The Ascendant Stars - Michael Cobley [65]
‘Entry points?’ said the ambassador sim. ‘To the Godhead’s lair or to its mind?’
‘I didn’t have time to question the machine before my abrupt departure,’ Robert said. ‘But my guess is that they allow access to both its mind and its real-world physical presence. Orders have to reach its underlings and I’m sure that the Godhead’s conscious awareness would demand face-to-face manifestations of its authority.’
‘A plausible conjecture but still conjecture nevertheless,’ the sim said. ‘Did the Tanenth machine give you directions to any of them?’
‘Yes,’ said Robert, taking a pen and paper from a table niche. The Tanenth machine had impressed upon his mind a sequence of symbols, along with the sound, the shape and the smell he had to recall to unlock them. After some moments he began to write, carefully reproducing the symbols as he saw them in his mind’s eye. This was the information that the cryptship’s torturer had mistakenly thought was passed to him by the Shyntanil renegades. Once they were all down, he passed the finished sequence to the sim.
The sim frowned and looked closer at the slip of paper. ‘A very ancient script,’ he said. ‘No, it is actually a later variant from the Gha’Voh era … ’
‘Does it give a location?’
‘Oh yes, right in the Abyss, Tier 275, possibly … ’
‘Possibly?’
‘Assuming that it has not been compacted into another tier. But we’ll get there, certainly – I just need to make some adjustments to the upgrades I fitted to the Heracles’ drive.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Seven, eight hours.’ The sim of his younger, older self stood, folding the slip of paper away in a pocket. ‘Have you thought on your tactics?’
‘Not sure. Since I’ve no idea what I’ll be facing, is there any point in preparation at all? As I see it, all I could reasonably expect to achieve is to infiltrate as far as safely possible, gather any useful information then find a way back out.’
‘How do you escape from the mind of a god?’
Robert shrugged. ‘The way in might also be the way out, but that seems too rational for some internal psyche-terrain. I’ll just have to wait and see.’
The ambassador sim nodded. ‘Very well. I shall take the course data to the captain and translate it for him. In the meantime I recommend that you get some rest. Your low alertness levels suggest that you need it.’
Seven and a half hours of unbroken sleep later he was woken by a soft but insistent chiming. As he sat up the room apologised for disturbing him but said that Captain Velazquez was requesting his presence on the bridge. After another brief dip into the shower, he was told where to find the food unit and a fresh set of clothing. He dressed then went over some notes he’d made from consulting the room’s info terminal. A short while later he emerged from the ambassadorial suite in armourless combats, a jacket and leggings in a heavy dark blue material.
It was a short walk and a two-deck ascent via lift to the bridge, where two deck guards met him and escorted him within. Autodoors parted to admit them. The bridge had a rough figure-eight layout with banks of monitors and interfaced code-techs in the aft loop while the operations dais occupied the forward section. The ambassador sim was seated by one of the screens and holoplanes that encircled the dais – he raised a hand in greeting. The captain, standing a quarter-turn away, glanced over and nodded then went back to frowning at something unseen and muttering over his lip-bead mike.
Robert sat down in the seat next to the sim and leaned forward slightly.
‘Saw some interesting repair duty rosters pinned to walls on my way here,’ he said quietly. ‘And overheard a couple of revealing conversations on the state of this vessel. Just how badly was it damaged by the missile, and why did it survive when the Brolturan battleship didn’t? And how ever did it get through my rescue in one piece?’
The ambassador sim’s affable demeanour never wavered.
‘You know about the Spiral crusade?’ he said.
‘Got a summary from the terminal in your room,’