The Revelation Space Collection

by Alastair Reynolds

  Russish and Norte would almost certainly be understood in the Glitter Band and Chasm City, even if the mediation was done by machines, but the default tongue of the Demarchists who had refounded Yellowstone was Canasian, a slippery amalgam of Québecois French and Cantonese. It was said that no one without a head full of linguistics processors ever really achieved genuine fluency in Canasian - the language was just too fundamentally strange, too much at odds with the hardwired constraints of human deep grammar.

  I would have been worried, had the Demarchists not been such consummate traders. For more than two centuries Yellowstone had been the hub of the burgeoning interstellar trade network, feeding innovation out to nascent colonies, drinking it back in like a vampire when those colonies reached a basic level of technological maturity. It would be a commercial necessity for the Stoners to cope with dozens of other languages.

  Of course, there would be dangers ahead. In that sense Vadim was entirely correct, but the dangers were not the kind to which he alluded. They would be subtle, arising from my own unfamiliarity with the nuances of a culture at least two centuries beyond my own. The outcome was less likely to be my own injury than the abject failure of my mission. That was enough of a danger to make me wary. But I did not need to buy a spurious assurance of protection from thugs like Vadim - whether he had his contacts or not.

  Something caught my eye. It was Vadim again, and this time he was causing more of a commotion.

  He was wrestling with the man who had just come into the commons, the two of them grappling with each other while remaining anchored to the commons wall. The other man looked like he was holding his own against Vadim, but there was something in Vadim’s movements - something languid to the point of boredom - which told me that Vadim was only letting the man think that he had the edge. The other passengers were doing a good job of ignoring the scuffle; grateful, perhaps, that the thug had selected someone else for his attention.

  Abruptly, Vadim’s mood changed.

  In an instant he had the newcomer pinned to the wall, in obvious pain, Vadim pushing his brow hard against the man’s terrified face. The man started to say something, but Vadim had his hand against the man’s mouth before more than a mumble emerged. Then what emerged was the man’s last meal, streaming vilely between Vadim’s fingers. Vadim recoiled in disgust and pushed himself away from the man. Then he secured himself with his clean arm and drove his fist into the man’s stomach, just below the ribcage. The man coughed hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot; he tried to catch his breath before Vadim delivered another blow.

  But Vadim was done with him. He paused only to wipe his arm against the fabric walling of the commons, then unhooked himself, ready to kick off towards one of the exits.

  I calculated my arc and kicked off first, savouring an instant of breezy free-fall before I impacted with the wall a metre from Vadim and his victim. For a moment Vadim looked at me in shock.

  ‘Meera-Bell . . . I thought we concluded negotiations?’

  I smiled.

  ‘I just reopened them, Vadim.’

  I had myself nicely anchored. With the same casual ease with which Vadim had struck the man, I struck Vadim, in more or less the same place. Vadim folded in on himself like a soggy origami figure, emitting a soft moan.

  By now the rest of the people were less interested in minding their own business.

  I addressed them. ‘I don’t know if any of you have been approached by this man yet, but I don’t think he’s the professional he’d like you to think. If you’ve bought protection from him, you’ve almost certainly wasted your money.’

  Vadim managed a sentence. ‘You’re dead man, Meera-Bell.’

  ‘Then I’ve very little to fear.’ I looked at the other man. He had regained some of his colour now, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. ‘Are you all right? I didn’t see how the fight started.’

  The man spoke Norte, but with a thick accent which it took me a moment to penetrate. He was a small man, with the compact build of a bulldog. The bulldog look didn’t stop at his physique, either. He had a pugnacious, permanently argumentative face, a flat nose and a scalp bristling sparsely with extremely short hairs.

  He unrumpled his clothes. ‘Yes . . . I’m quite all right, thank you. The oaf started threatening me verbally, then started actually hurting me. At that point I was hoping someone would do something, but it was like I’d suddenly become part of the décor.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed.’ I looked around at the other passengers disparagingly. ‘You fought back, though.’

  ‘Fat lot of good it did me.’

  ‘I’m afraid Vadim here doesn’t look the type to recognise a valiant gesture when he sees one. Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘I think so. A little nausea, that’s all.’

  ‘Wait.’

  I snapped my fingers at the servitor, hovering in cybernetic indecision some metres away. When it came closer I tried to buy another shot of scop-dex, but I had exhausted my shipboard funds.

  ‘Thank you,’ the man said, setting his jaw. ‘But I think I’ve sufficient funds in my own account.’ He spoke to the machine in Canasian, too quickly and softly for me to follow, and a fresh hypo popped out for use.

  I turned to Vadim while the other man fumbled the hypo into a vein. ‘Vadim; I’m going to be generous and let you leave now. But I don’t want to see you in this room again.’

  He looked at me with his lips curled, flecks of vomit glued to his face like snowflakes.

  ‘Is not over between you and me, Meera-Bell.’

  He unhooked himself, paused and looked around at the other passengers, obviously trying to regain some margin of dignity before he departed. It was a pretty wasted effort, since I had something else planned for him.

  Vadim tensed, ready to kick off.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘You don’t think I’m going to let you leave before you pay back whatever you’ve stolen, do you?’

  He hesitated, looking back at me. ‘I have not stolen anything from you.’ Then to the other man. ‘Or you, Mister Quirrenbach . . .’

  ‘Is that true?’ I asked the man he’d just addressed.

  Quirrenbach hesitated too, glancing at Vadim before answering. ‘Yes . . . yes. He hasn’t stolen anything from me. I didn’t speak to him until now.’

  I raised my voice. ‘What about the rest of you? Did this bastard con you out of anything?’

  Silence. It was more or less what I had expected. No one was going to be the first to admit that they had been duped by a small-time rat like Vadim, now that they had seen how pitiful he could become.

  ‘See,’ Vadim said, ‘there isn’t anyone, Meera-Bell.’

  ‘Maybe not here,’ I said. I reached out with my free hand and snagged the fabric of his coat. The rough quilted patches were as cool and dry as snakeskin. ‘But what about all the other passengers on the slowboat? Chances are you’ve already fleeced a few of them since we left Idlewild.’

  ‘So what if I did?’ he said, almost whispering. ‘It is none of your concern, is it?’ Now his tone was changing by the second. He was squirming before me, shifting into something infinitely more pliant than when he had first entered the commons. ‘What do you want to stay out of this? What is it worth to you to back out and leave me alone?’

  I had to laugh. ‘Are you actually trying to buy me off?’

  ‘It’s always worth try.’

  Something inside me snapped. I dragged Vadim back, slamming him against the wall so hard that he was winded again, and began to pummel him. The enveloping red haze of my anger washed over me like a warm, welcoming fog. I felt ribs shatter under my fists. Vadim tried to fight back, but I was faster, stronger, my fury more righteous.

  ‘Stop!’ said a voice, sounding like it came from halfway to infinity. ‘Stop it; he’s had enough!’

  It was Quirrenbach, pulling me away from Vadim. A couple of other passengers had arced over to the scene of violence, studying the work I had inflicted on Vadim with horrified fasci
nation. His face was a single ugly bruise, his mouth weeping shiny scarlet seeds of blood. I must have looked about the same when the Mendicants had finished with me.

  ‘You want me to be lenient with him?’ I said.

  ‘You’ve already gone beyond leniency,’ Quirrenbach said. ‘I don’t think you need to kill him. What if he’s telling the truth and he really does have friends?’

  ‘He’s nothing,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t have any more influence than you or I. Even if he did . . . this is the Glitter Band we’re headed to, not some lawless frontier settlement.’

  Quirrenbach gave me the oddest of looks. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You really think we’re headed to the Glitter Band.’

  ‘We’re not?’

  ‘The Glitter Band doesn’t exist,’ Quirrenbach said. ‘It hasn’t existed for years. We’re heading for something else entirely.’

  From out of the bruise which was Vadim’s face came something unexpected: a gurgle which might have been him clearing his mouth of blood. Or it might just have been a chuckle of vindication.

  TWELVE

  ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘By what, Tanner?’

  ‘That little throwaway remark about the Glitter Band not existing. Are you planning on just leaving it hanging there enigmatically? ’

  Quirrenbach and I were working our way through the bowels of the Strelnikov to Vadim’s hideaway, my progress made all the harder because I had my suitcase with me. We were alone; I’d locked Vadim in my quarters once he had revealed the location of his berth. I assumed that if we searched his quarters we’d find whatever he had stolen from the other passengers. I had already helped myself to his coat and had no immediate plans to return it to him.

  ‘Let’s just say there have been some changes, Tanner.’ Quirrenbach was wriggling awkwardly behind me, like a dog chasing something down a hole.

  ‘I didn’t hear about anything.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have. The changes happened recently, when you were on your way here. Occupational hazard of interstellar travel, I’m afraid.’

  ‘One of several,’ I said, thinking of my bruised face. ‘Well, what kind of changes?’

  ‘Rather drastic ones, I’m afraid.’ He paused, his breathing coming in hard, sawlike rasps. ‘Look, I’m sorry to shatter all your perceptions in one go, but you’d better start dealing with the fact that Yellowstone isn’t anything like the world it used to be. And that, Tanner, is something of an understatement.’

  I thought back to what Amelia had said about where I would find Reivich. ‘Is Chasm City still there?’

  ‘Yes . . . yes. Nothing that drastic. It’s still there; still inhabited; still reasonably prosperous by the standards of this system.’

  ‘A statement you’re about to qualify, I suspect.’ I looked ahead and saw that the crawlway was widening out into a cylindrical corridor with oval doors spaced along one side. It was still dark and claustrophobic, the whole experience feeling unpleasantly familiar.

  ‘Regrettably . . . yes,’ Quirrenbach said. ‘The city’s become very different. It’s almost unrecognisable, and I gather much the same goes for the Glitter Band. There used to be ten thousand habitats in it, thrown around Yellowstone like - and here I’m going to indulge in some shameless mixing of metaphors - a garland of fabulously rare and artfully cut gems, each burning with its own hard radiance.’ Quirrenbach stopped and wheezed for a moment before continuing, ‘Now there are perhaps a hundred or so which still hold enough pressure to support life. The rest are derelict, vacuum-filled husks, silent and dead as driftwood, attended by vast and lethal shoals of orbital debris. They call it the Rust Belt.’

  When that had sunk in, I said, ‘What was it? A war? Did someone insult someone else’s taste in habitat design?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t any war. Though it might have been better if it had been. You can always claw back from a war, after all. They’re not as bad as they’re cracked up to be, wars . . .’

  ‘Quirrenbach . . .’ My patience was wearing thin.

  ‘It was a plague,’ he said hastily. ‘A very bad one, but a plague nonetheless. But before you start asking deep questions, remember that I know scarcely any more details than you do - I only just arrived here as well, you realise.’

  ‘You’re a lot better informed than I am.’ I passed two doors and arrived at a third, comparing the number with the key Vadim had given me. ‘How did a plague manage to do so much damage?’

  ‘It wasn’t just a plague. I mean, not in the usual sense. It was more . . . fecund, I suppose. Imaginative. Artistic. Quite deviously so, at times. Um, have we arrived?’

  ‘I think this is his cabin, yes.’

  ‘Careful, Tanner. There might be traps or something.’

  ‘I doubt it; Vadim didn’t look like the kind to indulge in any kind of longterm planning. You need a developed frontal cortex for that.’

  I slipped Vadim’s pass into the lock, gratified when the door opened. Feeble, muck-encrusted lights stammered on as I pushed through, revealing a cylindrical berth three or four times as large as the place I’d been assigned. Quirrenbach followed me and stationed himself at one of end of the cabin, like a man not quite ready to descend into a sewer.

  I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to come much further in.

  The place had the smell of months of accumulated bodily emissions, a greasy film of dead skin cells glued to every yellowing plastic surface. Pornographic holograms on the walls had come alive at our arrival, twelve naked women contorting themselves into anatomically unlikely postures. They’d begun talking as well; a dozen subtly different contraltos offering an enthusiastic appraisal of Vadim’s sexual prowess. I thought of him bound and gagged back in my quarters, oblivious to this flattery. The women never stopped talking, but after a while their gestures and imprecations became repetitive enough to ignore.

  ‘I think, on balance, this is probably the right room,’ Quirrenbach said.

  I nodded. ‘Not going to win any awards, is it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know - some of the stains are quite interestingly arranged. It’s just a pity he went in for the smeared-excrement look - it’s just so last century.’ He pulled aside a little sliding hatch at his end - touching it only with the very tips of his fingers - revealing a grubby, micrometeorite-crazed porthole. ‘Still, he had a room with a view. Not entirely sure it was worth it, though.’

  I looked at the view myself for a few moments. We could see part of the ship’s hull, strobed now and again in stuttering flashes of bright violet. Even though we were under way, the Strelnikov had a squad of workers outside the whole time welding things back together.

  ‘Well, let’s not spend any longer here than strictly necessary. I’ll search this end; you start at yours, and we’ll see if we turn up anything useful.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Quirrenbach said.

  I began my search; the room - panelled wall-to-wall with recessed lockers - must once have been a storage compartment. There was too much to go through methodically, but I filled my briefcase and the deep pockets of Vadim’s coat with anything that looked even remotely valuable. I scooped up handfuls of jewellery, data-monocles, miniature holo-cameras and translator brooches; exactly the kinds of thing I’d have expected Vadim to steal from the Strelnikov’s slightly more wealthy passengers. I had to hunt to find a watch - space travellers tended not to take them when they were crossing between systems. In the end I found one that had been calibrated for Yellowstone time, its face a series of concentric dials, around which tiny emerald planets ticked to mark the time.

  I slipped it on my wrist, the watch pleasantly hefty.

  ‘You can’t just steal his possessions,’ Quirrenbach said meekly.

  ‘Vadim’s welcome to file a complaint.’

  ‘That’s not the point. What you’re doing isn’t any better than . . .’

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘do you seriously imagine he bought any of this stuff? It’s all stolen; probably from passengers
who aren’t aboard any more.’

  ‘Nonetheless, some of it might have been stolen recently. We should be making every effort to return these goods to their rightful owners. Don’t you agree with me?’

  ‘On some distant theoretical level, just possibly.’ I continued my search. ‘But there’s no way we’ll ever know who those owners were. I didn’t notice anybody coming forward in the commons. Anyway - what does it matter to you?’

  ‘It’s called retaining the vestigial trace of a conscience, Tanner.’

  ‘After that thug nearly killed you?’

  ‘The principle still applies.’

  ‘Well - if you think it’ll help you sleep at night - you’re very welcome to leave me alone while I search his belongings. Come to think of it, did I actually ask you to follow me here?’

  ‘Not as such, no . . .’ His face contorted in an agony of indecision as he glanced through the contents of one opened drawer, pulling out a sock which he studied sadly for some moments. ‘Damn you, Tanner. I hope you’re right about his lack of influence. ’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we need worry ourselves about that.’

  ‘You’re quite certain?’

  ‘I’ve a reasonable grasp of lowlife, believe me.’

  ‘Yes, well . . . I suppose you could be right. For the sake of argument.’ Slowly at first, but with increasing enthusiasm, Quirrenbach started trousering Vadim’s booty indiscriminately, wads of Stoner currency, mainly. I reached over and pocketed two bundles of cash before Quirrenbach made it all vanish.

  ‘Thanks. They’ll do nicely.’

  ‘I was about to pass some to you.’

  ‘Of course you were.’ I flicked through the notes. ‘Is this stuff still worth anything?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘In the Canopy, anyway. I’ve no idea what passes for currency in the Mulch, but I doubt that it can hurt, can it?’

  I helped myself to some more. ‘Better safe than sorry, that’s my philosophy.’