Redemption Ark

No, of course not. I won’t go against Volyova unless I have a crushing tactical superiority from the word go. That’s how I’ve always worked, Skade: full-spectrum dominance. That means more than one ship. Two at the very least, three ideally, and I’ll take more if the Mother Nest can manufacture them in time. I don’t care about the edict, either. We need lighthuggers, heavily armed with the nastiest weapons we’ve got. One prototype isn’t enough, and given the time it takes to build anything these days, we’d better start work immediately. You can’t just click your fingers at an asteroid and have a starship pop out of the end four days later.

Skade touched a finger to her lower lip. Her eyes closed for an instant longer than a blink. For that moment Clavain had the intense feeling that she was in heated dialogue with another. He thought that he saw her eyelids quiver, like a fever-racked dreamer.

[You’re right, Clavain. We will need ships; new ones, incorporating the refinements built into Nightshade. But you don’t have to worry. We’ve already started making them. As a matter of fact, they’re coming on nicely.]

Clavain narrowed his eyes. New ships? Where?

[A little way from here, Clavain.]

He nodded. Good. Then it won’t hurt to take me to see them, will it? I’d like to have a look over them before it’s too late to change anything.

[Clavain…]

That isn’t open to negotiation either, Skade. If I want to get the job done, I’ll need to see the tools of my trade.

CHAPTER 9

The Inquisitor relaxed her seat restraints and sketched a window for herself in the opaque hull material of the Triumvir’s shuttle. The hull obligingly opened a transparent rectangle, offering the Inquisitor her first view of Resurgam from space in fifteen years.

Much had changed even in that relatively brief span of planetary time. Clouds which had previously been vapid streaks of high-altitude moisture now billowed in thick creamy masses, whipped into spiral patterns by the blind artistry of Coriolis force. Sunlight glared back at her from the enamelled surfaces of lakes and miniature seas. There were hard-edged expanses of green and gold stitched across the planet in geometric clusters, threaded by silver-blue irrigation channels deep enough to carry barges. There were the faint grey scratches of slev lines and highways. Cities and settlements were smears of crosshatched streets and buildings, barely resolved even when the Inquisitor asked the window to flex into magnification mode. Near the hubs of the oldest settlements, like Cuvier, were the remnants of the old habitat domes or their foundation rings. Now and then she saw the bright moving bead of a transport dirigible high in the stratosphere, or the much smaller speck of an aircraft on government duty. But on this scale most human activity was invisible. She might as well have been studying surface features on some hugely magnified virus.

The Inquisitor, who after years of suppressing that part of her personality was again beginning to think of herself as Ana Khouri, did not have any particularly strong feelings of attachment to Resurgam, even after all the years she had spent incognito on its surface. But what she saw from orbit was sobering. The planet was more than the temporary colony it had been when she had first arrived in the system. It was a home to many people, all they had known. In the course of her investigations she had met many of them and she knew that there were still good people on Resurgam. They could not all be blamed for the present government or the injustices of the past. They at least deserved the chance to live and die on the world they had come to call their home. And by dying she meant by natural causes. That, unfortunately, was the part that could no longer be guaranteed.