A Device Of Death Part 10

'Maybe we should join them.'

'They won't make it. The synths are too good. Our best hope is still the highlands.'

'There's not much up there.'

'You said there were plants and water. That means it's possible to survive.'

They reached the corner of the shed nearest the perimeter wire almost opposite the landing ground. A large swathe of fence had been knocked down, presumably by a commandeered vehicle. The still forms of three prisoners lay just outside. The gap was perhaps fifteen yards away, Sarah estimated, then there was over a quarter of a mile of open ground before the base of the escarpment and the first proper cover. How fast could they run the distance carrying their packs? If they were caught in the open that was the end of it.

But what was the alternative?

Angelyn looked around the corner, but all was clear. She turned back to face Sarah. 'Ready?'

'Yes.'

'Don't stop to check those three, because '

'I know.'

They ran forward, Angelyn in the lead. The heavy gauge mesh of the fence bounced and sprang under their feet, then they had leaped clear of it on to soft sand. A thin cutting noose suddenly seemed to tighten about Sarah's left ankle as she brought her leg forward and she sprawled on her face beside the other fallen bodies, her pack thudding into her back, winding her. Hearing her grunt of pain and surprise Angelyn turned round. Looking dazedly up from the ground, Sarah saw her face clearly in the light reflected from the globe of Averon.

She looked at Sarah, then at the hills, and hesitated. There was a rush of air, a light stabbed down out of the sky and caught Angelyn starkly in the centre of its beam. Behind its dazzling source Sarah could just make out a flying disc.

'Return to your a.s.signed quarters,' the synthoid's toneless voice boomed down. 'You will be punished for removing your ident plate. What is your number?'

She saw Angelyn sway slightly as though she were going to collapse. Then she straightened and said clearly, 'My name is Angelyn Marcavos.'

'What is your number?'

'My name is Angelyn Marcavos and I am free to go where I please!' And she began to walk determinedly towards the escarpment. A synthoid gun crackled and Angelyn was haloed in blue fire. She jerked and swayed, but somehow remained standing. A second bolt lashed out and she collapsed in a twisted heap and lay still. The disc banked and swooped away, continuing its patrol of the perimeter. Only then did Sarah realize the synthoids had taken her for one of the bodies that had already fallen by the fence.

She untangled the loop of wire that had tripped her from around her ankle, and crawled over to Angelyn. She was so still she could not be sure whether she was alive or dead. And either way, by Angelyn's own hard rules, she knew she would have to leave her. 'I promise I won't forget your name,' she whispered.

Then Sarah heard a distant humming and scrambled back through the fence, just reaching the shadows of the shed wall before the flying disc appeared once again. She pulled the thermal foil blanket over her and watched it pa.s.s with dismay, realizing how quickly it had made the circuit. Perhaps there were two of them? In either case there was no way she could reach the base of the escarpment before it returned again.

Would her blanket provide sufficient protection out in the open?

She slumped back against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired. It was only a matter of time before they found her.

They'd been fools to think they could escape. Already the sound of fighting from the landing ground had diminished, and no ship had taken off with its triumphant crew of escapees.

The ident plates would be replaced and order restored.

Punishments would be meticulously dealt out, the damage would be repaired, and she would be back in the same old routine of fetching and carrying as though nothing had happened.

The same old routine. Why did she feel that was significant?

Think, Smith, think! she told herself You don't give up, ever! Just because the Doctor's not here to work it out for you.

Then she had it.

Shouldering her pack again she dashed back the way she had come, back to the centre of the base, hopefully ahead of the closing net. A few of the older prisoners were wandering about the compounds still wearing their ident plates. They looked at her anxiously, some even asking her what they should do. Feeling sickened she ignored them, wondering if they had actually become so used to taking orders that they could no longer think for themselves.

Back in the a.s.sembly shed she found what she wanted: a reel of transparent tape, an adjustable short-bladed cutter used to open packing cases, a portable power tool and a length of flexible tubing. Then she headed for the junk room. If only the guards remained occupied elsewhere for another few minutes she had a chance.

As she expected, the small shed's sliding door was open and the lights were on, presumably just as the synth on duty had left it when the trouble started. A few pieces of salvage lay on the floor where they had been dropped by their porters, but otherwise the interior was unoccupied.

Just inside the door was a pile of discarded parts the synths had sorted under guidance from Averon. In the middle of the shed was a stack of mesh panels to rest the parts on and a plastic sheet wrapping and heat sealing machine, while along the far end, furthest from the door, was a neat stack of sealed and labelled parts ready for shipment out. It was to this she ran. Was it still there? She remembered vaguely noting it the day before. Yes. It was an almost complete synthoid warrior, laid out on its mesh panel like a bizarre stretcher case, scarred and blackened with a missing right arm and lower legs disconnected at the knee joints. It was wrapped in a plastic sheet, and bore a label containing details of what combat zone it had been recovered from.

She pulled out her knife and carefully cut the heavy duty plastic along its top seam and pulled it back, exposing the remains. Ears straining all the time for the guards, she set to work, not daring to close the shed door, but relying on the intervening bulk of the wrapping machine to conceal her from chance discovery and the shed's very openness and bright illumination to discourage any closer inspection. It took fifteen minutes of frantic work with the powered multi-socket wrench, which was almost as effective as the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, to unbolt the head, torso and leg outer panels from the inner frame, actuator units and other connections, and dump these in the discard pile. She heard feet tramp past several times but n.o.body disturbed her.

Into the now hollow thighs of the body sh.e.l.l she packed her food, while the deep broad torso and helmetlike head she padded out with blankets, leaving s.p.a.ce to curl up inside, though it would be cramped even for her slim figure. She scrambled into the lower body half, resting the top chest panel half across her knees, and drew the plastic bag up around her.

When the sheet ends met over the top end of the mesh panel, she doubled them in and taped them together. She pulled a fold of plastic across the severed arm socket, cut a small hole and taped the mouth of the flexible tube she had brought with her inconspicuously to it so it was flush with the plastic. She wriggled down and pulled the chest panel over her until it slid into place. Enough light filtered through the helmet visor to let her dimly see what she was doing. More tape applied from within fastened the two halves together. She put the tube from the arm socket in her mouth and began to breathe through it.

She tried to lie still. For better or worse she was committed.

If it didn't work and she was discovered she would be no worse off than before, she told herself. But how long could she wait? Her supply of food and water would last about a week with care, but she could hardly stay concealed continuously for that long. It all depended on how quickly the guards restored order and routine. She realized how tiring breathing through the tube was. A reaction to her exertions had set in, and she began to feel drowsy. No, she thought vaguely, it's not possible to fall asleep now.

In two minutes she had done just that.

A b.u.mping swaying motion and m.u.f.fled voices woke her.

For a moment she felt terribly cramped and confused. The breathing tube lay half out of her mouth, sticking to her lower lip. There were more b.u.mps and thuds around her, then a synth voice giving a command to depart. A motor whined and she felt herself moving. Bright daylight shone through the visor and for several minutes she was driven along at a steady speed. It had to be the road out across the lava flats to the landing ground. She knew the guards would not delay a scheduled shipment any longer than they had to. The old routine.

The truck halted, and there were more voices and the sounds of other items of salvage being unloaded. Then it was her turn. She was placed on some hard surface, a hydraulic mechanism hummed, and there was the sensation of rising.

More hands lifted the pallet holding the dismembered synthoid. The light through the visor dimmed, more jolts, a grating sound, and then she was set down.

She was inside the hold of one of the freighters.

Footsteps and voices rang out as other packages were set down close by her. Then the human footsteps retreated, and there was just the mechanical tread of a synthoid on metal deckplates. She held her breath. Was it checking to see all the workers had left the hold? What if it used some exotic sense that penetrated her purloined body sh.e.l.l? Surely it didn't need to look hard to see the hold was empty. All the workers must have had their ident plates restored and they could track them directly. The heavy steps clumped away and she breathed again. There was a whine and thud of a hatch closing, and latches clicked into place. The distant sounds of the crew moving about and the closing of other hatches reverberated through the body of the ship for several minutes.

Then she became aware of a steadily growing purr from somewhere under the deck as the motors were started. It rose rapidly to a pulsing heavy drone. There was a slight swaying and then a sensation of smooth acceleration with hardly any discomfort. Air shrilled past the hull for a minute then faded gradually away. The motor noise diminished to a purr once more, accompanied only by the muted hums and whirrs of the ship's internal systems.

She was in s.p.a.ce.

Cautiously she broke open the chest plate, reached up with her cutter, slit open the top seam of the plastic bag and pulled it down far enough to allow her to wriggle out of her hiding-place. The hold was not quite dark. From one corner came a faint blue radiance, but its source was hidden behind a jumble of large cartons and the sacks of plastic-wrapped salvage.

There seemed to be more of this than she had seen in the junk room, so presumably the ship must have already had some on board when it landed.

Painfully she struggled upright, ma.s.saging her cramped muscles. The deck seemed firm under her feet, so the ship was either under constant drive or it had artificial gravity like Nerva Beacon. The question was, how long would it take to reach Averon, or wherever it was bound? Hours if not days; still, she would have to move sometime. Clutching the powered socket tool like a club, she made for the blue light, which she could now see was a strip lamp set over an internal hatch. Just as long as it wasn't locked. But then why should it be In the gloom her elbow struck one of the stacked cartons. It was light and shifted slightly. Fearful of making a noise she grabbed at it, but only succeeded in tripping over an unseen object on the deck and falling awkwardly, striking a hard, plastic-wrapped form as she did so.

She heard the distinct splutter of electric sparks.

Inches from her face a plastic sheet was suddenly illuminated from within by a flickering red glow. With a gasp of alarm she tried to scramble away, but there was a grinding whirr and the sound of tearing plastic as a large cold mechanical hand reached out and closed about her arm like a vice.

14.

The Guardians of Averon t is as I feared,' said Ch.e.l.l heavily. 'This is the Averon I syste 'I m.'

Harry was surprised at the palpable sense of despondency that descended upon the crew after Ch.e.l.l's announcement. The Oranos Oranos had successfully regained contact with the freighter, and had trailed it discreetly for another day before it dropped out of hypers.p.a.ce. Neither the Averon fighters nor the golden ship had appeared again, much to Harry's relief They had followed the freighter back to normal s.p.a.ce, where the screens showed the tiny but brilliant disc of a sun. Star sights and rapid calculations confirmed their location. had successfully regained contact with the freighter, and had trailed it discreetly for another day before it dropped out of hypers.p.a.ce. Neither the Averon fighters nor the golden ship had appeared again, much to Harry's relief They had followed the freighter back to normal s.p.a.ce, where the screens showed the tiny but brilliant disc of a sun. Star sights and rapid calculations confirmed their location.

'I thought you knew the Nethra.s.s's weapons would ultimately come from Averon,' Harry said.

'But I hoped the freighter might rendezvous at some transfer point along the way first, but I was wrong,' Ch.e.l.l admitted. 'It ends here. We cannot go any deeper into this system. And if Averon is now escorting its ships in strength, then they cannot simply be intercepted in transit.' The old soldier suddenly looked weary. 'It has all been a foolish waste of time, and I have grossly offended Landor in the process.'

'Now come on, sir,' Harry protested. 'I know this is the enemy stronghold and all that, but with this new detector of yours performing so splendidly why can't we slip in and '

'Because our detector no longer gives us any advantage inside the Averon system. Almost anywhere else but not here.

But I keep forgetting you do not truly understand what we are up against.' He turned to the detector monitor. 'Is the secondary coupling complete?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then locate one of the fortresses and display it.'

Harry knew the Jand technicians had been working on combining their enhanced detector with the ship's existing telescopic viewing system to produce images synthesized from the two. The screen displaying the results of this hybrid now came to life. For a few moments star trails blurred and shimmered as it tracked about. Then it focused on a crescent-lit object that Harry first took to be a small globular planetoid.

Then he blinked and looked closer.

'A guardian fortress of Averon,' Ch.e.l.l said solemnly.

It was spherical in form and clearly an artificial structure.

Its surface was patterned with what he had at first taken to be a curiously regular arrangement of craters and mountains, but which, as the image enlarged, he now saw were structural ribs and the open muzzles of energy cannon and missile silos of ma.s.sive diameter. Also arrayed across the surface were coloured beacons that pulsed every few seconds like aircraft navigation lights, and he saw in the shadowed portion of the fortress cl.u.s.ters of glowing pinpoints. Were they windows or portholes radiating so brazenly into s.p.a.ce? A sense of scale a.s.serted itself. The fortress was at least a mile across. There was no attempt to disguise it as anything other than what it was: a blatant display of raw power and absolute confidence in its own strength and invulnerability.

'There are thousands of them orbiting the inner system,'

Tramour'des explained. 'They are stationed just inside the point at which the gravity wells of the sun and inner planets force craft to emerge from hypers.p.a.ce. The fortresses'

detector fields overlap so there is no chance of slipping between them, and it would take a fleet to overcome even one of them. Fortunately they are too ma.s.sive to be driven through hypers.p.a.ce by any reasonable expenditure of energy, or else Averon would have conquered the cl.u.s.ter long ago.'

'But the work involved in building them! It must have been the d.i.c.kens of a job,' Harry exclaimed.

'They had a powerful inducement,' Ch.e.l.l pointed out.

'After destroying Landor, the Averonians withdrew to their own system and reinforced its defences to prevent any reprisal in kind by the survivors of the Landoran Navy as was very likely in those early days after the loss. Perhaps some good has come from the tragedy, though. No Allied or Union world has ever used weapons of ma.s.s destruction on such a scale again, and Averon's direct partic.i.p.ation in the war was reduced to fleet actions which the Landorans do their best to counter. In fact their influence over the rest of the Union after the destruction of Landor waned, allowing us to regroup and regain some losses as they became more isolated behind their shield. It is rumoured that now even their closest allies are only occasionally permitted to visit Averon itself.' Ch.e.l.l looked at the image of the fortress on the screen again and shook his head.

Harry looked about the bridge and saw resigned expressions and drooping heads. He had come to admire the Jand's courage and determination, and it was alarming to see them so thoroughly overawed and reduced to apparent impotence by the sight of one Averonian fortress, impressive as it was.

'Now this won't do,' he said briskly. 'I'm sure you've cracked tougher nuts than this before. We need some sort of trick or diversion. For instance: why not hijack one of their freighters before it gets here and sneak through in that? If these Averonians have been hiding behind their fortresses for all these years as you say, maybe they've got a bit slack and won't be as alert as they should be.'

Ch.e.l.l looked at him and gave a wolfish Jand smile. 'You do not lack courage, Harry'sullivan, but you still do not understand the terrible risk we would be running. No one has attempted to attack the Averon system itself in all these years, not simply because of the strength of its defences, but for fear Averon would be goaded into doing to their world what they did to Landor. That is why only the Landorans dare oppose Averon directly they have nothing more to lose, and their few bases are scattered and secret. Any open a.s.sault on Averon must be final and complete, allowing no chance for retribution. Or else our intrusion must be totally anonymous.

Can you guarantee that? Remember: Jand may be forfeit if we fail.'

Harry felt chastened but still optimistic. 'No, sir, I cannot guarantee anything, and I quite understand your reservations.

All the same, there must be some way of putting a spanner in their works! At least let's have a look round first. Maybe there's a weak spot in their defences somewhere?'

Ch.e.l.l gave the Jand equivalent of a shrug, and Tramour gave the orders for a course to be set.

For ten hours they circled the inner Averon system, even making short hops through hypers.p.a.ce to take them out of the system's ecliptic plane and crossing over its zenith and nadir.

Everywhere it was the same: an unbroken sphere of serenely glowing fortresses, with no gap between their widespread detector fields. Harry marvelled at the combined ma.s.s of the structures. What a tonnage of worked metal. And who manned and serviced them: Averonians or their battle machines? Either way it was a staggering undertaking.

And then, when even Harry was beginning to feel despondent, the detector monitor called to Tramour, 'Sir, a freighter is leaving the inner system and about to pa.s.s through the fortress shield.'

'Any danger of it pa.s.sing close to us?'

'No, sir, but there is something odd about it. From its acceleration it must be running nearly empty, and look at its projected bearing.'

Tramour bent over the displays and studied them for a moment, then turned to Ch.e.l.l. 'It's making for the edge of the cl.u.s.ter, but there's nothing out there no Union or Alliance bases that we know of, at least. It might intend to alter course once it's in hypers.p.a.ce I suppose, but I don't see any reason for its present course not being some indication of its ultimate destination.'

'Unless they suspect our presence and are taking precautions against us following by planning a deliberately misleading course?' Ch.e.l.l speculated.

'In which case the outer system would be thick with interceptor patrols, and at the moment we can detect none,'

Tramour said. 'They can't have any reason to think we're here, especially with Averon's reputation. I'll wager those fighters we encountered in hypers.p.a.ce never got close enough to detect us, or even if they did, they couldn't know we'd be able to pick up the freighter's trail again. In any case, why is an empty ship leaving the system?'

Harry suddenly snapped his fingers. 'Raw materials! What if the war and building those fortresses has used up all their stocks of something vital to them here, and they need to ship in more.'

Tramour nodded. 'It is possible.'

Ch.e.l.l brightened visibly. 'And if we could discover the source and deny it to them...'

Everybody on the bridge was suddenly looking alert and purposeful once more. Tramour turned to the pilot. 'Alter course to shadow that freighter.'

15.