‘There are alien artefacts on a bunch of worlds,’ Antoinette said. ‘I’m guessing this lot went the same way as the Amarantin and a dozen or so other civilisations, right?’
‘The databases didn’t have much on the indigenous culture,’ Scorpio said. ‘The people who run Hela don’t exactly encourage free-thinking scientific curiosity. But yes, reading between the lines, it looks as though they met the wolves.’
‘And they’re extinct now?’ she asked.
‘So it would seem.’
‘Help me out here, Scorp,’ Antoinette said. ‘What do you think all this might mean to Aura?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said.
‘Perhaps she wants us to go there,’ Vasko said.
They all looked at him. His tone of voice had been reasonable, as if he was merely voicing something the rest of them were taking for granted. Perhaps that was even true, but hearing someone articulate it was like a small, quiet profanity in the most holy of audiences.
‘Go there?’ Scorpio said, frowning, the skin between his snout and forehead crinkling into rolls of flesh. ‘You mean actually go there?’
‘If we conclude that she’s suggesting it would help us, then yes,’ Vasko said.
‘We can’t just go to this place on the basis of a sick woman’s delirious ramblings,’ said Hallatt, one of the colony seniors from Resurgam who had never trusted Khouri.
‘She isn’t sick,’ said Dr Valensin. ‘She has been tired, and she has been traumatised. That’s all.’
‘I hear she wanted the baby put back inside her,’ Hallatt said, a revolted sneer on his face, as if this was the most debased thing anyone had ever imagined.
‘She did,’ Scorpio said, ‘and I vetoed it. But it wasn’t an unreasonable request. She is the child’s mother, and the child was kidnapped before she could give birth to her. Under the circumstances, I thought it was an entirely understandable desire.’
‘But you still turned her down,’ Hallatt said.
‘I couldn’t risk losing Aura, not after the price we paid for her.’
‘Then you were cheated,’ Hallatt said. ‘The price was too high. We lost Clavain and all we got back was a brain-damaged child.’
‘You’re saying Clavain died in vain?’ Scorpio asked him, his voice dangerously soft.
The moment stalled, elongated, like a fault in a recording. Antoinette realised with appalling clarity that she was not the only one who did not know what had happened in the iceberg. Hallatt, too, must be ignorant of the actual events, but his ignorance was of an infinitely more reckless kind, trampling and transgressing its own boundaries.
‘I don’t know how he died. I don’t care and I don’t need to know. But if Aura was all it was about then no, it wasn’t worth it. He died in vain.’ Hallatt locked his fingers together and pursed his lips in Scorpio’s direction. ‘You might not want to hear it, but that’s the way it is.’
Scorpio glanced at Blood. Something passed between them: an interplay of minute gestures too subtle, too familiar to each participant, ever to be unravelled by an outsider. The exchange only lasted for an instant. Antoinette wondered if anyone else even noticed it, or whether she had simply imagined it.
But another instant later, Hallatt was looking down at something parked in his chest.
Languidly, as if standing up to adjust a picture hung at a lopsided angle, Blood eased to his feet. He strolled towards Hallatt, swaying from side to side with the slow, effortless rhythm of a metronome.
Hallatt was making choking sounds. His fingers twitched impotently against the haft of Blood’s knife.
‘Get him out of here,’ Scorpio ordered.
Blood removed his knife from Hallatt, cleaned it against his thigh, sheathed it again. A surprisingly small amount of blood leaked from the wound.
Valensin moved to stand up.
‘Stay where you are,’ Scorpio said.
Blood had already called for a pair of SA aides. They arrived within the minute, reacting to the situation with only a momentary jolt of surprise. Antoinette gave them top marks for that. Had she walked into the room and found someone bleeding to death from an obvious knife wound, she would have had a hard time staying conscious, let alone calm.
‘I’m going after him,’ Valensin said, standing up again as the SA aides removed Hallatt.
‘I said, stay put,’ Scorpio repeated.
The doctor hammered a fist on the table. ‘You just killed a man, you brutal little simpleton! Or at least you will have if he doesn’t get immediate medical attention. Is that something that you really want on your conscience, Scorpio?’
‘Stay where you are.’
Valensin took a step towards the door. ‘Go ahead, then. Stop me, if it really means that much to you. You have the means.’
Scorpio’s face twisted into a mask of fury and hatred that Antoinette had never seen before. It astonished her that pigs had the necessary facial dexterity to produce such an extreme expression.
‘I’ll stop you, trust me on that.’ Scorpio reached into a pocket or sheath of his own - whatever it was lay hidden under the table - and removed his knife. It was not one Antoinette had seen before. The blade, at some command from the pig, grew blurred.
‘Scorpio,’ she said, standing up herself, ‘let him do it. He’s a doctor.’
‘Hallatt dies.’
‘There’ve been enough deaths already,’ Antoinette said. ‘One more isn’t going to make anything better.’
The knife quivered in his grasp, as if not quite tamed. Antoinette expected it to leap from his hand at any moment.
Something chimed. The unexpected noise seemed to catch the pig unawares. His fury slipped down a notch. He looked for the source of the sound. It had come from his communications bracelet.
Scorpio quietened the knife. It grew solid again, and he returned it to the sheath or pocket where it had originated.
He looked at Valensin and said one word. ‘Go.’
The doctor nodded curtly - his own face still angry - and scurried after the aides who had carried the wounded man away.
Scorpio lifted the bracelet to his ear and listened to some small, shrill, distant voice. After a minute he frowned and asked the voice to repeat what it had said. As the message was reiterated his frown lessened, but did not entirely vanish.
‘What is it?’ Antoinette asked.
‘The ship,’ he said. ‘Something’s happening.’
Within ten minutes a shuttle had been commandeered and diverted from the ongoing evacuation effort. It came down within a block of the High Conch, descending between buildings, a Security Arm retinue clearing the area and providing safe access for the small party of colony seniors. Vasko was the last aboard, after Scorpio and Antoinette Bax, while Blood and the others remained on the ground as the plane hauled itself aloft once more. The shuttle threw hard white light against the sides of the buildings, the citizens below shielding their eyes but unwilling to look away. There was now no one in First Camp who did not urgently wish to be somewhere else. There was only room for the three who had just boarded because the shuttle’s bay was already loaded to near-capacity with evacuees.
Vasko felt the machine accelerate. He hung on to a ceiling handhold, hoping that the flight would be brief. The evacuees looked at him with stunned faces, as if waiting for an explanation he was in no position to give.
‘Where are they supposed to be heading?’ he asked the foreman in charge.
‘The outlands,’ he said quietly, meaning the sheltered ground, ‘but now they’ll be taken to the ship instead. We can’t afford to waste valuable time.’
The cold efficiency of this decision stunned Vasko. But he also found himself admiring it.
‘What if they don’t like it?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘They can always lodge a complaint.’
The journey did not take very long. They had a pilot this time; some of the evacuation flights were being handled by autonomous craft, but this one had been d
eemed too unusual. They kept low, heading out to sea, and then executed a wide turn around the base of the ship. Vasko was lucky enough to be by the wall. He had made a window in it, peering into silvery mist. Around him, the evacuees crowded forwards for a better look.
‘Close the window,’ Scorpio said.
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘I’d do it if I were you,’ Antoinette said.
Vasko closed the window. If ever there was a day not to argue with the pig, he thought, then this was it. He had seen nothing in any case, just a hint of the ship’s looming presence.
They climbed, presumably continuing the spiralling flight path around the spire, and then he felt the shuttle slow and touch solid ground. After a minute or so a crack of light signalled the opening of the escape door and the evacuees were ushered out. Vasko did not get a good look at what lay beyond, in the reception area. He had only a brief glimpse of Security Arm guards standing alertly, shepherding the newcomers with an efficiency that went way beyond polite urgency. He had expected the people to show some anger when they realised they had been taken to the ship instead of the safe haven on the surface, but all he saw was docile acceptance. Perhaps they did not yet realise that this was the ship, and not some ground-level processing area on the other side of the island. If so, he did not care to be around when they learned about the change of plan.
Soon the shuttle was empty of evacuees. Vasko half-expected to be ushered off as well, but instead the three of them remained aboard with the pilot. The loading door closed again and the plane departed from the bay.
‘You can open the window now,’ Scorpio said.
Vasko made a generous window in the hull, large enough for the three of them to look out of, but for the moment there was nothing to see. He felt the shuttle lurch and yaw as it descended from the reception bay, but he could not tell if they were staying near the Nostalgia for Infinity or returning to First Camp.
‘You said something was happening with the ship,’ Vasko said. ‘Is it the neutrino levels?’
Scorpio turned to Antoinette Bax. ‘How are they looking?’ ‘Higher than the last time I reported,’ she said, ‘but according to our monitor stations they haven’t been climbing at quite the same rate as before. Still going up, but not as fast. Maybe my little chat with John did some good after all.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ Vasko asked.
Scorpio gestured at something through the window. ‘That,’ he said.
Vasko followed the pig’s gaze. He saw the spire of the ship emerging from the silver sea haze. They had descended rapidly and were looking at the place where the ship thrust out of the water. It was here, only the night before, that Vasko had seen the ring of boats and the climbers trying to ascend to the ship’s entrance points. But everything had changed since then. There were no climbers, no boats. Instead of a ring of clear water around the base of the spire, the ship was hemmed by a thick, impenetrable layer of solid Juggler biomass. It was a fuzzy green colour, intricately textured. The layer reached out for perhaps a kilometre in all directions, connecting with other biomass clusters via floating bridges of the same verdant material. But that was not the whole of it. The layer around the ship was reaching up around the hull, forming a skin of biomass. It must have been tens of metres thick in places, dozens more where it flared upwards near the base. At that moment, by Vasko’s estimate, it had reached two or three hundred metres up the side of the ship. The uppermost limit was not a neatly regular circle but a ragged, probing thing, extending questing tendrils and fronds higher and higher. Faint green veins were already visible at least a hundred metres above the main mass. The whole sheath was moving even as he watched, creeping inexorably upwards. The main mass must have been moving at close to a metre a second. Assuming it could sustain that rate, it would have encased the entire ship within the hour.
‘When did this start happening?’ Vasko asked.
‘Thirty, forty minutes ago,’ Scorpio said. ‘We were alerted as soon as the concentration began to build up around the base.’
‘Why now? I mean, after all the years that ship’s been parked here, why would they start attacking it now, of all days?’ Vasko said.
‘I don’t know,’ Scorpio replied.
‘We can’t be certain that it’s an attack,’ Antoinette said quietly.
The pig turned to her. ‘So what does it look like to you?’
‘It could be anything,’ she replied. ‘Vasko’s right - an attack doesn’t make any sense. Not now, after all these years. It has to be something else.’ She added, ‘I hope.’
‘You said it,’ Scorpio replied.
The plane continued to circle the spire. All around it was the same story. It was like watching an accelerated film of some enormous stone edifice being covered in moss, or a statue with verdigris - purposeful, deliberate verdigris.
‘This changes things,’ Antoinette said. ‘I’m worried, Scorp. It might not be an attack, but what if I’m wrong? What about the people already aboard?’
Scorpio lifted up his bracelet and spoke in hushed tones.
‘Who are you calling?’ Antoinette asked.
He cupped a hand over the microphone. ‘Marl Pellerin,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time the swimmer corps found out what’s going on.’
‘I agree,’ Vasko said. ‘I thought they should have swum already, as soon as the Juggler activity started up. Isn’t that what they’re for?’
‘You wouldn’t say that if it was you that had to swim out there,’ Antoinette said.
‘It isn’t me. It’s them, and it’s their job.’
Scorpio continued to speak softly into the bracelet. He kept saying the same thing over and over again, as if repeating himself to different people. Finally he shook his head and lowered his sleeve.
‘No one can find Pellerin,’ he said.
‘She must be somewhere,’ Vasko said. ‘On stand-by or something, waiting for orders. Have you tried the High Conch?’
‘Yes.’
‘Leave it,’ Antoinette said, touching the pig’s sleeve. ‘It’s chaos back there. I’m not surprised that the lines of communication are breaking down.’
‘What about the rest of the swimmer corps?’ Vasko asked.
‘What about them?’ Scorpio asked.
‘If Pellerin can’t be bothered to do her job, what about the others? We’re always hearing about how vital they are to the security of Ararat. Now’s their chance to prove it.’
‘Or die trying,’ Scorpio said.
Antoinette shook her head. ‘Don’t ask any of them to swim, Scorp. It isn’t worth it. Whatever’s happening out there is the result of a collective decision taken by the biomass. A couple of swimmers aren’t going to make much difference now.’
‘I just expected better of Marl,’ Scorpio said.
‘She knows her duty,’ Antoinette said. ‘I don’t think she’d let us down, if she had any choice. Let’s just hope she’s safe.’
Scorpio moved away from the window and started towards the front of the aircraft. Even as the plane pitched, responding to the unpredictable thermals that spiralled around the huge ship, the pig remained rooted to the ground. Low and wide, he was more comfortable on his feet in the turbulent conditions than either of his human companions.
‘Where are you going?’ Vasko asked.
The pig looked back. ‘I’m telling him to change our flight plan. We’re supposed to be going back to pick up more evacuees.’
‘And we’re not?’
‘Afterwards. First, I want to get Aura into the air. I think the sky might be the safest place right now.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ararat, 2675
Vasko and Scorpio handled the incubator, carrying it gently into the empty belly of the shuttle. The sky was darkening now, and the thermal matrix of the shuttle’s heating surface glowed an angry cherry red, the elements hissing and ticking. Khouri followed them warily, stooping against the oppressive blanket of warm ai
r trapped beneath the shuttle’s downcurved wings. She had said nothing more since waking, moving in a dreamlike state of wary compliance. Valensin followed behind his patients, sullenly accepting the same state of affairs. His two medical servitors trundled after him, tied to their master by inviolable bonds of obedience.
‘Why aren’t we going to the ship?’ Valensin kept asking.
Scorpio hadn’t answered him. He was communicating with someone via the bracelet again, most likely Blood or one of his deputies. Scorpio shook his head and snarled out an oath. Whatever the news was, Vasko doubted it was welcome.
‘I’m going up front,’ Antoinette said, ‘see if the pilot needs any help.’
‘Tell him to keep it slow and steady,’ Scorpio ordered. ‘No risks. And be prepared to get us up and out if it comes to that.’
‘Assuming this thing still has the legs to reach orbit.’
They took off. Vasko helped the doctor and his mechanical aides to secure the incubator, Valensin showing him how the shuttle’s interior walls could be persuaded to form outgrowths and niches with varying qualities of adhesion. The incubator was soon glued down, with the two servitors standing watch over its functions. Aura, visible as a wrinkled thing within the tinted plastic, bound up in monitors and tubes, appeared oblivious to all the fuss.
‘Where are we going?’ Khouri asked. ‘The ship?’
‘Actually, there’s a bit of a problem with the ship,’ Scorpio said. ‘C’mon, take a look. I think you’ll find it interesting.’
They circled the ship again, at the same altitude as before. Khouri stared at the view with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Vasko did not blame her in the slightest. When he had seen the ship himself, only thirty minutes earlier, it had been in the earliest stages of being consumed by the Juggler biomass. Because the process had only just begun, it had been easy enough to assimilate what was going on. But now the ship was gone. In its place was a towering, irregular fuzzy green spire. He knew that there was a ship under the mass, but he could only guess at how strange the view must look to someone who hadn’t seen the early stages of the Juggler envelopment.
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