Alastair Reynolds - Revelation Space

Still, he moved towards it.

The agonised red eye of Hades was noticeably larger now, but the neutron star at the heart of that burning point would never amount to more than a glint; it was only a few tens of kilometres across, and they would be dead long before they were close enough to resolve it properly, shredded by the intense differential force of gravity.

“I feel I should tell you,” Pascale Sylveste said, “I don’t think it will be fast, what’s going to happen to us. Not unless we’re very lucky.”

Khouri tried her best not to sound irritated at the woman’s tone of superior understanding, admitting to herself that Pascale was probably quite justified in adopting that manner.

“How do you know so much? You’re no astrophysicist.”

“No, but I remember Dan telling me about how the tidal forces would limit the close approach of any of the probes he wanted to send here.”

“You’re talking as if he’s dead already.”

“I don’t think he is,” Pascale said. “I think he might even survive. But we’re not going to. I’m sorry, but it amounts to the same thing.”

“You still love that bastard, don’t you?”

“He loved me too, believe it or not. I know from the way he acted—what he did—the way he seemed so driven, it must have been hard for outsiders to see. But he did care. More than anyone will ever know.”

“Maybe people won’t be so hard on him when they find out the way he was manipulated.”

“You think anyone’s going to find out? We’re the only ones who know, Khouri. As far as the rest of the universe is concerned, he was just a monomaniac. They don’t understand that he used people because he had no choice. Because something bigger than any of us was driving him forward.”

Khouri nodded. “I wanted to kill him once—but only because it was a way to get back to Fazil. There was never any hatred in it. Matter of fact, I can’t say I honestly disliked him. I admired anyone who could carry around that much arrogance, like it was his birthright, or something. Most people, they don’t carry it off. But he wore it like a king. It stopped being arrogance, then—became something else. Something you could admire.”

Pascale elected not to reply, but Khouri could tell that she was not in complete disagreement. Maybe she was just not quite ready to come out and say it aloud. That she had loved Sylveste because he was such a self-important bastard and made something noble of being a self-important bastard, did it with such utter aplomb that it became a kind of virtue, like the wearing of sackcloth.

“Listen,” Khouri said, eventually. “I’ve got an idea. When those tides begin to bite, do you want to be fully conscious, or would you rather approach the matter with a little fortification?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ilia always told me this place was built to show clients around the outside of the ship; the kind of clients you wanted to impress if you wanted to keep the contract. So I’m thinking, somewhere on board there has to be a drinks cabinet. Probably well-stocked, assuming it hasn’t been drunk dry over the last few centuries. And then again, it might even be self-replenishing. Are you with me?”

Pascale said nothing, during which time the gravitational sinkhole of Hades crept closer. Finally, just when Khouri assumed that the other woman had elected not to hear her proposition, Pascale released herself from her seat and headed rearwards, to the unexplored realms of plush and brass behind them.

The jewel shone with a noticeable bluish radiance now, as if his proximity had stilled its spectral transformations; forced it towards some temporary quiescence. Sylveste still felt that it was wrong to approach it, but now his own curiosity—and a sense of predestiny—was impelling him forwards. Maybe it was something springing from the basal parts of his mind; a need to confront the dangerous and thereby tame it. It was an instinct which must have driven the first touching of fire, the first flinch of pain and the wisdom that came with that pain.

The jewel unfolded before him, undergoing geometric transformations to which he did not dare devote too much attention, for fear that understanding them would cleave his mind open along similar fault lines.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Calvin asked, his utterances now more than ever forming part of the normal background of Sylveste’s inner dialogue.

“It’s too late to return now,” said a voice.

A voice which belonged neither to Calvin nor Sylveste, but which seemed deeply familiar, as if it had long been a part of him, merely silent.

“Sun Stealer, isn’t it?”

“He’s been with us all along,” Calvin said. “Haven’t you?”

“Longer than you imagine. Since you returned from Lascaille’s Shroud, Dan.”

“Then everything Khouri said was right,” he said, while already knowing the truth of it. If Sajaki’s empty suit had not confirmed it, then the revelations he had shared in the white light had ended his doubts, completely.

“What do you want of me?”

“Only that you enter the—jewel—as you call it.” The creature’s voice, and its voice was the only thing that he heard, was sibilant; chillingly so. “You have nothing to fear. You will not be harmed by it, nor will you be prevented from leaving.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“Except that it is the truth.”

“What about the bridgehead?”

“The device is still operational. It will remain so until you have left Cerberus.”

“There’s no way of knowing,” Calvin said. “Whatever he—it—says, could well be a lie. He’s deceived and manipulated us at every step; all to bring you here. Why should he suddenly start telling the truth now?”

“Because it is of no consequence,” Sun Stealer said. “Now that you have reached this far, your own desires play no further part in the matter.”

And Sylveste felt the suit surge forward, directly into the opened jewel, along a brilliantly faceted, ever-flickering corridor which extended into the structure.

“What—” Calvin began.

“I’m not doing anything,” Sylveste said. “The bastard must have control of my suit!”

“Stands to reason. He could control Sajaki’s, after all. Must have preferred to sit back and let you do all the work until now. Lazy bastard.”

“At this point,” Sylveste said, “I don’t think insulting him’s going to make a great deal of difference.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact—”

The corridor surrounded him completely now, a glowing tracheal tunnel which twisted and turned until it seemed impossible that he could still be inside the jewel. But then, he told himself, he had never come to a clear conclusion as to its true size—it might have been anywhere between a few hundred metres across or tens of kilometres. Its fluctuating shape made it impossible to know, and perhaps meant that there was no meaningful answer; in the same way that one could not specify the volume of a fractal solid.

“Uh, you were saying?”

“I was saying…” Sylveste trailed off. “Sun Stealer, are you listening to me?”

“As always.”

“I don’t understand why I had to come here. If you managed to animate Sajaki’s suit—and you had conscious control of mine all this time—why did I have to come along in the first place? If there’s something you want inside this thing, something you want to bring out, you could do it without me being here at all.”

“The device will only respond to organic life. An empty suit would be interpreted as machine sentience.”