Kinder des Schicksals 4 (Xeelee 9): Resplendent

bonfire. A
bonfire of wisdom almost as old as the universe. And we got our
fingers burned.’
    The ratings quailed, clutching tighter.
    Useless, Mari thought analytically. Dead weight. Rumour had it
they were cadre siblings, hatched in some vast inner-Expansion
Conurbation; further rumour had it they were also lovers.
    She moved on down the line of cloaked bodies. Two more survivors,
roughly wrapped in their cloaks. She recognised Vael, a gunner ranked
below herself, and Retto, a sub-lieutenant who had been officer of
the watch at the time of the attack. Good sailors both. Even the
officer.
    Except they weren’t survivors at all. She could see that even
through the layers of their imperfectly fitting cloaks, which had
turned a subtle blue colour, the colour of death. Mari’s heart sank;
it would have been good to have these two at her side.
    Jarn had extracted a kit of what looked like hypodermic needles
from a pack at Mace’s waist. ’Take their cloaks. Retto’s and
Vael’s.’
    Jarn was one rank below the CO and his First Officer, with nominal
responsibilities for communications. Mari knew her as a prissy idiot
who routinely dumped any responsibility downwards. And now, in this
grim situation, she had issued a stupid order like that. ’Sir,
they’re dead.’
    Kapur turned blindly. A thin, intense, withdrawn man, he wore his
head shaven after the ancient fashion of the Commission for
Historical Truth, and he had a clutch of bright red vials strapped to
his waist: mnemonic fluid, every droplet a backup record of
everything that had happened during the action. He said, ’I can read
your tone of voice, gunner. I can tell what you’re thinking. Why did
such good comrades have to die, when such a rabble as this has
survived?’
    ’Academician, shut up,’ Jarn snapped. ’Sir. Just do it, gunner.
There’s nothing to be done for them now. And we’re going to need
those cloaks.’ Fumbling one-handed, she began to jab needles into the
fleshy wall of the little cavern, squirting in thick blue gunk.
    Of course Kapur was right. Mari surveyed her surviving companions
with disgust: Jarn the pompous ass-muncher of a junior officer, Mace
the half-dead wetback, Kapur the dried-up domehead, the two
soft-bodied store-stackers. But there was nothing to be done about
it.
    Keeping her face stony, Mari peeled the cloaks off the inert
bodies of Vael and Retto. Vael’s chest had been laid open, as if by
an immense punch; blood and bits of burned meat floated out of the
cavity.
    Jarn abandoned her needle-jabbing. ’The Spline isn’t responding.’
She held up the emptied hypodermics. ’This is the way you communicate
with a Spline - in an emergency, anyhow. Chemicals injected into its
bloodstream. Lieutenant Mace could tell you better than I can, if he
were conscious. I think this Spline must be too badly wounded. It has
withdrawn from us, from human contact.’
    Mari gaped. ’We can’t control the ship?’
    Kapur sighed. ’The Spline do not belong to us, to humanity. They
are living ships, independent, sentient creatures, with whom we
negotiate.’
    The siblings huddled fearfully. The fatter one - Tsedi - stared
with wide eyes at Jarn. ’They’ll come to get us. Won’t they,
sir?’
    Jarn’s face flickered; Mari saw she was out of her depth herself,
but she was working to keep control, to keep functioning. Maybe this
screen-tapper was stronger than Mari had suspected. ’I’m a
communications officer, remember.’ That meant she had a Squeem
implant, an alien fish swimming in her belly, her link to the rest of
the crew. She closed her eyes, as if tapping into the Squeem’s crude
group mind. ’There is no they, rating.’
    Tsedi’s eyes were wide. ’They’re dead? The crew? All of them?’
    ’We’re on our own. Just focus on that.’
    Alone. Kapur laughed softly. Mari tried to hide her own inner
chill.
    As if on cue, they all felt a subtle, gut-wrenching
displacement.
    ’Hyperdrive,’ Mari said.
    The siblings clutched each other. ’Hyperdrive? The Spline is
moving? Where is it taking us?’
    Kapur said, ’Wherever it wants. We have no influence. Probably the
Spline doesn’t even know we are here. This is what you get when your
warship has a mind of its own.’
    Impatiently, Jarn snapped, ’Nothing we can do about that. All
right, we have work to do. We should pool what we have. Med kit,
supplies, weapons, tools, anything.’
    There was precious little. They had the cloaks, plus the two
spares scavenged