Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

“If you want to,” Ozzie said. He was concentrating on keeping his head clear of the ceiling formed by the lowest branches as he bounce-walked his way forward. The trees were large and old, producing a wide interlocking lacework of branches and twigs. Sunlight around the trunks was a gentle twilight glimmer, complemented by dry air smelling faintly of spice.

Orion gave a victorious whoop, and immediately shinned up the closest trunk. Ozzie could see him walking along the branches overhead as twigs snapped, and the occasional leaf fluttered down.

“Are you not using your sensors, friend Ozzie?” Tochee asked.

“I’ve got a few running,” Ozzie said defensively. He didn’t fancy trying to explain to Tochee that right now they might both be nothing other than figments in the Silfen Community’s dream. If they weren’t, he’d be facing a serious credibility crisis. “We’ll save the complex ones for something interesting.”

“I understand. I will continue to record the general background, it may help us determine—”

“Hey!” Orion yelped.

Ozzie couldn’t quite tell if the boy was in pain or just startled. There was a flurry of motion in the forest’s lower ceiling five meters away from him. Broken twigs and a small crowd of leaves plummeted down. Orion’s legs appeared in the rent. They swung from side to side a couple of times, and he let go, falling slowly to the thin layer of sandy soil covering the polyp. Several clusters of the red berries fell with him. He looked directly back up, a flustered expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Ozzie went toward the boy with an easy bounding motion. Tochee speeded up to match him, its locomotion ridges spreading out for better traction.

Orion was scrabbling backward, his eyes fixed on the tear he’d created. Stronger slivers of sunlight shone straight down through it. “There’s something up there,” the panicked boy gasped. “Something big, I swear it.”

The front of Tochee’s body lifted off the ground as the alien aligned its pyramid eye on the gap. “I see nothing, friend Orion.”

“Not right up there, more off this way.” Orion pointed.

“What sort of size are you talking about?” Ozzie asked nervously. The boy’s behavior was making him jittery. Was that intentional? Or were they out of the illusion now? If so…His hand slipped down toward the sheath where his knife hung.

“I don’t know.” Orion clambered to his feet. “It was this shape moving, that’s all. A dark shape. My size, maybe bigger.”

Tochee had begun sliding in the direction Orion indicated, winding slightly from side to side in short economic movements. Its colorful fronds were standing proud from its hide, waving slightly in sympathy with its body motion. Something about the alien’s intent and confidence reminded Ozzie of native American hunters. When he looked up again at the ragged ceiling of branches and leaves there was nothing to see, just the occasional flutter of the leaves, the chiaroscuro dapple in perpetual random motion.

“What’s—” Orion began.

Ozzie closed a hand about the curious boy’s pointing hand, lowering it. “Why don’t we just keep on going to the spire?” he said, trying to be casual as he put a finger to his lips. Orion’s eyes bugged.

Tochee reared up, an impressive action even in the reef’s low gravity. The front edges of its locomotion ridges curled into hooks that fastened around a branch, holding it vertical. The manipulator flesh on its flanks lunged out, flattening into two tentacles that shot up into the forest’s vegetation. For a moment nothing happened. Then Tochee let go of the branches, and tugged with its tentacles. Its heavy body fell smoothly. A humanoid form came crashing down through the forest’s low ceiling.

Ozzie was already leaping forward. He landed right on top of the figure struggling on the ground next to Tochee. The pair of them rolled over and over as Ozzie tried to get his opponent in a wrestling lock. Whoever he was holding writhed like an electrocuted octopus. Every time Ozzie grabbed a limb, it was torn from his grasp with above-human strength. Something like a thick leather cloak kept batting against his face. They wound up rolling into the bottom of a tree, with Ozzie on top. The tough dark fabric was slapping into his face again. So he just lashed out with both feet. He was no street-fighter, never had been, so the toes of his boots just connected with the polyp; the follow-up bounce meant his knees landed hard.

“Ow. Sheesh, that hurts.”

“Then stop fucking kicking, you moron,” a harsh voice said in heavily accented English.

Ozzie froze. The leathery wing fell away from his face, and he was looking right at a male Silfen, whose narrow feline eyes stared back with impatience.

“Huh?” Ozzie blurted.

“I said, cool it with the hardass routine. You’re crap at it anyway.”

Ozzie let go as if the Silfen burned. “You can talk.”

“You can think.”

Surprise battled with resentment. “Sorry, man,” he said meekly. “You startled us, you know, creeping around up there.”

Orion had come over to stare down in amazement. He slowly pulled the pendant out of his shirt, blinking at the intense green light. He looked at it, and back at the Silfen who was now gracefully climbing to his feet. There was a rustle as he flapped his wings, sending out little puffs of the dusty sand, before folding them back so they formed neat creases below his arms. His tail did a quick whiplike flick before settling into a shallow U-curve that kept it off the ground.

Ozzie patted at his own clothes, mildly embarrassed.

Tochee slid up beside Ozzie and Orion to look at the Silfen. “I believe you said these creatures would not speak your language?” the array voice said.

The Silfen turned to look at Tochee. Ozzie’s inserts caught it, but only just: the humanoid’s eyes flashed with ultraviolet light. A ripple ran along Tochee’s manipulator flesh ridges as it began to project its speech images in reply. They began to speed up, the two of them conversing very fast. If this is a simulation or a dream, why does it need to talk with Tochee?

“I didn’t know they could speak English,” Orion whispered breathlessly to Ozzie.

“Me neither.”

The Silfen finished communicating with Tochee, and bowed slightly, blinking. The ultraviolet faded from his eyes.

“Who are you?” Ozzie asked.

The Silfen’s circular mouth opened wide, allowing the long slender tongue to vibrate between his rows of teeth. “I am the one who dances in the endless wind streams which flow along the tumbling white clouds as they circle in eternal orbit within the star of life.” He gave a sharp whistle. “But you may call me Clouddancer. I know how you humans have to be so quick and shallow.”

“Thanks.” Ozzie tipped his head to one side. “Why the German accent?”

Clouddancer’s tongue quivered. “Authority. I look like one of your legendary demons. If I start talking like some stoner hippy then I’ve got a serious credibility problem, right?”

“Absolutely, man. So are you here to tell me what I want to know?”

“I don’t know, Ozzie. What do you want to know?”

“Who threw the barriers around the Dyson Pair, and why?”

“Long story.”

Ozzie gestured at the dusky forest with both arms. “Do I look like I’m going somewhere?”

They walked back through the forest to a clearing half a kilometer away that they’d passed through earlier. Ozzie wanted a less oppressive environment to concentrate on the details. Orion was totally fascinated by a winged Silfen who could speak English.

“Where did you learn it?” the boy asked.

“Common knowledge where I come from, kid.”