The Dark Imbalance (8 page)

Before the woman could answer, the field-effect protecting the passengers from turbulence clove in two, leaving Roche and Nemeth in a bubble of their own. Absolute silence suddenly pressed against her ears.

The air-car had settled itself into a gentle, rocking motion, and swept along the tube with the other air-cars as though on any conventional road. If Nemeth had brought her along the duct in order to unnerve her, Roche refused to let it.

“I want to talk to you in a frank and open manner,” said Nemeth after a few seconds.

“You’ve displayed little intention of that so far,” said Roche.

“Games. I know.” He dismissed her accusation with the wave of a hand. “The council is a bureaucracy; whether one is working within it or despite it, one is necessarily limited in one’s options by this very fact.”

Roche sighed. “Open and frank, remember?” she said, making no attempt to conceal her annoyance. “Can we just get to the point?”

He sighed, too, and looked away for a moment. Behind him, a white landscape flashed by. “Things are not going well for us here in Sol System,” he said. “In that much, at least, Murnane and I agree. The enemy were here before we even arrived, and have made their presence felt in a thousand ways—sometimes subtle, other times not so subtle. Although there has been something of a lull in the last few days, every hour dozens more ships arrive, and with each ship the chances are high that more of the enemy are coming too. And we are not finding
any
of them.”

He looked at her, then. “I am being completely and utterly frank about this, Morgan. I hope you realize that. Not even Vischilglin knows the depths of our failure. For all the council’s collective experience and wisdom, for all the technology of groups like the Skehan Heterodox, for all that we have been studying the enemy for four and a half years, we are not even close to solving the problem here. Can you understand how galling that is?”

She didn’t have to think hard about that. She had been banging her head against the problem for less than three months.

“So why not take a chance on me?” she asked. “If you’re so desperate, what have you got to lose?”

“That’s an interesting question, isn’t it?”

“Do you have an answer?”

“A kind of answer,” he said. “But it starts with a question.”

He paused. “There are more than just Pristines in this system. Do you know what the Exotics are doing here, along with us?”

“Following the flow, I guess,” she said. “Maybe coming to settle old scores. Naturally they’d be swept up in any regional conflict that might have started among the Pristines. I can see how they would be dragged here along with everyone else.”

He nodded. “It’s certainly a valid assumption. According to your theory, the enemy comes from a time in which the Exotic strands of Humanity did not exist, or at least may not have been so prevalent. Indeed, maybe they are a weapon created by an ancient alliance of
all
Exotics, in response to the age-old grudge that Pristines have it better than the others simply and unjustly because they are more like the original—although why this alliance would wait so long to wreak its vengeance is somewhat of a mystery. And why would a weapon created by Exotics allow the descendants of its masters to be dragged into such a dispute?”

“There may be only one way to find out,” she said.

“Precisely. Here we come to your plan to wait until the fighting starts and see who doesn’t end up dead at the end of it all, apart from the enemy. If anyone
is
left standing, they must be guilty. Simple.” He raised a hand as Roche started to protest. “I’m sorry for seeming disrespectful. Your plan is ruthless and, perhaps because of that, likely to be more effective than most of the others bandied about. I simply fear that we will find out the truth only when it’s too late.”

“So what do
you
suggest?”

He shrugged, palms raised—and for the first time Roche noticed that the little finger on each of his hands was missing. “I told you: your plan is better than any of the others I’ve heard—including my own.” He grimaced. “It’s a hard thing to admit. If ever you doubt my sincerity, please recall this conversation—although I’d be happier if you kept it to yourself, otherwise.”

She allowed herself a half-smile. “I don’t know,” she said. “Blackmail has a certain appeal.”

“A kindred spirit.” His own smile was wide and natural. “Perhaps we can come to terms, after all.”

An air-car going the opposite way rushed past them; Roche gripped her seat until the rocking of their own car settled. When it had, Nemeth went on.

“We thought the lull recently might have something to do with you,” he said. “Your ex-superiors in COE Intelligence have kept us up to date with your movements. Ever since we heard about Cane’s existence, we’ve been quite curious to see what would happen next. Many of us expected the COE to start falling apart as a result. In fact many of us felt that the Commonwealth’s proximity to Sol System, the very focus of everything, would put it under much more pressure than other nations farther out. But apart from that brief fracas with the Dato Bloc, nothing much seems to have happened. It’s almost disappointing.” He flashed his grin at her again before adding: “For some, that is.”

“What does all this have to do with
me
?” she said, conscious that the ride would be coming to an end soon and wanting some answers before it did.

“You’re an anomaly, Roche. An outlier. You claim to have survived two verifiable encounters with two self-declared clone warriors. For that alone you’re worth observing. And—” He hesitated slightly. “And worth having on our side.”

Roche shook her head. “Why? Because you think I’m
lucky
or something?” She was desperately trying to make some sense of what he was saying.

“No,” he said. “Nothing to do with luck.” Again the smile, but this time forced and uneasy. “But there is something about you. Something that doesn’t quite add up. And, unlike Murnane, I don’t think it’s wise to turn you away without knowing what that thing is.”

“But Murnane
has
turned me away,” she said bitterly. “The council has already made its decision.”

“It made
a
decision,” Nemeth corrected her. “It wasn’t necessarily the right one, and it certainly wasn’t unanimous. It needn’t necessarily be the
only
one it makes. I happen to know that there is enough support to back up the offer I’m about to make you— if only because in hindsight it may prove wise for the council to be seen as having made the other decision it couldn’t officially make, where everyone could see it. By that I mean that the council has to cover every base it sees open, even though here and now it can’t acknowledge even to itself what it is doing. For posterity’s sake—for the sake of the future itself—every chance must be taken.”

Roche was just managing to keep up. “You’re talking about some covert group within the council?”

“One with its own agenda,” he said, nodding. “Does it surprise you that such a thing might exist?”

Roche shrugged heavily. “Every bureaucracy supports such groups,” she said. “I guess I just didn’t expect one here, that’s all. I mean, we all have the one common enemy, right? We have the same
aim
.”

‘True,” he said. “But we all work differently to achieve those aims. The council has become concerned with method, whereas the Ulterior concentrates on intention.”

Roche laughed at this. The
Ulterior
... “And every such group has to have a catchy name, right?”

Nemeth ignored the gibe. “We have no firmly entrenched protocol,” he said. “If we see an opportunity, or even the potential for an opportunity, we will take it. We are less... scrupulous, perhaps, than many of our colleagues. And for that reason, we must remain as our name suggests: behind the scenes.”

Roche regarded him steadily. “And you and your friends in this ‘Ulterior’ regard me as some sort of ‘opportunity’? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted the council to believe?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I guess it was.”

“Working for us, you would obtain that goal, Roche. Indirectly. If you fail, of course, the council has no knowledge of you, having turned you away from the one and only official hearing it was obliged to give you.”

“Of course,” said Roche dryly.

“But if it looks as if you might succeed, then you will have the full support of the Ulterior—and ultimately the council itself.”

“And why should I believe anything you’re saying?” she asked him. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

He dismissed the objection with a shrug. “You don’t,” he said. “But you don’t have many other options right now. And we need each other.”

Roche sighed and, despite the apprehension she was feeling, said: “So what exactly are you offering?”

“A deal,” he answered quickly, and with sudden enthusiasm. “We can’t give you any formal protection or recognition, obviously, but we can give you information. This information has to flow both ways—unconditionally. If you learn anything new, we want to know about it. And if you find anything you think might work, we want to know about that most of all.”

She didn’t need the Box to tell her that she should take the deal. If she couldn’t get the full approval of the council, this might be the next best thing. But she still had her doubts...

“It can’t be that simple,” she said.

“Well, there is something else we would like you to do for us,” he admitted. “But I can’t see how it doesn’t fit in with your plans, anyway.”

Here we go
, she thought. “Meaning what exactly?”

“That you’re probably going to want to go buzzing around the system, looking for the enemy, right? Poking your nose in here, seeing what turns up there; waiting for the fight to start so you can see who kills who. Well, that’s exactly what we want you to do, too. Specifically, we want you to see what the Exotics are up to. That’s the one area this damned Pristine council of ours can’t see into properly—and any blind spots in situations like this are dangerous.”

She nodded: that much at least was true.

“Do you have any other agents working in this area?” she asked.

“A few,” he told her. “But nowhere near enough. Right now there are seven hundred and fifty-eight known Castes in Sol System, Morgan, not counting Pristine. Some are wildly Exotic; some are down the other end of the scale from the Skehan Heterodox—almost Low Castes.”

“And High Humans?” she said.

He shook his head briefly. “None that we are aware of,” he said. “But if you find anything that suggests there are, we’d be keen to hear about them too.”

She was keen on the Box’s behalf to avoid that subject. “So basically,” she said, “if I find something, you take the credit. If I don’t, or if I get into trouble, you disown me, right?”

“Obviously we will do everything in our power to help you,” Nemeth said, “but our power is not unlimited. Unless you give us a reason to come forward, I’m afraid the Ulterior must remain just that.”

She nodded slowly. “And will I have to pledge allegiance to the Ulterior? Swear a secret oath? Sign my name in blood, perhaps?”

He grinned. “Your word will be fine,” he said.

“Okay,” Roche said after a deep breath. “For lack of a better option at this time, we have a deal.”

“Good,” he said, smiling and extending a hand. She just looked at it. “If you’re still worried about that genetic sample,” he said, “you should know that I’m more likely to get a decent one from the armrest you’ve been leaning on than from shaking your hand.”

She relented and took his hand.

“And not a moment too soon,” he said.

The air-car had begun to decelerate and drift toward the wall. The bright patches passed more slowly than before, and Roche caught glimpses of endless docks like the one through which she’d arrived: row after row of airlock inner doors, ramps, and floating cargo-lifters. All empty. For all the traffic she had seen, the ship might have been completely sealed.

And maybe it was, Roche thought. That might have been the only option open to the Heresiarch and the council in order to prevent contagion.

“Oh,” said Nemeth as they approached an opening and braked still farther, “there is one more thing.”

“There always is,” she said.

“We’d like you to take one of us with you.”

“What?
You?
Forget it.”

He managed to affect a hurt expression. “No,” he said. “Not me. And not on board your ship, either. He’ll have his own. But we’d like him there as backup, an observer—or a bodyguard, if you like.”

They slid smoothly out of the duct and into the docks.

“As insurance?” she said.

“The only true necessity in all the universe,” he said. “Or so I’ve been led to believe.”

Before she could say anything, the air-car reached a safe travel speed and the partition between the front and back seats evaporated along with the rest of the cushioning bubble. They decelerated still further, heading for the dock where the scutter was waiting.

Unable to talk in privacy, Roche could only stare in alarm at the atypically enormous Surin warrior standing in full battle-dress at the inner door of their dock.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

said Maii, her mental voice sharp with dismay.

“It was the only way to get the Surin off our backs,” Nemeth said. “Officially they want to make sure your young ward here is treated well; unofficially, they want in on the action.” His eyes were hard. “You should be glad it’s not an Olmahoi grayboot as well.”

“Someone with a little more subtlety would’ve been better.”

“I think you’ll find our friend here quite suited to your task.”

She grunted dubiously. “Any other surprises I should know about?”

“No,” Nemeth said as the air-car slid to a halt. “At least, none that
I’m
aware of...”