Free Resplendent by Stephen Baxter Page A

disrupted pixels, like a fleshy comet. Sarfi crumpled over, crying out. The sudden brutality shocked Hama.

    Reth laughed. ‘A Virtual? I didn’t suspect you were so sentimental, Gemo.’

    Gemo stepped forward, her mouth working. ‘But I remember your cruelty.’

    Now Reth faced Hama. ‘And this is the one sent by Earth’s new junta of children.’

    Hama shrank before Reth’s arrogance and authority. His accent was exotic - antique, perhaps; there was a rustle of history about this man. Hama tried to keep his voice steady. ‘I have a specific assignment here, sir—’

    Reth snorted. ‘My work, a project of centuries, deals with the essence of reality itself. It is an achievement of which you have no understanding. If you had a glimmer of sensitivity you would leave now. Just as, if you and your mayfly friends had any true notion of duty, you would abandon your petty attempts at governing and leave it to us.’

    Nomi growled, ‘You think we got rid of the Qax just to hand over our lives to the likes of you?’

    Reth glared at her. ‘And can you really believe that we would have administered the withdrawal of the Qax with more death and destruction than you have inflicted?’

    Hama stood straight. ‘I’m not here to discuss hypotheticals with you, Reth Cana. We are pragmatic. If your work is in the interest of the species—’

    Reth laughed out loud; Hama saw how his teeth were discoloured, greenish. ‘The interest of the species.’ He stalked about the echoing cavern, posturing. ‘Gemo, I give you the future. If this young man has his way, science will be no more than a weapon! … And if I refuse to cooperate with his pragmatism?’

    Nomi said smoothly, ‘Those who follow us will be a lot tougher. Believe it, jasoft.’

    Gemo listened, stony-faced. ‘They mean it, Reth.’

    ‘Tomorrow,’ Reth said to Hama. ‘Twelve hours from now. I will demonstrate my work, my results. But I will not justify it to the likes of you; make of it what you will.’ And he swept away into shadows beyond the fitful glow of the hovering globe lamps.

    Nomi said quietly to Hama, ‘Reth is a man who has spent too long alone.’

    ‘We can deal with him,’ Hama said, with more confidence than he felt.

    ‘Perhaps. But why is he alone? Hama, we know that at least a dozen pharaohs came to this settlement before the Occupation was ended, and probably more during the collapse. Where are they?’

    Hama frowned. ‘Find out.’

    Nomi nodded briskly.

     
    The oily sea lapped even closer now. The beach was reduced to a thin strip, trapped between forest and sea.

    Callisto walked far along the beach. There was nothing different, just the same dense forest, the oily sea. Here and there the sea had already covered the beach, encroaching into the forest, and she had to push into the vegetation to make further progress. Everywhere she found the tangle of roots and vine-like growths. Where the rising liquid had touched, the grasses and vines and trees crumbled and died, leaving bare, scattered dust.

    The beach curved around on itself.

    So she was on an island. At least she had learned that much. Eventually, she supposed, that dark sea would rise so high it would cover everything. And they would all die.

    There was no night. When she was tired, she rested on the beach, eyes closed.

    There was no time here - not in the way she seemed to remember, on some deep level of herself: no days, no nights, no change. There was only the beach, the forest, that black oily sea, lapping ever closer, all of it under a shadowless grey-white sky.

    She looked inward, seeking herself. She found only fragments of memory: an ice moon, a black sky - a face, a girl’s perhaps, delicate, troubled, but the face broke up into blocks of light. She didn’t like to think about the face. It made her feel lonely. Guilty.

    She asked Asgard about time.

    Asgard, gnawing absently on a handful of bark chips, ran a casual finger through the reality dust,