Authors: Gary Gibson
Seven
En route to Sol System from Redstone, aboard Freehold frigate
Hyperion
Lucas Corso moved about cautiously in his diving gear, while skirting the edges of a hydrothermal vent in the ocean floor, trying to remember that hundreds of tonnes of simulated liquid pressure were meant to be bearing down on him. The brilliant lights built into his suit blazed through the abyssal darkness, illuminating the ridge ahead.
He shuffled towards the edge of this ridge, noting the way the alien derelict teetered on the edge of an abyss that fell away into bottomless depths. The derelict, he thought, looked like some sculptor’s impressionistic rendition of a giant squid, with long spines curving out from a relatively smaller central body. But even that core part of the derelict loomed several storeys above his vantage point.
Some of the spines looked badly damaged, presumably by the impact of landing. Where the hull material had been torn away from their tips, a bone-like structural latticework was visible beneath.
Peering down over the side of the ridge and into the depths beyond—or as far as he could see, before the range of his lights gave out—set Corso’s stomach churning. He was clearly standing at the mouth of a deep vent that had probably been in place for several million years. And if the calculations were correct, the real derelict—as opposed to this onboard simulation—had rested by the vent for over a hundred and sixty thousand years.
Yet it was still intact, and according to Kieran Mansell at least, defensive systems were still running somewhere inside it.
The ocean above him only existed because the moon on which the derelict had been found orbited a Jovian-scale gas-giant, accompanied by a score of similar bodies ranging in size from mere boulders all the way up to minor planets. The magnetic field of the moon interacted with that of its gas-giant parent like a colossal dynamo, heating the moon enough to keep its ocean liquid under a dense cap of ice several kilometres thick.
A good hiding place, he reckoned, for the last surviving secrets of a dying race.
Kieran’s voice came through to him via the comm.
‘Quite something, isn’t it? Observe that line of lights just ahead of you. They’re there to guide you into the derelict’s entrance. But I’m afraid the way in is a little close to the drop.’
Corso saw that the airlock—flush with the derelict’s hull—had been installed on a tiny overhang above the precipice, with a frail-looking ladder leading up to it. Simulation or not, his legs had decided they didn’t want to get any closer.
‘So I see. Is it safe?’
‘This is a training simulation, Mr Corso.’ There was something taunting in Kieran’s voice. ‘Relax, you wouldn’t really fall. Besides, we should have a pressurized tunnel in place by the time we get to go on board the real thing. Then we won’t have to worry about being swept over the edge.’
‘Then why the hell do I need to wear this damn suit?’
‘Because I say so.’
Corso cursed silently, picturing a thousand unpleasant deaths for Kieran Mansell. He dug up the nerve to shuffle closer to the edge, feeling the deadly mental pull of that bottomless hole.
Where does it come from, that urge to jump into an abyss?
He tried his best to keep his eyes on the rock beneath the feet of his powered pressure suit, but in his mind’s eye all he could see was the eternal blackness below.
—
It had taken a few days for Corso to orient himself to his sudden change in status from embattled Freeholder to temporary resident of a craft designed to travel from star to star. The
Hyperion
was vast, large enough to carry whole populations—which it had done, centuries before, when his people had first fled to Redstone at the height of the Migration Century. Of those original five colony ships, only three now remained—the
Hyperion,
and two others.
It soon became clear that the
Hyperion
had seen better days. Rather than deal with the time and cost of making repairs, large sections of the frigate had been closed down and depressurized. The crew was minimal, a half-dozen individuals put in charge of the maintenance of a behemoth craft that had once ferried thousands across unimaginable light years. Corso saw very little of them, as Kieran insisted on keeping them apart for what he deemed security reasons.
However, it became rapidly obvious that, unlike much of the rest of the craft, the weapons systems had been kept thoroughly up to date. The
Hyperion
was bristling with guns and automated defensive systems. Yet the Shoal-members who crewed the coreship, in which the
Hyperion
was currently cradled for its long voyage to the home system, appeared to be unconcerned with the presence of this heavily armed warship within their vessel’s interior.
‘All you need to know right now,’ Kieran had explained curtly, ‘is that the craft we found is a derelict of unknown origin. And very old, we assume.’
‘But
how
old?’ Corso had asked, standing there in the room Kieran had taken for his quarters. Some of the furniture looked like it might even date from before the Freehold migration but, apart from that, the adornments were pretty much what Corso would expect from a member of the Senate’s security team. There were swords mounted on a wall, citations of honour bestowed during the perpetual war with the Uchidans, paintings of ancient battles dating from Ancient Greece right up to the present.
Kieran’s face had remained expressionless, but his irritation with Corso’s constant questioning was evident in the way he studied the blade of a wicked-looking knife he kept, turning it in the light and occasionally stroking along its length with an oiled cloth. ‘Just old,’ he growled dismissively.
‘And I’m not allowed to know which system it’s located in? But it’s in human space, right?’
Before Corso had been brought into matters, those few who’d known about this derelict had begun referring to its builders as the ‘Magi’, after it became clear that it almost certainly predated the existence of the Shoal Hegemony. Even from the little he’d witnessed so far of the derelict’s secrets, Corso had to admit that the name fitted.
‘Of course,’ came the firm reply. ‘But the less people know about it the better. If the Shoal got wind of its existence . . .’ Kieran shrugged, then opened a lined case and carefully placed the dagger back inside, before closing the lid. ‘You understand me?’ he added, staring back up at Corso.
‘But we’ll still have to hitch a lift on a coreship even to get there, and that means the Shoal will know exactly where we are anyway.’
Kieran clearly wasn’t a man used to having to provide explanations. ‘That’s only partly true,’ he replied, now affecting an air of infinite patience. ‘The Shoal know where we’re going, but they don’t know the real reason. They don’t know about the derelict.
You
need to know about the derelict, and what we’ve discovered there so far, because you need to be as ready as possible by the time you actually go on board.’
‘All right,’ said Corso, raising both hands in a placatory gesture. ‘The only reason I ask is because anything else you can tell me might have some impact on what I can find out there.’
‘Not likely.’ Kieran shook his head. ‘Just be happy you’re helping your people overcome the greatest challenge they’ve ever faced.’
—
As flawless as the simulated environment was, Corso noted, the suit he himself wore—entirely real—lent a certain
Veritas
to the proceedings by virtue of being heavy, uncomfortable and smelling like it hadn’t been washed since worn by its last dozen users.
‘You said something about a particular discovery on board the derelict,’ Corso commented, his voice sounding dull and hollow to him inside the helmet.
Kieran’s voice floated back a moment later. ‘I want you to discover it the way we did. In context, you might say.’
Corso nodded resignedly. His progress across the ledge was hard work. Even though the suit had been set up to respond to his movements as if he were in a low-gravity environment, the extreme pressure of the simulated ocean waters made the going extremely difficult, power-assist or no.
He could see how it wouldn’t take a huge effort to tip the derelict entirely over the edge of the ridge and into oblivion. Some conventional explosives would probably manage that. Probably, the flow and ebb of the chaotic tides inside the vent had slowly pushed it closer and closer to the abyss over many millennia. It would be just his luck for it to finally slide over the ledge the moment he got inside the real craft.
Despite his nervousness, and his resentment of men like Kieran Mansell and Senator Arbenz, Corso had felt a growing sense of excitement ever since he’d realized what he was being asked to do.
Several tiny robot submarines lifted themselves from a charging unit held in a rack mounted next to the airlock. These floated towards Corso, lighting his path as he drew closer to the derelict.
And it really did look like some ancient beast of the deep; it was gigantic. The curving spines rising high overhead bore a clear resemblance to the drive spines that protruded from the hulls of Shoal coreships, too much so for it to be a coincidence.
Any remaining doubts Corso had about whether the derelict was once capable of travelling faster than light finally vanished. He felt a chill rush through his bones: the implications of what he was seeing were staggering.
The robots now swarmed around him, lighting his way towards the airlock that had been welded on to the derelict’s exterior. He clambered up the ladder and stepped inside, allowing himself no pause to think about the vertiginous drop barely a hand-reach away. He waited while pumps noisily laboured to extract the freezing cold water out of the lock.
Once the airlock was fully pressurized, its inner door swung open, and Corso peered inside the derelict itself. The robot submarines had accompanied him into the airlock. They now raised themselves up on insect-like legs and scampered into the darkness ahead, their light revealing a sinuous corridor that twisted out of sight. The robot’s lights then flickered off, and Corso could now see perfectly clearly all the way down the corridor, yet strangely there was no apparent source of light.
He pulled off his suit and dropped it next to the inner airlock, sucking in air that tasted entirely dry. It was the same air as the
Hyperion’s
environment chamber, since there were, after all, physical limitations to even the most sophisticated holographic projection systems. He found this oddly reassuring.
‘Straight ahead,’ Kieran urged over the comms link. ‘Follow the ‘bots.’
The ‘bots were waiting at the far end of the corridor. He stepped towards them and they again scampered ahead, stopping only to look back towards him once they got a certain distance ahead, like hounds devoted to the chase.
Corso cleared his throat. ‘Those spines projecting out of the hull, they reminded me a lot of-—’
‘I know what they reminded you of,’ Kieran interrupted. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to make that comparison.’
‘So do we know for certain . . .?’
‘Not for certain, no. For that, we’ll need to extract a lot more information from the craft’s data stacks.’
Corso sighed. ‘The reason I’m here, right?’
‘Entirely correct. I’m hoping we’ll have found proof that this derelict contains a salvageable transluminal drive before we bring Senator Arbenz himself on board.’
Corso shook his head, not quite able to believe what Mansell had just said.
A transluminal drive.
That meant faster-than-light travel. It was like stumbling into some ancient king’s tomb, or finding a lost city: the stuff of boyhood dreams.
He continued onwards, finally finding himself in a room with a ceiling so low he was forced to crouch.
Senator Arbenz’s face kept intruding on his thoughts. Somehow, this far, he’d managed to push that face to the back of his thoughts. The man who imprisoned his father was behind the killing of Cara, whether that happened on his direct orders or not.
And here he was, Lucas Corso, working for the very devil himself. How the hell did that happen?
‘There’s something weird about everything in here,’ said Corso tightly. ‘Everything looks too new. Is that something to do with the simulation?’
‘If you mean a fault in the projection, no. We think the ship is able to renew itself, or parts of itself, anyway. Clearly it can’t entirely fix itself, judging by the broken spines.’
A wall had been torn open to reveal a mess of alien circuitry into which human computer equipment and screens had been wired. This in turn was connected to an interface chair that had been bolted to the floor. Its dark metal petals were neatly folded at its base.
‘What about the bends?’ Corso asked. ‘We’ll be going up and down from the derelict a lot.’
‘We’re already adjusting the atmospheric pressure on board the
Hyperion
to match that inside the derelict,’ Kieran replied, ‘so nitrogen narcosis shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, the moon we found this derelict on is small, with low gravity. The atmospheric pressure, even under several kilometres of water and ice, is correspondingly lower.’
‘So all I need to do is wander on board the real thing, type in some commands, figure out how to fly it, and away we go. Right?’
Silence.
‘I can tell you’re holding something back from me,’ Corso spoke into the empty air. ‘And I’ll take a guess I won’t like it very much.’
‘Previous attempts to penetrate deeper into the derelict have been . . . turned back. We had to overcome certain automated defensive systems in order to construct the interfaces you see before you. That came at the cost of some lives. Even so, we only gained limited access to the derelict’s core systems. Finding a way to actually control the craft, to make it follow our orders -well, that’s another matter entirely.’
‘Right.’ Corso clambered laboriously into the newly installed seat and studied the displays in front of him. He noted a series of familiar-looking glyphs aligned in a row on one screen. ‘I recognize these.’