‘… parts and pieces and bits, many, many bits, and I can see them all, see them forming and joining, so I can unjoin and unform them if you like. Would you like to see all those clever parts?’ The golden eyes turned towards Rosa and Robert. ‘Would you?’
Robert stared, realising that Reski had said nothing and was unmoving.
‘Er … no, thank you, very kind of you to offer, but … our droid colleague has … duties to perform, you see …’
The Bargalil gave an odd shrug, which amounted to his head dipping between his shoulders, then he turned and carried on towards the front of the bridge. Reski Emantes suddenly bobbed up and settled back down again.
‘That … that …’
‘Diplomacy, Reski,’ Robert murmured. ‘Please …’
The droid spun in wordless fury for a second or two, then glided off to the rear. Robert approached the Bargalil and gave a stately bow.
‘Welcome aboard the tiership Plausible Response – I am Robert Horst and this is my daughter, Rosa, and our droid companion you have already met. Have I the honour of addressing Sunflow Oscillant?’
‘I am that one,’ came the reply. ‘I know I am that one for I have looked inward and seen all the bits and parts and pieces so I know – I know – I know that I am that one.’
Always wise to be sure, Robert thought, exchanging a brief look with Rosa.
‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘We are seekers on a path …’
‘You are the emissary,’ said the Bargalil. ‘The path is yours, the path calls to you, the path seeks for you while you journey from the Many to the One, even as the One himself is on a journey … leave the Many so that you can see the One.’
‘Sunflow Oscillant, will you help us to continue our journey?’ Robert said patiently. ‘Where must we go next?’
‘Oscillant Sunflow Oscillant,’ the Bargalil mumbled, head drooping. ‘Between darkness and light he sways, between stillness and flight, torn from the elements, a dream for the parts and the pieces, a mask for the words and the fears …’ Suddenly, the Bargalil reared up and sat back on its rear haunches while its smaller forelimbs raised stubby-fingered paws to cover those golden eyes. ‘Coordinate … you require coordinates to guide you … numbers, letters, symbols, they are already here, already nestling in the energy mazes of this cunningly wrought mask-ship-machine-mind … from the Many to the One, from the Many to the One … I must find the hidden rhythm that passes from the One to the Many …’
The Bargalil mystic fell silent and for several moments the quiet was like the hush of a held breath. Then:
‘Data intrusion!’ said the Plausible Response. ‘Index anomaly found, base matrix integrity compromised!’
Rosa leaned forward. ‘Ship, where is the anomaly located?’
‘Navigational stacks, course datafiles. Anomalous object has been isolated and mirrored, running parallel analyses … analyses complete. The anomalous object does not identify as a threat-level vector …’
The Bargalil uncovered its eyes and smiled, yet to Robert it seemed like a desolate expression. The golden gaze came round to Rosa, who gave a polite smile in return.
‘Ship,’ she said. ‘Describe the anomalous object.’
‘It is the coordinate set for a location down on Tier 92, in an askew expanse.’
Rosa nodded and turned to Sunflow Oscillant, who tipped forward onto four legs again and said:
‘Your paths await … the path will lead you to the path that will teach you the path …’ It looked round at the exit and took a couple of shambling steps in that direction – and in an eyeblink it was suddenly in front of the sliding door.
‘Wait, wise Sunflow Oscillant,’ Robert said, getting to his feet. ‘Who should we look for, or ask for when we reach the next destination?’
‘The path leads from the Many into the Many-and-One. Abandon the sight of the Many to see the One, shrug off the thoughts of the Many to understand the mind of the One, shut out the babble of the Many to hear the pure harmonies of the One. And the One will hear you. Seek watchers and meditators, seek out those that shine with the essence of the One, and they will know you.’
The bridge door, without any sliding motion, was suddenly open and the Bargalil ambled out. Another eyeblink, and the door was shut again.
For a moment no one said a word until Reski Emantes floated up from behind one of the consoles.
‘What in the name of reason was all that babble about?’
Robert dropped back into his seat, feeling bemused, and indicated the bridge entrance.
‘How could he appear and disappear like that?’ he asked Rosa. ‘What kind of technology is that?’
She shrugged, turning to the main console. ‘Causal-state phaseshift – it’s an exotic talent, something that only living beings can do. Inorganic entities cannot achieve it. Basically, the Bargalil can perceive the various states of an object then shift it into one of them, or even shift himself.’
‘Like a door being open or closed?’
‘Or a droid in its optimum functioning state,’ she said. ‘Or simply as a heap of parts.’
‘That would have been interesting to observe,’ said the Ship.
‘Aargh, ouch, I am wounded by your oafish wit,’ Reski Emantes said in low, flat tones, then, in his usual voice, ‘What was all that drivel about the Many and the One? Is this One supposed to be the Godhead?’
The Rosa-sim looked round expectantly at Robert, who was suddenly groping for an answer.
‘Well, yes, sounds likely in the context.’
‘Then who or what is the Many?’
‘The social matrix that seekers or pilgrims – that’s us – leave behind in their journey towards enlightment,’ Robert said. ‘Although some creeds focus on desires and sins as the things to be discarded. Some of the less tactful atheists say that religion is just a pretty blindfold for those who want to run away from reality.’
Rosa regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And what do you think, Daddy?’
He smiled. ‘I have a well-established seat on the fence, my sweet. Just as it is not rational to discount the existence of a supreme being, neither can I commit myself without proof.’
‘Droids and mechs deal with reality all the time,’ Rosa said. ‘Yet they don’t have desires and sins, nor do they have much of a social Many to leave behind.’
‘Nor do they have the notion of a supreme being,’ Robert said. ‘At least, I’ve never heard of a droid religion.’
‘Yet our Bargalil friend clearly sees the Godhead as a god. Yet I know, from numerous sources, that it is a real entity of living matter – it doesn’t control its own paradise or hell, as far as I know. Only an organic lifeform could come up with the idea of an afterlife …’
‘I think the Ship has more to tell us about the coordinates,’ said Rosa suddenly. ‘And course data, too.’
‘I have extracted all values from the data object and assembled a copy of the file,’ said the Ship. ‘It appears to be a viable location descriptor. Our course is plotted so we may leave when you wish.’
‘All our docking fees are paid?’ Robert said.
‘Generously and in advance,’ said the Plausible Response. ‘Give the order and I shall signal the dock systems to release the mooring clamps.’
‘Then kindly do so.’
Outside, howling winds hurled dense veils of snow across the gantries, jetties and booms of Malgovastek Dock. Lanterns fixed to poles gave off dirty orange haloes amid the rushing, shadowy blur, shuddering noticeably from the force of the blast. Then strong white beams blazed out from the underside of the Plausible Response, now abruptly visible, and coiling eddies of snow rose as the manoeuvring suspensors quickly came up to operational pitch. There were several near-simultaneous clangs and the ship suddenly lifted from its berth and ascended to about a hundred feet. There, it tilted forward, spun round on its nose and, with rainbow plasma burning from the twin thrusters and the dorsal aperture, the Plausible Response leaped away
into the everlasting storms of the Shylgandic Lacuna.
Rosa said that the journey to Tier 92 would take just under thirty hours so Robert, feeling worn out by the days of waiting on Malgovastek, retired to his quarters and slept solidly for a good nine hours. On waking he felt a few twinges and aches but twenty minutes of exercise ironed them out, leaving him feeling alert and hungry. His new lease of youth was a constant reminder of how he had let the ageing process degrade his physique, helped along by a diplomatic career which militated against a healthy lifestyle.
And an AI companion who considered such a thing unimportant, he thought, recalling several conversations he’d had with Harry on the subject.
Then he paused and wondered what Harry would have said about this bizarre mission into the depths of hyperspace. Robert could almost imagine him standing over by the vee screen, resting one foot on the edge of the low table, smiling his cynically amused smile and saying, Why, Robert, you’ve become an altruist! Diplomat – heal thyself!
But here he was, all alone in his skull with only his own thoughts and opinions for company. It had been hard at the start, not having Harry perennially on hand to bounce ideas off, to provide advice, to obtain background knowledge on any topic. Without him, it all seemed to rest on guesswork and flimsy judgement, which made his part in this venture seem almost untenable, the more he thought about it.
Robert’s mood darkened and his spirits dipped. What about self-reliance, he wondered, sitting in a blue easy chair. In an earlier age, self-knowledge and hard-won experience was gained on the basis of rugged self-reliance, yet for people of Robert’s age, and the younger generations especially, such notions were laughably obsolete, or wrinkly as the yopocultura had it. But would he have Harry or another AI reimplanted, if he could? Put that way, he honestly felt that he would not. In which case it looked as if he would have to rediscover those antique qualities of self-reliance, if he wanted to be of use to the Construct or indeed anyone.
He stood up, deciding to shower, but then the door chimed.
‘Yes?’
‘Daddy, it’s Rosa.’
‘Ah, come in, come in.’
The door slid open and she entered. With her long golden hair tied back in a ponytail, she had on a dark green worksuit, the kind usually reserved for senior techs, but over it she wore a charming bolero-style jacket, powder blue in colour, with intricate crimson embroidery at the sleeve cuffs, the pockets and the collar. At her neck was a pendant, a small red stone. The combination was striking, making her seem mature and somehow formidable.
‘An impressive outfit,’ he said.
‘Oh, the Ship adapted it from something left behind by another passenger,’ she said. ‘I came to let you know that we’ll be arriving at Tier 92 sooner than we thought – the Plausible Response found an alternative route through the boundaries so we should be there in another six or seven hours.’
‘That’s good news,’ Robert said, feeling the pressure of his self-doubt. ‘Well, perhaps it isn’t. Rosa, I have to admit that I am uncertain of my abilities in this situation. It worries me that my unsupported judgement could put us, put you in great danger.’
‘Daddy, I have every confidence in you,’ she said, reaching out to take his hands. ‘In fact, more confidence now that your invisible friend is gone. Your experience and your instincts are still there and I trust them, trust you with my life.’
Robert smiled, touched by her words, yet his fundamental doubts remained.
‘Besides, the Construct devised this form,’ she went on. ‘So I am a bit tougher than I look.’
‘That is … reassuring, I think.’
She laughed. ‘Why not come up to the bridge and help me divert the Ship and Reski Emantes from their ongoing vitriol tournament?’
‘Maybe later – once I’ve showered I’m going down to the observation lounge to study whatever the Ship has on Tier 92, while taking in the view.’
‘Okay, Daddy. I’ll comm you an hour before we get there, if we don’t see you earlier.’
She smiled, gave a little wave and was gone, and Robert headed for the shower.
The observation lounge was small and horseshoe-shaped, situated at the front of the Plausible Response’s understructure. The lighting was muted to soft floor glows and Robert sat in one of the feed chairs, tacting its flimscreen, working his way through information on the Urcudrel Seam, as Tier 92 was known to its dwindling, scattered population. According to the files, the entropic collapse of the Urcudrel continuum had wrought tiny but significant changes in its macrophysical laws, so that when the crushed wreckage of its worlds was crammed together order spontaneously arose. Massive crystalline forms took shape, polyhedral conglomerations emerging from grinding chaos. To Robert it sounded utterly bizarre yet one file included vidage of a vast cliff of stone-grey cubes and a plain of clusters of octagonal pillars, all beneath a cloud-blurred sky of inverted, darkly translucent pyramids that gave off a flickering, bone-white radiance.
The Urcudrel Seam was also fragmentary, its continuum grown patchy with the pressures from above and below. Some regions, cut off from the main abracosm, had developed their own peculiar characteristics and were known as askew expanses – it was within one of these that their destination lay.
Outside the observation lounge, he saw what appeared to be vast webs of mottled glass. At the corner of the lounge window was the number 87, a ghostly readout signifying which tier they were passing through. Gazing into the distance, through a maze of glittering strands, he could see something that might have been a tilted, towerlike city hanging at the nexus of innumerable gleaming cables. Or it might have been an immense ship, caught in the meshes, woven about and held fast …
The Plausible Response moved onward and downward as the shift drive kicked in Robert experienced an odd ripple in his vision, like light turning sideways and back, and a slight pulse of vertigo. Tier 88 was a series of vast, dark plains strewn with the shattered ruins of colossal seven-limbed statues. Eighty-nine was a showcase of failed stellar engineering, the extinguished remains of miniature stars orbiting a megaplanet, itself a cold, dead tomb-world, its face scarred by the inhabitants’ final paroxysms of violent despair. Other arrays and patterns of suns were visible in the distance, chains and bracelets, magnified by the lounge’s viewing system; the rest were burnt-out husks hanging in an ashen firmament.
Again the ship tier-shifted and the next number was 91. For a moment Robert wondered why they had bypassed Tier 90, then he turned his attention to the vista outside, an immense level plain of stone across which water poured in vigorous rivers, even torrents, while large masses of pale, leafless growth were rooted here and there, their dense, tangled meshes sloping all in one direction as deformed by constant winds. Then, without warning, the view swung through ninety degrees and Robert held on to his chair, battling a surge of vertigo as the watery plain outside became an almost sheer rock face.
‘Apologies, Robert,’ said the Ship. ‘It was a necessary attitude correction.’
Almost corrected the position of my breakfast, he thought as he watched the sheets of water rushing down, the droplets spraying out and the dense, waxy-white tangles of angular growth hanging from a rock face that stretched away into haze. Then he frowned, staring intently at something that seemed grotesquely out of place – there, at the crook of one of those angular branches, was a strange formation. And suddenly he realised that it was, unmistakably, a skeletal joint. The pale entwining meshes were not plant growth but bones, the fleshless remains of unimaginable lifeforms, clinging to that drenched, enormous cliff.
‘Hello, Daddy?’ came Rosa’s voice from somewhere overhead.
‘Yes, Rosa.’
‘Daddy, we’re about to make the shift to Tier 92 – would you like to join us on the bridge?’
Outside, the cliff and its burden of cadavers slipped away as the Ship altered course.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said, shutting down the flimscreen as he headed for the door.
The lights were down low on the bridge, the shadows pushed back by golden radiance fanning out from wall sources at deck level, contrasting with the multicolour glows of the consoles.
‘Greetings, Robert Horst,’ said Reski Emantes, who was hovering at one of the sensor stations. ‘You’ve not missed much – the deployment of coruscating wit and its triumph over the dullminded, that kind of thing.’
‘Translation,’ said the Ship. ‘It has been even more openly insulting and arrogant than usual. I suspect that some strain of overcompensation is at work.’
Robert walked up to the split-level command dais, exchanging a knowing smile with Rose, who rolled her eyes.
‘So when do we make the shift?’ he said.
‘In a few minutes, once the shift drive has finished matching values with the boundary matrices.’
‘Then we make our insanely hazardous leap into a completely uncharted region,’ Reski Emantes said. ‘Hope you’re ready.’
Robert glanced around at the droid then smiled at Rosa. ‘Uncharted?’
‘Yes, but not unexplored,’ she said. ‘There have been a few reports, sketchy ones that mention dead, fossilised planets …’
‘Drive aligned,’ said the Ship. ‘Desynchronisation in twenty-seven seconds.’
‘Acknowledge,’ said Rosa, looking up at the wide monitor screen.
Again, the momentary deformation of light along with the passing lurch of vertigo … and the sky was different, a dark, grainy vastness broken by a single, muted light source, greyish-brown in hue, almost a dull copper, emanating from a single star. And there were worlds, too, drifting in their hundreds, maybe thousands. From the console sensors it appeared that all were of planetoid size or smaller, and, oddly, every one was a perfect sphere, no oblate spheroids, no irregular bodies. In the grainy, coppery starlight, planetoid surfaces took on a dark, brassy sheen, their scars, cracks and craters thrown into high relief. Robert understood how a passing visitor could describe them as fossilised – they were dry, dusty desolate globes, nothing more.
‘Now that’s interesting,’ said Reski.
The Orphaned Worlds_Book Two of Humanity's Fire Page 11