break through the obstruction at any second. The machines sounded enraged, their dim mechanical fury only doubled by what she had just attempted.
“Roll it is,” Parnasse said.
“Looks like it.”
They started jogging away from the barricade, towards the next set of stairs.
“Any idea why those things are still moving if we just took down the core?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Cyrus. Could be they were uploaded with enough autonomy to keep functioning even without direct supervision. Could be I didn’t damage the core enough. Could be they made another one, somewhere else. It isn’t that difficult if you know the protocols.”
They reached the next level down and arrived at the trap door in the floor, still open as they had left it.
Parnasse rolled up his sleeves, moving to lower himself into the gap ahead of Thalia.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“I memorised the way pretty well the last time we came down here. You showed me where to place the whiphound. I’m sure I can find my way without you.”
“All the same, girl, I’m coming with you.”
“I’d rather you were back up with the others, Cyrus, making sure they do what they’re told.”
“Redon’s got them under control. I think you convinced them there was no other choice.” Thalia had been striving to maintain a facade of certainty, but all of a sudden doubts magnified inside her.
“There isn’t, is there?”
“Of course there isn’t.”
“But what if I’m wrong?”
“Nothing could be worse than waiting for those bastards to break through. Even if this doesn’t work, it’ll be a hell of an improvement on being ripped apart by killer robots. At least we’ll go out with style.”
“Even though there’ll be no one to applaud our efforts?”
“We’ll know, girl. That’s all that matters.” He gave her an encouraging pinch on the arm.
“Now let’s get that whiphound in place.”
They clambered through the tangle of intervening supports until they reached the area where the struts had already been weakened or cut through entirely.
“Thank our lucky stars this isn’t quickmatter,” Parnasse said, “or those cuts would have healed over by now. But the rules say you can’t have quickmatter anywhere near a polling core.”
“I like rules,” Thalia said.
“Rules are good.”
“Let’s unwrap the baby.” Thalia removed the whiphound from its protective bundle. It was trembling, with parts of the casing beginning to melt from the heat. The smell of burning components hit her nose.
“Okay,” she said, twisting the first of the dials.
“Setting yield to maximum. Looks as if it’s accepted the input. So far so good.” She paused to let her fingers cool down.
“Now the timer,” Parnasse said. She nodded. She twisted the first of the two dials necessary to input the setting. It was stiff, but eventually the dial moved under her fingers until it reached the limit of its rotation. The double-dial fail-safe existed to stop the whiphound being set to grenade mode accidentally.
“Five minutes,” she said.
“It’ll start counting as soon as you twist the other dial?” Thalia nodded.
“It should give us enough time to get back upstairs and lashed down. If you want to go ahead now, to make sure—”.
“I’m not going anywhere without you. Set the timer.” Thalia took hold of the end of the whiphound and began to twist the other dial. It moved easily compared to the other one, clicking around through its settings. Then it stopped, long before it had reached the correct limit. Thalia tried again, but the dial would not pass beyond the point where it had jammed.
“Something’s the matter,” she said.
“I can’t get the second setting locked in. Both dials have to be reading three hundred seconds or it won’t start the countdown.”
“Can I try?” She passed him the whiphound.
“Maybe you can force that dial past the blockage.” He tried. He couldn’t.
“It’s jammed pretty good, girl.” Parnasse squinted at the tiny white digits marked next to the dial.
“Looks like we’re stuck at one hundred seconds, or less.”
“It isn’t enough,” Thalia said.
“We’d never get back up and lashed down in one hundred seconds.”
“There’s no other way of setting that counter?”
“None.” Then something came over her, a kind of awesome calm, like the placidity of the sea after a great storm.
She had never felt more serene, more purposeful, in her life. This was it, she knew. It was the point she had waited for, with guarded expectation, knowing it would arrive at some time in her career, but that she might not notice it unless she was both alert and open-minded. This was her opportunity to redeem whatever it was her father had done wrong.
“Girl?” Parnasse asked, for Thalia had fallen into a momentary trance.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“We can still do this. I want you to leave now, Cyrus. Get back to the others and strap yourself down. Make sure you close all airtight doors on the way.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to wait a whole three hundred seconds. Then I’m going to complete what I came here to do.”
“Which is?” Her voice trembled.
“Uphold the public good.”
“Is that right?” Parnasse said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“I don’t think so, girl.” She started to protest, started to raise her arm in defence, but Parnasse was faster and stronger.
Whatever it was he did to her, she never saw it coming.
CHAPTER 27
Thyssen’s face was slit-eyed and puffy when it appeared on Dreyfus’ compad.
“I know you’re meant to be sleeping now, and I apologise for disturbing your rest. But something’s been nagging at me and I need to talk to you about it.” He neglected to tell Thyssen that the thing that had been bothering him had only revealed itself fully when he woke from his snooze.
“Is this urgent, Prefect?”
“Very.”
“Then I’ll see you in the bay in five minutes.” Thyssen looked surprisingly alert when Dreyfus arrived, feeling less than clearheaded himself. Thyssen was talking with his shift replacement Tezuka, the two of them peering through a window at the ongoing ship operations. Technicians were performing vacuum welds on the damaged hull of a cutter. Both men were sipping something from drinking bulbs.
“Prefect Dreyfus,” Thyssen said, breaking away from his conversation.
“You look like you could use some of this.” He offered Dreyfus the drinking bulb. Dreyfus declined.
“The ship Saavedra took,” Dreyfus said.
“You mean Saavedra and Chen.” Dreyfus nodded: he’d forgotten that Thyssen hadn’t been informed of Chen’s murder.
“I’m just wondering why they took that one, out of all the choices they had. Am I correct in thinking that
