Free Drednanth: A Tale of the Final Fall of Man by Andrew Hindle Page B

“Except I guess it sort of is , until they can ship in a new Controller. Don’t suppose you want the job?”
    “Hell no.”
    “Fair enough. In that case, thank you for not adding smoke to our catalogue of woes.”
    “Bayn Balro was hit … it would be about three weeks ago now, Corps calendar,” Z-Lin said. “How about The Warm?”
    “About the same,” Bendis said, sounding surprised. “We’ve barely had time to get on top of the big stuff, and there are still new problems raising their heads every day. Whatever it was, looks like it was God damn coordinated. And coordinated well , too. Shit ,” he paused again, then asked the question Z-Lin had been fancifully hoping he wouldn’t bother to ask. “How did you guys get around it?”
    “I guess we were in transit,” she said, “bypassed the front lines.”
    “Well, you got lucky. We haven’t contacted any of the usual rota of ships that should have been coming in by now – you’re the first – and none of the ships to fly out of here have checked in. It’s almost like they were plucked out of soft-space. Not that there were many of the latter, this came down so damn fast. But the Fergies…”
    Clue found herself unwilling to point out to this clearly-on-the-edge man that the Fergunak had most likely decamped for good. “We’ll figure it out,” she said instead, keeping her tone crisp and confident. “Do you have a reliable count of survivors?”
    “At the moment it’s looking like we’ll be lucky to break into the thousands, Commander,” Bendis’s voice, in contrast, was heavy. “I’m looking at the numbers now, and the total’s just pipped the nine hundred mark.”
    “What are our immediate priorities, Controller?” Clue said, aware of Waffa standing rigid by her side.
    “Well, that’s an interesting one,” Bendis said after another pause. “We’ll send you some data and you can make up your own mind, but in the meantime there’s only a couple of docking spars cleared for use right now so you might as well go ahead and park over there. I’m on ground level at the base so I’ll see you shortly, Commander.”
    “Copy that,” Z-Lin replied.
    “Oh, and you’ll want to rug up. We’ve got basic life support but even inside it’s nippy, and you may need to cross open areas. There’s atmosphere, but it’s bloody cold atmosphere.”
    “Copy.”
    “And the gravity exchanges are dead and The Warm doesn’t have much pull,” Bendis concluded, “so bring your magboots unless you like bouncing.”
    “Right you are, Controller, and thanks. Clue out,” Z-Lin gave Zeegon the go-ahead, and they revolved steadily into alignment with The Warm’s axis. The Tramp began to glide past the Chalice and towards the truncated mass of habitats at the far end of the relic. The Fergunakil gunships followed for a short distance, and then returned to their designated patrol zone.
    “I know it’s wrong,” Zeegon commented, reaching up and giving Boonie a little mutually-reassuring scratch between the ears, “but I’m kinda glad I don’t have to navigate through traffic.”
    Waffa whistled. “Look,” he pointed again. “The Chalice.”
    The monstrous Worldship hull segment had seemed more or less intact, but as they cruised by on their way towards their allocated docking spar and Clue took a closer look, she realised a lot of its interior was extruding ice in great outlandish bulges and coils. The gravity exchanges were gone, the life support most likely gone too. The water was drifting out of more than half the aquatic levels of the Chalice and forming a little ice-meteor sheet across the bowl.
    “Decay,” Clue said, “any data on the populations at last census?”
    “Rough split,” Decay replied, consulting his console, “one and a half million humans, two hundred and seventy thousand Fergunak, two hundred and fifty thousand Molren, eight thousand Blaren, three thousand Bonshooni,” he tapped with his lower left hand. “No reliable