Thousandth Night / Minla's Flowers

by Alastair Reynolds

  “Or sunsets, I suppose,” I said.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Don’t start talking about sunsets again. I thought you got that safely out of your system last time.”

  “I have,” I said. “Completely and utterly. I’m thinking of a radically different theme for my tour this time. Something as far removed from sunsets as possible.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Something like . . . waterfalls.”

  “Waterfalls.”

  “They’re pretty universal, you know. Any planet with some kind of atmosphere, and some kind of surface, usually ends up with something vaguely like a waterfall, somewhere. As long as you’re not too fussy about the water part.”

  “Actually,” Purslane said, “I quite like waterfalls. I remember one I encountered in my travels . . . ten vertical kilometres of it, pure methane. I stood under it, allowed myself to feel a little of the cold. Just enough to shiver at the wonder of it.”

  “It’s probably gone now,” I said sadly. “They don’t last long, compared to us.”

  “But perhaps you’ll find an even better one.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open. I mapped some promising rivers during my tour; places where the geology might have allowed waterfalls to form by now. I think I’ll revisit some of those old places, for old time’s sake.”

  “Bring me back a memory.”

  “I’ll be sure to. It’s just such a shame you won’t ever see them with your own eyes . . . ” I paused, aware that I stood on the thrilling, dangerous threshold of something. “I mean with me, the two of us.”

  “You know the line frowns upon planned associations,” Purslane said, as if I needed to be reminded. “Such meetings erode the very spirit of chance and adventure Abigail sought to instil in us. If we meet between now and the next reunion, it must be by chance and chance alone.”

  “Then we’ll never meet.”

  “No. Probably not.”

  “That’s a silly rule, isn’t it? I mean, given everything else that’s happened here . . . why should we care?”

  Purslane was a great while answering. “Because we’re traditionalists, Campion. Line loyalists, to the marrow.” She tightened her grip on the rail as something came streaking up from the molten world below: the last of my aquatics, lingering out of idleness or some instinctive curiosity. The huge field-encased creature was as sleek as night, its under parts highlit in brassy reds from the fires. It paused at the level of the balcony, long enough to scrutinise us with one small, wrinkled, distressingly human eye. Then with a powerful flick of its fluke it soared higher, to the orbital shallows where its fellow were already assembling.

  “There is something, though,” Purslane added.

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t even mention it. . . but I’ve been less than discreet about my flight plan. That trick I used to break into Burdock’s ship? It worked equally well with yours.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing harmful. Just installed a copy of my flight plan on your ship . . . for your information. Just so you know where I am.”

  “You’re right,” I said, wonderingly. “That was spectacularly indiscreet.”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “It would be completely improper for us to meet.”

  “Utterly,” Purslane agreed, nodding emphatically.

  “But you’ll stick to that flight plan?”

  “To the letter.” She had finished her wine. She flung the empty glass into space. I watched it fall, waiting for the glint when it impacted the bubble. But before it hit, Purslane took my arm and turned me away from the view. “Come on, Campion. Let’s go inside. They’re still all waiting to hear who’s won best strand.”

  “I can’t believe anyone still cares about that, after all that’s happened.”

  “Never underestimate the recuperative powers of human vanity,” Purslane said sagely. “Besides: it isn’t just the strand we have to think about. There are two memorials that need to be created. We’ll need one for Burdock, and one for Fescue.”

  “One day we might need one for Samphire as well,” I said.

  “I think we’ll do our best to forget all about him.”

  “He won’t go away that easily. He may still be alive. Or it may be that he was murdered and replaced with an impostor, just like Burdock. Either way, I have a feeling we haven’t finished with him. Or the Great Work.”

  “We’ve won this battle, though. That’s enough for tonight, isn’t it?”

  “It’ll have to be,” I said.

  “Something worries me, though,” Purslane said. “We still haven’t told anyone that my strand wasn’t all it appears to be. They’ll have to find out one of these days.”

  “Not tonight, though.”

  “Campion . . . if my name comes out of the hat. . . what will I do ?”

  I feigned concern, suppressing an amused smile. “Do what I’d do. Keep a very straight face.”

  “You mean . . . just accept it? That would be a little on the mischievous side, wouldn’t it?”

  “Very,” I said. “But worth it, all the same.”

  Purslane tightened her grasp on my arm. Together we walked back toward the auditorium where the others waited. Under us, the fires of creation consumed my little world while, far above it, aquatics gathered in squadrons and schools, ready for their long migration.