A speck of hoary-grey flitted among the strands of blackness, snapping in and out of view. Following the smooth curving motions
put Dariat in mind of a skier, the thing’s course was very much like a slalom run. Every turn brought it closer to Valisk.
The nebula doesn’t get out of its way,
the personality remarked.
It’s dodging the braids.
That implies a controlling intelligence, or at least animal-level instinct.
Absolutely.
The initial consternation of Rubra’s descendants had given way to a slick buzz of activity. Those out in the spaceport were
activating systems, aligning them on the visitor. An MSV was powered up, ready for an inspection/interception flight.
An MSV can’t match that kind of manoeuvrability,
Dariat said. The visitor performed a fast looping spiral around a grainy black curlicue, shooting off in a new direction parallel
to Valisk’s shell, fifteen kilometres distant. Visual resolution was improving. The visitor was about a hundred metres across,
appearing like a disk of ragged petals.
Even a voidhawk would have trouble making rendezvous.
The visitor darted behind another frayed column of blackness. When it re-emerged it was soaring almost at right angles to
its original course. Its petals were bending and flexing.
They look like sails to me,
Dariat said.
Or wings. Although I don’t understand what it could be pushing against.
If this continuum has such a low energy state, how come it can move so fast?
Beats me.
Several spaceport dishes started tracking the visitor. They began transmitting the standard CAB xenoc interface communication
protocol on a multi-spectrum sweep. Dariat allowed his affinity bond to decline to a background whisper. “Come on,” he told
a frowning Tolton. “We’ve got to find a window.”
The visitor didn’t respond to the interface protocol. Nor did it show any awareness of the radar pulses fired at it. That
was perhaps understandable, given that they produced no return signal. The only noticeable change as it spun and danced ever-closer
was the way shadows congealed around it. Visually it actually appeared to grow smaller, as though it were flying away from
the habitat.
That’s like the optical distortion effect which the possessed use to protect themselves with,
Dariat said. He and Tolton had found a snug bar called Horner’s on the twenty-fifth floor. The two big oval windows were
misted over inside, forcing Tolton to wipe them clean with one of the coarse table cloths. His breath kept splashing against
the icy glass, condensing immediately.
Well we did choose a realm suitable for ghosts,
the personality said.
I’ve never heard of a ghost that looked like that.
The visitor was within five kilometres of the shell now, about where the filigree of nebula strands began. There was only
empty space between it and the habitat now.
Maybe it’s scared to come any closer,
the personality said.
I am considerably larger.
Have you tried an affinity call?
Yes. It didn’t respond.
Oh. Well. Just a thought.
The visitor left the convoluted weave of the nebula and flashed towards the vast bulk of the habitat. By now its deceptive
glamour
had reduced it to a rosette of oyster ribbons twirling gracelessly in the wake of a fluctuating warp point. The image of
the nebula and its strange borealis storms fluxed and bent as the visitor traversed them; oscillating between iridescent scintillations
and a black boundary deeper than an event horizon. Nothing about it remained stable.
It streaked over to within fifty metres of the shell then veered round to follow the curve, wriggling wildly from side to
side. The quick serpentine orbit allowed it to cover a considerable portion of the habitat’s exterior.
It’s searching,
the personality said.
That implies a degree of organisation. It has to be sentient.
Searching for what?
A way in, I imagine. Or something it can recognize, some method of establishing communication.
Do any of the spaceport defences still work?
Dariat asked.
You have to be bloody joking. We need all the allies we can get.
Before we fused, you used to be the mother of all suspicious neurotic bastards. I think that would be a preferable attitude
for you right now.
Well that’s the effect of your mature calming influence for you. So you’ve only got yourself to blame. But don’t worry, I’m
not going to send the MSV after it.
Thank Tarrug for that.
Our visitor should be coming over your horizon any second now. Perhaps your eyes will do better than my sensitive cells.
“Wipe the glass again,” Dariat told Tolton.
The soaking table cloth smeared the moisture in long streaks. Tiny flecks of frost were glistening dull white over the rest
of the big oval. Tolton switched off two of his light-sticks. Both of them peered forward. The visitor arched over the rim
of the shell, lensing thin spires of vermilion and indigo light as it came. They wavered in the runnels of water, wobbling
insubstantially before sinking back down into the visitor’s core. Now all that remained was a black knot in the continuum’s
fabric racing over the dark rust-coloured polyp.
Tolton’s weak grin was bloated with uncertainly. “Am I being paranoid, or is that heading towards us?”
______
In the earlier time and place, long ago and far away, they had called themselves the OrgathÉ. Now, names had lost all meaning
and relevance, or perhaps they themselves had devolved into something else, such was the way of this atrocious existence.
There were many others adrift in the dark continuum, sharing their fate. Identity was no longer singular. A myriad of racial
traits had blended and faded into a singleton over the aeons.
Purpose, though, purpose remained steadfast. The quest for light and strength, a return to the sweet heights from whence they
had all fallen. A dream sustained even within the mÉlange. Few forms existed now outside of the mÉlange. The process of diminution
claimed every life to fall into these depths. But this one had risen yet again, buoyed up by the tides of chaotic chance that
rioted within the mÉlange, spat out to roam the murk for as long as it had strength. The freeflying state of such escapees
was still that of the OrgathÉ, though the essence of many others rode upon its wings. Its chimerical shape was a tortured
mockery of the once glorious avian lords who ruled the swift air currents of their homeworld.
Ahead of it now drifted the exotic object. It was composed of a substance to be found only in the oldest of the OrgathÉ’s
memories, those that pre-dated the dark continuum. How strange that it could barely recognize the antecedent of its own salvation.
Matter. Solid organized matter. Alive with a heat so fierce it took the OrgathÉ some time to acclimatise to the radiance;
elevating itself to a near ecstatic level of warmth. Incredibly, just within the scorching surface, a sheet of life energy
burned bright and vigorous. The entire object was a single mighty entity. Yet passive. Vulnerable. This was a feast which
would sustain a huge proportion of the mÉlange for a long time. It might even trigger a total dispersal.
The OrgathÉ slithered close to the object’s surface, feeling the mind within follow its flight. Vast swirls of rich thought
flowed underneath it as it basked in the warmth. But there was no way to reach the abundant life-energy through the hard surface.
If the OrgathÉ attempted to claw its way through, it would surely incinerate itself. Contact with so much heat for so long
could probably not be sustained. But the craving within itself from proximity to so much vital life-energy was overwhelming.
There must be some way in. Some orifice or chink. The OrgathÉ coasted along over the object, heading for the spikes radiating
out from the centre. They were smaller, weaker than the rest of it. Long hollow minarets leaking their energy away into the
dark continuum. The life-energy was shallower here, the heat not so intense. Each of the structures was broken by thousands
of dark ovals, curtained by cooler sheets of transparent matter. Light twinkled briefly through some of them, never lasting
long. Except one. A single oval burning steadily.
The OrgathÉ glided eagerly towards it. Two flames of life-energy gleamed behind the transparent sheet. One naked, the other
clad in hot matter; both enraging the OrgathÉ’s craving. It surged forward.
______
“FUCK!” Tolton screamed. He dived to one side, scattering tables and chairs. Dariat jumped the other way just as the OrgathÉ
hit the window. Frost blossomed like a living thing, strands of long delicate crystals multiplying across the glass, then
reaching out through the air. Shapes moved on the other side of the hoary fur, dark indistinct serpents, thicker than a human
torso, that could be tentacles or tongues scrabbling furiously at the outer surface. The unmistakable grinding shriek of deep
score lines being ripped into the material penetrated the bar, drowning out Tolton’s terrified cries.
Do something!
Dariat wailed.
You name it, I’ll do it.
Tolton was scuttling backwards on his hands and legs, unable to take his eyes from the window. The serpent shapes were writhing
with rabid aggression as they clawed their way through. A badly stressed
snap
sounded above the vicious squealing; corresponding to a thin dark shadow materializing across the frosted window. Furniture
was rattling, shaking its way erratically across the floor. Glasses and bottles abandoned on top of the marble bar juddered
vigorously and tumbled off.
It’s coming through!
Dariat cried. When he tried to clamber to his feet, he discovered he didn’t have the strength. Fatigue was numbing every
limb.
“Kill it!” Tolton bellowed.
We can try and zap it,
the personality said,
like we did the possessed.
Just bloody do it!
It might kill you as well; we don’t know.
You’re part me. Do you seriously think I want
that
to catch me?
Very well.
The personality began to re-route its patched-up power supply. Diverting current away from the axial light tube and the caverns,
pumping the precarious fusion generators up to their maximum output. Electricity poured back into the Djerba starscraper’s
organic conductor grid. The first-floor windows blazed with golden light; mechanical and electronic systems came alive in
frantic chitters of movement and data emissions. Milliseconds later the second floor sprang back to life. The third, fourth…
Dazzling shafts of light sliced out from the Djerba’s windows, piercing the gloom outside. They snapped downward storey by
storey towards the beleaguered twenty-fourth floor. The personality gathered its major thought routines and plunged them down
into the starscraper, a sensation like diving into a pitch-black well shaft. Bitek networks were swiftly resurrected around
its descending mentality.
A dead zone was concentrated around Horner’s window. The external polyp was so cold the personality could no longer calibrate
it. Living cells deeper in had frozen solid. The personality could feel vibrations running through the floor as the OrgathÉ
pounded and scraped against the window.
Junctions within the organic conductor web switched polarity, high order sub-routines cancelled the safety limiters. Every
erg of power from the fusion generators was channelled into Horner’s. Ceiling strips of electrophorescent cells ignited, flooding
the bar with searing white light. Organic conductors behind the walls fused, burning out long lines of polyp in a cascade
of amber sparks. Incandescent arcs stormed through the air as a lethal charge of electrons was fired into the external wall.
Coming on top of the heat and life-energy, the electron hammer blow was just too much. The OrgathÉ recoiled from the window,
appendages flailing madly as the streams of alien energy churned within its body. There was a brief glimpse of sinuous chrome-black
tendrils bristling with curving blades coiling back protectively around a bulbous midsection. Ragged wing petals began to
flex. Then the distortion smeared it with refracted scintillations from the gleaming starscraper, and it shot away at a bruising
acceleration. Within seconds it was lost inside the nebula.
Dariat took his arm away from his face. The tremendous barrage of noise and light saturating the bar had faded. A few sparks
were still popping out from the deep scorch marks in the walls. The glossy electrophorescent cells had shattered and shrivelled
to rain across the floor, their fragments curling up, puffing out licks of smoke.
You all right, my boy?
the personality enquired.
Dariat looked down at himself. The feeble yellow glow from Tolton’s remaining lightstick showed his spectral body unchanged.
Though possibly more translucent than usual. He still felt terribly weak.
I think so. I’m bloody cold, though.
Could have been worse.
Yeah.
Dariat felt the personality’s major routines withdrawing from the starscraper. The lights were going off again in the upper
floors, autonomic bitek functions shutting down.
He struggled to his knees, shivering intensely. When he looked round he could see ice encrusted on every surface, turning
the bar into an arctic grotto. The electrical discharge had melted very little of it. That was probably what had saved them;
it was several centimetres thick over the window. And the fracture pattern in the glass underneath was unnervingly pronounced.