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Another major issue - Large creatures don't have enough mass. They accelerate and turn as if they have fairly rigid bodies (even with regard to their tentacles). Slight tweaks to the animations to suggest the forces actually involved might give a much better impression of size...

The same goes for slowing down acceleration.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My communicator chimed softly.

"IANTO here, Captain. Please come to the Med Bay immediately. A decontamination lock has been installed on the starboard side of the module." He said tersely.

To save time, I exited Ulysses through the divers' lockout hatch, rather than use the decontamination lock in the onboard research module. Considering that the Kharaa infection was already well established in the colony, stringent decontamination procedures when entering and leaving Ulysses would only be necessary once we are actively engaged in eradicating the organism. As it was, I have to pass through the colony's Med Bay decontamination lock anyway. No sense in doubling up just yet.

Héloise, JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY were waiting for me as I exited the chamber.

"Okay troops, what have you found out about this Enzyme 42 so far? Can it be synthesised?"

IANTO projected a hologram of the enzyme's molecular structure. The image rotated slowly in the air, but I was none the wiser for it. I grimaced sheepishly. My current knowledge of biochemistry could easily fit on the head of a pin. That's something I'll have to look to changing very soon, or else I'm just dead weight in this particular crisis. Time for another software upgrade, methinks.

Okay Universe, I get it. This is my karma-imposed penance for rubbishing users of skill chip implants.

"What am I looking at? It's most definitely an organic molecule, but that's as much as I know."

"Cysteine protease, Sir. A rather unusual form of it, in fact. It's a left-handed version."

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "Isn't that a property called chirality?" I ventured timidly.

IANTO beamed delightedly. "Precisely, Sir. This particular molecule will not interact with any proteins found in human tissue, since it is entirely the wrong shape, if you will. However, it will certainly degrade a wide range of cellular protein linkages typically found in Kharaa physiology. Extremely efficiently, as far as I am able to determine."

"That's a kindness. It wouldn't do to have a treatment that also attacks human tissue. Next question; have the colonists been notified of this outbreak yet?"

JUNO responded. "Yes Sir. Shortly after you departed en route to the Lava Castle. No further cases require clinical care as yet, although our preliminary screening tests indicate that at least 45 per cent of the colonists are presenting with initial symptoms of infection. Current estimates indicate that infection will spread to the remainder within 72 hours. Unfortunately, the Enzyme 42 dermal vaccination patches recovered from Polyakov's quarters are completely inert. The active component has deteriorated to a point where it cannot be reverse-engineered to form the template for a fresh batch. However, Baat Torgal created a non-invasive biochemical scanning and replication device, so it should be possible to analyse and re-create the enzyme once a viable sample has been obtained. When we have that sample, mass production should be a fairly straightforward procedure."

"Looks like I'm up for another chinwag with Father of Tides. I'd best get cracking, then." I said.

I walked over to Polyakov's bedside IV infusion pump and patted it fondly.

"See this? As soon as I've finished our wee chinwag here, I'm putting you and your hooligan mates out for the duration. I've grown tired of constantly watching my back, and having you lot skulking about loses its amusement value after a very short while. Rather than suffer your idiotic antics any longer, I have taken you out of the equation permanently. You are finished."

Polyakov strained against his bonds, his face crimson with fury. "You don't scare me anymore, Selkirk. I promise you, I will repay this insult a hundred times over. You and your shlyukha will be first, followed by your robot friends..."

I held up my hand, silencing his imminent rant. Heard it all before, anyway.

"No, mate. You'll be lucky to ever see daylight again. Once we have isolated the specific antigen to use against the Kharaa infection, you will all be immunised against it. We'll also have to come up with a way of destroying this bug at its source. That's where you and your men come in. You'll all be supplied with appropriate L4 biohazard gear, microscanners and decontamination equipment. Every square millimetre of this installation needs to be sterilised, and you lot are going to be the cleaners. I wouldn't get any ideas about refusing, either. That immunization only protects you from the Kharaa micro-organism. If you and your mates do decide to sit on your fat bahookies instead, you'll be up to your fetid armpits in ravening Skulks and Gorges before you know it. So, a little incentive already exists. To make absolutely certain, we've taken away your means to make more Pa-Pa-Shas. Okay?"

Polyakov glared at me sullenly.

"So, we are all expendable now. You will let those Kharaa monsters do your dirty work for you."

I sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose in the manner of a supremely irritated teacher.

"Armin, you and your men are eminently expendable. You've walked straight into this job. Frankly, you should be grateful that I didn't arrange it so that you'd resurrect in the middle of a Reaper pack. Quality of mercy not being strained, and all that. It's not all bad news, though."

"What do you mean, Selkirk?"

"Well, at least you weren't responsible for the blight that hit the colony's hydroponics bays. That happened long before I came on the scene. I've just seen a preliminary analysis of the samples I obtained from there, and it wasn't a Kharaa organism after all. Turns out that it was a recessive genetic error in some of the Terran food crops re-engineered by Baat Torgal. Finally made itself known, I guess. That's the trouble with cybernetic skill implants... Heavy on the theoretical know-how, but bugger-all as far as practical experience is concerned. Money can't buy genuine talent."

Polyakov sneered. "You would have blamed me for that as well. Anything will do to make the committee's case against me stick, eh?"

"Not so. However, if it turned out that you were responsible for sabotaging the colony's food supply, I'd currently be straddling your chest and choking the life out of your worthless body. You might want to display a little gratitude for my respect of due legal process. The evidence was definite. Anyway, that just about wraps up all I have to say on this matter. Goodnight, you living crap-stain."

Even though I had a fair idea of how the Precursors defeated the Kharaa at a microscopic level, I had to ask Keeper of Memories how they were able to combat the larger organisms. Not such a daft question, as it turned out. Considering most of the known Kharaa life forms appear to be specifically adapted to life on dry land, Kharaa wouldn't have posed any significant threat to the Precursors until they were able to evolve into specialised aquatic or amphibious forms. Obviously, this would have taken some time. The Precursors were well aware of this, and reacted accordingly.

"Enemy changed to new shapes, swimming down to consume all life in this place. We see this change coming in Enemy, make new shapes for ourselves. They make new life. We make new life. Long Talon, Far Jumper and Sky Fire Swimmer hunt down new Enemy that swims. Make many small and sharp-toothed shapes to watch in dark places. Strike fast, many teeth. Make Small Thunder and Life Drinker to hide in small dark places, watch and wait. Enemy come. Enemy not see. Enemy die."

This explains a great deal. Guess it wasn't a paranoid delusion after all.

I've always suspected that the sea life on Manannán was out to get me. In fact, it's more a case of mistaken identity, at least as far as most of its creatures are concerned. They're genetically hard-wired to be blindly aggressive toward any strange life forms, and that definitely includes Yours Truly.

I shudder to think of my survival chances if I hadn't gone out of my way to make contact with the Warpers and Father of Tides. For one thing, Warpers are one of the most potent hunter-killer units fielded in this planet's war against the Kharaa. It doesn't take a great stretch of the imagination to see why. Even Skyrays and Reefbacks played major roles in this conflict, apparently. As aerial reconnaissance drones and practically indestructible heavy assault troopers, according to Keeper. Faced with this level of opposition, I almost felt sorry for the Kharaa. Almost, but not quite.

Only one final detail remains before I can take my leave of Keeper of Memories. Sky Fire. He mentioned a 'sky-fire swimmer' earlier, so I can safely assume that he was referring to Amp-Eels. However, I'm guessing that this allusion to lightning also extends to the Precursor planetary defence system. Keeper was understandably reluctant to reveal its location, and even less forthcoming about its exact nature.

"Sky-fire is not for you to see. Not yet. Nothing Unclean can come to this place and nothing Unclean will go from this place. Enemy seeds must not be carried to other worlds. Life is sacred. Ask Father of Tides. Speak with Sky Watcher to know the shape and workings of Sky-fire."

Well, that was delightfully cryptic. We must do this more often.

After bidding Keeper of Memories a fond farewell, I headed for the airlock. The time is now 03:45, so I should be back at Kaori-san no-shima in roughly 40 minutes. Once through the first airlock, I made one final visual sweep of the laboratory as I passed through, then moved on to the next airlock for another jolly decontamination cycle. Still no luck on that comm-link signal, though. There won't be any signal until I'm in the Lava Castle itself. I finally cleared the hidden access corridor, et voila!
Five solid bars of RF signal strength. Splendid!

I urgently need to take a massive data dump. 'scuse me...

+++ PROXIMITY ALERT. LIFE FORMS DETECTED. CAUTION ADVISED. +++

What the Hell?

My communication link has gone dead. Probably blanked out by the sheer amount of rock between me and the outside world. This wasn't a huge concern at the moment, although it meant that I would be out of contact with the crew for the duration of this meeting. All the more reason to keep this conversation short and sweet.

"This one is called Keeper of Memories. You bring Father of Tides back safe from Dark Place."

One thing was immediately apparent. Keeper of Memories used a considerably more coherent form of visual communication. I was anticipating another session of 'Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra', but suddenly found myself confronted with an entity who seems able to converse almost normally. We were still using Warper gestures and colour shifts at this point, although it might be worth attempting a more direct form of communication. Metaphor and cultural allusions are fine for expressing simple concepts, but sooner or later, one of us will be asking some hard-to-answer questions. I need more precise tools for the task at hand.

"My name is Alexander Selkirk. Do you understand me?" I asked aloud.

Hell, it's worth a try.

Keeper of Memories seemed surprised by the sound of my voice. I was rather more surprised when he answered in Terran Standard. A ponderous, ancient voice. Unmistakably alien in its peculiar intonation and vocal stress, although it's perfectly intelligible to human ears. I suppose my Scots accent has much the same effect on Sassenachs, so I'm in no position to pass judgement on him.

"Spayk. This one know spayk. Old thought-form. Many tides beyond counting." Keeper said slowly.

"Good. I hear you. I come here to find help. Find things of time before." I deactivated the Warper hologram, replacing it with an image of an infected colonist. "There is sickness growing in the Lost Ones. My people. Sickness comes from here. I come here to find cure for sickness."

"Sickness not coming from here. Coming from place beyond-sky, like Alexanderselkirk. Sickness is seeds of Enemy. Sickness make more Enemy grow here. We fight Enemy this place, many tides beyond counting. Enemy change. We change. Changed we destroy Enemy. Make this place clean again."

"Your people changed to fight this Enemy? How?"

"Changed life-stuff deep inside to become Others. New forms. Forms stronger than Enemy."

"Enemy is here in this place. Enemy has also changed." I said bluntly.

"No. Enemy is gone. Sky-fire destroys all unclean life that comes to this place. You are clean."

I frowned. Sky-fire? - Could Keeper be referring to a planetary defence system of some kind? I already knew the Warpers had shot down Aurora by opening a portal in one of her plasma conduits, then dumping in ten tonnes of seawater. This 'sky-fire' thing sounds like something completely different.

I projected holograms of various Kharaa life forms. Keeper of Memories recoiled in frank disgust.

"Enemy." Keeper said contemptuously. "Unclean."

From what I can gather, Reaper Leviathans and Crabsquids have broken away from Father of Tides. Only Warpers can still be considered His loyal 'subjects', if that's the appropriate term to use. This isn't a straightforward theocracy ruled by Father of Tides, with all of Manannán's life forms devoutly obeying the imperatives of a godlike figurehead. Most of the life forms here are essentially low to mid-order animals, and therefore subject to nothing more than the most basic, instinctive drives.

There isn't much point in asking why Reapers and Crabsquids have suddenly set their sights on us. The answer is obvious. Humans pose an immediate threat to them. Humans are prey. These two species are undoubtedly intelligent enough to realise that any arrangement struck between Father of Tides and Terrans does not necessarily call for their unquestioning compliance. Bear in mind that His first duty is to look to the survival of the planet's native inhabitants. Our presence here is a momentary aberration, one that can only be tolerated to the point where it interferes with the natural order of things. Most importantly, there is only one Father of Tides. If His offspring were to rise against him in open rebellion, He would not survive. Life might continue here and certainly evolve, albeit at a drastically diminished pace. Father of Tides cannot take our side in this conflict.

By the same token, it would be an utterly suicidal move for the colonists to pursue all-out warfare against Reapers and Crabsquids. Even if they are able to annihilate both species, irreparable damage would be inflicted on the planet's ecosystems. Once the full extent of this damage becomes apparent, we might find ourselves pitted against Warpers and Dragon Leviathans.

It was an uphill battle convincing Héloise that this was one fight we could never win. However, she eventually saw the truth of it, much to her annoyance. She saw the Valkyrie Field as our ultimate weapon, sending wave after wave of resurrected fighters against an endless tide of assailants. I gently pointed out that our adversaries had far greater numbers, accelerated evolution and time on their side. Once you're locked into a war of attrition, it only takes a single tactical error to nudge that delicate balance of forces over a catastrophic tipping point. Sooner or later, the enemy will figure out precisely which points to attack to negate any possible advantage we might still have.

Our only clear way out of this mess is to avoid any direct confrontation. Since Crabsquids are a deepwater species, there's not much chance of them mounting an assault on Kaori-san no shima. Conceivably, they might slowly decompress their bodies to reach the same depth as the colony, but this is something that we can keep a close eye on. Daily scanner drone sweeps could monitor their movements without putting anyone in harm's way. On the off-chance that they are massing for an attack, a swarm could be dispersed with a vigorous application of TRIDENT pulses. As a last resort, I would send a significant percentage of their population straight to Hell with a full-scale Cyclops attack. Genocide is something I'd rather avoid, particularly if the next combatants to enter the field can instantaneously create gaping holes in solid matter.

My immediate concern here is Reapers. A wolf-pack of Reapers would be an absolute catastrophe, particularly if they can penetrate the inner defences in a coordinated attack. Once they get in among the hab clusters, there's absolutely nothing we can do to stop them. Even with extra hull reinforcement, that base can only withstand so much punishment before something crucial gives way. I'm not prepared to let events escalate to that point. If more than one Reaper slips past the midpoint defence ring, I'm definitely pulling the plug. Immediate evacuation of Kaori-san no-shima.

Then we bring in the entire Cyclops fleet.

Time to bloody some noses.

Just before leaving the hangar, I drew my own knife and ceremoniously handed it over to Héloise.

"There's an old Terran custom. When someone gives you a knife or any other implement with an edge, it must be paid for in silver, lest the friendship be severed. Since I'm all out of silver at the moment, I'm afraid I can only give you my blade in return. It's a Mod II Thermoblade; superheated and monomolecular edged, so be extremely careful who you choose to stick with it. Would you consider that a fair trade?"

Héloise smiled darkly, activating the knife. Its blade flared an incandescent white, almost painful to look at directly. She crouched into a low fighting stance, moving slowly and gracefully as the blade swept through the air, her arm weaving hypnotically like a cobra waiting for the precise moment to strike. I honestly didn't know what to expect at this point, and felt my internal DEFCON status unconsciously ramping up with each supple move she made. It was like watching a razor-sharp watch spring slowly unwinding, driving some impossibly precise and deadly mechanism to its ultimate function. Strike and feint, dodge-step and turn about, stepping lightly in time to some silent and sinister melody that only she could hear.

Abruptly, Héloise switched off the blade, uttering a throaty chuckle of delight. "I like this blade!"

"You had me more than a wee bit worried there, lass. Much too businesslike for my comfort, in fact. Where in creation's name did you learn to move like that?"

"My mother. She passed on everything she knew from the moment I could walk. Her Guardian teachings are one of the two reasons I'm still alive. The second reason is the blade that you carry."

"I won't ask any awkward questions. You have my solemn word on that." I said gravely.

"Good. I won't answer them anyway. Very well, I accept your gift... Now we are man and wife."

I spluttered in alarm.

Is there a Belter marriage custom tied to a simple exchange of weapons?
Frantically, I searched through my Belter cultural database and found absolutely nothing. Gorram it.

I'm screwed.

Héloise leaned against the doorway, a wry grin on her face. "Baka ne! I'm teasing you. Still, it was completely worth it to see the silly expression on your face, my brave Captain. C'mon... Let's go."

"Oh, just one more thing... On its lowest setting, your Thermoblade makes absolutely cracking toast. Softens even the hardest deep-frozen butter in a single pass."

Playfully, Héloise shoved me aside and bolted upstairs. A most intriguing woman... My kind of crazy.

Fortunately, preparations were only just starting to get underway. I found JUNO prepping the auto-galleys with Magic Soup, IANTO was keeping the bairns entertained and safely out from under foot, and DIGBY was beavering away with the multimedia systems. The colonists had already laid out the mess-hall's tables in a sweeping 300-degree arc, with all seating placed to afford everyone an unobstructed view of an ominously cleared space in the centre of the room. My deepest, darkest and greatest fear of all was about to rise screeching from the abyss. I am utterly doomed.

There will be dancing tonight.

I hastily excused myself from the passengers I'd been talking to, and returned to the cockpit.

"Okay. What have you got?"

"Multiple life signs. No acoustic profile developing as yet. I'm currently picking them up as density changes in the water. Whatever they are, there's an uncomfortably large number of these creatures... And their movement pattern indicates that they're attempting to surround us."

Navigation sonar showed our predicament all too clearly. We were currently passing through a deep canyon in the Grand Reef biome, in an area containing a chaotic maze of natural archways. This zone was effectively a tunnel passing through a massive cave system 650 metres below sea level, and there was nothing above us but solid rock for at least three kilometres. Although there was plenty of sea room in the cavern, the area was filled with potential ambush points. Arches within arches.

"DIGBY, fall inline astern of us and cover our rear arc. No fuss. Slowly does it."

"Aye, Captain." DIGBY replied briskly.

Five hundred metres into the maze, I heard a soft thump and a skittering of chitin upon the hull. Several others followed, spaced a few seconds apart. After isolating its video feed from general broadcast mode, I panned the sub's forward dorsal camera around to locate the sound's source. Instantly, the monitor was filled with the image of a single, huge eye.

Crabsquids.

The aft dorsal camera revealed that at least five were already on the hull, stalking about and delicately probing the hull for potential weak points. The face of a Crabsquid loomed huge in the monitor. Startled, I flinched at its sudden appearance. Four huge, expressionless eyes revealed absolutely nothing of the true nature of these creatures. There was a definite intelligence at work behind those eyes; albeit one that was entirely alien, calculating, unfathomable and utterly malignant.

Exodus rose slightly to pass over an arch that reared up directly ahead. Unseen, several more Crabsquids detached themselves from the cavern's ceiling and gently landed upon the hull. My view was blocked by the one squatting in front of the aft dorsal camera. If it wasn't for JUNO's warning, I would have been completely unaware of their arrival.

"It's getting too gorram crowded up there. Set EDF to lowest possible effective discharge. I'd rather not give our passengers any cause for concern, at least for the time being. Fire when ready."

"Aye, Sir. Two hundred joules should make them dance quite nicely. Firing."

The sub's electrical defence field flared briefly. Barely noticeable from inside the hull, yet with just enough oomph to make our unwelcome hitchers recoil from Exodus with commendable speed. As the Crabsquids fell astern, Taranis opened fire with its repulsion cannons to drive them away.

Five hundred metres ahead, Red Dragon suddenly went active. The heavy thud of repulsion cannons firing in full auto mode sounded loud and clear through Exodus' hull.

So much for taking a low-key approach to this problem...

We walked back to the sub bay. A small number of colonists tagged along as far as the airlock, visibly excited by the prospect of a substantial meal. These poor sods have been surviving on a meagre and monotonous diet of fish, rice and some adapted Terran vegetables since the Year Dot, occasionally supplemented with vile-looking blocks of reconstituted protein and algae wafers. To his credit, IANTO put some serious thought into designing the meal packs we brought. Each pack was a one man, 24-hour ration capable of providing 18,000 kilojoules per meal. We had 2,000 packs aboard Taranis, plus 400 litres of the auto-galley concentrates I called 'Miracle Soup'. This initial shipment of meals had been engineered to be tasty and nutritious, but light and easily digestible.

Most well-meaning folk would gladly hand over a hefty swag of calorie-dense food to the nearest group of starving people. Unfortunately, that's a potentially disastrous rookie mistake. Any digestive system deprived of substantial food for too long simply can't handle it. It's best to space out the first few meals with small portions and a modest assortment of courses over a few days, then slowly ramp up the calorie intake.

Ever hear the expression 'Society is only seven meals from Anarchy'? This is precisely why we were feeding these people, right from the get-go. Frankly, they were dangerously close to starving but were far too proud to admit it. I saw it in their eyes. Unmistakable. If all went according to plan, we would be asking these colonists to step aboard a sealed transfer vehicle and meekly accept being transported to who-knows-where, then expect them to sit tight for a 30-day decompression cycle. That's a huge ask to drop on anyone. For this operation to proceed without a hitch, I needed these people well fed, fit and willing to trust us implicitly. I was well aware of the ghastly spectre of cattle cars and concentration camps that still lurks in the collective human psyche, and these folk are shrewd enough to make the very same connection.

This approach is not part of some fiendish android master-plan, if that's what you're thinking.

We're aiming for total transparency here. At each stage of this operation, these people will be made aware of what's taking place. More importantly, they will also be told why. Unfortunately, there might be certain times when paranoia could take the reins. The prospect of stepping into an atmospherically sealed transfer vehicle could be a deal-breaker for some folks. Having to spend 30 days locked in a sub-sea decompression facility might do it for others. Our only hope is to play an open hand and let them know each stage of the plan well in advance. If we can keep them well fed, entertained and comfortable, everyone might get through this in one piece.

Once the freight elevator surfaced in the sub bay, it was a simple matter of transferring our supply shipment to a nearby powered cart and six trailers. There was an unavoidable delay as the main airlock ran through its cycle, although it wouldn't take very long to get this lot distributed. I fully expected a mad rush as soon as the cargo train cleared the airlock. However, a self-appointed squad of porters patiently waited until the train halted in the atrium, then proceeded to distribute the cargo modules to small groups of waiting colonists. It was an orderly and efficient process, performed with an surprising economy of effort. There was a brief moment of awed silence as DIGBY picked up two 100-kilo carboys of Miracle Soup as easily as a pair of light overnight bags, then calmly proceeded to load up the first auto-galley with nutrient mix.

A cryogenically cool move. Shiny.

It's just so funny that I can't decide wether I want this in the game or not!