They only discovered that the far end of the connector was blocked when they were over halfway across, because the curvature had hidden their ultimate destination from them.
“That’s not good,” said Paul.
The connector began to shake.
“I’ve got worse news,” said Thula, looking back in the direction from which they’d come. “The other end has detached itself from the Nomad. This thing is closing on us.”
Paul took a few steps back and saw that the Nomad was indeed no longer visible, for the tube had sealed itself and was now retracting, curling quickly toward them as if it were a heavy stocking being turned inside out.
“We go on,” he said. “We don’t have much choice.”
They kept moving forward, the shrinking of the connector apparently keeping pace with them, so that for every meter they traveled, they lost one behind them. Then, when they were almost within touching distance of the barrier ahead, it opened with a disturbing sucking sound, like a muscle relaxing. Thula eyed the resulting gap warily.
“It looks like a mouth,” he said. “That, or someone’s ass.”
“It’s fantastic,” said Meia.
“I knew you’d say that.”
“So do you agree that the ship really is alive?” Paul asked Meia.
“I don’t know if you could call it alive, exactly,” she replied. “The vessel’s exterior is clearly some kind of alloy, which functions as a kind of exoskeleton, but so far the interior is organic. It appears to be biomechanical.”
“Like you?”
“Perhaps, but on a much vaster scale. The interesting question is one of consciousness.”
Like you, Paul was tempted to add, again, but held his tongue. Instead he asked: “You mean, is it capable of independent thought and action, or is it under someone else’s control?”
“Or even if it’s an actual creature, or simply organic matter adapted for purpose,” said Meia.
“Syl spoke of multiple presences,” said Paul. “Whatever this thing is, it’s not out here alone.”
He looked to Syl for confirmation.
“It’s all quiet now,” she said. “I don’t sense anything.”
Paul peered through the opening. It was darker beyond than in the connector, which had now shrunk so far that the closed end was almost at Thula’s back. With little alternative, Paul stepped through and found himself in a small, enclosed oval space, no bigger than the Nomad’s main cabin and with only the faintest of pink luminosity to it. Again, the surface beneath his feet was relatively firm, but with a little give. It was like standing on thick rubber matting. The others joined him. As soon as Thula was inside, the doorway sucked shut behind him.
The light grew brighter. Veins and arteries appeared in the walls, the floor, the ceiling as, slowly, the entire oval became almost entirely transparent.
“Oh my God,” said Syl.
They were in another massive chamber, but this one dwarfed the dock to which the Nomad had been brought. Now the fleshiness of its walls was clear to them, and they could pick out muscles and tendons. Strangest of all, it was filled with some kind of fluid, faintly yellow in color, through which bubbles moved, propelled from one side of the chamber to the other by muscular spasms coming from suckered openings similar to the one through which they had just passed. Syl thought of a great womb, to which their tiny bubble was attached like an egg, surrounded entirely by amniotic fluid.
And they all heard as well as felt a rhythmic vibration, like a great drumming, and they knew that it was the beating of the ship’s heart.
The floor of their bubble shifted, causing clear vertical projections to rise behind each one of them, which then expanded to gently enclose them around the legs and upper body, holding them in place. With only the slightest of jerks, the bubble was released from its mooring, and shot through the fluid. Particles of tissue floated before them, or bumped against the outer skin, but not so hard as to cause even a ripple in its surface. They also glimpsed what looked like bacteria, but so great in size as to be visible to the naked eye: small systems of spirilla, clusters of cocci, and rodlike bacilli with flicking flagella.
Then, less than a minute after their trip had commenced, it came to an end as the bubble reached the far side of the chamber, and a new sucker reached out to catch them and pull them to the wall. Their restraints fell away, and another doorway opened before them. They passed through it and found themselves in an observation gallery, its window many stories high and hundreds of meters wide. The window gave a clear view of space, and the distortion caused by the Derith wormhole, as though the stars were being manipulated and obscured by an imperfect lens. Over to the left they could see the imprisoned Corps craft, the net around it barely visible from this distance.
The image before them began to recede, and it took them a moment or two to realize that the ship in which they stood was moving, reversing so that more and more of the galaxies beyond became visible. The stars shimmered, and whole systems appeared to detach themselves from the fabric of space. Darkness and light slowly turned to silver before them as other ships were revealed, their alloy exoskeletons seemingly growing before the eyes of Paul and the rest as each one deactivated its camouflage. One, two, three, ship after ship, until an entire fleet was displayed, each vessel different from the next: some angular and geometric, others flowing and wavelike; some perfectly symmetrical, others with disproportionate bulges or unevenly balanced, yet still strangely graceful and harmonious, as though their apparent instability was a reflection of purpose, less a flaw than a conscious design.
And the Corps vessel hung at the heart of the fleet, like a small fish surrounded by the predators that would inevitably consume it.
Paul stepped closer to the windows. A thin mesh of transparent scales covered it on the outside, which probably explained why the exterior of the alien ship had appeared entirely solid when they looked upon it from the Nomad.
“Paul!”
He turned at the sound of Syl’s voice, and saw fear naked on her face.
“They’re coming!”