Valisk had reached the end of the nebula and was slowly sliding out. Its boundary was as clearly defined as an atmospheric cloud bank. A plane of slow-shifting grainy swirls stretching away in every direction as far as the sensitive cells could discern. Slivers of pale light trickled among the dull gibbous braids, an infestation of torpid static.
There was a gap of perfectly clear space extending for about a hundred kilometres from the end of the nebula.
What is that?a badly subdued personality asked.
Another flat plane surface ended the gap, running parallel to the nebula, and extending just as far. This one was hoary-grey and looked very solid.
Visual interpretation subroutines concentrated on the sight. The entire surface appeared to be moving, seething with tiny persistent undulations.
The mélange,dariat said. dread made his counterfeit body tremble as memory fragments from the creature in the lift shaft surfaced to torment him. This is where everything finishes in this realm. The end. Forever . . .
Get the Hainan Thunder launched,the personality ordered frantically. Patan, you and your people evacuate now. Send a message to the Confederation.
“What’s happening?” a puzzled Tolton asked. He looked along the corridor as semi-hysterical shouting broke out in the physicists’ chamber. A stack of glass tubing crashed to the ground.
“We’re in trouble,” Dariat said.
“As opposed to what we’re in now?” Tolton was trying to make light of it, but the ghost’s conspicuous fear was a strong inhibitor.
“So far our time here has been paradise. This is when the dark continuum becomes personal and eternal.”
The street poet shuddered. Help us,dariat pleaded. For pity’s sake. I am you. If there’s a single chance to survive, make it happen.
A fast surge of information came pouring through the affinity bond, running through his mind with painful intensity. He felt as if his own thoughts were being forced to examine every cubic centimetre of the giant habitat, stretching out to such a thinness they would surely tear. The flow stopped as fast as it began, and his attention was twinned with the personality’s. They looked at the spindle which connected the habitat to the counter-rotating spaceport. Like most of the composite and metal components of the habitat, it was decaying badly. But near the base, just above the huge magnetic bearing buried in the polyp, five emergency escape pods were nesting in their covered berths.
Go,the personality said.
“Follow me,” Dariat barked at Tolton. He began to jog along the passage towards the main cavern, moving as fast as his bulk would allow. Tolton never hesitated, he jumped to his feet and ran after the solid ghost.
The main cavern was in turmoil. The refugees knew something was wrong, but not what. Assuming another attack from the Orgathé, they were shuffling back as far as they could get from the two entrances. Electrophorescent strips on the ceiling were dimming rapidly.
Dariat headed for the alcove which served as an armoury. “Get a weapon,” he said. “We might need it.”
Tolton snatched up an incendiary torpedo launcher and a belt of ammunition for it. The pair of them headed for the nearest entrance. None of the nervous defenders questioned them as they raced past. Behind them, they could hear Dr Patan’s team shouting and cursing as they ran across the cavern.
“Where are we going?” Tolton asked.
“The spindle. There’s some emergency escape pods left that didn’t get launched last time I left in a hurry.”
“The spindle? That’s in freefall. I always throw up in freefall.”
“Listen—”
“Yes yes, I know. Freefall is a paradise compared with what’s about to happen.”
Dariat ran straight into a group of ghosts waiting at a large oval junction in the passage. They couldn’t see the mélange, none of them were affinity capable, but they could sense it. The aether was filling with the misery and torment of the diminished souls it had claimed.
“Out of my way!” Dariat bellowed. He clamped his hand over the face of the first ghost, pulling energy out of her. She screamed and stumbled away from him. Her outline rippled, sagging downwards with a soft squelching sound. The others backed off fast, staring in wounded accusation with pale forlorn faces.
Dariat turned off down one of the junction’s side passages. Light from the overhead strips was fading rapidly now. “You got a torch?” he asked.
“Sure.” Tolton patted the lightstick hanging from his belt.
“Save it till you really need it. I should be able to help.” He held up a hand and concentrated. The palm lit up with a cold blue radiance.
They came out into a wider section of the passage. There’d been some kind of firefight here; the polyp walls were charred, the electrophorescent strip shattered and blackened with soot. Tolton felt his world constricting, and took the safety off the launcher. Dariat stood in front of a closed muscle membrane, barely his own height, that was set into the wall. He focused his thoughts and the rubbery stone parted with great reluctance, the lips puckering with trembling motions. Air whistled out, turning into a strong gust as the membrane opened further.
There was no light at all inside.
“What is this?” Dariat asked.
“Secondary air duct. It should take us right up to the hub.”
Tolton shuddered reluctantly, and stepped inside.
Valisk had cleared the nebula, its great length taking several minutes to complete the transfer into clear space. The spaceport was the last section to leave it behind. Four lights gleamed brightly around the rim of the docking bay which held the Hainan Thunder , four in a ring of at least a hundred. Nonetheless, they were extraordinarily bright in this dour environment. Their tight beams fell on the hull, revealing patches of bright silver-grey metal shining through the scabby mush of thermal protection foam that was moulting away in a glutinous drizzle.
The windows looking out onto the bay flickered with light as the desperate crew hauled themselves past the maintenance team offices; oxygen masks clamped to their face, torches shining ahead of them. A couple of minutes later, the starship began to show some signs of activity. Thin gases flooded out of nozzles around the lower quarter of the hull. One of the thermo dump panels slid out of its recess and started to glow a faint pink at the centre. The airlock tube disengaged, withdrawing several metres before lurching to a halt. Clamps around the docking cradle flicked back, releasing the hull.
Chemical thrusters around the starship’s equator fired, sending out shimmering plumes of hot yellow gas. They tore straight through the bay’s structural panels, creating a vicious blowback of atmospheric gas from the life-support sections. The Hainan Thunder rose out of the bay atop a thick geyser of churning white vapour.
More powerful chemical rockets ignited, propelling the starship away from the spaceport. One of them exploded, its combustion chamber weakened by exposure to the dark continuum. The starship pitched to one side, then recovered. It began to climb steadily towards the nebula.
An Orgathé swooped out from the percolating gunge and descended on the starship. Its talons tore through the hull plates, shredding the equipment underneath. The rockets died amid a shower of sapphire sparks. Fluids and vapour streamed out from deep clefts.
A second Orgathé joined the first, the huge creatures tugging the starship violently between them. Big chunks of metal and composite were ripped free, twirling off into the void. The creatures were eagerly clawing their way through the tanks and machinery to reach the life support capsules and the kernels of life-energy cowering inside.
There was a final spew of gas as the capsules were punctured, then the Orgathé were still as they consumed their ephemeral meal.
The habitat personality had little time for remorse, or even anger. It was watching the surface of the mélange as it grew closer. The incessant motion was becoming clearer, an agitated ocean of thick fluid. Closer, and a billion different species of xenocs were drowning in that ocean, their appendages, tenta
cles, and limbs writhing against each other as they strove to keep afloat. Closer still, and the bodies were actually forming themselves from the fluid and clawing madly to lift themselves into the void above, a brief existence of useless strife and wasted energy before they collapsed and dissipated back into the mélange. If they were lucky, peaks would arise as souls merged together, combining their strength as they sacrificed identity. Those at the pinnacle stretched themselves further and further, quivering to break free. Only once did the personality see an Orgathé, or something similar, sweep upwards, newborn and victorious.
When we hit that, the amount of energy we contain is going to blow a hole clean through to the other side,the personality said shakily.
There is no other side,dariat said. Just as there is no hope.every part of his body ached from the climb up through the air duct. He had forced himself to keep going, at first hiking up the slope, then as the gravity fell off, pulling himself along a near-vertical shaft with his arms.
Then why do you keep going?
Instinct and stupidity, I suppose. If I can delay entry into the mélange by a day, then that’s a day less suffering.
A day out of eternity? Does that matter?
To me, now. Yes. It matters. I’m human enough to be terrified.
Then you’d better hurry.
The southern endcap was within twenty kilometres of the melange. Ahead of it, the surface was churning with activity. Huge peaks were jabbing up as melting bodies climbed on top of each other so they could be the first to touch the shell and feast on the life-energy within.
Dariat reached the end of the duct and commanded the muscle membrane to open. They air-swam out into one of the main corridors leading to the hub chamber.
Tolton had fastened his lightstick to the launcher, as he’d seen Erentz do. He swept the beam round the black corridor in an alert fashion. “Any bad guys around here?”
“No. In any case, they’re all waiting for the impact. Nothing’s moving in the habitat.”
“I’m not surprised. I can taste the horror; it’s physical, like I’ve overloaded on downer activants. Shit.” He smiled brokenly at Dariat. “I’m frightened, man. Really frightened. Is there any way a soul can die here, die completely? I don’t want to join the mélange. Not that.”
“I’m sorry. It can’t be done. You have to live.”
“Fuck! What kind of a universe is this anyway?”
Dariat led Tolton into the darkened hub chamber and held his hand high, letting the energy pulse recklessly. The resulting burst of light revealed the geometry: silent doors leading to the spindle commuter cabs, hoop avenues down to the tube train stations. He aimed himself at a door leading to the engineering section and kicked off.
The corridors on the other side were metal, lined with grab hoops. They slithered along them quickly, using the manual controls to get past airlock hatches. The air was freezing but breathable. Tolton’s teeth started chattering.
“Here we go,” Dariat said. The escape pod’s circular hatch was open. He somersaulted in, vaguely unnerved by the familiar layout. Twelve acceleration couches were laid out around him. He chose the one under the solitary instrument panel and started flicking switches. Same sequence as last time. The hatch hinged shut automatically. Lights came on with reluctance, and the environment pumps started to whine.
Tolton held his hands up in front of the grille, catching the warm air. “God, it was cold out there.”
“Strap in, we’re about to leave.”
The personality watched the tip of the southern endcap touch the surface of the melange. I am proud of all of you,it told rubra’s descendants.
Fluid cratered away from the impact, then rushed back to slam against the shell. Hundreds of thousands of berserk souls surfed it inwards and penetrated the polyp to immerse themselves in the magnificent tide of life-energy coursing within, absorbing it directly. The temperature difference between fluid and polyp was too great for the habitat’s weakened shell to withstand. The existing fissures flexed wildly as thermal stresses tightened their grip.
Dariat activated the pod’s jettison sequence. Explosive bolts cut away the berth’s outer shielding, and five of the solid rockets fired. They were flung clear of the spindle, racing out level with the surface of the melange.
Goodbye,the personality said. the accompanying sorrow brought tears to Dariat’s eyes.
Valisk burst apart as if a fusion bomb had detonated inside. Thousands of human souls came fluttering out of the billowing core of hot gas and crumbling polyp slabs, indestructible phantoms naked in the darkness. As with all life in the dark continuum, they sank into the mélange and began their suffering.
The solid rocket burn ended, leaving the escape pod in freefall. Dariat looked out of the small port, seeing very little. He twisted the joystick, firing the cold gas thrusters to roll the pod. Grey smears slashed past outside.
“I can see the mélange, I think,” he reported faithfully. In his mind he was aware of the wailing and torment gushing from the awesome conglomeration of pitiful souls. It chilled his own resolution. There could be only one fate here.
Amid the misery were several steely strands of more purposeful and malignant thought. One of them was growing stronger. Nearer, Dariat realized. “Something’s out there.” He tilted the joystick again, spinning the pod quickly. Pale blooms of light emerged deep inside the nebula, silhouetting a speck that whirled and shook as it arrowed towards them.
“Shit, it’s one of the Orgathé.” He and Tolton stared mutely at each other.
The street poet twitched feebly. “I can’t even say it’s been fun.”
“There are five solid rockets left. We can fire them and fly back into the nebula.”
“Won’t we just wind up here again?”
“Yes. Eventually. But it’ll be another day or two out of the mélange.”
“I’m not sure it makes that much difference to me now.”
“Then again, we could fire them when the Orgathé reaches us, fry the bastard.”
“It’s only doing what we’d do.”
“Last choice, we can fire the rockets to take us into the mélange.”
“Into! What use will that be?”
“None whatsoever. Even if we don’t break apart on impact we’ll melt away into the fluid over a few days.”
“Or fly straight through to the other side.”
“There isn’t one.”
“You never know unless you try. Besides, this way has the most style.”
“Style, huh.”
They both grinned.
Dariat rolled the pod again, getting a rough alignment on the mélange. He fired two of the solid rockets. Any more, and they really would crack open when they reached it.
The cold will probably do it anyway, he thought.
There was three seconds of five-gee acceleration, then they hit. The deceleration jolt was fearsome, flinging Tolton against the couch’s straps. He groaned at the pain, bracing himself for the worst.
But the pod’s thermal coating held, defying the devastating subcryonic temperature of the mélange. The pod juddered sluggishly as its rocket motors continued to fire, thrusting them deeper and deeper below the surface. Both of them could hear the cacophony of souls outside, their shock and dismay as the rocket exhaust vaporized the fluid in which they were suspended. The cries grew fainter the further in they went. After fifteen seconds the rockets burnt out.
Tolton’s laugh had an unstable timbre. “We made it.”
The port had frosted over as soon as they struck the fluid. He reached over and tried to wipe the beads of ice clear. His hand stuck to the glass. “Bugger!” He lost some skin pulling it free. “Now what do we do?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
Chapter 11
The Volkswagen Trooperbus carried Louise and Ivanov Robson back to London. During most of the four-hour trip she’d sat curled up on one of the big leather chairs in the cabin, accessing news reports from the arcology
. The landscape held little interest for her now.
There were few rover reporters left in the Westminster dome to provide an impression of what was happening. Those who insisted on toughing it out were releasing their sensevises on a long delay, allowing them to get well clear of the area where they’d been recording. The possessed didn’t take kindly to having their activities exposed to the planet’s accessing public. Rovers who’d been caught on the first day had never accessed the net again.
What was shown by reporters still on the ground—and more comprehensively, by the dome sensors—was a rough kind of order establishing itself among the ancient buildings. The possessed were organized in small bands, walking quite openly along the main roads. It was a defiant gesture up at Govcentral. They could have been targeted easily by SD weapons, had the political will existed to do so. But as there were only ever a couple of hundred exposed at any one time, the remainder would be free to extract an atrocious retribution on the rest of the non-possessed population. Government forces within the arcology had been effectively eliminated. Highly specific fires had continued to rage throughout the night, disposing of all the dome’s police stations and eighty per cent of the local council offices. Significantly, although power grids and the communication net had also been targeted, the possessed hadn’t damaged any of the primary civic utility stations. There was still water, and fresh air; and the dome remained capable of warding off an armada storm. Somebody was controlling the possessed, ordering their activities with a great deal of precision.
The media speculated on who.
Charlie was only interested in why. If anything, the possessed were now enforcing the original curfew with a greater efficiency than the police ever had. The AI’s analysis of their movements indicated there were between seven and ten thousand of them, each with their own area to control. Enough to make sure everyone stayed indoors. Very few new possessed were being created, and there were barely a few hundred in the nine outer domes.
The Naked God - Faith nd-6 Page 50