there.’
‘No, I never had the pleasure of meeting the first Prime Pan . . . Lin Wei drowned, of course. They told you that.’
‘Yes,’ Geoffrey said.
‘Arethusa knew her very well indeed. When the current Prime Pan learned of your . . . interest, you became of . . . shall we say reciprocal interest to Arethusa.’ Truro appeared to be having difficulty finding the appropriate words. ‘No disrespect to Chama or the elephants, but that’s really why you’re here. Arethusa
‘Since I’ve already been dragged here,’ Geoffrey said, ‘I may as well speak to anyone who wants a conversation. Will the Prime Pan be coming here?’
Truro’s minimalist features nonetheless evinced apology. ‘The mountain must go to Mohammed, I’m afraid. Are you up for a bit more swimming?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
According to the aug they were somewhere over the equatorial highlands of Syrtis Major, on the other side of Mars from Pavonis Mons.
They had gone down in the cheapest kind of cut-price shuttle. Sunday had no regrets about taking the fast way: she was too excited for that. Jitendra shared her anticipation, his grin only intensifying as re-entry commenced. They’d gone from Stickney’s centrifugal gravity to the free fall of the shuttle, and now weight was returning as the shuttle hit atmosphere and enveloped itself in a blistering cocoon of neon-pink plasma. As the deceleration peaked, the seats adjusted to provide fullbody support. It was more gravity than Sunday had experienced in years. She loved watching the plasma snap and ripple around the hull, like a flag in a stiff breeze.
And then it eased, and they were flying as much as falling. The shuttle’s hull was reshaping itself all the while, optimising to the changing conditions, resisting gravity to the last instant. Gullies and craters slid underneath, sharp-shadowed, Sunday certain that she could stretch out her hand and feel the leathery texture of the surface, scraping beneath her palm like the cover of an old book. So far, at least, there was nothing down there to suggest that they were anything other than the very first people to reach this world. No settlements, no roads, not even the glint of some long-abandoned mechanical envoy, dust-bound for centuries. It was staggering, all that emptiness.
Jitendra saw something, pointing excitedly at a dark worming trail, the furiously gyring knot at its head etching a meandering track across the surface. ‘It’s a vehicle, I think. A Mars rover, or maybe some kind of low-altitude aircraft.’
Sunday had already voked the mag to maximum. ‘Kicking up a lot of dust. Moving pretty quickly, too.’
‘It’s a dust-devil,’ Eunice said, cutting into Sunday’s thoughts. ‘Just a whirlwind.’
She turned to Jitendra, and repeated Eunice’s words.
‘Oh,’ he said, on a falling note.
‘Raised on the Moon,’ Eunice said disapprovingly. ‘Doesn’t have the first foggiest notion of terrestrial planet weather systems.’
Sunday voked, ‘Didn’t think you’d show up until we were down, Eunice.’
‘There’s local aug, enough of a network for me to utilise. I’m synching with my Earthside self as we speak. That’s going to take some time. Have you heard from your brother?’
‘We talked just before I got on the shuttle. He knows I’m OK.’ Sunday still had one eye on the scrolling view. ‘Have you been in contact with him?’
‘Not since he went off-grid.’
Sunday tensed. ‘What do you mean, “off-grid”?’
‘Your brother’s currently a guest of the United Aquatic Nations, in Tiamaat. Truro sent a plane to pick him up.’
‘I wasn’t expecting him to forget the favours we owe him for. The only reason I’m here is because the Pans took care of my ticket.’
‘They’re more interested in us than I expected, though. This isn’t just about reciprocity. I worry that it’s me they’re really after.’
‘You don’t exist. And at the risk of wounding your ego, not everyone in the known universe is obsessed with you and your secret history.’
‘Let’s be honest, though, a fair few are.’
‘But only because you spent half your life turning yourself into a puzzle. Geoffrey blinked me a copy of the mural in your bedroom – seems you were right about the alterations in Phobos.’
‘Good to have my suspicions confirmed. I’m not infallible, and I can’t vouch for the absolute reliability of my memories.’
‘Trust me, I never once thought you were infallible. What do you know about Truro?’
‘He’s not top dog, although he’s not far off it either. He answers to the Prime Pan, whoever that is. Here’s the catch, though. Sift through my logged conversations – as I myself have done – and you’ll find ample evidence of occasional traffic between myself and Tiamaat. Highly quangled, so you can’t get into deep content, but someone there was clearly of interest to me. For years, decades. Going all the way back to Mercury.’
‘You have a theory.’
‘My . . . death has stirred up ghosts, Sunday. I can’t be certain of anything. But there aren’t many people I’d have been capable of sustaining a lifelong association with, without one or both of us going mad with boredom. What I’m getting at is this: did the Prime Pan know me? Did I know the Prime Pan?’
‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘Not yet. I’ll wait for more data, until I’m not only fully synched but back in touch with Geoffrey.’
