Outside, the air was thick with fog. Within my metal shell I could no longer smell the mingled stench of sea air and burning petrol and the elÿon’s saline odor, but I knew it was there: I could almost see it, thick as the yellowish mist that roiled in luminous columns above the landing decks. Kesef’s ladder dropped from the belly of the craft, and I disembarked. The small group that had assembled drew back in nervous silence as I climbed from the Gryphon. I knew what they were seeing: a tall figure made of metal and black plasteel, an Aviator’s crimson leathers flapping from its long limbs. But where an Aviator’s helmeted enhancer should have covered its face, nearly colorless blue eyes glared out from a mask of scarlet metal, sculpted into the hawkish visage of a man.
“I am Margalis Tast’annin, Aviator Imperator of the Ascendant Autocracy.” My harsh voice boomed in the cool night air. “Who is the Commanding Agent here?”
Blank faces stared back at me. A few of them gasped when they heard my name.
Then, “Imperator!” a voice called out. “This way, sir!”
The others turned away, seemingly relieved that someone was taking charge. The little crowd broke up. A few technicians began to service Kesef. The rest hurried toward the command tower. Only one remained to greet me, a slight woman in cracked leathers burned nearly black. As my boots clashed against the metal deckplates, she raised her hand in the Aviator’s raptor salute, her voice strong and fearless as a young girl’s. “An honor to see you here, Imperator Tast’annin.”
I returned her salute. “I wish to speak to the Commanding Agent.” Behind me I heard the muted click of Nefertity’s feet as she climbed down the ladder. “My server will accompany us.”
Nefertity joined me, gazing calmly at the woman. The sulferous yellow fog combined with the elÿon’s crimson glow to make it seem that we were surrounded by some silent inferno. In the dense swirling mist the nemosyne looked like a revenant, her eyes cold and glittering. The Aviator gave a curt nod and addressed me again.
“I am Valeska Novus, Aviator Second Class. The Commanding Agent here is Caroline Shi Pei.” For the first time she seemed uneasy. “Will you—would you like to rest before seeing her, Commander?”
“No. I want to go now. I have many questions for her. You may tell the technicians that my Gryphon is called Kesef. The server answers to Nefertity.”
Valeska looked over at the technicians seeing to the Gryphon. “As you wish.”
We walked with her across the deck. The yellow fog clung to everything. It was difficult to discern distances from one tower to the next save by counting the number of landing grids, like enormous bull’s-eyes shining through the mist at our feet. Shadowy figures ducked in and out of passages and from beneath squat vehicles, some looking at us with fear, others merely curious. All wore the yolk-yellow uniforms of the Ascendant Autocracy. A few had wrapped thin blue scarves over their faces, so that only their eyes showed. I recalled that the fantômes believed the fog was poisonous, like the mutagenic rains spread by the Ascendants over the Northeast. It was not—at least no more poisonous than any other air in that noisome country. Beneath our feet the deck rolled, and there was a constant undercurrent of sound, as of cables straining and water crashing through empty lockers.
“We’re still feeling the effects of the storms from last week,” Valeska Novus explained, turning to look at me with calm hazel eyes. She was slight but strongly built. Her leathers seemed a little short in the cuff, her bare arms thick and muscular and crosshatched with deep scars. I could not guess her age: her dark hair was cut short and streaked with gray, but her voice was youthful. Her skin had that dark cast that comes from prolonged exposure to battle conditions in the Archipelago, as though one had turned one’s face too long to the poisonous sun. She was not beautiful, as Shiyung Orsina had been beautiful—there was no delicacy there, none of the artifice or cunning with which powerful women seek to enslave others if they have no great intellect. But she seemed fearless, which I thought attractive—my emotions could still be stirred by such things, though my body was not. I found myself thinking of Wendy Wanders as I had first seen her in the Engulfed Cathedral, her defiance and rage even in the face of death; and unexpectedly I laughed.
“Imperator?” Valeska looked startled: rasas were supposed to be as devoid of emotions as the corpses they were generated from. She paused beside a recon turret, steadying herself as the deck pitched and rolled, then asked, “Did you come from Araboth, Imperator? We had heard it was destroyed by a cyclone, and there were no survivors.”
I told her of the fall of Araboth, of the great tidal wave that had engulfed the Quincunx Domes, and how there had been no survivors save myself and my robotic aide. I did not tell her of the three we had left at the desert settlement, nor did I mention that I had murdered the margravine Shiyung Orsina.
“And so the other Gryphons were lost?” Valeska cried despairingly. “How terrible!”
I smiled. “No mourning for those thousands of lives, Captain Novus? Only for a handful of aircraft?”
She shook her head. There was not a trace of embarrassment or apology on her strong features. “It’s a terrible thing—first we lost NASNA Prime last fall, and then came the rebellions. And now this. I am glad you—survived—Imperator.” She tilted her head toward Nefertity. “And your server? Is it very new? I haven’t seen one like it before.”
“Very old,” I replied tersely. I wondered what “the rebellions” referred to; also why there seemed to be no other Aviators at Cisneros. “Are we near to finding Agent Shi Pei?”
Valeska pointed. “That tower there.”
It was one of the tall central towers, spiraling up from the middle of the platform like a ship’s mast and painted yolk-yellow. But the salt air had eaten away at the paint so that dull bronzy red showed beneath, the color of the previous Ascension; a grim reminder like a wound that will not heal. I thought of the last Commanding Agent I had met with here, and asked, “What became of Agent Bristol?”
Valeska shrugged. “There was a purge after the destruction of NASNA Prime, and he was executed. He was suspected of collusion with geneslaves from one of the Wyalong platforms—they destroyed a hydrofarm off the coast of Brisbane. They are destroying outposts everywhere! Is that why you are here, Imperator? To lead us against the rebels?”
She gazed at me questioningly, but of course from my metal face she could tell nothing. I had in fact heard none of this. The Orsinas, the corrupt siblings who had ruled Araboth, were notorious for their attention to the trivial if colorful details of familial intrigue, and their failure to keep abreast of the current political situation. Between my months in the City of Trees and my time in Araboth’s regeneration tanks, I was as guileless as a Paphian courtesan. But I only nodded and asked, “What is your most recent news, Captain Novus?”
She stopped in front of a door in the tower and looked at me uneasily. “There is no news, Imperator. We’ve lost contact with all but two of the HORUS colonies. Our contacts tell us that it is the same with the Commonwealth and the Habilis Emirate—their stations in HORUS have either been destroyed or taken by rebel forces. These are only rumors, of course, but…”