by Jaine Fenn
If the target was on the far side and actively scanning, it would probably pick him up as soon as his trajectory brought him round, but he wasn’t doing anything wrong, even if his stealthy approach might be considered suspicious. Assuming the Sidhe didn’t have his new ship ID, he was confident of his ability to bluff it out if they decided to hail him. And if they did have his ID, he was probably fucked anyway.
He crossed the terminator, and the empty landscape far below him went from burning light to the true darkness of space. If a ship down there had its grav-drives primed for a fast getaway, he’d soon pick it up . . . but he wasn’t getting anything yet.
He’d just decided to ramp up the thermal imaging for a more detailed scan when the comp pinged. It’d spotted a heat-emitting anomaly in the otherwise freezing landscape, a faint point-source tucked under the rim of a shallow crater.
He changed course to come in a little lower over the anomaly and cut his speed again. Then he focused his full EM suite on the area, dialled up to maximum sensitivity. Yes, that was definitely a ship. It looked like a mid-sized starliner: a bigger vessel than he’d expected. It was unlikely to be armed, unless of course it had been modified. There was not a light showing and, according to its thermal signature, it was running on minimal. That was fine: if it was powered-down then it wouldn’t be coming after them in a hurry.
His sensors hadn’t picked up any active scans, so he decided to risk a closer look. Though he had no idea whether he needed to, he tried to keep his mind focused on his own ship’s systems and project only a faint curiosity about the ship below him. He’d already come up with a cover story: if questioned, he’d say he was out here teaching his new partner how to fly around gravitational masses away from large, inhabited ones like Kama Nui itself. Traffic control might ask why he’d decided to fly partway to the beacon before coming back to the moon, but so far they hadn’t. And it wasn’t traffic control he was worried about.
The ship remained unchanged, and the com remained silent.
Then he spotted the smaller ship docked at the aft airlock, the sleek arrow-like shape of a corvette, the smallest class of shiftship. It could just be an expensive lifeboat . . . or it could be the ship that had transported the Court representative. But she wasn’t due for hours yet . . . Then again, he couldn’t be sure how accurate that estimate was, given it had been conveyed through a dream from someone being held captive by practised deceivers.
He’d already set up a programme of easy and non-threatening manoeuvres for his ship to execute in the moon’s vicinity, the kind of stuff a new pilot would use for practise. He initiated the autopilot and went to check on Taro.
He found the boy lying on the couch, completely out of it. Jarek bent down for a closer look. He’d assumed Taro would be either dozing under the influence of the euphoric/sedative mix he’d given him, or else in dream contact with Nual, but instead, he appeared to be totally comatose. Jarek, a little frightened, put a hand to his neck to check for a pulse. He was deeply relieved to feel it there, weak but unmistakable. Something about the way he was lying there implied a stillness that went beyond sleep.
Though he wasn’t sure what was meant to happen, he suspected something wasn’t right.
He called out, ‘Taro?’ and when there was no response he shook him gently.
Taro’s body lolled like a corpse, threatening to roll off the couch. Jarek was certain this was wrong. He shook harder.
Taro’s eyes sprang open and he drew a sudden, startled breath.
Rushing through the void—
This time Nual knew what she was likely to face when she returned to her body. She was aware that the presence had tried to broach her shields, but despite her initial fears, it had not penetrated far. Most likely it had been looking for a part of her that hadn’t been there. Something which, because her unity with Taro had been disrupted, now was.
She opened her eyes.
Everything was skewed; she had fallen onto her side. It was also darker in here than she remembered. Hurriedly she pushed herself upright. The not-Sidhe was standing just as it had been, with its head tilted to look at her. As it adjusted its stance Nual thought how its body-language spoke of concentration, of power held in check, and at the same time of a certain inability to interact normally. It was like some monstrous yet frighteningly potent child. She did not recognise this individual; if she was one of the Sidhe who had originally been infected on the mothership Nual would have expected to know her by sight, even if the mind inhabiting the body was alien.
‘What is puzzling you?’ asked the creature, sounding genuinely curious. ‘Ask, please. Or let down your shields a little, if you prefer.’
‘I do not prefer,’ said Nual with a shudder. ‘Can you . . . you could read me if I let you, then?’ Despite her revulsion, she knew she must try for whatever information this thing was willing to provide.
The being nodded rapidly. ‘Yes, indeed. We retain some of the abilities we had before we became as we are now, though they are . . . imperfect. Hard to balance and deploy. But we do remember who we were.’ Again, the smile, this time cold and emphatic. ‘Only now we are – I am - so much more. The unity is a mere murmur in the dark compared to this!’
Nual felt as though she was staring into an abyss. Now she knew how humans must feel when faced with Sidhe.
When she said nothing the other continued, ‘Let me show you our true potential. Watch.’ It reached a splayed hand towards the chair. At first nothing happened. Then the back of the chair began to change. Nual’s initial impression was that it was disappearing, being eaten away by the illusion of invisibility. But she knew in her soul that this was no illusion. Matter was being unmade.
She tried not to react. Though males could move matter into and out of shiftspace, this was something else, something no Sidhe could do.
‘We are . . . everything,’ whispered the creature. ‘We see, we interact, we understand . . . in ways you cannot comprehend - unless you join us.’
‘No!’ she said. ‘You are . . . wrongness incarnate. You should not be.’ Simply being in the thing’s presence was making her nauseous.
‘But we are! And we can only get stronger. Most Sidhe are too weak to survive the change. Those that do become avatars of a power greater than anything we have dreamed of before. You are strong enough to wield that power.’
‘I would rather die.’
The avatar looked disappointed; its face was at once open and wooden, the expression almost a caricature. ‘That would be a great shame. We particularly wish for you to join us.’ Now the cold smile again. ‘After all, you brought us into existence.’
Bile rose in Nual’s throat. It knew her. Somehow - perhaps from reading the mind of Lyrian, or maybe another Sidhe here, perhaps because it shared information between the physical bodies it used - it knew her. It knew what she had done.
‘Yes!’ it hissed. ‘You remember now, don’t you?’
And she did, though she tried not to. She remembered how she had been expelled from the unity during transit, left alone in the dark to face the insane mind at the heart of the mothership. But instead she had dared to reach out and away, into the void. And there she had made contact with a presence unlike any other she had sensed before.
‘You were our conduit, our catalyst - our key,’ whispered the presence.
Its initial touch had paralysed her; even as she felt the unknown energy flow through her, she had been left passive and yielding, unable to do more than observe.
‘You . . .’ Nual swallowed, then continued, ‘You let me be once you had used me.’ When it was gone and she was alone she had barricaded herself in her cell and hid in the dark. She had no idea how long she had waited there to die, or to be subsumed. ‘Why did you not try to . . . infect . . . me then?’
‘Because we wished you to be accessible for later use.’
And it had tried to use her again. After some indeterminate time, during which the other Sidhe were fighting and dying outside he
r cell, the ship had gone into the shift and she’d felt the vile touch return, forcing her to reach out in shiftspace again, trying to use her to bring more of itself through. But she’d wriggled free from the thing’s grasp, and in doing so had made an unexpected contact: Jarek. Because he was a mere human, the entity had not registered his presence, either then or later on the mothership. ‘It didn’t work, did it?’ she said shakily. ‘And you ended up destroying the transit-kernel as we left shiftspace.’
‘Yes, that was unfortunate.’ The thing gave a rictus grin. ‘And your unwillingness made you useless as a gateway after the initial contact. But we learn by our mistakes. We evolve.’
‘You can evolve without me, then,’ said Nual.
‘We can, that is true. We came to this place because we knew there would be a large number of Sidhe here: more potential recruits. But now we have found you, and we wish to offer you the chance to—’
‘You can’t make me join you.’ Nual had had enough. If it could force her, she was sure their conversation would have been a lot shorter.
‘We can try, and eventually we will either succeed, or we will destroy you. We would rather you joined us freely. We do not wish to force you.’ It spoke almost tenderly.
‘You are highly unlikely to get your wish, then.’
It affected a sigh. ‘So be it. It appears we will have to do this the hard way—’
Suddenly the avatar’s head jerked sharply to the left. Nual wondered if this was some unorthodox attack. Then, as the figure crumpled to the floor, Nual saw Lyrian standing behind it, holding what looked like a length of pipe in both hands.
The fallen avatar lay still, its neck at an impossible angle. It appeared that without a functional host body the entity was powerless - how long for was another matter. ‘We should get away from here,’ said Nual.
As Lyrian looked at her Nual saw the beginning of madness in her eyes. Lyrian had been infected, but she was trying to resist the entity’s influence. As Nual watched, her gaze cleared.
‘You have to fight it!’ hissed Nual. Whatever had been between her and Lyrian before was past; the rules had changed.
Lyrian blinked and drew a long, slow breath. She looked at Nual, and recognition dawned in her eyes. ‘You,’ she said distinctly, stepping over the body. ‘You brought this upon us.’ She lunged for Nual, her impromptu weapon raised.
Nual dived off the bed, ducking under Lyrian’s swing. She felt the swish of air as the pipe passed over her head. Already weak from her ordeal, she landed badly, coming down onto her hands and knees. She heard a curse and a thud: Lyrian, thrown off-balance, had tripped over the body.
Nual threw herself forward again, half-leaping, half-stumbling towards the open door ahead. As she lurched through it she expected to feel the pipe on the back of her head at any moment. She could hear Lyrian close behind.
The corridor was lit by the reddish glow of emergency lighting. For a fraction of a second Nual was back on the mothership, but she banished the memory and the attendant instinct to run. Instead she pointed her toes and kicked forward, and experienced a near-ecstatic relief when she felt the floor recede. Either the nullifying field was only effective in her cell or it had cut out when main power went off. Whatever the reason, her implants were back. She extended both blades and turned in the air.
Lyrian was right behind her, her eyes blank with hatred and the pipe extended; as she turned Lyrian swung at her and Nual parried the blow with her left blade. The jarring impact vibrated through the bones of her arm and twisted her off balance, sending her spinning backwards and upwards. Her head hit the ceiling. It hurt, but pain brought focus and she jammed her right arm against the ceiling, stalling the turn.
Lyrian swung again, grunting with effort, but the ceiling was relatively high, and the pipe heavy and short and she could only reach up as far as Nual’s hips now. As the pipe came round Nual whipped her legs up and curled into a tight ball. The blow didn’t connect, but Lyrian, unbalanced again, took a step forward and Nual uncoiled and swooped, her blades extended.
One blade caught Lyrian in the chest, entering just below the shoulder-bone. Nual felt the momentary resistance of flesh; there, then gone as she pierced Lyrian’s lung. She withdrew the blade when she felt the tip jar on a rib, and the blade snicked back into her forearm in a brief spray of red.
Lyrian dropped her pipe, gave a wet gurgle, and fell to the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Beyond her cell, insanity had already taken hold. The first Sidhe Nual found, further along the corridor, was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest as she stared intently into space. Her chin was filmed by a thin sheen of blood-threaded drool and her lips were moving.
Though Nual had withdrawn her senses to avoid detection - or risk of infection - she could not help but pick up the woman’s sub-vocalised mumblings: <. . . if the universe . . . if . . . if . . . if . . .we don’t have to see it that way! . . . layers, always layers . . . the map is not the territory . . . so vast, so vast and beautiful . . . so terrible . . . help me, I can’t hear you any more . . . too much, it’s too much! . . .>
Nual locked down her mind more tightly and hurried past.
The infected Sidhe’s mutterings reminded her of snatches she’d picked up when her mind had accidentally touched the sentiences at the heart of transit-kernels, experiences she’d considered at length during her recent imprisonment. Most of the time the shift-minds were beyond words - they’d been mad for years, even centuries. Whatever this was, it had only just arrived, and even if Lyrian had killed the original carrier, the infection was on the loose now. Perhaps in the very air . . . no, that made no sense: she had suffered no ill effects on the mothership, where for several days she had breathed the same air as those who were infected. This contagion required contact.
Nual realised that her heartbeat was skipping, her breathing a fast pant; she must not let herself give in to such illogical fears. She paused for a moment to override her body’s responses, going from the verge of panic to detached concern in a matter of seconds.
She considered what to do next.
The thing must have arrived in a shiftship. She had to find that ship, and use it to escape. In the meantime, she must avoid contact with those already infected. She obviously had some resistance to the contagion, but she wasn’t immune, or at least the avatar had not believed she was, given the effort it had expended to recruit her. Quite aside from the risk of becoming tainted, she was also in danger of physical attack: her memories of the flight from the mothership included glimpses of the aftermath of carnage.
The corridor ended in a junction. Unwilling to extend her more arcane senses, Nual peered round the corner. She could make out few details in the gloom; as far as she could see both directions were empty, and identical. She had no idea of the layout of this ship. Perhaps if she found someone who wasn’t infected, she could persuade her to guide her out . . . No, that wouldn’t work: she had no allies here.
As she turned left, someone screamed in the distance, a cry of pure animal anguish, suddenly cut off. She forced herself not to react, though the effort of overruling her instinctive terror was beginning to make her limbs quiver.
In some ways the layout and décor reminded her of the starliners in which she and Taro had travelled to Khathryn, and that gave her an idea. Before she could test her theory, she heard someone approaching; something about the movement sounded wrong, and the breathing was that of a woman engaged in a moderately athletic task. She flew up, pressing herself flat against the ceiling just in time to avoid a Sidhe who scuttled round the corner on all fours - no, not on all fours, on two arms and one leg. The other leg was obviously broken, with splinters of white bone sticking through blood-soaked cloth, and it swung from side to side as the Sidhe moved, a sickening flop-and-wrench, flop-and-wrench movement. The Sidhe did not appear to be in pain, just in a hurry. She did not look up, or give any sign of knowing Nual was there. When she’d gone, Nual shivered, the
n floated back down.
She found what she was looking for a couple of corridors further on: a console set into the wall, provided for guests who were not linked into the ship’s comnet. She waved a hand over the sensor. For a moment nothing happened and she began to wonder if this system was one of those that had gone down; then a menu appeared, overlaid with a flashing message: ‘Please return to your cabin and await instructions from your steward.’ Her suspicions were confirmed: it had been a starliner once; aside from the motherships, the Sidhe used human technology to travel the stars. Despite the warning message, the system was still functioning, so she called up a floor-plan: what had been the crew sections were marked as off-limits, with no details, but she could see enough to work out that had she turned the other way when she first came out of her cell she would have found herself only two corridors away from the smaller airlock at the front. However, she had already gone far enough through the ship to now be closer to the main lock at the back.