Absorption (60 page)

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Authors: John Meaney

BOOK: Absorption
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‘How—?’
 
‘
Let’s leave it till later.
’
 
Transit.
 
Golden light was all around as Roger made his way forward, knowing nothing could touch them here, for this was home where everything would be all right, now and always.
 
Mu-space.
 
 
Four thousand seven hundred and seventy-three ships burst into realspace over Fulgor. Two hours and thirteen minutes had elapsed since the fall of Skein; millions of ordinary Fulgidi had poured out of the cities and into the countryside. In the hypozone, tribes of Shadow People had either set up armed perimeters or welcomed refugees, depending on how the clans voted.
 
One Pilot, Davey Golwyn, took double the capacity his ship was rated for, risking his life to take an entire small clan on board, along with their cats. A few Pilots had to persuade people to come on board, while in dozens of sites, adults pushed their children on board while remaining to fight off the enemy, whatever it was.
 
Two ships hovering over Lucis City were taken down by quickglass tendrils snapped around by moving towers. One blasted clear, amid shrivelling, melting quickglass; the other blew itself up. Another ship was destroyed outside Sylbam Minor on the south coast, as it hovered in place to lay down covering fire while refugees streamed from the rampaging city.
 
Five ships numbered Luculenti among their passengers. In every case, tiny pinpoint grasers inside their passenger holds picked out the former elite and killed them. Whether the dead had been infected by vampire code was not always possible to tell; regardless, they died, and Pilots conscripted passengers to throw the bodies out through hatches, before they would depart from Fulgor.
 
Among the planet’s inhabitants were a hundred thousand tales of selfless courage and sacrifice that would never be recorded; while others scrabbled at any chance, at any shameful cost, to get on board one of the too-few vessels attempting to spirit an entire planet’s population away from danger.
 
Young Davey Golwyn took his ship down to land seven times, daring more than most. On the last landing, as the crush of people pressed against each other outside, one man on the ground stared up, and seemed to stare straight at Davey, despite the solid hull that separated them.
 
Then the man’s eyes glowed an odd sapphire blue.
 
‘
Bug out,
’ Davey sent. Every ship was linked to every other ship, awaiting this signal. ‘
It’s taking down ordinary people. Bug out now.
’
 
He flung his ship upwards; and so did every other Pilot. Three Pilots observed passengers undergoing the same transition, transforming into components of the entity below. Two made the jump into mu-space, then calmly went back to the holds and ejected the passengers into the hearts of stars; the third Pilot flew straight into Fulgor’s sun.
 
The remainder of the flight streamed upwards into orbit. A multi-hued cloud of shining vessels, they moved farther away, checking and rechecking among themselves. No infection. They accelerated, still in realspace, lengthening the separation from Fulgor, passing the limit to Calabi-Yau transportation of energy, at least to the extent they understood Zajinet technology, taking themselves beyond the entity’s reach.
 
Every human passenger seemed clear; and finally, every one of them was in delta-coma.
 
A final check confirmed that the remaining four thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight Pilots were as normal, unaffected by the entity engulfing Fulgor. What percentage of the planet’s population they had managed to save, they were not yet sure. Their first job was to get home - home for the Pilots, not their passengers, who would need to remain in coma for however long they remained in mu-space.
 
One by one, the ships left the realspace universe.
 
In golden mu-space, some of the rescue vessels took near-hellflight geodesics back to Labyrinth; but most of the fleet soared at a gentler pace, their mission accomplished, as much as anyone could have hoped for.
 
At one level, there was no hurry. For the event that was to unite them in Labyrinth, to commemorate the evacuation of Fulgor, would not take place until the fleet’s return, whenever that was. The ceremony would be a reminder of victory in sacrifice, of the extent to which a single Pilot could make a difference, a celebration of what Pilotkind could achieve when united.
 
Carl Blackstone’s funeral was to be an affair of state.
 
FIFTY-ONE
 
EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2147 AD
 
Their fur smelled musty. All around Rekka stood a phalanx of muscular males, dressed in the white-and-gold of city guards in full ceremonial gear. She was hidden from general view by awnings, and her alien scent was absorbed by hangings of porous fibre. But she could see the stadium below, while holo views from her beeswarm hung over the infostrand on her wrist.
 
Banners of scarlet and gold, set all around the stadium, cracked in the breeze. On white stone terraces, row upon row of Elders sat, with much variety in their fur coloration - they had travelled far, some from other continents - but almost all with stately antlers. There were seats for the general public, too - all of them high up, but already filled. Outside, great crowds thronged the streets. They, like the folk inside the stadium, held small flat crystal rectangles, handed out by the city proctors.
 
The sights were stunning for Rekka; for the locals, the scents must be overwhelming.
 
From one entrance, sweet-scented carpet (she knew from her bees’ analysis) led across the open area to the white throne forming the place of honour. Excitement swirled through the air, strong enough for Rekka to smell. Then something moved in the entranceway.
 
It was a bronze cart drawn by maidens. Inside, two adults and a young female sat, looking around in what Rekka read as bewilderment. The cart halted, and gloved attendants helped the three special guests dismount, and led them to a nearby bench of marble. They sat and looked around, while the maidens took the cart away.
 
Now the tension was ozone-sharp in Rekka’s nostrils.
 
Finally, proctors and bannermen marched into the stadium in twin columns, preceding the person in whose honour the proceedings had been arranged. Rekka’s vision blurred. Today was so important for her friend and his family.
 
Sharp entered, his eyes wide but his gait steady, his antlers level as he walked, his fear hidden from all but those who loved him.
 
 
As the proceedings began, Sharp took in the scents, nodding to Father. There would be no mention of the family shame; and after today, their name would be honoured. For Sharp had brought back knowledge of another world, and more.
 
A Chief Librarian held up a device, like the one he had worn around his chest for so long, and Sharp controlled himself before emitting the rehearsed scents.
 
~I have visited a city beyond the sky, and returned to tell you of it.
 
The crystal plates, held by every member of the vast crowd, reproduced his fragrant message, and embellished it with the visual script, known only by the Librarians’ caste until now.
 
~I have so much to share with you.
 
He looked up at the beeswarm, and bowed in the direction of the awnings that hid Rekka, though he could neither see nor smell her from here. All around was a multitude of people that he could never have imagined gathered in one place, and certainly not because of him.
 
~I’m afraid.
 
But that was a private scent, to keep to himself.
 
 
From her vantage point, Rekka saw the advancing Librarians before she understood what they meant. And then, once their intent became clear, she ordered her beeswarm to gather overhead, ready to drop and deliver their neurotoxin load.
 
‘Sharp. Oh, Sharp.’
 
She had to choose.
 
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
 
For the sake of friendship, there was only one choice to make.
 
My dear, sweet friend.
 
She held the beeswarm aloft, and did nothing.
 
 
The Librarians drew near, each reaching inside his robe and drawing forth a golden scythe. Meanwhile, acolytes walked at stately pace, bearing the golden plates that would be passed around the gathered Elders and the general crowd. Behind them trailed robed maidens, scattering flower petals from baskets in all directions, the heady fragrance designed to coat the scents of agony.
 
There were thousands of people here, and more outside, and every one of them deserved to know of this other world and the dark things loose within it. They needed to know, and they would thank his memory for it. This was his vindication for Father’s shame, for the slice that had been taken and rejected, the gobbet that was tasted and spat upon the floor.
 
Today, no matter how bitter, they would swallow the truth and absorb it, for its importance was overwhelming. There was no way for them to escape their obligation.
 
But no mere single slice of flesh would suffice. Not for all these folk.
 
Sharp closed his eyes and lowered his head.
 
One by one, they came.
 
 
The next day, the automatic shuttle picked her up from the campsite, and took her to the mu-space ship that waited in orbit. Once inside the hold, she heard the Pilot speak.
 
‘
Rekka Chandri?
’
 
‘Yes, Pilot.’
 
A needle in her couch jabbed her arm. Anaesthesia, for the voyage.
 
‘
EM-0036 is an official xeno sentient homeworld now. You’re the
de facto
delegation.
’
 
‘That’s nice.’
 
‘
So you get to name the world. First contact privilege.
’
 
Privilege. It had been a privilege to know Sharp, so courageous, so intelligent.
 
‘I don’t . . .’
 
‘
Please don’t leave it for the bureaucrats to name.
’
 
‘I—
Vijaya
.’ Her voice was beginning to slur. ‘Means . . . victory.’
 
‘
Good name.
’
 
 
She was asleep in coma as the vessel made a single orbit of Vijaya’s blue-and-ochre sphere, hung in space like an eagle about to swoop, then flashed out of realspace existence, to the fractal universe Rekka would never see.
 
FIFTY-TWO
 
LABYRINTH, 2603 AD (REALSPACE-EQUIVALENT)
 
From a balcony on Ascension Annexe, Roger watched the proceedings. He wore black and gold, with brocade and formal cape, while members of the Admiralty Council stood on either side. There were floating tiers of seats from which thousands of Pilots watched, as his parents’ joint coffin floated through the great vault before the Annexe, normally filled with ships, now cleared for the ceremony.
 
A giant holovolume off to one side showed the honour flight waiting outside the city: two squadrons of gold-and-silver ships ready to escort two of their own - Carl and Miranda Blackstone - on their final voyage. Music filled the titanic vault, the mournful chords of
Kian’s Lament
echoing and seeping into bones and blood, a skirl of grief with an undertone of triumph, marking the other meaning of today: the difference that one man’s choice, one Pilot’s courage, could make to a world.
 
Call it a point gained by humanity, in the quest to bring meaning out of formlessness, enlightenment from non-sentience.
 
Dad. Mum. I love you.
 
He could never be the person his father was, that either of them was.
 
Rear-Admiral Schenck put a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps the gesture was meant to signify something to the crowd of mourners; to Roger it meant nothing. He did not like the man.
 
The coffin reached an exit tunnel, and began to move out.
 
I can’t watch this.
 

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