And the fact that everyone who came out of unspace sane and hale reported the same ‘delusion’ was not a comfort. Because Kris couldn’t stop thinking, surely there was only one logical explanation to everyone having the same experience . . . That, despite everything, there really was something out there. Unspace had a single and inimitable denizen, and she was trapped in here with it.
Now she felt It creep closer, silent, utterly undetectable, imaginary, except that she knew it was there.
She was playing a game as she walked through the Vulture God, feeling that other take a step for every one of hers as it stalked her. She was in the God’s command pod now, with its empty pilot’s chair. It lurked just on the other side of the door. She knew it for certain. For god’s sake, Kris, keep it together.
Her hand had drifted up to the door panel of its own accord. She absolutely did not want to see what was there. Yet her hand wanted to remove the one thin barrier between her and It. And she wondered: What if this is what happens to those who end themselves? They look into Its face.
Or what if some who come out of unspace aren’t even the same people anymore? Their minds twisted by this ‘Other’？
Her arm twitched convulsively, pushing towards the door control.
I can’t stop myself. She knew with utter horror that she was going to open the door.
Then the world dropped out from underneath her, the Vulture God wrenched its way out of unspace into the real – and she opened the door.
Olli was on the far side, in her Scorpion, one battered manipulator extended to do exactly the same. They shared a wide-eyed stare.
‘Check in, please,’ came Idris’s voice over the comms.
‘Here,’ Kris confirmed, and saw Olli’s lips shape the same word. Kittering and Solace followed suit, from wherever they had ended up in the ship.
What if I’d been on the same side of the door as Olli, she wondered, trembling slightly. It didn’t happen, somehow. As though people, no matter how alone, retained some knowledge of what space was already occupied.
‘Let’s not do that again,’ she suggested, shipwide. They’d wanted to get clear of Tarekuma as fast as possible, and bedding down would have taken precious time. Idris hadn’t liked the idea but they’d wanted him to just get them the hell out of there. Idris doesn’t ever go into suspension. Kris felt sick at the thought – and simultaneously wretchedly grateful that someone would do this dreadful thing for her, so she’d never have to do it again.
*
Inside the wreck of the Oumaru they found a compartment, set into the wall of what had once been the hold. It was just large enough to hold the box the hijackers had retrieved.
Inside that box, held in some manner of suspension, was a handful of corroded, broken-ended rods and a spiked disc, all apparently made of some ancient greenish-black stone. To the untutored eye, all that was available, they looked disturbingly like Originator regalia.
‘Fakes,’ Olli said flatly, into a silence. ‘Must be fakes. You can’t just . . . lug them about. Everyone knows that.’
‘Hegemonics can,’ Solace said softly. ‘No one knows how, but we know they can.’
They stared at the box, now resting at a slant on one of the command consoles. It was still open, displaying its impossible contents for all to see.
‘This is . . .’ Idris started, and then stopped. Kris knew why. This was big. They had found something literally worth a world’s ransom. What wouldn’t a Colonial government, a Hanni trade consortium or a Castigar world council give for this? For protection against the Architects – especially now? What wouldn’t the Hegemony give too, to get these relics back? Assuming they were genuine. No. Even if they’re not. After all, how would you go about testing them? Money back if the Architects destroy your world?
‘Inestimable value here,’ Kittering spoke up, calculations scrolling down his arm-screens too fast to follow. ‘Literally inestimable. Priceless. Price, less. Invaluable. Without value.’
‘What are you babbling about?’ Olli snapped at him. ‘You could sell these . . .’ She trailed off.
‘If we were Broken Harvest, maybe we could sell them for some stupid amount that was still stupidly low for what they’re worth,’ Kris said. ‘But we’re just us. And the moment we tried to put these on the market, a thousand different groups would work out we’re far easier to just kill. Even if we sold them for a song.’
‘Arses,’ Olli breathed, staring at their newfound treasure.