Look to Windward

about.

And so he thought of the long avenue at Old Briri in the fall, the way she scuffed through the amber drifts of fallen leaves, kicking golden explosions of leaves into the air. He thought of their marriage ceremony, in the gardens of her parents’ estate, with the oval bridge reflected in the lake. As they’d made their vows a wind out of the hills had ruffled the reflection and taken it away, snapping at the awning above them, blowing off hats and making the priest clutch at her robes, but the same strong, spring-scented breeze had stroked the tops of the veil trees and sent a shimmering white cloud of blossom falling around them, like snow.

A few of the petals were still resting on her fur and eyelashes at the end of the service when he turned to her, removed his own ceremonial muzzle and hers, and kissed her. Their friends and family hurrahed; hats were thrown into the air and some were caught by another gust of wind, to land in the lake and sail off across the little waves like a dainty flotilla of brightly coloured boats.

He thought again of her face, her voice, those last few moments. Live for me, he had said, and made her promise. How could they have known it would be a promise she could never keep, and he would still live to remember?

Huyler’s voice broke in. ~ Done your thinking, Major?

~ Yes, sir. Did you catch anything?

~ No. Just physiological stuff. Looks like we’ve still got some degree of privacy. Oh; the machine says it’s finished.

Quilan looked at the drone, which had arrived at the far end of the spoon of floor. ~ What does it… Look, Huyler, can I talk to that thing directly?

~ I think I can set that up, now it’s finished. I’ll still be able to hear though.

~ I don’t mind, I just…

~ There. Try that.

~ Machine? Drone?

~ Yes, Major Quilan.

~ Are there any other personality constructs in here, anywhere within the hull?

~ No. Only the one I was tasked with discovering earlier which now shares co-ordinates with yourself, that of Admiral-General Huyler.

~ Are you sure? he asked, wondering if any hint of his hope and despair could colour his communicated words.

~ Yes.

~ What about within the fabric of the hull material itself?

~ That is not relevant.

~ Have you scanned it?

~ I cannot. It is not open to my sensors.

The machine was merely clever, not sentient. It would probably not have been able to recognise the emotions behind his words anyway, even if they had been communicated.

~ Are you absolutely certain? Have you scanned everything?

~ I am certain. Yes. The only three personalities present within the ship’s hull in any form appreciable to my senses are: you, the personality through which I am communicating to you, and my own.

He looked down at the sworl of floor between his feet. So there was no hope. ~ I see, he thought. ~ Thank you.

~ You are welcome.

Gone. Gone utterly and forever. Gone in a way that was new, bereft of the comforts of ignorance, and without appeal. Before, we believed that the soul might be saved. Now our technology, our better understanding of the universe and our vanguard in the beyond, has robbed us of our unreal hopes and replaced them with its own rules and regulations, its own algebra of salvation and continuance. It has given us a glimpse of heaven, and made more intense the reality of our despair when we know that truly it exists and that those we love will never be found there.

He switched on his communicator. There was a message waiting: THEY’RE HERE, said the letters on the suit’s little screen. It was timed eleven minutes earlier. A lot more time had passed than he’d have estimated.

~ Looks like our ride’s arrived.

~ Yes. I’ll let them know we’re ready.

~ You do that, Major.

“Major Quilan here,” he transmitted. “I understand our guests have arrived.”

“Major.” It was the voice of mission CO, Colonel Ustremi. “Everything all right in there?”

“Everything is fine, sir.” He looked across the glassy floor and around the huge empty space. “Just fine.”

“Did you find what you were looking for, Quil?”

“No, sir. I did not find what I wanted.”

“I’m sorry, Quil.”

“Thank you, sir. You can open the hatchway again. The machine’s finished its work. Let the techs see what else they can find by just digging.”

“Opening now. One of our guests wants to come and say hello.”

“In here?” he said, watching the tiny cone in the ship’s bow hinge away.

“Yes. That okay with you?”

“I suppose.” Quil looked back at the drone, which was hovering where it had completed its search. “Tell your machine to switch itself off first, will you?”

“Done.”

The Navy drone settled to the floor.

“Okay, send them in when they’re ready.”

The figure appeared in the blackness of the removed hatchway. It looked human and yet could not be; one of them would have been no more able to survive in the vacuum without a suit than he was.

Quilan upped the magnification on the visor, zooming in as the creature began to walk down the slope of the hull’s interior. The biped had what looked like jet black skin and its clothing was shiny grey. It looked very thin but then they all did. Its feet met the flat surface he was already standing on and brought it closer. It swung its arms as it walked.

~ They’d look like prey if there was just more eating on them.

He didn’t reply. The zoomed window in the visor kept the creature at the same magnification until the distinction between the window and the rest of the view disappeared. The thing’s face was narrow and pointed, its nose thin and sharp, and the eyes set in the night-black face were small and vividly blue surrounded by white.

~ Shit. They don’t look any more appetising closer up.

“Major Quilan?” the creature said. The skin above its eyes moved when it spoke to him, but not its mouth.

“Yes,” he said.

“How do you do. I am the avatar of the Rapid Offensive Unit Nuisance Value. Pleased to meet you. I’ve come to take you on the first leg of your trip to Masaq’ Orbital.”

“I see.”

~ Quick suggestion; ask how to address it.

“Do you have a name, or rank? What should I call you?”

“I am the ship,” it said, raising and dropping its narrow shoulders. “Call me Nuisance, if you like.” Its mouth twisted up at the edges. “Or Avatar, or just Ship.”

~ Or just abomination.

“Very well, Ship.”

“Okay.” It held up its hands. “I just wanted to say hello personally. We’ll be waiting for you. Let us know when you’re ready to go.” It let its gaze arc up and around. “They said it was all right to come in here. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I had finished in here. I was looking for something but I didn’t find it.”

“I’m sorry.”