‘I know I need your cooperation,’ she said, her voice thick, ‘as much as you need my help. I suppose it’s obvious enough to you that I’m not in the best place just now, politically speaking.’
He thought of all the long years he had worked for Security and Intelligence. He had never pretended bad things didn’t happen under the Council’s rule, but he’d always believed the long-term stability they’d brought to the Tian Di made them the least of all possible evils.
Or so he’d told himself. After what he’d seen over the past several days, he wasn’t so sure what he believed any more.
‘Maybe we should get back to why Vasili was killed in the first place,’ he said carefully. ‘We keep circling around Reunification as a possible motive, given that there’s no lack of opposition to it, even now. Can Reunification go ahead without him around?’
She thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘That brings me to something I wondered about,’ she said. ‘If Vasili’s death was intended as an act of sabotage against Reunification, it’s a stunningly inept one. Why kill him, instead of targeting the transfer gate linking us to the Coalition itself ?’
‘Can that gate be harmed? Is it possible it could come under attack?’
‘Not when it’s as heavily defended as it is, no. It’s secure in orbit, and it’s probably going to stay there until the Council finally decides it’s safe to bring it down to Temur’s surface.’
‘Then maybe,’ he said, ‘we’re not looking at sabotage. Maybe the real reason for his murder has nothing to do with Reunification.’
‘It’s still all speculation until we have something more tangible to lead us in the right direction,’ she said, meeting his eyes. ‘I want you to get ready to leave for the White Palace this evening. It’s risky, but I’ve arranged your passage through the Hall of Gates.’
His hands gripped the half-empty glass of kavamilch. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be safer for me to just data-ghost there until the heat’s off you?’
She shook her head firmly. ‘Not with the level of surveillance I’m under following Cheng’s inquest, no. Right now it’s actually less of a risk to smuggle you there in person.’
He squinted, not sure how much he could believe that. ‘If data-ghosting is that dangerous, surely you’re taking a severe risk even just by being here in my apartment?’
‘And you wonder why I’m tense,’ she replied, managing a semblance of a smile. ‘I’ve arranged for you to meet one of my own mechants beneath the White Palace, tonight, ten hours from now. I’ve prepared a cover story for you. In the event you’re challenged on your way into the White Palace, you’re there on my behalf to check on some private records.’
‘And then?’
‘And then my mechant will transport you to Vanaheim.’
You say it like it’s going to be easy.
And with that, she was gone, as abruptly as she had appeared. Long goodbyes clearly weren’t part of her repertoire.
By the time Luc reached Chandrakant Lu Park later that evening, shadowed by the vast bulk of the White Palace, night had fallen, the trees and paths lit by the soft glow of the park’s arc lights. A mechant came towards him as he approached the edge of the park, then guided him towards a flier parked a short walk away. Less than fifteen minutes later he was back inside the Palace, on his way to the Hall of Gates.
He saw no other living souls, only more mechants with liveries indicating whichever department or individual they were assigned to. He could only assume it was some act of technological sleight of hand on de Almeida’s part that prevented those other mechants from challenging him.
It hit him then how easy it was to imagine Reto Falla, or someone like him, making his way from his slum apartment and all the way through the transfer gates with the help of some murderous Councillor. If he hadn’t already known Falla, he might even have believed it.
Instead of ascending all the way towards the Hall of Gates, however, he was instead guided through a library area – all tasteful lighting, low couches and dedicated mechants – then through a door so low he had to stoop to pass through it, indicating it had been designed with machines rather than humans in mind. He found himself inside a cargo area filled with crates presumably waiting to be shipped to Vanaheim.
The mechant guided him to a small side-room containing only a single heavy-duty plastic crate.
‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded in a low whisper.
The mechant drifted past him, using its long mechanical arms and whip-like manipulators to lift the lid off the crate. Looking inside, Luc saw it contained only a seat and harness.
‘Miss de Almeida considers this the safest way to transport you through the transfer gate,’ the mechant replied. ‘Do you have an objection?’
‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ he said, staring back at the mechant.
The machine didn’t reply, and Luc cursed softly under his breath. Then he heard the murmur of voices from somewhere nearby and quickly climbed inside.
The mechant drifted forward once more and secured the lid on the crate as soon as Luc had fitted himself into the harness. The seat itself was held within a rigid frame that filled the crate’s interior.
A dim yellow light came on as the mechant closed the lid over him, and Luc felt a rush of claustrophobia.
A moment later he felt the crate rock, then lift up, swaying slightly. Time passed – at least twenty minutes – and then he found himself under powerful acceleration. It wasn’t hard to guess he’d been loaded on board another flier, presumably one on Vanaheim.
No, not just a flier, he realized, as he heard a dull roar build up beyond the confines of the crate; a sub-orbital. For some reason, he was on his way into orbit.
By the time the mechant unsealed the crate once more, he was in free-fall.
ELEVEN
The flier soon docked with a space station, and Luc disembarked into an echoing grey and silver passageway that dwindled into the distance. It had a distinct air of disuse, as if it had been abandoned long ago. He made his way to an observation blister from where he could see the cloud-streaked surface of Vanaheim far below.
It also gave him a view of part of the station’s exterior. He could see half a dozen or so transparent domes arranged at different angles along a central hub that, by the looks of it, was at least a couple of kilometres in length. Green shadows filled several of the nearest domes, while those further away looked dark and empty.
Moving away from the blister, he let the same mechant that had sealed him inside the crate guide him further down the passageway. Navigating in zero gee had never been his strong point, and it took a constant effort of will to remind himself that the station’s hub was not a bottomless well, and he was not about to go tumbling down its length.
It became rapidly clear the station was badly in need of repair. Access panels had been pulled open, exposing wiring and circuitry, and he saw at least a dozen dog-sized multi-limbed mechants standing still and silent, plugged into juice terminals that were clearly no longer capable of supplying them with power.
‘Who does this station belong to?’ he asked the mechant, more to distract himself than anything else.
‘The Sequoia is the property of Councillor Długok cki, Chief Administrator for the Lubjek mining colony in Acamar’s outer system,’ the mechant replied from up ahead. Its voice echoed slightly in the still air.
He followed the mechant towards a pair of secondary passageways branching out at right angles from the central hub, then followed the machine down the passageway on the right. They passed through a pressure-field, and immediately the air became warmer and denser and more humid, the walls of the passageway thick with moss and vines. After another few metres, Luc found himself drifting up through the floor of one of the domes he had earlier sighted.