“That’s a pretty good trick, Tunguska,” he said, smiling.
“Enjoy the music, Floyd. I’ll return when I have some news.”
After he had gone, Floyd slipped the disc on to the phonograph turntable and lowered the diamond-tipped needle into the groove. It crunched on to its track and then became quiet, except for the occasional click of static. Then the music began, Armstrong’s trumpet filling the room effortlessly, Lil Hardin’s piano bright and clear and cool, like rain on a hot day. Floyd smiled—it was always good to hear Satchmo, no matter the time or place—but there was something about the music that couldn’t rescue his spirits. Perhaps he was too worried about Auger and the rest of it to let the music have its intended effect. But even his scratched old Gennett copy had a life to it that was missing from this version. Somewhere between Paris and Cassandra’s ship, some essential spark had been bled from the music. Floyd pulled the platter off the turntable and returned it to its sleeve. He leafed through the box, finding the other jazz recordings and trying some of them, before abandoning the exercise. Maybe it wasn’t the recordings so much as the player, or the acoustics of the room, but something was wrong. It was like listening to someone almost whistle a tune.
Nice try, Tunguska, he thought.
Floyd leaned back on the bed, hands crossed behind his head. He turned on the wireless again, but the news was still the same.
“You can speak to her now,” Tunguska said. “But please—take things easily. She’s been through a great deal in the last couple of days.”
“I’ll treat her with kid gloves.”
“Of course. By the way, Floyd—how are you getting on with those recordings?”
“They’re a real nice thought,” Floyd said.
“As in—‘it’s the thought that counts?’ ”
“I’m sorry, Tunguska, but there’s something off about them. Maybe that phonograph needs a new needle. Or maybe it’s just me.”
“I just wanted you to feel at home.”
“And I appreciate the gesture. But don’t worry about me, all right? I’ll cope.”
“You put a brave face on things, Floyd. I admire that.”
Tunguska led him into the bright white chamber of the recovery room.
“I’ll leave you alone with her,” Tunguska said. “The machines will let me know if she experiences any difficulties.”
He stepped back through the white wall, which sealed itself tightly behind him, like blancmange.
Auger was in a state of drowsy wakefulness, sitting up in bed with a fog of silver machines twinkling around her head and upper body. She saw him walking towards the bed and—despite her evident weariness—managed a smile.
“Floyd! I thought they were never going to let you see me. I began to wonder if you were really all right.”
“I’m fine,” he said, sitting on a toadstool-shaped pedestal next to the bed. He took one of her hands and stroked the fingers. He expected her to pull away, but instead she tightened her grip on him, as if she needed this moment of human contact. “Tunguska wanted you to have some peace and quiet while you got your head together.”
“It feels as if I’ve been here for a hundred years, with my head ringing all the while.”
“Is is better now?”
“A bit. It still feels as if there’s a small debating society holding their annual meeting in my skull, though.”
“Cassandra’s machines, I suppose. You remember what happened, don’t you?”
“Not everything.” She pushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from her eyes. “I remember Cassandra dying… but not much else.”
“Do you remember her machines asking permission to set up camp in your head?”
“I remember feeling very frightened about something, but knowing I had to say ‘yes,’ and that I didn’t have long to think it over.”
“You did a very brave thing,” Floyd said. “I’m proud of you.”
“I hope it was worth it.”
“It was. For the time being, anyway. Do you know where you are?”
“Yes,” she said. “At least, as soon as I realise there’s something I don’t know, the information seems to pop into my head. We’re back on Cassandra’s ship, except that Tunguska’s running the show now.”
“You think we can trust him?”
“Yes, absolutely,” she said firmly, as if that should have been obvious. Then she frowned, just as suddenly less sure of herself. “No. Wait. How could I know him that well? That must be one of Cassandra’s memories…” Auger shook her head, as if she’d just taken a bite from a lemon. “This is strange. I’m not sure I like it.”
“Tunguska said that Cassandra’s machines seem to have taken a shine to you,” Floyd said.
“Don’t tell me I’m stuck like this for ever.” She said it in an off-hand way, but not quite convincingly enough.
“Probably just until the crisis is over,” Floyd said, doing his best to sound reassuring. “Do you remember that escape craft Cassandra was confident they were going to shoot down?”
“Yes,” Auger said, after a moment.
“Well, it got away. Made rendezvous with a bigger, faster ship. According to Tunguska, the evidence trail points to Niagara.”
This, at last, seemed to push Auger towards full alertness. She sat up straight in the bed, pushing her hair back. “We have to stop that ship before it reaches a portal. Nothing else matters.”
“We tried,” Floyd said.
“And?”
“No one could catch up with Niagara. And he’d already taken control of the portal.”
“I thought you said we were still chasing him.”
“We are. Tunguska sent reinforcements to regain control of the portal. His boys kept it open for us. We’re in the hyperweb at this very moment.”
She looked around, perhaps doubting his words. Floyd, too, had found it difficult to believe that a portal transition could be this smooth, this unexciting. It was like a ride in a well-oiled hearse.
“So where is Niagara right now?” she asked.
“Somewhere ahead of us, further along the pipe.”
“I didn’t think they ever put two ships in at the same time,” Auger said, frowning.
“I don’t think it’s exactly routine.”
“Does Tunguska think we’ll catch up with Niagara’s ship, or maybe get close enough to shoot it down?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s more worried about what will happen when Niagara pops out the other end. There’s a danger we’ll lose the trail.”
“That can’t be allowed to happen,” Auger said. “If we lose the trail, then we lose everything. Your whole world, Floyd—everyone you know, everyone you ever loved—will die in an instant.”
“I’ll tell Tunguska to throw a few more chairs in the furnace.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sinking back into the hollow of her pillow, as if drained of energy. “I don’t know why I’m making this any more difficult for you than it already is. Tunguska’s bound to be doing all he can.” Then she looked at Floyd sharply, some random dislodged memory slotting back into place. “The ALS co-ordinates,” she said. “Did you figure them out?”
“No. Tunguska’s still chewing on that one. He says we may never find them.”
“We’re missing something here, Floyd. Something so damned obvious it’s staring us in the face.”
Tunguska came to see her a little later. He was a huge man, but he moved and spoke with such unhurried calm that Auger couldn’t help but relax in his presence. His mere existence seemed to assure her that nothing bad would happen.
“Have you come to let me out of bed?” she asked. “I feel as if I’m missing all the excitement.”