“But we don’t have any with—” The Delivery Man caught the expression on Gore’s golden face and groaned as comprehension kicked in.
“And if I can’t reestablish something as fucking simple as a de-energized wormhole, then I’m already dead and this is hell taunting me. Now come on.” Gore started marching across the plaza to the Last Throw.
“Are you leaving?” Tyzak asked.
“For a short while only,” the Delivery Man assured the old Anomine. “We have to fly to check on something. It should take less than a day. Will you stay here?”
“I wish to hear the end of your story. I will remain for a while.”
The Delivery Man resisted the urge to spill out an apology and hurried after Gore.
In the time it took to dive into hyperspace and reemerge three million kilometers out from the star’s photosphere the culinary unit had produced a batch of lemon risotto with diced and fried vegetables. Lizzie used to make it, standing over a big pan on the cooker, sipping wine and stirring in stock for half an hour while the two of them chatted away at the end of the day. The Delivery Man instructed the unit to produce a side plate of garlic bread and started grating extra Parmesan cheese over the streaming rice. Lizzie always objected to that, saying it dulled the flavor of the vegetables. Gore shook his head at the offer of a bowl.
“You’re still worrying about Justine, aren’t you?” the Delivery Man said.
“No, I am not worried about Justine,” Gore growled out. “We’re still well inside the time effect it should take her to reach Querencia.”
“Okay, then.”
“Even if something has happened, it’s not as if we can launch a rescue mission.”
“Unless that witch Araminta persuades the Skylord to abandon the Silverbird, I don’t see anything which could interrupt her flight.”
“That wouldn’t stop my Justine. Maybe slow her down some but nothing worse. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”
“Where does she get that from? I wonder.”
Gore gave him a small grin. “Her mother.”
“Really?”
“No idea. That is one memory I made sure I junked a thousand years ago.”
The Delivery Man put a slice of the garlic bread into his mouth and ended up sucking down air to cool it. “I don’t believe that.”
“Son, I’m not a fucking soap opera. I can’t afford to be; my emotional baggage level is zero. I haven’t had anything to do with that woman since Nigel watched Dylan Lewis take his epic step.”
“What?”
“Kids today! The Mars landing.”
“Ah, right.”
Gore sighed in exasperation.
The Delivery Man wasn’t sure just how much of that attitude was for his benefit. As he forked up more risotto, the Last Throw emerged back into spacetime. Warning icons immediately popped up in his exovision, along with a series of external sensor feeds. A quick status review showed the force fields could cope with the current exposure level of radiation and heat. Hysradar return of the corona and photosphere was fuzzy, distorted by the massive star’s gravity. Even the quantum field resonance was degraded.
“We need to get closer,” Gore announced.
The Delivery Man knew better than to argue as they began to accelerate in toward the star at ten gees. He just hoped that Gore wouldn’t try to tough out the heat. The way the gold man was wired, it was a distinct possibility.
There were no borderguards within ten million kilometers of the star, and the few that did cover that section of the Anomine solar system showed no interest in their flight. Nor were there any other kind of stations, only a host of asteroidal junk and burned-out comet heads. The closest large object was the innermost planet at seventeen million kilometers out, a baked rock with a day three and a half times the length of its year, allowing its surface to become semimolten at high noon. It was only the starship that had followed them from the Leo Twins that showed any interest in their exploratory flight, remaining five million kilometers away and still keeping itself stealthed.
The Last Throw’s safe deflection capacity limit was reached at approximately a million kilometers above the fluctuating plasma of the photosphere, leaving them swimming through the thin, ultravolatile corona. Giant streamers of plasma arched up from the terrible nuclear maelstrom below, threatening to engulf the little ship as they expanded into frayed particle typhoons rushing along the flux lines.
Sensors probed down into the inferno, seeking out any anomaly amid the superheated hydrogen. The starship completed an equatorial orbit and shifted inclination slightly, scanning a new section of the star’s surface. Eight orbits later they found it.
A lenticular force field two thousand kilometers below the surface of the convection zone. Hysradar revealed it to be fifty kilometers wide. Intense gravatonic manipulation was keeping it in place against the force of the hydrogen currents that otherwise would have expelled it up into the photosphere at a respectable percentage of lightspeed.
“That’s definitely our power siphon,” Gore said. Hysradar showed them the flux lines swirling around the disc in odd patterns. The force field appeared to be slightly porous, allowing matter to leak inward at the edge.
“Why not just use a mass energy converter?” the Delivery Man mused.
“Check the neutrino emissions; only a mass-energy converter will give those kinds of readings,” Gore said. “And look at it. All it’s doing now is holding position, and see how much mass it’s converting just to do that, because sure as commies complain about fairness, that intake ain’t flowing out anywhere afterward. This is the mother of all turbo-drive converters.”
“Okay, so we’ve proved it’s there and still functioning. Now what?”
“Our force fields wouldn’t get us halfway, but the only way we can access it and infiltrate is to go down and rendezvous—possibly even dock, or at least cling on and start drilling into the thing’s brain.”
The Delivery Man gave him a frankly scared look. “You’re shitting me.”
“Wish I were, son. Don’t panic. The replicator we have on board is high-order. We’ll have to churn out some advanced force field generators to upgrade the Last Throw’s defenses. Once they’re beefed up to Stardiver standard, we’ll drop into the convection zone and switch the power back on to the elevation mechanism. Well … when I say us, I mean you.”
“It looks impressive,” Catriona Saleeb said.
“Yes.” For once Troblum felt content. He looked at the featureless suit of matte gray armor standing in the middle of the cabin with its round helmet almost touching the ceiling. It was big, adding about twenty-five percent to his existing bulk. That didn’t matter; the electromuscle bands could move it around easily enough. Walking would be effortless. As would flying, thanks to the little regrav unit he’d incorporated. There were no weapons, of course; he couldn’t even think along those lines. But the defenses … He would be safe anywhere. In other words, he could even face the Cat and not piss himself as he had on Sholapur.
I should have built one of these a long time ago.
At his order the two small assemblybots crawled down the suit like oversize spiders and scuttled away. He reached out to the table where his snack rested and picked up a wedge of the club sandwich.
His exovision display showed him the Spike, now a mere three light-years away. Its anchor mechanism was creating a huge distortion that extended out from spacetime to warp the surrounding quantum fields. He found the effect fascinating; it was nothing like a human hyperdrive. Unfortunately, the Mellanie’s Redemption lacked the kind of sensors that could run a truly comprehensive scan.
Troblum finished the snack, washed it down with some Dutch lager, and started putting on the armor suit. By the time he was comfortably ensconced, the starship had dropped out of hyperspace two thousand kilometers out from the Spike’s sunward side. Visual sensors showed him the fantastic curving triangle of metallic chambers glistening in the bright sunlight like silver bubbles.
Dark tubes wove between them in complex convolutions. He immediately understood why the crew of the navy ship that had discovered it believed they’d found the galaxy’s biggest starship; the shape was intrinsically aerodynamic. Space on either side of the giant alien habitat was filled with the dull glimmer of the Hot Ring arching away to infinity, bolstering the notion that it was frozen in midemergence.
He flew the starship across the sunward surface, accelerating to match the structure’s unnatural orbital vector. Bright flashes of blue-white sunlight burst from the mirror facets of the sail shape as Mellanie’s Redemption moved above the uneven segments. Sensors scanned landing pads dotted all along the winding H-congruous transport tubes, searching out a specific profile. The Mellanie’s Redemption certainly hadn’t been able to track their target in stealth mode during the flight; he was just hoping they’d arrived in time.
“There they are,” he said finally.
“Oscar’s ship?” Catriona asked.
“Yeah. They’ve landed close to Octoron. That figures; it’s the largest human settlement.” He ordered the smartcore to put them down on an empty pad two kilometers from Oscar’s ship. A weak localized gravity field came on as soon as they touched down, but Troblum kept the ultradrive powered up just in case. The smartcore aimed a communication laser at the starship he’d followed from the Greater Commonwealth. “I’d like to speak to Oscar Monroe, please,” he said when his u-shadow told him a connection had been accepted.
“And you must be Troblum,” Oscar said.
The burst of fright that came from hearing his name made him twitch. Electromuscle amplified the motion. His armor helmet hit the cabin ceiling. Secondary thought routines immediately brought up the command for Mellanie’s Redemption to power straight into hyperspace and flee. A single thought was all it would take to trigger it. “How did you know my name?”
“Paula Myo said you might make contact.”
“How did she know?” Even as he asked, he knew the SI had told her, had betrayed him.
“Damned if I know,” Oscar said. “She scares the shit out of me, and we go way back. Then again, how did you know I was on board the Elvin’s Payback?”
“Is that the name of your ship? What was he like?”
“Adam? Like me, misguided in that way only the truly young can be. Is that what you wanted to ask?”
“No. I may be able to help.”
“How’s that?”
“I know about the Swarm. I helped build it. Ozzie, Araminta, and Inigo might find that useful.”
There was a long pause. “I’m sure they would. We’ve already made contact with Ozzie. There’s a capsule coming to collect us from our airlock in ten minutes. Why don’t we fly over to yours straight after.”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”
Afterward he stood on a vast snow-swept tundra, completely naked yet feeling no pain. Somewhere in the distance tall mountains with fearsome rocky pinnacles guarded the edge of the rough icy country, a geological wall between civilization and the wild where he had come from. He wasn’t cold despite the harsh wind and flurries of snow brushing against him. This was home, after all, his one refuge against the rest of his life and all the anguish it brought whenever he lived it.
It was daytime, yet the sun was invisible behind the low gray clouds that filled the sky. He walked across the frozen ground, his feet leaving crisp indentations in the firmly packed snow. From somewhere out amid the rolling folds of this austere landscape he could hear the snorting and stamping of horses. Then a wild herd of the giant animals charged over a distant crest, tossing their mighty heads, horns slashing at the frosty air. He smiled in delight, remembering times when he’d ridden the breed for no reason other than enjoyment, taking trips to other villages, meeting friends, practicing his saddle skills, the formalized ancient fighting techniques that all the youngsters sought to master. Back before—
It wasn’t snow brushing against his skin anymore. He plucked one of the slowly drifting particles out of the air only for it to disintegrate between his fingers. Ash. Powder puffed up from beneath the soles of his feet as each footfall became soft. Ash covered the land, choking grass and tree alike, ruining the rich living terrain. The blanket of ash blew away from a high mound ahead of him, revealing it to be the corpse of a huge winged creature. Feathers fell like autumn leaves to expose dry skin pulled tight over a sturdy skeleton.
“No,” he exclaimed. The king eagles were the most magnificent of Far Away’s creatures. Countless times he had sat astride one and soared through the splendid sapphire sky.
Orange light shimmered across the desolate landscape. He spun around to see the mountains erupting, their sharp pinnacles disintegrating as lava gushed upward. Massive explosion plumes clotted the sky, surging outward.
There were footfalls in the ash carpet behind him. The stench of burning flesh grew and grew until he thought he would choke on the cloying fumes.
“This is not your sanctuary,” she said. “This is where I nurtured you. This is where your heart belongs. This is mine. You are mine.”
He couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face her. To do so would be to lose, to be consumed by pain and diseased love.
Gold sunlight speared through the suffocating shroud of ash, a single incandescent ray falling across him. He shielded his eyes from it, cowering.
“Come on, son,” a kindly voice said. “This is the way. This is your future. This is your redemption.”
Ash clouds boiled high and fast, towering above him, taking form. The beautiful golden light held. He stretched his arms out, reaching for—
“Wooah!” Aaron woke and sat up fast, arms windmilling against the thin sheet that was wrapped around him. “Shitfuck!” His body was sweating profusely, making the silk sticky against him.
The room was on the first floor of Ozzie’s house, with a single bed in the middle, some crude wooden furniture, and a window with the big shutters firmly closed. Nonetheless, light was stealing around the edges. Allowing him to see—“Shit!” he yelped.
Myraian was sitting on the end of the bed, her legs folded neatly as she regarded him thoughtfully. Today her hair was green and blue. Purple skinlight shone through a loose white lace top.
“You’re losing,” she said with a sweet smile.
He gave those fangs of hers another mistrustful look. Even though he’d been sleeping, there was no way she should have been able to creep up on him; bionomics should have detected her approaching. Tactical secondary routines were supposed to inform him of any proximity violation, bestowing an instinctive knowledge when he awoke. Hell, even natural instincts should have kicked in. He hadn’t been this surprised for a long time. That’s bad. “Losing what?” he asked sourly. Biononics scanned around, making sure there were no other surprises, such as a fully armored Chikoya waiting for breakfast downstairs.
“Your mind.”
He grunted and rolled off the bed, finally freeing himself from the sheet. “It’ll be joining yours, then.”
“You dreamed of home when she came for you. You can’t retreat much further. Your childhood will be an even worse defense. No child could withstand her.”
Aaron paused as he was reaching for trousers that Ozzie’s replicator had fashioned for him. “Her who?”
She giggled shrilly. “If you don’t know, I can’t.”
“Sure.” He was trying to ignore the dream. But it was more than a dream, and they both knew it. Besides, it was worrying him at a fundamental level. Something deep in his mind was wrong. It wasn’t a war he understood, and there was certainly no tactical withdrawal.
Unless I go basic again.
But today was going to require patience and diplomacy. Not his best features even with full faculties engaged.
Myraian skipped off the bed and stretched her arms behind her back, linking her fingers. Her head rocked from side to side in time with an unheard beat. Aaron was unimpressed by the whole fairy princess routine, suspecting she was covering up something.
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“So are you a physicist?” he asked.
“I’m just good for my Ozzie,” she said in her silly light voice.
“Okay.” He pulled on a black T-shirt.
“You should have someone for yourself. Everyone should. This is not a universe to be lonely in, Aaron. Besides, you need help to hold her back.”
“I’ll think about that.” He put his feet into his boots, allowing the semiorganic uppers to flow over his ankles, then grip.
“They’re here.”
“Huh?”
“The starship. Oscar called eleven minutes ago.”
A message his u-shadow should have monitored and told him about. He started to get concerned about the string of tactical failures. They couldn’t all be coincidence. “Great. Did he say who he’d brought with him?”
“No, but I’m going to fetch them now. I’ll be back soon.”
He wanted to go with her and greet the arriving starship himself, but he couldn’t abandon Inigo. Taking him along would increase exposure risk. No choice. He had to wait and rely on Myraian. Which is pretty much an oxymoron.
Downstairs, Ozzie and Inigo were sitting at the big table in the kitchen. Dirty plates and cutlery had been pushed to one side. Ozzie was drinking coffee, and Inigo had a pot of hot chocolate. Corrie-Lyn was slumped in the fat old sofa at the far end of the room, looking incredibly bored.
“A great-grandfather on my mother’s side was allegedly a Brandt,” Inigo was saying. “My mother was always telling me that her grandmother had some kind of trust fund when the family lived on Hanko. I don’t know how much that was a fable about the old homeworld and how much better life had been back then. If the money ever existed, then it got lost in the Starflyer War and the move to Anagaska. All anyone brought through the temporal wormhole was what they could physically carry with them. We certainly didn’t have much money when I was growing up. If we were Brandts, the hard core left us to sink or swim by ourselves.”
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 203
