‘I cannot say I’m reassured,’ she opined, then focused her attention elsewhere on the changes she was already making at the instigation of this strange Golem.
The chameleonware presently spread throughout the war runcible had been the best Orlandine could contrive with the technology she possessed. Now she was copying the ‘ware used on the wormships she had just destroyed. Also, knowing Erebus’s recognition codes it was now possible for her to send signals that basically said ‘friend’, so that autonomous sensors picking up detection anomalies would ignore them, thinking they had found one of their own or, rather, would ignore them for long enough. She hoped.
Orlandine left communications with Vulture open and now ventured perceptually down her U-space link to Bludgeon aboard Heliotrope. There was no need to communicate since she could clearly see her erstwhile craft some thousands of miles up, just out from the fountain raging from one pole of the Anulus black hole. Heliotrope was turning to bear down on the fountain at a sharp angle, and within the hour Bludgeon would be able to deploy the cargo runcible. Orlandine felt both frightened and elated, but her elation disappeared some moments later when an ECS attack ship dropped out of U-space and entered the corridor. Thus far she had committed one murder, and the burden of that guilt was more than enough. However, since the chameleonware had yet to stabilize, it was certain those aboard that ship had spotted the war runcible. Could she convince them to leave the area before Erebus arrived? Most likely they would see her only as a threat to the Polity and consequently either do what they could to stop her or scream for help. She could allow them neither option, for they could give away her position. So much depended on what she was doing that it seemed the safest option to destroy this new arrival — to again commit murder.
Reluctantly, Orlandine contacted Knobbler.
The disruption encroached and it was as if the King of Hearts was hurtling down a perilous tunnel that grew steadily narrower. Seated on his bed, Cormac stared at the chrome cylinder resting on the mattress beside him. Not bothering with the touch controls of the small inset console, he gridlinked directly into the device’s hardware to assure himself it would operate just as he wanted. It would. At a thought he could detonate it, in any circumstances. But he really did not want to be there when that happened, so he checked that he could set the timer, order the CTD to detonate if it was moved, if it was exposed to vacuum, or if the sensors inside it heard someone singing out of tune. He could also set it to detonate should the constant signal to it from his gridlink be disrupted, which would probably mean it no longer mattered whether he was nearby or not.
King had assured him that it would try to keep in range of the war runcible so that Cormac could transport himself out. But what was that range? Cormac felt he would know it only once he was within it. But things were almost certain to get a little difficult for the attack ship, so he needed to prepare for an involuntary stay aboard the runcible. Thoughtfully, he slid the CTD into his backpack, then turned his attention to the other weapons arrayed beside him: his thin-gun, Shuriken and a proton carbine. Last time, aboard this very vessel, he had transported himself fully clothed, so he knew he could take materials with him. What governed that? Was it subconscious choice? Might he even arrive aboard the war runcible without the CTD? And why did he not arrive at his destination naked? He guessed that such questions were insignificant in comparison with the question of how he managed to move through U-space at all. Belatedly, he decided not to arm the CTD before transporting it over, since if by any chance it did not make the transition, the signal-break to his gridlink could result in King of Hearts being spread over the firmament.
The disruption faded, and Cormac almost resented the feeling of the attack ship surfacing into the real once again. It was as if, now that he was managing to control his perception of U-space, he wanted to stay there. He was, however, glad to find himself still sitting on his bed this time and not sprawled in one of the ship’s corridors outside.
‘I have something,’ said King over the ship’s intercom.
‘Erebus?’
‘It’s gone.’
‘What do you mean it’s gone?’
‘I sensed some large object ahead — mass equivalent to that of the war runcible,’ said King tetchily. ‘Now it’s gone.’
‘ Chameleonware?’
‘Possibly.’
Cormac had not really taken that into account. Why would this Orlandine, controlling a massive heavily armed thing like that, feel the need to hide from a mere attack ship?
‘Position?’ Cormac enquired.
‘Two thousand miles Earthside of the narrowest constriction in the corridor through the U-space disruption.’
Interesting…
‘It’s back again.’
‘What?’
‘Are you deaf?’
‘Please confirm for me—’
‘Gone again,’ King interrupted, then deigned to explain further: ‘Unusual chameleonware, and it seems Orlandine is having some trouble with it.’
Cormac was on his feet now, strapping Shuriken to his wrist. He donned the backpack, hung the proton carbine from its strap over his shoulder, and jammed his thin-gun into his envirosuit belt. Stepping out into the corridor, he quickly headed for the bridge, his U-sense expanding out from the attack ship but still unable to penetrate the surrounding disruption. In a moment he was aware that Arach and Hubbert Smith had joined him. Maybe they hoped he could take them with him.
Within seconds they arrived on the black glass floor, under a dome of stars.
‘I am receiving communication,’ said King. ‘Orlandine says she wants to speak with whoever is in charge here.’
‘Well, take the usual precautions and let’s hear what she has to say. Meanwhile keep taking us in closer.’
‘Understood.’
After a delay, doubtless while King checked for informational attack, a line cut down through the air, then opened out into the figure Cormac recognized from a file presently stored in his gridlink. She was an imposing woman but, then, with people able to remake themselves however they wanted, that really meant nothing.
‘Orlandine,’ said Cormac, intending to continue talking for as long as possible so King could get closer.
‘Who are you?’ she asked abruptly.
‘I am Agent Ian Cormac of ECS,’ he replied. ‘It would appear you have acquired some Polity property there. Do you suppose that you could see your way clear to explaining what you intend to do with it.’
‘I see,’ said Orlandine, ‘that you intend to draw this conversation out so you can get closer. An attack ship’s conventional weapons would have some problem getting through my defences, so either you have something else or you are desperate.’
‘You didn’t answer my question, Orlandine.’
Her hologram gazed at him. ‘I doubt you would believe the answer.’
‘Try me.’
‘I am here to destroy Erebus.’
The problem with that explanation, Cormac felt, was that it was all too plausible. However, the problem with that plausibility was that he could not afford to acknowledge it. There would only be one chance to get close enough to the stolen war runcible.
‘And why would you want to do such a thing?’
‘Cease approaching this war runcible immediately or I will fire on you,’ was her reply.
‘All I need is an explanation,’ said Cormac.
‘You’re not listening, are you.’ She gave a disappointed frown, her hologram froze, shrank to a line, disappeared.