The Night's Dawn Trilogy (381 page)

“Are they happy, those other children? The ones you have to leave behind.”

“Yes. They’re happy. I know you think we’re terribly formal and mannered, but we’re not mechanoids, Joshua, we love our children.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. I’m okay.” He concentrated on his flute. “Syrinx. You can count on me during the flight.”

“I know that, Joshua. I reviewed the Murora memory a few times, and I’ve spoken to Samuel, too.”

He gestured out at the starfield. “The real answer lies out there, somewhere.”

“Consensus has known that all along. And as the Kiint wouldn’t tell me…”

“And I’m not smart enough to help the research professors…”

They smiled. “Here’s to the flight,” Syrinx said.

“Soaring where angels fear to fly.”

They downed the remainder of their Norfolk Tears. Syrinx blew heavily, and blinked the moisture away from her eyes. Then she
frowned at the figure standing at the bar. “Jesus, Joshua, I didn’t know there was two of you.”

The enjoyable surprise of hearing an Edenist swear in such a fashion was quelled with pique when he saw who she was talking
about. He stuck his hand up and waved Liol over.

“Delighted to meet you,” Liol said when Joshua introduced them. He polished up the Calvert grin for her benefit, and kissed
her hand.

Syrinx laughed, and stood up. “Sorry Liol, I’m afraid I had my inoculation some time ago.” Joshua was chuckling.

“I’ll leave the pair of you to it,” she said, and gave Joshua a light kiss. “Don’t be late.”

“Got her eddress?” Liol asked from the side of his mouth as he watched her walk away.

“Liol, that’s a voidhawk ship-tunic. Syrinx doesn’t have an eddress. So how are you?”

“Absolutely fine.” Liol reversed a chair, and straddled it, arms resting on the back. “This is party city for me all right.
I think I’ll move Quantum Serendipity here after the crisis.”

“Right. Haven’t seen much of you since we docked.”

“Well hey, no surprise there. That Dominique, hell of a girl.” He lowered his voice to a throaty gloating growl. “Game on,
five, six times a night. Every position I know, then some that’s got to be just for xenocs.”

“Wow.”

“Last night, you know what? Threesome. Neomone joined in.”

“No shit? You record a sensevise?”

Liol put both hands down on the table, and stared at his brother. “Josh.”

“Yep.”

“For Christ’s sake take me with you.”

______

Kerry was the first planet, the test. Catholic Irish-ethnic to
the bedrock, its inhabitants gave the priests of the Unified
Church a very hard time. Stubbornly suspicious of technology, it took them a half a century longer than the development company
projected to reach full technoindustrial independence. When they did achieve it, their economic index never matched the acceleration
curve of the more driven Western-Christian work-ethic planets. They were comfortably off, favoured large families, traded
modestly with nearby star systems, contributed grudgingly to the Confederation Assembly and Navy, and went to Church regularly.
There were no aspirations to become a galactic player like Kulu, Oshanko, and Edenism. Quiet people getting on with their
lives. Until the possession crisis arrived.

The planet was seven light-years from New California, and worried. Their Strategic Defence network was the absolute minimum
for a developed world; and combat wasp stocks were never kept very high; maintenance budgets were also subject to political
trimming. Since the crisis began, and especially post-Arnstat, Kerry had been desperately trying to upgrade. Unfortunately
their industrial stations weren’t geared towards churning out military hardware. Nor were they closely allied to Kulu or Earth
who did produce an abundance of such items. The Edenists of the Kerry system, orbiting Rathdrum, lent what support they could;
but they had their own defences to enhance first.

Still, went the hope and reasoning, that’s the benefit of being galactic small fry, Capone isn’t going to bother with us.
When it came to the effort of mounting a full scale invasion along the lines of Arnstat they were absolutely right. Which
is why Al’s sudden change of policy caught them woefully unprepared.

Twelve hellhawks emerged five and a half thousand kilometres above Kerry’s atmosphere, and fired a salvo of ten (fusion powered)
combat wasps each. The bitek craft immediately started accelerating at six gees, flying away from each other in an expanding
globe formation. Their combat wasps raced on ahead of them, ejecting multiple submuni-tions. Space was infected by electronic
warfare impulses and thermal decoys, a rapidly growing blind spot in Kerry’s sensor coverage. Submunitions began to target
sensor satellites, inter-orbit ships, spaceplanes, and low orbit SD platforms. A volley of fusion bombs detonated, creating
a further maelstrom of electromagnetic chaos.

Kerry’s SD network controllers, surprised by the vehemence of the attack, and fearing an Arnstat-style assault, did their
best to counter. Platforms launched counter salvos of combat wasps; electron beams and X-ray lasers stabbed out, slashing
across the vacuum to punch submunitions into bloating haze-balls of ions. Electronic warfare generators on the platforms began
pumping out their own disruption. After four seconds spent analysing the attack mode, the network’s coordinating AI determined
the hellhawks were engaged in a safe-clearance operation. It was right.

Ten front-line Organization frigates emerged into the calm centre of the combat wasp deluge. Fusion drives ignited, driving
them down towards the planet at eight gees. Combat wasps slid out of their launch tubes, and their drives came on.

The AI had switched all available sensor satellites to scanning the frigates. Radars and laser radars were essentially useless
in the face of New California’s superior electronic warfare technology. The network’s visual pattern sensors were being pummelled
by the nuclear explosions and deception impulse lasers, but they did manage to distinguish the unique superhot energy output
of antimatter drives. The ultimate horror unchained above Kerry’s beautiful, vulnerable atmosphere.

Unlike ordinary combat wasps, a killstrike didn’t eliminate the problem. Hit a fusion bomb with a laser or kinetic bullet,
and there is no nuclear explosion, it simply disintegrates into its component molecules. But knock out an antimatter combat
wasp, and the drive’s confinement spheres will detonate into multi-megaton fury, as will as the warheads.

As soon as the launch was verified, the AI’s total priority was preventing the antimatter combat wasps from getting within
a thousand kilometres of the stratosphere. Starships, communication platforms, port stations, and industrial stations were
reclassified expendable, and left to take their chances. Every SD resource was concentrated on eliminating the antimatter
drones. Weapons were realigned away from the hellhawks and frigates, and brought to bear solely on the searing lightpoints
racing over the delicate continents. Defending combat wasps performed drastic realignment manoeuvres; platform-mounted rail
guns pumped out a cascade of inert kinetic missiles along projected vectors. Patrolling starships accelerated down at high-gees,
bringing their combat wasps and energy beam weapons in range.

The hellhawks fired another barrage of combat wasps, sending them streaking away from the nebulous clot of plasma which the
initial drone battle had smeared across the sky. They were aimed at the remaining low orbit SD platforms shielding the continent
below. Apart from activating the platforms’ close-defence weapons, there was little the network controllers could do. Hurtling
towards the planet, the frigates began to diverge, curving away from each other. Nothing challenged their approach. The continent
was completely open to whatever they chose to throw at it.

As the antimatter exploded overhead in a pattern that created an umbrella of solid incandescent radiation three thousand kilometres
across, they made a strange selection. Two hundred kilometres above the atmosphere, each warship flung out a batch of inactive
ovoids, measuring a mere three metres high. Their task complete, the frigates curved up, striving for altitude with an eight-gee
acceleration. A second, smaller salvo of antimatter combat wasps was fired, providing the same kind of diversionary cover
as they’d enjoyed during their descent.

This time, the invaders didn’t have it all their own way. The number of weapons focused on, and active within, the small zone
where the frigates and hellhawks were concentrated began to take effect. Even Kerry’s second-rate hardware had the odds tilting
in its favour. A nuclear tipped submunition exploded against one of the frigates. Its entire stock of antimatter detonated
instantaneously. The radiation blaze wiped out every chunk of hardware within a five hundred kilometre radius. Outside the
killzone, ships and drones spun away inertly, moulting charred flakes of null-foam. Exposed fuselages shone like small suns
under the equally intense photonic energy release. To those on the planet unlucky enough to be looking up at the silent, glorious
blossoms of light during the first stage of the battle, it was as though the noon sun had suddenly quadrupled in vigour. Then
their optic nerves burnt out.

Two of the hellhawks were crippled in the explosion, their polyp penetrated by lethal quantities of gamma radiation. One of
the frigates was unable to handle the massive energy impact. The dissipation web beneath its hexagonal fuselage plates turned
crimson and melted. The patterning nodes facing the massive explosion flash suffered catastrophic failures as the radiation
smashed delicate molecular junctions into slag. The fusion drives failed. Plumes of hot vapour squirted angrily out of emergency
vent nozzles. Inside, the crew charged through their contingency procedures, desperate to sustain the integrity of the antimatter
confinement spheres in their remaining combat wasps.

None of their Organization colleagues went back for them. As soon as the eight remaining frigates reached a five thousand
kilometre altitude, they jumped outsystem. The hellhawks followed within seconds, leaving Kerry’s population wondering what
the hell had happened. Behind the shrinking wormhole interstices, the black eggs thundered earthwards with total impunity.
SD sensors never found them amid the electronic disorder. People on the planet couldn’t see their laser-like contrails against
the dazzling aftermath of the orbital explosions.

They fell fast before decelerating at excruciatingly high gees in the lower atmosphere. Sonic booms rocked across the sleepy
farmland, the first indication that anything was wrong. When the rural folk started to scan the sky in mild alarm, all that
was to be seen were chunks of flaming debris streaking down from the battle—to be expected, claimed those who knew something
of such things. The eggs reached subsonic speed a kilometre above the land. Petals flipped out from the lower half, presenting
a wider surface area to the air, doubling the drag coefficient. At four hundred metres, the drogue chute shot up. Two hundred
metres saw the main chute deployment.

Two hundred and fifty of the black eggs thudded to ground at random across an area measuring over three hundred thousand square
kilometres. The petals failed on eight, while a further nine suffered chute failure. The remaining two hundred and thirty
three produced a bone-rattler landing for their passengers, bouncing and rolling for several metres before they came to a
halt. Their sides slit open with a loud
crack
, and the possessed stepped forth to admire the verdant green land they had volunteered to infiltrate.

______

The hellhawks arrived back at New California thirty hours later. They didn’t even get a hero’s welcome. The Organization already
knew the seeding flight had been a success; information from the infiltrators had already squirmed its way back through the
beyond.

Al was jubilant. He ordered Emmet and Leroy to put together another five seeding flights immediately. The fleet crews and
asteroids cooperated enthusiastically. The success was nothing like as momentous as the Arnstat victory, but it kicked in
a resurgence of confidence throughout the Organization. We’re a power again, was the shared opinion. Beefs and recalcitrance
sloped away.

The
Varrad
discarded its fantasy starship image as it approached Monterey. It slid over the docking ledge pedestal and slowly sank down,
radiating a desultory relief.

You did well,
Hudson Proctor told Pran Soo, the hell-hawk’s resident soul.
Kiera says she’s pleased with you.

Commence nutrient fluid pumping,
Pran Soo said flatly.

Sure thing. Here it comes. Enjoy.

Hudson Proctor gave a short command, and the fluid surged along the pipes and into the hellhawk’s internal reserve bladders.

Two of us were exterminated,
Pran Soo announced to the other hellhawks.
Linsky and Maranthis. They were irradiated when Kerry’s SD network took out the Dor-bane. It was awful. I felt their structure
withering.

Price we pay for victory,
Etchells said swiftly.
Two of us, against an entire Confederation planet taken out.

Yeah,
said Felix, who possessed the
Kerachel
.
Kerry had me real worried. When it comes to drinking contests and pub brawls, they’d got us beat every time.

Keep your Goddamn pinko loser opinions to yourself,
Etchells sneered back.
This was a concept-proving mission. What the fuck do you know about overall strategy? We’re the hard edge of operations, the
cosmic shock troops.

Give it a rest, you boring little prat. And don’t pretend you were ever in an army. Even armies have a minimum IQ requirement.

Oh yeah? What you know. I killed fifteen men when I was in combat.