Sora kissed Merlin, silencing the voice in her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, almost instantly. ‘It seemed—’
‘Like the right thing to do?’ Merlin’s smile was difficult to judge, but he did not seem displeased.
‘No, not really. Probably the wrong thing, actually.’
‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive, Sora. And like I said - it has been rather a long time since I had human company.’ He drew himself to her, their free-floating bodies hooking together in the centre of the blister, slowly turning until all sense of orientation was gone. ‘Of course, my reasons for rescuing you were entirely selfless . . .’
‘Of course . . .’
‘But I won’t deny that there was a small glimmer of hope at the back of my mind, the tiniest spark of fantasy . . .’
They shed their clothes, untidy bundles that orbited around their coupled bodies. They began to make love, slowly at first, and then with increasing energy, as if it was only now that Sora was fully waking from the long centuries of frostwatch.
She thought of Verdin, and then hated herself for the crass, biochemical predictability of her mind, the unfailing way it dredged up the wrong memories at the worst of times. What had happened back then, what had happened between them, was three thousand years in the past, unrecorded by anything or anyone except herself. She had not even mourned him yet, had not even allowed the familiar to permit her that particular indulgence. She studied Merlin, looking for hints of his true age . . . and failed, utterly, to detach the part of her mind capable of the job.
‘Do you want to see something glorious?’ Merlin asked later, after they had hung together wordlessly for many minutes.
‘If you think you can impress me . . .’
He whispered to the ship, causing the walls to lose their opacity.
Sora looked around. By some trick of holographics, the ship itself was not visible at all from within the blister. It was just her and Merlin, floating free.
And what she saw beyond them was indeed glorious - even if some detached part of her mind knew that the view could not be completely natural, and that in some way the hues and intensities of light had been shifted to aid comprehension. The walls of the Waynet slammed past at eye-wrenching speed, illuminated by the intense, Doppler-shifted annihilation of dust particles, so that it seemed as if they were flying in the utmost darkness, down a tube of twinkling violet that reached towards infinity. The space-time in which the ship drifted like a seed moved so quickly that the difference between its speed and light amounted to only one part in a hundred billion. Once a second in subjective time, the ship threaded itself through shining hoops as wide as the Waynet itself: constraining rings spaced eight light-hours apart, all part of the inscrutable exotic-matter machinery that had serviced this galaxy-spanning transit system. Ahead, all the stars in the universe crowded into an opalescent jewelled mass, like a congregation of bright angels. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
‘It’s the only way to travel,’ Merlin said.
The journey would take four days of shiptime, nineteen centuries of worldtime.
The subjective time spent in Waynet flight amounted only to twenty-three hours. But the ship had to make many transitions between Ways, and they were never closer than tens of light-minutes apart, presumably because of the nightmarish consequences that would ensue if two opposing streams of accelerated space-time ever touched.
‘Aren’t you worried we’ll wander into Huskers, Merlin?’
‘Worth it for the big reward, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Tell me more about this mystical gun, and I might believe you.’
Merlin settled back in his seat, drawing a deep breath. ‘Almost everything I know could be wrong.’
‘I’ll take that risk.’
‘Whatever it was, it was fully capable of destroying whole worlds. Even stars, if the more outlandish stories are to be believed.’ He looked down at his hand, as if suddenly noticing his impeccably manicured fingernails.
‘Ask him how he thinks it works,’ the familiar said. ‘Then at least we’ll have an idea how thorough he’s been.’
She put the question to Merlin, as casually as she could.
‘Gravity,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that obvious? It may be a weak force, but there isn’t anything in the universe that doesn’t feel it.’
‘Like a bigger version of the syrinx?’
Merlin shrugged. Sora realised that it was not his fingernails to which he was paying attention, but the ornate ring she had noticed before, inset with a ruby stone in which two sparks seemed to orbit like fireflies. ‘It’s almost certainly the product of Waymaker science. A post-human culture that was able to engineer - to mechanise - space-time. But I don’t think it worked like the syrinx. I think it made singularities; it plucked globules of mass-energy from vacuum and squashed them until they were within their own event horizons.’
‘Black holes,’ the familiar said, and Sora echoed the words aloud.
Merlin looked pleased. ‘Very small ones, atomic-scale. It doped them with charge, then accelerated them up to something only marginally less than the speed of light. They didn’t have time to decay. For that, of course, it needed more energy, and more still just to prevent itself from being ripped apart by the stresses.’
‘A gun that fires black holes? We’d win, wouldn’t we? With something like that? Even if there was only one of them?’
Merlin fingered the ruby-centred ring.
‘That’s the general idea.’
Sora took Merlin’s hand, stroking the fingers until her own alighted on the ring. It was more intricate than she had realised. The twin sparks were whirling around each other, glints of light locked in a waltz, as if driven by some microscopic clockwork buried in the ruby itself.
‘What does it mean?’ she asked, sensing that this was both the wrong and the right question.
‘It means . . .’ Merlin smiled, but it was a moment before he completed the sentence. ‘It means, I suppose, that I should remember death.’
They fell out of the Way for the last time, entering a system that did not seem markedly different from a dozen others they had skipped through. The star was a yellow main-sequence sun, accompanied by the usual assortment of rocky worlds and gas giants. The second and third planets out from the sun were steaming hot cauldrons, enveloped by acidic atmosphere at crushing temperature, the victims of runaway heat-trapping processes, the third more recently than the second. The fourth planet was smaller and seemed to have been the subject of a terraforming operation that had taken place sometime after the Flourishing: its atmosphere, though thin, was too dense to be natural. Thirteen separate Ways punched through the system’s ecliptic at different angles, safely distant from planetary and asteroidal orbits.
‘It’s a nexus,’ Merlin said. ‘A primary Waynet interchange. You find systems like this every thousand or so light-years through the plane of the galaxy, and a good way out of it as well. Back when everyone used the Waynet, this system would have been a meeting point, a place where traders swapped goods and tales from halfway to the Core.’
‘Bit of a dump now, though, isn’t it.’
‘Perfect for hiding something very big and very nasty, provided you remember where you hid it.’
‘You mentioned something about a storm—’
‘You’ll see.’
The Way had dropped them in the inner part of the system, but Merlin said that what he wanted was further out, beyond the system’s major asteroid belt. It would take a few days to reach.
‘And what are we going to do when we get there?’ Sora asked. ‘Just pick this thing up and take it with us?’
‘Not exactly,’ Merlin said. ‘I suspect it will be harder than that. Not so hard that we haven’t got a chance, but hard enough . . .’ He seemed to falter, perhaps for the first time since she had met him, that aura of supreme confidence cracking minutely.
‘What part do you want me to play?’
‘You’re a soldier,’ he said. ‘Figure that out for yourself.’
‘I don’t know quite what it is I’ve found,’ the familiar said, when Sora was again alone. ‘I’ve been waiting to show you, but he’s had you in those war simulations for hours. Either that or you two have been occupying yourselves in other ways. Any idea what he’s planning?’
Merlin had a simulator, a smaller version of the combat-training modules Sora knew from warcrèche.
‘A lot of the simulations had a common theme: an attack against a white pyramid.’
‘Implying some foreknowledge, wouldn’t you say? As if Merlin knows something of what he will find?’
‘I’ve had that feeling ever since we met him.’ She was thinking of the smell of him, the shockingly natural way their bodies meshed, despite their being displaced by thousands of years. She tried to flush those thoughts from her mind. What they were now discussing was a kind of betrayal, on a more profound level than anything committed so far, because it lacked any innocence. ‘What is it, then?’
‘I’ve been scanning the later log files, and I’ve found something that seems significant, something that seemed to mark a turning point in his hunt for the weapon. I have no idea what it was. But it took me until now to realise just how strange it was.’
‘Another system?’
‘A very large structure, nowhere near any star, but nonetheless accessible by Waynet.’
‘A Waymaker artefact, then.’
‘Almost certainly.’
The structure was visible on the screen. It looked like a child’s toy star, or a metallic starfish, textured in something that resembled beaten gold or the lustre of insect wings, filigreed in a lacework of exotic-matter scaffolds. It filled most of the view, shimmering with its own soft illumination.
‘This is what Merlin would have seen with his naked eyes, just after his ship left the Way.’
‘Very pretty.’ She had meant the remark to sound glib, but it came out as a statement of fact.
‘And large. The object’s more than ten light-minutes away, which makes it more than four light-minutes in cross section. Comfortably larger than any star on the main sequence. And yet somehow it holds itself in shape - in quite preposterous shape - against what must be unimaginable self-gravity. Merlin, incidentally, gave it the name Brittlestar, which seems as good as any.’
‘Poetic bastard.’ Poetic sexy bastard, she thought.
‘There’s more, if you’re interested. I have access to the sensor records from the ship, and I can tell you that the Brittlestar is a source of intense gravitational radiation. It’s like a beacon, sitting there, pumping out gravity waves from somewhere near its heart. There’s something inside it that is making space-time ripple periodically.’
‘You think Merlin went inside it, don’t you?’
‘Something happened, that’s for sure. This is the last log Merlin filed, on his approach to the object, before a month-long gap.’
It was another mumbled soliloquy - except this time his sobs were of something other than despair. Instead, they sounded like the sobs of the deepest joy imaginable. As if, finally, he had found what he was looking for, or at least knew that he was closer than ever, and that the final prize was not far from reach. But that was not what made Sora shiver. It was the face she saw. It was Merlin, beyond any doubt. But his face was lined with age, and his eyes were those of someone older than anyone Sora had ever known.
The fifth and sixth planets were the largest.
The fifth was the heavier of the two, zones of differing chemistry banding it from tropic to pole, girdled by a ring system that was itself braided by the resonant forces of three large moons. Merlin believed that the ring system had been formed since the Flourishing. A cloud of radiation-drenched human relics orbited the world, dating from unthinkably remote eras, perhaps even earlier than the Waymaker time. Merlin swept the cloud with sensors tuned to sniff out weapons systems, or the melange of neutrino flavours that betokened Husker presence. The sweeps all returned negative.
‘You know where the gun is?’ Sora asked.
‘I know how to reach it, which is all that matters.’
‘Maybe it’s time to start being a little less cryptic. Especially if you want me to help you.’
He looked wounded, as if she had ruined a game hours in the making. ‘I just thought you’d appreciate the thrill of the chase.’
‘This isn’t about the thrill of the chase, Merlin. It’s about the nastiest weapon imaginable and the fact that we have to get our hands on it before the enemy, so that we can incinerate them first. So we can commit xenocide.’ She said it again: ‘Xenocide. Sorry. Doesn’t that conform to your romantic ideals of the righteous quest?’
‘It won’t be xenocide,’ he said, touching the ring again nervously. ‘Listen: I want that gun as much as you do. That’s why I chased it for ten thousand years.’ Was it her imagination, or had the ring not been on his hand in any of the recordings she had seen of him? She remembered the old man’s hands she had seen in the last recording, the one taken just before his time in the Brittlestar, and she was sure they held no ring. Now Merlin’s voice was matter-of-fact. ‘The structure we want is on the outermost moon.’
‘Let me guess. A white pyramid?’
He offered a smile. ‘Couldn’t be closer if you tried.’
They fell into orbit around the gas giant. All the moons showed signs of having been extensively industrialised since the Flourishing, but the features that remained on their surfaces were gouged by millennia of exposure to sleeting cosmic radiation and micrometeorites. Nothing looked significantly younger than the surrounding landscapes of rock and ice. Except for the kilometre-high white pyramid on the third moon, which was in a sixteen-day orbit around the planet. It looked as if it had been chiselled out of alabaster sometime the previous afternoon.
‘Not exactly subtle,’ Merlin said. ‘Self-repair mechanisms must still be functional, to one degree or another, which implies that the control systems for the gun will still work. It also means that the counter-intrusion systems will also be operational.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘Aren’t you excited that we’re about to end the longest war in human history?’
‘But we’re not, are we? I mean, be realistic. It’ll take tens of thousands of years simply for the knowledge of this weapon’s existence to reach the remotest areas of the war. Nothing will happen overnight.’
‘I can see why it would disturb you,’ Merlin said, tapping a finger against his teeth. ‘None of us have ever known anything other than war with the Huskers.’
‘Just show me where it is.’
They made one low orbital pass over the pyramid, alert for buried weapons, but no attack came. On the next pass, lower still, Merlin’s ship dropped proctors to snoop ground defences. ‘Maybe they had something bigger once,’ Merlin said. ‘Artillery that could take us out from millions of kilometres away. But if it ever existed, it’s not working any more.’
They made groundfall a kilometre from the pyramid, then waited for all but three of the proctors to return to the ship. Merlin tasked the trio to secure a route into the structure, but their use was limited. Once the simple-minded machines were out of command range of the ship - which happened as soon as they had penetrated beyond the outer layer of the structure - they were essentially useless.
‘Who built the pyramid? And how did you know about it?’
‘The same culture that got into the war I told you about,’ he said, as they clamped on the armoured carapaces of their suits in the airlock. ‘They were far less advanced than the Waymakers, but they were a lot closer to them historically, and they knew enough to control the weapon and use it for their own purposes.’
‘How’d they find it?’
‘They stole it. By then the Waymaker culture was - how shall I put it - sleeping? Not really paying due attention to the use made of its artefacts?’
‘You’re being cryptic again, Merlin
.’
‘Sorry. Solitude does that to you.’
‘Did you meet someone out there, Merlin - someone who knew about the gun, and told you where to find it?’ And made you young in the process? she thought.
‘My business, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe once. Now, I’d say we’re in this together. Equal partners. Fair enough?’
‘Nothing’s fair in war, Sora.’ But he was smiling, defusing the remark, even as he slipped his helmet down over the neck ring, twisting it to engage the locking mechanism.
‘How big is the gun?’ Sora asked.
Zima Blue and Other Stories Page 34