The Night's Dawn Trilogy (486 page)

The habitat personality along with Rubra’s remaining relatives had consolidated their survival policy around the single goal
of protecting the physics team. A cry for help to the Confederation was their only hope now. And given the state of the habitat,
time was short.

Tolton had become afraid to ask for progress reports. The answer was always the same. So he hung around with Dariat, unrolling
his sleeping bag in the corridor outside the physicists’ chamber, as close to their last chance as he could be without actually
getting in the way. The personality or Erentz would give him the odd task to do, where he had to go out into the big cavern
again. Usually it was moving some bulky piece of equipment about, or assisting with their small stock of rations. He also
stripped and cleaned torpedo launchers ready for the defenders, surprised by how good he was at something so mechanical. At
the same time, it meant he knew how low their ammunition was.

“Not that it matters,” he complained to Dariat as he flopped down on his sleeping bag after a session cleaning the weaponry.
“We’ll suffocate long before then.”

“The pressure is down by nearly twenty per cent now. If we could just find some way of sealing the starscrapers, we’d stand
a better chance.”

Tolton took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know if I can tell yet, or if I’m just imagining the air’s thinner because
I know that’s what I should be feeling. Mind you, with that smell coming from next door, who knows.”

“Smell is one sense I haven’t regained.”

“Take my word for it, in this case that’s a blessing. Ten thousand sick people who haven’t had a bath for a month. I’m amazed
the OrgathÉ don’t turn tail and run screaming.”

“They won’t.”

“Is there any way we can fight back?”

Dariat squatted down. “The personality has considered pumping the light tube.”

“Pumping?”

“Divert every last watt of electricity into heating the plasma, then switch off the confinement field. We did it before on
a small scale. In theory, it should vaporise every fluid-formed creature in the habitat cavern.”

“Then do it,” Tolton hissed back.

“Firstly, there’s not much power left. Secondly, we’re worried about the cold.”

“Cold?”

“Valisk has been radiating heat out into this Thoale-cursed realm ever since we got here. The shell is becoming very brittle.
Pumping the light tube is like letting off a bomb inside; it might shatter.”

“Great,” Tolton griped. “Just fucking great.” He had to pull his feet in as three people staggered past, carrying a not-so-small
microfusion generator between them. “Is that for the pumping?” he asked once they’d passed.

Dariat was frowning, watching the trio.
What are they doing?
he asked the personality.

They’re going to install the generator back in the
Hainan Thunder
.

Why?

I’d thought that was obvious. Thirty of them are going to fly it the hell away from here.

Which thirty?
he asked angrily.

Does it matter?

To the others it will. And me.

Survival of the fittest. You shouldn’t complain, you’ve had a damn good run.

What’s the point? The starships are damn near wrecks. And even if they do get a drive tube running, where are they going to
go?

As far as they can. The
Hainan Thunder
’s hull is still intact, it’s only the protective foam which is peeling off.

So far. Entropy will eat through it. The whole ship will rot away around them. You know that.

We also know it has functional patterning nodes. Maybe the pattern can be formatted to get a signal out to the Confederation.
Some kind of energy burst that can punch through.

Holy Anstid, is that what we’re reduced to?

Yes. Happy now?

“They need the generator over in the armoury,” Dariat said. “Their power supply packed in.” He couldn’t look the street poet
in the eyes.

Tolton grunted indifferently, and pulled the sleeping bag round his shoulders. When he breathed out, he could see his breath
as a white mist. “Damn, you were right about the cold.”

Can Tolton go with them?
Dariat asked.

We’re sorry.

Come on, you are me. Part of you, anyway. You owe me that much out of sentiment. And he was the one who got our relatives
out of zero-tau.

Do you imagine he will want to go? There are thousands of children cowering in the caverns. Would he walk past them to the
airlock without offering to exchange places?

Oh shit!

If there is to be a token civilian on board, it won’t be him.

All right, all right. You win. Happy now?

Lady Chi-Ri wouldn’t approve of bitterness.

Dariat scowled, but didn’t answer. He went into the neural strata’s administrative thought routines to examine the ships which
were still docked at the spaceport. Most of the spaceport’s net had failed, leaving only seven visual sensors operational.
He used them to scan round, locating four starships and seven inter-orbit vessels. Of all of them,
Hainan Thunder
was the most flightworthy.

Wait now,
the personality said.

The sheer surprise in the thought was so unusual that all the affinity-capable stopped what they were doing to find out what
had happened. They shared the image collected by the few external sensitive cells that were still alive.

Valisk had reached the end of the nebula and was slowly sliding out. Its boundary was as clearly defined as an atmospheric
cloud bank. A plane of slow-shifting grainy swirls stretching away in every direction as far as the sensitive cells could
discern. Slivers of pale light trickled among the dull gibbous braids, an infestation of torpid static.

There was a gap of perfectly clear space extending for about a hundred kilometres from the end of the nebula.

What is that?
a badly subdued personality asked.

Another flat plane surface ended the gap, running parallel to the nebula, and extending just as far. This one was hoarygrey
and looked very solid.

Visual interpretation subroutines concentrated on the sight. The entire surface appeared to be moving, seething with tiny
persistent undulations.

The mÉlange,
Dariat said. Dread made his counterfeit body tremble as memory fragments from the creature in the lift shaft surfaced to
torment him.
This is where everything finishes in this realm. The end. Forever…

Get the
Hainan Thunder
launched,
the personality ordered frantically.
Patan, you and your people evacuate now. Send a message to the Confederation.

“What’s happening?” a puzzled Tolton asked. He looked along the corridor as semi-hysterical shouting broke out in the physicists’
chamber. A stack of glass tubing crashed to the ground.

“We’re in trouble,” Dariat said.

“As opposed to what we’re in now?” Tolton was trying to make light of it, but the ghost’s conspicuous fear was a strong inhibitor.

“So far our time here has been paradise. This is when the dark continuum becomes personal and eternal.”

The street poet shuddered.
Help us,
Dariat pleaded.
For pity’s sake. I am you. If there’s a single chance to survive, make it happen.

A fast surge of information came pouring through the affinity bond, running through his mind with painful intensity. He felt
as if his own thoughts were being forced to examine every cubic centimetre of the giant habitat, stretching out to such a
thinness they would surely tear. The flow stopped as fast as it began, and his attention was twinned with the personality’s.
They looked at the spindle which connected the habitat to the counter-rotating spaceport. Like most of the composite and metal
components of the habitat, it was decaying badly. But near the base, just above the huge magnetic bearing buried in the polyp,
five emergency escape pods were nesting in their covered berths.

Go,
the personality said.

“Follow me,” Dariat barked at Tolton. He began to jog along the passage towards the main cavern, moving as fast as his bulk
would allow. Tolton never hesitated, he jumped to his feet and ran after the solid ghost.

The main cavern was in turmoil. The refugees knew something was wrong, but not what. Assuming another attack from the OrgathÉ,
they were shuffling back as far as they could get from the two entrances. Electrophorescent strips on the ceiling were dimming
rapidly.

Dariat headed for the alcove which served as an armoury. “Get a weapon,” he said. “We might need it.”

Tolton snatched up an incendiary torpedo launcher and a belt of ammunition for it. The pair of them headed for the nearest
entrance. None of the nervous defenders questioned them as they raced past. Behind them, they could hear Dr Patan’s team shouting
and cursing as they ran across the cavern.

“Where are we going?” Tolton asked.

“The spindle. There’s some emergency escape pods left that didn’t get launched last time I left in a hurry.”

“The spindle? That’s in freefall. I always throw up in freefall.”

“Listen—”

“Yes yes, I know. Freefall is a paradise compared with what’s about to happen.”

Dariat ran straight into a group of ghosts waiting at a large oval junction in the passage. They couldn’t see the mÉlange,
none of them were affinity capable, but they could sense it. The aether was filling with the misery and torment of the diminished
souls it had claimed.

“Out of my way!” Dariat bellowed. He clamped his hand over the face of the first ghost, pulling energy out of her. She screamed
and stumbled away from him. Her outline rippled, sagging downwards with a soft squelching sound. The others backed off fast,
staring in wounded accusation with pale forlorn faces.

Dariat turned off down one of the junction’s side passages. Light from the overhead strips was fading rapidly now. “You got
a torch?” he asked.

“Sure.” Tolton patted the lightstick hanging from his belt.

“Save it till you really need it. I should be able to help.” He held up a hand and concentrated. The palm lit up with a cold
blue radiance.

They came out into a wider section of the passage. There’d been some kind of firefight here; the polyp walls were charred,
the electrophorescent strip shattered and blackened with soot. Tolton felt his world constricting, and took the safety off
the launcher. Dariat stood in front of a closed muscle membrane, barely his own height, that was set into the wall. He focused
his thoughts and the rubbery stone parted with great reluctance, the lips puckering with trembling motions. Air whistled out,
turning into a strong gust as the membrane opened further.

There was no light at all inside.

“What is this?” Dariat asked.

“Secondary air duct. It should take us right up to the hub.”

Tolton shuddered reluctantly, and stepped inside.

Valisk had cleared the nebula, its great length taking several minutes to complete the transfer into clear space. The spaceport
was the last section to leave it behind. Four lights gleamed brightly around the rim of the docking bay which held the
Hainan Thunder
, four in a ring of at least a hundred. Nonetheless, they were extraordinarily bright in this dour environment. Their tight
beams fell on the hull, revealing patches of bright silver-grey metal shining through the scabby mush of thermal protection
foam that was moulting away in a glutinous drizzle.

The windows looking out onto the bay flickered with light as the desperate crew hauled themselves past the maintenance team
offices; oxygen masks clamped to their face, torches shining ahead of them. A couple of minutes later, the starship began
to show some signs of activity. Thin gases flooded out of nozzles around the lower quarter of the hull. One of the thermo
dump panels slid out of its recess and started to glow a faint pink at the centre. The airlock tube disengaged, withdrawing
several metres before lurching to a halt. Clamps around the docking cradle flicked back, releasing the hull.

Chemical thrusters around the starship’s equator fired, sending out shimmering plumes of hot yellow gas. They tore straight
through the bay’s structural panels, creating a vicious blowback of atmospheric gas from the life-support sections. The
Hainan Thunder
rose out of the bay atop a thick geyser of churning white vapour.

More powerful chemical rockets ignited, propelling the starship away from the spaceport. One of them exploded, its combustion
chamber weakened by exposure to the dark continuum. The starship pitched to one side, then recovered. It began to climb steadily
towards the nebula.

An OrgathÉ swooped out from the percolating gunge and descended on the starship. Its talons tore through the hull plates,
shredding the equipment underneath. The rockets died amid a shower of sapphire sparks. Fluids and vapour streamed out from
deep clefts.

A second OrgathÉ joined the first, the huge creatures tugging the starship violently between them. Big chunks of metal and
composite were ripped free, twirling off into the void. The creatures were eagerly clawing their way through the tanks and
machinery to reach the life support capsules and the kernels of life-energy cowering inside.

There was a final spew of gas as the capsules were punctured, then the OrgathÉ were still as they consumed their ephemeral
meal.

The habitat personality had little time for remorse, or even anger. It was watching the surface of the mÉlange as it grew
closer. The incessant motion was becoming clearer, an agitated ocean of thick fluid. Closer, and a billion different species
of xenocs were drowning in that ocean, their appendages, tentacles, and limbs writhing against each other as they strove to
keep afloat. Closer still, and the bodies were actually forming themselves from the fluid and clawing madly to lift themselves
into the void above, a brief existence of useless strife and wasted energy before they collapsed and dissipated back into
the mÉlange. If they were lucky, peaks would arise as souls merged together, combining their strength as they sacrificed identity.
Those at the pinnacle stretched themselves further and further, quivering to break free. Only once did the personality see
an OrgathÉ, or something similar, sweep upwards, newborn and victorious.