The Dragon Never Sleeps Page 5

  “What for?”

  “We have to go do what we can for the survivors.”

  “Not tonight.” That was Lonesome Mike. “Tonight they’re going to be evening scores.”

  True. Hell would be in session over there. It had to run its course.

  All day a carrion bird of smoke perched on the bones of Merod Schene. With night’s fall fires reddened the bird’s belly. Turtle stared while the Immunes gathered for the long hike. Midnight complained softly, to no one but herself.

  The grandfather of all fireworks shells burst over the dying city.

  “Nuclear!” somebody yelled. “The blast wave...”

  “No!” Turtle snapped. “There will be no blast wave. Nor any sound.”

  “But...”

  “That was a Guardship breaking off the Web. They’re here.”

  “How could they be?” Midnight demanded. “You said it would take months.”

  “It didn’t. One must have been at P. Jaksonica. Or near enough to summon quickly. People, get back in the bunker. And pray it isn’t I Primagenia.”

  — 13 —

  WarAvocat stared at the wall. The data painted a grim picture. “Communications. Anything from V. Rothica station?”

  “Affirmative, WarAvocat. A warning loop on a STASIS emergency band. General broadcast. Not a beam or pulse.”

  “Been a long time,” WarAvocat said to First WatchMaster while awaiting data sufficient to determine the number of soldiers to waken.

  Overhead, the Deified fussed and bickered, ignored.

  “Move ship toward station,” WarAvocat directed. The visual showed the big wheel naked of shipping.

  “Planetary-based insurrections seldom intrude upon off-planet operations,” Kole Marmigus observed from above.

  “This one has. Probe?”

  “There are people alive in there, sir. We’re not yet close enough to distinguish their loyalties.”

  WarAvocat cast a sharp glance around.

  “I’ll handle that, sir,” First WatchMaster said.

  “Let it go.”

  “I can’t let my people smart off to their superiors.”

  “Forget it.” WarAvocat’s gaze locked on the wall. It was bad down below. “Access. Hall of the Soldiers. Warm one regimental combat team for surface action.”

  A voice called, “WarAvocat, a small vessel just left station. Looks insystem. A miner or something.”

  “Very well.”

  Probe added, “There’s nothing alive aboard it, sir.”

  “Headed this way, sir.”

  “Very well.” A gnat. “We’ll need people to clear the insurrectionists off station. Deified. Any advice? We’ve not boarded a station in my memory.”

  The Deified had access to everything Gemina knew. Also, it was politic to consult them occasionally.

  “That miner is accelerating at nine gravs, sir,” First WatchMaster noted.

  “Very well.”

  Kole Marmigus said, “We suggest a battalion for the assault, WarAvocat.”

  “That many?”

  “There are corridors and passages to be held behind the shock force.” The Deified vanished. Station schematics replaced him, tactically significant points marked by red dots.

  “More complex than I anticipated.” Strate accessed Hall of the Soldiers and ordered appropriate forces warmed.

  “Thirty seconds to impact, WarAvocat.”

  “Very well. Put the show on the wall. Split it with one view an approximation of what they’ll see from station.”

  Two views appeared. One portrayed the wheel of the station, a slim sliver of distant moon, and the onrushing miner. In the other a huge, dingy white, slightly flattened lozenge crawled across the starscape, the miner dwindling toward its immensity.

  “Ten seconds to impact.”

  “Battle screen maximum,” WarAvocat ordered.

  In the exterior view the Guardship vanished behind an oily shimmer

  “Five seconds to impact. Three. Two. One.”

  Both views died in a storm of light.

  Then in the exterior view the Guardship ploughed through the nuclear fury. The great terror had not so much as shivered.

  WarAvocat chuckled. “For a second, there, they were cheering over yonder.” His humor vanished. “Let’s take it before they purge the data banks.”

  “Are we taking prisoners?”

  “I see no point, beyond SOP for interrogation. Deified?”

  The Deified held their tongues. Thumbs down for the heroes of V. Rothica.

  VII Gemina launched the assault battalion, then turned and followed other assault craft already headed for Merod Schene.

  — 14 —

  Jo Klass composed herself before leaving her cabin for the social compartment dividing the suite. Commander Haget waited there, seated at attention. She supposed he was uncomfortable too, but she did not commiserate. The man was insufferable. He dealt with everything according to regulations.

  Or tried. There were none to govern this. He was going crazy without precedents and rulings.

  “Good morning, Commander.”

  “Good morning, Sergeant. The others will join us momentarily.”

  The STASIS people shared a similar suite on another deck. They were as enthused about the morning meeting as Jo was. Pointless. They could report if something happened.

  Degas and AnyKaat, who practiced the quaint old custom of marriage, knocked and entered. AnyKaat was the more outgoing. She was a lumpy, overly wide-bottomed, stringy-haired dishwater blonde in her late twenties. She had washed-out blue eyes, a ready smile, and was too cheerful for her profession. Jo liked her. She was not sure about Degas.

  Degas had wavy black hair, olive skin, dark eyes, and was two centimeters shorter than AnyKaat. He did not talk much. He was a technical sort, more at ease with things than people. He had a fawning manner that made Jo feel he was trying to excuse himself for being or trying to sneak up on something.

  Jo suspected AnyKaat was grateful for this chance to travel. She seemed to be the only real volunteer. Degas had come to keep up with her. Era Vadja might have come under orders.

  “Good morning,” AnyKaat said, brightly.

  Commander Haget responded with a calculated nod.

  “Era?” Jo asked. She did most of the talking. Haget apparently considered even Era Vadja, a Canon reserve light Colonel and second assistant STASIS Director at P. Jaksonica 3B, beneath direct notice by one as exalted as himself.

  Sometimes Jo wanted to bust him one.

  AnyKaat shrugged. “Sticking his nose in somewhere. He’ll turn up.”

  Haget frowned. Punctuality was one of his fetishes.

  “Anything to tell?” Jo asked.

  AnyKaat shook her head. But Degas growled, “There’s a thing called Hanhl Cholot that’s going to turn up with broken bones if he don’t keep his hands to himself.”

  “Don’t fuss yourself,” AnyKaat said. “I’ll handle him.”

  Jo had had her own encounter. She thought of asking for details but Era Vadja came in. Without knocking. Haget reddened.

  “Sorry I’m late. Seeker was on the move. Thought I’d better stick.”

  Haget’s mood shifted. “What happened?” Neither monster had moved before. The methane breather could not, of course.

  “Not much. It went and stood in front of Messenger’s door for twenty minutes. Then the krekelen’s for ten. Then it went home.”

  Haget grunted. “Circumstantial confirmation of WarAvocat’s hypothetical connection. How do we find the lie of it?”

  Vadja said, “I got the feeling Seeker was not friendly toward Messenger. For what a feeling is worth.”

  “Worth as much as anything on this job.”

  Jo wondered if she had been chosen to balance Haget. She had gotten into it occasionally because she had a tendency to improvise.

  Someone knocked. Commander Haget pointed the STASIS trio toward Jo’s room. “Answer it.” He retreated into his own cabin.

/>   Jo gasped when she found herself face to face with Hanhl Cholot. “What are you doing here?”

  He tried to grab her. His face darkened when she retreated.

  Then he froze. The color left him. He stared. Jo noticed his pupils. He was on Jane.

  Haget’s eyes were steel. “Your manners still lack polish, Cholot. Maybe we should have concentrated on them more.”

  Degas came out, popping a fist into a palm. He wore his best STASIS scowl.

  “You will forget you entered this suite. You will forget you saw anyone here,” Haget said. “In fact, you will return to your quarters and stay there. Do you understand? Or do you require instruction more direct than what you got at P. Jaksonica?”

  Jo had seen frightened people but none more frightened than Cholot. Even so, she did not trust his terror. He was too used to having his own way.

  Era Vadja said, “That man could be trouble. He sits around brooding; he’ll think up ways to cause us grief.”

  “Maybe,” Haget admitted. “And maybe he’ll find all he can handle. Klass. Keep an eye on him.”

  There was another knock. This one was diffident.

  “Now what?” Haget pointed toward cover again.

  Jo found Chief Timmerbach twitching in the passage. “I need to see the Commander.”

  She stepped aside. Timmerbach moved past like a man marching to his own execution. Haget came out. “What is it?”

  “Problems with the Web. We may shift to an alternate strand next anchor point. This one has begun to sag and mist. It shows feathering, too.”

  “Presence?”

  “No feel of it yet. But we’re running with the feathering.”

  “You’ve slowed ship?”

  “To a crawl.”

  “Very well. I don’t expect there’s anything I can do.”

  “There never was anything anybody could do. I just wanted you to know we might fall behind schedule.” He fled.

  Haget observed, “A dozen ships a year disappear on the Web.”

  But never a Guardship, Jo reflected. Whatever it was, it did not trifle with the invincible.

  — 15 —

  Valerena glimpsed motion down the corridor. “He decided to come.”

  Blessed said, “This is pointless. You can’t suborn Lupo. You can’t even make Grandfather think you suborned him. Lupo is the one man he trusts. And with good reason.”

  “What do you know? You’re still a child.”

  “I know you can’t reach Simon Tregesser without going through Lupo Provik. Lupo can’t be bought. If you can’t bribe Lupo, you have to kill him. And he won’t let you.”

  Valerena sneered. She was sure every man had his weakness or price. “What course would you suggest, beloved child?”

  “Patience.”

  “Patience? What kind of suggestion is that?”

  “Simon Tregesser is old. He has physical problems. Let time do the dirty work.”

  “He speaks more wisely than I expected.” Lupo Provik skewered Valerena with the ice of his devil eyes. “You wanted to see me?”

  Valerena shivered. That look. It haunted her. It seemed she had faced it before. “What is your price, Lupo?”

  “I’m priceless, Valerena.”

  Blessed giggled.

  Valerena stifled her anger. “There’s no hope you’d help me take control?”

  “None.”

  “And you’d resist me if I tried?”

  “Of course. But you have no need. Your father isn’t immortal.”

  “What will you do when he dies?”

  “Go on. My second loyalty is to the House.”

  “Would that be true if my father didn’t die of natural causes?”

  “When the man is dead, he’s dead. I’ll defend him but not his ghost. I’m no avenger. I’m a tactician and strategist.” What might have been a smile tugged at his mouth.

  “I see. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should curb my impatience. I do have all but the final power now, don’t I?”

  “Indeed. Your father has indulged your every whim. Occasionally he’s regretted that.”

  “And will you support me as devoutly, Lupo?” Blessed asked.

  Valerena shot him a venomous look.

  “Of course.”

  “That will be all, Lupo,” Valerena snapped. “I just wanted to make sure of what I already knew.”

  Provik responded with a slight bow. As he departed, he reiterated, “Be patient, Valerena. It’s the safer course.”

  He was gone. She spun on Blessed. “You’d better watch that sarcastic mouth.”

  “Yes, Mother. What now? I can’t picture you taking advice just because it’s good.”

  Valerena glared. “Contrary to what you and they believe, there are pathways to my father that don’t lead through Lupo Provik.”

  Blessed smiled at her taut back as she stamped away.

  — 16 —

  The first refugees reached the ruins soon after the uprising began. The Immunes accepted them though that meant a drain on resources. After the retreat to the bunker occasioned by that furious starburst, though, Turtle announced, “We accept no more fugitives.”

  Lady Midnight, who could find charity toward a viper, asked, “Why not?”

  “Because we’re going to get hit by a flood. And some will be Concordians. We don’t want them around when the Guardship soldiers come. They assume guilt by association. They shoot if there’s a doubt. The point of coming out here was to survive.”

  Midnight argued against turning anyone away. “These are the people who terrorized you! Amber Soul. Come with me.”

  The fugitives came. Amber Soul drove them away. But before they arrived, the sky opened and rained sparks on Merod Schene.

  The brightest object in the nighttime sky, after the moon, had been the station, stationary above the equator south of Merod Schene. But now there was a brighter object. “The Guardship,” Turtle said.

  It must be huge.

  “It’s bigger than anything you can imagine humans building.”

  A few hairs of fire reached for the rain of sparks. A pathetic few. Most of the garrison’s arsenal had been destroyed in the city’s collapse.

  “Can you sense the city?” Turtle asked.

  Only as a great fester of fear and pain.

  Explosions limned the horizon and illuminated the bellies of scattered small clouds. “The last gasp of the Concord,” Turtle guessed. “A booby trap no doubt sprung prematurely. This race never learns.”

  The Guardships learn. Do they not?

  “The Guardships are immortal. They do not have to re-learn lessons every generation.”

  But they grow more nearly mad.

  “Some have gone strange,” Turtle admitted. “Some have grown impatient and terrible, like vengeful old gods. But mostly they just do what they were created to do — with an efficiency that must keep the ghosts of their designers in a turmoil. Those old pirates didn’t figure they would have to toe the mark, too.”

  “You know a lot about them, don’t you?” Midnight had come out. Lonesome Mike anchored her against the wind.

  “Knowing them is my life’s work.”

  “You respect them. But you would put an end to them if you could. Wouldn’t you?”

  “They have kept the peace and expanded its frontiers for four thousand years, but at the expense of most of humanity and all of everyone else. The wellsprings of power have become frozen. End some things, yes, I would. But I would not alter the inability of the Houses, or anyone else, to rampage across the Web.”

  Lonesome Mike grunted. “I can think of ways to play conquerer without going head-on with the Guardships.”

  “If you can, someone else has and it’s been done. Everything has been thought of and tried. What works without being crushed by the Guardships or Canon forces is too difficult and expensive for most Houses.”

  “And you would end the peace,” Midnight accused.

  “No. I would end the misery, the rigidity,
the stasis.”

  “By bringing on the chaos?”

  Amber Soul kept them invisible for a while. They sat in the rusty sunlight and watched scout flits run game through the barrens. They watched glimmering assault craft hasten off to secure the rest of the world.

  “Concord didn’t put up much of a fight,” Lonesome Mike said.

  “One regiment to conquer a world,” Turtle muttered. “I wonder which Guardship it is? Guess we’ll find out.”

  The soldiers, when they came, were as invisible to Turtle as he was to them. Amber Soul alerted him. They are close. But I cannot fix them.

  Turtle studied the terrain toward the city. Soon he discerned the unnatural twitchings of brush and stirrings of dust that marked the advance.

  “Careful buggers,” Lonesome Mike grumped.

  “It’s not efficient to expose yourself to needless risk. Amber Soul. Tell everyone to sit still, hands in their laps. Then let the mask fall.”

  He had hoped the soldiers would not come but had not expected to be overlooked.

  A massive battle suit flicked into existence a few meters away. Turtle stared into the mouth of a weapon for a moment, then looked for the soldier’s tutelary emblem.

  “What’s funny?” Lonesome Mike demanded.

  “It’s VII Gemina.”

  “Is that good?” Midnight asked.

  “It could be a lot worse. You’ll be all right. They’ll be fair.”

  But his heart sank on his own behalf.

  — 17 —

  “Station is secure,” the air told WarAvocat. Strate had moved to WarCentral, brain and heart of VII Gemina in combat. It made no difference where he was physically, but his presence there had symbolic value.

  “Loyal personnel have been liberated. Little damage was done the physical plant.”

  “The data banks?”

  “Sound and secure, sir.”

  “Very good. Prisoners?”

  “Five percent per SOP. Random sample.”

  “Very good.” WarAvocat preened. “Prep station for return to service. Send the captives over. What’s your casualty status?”

  “Zero for Medical. They weren’t set for a real fight.”