Something slammed into them. The ship lurched — there was a concussive snap! that Fassin felt through the carrier ship, through the gascraft, even through the shock-gel. He lost the patch-through connection with the drop ship. He was back in his own little arrowhead again. They were whirling. And there was light, synched with the whirling. Light?
It was coming from below, where the hold doors were. He could see Colonel H’s esuit, hanging alongside him. Oh-oh…
The ship began to come out of the spin, steadying. The light from below faded but did not go away. It had the spectrum to be light reflected from Nasqueron. Light from the gas-giant coming in through supposedly closed doors. Fassin flipped the gascraft’s sensor ring to look straight down at the doors.
“Oh fuck,” he tried to say. There was a small but ragged hole, stuff hanging like spilled guts. The Nasqueron light was reflecting in off some polished-looking surfaces.
Force, building; very like the main drive decelerating them more or less on schedule. He retried the intercom, then broadcast a radio signal. — Herv?
“Here. Sorry about that. Hit something after all. Got her straight and rearward. Back on track. No read-outs from the hold at all, though. Including the door.”
· Think that’s where it hit. I can see a hole.
“How big?”
· Maybe a metre lateral by two.
“I too can see the hole,” the colonel told them, also joining in the radio-broadcast fun. “It is as Seer Taak describes.”
“Too small for you guys to get out of,” Apsile said.
— How’s the rest of the ship? Fassin sent.
“Holding together for now. Can’t see where whatever hit us exited, or just went on to hit inside.”
“I suspect it hit me,” Hatherence said. “My esuit casing, that is to say. Probably.”
A pause. Then Apsile said, “And… are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine. Your hold doors took most of the energy out of it and my esuit is of exceptional quality, durability and damage-tolerance. Scarcely a scratch.”
— If we can’t open the doors, we can’t get out and the whole thing’s pointless, Herv, Fassin sent.
“We can still hide in the carrier, under the clouds,” Apsile said. “I’m not getting much from the Facility. That last hit looked like it must have shaken them pretty hard. We might still be safer under the gas than hanging around out here in clear view of whoever.”
Nothing comprehensible was coming out of the Shared Facility on Third Fury, and no military vessels were talking on civilian frequencies. Interference on EM bands, a problem at the best of times anywhere near Nasqueron, was especially intense. Apsile raised a couple of the Facility’s equatorial relay satellites, but, exceptionally, could not through-patch via their transceivers and could get only static and meaningless rubbish out of them. He even tried some Dweller mirror sats, where the surprise would have been getting anything other than drivel, but there the service was perfectly normal. “Ouch,” they heard him say. “Third Fury just took another hit. We’re going in. Fairly slowly, to allow for the damage, but we’re going in.”
“Whatever you think is best, Master Technician,” the colonel said.
The carrier craft began to shudder as it met the upper atmosphere of Nasqueron, carving a glowing trail above the cloud tops. They slowed. Weight began to return to them. And kept on increasing. Creaks and ticking sounds came through the solids joining them to the drop ship. The buffeting decreased, grew and fell away again; soft whumps and crisp bangs also communicated through the drop ship’s structure announced debris being torn off the ragged surrounds of the breach in the hold doors, which glowed and sparked as the space around them filled with gas and Fassin began to detect sound in the hold again. They were getting heavy, really heavy now. Fassin could feel the shock-gel tightening around him, like the sound of snow cramping beneath your feet. He could almost sense any remaining gas bubbles in his body pancaking like blood cells. Good and heavy now…
“Master Technician,” the colonel said suddenly.
“Hold on,” Apsile said. “That—”
The whole ship shook once, then rolled suddenly.
— Herv? Fassin sent.
“Got some sort of targeting—” Apsile began, then broke off as the craft shook again and slewed wildly across the sky.
“We are indeed being targeted by something,” Hatherence announced. “Master Technician,” she shouted across the frequencies. “Are you yet able to release us?”
“Eh? What? No! I—”
“Master Technician, attempt to perform a roll or part of an internal loop on my command,” Hatherence told him. “Ishall release us.”
“You will?” Apsile shouted.
“I shall. I will. I carry weapons. Now, excuse me, and good luck.”
— Wait a minute, Fassin began.
“Seer Taak,” the colonel said tersely, “shield your senses.” The big discus hanging beside him sent a pulse of blinding blue-white light straight downward at the doors, which blew away in a brief gout of sparks. Rushing yellow-brown clouds spun by outside. Fassin’s little arrowcraft was seeing spots. It got busy shuffling its damaged sensors round for working ones. He guessed he hadn’t shielded his senses in time. He shut them down now. “Releasing in three seconds,” the colonel said. “Make your manoeuvre now if you please, Master Technician.”
A blast of radiation and a spike of heat from above coincided with a sudden roll. The cradle holding Fassin in the drop ship gave way, sending him shooting from the hold like a cannon ball. The colonel in her oerileithe esuit came whirling after him a moment later, quickly drawing level. He glimpsed the drop ship above, still rolling, then saw a violet ray appear suddenly to one side, slicing through the gas around them, searing his barely mended vision. The beam just missed the carrier craft, then clouds of yellow fog rolled quickly up between them and the drop ship and it was just him and the colonel, a tiny arrow shape and a spinning coin of dirty grey, hurtling down into the vast chaotic skies of Nasqueron.
* * *
“ ‘It is a given amongst those who care to study such matters that there is, within certain species, a distinct class of being so contemptuous and suspicious of their fellow creats that they court only hatred and fear, counting these the most sincere emotional reactions they may hope to excite, because they are unlikely to have been feigned.’ ” The Archimandrite Luseferous looked up at the head on the wall. The head stared straight across the cabin, eyes wide with pain and terror and madness.
The assassin had died not long after they’d set out on their long journey towards Ulubis, the upper set of fangs finally penetrating his brain deeply enough to produce death. The Archimandrite had had the fellow’s eyelids slit open again when the medical people said death was likely within a few days; he’d wanted to see the look on the man’s face when he died.
Luseferous had been asleep when death had finally come for the nameless assassin, but he’d watched the recording many times. (All that happened was that the man’s face stopped contorting, his eyes rolled backwards and then came slowly back down, slightly cross-eyed, while the life-signs read-out accompanying the visuals registered first the heart stopping and then a few minutes later the brain flat-lining. Luseferous would have preferred something more dramatic, but you couldn’t have everything.) He’d had the fellow’s head removed and mounted near that of the rebel chief Stinausin, pretty much in the first head’s eye line, so that was what Stinausin had to look at all day.
The Archimandrite glanced up at the staring, nameless head. “What do you think?” He looked over the passage again, lips moving but not actually reading it aloud. He pursed his lips. “I think I agree with what’s being said, but I can’t help feeling there’s a hint of criticism implied at the same time.” He shook his head, closed the ancient book and glanced at the cover. “Never heard of him,” he muttered.