the intended benefit of your house.” Perigal stuttered something, her cheeks flushing with indignation, but Dreyfus held up a silencing hand and continued with his statement.
“While the investigative process is in operation, your habitat is to be placed under lockdown. All physical traffic between House Perigal and the rest of the system, including Chasm City, is now suspended. No incoming or outgoing transmissions will be permitted. Any attempts to break these sanctions will be countered with destructive force. This is final and binding.” Dreyfus paused, then lowered the card.
“The state of lockdown is now in effect.” There was an uneasy silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the side of the pool.
“This is a joke, isn’t it?” the grey-eyed man said eventually, looking encouragingly at Perigal.
“Please tell me it’s a joke.”
“So it’s come to this,” the matriarch said.
“I always knew you were dirty, Dreyfus, but I never thought you’d stoop quite this low.” Dreyfus placed the card beside the pool.
“This is a summary of the case against you. Looks watertight to me, but then I’m only a lowly field prefect.” He touched a finger to his chin, as if he’d just remembered an errand.
“Now I need a small favour.”
“You’re insane.”
“Kindly issue a priority interrupt to all your citizens and guests. Tell them that a lockdown is in force, and that they’re about to lose contact with the external universe. Remind them that this state of affairs could last for anything up to one century. Tell them that if they have thoughts or messages to convey to loved ones beyond House Perigal, they have six hundred seconds in which to do so.” He turned to Thalia and Sparver and lowered his voice, but not so low that Perigal wouldn’t have been able to hear him.
“You know what to do, Deputies. If anyone obstructs you, or refuses to cooperate, you have clearance to euthanise.” The rim transit moved quickly, its motion counteracting the centrifugal gravity of the slow-turning wheel. Thalia sat next to Sparver, brooding.
“It isn’t fair,” she said.
“What isn’t?”
“All those people stuck here by accident, the people who just happened to be visiting.”
“Sometimes the only workable solution isn’t a fair one.”
“But cut off from the Glitter Band, from Yellowstone, from friends and family, from abstraction, from their medical programmes… some of them could actually die in here before the lockdown’s over.”
“Then they should have thought about that before. If you don’t like the idea of being caught in a lockdown, do the homework on your habitat.”
“That’s a very callous outlook.”
“They screwed with democracy. I’m not going to lose much sleep when democracy screws them back.” Thalia felt her weight returning as they neared their destination and the transit slowed. The two prefects disembarked into another cavern, smaller and brighter than the first. This time the floor was an expanse of interlocking black and white tiles, polished to a luxurious gleam. A cylindrical structure rose from a hole in the centre of the floor, wide as a tree trunk, its spired tip almost touching the ceiling. The cylinder’s black surface flickered with schematic representations of data flows: rapidly changing red and blue traceries. A railingless spiral staircase wrapped around the pillar, offering access to the stump-like branches of interface ports.
A man in beige uniform—some kind of technician or functionary, Thalia decided—stood by the base of the trunk, his face a study in suspicion.
“Don’t come any closer,” he said. Sparver answered him.
“Didn’t Perigal make it clear we were on our way, and that we weren’t to be hindered?”
“It’s a trick. You’re agents of House Cantarini.” Sparver looked at him sceptically.
“Do I look like an agent of House Cantarini?”
“An agent could look like anyone.”
“I’m a pig. How likely is it that they’d send an ugly specimen like me when there was an alternative?”
“I can’t take the risk. You touch this core, I lose my job, my standing, everything.”
“Step aside, sir,” Thalia said.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you any nearer.” The man opened his hand to reveal a matt-silver device cuffed to his palm, inset with a red firing stud.
“There are weapons already trained on you. Please don’t make me use them.”
“You kill us, Panoply will just send more prefects,” Sparver said. Thalia’s skin prickled. She could feel the scrutiny of those hidden weapons, ready to wipe her out of existence at the twitch of the man’s thumb.
“I won’t kill you if you turn and leave.”
“We’ll leave when we have the evidence.” Sparver’s hand moved to his belt. He unclipped the handle of his whiphound and flicked it to deploy the filament. It cracked as it spun out to its maximum extension, lashing the floor.
“He’s right,” Thalia said, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.
“We’re Panoply.”
“Please.” The man’s thumb caressed the firing stud.
“I’ll do what needs to be done to protect the core.” Sparver released the whiphound. The handle remained at waist height, supported by the coiled extremity of its stiffened filament. It swayed from side to side with the questing motion of a snake. Then it curled around and aimed itself at the man.
A bright red dot appeared on his Adam’s apple.
“I need you to answer a question for me,” Sparver said.
“How attached are you to your fingers?” The man inhaled and held his breath.
“The whiphound has a mark on you now,” Sparver continued.
“If it detects hostile intent—and it’s very, very good at detecting hostile intent—it’ll be on you faster than a nerve impulse can travel down your arm. When it reaches you, it’ll do something quite nasty with the sharp edge of that filament.” The man opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a dry croak. He spread both his hands, opening his fingers and thumbs as wide as they would go.
“Sensible,” Sparver said.
“Now hold that pose, but step away from the core.” He nodded at Thalia, giving her the go-ahead to start securing the evidence. The whiphound stayed by his side, its blunt head tracking the man as he inched away from the central column.
Thalia walked to the core. It was a standard design, installed within the last twenty years, so she knew exactly where to start.
“This is Deputy Field Prefect Thalia Ng,” she said aloud.
“Confirm recognition.”
“Welcome, Deputy Field Prefect Ng,” it replied, in the neutrally sexless voice common to all cores.
“How may I assist you?”
Thalia brought to mind the one-time code with which she had been briefed after the cutter’s departure from Panoply.
“Acknowledge security access override Narcissus Eight Palisander.”
“Override confirmed. You now have six hundred seconds of clearance, Deputy Field Prefect Ng.”
“Disable two-way access to the exterior abstraction.”
“Access is now blocked.” The red lines vanished. Now the pillar showed only blue traffic. No signals were reaching or leaving the habitat. Almost immediately the blue traffic intensified as the citizenry began to panic, sending emergency queries to the core.
Thalia glanced at the man Sparver’s whiphound was still detaining. For the first time in his life, his implants would no longer be in constant communication with the informational matrix beyond House Perigal. It must have felt like the drop of a guillotine.
She returned her attention to the core.
“Prepare me triplicate physical summary packages for all data traffic in and out of this habit in the last thousand days.”
“I am preparing the packages. Please wait a moment.” Thalia reached up and touched her throat
