“It isn’t that simple. You have Pangolin clearance now, but this is a matter above Pangolin. You’ll need Manticore.”
“I don’t have Manticore.”
“But I can grant it to you. The choice will be yours as to whether you use it or not.”
“Why should I hesitate?”
“Because of what’s in that document, Tom. It probably won’t come as a great surprise if I tell you that it concerns the last Clockmaker crisis, and what happened to the Sylveste Institute for Artificial Mentation. By implication, it concerns Valery.”
“I understand.”
She answered very gently. “No, you don’t. Not yet. Not until you’ve read the contents. Something happened back then, Tom, that was personally very difficult for you.”
“I lost my wife. It doesn’t get any more difficult than that.”
Aumonier closed her eyes. He could sense the distress this was causing her. “What happened in SIAM was… not what was entered in the public record. There were good reasons for this. But you chose not to live with the facts as they were.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You were more closely involved in the Clockmaker affair than you have led yourself to believe these last eleven years. After the crisis, you were… troubled. You could no longer function as an effective prefect. You recognised this yourself and requested the appropriate remedial action.”
Though he was floating weightless, Dreyfus had the impression that he was falling down a deep, dark shaft, into invisible depths.
“What do you mean?”
“Selective amnesia was applied, Tom, at your request. Your memories of the Clockmaker crisis were forcibly suppressed.”
“But the records say I was nowhere near SIAM,” Dreyfus protested.
“The records were incorrect. Since so much of what happened that day was destined to remain secret anyway, it was an easy matter to place you elsewhere. It was done with my full authorisation.”
Dreyfus knew she wasn’t lying. She had no reason to, not now. The stress of speaking the truth was almost ripping her in two.
“And the missing six hours? What happened with the Atalanta?”
“It’s all in the document. Take Manticore and you’ll understand why we had to lie. But understand that it was the truth that nearly broke you. I’ve spent eleven years protecting you from the memories you wanted suppressed. In return, I’ve got back the best field prefect I could ever have asked for. But now I have to give you the key, so you can unlock them again.”
“Will digging up the past really help?” Dreyfus asked, his own voice sounding small and childlike.
“I don’t know. But I can’t let you go down there without knowing everything there is to know about the Clockmaker. Ultimately, though, the choice has to be yours.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry I have to do this to you, Tom. If there was any other way in the world…”
He looked at the thin red line etched across her throat like a premonitory scar. “You don’t have anything to apologise for.”
Captain Pell was talking to Thyssen when Dreyfus arrived in the pressurised observation platform overlooking the nose bay. Pell had already been briefed on the general nature of the mission, though not its precise objective.
“We’ll make our approach into the atmosphere just like any other ship on its way to Chasm City,” Dreyfus said. “But once we’re under cover of the clouds, you fly me to the other hemisphere. Can you do that without Aurora picking up our movement?”
“Nothing’s guaranteed,” Pell said. “If we go supersonic, and she happens to have sensors pointed down at the right part of the sky, she may see the disturbance in the atmosphere caused by our Mach cone.”
Dreyfus didn’t welcome the news, but he’d been expecting it. “Then we’ll have to hold subsonic. How long will that take?”
“Eight, nine hours, depending on the trajectory. Too long for you?”
“It’s still faster than using surface transportation, even if I could get closer than Loreanville.”
Pell tapped a stylus at the compad he held in the crook of his arm. “There are some deep canyon systems we can use for cover. I may be able to take us supersonic for brief periods, using the canyon walls to soak up most of our shockwave.”
“Just give me the fastest approach you can consistent with our staying hidden from orbital surveillance.”
“You want me to drop you right on the doorstep of that place?”
Dreyfus shook his head. “I’m not expecting a warm welcome when I get there. You’ll have to assess the terrain and put me down as close as you can without risking detection by anti-ship systems. If that means I have to walk twenty or thirty klicks overland, so be it.”
“It’s your call, Prefect. I’ll try to pick a spot where you’ll have an easy approach.”
“I know you’ll do your best, Captain, but I’m not expecting miracles.” Dreyfus glanced through the nearest window at the waiting form of the cutter, a flint-like wedge of black poised on the end of its launch rack. “Are we good to go?”
Pell nodded. “We can move out as soon as we’re aboard and lashed down.”
“There’s a surface suit aboard?”
“Everything you asked for on the checklist, and as many weapons as Thyssen’s people could cram into the remaining space.”
“I’m hoping it won’t come to a gunfight,” Dreyfus said, “but I’ll take what I can get.”
He was about to board the ship when an internal prefect came rushing into the observation area, braking himself to a halt against a restraining strap.
“Prefect Dreyfus!” the man called. “I’m glad I caught you, sir. We were told you’re shipping out and that you’ll be out of comms range. But you need to hear this before you go.”
“Is it about Thalia?”
The man smiled. “She’s alive, sir. She’s alive and well and she’s managed to get a whole party of Aubusson citizens out of that place.”
“Thank God.” Despite his nerves, Dreyfus couldn’t help smiling as well. “I want to speak to her. Is she back yet?”
“Sorry, sir. We need that deep-system cruiser out there for the time being.”
“But she’s okay?”
“We have reports of minor injuries, sir, nothing worse than that. But Thalia had some bad news for us. It looks like there are no other survivors from Aubusson.”
“None?”
“It wasn’t the decompression, sir. According to Thalia the servitors inside the habitat have been rounding people up and killing them for hours. She doesn’t think anyone else made it through the night.”
“Thank you,” Dreyfus said. “You’ll make sure the supreme prefect is informed, won’t you? If Aubusson is depopulated, she needs to know. It could make all the difference.”
“She already has the intelligence, sir. Is there anything else?”
“Just this: I want you to pass on a message to Thalia Ng when she gets back to Panoply. Tell her I was very pleased to hear that she made it out in one piece. Tell her that I’m very proud of her actions. Tell her that she’s a credit to the organisation, and that I look forward to telling her that in person.”
“I’ll see the message gets through, sir.”
Dreyfus nodded. “You do that for me.”
Pell boarded the cutter first, sealing the flight-deck passwall while Dreyfus attended to the organisation of his suit, weapons and equipment, satisfying himself that everything he had requested was present. It was a more complicated ensemble than could be created by a standard suitwall. There had been no oversights, he was glad to see. If anything, the technicians had stocked more armour and weapons than he could ever have hoped to carry. It was all lashed down or fixed into place via conjured restraints. He resisted the urge to suit-up now; there would be time enough for that during the long subsonic flight to the drop-off point, once they were safely inside Yellowstone’s atmosphere.
Dreyfus felt a tightness in his stomach. It wa
s fear, moving back in like an old lodger.
He felt the cutter move on the rack. He buckled in for launch, wishing he had remembered to shave. His neck hairs rasped against his collar and he could smell his own sweat seeping out of his pores.
His bracelet chimed. It was Jane Aumonier, as he had anticipated.
“They say we should remain out of contact once you’ve cleared Panoply,” she said, “just in case Aurora can eavesdrop on our long-range comms.”
“It’s a sensible precaution.”
“Concerning the matter we discussed, Tom—the document is now available on your compad. There’s also a package under your seat. I had it loaded aboard before you arrived. You’ll know exactly what it is when you open it.”
“I’ve made my decision,” Dreyfus said. He was on the verge of adding something, feeling that he ought to wish Aumonier well, but he did not want to risk her guessing Demikhov’s intentions. “I’ll see you back in Panoply,” he said.
The cutter surged forward. He waited until the vehicle had ramped up to full thrust and then carefully loosened his webbing. He reached under the seat and found the package Aumonier had mentioned. It came loose with a gentle tug. He settled the black box onto his lap, allowing the cutter’s thrust to hold it in place. The box was unfamiliar, but his fingers located a catch and the lid sprang open easily.
Dreyfus examined the contents.
The box contained six boosters of the same basic type that maintained his Pangolin clearance. He took one of them out. The label on the side read: Manticore clearance. To be self-administered by Senior Prefect Tom Dreyfus only. Unauthorised use may result in neurological injury or permanent irreversible death.
He felt as if he was holding a bomb in his hands, and the bomb had just stopped ticking.
“Senior Prefect Dreyfus,” he said, mouthing the words as if there must have been some mistake.
But he knew there hadn’t been.
The thrust sequence ended. The cutter was now in free fall and would remain so until it commenced its braking phase prior to atmospheric insertion. Through the window he’d sketched in the wall upon his arrival, Dreyfus saw that they had already cleared the main orbits of the Glitter Band. Habitats of all shapes and sizes crowded upon each other, sliding silently through space as if they were the ornamented, treasure-bedecked barques and argosies of some marvellous flotilla. The clear space between them, which he knew was at least fifty or sixty kilometres, looked too narrow to allow the passage of a single cutter. He could see now, with a forcefulness that had never really struck him when staring into the Solid Orrery, that it would be the simplest matter in the world for Aurora to spread her infection from state to state. Her weevils had almost no distance to cross. The habitats were stepping stones towards total dominion.
And yet nowhere in his line of sight was there the slightest evidence of the crisis itself. Even if it now encompassed thirty or fifty habitats, including those on the fringe of the evacuation effort, that was still much less than a hundredth of the total number of states under Panoply’s protection. The serene panorama before him looked startlingly normal, like a snapshot of the Glitter Band during the most routine of days. And yet he recalled the swiftness with which Lillian Baudry’s simulation had demonstrated the takeover could spread. No comfort could be extracted from this apparent normality.
Satisfied that the cutter would not be making any high-acceleration swerves for now, Dreyfus replaced the Manticore box beneath his seat and propelled himself through the cabin. He knocked quietly on the passwall before letting himself through into the flight deck.
“Thanks for getting us away in good time, Captain Pell,” he said, before his eyes took in the fact that Pell was not alone on the flight deck. Sitting behind and to his left, in one of the other flight positions, was Sparver.
“Hi, Boss.”
Dreyfus was too stunned to feel anger, or even annoyance that his orders had been disobeyed. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Sparver looked at Pell. “Now, I ask you—is that any way to talk to your deputy?”
Aumonier floated alone, striving to keep her thoughts on the matter at hand rather than Dreyfus’s mission to Yellowstone. She had cleared all but four display facets in her sphere, and had enlarged those until they filled almost the entire facing hemisphere. They showed the four habitats where Thalia Ng had performed the initial upgrade to the polling core software: Carousel New Seattle-Tacoma, the Chevelure-Sambuke Hourglass, Szlumper Oneill and House Aubusson. No contact had been made with any of these states since the installation of the core patch, more than twenty-six hours earlier. All along, Aumonier had assumed that the citizenry were alive and well, albeit under some new and possibly repressive system of government. She had always assumed that if Aurora wished to kill those people, she would achieve it the easy way, by depressurising the habitat or tampering with the life-support in some equally decisive fashion. It was only now that Aumonier realised the fatal flaw in her thinking. Aurora had indeed wanted those people dead: not because she hated them, not because they were capable of derailing her plans, but because they were of no conceivable use to her. And yet, as Thalia’s debriefing testimony made clear, Aurora had been at pains to conceal her murder of the citizenry from the outside world. It had to be done the old-fashioned way, the historical way: not with a single catastrophic release of air or heat, something that would have been detectable from afar, but with the apparatus of state: armed force, applied via her new army of servitors. The citizens had been rounded up, pacified with lies and then executed by machine. And then their remains had been shovelled into bigger machines and conveyed to the matter-consuming furnaces of the manufactories, where they were smelted down and made into parts for other machines.
Aumonier cursed the way Aurora had manipulated her unwillingness to strike against habitats that she still believed contained living citizens. But without Thalia’s escape with her tiny party of survivors, she would still not have known. There was probably no one left alive in any of those four habitats. Even if some survivors had managed to hide or hold out against the machines, Panoply could do nothing for them now.
Well, there was one thing, Aumonier reflected. It could end their torment now, before the machines reached them. It was not much of a kindness, but it was the only one she had left to give.
“Captains Sarasota, Yokosuka, Ribeauville and Gilden. This is Jane Aumonier. You have my permission to open fire on your designated targets.”
This time there was no questioning of her order, no doubt that she meant what she had said.
“Nukes deployed and running,” Gilden said.
“Deployed and running,” Yokosuka reported.
“Deployed and running,” Sarasota and Ribeauville said, in near-unison.
Aumonier closed her eyes before the first flash reached her. Even though she was only seeing a monitor feed, the brilliance of the nuclear explosions—twelve in all, three per habitat—still pushed through her eyelids. She counted twelve pink flashes.
When she opened her eyes, nothing remained of the targets except four slowly expanding nebulae: the atomised, ionised remains of what had once been homes to more than two million of her citizens. There’d been beauty and misery in those habitats, wonder and sadness, every facet of human experience, history reaching back two hundred years. Between one breath and the next all that had been wiped out of existence, like a delirious dream that never happened.
“Forgive us,” she said to herself.
A little later, she received confirmation that the weevil flows from Aubusson and Szlumper Oneill had both been curtailed. The weevils that had been manufactured just before the attack were still crossing space, but their predicted destinations were already subjects of the evacuation effort. Aumonier knew that they would not clear all the citizens out in time, that they would be doing well to remove seventy per cent of them before the weevil contamination infected another habitat. Nothing more could be done, given the limiting bottlenecks
of airlocks and ships and round-trip travel times. Her best people had been on the problem around the clock, and she had no doubt that they had already squeezed the last fraction of a percentile out of that figure. Attempts were now under way to mobilise enough ships to change the orbits of habitats lying beyond Aurora’s current expansion front, but the technical challenge of moving a billion-tonne city state was awesome, and Aumonier knew that this was not a solution she could count on in the long term. At best, it would just take the weevils a little longer to reach their targets.
Her bracelet chimed. She glanced down and saw that it was the call she had been hoping for.
“This is Baudry, Supreme Prefect.”
“Go ahead, Lillian.”
“We’re receiving reports from CTC.” Aumonier heard a catch in Baudry’s voice. “They’re tracking massive ship movements from the Parking Swarm. Dozens of Ultra vessels, Supreme Prefect. Lighthuggers leaving their assigned orbits in the Swarm.”
“Are they leaving the system, Lillian?”
“No.” Baudry sounded flustered. “Some of them, yes. Most of them… no. Most of them appear to be on vectors that will bring them into the Glitter Band.”
“How long until they arrive?”
“Six to seven hours, Supreme Prefect, before the lead vehicles enter Glitter Band airspace. If we are to consider a tactical response, we need to start making arrangements now. Deep-system vehicles will need to be retasked, fuelled and weaponed in readiness—”
“You consider this a hostile gesture?”
“What else could it be? They’ve had designs on control of the Glitter Band for decades. Now that we’re facing a crisis, they’ve seen their moment. They’re going to use the Aurora emergency to stage a takeover of their own.”
“I don’t believe so, Lillian. I actually requested assistance from the Ultras. I sent my plea to Harbourmaster Seraphim. I’d heard nothing from him since Dreyfus’s departure, so I assumed… but I assumed wrongly, I think.” Aumonier paused, conscious that it had been a mistake not to inform the other seniors of her contact with Seraphim. “Have any attempts been made to speak to the incoming ships?”
Aurora Rising Page 51
