In the volume of space before them, all hell seemed to have been let loose. Annihilation light washed over them; it was the radiation from weapon explosions, registering pure and mixed on the vessel’s sensors, indicating where warheads had gone off totally by themselves or in contact with something else. The fabric of three-dimensional space bucked and juddered with the blast from warp charges, forcing the CAT’s automatics to disengage its engines every few seconds to prevent them being damaged on the shock waves. Horza strapped in and brought all the subsidiary systems up. Wubslin came through the door from the mess.
“What is it?”
“Battle of some sort,” Horza said, watching the screens. The volume of affected space was more or less directly on the inward side of Schar’s World; the direct route from Vavatch passed that way. The CAT was one and a half light-years away from the disturbance, too far away to be spotted on anything except the narrow beam of a track scanner and therefore almost certainly safe; but Horza watched the distant blasts of radiation, and felt the CAT ride the ripples of disturbed space with a sensation of nausea, even defeat.
“Message shell,” Wubslin said, nodding at a screen. There, sorting itself out from the noise of radiation, a signal gradually appeared, the words forming a few letters at a time like a field of plants growing and flowering. After a few repetitions of the signal — and it was being jammed, not simple interfered with by the battle’s background noise — it was complete enough to read.
VESSEL CLEAR AIR TURBULENCE. MEET UNITS
NINETY — THIRD FLEET
DESTINATION/S.591134.45 MID. ALL SAFE.
“Damn,” breathed Horza.
“What’s that mean?” Wubslin said. He punched the figures on the screen into the CAT’s navigational computer. “Oh,” the engineer said, sitting back, “it’s one of the stars near by. I guess they mean to rendezvous halfway between it and…” He looked at the main screen.
“Yes,” Horza said, looking unhappily at the signal. It had to be a fake. There was nothing to prove it was from the Idirans: no message number, code class, ship originator, signatory; nothing genuine at all.
“That from the guys with three legs?” Wubslin said. He brought a holo display onto another screen, showing stars surrounded by spherical grids of thin green lines. “Hey, we’re not all that far away from there.”
“Is that right?” Horza said. He watched the continuing blasts of battle-light. He entered some figures into the CAT’s control systems. The vessel brought its nose round, angling it further over towards the Schar’s World system. Wubslin looked at Horza.
“You don’t think it is from them?”
“I don’t,” Horza said. The radiation was fading. The engagement appeared to be over, or the action broken off. “I think we might turn up there and find a GCU waiting for us. Or a cloud of CAM.”
“CAM? What — that stuff they dusted Vavatch with?” Wubslin said, and whistled. “No thanks.”
Horza switched the screen with the message off.
Less than an hour later it all happened again: shells of radiation, warp disturbance, and this time two messages, one telling the CAT to ignore the first message, the other giving a new rendezvous point. Both seemed genuine; both were affixed with the word “Xoralundra”. Horza, still chewing the mouthful of food he’d been eating when the alarm went off for the second time, swore. A third message appeared, telling him personally to ignore those two signals and directing the CAT to yet another rendezvous area.
Horza shouted with anger, sending bits of soggy food arcing out to hit the message screen. He turned the wide-band communicator off completely, then went back to the mess.
“When do we reach the Quiet Barrier?”
“A few more hours. Half a day perhaps.”
“Are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous. I’ve been there before. How about you?”
“If you say it’ll be all right, I believe you.”
“It should be.”
“Will you know any of the people there?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a few years. They don’t rotate personnel often, but people do leave. I don’t know. I’ll just have to wait and see.”
“You haven’t seen any of your own people for a long time, have you?”
“No. Not since I left there.”
“Aren’t you looking forward to it?”
“Maybe.”
“Horza… look, I know I told you we didn’t ask each other about… about everything before we came aboard the CAT, but that was… before a lot of things changed—”
“But it’s the way we’ve been, isn’t it?”
“You mean you don’t want to talk about it now?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You want to ask me about—”
“No.” She put her hand to his lips. He felt them there in the darkness. “No, it’s OK. It’s all right; never mind.”
He sat in the centre seat. Wubslin was in the engineer’s chair to Horza’s right, Yalson to his left. The rest had crowded in behind them. He had let Balveda watch; there was little that could happen which she could affect now. The drone floated near the ceiling.
The Quiet Barrier was coming up. It showed as a mirrorfield directly in front of them, about a light-day in diameter. It had suddenly appeared on the screen when they were an hour out from the barrier. Wubslin had worried it was giving their position away, but Horza knew that the mirrorfield existed only in the CAT’s sensors. There was nothing there for anybody else to see.
Five minutes out, every screen went black. Horza had warned the rest about it, but even he felt anxious and blind when it happened.
“You’re sure this is meant to happen?” Aviger said.
“I’d be worried if it didn’t,” Horza told him. The old man moved somewhere behind him.
“I think this is incredible,” Dorolow said. “This creature is virtually a god. I’m sure it can sense our moods and thoughts. I can feel it already.”
“Actually, it’s just a collection of self-referencing—”
“Balveda,” Horza said, looking round at the Culture woman. She stopped talking and clapped a hand over her mouth, flashing her eyes. He turned back to the blank screen.
“When’s this thing—” Yalson began.
APPROACHING CRAFT, the screen said, in a variety of languages.
“Here we go,” Neisin said. He was shushed by Dorolow.
“I respond,” Horza said, in Marain, into the tight-beam communicator. The other languages disappeared from the screen.
YOU ARE APPROACHING THE PLANET CALLED SCHAR’S WORLD, DRA’AZON PLANET OF THE DEAD. PROGRESS BEYOND THIS POINT IS RESTRICTED.
“I know. My name is Bora Horza Gobuchul. I wish to return to Schar’s World for a short while. I ask this with all respect.”
“Smooth talker,” Balveda said. Horza glared briefly at her. The communicator would only transmit what he said, but he didn’t want the woman to forget she was a prisoner.
YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.
Horza couldn’t tell if this was a question or not. “I have been to Schar’s World before,” he confirmed. “I was one of the Changer sentinels.” There seemed little point in telling the creature when; the Dra’Azon called every time “now” even though their language used tenses. The screen went blank, then repeated:
YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.
Horza frowned and wondered what to say. Balveda muttered, “Obviously hopelessly senile.”
“I have been here before,” Horza said. Did the Dra’Azon mean that because he had already been there he could not return?