It drifted away, accelerating, for the flux was strong here.
But to be so close to an Idea!
He pulled himself to his feet, and moved along the ledge, wondering if he could yet reach out and grasp it before—
Too late.
For a second he was in danger of toppling over, but he caught himself.
So close.
He called out, unable not to.
**Come back, please.**
But the Idea tumbled on, in the air above the canyon, propelled by flux that paid no heed to one unhappy youth, however desperate his need for knowledge.
FORTY
EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2146 AD
Rekka and Sharp stood within the microward boundary, looking around their old campsite, now renewed. There were three equipment cases standing open, although four cases had been designated for the mission. But she could not think of that, not now, because Sharp’s future was her main concern.
‘I’m willing to come with you,’ she said.
‘I know.’ The voice from his chest unit was soft, reflecting the subdued scent. ‘But they will believe me in the city.’
‘If you’re sure—All right, dear Sharp.’
‘I love you, Rekka.’
‘And I love you.’
His massive arms enclosed her, as she pressed her face sideways against his chest, inhaling the scent of his fur. She had no idea how his people would greet him on his return; she only hoped they were more open-minded than humans.
In fact, she thought they probably were.
‘You’ll walk to Mint City?’ she asked, drawing back.
‘It will give me time to . . . remember.’
After months on Earth, he needed to reacclimatize. She smiled at her friend’s wisdom.
‘Go well, Sharp.’
‘Go well, Rekka.’
Then he walked from the camp, his gait erect, his antlers wide and proud. Rekka stood watching until he was no longer in sight.
You’d better be safe.
But there were ways to help, still. Bending down at her biofact, she got to work, executing the pre-designed procedures. Within minutes, the first of her bees took wing.
She despatched them after Sharp.
FORTY-ONE
LABYRINTH, 2603 AD (REALSPACE-EQUIVALENT)
Carl-and-ship hurtled through Auric Void, howled past the edge of Mandelbrot Nebula, and a long time later burst into clear golden space near Labyrinth. Their distress signal gave them priority, and they tore along a docking tunnel into a wide space adjoining Med Centre.
It was his first public appearance flying a ship, destroying a false identity established decades ago. That counted for nothing.
Not with Miranda like this . . .
He disengaged his mind from his ship as they touched against the dock. Med-drones were waiting, along with medics, and as soon as his control cabin formed an entrance gap, a drone floated inside.
Panes of nothingness rotated, and three green-clothed medics stepped into the cabin.
‘It’s my wife . . .’
But the medics worked in silence, sealing Miranda, limp and bloody, inside the drone. Then the drone floated out, towards more waiting medics. Two of the medics in here backed off, summoned fastpath rotations, and twisted out of this reality-layer.
‘Can’t you rotate the drone through to—?’
‘Pilot Blackstone, your wife’s condition won’t allow it. A transition to another level would cause a trauma she’s not strong enough to cope with.’
‘Is she . . . Is she dying?’
‘We’re going to do our best to make her live.’
‘I—’
‘Excuse me, I must go.’ As the medic summoned the rotation, he added: ‘The staff on the platform will take you to her.’
Then he stepped into the twisting fastpath and was gone.
Carl rubbed his eyes, trying to get his bearings, swaying after the effort of wild flight. Then he noticed a lev-platform touching against the hull opening. Two Pilots stepped inside, neither of them dressed in medic green. One wore a goatee, the other was shaven; both were wide-shouldered and hard-faced.
‘I’m Clayton,’ said the clean-shaven one, ‘and this is Boyle.’
‘You’re not from Med Centre.’
‘Not exactly. More like the same place you’re from.’
Boyle had gestured a privacy shield into place, covering the entrance gap, turning the sight of the dock outside into a sparkling haze.
‘You work for Max?’
‘We’re with the service. And you need to debrief.’
‘Gentlemen, I strictly don’t care. That’s my wife, and you’ve just seen—’
‘We also heard’ - Clayton’s voice was softer than Boyle’s - ‘the medic say she needs to remain on this level of reality.’
Carl stared at him, trying to work out what was going on, and why these idiots could not understand that Miranda was—
‘We’ll fastpath through to Ascension Annexe,’ Clayton continued, ‘but remain at a slower timeflow. All right?’
Carl shook his head, not processing the words.
‘He means’ - Boyle was already summoning the fastpath - ‘we’ll debrief you at a normal rate for us, then bring you back to mean-geodesic time inside Med Centre within ten seconds.’
‘Ten seconds?’
‘Guaranteed,’ said Clayton. ‘Your wife will have experienced ten seconds, and you’ll be able to concentrate on helping her. All right?’
Everything was awful. He could no longer think.
‘All right,’ he said.
The fastpath twisted, expanding, and surrounded him.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
And expelled him into new surroundings: plain dark walls, and a single chair morphed from quickstone.
‘You fuckers.’
An interrogation cell.
When Carl woke up, Clayton and Boyle were staring at him. They looked angry.
‘Welcome back, Blackstone.’
He swayed in the chair, but its shape remained static, not morphing to help him.
‘Trance-tell?’ Closing his eyes then pulling them wide open, he tried to speed up the process of dragging the world into focus. ‘You used trance-tell?’
Clayton said: ‘Blackstone, you arsehole. Why didn’t you stay away?’
Recent memory seemed vague.
‘Away from where?’
‘He means, away from Labyrinth,’ said Boyle. ‘For his convenience, not yours.’
‘And you really want a trip to Dr Sapherson’s fun-lab, do you?’ asked Clayton.
‘What are you talking about?’ Carl had to use one hand to push himself upright, his hips wobbling, then growing steady. ‘Tell me.’
‘You were under amnesia conditioning.’ Boyle raised his eyebrows at Clayton. ‘Pity you didn’t stay that way.’
Carl tried to focus.
‘Sunadomari . . . Superintendent Sunadomari told me I’d been treated. Given amnesia. So why’s that a problem? You’re saying someone else did it? An enemy?’
‘Oh, no, they did it here,’ said Clayton. ‘Whoever was in charge of psych security before Sapherson.’
‘That was before our time.’ Boyle gave a nearly-grin.
‘Then . . . what? I told you all I knew, did I?’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t know anything fucking useful.’ Clayton slammed a palm-heel against the wall. ‘For fuck’s sake, Boyle and I are going to lose the assignment for nothing.’
Carl slumped back down in the chair. Was he taking too long to recover, or were these two actually talking nonsense?
‘He hasn’t caught up yet,’ said Boyle. ‘Look, Blackstone. Carl. We . . . We didn’t find what we were looking for, all right? But you did relate your buried memories that are supposed to be inaccessible. Cosmic fucking conspiracies and all.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t—’
‘They’ll come back to you, over the next few days. Unless Dr Sapherson does the rewipe first. The techniques are better these days- the way Sapherson does it, there’s nothing left to resurface, not even under trance-tell.’