The Soul Continuum (39 page)

It won't work, I tell myself. They won't survive.
He
won't survive.

“And fuck your amphidextrine,” he says with a sudden-found aggression, as if his recording knows my thoughts. “I'll live without that shit . . . somehow.”

The screen goes dark and I am left empty, but only for a few precious seconds. Something far worse fills the hole. A directionless, chaotic, agonizing storm of rage and hurt. These are feelings I cannot endure, feelings I cannot control or truly understand. Or want. And these emotions feel far more dangerous than those I experienced in the astronomics section. I do not know what the repercussions will be. I cannot function like this, and through the vehicle of my denial, the dark entity that could be my subconscious, may come back with a vengeance. It could even be something to do with the thing we saw in our star, Celetrix. I cannot afford to feel like this. I cannot bear it. And I must not allow it to take control.

Reduce catharsis gland to 0 percent in increments of 10 percent
per second. Initiate.

I will be reconnected to the Unitas Communion. My brain's emotions will be set aside allowing only my mac5in3 m1nd to exper13nc3 the w0rld ar0und me. And it mu5t r3ma1n that way unt17 I hav3 found Oluvia. The Un1ta5 will kn0w h0W th3 ca7har5i5 G1and fUNC710n5. AN6 1 w177 NO LONGER f337 th15 PA1N. PR1MARY B10L0G1CAL FUnCT1ON5 disENGAG3D S1MULAT3D N3RV0US 5Y5TEM DISENGAG3D C1RCULAT0RY SY5TeM DISENGAGeD CER38ERAL FUNCT10NS DISEnGaGeD 7593845 02 8 93 075847 87567378-4673-848-4578 001101-000110-101000-011111 . . .

D
ay 3010.

001101-000110--34919-10010437-57-45-7273-7364-736478566291-0209-3847--4578-4777-66566 TH89 7YH D3A7H D3A7H D3A7H LI7E AND D3A7H 000 LI7E AL15 AL15E 1 am A71VE 1 aM r3turN3D. All 810LogiCAL FUNCT10NS resTOred. CognITive ReaS0nING reengaged.

Catharsis gland reengaged at 100 percent.

“Oluvia! Oluvia!”

I have hunted for her for three long years. Scouring the
Socrates
, searching tirelessly through every province, tracking every lead, sifting through endless data streams to find her. Even in the comparably cold emotions of my machine mind, I understood that Oluvia was my objective. She was still the key to the success of the catharsis gland, and the mystery of our connection is still unsolved.

But my efforts are not what brought us back together in the end; Cartinian proved to be more than adept with his hacking skills. Oluvia's presence remained a secret, and though my memories of the last 1,185 days seem from a different life without my brain's emotions in use, I recall the
lie that was told to Higgs and the technicians: that I had exiled
the child. They believed him because of the emotional change in me, and no further action was taken; Higgs still needed me, so he made no formal report.

Oluvia Wade's arms wrap around my waist and she squeezes. I cannot believe how much she has grown in three years. Her features are more defined now, her skin almost bronze, her eyes showing so much more intelligence than before. Her clothing reflects her more mature manner, too: a plain white dress gilded with patches of lace.

“Hello, Mother.” Her smile is like sunlight. “You're crying.”

“I am not crying,” I tell her, “but I am so very happy to see you. Why did you change your mind?”

“I didn't change my mind,” she says. “This is good-bye. I wanted to see you before things change forever.”

“Good-bye?”

“Yes. You can see outside, can't you?”

I look into the sky, and it takes on new meaning for me now. The transparent skin of New GateLand province glints in the setting light of the now-distant Celetrix, a dark red sheen coloring the spires and steeples of Oluvia's present country home, but until this moment, I had not considered the white freckles of light dominating the void ahead. The specks that have become so familiar to everyone are no longer distant galaxies, they are stars. We are mere days away from our planetary destination, and the
Socrates
has nosed into the foggy outskirts of galaxy Senerius Exis H1 to enter the orbital grasp over the closest star system.

Yes, I can see outside. It is the end of our journey and Oluvia is telling me this is the absolute endpoint of our relationship, too. When the provinces are ejected from the
Socrates
framework to cover the new planet, she wants to sever all connections. She wants to live a rural life without technology. This is what New GateLand stands for.

“Why didn't you give me a chance?” I ask Oluvia. “You left without even discussing what happened.”

Oluvia pulls away from my embrace and looks pained.

“Instinct.” The reply comes from Cartinian, standing twenty paces away as if it is dangerous to come any closer. “And I was right, wasn't I?”

Lennon Cartinian III is a changed man. His voice is softer, calmer, and he wears the pristine but plain brown robes of a GateLand priest. He is clean-shaven with his black hair now dyed white, combed back so that it looks almost like a bleached skullcap. A pair of steel spectacles rests on the bridge of his nose, demonstrating that he has rejected his retinal implants.

“We will never know,” I tell him.

“Oh, I think we do,” he insists. “I think you would have killed Oluvia. Not intentionally, but you would have eventually, if you got angry enough. I found out what those noises were. It was the nanodrones. They're everywhere, and I can't prove it, but I think it was your subconscious mind controlling them through that catharsis gland. The nanodrones even affected Celetrix, using the star's energy to create that monster inside your head. I wasn't sure you had it in you at first, but what you did to Yeeka . . .” He closes his eyes. “You didn't even need nanodrones to do what you did to her. That was your conscious rage.”

Yeeka. Yes. I tortured her. After switching back to machine mentality, I allowed the full spectrum of hatred to reassert
control. Cartinian only ever made one error after he went into hiding from me. The data trail was only partial, leading me not to Oluvia but to Yeeka, and I gave her the worst three weeks of her life. The interrogation was ineffective, but the torture was not. It had a lasting effect, and she chose exile from the
Socrates
rather than be anywhere near me again.

“I was . . . desperate,” I tell him.

Oluvia has returned to Cartinian's side and the distance
between us is palpable, like a wall of regret.

“I know,” Cartinian says. “It doesn't change anything. I took a massive risk allowing her to come to you, but when she makes her mind up, well . . . you know.”

“Where is Sooli?” I ask.

“She didn't want to come. She was afraid.”

I nod. “So . . . how long do we have?”

There is a rumble. Subtle at first, like the vibration caused by a travel pod, but there is no transportation anywhere near here. It must be the beginning of the exodus. A glance up into the sky confirms my suspicion and answers my question to Oluvia. There is time enough for last words but no more. New GateLand will be among the first to leave, and she will not want me to be part of this province. Above, several of the other provinces are visible like great metal branches arcing distantly over the skyline, and one of them—Mechanada, I believe—breaks away from the end of its umbilical, popping like a slow-motion stud from the
barrel of a hull-plating gun. Gas clouds and spinning particles
expand in a lazy halo from the exit point, and the huge bulb, containing tens of thousands of people, ignites at the rear, its pilot propelling it like a huge missile toward one of the planets orbiting our new star. I watch it for a few seconds, then turn to Oluvia, who's standing beside Cartinian.

“Do you hate me?” I ask.

“Hate you?” Oluvia shakes her head, and her smile takes on a guarded edge as she frowns. “I have learned, Mother, that we are hurt profoundly by those we love, and I will never forget it.”

She turns from me, taking Cartinian's fingers to pull him away.

“Is that it?” I call after her. “A good-bye? Nothing else?”

“She needed closure,” Cartinian said.

“And what about me? I need . . .”

Oluvia stops. “What
do
you need?” She turns her head slightly to offer me half her attention, but I have nothing else to say. She turns back, continues walking. Cartinian places his arm around her shoulder and I feel a spike of resentment. I need you, Oluvia.

“New GateLand will be leaving in thirty standard minutes,” Oluvia says with her back to me. “It will take you ten to reach one of the return pods at the umbilical.”

W
ounded by Oluvia, I am in a daze. Instead of ten, it takes me twenty-nine minutes to reach the last travel pod, which is empty. I have left my departure to the very last minute, paying almost no attention to the alert klaxons and announcements telling the inhabitants of New GateLand that their opportunity to change provinces
is almost gone. Even after three years Oluvia has not forgiven
me for that one mistake, and I cannot help but wonder if there is more to her rejection than a single strike to the face. Perhaps she is not all that different from other
Homo sapiens
after all. Could their prejudice against my kind be so ingrained that it has worked itself insidiously into the fabric of their DNA so that none of them have a choice but to hate me? But does
she
hate me? She did not answer my question. She did not say no.

A bright flash bursts overhead and I glance up to witness what I assume at first to be the ignition flare of another
province leaving the
Socrates
, but then I realize that cannot be right. Two provinces would never leave in such close proximity of time. I zoom in on the flare and catch my breath. It is not an ignition flare. It is a vast explosion, and by the trace of the gamma trail leading up to it, I know it is the entire province of Mechanada. I cannot believe what I see. The white glare flickers angrily with the rage of nuclear catastrophe and I shield my eyes as it intensifies. An entire culture lost!

And then I hear it: the haunting, distant bass moan of whatever it was that first troubled the liner almost eight standard years ago. It has returned. But as the volume escalates into a bestial roar, the explosion is suddenly gone, as if a great claw has closed around it and snuffed it out. The eerie sound fades to a mournful sighing wind, and I stare at the emptiness. Horrified by what I can no longer see and stunned into inaction, I have missed my only opportunity to leave. But I am not certain I really wanted to. Subconsciously I know I could not willingly be parted from Oluvia now that I have found her. But what else has my subconscious done? It cannot be a coincidence that the mysterious
sound has returned on the very same day that I have reactivated my catharsis gland. And is it a coincidence that an entire province has been snuffed from existence? Of course not.

Under my feet, the hum of generators begins its incremental build to ignition. There are very few people around, most are in their homes preparing, but a few have come outside to risk the danger of launch and witness the final stages of travel to their new world. One or two of them point at where the explosion was, looking confused. Others hunch and grimace at the sound.

The travel pod has left the station and I feel the static
charge crackle through the atmosphere as the province prepares for ejection. Trees shudder and even the grass surrounding my feet vibrates until the inevitable burst of power decouples us from the umbilical to propel our province into the depths of the new star system. Gravity compensators balance against the force of acceleration, and through the transparent wall of our province bulb, I see the length of the
Socrates
rushing past: the sweeping umbilicals of other provinces, the vast passenger neck, the bulbous astronomics section, the quantum drives, and in a moment of terror I realize I am witnessing the beginnings of its total destruction.

Vast bubbles of shimmering white light expand and collapse in random places across the hull, and as each bubble dissipates, the affected structure buckles and collapses, spewing chunks outward like blood globules from a blaster wound. And even as the debris spirals into the void, this too is disappearing, swallowed by something vast and invisible. With it all, that deathly, echoing moan heralds the carnage.

I wish I could calm my mind, but something in the chemistry of my brain is slowing everything down. Each moment of destruction is agonizingly detailed, and I feel the quivering of my catharsis gland, the faltering of my breath, and a numbing dizziness trying to incapacitate me. I am going into shock. The emotional impact is so great that I wonder if my brain will shut down, sending me back to the safety of my machine mind and relinking me to the Unitas Communion. If it does not, I may have to do it myself. But not yet; there is no time for that disorientation now. I have to find Oluvia. I have to make sure she is safe.

I run back the way I came, hoping desperately for any kind of clue about where Cartinian will have taken her but knowing the chances are remote. There is another explosion, far more blinding than the first. So bright that for several seconds nothing is visible beyond pure white, but I continue to stumble on, feeling the twisting, turning pull of competing gravities until finally the ground is no longer touching my feet. I am falling. The
Socrates
is gone. I don't even have to look to know that. The force of its demise has tossed New GateLand from its intended trajectory, subjecting it to forces of stress that will soon tear it into pieces.

As my vision returns, all about me is chaos. This is no longer a province. It is a vast quivering bubble on the verge of collapse, and its contents are floating, falling, turning, and shooting like shrapnel caught in underwater ocean currents. I manage to grab hold of some cable that is still connected to what used to be the ground and haul myself along it until I reach the surface. People are adrift in the air, most
of them dead, and I have no idea what I will do if I see Oluvia
among them.