Nexus by Robert Boyczuk (philippa perry book TXT) 📖

He was old, older than Sav had first guessed. And his eyesight could not have been very good, for he squinted, searching the shadows, his gaze passing over Sav. He frowned, his lined face wrinkling all the more.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s a harmless old man.

Sav stepped into the light of the courtyard. With a grunt the man rose. Long burgundy robes unfolded as he struggled to his feet, the hem sweeping only centimeters above the rain-slicked stones of the courtyard. He was short, with a slight frame and a narrow, gaunt face. Lank grey hair fell to his shoulders, a few strands plastered wetly across the top of his head; his chin and cheeks were covered with the start of a patchy beard in which rain drops glittered. Stooping, he snatched up a long, black cane that had been lying beside him.

The man strode towards Sav, his chest thrust out, the cane clicking loudly on the stone flags with each of his steps. Amongst the sombre stone and mortar buildings of the collegium, he looked silly and pompous, a parody of an academic. When he was an arm’s length from Sav, he stopped abruptly, his robes swinging loosely around him. He put the cane in front of him and propped both hands on its head. Small feral eyes, the colour of coal, regarded Sav. A light rain pattered around them.

“You are not dead,” the man said, a large goiter bobbing in his neck. His voice was surprisingly deep and resonant coming from such a cadaverous face. “I had thought life had ended on Bh’Haret.” He looked disappointed; the lines on his face deepened. “The Dissolution is incomplete. My calculations must have contained an error.”

A madman, Sav thought. A momentary panic seized him. What if he was violent? Sav looked at the cane: it was unadorned except for a brass ferrule at its tip. But it looked solid and heavy enough to crack a skull. Sav edged backwards half a step. The man watched, but made no effort to close the distance between them.

“No matter,” he said, dismissively, spitting on the flagstones, his mucous mixing with the rain water. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “It will all unfold as it should. Such is anhaa-10‘s pleasure.” Leaning forward, he stared intently at Sav, as if a response was expected. But when Sav said nothing, he answered himself, “Such is her will.” As he spoke, he lifted his right hand and spread his fingers over his heart in a practised gesture.

anhaa-10’s pleasure. The term sounded vaguely familiar. Where had Sav heard it before?

Moving his hand away from his narrow chest, the man extended it to Sav. “Ruen,” he said. “My name is Ruen, unbeliever. And I am a patrix.”

A patrix. A holy man.

When Sav had begun longhauling, the sect had been a small, virtually unknown group. But they had grown, over the years, into a powerful, political force, advocating hierocractical rule. Detailed pseudo-scientific beliefs permeated their canons. Although most of what they held true was sheer nonsense, at the root of their beliefs were well established principles of high-energy physics. Cleverly twisted, these principles yielded precisely the sort universe they desired. By the time Sav had returned from his fourth longhaul, the group had already built a network of research facilities that engaged in both legitimate research into theoretical physics and a less than rigorous investigation in their abstruse philosophy. Their aim had been to attract first-rate scientists, who were willing, by their presence, to tacitly endorse the sect in exchange for the opportunity to work in the sect’s well-equipped labs. As unlikely as it seemed, the group had prospered after a string of dramatic discoveries that, not surprisingly, lent credence to their theological model. Sav recalled what Hebuiza had said about the way in which the Facilitators surreptitiously disseminated stolen Nexus technologies. Perhaps that explained how this fringe group had managed so many important breakthroughs.

The patrix waited patiently, his hand extended. Sav lifted his. “Sav,” he said gruffly.

Ruen clasped his hand. The holy man’s palm was cold and clammy, like a dead thing. “Are there more?” he asked, pulling Sav toward him until their faces were only a handspan apart. His breath had the faint smell of decay.

“More?”

“Like you.” The patrix released his grip. “Who were not cleansed.”

“If you mean who didn’t die, then yes, there are four of us. We were on a longhaul when the plague broke out.” The plague, Sav thought. Until this moment he’d forgotten about it. What if he’s a carrier? Sav’s palm, the one Ruen had gripped, tingled. He tried to rub his hand inconspicuously on his pants. “And you. Are you alone?”

“Yes. I was in a state of cryosuspension when anhaa-10‘s manifestation occurred. I was interred on the 10th of Rhios, 2215, to await the Dissolution.” Ruen folded his hands over the head of his cane again. “I was revived seven weeks ago.”

Sav let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The holy man had gone under nearly twenty years before the plague. He had no more chance of catching the contagion from Ruen than he did from any of the others. “What do you mean, ‘anhaa-10‘s manifestation’. Do you mean the plague?”

“Yes. The cleansing.”

Sav chewed on this a moment. “You said you were alone. Who revived you?”

“No one. My cell was automated to open one year prior to the final Dissolution. I was chosen to bear witness. But we feared in the final days there might be panic and uncertainty. So, as a precaution, we had a special cell, with its own independent power supply, constructed.” A pained expression crossed his face. Without warning he lifted his cane; moisture whipped off its end as he cracked down on the paving stone with a loud report, making Sav jump. The holy man’s face had clouded. “It was a foolish, vain hope,” he said angrily. “I now realise the manifestation of anhaa-10 cannot be complete until the last death. By allowing myself to be placed in suspension, I may have delayed the Dissolution.” He glared at Sav, raising the cane over his head. The knuckles of his hand were white where he gripped it. “As have you, sinner!”

Sav tensed; slowly, he began edging away.

Ruen barked out a laugh. His thin lips twisted into a sneer. “You’re in no danger from me. I am not an agent of the Dissolution.” He lowered the cane until its tip came to rest in a puddle on the ground. “I am merely here to bear witness.” He bowed deeply from the waist and opened his arms in what was clearly designed to be an act of obeisance; but in this man it looked more like an affected flourish, an ironic comment, perhaps, on their roles and sinner and the saved. “I give you my word.” He proffered Sav his cane.

Sav closed his hand around the shaft and Ruen released it to him. In his hand, the cane seemed a light and ineffectual weapon.

“Now then,” Ruen said, poking his nose in the air and assuming the kind of tone he might use if he were addressing one of his cringing acolytes. “I am cold and wet. And I am hungry. My food supply ran out two weeks ago, and I’ve been eating nothing but berries, flowers and roots….”

The holy man wedged himself into the back half of the cockpit amongst the things Sav had salvaged. Before they left, Ruen had complained loudly about the cramped space; Sav removed a few of the bulkier items, storing them in the shelter of the portico until he could return. Then, while the patrix grumbled non-stop about the discomfort of the crate on which he sat, Sav lifted the VTOL off the ground without warning, and jerked the control yoke sharply to the right. From behind there was a loud thud, followed by a yelp as the holy man was thrown against the side of the cockpit. Much to Sav’s relief, this manoeuvre was followed by an indignant silence.

They were a good six hours from the stasis facility at Lyst; though he could have slipped the VTOL into auto pilot, Sav flew manually so that he would have to focus his attention on the control panel and could thus ignore Ruen. But his precaution wasn’t necessary. Within a few minutes of lift-off, loud, buzzing snores issued from the back of the craft. Looking over his shoulder, Sav saw the patrix had fallen asleep, his head lolling against the side of the canopy, his mouth open to reveal a row of yellowing teeth. A strand of spittle glistened at the corner of his mouth. Turning away, Sav engaged the auto pilot.

What will the others make of Ruen? Sav wondered, staring down at the dark waters of the bay. He’d made the decision to bring back the holy man without consulting Josua. The uplink was line-of-sight; the curvature of the planet had made it inaccessible from the collegium. In a way, Sav was glad. He feared Josua might order him to leave Ruen behind-or worse. As much as Sav found the small man annoying, he didn’t want to be the agent of his death, either directly or through his inaction. Once Ruen is back at the facility, Sav thought, Josua will have to do his own dirty work.

There would be clashes with the holy man. Of this, Sav was certain. If not with Josua, certainly with Hebuiza. From what Sav had gathered, Ruen’s entire life had been devoted to preparing for the coming Dissolution, a cataclysmic event in which all matter in the universe would revert to a primordial, chaotic soup. This, his sect believed, would result in the unfolding of the hidden dimensions and a reuniting of human consciousness with the higher consciousness of ahnaa-10. But Hebuiza’s sole purpose was survival-an avoidance of Ruen’s sacred Dissolution.

And how would Liis react to Ruen’s crackpot ideas? The obsession she had developed for Josua worried him; he thought it symptomatic of a deeper need to find something in which she could believe. He knew this because he felt the same craving. Despite the sharpness of its own peculiar pain, he believed he could handle it. But could Liis? Or would the patrix provide her with a new set of comforting lies to fill that space?

The craft rose slightly as it passed over land again, drawing Sav from his reverie; he stared out the windscreen. The terrain here, unlike the crowded peninsula from which they’d come, was bereft of man-made structures. Instead, it was a vast morass of uninhabitable swampland. It’s like it was before the plague, Sav thought._ Like it’s been for thousands of years_. Like it will be thousands of years from now when we’re all long dead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sav detected movement. To the west was a tract of dead trees, grey spikes poking up from algae choked waters; a large animal, startled by the VTOL’s engines in a long silent sky, had launched itself into the water and now cut a dark vee through the swamp. Feeling an unaccountable sadness, Sav watched it veering away to the west until the wing of the craft severed his view like a knife shearing the landscape.

The VTOL settled to the ground with an almost imperceptible bump. In the back of the cockpit, Ruen still slept. An hour earlier, they had passed from under the last of the storm clouds into blinding daylight. Sav pushed the canopy release switch and lifted the transparent bubble. Gripping the arms of his seat, he heaved himself up and onto the wing. The