IT WAS ALL happening so fast . . .
The robots had joined Bandicut in the star-spanner bubble, Napoleon carrying a strange object like a silver starfish—part of the communications device, apparently. Even as Bandicut looked around, dazed to find himself back in the undersea realm, he heard an audible voice from the device Napoleon was holding.
"Back away from the entry port . . ."
It was the voice of the factory. He recognized it, though he had never before heard it outside the direct link.
Back away . . .
L'Kell had heard the instruction and was already powering up to move the sub. The reason for the instruction became obvious a moment later, when the stern of Nabeck's sub poked through the membrane. The rest of the sub followed, as Nabeck also powered up and backed his sub out. As soon as he had enough clearance to turn, he swung his vessel around to face L'Kell's and S'Cali's, and Nabeck himself became visible, peering out into the sea. The view of his friends was no doubt welcome. But what Nabeck thought of the sight of Bandicut and the robots in the star-spanner bubble, Bandicut could not even guess.
/// What's that? ///
/Eh?/
Something else had just appeared through the factory membrane—something very thin and silver and sparkling. It looked like a living thread, snaking out along the silty bottom; it was moving fast. It remained attached to the factory, as it grew outward, stretching longer and thinner. The leading end slipped toward the edge of the abyss, and then dropped away into darkness. Bandicut shivered a little as he watched it disappear.
"We need to talk," he called down to L'Kell.
The Neri winched the star-spanner bubble back into place over the sub's hatch. As he was waiting for the chance to return to the sub, Bandicut slowly became aware of a soft glow in the water that was not from the headlights. It was coming from the emptiness of the abyss. The Demon was stirring, perhaps awakened by whatever the factory had just sent down toward it.
As quickly as he could, Bandicut opened the hatch and, leaving Napoleon and Copernicus on watch in the bubble, climbed down to rejoin his friends in the sub. As he tumbled into their midst, he practically wept with joy. "How much did you hear?" he asked, through a tangle of welcoming arms. He looked around into each of their faces. It was clear they'd had a lot more time to be afraid for him than he had had. He reassured them that he was completely unhurt.
"Did you speak with it?" demanded L'Kell. "What happened? Did you speak with the factory?"
They hadn't heard a word of it. He filled them in as best he could, but parts of it were hard to explain.
"Dive to meet the Maw of the Abyss?" Li-Jared cried. "You can't be serious!"
"I'm afraid I am. And you know something—I think my stones knew this was going to happen." The memory of the link was roiling in his mind like a bubbling pot—the memory of the stones promising to give him answers when they had them, but as if they knew most of the answers already and were just waiting to fill in the last details. "Most of it, anyway. And I think that's why they told me to bring all of you along on this expedition."
"I, hrrm, have the same feeling about my own stones," Ik said, and peered thoughtfully out the viewport as if there were something else he wasn't ready to say yet.
Li-Jared let out a twanging groan. Clearly the thought of diving into the deepest abyss, and confronting a machine of cataclysmic power on top of it, was almost more than he could take. Bandicut hardly blamed him; he was terrified, too.
/// But don't you think it's the right thing to do? ///
/How the hell would I know? The factory wants us to go; the stones want us to go; but for all I know, it's our death sentence. If it doesn't kill us outright, it'll scare us to death./
/// I have a feeling, John,
that the stones have more in mind
than just contacting the Maw
and stopping the eruptions. ///
/What do you mean?/
/// Well, they definitely have suspicions
about the Maw, and its origins. ///
/So—/
/// So I'm not sure what it all means.
But they want to find out more about it.
And about who or what put it here.
This is of great interest to them. ///
/As much interest to them as saving the Neri?/ Bandicut thought, wondering suddenly if he'd been crediting the stones with the wrong motivation.
/// Maybe as much. Maybe more. ///
/And what do they want to do with this information once they get it?/
/// I'm not sure.
But I think it might mean moving on.
Going elsewhere. ///
Bandicut shivered.
"John? Are you okay?" asked Antares, touching his arm. Her eyes were dark and round and full of worry.
He blinked. "Yeah. Charlie thinks we should go ahead and make the dive. In case the extra opinion helps."
Antares' eyes seemed to take a silent poll within the gloomy cockpit of the sub. It was evident that everyone was willing to go—even Li-Jared, who simply closed his eyes and said nothing. Ik touched the stones in the sides of his sculpted head and murmured his affirmation. As though to confirm the decision, there was a brighter flicker outside the sub, and a soft rumble. The comm squawked, and Nabeck—who at the moment was hovering closest to the drop-off—reported an increase in light activity over the ledge.
S'Cali's voice came into the cockpit, asking L'Kell what they were going to do next. L'Kell told him to stand by, and faced his companions.
"Can your sub go that deep?" Bandicut asked.
"Risky, but it could be done," the Neri answered. "Power reserves could be a problem. And I would have to pressurize the compartment to a much deeper level. Can your bodies tolerate that?"
"Probably not. But we could all ride in the star-spanner bubble, while you pilot the sub." Even as he said that, a tickle from the stones suggested that they agreed.
The suggestion brought a fresh shudder from Li-Jared. At least inside the sub, he didn't have to look out unless he wanted to. In the star-spanner bubble, he would feel completely naked.
"Can your bubble withstand such pressure?" L'Kell asked doubtfully.
Before Bandicut could ask, Char responded,
/// We think so.
And it is capable of pressurizing
if it detects the need. ///
Bandicut nodded. "If our nerves can stand it, I think the bubble can."
/// And if it does fail,
at least it'll be over fast . . . ///
*
The descent into the abyss was like nothing Ik had ever imagined. They were alone now, crowded into the bubble; S'Cali and Nabeck had been sent homeward with the news of what they were attempting.
It was like falling endlessly, following the path of a fine silver thread into darkness, into light. It was like falling into an aurora-filled night sky. The demon-fire flared with erratic intensity, sometimes seeming to shine up through all of the water below. That was impossible; the entire water column must be aglow. Ik half expected to see the bottom looming out of the depths, but he knew it was still far, far below.
Some moments, it seemed to Ik that they were floating in space, or in one of the shadow-people's fractal-dimensional folds, where no harm could possibly befall them; the star-spanner bubble was made for precisely this sort of environment. At other times, he was aware only of the incredible crushing pressure of the ocean, squeezing squeezing, doing everything in nature's power to crush them out of existence—almost a sentient will to destroy, and them with only an invisible air bubble surrounding them. It made him wonder about the life after, and whether he was about to get a firsthand look.
His companions were crowded around him in various positions: Bandicut standing silent in thought, Li-Jared crouched protectively, eyes squinting, trying to hold onto his sanity. Antares stood just behind Bandicut, not quite touching him, but clearly focusing her thoughts upon him and the support he would need. Something had transpired between them; there was a connection, an intimacy that had not existed before. Ik was glad for that, though he was aware that that, too, could bring problems. The robots clicked and muttered, gathering data.
Three meters below, in the sub, L'Kell was probably wondering if he was piloting his friends to their deaths, and perhaps wondering too if he would ever return to his beloved city and its people. The odds certainly seemed against it.
Ik, for his part, felt a strange calm. He wondered at his voice-stones, which were tickling in his temples, and clearly making preparation for something. He had a strong sense that he had an important role in what was to come.
Through the shifting rays and curtains of light, he occasionally caught sight of the chasm wall, off to their left, where the thread of silver was still visible, dropping downward from the factory. Occasionally he saw small creatures moving along the wall. Some were fish, darting in and out of view; some were floating creatures of jelly and glass, sparkling out of the night like jewels, then vanishing abruptly. They seemed like tiny voyeurs, peeking at him and his mission.
My mission? he thought suddenly, startled by the thought. Just what was his mission—or John Bandicut's, or Li-Jared's? They had been sent to this place from Shipworld, by someone who must have known that there was a crisis requiring intervention, by someone who thought there was at least a chance of the company succeeding in that intervention. But to what ultimate end?
Ik found at the moment that he didn't care greatly, as long as he knew his immediate purpose: to do what they could to save L'Kell's people, and the Astari. And then perhaps to learn of what else was at stake.
Could this job be accomplished by any one of them alone?
The answer to that was clear. Ik sat on his haunches, his stones throbbing in his temples.
*
Time seemed almost frozen, moving in slow, erratic surges as they floated downward. Bandicut stared at the wall off to one side until he could stand it no longer, then stared down into the flashing darkness, his eye caught by the shadowy form of L'Kell's sub, alternately invisible in the dark and then silhouetted against the ghostly rays shining upward, from the Maw. Hairs prickled at the back of his neck, reminding him that every moment the bubble held against the crushing depth was a new miracle.
The sea began to rumble audibly around them.
Surely they were almost there. Surely.
*
It was like a flare in the night, a fusion burst. Bandicut peered, hoping for a better view. A diamond-shaped something of white light blossomed into a halo of radiance. And in its heart was a new kind of darkness, a darkness filled with myriad sparkles, splinters of brightness, pulsing and fading. Streaking down into the darkness, the silver thread from the factory was alive with fire. What was happening? Bandicut had only begun to wonder, when a strange and powerful outcry began to reverberate around him, shaking his thoughts like the cry of a terrified animal—or a short-circuiting machine, arcing into his thoughts and demanding demanding demanding that he set right the wrong and go through go through go through . . .
*
The robots were clamoring at him—was it Napoleon?—he couldn't tell, but a voice was calling, "John Bandicut, John Bandicut—"
And he was able at last to summon the presence of mind to answer, in a hoarse voice that surely was inaudible against the crashing sounds that filled his head, though maybe not the bubble itself, "Yes I'm here, Nappy, I'm here."
"We have contact, contact—"
"That is good—"
"The antenna and interface are working—" the silver starfish was flickering in Napoleon's hands "—but we have no translation, no understanding. The signal is confounding our analytical circuitry. I cannot even tell you what kind of signal it is."
"Translation—you need translation—"
That was not Bandicut's voice, even though he felt as though it were; it was Ik, staggering forward to crouch beside him, and together they peered over the nose of the submarine and saw sparkling, coruscating fire in the depths below. "What do you think?" Bandicut whispered, not looking at his friend.
"I am ready."
The bubble shook, as a tremor passed through it.
Bandicut turned to gaze at his friend. Ik's eyes were clear, but filled with an inner Hraachee'an fire. The stone in his right temple was pulsating with light. "Ik?" Bandicut said, suddenly understanding. "Are you going to share your stones with that?" He pointed down into the fire of the Maw.
"Hrrll. Is it not what we need?" Ik's voice sounded distracted, as though some other conversation were vying for his attention.
"Yes, but—" Was it possible to do this, to share stones with a thing like that?
/// We think so. ///
Stunned, Bandicut thought, /Then . . . it is what we need. Exactly what we need. And that's why the stones wanted Ik here, isn't it?/
/// One reason . . . ///
Bandicut nodded slowly to Ik. "I think you're right. I'll help if I can," he murmured. "Are your stones ready?"
"Hrrm, they have been waiting for this, I think." Ik nodded as though some understanding were falling into place for him. He stood in the front of the bubble and stretched out his arms.
"Napoleon, can you transmit that something is coming, something to help translate?"
The robot clicked. "I do not seem able—"
The bubble shook again with another tremor. The sub's maneuvering seemed sluggish. Through the confusion, Bandicut heard a distorted communication from L'Kell. "Having difficulty here. Conserving power . . ."
/Damn. He said it'd be tight. We'll never make it back up, will we?/
/// Weren't we all prepared
for a one-way trip? ///
/Yeah, I guess./ Bandicut drew a tight breath and called back, "We understand, L'Kell. You can turn off your lights, at least."
"I've already done that," L'Kell answered.
The Maw was putting out so much light now, Bandicut hadn't even noticed.
"Urrr, attempting to make contact," Ik reported. There was a sudden twinkle, dazzling—and two sparks streaked out from his head, flashing through the star-spanner bubble as if it didn't exist. They flared downward, vanished into the ghost-lighted depths. Vanished. Nothing else happened.
Had it failed? Had Ik's daughter-stones split for nothing?
Bandicut held his breath. Finally: "Ik? Do you feel anything?"
The Hraachee'an remained silent, but slowly lowered his arms. Something brightened below the bubble. Like an explosion, half masked by clouds. It darkened, then brightened again. This time it stayed bright.
And Bandicut felt something in a front corner of his mind. It was a tickle, mystifying and elusive, and then grew louder, echoing, until it seemed to shoot from one corner of his thoughts to another . . .
is
is
is
is
is
is
is
this
this
this
this
this
this
this
this
to
to
to speak
speak
speak
speak
speak-k-k-k
-k-k-k
-k-k-k
-k-k-k
-k-k-k-k-k
and then paused, as though trying to analyze what had just happened.
Bandicut sensed Ik standing more erect. The Hraachee'an had heard the voice, too. Softly, Bandicut called, "Ik, do you have contact? Should I shut up and stay out of the way?"
"Hrrrl, I can feel its presence. But it is not clear, I do not understand it. It senses me, senses all of us—but this is something you know how to do better than I."
That's what I was afraid of, Bandicut thought, gazing down into the ghostly fire.
/// I will do what I can to help. ///
/It's so alien—I don't know if I can—/
/// It's a machine, I think.
It reminds me a little of the robots. ///
/Is that good? What do the stones—/
/// They want you to try. ///
Bandicut caught his breath and spoke silently but forcefully: /We wish to communicate. Can you understand my words?/
His thoughts were interrupted by a stuttering . . .
cannot
cannot
cannot
cannot
follow your statements
what is good
what is biological
what is neurolink
what is afraid
A pale circlet of fire was rising toward them.
stones parse
robots parse
words parse
communicate parses
The circlet of light twisted oddly and vanished, as if into a strange phase shift.
"Napoleon!" Bandicut yelled. "Do you have contact?" Robots parse. /THESE TWO ARE ROBOTS. THEY CAN HELP COMMUNICATE./ "Napoleon!"
Bandicut glanced away from the Maw and saw that Napoleon's sensors were flicking madly from Bandicut to Ik to the silver-thread antenna to the silver starfish to the fire of the Maw, as though he could not find the right place to focus.
"Nappy! Coppy! Tell me what's happening! Report!"
He was answered with a loud tapping—Copernicus—and then that robot's voice, garbled as though speaking through water. "It is . . . a machine . . . disabled . . . attempting to regain . . . or reconstruct . . . its design capabilities . . ."
A concussion like a thunderclap knocked Bandicut to his knees. A halo of light surrounded the bubble, then began closing inward, giving Bandicut a moment of panic as it seemed to squeeze the bubble, as though to crush it. But instead of collapsing the bubble, the light drew inward through its walls, until Bandicut and all of his friends were floating in a sparkling glow. And then voices filled Bandicut's head, the inner voices of his friends, and he found himself struggling to connect voices with owners.
Antares: It is fearful . . . confused . . . we must not be fearful . . .
Trying to kill us, to destroy us—whispered Li-Jared.
Thing of terrible power, hrahh . . . but has a purpose. I can sense that much, cannot quite comprehend . . .
From another age, another place in space-time . . . displaced, lost . . . whispered the quarx in thought.
And L'Kell: What are they doing . . . they must do what is needed, and not think of me . . .
Bandicut struggled to force his own thoughts into clear channels, to separate them from his friends'. Maybe the thing out there could listen to all of them at once, but he couldn't. My name is John Bandicut, I am human, I am lost, as my companions are lost. Why do you do this, why do you cause such destruction, what is it you are trying to do—?
And suddenly he felt a strange curling of forces around him, responding to his effort to sort it all out, to focus inward on his thoughts. And he recognized the forces; he had felt them before, in another place . . . in a long tunnel stretching to infinity . . .
He had touched these forces, this thing, in the stardrive of the lander's ship.
And the thing touching him now remembered, too . . .
that which was injured
in distress
you took away
/Yes. Yes. A living being. Harding was his name. You helped me, or the other helped me . . ./
yes, now we begin to recognize you . . .
and these others . . . ?
/My friends. All. We work together. Trying to help. Please, what is the purpose of the eruptions—?/
broken, broken, trying to correct . . .
error in previous contact
trying to correct
correct
Error in previous contact? With him? With the Neri? The Astari? Or—
/// The Astari ship.
The Maw caused it to crash,
and it wants to correct for it! ///
Bandicut's head swam. /Is that what you mean? Is that the error? The crash of the starship, all those years ago?/
correct error . . .
boost it through
Dizzily, Bandicut tried to follow the sea of information that was coalescing around him. The connection with the stardrive had caused disaster . . . but he already knew that, it was why the Astari were on this world, why the wrecked ship was there . . .
For an instant he glimpsed the stardrive-room of the Astari ship around him, and he blinked and tried to clear his eyes. But it was not his eyes; what he was seeing was the distorted space-time field of the stardrive; it was bound to the Maw, their alterations of the continuum interlaced and entwined, coiled around each other like a tangle of serpents. And it was wrong, it was an error; and the Maw was trying to untangle, to unsnake itself, to correct the error. But how could it correct an error that had already caused the ship to crash?
There was no explanation now, there was only awareness. Awareness of someone else, someone not here, and yet so close it seemed he might touch the other . . . and voices, familiar and unfamiliar . . . Astari voices . . .
"Do not . . . we fear what is in that room."
"I fear it, too . . . but something is in there, I can feel it pulling, something that needs to speak—"
"Leader, wait—"
But it was too late; he was already inside, and the field was coiled around him, and there was no turning back . . . exactly as Bandicut had felt it once before . . . happening all over . . .
/// It's not you, John!
It's not your memory.
Someone is in the stardrive . . . right now . . . ///
/Yes?/ he whispered dizzily. /But who? Morado?/ Drawn in by his stones, Harding's stones? /Why would the Maw want—?/
/// It's the connection between them.
It's still trying to pull the Astari ship through.
It's not letting go. ///
/But I don't—/
The words were swept away by the coiling strains of the field, and it felt much worse than when he had been in the stardrive room himself. He was helpless now in the movement of information and memory. Memory . . .
His breath went out as he caught a piece of memory. But whose, the stardrive's? No, not the stardrive's, the Maw's . . .
It moved through the infinity of space like a panther through woods, like salmon returning from the sea, in search of the connection it had been established to make, in search of its home. It lived for, was created for movement through the light-years. But not its own movement, not once it had found its nesting place; no, it was made to move others.
It was a stargate, a stationary portal through space-time; and it had been given existence, life, so that it might move vessels through the infinite sea of the galaxy and beyond. As soon as it found the place where it was to take up its station . . .
/Given existence, life,/ thought Bandicut. /Is it from Shipworld, is this thing from Shipworld?/
He felt a shudder, and a reply, from Charlie or from the stones, he couldn't tell which. No, no . . . not from Shipworld, or its hidden masters. Not from the translators. Then from whom? That was what the translators had wanted to know, too. Who had the power to make such things and send them out into the galaxy?
*The Others . . . as we suspected, feared . . .*
The Others—?
And what had gone wrong?
*
A burst of imagery flooded the connection, touching Bandicut and Ik and Morado and all who bore stones of knowing:
Streaming through space, using transformational powers from its own space-time fields, caroming from star to star, drawing energy from the stars and leaving them lifeless in its wake, shrunken and cool. (Stars supporting life? Ik cried in silent horror.) Pressing onward, ever onward toward its assignment, snaking outward through the galaxy (not from Shipworld, from another direction, whispered the quarx) . . . until a stellar encounter that was somehow misread, miscalculated, too many unexpectedly chaotic variables. Instead of providing the needed measure of energy, the star flared up in a nova, engulfing the passing stargate and nearly destroying it . . .
Damaged but still determined, limping onward, it realized the impossibility of reaching its assigned station. And so, equipped with a certain measure of self-determination, it began searching, probing for an alternate site, examining the space-time fabric of the surrounding region in hopes of finding a spot that would allow it to perform useful, if altered, service.
/Then why did you—and how—?/
What happened next was jumbled in memory. There was a malfunction in approaching the selected region. Incorrect data? Broken sensors? Unclear. It focused on a planet (Why? An anchor point? A nest?) and bent space to make an attachment to the gravity well of the planet, intending to spiral in and slowly devour the planet's mass for energy . . .
Miscalculation . . . malfunction . . . errors multiplied in the orbit, until finally it made a botched forced landing, coiling space inward and materializing once in the atmosphere (killing my ancestors, whispered L'Kell) and once again deep in the crust beneath the sea . . .
And then endless reverberations, seismic shockwaves, and a window opening out through the crust into the deep-sea abyss, from the bottom of the world looking up . . .