The Naked God - Faith nd-6

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “If you kill her,” Powel said, “you have no protection from me. And if you blast this body to pieces, I’ll just come back again like before. I’m going to keep on coming back until this is settled between us.”

  “I’m not going to blast you out of your body, not after the grief you’ve caused me. I’m not that nice, remember. Now you stay exactly where you are, or I will kill your daughter’s soul.”

  Powel looked round the empty expanse of floor under the dome as if he was viewing an apartment. “Guess you’re on his shit list too, huh,” he said to Fletcher.

  “I am, sir.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll make a mistake. He’s not smart enough to pull off something like this. And when it all goes pear-shaped, his balls are mine.”

  Quinn spread his arms wide in an open embrace to the assembled possessed below. “Now that everyone’s here,” he said, “we’ll begin.”

  Joshua managed to suppresses his shock without any help from programs. He knew the importance of this moment was too great for anything other than perfect clarity. “Are you the Tyrathca’s Sleeping God?” he datavised.

  “You know I am, Captain Calvert,” the singularity replied.

  “If you know who I am, then the Tyrathca were correct saying that you see the universe.”

  “The universe is too large for that, of course, but to reply in context, yes, I observe as much of the universe as you are aware of, and a great deal more besides. My quantum structure enables an extensive interconnection with a large volume of space-time and other realms.”

  “Not one for small talk, is it,” Liol muttered.

  “Then you know my species is being possessed by the souls of our own dead?” Joshua asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a solution to this problem?”

  “There are a great many solutions. As the Kiint have hinted to you, each race comes to terms with this aspect of life in its own way.”

  “Please, do you know of one that’s applicable to us?”

  “Many are. I am not being deliberately obtuse. I can list them all, and I can and will assist you in applying them where relevant. What I will not do is make the decision for you.”

  “Why?” Monica asked. “Why are you helping us? It’s not that I’m ungrateful. But I am curious.”

  “The Tyrathca were also correct when they said I exist to assist the progress of biological entities. Though the particular circumstances humans are currently facing were not the reason I was created.”

  “Then what were you made for?” Alkad asked.

  “The race which created me had reached their evolutionary pinnacle; intellectually, physically, and in their technology. A fact which should be self-evident to you, Dr Mzu. My sentience resides within a self-contained pattern of vacuum fluctuations. This provides me with an extensive ability to manipulate mass and energy; for me thought is deed, the two are one and the same. I used that ability to open a gateway for my creators into a new realm. They knew little of it, other than it existed; its parameters are very different to this universe. So they chose to embark on a new phase of existence living within it. They left this universe a long time ago.”

  “And you’ve been helping various species progress along evolution’s track ever since?” Joshua said. “It’s your reason for existing?”

  “I do not require a continuing reason to exist, a motivation. That psychology is a descendent of a biological sentience. My origins are not biological; I exist because they created me. It’s that simple.”

  “Then why do you help?”

  “Again, the simple answer would be because I can. But there are other considerations. It is an amplification of the problem your species has encountered millions of times during its history, almost daily in fact. You were even subject to it at Mastrit-PJ. When and where not to intervene? Did you believe you did the right thing by giving the Mosdva ZTT technology? Your intentions were good, but ultimately they were governed by self interest.”

  “Did we do the wrong thing?”

  “The Mosdva certainly don’t think so. Such judgements are relative.”

  “So you don’t help everybody all the time?”

  “No. Such a level of intervention—shaping the nature of biological life to conform with my wishes, however benevolent—would make me your ruler. Sentient life has free will. My creators believe that is why this universe exists. I respect that, and will not interfere with its self determination.”

  “Even when we make a mess of things?”

  “That would be a judgement again.”

  “But you are willing to help us if we ask?”

  “Yes.”

  Joshua looked at the projected image of the singularity, vaguely troubled. “All right, we’re definitely asking. Can we have the list of solutions?”

  “You may. I would suggest they would be more useful if you understood what has happened. That way, you would be able to make a more informed decision on which one to apply.”

  “Seems reasonable.”

  “Wait,” Monica said. “You keep mentioning we have to make a decision. How do we do that?”

  “What are you talking about?” Liol asked. “Once we’ve heard what’s on offer, we chose.”

  “We do? Are we going to put it to a vote here in the ship, do we go back to the Confederation Assembly and ask them to decide? What? We need to be certain about this first.”

  Liol looked round the cabin, trying to identify the mood. “No, we don’t go back,” he said. “This is what we came here for. The Jovian Consensus thought we were up to the job. So I say do it.”

  “We’re deciding the future of our whole race,” she protested. “We can’t just leap into this. And . . .” she indicated Mzu. “Bloody hell, she’s hardly qualified to be passing judgement on the rest of us. That’s the way I see it. You were going to use the Alchemist against an entire planet.”

  “Whereas the ESA is an organization of enviable morality,” Alkad snapped back. “How many people did you murder just tracking me down?”

  “You people have got to be fucking kidding,” Liol said. “You can’t even decide how to decide? Listen to yourselves! This kind of personal stupidity is what dumps humans into the shit every time. We just discuss it and make a decision. That’s it. Finish.”

  “No,” Samuel said. “The captain decides.”

  “Me?” Joshua asked.

  Monica stared at the Edenist in astonishment. “Him!”

  “Yes, I agree,” the serjeant said. “Joshua decides.”

  “He never doubted,” Samuel said. “Did you, Joshua? You’ve always known this would end in success.”

  “I hoped it would, sure.”

  “You doubted this flight,” Samuel told Monica. “You didn’t fully believe it would end in success. If you had, you would have been prepared to make the decision. Instead, you have doubts, that disqualifies you. Whoever does this must have conviction.”

  “Like yours, for instance,” Monica said. “A subset of your famous rationality.”

  “I too find myself unqualified for this. Although Edenists think as one, to make a decision of this magnitude I find myself wanting the reassurance of the Consensus. It would seem Edenism has a flaw after all.”

  Joshua gazed round at his crew. “You’ve all been very quiet.”

  “That’s because we trust you, Joshua,” Sarha said simply, and smiled. “You’re our captain.”

  Strange, Joshua thought, when you got right down to the naked truth, people actually had faith in him. Who he was, what he’d achieved, meant something to them. It was quite humbling, really. “All right,” he said slowly. He datavised the singularity: “Is that acceptable to you?”

  “I cannot take responsibility for your decisions, collective or otherwise. My only constraints are that I will not permit you to use my abilities as a weapon. Other than that, you have free access.”

  “Okay. Show me what happened.”

  The possessed in the nave had dropped to
their knees, concentrating hard on producing the stream of energistic power which the dark Messiah demanded from them for his summoning. Up on the gallery facing them, Quinn’s robe evaporated into pure shadow and began to flow out from his body, filling the air around him like a black spectre. At the heart, his naked body gleamed silver. He accepted the offering from his followers, and directed it as he pleased. It spilled down across the floor below the cathedral’s dome, prying at the structure of reality, weakening it.

  Powel Manani and Fletcher Christian looked down at their feet in consternation as the tiles around them sprouted a luminous purple haze. The soles of their shoes became enmeshed with the surface, making it hard to lift their feet up.

  “I need to get near him,” Powel said.

  Fletcher glanced up at the swarthy occultation looming above. “I wish to be as far from this dread place as possible. But I will not leave without her.”

  Powel exerted his own energistic power to yank his feet clear of the tiles. Even then it took considerable effort to move them. He shuffled right up in front of Fletcher, the two of them almost touching. The bottom of his sweatshirt was lifted a couple of centimetres, revealing Louise’s anti-memory weapon shoved into the top of his waistband.

  “Very well,” Fletcher said. “But it will be no easy endeavour. I hear the fallen angels approaching.”

  The haze was thrumming, issuing a howl of lament and greed. Below that, the fabric of the universe was thinning in accordance with Quinn’s desire. They could both feel pressure being exerted from the other side, a desperate scrabbling.

  “Not good,” Powel said. The tiles were becoming insubstantial. He pulled his feet out again; they’d sunk several centimetres below the surface.

  “I will make a stand and distract him,” Fletcher said. “You may have time to reach the stairs.”

  “I don’t think so. This stuff is getting worse than quicksand.”

  The purple haze vanished. Fletcher and Powel looked round wildly. A drop of ectoplasm dribbled up in a crack between two tiles, making a soft blup. A patch of dense white frost solidified around it.

  “Now what?” Powel grunted with apprehension.

  More ectoplasm was bubbling up. Sluggish rivulets began to form as it ran together. The tiles left uncovered had all turned sparkling white from frost. Fletcher could feel cold air rushing off the sludgy fluid. His breath had become hoary.

  “Welcome, my brothers,” Quinn’s voice boomed across the cathedral. “Welcome to the battlefield. Together we will bring down the Night of our Lord.”

  The entire area of floor underneath the dome had become a pool of burping and foaming ectoplasm. Fletcher and Powel were hopping from foot to foot, frantically trying to banish the excruciating cold from their legs. They suddenly stood still, tensing as a V-shaped ripple moved across the pool. Waves of hot, lustful emotion were surging up from the dimensional rift in counter to the physical cold. A curving spike lifted up out of the floor, ectoplasm flowing along its length. It was over three metres high.

  Fletcher watched it rise in horrified awe. Another one was emerging at the side of it, ectoplasm gurgling loudly as it lapped against the base.

  “Lord Jesus protect your servants,” he whispered. He and Powel backed away from the twin spikes as a third one budded.

  The ectoplasm was bubbling energetically now. Smaller tendrils were writhing up, erupting all over the pool like a fur of rapacious cilia. One started to curl round Powel’s leg. With a cry he managed to stumble away from it. The tip blossomed into a snapping five-talon claw. He pointed a finger at it and flung a slim blast of white fire. The claw shuddered, and large ripples of ectoplasm surged towards it.

  “Stop!” Fletcher shouted hoarsely. The ectoplasm licking its way up his legs was doing far more than freezing his flesh, he realized. His mental strength was reducing, and with it his energistic power.

  The claw’s talons had almost doubled in size under the impact of the white fire. Powel snatched his hand back, watching anxiously as the claw groped round blindly.

  Quinn laughed in delight as he watched the desperate antics of his sacrificial victims. There were five of the huge spikes now; they started to lean over. He wondered if they were the tips of some creature’s fingers.

  Moans of alarm were coming from the possessed down in the nave as they realized what they were witnessing. The first signs of panic were evident as the front rank pressed back from the edge of the ectoplasm pool.

  “Hold fast!” Quinn thundered at them. The opening into darkness wasn’t yet complete, it fluctuated as those below hurled themselves against it. Quinn concentrated his mind on the area where reality was distorted to breaking point.

  A huge bubble of noxious fumes burst from the centre of the ectoplasm, releasing an undulating spume of smaller ones. Powel and Fletcher ducked as a spray of ectoplasm splattered outwards. Tendrils of the stuff were wriggling against their legs now. Moving had become almost impossible, the agonising cold was squeezing in against their limbs and chests.

  A dark mass slowly shrugged its way out of the subsiding froth of bubbles. It was a metallic sphere with boxes and cylinders jutting out at odd angles. Streaks of molten nulltherm insulation were running down its sides, mingling with the wreath of ectoplasm that drooled away in slippery ribbons.

  “What the fuck is that?” Quinn demanded.

  Explosive bolts cracked loudly, and a circular hatch flew away from the sphere. A fat man in a grubby toga jumped down, splashing into the ectoplasm pool without any noticeable discomfort.

  Dariat looked round at his surroundings with considerable interest. “Bad timing?” he asked.

  Tolton walked straight through the escape pod’s walls. He stood in the ectoplasm and let out a grateful sigh. Fletcher watched in fascination as the ectoplasm flowed up him, turning the ghost solid. He seemed so much more vital than any of the other entities struggling to fruit from the ectoplasm.

  Powel Manani’s deep laugh rocked the air. “These are your terrifying warriors?” he mocked.

  Quinn yelled in fury and sent a white fireball ripping down at the derisive Ivet supervisor. A couple of centimetres from Powel it fractured into screeching webs of energy that never quite managed to touch him. The ectoplasm heaved enthusiastically as the crackling tips plunged into it.

  A long frond of the stuff leapt up to whip round Powel’s chest. Thicker, blunt tendrils were embracing his legs, knitting together. They began to pull him downwards. “How do we kill this stuff?” he shouted at Dariat. It had taken a worrying amount of effort to deflect Quinn’s firebolt; his strength was draining away rapidly.

  “Fire,” Dariat called back. “Real fire works against them.” Something was lumbering up out of the pool next to Tolton, a creature five times his size, seven limbs unfolding from its flanks. He looked at Dariat, and the two of them linked hands. They sent a single bolt of white fire streaking into the base of the escape pod. The last two solid rocket motors ignited.

  The events into which Joshua plunged had a form similar to a sensevise. They were real enough as they unravelled around him, but he witnessed them all simultaneously. At the same time, he could stand back and evaluate what was happening. That wasn’t an ability the human mind could perform.

  “You are using my thought processing ability,” the singularity informed him.

  “Then I’m no longer human. It will be you who makes the decision.”

  “The essence of what you are remains unchanged. I have simply expanded your mental capacity. Consider this a supercompressed history didactic.”

  So Joshua stood at Powel Manani’s side on Lalonde as Quinn Dexter performed the sacrifice and the Ly-cilph opened a gateway into the beyond, allowing the first souls to pour through. The possessed multiplied their numbers and spread down the Juliffe. He watched Warlow talking to Quinn Dexter at Durringham spaceport and accept the payment for Lady Mac to carry him to Norfolk.

  Ralph Hiltch took flight to Ombey and unleashed the possession o
f Mortonridge. The liberation followed on, with Ketton island vanishing into another realm.

  “Are you the instrument that transferred the crystal entities there?” Joshua asked.

  “No. That was another similar to myself. I am aware of several within this universe, though all are in superclusters very distant from here.”

  Valisk and its descent into the melange. Pernik. Nyvan. Koblat. Jesup. Kulu. Oshanko. Norfolk. Trafalgar. New California. André Duchamp. Meyer. Erick Thakara. Jed Hinton. Other places, worlds and asteroids and ships and people; their lives wound together into a cohesive whole. Jay Hilton’s unauthorised escape to the Kiint home system. Their remarkable arc of planets, housing the retired observers who gathered in front of Tracy’s television, dunking chocolate biscuits into their tea as they watched the human race falling apart.

  “Dick Keaton,” Joshua said with mild jubilation. “I knew there was something odd about him.”

  “The Kiint use many specially bred observers to gather data on different species,” the singularity said. “For all their scientific prowess, they do not have my perceptive faculty. Corpus still utilises technology to amass its information. Such methods can hardly be absolute.”

  “Did they find you?”

  “Yes. I could do nothing for them, and told them so. One day they will be able to build my like by themselves. Not for some time, though. There is no need. They have achieved an admirable harmony with the universe.”

  “Yeah, so they keep telling us.”

  “Not to taunt you. They are not a malicious species.”

  “Can you show me the beyond as well?” Joshua asked. “Can you tell me how to travel through it successfully like they do?”

  “It has no distance,” the singularity said. “It only has time. That is the direction in which you must travel.”

  “I don’t understand.”