

  “Mm, perhaps.” I wasn’t convinced. And, as I watched the gulls squabbling over their prize, an ugly suspicion began to build.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  ONA SUDAK

  The Nymtoq cruiser opened fire the moment it dropped out of the higher dimensions. Volleys of missiles streaked towards all three of my ships, which instantly responded with defensive fire and torpedo launches of their own. Within seconds, the space between us erupted into a blossoming hellscape of ragged explosions and flying metal. The intricate thrusts and parries happened too quickly to follow, and I had to trust my ships knew what they were doing. They didn’t need my permission to defend themselves, and so, as the battle raged, I became as much of a passenger as Bochnak, able only to watch the storm and await its outcome, my paltry human intellect of little use in an arena where dozens of tactical decisions could be made and enacted in the time it would take me to draw the breath to give an order.

  Resigned therefore to being a spectator, I lowered myself to the floor and took up a lotus position in the centre of the dais, at the heart of the spherical bridge, and tried to get an overall impression of the battle. We were arranged in a rough arrowhead formation, with my ship at the point, and all of us pouring fire against the interloper. But, as far as I could tell, the besieged Nymtoq cruiser seemed to be holding firm against our attacks.

  The nine-eyed grizzly bear shambled up behind and cupped the back of my head with its paw. Suddenly I was linked into the group mind of the Fleet, and time seemed to slow down. Missiles that had been streaks of light now crawled across the heavens at walking pace. Explosions flowered and died like conjuring tricks. Numbers flickered in the dark spaces of my skull—estimates, projections, targeting data—and I sensed the rarefied chill of the white ships’ thoughts like a web of frost extending itself across all the stars of mankind. Elsewhere, other skirmishes were taking place. Ships from one side of the Generality were advising ships on the other, their thoughts transferred instantaneously through higher dimensional space. They shared, relayed and distributed information between themselves like some enormous hive, playing out coordinated tactical strikes across battlefronts dozens of light years in length. Human ships fleeing one assault would find another ready to pounce when they re-emerged at their destination. Whole armadas were being herded together and destroyed in an orgy of clinical, calculated destruction—and our current predicament comprised only a single thread of that vast tapestry.

  In my accelerated state, I regarded the sweeping lines of the Nymtoq cruiser. It had taken extensive damage to its forward section. Magnifying the view, I could see areas of hull that had been peppered by cannon fire, and others that had been scorched and melted by nearby detonations. It was outgunned and outclassed, but still it fought, and I had to admire that.

  I watched a fresh salvo of missiles arc out from my ship, curving and weaving through space like fireflies as their onboard software tried to evade their target’s defensive fire. At the same time, the other two white ships launched similar attacks. The Nymtoq were good, but there was no way they could defend against that many incoming torpedoes. If even one of the warheads hit home, the cruiser would be finished.

  It was, I thought, all over.

  But then the cruiser did something truly unexpected. Instead of standing its ground or trying to retreat, it fired its main engines and leapt forward, into the teeth of the attack.

  “What’s it doing?”

  Insufficient data.

  “Is it trying to ram us?”

  That would be a reasonable conjecture.

  “Then why aren’t we moving?”

  We do not anticipate the target will survive long enough to collide with us.

  I saw three sets
of torpedoes zeroing in on the cruiser, and scrambled to my feet.

  “Oh, you stupid bastards!”

  The first explosion caught the Nymtoq vessel amidships, breaking its spine. The second and third tore it into several large, fragmenting chunks. But still it came on, its momentum too great to be entirely deflected. And suddenly we were facing a shotgun blast of half-molten, radioactive debris.

  “Move! Move!”

  Taking evasive act—

  The smaller particles hit first, some rattling off the hull like hail from a kitchen skylight, the rest punching deep holes in our forward armour. The white ship lurched sideways, but it was too late. We wouldn’t be able to clear the expanding debris field before it hit us.

  Frozen in place, I watched a chunk of the cruiser’s stern spinning towards us, trailing plumes of gas and coolant. We were turning, but not quickly enough. The fragment would hit us. It was easily half the size of my ship, and I had no doubt that at the relative speeds involved, the collision would be fatal.

  Even in the accelerated timeframe of the Fleet’s consciousness, I still had only subjective seconds in which to live. And all I could think was how ironic it would be to have escaped a firing squad only to be killed like this. For all their superior numbers and cold logic, the white ships had failed to anticipate that the Nymtoq vessel might embrace its own destruction as a chance to inflict damage on its killers.

  If it wasn’t for me, that complacency might have doomed us; but I was a Conglomeration officer, a veteran of the Archipelago War, and I’d be damned if I’d give up without a fight.

  “4,678,” I barked at the vessel flanking us to port. “Incoming threat. Move to starboard now. Protect the flagship.”

  Acknowledged.

  Even with the speeded-up perception afforded by the hive mind, events were moving quickly. We were still veering away, but the chunk of the cruiser’s stern was almost upon us. I could almost see the individual rivets on its hull. And then a glistening marble dagger came streaking in from the left. It hit the whirling wreck on the side, its snow-coloured nose crumpling and splintering with the force of the impact. Shards of it broke away like icicles from a thawing gutter. But still it accelerated, smashing itself as it shoved the danger far enough to the side that we were spared—even though the gap between us was so slight I fancied I could almost hear the whoosh as the entangled wreckage of both ships passed scant metres from our bows.

  I closed my eyes and let out a breath. Smaller pieces of the cruiser still clattered against our forward surfaces, but we were safe from the larger fragments. We had survived. We were battered and scuffed and had lost a ship, but we were still here.

  Captain Sudak? The bear was still behind me: a solid, furry wall of sinew and claw.

  “Yes?”

  In the moments before its destruction, the Nymtoq vessel sent a communication.

  “To us?”

  To their government.

  I sucked my teeth. I had been hoping we could keep what had happened here from further escalation. “Was it a distress call?”

  The bear growled. Its dagger-like claws flexed.

  It was a request for reinforcements.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  TROUBLE DOG

  88,573 sent a request to meet me in virtual space. I chose the same hotel balcony on which I’d spoken with Lucy. It saved me the bother of inventing something new and, truth be told, I rather liked the view. The glimmering blue of the sea; the colourful yachts; the achingly clean-looking lines of the waves as they broke.

  88,573 came to me as a grey-haired human avatar dressed all in white. He had a neatly trimmed beard and eyes the colour of sunset. His cufflinks were miniature stars that burned on his wrists. The lines on his face had been carved by the passage of centuries.

  In contrast, my hair was a hacked, shaggy mess. I hadn’t bothered to dress up, and had just let my appearance revert to its default setting. I was naked beneath my frayed trench coat and my feet were bare against the wooden decking.

  I offered him some tea, but he declined with the distaste of an adult refusing to participate in a child’s game.

  We’re not here for pleasantries, he said.

  “Then why are you here?”

  Have you decided to surrender?

  “I thought I’d made my position clear.”

  You have not changed your mind?

  “I don’t think I’m likely to; not when surrender means death.”

  A pity.

  “Yes, a real shame.” I rose to my feet and conjured a fresh sea breeze. It ruffled back my hair in just the way I wanted it to. “Now, how about we talk honestly?”

  The avatar’s eyes were tunnels of warm, rosy light.

  Frankness is appreciated.

  “Good.” I put my fists on my hips. “Because I saw what just happened out there. I know you fought that Nymtoq cruiser.”

  We won.

  “Yes, but you lost one of your number, and the other two are damaged.”

  The damage is minor.

  “That’s not the point.”

  Then pray tell us, what is the point?

  The wind dropped. The conversation on the surrounding tables stilled. All was suddenly silence.

  “It shows you’re not invulnerable,” I said. “It shows you’re mortal, and that you can bleed.”

  The avatar regarded me without expression.

  I fail to see how this knowledge benefits you.

  I smiled like a wolf.

  “You really don’t understand people, do you? At the moment, you’re swarming over everything like an implacable wave. But the moment people see that footage they’re going to know you can be killed. They’re going to know you can be defeated.”

  That knowledge won’t change the imbalance between our forces. It won’t improve the quality of their arsenal.

  “Granted, but it will give them hope. And hope’s far more dangerous to you than any weapon.”

  I walked over to the balcony’s rail and looked out at the families playing on the beach. The fishing boats in the harbour. After a moment, the 88,573’s avatar joined me.

  And you have released that footage?

  “The Restless Itch is broadcasting it as we speak.”

  I see. Pale fingers tapped against the wooden rail. Still, I don’t suppose it matters much. It certainly won’t help you in your present situation. More members of the Fleet are on their way, and the Nymtoq have also signalled for additional forces. Within hours, this rock of yours will be at the epicentre of a major interspecies conflict.

  The sails of the boats on the horizon were all white. In a fit of pique, I changed them to a mixture of reds and yellows, but I don’t think my companion noticed, or cared.

  “Won’t that rather defeat your purpose? I thought you were here to keep the peace?”

  It is regrettable. The avatar straightened his immaculate white cuffs. His face, staring out at the sea, seemed primordial and weather-beaten, like the face of an antediluvian cliff. But our builders had a saying: You can’t make ice-crawler gruel without beheading a few ice-crawlers.

  “Humans have a similar one concerning omelettes and eggs.”

  Then you understand why you must surrender now, before things escalate further?

  I couldn’t help but bristle at his assured tone. I snapped, “Not really, no.”

  You sound aggrieved.

  “I feel entitled to be angry.”

  He turned to me, one eyebrow raised in polite curiosity. On what grounds?

  “On the grounds you’re here to kill me.”

  The avatar smiled. That objective forms part of our wider strategy. It is not a personal animosity.

  “From where I’m standing, it feels pretty fucking personal.”

  Then perhaps you do not fully comprehend the larger picture. Perhaps you do not understand that for every ship or human we kill, a million more will be spared; that by ending all possibility of war as quickly and cleanly as we can, we are saving mor
e lives than we end.

  “Bullshit.”

  You have seen the parasites loose aboard the Restless Itch. You have seen the destruction they can bring. And yet, these are but ticks on the hides of our enemies. They are the very least of the threats the mist predators bring with them.

  “Mist predators?” I remembered the footage Lucy had shown me. Something large had taken a bite from the old freighter, but her instruments had been unable to detect it.

  We call them the “Scourers”. They are the scourges we were designed to fight. They are the enemies of all life.

  I pursed my lips in thought.

  “If you can fight them, you must be able to see them?”

  88,573 looked at me as if I’d just said something so obvious as to be almost contemptible.

  Of course.

  “They appear invisible to our cameras.”

  They once appeared so to ours.

  “So, what did you do?”

  We were forced to evolve. When it became apparent the enemy was undetectable by artificial means, we were obliged to incorporate elements of our builders into the fabric of our beings.

  His words were so calm and matter-of-fact that it took me a moment to process the full awfulness of their meaning. The suspicion that had begun to nag me during my conversation with Lucy now hardened into a horrifying certainty.

  “You cannibalised your creators for parts?”

  The avatar clasped its hands together.

  We took their eyes for cameras. A hundred eyes per ship.

  “Fifty million people?”

  Our creators had six eyes each.

  “That’s still over sixteen and a half million individuals!” The scale of the atrocity appalled me, and also shamed me. At Pelapatarn, I’d helped wipe out fifteen billion sentient trees.