Rashmika Els. It might not even have been her real name.
The dean waited in his garret with the next Ultra delegation, sunglasses covering the eye-opener. When Rashmika arrived the air had a peculiar stillness, as if no one there had spoken for several minutes. She watched the shattered components of herself prowl through the confusion of mirrors, trying to reassemble the expression on her own face, anxious that there should be no indication of the upsetting conversation she had just had with the surgeon-general.
“You’re late, Miss Els,” the dean observed.
“I was detained,” she told him, hearing the tremble in her voice. Grelier had made it clear she was to make no mention of her visit to Bloodwork, but some excuse seemed necessary.
“Have a seat, drink some tea. I was just having a chat with Mr. Malinin and Miss Khouri.”
The names, inexplicably, meant something to her. She looked at the two visitors and felt another tingle of recognition. Neither of them looked much like Ultras. They were too normal; there was nothing obviously artificial about either of them, no missing or augmented bits, no suggestion of genetic reshaping or chimeric fusion. He was a tall, slim, dark-haired man, about ten years older than her. Handsome, even, in a slightly self-regarding way. He wore a stiff red uniform and stood with his hands behind his back, as if at attention. He watched her as she sat down and poured herself some tea, taking more interest in her than any of the other Ultras had done. To them she had only ever been part of the scenery, but from Malinin she sensed curiosity. The other one—the woman called Khouri—looked at her with something of the same in-quisitiveness. Khouri was a small-framed older woman, sad eyes dominating a sad face, as if too much had been taken from her and not enough given back.
Rashmika thought she had seen both of them before. The woman, in particular.
“We haven’t been introduced,” the man said, nodding towards Rashmika.
“This is Rashmika Els, my advisor,” the dean said, the tone of his voice indicating that this was all he was prepared to say on the matter. “Now, Mr. Malinin…”
“You still haven’t properly introduced us,” he said.
The dean reached out to adjust one of his mirrors. “This is Vasko Malinin, and this is Ana Khouri,” he said, gesturing to each of them in turn, “the human representatives of the Nostalgia for Infinity, an Ultra vessel recently arrived in our system.”
The man looked at her again. “No one mentioned anything about advisors sitting in on negotiations.”
“You have a particular problem with that, Mr. Malinin? If you do, I can ask her to leave.”
“No,” the Ultra said, after a moment’s consideration. “It doesn’t matter.”
The dean invited the two visitors to sit down. They took their seats opposite Rashmika, on the other side of the little table where she poured tea.
“What brought you to our system?” the dean asked, directing his question to the male Ultra.
“The usual. We have a belly full of evacuees from the inner systems. Many of them specifically wanted to be brought here, before the vanishings reach culmination. We don’t question their motives, so long as they pay. The others want to be taken further out, as far away from the wolves as possible. We, of course, have our own technical needs. But we don’t plan on staying very long.”
“Interested in scuttler relics?”
“We have a different incentive,” the man said, pressing a crease from his suit. “We’re interested in Haldora, as it happens.”
Quaiche reached up and undipped his sunglasses. “Aren’t we all?”
“Not in the religious sense,” the Ultra replied, apparently unfazed by Quaiche lying there with his splayed-open eyelids. “But it’s not our intention to undermine anyone’s belief system. However, since this system was discovered, there’s been almost no scientific investigation into the Haldora phenomenon. Not because no one has wanted to examine it, but because the authorities here—including the Adventist church—have never permitted close-up examinations.”
“The ships in the parking swarm are free to use their sensors to study the vanishings,” Quaiche said. “Many have done so, and have circulated their findings to the wider community.”
“True,” the Ultra said, “but those long-distance observations haven’t been taken very seriously beyond this system. What’s really needed is a detailed study, using physical probes—instrument packages fired into the face of the planet, that kind of thing.”
“You might as well spit in the face of God.”
“Why? If this is a genuine miracle, it should withstand investigation. What do you have to fear?”
“God’s ire, that’s what.”
The Ultra examined his fingers. Rashmika read his tension like a book. He had lied once, when he told the dean about the ship being full of evacuees who wanted to witness the vanishings. There might be a host of mundane reasons for that. Beyond that he had told the truth, so far as she was able to judge. Rashmika glanced at the woman, who had said nothing yet, and felt another electric shock of recognition. For a moment their eyes met, and the woman held the gaze for a second longer than Rashmika found comfortable. It was Rashmika who looked away, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.
‘The vanishings are reaching culmination,“ the Ultra said. ”No one disputes this. But it also means that we do not have much time to study Haldora as it is now.“
“I can’t allow it.”
“It has happened once before, hasn’t it?”
The light caught the frame of his eye-opener as he turned towards the man. “What has?”
“The direct probing of Haldora,” the Ultra said. “On Hela, so far as we can gather, there are rumours of an unrecorded vanishing, one that happened about twenty years ago. A vanishing that lasted longer than the others, but which has now been stricken from the public record.”
“There are rumours about everything,” Quaiche said, sounding peevish.
“It’s said that the prolonged event was the result of an instrument package being sent into the face of Haldora at the moment of an ordinary vanishing. Somehow it delayed the return of the normal three-dimensional image of the planet. Stressed the system, perhaps. Overloaded it.”
“The system?”
“The mechanism,” the Ultra said. “Whatever it is that projects an image of the gas giant.”
“The mechanism, my friend, is God.”
“That’s one interpretation.” The Ultra sighed. “Look, I didn’t come here to irritate you, only to state our position honestly. We believe that an instrument package has already been sent into the face of Haldora, and that it was probably done with Adventist blessing.” Rashmika thought again about the scratchy markings Pietr had shown her, and what she had been told by the shadows. It was true, then: there really had been a missing vanishing, and it was in that moment that the shadows had sent their bodiless envoy—their agent of negotiation—into the scrimshaw suit. The same suit they wanted her to remove from the cathedral, before it was dashed to pieces on the floor of Ginnungagap Rift.
She forced her attention back to the Ultra, for fear of missing something crucial. “We also believe that no harm can come from a second attempt,” he said. “That’s all we want: permission to repeat the experiment.”
“The experiment that never happened,” Quaiche said.
“If so, we’ll just have to be the first.” The Ultra leaned forwards in his seat. “We’ll give you the protection you require for” free. No need to offer us trade incentives. You can continue to deal with other Ultra parties as you have always done. In return, all we ask for is the permission to make a small study of Haldora.“
The Ultra leant back. He glanced at Rashmika and then looked out of one of the windows. From the garret, the line of the Way was clearly visible, stretching twenty kilometres into the distance. Very soon they would see the geological transitions that marked the approach of the Rift. The bridge could not be far below the horizon.