This time it was far from obvious. None of the solutions were elegant, but he was used to that: the arrangement of the planets at a given epoch could not be helped. Sometimes he got lucky and arrived when three or four interesting worlds were lined up in their orbits, permitting a very efficient straight-line mapping path. Here, they were all strung out at various angles from each other. There was no search pattern that did not look like a drunkard’s walk.
There were consolations. If he had change direction regularly, then it would not cost him much more fuel to slow down completely and make close-up inspections of whichever worlds caught his eye. Rather than just dropping instrument packages as he made high-speed flybys, he could take the Scavenger’s Daughter out and have a really good look.
For a moment, as the thought of flying the Daughter took hold, he forgot about Morwenna. But it was only for an instant. Then he realised that if he were to leave the Dominatrix, he would be leaving her as well.
He wondered how she would take that.
“Have you made a decision, Quaiche?” the ship asked.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ll take search pattern two, I think.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“Let’s see: minimal time in slowdown; one week for most of the larger planets, two for that gas-giant system with a lot of moons… a few days for the tiddlers… and we should still have fuel to spare in case we find anything seriously heavy.”
“I concur.”
“And you’ll tell me if you notice anything unusual, won’t you, ship? I mean, you haven’t been given any special instructions in that area, have you?”
“None whatsoever, Quaiche.”
“Good.” He wondered if the ship detected his note of distrust. “Well, tell me if anything crops up. I want to be informed.”
“Count on me, Quaiche.”
“I’ll have to, won’t I?”
“Horris?” It was Morwenna now. “What’s happening?”
The ship must have locked her out of the audio channel while they discussed the search pattern.
“Just weighing the options. I’ve picked us a sampling strategy. We’ll be able to take a close look-see at anything we like down there.”
“Is there anything of interest?”
“Nothing startling,” he said. “It’s just the usual single star and a family of worlds. I’m not seeing any obvious signs of a surface biosphere, or any indications that anyone’s been here before us. But if there are small artefacts dotted around the place, we’d probably miss them at this range unless they were making an active effort to be seen, which, clearly, they aren’t. But I’m not despondent yet. We’ll go in closer and take a very good look around.”
“We’d better be careful, Horris. There could be any number of unmapped hazards.”
“There could,” he said, “but at the moment I’m inclined to consider them the least of our worries, aren’t you?”
“Quaiche?” the ship asked before Morwenna had a chance to answer. “Are you ready to initiate the search?”
“Do I have time to get to the slowdown tank?”
“Initial acceleration will be one gee only, until I have completed a thorough propulsion diagnostic. When you are safely in slowdown, acceleration will increase to the safe limit of the slowdown tank.”
“What about Morwenna?”
“No special instructions were received.”
“Did we make the deceleration burn at the usual five gees, or were you told to keep it slower?”
“Acceleration was held within the usual specified limits.”
Good. Morwenna had endured that, so there was every indication that whatever modifications Grelier had made to the scrimshaw suit offered at least the same protection as the slow-down tank. “Ship,” he said, “will you handle Morwenna’s transitions to slowdown buffering?”
“The transitions will be managed automatically.”
“Excellent. Morwenna—did you hear that?”
“I heard it,” she said. “Maybe you can ask another question, too. If it can put me to sleep when it needs to, can it put me under for the whole journey?”
“You heard what she asked, ship. Can you do it?”
“If required, it can be arranged.”
Stupidly, it had never occurred to Quaiche to ask the same question. He felt ashamed not to have thought of it first. He had, he realised, still not adequately grasped what it must be like for her in that thing.
“Well, Mor, do you want it now? I can have you put asleep immediately. When you wake up we’ll be back aboard the Ascension?
“And if you fail? Do you think I’ll ever be allowed to wake up?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I wish I did. But I’m not planning to fail.”
“You always sound so sure of yourself,” she said. “You always sound as if everything’s about to go right.”
“Sometimes I even believe it as well.”
“And now?”
“I told Jasmina that I thought I could feel my luck changing. I wasn’t lying.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
“So are you going to sleep?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll stay awake with you. When you sleep, I’ll sleep. For now. I don’t rule out changing my mind.”
“I understand.”
“Find something out there, Horris. Please. For both of us.”
“I will,” he said. And in his gut he felt something like certainty. It made no sense, but there it was: hard and sharp as a gallstone.
“Ship,” he said, “take us in.”
FIVE
Clavain and Scorpio had nearly reached the tent when Vasko appeared, moving around from the back until he stood at the entrance. A sudden gust of wind rattled the tent’s stays, lashing them against the green-stained fabric. The wind sounded impatient, chivvying them on. The young man waited nervously, unsure what to do with his hands.
Clavain eyed him warily. “I assumed that you’d come alone,” he said quietly.
“You needn’t worry about him,” Scorpio replied. “He was a bit surprised to find out where you’d been all this time, but I think he’s over that now.”
“He’d better be.”
“Nevil, go easy on him, will you? There’ll be plenty of time to play the tyrannical ogre later.”
When the young man was in earshot Clavain raised his voice and cried hoarsely, “Who are you, son?”
“Vasko, sir,” he said. “Vasko Malinin.”
‘That’s a Resurgam name, isn’t it? Is that where you’re from?“
“I was born here, sir. My parents were from Resurgam. They lived in Cuvier before the evacuation.”
“You don’t look old enough.”
“I’m twenty, sir.”
“He was born a year or two after the colony was established,” Scorpio said in something close to a whisper. “That makes him one of the oldest people born on Ararat. But he’s not alone. We’ve had second-generation natives born while you were away, children whose parents don’t remember Resurgam, or even the trip here.”