“No,” Quaiche said. “Too little time. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve more or less agreed to accept a small party of Adven-tist observers. That’s all we need.”
“And the condition of the engines?”
“Nothing to cause alarm. We observed her approach: everything looked clean and stable.”
Seyfarth was still studying the picture, his lips signalling the contempt Quaiche recognised so well. “Where had she come from?”
“Could have been anywhere. We didn’t see her until she was very near. Why?”
“There’s something about this ship that I don’t like.”
“You’d say that no matter which one I offered you. You’re a bom pessimist, Seyfarth: that’s why you’re so good at your work. But the matter is closed. The ship’s already been selected.”
“Ultras aren’t to be trusted,” he said. “Now more than ever. They’re as scared as everyone else.” He flicked the picture, making it crack. “What is it they want, Quaiche? Have you asked yourself that?”
“What I’m giving them.”
“Which is?”
“Favoured trading incentives, first refusal on relics, that kind of thing. And…” He left the sentence unfinished.
“And what?”
“They’re mainly interested in Haldora,” Quaiche said. “They have some studies they’d like to make.”
Seyfarth watched him inscrutably; Quaiche felt as if he was being peeled open like a fruit. “You’ve always denied anyone that kind of access in the past,” he said. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Because,” Quaiche said, “it doesn’t really matter now. The vanishings are heading towards some sort of conclusion anyway. The word of God is about to be revealed whether we like it or not.”
“There’s more to it than that.” Idly, Seyfarth ran one red gauntlet through the soft pink plume of his helmet. “You don’t care now, do you? Not now that your triumph is so close at hand.”
“You’re wrong,” Quaiche said. “I do care, more than ever. But perhaps this is God’s way after all. The Ultras may even hasten the end of the vanishings by their interference.”
“The word of God revealed, on the eve of your victory? Is that what you’re hoping for?”
“If that’s the way it’s meant to happen,” Quaiche said, with a fatalistic sigh, “then who am I to stand in the way?”
Seyfarth returned the picture to Quaiche. He walked around the garret, his form sliced and shuffled by the intervening mirrors. His armour creaked with every footstep, his gauntleted fists opening and closing in neurotic rhythm.
‘The advance party: how many delegates?“
“They agreed to twenty. Seemed unwise to try to talk them up. You can make do with twenty, can’t you?”
“Thirty would have been better.”
“Thirty begins to look too much like an army. In any case, the twenty will only be there to make sure the ship’s really worth taking. Once they’ve started softening things up, you can send in as many Cathedral Guard as you can spare.”
“I’ll need authorisation to use whatever weapons I see fit.”
“I don’t want you murdering people, Captain,” Quaiche said, raising a forbidding finger. “Reasonable resistance may be dealt with, yes, but that doesn’t mean turning the ship into a bloodbath. Pacify the security elements, by all means, but emphasise that we only want the loan of the ship: we’re not stealing it. Once our work is done, they can have it back, with our gratitude. I need hardly add that you’d better make sure you deliver the ship to me in one piece.”
“I only asked for permission to use weapons.”
“Use whatever you see fit, Captain, provided you can smug-gle it past the Ultras. They’ll be looking for the usuaclass="underline" bombs, knives and guns. Even if we had access to anti-matter, we’d have a hard time getting it past them.”
“I’ve already made all the necessary arrangements,” Seyfarth said.
“I’m sure you have. But—please—show a modicum of restraint, all right?”
“And your magic advisor?” Seyfarth asked. “What did she have to say on the matter?”
“She concluded there was nothing to worry about,” Quaiche said.
Seyfarth turned around, latching his helmet into place. The pink plume fell across the black strip of his faceplate. He looked both comical and fearsome, which was exactly the intended effect.
“I’ll get to work, then.”
An hour later there was an official transmission from the Clocktower of the Lady Morwenna. The arrangement had been accepted by the Adventist party. Subject to the installation of twenty clerical observers aboard the Nostalgia for Infinity, the lighthugger was free to move into near-Hela space and commence the defence watch. Once the observers had come aboard and inspected the weapons setup, the crew would be permitted to make a limited physical study of the Haldora phenomenon.
The reply was sent back within thirty minutes. The terms were acceptable to the Nostalgia for Infinity, and the Adventist party would be welcomed aboard as the ship made its approach-spiral to Hela orbit. At the same time, an Ultra delegation would proceed by shuttle to the landing stage of the Lady Morwenna.
Thirty minutes after that, with a flicker of main drive thrust, the Nostalgia for Infinity broke station from the parking swarm.
FORTY
The threshing machinery of Motive Power seemed to salute Captain Seyfarth as he strode through the chamber, his gloved hands tucked behind his back. As the leader of the Cathedral Guard, he never counted on a warm welcome from the mechanically minded denizens of the propulsion department. While they had no instinctive dislike for him, they did have long memories: it was always Seyfarth’s people who put down any rebellions within the Lady Morwenna’s technical workforce. There were surprisingly few workers in the chamber now, but in his mind’s eye Seyfarth sketched in the fallen bodies and injured victims of the last “arbitration action,” as the cathedral authorities had referred to the matter. Glaur, the shift boss he was looking for now, had never been directly linked to the rebellion, but it was clear from their infrequent dealings that Glaur had no love for either the Cathedral Guard or its chief.
“Ah, Glaur,” he said, catching sight of the man next to an open access panel.
“Captain. What a pleasure.”
Seyfarth made his way to the panel. Wires and cables hung from its innards, like disembowelled vitals. Seyfarth pulled the access hatch down so that it hung half-opened over the dangling entrails. Glaur started to say something—some useless protestation—but Seyfarth silenced him by touching a finger to his own lips. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“You have no…”
“Bit quiet in here, isn’t it?” Seyfarth said, looking around the chamber at the untended machines and empty catwalks. “Where is everyone?”
“You know exactly where everyone is,” Glaur said. “They got themselves off the Lady Mor as soon as they could. By the end of it they were charging a year’s wages for a surface suit. I’m down to a skeleton crew now, just enough lads to keep the reactor sweet and the machines greased.”
“Those who left,” Seyfarth mused. It was happening all over the cathedraclass="underline" even the Guard was having trouble stopping the exodus. “They’d be in violation of contract, wouldn’t they?”
Glaur looked at him incredulously. “You think they give a damn about that, Captain? All that they care about is getting off this thing before we reach the bridge.”