Runcible Tales Page 2

  ‘Yeah, and it mustn’t give the game away. ... This time we’ll be using that last shuttle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She handed him his whisky and sat at the further end of the sofa, her legs curled under her. Webster noted that the zip of her overall was down further than it had been when they had entered the room. He looked at her. She looked back. They drank their whisky. Abruptly she slid from the sofa, stood up, and pulled the zip all the way down to her shaven crotch. As Webster stood she slipped the material from her shoulders, revealing taut breasts over a taut stomach. He stepped forwards and ran his hands up the front of her body to caress her breasts, then slid them round her back as he pulled her to him. She turned her head away.

  ‘Never kiss me. Never. I don’t want your affection,’ she said. ‘I just want you to fuck me.’

  Webster did so, gladly. At the back of his mind there was a hint of a feeling of ‘I told you so’. He ignored it. He was used to it.

  They lay tangled in sheets and dewed with sweat. Webster ran his finger around one erect nipple then traced lines in the sweat on her muscular stomach. The scratches on his back felt about half an inch deep.

  Was that for real?

  There was no answer.

  Come on Fich. It was wet and warm and I know you can’t resist probing other bodies. You were in her as well.

  She climaxed so violently I had to retreat from her womb. Your machismo is safe. Do you realize she uses no form of contraception?

  What?

  Don’t worry. I dealt with it.

  Webster paused in his doodling.

  You can do something about those scratches while you’re about it.

  The soreness faded. Webster sighed. Sheil turned her head to look at him.

  ‘You might have died in the tank,’ she said.

  ‘Unlikely, with the tank and Fich.’

  ‘Do you know what condition you were in when they picked you up?’

  ‘Never thought to enquire.’

  ‘Gangrene in your arms and legs. The doctor mycelium was just managing to sustain life with one damaged kidney, a few spoonfuls of liver and a leaky heart.’

  ‘Is it really necessary for me to know this,’ said Webster with distaste. He took his hand away.

  ‘You would have died, but for Blegg.’

  Webster sat upright, a cold shiver raking his back.

  ‘Horace Blegg, agent Prime Cause?’

  Such an unlikely name for one of the immortal arbiters of human destiny

  ‘He sat by your tank for three days. Kept you alive.’

  This is true.

  Why didn’t you tell me before?

  Because you would overreact.

  ‘Fucking hell!’

  I told you so.

  Sheil said, ‘It means this mission is important. Survival of the human race important.’

  Webster subsided to the sheets, pulled them over him. He suddenly felt cold, very cold. He reached for Sheil and pulled her towards him. Forgetting himself he tried to kiss her. She put her hands between their mouths.

  ‘I only kiss people I love, and I can never love you.’

  ‘The shuttle is at this moment being gated to Ansalep where it is predicted the planet breaker will strike next. The colonies on the moons of Ansalep are already being evacuated.’

  ‘How will the shuttle be accounted for?’ asked Sheil.

  ‘Wreckage from a small Prador war craft is being positioned in the Ansalep system its trajectories consonant with the destruction of the craft near the Ansalep station. The shuttle computer is also being programmed to confirm this, and to confirm that the shuttle put down on an asteroid for repairs,’ the AI told her.

  ‘You’ve made those repairs to the shuttle?’

  Webster suppressed the urge to tell her not to be so stupid. AIs did not screw up that way, only humans did. Her problem of course was that like any Separatist she distrusted AIs. The issues were complex but came down to the fact that Separatists wanted their worlds seceded from Earth Central authority - no matter what the majority of the population of their planet wanted - with control taken away from the runcible AIs and handed over to them. A few worlds had managed secession, but never for long. Earth Central normally moved back in when the planetary government fragmented and they were on the brink of war, or when the majority finally discovered that life was not as good as when the AIs had control. The AI that was called Earth Central described humans as fast machines working for slow genes. It was generally agreed that human beings could not be trusted with their own destiny.

  ‘This shuttle survived its mother craft in circumstances similar to these fictional circumstances. The onboard computer has been reprogrammed to take this into account. It did set down on an asteroid for repairs after its mother ship was destroyed.’

  Webster said, ‘Only that was a few light years away and the shuttle never got the chance to launch again.’

  ‘Did the Prador come from that shuttle?’

  When the AI remained silent Webster answered, ‘No, it was the pilot of a reconnaissance craft we destroyed.’

  ‘How did it survive?’

  ‘It was outside its craft in a space suit when attacked. The attack ship picked it up later, or rather, it towed it to the local station.’

  ‘You are descending into atmosphere,’ the AI told them. Webster caught a hint of the vibration just before the restraint fields pressed him back into his seat. Through the front screen of the delta-wing they saw the a tilted volcanic landscape of yellow and gold and muddy brown. Slowly a huge building with giant chimneys swung into view.

  ‘The sulfur extraction plant,’ the AI told them.

  Webster nodded to himself. The plant was no longer used. Once sulfur had been brought here, purified, and shoved out into space by mass drivers, where it had been used by huge factory stations in a thousand different processes. The factory stations were still there. The sulfur was now gated from the surface of the world, and purified through the runcible gate. This was not the gate they would be using though. There would not be much left of a human passed through such a gate.

  The runcible facility was a transparent dome sat in the middle of the yellow hellscape. Only a scattering of technicians was there to greet them, if greeting it could be called. Sheil went first through the entrance tunnel, the Prador came after supported by AG units, guided by Webster who walked along behind holding a control box. They stepped up onto a dais of black glass and stood before the horns of the runcible, the shimmer of the Skaidon cusp between, like dew-soaked cobwebs. Sheil strode through first - shimmer and gone. Webster send the Prador through next, its saucer shape seeming to melt into the field. He followed, through the shimmer into the five space spoon, flung by the spoon for light years, caught by another spoon. Here the difference between Prador and human technology: the Prador took ship from world to world, humans stepped. The advantage of convenience to humans was a disadvantage in war. What need did they have of ships?

  On the other side Webster stepped out into a chamber little different from the one he had exited, even the technicians wore the same overalls. Beyond the dome of transparent material he saw a moonscape. A technician approached, first Sheil, then him.

  ‘I’m to take you to the shuttle,’ said the man.

  Webster nodded and followed. Even as they were leaving the chamber he looked back and saw the first of the other technicians stepping into the Skaidon cusp. They were amongst the last to leave Ansalep. The technician guiding them would be the last.

  ‘What is your name?’ Webster asked him.

  ‘Sabeck.’

  ‘Is there any news on the position of the planet breaker, Sabek?’

  ‘The AI will communicate the information to you once you are aboard the shuttle before I demount it.’

  ‘You’re taking the AI away?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sabek looked at him. ‘All sentient beings will be evacuated.’

  Webster never thought otherwise.

  The shut
tle was shaped like a flower pot resting on its side, not a window nor a sensor protruded from the thick armour plating that covered it. Webster noted the repair patches welded to its underside and the star shaped burn marks spreading from them. It had been hit by a low intensity laser a number of times. As they approached, one third of the shuttle split away and lowered to expose the interior. Sabek brought an AG trolley loaded with equipment over to them, then touched his fingers below his ear as he listened to his implant.

  ‘Your exos and personal units are here, also weaponry. Further briefing will come from the AI. I must leave you now.’ He turned to go, then abruptly turned back. ‘Smash those fuckers,’ he said, and departed.

  Webster and Sheil maneuvered the Prador on board and settled it into its huge pilot’s couch, then they returned to the trolley. Quickly they stripped then began to buckle on the exoskeletons normally worn by PU slaves. When they came to the personal units, slug-shaped metal canisters the length of a hand, they hesitated.

  ‘You must not connect the personal units until you are in space,’ the echoey voice of the AI told them.

  ‘The time delay is still set at two hours after we receive the carrier signal?’ asked Sheil.

  ‘Yes, during this period you will be unable to initiate independent action, though you will be aware of everything that occurs. After this period the PU will continue to function but you will be free to complete your mission. The multipurpose assault system will be on-line and disconnected from the PU. Prior to contact with the planet breaker you will be held in alpha coma.’

  ‘How long is that likely to be for?’

  ‘Not long now. The planet breaker is on its way. Estimated arrival in twenty-eight hours. You will be in detector range in twenty-three hours’

  Webster quickly set the digital display in the armour over his forearm.

  ‘What about these?’ asked Sheil, holding up a glass ring.

  ‘The neck explosives have been de-activated. You may re-activate them by removing them. There is a thirty second delay.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Webster.

  They climbed into the shuttle and crammed themselves into the cramped slave compartment behind the Prador cabin. The shuttle closed up and began to shift as they strapped themselves in. The shifting ceased shortly after as the shuttle went inertia-less.

  ‘I am going off-line in four minutes,’ said the AI from the shuttle com. ‘You may connect the personal units at your discretion.’

  Sheil and Webster looked at each other, then with concentrated professionalism began to check over their MPASs. The weapons were multi-barrelled assault rifles with just about every portable destructive capability. A fibre-optic cable hung from the each MPAS, to plug into their exoskeletons where, via a logistics computer, they were finally connected through the neck ring to the PUs. Webster ran a diagnostic and found every system functional. Using the touchplate he took every one of the six setting down to its lowest. At the highest settings the energy and missile packs would have been quickly depleted.

  ‘Twenty eight hours,’ said Sheil, as she rested her weapon across her knees. Webster checked his display.

  ‘It’ll go quickly enough when we go into coma. All we’ve got to do is connect up.’

  Sheil looked with distaste at the unit she held, then she lifted it to the side of her head.

  ‘See you in twenty eight hours, give or take.’

  The PU made a buzzing sound and clamped to the side of her head behind her ear. She grimaced in pain as the bone anchors connected then appeared momentarily bewildered as the induction field came on. Abruptly she slumped into unconsciousness. Webster studied her. He felt slightly ill.

  Could you disconnect me from one of those, Fich.

  Yes, though there would be some trauma.

  If it doesn’t automatically disconnect in the designated time I want you to do so.

  Very well.

  Webster pressed the PU to the side of his head. The bone anchors went in and he swore. It was like some powerful insect clinging there. A loud droning filled his skull. Blackness.

  ‘...life signs optimal, no response.’

  Webster realized he was standing beside the brain burnt Prador. He had no memory of getting there. In his hand he held some sort of instrument taken from one of the shuttle’s lockers.

  ‘Unit, return to slave bay.’

  Webster walked back to the bay, or rather, he was walked back to the bay. It was a horrible feeling. As he strapped himself in the shuttle lurched. He tried to look at the digital display to check the time. He could not move his head.

  Twenty-seven hours. They pulled you out of coma to check over the Prador.

  Webster tried to ask a question. The buzzing in his head allowed him nothing.

  Sheil is still under.

  Webster felt a surge of gratitude for the presence of the doctor mycelium - glad it seemed to be anticipating his questions.

  I am linked with you at a deeper level than the PU carrier signal. There is no need for you to try so hard to communicate.

  Webster’s mouth was dry. He was thirsty. The PU responded by allowing him to turn his head and drink from the neck tube. He felt such gratitude to it. The commanders anticipated his every want. He looked forward to his next battle against the rebels, to fighting at the side of the closest allies of Earth Central … the Prador.

  You are being indoctrinated at a subliminal level. I will negate the effects.

  Webster felt a sudden surge of panic as he realized what he had just been thinking. Fich had hit the spot.

  There.

  The panic did not go away.

  Yes, this will happen to Sheil once she is taken out of coma.

  The shuttle lurched again and there was a distant metallic clang. Webster was able to see a picture on one of the screens in front of the motionless Prador. They were being tractored into the planet breaker. Another clang, a delay, the shuttle cracked open and pressures equalized with painful crackling in his ears. Sheil lurched upright beside him. They both stood, attached their weapons to clips positioned diagonally from shoulders to hip across their backs, walked to the Prador and undid the multitude of straps holding it in place. The air hummed with energy and a tractor lifted the Prador out of the shuttle and carried it away into the depths of a huge bay. Sheil and Webster walked out of the shuttle and stood beside it on the frosted metal floor. Huge shapes moved before them. PU slaves flitted here and there on AG units in the shifting machinery - pilot fish in the mouth of a grouper. Webster saw one of them crushed by a monstrous metal wheel rolling along the floor. He was unable to react.

  Twenty minutes.

  Webster could not feel the fatigue of his motionless body. The PU was pumping him full of endorphins. At one point the suit had jetted liquid food into his mouth and he had nearly choked before the PU instructed him to swallow. He felt the urge to urinate and a catheter was automatically extruded by the suit. It would have been painful without the endorphins.

  Ten minutes.

  Webster started to walk with Sheil at his side. It seemed to take forever to reach the irised door at the end of the bay. Their PU’s halted them, just before a robot like a giant chrome lobster ran them down, then moved them on to the door. They found themselves in a corridor. Another corridor. A drop shaft. A room lined with comatose PU slaves connected by tubes to the walls. They removed their weapons and placed them on a trolley that ground up beside them.

  Now.

  Webster snatched his and Sheil’s weapons back then turned to her. She stood staring blankly at the opposite wall then began to back into the human-shaped niche. As she did this, tubes began to wind out of the walls reaching for plugs scattered all over her exoskeleton. Webster laid the weapons on the floor and pulled her away from the niche. Her only reaction was a look of puzzlement.

  What the hell do I do now?

  She will not be free for another two minutes.

  Webster held onto her and she did nothing but pull against him
in the direction of the niche every now and again. He checked the time and when it was up there was still no reaction.

  Try shock.

  Webster slapped her face, hard. Her head turned aside and a drool of saliva shot from the side of her mouth. He slapped her again.

  ‘Sheil!’

  She stared at him like a drunkard. He raised his hand again and she shoved away from him her mouth suddenly gaping in panic. He caught hold of her arm and she fell. On her knees she made a horrible groaning sound then vomited food paste and water.

  ‘Sheil.’

  He pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Rebels!’ she shouted, and fought against him. He pinned her back against the wall between two niches.

  ‘There are no rebels! The PU was brainwashing you, a subliminal reinforcement. Snap out of it! Remember why we are here.’

  ‘No rebels?’ she said ceasing to fight. ‘Oh my god....’ She rested her head against the front of his exoskeleton. ‘It was so strong. So strong.’

  ‘Are you all right now?’

  ‘Nearly, nearly there.’

  ‘Come on, we have to move.’

  Webster picked up her MPAS and clicked it in place on her back. At the door to the room he pulled the rings of explosive from his neck and hers and threw them in the general direction of their allocated niches.

  ‘That should confuse things.’

  By the time they were in the corridor Sheil was managing to move by herself.

  ‘I have to get to the hull,’ she said.

  He noted that her face was white and that she was sweating heavily. Was this her reaction to the PU or ...

  It is the mycelium. It is ready.

  Sheil said, ‘I have to touch the exotic hull metal.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Three minutes.’

  ‘Okay, we move.’

  Webster considered the best way to go just as the neck explosives went off behind them blasting debris out into the corridor. He led the way through the corridors as a chittering alarm started sounding.