Shadow Of The Scorpion Part 3

"In here!" she yelled, and reaching down dragged the professor through the widening gap into the Sanctum.

Where the h.e.l.l had that come from?

Then Cormac saw them: Prador second-children coming down through a hatch in the ceiling. For a second he just froze, unable to process the nightmarish sight, then his training kicked in and he fired a concentrated burst at exposed carapace and glittering spider-eyes, and one of them lost its grip and crashed to the floor. The fallen second-child lay on its back with its legs kicking the air for a moment, then it abruptly flipped upright-one claw and the side of its carapace smoking. It raised some sort of jury-rigged weapon in one of its underhands. He nailed it again, across its visual turret, saw its two eye-palps fly away in burning fragments, then recognised that the weapon it held consisted mainly of a compressed gas cylinder. Briefly, an almost cryonic calm settled on Cormac as he a.s.sessed the situation and considered the best response. He aimed carefully at the cylinder, and squeezed off a concentrated burst of fire, the cylinder exploded, flinging the creature hard against one wall, but Cormac did not have time to relish the moment. More fire from above showered him with stinking flesh, shattered carapace and squirming s.h.i.+p lice.

"Get in here!" Yallow opened fire through the still-opening door. Cormac stood and ran towards her, felt something tug at his leg, and fell through into the Sanctum past her. As he tried to stand again, his leg gave way, and glancing down he saw blood, ripped Kevlar, exposed flesh.

f.u.c.kit.

He felt his suit leg automatically begin to tighten to prevent blood loss.

"They're coming through the ceiling," he said matter-of-factly. Cold numbness now suffused his leg as the suit injected a.n.a.lgaesics and antishock drugs. He turned his head sideways and vomited once, hard, wiped his mouth and turned back. He felt wired, like he'd drunk too much coffee, but the drugs were quickly numbing him.

"I spotted that," said Yallow, then fired out into the corridor again.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Cormac went on, "Looks like most of them out there, if Dent was right about only five or six surviving."

"Oh, I was right," said Dent.

Cormac glanced across. The man was standing, his clothing ripped about the waist but no sign of blood, only syntheflesh and something hard and white that probably wasn't bone. Dent was an android, but he didn't possess the ceramal skeleton of a Golem, probably because that could be too easily detected. Some other sort of facsimile, perhaps remotely controlled?

Dent continued, "Just like I was right about them watching the Sanctum. In here they would have had a chance, though remote, of gaining access to the s.h.i.+p's systems, and maybe getting away."

"What?" said Yallow, ducking back for a moment.

"Move away from the door," said Dent.

"We can't let them get in here!"

"Move away from the door-that's an order!"

Yallow reluctantly backed up while Cormac looked on with distanced bemus.e.m.e.nt. He knew his disconnection was due to the drugs and considered administering a stimulant, then reconsidered, reckoning this would all soon be over and that he and Yallow had already done their part. Now gazing about he spied a huge carapace, nearly fifteen feet across, that was all that remained of the Prador adult-the captain. He noted there were neither legs attached to the carapace nor any lying nearby. Adult Prador tended to lose their limbs and doubtless there were grav-units sh.e.l.l-welded to its underside. He could not see them, though he could see, fixed in a row below the creature's mandibles, the hexagonal control units it had used to control everything aboard this s.h.i.+p. It was those the second-children had been after.

This time there came no sounds of hydraulics or rough mechanical movement as the doors slid rapidly closed. Cormac glimpsed yellow and purple carapace and the glint of an eye through the remaining gap. One of those gas-propellant weapons hissed and stuttered, projectiles slamming against the heavy metal then becoming m.u.f.fled as the doors finally closed. A hissing bubbling ensued, and white foam issued around the door and along its diagonal slit and rapidly solidified. Cormac recognised the astringency of breach sealant.

"The engineering of these s.h.i.+ps was high-tolerance when they were built," said Dent matter-of-factly. "But that was some time ago and much in here is very worn, though rugged enough to continue functioning."

Ah, thought Cormac.

"What are you saying?" said Yallow.

Dent continued, "Prador are not too concerned about secure atmosphere seals in their doors. Like their engineering they are rugged and can survive large pressure changes. They can even survive in vacuum for an appreciable length of time."

"What?" said Yallow, in what was rapidly becoming an annoying habit.

"I think," Cormac said muzzily, "that the Prador have been lured into a trap, and we were here to bait the hook: one apparently old man and two raw recruits to open up this Sanctum."

"We're being used as decoys?" said Yallow disbelievingly.

"Outstanding," said Dent.

Cormac gazed with suspicion at the facsimile human-that was one of Olkennon's favourite comments, so perhaps their Golem unit leader was controlling Dent?

Yallow now turned and gazed at the hardened breach sealant.

"A trap," she repeated.

"Hazon nerve gas, I would guess," said Cormac.

Yallow's expression became grim. "We could have died out there," she said flatly.

"Sort of comes with the territory," Cormac replied.

From out in the corridor, despite the thickness of the door, could be heard the sound of heavy objects cras.h.i.+ng about violently. Prador were certainly rugged-it took a long time for even that highly toxic gas to kill them.

The pedestal-mounted autodoc crouched over his injured leg like a chromed horseshoe crab feeding on the wound. With a nerve blocker engaged at the base of his spine, Cormac could feel nothing, but his hearing was fine, unfortunately. He kept his eyes averted from the mechanical surgeon's messy work, but could not block out the liquid crunching or the two-tone notes of bone and cell welders.

Olkennon, gazing at a screen mounted on the rear of the 'doc, also insisted upon giving him a description of what was going on-neglecting not one single gory detail.

"It's finished removing the fragments of metal and is now welding up the shattered kneecap. Dissolving clamps will go in next, since welded bone is always a bit weak. We wouldn't want all this coming apart on you again."

Cormac guessed Olkennon so relished describing this stuff because she didn't want her recruits becoming too blase about such injuries. Yes, the medical technology was available to put together a broken human with the ease of repairing a broken toy, but some breakages could not be fixed and autodocs were not always available.

"There, the clamps are in-calcium fibre staples. Cell welding now and neutral cellular material and collagen to replace all that dead icky stuff it's sucking out."

Yeah, Cormac could now hear a sound like that made by someone sucking up the dregs of a drink through a straw.

As he understood it, ECS had once experienced problems with recruits becoming careless of injury and, at that time, the idea had been mooted that such repairs as this should be made without killing the pain-just to drive the point home. Too crude, however. The AIs had thereafter used subtle psychological manipulation, part of which involved making the autodocs look just plain scary, another part being the design of training regimens that included real pain. Cormac winced at the memory of hand-to-hand combat resulting in broken bones, ruptures, torn ligaments and gouged eyes. Pain was certainly a good learning tool, however, too much pain could make a soldier averse to doing a job which was, after all, one requiring those who were less than realistic about mortality.

"Weaving muscle fibres now and joining up the broken blood vessels. All the small capillary clamps coming off now. Oops, some clotting there-it'll have to cut that bit out."

Thanks, Olkennon, thought Cormac. I really needed to know that.

He said, "So you used us as decoys?"

"They would have seen through any emulation I could have made," she replied. "They're good at detecting metals."

"Who was running the facsimile?"

She focused on his face for a moment. "The AI in charge of the excavation." Returning her attention to the autodoc screen she went on, "It's closing up the skin now-layer by layer. It'll feel weird while the nerves heal, but there should be no pain." She looked up and gave him a smile. Certainly the Prador would have recognised her as Golem and known to keep away. Her emulation wasn't very good at all.

With a hissing sound and smell of burnt hair, the autodoc raised itself from his knee and began folding its sharp legs and other surgical cutlery into its body for sterilization. It looked rather like an insect grooming itself after eating something rather messy.

Cormac gazed down at his knee and saw it was bright red as if sunburned, and hairless. No sign now of torn flesh or broken bones. Of course, ECS medical technology had to be good. It was all about efficiency, for the time a soldier spent in hospital was wasted time.

Abruptly feeling returned. He felt odd. In his mind lay knowledge of a serious injury juxtaposed with evidence of none. The leg itself felt hot and cold-a local flulike phenomenon-and it also felt full of unfamiliar lumps as if a bag of marbles had been sewn in underneath his skin.

From beneath his lower back the autodoc retracted one more limb: a long, flat, hinged affair terminating in a platen for extruding nanofibres which until then had been engaged with his spinal nerves to cut all feeling below his waist. The autodoc pedestal now moved back from the surgical table, turned and folded down into itself, finally presenting nothing but smooth mirrored surfaces. Stepping round it, Olkennon dropped a sealed pack of paperwear clothing on Cormac's stomach. "Get dressed."

Warily, even though he knew there should be no problem, Cormac sat upright. The area of the wound pulled slightly like a strained muscle and the lumpiness felt something like a cramp. Muscle tension had yet to readjust and toxins saturating the area needed to be cleared. He swung his legs off the side of the surgical table and peered over at his envirosuit, bagged and lying in a corner, ready to be either repaired or scavenged for useable components. Standing, he tore open the package of paperwear and dressed, trying to ignore Olkennon's unwavering stare since, after all, she was a machine and not a woman.

Finally dressed he met her gaze. "We were put in danger-used as decoys-but there's something more to all this."

"The AI observed you both through the facsimile."

Being closely watched by AIs often resulted in substantial changes. He knew of troops who had come under such scrutiny and been summarily dismissed from ECS, and of others who ended up in the Sparkind, while still others, it was rumoured, simply disappeared.

"I can't say I'm happy to hear about that," he replied.

Olkennon studied him for a moment longer, then continued, "You understand that there are Separatists on this world who would very much like to get their hands on a Prador warhead?"

"You're stating the obvious."

"Yes... presume yourself bored, presume you feel under-utilized by ECS, under-appreciated."

"Okay, I'm presuming."

"Perhaps you want greater material wealth."

Silly, really, when in the Polity every need could be catered for and the greatest ill of society was boredom.

"No," he said. "I'm hooked on my own adrenaline, looking for further excitement, and I feel no inclination to get intervention to wean me off my addiction."

Olkennon bowed her head for a moment. She was smiling. Cormac did not allow himself to react to that-it was only emulation after all. Olkennon raised her head. "Eminently plausible, considering your psyche reports."

"I don't get to read them."

"Of course not... now let us go and see Carl."

They left the room to traverse the aseptic corridors of the medical centre. Cormac knew when they had come to Carl's room because few other rooms here possessed coded locks. Olkennon moved in close to the lock to deliberately block his view of it and rapidly punched in a code, before opening the door and stepping inside. Following her, Cormac gazed across at the bed on which Carl lay motionless, a life-support sh.e.l.lwear enclosing his chest with various tubes and optics trailing from it to an autodoc pedestal.

"Unconscious?" Cormac enquired.

"Definitely." Olkennon gazed at the bed. "The weapon fired at him was a dirty one: plutonium fragmentation bullet. However, it didn't detonate but pa.s.sed straight through. He's as healthy as you now, but with what we now suspect about him, better he remains unconscious."

"I see," said Cormac. "So what is it you now suspect about him?"

Still gazing at the bed, Olkennon continued, "According to his record he's about a year older than you, Cormac. Medscan has revealed some anomalies-he may be older, he may not be who his record claims him to be." She turned to Cormac. "Tell me what you think is going on."

The stuff about Carl's possible age and ident.i.ty only complimented the suppositions Cormac had already made. "I don't know how it happened, but I think Carl is working for the Separatists here." He glanced at the Golem for confirmation.

"Go on."

"I think, that learning he would be guarding part of the Prador s.h.i.+p's perimeter, he allowed Separatists through so they could obtain some weapon... a warhead. When that mission failed he killed those who were on their way out of the s.h.i.+p before they could be captured and, inevitably, reveal his involvement. Subsequently, the Separatists took vengeance upon him for that killing." Cormac gestured towards the bed.

"Very close, though not exact in every detail."

"Perhaps, if it is not too much to ask, you could fill in that detail."

"Ah, you have an overdeveloped tendency towards sarcasm in one so young."

"It's a result of my cynicism-something I believe to be useful survival traits for one working for ECS. Now, must I keep guessing?"

"Vernol's brother was one of those who died at the s.h.i.+p, but Vernol attempted to kill Carl because he believed Carl to be an ECS plant. As we understand it the man always put 'the Cause' before family and didn't really like his brother very much."

Cormac felt uncomfortable with all this. Without his intervention Carl would probably have taken Vernol down, but did this matter? Carl was obviously guilty of something...

"Vernol is no longer with us," Cormac observed, "and Carl, I suspect, will not be leaving ECS care this side of eternity."

Olkennon shrugged-not her decision.

"The situation now?" Cormac enquired.

"Removing Separatists from play is the main purpose of ECS here. Through Carl we might have been able to take down a number of cells."

Cormac said nothing, for he was tired of having to squeeze information out of her. He knew that Olkennon would eventually tell him all he needed to know, but no more.

"As we understand it," she continued, "there is divided opinion amidst the Separatists we know of in this area. Some believe Carl an ECS plant and that Vernol was right to try killing him. Others believe Vernol's motive was vengeance only and that he tried to kill a valuable a.s.set."

Annoyed at himself for prompting again, Cormac asked, "And my role?"

"According to his record, which we are not entirely sure of right now, Carl came from Callisto. His family were members of the Jovian Separatists, though they never went so far as violent protest or terrorism. We can alter your records to show you came from there too, and any enquiries sent directly there can be fielded by our agents, since the Separatist organization on Callisto was penetrated long ago and is only allowed to continue functioning because of the leads it gives us to other Separatist enclaves."

"I see; I am to be the partner Carl never mentioned."

"Outstanding." Olkennon grimaced. "I do hope you understand how dangerous this might be, especially considering the doubts about Carl's antecedents?"

Cormac snorted in annoyance, waved a hand as if to brush that aside. Yeah, maybe there were anomalies about Carl's past, but didn't that rather tie in with his nefarious dealings here and now?

"They'll take some convincing," he said. "They'll know that just about all information is falsifiable, and there might be those who will want to take me down."

"Certainly-can you be convincing?"

Cormac considered the situation. He was being roped into an undercover operation because he was conveniently placed. Such operations were usually the province of those with decades of training and experience in the field. He was only twenty-two.

"Yeah, I think I can be convincing."

"Cormac, Dax is back," said his mother. Again she was wearing old-style sungla.s.ses-a habit that seemed to make her unapproachable, just like her perpetually distant tone, just like her perpetual affirmation of his name change. Cormac abandoned his p-top and school bag and broke into a run for the stair. "Don't bother him for too long-I've packed your suitcase with clothes and you need to sort out what else you'll be taking with you."

Cormac skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stair and turned. "We're going away again?"