Redemption Ark

wiped out all life on Resurgam for the second time in a million years. That’ll just be the warm-up exercise. It’ll be somewhere else after that. Maybe Sky’s Edge. Maybe Shiva-Parvati. Maybe Grand Teton, Spindrift, Zastruga — maybe even Yellowstone. Maybe even the First System. It probably doesn’t matter, because once one goes, the others won’t be far behind. It’ll be the end, Captain. It might take decades or it might take centuries. Doesn’t matter. It’ll still be the end of everything, the final repudiation of every human gesture — every human thought — since the dawn of time. We’ll have been erased from existence. I guarantee you something: it’ll be one hell of a shooting match, even if the outcome isn’t really in doubt. But you know what? We won’t be around to see one damned moment of it. And that pisses me off more than you can imagine.’

She took another drag on the cigarette. The rats had scampered back into the darkness and slime and the ship felt almost normal again. He appeared to have forgiven her that one indiscretion.

She continued, ‘The machines haven’t paid us much attention yet. But my guess is they’ll get around to it eventually. And do you want my theory as to why we haven’t been attacked so far? It might be that they just don’t see us yet; that their senses are attuned to signs of life on a much larger scale than just a single ship. It could also be that there’s no need to worry about us; that it would be a waste of effort to go to the trouble of wiping us out individually when what they’re working on will do the job just as effectively. I suspect that’s how they think, Captain. On a much larger, slower scale than we’re used to. Why go to the trouble of squashing a single fly when you’re about to exterminate the entire species? And if we’re going to do something about them, we have to start thinking a little bit like them. We need the cache, Captain.’

The room shuddered; the display illumination and the surrounding lights failed. Volyova looked at her bracelet, unsurprised to see that the ship was in the process of going catatonic again. Servitors were shutting down on all levels, abandoning whatever tasks they had been assigned. Even some of her bilge pumps were dying; she could hear the subtle change in the background note as units dropped out of the chorus. Warrens of shipboard corridor would be plunged into darkness. Elevators would not be guaranteed to arrive. Life was about to get harder again, and for a few days — perhaps a few weeks — merely surviving aboard the ship would require most of her energies.

‘Captain… ’ she said softly, doubtful that anything was now listening. ‘Captain, you have to understand: I’m not going to go away. And nor are they.’

Alone, standing in darkness, Volyova smoked what remained of her cigarette then, when she was done, she pulled out her torch, flicked it on and left the bridge.

The Triumvir was busy. She had much work to do.

Remontoire stood on the adhesive skin of Skade’s comet, waving at an approaching spacecraft.

It came in hesitantly, nosing towards the dark surface with evident suspicion. It was a small ship, only slightly larger than the corvette that had brought them here in the first place. Globular turrets bulged from its hull, swivelling this way and that. Remontoire blinked against the red glare of a targeting laser, then the beam passed, doodling patterns on the ground, surveying it for booby-traps.

‘You said there were two of you,’ said the commander of the ship, his voice buzzing in Remontoire’s helmet. ‘I see only one.’

‘Skade was injured. She’s inside the comet, being looked after by the Master of Works. Why are you speaking to me vocally?’

‘You could be a trap.’

‘I’m Remontoire. Don’t you recognise me?’

‘Wait. Turn a little to the left so I can see your face through your visor.’

A moment passed while the ship loitered, scrutinising him. Then it eased closer and fired its own set of grapples, ramming them hard into the ground where the three severed lines were still anchored. Remontoire felt the impacts drum through the membrane, the epoxy tightening its grip on his soles.

He tried to establish neural communication with the pilot. Do you accept that I’m Remontoire, now?

He watched an airlock open near the front of the ship. A Conjoiner emerged, clad in full battle armour. The figure glided to the comet’s surface and landed feet first only two metres from where he stood. The figure carried a gun that he pointed unwaveringly at Remontoire. Other guns on the ship were also trained on him. He could feel their wide-muzzled scrutiny, and had the sense that it would only take a slight wrong move for the weapons to open fire.

The Conjoiner connected neurally with Remontoire. [What are you doing here? Who is the Master of Works?]

Closed Council business, I’m afraid. All I can tell you is that Skade and I were here on a matter ofConjoiner security. This comet is one of ours, as you’ll have gathered.

[Your distress message said that three of you came here. Where is the ship that brought you?]

That’s where it gets a tiny bit complicated. Remontoire tried to push into the man’s head — it would make it so much easier if he could just dump his memories directly — but the other Conjoiner’s neural blockades were secure.

[Just tell me.]

Clavain came with us. He stole the corvette.

[Why would he do something like that?]

I can’t really tell you, not without revealing the nature of this comet.

[Let me guess. Closed Council business again.]

You know what it’s like.

[Where was he headed with the corvette?]

Remontoire smiled; there was no point in playing further cat-and-mouse games. Probably towards the inner system. Where else? He won’t be going back to the Mother Nest.

[How long ago was this, exactly?]

More than thirty hours.

[He’ll need fewer than three hundred to reach Yellowstone. You didn’t think to alert us sooner?]

I did my best. We had something of a medical crisis to deal with. And the Master of Works needed a lot of persuasion before it would allow me to send a signal back to the Mother Nest.

[Medical crisis?]

Remontoire gestured back across the scabbed and gashed surface of the comet, towards the dimpled entry hole where the Master of Works had first appeared. As I said, Skade was hurt. I think we should get her back to the Mother Nest as quickly as possible.

Remontoire began walking, picking his way gingerly step by step. The ship-mounted guns continued to track him, ready to turn him into a miniature crater if he so much as flinched.

[Is she alive?]

Remontoire shook his head. Nor at the moment, no.

CHAPTER 12

Clavain woke from a period of forced sleep, rising through dreams of collapsed buildings and sandstorms. There was a moment of bleary readjustment while he synched with his surroundings and the memories of recent events tumbled into place. He recalled the session within the Closed Council and the trip out to Skade’s comet. He recalled meeting the Master of Works and learning about the buried fleet of what were obviously intended to be evacuation ships. He remembered how he had stolen the corvette and pointed it towards the inner system at maximum burn.

He was still inside the corvette, still in the forward pilot’s position. His fingers brushed against the tactile controls, calling up the display screens. They bustled into place around him, opening and brightening like sunflowers. He did not quite trust the corvette to communicate with him neurally, for Skade might have managed to plant an incapacitating routine in the ship’s control web. He thought it unlikely that she had — the ship had obeyed