Kara sat in the control room wearing the plait of hair around her ring finger.
She could feel Tatia’s presence, stronger than ever. But where? Despondency sidled into her mind. Netherspace wasn’t a specific place. No up, no down, no sideways. No shape. No yesterday or tomorrow, only now. And yet, Kara thought, aware of Marc trying not to look too hopeful, and yet there are sequences in netherspace. She’d seen a SUT murdered. Cause and effect, people dying. Marc had been on a netherspace journey, visiting/being shown one alien race after another – and what was that all about?
Think, Kara, silly bitch, think! She rarely if ever swore at herself. This was as good a time as any. She scratched her neck and thought.
So, maybe no-time in netherspace. Maybe time is how humans experience it, because otherwise we go mad? Because puny little human brains don’t have the capacity to perceive n-space as it really is?
And when you don’t have the maths to understand, or the understanding even if you did, all you have is instinct.
“Hull translucent,” Kara ordered. “Six minutes duration max.”
That familiar rainbow maelstrom filled her eyes, tugging at her sanity.
Think trails, she thought. Think of a ship’s wake. Heat signature on the ground long after a vehicle has left, only shown by infra-red. Think of a field, green, perfect, but aerial photos show the white lines of ditches, foundations that vanished hundreds of years ago. Think of cats and dogs finding their way home. Swallows migrating.
There. An area more... more relevant than... than not... an area strong with the sense of Tatia Nerein. Tatia Greenaway. Anson’s daughter. Oh god, I fucked the family. Doesn’t matter, irrelevant. I can point from here, but what does that mean?
“Solid hull.”
Sanity returned.
“You got something?” Marc asked. His eyes glowed from the last few minutes, whirlpools of colour around a jet black core.
Kara nodded. “A trace, a direction. Wait one, Marc.”
> If have a direction can you follow it?
< If it’s strong enough I can read it from your mind.
> Then what?
< Estimate new co-ordinates. What human navigators used to call dead reckoning. Have to check every now and then.
> Let’s try.
She found the trail again and concentrated.
< Too weak. Sorry.
Tried again.
< If I explained what’s not happening...
> Will I understand?
< Probably not. It’s the ship’s hull. Somehow diffusing this signal, trail.
> If there wasn’t one? Crazy stupid, but so what.
< You’d do that?
Well, of course she would. Tatia was her people. Tatia was coming home.
> Will you be okay? Not go squirly?
< Long as Marc keeps those things away. And you, Kara. No more than nine minutes at a time.
She explained to Marc what they were going to do, expecting disbelief. Instead he said yes, it made sense. Once you stopped comparing netherspace to normal space, you realised that anything could happen, everything was true.
“Finally, we get to use our talents, together,” he said.
Kara glanced at him, suspecting sarcasm. She saw only a rueful understanding. “You really think?”
“Everyone says how important we are together. When our special skills come into play. So my job is to keep the locals happy?”
“Like you did before.”
“Should be okay.” Marc wore a casual, done-this-before face.
Kara looked at him as if he was an errant child. “Want a little more than should, okay?”
“I’m not a complete expert...”
“Just a complete idiot. I know there’s a risk, nothing certain. What I need from you is rah, rah of course it’ll all be wonderful. And you also need to hear it. From yourself. Like you’re trying to make art and it’s not working so you boost yourself, do you see? Can you do that?”
“We’ll kill the bastards!”
“Mean it?”
Marc found that he did. “But if a really bad one shows up,” he said, “we get back inside, no argument.”
< You listen to him, Kara. No heroics, okay? You both wear suits, I don’t care if Marc can live in n-space. We might suddenly have to leave it. And you’re both on safety lines all the time. Tell Marc.
She did.
“Space suits? Safety line?”
“In case we have to quit n-space in a hurry. This no sightseeing opportunity, Marc. Okay?”
They walked to the airlock in silence.
Two embryonic suits hung from the ceiling. One marked Captain Keislack, the other Major Jones.
< Consider it formal wear. You need to strip to undergarments.
Kara stared at the globe helmet and bulky collar. She’d never worn a suit before. This was no time to learn. Then the simulity training cut in and she relaxed. Stripped to her body stocking, put on the helmet and stood with her arms akimbo and legs slightly apart. The suit unrolled itself from the base, as if a very dense liquid, and covered her body. She lifted a left foot. The material became a boot, same for her right.
Ishmael anticipated and answered her questions. The suit was made of a smart liquid material developed – for once by humans – in the Wild. Once she was covered, it would become rigid enough to maintain its form, while allowing her complete freedom to move. Excess heat and moisture became part of the air re-breathing system, which also used her exhaled breath. Once she attached the compressed oxygen cylinder (good for six hours), her work belt and clipped on the lifeline, Kara would be ready. Communication with the SUT would normally be AI to AI, but no point because with Salome’s demise Ishmael would be talking to himself. And since little Pablo was also dead, Kara and Marc would communicate via intercom.
> One question. How do I get out of the suit? Clap my heels three times?
< You wouldn’t like Kansas. Simply ask. I’ll do it.
Did Ishmael knowing about the Wizard of Oz make him more trustworthy? Did she have any choice? A few metres away Marc was also covered in a suit. He looked annoyed. And also like those
