When he stood in the smooth-walled hall that Weaver said they had designed together, Johnson had to admit that it did seem familiar. Not only that, he liked the feel of the place more than any other area of the Angelina. He considered the idea that it might simply be because it was new to him, but there seemed more to it than that. The place felt right to him. It felt ordained; a prerequisite and the logical next step in his existence.
“When you die, Weaver, I have two options. I can die aboard the Angelina or you can jettison me in a new pod that is uninfected with vacuum spiders. You could grow the pod around this chamber, add enough of the Angelina’s germinal cells to it that it could continue to grow and then excrete it before you are compromised.”
“I will, of course, do anything you require of me.”
“Good.”
Johnson ran his hand across the veined surface of the pod-shaped follicle.
“There’s one other thing. I’ve come up with an idea that will enable me to stay engaged for an indefinite period. I’m going to program a random loop into my next cabal. I will then stay within the construct of the experience until we are found or I die. Either way, I will be able to avoid indefinitely the numbness of this hopeless drifting.”
“Captain Johnson, I fear for your coherence.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Every time I show you this chamber, you come up with the same suggestion, yet you have not introduced the loop of which you speak at any subsequent stage. It is an old idea now.”
“And I am an old man, a forgetful man. I’m sorry, Weaver. I’m going to have to ask you to help me. I want you not to let me forget my plan and I want you to begin growing a seed-shell around this chamber. Have I asked you to do that before?”
“No, I confess you have not.”
“Good. Keep reminding me of my plan and let’s get to work.”
“Captain Johnson?”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“I will miss you when you leave.”
Johnson didn’t reply. He had seated himself at the programming bud next to the follicle and was writing his random loop into the next plot.
“This is going to be so seamless I will never figure out it isn’t real. Perhaps I won’t even know when I’m dead.”
“The Follicle will know. My seed will know.”