Faecal Matter of Animals, safely contained within a field-suspended sphere of water.
Dakota pulled herself out of the hatch and jumped down on to the platform, which looked and felt like black glass as she reached down to touch it. Trader drifted closer, and she watched how his manipulators clutched and wriggled beneath the wide curve of his body.
When he spoke, the familiar tones of his synthesized voice seemed to fill that dank underwater space.
‘Once again, mellifluous greetings,’ he said. ‘Did you enjoy your trip to the Maker? And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘F . . .’ She cleared her throat with some difficulty, and dug her fingernails into her palms, then tried again. ‘Fuck you, too, Trader,’ she finally managed to say, and touched her throat with nervous fingers.
‘I congratulate you on having survived your encounter, Dakota. Few ever do.’
She stared back at the alien and felt a familiar seething anger well up inside her. It was easier to give in to the feelings of the old Dakota – the real Dakota, as some treacherous part of her mind insisted on thinking of her.
‘Yes, Trader. I survived, and I got your message. Now tell me how you know so much about what I found out there.’
‘The Consortium is an open book to those with the means to decrypt its most secure transmissions.’
‘Not good enough. I was only ever in contact with other machine-head navigators.’
‘The Shoal could not have brought about the deaths of the original Magi navigators without having the means to intercept their communications traffic, a skill that remains with us. You can be assured, however, that the coordinates you recovered from the Maker stay a secret with me. Even the Shoal Hegemony remains unaware of the expedition.’
‘What expedition?’
‘The expedition your friend Lucas Corso recently sent out towards the coordinates associated with the Mos Hadroch, of course, Dakota.’
She nodded mutely, and realized she had no idea just how much time had passed since the red giant had turned nova. It might have been days, or weeks, or much more.
‘I don’t know what it is you want, Trader, but there are a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t listen to anything you have to say.’
‘And yet here you are.’
I didn’t ask to come here, damn you. ‘The last time I saw you was on Morgan’s World. You already knew about the Mos Hadroch, didn’t you?’
‘In this I must confess my guilt,’ Trader replied smoothly.
‘You could have just told me, and then I never would have needed to go out there.’
‘But I had little more than a name at that time, Dakota. You found out more than I ever did when I myself visited the swarm long ago. You even managed to find a possible location.’
Dakota felt her hands twitch with barely suppressed anger. ‘If I could, I’d kill you, Trader. I’d . . .’
Her heart was hammering, and she felt on the verge of a panic attack. Too much was happening too soon.
She slumped down on the slick black glass extending underfoot, and listened to the wet slap of water against the platform’s edge. ‘Why here?’ she asked, looking briefly around. ‘I mean, what is this place?’
‘This world?’ Trader turned slowly within his sphere of water, glancing from side to side. ‘Its occupants have long since passed on, as you may have guessed. There was a time when the civilization that built these towers strode amid the stars. They had an empire of a kind that stretched across thousands of light-years. Their name for themselves might be loosely translated as “Meridians”.’
‘So what happened to them?’
Trader’s manipulators wriggled under his body. ‘They never discovered a Maker cache until it was much too late and their culture had become terminally fragmented. Before that, they learned the secret of exceptionally long life and journeyed aboard ships that crawled between the stars at sublight speeds. One branch of the species became aquatic, while the
Dakota pulled herself out of the hatch and jumped down on to the platform, which looked and felt like black glass as she reached down to touch it. Trader drifted closer, and she watched how his manipulators clutched and wriggled beneath the wide curve of his body.
When he spoke, the familiar tones of his synthesized voice seemed to fill that dank underwater space.
‘Once again, mellifluous greetings,’ he said. ‘Did you enjoy your trip to the Maker? And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘F . . .’ She cleared her throat with some difficulty, and dug her fingernails into her palms, then tried again. ‘Fuck you, too, Trader,’ she finally managed to say, and touched her throat with nervous fingers.
‘I congratulate you on having survived your encounter, Dakota. Few ever do.’
She stared back at the alien and felt a familiar seething anger well up inside her. It was easier to give in to the feelings of the old Dakota – the real Dakota, as some treacherous part of her mind insisted on thinking of her.
‘Yes, Trader. I survived, and I got your message. Now tell me how you know so much about what I found out there.’
‘The Consortium is an open book to those with the means to decrypt its most secure transmissions.’
‘Not good enough. I was only ever in contact with other machine-head navigators.’
‘The Shoal could not have brought about the deaths of the original Magi navigators without having the means to intercept their communications traffic, a skill that remains with us. You can be assured, however, that the coordinates you recovered from the Maker stay a secret with me. Even the Shoal Hegemony remains unaware of the expedition.’
‘What expedition?’
‘The expedition your friend Lucas Corso recently sent out towards the coordinates associated with the Mos Hadroch, of course, Dakota.’
She nodded mutely, and realized she had no idea just how much time had passed since the red giant had turned nova. It might have been days, or weeks, or much more.
‘I don’t know what it is you want, Trader, but there are a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t listen to anything you have to say.’
‘And yet here you are.’
I didn’t ask to come here, damn you. ‘The last time I saw you was on Morgan’s World. You already knew about the Mos Hadroch, didn’t you?’
‘In this I must confess my guilt,’ Trader replied smoothly.
‘You could have just told me, and then I never would have needed to go out there.’
‘But I had little more than a name at that time, Dakota. You found out more than I ever did when I myself visited the swarm long ago. You even managed to find a possible location.’
Dakota felt her hands twitch with barely suppressed anger. ‘If I could, I’d kill you, Trader. I’d . . .’
Her heart was hammering, and she felt on the verge of a panic attack. Too much was happening too soon.
She slumped down on the slick black glass extending underfoot, and listened to the wet slap of water against the platform’s edge. ‘Why here?’ she asked, looking briefly around. ‘I mean, what is this place?’
‘This world?’ Trader turned slowly within his sphere of water, glancing from side to side. ‘Its occupants have long since passed on, as you may have guessed. There was a time when the civilization that built these towers strode amid the stars. They had an empire of a kind that stretched across thousands of light-years. Their name for themselves might be loosely translated as “Meridians”.’
‘So what happened to them?’
Trader’s manipulators wriggled under his body. ‘They never discovered a Maker cache until it was much too late and their culture had become terminally fragmented. Before that, they learned the secret of exceptionally long life and journeyed aboard ships that crawled between the stars at sublight speeds. One branch of the species became aquatic, while the
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