‘Nice work,’ came Jed Goran’s voice. ‘Let’s see if I can do as well. Delta-bands on, everyone.’
In the passenger hold, someone had already put a band on Alisha’s forehead and activated it. The three troopers had their own bands fastened; one of them held out a band to Roger.
‘I don’t really need it,’ Roger said.
‘Oh. Er . . . Right.’
The troopers lay down on couches - there were plenty to spare - and pressed thumbs to delta-bands, sending themselves to sleep. The hull had already flowed shut, intact once more.
‘You can come forward.’
‘Thank you, Pilot.’
‘Call me Jed.’
‘I’m Roger.’
‘That, I already know.’
‘How—?’
‘Let’s leave it till later.’
Transit.
Golden light was all around as Roger made his way forward, knowing nothing could touch them here, for this was home where everything would be all right, now and always.
Mu-space.
Four thousand seven hundred and seventy-three ships burst into realspace over Fulgor. Two hours and thirteen minutes had elapsed since the fall of Skein; millions of ordinary Fulgidi had poured out of the cities and into the countryside. In the hypozone, tribes of Shadow People had either set up armed perimeters or welcomed refugees, depending on how the clans voted.
One Pilot, Davey Golwyn, took double the capacity his ship was rated for, risking his life to take an entire small clan on board, along with their cats. A few Pilots had to persuade people to come on board, while in dozens of sites, adults pushed their children on board while remaining to fight off the enemy, whatever it was.
Two ships hovering over Lucis City were taken down by quickglass tendrils snapped around by moving towers. One blasted clear, amid shrivelling, melting quickglass; the other blew itself up. Another ship was destroyed outside Sylbam Minor on the south coast, as it hovered in place to lay down covering fire while refugees streamed from the rampaging city.
Five ships numbered Luculenti among their passengers. In every case, tiny pinpoint grasers inside their passenger holds picked out the former elite and killed them. Whether the dead had been infected by vampire code was not always possible to tell; regardless, they died, and Pilots conscripted passengers to throw the bodies out through hatches, before they would depart from Fulgor.
Among the planet’s inhabitants were a hundred thousand tales of selfless courage and sacrifice that would never be recorded; while others scrabbled at any chance, at any shameful cost, to get on board one of the too-few vessels attempting to spirit an entire planet’s population away from danger.
Young Davey Golwyn took his ship down to land seven times, daring more than most. On the last landing, as the crush of people pressed against each other outside, one man on the ground stared up, and seemed to stare straight at Davey, despite the solid hull that separated them.
Then the man’s eyes glowed an odd sapphire blue.
‘Bug out,’ Davey sent. Every ship was linked to every other ship, awaiting this signal. ‘It’s taking down ordinary people. Bug out now.’
He flung his ship upwards; and so did every other Pilot. Three Pilots observed passengers undergoing the same transition, transforming into components of the entity below. Two made the jump into mu-space, then calmly went back to the holds and ejected the passengers into the hearts of stars; the third Pilot flew straight into Fulgor’s sun.
The remainder of the flight streamed upwards into orbit. A multi-hued cloud of shining vessels, they moved farther away, checking and rechecking among themselves. No infection. They accelerated, still in realspace, lengthening the separation from Fulgor, passing the limit to Calabi-Yau transportation of energy, at least to the extent they understood Zajinet technology, taking themselves beyond the entity’s reach.
Every human passenger seemed clear; and finally, every one of them was in delta-coma.
A final check confirmed that the remaining four thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight Pilots were as normal, unaffected by the entity engulfing Fulgor. What percentage of the planet’s population they had managed to save, they were not yet sure. Their first job was to get home - home for the Pilots, not their passengers, who would need to remain in coma for however long they remained in mu-space.
One by one, the ships left the realspace universe.
In golden mu-space, some of the rescue vessels took near-hellflight geodesics back to Labyrinth; but most of the fleet soared at a gentler pace, their mission accomplished, as much as anyone could have hoped for.
At one level, there was no hurry. For the event that was to unite them in Labyrinth, to commemorate the evacuation of Fulgor, would not take place until the fleet’s return, whenever that was. The ceremony would be a reminder of victory in sacrifice, of the extent to which a single Pilot could make a difference, a celebration of what Pilotkind could achieve when united.
Carl Blackstone’s funeral was to be an affair of state.
FIFTY-ONE
EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2147 AD
Their fur smelled musty. All around Rekka stood a phalanx of muscular males, dressed in the white-and-gold of city guards in full ceremonial gear. She was hidden from general view by awnings, and her alien scent was absorbed by hangings of porous fibre. But she could see the stadium below, while holo views from her beeswarm hung over the infostrand on her wrist.
Banners of scarlet and gold, set all around the stadium, cracked in the breeze. On white stone terraces, row upon row of Elders sat, with much variety in their fur coloration - they had travelled far, some from other continents - but almost all with stately antlers. There were seats for the general public, too - all of them high up, but already filled. Outside, great crowds thronged the streets. They, like the folk inside the stadium, held small flat crystal rectangles, handed out by the city proctors.
The sights were stunning for Rekka; for the locals, the scents must be overwhelming.
From one entrance, sweet-scented carpet (she knew from her bees’ analysis) led across the open area to the white throne forming the place of honour. Excitement swirled through the air, strong enough for Rekka to smell. Then something moved in the entranceway.
It was a bronze cart drawn by maidens. Inside, two adults and a young female sat, looking around in what Rekka read as bewilderment. The cart halted, and gloved attendants helped the three special guests dismount, and led them to a nearby bench of marble. They sat and looked around, while the maidens took the cart away.
Now the tension was ozone-sharp in Rekka’s nostrils.
Finally, proctors and bannermen marched into the stadium in twin columns, preceding the person in whose honour the proceedings had been arranged. Rekka’s vision blurred. Today was so important for her friend and his family.
Sharp entered, his eyes wide but his gait steady, his antlers level as he walked, his fear hidden from all but those who loved him.
As the proceedings began, Sharp took in the scents, nodding to Father. There would be no mention of the family shame; and after today, their name would be honoured. For Sharp had brought back knowledge of another world, and more.
A Chief Librarian held up a device, like the one he had worn around his chest for so long, and Sharp controlled himself before emitting the rehearsed scents.
~I have visited a city beyond the sky, and returned to tell you of it.
The crystal plates, held by every member of the vast crowd, reproduced his fragrant message, and embellished it with the visual script, known only by the Librarians’ caste until now.
~I have so much to share with you.
He looked up at the beeswarm, and bowed in the direction of the awnings that hid Rekka, though he could neither see nor smell her from here. All around was a multitude of people that he could never have imagined gathered in one place, and certainly not because of him.