Fewer than three days, she thought. Then they’d be on it. But it wouldn’t be over quickly, even then. At the cathedral’s usual crawl it would take a day and a half to make the crossing.
“I do need protection,” Quaiche said, after a great silence. “And I suppose I am prepared to be flexible. You have a good ship, it seems. Heavily armed, and with a sound propulsion system. You’d be surprised how difficult it has been to find a ship that can meet my requirements. By the time they get here, most ships are on their last legs. They’re in no fit state to act as a bodyguard.”
“Our ship has some idiosyncrasies,” the Ultra said, “but yes, it is sound. I doubt that there’s a better-armed ship in the parking swarm.”
“The experiment,” Quaiche said. “It wouldn’t be anything more than the dropping of an instrument package?”
“One or two. Nothing fancy.”
“Sequenced with a vanishing?”
“Not necessarily. We can learn a great deal at any time. Of course, if a vanishing chooses to happen… we’ll be sure to have an automated drone stationed within response distance.”
“I don’t like the sound of any of this,” Quaiche said. “But I do like the sound of protection. I take it you have studied the rest of my terms?”
“They seem reasonable enough.”
“You agree to the presence of a small Adventist delegation on your ship?”
“We don’t really see why it’s necessary.”
“Well, it is. You don’t understand the politics of this system. It’s no criticism: after only a few weeks here, I wouldn’t expect you to. But how are you going to know the difference between a genuine threat and an innocent transgression? I can’t have you shooting at everything that comes within range of Hela. That wouldn’t do at all.”
“Your delegates would take those decisions?”
“They’d be there in an advisory capacity,” Quaiche said, “nothing more. You won’t have to worry about every ship that comes near Hela, and I won’t have to worry about your weapons being ready when I need them.”
“How many delegates?”
“Thirty,” Quaiche said.
“Too many. We’ll consider ten, maybe twelve.”
“Make it twenty, and we’ll say no more on the matter.”
The Ultra looked at Rashmika again, as if it was her advice that he sought. “I’ll have to discuss this with my crew,” he said.
“But in principle, you don’t have any strong objections?”
“We don’t like it,” Malinin said. He stood up, straightened his uniform. “But if that’s what it takes to get your permission, we may have no choice but to accept it.”
Quaiche bobbed his head emphatically, sending a sympathetic ripple through his attendant mirrors. “I’m so pleased,” he said. “The moment you came through that door, Mr. Malinin, I knew you were someone I could do business with.”
THIRTY-NINE
When the Ultras’ shuttle had departed, Quaiche turned to her and said, “Well? Are they the ones?”
“I think they are,” she said.
“The ship looks very suitable from a technical standpoint, and they certainly want the position very badly. The woman didn’t give us much to go on. What about the man: did you sense that Malinin was hiding anything?”
This was it, she thought: the crux moment. She had known that Vasko Malinin meant something important as soon as she heard his name: it had felt like the right key slipping into a lock after so many wrong ones, like the sequenced falling of well-oiled tumblers.
She had felt the same thing when she had heard the woman’s name.
I know these people, she thought. They were older than she remembered them, but their faces and mannerisms were as familiar to her as her own flesh and blood.
There had been something in Malinin’s manner, too: he knew her, just as she knew him. The recognition went both ways. And she had sensed, too, that he was hiding something. He had lied blatantly about his motive for coming to Hela, but there had been more to it than that. He wanted more than just the chance to make an innocent study of Haldora.
This was it: the crux moment.
“He seemed honest enough,” Rashmika said.
“He did?” the dean asked.
“He was nervous,” she replied, “and he was hoping you wouldn’t ask too many questions, but only because he wants his ship to get the position.”
“It’s odd that they should show such an interest in Haldora. Most Ultras are only interested in trade advantages.”
“You heard what he said: the market’s crashed.”
“Still doesn’t explain his interest in Haldora, though.”
Rashmika sipped at her tea, hoping to hide her own expression. She was nowhere near as successful at lying as she was adept at its detection.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll have your representatives aboard their ship. They won’t be able to get up to anything fishy with a bunch of Adventists breathing down their necks.”
“There’s still something,” Quaiche said. With no visitors to intimidate he had replaced his sunglasses, clipping them into place over the eye-opener. “Something I just can’t put my finger… I know, did you see the way he kept looking at you? And the woman, too? Odd, that. The others have barely looked at you.”
“I didn’t notice,” she said.
Vasko felt his weight increase as the shuttle pushed them back towards orbit. As the vessel altered its course, he saw the Lady Morwenna again, looking tiny and toy like compared to when they had first approached it. The great cathedral sat alone on its own diverging track of the Permanent Way, so far from the others that it appeared to have been cast into the icy wilderness for some unspeakable heresy, excommunicated from the main family of cathedrals. He knew it was moving, but at this distance the cathedral might as well have been fixed to the landscape, turning with Hela. It took ten minutes to travel its own length, after all.
He looked at Khouri, sitting next to him. She had said nothing since they left the cathedral.
An odd thought occurred to him, popping into his mind from nowhere. All this trouble that the cathedrals went to—the great circumnavigation of Hela’s equator—was undertaken to ensure that Haldora was always overhead, so that it could be observed without interruption. And that was because Hela had not quite settled into synchronous rotation around the larger planet. How much simpler it would have been had Hela reached that state, so that it always kept the same face turned towards Haldora. Then all the cathedrals could have gathered at the same spot and set down roots. There would have been no need for them to move, no need for the Permanent Way, no need for the unwieldy culture of support communities that the cathedrals both depended upon and nurtured. And all it would have taken was a tiny adjustment in Hela’s rotation. The planet was like a clock that almost kept time. It only needed a tiny nudge to fall into absolute, ticking synchrony. How much? Vasko ran the numbers in his head, not quite believing what they told him. The length of Hela’s day would only have to be changed by one part in two hundred. Just twelve minutes out of the forty hours.
He wondered how any of them could keep their faith knowing that. For if there was anything miraculous about Haldora, why would the Creator have slipped up over a matter of twelve minutes in forty hours when arranging Hela’s diurnal rotation? It was a glaring omission, a sign of cosmic sloppiness. Not even that, Vasko corrected himself. It was a sign of cosmic obliviousness. The universe didn’t know what was happening here. It didn’t know and it didn’t care. It didn’t even know that it didn’t know.