would provide me with some tangible link to the past. Something that only I knew the meaning of.
I thought back to the Caleuche, remembering what Norquinco had told me about the ghost ship. And I thought about the poor, psychotic dolphins aboard the Santiago; of Sleek in particular; of the way his hard, leathery body had thrashed as I pushed poison into him. There had been a dolphin with the ghost ship, too, but for a moment I couldn’t remember its name, or even be certain that Norquinco had told me. I would find out when I woke, I thought.
Find out and use that name.
FORTY-ONE
Refuge was a kilometre-long blackened spindle, unrelieved by exterior lights; visible only by the way it occluded background stars and the silvery spine of the Milky Way. Very few other ships were seen coming or going, and those that we saw were just as dark and anonymous as the habitat. As we vectored in, one end of the spindle opened out in four triangular segments, like the highly adapted jaw of an eyeless marine predator. Insignificant as plankton, we drifted in.
The berthing chamber was just large enough to take a ship like ours. Docking clamps folded out, followed by concertina-like transfer tunnels, mating with the airlocks spaced around the equatorial belt of the ship’s main sphere.
Tanner’s here, I thought. From the moment we stepped into Refuge, he might be on the point of killing me and anyone who got too close to our little vendetta.
It wasn’t something I was going to forget easily.
Refuge sent armed drones into the ship, gloss-black spheroids bristling with guns and sensors which swept us for concealed arms. Of course we’d brought none with us; not even Yellowstone’s security was sloppy enough for that. By the same token, I hoped that Tanner had also come in unarmed — but I wasn’t counting on it.
With Tanner, you didn’t count on anything.
The robots betrayed a level of technology appreciably more advanced than anything I’d encountered since my revival, with the possible exception of Zebra’s furniture. Presumably unaugmented humans were not considered a serious transmission risk, but it might have been the case that we would have been denied entry if one of us had been carrying a plague-susceptible implant. Human officials moved in once the robots had completed the preliminary work, carrying significantly less brutal-looking guns, weapons which they toted with an air of embarrassed apology. They were excessively polite and I began to understand why.
No one gets here without an invitation.
We had to be treated like the honoured guests that we were.
‘I called ahead, of course,’ Quirrenbach said, while we waited in the airlock for our documents to be processed. ‘Reivich knows we’re here.’
‘I hope you warned him about Tanner.’
‘I did what I could,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means Tanner’s definitely here. Reivich won’t have turned him away.’
I was sweating as it was; worried that my fake identity would not be enough to get me into Refuge. But now the sweat on my brow turned into droplets of ice. ‘What in hell’s name is he playing at?’
‘Reivich must feel that he and Tanner still have some business to attend to. He’ll have invited him.’
‘He’s insane. Tanner might kill him just for kicks, even if his real argument’s with me. Don’t forget my own imperative was to complete a mission; to keep my word that I’d track down Reivich. I don’t know whether that impulse came from Tanner or Cahuella. But I wouldn’t like to stake my life on it.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Quirrenbach said. ‘Those robots will have sprayed listening devices over every square angstrom of this room. You’re not here for a spot of quiet bloodshed, remember.’
‘Strictly tourism,’ I said, grimacing.
The armoured outer door reopened, rust flakes chipping in free-fall from its hinges.
A third-tier official came in, not even armed this time, nor clad in muscular armour. He wore a look of pained evasiveness, homing in on me like a heat-seeking slug. ‘Mister Haussmann? I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but we’re experiencing an administrative problem in processing your application for entry into Refuge.’
‘Really?’ I said, trying to sound remotely surprised. I could hardly complain: Sky Haussmann had got me out of Yellowstone’s atmosphere, which was all that could be reasonably expected of him.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ the official said, sincerity chiselled into his face. ‘We frequently experience conflict between our records and those of the rest of the system; it’s to be expected after the recent unpleasantness.’
Recent unpleasantness. He was talking about the plague.
‘I’m sure the matter can be resolved with a slightly more thorough examination, a few physiological cross- checks; nothing too complicated.’
I bridled. ‘What kind of physiological cross-check, exactly?’
‘A retinal scan, that kind of thing.’ The official was snapping his fingers at something or someone beyond our view. Almost immediately another robot entered the airlock, a dove-grey sphere politely devoid of any nasty weapons, bearing the Mixmaster sigil.
‘I’m not submitting to a retinal scan,’ I said, as reasonably as I could. I knew it wouldn’t take a machine to spot the oddity of my eyes. A human barely had to glance at me in the right light to see there was something strange about the way I looked back at them.
My remark had the same effect on the official as a slap across the cheek, causing an almost tangible blanching. ‘I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement…’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I very much doubt that, I’m afraid.’
‘Then I’m afraid—’
Quirrenbach stepped between us. ‘Let me handle this,’ he mouthed, before speaking aloud to the man. ‘Excuse my colleague; he’s a little nervous around officialdom. There’s been an honest mistake, as I’m sure you appreciate. Will you accept the word of Argent Reivich?’
The man looked flustered. ‘Of course… provided I have his guarantees… and that it’s in person…’
He hadn’t needed to ask who Argent Reivich was, I noticed.
Quirrenbach snapped his fingers at me. ‘Stay here; I’ll square things with him. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour.’
‘You’re going to ask Reivich to sign me in?’
‘Yeah,’ Quirrenbach said, without a hint of humour. ‘Ironic, isn’t it.’
I didn’t have to wait long.
Reivich appeared on a screen in the holding pen where the Refuge officials held those pending a decision on entry. It was not too much of a shock to see his face, since I had already met Voronoff, who looked exactly the same. But there was something unique about the real Reivich; some essence Voronoff had not succeeded in capturing. It was nothing I could quite place. I suppose it was just the difference between someone playing a game — however earnestly — and someone whose intentions are deadly serious.
‘This is quite a turn-up,’ Reivich said. He looked pale but healthy, a white tunic with a high collarless neck his only visible item of clothing. He was backdropped by a mural of interlocking algebraic symbols, denoting part of the mathematic theory of Transmigration. ‘You asking me for entry, and me agreeing to it.’
‘You let Tanner in,’ I said. ‘Are you sure that was wise?’
‘No, but I’m sure it’ll prove interesting. Assuming he’s who you say he is, and you’re who you say you are.’
‘One or both of us might want to kill you.’
‘Do you?’
It was an admirable question; straight to the point. I gave him the dignity of appearing to think it over before answering. ‘No, Argent. I did once, but that was before I knew who I was. Finding out you’re not who you think you
