“As you can see,” the woman said, “so am I. You can put down that weapon now, Prefect Gaffney. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“It’s more a case of what you have to fear from me. Saavedra, isn’t it?”
“Got it in one. Should I be flattered that you know of me?”
“You can if you want to be.” Gaffney stepped closer. He was limping. He had been injured in the crash and the power-assist of his suit was beginning to malfunction. “I only want one thing from you. You’ve got the Clockmaker down here.”
“It’s already escaped,” Saavedra said. “You’re too late. Go home.”
“What if I said I didn’t believe you?”
“Then I’d have to prove it to you, wouldn’t I?”
“How would you do that?”
Still holding that coquettish pose, still mostly in shadow, the woman said, “I could show you the reactor, the tokamak we were using to contain it. You know about magnetic fields and the Clockmaker, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“We had it pinned down until you showed up. If you hadn’t attacked us, you could have infiltrated our facility and then worked out a way to destroy it.”
“Like you wish I’d done that. Where’s Dreyfus?”
“You killed Dreyfus in your attack.”
“So the day hasn’t been a complete waste of time.”
“Did you hate him that much, Prefect Gaffney? Did you hate him enough to want him dead?” Only now did she adjust the tilt of her head, moving it with the stiffness of a puppet that needed oiling. Something about the movement triggered a profound unease on Gaffney’s part, but he suppressed his qualms. “Did you hate him the way you hated Delphine?”
“Delphine was a detail that got in the way. She had to go.” He waved the muzzle of his rifle. “Do you want to become a detail as well?”
“Not really.”
“Then show me the tokamak. I want concrete evidence that the thing’s escaped. Then you’re going to help me locate it, before it gets off-planet.”
“Are you going to kill it as well?”
“That’s the idea.”
“You’re a very determined man,” she said, with a note of admiration he hadn’t been expecting.
“I get things done.”
“You know, so do I. Maybe the two of us have more in common than we might have imagined.” Her hand moved on her hip. Her arms were stick-thin, less like limbs than jointed sword sheaths. She pivoted on her heels, turning with the eerie smoothness of a battleship turret. Gaffney blinked, thinking he’d seen something on her back, tracing the course of her spine.
“I’d like to see where you had it hidden.”
“I’ll show you that and more. I can prove to you that it escaped.” She beckoned him forward. “Would you like that?”
“Very much so,” he said.
CHAPTER 33
Dreyfus came around for the third time that day. He was still lying where the Clockmaker had left him, his head still ringing with that last fateful moment when the machine’s fist had come crashing down. He’d been expecting to die then, more certain of it than anything in the universe. Yet here he was, looking up at Sparver.
“I…” he began.
“Easy, Boss. Save the questions for later. We’ve got to get you suited and out of here. Whole place is starting to cave in.” Sparver had his helmet cradled in his arm but was otherwise suited, a Breitenbach rifle slung over his shoulder.
“My leg’s hurt,” Dreyfus said, his throat still raw. “I’m going to have trouble walking.”
“You made it here. How did you get out of that collapsed room?”
“I didn’t. I was brought out while I was unconscious.”
“By whom? When I left, Saavedra was gone and Veitch was out cold. I tried shifting that table but I couldn’t manage it on my own. Veitch was in a bad way. I don’t think he was in any shape to help you.”
“It wasn’t Veitch.” Dreyfus paused, sucking in his pain while Sparver helped him off the couch. “I came around in here, and I was talking to Paula Saavedra. But it wasn’t her. It was the Clockmaker, Sparv. I was in the same room as it. It was talking to me, speaking through her body.”
“You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”
“Later I saw it for what it was. It revealed itself to me when I guessed what was going on. I thought it was going to kill me. But it didn’t. I woke up and I’m looking at you instead.” As the pain ebbed, Dreyfus was struck by an unpleasant possibility. “It had time to do something to me, Sparv. Is there anything on me? Anything missing?”
Sparver inspected him. “You look the same way you did when I left you, Boss. The only difference is that thing on your leg.”
Dreyfus looked down with apprehension. “What thing?”
“It’s just a splint, Boss. Nothing to be alarmed by.”
There was a thin metal cage wrapped around his lower right leg made up of a series of thin chrome shafts, bracing his leg at several contact points. The metal shafts had a still-molten quality about them, as if they were formed from elongated beads of mercury that might quiver back to liquid form at any instant. The longer Dreyfus studied it, the more clearly it looked like the work of the Clockmaker, rather than any human artificer.
“I thought it was going to kill me, or do something worse,” he said, in a kind of awed shock. “Instead it did this.”
“That doesn’t mean we misjudged it,” Sparver said, “just that it has nice days.”
“I don’t think that’s why it did this. It just wants me kept alive so I can serve a purpose.”
Sparver helped him to begin hobbling towards the door. “Which purpose would that be?”
“The usual one,” Dreyfus said. Then another troubling thought crystallised in his head. “Gaffney,” he said. “Veitch said—”
“I took care of Gaffney. He isn’t a problem any more.”
“You killed him?”
“I shot down his ship. He survived the crash and escaped into Ops Nine before I had a chance to finish him off. But he isn’t an issue any more.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I passed him on the way down to fetch you,” Sparver said, taking the bulk of Dreyfus’s weight as they started ascending stairs. “Most of him, anyway.”
With Dreyfus suited, an outcome that was somehow achieved despite the cumbersome bulk of his splint, they made their way to the surface, taking a different route than the one Sparver had used earlier. Although there were some tight squeezes along the way, neither of them was wearing tactical armour and Sparver discarded the rifle after a while on the assumption that it would prove inadequate against the only foe they stood a chance of encountering.
“It’s gone,” Dreyfus said, attempting to reassure his deputy. “You won’t be seeing it again.”
“I didn’t see it the first time.”
“Figure of speech.”
“Anyway, what do you mean I won’t be seeing it?”
“Wherever it’s gone, wherever it ends up, I think it’ll be keeping its eye on me,” Dreyfus said. “That’s why it left me alive. It wants me to see that justice is served.”
“Justice for what?”
“The murder of Philip Lascaille. It was a long time ago, but some of the people involved may still be in the system, maybe even still working for House Sylveste.”
“You’re talking about avenging the Clockmaker?”
“It still has a right to justice. I don’t deny that it’s a perversion of whatever Philip Lascaille once was. They took the mind of a man who’d been driven insane by the Shrouders and then fed the mind of that man—terrified even more because he knew he was going to die—into a machine for making contact. What they got back was an angel of vengeance, forged in a strange and alien place. I’m not saying the thing has my sympathies. But the earlier crime still stands.”
“And you’d be the man to look into it?”
“I don’t care who wants justice, Spa
rv. It’s a thing unto itself, irrespective of the moral worth of the wronged party. The Clockmaker may have committed atrocities, but it was still wronged. I’ll do what I can to put that right.”
“And then what?”
Dreyfus grimaced as a spike of pain shot up his leg. “Then I’ll go after the Clockmaker, of course. Just because it was wronged doesn’t mean it gets an exemption.”
“Presupposing, of course, that this minor business with Aurora blows over. Or had that slipped your mind?”
“I’m not too worried about Aurora any more.”
“Maybe you should be. The last time I checked, we were getting a whipping up there.”
“The Clockmaker interrogated me,” Dreyfus said. “It grilled me on her capabilities, her nature. It wanted to know exactly what she was. Then it escaped. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It’s going after her.”
“It’s at least as smart as she is, Sparv. Maybe smarter. And it has a very good reason to take her out of the picture.”
“At which point we’ll be left with the Clockmaker to deal with, instead of Aurora. Is that really an improvement?”
“It wants vengeance, not genocide. I’m not saying any of us are going to sleep easy with that thing out there, but at least we’ll be sleeping. That wouldn’t have been an option under Aurora.”
Dreyfus and Sparver completed the last stage of their ascent. They passed through the collapsed remains of a subterranean landing area where Saavedra’s cutter was still parked and waiting. A ceiling spar from the sliding weather cover that concealed the landing deck had pinned the ship to the ground. Sparver went aboard and tried to communicate with Panoply, but the cutter was dead.
“Don’t worry,” Dreyfus said. “They’ll come for us.”
By the time they arrived on the surface, the storm had abated. The starless sky was a moving vault of poisonous black, but according to Sparver it had nothing of the howling ferocity of earlier. Unafraid now to stand on high ground, Dreyfus activated his helmet lamp and surveyed the fractured dark landscape, picking out suggestive details that made him flinch until he saw that they were merely conjunctions of ice and rock, light and shade, rather than the furtive presence of the Clockmaker. He sensed that it had left this place, putting as much distance as it could between itself and the magnetic prison of the tokamak.
“It must still be out there somewhere,” Sparver commented.
“I don’t know about that.”
“It can’t have left the planet. It’s a machine, not a ship.”
“It can take whatever form it wants to,” Dreyfus replied. “What’s to say it can’t change itself into anything it needs to be? I watched it manipulate its form right in front of me. Now that it’s free of the cage, I wonder if there’s anything it can’t do.”
“It’s still a thing. It can be tracked, located, recaptured.”
“Maybe.”
“What are you thinking?” Sparver asked.
“Maybe it will have taken a leaf out of Aurora’s book. An alpha-level intelligence is easy to contain if it confines itself to a single machine, a single platform. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Aurora worked out how to move herself around, to embody herself wherever it suited her needs. What’s to say the Clockmaker won’t do likewise?”
“To meet her on her own terms, you mean?”
“If I was it, and I thought she wanted to kill me, that’s what I’d do.”
“That would also make it more difficult for us to kill it, wouldn’t it?”
“There’d be that as well,” Dreyfus admitted.
They stood in silence, waiting for something to come out of the sky and rescue them. Occasionally a strobing flash pushed through the darkness: evidence of lightning or—perhaps—something taking orbit around Yellowstone, something that had nothing to do with weather.
After a long while, Dreyfus started speaking again. “I had a simple choice, Sparv. The nukes were available and ready to go. They’d have destroyed SIAM and taken out the Clockmaker. We’d already got Jane out, so we knew what it was capable of. We knew the things it could do to people even if it didn’t kill them. And we knew there were still survivors inside that structure, people it hadn’t got to yet. Including Valery.”
“You don’t have to talk about this now, Boss. It can wait.”
“It’s waited eleven years,” Dreyfus said. “I think that’s long enough, don’t you?”
“I’m just saying… I pushed you earlier. But I had no idea what I was doing.”
“There was something else, of course. We still needed to know what we’d been dealing with. If we nuked SIAM without gaining any further intelligence on the Clockmaker, we’d never know what to do to stop something like it happening again. That was vital, Sparv. As a prefect, I couldn’t ignore my responsibility to the future security of the Glitter Band.”
“So what happened?”
“From the technical data we’d already recovered, and Jane’s testimony, we knew that the Clockmaker was susceptible to intense magnetic fields. Nothing else—no physical barrier or conventional weapon—seemed able to stop or slow it. I realised that if we could pin the Clockmaker down, if we could freeze it, we could get the surviving citizens out alive. That’s when I knew we had to power up the Atalanta.”
“The Atalanta,” Sparver echoed.
“It was a ship designed to undercut the Conjoiners in the starship-building business. Thing is, although it worked, it never worked well enough to make it economical. So they mothballed it, left it in orbit around Yellowstone while they worked out what to do with it. It’d been there for decades but was still perfectly intact, exactly the way it had been when it was last powered down.”
“What was so special about this ship?”
“It was a ramscoop,” Dreyfus said. “A starship built around a single massive engine designed to suck in interstellar hydrogen and use it for reaction mass. Because it didn’t have to carry its own fuel around, it could go almost as fast as it liked, right up to the edge of light-speed. That was the idea, anyway. But the drive system was cumbersome, and the intake field generated so much friction that the ship was never as fast as its designers had hoped. But that didn’t matter to me. I didn’t want the ship to move. I just wanted its intake. The scoop generator was fifteen kilometres across, Sparv: a swallowing mouth wide enough to encompass SIAM in its entirety.”
“A magnetic field,” Sparver said.
“I sent a Heavy Technical Squad aboard the Atalanta. We attached high-burn tugs to shift its orbit, to bring it close to SIAM. We couldn’t get its reactors back on line fast enough, so we jump-started the ramscoop using the engines on our corvettes. In an hour the field was building strength. In two we had it positioned around SIAM.” Dreyfus paused, the words suddenly drying up in his mouth. “We knew there was a risk. The human survivors in SIAM were going to be exposed to that same magnetic field. There was no telling what it would do to their nervous systems, let alone the implants most of them were carrying. The best we could do was to try to focus the field on the area where we’d last pinpointed the Clockmaker, and try to hold the field strength as low as possible elsewhere.”
“It was better than just nuking. At least you gave them a chance.”
“Yes,” Dreyfus said.
“You said they survived. When you told me about it earlier.”
“They did. But the effects of the field had been… worse than we feared. We froze the Clockmaker, recovered its relics, studied it as best we could and then retreated with the survivors. That took the rest of the six hours. Then we nuked. We thought we’d destroyed the Clockmaker, of course. In truth, it’d had packed itself down into one of the relics, waiting to be reopened like a jack-in-the-box.”
“And the survivors?” Sparver asked eventually.
It took Dreyfus an equally long time to answer. “They were all taken care of. Including Valery.”
“They’re still alive?”
“All of the
m. In Hospice Idlewild. The Mendicants were asked to look after a consignment of brain-damaged sleepers. They were never told where those people really came from.”
“Valery’s with them, isn’t she?”
Dreyfus’s eyes were beginning to sting. “I visited her once, Sparv. Just after the crisis, when it had all blown over. I thought I could live with what she’d become. But when I saw her, when I saw how little of my wife was left, I knew I couldn’t. She was tending the gardens, kneeling in soil. She had flowers in her hand. When she looked at me, she smiled. But she didn’t really know who I was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That was when I went back to Jane. I told her I couldn’t live with what I’d done to them. So she authorised the memory block.”
“And Valery?”
“I never went back to see her. Not in eleven years.”
Presently Dreyfus became aware of a rising sound, louder than the wind. He looked up in time to see a large ship come slamming through the clouds, its hull still glowing from a high-speed re-entry. He recognised it immediately as a deep-system cruiser, although he could not identify the ship itself. It circled overhead, landing gear clawing down from its reptile-smooth belly, weapons erupting through the hull as if they were the retractile spines of some poisonous fish. The pilot selected a patch of level ground large enough to accommodate the ninety-metre-long vehicle and descended slowly, using brief coughs of steering thrust to manage the descent.
Dreyfus and Sparver raised their hands in salute and started walking towards the parked ship, Dreyfus’s stiff right leg dragging in the ice. A ramp lowered from the belly. Almost immediately, a suited figure began walking down it, picking its way cautiously down the cleated surface. The figure’s small stature, the way she walked, told Dreyfus exactly who she was.
“Thalia,” he called out, delighted. “It is you, isn’t it?”
She answered on the suit-to-suit channel. “Are you okay, sir?”
“I’ll mend, thanks to Sparver. What are you doing here?”
“As soon as Prefect Gaffney got to you, we knew there was no point in concealing this location from Aurora. We would have come sooner, but we’ve been tied up with evacuees.”
Aurora Rising Page 60