The Yawning Angel watched the other GSV race away into the everlasting night between the stars, a sense of hopelessness, of defeat, settled over it.
Now it knew it had shaken off its pursuers the Sleeper Service’s course was starting to curve gently, no doubt the first of many ducks and weaves it would carry out, if it was trying to conceal its eventual goal, and assuming that it had a goal other than simply giving the slip to its minders… Somehow, the Yawning Angel suspected its Eccentric charge – or ex-charge – did have a definite goal; a place, a location it was headed for.
Two hundred and thirty-three thousand times the speed of light. Dear holy fucking shit. The Yawning Angel thought there was something almost vulgar about such a velocity. Where the hell was it heading for? Andromeda?
The Yawning Angel drew a course-probability cone through the galactic model it kept in its mind.
It supposed it all depended how devious the Sleeper Service was being, but it looked like it might be headed for the Upper Leaf Swirl. If it was, it would be there within three weeks.
The Yawning Angel signalled ahead. Look on the bright side; at least the problem was out of its fields now.
The avatar Amorphia stood – arms crossed, thin, black-gloved hands grasping at bony elbows – gaze fastened intently upon the screen on the far side of the lounge. It showed a compensated view of hyperspace, vastly magnified.
Looking into the screen was like peering into some vast planetary airscape. Far below was a layer of glowing mist representing the energy grid; above was an identical layer of bright cloud. The skein of real space lay in between both of these; a two-dimensional layer, a simple transparent plane which the GSV went flickering through like a weaving shuttle across an infinite loom. Far, far behind it, the tiny dot that was the superlifter shrank still further. It too had been bobbing up and down through the skein on a sine wave whose length was measured in light minutes, but now it had stopped oscillating, settling into the lower level of hyperspace.
The magnification jumped; the superlifter was a larger dot now, but still dropping back all the time. A light-point tracing its own once wavy now straight course even further behind was the pursuing GSV. The star of the Dreve system was a bright spot back beyond that, stationary in the skein.
The Sleeper Service reached its maximum velocity and also ceased to oscillate between the two regions of hyperspace, settling into the larger of the two infinities that was ultraspace. The two following ships did the same, increasing their speed fractionally but briefly. A purist would call the place where they now existed ultraspace one positive, though as nobody had ever had access to ultraspace one negative – or infraspace one positive, for that matter – it was a redundant, even pedantic distinction. Or it had been until now. That might be about to change, if the Excession could deliver what it appeared to promise… Amorphia took a deep breath and then let it go.
The view clicked off and the screen disappeared.
The avatar turned to look at the woman Dajeil Gelian and the black bird Gravious. They were in a recreation area on the Ridge class GCU Jaundiced Outlook, housed in a bay in one of the Sleeper Service’s mid-top strakes. The lounge was pretty well standard Contact issue; deceptively spacious, stylishly comfortable, punctuated by plants and subdued lighting.
This ship was to be the woman’s home for the rest of the journey; a life boat ready to quit the larger craft at a moment’s notice and take her to safety if anything went wrong. She sat on a white recliner chair, dressed in a long red dress, calm but wide-eyed, one hand cupped upon her swollen belly, the black bird perched on one arm of the seat near her hand.
The avatar smiled down at the woman. ‘There,’ it said. It made a show of looking around. ‘Alone at last.’ It laughed lightly, then looked down at the black bird, its smile disappearing. ‘Whereas you,’ it said, ‘will not be again.’
Gravious jerked upright, neck stretching. ‘What?’ it asked. Gelian looked surprised, then concerned.
Amorphia glanced to one side. A small device like a stubby pen floated out of the shadows cast by a small tree. It coasted up to the bird, which shrank back and back from the small, silent missile until it almost fell off the arm of the chair, its blue-black beak centimetres from the nose cone of the tiny, intricate machine.
‘This is a scout missile, bird,’ Amorphia told it. ‘Do not be deceived by its innocent title. If you so much as think of committing another act of treachery, it will happily reduce you to hot gas. It is going to follow you everywhere. Don’t do as I have done; do as I say and don’t try to shake it off; there is a tracer nanotech on you – in you – which will make it a simple matter to follow you. It should be correctly embedded by now, replacing the original tissue.’
‘What?’ the bird screeched again, head jerking up and back.
‘If you want to remove it,’ Amorphia continued smoothly, ‘you may, of course. You’ll find it in your heart; primary aortic valve.’
The bird made a screaming noise and thrashed vertically into the air. Dajeil flinched, covering her face with her hands. Gravious wheeled in the air and beat hard for the nearest corridor. Amorphia watched it go from beneath cold, lid-hooded eyes. Dajeil put both her hands on her abdomen. She swallowed. Something black drifted down past her face and she picked it out of the air. A feather.
‘Sorry about that,’ Amorphia said.
‘What… what was all that about?’ Gelian asked.
Amorphia shrugged. ‘The bird is a spy,’ it said flatly. ‘Has been from the first. It got its reports to the outside by encoding them on a bacterium and depositing them on the bodies of people about to be returned for re-awakening. I knew about it twenty years ago but let it pass after checking each signal; it was never allowed to know anything the disclosure of which could pose a threat. Its last message was the only one I ever altered. It helped facilitate our escape from the attentions of the Yawning Angel.’ Amorphia grinned, almost childishly. ‘There’s nothing further it can do; I set the scout missile on it to punish it, really. If it distresses you, I’ll call it off.’
Dajeil Gelian looked up into the steady grey eyes of the cadaverous, dark-clad creature for some time, quite as if she hadn’t even heard the question.
‘Amorphia,’ she said. ‘Please; what is going on? What is really going on?’
The ship’s avatar looked pained for a moment. It looked away, towards the plant the scout missile had been hiding underneath. ‘Whatever else,’ it said awkwardly, formally, ‘always remember that you are free to leave me at any time; this GCU is entirely at your disposal and no order or request of mine will affect its actions.’ It looked back at her. It shook its head, but its voice sounded kinder when it spoke again; ‘I’m sorry, Gelian; I still can’t tell you very much. We are going to a place near a star called Esperi.’ The creature hesitated, as though unsure, gaze roaming the floor and the nearby seats. ‘Because I want to,’ it said eventually, as though only realising this itself for the first time. ‘Because there may be something I can do there.’ It raised its arms out from its body, let them fall again. ‘And in the meantime, we await a guest. Or at any rate, I await a guest. You may not care to.’
‘Who?’ the woman asked.
‘Haven’t you guessed?’ the avatar said softly. ‘Byr Genar-Hofoen.’
The woman looked down then, and her brows slowly creased, and the dark feather she had caught fell from her fingers.
III
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28. 867.4406]
xLSV Serious Callers Only
oEccentric Shoot Them Later
Have you heard? Was I not right about Genar-Hofoen? Do the times not now start to tally?
oo
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28.868.4886]
xEccentric Shoot Them Later
oLSV Serious Callers Only
Yes. Two three three. What’s it doing – going for some kind of record? Yes yes yes all right you were correct about the human. But why didn’t you have any warning of this?
oo
I don’t know. Two decades of reliable but totally boring reports and then just when it might have been handy to know what the big bugger was really up to, the intelligence conduit caves in. All I can think of is that our mutual friend… oh, hell, might as well call it by its real name now I suppose… is that the Sleeper Service discovered the link – we don’t know when – and waited until it had something to hide before it started messing with our intelligence.