‘Begging your pardon, Little Miss, but one is unable to do anything that would not inconvenience you more than it would inconvenience the proxy.’ Beast paused and added, ‘I am really, really sorry.’
Antoinette glanced at the walls, and a moment of perfect stillness enclosed her, an eye in the storm. Beast had never sounded like that before. It was as if the subpersona had spontaneously clicked into a different identity program. When had it ever called itself ‘I’ before?
‘Beast…’ she said calmly. ‘Beast… ?’
But then the proxy was on her, the diamond-hard, scimitar-sharp alloy of its limbs scissoring around her, Antoinette thrashing and screaming as the machine pried her away from Xavier. She could not help cutting herself against the proxy’s limbs. Her blood welled out from each wound in long beadlike processions, tracing ruby-red arcs through the air. She began to feel faint, consciousness lapping away.
The pig moved. Mr Pink was on the machine. The pig was small but immensely strong for his size and the proxy’s servitors whined and hummed in protest as the pig fought the bladed limbs. The whips and whorls of his own shed blood mingled with Antoinette’s. The air hazed scarlet as the beads broke down into smaller and smaller droplets. She watched the machine inflict savage gashes in Mr Pink. He bled curtains of blood, rippling out of him like aurorae. Mr Pink roared in pain and anger, and yet he kept fighting. The taser arced a stuttering blue curve through the air. The muzzle of the Gatling gun began to rotate even more rapidly, as if the proxy were preparing to spray the cabin.
Antoinette crawled her way back to Xavier. Her palms were crisscrossed with cuts. She touched Xavier’s forehead. She could have saved him a few minutes ago, she thought, but it was pointless trying now. Mr Pink was fighting a brave battle, but he was, inexorably, losing. The machine would win, and it would pick her off Xavier again; and then, perhaps, it would kill her too.
It was over. And all she should have done, she thought, was follow her father’s advice. He had told her never to get involved with spiders, and although he could not have guessed the circumstances that would entangle her with them, time had proved him right.
Sorry, Dad, Antoinette thought. You were right, and I thought I knew better. Next time I promise I’ll be a good girl…
The proxy stopped moving, its servo motors falling instantly silent. The Gatling gun spun down to a low rumble and then stopped. The taser buzzed, sparked and then died. The centrifuge wound down until Antoinette could no longer hear it. Even the humming had ended. The machine was simply frozen there, immobile, a vile blood-lathered black spider spanning the cabin from wall to wall.
She found some strength. ‘Mr Pink… what did you do?’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Mr Pink said. And then the pig nodded at Xavier. ‘I’d concentrate on him, if I were you.’
‘Help me. Please. I’m not strong enough to do this myself.’
‘Help yourself.’
Mr Pink, she saw, was quite seriously injured himself. But though he was losing blood, he appeared not to have suffered anything beyond cuts and gashes; he did not seem to have lost any digits or received any broken bones.
‘I’m begging you. Help me massage his chest.’
‘I said I’d never help a human, Antoinette.’
She began to work Xavier’s chest anyway, but each depression sapped more strength from her, strength that she did not have to spare.
‘Please, Mr Pink…’
‘I’m sorry, Antoinette. It’s nothing personal, but…’
She stopped what she was doing. Her own anger was supreme now. ‘But what?’
‘I’m afraid humans just aren’t my favourite species.’
‘Well, Mr Pink, here’s a message from the human species. Fuck you and your attitude.’
She went back to Xavier, mustering the strength for one last attempt.
TWENTY-THREE
Clavain and H rode the rattling iron elevator back up from the Château’s basement levels. On the way up, Clavain ruminated on what his host had shown and told him. Under any other circumstances, the story about Sukhoi and Mercier would have strained his credulity. But H’s apparent sincerity and the dread atmosphere of the empty room had made the whole thing difficult to dismiss. It was much more comforting to think that H had simply told him the story to play with his mind, and for that reason Clavain chose, provisionally, to opt for the less comforting possibility, just as H had done when he had investigated Sukhoi’s claims.
In Clavain’s experience, it was the less comforting possibility that generally turned out to be the case. It was the way the universe worked.
Little was said on the ascent. Clavain was still convinced that he had to escape from H and continue his defection. Equally, however, what H had revealed to him so far had forced him to accept that his own understanding of the whole affair was far from complete.
Skade was not just working for her own ends, or even for the ends of a cabal of faceless Conjoiners. She was in all likelihood working for the Mademoiselle, who had always desired influence within the Mother Nest. And the Mademoiselle herself was an unknown, a figure entirely outside Clavain’s experience. And yet, like H, she had evidently had some profound interest in the alien grub and his technology, enough that she had brought the creature to the Château and learned how to communicate with him. She was dead, it was true, but perhaps Skade had become such a willing agent of hers that one might as well think of Skade and the Mademoiselle as inseparable now.
Whatever Clavain had imagined he was dealing with, it was bigger — and it went back further — than he had ever imagined.
But it changes nothing, he thought. The crucial matter was still the acquisition of the hell-class weapons. Whoever was running Skade wanted those weapons more than anything.
And so I have to get them instead.
The elevator rattled to a halt. H opened the trelliswork door and led Clavain through another series of marbled corridors until they reached what appeared to be an absurdly spacious hotel room. A low, ornately plaster-moulded ceiling receded into middle distance, and various items of furniture and ornamentation were stationed here and there, much like items in a sculptural installation: the tilted black wedge of a grand piano; a grandfather clock in the middle of the room, as if caught in the act of gliding from wall to wall; a number of black pillars supporting obscure alabaster busts; a pair of lion-footed settees in dark scarlet velvet; and three golden armchairs as large as thrones.
Two of the three armchairs were occupied. In one sat a pig dressed like H in a simple black gown and trousers. Clavain frowned, realising — though he could not be absolutely certain — that the pig was Scorpio, the prisoner he had last seen in the Mother Nest. In the other sat Xavier, the young mechanic Clavain had met in Carousel New Copenhagen. The odd juxtaposition made Clavain’s head ache as he tried to construct some plausible scenario for how the two came to be together, here.
‘Are introductions necessary?’ H asked. ‘I don’t think so, but just to be on the safe side — Mr Clavain, meet Scorpio and Xavier Liu.’ He nodded first at Xavier. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘I’m all right,’ Xavier said.
‘Mr Liu suffered heart failure. He was attacked with a taser weapon aboard Antoinette Bax’s spacecraft Storm Bird. The voltage setting would have dropped a hamadryad, let alone a human.’
‘Attacked?’ Clavain said, feeling it was polite to say something.
‘By an agent of the Ferrisville Convention. Oh, don’t worry, the individual involved won’t be doing that again. Or much else, as it happens.’
‘Have you killed him?’ Xavier asked.
‘Not as such, no.’ H turned to Clavain. ‘Xavier’s lucky to be alive, but he’ll be fine.’
‘And Antoinette?’ Clavain asked.
‘She’ll be fine, too. A few cuts and bruises, nothing too serious. She’ll be along shortly.’
Clavain sat down in the vacant yellow chair, opposite Scorpio. ‘I don’t pretend
to understand why Xavier and Antoinette are here. But you…’
‘It’s a long story,’ Scorpio said.
‘I’m not going anywhere. Why not start at the beginning? Shouldn’t you be in custody?’
H said, ‘Matters have become complicated, Mr Clavain. I gather the Conjoiners brought Scorpio to the inner system with the intention of handing him over to the authorities.’
Xavier looked at the pig, doing a double take. ‘I thought H was joking when he called you Scorpio before. But he wasn’t, was he? Holy fuck. You are him, the one they’ve been trying to catch all this time. Holy fuck!’
‘Your reputation precedes you,’ H said to the pig.
‘What the fuck were you doing in Carousel New Copenhagen?’ Xavier asked, easing back into his seat. He appeared disturbed to be in the same building as Scorpio, let alone the same room.
‘I was coming after him,’ Scorpio said, nodding at Clavain.
Now it was Clavain’s turn to blink. ‘Me?’
‘They gave me a deal, the spiders. Said they’d let me go, wouldn’t turn me over, if I helped them track you down after you gave them the slip. I wasn’t going to say no, was I?’
H said, ‘They provided Scorpio with credible documentation, enough that he would not be arrested on sight. I believe they were sincere in their promise that he would be allowed to go free if he assisted in bringing you back into the fold.’
‘But I still don’t…’
‘Scorpio and his associate — another Conjoiner — followed your trail, Mr Clavain. Naturally it took them to Antoinette Bax. That was how Xavier became involved in the whole unfortunate business. There was a struggle, and some damage was done to the carousel. The Convention already had an eye on Antoinette, so it did not take them long to reach her ship. The injuries that were sustained, including Scorpio’s, all took place when the Convention proxy entered Storm Bird.’
Clavain frowned. ‘But that doesn’t explain how they come to be… oh, wait. You were shadowing them, weren’t you?’
H nodded with what Clavain thought was a trace of pride. ‘I expected the Conjoiners to send someone after you. For my own curiosity I was determined to bring them here, too, so that I might determine what part they played in this whole curious affair. My ships were waiting around Copenhagen, looking for anything untoward — and especially anything untoward concerning Antoinette Bax. I am only sorry that we did not intervene sooner, or a little less blood might have been shed.’
Clavain turned around at the sound of metronomic ticking, coming nearer. It was a woman wearing stiletto heels. An enormous black cloak fanned behind her, as if she walked in her own private gale. He recognised her.
‘Ah, Zebra,’ H said, smiling.
Zebra strode up to him and then wrapped her arms around him. They kissed, more like lovers than friends.
‘Are you certain that you don’t need some rest?’ H asked. ‘Two busy jobs in one day…’
‘I’m fine, and so are the Talkative Twins.’
‘Did you — um — make arrangements concerning the Convention employee?’
‘We dealt with him, yes. Do you want to see him?’
‘I imagine it might amuse my guests. Why not?’ H shrugged, as if all that was being debated was whether to have afternoon tea now rather than later.
‘I’ll fetch him,’ Zebra said. She turned around and clicked into the distance.
Another pair of footsteps approached. Clavain corrected himself. It was really two pairs of footsteps, but which fell in near-perfect synchrony. It was the two huge mouthless men wheeling a chair between the settees. Antoinette was sitting in the chair, looking tired but alive. She had many bandages on her hands and forearms.
‘Clavain…’ she started to say.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘And pleased to hear that you’re well. I’m sorry to learn that there was trouble on my account. I sincerely hoped that when I left, that would be the last of it for you.’
‘Life’s just never that simple, is it?’ Antoinette said.
‘I suppose not. But I’m sorry all the same. If I can make amends, I will.’
Antoinette looked at Xavier. ‘You’re OK? She said you were, but I didn’t know if I should believe her.’
‘I’m fine,’ Xavier told her. ‘Right as rain.’
But neither of them had the energy to get out of their chairs, it seemed.
‘I didn’t think I’d manage it,’ Antoinette said. ‘I was trying to get your heart started, but I didn’t have the strength. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, so I gave it one last try. I guess it worked.’
‘Actually, it didn’t,’ H said. ‘You passed out. You’d done your best, but you’d lost a lot of blood yourself.’
‘Then who… ?’
H nodded at Scorpio. ‘Our friend the pig saved Xavier. Didn’t you?’
The pig grunted. ‘It wasn’t anything.’
Antoinette said, ‘Maybe not to you, Mr Pink. But it made a hell of a difference to Xavier. I suppose I should say thank you.’
‘Don’t cut yourself up over it. I’ll live without your gratitude.’
‘I’ll still say it. Thanks.’
Scorpio looked at her and then grunted something unintelligible before looking away.
‘What about the ship?’ Clavain said, breaking the awkward silence that followed. ‘Is the ship OK?’
Antoinette looked at H. ‘I guess it isn’t, right?’
‘Actually, she’s fine. As soon as Xavier was conscious, Zebra asked him to instruct Storm Bird to fly on automatic pilot to some coordinates we provided. We have secure holding facilities in the Rust Belt, vital for some of our other operations. The ship is intact and out of harm’s way. You have my word on that, Antoinette.’
‘When can I see it again?’
‘Soon,’ H said. ‘But exactly how soon I am not willing to say.’
‘Am I a prisoner, then?’ Antoinette asked.
‘Not exactly. You are all my guests. I would just rather you did not leave until we have all had a chance to talk. Mr Clavain may have his own opinion on the matter, perhaps justifiably, but I think it is fair to say that some of you owe me for saving your lives.’ He held up a hand, cutting off any objections before anyone had a chance to speak. ‘I do not mean that I hold any of you in debt to me. I merely ask that you indulge me with a little of your time. Like it or not,’ and he glanced at all of them in turn, ‘we are all players in something larger than any of us can readily grasp. Unwilling players, perhaps, but then it has always been thus. By defecting, Mr Clavain has precipitated something momentous. I believe we have no option but to follow events to their outcome. To play, if you like, our predetermined roles. That includes all of us — even Scorpio.’
There was a squeaking sound, accompanied by more of the metronomic clicking. Zebra had returned. Ahead of her she propelled an upright metal cylinder the size of a large tea urn. It was burnished to a high gleam and sprouted all manner of pipes and accoutrements. It sat propped on the cushion of a wheelchair, the same kind that Antoinette had arrived in.
The cylinder was, Clavain noticed, rocking slightly from side to side, as if something inside was struggling to escape.
‘Bring it here,’ H said, gesturing Zebra forwards.
She wheeled the cylinder between them. It was still wobbling. H leaned over and rapped it softly with his knuckles. ‘Hello there,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Nice that you could make it. Do you know where you are, I wonder, or what has happened to you?’
The cylinder wobbled with increasing agitation.
‘Let me explain,’ H said to his guests. ‘What we have here is the life-support system of a Convention cutter. The pilot of a cutter never leaves his spacecraft for his entire term of service, which can be many years. To reduce mass, most of his body is surgically detached and held in cold storage back at Convention headquarters. He doesn’t need limbs when he can drive a proxy via a neural interface. He doesn’t need a lot of other thi
ngs, either. They are all removed, labelled and stored.’
The cylinder lurched back and forth.
Zebra reached down and held it steady. ‘Whoah,’ she said.
‘Inside this cylinder,’ H said, ‘is the pilot of the cutter responsible for the recent unpleasantness aboard Miss Bax’s spacecraft. Nasty little fellow, aren’t you? What fun it must be, terrifying innocent crews who have done nothing worse than violate a few silly old laws. What larks.’
‘It isn’t the first time we’ve done business,’ Antoinette said.
‘Well, I’m afraid our guest has gone just a little bit too far this time,’ H said. ‘Haven’t you, old fellow? It was a simple matter to detach your life-support core from the rest of the ship. I hope it didn’t cause you too much discomfort, although I imagine there must have been no little pain as you were disconnected from your ship’s nervous system. I’ll apologise for that now, because torture really isn’t my business.’
The cylinder was suddenly very still, as if listening.
‘But I can’t very well let you go unpunished, can I? I am a very moral man, you see. My own crimes have sharpened my sense of ethics to a quite unprecedented degree.’ He leaned close to the cylinder, until his lips were almost kissing the metal. ‘Listen carefully, because I don’t want there to be any doubt in your mind as to what is to happen to you.’
The cylinder rocked softly.
‘I know what I need to do to keep you alive. Power here, nutrients there — it’s not rocket science. I imagine that you can exist in this can for decades, provided I keep you fed and watered. And that is precisely what I am going to do, until the moment you die.’ He glanced at Zebra and nodded. ‘I think that’ll be all, don’t you?’
‘Shall I put him in the same room as the others, H?’
‘I think that will do very nicely.’ He beamed at his guests and then watched with obvious fondness as Zebra wheeled the prisoner away.
When she was out of earshot Clavain said, ‘You’re a cruel man, H.’
‘I am not cruel,’ he said. ‘Not in the sense you mean. But cruelty is a useful tool if one can only recognise the precise moment when it must be used.’
The Revelation Space Collection (revelation space) Page 191