help it. I just can’t believe that humanity could—” She shrugged, helplessly searching for the right word. Then, finally. “Could just die !”
“Maybe we’re already dead,” he said dryly. “Maybe we just haven’t realized it yet.”
She slipped out from under his hands and turned in her seat to face him, her expression torn between amusement and amazement.
“Of all the people I could be spending my last days with,” she said, shaking her head, “why did it have to be with such a miserable bastard like you?”
“I’ve actually been asking myself the same thing.” There was no humor in his response, just grim awareness that their situation really didn’t make any sense. “Maybe it’s just because our scars match.”
She snorted a short laugh. “Misery loves company. Is that it?”
He turned away from her, from her facetiousness, and moved back to look at the schematics again. “How long do you think we have?” he asked after a moment’s reflection.
“Until the mission, or until the end?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, unless Thor changes the timetable, then we leave in twenty-five hours. And unless the plan works, the Starfish will be here in three days.”
Her tone carried uncertainty and fear, but he had no reassurances to offer her. He had little enough for himself. All he could think of was Axford’s words: Better to run to your death than run from it.
In the grim silence of Klotho’s cockpit, he found himself almost ready to believe it.
1.2.5
There were ten orbital towers in all, each linked by a super-strong and superconducting circuit. At first, Lucia was apprehensive about exploring them, feeling small and insignificant against the alien marvels. But the more she ventured into them, the less her trepidations bothered her.
Movement was initially slow—relatively speaking—as she followed the complex circuitry from spindle to spindle. But once she’d touched upon each of the gifts, it became easier for her to go back to them, and before long she was jumping between the spindles with instinctive ease. She just had to think of the spindle that she wanted to go to, and she immediately knew the route to take. The entire process took barely nanoseconds.
Each of the enigmatic installations had very distinct purposes: Spindle One was the Science Hall, where the Spinners provided arcane theorems in order to educate their primitive charges; Spindle Two allowed for companion experiments and materials in order to elucidate those theorems. The Library in Spindle Eight contained a vast knowledge base that would take millennia to examine thoroughly, given the chance; while the Gallery in Spindle Nine demonstrated that artistic expression was as diverse across the galaxy as it had been on Earth. There was a Surgery in Spindle Four that provided tools for medical analysis and treatments that appeared to be designed specifically for humans, although it displayed a flair for Yuhl physiognomy as well. Spindle Ten housed the Dark Room, the very depths of which she still avoided, despite her growing confidence; there was a hole ship Dry Dock in Spindle Six, and the Gifts themselves—the AIs who oversaw the entire complex—occupied Spindle Seven. Spindle Five was the Hub of the instantaneous matter transmission system, a room consisting of ten doors that offered access to each of the gifts.
Why ten? she found herself wondering. Only nine doors would be required to access the other spindles, surely?
Investigating this anomaly, she discovered that one of the doors looped back upon itself, back to the Hub. She remembered Rob Singh’s talk of glitches in the gifts, and wondered if this was one such—evidence that the authors of these astonishing gifts were capable of error.
The Gifts themselves wouldn’t talk to her as she explored, despite her attempts to ask them questions. But neither did they obstruct her, and the lesser machines in the spindles were willing to take her instructions. It
“Maybe we’re already dead,” he said dryly. “Maybe we just haven’t realized it yet.”
She slipped out from under his hands and turned in her seat to face him, her expression torn between amusement and amazement.
“Of all the people I could be spending my last days with,” she said, shaking her head, “why did it have to be with such a miserable bastard like you?”
“I’ve actually been asking myself the same thing.” There was no humor in his response, just grim awareness that their situation really didn’t make any sense. “Maybe it’s just because our scars match.”
She snorted a short laugh. “Misery loves company. Is that it?”
He turned away from her, from her facetiousness, and moved back to look at the schematics again. “How long do you think we have?” he asked after a moment’s reflection.
“Until the mission, or until the end?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, unless Thor changes the timetable, then we leave in twenty-five hours. And unless the plan works, the Starfish will be here in three days.”
Her tone carried uncertainty and fear, but he had no reassurances to offer her. He had little enough for himself. All he could think of was Axford’s words: Better to run to your death than run from it.
In the grim silence of Klotho’s cockpit, he found himself almost ready to believe it.
1.2.5
There were ten orbital towers in all, each linked by a super-strong and superconducting circuit. At first, Lucia was apprehensive about exploring them, feeling small and insignificant against the alien marvels. But the more she ventured into them, the less her trepidations bothered her.
Movement was initially slow—relatively speaking—as she followed the complex circuitry from spindle to spindle. But once she’d touched upon each of the gifts, it became easier for her to go back to them, and before long she was jumping between the spindles with instinctive ease. She just had to think of the spindle that she wanted to go to, and she immediately knew the route to take. The entire process took barely nanoseconds.
Each of the enigmatic installations had very distinct purposes: Spindle One was the Science Hall, where the Spinners provided arcane theorems in order to educate their primitive charges; Spindle Two allowed for companion experiments and materials in order to elucidate those theorems. The Library in Spindle Eight contained a vast knowledge base that would take millennia to examine thoroughly, given the chance; while the Gallery in Spindle Nine demonstrated that artistic expression was as diverse across the galaxy as it had been on Earth. There was a Surgery in Spindle Four that provided tools for medical analysis and treatments that appeared to be designed specifically for humans, although it displayed a flair for Yuhl physiognomy as well. Spindle Ten housed the Dark Room, the very depths of which she still avoided, despite her growing confidence; there was a hole ship Dry Dock in Spindle Six, and the Gifts themselves—the AIs who oversaw the entire complex—occupied Spindle Seven. Spindle Five was the Hub of the instantaneous matter transmission system, a room consisting of ten doors that offered access to each of the gifts.
Why ten? she found herself wondering. Only nine doors would be required to access the other spindles, surely?
Investigating this anomaly, she discovered that one of the doors looped back upon itself, back to the Hub. She remembered Rob Singh’s talk of glitches in the gifts, and wondered if this was one such—evidence that the authors of these astonishing gifts were capable of error.
The Gifts themselves wouldn’t talk to her as she explored, despite her attempts to ask them questions. But neither did they obstruct her, and the lesser machines in the spindles were willing to take her instructions. It
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