similar to those in the sculpture, gleaming a glassy black under their helmet lights. Stars were visible through the ten-metre-wide opening. Somewhere else out there, Dreyfus reflected, was all that remained of the habitat’s interior biome, billowing away into empty space.
He steered his suit into the cleft. He floated down to half the depth of the punctured skin, then settled near a glinting object embedded in the resolidified rock. It was a flake of metal, probably a piece of cladding that had come loose and then been trapped when the rock solidified. Dreyfus unhooked a cutter from his belt and snipped a palm- sized section of the flake away. Nearby he spotted another glint, and then a third. Within a minute he had gathered three different samples, stowing them in the suit’s abdominal pouch.
“Got something?” Sparver asked.
“Probably. If it was a drive beam that did it, this metal will have mopped up a lot of subatomic particles. There’ll be spallation tracks, heavy isotopes and fragmentation products. Forensics can tell us if the signatures match a Conjoiner drive.”
Now he’d said it, it was out in the open.
“Okay, but no matter what forensics say, why would Ultras do this?” Sparver asked.
“They couldn’t hope to get away with it.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what they were hoping to do—cut and run. They might not be back in this system for decades, centuries even. Do you think anyone will still care about what happened to Ruskin-Sartorious by then?” After a thoughtful moment, Sparver said, “You would.”
“I won’t be around. Neither will you.”
“You’re in an unusually cheerful frame of mind.”
“Nine hundred and sixty people died here, Sparver. It’s not exactly the kind of thing that puts a spring in my step.” Dreyfus looked around, but saw no other easily accessible forensic samples. The analysis squad would arrive shortly, but the really heavy work would have to wait until the story had broken and Panoply were not obliged to work under cover of secrecy. By then, though, all hell would have broken loose anyway.
“Let’s get to the polling core,” he said, moving his suit out of the cut.
“The sooner we leave here the better. I can already feel the ghosts getting impatient.”
CHAPTER 3
Whether by accident or design—Dreyfus had never been sufficiently curious to find out—the four main bays on the trailing face of Panoply conspired to suggest the grinning, ghoulish countenance of a Hallowe’en pumpkin. No attempt had been made to smooth or contour the rock’s outer crust, or to lop it into some kind of symmetry. There were a thousand similar asteroids wheeling around Yellowstone: rough-cut stones shepherded into parking orbits where they awaited demolition and reforging into sparkling new habitats. This was the only one that held prefects, though: barely a thousand in total, from the senior prefect herself right down to the greenest field just out of the cadet rankings. The cutter docked itself in the nose, where it was racked into place alongside a phalanx of similar light-enforcement vehicles. Dreyfus and Sparver handed the evidential packages to a waiting member of the forensics squad and signed off on the paperwork. Conveyor bands pulled them deeper into the asteroid, until they were in one of the rotating sections.
“I’ll see you in thirteen hours,” Dreyfus told Sparver at the junction between the field-training section and the cadets’ dormitory ring.
“Get some rest—I’m expecting a busy day.”
“And you?”
“Some loose ends to tie up first.”
“Fine,” Sparver said, shaking his head.
“It’s your metabolism. You do what you want with it.” Dreyfus was tired, but with Caitlin Perigal and the implications of the murdered habitat dogging his thoughts, he knew it would be futile trying to sleep. Instead he returned to his quarters for just long enough to step through a washwall and conjure a change of clothing. By the time he emerged to make his way back through the rock, the lights had dimmed for the graveyard shift in Panoply’s twenty-six-hour operational cycle. The cadets were all asleep; the refectory, training rooms and classrooms empty.
Thalia, however, was still in her office. The passwall was transparent, so he entered silently. He stood behind her like a father admiring his daughter doing homework. She was still dealing with the implications of the Perigal case, seated before a wall filled with scrolling code. Dreyfus stared numbly at the lines of interlocking symbols, none of which meant anything to him.
“Sorry to interrupt your flow,” he said gently when Thalia didn’t look up.
“Sir,” she said, starting. “I thought you were still outside.”
“Word obviously gets around.” Thalia froze the scroll.
“I heard there was some kind of crisis brewing.”
“Isn’t there always?” Dreyfus plopped a heavy black bag down on her desk.
“I know you’re already busy, Thalia, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to add to your burden.”
“That’s okay, sir.”
“Inside that bag are twelve beta-level recoverables. We had to pull them out of a damaged core, so in all likelihood they’re riddled with errors. I’d like you to fix what you can.”
“Where did they come from?”
“A place called Ruskin-Sartorious. It doesn’t exist any more. Of the nine hundred and sixty people who used to live there, the only survivors are the patterns in these beta-levels.”
“Just twelve, out of all those people?”
“That’s all we got. Even then, I doubt you’ll get twelve stable invocations. But do what you can. Call me as soon as you recover something I can talk to.” Thalia looked back at the code wall.
“After I’m done with this, right?”
“Actually, I’d like those invocations as quickly as possible. I don’t want you to neglect Perigal, but this is looking more serious by the hour.”
“What happened?” she breathed.
“How did those people die?”
“Badly,” Dreyfus said.
The safe-distance tether jerked him to a halt in Jane Aumonier’s presence.
“Forensics are on the case,” he said.
“We should have an answer on those samples within the hour.”
“Not that there’s much room for doubt,” Aumonier said.
“I have every confidence—if that’s the word—that they’ll tie the damage to the output beam of a Conjoiner drive.” She directed Dreyfus’ attention to a portion of the wall she had enlarged before his arrival. Frozen there was a sleek silver-grey thing like a child’s paper dart.
“Gaffney’s been talking to Centralised Traffic Control. They were able to backtrack the movements of this ship. Her name is Accompaniment of Shadows.”
“They can place her at the Bubble?”
“Close enough for our purposes. No other lighthugger was anywhere near.”
“Where’s she now?”
“Hidden in the Parking Swarm.” Aumonier enlarged another portion of the wall. Dreyfus saw a ball of fireflies, packed too tightly in the middle to separate into individual motes of light. A single ship would have no difficulty losing itself in the tight-packed core.
“Have any left since the attack?” he asked.
“None. We’ve had the Swarm under tight surveillance.”
“And in the event that one should break cover?”
“I’d rather not think about it.”
“But you have.” She nodded minutely.
“Theoretically, one of our deep-system cruisers could shadow a lighthugger all the way out to the Oort cloud.
