Dominion (5 page)

The contact ended, but they reached out and held on to each other, his face lost in the thick fall of her bronze hair.

“Did you see?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “I saw it all. I saw love.”

And then the
Nomad
started to move.

T
he alien ship dominated the view from the cockpit windows. Space was gone, and there was only the vessel. Now that Paul could examine it more closely, he was astonished at the smoothness of the hull, and the absence of any obvious windows or observation ports. Then again, it was entirely possible that this was some kind of automatic sentinel, dispatched to monitor the Derith wormhole and capture or destroy anything that came through it. It would be a dull posting, and an entirely automated system would probably make a better job of it than a crew, as the former was unlikely to become bored by the absence of very much to do. But how did that fit in with what Syl had told them about hearing many voices from the ship, or her belief that their conversations were being monitored by a reactive consciousness?

But he also had a strange feeling about the vessel, one that he chose not to share with the others because it seemed so ridiculous. There was something deeply organic about the alien craft, and he returned once again to his own earlier comparison with a manta ray. It seemed to Paul that, had he reached out and touched the ship, it might have responded to the contact much as a living thing would: moving slightly beneath the weight of his hand, or perhaps darting away in alarm. He was still considering this when a bay opened in the center of the hull, ready to admit them. He saw no doors: rather, the skin of the ship simply folded back. It called to mind a mouth widening, and Paul thought:
We are about to be eaten
.

They entered the body of the ship, but could see nothing before them. The lights of the
Nomad
seemed unable to penetrate the murk, and the scanners were no longer under their control. For the most part, they were entirely reliant on their own eyes and ears, and whatever extra powers Syl might be able to offer, although she did not speak as the ship engulfed them, for she was as overwhelmed as the rest of them.

Now all was silence and darkness. They had not even heard the bay doors close behind them.

And then the shadows began to retreat, like black smoke being sucked through unseen vents, and slowly the interior was revealed to them. It was huge and spherical, and the
Nomad
hung unsupported at its heart, like the tiny nucleus of some great atom. The surfaces around them were reddish-purple, dotted with pits. Red cables dangled, and a series of raised mounds rose at either side of them. Lights shimmered at irregular points, buried beneath thin membranes so that they shone pink instead of white.

And the whole mass pulsed. Paul knew that his first impression had been correct all along.

“It's alive,” he said. “This ship is a living organism.”

Syl and the humans had all seen and endured so much in their short lives, but they had never encountered anything like this. Even Meia, older than the rest of them, appeared awed. Only Rizzo resorted to practicalities.

“And we're in its belly,” she said. “Great.”

It struck Paul that Rizzo might be entirely incapable of wonder. It had seemingly been removed from her at birth.

“Look!” said Syl.

She was pointing out of the window next to her. The others moved to the port side of the
Nomad
. A length of tubular organic matter, like a massive vein, was extruding from the bay, growing from the flesh of the ship and extending itself toward their vessel.

“That's just gross,” said Rizzo.

The
Nomad
rocked slightly as the tube connected with the door on the port side. Seconds later, the door unlocked and hissed open. Paul walked to the doorway. Before him stretched a tunnel of bluish tissue. Like the bay, it was lit by what Paul could now see was bioluminescent matter. Carefully he reached out and tested the wall. It was rigid, slightly warm, and smelled faintly of meat, like a very hygienic butcher's shop. It also curved about halfway down its length, so he could not see the end.

“Syl?”

She joined him. Behind her, Meia tilted her head and frowned a warning at Paul.

“They already know about her,” said Paul. “That ship has sailed.”

He turned back to Syl.

“Are we in danger?” he asked.

Syl extended her right hand and touched the tunnel. She could almost feel the color that instantly flooded into her mind, so vivid was it: greenish-yellow, shading at its edges to red. The voices were present again, a low hum in her consciousness.

“Not yet,” she replied.

“What does that mean?”

“For now they're still just interested, but if we act strangely, or give them any cause for concern, they'll kill us.”

That wasn't reassuring, as Paul wasn't precisely sure what counted as acting strangely when moving through an organic spacecraft populated by unseen aliens.

“Any clue yet as to who ‘they' are?”

“No,” said Syl. “I can hear them, and sense their feelings, but only as much as they'll allow.” She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “Paul, I'm the one of whom they're most distrustful. I'm the one putting us at risk.”

“Because of your powers?”

She shook her head.

“No. Because I'm Illyri.”

Paul took her left hand in his right.

“We're together,” he told her. “You let them know that.”

Syl smiled at him.

“I don't need to tell them. Just as I can sense their feelings, so they can sense mine. I think you may be the only reason that I'm still alive.”

“Wow, it's almost like you need me.”

Her grip tightened.

“Isn't it?” she said.

Thula tapped Paul on the shoulder.

“Perhaps you could concentrate on the problem at hand,” he said. “You can discuss your wedding plans later.”

Paul reddened, but he did not release his hold on Syl.

“Steven, Rizzo, Alis: you stay with the
Nomad
,” he ordered. “Meia, Thula: you're with us.”

“Weapons?” asked Thula.

Paul looked to Syl for advice. She shook her head, and turned to Meia.

“Meia, they know you're armed.” Among Meia's adaptations was a piece of internal weaponry buried in the workings of her right arm. “If you attempt to use it, they'll destroy you.”

“I understand.”

After only the slightest hesitation, Paul and Syl stepped onto the docking bridge and began walking. It was slightly springy underfoot, as if inflated.

Thula grinned at Meia.

“After you,” he said. “You won't take it the wrong way if I don't stand too close, you being targeted first for destruction and all?”

“Nothing would make me happier than to keep you at a distance,” Meia replied.

She moved past Thula and left the
Nomad
.

“You're developing a sense of humor,” said Thula.

“I had to,” Meia replied over her shoulder. “With you around, I needed one.”

Thula glanced over at Steven. “And to think one just like her is all yours,” he said. Then he followed the others into the heart of the alien ship.

T
hey only discovered that the far end of the connector was blocked when they were over halfway across, because the curvature had hidden their ultimate destination from them.

“That's not good,” said Paul.

The connector began to shake.

“I've got worse news,” said Thula, looking back in the direction from which they'd come. “The other end has detached itself from the
Nomad
. This thing is closing on us.”

Paul took a few steps back and saw that the
Nomad
was indeed no longer visible, for the tube had sealed itself and was now retracting, curling quickly toward them as if it were a heavy stocking being turned inside out.

“We go on,” he said. “We don't have much choice.”

They kept moving forward, the shrinking of the connector apparently keeping pace with them, so that for every meter they traveled, they lost one behind them. Then, when they were almost within touching distance of the barrier ahead, it opened with a disturbing sucking sound, like a muscle relaxing. Thula eyed the resulting gap warily.

“It looks like a mouth,” he said. “That, or someone's ass.”

“It's fantastic,” said Meia.

“I knew you'd say that.”

“So do you agree that the ship really is alive?” Paul asked Meia.

“I don't know if you could call it alive, exactly,” she replied. “The vessel's exterior is clearly some kind of alloy, which functions as a kind of exoskeleton, but so far the interior is organic. It appears to be biomechanical.”

“Like you?”

“Perhaps, but on a much vaster scale. The interesting question is one of consciousness.”

Like you
, Paul was tempted to add, again, but held his tongue. Instead he asked: “You mean, is it capable of independent thought and action, or is it under someone else's control?”

“Or even if it's an actual creature, or simply organic matter adapted for purpose,” said Meia.

“Syl spoke of multiple presences,” said Paul. “Whatever this thing is, it's not out here alone.”

He looked to Syl for confirmation.

“It's all quiet now,” she said. “I don't sense anything.”

Paul peered through the opening. It was darker beyond than in the connector, which had now shrunk so far that the closed end was almost at Thula's back. With little alternative, Paul stepped through and found himself in a small, enclosed oval space, no bigger than the
Nomad
's main cabin and with only the faintest of pink luminosity to it. Again, the surface beneath his feet was relatively firm, but with a little give. It was like standing on thick rubber matting. The others joined him. As soon as Thula was inside, the doorway sucked shut behind him.

The light grew brighter. Veins and arteries appeared in the walls, the floor, the ceiling as, slowly, the entire oval became almost entirely transparent.

“Oh my God,” said Syl.

They were in another massive chamber, but this one dwarfed the dock to which the
Nomad
had been brought. Now the fleshiness of its walls was clear to them, and they could pick out muscles and tendons. Strangest of all, it was filled with some kind of fluid, faintly yellow in color, through which bubbles moved, propelled from one side of the chamber to the other by muscular spasms coming from suckered openings similar to the one through which they had just passed. Syl thought of a great womb, to which their tiny bubble was attached like an egg, surrounded entirely by amniotic fluid.

And they all heard as well as felt a rhythmic vibration, like a great drumming, and they knew that it was the beating of the ship's heart.

The floor of their bubble shifted, causing clear vertical projections to rise behind each one of them, which then expanded to gently enclose them around the legs and upper body, holding them in place. With only the slightest of jerks, the bubble was released from its mooring, and shot through the fluid. Particles of tissue floated before them, or bumped against the outer skin, but not so hard as to cause even a ripple in its surface. They also glimpsed what looked like bacteria, but so great in size as to be visible to the naked eye: small systems of spirilla, clusters of cocci, and rodlike bacilli with flicking flagella.

Then, less than a minute after their trip had commenced, it came to an end as the bubble reached the far side of the chamber, and a new sucker reached out to catch them and pull them to the wall. Their restraints fell away, and another doorway opened before them. They passed through it and found themselves in an observation gallery, its window many stories high and hundreds of meters wide. The window gave a clear view of space, and the distortion caused by the Derith wormhole, as though the stars were being manipulated and obscured by an imperfect lens. Over to the left they could see the imprisoned Corps craft, the net around it barely visible from this distance.

The image before them began to recede, and it took them a moment or two to realize that the ship in which they stood was moving, reversing so that more and more of the galaxies beyond became visible. The stars shimmered, and whole systems appeared to detach themselves from the fabric of space. Darkness and light slowly turned to silver before them as other ships were revealed, their alloy exoskeletons seemingly growing before the eyes of Paul and the rest as each one deactivated its camouflage. One, two, three, ship after ship, until an entire fleet was displayed, each vessel different from the next: some angular and geometric, others flowing and wavelike; some perfectly symmetrical, others with disproportionate bulges or unevenly balanced, yet still strangely graceful and harmonious, as though their apparent instability was a reflection of purpose, less a flaw than a conscious design.

And the Corps vessel hung at the heart of the fleet, like a small fish surrounded by the predators that would inevitably consume it.

Paul stepped closer to the windows. A thin mesh of transparent scales covered it on the outside, which probably explained why the exterior of the alien ship had appeared entirely solid when they looked upon it from the
Nomad
.

“Paul!”

He turned at the sound of Syl's voice, and saw fear naked on her face.

“They're coming!”

T
he hull of the observation deck began to bulge close to where Thula was standing. He stepped back in alarm as the shape of a man appeared in the red flesh of the ship, like a figure emerging from a vat of blood. He was naked but unfinished, a showroom mannequin come to life, created not from plastic but meat, and entirely without skin. He was an anatomical model made flesh, a flayed man, every muscle laid bare to them.