Alastair Reynolds - Poseidon's Wake

But Kanu could see himself now, and the human remains on that operating table made him want to scream. It had been worse, far worse, than even his gravest imaginings.

A voice said: ‘Threshold of consciousness.’

Another: ‘Inhibit commissural traffic.’

A third: ‘Inhibiting.’

The second: ‘He must not wake until completion.’

The second, he realised, was himself. And it was not language he was speaking, at least not in human terms, but rather a rapid exchange of symbols which served the same communicational function.

Threshold of consciousness. Not long now, and then he would be well again — or at least well enough to be spoken to in the human manner.

He glanced down at his white forearm. The blank material of his anatomy gained texture, form and colour. It became fabric and flesh — a hand and a sleeve, the garb of a man of learning of the late eighteenth century.

‘There’s something wrong with me,’ Kanu told Nissa when they were sharing breakfast, spooning grapefruit out of a bowl, the engines throttled back to a gee while they ate.

‘A few bad dreams? I think you’re allowed.’

‘It’s more than just bad dreams. Ever since I returned from Mars, nothing’s been quite right. I thought I was fine to begin with, but I was deluding myself. I feel on edge, not quite in tune with things. Have you ever had déjà vu?’

‘Once, but I had the oddest feeling it had happened to me before. Sorry — I can see you’re bothered by something.’

‘I don’t know what it is. It’s been worse since Tangiers. A sort of continuous feeling of… dread, dislocation, premonition.’

‘Premonition? Are you serious?’

‘Perfectly. And then there are these dreams. I’m not one to attach significance to such things, Nissa, but when a dream of mine appeared to prefigure the name of this ship? That was bad enough, and I can’t easily rationalise it away. But now I’ve started getting flashbacks to when I was injured.’

‘You were more than injured, Kanu. How can you have flashbacks to being dead?’

‘I don’t know. Except they’re vivid, detailed, and I’m not watching from my body’s point of view. I’m seeing myself being repaired — with machines standing around debating my state of consciousness. I’ve had nightmares but never like that. I’ve never seen myself from outside, a barely conscious thing on a slab.’

‘All right — I can understand why you’re bothered. Who wouldn’t be, by something like that? But it’s still just dreams.’

‘I’m worried they’re symptomatic. That sense of not being in my own body — maybe it’s telling me there’s something wrong in my brain’s wiring? That some core sense of my own identity isn’t quite working the way it should?’

‘The odd thing would be if you didn’t feel a little strange, given everything you went through. You lost friends and colleagues on Mars; you lost your vocation and the trust of people who matter to you. It’s no wonder if something’s snapped, Kanu — you wouldn’t be human otherwise. When I met you in Lisbon—’

‘I’m glad you mentioned Lisbon. We bumped into each other by coincidence. How is that not supposed to make me feel a little strange?’

‘Coincidences happen all the time. You took a late interest in your grandmother’s art and I’m one of her highest-profile scholars — our paths were on a collision course.’

‘When we were married, did I ever show much interest in Sunday’s work?’

‘People change. Especially after something bad happens to them.’

Kanu was silent. He wanted to accept this version of events, the smooth plausibility of this offered narrative.

‘I hope that’s the answer.’

‘The more you dwell on it, the stranger you’re going to feel. You think too much, merman.’

‘Fine words coming from you.’

‘I’m not the one twisting myself in knots with introspection and self-doubt. Look, an adventure will do you good. We’re going to Europa! We have Consolidation authorisation to land on the ice and attempt contact with the Regals! How can that not stir the soul? Surrender to it, Kanu. Let some fun into your life.’

He smiled meekly, though she had done nothing to assuage his doubts. ‘I’ll try.’

Nissa tidied the breakfast bowl away. ‘I was going to notch up the engines but we can leave them for a little while. You need something to take your mind off yourself.’

The transmission came in on a routine civilian frequency and encryption protocol — nothing about it to suggest the slightest diplomatic connotation. It was aimed at Fall of Night , but beyond that contained no clue as to its origin or purpose.

Nissa accepted it, expecting it to be from a friend or colleague, perhaps concerning some aspect of her ongoing curatorial work. Instead, she was confronted by a man she did not know but who carried the automatic assumption of authority that only came from high office. He was as grey and grave as a statue, and looked worn away, somehow, as if he had been left out in the weather.

‘I am Yevgeny Korsakov,’ the man explained, belabouring the syllables of his name, when Nissa established a two-way send. ‘I was a friend… a colleague… of Kanu Akinya. We were both on Mars — both of us hurt in the terrorist incident. I wanted to see how he was doing,’

Nissa explained the request to Kanu while her response — that Kanu was indeed with her — was crawling its way back to the sender.

‘Did I do the right thing? He said he knew you on Mars.’

‘He did,’ Kanu said, struck by an apprehension he could not quite pin down. ‘He was also largely responsible for the end of my career.’

‘I think your accident had a lot to do with that.’

‘Maybe, but Korsakov was the first to argue that I’d been tainted by my experiences. Of all of them, why did he have to survive?’ But the uncharitable nature of this sentiment left a sour taste in his mouth. Dalal, Lucien… they deserved better from him. ‘I’m sorry — you were right to answer the call, and you can be sure Korsakov knew I was here whether you confirmed it or not.’

‘Do you hate him?’ Nissa asked.

‘He’s not a bad man, it’s just that we were on opposite sides of the fence. Never really saw eye to eye.’

‘He sounded concerned.’

‘That’s what concerns me.’

But when Korsakov spoke to Kanu directly, he appeared genuine enough. ‘I hope I did not violate your privacy by tracing you to Nissa Mbaye’s ship,’ the man said. ‘It was easily done, all public information — Nissa had to name you as a passenger in her flight plan, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Kanu whispered in return, although the words would form no part of his actual reply.

‘I am very glad to see you getting on with your life, Kanu. After Mars, we feared the worst. It was one thing to know you had survived, been repaired by the robots… but to regain your spirit, your sense of life? That was by no means guaranteed. I heard about your kindness to the Dalal family. In truth, I expected you to spend more time on Earth. I would have thought you’d had enough of space travel.’

Kanu smiled tightly as he formulated his response. ‘Thank you, Yevgeny. It’s good to see your face again, and to know you are well. I’m touched by your concern. As for the Dalals, it was the least I could do. I see from your time lag that you’re on the Moon. I must come and visit sometime. It would be good to catch up.’

He hoped that might be the end of it, but Korsakov was not quite done with him.

‘Of course you would be welcome on the Moon — indeed, anywhere in UON sovereign space. Your flight plan tells me that you have business in Europa — quite unusual, if you do not mind my saying. Very difficult to arrange those permissions. Might I ask the nature of your business there?’