But Ormazd’s mind… ?
Mina had seen Naqi’s memories now. She would know exactly what was at stake, and she would know exactly what that mind represented.
I was always aware of him. He wasn’t always there — he liked to hide himself — but even when he was absent, he left a shadow of himself. I even think he might be the reason the ocean took me as a conformal. It sensed a coming crisis. It knew Ormazd had something to do with it. It had made a terrible mistake by swallowing him. So it reached out for new allies, minds it could trust.
Minds like Mina, Naqi thought. In that instant she did not know whether to admire the Pattern Jugglers or detest them for their heartlessness.
Ormazd was contaminating it?
His influence was strong. His force of personality was a kind of poison in its own right. The Pattern Jugglers knew that, I think.
Why couldn’t they just eject his patterns?
They couldn’t. It doesn’t work that way. The sea is a storage medium, but it has no self-censoring facility. If the individual minds detect a malign presence, they can resist it… But Ormazd’s mind is human. There aren’t enough of us here to make a difference, Naqi. The other minds are too alien to recognise Ormazd for what he is. They just see a sentience.
Who made the Pattern Jugglers, Mina? Answer me that, will you?
She sensed Mina’s amusement.
Even the Jugglers don’t know that, Naqi. Or why.
You have to help us, Mina. You have to communicate the urgency of this to the rest of the ocean.
I’m one mind amongst many, Naqi. One voice in the chorus.
You still have to find a way. Please, Mina. Understand this, if nothing else. You could die. You could all die. I lost you once, but now I know you never really went away. I don’t want to have to lose you again, for good.
You didn’t lose me, Naqi. I lost you.
She hauled herself from the water. Weir was waiting where she had left him, with the intact globe still resting in his hand. The daylight shadows had moved a little, but not as much as she had feared. She made eye contact with Weir, wordlessly communicating a question.
‘The shuttle’s come closer. It’s flown over the node twice while you were under. I think I need to do this, Naqi.’
He had the globe between thumb and forefinger, ready to drop it into the water.
She was shivering. Naqi pulled on her shorts and shirt, but she felt just as cold afterwards. The fungal marks were shimmering intensely; they appeared almost to hover above her skin. If anything they were shining more furiously than before she had swum. Naqi did not doubt that if she had lingered — if she had stayed with Mina — she would have become a conformal as well. It had always been in her, but it was only now that her time had come.
‘Please wait,’ Naqi said, her own voice sounding pathetic and childlike. ‘Please wait, Rafael.’
‘There it is again.’
The shuttle was a fleck of white sliding over the top of the nearest wall of Juggler biomass. It was five or six kilometres away, much closer than the last time Naqi had seen it. Now it came to a sudden sharp halt, hovering above the surface of the ocean as if it had found something of particular interest.
‘Do you think it knows we’re here?’
‘It suspects something,’ Weir said. The globe rolled between his fingers.
‘Look,’ Naqi said.
The shuttle was still hovering. Naqi stood up to get a better view, nervous of making herself visible but desperately curious. Something was happening. She knew something was happening.
Kilometres away, the sea was bellying up beneath the shuttle. The water was the colour of moss, supersaturated with micro-organisms. Naqi watched as a coil of solid green matter reached from the ocean, twisting and writhing. It was as thick as a building, spilling vast rivulets of water as it emerged. It extended upwards with astonishing haste, bifurcating and flexing like a groping fist. For a brief moment it closed around the shuttle. Then it slithered back into the sea with a titanic splash; a prolonged roar of spent energy. The shuttle continued to hover above the same spot, as if oblivious to what had just happened. Yet the manta-shaped craft’s white hull was lathered with various hues of green. And Naqi understood: what had happened to the shuttle was what had happened to Arviat, the city that drowned. She could not begin to guess the crime that Arviat had committed against the sea, the crime that had merited its destruction, but she could believe — now, at least — that the Jugglers had been capable of dragging it beneath the waves, ripping the main mass of the city away from the bladders that held it aloft. And of course such a thing would have to be kept maximally secret, known only to a handful of individuals. For otherwise no city would ever feel safe when the sea roiled and groaned beneath it.
But a city was not a shuttle. Even if the Juggler material started eating away the fabric of the shuttle, it would still take hours to do any serious damage… And that was assuming the Ultras had no better protection than the ceramic shielding used on Turquoise boats and machines…
But the shuttle was already tilting over.
Naqi watched it pitch, attempt to regain stability and then pitch again. She understood, belatedly. The organic matter was clogging the shuttle’s whisking propulsion systems, limiting its ability to hover. The shuttle was curving inexorably closer to the sea, spiralling steeply away from the node. It approached the surface and then, just before the moment of impact, another misshapen fist of organised matter thrust from the sea, seizing the hull in its entirety. That was the last Naqi saw of it.
A troubled calm fell on the scene. The sky overhead was un-marred by questing machinery. Only the thin whisper of smoke rising from the horizon, in the direction of the Moat, hinted of the day’s events.
Minutes passed, and then tens of minutes. Then a rapid series of bright flashes strobed from beneath the surface of the sea itself.
‘That was the shuttle,’ Weir said, wonderingly.
Naqi nodded. ‘The Jugglers are fighting back. This is more or less what I hoped would happen.’
‘You asked for this?’
‘I think Mina understood what was needed. Evidently she managed to convince the rest of the ocean, or at least this part of it.’
‘Let’s see.’
They searched the airwaves again. The comsat network was dead, or silent. Even fewer cities were transmitting now. But those that were — those that had not been overrun by Ormazd’s disciples — told a frightening story. The ocean was clawing at them, trying to drag them into the sea. Weather patterns were shifting, entire storms being conjured into existence by the orchestrated circulation of vast ocean currents. It was happening in concentric waves, racing away from the precise point in the ocean where Naqi had swum. Some cities had already fallen into the sea, though it was not clear whether this had been brought about by the Jugglers themselves or because of damage to their vacuum-bladders. There were people in the water: hundreds, thousands of them. They were swimming, trying to stay afloat, trying not to drown.