by Jaine Fenn
There was another pause, then the Arbiter said, ‘Ruling: your testimony so far is deemed acceptable.’
Nual tried not to let her relief show.
‘I will now allow more detailed questions on the matters you have touched upon.’
Nual was not sure if she was supposed to respond. After a moment she nodded her assent.
‘First, recognise Ipsis, rep:No Strange Delight.’ The corresponding light was on the edge of the halo, almost directly below her pseudo-stellar viewpoint.
‘Request for information: we would know more of the shiftspace incident. You must have seen its effects. If a human was able to board the mothership and remove you from it, one presumes these effects had disabled the other Sidhe.’
‘They had,’ Nual said succinctly, though she realised she would not be able to get away without a fuller answer. Naturally they would be interested in anything that might damage the female Sidhe.
‘Query: how, precisely?’
‘It drove them mad. They turned on each other.’
‘Query: how did they react to the human?’
‘They ignored Captain Reen. He defended me.’
‘Query: when you left, were some of these insane females still alive?’
‘Some – not many, I think.’
‘Query: what happened to the mothership after you left?’
‘Its transit-kernel was dead, so I would assume it is still in the realspace location where I last saw it.’
‘You say this madness descended on the unity in shiftspace. Query: have you any idea of its nature?’
‘I had been excluded. I was outside the unity,’ she repeated.
The Arbiter said, ‘That is not what was asked.’
Nual decided to share more of what she knew with the males – they were her people, after all, despite the millennia of estrangement, and if the threat was as serious as she believed, then she – no, everyone – would need their help. Not to mention not wanting to give them an excuse to kill her for failing to cooperate. ‘I do not know what the presence was,’ she said, ‘but I believe it was not native to our reality. I think it came from a different universe and it used shiftspace as a connecting medium.’
The original questioner said, ‘Query: why do you believe this, if it did not touch you?’
‘It— it did touch me, briefly. But it passed through, and left no trace.’
‘Query: why were you unaffected when everyone else was driven mad?’
‘I am not sure.’ Again, not strictly a lie. She hurried on, trying to steer them onto a course of her choosing, ‘I did not witness the process directly. I had barricaded myself in my cell and withdrawn my mind behind my shields. I heard screams, and even through my shields I could sense this otherverse entity, spreading madness and destruction. It went on for some days; the effect was just beginning to abate when the entity forced the ship back into the shift. That broke the transit-kernel, and also gave me a chance to contact Captain Reen.’
‘Request for clarification: you called to him from shiftspace?’
‘Yes.’
There was another, longer, pause, then the Arbiter said, ‘Observation: that is another highly unusual talent. Query: do you know what makes you so special, Nual?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not – and given the fate of those who might know, and my opposition to the rest of my race, I can see no easy way to find out.’
‘Query: do you believe everyone on the mothership where you were spawned is dead?’ said the Arbiter.
‘I hope they are, given what happened to them.’
‘We have many requests for further information on your encounter with this – what did you call it? An “otherverse entity”? – so let us go over your experiences on the mothership in more detail . . .’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Given the choice between a pitched battle with the locals and a ride with an unknown rescuer, Taro decided Option Two was the way to go. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ he said to the woman. ‘I’ll be right over.’
He flew across the gap to the boxy shuttle, glancing back once to see a hairy head poking out from the airlock of Device’s ship. Big Hair looked understandably pissed off.
‘So long, sucker,’ muttered Taro as the woman stepped back to let him into the shuttle. Close up he realised she was actually wearing a black hi-tech v-suit.
On the far side of the shuttle’s small cabin was a youth, also suited up, lying back in a comfy seat which reminded Taro of Jarek’s command couch on the Heart of Glass. Taro guessed he was the pilot, and given the lack of visible controls and the fact that the boy’s eyes were closed, he guessed he was flying the shuttle on neurolink. Unless it was another fucking avatar. Out of the corner of his eye Taro saw the opening he’d come through disappear, to be replaced by a featureless wall.
‘Nice suits,’ said Taro a little nervously. ‘Do I get one?’
‘Negative.’
‘Er, why not?’
‘Clarification: there is a high risk you picked up an infection on CN-361.’
Great, just what he needed! ‘So that’s what it’s called? Catchy name, that: CN-361 – beats “Dingy Shithole”, I suppose.’ He knew he was prattling; the woman was watching him like he was a specimen, and he’d had enough of that recently. ‘Er, who did you say you were again?’
‘Answer: I am Six-Zhian-Silver. My companion is Nine-Etrinak-Mercury.’
‘Prime names you coves’ve got.’
‘Request: please clarify your last statement.’
‘Your names, they’re a bit longer than I’m used to.’
‘Suggestion: feel free to use the familial versions: Zhian and Trin.’
The pilot raised a hand in greeting, though he kept his eyes shut.
Taro relaxed a bit at the casual gesture. ‘I’m Taro sanMalia.’
‘Statement: we know this.’
‘Yeah, ’course you do. Sorry, I’m a bit fried.’ There must be shitloads of questions he should be asking right now, if only he could think of them. He settled for the most obvious one: ‘I’m guessing there’s more of you – not just two people in a shuttle, I mean.’
‘Query: was that a question?’
‘Er, yeah.’
‘Answer: a total of fifty-three free humans inhabit the vessel we are returning to.’
‘Oh, right – free humans: so that means you ain’t got a patron?’ He wondered if he’d been picked up by some sort of rebels.
‘Negative. Clarification: we have a patron.’
‘But he don’t mind you wandering around rescuing waifs and strays?’
‘Answer: our patron allows us to travel the system and act with considerable autonomy.’ She sounded proud of this.
‘Good for him,’ muttered Taro. He wondered about asking the patron’s name, but just keeping up a conversation with these people was a serious fucking effort right now. Besides, he doubted the name’d mean anything to him.
‘Statement for visitor: we are here,’ announced Trin.
‘Here?’ echoed Taro.
Zhian turned, so Taro did too. The doorway was back, only now it opened directly into an airlock. ‘That was quick,’ he said, to cover his confusion. Round here they obviously didn’t go in for ships that made any noise.
‘Is chill,’ said the pilot. He wasn’t much older than Taro.
Zhian said brusquely, ‘Request: kindly follow me,’ and Taro did as he was asked. He noticed that Trin stayed where he was. The airlock led into an ordinary-looking corridor. They passed one door, which didn’t open, and another, which did, to reveal a room-sized medbay. Zhian gestured for Taro to go in first, and after a moment’s hesitation he obeyed. It wasn’t like he had much choice.
She said, ‘Request: kindly remove your soiled garments and lie down on this couch.’
‘On a first date? What makes you think I’m that sorta boy?’ Taro joked, nervously.
‘Clarification: you may keep your undergarments on.’
A strip-s
earch would be inconvenient, but Taro didn’t mind losing the filthy tunic and leggings. He undressed and lay down. Zhian waved a handheld doodad over him, checked some readouts, and then said, ‘Warning: you will now experience slight pain.’
‘What the—? Hey!’ he cried as something stung his arm, but it faded almost at once and a pleasant, heavy feeling began to spread through his body. He should probably be trying to fight it, ’cos he didn’t know shit about this Zhian and her ship, and everyone around here had some sort of fucking agenda . . . but it felt good just being somewhere where no one was trying to kill, kidnap or shout at him. He realised his eyes were closing and twitched, trying to stay awake.
A hand touched his arm gently. ‘Clarification of current situation: your body requires medical attention, fluids and rest. These we will provide.’
He tried to think of a smart comeback, but sleeping was a lot easier than speaking.
Taro felt much better when he awakened – and he even knew where he was, sort of: on a ship, having just been rescued by humans. There was something about the rescue, the way Zhian had reacted . . .
No, it was gone.
He opened his eyes: he was in the same medbay, but this time he was by himself. He flexed his arms experimentally—
—and stopped. The med-tat on the inside of his wrist was livid purple.
‘Er, Zhian?’ he called. ‘You there?’
He sat up without too much difficulty. He didn’t feel ill, just a bit lightheaded, and, now he thought about it, distinctly hollow-bellied. He was swinging his legs off the couch when the door opened and Zhian came in. She was wearing a shapeless shipboard one-piece in a forgettable shade of beige.
Taro held up his wrist and pointed to the tattoo with his other hand, ‘You might wanna put your sexy suit back on, and I don’t just mean ’cos it looks better.’
Zhian frowned. She had a chunky face, not really pretty, but trustworthy-looking. ‘Query: does that mark indicate pathogens in your system?’
‘Pather—? Yeah, says if I’m ill.’
‘Clarification: you are not ill any more,’ she said carefully.
‘Then why’s my tat showing?’
‘Supposition: your medical implant is still reacting to the infection you picked up on CN-361. However, be assured that your bodily systems, with our help, will shortly be experiencing flawless functionality.’
‘Flawless functionality? Bring it on.’ At least she was answering his questions, sort of. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ From the way his stomach was grumbling it had to be a while.
‘Answer: it was necessary to induce sleep lasting somewhat longer than a normal rest period in order to facilitate your recovery. I have only awakened you now in order to give you news that you will wish to hear.’
‘I will?’ He wasn’t so sure.
‘Aye-okay. You are to be returned to your companions.’
‘My— I am?’
‘Clarification: we are en route to the Consensus, where you will be reunited with the rest of your crew.’
The relief was so intense it was almost physical: an unwinding sensation deep inside. His face broke into a smile. ‘That’s pure blade – just what I wanted to hear.’
Zhian’s answering smile looked genuine to Taro.
‘Er, listen,’ he continued, ‘I don’t suppose I could maybe com them?’ Quite aside from being desperate to hear Nual’s voice, there was something he needed to warn her about.
‘Clarification request: you wish to use our com system?’
‘Yeah – unless we’re nearly there.’
‘Negative. Apology: such activity is not feasible at this time.’
Whatever that meant – but then, it probably wouldn’t have been a secure link anyway, and what he needed to tell Nual wasn’t something he wanted anyone else – certainly not a male – to overhear. ‘I’ll leave it for now then. Don’t want to be any trouble. D’you know how long before we get to this Consensus place?’
‘Answer: this is a fast ship and we will reach the Consensus habitat in a matter of hours.’ She sounded pleased with herself.
‘Prime. Any chance of something to eat before then? And some clean clothes maybe?’
‘Aye-okay. Request: kindly wait here for the moment.’
As she vanished back down the corridor, Taro eased himself off the couch. The floor was chilly, and he jiggled from foot to foot while he was waiting. He hugged himself as though trying to keep warm, using the excuse to check the fold in his underpants where he’d hidden a certain tiny item. Yep, it was still there. His med-tat had already faded back into near-invisibility, which was a relief.
Zhian returned with his clothes, cleaned and folded. ‘Nice ship you’ve got here,’ he said as he dressed. ‘You the captain?’
‘Negative. Clarification: our command structure does not have that rank. However, I hold a position of authority. Request: kindly follow me to where sustenance will be provided.’
She led him out of the medbay and he looked around him with interest. The ship was halfway between Device’s cold perfection and Jarek’s random homeliness. A little way along the corridor they passed a couple of ‘free humans’, both wearing unflattering suits like Zhian’s. These people had no sense of style, Taro thought. Still, they nodded politely as he passed.
Zhian led him to the canteen, where several crew members were eating. They nodded too, and Taro nodded back. He reckoned these coves were a bit freaked, but trying hard not to show it.
The food came from wall dispensers but was surprisingly good: some sort of chewy vegetable, fresh crispy leaves, and a tasty pale meat Taro decided not to think too closely about. Once he’d crammed enough down his throat to remind himself what his stomach was for, he looked over at Zhian, who was nursing a sweet-smelling hot drink.
‘I ain’t thanked you yet,’ he said.
‘Request for clarification: thanked me for what?’
‘For rescuing me.’
‘Statement: you are welcome,’ said Zhian gravely.
‘So, d’you just happen to be passing when you noticed someone’d made a hole in the surface of CN— Uh . . . CN-361?’
‘Negative. Clarification: we responded to the downed ship’s distress message.’
‘Oh, so it did put out a mayday . . . I wasn’t sure.’
‘Clarification: if an avatar’s ship has to make an emergency landing in another patron’s domain it automatically broadcasts a brief distress call, then goes into open-minimal mode to await assistance.’
Which might explain the mysteriously opening doors . . . Taro really wanted to know what she knew about the Gatekeeper and his plans, but decided it might be wiser not to mention anything for now. Instead he said, ‘Good job you turned up when you did: the locals had just worked out that I didn’t want to buy their rock.’ When Zhian didn’t look confused at his statement he continued, ‘What’s the deal with that place, anyway?’
‘Answer: CN-361 is a semi-neutral domain, which is why your ship was permitted to land. However, it has a bankrupt populace.’
‘A what?’ There was no way that sounded good . . .
‘Answer: a bankrupt populace is one that has lost contact with both their patron and the outside world.’
Taro was interested to see Zhian’s hands tighten slightly on her mug as she spoke. He got the impression she was finding talking to him stressful, despite the friendly face. Nual would know the truth, of course . . . He felt a sudden pang, sharp as the physical hunger he’d just sated. He told himself he’d see her soon.
‘I thought patrons cared for their people.’ Taro tried not to make it sound like a criticism.
‘Response: most do.’ She sounded offended. Then she smiled a little, and asked, ‘Query: do you require clarification on this matter?’
‘Yeah, I’d like to know whatever you can tell me.’ Ideally without all the stupid ‘query’ ‘answer’ shit, though he knew better than to say that.
‘Clarification: on rare occasions a
domain’s populace may fail and fall. This is one such occasion. CN-361’s patron turned over his assigned planetoid to his populace. It contained rare elements which he wished mined by lo-tech methods. The humans in question were modified accordingly and provided with bio-engineered animals capable of aiding the mining process and filling critical gaps in the world’s limited ecosystem.’
Taro remembered the huge, slow breaths he’d overheard in the dark tunnels.
‘Their society was structured to exploit the resources of their planetoid. Eventually, these resources were exhausted. By this time the patron had also changed focus.’ Zhian’s mouth kinked. ‘As a result, the humans on CN-361 were left isolated and untended.’
Taro thought of the filthy, hopeless bastards scraping a living and breeding new and interesting diseases, living for the day when someone would come back to trade for their shiny rocks. Except no one ever would. Poor fuckers. ‘That ain’t the way we do things in human-space,’ he said.
‘Negative,’ said Zhian coldly. ‘Clarification: we are not in human-space. The patron would have been within his rights to kill the bankrupt populace and reseed his domain, but he chose instead to let them live.’
If you called that living . . . Taro took the hint and dropped the subject. He decided to ask a question that’d been bugging him – Zhian might refuse to answer, but even that would tell him something. ‘Talking of patrons,’ he said, ‘I was wondering if there’s an avatar on this ship. You said you don’t have a captain – is that ’cos there’s an avatar in charge?’ And possibly in charge of every ship, though the angry lightsail cove who’d commed them when they first arrived hadn’t sounded much like an avatar.
‘Negative,’ said Zhian. ‘Clarification: we are free humans.’
‘So you don’t let avatars on your ship?’
‘Answer: we sometimes transport avatars from our own or allied septs. However, our main function is as traders between open domains with differing resources.’
‘Does your patron know you’ve got me on board?’
‘Affirmative.’ Her tone told him how stupid she thought that question was.
Taro hoped her patron wasn’t one of the Gatekeeper’s mates. ‘And you just happened to be passing when you picked up the distress call, that right?’