The Noise Revealed (14 page)

"Most certainly. Indications are that there were well in excess of two thousand here in the recent past."

"Where are they now?"

"Uncertain. Records have been doctored, information erased."

All well and good, but someone here would know. Boulton strode forward, onto a floor bearing an emblem she'd never expected to see outside of historical records - the sunburst and twinned planets of the Allied Worlds. Was that what the habitat were - a lingering afterthought of a war long settled? Surely there must be more to them than that.

As she stepped forward, Boulton kept an eye on her visor display. It showed a single smudge of red.

"Narrow focus," she intoned. The section of the throng she was gazing at jumped into higher definition, becoming individual dots, one of which shone red. Boulton snapped the gun up and found herself staring at a tall, elderly man standing towards the front of the gathering.

"You," she barked, "drop the weapon. I won't ask a second time."

"Do as she says, Art," a woman's voice said, managing to sound both reproachful and indulgent at the same time.

The man looked sideways towards the speaker, shrugged and pulled out a surprisingly pristine looking gun, which he tossed onto the floor between the marines and Boulton.

Only then did she switch her attention to the woman who had spoken. Tall, middle-aged, hair swept back from a face that glowed with an inherent beauty Boulton could only envy. "Are you in charge? Do you speak for these people?"

"We all speak for ourselves in the habitat, but yes, you might as well address me. Perhaps you could start by explaining the reason for this unlawful invasion of our home."

A number of responses flashed through Boulton's mind. She wanted to remember this woman, remember the tone that fell just short of patronising and a long way short of deferential. She would compare it to the tone the woman adopted
after
she had suffered Boulton's response.

"And your name would be?"

She smiled. "Kethi."

Kethi
? That wasn't a name... unless...

Boulton stared at the woman, concluding that an example needed to be set. After all, that smile was just begging to be wiped away.

If anything was likely to provoke a reaction from this docile populace, this ought to. She took a step towards Kethi, who stared back at her, unflinching and apparently unconcerned, though she must have had at least an inkling of what was to come.

As Boulton adjusted her grip on the gun, the floor beneath her feet shuddered. This was no gentle vibration, such as you might feel when an engine started up, but something far more profound.

"Gun?"

"Checking."

People were restless; murmurs spread through the gathered locals. Clearly they were as surprised by this as she was. Well, she'd wanted to provoke a reaction.... There came a distant boom, a deep, sonorous sound that surely couldn't herald anything good.

"
Gun
?" Clearly something was up and the situation called for a reaction, but first she needed to know what to react to.

"The docked vessel has exploded, apparently an act of deliberate self-destruction," the gun finally explained.

"Case and his marines?"

"Dead, most likely. The explosion has ripped away a large section of the habitat. I suggest you hold onto something."

"Anchor yourselves!" That yell came from the marine sergeant, echoing the gun.

"Shit!" Boulton heard the rush of escaping air at the same instant and imagined she could already feel the tug of decompression. She twisted and lunged for the nearest wall, stretching out with her hands and feeling her fingers brush against it, which was all she needed. Instantly she activated the glove's smart skin, so that it melded with the substance of the wall itself. With her other hand she sealed the hood of her shimmer suit, before fastening her second hand beside the first.

"Trigger the retrieval beacon."

"Already done," the gun's dispassionate voice assured her. "Drones have been dispatched. I suggest you cease speaking. The air trapped within your suit is limited, and there's no guarantee that rescue can be effected in time."

If that was the AI attempting to calm her down so that she minimized use of her precious oxygen, it struck her as somewhat counterproductive.

Decompression hit and her entire body was yanked violently to one side.

She imagined this was akin to being caught in a tornado amplified to the nth degree. It felt as if the whole of existence wanted to move in the same direction, dragging the air with it. Her body stretched out, every sinew and joint complaining, her hands the only things keeping her in place. She cut the coms within her helmet, to distance the sounds of screaming. People were flying past her - a pair of marines, then a child, then a deluge of human forms, men and women in both military garb and civilian, many of their faces contorted in horror, as they clawed for non-existent purchase, all knowing that in seconds they would be dead. There were so many that they threatened to plug the door leading to the spokes, though without ever quite doing so. Nor was it just people. Anything not firmly fixed in place was plucked up and sucked towards the exit - chairs, tables, displays that had been wrenched from the walls; they all went tumbling past. She was off to one side and most things missed her by some distance, but not all. She watched dispassionately as an elderly woman brushed by her on the way to dying, and then someone, one of the habitat, tried to cling to her arm - grim-faced, desperate. His eyes sought hers and pleaded for help, for life, yet she could see in their depths that he already knew his own doom. Boulton shook the man off and struggled to bring her feet up, fighting against the inexorable draw of the escaping atmosphere. Finally she was able to bring one foot kicking against the same wall she clung to. The smart skin coating bit instantly into the wall and provided her with a third anchor point.

Through her hands and feet she felt a rumbling, a violent shaking that seemed more than even the venting atmosphere could account for. Dull thuds reverberated through the walls. Explosions, unless she missed her bet. They seemed to be growing closer and more extreme, shaking her whole body where she clung to the wall. Gravity had gone with the atmosphere, she suddenly realised. She'd been so wrapped up in hanging on and avoiding the passing soon-to-be-dead people that she hadn't even noticed its demise.

"The vessel's destruction appears to have set off a chain reaction," the gun calmly informed her, as if passing comment on an insignificant detail. "The whole habitat is coming apart."

Was it just her or were things getting hotter? Sweat trickled down her cheek. No, definitely warming up, which she suspected wasn't a good sign. Although whether this was due to her suit malfunctioning or her body, she couldn't begin to guess. At least the incessant tug of escaping air had ceased and no more bodies hurtled past her. The atmosphere had bled away.

"Gun, where's that retrieval?" If there was a risk in speaking, she didn't care anymore - she was desperate.

"Retrieval drones are almost here. They're currently negotiating the fringes of the habitat."

Thank God. She knew how quickly those things could move. One would reach her in time; it
had
to. Little more than mobile life support units, the coffin-like drones were designed for this very purpose: to snatch survivors from space following a disaster and ensure they
stayed
survivors.

Further rumblings shook her. Cracks started to appear in the walls. Great chunks of masonry drifted away from each other. They didn't fall, not in zero gravity. She was alone in a vast chamber which was steadily breaking apart.

"...although the drones' progress is not being helped by the habitat's fragmentation," the gun added, helpful as ever.

Shimmer suits weren't space suits. Hers had been designed with survival in mind, but Boulton had no idea how long the garment would hold its integrity in vacuum, nor how much oxygen had been trapped inside when she sealed it. Best guess: not long and not much. She could probably have asked the gun for more specific answers but she chose not to, her prospects were depressing enough for now.

She freed one hand and, without ever rising from a crouch, used it to gently ward off objects that threatened to come too close. Funny but, having accepted that the habitat itself was coming apart around her, she would have expected something more spectacular, more blatantly cataclysmic. In the event, there were no flames, no violent explosions - of course, vacuum might account for that - instead just a steady disintegration, a drifting apart that struck her as a bizarrely dignified, almost stately process, as if it were choreographed; a ballet of destruction. Something she might actually enjoy were it set to music and she wasn't caught in the middle, attached to a great slab of masonry like an insect stuck to flypaper.

Breathing was getting increasingly difficult. She felt lightheaded and her face continued to feel hotter, although, conversely, her limbs were now feeling cold. She was panting, as her lungs sieved the air for oxygen. She was dead. Her mind knew it, only her body refused to accept the inevitable and lie down, though biological process would soon put an end to such stubbornness. It was getting so hard to think, to concentrate. She felt tired, bone weary. The end would almost come as a relief.

Something nudged at her - part of the disintegrating habitat, no doubt. Then she felt herself grabbed and tugged. She turned her head to see what was happening, but doing so sent everything spinning. The drone, she realised. There was something she had to do... yes, of course, lift her feet and her still fastened hand - the drone couldn't accommodate her
and
the chunk of wall she was stuck to. Yet it all required so much effort and the world had already started to close in as consciousness faded. She tried, oh how she tried, but was left with no idea of whether or not she succeeded as perception slipped away completely.

Chapter Nine

"The habitat was founded by a man called William Anderson," Leyton told Mya. "Anderson seems to have been a big noise among the Allied Worlds during the early years of the War - an industrialist with his finger in many pies. One of his businesses dabbled in exploration and finding new worlds, new resources. It was a survey ship belonging to this company which stumbled on something unexpected in a supposedly virgin corner of the galaxy. A derelict alien space ship."

"You're kidding."

"No." He stared at Mya, a little surprised she'd even say that. She knew him better. "By all accounts, it was a Byrzaen ship."

"Fuck me! Does ULAW know about this?"

"Nope. Being a businessman, Anderson saw a chance of massive profits, so he kept the discovery to himself, put a lid on the whole matter, doubtless with ruthless application when required. You have to remember, too, that this all happened when the War was becoming increasingly intense and paranoia was rife. The last thing Anderson would have wanted was word of the derelict reaching the enemy.

"So he set about quietly recruiting scientists and spiriting them away to examine his treasure. After a while, though, the implications must have got him worried, because he began talking to politicians, urging them to seek peace with the United League of Allied Worlds as soon as possible, believing there to be a far greater threat waiting in the wings.

"He might have done a great job of keeping the derelict out of the news, but word of his political entreaties
did
get out, and you can imagine what the press would have done to someone whispering such treasonous, lily-livered suggestions when every self-respecting soul was howling for blood. They crucified him. Anderson found himself vilified and ridiculed, dubbed as everything from a naïve idealist to a traitor.

"His response was to build the habitat and withdraw to it, taking with him some of the best minds of the day and enough people to establish a viable community. They cut themselves off from the rest of humanity and went on their merry way, all but forgotten about."

"Until now."

"Precisely."

"And this ship,
The Rebellion
..."

"...is a marvel, drawing on both human and Byrzaen technology."

Leyton was glad of this opportunity to chat to Mya, delighted that she'd sought him out when she had questions that needed answering. The ship's database could probably have told her all of this in any case, which made him suspect that she needed the company as much as the information. His own knowledge of the habitat and its history had been gleaned largely from what Kethi told him during similar conversations, supplemented by what he'd discovered for himself.

Leyton didn't feel in any sense that Mya was avoiding him, but he'd seen less of her in the past few days than he'd have liked, less than he felt he would have done had she retained any real desire to pick up where they'd left off. He knew better than to crowd her and had done his best to give her space, throwing himself into his gym regime and even going to watch Kethi and others play z-ball a couple of times, despite having no great love for the sport. The presence of a z-ball court on what amounted to a military vessel struck him as a hell of an indulgence. Certainly you wouldn't have found anything like this on a ULAW fighting ship, or
any
vessel short of a luxury liner. Further proof, were it needed, of the differences between the habitat and the society he was used to.

"But what are they hoping to achieve by all this?" Mya asked.

"Ah, now there's a question. The habitat has been waiting for the Byrzaens to arrive, expecting to be at the vanguard of humanity's struggle against the alien aggressors."

"Are you serious?"

"
They
certainly are. It's what the whole culture's geared towards. Now that the Byrzaens are actually here and the anticipated conflict hasn't arisen, I think they're struggling a bit. The current game plan seems to be to unveil the Byrzaens as wolves in sheep's clothing, to reveal them as being far less benign than they're pretending."