The Ascendant Stars

by Cobley, Michael

  ‘Tier 1 kinetic state achieved,’ said that pure, resonant voice which Kao Chih suddenly realised had to be the ship’s command AI.

  Up on his dais, the admiral stared at the data on his holopanel and muttered something under his breath. Then Mandator Reen reappeared.

  ‘They have altered course,’ Zhylinsky said. ‘But there seems to be a discontinuity in the trace.’

  ‘The pursuers have shifted to Tier 2,’ the Roug said. ‘We must do the same or they will gain on us very quickly.’

  ‘Mandator, the Marzanna is not T2-capable,’ Zhylinsky said.

  ‘Your vessels’ hyperdrive fields have already been upgraded by the new navigator nodes. If you permit us to temporarily assume control of all your vessels’ helms, we will be able to direct a course in formation,’ the Roug said. ‘In this manner we will be able to evade pursuit more easily.’

  The admiral frowned and glanced at Kao Chih. ‘Your thoughts, Envoy?’

  ‘I believe we should protect the colonists, sir,’ he said, masking his surprise at being included in such decisions. ‘Therefore, we must run, not fight.’

  Admiral Zhylinsky nodded and looked back to the Roug. ‘Very well, Mandator. How do we proceed?’

  ‘Hyperdrive field shells are already running at optimum,’ the Roug said. ‘Admiral, if you instruct all helm operators to cease interactions, we can carry out the necessary functions.’

  Zhylinsky quickly spoke with the captains of the three transports in open conference, gave them all confident assurance, and a minute or two later resumed his dialogue with Reen.

  ‘We are ready, Mandator.’

  ‘As are we, Admiral. Converging on tier transit – now.’

  Kao Chih felt the jump this time, like a subtle alteration in the environment. For a moment immediately afterwards there was a tense, still silence, then the admiral muttered something in non-Anglic. It didn’t sound like a compliment.

  ‘They are still with us, Mandator, and they are closing!’

  ‘We have been closely monitoring them, Admiral … ’

  Suddenly, a triangular frame appeared in the middle of the admiral’s holoplane and, Kao Chih noticed, every other screen on the bridge. In it was a tall slender humanoid garbed in a close-fitting black uniform adorned with fine, circuitry-like patterns, a silver tracery. The narrow, hairless head was pale and the eyes were violet.

  ‘I am the Clarified Ventran. You have violated a licensed territory of the Suneye Monoclan and illegally removed certain essential resources. Surrender our property or prepare to be—’

  Abruptly the message cut out. The admiral had been demanding to know where it was coming from and why no one could stop it. When it vanished he turned to the Roug.

  ‘Mandator, did you … ’

  ‘Yes, Admiral, we traced and blocked their message wave.’ Reen paused. ‘They have now gone to Tier 3 and are increasing their transit kinesis. To evade them we must go deeper, Admiral.’

  Zhylinsky looked daunted for a moment, then a stubbornness came into his features.

  ‘Then deeper we must go,’ he said hoarsely.

  As the next in a series of hyperdrive jumps rippled through Kao Chih’s senses, stronger again than the last, he found himself remembering the last words of the dead Va-Zla leader back on Pyre:

  ‘The Lords of Suneye never abandon their property!’

  THE CONSTRUCT

  The armoured hatch slid open and the P-Construct stepped out onto one of the hubcraft’s observation cupolas. As a combat-partial of the real Construct it was impervious to hard vacuum and equipped with a range of sensors tasked to scan the vicinity for hostile incursions. Standing there, it surveyed the starry vaults of Reginthojal, the largest, most continual stretch of space on Tier 51. It was nearly a thousand light years across at its widest, and ninety at its deepest. Ancient stars burned red and gold here, stellar anchors around which the worlds of the Ixak swung, worlds whose inhabitants slept, for the most part. The Ixak had already entered the twilight of their society, their population numbers at a low ebb and still falling, their naturally long lifetimes lengthened still further by coldsleep technologies. When not in hibernation, the Ixak were more inclined to devote their waking hours to virtual experiences evoking the glories of a distant past rather than to the world of harsh reality.

  And there, spread out in thousand-strong formations, was the Aggression, the Construct’s armada of warships, each one home to a controlling AI. Construct operatives deep in the tiers of hyperspace had been tracking the progress of the Vor and the Shyntanil as their battlefleets had climbed from level to level, crushing any opposition, demolishing worlds, planetoids, artificial habitats, anything that might present a shred of resistance. And now they were poised to cross into Tier 51.

  After repeated messages and warnings, the P-Construct had managed to provoke the Ixak elders into a semblance of urgency, pressing them to acknowledge the imminent threat. Long-dormant planetary defences were reactivated, councils were formed to deal with civil coordination, even some elaborate combat vessels were brought out of storage. Yet the Ixak’s response still seemed half-hearted, as if the supposed menace coming from below lacked credibility. The P-Construct wondered briefly if the real Construct would have achieved more in a shorter period.

  But in the end the battlefleets of the Vor and the Shyntanil were very real and the news of their advances was unavoidable, undeniable. Just eight hours ago, an observer subsim of the Construct had been aboard one of the Aggression’s spy-scouts, secretly watching as a Shyntanil siege force, complete with their formidable cryptships, extinguished the last embers of resistance on the planet Faskelon just two levels below, on Tier 53. As the bombardment continued, Shyntanil outriders had somehow detected the Aggression vessel; the Aggression ship immediately went into high-kinetic retreat while the subsim, as a precaution, withdrew via the continual transfer link, merging with the P-Construct as it oversaw the Reginjothal theatre, contributing the intelligence accrued.

  The fall of Faskelon was one of several similar front-line reports that the P-Construct had gathered. Now, as it went back inside the hubcraft, it knew it was time to convey it all to the prime Construct. Within, the darkness was speckled with infrared ports, the meagre glow of ready lights flickering from within banks of datawebs, the glimmer of holoplanes providing update bursts. The P-Construct found its multiflow recess and eased back into it. Sensors autotracked its cognitive core and a few minutes later a snapshot of its mindmap-state had been taken, compressed and encoded. As the P-Construct dispatched it via the transfer link, it wondered briefly what the Ixak felt when they went to sleep for years on end, whether they ever considered that they might not wake up.

  *

  The Construct had just begun briefing one of its humanoid semiorganics when a new update arrived and merged with its cognitive state, causing a slight pause in its walk across the room.

  ‘Another report from the front?’ said the chalky-white semiorganic. Its body template had yet to be aged, sculpted and adorned with character so its features and posture lacked all expression.

  Giving the merest nod, the Construct sent some excerpts from the update’s vid file to the wallscreen, confined to a frame alongside the frozen image of Robert Horst.

  ‘Thus far encounters with these adversaries have played out very much as predicted,’ the Construct said. ‘That is to say, not entirely to our advantage. However, our deployments of the Aggression have slowed or delayed their advance and in a couple of instances inflicted serious defeats.’

  On the screen, against the filtered aura of a blue sun, Aggression barb-cruisers closed on a Shyntanil cryptship. One of its four weapon spires had been reduced to a melted stump and it left a gaseous trail as it tried to escape. The debris of a thousand ships lay spread out in vast glittering clouds amongst which a few lesser craft fought on against the relentless victors. The pursuing barb-cruisers launched missiles but before they reached their target, the cryptship blew apart in a
series of violent explosions.

  ‘This has happened three times,’ the Construct said. ‘Either their vessels self-destruct, or when we manage to take Shyntanil prisoners their lifesigns slow and shut down as their cyborg systems carry out a preset process of self-annihilation. With the Vor it is similar, unhesitating suicide, resulting in the death of both endosymbiote and host, a pattern of behaviour utterly different from the last time they made their presence known.’

  ‘Seventy-five thousand years, in Human reckoning, since those revenant species last made any inroads into the levels of hyperspace,’ the semiorganic said. ‘Back then they were fighting each other, and after several thousand years of diminishing activity and rare sightings it was thought that they had simply died out. Who or what brought them back from oblivion, I wonder?’

  ‘And modified their behaviour so radically,’ the Construct said.

  ‘The Godhead seems to be the likely candidate.’

  ‘Even so, I had sent Robert Horst to attempt communication with it, perhaps to negotiate a cessation if it was behind the aforementioned anomalous events. With that in mind, observe the following.’

  The scenes of battle on the wallscreen vanished and the image of Robert Horst, seated in a padded wooden armchair near an open window, expanded as he resumed speaking.

  ‘ … led me to Buhzeyl on Tier 103. Have you ever been there?’

  ‘No,’ came the Construct’s voice from offcam. ‘I do know that it’s called the City of Bone.’

  ‘It’s an accurate description,’ Horst said. ‘The adjacent tier, 104, is practically a stupendous ossuary, containing the fossilised remains of gargantuan creatures, some over ten kilometres in length, so I was told. Anyway, in Buhzeyl I met a renegade Shyntanil – or rather one who had not undergone the regeneration process.’

  ‘The Caul Death.’

  ‘That’s it. He called himself Eshanam and openly admitted that his job was to spot any Godhead-hunters and send them onwards to be captured by the Godhead’s servants. But, he told me, he had grown disillusioned with the deceits and the betrayals, especially since the last survivors of his own species had been lied to and subtly enslaved by the Godhead. He said that he knew of a way to a strange place cherished by the Godhead, from which there was a gateway which bypassed the guarded ways and the elaborate labyrinths of traps.’ Horst grinned. ‘It sounded so like a typical con that I nearly laughed in his face … ’

  The Construct paused the image and spoke to the semiorganic. ‘It turned out that Eshanam was being truthful and after another clandestine meeting he and Horst, each in their own craft, headed out along several cross-tier jumps. Unfortunately, the Shyntanil was being tracked by hostiles who attacked them after they reached an airless rocky fissure. They fled but became separated. Eshanam had given him course data for a tier-jump in case of such a situation, so he used it.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said the semiorganic. ‘Just to be clear, all this took place while the Robert-sim and the Rosa-sim infiltrated the Achorga nestworld and retrieved the Zyradin.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And Robert-sim was unaware of his sim nature, is that true?’

  ‘Indeed – it was a valuable opportunity to gauge the mind-state reactions without that knowledge.’

  The semiorganic nodded. ‘So, to resume.’

  ‘Robert followed the Shyntanil renegade’s course data, made the jump, and on arrival, the Ship told him that they were underwater.’

  ‘Large bodies of water are rare, especially in the mid-level hyperspace tiers and below.’

  ‘Rare and inevitably artificial,’ the Construct said. ‘The water filled a winding cavernous tunnel under zero-gee conditions. Horst’s ship navigated a way along with external illumination for his benefit, till the tunnel opened out to an immense mega-ocean. Which is where he found a planet.’

  On the screen the recording resumed. Horst was now leaning forward, his face intense with recall and his hands making emphatic gestures as he spoke.

  ‘It was … unexpected, and weirdly beautiful, a glowing blue orb. Moments after we came upon it the Ship told me that it was detecting almost no mass or local gravitational effects, therefore we were seeing a mirage or projection of some kind. I ordered a magnification of the surface and saw the details of coastlines and islands, then mountains and forests, then the unmistakable patterns of habitation and cultivated land. I could see the webs of transport routes, the dark regularities of towns and cities. Even powered aircraft flying above the clouds. I remember wondering who would go to such trouble to create an image of something like this, and moments later the Ship reported something approaching.’

  Next to the image of Horst, another frame was showing vid excerpts from the Ship’s own archives, the looming vastness of that world, its detailed surface visible in shades of blue. Then there was an object rising quickly from the surface, a speck that grew into a creature’s form. Its upper half was vaguely humanoid, a torso with a head and arms, while the lower part spread out in tentacle limbs. It too was blue, its form opaque.

  On screen, Horst shook his head. ‘It was identical to the Intercessor, the being we encountered in the Urcudrel Seam on Tier 92.’

  ‘Where you were sent by the Bargalil mystic, Sunflow Oscillant?’

  The Human nodded. ‘That was where the first Rosa-sim sacrificed herself to destroy a Legion Knight cyborg.’ Horst gave a bleak smile. ‘And all we got from the Intercessor was course data that led us into a trap … anyway, as the immense figure drew near, the Ship told me that this too was a projection, then said it was picking up strange energy readings just before the creature spoke.

  ‘It said, “You intrude upon the dead” in a voice I heard in my head. As it approached I realised that it was huge, several times the size of my ship.’

  The screen showed the immense tentacular being – or projection – hovering before the Construct ship. Then the recording showed a sequence of shots taken from different angles, from sensors on the hull.

  ‘I didn’t know what to say,’ Horst went on. ‘The strangest silence held sway for a few moments, then it said, “Forgive me but I must discern the tides of your truths.” Then everything froze.

  ‘Afterwards, the Ship assured me that there had been no lag, no break in time. But in that instant I sensed a force moving through me like a million needles of light, prying, exposing, studying, moving on, as if I and the ship had become translucent … ’ Horst frowned, pursing his lips. ‘Then it was over and my breathing was back. I was angry but the Ship couldn’t see why. Then the creature said, “As I feared, you are seeking the Godhead. Such a pursuit can only have tragic consequences. I will show you why.”’

  Horst fell silent, and the Construct’s voice then spoke.

  ‘In your written account you reported being shown a stream of images.’

  Horst smiled ruefully. ‘That was something of an understatement. I have no idea what kind of tech was employed but when it finished speaking my awareness was just … pulled out of my body! It seemed that I was leaving the ship behind, swooping headlong down towards the blue planet. The huge creature then took me on a tour of that world and its inhabitants, which is when I saw that my guide was identical to the ruling species and also to the Intercessor, whose false data led us into that pocket universe trap.’

  ‘The Ship asserted that you sat perfectly still in your chair, unresponsive but displaying brain activity. All that you experienced could only have been a projection.’

  A nod. ‘A projection of a vanished race. My guide was an artificial intelligence left behind when this species … became extinct.’ Horst leaned forward, a haunted look on his face. ‘They were called the Tanenth and they were created by the Godhead. An entire race and its world, complete and fully formed. One day they all woke up and found themselves aware and fully conscious – the Godhead had even provided the basic workings of civilisation. What must that have been like, to be told that you are a product, an artefact designed by another’s w
ill?’

  ‘There are several species who assert that the Godhead was instrumental in their ascent to sentience,’ said the voice of the Construct. ‘This is the first instance of one claiming to be a direct creation. You did not mention if this AI was also made by the Godhead.’

  ‘The Tanenth made it themselves,’ Horst said. ‘They were a very long-lived race, and clearly designed that way, but they were sexless and unable to procreate. Synthetic tutors and advisers were on hand to provide assistance and guidance. The Godhead had given the Tanenth brains structured to encourage the profoundest interconnections of thought without the biochemical imbalances that foster psychological instability. With the passing centuries their knowledge and their science progressed in leaps and bounds and the Godhead’s Advisers increasingly became observers.

  ‘Their world and its star were set apart from the other civilisations which dominated their home galaxy in that particular past universe. Yet they were not ignorant of other species and their propensities. When the Tanenth began researching into their own genetics with the aim of creating offspring, the Advisers moved in and shut the project down. Some of the Tanenth were shocked and fearful but others became determined to continue the experiments. Several times their scientists reconstituted the research programme, each one more clandestine than the last, and every time the Advisers traced it and confiscated all materials.

  ‘Over and over, the Advisers told the Tanenth that they were near-perfect, near-immortal beings who had no need of reproduction. That the Godhead’s love for them by far exceeded the emotional attachment that they could expect from any progeny. Clandestine debates among the Tanenth led them to believe that either the Godhead did truly love them or they were no more than flesh-and-blood toys with no self-determination, predictable scraps of life playing parts in a game or a puzzle, a diversion for a cold intellect.’

  ‘So they decided to test the Godhead by threatening mass suicide.’