I opened a tiny entanglement with the onemind, passively reading its thoughtstream. Alarm was dominating its consciousness – alarm at the incoming human fleet, alarm at the destruction of the power rings, alarm at the course of the neutron star, and alarm at events within its hangar. A company of reverent quint was on its way to embrace the surviving humans and inquire what they had been doing. It actually considered that they might hold information relevant to the situation outside; it even offered this option to the fullmind, who responded encouragingly.
These dumb assholes.
I prised my way through the second containment sheet and opened the reserve repository of spacesuits. The one I removed flowformed around me quickly. Its neurofibres imprinted on my nerves, making it one with my movements. I picked up the proton pistol and made my way back through the containment sheets and into the vacuum. I wouldn’t have long. The company would be here quickly, and they would be heavily armed, ready to subdue the remaining Saints.
Several of the overhead biostructure’s luminescent strands had been damaged or simply ripped away by the frenzied depressurization, but there was enough light to see by. Nutrient fluids dripped from rips in the tubules, creating tacky puddles on the floor that were bubbling away in the vacuum. The corridor curved away ahead of me. I enhanced the spacesuit’s visual sensors into the far infrared and ultraviolet spectrum, then bundled in magnetic readers – the radiation monitor and radio detector. Without the perception points of my other bodies to accommodate, interpreting that many senses was profoundly easy. It was as if I had brought daylight into the tunnel, with a multitude of embellished colours painting every facet in distinctive tones.
That’s why I noticed the infrared traces from fifty metres away. They were patches on the floor, their heat radiating back to ambient, but definitely human footprints. One person had come this way and then returned.
I slowed. Up ahead, leading into the curve, the light from the strands was almost non-existent, as if they’d been ravaged by the depressurization gale. And yet it was the only section to suffer like that.
She was good, I’ll grant her that. I pushed myself against the wall and advanced carefully. There was a bright infrared glow coming from the gaps between a portion of the biostructure pipes. In there with it was a small, tight knot of magnetic flux lines – the kind a human weapon’s power source would emit.
An ambush. Crude, but a decent attempt, given the circumstances.
I moved fast, driving forwards and bringing the proton pellet gun up, firing three shots directly at the heat source. The energy flare of their detonation overloaded the spacesuit sensors momentarily. It didn’t matter; the whole section of wall and biostructure was pulverized, with glowing embers jouncing along the floor to sizzle away in the puddles. There was so much infrared emission I had to reduce the sensitivity.
I halted beside the new crater, with its lopsided rim surrounded by broken stems of biostructure gasping out puffs of vapour. On the floor was a tattered human armour jacket, missing an arm. A mangled laser carbine was attached to it by a strap. But there was no actual human, no shredded flesh nor burned bone, no boiling blood.
Shit!
I turned – tried to – but shock had numbed my legs.
I am an Olyix quint, for fuck’s sake. I DO NOT suffer shock – Oh.
Saints
Salvation of Life
It wasn’t the smartest thing Kandara had ever done, and she knew it, but by now she was past caring. Call it obsession, call it finishing the mission – no, call it what it was: straight-up vengeance. Humans were finally hitting back, just as the Strike plan had always envisaged.
Time for me to contribute to the active stage of the mission.
So she’d turned off the gland and let her mind run free.
And Mary, does it feel gooood.
Unrestricted for the first time in decades. All she worried about now was being too confident. Or maybe that was the paranoia rising to the same levels as every other unchained psychosis. Whatever.
As soon as she started up the corridor, she began to run through options. She didn’t have anything like the usual level of weapons systems that were her basic minimum for any sharp-edge op back in the day. Four peripherals: an upper-arm smart grenade launcher – good, but size constraints meant only three mid-energy grenades in the magazine; forearm kinetic barrel, with explosive bullets; forearm nerve-block emitter; and a wrist spool of monomolecule fibre. Even when the gland kept her calm and rational, she’d always had a deep distrust of the monomolecule – an invisible thread that could cut through a human body with the slightest pressure. Every dark-operative’s nightmare – especially if you didn’t have the correct sensors to warn you it was up ahead. Her tarsus lenses were ultra-grade; they should be able to see the Mary-cursed stuff if a strand got loose. But she was wearing her damned helmet, so that was no use. The kinetic was okay, but her magpistol with its wyst bullets packed a much bigger punch. The nerve block was an unknown. (Jessika always said it should work on an Olyix, but it was as yet untested.) The grenades were a definite plus – or minus; they gave off a strong power signal if you had the right sensors.
She ordered the launcher to eject all three grenades, wincing at the hiss of escaping air as the suit slit parted to let them out – a quick sting on the exposed skin. Once they were out, she placed them amid the pipe trunks. As a last resort, she could trigger them by remote and bring the
