Sunday had had enough of this crap. She braced herself and kicked out at the proxy, landing her heel in the middle of its abdomen. She pushed hard, toppling the proxy back. It went crashing, taking the table with it as its own foot flicked up. The spent drink containers left on the table by the previous customers went flying. From across the concourse faces swivelled towards the commotion like a bank of radar dishes.
Jitendra had frozen, the tray still in his hand.
‘We’re long past the point of reasoned debate, Lucas. Don’t you get it yet? It’s over, finished. The Pans screwed me. I came all this way for noth—’
‘Shut up.’ The proxy was getting back up, disentangling itself from the chair. ‘Just shut up. Everything’s changed now.’
There was something too calm about the way it was telling her to shut up. More in resignation than anger.
‘How?’ she asked.
The proxy placed the seat back upright, leaving the table tipped over. ‘It’s about your brother. I think you should listen.’
She wasn’t talking to Lucas, she reminded herself. Lucas was another world away; this was just an emulation – cleverer and quicker than the simulation of Eunice running in the helmet, but no closer to true sentience. Yet for all that, the illusion was compelling. The urgency in its voice was all too real.
‘Why do you care about Geoffrey?’
Jitendra had put the drinks down on the next clear table and was busy righting the tipped-over one, picking up the self-healing glassware and setting it down out of harm’s way. The coffee dregs were being sucked into the floor before they had a chance to stick to anyone’s shoes.
‘As a rule, not much. But I do care about my brother. Hector got into trouble. Geoffrey . . .’ The proxy tilted its head downwards. ‘Geoffrey tried to help him. Now they are both in difficulty.’
Sunday could have sworn she had exhausted her capacity to feel anxious after everything that had happened in the Evolvarium. But the proxy’s words still managed to touch something raw. ‘What do you mean?’
There was that not-quite-human pause while the proxy formulated its response. ‘Hector tried to gain entry into the Winter Palace. Geoffrey went in after him, only a few minutes later. Something happened shortly afterwards. The Winter Palace is gone.’
Sunday wasn’t sure if she’d understood correctly. ‘Gone?’
‘It destroyed itself. But Hector and Geoffrey are alive, for the moment. They’re on a ship, together with Jumai Lule.’
‘I don’t believe it. My brother wouldn’t work with Hector. This is some kind of trick to lull me into trusting you.’
‘You don’t have to take my word for it – consult the aug. The news has gone systemwide.’
Sunday doubted that the proxy would call her bluff that readily, so perhaps it was true after all. ‘I need to talk to my brother.’
‘You can’t. They’re asleep, and the ship is on its way to Trans-Neptunian space. It’s moving very quickly, which in itself is noteworthy. We are concerned that the ship may damage itself, perhaps fatally. If it doesn’t, it will reach its destination in a little over seven weeks. In truth, we don’t really understand what’s going on. But the landscape has certainly changed.’
‘Not from where I’m sitting.’
‘Sunday,’ the proxy said, leaning forwards to emphasise its point, ‘let us not pretend that you and I retain any great affection for each other. But
‘Are you saying you made a mistake?’
‘We’ve both made mistakes.’ The proxy folded its skinny mesh-muscled arms. She could see all the way through them, to metal bones and actuators, and out the other side. ‘You said it yourself. The Pans screwed you.’
She’d been wondering if the proxy had the smarts to pick up on that. Evidently it did.
‘How else was I supposed to get to Mars? Flap my wings?’
‘The question should be: how are you going to get back to Earth, now that your friends have deserted you?’ Quicker than she could blink, the proxy’s hand whipped out and touched her wrist. Contact was made for only a fraction of a second – she felt the implication of a touch, not the touch itself – and then broken.
Then the icon popped into her visual field. ‘I doubt the Pans will honour their obligation to return you home,’ the proxy explained. ‘In any case, the next swiftship with an available slot isn’t due to break orbit for another week. But who needs commercial liners when you have Akinya Space at your disposal?’
She felt violated. Had the proxy asked her permission to establish a body-to-body link, she would have refused it.
Perhaps that was the point.
‘What did you just give me?’
‘Authorisation to sequester an Akinya deep-system vehicle currently in Martian orbit. It’s a freighter, so don’t expect the height of luxury, but it can get you home in five weeks, if you leave for the elevator today. You’ll be back around Earth before Geoffrey and Hector reach their destination.’
‘Maybe I don’t want to go home. Maybe I want to follow my brother.’
‘He’s headed beyond the orbit of Neptune, Sunday. From that far out, the difference between being on Earth or Mars is nothing. Besides – even our fastest ship would take more than eight months to get there.’ The proxy let that
