Reynolds, Alastair: Redemption Ark

Felka completed the thought. “If she came here, she would have attempted communion with the Pattern Jugglers. She would have tried swimming with them. Now, she may not have succeeded . . . but just supposing she did, what would have happened?”

The mist had closed in completely now; there was no sign of the looming sea-tower.

“Her neural patterns would have been remembered,” Clavain said, as if speaking in a dream. “The ocean would have recorded her essence, her personality, her memories. Everything that she was. She’d have left it physically, but also left behind a holographic copy of herself, in the sea, ready to be imprinted on another sentience, another mind.”

Felka nodded emphatically. “Because that’s what they do, Clavain. Pattern Jugglers store all who swim in their oceans.”

Clavain looked out, hoping to glimpse the ship again. “Then she’d still be here.”

“And we can reach her ourselves if we swim as well. That’s what she knew, Clavain. That’s the message she slipped past the Wolf.”

His eyes were stinging as well. “She’s a clever one, that Galiana. What if we’re wrong?”

“We’ll know. Not necessarily the first time, but we’ll know. All we have to do is swim and open our minds. If she’s in the sea, in their collective memory, the Jugglers will bring her to us.”

“I don’t think I could stand for this to be wrong, Felka.”

She took his hand and squeezed it tighter. “We won’t be wrong, Clavain. We won’t be wrong.”

He hoped against hope that she was right. She tugged his hand harder, and the two of them took the first tentative steps towards the sea.

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EPILOGUE