Gary Gibson - The Thousand Emperors

The mechant guided him to a small side-room containing only a single heavy-duty plastic crate.

‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded in a low whisper.

The mechant drifted past him, using its long mechanical arms and whip-like manipulators to lift the lid off the crate. Looking inside, Luc saw it contained only a seat and harness.

‘Miss de Almeida considers this the safest way to transport you through the transfer gate,’ the mechant replied. ‘Do you have an objection?’

‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ he said, staring back at the mechant.

The machine didn’t reply, and Luc cursed softly under his breath. Then he heard the murmur of voices from somewhere nearby and quickly climbed inside.

The mechant drifted forward once more and secured the lid on the crate as soon as Luc had fitted himself into the harness. The seat itself was held within a rigid frame that filled the crate’s interior.

A dim yellow light came on as the mechant closed the lid over him, and Luc felt a rush of claustrophobia.

A moment later he felt the crate rock, then lift up, swaying slightly. Time passed – at least twenty minutes – and then he found himself under powerful acceleration. It wasn’t hard to guess he’d been loaded on board another flier, presumably one on Vanaheim.

No, not just a flier, he realized, as he heard a dull roar build up beyond the confines of the crate; a sub-orbital. For some reason, he was on his way into orbit.

By the time the mechant unsealed the crate once more, he was in free-fall.

ELEVEN

The flier soon docked with a space station, and Luc disembarked into an echoing grey and silver passageway that dwindled into the distance. It had a distinct air of disuse, as if it had been abandoned long ago. He made his way to an observation blister from where he could see the cloud-streaked surface of Vanaheim far below.

It also gave him a view of part of the station’s exterior. He could see half a dozen or so transparent domes arranged at different angles along a central hub that, by the looks of it, was at least a couple of kilometres in length. Green shadows filled several of the nearest domes, while those further away looked dark and empty.

Moving away from the blister, he let the same mechant that had sealed him inside the crate guide him further down the passageway. Navigating in zero gee had never been his strong point, and it took a constant effort of will to remind himself that the station’s hub was not a bottomless well, and he was not about to go tumbling down its length.

It became rapidly clear the station was badly in need of repair. Access panels had been pulled open, exposing wiring and circuitry, and he saw at least a dozen dog-sized multi-limbed mechants standing still and silent, plugged into juice terminals that were clearly no longer capable of supplying them with power.

‘Who does this station belong to?’ he asked the mechant, more to distract himself than anything else.

‘The Sequoia is the property of Councillor Długok cki, Chief Administrator for the Lubjek mining colony in Acamar’s outer system,’ the mechant replied from up ahead. Its voice echoed slightly in the still air.

He followed the mechant towards a pair of secondary passageways branching out at right angles from the central hub, then followed the machine down the passageway on the right. They passed through a pressure-field, and immediately the air became warmer and denser and more humid, the walls of the passageway thick with moss and vines. After another few metres, Luc found himself drifting up through the floor of one of the domes he had earlier sighted.

The air within the dome was even more humid, filled with wide-leaved palms and trees that pushed against the curved transparent ceiling of the dome. The floor was hidden beneath lush grasses and ferns. Tiny, lemur-like primates with feathery blue fur and broad, fleshy flaps joining their arms to their bodies soared through the warm, soupy air, scattering brightly coloured insects that sported wide translucent wings.

Luc spotted Ambassador Sachs waiting for him at a point where several pathways, nearly hidden beneath the dense flora, converged close to the dome’s centre.

‘You are Master Archivist Gabion?’ asked the Ambassador as Luc came to a halt before him. His face was still hidden behind a mirror mask, and it was more than a little strange for Luc to find himself staring into that mirror, given his dream-memories of Antonov’s face reflected in it.

The Ambassador’s voice proved to be soft, almost contralto . He wore the same long coat as at Vasili’s service, while dark gloves concealed his hands. Luc felt a slight prickling on the back of his neck as he wondered if the Ambassador might in fact be some kind of machine, but then noticed pale flesh hidden in the shadows within the Ambassador’s hood, where the edge of the mask came into contact with all too human skin.

‘Ambassador,’ said Luc with a slight bow. ‘Councillor de Almeida said you might be able to help in the investigation into Sevgeny Vasili’s death.’

The Ambassador dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘Mr Gabion. We are familiar with your recent exploits at Aeschere. We’re more than happy to provide whatever assistance we can.’

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ said Luc, ‘but why meet here?’

‘It’s peaceful,’ the Ambassador replied. ‘And it feels like home, given that many of our lives back in the Coalition are spent far from planetary surfaces. We . . . must confess to some confusion over Miss de Almeida’s request. We were under the impression the investigation into Councillor Vasili’s murder had recently been closed?’

We? ‘Yes, but we’re far from clear on how the killer managed to circumvent security and reach Vanaheim,’ said Luc, thinking again of the ease with which de Almeida had just done precisely that to bring him here. ‘Naturally, we want to reduce the chances of something like this happening ever again.’

The Ambassador nodded. ‘We can understand why the Council would want to carry out a review of its own security measures, but don’t see how we could possibly be of any help. Surely it’s an internal matter for the Council?’

‘Miss de Almeida wants to carry out interviews with anyone who met with or spoke with Vasili in the last few days before he died. You did say you were willing to help?’

For a second he thought the Ambassador might object. Even with the mask hiding his face, Luc could clearly sense his reluctance.

‘Very well, then,’ said the Ambassador, with a touch of weariness. ‘We wouldn’t want to be seen as uncooperative.’

‘If I may ask, Ambassador Sachs – why do you wear that mask?’

The Ambassador let out an audible sigh. ‘Must we really go over this again?’

Luc hesitated, guessing he’d be far from the first person to have asked that very question. ‘Consider it a necessary formality, Ambassador, with my apologies.’

‘Very well, then.’ Sachs replied, with the tone of one repeating a familiar litany. ‘In the Coalition, we believe faces born of nature have little reflection on an individual’s true spirit. We don’t place limits on ourselves in the way that your own civilization does, and we prefer to be judged by what we do, rather than how we appear. Besides, there are those amongst us who engage in forms of mind and body modification that some within the Tian Di might find . . . intimidating.’