And yet, she thought, it does vanish. That it happened—that it continued to happen—was not disputed, at least not by anyone who had spent any significant time on Hela. Look at it long enough, she thought, and—unless you are unlucky—you will see it happen.
It just wasn’t her turn today.
Rashmika stood up, then made her way past the point where she had emerged, towards the rear of the vehicle. She was looking back along the procession of the caravan now, and she could see the other machines rising and falling in waves as they moved over slight undulations in the trail. The caravan was even longer than when she had first arrived: at some point, without any fanfare, a dozen more units had tagged on to the rear. It would keep growing until it reached the Permanent Way, at which point it would fragment again as various sections were assigned to specific cathedrals.
She reached the limit of the catwalk, at the back of the vehicle. There was an abyss between her and the next machine, spanned only by a flimsy-looking bridge formed from many metal slats. It had not been apparent from the ground, but now she saw that the distance—vertical and horizontal—was changing all the while, making the little bridge lash and twist like something in pain. Instead of the stiff railings she now held, there were only metal wires. Down below, halfway to the ground, was a pressurised connector that puffed in and out like a bellows. That looked much safer.
Rashmika supposed that she could go back inside the caravan and find her way to that connector. Or she could pretend that she had done enough exploring for one day. The last thing she needed to do was start making enemies this early in her quest. There would be plenty of time for that later on, she was certain.
Rashmika stepped back, but only for a moment. Then she returned to the bridge and spread her arms apart so that each hand could grip one of the wire lines. The bridge writhed ahead of her, the metal plates slipping apart, revealing an awful absence. She took a step forwards, planting one booted foot on the first plate.
It did not feel safe. The plate gave beneath her, offering no hint of solidity.
“Go on,” she said, goading herself.
She took the next step, and both feet were on the bridge. She looked back. The lead vehicle pitched and yawed. The bridge squirmed under her, throwing her from one side to the other. She held on tightly. She wanted desperately to turn back, but a small, quiet voice told her she must not. The voice told her that if she did not have the courage to do this one simple thing, then she could not possibly have the courage to find her brother.
Rashmika took another step along the bridge. She began to cross the gap. It was what she had to do.
FIFTEEN
Blood bustled into the conference room, a huge number of rolled-up maps tucked beneath his arms. He placed the maps on the table and then spread one of them wide, the map flattening itself obediently. It was a single sheet of thick creamy paper as wide as the table, with the slightly mottled texture of leather. At a command from Blood, topographic features popped into exaggerated relief, then shaded themselves according to the current pattern of daylight and darkness on that part of Ararat. Latitude and longitude appeared as thin glowing lines, labelled with tiny numerals.
Khouri leant across, studying the map for a moment. She turned it slightly, then pointed to one small chain of islands. “Near here,” she said, “about thirty kilometres west of that strait, eight hundred kilometres north of here.”
“Is this thing updated in real-time?” Clavain asked.
“Refresh time is about every two days on average,” Scorpio said. “It can take a bit longer. Depends on the vagaries of satellite positions, high-altitude balloons and cloud cover. Why?”
“Because it looks as if there’s something more or less where she said there would be.”
“He’s right,” Khouri said. “It has to be Skade’s ship, doesn’t it?”
Scorpio leant in to inspect the tiny white dot. “That’s no ship,” he said. “It’s just a speck of ice, like a small iceberg.”
“You’re sure about that?” Clavain asked.
Blood jabbed his trotter at the point Khouri had indicated. “Let’s be certain. Map: magnify, tenfold.”
The surface features of the map crawled away to the edges. The speck of ice swelled until it was the size of a fingernail. Blood told the map to apply an enhancement filter, but there was no obvious increase in detail save for a vague suggestion that the iceberg was bleeding into the surrounding sea, extending fine tendrils of whiteness in all directions.
“No ship,” Scorpio said.
Clavain sounded less certain. “Ana, the craft Skade came down in—you said in your report that it was a heavy corvette, correct?”
“I’m no expert on ships, but that’s what I was told.”
“You said it was fifty metres long. That would be about right for a moray-class corvette. The funny thing is, that iceberg looks about the same size. The proportions are consistent—maybe a bit larger, but not much.”
“Could be coincidence,” Blood said. “You know there are always bits of iceberg drifting down into those latitudes. Sometimes they even make it as far south as here.”
“But there are no other icebergs in the surrounding area,” Clavain pointed out.
“All the same,” Scorpio said, “there can’t be a ship in that thing, can there? Why would it have ended up covered in ice? If anything, ships come in hot, not cold. And why wouldn’t the ice have melted by now?”
“We’ll find out when we get there,” Clavain said slowly. “In the meantime, let’s stick to practicalities. We won’t want to alarm Skade into doing something rash, so we’ll make sure our approach is slow and obvious.” He indicated a spot on the map, to the south of the iceberg. “I suggest we take a shuttle out to about here; Antoinette can fly us. Then we’ll drop two or three boats and make the rest of the crossing by sea. We’ll carry surgical equipment and close-quarters arms, but nothing excessive. If we need to destroy the ship we can always call in an air-strike from the mainland.” He looked up, his finger still pressing down on the map. “If we leave this afternoon, we can time our arrival at the iceberg for dawn, which will give us a whole day in which to complete negotiations with Skade.”
“Wait a moment,” said Dr. Valensin, smiling slightly. “Before we get too carried away—are you telling me that you’re actually taking any of this seriously?”
“You mean you’re not?” Clavain asked.
“She’s my patient,” Valensin said, looking sympathetically at Khouri. “I’ll vouch for the fact that she’s isn’t obviously insane. She has Conjoiner implants, and if her child had them as well they could have communicated with each other while the child was still in her womb. It would have been unorthodox, but Remontoire could have put those implants in her unborn child using microsurgical remotes. Given Conjoiner medicine, too, it’s not inconceivable that Skade could have removed Khouri’s child without evidence of surgery. But the rest of it? This whole business about a space war taking place on our doorstep? It’s a bit of a stretch, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not so sure,” Clavain said.
“Please explain,” Valensin said, looking to his colleagues for support.
Clavain tapped the side of his skull. “Remember, I’m a Conjoiner as well. The last time I was able to check, all the machinery in my head was still working properly.”