Electron gas crackled explosively around her limbs. She squirted clumsily across the tree-scape, branches and leaves battering at her skin.
She grabbed at the trees with her gloved hands, dragging herself to a halt.
She looked down at the suit, trembling afresh. It was as if the Magfield had picked her up and hurled her through the Air.
Such power.
She pushed down from the trees and out into the clear Air. She tried again — but much more cautiously this time, with barely a flex of her legs. She jolted upwards through a few mansheights: still jarringly quickly, but this time under reasonable control.
She Waved again, moving in an awkward circle.
It ought to be simple enough to master, she told herself. After all, she was just Waving, as she had done from the moment she’d popped from her mother’s womb. Waving meant dragging limbs — which were electrically charged — across the Magfield. The Star’s powerful magnetic field induced electric currents in the limbs, which in turn pushed back at the Magfield.
Some part of this suit — perhaps the silver-gleaming inlays — must be a much better conductor than human flesh and bone. And so the Magfield’s push was so much greater. It was just a question of getting the feel of it.
She leaned back against the Magfield and thrust gently with her legs. Gradually she learned to build up the tempo of this assisted Waving, and wisps of electron gas curled about her thighs. The secret was not strength, really, but gentleness, suppleness, a sensitivity to the soft resistance of the Magfield.
The suit carried her gracefully, effortlessly, across the flux lines.
She sailed across the sky. The suit felt natural about her body, as if it had always been there — and she suspected that a small, inner part of her would always cling to the memory of this experience, utterly addicted…
The Hero’s face ballooned up before her. She cried out. He grinned through the faceplate at her, the age-lines around his eyecups deep and shadowed. He grabbed her shoulders; she could feel his bony fingers dig into her flesh through the suit fabric.
“I came up under you,” he said, his voice harsh. “I knew you couldn’t see me. That damn helmet must be cutting off half your field of view.”
Fright passed, and anger came to her. She raised her gloved hands and knocked his forearms away.
…Easily. He suppressed a cry and clutched his arms to his chest; rapidly he straightened up to face her, but not before she had seen the pain in his eyecups.
She reached out and grabbed the Hero’s shoulders, as he’d held hers. In this suit, not only could she Wave like a god — she was strong, stronger than she had ever imagined. She let her fingers dig into his bone. Laughing, she raised him above her head. He seemed to be trying to keep his face empty of expression; she saw little fear there, but there was something else: a disquiet.
“Who’s the Hero now?” she spat.
“A suit of Corestuff doesn’t make a hero.”
“No,” she said, thinking of Lur. “And heroes don’t need to be paid…”
He grinned, mocking her.
She thought over what he’d said. “What’s Corestuff?”
“Let me go and I’ll tell you.”
She hesitated.
He snapped, “Let me go, damn you. What do you think I can do to you?”
Cautiously she let go of his shoulders and pushed him away from her.
He rubbed at the bulging bones of his shoulders. “You may as well understand what you’re stealing. Corestuff. The inlay in the fabric; a superconducting thread mined from within the Quantum Sea.” He sniffed. “From the old days, before the Core Wars, of course.”
“Did the suit belong to an Ur-human?”
He laughed sourly. “Ur-humans couldn’t survive here inside the Mantle. Even a savage child should know that.”
She looked carefully at his yellowed hair-tubes, unwilling to betray more ignorance. How old was he? “Do you remember the old days — before the Core Wars? Is that how you got the suit?”
He looked at her with contempt — but, he saw, a contempt softened with pity. Am I really such a savage? she wondered.
“Kid, the Wars were over before I was born. All the technology — the cities, the wormhole paths across the Mantle — all of it had gone. There were just a few scraps left — like this suit, which my father salvaged.” He grinned again, his face splitting like a skull. “It used to belong to police, in one of the great cities. Police. Do you know what that means?
“The suit kept us alive — my parents and me — for a while. Then, after they were dead—”
She tried to fill her voice with contempt. “You used it to fly around the Mantle being the Hero.”
He looked angry. “Is that so terrible? At least I help people. What will you do with it, little girl?”
She reached out for him, turning her hands into claws. In a moment, she could crush the life out of his bony neck—
He returned her stare calmly, unflinching.
She tipped backwards and Waved away from him.
Thea surged along infinite corridors of vortex lines. Floating spin-spider eggs padded at her faceplate and legs. The Quantum Sea was a purple floor far below her, delimiting the yellow Air; the Crust was a complex, inverted landscape beneath which she soared.
Waving was glorious. She stared down at her silver-coated body; blue highlights from the corridors of vortex lines and the soft purple glow of the Sea cast complex shadows across her chest. Already she was moving faster than she’d ever moved in her life, and she knew she was far from exhausting the possibilities of this magical suit.
She opened her mouth and yelled, her own voice loud inside the helmet.
She flew, spiraling, around the arcing vortex lines, her suited limbs crackling with blue electron gas; breathless, she swept from the leafy fringe of the Crust forest and down, down through the Mantle, until it seemed as if she could plunge deep into the bruised-purple heart of the Quantum Sea itself.
She turned her face towards the South Pole, that place where all the vortex lines converged. She surged on through the Air, drowning her doubts — and the image of the Hero’s disquieted face — in motion.
…But there was something in her path.
Spin-web.
The web was fixed to the vortex line array by small, tight rings of webbing which encircled, without quite touching, the glowing spin-singularities. The web’s threads were almost invisible individually, but the dense mats caught the yellow and purple glow of the Mantle, so that lines of light formed a complex tapestry.
It was really very beautiful, Thea thought abstractedly. But it was a wall across the sky.
The spin-spider itself was a dark mass in the upper corner of her vision. She wondered if it had already started moving towards the point where she would impact the net — or if it would wait until she was embedded in its sticky threads. The spider looked like an expanded, splayed-open version of an Air-pig. Each of its six legs was a mansheight long, and its open maw would be wide enough to enfold her torso.
Even the suit wouldn’t protect her.
She swiveled her hips and beat at the Magfield with her legs, trying to shed her velocity. But she’d been going as rapidly as she could; she wouldn’t be able to stop in time. She looked quickly around the sky. Perhaps she could divert rather than stop, fly safely around the trap. But she couldn’t even see the edges of the web: spin-spider webs could be hundreds of mansheights across.