The Night's Dawn Trilogy (346 page)

Fools! Blind, stupid, and ridiculously ingenuous. The hatred clarified then. He was looking at multiple reflections of himself.

______

Beth got Gerald to come along with her, which he did unquestioningly. Jed brought Gari and Navar, who were intensely curious,
twittering together as they walked down the length of the corridor. Their curiosity turned to hard-edged scepticism as Jed
knocked softly on the washroom door.

“You told us this was important,” Navar said accusingly.

“It is,” he assured her. Something in his tone stalled the scornful sniff she was preparing as a retort.

Beth unlocked the washroom door and slid it open. Jed checked the corridor to make sure no one was watching. With only fifteen
minutes to go until the swallow manoeuvre, all the other Deadnights were crowding round the observation ports in the forward
cabins. The two girls gave Gerald a confused look as they all crowded into the confined space of the cabin. In turn, Gerald
barely noticed them. Jed took the bitek processor block from his pocket. One surface shimmered with a moirÉ holographic pattern,
then cleared to show Rocio’s face.

“Well done, Jed,” he said. “Bluffing it out is often the best option.”

“Yeah, all right, now what?”

“Who’s that?” Navar asked.

“We’ll explain later,” Beth said. “Right now, we’ve got to get into position ready for when the ship docks.” She said it to
the girls, although she was actually studying Gerald intently. He was in one of his passive moods, unperturbed by what was
happening. She just prayed he stayed that way while they were hidden away.

“Aren’t we getting off at Valisk?” Gari asked her big brother in a forlorn voice.

“No, doll, sorry. We’re not even docking with Valisk.”

“Why not?”

“Guess we got lied to.” The bitter sorrow in his voice silenced her.

“You will need to clear the floor,” Rocio instructed.

Beth and the two girls climbed into the bath, while Gerald sat on the toilet lid. Jed pressed himself back against the door.
The floorboards faded away; rich honey colour bleaching to a sanitary grey-green, resilient texture becoming the uncompromising
hardness of silicolithium composite. Some residual evidence of the wood illusion remained, little ridges where the planks
had lain, dark flecks in the surface a pallid mimicry of the grain pattern. In the centre of the floor was an inspection hatch,
with recessed metal locking clips at each corner.

“Turn the clips ninety degrees clockwise, then pull them up,” Rocio said.

Jed knelt down and did as he was told. When the clips were free, the hatch rose ten centimetres with a swift hiss of air.
He swung it aside. There was a narrow metal crawl way below it, bordered by foam-insulated pipes and bundled cables. Beth
activated the lightstick she’d brought along, and held it over the hatch. There was a horizontal T-junction a couple of metres
down.

“You will go first, Beth,” Rocio said, “and light the way. I will supply directions. Jed, you must close the hatch behind
you.”

Reluctantly, with the girls pouting and scowling, they all climbed down into the crawl way. Jed tugged the hatch back into
place after him, nearly catching his fingers as it guillotined shut. When it was in place, the washroom floor silently and
fastidiously sealed over with elegant floorboards again.

Dariat wandered along the valley, not really paying much attention to anything. Only the memories pulled at him, bittersweet
recollections guiding him towards the sacred places he hadn’t dared visit in the flesh for thirty years, not even when he’d
roamed through Valisk to avoid Bonney and Kiera.

The wide pool, apparently carved into the grey-brown polyp-rock by the stream’s enthusiastic flow, nature at its most pleasing.
Where tufts of soft pink grass lined the edges, strains of violet and amber moss sprawled over the scattering of boulders,
and long fronds of water reeds swayed lazily in the current.

The flat expanse of land between the slope of the valley and an ox-bow loop in the stream. An animal track wound through it,
curving round invisible obstacles as it led down to a shallow beach where the herds could drink. Apart from that it was untouched,
the pink grass which currently dominated the plains was thick and lush here, its tiny mushroom-shaped spoor fringes poised
on the verge of ripeness. Nobody had camped here for years, despite its eminent suitability. None of the Starbridge tribes
had ever returned. Not after…

Here. He walked to one side of the empty tract, the taller stalks of grass swishing straight through his translucent legs.
Yes, this was the place. Anastasia’s tepee had been pitched here. A sturdy, colourful contraption. Strong enough to take her
weight when she tied the rope round her neck. Was the pink grass slightly thinner here? A rough circle where the pyre had
been. Her tribe sending her and her few belongings on their way to the Realms (every possession except one, the Thoale stones,
which he had kept safe these thirty years). Her body dispersed in fire and smoke, freeing the soul from any final ties with
the physical universe.

How had they
known
? Those simple, backward people. Yet their lives contained such astonishing truth. They more than anyone would be prepared
for the beyond. Anastasia wouldn’t have suffered in the same way as the lost souls he’d encountered during his own fleeting
time there. Not her.

Dariat sat on the grass, his toga crumpling around chubby limbs, though never really chafing. If any of her essence had indeed
lingered here, it was long gone now. So now what? He looked up at the light tube, which had become even dimmer than before.
The air was cooler, too, nothing like Valisk’s usual balmy medium. He was rather surprised that phenomenon registered. How
could a ghost sense temperature? But then most aspects of his present state were a mystery.

Dariat?

He shook his head. Hearing things. Just to be certain, he looked around. Nobody, alive or spectral, was in sight. An interesting
point though. Would I be able to see another ghost?
Dariat. You are there. We feel you. Answer us.

The voice was like affinity, but much softer. A whisper into the back of his mind. Oh great, a ghost being haunted by another
ghost. Thank you again, Thoale. That could only ever happen to me.

Who is this?
he asked.

We are Valisk now. Part of us is you.

What is this? What are you?

We are the habitat personality, the combination of yourself and Rubra.

That’s crazy. You cannot be me.

But we are. Your memories and personality fused to Rubra’s within the neural strata. Remember? The change to us, to the neural
strata’s thought routines, was corporeal and permanent. We remain intact. You, however, were a possessing soul, you were torn
out by the habitat’s shift to this realm.

A realm hostile to the possessed,
he said rancorously.

Exactly.

Don’t I know it. I’m a ghost. That’s what the shift did to me. A bloody ghost.

How intriguing. We cannot see you.

I’m in the valley.

Ah.

Dariat could feel the understanding within the personality. It knew which valley he meant. A true affinity.

Can we have access to your sensorium, please. It will allow us to analyse the situation properly.

He couldn’t think of a reasonable objection, even though the idea sat uncomfortably. After thirty years of self-imposed mental
isolation, sharing came hard. Even with an entity that claimed to be derived from himself.

Very well,
he griped. He allowed the affinity link to widen, showing the personality the world through his eyes—or at least what he
imagined to be his eyes.

As requested, he looked at his own body for the personality, walked about, demonstrated how he had no material presence.

Yet you persist in interpreting yourself as having human form,
the personality said.
How strange.

Force of habit, I guess.

More likely to be subconscious reassurance. The pattern is your basic foundation, the origin of quintessential identity. Retention
of that is probably critical to your continuation as a valid entity. In other words, you’re very set in your ways. But then
we know that already, don’t we.

I don’t believe I’m that self-destructive. So if you wouldn’t mind cancelling the insults for a few decades.

As you wish. After all, we do know how to cut the deepest.

Dariat could almost laugh at the impression of dÉjÀ vu which the exchange conjured up. He and Rubra had spent days of this
same verbal fencing while he was possessing Horgan’s body.
Was there a reason you wanted to talk to me? Or did you just want to say hello?

This realm is not hostile to souls alone. It is also affecting our viability right down to the atomic level. Large sections
of the neural strata have ceased to function, nor are such areas static, they flow through the strata at random, requiring
persistent monitoring. Such failures threaten even our homogenised presence. We have to run constant storage replication routines
to ensure our core identity is not erased.

That’s tough, but unless the failure occurs everywhere simultaneously, you’ll be safe.

As may be. But the overall efficiency of our cells is much reduced. The sensitive cell clusters cannot perceive as clearly
as before; organ capability is degrading to alarming levels. Muscle membrane response is sluggish. Electrical generation is
almost zero. All principal mechanical and electrical systems have shut down. The communication net and most processors are
malfunctioning. If this situation continues, we will not be able to retain a working biosphere for more than ten days, a fortnight
at most.

I hate to sound negative at a time like this, but what do you expect me to do about it?

The remaining population must be organized to assist us. There are holding procedures which can be enacted to prevent further
deterioration.

Physical ones. You’ll have to ask the living, not me.

We are attempting to. However, those who have been de-possessed are currently in an extremely disorientated state. Even those
we have affinity contact with are unresponsive. As well as undergoing severe psychological trauma, their physiological condition
has deteriorated.

So?

There are nearly three hundred of our relatives still in zero-tau. Your idea, remember? Kiera was holding them ready as an
incentive for the hellhawk possessors. If they were to be taken out, we would have a functional work force ready to help,
one that has a good proportion of qualified technicians among it.

Good idea… Wait, how come their zero-tau pods are working when everything else has failed?

The zero-tau systems are self-contained and made from military-grade components, they are also located in the deep caverns.
We assumed that combination affords them some protection from whatever is affecting us. If all you’ve got to do is flick one
switch, why not just use a servitor?

Their physiological situation is even worse than the humans. All the animals in the habitat seem to be suffering from a strong
form of sleeping sickness. Our affinity instructions cannot rouse them.

Does that include all the xenoc species?

Yes. Their biochemistry is essentially similar to terrestrial creatures. If our cells are affected, so are theirs.

Okay. Any idea what the problem is? Something like the energistic glitch which the possessed gave out?

Unlikely. It is probably a fundamental property of this realm. We are speculating that the quantum values of this continuum
are substantially different from our universe. After all, we did select it to have a detrimental effect on the energy pattern
which is a possessing soul. Consequently, we must assume that mass-energy properties here have been altered, that is bound
to affect atomic characteristics. But until we can run a full analysis on our quantum state, we cannot offer further speculation.

Ever considered that the devil simply doesn’t allow electricity in this particular part of hell?

Your thought is our thought. We prefer to concentrate on the rational. That allows us to construct a hypothesis which will
ultimately allow us to salvage this shitty situation.

Yeah, I can live with that. So what is it that you want me to do?

See if you can talk to someone called Tolton. He will switch off the zero-tau pods for us.

Why? Who is he?

A street poet, so he claims. He was one of the inhabitants we managed to keep out of Bonney’s clutches.

Does he have affinity?

No. But legend has it that humans can see ghosts.

Shit, you’re grasping at straws.

You have an alternative?

______

Ghosts can get tired. This unwelcome discovery made itself quite clear as Dariat trudged over the grassland towards the ring
of starscraper lobbies in the middle of the habitat. But then if you have imaginary muscles, they are put under quite a strain
carrying your imaginary body across long distances, especially when that body had Dariat’s bulk.

This is bloody unfair,
he declared to the personality.
When souls come back from the beyond, they all see themselves as physically perfect twenty-five-year-olds.

That’s simple vanity.