‘Let’s just say there have been some changes, Tanner.’ Quirrenbach was wriggling awkwardly behind me, like a dog chasing something down a hole.
‘I didn’t hear about anything.’
‘You wouldn’t have. The changes happened recently, when you were on your way here. Occupational hazard of interstellar travel, I’m afraid.’
‘One of several,’ I said, thinking of my bruised face. ‘Well, what kind of changes?’
‘Rather drastic ones, I’m afraid.’ He paused, his breathing coming in hard, sawlike rasps. ‘Look, I’m sorry to shatter all your perceptions in one go, but you’d better start dealing with the fact that Yellowstone isn’t anything like the world it used to be. And that, Tanner, is something of an understatement.’
I thought back to what Amelia had said about where I would find Reivich. ‘Is Chasm City still there?’
‘Yes… yes. Nothing that drastic. It’s still there; still inhabited; still reasonably prosperous by the standards of this system.’
‘A statement you’re about to qualify, I suspect.’ I looked ahead and saw that the crawlway was widening out into a cylindrical corridor with oval doors spaced along one side. It was still dark and claustrophobic, the whole experience feeling unpleasantly familiar.
‘Regrettably… yes,’ Quirrenbach said. ‘The city’s become very different. It’s almost unrecognisable, and I gather much the same goes for the Glitter Band. There used to be ten thousand habitats in it, thrown around Yellowstone like — and here I’m going to indulge in some shameless mixing of metaphors — a garland of fabulously rare and artfully cut gems, each burning with its own hard radiance.’ Quirrenbach stopped and wheezed for a moment before continuing, ‘Now there are perhaps a hundred or so which still hold enough pressure to support life. The rest are derelict, vacuum-filled husks, silent and dead as driftwood, attended by vast and lethal shoals of orbital debris. They call it the Rust Belt.’
When that had sunk in, I said, ‘What was it? A war? Did someone insult someone else’s taste in habitat design?’
‘No, it wasn’t any war. Though it might have been better if it had been. You can always claw back from a war, after all. They’re not as bad as they’re cracked up to be, wars…’
‘Quirrenbach…’ My patience was wearing thin.
‘It was a plague,’ he said hastily. ‘A very bad one, but a plague nonetheless. But before you start asking deep questions, remember that I know scarcely any more details than you do — I only just arrived here as well, you realise.’
‘You’re a lot better informed than I am.’ I passed two doors and arrived at a third, comparing the number with the key Vadim had given me. ‘How did a plague manage to do so much damage?’
‘It wasn’t just a plague. I mean, not in the usual sense. It was more… fecund, I suppose. Imaginative. Artistic. Quite deviously so, at times. Um, have we arrived?’
‘I think this is his cabin, yes.’
‘Careful, Tanner. There might be traps or something.’
‘I doubt it; Vadim didn’t look like the kind to indulge in any kind of longterm planning. You need a developed frontal cortex for that.’
I slipped Vadim’s pass into the lock, gratified when the door opened. Feeble, muck-encrusted lights stammered on as I pushed through, revealing a cylindrical berth three or four times as large as the place I’d been assigned. Quirrenbach followed me and stationed himself at one of end of the cabin, like a man not quite ready to descend into a sewer.
I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to come much further in.
The place had the smell of months of accumulated bodily emissions, a greasy film of dead skin cells glued to every yellowing plastic surface. Pornographic holograms on the walls had come alive at our arrival, twelve naked women contorting themselves into anatomically unlikely postures. They’d begun talking as well; a dozen subtly different contraltos offering an enthusiastic appraisal of Vadim’s sexual prowess. I thought of him bound and gagged back in my quarters, oblivious to this flattery. The women never stopped talking, but after a while their gestures and imprecations became repetitive enough to ignore.
‘I think, on balance, this is probably the right room,’ Quirrenbach said.
I nodded. ‘Not going to win any awards, is it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know — some of the stains are quite interestingly arranged. It’s just a pity he went in for the smeared-excrement look — it’s just so last century.’ He pulled aside a little sliding hatch at his end — touching it only with the very tips of his fingers — revealing a grubby, micrometeorite-crazed porthole. ‘Still, he had a room with a view. Not entirely sure it was worth it, though.’
I looked at the view myself for a few moments. We could see part of the ship’s hull, strobed now and again in stuttering flashes of bright violet. Even though we were under way, the Strelnikov had a squad of workers outside the whole time welding things back together.
‘Well, let’s not spend any longer here than strictly necessary. I’ll search this end; you start at yours, and we’ll see if we turn up anything useful.’
‘Good idea,’ Quirrenbach said.
I began my search; the room — panelled wall-to-wall with recessed lockers — must once have been a storage compartment. There was too much to go through methodically, but I filled my briefcase and the deep pockets of Vadim’s coat with anything that looked even remotely valuable. I scooped up handfuls of jewellery, data-monocles, miniature holo-cameras and translator brooches; exactly the kinds of thing I’d have expected Vadim to steal from the Strelnikov’s slightly more wealthy passengers. I had to hunt to find a watch — space travellers tended not to take them when they were crossing between systems. In the end I found one that had been calibrated for Yellowstone time, its face a series of concentric dials, around which tiny emerald planets ticked to mark the time.
I slipped it on my wrist, the watch pleasantly hefty.
‘You can’t just steal his possessions,’ Quirrenbach said meekly.
‘Vadim’s welcome to file a complaint.’
‘That’s not the point. What you’re doing isn’t any better than…’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘do you seriously imagine he bought any of this stuff? It’s all stolen; probably from passengers who aren’t aboard any more.’
‘Nonetheless, some of it might have been stolen recently. We should be making every effort to return these goods to their rightful owners. Don’t you agree with me?’
‘On some distant theoretical level, just possibly.’ I continued my search. ‘But there’s no way we’ll ever know who those owners were. I didn’t notice anybody coming forward in the commons. Anyway — what does it matter to you?’
‘It’s called retaining the vestigial trace of a conscience, Tanner.’
‘After that thug nearly killed you?’
‘The principle still applies.’
‘Well — if you think it’ll help you sleep at night — you’re very welcome to leave me alone while I search his belongings. Come to think of it, did I actually ask you to follow me here?’
‘Not as such, no…’ His face contorted in an agony of indecision as he glanced through the contents of one opened drawer, pulling out a sock which he studied sadly for some moments. ‘Damn you, Tanner. I hope you’re right about his lack of influence. ’
‘Oh, I don’t think we need worry ourselves about that.’
‘You’re quite certain?’
‘I’ve a reasonable grasp of lowlife, believe me.’
‘Yes, well… I suppose you could be right. For the sake of argument.’ Slowly at first, but with increasing enthusiasm, Quirrenbach started trousering Vadim’s booty indiscriminately, wads of Stoner currency, mainly. I reached over and pocketed two bundles of cash before Quirrenbach made it all vanish.
‘Thanks. They’ll do nicely.’
‘I was about to pass some to you.’
‘Of course you were.’ I flicked through the notes. ‘Is this stuff still worth anything?’
‘Yes,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘In the Canopy, anyway. I’ve no idea what passes for currency in the Mulch, but I doubt that it can hurt, can it?’
