The Naked God

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Another wormhole terminus opened a hundred kilometres above them.

  <> Rocio said.

  <> Etchells exclaimed in shock. <>

  The Mindori fired three lasers at a glass cone heat exchanger a couple of kilometres ahead of Etchells. The mechanism detonated, shattering into crystalline splinters spinning inside a writhing gas cloud. Etchells screamed his fury into the affinity band and accelerated at seventeen gees, desperately trying to rise above the lethal kinetic debris.

  Irradiated gas streaked over the hellhawk’s polyp. Energistic power flared, warding off the crystals with a ragged shield of white fire.

  Etchells’s barrel rolled up away from the bloating indigo nimbus.

  Oenone had a few extra seconds before collision. It pulled up fast, skirting the boundary of the whirling crystals. The Stryla was only thirty kilometres ahead of it. Oenone’s targeting radar locked on to the hellhawk. Then the electronic sensors warned Syrinx that the Mindori was targeting their hull.

  <> Rocio warned.

  <> Etchells demanded.

  Syrinx aimed five lasers at the Mindori.

  Etchells also targeted the other hellhawk with three masers. <> he said.

  <> Rocio said to Syrinx. Two of his lasers were aligned on the Stryla. <>

  <> Syrinx said.

  Jed and Beth were pressed against the port in the bridge, gazing in veneration at the xenoc artefact spread out below the hellhawk. There weren’t many details, it was so dark, but the rim was close enough to see a silhouette of enticing geometries in the backscatter of red light.

  Gerald Skibbow was sitting on the acceleration couch behind the weapons console, Loren Skibbow studying the tactical displays keenly, watching the voidhawk and hellhawk rising fast from the darkside.

  <> Etchells spat, pushing his shaky anger behind the word.

  <> Rocio asked. <>

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  <> Syrinx said. <>

  <> Rocio said.

  <> Etchells raged. <>

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  Rocio enjoyed the irritation and confusion Etchells was emitting. <> he said. <>

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  <> Syrinx asked.

  <> Rocio said.

  <> Etchells said. <>

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  Jed and Beth saw the monstrous bird rise into view through the port, a jet-black shadow against the ruddy darkness of the umbra. Malevolent eyes gleamed scarlet, looking straight in at them. They backed away from the port together. To one side of the bird was another shadow, an elongated oval.

  “Gerald,” Jed said nervously. “Mate, there’s things out there.”

  “Yes,” he said. “The Oenone and the Mindori. Isn’t it wonderful?” He sniffed, wiping moisture from his sunken bloodshot eyes. His voice became high again: Loren’s. “She’s there. And there’s nowhere for the bitch to run anymore.”

  Jed and Beth gave each other a defeated look. Gerald was activating a lot of systems on the console.

  “What are you doing?” Rocio asked.

  “Bringing the remaining generators on line,” Gerald answered. “You can route their power into the lasers. Kill it with one shot.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “YES IT IS!” Gerald cried. “Don’t you try to back out now.” He clutched the edge of the console, blinking in confusion.

  “Gerald?” Beth pleaded tremulously. “Please, Gerald, don’t do anything rash.”

  Loren’s face flicked up over Gerald’s tortured expression. “Gerald’s fine. Just fine. Don’t you worry.”

  Beth started sobbing, clutching at Jed. His arms went round her as he stared miserably at the mad figure hunched over the console. When Skibbow had just been bonkers it’d been bad enough. This new demented combination was hell’s own gatekeeper.

  Loren ignored the two kids. “Rocio. Ask the voidhawk to help. It’s to their advantage. We don’t want any mistakes now.”

  “Very well.” There was an edge of worry in the voice. <> he said to Syrinx, on singular engagement.

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  Etchells spoke into the general affinity band: <>

  <> Rocio said. <>

  <> Syrinx said. <>

  <> Rocio demanded.

  <> Syrinx said.
<>

  <> Etchells said. <>

  <> Syrinx insisted.

  <> Rocio said. <>

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  Syrinx looked over at Ruben and pouted her lips. “Maybe we should just let them go at it.”

  “Nice thought. I wonder what the Mosdva dominions are making of all this.”

  “As long as they don’t start shooting at us, I don’t care.”

  “We’re getting something,” Oski announced. “It’s not the full almanac, but I’m accessing files with colony planet locations; they’re linked to star map references.”

  “Can you access their star map files?” Syrinx asked.

  “Loading a questor now,” Oski said. “Stand by.”

  Syrinx and Oenone waited eagerly as the information began to trickle across the communication link. The first maps the questors accessed showed unknown starfields, but the third has a portion of the Orion Nebula covering a quarter of the picture. Oenone matched the image to the navigational plot of the nebula it had made on the voyage to Mastrit-PJ, instinctively correlating the Tyrathca coordinate formula into its own astronomical reference frame. More star maps followed, allowing the voidhawk to expand and refine the coordinate grid, correlating with recognizable star patterns. After eight minutes it could visualize a globe of space five thousand light-years across, centred on Mastrit-PJ.

  Tyrathca designations tagged the constellations.

  Syrinx’s thoughts flowed through the mental construct, filled with quiet pride as she absorbed the detailed configuration.

  <> Oenone said modestly.

  <> she said. <>

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  Syrinx made an effort to compress her sadness. <>

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  <> Amusement lifted her spirits. <>

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  <> She sighed contentedly. “Joshua, Swantic-LI found the Sleeping God at an F-class star three hundred and twenty light years from here. Coordinates coming over.” She ordered the bridge processors to datavise the file over to Lady Mac’s flight computer.

  “Hey, good work, Oenone.”

  “Thank you, Joshua.”

  “Okay, how do you want to break up the stand-off? If I launch a combat wasp salvo from here, they’ll be forced to swallow out. We can combine to protect the cylinder. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll wipe each other out before they come back for it.”

  “No, Joshua. We can handle the stand-off. You take off now.”

  “Jesus, you’re kidding.”

  “We can’t waste the time which protecting the cylinder is going to take; it’ll be days most likely. And we certainly can’t take the risk that we might both get damaged or killed in a fight with the hellhawks. You have to leave. Once the stand-off’s over, we’ll follow.”

  “That’s very cold and logical.”

  “It’s very rational, Joshua. I am an Edenist after all.”

  “All right. If you’re sure?”

  “Who better?” She relaxed serenely on her acceleration couch, sharing Oenone’s perception of local space. Waiting. Lady Macbeth’s jump registered as a sharp twist in spacetime, gone in a nanosecond.

  Syrinx looked round at her crew, reaching out to them so their thoughts and regrets could mingle with hers. Sharing herself to achieve that cherished equipoise of their culture. It must have worked; for eventually she asked: “Anyone bring a pack of cards?”

  Chapter 13

  The two friends walked together along the top of Ketton island’s cliff, taking a few minutes alone together to say goodbye. Their parting would be permanent. Choma had chosen to join with Tinkerbell, sharing that entity’s voyage across eternity; while Sinon, almost uniquely among the serjeants, had decided to go back to Mortonridge.

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  They stopped on the crest of a mound and looked out over the island. Long lines of people were picking their way over the cracked earth, the last refugees from the buried town heading towards the cliff top where Tinkerbell was pressed against the rock. The giant crystal’s opalescent light sent ripples of gentle colour slithering over the drab ground. Air had coiled into a topaz nimbus all around it.

  <> Sinon said. <>

  <a strange group, these souls who are going to occupy serjeant bodies, their complete humanity always beyond their grasp.>>

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  They turned, and walked back slowly along the rocky line of the cliff.

  Tiny crystalline entities whisked about overhead, never pausing in one place for more than a moment. They had covered the whole island, making sure that every possessed knew there was now a way back, and what staying here meant. It was the end of Ekelund’s rule. Her troops had abandoned her, banding together defiantly to walk out of Ketton. Her threats and fury only hastened their departure.

  Five long queues waited before Tinkerbell’s looming surface, winding through the scattered remnants of the headland camp. Two of them made up from serjeants. The remainder (and keeping their distance) were the possessed. They waited in a strange subdued mood, their anticipation and relief that the nightmare was about to end tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

  Stephanie was waiting right at the tail end of the longest queue of possessed, along with Moyo, McPhee, Franklin, and Cochrane. Tina and Rana had been amongst the first through. The crystalline entities had stabilized Tina, apparently repairing the damage to her internal organs.