Redemption Ark

Volyova jetted after her, zooming between weapons that were both familiar to her and yet still quietly mysterious. The radar echo assumed definition and shape, becoming a tumbling human figure. Behind it, looming closer and closer, was the far wall. Volyova checked her own speed relative to it: six metres per second. Khouri could not have been moving much slower than that.

Volyova squirted more thrust from her harness. Ten… twenty metres per second. She saw Khouri now, grey and doll-like, with one arm flopping limply into space. The figure swelled. Volyova applied reverse thrust in incremental stabs, feeling the frame creak at the unusual load it was being expected to distribute. Fifty metres from Khouri… forty. She looked in a bad way: a human arm was definitely not meant to articulate that way.

Tlia… that wall’s coming up awfully fast.‘

‘So am I. Hold on. There may be a slight…’ They thumped together. ‘… impact.’

Mercifully, the collision had not thrown Khouri off on another trajectory. Volyova held on to her by her unharmed arm just long enough to unwind a line and fasten it to Khouri’s belt and then let her go. The wall was visible now, no more than fifty metres away.

Volyova braked, her thumb hard down on the thruster toggle, ignoring the protestations from the suit’s subpersona. The line tethering Khouri extended to maximum tautness, Khouri hanging between her and the wall. But they were slowing. The wall was not rushing towards them with quite the same sense of inevitability.

‘Are you all right?’ Volyova asked.

I think I may have broken something. How did you get out of the weapon? When the machine flicked me off, the hatch was still nearly shut.‘

I managed to get it open a little wider. But I had some help, I think.‘

‘The Captain?’

‘Possibly. But I don’t know if it means he’s fully on our side after all.’ She concentrated on flying for a moment, keeping the tether taut as she swung around. The pale green ghosts of the thirty-three cache weapons loomed on her radar; she plotted a course through them back to the airlock.

I still don’t know why he set the servitor on you,‘ Volyova said. Maybe he wanted to warn us off rather than kill us. As you say, he could have killed us already. Just possibly he prefers to have us around.’

‘You’re reading a lot into one hatch.’

‘That’s why I don’t think we should count on the Captain’s assistance, Khouri.’

‘No?’

‘There’s someone else we could ask for help,’ Volyova said. ‘We could ask Sylveste.’

‘Oh no.’

‘You met him once before, inside Hades.’

‘Ilia, I had to die to get inside that fucking thing. It’s not something I’m going to do twice.’

‘Sylveste has access to the stored knowledge of the Amarantin. He might know of a suitable response to the Inhibitor threat, or at the very least have some idea of how long we have left to come up with one. His information could be vital, Ana, even if he can’t help us in a material sense.’

‘No way, Ilia.’

‘You don’t actually remember dying, do you? And you’re fine now. There were no ill effects.’

Khouri’s voice was very weak, like someone mumbling on the edge of sleep. ‘You fucking do it, if it’s that easy.’

Presently — and not a moment too soon — Volyova saw the pale rectangle which marked the airlock. She approached it slowly, winding Khouri in and depositing her first into the lock. By then the injured woman was unconscious.

Volyova pulled herself in, closed the door behind them and waited for the lock to pressurise. When the air pressure had reached nine-tenths of a bar she wrenched her own helmet off, her ears popping, and flicked sweat-drenched hair from her eyes. The biomedical displays on Khouri’s suit were all in the green: nothing to worry about. All she had to do now was drag her to somewhere where she could get medical attention.

The door into the rest of the ship irised open. She pushed herself towards it, hoping she had the strength to haul Khouri’s dead weight along behind her.

‘Wait.’

The voice was calm and familiar, yet it was not one she had heard in a long time. It reminded her of unspeakable cold, of a place where the other crewmembers had feared to tread. It was coming from the wall of the chamber, hollowly resonant.

‘Captain?’ she said.

‘Yes, Ilia. It’s me. I’m ready to talk now.’

Skade led Felka and Remontoire down into the bowels of Nightshade, deep into the realm of influence of her machinery. By turns, Remontoire started to feel light-headed and feverish. At first he thought it was his imagination, but then his pulse started racing and his heart thundered in his chest. The sensations worsened with every level that they descended, as if they were lowering themselves into an invisible fog of psychotropic gas.

Something’s happening.