‘But what about a white lie? What if Gentian Line were primarily concerned with my mental wellbeing? What if they didn’t think I could take the truth - that I was now alone in the universe, the last of my kind, the last living representative of the Consentiency? What if they thought the truth might actually kill me? They might lie then, don’t you think?’
‘But the Pantropic Nexus—’
The ambassador waved his trunk dismissively. ‘A lie that had to be made up on the spur of the moment, to cover a momentary indiscretion.’
‘But the troves—’
‘For all I know, the data in the troves was manipulated to keep the truth from me. I was only looking at local copies; the versions aboard your ships might have told me something totally different. I’d have no way of knowing, would I? Short of casting aspersions on the integrity of Gentian Line, I’d have no choice but to take the information at face alue.’
‘Put it like that, I suppose you’re right.’
‘Still, there are always loopholes. And because the matter was causing me such vexation, I remembered something. You shatterlings place great stock in your Universal Actuary. It’s how you plan your circuits—working out where you want to go, on the basis of information that may be hundreds of thousands of years stale.’
‘It’s that, or start flipping coins.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d be better off flipping coins. I talked one of you into giving me access to the UA, you see.’
My blood cooled to superfluid helium. ‘Who’d that be, then?’
‘Oh, don’t blame him. Galingale had no idea what I was after. We were talking - I’ve talked with most of you - and I bent the conversation around to the subject of the UA. I feigned interest. For some reason I’d been gently dissuaded from further enquiries, but Galingale was strangely receptive. I think I flattered him with my attention.’
‘The idiot,’ I said under my breath.
‘Oh, but it really wasn’t his fault. I can be extraordinarily persuasive, and he wasn’t to know I had an ulterior motive. I told him I was interested in the UA as a thing unto itself. I didn’t let him know I was keen to see what it had to say on the subject of the Consentiency. But you’d know, wouldn’t you? The UA wasn’t altered to agree with the troves. None of you ever thought I’d look that far into your secrets.’
I let out an exhausted sigh - secretly relieved, despite myself. ‘Is there any point in keeping up the pretence, Ambassador?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘If it’s any consolation, my sympathy was genuine.’
‘I never doubted it.’
‘I’d not been briefed. Betony’s fault, I suppose - he should have warned me that certain conversational topics were strictly out-of-bounds. But he must have been keeping that lie going for so long he’d forgotten all about it.’ I shrugged ‘Or my fault for being a blabbermouth, not reading the situation, wading in where I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Ambassador. You shouldn’t have found out this way. But I hope you understand that the Line did have your best interests at heart. This wasn’t about excusing our mistake.’
‘The wiping out of an entire civilisation - a mistake?’
‘We’ve saved hundreds,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if that sounds cold - but that’s the only possible perspective. It doesn’t diminish the tragedy. You have every right to feel angry—’
‘Anger doesn’t begin to cover it, shatterling. I thought you’d have the sense to realise that.’
‘Ambassador—’
‘I just thought you all ought to know: you can stop lying to me now.’
He turned around, shuffling on the flat discs of his feet. Beneath his armour, his skin swung in obscene, wattled folds. I watched him trudge back indoors, then looked into the empty depths of wine glass, seeking solace.
‘Chalk up another sparkling success to tact and diplomacy,’ I said to myself.
That night Cyphel came to me again. I was in her room, lying on her couch, watching as she squeezed the aspic-of-machines onto her hand and made the webwork of black lines. But instead of holding the hand over my head as she dragged my memories into daylight, Cyphel just brushed my hair and lowered her face until she was about to kiss my cheek. Then she whispered into my ear, ‘You always liked me. I always liked you, too. But now you have to do something for me. I want you to pay attention.’
I woke up.
In the morning I caught up with Galingale before he had found his way to the breakfast table. As I tugged his sleeve he looked around with an eager, expectant expression, as if I might be a lover come to give him a morning kiss. The optimism dropped from his face like a landslide.
‘You silly fool,’ I said, looking into his one good eye.
He blinked. ‘Bit early for insults, isn’t it? Make it quick, because I’m on patrol duty today - as soon as I’ve had my coffee, I’m shuttling up to
Midnight Queen.’
I steered him away from the others. ‘Last night I had a very interesting chat with Ugarit-Panth. You know - the ambassador who isn’t supposed to know that his entire civilisation no longer exists?’
‘Oh, him.’
‘It seems you let him have a look through the Universal Actuary.’
‘He wanted to know how it worked. The sociometric models, the statistical methods. All harmless stuff.’
‘He used it to look up the entry on the Consentiency of the Thousand Worlds.’
Galingale brushed fingers through the stiff white bristles of his hair. ‘And?’
‘The entry hadn’t been changed, you idiot. It didn’t agree with the local troves. Now he knows exactly what happened. The UA gave a zero per cent likelihood for the Consentiency still existing in the future because it’s
already gone.’
He mouthed a silent curse, the realisation hitting him like a physical slap. He glanced at the nearby breakfast table, the other shatterlings taking their places. Everyone was still dressed in black after Cyphel’s funeral. By Line tradition, even the fruits and breads and drinks were black.
‘Who else knows?’
‘I’ve no idea. I was alone when he came up to me. I mentioned it to Purslane this morning, but it won’t go further than her. What I don’t know is who else Ugarit-Panth has talked to.’
‘I’d better have a word.’
‘With Betony or the elephant?’
‘I don’t know. Both. Maybe. Fuck.’
‘Fuck, indeed.’
‘You’re not exactly blameless here, Campion. Everything was going fine until you
commiserated
with the hapless bastard.’
‘I hadn’t been forewarned. Silly me, but I completely failed to read the subliminal signals Betony and the rest of you were putting out.’ Seeing the dread draining the colour from his face, I softened my tone. ‘Look, I’m not going to rat you out - it was an honest mistake and anyone could have made it.’
‘I genuinely didn’t put two and two together. I just assumed the UA would have been synched with the troves. Should’ve checked first, of course, but ... fuck. How was Ugarit-Panth? Did he seem edgy to you?’
‘More annoyed than anything else.’
‘We don’t want him committing suicide on us. I don’t know if Betony told you, but they have a habit of walking around with bombs inside them. If he went up here—’
‘He wouldn’t do that. He’s a rational being.’
‘But there’s no telling what that kind of news could do to him. Where is he now?’
‘No idea.’ I touched a finger to my brow, feigning absent-mindedness. ‘You know, in all the excitement I forgot to attach a tracking device to him.’
‘Someone has to talk to Betony.’ His dread turned to terror. ‘I can’t do this, Campion. He’ll say—Why me? What have I got to do with it? I’ll be censured. Worse.’
‘Could anyone tell that your UA was accessed?’
‘No, don’t think so - unless I admit to it, unless the ambassador admits to it.’
‘Then I’ll talk to Betony. I’m already involved, so I can’t dig myself a deeper hole.’
He seemed surprised by my offer, as if there had to be a trap somewhere in it.
‘What’ll you say?’
‘Just that Ugarit-Panth told me he’d worked things out. I won’t mention the UA, or you.’
‘What if they find the ambassador and he talks?’
‘Can’t do anything about that, I’m afraid. But even if he does—you’ll be all right. It was a stupid thing to do, but it
was
an innocent mistake.’
‘Of course.’ Some of the colour had started creeping back into his skin. ‘Thank you, Campion. You’re right - I was an idiot. I should have thought things through. But he was just so damned persuasive.’
‘I guess if we’re all still standing here, he probably isn’t going to blow himself up. Not today, anyway.’
‘I think you’re trying to reassure me, but—’
I patted him on the back. ‘Let’s have breakfast. Looks lovely, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry about Cyphel.’
I could still see her in my dream, whispering into my ear:
Pay attention.
‘We’re all sorry about her.’
But before I could sit down at the table, next to Purslane (she was talking to Charlock), I was detained by an Ymirian official. ‘Campion?’ asked the delicate little creature.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Begging your pardon, shatterling, but you are urgently requested at the office of Magistrate Jindabyne.’
Purslane had seen what was happening. She rose from the table, brushing black crumbs from her black blouse. ‘Has there been a development?’
‘I can’t say,’ the Ymirian answered. ‘Just that you’re to come with me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When we arrived we found Mister Jynx sharing Jindabyne’s office. The magistrate and the scientist were sitting at the same desk, one on either side, taking turns to inhale from the bubbling urn that sat on it.
‘Something’s happened,’ Jindabyne informed us.
Mister Jynx handed her the mouthpiece; she placed it between her lips without wiping it clean. ‘It would appear that your little funeral ceremony had an unexpected result. You did things with the atmosphere that we normally wouldn’t have sanctioned.’
‘We had permission,’ I said, preparing to bristle.
Jindabyne raised a calming hand. ‘That’s not in dispute. If we had known the scope of your intended activities we might have demurred, but the fact is that we let you go ahead.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Campion asked.
‘That depends,’ Jynx said. ‘You appear to have stimulated a response from the Spirit of the Air. When it does things - especially when it manifests at the observation platforms - it normally does so during the hours of daylight. Overnight, it manifested in darkness. For us, that’s a problem. We don’t like to see evidence of the Spirit being agitated, disturbed, roused from its normal patterns. Civilisations have fallen because they got on the wrong side of the Spirit - we don’t want to be one of them.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Last night, a few hours after the cessation of your funeral service,’ the magistrate said, ‘the Spirit moved into position above the observation platform you were allowed to visit with the injured robot. We had been tracking its movements, of course - the fact of the Spirit’s presence in this sector wasn’t a surprise. But we did not expect it to pass directly over the tower, and we certainly didn’t expect it to stop.’
‘Hesperus is back. Please tell me Hesperus is back.’
‘Well?’ Campion asked.
The magistrate sucked indulgently on the mouthpiece. ‘Observations indicate the presence of a golden object on the plinth. The golden object is man-shaped and man-sized. It was not there yesterday.’
‘We have to get out there,’ I told Campion.
‘I think we’d best ask permission first,’ he said.
‘You have permission,’ the magistrate said. ‘Why else would we have called you here? But the Spirit is not far away. You will retrieve the robot immediately. If you fail to do so within the next hour, the robot’s remains will be deemed property of the scientific study council.’
‘They belong to the Machine People,’ I said.
‘Not any more they don’t. The robot stopped being a Machine Person when the Spirit took him apart. The thing that has appeared on the platform is an artefact of the Spirit - it just happens to look like the machine you thought you knew. It is very doubtful that any of the atoms in it are the same as those it originally contained.’
‘We probably shouldn’t quibble,’ Campion said.
The magistrate looked at me sternly. ‘No, you shouldn’t. Go now. Recover the robot’s remains. Do with them as you will. We will leave it to you to inform the other robots of this development. And afterwards - please - show no further interest in the Spirit, ever.’
‘We won’t,’ I said.
‘When you say “remains”—’
‘We mean what we say. The observations show that the robot appears just the way it was when you left it, except that it is no longer fused with the remains of the ship. In every other respect it is no more alive now than it was then. Whatever you hoped to achieve, you have failed.’
Five minutes later we were speeding away from Ymir in a flier, pushing the little craft to its limits. We said very little to each other on the journey. If our hearts had been lifted by the news of Hesperus’s return, our hopes had been just as quickly dashed by the description of his condition. The cameras monitoring the platform had detected no signs of life in the golden figure, which had not moved since the Spirit’s departure. As the dunes sped under us, I realised that of all the outcomes I had considered, this was the one I had thought least likely: that Hesperus would return but not be changed. I had imagined the Spirit repairing him, or transforming him into something new and strange, and I had imagined him never returning at all. But to be taken apart, to be pulled into the mass of that cloud-consciousness for days, to become a part of it, only to be put back exactly the way he was, had always seemed pointless. And yet the evidence of that golden form could not be ignored.
‘Perhaps he just needs time to recover,’ Campion said, touching my hand. ‘Like a patient coming out of surgery, on a planet where they still cut people open with knives and lasers.’