Within the bay the tidal wave echoed back on itself, creating several smaller surges, but none did as much damage as the first. After a minute or so, all was quite still again. But Vasko judged that a quarter of First Camp had simply ceased to exist. He just hoped that most of the citizens from those vul-nerable shoreline properties had been prioritised in the evacuation effort.
The glare was fading. The ship was already far above them now, picking up speed, clawing towards rarefied atmosphere and, ultimately, space. The bay, robbed of that single landmark, looked unfamiliar. Vasko had lived here all his life, but now it was foreign territory, a place he barely recognised. He was certain it could never feel like home again. But it was easy for him to feel that way, wasn’t it? He was in the privileged position of not having to go back and rebuild his life amongst the ruins. He was already leaving, already saying goodbye* to Ararat, farewell to the world that had made him what he was.
He nestled into his newly formed seat, allowing the hull to squirm intimately tighter around him, conforming to his precise shape. Almost as soon as he was settled he felt the shuttle commence its own steep climb.
It did not take long for them to catch up with the Nostalgia for Infinity. He remembered what Antoinette Bax had told him, when he had asked her if the Captain was really capable of leaving Ararat. She had said that it could be done, but it would not be a fast departure. Like most ships of its kind, the great lighthugger was designed to sustain one gravity of thrust, all the way up to the bleeding edge of the speed of light. But at sea level Ararat’s own gravity was already close to one standard gee. At normal cruise thrust, the ship was just capable of balancing itself against that force, hovering at a fixed altitude. Landing had not been a problem, therefore: it had simply been a question of letting gravity win, albeit in a slow, controlled fashion. Taking off was different: now the ship had to beat both gravity and air resistance. There was some power in reserve for emergency manoeuvres—up to ten gees or more—but that reserve capacity was designed only for seconds of use, not the many minutes that would be needed to reach orbit or interplanetary escape velocity. To leave Ararat, therefore, the engines had to be pushed just beyond the normal one-gee limit, giving a slight excess thrust, but not enough to overload them. The excess equalled about one-tenth of a gee of acceleration.
It would be a slower departure than the most primitive chemical rocket, Antoinette had said, slower even than the glorified firework that had carried the first astronaut (she had said that his name was Neal Gagarin and Vasko had believed her) into orbit. But the Nostalgia for Infinity weighed several thousand times more than the heaviest chemical rocket. And the old chemical rockets had to reach escape velocity very quickly, because they only had enough fuel for a few minutes of thrust. The Nostalgia for Infinity could sustain thrust for years and years.
Air resistance lessened as the ship climbed. It began to accelerate a little harder, but still the shuttle had no difficulty keeping up. The escape felt leisurely and dreamlike. This, Vasko knew, was probably a dangerous misconception.
When he had satisfied himself that the ride was likely to be smooth and predictable, at least for the next few minutes, he left his niche and went forward. Scorpio and the pilot were in the control couches.
“Any transmissions from the Infinity!” Vasko asked.
“Nothing,” the pilot replied.
“I hope Antoinette’s all right,” he said. Then he remembered the other people—fourteen thousand by the last count—who had already been loaded into the ship.
“She’ll cope,” Scorpio said.
“I guess in a few minutes we’ll find out if that message really was from Remontoire. Are you worried?”
“No,” Scorpio said. “And you know why? Because there isn’t anything you or I or anyone else can do about it. We couldn’t stop that ship going up and we can’t do anything about what’s up there waiting for it.”
“We have a choice about whether we follow it or not,” Vasko said.
The pig looked at him, eyes narrowed either in fatigue or disdain. “No, you’re wrong,” he said. “We have a choice, yes—that’s me and Khouri. But you don’t. You’re just along for the ride.”
Vasko thought about going back to his seat, but decided to stick it out. Although it was night, he could clearly see the curve of Ararat’s horizon now. He was going into space. This was what he had always wanted, for much of his life. But he had never imagined it would be like this, or that the destination itself would contain such danger and uncertainty. Instead of the thrill of escape he felt a knot of tension in his stomach.
“I’ve earned the right to be here,” he said, quietly, but loud enough for the pig to hear. “I have a stake in Aura’s future.”
“You’re keen, Malinin, but you’re way out of your depth.”
“I’m also involved.”
“You were embroiled. It isn’t the same thing.”
Vasko started to say something, but there was a flicker of static across all the display read-outs hovering around the pilot. He felt the shuttle lurch.
“Picking up interference on all comms frequencies,” the pilot reported. “We’ve lost all surface transponder contacts and all links to First Camp. There’s a lot of EM noise out here—more than we’re used to. There’s stuff the sensors can’t even interpret. Avionics are responding sluggishly. I think we’re entering some kind of jamming zone.”
“Can you keep us close to the Infinity!” Scorpio asked.
“I’m more or less flying this thing manually. I guess if I still have the ship as a reference, we’re not going to get lost. But I’m not making any promises.”
“Altitude?”
“One hundred and twenty klicks. We must be entering the lower sphere of battle about now.”
Above, the view had not changed dramatically since the departure of the ship. The scratches of light had faded, perhaps because Remontoire was aware that the message had been received and acted upon. There were still flashes of light, ex-panding spheres and arcs, and the occasional searing passage of an atmosphere-skimming object, but other than the darkness becoming a more intense, deeper shade of black, there was no real difference compared to the surface view.
Khouri came through to join them. “I’m hearing Aura,” she said. “She’s awake now.”
“Good,” Scorpio began.
“There’s more. I’m seeing things. So’s Aura. I think it must be the same kind of thing Clavain and I saw before things got really serious—leakage from the war. It’s getting through again.”
“We must be close,” Vasko said. “I guess the wolves blocked those signals when they could, to stop Remontoire sending a message through that easily. Now that we’re getting so close they can’t stop all of them.”
From somewhere, Vasko heard a noise he didn’t recognise. It was shrill, ragged, pained. It was muffled by plastic. He realised it was Aura, crying.
“She doesn’t like it,” Khouri said. “It’s painful.”
“Contacts,” the pilot announced. “Radar returns, incoming. Fifty klicks and closing. They weren’t there a moment ago.”
The shuttle lurched violently, throwing Vasko and Khouri to one side. The walls deformed to soften the impact, but Vasko still felt the wind knocked out of him. “What’s happening?” he asked, breathless.
“The Infinity is making evasive manoeuvres. She’s seen the same radar echoes. I’m just trying to keep up.” The pilot glanced at a read-out again. “Thirty klicks. Twenty and slowing. Jamming is getting worse. This isn’t good, folks.”