Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“What have we got?” asked Abaron as he unstrapped himself.

“The edge of the continent is twenty kilometres away. We should be able to get there on AG and thrusters in about an hour.” She checked the time. “Forty-five hours before the Cable Hogue gets here.” She increased the shuttle’s AG and it rose higher, came out of the water, then using the thrusters in short burst she turned it on course for the continent. “You sort out some travelling packs: medical supplies, food, spare power packs for the suits. Jesu! Will you look at that!” Abaron leant forward and looked down at the sea. Tentacles thrashing the sea’s surface and just below the waves a giant nautiloid was dragging down a huge lobster-thing with a long eel’s tail and more legs than seemed probable.

“I’m glad you didn’t suggest swimming,” said Abaron.

Chapra glanced at him. He seemed almost happy. Perhaps he was enjoying the buzz. Davis hurt and the pain-killing patch on the side of his chest was not enough. Perhaps this was because of his previous overindulgence in such patches for recreation, though he wouldn’t put it past Conard to order him under-dosed. He had a hidden supply, but dared not use it. He needed to keep his wits about him to survive the next few days. It would take very little provocation for Conard to set one of his trained dogs on him, and maybe it was the General’s intention for Davis to die up this particular shit creek. His ribs were broken and not only was he likely under-dosed, he had been denied access to the bone welder. That he might come back to the ship with a punctured lung was the least of his worries. He wondered if he would be coming back at all.

“This is not a good day,” said Artris, fingering the settings on his pulse gun. He too was one of Conard’s least favourite soldiers.

“Surprise me,” said Davis.

“There’ll be Golem over there,” Artris told them.

Davis moved all his weapon’s energy settings up to their highest. His ribs started to ache even more.

“Golem?” said Jan, the youngster.

“Cut the chat back there!” yelled Conard’s pet, Talist.

“Guess who’ll be directing operations from the Junger,” mumbled Artris. Talist glanced around from the flight controls but said no more when the bay doors opened. The clang of docking clamps releasing shook the hull and the Junger moved slowly forward on its track. The soldiers closed down their masks limiting all talk to com.

“Out and away,” said Talist. “ETA five minutes maximum.” Once the Junger was out past the doors and sliding into the light of the burning ship it accelerated and corrected. The wrecked science vessel came into view and rapidly grew in the screen. When Davis saw the size of it he once again wondered about the futility of the Separatist cause. This was just a science vessel and it was the size of a city. Polity battle ships were bigger, a lot bigger.

“God be with us,” said Sheena, the other member of the troop. This elicited no reply.

“Weapons check,” said Talist, then, “Davis, you take the CTD in.” It figured. Davis checked over his weapon then took up the chrome cylinder from its clamps on the floor and fixed it to his suit straps. There was no AG in the shuttle but the device seemed heavy. No one said anything more for the long five minutes.

Talist matched the ponderous spin of the Box then carefully manoeuvred the Junger to a cavity in the wall of wreckage.

“You all know what is expected of you. We want the CTD as near to the ship AI as you can get it. Just get in there and get the job done. Any trouble and I want to know about it right away.” Trouble started when they were halfway into the ship on their suit jets.

“What’s that? Something moving above you, Artris,” said Sheena. Artris’s weapon strobed and slagged wreckage, blew it into vacuum. The sound over the radio was like a diesel engine starting. Nearby something silver and spidery darted aside. Davis opened up, a line of flashes down a structural member, a blur of movement, and a silver leg spiralling through vacuum. Golem; without the hindrance of artificial skin, metal skeletons. One landed on Artris and he managed to yell before his breath gusted out through his smashed visor. He hung in vacuum struggling for breath he would not find as the Golem efficiently completed its task by opening up his suit from neck to crotch. Davis got it when it used Artris as a launch platform to come at him. Spewing molten metal it fell past him.

“What’s going on in there!? What’s happening!?”

“Golem. Got Artris. Shit! Over there! Move!”

The static from weapons fire drowned out anything else. They opened up their suit jets and traversed the corridor of wreckage at lethal speed. More Golem appeared out of the tangled metal. Subliminally Davis saw Sheena impaled on a stanchion, her blood a candy floss cloud all around her. He fired in bursts. Metal splashed like solder. Ceramal ship’s skeleton retained white heat, sometimes warped. The CTD

was a heavy pain against his ribs. Jan screamed as a skeletal silver hand slammed him to a halt. Even over the suit radio Davis heard breaking bone. Spinning in mid flight he hit that Golem once and it released Jan. Out of control the boy slammed into a metal wall.

“I’ve got a leak! I’ve got a leak!” he had time to yell before a Golem came running past on magnetic feet and kicked the helmet from his head. Davis tumbled through the air, his suit warning bleeping as a laser flashed across his legs. He was in a chamber near the centre. As he got himself under control he saw a ship’s runcible below his feet. It was operating when it should have nowhere to open to. Perhaps that was where the dark-skinned Golem was going with the silver ovoid of the ship AI: nowhere. Davis aimed at them but did not fire. The Golem stared at him, perhaps expecting to die. Davis glanced at the CTD

display as it told him in glowing letters that it was armed and how so very little time he had left to live. Talist was probably halfway back to the Samurai even now. Davis released the straps and kicked the device away. So the runcible might be open on nothing and no one ever came back from that. But who was to say no one ever survived? To the best of his knowledge no one survived a CTD blast at this range. He slammed on his suit jets and followed the Golem and the AI through the cusp. He entered blackness on the edge of white-hot light.

“You know, we really should think of a name for you,” said Abaron as he released the girl’s safety straps. She smiled at him and sat on the edge of her seat.

“How about Jane?” she suggested.

“Hah!” Abaron surprised himself with that bark of laughter. But then in the last few hours he had been surprising himself a lot. He had never before felt so alive.

“Chapra, what do you think?”

“Think about what?”

“A name for our friend here. She suggests ‘Jane’.”

“Sounds fine to me. Have you got those packs ready yet, Tarzan?”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.”

Abaron looked down at the two packs. He had tried to cover every conceivable bet, but there was so much they could not take. He put the packs next to the airlock then turned back to the girl. “I think it might be an idea to put you in a suit anyway, Jane. What do you think?”

“It will offer some protection, though obviously I do not need it for the same purpose as yourselves.” Abaron winced, realising he was patronising her. She might look like a little girl, but in that body was an alien mind probably far superior to his own. He pulled a small suit from a locker and handed it to her. Without assistance she put it on and reduced it at all the expansion points. Shortly after he felt the thrusters cut out and the AG go off. Chapra came through from the cockpit.