Absorption (29 page)

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Authors: John Meaney

BOOK: Absorption
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The world blew apart.
 
Like a volcano whose incandescent fire-river heart runs all the way from Surturheim, home of Fire Giants, the troll exploded stones in all directions, revealing crimson fire.
 
Then it was uncovered, a complex lattice of naked red light glowing in the air, while simultaneous words sounded inside everyone’s head.
 
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Above the ground, it twisted, perhaps wounded. Then it floated north, moving faster than a man could run; and after a moment it turned in a way that was impossible, into itself, and then it was gone like a dream in the brightness of morning.
 
Leaving behind strewn boulders, whimpering wounded, and several crushed corpses.
 
After several moments, warriors from both parties began to move, converging on the fallen. From behind a large tussock rose a narrow man with a wide-brimmed hat. Clearly he had been hiding.
 
‘Good poet,’ called the other party’s chief, Gulbrandr, ‘are you intact?’
 
‘I am, sir.’
 
‘Then we shall pay more heed to your songs of dread, Stígr.’
 
The poet’s one eye shone as his gaze fastened on Ulfr.
 
‘You carried out a brave deed, warrior.’
 
Ulfr said nothing, disquieted by the twists of shadow above this Stígr’s shoulders, a darkness that Gulbrandr seemed not to see.
 
Then Folkvar was clasping first Gulbrandr’s arm, then Stígr’s.
 
Can no one tell what he is?
 
Perhaps killing the troll - if that was what Ulfr had done - had not been for the best. Something about the poet made his skin crawl.
 
What if the troll had been after Stígr alone?
 
Then Steinn called out to Griggr, and Ulfr felt sick, remembering. Breaking eye contact, he went to Brandr.
 
‘Good boy. Good boy.’
 
The warhound licked his face.
 
‘How is he?’ called Steinn.
 
‘Minor cuts only,’ he said. ‘Unbelievable.’
 
‘Likewise my Griggr. She was lucky.’
 
‘We all were.’
 
‘And you were amazing, Ulfr.’
 
‘I don’t think so.’
 
 
That night, after burying the dead beneath stone cairns, the conjoined bands talked together, getting to know each other. When Stígr rose to declaim a poem, Ulfr left the circle and went to where the wounded
volva
, Heithrún, was resting. Her injured leg was bound with leather straps; and her face was clear of pain.
 
If it had been Ulfr with the wound, he would be moaning in agony; Heithrún’s control of her spirit was tremendous.
 
‘What is it that haunts you, son of the wolf?’
 
‘I don’t know.’ Ulfr looked back towards the fire. ‘What is our purpose? Why are the chieftains gathering?’
 
‘That’s not what troubles you.’
 
‘No, I—’
 
‘Stígr is a strange one, but I think you see something more.’
 
‘Why only me?’
 
‘That I cannot understand. Please hand me my staff.’
 
‘Here.’
 
The crystal seemed clear. What had happened to the embedded rune glowing so strongly earlier?
 
‘We both need to spend time in dreamworld, Ulfr. I to heal, you to explore questions.’
 
‘Yes . . .’
 
‘And we can begin our journey together as you cannot help but blink your eyes now, yes, and my verse will accompany our descent’ - the world flickered, then his eyelids closed, and Heithrún’s singsong chant carried him, his spirit, into trance - ‘as it doesn’t matter whether you cannot see the things that are not invisible or let go the things you cannot grasp or grasp what you cannot let go here as we drift deeper and deeper into dreamworld now . . .’
 
He sank very deep.
 
 
This was a hall unlike any he had seen before, though its glass-and-sapphire walls were hung with shields that looked familiar. Around a table stood chairs carved with tiny runes, difficult to make out; and it was when he reached to the nearest chair that the full impact shook him, because his hand looked transparent, like living ice, or rather crystal.
 
As was his entire body, beneath a clear tunic that draped and fell like fabric, yet could not be such.
 
—
Welcome, good Ulfr.
 
A regal woman stood at the table’s head, and she was of crystal too.
 
—
Who are you?
 
—
My name, good warrior, is Kenna.
 
—
Are you a Soul-Fetcher? But I am not dead.
 
She gestured to the table.
 
—
We form a war council, Ulfr. Soon we will meet together, the first of us.
 
—
What war?
 
—
I believe you know, inside yourself.
 
This was impossible, even for dreamworld.
 
—
No. I need to wake up.
 
—
You will awaken later. For now, just wait.
 
He stared around, looking for a weapon. Then it came to him that he was not under attack, not truly. And finally he realized that he had not taken a breath since this place had appeared.
 
When he tried, there was nothing to breathe; yet his body did not panic.
 
—
So we wait. What for?
 
—
Two of our comrades.
 
He nodded, composing himself.
 
—
There is no hurry.
 
The crystalline woman smiled.
 
TWENTY-ONE
 
FULGOR, 2603 AD
 
Rafaella exulted. Inside her cache was the fragmented self of Daniel Deighton, or more precisely the quantum state of his plexweb at the instant of his death. Soon she would loose it from the cache, letting it flood through her; but first she would sink deeply into code-trance, performing the trickiest of mindhacks as she cleared space inside her own brain-plus-plexweb, a psychocomputational feat impossible to explain to a non-Luculentus.
 
Soon, though, she would face the problems that had doomed her predecessor, Rafael - extending her neurocognitive capacity to handle her enlarged mind. In his case, there had been a network of distributed plexcores buried in many locations; and the need to avoid lightspeed delays had been the proximate cause of his death, for he had relied on comms relays using processors in mu-space, controlled by Pilots.
 
I have more resources than you ever had, sweet teacher.
 
She settled down in lotus position, on the median strip of carpet that ran along the south wing’s main corridor. It pleased her to command the carpet to flow, bearing her along as she closed her eyes and sank deep inside her awareness.
 
A faint
ting
at the edge of consciousness indicated a comms request. So soon after Daniel Deighton’s death? She would need to answer.
 
‘
Hello, ma’am,
’ said a pretty young woman in Skein.
 
‘Your ident says you’re Alisha Spalding.’ Rafaella spoke, but only in Skein; in reality, her lips did not move. ‘You’re a student . . . and soon to be upraised.’
 
‘
Yes, ma’am. That’s why I hoped I could prevail on you for a favour, if you’re the kind of person who likes lecturing to interested audiences.
’
 
‘I presume you already know that I am. And you’d like to engage me as a guest speaker?’
 
‘
With expenses reimbursed, of course.
’
 
Rafaella considered the young woman’s soft, ripe mind and the ease with which she could plunge inside her plexnodes. But there were two problems: one was the use of in-Skein protocols instead of direct person-to-person tightcode, leaving data that might be traced by forensic specialists; the other was the lack of a true plexweb - because the girl was not yet a Luculenta - rendering her a delicious short-term snack that would in the aftermath feel empty.
 
‘Of course. And do you have a subject in mind?’
 
‘
Perhaps the hyperdimensionality of realspace would interest you enough to—
’
 
‘I don’t think so.’
 
‘
But some of your past research in architectural frames used n-dimensional techniques that included Calabi-Yau perspectives for the transfer of load. At the sub-femtoscopic it matters because—
’
 
‘In fact I do recall my own work, but it’s no longer of interest.’
 
‘
Oh. I was so hoping to see a true Luculenta not just demonstrating in-depth understanding, but presenting it in a way that simpler minds could grasp.
’
 
‘You say that with a straight face, Ms Spalding. So, all right.’ She had decided: this morsel was for later, not now. ‘Give me some interesting analysis of your own, some original work on the topic, and share it with me.’
 
‘
But it’s your thoughts we’d—
’
 
‘And I’ll explicitly acknowledge your contribution as a collaborator. That’s my condition.’
 
‘
Well . . . Thank you.
’
 
‘Call me when you’ve got something. Endit.’
 
The virtual holo disappeared from Rafaella’s awareness.
 
Now I’m alone.
 
‘House, give me privacy for one hour.’
 
In lotus, she sank her chin and closed her eyes, deep into trance. She felt like a miner excavating the caverns of her own mind, chipping and picking away at internal walls, rearranging her geometry of self. And then she was ready.
 
To enjoy!
 
Her internal buffer screamed.
 
Come to me, Daniel Deighton.
 
And he burst out, flooding into her; she yelled in ecstasy.
 
You’re mine!
 
A tsunami of pleasure, orders of magnitude beyond anything before, crashed through her.
 
You’re the first.
 
She cried out again as cognitive patterns and raw emotions swirled and tore inside her.
 
The first of so very many.
 
It was profoundly satisfying. Yet she remained so hungry.
 
I could eat the world.
 
And soon perhaps she would.
 
 
Behind the study hall was a bluegrass park bordered with indigo trees. Alisha stepped out of the building and onto the grass, and considered kicking off her shoes, or commanding them to dissolve into her other garments. Whether her conversation with Luculenta Rafaella Stargonier had been success or failure, she was not sure; but the outcome was certainly a challenge
 
New research. For a guest speaker’s talk.
 
It was not as if Alisha was aiming to get a doctorate in the subject. On the other hand, if she managed to impress such a Luculenta, there would be tangible advantages.
 
Across the park, she could see Dr Helsen talking to a burly man. Thinking back, Alisha recalled her first sight of Helsen from the saucer-balcony, and the way that Roger had stared at both her and - yes, this same man.

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