when he reached for the memories of when and how he
had been damaged, there was nothing, a gap where
familiar recollection should have been waiting to be
relived. He felt the panicky edge of fear and subdued it,
focusing on discovering the reason.
What he found was a terrible swathe of decay which
had eaten into one of the biocrystal chines of his cortical
augmentation. His awareness function had failed to
detect it as the sensor web had itself been affected, and
the worst of it was that the rot was still advancing. If
unchecked, it would in just a few years kill him.
His thoughts were wry with a black humour.
survived these limitless chasms of time and all the trials
that came before is still a great achievement. And now I
have the opportunity to deliver unto my brothers and sis-
ters a final victory. I am of the Legion, and although
individual knights may fall, the Legion must triumph.
The laws of convergence must triumph. >
The analysis of the Darien report was before him, but
he decided he would institute a final recovery trawl
through the corroded biocrystal while he assessed the
data.
He saw the world Darien, a place of lush vegetation
and a living landscape of mountains and rivers; he saw
the moon and recognised remnants of the enemy's
defences with no sign of his presence . . .
With the powers of their machinemind planetoids, the
Legion of Avatars cut through the extrinsic and intrinsic
layers of material existence and opened an unstable fis-
sure in the face of reality. In vast phalanxes they fled
from a dying universe into this one, then used the plane-
toids to tunnel up through the hyperspace tiers of this one
in search of a new home, a new dominion . . .
He saw the colonists, the Humans, saw all their weak-
nesses and saw how weak they were in the face of the
political realities surrounding them . . .
There had been a battle, a gargantuan struggle spread
across many thousands of star systems, a savage,
resounding clash in which whole worlds and entire sen-
tient species were eradicated as a matter of course . . .
He saw the visual data, the near-complete ruins amid
the forest, recognised more of the enemy's work and won-
dered if it held their deadliest weapon, the one that had
defeated the Legion even in the full glory of its might. If so,
it could be turned to their advantage ...
Fragmentary memories were being recovered . . . it
hard vacuum, a close-quarters grappling struggle with
one of the enemy's sentient machines, hooked and edged
extensors searching for purchase on each other, then
one of his greater tentacles found the jutting edge of. I
hull plate, wrenched it aside and thrust a high-energy
lance into the vitals . . . the knights of the Legion of
Avatars gathered in a council of war, their millions wait-
ing in curved ranks and arrays within the flickering
gloom of a deep, desolate tier of hyper space, all intoning
the catechisms of convergence . . . and an old, old
memory of his own cyborg-form not long after his trans-
formation, the long, armoured carapace patterned in
dark reds and greens, the ten greater, articulated tenta-
cles and the six lesser ones tipped with every kind of
effector from tearing chainclaws to delicate manipula-
tors, a magnificent new body which had freed him from
the pains of the flesh .. . then a part of him realised
that there was no memory of his organic appear am e
from before his ascent to biomechanical immortality,
nothing except the vague recollection that his chist n
cyborg-form was utterly different from his old body . . .
He assessed the Darien situation and the strategic
implications of its location as well as the fact that the
Humans were dispatching a mission to their lost colony.
Then he considered various possible journey routes, but
not for himself. With its battered substructures, leaking
carapace plates, stuttering main drives, and near-defunct
sensor array, his biomachine body might be able to drag
itself into orbit but the lengthy voyage to Darien would
be too hazardous. He would have to delegate that grave
responsibility to lesser agents, three Instruments to carry
out the task, each one an abridged simulacrum of his
own persona, each one created out of his own neural
substrate, each one a small loss, and a small addition to
his freight of pain.
10
THEO
Theo hated formal occasions, and since the ambassador's
arrival three days ago he'd had to endure five of the
damn things, at Sundstrom's insistence. Hammergard's
main hospital, the McPhail Memorial, a zeplin yard,
a root refinery, a church, and a distillery. Today,
Ambassador Horst had been due to spend the morning
at Pushkinskog, the Uvovo-tended daughter-forest south
of Lake Morwen, but plans had changed overnight and
now he was visiting Membrance Vale near Landfall
Town, to see the hollow shell of the Hyperion and to pay
his respects to the dead. And Sundstrom had asked Theo
to attend, in an unofficial capacity. Tonight, a banquet in
honour of the ambassadors was due to be held in thi
Assembly ballroom, followed by speeches and a ceilidh.
Theo was strolling along the westward road that led
from Landfall to the vales of the Tuulikki Hills, which
would take a good thirty minutes on foot. The morning
sky was bright and clear, the air cold and laced with the
odours of growth, ideal weather for walking. Besides,
Theo had decided to walk so that he could meet some -
one on the way, and was pondering once more what
Sundstrom had said yesterday. Holger was a few years
older than Theo but he considered that they were essen-
tially of the same generation; during the Winter Coup
they had been on opposite sides, Sundstrom a Trond
councilman who voted against supporting Viktor
Ingram's insurrection then went underground to actively
work against the coup. That and his political efforts at
reconciliation while arguing forcibly for the new Accord
policies had persuaded Theo that he was a man of
integrity and substance. In addition, just as Theo had
had his years in the wilderness after the failure of the
coup, so too had Holger been forced to quit politics
after the injury that led to his lower-body paralysis. Yet
in later life, both found themselves back in the thick of
it.
And Sundstrom's mysterious information source
troubled Theo. The Enhanced were the living results of
a short-sighted genetics programme shut down twenty
years ago, most of whom worked on research pro-
grammes of one kind or another. Redesigned cortexes
and synaptic connectivity had given them astonishing
mental abilities, but they suffered from a corresponding
lack of social
intuition that made it hard for them to
deal with ordinary people. Theo had only met a few in
his time, but he knew from reliable contacts that the
Enhanced were essentially looked upon by government
departments not just as a kind of intellectual resource
but as a badge of prestige which, once acquired, was
retained for as long as possible. The president was sup-
posed to be above this kind of bureaucratic jostling,which made Theo wonder how much political risk he might be taking if he was using Enhanced help.
Before long the road passed into the woods, their
overarching branches interweaving to form a leafy
tunnel through which spears of sunlight lanced to touch
the road with gold. This was a sparsely populated area,
and apart from the occasional spinnerbus taking visitors
back and forth, Theo saw no one else. When he came to
where the road crossed a steep-sided gully, he stepped
off the verge and sat down on a weatherbeaten bench
overlooking the crevice. Moments later heavy footsteps
approached through the undergrowth and an overalled
Rory sat down heavily beside him.
'You're not exactly a woodsman, Rory.'
'Aye, well, I was never any good at all that creepi
about and hidin', Major - canna stand the bugs.' As if to
make his point he vigorously waved away a few hover-
ing insects. Theo grinned.
'Let us hope we don't need to head off into the wilds,'
he said. 'Anyway, what have you learned?'
'Right, Ah got tae the Hyperion early this morning
and sure enough, more graffiti. The manager and his
boss were practically tearing their hair out so when Ah
turn up wi' my handy cleaning sprays and sponges they
put me to work straight off.'
Theo frowned. Such vandalism was almost unheard
of on Darien, yet since the arrival of the Heracles more
and more had been cropping up, mainly in Hammergard
and nearby towns. Then yesterday, the Knudson
Ecumenical Church and the Chernov Brothers distillery
had both been defaced shortly before Ambassador Horst
was due to arrive, which was why Theo had sent Rory
on ahead earlier, pre-equipped.
'What did it say? Any reference to these personal
AIs?'
Rory's eyebrows went up. 'Oh aye! Stuff like
"Machine-lovers leave Darien", "No Al-slaves here",
"The only good AI is a deleted AI", that kinda thing,
along with "Darien for Dariens" and FDF logos.'
FDF stood for 'Free Darien Faction', a previously
unknown group clearly intent on stirring up resentment
and unrest, neither of which Theo was strongly opposed
to, provided it was for a good reason. But the FDF was
appealing to the baser instincts of parochialism and prej-
udice, and with yesterday's breaking news about the use
of AI implants by the Earthsphere ambassador and
others, a dose of fear was stirred into the mix. No doubt
Horst's visit to the site of the colonists' triumph over a
deadly AI enemy was meant to counter such adverse
popular opinion.
He'll never get that imp back in its bottle, he thought.
The only positive tack he could take is to meet the dis-
trust head-on, but he doesn't seem to have the steel for
it. Wonder what advice he's getting from this AI com-
panion of his}
'Okay, Rory,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I have to get
along. You be on your way to the Pushkinskog daugh-
ter-forest - I've already told Listener Gansua to expect
you.'
Rory stood, scratching his sandy hair. 'Whit d'ye
think these FDF guys'll do there? - graffiti a tree?'
'God knows. For all we know they may not be will-
ing to involve the Uvovo, but given their lack of respect
for certain landmarks I wouldn't bet on it.'
Rory paused, a half-smile on his lips. 'I guess you'll
have been asking about the ither colonyships, Major,
aye? I heard that they've still no' been found.'
'Still missing, Rory, still a mystery.'
'Right, aye, but it makes ye wonder, ye know . . I
mean, there's the old Hyperion just up the road,' he
said. 'What if the other ship AIs cracked up too, like a
design flaw, maybe?'
Theo shrugged. 'I've heard that theory before, and if
it is true then perhaps we are the lucky ones to have sur-
vived.'
'Call this luck, Major?'
Exchanging waves, they went their separate ways,
Theo's smile fading a little, his thoughts growing sombre
as he crossed the bridge that led to the outskirts of
Membrance Vale.
11
GREG
The reporter Lee Shan scanned the ruins of the site
through an opaque oval eyepiece attached to a sleek
white headset, its flattened band encircling his bald head
and anchored to a second around his neck. An equip-
ment pannier floated quietly nearby on suspensors.
'Very nice, Doctor Cameron, very atmospheric, so
what we would like to do is take lots of shots of the
ruins - and some of you at work, obviously, especially
at the sacrificial altar, then we embed simz of those
Uvolos, but that'll be done Earthside, before tiercast...'
Greg stared at the reporter, Lee Shan, with a mixture of
annoyance and intent curiosity, wondering who was
speaking, the man or the AI implant. He then pointed to
the grey stone bowl to which the reporter had been drawn.
'They're called the Uvovo, and that is not a sacrificial
altar—'
'I see, I see, so do you know what it is, Doctor?'
'Mr Lee,' he said carefully, 'the Uvovo abandoned these
ruins thousands of years ago, after which this entire
promontory was covered with jungle. Where we are stand-
ing was the roof and this bowl was most probably used for
ritual fires, perhaps even cooking.'
'So you're not completely certain what it is?'
'The Uvovo have affirmed that blood sacrifice never
played any part in their culture.'
'A useful testimony, I am sure, Doctor, but after several
millennia how can they be sure?'
Lee Shan smiled. In the background his aircams
darted around just above head height, scanning every-
thing in sight and unintentionally providing great
amusement for the Uvovo scholars. The reporter's
small, neat smile, however, served only to aggravate
Greg beyond the already strained limits of his courtesy.
He knew that he should ignore the man's arrogance,
but the situation was like a door through which he
could not help but walk.
He matched the reporter's smile with one of his own.
'You know, Mr Lee, perhaps you've got a point.
Perhaps we're not being imaginative enough in our
hypotheses. How about this - we could suggest that the
ancient Uvovo sacrificed criminals and prisoners to, let's
say, giant alligator creatures from the sea, and that these
blood-soaked ceremonies took place at night because
the alligator-things only came up to the beach after
dark. It ma
y be that those sea-borne predators who
failed to consume any of the sacrificial carrion were
themselves killed and eaten by the Uvovo ancestors ...'
'Doctor, do you have any proof for any of this?'
'Not a scrap but it's such fun, don't you think? And -
and to demonstrate these hypotheses I might be able to
persuade our Uvovo scholars to dress up in furs and
ritual paint then hold a re-enactment for you and the
cameras after nightfall, complete with torches, drums
and barefoot dancing. Perhaps some of my Norj and
Dansk colleagues might come in horned helmets and I'll
wear my kilt. What d'ye say?'
There was an awestruck silence, and the sense of
breaths being held by the Uvovo scholars and Rus
researchers, who had all paused to stare at the con-
frontation. Anger smouldered in the reporter's eyes, but
his voice remained level and unhurried.
'I do not take kindly to those who impede my pursuit
of the facts, Doctor.'
'Well, perhaps you made the mistake of ignoring the
facts you didn't like and making up ones that you did.'
He lowered his voice. 'You also made the mistake of
thinking that we're all gullible yokels eager for your
godlike wisdom. Or perhaps you were badly advised - I
understand that these personal AIs aren't quite infalli-
ble.'
Lee Shan's gaze was all icy calm.
'So I am to be shown the way out?'
'Sadly no, Mr Lee, since you undoubtedly have writ-
ten permission from the Institute to be here, which
means that you are at liberty to record whatever you
please. However, I insist that you do not interfere with
any excavation or exposed relics, nor interrupt any of
my staff while engaged in their work. As for background
detail, you have a copy of the site's tourist dossier - I
suggest that you read it.'
For a moment Lee Shan said nothing, then gave an
acquiescing bow of the head and turned away to his
pannier. Greg breathed in deeply and hurried back to
the small hut where he had been categorising finds
before the reporter's arrival. He knew that his treat-
ment of the man had gone beyond rebuke into public
humiliation, which a media celebrity like Lee Shan was
not likely to forgive or forget. And yet it had been so
satisfying, a guilty pleasure.
It took about fifteen minutes and a fresh cup of kaffe,
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 10
