Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

“How did you find her?” Greg asked.

“I’m still plugged in to New London’s datanet,” Royan said. “So I knew who was up here, and of course she’s listed in Event Horizon’s security files as one of Baronski’s girls. Simple cross-referencing gave me her name.”

“If you’re plugged into the asteroid’s datanet, then why didn’t you just phone us, for Christ’s sake?” Greg demanded.

“I will not permit that,” the Hexaëmeron said. “I will not allow my existence to be compromised prior to negotiations. Humans have a dangerously xenophobic nature; your leadership would find it difficult to resist public pressure concerning me. If Royan had tried to open a direct communication link with his allies, then I would have been forced to initiate my consumption routine.”

“And if that happened, I’d have no choice but to use the gamma mines,” said Royan. “What we needed was a throw of the dice, a method of breaking the stand-off which gave us an equal chance of coming out trumps. Logically, such a stand-off had to be interrupted by an external factor. So we gave each other one opportunity to call for help. A sharp game, but the only one in town. I believed in you, Snowy, I knew you’d come hunting as soon as you received the flower. The Hexaëmeron thought Clifford Jepson would have the edge-which makes it quite a judge of human character; Victor’s file on Clifford isn’t very complimentary, a real lowlife. Talbot Lombard was given the atomic structuring data, and promised more tonight. If Jepson’s people had arrived before you, the Hexaëmeron would have made a deal with them.”

“But you said atomic structuring technology doesn’t exist,” Greg said.

“No, it doesn’t, not in hardware form. The equations make sense, but they’re just a thought experiment, problematical: what could be done if a strong nuclear force generator did exist. It was a lure, the mythical dragon’s hoard. Designed to be irresistible to the right sort of mind. Clifford Jepson would do anything to get the generator data, and that includes setting the Hexaëmeron free. It was love against greed. The two human fundamentals. I trusted to love, Snowy.”

“Why not simply let it go?” Rick asked. “Are you so xenophobic?”

“The Hexaemeron should have called for you, Rick,” Royan said. “Trusting and naïve. There’s nothing people can’t solve by sitting round a table and talking rationally. Right, Rick? I can’t let it go. There’s the third stage to consider.”

“The flower,” Greg said automatically.

“That’s right,” Royan said. “The Hexaëmeron can edit its own genes, decide which toroid sequences to activate. Do you understand now, Rick? Why I call it the Hexaëmeron? The reason the alien gene sphere is so large in comparison to terrestrial DNA is because the shells contain the genetic codes for over six thousand different species-plants, insects, animals, sentient creatures. Survivors of life’s endgame. The Hexaëmeron is an intermediate stage, an artificial midwife.

“Left alone, it can engender an entire planet’s ecology. That’s its sole purpose; what it was designed for. Where would you put it, Rick? Where would you let it loose to breed? Earth? Cambridge maybe? Mars? Put it on Mars, and what happens in a thousand years’ time after the planet’s been bioformed? When the aliens have run out of expansion space? And they will, Rick. Their metabolism is orders of magnitude above ours, efficient, strong, potent. We wouldn’t stand a chance, Rick.”

Greg didn’t like the implications rising out of his subconscious. Scare images, every third-rate channel horror show he’d ever seen. The gritty conviction in Royan’s mind acting as reinforcement to his own paranoia. When he reviewed the Hexaëmeron’s vaporous thoughts he found only detached serenity. A long time ago, when Philip Evans’s thoughts had been shifted into his NN core, Greg had tried to use his espersense on the new bioware entity. He had got the same composed aloofness then, an inability to become involved, not emotionally, anyway. Problems were an abstract. He wasn’t sure the Hexaëmeron qualified as a living thing.

“If it came to that,” Greg said slowly, “Clifford Jepson’s people reaching you first-surely you’d use the gamma mines anyway. I mean, they’d kill you to set the Hexaëmeron free, so by using the mines you could at least take it, and some of them with you.”

“Maybe. That’s one of the reasons I’m bloody glad it’s you and Snowy who arrived. You see, you only really need one cell, no, one complete gene sphere, and the whole thing starts over. That’s what you must understand before you make your decision.”

“Decision?” Julia asked in a dead tone.

“Yes, Snowy. It’s all or nothing. If you chose against the Hexaemeron, then the entire disseminator plant must be destroyed. Every cell and microbe, If not, then the Hexaëmeron will be resurrected one day. Maybe not intentionally, but it’ll happen. That’s why the gamma mines are a last resort; they wouldn’t end the problem, only the more immediate part of it. Of course, if I had triggered them, I hoped you’d question why I felt I had to. That way you’d exhibit a lot more caution with the disseminator plant cells that were left. After all, it’s only my stupidity with this oneman-band act which has put everyone in such a ridiculous situation in the first place.”

“Yes,” Julia drawled.

It wasn’t the answer Royan wanted, he was looking for sympathy. Greg could sense the anguish peak in his mind.

Abruptly, he was aware of another mental voice, a cry of pain and rage, toxic with shock. Suzi.

Suzi saw the rock wall lurch forward, then disintegrate into a thosusand flying chunks. The wave behind it held together until it was halfway across the village cave. She was dropping to the floor as soon as the first motion began, grabbing the mouth of the crack. Her photon amp gave her a single glimpse of the debris ploughed up by the leading edge of the wave, a line of foam, stones, muscle-armour suits, scorched saplings, and burnt remnants of the huts and their furnishings, all bearing down on her at a terrific speed.

It hit, blinding her sensors. She was suddenly, frighteningly confined in a padded iron maiden, unable to see, unable to feel, unable to hear. Something solid cannoned into her, a very muffled thud. The suit shifted position slightly. Yellow and green graphics winked up, an outline of the suit, showing her the damage on her left side, the metalloceramic had been weakened by the impact, there was a dent, some of the chest muscle bands were inoperative. Her implant began a suit systems-status review. She clung to the details, using them to fight off the hot claustrophobic panic erupting at the back of her skull.

A timer was counting off the seconds below the suit outlines. Five seconds so far, it couldn’t be such a short time. A minute at least.

She could feel a movement, something giving below her arms. It developed into a full-blown slide. The rock around the mouth of the crack was giving way. She lost her hold.

Instinct made her want to curl up, tuck her head into her chest; but the armour prevented that. She ended up bending her knees as far as the muscle bands would allow, and folding her arms across her torso.

Her inertial guidance display showed her she was jouncing back down the crack, impacts rattled her teeth and spine. The feed from the photon amp turned a deep grey, as if she was wrapped in pre-dawn mist, then there were flashes of blue, crimson streaks as the water threw her about.

She bounced to a halt against a sharp corner, and the water sank down around her. It was smooth and fast flowing, icy black. She struggled against the current and made it on to all fours. Water was trickling down her left leg, inside the muscle bands.