‘Quaiche?’ the ship asked before Morwenna had a chance to answer. ‘Are you ready to initiate the search?’
‘Do I have time to get to the slowdown tank?’
‘Initial acceleration will be one gee only, until I have completed a thorough propulsion diagnostic. When you are safely in slowdown, acceleration will increase to the safe limit of the slowdown tank.’
‘What about Morwenna?’
‘No special instructions were received.’
‘Did we make the deceleration burn at the usual five gees, or were you told to keep it slower?’
‘Acceleration was held within the usual specified limits.’
Good. Morwenna had endured that, so there was every indication that whatever modifications Grelier had made to the scrimshaw suit offered at least the same protection as the slowdown tank. ‘Ship,’ he said, ‘will you handle Morwenna’s transitions to slowdown buffering? ’
‘The transitions will be managed automatically.’
‘Excellent. Morwenna — did you hear that?’
‘I heard it,’ she said. ‘Maybe you can ask another question, too. If it can put me to sleep when it needs to, can it put me under for the whole journey?’
‘You heard what she asked, ship. Can you do it?’
‘If required, it can be arranged.’
Stupidly, it had never occurred to Quaiche to ask the same question. He felt ashamed not to have thought of it first. He had, he realised, still not adequately grasped what it must be like for her in that thing.
‘Well, Mor, do you want it now? I can have you put asleep immediately. When you wake up we’ll be back aboard the Ascension.’
‘And if you fail? Do you think I’ll ever be allowed to wake up?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I wish I did. But I’m not planning to fail.’
‘You always sound so sure of yourself,’ she said. ‘You always sound as if everything’s about to go right.’
‘Sometimes I even believe it as well.’
‘And now?’
‘I told Jasmina that I thought I could feel my luck changing. I wasn’t lying.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.
‘So are you going to sleep?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay awake with you. When you sleep, I’ll sleep. For now. I don’t rule out changing my mind.’
‘I understand.’
‘Find something out there, Horris. Please. For both of us.’
‘I will,’ he said. And in his gut he felt something like certainty. It made no sense, but there it was: hard and sharp as a gallstone.
‘Ship,’ he said, ‘take us in.’
FIVE
Ararat, 2675
Clavain and Scorpio had nearly reached the tent when Vasko appeared, moving around from the back until he stood at the entrance. A sudden gust of wind rattled the tent’s stays, lashing them against the green-stained fabric. The wind sounded impatient, chivvying them on. The young man waited nervously, unsure what to do with his hands.
Clavain eyed him warily. ‘I assumed that you’d come alone,’ he said quietly.
‘You needn’t worry about him,’ Scorpio replied. ‘He was a bit surprised to find out where you’d been all this time, but I think he’s over that now.’
‘He’d better be.’
‘Nevil, go easy on him, will you? There’ll be plenty of time to play the tyrannical ogre later.’
When the young man was in earshot Clavain raised his voice and cried hoarsely, ‘Who are you, son?’
‘Vasko, sir,’ he said. ‘Vasko Malinin.’
‘That’s a Resurgam name, isn’t it? Is that where you’re from?’
‘I was born here, sir. My parents were from Resurgam. They lived in Cuvier before the evacuation.’
‘You don’t look old enough.’
‘I’m twenty, sir.’
‘He was born a year or two after the colony was established,’ Scorpio said in something close to a whisper. ‘That makes him one of the oldest people born on Ararat. But he’s not alone. We’ve had second-generation natives born while you were away, children whose parents don’t remember Resurgam, or even the trip here.’
Clavain shivered, as if the thought of this was easily the most frightful thing he had ever imagined. ‘We weren’t supposed to put down roots, Scorpio. Ararat was intended to be a temporary stopover. Even the name is a bad joke. You don’t settle a planet with a bad joke for a name.’
Scorpio decided that now was not the ideal time to remind him that it had always been the plan to leave some people behind on Ararat, even if the majority of them departed.
‘You’re dealing with humans,’ he said. ‘And pigs. Trying to stop us breeding is like trying to herd cats.’
Clavain turned his attention back to Vasko. ‘And what do you do?’
‘I work in the food factory, sir, in the sedimentation beds mostly, cleaning sludge out of the scrapers or changing the blades on the surface skimmers.’
‘It sounds like very interesting work.’
‘In all honesty, sir, if it were interesting work, I wouldn’t be here today.’
‘Vasko also serves in the local league of the Security Arm,’ Scorpio said. ‘He’s had the usual training: firearms, urban pacification, and so on. Most of the time, of course, he’s putting out fires or helping with the distribution of rations or medical supplies from Central Amenities.’
‘Essential work,’ Clavain said.
‘No one, least of all Vasko, would argue with that,’ Scorpio said. ‘But all the same, he put the word around that he was interested in something a little more adventurous. He’s been pestering Arm administration for promotion to a full-time position. His scores are very good and he fancies trying his hand at something a tiny bit more challenging than shovelling shit.’
Clavain regarded the young man with narrowed eyes. ‘What exactly has Scorp told you about the capsule?’
Vasko looked at the pig, then back to Clavain. ‘Nothing, sir.’
‘I told him what he needed to know, which wasn’t much.’
‘I think you’d better tell him the rest,’ Clavain said.
Scorpio repeated the story he had already told to Clavain. He watched, fascinated, as the impact of the news became apparent in Vasko’s expression.
He didn’t blame him for that: for twenty years the absolute isolation of Ararat must have been as deeply woven into the fabric of his life as the endless roar of the sea and the constant warm stench of ozone and rotting vegetation. It was so absolute, so ever-present, that it vanished beneath conscious notice. But now something had punctured that isolation: a reminder that this ocean world had only ever been a fragile and temporary place of sanctuary amid an arena of wider conflict.
‘As you can see,’ Scorpio said, ‘it isn’t something we want everyone to find out about before we know exactly what’s going on, and who’s in the thing.’
‘I’m assuming you have your suspicions,’ Clavain said.
Scorpio nodded. ‘It could be Remontoire. We were always expecting the Zodiacal Light to show up one of these days. Sooner than this, admittedly, but there’s no telling what happened to them after we left, or how long it took the ship to repair itself. Maybe when we crack open the capsule we’ll find my second-favourite Conjoiner sitting inside it.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Explain this to me, Clavain,’ Scorpio said. ‘If it’s Remontoire and the rest, why the secrecy? Why don’t they just move into orbit and announce they’ve arrived? At the very least they could have dropped the capsule a bit closer to land, so that it wouldn’t have cost us so much time recovering it.’
‘So consider the alternative,’ Clavain said. ‘It might be your least favourite Conjoiner instead.’
‘I’ve considered that, of course. If Skade had arrived in our system, I’d expect her to maintain a maximum-stealth profile the whole way in. But we should still have seen something. By the same token, I don’t t
hink she’d be very likely to start her invasion with a single capsule — unless there’s something extremely nasty in it.’
‘Skade can be nasty enough on her own,’ Clavain said. ‘But I agree: I don’t think it’s her. Landing on her own would be a suicidal and pointless gesture; not her style at all.’
They had arrived at the tent. Clavain opened the door and led the way in. He paused at the threshold and examined the interior with a vague sense of recrimination, as if someone else entirely lived there.
‘I’ve become very used to this place,’ he said, almost apologetically.
‘Meaning you don’t think you can stand to go back?’ Scorpio asked. He could still smell the lingering scent of Clavain’s earlier presence.
‘I’ll just have to do my best.’ Clavain closed the door behind them and turned to Vasko. ‘How much do you know about Skade and Remontoire?’
‘I don’t think I’ve heard either name before.’
Clavain eased himself into the collapsible chair, leaving the other two to stand. ‘Remontoire was — is — one of my oldest allies. Another Conjoiner. I’ve known him since we fought against each other on Mars.’
‘And Skade, sir?’
Clavain picked up one of the conch pieces and began examining it absent-mindedly. ‘Skade’s a different kettle of fish. She’s also a Conjoiner, but from a later generation than either of us. She’s cleverer and faster, and she has no emotional ties to old-line humanity whatsoever. When the Inhibitor threat became clearer, Skade made plans to save the Mother Nest by running away from this sector of space. I didn’t like that — it meant leaving the rest of humanity to fend for itself when we should have been helping each other — and so I defected. Remontoire, after some misgivings, threw his lot in with me as well.’
‘Then Skade hates both of you?’ Vasko asked.
‘I think she might still be prepared to give Remontoire the benefit of the doubt,’ Clavain said. ‘But me? No, I more or less burnt my bridges with Skade. The last straw as far as she was concerned was the time when I cut her in half with a mooring line.’
Scorpio shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
‘Remontoire saved her,’ Clavain said. ‘That probably counts for something, even though he betrayed her later. But with Skade, it’s probably best not to assume anything. I think I killed her later, but I can’t exclude the possibility that she escaped. That’s what her last transmission claimed, at any rate.’
Vasko asked, ‘So why exactly are we waiting for Remontoire and the others, sir?’
Clavain narrowed an eye in Scorpio’s direction. ‘He really doesn’t know a lot, does he?’
‘It’s not his fault,’ Scorpio said. ‘You have to remember that he was born here. What happened before we came here is ancient history as far as he’s concerned. You’ll get the same reaction from most of the youngsters, human or pig.’
‘Still doesn’t make it excusable,’ Clavain said. ‘In my day we were more inquisitive.’
‘In your day you were slacking if you didn’t get in a couple of genocides before breakfast.’
Clavain said nothing. He put down the conch piece and picked up another, testing its sharp edge against the fine hairs on the back of his hand.
‘I do know a bit, sir,’ Vasko said hastily. ‘I know that you came to Resurgam from Yellowstone, just when the machines began to destroy our solar system. You helped evacuate the entire colony aboard the Nostalgia for Infinity — nearly two hundred thousand of us.’
‘More like a hundred and seventy thousand,’ Clavain said. ‘And there isn’t a day when I don’t grieve for those we didn’t manage to save.’
‘No one’s likely to blame you, considering how many of them you did save,’ Scorpio said.
‘History will have to be the judge of that.’
Scorpio sighed. ‘If you want to wallow in self-recrimination, Nevil, be my guest. Personally I have a mystery capsule to attend to and a colony that would very much like its leader back. Preferably washed and tidied and not smelling quite so much of seaweed and old bedclothes. Isn’t that right, Vasko?’
Clavain looked at Vasko, a scrutiny that lasted several moments. The fine pale hairs on the back of Scorpio’s neck prickled. He had the sense that Clavain was taking the measure of the young man, correlating him against some strict internal ideal, one that had been assembled and refined across centuries. In those moments, Scorpio suspected, Vasko’s entire destiny was being decided for him. If Clavain decided that Vasko was not worthy of his trust, then there would be no more indiscretions, no further mention of individuals not known to the colony as a whole. His involvement with Clavain would remain a peripheral matter, and even Vasko himself would soon learn not to think too much about what had happened today.
‘It might help things,’ Vasko said, hesitantly, glancing back towards Scorpio as he spoke. ‘We need you, sir. Especially now, if things are going to change.’
‘I think we can safely assume they are,’ Clavain said, pouring himself a glass of water.
‘Then come back with us, sir. If the person in the capsule turns out to be your friend Remontoire, won’t he expect you to be there when we bring him out?’
‘He’s right,’ Scorpio said. ‘We need you there, Nevil. I want your agreement that we should open it, and not just bury it at sea.’
Clavain was silent. The wind snapped the stays again. The quality of light in the tent had turned milky in the last hour, as Bright Sun settled down below the horizon. Scorpio felt drained of energy, as he so often did at sundown these days. He was not looking forward to the return trip at all, fully expecting that the sea would be rougher than on the outward leg.
‘If I come back…’ Clavain said. He halted, paused and took another sip of his drink. He licked his lips before continuing. ‘If I come back, it changes nothing. I came here for a reason and that reason remains as valid as ever. I intend to return here when this affair is settled.’
‘I understand,’ Scorpio said, though it was not what he had hoped to hear.
‘Good, because I’m serious about it.’
‘But you’ll accompany us back, and supervise the opening of the capsule?’
‘That, and that only.’
‘They still need you, Clavain. No matter how difficult this will be. Don’t abrogate responsibility now, after all you’ve done for us.’
Clavain threw aside his glass of water. ‘After all I’ve done for you? After I embroiled all of you in a war, ripped up your lives and dragged you across space to a miserable hell-hole of a place like this? I don’t think I need anyone’s thanks for that, Scorpio. I think I need mercy and forgiveness.’
‘They still feel they owe you. We all do.’
‘He’s right,’ Vasko said.
Clavain opened a drawer in the collapsible desk and pulled out a mirror. The surface was crazed and frosted. It must have been very old.
‘You’ll come with us, then?’ Scorpio persisted.
‘I may be old and weary, Scorpio, but now and then something can still surprise me. My long-term plans haven’t changed, but I admit I’d very much like to know who’s in that capsule.’
‘Good. We can sail as soon as you pack what you need.’
Clavain grunted something by way of reply and then looked at himself in the mirror, before averting his gaze with a suddenness that surprised Scorpio. It was the eyes, the pig thought. Clavain had seen his eyes for the first time in months, and he did not like what he saw in them.
‘I’ll scare the living daylights out of them,’ Clavain said.
107 Piscium, 2615
Quaiche positioned himself alongside the scrimshaw suit. As usual, he ached after another stint in the slowdown casket, every muscle in his body whispering a dull litany of complaint into his brain. This time, however, the discomfort barely registered. He had something else to occupy his mind.
‘Morwenna,’ he said, ‘listen to me. Are you awake?’
‘I’m here, Horris.’ She sounded gro
ggy but essentially alert. ‘What happened?’
‘We’ve arrived. Ship’s brought us in to seven AU, very close to the major gas giant. I went up front to check things out. The view from the cockpit is really something. I wish you were up there with me.’
‘So do I.’
‘You can see the storm patterns in the atmosphere, lightning… the moons… everything. It’s fucking glorious.’
‘You sound excited about something, Horris.’
‘Do I?’
‘I can hear it in your voice. You’ve found something, haven’t you?’ He so desperately wanted to touch the scrimshaw suit, to caress its metal surface and imagine it was Morwenna beneath his fingers.
‘I don’t know what I’ve found, but it’s enough to make me think we should stick around and have a good look, at the very least.’
‘That’s not telling me much.’
‘There’s a large ice-covered moon in orbit around Haldora,’ he said.
‘Haldora?’
‘The gas giant,’ Quaiche explained quickly. ‘I just named it.’
‘You mean you had the ship assign some random tags from unallocated entries in the nomenclature tables.’
‘Well, yes.’ Quaiche smiled. ‘But I didn’t accept the first thing it came up with. I did exercise some degree of judgement in the matter, however piffling. Don’t you think Haldora has a nice classical ring to it? It’s Norse, or something. Not that it really matters.’
‘And the moon?’
‘Hela,’ Quaiche said. ‘Of course, I’ve named all of Haldora’s other moons as well — but Hela is the only one we’re interested in right now. I’ve even named some of the major topographical features on it.’
‘Why do we care about an ice-covered moon, Horris?’
‘Because there’s something on it,’ he said, ‘something that we really need to take a closer look at.’
‘What have you found, my love?’
‘A bridge,’ Quaiche said. ‘A bridge across a gap. A bridge that shouldn’t be there.’
The Dominatrix sniffed and sidled its way closer to the gas giant its master had elected to name Haldora, every operational sensor keened for maximum alertness. It knew the hazards of local space, the traps that might befall the unwary in the radiation-zapped, dust-strewn ecliptic of a typical solar system. It watched for impact strikes, waiting for an incoming shard to prick the outer edge of its collision-avoidance radar bubble. Every second, it considered and reviewed billions of crisis scenarios, sifting through the possible evasion patterns to find the tight bundle of acceptable solutions that would permit it to outrun the threat without crushing its master out of existence. Now and then, just for fun, it drew up plans for evading multiple simultaneous collisions, even though it knew that the universe would have to go through an unfeasible number of cycles of collapse and rebirth before such an unlikely confluence of events stood a chance of happening.
The Revelation Space Collection (revelation space) Page 232