Kysandra was last in, and the door contracted behind her. Almost immediately, the overhead air vents started blowing out warm air. The minute frost crystals nesting in the fur of Florian’s parka hood melted.
‘Let’s go,’ Paula said.
‘Wait!’ Kysandra said. ‘We haven’t named the ship.’
Calling this a ship is pushing it, Florian thought as he wrestled against his restrictive layers to unzip the parka. From being freezing a couple of minutes earlier, he was now getting uncomfortably warm.
‘How about the Discovery?’ Ry asked. ‘It’s what we’re doing, after all.’
‘Very practical,’ Kysandra said with a grin as she wiggled out of her parka. ‘Never would’ve guessed you were an astronaut.’
‘It has a good lineage,’ Paula said.
‘Launch the Discovery,’ Kysandra told Demitri.
‘Disengaging from the anchor post.’
Florian felt the slight judder as the cable released. Then he could just make out the circular fan ducts swivelling round to a forty-five-degree angle. The hum of the motors built, and they were rising surprisingly fast.
A predawn light was just creeping over the horizon, allowing him to see the Gothora III below, its deck lights burning bright against the dark wash of the sea. He linked to the Discovery’s smartnet and accessed the sensors embedded around the envelope. His perception was greatly enhanced. Individual crew members were easy to make out as they walked across the deck, making ready to sail. The anchor post was shrinking back down.
‘Will they wait for us?’
‘They’re going to head north-east for a couple of days at slow speed,’ Paula said as she folded up her parka. ‘That way, if anything does go wrong, the Discovery will still be able to fly back to it.’
‘And if everything goes right, we’ll be using a wormhole to get back to the farmhouse,’ Florian concluded. The excitement of that made every risk worthwhile. ‘How long will it take to get them working again?’
‘We won’t know that until we get there and assess what kind of state the wormhole generators are in. I’m hopeful the ANAdroids should be able to get one functioning within a week. Then we can transfer everything we need directly back to Port Chana. The Discovery certainly can’t carry much.’
‘How much Commonwealth machinery do you want?’
‘How long is a piece of string? It’s not how much we bring back, it’s how long it will take to prepare the equipment to analyse Valatare. Once we have that information, then we have to build something that can break the barrier. That’s going to be the tough part.’
‘Will it be a quantumbuster?’
‘Whatever it takes to—’ Paula broke off, a gentle frown forming on her head. ‘That’s odd. Kysandra, are you accessing Discovery’s sensors?’
Kysandra looked up. ‘What am I looking for?’
‘Wide scan around the Gothora. Do seibears normally behave like that?’
Florian hurriedly accessed the Discovery’s sensors again. It took him a moment to find what was puzzling Paula. Seven seibears were floating in the sea, forming a loose circle around the ship, none of them closer than two kilometres.
‘No,’ Kysandra said. ‘Not at all. They only swim to hunt, and when they’re in the water, they’re always moving.’
‘That distance is interesting,’ Marek said. ‘They couldn’t be seen from on board.’
‘Fallers,’ Paula said. ‘They have to be. That level of cooperation is beyond an animal predator.’
‘Crud,’ Kysandra grunted.
‘How good is their eyesight?’ Ry asked. ‘Can they see us?’
‘Faller eyesight is always at least as good as the animal they’re mimicking, and usually better,’ Kysandra said. ‘They would’ve seen the Discovery inflating, and they’ll certainly see us now.’
‘So they’ll know where we’re going,’ Florian said. ‘We should circle over them and shoot the bastards now.’
‘Non-human-form Fallers are clearly more prevalent than we realized,’ Paula said. ‘If we kill these, we’ll have to kill every animal our sensors detect on the flight as a precaution. And that’s no guarantee they still won’t be able to track us.’
‘I’m warning Jymoar,’ Kysandra said. ‘The Sziu might already know our position.’
Florian finally managed to remove his parka as Demitri turned the Discovery due west, following the coastline, and increased power to the engines. The blimp moved forwards steadily as it cruised up to its operational altitude a kilometre above the listless waves. Florian watched through the long window as the dawn light stretched out across the endless undulating snowfields to port, tingeing them a sullen rose-gold.
3
Of all the hundreds of launch simulations she’d endured, not one of them prepared Pilot Major Anala Em Yulei for the actual thing. The Silver Sword rocket lifted Liberty mission 2,674 from the pad in a fury of sound and motion. Four-gee acceleration crushed her down into the couch, but still managed to shake her head from side to side inside the helmet. The instrument console became a blur; flight com’s voice was an indecipherable buzz in her earphones.
Booster separation came with an almighty jolt and she let out an involuntary grunt. Thirty seconds later, a loud crack ricocheted round the cabin and the aerodynamic shroud segments guarding the capsule fell away. After a further two and a half minutes the core stage was exhausted. The third stage ignited.
That was when everything she’d trained for changed. There had been a week of intense simulations, the flight manuals were rewritten, launch pad technicians worked for days without sleep preparing the rocket, and there was no missile payload. All for this – a direct order from the prime minister. This Liberty flight was to help track down Fallers somewhere on the Polas Sea. Her super-classified briefing from General Delores and the Cape’s senior PSR general explained that these Fallers had acquired atom bombs from the recent reactor ‘incident’, and they were pursuing the Warrior Angel in a hijacked ship, the Sziu. No, you don’t need to know why, only that she is no longer regarded as an enemy of the state. So it would be Anala’s job to update the Pericato, a Marine ship which had been assigned to pursue the Sziu. Major Danny was in command, and Pericato had been equipped with short-range nuclear missiles they could deploy against the Fallers – eliminating Sziu’s stolen bombs.
The third-stage burn lasted for four minutes and fifteen seconds before it jettisoned. At the end of it, the Liberty capsule was in a polar orbit one hundred and eighty kilometres above Bienvenido. Anala would pass over Lukarticar every ninety-one minutes as the world turned beneath her.
By the time she rotated the capsule so her largest port was oriented to the planet below, she had passed over the north of Indiland to approach the shore of Noemstok, the northern polar continent, with its massive skirt of ice. Contact with flight com had ended just before third-stage shut-off; their array of receiver stations across Lamaran wasn’t set up for this kind of flight. Communications would be dropping in and out several times each orbit.
After checking that all the capsule systems were nominal, Anala started to remove the pressure suit, but the sight through the port kept distracting her. No one had ever seen Bienvenido from polar orbit before. The terminator line, bisecting the pristine white cover of ice, was so much sharper here than it ever was over land or ocean. Her breath caught as she saw the pale green light curtains of a borealis storm serpentining across hundreds of kilometres of darkness. And amazingly, Delores was right: she could indeed make out individual ice floes adrift in the placid turquoise sea, no bigger than ships. Perhaps she would be able to see the Gothora III and the Sziu after all. That had always seemed the most ridiculous aspect of the mission, the one that had sent her anger surging to dangerous levels – levels that almost triggered insubordination. I gave up a mission to kill a Tree for this pitiful tourist flight?
But the prime minister himself had shaken her hand as she went into the gantry lift. ‘I cannot emphasize how important
this mission is,’ he told her. ‘Bienvenido’s very survival may depend on it.’
‘You can rely on me, sir,’ she answered, all the while wanting to slap his pudgy old face. Years of discipline kept her outwardly calm and respectful, but how it hurt.
Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. To change a Liberty flight was an act of the purest desperation. And knowing a nest of Fallers had stolen some atom bombs – that they’d already detonated one – was making her re-evaluate her priorities. The government needed this mission, needed her skills, her professionalism.
And – oh – the view . . .
The north pole passed by and the capsule was heading back out over the western Delos Sea towards the northern coast of Rachweith, which was deep into night. Volcanoes glowed among the spines of the mountains which ran east–west along that landmass; she could see the slim streams of lava eking down the slopes, poisonous ebony vapours billowing high to throttle the pure white water clouds scudding in from the sea.
Out over the Ashla Ocean she acquired the New Angeles station, and flight com’s voice made a welcome return to her earphones. It was a frantic five minutes while she confirmed instrument readings and they scrutinized her telemetry.
‘Systems nominal, Liberty two-six-seven-four,’ flight com reported as the capsule flew over the Huang Archipelago. ‘Space Vigilance Office reports your orbital track is good. You have a go from the mission flight commander.’
‘Roger that, flight com,’ she acknowledged.
‘What’s your view like?’ Adolphus asked.
Anala was so startled by the breach in protocol she took a moment to reply, remembering mission 2,673 when Colonel Matej had spoken directly to Ry once the missile anomalies had begun. ‘View is good, sir. I’m in the umbra right now, but I can see town streetlights across Aflar Province, and earlier I could see ice floes.’
‘Good, good. Best wishes, Comrade.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ There were only a few more minutes of communication with flight com until she crossed over Rakwesh Province to soar above the Wingrush Sea, then contact was lost again.
Lukarticar was bigger than Noemstok, with several mountain ranges curving up out of the snowfields to straddle the terminator line. Then she was above the Polas Sea with Macbride Sound just visible to the west before the world curved away, and her first assessment was coming up fast. Nixie tubes in the navigation board produced the coordinates, and she adjusted the sextant accordingly, peering keenly through the lens.
‘Back with you,’ flight com announced.
‘I can see the Pericato,’ Anala exclaimed, trying to keep her voice level and emotionless, but right in the centre of the lens was a long wake coming from the Marine ship which sent her heart racing. ‘It’s heading south-west.’
‘Good job, Liberty two-six-seven-four. Attempt contact, please.’
‘Roger that.’ She pushed off and flicked switches on the communication board, changing frequencies, pushing more power to the omnidirectional antenna’s transmission circuit. ‘This is Liberty flight two-six-seven-four calling Marine polar expedition. Do you read me, Major Danny?’ Anala called three times, watching the ship sliding away underneath then behind her before she received an answer.
‘This is Major Danny, receiving you, Liberty two-six-seven-four. Strength seven.’
‘Roger that. Flight com, confirm contact with Marine expedition.’
‘Well done, Liberty. We’re going to get you to do some service module housekeeping now. Next time you pass over the Polas Sea, you will be free to begin Operation High Bird.’
‘Roger that. Cloud cover minimal at this time. Some heavy weather accumulating to the north, but it looks like an easterly wind.’
‘Okay. The service module manager wants you to stir lox tanks three through to seven, then check the pressure readings.’
‘Roger, flight com.’
She spent the next twenty minutes on the dull but essential tasks that occupied ninety per cent of every astronaut’s flight. Clicking switches, taking readings, firing the reaction control thrusters in tiny bursts. The Liberty glided along Lamaran’s eastern seaboard. She could see the Salalsav mountains guarding the Desert of Bone from any clouds coming off the Eastath Ocean. Picked out the small white V’s of boats off the coast as they powered their way between ports using the common trade routes just a few kilometres out from land. Practised searching them out with binoculars. Then she was actually passing over Cape Ingmar, seeing the familiar pattern of hangars and launch pads – so much smaller now.
Second observation assessment: seeing if she could locate her two recovery ships heading north. The sea was eerily uniform. Then she saw a pair of tiny white splinters side by side – minute wakes.
‘Got them,’ she called, and read out their coordinates so flight com could confirm the sighting.
Two ships alone amid the vast blue ocean. Nothing else ventured so far from Lamaran. That chilled her.
*
The south pole passed below the capsule and Anala fired the reaction control thrusters to perform a minute attitude correction, stabilizing the craft so the port was aligned directly down onto the planet. She gripped the fabric handhold at the side of the toughened multi-layered glass and stared at the coastline now slipping into view. This was her eighteenth pass over Lukarticar, and she was fighting fatigue as the track carried her directly along the eastern side of Macbride Sound, which was just on the terminator line. She peered down at the crinkled edge as the sunlight crept across it, seeing white dots of ice floes drifting imperceptibly from the glacier walls they’d fallen from. Still no sign of the Sziu’s wake. Where in Uracus is it hiding?
The radio crackled with static as the omnidirectional antenna picked up a carrier wave. She blinked, frowning as her concentration was disturbed. The Liberty wasn’t far enough north to pick up a signal from the Pericato yet.
‘Hello, Anala,’ a voice said in her earphones. ‘I always knew you’d make it into space.’
‘Oh, Great Giu! Ry?’
*
Flying above the sea for eight hours was a relatively smooth experience. It was only when the Discovery turned south and began its journey across Lukarticar’s empty snowscape that the blimp began to quiver. Demitri was combating the squalling winds and sudden flurries of loose snow that whirled up into the air like slow-motion fountains. The engine pitch became a constant variable, while the fans tilted up and down repeatedly as he fought to counteract the buffeting.
Inside the gondola, Florian could really feel the sidewinds and unexpected downdraughts knocking the Discovery about. By then he was using motion-sickness counter-routines the whole time – to little effect. He hadn’t risked eating anything for hours. That was the first time he began to acknowledge Commonwealth technology might not be omnipotent. Twilight had already claimed the short polar day, so that just as the rumpled snowfields dwindled to grey and the outside temperature dropped still further, the Discovery was reduced to five hundred metres altitude. He really didn’t think that was high enough.
His u-shadow lacked routines for smoothing down his anxiety. There were plenty of proficient chemical remedies for that in the various medical kits they were carrying, but unfortunately none of them were near his seat. So he just clamped his jaw shut and summoned up some of his old mindscape files. He thought he could refine them with the new crafting and blending tools the space machine had gifted to him. But once he started to review them, he realized how crass they were compared to what he could do now.
Instead, he had his enriched perception of the pitiless white and blue world that was Lukarticar combine with symphonic music, creating a new and fabulously baroque mindscape – becoming a bird and flying clean and straight over the ice-conquered universe towards a sliver of dawn that was forever receding. It had edge and eeriness, with the rhythm slowly increasing along with the bird’s speed, cold wind flowing over leather wings, exhilaration merging with danger, the thrill building along with expectancy . . . He bare
ly had to compose anything, the hypnotic mindscape flowed into creation so naturally—
‘You need to start getting ready.’
Florian was abruptly back in the real world. He suspended the file, and looked round the cramped gondola. Everyone was stirring, reaching for their backpacks. His u-shadow showed him the blimp’s sensor imagery. Demitri was holding them steady into a twenty-three-kph wind coming from the pole, barely a hundred metres above the wind-sculpted snow ridges. And below them lay the imposing bulk of the Viscount.
Florian pulled down his backpack and took out the small package that was his environment-maintenance suit, which looked like a neatly folded black polythene bag. Reluctantly, he stripped down to his cotton underwear and told his u-shadow to open the e-m suit. Tiny ridges of plyplastic running along the fabric turned flaccid, allowing it to concertina out into what resembled a pair of shiny overalls similar to the kind garage mechanics wore, but with integral boots. Everyone else was getting into theirs. With a shrug – and because it was chilly with nothing else to protect him – Florian pulled it on, including the hood. Icons popped up into his exovision, and he set temperature levels and tightness. The fabric gripped him firmly, and his skin immediately warmed – a sensation like standing out in the summer sun. Some old grumpy part of his mind didn’t believe it would stay that warm once he stepped outside the gondola.
‘Force-field skeleton,’ Paula reminded him.
This part he was actually looking forward to. The protective skeleton suit was similar to the e-m suit, but with its generator systems occupying integral ribs that came close to imitating a human skeleton. It fitted snugly, and he ran through its functions just like he’d practised back at the farmhouse.