‘The red conveyor will take us straight through,’ he said, crushing the thought. ‘Let’s get moving.’
That was when the machines revealed themselves. They’d been in the volume all along, but hidden amongst the black complexity of the ironwork sculptures. When they emerged, Crissel almost laughed. Amusement, a wry sense of having been bettered, was the only human response to a fatal and inescapable ambush.
‘Hostiles,’ he said. ‘Servitors. Target them. Maximum force. Fire at will.’
But even as he spoke the words, he knew there were too many machines, too few field prefects. The squad had already opened fire; had already destroyed a handful of the approaching servitors. But the machines just kept coming. They were everywhere, oozing out of shadow and darkness, flying through the air or picking their way along the curving lines of the conveyors. Even more were scuttling out of some of the other tunnels that connected with the customs space.
Crissel was used to servitors, so accustomed to their presence that he scarcely noticed them under normal circumstances. Yet these machines did not move like ordinary servitors. Their motions were quick, with something of the speeded-up, slapstick quality of insect activity. As a whole, their efforts were coordinated and deliberate. Individually it was chaotic, with some machines getting trampled under the relentless march of the others or even flung aside when they proved too slow or clumsy. They had no weapons in the usual sense, but every limb, manipulator or probe now served an aggressive function. Some of the attachments even appeared to have been modified to make them more effective: claws sharpened to glinting edges, arms terminating in vicious curved scythes or impaling spikes. It was a killing army. And yet the machines still carried the cheerful colours and logos of their former duties: a domestic machine here, a gardener or kindly medical servitor there. A beetle-backed multi-legged nursery supervisor even had the red and black shell of a ladybird, with a happy face painted on the front.
The prefects unleashed the full force of their guns, but it was only enough to slow the advance, not repel it. Most of the machines were so lightly armoured that they blew apart under a direct hit. But those that followed quickly grabbed the pieces of their shattered comrades and employed the broken body parts as shields or clubs. Then it became more difficult to kill any of them.
Crissel almost failed to notice the first human casualties. As the servitors fell upon the armour-suited prefects, it became difficult to tell the difference between people and machines. There was just a thrash and flail of limbs, a squeal of metal and ceramic on armour. It was only when he saw two headless bodies tumble into the open space between the ironwork sculptures, jetting banners of blood from the open circles of their neck rings, that he knew the servitors had begun to murder.
‘Fall back,’ Crissel called above the din of battle, the clash of armour and servitor, the panicked shouts of his team. ‘Return to the ship! We’re outnumbered!’
But even as he spoke the words, Crissel felt himself being pulled to one side by strong metal limbs. He resisted, but it did no good. Then the servitors were upon him, picking apart the puzzle of his armour with the frantic excitement of children trying to get into a parcel.
They were fast about it. He had to give them that.
CHAPTER 20
The holding cell where Dreyfus was detained was not a weightless sphere like the one in which Clepsydra had been imprisoned, but it had the same feeling of deadening impregnability. They had taken away his shoes and bracelet. His only concession had been to loosen his collar so that it didn’t chafe so much against his unshaven jowls. In the room’s silence he had no way of telling what was happening outside, or of confidently judging the passage of time. He was too alert, too fearful, to begin to feel bored. His mind spun with wild mental permutations, trying to guess what had happened to Clepsydra, and what was now happening to the mission to House Aubusson. What was happening to Thalia. More than likely it was his imagination that had supplied the distant thump as the Universal Suffrage detached from its docking cradle.
Dreyfus had put people into cells enough times to have indulged in idle speculation as to what it would feel like to be on the other side of the door when it closed. He realised now that he had never come close to imagining the utter draining hopelessness, or the shame. He had done nothing wrong, he told himself; nothing that merited the slightest degree of self-reproach. But the shame would not listen. The mere fact of confinement was enough.
After what Dreyfus judged to be the passage of two or three hours, the passwall formed the outline of a door. Baudry entered, alone, and had the wall revert to obstruct. She carried no visible weaponry.
‘I wasn’t expecting another visit. What’s the news? Have you heard anything from Thalia?’
She ignored his question. ‘If you did this, Tom, now is the time to tell me.’ She stood by his bunk, hands folded, the hem of her skirt spilling around her heels like the wax from a thin, black candle.
‘You know I didn’t do it.’
‘Gaffney says you were the last person to see Clepsydra. Did she say or hint at anything that might have indicated she was planning to escape?’
Dreyfus rubbed his eyes. ‘No. She didn’t have any reason to, because I told her we’d take care of her and make sure she got back to her people.’
‘But she left.’
‘Or was taken. You’ve considered that alternative, surely?’
‘Gaffney says no one entered that room after you until Sparver went in and found her gone.’
‘Did Gaffney catch me leaving with Clepsydra?’
‘He speculates that you may have tampered with the passwall settings so that she could make her own way out after you’d gone.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start. And even if she did leave, why didn’t anyone see her? Why didn’t she show up on our internal surveillance?’
‘We still don’t know the full extent of Conjoiner skills,’ Baudry said.
Dreyfus buried his face in his hands. ‘They’re smarter than us, but they can’t do magic. If she left her cell, someone would have seen her.’
‘She may have chosen her moment of escape well. You could have advised her as to when there would be the least chance of detection.’
Dreyfus laughed hollowly. ‘And the cameras?’
‘Perhaps she was able to influence them, to erase her own image from the recordings.’
‘She’d still have needed somewhere to hide. Sooner or later she’d have run into people, otherwise.’
‘Gaffney speculates that you provided her with sanctuary. That you may still be providing her with sanctuary.’
‘You know, I’m hearing the name “Gaffney” a lot here. Don’t you think there might be something in that?’
Baudry set her mouth disapprovingly. ‘Gaffney’s position naturally brings him to the fore in any matter of internal security. And you have no evidence that he has committed any wrongdoing.’
‘Would you give a damn if I did?’
‘I know we’ve had our differences, Tom, and I know you didn’t like what we had to do to Jane. I respect that, truly I do. But I assure you that our actions were taken in the best interests of Panoply. And I’ll be the first in line to swear allegiance to Jane when she’s reinstated to full operational authority, as I believe she will be.’ She studied him with quizzical eyes. ‘You don’t believe me. You believe Jane’s removal was motivated by self-interest. Or something else.’
‘I think Crissel was just too cowardly to stand up to the two of you.’
‘And me?’
‘You can’t tell me self-interest didn’t come into it.’
For the first time he saw the hard gold glint of real anger flash in her eyes. ‘See it from my position, Tom. I respect Jane. Always have. I was behind her every inch of the way when the Clockmaker made life difficult for us. But she should never have been allowed to stay in power all this time. There’s no way that thing hasn’t damaged her, mentally or physically.’
‘
Some might say it’s made her the best supreme prefect we could ever have asked for.’
‘But the point is, Tom, we’ve never had any way of knowing for sure. Crissel and I . . . and Gaffney, yes, I’ll admit it - we’ve given this organisation our best years, and all we’ve got to show for it is white hairs and wrinkles, while we wait in Jane’s shadow. None of us is going to live for ever!’
‘Nor will Jane. You could always wait your damned turn.’
Baudry exhaled. Something in her had relented. ‘So I wanted her out of the way. But that doesn’t mean it was right for her to stay in command. It doesn’t mean we still didn’t do the right thing by Panoply.’
‘Do you believe that, in your heart of hearts? Look at me when you answer.’
‘Yes,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye after a long moment.
He nodded, giving nothing away. Let her stew, let her wonder whether he believed her or not. ‘You still have to stop Gaffney. He’s out of control.’
‘Do you want to tell me about the name you mentioned earlier? Aurora, wasn’t it?’
‘I think we’re dealing with Aurora Nerval-Lermontov, who was one of the Eighty.’
‘She died, Tom. They all died.’
‘I don’t think she did. She’s out there somewhere, and she’s been biding her time for fifty-five years.’
‘Just hiding?’
‘Until something forced her hand. She learned something from Clepsydra, something that scared her badly. Everything that’s happened is Aurora’s response to a perceived threat. I think she’s taking control because she doesn’t trust us to do the job.’
‘Clepsydra was her accomplice?’
‘Not exactly. Aurora was using the Conjoiners, squeezing them for intelligence.’
‘And now the only one of them left’s gone missing.’
‘I didn’t let her out of that room,’ Dreyfus said. ‘I’ve made some questionable decisions in my career, but that wasn’t one of them.’
‘Then who did?’
‘You know who.’
‘He wouldn’t betray us, Tom. He’s a good man, Panoply to the core. He’s given his soul to this organisation. There’s nothing he cares about more than the security of the Glitter Band.’
‘Maybe he believes that. But whatever he thinks, he’s working for Aurora. Trajanova knew that whoever sabotaged the Turbines and corrupted my beta-level had to have high-level security access. She was only one step away from fingering Gaffney herself. That’s why she had to go.’
Baudry shook her head once, as if she was trying to clear out a bad thought buzzing around between her ears. ‘I don’t believe Gaffney would act against us. More pertinently, why would he ever want Clepsydra outside of that room?’
‘Because she knows things he doesn’t want us to find out.’ Dreyfus craned forward on the bunk. ‘Baudry, listen to me. I think Gaffney wants her dead. I think he’s going to find her and kill her, if he hasn’t done so already. You have to get to her first.’
‘We don’t know where she is.’
‘So start looking. Gaffney controls internal security, but you control Panoply. There are still hundreds of prefects he doesn’t have an armlock on.’
‘Sandra Voi, Tom. Are you seriously proposing all-out war inside Panoply?’
‘It doesn’t have to be war. Move now and you can stamp down on Gaffney, erase his authority. Security owe him loyalty, but they’re loyal to you as well.’
For a moment he had the impression that she was at least considering the idea, giving it house room. Then her face froze, and she offered him only blank denial.
‘I can’t do that.’
‘At the very least, get to Clepsydra before he does.’
‘That may not be easy, especially if she doesn’t want to be found.’ Baudry’s bracelet chose that moment to chime, emitting a shrill tone that had no place in the cloistered greyness of the cell. She glanced down, irritated, then lifted the display closer to her face. Dreyfus saw her eyelids grow heavy.
‘What is it?’
‘The Universal Suffrage.’ Her voice sounded ghostly, distant. ‘We’ve lost contact with them, during their final approach phase to House Aubusson. Just when the habitat’s defences would have fallen within range of their own weapons.’
Dreyfus nodded. He knew that the plan had been to pick off the anti-collision systems with the cruiser’s long-range ordnance. ‘All comms, or just tactical telemetry?’
‘Everything. There’s no signal.’ She paused, as if she dared not state what was so obviously the case. ‘I think we’ve lost them. I think they’re all dead. Crissel, all those young prefects.’ Then she looked at Dreyfus with a kind of slow-burning dread. ‘What should we do next?’
‘Confirm that the ship’s really lost,’ Dreyfus said. ‘Then start pulling in every asset we have elsewhere in the system, no matter what duty it’s on. Every cutter, every corvette, every deep-system cruiser.’
‘We can’t ignore the state of crisis between the Ultras and the Glitter Band.’
‘You can,’ Dreyfus said, ‘because it doesn’t matter any more. That wasn’t ever a crisis. A distraction, maybe, to take our eyes off the real business. Worked, too, didn’t it? What fools we were.’
‘We were only ever doing our best,’ Baudry said sadly.
‘It wasn’t good enough. Now we have to up our game. The real crisis starts here.’
‘I’m frightened, Tom. They took out a fully armed deep-system cruiser. That isn’t supposed to happen.’
‘I’m frightened, too,’ Dreyfus said, ‘but we’re not finished yet. Find Clepsydra. And make sure you go back to the polls. You can lay it on the line this time. We need those guns. And right now I don’t care who gets upset about it.’
Gaffney stared at the surreal spectacle with what he trusted was the appropriate combination of shock and disgust. He stood with his booted feet slightly apart, his back straight, his hands behind his back. His own reaction might be synthetic, but there was no doubting the authenticity of the expressions on the faces of the other internal prefects assembled in Dreyfus’s private quarters. Nor was there any doubt concerning the feelings of Senior Prefect Lillian Baudry.
‘This can’t be right,’ she said, shaking her head as if that might clear her vision and reveal the scene to be a psychological mirage. ‘I know Dreyfus. We’ve crossed swords in the past, but he would never have done this. Not to one of his own witnesses.’
‘There’s never any telling what people will do when they go off the rails,’ Gaffney said, with a kind of lofty regret, as if this was a truth he had privately acknowledged many years ago. ‘Dreyfus always appeared stable to me as well. But recent events have obviously conspired to push him over the edge.’
‘But killing her . . . Sandra Voi. It makes no sense, Sheridan.’
‘Perhaps the witness knew more than she was letting on,’ Gaffney mused. ‘None of us really knows exactly what went on inside that rock. It could be that she knew things that would be damaging to Dreyfus’s reputation.’
‘Why in Voi’s name did he bring her back, in that case?’
‘Formality, I assume. Perhaps Sparver’s presence made it difficult for him not to?’
‘And all the while he planned to kill her?’
‘Look at the evidence,’ Gaffney said, with a humble shrug. ‘Speaks for itself, doesn’t it?’
Clepsydra had died by a shot to the head. That much at least was obvious to any observer, as was the probable point of entry of the ballistic device that had ended her life.
‘Some kind of slug-gun, not a beam weapon,’ Gaffney said. ‘There’s no scorching or cauterisation around the entry wound.’
‘Where do you think she was killed?’
Gaffney looked equivocal. ‘If he shot her in here, the quickmatter architecture will more than likely have soaked up and processed any traces of blood or larger remains splattered on the walls. There’ll be nothing left of it now. If she died a few hours ago, the pieces
of her that the room has already absorbed will also have been broken down into their component elements and recycled throughout Panoply by now.’ He touched a finger to his lips. ‘Have you eaten lately?’
‘No,’ Baudry said, with a puzzled expression. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘You might want to avoid the dispensers for a little while. If the idea of eating recycled Conjoiner upsets you, that is. If it doesn’t, tuck right in.’
Baudry paled. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘That’s the way the recycling system works. It’s not programmed to distinguish between human residue and normal domestic waste. There aren’t supposed to be murders inside Panoply.’
Baudry glanced down at what was left of the body. ‘Why wasn’t she absorbed completely?’
‘Indigestion, I suppose. Quickmatter has a throughput capacity; it can’t absorb too much in one go without blocking up.’ He forced a pained expression. ‘This definitely counts as too much.’
Clepsydra’s dead body had been half-absorbed into the floor before the quickmatter had choked and curtailed its efforts to process her. The effect was of a sculpture abandoned: a woman’s body half-embedded in smooth black marble. Her crested head and upper torso, her shoulders and upper arms were exposed. Her lower arms, belly and hips gave the impression of being submerged beneath the floorline. The four fingers of her right hand pushed up through the surface like stone sentinels, stiff in death. Her left leg emerged from the floor, rose to the arch of her knee, then plunged back into the absorbing surface.
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