So in his good manipulator Fassin now toted a chunky device of what Quercer Janath had termed the CBE persuasion — Crude But Effective.
He made a show of holding the charged weapon in front of his primary sensing band as he approached. — Yes, he sent. — It’s a souvenir.
He drew up by the other machine. It was about the same size and shape as his own, if in rather better condition, and oriented at ninety degrees, the vertical axis longer than the horizontal. It rode inside the cup of still gas behind the open diamond shelter trailing behind the RushWing, near the port limit of the ten-kilometre wing. Wary — unable to be anything else — he noted that the two enclosures on either side of the one holding the other small gascraft were each occupied by large Dwellers who looked rather young to have given themselves up, even temporarily, to a life of high-speed, high-altitude contemplation. The nearest few tether points beyond those on either side were all empty.
— Come on in, the other machine sent, moving forward until its nose nestled into the inner surface of the diamond enclosure. He pulled in behind, wobbling in the sudden pool of still gas after the howl of slipstream.
They were almost touching. Most of the upper surface of the machine facing him turned transparent, showing somebody who certainly looked like Aun Liss lying nearly fully prone in a high-gee seat. He saw her fight to raise an arm and wave, a grim expression on her face that turned into a grin as she looked out at him. He de-opaqued what he could of his own gascraft’s carapace, though the results weren’t perfect.
Fassin didn’t even try to smile back.
· Think you could point that thing away from me? she sent. He saw her grin. — I realise this is the first time I’ve ever said that to -
· No, he sent back, still pointing the Voehn gun at her.
·…Okay, she sent, smile vanishing. — So, welcome back. Good trip?
· No. You got a manipulator you can use in that thing?
· Yes. Won’t claim I’m an expert, but…
He moved his own gascraft forward until it was centimetres from hers. — Talk to me the old way.
He saw her frown, then smile uncertainly. — Okay, she sent. — This might be a bit, ah… He could see her shifting her gaze to look down at her right forearm, lying squashed on the cradle-arm of the gee-chair. She looked like she always had, and at the same time quite different. Hair dark, not blonde or auburn or white this time. The high gravity and her attempt to look at her arm as she worked the unfamiliar manipulator interface gave her jowls. He was already fairly sure it was Aun, but he was still quite prepared to kill her.
The manipulator came out slowly, unsteadily. Fassin kept his own well out of the way, still holding the gun on her. The two big Dwellers on either side hadn’t made any move. The manipulator came forward and touched the hull carapace of his own little gascraft, finger ends spreading awkwardly.
In the end, he saw, she had to close her eyes to do it. The fingers on the abraded, nearly insensitive gascraft’s skin spelled out… SS ( )… SOL ( ) SOTL ( ). He could see her getting frustrated. He watched the expression on her face deepen into a profound, eyes-tightly-closed frown as she struggled to make the manipulator do exactly what she wanted. He felt tears prick his eyes again. Though he could still shoot her, or himself: anybody.
… SO STL CRZY? she managed at last, and her eyes opened and she flashed a hugely relieved and pleased-with-herself smile at him.
He switched the gun off.
They rode together in the still ball of gas behind the cup of diamond, held on a deep curve of line behind the RushWing’s thin blade.
· Not us. That wasn’t us. Not guilty. It wasn’t even the Starvelings, murdering fucks though they may be.
· Then who did do it?
· The Mercatoria, Fass. They killed your people.
· What? Why?
· Because they found out that Sept Bantrabal had kept whatever they were sent that briefed you. They were supposed to junk it from the substrate as soon as it was finished but they didn’t. It wasn’t quite an AI like they sent to the Hierchon, but it had a lot in common. It was a big step along the way to a true AI and it was onward-engineerable. That’s why. The attacks we and the Starvelings were making gave them the cover, but even if the truth got out, it would just reinforce how seriously they took the no-AIs thing.
Fassin supposed it made sense. Old Slovius had always been looking for an edge, some advantage over the other Septs. That was what had brought Bantrabal to its position of prominence over the years. It sounded plausible, sounded like something Slovius would do and browbeat his underlings into doing. And certainly he’d put nothing past the Mercatoria.
— And how do you know all this? he asked her.
He saw her shake her head. — Spies everywhere, Fass, she told him, almost rueful. — We have a lot of friends.
— I’m sure.
Did he believe her? Well, until further notice.
The Beyonders had known about the List, about the Transform. Like, it seemed, a lot of people, they had known long before he had. He’d only discovered what he’d stumbled upon during that long-ago delve when he’d been told along with everybody else by the projection of Admiral Quile in the Hierchon’s palace. By then the Beyonders had long since sent their own fleet to the system Zateki, believing — like the Jeltick who had first deciphered the information he’d retrieved and had understood its significance — that the Transform was there, in the Second Ship. And they’d already met defeat at the hands of the Voehn. Half the fucking galaxy seemed to have been buzzing round Zateki, searching for a ship that wasn’t there, if it even ever had been, and meanwhile he’d known nothing.
— You could just have asked me to look for it for you, Fassin told her.- I’d have started the search for the Transform in Nasq. centuries ago if you guys had just fucking asked.
She looked at him for a long time, an expression on her face of… he wasn’t sure: sadness, pity, regret, despair?
· What? he sent.
· The truth? she asked him.
· The truth.
· Fassin. She shook her head. — We didn’t trust you.
He stared back at her.
Fassin told her what he thought he’d discovered, what he believed he’d worked out. She didn’t believe him.
· You coming with us?
· Can I? May I?
· Of course. If you want.
He thought. — Okay, he sent. He thought some more.
— Though I’ve one last person to see first.
* * *
When the visitor arrived, Setstyin was water-bathing. This was a new fashion, not unpleasant. His servant announced that Seer Fassin Taak was here to see him. Setstyin felt surprise and elation, and a kind of delicious, if slightly grim, anticipation.
“Tell Seer Taak I am very delighted indeed to welcome him,” he told his servant. “Ask him to wait in the upper library. Do all you can to make him comfortable. I shall be with him in ten minutes.”
“Fassin! Wonderful to see you! I really can’t tell you! We thought — well, we really feared the worst, I swear. Where have you been?”
Fassin didn’t seem to know what to say. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you,” he said quietly, eventually.
The little gascraft floated in the middle of the library. The circular space was lined and floored with crystal stacks. Light came from a translucent ceiling and a single great door giving out onto a broad, rail-less balcony.
Setstyin’s house was in the city of Aowne, mid-gas in the equatorial zone. Deep orange and yellow clouds swung slowly past the wide window.