Prefect

by Alastair Reynolds

  "At least you remember something."

  "You'll hear the same story from the others." Anthony Theobald peered intently at Dreyfus. "There are others, aren't there?"

  "I can't say. I haven't completed my interviews."

  "Do you intend to question Dravidian?"

  "I'll question anyone I think might have an angle on the attack."

  "You can't let this atrocity go unpunished, Prefect. Something unspeakable happened to Ruskin-Sartorious. Someone must pay for that."

  "I'm pretty sure someone will," Dreyfus said.

  When he had returned the simulation to storage — very much against its wishes — Dreyfus took a minute to note his own thoughts into his compad. Perhaps his clarifying statement concerning his views on beta-levels hadn't helped matters, but he'd sensed an undeniable hostility from the Ruskin-Sartorious patriarch. It would be a mistake to read too much into that, though. No one liked Panoply very much, and the resurrected dead were no exception.

  He invoked the second valid recoverable, opting to take a slightly less harsh tack.

  "Hello, Vernon," Dreyfus said, addressing the younger-looking man who'd just appeared. He had a pleasant, trustworthy face and a headful of tight blond curls. "Welcome to Panoply. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but in case my colleague didn't make it clear, your primary is dead."

  "I gathered," Vernon Tregent said. "I still want to know about Delphine. Your colleague wouldn't tell me anything. Did she make it out? Did you get anything from her beta?"

  "We'll get to that. I just need to clarify something first. I don't mean this to sound hurtful, but there are people who believe in the sanctity of beta-levels, and people who don't, and I'm afraid I'm one of the latter."

  "That's fine," Vernon said, with an easy shrug. "I don't believe in the sanctity of beta-levels either."

  Dreyfus blinked a double-take. "How can you not believe? You are one."

  "But my responses are governed by Vernon's beliefs, as demonstrated on countless occasions. Vernon didn't think beta-levels were anything more than clever simulacra. He was very vocal in that opinion. Hence, I share that view."

  "Good ... " Dreyfus said, less sure of himself. "That'll make life a lot easier." Then some impulse caused him to volunteer more information than he'd normally have considered wise. "We've recovered Delphine. I still have to interview her, but my colleague thinks there'll be enough there to serve as a useful witness."

  Vernon closed his eyes. He raised his chin, as if giving thanks to the blank white infinity that served as a ceiling. "I'm glad. If anyone deserved to get out, it was Delphine. Now tell me what happened."

  "Does the name Dravidian mean anything to you?"

  "If you mean the Ultra captain ... then yes, it means a lot. What happened?"

  "You don't remember?"

  "I wouldn't be asking if I did."

  It was the same story as Anthony Theobald, Dreyfus thought. No memory of the final events because the recording systems hadn't had time to update the beta-level models in the processor cores. "Your habitat was destroyed," he said. "The captain — we'll assume Dravidian gave the order — appears to have decided to slash it open with his engine."

  "Dravidian wouldn't have ... " But Vernon trailed off, as if the very repugnance of the crime was only now hitting home. "I can't believe he'd have done something so vicious, so out-of-proportion. There's no doubt that this happened?"

  "I've crawled over the ruin myself. Forensic evidence is watertight. And one of my other witnesses says that Dravidian didn't like it when the deal went sour."

  Vernon pushed his fingertips against his temples, screwing up his eyes. "I remember that we were close to settling things. Then the message came through ... Delphine received it, I remember."

  "Saying not to trust Dravidian?"

  "Saying we could get a better offer elsewhere. Anthony Theobald was angry, of course: he wanted those funds so badly he was prepared to sell Delphine's art for its scrap value." Vernon clenched his fist in emphasis. "But it was her life's work! She'd put her soul into it. I couldn't stand by and see it sold off for less than a fair price."

  "So you and Delphine decided to break off negotiations."

  "We wished Dravidian no hard feelings."

  "But he didn't take it well."

  "He seemed put out, exasperated, as if he genuinely thought he was offering an honest price for Delphine's art. He said he'd have to think twice about ever doing business with us again. He said that to withdraw from negotiations so late in a discussion was most irregular." Vernon shook his head. "But to go from that to ... destroying Delphine's home ... nothing he said indicated that he was that angry. I mean, there's a difference between angry and murderous. Isn't there?"

  "Less than you'd think."

  "Do you think he did it, Prefect? Do you think Dravidian was capable of this?"

  "Let's get back to Delphine. Was she an artist of some kind?"

  "Some of us thought so."

  "What kind of work?"

  "Sculpture, mostly. Her work was brilliant. She was right to want the best price for it."

  Dreyfus thought back to the face he'd seen carved into the rock drifting through the ruins of Ruskin-Sartorious. He couldn't deny the power of the piece, but there'd been nothing useful about it in the forensics summary.

  "Was she working on anything at the time of the attack?"

  "Well, not literally, but she'd been busy with a big piece for several months. Part of her Lascaille series." The young man shrugged. "It was just a phase she was going through."

  The word 'Lascaille' meant something to Dreyfus, just as he was sure he'd recognised the face in the rock, but neither shed any immediate light on the other. It was only a work of art, but anything that offered a window into Delphine's head might be useful in determining her role in events. He made a mental note to look into the matter later.

  "How did you come to know her?" he asked. "Were you married?"

  "We were supposed to be married. Ruskin-Sartorious was in financial difficulties and Anthony Theobald thought he could solve the Bubble's problems by marrying his daughter off to the son of another habitat. He already had ties to Macro Hektor Industrial: we'd installed his anti-collision defences and he was in debt to us. I was the scion of one of the most powerful family lines within Industrial. Negotiations took place behind our backs. Delphine and I didn't like that very much." He smiled sadly. "But that didn't stop us from falling in love for real."

  "So Anthony Theobald got what he wanted?"

  "Not exactly. My family had expectations that I'd become another partner in the defence-design business. Unfortunately, I had other plans. I decided to leave Industrial, severing ties to both my family and the business, and join Delphine in the Bubble. I'd become inspired by her art, convinced that I might have something of the same genius lying untapped within myself. It took me about three months to realise that I had no undeveloped talent whatsoever."

  "Takes some people a lifetime."

  "But I did realise that I could help Delphine. I decided to become her agent, publicist, broker, whatever you want to call it. That's why I was so reluctant to accept Dravidian's offer."

  "I take it Anthony Theobald wasn't exactly thrilled by either course of events: you severing ties with your rich family, and then souring the Dravidian deal."

  "I sensed some issues there, yes."

  "Do you think he was angry enough to want to kill his own daughter and family?"

  "No. Anthony Theobald and I might not have seen eye to eye, but I knew he loved his daughter. He'd have played no part in this." Vernon Tregent looked intently at Dreyfus. "Why look for another angle, though, when you already have Dravidian?"

  "I'm just making sure I don't miss anything. If you think of something, you'll be sure to tell me, won't you?"

  "Certainly." But then a shadow of suspicion crossed the young man's face. "I'd have to know I could trust you, of course."

  "Why wouldn't you trust me?"


  "How do I know that you're really a prefect, to begin with, or that Ruskin-Sartorious really has been destroyed? For all I know I could have been kidnapped by data-pirates. I don't have any evidence that this is Panoply."

  "Nothing I can show you or tell you will make any difference to that."

  Vernon pondered that for a long while before responding. "I know. And right now I'm not sure I've seen or heard enough to be able to make a sound judgement."

  "If you know anything that could assist in the investigation, you should tell me now."

  "I want to talk to Delphine."

  "Out of the question. You're both material witnesses. I can't have your individual testimonies invalidated by cross-contamination."

  "We're in love, Prefect."

  "Your human counterparts were in love. There's a difference."

  "You really don't believe in us, do you?"

  "Nor do you."

  "But Delphine does. She believes, Prefect. That's all that matters to me." Vernon's eyes seemed to shine right through him. "Crush me, by all means. But don't crush Delphine."

  "Hold invocation," Dreyfus said.

  When the room was empty, Dreyfus retrieved the compad from between his knees and began to organise his thoughts about Vernon, using the ancient stylus entry mode that he favoured. Yet something stilled his hand, however: some tingle of disquiet that he could not ignore. He'd interviewed beta-level simulations on many previous occasions, and he considered himself well versed in their ways. He had never sensed a soul behind the clockwork, and he would not have said that he sensed one now. But something was different. He had never before felt that he had to earn the trust of a beta-level, nor had he ever considered what the earning of that trust might signify.

  One trusted machines. But one never expected machines to return the favour.

  "Invoke Delphine Ruskin-Sartorious," Dreyfus said.

  The woman assumed solidity in the interview room. She was taller than Dreyfus, dressed in a simple white smock and trousers, her sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the trousers rolled to just below the knee, flat white slippers on her feet, arms crossed. She was leaning to one side, weight on one leg, as if waiting for something to happen. She had silver bracelets on her wrists, but no other ornamentation. Her heart-shaped face was plain without being ugly. She had simple, minimalist features, unadorned with cosmetics. Her eyes were a very pale sea-green. Her hair was scrunched back from her brow, tied with what looked like a dirty rag. A few coiled strands had escaped to frame the side of her face.

  "Delphine?" Dreyfus asked.

  "Yes. Where am I?"

  "You're in Panoply. I'm afraid I have very bad news. Ruskin-Sartorious has been destroyed."

  Delphine nodded, as if the news was something she'd been quietly dreading. "I asked your colleague about Vernon. She wouldn't tell me anything, but I read between the lines. I knew it had to be something bad. Did Vernon — "

  "Vernon died. So did everyone else. I'm sorry. But we managed to recover Vernon's beta-level."

  She closed her eyes briefly, reopened them. "I want to speak to him."

  "That isn't possible." Some impulse made Dreyfus add: "Not right now, at any rate. Maybe later. But I need to talk to you alone first. What happened to the Bubble doesn't look like an accident. If it was deliberate, it ranks as one of the worst crimes committed since the Eighty. I want to see justice served. But to do that I need the full cooperation of all surviving witnesses."

  "You said no one survived."

  "All we have are three beta-levels. I think I've begun to piece together what happened, but your testimony will count just as much as the others."

  "If I can help, I will."

  "I need to know what went on right at the end. I understand you were hoping to sell some of your artwork to a third party."

  "Dravidian, yes."

  "Tell me everything you know about Dravidian, starting from the beginning. Then tell me about the art."

  "Why would you care about the art?"

  "It's connected to the crime. I feel I need to know about it."

  "Then that's it? No interest in the art beyond that?"

  "I'm a man of simple tastes."

  "But you know what you like."

  Dreyfus smiled slightly. "I saw that sculpture you were working on — the big one with the face."

  "And what did you think of it?"

  "It unsettled me."

  "It was meant to. Perhaps you're not a man of such simple tastes as you think."

  Dreyfus studied her for several moments before speaking. "You appear to be taking the matter of your death quite lightly, Delphine."

  "I'm not dead."

  "I'm investigating your murder."

  "As well you should — a version of me has been killed. But the one that counts — the one that matters to me now — is the one talking to you. As difficult as it may be for you to accept, I feel completely alive. Don't get me wrong: I want justice. But I'm not going to mourn myself."

  "I admire the strength of your convictions."

  "It's not about conviction. It's about the way I feel. I was raised by a family that regarded beta-level simulation as a perfectly natural state of existence. My mother died in Chasm City, years before I was born from a cloned copy of her womb. I only knew her from her beta-level, but she's been as real to me as any person I've ever known."

  "I don't doubt it."

  "If someone close to you died, would you refuse to acknowledge the authenticity of their beta-level?"

  "The question's never arisen."

  She looked sceptical. "Then no one close to you — no one with a beta-level back-up — has ever died? In your line of work?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Then someone has died?"

  "We're not here to talk about abstract matters," Dreyfus said.

  "I'm not sure I can think of anything less abstract than life and death."

  "Let's get back to Dravidian."

  "I touched a nerve, didn't I?"

  "Tell me about the Ultras."

  But just as Delphine started speaking — the look on her face said she wasn't going to answer his question directly — the black outline of a door appeared in the passwall behind her. The white surface within the outline flowed open enough to admit the stocky form of Sparver, then re-sealed behind him.

  "Freeze invocation," Dreyfus said, irritated that he'd been disturbed. "Sparver, I thought I said that I wasn't to be — "

  "Had to reach you, Boss. This is urgent."

  "Then why didn't you summon me on my bracelet?"

  "Because you'd turned it off."

  "Oh." Dreyfus glanced down at his sleeve. "So I did."

  "Jane told me to pull you out of whatever you were doing, no matter how much you screamed and kicked. There's been a development."

  Dreyfus whispered a command to return Delphine to storage. "This had better be good," he told Sparver when the beta-level had vanished. "I was close to getting a set of watertight testimonies tying the Accompaniment of Shadows to the Bubble. That's all the ammunition I need to take back to Seraphim. He'd have no choice but to hand over the ship then."

  "I don't think you need to persuade him to hand over the ship."

  Dreyfus frowned momentarily, still irked. "What?"

  "It's already on its way. It's headed straight for us."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  When Sparver prodded Dreyfus awake, they'd arrived within visual range of the Accompaniment of Shadows. Dreyfus untangled himself from the hammock webbing and followed his deputy into the spacious flight deck of the deep-system cruiser. Field prefects were authorised to fly cutters, but a ship as big and powerful as the Democratic Circus needed a dedicated team. There were three operatives on the flight deck, all wearing immersion glasses and elbow-length black control gloves. The chief pilot was a man named Pell, a Panoply operative Dreyfus knew and respected. Dreyfus grunted acknowledgement, had Sparver conjure him a bu
lb of coffee, then asked his deputy to bring him up to date.

  "Jane polled on the nukes," the hyperpig said. "We're good to go."

  "What about the harbourmaster?"

  "No further contact with Seraphim, or any other representative of the Ultras. But we do have a shipload of secondary headaches to worry about."

  "Just when I was starting to get used to the ones we already had."

  "Headquarters says there's a storm brewing over Ruskin-Sartorious — the news is beginning to break. Not the full facts — no one else knows exactly which ship was involved — but there are a hundred million citizens out there capable of joining the dots."

  "Are people starting to work out that Ultras had to be involved?"

  "Definite speculation along those lines. A handful of spectators have noticed the drifting ship and are beginning to think it must be tied to the atrocity."

  "Great."

  "In a perfect world, they'd see the ship as evidence that a crime has been committed and that the Ultras have acted with the necessary swiftness, punishing their own."

  Dreyfus scratched at stubble. He needed a shave. "But if this was a perfect world, you and I'd be out of a job."

  "Jane says we have to consider the very real possibility that some parties may attempt unilateral punitive action if they conclude that Ultras were responsible."

  "In other words, we could be looking at war between the Glitter Band and the Ultras."

  "I'm hoping no one will be quite that stupid," Sparver said. "Then again, this is baseline humans we're dealing with."

  "I'm a baseline human."

  "You're weird."

  Captain Pell turned away from the console towards them and flipped up his goggles. "Final approach now, sir. There's a lot of debris and gas boiling off, so I suggest we hold at three thousand metres."

  Pell had turned most of the hull transparent, so that the Accompaniment of Shadows was visible alongside. Something was very wrong with it, Dreyfus observed. The engine spars ended in ragged, splayed stumps of tangled metal and hull plating, with no sign of the engines themselves. It was as if they had been ripped off; amputated. The vessel was crabbing, moving sideways instead of nose-first. The hull itself showed evidence of grave assault: great fissures and sucking wounds where armour had been plucked away to reveal hidden innards; machinery that was now glowing red-hot from some unspecified assault. Coils of blue-grey vapour bled into space, forming a widening spiral trail behind the slowly tumbling wreck.