面具 Masks
By Stewart Baker
Translate By 修酱
2015-03
彗星科幻
Min can tell by the way the man in the lizard mask drums the fingers of one hand on the surface of his desk that he is angry. She avoids the bright green glimmer of his eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here. Wishing she remembered who she was supposed to be.
"This is all you bring me?" the man asks, his voice raspy with distortion. In his other hand he holds the latest chip Min has stolen, heavy with data on Ship's communications to the other surviving colony ships and its route away from Earth-long-gone.
Min says nothing. She is not strong enough to answer, cut off and alone as she is.
The man grunts; his lizard-tongue flickers out of the mask and dances across the chip. His eyes glimmer to blackness as he decrypts the data it contains; his fingers stop drumming and begin to twitch and spasm on the desk's austere surface.
When his tongue retracts and his fingers still, he lets out a long, slow hiss. "Whatever the navigators are hiding, it is not here," he says, and the chip bursts into flame. Min flinches, although she should be used to such theatrics by now.
"Go," the man tells her when the chip has burned to ash. "Twenty-four hours, little spy. Do not fail me again."
The threat stirs something in her she hadn't known was there. A subtle, quiet warmth which seems to spread out from somewhere deep inside her brain. She lifts her eyes from the tiny pile of bone-white powder on the desk and sets her jaw. "Then tell me what it is you want. Let me remember all this, when I am whoever-I-am up there, and I will bring it straight to your hands. Stop this pointless—"
"Enough," says the man, his voice quiet but hard. His fingers begin their drumming again, and his eyes shine so bright that they escape his face. They are everywhere, they are endless, they are twin suns going nova. The familiar pressure builds up at the base of her skull, and then the world explodes.
#
Almost there. Hush now, child, hush now.
Hands pull her up, caress her, soothing in their warmth. Nothing she can do is wrong. Nothing she can do is bad. She is loved. She is part of a greater whole.
She fades away to nothing.
#
Min lies curled up and shivering on the cold titanium floor of the lift as it ascends, the implant-node on the back of her neck burning with a surge of backlogged data. She does not need to look to know it is an angry red beneath her cropped black hair, and the flesh around the indestructible node pale with scratch-marks.
Another black-out, and this time barely a week after the last episode. As usual, there are a dozen messages from Külli. Those she sets aside for later, though she can already hear the anger in her wife's voice, the worry that lies beneath it. Once the backlog clears, she reaches out to Ship through the node, but the data it feeds her answers nothing: Navigatrix-ensign Min, last Ship-level active 192a, timestamp 040899/19689; current Ship-level 176 and rising, timestamp 160108/19689.
Min winces at the timestamps—she's been out for nearly half a day, much longer than ever before—then struggles to her feet, leaning against the handrail as the blood rushes from her head. She picks little flecks of her skin out from under her fingernails, wishing they could tell her where she's been, what she's been doing.
The door chimes open on the hab-deck, and she steps out into its gentle artificial sunlight. Her quarters aren't far, and when she arrives Külli is waiting outside, arms crossed over her chest, hands tucked into her underarms. Her eyes are raw with crying, but Min can see no trace of tears.
#
Navigator-Chief Nkosi's personal office is small, without even a proper desk. With Min and Külli, as well as the Chief himself, packed in together, there is barely room to move.
"Sorry for this," Nkosi says. He is dressed in the blue-and-white uniform and bright gold cape that make up his official regalia, and his eyes are focused on a nav-screen folded out of one wall—a clunky and outdated piece of equipment for someone so high in Ship's hierarchy. "But you didn't give me enough notice to get one of the consultation rooms, and I have work to do."
"No sir," Min says, but before she can apologize further for the disruption to his schedule, Külli overrides her.
"Look," she says, "you know why we're here. You have to. So let's skip all this posturing and get to the point: how long are you going to ignore these episodes of Min's, and when are you going to do something about them?"
Min's mouth goes dry. Ship's hierarchy is paramount, and for Külli, who isn't even part of the Navigation department, to address its chief this way is practically criminal. But Nkosi doesn't seem to care. He is still looking at the screen, his forehead creased in concentration, muttering something under his breath that she can't quite hear. He makes a few swipes at the device with one finger, then looks over at them both and sighs.
"They have been getting worse lately," he says. "Closer together, too. But I'm not sure what it is you would have us do about it."
"Ask Ship,"
Nkosi smiles. "We have of course consulted Ship already, and it denies she is even dropping off the Network. The Techs are working to explore why this is, but unless you have a suggestion on how they might do their jobs better...?"
Külli's shoulders slump, and she shakes her head mutely. She came here expecting a fight, Min knows, not reconciliation. And for all her good qualities, her wife has never been good at thinking on her feet.
"In any case," Nkosi continues, "I'll have the Techs send you copies of their reports on the matter as a courtesy, but I'm afraid that's all I can do." He flips the nav-screen closed with a snap. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to work."
"Of course, Sir," Min says. "I hope we have not caused you any problems."
Nkosi smiles at that. "Oh no, Ensign. On the contrary; you've been most helpful." He exchanges a glance with Külli and before Min can think to ask what he means he is out of the room, cape flapping behind him.
Once he is gone, Külli growls in frustration. "He knows. That arrogant bastard knows exactly what the problem is, and he wants it to continue."
"Külli!" Min hisses, sticking her head into the hallway to be sure Nkosi is really gone. "You can't speak about him that way. If he hears he'll have you—"
"He'll do nothing," Külli says. "He's toying with us, Min! With you. I bet they told Ship to respond how it did. I bet they ... What are you doing?"
Min freezes. Somehow, without her noticing it, she has opened Nkosi's nav-screen and is keying in a passcode she definitely should not know. She's lost control of her body; she wants to tell Külli to leave, quick, to get Nkosi back in here before it passes, but her voice won't work. She tries to send out a warning through her implant-node, but all she gets is static.
Külli steps up next to her just as the screen switches to show table after table of navigation data—data which claims that Ship hasn't so much as moved in over two decades. Külli frowns. "That can't be right. Something must be wrong with this thing. Min, are you..."
Min shudders as a buzzing sensation travels down her spine from the implant-node, which is burning hot against the base of her neck. Time jumps, and she's--
—pressed against a wall by a woman she's never seen before, a woman who's calling out her name as though they're close, but who holds a stunner in one upraised hand and has one of her arms twisted up behind her back. The data. She has to get the data.
Min slams the palm of her free hand into the woman's nose and the woman collapses to the floor, face a bloody mess. Grimacing at the pain in her arm, Min turns back to the nav-screen, which is spooling log after log into the chip she's placed in its data port. The woman on the floor moans, and Min leans down--
—over Külli's inert form, blood on her hands as her wife lies there unmoving, a stunner just beyond one of her hands.
Stars beyond, what have I done?
And then that buzzing again, that burning, that sensation of pressure building up behind her eyes.
#
Hush now, child. This will be the last time, we promise.
Down into darkness as cold as the vacuum of space, hand after hand releasing her until, with a jolt of electric agony, they are gone. She cries out, but no one responds.
#
The man in the lizard mask holds the data chip before him in the forefingers of both hands and smiles, the expression visible in the narrowing of his eyes, in the way the mask rises up slightly to reveal the tip of his chin. "From Nkosi's nav-screen itself? How bold." Even his voice, with its distorted accoustics, sounds somehow more pleasant.
"Yes," Min says. "I..." she begins, planning to tell him about the woman she fought, but her implant-node hums and crackles and the details of the struggle recede. She has worked with the man in the lizard mask for long enough to know that half-accurate information is worse than none at all, and so she shakes her head and snaps her mouth closed.
The man does not notice. He is turning the chip over and over again in his hands, head bent low, as though he can find what he seeks with his eyes alone. At last he sits straight in his seat and flicks out his lizard-tongue, just as Min has witnessed countless times before. But this time it is different: His eyes widen as his tongue touches the chip, and he screams, the sound of his voice dopplering up until it is so high in pitch it is almost inaudible.
Min jumps up from her seat, heart pounding in her throat. Come here, a voice inside her head suggests, the malice it contains like nothing she has ever heard, or you will be next. She claps her hands over her ears to shut it out, then staggers to the door, which is locked and will not open. Behind her, the man in the lizard mask has gone silent, and she dares a look back at him only to find that he is nowhere to be seen.
You cannot escape me so easily, little traitor. Little spy.
A hissing sound arises behind her as she hammers at the door, yanking it open and half-running, half-falling from the room into a hallway thick with dust, dark and empty. She has gone only a few jolting steps when her implant-node explodes with heat, sending burning light up and into her brain.
The last thing she hears is laughter, manic and alien.
#
When Min awakes again, she is in one of Ship's hospital rooms. The walls are alive with a scene from Earth-long-gone: ocean waves at sunset, with gently waving palms in the foreground. The bed is soft and clean, its sheets smelling faintly of soap. The door slides open, and Külli and Navigator-Chief Nkosi walk in.
"Ah," Külli says. "You are awake."
Min shivers at the sound of her voice, which has none of the warmth she remembers. "Külli?" she asks
"If you wish," the woman says. But she smiles so perfunctorily that Min is sure she is not.
Nkosi steps between them, mouth tight in a grimace. "This would go more easily had you not burned out your implant-node, Ship-construct Min. This woman is Inquisitrix Lang, and she has been on the hunt for a rogue Tech named Aslim for years. You were split off from Ship to act as a lure."
"He is a dangerous man," Lang says, "as I'm sure you are aware."
The two of them keep talking, but the words break over her head like waves. It's too much to take in—Everything she thought she was, a lie. She is a mere Ship-construct, an automated fragment of the vast AI which powers Ship. And yet she does not feel anything but human. She sinks back against the bed, turns her back on Lang and Nkosi. A dream, she thinks. Let this be all a dream. I will close my eyes and wake again in Külli's arms at home.
But Nkosi's voice pulls her back to reality. "We will replace the implant-node tomorrow," he says, not unkindly. "And then we can re-integrate you with the rest of Ship. Rest until then, Min, and know that all of us appreciate your service."
As soon as they are gone, she escapes.
#
The hallways and corridors of Ship are dark and lonely, this far down below the inhabited levels. Min wanders them aimlessly: She has nowhere to go anyway, not any more.
After a timeless period marked only by the intervals of her footsteps, she comes across a room. The shape of it seems familiar, yet she has never been here before, she is sure of it. Inside, there is an empty desk, a dead man, and a mask shaped like a lizard's head. Min turns the dead man over. He wears a tech-ensign's outfit, shabby with age. The man himself is nobody she recognizes—his features pale and drawn, his eyes unseeing. His flesh is so lumpy and cold that his face seems a half-finished thing. By contrast, the features of the mask atop the desk are hyper-realistic. It seems almost as though someone has dismembered some long-dead Earth creature from the museum decks, leaving only this remnant behind.
Min shudders, but finds herself reaching out and lifting the mask from the desk. She turns it over in her hands, running one thumb over the data port which is embedded in its rubbery hood, then—slowly—draws it down over her head. There is a surge of power as it connects itself to her implant-node, and Min gasps in release at the data which pours over her. But this is not Ship's reassuring warmth; it is a cold and callous questioning, an insurmountable need for answers. She closes her eyes and sinks into the seat behind the desk as the mask pries open her mind.
Another timeless period passes, and at its end the thing-that-was-Min looks down and smiles to see the way its new fingers drum against the surface of the desk. It is time to find new answers.
# # #
带蜥蜴面具的男人一只手搁在桌上,手指在桌面叩击。看到他敲打的样子,敏知道他正在气头上。她躲避着他眼中鲜绿色的闪光,真希望自己能在别处。要是她能记得自己该是什么身份就好了。
“这就是你带给我的全部?”男人问。他的声音粗砺而失真。在另一只手中,他攥着敏最近盗来的芯片,芯片中满是母船和其他幸存的殖民飞船之间的通讯,还有它飞离故地的路线,
敏没有说话。她脱离了网络,孤身一人。在这种情况下,她没能力答话。
男人咕囔了一声。他的面具里探出蜥蜴舌头,朝着那枚芯片舞动而去。他开始解码芯片中包含的数据,眼中的闪光逐渐熄灭。他的手指停止了敲动,在朴素的桌面上痉挛抽搐起来。
等到他收回舌头,停下手指的动作,他发出了一声深长缓慢的嘶鸣。“不管领航员们隐藏的是什么,肯定不在这里。”说完,芯片上腾起了火焰。事到如今,敏应该已经对这种把戏习以为常了。尽管如此,她还是畏缩了一下。
“去吧。”芯片化为灰烬之后,男人对她说道,“二十四小时,小间谍。别再让我失望了。”
威胁激起了她心中的某些东西。之前,她并没察觉它们的存在。一种微妙的、静谧的温暖似乎从她大脑的深处的某个地方扩散开来。她抬起眼睛,不再注视桌子上那一小撮骨灰般的白色粉末,咬紧了牙关。“那就告诉我什么是你要的。到我以那个身份在那儿的时候,让我保留记忆。我就能直接把它带到你手里。别再搞这些没意义的——”
“够了。”男人说。他的声音虽然平静,却极为严厉。他的手指又敲了起来。他的眼睛光芒大盛,那光芒甚至挣脱了他的面庞。它们无处不在,它们无穷无尽,它们是即将化作新星的两个孪生太阳。在颅骨底部,熟悉的压力集聚起来,然后世界突然改变。
#
就快好了。放松,孩子,放松。
许多双手把她拉到身边,抚摸她,用它们的温暖安抚她。她做的都是对的。她做的都是好的。她为人所爱。她是更大的整体中的一部分。
她消隐于无。
#
升降机正在上升,敏蜷缩在冰冷的钛制地板上,瑟瑟发抖。积压的数据蜂拥而来,让她脖子后面的植入节点变得滚烫。不用看她就知道,它在短短的黑发下面,一块红肿的突起。在坚不可摧的节点周围,环绕着满是抓痕的苍白血肉。
又一次失去知觉。这次和上次之间只隔了一个星期。和往常一样,有十几条来自曲莉的信息。她暂时搁置了它们。不过,她已经能够感受到妻子的声音中包含的怒火,以及愤怒背后的担忧。一清理完积压的信息,她就通过节点联系了母船,可飞船回复给她的数据全是废话:领航少尉敏,上次活跃于母船192a层,时间戳040899/19689;现处于母船176层,爬升中,时间戳 160108/19689。
敏冲着时间戳咧了咧嘴——她这次掉线的时间将近半天,比以往任何一次都长——然后她挣扎着站了起来。血液迅速涌离头部,她在扶手上依靠了一会。她把指甲里的皮屑一一挑出,期待他们能告诉她自己曾经身在何处,做了些什么。
到达居住层,门响了一声,向外敞开。她步入温和的人工阳光之中。她的住处离这儿不远。当她走到门口,曲莉正在门外等候。她把双臂交抱在胸前,手插在腋下。她刚哭过,眼睛还红着,但敏看不出一丝泪痕。
#
首席领航员恩克西的个人办公室很小,甚至没有一张像样的桌子。挤下敏、曲莉和首席自己之后,屋里几乎不剩任何活动空间。
“我对此感到抱歉。”恩克西说。他穿着蓝白双色的制服,亮金色的披肩彰显着他的权威地位。他的眼睛盯着墙上展开的导航屏——对于母船上地位如此之高的人来说,这一设备既笨重又过时。“但你通知得太晚了,我来不及找一间咨询室。此外我还有工作要做。”
“不,先生。”敏说,但没等她因为打乱他的日程再道歉,曲莉就插了进来。
“瞧瞧,”她说,“你知道我们为什么在这。你肯定知道。那我们跳过所有这些无谓之举吧,直接进入主题:敏身上发生的这些事情,你还要继续忽视吗?你什么时候才处理它们?
敏的嘴巴发干。母船上的等级制度至高无上,曲莉甚至不是领航部门的人,她这么跟首席领航员说话,实际上是违法犯罪。但恩克西似乎并不介意。他仍然看着屏幕,因为集中精神皱紧眉头。他低声念叨着什么,敏听不太清。他用一根指头在设备上划了几下,然后看了看她们俩,叹了口气。
“它们最近变严重了。”他说,“也更加频繁。但我不确定你想让我们为此做些什么。”
“向母船请示。”
恩克西微笑了。“我们当然已经问过母船了,可它甚至不承认她离开过网络。技术员们正在忙这事,找出原因。要是你能给他们的工作提出建议……?”
曲莉垂下肩膀,沉默地摇了摇头。敏知道,她来的时候以为要干一架,没想到对方会妥协。尽管她的妻子拥有种种优良品质,但从来不擅长随机应变。
“无论如何,”恩克西继续说,“出于礼貌,我会让技术员把关于此事的报告副本发送给你,但恐怕我能做的也就仅限于此了。”他“啪”地一弹,关闭了导航屏。“现在,如果你不介意的话,我真的得回去工作了。”
“当然了,先生。”敏说,“希望我们没给你带来什么麻烦。”
恩克西对此莞尔一笑。“哦不,少尉。正相反,你居功至伟。”他和曲莉交换了一个眼神。等到敏想到要追问他到底是什么意思,他已经出了门,披肩飘垂在身后。
恩克西刚走,曲莉就沮丧地咆哮道:“他知道。那个傲慢的混蛋知道出了什么问题,但他想让事情继续下去。”
“曲莉!”敏向她嘘了一声。她把头探出走道,确保恩克西真的离开了。“你不能这么说他。要是他听见了,他会把你——”
“他什么都不会做。”曲莉说。“他在戏弄我们,敏!他在戏弄你。我打赌,是他们叫母船这么回复的。我打赌,他们……你在干嘛?”
敏僵住了。不知怎地,她在不知不觉中打开了恩克西的导航屏,键入了一串她必然不该知道的密码。她对自己身体失去了控制。她想叫曲莉离开,在密码通过之前赶紧把恩克西找来,但她发不出声音。她想通过自己的植入节点发出警报,但她竭尽全力,却只能静止不动。
曲莉走到她身边,屏幕正好切换到一张张的导航数据表——数据表明,二十多年来,母船没有前进多少。曲莉皱起了眉头:“不可能是这样的。这东西肯定出了什么问题。敏,你是不是……”
敏的植入节点灼烧着脖子根。一波震荡从植入节点流下脊椎,让敏打了个颤。时间跳转,她正—--
——被一个从没见过的女人按在墙上。那女人喊着她的名字,仿佛她们关系亲密。但她扬起的手里握着一支眩晕枪,还把敏的一只胳膊扭到背后。数据。她必须拿到数据。
敏用她没被束缚的那只手扇上了那女人的鼻子。那个女人倒在地上,血流满面。疼痛的胳膊让敏咧了咧嘴。她重又转向导航屏幕,把芯片插入数据端口,输入一项又一项记录。地上的女人发出了呻吟。敏俯下身来—--
——俯视曲莉毫无生气的躯体。她的手上粘着鲜血,而她的妻子一动不动地躺在地上,一支眩晕枪落在手边。
群星在上,我做了什么?
然后,那波震荡再度袭来。那种灼热,那种压迫感在她眼睛后面集聚起来。
#
放松,孩子。这是最后一次了,我们保证。
敏沉入了黑暗之中,那黑暗像宇宙真空一样冰冷。手一只接一只地松开了。最终,伴随着一阵电击般的痛苦,它们全都离她而去。她大声呼喊,却无人回应。
#
带着蜥蜴面具的男人把面前的数据芯片顶在双手食指之间,露出了微笑。笑意从他狭窄的眼缝里流露出来,使得面具微微抬起,露出了下巴尖。“从恩克西的导航屏幕里找到的?真有胆量。”不知怎么,即使是他那被扭曲过声音,听起来也更舒服了。
“是的。”敏说,“我……”她开了个头,想要向他讲述被她击倒的女人。然而,她的植入节点嗡嗡作响,模糊了争斗的细节。她与带蜥蜴面具的男人已经共事良久,久到足够知道,似是而非的信息还不如没有。于是她摇了摇头,咬紧双唇。
男人没有在意。他把芯片来来回回地在手中翻转,低垂着头,好像只用眼睛就能看出他所寻找的东西似的。最终,他在椅子里直直坐起。正如敏之前无数次看到的那样,他探出了他的蜥蜴舌头。但是,这次有所不同:当他的舌头碰到芯片,他的眼睛睁大了。他尖叫了起来,音调越来越高,高到几乎不可听闻。
敏从椅子上一跃而起。她的心脏怦怦直跳,跳到了嗓子眼里。过来,脑子里有个声音引诱着她。那声音里包含着他从未听闻的恶意,不然你就是下一个。她用手捂住耳朵,把它关在外面,然后跌跌撞撞地走向门口。门上了锁,怎么也打不开。在她身后,带蜥蜴面具的男人没了声响。她壮着胆子,回头看了他一眼,却只发现他已消失不见。
从我手中逃脱可没这么容易,小诱饵。小间谍。
她拼命捶门,把它拽开,跌跌撞撞地冲了出去。门外是一条积满灰尘的走廊,黑暗而空寂。一阵嘶嘶声在她背后响起。她只晃出几步,她的植入节点就热得炸裂开来,把灼热的光芒送入了她的大脑。
她最后听见的声响是笑声,疯狂的,不属于人类。
#
当敏再次苏醒,她躺在母船的一间医疗室里。墙壁上满是故地的景象:日落之时,洪波涌起,几株棕榈树在前景轻轻招摇。床铺柔软洁净,床单上依稀散发着香皂的气息。房门打开,曲莉和首席领航员恩克西走了进来。
“啊,”曲莉说,“你醒了。”
她的声音冷漠如斯,毫无敏记忆中的温暖,这让敏一阵战栗。“曲莉?”她问。
“如果你想这么叫的话。”那女人说。但她笑得如此敷衍,以至于敏确信这并不是她的名字。
恩克西走到她俩中间,嘴紧抿着,表情怪异。“母船思维体敏,要是你的植入节点没烧坏,这会容易得多。这位女士叫朗,是位检察官。多年来,她一直在追查一名行为异常的技术员,他的名字叫做阿斯林。我们把你从母船上剥离出来,当作诱饵。”
“他是个危险的男人,”朗说,“我相信你也意识到了。”
他们俩继续说下去,词语如浪潮般扑打她的头。要吸纳的东西太多了——她对自己所有的认知全是谎言。她只是母船思维体,控制母船的宏大AI的一个自主碎片。然而,她所感知到的一切无不富有人性。她重新陷进床里,背对着朗和恩克西。一个梦,她想。全都是个梦。闭上眼,我会回到家中,在曲莉的臂弯中再度苏醒。
但恩克西的声音把她拉回了现实。“明天我们会置换植入节点,”他不无温和地说,“然后我们就能把你和母船的其他部分重新整合。敏,在那之前好好休息。你要知道,我们全都对你的贡献心怀感激。”
他们一走,她就逃了。
#
在远离居住层的下方,母船的走廊黑暗而空寂。敏漫无目的地在其中游荡:无论如何,她已无处可去。
时光流逝,唯有脚步之间的间隙作为标志。经过无尽的时间,她无意中发现了一间屋子。屋子的样子看似眼熟,可她却从未来过,她对此确定无疑。屋里有一张空桌子,一个死去的男人,一张蜥蜴脑袋形状的面具。敏把男人的尸体翻了过来。他身上穿着技术少尉的制服。岁月悠悠,制服已经破旧不堪。她并不认识这个男人——他的脸苍白而扭曲,眼神空茫。冰冷的脸上疙疙瘩瘩的,让人觉得他的脸只是个半成品。相比之下,桌上的面具则过于真实。简直像是博物馆展台上的某种故地生物被人肢解,只余下这一点残骸。
敏打了个哆嗦。可她却发现,自己的手伸向了桌上的面具,把它举了起来。她把它翻了个面,用大拇指摩挲着橡胶罩里嵌合的数据端口,然后——慢慢地——把它套在头上。面具连上了她的植入节点,力量涌动。数据排山倒海而来,敏舒了口气。不过,这并不是母船那种令人安定的温暖;这是一种冷酷无情的质问,一种无法克制的对答案的追寻。她闭上眼,沉入了桌子后面的座椅,任面具撬开她的意识。
又经过了无尽的时间。最终,过去曾经是敏的那个东西垂下眼,看着自己的新手指在桌面上敲打,微微一笑。是时候寻找新的答案了。
「完」
—————————————————————————--
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By Stewart Baker
Translate By 修酱
2015-03
彗星科幻
Min can tell by the way the man in the lizard mask drums the fingers of one hand on the surface of his desk that he is angry. She avoids the bright green glimmer of his eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here. Wishing she remembered who she was supposed to be.
"This is all you bring me?" the man asks, his voice raspy with distortion. In his other hand he holds the latest chip Min has stolen, heavy with data on Ship's communications to the other surviving colony ships and its route away from Earth-long-gone.
Min says nothing. She is not strong enough to answer, cut off and alone as she is.
The man grunts; his lizard-tongue flickers out of the mask and dances across the chip. His eyes glimmer to blackness as he decrypts the data it contains; his fingers stop drumming and begin to twitch and spasm on the desk's austere surface.
When his tongue retracts and his fingers still, he lets out a long, slow hiss. "Whatever the navigators are hiding, it is not here," he says, and the chip bursts into flame. Min flinches, although she should be used to such theatrics by now.
"Go," the man tells her when the chip has burned to ash. "Twenty-four hours, little spy. Do not fail me again."
The threat stirs something in her she hadn't known was there. A subtle, quiet warmth which seems to spread out from somewhere deep inside her brain. She lifts her eyes from the tiny pile of bone-white powder on the desk and sets her jaw. "Then tell me what it is you want. Let me remember all this, when I am whoever-I-am up there, and I will bring it straight to your hands. Stop this pointless—"
"Enough," says the man, his voice quiet but hard. His fingers begin their drumming again, and his eyes shine so bright that they escape his face. They are everywhere, they are endless, they are twin suns going nova. The familiar pressure builds up at the base of her skull, and then the world explodes.
#
Almost there. Hush now, child, hush now.
Hands pull her up, caress her, soothing in their warmth. Nothing she can do is wrong. Nothing she can do is bad. She is loved. She is part of a greater whole.
She fades away to nothing.
#
Min lies curled up and shivering on the cold titanium floor of the lift as it ascends, the implant-node on the back of her neck burning with a surge of backlogged data. She does not need to look to know it is an angry red beneath her cropped black hair, and the flesh around the indestructible node pale with scratch-marks.
Another black-out, and this time barely a week after the last episode. As usual, there are a dozen messages from Külli. Those she sets aside for later, though she can already hear the anger in her wife's voice, the worry that lies beneath it. Once the backlog clears, she reaches out to Ship through the node, but the data it feeds her answers nothing: Navigatrix-ensign Min, last Ship-level active 192a, timestamp 040899/19689; current Ship-level 176 and rising, timestamp 160108/19689.
Min winces at the timestamps—she's been out for nearly half a day, much longer than ever before—then struggles to her feet, leaning against the handrail as the blood rushes from her head. She picks little flecks of her skin out from under her fingernails, wishing they could tell her where she's been, what she's been doing.
The door chimes open on the hab-deck, and she steps out into its gentle artificial sunlight. Her quarters aren't far, and when she arrives Külli is waiting outside, arms crossed over her chest, hands tucked into her underarms. Her eyes are raw with crying, but Min can see no trace of tears.
#
Navigator-Chief Nkosi's personal office is small, without even a proper desk. With Min and Külli, as well as the Chief himself, packed in together, there is barely room to move.
"Sorry for this," Nkosi says. He is dressed in the blue-and-white uniform and bright gold cape that make up his official regalia, and his eyes are focused on a nav-screen folded out of one wall—a clunky and outdated piece of equipment for someone so high in Ship's hierarchy. "But you didn't give me enough notice to get one of the consultation rooms, and I have work to do."
"No sir," Min says, but before she can apologize further for the disruption to his schedule, Külli overrides her.
"Look," she says, "you know why we're here. You have to. So let's skip all this posturing and get to the point: how long are you going to ignore these episodes of Min's, and when are you going to do something about them?"
Min's mouth goes dry. Ship's hierarchy is paramount, and for Külli, who isn't even part of the Navigation department, to address its chief this way is practically criminal. But Nkosi doesn't seem to care. He is still looking at the screen, his forehead creased in concentration, muttering something under his breath that she can't quite hear. He makes a few swipes at the device with one finger, then looks over at them both and sighs.
"They have been getting worse lately," he says. "Closer together, too. But I'm not sure what it is you would have us do about it."
"Ask Ship,"
Nkosi smiles. "We have of course consulted Ship already, and it denies she is even dropping off the Network. The Techs are working to explore why this is, but unless you have a suggestion on how they might do their jobs better...?"
Külli's shoulders slump, and she shakes her head mutely. She came here expecting a fight, Min knows, not reconciliation. And for all her good qualities, her wife has never been good at thinking on her feet.
"In any case," Nkosi continues, "I'll have the Techs send you copies of their reports on the matter as a courtesy, but I'm afraid that's all I can do." He flips the nav-screen closed with a snap. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to work."
"Of course, Sir," Min says. "I hope we have not caused you any problems."
Nkosi smiles at that. "Oh no, Ensign. On the contrary; you've been most helpful." He exchanges a glance with Külli and before Min can think to ask what he means he is out of the room, cape flapping behind him.
Once he is gone, Külli growls in frustration. "He knows. That arrogant bastard knows exactly what the problem is, and he wants it to continue."
"Külli!" Min hisses, sticking her head into the hallway to be sure Nkosi is really gone. "You can't speak about him that way. If he hears he'll have you—"
"He'll do nothing," Külli says. "He's toying with us, Min! With you. I bet they told Ship to respond how it did. I bet they ... What are you doing?"
Min freezes. Somehow, without her noticing it, she has opened Nkosi's nav-screen and is keying in a passcode she definitely should not know. She's lost control of her body; she wants to tell Külli to leave, quick, to get Nkosi back in here before it passes, but her voice won't work. She tries to send out a warning through her implant-node, but all she gets is static.
Külli steps up next to her just as the screen switches to show table after table of navigation data—data which claims that Ship hasn't so much as moved in over two decades. Külli frowns. "That can't be right. Something must be wrong with this thing. Min, are you..."
Min shudders as a buzzing sensation travels down her spine from the implant-node, which is burning hot against the base of her neck. Time jumps, and she's--
—pressed against a wall by a woman she's never seen before, a woman who's calling out her name as though they're close, but who holds a stunner in one upraised hand and has one of her arms twisted up behind her back. The data. She has to get the data.
Min slams the palm of her free hand into the woman's nose and the woman collapses to the floor, face a bloody mess. Grimacing at the pain in her arm, Min turns back to the nav-screen, which is spooling log after log into the chip she's placed in its data port. The woman on the floor moans, and Min leans down--
—over Külli's inert form, blood on her hands as her wife lies there unmoving, a stunner just beyond one of her hands.
Stars beyond, what have I done?
And then that buzzing again, that burning, that sensation of pressure building up behind her eyes.
#
Hush now, child. This will be the last time, we promise.
Down into darkness as cold as the vacuum of space, hand after hand releasing her until, with a jolt of electric agony, they are gone. She cries out, but no one responds.
#
The man in the lizard mask holds the data chip before him in the forefingers of both hands and smiles, the expression visible in the narrowing of his eyes, in the way the mask rises up slightly to reveal the tip of his chin. "From Nkosi's nav-screen itself? How bold." Even his voice, with its distorted accoustics, sounds somehow more pleasant.
"Yes," Min says. "I..." she begins, planning to tell him about the woman she fought, but her implant-node hums and crackles and the details of the struggle recede. She has worked with the man in the lizard mask for long enough to know that half-accurate information is worse than none at all, and so she shakes her head and snaps her mouth closed.
The man does not notice. He is turning the chip over and over again in his hands, head bent low, as though he can find what he seeks with his eyes alone. At last he sits straight in his seat and flicks out his lizard-tongue, just as Min has witnessed countless times before. But this time it is different: His eyes widen as his tongue touches the chip, and he screams, the sound of his voice dopplering up until it is so high in pitch it is almost inaudible.
Min jumps up from her seat, heart pounding in her throat. Come here, a voice inside her head suggests, the malice it contains like nothing she has ever heard, or you will be next. She claps her hands over her ears to shut it out, then staggers to the door, which is locked and will not open. Behind her, the man in the lizard mask has gone silent, and she dares a look back at him only to find that he is nowhere to be seen.
You cannot escape me so easily, little traitor. Little spy.
A hissing sound arises behind her as she hammers at the door, yanking it open and half-running, half-falling from the room into a hallway thick with dust, dark and empty. She has gone only a few jolting steps when her implant-node explodes with heat, sending burning light up and into her brain.
The last thing she hears is laughter, manic and alien.
#
When Min awakes again, she is in one of Ship's hospital rooms. The walls are alive with a scene from Earth-long-gone: ocean waves at sunset, with gently waving palms in the foreground. The bed is soft and clean, its sheets smelling faintly of soap. The door slides open, and Külli and Navigator-Chief Nkosi walk in.
"Ah," Külli says. "You are awake."
Min shivers at the sound of her voice, which has none of the warmth she remembers. "Külli?" she asks
"If you wish," the woman says. But she smiles so perfunctorily that Min is sure she is not.
Nkosi steps between them, mouth tight in a grimace. "This would go more easily had you not burned out your implant-node, Ship-construct Min. This woman is Inquisitrix Lang, and she has been on the hunt for a rogue Tech named Aslim for years. You were split off from Ship to act as a lure."
"He is a dangerous man," Lang says, "as I'm sure you are aware."
The two of them keep talking, but the words break over her head like waves. It's too much to take in—Everything she thought she was, a lie. She is a mere Ship-construct, an automated fragment of the vast AI which powers Ship. And yet she does not feel anything but human. She sinks back against the bed, turns her back on Lang and Nkosi. A dream, she thinks. Let this be all a dream. I will close my eyes and wake again in Külli's arms at home.
But Nkosi's voice pulls her back to reality. "We will replace the implant-node tomorrow," he says, not unkindly. "And then we can re-integrate you with the rest of Ship. Rest until then, Min, and know that all of us appreciate your service."
As soon as they are gone, she escapes.
#
The hallways and corridors of Ship are dark and lonely, this far down below the inhabited levels. Min wanders them aimlessly: She has nowhere to go anyway, not any more.
After a timeless period marked only by the intervals of her footsteps, she comes across a room. The shape of it seems familiar, yet she has never been here before, she is sure of it. Inside, there is an empty desk, a dead man, and a mask shaped like a lizard's head. Min turns the dead man over. He wears a tech-ensign's outfit, shabby with age. The man himself is nobody she recognizes—his features pale and drawn, his eyes unseeing. His flesh is so lumpy and cold that his face seems a half-finished thing. By contrast, the features of the mask atop the desk are hyper-realistic. It seems almost as though someone has dismembered some long-dead Earth creature from the museum decks, leaving only this remnant behind.
Min shudders, but finds herself reaching out and lifting the mask from the desk. She turns it over in her hands, running one thumb over the data port which is embedded in its rubbery hood, then—slowly—draws it down over her head. There is a surge of power as it connects itself to her implant-node, and Min gasps in release at the data which pours over her. But this is not Ship's reassuring warmth; it is a cold and callous questioning, an insurmountable need for answers. She closes her eyes and sinks into the seat behind the desk as the mask pries open her mind.
Another timeless period passes, and at its end the thing-that-was-Min looks down and smiles to see the way its new fingers drum against the surface of the desk. It is time to find new answers.
# # #
带蜥蜴面具的男人一只手搁在桌上,手指在桌面叩击。看到他敲打的样子,敏知道他正在气头上。她躲避着他眼中鲜绿色的闪光,真希望自己能在别处。要是她能记得自己该是什么身份就好了。
“这就是你带给我的全部?”男人问。他的声音粗砺而失真。在另一只手中,他攥着敏最近盗来的芯片,芯片中满是母船和其他幸存的殖民飞船之间的通讯,还有它飞离故地的路线,
敏没有说话。她脱离了网络,孤身一人。在这种情况下,她没能力答话。
男人咕囔了一声。他的面具里探出蜥蜴舌头,朝着那枚芯片舞动而去。他开始解码芯片中包含的数据,眼中的闪光逐渐熄灭。他的手指停止了敲动,在朴素的桌面上痉挛抽搐起来。
等到他收回舌头,停下手指的动作,他发出了一声深长缓慢的嘶鸣。“不管领航员们隐藏的是什么,肯定不在这里。”说完,芯片上腾起了火焰。事到如今,敏应该已经对这种把戏习以为常了。尽管如此,她还是畏缩了一下。
“去吧。”芯片化为灰烬之后,男人对她说道,“二十四小时,小间谍。别再让我失望了。”
威胁激起了她心中的某些东西。之前,她并没察觉它们的存在。一种微妙的、静谧的温暖似乎从她大脑的深处的某个地方扩散开来。她抬起眼睛,不再注视桌子上那一小撮骨灰般的白色粉末,咬紧了牙关。“那就告诉我什么是你要的。到我以那个身份在那儿的时候,让我保留记忆。我就能直接把它带到你手里。别再搞这些没意义的——”
“够了。”男人说。他的声音虽然平静,却极为严厉。他的手指又敲了起来。他的眼睛光芒大盛,那光芒甚至挣脱了他的面庞。它们无处不在,它们无穷无尽,它们是即将化作新星的两个孪生太阳。在颅骨底部,熟悉的压力集聚起来,然后世界突然改变。
#
就快好了。放松,孩子,放松。
许多双手把她拉到身边,抚摸她,用它们的温暖安抚她。她做的都是对的。她做的都是好的。她为人所爱。她是更大的整体中的一部分。
她消隐于无。
#
升降机正在上升,敏蜷缩在冰冷的钛制地板上,瑟瑟发抖。积压的数据蜂拥而来,让她脖子后面的植入节点变得滚烫。不用看她就知道,它在短短的黑发下面,一块红肿的突起。在坚不可摧的节点周围,环绕着满是抓痕的苍白血肉。
又一次失去知觉。这次和上次之间只隔了一个星期。和往常一样,有十几条来自曲莉的信息。她暂时搁置了它们。不过,她已经能够感受到妻子的声音中包含的怒火,以及愤怒背后的担忧。一清理完积压的信息,她就通过节点联系了母船,可飞船回复给她的数据全是废话:领航少尉敏,上次活跃于母船192a层,时间戳040899/19689;现处于母船176层,爬升中,时间戳 160108/19689。
敏冲着时间戳咧了咧嘴——她这次掉线的时间将近半天,比以往任何一次都长——然后她挣扎着站了起来。血液迅速涌离头部,她在扶手上依靠了一会。她把指甲里的皮屑一一挑出,期待他们能告诉她自己曾经身在何处,做了些什么。
到达居住层,门响了一声,向外敞开。她步入温和的人工阳光之中。她的住处离这儿不远。当她走到门口,曲莉正在门外等候。她把双臂交抱在胸前,手插在腋下。她刚哭过,眼睛还红着,但敏看不出一丝泪痕。
#
首席领航员恩克西的个人办公室很小,甚至没有一张像样的桌子。挤下敏、曲莉和首席自己之后,屋里几乎不剩任何活动空间。
“我对此感到抱歉。”恩克西说。他穿着蓝白双色的制服,亮金色的披肩彰显着他的权威地位。他的眼睛盯着墙上展开的导航屏——对于母船上地位如此之高的人来说,这一设备既笨重又过时。“但你通知得太晚了,我来不及找一间咨询室。此外我还有工作要做。”
“不,先生。”敏说,但没等她因为打乱他的日程再道歉,曲莉就插了进来。
“瞧瞧,”她说,“你知道我们为什么在这。你肯定知道。那我们跳过所有这些无谓之举吧,直接进入主题:敏身上发生的这些事情,你还要继续忽视吗?你什么时候才处理它们?
敏的嘴巴发干。母船上的等级制度至高无上,曲莉甚至不是领航部门的人,她这么跟首席领航员说话,实际上是违法犯罪。但恩克西似乎并不介意。他仍然看着屏幕,因为集中精神皱紧眉头。他低声念叨着什么,敏听不太清。他用一根指头在设备上划了几下,然后看了看她们俩,叹了口气。
“它们最近变严重了。”他说,“也更加频繁。但我不确定你想让我们为此做些什么。”
“向母船请示。”
恩克西微笑了。“我们当然已经问过母船了,可它甚至不承认她离开过网络。技术员们正在忙这事,找出原因。要是你能给他们的工作提出建议……?”
曲莉垂下肩膀,沉默地摇了摇头。敏知道,她来的时候以为要干一架,没想到对方会妥协。尽管她的妻子拥有种种优良品质,但从来不擅长随机应变。
“无论如何,”恩克西继续说,“出于礼貌,我会让技术员把关于此事的报告副本发送给你,但恐怕我能做的也就仅限于此了。”他“啪”地一弹,关闭了导航屏。“现在,如果你不介意的话,我真的得回去工作了。”
“当然了,先生。”敏说,“希望我们没给你带来什么麻烦。”
恩克西对此莞尔一笑。“哦不,少尉。正相反,你居功至伟。”他和曲莉交换了一个眼神。等到敏想到要追问他到底是什么意思,他已经出了门,披肩飘垂在身后。
恩克西刚走,曲莉就沮丧地咆哮道:“他知道。那个傲慢的混蛋知道出了什么问题,但他想让事情继续下去。”
“曲莉!”敏向她嘘了一声。她把头探出走道,确保恩克西真的离开了。“你不能这么说他。要是他听见了,他会把你——”
“他什么都不会做。”曲莉说。“他在戏弄我们,敏!他在戏弄你。我打赌,是他们叫母船这么回复的。我打赌,他们……你在干嘛?”
敏僵住了。不知怎地,她在不知不觉中打开了恩克西的导航屏,键入了一串她必然不该知道的密码。她对自己身体失去了控制。她想叫曲莉离开,在密码通过之前赶紧把恩克西找来,但她发不出声音。她想通过自己的植入节点发出警报,但她竭尽全力,却只能静止不动。
曲莉走到她身边,屏幕正好切换到一张张的导航数据表——数据表明,二十多年来,母船没有前进多少。曲莉皱起了眉头:“不可能是这样的。这东西肯定出了什么问题。敏,你是不是……”
敏的植入节点灼烧着脖子根。一波震荡从植入节点流下脊椎,让敏打了个颤。时间跳转,她正—--
——被一个从没见过的女人按在墙上。那女人喊着她的名字,仿佛她们关系亲密。但她扬起的手里握着一支眩晕枪,还把敏的一只胳膊扭到背后。数据。她必须拿到数据。
敏用她没被束缚的那只手扇上了那女人的鼻子。那个女人倒在地上,血流满面。疼痛的胳膊让敏咧了咧嘴。她重又转向导航屏幕,把芯片插入数据端口,输入一项又一项记录。地上的女人发出了呻吟。敏俯下身来—--
——俯视曲莉毫无生气的躯体。她的手上粘着鲜血,而她的妻子一动不动地躺在地上,一支眩晕枪落在手边。
群星在上,我做了什么?
然后,那波震荡再度袭来。那种灼热,那种压迫感在她眼睛后面集聚起来。
#
放松,孩子。这是最后一次了,我们保证。
敏沉入了黑暗之中,那黑暗像宇宙真空一样冰冷。手一只接一只地松开了。最终,伴随着一阵电击般的痛苦,它们全都离她而去。她大声呼喊,却无人回应。
#
带着蜥蜴面具的男人把面前的数据芯片顶在双手食指之间,露出了微笑。笑意从他狭窄的眼缝里流露出来,使得面具微微抬起,露出了下巴尖。“从恩克西的导航屏幕里找到的?真有胆量。”不知怎么,即使是他那被扭曲过声音,听起来也更舒服了。
“是的。”敏说,“我……”她开了个头,想要向他讲述被她击倒的女人。然而,她的植入节点嗡嗡作响,模糊了争斗的细节。她与带蜥蜴面具的男人已经共事良久,久到足够知道,似是而非的信息还不如没有。于是她摇了摇头,咬紧双唇。
男人没有在意。他把芯片来来回回地在手中翻转,低垂着头,好像只用眼睛就能看出他所寻找的东西似的。最终,他在椅子里直直坐起。正如敏之前无数次看到的那样,他探出了他的蜥蜴舌头。但是,这次有所不同:当他的舌头碰到芯片,他的眼睛睁大了。他尖叫了起来,音调越来越高,高到几乎不可听闻。
敏从椅子上一跃而起。她的心脏怦怦直跳,跳到了嗓子眼里。过来,脑子里有个声音引诱着她。那声音里包含着他从未听闻的恶意,不然你就是下一个。她用手捂住耳朵,把它关在外面,然后跌跌撞撞地走向门口。门上了锁,怎么也打不开。在她身后,带蜥蜴面具的男人没了声响。她壮着胆子,回头看了他一眼,却只发现他已消失不见。
从我手中逃脱可没这么容易,小诱饵。小间谍。
她拼命捶门,把它拽开,跌跌撞撞地冲了出去。门外是一条积满灰尘的走廊,黑暗而空寂。一阵嘶嘶声在她背后响起。她只晃出几步,她的植入节点就热得炸裂开来,把灼热的光芒送入了她的大脑。
她最后听见的声响是笑声,疯狂的,不属于人类。
#
当敏再次苏醒,她躺在母船的一间医疗室里。墙壁上满是故地的景象:日落之时,洪波涌起,几株棕榈树在前景轻轻招摇。床铺柔软洁净,床单上依稀散发着香皂的气息。房门打开,曲莉和首席领航员恩克西走了进来。
“啊,”曲莉说,“你醒了。”
她的声音冷漠如斯,毫无敏记忆中的温暖,这让敏一阵战栗。“曲莉?”她问。
“如果你想这么叫的话。”那女人说。但她笑得如此敷衍,以至于敏确信这并不是她的名字。
恩克西走到她俩中间,嘴紧抿着,表情怪异。“母船思维体敏,要是你的植入节点没烧坏,这会容易得多。这位女士叫朗,是位检察官。多年来,她一直在追查一名行为异常的技术员,他的名字叫做阿斯林。我们把你从母船上剥离出来,当作诱饵。”
“他是个危险的男人,”朗说,“我相信你也意识到了。”
他们俩继续说下去,词语如浪潮般扑打她的头。要吸纳的东西太多了——她对自己所有的认知全是谎言。她只是母船思维体,控制母船的宏大AI的一个自主碎片。然而,她所感知到的一切无不富有人性。她重新陷进床里,背对着朗和恩克西。一个梦,她想。全都是个梦。闭上眼,我会回到家中,在曲莉的臂弯中再度苏醒。
但恩克西的声音把她拉回了现实。“明天我们会置换植入节点,”他不无温和地说,“然后我们就能把你和母船的其他部分重新整合。敏,在那之前好好休息。你要知道,我们全都对你的贡献心怀感激。”
他们一走,她就逃了。
#
在远离居住层的下方,母船的走廊黑暗而空寂。敏漫无目的地在其中游荡:无论如何,她已无处可去。
时光流逝,唯有脚步之间的间隙作为标志。经过无尽的时间,她无意中发现了一间屋子。屋子的样子看似眼熟,可她却从未来过,她对此确定无疑。屋里有一张空桌子,一个死去的男人,一张蜥蜴脑袋形状的面具。敏把男人的尸体翻了过来。他身上穿着技术少尉的制服。岁月悠悠,制服已经破旧不堪。她并不认识这个男人——他的脸苍白而扭曲,眼神空茫。冰冷的脸上疙疙瘩瘩的,让人觉得他的脸只是个半成品。相比之下,桌上的面具则过于真实。简直像是博物馆展台上的某种故地生物被人肢解,只余下这一点残骸。
敏打了个哆嗦。可她却发现,自己的手伸向了桌上的面具,把它举了起来。她把它翻了个面,用大拇指摩挲着橡胶罩里嵌合的数据端口,然后——慢慢地——把它套在头上。面具连上了她的植入节点,力量涌动。数据排山倒海而来,敏舒了口气。不过,这并不是母船那种令人安定的温暖;这是一种冷酷无情的质问,一种无法克制的对答案的追寻。她闭上眼,沉入了桌子后面的座椅,任面具撬开她的意识。
又经过了无尽的时间。最终,过去曾经是敏的那个东西垂下眼,看着自己的新手指在桌面上敲打,微微一笑。是时候寻找新的答案了。
「完」
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