by Jaine Fenn
Vy had smiled. ‘Not me.’ There was something knowing, something nasty, about that smile. ‘The imprinted male in a beacon isn’t the one holding open the door to the void. The males thought it was fitting when they came up with the idea – nicely symmetrical. They were completing the pattern, and paying them back.’
He giggled, and Taro’d had to resist the urge to shake him. Instead he’d said, ‘Fuck’s sake, Vy, tell me what you’re on about!’
‘Don’t you see? It’s the females – for millennia they’d stayed sane in shiftspace by travelling in unity, using us to blaze the trail. We came up with a way to turn the tables on the bitches – and into the bargain we gave humans a way of steering shiftships for themselves, without females.’
Taro felt sick. ‘I really hope you ain’t saying what I think you’re saying.’
‘Depends what you think I’m saying,’ Vy countered, mimicking Taro’s accent, ‘don’t it?’
‘Shiftships have a male at their heart, so beacons—’
‘—have an insane female mind bound into them, yep. It’s ironic, really.’
‘Oh shitting fuck!’
‘Language, Taro. Back when everything was kicking off, the males caught themselves the mother of motherships. They killed some of the crew, and put the rest on ice. Later, they used those females to build the beacons.’
So when Zhian had told Taro Nual had been put in stasis and stashed next to the beacon manufactory, he hadn’t been surprised, though he didn’t think it meant anything to Zhian. All that mattered to her was doing what her patron wanted, and luckily for him, that happened to be for Taro to get his lover out. But it made horrible sense: the males of Aleph had used up one of their captured females to make the new beacon. Some of them were bound to be furious at the waste; this way they got a replacement.
Now his suit was directing him back up to the surface of the Egg; progress through the ducts was too slow, and he needed to be in the right place at the right time. When he reached the exit airlock, he was relieved to find it was on a sensor; you only needed to ask the hab-mind for permission to enter, not to leave.
He’d turned off his suit-light but it turned out he wouldn’t have needed it; he emerged into bright sunlight, reflecting off the pale surfaces all around. His visor instantly dimmed the blinding glare. He had five and a half minutes to reach his target. He knew roughly where to head even without the suit-com’s help: towards the fat disc of the Heart of Glass, hovering just above the surface of the hab. Looked like Zhian’s shuttle had come and gone safely; so as far as the males knew, Taro was now back on board Jarek’s ship.
Zhian had assured him that the software package he’d just delivered would run interference on the local sensors and surface weaponry, but the tight timescale meant the patron who’d come up with the hack had had to concentrate on the main mission, so the countermeasures might take a while to cut in, and when they did, they might not be entirely reliable. Best walk, not fly, for now.
Fortunately there were access paths between the clumps of tech, wide enough for a human. Bizarrely, a lot of the clumps looked very similar, each some variation on box, dish and aerial . . . of course, this was the hab’s coms equipment. Why’d they need so much, though? As he edged round a massive dish Taro answered his own question: because each sept would have their own, transmitting their own code to whichever part of Aleph that sept was based in . . . this huge fucker would be broadcasting to out-system, he’d bet.
There was a patch of open space beyond the dish and as he looked up, Taro saw movement on the far side of the Heart of Glass: a large orange cube, rising slowly from the surface of the hab towards the ship. The beacon.
Taro suppressed a shudder, then crossed the open area and headed into a gully. The top of the force-cage containing the beacon was drawing level with the bottom of Jarek’s ship. He had to hurry. Movement caught his eye: a small gawky-looking bot was working at the base of one of the aerial arrays, its manipulator arms deep inside an open access panel. It blocked his current path, and he didn’t have time for a diversion. Taro followed his instincts and kicked off, ready to leap over the bot.
His Angel implants included the ability to compensate for variable gravity. Taro hadn’t realised that his suit, even without the lifter-harness active, was keeping him stuck to the hab’s surface. The Angel mods didn’t allow for that. He tore free, but his flight was erratic, and too low, and his trailing foot clipped the top of the bot.
As he landed, the bot’s arms whipped back out of the access panel and it took off diagonally, heading straight for him.
Shit and blood, this little fucker could fly!
He turned, feeling time slow as his mods assessed the situation and worked out his best course of action. A single thrusting cut across the sensor apparatus would blind it, then a follow up to sever— No, if he used his blades he’d breach his v-suit. Even with the emergency forceshield, it was too risky.
His hesitation gave the bot time to close and Taro had to duck and roll as it sailed over his head. Something silver shot past his face, so close that if there’d been any atmosphere he’d have felt the near miss. He suspected Consensus maintenance bots weren’t always this unfriendly; presumably they were on alert, thanks to the package he’d just delivered.
He came up into a crouch, and touched a couple of buttons on the back of his gauntlet. If his harness wanted him stuck here, who was he to argue with the tech?
The bot had turned and was coming back in for another pass.
Taro forced himself to ignore the subliminal instructions his Angel mods were giving him and straightened. The bot was coming straight for him. He overrode the urge to weave and slash, stood his ground, drew back both arms and bunched his fists. When the bot arrived, he jerked his head back to avoid its attack, at the same time punching out with all his – and the lifter-harness’ – might.
The contact jarred his entire upper body, but the harness, holding fast to the deck below, soaked up the force of a blow that would otherwise have knocked him flying, not to mention probably breaking his arms.
The bot sailed back, moving absurdly fast in the airless, lo-grav environment. It hit the base of an aerial tower along the gully. The aerial wobbled for a moment, then settled at a slight angle. A broken manipulator arm floated slowly off into space.
Taro waited, in case the bot was still active, but all was still. His suit chose that moment to helpfully inform him that he was now running twenty-nine seconds behind schedule.
Fuck it. Well, they definitely knew he was here now. He disengaged the harness and kicked off again, more carefully this time. He began to fly low and fast, weaving between obstacles, scanning for bots heading his way or weapons drawing a bead on him. His suit squawked, trying to keep him on course now he was no longer at ground level. Ahead he could see Jarek’s ship beginning to move off slowly; he hoped it was moving slowly enough.
The airlock opened while he was still a dozen metres away. All pretence at stealth gone, he arrowed in, reaching the ’lock just as the comabox began to float sedately out. He wrapped his arms around it, wondering for a moment if he should be able to sense Nual inside – but no, she’d still be unconscious.
The suit increased his strength and let him offset the comabox’s momentum, but it didn’t extend his reach. Not even his long arms would fit around the box and he swiftly realised he needed to push it, not grasp. As he slid down to the end, he said, ‘Suit, can you give me directions to the ship I’m looking at right now, and can you keep doing it even when I can’t see it?’
‘Conditional affirmative: using inertial guidance I can direct you to a rendezvous; however due to the difficulty of precise vector matching and occlusion of the target by your burden there will be a significant margin of error, even assuming the ship does not significantly change its course or speed.’
‘How significant a margin of error’re we talking about?’
‘Five to ten per cent.’
That didn’t sound
like too much. ‘Fine. Do it.’ He got himself under the comabox and began to push it up and away into space, towards the Heart of Glass. He used everything his mods and the suit could give him to go as fast as he could. It was time to find out if the virus he’d just planted really had taken out the hab’s guns.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
‘What precisely were you expecting me to do about it?’ asked Urien. ‘Invite him to take tea with me and share his concerns?’
They were alone; Damaru had gone out after suffering Kerin to paint his forehead with the mark of a skyfool in order that he could walk unmolested wherever he wished. Kerin was glad he was not here to witness this argument. ‘Of course not!’ she said, ‘but I thought you would just have him watched, and perhaps get one of your people to try and draw him out later.’
‘And that is precisely what I did: when you told me about Captain Siarl this morning, I had someone observe his movements for the rest of the day. As soon as he got off duty he went to an unoccupied house in the lower city. He obviously expected someone to be there, for he knocked and then waited for some time. My informant tells me he called out to someone within at one point, but my man was not close enough to hear what he said. No one answered, and eventually Captain Siarl left. Such activity is suspicious in itself, but it also transpires that he comes from the same town as the girl who unexpectedly turned up for judgment earlier this week.’
‘Do you think she could be at that house?’
‘It is entirely possible, and when I have a moment, I will send someone to find out. I decided that the combination of my investigations into Captain Siarl, and your own report of his actions in the market-place and of his attitude last night – not to mention the fact that we have now aroused his suspicions – meant we had no choice but to detain him. Had we left him at liberty, he would have warned his associates.’
‘If he has any! And even if you are right, and we need to stop Captain Siarl spreading dissent and alerting any allies he might have, would it not be sufficient merely to put him in prison?’
‘There is no other way, Kerin. Truly, I wish there were. I did try questioning him when I initially had him arrested, but he professes to know nothing. I know he lied when he told me that, but being able to sense a lie is not the same as being able to sniff out the full truth, and we need to know the truth, for if there is organised opposition, we must counteract it before the situation gets out of hand. If we do not nip dissent in the bud now, then I fear that the day when we will not need such measures may never come. So, if you will excuse me—’
‘You are going there now? To the dungeons?’
‘That is so. I cannot trust anyone else to hear Siarl’s confession—’
‘Confession!’
‘It is a term used with some irony, but it is nonetheless accurate.’
Kerin suddenly realised that true evil was not something huge and imposing, something that could be fought like a mythical beast; it was small and insidious, and it came in many guises. She wondered how many people who had been accused of doing evil would ever have chosen that label for themselves. Perhaps even the Sidhe believed they did right.
‘Wait,’ she said, suddenly resolved, ‘I will come with you. I wish to witness this man’s torture.’
‘Kerin, truly, I do not think that would be a good idea.’
‘I put us on this path. I must know what it truly means to commit to it.’ She barked a short, bitter laugh. ‘Besides, as you so like to remind me, fear is a vital tool in controlling people; if this hapless monitor is confronted with someone he believes to be his goddess, might he not confess more freely, and quickly?’
‘Perhaps,’ Urien conceded. ‘If I did not know better I would say you also wished to save this man, who may be a traitor, from undue pain.’ Amazement warred with dark amusement in his voice.
‘Perhaps I do. I met him, Urien; my words condemned him, and I must face up to the price we are paying to bring our people into the light. If I cannot accept the consequences of our – of my – actions, or worse, if I pretend there are no consequences, then I have no right to impose my wishes on people. Besides, I know you think me soft. This will harden me. Urien, you cannot dissuade me.’
The Escori of Frythil led the way through rarely used corridors that wound ever downwards. Those few people they met, priests and servants alike, reacted with the usual awe. As they passed near the acolytes’ hall, the distant singing of young voices, sweet and pure, brought unasked-for tears to Kerin’s eyes; she blinked them back.
The deeper they went, the fewer light-globes there were. They reached the top of a rough staircase cut into the stone; the light from below had the dim and inconstant quality of lamplight. Kerin shivered and thought of the canto of the Traditions that described the Abyss as a bottomless pit of undying flame. They descended carefully to a passage lit by guttering oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. The passage was lined with heavy wooden doors: some were barred shut, some opened into narrow cells. The air was dank, and stank of unwashed bodies, excrement and fear. The floor was slick. Kerin heard groans, and in one case muffled sobbing, coming from behind the closed doors.
The passage turned and divided. Urien led her to the right, towards an arch, through which was a larger room. He bade her wait just up the corridor. ‘Your presence will be more effective if used as a last resort,’ he whispered.
‘Do not think to keep me out now! I will see what havoc I have caused,’ she hissed.
‘I do not doubt it, but I would appreciate being permitted to conduct this inquiry in my own way.’
She gave in, muttering, ‘As you wish.’
Urien carried on up the corridor, and turned through the archway. His voice carried clearly back to Kerin. ‘So, Captain Siarl, now that you have had both opportunity and incentive to rethink your answers, I will ask you again: are you part of any organised movement to oppose the current order?’
For a moment there was no sound. Then a man’s ragged voice ground out a single word: ‘No.’
‘Captain Siarl, as with the last time I asked you that, your answer almost has the ring of truth.’ Urien sounded genuinely regretful at having to push for answers. ‘But “almost” is not enough. Let us move on to the second question, then: do you know of any such movement?’
Another pause, and the same answer, this time barked out: ‘No!’
‘Please, Captain Siarl, understand this: I will have the truth. Once I have it, no further injuries will be visited on you, and your wounds will be treated. You may even hope to see your family again one day. But only if you share everything you know.’
‘Will not . . . betray . . .’
The strain in the man’s voice chilled Kerin’s soul. She realised she had been breathing shallowly through her mouth, to guard against the stench of men brought low; it was making her lightheaded, and now she made herself breathe more deeply through her nose, despite the smell.
‘Betray who, Captain Siarl?’ Urien’s voice was all reason and sympathy.
Siarl muttered something.
‘I did not quite hear that.’ Now Urien sounded as stern as a schoolmaster.
More muttering.
‘Your friend?’ said Urien, ‘and who would that be?’
Silence, save for harsh breathing. ‘As I have explained before,’ said Urien slowly, ‘to refuse to answer a question is to invite pain.’
Kerin heard a sharp click, and then an animal scream. She flinched, her heart beating faster in response.
‘Not – betray – a friend, even – even friend who betrays . . .’ The monitor’s response was breathless, as though every word escaped against his will.
Kerin waited, breathless herself, but he did not finish his sentence.
Urien said, ‘We need a name, chilwar; that may be enough to end this, you know. Just a name.’
‘Have – no – name . . .’ The man sounded resigned to his fate.
‘Perhaps we will come back to that later. Let me ask you something less
difficult. Why did you visit the lower city earlier this evening?’
‘What . . . visit?’
‘Please, Captain, we are past the time for games. I know you did, for you were seen. What I wish to know is why.’
‘Will – say – nothing – more – on that.’ Though every word was ground out, Kerin could hear the resolve in the captain’s voice.
‘I think that would be a mistake.’
More silence. Kerin braced herself – but apparently that had not been considered an unanswered question, to be punished with pain, for Urien continued, ‘What will you tell us, then? I leave the next topic up to you.’
‘Nothing . . . nothing at all . . .’ This time the voice had a singsong quality to it.
Urien came out into the corridor a few moments later. His face was pale and sweat-sheened, almost as though he were the one being tortured. He walked up to Kerin, and muttered, ‘I believe this man will die before he tells me anything of use.’
‘Do you want me to come in?’ Despite her earlier brave words, as she listened to the proceedings, Kerin had come to hope it would not be necessary to see the full truth for herself.
‘I fear we are out of other options. However, it is your choice . . .’
‘I will come in. I said I would, and I will.’
Urien nodded gravely. ‘I will call you, then,’ he said, and went back into the room. Kerin heard him say, ‘Captain Siarl? Can you hear me? If you will not speak to me, perhaps there is one whom you will trust with the truth.’ More loudly, he added, ‘Divinity, would it please you to enter now?’