Chapter Thirty
Things were dark. Not simply the darkness of the night, or of a room with its lights switched off, this was a total and all eclipsing darkness. It was like Michael had been plunged deep beneath the earth, where no wisps of sunlight dared to enter. The last thing he remembered was being on the station, Orson and Brekt’s arms around him. The pain behind his eyes had built up until it was near unbearable. Then, the darkness.
The pain was done now, not even a dull pulse left in its wake. He could move, but without vision, he had no sense of where he was. For all Michael knew taking two steps forward could mean a plunge to his death. It dawned on him that he was standing. Something about waking up on his feet worried him, a nervous twisted knot forming in his gut. Michael reasoned that this must be what waking from sleepwalking felt like. He didn’t like it, this sickening feeling that he had been doing something unawares.
Slowly, and carefully, Michael edged his foot forward, arms outstretched before him. He immediately felt something cold and harsh beneath his fingers. The surface was slightly rough to the touch, like a painted iron fence. Michael moved his hands upwards, trying to find an edge to the surface. He stood on his tip-toes, stretching his arms as high as he could but could find no limit. He shuffled to the left and right, and again the wall seemed to carry on. Without being able to see it felt infinite, a barrier sealing him in some eternal prison.
There was a low groan, a slow-building rumble that steadily grew louder. As it did, light began to spill into the darkness. It crept towards Michael, revealing the chamber around him. The light was crimson, painting everything it touched in a vivid red. A section of the infinite wall was sliding open, a doorway to the beyond. Now he was able to see, the room was a lot smaller than Michael had expected, the darkness tricking all his senses.
The doorway was open now, waiting for him. Michael took a moment to take everything in. He checked his arms, his legs, examining himself as best he could. He hadn’t been injured. Something had happened on the station, that was for sure and Michael assumed he had simply fallen unconscious. He was still wearing his suit, but it seemed to be in perfect shape. Whoever had placed him in the room had taken the time to repair his clothes. Michael would have to thank them. He adjusted himself, puffing out his chest unnecessarily, and stepped through the doorway.
Beyond, was a simple corridor. It carried onwards for quite some distance, before ending in a solid wall. There were no doors along it, but Michael assumed he simply couldn’t see them, their edges flush with the metal. The walls of the corridor were like those of the room. Rough to the touch. He wondered what colour the metal was without the light. It was pouring from the ceiling, the red washing over everything. It reminded Michael of the darkroom a friend back on Earth had. He never understood the appeal, washing photographs in chemicals instead of just printing them off. Michael had never been artistic. Or sporty. Or anything much at all really, simply drifting through his life in a kind of malaise. He hated to admit it but leaving Earth had given him a reason for living he had no idea was missing.
“Hello?” There was no reply. He tried to run through the possibilities in his mind. He wasn’t on the Sword, that was for sure, and the stark architecture around him didn’t match the mercenary station. That place had been a mishmash of styles, the station repaired over centuries with whatever was at hand. The whole place had the same kind of vibe as a dive bar, slightly ratty with a thin layer of grime. He had no idea what the Council ships were like on the inside, but he doubted it was like this. They had an aggressive look to them, but were at least meant to be lived in.
Michael ran his hand along the wall as he walked. The metal made a faint scratching noise as he did. He wondered what the point was, covering the walls in a substance that clearly didn’t hold up. A lot of things didn’t make sense to Michael out beyond the Earth, so he just added this thought to his mental pile.
He had reached the end of the corridor now. The wall had responded, a door slowly opening in the same manner as the first. The light beyond was duller, its colour not as overpowering. Michael stepped through once the door was wide enough.
This chamber was massive, an enormous cavernous place. The lights here were scattered above like scarlet stars, casting their sinister glow onto the contents of the room.
It was not empty. Within the chamber was thousands of tubes, long slithering black things that snaked up to a central column, veins attached to a dark heart. Several places on the tubes were clear windows, the thick fluid within pulsing past in waves. Attached to the column, was a familiar shape. It beckoned to Michael, gesturing for him to come closer.
The figure had the same basic shape as the Custodian, though it was darker in colour, noticeable even though the lights made colours hard to ascertain. Most of its tentacles were tangled amongst the tubes and cables ran from the column into the back of its body. Even though it lacked eyes, Michael could feel it staring at him.
“Hello?” he said, stepping towards the machine.
“Integration complete. Moving to index memories,” the machine said.
“You’re not the Custodian, are you? You’re different, where am I?”
“Connection established. Shutting down foreign bodies. Completing remote indexing.”
“Can you hear me?”
The machine shifted on its tentacles, adjusting so it was closer to Michael.
“Acknowledging statement. Confirming statement audible.”
“So, yes?”
“Acknowledging statement.”
“Right,” Michael rubbed the sides of his head. His fingers felt cold, and he realised for the first time there was a chill in the air. He glanced around, trying to work out what exactly was going on. Scattered on the floor of the chamber were large pools filled with a thick liquid. Michael realised some of the pipes were emerging from these pools. “Where am I?”
“Responding to query. Preservation facility seventeen reporting fully operational. Life form recording and preservation proceeding as per operational standard.”
“Recording and preservation?”
“Acknowledging statement. Facility operating as directed.”
“That’s preserving things? Lifeforms? So, people?”
“Acknowled-”
“Yeah, I get it.” Michael could recognise the same kind of mannerisms that the Custodian had, though the machine he knew was much chattier. “Am I on Eden?”
“Answering query. Facility known to enquirer as Eden is facility twelve. Sixteen is not twelve.”
“Well, obviously. What am I doing here?”
“Answering query. Remote indexing complete. Mental state preserved. Physical form repurposed to facility purpose. Subject identified as descendant of facility constructor.”
Michael felt his stomach drop. He realised where he was. The place from his vision, that dark twisted world with its fields of canisters. He was there. The home of the Unmind.
“You. You’re the Unmind Index. You’re controlling the collectors, the ships, all the machines?”
“Submitting report. This facility has indexed and preserved one billion six hundred and thirty-two million seven hundred and twelve individual lifeforms. Preservation proceeding slower than projections. Currently increasing preservation unit numbers.”
“This is wrong. This is all wrong. Eden is different, it’s a world, a home. This is… disgusting. You’re not preserving things. You’re wiping them out!”
“Hypothesis rejected. Expected lifespan of indexed subjects indefinite.”
Michael began to pace back and forth. He didn’t know what else to do. He had no idea where his friends were. Had they been captured? Were they sealed in canisters or pumping through the pipes before him. Michael realised the pools were vast repositories of the biological slurry the Unmind used in its machines. The thought enraged him.