“This is Deputy Field Prefect Thalia Ng. Recognise my voiceprint.” After an agonising wait—which could only have been a fraction of a second—the door answered her.
“Voiceprint recognised, Deputy Field Prefect Ng.”
“Take us up.” Nothing happened. Thalia held her breath and waited for movement, that welcome surge as the floor pushed against her feet. Still nothing happened.
“Is there a problem?” Caillebot asked.
Thalia whirled on him with vicious speed, all her tiredness wiped away in an instant.
“What does it look like? We’re not moving.”
“Try again,” Parnasse said calmly.
“Could be it didn’t understand you the first time.”
“This is Thalia Ng. Please ascend.” But still the elevator refused to move.
“This is Deputy Field Prefect Thalia Ng,” she said again.
“Recognise my voiceprint!”. This time the elevator stayed mute.
“Something’s broken,” Parnasse said, still keeping his voice low and disengaged, as if he was commenting on the action rather than participating in it.
“I suggest we consider using the stairs instead.”
“Good idea,” Meriel Redon said.
“I’m starting to feel locked in here—”.
“Try the doors,” Parnasse said. Thalia pressed her hand against the manual-control panel. Her palm was cut and bruised from her battle with the servitors, tiny chips of stone still embedded in her skin.
“No dice. They aren’t opening.”
“Try again.” Thalia already had.
“Nothing doing. I don’t suppose asking nicely’s going to help either.”
“You could try.”
With a sense of futility, she said, “This is Thalia Ng. Open the doors.” She hammered the panel again.
“Open the doors. Open the fucking doors!”
“Machines,” Cuthbertson said.
They all followed his gaze, through the trelliswork doors, across the shadowed emptiness of the lobby to the daylight beyond, where a squad of servitors glinted and shone as they made a slow but deliberate approach towards the stalk. There were eight or nine of them, all of different designs, wheeling, perambulating or sliding, with manipulators and cutting tools raised high.
“They’ve trapped us,” Caillebot said, marvelling.
“They let us get back here because they knew we’d take the elevator. That was another of your ideas, Prefect.”
“Do you want to shut up now, or after I’ve rammed this down your throat?” Thalia asked, unclipping the buzzing warm handle of her whiphound.
The leading machines had reached the shadow of the overhang sheltering the wide doorway leading into the lobby. Three marbled steps led up to the level of the main floor, where the lift was situated. The walking machines began ascending the steps with slow but deliberate intent.
Thalia felt the whiphound tremble in her grip, as if its heart was racing.
“You already said it was damaged,” Caillebot said.
“How much use is it going to be against all those if it could barely hold back two?”
Thalia thumbed the heavy control that invoked sword mode and hoped that there was still enough functionality left in the whiphound to spool out and stiffen its filament. The handle buzzed like a trapped wasp; nothing happened. She thumbed the control again, willing the whiphound to respond.
The filament inched out, the buzzing intensifying. Ten centimetres, then fifteen. Twenty before it reached its limit. But it appeared to be rigid and straight.
Thalia sliced into the black metal trelliswork of the elevator doors. She felt more resistance than when she had cut through the hedge, but that was only to be expected. Keeping her cool, knowing that nothing would be gained from panicking, she worked her way methodically across and then down. She directed the whiphound blade back up to the point where she had started, the last few cuts taking almost as long as the dozen or so that had preceded them. Then the rectangle of trelliswork clattered outwards onto the marble floor. The servitors had already reached the top of the stairs and were beginning to cross the expanse of the lobby. Two of the ambulatory machines were even assisting one of the wheeled variants over the obstacle of the steps.
“The stairs,” Thalia said.
“Run like hell, and don’t stop running until you get to the top.”
Thalia moved with the party, but kept herself between them and the machines. She walked backwards, facing the servitors, holding the damaged whiphound in front of her. She had turned the arming dials into alignment again, ready to throw the broken weapon as a grenade. But as her heels touched the stairs, something made her change her mind. Nothing would be gained from attacking these machines now; more would always follow.
Thalia clipped the whiphound back onto her belt and started climbing the stairs behind the others.
CHAPTER 15
Gaffney experienced a moment’s hesitation as he clipped the safe-distance line to his belt. How easy it would be to fail to secure the latch, so that the line snapped off just when he reached its maximum extension. Then he would sail on through the boundary of the exclusion volume, into the sphere of space around Jane Aumonier into which the scarab forbade the intrusion of all but the smallest of objects. Aumonier would have a second or two to register both the failure of the line and the Euclidean inevitability of Gaffney’s onward progress. No force in the universe could stop him from colliding with her.
How fast would it be? he wondered. How clean, how merciful? He’d pondered the literature concerning sudden, non-medical decapitation. It was confusing and contradictory. Very few subjects had survived to testify to their experiences. There’d be blood, certainly. Litres of it, at arterial pressure.
Blood did interesting, artistic things in weightlessness.
“Prefects,” Aumonier said as she became aware of the delegation’s presence.
“I wasn’t expecting a visit. Is something the matter?”
“You know what this is about, Jane,” Gaffney said, beginning his drift into the chamber. Next to him, Crissel and Baudry fastened their own safe-distance tethers and kicked off from the wall.
“Please don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“We’ve come to announce our decision,” Crissel said, in a regretful tone of voice.
“You must stand down for the duration, Jane. Until the present crisis is averted, and the nature of the change in the scarab has become clear to us.”
“I can still do my job.”
Baudry spoke next.
“No one’s doubting that,” she said.
“Whatever else this is about, it has absolutely nothing to do with your professional competence, now or at any time in the past.”
“Then what the hell is it about?” Aumonier snapped back.
“Your continued well-being,” Gaffney said.
“I’m sorry, Jane, but you’re simply too valuable an asset to risk in this way. That may sound mercenary, but that’s just the way it is. Panoply wants to have you around next week, not just today.”
“I’m managing fine, aren’t I?”
“Demikhov and the other specialists feel that the scarab’s recent state-changes may have been triggered by alterations in your body’s biochemical equilibrium,” Crissel said.
“You could cope when all we had to deal with was the occasional lockdown, but with the possibility of all-out war between the Ultras and the Glitter Band—”
“I’m coping, damn you.” She looked Crissel hard in the eyes, doubtless trying to connect with the sympathetic ally she had always been able to count on in the past.
“Michael, listen to me. The crisis is past its point of maximum severity.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
Aumonier nodded firmly.
“I can. Dreyfus has a firm lead. He’s zeroing in on whoever murdered Ruskin-Sartorious and I expec
t to hear a name from him any time now. Once we have hard evidence, we’ll broadcast a statement to the entire Band, ordering calm. The Ultras will be exonerated.”
“If he gives you a name,” Crissel said.
“I think Tom can be relied upon, don’t you?” Then a subtle shift in mood revealed itself on her face.
“Wait a minute. The fact that Tom isn’t here—the fact that he’s outside on field duty—isn’t in any way accidental, is it? You’ve timed this exquisitely.”
“Dreyfus’ presence or absence is irrelevant,” Gaffney said.
“And so, it must be said, is your compliance. We have a majority vote, Jane. That means you must stand down, irrespective of your wishes. Must and will. You have no further say in the matter.”
“Take a look around you,” Jane Aumonier said.
“A good, long look. This is my world. It’s all I’ve known for eleven years of uninterrupted consciousness. None of you can even begin to imagine what that means.”
“It means you could use a good rest,” Gaffney said. Then he raised his arm and spoke into his cuff.
“Commence shutdown, please.”
One by one, habitat by habitat, the displays blanked out, leaving only the black interior surface of Aumonier’s office sphere. The blackness was soon absolute, with the entry door the only source of illumination in the space.
Jane Aumonier made a small clicking noise, as if she’d touched her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“This is an outrage,” she said, her voice hardly raised above a whisper.
“It’s necessary and you’ll thank us for it later,” Gaffney replied.
“As of now, your authority is suspended on medical grounds. As we’ve stressed, this action isn’t being taken on disciplinary grounds. You may not like us right now, but you still have our utmost respect and loyalty.”
“Like hell I do.”
“Get it out of your system now, Jane. We understand your rage. We’d be surprised if you weren’t angry with us.”
“You didn’t have to take the habitats away from me.” She was speaking slowly, with a kind of iron calm.
“If you wanted to take me out of the command loop, all you had to do was remove my ability to give orders or offer guidance. You didn’t have to take the habitats away from me.”
“But we did,” Gaffney said.
“You’re too much of a professional, Jane. Do you honestly think you’d stop worrying about the crisis just because we took away your authority? Do you honestly think you’d stop fretting, stop obsessing, every time a new piece of data comes in? Do you honestly think your stress levels wouldn’t actually get worse if we let you see but not act? I’m sorry, I know this is hard, but this is the way it has to be.”
“We’ve discussed the matter with Demikhov,” Baudry said.
“He agrees that the present crisis poses an unacceptable risk to your mental well-being. He consented to this action.”
“You’d have found a way to twist his advice to suit your purpose no matter what he said.”
“That isn’t fair,” Crissel said indignantly.
“And we’re not going to leave you in the dark, so to speak. We can assign other inputs to the sphere. Historical feeds. Fictions. Puzzles. Enough to keep you occupied.”
“Don’t even think of lecturing me about keeping occupied,” Aumonier said to him, with genuine menace.
“We’re just trying to help,” Baudry said.
“That’s all we’ve ever wanted to do.”
“I wish you’d acknowledge the reasonableness of our actions,” Gaffney said, “but your refusal to do so in no way alters what must be done. We’ll leave you now. Your usual medical care regime will of course continue unaffected. You may request any data feed, within reason. Access to the usual habitat-monitoring channels will of course be embargoed… and for the time being, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be able to tap into any of the news networks. Contact with Panoply personnel will also have to restricted—”
“When Tom gets back—” she began.
“He’ll bow to our authority.” Gaffney said.
Dreyfus and the Conjoiner woman exited the sleeping chamber and made their way out of the sinuous labyrinth of her ship. Dreyfus kept looking over his shoulder, wary that some restless and vengeful spirit might be following them from that house of abominations.
“My trust in you is provisional,” Clepsydra said, before reminding him that she still had control over the musculature of his suit.
“If you can help me reach other Conjoiners, and bring help to save the rest, you shall have my gratitude. If I suspect that you are like the other man, the one who wears the same kind of suit, you shall discover the consequences of betraying me.”
Dreyfus decided not to dwell on her threat. He was simply glad to be out of the butcher’s theatre of the dismembered dreamers.
“Can I call my deputy?”
“You may, but I am detecting no incoming carrier signal.” Dreyfus tried. Clepsydra was right.
“He must still be attempting to contact Panoply for help.”
“You’d better hope it comes quickly, in that case. Aurora almost certainly knows you’re here.”
“Will she harm the sleepers?”
“She may, if only to stop anyone else obtaining access to Exordium.” Clepsydra moved with panther-like speed and grace as they ascended the long thread of the docking connector.
“But that would be the only reason. Lately she has bored of us. We’re a toy that won’t do what she wants.”
Dreyfus recalled something Clepsydra had told him earlier.
“You said she punished you if you dreamed something she didn’t like. What did you mean by that?”
“Aurora expected to glean certain truths from the future. When our prognostications conflicted with her expectations, she grew resentful, as if we were lying to her out of spite.”
“Were you?”
“No. What we told her was what we saw. She just didn’t like the message she was being given.”
“Which was?”
“That something bad is going to happen. Not today, not tomorrow. Not for years to come. But not so far in the future that it isn’t of concern to her. If I have learned one thing from the glimpses of her mind, it is that she is a cold and cunning strategist, profoundly concerned with her own long-term survival.”
“And your message gave her something to be scared about?”
“So it would appear,” Clepsydra said.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Only to say that everything you cherish, everything you work for, everything you hold precious will have its end. You are very proud of this intricate little community of yours, with its ten thousand habitats, its ticking clockwork mechanisms of absolute democracy. And perhaps in your own small way you are entitled to some of that pride. But it won’t last for ever. One day, Prefect, there will be no Glitter Band. There will be no Panoply. There will be no prefects.” They reached the viewing station where Dreyfus had first glimpsed the imprisoned ship. When they had both cleared the docking connector, he used the control panel to dim the lights and seal the silver door.
“What disaster did you foresee?”
“A time of plague,” Clepsydra said. Dreyfus shivered, as if someone had just walked over his grave.
“What does Aurora think about that?”
“It concerns her. In the thoughts that she lets slip, I’ve sensed a great plan being pushed towards reality.
She fears the future we have shown her. She will fear it less if she controls it.”
“In what way?”
“For now she hides, flitting furtively from shadow to shadow, surviving by her wits. She lives in your world, but her influence over it is limited. I believe she means to change that. She means to become more powerful. She will rip control of human affairs from your fumbling hands.”
“You’re talking about a takeover,” Dreyfus said.
“Call it
what you will. You must be ready for her when she shows herself. She will move quickly, and you will not have much time to react.”
It did not take long to return to the sealed door, the one that had cut him off from Sparver and the corvette. It stood as intact and impervious as when he had left it.
“This shaft goes all the way around the rock, doesn’t it?”
Clepsydra’s expression was blank.
“Yes. Why?”
“Because we’ll have to work our way around if we’re going to reach the shaft that leads to my ship. Assuming we don’t encounter any more obstructions on the way…”
Clepsydra closed her eyes, jamming them tight as if she was trying to remember the name of an old acquaintance. She raised her palm to the door, tensing the fingers slightly as if holding some fierce, slavering creature at bay.
Something clicked in the mechanism and the door hummed open.
“I didn’t realise—” Dreyfus began.
“I said I could not tap into the optical architecture. I mentioned nothing of doors.”
“I’m impressed. Can you all do stuff like that?”
“Not all of us, no. Very small children need tuition before they have the necessary finesse.”
“Very small children.”
“It’s nothing for a Conjoiner. We feel the same way about talking to machines as fish do about swimming in water. We hardly notice we’re doing it.” Then she cocked her head slightly.
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