The Prefect (42 page)

The deep-system cruiser Universal
Suffrage
sat in its berthing cradle, ready to be pushed out of the hangar into space. Final preparations were under way, with just the latter phases of fuelling and armament still to be completed. The midnight-black wedge of the ninety-metre-long vehicle was offset by the luminous markings delineating general instructions and warnings, power and fuel umbilical sockets, sensor panels, airlocks and weapons and thruster vents. Only when the cruiser was under way would these lines and inscriptions fade back into the absolute blackness of the rest of the hull. Conferring with the pilot, Dreyfus had already worked out an approach strategy. They would come in fast, tail-first, and execute a last-minute high-burn deceleration. It would be bone-crushingly hard, but the cruiser was built to tolerate it and the prefects would be protected by quickmatter cocoons. A slower approach would give Aubusson's anti-collision weapons too great a chance of achieving a target lock.

Satisfied with the status of the ship, Dreyfus pushed his way out of the observation gallery into the armoury, where the other prefects were being issued with Model B whiphounds. He checked the time. Any minute now, the polling results should be in. He'd listened to Baudry's speech and didn't think anyone could have made a better case without galvanising the entire Glitter Band into mass panic. She'd walked a delicate line with commendable skill.

But sometimes the best case wasn't good enough.

Set into one wall was a wide glass panel, oval in shape, with burnished silver pads on either side of it. Behind the panel, set into padded recesses and arranged like museum pieces, was a small selection of the weapons Panoply agents were no longer permitted to carry. There were vastly more weapons hidden from view, waiting to be rolled into place. All were matt-black and angular, devoid of ornamentation or aesthetic fripperies. Some of them were handguns scarcely more lethal than whiphounds. The heaviest weapons, Dreyfus knew, were fully capable of cutting through the skin of a typical habitat.

Baudry and Crissel had just arrived, stationing themselves at either side of the oval window. They each carried one of a pair of heavy keys that needed to be inserted into the pads on either side of the window and then turned simultaneously.Only seniors carried the keys, and it took two seniors to unlock the extreme-contingencies weapons.

‘The vote's in?' Dreyfus asked.

‘Just a few seconds,' Baudry told him. Most of the field prefects had filed out of the room now, to take their positions aboard the Universal Suffrage. Only a handful were still dealing with their armour, or waiting to receive weapons. 'Here it comes,' she said, the set of her jaw tensing in anticipation.

Dreyfus glanced down at the summary data spilling across his bracelet read-out, but it wasn't necessary to see the result for himself. Baudry's expression told him all he needed to know.

‘Voi,' Crissel said, shaking his head in dismay. ‘I can't believe this!'

‘There's got to be a mistake,' Baudry said, mumbling the words as if in a trance.

‘There isn't. Forty-one per cent against, forty per cent for, nineteen per cent abstentions. We lost by one per cent!'

Dreyfus checked the numbers on his bracelet. There had been no error. Panoply had been refused the right to bear arms. ‘There was always a chance,' he said. ‘If House Aubusson hadn't dropped off the network, they might even have swung it for us.'

‘I'll go back to the people,' Baudry said. ‘The statutes say I can table another poll.'

‘It won't make any difference. You made your point excellently the first time. No one could have argued our case more effectively without inciting system-wide panic.'

‘I say we just dispense them,' Crissel said. ‘There's no technical reason why we need a majority vote. The keys will still work.'

Dreyfus saw the tendons on the back of Crissel's hand standing proud as he readied himself to twist the key.

‘Maybe you're right,' Baudry said. There was a kind of awestruck horror in her voice, as if she was contemplating the execution of a glamorous crime. ‘These are exceptional circumstances, after all. We've lost four habitats. We can't rule out wider polling anomalies, either. We'd be within our rights to disregard that poll.'

‘Then why did you bother tabling it?' Dreyfus asked.

‘Because I had to,' Baudry said.

‘Then you have to do what the people say, too. And the people say no guns.'

Crissel was almost pleading now. ‘But these are exceptional times. Rules can be waived.'

Dreyfus shook his head at the senior. ‘No, they can't. The reason this organisation exists in the first place is to make sure the democratic apparatus functions smoothly, without error, bias or fraud. Those are the rules we hold everyone else accountable to. We'd better make damn sure we hold ourselves to the same standards.'

Baudry tilted her head in the direction of the
Universal Suffrage.
‘Even if it means going out there with nothing but whiphounds?'

Dreyfus nodded solemnly. ‘Even that.'

‘Now I understand why Jane never promoted you above field,' Baudry said, before shooting a conspiratorial glance at Crissel. ‘But you're outranked here, Tom. Michael and I have the keys, not you. On three.'

‘On three,' Crissel said. ‘One... two... and turn.'

Their hands twisted in unison. A mechanism clunked behind the wall and the oval window slid ponderously aside. The visible weapons emerged from their recessed partitions, pushed out on chromed metal rods. Crissel retrieved a medium-size rifle, sighted along its slab-sided, vent-perforated flanks and then propelled it through the air to Dreyfus.

Dreyfus caught it easily. The weapon felt both reassuring and totally wrong. ‘I can't do this,' he said.

‘It isn't your call. Senior prefects have just issued you with appropriate ordnance.'

‘But the vote—'

‘The vote went our way,' Crissel said. ‘That's what I'm telling you now. I'm expressly instructing you to disregard any information you might have received to the contrary.'

‘This is wrong.'

‘And you've said your piece,' Baudry said, ‘stated your fine and noble principles. Now take the damned weapons. Even if you won't carry one, Tom, you can at least equip those other prefects. We'll take the fall for this when the dust settles. Not you.'

The weapon felt snug in his hands, solid and trustworthy. Take it, a small voice implored.
For the sake of the other prefects, and the hostages in House Aubusson. How likely is it that the eight hundred thousand people in House Aubusson give a damn about democratic principles now?

‘I'll—' Dreyfus began.

But he was cut off by the arrival of a new voice. ‘Let go of the weapon, please. Let it float away from you.'

It was Gaffney, accompanied by a phalanx of Internal Security prefects, all of whom were wearing an unusual amount of body armour, with whiphounds unclipped and partially deployed.

‘What's this about?'

‘Easy, Tom. Just let the weapon go. Then we can talk.'

‘Talk about what?'

‘The weapon, Tom. Nice and easy.'

Dreyfus had no use for the rifle. Even if there had been an ammo-cell clipped into it, he was hardly going to open fire so close to the docking bay. But it still took a measure of self-control to let it drift out of his fingers.

‘What's going on?' Baudry asked.

Gaffney clicked his gloved fingers at the pair of field prefects still waiting to clear the armoury. ‘Get aboard the ship,' he said.

‘She asked a civil question,' Dreyfus said.

‘Field Prefect Tom Dreyfus,' Gaffney said, before the stragglers had cleared the room, ‘you are under arrest. Please surrender your whiphound.'

Dreyfus didn't move. ‘State the terms of my arrest,' he said.

‘Your whiphound, Tom. Then we can talk.'

‘My name's Dreyfus, you sonofabitch.' But he still unclipped the whiphound and let it drift after the rifle.

‘I think you'd better explain,' Crissel said.

Gaffney appeared to have trouble clearing his throat. His eyes were wide, pugnacious, brimming with an almost religious rage. ‘He's let the prisoner escape.'

Baudry's look sharpened. ‘You mean Clepsydra, the Conjoiner woman?'

‘Prefect Bancal visited her cell about ten minutes ago and found the cell empty. Mercier was called immediately: Bancal assumed that the doctor had moved her back to the clinic for medical reasons. Mercier hadn't, though. She's gone.'

‘I want her found, and fast,' Crissel said. ‘But I don't see why Dreyfus is automatically assumed-'

‘I checked the access logs,' Gaffney said. ‘Dreyfus was the last one to see her before she vanished.'

‘I didn't release her,' Dreyfus said, directing his answer at the other two seniors, not Gaffney. ‘And how could I have got her out of that room even if I'd wanted to?'

‘We'll figure that out in due course,' Gaffney said. ‘What matters is that you weren't happy about her being locked up in there, were you?'

‘She's a witness, not a prisoner.'

‘A witness who can see through walls. That makes a difference, don't you think?'

‘Where could she be?' Baudry asked.

‘She has to be still inside Panoply. No ships have come or gone since Dreyfus's return. Needless to say, I've initiated a level-one search. We'll find her soon enough.' Gaffney touched a hand to his sweat-tangled hair. ‘She may be a Conjoiner, but she sure as hell isn't invisible.'

‘You're wrong about this,' Dreyfus said. ‘Clepsydra was there when I left her. I sent Sparver to check on her. Why would I do that if I'd set her free?'

‘We can worry about the how and why of it later,' Gaffney answered. ‘The access logs leave no doubt that Dreyfus was the last one in her cell before she disappeared.'

‘I want a forensic search of that room.'

‘I insist on it,' Gaffney said. ‘Now, are you going to make a scene, or can we do this like responsible adults?'

‘It's you,' Dreyfus said, with the feeling that he'd just got the punchline to a long, drawn-out joke, hours after everyone else.

‘Me?' Gaffney asked, looking perplexed.

‘The mole. The traitor. The man Clepsydra spoke about. You're working for Aurora, aren't you? You sabotaged the Search Turbines. You corrupted my beta-level witness.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘Talk to Trajanova. See what she says.'

‘Oh dear,' Gaffney said, biting his lower lip. ‘Haven't you heard?'

‘Haven't I heard what?'

‘Trajanova's dead,' Baudry said. ‘I'm sorry, Tom. I thought you knew.'

Dreyfus stared at her in numb disbelief. ‘What do you mean, she's dead?'

‘It was a dreadful accident,' Baudry said. ‘Trajanova was working inside the casing of one of the Search Turbines when it began to spin up. It appears that some safety interlock had been disabled ... we can only imagine that Trajanova herself must have done it, because she was in a hurry to get the Turbs back up-'

‘It wasn't an accident.' Dreyfus was looking at Gaffney now. ‘You made this happen, didn't you?'

‘Wait,' Gaffney said, unfazed. ‘Isn't this the same Trajanova you used to have issues with? The deputy you fired, the one you could barely speak to without the two of you shooting daggers at each other?'

‘We got over that.'

‘Well, isn't that convenient.' Gaffney looked quickly to the others. ‘Does this make any sense to anyone? Quite apart from these slanderous accusations of murder, I don't recall Dreyfus mentioning a mole until now. Maybe if he had it would lend this outburst a bit more credibility.' He gave Dreyfus a pitying look. 'I can't begin to tell you how undignified this all sounds. I expected better of you, frankly.'

‘He mentioned the mole to me.' They turned as one to see Sparver hovering at the threshold of the chamber.

‘This is no business of yours, Deputy Field,' said Gaffney.

‘The moment you shot off your mouth about Dreyfus it became my business. Let him go.'

‘Escort the deputy out of here,' Gaffney instructed two of his internals. ‘Pacify him if he makes trouble.'

‘You're making a mistake,' Sparver said.

‘Tell you what,' Gaffney said. ‘Why don't you dump him in an interrogation bubble until he cools off? Got to keep a lid on that temper, son. I know it's hard, not having a fully developed frontal cortex, but you could make an effort.'

‘There's a line,' Sparver said quietly. ‘You just crossed it.'

‘Not before you did.' Gaffney's hand hovered over his whiphound, a tacit warning. ‘Now get out of here before one of us does something he might have cause to regret.'

‘Go,' Dreyfus mouthed to Sparver. Then, louder: ‘Find Clepsydra. Before Gaffney's people do. She's in danger.'

Sparver touched his hand to the side of his head, enough of a salute to let Dreyfus know he still had an ally.

‘Well,' Gaffney said, ‘looks like you got an exemption from the rescue mission, at least. Or were you counting on that?'

Dreyfus just looked at him, not even dignifying the statement with a response.

‘I'll take his place,' Crissel said.

It fell to Baudry to break the silence that fell after his words. ‘No, Michael,' she said. ‘You don't have to do this. You're a senior, not a field. This is where we need you.'