The Hyperion Cantos 4-Book Bundle (222 page)

I looked down at the swirling black waters in which I would be swimming in less than a minute. “Well, kiddo, if you have powers or abilities that would get us the hell out of here, I suggest you explore them and use them whether you’ve earned them or not.”

Her hand touched my arm. She was wearing an extra pair of my wool socks as mittens. “I’m guessing,” she said, the vapor of her breath freezing on the brim of the floppy cap she had pulled low. “But nothing I will ever learn could get all three of us out of here now. I know that’s true. Perhaps the temptation is … It doesn’t matter, Raul. Let’s just see if we can get through this icefall.”

I nodded, took a breath, and stripped out of everything but my underwear. The shock of cold air was terrible. Completing the knot that held the line around my chest, noticing that my fingers were already growing stiff and useless from the cold, I took the shoulder bag holding the plastique from A. Bettik and said, “The river water may be cold enough to stop my heart. If I
don’t tug once, hard, within the first thirty seconds, pull me back.”

The android nodded. We had gone over the other rope signals I would use.

“Oh, if you pull me back and I am in a coma or dead,” I said, trying to keep my tone matter-of-fact, “don’t forget I might be revived even after several minutes of having my heart stopped. This cold water should retard brain death.”

A. Bettik nodded again. He was standing with the rope over one shoulder and curled around his waist to the other hand in a classic climber’s belay.

“Okay,” I said, realizing that I was delaying and losing body heat. “See you guys in a few minutes.” I slipped over the side into the black water.

I believe that my heart did stop for a minute, but then it began pounding almost painfully. The current was stronger than I had bargained for. It almost swept me down and under the ice wall before I was ready to go. As it was, it swirled me several meters to the port of the raft and banged me up sharply against the jagged ice, cutting my forehead and slamming my forearms brutally. I clung to a jagged crystal with all of my strength, feeling my legs and lower body being pulled into that subterranean vortex and struggling to keep my face out of the water. The stalactite that had fallen behind us crashed against the ice wall just half a meter to my left. If it had struck me, I would have been unconscious and drowned without knowing what had happened.

“This … might … not … be … such a … good idea,” I gasped, teeth chattering, before I lost my grip and was pulled under the jagged icefall.

De Soya’s idea is to abandon
Raphael
’s plodding search pattern and jump directly to the first of the Ouster-captured systems.

“What good will that do, sir?” asks Corporal Kee.

“Perhaps none,” admits Father Captain de Soya. “But if there is an Ouster connection, we might get a hint of it there.”

Sergeant Gregorius rubs his jaw. “Aye,” he says, “and we may get captured by a Swarm. This ship isn’t the best armed in His Holiness’s fleet, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, sir.”

De Soya nods. “But it’s fast. We could probably outrun most Swarm ships. And they may have abandoned the system by now … they tend to do that, hit, run, push back the Pax Great Wall, then leave the system with only a token perimeter defense after wreaking as much damage as they can on the world and populace.…” De Soya stops. He has seen only one Ouster-pillaged world firsthand—Svoboda—but he hopes never to have to see another. “Anyway,” he says, “it’s the same to us on this ship. Normally the quantum leap to beyond the Great Wall would be eight or nine months shiptime, eleven or more years time-debt. For us it will be the usual instantaneous jump and three days resurrection.”

Lancer Rettig raised his hand, as he often did in these discussions. “There’s that to consider, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“The Ousters have never captured an archangel courier, sir. I doubt if they know this sort of ship exists. Heck, sir, most of the Pax Fleet has no idea archangel technology exists.”

De Soya sees his point immediately, but Rettig continues. “So we’d be running quite a risk, sir. Not just for ourselves, but for the Pax.”

There is a long silence. Finally de Soya speaks. “That’s a good point, Lancer. I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. But Pax Command built this ship with its automated resurrection creche just so we could go beyond Pax space. I think it’s understood that we might have to follow leads into the Outback … into Ouster-held territory if need be.” The priest-captain takes a breath. “I’ve been there, gentlemen. I’ve burned their orbital forests and fought my way out of Swarms. The Ousters are … strange. Their attempts to adapt to odd environments … to space even … are … blasphemous. They may no longer be human. But their ships are not fast.
Raphael
should be able to get in and translate back to quantum velocities if there is a threat to her capture. And we can program her to self-destruct before being captured.”

None of the three Swiss Guard troopers says a word. Each appears to be thinking about the death within death that would entail—the destruction without warning of destruction. They would go to sleep on their acceleration couches/resurrection creches as always and simply never awaken … at least not in this life. The cruciform sacrament is truly miraculous—it can bring shattered and blasted bodies back to life, return the shape and souls of born-again Christians who have been shot, burned, starved, drowned, asphyxiated, stabbed, crushed, or ravaged by disease—but it has its limits: too much time of decomposition defeats it, as would a thermonuclear explosion of a ship’s in-system drive.

“I guess we’re with you,” Sergeant Gregorius says at last, knowing that Father Captain de Soya has asked for this discussion because he hates simply ordering his men into such a risk of true death.

Kee and Rettig merely nod.

“Good,” says de Soya. “I will program
Raphael
accordingly … that if there is no chance for her to escape before we
can be resurrected, she’ll trigger her fusion engines. And I’ll be very careful setting the parameters for her on what ‘no escape’ means. But I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening. We will awaken in … My God, I haven’t even checked to see which system is the first Ouster-occupied Tethys world. Is it Tai Zhin?”

“Negative, sir,” says Gregorius, leaning over the hard-copy star chart of the search plot
Raphael
has prepared. His massive finger strikes down on a circled region beyond the Pax. “It’s Hebron. The Jew world.”

“All right, then,” says the priest-captain. “Let’s get to our couches and head for the translation point. Next year in New Jerusalem!”

“Next year, sir?” says Lancer Rettig, floating above the plot-table before kicking off to his own couch.

De Soya smiles. “It’s a saying I’ve heard from some of my Jewish friends. I don’t know what it means.”

“I didn’t know that there were any Jews around anymore,” says Corporal Kee, floating above his own couch. “I thought they all stuck to themselves in the Outback.”

De Soya shakes his head. “There were a few converted Jews at the university when I was taking courses outside of seminary,” he says. “Never mind. You’ll meet some soon enough on Hebron. Strap in, gentlemen.”

The priest-captain knows immediately upon awakening that something has, indeed, gone wrong. A few times during his wilder days as a young man, Federico de Soya had got drunk with his fellow seminarians, and on one of these outings he had awakened in a strange bed—alone, thank God—but in a strange bed in a strange part of the city, with no memory of whose bed it was or how he got there. This awakening is like that.

Rather than opening his eyes to see the enclosed and automated creche couches on
Raphael
, smelling the ozone and recycled-sweat scents of the ship, feeling the awakening-to-falling terror of zero-gravity, de Soya finds himself in a comfortable bed in a lovely room in a reasonably normal gravity field. There are religious icons on the wall—the Virgin Mary, a large crucifix with the heavenly raised eyes of a suffering Christ, a painting
of the martyrdom of St. Paul. Weak sunlight comes through lace curtains.

All this is vaguely familiar to the stupefied de Soya, as is the kindly face of the plump little priest who brings him broth and idle conversation. Finally Father Captain de Soya’s reengaging synapses make the connection: Father Baggio, the resurrection chaplain he had last seen in the Vatican Gardens and had been sure he would never see again. Sipping broth, de Soya looks out the rectory window at the pale-blue sky and thinks,
Pacem
. He struggles to recall the events that have brought him there, but the last thing he can remember is the conversation with Gregorius and his men, the long climb up out of the gravity well of Mare Infinitus and 70 Ophiuchi A, then the jolt of translation.

“How?” he mumbles, grasping the kindly priest’s sleeve. “Why?… How?”

“Now, now,” says Father Baggio, “just rest, my son. There will be time to discuss everything later. Time for everything.”

Lulled by the soft voice, the rich light, and the oxygen-rich air, de Soya closes his eyes and sleeps. His dreams are ominous.

By the noon meal—more broth—it becomes obvious to de Soya that kindly, plump Father Baggio is not going to answer any of his questions: not answer how he got to Pacem, not answer where and how his men are, and not answer why he will not answer. “Father Farrell is coming soon,” says the resurrection chaplain as if that explains everything. De Soya gathers his strength, bathes and dresses, tries to gather his wits, and waits for Father Farrell.

Father Farrell arrives in midafternoon. He is a tall, thin, ascetic priest—a commander in the Legionaries of Christ, de Soya learns quickly and with little surprise—and his voice, although soft, is clipped and businesslike. Farrell’s eyes are a cold gray.

“You are understandably curious,” says Father Farrell. “And undoubtedly still somewhat confused. It is normal for the newly born-again.”

“I am familiar with the side effects,” says de Soya with a slightly ironic smile. “But I am curious. How is it that I awake on Pacem? What occurred in Hebron System? And how are my men?”

Farrell’s gray eyes do not blink as he speaks. “The last question
first, Father Captain. Your Sergeant Gregorius and Corporal Kee are well … recovering from resurrection in the Swiss Guard resurrection chapel even as we speak.”

“Lancer Rettig?” asks de Soya. The sense of foreboding that has been hanging above him since his awakening now stirs its dark wings.

“Dead, I fear,” says Farrell. “The true death. Last rites have been administered, and his body has been consigned to the depths of space.”

“How did he die … the true death, I mean?” manages de Soya. He feels like weeping, but resists because he is not sure if it is simple sorrow or the effects of resurrection.

“I do not know the details,” says the tall man. The two are in the rectory’s small sitting room, used for meetings and important discussions. They are alone except for the eyes of saints, martyrs, Christ, and His mother. “It seems there was a problem with the automated resurrection creche upon
Raphael
’s return from Hebron System,” continues Farrell.

“
Return
from Hebron?” says de Soya. “I’m afraid I do not understand, Father. I had programmed the ship to stay unless pursued by Ouster forces. Was that the case?”

“Evidently,” replies the Legionary. “As I say, I am not acquainted with the technical details … nor am I competent in technical matters … but as I understand it, you had programmed your archangel courier to penetrate Ouster-controlled space—”

“We needed to pursue our mission to Hebron,” interrupts Father Captain de Soya.

Farrell does not protest the interruption, nor does his neutral expression change, but de Soya looks into those cold gray eyes and does not interrupt again.

“As I was saying, Father Captain, according to my understanding, you programmed your ship to enter Ouster space and—if unchallenged—go into orbit around the planet Hebron.”

De Soya gives his silence as confirmation. His dark eyes return the gray stare—with no animosity as of yet, but ready to defend against any accusation.

“It is my understanding that the … I believe your courier ship is named the
Raphael
?”

De Soya nods. He realizes now that the careful phrasing, the questions posed when answers are known—all this is the hallmark
of a lawyer. The Church has many legal consultants. And inquisitors.

“The
Raphael
appears to have carried out your programming, found no immediate opposition during deceleration, and went into orbit around Hebron,” continues Farrell.

“Is that when the resurrection failure occurred?” asks de Soya.

“It is my understanding that this is not the case,” says Farrell. The Legionary’s gray gaze leaves de Soya for an instant, flicks around the room as if assessing the value of the furniture and art objects there, apparently finds nothing of interest, and returns to the priest-captain. “It is my understanding,” he says, “that all four of you on board were close to full resurrection when the ship had to flee the system. Translation shock was, of course, fatal. Secondary resurrection after incomplete resurrection is—as I am sure you are aware—much more difficult than primary resurrection. It is here that the sacrament was circumvented by mechanical failure.”

When Farrell stops speaking, there is a silence. Lost in thought, de Soya is only vaguely aware of the sound of groundcar traffic on the narrow street outside, the rumble of a transport lifting from the nearby spaceport. Finally he says, “The creches were inspected and repaired while we were in orbit around Renaissance Vector, Father Farrell.”

The other priest nods almost imperceptibly. “We have the records. I believe that it was the same sort of calibration error in Lancer Rettig’s automated creche. The investigation continues in Renaissance System garrison. We have also expanded the investigation to Mare Infinitus System, Epsilon Eridani and Epsilon Indi, the world of Inevitable Grace in System Lacaille 9352, Barnard’s World, NGC
^es
2629–4BIV, Vega System, and Tau Ceti.”