The Revelation Space Collection

Melancholia loomed larger now; she could already see the tiny warning signs and technical phrases dotted around its fuselage, although most of them were in obsolete languages.

From around the curve of the shuttle hove another drone. This one was larger, its ochre body an ellipsoid studded with folded manipulators and sensors.

It was pointing something at her.

Everything turned a bright, hurting green which made her want to tear her eyeballs from their sockets. The thing was swiping a laser at her. She cursed — her suit had opaqued in time, but she was now effectively blind.

‘Sun Stealer,’ she said, presuming that he could hear her. ‘You are making a very grave mistake.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re getting good now,’ she said. ‘You were a little stiff when we spoke earlier. What’s happened? Did you access the natural language translators?’

‘The more time I spend amongst you, the better I know you.’

The suit was de-opaquing as she spoke. ‘Better than you did with Nagorny, at least.’

‘I did not intend to give him nightmares.’ Sun Stealer’s voice was still the same absence as before; like a whisper heard against the white-noise of static.

‘No, I doubt that you did.’ She clucked. ‘You don’t want to kill me, do you? The others, perhaps — but not me; not just yet. Not while the bridgehead might still need my expertise.’

‘That time has passed,’ Sun Stealer said. ‘Sylveste has now entered Cerberus.’

Not good news; not good news at all — although, rationally, she had known for some hours that it was probably the case.

‘Then there must be another reason,’ she said. ‘Another reason why you need the bridgehead to stay open. It can’t be that you care about Sylveste making it back. But if the bridgehead fails, you wouldn’t necessarily know that he had progressed any deeper into the structure. You need to know, don’t you? You need to know how deeply he gets; whether he achieves whatever it is you have in mind for him.’

She took Sun Stealer’s lack of response as a tacit acknowledgement that she was not far from the truth. Perhaps the alien had not yet learnt all the ways of subterfuge, arts which might be uniquely human and therefore new to him.

‘Let me take the shuttle,’ she said.

‘A vessel of this configuration is too large to enter Cerberus, even if you intend to reach Sylveste.’

Did it honestly imagine she had not thought of that herself? For a moment she felt pity that Sun Stealer was so singularly ill-equipped to grasp the way the human mind functioned. On one level he worked well enough; when he could lay lures of fear or reward; lures which depended on the emotions. It was not that his logic was faulty, either — more that he had an overestimation of how important it was in human affairs: as if pointing out to Volyova the essentially suicidal nature of her intended mission was going to suddenly deter her; turn her willingly to his side. Oh, you poor, pitiful monster, she thought.

‘I’ve got one word for you,’ she said, moving towards the airlock, daring the drone to intercept her. And then she said that word, having already recited the preliminary incantations which were required before the word itself could have any effect. It was a word she had not really expected that she would ever have to use in this context. But it had been enough of a surprise that she had been forced to use it once already; almost as surprising as the fact that she remembered it at all. Volyova had decided that the time to rely on expectation was long gone.

That word was Palsy.

It had an interesting effect on the servitor. The machine did not try and obstruct her as she reached the airlock and helped herself into the Melancholia. Instead, it hovered aimlessly for a few seconds and then darted towards one wall, suddenly out of contact with the ship and now relying on its limited reservoir of independent behaviour-modes. Nothing had happened to the servitor itself, since execution of the Palsy command only affected ship systems. But one of the first systems to crash would have been the radio/optical command net serving all the drones. Only the autonomous drones would continue functioning unaffected — and those machines had never come under Sun Stealer’s influence. Now the thousands of supervised drones all over the ship would be scurrying to access terminals where they could tap into the controlling system directly. Even the rats would feel confused, since the aerosols dispersing their biochemical instructions would be among the affected systems. Unshackled from relentless machine control, the rodents would begin to revert to an archetype more characteristic of their feral ancestors.

Volyova closed the airlock and was gratified to feel the shuttle warming to readiness as soon as it sensed her. She tugged herself along to the cabin, already aglow with navigation readouts, already reconfiguring itself to match the kind of interface she preferred: surfaces flowing liquidly towards a new ideal.

Now all she had to do was get out.

‘Did you just feel that?’ Khouri asked from the metal and plush opulence of the spider-room. ‘The whole ship just shuddered, like an earth tremor.’

‘You think it was Ilia?’

‘She said we should cast loose when we got a signal. And she said it’d be obvious as hell. That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?’

She knew if she waited any longer she would begin to doubt the evidence of her own senses; start wondering if there really had been a shudder, and then it would be too late, because if Volyova had been clear about anything it was that when the signal came, Khouri had to move quickly. There would not be very much time, she said.

So she cast off.

She twisted two of the matched brass controls to their extremities; not as she had seen Volyova do, but in the simple hope that something so drastic, random, and quite possibly stupid must surely result in something as normally undesirable as the spider-room losing its purchase on the hull, which was now all that she wanted.

The spider-room fell away from the hull.

‘In the next few seconds,’ Khouri said, stomach squirming in the sudden transition to freefall, ‘we either live or die. If that was the signal Ilia meant to give, it’s safe to leave the hull. But if it wasn’t, we’re going to be in range of the ship’s own weapons in a few seconds.’

Khouri watched the ship recede, slowly falling up and away, until she had to squint to avoid the glare of the Conjoiner engines; barely ticking over, yet still sun-bright. Somewhere in the spider-room there was a way to close the shutters on its windows, but that was one detail Khouri had not committed to memory.

‘Why won’t it shoot us immediately?’

‘Too much risk of damaging itself. Ilia said those limits were hardwired — nothing Sun Stealer can do about it except live with them. Guess we’re about coming up on the mark now.’

‘What do you think it was, that signal?’ It seemed that Pascale preferred to talk.

‘A program,’ Khouri said. ‘Buried deep in the ship, where Sun Stealer would never find it. Wired up to thousands of circuit breaks all around the ship. When she ran it — if she ran it — it would have killed thousands of systems simultaneously. One big crunch. That was the shudder, I think.’

‘And it takes out the weapons?’

‘No… not exactly. Not if I remember what she told me. Some of the sensors, and maybe some of the targeting systems, but the gunnery isn’t affected; I remember that much. But I think the rest of the ship is so screwed up it’ll take Sun Stealer a while to put himself back together again; a while to coordinate himself and get his bearings. Then he can start shooting again.’

‘But the weapons could be online any time soon?’

‘That’s why we have to hurry.’

‘We seem to be still having a conversation. Does that mean… ?’

‘I think so.’ Khouri forced a manic grin. ‘I think I interpreted the signal right, and I think we’re safe — for the time being, at least.’

Pascale let out a loud sigh. ‘What now?’

‘We have to find Ilia.’

‘It shouldn’t be hard. She said there wasn’t anything we’d have to do; just wait for that signal. Then she’d be right…’ Khouri trailed off. She was looking back at the lighthugger, hanging over them like a levitating cathedral