The Algebraist (50 page)

Fassin had the awful feeling that, given the Dwellers’ irredeemably dismissive approach to intelligence, what he said next might well constitute the single most germane piece of information on the matter that the Dwellers would have to work with and base their decisions on.

‘No, I don’t. I think they’ll be sufficiently horrified at the extent of their losses today to think twice about risking any further craft, certainly as long as they have the prospect of invasion to look forward to. If the invasion fails, or the system is finally recaptured, then there might be some attempt to find out what happened and no doubt some people will argue that there should be some form of reprisal. Though, in the shorter term, from what little I’ve heard of the Epiphany 5 Disconnect, there’s a chance they might want to, ah, transgress, too.’ He looked at Drunisine and Setstyin, who remained silent. ‘Though I’m sure you’ll be ready for them.’ More silence. ‘In fact, if the Ulubis Mercatoria work out what’s happened here and realise you don’t regard this as the start of a war, they might even want to suggest that you and they unite to resist the Epiphany 5 Disconnect forces.’

‘Why would we wish to do that?’ Drunisine asked flatly.

It felt like it had been a long and tiring day. Fassin didn’t really have the energy to start trying to explain. From a creature as old and experienced as Drunisine, the question was probably rhetorical anyway.

‘Never mind,’ Fassin said. ‘Act as though nothing’s happened. Signal ‘glantine and make some helpful suggestions regarding the re-establishment of a new Seer Shared Facility’

‘That’s more or less what we were going to do anyway,’ Setstyin said, sounding amused.

Fassin signalled polite mirth in return. He was still struggling to work out what this enormous, fleets-destroyed-in-an-eyeblink craft really
meant.
Who was responsible for this colossal machine? What sort of previously unknown societal structures and prodigious manufacturing capacity within Dweller civilisation could conjure up something this awesome? Was it a one-off? Was it unique to Nasqueron? Dear grief, was it part of a
fleet?
Did this mean that
all
the Dweller claims about secret ships and hyper-weapons were true? Could the Nasqueron Dwellers just swat the E-5 Discon out of the sky if they so desired, saving Ulubis from invasion? Could they feasibly take on the Mercatoria if they could be bothered? Did any of this mean that the Dweller List was now more likely to be genuine rather than some monstrous waste of time or just a joke? How he’d have liked to have had some time alone with Setstyin before this meeting, to find out what had happened since they’d talked last. He’d have to ask some of these questions anyway, given half a chance.

‘We come, then,’ Drunisine said, ‘to the question of why the Ulubis Mercatoria Disconnect thought it might be a wise or profitable idea to enter Nasqueron in such a manner and in such numbers in the first place. Any ideas? Anybody?’ The ancient Dweller looked round at all of them.

‘I think it might have something to do with me,’ Fassin admitted.

‘You, Seer Taak?’ Drunisine asked.

‘I’ve been here attempting to track down some information.’

‘And you needed the help of a small war fleet to extract it?’

‘No. However, they might have thought I was in danger.’

‘From whom?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘So, we are talking about information that the Mercatoria might consider momentous enough to start a war for? When they are already facing an invasion in the next few months or years? This must be information of some importance. Perhaps we can help. What is it?’

‘Thank you. However, I think I may finally be close to finding it.’

‘Ah,’ Valseir said. ‘About that.’

‘What?’ Fassin asked him.

‘All that stuff about the folder and the safekeep box and taking it personally to Chimilinith of Deilte?’

‘Yes?’

‘Not entirely true.’

‘Not entirely?’

‘Not entirely.’

‘So how much of it
was
true?’

Valseir rocked back a fraction, seemingly thinking. Patterns of surprise crossed his signal skin. ‘Actually, most of it,’ he said.

‘And the part that wasn’t?’ Fassin asked patiently.

‘There was no folder in the safekeep box.’

‘So Chimilinith hasn’t got the information.’

‘Correct.’

‘I see.’

‘I am still waiting for enlightenment regarding the exact nature of this exemplary, if shy, information,’ Drunisine said frostily, looking at Valseir.

Oh shit,
Fassin thought,
if Valseir tells them what it is, and it really exists, they might just kill us all.

Possibly the same thought had occurred to Valseir. ‘It allegedly involves a method for travelling faster than light,’ he told the ancient commander.

Setstyin’s carapace flashed hilarity, quickly damped. Drunisine looked about as thoroughly unimpressed as it was possible for an elderly Dweller to look. ‘What?’ he said.

‘An ancient addition to a still more ancient book - which Seer Taak here traded over two hundred years ago during a "delve", as the Quick call these things - makes mention of a method of achieving FTL travel without recourse to Adjutage and Cannula,’ Valseir said, using what Fassin recognised as the Dweller terms for portals and wormholes. Fassin thought - and sincerely hoped - that Valseir had put just the right amount of apology and wry amusement into his voice. ‘Seer Taak has been sent here to try to find the details of this, ah, unlikely technology.’

‘Indeed?’ Drunisine said, looking at Fassin.

‘Algebra,’ he blurted.

‘Algebra?’ Drunisine asked.

‘The data looks like a piece of algebra, apparently,’ Fassin said. ‘It defines some sort of warping device. A way of bending space. Conventional to start with, but using this technique to exceed light speed.’ Fassin made a gesture of resignation. He let embarrassment patterns show on his arrowhead’s skin. ‘I was seconded without any real choice into a paramilitary part of the Mercatoria and ordered to undertake this mission. I am as sceptical as I imagine you are, sir, regarding the likelihood of it coming to a successful conclusion.’

Drunisine let the most formal amusement pattern show on his skin. ‘Oh, I doubt that you are, Seer Taak.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ Setstyin told Fassin. ‘Shall we trade?’

‘All right, but I asked first.’

‘What exactly do you want to know?’

They were still in the reception sphere inside the giant globe. Commander Drunisine had left. Two Adult medical orderlies were dealing with the few small injuries that Y’sul and Valseir had picked up during the battle. ‘What
is
this thing?’ Fassin asked, gesturing to indicate the whole ship. ‘Where did it come from? Who made it? Who controls it? How many are there in Nasqueron?’

‘I’d have thought the title said it all,’ Setstyin said. ‘It’s a machine to protect the planet. From willed aggression of a certain technical type and sophistication. It’s not a spacecraft, if that’s what you mean. It’s limited to in-atmosphere. It came from the Depths, where stuff like this is usually stored. We made it. I mean Dwellers did, probably a few billion years ago. I’d have to check. It’s controlled by people in the control centre, who’ll be Dwellers with military experience who’ve sim-trained for this sort of device specifically. As to numbers… I wouldn’t know. Probably not the sort of information one’s meant to share, really. No offence, Fass, but in the end you’re not actually one of us. We have to assume your loyalties lie elsewhere.’

‘Built billions of years ago? Can you still--?’

‘Ah, that would count as a follow-up question,’ Setstyin said, chiding. ‘I think it’s my turn first.’

Fassin sighed. ‘All right.’

‘Are you really looking for this warp-drive FTL technology data? You do realise it doesn’t exist, don’t you?’

‘It’s data that the Mercatoria believe might give them a better chance of winning the fight against the E-5 Discon. They are desperate. They’ll try anything. And I have my orders, no matter what I might think about the whole thing. Of course I know independent FTL drives don’t exist.’

‘Will you still obey these orders, given the chance?’

Fassin thought about Aun Liss, about the people he’d known in Hab 4409, about all the other people he’d ever known throughout Ulubis system over the years. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Why do you obey these orders?’ Setstyin sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘Your family and Seer Sept colleagues are almost all dead, your immediate military superior was killed in the recent battle and there is nobody nearby now to take her place.’

‘It’s complicated,’ Fassin told Setstyin. ‘Perhaps it’s duty or a guilty conscience or just the desire to be doing something.
Can
you still make more of these planetary protection machines?’

‘No idea,’ Setstyin admitted. ‘Don’t see why not, though. I’d suggest asking somebody who might know, but even if the true answer was no we’d be bound to say yes, wouldn’t we?’

‘Was it my call to you that set all this in motion?’

‘You’re getting a lot of free questions, aren’t you? However, yes, it did. Though I suspect that watching dozens of recently modified gas-capable warcraft suddenly parking themselves in orbit around us might have started a few alarm bells ringing amongst us even without your timely warning. Still, we’re grateful. I don’t think I’m entirely out of formation in saying that there is a feeling we probably owe you a favour.’

‘And if the Mercatoria ever finds out,’ Fassin said, ‘I’ll be executed as a traitor.’

‘Well, we won’t tell if you don’t,’ Setstyin said, perfectly seriously.

‘Deal,’ Fassin said, unconvinced.

The great spherical craft
Isaut
floated deep within a vast cloud of streaming gas, moving swiftly, seeming not to. It had started to submerge into the storm’s curdled floor of slowly swirling gas almost as soon as Fassin and the others had been brought aboard. Sinking, sidling, rising slightly again, it had entered into the Zone 2 weather band, quickly assumed its speed, and was now, in the late evening that was becoming night, half a thousand kilometres away from the storm where the battle had taken place, and adding another three hundred kilometres to that value with every passing hour.

Fassin, Y’sul, Valseir and Setstyin floated over a narrow platform set at the great vessel’s equator, near the body of Colonel Hatherence. A weak light and weaker breeze lent an appropriate atmosphere of quiet gloom to the scene. The colonel’s torn, burned body had been discovered along with hundreds of others, floating at the level at which Dweller bodies usually came to rest. Hers had come to rest a little higher than the others, as would a child’s.

Left to themselves, Dweller bodies degassed and gained density, and abandoned to the atmosphere would eventually disappear completely into the Depths. The respectful convention, however, was either to keep a dead relative in a special ceremonial chamber at home and let them decay until their density would ensure a swift passage into the liquid hydrogen far beneath, or - if time was pressing - to weight the body and consign it to the Depths that way.

Hatherence had no family here. There was not even anybody of her own species in all Nasqueron, and so - as, at least, a fellow alien - Fassin had been declared responsible for her remains. He’d agreed a swift dispatch to the Depths was preferable to keeping her body and handing it back to the Shrievalty or any family she might still have in Ulubis system. He wasn’t even sure why he felt that way, but he did. There was no particular veneration of the remains of the dead in the way of the Truth, and, as far as he knew, no special meaning amongst oerileithe in having their dead returned from afar, but even if there had been, he’d have wanted something like this. For the Dwellers, it was probably just administrative convenience, even tidiness to dispose of her now, like this. For him, it was something more.

Fassin looked down at the alien body - thin and dark, something between a manta and a giant starfish - lying in its coffin of meteorite iron. Iron had always been and, sentimentally, ceremonially, still was a semi-precious metal for Dwellers. That they were burying Hatherence like this was something of an honour, he supposed. In the fading light, her ragged remains, dark anyway, then burned by the beam which had killed her, looked like scraps of shadow.

Fassin felt tears in his real eyes, inside the shock-gel inside the little gascraft that was his own tiny life-coffin, and knew that some deep, near-animal part of him was mourning not so much the fallen Oculan colonel as all the people he knew whom he’d lost recently, lost without seeing them one last time, even in death, lost without fully being able to believe that he really had lost them because it had all happened so far away with so much in between them and him to stop him returning to pay any sort of respects to them, lost in his intellect but not his emotions, because even now, some part of him refused to believe he would never see all those lost ones again.

‘I confess,’ Setstyin said, ‘I have no idea what form of words one ought to use on such occasions, Seer Taak. Do you?’