Strider's Galaxy (28 page)

No. We've improved you. All of you people.

"Polyaggle? Pinocchio?"

We've added a little bulk to Polyaggle's body so that she's less frail, but there wasn't much we could do without taking away her ability to fly. Pinocchio we could not further alter usefully. We proposed to build weapons into him, but he refused us—we would have violated one of the prime imperatives of his software.

The communications Pocket lit up. Strider expected to see Kortland there, but instead there was an utterly different creature. This one looked somewhat like a tuskless woolly mammoth. "Will you speak to me?" said the face.

"Who is this?" Strider subvocalized.

A servant of the Autarch.

"My name is Kaantalech," said the face in the Pocket.

Get rid of her!

"How?"

Just walk away. You must contact Kortland at once. If Kaantalech has traced you here then the whole of the fleet is in danger.

It was difficult to imagine a fleet of seven thousand six hundred and ninety-two warcruisers—no, ninety-three, now that the
Santa Maria
was a part of it—being in any danger, but Strider took Ten Per Cent Extra Free's word for it.

It was Kaantalech who murdered Spindrift.

"Then I wish to continue this conversation." Strider subvocalized. To Kaantalech she said: "What do you want of me?"

"Just a few moments. There are many ways in which we could help each other."

"Name two."

"I know where you are. I know that you are in the midst of a rebel force which the Autarchy will soon take pleasure in destroying. I could spare you and your people. I have that power."

"That's one." Strider spoke with deliberate flatness. This was the
thing
that had virtually wiped out the Spindrifters. It was difficult to know if one could actually be a friend of Polyaggle, but Strider felt that way towards her. The Spindrifters had done nothing to deserve to be wiped out. Leaning into the communications Pocket, she focused hatred on the creature.

"You yourself could be raised to a position of considerable eminence within the Autarchy," said Kaantalech, clearly sensing nothing of Strider's feelings.

"I'm not interested."

"It would seem such a waste to kill you all. Both the Autarch and I are eager to know where you have come from. We do not believe that you are from Heaven's Ancestor."

"So that you can go and massacre the rest of my kind? So that you can conquer another galaxy?"

Kaantalech made a little pooting noise that Ten Per Cent Extra Free was unable to translate. "You misjudge our motives. The Autarchy dominates The Wondervale because otherwise there would be anarchy and starvation."

"The Spindrifters won't be starving to death," said Strider drily.

"Precisely," said Kaantalech, obviously missing the point.

SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT POLYAGGLE IS HERE,
said Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
IF SHE DID SHE WOULD DESTROY THE
SANTA MARIA
WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT. KAANTALECH DOES NOTHING BY HALF MEASURES. CAPTAIN LEONIE STRIDER, I BEG THAT YOU DESIST FROM SPEAKING WITH HER. YOU NEED TO WARN KORTLAND.

"Can't Pinocchio do that?"

I HAVE ASKED PINOCCHIO TO COME TO THE COMMAND DECK FOR EXACTLY THIS PURPOSE. BUT THE WARNING SHOULD COME FROM YOU, YOURSELF—KORTLAND KNOWS WHO YOU ARE. HE DOES NOT KNOW PINOCCHIO.

"The only thing I would enjoy more than seeing you die," said Strider to Kaantalech's semblance in the Pocket, "would be seeing you die very slowly. Even better would be watching you rot in some dungeon somewhere. You murdered an entire species."

"We put it out of its misery," said Kaantalech.

"It
had
no misery, as far as I can gather."

"If that is your feeling, I see little option but to put you Humans out of your misery as well, along with the Helgiolath foulness."

Strider thought swiftly. Most of the people aboard the
Santa Maria
had not elected to stay here in The Wondervale. She had responsibilities towards them. She had very little doubt that Kaantalech could put most of her threats into effect, if the occasion arose—at least so far as the
Santa Maria
was concerned. Strider thought it less likely that the creature could so easily tackle the Helgiolath fleet—otherwise the Autarchy would presumably have done it long ago. However vast The Wondervale was and however adept the Helgiolath were at concealing their whereabouts, it was difficult to keep an armada of nearly eight thousand vessels secret.

"Don't ring me," she said. "I'll ring you."

"You turn down my offer?"

"Too damn' right."

"I sorrow for you."

"Sorrow away."

Strider retreated from the communications Pocket and it faded into blankness. "Where's Pinocchio?"

HE'S ON HIS WAY.

"Boot up the Pocket so that I can speak with Kortland."

AS YOU WISH.

Strider didn't bother with any formalities. "We're with you," she said as soon as the leech-faces of the alien appeared in front of her. Quickly she told Kortland about the conversation with Kaantalech.

"We must move the fleet," said Kortland promptly.

"That had occurred to me too, yeah."

"Please load these co-ordinates into the remains of your Main Computer." The alien gave a string of noises which were incomprehensible to Strider, but nevertheless she found her fingers were moving obediently across the keyboard in front of her. She felt a surge of energy far behind her in the
Santa Maria
.

And then everything changed.

#

Darkness, and the stench of decay. Loneliness. No stars in the sky, wherever the sky had gone to. She lifted her face above the surface of the rank sludge and tried to breathe, but all she did was drag some of the mud up her nostrils and into the back of her throat. She coughed for air, and at last her lungs were rewarded. Strider ran one hand down her own side. As far as she could tell she was entirely naked. She flexed her toes and felt the mud squidge between them.

She managed to get on to all fours just before a heavy foot came down with crushing force on her back, thrusting her face-first into the mud once more.

A moment later everything was different again.

She felt as if she were being turned inside out, so that her raw flesh was being exposed to the blaze of a million stars. She saw the brilliance of their light so vividly that she experienced it as pain, as if it were fire burning against her flesh. The radiance was bright enough that she was seeing it not only with her eyes but with the whole of her body. She had never known such agony. She would have preferred to have had her face stuck back into the inky darkness and the sludge.

And then again she was somewhere else, floating free in space, looking at the grey-white disc of a lifeless planet or moon. For a second or two she felt nothing but relief—weightless, painless, it seemed to her that she was dancing through the vacuum. Then she realized that she was still naked, and that her skin was peeling away in strips and her eyes were bulging as they struggled to escape from their sockets. The pain returned, this time like two blades of ice being thrust up through the soles of her feet to meet somewhere around her heart.

Yet again a shift of perception. Her hands and feet were tied together behind her back, and someone unseen was tightening the bonds. Her spine strained in the reverse curve, and she could feel the vertebrae pulling slowly but inexorably apart. There was a ripping sound as the skin of her belly rent itself asunder, setting her entrails free . . .

Crammed into a tight tin too small for her even to breathe. Nevertheless she dragged a breath, smelling her own sweat and the last piss she had had. The tin was getting smaller, crunching her shoulderblades, forcing her face into her knees.

And then freedom again. The atoms of her body were co-extant with the Universe. Her eyes were expanding gaseous nebulae left in the aftermath of supernovae. Her nipples were galactic clusters. The length of her body was the fabric of spacetime, all-encompassing and all-embracing. She was the goddess who was also all of eternity. Through her would be born every living thing that the Universe would ever see. She roared with triumph at each moment of parturition. She was the birthing of all things, way back when the Universe was nothing more than a thought written across emptiness and timelessness.

And then she was none of this. She was being very loudly and messily sick on the floor of the command deck of the
Santa Maria
.

She hauled herself up on to her haunches. A cleanerbot would sweep up the mess. Damn it, there
must
be a cleanerbot somewhere around. The stink of her own sick almost made her retch again, but there was nothing left to vomit.

She staggered to a Pocket and called up the representation of the
Santa Maria
's position. The ship was still in the midst of the Helgiolath fleet. She looked up through the view-window and saw sparkles of confirmation swimming against the stars. Moving to a communications Pocket, she tried to contact Kortland, but it was impossible. The best part of eight thousand other ship commanders were presumably trying to do the same. Had they
all
gone through the nightmare she had just had? Maybe to a Helgiolath it wasn't a nightmare but a welcome temporary reminder of the glories of the mud.

She shivered. How had her personnel taken this? Had they shared the experience? She slipped a commlink into her mouth.

"We are perfectly safe . . ."

#

The sound of Maria Strauss-Giolitto screaming jarred Lan Yi from his sleep. He threw open the door of his own cabin and began to sprint towards hers.

He was halfway there when he realized that everything was utterly different. The shape of the space around him was all wrong. He paused, and looked upwards. Thirty or forty meters above him there was a shiny metal ceiling. The elevators were still there, but they were far nearer to him. The cabins themselves were much more closely clustered together than they had been. The air smelled of oil and electricity; before, it had smelled of the contents of the fields. The light was a slightly bluish glare.

Strauss-Giolitto was still screaming. There was no other sound.

He discovered that he was at the door of her cabin. The plastite looked less and less like wood as time wore on. Lan Yi tugged open the door and saw Strauss-Giolitto lying on her forcefield bed, her mouth in her hands. Her eyes were wide open but it was obvious that they saw nothing except the visions that her mind was creating.

He moved to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. They were slithery with cold sweat.

"Wake up," he said. "Wake up."

Her shrieking became more muted, but would not stop. Her staring blue eyes turned briefly towards him and for a moment it seemed that she might have recognized him, but then all intelligence vanished from them. He stroked the soft fuzz of hair on her head, wishing that he could do more to help her than just mutter soothing nonsense words.

Her body suddenly twisted, as if she had been kicked in the back by some colossal force. The blow threw her at him so hard that he was smashed down on to the floor, with her on top of him. His head hit hard. The impact drove the breath out of his lungs, and for a moment he almost lost consciousness: intriguing lights and sounds, none of them making very much sense, filled his mind.

Reality returned. He pushed himself out from under Strauss-Giolitto. She was no longer screaming but weeping soundlessly, as if in the extremes of pain. Snot was running from her nose; he wiped the clear liquid away with a finger. He looked at her body as it writhed on the floor, then at the forcefield bed. There was no possibility of his being able to lift her up there.

He slapped her face lightly, hoping to shock her out of whatever trance she was in. There was no response. He made to strike her again, then held back. She seemed to be suffering misery already: no need for him to add to it.

He became steadily more aware that there was no sound at all from any of the other cabins. Usually there would be something—the din of a holo or a musibot turned up too loud, the noise of voices raised in argument, a kid yelling about a stubbed toe.

Standing, he looked down at Strauss-Giolitto. There didn't seem to be anything he could do except wait for her to waken from her nightmare. Whether she would want him to be there when she did was a question he couldn't answer.

Lan Yi dithered. The fact that the
Santa Maria
had changed so dramatically was something he ought to investigate. He should also try to find out why it was that the other cabins were so oppressively silent. The life of a single person was of little significance if the whole of the ship were at risk.

Making a rapid decision, he left Strauss-Giolitto's cabin and walked quickly to the nearest elevator, glancing up frequently towards the new ceiling. The metal was reflective enough for him to see himself like a small rodent moving among the cabins. Why was no one else awake? Why had no one else responded to Strauss-Giolitto's screams?

The elevator was a long time in coming.

As he waited for it he wondered if he were the last person alive on the
Santa Maria
. Surely not: certainly Pinocchio would have survived. Or maybe not, because whatever had happened was just as likely to damage the bot's artificial brain as it was to throw Strauss-Giolitto into seeming madness.

Finally the elevator arrived. He pressed the pad for the command deck.

And found himself back in Strauss-Giolitto's cabin. She was stiller than she had been, but otherwise there was little change. For the first time since this had begun it occurred to him that he was looking at an exceptionally attractive woman. He whipped the thought aside and once more headed for the elevator.

This time it came more quickly, but again he found himself back in Strauss-Giolitto's cabin the moment after he had pressed for the command deck.

Perhaps her need is the greater,
he told himself.

Bending his knees, he grappled her shoulders and struggled to take her weight. The edge of the forcefield bed seemed an impossibly large distance above him. Somehow he got her into a sitting position. She was still sobbing silently, but the expression of agony had gone from her face. He waved a hand in front of those wide-open eyes but there was no sign of recognition. Moving around the other side of her forcefield bed, he hoisted her up by her armpits. Her body seemed to be glued firmly to the floor. He dragged again, and this time got at least her torso on to the bed. Straining himself until he thought he might pass out, he heaved once more, and this time her buttocks moved easily on to the softly glowing surface. One of her breasts brushed the inside of his elbow; it might have been erotic had she brushed it there herself, deliberately, but as it was he felt no more than slight exasperation—her impedimenta were getting in the way of what he was trying to do.