Chapter Twenty-six

Terra was,... different. Monstrously crowded, even more than she had expected, with uncounted thousands upon thousands of pilgrims swarming like insects from holy site to holy site. And there were thousands of such sites; enormous monuments tens of kilometres high proclaiming the glory of the Emperor, of the great Saints of Imperial history. She had followed several groups over the last few days, just another mote in the endless sea of worshippers. It was terrifying to feel so small, so insignificant; she did not like the feeling of being one amongst millions nearly as much as she had thought she might.

Today, though, was better; she had managed to find a clue that made sense. In a small – relatively small anyway – shrine in the Petitioners' City was an ancient wall-map, painted in shaded blues and golds and greens. The priest she had asked had said that it was fanciful, the colours mere whimsy on the part of the unknown artist. Kat, from a more natural world, knew better; the blue was sea, the ancient seas of Terra, drained or diverted to serve mankind millennia ago. And amongst those long-lost oceans was a large island, an island marked 'terra Australis'. She had marked it carefully and looked up the schedules for transit. This afternoon she would walk on the soil of her forefathers.

The plascrete was no different from anywhere else, and the air still carried the stench of Terra's uncounted milliards; just another enormous edifice, beyond the hive cities she had seen as they were beyond mud huts. She didn't know whether to be angry or sad, or grateful that mankind could produce such miraculous works. She spent some hours searching for a transit in and out; it took two days to find one close enough to the ancient foundations that she could leave by a gate which was still actually in use. The flittertaxi she'd hired dropped her off nearby; she did not want the pilot to get any idea of her plans in case she was reported. Explaining that she wanted to touch the actual soil of this particular part of Terra was likely to be awkward. She made her way towards the exit doors, massive ancient devices more than a hundred metres high embossed with pitted and corroded scenes of Imperial devotion. It was a simple matter to walk out through a more human-sized side access, and she was out.

The roadway was on the same monstrous scale as the city itself – indeed, as Terra generally. Fifty metres wide, it stretched for kilometres off towards the far distant horizon. The sun was still high, and the sky cloudless, but at this level even Sol's brightness had difficulty cutting through the dust clouds and exhaust gases from the dozens of delivery vehicles that ran in a constant stream in and out. Kat kept carefully to the clearly unused pedestrian track that bordered the highway, looking for some means of getting off towards the actual ground. She was still over two hundred metres up, so jumping was not an option, but – there – was a stairwell down, open to the elements and with a patina of lichens and dried-out moss, but down. She took it, following the multiple flights to another, lower, roadway, less used and less maintained, but heading off towards the northeast. She took a drink from her water bottle, glad she'd remembered to bring enough to last her a day or maybe two if she was careful. She didn't intend to stay outside overnight, but it was more than likely she would be quite late getting back and it did no harm to take precautions.

Kat smiled slightly as she ran her fingers through the dry brown earth. She sat by a small stream, watching the clear water scatter refractions of fading sunlight across the rocks. There was hardly any grass in this tiny oasis, just an old break in the industrial plascrete where a few hardy weeds had found a foothold, but somehow it felt glorious, a throwback to Terra's ancient past. She had taken a small pebble from the stream bed, and now turned it over, feeling the cool smooth surface and marvelling at the dark striations. How old was it? These were not artificial layers.

A movement caught her eye and she looked across at some form of small rodent, all grey-furred nervousness as it sniffed cautiously before slipping out of a gap in the rock to take a drink. She watched, fascinated, wondering what type of animal it was. As far as she was aware, almost all native wildlife to Terra had been either hunted to extinction, or transplanted to other worlds. She tried to remain still rather than frighten the creature away, but it seemed to pick up on her tension and scurried back to its crack. She smiled to herself and looked up to the darkening sky. The familiar words rose up in her mind.

"When I was a young man, I carried my pack.."

Supervisor Inez Hobren looked up curiously at the flashing comms light. Idly putting down his cup, he reached for the switch.

"Yes, Aben?"

"Sir, I'm picking up something strange on an external pickup. It sounds like singing."

"Singing? Probably some pilgrims again. Which hymn this time?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't recognise the language at all."

Inez swore under his breath. "Put it through." There was a soft click and a woman's voice filled his small office. It didn't sound threatening, but it wasn't any language he'd ever heard either. He spoke into the mike. "Have you a recording?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply. "It started only a couple of minutes ago, and I hit the autorecord."

"Good, Aben. Don't listen to any more of it; I'll have a couple of Arbites look into it. Send me the location details now."

"Yes, sir." His screen lit up with a series of co-ordinates. He sighed and reached for the channel to the Arbites.

"Singing? Some woman is singing and they want us to head outside to check out a bloody hymn?" Leti Gier was not a happy Arbites-sergeant.

"Not a hymn; it's not Gothic," answered her partner of five years, Iacob Kendy, shaking his close-cropped greying head.

"There are a lot of languages that are not Gothic, Iacob. Terra gets pilgrims from across the known galaxy. Have they a translation?"

"Not yet. That's why they want us to check it out."

She cursed quietly. Right at the end of her shift too. She linked to the co-ordinates they'd been sent and hit the autopilot. Their little patrol skimmer lifted slowly off the ground – as usual she grimaced and wondered when maintenance would get round to fixing the lift engine – and joined the traffic flow.

"This is patrol seventeen, confirming en route to incident forty-six beta. Can we have update on status as soon as we have a translation, please?"

The impersonal voice of Central Despatch replied, its machine-voice devoid of inflection. "Request confirmed. Translation unavailable at this time; recording matches no Imperial language."

Leti rolled her eyes. "Suggestion; try non-Imperial language. There are planets out there which still use pre-Imperium, or xenos, words and dialects."

"Affirmed. Proceed to co-ordinates given."

"Patrol seventeen, continuing to incident forty-six beta." She cut the transmission.

Forty minutes later, she was even less happy. "Nothing. Whoever was here, they're long gone." She rolled her eyes in frustration and turned to call in the negative.

Tech-archivist Anod picked up the message on his internal link and plugged into his tertiary mem-archive, the one with the pre-Imperial records. He rarely accessed this archive as its machine spirit tended to be tetchy at best, and more than a little uncooperative all the time. Still, the recording might provide something of interest to the ancient 'artificial intelligence' (as it insisted on being called).

The voice spoke in his mind, far colder and impersonal than more modern devices. 'Data storage system 79-451 working. Log in testing...accepted. Welcome, scholar Anod. My internal clock indicates you have not logged in for eight years. I will run standard maintenance routines as they have been neglected.'

Anod grimaced slightly. That meant at least a ten minute delay. He replied through the interfacing connection. 'Acceptable. I shall provide you with a recording; the language is unknown. Do you recognise it?'

'Working. Upload facility available in seventeen minutes.'

Anod cursed, and turned to his inbox.

"Anglic?"

'Affirmative. Anglic, also known as English. Widely used pre-Imperial Terran language originating in small group of islands offshore of the Europa continent. Primary language of Amerik Imperium and Pan-Atlantic Oligarchy prior to Imperial conquest. Records indicate it was a primary language of commerce and literature throughout Terra and its colonies during the expansion of humanity in the fourth and fifth millennia. Superseded by Imperial High Gothic for literary works; low Gothic for general conversation; Imperial trade-dialect for commerce. The version of Anglic used in the recording is extremely old, pre-dating 96.37% of my existing records.'

"Extremely old? Explain reasoning."

'Working: item – parsing, incorrect use of adjectives as adverbs. Reason; considered to have been adverbs rather than adjectives in earliest dialects known.

Item – geographical references: Australia – known as Terra Australis since sixth millennium; Suvla Bay – unknown; Gallipoli – recorded as site of massacre during second millennium; Circular Quay – unknown. Recording indicates that Gallipoli massacre may have been decisive combat rather than atrocity; this is new information and requires verification.

Item – description of failure to provide cybernetics to wounded. Cybernetics are widespread since fourth millennium.

Item – reference: 'in 1915'. Appears to be date. Imperial equivalent: 915.M2

Item – reference: Waltzing Matilda. Derivation: waltz – ancient dance for man and woman with many variations. Matilda – ancient female name. Combination considered slang term; meaning unrecorded. Parsing of recording indicates may reference to travelling in area described as 'outback'. Outback recorded as 'ancient, referring to virgin terrain of Terra Australis' in fifth millennium.'

"Does recording indicate any threat to Imperium?"

'Negative. Recording appears to be lament for fallen comrades.'

"Anything on vocal pattern of singer?"

'Non-Terran female. Full human. Vocal range consistent with soprano. Untrained but experienced singer. Planetary origin unknown.'

"Very well. Print report to file."

Anod had to admit the information was interesting. A song that was forty millennia old? Such a discovery would be published in prestigious academic journals. Of course it would still need verification. He paused, deep in thought. The Scholarium would need to be informed. Even so, his name would still get credited. He smiled and turned back to the immediate issue, writing a report for the Arbites.

Three days later Kat Verstark took passage as a scan officer on the trade ship Pleasance. The Arbites found no further trace of the mysterious woman nor of her song. Tech-archivist Anod passed on his report to Imperial historians at the University of Terra, where it was buried under a hundred others of more immediate impact.