“It’d better be good,” Crissel said.
“CTC contacted us, sirs. They say they’re picking up reports about House Aubusson and the Chevelure-Sambuke Hourglass.”
“They’re off the network. Yes. We know.”
“It’s more than that, sir.” The girl placed the compad on the table, next to Gaffney. He picked it up by one corner, inhaling slowly as he digested its message. Without a word he slid it to Crissel. He glanced at it, glanced again, then passed the compad to Baudry. She read it, her lips moving slowly as she did so, as if she needed the sound of her own voice to lend the report a degree of reality.
Then she slid the compad over to Dreyfus.
“He doesn’t have authority,” Crissel said.
“His deputy’s inside Aubusson. He needs to see this.”
Dreyfus took the compad and read it for himself. His Pangolin boost was fading and it took more than the usual effort to read the words. At first he was convinced that he had made a mistake, despite the fears he was already nursing.
But there had been no error.
Two separate but similar incidents had occurred, within a few minutes of each other. One ship had been on final approach for docking at the Chevelure-Sambuke Hourglass when it was fired on by the habitat with what appeared to be normal anti-collision defences. The ship had sustained a near-fatal hull breach, too large to be patched by the intervention of quickmatter repair systems. The ship had abandoned its docking approach and put out an emergency distress signal, to which CTC had responded by redirecting two nearby vessels. The crew of the damaged ship had all survived, albeit with decompression injuries.
The second ship, on an approach to House Aubusson, had been less fortunate. The anti-collision defences had gored it open in an instant, spilling air and life into space. Its crew had died with merciful speed, but the ship itself had retained enough sentience to put out its own distress signal. CTC had again directed passing traffic to offer assistance, but this time there was nothing that could be done to save the victims.
All this had happened within the last eighteen minutes.
“I think we can safely rule out coincidence,” Dreyfus said, placing the compad back on the table.
“What are we dealing with?” Baudry asked with rigid composure.
“A systemic defence-system malfunction triggered by the loss of abstraction? Could that be the answer?”
“Everything I know about defence systems says that they can’t malfunction in this way,” Crissel said.
“Yet it rather looks as if someone doesn’t want anyone coming or going from those habitats,” Gaffney observed, reading the CTC report again.
“And the other two?” Baudry asked.
“What about those?”
“They’re isolationist,” Dreyfus said.
“New Seattle-Tacoma is a haven for people who want their brains plugged into abstraction and don’t care what happens to their physical bodies. Szlumper Oneill is a Voluntary Tyranny gone sour. Either way, neither’s going to see much in- or outgoing traffic on a given day.”
“He’s right,” Crissel said, favouring Dreyfus with a conciliatory nod. He turned to the still-waiting operative.
“You’re still in contact with CTC?” Without waiting for an answer or conferring with the other seniors, he continued, “Have them identify four unmanned cargo drones currently passing near the four habitats. Then put them on normal docking trajectories, just as if they were on scheduled approaches. If these were malfunctions, then someone inside may have had time to disable the anti-collision systems by now. If they weren’t, we’ll have confirmation that we’re not dealing with one-off incidents.”
“There’ll be hell to pay,” Gaffney said, shaking his head.
“Whatever those cargo drones are hauling, someone owns it.”
“Then I hope they have good insurance,” Crissel replied tersely.
“CTC has the right to requisition any civilian traffic moving inside the Glitter Band, manned or otherwise. Just because that clause hasn’t been invoked in a century or so doesn’t mean it isn’t still valid.”
“I agree,” Dreyfus said.
“This is the logical course of action. If you were still allowing Jane her rightful authority, she’d agree to it as well.”
The operative coughed awkwardly.
“I’ll get on to CTC immediately, sir.”
Crissel nodded.
“Tell them not to hang around. I don’t want to have to wait hours before finding out what we’re looking at here.”
An icy silence endured for many seconds after the girl had left the room. It fell to Dreyfus to break it.
“Let’s not kid ourselves,” he said.
“We know exactly what’s going to happen to those drones.”
“We still need confirmation,” Crissel said.
“Agreed. But we also need to start thinking about what we do once the news comes in.”
“Hypothesise for a moment,” Baudry said, a quaver in her voice that she could not quite conceal.
“Could we be dealing with a breakaway movement? Four states that wish to secede from the umbrella of Panoply and the Glitter Band?”
“If they wanted to, they’d be free to do so,” Dreyfus said.
“The mechanism already exists, and it doesn’t
require shooting down approaching ships.”
“Maybe they don’t want to secede on our terms,” Baudry said, in the manner of one advancing the suggestion for debating’s sake rather than out of any deep personal conviction that it was likely.
Crissel nodded patiently.
“Maybe they don’t. But once you’ve decided to opt out of Panoply’s protection, out of the democratic apparatus, what do you gain from staying inside the Glitter Band anyway?”
“Not much,” Dreyfus said.
“Which is why this can’t be an attempt at secession.”
“A hostage situation?” Baudry speculated.
“Fits the facts so far, doesn’t it?”
“For now,” Dreyfus allowed.
“But you don’t think that’s what we’re looking at.”
“You don’t take hostages unless there’s something you want that you don’t already have.”
Crissel looked pleased with himself.
“Everyone wants to be richer.”
“Maybe they do,” Dreyfus answered, “but there’s no way hostage-taking is going to achieve that for you.”
“So they’re not trying to become richer,” Baudry said.
“That still leaves a universe of possibilities. Suppose someone doesn’t just want to opt out of our system of government, but dismantle it completely?”
Dreyfus shook his head.
“Why would they want to? If someone wants to experiment with a different social model, they’re welcome to do so. All they have to do is recruit enough willing collaborators to set up a new state. Provided they let their citizens have the vote, they can even stay within the apparatus. That’s why we have freak shows like the Voluntary Tyrannies. Someone somewhere decided they wanted to live in that kind of place.”
“But like you said, they have to abide by certain core principles. Maybe they find even those basic strictures too stifling. Perhaps they want to force a single political model on the entire Glitter Band. Ideological zealots, for instance: political or religious extremists who won’t rest until they force everyone else to see things their way.”
“You might have something if we weren’t looking at four completely disparate communities. Thalia’s habitats have almost nothing in common with each other.”
“All right,” Baudry said, clearly wearying of debate.
“If it isn’t about forcing through a political end, what is it about?”
Once again Dreyfus thought back to the things he had learned inside the Nerval-Lermontov rock, including the possibility that not everyone in the room could necessarily be trusted. He had wanted more time to evaluate his position, more time in which to bring at least one of the other seniors around to his side and use them as leverage to put Aumonier back into the saddle. But the news concerning the latest attacks had forced his hand sooner that he would have wished. He had to say something or he would be guilty of withholding vital data from his own organisation.