assembled in the wake of the departing Qax. She was forty years old, her body a solid slab of muscle, with burn marks disfiguring one cheek. And, in Hama’s judgement, she was much too sunk in cynicism.
He slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Quite right. And that’s how we must be, Nomi: like humble worms, content to toil in the darkness, to turn a few scraps of our land back the way they should be. That should be enough for any life.’
Nomi just snorted.
Already the two-seat flitter was beginning its descent, towards a Conurbation. Still known by its Qax registration of 11729, the Conurbation was a broad, glistening sprawl of bubble-dwellings blown from the bedrock, and linked by the green-blue of umbilical canals. Hama saw that many of the dome-shaped buildings had been scarred by fire, some even cracked open. But the blue-green tetrahedral sigil of free Earth had been daubed on every surface.
A shadow passed over the Conurbation’s glistening rooftops. Hama shielded his eyes and squinted upwards. A fleshy cloud briefly eclipsed the sun. It was a Spline ship: a living starship kilometres across, its hardened epidermis pocked with monitor and weapon emplacements. He suppressed a shudder. For generations the Spline had been the symbol of Qax dominance. But now the Qax had gone, and this abandoned Spline was in the hands of human engineers, who sought to comprehend its strange biological workings.
On the outskirts of the Conurbation there was a broad pit scooped out of the ground, its crudely scraped walls denoting its origin as post-Occupation: human, not Qax. In this pit rested a number of silvery, insectile forms, and as the flitter fell further through the sunlit air, Hama could see people moving around the gleaming shapes, talking, working. The pit was a shipyard, operated by and for humans, who were slowly rediscovering yet another lost art; for no human engineer had built a spacecraft on Earth for three hundred years.
Hama pressed his face to the window - like a child, he knew, reinforcing Nomi’s preconception of him - but to Lethe with self-consciousness. ‘One of those ships is going to take us to Callisto. Imagine it, Nomi - a moon of Jupiter!’
But Nomi scowled. ‘Just remember why we’re going there: to hunt out jasofts - criminals and collaborators. It will be a grim business, Hama, no matter how pretty the scenery.’
The flitter slid easily through the final phases of its descent, and the domes of the Conurbation loomed around them.
There was a voice, talking fast, almost babbling.
‘There is no time. There is no space. We live in a universe of static shapes. Do you see? Imagine a grain of dust that represents all the particles in our universe, frozen in time. Imagine a stupendous number of such dust grains, representing all the possible shapes the particles can take. This is reality dust, a dust of the Nows. And each grain is an instant, in a possible history of the universe.’ A snapping of fingers. ‘There. There. There. Each moment, each juggling of the particles, a new grain. The reality dust contains all the arrangements of matter there could ever be. Reality dust is an image of eternity …’
She lay there, face pressed into the dirt, wishing none of this was happening.
Hands grabbed her, by shoulder and hip. She was dragged, flipped over on her back. The sky above was dazzling bright.
A face loomed, silhouetted. She saw a hairless scalp, no eyebrows or lashes. The face itself was rounded, smoothed over, as if unformed. But she had a strong impression of great age.
‘This won’t hurt,’ she whispered, terrified. ‘Close your eyes.’
The face loomed closer. ‘Nothing here is real.’ The voice was harsh, without inflection. A man? ‘Not even the dust.’
‘Reality dust,’ she murmured.
‘Yes. Yes! It is reality dust. If you live, remember that.’
The face receded, turning away.
She tried to sit up. She pressed her hands into the loose dust,
He slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Quite right. And that’s how we must be, Nomi: like humble worms, content to toil in the darkness, to turn a few scraps of our land back the way they should be. That should be enough for any life.’
Nomi just snorted.
Already the two-seat flitter was beginning its descent, towards a Conurbation. Still known by its Qax registration of 11729, the Conurbation was a broad, glistening sprawl of bubble-dwellings blown from the bedrock, and linked by the green-blue of umbilical canals. Hama saw that many of the dome-shaped buildings had been scarred by fire, some even cracked open. But the blue-green tetrahedral sigil of free Earth had been daubed on every surface.
A shadow passed over the Conurbation’s glistening rooftops. Hama shielded his eyes and squinted upwards. A fleshy cloud briefly eclipsed the sun. It was a Spline ship: a living starship kilometres across, its hardened epidermis pocked with monitor and weapon emplacements. He suppressed a shudder. For generations the Spline had been the symbol of Qax dominance. But now the Qax had gone, and this abandoned Spline was in the hands of human engineers, who sought to comprehend its strange biological workings.
On the outskirts of the Conurbation there was a broad pit scooped out of the ground, its crudely scraped walls denoting its origin as post-Occupation: human, not Qax. In this pit rested a number of silvery, insectile forms, and as the flitter fell further through the sunlit air, Hama could see people moving around the gleaming shapes, talking, working. The pit was a shipyard, operated by and for humans, who were slowly rediscovering yet another lost art; for no human engineer had built a spacecraft on Earth for three hundred years.
Hama pressed his face to the window - like a child, he knew, reinforcing Nomi’s preconception of him - but to Lethe with self-consciousness. ‘One of those ships is going to take us to Callisto. Imagine it, Nomi - a moon of Jupiter!’
But Nomi scowled. ‘Just remember why we’re going there: to hunt out jasofts - criminals and collaborators. It will be a grim business, Hama, no matter how pretty the scenery.’
The flitter slid easily through the final phases of its descent, and the domes of the Conurbation loomed around them.
There was a voice, talking fast, almost babbling.
‘There is no time. There is no space. We live in a universe of static shapes. Do you see? Imagine a grain of dust that represents all the particles in our universe, frozen in time. Imagine a stupendous number of such dust grains, representing all the possible shapes the particles can take. This is reality dust, a dust of the Nows. And each grain is an instant, in a possible history of the universe.’ A snapping of fingers. ‘There. There. There. Each moment, each juggling of the particles, a new grain. The reality dust contains all the arrangements of matter there could ever be. Reality dust is an image of eternity …’
She lay there, face pressed into the dirt, wishing none of this was happening.
Hands grabbed her, by shoulder and hip. She was dragged, flipped over on her back. The sky above was dazzling bright.
A face loomed, silhouetted. She saw a hairless scalp, no eyebrows or lashes. The face itself was rounded, smoothed over, as if unformed. But she had a strong impression of great age.
‘This won’t hurt,’ she whispered, terrified. ‘Close your eyes.’
The face loomed closer. ‘Nothing here is real.’ The voice was harsh, without inflection. A man? ‘Not even the dust.’
‘Reality dust,’ she murmured.
‘Yes. Yes! It is reality dust. If you live, remember that.’
The face receded, turning away.
She tried to sit up. She pressed her hands into the loose dust,
Similar Books
Before The Scandal
Suzanne Enoch
High Price
Carl Hart
Spare Brides
Adele Parks
A Coven of Vampires
Brian Lumley
His Holiday Heart
Jillian Hart
Raw, A Dark Romance
Tawny Taylor
Air Time
Hank Phillippi Ryan
The Secret Life of Uri Geller
Jonathan Margolis
Spheria
Cody Leet
Animals in Translation
Temple Grandin