The Revelation Space Collection (261 page)

‘I’ll fetch him,’ Zebra said. She turned around and clicked into the distance.

Another pair of footsteps approached. Clavain corrected himself. It was really two pairs of footsteps, but which fell in near-perfect synchrony. It was the two huge mouthless men wheeling a chair between the settees. Antoinette was sitting in the chair, looking tired but alive. She had many bandages on her hands and forearms.

‘Clavain ...’ she started to say.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘And pleased to hear that you’re well. I’m sorry to learn that there was trouble on my account. I sincerely hoped that when I left, that would be the last of it for you.’

‘Life’s just never that simple, is it?’ Antoinette said.

‘I suppose not. But I’m sorry all the same. If I can make amends, I will.’

Antoinette looked at Xavier. ‘You’re OK? She said you were, but I didn’t know if I should believe her.’

‘I’m fine,’ Xavier told her. ‘Right as rain.’

But neither of them had the energy to get out of their chairs, it seemed.

‘I didn’t think I’d manage it,’ Antoinette said. ‘I was trying to get your heart started, but I didn’t have the strength. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, so I gave it one last try. I guess it worked.’

‘Actually, it didn’t,’ H said. ‘You passed out. You’d done your best, but you’d lost a lot of blood yourself.’

‘Then who ... ?’

H nodded at Scorpio. ‘Our friend the pig saved Xavier. Didn’t you?’

The pig grunted. ‘It wasn’t anything.’

Antoinette said, ‘Maybe not to you, Mr Pink. But it made a hell of a difference to Xavier. I suppose I should say thank you.’

‘Don’t cut yourself up over it. I’ll live without your gratitude.’

‘I’ll still say it. Thanks.’

Scorpio looked at her and then grunted something unintelligible before looking away.

‘What about the ship?’ Clavain said, breaking the awkward silence that followed. ‘Is the ship OK?’

Antoinette looked at H. ‘I guess it isn’t, right?’

‘Actually, she’s fine. As soon as Xavier was conscious, Zebra asked him to instruct
Storm Bird
to fly on automatic pilot to some coordinates we provided. We have secure holding facilities in the Rust Belt, vital for some of our other operations. The ship is intact and out of harm’s way. You have my word on that, Antoinette.’

‘When can I see it again?’

‘Soon,’ H said. ‘But exactly how soon I am not willing to say.’

‘Am I a prisoner, then?’ Antoinette asked.

‘Not exactly. You are all my guests. I would just rather you did not leave until we have all had a chance to talk. Mr Clavain may have his own opinion on the matter, perhaps justifiably, but I think it is fair to say that some of you owe me for saving your lives.’ He held up a hand, cutting off any objections before anyone had a chance to speak. ‘I do not mean that I hold any of you in debt to me. I merely ask that you indulge me with a little of your time. Like it or not,’ and he glanced at all of them in turn, ‘we are all players in something larger than any of us can readily grasp. Unwilling players, perhaps, but then it has always been thus. By defecting, Mr Clavain has precipitated something momentous. I believe we have no option but to follow events to their outcome. To play, if you like, our predetermined roles. That includes all of us - even Scorpio.’

There was a squeaking sound, accompanied by more of the metronomic clicking. Zebra had returned. Ahead of her she propelled an upright metal cylinder the size of a large tea urn. It was burnished to a high gleam and sprouted all manner of pipes and accoutrements. It sat propped on the cushion of a wheelchair, the same kind that Antoinette had arrived in.

The cylinder was, Clavain noticed, rocking slightly from side to side, as if something inside was struggling to escape.

‘Bring it here,’ H said, gesturing Zebra forwards.

She wheeled the cylinder between them. It was still wobbling. H leaned over and rapped it softly with his knuckles. ‘Hello there,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Nice that you could make it. Do you know where you are, I wonder, or what has happened to you?’

The cylinder wobbled with increasing agitation.

‘Let me explain,’ H said to his guests. ‘What we have here is the life-support system of a Convention cutter. The pilot of a cutter never leaves his spacecraft for his entire term of service, which can be many years. To reduce mass, most of his body is surgically detached and held in cold storage back at Convention headquarters. He doesn’t need limbs when he can drive a proxy via a neural interface. He doesn’t need a lot of other things, either. They are all removed, labelled and stored.’

The cylinder lurched back and forth.

Zebra reached down and held it steady. ‘Whoah,’ she said.

‘Inside this cylinder,’ H said, ‘is the pilot of the cutter responsible for the recent unpleasantness aboard Miss Bax’s spacecraft. Nasty little fellow, aren’t you? What fun it must be, terrifying innocent crews who have done nothing worse than violate a few silly old laws. What larks.’

‘It isn’t the first time we’ve done business,’ Antoinette said.

‘Well, I’m afraid our guest has gone just a little bit too far this time,’ H said. ‘Haven’t you, old fellow? It was a simple matter to detach your life-support core from the rest of the ship. I hope it didn’t cause you too much discomfort, although I imagine there must have been no little pain as you were disconnected from your ship’s nervous system. I’ll apologise for that now, because torture really isn’t my business.’

The cylinder was suddenly very still, as if listening.

‘But I can’t very well let you go unpunished, can I? I am a very moral man, you see. My own crimes have sharpened my sense of ethics to a quite unprecedented degree.’ He leaned close to the cylinder, until his lips were almost kissing the metal. ‘Listen carefully, because I don’t want there to be any doubt in your mind as to what is to happen to you.’

The cylinder rocked softly.

‘I know what I need to do to keep you alive. Power here, nutrients there - it’s not rocket science. I imagine that you can exist in this can for decades, provided I keep you fed and watered. And that is precisely what I am going to do, until the moment you die.’ He glanced at Zebra and nodded. ‘I think that’ll be all, don’t you?’

‘Shall I put him in the same room as the others, H?’

‘I think that will do very nicely.’ He beamed at his guests and then watched with obvious fondness as Zebra wheeled the prisoner away.

When she was out of earshot Clavain said, ‘You’re a cruel man, H.’

‘I am not cruel,’ he said. ‘Not in the sense you mean. But cruelty is a useful tool if one can only recognise the precise moment when it must be used.’

‘That fucker had it coming,’ Antoinette said. ‘Sorry, Clavain, but I’m not going to lose any sleep over that bastard. He’d have killed us all if it wasn’t for H.’

Clavain still felt cold, as if one of the ghosts they had recently discussed had just walked through him. ‘What about the other victim?’ he asked with sudden urgency. ‘The other Conjoiner. Was it Skade?’

‘No, it wasn’t Skade. A man this time. He was injured, but there’s no reason why he won’t make a full recovery.’

‘Might I see him?’

‘Shortly, Mr Clavain. I am not done with him yet. I wish to make absolutely certain that he can’t do me any harm before I bring him to consciousness.’

‘He lied, then,’ Antoinette said. ‘Bastard told us he didn’t have any implants left in his head.’

Clavain turned to her. ‘He’ll have kept them while they were still useful, only flushing them out of his body when he was about to pass through some kind of security check. It doesn’t take long for the implants to dismantle themselves - a few minutes, and then all you’re left with are trace elements in the blood and urine.’

Scorpio said, ‘Be careful. Be very fucking careful.’

‘Any particular reason why I should be?’ H asked.

The pig pushed himself forwards in his seat. ‘Yeah. The spiders put something in my head, tuned to his implants. Like a little valve or something, around one vein or artery. He dies, I die - it’s simple.’

‘Mm.’ H had one finger on his lip. ‘And you’re totally certain of this?’

‘I already passed out once, when I tried strangling him.’

‘Friendly relationship you two had, was it?’

‘Marriage of convenience, pal. And he knew it. That was why he had to have a hold on me.’

‘Well, there may have been something there once,’ H said. ‘But we examined all of you. You have no implants, Scorpio. If there was anything in your head, he flushed it out before you reached us.’

Scorpio’s mouth dropped open in a perfectly human expression of astonishment and intense self-disgust. ‘No ... the fucker couldn’t have . . .’

‘Very probably, Scorpio, you could have walked away at any time and there wouldn’t have been a thing in the world he could have done to stop you.’

‘It’s like my father told me,’ Antoinette said. ‘You can’t trust the spiders, Scorpio. Ever.’

‘Like I need to be told that?’

‘You were the one they tricked, Scorpio, not me.’

He sneered at her, but remained silent. Perhaps, Clavain thought, he knew there was nothing he could say that would not make his position worse.

‘Scorpio,’ H said, with renewed seriousness, ‘I meant it when I said you were not my prisoner. I have no particular admiration for the things you did. But I have done terrible things myself, and I know that there are sometimes reasons that others don’t see. You saved Antoinette, and for that you have my gratitude - and, I suspect, the gratitude of my other guests.’

‘Get to the point,’ Scorpio grunted.

‘I will honour the agreement that the Conjoiners made with you. I will let you leave, freely, so that you can rejoin your associates in the city. You have my word on that.’

Scorpio pushed himself from the seat, with noticeable effort. ‘Then I’m out of here.’

‘Wait.’ H had not raised his voice, but something in his tone immobilised the pig. It was as if all that had come before was mere pleasantry, and that H had finally revealed his true nature: that he was not a man to be trifled with when he moved on to matters of gravity.

Scorpio eased back into his seat. Softly he asked, ‘What?’

‘Listen to me and listen well.’ He looked around, his expression judicial in its solemnity. ‘All of you. I won’t say this more than once.’

There was silence. Even the Talkative Twins seemed to have fallen into a deeper state of speechlessness.

H moved to the grand piano and played six bleak notes before slamming the cover down. ‘I said that we live in momentous times. End times, perhaps. Certainly a great chapter in human affairs appears to be drawing to a close. Our own petty squabbles - our delicate worlds, our childlike factions, our comical little wars - are about to be eclipsed. We are children stumbling into a galaxy of adults, adults of vast age and vaster power. The woman who lived in this building was, I believe, a conduit for one or other of those alien forces. I do not know how or why. But I believe that through her these forces have extended their reach into the Conjoiners. I can only surmise that this has happened because a desperate time draws near.’

Clavain wanted to object. He wanted to argue. But everything he had discovered for himself, and everything that H had shown him, made that denial harder. H was correct in his assumption, and all Clavain could do was nod quietly and wish that it were otherwise.

H was still speaking. ‘And yet - and this is what terrifies me - even the Conjoiners seem frightened. Mr Clavain is an honourable man.’ H nodded, as if his statement needed affirmation. ‘Yes. I know all about you, Mr Clavain. I have studied your career and sometimes wished that I could have walked the line you have chosen for yourself. It has been no easy path, has it? It has taken you between ideologies, between worlds, almost between species. All along, you have never followed anything as fickle as your heart, anything as meaningless as a flag. Merely your cold assessment of what, at any given moment, it is
right
to do.’

‘I’ve been a traitor and a spy,’ Clavain said. ‘I’ve killed innocents for military ends. I’ve made orphans. If that’s honour, you can keep it.’

‘There have been worse tyrants than you, Mr Clavain, trust me on that. But the point I make is merely this. These times have driven you to do the unthinkable. You have turned against the Conjoiners after
four hundred years
. Not because you believe the Demarchists are right, but because you sensed how your own side had become poisoned. And you realised, without perhaps seeing it clearly yourself, that what lies at stake is bigger than any faction, bigger than any ideology. It is the continued existence of the human species.’

‘How would you know?’ Clavain asked.

‘Because of what you have already told your friends, Mr Clavain. You were voluble enough in Carousel New Copenhagen, when you imagined no one else could be listening. But I have ears everywhere. And I can trawl memories, like your own people. You have all passed through my infirmary. Do you imagine I wouldn’t stoop to a little neural eavesdropping when so much is at stake? Of course I would.’