The transfer ship was not designed for transatmospheric flight. She was a graceless sphere with a cluster of motors at one pole and the dimple of a flight deck at the other. The first five hundred passengers had spent many days aboard, exploring every grubby cranny of her austere interior. But at least they had had some room to spare. When the next load came up, things became a little more difficult. Food and water had to be rationed and each passenger assigned a specific cubbyhole. But it was still tolerable. Children had still been able to run around and make nuisances of themselves, and adults had still been able to find a little privacy when they needed it. Then the next shipment had come up — another five hundred — and the whole tone of the ship had changed subtly, and for the worse. Rules had to be enforced rather than politely suggested. Something very close to a miniature police state had been created aboard the ship, with a harsh scale of penalties for various crimes. So far there had been only minor infringements of the draconian new laws, but Khouri doubted that every trip would run as smoothly. Sooner or later she would probably be required to make an example of someone, for the benefit of the others.
The final five hundred had been the greatest headache. Slotting them in had resembled a fiendish puzzle: no matter how many permutations they tried, there were always fifty people still waiting on the shuttle, glumly aware that they had been reduced to irksome surplus units in a problem that would have been a great deal more tractable had they not existed.
And yet, finally, a way had been found to get everyone aboard. That part at least would be simpler next time, but the rule of discipline might have to be even stricter. The people could be allowed no rights aboard the transfer craft.
Thirteen hours out, a kind of exhausted calm fell across the ship. She met Thorn by a porthole, just out of earshot of the nearest huddle of passengers. Ashen light made his face statuelike. He looked utterly dejected, sapped of any joy in what they had achieved.
‘We’ve done it,’ she said. ‘No matter what happens now, we’ve saved two thousand lives.’
‘Have we?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘They’re not going back to Resurgam, Thorn.’
They spoke like business associates, avoiding physical contact. Thorn was still a ‘guest’ of the government and there must not appear to be any ulterior motive behind his co-operation. Because of that necessary distance, an act that had to be maintained at all times aboard the shuttle, she felt the urge to sleep with him more strongly than she had ever done before. She knew that they had come very close aboard the ship after the encounter with the Inhibitor cubes in Roc’s atmosphere. But they had not done it then, and nor had they when they were on Resurgam. The erotic tension that had existed between them ever since had been thrilling and painful at the same time. Her attraction to him had never been stronger, and she knew that he wanted her at least as much. It would happen, she knew. It was just a question of accepting what she had long known she had to accept, which was that one life was over and another must begin. It was about making the choice to discard her past, and accepting — forcing herself to believe — that she was not dishonouring her husband by that act of disavowal. She just hoped that wherever he was, alive or dead now, Fazil Khouri had come to the same realisation and had found the strength to close the chapter on the part of his life that had included Ana Khouri. They had been in love, desperately in love, but the universe cared nothing for the vicissitudes of the human heart. Now they both had to follow their own paths.
Thorn touched her hand gently, the gesture hidden in the shadows that hung between them. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’re not taking them back to Resurgam. But can we honestly say we’re taking them to a better place? What if all we’re doing is taking them to a different place to die?’
‘It’s a starship, Thorn.’
‘Yes, one which isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.’
‘Yet,’ she said.
‘I sincerely hope you’re right.’
‘Ilia made progress with the Captain,’ she said. ‘He began to come out of his shell. If she managed to persuade him to deploy the cache weapons, she can talk him into moving.’
He turned from the porthole, harsh shadows emphasising his face. ‘And then?’
‘Another system. It doesn’t matter which one. We’ll take our pick. Anything’s got to be better than staying here, hasn’t it?’
‘For a while, perhaps. But shouldn’t we at least investigate what Sylveste can do for us?’
She took her hand from his and said guardedly, ‘Sylveste? Are you serious?’
‘He took an interest in our affairs inside Roc. At the very least, something did. You recognised it as Sylveste, or a copy of his personality. And the object, whatever it was, returned to Hades.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we consider the unthinkable, Ana: seeking his help. You told me that the Hades matrix is older than the Inhibitors. It may be something stronger than them. That certainly appeared the case inside Roc. Shouldn’t we see what Sylveste has to say on the matter? He might not be able to help us directly, but he might have information we can use. He’s been in there for subjective aeons, and he’s had access to the archive of an entire starfaring culture.’
‘You don’t understand, Thorn. I thought I told you, but obviously it didn’t sink in. There’s no easy way into the Hades matrix.’
‘No, I remember that. But there
‘There was another way, but there’s no guarantee it still works. Dying is the only way I know. And I’m not going there again, not in this life or the next.’
Thorn looked down, his face a mask that she found difficult to read. Was he disappointed or understanding? He had no idea what it had been like to fall towards Hades knowing that certain death awaited her. She had been resurrected once, after meeting Sylveste and Pascale, but there had been no promises that they would repeat the favour. The act itself had consumed a considerable fraction of the computational resources of the Hades object, and they — whoever were the agents that directed its endless calculations — might not sanction the same thing again. It was easy for Thorn; he had no idea what it had been like.
‘Thorn…’ she began.
But at that moment pink and blue light stammered across the side of his face.
Khouri frowned. ‘What was that?’
Thorn turned back towards space. ‘Lights. Flashing lights, like distant lightning. I’ve been watching them every time I walk past a porthole. They seem to lie near to the ecliptic plane, in the same half of the sky as the Inhibitor machine. They weren’t there when we left orbit. Whatever it is must have started in the last twelve hours. I don’t think it’s anything to do with the weapon itself.’
‘Then it must be our weapons,’ Khouri said. ‘Ilia must have started using them already.’
‘She said she’d give us a period of grace.’
It was true; Ilia Volyova had promised them that she would not deploy any of the cache weapons for thirty days, and that she would review her decision based on the success of the evacuation operation.
‘Something must have happened,’ Khouri said.
‘Or she lied,’ Thorn said quietly. In the shadows he took her hand again, and with one finger traced a line from her wrist to the conjunction of her middle and forefingers.
‘No. She wouldn’t have lied. Something’s happened, Thorn. There’s been a change of plan.’
It came out of the darkness two hours later. There was nothing that could be done to prevent some of the occupants of the transfer craft from seeing
He whispered, ‘It may not be as bad as you expect. You know what a lighthugger’s meant to look like, and so the ship disturbs you because the Captain’s transformations have turned it into something monstrous. But most of the people we’re carrying were born on Resurgam. Most of them haven’t ever seen a starship, or even any images of what one should look like. They have a very vague idea based on the old records and the space operas they’ve been fed by Broadcasting House.
