ordinary flesh and blood but, if she’d been remade, how could she be sure her knowledge of what flesh should feel like hadn’t also been changed? After all, she wasn’t even real, just a dead woman’s memories prodded into life and given the illusion of independence.
Not true. You are alive, said the voices from within the starship.
‘Shut up!’ she yelled, her hands curling into fists by her sides. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’
She stepped closer to the waves and bent down, scooping some of the water up in the palms of her hands. Feeling experimental, she called on her filmsuit, and to her amazement it coated her flesh at once.
They had rebuilt more than just her body: she still had her filmsuit, even her implants.
Your ship calculated the precise phase state and non-arbitrary superpositions for every particle within your body, as well as gathering together the remaining fragments of your mind that were distributed throughout its neural stacks, said the voices. That way when it transmitted—
‘I said shut up! ’
The voices fell silent.
There was a disturbance in the ocean, and a moment later a submersible of some kind emerged, halting a few metres from the shore. Dakota saw its hull was covered with tiny waving strips like flagella, which presumably propelled it. A hatch opened on its upper surface.
He’s waiting for you, Dakota heard the voices say.
She stared up at the starship one last time, with a mixture of unease and disgust, then waded out to the submersible.
The cilia began to thrash against the water as soon as she had climbed inside. She stared out through the submersible’s tinted, transparent walls as the hatch closed above her. The craft soon began to sink beneath the ocean’s surface.
Something else had changed, she realized. For all that she could still hear the voices of the virtual entities that occupied the Magi ship, that deep, near-instinctive grasp, the near-total symbiosis she’d felt with them, had somehow faded away to nothing.
The original navigators were born to their task, the starship’s voices told her. They were created, their genetics manipulated so they could fuse their minds with their ships almost from the moment they came into life. Other Magi ships remade the physical structure of your cortex, but it was only a temporary measure, a stopgap whose consequences could never be precisely modelled. We . . .
Dakota ignored them, squeezing her eyes tight until the voices finally retreated once more.
When she opened her eyes again, bright beams of pale yellow light had flickered into life, radiating out from a dozen points around the submersible’s hull and picking out ruins on the seabed.
The submersible diverted around a vast, weed-strewn hulk that must have been kilometres long. At first she thought it was a collapsed tower, but as the lights picked out the dark shapes of nacelles and heat-dispersal fins, she realized it was a spacecraft that must have plummeted into the ocean long ago.
The ocean floor gradually slipped out of sight, and the submersible began to thread its way between vast columns that Dakota guessed must be the towers she’d seen earlier from the shore. Eventually the submersible headed straight towards one, before passing through an oval opening in its side, which led into a shaft at least a hundred metres across. The submersible began to rise through that shaft, ascending before long into an air-filled cavity.
The hatch opened with a hiss. Dakota pushed her head out and saw that the submersible was now floating in a wide moat between the tower’s outer wall and an enormous circular platform surrounding a column rising at the tower’s centre. Windows made from some crystalline material provided a view of the ocean waves from a few metres beneath the surface.
The platform itself was quite wide enough to support a Shoal superluminal yacht, floating on a bed of shaped fields. Waiting next to it, as Dakota had known he would be, was Trader in
Not true. You are alive, said the voices from within the starship.
‘Shut up!’ she yelled, her hands curling into fists by her sides. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’
She stepped closer to the waves and bent down, scooping some of the water up in the palms of her hands. Feeling experimental, she called on her filmsuit, and to her amazement it coated her flesh at once.
They had rebuilt more than just her body: she still had her filmsuit, even her implants.
Your ship calculated the precise phase state and non-arbitrary superpositions for every particle within your body, as well as gathering together the remaining fragments of your mind that were distributed throughout its neural stacks, said the voices. That way when it transmitted—
‘I said shut up! ’
The voices fell silent.
There was a disturbance in the ocean, and a moment later a submersible of some kind emerged, halting a few metres from the shore. Dakota saw its hull was covered with tiny waving strips like flagella, which presumably propelled it. A hatch opened on its upper surface.
He’s waiting for you, Dakota heard the voices say.
She stared up at the starship one last time, with a mixture of unease and disgust, then waded out to the submersible.
The cilia began to thrash against the water as soon as she had climbed inside. She stared out through the submersible’s tinted, transparent walls as the hatch closed above her. The craft soon began to sink beneath the ocean’s surface.
Something else had changed, she realized. For all that she could still hear the voices of the virtual entities that occupied the Magi ship, that deep, near-instinctive grasp, the near-total symbiosis she’d felt with them, had somehow faded away to nothing.
The original navigators were born to their task, the starship’s voices told her. They were created, their genetics manipulated so they could fuse their minds with their ships almost from the moment they came into life. Other Magi ships remade the physical structure of your cortex, but it was only a temporary measure, a stopgap whose consequences could never be precisely modelled. We . . .
Dakota ignored them, squeezing her eyes tight until the voices finally retreated once more.
When she opened her eyes again, bright beams of pale yellow light had flickered into life, radiating out from a dozen points around the submersible’s hull and picking out ruins on the seabed.
The submersible diverted around a vast, weed-strewn hulk that must have been kilometres long. At first she thought it was a collapsed tower, but as the lights picked out the dark shapes of nacelles and heat-dispersal fins, she realized it was a spacecraft that must have plummeted into the ocean long ago.
The ocean floor gradually slipped out of sight, and the submersible began to thread its way between vast columns that Dakota guessed must be the towers she’d seen earlier from the shore. Eventually the submersible headed straight towards one, before passing through an oval opening in its side, which led into a shaft at least a hundred metres across. The submersible began to rise through that shaft, ascending before long into an air-filled cavity.
The hatch opened with a hiss. Dakota pushed her head out and saw that the submersible was now floating in a wide moat between the tower’s outer wall and an enormous circular platform surrounding a column rising at the tower’s centre. Windows made from some crystalline material provided a view of the ocean waves from a few metres beneath the surface.
The platform itself was quite wide enough to support a Shoal superluminal yacht, floating on a bed of shaped fields. Waiting next to it, as Dakota had known he would be, was Trader in
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