Stepping through a door, expecting a second airlock, I find myself in the hold of a combat carrier. Benches run down both sides of a hangar. Maybe two hundred seats either side. The deck between them is metal, studded to stop boots sliding. Flip-up rings litter the floor. The craft obviously carries cargo as well as troops.
‘You can unsuit,’ says the five-braid.
When no one does, he barks an order to the Death’s Head captain. All that happens is the captain releases the fastenings on his own suit, drops it to the floor and steps out of it.
Colonel Vijay watches me, so I give him the nod.
‘You trust them?’ he asks, tapping his audio button and using up most of what remains of his battery pack.
‘Not sure,’ I say. ‘Let’s suck it and see.’
The five-braid smiles. This tells me two things. He’s listening in on our audio channel, and he doesn’t expect us to be a problem. I’m happy with both of those. Although I can see from the expression on Colonel Vijay’s face that he doesn’t understand why.
‘Could have done with some of these.’
The colonel glances at me.
‘Combat carriers. At Ilseville.’
He nods, doubtfully. We make the rest of the trip in silence.
It’s not a long trip, more a hop. Although the braid flicks dimensions and returns, saying he’s fixing our greeting party. Showing off, I guess. Letting the enemy see they’re outgunned. Any minute now, he is going to make his offer.
You can bet on it.
Glad I don’t, because he is more subtle than that. He just runs us over the hump of Hekati’s ring and down the outside. And guess what, I can do subtle too. The braid thinks we’re expecting an airlock into Hekati. He doesn’t know we already know about their ship. So, as our craft skims the far edge of Hekati and rolls lazily on its approach, I’m planning to be surprised, but not too surprised . . .
Fuck that.
We are a minnow.
And the vessel we approach is a shark.
As the Uplift mother ship comes into view, the shock tries to rip breath from my body and I have to bite down to stop myself being impressed. The others are slower to get a grip and Rachel actually points. We’re not even fleas on a dog cocking its leg against their post.
Take a vessel larger than the entire Bosworth landing fields and glue it to one of the smaller ring worlds. I’m not surprised Hekati is hurting. The Silver Fist ship is gripping her like some rapist.
This is what it is.
An air tube, fat as a motorway, penetrates Hekati through a gash sealed with stonefoam. The ship and habitat are fucking, that is what it looks like. Water pipes pulse as the ship takes what it needs. The Uplift even have their gravity generators off, each rotation of the habitat giving gravity to their ship as well.
Just how vast the Uplift vessel is I discover as an iris opens and our craft rises through the opening, then flips itself over and touches down on a deck large enough to swallow any city on Hekati. It is a five-minute walk to the edge of the field.
Welcome to Victory First Last and Always, says a voice. Flagship of the Third Uplifted Legion.
When Neen puts his hands to his head, I realize the sound isn’t just inside my skull. Whatever speaks doesn’t sound human to me. I’m still thinking this, when Rachel sobs, and I turn to find Haze trying to catch his own vomit. A second later, he’s on his knees and not bothering about catching anything much. Blood runs from both nostrils. A dark stain says he’s pissed himself.
‘What’s happening? ‘ demands Vijay.
It’s the five-braid who answers, though he takes time out to glare at me first. ‘Formatting,’ he says. ‘Always tough.’ And then gets to his question. ‘How did you know he was Enlightened?’
‘His hair fell out, his scalp started bleeding.’
‘So he definitely didn’t have braids when you captured him?’
‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘Those are new.’
The braid considers this. Obviously decides it’s possible. At his nod, two guards break from a squad by the wall to carry away Haze between them. Given he’s pissed himself and drips vomit they treat him well. But then he is Enlightened. Only now, he’s an Enlightened who just formatted, and that doesn’t sound good to me.
‘And us?’ I demand.
‘Oh,’ says the five-braid. ‘We’ll get to you later.’ I struggle to keep my temper, which amuses him. It doesn’t come easy. Vijay and Neen stand beside me, and Emil stands a step behind them, flanked by Rachel and Franc. So far, he has kept his mouth shut. A bit of me wonders if having given his parole really means that much to him. The other bit assumes he knows I’ll cut his throat before he gets out more than one word.