Глава 15

Hack your thought. Hack your language.

Thought. Is. Language.

Follow me.

The massive instrument instantly catches the Cautus's attention.

Her vision swims; the instrument distorts the light, and her consciousness.

To the Cautus, it sometimes appears to spin faster than her eye can follow—other times, it appears completely still.

No, it, it still appears to be moving, very slowly... very slowly.

She stops looking directly at the device that seems capable of devouring her consciousness, yet she still can't stop herself from falling over.

The ice-cold co-traveler catches her.

Thought. Resonance.

Accept. It. Forsake. Resistance.

Hear. Yourself.

'Death'.

The Cautus instantly hears several different tones at once.

She hears several foreign languages she can identify: Rim Billitonian, Ursine, Standard Victorian—and Gaulish, which she's only ever heard spoken by the clergy. But what she hears above all else is a strange language she's never heard before, a language made up of tones.

Yet somehow, she understands what the strange tones mean.

(Strange tone) 'Death'.

(Strange tone) ♫

I, I can understand you... how—

Thoughts can be anchored, and words can be deciphered.

Language is a tool, a right, and one of the key elements that helps shape our existence.

Anseta is one of the greatest inventions of our time. We've erased the barriers of language—we've bridged the gaps between civilizations.

That symbol...

An anchor for thought, the meta-script that deciphers all known languages, and a tool for interpreting unknown languages.

'Death'.

That is the language that, up until now, you have thought the most about, Hierda.

'Reincarnation'.

That is how you all communicate...?

Communicating via voice is inefficient. However, it is very intriguing and a good way to express emotion.

Many still stubbornly hold on to this tradition, deepening their emotional bonds with one another.

...I don't fully understand you.

Can you tell me where we are right now?

A ship that salvages death from the grave.

We seek answers to the ultimate questions among the ruins illuminated by light... before the same destruction befalls us.

Before 'death' befalls us.

The place you have visited, its master calls it...

<i>Rhodes Island.</i>

The Cautus is confused.

She's no longer confused by the strangeness of her surroundings. She's perplexed by a different question:

How can a god die?

'Time'.

You asked me why the first 'language' I shared with you after our thoughts resonated was 'death'...

I really don't know either.

Aboard this strange, colossal vessel called 'Rhodes Island,' the Cautus can barely feel the passage of time.

It makes her uneasy. Ever since the day she became Infected, time has meant everything to her.

Time will bring her death—and perhaps, liberation.

However, the beings who dwell in this strange place—yet deny they are gods—seem utterly indifferent to it.

Maybe it's because I've never been afraid of dying. Death is nothing more than a passage to a new environment.

(Rim Billitonian) Pessimist.

That's how they would describe you in your own language, yes?

A pessimist? I don't think so.

The Cautus blurts it out, and regrets it—just a little. She had agreed with many of the clergy's arguments back during those debates… but now that she's here, does she still need to think in those terms?

Does she really care about everything she experienced before the collapse?

After all, even time has forsaken her now.

I once worked in a mine that seemed to be endless. To maintain efficiency, the overseer would kill or drive off any bothersome Originium slugs.

Originium slugs? A mine?

Yes. Those Originium slugs are even weaker than me, and the mines... the mines were once my home.

But the overseer didn't expect that the kindest worker in the mine was secretly feeding and caring for the Originium slugs they were trying to drive away—which only drew more of them into the mine.

Eventually, the slugs disrupted the mine's foundation, leading to a collapse.

But you survived?

The slugs' secretions fed me.

In such a harsh environment, many of them lived short lives, yet new ones kept being born. They gave me strength—

Miners, Originium slugs, and yourself—but your story ignores the 'death of Terra,' Hierda.

You do not treasure your 'Terra'.

That's not true at all! In our language, 'Terra Bless Us' is a phrase that invokes something almost divine—

Hmm... you still have a very limited definition of 'life'.

I don't understand. You've shown me so many individuals, each starkly distinct from the next… You all feel love and hate just as we do—and yet, are still vastly different from each other.

'Salvaging death from the grave'—you all live united by a purpose that I can't understand.

But why have I come here?

The Cautus ponders this question, but her intuition tells her the answer lies with the person who just extended a hand to her.

She looks out the porthole at the top of the cabin into the cold, silent, endless expanse of space. The light from the distant, giant sphere once again passes over the dead planet, piercing the Cautus's eyes.

However, despite her blurry vision, she spots a small silhouette within the light.

There is... someone out there, in deep space?

Is that the one I'm looking for?

Someone out in the depths of space seems to hear the Cautus's voice—a shadow within the light stirs ever so slightly.

(Unknown language) You're looking for me?

One circle, two circles, the little dots are spinning in the darkness.

They're accelerating, coming closer and closer.

They rip a hole in the darkness, and a bright, blazing beam of light shines through.

I extend my arms and embrace them.

Core body temperature is elevated; nerve blocker has already been administered.

Body temperature rising rapidly. Prepare to administer muscle relaxant and replenish blood volume.

Repeat the medication again, and let's start the operation—

Dr. Warfarin?

Did I doze off again? Maybe I'm just really exhausted.

Don't try and speak now. Your throat is badly injured.

You feel like you went to sleep?

Yes, and I had a long dream.

You didn't feel any other discomfort?

Erm... no. Did something happen just now, Dr. Warfarin?

Nothing major. Did you dream about anything... special?

Anything special? That's hard to say.

In my dreams there were balls of mud spinning around each other on black velvet...

They are now big, now small. One moment they were smaller than children's marbles, the next larger than the whole of Victoria.

Someone picked them up and flung them back out. They started smashing into each other and bursting like fireworks, but the whole time, I didn't hear a sound.

Anything else...?

I also saw threads—stretching from one ball of mud to another, each one made of light. And on every thread, there were people—running outward, racing along the light.

I followed them. I ran to a white patch of earth. It was completely empty...

Save for a single stone tablet standing there.

Stone tablet? What was written on it?