And they had still evacuated only two thousand people — in fact, it was far worse: they had transported two thousand people from the surface of Resurgam, but none of those had yet seen Nostalgia for Infinity, or had any idea of what they were going to find when they stepped aboard it. Khouri hoped that none of her nervousness was apparent, since the passengers were volatile enough already.
It was not simply the fact that the transfer craft was designed to take far fewer occupants, and so they were forced to endure the journey in cramped, prisonlike conditions, with the environmental systems strained to the limit just to provide sufficient air, water and refrigeration. These people were taking a tremendous risk, putting their faith in forces utterly beyond their control. The only thing holding them together was Thorn, and even Thorn appeared on the edge of nervous exhaustion. There were constant squabbles and minor crises breaking out all over the ship, and whenever they happened Thorn was there, soothing and reassuring, only to dash off somewhere else as soon as the trouble had been allayed. His charisma was being stretched butter-thin. He had not only been awake for the entire trip, but also for the day before the lift-off of the final shuttle flight and the six hours it had taken to find places for the five hundred new arrivals.
It was taking too long; Khouri could see that. There would have to be another ninety-nine flights like this before the evacuation operation was done, ninety-nine further opportunities for all hell to break loose. It might get easier once word got back to Resurgam that there was a star ship at the end of the journey, rather than some diabolical government trap. On the other hand, when the precise nature of the starship became clearer things might get an awful lot worse. And there was every likelihood that the weapon would soon finish whatever it had initiated around Delta Pavonis. When that happened, every other problem would suddenly look very slight indeed.
But at least they were nearly home and dry with this trip.
The transfer ship was not designed for transatmospheric flight. She was a graceless sphere with a cluster of motors at one pole and the dimple of a flight deck at the other. The first five hundred passengers had spent many days aboard, exploring every grubby cranny of her austere interior. But at least they had had some room to spare. When the next load came up, things became a little more difficult. Food and water had to be rationed and each passenger assigned a specific cubbyhole. But it was still tolerable. Children had still been able to run around and make nuisances of themselves, and adults had still been able to find a little privacy when they needed it. Then the next shipment had come up — another five hundred — and the whole tone of the ship had changed subtly, and for the worse. Rules had to be enforced rather than politely suggested. Something very close to a miniature police state had been created aboard the ship, with a harsh scale of penalties for various crimes. So far there had been only minor infringements of the draconian new laws, but Khouri doubted that every trip would run as smoothly. Sooner or later she would probably be required to make an example of someone, for the benefit of the others.
The final five hundred had been the greatest headache. Slotting them in had resembled a fiendish puzzle: no matter how many permutations they tried, there were always fifty people still waiting on the shuttle, glumly aware that they had been reduced to irksome surplus units in a problem that would have been a great deal more tractable had they not existed.
And yet, finally, a way had been found to get everyone aboard. That part at least would be simpler next time, but the rule of discipline might have to be even stricter. The people could be allowed no rights aboard the transfer craft.
Thirteen hours out, a kind of exhausted calm fell across the ship. She met Thorn by a porthole, just out of earshot of the nearest huddle of passengers. Ashen light made his face statuelike. He looked utterly dejected, sapped of any joy in what they had achieved.
‘We’ve done it,’ she said. ‘No matter what happens now, we’ve saved two thousand lives.’
‘Have we?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘They’re not going back to Resurgam, Thorn.’
They spoke like business associates, avoiding physical contact. Thorn was still a ‘guest’ of the government and there must not appear to be any ulterior motive behind his co-operation. Because of that necessary distance, an act that had to be maintained at all times aboard the shuttle, she felt the urge to sleep with him more strongly than she had ever done before. She knew that they had come very close aboard the ship after the encounter with the Inhibitor cubes in Roc’s atmosphere. But they had not done it then, and nor had they when they were on Resurgam. The erotic tension that had existed between them ever since had been thrilling and painful at the same time. Her attraction to him had never been stronger, and she knew that he wanted her at least as much. It would happen, she knew. It was just a question of accepting what she had long known she had to accept, which was that one life was over and another must begin. It was about making the choice to discard her past, and accepting — forcing herself to believe — that she was not dishonouring her husband by that act of disavowal. She just hoped that wherever he was, alive or dead now, Fazil Khouri had come to the same realisation and had found the strength to close the chapter on the part of his life that had included Ana Khouri. They had been in love, desperately in love, but the universe cared nothing for the vicissitudes of the human heart. Now they both had to follow their own paths.
Thorn touched her hand gently, the gesture hidden in the shadows that hung between them. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’re not taking them back to Resurgam. But can we honestly say we’re taking them to a better place? What if all we’re doing is taking them to a different place to die?’
‘It’s a starship, Thorn.’
‘Yes, one which isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.’
‘Yet,’ she said.
‘I sincerely hope you’re right.’
‘Ilia made progress with the Captain,’ she said. ‘He began to come out of his shell. If she managed to persuade him to deploy the cache weapons, she can talk him into moving.’
He turned from the porthole, harsh shadows emphasising his face. ‘And then?’
‘Another system. It doesn’t matter which one. We’ll take our pick. Anything’s got to be better than staying here, hasn’t it?’
‘For a while, perhaps. But shouldn’t we at least investigate what Sylveste can do for us?’
She took her hand from his and said guardedly, ‘Sylveste? Are you serious?’
‘He took an interest in our affairs inside Roc. At the very least, something did. You recognised it as Sylveste, or a copy of his personality. And the object, whatever it was, returned to Hades.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we consider the unthinkable, Ana: seeking his help. You told me that the Hades matrix is older than the Inhibitors. It may be something stronger than them. That certainly appeared the case inside Roc. Shouldn’t we see what Sylveste has to say on the matter? He might not be able to help us directly, but he might have information we can use. He’s been in there for subjective aeons, and he’s had access to the archive of an entire starfaring culture.’