All the activity in the hangar had managed to sever half of the gossamer data threads that had been so carefully laid over many months. Thankfully, several had been laid over the roof, which gave them enough sensor clumps remaining to watch the enclave’s gateway approach.
It was a phantom sphere a hundred kilometres across, surrounded by a swarm of Resolution ships looping around it like electrons circling their nucleus. If it hadn’t been for them, he would never have known it existed. The silver light from the galactic core that shone so flamboyantly off their fuselages shimmered and twisted within the strange forces that defined the gateway’s boundary. It was a bubble of emptiness with a monochrome aurora that he couldn’t even be certain was there. But on the other side was the enclave: an area, or state, or realm – some otherplace – that the Neána said was a zone where time passed slowly. Je-zus, I hope to hell they weren’t lying about that.
Its existence generated a satisfaction within the Salvation’s onemind that grew in proportion to its approach.
‘Smug asshole,’ Alik said as he sat down on the stone ledge he’d claimed as his own.
The bridge enveloped him again. There were fewer data displays now, and the consoles were mostly blank shiny surfaces. Still got the goddamn blue trim, though.
He reviewed the sparse data quickly. The transmitter sphere’s telemetry was showing him it had used up more than eighty per cent of the active molecular blocks that comprised its thick fuselage, losing more than half of its original size.
The image coming from the transmitter’s sensors showed him the vast dodecahedrons washed in splendid silver corelight. The dishes were made up of hundred-kilometre hexagonal segments. He guessed they’d been mirror bright the day they were manufactured, same as human astroengineering structures. But centuries of exposure to space, and the star’s intense light, had abraded the surface down to a dull white, with a few polished streaks remaining on areas where shadows lingered. I wonder how long they’ve been here, listening for radio signals.
‘That’s got to be the worst bad luck in the universe,’ he said.
‘What is?’ Callum asked.
‘Being a species evolving on a star anywhere near here, the heart of the Olyix crusade. I mean, if you’re living on a planet out where Sol is, at least you’ve got a slight chance. The Neána warning you, time to build a few escape ships, come up with mad plans like ours. But here, it’s an instant response. One minute you’re lifting your head up above the parapet to glimpse the wonder of the universe, then – bam – the next thing you know you’re in a cocoon on board an arkship. You don’t stand a chance.’
‘Maybe this is where the Neána came from,’ Yuri said. ‘They were at the same stage as the Olyix technologically, just a couple of lightyears away, and saw what they were doing. They’re not warlike, so they ran, and swore to warn any species they could find.’
Jessika shrugged as they all looked at her. ‘Seriously, all of you. I. Do. Not. Know.’
‘Sorry,’ an abashed Callum muttered.
As the transmitter sphere drew closer to the radio telescope, Alik could make out flaws in the giant swathes of polished metal. The huge hexagonal segments were warped from thermal distortions so they no longer fitted together smoothly. Some had lifted; others had gently crinkled. Micrometeorites had punched small holes clean through, which had gone on to vacuum ablate, leaving the punctures with ragged edges, as if the surface was rotting like damp wood.
Alik waited while the onboard G8Turing steered the transmitter into position, thirteen hundred kilometres out from the centre and off to one side. Theoretically, from there, any electromagnetic emission would be reflected towards the section of space containing Sol, boosting the signal strength in that direction.
‘I don’t know about anyone else’s,’ he said, ‘but this radio telescope needs some serious maintenance.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Callum said. ‘Mine needs scrapping and replacing altogether. One dish has a hole the size of Loch Ness.’
‘This is good,’ Yuri said.
‘How?’ Alik asked.
‘It means there’s not much Olyix activity out here. All their ships are concentrated over in the ring and around the wormholes. It’ll take them time to fly anything out here when we trigger the transmitters.’
‘Mine’s almost in place,’ Kandara told them.
‘Jessika?’
‘Five minutes. The transmitter’s sensors haven’t found any ships out here.’
‘These telescopes are big bastards,’ Callum said. ‘We don’t know what’s in the middle of them. Something has to be watching the receivers.’
‘The lack of ships and the state of the dishes is promising,’ Yuri said. ‘We might get away with a full broadcast.’
‘Ninety minutes, if we’re lucky,’ Callum said. ‘But it’ll take a miracle for anyone to catch it.’
‘They’ll be watching,’ Kandara said. ‘They will.’
Ten minutes later, everyone was in position.
‘Salvation is going to go apeshit,’ Alik said happily.
‘I hope so,’ Yuri said. ‘Stand by.’
Alik checked the transmitter’s position for the last time as the timer counted down. On zero, he triggered the Signal.
The centre of each transmitter was a dense sphere of active molecules that formed a dynamic lattice to sequester individual anti-protons. The lattice was designed to deactivate in a long sequence, allowing a full-blown matter/antimatter annihilation, with the liberated energy burst powering a phenomenally powerful electromagnetic pulse. In theory, the deluge would last for ninety minutes.
Alik’s entanglement link to the transmitter immediately ended as its delicate onboard electronics died instantly from the energy bombardment. ‘Well, something happened,’ he said. ‘Mine’s out.’
The others all acknowledged they’d lost direct contact with their transmitters.
‘We’re seven AUs from the nearest Signal,’ Jessika said. ‘It’ll take an hour for us to see what’s happened.’
‘If it worked, the Salvation of Life is going to know about it a bloody sight quicker than that,’ Callum said. ‘Every ship and station in this star system has entangled communications. They’ll all know at once.’
Alik closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the thoughts that whispered away at the back of his head. Sure enough, within a minute, one thing rose out of the onemind’s babble to eclipse everything else – surprise and concern. It originated from the oneminds that governed the radio telescopes as they shared their perception.
He concentrated on the thoughts issuing out of the radio telescope his transmitter had reached. A tiny potent star hung above it, burning away at the upper end of the violet spectrum. Below it, the dish helped reflect and concentrate the Signal into a beam that was heading in the general direction of Sol.
‘Goddamn, it worked,’ Alik said in a tone that betrayed his surprise. We got something right.
‘Happy for you,’ Kandara growled.
As Alik examined the onemind’s thoughts, he saw four of the Signal transmitters were now intense violet sparks, while the fifth . . . Something had gone wrong with the annihilation procedure. All the anti-protons had escaped their lattice confinement at once, producing a massive explosion, most of which was in the form of gamma and X-ray emissions – an outpouring of energy that for a brief instant rivalled that of the Olyix star. Already the dodecahedron of dishes was starting to crumple from the rampant flare, the curving continent-sized surfaces melting and fracturing. He saw long cracks tearing open, splintering the dishes even as the surface facing the antimatter explosion started to boil away. Then the closest viewpoint of the disaster vanished from the onemind’s thoughts.
‘What happened?’ Callum asked.
‘My transmitter core got overenthusiastic,’ Kandara grumbled.
‘Come on, stay positive,’ Jessika said. ‘Four of them are working. If the active molecules maintain cohesion, they’ll last for almost anoth
er ninety minutes.’
‘But without mine, we’ve lost twenty per cent of the broadcast power.’
‘There’s certainly enough left to piss off the Olyix,’ Callum said contentedly.
Alik had to smile at the furious thoughts churning within the arkship’s onemind. They’d been right about the radio telescopes not having any ships nearby. Eighteen Deliverance ships and eleven Resolution ships were being ordered to divert and intercept the signal generators. But the closest were more than an AU away. Even at maximum acceleration, it would take them a couple of hours to reach the radio telescopes, by which time the Signal transmitters would have exhausted their supply of anti-protons.
They carried on reading the onemind’s thoughts until the last Signal transmitter flickered out. In total, the Signal had been broadcast for ninety-one minutes and seventeen seconds.
‘It was a good strength,’ Jessika said. ‘Any exodus habitat with a decent sensor array should be able to receive it.’
‘A ninety-minute window in fifty thousand years’ time?’ Callum said bitterly. ‘Sure thing. Let’s crack the champagne open and party.’
‘Oh, lighten the fuck up,’ Alik told him. ‘You can sense how disturbed the Olyix are. Even if humans don’t pick up the Signal, other species will. Half the galaxy will know something is here. And anyone who’s fleeing an Olyix invasion the way the Neána tell them to will have a pretty good idea who and what that something is. It’s the beginning of the end, man.’
Callum ducked his head. ‘Maybe.’
Eight hours later, the Salvation of Life arrived at the gateway. The escort ships no longer spiralled exuberantly around it; there was no celebration. The onemind’s thoughts had descended into a dour formality.
The remaining sensor clumps on the arkship’s exterior showed them the barrier approaching – an insubstantial hemisphere refraction haloed by the galactic core, growing until it dominated space outside. Then they were passing through, their passage kicking up a delicate splash plume of silver scintillations.
Gox Quint
Salvation of Life Gateway Arrival
I fucking knew it! Those sneaky little human shits put together some kind of dark operation. We should never trust them. Never.
They must have used a Neána neurovirus against the transport ship somehow and subverted its onemind. Just like Soćko did thirty years ago. They flew it into the hangar while we were retreating from Earth. There was a lot of confusion that day. We never did understand why they didn’t attack all our positions simultaneously. They could’ve launched those deadly portal missiles at the Salvation of Life first. Not to destroy it – that would kill too many of their own, and they are laudably sentimental. But they could have taken out the wormhole generator. We would’ve been stranded, all alone. Well, now we know what they were actually doing. Everything about that assault was deliberately chaotic, thousands of our ships fleeing their attackers; even the onemind didn’t analyse the manoeuvres in any detail.
I paused from my endless task, supervising the containers with their myriad humans, and extended my reach further into the wonderful union with the onemind. It was urgently reviewing its hangar memory. That ship took off from Salt Lake City, and there was an intense human attack there. Memories were incomplete, inadequate, with too many gaps. We were stupid. No: It was. Forgiving.
Now we pay for our compassion, for treating the humans with love and respect. Meanwhile, their antimatter-powered radio devices broadcast our position to the whole galaxy. There is nothing we can do about that now. The closest ships are over two hours away.
I don’t understand the reason for the broadcast. The Sol system is fifty thousand lightyears away. They cannot be calling for help. This is a setback for us, not a defeat. Our gallant Resolution ships will return to the humans’ pitiful homeworld and settled planets within thirty years. All remaining humans will be liberated from their wasted lives so we may carry them to embrace the glory of the God at the End of Time. There will be no ‘rescue’ for those we already hold.
So . . . why? Why this? Why expend this effort, surely every resource they possess, just to bring those radio transmitters here? Humans will never receive their broadcast. Ah. They won’t . . .
I opened myself fully to the onemind. ‘It is the Neána,’ I declared. ‘They are behind this.’
‘Your reason for deciding this?’ the onemind asks benignly.
‘That broadcast is extremely unlikely to be detected by any human group that eludes our kindness. However, we know the Neána are spread wide across this galaxy in their treacherous nests. They listen as we do for transmissions from newly emerging species. They will know what that signal means, where it is originating.’
‘Not just the Neána,’ the onemind contemplates in an unguarded moment.
Deep memories from the arkship neuralstratum. We see the Katos – red blemishes traversing the elegant starscape, the destruction they inflicted upon us when they divined our true honourable mission. Worse, we felt the demise of valiant oneminds as our Welcome ships were shattered and burned by the Angelis war fleet. The sadness of loss that lingers in every Olyix mind to this day.
‘We should be able to find out the true intent behind this broadcast,’ I said. ‘The humans must still be on board. They can be questioned.’
‘The subverted transport ship was destroyed. No neurovirus distortion could forge that; verification was external. I have now purged the contamination from myself and confirmed total integrity. The remaining ships from that hangar are gone, flying into the star. Their trajectories are being monitored. There is no illusion any more. The humans perished with their ship.’
‘Suicide in humans that dedicated to their mission is unlikely. I know. I understand humans very well.’
‘Your knowledge of human psychology is acknowledged. You shared it with me, and now I utilize your own routines in my analysis. There is nowhere further they can hide within my structure. Quint and subsect server organisms have searched the hangar for any continuing signs of human activity. There is none. They are dead.’
The onemind is shitting on me from a truly great height. It doesn’t fucking listen. ‘They are not.’
‘Your reluctance to accept my authority is troubling.’
‘I am simply offering likely possibilities. If humans were on board that ship, they will have attempted to survive.’
‘And, alternatively, if the ship was governed by a G8Turing? If there was a metahuman Neána on board? No. The regrettable incident is now closed. Rejoice; we are about to enter the enclave.’
‘I rejoice. Will the gateway’s onemind watch for approaching hostile alien ships?’
‘Of course. It is already determined that the gateway star system’s watcher sensors will be refurbished. New short-range sensors will be built in to enhance our observation of near-space. Now recommence your duty. Our situation has returned to normal.’
But it hasn’t. That arrogant motherfucker will get us all killed. Those alien vermin are still on board, skulking about somewhere. And I am going to find them. I am going to prove the onemind wrong. I’ll enjoy rubbing its smug face in that. Who knows, the Olyix fullmind might even reward me with elevation to a onemind – not in a Resolution ship, but a full arkship like I deserve. Wouldn’t that be something?
Morgan
FinalStrike Mission, Year Twelve
Dellian and Yirella, along with the rest of the fleet crews, had spent twelve years in the toroid-shaped domain. Twelve years while the history faction remodelled the thirty fleet ships. They also increased the neutron star’s defences, adding concentric layers of sensors and portals out to three lightyears, ready for any ships coming from the Olyix sensor station, sixty-seven lightyears away. Within the domain, those events played out across a total of six days. Immanueel had reversed the speed that time flowed from the accelerated rate that had matured the biosphere into ancient delightful parkland to the same slowtime that was used by the Olyix enclave.
De
llian had to admit, that was a whole lot better than getting dunked in a suspension tank again. ‘So do you think they can timeshift the fleet when we’re inside the wormhole?’ he asked.
On the last day before they left for the enclave star, he and Yirella were walking through one of the domain’s forests. It was something they’d done every day of the hiatus, enjoying an epoch that was probably the closest they’d ever get to old Earth’s environment. Bizarrely, it seemed more natural than Juloss ever had. He’d decided that was down to age, which possessed a reassurance all of its own. Some trees in the forest were giants, hundreds of years old. So they’d explore the not-quite-overgrown paths and climb some of the stately trees and finish up with a swim in one of the big rock pools.
An altogether pleasant experience, until today. With the time flow normalized so they could access the outside universe directly again, Ainsley’s android had come to visit them.
‘The corpus guys know their shit,’ the white android said. ‘If everything goes to plan, we’re actually going to be at the enclave in a few weeks – our time. Can you believe that?’
‘No,’ Dellian said flatly.
‘Easily,’ Yirella said, and gave him the look.
‘Oh, come on, Dellian,’ Ainsley said. ‘Don’t tell me you aren’t interested to see the weapons upgrades they’ve been working on. Damn, if they’ve built you a combat suit like Yanki from Prefect Space III, I’ll stuff this android in one and join you storming the Salvation of Life myself. They were awesome.’
‘Okay. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Prefect Space III was a game matrix when I was . . . Well, when I just had an ordinary human body. It came out back in about 2100, I think. My memories didn’t magically improve when I finally expanded into the Factory ship; all I remembered then is all I’m ever going to remember. Mind you, I do have perfect access to all those memories now.’
The Saints of Salvation [British Ed.] Page 30