Weapon seventeen was the only one of the five that she had not withdrawn back into the safety and seclusion of
Volyova hauled herself from the shuttle’s open lock, and for a moment she was poised midway between the ship and the looming side of weapon seventeen. She felt terribly vulnerable, but the spectacle of the battle was hypnotic. In every direction she looked, all she saw was rushing ships, the dancing sparks of exhaust flames and the brief blue-edged flowers of nuclear and matter-antimatter explosions. Her radio crackled with constant interference. Her suit’s radiation sensor was chirping off the scale. She killed them both, preferring peace and quiet.
Volyova had parked the shuttle directly over the hatch in the side of weapon seventeen. Her fingers felt clumsy as they tapped the commands into the thick studs of her suit bracelet, but she worked slowly and made no mistakes. Given the shutdown order Clavain had transmitted to the weapon, she did not necessarily expect that any of her commands would be acted upon.
But the hatch slid open, sickly green light spewing out.
Thank you,‘ Ilia Volyova said, to no one in particular.
Headfirst, she sunk into the green well. All evidence of the war vanished like a bad dream. Above her, Volyova could see only the armoured belly lock of her shuttle, and all around her she could make out only the interior machinery of the weapon, bathed in the same insipid green glow.
She worked through the procedure she had gone through before, at every step expecting failure, but knowing that she had absolutely nothing to lose. The weapon’s fear generators were still firing at full tilt, but this time she found the anxiety reassuring rather than disturbing. It meant that critical weapon functions were still active, and that Clavain had only stunned rather than killed weapon seventeen. She had never seriously thought otherwise, but there had always been a trace of doubt in her mind. What if Clavain himself had not properly understood the code?
But the weapon was not dead, just sleeping.
And then it happened, just as it had happened that first time. The hatch snapped closed, the interior of the weapon began to shift alarmingly and she sensed something approaching, an unspeakable malevolence rushing towards her. She steeled herself. The knowledge that all she was dealing with was a sophisticated subpersona did not make the experience any less unsettling.
There it was. The presence oozed behind her, a shadow that always hovered just on the very edge of her peripheral vision. Once again, she was paralysed, and as before the fear was ten times worse than what she had just been experiencing.
[There’s no rest for the wicked, is there, Ilia?]
She remembered that the weapon could read her thoughts.
[Then that’s all this is? A social call?]
[I thought it might be. You only ever come when you want something, don’t you?]
[What, the enforced paralysis and the sense of creeping terror? You mean you don’t like that?]
She detected the tiniest hint of a sulk in the weapon’s reply. [Perhaps.]
[I’m not going anywhere. You’re not either.]
Now the sulk — if that was what it had been — shifted to something closer to indignation. [How could I not know about it?]
[Yes?]
[Ignore the code?]