The Phantom in the Deep (Rook's Song) Read Online Free Page A

Prime’s equator, 1.5784 ° to invariable plane
     
    Still very Earth-like , Rook considers.  For a mad moment, he wonders why he hasn’t yet gone over to it.  He could make the journey in two or three days.  Surely there is still drinkable water, even if the plumbing has been obliterated with all the rest of the structures of the colonies.  Probably still some wildlife on some portions, too, eking out an existence.  Even if it’s just insects, he could subsist on that.  He could find those small patches of life, find a cave to dwell in, watch the sunrises and sunsets through ashy clouds until the end of his days…
    Then, reason reinstates itself.  It is a vain hope, as he’s known all along.  The Cerebs have advanced scout ships and sensors, and anywhere a human being dwelt, they will always find him and kill him.  It is unavoidable.  Like conquerors of old, they have scorched the land of their enemies, leaving them nowhere to go, no lands to farm and till, no shelter to take from the elements.  Ruthless, like a pack of wolves starving in the cold of night, with bottomless bellies, they had moved across the stars, relentlessly hunting and devouring worlds.  There was nothing in mankind’s experience to prepare it.  Homo sapiens had only just started taking its first tentative steps towards the limits of its solar system, and into others, like a child venturing out of the house for the first time.  Had they known what they would attract, doubtless, they would have remained in the crib.
    Presently, a chime goes off just next to him.  Rook does not jump out of his reverie.  Rather, he slowly comes out of it, like a man emerging from a deep sleep, the layers of surreal visions peeling away, giving way to the core of reality.  Is this reality?  How can he be sure anymore?  How, when so much of reality is and has always been determined by the feedback one receives from others, their replies, their jokes and insults, their envies and their vices?  It is remarkable, now that he thinks on it, just how much we demanded others confirm what’s real to us.  Certainly Descartes had been correct when he said “ Cogito ergo sum ,” I think therefore I am, but what is a person once they realize they are ?  How does a person confirm his purpose, test it, and prove it without others to bounce the idea off of?  What could a man possibly…?
    Rook’s mind now refocuses, and presently addresses the chime.  It has become a recent malady of his, to become lost in such thought.  It is so easy to do, with such silence, and so much time to dwell in that silence.  Still, duty beckons, and like Pavlov’s dog, he answers the chime.
    He taps a switch, and slowly, a devilish grin spreads across his face.  They are coming.  Many of them.  A portion of the ship’s belly must have slid open while he was lost in thought, and now a squadron of their fighters, their skirmishers , came spilling out like bees from their hive.  It’s been so long since I saw a bee , he thinks briefly.  And these have greater formation, and far more purpose.
    The pilot reaches forward, and presses a button.  Music starts playing.  A powerful, driving tune, a classic from Earth’s twentieth cent ury, from the Autumn of 1966.  So many buttons no longer work on his console, but thankfully, this button still works.
    Rook cycles up the forward, aft, starboard, port, top and bottom thrusters, primes them for heavy maneuvering.
    The n, something happens, and he has to stop.  The laugh starts deep in his belly.  It’s difficult to keep down, like holding in your lunch when you’ve got the flu, and your body needs to expel it.  It is a similar sickness, we can suppose.  When he starts to laugh, it is hard and wheezing, with tears streaming down his cheeks.  Then, it is almost impossible for him to breathe. 
    I warned you.  I warned you about this madness.
    Let us step back now, lest we catch this malady of the mind.  We’ll reconvene