by Jaine Fenn
Some of the information he needed was stored at Freetrader offices in other hubs, and getting those records took time, and there was a charge for files that had to be beeveed in. His other main resource - which was also eating up time and credit - was the Salvatine Archive. The church prided itself on being the force that had saved humanity from descending into chaos after the Protectorate fell, though Jarek suspected they’d spun their own place in history to suit their needs.
He checked up on the contacts used by the Setting Sun, as extracted from the pilot by Nual. They were a mixed bag of traders, minor functionaries and - by far the largest group - corporates, which supported a long-held suspicion. It made sense for the Sidhe to use corporations rather than civil administrations: commercial ventures were likely to be more efficient than any planetary government, not to mention more susceptible to greed and paranoia - and hence easier to manipulate. He also discovered an unexpected bias away from hubs towards planet-based groups and individuals.
He found himself briefly distracted by references to something called zepgen, a term he’d come across once or twice, but never before followed up. Zepgen - zero-expenditure-generator - was a legendary power source, both compact and limitless, allegedly created by the male Sidhe. It was thought to draw its energy from shiftspace - or possibly even another universe. Some of the companies he came across had invested in - apparently fruitless - research into this area. From the look of it, if zepgen had ever existed then the secret had been lost with the fall of the Protectorate.
Talking of lost . . .
He turned his attention to Serenein. There were plenty of legends about uncharted systems, but concrete information was predictably lacking. Certainly no world of that name appeared in any records he could access. He was pretty sure that Serenein was outside human-space, because their unusual night-sky didn’t match anything in the Judas Kiss’s comp. Not that its location mattered greatly; the mapping between realspace and shiftspace was highly illogical: systems only one transit apart were sometimes many hundreds of light-years distant from each other, and others in relatively close physical proximity might be at the opposite ends of transit-path chains.
If he accepted that there had never been a beacon at Serenein then the next step was to find out if there was any way to transit into a beacon-less system without slipstreaming another ship. Although the Sidhe could obviously do it, he could find no record of any ship travelling between two systems that way.
He remembered a story from the Book. He’d been forced to study the Salvatine holy text at school on Khathryn, and had promptly forgotten most of what he’d learnt, but this one story had stayed with him because it was about space, which had fascinated him even then. The beacons that allowed humanity to navigate around the stars had been seeded by angels, according to the Holy Book: not the flying assassin kind, the religious messenger kind. The more devout Salvatines who believed in the literal truth of the Book claimed that the Almighty, appalled at the blasphemy of the Sidhe in setting themselves up as divine, had actually created the beacons for humanity’s use. The more rational saw these ‘angels’ as the freedom-fighters who overthrew the Protectorate - under God’s direction, of course. The general consensus was that these heroic, divinely blessed individuals had subverted the Sidhe beacons for humanity’s use, transporting some of them to unexplored ember-star systems where they set up the hubpoints, which then became the focus for human resistance.
But he now knew that the Sidhe didn’t need beacons to get around. So if there hadn’t been any beacons before the fall of the Protectorate, perhaps they weren’t Sidhe artefacts at all - but if the Sidhe hadn’t made them, who had?
Taro caught the first bus back in the morning and found the others waiting outside the blockhouse. Nual was with them. He felt a sudden stab of emotion, which he quickly suppressed. He had nothing to feel guilty about.
Mo leapt onto the bus and threw Taro’s swimming gear into his lap. ‘Almost thought you were going to miss your own party there! Good excuse though, eh?’
‘The best there is,’ said Taro, who could actually have used some sleep before they got going.
Mo sat next to him; Nual sat by herself two seats forward. She’d told the others at the blockhouse that she was interested in studying native customs and they’d accepted this as her reason for not joining in with them. As the bus rattled off Mo nodded towards her and said, ‘I reckon she’s been working too hard, so I got her a ticket too.’
‘Thanks,’ Taro said. He was glad Nual was here; she deserved some fun. ‘How much do we owe you?’
‘You don’t. It’s a birthday present.’
‘Thanks, Mo!’
‘No problem.’ They found themselves looking at the back of Nual’s head. She’d cut her hair in Stonetown, and the long plait was gone, replaced with a short bob. ‘Is she all right?’ asked Mo. ‘Last night when we got back from the bar she looked like she’d been crying.’
Taro felt his jaw tense for a moment. He’d thought she was doing fine; she certainly acted like she was around him. ‘Like you said, she’s all work and no play,’ he said. ‘This’ll do her good.’
They got off the bus at Anau, where a smartly turned-out boat waited by the landing stage. The native couple who owned it greeted the visitors with self-effacing warmth and the boat set off around the coast, keeping inside the lagoon. Once out on the water, Taro forgot how tired he was.
The morning started with a shallow-dive. The Captain (‘You won’t be able to pronounce my real name, friends; and you can call my wife the boss-lady!’) came down with them to point out underwater wonders they’d otherwise miss, and told them all about the history and legends of the reef. Taro recognised a practised guide working his audience, though in his experience - giving, rather than receiving, the tourist spiel - there would be a grain of truth in most of what was said.
For the second dive of the morning, slightly further out in the lagoon, the Captain issued them with spearguns. He apologetically got them to sign waivers before showing them how the weapons worked. Then he said, ‘Time to catch lunch,’ and plopped backwards over the side of the boat.
Catching lunch turned out to be fun, but far from easy. The ‘boss-lady’ came in with them this time, watching their backs to make sure no one pointed their speargun near anybody else. Her husband showed people how it was done. He seemed to concentrate on the female members of the group, and Taro suspected his wife was there partly to watch him. Predictably he started with Nual; equally predictably he wasn’t with her long before something persuaded him to leave her alone. At the end of an exhausting and exhilarating morning Taro had caught one small spiky beastie with an unappetising mass of tentacles around its mouth, while she had managed to land a fat rainbow-scaled fish.
They took their catch to one of the uninhabited islands that edged the lagoon. The Captain lit a fire and set up a grill over it, then left his wife to do the cooking. Lunch was delicious, washed down with cold beers and nips from an unlabelled bottle that the Captain produced ‘for the birthday boy’. The sweet spirit evaporated straight from Taro’s tongue into his brain, and for a while the sea sparkled brightly enough that even with his shades on he kept blinking.
Back on the boat, the Captain was all smiles. ‘The news is good,’ he said, ‘we have a big group of ahuatai heading this way soon.’ The ahuatai - spirit-rays - were huge, gentle beasts with their own personal light-show. When the tides were right they came in from the deep sea to skim along the outer edge of the reef. The tides were perfect, said the Captain, and the ahuatai, the oldest, wisest creatures in the sea, were happy for people to swim amongst them when they visited the shallows. Getting close was fine, but to touch was tapu - forbidden. Mo caught the Captain’s eye and his grin widened. He pointed to Mo and said, ‘You know the best part, then, my friend?’ Mo nodded eagerly. The Captain continued, ‘The ahuatai are the children of the Lord of the Sea. They are thinking creatures, like us, and they know when other thinking creatures are a
mong them. Their love will enfold you.’
The Captain’s wife, monitoring the screens, started the engine and steered them out of a gap in the reef. Taro suffered a moment of queasy panic as the little vessel, which didn’t have a skim-boat’s gravitics, surged up and down, fighting the waves rolling through the worryingly narrow passage, but the boss-lady brought them to a stop a safe distance off the reef, in water several shades darker than that of the lagoon. The Captain went over to have a quick word with her.
Nual looked uneasy.
Taro was about to ask if she felt all right when the Captain called over, ‘In now! They’re coming!’
People jumped, slid or fell off the boat according to their skill and preference. The water was a lot colder out here, and Taro could feel the current pulling at him. In his earpiece the Captain said, ‘Follow me!’ and swam past them. People formed up behind, keeping close. The sea out here was very different to the warm, still waters of the lagoon. The reef was a colour-splotched wall on their left; to the right the land dropped away sharply into a blue-black abyss.
The captain dived, and at the same time Taro heard his voice in the earpiece. ‘Everyone down now! Down and turn!’
Taro obeyed, though the open sea was making him feel vulnerable and he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave the sunlit surface. For a moment he hung in the blue void. He made out Nual, waiting nearby, and Mo further off, turning on the spot in an attempt to be the first one to see the spirit-rays.
Suddenly the light was blotted out by a great triangle of darkness overhead - no, not darkness: the underside of the creature was covered in twinkling blue lights, glowing patterns extending down the long, translucent streamers trailing behind it.
Taro felt a deep sense of peace. His earlier concerns about the depth of the sea, about Nual, about . . . anything: all gone. He knew that the animal above him knew he was there and - as the Captain had said - wanted him around.
The Captain, his voice a whisper of wonder, said, ‘Swim with them. For as long as they stay near the reef, they wish our company. ’
Taro flipped over and did just that. He could make out more spirit-rays now, perhaps a dozen of them. He knew they’d slowed down to allow the swimmers to keep up, and he swam along with them on his back, watching the light-show, aware that he was in the presence of an ancient creature of great wisdom.
All too soon, he sensed a change. The spirit-rays wanted to leave. In his ear the Captain said, ‘Let them go on their way now.’ A moment later the ahuatai above him turned, heading slowly off into the deeper water.
Taro watched it leave, feeling a sweet mixture of regret and fulfilment. He wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
The spirit-rays sped up, flapping gently like great graceful birds, angling down towards the depths.
One of the divers was still with them.
Taro knew instantly what had happened. His cry was both mental and physical: NUAL! NO!
He felt a soft echo return: she’d heard him, but he mustn’t worry. He should let her go now.
She’d found the unity she’d lost. And it was going to kill her.
Taro hesitated. This was what she wanted. And if he granted her wish then he’d truly be free.
The Captain was shouting in his earpiece, ‘Turn around, lady, please, come back now!’ He swam past Taro, kicking hard, but the rays were already far ahead, moving faster than any human could.
Any ordinary human.
Taro turned, put his arms by his sides and flexed his feet. His implants cut in at once and before he could even think he was flying diagonally down. The water pushed against the top of his head, making his neck ache. His ears popped. He pointed his toes until his feet threatened to cramp, driving the implants harder. He hoped he was still heading the right way. Around him the water was getting colder by the moment. Pressure began to build in his head and chest.
He broadcast a mental shout, over and over:
No response. He slowed, just enough to look around. Shit and blood but it was dark down here! He glimpsed vague shapes in the gloom off to his left, and caught a brief blue flash. He changed course. Though he could hear and feel himself breathing hard, he couldn’t get any air into his chest. His heart beat slow and heavy, and a piercing headache was building behind his eyes.
He made out a smaller shape, closer than the rays. Nual had fallen behind. He kept calling, kept flying, though dark spots speckled his vision and his breath had been reduced to quick, painful gasps.
A faint buzz sounded over the near-constant popping in his ears. A moment later he realised what the sound meant: he was running out of air. Adrenalin flooded his system. He strained harder against the building water-pressure.
The spirit-rays were gone, swallowed by darkness, leaving Nual behind. She hung limp in the water, sinking slowly.
Taro, his body disobedient under the stress, ran into her, then rebounded. Her head swayed, rippling her dark halo of hair. Her eyes were closed and what he could see of her face above the mask was relaxed and serene. If he left her, she would happily die down here.
As if.
Taro turned and wrapped his arms around her, pointing his toes down.
All too slowly, they began to rise.
Taro tried to take a breath, but nothing happened. A tight band was squeezing his head and his chest felt like it was about to implode.
No way was he going to die now, not when he’d come this far! That would be unfair, and he wouldn’t put up with the universe giving him that sort of shit any more.
He stared up at the glittering surface above them, heading towards it with all his remaining strength.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The answer came to Jarek while he was eating a solitary supper on board the Judas Kiss after another tedious day in the archives. As he shovelled gloop into his mouth he found his mind wandering, half-consciously linking the idea of beacons with that of transit-kernels. There were plenty of parallels: both beacons and transit-kernels interacted with shiftspace, both were powerful artefacts necessary for human culture that didn’t take well to being tampered with, and both came from an unknown source.
Unknown - until he’d stumbled on Serenein. So now he knew where transit-kernels originated - or rather, he knew what made them what they were: the living mind of a Sidhe boy. But genetic tampering by the female Sidhe had left these minds damaged, apparently simple, even before they were subjected to whatever unholy process transformed them into shift-kernels.
Suddenly it hit him: if transit-kernels came from male Sidhe, then maybe beacons did too. Shiftspace beacons could have been a vital secret weapon in the rebellion against the Protectorate, breaking the female Sidhe’s monopoly on interstellar travel and allowing human rebels in different systems to communicate. Male Sidhe must have provided this weapon to the downtrodden humans. That also explained why beacons had no built-in failsafes: in a war situation all that tedious messing around at safe distances that was required today would be a liability; quick and dirty would have been the only way to operate in a guerrilla war against the Sidhe.
Whether beacons were, like transit-kernels, actually built around the mind of a male Sidhe was another question. Would the free males have been willing to make such an enormous sacrifice for their human allies?
Jarek really needed to talk to one of the old Sidhe males. Unfortunately they’d all been dead for a thousand years.
His com chirped. The number was unlisted, but he hit receive anyway. The line went dead.
It chirped again. The same thing happened.
Normally that kind of weirdness would worry him, but Jarek had been expecting this.
The third time he received a single-word text message: Tarset.
Time to get moving.
As soon as Taro broke through to the thin, warm air, he tried to take a huge breath, but the mask was covering his nose and mouth - and he was still going up. When he shot free of the sea, gravity pulled at Nual, tugging he
r out of his arms, and he grabbed for her with one hand while ripping the mask off with the other. Even as the welcome air rushed into his lungs he felt her slip from his grasp. The bright light began to fade and new points of pain broke out all over his body. He flexed his toes and fell back into the sea.
He felt himself being hauled face-down over something hard, then a pinprick of cold in his arm that quickly spread. He had a growing urge to throw up, and gave into it, spewing hot darkness and cold water, until the two combined to swallow him up—
His next clear memory was of being in an aircar - apparently emergencies let you spoil the view - with someone bending over him. ‘Wh—? Nual?’ he croaked.
The woman said, ‘Try to relax. Your sister will be fine.’ Then she eased something over his mouth and nose. The cold was back, but at least it was dry now.
