Shadow Of The Scorpion Part 5

"Whatever." Cormac abruptly picked up the weapon and rested it across the crook of his arm pointing at Stiletto, who seemed to be recovering. The other one was making odd snoring sounds and Cormac hoped he hadn't hit him too hard. "The net result of that action is that Carl will face some hard questions when they put his larynx back in. I am also under suspicion. I was bugged earlier and I was being followed."

"Yes, I do know."

Of course, someone knowledgeable in the ways of subterfuge would not have let Cormac know that. This Samara wanted to appear tough and clever.

"You know?"

"I had you watched from the moment you left ECS Base Camp... Why did you use the stunner, why not kill him?"

Cormac shrugged. "I wanted it to look like a robbery and killing him would only have increased suspicion. As it is suspicion will have increased, especially when they find out I dumped the bugs."

"So why are you here?"

Stiletto revived with a grunt, so Cormac abruptly pressed the barrel of the weapon against the side of his head. "Move away slowly and go and sit over there." He nodded towards a nearby bench table. Once Stiletto had obeyed, Cormac returned his attention to Samara. "They can't run autoguns all around the perimeter. There's not enough of them here yet, and with earth-moving equipment travelling in and out the logistics get a bit untenable."

"So."

"So, after they replaced my unit with autoguns and after Carl ended up coughing up bits of his lungs, they put what remained of us-without our Golem sergeant-on a guard detail inside the ship. They actually used us as bait to draw out those Prador remaining hidden inside. We nearly died."

"So, you're p.i.s.sed off about that."

"A little, not a lot-comes with the territory."

The gun wielder snorted a mixture of blood and snot onto the table surface. Cormac edged away from him a little.

"What you should be interested in is what I managed to pick up while I was in there. You see, I know precisely where there is a rack of five one-megaton warheads-all small enough to be carried by a man apiece, and I know how to get you inside to them."

The numerous views through sheets of chaingla.s.s directly into the English Channel were often turbid, but when they cleared they were astounding. Magnifying sections picked out local sea life, bringing up clear pictures of rays, cod shoals, glittering storms of a GM version of whitebait that had escaped the farms and burgeoned in the oceans over two hundred years before. As Cormac understood it, the idea of wiping them out with a tailored virus had been proposed a century ago, but put on hold. These rugged little fish filled certain niches that had been emptied and were a ready source of food for other creatures. In fact, other emptied niches were steadily being filled in the same way, with life re-created from dry museum specimens. The oceans now teemed.

Neither Dax nor his mother had mentioned last night. Both of them were drinking from litre bottles of c.o.ke and had earlier popped a few Aldetox. In fact they weren't saying much at all, and both of them were wearing sungla.s.ses.

Departing the maglev station they headed straight out into the tubular streets of the undersea city, one Loyalty Luggage chest groaning along behind them on roller leg spokes like a particularly fat and short-legged dog. Ian had his own case hanging from his shoulder with his own necessities inside, which obviously didn't include such ephemera as clean underpants and socks-they were in the luggage.

"The Watts?" suggested Dax.

"Of course," said their mother. The Watts-named after some long-dead science fiction writer-possessed the best undersea windows, airlocks and diving facilities. They'd stayed there before on numerous occasions and one of Ian's most enduring memories was of their father taking all three boys out into the sea for the first time. Back then they didn't have the full-skin pressure suits so the hotel's rooms had been pressurized and actually venturing beyond it had not been an easy option.

As they headed for their destination, Cormac scanned his surroundings for places he recognised, but everything, barring the exterior shapes of the streets themselves, had changed. A lot of the shops seemed to be closed down and the usual cornucopias of goods were not on display.

"It's. .h.i.tting here," Dax observed.

"Everywhere," their mother replied. "I don't think it's because of lack of supply, but more to do with guilt about supply."

"There's a war on," Cormac piped up.

His mother raised her sungla.s.ses to expose reddened eyes and gave Dax one of those knowing looks that irritated the boy immensely.

"That's the opinion," she said. "It seems to have brought out the Puritan in many."

Dax shook his head. "Stupid," he said. "Most of what's sold here won't even impinge." He paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Unless things get a lot worse."

They continued along the concourse and eventually arrived at the portico of The Watts. Arrayed across the front of this building were five heavy oval chaingla.s.s doors, which were the original pressure locks for this building. Hannah placed her cash card into the slot of a console beside one door and on the touch-screen made her room selection. Peering up at the screen Cormac was gratified to see she had requested three interconnected rooms, all en-suite, so he would have his own room, his own s.p.a.ce. The last time they had come here he had shared with her, while Dax and Alex had their own rooms. He felt this meant he was not so much of a child anymore.

The nearest pressure door opened upon insertion of one of the three key cards the console had provided and he and his mother stepped through into the lock while Dax waited his turn with the Loyalty Luggage. They entered a vestibule containing a central auto-kiosk packed with those items the hotel's guests might need while venturing out into the city. Around the walls numerous doors opened into the accommodation areas while between them were mounted screens showing undersea scenes.

"They were going to get rid of them," said Dax as he came through, gesturing back to the pressure doors.

"A lot of people objected and there were moves to put a preservation order on them," Hannah replied. "The hotel owners finally realised they were an attraction rather than a hindrance to their usual guests-keeps the non-diving riff-raff out."

She walked over to one of the doors at the end of the vestibule, inserting the key card again, which gave access to a long corridor with rooms along either side. When she halted by one of the doors on the left, Cormac became even happier, for he remembered enough to know that the rooms on this side were those nearest to the sea, so were provided with real undersea windows.

"You're there," she said to Dax, pointing to the room they had just pa.s.sed and tossing him one of the cards. "And you're there," she said to Cormac, handing over another card and gesturing to the next room along. "I'll send the luggage to you, Dax, once I've unpacked, and you can send it to Ian." She paused for a moment. "I mean Cormac."

Cormac inserted his key card into his door, entered and closing the door behind him gazed about himself with relish. A large bed lay to his left, interactive netscreen up in one corner opposite the bed, large blacked-out window taking up the entire wall to the right of that, plenty of cupboards, some low comfortable chairs arranged around a coffee table and a door to an en-suite in the right-hand wall. He stepped over beside the bed, dropped his shoulder bag on it, then picked up the room remote from the bedside table. It took him just a moment of checking through the touchplates to find the window control. He walked over, turned one of the comfortable chairs round to face it, plumped himself down in the chair, then hit the control to make the window transparent.

Starting in a swirl pattern right in the centre, the photoactive liquid, sandwiched between two layers of chaingla.s.s, began changing from black to transparent. Cormac remembered spending hours gazing through a window like this. He remembered the crustaceans b.u.mbling along the bottom out there: the ma.s.ses of winkles gathered like multicoloured pearls, the whelks oozing across the gla.s.s and the occasional scallop jetting past; the hermit crabs, lobsters and edible crabs; the shrimps, prawns and crayfish; and the endless varieties of fish. But what sat out there was not quite what he expected, and he shrieked with fright.

Giant iron scorpions were not in the guide book.

The autodozer garage was surrounded by a security fence with cameras mounted on the posts. Floodlights were on, their glow extending out into the darkness and also reflecting off the polished bodies of two mosquito autoguns patrolling inside like skeletal metallic guard dogs.

As he strode towards the big gates, torch beam stabbing down at the churned earth ahead of him, Cormac glanced back at his three companions. Stiletto, who Cormac now knew to be called Pramer, wore a false hand in place of his blade and appeared quite fitting for this role, since many of those who did this sort of job boosted their musculature and took pride in being able to carry out heavy work normally the territory of some drone or Golem. The other two didn't really fit. Layden was a scrawny, pale and sickly individual who just looked plain uncomfortable in his baggy overalls, and Sheen was a teenage girl with a perpetual expression of sulky rebellion. No problem, their physical details had been logged into the personnel databank.

Cormac halted and peered up at the security drone extending out from the gate post on a stalk like some iron and plastic seed pod. It tilted towards them and after a moment said, "Admittance approved." He stepped aside and now Layden received the same approval as did Pramer, then Sheen moved into place. With her the drone paused for a moment, and tilted as if curious about what it was seeing. Cormac suspected the AI was deliberately racking up the tension-it didn't want this to appear too easy for them.

"Identicard," the drone demanded.

Cormac was amazed at the teenager's sudden calm as she reached into her engineer's belt bag, took her card from amidst the numerous small packs that would open out into monofilm rucksacks, and held it up. He saw the flash of laser scanning pa.s.s over the card and hand, then after a moment Sheen received a grudging "Admittance approved," whereupon a personnel door popped open in the main gates and they entered.

"It must be your acne," said Pramer.

"f.u.c.k off," Sheen replied.

Cormac had already instructed them to confine their talk to the kind of exchanges expected from such workers, but hadn't expected these two to show such talent for it. Not a word could be uttered about their real reason for being here, since watch programs would be listening for key words and phrases and a.s.sessing for out-of-character behaviour. Grinning, he glanced at Pramer, but was surprised to see he seemed chastened by the teenager's reply. Odd, decidedly so.

Beyond the fence lay a plasticrete yard, much of it chewed up by the action of dozer treads, along the back of which stood a row of huge garages each containing the heavy equipment being used about the Prador dreadnought. Cormac waved for the others to follow and headed for the third door along. Here he took out his identicard and pressed it into the reader beside another personnel door, which opened for him. The others followed suit and trailed him inside to where a row of dozers loomed like steel dinosaurs.

"Number one," he instructed, pointing to the first in the line.

The dozer was a five-hundred-ton monster with caterpillar treads, a dozer blade to the fore and two rear excavator arms, which could choose from a selection of buckets within the machine's body. It possessed no cab for a driver since the machine could be slaved to AI, loaded with a submind or telefactored to some other operator. There was no necessity for the thing to be permanently full-AI since such intelligence would be wasted on a piece of earth-moving equipment.

"Sheen, Layden." Cormac directed their attention towards the tool racks along one wall.

Layden walked over and collected a console and length of optic cable. His technical expertise was why he had been "invited"-that invitation spiced with a promise of a large supply of whatever drugs were slowly killing him. Sheen collected a screwdriver kit-she was just along to carry one of the CTDs and possessed no expertise that Cormac could see. He himself strolled round the dozer inspecting its treads while Pramer went over to peer inside the compartment containing its digger buckets.

This dozer had recently developed a fault in the mechanisms used to shift the elected digger buckets into position for its digger arms at the back. It had been difficult to convince Samara that Carl had managed to introduce the fault preparatory to using this as a back-up way of getting into the ship. But the Separatists here really wanted those CTDs and were quite prepared to lose personnel just to find out if the opportunity of obtaining them existed. It was noticeable, however, that Samara had not seen fit to include herself in this, and that as far as Cormac knew, her only close a.s.sociate here was Pramer: a thug who, for reasons Cormac had yet to fathom, had fallen out of favour with her.

"Let's see what we've got," said Cormac.

Sheen had taken out a multidriver and was removing a small panel from the side of the dozer. Once this was off, Layden plugged the optic from his console into one of the revealed sockets, and input instructions. With a low whine the first enormous dozer arm immediately elbowed upwards extracting a two-yards-wide earth scoop from the bucket compartment, which it swung to one side-sending Pramer dodging from its path-and crunched down on the plasticrete. With a clonk, pins disengaged, then the arm rose again leaving the earth scoop on the floor, while within the dozer's body, mechanisms moved the next bucket forward in the compartment. The second arm engaged with this, lifted it out, and deposited it on the floor too, while the first arm swung back for the next implement.

"Seems okay," said Cormac, "but best to be sure." Removing a small memstore from his pocket, he now headed over to the com console set in the wall beside the tool racks. Upon reaching the console he noticed Sheen watchfully coming up beside him, and guessed her purpose here might be more than it appeared. Perfectly to script Cormac called up the dozer specs and then the relevant maintenance log, which showed them presently working on said machine. He inserted the memstore into the relevant slot in the console and set its contents to load. Deliberately looking pleased with himself he nodded to Sheen then turned to head back.

The digger arms were now laying out the last of a selection of ceramo-carbide rock drills in neat rows on the floor to either side of the dozer's rear end. These were the last items from the digger compartment. As Cormac walked over, one arm detached from a drill then swung over to engage again with the large earth scoop and there pause.

"Ready?" he asked Layden.

The man nodded and unplugged the optic, and Sheen, back at her post, quickly replaced the cover she had removed. By now Pramer had climbed inside the compartment, quickly followed by Layden who retained the essential console, then Sheen. Cormac stepped into the cramped compartment just as the digger arm started moving again. After a moment the earth scoop swung across then in, blocking out the light as it crashed into the slot at the mouth of the compartment. After a moment a greenish hue filled the s.p.a.ce as Pramer stuck a chemical light ball to one ceramal wall.

"Can we talk now?" asked Layden.

"Certainly," said Cormac, "but I'd advise against doing it too loudly-there's still ears out there."

"Tell me about the program you used?" Layden was very doubtful that any human could create a program capable of penetrating the security around the dreadnought, for he possessed sufficient expertise to know what it would be up against.

"It was a mutagenic worm," said Cormac. "Carl knew more about it than me. It apparently causes a viral fault to develop in the garage memory, and erasing the fault erases that part of the memory too. The AI will know maintenance was scheduled but the details will be gone."

"The drone?"

"Shares memory with the garage com system-quite primitive. Most of the security in the area is outside these garages."

Layden frowned. "Very useful guy, this Carl."

Cormac pretended anger. "Which is why you people were stupid to try killing him."

"Not my people." Layden held out his hand to Sheen who pa.s.sed over the screwdriver kit, from which he selected a multidriver with which he started removing the screws securing a panel within the compartment.

"How long?" asked Pramer, while fiddling with his artificial hand.

"Twenty minutes," Cormac replied. "Then this dozer sets out to shove a spill away from the north side of the ship. Despite its supposed fault it'll be used because only the dozer blade will be needed, not the digger arms."

Cormac sat down with his back against one wall. All the others made themselves comfortable too then fell into desultory silence. Cormac closed his eyes and tried to force himself to relax, or to at least display a veneer of that state. But inside he was tightly wound, both scared and elated, all too aware that at any moment this could all go badly wrong and he could end up dead. He had never felt so alive.

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Layden.

It took Cormac a moment to realise the question had been directed at him. He opened his eyes and saw that all three of them were gazing at him as they awaited his reply. He could have shrugged this off mercenary style and said that was none of his concern, but he too was supposed to be a Separatist, he too was supposed to be a fighter for the Cause.

"That will be decided by the Central Committee." Agent Spencer had queried him upon his return from the meeting with Samara and had been most interested in that. It was understood that the Separatists here had not, since the Prador bombardment, been able to organize themselves into the usual cell structure. There were still those in charge and it was still possible to find an easy way back to the leadership. He went on, "But if it was up to me I'd get them offworld-hit a runcible AI on one of the high-population worlds like Coloron where it would do most good."

"Really," said Layden, blank-faced.

Cormac realised he was making an error here, for Layden was a reluctant recruit and knowing the possible consequences of his actions might result in him being more reluctant still.

"But whether they will ever be used like that is a moot point," he added.

"Why not?" Layden asked.

"Trading," said Sheen.

Cormac flicked a glance at her, certain now that there was more to her than met the eye.

"Precisely," he said. "They'll be traded to richer groups for things of more value to the long-term struggle: personal armament, money, secure computer time, propaganda."

That was accepted writ, but the truth was somewhat more sordid. Those who ran planetary Separatist organizations usually ate high off the hog. Their ultimate aim might be the downfall of the ruling AIs but the real short-term goals were racketeering wealth, drugs to sell for more wealth and power within the organisation. That all fell apart when someone delivered a major blow, which wiping out a runcible AI with a CTD would have been, for it usually resulted in Earth Central Security coming down hard on those who previously had been an irritation not worth expending resources to be rid of.

The dozer vibrated slightly, which was the only warning that its heavy internal fly wheels were winding up to speed. It then jerked forwards, rumbling across the plasticrete, flinging Layden sprawling. Cormac noted how fast Sheen moved to catch his console before it swung on its optic to smash against the compartment wall, and slotted the memory away for future reference. Light from external floodlights abruptly lit a halo around the earth scoop behind them as the dozer departed the garage. Layden picked himself up and accepted his console back from Sheen, giving her a sour look as he took it.

"Watch yourselves," said Cormac. "This isn't set up for pa.s.sengers."

This was a lie, because alterations had been made to this dozer's structure and operating procedures. A machine like this was quite capable of hammering, without damage, straight over the ma.s.sive potholes and rocks about the ship, but that might have resulted in broken bones for any inside so it would be taking an easy route. Also, no other dozer had an access hatch inside the bucket compartment to its controls-that security weakness had been taken out long ago.

"I've accessed its cams," said Layden.

Cormac stood and carefully made his way over to the man; the other two gathered round too. The console screen now showed the view ahead, which at that moment was of a track winding between piles of stone, mud and charred and shattered skarch trunks and their decaying leaves, with the occasional glimpse of mosquito autoguns patrolling the area. After a few minutes, the rear upper surface of the ship became visible off to the right, behind a high security fence. Following the track towards this behemoth, the dozer halted at high gates between two framework watch towers, while they opened, then continued down into a shadowy quarter-mile-wide box trench cutting round the rear of the dreadnought. Soon six autodozers and two KiloTees came into view ahead, working to clear a fall of the trench wall. Four of the dozers were pushing heaps of mud and stone before them to the two others which were using earth scoops to load KiloTees-autotrucks capable of shifting and tipping loads of a thousand tons.

Cormac studied the wall of metal to their right, curving up towards the sky. A scaffold had been erected against it, epoxied to the exotic metal armour and stretching up for eight hundred feet.

"This is where we get off," he said.

Layden immediately banished the picture, called up some queued programs and set one running. He then pulled off a lower piece of the console-a remote control for it.

"Shouldn't we wait until we're closer?" asked Pramer.

Cormac shook his head. "Get too close to the other dozers and they'll pick us up with their cams, then we'll have autoguns down here faster than you can write your will."

"Right."

With a clonking and sc.r.a.ping the earth scoop retreated from view on its arm and they moved to the back of the dozer. It was moving fast, but not as fast as such a machine usually travelled along ground like this. Cormac jumped first, managing to keep to his feet because he had no wish to break his fall by rolling in the mud. Layden landed badly, sprawling in the porridge of mud and stone. Pramer rolled neatly and came swiftly upright. Sheen landed with graceful ease and walked over. Cormac wondered if she was a teenager at all. Maybe her look was just cosmetic camouflage, spots too.

Cormac studied them all for a moment, nodded, then set out at a steady trot towards the scaffolding. Glancing back he saw them following, heads bowed, trying to move as fast as they could over the uneven ground. Doubtless their lack of weapons made them very nervous.

Mounted upon a foamstone block right next to the ship, the scaffolding was completely in shadow. As he stepped onto the block Cormac paused to watch a number of those scavenger creatures he and Carl had seen, scuttling away from him to drop down the gap between the back edge of the block and the hull of the ship. Then he stepped up and moved over to an elevator platform and studied its controls.

"We're in luck," he said as the others mounted the block behind him. He turned to them, noticing how Layden was gasping and looked almost on the point of collapse.

"How so?" asked Pramer.

Cormac gestured to the platform. "Simple clamp wheels and electric motor-no monitoring system so we can use it without being detected." He studied Layden. "Which seems a good thing, because I'm not sure all of us would have been able to climb up there, let alone climb back down carrying a CTD."