‘Perhaps,’ she said, doubtfully.
‘This mind—’
‘It’s male,’ Weather said. ‘I can’t tell you his name, any more than I could tell you mine. But I can read his public memories well enough. He was fifteen when his enshrinement began. Barely a man at all. He’s been inside this engine for twenty-two years of shiptime; nearly sixty-eight years of worldtime.’
‘And this is how he’ll spend the rest of his life?’
‘Until he wearies of it, or some accident befalls this ship. Periodically, as now, Conjoiners may make contact with the enshrined mind. If they determine that the mind wishes to retire, they may effect a replacement, or decommission the entire engine.’
‘And then what?’
‘His choice. He could return to full embodiment, but that would mean losing hundreds of grams of neural support machinery. Some are prepared to make that adjustment; not all are willing. His other option would be to return to one of our nests and remain in essentially this form, but without the necessity of running a drive. He would not be alone in doing so.’
I realised, belatedly, where all this was heading. ‘You say he’s under a heavy burden now.’
‘Yes. The degree of concentration is quite intense. He can barely spare any resources for what we might call normal thought. He’s in a state of permanent unconscious flow, like someone engaged in an enormously challenging game. But now the game has begun to get the better of him. It isn’t fun any more. And yet he knows the cost of failure.’
‘But you can help him.’
‘I won’t pretend that my abilities are more than a shadow of his. Still, I did make it part of the way. I can’t take all the strain off him, but I can give him free access to my mind. The additional processing resources — coupled with my own limited abilities — may make enough of a difference.’
‘For what?’
‘For you to get wherever it is you are going. I believe that with our minds meshed together, and dedicated to this one task, we may be able to return the engines to something like normal efficiency. I can’t make any promises, though. The proof of the pudding…’
I looked at the pudding-like mass of neural tissue and asked the question I was dreading. ‘What happens to you, while all this is happening? If he’s barely conscious—’
‘The same would apply, I’m afraid. As far as the external world is concerned, I’ll be in a state of coma. If I’m to make any difference, I’ll have to hand over all available neural resources.’
‘But you’ll be helpless. How long would you last, sitting in a coma?’
‘That isn’t an issue. I’ve already sent a command to this engine to form the necessary life-support machinery. It should be ready any moment now, as it happens.’ Weather glanced down at the floor between us. ‘I’d take a step back if I were you, Inigo.’
I did as she suggested. The flat red floor buckled upwards, shaping itself into the seamless form of a moulded couch. Without any ceremony, Weather climbed onto the couch and lay down as if for sleep.
‘There isn’t any point delaying things,’ she said. ‘My mind is made up, and the sooner we’re on our way, the better. We can’t be sure that there aren’t other brigands within attack range.’
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘This is all happening too quickly. I thought we were coming down here to look at the situation, to talk about the possibilities.’
‘We’ve already talked about them, Inigo. They boil down to this: either I help the boy, or we drift hopelessly.’
‘But you can’t just… do this.’
Even as I spoke, the couch appeared to consolidate its hold on Weather. Red material flowed around her body, hardening over her into a semitranslucent shell. Only her face and lower arms remained visible, surrounded by a thick red collar that threatened to squeeze shut at any moment.
‘It won’t be so bad,’ she said. ‘As I said, I won’t have much room left for consciousness. I won’t be bored, that’s for sure. It’ll be more like one very long dream. Someone else’s dream, certainly, but I don’t doubt that there’ll be a certain rapturous quality to it. I remember how good it felt to find an elegant solution, when the parameters looked so unpromising. Like making the most beautiful music imaginable. I don’t think anyone can really know how that feels unless they’ve also held some of that fire in their minds. It’s ecstasy, Inigo, when it goes right.’
‘And when it goes wrong?’
‘When it goes wrong, you don’t get much time to explore how it feels.’ Weather shut her eyes again, like a person lapsing into microsleep. ‘I’m lowering blockades, allowing the boy to co-opt my own resources. He’s wary. Not because he doesn’t trust me, but because he can barely manage his own processing tasks, without adding the temporary complexity of farming some of them out to me. The transition will be difficult… ah, here it comes. He’s using me, Inigo. He’s accepting my help.’ Despite being almost totally enclosed in the shell of red matter, Weather’s whole body convulsed. Her voice, when she spoke again, sounded strained. ‘It’s difficult. So much more difficult than I thought it would be. This poor mind… he’s had so much to do on his own. A lesser spirit would already have buckled. He’s shown heroic dedication… I wish the nest could know how well he has done.’ She clamped her teeth together and convulsed again, harder this time. ‘He’s taking more of me. Eagerly now. Knows I’ve come to help. The sense of relief… the strain being lifted… I can’t comprehend how he lasted until now. I’m sorry, Inigo. Soon there isn’t going to be much of me left to talk to you.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Yes. I think so. Perhaps between the two of us—’ Her jaws cracked together, teeth cutting her tongue. ‘Not going to be easy, but… losing more of me now. Language going. Don’t need now.’
‘Weather, don’t go.’
‘Can’t stay. Got to go. Only way. Inigo, make promise. Make promise fast.’
‘Say it. Whatever it is.’
‘When we get… when we—’ Her face was contorted with the strain of trying to make herself understood.
‘When we arrive,’ I said.
She nodded so hard I thought her neck was going to break. ‘Yes. Arrive. You get help. Find others.’
‘Other Conjoiners?’
‘Yes. Bring them. Bring them in ship. Tell them. Tell them and make them help.’
‘I will. I swear on it.’
‘Going now. Inigo. One last thing.’
‘Yes. Whatever it is.’
‘Hold hand.’
I reached out and took her hand, in my good one.
‘No,’ Weather said. ‘Other.
I let go, then took her hand in my metal one, closing my fingers as tightly as I dared without risking hers. Then I leaned down, bringing my face close to hers.
‘Weather, I think I love you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll find those Conjoiners. That’s a promise.’
‘Love a Spider?’ she asked.
‘Yes. If this is what it takes.’
‘Silly… human… boy.’
She pulled my hand, with more strength than I thought she had left in her. She tugged it down into the surface of the couch until it lapped around my wrist, warm as blood. I felt something happening to my hand, a crawling itch like pins and needles. I kissed Weather. Her lips were fever-warm. She nodded and then allowed me to withdraw my hand.
‘Go now,’ she said.
The red material of the couch flowed over Weather completely, covering her hands and face until all that remained was a vague, mummy-like form.
I knew then that I would not see her again for a very long time. For a moment I stood still, paralysed by what had happened. Even then I could feel my weight increasing. Whatever Weather and the boy were doing between them, it was having some effect on the engine output. My weight climbed smoothly, until I was certain we
