The Revelation Space Collection

ornament: a surreal juxtaposition of flanged bronze-green shapes, windowless and seamless, as if carved from soap or marble, the whole thing encased in a skeletal black harness, a geodesic framework stubbed with docking latches, thrusters and navigation and aiming devices.

It was a cache weapon. There had been forty of the hell-class devices once; now only this unit remained. The science that had made it, the engineering principles embodied in its construction, were almost certainly less advanced than those in the latest additions to the Infinity’s arsenal, like the bladder- mines or the hypometric weapons. No one would ever know for sure. But one thing was clear: the new weapons were instruments of surgical precision rather than brute force, so the cache weapon still had its uses.

It cleared the space-door. Around the skeletal framework of the harness, thrusters sparked blue-white. The glare lit the Nostalgia for Infinity, throwing hard radiance across the black shapes of the last few ships of the Cathedral Guard.

No one noticed.

The cache weapon wheeled around, the harness aligning itself with the looming face of Haldora. Then it accelerated, climbing away from the Nostalgia for Infinity, away from the battle, away from the scratched face of Hela.

Vasko and Khouri stepped into the mirror-filled room of the garret. Vasko looked around, satisfying himself that the room was much as they had left it. The dean was still sitting in the same couch, in the same part of the chamber. Rashmika was seated at the table in the middle of the room, watching their arrival. She had a tea set before her: a neat china service. Vasko observed her reactions carefully, wondering how much of her memory she had recovered. Even if she had not recalled everything, he could not believe that the sight of her mother’s face would not elicit some reaction. There were certain things that cut through memory, he thought.

But if there was a flicker of reaction from Rashmika, he missed it. She simply inclined her head towards them, the way she would have to greet any arriving visitors.

‘Just the two of you?’ Dean Quaiche asked.

‘We’re the advance party,’ Vasko said. ‘There didn’t seem to be any need to send down dozens of us, not until we’ve assessed the facilities.’

‘I told you there were many rooms available,’ he said, ‘for as many delegates as you cared to send.’

Rashmika spoke up. ‘They’re not mad, Dean. They know what’s going to happen in a few hours.’

‘The crossing concerns you?’ he asked the Ultras, as if the very thought was ludicrous.

‘Let’s just say we’d rather observe it from a distance,’ Vasko said. ‘That’s fair enough, isn’t it? There was nothing in our agreement that said we absolutely had to remain aboard the Lady Morwenna. The disadvantage is on our side if we choose not to have delegates present.’

‘I’m disappointed, all the same,’ Quaiche said. ‘I’d hoped you would want to share it with me. The spectacle won’t be anywhere near as impressive from a distance.’

‘I don’t doubt that for a moment,’ Vasko said. ‘All the same, we’ll leave you in peace to enjoy it first-hand.’ He looked at Khouri, choosing his words carefully. ‘We wouldn’t want to interfere with a sacred event.’

‘You wouldn’t be interfering,’ the dean said. ‘All the same, if that’s what you wish… I can hardly stop you. But we’re still twelve hours from the crossing. There’s no need to get nervous just yet.’

‘Are you nervous?’ Khouri asked him.

‘Not in the slightest,’ he said. ‘That bridge was put there for a reason. I’ve always believed that.’

‘There’s the wreckage of another cathedral at the bottom of the rift,’ Vasko said. ‘Doesn’t that worry you at all?’

‘It tells me that the dean of that cathedral lacked faith,’ Quaiche said.

Vasko’s communicator chimed. He lifted the bracelet to his ear, listened carefully. He frowned, then turned and whispered something into Khouri’s ear.

‘Something the matter?’ Quaiche asked.

‘There’s some trouble on the ship,’ Vasko said. ‘I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it seems to have something to do with your delegates.’

‘My delegates? Why would they be causing trouble?’

‘It seems they’re trying to take over the ship,’ Vasko said. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

‘Well, now that you mention it—’ Quaiche made a very poor imitation of a smile ‘—I might have an inkling.’

One of the doors to the garret swung open. Six red-uniformed Adventist guards walked in, carrying weapons and looking as if they knew what to do with them.

‘I’m sorry it’s come to this,’ Quaiche said, as the guards motioned for Vasko and Khouri to sit down opposite Rashmika. ‘But I really need your ship, and — let’s be honest — there was never much chance of you just giving it to me, was there?’

‘But we had an agreement,’ Vasko said, one of the guards prodding him on the shoulder. ‘We offered you protection.’

‘The trouble was, it wasn’t protection I was after,’ Quaiche said. The rim of his eye-opener flashed polished brass. ‘It was propulsion.’

FORTY-THREE

Rashmika had a premonitory sense that something was about to trespass into her head. In the moments before the shadows spoke to her, she had learned to identify a specific sensation: a faint tingle of neural intrusion, like the feeling that somewhere in a huge and rambling old house a door had just opened.

She steeled herself: aware of the proximity of the scrimshaw suit, conscious of the ease with which the shadows were able to slip in and out of her skull.

But the voice was different this time.

[Rashmika. Listen to me. Don’t react. Don’t pay any more attention to me than you would to a stranger.]

Rashmika shaped an answer, without speaking. It was as if she had been born to it, as if the skill had always been there. Who are you?

[I’m the only other woman in this room.]

Despite herself, Rashmika glanced towards Khouri. The woman’s face was impassive: not hostile, not even unkind, but utterly blank of any kind of expression. It was as if she were looking at a wall, rather than Rashmika.

You?

[Me, Rashmika. Yes.]

Why are you here?

[To help you. How much do you remember? All of it, or only some of it? Do you remember anything at all?]

Aloud, Vasko said, ‘Propulsion, Dean? Are you saying you want our ship to take you somewhere?’

‘Not exactly, no,’ Quaiche replied.

Rashmika tried not to look at the woman, keeping her attention focused on the men instead. I don’t remember much, only that I don’t belong here. The shadows already found me out. Do you know about the shadows, Khouri?

[A little. Not as much as you.]

Can you answer any of my questions? Who sent me here? What was I supposed to do?

[We sent you here.] In her peripheral vision Rashmika saw the woman’s head nod by the slightest of degrees: silent, discreet affirmation that it was really her voice Rashmika was hearing. [But it was your decision. Nine years ago, Rashmika, you told us we had to put you on Hela, in the care of another family.]

Why?