Neal Asher - The Voyage of the Sable Keech

‘I did this, I brought them here. I brought them here to the Little Flint!’ announced Bloc abruptly, as if that somehow gave him power in this situation.

The other seven resurrectees seemed bemused, and perhaps slightly disappointed. After wandering around on the surface of the Flint for a short time, they were already returning. Still-mobile reifications were now going down for a look around, too, some of them wearing the distinctive dress of Kladites. A few Hoopers joined them.

‘The Little Flint,’ said Bloc, triumphantly.

Janer eyed Ron, who was now muttering into his comlink. He went up to stand beside the Captain, but only in time to see Ron thumb the link off.

‘Y’know,’ said the Captain, ‘Convocation didn’t agree with Windcheater.’

‘Ron, what are you—?’

‘Everybody get off there; we ain’t got all day!’ Ron bellowed, interrupting him. He turned to Bloc. ‘I guess it’s all right for you to go down for a look.’ Indicating Aesop and Bones he added, ‘Those two as well.’

Bloc placed his foot down on the Little Flint. He could feel it through the sole of his slipper. With all the obstacles they had thrown in his path, he had yet achieved this—no matter what they might think of him. He stooped down to touch the smooth stone, closed his eyes and absorbed the sensation. Standing up again, he glanced at Aesop and Bones, who had wandered off to the other side of Flint. They were conversing in low voices, and it seemed that, despite them having once been under his control, they now found themselves in the same straits as himself. He would make an alliance here. He straightened up and approached them.

‘Aesop,’ he said, ‘Bones.’

‘Bloc,’ replied Aesop. Bones just licked out his metallic tongue.

‘We’re even now. You two tortured me to death, and I killed you and made you serve me. Perhaps now we should put our relationship on a financial footing.’

Bones emitted only a hissing titter.

Aesop remarked, ‘Bones, even without benefit of flesh, is capable of expressing his amusement better than I can. Tell me, Bloc, what do you suggest?’

Bloc glanced over his shoulder to check the Old Captains and the others were still back by the walkways. He did not know why they had come down to the foot of the stair. Did they expect him to try to escape?

‘We have to retake the Sable Keech, More reifications will want to make this voyage here. I can offer you a percentage of the profits.’

As Aesop made a harsh hacking sound, Bloc realized the reif was trying to laugh.

‘Oh Taylor Bloc,’ he eventually said, ‘and how do you think we would fare against three Old Captains? Or against reifications who now hate you because you’ve brought them here to final death? Or against the Hoopers—and against Sable Keech?’

‘There is always a way.’

‘It’s over, Bloc. You wanted to come here to the Little Flint, because it was your mission, your calling, your destiny… whatever. So enjoy it—and remember it until that moment they wipe your mind.’

Bloc turned away to study the Old Captains standing on the stairway, along with Erlin, Janer and Keech.

‘Anyway,’ continued Aesop from behind him, ‘you’re all alive again, and my, don’t you look pink. We might as well have ourselves some fun here, as it’ll make no difference to the sentence we receive back in the Polity. What do you think, Bones?’

The snicking sound as Bones extruded the blades from his finger ends was all too audible. Bloc turned, shuddering with horror at the memory of sharp blades cutting into his former flesh. He tried to back away, but Aesop’s decaying hand closed firmly on the front of his coverall.

‘No no… You don’t understand,’ he stammered.

‘Too late now,’ hissed Aesop.

Bloc heard a shout from behind, and glanced back to see Sable Keech running towards him. It was too late. Too late for all three of them. The other two had not seen the huge iridescent shell rising behind them, nor the dinner-plate eye, nor the enormous tentacles now reaching across the Little Flint.

Sniper closed his own tentacles around the Prador drone and began decelerating before they both burnt up on reentry. He gripped tightly and kept his weapons systems online, just in case. They descended in a long arc that took them out of night into twilight, then towards daylight. As Sniper brought the drone down on an atoll just catching the rays of the morning sun, he once again opened communication with the Warden.

‘What are you doing?’ Thirteen asked meanwhile, detaching itself from Sniper’s armour and swinging in a circuit around the Prador war drone.

‘Repaying a favour.’

‘And what was so funny earlier?’ asked the little drone.

‘You’ve not figured it out?’

‘Knowing your humour, I suspect you somehow knew what Vrell intended to do to Vrost’s ship. But how did you know?’

‘It wasn’t that,’ the old drone replied. ‘Vrost’s ship is probably very badly damaged, but not enough to leave it unable to jump. I’d guess he’s now recalling all his forces in preparation to pull out of the system.’

Sniper then concentrated on scanning the Prador drone. Its missile store was thoroughly depleted and its power so low it could not block his scans. Quite possibly the flash-frozen Prador brain inside there had been fried. Sniper began to go to work on the armour, worming his tentacles in through the weapons ports and connecting to some internal systems.

‘So?’ asked Thirteen, settling on his tail on top of the Prador drone.

‘Was it sufficiently damaged for most of Vrost’s security protocols to be knocked offline, do you think?’ Sniper asked.

Sniper found the required system, short-circuited it, then injected power down one of his tentacles. A loud crump ensued as a triangular hatch opened in the drone’s side and slowly hinged down, exposing the tightly packed components inside. Sniper noted the captive’s remaining claw moving weakly, as if the drone was trying to reach up and close the hatch again.

‘Why is that relevant?’ asked the little drone.

‘Tell me, Thirteen, don’t you think Vrell has received rather shoddy treatment from his own kind?’

‘This is how Prador generally treat each other. How they ever managed to organize a civilization beats me.’

‘But who do you think is the better between Vrost and Vrell?’

‘Neither; they’re both monstrous.’

‘Then, in conflict, which of them would you prefer to win?’

‘Neither, if possible.’

‘Please just answer.’

‘As the Warden would put it, the one who causes the least collateral damage to Polity citizens.’

‘What about internal conflict leading to a weakening of the Third Kingdom? Surely this would be a good thing for the Polity?’

‘I guess so.’

Sniper transmitted the latest bit of data he had acquired. Thirteen shut down for a moment to digest it.

With cables and various components hanging about him like fruit-laden vines. Sniper finally found the main power conduits from the Prador drone’s batteries. Only a trickle of current was getting through and, tracking back, Sniper found that the cables used to top up the batteries from the fusion reactor were severed, as were the cables providing a direct feed from the reactor into the drone’s systems. He cut out some less essential S-con cables and used them to replace those necessary ones, then withdrew. With a cycling whine the drone began to charge up to power again. Eventually it spoke.

‘You will get nothing from me,’ announced the Prador war drone that was called Vrell.

‘You don’t have any information I want, anyway. I know about your other self’s viral infection and what that infection caused, down to the last detail. I also know about the King’s guard, and the orders you were given, and why.’