‘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.’
‘What kind of decision?’
‘I worked out a way to save the people in SIAM, the ones that the Clockmaker hadn’t got to already. That’s why there was a delay. I’ve always wondered about the six hours between Jane’s release and us going in with the nukes. Now I know what happened.’
‘Did you succeed?’ Sparver asked.
Dreyfus walked on. After a dozen paces he turned and said, ‘Yes, I succeeded. I saved them all. Including Valery.’
There was a coldness beyond cold, and then a light. Aumonier felt weightless and the thought formed itself in her mind that after everything they had failed, that she was back in the room with the scarab. For an instant the prospect was intolerable and she sought to crawl back into the unconsciousness from which she had just emerged. But then she became aware that she could no longer feel the scarab. Its absence was so profound that it almost felt like a negative image of the thing itself.
‘Open your eyes,’ Doctor Demikhov said softly. ‘Everything’s all right. You’re going to be fine.’
‘I was sleeping, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes. You were asleep, after all these years. I’m sorry it was necessary to wake you.’
Demikhov was leaning over her, green gown and mask against a tiled backdrop of sterile green walling. She tried speaking, but the words wouldn’t form. Instead she heard a harsh-sounding imitation of her own voice, as if someone standing next to her had anticipated exactly what she wished to say. ‘Where am I?’
‘In post-operative. Do you remember anything?’
‘I remember calling you. I remember that we were discussing your plans for me.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘Nothing. What’s wrong with my voice?’
‘We’re reading your intentions with a trawl. Don’t be alarmed; it’s only a temporary measure.’
By degrees, Aumonier became aware that she had scant sensation below the neck. She could move her eyes, but little else. Her head was fixed in place, unable to tilt from side to side.
‘Show me what you’ve done, Doctor.’
‘I’ve done something quite drastic, but there’s no cause for alarm. You’re going to be up on your feet in no time at all.’
‘Show me,’ she said, the simulated voice picking up her insistence.
Demikhov motioned to one side. A gloved hand passed him a mirror. He held it before Aumonier so that she could see her face, pinched tight in a padded restraint.
‘I haven’t seen my face in eleven years. No one could get a mirror close to me, but that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want to see the scarab, even accidentally. Now I look so old and thin.’
‘It’s nothing time won’t put right.’
‘Tilt the mirror.’
Her neck came into view. It appeared to have been stapled to her body, the wound still raw. Cables and wires plunged into her skin, or into the gap between the two edges of skin.
‘You understand what we had to do?’ Demikhov said.