He closed his eyes against the disorienting view, and once again the Saints’ small ship exploded, enveloped by a dazzling nuclear plasmasphere. Glowing wreckage hurtled across the big structures orbiting an alien star. The loss of the Avenging Heretic electrocuted his soul.
Yirella’s arm closed him as he swayed, beer slopping out over his hand.
‘Del!’
‘I’m fine,’ he protested. ‘Just dizzy.’ He pointed an accusing finger at the stars as they tracked around the endcap. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Haven’t you been in the habitats?’ Alexandre asked in surprise.
‘Not much. And not at night.’
‘Where are you two living?’
‘We have quarters in the Morgan,’ Yirella said.
‘I see.’
‘That sounds disapproving,’ Dellian said. ‘I’m a serving officer. We have to be ready.’
Alexandre put hir hand on Dellian’s shoulder. ‘I know. And believe me, we’re all grateful for your service.’
‘Much use it does. We’re alone, the exodus plan has failed, and the Saints are dead.’
‘My dear Dellian, you have to stop this. We’re alive, the Morgan rescued a quarter of a million people, and we’re going to start the real fight soon.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’ Dellian hung his head, ashamed not for what he’d said but for allowing the bleakness to creep up on him again. Since the Strike, he spent half the time thinking that the Olyix neurovirus was still in his brain – a depression worming its way insidiously through his thoughts, corrupting his outlook. Before, he had looked at everything with optimism, knowing the Strike was going to work, that he’d live to see the inside of the Olyix enclave. Now he didn’t even understand why he used to think like that.
‘Look,’ Yirella said, a little too quickly. ‘In a couple of days, Kenelm’s going to have the FinalStrike proposal council meeting. That’s a huge statement of confidence in itself, of how we move on from here. Whatever we decide, this will mark the start of our resurgence.’
‘Damn Saints it does,’ Dellian confirmed. He tried to sound convincing. Supportive, even. But . . . Another meeting, more sitting around a table talking about things they might do. People supporting proposals, people arguing against, deals being made between factions. He truly hated this part of life after the Vayan ambush. There was no solid goal any more – nothing he could grab hold of and dedicate himself to. Nothing to keep his mind off what had happened. So instead he was free to worry. Not a good thing in a squad leader.
‘An important moment for everyone,’ Alexandre said.
‘I’m worried people will want to take the Neána option and hide,’ Yirella said.
‘Many will,’ sie agreed. ‘Among my Calibar compatriots, anyway. But not all. Anger and fear make for an unpredictable combination. Revenge isn’t necessarily a good motivator, but it certainly helps recruit waverers.’
‘Maybe. I think the meeting will be more symbolic than anything else. But you’ll come, won’t you?’
‘Try and stop me.’
*
Yirella waited until Del fell asleep, then another half-hour beyond. He didn’t sleep well these days – not that she was much better. She knew he kept having nightmares of the Avenging Heretic exploding, tormented by the question of whether he was truly cured or if the Olyix neurovirus was simply hiding in the caverns of his mind, biding its time. He no longer trusted himself, which was savaging his self-confidence.
While she . . . The bleak despair was returning – the one that had broken her before, a sense of the utter futility which their lives had become. She’d never truly beaten it, but being with Del had kept it in abeyance. Yet now that particular version of Del had vanished, claimed by the neurovirus, and the darkness was threatening to close in on her once more.
Her optik displayed the white icon, and she opened it.
‘Good party?’ Ainsley asked.
‘Okay, I guess.’
‘You’re picking up my speech patterns.’
‘When in Rome . . .’
‘Oh, sweetheart, Rome is so far away now – and not just in space.’
‘We’ll rebuild it when we return to Earth.’
‘Really? The Colosseum? You’ll build a ruin?’
‘Why are you always such a contrarian? Novus Rome will be a memorial to the past. Obviously.’
‘Novus, huh? Smartass.’
‘I wish. I still hate the paradox.’
‘Not this again.’
‘This all the time.’
‘Look, it’s just superficial logic.’
‘No, if we’re right about what you found in the onemind’s memory, something sent the Olyix a tachyon message from the future, and they built their whole insane crusade around it. If we win, if we exterminate the Olyix, then the God at the End of Time will know it, because the Olyix won’t be there delivering all the elevated species as requested.’
‘. . . so it won’t bother sending the message to them from up there in the future in the first place. Or it sends them another message warning them about our attack plans. Yeah, I get that.’
‘We didn’t know the message was real. We always assumed it was some kind of religious bullshit, just like we used to have back on Earth.’
‘Are you becoming a believer, Yirella?’
‘Belief implies faith. That I don’t have, not in mythology. But a tachyon message from the future? It makes you focus on what’s real. The human race is now down to three tiny habitats adrift in a smallish galaxy that’s lost in a vast universe. So vast that our animal brains can’t even “get” how big it is. The best I can do is know that I don’t “get” it.’
‘You guys really worship bleak, don’t you? So what? The size of the universe is an abstract. It doesn’t change the threat we’re facing.’
‘Maybe not, but it undermines the threat. You realize how irrelevant everything is. So why fight? The Neána have a point; we should just slip into the dark and party away. Enjoy ourselves before the end comes crashing down.’
‘For fuck’s sake, get a grip! You were supposed to be working through options for us. I’m depending on you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s just
