Thorn had seen the way people in Cuvier dealt with the phenomenon. For the most part they ignored it. When the thing was in the sky they walked down the streets without looking up. Even when the fact of its existence could not be ignored, they seldom looked at the thing directly, or even referred to it in anything but the most oblique terms. It was as if a massive act of collective denial might make it go away, an omen that the people had decided to reject.
Thorn sat in one of the car’s two rear seats, behind the driver’s partition. There was a small flickering television screen sunk into the back of the driver’s seat. Blue light played across Thorn’s face as he watched footage taken from far outside the city. The clip was fuzzy and hand-held shaky, but it showed all that it needed to. The first of the two shuttles was still on the ground — the camera panned over it, lingering on the surreal juxtaposition of sleek machine and jumbled rockscape — but the second was in the air, coming back down from orbit. The shuttle had already made several trips to just above Resurgam’s atmosphere where the much larger in-system craft was in orbit. Now the camera view jogged upwards, catching the descending ship as it lowered itself towards the landing site, settling down on a tripod of flames.
‘It could be faked,’ Thorn said quietly. ‘I know it isn’t, but that’s what people will think.’
Khouri was sitting next to him, dressed as Vuilleumier. She said, ‘You can fake anything if you try hard enough. But it isn’t as easy as it used to be, not now that everything’s stored using analogue media. I’m not sure even a whole government department could produce something convincing enough.’
‘The people will still be suspicious.’
The camera panned across the sparse, nervous-looking crowd that was still on the ground. There was a small encampment three hundred metres from the parked shuttle, the dusty tents difficult to distinguish from fallen boulders. The people looked like refugees from any world, any century. They had come thousands of kilometres, converging on this point from a variety of settlements. It had cost them greatly: roughly a tenth of their number had not completed the journey. They had brought enough possessions to make the overland crossing, while knowing — if the underground intelligence network was efficient in its dissemination of information — that they would be allowed to bring nothing aboard the ship but the clothes they stood in. Near the encampment was a small hole in the ground where belongings were tossed before each party boarded the shuttle. These were possessions that had been treasured until the last possible moment, even though the logical thing would have been to leave them behind at home, before making the difficult journey across Resurgam. There were photographs and children’s toys, and all of them would be buried, human relics to add to the million-year-old store of Amarantin artefacts that the planet still held.
‘We’ve taken care of that,’ Khouri said. ‘Some of the witnesses who made it this far have returned to the major population centres. They needed persuading, of course, to turn around when they’d got that far, but…’
‘How did you manage it?’
The car negotiated a bend with a swish of tyres. The cubiform buildings of the Inquisition House district loomed into view, grey and slab-sided as granite cliffs. Thorn eyed them apprehensively.
‘They were told they’d be allowed to take a small quota of personal effects on to the ship with them when they came back.’
‘Bribery, in other words.’ Thorn shook his head, wondering if any great good deed could be entirely untainted by corruption, no matter how useful a purpose that corruption served. ‘But I suppose you had to get the word back somehow. How many, now?’
Khouri had the numbers ready. ‘Fifteen hundred in orbit, at the last count. A few hundred still on the ground. When we’ve got five hundred we’ll make the next trip up from the surface, and then the transfer ship will be full, ready to shuttle them to Nostalgia.’
‘They’re brave,’ Thorn said. ‘Or very, very foolish. I’m not sure which.’
‘Brave, Thorn, there’s no doubt about that. And scared, too. But you can’t blame them for that.’
They were brave, it was true. They had made the journey to the shuttles based only on the scantiest of evidence that the machines even existed. After Thorn’s arrest, rumours had run rife amongst the exodus movement. The government had continued to issue carefully engineered denials, each of which was designed to nurture in the populace’s mind the idea that Thorn’s shuttles might in fact be real. Those people who had made it to the shuttles so far had done so expressly against government advice, risking imprisonment and death as they trespassed into prohibited territory.
Thorn admired them. He doubted that he would have had the courage to follow those rumours to their logical conclusion had he not been the man who had initiated the whole movement. But he could take no pride in their achievement. They were still being deceived about their ultimate fate, a deception in which he was entirely complicit.
The car arrived at the rear of Inquisition House. Thorn and Khouri walked into the building, past the usual security checks. Thorn’s identity was still a closely guarded secret, and he had been issued with a full set of papers allowing free movement in and around Cuvier. The guards assumed he was merely another official from the House, on government business.
‘Do you still think this will work?’ he asked, hurrying to keep up with Khouri as she strode up the stairs ahead of him.
‘If it doesn’t, we’re fucked,’ she replied, in the same hushed voice.
The Triumvir was waiting in the Inquisitor’s larger room, sitting in the seat usually reserved for Thorn. She was smoking, flicking ash on to the highly polished floor. Thorn felt a spasm of irritation at this act of studied carelessness. But doubtless the Triumvir’s argument would have been that the whole planet was going to be ash before very long, so what difference did a little more make?
Trina,‘ he said, remembering to use the name she had adopted for her Cuvier persona.
‘Thorn.’ She stood up, grinding out her cigarette on the chair’s arm. ‘You look well. Government custody obviously isn’t as bad as they say.’
‘If that’s a joke, it isn’t in very good taste.’
‘Of course.’ She shrugged, as if an apology would be superfluous. ‘Have you seen what they’ve done lately?’
‘They?’
Triumvir Ilia Volyova was looking through the window, towards the sky. ‘Have a guess.’
‘Of course. You can’t miss it now. Do you know what’s taking shape in that cloud?’
‘A mechanism, Thorn. Something to destroy our sun, I’d say.’
‘Let’s talk in the office,’ Khouri said.
‘Oh, let’s not,’ said Volyova. ‘There are no windows, Ana, and the view does so focus the mind, don’t you think? In a matter of minutes the fact of Thorn’s collusion will be public knowledge.’ She looked at him sharply. ‘Won’t it?’
‘If you want to call it collusion.’
Thorn had already taped his ‘statement’ — the one where he spoke for the government, revealing that the shuttles were real, that the planet was indeed in imminent danger and that the government had, reluctantly, asked him to become the figurehead of the official exodus operation. It would be transmitted on all Resurgam television channels within the hour, to be repeated at intervals throughout the next day.
‘It won’t be viewed as collusion,’ Khouri said, eyeing the other woman coldly. ‘Thorn will be seen to be acting out of concern for the people, not his own self-interest. It will be convincing because it happens to be the truth.’ Her attention flicked to him. ‘Doesn’t it?’