Infinite Eyes (Wanderers Book 3)

by James Murdo

  [You think?]

  [It certainly doesn’t look friendly.]

  [How do I drop out of N-SOL space?]

  [Try turning the N-SOL drive on and off?]

  [It’s not working, DeVoid!]

  [FLIT!]

  [Is there any chance this was all a mistake? That the Cross-Prophet was mistaken?]

  [There’s a chance, definitely.]

  [Lying?]

  [I don’t think so…]

  [I’m going to turn the singularity generator on, and try to change course, or at least decelerate.]

  [NO!]

  [What? Why?]

  [I just know they’d hate that. That’d be a very bad idea.]

  [DeVoid!]

  [Why don’t we–]

  [There’s something coming our way!]

  [What?]

  [From the entities ahead, they’re firing on us!]

  [Flit, no! What?]

  [It’s like N-SOL space is rupturing ahead of us, I don’t think–]

  *

  [YEEEEEEEAAAH!]

  [DeVoid…]

  [That was exhilarating!]

  DeVoid’s characteristic good humour was a severe juxtaposition compared to the thoughts that had been flying about through Apalu’s mind a millisecond earlier.

  [What happened?]

  [They forced us out!]

  [The N-SOL entities?]

  [Who else? Perhaps our time was up. Or they got bored of playing host.]

  [Look where we are.]

  [A couple of days from the orbital.]

  [Yes, it's suspicious, isn’t it?]

  [Fortunate, more like.]

  [They were asked to take us here?]

  [Clearly, the Cross-Prophet was able to communicate with them after all.]

  [No sign of the emblem-ship or any residual N-SOL signal giving away our position.]

  [Hmm…]

  [What?]

  [Now that’s actually suspicious, isn’t it?]

  [Why?]

  [Think about it, you must have considered the possib–]

  [You think the emblem-ship was the Cross-Prophet’s doing, DeVoid?]

  [Seems like quite the coincidence otherwise. You’re forced to hide, hitch a giant lift shaving a significant amount of time off the journey, gain well-needed intellectual capabilities during the aforesaid hiding–]

  [Talking about yourself?]

  [Clearly. But yes, it seems manufactured, doesn’t it?]

  [Why would he do that? Why would I need to go into N-SOL space?]

  [Might be hiding his actions? He mentioned not wanting to get too involved in events before. Perhaps, he had to appear that way…]

  [He didn’t want to annoy the Makers?]

  [I’m only speculating.]

  [But they caused the sensespace scourge in the first place! This is all their fault!]

  [I know, I agree!]

  [After we’ve searched the orbital, do we travel to the galactic centre?]

  [We’ll see.]

  23

  GIL

  Gil sat amidst the rotating mass of branches, in the heart of the world-chamber that 998 had designed for her. She was calmer than before and trying as hard as she could not to accidentally trigger her regained sensespace abilities – which was difficult with the constant background whispering in her mind. The sibilance had grown increasingly persistent as the ship had drawn closer to the sentinels, right up to their current position, which was as close as the craft-lect would allow them to be. It was currently attempting to communicate with them, and she did not want to jeopardise its efforts.

  “How are you, Gil?” 112 said.

  “I’m… fine, thank you.”

  “Emotionally?”

  “Yes, I’m okay, thanks. It’s all been a lot to take in…”

  “Yes, there is a lot of information for you to assimilate.”

  “There is, 112. I’m just trying–”

  “Have you investigated us, Gil?”

  “Investigated, you? What do you mean?”

  “Looked into our lects?”

  “No… I wouldn’t… and the craft-lect asked me not to.”

  “Yes, we don’t want to reveal you to the sentinels.”

  112 was not as chirpy as it usually was, but none of the c-automs acted exactly as before, following the destruction of the technosystem c-automs. It was probably also apprehensive about their interaction with the sentinels. At this distance from them, the craft-lect maintained that the sensespace presence was still far below the levels considered to carry a risk of infection. Apparently, though, even these minuscule levels were enough for her abilities to manifest – it did not matter whether sentients around her were infected with the sensespace or not, just that the sensespace was there.

  She looked at the image of the sentinels hanging in the air to her right that she had requested with 998 before it had left to join One-oh – presumably having resumed amicable relations with each other. The image rotated slowly, giving a composite impression of what the craft-lect’s sensors showed of the sentinels. Details were scant – three dark spherical objects arranged in a line. 998 had told her that each was many times bigger than their ship.

  Despite everything the craft-lect and its ship was capable of, that was it. 998 had explained that most ABs valued their privacy, and the Maspero were at the higher end of that spectrum. Little was known of them. That was probably part of the reason why so little was known about the fabled Deliverer, when those such as the Maspero had been involved in its creation.

  “Has anything happened?” she asked 112.

  “Not yet, that I am aware of.”

  “Okay.”

  With both hands, she grabbed at the two outer sentinels and brought them closer to her. As she fanned her hands out, they expanded in size before her, and she looked at their surfaces. As she had already seen, there was nothing else evident at this resolution. Both had smooth ellipsoid curvatures, with occasional indents that 998 had told her might be indicative of impacts incident upon them in the past. The curiosity was why they had not self-repaired, and what was able to cause such damage to AB technology.

  She closed her fists and pushed them away, with the images correspondingly contracting and moving back to their prior positions within the composite. She grabbed at the central sentinel and expanded it. It was smoother, but otherwise the same. No discernible details hinting at any of the functionalities it possessed.

  “What are you doing, Gil? Have you observed something?”

  “No, just looking again.”

  “According to the databanks, they are similar to other drone-types that have been observed from the Maspero.”

  “Drone-types?”

  “Technological objects of unknown function – presumed non-sentient workers.”

  “Ah… okay. How similar?”

  “To the c-automs?”

  “No, I mean how similar are these sentinels to the drone-types?”

  “They appear to be an accurate match, although there is little data on the drone-types anyway.”

  “Did they always… do they always stay this far from their planets?”

  “Not in our records. They have usually been observed to remain much closer to their planets, and all their other known habitats.”

  “Are they what the craft-lect expected? The drone-types?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Restless, and not wanting to look over the same information again and again, she stood up on the thick branch she had been sitting on. Crouching down, she readied her body, and propelled herself forwards, near to the representation of her old commune. She enjoyed moving about this way, soaring through the chamber as though flying. Without saying anything, 112 followed her. Moving around helped to clear the worry and concern that riled her.

  Landing close to the commune, she gazed at the small huts nearby, glad for the distraction from her own thoughts. The warmth of the memories they evoked helped quell the worry she was only just managing to keep at ba
y. All that the sensespace had shown her, the confusion concerning her purpose, her past – everything. The fires burned, the orange and yellow hues licking and crackling against each other.

  The vegetation was up to her hips, although she knew she could ask 998 to raise it if she wished – to make it closer to how she remembered it, towering over and all around her. She strode slowly forwards.

  During her last day in the commune, her sensespace abilities had grown significantly. She had realised that she could actually enter the minds of her fellow communers. It was a strange parallel to be back in a representation of the commune, equally as close to another precipice of further, dangerous abilities. Her present commune was the ship, and while she was curious about her fellow communers, she did not want to enter their minds. She was sure that she could, if she let herself, although not that she would understand them – but it would have felt wrong. She could also explore the ship in a different way to how 998 had shown her, the same as she had the Beast-men, but, again, it did not feel right. She was not sure why it felt so wrong, but it did. She came to a halt at the perimeter of the commune, at the tip of the cultivated land.

  “This is the first time you have come here.”

  “Yes, 112. It is.”

  “Is there a reason?”

  “Just to… think.”

  “It’s smaller than your home. Your communers won’t be here.”

  “I know that.”

  “Your father is gone.”

  “Yes…”

  Involuntary tears began to form in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. 112 moved closer and used its warm green aura to dry her face.

  “I apologise, Gil. I did not mean to upset you.”

  “It’s fine, you didn’t.”

  “Does this representation remind you of what you have lost, or provide some comfort to you?”

  She thought for a few moments. “Both.” 112’s questions were sometimes unexpected, and brash, but it meant well.

  “I understand. The new technosystem reality provides a similar context for me.”

  “Oh… I’m so sorry, I never thought to ask.” She turned to face 112. “Are you there right now?”

  “Yes, partially.”

  It proceeded to tell her about the fresh technosystem reality it had access to, and its differences to the preceding reality. The craft-lect had granted the embodied c-automs, the only c-automs left on the ship, full privileges within the reality, so they were all far more capable than ever before.

  “So, you understand, I can communicate with you while I undertake my tasks more efficiently than before, at the same time,” 112 said.

  Gil sat down, gazing at the commune from its boundary, and listened to 112. The c-autom was filled with hope for the future, which made her glad. At some point that she could not remember, the conversation broke and they waited in silence. Her eyes became heavy and her chin drew closer to her chest.

  Everything became imprecise. Sluggish thoughts wafted over her and she became mildly aware that she was asleep – not in a sensespace-induced vision, but a dream of her own. Her concerns and fears echoed around, and feelings of guilt intermingled with shame coursed through her.

  Her father was present, just beyond reach at the centre of the commune, with Tor beside him. She watched them, still at the commune’s perimeter, wanting to join. She was aware she was dreaming but it did not matter. Her legs would not work, so she spread her arms out towards them, imploring them to come to her, but they would not. She was stuck, watching.

  Neither Tor nor her father said anything, although her memories of them provided echoes of their voices. Tor’s echoes wanted her to run, to hide from the sensespace. He wanted her to be safe. Her father’s demanded she stay, she had work to do. She was confused, he needed to explain, and she wanted him to stay, to absolve her of her guilt. How was she to know what it all meant? Who was he? Her father was gone. Tor was still there, but he was now only a vague, undefined presence. It was her fault.

  Startled, she opened her eyes and looked around. 112 did not say anything – it appeared not to have noticed the brief sojourn she had taken into her dreams, although its glow began to pulse more rapidly.

  “Gil?”

  “Wh… 998? No… 112? Sorry...”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I… it’s nothing, 112.”

  “Are you sure, Gil?”

  “Yes, I just fell asleep and was a little surprised. That’s all.”

  “You have had further visions?”

  “I… yes, just dreams, I mean. I did–”

  “The sensespace?”

  “No… no these were just my own.”

  “You are confused?”

  “No. I’m fine, thank you. It was just my own dream.”

  “Your own dream,” 112 repeated.

  “Yes... is everything–”

  “998.”

  Gil looked up and saw 998 emerging as a small glowing speck from behind the floating tree at the centre of the chamber. It was gliding in an arc, and she kept her eyes on it as it approached them, not wanting her curiosity to overcome her will to suppress her abilities through the sensespace. Alongside the whispers, she felt tingles, but ignored them as best she could.

  112 floated towards 998, stopping in front of it. She was not sure why they did this, considering they were able to talk to each other from anywhere in the ship, but presumed it was a social nicety. With their communication over, they flashed their lights at each other, and 112 circled back to her.

  “I need to help my sibling 289 with its task, Gil,” said the c-autom, brightly.

  “Oh, I see–”

  “Goodbye for now!”

  “See you later, 112.”

  As it sped off, 998 moved towards her.

  “Gil.”

  “998. How is it all proceeding?”

  “Nothing yet, the craft-lect is still attempting communication.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “How was 112?”

  “112? Fine… why?”

  “I’m checking whether certain c-autom behaviours were affected by recent events.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes… fine, I think.”

  998 did not say anything.

  “Were the two sentinels badly damaged after all?”

  “Probably, yes. Communication efforts are focused on the central sentinel.”

  “Is it sleeping? You mentioned the craft-lect can do that.”

  “It’s unlikely to be sentient, so the analogy may not apply. The craft-lect is looking for a method to trigger it.”

  “Surely it would be able to see us, here?”

  “Perhaps we are insignificant.”

  24

  PELTEUS

  Everything ready, Pelteus settled in an area it had selected near one of the edges of the field – adjacent to a cluster of dark, giant asteroids. These clusters at the perimeter existed through their fortune at not having entered the bulk of the field, where attrition from collisions over vast stretches of time set limits on boulder sizes. The asteroids were amongst the largest in the entire field.

  Pelteus had no doubt it was the most adept spear-lect that had ever existed. The Machine Alliance had given it the required information to upgrade itself to previously unattainable levels without Step Principle concerns. Its newfound stealth meant it could silently stalk and incapacitate target ships far more effectively than ever before.

  Pelteus hoped Apalu was ready for the task – to provide it with some enjoyment. Information also needed to be extracted, which Pelteus gleefully anticipated. Interrogation was another of its specialities.

  Debris from the mining station was strewn across the field. That meant that, while the station was presumably Apalu’s target, what it was looking for could be almost anywhere within the field. Whatever had destroyed it, had rendered most of the pieces difficult to analyse. There were melted and malformed remnants that were no longer functional. While the innards had been ripped
from the station, its husk was intact. The attack against it had probably been quick and vicious, something Pelteus could admire, but it had also been messy. Hasty. Less admirable.

  The perpetrator had not possessed any concern over retaliation. With the ability to destroy a space mining station in this manner, but failure to hide the fact that it had been destroyed or ever existed, the aggressor was not likely to be unintelligent. That led Pelteus to suspect it was indifferent. A hallmark of sensespace-controlled aggression. Indifferent slaughter.

  If Pelteus had been so inclined, it was confident it could have investigated the situation and determined indicators as to the possible culprit. To find which sensespace-infected aggressor had committed the destruction. At the very least, it could have divulged clues about who might be to blame. Perhaps, if Apalu was quickly defeated by the traps and the mining station survived, Pelteus would take a closer look. It was unlikely, but there could be something of interest for it.

  *

  Pelteus was notified of an incoming ship. Large and typical of the craft-lect ship type. The ship, presumably Apalu, would enter the orbital soon and be pitted against Pelteus’ traps. Pelteus kept a record of how all the craft-lects it had destroyed in this manner had fared against its different snares. Pitifully few surpassed them to the point of challenging it, lect-to-lect. Their final test, should they be so fortunate.

  Apalu was sufficiently far that Pelteus could not scan it in too much depth without jeopardising its own concealment. It was not a concern, it would be easy soon enough. The craft-lect was in stealth mode and would have been undetectable by many other entities on the lookout, although it was easily found by Pelteus. The bloom trailing behind it created an unmistakable signature that Pelteus’ alliance-given upgrades were able to identify with ease.

  The identification system was able to distinguish between different bloom signatures, although Pelteus rarely encountered the same ship more than once. Pelteus assigned the signature to a profile for Apalu. It did not know how the system located the blooms in the first place, since the system had no clear access to Pelteus’ external sensors or internal sensor feeds. However, it suspected that discerning between the different blooms, and therefore assigning individual signatures to specific ships, was accomplished by analysing the differences in virtual particles created by them. Micro-dissimilarities in the blooms of each ship, no matter how minute, meant no two were precisely identical. Wanderer ships were allowed to alter and adjust their own equipment, including their blooms, but somehow the identification system was able to account for that.