Poseidon's Wake

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Goma was worried, but at least she no longer had to keep her emotions to herself. News of the Watchkeeper was now public, and Goma’s apprehension was now something shared by the entire crew. The Watchkeeper had drawn a horizon across their fears, making it pointless to think beyond the next couple of days. Every other consideration — the performance of the drive, their chances of surviving skipover, the mystery around Gliese 163 — was now secondary.

Captain Vasin called a special assembly. It was early morning by the ship’s clock and not everyone was fully awake. The night-shift technicians, on the other hand, were red-eyed with weariness and keen to return to their cabins. Goma could not help noticing that Vasin looked more tired than she had been at the start of the voyage, a dark puffiness under her eyes, a weariness in the set of her mouth.

‘An hour ago, I was approached by Maslin Karayan.’ She nodded at the Second Chancer, seated close to her podium. ‘Maslin wished to share his concerns about the Watchkeeper. That was his right, and I agreed to listen. Maslin — would you like to state your request now, so that there need be no ambiguity?’

Karayan rose and stood next to the captain. ‘In the light of the Watchkeeper’s approach, I asked Captain Vasin — I mean Gandhari — to disengage the drive and make preparations for our return to Crucible.’ Despite his powerful build, he was not quite as tall as Vasin and had to cock his head when addressing her. This gave him a questioning, pugnacious look. ‘I believed it would be a prudent action, given our circumstances.’

‘Exactly what were your fears, Maslin?’

‘I wouldn’t characterise them as fears, Gandhari. Reasonable concerns, perhaps. This expedition has been years in the making and the construction of this ship has taken decades. There is no haste to make it to the other system.’ He was looking around at his audience, nodding in agreement with himself, encouraging everyone else to nod along with him. ‘A year here, a year there, it will make no difference. Until we have a better understanding of the Watchkeeper’s intentions, we should take no unnecessary chances. We have barely left our home! There would be no shame in returning now.’

‘No shame, and also no point,’ Vasin said. ‘If we return to Crucible, the Watchkeeper may leave us alone. But we’ll have gained nothing, and sooner or later we’ll have to try again. And then what? We’ll be back out here, having exactly this conversation.’

‘Always knew there was a chance this would happen—’ said Loring.

Vasin raised a gently silencing hand. ‘I think it fair that I explain my decision to Maslin — and the rest of you. We will not be slowing, or turning around. Not while I remain in command. I have sent another transmission back to Crucible and stated my position. If our government dislikes my choice, I will turn the ship around. I will even resign, if it comes to that. But until then, we hold our course and hold our nerve.’

‘We should debate this,’ Karayan said. ‘Put it to the vote.’

‘I am not silencing debate, but this is a starship, not a democracy. We have barely begun to be tested, and already this is too much?’ Vasin shook her head in dismay and frustration, and an edge entered her voice. ‘No. We hold the line. Let the Watchkeeper do with us as it will, but we will not be cowed or intimidated. We have as much right to move through space as they do — and while my hand is on the wheel, we will exercise that right.’

Mposi coughed gently and rose from his seat. ‘Thank you, Gandhari. And thank you, Maslin, for raising your concerns in the manner you did. We respect your right to do so and sympathise with your position. This is a difficult moment for all of us, regardless of ideology or belief. And I do not mind admitting that I am fearful of the Watchkeeper.’ He turned his hands palm up, emphasising the sincerity of this confession. ‘We would all be mad if we were not fearful. But Gandhari is right: to turn back will gain us nothing. Not a shred of new data. But if we succeed in leaving the system, we will acquire useful knowledge. And if we fail, if we are destroyed, that will also be useful knowledge to our friends back on Crucible. They have another starship. It will help them decide how best to use it.’

‘This was never meant to be a suicide mission,’ said Peter Grave, the young Second Chancer Goma had already spoken to.

‘No, but it was never without risk,’ Mposi countered. ‘We’ve all accepted that. When Nasim switched on the Chibesa drive, there was a chance of it blowing up in our faces. What were the odds, Nasim?’

‘One in a thousand,’ said Caspari. ‘Maybe a little worse.’

‘Those are not great odds! I wouldn’t bet my life on the roll of a thousand-sided dice! But we all did exactly that when we boarded this ship. And skipover — some of us won’t make it out on the other side, after one hundred and forty years. That’s a statistical certainty! Isn’t that the case, Saturnin?’

Dr Nhamedjo smiled at Mposi’s question, but he looked uncomfortable about being drawn into the argument. ‘There are risks,’ he said. ‘On the other hand, my team will be doing their utmost to minimise them — and I do not believe you could find yourselves in safer hands.’

‘Fine,’ Mposi went on. ‘But what if we were to run into a piece of debris at half the speed of light? Our shielding will absorb the most likely range of collisions, but it won’t protect us against a freak event. The Watchkeeper is the same — just another calculated risk.’

‘Sooner or later, though,’ Grave said, ‘there will be a risk that we should turn back from.’

‘I don’t disagree,’ answered Vasin. She waited a breath, gathering the silence she wanted. ‘I have a mission to execute, but I also have a ship and a crew to protect. Always those considerations must be balanced. That is what I do. That is what a captain is for, and why none of you really wants my job.’

True to her word, Gandhari allowed everyone a chance to have their say. Goma sat back and held her silence, unsurprised by anything she heard. The Second Chancers were all of the opinion that turning around was the thing to do, but then again none of them thought the expedition was a good idea to begin with. Of course there were nuances within that uniformity of opinion, but nothing that altered her basic view of them. On the other hand, all the other technicians and passengers were in broad agreement with Vasin. Again there were nuances. Nasim Caspari was willing to attempt a course change, if it were deemed wise. Mposi was adamant that they should not deviate a hair’s width from their intended trajectory. Dr Nhamedjo appeared anxious to project an image of scrupulous neutrality and merely reiterated his earlier statement that the medical provisions were as good as they could possibly be.

Ru looked bored — she just wanted the whole thing done with.

The hours stretched, with sleep offering little respite. Everywhere Goma went, the Watchkeeper was the only subject of conversation. The commons areas, the lounges and galleys, were busier than they had been since departure, full of people trading rumour and opinion. Meanwhile, intelligence and analysis arrived from Crucible, but it brought little solace. The government had backed Captain Vasin, and that vote of confidence ought to have silenced Maslin Karayan. But the Second Chancers were still not placated. Goma saw them gathered in twos and threes muttering and whispering. She hated them for being so brazen about it, when they could easily have kept their plotting behind closed doors.

Against all that, it was good to hear from Ndege.

‘I can’t be with you, daughter, and I wish it were otherwise. But you will be all right. I am sure of this.’

How could she be sure of anything? Goma wondered.

‘When we were first on Crucible, the Watchkeeper took my mother into itself. When it was over, she said she felt as if she had been probed, dissected and deduced. That was the point when they would have destroyed us if they hadn’t liked what they found in Chiku Green. They knew us then, and they know us now. I have no idea whether they have our best interests in mind, or if they really care. But I do not think they fear us, not yet. I think we may be useful to them, on some level we don’t yet understand — or may never understand. But while that usefulness lasts, they won’t harm us.’

Snakes are useful to people, Goma thought. We milk them for venom. But usefulness has its limits.

She thanked her mother for her kind words, told her not to worry, that the mood on the ship was actually quite positive, that most people were more excited than frightened, that it was in fact something of an honour and a privilege to be offered this close-up view of one of the aliens…

Ndege would know she was lying, of course. But it was the thought that counted.

Machine eyes, spread throughout the system, tracked and imaged the Watchkeeper. Nothing on Travertine could compare with the capability of the system-wide sensor network, with its huge baselines, but even their own instruments were able to acquire a steadily sharpening picture of the approaching machine. They showed it on the walls in the commons, accompanied by a dismayingly tiny barbell-shaped silhouette which was the true size of their own ship in relation to the alien robot. Goma stared it with listless fascination. Fear was almost beside the point now. Whatever the Watchkeeper meant to do with them was surely already ordained.

She spent time in the gym, finding that exertion was good for blanking out bad thoughts. Usually she had the place to herself, even Ru preferring a different schedule.

One hour she arrived at the door to find Peter Grave sitting on an exercise cycle. He was finishing a programme, mopping at his brow with a towel.

‘Goma,’ he said, smiling. ‘At last, fate brings our orbits back together.’

‘I wouldn’t call it fate, Peter. I’d say there aren’t enough gyms on this ship.’

‘Cutting.’

‘I’m not one for sugaring my pills. I’ll give you the time of day, but that’s as far as it goes.’

Grave’s smile was pained. ‘If this is you giving me the time of day, I’d hate to see your idea of a cold shoulder. Are you irritated because Maslin said what we’re all feeling, and I had the temerity to agree with him?’

‘I expected nothing else from you.’

‘Whatever you think, we’re going to have to start getting along. I’ve been talking to Aiyana Loring, you know. While I’m aboard, I’d like to at least sit in on some of the scientific meetings. Aiyana says that request is reasonable.’

A kind of dread opened up in Goma. She had come to think of the scientific gatherings as the one area of shipboard life where she would not have to put on a diplomatic face in the presence of Second Chancers.

‘What interest do you have in science?’

‘The same interest any of us has! When we reach Gliese 163, I want to feel capable of sharing in the same spirit of discovery as the rest of you. Why is that so hard for you to grasp?’

‘You’re with Maslin.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then what else do I need to know? That makes you a believer, doesn’t it?’

Grave climbed off the exercise cycle and threw his towel into a disposal slot. He filled a glass of water from the wall spigot and sipped quietly before answering. ‘Belief is a complex thing, Goma. We both agree that the universe is comprehensible. Where we differ is in the point of that comprehensibility. Forgive me if I sound like I’m putting words into your mouth, but you’d agree, wouldn’t you, that in your view there is no ultimate purpose to that comprehensibility — that it’s just a happy accident, a chance alignment between the laws of physics and the limits of our own sensory capabilities? Our minds come up with mathematics, and the mathematics turns out to be the right tool — the only tool, in fact — for making sense of anything? That we happen to be smart enough to figure all this out, but there’s no reward at the end of it for all that smartness? No higher truth, waiting to be illuminated? No deeper reason, no deeper purpose, no greater wisdom, no hint of a better way of being human?’

Against her wiser judgement, she allowed herself to be drawn in. ‘And your take is?’

‘I cannot accept a purposeless universe. Science is a wonderful edifice of knowledge, beautiful in its self-consistency. But it cannot simply be the means to its own end. Nor is it an accident that mathematics is supremely efficient at describing the play of matter, energy and force in our universe. They fit together like hand in glove — and that cannot be coincidence. Our minds have been given science for a reason, Goma — to guide us as we progress towards an understanding of the true purpose of our own existence.’

‘There is no purpose, Peter.’

He studied her with a certain shrewd detachment. ‘You say that, but do you really mean it?’

‘I’ll decide what I mean, thanks.’

‘You accept the uncanny connection between mathematics and phenomenology without question — and yet you can’t begin to admit that there might be a purpose to that interdependence?’

‘I don’t need a spiritual crutch to deal with reality.’

‘Nor do I. But you say that you accept a purposeless universe. Deep down, though, are you sure you understand the implications of that statement?’

‘I think I do.’

‘Then why would you even bother with science, if there is no purpose to anything?’

‘To understand it.’

‘But there would be no point to that understanding. It would be an empty, futile act — like miming in a cave.’

‘Maybe the point is to understand. For matter to start making sense of itself.’

He brightened. ‘A teleological position, then. Implicit purpose in the act of the universe turning an eye on itself?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Grave conceded. ‘But something drives you to this task. The satisfaction of adding a small piece to the larger puzzle, maybe. Placing another stone in the fabric of the cathedral even though you’ll never live to see the thing finished. But would that matter if your name was enshrined, passed down through the ages?’

‘I don’t care about posterity.’

‘Then you’d be content for your work to be published anonymously? Perhaps it already is?’ He looked suddenly thoughtful. ‘No, it can’t be, or else I wouldn’t have heard of it, wouldn’t have been able to read it.’

‘You think you know my work?’

‘Well enough to be impressed by your intellectual integrity.’

If that was meant as a compliment, it had a backhanded quality that left her bristling. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Your honesty in facing up to the worst. You of all people must have wanted nothing more than to find evidence that the elephants’ cognitive decline wasn’t permanent, that it could be arrested or even reversed. Who would blame you for that? Yet you’ve done the good and noble thing — you’ve presented the data and allowed it to speak for itself. None of your strategies has made any difference to the elephants — and yet you haven’t tried to gloss over that, or to present the data in a way that suggests a more favourable outlook. That’s admirable.’

‘Fuck off.’

This outburst drew a blink from Grave, but he looked more puzzled than offended. ‘I’m sorry — did we get off on the wrong foot again? I was praising your work, not criticising it.’

‘You know exactly what you were doing.’

Grave’s smile was all innocence. ‘Do I?’

‘Rubbing my nose in the truth, at least as you see it. You’re so happy about that, aren’t you? Look at you. You can barely contain your joy that the Tantors won’t be coming back. They were an affront to your view of things because they dared to displace humanity from the centre of the universe. Well, fuck that as well. They were something marvellous and beautiful, a new possibility — but you can’t handle that.’

‘I see we’re going to get on tremendously.’ At last the smile faded, replaced by an expression of quiet sadness and resignation. ‘I know you disagree with Maslin’s position and I don’t blame you for that. But most of us are just trying to see both sides.’ He combed his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his glistening forehead. ‘How well do you know everyone else?’

‘What sort of question is that?’

‘Not an unreasonable one.’ His eyes were pink with sweat. ‘It’s only human nature to divide everyone into groups and cohorts, but it’s not always like that. The Second Chance delegation was thrown together at the last minute, with a lot of disagreement and compromise. You see twelve of us and think we’re all exactly alike, but I feel I know you almost as well as I do some of my colleagues.

‘On the other hand, we sometimes feel beleaguered and believe the rest of you are thinking in lockstep. I’d wager that isn’t true, either. We’re just people, all of us. Thank goodness for your uncle, I say. Mposi is a very good man — we all like him.’

‘I’m thrilled for you.’

‘So much for that, then. I’m trying to offer an olive branch — I thought you’d respond well to a little intellectual discourse. Shall I let you in on a secret? There’s no chance of Vasin changing her mind and Maslin knows it. He’s stated his case, and now he’ll go along with whatever she decides.’

‘All right,’ Goma said, slowly, as if she had to consider each word. ‘You and I are never going to be friends. Your people screwed up my mother’s life and you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to screw up mine. Collectively, I mean, with your stupid, repressive, backward-looking, antiscientific ideology. But I do have to share this ship with you.’

‘If we both took the time, Goma, I’m sure we’d find a lot more in common than divides us. But I’ll say one thing for that Watchkeeper. It unifies us in one very important sense.’

‘Which is?’

‘We’re all equally terrified.’

They could see it with their own eyes now. It was forty-five hours since Goma learned the news; five more hours until the projections said the Watchkeepers would be on them.

They crowded the windows, lights turned low. It was approaching on a nearly parallel course although not moving in the manner they might have expected — with its blunt or sharp end aligned with the direction of travel — but rather sideways, showing the utmost alien disdain for sensible human notions of physics and propulsion. And indeed, as the distance narrowed to tens of thousands of kilometres — the mere span of a world — so the Watchkeeper compassed around with a terrible grindstone slowness. Blue light spilled from the gaps in its pine-cone coating and from the ‘signalling’ aperture at its thick end. The light abated just as the beam was about to sweep over Travertine and then resumed on the other side of the ship.

By then no one was sleeping and all but the most essential housekeeping duties were being postponed. It was hard to eat, hard to talk about anything other than the unignorable presence outside.

Goma was on her way to Mposi’s cabin when she heard raised voices coming from behind the door. They were the voices of two older men and she recognised both. Not quite a blazing argument, but as close to one as she had yet heard aboard Travertine. She considered turning around, but a fierce compulsion made her continue, knocking hard on the door until Mposi answered.

‘Ah. Goma. Maslin and I were just…’ But her uncle trailed off, surely knowing she would not be assuaged by any explanation he could offer.

‘What were you discussing?’ Goma asked, still standing on the threshold.

‘It’s not too late,’ Karayan said, dressed in his usual formal attire. ‘We have a few more hours. A gesture from us, a small change of course, that would be sufficient.’

‘As far as I can tell,’ Goma said, ‘Captain Vasin has made up her mind.’

‘Of which you doubtless approve.’

‘I approve of doing what we came here to do, which is carry on into space. Were you hoping to bend Mposi to your view, Maslin?’

‘That would be for your uncle to decide.’

‘I think my uncle knows what’s best. Why do you even talk to these people, Mposi? They’ve got their concession — they’re on the ship. There’s no need to give them any more ground.’

‘I am sorry for troubling you,’ Karayan said, directing his statement at Mposi. ‘Sorry also that your niece would prefer disharmony and factionalism to cooperation and mutual advancement. But she is young. It would be wrong to expect too much from someone with so little experience of life.’ Something moved under his beard: a smile, perhaps. ‘You’ll convey my sentiments to Gandhari, Mposi?’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

When the Second Chancer had gone, Mposi held an uncomfortable silence before speaking. ‘He was within his rights to speak to me, Goma. You didn’t have to take such an automatically hostile tone. He has strong feelings. Why shouldn’t he?’

‘You were arguing.’

‘We were being frank with one another. At our age, I think we’ve earned it.’ A sudden weariness appeared to overcome him. ‘Oh dear. The last thing I want is to exchange harsh words with you, of all people.’ He gestured for her to enter his cabin. ‘Shall I make us some chai?’ I fear it may have come to that.’

‘I was angry, and I’m sorry. I just… don’t like them.’

Mposi closed the door on the rest of the ship. ‘None of them?’

‘I make no exceptions. They’ve chosen their ideology; I’m free to choose mine in response.’

‘They can’t be our enemies for the entire trip, Goma. Sooner or later we’ll have to do the unthinkable and start liking each other. They’re as nervous of us as we are of them! And Maslin doesn’t have the automatic authority you imagine. His selection was controversial, even within Second Chance circles. He barely knows some of his own people, several of whom were actively critical of his appointment. All that rhetoric of his? He has to do that to bolster his strength within the delegation. But in person he’s perfectly reasonable and open to persuasion.’

Goma sat down on the chair Mposi kept for visitors. ‘It didn’t sound that way.’

‘I would not have admitted him into my cabin if I did not trust the man, Goma. Anyway, there’s a lot we needed to talk about. Might I ask you something?’ Despite her lack of encouragement, Mposi was fussing in his kitchen, boiling water for chai.

‘It depends.’

‘It’s about Peter Grave. You know him?’

‘Yes, we’ve spoken once or twice.’ She was looking around the room, comparing Mposi’s efforts at personalisation with her own. The room was slightly smaller, but Mposi had it all to himself. She spotted the two elephants, the other pair Ndege had insisted travel on the ship. Goma had the matriarch and a calf; Mposi the bull and another juvenile.

‘What do you make of him?’

‘He’s a Second Chancer. What more do you need to know?’

‘They’re not all cut from the same cloth, Goma. There are pragmatists and hotheads and zealots, just as in any other calling. How well do you know Maslin?’

‘How well am I meant to know him?’

‘He was ill, once, and I did him a small favour. He’s never forgotten that. Deep down, beneath all the bluster, he is a decent man. And his doubts and fears are ours. The odd thing is: Maslin was asking me what I know of Peter Grave. Now why would Maslin quiz me about one of his own people?’

‘As you said, they don’t all know each other particularly well.’

The chai was ready. He set a cup before Goma and took his own seat.

‘I have a slightly unusual position on this ship. The captain isn’t a politician, and because she’s an outsider she doesn’t have strong ties to the Crucible political structure. Whereas I do, which makes me the natural point of contact, I suppose you would call it, for those friends and colleagues concerned with our mutual welfare.’ Mposi spooned honey into their cups, drawing from his precious personal ration. ‘When intelligence comes to light… intelligence relating to us, to our expedition, I am the trusted party. And there has been intelligence, Goma. This Watchkeeper isn’t my immediate concern. Or, to put it another way, I am obliged to look beyond it. There is a deeper threat to our success.’

‘What kind of threat?’

‘Call it a sabotage plan, although it’s likely a lot more complicated than that.’

Goma was momentarily lost for words. She had spent enough time around her uncle to know when he was making idle play with her and when he was serious. There was nothing frivolous in his manner now.

‘You’re serious?’ she asked. ‘Actual sabotage — a physical threat to the ship?’

‘My sources on Crucible believe we are carrying something we should not be. A weapon, perhaps — smuggled aboard with the rest of the cargo. Thousands of tonnes of equipment and supplies, much of it for inscrutable purposes — it wouldn’t have been that difficult to slip something through. And by implication, there must be someone — maybe several someones — with the wherewithal to use that weapon. Or maybe the weapon is us, and we just don’t know it. This crisis places us under a lot of stress. But that’s the perfect time to observe our individual reactions. I may have said too much. Have I said too much?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Goma was still unsettled. ‘Why would anyone put a weapon aboard? What’s the point?’

‘The expedition has never sat well with everyone.’

‘You mean Maslin and his nutcases?’

‘Perhaps.’ But Mposi’s answer was not the automatic affirmation she might have hoped for.

‘What do you know?’

‘Enough to keep me awake at night. As you can imagine, I need to tread very, very carefully. The wrong word, a note of misdirected suspicion — it could sour everything.’

‘Have you spoken to Gandhari about this?’

‘Not yet. To the best of my knowledge, she isn’t aware of the issue, and our captain has enough to worry about for now. When I have definite answers, I’ll go to her.’

‘So who does know?’

‘You, for a start. You’re my extra pair of eyes and ears, Goma, but I don’t want you to do anything out of the ordinary or change your routine in any way. Just carry on as normal.’

‘With that thing out there?’

‘You know what I mean. But be alert, watch other people — and not just the obvious candidates. If you see or hear anything that you think might be of interest to me… well, my chai may not be the best, but my door is always open.’

‘And Ru?’ Goma asked. ‘Can I tell her?’

‘It might be expecting too much of an Akinya, asking one to keep a secret,’ Mposi said. ‘Certainly your mother found it beyond her. But you would be doing me a great favour if we could keep this between ourselves, just for now.’

At last the alien machine had turned to face the same direction of travel as the ship, matching their course and acceleration precisely. Goma wanted to do something, and she knew she was not alone in that compulsion. The instinct was to talk, to negotiate, to offer explanation. To beg for clemency, or pray for salvation. But what was the point of even attempting communication after all the years of failure and silence? Negotiating with the Watchkeepers was like negotiating with geology, or some vast, indifferent weather system.

She had been at a window, watching for long, silent minutes, thinking herself alone, when Peter Grave announced his presence at her side.

‘Does it frighten you?’

As irritated as she was at being jolted from her contemplation, she had vowed to be civil with the Second Chancer.

‘It would be strange if it didn’t. They’re an alien machine civilisation, they’ve probably been in space longer than we’ve had tools and language. They could dismantle our entire culture in an afternoon if we did something they didn’t like. We barely know what they want, or what they really think of us. And they’re back, hanging around as if this is judgement hour. Which part shouldn’t I be frightened by?’

‘I agree, totally. And maybe, as you say, this is the hour, the moment. No one has operated a ship like this in this system for decades, and certainly not a ship as fast as Travertine. Perhaps this is the point where we cross a line with them? Some algorithm trips inside them, a decision path, and that’s it? Extinction for the monkeys?’

‘Would you like that to happen?’

‘Do you think I would?’

‘At least you could say you were right all along.’

‘I don’t think that would be much of a consolation. How about you? With your family connection, your grandmother and the Watchkeepers — do you feel you’ve earned some kind of special treatment from them? Your mother must have, when she went poking into Mandala’s secrets.’

‘First,’ Goma said, trying to keep her voice as level as possible, ‘she wasn’t “poking”. She was conducting a structured scientific investigation based on a profound theoretical breakthrough in the understanding of the Mandala grammar. Second, I didn’t ask for a deep, meaningful conversation about my ancestors.’

‘Ah, and there was me thinking we’d turned a page.’

‘Don’t hold your breath.’

‘Regardless of what you think of me, I honestly admire what your grandmother did for us. All of us do — every human being on Crucible. Chiku’s martyrdom —’

‘Don’t put martyrdom on her — she deserves better than that.’

‘You speak as if she might still be alive.’

‘No one’s proved that she isn’t.’

‘Someone sent this message to us. No one would blame you for presuming a family connection. But it has been a very long time, Goma.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘I know many of us were alive at the time of the first landing, but your grandmother was already old by then.’ For a few seconds, Grave studied the alien machine, some of its holy blue radiance anointing his face. If it had not been so dark in the room she would never have tolerated him being so close to her. ‘I hope you find answers, anyway. I meant everything I said to you, when we first met. I do have great respect for your work.’

‘So you say.’

‘Believe me, Goma — nothing’s as black and white as you think. Our feelings towards the elephants are much more complex than you imagine. We regret what they were, we regret the mistake of them, but we also mourn for what became of them.’

‘Hate the sin but not the sinner?’

‘If you wish to put it in those terms. It was a terrible day, in any case — a stain on our collective history. Yet Mandala’s retribution could have been much more severe.’

‘You think this was about retribution? That Mandala was somehow acting against the Tantors?’

‘The facts are all we have,’ Grave replied. ‘Mandala was provoked, Mandala acted, and the uplifted elephants ceased to exist. I make no inferences. It is up to each and every one of us to draw such conclusions as we see fit.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Goma said, after a silence. ‘I was starting to think I might be able to stand being in the same room as you, let alone the same ship. I was wrong.’

‘And I am very sorry that we cannot find common ground.’

‘There isn’t any. There never will be.’

She was speaking when the blue radiance increased its intensity by many factors. There was barely time to react, barely time for anyone in the room to do more than draw breath. Goma had an impression, no more than that, of the gaps in the Watchkeeper’s layered, armour-like plating opening up, the way a pine cone changed with the weather, permitting more of its internal blue glow to gush out into space. And then it was gone — not just the blue glow, but the entire alien machine.

It had simply disappeared.