“This isn’t Mercier. It’s Gaffney.” Clearmountain comprehended the implications quickly enough.
“This is unexpected, Sheridan.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying around.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m down with Demikhov, in the theatre. I’m standing right next to Jane. Nice work he’s done so far.”
“Don’t lay a finger on Aumonier,” Clearmountain said.
“Jane’s going to be just dandy. That is, provided you don’t do anything to annoy me.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Actually, I’m sure we can’t. I’m finished here. I’ve burnt my bridges. It might surprise you, but I’m a rational man. I did everything I did because I believed it was the right thing for the citizenry. I still believe that. I love this goddamn organisation, or at least what it used to stand for. But I know I have no future unless Aurora wins against Panoply.”
“She’s a machine, Sheridan. You’ve been working for an alpha-level intelligence, the ghost of a girl who should have died fifty-five years ago.”
“Aurora’s nature is irrelevant. It’s her intentions that count.”
“She’s a mass murderer. We’ve received direct confirmation that all the citizens inside House Aubusson were murdered shortly after the takeover.”
“Nice try,” Gaffney said.
“It’s the truth.” Mercier thought he caught a twitch of hesitation before Gaffney answered.
“She wants to protect people.
She’d hardly start murdering them if that was her objective.”
“Listen to me, I’m begging you. Aurora is not what you think she is. Her only goal is her own survival.”
“You know,” Gaffney said, “I really think you could have tried a bit harder than that. I mean, honestly.
Do you think I’m going to drop everything and roll over like a puppy just because you tell me some people have been murdered?”
“I’ll show you,” Clearmountain said.
“I’ll let you interview Prefect Ng as soon as she returns to Panoply.”
“Sorry, but I’m not planning on staying that long.” Without warning, he released his hold on Mercier, pushing him away with such force that the doctor tripped over his own feet and fell backwards against one of the servitors, toppling it noisily.
“Join the others,” he said.
“Sheridan?” Clearmountain said.
“Still here.” Gaffney had snatched Mercier’s bracelet as he pushed him away. He snapped it around his own wrist and continued speaking.
“I’m leaving, but not before you’ve done a couple of things for me. You can begin by telling me where Dreyfus is.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I’m standing less than a metre from the supreme prefect, with a whiphound. Do you want to rethink your response?”
Clearmountain answered after a pause.
“Dreyfus is somewhere else in the Glitter Band. I can give you the coordinates in a moment—”. Mercier pulled himself to his feet, bruised but otherwise unhurt. He touched a hand to the drying scab on his throat, judging that the wound was superficial.
“Oh, nice try,” Gaffney said.
“Let’s have a little look here, shall we?” He reached down and tugged at one of the lines running into Aumonier’s neck until it popped out.
“I’ve just pulled something free. I don’t know if it was important or not.”
“Sheridan—”.
“I’ll ask again. Where is Dreyfus? Don’t lie to me, Clearmountain. I’ve spent my entire professional life spotting liars.”
“A secure holding facility on Marco’s Eye—”.
“Oh, please. I wonder what this one does? A bit of blood squirting out there. Okay, you get one more try. I’d give this one a lot of thought, if I were you.”
“He’s gone to Yellowstone.” Gaffney cocked his head and nodded.
“Like it so far, Prefect. Where on Yellowstone? Don’t tell me they moved it to Chasm City?”
“It’s in Ops Nine.”
“Mm. Going to have to jog my memory on that one.” Clearmountain’s voice was flat with defeat.
“A disused Amerikano research station.” “Good, now we’re getting somewhere. That sounds plausible. Do you think you can spare a ship, Gaston? I’m thinking something like a corvette, one with transat capability. I’ll want a full fuel and weps load, and the coordinates of Ops Nine programmed into the autopilot.”
“I can’t give you that,” Clearmountain said.
“Oh dear, there goes another tube. The liquid’s kind of watery this time. What does cerebrospinal fluid look like, anyone?”
“We don’t have a corvette on the rack. They’re all out.”
“I’ll settle for a cutter, then, but I’m not budging on the fuel and weps. Throw in a surface suit while you’re at it.”
“I’ll… talk to Thyssen.”
“Better make it quick. I’m on my way up to the cutter bay. And I’m bringing some insurance with me.”
Gaffney started tugging out the rest of the wires and nerve shunts.
“I’d say you’ve got about four minutes.” He tugged Jane Aumonier’s severed head free of its support cradle.
Dreyfus and Sparver walked across an undulating landscape of frozen methane-ammonia ice. Their shadows lengthened ahead of them as the orange smear of Epsilon Eridani lowered towards the horizon to their rear, burning through ochre-brown clouds that had been tugged into weird anatomical shapes by high-altitude winds. The sky ahead of them was an ominous purple, palpitating with distant electrical storms. Above, it was coloured and knotted like old wood, curdled like bad milk.
“Do you want to talk about what was in that document now?” Sparver asked.
“Not really.” Dreyfus altered his course to exploit the shadowing effect of a natural boulder formation. They had covered seven kilometres from the touchdown point; approximately the same distance remained to be traversed. With the power-assisted suits, the physical effort was minimal. But the continuous chore of choosing a safe route, one that would avoid unstable ground and keep them low enough to avoid being detected by Firebrand, was itself taxing.
“Boss, you’ve hardly said a word since we left Pell. Aren’t you happy that Thalia got out okay?”
“Of course I’m happy. I’m just not really in the mood for banter. I didn’t ask for company, remember.”
“But now you’ve got it. Was that document something to do with the Clockmaker?”
“Have a guess.”
“Okay, so what was so earth-shattering about it? What did you read that you find so personally difficult to deal with?”
“That’s between me and the document.”
“And I’m your deputy. We share things.”
“Do you have Manticore clearance?”
“No. But I’ve never had Pangolin, either, and that hasn’t stopped you from feeding me the occasional crumb of restricted information.”
“This is different.”
“Because it concerns the Clockmaker? Or because it concerns Tom Dreyfus?”
“We should talk less.”
“They’re not going to hear our conversation.”
“I mean we should concentrate on walking. If you fall though ice, I’m not stopping to haul you out.”
“Nice to know you care.” They trudged on, zigzagging around a labyrinth of crevasses and deadfalls. After at least a kilometre, Dreyfus said, “I found out something about myself I didn’t know. I’ve always believed that I played no part in that day’s events, but now I know I was there. I was in SIAM, directly involved in the unfolding of the Clockmaker crisis. I must have been nearby when it broke loose. I was probably visiting Valery, or on my way from visiting her.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I had the memories blocked. They’re becoming clearer now that I’ve seen the document, but I still feel as if I’m looking at them through thick glass.”
“Why would you have had the memories blocked? Was that a security thing?”
“Not exactly. I wouldn’t have been allowed to function as a field with the knowledge I gained that day, but that wouldn’t have been an issue if they’d promoted me to senior, which is what they wanted to do. That’s not why I had the memories blocked, though. I made a decision that day, Sparver. It fell to me. But I couldn’t live with what I’d done afterwards.”