‘Show me Carine Lefevre,’ Volyova said, retrieving the name of the woman who should have died around the Shroud.
Vast as a goddess, the face of the woman stared down at her. She was young, and from the little of her that was visible below her face, it could be seen that she was dressed in the fashions of the Yellowstone Belle Epoque, the glittering golden age before the Melding Plague. And her face was familiar - not shatteringly so, but enough for Volyova to know she had seen this woman before. She had seen this woman’s face in a dozen historical documentaries, and in every one of them the assumption had been made that she was long dead; murdered by alien forces beyond human comprehension.
Of course. Now it was obvious what caused that stress patterning. The gravitational riptides around Lascaille’s Shroud had squeezed matter until it bled.
Everyone thought Carine Lefevre had died the same way.
‘Svinoi,’ said Triumvir Ilia Volyova, because now there could be no doubt.
Ever since she was a child, Khouri had noticed that something happened when she touched something that was too hot, like the barrel of a projectile rifle which had just discharged its clip. There would be a flash of premonitory pain, but so brief that it was hardly pain at all; more a warning of true pain which was about to come. And then the premonitory pain would subside, and there would be an instant when there was no sensation at all, and in that instant she would snatch back her hand, away from whatever it was that was too hot. But it would be too late; the true pain was already coming, and there was nothing she could do about it except ready herself for its arrival, like a housekeeper forewarned about the imminent arrival of a guest. Of course, the pain was never so bad, and she had usually withdrawn her hand from whatever was its source, and there would usually not even be a scar afterwards. But it always made her wonder. If the premonitory pain was enough to persuade her to remove the hand - and it always was - what was the purpose of the tsunami of true pain which lagged behind it? Why did it have to come at all, if she had already received the message and removed her hand from harm? When, later, she found out that there was a sound physiological reason for the delay between the two warnings, it still seemed almost spiteful.
That was how she felt now, sitting in the spider-room with Volyova, who had just told her who she thought the face belonged to. Carine Lefevre; that was what she had said. And there had been a flash of premonitory shock, like an echo from the future of what the real shock of it was going to be like. A very faint echo indeed, and then - for an instant - nothing.
And then the true force of it.
‘How can it be her?’ Khouri said, afterwards, when the shock had not so much subsided as become a normal component of her emotional background noise. ‘It isn’t possible. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘I think it makes too much sense,’ Volyova said. ‘I think it fits the facts too well. I think it’s something we can’t ignore.’
‘But we all know she died! And not just on Yellowstone, but halfway across colonised space. Ilia, she died, violently. There’s no way it can be her.’
‘I think it can. Manoukhian said he found her in space. So perhaps he did. Perhaps he found Carine Lefevre drifting near Lascaille’s Shroud - he might have been looking to salvage something from the wreckage of the SISS facility - and then rescued her and took her back to Yellowstone.’ Volyova stopped, but before Khouri could speak, or even think about speaking, the Triumvir was on a roll again. ‘That would make sense, wouldn’t it? We’d at least have a connection to Sylveste - and maybe even a reason for her wanting him dead.’
‘Ilia, I’ve read what happened to her. She was shredded by the gravitational stresses around the Shroud. There wouldn’t have been anything left for Manoukhian to bring home.’
‘No . . . of course not. Unless Sylveste was lying. Remember that we have only Sylveste’s word that any of it happened the way he said it did - none of the recording systems survived the encounter.’
‘She didn’t die, is that what you’re saying?’
Volyova raised a hand, the way she always did when Khouri failed to read her mind perfectly.
‘No . . . not necessarily. Perhaps she did die - just not in the way Sylveste had it. And maybe she didn’t die in the way we understand, and perhaps she isn’t really alive, even now - despite what you saw.’
‘I didn’t see much of her, did I? Just the box she used to move around in.’
‘You assumed she was a hermetic, because she rode something like a hermetic’s palanquin. But that might have been a piece of mis-direction on her behalf.’
‘She’d have been shredded. Nothing changes that.’
‘Perhaps the Shroud didn’t kill her, Khouri. Perhaps something dreadful happened to her, but something kept her alive afterwards. Perhaps something actually saved her.’
‘Sylveste would know.’
‘Even if he doesn’t admit it to himself. We have to talk to him, I think - here, where we won’t we bothered by Sajaki.’ Volyova had hardly finished speaking when her bracelet chirped and filled with a human face, eyes lost behind blank globes. ‘Speak of the devil,’ Volyova murmured. ‘What is it, Calvin? You are Calvin, aren’t you?’
‘For now,’ the man said. ‘Though I fear my usefulness to Sajaki may be coming to an ignominious end.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Quickly she added: ‘There’s something I have to discuss with Dan; it’s rather on the urgent side, if you’d oblige.’
‘I think what I have to say is more urgent,’ Calvin said. ‘It’s your counteragent, Volyova. The retrovirus you fabricated.’
‘What about it?’
‘It doesn’t seem to be working quite as intended.’ He took a step backwards; Khouri glimpsed part of the Captain behind him, silvery and muculent, like a statue covered with a palimpsest of snail tracks. ‘As a matter of fact, it seems to be killing him faster.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Cerberus/Hades, Delta Pavonis Heliopause, 2566
Sylveste did not have long to wait. When Volyova arrived, she was accompanied by Khouri; the woman who had saved Volyova’s life on the surface. If Volyova was something of a rogue variable in his plans then Khouri was worse, because he had not so far ascertained where her loyalties lay; whether to Volyova or Sajaki, or somewhere else entirely. But for now he suppressed his concerns, sharing Calvin’s urgency.
‘What do you mean, it’s killing him faster?’
‘I mean just that,’ Calvin made him say, before either of the two women had drawn breath. ‘We administered it according to your instructions. But it’s as if we’ve given the plague a massive shot in the arm. It’s spreading faster than ever. If I didn’t know better I’d say your retrovirus has actually helped it.’
‘Damn,’ Volyova said. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a wearying few hours.’
‘Is that all you’re going to say?’
‘I tested the counteragent against small samples of isolated plague,’ she said defensively. ‘It worked against them. I couldn’t promise it would work against the main body of the plague so effectively . . . but at the very least, in the worst possible scenario . . . I assumed it would have some effect, however limited. The plague has to expend some of its resources against the counteragent; there’s no getting around that. It has to direct some of the energy it would ordinarily use for expansion into resisting the agent. I hoped it would kill it - subvert it, I mean, into a form we could manipulate - but even when I was being pessimistic, I assumed the plague would catch a cold; that it would slow down perceptibly.’
‘That’s not what we’re seeing,’ Calvin said.
‘But she has a point,’ Khouri said, and Sylveste felt himself glare at her, as if questioning the very reason for her existence.
‘What are you seeing?’ Volyova asked. ‘You understand, I’m more than a little curious.’
‘We’ve stopped administering,’ Calvin said. ‘So for now the growth has stabilised. But when we gave th
e Captain the counteragent, he spread faster. It was as if he were incorporating the mass of the counteragent into his matrix more rapidly than he could convert the substrate of the ship.’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Volyova said. ‘The ship doesn’t even resist the plague. For him to spread faster . . . that would mean that the counteragent was giving itself over to him; converting itself faster than the plague could subvert it.’
‘Like frontline soldiers defecting before they’ve even heard any propaganda,’ Khouri said.
‘Exactly like that,’ Volyova said, and for the first time, Sylveste sensed something between the two women, something suspiciously like mutual respect. ‘But that just isn’t possible. For that to happen, the plague would have to have hijacked the replication routines almost without trying - almost as if they were willingly hijacked. I’m telling you, it isn’t possible.’
‘Well, try it for yourself.’
‘No thanks. It isn’t that I don’t believe you, but you have to see it from my side. From my point of view - and I engineered the damn thing - it doesn’t make much sense.’
‘There is something,’ Calvin said.
‘What?’
‘Could sabotage have done this? I told you already that we think someone doesn’t want this operation to succeed. You know who I’m talking about.’ He was being circumspect now, unwilling to say too much in Khouri’s presence, or within range of Sajaki’s listening systems. ‘Could your counteragent have been tampered with?’
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said.
Sylveste had not administered all of the vial Volyova had given him, so she was able to run a check on the molecular structure of that sample and the other batches which remained in her laboratory, using the same tools she had employed on Khouri’s splinter. When she compared the sample against her lab batches, they were identical, within the normal boundaries of quantum accuracy. The sample Calvin had given to the Captain was exactly as she had intended it to be, down to the humblest chemical bond linking the least significant atoms in the smallest and least essential molecular component . . .
Volyova checked the counteragent’s structure against her records, and observed that it had not deviated from the blueprint she had held in her head for subjective years. It was exactly as she had planned it. Her virus had not been tampered with; its teeth had not been pulled. So much for Calvin’s sabotage theory. She felt a surge of relief - she had not really wanted to believe that Sajaki was actually hampering the whole process; the notion that he might be consciously prolonging the Captain’s illness was too hideous, and she was glad when examination of the counteragent gave her a justification for flushing the idea of sabotage from her mind. She still had misgivings about Sajaki, of course; but there was at least no evidence that he had become something as monstrous as that.
But there was another possibility.
Volyova left the lab and returned to the Captain, cursing herself for not thinking of this earlier and sparing herself the runaround. Sylveste asked what she was doing now. She looked at him for long moments before speaking. Yes, there was a connection with Lascaille’s Shroud; she was sure of that. Was it purely revenge on the Mademoiselle’s part - in payment for his cowardice, or treachery, or whatever it was that had almost killed her in the Shroud boundary? Or did it go beyond that, connected in some way with the aliens themselves; the ancient, protective minds Lascaille had touched during his own flyby? Was it human spite they were dealing with here, or some imperative as alien and old as the Shrouders themselves? There was much she needed to discuss with Sylveste - but it would have to be in the sanctuary of the spider-room.
‘I need another sample,’ she said. ‘From the infection boundary, where you administered the counteragent.’ And she fished out her laser-curette, made the deft light-guided incisions and popped the sample - it felt like a metallic scab - into a waiting autoclave.
‘What about the counteragent? Was it altered?’
‘It hadn’t been touched,’ she said. Then she turned down the curette’s yield and used it to scratch in tiny letters a quick message in the ship’s fabric, just ahead of the Captain’s encroachment. Long before Sajaki stood a chance of reading it, the Captain would have flowed over it like an erasing tide.
‘What are you doing?’ Sylveste said.
But before the man could ask anything else, she was gone.
‘You were right,’ Volyova said, when they were safely beyond the hull of the Nostalgia for Infinity, perched on its outer carapace like some adventurous steel parasite. ‘It was sabotage. But not in the way I first imagined.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Sylveste, who by now was grudgingly impressed by the existence of the spider-room. ‘I thought you cross-referenced the retrovirus against your earlier batches, those which worked against small samples of the plague.’
‘I did, and - as I said - there was no difference. Which only left one possibility.’
Silence hung in the air. Finally, it was Pascale Sylveste who broke it. ‘He - it - must have been inoculated. That’s what must have happened, isn’t it? Someone must have stolen a batch of your retrovirus and denatured it - removed its lethality, its urge to replicate - and then shown it to the Melding Plague.’
‘It’s the only thing which would explain it,’ Volyova said.
Khouri said, ‘You think Sajaki did it, don’t you?’ She was talking to Sylveste.
He nodded. ‘Calvin had as good as predicted that Sajaki would try and ruin the operation.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Khouri said. ‘You’re talking about the Captain being inoculated - isn’t that for the better?’
‘Not in this case - and it wasn’t the Captain who was inoculated, really, but the plague resident in him.’ It was Volyova speaking now. ‘We’ve always known that the Melding Plague is hyperadaptive. That’s always been the problem - every molecular weapon we throw at it ends up being co-opted, smothered and reprocessed into the plague’s own all-consuming offensive. But this time I hoped we’d steal an advantage. The retrovirus was extraordinarily potent - there was a chance it could outmanoeuvre the plague’s normal corruption pathways. But what happened was that the plague got a sneak look at the enemy before it ever encountered it in its active form. It got a chance to dismantle and know the counteragent before it ever posed a threat to it. And by the time Calvin administered it, the plague already knew all its tricks. It had worked out a way to disarm the virus and persuade it to join the plague without even expending any energy in the process. So the Captain grew faster.’
‘Who could have done this?’ Khouri asked. ‘I thought you were the only person on this ship who could do something like that.’
Sylveste nodded. ‘As much as I still think Sajaki’s trying to sabotage the operation . . . this doesn’t look like it could be his handiwork.’
‘I agree,’ Volyova said. ‘Sajaki just doesn’t have the expertise to have done this.’
‘What about the other man?’ Pascale asked. ‘The chimeric.’
‘Hegazi?’ Volyova shook her head. ‘You can ignore him. He might become a problem if any of us ever move against the Triumvirate, but this isn’t within his capabilities any more than Sajaki’s. No; the way I see it, there are only three people on this ship who could have done it, and I’m one of them.’
‘Who are the other two?’ Sylveste asked.
‘Calvin is one of them,’ she said. ‘Which rather removes him from suspicion as well.’
‘And the other?’
‘That’s the problematic part,’ she said. ‘The only other person who could do this to a cybervirus is the one we’ve been trying to heal all this time.’
‘The Captain?’ Sylveste said.
‘He could have done it - from a theoretical standpoint, I mean.’ Volyova clucked. ‘Were he not already dead.’
Khouri wondered how Sylveste would react to that, but he seemed unimpressed. ‘It doesn’t matter who it was - if it wasn’t Sajaki himself, it was someone
acting for him.’ Now he addressed Volyova. ‘I take it this convinces you.’
She graced him with a nod. ‘Regrettably, yes. What does it mean to you and Calvin?’
‘Mean to us?’ Sylveste seemed surprised by the question. ‘It means absolutely nothing. I never promised we could heal the Captain in the first place. I told Sajaki I considered the task impossible, and I wasn’t exaggerating. Calvin agreed with me as well. In all honesty, I’m not even sure Sajaki had to sabotage the operation. Even if your retrovirus hadn’t been denatured, I doubt that it would have given the plague much trouble. So what has changed? Calvin and I will continue with the pretence of healing the Captain, and at some point it will be clear that we can’t succeed. We won’t let Sajaki know that we’re aware of his sabotage. We don’t want a confrontation with the man - especially not now, with the attack against Cerberus about to happen.’ Sylveste smiled placidly. ‘And I don’t think Sajaki will be particularly disappointed to hear that our efforts have been in vain.’
‘You’re saying that nothing changes, is that it?’ Khouri looked around at the others for support, but their expressions were inscrutable. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘The Captain doesn’t matter to him,’ said Pascale Sylveste. ‘Isn’t that obvious to you? He’s only doing this to keep his side of the bargain with Sajaki. Cerberus is all that matters to him. It’s been like a magnet to Dan.’ She was talking as if her husband were somewhere else entirely.
‘Yes,’ Volyova said. ‘Well, I’m glad you raised that subject, because there’s something Khouri and I need to discuss with all of you. It concerns Cerberus.’
The Revelation Space Collection Page 51