Terminal World

by Alastair Reynolds

  ‘Technology,’ Tulwar said, as if the word itself had sordid implications.

  ‘I don’t know how or why it works. But I do know that Spearpoint isn’t what we thought. It’s not unique. We found another one in the middle of the Bane - smashed and lifeless, not at all like the city we know. But the underlying structure was unmistakable. Someone made these things for a purpose, and it wasn’t just about giving us somewhere to live. And the tectomancers, the people like Nimcha, were in some way vital to that purpose.’

  ‘Sounds a lot like guesswork to me.’

  ‘Ricasso - Swarm’s leader - and I saw the same symbol, the same baubled star, marked on the side of the structure. It must have been there for thousands of years, unseen by human eyes. Had anyone been able to live there, they would have covered it or worn it away almost as long ago. That’s why we have no record of it here, except via the myth. Had we remembered, things might have been different. Perhaps if we hadn’t been persecuting people like Nimcha for so long - treating them like witches and mad women - we might have got somewhere.’

  ‘Some would say the world works fine as it is, Doctor.’

  ‘For some. But I’ve seen what it’s like beyond Spearpoint, and now Spearpoint’s had a taste of that as well. It can be better, though. Nimcha can put things back the way they were.’

  ‘Before the storm?’ Tulwar asked.

  ‘I’m optimistic. So is Nimcha. The city’s been calling to her, speaking to her on an almost telepathic level. She’s linked to it by some bond, some communicational channel, something that can reach right through zone boundaries as if they don’t exist.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t pretend to understand it, only to accept that it functions.’

  ‘And the city wants what, exactly?’

  ‘Spearpoint - or whatever Spearpoint really is - needs her to take control. Her powers work at a distance, but to be truly effective she needs to be here, as close to the Mire, even the Eye of God, as she can reasonably get.’

  ‘She’s pretty close already,’ Tulwar said.

  ‘It’s not close enough for the city. It needs her to be nearer. I don’t think it’s trying to hurt her, but while she’s not where she needs to be there’s a deep-rooted conflict that’s making her ill. For Nimcha’s own good, I must see that this conflict is resolved. If that also works for the good of Spearpoint, all the better.’

  ‘That’s a lot to take on board, Doctor.’

  ‘If there was another explanation, I’d embrace it willingly. But as I said, I’ve seen what she can do. I haven’t suddenly started believing in witchcraft.’

  ‘Meroka ... is this on the level?’

  ‘As apeshit as it sounds, yes. Cutter’s telling the truth.’

  Tulwar raised a finger, provisionally. ‘Let’s - for the moment - take what you’ve said as gospel. What exactly do you envisage happening next?’

  ‘We get into the tunnels. Meroka knows the way.’ He looked at her, inviting her to take over.

  ‘They go plenty deep enough,’ she said. ‘Be a long walk, but we can manage that. There’s a sub-shaft not far from the launderette entrance - that’ ll take us most of the way down.’

  ‘To the Mire?’ Tulwar asked.

  ‘Near as anyone’s going to get,’ Meroka said.

  ‘It’s the only option,’ Quillon said. ‘We need to take Nimcha into those tunnels, Tulwar. But with the city the way it is now, only you can make that happen.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what will transpire when you take her there.’

  Quillon glanced at Kalis and Nimcha in turn, knowing that neither of them deserved easy consolation. ‘I don’t, no. But if she’s precious to Spearpoint, it stands to reason it won’t want to harm her.’

  ‘And when it’s finished with her?’

  ‘She’ll still be a tectomancer.’ Quillon thought back to the conversation he had had with Ricasso, in the spotter balloon. ‘Once, I think they were the masters. Spearpoint - whatever Spearpoint was - was just the instrument they controlled. The city remembers that. It wants - needs - a guiding hand. It needs a human mind to help it help itself. She’ll still be valuable when the zones are put back the way they should be.’

  ‘This must be done,’ Kalis said.

  ‘You’re willing to see this happen to your daughter?’ Tulwar asked.

  ‘It is her desire as much as it is the city’s,’ Kalis answered. ‘And I have seen how sick the city made her, when she could not answer its call. My mind is clear of doubt.’

  ‘None of this has been taken lightly,’ Quillon said. ‘We’ve had the voyage back to Spearpoint to think it over. Our decision is already made. Now all we need is access to those tunnels.’

  ‘Won’t be a walk in the park,’ Tulwar said.

  ‘Don’t like parks much anyway,’ Meroka said.

  ‘The angels have Circuit City now and they’re making inroads into what used to be Neon Heights. My men are holding them back as well as they can, but Fray’s entrance is slap bang in the middle of the battle.’

  ‘The launderette entrance would make more sense,’ Meroka said.

  ‘No better, I’m afraid. Look, I’m not saying it’s impossible. Just that you’re not going to be able to stroll up to the Pink Peacock without a fight.’

  ‘We’re not afraid of that,’ Quillon said.

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But logistical arrangements will need to be made. When are you thinking of going in?’

  Quillon glanced at Meroka. ‘How does right now sound?’

  ‘Take a look in the mirror some time,’ Tulwar told him. ‘You’re a walking shadow. Matter of fact, you all look like you could use a wash, some food and a decent night’s sleep. Nothing’s happening tonight, understood? I’ll need to clear a safe route to one of the entrances and that means reinforcing my troops. At the moment they’re operating close to one of the new zone boundaries, which means I’m having to cycle them in and out before the sickness gets too bad. But now you’ve shown up with new medicines, I can put more men into the area.’

  ‘The idea was to prioritise distribution to the citizens, not the militia,’ Quillon said.

  ‘Your call. You want access to that tunnel system badly enough, you’re going to have to make some tough choices about resource allocation. Sleep on it.’

  ‘If you issue the medicines, we can go in tomorrow?’ Quillon asked.

  ‘That’ll depend on reports from the front line. If Nimcha - it is Nimcha, right? - is as precious to the city as you claim, I’m not going to commit her to the danger zone until I’ve got a cast-iron guarantee that it’s secure for civilian passage.’ Tulwar paused. ‘I’ll do what I can, all right? But tonight you rest here. Now someone go and bring Kargas and the stoker back in again.’

  ‘What we’ve spoken of,’ Quillon said. ‘It stays a secret, understood? You know about the superstition surrounding tectomancers. We can’t risk anyone finding out about Nimcha.’

  ‘Nothing goes beyond this room. Kargas will have to know about the plans for entering the tunnel, but he doesn’t need to know why. How many of Swarm know about this?’

  ‘By the time we got to Spearpoint? Only a few people. Their leader, Ricasso; Painted Lady’s captain, Curtana; Curtana’s second-in-command, Agraffe. They’re all people I’d trust with my life.’

  ‘Must have been hard work, keeping a lid on that. But then I suppose you’ve had lots of practice, Doctor Quillon, you being what you are. I’m assuming your companions know all about you.’

  ‘They’ve accepted me for what I am.’

  ‘Better hope the rest of the city follows their lead, because you’re starting to stand out from the crowd.’

  ‘I’m fortunate to be alive. I’ll take whatever else is dished out to me.’

  There was a knock at the doors. After a moment they opened, admitting Kargas. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ he said, ‘but they’ve brought Captain Curtana to the bathhouse. She survived the fire.’

  Quillon smiled, momentarily relieved, bu
t there was an edge in Kargas’s voice that he couldn’t ignore. ‘But she’s not unhurt.’

  ‘You’d best see for yourself, Doctor. I’ve had her taken to the same floor as the other injured airmen. The good news is that she managed to get almost all of the medicine out in time.’

  ‘Good, Kargas,’ Tulwar said. ‘You were right to bring this to our attention. I’m sure the doctor will want to be with Captain Curtana. We’d concluded our discussion in any case. It was very illuminating. Now would you be so kind as to order the organmaster to return? I need more steam. And while he’s at it, have him change the God-damned tune; it’s starting to piss me off even more than usual.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Quillon, Meroka, Kalis and Nimcha ascended to the makeshift infirmary on the next floor, passing demure girls and sweating, sheepish clients on their way upstairs. It was dark outside now, with barely any sign that the city extended beyond the black panes of the windows. No lights, no fires, not even the subliminal urban hum of distant traffic and commerce, blocks or districts away. It felt exactly as if the bathhouse was afloat on a still, black sea, countless leagues from land and civilisation.

  ‘Do you trust this man?’ Kalis asked when they were safely out of earshot.

  ‘I see no option but to trust him,’ Quillon said. ‘If Tulwar meant to betray us, he could have done so the last time we met. We can’t always choose our allies, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Cutter’s got a point. Man helped us get out of Spearpoint.’

  ‘What happened to him, to make him the way he is?’

  ‘He got on the wrong side of the angels. And that, at least, gives us something in common.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Meroka said.

  ‘We may not like it, but it makes perfect sense for his militia to get the drugs ahead of everyone else. If it’s that or see the city slide even further into chaos, the militia must take priority.’ Quillon gave an awkward, self-justifying shrug. ‘In any case, it’s not as if we brought enough Serum- 15 on Painted Lady to make more than a token difference to the citizens anyway. Mass treatment will have to wait until the other ships arrive. It’s best that the limited supply we have now is given to those who can make the best use of it.’

  ‘You say this, but you do not believe it in your heart.’

  Quillon paused on the staircase, bile rising in his throat. ‘What do you want me to say? That I don’t think we should do everything we can to get Nimcha where she needs to be? I’m not superhuman, Kalis. No one handed me written instructions on how to do the right thing by you, Nimcha, the city and her millions of citizens. I’m just trying to do my best, without a script, without any real idea who I can and can’t trust, and in the sure and certain knowledge that I’ll be torn limb from limb by just about anyone who discovers my true nature.’

  Kalis looked down. ‘I did not mean to criticise.’

  He made an effort to soften his tone. ‘This hasn’t been easy for any of us, not least you and Nimcha. But if you don’t think I can get you the rest of the way, you only have to tell me to stop trying to help and I’ll gladly step aside. I’m sure there are thousands of sick people out there I could be treating this very moment, instead of trying to heal Spearpoint itself.’

  ‘You are doing the right thing,’ Kalis said.

  ‘Yes,’ Nimcha added. ‘Please don’t leave us, Doctor. I don’t want to go into the tunnels without you.’

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ Meroka said, giving her an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

  ‘I do not know how far you will be able to come with us,’ Kalis said. ‘Even if you want to.’

  ‘As far as the city lets me,’ Meroka said. ‘That’s my promise to you.’

  ‘The same goes for me,’ Quillon added.

  ‘As our doctor?’ Nimcha asked.

  ‘As your friend.’ He paused and added, ‘And doctor, of course. You don’t get away from my medical services that easily. Speaking of which, we really should be on our way to see Curtana and the others.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ Nimcha asked.

  ‘I expect so,’ he said.

  But there was a tightening knot of trepidation in his chest as he answered.

  An entire floor had been given over to the sick and wounded, with the patients spread throughout several rooms. Quillon collected his medical bag at the door to the largest, where it had been placed on a table waiting for him. The news was both better and worse than he had been expecting. Worse, because there were many more men and women who had received injuries of varying severity when the fires took Painted Lady. Better, because Agraffe’s wounds were superficial, and better still because Curtana was not as badly burned as he had feared. They had placed her in a small room adjoining one of the larger rooms, a windowless chamber with a paper lantern hanging from the ceiling and elegant lacquerwork designs on the walls. Agraffe was there already, his hands bandaged, his cheekbones sooty, his eyebrows and downy effort at a beard singed, but otherwise unhurt.

  ‘How are you?’ Quillon asked, casting a critical eye over Agraffe’s dressings.

  ‘Burned my hands climbing down one of the ladders, but other than that I got off pretty lightly.’ He looked down at the white-bandaged balls at the ends of his wrists. ‘There are people here who know basic medicine - I think they’ve been looking after Tulwar’s militia. They think I’ll keep the use of my hands, although I have a feeling I’ll probably need grafts.’ Agraffe managed a philosophical smile. ‘Whether anyone can perform grafts now is something I’d rather not think about.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find a way.’

  Curtana had not been quite so fortunate. Quillon imagined her staying on the gondola until the bitter end, until there wasn’t a medical crate left to unload.

  ‘She wouldn’t leave,’ Agraffe said. ‘Not until the last of the supplies were unloaded. By then half the gondola was on fire and the flame-retardant on the envelope was dripping off like hot wax. There were dead airmen on the floor, citizens and airmen screaming from their injuries. One of the connecting bulkheads jammed shut when the airship re-settled. In the confusion we lost contact with each other. I got out thinking I was the last one alive. I didn’t realise she was still aboard.’ He shook his head in regret and frustration. ‘If I’d known—’

  ‘There’s no sense in thinking like that. You both stayed aboard long after I did. As far as I’m concerned, neither of you has anything to prove about your courage, least of all to me.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll be all right? They haven’t told me much.’ Quillon appraised the unconscious form of the airship captain. ‘Has she woken?’

  ‘She was awake when they brought her here but they gave her something to put her under. She said she didn’t need anything, but I knew she was in pain.’

  Her right arm was bandaged from hand to elbow, her left to the shoulder. Another bandage encircled her head, covering her ears and forehead. Her hair spilled messily over the dressing. She breathed shallowly, lying on her side with her face turned away from her visitors. ‘Is that the extent of her wounds?’ Quillon asked quietly.

  ‘I think so.’

  Quillon set his medical bag by the side of the bed, opened it and sifted through the compartments for a pair of tweezers. Without waking Curtana - whatever they had given her had put her into deep unconsciousness - he began to undo the dressing on her left arm, peeling back the bandage to inspect the skin underneath. It was raw, but he did not think the burn had reached deeper than the surface tissue layers. Suspending judgement until he had examined the rest of her, he removed the dressing and applied a sterile salve from his bag. Then he called for a fresh bandage and wrapped the arm again. He repeated the procedure for the other arm. There were patches where the burn was more serious, but nothing that he considered life-threatening. There would be scarring, certainly, but he did not think grafts were warranted. He applied the salve, redid the dressing and began cautiously to examine her head wounds, breathing a private sigh of
relief as he saw that the burns were not serious.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said in a near-whisper. ‘I don’t doubt that she was in pain, but she was also exhausted to the point of collapse from commanding the ship. If they gave her something to keep her asleep, they did well.’

  Curtana stirred and murmured something. For a moment he thought she was returning to consciousness; but the moment passed and she subsided into restful silence.

  ‘Thank you,’ Agraffe said, attempting to clasp his bandaged hands together in his lap.

  ‘You say most of the medicine was saved?’

  ‘All but a couple of crates that caught fire or smashed. The rest, as far as I know, made it here intact. We’ll need to run a proper inventory, of course, and make sure we’ve got enough clean water for the dilution. Have you spoken to Tulwar about the distribution programme?’

  ‘That and the, um, other matter.’

  ‘He speaks of Nimcha,’ Kalis said, still standing by the door with her daughter in front of her.

  ‘How did Tulwar take it?’

  ‘Surprisingly well, all things considered,’ said Quillon. ‘He needed less persuasion than I’d expected. The medicines will be distributed fairly, with the advance supplies going to militia. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I see no alternative. If the militia can hold back the angels in what used to be Neon Heights, we can get Nimcha into the tunnels.’

  ‘And Tulwar understands what’ll happen then?’

  ‘I’ve told him what she can do,’ Quillon answered. ‘I’ll leave it to him to work through the consequences. If all goes well, we may leave as early as tomorrow. I pushed for it to happen sooner, but Tulwar wasn’t having it.’

  ‘I’m sure you did your best. Any news on Iron Prominent, or the rest of Swarm?’

  ‘Not since we landed.’

  ‘Most of the ships don’t have medicine, so there’s no sense throwing them against the Skullboys, or risking a high-altitude approach. The others won’t come in until the ground resistance has been at least partially neutralised - and that’s not going to happen tonight.’