Century Rain Part 88

personality would have begun to break up without the anchoring effect of a physical mind."

"And now?"

"She has a fighting chance." He stabbed the cigar forwards for emphasis. "Thanks to Auger."

"I think Auger misjudged you," Floyd said.

"She misjudged some of us. Concerning the others, she was-I regret to say-entirely correct in her

opinion." Floyd had already told Tunguska all he could of the Slasher conspiracy. Doubtless he had some of the details wrong, and was vague about other things that Auger would have understood better. But Tunguska had nodded encouragingly, and had asked what seemed like more or less the right questions in the right order.

"What will happen now?" Floyd asked.

"With Auger? We'll keep her under observation until we can identify a suitable new host for Ca.s.sandra's machines. It's not entirely clear what they're doing to Auger, but I think we'd best leave them to their own devices for the time being."

"But will she be all right?"

"Yes. Whether she will ever be quite the same, however...well, that's a different question."

Floyd cradled his drink and nodded. There was no point shooting the messenger, when Tunguska was

doing the best he could. "Before we left Paris," he said, "Ca.s.sandra said she'd given orders to intercept the escape vessel."

"We received them," Tunguska said.

"I was just wondering what the deal with that was. Did you boys make your kill?"

Tunguska glanced sideways, as if checking that no one else was in earshot. "Not exactly. It would seem that one of the interceptor s.h.i.+ps was compromised. The one that had the best chance of catching the escape craft just...let it slip through the net." He spread his fingers wide. "Unfortunate."

"You can't let that thing escape."

"We did what we could, but there was another, faster s.h.i.+p waiting in translunar s.p.a.ce, within one of our temporary sensor shadows. Very clever."

"And this faster s.h.i.+p-how big is she?"

"Big enough to carry the antimatter device from the Twentieth Century Limited, if that's what you're

wondering," he said. "We can't be certain that it's the same craft that was involved in the hijacking, but given all the other factors...well, it seems more than likely. Incidentally, we've connected that s.h.i.+p to Niagara."

"You have to stop him."

"Tricky, unfortunately. His s.h.i.+p's already on a high-burn trajectory, heading towards the Sedna portal."

"So shut it down," Floyd said.

"We've already tried that. It would appear that Niagara's allies have control of the portal. We'll have a military presence there within the day-enough to oust the aggressors-but not before that s.h.i.+p makes it through to the hyperweb."

"And then we'll have lost her," Floyd said heavily.

Tunguska s.h.i.+fted in his seat, the leather groaning as he resettled himself. "Not necessarily. We at least know that the s.h.i.+p's headed to the Sedna portal, and we know where that portal comes out. There's a triad of portals at the far end-Niagara will have to take one of them. If we can keep sufficiently hard on his tail, we may be able to read the signatures of portal activation and determine which rabbit hole he's bolted down. At that point we'll risk entering the hyperweb link while another s.h.i.+p is still in transit. This is an unorthodox procedure even for Polity s.h.i.+ps, and we'll have to override safety controls on the portals to attempt it at all. But at the very least we'll be able to follow Niagara part of the way, if nothing else."

"Much good that'll do."

"It's better than turning away now. Niagara's craft is a big s.h.i.+p, fast in a straight-line dash, but it won't be able to make portal-to-portal transitions as fast as we can. That's about our only advantage."

"And you've still no idea what corner of s.p.a.ce Niagara's headed to?"

"None at all," Tunguska said. "That, unfortunately, is the bit we haven't figured out yet. I don't suppose you've had any bright ideas?"

"If you want bright ideas," Floyd said, "you've definitely come to the wrong guy."

When they had finished their drinks, Tunguska led Floyd through a warren of panelled companionways to his quarters. "It's not much," the Slasher said, opening the door to a bedroom Howard Hughes could have used for landing practice.

"I'll manage," Floyd said, fingering the teak inlay of the door. "Is all of this real?"

"Perfectly so," Tunguska said. "Ours is a large s.h.i.+p and we can afford to reallocate some resources for your comfort. If we need those resources back again, I'll do my best to give you fair warning."

"Thanks...I think," Floyd said. "About Auger?"

"You'll be notified as soon as anything happens."

"I'd like to see her."

"Now?"

"Perhaps in a little while."

"She still won't be able to talk to you," Tunguska warned.

"I know," Floyd said, "but I want her to know that someone cares."

"I understand," Tunguska replied, guiding him into the room. "You've made quite some sacrifice by

coming here, haven't you, Mister Floyd?"

"I've made worse."

"But you must appreciate that there is no guarantee of your ever returning home."

"I didn't know that when I helped Auger escape."

"Perhaps not. But would that knowledge have made any difference to your actions?"

Floyd thought about that for a moment, trying to answer truthfully. "Maybe not."

"I doubt that it would have. I may not be an excellent judge of human character, but I suspect you would

have made exactly the same choices even if you'd had full knowledge of the consequences." Tunguska patted him gently on the back. "And I find that rather admirable. You would have thrown away everything-the world and the people you love-for the sake of another human life."

"Well, don't elevate me to sainthood just yet," Floyd said. "I had an idea that it was a good idea to help Auger get home. That was a kind of selfishness. And there's still a chance for me to make the return journey."

Tunguska studied him intently for a few moments, one finger gently stroking the heavy undercurve of his chin. "If we pinpoint the location of the ALS, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's true enough. But there's still the small matter of breaking inside. The aggressors will attempt to deploy their antimatter device, which may or may not be sufficient to crack open the ALS.

We, on the other hand, will do all we can to prevent them from doing that. If we can detonate the antimatter device prematurely, that is what we will do."

Floyd hadn't thought things through to that level of detail. Tunguska didn't need to spell it out any more clearly that this could well turn into a suicide mission, if that was the only way to prevent Silver Rain from reaching E2.

"I'm sorry," Tunguska added, when he saw Floyd's reaction.

"And there's no other way inside for me, is there?"

"None that we know of. Of course, if the ALS is ever in our possession, we'll have all the time in the world to find a way inside...but that's the one thing you don't have."

"You must do whatever it takes to stop Silver Rain," Floyd said. "That's what Auger and I risked our necks for. It's what Susan White, Blanchard and Ca.s.sandra died for, and all the other innocent people that got involved in this."

"We can still hope for a satisfactory outcome," Tunguska said, forcing a strained note of optimism into his voice. "I'm just saying that we ought to be prepared for the worst."

Tunguska left Floyd alone in his quarters, while the s.h.i.+p raced across the system towards the compromised portal. Floyd roamed around the enormous room, exploring its parameters like a laboratory hamster. It was comfortable enough, and it was obvious that his hosts had gone to quite a lot of trouble to make him feel at home. But he had a nagging suspicion that he would have been happier with the naked reality of the s.h.i.+p, as it presented itself to its usual occupants. Up close, the decor and furnis.h.i.+ngs of the room had the same sketchy quality as the parlour room. It was like walking through someone else's vague daydream. Rather than relaxing him, it put him on edge.

There was a huge old upright wireless set by the writing desk, with a sunrise motif cut into the wood around the speaker grille. He turned it on, fiddled with the tuning dial. There was only ever one channel broadcasting. On it, a man delivered updates about the state of play in the system, with particular emphasis on the events in and around the portal towards which they were headed. The wireless announcer spoke with the speeded-up drawl of a horse-racing commentator, punctuating his monotone dialogue with little bells, whistles and xylophone jingles. It wasn't a real news report-Floyd figured that much out for himself in very short order. It would have sounded dated and phoney in 1939. It was a digest of the real situation, packaged in a way that was meant to be soothing and rea.s.suring for him.

He listened to the wireless for an hour or so, which was about as much as he could take. Niagara's s.h.i.+p had reached the portal and made a successful insertion. Fears that the aggressors might attempt to collapse the portal after making their insertion turned out to be unfounded, at least for now. One theory was that the technical staff left behind had refused to follow the orders to collapse the throat. Another was that the throat collapse would be delayed until the last minute before moderates regained control of the portal, so that the collapse wave didn't have time to catch up with and damage Niagara's s.h.i.+p. A third possibility was that the aggressors had chosen to keep the portal open, despite the risk of pursuit. Closing it would have endangered the possibility of future access to the ALS, making their entire scheme senseless. They wanted to sterilise E2, and then bring everyone else around to the idea that this had been the right and proper thing to do. And then, presumably, they wanted to talk real estate.

Floyd turned off the wireless and thought about Auger again. It was less than a week since she had walked into his life. And yet he couldn't imagine spending one moment of the rest of his life without her. Every other concern seemed thin and trivial when set against the necessity of her survival.

Presently, Tunguska came back to see him. "Good news, Floyd-Auger is making progress."

"You've found another host?"

"Not yet, no. Ca.s.sandra's machines seem quite keen to entrench themselves, for now at least. It may be that they've decided to stay inside Auger until this crisis is resolved."

Floyd stood up. "Can I see her?"

"I said she was making progress," Tunguska said, with a sympathetic smile. "I didn't say she was lucid."

"How long before she's properly conscious?" he asked, slumping down on the bed again.

"We'll be well inside the portal by the time she's ready for visitors." Tunguska held a box in his hands, jammed full of what Floyd at first took to be papers. "I'll have to ask for your patience until then."

Floyd accepted this information with as much grace as he could muster. "All right. I guess there's no point in arguing."

"None at all, I'm afraid. We have Auger's best interests at heart, but we're just as concerned for Ca.s.sandra's wellbeing." He walked over to the bed on which Floyd was sitting and placed the box at his feet. "In the meantime, I thought this might make your stay here a little more tolerable."

Floyd looked down. The box was full of records: labels and sleeves he half-recognised. "Where did you get those from?" he asked incredulously.

"The cargo you brought back from E2," Tunguska said, looking pleased with himself.

"But I thought we lost it."

"We did. These are copies, reconstructed from scans of the original cargo. You can thank Ca.s.sandra for that particular piece of foresight."

Floyd extracted one of the records. Seventy-eight r.p.m.: Louis Armstrong, with King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band, playing "Chimes Blues." The original, on the Gennett label, was worth a ton of money in mint condition. Floyd had a scratched copy that was worth a bit less. All the same, he'd still played it a thousand times, trying to get his head around Bill Johnson's ba.s.s moves.

This was a newer copy, on a reissue label, but still not one that Floyd had seen before. The sleeve was made of an odd, slippery material that felt like wet gla.s.s. "You made these?" he asked, rubbing the strange paper between his fingers.

"It was simple enough, given the available information."

Floyd tipped the sleeve, letting the disc roll out into his hands. It was very light, as if pressed from cuttlefish bone. It felt as if it ought to snap into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch.

"I wasn't even sure you people still listened to music. Auger didn't seem very keen on it. Nor did Susan White."

"Did Auger talk about that at all?"