by James Murdo
“Do we have a choice?”
[We have a choice, but it’s up to you. Whatever he or it was, I’ve got nothing. No residuals, nothing. It’s certainly AB level or something equally unfathomable, though I’ve never heard of such a thing in serious communication. It’s as though he was never here. Can’t even tell if he copied me or not, crafty flit.]
“I believe it… him.”
[You’d believe a Mart’oop if it told you its carapace was just for decoration.]
“What?”
[Why do you believe him?]
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
…
“DeVoid.”
[Yes, yes. You may be right.]
“I wish he had stayed, I wanted to ask about my people… and our… connection with the sensespace.”
[But, you believe all he said? Do you think Apalu is in trouble?]
“Do you?”
[I don’t know.]
“I hope not. There’s a chance Apalu is with Gil, isn’t there?”
[Small. I think Gil is with Apalu’s sibling.]
Tor breathed out, evidently relieved to have this confirmed.
“Well… I think you did the right thing. Giving him permission. Just in case… And I hope Apalu is okay as well.”
[Agreed, although if it has my help, I’m sure it will be.]
“And it feels right… to do what the Cross-Prophet said.”
[And the crazed Thy, don’t forget. Both of them want us to go to the centre, and fight the only thing we know of which is potentially capable of defeating the sensespace.]
“I… I think we should… that’s where she will be.”
[So…]
“I think… I still think that’s where we should go.”
[Hmm.]
“You disagree.”
[Depends. Are you sure?]
“Oh, come on DeVoid, I thought we’d just decided!”
14
GIL
Gil felt it. The Maspero world and the sentinels were infected. The sensespace called out to her with its seductive, deceptive warmth. Beckoning her, welcoming her back. She had known this might happen, that their destination might be contaminated. She had been warned. Still, she was surprised because they were some way out and the levels of the contamination were low enough that the craft-lect had not yet detected them.
When she had left her world, the sensespace’s hold over her had fallen off quickly, but now it seemed its reach had extended. She was lying on her bed, her brain brimming with activity – as it often was before she was finally able to drift off to sleep. The insidious sensespace had delicately tried to weave itself into her consciousness, but she had noticed. She had recognised it, the whispers were less subtle than before. She was prepared.
Unable to resist her curiosity, her mind began to expand and she realised, with dreadful certainty, that it was comfortable. Through the sensespace, she sensed 112 and 998 beside her, and One-oh in a nearby section of the ship. She was concerned at the ease with which she was regaining her lofty position. It was all so familiar, the silent observation, the thrill of knowing. Her sphere had returned. While it was not as strong as it had been on her world, she felt more adept at understanding it now. It was gaining substance with every passing second.
The whispers sounded gently in her mind. She knew they would grow louder as the ship continued on its path. The sound was nearly the same as before, although there were differences – certain sequences were more distinct. She was still unable to discern their meaning.
She decided to let it in, to try to understand. She willed herself into it, and it opened up to her. She finally remembered her dreams, and the frustrations she had felt at reaching for any understanding. The sensespace had been trying to communicate with her all along, that had been what it was. It had been waiting for her acceptance.
*
She was in a dark void, which she knew, implicitly, was incredibly vast. Waiting. The whispers were gone.
Slowly, she began to understand. She could feel it, drawing information from the nothingness surrounding her, understanding, somehow, that the sensespace was showing her its own creation. At last, she had initiated what the sensespace wanted, and was at its nexus. The start. This was the beginning of the sensespace’s existence, and the reason for hers.
Despite knowing her view was unimaginably expansive, far more so than when she had used the sensespace to observe the Beast-men, her vantage was also restricted. Fixed. As the obscurity of her confusion began to dissipate and the quality of her focus improved, she began to distinguish what was there. Streaks of pure whiteness were shooting out from all around her.
The faintest whispers entered her mind. Streaks stemming from behind her, all with different thicknesses, affixed themselves onto the empty space in front. Smaller filaments separated themselves from larger, thicker streaks, latching on beside them. They came continuously. Space seemed to froth at the points where they slivered in. The tethers were being established.
The streaks began to swell at the tether-points. She knew she was seeing a small part of something greater, because the enlargements appeared to push against real space more vigorously, causing it to froth more furiously than before. Finally, all the swollen parts of the streaks slipped through in one movement, and were hidden – vanishing. She wondered what lay behind real space, what the white streaks had funnelled themselves into, and what they even were.
Still taut, the white streaks remained as they were, without changing. Gil assumed they had finished their work, until bulges began to appear travelling along them, smaller than the previous swellings. More appeared on each streak than she could possibly keep track of, conducted towards the tether-points. The whispering grew stronger.
There was a faint glow forming around the contact points, coming from the nothingness, caused by whatever was being brought and infused into the universe. It spread out as far as she could see.
The dim glow spread until its presence became normal, blanketing everything. The whispers had plateaued to a constant level. It was hard to remember the empty space as it had been before. The sensespace was bonded, pushed into an oblivious galaxy. It was impossible to understand how she knew, but she did.
Each of the links, the white streaks that had embedded themselves into the galaxy, represented a connection. Past the streaks, she could see the galaxy that was all too familiar to her by now. Groups of stellar formations and nebulae that she did not explicitly recognise, but which were typical parts of her environment since leaving the commune.
It was a bridge, but she did not know where from, who had constructed it, or what its purpose was, aside from bringing the sensespace into the galaxy. Bridges had two ends, yet she could only see one. Whatever lay behind her, remained hidden. She had little control over what she saw.
She began to understand the pervasiveness of the sensespace. It was designed to reach into the cores of what lay beneath. Then, she had it! She knew what was attracting the bulges that had travelled down the white streaks. Sentience. It had a will to connect, to understand. Sentience was what it wanted.
She wanted to look behind herself, badly. To see what had pushed the scourge of the sensespace upon them, infected them with its insatiable appetite for sentience. She willed herself to turn around, but nothing happened. The level of the whispers did not change either, as often they did when she tried to manipulate the sensespace. It was almost as though the streaks around her were pinning her in place.
Yet another realisation struck her. A horrific realisation, for which all of this could begin to make sense. It was not just a bridge, it was a bond. The sensespace, the bridge and the galaxy were all now connected. They had been grouped together. Destroying one would destroy the rest. Only a complete removal of sentience would see the sensespace lose interest and wither away.
Her presence recoiled into itself as she rejected the knowledge. She knew the sensespace had desires. It was more than capable of lying to her to further its own ne
farious ends.
If the sensespace had desires and she could sense them, then the reverse was also true. If it needed her, she could use it. She was being shown an event the sensespace had stored away, which meant that it could recall more. This was not all that it contained. She had been able to manipulate it before.
She hoped she was not wrong. Despite being only an incorporeal presence, she felt panic course throughout her body. It might weaken her resolve, but it was too tempting. She could not stop herself. She demanded to see the commune, to look back on her home.
The whispers changed – they did not increase in power, but she detected the faintest hint of a song. She pushed the other thoughts from out of her mind, willing the sensespace to understand. It wanted and needed her, not the other way around. It had to acquiesce to her demands. She needed to go back.
She attempted to turn around again and was overcome by the feeling of being observed. Or perhaps that something else was witnessing the bridge alongside her. Before she was able, she felt herself being thrust forwards towards the connection points ahead, and the whispers began to roar. She could not scream, but only watch as it rushed unstoppably into her.
*
Quiet again, she watched with what seemed like infinite eyes. She watched herself begin to climb the gnarled old tree that lay close to the commune’s boundary. Its branches, thick and dark with age, jutted out in all directions from its main trunk. It was ancient, and while it was the source of much of her pain, it also represented joy. It was a permanent fixture of the commune that she loved dearly, rooted at the border of the settlement and the great surrounding forest. It had played a central role in many of her games with Tor and the other children of the commune when they were younger. Whenever she had toiled in the cultivated land surrounding the commune’s centre, it had been there.
Her younger self continued the climb, and she excitedly lapped up the details – reliving it concurrently through her own distant memories. The other Gil dextrously reached out with alternating small hands, grasping at the upper branches and working her way higher up with ease. It was obvious she was being careful of making too much noise, and every now and then, she would turn to look at the surrounding land, before satisfying herself that no one was there and resuming her ascent. She was at an age that her sphere, her ability to interact with the sensespace, had not yet fully developed. Her sight was a far more useful tool.
She was probably hiding from Tor, which made Gil’s presence almost flutter with excitement. She longed to see him again, and it was a comfort to know that parts of him were irrevocably recorded, even if this was a confusing, malicious message from the insidious sensespace. She turned her presence from the younger Gil momentarily to the commune, taking in the familiar collection of huts and the communers themselves. She was about to look for her father when she felt a change – her younger self had stopped.
Moving her attention back, she watched the young Gil smile, eagerly scanning the ground below for signs of Tor. It was delightful to watch. The journey up the tree had been brief. This was not home in the sense that Gil had demanded from the sensespace, but it would suffice. This part of her past was pleasant. It had been an innocent time when there had been no confusion or fear. Only Tor, her father, and the commune.
Gil decided to look for Tor and immediately found him – around the base of the tree. She was surprised. She innately understood that she had the power to see anywhere within this depiction of the commune, yet she had been taken unawares. It reminded her of her past, and how she had been similarly remiss, ignorant of her surroundings, and fallen from that same tree where she was now so precariously perched.
Wanting to focus on happier thoughts, she watched Tor as he caught a glimpse of her younger self, before darting to the opposite side of the wide trunk to hide. It was wonderful to see his face again, as real and familiar as she remembered it. He had been older the last time she had seen him, but his expressions and the way he moved were the same.
With glee, she watched as Tor began to climb. Her younger self was still unaware, contentedly watching for signs around the tree without realising that he was already there. Tor’s physical prowess had been evident, even then, as had his understanding of how she would act. She realised he must have approached the tree from a wide arc, from far out of the commune before doubling back – further than children were supposed to venture and the opposite direction to that which Gil was focused on.
The younger Gil continued to look around, unknowing. She was almost completely still, not wanting to give her position away, with only her eyes darting from side to side. Tor, stealthy and strong, diligently worked his way up the tree from the other side of the trunk. He lifted each arm, moving higher and closer. She noticed the whispers again. Faint, but discernible. Mocking her.
A panic began to ripple through her. This was not a pleasant reprieve, it was not a gift from the sensespace, it was a wicked taunt – a humiliation at her past about what had happened to her. It was a reminder that it had seen and knew everything about her. This was the time of her fall, which marked the beginning of its influence over her.
Shocked, she was unable to tear herself from the scene, forced to watch, no longer in control. The whispers echoed and emanated from all around her. Not the typical smoothed noise, but a confusing, skirmishing din. Tor’s sustained ascent was no longer joyful to watch, it was the harbinger of terrible events that culminated many years later with his death. From here, her affinity with the sensespace had grown, which would eventually draw Teacher to her.
Occasionally, Tor swung his head from side to side, and looked up to check on his level in relation to Gil. She remained oblivious. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, with the whispers gaining in strength and on the cusp of their roar, he reached the level of the thick branch upon which she was positioned. She could see the excitement in his eyes, grown wide, and his toothy smile. Clambering quietly, right around the trunk, he placed one foot delicately onto the final branch. Simultaneously, the whispers roared more furiously than she had ever known, and she sensed an action of some kind taking place through it. She did not understand, until she saw her younger self shift and look down, towards the ground, disturbed by a sudden rustling. If it had not been for the rustling, she would certainly not have shifted her weight and would have felt Tor move onto the branch.
The whispers disappeared and there was silence, in anticipation of what she knew was about to come. Tor’s two legs were now firmly balanced on the branch, and he was crouched low. Leaning forwards a little more, he placed both hands down to steady himself as he shuffled forwards, inhaling deeply. Gil was filled with dread.
“BAA!”
As Tor shouted, the younger Gil half-turned, startled. Her momentary bewilderment caused her to forget her grip and lose her balance. By the time she realised what had happened, it was already too late. She slipped to the side, two hands stuck out desperately hoping to grab onto holds where none existed. She fell.
The song came, the same song that the sensespace used to lure Gil in. Viciously loud – and reeking of victory and triumph. Everything slowed down as the sensespace taunted her, wanting to savour in what it had just caused. It was mocking her, revelling in its accomplishment. From the fall, she would rely on the sensespace more. She knew that had been its intention.
She was aware of Tor, who had immediately moved forwards as Gil had slipped and plunged his arms after her – he was too late. She had forgotten his desperation. He almost fell off the branch himself, although his legs instinctively tightened around the branch. He was close, his reactions fast, but not fast enough. The scenery began to change.
*
The change had not been as abrupt as before, but lighter. The only unpleasantness was derived from her feelings about what she had just witnessed. The whispers were quieter again, keeping themselves at bay.
The great forested expanse that encompassed her commune, and much more, was laid out before her. Patches of diffe
rent trees, discernible by their hues and shapes, as well as how they felt within the sensespace, were clustered into separate regions, separated by various brooks and creeks, with the occasional openings around some of the larger streams.
The two rivers surrounding the commune snaked off in different directions, before combining later downstream. She had never realised that before, never having thought to look. They fed into a much larger river, and she could sense many of the fearsome predators sometimes battled and killed by the hunters lurking along the shallow depths near the banks. There were far fewer of the scaled predators lurking in their smaller rivers, and she was glad. While any mature communer could sense and easily evade them through their spheres, children were always at risk. If that was the sensespace’s intent, through showing her this – that its spheres helped the communers to remain safe – it was mistaken. It had the potential to take, to deceive, and was far more dangerous than any of the communers had ever realised. Too dangerous. They could learn to defend themselves without it.
She found herself being drawn to a part of the forest that was covered with lighter vegetation, and clear of the thicker, more imposing trees. There was movement that she could not immediately discern. Focusing on it in more detail, she realised, with a jolt, that it was her father. He was briskly making his way somewhere, through the sparse undergrowth, with Yul, Ril’s father. She was overjoyed at seeing him, although she reminded herself of what the sensespace had made her experience with Tor only moments before. Presumably, this was not going to be pleasant for her.
Her father moved with the natural elegance of a hunter, despite his larger-than-usual build. The same as Tor. His feet were precisely placed as he walked, every step was perfect, in comparison with the more lumbering, and even more hulking, Yul. She doubted his son, Ril, would ever reach a similar size. Gil did not think Yul would have needed to slow his pace even if he were wading through the thicker undergrowth they purposely avoided – he looked as though he could have pushed down most of the trees single-handedly.
