swiftly. The Admiral squirmed his shoulders, trying to get completely comfortable before the high gees squashed him. “Point taken, Commander Solanki, thank you. Commander Kroeber, all starships are to be intercepted, no exceptions.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Meredith checked the tactical situation display again. There was only one spaceplane which hadn’t rendezvoused with its parent starship now. “And tell that spaceplane to remain where it is. It is not to dock. Solanki, start working out how we are going to restrain any starship crew-members that have been sequestrated.”
“Sir, if this sequestration produces the same energy-control ability in the crews that it has in Jacqueline Couteur, I recommend the marines aren’t sent into the ships at all.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. However, we will certainly have to make at least one attempt.”
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Rhoecus called through gritted teeth. “Another blackhawk captain is being sequestrated.”
“Acknowledged, Lieutenant.” Meredith reviewed the tactical display again, observing the blackhawk’s crazed course, a moth caught in a tornado. “Send a voidhawk to intercept, full interdiction authority.” That was a third of his voidhawk force committed already. He needed the rest to contain the Adamist starships. If any more blackhawks were taken over he would have to order a combat wasp launch. They would probably fight back.
With his options diminishing before his eyes, Meredith let out a pained hiss of breath as the
Ashly Hanson came through the airlock tube from the spaceplane and drifted straight into the barrel of a laser rifle. Warlow was holding it, aiming it directly at his forehead.
“Sorry,” the hulking cosmonik boomed. “But we have to be sure.”
Ashly realized there was a fission saw plugged into his spare left elbow socket, a glowing saffron blade nearly a metre long.
“Sure of what?”
Warlow rotated his principal left arm around the blade. He held a processor block in his hand. “Datavise something into this.”
“Like what?”
“Anything, doesn’t matter.”
Ashly datavised a copy of the spaceplane’s maintenance record.
“Thanks. It was Joshua’s idea. From the reports we’ve had it looks like they can’t use their neural nanonics.”
“Who can’t?”
“Spaceplane pilots who have been sequestrated.”
“Oh, God. I knew it, they can intercept our communications.”
“Yes.” Warlow executed a perfect mid-air roll, and headed for the airlock tube. “I’m going to check the spaceplane’s cabin, make sure you didn’t bring any up. Nothing personal.”
Ashly eyed the deck’s ceiling hatch. It was locked, red LEDs blinking to show the manual bolts were engaged on the other side. “The invaders are up in orbit?”
“Yes. Busy hijacking starships.”
“What’s Smith doing about it?”
“Nothing. A naval squadron has arrived, it is in their hands now. They have aborted our mission. Oh, and we’re under arrest, too.” His diaphragm rattled a metallic approximation of a chuckle.
“The whole fleet? They can’t do that. We’re operating under
“No, just the
“Why us?” But he was talking to a pair of disappearing horned feet.
“Erick? Erick, are you receiving this?”
“His organs are critical, heading for all-out cellular collapse. For God’s sake cancel that suspension program.”
“Got it. Physiological data coming through.”
“Program the nanonic packages for total cranial function support. We have to sustain the brain. Andre, where the hell’s that plasma? He’s lost litres of blood.”
“Here, Madeleine. Erick, you wonderful crazy
“Mesh the infuser with his carotid.”
“It was magnificent. Pull one little lever and all of them,
“Shit. Desmond, slap a nanonic package on that stump, the epithelium membrane isn’t strong enough, he’s leaking plasma everywhere.”
“His lungs are filling up too, they must be ruptured. Up the oxidization factor. His brain is still showing electrical activity.”
“It is? Oh, thank God.”
“Erick, don’t try and datavise. We’ve got you. We won’t let you go.”
“Do you want to put him in zero-tau?”
“Hell, yes. We’re days from a decent hospital. Just let me try and get him stabilized first.”
“Erick, my dear one, don’t you worry about a thing. For this I will buy you the best, the greatest, clone body in Tranquillity. I swear. Whatever the cost.”
“Shut
The last of the six aerovettes stopped transmitting. Reza Malin upped his cranial audio receptors to full sensitivity, trying to hear the noise of the little vehicle’s impact. The sounds of the jungle invaded his brain—insect chirps, animal warbles, leaves crackling—filtered and reduced by discrimination programs. He counted to ten, but there was no crash.
“We’re on our own now,” he said. The aerovettes had been sent off to the west at a fast walking pace as a decoy, giving the scout team time to melt away into the jungle. He had guessed the invaders could track anything electronic; as Ashly said, if they could create the cloudbands, they could do almost anything. They weren’t invincible though, the fact that the team had landed was proof of that. But they were definitely going to provide a formidable challenge. Possibly the greatest Reza would ever face. He liked that idea.
His two hounds, Fenton and Ryall, were slinking through the undergrowth two hundred metres ahead of the scout team, sniffing out people. So far the jungle had been deserted. Pat Halahan’s affinity-bonded harpy eagle, Octan, was skimming the treetops, retinal implants alert for the slightest motion below the fluttering leaves. The animals provided a coverage almost as good as the aerovettes.
The team was following a danderil track, heading roughly north-east towards its operational target, the Quallheim Counties. Sal Yong was leading, brushing through the dense vines with barely a sound. With his chameleon circuit activated it looked as though a heavy miniature breeze was whirling along the track. The other six followed quickly (Theo was up overhead somewhere), all of them loaded down with packs, even Kelly. He was pleased to see she was keeping up. If she didn’t, it would be a maser pulse through her brain, which would upset some of the team. But he wasn’t having a liability of a reporter holding them back. He wondered if she realized that, if it lent a note of urgency to her steps. Probably. She was smart enough, and her bureau chief would certainly have known the deal. So would Joshua, for all his youth, wise beyond his years.
Fenton arrived at a river, and peered out of the bushes lining the steep bank. Reza requested a chart from his inertial-guidance block, and confirmed their position.
“Pat, there’s a river one eighty metres ahead, it leads into the Quallheim eventually. Send Octan along it to check for any boat traffic.”
“Right.” The voice seemed to emerge from a small qualtook tree.
