The Night's Dawn Trilogy (410 page)

“Open it,” Monica datavised. “There can’t be any real atmosphere in there. We’re wasting time.”

Samuel gripped one of the titanium spars with one gauntlet, and pushed with the other. The suit’s power augmentation whined
on the threshold of audibility. A whirl of silvery dust scooted around Samuel’s armour as the hatch flipped back.

“Just how many of these corridors are there?” Renato asked as he air-swam through, only to be faced with yet another blank
rock shaft. His inertial guidance display showed him it was inclined slightly, heading away from the rotation axis. Though
there was still no appreciable gravity.

“This is the last one, according to our file,” Samuel said.

The airlock at the far end had a human hatch in it; there was also a small plaque.

HIGH YORK UNIVERSITY
ARCHAEOLOGY EXPEDITION OF 2487

We respectfully offer our tribute to the generations of Tyrathca who ventured forth in this vessel.

In this place we have stumbled through the remnants of greatness, eternally thankful for the glimpse of nobility they reveal.

Though the Tyrathca have no god, they are clearly not devoid of miracles.

Renato floated over to the silvered plaque after Monica moved aside. “Well that’s a nice way to start,” he datavised. “The
archaeology expedition never found any reference to a Tyrathca god.”

“We knew that already,” Oski datavised. “Besides, I doubt they were looking. The only memory files they accessed were in the
systems management architecture. We’ve got to go a lot deeper than that to find anything useful.”

Samuel shifted his sensors from the plaque to the hatch. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like a grave robber.”

“There have been worse assignments,” Monica datavised. “For you as well as me, I suspect.”

Samuel didn’t reply. He grasped the hatch’s handle and pulled up. This time there was a significant gas vent.

“This is it,” Oski datavised. “We’re in. Terracompatible nitrogen oxygen mix, several trace gases. Three per cent standard
atmospheric pressure. No water vapour content. Guess it’s too cold. Registering thirty degrees below zero.”

“Checks with the file,” Monica confirmed. Samuel pushed the hatch open and glided through.

The archaeology expedition had spent six weeks exploring the interior of Tanjuntic-RI. Given the timescale, it could hardly
be thorough. But the main sections were all mapped, allowing the nature of the arkship’s engines and environmental maintenance
mechanisms to be inspected. Tanjuntic-RI was arranged in three principal levels. Along the rotation axis were three long cylindrical
chambers six hundred metres wide. Each contained a shallow lake which served as the principal biological recycling system.
The water was a combination fish-tank/ algal air regenerator, powered by a thermal lighting array strung along the axis. Surrounding
that was an extensive warren of hemispherical caverns linked by kilometre after kilometre of broad corridors. This level was
devoted to engineering and flight maintenance; the caverns filled with machinery, everything from fusion generators to chemical
filtration plants, cybernetic factories to mineral storage silos. The rear quarter of the caverns were all used to house support
systems and fuel for the fusion engines.

Encircling the second level were the eight principal life support rings. Tunnelled out of the rock and lined with metal, like
giant binding bands; they had a rectangular cross section, five hundred metres wide, a hundred metres high. Their floor was
a single looped strip of Tyrathca tower houses threaded by narrow roads of greenery, a computer design program’s notion of
urban pleasantries.

“We need the third level, ring five,” Oski datavised as soon as they were through the last airlock. “That’s where the archaeologists
found the control offices.” A three dimensional map of the interior expanded into her mind. Her guidance block extended a
glowing green line through the tunnels, linking her present location to ring five.

The last airlock had brought the team into a standard-sized corridor that circled the forward end of the arkship. Over a hundred
other corridors branched off from it. Gravity was barely noticeable, taking several minutes to pull objects towards the floor.
Monica used her gas jets to take her over to a clump of human crates stacked against the wall. The thin, freezing atmosphere
had turned the white plastic a faint cream. She read some of their labels. “Nothing we can use,” she datavised. “It’s their
camp equipment. Programmable silicon shelters, life support units, microfusion generators; that kind of thing.”

“What about lighting?” a serjeant asked.

“Good question.” Monica shifted position, scanning more labels. “Yes, here we go. Monochrome projectors, three hundred metre
illumination radius. I don’t think they’re self powered, though.”

“Leave it,” Samuel datavised. “We don’t have the time.” He fired his manoeuvring pack and started drifting along the corridor.
The wall opposite the airlocks had archways leading away into the interior, their depth defeating his suit sensors and lights.
“There should be a lift here somewhere. Ah.” The fifth archway had a palm-sized plastic disk stuck on the wall beside it,
a small lifelong beacon light in the centre. Samuel couldn’t resist flicking it with a gauntlet finger as he went past. There
was no spark of light from the beacon, its tritium-decay power source had been exhausted decades ago.

His gas jets squirted strongly, steering him through the archway. Fifteen metres down the corridor was a lift door: a single
panel of metal ten metres long and three high. The team didn’t even pause by it. There was a smaller door on either side,
each heading a ramp that spiralled, DNA-fashion, around the entire length of the lift shaft. One of them was open; it had
a dead light beacon just inside.

“This should take us nearly a kilometre straight down,” Samuel datavised.

“At least it’ll be a smooth ride once the gravity kicks in,” Renato datavised. “Thank god the Tyrathca don’t use steps. Can
you image the size and spacing?”

Monica halted in mid-air beside the doorway and focused her suit beams through the gap. The downward slope was barely noticeable,
though the curve was pronounced. She took a tube dispenser from her belt, and thumbed out the first disk. Jupiter had supplied
the little bitek sensors, completely transparent disks a centimetre wide. Their affinity range was only a few kilometres—enough
for this mission. She pressed it against the door rim. It stuck instantly. When she requested an affinity bond with it from
her suit’s bitek processor, the disk revealed a fish-eye view of the corridor, with the suits floating before the ramp doorway.

“Pity we don’t have a swarm of bitek insects covering the interior,” she datavised. Samuel didn’t rise to the jibe. “But this’ll
give us plenty of warning. There’s a motion trigger if anything starts moving around behind us.”

“Onward, then,” Samuel datavised. His gas jets flared, pushing him along the ramp.

Everyone’s bitek processor received Joshua’s troubled hail. “I’m afraid you’re going to have company,” he announced.

______

Lady Mac
was accelerating at six gees, a quarter of a million kilometres above Hesperi-LN and heading in a shallow curve around the
planet’s north pole. Two five-strong formations of Tyrathca ships were heading out to intercept, rising from their hundred
thousand kilometre orbits at one and a half gees. He wasn’t worried about them, nor the three ships that were on course for
the twin moons to investigate the antics of the two bitek starships. Another group of four ships were flying straight for
Tanjuntic-RI, seventy-five thousand kilometres from
Lady Mac
.

“Definite interception course,” Beaulieu confirmed. “Looks like they want to know what was going on there.”

“Wonderful,” Joshua grunted. “The only way to stop them is if they think we’re hostile.”

“I think they know that already,” Sarha said with as much irony as five gees allowed.

As soon as they’d accelerated along their present course, Joshua had launched three combat wasps. There was no real target
designation, just the planet; and they were programmed to detonate ten thousand kilometres above the atmosphere if they managed
to get that far. But the Tyrathca didn’t know that. All they’d seen was three nuclear missiles charging in towards their planet
at twenty-seven gees: an unprovoked attack from a human starship that was continuing to manoeuvre in a hostile manner.

Joshua changed course again, flying along a vector which would take him below the ships heading for Tanjuntic-RI—logically,
a position he could bombard the planet from. Another two combat wasps flew out of their tubes, searing fusion drives thrusting
them towards the four ships.

It was a good tactical move, which almost paid off. Three of the Tyrathca ships changed course to defend themselves against
the combat wasps and pursue
Lady Mac
. The fourth remained on course for the arkship.

“Thirteen ships heading right at us,” Beaulieu confirmed. “Twelve SD platforms have also acquired lock on. No combat wasp
launch yet.”

Joshua reviewed the tactical situation display again, purple and orange vector lines flipping round inside his skull.
Lady Mac
was now heading in almost the opposite direction to the last Tyrathca ship. There was nothing left he could do to distract
it. The only option left was an attack, which wasn’t an option at all. First he would have to reverse his current vector which
would take up a vast amount of time and delta-V, then he would have to fight his way past the three other ships with their
potentially large stock of combat wasps. And even if he achieved that, he’d have to kill the ship to stop it rendezvousing.

It was a bad deal. The Tyrathca crewing the ship were innocent—just trying to defend themselves and their world against aggressive
xenocs. Although, if you looked at it in an abstract way, they could well be all that stood between the exploration team and
salvation from the possessed. Can you really allow a dozen Tyrathca to bring about the end of an entire race because of what
was essentially a communication breakdown on a multitude of levels?

Joshua used the bitek array to call the exploration team and warn them of the approaching ship. “We estimate it’ll dock in
another forty minutes,” he said. “Just how long do you need?”

“If everything goes without a hitch, a couple of hours,” Oski said. “But I would think a day would be more realistic.”

“A day is out of the question,” Joshua said. “If I get seriously noisy out here I might be able to buy you an hour or so.”

“That’s not necessary, Joshua,” a serjeant said. “This is a very big ship. If they do come on board, they’ll have to find
us.”

“Not too difficult with infrared sensors.”

“That’s assuming a straightforward pursuit scenario. Now we know the Tyrathca are coming, we can make that pursuit extremely
difficult for them. And there is also the Horatius option to consider. We four are expendable, after all.”

“Our weapons are superior, as well,” Monica said. “Now we haven’t got to worry about the hardware glitching on us, we can
deploy some real firepower.”

“What about getting out afterwards?” Dahybi asked.

“Advance planning for a situation this fluid is a waste of time,” Samuel said. “Let’s wait until we have the relevant data
before we consider how to achieve extraction.”

“Okay,” Joshua said reluctantly. “Your call. But we’re here if you need us.” He returned to the tactical situation.
Lady Mac
wasn’t in any real danger from the planet’s defences. She was too far away from the Tyrathca ships and SD platforms. At this
separation distance, any combat wasp would take a minimum of fifteen minutes to reach them. The star-ship could jump out of
trouble long before that.

“Right, let’s keep these bastards busy,” Joshua said. He instructed the flight computer to fire another combat wasp at the
planet.

______

Halfway down the giant spiral ramp, the easiest way to descend was to sit and slide. Black frost had coated the floor, sending
broad tendrils scurrying up the wall like frigid creepers. Along with the others Monica was bumping along on her bum as if
she was on an aprÈs ski glissade, gradually picking up speed, and ignoring the total lack of dignity. Clouds of filthy ice
motes were spraying up from where the suit was making its grinding contact with the ramp. Every now and then she’d hit an
uneven patch and glide through the air for a metre.

“Getting near the bottom,” Samuel datavised.

He was two people down the line from Monica, nearly obscured by the black particle haze. Suit beams were jouncing about chaotically,
throwing discordant shadows across the walls.

Monica put her gauntlets down to try and brake her speed. They just skipped and skidded about. “Just how do we slow down?”
she asked.

“Manoeuvring pack.” Samuel triggered the jets at full throttle, feeling the gentle thrust slow him. The serjeant directly
behind bumped into his back. “Everybody at once, please.”

The ramp shaft was suddenly full of whirling pearly-white fog as ice granules and nitrogen blended together, boosting the
air pressure. Suit lights fluoresced it to a uniform opacity.

Monica shifted to micro-radar as her speed slowed drastically. This time when she put her hands down she pressed hard enough
to activate the augmentation. It allowed her to dig her fingertips into the sheet of ice, producing a loud wince-inducing
screech as they gouged out ten straight furrows. She halted on a relatively flat section. Radar showed her the end of the
ramp fifteen metres ahead and the other armour suits skating elegantly to a halt around her. The white fog vanished as quickly
as it’d emerged, sucked away back up the ramp, and out through the archway ahead.

They picked themselves up and scanned round. The ramp had come out at an intersection of eight corridors. Beacons had been
stuck on each archway. The ice along the floor of every corridor was slightly rumpled, like stone paving slabs worn by centuries
of feet. Nothing else showed the archaeology expedition had once passed this way.