Adrian Tchaikovsky - Children of Time

‘And destroy us with her lasers,’ Holsten pointed out.

‘Yeah, well, and that. But you better get on with telling her not to, right now, because the sat’s started signalling.’

Holsten felt a shudder go through him. ‘Show me.’

It was a familiar message, identifying the satellite as the Second Brin Sentry Habitat and instructing them to avoid the planet – just what they’d got when they interrupted the distress beacon the first time. But that time we’d signalled it, and it hadn’t noticed us inbound. This time we’re in a much smaller ship and it’s taking the initiative. Something’s still awake over there.

He remembered the electronic spectre of Avrana Kern appearing on the screens of the Gilgamesh comms room, her voice translated into their native tongue – a facility with language that neither he nor Lain had felt the need to comment on to the mutineers. Instead, though, he decided to keep matters formal just for now. He readied a message, May I speak to Eliza? , translated it into Imperial C and sent it, counting the shortening minutes until a response could be expected.

‘Let’s see who’s home,’ Lain murmured in his ear, peering over his shoulder.

The response came back to him, and it was disturbing and reassuring in equal measures – the latter because at least the situation on the satellite was as he remembered.

The translation came easily. Nessel, poised at his other shoulder, made a baffled noise.

Eliza, we will not interfere with Kern’s World. We are a scientific mission come to observe the progress of your experiment. Please confirm permission to land. Holsten thought it was worth a try.

Waiting for the reply was just as wearing on the nerves as he remembered. ‘Any idea when we’ll be in range of its lasers?’ he asked Lain.

‘Based on Karst’s drones, I think we have four hours nineteen minutes. Make them count.’

Eliza, I would like to speak to your sister Avrana , Holsten sent immediately, aware of time falling away, their limited stock of seconds dropping through the glass.

‘Brace yourselves,’ Lain warned. ‘If we didn’t get this right, we might be about to lose everything, possibly including life-support.’

The voice that spoke through the comms panel – without anyone giving it permission – was sticking to Imperial C at that moment, though to Holsten its haughty tones were unmistakable. The content was little more than a more aggressive demand that they alter their course.

Doctor Kern, Holsten sent, we are here to observe your great experiment. We will not alter anything on the planet, but surely some manner of observation is permitted. Your experiment has been running for a very long period of time. Surely it should have come to fruition by now? Can we assist you? Perhaps if we gather data you may be able to put it to use? In truth he had no certain idea what Kern’s experiment was – though by now he had formed some theories – and he was simply bouncing off what he had gleaned from Kern’s own stream-of-consciousness thoughts, transmitted along with Eliza’s sober words.

You lie , came the reply, and his heart sank. Do you think I cannot hear the traffic in this system? You are fugitives, criminals, vermin amongst vermin. Already the vessel pursuing you has asked me to disable your craft so that they may bring you to justice.

Holsten stared at the words, his mind working furiously. For a moment there he had been negotiating with Kern in good faith as though he was actually a mutineer himself. He had almost forgotten his status as hostage.

His hands hovered, ready to send the next signal, Why don’t you do just that…?

Something cold pressed into his ear. His eyes flicked sideways to catch Nessel’s hard expression.

‘Don’t even think it,’ she told him. ‘Because if this ship gets stopped, you and the engineer won’t live to get rescued.’

‘Shoot a gun in here and you’re likely to punch a hole straight through the hull,’ Lain said tightly.

‘Then don’t give us an excuse.’ Nessel nodded at the console. ‘You might be the expert, Doctor Mason, but don’t think I’m not catching most of this.’

Typical that now I find an able student , Holsten thought despairingly. ‘So what do you want me to say?’ he demanded. ‘You heard what I heard, then – that she knows what we are. She’s receiving all the transmissions from the Gilgamesh and the other shuttle.’

‘Tell her about the moon colony,’ Scoles snapped. ‘Tell her what they wanted us to do!’

‘Whatever we’re talking to now has been in a satellite smaller than this shuttle since the end of the Old Empire. You’re looking for sympathy ?’ Lain demanded.

Doctor Kern, we are human beings, like you , Holsten sent, wondering how true that latter part could possibly be. You could have destroyed the Gilgamesh and you did not. I understand how important your experiment is to you – another lie – but, please, we are human beings. I am a hostage on this vessel. I am a scholar like you. If you do as you say, they will kill me . The words passed into cold, dead Imperial C like a treatise, as though Holsten Mason was already a figure long consigned to history, to be debated over by academics of a latter age.

The gaps between message and response were ever shorter as they closed with the planet.

‘No,’ Holsten shouted, ‘not back to Eliza!’ startling the mutineers.

‘What’s going on?’ Scoles demanded. ‘Nessel—?’

‘We’ve… dropped back a step or something?’

Holsten sat back numbly, his mind quite blank.

Suddenly Scoles was speaking in his ear. ‘Is that it, then? You’re out of ideas?’ in tones crammed with dangerous subtext.

‘Wait!’ Holsten said, but for a perilous moment his mind remained completely empty. He had nothing.

Then he had something. ‘Lain, do we have the drone footage?’

‘Ah…’ Lain scrabbled and clawed her way over to another console, fighting for space with the mutineer already seated there. ‘Karst’s recording? I… Yes, I have it.’