Iron Gods

by Andrew Bannister

  Seldyan stared. ‘But one of these things destroyed a planet!’

  ‘Correct. They found a hundred and seventeen.’

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

  Beside her, Belbis nodded in agreement. ‘The Gods,’ he said again. It was the only thing he had said for a long time. He seemed to need something he was sure of.

  ‘In your terms, yes. The Gods. This facility, this Archive, was set up to conceal, to contain and to monitor the assets. You were the monitoring system. Perhaps you are owed some apologies.’

  Seldyan thought back to her talk with Hincc. ‘Not just Belbis,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Correct. A whole planet. And another planet, because one was prepared for use as a target.’

  She glared at it. ‘So are you going to apologize?’

  It waggled from side to side exactly like a shaken head. ‘No. I was not the architect of this. I was created to be isolated for what might have been for ever – and I promise you, the AI down below does not count as company. But nonetheless I approve. The sacrifice of two planets to protect almost a hundred? This is acceptable.’

  ‘But how?’ Seldyan stuck her chin out at the thing. ‘The other planets aren’t being protected. You’re making it worse. Is civil war acceptable? Is slavery?’

  ‘They might not be. I need more information.’

  ‘And you’re stuck in here with no way of finding it …’ Seldyan drummed her fingers.

  Then Belbis said, ‘Can the new God tell you?’

  Seldyan stared at him. ‘New God?’

  ‘Yes. I saw one extra. It must have come from somewhere. Maybe outside?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ The Avatar had kept quite still for a long time. Then it said, slowly, ‘There is a change …’

  ‘What?’ Seldyan looked at it impatiently.

  ‘The machine was found. It doesn’t know who found it, but they persuaded it to try to create a planet. It needed better handling; the attempt ended in disaster.’

  ‘The Arch?’

  ‘I believe so. The machine fled here.’ The little sphere rotated on its axis. ‘We can assume that watchers will come to the correct conclusion, in the quite near term. In that case the Archive will be attacked, and it is possible that direct attack of the right sort could breach it. Such an attack might be imminent, based on the number of ships now arriving. I must discuss.’

  There had been what had seemed a very short, but in machine time was probably a very long, discussion between the Avatar and the AI. At the end of it they had agreed.

  The beam would be powered down. The Archive was to be broken open. And that meant that not just the beam but the whole containment system would be powered down. Hence the large energy flows.

  And hence the fact that they were shivering in the Observatory.

  And now, without any warning, something had changed; something in the background which had been less-than-noise and more-than-imagination – wasn’t.

  Seldyan looked up. The green light was gone. She turned and met Belbis’s gaze. He looked frightened. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Open the shutters. Show me what you saw.’

  He nodded and reached for a rope that dangled from the roof. The moon shutters creaked open.

  Seldyan caught her breath. She realized that she had never seen the skies of this planet unmodified.

  Now it was no longer washed out by the pervading green, the view was – vivid. The night sky was strung with a mesh of bright dots, much bigger than the stars behind them. They formed a cluster, with no particular pattern she could see. She grinned. ‘They’re all different.’

  ‘Yes.’ Belbis was smiling, a broad happy grin she had never seen. ‘Each has personality. All have names.’ He pointed. ‘That one …’

  Then the sky flared searing white.

  Seldyan found herself lying face-down on top of Belbis. His hands were clasped over the top of his head and he was breathing hard.

  So was she. She rolled off him and looked cautiously upward. The sky seemed normal for night-time, although – she frowned – there appeared to be fewer of the big stars and more small ones than she had seen a few seconds ago.

  She tapped her ear and sub-vocalized so as not to disturb Belbis. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello! You okay down there?’ It was Kot.

  ‘Yes. Surprised but okay. You?’

  ‘Also surprised. Merish is busy; there’s been an issue. It’ll wait until you get back.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Should I worry?’

  ‘Only if you want to. The ship’s sending a platform.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She looked down at her companion. ‘Will there be room for two? I’m going to try to bring a guest.’

  A pause. Then, ‘It says yes. It didn’t sound surprised.’

  Seldyan broke the connection and looked back up at the sky. Definitely fewer objects. Belbis would know. She patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘Belbis? I think the sky is different. Will you look?’

  He shook his head and clenched his hands tighter so that they trembled a little. She bit her lip. The sky had been his obsession since puberty. Any change was going to be difficult – but she wanted his knowledge. ‘If I said,’ she began, and then hesitated. ‘Suppose I said I could take you to visit the Gods. Would you look?’

  He became quite still. Even the trembling stopped. She watched him for a long time, until she began to believe that he would never move again. Then at last he undid his fingers and turned over, his eyes open.

  She studied his face, and relaxed a bit. She had feared shock, but instead there was interest. His eyes flicked from side to side, and she was reminded of some sort of mechanical scanner.

  The scan didn’t take long. He blinked, and turned his face towards her. ‘Minor Gods, the same number,’ he said. ‘Like before. Major Gods, half gone. Everything changes. Does this mean end of the world?’

  She smiled. ‘No. Look down the valley. The fires are out; the end of the world was a while ago. This is the beginning of the next one.’

  He tried to echo her smile. Then she saw his eyes flick up to the sky again, and widen. She followed his look and saw a hazy violet column. Something was fluttering down within it.

  She smiled down at him again. ‘That’s the next world on its way,’ she told him. ‘Get ready.’

  The platform looked more solid, close up. Seldyan was relieved; she hadn’t been sure of persuading Belbis to climb on anything so delicate – or anything at all. But she had misjudged him. When he saw the platform his eyes lit up in a way she had never seen before, to the extent that she actually laughed.

  He looked at her. ‘I amuse?’

  She managed to stop laughing. ‘You look so … keen.’

  ‘Of course. Going to see Gods.’ Then his face darkened for a moment. ‘Where Gods used to be.’

  She reached out a hand but he brushed it away. ‘There will be more than Gods in the next world.’

  They sat on the padded semicircle of the flight-deck viewing point of Suck on This, staring in awe.

  There were indeed Gods, and more than Gods. The thing on the display looked like a vast sphere of jewels – an intricately orderly pattern of large and small points of light. Seldyan gestured towards it. ‘Belbis? Major Gods and Minor Gods?’

  She had hoped for another smile, but he shook his head. ‘Not Gods,’ he said. ‘Everything changes. For you to tell me.’

  Merish leaned forward and spoke slowly. He sounded tired. ‘You’re right, they’re not Gods. The small ones are what everyone expected – washed-up bits of machinery from the Construction Phase.’ He looked at Belbis, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a lot to take in, I know. The Spin, that is all the stars and planets, they were made by someone.’

  Belbis shook his head. ‘Worse if you try to tell me no one made them. Everything made by someone.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Merish pushed the hair from his eyes.

  They were all silent for a while. Then Kot said, ‘So if the small ones are the ol
d machines, what are the big ones?’

  ‘MBUs. Like this one. They volunteered to go into the Archive to look after the machines.’ Merish looked up as if he was trying to locate their host. ‘Ship? You tell them.’

  ‘Very well. They went in, and came out, but they had changed.’

  The voice had changed. Instead of the disembodied sound it had used first, it had become a dry, almost academic-sounding tenor. She decided she liked it. It sounded more alert.

  ‘They were supposed to sleep, but we bore easily, even asleep. They talked, and learned.’

  The voice was at once soothing and enthralling. Seldyan listened.

  The Great Ships had spent thousands of years conversing with the ancient machines. Some of the machines were simply senile, and some were so tired or depressed by the weight of years – millions of years, experienced at a rate that multiplied them a billion times – that they had nothing left to say. A few had even founded their own religion (and at that point the ship’s voice had darkened for a moment). But some were awake and lucid, and they had told the ships – things.

  And the ships had learned, and changed.

  ‘We were powerful, at the start. But we think fast too; not as fast as the machines, but still many millions of times faster than you. There is time for a great deal of thinking and learning.’

  There was silence on the flight deck. Then Seldyan shook her head. ‘Evolution,’ she said. ‘You’re talking about evolution.’

  ‘I am, or at least I am talking about radical change. All machines – ships, construction – are founded on the same laws of physics. My colleagues learned new applications for those laws, and in the process they changed. The people on Archive counted Iron Gods in the sky. They were counting my peers, and for thousands of years they were right.’

  Seldyan looked round the others, but they seemed frozen in shock. ‘And you,’ she said. ‘Are you a God now?’

  ‘No. I could be, but I declined. I would like to stay engaged with the ordinary.’

  ‘Ah. And what happens now?’

  ‘It’s happening. Watch.’

  They looked at the screen. The jewelled sphere with its Gods and its ancient machines was rising slowly. The view pulled back as it drew away.

  Kot pointed. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘They are leaving. The Archive turned out to be unsafe, even in the short term. And it was ethically difficult.’

  Seldyan managed not to laugh. ‘Short term? You do have a different timescale.’

  ‘Of course. The Spin has hundreds of thousands of years to live. Ten thousand is certainly short term.’

  Merish looked round at the others. ‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of thousands doesn’t sound very long term, either.’

  ‘Perhaps. But, with the greatest respect, you will be dead within a few hundred years.’

  No one said anything. Instead they watched the beautiful jewelled thing receding until it was gone. When it finally cleared the screen Belbis laughed.

  Seldyan raised her eyebrows. ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just, you seem to have lost some Gods today, too.’

  She smiled, slowly. Then she said, ‘Maybe I’ve found some new people.’

  Flamejob/Suck on This

  AFTERWARDS, THE SHIP reviewed its performance. Not bad, it decided. All things considered.

  There was little else it could have done. Certainly it might have spoken about the transmitter in the little wooden toy that seemed to annoy the leading human every time it clicked – but in the first place that was none of its business, and in the second it seemed to have had a positive outcome. Without it, it suspected the mercenary fleet wouldn’t have known where to come, and when; and without that the squashing of the unpleasant grouping called the Inside would have been far less complete.

  Equally, it might have spoken more about the glimpse of the future it had been shown. That troubled it – but not in any way on behalf of the humans because, if it was honest, it didn’t care much about them anyway.

  Perhaps that’s another reason I’m not fitted for Godhead, it thought. Too much of a bastard. Or too analytical. Yes, that’s better. Analytical.

  But on behalf of the entity called the Spin – yes, it was troubled.

  Well, well. There was nothing more to be done about that, at least by it. Others, perhaps.

  Meanwhile it had accommodated the wishes of the humans, as far as it could. Or most of them – there was one who was more interesting. One, perhaps, that it almost cared for.

  It made a suggestion. The reply took an age, which probably meant that the human had replied by return.

  It liked the reply it received from the human called Merish.

  Circle Harbour

  ‘NO! NOT THAT; this …’ Belbis guided her hands on the coarse fishing line. Under her the boat yawed uneasily, but she was too busy to feel sick.

  She was enjoying herself.

  Kot and Lyste had chosen to go to Web City. She had suggested Oblong, as a place with more influence, but they had both smiled at the same time and shaken their heads.

  Kot had put it simply. ‘Sel? Patras and his gang were on the down path before we even turned up – and before the Hive pulled the big switch and went commercial. The population of Web City is many, many times that of Oblong. We prefer being on the winning side.’

  She had smiled, and meant it. ‘I hope the winning side turns out to be the right choice.’

  And they had nodded, and gone.

  The line jumped through her fingers. Without being told she tightened her grip, and the force was transmitted through her arm. She braced herself. ‘I think,’ she began, but before she could say anything else she felt hands take hold of her shoulders.

  ‘Brace against me. The catch will be yours.’

  She braced, feeling his muscles amplifying her stance. His weight, too; over the last few weeks he had at last filled out. Even allowing for their different life timescales, he was younger than her, just coming into full adulthood – but she had the impression he had now arrived.

  Merish, now that had been more difficult. She had assumed – all sorts of things.

  And he had shaken his head. ‘I can’t, Sel.’

  She thought she had concealed her flinch, but he seemed to have seen it. His eyes darkened. ‘Seldyan? It’s not about gender, or anything like that. It’s just that …’

  He paused, and she finished the sentence for him. ‘It’s just that you’re better at things than at people. Okay, I get it.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m really sorry, Sel.’

  Somehow she had grinned. ‘Stay in touch,’ she said. And he had nodded. The ship had made its brief apologies seconds later, and then they were both gone. The best she could do, through eyes which were defiantly dry, was to watch the space they left behind, like a tribute.

  The line jumped again, and then danced against her hands. She remembered the instructions: Don’t fight when you don’t have to. Let the fish do the fighting.

  It did, for almost an hour. They could have used nets but this was the old way, Belbis had said. This way you know your fight, and yourself.

  And the one holding you, she thought.

  When they finally landed it, the fish was half her height. Not vast, as far as she knew, but adequate.

  And it was her first.

  Belbis was effusive. By the time they were halfway back to Three Quarter Circle harbour he had promised her a feast, and acclaim, and … everything.

  Yes. Her first – and probably his. She let herself lean against the bracing arms, just for a moment, and it was happiness.

  Flamejob/Suck on This

  ‘SO, WHERE DO we go?’

  Merish shook his head. ‘I don’t know. What do you recommend?’

  ‘Well, perhaps …’

  There was no sense of acceleration, as long as he didn’t look at the display – but of course he did. Planets and stars receded in streaks that started a sulky red and flared through all
the colours into acidic violet before disappearing – and then they were still, and he looked and laughed.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. The Spin. It may surprise you but in ten thousand years I have never found the time to do this.’

  ‘Really?’ Merish stared down – or across, or up, he wasn’t sure – at the galactic toy. ‘I would have.’

  ‘I’m sure. If I get the chance again, so will I.’

  ‘If?’

  ‘Well, I have the impression that you maintain no particular connections with the worlds below. And, that being so, there are other places.’

  ‘I don’t want to cramp your style.’

  ‘Oh, you won’t. As long as I am not cramping yours.’

  Merish thought about that for a moment. Eventually he said, ‘Look, if we both stop being polite this relationship might get off to a better start.’

  Beacon Planet (Rehabilitated)

  THE PLANET – OUR planet – is recovering slowly. For the first time we are able to spend some time on the surface unprotected. It is good to see the gradual recovery of the old forests, to hear the sounds of familiar creatures emerging and to feel the wet breezes begin to blow, as the chemicals clear.

  Although we had time – almost infinite time – we had no plan. Only an ability to wait, to watch, and when we could, to nudge things gently in a direction we hoped would be favourable.

  The theft of the old machine from the Archive gave us our opportunity; the rogue ship gave us the means – and far more besides. It is in orbit now, and its many little servants, swirling around us, are the agents of recovery for our planet as the natural green and grey and brown of our home replaces the bright beacon it was.

  We remembered. Our memories were passed on from one generation to the next, preserved in their immortal, multiply redundant gestalt. We remembered the creation of the Archive and the expulsion from our home that went with it.