The Salvation of Life proved him right about that soon enough. After the search parties departed, Alik perceived the onemind’s orders without any need to concentrate on the disparate threads murmuring away in the back of his head. This requirement was clear and singular. Every ship in the hangar was ordered off the arkship. They were given a trajectory, and in each case it was one that sent them down into the huge star’s corona.
All the activity in the hangar had managed to sever half of the gossamer data threads that had been so carefully laid over many months. Thankfully, several had been laid over the roof, which gave them enough sensor clumps remaining to watch the enclave’s gateway approach.
It was a phantom sphere a hundred kilometres across, surrounded by a swarm of Resolution ships looping around it like electrons circling their nucleus. If it hadn’t been for them, he would never have known it existed. The silver light from the galactic core that shone so flamboyantly off their fuselages shimmered and twisted within the strange forces that defined the gateway’s boundary. It was a bubble of emptiness with a monochrome aurora that he couldn’t even be certain was there. But on the other side was the enclave: an area, or state, or realm – some otherplace – that the Neána said was a zone where time passed slowly. Je-zus,I hope to hell they weren’t lying about that.
Its existence generated a satisfaction within the Salvation’s onemind that grew in proportion to its approach.
‘Smug asshole,’ Alik said as he sat down on the stone ledge he’d claimed as his own.
The bridge enveloped him again. There were fewer data displays now, and the consoles were mostly blank shiny surfaces. Still got the goddamn blue trim, though.
He reviewed the sparse data quickly. The transmitter sphere’s telemetry was showing him it had used up more than eighty per cent of the active molecular blocks that comprised its thick fuselage, losing more than half of its original size.
The image coming from the transmitter’s sensors showed him the vast dodecahedrons washed in splendid silver corelight. The dishes were made up of hundred-kilometre hexagonal segments. He guessed they’d been mirror bright the day they were manufactured, same as human astroengineering structures. But centuries of exposure to space, and the star’s intense light, had abraded the surface down to a dull white, with a few polished streaks remaining on areas where shadows lingered. I wonder how long they’ve been here, listening for radio signals.
‘That’s got to be the worst bad luck in the universe,’ he said.
‘What is?’ Callum asked.
‘Being a species evolving on a star anywhere near here, the heart of the Olyix crusade. I mean, if you’re living on a planet out where Sol is, at least you’ve got a slight chance. The Neána warning you, time to build a few escape ships, come up with mad plans like ours. But here, it’s an instant response. One minute you’re lifting your head up above the parapet to glimpse the wonder of the universe, then – bam – the next thing you know you’re in a cocoon on board an arkship. You don’t stand a chance.’
‘Maybe this is where the Neána came from,’ Yuri said. ‘They were at the same stage as the Olyix technologically, just a couple of lightyears away, and saw what they were doing. They’re not warlike, so they ran, and swore to warn any species they could find.’
Jessika shrugged as they all looked at her. ‘Seriously, all of you. I. Do. Not. Know.’
‘Sorry,’ an abashed Callum muttered.
As the transmitter sphere drew closer to the radio telescope, Alik could make out flaws in the giant swathes of polished metal. The huge hexagonal segments were warped from thermal distortions so they no longer fitted together smoothly. Some had lifted; others had gently crinkled. Micrometeorites had punched small holes clean through, which had gone on to vacuum ablate, leaving the punctures with ragged edges, as if the surface was rotting like damp wood.
Alik waited while the onboard G8Turing steered the transmitter into position, thirteen hundred kilometres out from the centre and off to one side. Theoretically, from there, any electromagnetic emission would be reflected towards the section of space containing Sol, boosting the signal strength in that direction.
‘I don’t know about anyone else’s,’ he said, ‘but this radio telescope needs some serious maintenance.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Callum said. ‘Mine needs scrapping and replacing altogether. One dish has a hole the size of Loch Ness.’
‘This is good,’ Yuri said.
‘How?’ Alik asked.
‘It means there’s not much Olyix activity out here. All their ships are concentrated over in the ring and around the wormholes. It’ll take them time to fly anything out here when we trigger the transmitters.’
‘Mine’s almost in place,’ Kandara told them.
‘Jessika?’
‘Five minutes. The transmitter’s sensors haven’t found any ships out here.’
‘These telescopes are big bastards,’ Callum said. ‘We don’t know what’s in the middle of them. Something has to be watching the receivers.’
‘The lack of ships and the state of the dishes is promising,’ Yuri said. ‘We might get away with a full broadcast.’
‘Ninety minutes, if we’re lucky,’ Callum said. ‘But it’ll take a miracle for anyone to catch it.’
‘They’ll be watching,’ Kandara said. ‘They will.’
Ten minutes later, everyone was in position.
‘Salvation is going to go apeshit,’ Alik said happily.
‘I hope so,’ Yuri said. ‘Stand by.’
Alik checked the transmitter’s position for the last time as the timer counted down. On zero, he triggered the Signal.
The centre of each transmitter was a dense
