The Revelation Space Collection (262 page)

He turned to Scorpio again, the force of his attention making the pig edge even further back into his seat. ‘Here is what is going to happen. I am going to do what I can to help Mr Clavain complete his assignment.’

‘To defect?’ Scorpio asked.

‘No,’ H said, shaking his head. ‘What would be the good of that? The Demarchists don’t even have a single remaining starship, not in this system. Mr Clavain’s gesture would be wasted. Worse than that, once he’s back in Demarchist hands I doubt even my influence would be able to free him again. No. We need to think beyond that to the issue itself, to why Mr Clavain was defecting in the first place.’ He nodded at Clavain, like a prompter. ‘Go on, tell us. It’ll be good to hear it from your lips, after all that I’ve said.’

‘You know, don’t you?’

‘About the weapons? Yes.’

Clavain nodded. He did not know whether to feel defeated or victorious. There was nothing to do but talk. ‘I wanted to persuade the Demarchists to put together an operation to recover the hell-class weapons before Skade can get her hands on them. But H is right: they don’t even have a starship. It was a folly, a futile gesture to make me feel that I was doing something.’ He felt long-postponed weariness slide over him, casting a dark shadow of dejection. ‘That’s all it ever was. One old man’s stupid final gesture.’ He looked around at the other guests, feeling as if he owed them some kind of apology. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you all into this, and it was for nothing.’

H moved behind the chair and placed two hands on Clavain’s shoulders. ‘Don’t be so sorry, Mr Clavain.’

‘It’s true, isn’t it? There’s nothing we can do.’

‘You spoke to the Demarchists,’ H said. ‘What did they say when you broached the topic of a ship?’

Clavain recalled his conversation with Perotet and Voi. ‘They told me they didn’t have one.’

‘And?’

Clavain laughed humourlessly. ‘That they could get their hands on one if they really needed to.’

‘And they probably could,’ H said. ‘But what would it gain you? They’re weak and exhausted, corrupt and battle-weary. Let them find a ship - I won’t stop them. After all, it doesn’t matter who recovers those weapons, so long as it isn’t the Conjoiners. I just think someone else might stand a slightly better chance of actually succeeding. Especially someone who has access to some of the same technology that your side now possesses.’

‘And who would that be?’ Antoinette asked, but she must have already had an inkling.

Clavain looked at his host. ‘But you don’t have a ship either.’

‘No,’ H said, ‘I don’t. But like the Demarchists I might know where to find one. There are enough Ultra ships in this system that it would not be impossible to steal one, if we had the necessary will. As a matter of fact, I have already drawn up contingency plans for the taking of a lighthugger, should the need ever arise.’

‘You’d need a small army to take one of their ships,’ Clavain said.

‘Yes,’ H said, as if this was the first time it had occurred to him. ‘Yes, I probably would.’ Then he turned to the pig. ‘Wouldn’t I, Scorpio?’

Scorpio listened carefully to what H had to say concerning the delicate matter of stealing a lighthugger. The audacity of the act he was proposing was astounding, but, as H pointed out, the army of pigs had performed audacious crimes before, if not on quite so great a scale. They had taken control of entire zones of the Mulch, usurping power from what was still laughingly called the authorities. They had made a mockery of the Ferrisville Convention’s attempts to extend martial law into the darkest niches of the city, and by way of reply the pigs and their allies had established lawless enclaves throughout the Rust Belt. These bubbles of controlled criminality had simply been edited off the map, treated as if they had never been reclaimed after the Melding Plague. But that did not make them any less real or negate the fact that they were often more harmonious environments than the habitats under full and legal Ferrisvillle administration.

H mentioned also the activities that the pigs and the banshees had extended across the system, using them to illustrate his thesis that the pigs already had all the necessary expertise and resources to steal a lighthugger. What remained was simply a question of organisation and timing. A ship would have to be selected some considerable period in advance, and it would have to be the ideal target. There could be no prospect of failure, even a failure that cost the pigs little in terms of lives or resources. The instant the Ultras suspected that there was an attempt being made to possess one of their precious ships, they would tighten their security by an order of magnitude, or leave the system
en masse
. No: the attack would have to take place quickly and it would have to succeed first time.

H told Scorpio that he had already run a number of simulations of theft strategies, and he had concluded that the best time was when a lighthugger was already in its departure phase. His studies had shown that this was when the Ultras were at their most vulnerable, and when they were most likely to neglect their usual security measures. It would be even better to select a ship that had not done well in the usual trade exchanges, as these were the ships that were likely to have sold some of their defence systems or armour as collateral. That was the kind of deal that the Ultras kept to themselves, but H had already placed spies in the parking swarm network routers that intercepted and filtered Ultra trade dialogues. He showed Scorpio the latest transcripts, skimming through reams of commercial argot, highlighting the lucrative deals. In the process he drew Scorpio’s attention to one ship already in Yellowstone space that was doing badly in the latest rounds.

‘Nothing wrong with the ship itself,’ H said, lowering his voice confidentially. ‘Technically sound, or at least nothing that couldn’t be fixed on the way to Delta Pavonis. I think she might be our one, Scorpio.’ He paused. ‘I’ve even had a quiet word with Lasher . . . your deputy? He’s aware of my intentions, and I’ve asked him to put together an assault squad for the operation - a few hundred of the best. They don’t have to be pigs, although I suspect many of them will be.’

‘Wait. Wait.’ Scorpio raised his clumsy stub of a hand. ‘You said Lasher. How the fuck do you know Lasher?’

H was amused rather than irritated. ‘This is my city, Scorpio. I know everyone and everything in it.’

‘But Lasher ...’

‘Remains fiercely loyal to you, yes. I’m aware of that, and I made no attempt to turn his loyalty. He used to be a fan of yours before he became your deputy, didn’t he?’

‘You know shit about Lasher.’

‘I know enough that he would kill himself if you gave the word. And as I said, I made no effort to turn him. I ... anticipated your consent, Scorpio. That’s all. Anticipated that you would accept my request and do what I ask. I told Lasher that you had already ordered him to assemble the army, and that I was merely relaying the order. So I took a liberty, I admit. As I intimated earlier, these are not times for hesitant men. We aren’t hesitant men, are we?’

‘No . . .’

‘That’s the spirit.’ He slapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of boisterous camaraderie. ‘The ship’s
Eldritch Child
, out of Macro Hektor Industria’s trade halo. Do you think you and Lasher can take her, Scorpio? Or have I come to the wrong pigs?’

‘Fuck you, H.’

The man beamed. ‘I’ll take that as “yes”.’

‘I’m not done. I pick my team. Not just Lasher, but whoever else I say. No matter where they are in the Mulch, no matter the shit they’re in or the shit they’ve done, you get them to me. Understand?’

‘I will do what I can. I have my limits.’

‘Fine. And when I’m done, when I’ve set Clavain up with a ship ...’

‘You will ride that same ship. There isn’t any other way, you see. Did you seriously imagine you could melt back into Stoner society? You can walk out of here now, with my blessing, but I won’t give you my protection. And as loyal as Lasher may be, the Convention has scented blood. There is no reason for you to stay behind, any more than there’s a reason for Antoinette and Xavier to stay here. Like them, you’ll go with Clavain if you’re wise.’

‘You’re talking about leaving Chasm City.’

‘We all have to make choices in life, Scorpio. They aren’t always easy. Not the ones that count, anyway.’ H waved his hand dismissively. ‘It doesn’t have to be for ever. You weren’t born here, any more than I was. The city will still be around in a hundred or two hundred years. It may not look the way it does now, but what does that matter? It may be better or worse. It would be up to you to find your place in it. Of course, you may not wish to return by then.’

Scorpio looked back to the scrolling lines of trade argot. ‘And that ship . . . the one you’ve fingered ... ?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I took her - gave her to Clavain - and then chose to stay aboard her ... there’s something I’d insist on.’

H shrugged. ‘One or two demands on your side would not be unreasonable. What is it you want?’

‘To name it. She becomes
Zodiacal Light
. And that isn’t open to negotiation.’

H looked at him with a cool, distant interest. ‘I’m sure Clavain would have no objections. But why that name? Does it mean something to you?’

Scorpio left the question unanswered.

Later, much later, when he knew that the ship was on its way - successfully captured, its crew ousted, and now ramming out of the system towards the star Delta Pavonis, around which orbited a world he had barely heard of called Resurgam - H walked out on to one of the middle-level balconies of the Château des Corbeaux. A warm breeze flicked the hem of his gown against his trousers. He took a deep breath of that air, savouring its scents of unguents and spices. Here the building was still inside the bubble of breathable atmosphere being belched out of the chasm by the ailing Lilly, that vast item of bioengineering that the Conjoiners had installed during their brief halcyon tenancy. It was night, and by some rare alignment of personal mood and exterior optical conditions he found that Chasm City looked extraordinarily beautiful, as all human cities are obliged to at some point in their lives. He had seen it through so many changes. But they were nothing compared with the changes he had lived through himself.

It’s done
, he thought.

Now that the ship was on its way, now that he had assisted Clavain in his mission, he had finally done the one incontrovertibly good act of his life. It was not, he supposed, adequate atonement for all that he had done in the past, all the cruelties he had inflicted, all the kindnesses he had omitted. It was not even enough to expiate his failure to rescue the tormented grub before the Mademoiselle had beaten him to it. But it was better than nothing.

Anything was better than nothing.

The balcony extended from one black side of the building, bordered by only the lowest of walls. He walked to the very edge, the warm breeze - it was not unlike a constant animal exhalation - gaining in strength until it was not really a breeze at all. Down below, dizzying kilometres below, the city splayed out in tangled jetstreams of light, like the sky over his home town after one of the dogfights he remembered from his youth.

He had sworn that when he finally achieved atonement, when he finally found an act that could offset some of his sins, he would end his life. Better to end with the score not fully settled than risk committing some even worse deed in the future. The power to do bad was still in him, he knew; it lay buried deep, and it had not surfaced for many years, but it was still there, tight and coiled and waiting, like a hamadryad. The risk was too great.

He looked down, imagining how it would feel. In a moment it would be over save for the slow, elegant playing out of gravity and mass. He would have become no more than an exercise in ballistics. No more capacity for pain; no more hunger for redemption.

A woman’s voice cut across the night. ‘No, H!’

He did not look around, but remained poised on the edge. The mesmeric city still pulled him towards itself.

She crossed the balcony, her heels clicking. He felt her arm slip around his waist. Gently, lovingly, she pulled him back from the edge.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘This is not how it ends. Not here, not now.’

TWENTY-FOUR

‘There’s the getaway car,’ said the swarthy little man, nodding at the solitary vehicle parked on the street.

Thorn observed the slumped shadow behind the car’s window. ‘The driver looks asleep.’

‘He’s not.’ But to be on the safe side, Thorn’s driver pulled up next to the other car. The two vehicles were identical in shape, conforming to the standard government-sponsored design. But the getaway car was older and drabber, the rain matt against irregular patches of repaired bodywork. His driver got out and trudged through puddles to the other car, rapping smartly on the window. The other driver wound down his window and the two of them spoke for a minute or so, Thorn’s driver reinforcing his points with many hand gestures and facial expressions. Then he came back and got in with Thorn, muttering under his breath. He released the handbrake and their own car eased away with a hiss of tyres.

‘There aren’t any other vehicles parked on this street,’ Thorn said. ‘It looks conspicuous, waiting there like that.’