Authors: Gary Gibson
Mental processes of near infinite complexity had been magically compressed into the tiniest of virtual environments, entirely equivalent to taking a Deep Dreamer and squeezing it down until it occupied barely the same space as an amoeba. Such limitations prevented the digitized Trader from feeling regret that its existence was by necessity a brief affair.
To destroy the derelict and the transluminal drive within by conventional means would be to risk detection, for Shoal monitoring networks within transluminal space existed precisely to detect the complex radiations thereby produced.
And that would never do. The subsequent investigation would certainly lead to unanticipated and deeply embarrassing revelations concerning long-hidden factions within the Hegemony, for whom Trader was the prime mover when it came to dirty work.
And that would
really
never do.
Far, far better that the greater masses of Shoal throughout the galaxy never learned the truth contained within the derelict—never learned of the great and terrible crime that had been committed so very long ago, albeit for the highest and noblest of reasons. The destruction of the last survivors of an entire civilization—of even the
knowledge
of that civilization’s existence was far from a minor consideration.
The Deep Dreamers had indicated that something of great and future significance lay in the near future, and clearly the derelict now took centre stage. And this despite the fact that other copies of Trader existed in other places, monitoring other, potential near-future causal hotspots—a way of spreading the bet, as it were.
Clearly, however, the Dreamers had been on the money where Dakota was concerned.
Trader’s purpose was to ensure her actions, and those of the Freehold, did not affect the security and stability of the Shoal Hegemony. The future was to a certain degree predictable—but it was most certainly not immutable.
—
Corso found himself wondering what it would be like to live entirely in a world without shadows. The
Hyperion’s
simulations hadn’t come close to the maddening reality: every surface here was illuminated to an equal degree, still with no apparent source for that radiation.
At one point, by way of experimentation, he squatted on his haunches and tried to block out the all-pervading light by tucking his head in against his chest and covering his head with his arms. It worked to a certain extent, but he quickly came to realize there was a ... a
misty
quality to the derelict’s atmosphere, which suggested some form of luminous gas all around them. That theory might have made sense if the air piped into the derelict via the Freehold’s filtration system remained visibly luminescent outside the ship itself, but as soon as you stepped beyond the hull and into the tunnel leading to the submersible, the luminescence vanished.
It was strangely like entering a dream world.
‘According to the map, we’ve now gained access to almost two-thirds of the derelict,’ said Kieran, watching Corso as he worked. ‘Are we getting any closer yet to locating the bridge?’
‘You’re assuming there
is
any equivalent of a bridge,’ Corso replied. ‘Even the Shoal don’t appear to have anything like the human equivalent. Far as anyone knows, they just float around in a central space according to some ancient shoaling instinct, and issue commands according to social protocols we know almost nothing about.’
‘Then there’ll be a hub, at least, one or more central points from where the ship can be controlled.’ Kieran sounded like he’d stubbornly made his mind up.
Corso sighed and returned to his work, making minute physical adjustments to the interface chair’s neural circuitry. Kieran, along with the Senator, appeared to believe flying the damn fossil out of the Nova Arctis system in a blaze of glory was merely a matter of applying a can-do attitude.
One adjustment in particular seemed to make a difference: a minor tweak to improve the rate of dataflow between the human and alien software configurations, but one glance at a handheld screen he’d plugged into the chair suggested he’d turned a spigot and let loose a waterfall.
Corso took one look at the level of activity flowing through the walls around them and felt his heart skip a beat.
He bent down to pick up the toolkit he’d left lying next to the interface chair. Just as he was about to lay his hand on it, it slid away from him, slowly at first, then faster. Dumbfounded, he watched it slither across the pale, marble-like floor, and almost lost his balance when the floor unexpectedly seesawed under his feet.
He saw Kieran staring back at him from across the room, mute with surprise. The floor regained its former stability, but only for a moment. Now it was beginning to tilt.
Corso’s immediate thought was that the derelict was about to slide into the abyss. His terror of the abyssal depths far below them hit hard, and he moaned in terror. He grabbed on to one leg of the interface chair for purchase.
The ship continued to tilt. Kieran dropped to his knees and slid helplessly into a corner of the room, along with several random pieces of equipment Corso had kept scattered around him while he worked on the interface. Fortunately the technical team who had installed the chair had bolted it to the floor. Corso scrambled to get purchase on one of the chair legs, but lost it, tumbling down hard next to Kieran.
Then he realized the tilting was limited to the room they were in. They both gaped in stunned amazement towards the entrance.
They had both ditched their gel suits in the corridor outside. These, along with a stack of hardcopy data left behind by the surface base’s technical staff, resolutely refused to slide away or otherwise become affected by the tilting effect.
That seemed bad enough—but then monsters started coming out of the walls.
—
An alert via the
Hyperion’s
ground link manifested as a tickling sensation in the back of Dakota’s throat.
She’d been floating in the silence and dark of her own ship for the better part of an hour, the
Piri Reis’s
effigy-form having since disappeared once more back into its wall-niche. Her mind at first had been full of thoughts of revenge, but these had given way in the end to icy determination.
Their treatment of her, she realized, was partly because they were afraid of her. It was good that they were afraid of her.
After a while, she sank into a kind of Ghost-induced machine meditation, a near-vegetative state, her consciousness set adrift and only peripherally aware of the constant flow of maintenance routines keeping the
Hyperion
running.
As she half-dreamed, images slipped by her mind’s eye, mostly incomprehensible. She recalled the brief moment of connection she’d felt with whatever lived deep inside the derelict’s stacks. Even her Ghost was struggling to assimilate or make sense of that intense, overwhelming flood of sensory data. But understanding was nevertheless coming, albeit slowly.
She came to full awareness as the alert signal became more urgent, demanding her attention. She kept her conscious mind at one remove while her Ghost handled the situation, working at machine-speed in a familiar, occasionally disturbing anticipation of her own thoughts and actions.
Something significant was happening on board the derelict: the energy output from its systems was growing exponentially. It was, Dakota realized with awe, channelling through its hull bursts of energy so vast they might more typically be associated with solar flares.
It became rapidly clear that any contact with the personnel on the derelict had been lost. Dakota hesitated for long seconds. Arbenz was likely already aware of the situation developing, but if he wasn’t, he would punish her for failing to pass on what her machine-senses were now telling her.
What, exactly, to do?
A moment later that decision was out of her hands. Automated systems were already spreading the alert to the surface base, as well as to the
Agartha.
Piri
Alpha informed her, emanating from within the derelict. . .>
She next became aware that orbit-to-ground drop-ships were being powered up on board the
Agartha,
for the
Hyperion’s
sister ship had a full complement of crew. Dakota pulled up a live feed displaying the subsurface ridge on which the derelict rested. Nothing there appeared out of the ordinary. It looked as peaceful, as quiet, and as dead as it had when she had first set eyes on it.
But
something
was in there. She didn’t know if it was something alive, but it was certainly aware of her. Even from orbit, she could sense it, like some ancient beast padding just beyond the reach of a campfire’s light.
Even from this far, she knew it wanted something from her. Just what, precisely, she couldn’t yet begin to guess.
An initial scan of their contents post-decryption suggests they may be important. Would you like to see them?>
Please, Piri.
—
The wall framing the entrance had now become a ceiling, putting any chance of escape far out of their reach. The interface chair stuck out from what had been the floor, but had now become a wall. Kieran and Corso stood next to each other, panting heavily: only a few seconds had passed since the gravity had flipped.
Corso could feel it beginning to shift again. His stomach churned with nausea as his senses grappled to cope with these sudden shifts. Now, the surface under them—until very recently itself a wall—slowly tilted towards the far corner.
Corso scrabbled at the wall underfoot, but it was hopeless. The material from which the derelict was constructed offered little purchase.
Random pieces of equipment began to slide at first slowly, then faster, into a far corner. The entrance still remained resolutely out of reach far above.
Corso became aware of a low hum, slowly building in pitch and volume, which rapidly became a bone-rattling vibration. A tiny part of his mind that remained calm speculated that they’d set off some kind of alarm.
The second flip, when it came, was as sudden and unexpected as the first. The wall on which they crouched suddenly became the top of a hollow cube, with the entrance to their right, but still far out of reach.
They fell, dropping like stones from one side of the room to the other.
Corso hit hard enough to stun him, but Kieran had less luck. He collided heavily with the interface chair, before tumbling on down to land next to Corso like a broken doll.
The entrance was still out of reach above their heads. Corso tried desperately to think of some way to get to it. . .
Things
were emerging out of the walls, floor and ceiling, whose pale surfaces had begun to swirl. It was as if they had become transparent enough to reveal a liquid in different shades of cream flowing and ebbing beneath.
Then the surface of the wall furthest above them began to warp, extruding long, curving spines that began to weave like time-lapse films of plants growing. These and other, unidentifiable, shapes, that Corso couldn’t help but interpret as malevolent.
Kieran coughed and shifted groggily, and then his eyes flickered open. He put a hand to his chest and winced.
‘The next time the room starts shifting,’ Corso told him, ‘do exactly what I say.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kieran stared at him.
‘The first time the room flipped, it dropped us into that corner,’ Corso said, pointing upwards. ‘Then into this corner. It’s too early to really guess if there’s a pattern to the way it flips, but there’s a chance, if it happens again, it’ll land us this time on the same wall as the entrance.’
They didn’t have to wait long to find out.
The intervening seconds passed in silence amid an awful, growing tension. The surface on which they lay then began to ripple gently, and Corso choked back his urge to scream when he felt something tendril-like brush against the inside of his thigh.
Then their tools and equipment once again began to slip away...
The world tipped again, but in the direction Corso had hoped. As they tumbled downwards, Corso aimed himself towards the entrance, knowing the opening would remain out of reach, a few metres above them, if he didn’t make it —
He landed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. But he had managed to get a grip on the jamb of the doorway, and clung on for all his life. After a few moments he managed to pull himself up and hook an arm fully over the edge, reaching down into the corridor beyond. The gel suits looked like they’d been glued into place, an affront to his already shattered sense of gravity.
A moment later an awful, lurching weight began to pull him back into the room, and he realized Kieran was hauling himself over his body to reach the entrance.
‘Stay right where you are, Corso, and hold on tight,’ Kieran grunted.
The pain Corso felt was indescribable, and he felt his hold beginning to slip.
He glanced back down into the room and saw the walls, floor and ceiling had transformed into a mass of waving spines that made him think of sea anemones. He moaned, which became a grunt of pain as Kieran pulled himself right over him before falling back out into the corridor.
For a sickening moment Corso wondered if the other man was going to leave him there. But a moment later Kieran, now standing firmly upright in the corridor, grabbed his shoulders and heaved him out.
Corso felt his own weight shift as he fell into a normal-looking corridor that, until a moment ago, his senses had insisted was a vertical shaft. He gasped from the intense pain racking in his shoulders and chest, and Kieran didn’t look much better.
‘We need to get out of here,’ Kieran gasped, ‘or we’re dead for sure.’
‘What about Lunden and—?’
‘What about them?’ Kieran snarled. ‘They’re soldiers. They know how to take care of themselves.’
Low vibrations had begun to roll along the corridor. Corso glanced hastily back into the room and saw his tools in the grip of tendril-like spines. The room now resembled the digestive organs of some sea-going invertebrate, and his stomach somersaulted at the thought of being left in there even a few seconds more . . .