The Noise Within

by Ian Whates

Philip had brought an up-to-date version of Phil with him from Homeworld, but had deliberately not called upon the partial until this point. After all, he'd been on holiday; why would a tourist need a partial? No question, though, that had changed. He was now desperate for a buffer, a secretary; and who better than Phil? The partial was activated and hastily brought up to speed, so that he could provide a much needed filter between Philip and the insatiable newshounds.

  Other than this excessive media attention, things could not have been better. To actually see the culmination of his lifetime's work - all right, an exaggeration, but not much of one - to be able to talk to Jenner and Muller after they had been in gestalt with the needle ship's AIs, to witness them being brought out of their gelsuits after flying genuine missions and experiencing actual combat, was the realisation of so much. The experience had a surreal quality for Philip, as if this couldn't possibly be happening. It also brought him a strange sense of closure. Despite all the glitz of Frysworld and the thrills of Dendra, Velamore and the other exotic places he had visited, despite having set foot aboard The Sun Seeker/Noise Within, he suspected deep down that a part of him would always have felt unfulfilled without this, because he hadn't been there to oversee the final stages of the project as he'd always anticipated.

  Yet now, while Catherine Chzyski, David Benn and everyone else involved, even Susan Tan, were stuck light years away on Homeworld, having to scour the news feeds for scraps of information, he was here, a part of it. Of all of them, he was the only one privileged to see the culmination of the project firsthand.

  Another thing he drew great satisfaction from, not to mention relief, was that even the sight of Jenner hooked into the needle ship produced only the faintest stirrings of Syntheaven craving, allowing him to hope that his relationship with the drug was something other than addiction after all.

  One of Philip's responsibilities in the aftermath of everything was to supervise the health of the needle ship pilots. This was the first time the human-AI pairings had seen active service and there was a great deal of interest in how the pilots had coped with the ramped-up mental and physical demands placed upon them. Philip was quietly impressed with the equipment ULAW provided him with. It might not have matched the specialist gear which Kaufman Industries had been forced to develop as the project progressed, but it was still more than adequate for the job, as were the small team of techs assigned to assist him.

  The loss of two pilots, two people he'd known throughout their training, was a blow, but everyone involved knew that what they were developing was going to be used in the front line and that lives were bound to be at risk. No one, however, had anticipated reality would strike so soon after the project's completion.

  On a more positive note, Philip was delighted to see how well the three surviving needle ship pilots - Jenner, Muller and Fina - had coped. Jenner was displaying hardly any symptoms of stress at all. The other two both showed minor reactions but no more than any normal combatant might be expected to suffer and certainly well within acceptable parameters. All in all, this was a wonderful result, and Philip could only applaud the work that Susan Tan and the team had completed so effectively in his absence. The new Syntheaven variant clearly worked a treat.

  The sense of elation that Philip experienced was hard to express. His dogged pursuit of the project, in the face of harsh criticism and near ridicule in some quarters, had been fully justified. Human-AI pairings worked and were bound to become an integral part of human society - not merely in a military context - in generations to come. If he achieved nothing else in his life, he had at least done this much.

  If this wasn't more than enough for any one man to be dealing with there was also, of course, the small matter of the Byrzaens. Mankind's first encounter with a recognisably sentient alien species, and he was involved. Life simply didn't get any better than this, surely.

  Philip was even privileged enough to be among the first people to visit the alien ship; only the once, but it was an experience he would never forget for as long as he lived.

  He tried to describe it to Leyton over lunch on one of the rare occasions both of them were able to get away, but was failing dismally.

  "You mean everything on board is shifting curtains of energy?" the big man asked as his attempted description faltered into frustrated hesitation.

  "No, not really, it's just that..." How could he possibly do justice to something that clearly hadn't developed within a human framework, when all he had at his disposal were words that inevitably had? "Those veils we saw on The Noise Within, the drive mechanisms, would have looked perfectly at home there, whereas they seemed so out of place on a human starship. They wouldn't have seemed remotely alien aboard the Byrzaen ship."

  Leyton nodded.

  Kaufman was getting used to this inability to articulate the sheer otherness of the gothic interior. On human ships everything was clean line efficiency, with straight-walled corridors arranged with straight-lined practicality; rooms as boxes, with every effort made to ensure thoroughfares were bright and light. The Byrzaen craft on the other hand, or at least what little he'd seen of it, was almost the opposite; it possessed a far more organic feel, with an absence of right angles and a design palette seemingly chosen to promote darkness and shadow rather than light.

  "Sorry," he apologised, "I'm not doing a very good job of this, am I?"

  Leyton shook his head. "No, far from it. You've done better than you realise: a description which details nothing yet explains everything." The big man almost seemed to smile in encouragement. "What about the Byrzaens themselves?"

  "You've seen the news feeds..."

  "Of course, but that doesn't give me a sense of what they feel like, how they affect you in the flesh."

  "Well..." Philip thought for a second. "They're a little shorter than us, as you know, coming up to roughly my chest..." But that hardly said anything new. He tried again. "The thing that most struck me was the way they move. I don't mean how they walk, but when you're there with them, talking to them. They have a habit of not standing still, and their movements are incredibly quick and always unexpected. Sudden darts, often with their whole bodies but just as likely a single arm or even their shoulders and head." Then he added, as an afterthought, "It's as if they're constantly trying to snatch flies from the air," which was as accurate a visualisation as he could think of.

  Leyton nodded, so Philip assumed the description was helpful.

  Of course, the reason Philip had been allowed his single visit to the Byrzaen craft was the engines. He was the nearest thing to an expert ULAW had in such things, so it was only natural he should be given the chance to inspect the Byrzaen stardrive. He hadn't seen the drive units for long but that glimpse was enough to tantalise and make him itch to get his hands on them at a lab with full equipment and a team around him.

  "They use completely different technology to us," he explained to Leyton, "based on something we've long theorised but never confirmed. Basically, they maintain that our universe exists in a state of 'false vacuum'." He looked at the eyegee, hoping to see some acknowledgement of understanding, but the other shook his head. "All right, to keep it simple, there is a theorised state of true vacuum, which our universe may one day revert to. If it ever does, the energy released by the decay process would be catastrophic, destroying everything. The Byrzaens have found a way of producing contained decay on a very limited scale and harnessing the resultant energy to push their ships through into a true vacuum universe and re-emerge into this one anywhere they want to. It's not instantaneous but it is faster than our own wormhole technology and far less restricting. That's how the Byrzaen ship was able to emerge so close to New Paris and Dionese IV."

  "So you're saying the Byrzaens are messing around with forces that are capable of destroying the whole universe?"

  "Potentially, yes," Philip waved a dismissive hand. Leyton seemed to be missing the point here.

  "Doesn't that bother anyone?"

  "Not especially.
You need that magnitude of energy to achieve something like this, and although the potential might be destructive it's being carefully shepherded and utilised in a constructive manner. What could be better?" Leyton still looked far from convinced. "Look, I'm sure the Byrzaens have taken every precaution. After all, this is their universe as well; the Byrzaens are in here with us. They don't want to wipe it out. Besides, you'd be amazed at some of the cosmic forces we've played around with ourselves from time to time. No, the exciting thing about all this is what it could mean for our own society. Once we understand how they do this, it will open the way to a whole new era for humankind."

  "Until someone somewhere makes a tiny mistake and there's an accident," Leyton said.

  "Won't happen," Philip assured him, with far more conviction than he actually felt. He wished Leyton would lighten up. All this carping was ruining his good mood.

  "How do they protect their ships? When they pass through this 'true vacuum', I mean. If the decay is as destructive as you say, how can the Byrzaens pass through without succumbing?"

  "Ah, now there's a question." One which had reawoken in Philip all the old passion and hunger for discovery. Suddenly there was a new challenge, something he couldn't wait to get his teeth into.

  "Doctor Kaufman? Philip?" It was a woman's voice.

  "A reporter." Leyton spat the words out as if they were a curse.

  Privacy was currently in short supply on New Paris. Their table was protected from uninvited intrusion by a device Leyton had brought with him - guaranteed to scramble audio and visual signals for any attempted distance recordings, apparently, but there were always those who wouldn't be deterred and it was impossible to go anywhere without the risk of some newshound discovering them.

  Philip looked around, ready to issue a curt rebuff, but the words died in his mouth. "Julia?"

  She looked as stunning as the first time he saw her back on Homeworld. A little more dishevelled but only marginally so, and if anything that hint of imperfection only helped to make her sexier. Gone was the elegantly coiffured hair - this was not straight from the salon glamour but rather hair that had lived life and seen things, pulled back into a bun to keep it out of her eyes. All that did was expose more of her gorgeous face. The makeup was toned down, the lip colour subtler, the eyelids delicately shaded. All this he took in during the few seconds it took her to reach them.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked as she arrived.

  She laughed, though there was nothing malicious in the sound. "Let me see, now." She adopted an exaggeratedly puzzled expression. "I'm a reporter; so what could possibly bring me to New Paris at the moment?"

  "All right, I know - a stupid question. I'm just surprised to see you, that's all." And delighted, but presumably the idiotic grin he could feel plastered across his face had already given away that much. He remembered with a start that they were not alone. "Jim, this is Julia Cirese of Universal News. Julia, this is Jim Leyton."

  "Oh, right, of course; I've seen you with Ambassador Benson, haven't I?"

  She held out a hand in old-fashioned handshake. The eyegee hesitated as if debating whether to respond, but then he reached out and shook it.

  "You may have done." His reply was frosty to the point of being rude, but Julia took it in her stride.

  "Look, I didn't come over here to interrupt you gents, I just wanted to say hello."

  Surely she wasn't going already? "Why don't you sit down, join us?" Philip said quickly, hoping that didn't come across as desperate. He leapt to his feet and his hand fell to the back of a vacant chair, ready to pull it out from under the table.

  "No, really," she said, all smiles, "I can't stay. I was just on my way to an appointment. But thank you."

  Damn! This seemed to be the story of his life, as least where Julia Cirese was concerned.

  "Perhaps at some point, though, if you can find the time, we could do that interview we were trying to sort out?"

  "Yes, of course," he said instantly.

  "And I seem to remember the promise of dinner...?"

  How could any smile be that coy and at the same time so alluring? And had there ever been anyone more beautiful? "I do vaguely remember something of the sort, now you come to mention it," he said, recovering a little of his poise. "Would this evening suit you?" The sooner the better; he was not about to let anything get in the way this time.

  Somehow, her smile managed to become even more dazzling. "That would suit me just fine."

  He realised with a start how close they were, far closer than they had been in the car park back on Homeworld, probably due to the crowded nature of the restaurant. He instinctively leaned forward a little, and was it his imagination or did she lean in as well?

  "Until this evening, then." She breathed the words as much as spoke them. No question that she was leaning towards him now. The fingertips of her right hand rested on his chest as she craned her neck to kiss him. It was a chaste press of lips against lips, but one which lingered and left Philip wanting a great deal more.

  She stepped back. "I'll wricu details of where I'm staying."

  He grinned anew. "See you tonight." He could still feel the impression of her lips, and when he licked them there was a hint of scented flavour -Turkish delight, perhaps.

  He sat down once Julia had left, to find Leyton shaking his head in obvious disapproval. "Never trust anyone in the media," the big man advised.

  Philip laughed. "Careful, Jim, you're letting your prejudices show."

  "That's not prejudice, it's just plain common sense."

  Philip took a sip of water. It suddenly felt uncomfortably hot in here - doubtless a reaction to seeing Julia again. Her unexpected appearance had affected him more than he realised, he was even feeling a little lightheaded.

  "Philip, are you all right?" That was Leyton speaking, but it took Philip a second to realise the question was addressed to him.

  "Yes, yes... just a little hot, that's all. Need some air."

  He tugged at the neck of his top. When did it become so tight? Silly of him to have put such a close-fitting one on this morning, really. He stood up, determined to leave the suddenly claustrophobic restaurant, but the whole room swayed as he did so, forcing him to slump back into the chair. That didn't stop the room from swaying, in fact it was getting worse, everything began to spin, and he was finding it increasingly hard to breathe, causing his chest to heave. And his head felt heavy. Perhaps if he were to rest it on the table for a bit everything would stop moving and he'd be all right.

  Someone had caught hold of him, was stopping him from putting his head down. Words washed over him, their meaning of no interest. Breathing became harder still. He closed his eyes and wished it would all just go away.

  And it did.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "All right, Nyles, so where do we go from here?"

  They were too late. Only by a fraction, but by such narrow margins history was often decided. The Rebellion had arrived at the New Paris system in the aftermath of the battle, so missing the opportunity to influence the outcome and ensure things happened the way they would have wanted. The sense of deflation was enormous. This was the moment they had waited for all their lives and it had somehow escaped them, an opportunity that passed without their being able to grasp it. Kethi felt frustrated as hell and didn't doubt that everyone else felt the same. This was their destiny, and they'd just watched it go by.

  They emerged into normal space shortly after the Byrzaen ship had completed its spectacular rescue of the space station; so spectacular, Kethi gathered, that most New Parisians remained oblivious throughout the whole process and had to be told about it afterwards.

  They picked up comms from the attendant ULAW needle ships and realised that any intervention at this juncture would be pointless and potentially counterproductive, so they held back, waiting and watching. Which was essentially what they had been doing ever since; haunting the fringes of the system, lying low whenever ULAW traffic reached its hig
hest, while eavesdropping on the news feeds the whole time.

  Morale on board had taken an enormous blow and continued to spiral downward. This was not what they had left the habitat after a generation of self-imposed isolation to do - skulk in the shadows while the enemy were proclaimed heroes. All of a sudden, saving mankind was looking a lot more complicated than it had ever promised to be.

  Something needed to be done before things on the ship got any worse. There had been no talk of mutiny as yet, but, the way things were going, Kethi wouldn't rule it out, and if Nyles wasn't prepared to take the initiative of his own volition, she was going to damn well force him to.

  He looked up as she stormed in, and the sight of him, this man she had known all her life, shocked her. It was not so much that he looked old, it was the fact that he looked so frail and, worst of all, defeated.

  "Nyles?"

  "What do you want me to say, Kethi?" he said. "Do you want me to say that I'm at a loss, that I don't know what to suggest after this? Because that's the truth - I haven't the faintest idea what we should do." He laughed; a brief, bitter cough of sound. "I'm old, Kethi; too old for all of this.

  "Have you ever studied history?" She judged the question to be rhetorical, since he knew full well that she had. "I have," he continued. "It used to be a hobby of mine. And you know something that always amused me?"

  "What, Nyles?" she asked softly. They needed this man - she and all the habitat's adherents - now more than ever. Seeing him fall apart like this scared her. Forget alien spaceships, this was Nyles, the cornerstone of their whole community.

  "How different cultures have viewed their old folk. There have been those that scorned them, considering them to be out of touch and no longer useful, mere burdens on society that had outlived their purpose. On the other hand, there have been others who revered them for their accumulated knowledge, equating age with wisdom." He shook his head. "Both views are wrong, you know. Age doesn't mean automatic redundancy and it certainly isn't a guarantee of wisdom, it's just getting old. Nothing more, nothing less."