Golgota (a science-fiction novel)

Chapter 11

A considerable time later, as Macey told a joke around the campfire in the Old Woods, Kovacs would wince, thinking of the tragic Andrew McLachlan. And the same icy chill would flow through him that he had felt at that ghastly moment many years before.

Around them, tree trunks bored into a purple light. The thin trees and intertwined thorny branches were like shadows amid the floating twilight. Kovacs could not remember for how long they had been walking through this forest. Bushes of a thorny undergrowth rose on either side of the narrow path they were taking. Kovacs briefly put his head back. Between the treetops he could make out the artificial suns that covered the firmament with a purple glow. These miniature suns provided the forest with light, but possessed nowhere near the radiance of the blue sun Kovacs had seen behind the stained glass. The suns that hung just above them were more like floppy balloons, through whose permeable surface, the woozy glow of a phosporizing liquid leaked.
Nakamura walked up front to Ellison and asked, "This is where you get the firewood, right?"
"Right. Well, not me. But my men. You might have noticed a tree stump or two."
"Quite a long way down."
"You can say that again. Especially when you still have to carry the weight of the wood on the way back. We don't own any containers, after all, so two men always have to carry a log between them. It's backbreaking work, believe me. But you do what you have to do to keep the fire burning." Ellison smiled. "It's the first time I've seen this forest. Isn't it beautiful?"
Nakamura looked at his surroundings. Bare, intertwined trees and thorny brush in the violet twilight of artificial suns. Ellison was right. It held a peculiar beauty.
"Yes," Nakamura said. "It's beautiful."
"Aren't we blessed?"
Once again, Nakamura wondered about Ellison's behavior. "But if you like it here so much, why are you taking this trip."
"Because I have served my sixteen years."
Nakamura listened up. This was new. "Yes?"
"I know I probably should have told you about it to build trust, but I didn't see the need."
"Didn't you say that not only the sixteen years of service but also the number of Ngoys slain was a criterion for being allowed to step through the glass gate?"
"I did. I remember, Nakamura. But none of us know what happens when the sixteen years are up. Have you ever met someone who has been out of service for a long time? Say, been on Golgotha for eighteen or twenty years?"
Nakamura thought about it. "No, I haven't. But this is largely because most don't make it through the sixteen years. Most die in their first three years, and the rest die in the years that follow."
"That may be true, but it still raises questions, don't you think?"
More for Nakamura to ponder. And instead, another thought intruded, one that Nakamura actually thought he'd left behind long ago. Ellison is hiding something, Nakamura thought. He glanced at Ellison. Contrary to his claim that the air was breathable, Captain Ellison had put on his helmet, which made it much more difficult to read his facial expression. Ellison was probably wearing the helmet purely as a precaution, since he was entering an area he had not ventured into before. Or, thought Nakamura's troubled mind, knowing full well that it's harder to read his face with a helmet on. Ellison looked straight into the forest, where the trees behind merged with the twilight. Ellison's head was just a steely, expressionless ball on his narrow shoulders. Above them, the violet midnight suns circled silently.
From the steel orb came Ellison's voice: "This forest... a strange, dead world, isn't it?"
"Not dead," Nakamura said, crouching down. Ellison had stopped beside him and watched as Nakamura pressed one of his gloved hands to the ground.
Around them, the company parted, flowing past like the waters of a river split by a rock.
"Can you feel it?" asked Nakamura. "The vibration in the ground?"
Captain Ellison followed his lead, crouching down as well and placing his hand flat on the ground. Sure enough: a dull pulsation emanating from the floor. Like a massive, beating heart.

"It's a machine," Nakamura said. "Right under this forest. A massive machine."

Nakamura recalled a conversation he had once had with Kovacs long ago. A dead world, indeed. The only things alive here are the machines and us.