Alastair Reynolds - Absolution Gap

“The ships in the parking swarm are free to use their sensors to study the vanishings,” Quaiche said. “Many have done so, and have circulated their findings to the wider community.”

“True,” the Ultra said, “but those long-distance observations haven’t been taken very seriously beyond this system. What’s really needed is a detailed study, using physical probes—instrument packages fired into the face of the planet, that kind of thing.”

“You might as well spit in the face of God.”

“Why? If this is a genuine miracle, it should withstand investigation. What do you have to fear?”

“God’s ire, that’s what.”

The Ultra examined his fingers. Rashmika read his tension like a book. He had lied once, when he told the dean about the ship being full of evacuees who wanted to witness the vanishings. There might be a host of mundane reasons for that. Beyond that he had told the truth, so far as she was able to judge. Rashmika glanced at the woman, who had said nothing yet, and felt another electric shock of recognition. For a moment their eyes met, and the woman held the gaze for a second longer than Rashmika found comfortable. It was Rashmika who looked away, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

‘The vanishings are reaching culmination,“ the Ultra said. ”No one disputes this. But it also means that we do not have much time to study Haldora as it is now.“

“I can’t allow it.”

“It has happened once before, hasn’t it?”

The light caught the frame of his eye-opener as he turned towards the man. “What has?”

“The direct probing of Haldora,” the Ultra said. “On Hela, so far as we can gather, there are rumours of an unrecorded vanishing, one that happened about twenty years ago. A vanishing that lasted longer than the others, but which has now been stricken from the public record.”

“There are rumours about everything,” Quaiche said, sounding peevish.

“It’s said that the prolonged event was the result of an instrument package being sent into the face of Haldora at the moment of an ordinary vanishing. Somehow it delayed the return of the normal three-dimensional image of the planet. Stressed the system, perhaps. Overloaded it.”

“The system?”

“The mechanism,” the Ultra said. “Whatever it is that projects an image of the gas giant.”

“The mechanism, my friend, is God.”

“That’s one interpretation.” The Ultra sighed. “Look, I didn’t come here to irritate you, only to state our position honestly. We believe that an instrument package has already been sent into the face of Haldora, and that it was probably done with Adventist blessing.” Rashmika thought again about the scratchy markings Pietr had shown her, and what she had been told by the shadows. It was true, then: there really had been a missing vanishing, and it was in that moment that the shadows had sent their bodiless envoy—their agent of negotiation—into the scrimshaw suit. The same suit they wanted her to remove from the cathedral, before it was dashed to pieces on the floor of Ginnungagap Rift.

She forced her attention back to the Ultra, for fear of missing something crucial. “We also believe that no harm can come from a second attempt,” he said. “That’s all we want: permission to repeat the experiment.”

“The experiment that never happened,” Quaiche said.

“If so, we’ll just have to be the first.” The Ultra leaned forwards in his seat. “We’ll give you the protection you require for” free. No need to offer us trade incentives. You can continue to deal with other Ultra parties as you have always done. In return, all we ask for is the permission to make a small study of Haldora.“

The Ultra leant back. He glanced at Rashmika and then looked out of one of the windows. From the garret, the line of the Way was clearly visible, stretching twenty kilometres into the distance. Very soon they would see the geological transitions that marked the approach of the Rift. The bridge could not be far below the horizon.

Fewer than three days, she thought. Then they’d be on it. But it wouldn’t be over quickly, even then. At the cathedral’s usual crawl it would take a day and a half to make the crossing.

“I do need protection,” Quaiche said, after a great silence. “And I suppose I am prepared to be flexible. You have a good ship, it seems. Heavily armed, and with a sound propulsion system. You’d be surprised how difficult it has been to find a ship that can meet my requirements. By the time they get here, most ships are on their last legs. They’re in no fit state to act as a bodyguard.”

“Our ship has some idiosyncrasies,” the Ultra said, “but yes, it is sound. I doubt that there’s a better-armed ship in the parking swarm.”

“The experiment,” Quaiche said. “It wouldn’t be anything more than the dropping of an instrument package?”

“One or two. Nothing fancy.”

“Sequenced with a vanishing?”

“Not necessarily. We can learn a great deal at any time. Of course, if a vanishing chooses to happen… we’ll be sure to have an automated drone stationed within response distance.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of this,” Quaiche said. “But I do like the sound of protection. I take it you have studied the rest of my terms?”

“They seem reasonable enough.”

“You agree to the presence of a small Adventist delegation on your ship?”

“We don’t really see why it’s necessary.”

“Well, it is. You don’t understand the politics of this system. It’s no criticism: after only a few weeks here, I wouldn’t expect you to. But how are you going to know the difference between a genuine threat and an innocent transgression? I can’t have you shooting at everything that comes within range of Hela. That wouldn’t do at all.”

“Your delegates would take those decisions?”

“They’d be there in an advisory capacity,” Quaiche said, “nothing more. You won’t have to worry about every ship that comes near Hela, and I won’t have to worry about your weapons being ready when I need them.”

“How many delegates?”

“Thirty,” Quaiche said.

“Too many. We’ll consider ten, maybe twelve.”

“Make it twenty, and we’ll say no more on the matter.”

The Ultra looked at Rashmika again, as if it was her advice that he sought. “I’ll have to discuss this with my crew,” he said.

“But in principle, you don’t have any strong objections?”

“We don’t like it,” Malinin said. He stood up, straightened his uniform. “But if that’s what it takes to get your permission, we may have no choice but to accept it.”

Quaiche bobbed his head emphatically, sending a sympathetic ripple through his attendant mirrors. “I’m so pleased,” he said. “The moment you came through that door, Mr. Malinin, I knew you were someone I could do business with.”

When the Ultras’ shuttle had departed, Quaiche turned to her and said, “Well? Are they the ones?”

“I think they are,” she said.

“The ship looks very suitable from a technical standpoint, and they certainly want the position very badly. The woman didn’t give us much to go on. What about the man: did you sense that Malinin was hiding anything?”

This was it, she thought: the crux moment. She had known that Vasko Malinin meant something important as soon as she heard his name: it had felt like the right key slipping into a lock after so many wrong ones, like the sequenced falling of well-oiled tumblers.

She had felt the same thing when she had heard the woman’s name.

I know these people , she thought. They were older than she remembered them, but their faces and mannerisms were as familiar to her as her own flesh and blood.