Terminal World

by Alastair Reynolds

  ‘And if she doesn’t think I’m trustworthy?’

  ‘You’ll be lucky to see Swarm, I’m afraid.’ He glanced back down at the work his hands were doing. ‘There’s no one I’d rather serve under than Captain Curtana. She’s the bravest woman I’ve ever known, and the best airship commander in Swarm. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about dirigible flight. But she’ll do whatever she deems necessary to protect this ship and bring her crew back alive.’

  ‘Up to and including disposing of her clients?’

  ‘I’ve known her take far colder decisions than that, and not lose a minute’s sleep afterwards. And she’s right, as well. Too much depends on us. There’s no law out here except Swarm. We’re all that’s holding back the darkness.’

  ‘There’s always Spearpoint.’

  ‘Just a city, Doctor. That’s all. It may be the last city, but it’s not the world. And the world is what’s at stake now.’

  ‘You make us sound like parasites, leeching away at a dying patient while Swarm struggles to keep it alive.’

  ‘That’s how most of us see it.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m prepared to see things in a different light.’ Gambeson looked at Quillon with a thin smile. ‘I’ll need persuasion, of course ... rigorous proof. One doesn’t take such things lightly.’

  The doors opened and two airmen brought in another patient, cradling the slumped and bloodied form between them. The injured airman wore a heavy coat, a helmet and goggles covering most of the face. ‘Took a shot in the shoulder!’ one of the men said, lifting the lifeless form onto the only vacant bunk in the room, laying it on sheets that were still sodden and stained from the last patient. ‘Fell back against the gondola and knocked herself out.’

  ‘It’s Meroka,’ Quillon said numbly, as the helmet was removed from the unconscious form. Even from the other side of the room he could see that her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow.

  ‘Captain gave her permission to use one of the fixed-mount spinguns,’ the airman explained. ‘She was giving it hell, too. Took out at least two Skullboy gunners, from what we could see.’

  ‘I knew she’d prove her worth,’ Quillon said.

  ‘Do you want to attend to her?’ Gambeson said, tying off the bandage he was applying. ‘I can take over your patient now.’

  ‘It might be for the best if you look after her. She certainly won’t thank me for touching her.’

  ‘She won’t know, either.’ Something shifted in Gambeson’s expression. ‘In fact I insist on it. You’re my colleague now, Doctor Quillon. I authorise you to treat this patient.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He could not have said precisely when the engagement ended, but there came a point when he realised that the airship had been flying smoothly for some time, and that it had also been some while since he had heard a discharge from any of her weapons. The cloying fog had dispersed, although it was now far too dark to see any surface features.

  ‘We’re in the Night Maze now,’ Gambeson said, when he queried the other physician as to their position. ‘The captain knows this landscape better than the back of her hand, and she likes nothing better than the challenge of dead reckoning, nosing her way through canyons with only a map, gyroscope and starlight for guidance. She’s very good at this sort of thing. Mark my word: by morning she’ll have shaken the Skullboys off our tail.’

  ‘Is that the last we’ll see of them?’

  ‘For now. They don’t usually come east of the Three Daughters, or west of the Long Gash. It’s all too close to the Bane, which is about the only thing that frightens them.’ He was using the dregs of a bottle of sterilising solution to clean his fingers. ‘You did well, Doctor Quillon. I’ll personally vouch for the fact that you saved lives in this room.’

  ‘I hope someone vouches for Meroka as well.’

  ‘No need, I suspect. The crew will respect anyone who shoots down a Skullboy, no matter where they’re from. Taking a bullet won’t have hurt her cause either.’

  Meroka was still unconscious. The bullet had gone clean through her shoulder without damaging any major structures, but the wound had still been deep and required thorough cleansing. They would need to be on guard against sepsis now. He did not think she had suffered any serious head trauma after falling - it was just shock and exhaustion taking their toll now - but he was also quietly relieved that she had not yet woken.

  The engagement heralded a change in the status of the new clients. Quillon was allocated a bunk in one of the small storage rooms near the chart room. He was still not at liberty to wander the airship freely, but it was a definite improvement on the earlier arrangements. With Meroka still in sickbay - barring any other complications, she would remain there for the remainder of the journey - Kalis and Nimcha had the tail-end compartment to themselves. The battle damage had been repaired in a makeshift fashion, and when he visited them he found that they had been given extra clothes and bedding to fend off the cold.

  ‘I think we’ll be all right now,’ he said, when he was certain no one was listening. ‘Meroka was hurt, but I’m certain she’ll make a good recovery. As for the rest of the crew, they seem to be willing to accept that we mean them no harm.’

  ‘They will not accept Nimcha if they learn what she is,’ Kalis said quietly, her daughter sleeping on the bunk, her form barely discernible under blankets.

  ‘Then we’ll just have to make sure they don’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve done my best to convince Gambeson that neither of you requires any medical attention. Given everything else on his hands, I doubt he’ll trouble you now.’

  ‘And later?’

  He could only offer the truth, as disheartening as it was. ‘I have no idea what will happen to us when we reach Swarm. I don’t even know exactly what Swarm is, or how they’ll welcome us. But I can guarantee something. I’m always going to be the one who will draw their attention, if it comes to that. Nimcha looks like an innocent girl. I look like a freak.’

  She nodded slowly, perhaps wary of agreeing. ‘Will you be all right?’

  It was, as far as he was able to recall, the first time Kalis had shown any concern for his welfare.

  ‘I’m adaptable.’

  ‘You have been kind to us, Cutter.’

  He realised that she thought that was his name, after hearing Meroka use it so many times. ‘Quillon,’ he said. ‘And no, I haven’t been kind. I’ve just done what any decent human being would do. Even one with wings.’

  He saw that part of Nimcha’s blanket had slipped off and bent down to gather it up. She murmured something in her sleep, then turned slightly on the bench. She seemed restful, not at all in the grip of night terrors. He felt a gush of intense protectiveness towards her, but at the same time he sensed that he was close to a ticking bomb. She was just a girl. But if he had harboured any doubts before, he now believed with the utmost conviction that there was a power in her head that could remake the world, and just as easily shatter it again.

  Somewhere near midnight he was summoned to Captain Curtana’s private quarters. They were alone. She dismissed the attending airman as soon as he had delivered Quillon to her door.

  ‘Have a seat, Doctor. You can take those goggles off now. How you see through them I don’t know, but Gambeson tells me you did sterling work.’

  ‘I’m glad he was satisfied.’

  ‘I suppose I can’t rule out some ulterior motive for saving lives, but I confess at the moment it’s escaping me what it might be. You have my personal gratitude.’ There was a bottle of amber-coloured liquid on her desk, accompanied by a pair of small, wide-bottomed glasses. ‘Do you drink? It may seem a silly question, but I have no idea what kind of tolerance is the norm amongst angels, or whether such a tolerance would apply to one such as you.’

  ‘I drink.’ He corrected himself. ‘Or rather, I may drink, for now at least. Alcohol doesn’t affect me, but I still have taste buds.’

  She poured a measure of the liquid into ea
ch of the glasses, finishing the bottle. ‘To your health, then, Doctor Quillon.’

  He took the glass and sipped at it. It tasted the way he imagined firesap tasted, the aviation fuel that was distilled from some kind of wood secretion or resin: viscous and fiery, with a metallic finish.

  The room was very small. The desk was designed to fold back into the wall when not in use. He presumed there was a folding bed somewhere in the room as well, although for now it was well disguised. There were a few shelves, and a number of technical-looking books, their spines printed with the angular, old-fashioned script that he now recognised as the written form of Swarmish. Almost no other signs of personalisation, save for a couple of framed black and white photographs. Both of them showed the same man, though he was younger in one than in the other, his hair and moustache dark where the older man’s were white. He wore an airman’s uniform in both pictures, with many medals or signifiers of rank on the chest: almost as many when he was young as when he was older. In the earlier picture he was standing on the ground with an airship looming behind him, most of it out of shot. In the other he was caught in a stiff, overly formal posture at the wheel, looking distinctly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention.

  Quillon ventured, ‘I think I recognise that ship. Was that man one of Painted Lady’s former captains?’

  ‘You’re very observant, Doctor. That’s a useful trait amongst spies.’

  ‘And amongst doctors.’

  ‘Touché.’ She drank from her own glass, finishing it in one gulp. ‘Actually, I don’t think you’re a spy. A spy would do everything possible not to draw attention to himself, and he certainly wouldn’t have gone to such involved lengths to get aboard my ship.’

  ‘That’s something of a relief.’

  ‘Nor is it very likely that you’re a saboteur. You’ve had opportunity, and you haven’t acted. Perhaps you’re saving yourself for some devilish masterstroke, but I’m inclined to think otherwise.’

  ‘I’m not a saboteur. Or a spy. You can eliminate my friends from similar suspicions while you’re at it.’

  ‘I don’t need to. The fact that Meroka was last seen trying to kill you rather rules her out of suspicion, I think. Unless it’s all some incredibly cunning ruse to get us off our guard, but ... I don’t think so.’ Curtana smiled guardedly. ‘Now all I have to do is persuade Commander Spatha, and we’ll be home and dry.’

  ‘You’re in charge of this ship, aren’t you?’

  ‘Technically.’

  ‘Then why do you need to persuade him of anything? Doesn’t he have to listen to you, not the other way around?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. Spatha isn’t part of my regular crew. He’s been foisted on me to keep me and my crew in line.’ Curtana looked regretfully at the bottle she had poured from. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but you’re going to find out sooner or later anyway so you may as well hear it now. Swarm’s undergoing one of its periodic spasms. For years there’s been little or no challenge to Ricasso’s rule, but that’s all changing. Look, we’re not a democracy, all right? Democracies are fine and noble things when you’ve got all the time in the world to make your decisions. In the air ... not how it works. You need one hand on the wheel, someone you can trust absolutely. That’s Ricasso. He was a captain once, and the other captains decided they wanted him to take all the big decisions. Just the captains, not the citizenry. When Ricasso says something, there’s this thing we do called the show-of-flags, but it’s not really a vote. It’s a show of confidence. Actually it’s not even that, because it’s more ceremonial. And it never, ever goes against Ricasso. Until recently.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Some captains started getting ideas above their station, is what. There are about twenty of them, all told. Ghost Moth is the figurehead, although Spatha - who isn’t even a captain - is the one really pulling the strings. Together with the dissenting captains, it looks like they’re trying to engineer Ricasso’s fall from power.’

  ‘What have they got against him?’

  ‘Ricasso plays the long game. He’s repeatedly shied away from direct confrontation with the Skullboys, saying we’d be better off consolidating our power, improving our flexibility, developing improved forms of zone tolerance, before tackling them. They think he’s too soft.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘They forget what an iron-spined bastard he can be when the cause is right. Truth to tell, so do I sometimes. Ricasso’s content to hold the Skulls at bay, picking off the odd one here and there instead of declaring all-out war.’

  ‘Whereas Spatha and the others don’t agree.’

  ‘They’ve managed to draw concessions from Ricasso. He’s still in charge, and he still has majority support. But the minority - the Ghost Moth dissenters - have chipped away at some of his power. Show-of-flags is now binding on all decisions - it’s not just some ceremonial rubber-stamping like it used to be. Ricasso’s been allowed to pursue his interests, and not take Swarm into direct and deliberate confrontation with the enemy. In return, the dissenters have pushed through rearmament of dozens of ships, sticking guns and armour on anything with a gasbag and an engine. Everything’s become more disciplinarian than it used to be. We used to be very lax about rank and uniforms. I mean, we took airmanship seriously - you have to, out in one of these ships - but that’s not the same thing. Now it’s all rigid command hierarchies, saluting your superiors, war-readiness exercises, courts martial ...’ She shook her head in abject disgust. ‘I don’t know where it’s all going. What I do know is that anyone even suspected of having sympathies with Ricasso is now under special observation by Spatha and his dissenters. They’ve put security officers on our ships, spying turd-sucking scabs like Spatha himself.’ Curtana looked momentarily rueful. ‘I’ve said too much, haven’t I?’

  ‘Merely clarified your feelings. I find it helps.’

  ‘Helps if you know which side I’m on, that’s for sure. Here’s the thing, though, Doctor. I very much want to believe everything you’ve told me. I want to be able to accept you for what you say you are. But I’ve got a tiny, nagging problem.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Doctor Gambeson. He’s been with me for years. Knows Ricasso like a brother. Isn’t a man on this ship whose counsel I’d trust over his. And Gambeson tells me he’s fairly certain that you’re still lying about something.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘It was much too pat, the way you presented yourself to him. You could have kept your secret much longer, but you seemed in almost indecent haste to reveal it to us. It was almost as if you wished to provide a distraction, to deflect Gambeson’s professional interest. You gave him a puzzle that you knew - or at least suspected - that he’d find impossible to ignore.’

  ‘I can’t help what I am,’ Quillon said.

  ‘No, and no one’s saying you aren’t an object of genuine fascination. But when Gambeson comes to me with a hunch like that, I am compelled to listen. And he tells me that he thinks you’re protecting one of the others.’ She raised a finger, rebuffing any attempt he might have made to interject. ‘His instincts may or may not be correct. He’s also told me that he doesn’t think you present an immediate threat to the security of either this ship or Swarm. In truth, I think he likes you, or at least would like the chance to spend more time talking to you. But understand one thing, Doctor: if deception is being practised here, I will learn of it sooner or later. I need hardly add that I would act in any way that I saw fit, with the full authority of command behind me. I would also not be responsible for any interest that Commander Spatha might choose to take in you from that point on.’

  ‘He’s already showing interest.’

  ‘Believe me, you haven’t seen the half of it.’

  Quillon reflected on what he was being told. There was, he supposed, an outside chance that this was all some psychological gambit cooked up between the captain and her security officer, designed to lull him into sharing every
thing with Curtana. His instincts, however, told him that she was being entirely frank.

  ‘I am hiding nothing,’ he assured her.

  ‘I hope that’s the case, Doctor. For both our sakes.’

  There was a lull. He wondered if this warning was the sole purpose of the conversation. ‘What will happen to us when we reach Swarm?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘You’ll be evaluated. I’ve already told you that we believe in giving newcomers a chance to prove their worth. Doctor Gambeson’s doubts aside, you could have done worse than you have. The same can be said for Meroka. She took a bullet for us, and I won’t let that go unmentioned.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be delighted.’

  ‘You’re not defending her, by any chance? The impression I got from Gambeson was that she was on the point of slicing you open.’

  ‘Meroka was just making a point, that’s all.’

  Curtana nodded as if she had just had some lingering prejudice confirmed. ‘In other words, you Spearpointers will stick by each other to the bitter end.’

  ‘Tell me the same isn’t true in Swarm, Captain.’

  ‘No, you’re probably right.’ She conceded his point wearily, as if her appetite for argument had just run out. ‘You realise you’ll probably never see it again, don’t you? The Godscraper? Do you still call it that?’

  ‘Some of us. But I confess I haven’t thought much further ahead than tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Not unwise, under the circumstances. The fact is, though, that we very rarely come within three hundred leagues of Spearpoint, and we usually don’t even venture into the same hemisphere. It has nothing to offer us, and we have nothing to offer it in return.’

  ‘Things might be different now,’ Quillon said.

  ‘Because of a little storm? I don’t think so. It’s changed their world more than it’s changed ours. When the zones shift, we shift with them. Spearpoint’s fatal weakness is that it’s never had that flexibility. It’s an evolutionary dead end; a form that can’t adapt.’