THE CALL CAME, as regular as clockwork, one month after the last one. This time, Michael was too busy to even politely decline to speak.
Slow bubbles trailed up from behind his breather. The way they popped up to the ceiling of these flooded tunnels, then skated along the translucent blue ice like quicksilver never ceased to fascinate him. He had swum on many different planets in the years of his service to Herat; swimming through the flooded tunnels of these abandoned Oculus settlements was an experience unlike any other. The ice that made up the walls, ceilings, and floors of the chambers ranged through thousands of shades from emerald green to deep azure. The quality of color changed as the lights on Michael's helmet and helper bots moved. It only took one person to turn their head and his surroundings could change from dark tunnel to jewel-lined hall.
The caller remained on the line for a few moments, her presence visible as a flashing triangle to Michael's upper left. He had instructed his answering service not to take messages from her, so after a minute the triangle faded out. He found himself sighing in relief, though he knew there was no way he would have answered. When the triangle vanished, though, it left a hollow feeling which was all too familiar lately.
"What's up?" Barendts had been forging ahead, as usual, and now he returned, kicking strongly through the icy water. His entourage of jet-driven bots spiralled around him, little lamps darting to and fro like the flashlights of inquisitive fairies.
"They've been here, I'm sure of it!" Barendts waved at the tunnel behind him. "Just a bit further."
"I'm with you." Michael couldn't read the marine's expression through his facemask. He knew Barendts was eager to prove that this abandoned sub-ice town held autotroph trash. He was as unhappy as Michael to be stranded on this halo world, so far from the action. He wanted to have something to show for their time here, if and when they succeeded in getting back to High Space.
The tunnel he was pointing to looked unstable, however. Large slabs of its wall bulged inward, become as malleable as wax from the pressure of all the ice above it. Long cracks ran up those swollen walls.
The bots seemed calm, though; Michael sighed again and swam after Barendts. "Just this last one," he said. "Then we go back, empty handed or no."
The autotrophs didn't exactly trade with their fanatical green skinned worshippers. They disposed of garbage by either dropping it into the deep ocean, or hiding it in any of thousands of abandoned tunnels that riddled the coast of the Northern Ocean. Humans had lived here for centuries, and boom towns had sprung up and vanished many times, some on the surface, some in the depths. The green men explored the caverns, and occasionally came out with treasures they could trade to the university for hard currency. Michael and Barendts had spied on them long enough to pick up their search habits, and then had begun looking themselves. Several times now, they had discovered lodes of autotroph technology, hidden deep in the collapsing grottoes where no sane human would normally venture.
A chain of madly swimming bots lit the ice tunnels ahead of Michael, so that even when Barendts went behind a wall, he could see the marine's moving green trail through the ice. He followed the bots around the corner, and found himself at the bottom of a shaft braced with corroded rails: the familiar shape of an old elevator shaft. This was a lucky find, it might give them access to levels of the settlement unreachable by other means.
Barendts's shout confirmed his hope. "It's the frickin' town hall!" His helmet lamp whipped back and forth at the top of the shaft, casting shadows and highlights down the walls. In moments Michael was beside him, gasping despite himself at the place they had come to.
Sometime in the distant past, settlers had carved out a large cavern here, maybe with a clean nuke. Michael's headlamps couldn't reach the end of it. Maybe it was a hundred meters across— maybe a thousand. All was darkness beyond the feeble fan of his light, but that glow was strong enough to pick out drowned buildings: He saw walls and the black maws of open doorways, windows.
"Supremely creepy," said Barendts. The marine sounded happy— as he always was when he had something to do.
They had been sharing an apartment now for four months. Ever since Rue Cassels stranded Michael here on Oculus, he had been trying to get back to the Rights Economy. (Well, she hadn't really stranded him, he knew; she was stuck here, too, at least for now.) Michael had been adrift for too long, and was almost grateful to her for forcing a decision upon him. He was no longer permitted to speak to her, or to Laurent Herat, and so he'd had to make some long-deferred decisions. He had decided to become a rebel again.
It was just a shame that there was no way he could act on that decision, trapped as he was in the halo worlds.
"Come on!" Barendts shot away into the submerged streets of the cavern settlement. Michael followed, trying to ignore the way this place reminded him of Dis.
Those dire kami seldom visited him these days. He felt he was, if not getting over that experience, at least slowly reaching an accommodation with it. Unfortunate, then, to have to swim past these empty facades and hear the kami whisper in the back of his mind, so strong, so sad.
"Heads up!" That was Barendts, his voice suddenly urgent. Suddenly, all the bots went dark, leaving Michael staring into the narrowed cone of light from his own headlamp— light that showed only grainy water, and the corner of a long-abandoned building.
Prudently, he tuned that light down to a vague glow, and switched on his goggles' light amplifiers. "What is it?" he radioed.
"Visitors," said Barendts curtly. It took Michael a few minutes to find the marine in the speckly gray shadowland of the now-dark town. Barendts was hovering behind a half-fallen wall that might once have defined someone's garden, back when the invisibly distant ceiling held sunlamps and there was air here instead of water. Barendts pointed over the wall as Michael slid next to him.
Lights wavered in the distance. Michael counted seven sources, about half a kilometer away. This cavern was indeed huge. From here, all he could see was diffuse greenish lozenges slowly moving around the abandoned buildings.
"I'll send a bot," said Barendts.
"No." Michael put a hand on the marine's shoulder. "I want to see this myself."
Barendts started to protest, but Michael ignored him, kicking strongly into the darkness beyond the wall. It made sense to send the bots ahead, but Michael had never been one to hide behind remotes— a trait he'd picked up from Herat, most likely. Better to do fieldwork yourself.
Anyway, he had not ceased to be a scientist by choice. Michael was still welcome at the university, but he couldn't work with Laurent Herat, because the professor had signed some kind of secrecy deal along with Rue Cassels. Whatever the secret was, it was paid for by turning their backs on the struggles of the people in the Rights Economy. Michael was surprised and hurt that Herat of all people should be willing to do that— the Cycler Compact might be a declining power, but its decline was slow and graceful. It didn't involve the deaths of millions.
Michael had petitioned the Compact to allow Barendts and himself to return to the R.E. It was absolutely critical that the rebels learn about the weapon Crisler hoped to find at Osiris and Apophis. Rue knew that, and she had the ear of the highest officials in the government.
The petition had been turned down, without explanation.
Every day that passed, Crisler drew closer to the Twins, and to escaping with the Chicxulub weapon. Frustration had drawn Michael back to the autotrophs as much as curiosity. Frustration drove him now as he closed in on the distant lights, for the university had refused to allow him to visit the green men again. Herat could; Michael was only partially mollified by the knowledge that even Herat had not been allowed to visit the autotrophs themselves.
He took a roundabout route, hiding behind the softening outlines of buildings, confident in his destination because the glow was constantly visible. Finally only one building separated him from whoever it was; he took a chance, and swam into the crumbling structure itself.
The walls were peeling, the floor covered in a layer of hazy mud. The feeling of desolation here was overwhelming, and he could feel his NeoShinto implant stirring, finding echoes of the kami of lost lives here. Michael ignored it, and made his way to a room at the front of the building.
The wall here had numerous holes in it. Light shone strongly through them, and he could hear a thrumming sound through the water now. Michael swam slowly over and put his goggles against one of the lower holes.
Not three meters away, a thing like a giant silver scarab was lowering boxes and canisters off its back, and arranging them carefully in the silt. There was no recognizable head to the thing, nor any sense organs he could see. But drifting around and above it were hundreds of tiny bright beads.
Michael recognized them: They were like the ones that had swarmed around him and Herat during their visit to the autotrophs four months ago. The swarm had spoken to them; it was an integral part of the autotrophs' artificial intelligence.
Michael had recovered some dead beads from other autotroph trash sites. He'd taken one apart, and figured he knew how they were powered. And the aliens didn't seem to keep good track of the things— which sparked an idea.
Some of the beads were hovering very close to the wall. Michael rose up on his haunches and peered through another crack. One hovered not twenty centimeters away. Its little black head was pointing down and away— watching the silver thing deposit its cargo, no doubt.
Months of anger at his betrayal by his companions made Michael unwilling to hesitate: He simply reached out and grabbed the bead, popping it into the metal mesh bag he carried at his waist. Then he put his eye to the crack and watched to see what would happen next.
Nothing happened. He heard a faint bzzt come over his radio, but the beads outside didn't move and the silver thing went on arranging its trash. The metal mesh probably blocked the thing's signal. And there were more of the beads hovering within reach.
In seconds he had a dozen of them in his sack. They circled lazily inside it, as if made lethargic by the cold water and high pressure. Maybe that was true. Michael eased back from the cracked wall and made his way to another building some distance away. There he found an interior room and turned up his headlight.
He opened the sack while tuning his radio across frequencies. The beads swirled lazily inside the mesh; after a minute he hit on the right frequency. A complex, sonorous hum came from the little things.
"Hello?" he said through the radio. "Do you guys speak Anglic?"
"Ph-ph-ph-phage," said a pipsqueek voice in his ears. "You eat us now."
"No," he said. "I just want to talk."
"No talk," said the tiny AIs. "We leave now."
"I'll let you go after we talk. How's that?"
"No. We leave planet. Ancient weapon in hands of phages. Must warn others of the Real."
"You're leaving Oculus? Leaving this planet?"
"Here to make preparations. Leave caches where phages not find."
Michael chewed his lip, thinking hard. "You know there's humans going after the Chicxulub weapon. You're going to pull up roots here— warn the autotroph empire?"
"We warn. Destroy phages before weapon built."
Michael raced back to where he'd left Barendts. The marine was startled when he ducked back over the wall; Michael had come from an unexpected direction.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"We're done here, at least for now," said Michael. "We've got to get these things back to Lux."
"But there's a veritable trove of stuff there—"
"Which we can come back for later."
"Are you crazy? The green guys might find it."
Michael swam determinedly toward the black maw of the elevator shaft. "Forget about the trash. Something more important's come up."
As he swam, he heard faint flashes of radio from the mesh bag. The little beads were clamoring to be let out.
Soon, he thought. When we have the right audience.
* * *
A CONSTANT WIND soared through the towers of Lux. It flooded in across the mountains and wound sinuously around the hills, coming from the dark hemisphere of Oculus. Sometimes, when Rue stepped out onto the balcony of her apartment high above the city, she had a momentary panic reaction: hull breach! This reaction was never more than a flash, but it always left her jammed with adrenaline. Lux held no outlet for the jagged energy of fear; not now that Crisler and Mallory were gone.
She didn't miss the bastards, of course; it was Max she longed for. And (though she tried not to admit this to herself) Mike.
So, at times like this she walked. Walking was a luxury she'd never known on Allemagne, but on Treya she had learned to associate walking with freedom. On this occasion, as commonly happened, her steps had taken her into the Night City.
Since Colossus never moved in the sky, day and night were conventions on Oculus. The day was defined by three eight-hour shifts, and social networks arose chiefly among people who shared shifts. Soon after their rescue from the ocean depths, Rue had taken care to move her «day» shift to correspond with Michael Bequith's "night." That way, she could minimize the chances of their meeting.
Sometimes, as she walked here, Rue would think about Dis. She had only visited Michael Bequith's nightmare one time, on board the submarine; but it had been enough. In its loneliness and isolation that frozen scrap of world had been akin to Allemagne and the Envy. Yet, of all Mike's kami, those of Dis were not spirits of a place, but echoes of an ancient species. Rue had felt them— present, yet fading, like a dying ember. They were merging back into the all-encompassing sky of stars— yet Rue had not felt that they were vanishing. Rather, they were expanding, like the sphere of light from a star, gradually becoming one with the vast and eternal stillness of space itself.
All her life Rue had thought of herself as small and singular, like a mote of dust battered to and fro by fate. In one moment of understanding the kami of Dis had shown her fragile individuality to be an illusion. The reality of who she— or anyone— was, was infinitely greater.
The Night City was a vast sprawling complex of arcades and sub-ice warrens, all windowless. There were huge caverns here, their ceilings studded with lights to simulate stars. The city held markets, restaurants, theaters, and the inevitable prostitute's quarter. The constant murmur of crowds was seductive, the press of bodies allowing a reassuring anonymity— but Rue often walked the darkest streets, because what was pitch-black to others was perfectly visible to her. She could easily avoid those who lurked in what they thought were shadows.
After two years of struggling to better herself and her people, Rue found herself alone again. The remnants of her crew were scattered, Rebecca, Blair, Evan, and Corinna back aboard the Envy, but as prisoners; Max forever dead; and Michael Bequith exiled into the streets of Lux. The only soul who knew even the slightest thing about Rue or her dreams was the academic Herat, and though she saw him during their regular sessions of militia training, she didn't feel close to him.
Few recognized the slim young woman who paced through the crowds, head down, hands jammed in the pockets of her tough workers' slacks. Anyone who thought they recognized the famous cycler captain from Erythrion probably decided they were mistaken. What would someone so wealthy and powerful be doing passing like a shabbily dressed ghost alone through the back alleys of the Night City?
She understood now that there were two states of being in the interstellar halo: in transit and stranded.
Rue was standing hipshot outside a dance club she sometimes came to, when she received a call. She hesitated before answering; it might be better tonight to lose herself in the crush of moving bodies and the pulse of the music inside. Sighing, she said, "Yes?"
"Rue, it's Laurent Herat. I know it's late, but I need to talk to you."
"Why? What's happened?" She stepped to one side of the club's door, allowing several other young people to enter. They were laughing carelessly and she watched them with envy.
"I received an extraordinary visitor earlier tonight," Herat went on. "One with an equally extraordinary message."
"Who?" Her thoughts flew to their various mutual acquaintances, but there was really only one person it could be. "Michael?"
"Apparently he's been making his own attempts to communicate with the autotrophs. Amazing! We've been unsuccessful, as you know, the green men won't let us visit them again, but… well, I believed Bequith when he said he had information about them. He says they know about what Crisler's intending, and they're leaving Colossus to warn their own people."
"Gods and kami." But it made sense— if Michael wasn't lying. Lying didn't seem to be in his nature.
"He brought some proof— several of the little remote AI bees that we spoke with once before. They're not very intelligent or knowledgeable, but they say the autotrophs are scared of the Chicxulub weapon, that they're pulling up their roots here."
Rue felt a terrible sense of helplessness. "That could mean war between humanity and the autotrophs."
"Yes," said Herat, his voice sounding old. "But Michael proposed a solution." He laughed humorlessly. "He's always been a good negotiator."
"What solution?"
"He's determined to warn the rebels about what Crisler's intending. He thinks he may have a way to communicate with the autotrophs, and he's willing to give it to us in return for passage to the nearest lit world for both him and Barendts."
"He's blackmailing us!" She was appalled, then infuriated. This was not the man she thought she knew.
As soon as she felt this, though, Rue reminded herself that Michael was, as far as he knew, abandoned in place here. What had she just been thinking about the halo herself? — that here, you were either in transit or stranded?
"He's desperate, and in no small part because of what we did to him," said Herat, as though reading her mind. "Anyway, I have no authority to give him what he wants."
"But I do," she said, her heart sinking. Yes, she could requisition two berths on the next cycler that came by. But if she did that, Rue would be letting Mike go without his ever finding out the reasons why she and Herat had become separated from him. The secret they were now party to was huge, as important in its own way as the existence of Jentry's Envy had become. She couldn't betray that secret, but was the price of her silence to be letting go of any chance of reconciling or explaining herself to Mike?
"In a way, I think this might be for the best," said Herat gently. "Bequith needs a calling, and maybe that calling was to be a rebel all along. Maybe his time with me was just a distraction."
Rue winced. Had she been a distraction as well? "If that's his price, we have to pay it," she heard herself say. "There's too much at stake. It would be… a shame to lose him, though. There's nowhere he'd be more useful than at the Twins, and I'm sure if he knew what we were planning, he'd drop this rebel foolishness in a second."
"If he knew, Rue. But there's no way to tell him. The law is very clear. Even if you and I know he would join us the instant he knew… we'd have committed treason to tell him."
"Treason…" Rue had a sudden idea. It wasn't pleasant, but she smiled grimly as she realized how perfect it was. "I think I know what to do, Professor. Let me handle it from here."
* * *
Michael was trying to meditate when his door announced a visitor. Concentration broken, he glared past the little telltale in his periphery, then remembered his visit with Herat yesterday. Maybe this was some messenger with a reply.
He unfolded himself from full lotus and stood. Barendts was out, probably at the gym exercising, as he did obsessively. The little flat was stark and bare, more a cell than an apartment, but Michael kept it neat. Just now as his mind had quieted toward a meditative state, he had been feeling, if not happy, at least as though he were doing something worthwhile for the first time in months.
Musing about this, he opened the door.
"Hello, Michael," said the woman on the other side.
He almost closed it on her, but after a moment's hesitation, Michael waved her in. Irina Case, NeoShintoist and general pain in the neck, stepped into his little room.
"I've been trying to contact you for months!" she said.
"And I've been avoiding you," he said. "Or hadn't you noticed?" But he waved her to a seat and said, "Would you like something to drink?"
She shook her head. Irina Case was about Michael's age, but blond and with pale, almost white eyes. She came from New Armstrong— had arrived, in fact, with that traitor Mallory. But she claimed not to have any involvement with the New Armstrong plotters.
"I know the Order sent you to try to bring me back into the fold," he said as he brought Case a cup of coffee. "I've dodged calls from the brothers here as well. But why they think you would be able to succeed where they failed is beyond me."
Irina quickly put down the cup. "Oh! I think there's been a misunderstanding." He stared at her; she looked uncomfortable. "I didn't come here to try to bring you back into the Order, Dr. Bequith, although we'd obviously prefer that."
He was puzzled. "Then why are you here? — to apologize for your countrymen?"
She took a sip of the coffee, unsuccessfully trying to disguise annoyance. "New Armstrong is a world, Dr. Bequith. Not a conspiracy. And not an evil empire.
"I suppose you haven't bothered to learn about us. Well. Our world orbits a gas giant only a little bigger than Jupiter. It's a halo world; if it didn't have a huge magnetic field for power, we wouldn't be able to live there at all. Our cities are built on the ice mares; I come from Mare Labrynthus."
Michael translated the name to himself: Sea of Mazes.
"New Armstrong is thriving," she said, "from an economic point of view. But in other ways…. For a long time we were staunch supporters of Permanence and the Compact. The Compact gives people direction, you know— many of our young people took the vows and became members of the Order. We built and launched our own cyclers. But since the fall of the lit worlds… well, people's faith has been shaken. A lot of the younger ones feel abandoned and alone and New A is such a hard place to live that… there's been violence. And suicide. People walking out onto the ice without a suit… and talk of joining the R.E."
He nodded. "And that talk reached the highest levels."
Case grimaced and nodded. "Of course. We would incur all the costs of such an association, and it would cripple us. Nonetheless, there's a powerful group aiming for just that. Mallory and his people are not the disease— just a symptom."
She took a deep breath and went on. "There must be an alternative. Recently, some of us have started a new church. We want to reverse the damage, give the people of New A their pride and sense of destiny back."
Michael suddenly realized where this was going. "Wait a second—"
"You can't have any idea how profoundly your kami affect people from New A," Case rushed on. "Particularly the Euler Night. I've seen a man who was in a deep depression visit those kami and come back laughing. Laughing!"
"I won't be your guru," said Michael. "I merely found the kami, I don't possess their… power."
"Oh, we know that. We just want your blessing to use the Euler Night in our initiatory ceremony. The religion's a mystery cult, adhering to the principles of Permanence Study 19-A. We're not exploitative economically or socially. People can come and participate in the mysteries and if they choose they can volunteer to run centers or learn to conduct initiations. There's no metaphysics or myth system, we're purely methodological. All clean," she said, holding her hands up.
Michael looked around at his tiny apartment. This was the last thing he'd expected. All his life people had asked him to serve, in one way or another. This woman Case was asking for something he didn't even believe he could give: a blessing. "But why?" he asked, trying to sort out how this made him feel. "Why do you need my blessing?"
"People respect you— your accomplishments," she said. "With your stamp of approval on the ceremonies, we'll be able to bring in more people."
"And I should do this because…? Anybody can visit a NeoShinto chapter or buy the equipment to visit the kami privately. They hardly need us, do they?"
Irina Case shook her head. "It's Leary's principles of Set and Setting. We provide a social context for the experience. The ceremonies help visitors to the kami to bring their experiences back to their daily life." She drew herself up and said in a more formal voice, "I would be honored if you would attend one of our initiations here in Lux. If you approve of what we've done, I'd like you to endorse our statement of intent. That's all."
Mike's mind was a blank. He opened his mouth, thinking he would just reject her request out of hand. To his own astonishment, he just said, "Call me tomorrow," he said. "We'll set something up."
* * *
MICHAEL CLOSED THE door behind himself and let out a whoosh of breath. For some reason he felt good— very good. He knew he would never rejoin the NeoShintoist Order. But he hadn't known how deeply he'd needed to believe that the years he'd spent in their service had not been wasted.
Yes, he could bless this new mystery cult. Caught between a spiritual awakening and political adventurism, the people of New Armstrong needed to decide a new course for themselves. His kami could help with that, he was sure. And if New Armstrong could rebuild its soul, then he might have won without a shot a war that his people had long ago lost on Kimpurusha.
He had just stepped away from the door when a knock came on it. Irina must have forgotten something, he thought, swinging it open and saying, "What now?"
Three uniformed men stood there. "Michael Bequith," said the one in front. "I hereby place you under arrest for violating the terms of the injunction forbidding you from contacting your former companion, Laurent Herat."
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Michael was pacing the confines of his cell when an officer appeared outside. "Where's my council?" Michael demanded. He had tried the soft approach with these stone-faced men, and got nowhere.
They seemed to be military police, not like the ones he saw regularly in the streets of Lux. And this was no local police station: He had been flown for hours out over the ice, to finally land at a simple station in the middle of nowhere, and then to drop in an elevator until his ears hurt from the pressure change.
His guard merely grimaced at his question, and said, "You've got a visitor."
He stepped aside, revealing a diminutive woman in a cycler captain's uniform. It was Rue Cassels.
Michael backed away and sat down on the cell's bunk as she stepped in. Rue looked around herself appraisingly, then said, "I'm sorry I had to do this, Mike."
"Do what?" He clutched the edge of the bunk in sudden realization. "You! You had me arrested!"
"Yes," she admitted, looking of all things a bit embarrassed. "It was the only way to get you here."
"What did I do to you? First you strand me here, cut off all communication, steal the professor away, now you have me thrown in jail for trying to get out of this hole? What next? Am I going to be executed?"
She reddened, but her voice was calm as she said, "I only want what I've wanted ever since… since we came here. I want you to join my crew."
This answer was so unexpected that Michael laughed. "You let me stew in this place because you wanted me to join your crew? Are you crazy? And what crew are you talking about here, Rue? You lost the Envy, remember?"
He'd meant the words to sting, but she appeared unruffled. "Not for long," she said.
Her calm reminded him of how she'd been when he last saw her— shortly after she had inflicted the kami of Dis upon herself. The words he had been about to add died on Michael's lips.
Maybe, he thought, she was crazy. Maybe it wasn't the Rue he'd begun to fall for looking through those dark eyes— maybe it was the spirits of Dis.
Whatever. Either way, she couldn't get away with what she was doing. "Not for long? You and I both know that your ship is beyond reach." Maybe she had trumped up some reason for the local authorities to arrest him, he thought, but if so she couldn't have told them she intended to go chasing after her lost cycler. They would know she was mad, they would never agree to that. Michael sat back, crossing his arms. He would wait for her to leave, then he would tell them.
"I'd like you to listen to something," said Rue. She came and sat on the bunk next to him. He caught her scent, and it filled him with regret and anger. He leaned away from her, but she merely gestured, opening an inscape window in front of them.
The picture was hazy and runneled with lines of static. Even through the distortion, Michael instantly recognized the face of Rue's friend, Rebecca.
"This message is for the authorities at Colossus," she was saying. "My name is Rebecca France. I am the doctor on board the interstellar cycler Jentry's Envy. I have to report that the Envy has been boarded by hostile forces. Admiral Crisler of the Rights Economy, to be exact. I… huh, where do I start? After the assassination of Captain Cassels at Lux, I discovered that the admiral and some traitors from the halo were going back to the Envy. In the absence of Rue— my captain— the Compact was legally obligated to restore visiting passengers to their cycler. So they were going. I went with them, because I felt an obligation to the crew who are under my care.
"A man named Mallory has assumed command of the Envy. It is he who had Rue Cassels assassinated. He's not aware of this transmission, I'm sending it on the Compact's emergency frequency from the supply shuttle. Corinna Chandra instructed me in how to do this. She and Evan Laurel are under constant guard; apparently Crisler doesn't think Blair Genereaux or I are threats, 'cause we're not technical. So Mallory's ensconced himself with two of my people and some of Crisler's boys in the new habitat that Captain Cassels made.
"It is vital that the authorities know that Admiral Crisler and Mallory have plotted together. Crisler intends to take the Banshee and appropriate the Lasa's cycler technology at Apophis and Osiris. Mallory provided some special technology to speed up that operation. It seems Mallory's people on New Armstrong have been building a new kind of plow sail. They had built one at Colossus to try to convince the Compact to back their plan to merge with the R.E. It was small enough that they were able to bring it along with them.
"Mallory's given the plow sail to Crisler and he told Crisler something that made the admiral think the Compact might get to the Twins first. We don't know what that was— maybe there are already people at Apophis and Osiris, a new colony or something. Anyway, Crisler's going to use this new plow sail with the Banshee. He's not going to decelerate to a normal stop at the star Maenad, like he'd planned. With the new plow sail, he's going to pull some high-g slam into the corona of Maenad itself. He'll go FTL there, coast to the Twins and then emerge from FTL and decelerate in. He estimates it'll cut three months off his schedule.
"In return, Mallory gets the Envy. He's trying to turn it, he's going to take it onto a ring to serve his own world. This means it will never return to Erythrion— my home.
"Crisler wants to take us— I mean, myself, Blair Genereux, Corinna Chandra, and Evan Laurel to Apophis and Osiris. It's because we have experience with the Lasa cyclers. Mallory had argued that he needed us as crew, but the new habitat Rue made runs itself and… well, Crisler pointed out that Mallory can't trust us. We might try to mutiny— or rather, take back our ship. He's right, of course.
"So they're going to stick us in the Banshee's brig and use us as expendable explorers when we get to the Twins. Mallory will report us accidentally killed aboard the Envy and he'll arrive at New Armstrong a hero.
"It is vital that this information reach the leaders of the Compact, both at Colossus and at New Armstrong," Rebecca said. "Mallory is a traitor and must be punished. Crisler is engaged in an attack on our fundamental right to exist. If he escapes with the technology behind Jentry's Envy, the halo may have lost its last chance at survival. Please, if you get this message, forward it to the proper authorities at once." The window closed.
"This message arrived three weeks ago," said Rue. "As a result of it, we've had to push our timetable back. We need your help, Michael. We're going to beat Crisler to the Twins."
He stared at her. She seemed completely serious, and that self-assurance saddened her. "Rue," he said softly, "there is no way we can get to Apophis and Osiris before Crisler. He's got a head start, and we have no way to catch up…. If we had an FTL ship, maybe, but Colossus is too small to start an FTL drive near it."
Rue nodded. "You're right. We can't start an FTL drive anywhere near Colossus." She stood and briskly walked to the door of the cell. "Come with me." She gestured imperiously. Apprehensive, but curious, he stood to follow.
They walked, escorted by two soldiers, down long corridors empty of people and down stairway after stairway. He had the feeling they were somewhere deep in the ice. Finally Rue stopped before a great metal door that had warning signs, cameras, and autoguns around it. She turned to Michael. "Up until this moment, it's been possible for me to let you go. Once you step through that door, Mike, you're one of us— whether you want to be or not."
Now he was afraid. "What are you doing?"
"What I have to," she said. The door slowly ground open and Michael, prodded by his guards, stepped through.
He stood on a balcony high above a gigantic cavern hewn out of the ice. And on the floor of that cavern…
Bright lamps lit the blue ceiling and walls of the place and the cool light reflected from the gleaming hulls of dozens of sleek starships. Each stood twenty meters tall. They were built for gravity, judging by their strong, diamondite and fullerene construction. Michael had glimpsed shapes like these once before in the distance, the day they had been rescued from the deep ocean. Now, as he stared at them, a hitherto unsuspected possibility came to him.
He turned, and saw that Rue was grinning that mischievous grin he'd only seen once or twice before. "You were right that no FTL ship can start its drive close to a brown dwarf this size. Its mass is so small that a ship would have to be inside the dwarf's atmosphere to do it."
"These…" He turned to Rue. "They're built like reentry vehicles. You're not… you don't expect to—"
She nodded, still grinning. "We'll get to Apophis and Osiris first. And now that you've seen these ships, you can't be set free again. I'm afraid, Mike, you're coming with us."