Absolution Gap

FORTY-SEVEN

The detachment of Cathedral Guard kept watch over their prisoners while Grelier left the garret with whispered orders from Quaiche buzzing in his ear. When he returned he brought with him a suit of approximately the right size for Rashmika: a blood-red Adventist model rather than the One she had worn during her journey aboard the caravan.

Grelier dropped the pieces of the suit into her lap. “Put it on,” he said. “And don’t take an eternity doing it. I want to get off this thing as much as you do.”

“I’m not leaving without the scrimshaw suit,” she said, before glancing at her mother. “Or my friends. They’re coming with me, both of them.”

“No,” Quaiche said. “They’re staying here, at least until you and I reach the safety of the ship.”

“Which ship?” Vasko asked.

“Your ship, of course,” Quaiche said, as if this should have been obvious. “The Nostalgia for Infinity. There’s still rather a lot I don’t know about it. The ship even appears to have something of a mind of its own. Mysteries, mysteries: doubtless we’ll get to the bottom of them all in good time. What I do know is this: I don’t trust that ship not to do something stupid like making itself blow up.”

“There are people aboard it,” Vasko said.

“A fully armed squad of Cathedral Guard will be attempting occupation from the holdfast even as I speak. They will have the weapons and armour denied to the earlier infiltration units, and they won’t need to wait for back-up from spaceborne elements. I assure you: they’ll have that ship flushed clean in a matter of hours, no matter what tricks it tries to play on them. In the meantime, it seems to me that the one thing guaranteed to stop that ship from doing anything foolish would be the presence of Rashmika—apologies, Aura —herself. After all, it practically threw itself into my holdfast as soon as I declared my position.”

“I won’t save you,” Rashmika said. “With me or without me, Dean, you’re a dead man unless you give me the shadows.”

“The shadows stay here, with your friends.”

“That’s murder.”

“No, merely prudence.” He beckoned one of the Cathedral Guard officers closer to his couch. “Haken, keep them here until you have news of my safe arrival in the holdfast. I should be there within thirty minutes, but you are not to act without my word. Understood?”

The guard acknowledged him with a nod. “And if we don’t hear from you, Dean?

“The cathedral won’t reach the western limit of the bridge for another four hours. In three hours and thirty minutes, you may release your prisoners and make your own escape. Regroup at the holdfast at your earliest convenience.”

“And the suit, sir?” Haken asked.

“It goes down with the Lady Mor. The cathedral will take its demons with it when it dies.” Quaiche directed his attention towards Grelier, who was helping Rashmika with the final details of the Adventist suit. “Surgeon-General? Would you happen to have your medical kit, by any chance?”

Grelier looked affronted. “I never leave home without it.”

“Then open it. Find a syringe containing something potent, like DEUS-X. That should be sufficient encouragement, don’t you agree?”

“Find your own way of controlling the girl,” Grelier said. “I’m leaving on my own. I think it’s about time you and I went our separate ways.”

“We can talk about that later,” Quaiche said, “but for the time being I think you need me as much as I need you. I guessed that you and I might be headed for a slight crisis in our relationship, so I had Haken’s men disable your ship.”

“I’m not fussed. I’ll take the other one.”

“There isn’t another one. Haken’s men took care of the Ultra shuttle at the same time.”

“Then we’re all stuck aboard the cathedral, is that it?” Grelier asked.

“No. I said we were going to the holdfast, didn’t I? Have some faith, Surgeon-General. Have some faith.”

“Bit late in the day for that, I think,” Grelier said. But even as he spoke he began rummaging in his case, flipping it open to reveal the ranked sets of syringes.

Rashmika finished putting on the suit by herself. There was no helmet: they were keeping that from her for the moment. She looked at her mother, then at Vasko. “You can’t leave them here. They have to come with us.”

“They’ll be allowed to leave in good time,” Quaiche said.

Rashmika felt the cold pressure of the syringe against her neck.

“Ready to move?” Grelier asked.

“I’m not leaving them here,” Rashmika insisted.

“We’ll be all right,” Khouri said. “Just go with him and do what he says. You’re the one that matters now.”

She breathed heavily, accepting it, knowing she had no other choice. “Let’s get this over with,” Rashmika said.

Glaur allowed himself one last look at the throbbing empire of Motive Power before he left it for ever. He felt an unconscionable twinge of pride: the machines were performing flawlessly even though they had been running without human assistance ever since Seyfarth and he had turned their dual keys in the lockout console, thereby putting the Lady Mor-wenna on autonomic control. It was the feeling a headmaster might have experienced upon spying into a classroom of diligent scholars, busy with their studies even in the absence of authority. Given time, the lack of human attention would make its mark: warning lights would begin to appear on the reactor, and the turbines and their associated mechanisms would begin to overheat from the lack of lubrication and adjustment. But that was many hours in the future: far beyond the likely lifetime of the Lady Morwenna. Glaur was no longer concerned about the probability of the cathedral sustaining a crossing of the bridge. He knew from the telltale indicators on the main navigation board that the inductance cable had been broken some distance ahead of the cathedral. It could have been at any point within a hundred kilometres of the Lady Mor’s present position, but Glaur knew, with absolute conviction, that it was because the bridge itself had been taken down. He couldn’t say how, or who had done it. A rival cathedral, most likely, intent on robbing the dean of even this one foolhardy shot at glory. It must have been quite a thing to see, though. Almost as spectacular a sight as the one the cathedral herself would make very shortly.

He turned from the machines and began to ascend the spiral staircase that accessed the next level of the cathedral. He trudged from tread to tread, awkward in the emergency vacuum suit he had retrieved from the repair shop. He had the faceplate raised, but shortly he expected to be out on Hela’s surface, retracing the cathedral’s footsteps back towards the orthodox route of the Way. Many had already left: if he maintained a brisk pace, he was sure to catch up with one of the parties before very long. There might even be a vehicle he could take from the garage deck, if they hadn’t all beenused.

Glaur neared the top. Something was wrong: his usual exit was obstructed, blocked by grilled metal. It was the protective gate: normally open, only rarely locked by members of the Clocktower when they were on sensitive duties.

He had been locked into Motive Power.

Glaur backed away from the gate. There were other stairwells, but he was certain that he would find similar obstructions at the top of them. Why go to the trouble of blocking one route, and not all the rest?

Glaur panicked. He grabbed the gate, rattling it on its hinges. It shuddered, but there was no way that he was going to be able to open it with brute force. There was no lock on this side, even if he’d had a key. He would need cutting tools to make his escape into the rest of the Lady Morwenna.

He forced calm: there was still plenty of time. In all likelihood he had been locked down in Motive Power by mistake, by someone thinking the hall was unattended and that it might as well be secured against possible sabotage attempts, no matter how ineffective they were likely to be.

All he needed was cutting equipment. That, fortunately, wasn’t a problem. Not down in Motive Power.

Keeping his head, forcing himself not to rush down the stairs, Glaur began to descend again. In his mind’s eye he was already rummaging through the tools of the repair shop, selecting the best for the task.