Stone Clock

by Andrew Bannister

  All dead, all dry.

  He felt for the little comms bead that dangled from a fine chain round his neck – it was supposed to look unobtrusive, not that he could imagine anyone caring – and raised it to his mouth.

  ‘How long has the place been abandoned, do you think?’

  I don’t know. There are no active records in any form I can read. Perhaps if you looked there would be hard copies, but there isn’t time.

  He nodded. ‘How far away is the Warfront?’

  Just under a day. Skarbo? You don’t have to hold the bead up. It will pick up your voice from the resting position.

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  He looked out at the solar farms again. Old, and crude – but viable. The ship insisted they were generating, and so were the ones in orbit.

  And that meant that the other things the ship had found should still be working.

  The planet looked a bit odd, from space. When they had first seen it it had been just another chilly, bluish little ball orbiting a guttering yellow star. Old and cold, like almost everything else they had seen in the Spin, with darker patches marking the ghosts of oceans. Surface water was obviously a thing of the past. But as they got closer, more features came into view: networks of kilometre-scale striations, light grey against the dull blue of the surface, radiating out along the surface from both poles.

  Closer again, and they became buildings – rank after rank of low, plain metal structures, half-buried in dust, linked together by tracks and lines of cables strung on pylons.

  Skarbo had pointed at the cables. ‘Are they real?’

  Yes. Ancient technology, but simple and durable.

  At first sight everything looked as dead as the rest of the planet seemed. But then the ship switched to infra-red.

  The planet lit up. The dull striations became angry weals.

  The structures were radiating multiple megawatts of heat into space.

  The ship had dropped into a geostationary orbit and they’d watched in silence as the planet turned below them. From this close, they could see breaks in the lines of heat – sections hundreds of metres long which had gone dark.

  The Bird had been very quiet. Now it clicked its beak. ‘Some broken stuff.’

  Yes. But mostly not. Over ninety per cent of the structures seem operational. Remember we are only seeing the surface. Most of the equipment will be at depth.

  Skarbo blinked. ‘Most?’

  Yes. You are looking at the outward expression of ten thousand cubic kilometres of machinery.

  ‘All running virtual realities?’

  Yes, I believe so.

  There was nothing more to say – but it meant that the other avenues the ship had talked about were still open. And, just possibly, the thing Skarbo had in mind was possible.

  Possibly.

  But now he was on the surface, far from the poles, and it was time to move. He said, ‘Where should I go?’

  Below, into the habitable spaces. I’ll guide you towards where I think there may be an interface.

  He nodded and turned away from the cliff edge. There was a low blockhouse a hundred metres in from the edge. The ship had said it was the entrance.

  The sled carrying Chvids’s motionless body floated after him. The grey of her face somehow suited the planet.

  ‘Is she still alive?’

  Barely.

  That was the real hurry.

  The entrance in the blockhouse faced the cliff edge. It was open; had obviously been open for a long time. There were drifts of dust inside, and the pale, low-angle sunlight picked out dancing motes as he walked through.

  No sign of rain, he thought. If there had been rain the dust would look different.

  The front of the blockhouse was a flat landing. Behind it, shallow steps went down in a wide spiral. There was no need to ask the question; there was only one way to go.

  The stairs were dusty too, and within one full turn they were dark. He thought of asking the ship to find some systems and intervene, but it would be doing plenty of intervening soon enough. For the moment, they had planned for darkness. He flicked the little bead and it lit up, bouncing a diffuse yellow glow off the walls. Without him doing anything, a similar bead lying at the end of its slack chain on Chvids’s chest began glowing too. They were slaved together, he remembered. It lit up her face from below, cancelling out the grey and making her appear almost healthy.

  Three turns, four, five, and they were at another landing. He stopped, and the sled nuzzled gently into him from behind.

  ‘Ship?’

  Yes. This is the level. Follow the corridor.

  It led away from the stairwell for ten paces, towards a square of light. Then he was through the square, and the world opened out in front of him.

  He stopped, and looked. ‘Ship? Can you see this?’

  Yes.

  There wasn’t much more to say for the moment.

  He was looking out over the edge of a chasm carved out of the grey rock, wide and deep but only ten metres or so across. The roof was far above his head. A ledge like the one he was standing on ran along the far side of the gap. Leaning out cautiously, he could see there were more ledges below, a few metres apart, and he realized they were other floors of the habitat.

  Looking down, there were clearly many storeys. He could see at least ten.

  A line of doors opened off the ledge opposite, and light was showing through them.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’m in the living area. Where now?’

  Cross the space. There should be bridges.

  He looked to the side. There were. They were narrow, and there were no guard rails. He walked up to the start of the nearest and looked down at it.

  ‘Ship? The walkway is broken. I can’t get across.’

  Yes. There has been a significant earth movement. I would advise finding another.

  Skarbo nodded, and paced along the ledge to the next bridge. This one was missing, too – just broken stumps with a network of cracks radiating back into the ledge. Flakes of rock fell away as he approached.

  He thought for a moment. ‘Ship? How much weight will the sled carry?’

  It is meant for one – but Chvids is less than average weight, and you have not taken any nourishment for fifty days.

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ He pulled the sled towards him and pushed down on it, gently at first and then as hard as he could. It gave briefly beneath his claw before rising again, and he felt his feet begin to leave the ground.

  It would have to do.

  He reached over Chvids, took hold of the opposite edge of the sled, and pulled himself awkwardly on top of her. The sled swayed beneath him, but maintained its height. He extended a leg and managed to push it against the wall behind him.

  The sled floated slowly forwards, out over the chasm. Skarbo concentrated on not looking down.

  Then they were at the other side. He rolled off, keeping hold of the sled with one claw. He felt Chvids roll too, and realized he had dragged the edge of the cover with him.

  He put it back. She didn’t respond. Haemorrhage, the ship had said. Untreatable.

  There was a door every dozen paces or so. Most were open. A few were missing. He looked along the row. ‘Which one?’

  Any. You should find units easily. They would have been widespread.

  He left the sled and explored. The rooms were the same – square in plan, with full-width windows of slightly cloudy glass looking out over the plain. Some had hangings over the windows. There were sleeping pads of varying sizes, their fabric covers stiff with frost.

  Then, in the next room, he found them. He nodded to himself. He should have expected that.

  There obviously weren’t many insects here. That, or the dry cold, or something else, had preserved the bodies fairly well. They were shrunken, desiccated, but recognizable. He guessed the choice he had made for Chvids, they had made for themselves.

  ‘Ship?’

  Yes?

  ‘I’ve found
some people. See?’

  He held up the bead and swung it round.

  Ah.

  Skarbo looked closer. ‘They have some sort of mesh thing on their heads. Is that what I want?’

  The vreality interfaces. Yes. You could probably use those.

  ‘Yes. I’d rather not.’ Very much rather not, he thought. ‘I’ll look for others.’

  But he watched the silent bodies for a while, as if keeping a vigil. Then he got ready to leave.

  And didn’t. He had noticed something.

  He looked closer. Lying on the chest of one of the bodies, blurred by dust, was a rough-shaped oval of something, a bit bigger than a human thumb. He considered it, and then reached out a claw and very gently lifted it. It came up, pulling a length of fine chain that left a clean dark line in the dust on the faded clothes.

  A pendant. He blew the dust off it – some dark red material, a little shiny, with the pattern of a stylized star etched into it.

  He blinked. Someone had cared about this one. He wondered who, and what had happened to them.

  He sighed, straightened up, and walked out to the corridor. In the next room there was a cabinet by the end wall, with what looked like a little grey heap on a shelf. He chose one and shook the dust off it. It was halfway between skullcap and headset.

  ‘Ship?’

  I see it.

  ‘Will it still work?’

  Try. There was the hint of a shrug in the word, and Skarbo almost smiled.

  Almost.

  He picked the thing up and studied it. It was made of a fine grey mesh. As he took hold of it, a small patch near one end flickered and settled down into a steady orange glow.

  It appears to be active.

  He nodded. ‘What do I do?’

  Put it on Chvids’s head. But make sure you have one ready for yourself first; you should not leave too long between her entry and yours.

  He laid the thing down on the sleeping pad and walked out on to the ledge. This time the search was quicker; he found another, two rooms along. It glowed, too.

  He took it back with him.

  Are you ready?

  ‘I suppose so.’ He held up the mesh. ‘It doesn’t look the right shape for me.’

  I believe they were meant to be universal.

  ‘I hope so. Are you sure about the vreality?’

  I have scanned it. It is functioning. The speed-up from here to there is approximately times one quarter of a million. On that scale, the Warfront will enter Spin space in roughly a thousand standard years.

  He still hesitated. ‘And you can do what you said? Project things in?’

  I am fairly confident. The format of data may be altered, but the integrity should be preserved.

  He had run out of questions, and Chvids had almost run out of time.

  He studied her face. She was very pale. Her eyes were half closed, which was almost worse than being fully shut, he thought. Not sleep, and not waking. Not even the healing dormancy of ordinary unconsciousness, but some other state; only and forever accessible from inside.

  And inside was all he had left to offer her.

  It was time. He sighed, and picked up the mesh. He lifted Chvids’s head a little so he could lay the thing beneath her, and then drew it round her skull.

  The light brightened. The thing flexed under his touch and then tightened, fitting itself to the woman’s head. For a moment he wondered if her eyelids had flickered, just a little. He looked carefully, but saw nothing more.

  ‘I think that’s it,’ he said. ‘I hope.’

  Good. Now, if you are ready?

  ‘I’m ready.’ He looked round, and then lay down on the vacant sleeping pad. With the mesh held above his head he said, ‘See you in a thousand years.’

  Or a thousand minutes. Good luck.

  Skarbo smiled. ‘Point of view,’ he said. Then he pulled the mesh over his own head, and felt it close like a caress.

  The world faded.

  The world faded, and then another coalesced. Clouds grew out of grey haze, limiting the view. A grass-covered slope solidified beneath feet that weren’t the feet he had worn moments ago.

  Of course, he wasn’t really wearing them now … but he would have to get used to that.

  Behind him a voice said, ‘Skarbo?’

  He looked round, and smiled. ‘You’ve changed.’

  The tall female returned the smile. ‘I’ve already been here a month. But you’ve changed as well, more than I have.’

  He looked down at himself. Human, standard, more or less. A shape he thought he remembered. ‘Oh … yes. Well, I’d say I have changed back.’

  ‘Were you human once?’

  ‘Once. And perhaps always. And perhaps I was always potentially an insect, at the same time.’

  She laughed. ‘There is something about you, now you say that.’

  ‘Yes.’ He flexed his arms, took a couple of strides. ‘It’s good. How do you feel?’

  ‘Fine.’ She looked at him for a moment. ‘This is it, isn’t it? I can’t go back.’

  His human lips made the slight sad smile without his permission. ‘No. Not for long. You’ll live as long here as you will there, but here is much slower. You will have time.’

  ‘How much time?’

  ‘I don’t know. Many lifetimes, possibly. I hope—’

  He stopped, and she reached out and took his hand. ‘Are you just here for me? You don’t have to be.’

  ‘No. Not just. I would have come with you, but there’s something else too, now. I have something to do.’

  And he told her. It took a while, and when he had finished she was quiet for as long again.

  Eventually she said, ‘I’ll stay with you. As long as I can.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So.’ She looked around. ‘Where do we go?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Orbiter should have sent some information; we need to find that.’

  As if on cue, the clouds cleared.

  They were standing on a wide, slightly rolling plateau. To one side, the land fell away down a slope that looked kilometres long, to a series of valleys that blurred into distance under low sunlight. Patches of forest competed with the bluish-green grass. To the other, a steep upwards slope, quickly exposing bare, shattered-looking rock that rose to a peak a few hundred metres above.

  Without talking, they climbed up the peak. It took them half a day, and by the time they were standing at the top the sun was directly above them. Chvids squinted up at it, and then grinned at Skarbo. ‘I’ve never felt that before. I like this dream.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s not a dream. It’s a future.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  They looked about them, scanning the land. Up here, a steady wind brought an aromatic scent that Skarbo assumed was forest. Trees, he thought. The Orbiter would like it here.

  There were no other smells – no trace of wood-smoke, and nothing that seemed animal – and no sound except the wind.

  Chvids broke the silence. ‘What are we looking for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll know it when I see it.’ I hope, he thought.

  She nodded. ‘Fine. Well, if you can’t see it from up here we need to be somewhere else.’

  ‘Yes …’ He looked out across the land. ‘But I don’t want to just head off at random.’

  ‘Then don’t.’ She laughed. ‘Forgotten already? Head towards the air.’

  ‘What?’ And then he remembered the prison on Handshake. ‘But how does that help?’

  ‘It gives a direction to follow.’

  He looked at her, and then turned towards the wind. It seemed steady. In the far distance, he thought he could see a band of clouds. Possibly a coast? He remembered that coasts were supposed to be good locations, weren’t they?

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s what we’ll do.’

  Chvids smiled at him. ‘One more thing. Do you know how to grow food?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I need to warn you, there’s
hardly anything I know how to do.’

  ‘It’s okay. You only need to know how to do the one thing, here. If you get any spare time, you can learn.’ She turned to face the wind. ‘Right. New life. Let’s go.’

  Town (name unknown)

  THE TOWERS WERE linked by a cradle of rope walkways that swayed gently under his weight. The ropes weren’t level; as he followed the woman from tower to tower they gained height. There were more towers than he had seen from his starting point. They formed a straggling line that marched out to sea, getting taller the further they went. He had counted twenty-one before he saw the last.

  Even though they had climbed – what? A hundred metres? – he still had to look up to see the top of this one. The rope didn’t connect to a platform, as it had on the others. Instead it wrapped round the fat, grey column in a woven spiral catwalk, seemingly just wide enough for his feet, that climbed about twice his own height with every turn. At the top, at least another hundred metres above him, there was a broad platform that looked different from the others – not woven, but constructed.

  As the woman reached the spiral she stopped, and beckoned him forwards. ‘You go first.’

  He paused, one hand knotted into the rope. ‘Why?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s not me he wants to see, and not me that wants to see him. Not principally, at least.’

  Zeb sighed. ‘Lady? Whoever you are? I’m not in the mood for games.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s good, because he doesn’t play them. I’ll get out of your way.’

  And before he could reply she had let go of her own guide rope and stepped off the walkway.

  Reflex made him step forward but before he had completed the movement the walkway danced under him. He looked down and saw the woman hanging from it by one hand. She was grinning up at him.

  ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘After you.’

  He shook his head and walked on to the spiral. It felt firmer than the walkway, but there was no guard rail. He leaned in to the stem of the Seatree. He had expected it to be cold, like stone, but it felt slightly warm. A faint rustle behind him and a tremor under his feet told him that the woman was upright again.