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“Go with it,” Rafe tried to say, at least he willed himself to say. He could stretch very far if he wished: or that was Marandu’s thought.
<> was dying.<> knew distress at that. The crew had already passed. “Ship,”<> said, tried to say, “go home.”
But Ship could not/would not hear. The Collective had betrayed<>, implanting instructions<> could not override.
<> died and remembered it when<> woke, with Ship long underway.
FIND. REPORT.<> obeyed, until<> had calculated that transmission scatter was too much, and the years too many, and nothing mattered any more but<> self.
<> traveled. It was all<> had left.
<> made<> self for company.<> sought other goals.
<> took on passengers.
He/they/she and Worm ... participated in a body that had more limbs than they had collectively. They were old; and badly scared; and knew too much.
They/<^> were victims of<> self, helpless in their voyage. Passengers multiplied.<> took them in.<> changed and grew complex and made other selves.
<^> shuddered, gazing at</> in memory.
But one of <^>’s new-gained segments was of different mind.
Ship,he thought, with vast, vast desire. He was structure; Paul was complexity; and Jillan—Jillan was going at that thing, possessed for once of strength and size and a wrath stored up for years.
</> swooped and struck.
They/Marandu moved, lancing through the patterns of the ship, darting this way and that at transmission speed, being here and there with electron lunacy.
“Aiiiiiieeee!”Worm wailed, and discovered <((( them)))>self alive, to ((()))’s total startlememt. “Aiiii-ya!”
</> was in pursuit, was on them, through them.
“Hate you,” one thing said, collectively; Ca
Fargone docks—
And They/Marandu/Worm; no-failure, not-now—beyond clear thought, beyond reasoning, except that they were still alive, like Worm, who had been a pilot once, and hurled ((()))’s skill into their evasions in the patterns.
“Aiiiieeeiiiiii!”Worm cried, going to the attack.
A red world lay in Marandu’s past, much loved betrayer—for that memory, Marandu fought. “Lindy!”Rafe yelled, and felt Jillan and Paul distinctly at his side. Their own focus was a little ship, a hope, pilot-skill and stubbor
“Aiiiiieeeeeeyaaa!”
A wall loomed up at them, Rafe-face amid it, howling as they merged.
<> was amazed.
Bravery, <^> had said. It was.
<> moved, with that same electron-swiftness as </> took <^> in.
<> dived after, rummaged through almost-congruencies, started ripping things into order in </>’s distorted substance.
Merged—with <>’s own mad self; and <^>; and sucked up disordered bits of other things.
Worm—retreated, whimpering.
Ca
Only Paul One stood, howling rage at <>.
And two others of itself surrounded it, denying divisions.
Two more joined with Rafe-mind, such of it as remained. It clung to them.
One cast herself amid it all, discovering loyalties beyond herself. Her double chose another target.
<^> rode this last particle, straight to </>’s heart.
<<<^/they + +>>> became <<^they>>.
Became<<^>>.
Then <>.
A shock went through the ship, a long silence.
Something very old had passed.
The passengers began at last to move. Certain ones fled for different refuges, old alignments having become impolitic, unsafe.
Worm danced, quite solemnly, for ((())) had gained a name. ((())) had become like Kepta in this, even if ((())) was Worm. ((())) had regained sanity; and pride; and glared from ((()))’s five eyes at Ca
[] fled, precipitate.
<*> shivered, in deep mourning for <^>; for <^> had remembered <^>’s savagery at the last, and become quite sane.
<> stretched throughout the ship-body, taking all territories, all systems.
Trishanamarandu-keptacame to fullest awareness, and looked about <>’s surroundings as <> had when <>’s voyage began.
And at what <> had retained within-the-shell. That too.
Rafe put out his hands in the dark. His fingers met the extended arms, hard metal, rigid. He tried to feel his way backward amid this maze. Razor steel sliced his back in more places than one. His questing hands met the same no matter where he turned.
“Kepta,” he said aloud, quite calmly; “Kepta—” Patiently. “I want the light back, Kepta; at least give me the light.”
Kepta might have lost; might have won; the blades might start to move of a sudden and dice him down to something disposable.
“I want the light!”he cried.
Light blazed. He jerked, hit his back and arm against the knives and froze at the sting of wounds. The glittering arms were starkly poised about him, a web of razor steel and claws.
Rafe-shape phased in. “I’ve won,” it said.
“Who—won?”
“Kepta. Me.”
“ Whichof you?”
“Ah. Marandu told you.” Rafe/Kepta moved through the metal arms, through the razors, coming clear to view. “The original. Myself. The one who brought you here.”
“Either of you could have done that.”
“Either would be me. But both my copies are gone, dissipated.”
“Keep away from me!” And— Either would be me—sank in. He stared at it, finding the razor points at his back more comforting than its presence.
“Anxious still? It’s your doing, you know: all three of you. Yourself, for instance—It never could quite break you down, not while Paul was there. Not while there was any vestige of him. That’s your secret, your one secret. Responsibility. My double worked so hard keeping you alive. Mistake. And Paul: Paul One always trusted reason: and he couldn’t withstand it when he met it face to face in Jillan; he couldn’t bear that—or her solitude.”
“Where are they? Are they all right?”
“Jillan, now,” it said, inexorable. “Jillan was the crux. Marandu knew. She gave him—sanity. He was once very fierce—Marandu was, in certain causes. He’d forgotten all of them. And Worm—they called him Worm—he has affinity for you: nibbled up a bit of you, in your other form, as if he’d found one of his own missing bits.”
“Kepta—where are they?”
Rafe/Kepta’s face showed—it seemed—disappointment in him. A ghostly hand lifted, motioned to the center of the place, among the arms. “Come on, Rafe. Lie down. You’ll sleep now. I’ll keep my promise. We’ll go to Paradise.”
“Where are they?”
“I had to erase them, Rafe. I had no choice.”
“ You—” He dodged past the arms, the blades, half-blind.
Snick-snick—Arms moved in unison. Clamps seized his limbs and held, irresistible.
“Damaged,” Kepta said. “They were irrevocably changed. What would you have wanted me to do?”
Rafe wept. He shut his eyes and turned his head; it was all the movement left him.
“I’ll bring them back,” Kepta said.
“Damn you—” He rolled back his head, heaved uselessly against the unflexing arms. The strength went out of him. Resistence did, and gathered itself up again.
“They’ll be new again,” Kepta said. “You understand. What happened to them—won’t ever have happened—to them. The templates are clean of that. I do have charity.” The arms clattered and retracted, snick!“You can harm them, far more than I ever could. Do you understand that?”