‘You feel you are right?’ the onemind enquired critically. ‘Do you suffer neurological distort? Have you been subject to a Neána neurovirus?’
‘No! I remain pure now and always. Such a minor discourse fail is due to residual human emulation routines. I am the best infiltration asset on Earth. This has been proved to you over the multiple assignments I undertook on Earth and the other human star systems.’
‘I concede your efficiency claim, despite Verby.’
‘We now know our sabotage mission against the Delta Pavonis astroengineering facilities was exposed by the Neána metahuman, Jessika Mye. That was an external factor.’
‘Agreed. However, such infiltration assignments are drawing to a close. Earth’s city shields are falling at an accelerated rate. Our final success draws close. You will be reallocated to shipboard duties. Together we will maintain the gift of humans in sanctified equilibrium until we present them to the God at the End of Time.’
‘I am grateful for this chance to serve the God at the End of Time.’
‘I will authorize a convener to form a replacement quint body for you. You will be whole again.’
‘That will be welcome.’
‘Ongoing: ensure there are no further residual human emulation thoughts within your mindfunction.’
‘There will be none.’
FinalStrike Mission
Flight Year 7
When he woke, Dellian’s body was sluggish, his thoughts slow. He wanted to go back to the comfort of sleep with all its agreeable dreams – dreams that were now scudding away like clouds over the horizon. But no, that wasn’t allowed. His blood was speeding up as various umbilical tubes retracted from their abdominal sockets. Sensation of pressure draining from his skin. Individual muscles began to register their aches, tingling ferociously. And as for the taste in his mouth . . .
He grimaced and tried to sit up. The suspension chamber’s ribbed cushioning obediently rose to support his back. Nothing it could do about the churning sensation in his stomach – a churning that was rapidly growing in potency. Even now, with all their society’s knowledge of genetics and human biology, the body still remained obstinately idiosyncratic. You just couldn’t switch it on and off for convenience when you were on massive interstellar voyages.
‘Saints!’
He vomited weakly, the liquid mixing with the slops of clear gel that still clung to his skin. A flock of beetle-sized remotes skittered over his chest and arms, cleaning him up. The sickness triggered a headache, which his boost glands responded to by releasing a mild sedative. That just turned his head fluffy.
The light on the outside of the transparent casing grew brighter. He saw Ovan looking down at him, a sympathetic expression on his face as the casing slid down. ‘Take it easy, remember?’
‘Right,’ he moaned and held up an arm. The beetle-things retreated from his skin.
Ovan grabbed his hand and helped ease him out.
The motion set his inner ears spinning. He sat on the edge of the chamber until his senses settled.
‘Shower first?’ Ovan asked.
‘Pee!’ He knew that was psychological; the waste tubes would have taken care of his bladder. But, still, when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. Leaning on Ovan, the two of them made their way across the compartment to the washrooms. He saw Yirella was still in her suspension chamber. All the monitor displays were in the green. That made him feel a whole lot better.
The shower finished his transformation into something living. He had to sit down for it, letting the soapy water soothe away imagined cold from his bones along with the last of the gel. He managed to walk over to the dryer hoop without help. The warm air jetted over him as the hoop tracked around, and he brought his databud out of standby mode. Reading the optik display made him slap the hoop’s off button. ‘What’s happened? We’re only seven years out. Our watch was scheduled for year nine.’
‘The Mian’s drive efficiency was falling. Cinrea was watch captain when the problem started, so sie made the decision to decelerate the fleet. That was a year ago.’
‘Decelerate? You mean we’re not relativistic?’
‘No. We’re at effective rest velocity in interstellar space. Have been for five weeks.’
Dellian started the hoop again, taking his time. Ovan brought him a pack with newly printed clothes in it.
‘So what are we doing, waiting for the repairs?’
‘That’s almost finished now. The physicists traced the fault to a manufacturing problem in a component batch. Cinrea’s ordered every ship to run a complete check on their drive units.’
Dellian pulled his trousers up, disheartened to find the waist was too big.
‘Sorry,’ Ovan said. ‘I didn’t think; I just used your file. We all lost weight in suspension.’
‘I probably needed to.’
‘None of us did. At least I’ve put it back on now. It took me a few weeks, mind. And the suspension systems don’t completely halt muscle atrophy, either, so you need to watch for that. You’re not as strong as you were.’
‘So how long have you been out?’
‘Nearly two years. I was on the same watch detail as Cinrea. As you and I know each other, I was designated your recovery buddy.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So you can do the same for Yirella. Cinrea’s ordered Kenelm to be woken, too, along with all the advisory council.’
‘Why? I thought you said the drive was repaired.’
‘Because we detected a Signal.’
‘No, you didn’t. You can’t have. The Saints are dead. And anyway, we’re too far from the enclave to pick up a Signal even if they broadcast it before the Olyix caught them.’
‘Dellian, it didn’t come from the Olyix enclave.’
*
There was something about the Morgan simply hanging stationary between stars that unnerved Dellian at a fundamental level. Flying at close to lightspeed was the ship’s own protection, making it phenomenally difficult for the Olyix even to detect – let alone intercept – them. But this – floating inert in the near-absolute darkness of space with no emergency evacuation portal connecting them anywhere – was creepy. He felt extremely vulnerable.
Unsurprisingly, Yirella wasn’t terribly sympathetic.
‘That makes no sense at all,’ she told him their
