I looked back to the net feed. The terrible angel beat its wings and was gone.
‘I got burnt,’ I heard God say, sounding more intrigued than in pain. On the floor of the gunship I saw Morag start to thrash around. She was panicking, terrified. The cursing medic gave her a stronger sedative.
‘What was that?’ I asked.
That was Ezekiel,’ God answered. ‘She is a chimerical hacker in the employ of the Cabal; she spends all her time in the net. Apparently she was utilising software developed from Demiurge.’ Morag was shaking badly now. being held down by the medic. ‘It is okay, Morag. It was not Demiurge.’ God said reassuringly. I wasn’t sure if his regard for Morag worried or reassured me.
On the external footage from High Nyota Mlima the whole system could see the Vindictive moving away from the orbital city. There were many times in my life where I had felt helpless; this was another one of them.
‘Hailing HMS Vindictive, this is Captain Damien Bloor of the HMS Warchilde. You will immediately down-power your ship’s systems and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance in the net or during the boarding will result in the immediate and total destruction of your craft. Is that understood?’ The voice was upper class, filled with the confidence and arrogance of the British officer. In many ways the voice was similar to Rolleston’s, though younger-sounding.
On the screen we could see the rake-thin image of a surprisingly young-looking man in an RASF uniform against the backdrop of the Warchilde’s bridge. Just about every human child had heard stories of the Warchilde. It was an eighty-year-old light cruiser. Too old to take pan in the war, it was now used only for system defence, but when the war had first started the Warchilde had seen action.
The Warchilde had been running escort duty for a convoy of refugee ships fleeing Proxima Prime. The convoy was jumped by a much larger Them fleet. The Warchilde fought what was still considered to be one of the most valiant rearguard actions in space combat. The majority of the refugee convoy and their escorts managed to get to a safe point to set sail and the last they saw of the Warchilde was as she was about to be completely overwhelmed by Their ships. Of course the the cruiser was thought lost. Memorial services were held for her two hundred and some crew, until three weeks after the battle the Warchilde limped back into system. She was badly damaged, low on life support but still just about functioning. It was the early days of the war so the ship was re-outfitted at great expense and sent back to rejoin the fleet. Nowadays she would’ve been scrapped.
Some of Cat’s SWAT people cheered when they heard the Warchilde’s name. I saw Pagan smile. As a military person it was hard not to feel a surge of pride when you heard the name. Which is what I would have been feeling, except for the pain of a huge wound in my stomach and the fact that I was dying of radiation sickness.
The Warchilde was ugly, its long utilitarian shape scarred from the rigours of space and old wounds. Various generations of weapons, defence and sensor technology fought for space on its crowded hull. God was sending scanner information to our internal visual displays. It was quiet in the gunship except for the medic working. We were all watching the Warchilde’s manoeuvring engines burn as it took position in a higher orbit over the Vindictive’s position. I guessed it would be locking its various weapon systems on to the Vindictive, its onboard hackers preparing to repel boarders in the net. Despite the eighty years between them I could not see how a frigate could take on a light cruiser, not when the cruiser had the position. There was no answering hail from the Vindictive, however.
We watched in silence. I wondered how quiet the billions of other people watching these events unfold around the world were. Then it all happened at once. The stars seemed to wink out in a thin line between the Vindictive and the Warchilde. Black light, more Themtech. I saw the Warchilde rupture where the black light played over it.
On the net feed there was more white light as Ezekiel rode the answering hail to the cruiser. From the split-screen net feed I saw more of the white fire, so bright the image just whited out for a moment. The Warchilde’s net representation was of a grand, nineteenth-century ironclad. I watched it burn. Wolf attack programs and the Warchilde’s own hackers, mostly using knight icons, were also burnt by Ezekiel’s fire. I glanced at Morag, who was still now. The sedative would be dulling the terror of the angel dancing in the flickering flames.
In real space the Warchilde managed to fire its laser and missile batteries but the Vindictive filled the void with its anti-missile defence lasers. The frigate’s engines glowed blue in a neck-breaking, high-G manoeuvre as it moved out of harm’s way. The frigate’s black light was still cutting, and all over the world and orbit we watched as the Warchilde, in agonising, silent, slow motion, broke in two. I tried not to think about how much of what looked like debris from the ship was actually its crew. I watched the Vindictive manoeuvre at high Gs, making to rendezvous with Rolleston’s shuttle. Surely someone had to be able to get them now.
I was almost immured to the horror of Ezekiel hitting High Atlantis’ C amp;C. The angel burnt it like it had High Nyota Mlima and the Warchilde, providing cover for Rolleston’s assault shuttle to escape. The Vindictive fought and hacked its way to rendezvous with Rolleston’s shuttle.
The assault shuttle docked with the frigate. The Themtech on the frigate made it look like they were mating or the shuttle was being eaten. Its engines on high burn, I watched the Vindictive head out of orbit at speeds I could only assume would powder the crew’s bones and crush their internal organs. It travelled through a narrow tunnel it had hacked in Earth’s defences. Other orbitals attempted to target it, fighters and other system patrol ships attempted to intercept, but none of them were going to reach the Vindictive in time.
Worse, apparently scenes not unlike this were being played out all over orbit. Frigates of a similar design to the Vindictive, built for American and various western European space forces, were fighting their way out. These were the Black Squadrons, I guessed. Only two frigates, a German one called the Siegfried and the USS Perry, were successfully intercepted and destroyed. I felt tired as I watched the Vindictive set sail once it was free of the Earth’s gravitational pull, its induction sail blossoming before it disappeared from our screens.
It was Mudge who broke the deathly silence that had fallen over the tac net.
‘This is our impregnable system defence?’ he said, bitterness and incredulity warring in his voice.
‘He had the keys to the system. Besides, they weren’t attacking. Everything points out, not in,’ I told him. I was too depressed and fatigued to be properly impressed that he was still alive.
‘Not the actions of people who have nothing to hide,’ Pagan said. I think he was trying to salvage something from this debacle.
‘Where’s the Vindictive going?’ Gregor demanded. I guessed he was still back on the node. The gunship was slowly circling the massive structure of the Spoke. In a moment or two I’d be able to see the mess we’d help make of it.
‘Sirius,’ God answered. ‘Though the ships from the Black Squadrons are setting sail for each of the colonial systems.’
‘Will you be able to get there first?’ Gregor asked God.
‘I’m afraid not. I have left systems on a number of ships, but none of them have the capability of the Black Squadrons’ frigates,’ God said, and I knew that the Cabal would broadcast Demiurge as soon as they made it to the colonies.
‘They’ll infect Them with Crom,’ Gregor said.
‘From the information I have managed to collect,’ God said, the corroborating data scrolling across the screen and ready for anyone to download as he spoke, ‘only Rolleston had access to Crom.’