Alastair Reynolds - Absolution Gap

“It’s all right,” Urton said. “The arrangement is reciprocal. The church sends up a party, we send one down to the cathedral. It’s all above board.”

Scorpio sighed. What point was there in arguing? He was already tired, and all he had done was sit in on this discussion. This discussion in which everything was already agreed, and he was—to all intents and purposes—relegated to the role of passive observer. He could object all he wanted, but for all the difference he made he might as well have stayed in the reefer-sleep casket.

“You’re making a serious mistake,” he said. “Trust me on this.”

Captain Seyfarth was a slight, unsmiling man with a small thin-lipped mouth ideally evolved for the registering of con-tempt. In fact, beyond his neutral calm, Quaiche had never known the captain of the Cathedral Guard to show any other emotion. Even Seyfarth’s contempt was deployed sparingly, like a very expensive, difficult to procure item of military ordnance. It was usually in connection with his opinion of someone else’s security arrangements. He was a man who liked his work very much, and little else. He was, in Quaiche’s opinion, the perfect man for the job.

Standing in the garret, he wore the highly polished armour of the Guard, with his pink-plumed ceremonial vacuum helmet tucked under arm. The ostentatiously flanged and recurved armour was the deep maroon of arterial blood. Many medals and ribbons had been painted on the chest-plate, commemorating the actions Seyfarth had led in defence of the Lady Morwenna’s interests. Officially, they had all been aboveboard and within the generally accepted rules of Way behaviour. He had fought off raiding parties of disgruntled villagers; he had repelled hostile actions by rogue trading elements, including small parties of Ultras. But there had been covert operations as well, matters too delicate to commemorate: pre-emptive sabotage of both the Permanent Way and other cathedrals; the discreet removal from the church hierarchy of progressive elements hostile to Quaiche. Assassination was too strong a word, but that, too, was within Seyfarth’s repertoire of possible effects. He had the kind of past best left unmentioned. It included wars and war crimes.

But he remained fiercely loyal to Quaiche. In thirty-five years of service, there had been enough opportunities for Seyfarth to betray his master in return for personal advancement. It had never happened; all he cared about was the excellence with which he discharged his duty as Quaiche’s protector.

It had still been a risk, all the same, for Quaiche to let him know of his plans in advance. Everyone else involved—even the master of holdfast construction—needed to know only certain details. Grelier knew nothing at all. But Seyfarth required an overview of the entire scheme. He was the one, after all, who was going to have to take the ship.

“It’s going to happen, then,” Seyfarth said. “I wouldn’t have been called here otherwise.”

“I’ve found a willing candidate,” Quaiche said. “More importantly, one that also suits my needs.” He passed Seyfarth a picture of the starship, captured by spy remotes. “What do you think? Can you do the business?”

Seyfarth took his time studying the picture. “I don’t like the look of it,” he said. “All that gothic ornamentation… it looks like a chunk of the Lady Morwenna; flying through space.”

“All the more appropriate, then.”

“My objection stands.”

“You’ll have to live with it. No two Ultra ships look alike, and we’ve seen stranger. Anyway, the holdfast can accommodate any hull profile, within reason. This won’t pose any problems. And it’s what’s inside that really matters.”

“You’ve managed to put a spy aboard?”

“No,” Quaiche said. “Too little time. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve more or less agreed to accept a small party of Adven-tist observers. That’s all we need.”

“And the condition of the engines?”

“Nothing to cause alarm. We observed her approach: everything looked clean and stable.”

Seyfarth was still studying the picture, his lips signalling the contempt Quaiche recognised so well. “Where had she come from?”

“Could have been anywhere. We didn’t see her until she was very near. Why?”

“There’s something about this ship that I don’t like.”

“You’d say that no matter which one I offered you. You’re a bom pessimist, Seyfarth: that’s why you’re so good at your work. But the matter is closed. The ship’s already been selected.”

“Ultras aren’t to be trusted,” he said. “Now more than ever. They’re as scared as everyone else.” He flicked the picture, making it crack. “What is it they want, Quaiche? Have you asked yourself that?”

“What I’m giving them.”

“Which is?”

“Favoured trading incentives, first refusal on relics, that kind of thing. And…” He left the sentence unfinished.

“And what?”

“They’re mainly interested in Haldora,” Quaiche said. “They have some studies they’d like to make.”

Seyfarth watched him inscrutably; Quaiche felt as if he was being peeled open like a fruit. “You’ve always denied anyone that kind of access in the past,” he said. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because,” Quaiche said, “it doesn’t really matter now. The vanishings are heading towards some sort of conclusion anyway. The word of God is about to be revealed whether we like it or not.”

“There’s more to it than that.” Idly, Seyfarth ran one red gauntlet through the soft pink plume of his helmet. “You don’t care now, do you? Not now that your triumph is so close at hand.”

“You’re wrong,” Quaiche said. “I do care, more than ever. But perhaps this is God’s way after all. The Ultras may even hasten the end of the vanishings by their interference.”

“The word of God revealed, on the eve of your victory? Is that what you’re hoping for?”

“If that’s the way it’s meant to happen,” Quaiche said, with a fatalistic sigh, “then who am I to stand in the way?”

Seyfarth returned the picture to Quaiche. He walked around the garret, his form sliced and shuffled by the intervening mirrors. His armour creaked with every footstep, his gauntleted fists opening and closing in neurotic rhythm.

‘The advance party: how many delegates?“

“They agreed to twenty. Seemed unwise to try to talk them up. You can make do with twenty, can’t you?”

“Thirty would have been better.”

“Thirty begins to look too much like an army. In any case, the twenty will only be there to make sure the ship’s really worth taking. Once they’ve started softening things up, you can send in as many Cathedral Guard as you can spare.”

“I’ll need authorisation to use whatever weapons I see fit.”

“I don’t want you murdering people, Captain,” Quaiche said, raising a forbidding finger. “Reasonable resistance may be dealt with, yes, but that doesn’t mean turning the ship into a bloodbath. Pacify the security elements, by all means, but emphasise that we only want the loan of the ship: we’re not stealing it. Once our work is done, they can have it back, with our gratitude. I need hardly add that you’d better make sure you deliver the ship to me in one piece.”

“I only asked for permission to use weapons.”

“Use whatever you see fit, Captain, provided you can smug-gle it past the Ultras. They’ll be looking for the usual: bombs, knives and guns. Even if we had access to anti-matter, we’d have a hard time getting it past them.”

“I’ve already made all the necessary arrangements,” Seyfarth said.