He flicked the optical filters into the human visual spectrum and realised that darkness had fallen. A pain was developing above his eyes and in his temples. It told him that he had spent too long in the sensory enhanced environment. He was tired and frustrated. He had readied himself for contact with the enemy but none had come. It might mean they had out-manoeuvred him, avoiding his attempts to find them, waiting for a time of their choosing to attack or observe or attempt a capture. There was, he supposed, just the tiniest chance that they were not there at all.
Speculation was not helping. He allowed pain killers into his blood and got ready to rest. He would spend the night here in the shallow hollow. It was somewhat protected, and it would be harder to surprise him here than in most places he had seen. The vehicle would keep watch, using its sensors and those in his suit to stay aware while he slept. It did not need rest, yet. He dismounted for the first time that day, and stretched. His ankle ached again and he realised he had been tense; his muscles were knotted and protesting. He needed exercise. He performed some more stretches and ran through a simple exercise routine that helped a little.
Curling into a foetal position he rested. He would sleep in the suit, cocooned in its protection. The ground here was marshy and soft, covered in layers of some kind of growth with soft leaves and little liquid filled sacks, some of which popped as he lowered himself. The vehicle drifted over him and settled just above, hovering like a protecting spirit. The night was utterly dark. No stars or moonlight penetrated the clouds. Sipping at a nutrient soup he wondered what his allies were doing now. He had traversed thirty degrees of latitude, leaving about one hundred and fifty until he found them. He knew where they would be but not how many or in what kind of craft. He had made good progress towards them today. There was reason to be pleased, and he would be, if only he knew something of his enemies. Did they rest now like him, he wondered? Perhaps they stalked him and plotted to evade his vehicle’s vigilance. With this unsettling thought drifting about him, he settled and let sleep engulf him.
Chapter 7.
The vehicle was signalling, and he woke instantly. Dreams of pursuit and capture and nightmarish phantoms fled back into his subconscious. The signal was low and unhurried. It was a simple alarm call telling him that morning had come. There had been no attack. In fact there had been no significant activity of any kind during the night, the vehicle informed him. At one point a small creature had come probing, and his suit had watched it. It was one of this world’s larger specimens — the size of a man’s hand. It could not possibly harm him in his suit, so the vehicle let it investigate and then move on. Discharging a weapon could give away their position and besides there was no need to inflict harm. This was, after all, the little creature’s world. He rolled out from underneath the vehicle, stood, stretched and let the suit cycle through a morning routine that left him feeling clean and refreshed. He approved a venting of waste material. A puff of superheated urine, sweat and faeces shot from the side of the suit and disbursed rapidly on the wind. It was evidence he had been here, but no more than the crushed vegetation, and of course his current presence on the spot.
The morning was cool, a few degrees above the freezing point of water the sensors told him. Heavy fog reduced visibility in the natural spectrum. The vehicle had taken the opportunity offered by dense moisture laden air to replenish its liquid tanks and refine the water so he could drink later. He took a few sips of the nutrient liquid stored in his suit, already wishing for something to chew. The liquid filled him and provided all the goodness he needed, but it did not satisfy him. He hoped that there would be solid food at the rendezvous. He’d be ready to chew on the little creature by the time he got there, and only the alien chemistry of its kind might prevent him from actually trying it. After exercising body and mind, and running a diagnostic check of all the systems, he climbed aboard the vehicle, hunkered down and let it loose again.
And so it went for days. Heady, ground-hugging speed and intense manoeuvring filled his hours. Checking for pursuit, taking precautions and changing course occupied his mind. Slowly the sense of adventure and exhilaration was replaced with boredom and a growing tension born of unexpected peace. He had expected confrontation here, and anticipated a victory. Neither had come. The combat ready equipment that joined itself too him began to feel like an elaborate fashion accessory; decorative, expensive and useless.
He had been navigating faultlessly using the map in his mind and increasingly letting the vehicle find its own course on the headings he set. That and the constant nocturnal vigilance were tiring the vehicle. It would need to rest and recuperate before they reached their destination. He had anticipated as much but still the prospect made him uneasy. Rest meant that the vehicle’s systems would need to reduce their capacity dramatically, and he would have to slow considerably for a day or alternatively spend a half day stationary and vigilant. Whichever course he chose, his defences would be degraded. He would be able to fight but not manoeuvre. It was not a prospect he relished. Tonight he must decide on tomorrow’s course of action. He could not avoid a looming period of vulnerability.
Vehicles like his had enormous power and stamina. In some ways they were akin to the par-born; shaping the physical world to their desires, seemingly independent of the natural laws that constrained other things. They were also as rare as par-born. Creating a vehicle that could twist and confuse the normal laws of the universe required a sun’s blessing, and persuading a sun to bless a vehicle required time and resources on a stellar scale. The effort that went into growing this small powerhouse was only a little less than that exerted to grow a ship’s mind. The size of the vehicles gave no clue as to their power or value. Vehicles like this were forged in the spaces between worlds and suns; created in the hostile, searing vacuum as close to a sun as it was possible for humans to survive. That environmental necessity was of itself a disincentive to build.
Some did take the financial and personal risk. Outpost nurseries drifted in space, hidden behind layers of radiation proof material. Here the vehicles grew slowly, each new element basking in the sun’s emissions in a way that its human commissioners could never attempt. Each vehicle was displayed to the sun. And as it formed the sun was persuaded to alter it or enter it. Suns cooperated, and in their own time imbued such vehicles with their unique power, inducted them into their consciousness.
Un-born vehicles waited in vacuum until eventually a sun would reach out select one and draw it into itself, and the tiny object would be accelerated inside the sun. Astonishingly it would not be obliterated by the nuclear inferno that was a sun’s body. The sun would protect it, keep it whole, shield it from itself, and eventually the craft would disappear; an untraceable speck of matter dwarfed by a benign yet deadly super-force. Some said that the sun gave a little of itself to the vehicle, imparted part of its life to the tiny thing it was nurturing and changing. That was speculation, more imagination than science, more faith than fact. There were those who wanted to believe this so that the craft might be thought of as spiritual. It met their needs to think this way. Suns freely told of what happened of course, but no one understood the concepts described. That merely fed the myths and legends, and gave comfort to those who wished to see holiness in the output of suns’ labour.
Whatever happened, it was true that decades could pass before a craft re-emerged. During that time the commissioners would be coaxing and nurturing the sun, persuading it to return its little prize to those who could make best use of it. Some called this cooking. More reverent types called it blessing. In time these vehicles bathed in solar adoration and the tender focus of a sun would reach into the dimensions that suns called home. They grew nerves that felt these places and metaphorical limbs that moved in them. When eventually a sun returned its tiny gem it was forever changed. It had one life in the universe of planetary sentients and another in the universe of suns. It straddled two universes that existed in the same space.
On the way back the vehicle’s
mind would flicker open. It would be collected and moved to a world for the first time. There it was trained and exercised. No two vehicles performed exactly the same, but all had the uncanny ability to move and sense in ways that people, and indeed other sentients, could not. They could do things that no sentient manufactured machine could. And they endured. None had ever malfunctioned. None had stopped operating. Only those destroyed in wars had ceased to function as intended. Suns noticed when a blessed vehicle was destroyed. They sent messages of regret reverberating across the universe. The sadness was felt by billions of massive beings.
There were perhaps two or three thousand such craft in existence. All but a tiny number were in the hands of inter-planetary powers. They were coupled with operators and used as diplomatic couriers by the highest authorities. In war they were often the first to penetrate defences and attack or deliver a message of armistice or surrender. It was not unusual for them to jump with a sentient operator from world to world, time and time again, as he and his vehicle had. It was also routine for them to attract attention. He had disguised his vehicle on the journey here, giving it the appearance of a different craft, still fast, still nimble, but most definitely not able to bend the physical by deploying its will. Only on this world had it shed its camouflage and revealed itself, just as he had. It had been able to spread dimensional tendrils freely and exert the power a sun had blessed it with.
Now the vehicle needed rest. If he did not offer it, it must take it at its own convenience, and that could be deadly. The vehicle was not truly sentient but it did have a basic sense of itself. It knew it had needs and that they must be met. It would not place itself in danger through neglect. Just as he rested each night his craft companion now reached the end of a waking cycle. He would rest tonight while it remained vigilant, and tomorrow he would repay its days of constant alertness with a period when it could recharge itself; a period when the burden of vigilance would fall on him.
He chose a spot for the night. The mesas were dense here and offered several approaches. It was possible for enemies to move close to him under cover. It was not an ideal place but it would have to do. He was in need of rest and there was no sign that the terrain would change soon. Previous nights had offered just as little cover. As they drifted to a stop, he thought he sensed the vehicle’s weariness. Was there the faintest hint of sluggishness in response, the suggestion of less than instant data from its sensors? Perhaps, or perhaps he was simply projecting his own tiredness and growing disenchantment with the hunt that was not. He had imagined a confrontation long before the need to replenish the vehicle. That had not happened, and now he had a new consideration — how best to protect himself while it was temporarily out of action?
He thought while he exercised. Continuing at part-speed was a bad option. He would gain nothing and simply become a slower, easier target. It was prudent to assume his pursuers had craft like his, but unwise to assume their endurance was identical. It was likely that the enemy was working to a different schedule of rest and recuperation, and therefore likely they would be fully operational while he was partially handicapped. His best option was to hide. But that option had problems too. If he hunkered down and waited out the hours, he could be found. And when spotted he would be vulnerable to a rush attack. A few adversaries converging on him from different directions simultaneously could overwhelm even the potent firepower of his suit. He needed to find an advantage. He needed to see before he was seen.
The answer came to him as he looked up into the pitch night sky. The answer was above. He queried the vehicle, and yes it confirmed it could move up. It could rise, deposit them safely on top of a mesa and return them to ground level again. Relief flooded in. He had thought of a place where unobtrusive surveillance could take place. It was not easy though. Rising away from the surface created potential energy, and the craft would have to negotiate fiercely with the physics of this world. Each movement away from the surface created dimensional tensions that it would have to work hard to resolve. There was a chance that the delicate balance it struck would melt away and the physics of the world would prevail. If that happened as they ascended, they would simply drop. And there was another risk. The ascent would be slow. They would be visible and exposed as they drifted upwards. He weighed unpleasant options and decided; tomorrow they would create a bastion against attack on top of a mesa.
He slept soundly, despite the worries that circulated within, and woke before sunrise. The vehicle was alert and functioning with no sign of fatigue. Even so he queried its status and in turn was assured it was ready to attempt the ascent. The vehicle had been searching the mesas overnight, seeking a redoubt. Early in the evening it had identified a good candidate for defence just a few minutes away. The target was the tallest mesa in the area and it commanded a dominating view. It also benefitted from a flat top. When they reached the summit and positioned themselves in the centre of the miniature plateau, eyes on the ground could not find them. Eyes and sensors on the roof of the mesa could in contrast sweep the surrounding area. He reviewed the craft’s research, and agreed the choice was good. They would have their castle.
Before making the ascent they would reconnoitre. That was another drain on the vehicle, but it was an essential precaution. They sped at the target mesa, then banked and arced around it and its neighbours, extending out in a jagged unfolding spiral. He took direct control, relieving the vehicle of at least one of its tasks and extending its endurance a little. By the time he was satisfied it was getting light, and they had found nothing to concern them. A strong wind drove dark clouds, pushing angled rain at them and presenting a shifting pattern of grey and purple sky. Not the most welcoming of weather to see them into their temporary home, but it didn’t matter. He guided the vehicle back to the chosen mesa and let it position itself in the best place to start. Now the vehicle would test its potency, and they would both live or die by its skill. He was nervous, and let himself feel it; a moment of emotional reflection felt appropriate.
His feelings flowed and he found concern and nervousness suddenly morphing into, urgent anger. It appeared like a distant tidal wave in his consciousness, and he let it grow and flow at him; he needed to feel it. This was a feeling he had ignored since the attack by the par-born. It had been rationalised and diverted, but he knew that at some point the anger would need to find its voice. His training told him the time was now. A rage born of injustice, fear and frustration filled him. Why was he here in this miserable place, afraid and alone and fighting an enemy that seemed magical and elusive? His jaw clenched and he let the rage take physical form. Fists balled and punched at the flanks of the vehicle. It did not care. His emotions were of little concern to it and he could not harm it. A broken scream of incandescent anger filled his lungs, and found a voice. He belched out a growling, screaming primordial noise, let it build, and sustained it until he felt his lungs begging for air. He filled them and raged again. Tears streamed from his eyes, and the muscles in his face protested the gargoyle grimace it adopted. Again and again he screamed, finally unlocking a weapon and blasting superheated liquid chunks from the rock next to him. He wanted to kill, to kill those who had offended him and threatened him and driven him light years from all he loved and valued. He wanted them here and now to punish and terrorise. He wanted revenge, hot and burning, scolding and painful, poured on his enemies.
As he released his control over his feelings he felt their power abate. This was what generations of his people had practiced. It was a survival trait and it was deeply human. It was, he knew, the true man in him emerging. In acknowledging the power of his feelings they lost their control, and calmness began to return. His brain began to sense that which was around him as his emotions released that which was within. Body and mind were becoming ready for the trial ahead. He calmed and his breathing slowed. Head thrown back he sucked in deep breaths, lips pursed and eyes settled on the spot he had turned from rock to bubbling lava. That seemed like a mistake now; a subconscious desire to at
tract the attention of his enemies and to draw them to him. Perhaps it would, and the fight he craved would take place here and now. Let them come he thought, my vengeance is now made of cold, focused skill.
The vehicle was sending little pulses of concern. We should act now it was implying with repeated psychic prods. He agreed, and shuffled into a comfortable position, readying himself for movement. How long will it take he wondered? The vehicle could not say, but it was ready and it had already started the negotiation with the physics of the world. Then we are ready. ‘Go’ he thought, and immediately felt himself lifted. After the vehicle’s warnings about the difficulty of this task he had expected a gentle ascension, but this first movement was a forceful acceleration upwards. They skirted dark grey rock encrusted with tiny grey-green and ochre plants, hugging the shapes and contours as if connected by some invisible pole. He looked down then up and estimated they had climbed one-third of the way in just a few moments. The vehicle was doing a very good job.
His view if the world changed as the altitude increased. Where once the mesas towered above — jutting out of the ground like things grown from the soil — now they seemed to pierce the ground as if dropped from a great height. They looked embedded. Not for the first time he was struck by their regularity, and wondered if there had been a guiding intelligence behind their creation. He looked out at the rapidly shifting perspective and as he did so a sudden wave of nauseating dislocation struck him. Gravity instantly rotated through ninety degrees. The side of the mesa shifted from feeling right to feeling down. The feeling was so acute that he stretched out his right arm to protect himself from the fall his muddled senses told him was coming. His left hand clutched the grip, instinctively seeking purchase against the threatening new orientation. His inner ear was confused and at odds with what his eyes saw. This rapid juxtaposition made him squint and fight a flush of hot nauseating vomit that rose in his gorge.
The Man Who Talked to Suns Page 8