The Beauty of Destruction

by Gavin G. Smith

Instead he focused on what was in front of him. Ten black suns arranged in a circle. They were Red Space echoes. They were static, according to the ship’s sensors, and obviously arranged by some kind of intelligence. He wondered if this was played out in Real Space somewhere unknown, or hidden from them by the Church. The suns burned with their own fire. His eyes were drawn to the centre of them as he watched. Like Red Space itself, he had convinced himself that he could feel them as some kind of palpable presence.

  Sometimes clouds of gas obscured the suns, but for the most part the area encircled by the black suns was clear and open, untouched by the billowing clouds.

  ‘It’s a trap,’ the Monk said.

  ‘Just once I’d like to go somewhere and not hear that,’ Talia said.

  Scab marveled at the power involved in keeping the ten suns in place, at their seemingly qliphothic nature; they were the opposite of life-giving stars, they were anti-life. There was a beauty to it.

  ‘Not for us,’ the Monk said.

  ‘Makes a change,’ Talia muttered.

  The smart matter hull magnified the object in the centre of the suns. It was about the size of a capital ship, but did not conform to the design of any of the uplift ships he was aware of. It didn’t belong to any of the three factions, and from what little he could remember of the serpents – most of his memory from his Elite days had been classified, and virally removed – it didn’t resemble what he had seen of their S-tech either. It was tube-like in shape, one end rounded, the other blunt, and its hull was formed of interwoven strands of some kind of metal. It looked like rope of the kind he had seen in some of Vic’s colonial immersions.

  ‘I think it’s L-tech,’ the Monk said.

  ‘You think?’ Vic asked. ‘Weren’t you supposed to have been experts on this kind of thing?’

  ‘Yes, but we’ve never found a ship before. We didn’t think they had any. We thought they travelled in different ways,’ the Monk explained.

  ‘Like what?’ Talia asked, frowning.

  The Monk shrugged. ‘We didn’t know, perhaps point-to-point wormholes.’

  ‘So if it’s not transport?’ Vic said. ‘A weapon?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe defence like this guy,’ the Monk said, and pointed at Ludwig with her thumb. Vic almost flinched.

  Scab didn’t see what the fuss was about. He had killed Vic more often than Ludwig had.

  ‘Or exploration, like a probe,’ the Monk suggested.

  ‘Big probe,’ Vic mused.

  ‘Or a lifeboat,’ Talia suggested. ‘Why isn’t it being torn apart by the forces involved?’ Even Scab turned to stare at the girl. ‘Yes, I am from before the Loss, but no, I am not a complete moron, and yes, I can understand telemetry.’

  ‘The material it’s made from is really dense,’ the Monk said. ‘It has its own gravity well.’ Her sister nodded.

  ‘It wanted us to find it,’ Scab found himself saying. ‘Or something did. This was too easy.’

  ‘What or who?’ Talia asked. She looked less than pleased when Scab glanced towards the part of the ship where the bridge drive was encased by smart and dumb matter. The Monk, however, kept looking at Ludwig.

  ‘We have to go there,’ Scab said. ‘Talia flies.’

  ‘Go to what? It’s a solid mass.’

  ‘Ertl spoke with something,’ Scab said.

  ‘Via the ship’s comms, and that’s assuming it wasn’t a hallucination.’

  ‘You’re the one looking for this Ubh Blaosc,’ Scab said, starting to get exasperated.

  ‘Agreed, but let’s try communicating with it first, because at the moment there’s nothing there, and assuming that we could survive the trip, and going over the Basilisk’s specs I’m not sure of that, it’s a one-way trip. We don’t have anything like the energy to break free of the Black Suns once we get there.’

  ‘We need to go there.’ Scab realised he was suddenly very sure of this. He just wasn’t sure why.

  ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve discussed this in a reasonable manner,’ the Monk said.

  ‘Beth, this is Scab, Scab, this is Beth,’ Vic said. Scab felt a vein on his neck flutter as he tried to control his anger.

  ‘Presumably now we need some threats, call some bluffs, and all the other tiresome bullshit that passes for decision-making on this ship?’ the Monk asked. ‘You want what we want. Just let us explore some other avenues first before we reach for weapons, yes?’

  The smart matter on the walls suddenly extruded raised symbols, the same ones repeated over and over. Scab’s neunonics told him that this was writing, an archaic and very slow form of communication. It was a pre-Loss human dialect. His neunonics translated the ‘words’ for him: ‘Please take me there. It is safe.’ All four of them turned to look at Ludwig.

  ‘See,’ Scab said, though he was less than pleased about the liberties the machine Elite had taken with the Basilisk II.

  ‘It’s hardly fucking validation, is it?’ the Monk shouted at him.

  They all knew that Elite-tech provided a near instinctual understanding of its environment. The ghost of Scab’s memory of this feeling was maddening. Talia was doing the flying. All of them, including Ludwig, who had submitted to it silently, were encased in smart matter. The Basilisk II had reconfigured itself into a compact arrowhead and got rid of all its cavities. With the exception of their extensively cushioned bodies, the yacht was now one solid mass. Even so, receiving the stress telemetry from the ship was beginning to make him wonder if he had made a mistake. He was so heavily ’faced with the yacht that he actually felt the forces working on the craft, distending its hull. He assumed that the feedback that Talia was receiving would be quite painful.

  In the normal human visual spectrum it looked like they were plummeting towards the Lloigor craft as if they had fallen from a great height. It was only when his neunonics superimposed the interplay of the waves of force against the hull that he came close to understanding what was happening. The ship felt like it was being squeezed. It was taking the path of least resistance against the gravity. Talia was only hardening the hull and using the engines when they were necessary to stop the ship being torn apart.

  Then the woven metal of the truly alien ship was suddenly much bigger in his vision. He felt a thrill of the unknown, not unlike the way he had felt when he seen the Seeder Ship that Talia had been linked to, and killed it. The metal of the ship started to uncoil. It grew, changing shape, blossoming like a vast metal flower. According to their sensors and Basil’s AI-modelled predictions, the ship was becoming less dense as it grew open spaces inside it. Outside of the sheer power of an Elite, Scab was struggling to think of a more awesome display of technology. Basil was feeding information on the stresses the hull of the other ship would be subject to from the ten black suns. The ship was easily the size of some planets now. It was a vast, metallic craft that had clearly been designed as much for aesthetics as anything else. It looked like something from an older, grander time. A craft fit for the titanic servants of heretical gods, or godlike aliens anyway.

  And suddenly it filled their view completely and the gravity had gone. They were moving at great speed towards its hull. Even Scab’s sphincter clenched for a moment. He was aware of the panicked ’face exchange of communications. The Basilisk II was burning hard to try and bleed off its speed before it hit the edge of the ship. It took Scab a moment to work out what had just happened. Then it took him a moment or two to come to terms with the information. It seemed that the Lloigor ship in its current configuration had just grown big enough that it would have been torn apart by gravitic forces, so it had protected itself with a coherent energy field. The amount of energy that would have been involved was incredible. He wondered where it got its power.

  Part of the hull opened in front of them like an eye blinking, and then they were inside. Everything was smooth and curved. Inside was a vast open and lonely space that felt like it should be filled with smaller craft. It was like the blank-faced ghost of a thousand cities. Every i
nternal structure looked as if a vast crew had just left, and the ship itself had slowly erased the material signs of their presence, but left hints.

  The Basilisk II was reconfiguring itself. Rooms and the lounge/command and control were reassembled. All of them were extruded out of the smart matter. A badly bruised Talia disconnected herself from the ship, and her sister took over, flying the yacht neunonically. Ludwig was still where he had been since he came aboard. All were silent, all were staring through the transparent hull. Talia wasn’t even complaining.

  Scab might not have completely understood the emotion, but he felt the atmosphere. There was an overwhelming feeling of sadness about the place.

  ‘Find a place to land,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Vic demanded. Scab was tiring of the ’sect only ever being able to see things in terms of his own fear. He turned to look at his erstwhile partner.

  ‘Because we’re in an alien spaceship,’ he suggested. He could tell that the ’sect didn’t think that was a good enough reason. The Monk seemed to, however.

  ‘Well, we’re going to have some time to get used to it,’ the Monk muttered.

  Scab had the Basilisk II check for any kind of communications coming to or from their ship. If anything was happening then the ship’s excellent sensor suite couldn’t detect it. Suddenly Scab couldn’t shake the feeling that Ludwig was watching him. It took him a moment or two to recognise the sensation as discomfort.

  He felt the Basilisk II touch down on a relatively flat piece of the Lloigor ship’s interior, between two massive curving bits of the metallic substance that made up the ship’s superstructure. The curving metal structures managed to simultaneously look a bit like pipes, and a bit like hills. They were nestled among windowless towers. The atmosphere outside seemed to be breathable, and gravity was pointing the right way. Scab made his way towards the cargo bay and the fore airlock.

  ‘Wait,’ the Monk said. Scab turned to look at her.

  ‘For what?’ he asked. ‘All the First Contact bureaucracy in the world isn’t going to make any difference. We are stranded here.’ He continued towards the cargo bay. He could hear the Monk complaining as Talia followed him. Then he was aware of the presence of Ludwig just behind them as well.

  Vic was the last to leave the ship. He had his weapons drawn.

  ‘Just for once, maybe?’ Talia asked, pointing at the guns. Scab could see the ’sect was conflicted; he wanted to please Talia, but he wanted to live in fear as well.

  ‘That’s the sort of nice idea that gets you into trouble,’ Vic muttered, but holstered his pistols.

  ‘I don’t think it would make much difference,’ the Monk said, looking around. The whole ship was illuminated by a not unpleasant blueish-white twilight, though it further added to the somewhat melancholy nature of the place. It stretched out as far as Scab’s augmented eyes could see in all directions. It was like some vast subterranean world. The only thing that bothered him was that it reminded him a little of the Cathedral.

  ‘Well, if we can find a source of food and water, or even just matter, living here won’t be so bad,’ Vic said. ‘At least we’ll get some peace and quiet.’ Both the human women were staring at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Why would you tempt fate like that?’ Talia demanded.

  Scab was wondering why there had to be talking. It was odd but he didn’t want a cigarette.

  ‘So it’s very nice and all, but now what?’ Despite Talia’s words Scab could hear awe in her voice as she looked around.

  There was nothing one moment, and then suddenly it was in the air above them. It was a floating, three-faced head; then a scruffy, long-haired human in a trench coat with awful teeth; a multi-armed, part-insect part-human-female black-skinned death goddess; a wedge-headed Seeder servitor on a cross; a hooded old man with a beard and only one eye; a young man with a crown of thorns crucified on a tesseract; an androgynous-looking human with ginger hair and different coloured eyes; a horrific caricature of Scab. The flickering images were vast and ever changing.

  Talia had backed away so quickly she had fallen over. Vic had weapons in his hands again. Scab was just watching.

  ‘It’s a display of power,’ the Monk said, but Scab didn’t think so. It was trying to communicate, trying to find a frame of reference. It may have wanted to negotiate from a position of strength, but who didn’t?

  ‘Who are you?’ Scab asked quietly.

  The words hurt and seemed to make everything shake, much like communication with Ludwig. The answer was a mash of many different words. He managed to make some of them out, but most of them were nonsense to him: Durga, the Leveller, hive Kali, Seeders, Odin, Bowie, God and other names.

  ‘I think I’ll call you Oz!’ Talia shouted into the thunder of words. The words stopped.

  – Please focus.

  The words hurt again. He, Talia and the Monk were staggered, capillaries in eyes burst, ears bled. This time it was Ludwig who had spoken. Talia closed her eyes and looked like she was concentrating. The images had gone, and an old man with a great beard and a ragged grey robe was standing in front of them. His palms were bleeding from holes in them. His eyes were different colours.

  ‘You are unfocused, chaotic, difficult to understand and always have been,’ the old man said.

  ‘So what’s your name?’ Vic asked.

  ‘Oz,’ the figure and Talia said at the same time, the human girl sounding a little exasperated.

  ‘What are you?’ Talia asked. ‘Are you the ship?’

  ‘I am as you are, a three-dimensional machine designed to serve the creators. Mine are hypothetical five-dimensional beings that probably ascended a long time before the death of their universe, and the birth of yours. My essence, my beginning, is only seven thousand, four hundred, and thirty two iterations from the microscopic vessel that breached the walls with the last of the old universe’s energy.’

  Scab was pretty sure that the words meant he was from somewhere else, but beyond that he didn’t really care.

  ‘We’re not machines,’ Talia said. ‘We’re biological, natural.’

  ‘There’s nothing natural about biological life,’ Oz said. He seemed to be studying them with a kind of detached curiosity. ‘You had a creator. You were programmed to evolve, just like machines. Biological life is not indigenous to this universe. It spread. Like a fungal infection.’

  ‘But the Seeders must have evolved,’ the Monk said. ‘Or did they come from somewhere else?’ Oz turned to look at her, a blank expression on his face. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘I had nothing to add,’ Oz said, nodding towards Ludwig. ‘I am trying to fix your raven’s mind, but he has been badly hurt, and changed, and much is missing.’ They all turned to look at the machine Elite.

  ‘He’s not really ours,’ Talia said.

  ‘Yes,’ Oz said.

  Scab was reasonably sure that Oz wasn’t purposely trying to be difficult. It was just a communications problem. It didn’t stop it from being annoying.

  ‘No, he’s really not,’ Talia persevered.

  ‘The ravens are like myself. They are grown in times of need to protect the adopted great-grandchildren. You remind us of our masters a long time before they ascended. Well, at least until you lost your way.’

  ‘Protect us from what?’

  ‘Níðhöggr, your insane progenitors.’

  ‘There is a Destruction, something that consumes everything it touches,’ the Monk said. ‘Do you know of it?’

  Oz concentrated. ‘The Screaming?’

  ‘Would you protect us from that?’ the Monk asked. Scab let out a dry chuckle.

  ‘Nothing can protect you from that.’

  ‘Do you know what it is?’ the Monk asked.

  ‘I know it belongs in your universe.’

  ‘So you’ll help us?’ Talia asked.

  ‘I am trapped.’

  ‘You can’t get free of this place?’ Talia asked.

  ‘I will wait until one or more of
the black suns die,’ Oz said. ‘I have changed the strange programming in the raven. Those that changed him no longer control it. It will protect you, though it wants to go home. As do we all. Once I carried many tens of thousands of ravens.’ It was the first time Oz had shown anything approaching human emotion, just a slight wistfulness in his voice.

  ‘What happened?’ the Monk asked.

  He shook its head. ‘I was damaged and I did not know this red place.’

  ‘Is that how the black suns trapped you?’ Talia asked.

  ‘They hold me here, or perhaps they dance around me like demons to the sound of some mad piper?’

  Scab narrowed his eyes. He was aware of the Monk tensing. That hadn’t sounded right. It had been a departure from its previous very literal speech patterns. Oz turned around and there was another younger, slyer face growing out of the back of his head. Vic took a step back. There was something serpentine about its features.

  ‘We should get back on the ship.’ Scab heard the words over a ’face link that he hadn’t given permission for and he didn’t recognise the voice. He assumed it was the new Ludwig. The Elite, or raven, or whatever he was, had just gone through his ’face security like it hadn’t existed. It was just one more reminder for Scab that he needed power, and then he needed to make examples.

  ‘How will that help?’ Vic asked over the ’face link. ‘He is the ship and we are all trapped.’

  ‘He will make a path for us while he can still fight the Yig virus,’ Ludwig said.

  The metallic material of the ship had started to take on a faint, but noticeable, scaled appearance.

  Talia was backing towards the ship. The Monk was doing the same, though she moved between this new serpentine Oz and her sister in a way that suggested to Scab she had no idea of the gravity of the situation. That made him smile. There was, however, something that Oz had said earlier in the conversation that had been nagging him.

  ‘What life is natural?’ Scab asked. Oz turned to look at him. His eyes were reptilian slits now, but they were still different colours.

  ‘You think us monsters.’