“Very true,” said Chapra. “We might even be Jain.”
That shut Abaron up for a long time. When he finally spoke again it was to say, “We have to learn to speak to it now. We have to learn its language.”
Chapra was in thorough agreement, but even she was not sure where to start. The Jain might speak using ultrasound, pheromones, molecular messages, and it might not speak at all. Its language might have billions of words, no words, ten words, or it might ignore them because it felt depressed. Scan of its wide neural structure showed a hugely complex organ in its skull, a spinal column almost as wide as that skull, and from which branched nerve channels as thick as a human arm, leading to sub-brains in the torso that were easily as complex as human brains, then leading to each of its eight tentacles, eight interfaces.
“It’s back at its machine,” observed Abaron. “Will it even listen when it’s there?” They watched it at work, tentacles moving here and there across the surface of its machine.
“The ends of those tentacles are interfaces and they are crammed with microscopic manipulators,” said Chapra. “There must be mating plugs and microscopic controls all over the surface of that thing.”
“The entire surface is perhaps one control system,” said Abaron.
“The machine is expanding,” Box abruptly told them. Chapra reached for her touch controls then realised she did not have to bother; they could see it now. The mouths of the tubes had been approximately forty centimetres wide and the entire structure two metres across. It was visibly growing now, in pulses.
“The machine is drawing in and circulating water,” said Box. No need to confirm. They could see the movement. They watched as it drew in shrimps and water plants. Only water came out.
“It’s making something quite big now,” said Abaron.
“Oh really,” said Chapra, her hands rattling over her console. She swore under her breath when she realised Box was still not allowing her to scan the machine, then she abruptly folded her arms and sat back.
The machine expanded until it was four metres across, the top of it out of the water, the mouths of the tubes three quarters of a metre across. In a couple of the tubes they could see flickers of light as from an undersea welder. It drew in some of the bigger crustaceans. They did not come out again.
“Looks like it’s getting there,” said Abaron.
The Jain reached inside one of the tubes, pulled out something bulky, a soft mollusc from its shell. It towed this object to the jetty, and with much effort heaved it up out of the water.
“Oh my God,” said Abaron.
On the jetty lay a female human child of perhaps five years. At the base of her back, etched in the purples and reds of a birth mark, was the triangular interface. As they watched the child vomited water then slowly stood up. Her skin was very red.
“The heat,” said Chapra.
The door to the lock opened and Judd strode into the chamber.
The Jubilan communications satellite was a confetti of bright metal wrapped around a silver ovoid half a kilometre across. Geostationary above Jubal it glittered like some huge Christmas decoration. Around it, like a swarm of silver bees, glinted shuttle craft and loaders. The dark wedge of the Samurai was in harsh contrast as it slid into realspace trailing streamers of red fire. From this wedge of night sped four hardly visible specks at slow relativistic speeds. Two fell on the satellite. One wavered, then was gone in a galaxy-shaped explosion. The other struck home and the bright satellite cracked open, jetting flame and human and mechanical debris. The satellite came apart in the horrible silence of vacuum. The only screams heard were over radio links, and brief.
Kellor watched the destruction with no visible sign of emotion, but he had reservations: there were always extras. He had expected no less. But this was a Polity world. The extra payment of five million was all that had swayed him. He turned his attention to the display showing the other two missiles dropping towards the planet.
“What did they use?” he asked Jurens.
Jurens glanced up from his console. “Pulsed laser. Pretty powerful. They won’t have that in atmosphere and anyway, the missiles have learnt.”
Kellor noted Conard’s disgusted expression and dismissed it. The display showed the missiles dropping to a mountain range a hundred kilometres from their target. They’d go in ten metres above the ground. There was only one weapon that could get through their shields and armour. Kellor smiled to himself as he watched them close in like hunting wolves. Then his smile dropped away as the two missiles blinked out of existence.
One weapon…
“Jurens! Get us out of here! Now!”
“Wait!” shouted Conard. “The runcible!”
Jurens ignored Conard, hit the ionic boosters, then poised his hand over the controls for the U-space engines. The Samurai was at a quarter C but it needed just a little more. Kellor slammed his hand down on Juren’s hand, and the ship dropped into U-space. It was a slow drag, the ship straining and the sounds of distorting metal reaching them on the bridge. Over one of the coms someone began screaming as they saw through an incomplete field into the infinite. Kellor felt something dragging at him, at the ship, and it was not the result of a too-quick entry into U-space. When the drag ceased, he allowed himself a grimace at the sweat he felt on his top lip and turned to face Conard’s raging. The General was severely pissed-off. He was glaring and unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands. His two aides stood quiet in the background. A surreptitious scan had showed them both to be heavily armed. Automatics in the bridge covered them, and Jurens and Speck had weapons to hand. If the General started anything Kellor would finish it. There was no way the man could call on his other forces here. They were all sitting in their gunships which, with an order, Kellor could dump into deep space.
“They did not seem to me the smartest of missiles,” hissed the General.
“Get to the point.”
“You should have used a human team. AIs are not reliable.”
The sheer idiocy of that comment left Kellor without any reply. How could you argue with that?
Conard went on, “Humans are chosen of God and are the only ones with the right to sentience!” Oh dear, it got worse and worse. Kellor considered killing him right then and there. It seemed the only kind thing to do. The problem was that Conard had a source of information. Kellor wanted that source before he killed the man.
“The missile did not strike home because the facility was protected by ground-based singuns. Your entire force would not have got through and if I had taken the Samurai in any closer, they would have gutted it.”
Conard stood there still clenching and unclenching his hands. After an embarrassingly long time he seemed to get control of himself. He turned and strode out of the bridge. That’s it, thought Kellor, go and kick shit out of one of your subordinates,
PART FOUR
The sifting machine had, in strips, methodically sifted a tenth of the desert’s surface to a depth of one metre. At a pace of two kilometres per hour it sucked up the sand, passed it through various grids and sieves, and spat it out behind filling the trench it had made. The sand left behind the machine was level. This would last until the next earthquake or storm. One of either usually came along each day. The process was crude and frowned upon by many archaeologists who claimed that valuable artefacts could be damaged or destroyed. Alexion Smith took the view that anything surviving five million years in that desert would not be damaged by the sifter. His robust approach to archaeology was greatly disliked. But he got results.