‘I was able to dig into her memories,’ Khouri said, ‘once we were in the same room. It was close enough for direct contact between our implants without her suspecting anything.’
‘You revealed yourself to her?’ Scorpio asked.
‘No. Not yet,’ Khouri said. ‘She’s too vulnerable. It’s safer if she doesn’t remember everything straight away. That way she can continue to play the role Dean Quaiche expects of her. If he suspects she’s an Ultra spy, she’s in as much trouble as we are.’
‘Let’s hope no one takes too close an interest in her, then,’ Scorpio said. ‘How long are we looking at before she remembers everything on her own?’
‘Days,’ Khouri said. ‘No more than that. Maybe less. The cracks must already be showing.’
‘About these talks with the dean,’ Scorpio said. ‘Would you mind telling me exactly what was discussed?’
Vasko told him what he had talked about with the dean. Scorpio could tell that he was glossing over details, omitting anything not strictly essential. He learned of the dean’s request for a ship to provide local defence duties for Hela, orbiting the planet, sponsored by the Adventists. He learned that many Ultras were unwilling to accept the contract even with the sweeteners Quaiche had offered. They were frightened that their ships would be damaged by whatever had destroyed the Gnostic Ascension, the ship that had originally brought Quaiche to Hela.
‘But that isn’t a problem for us,’ Vasko said. ‘The risk is probably overstated in any case, but even if something does take a pot shot at us, we’re not exactly lacking defences. We’ve kept all the new technologies hidden ever since we approached the system, but that doesn’t mean we can’t turn them on again if we need them. I doubt that we’d have much to worry about from a few buried sentry weapons.’
‘And for that protection, Quaiche is willing to let us take a closer look at Haldora?’
‘Grudgingly,’ Vasko said. ‘He still doesn’t like the idea of anyone poking sticks into the face of his miracle, but he wants that protection very badly.’
‘Why is he so scared? Have other Ultras been causing trouble?’
Vasko shrugged. ‘The occasional incident, but nothing serious.’
‘Sounds like an overreaction, in that case.’
‘It’s his paranoia. There’s no need to second-guess him, so long as it gives us a licence to get close to Haldora without firing a gun.’
‘Something isn’t right,’ Scorpio said, his headache returning, having gone away and sharpened itself.
‘You’re naturally cautious,’ Vasko said. ‘There’s no fault in that. But we’ve waited nine years for this. This is our one chance. If we don’t take it, he’ll make the contract with another ship.’
‘I still don’t like it.’
‘Maybe you’d feel differently if it was your plan,’ Urton said. ‘But it’s not. You were sleeping while we put this together.’
‘That’s all right,’ he said, obliging her with a smile. ‘I’m a pig. We don’t do long-term plans anyway.’
‘What she means is,’ Vasko said, ‘try to see it from our side. If you’d lived through all the years of waiting, you’d see things differently.’ He leant back in his seat and shrugged. ‘Anyway, what’s done is done. I told Quaiche that we’d have to discuss the issue of the delegates, but other than that, all we’re waiting for is the agreement to come through from his side. Then we can go on in.’
‘Wait,’ Scorpio said, raising his hand. ‘Did you say delegates? What delegates?’
‘Quaiche insists on it,’ Vasko said. ‘Says he’ll need to station a small party of Adventists on the ship.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘It’s all right,’ Urton said. ‘The arrangement is reciprocal. The church sends up a party, we send one down to the cathedral. It’s all above board.’
Scorpio sighed. What point was there in arguing? He was already tired, and all he had done was sit in on this discussion. This discussion in which everything was already agreed, and he was — to all intents and purposes — relegated to the role of passive observer. He could object all he wanted, but for all the difference he made he might as well have stayed in the reefersleep casket.
‘You’re making a serious mistake,’ he said. ‘Trust me on this.’
Captain Seyfarth was a slight, unsmiling man with a small thin-lipped mouth ideally evolved for the registering of contempt. In fact, beyond his neutral calm, Quaiche had never known the captain of the Cathedral Guard to show any other emotion. Even Seyfarth’s contempt was deployed sparingly, like a very expensive, difficult to procure item of military ordnance. It was usually in connection with his opinion of someone else’s security arrangements. He was a man who liked his work very much, and little else. He was, in Quaiche’s opinion, the perfect man for the job.
Standing in the garret, he wore the highly polished armour of the Guard, with his pink-plumed ceremonial vacuum helmet tucked under his arm. The ostentatiously flanged and recurved armour was the deep maroon of arterial blood. Many medals and ribbons had been painted on the chest-plate, commemorating the actions Seyfarth had led in defence of the Lady Morwenna’s interests. Officially, they had all been above board and within the generally accepted rules of Way behaviour. He had fought off raiding parties of disgruntled villagers; he had repelled hostile actions by rogue trading elements, including small parties of Ultras. But there had been covert operations as well, matters too delicate to commemorate: pre-emptive sabotage of both the Permanent Way and other cathedrals; the discreet removal from the church hierarchy of progressive elements hostile to Quaiche. Assassination was too strong a word, but that, too, was within Seyfarth’s repertoire of possible effects. He had the kind of past best left unmentioned. It included wars and war crimes.
But he remained fiercely loyal to Quaiche. In thirty-five years of service, there had been enough opportunities for Seyfarth to betray his master in return for personal advancement. It had never happened; all he cared about was the excellence with which he discharged his duty as Quaiche’s protector.
It had still been a risk, all the same, for Quaiche to let him know of his plans in advance. Everyone else involved — even the master of holdfast construction — needed to know only certain details. Grelier knew nothing at all. But Seyfarth required an overview of the entire scheme. He was the one, after all, who was going to have to take the ship.
‘It’s going to happen, then,’ Seyfarth said. ‘I wouldn’t have been called here otherwise.’
‘I’ve found a willing candidate,’ Quaiche said. ‘More importantly, one that also suits my needs.’ He passed Seyfarth a picture of the starship, captured by spy remotes. ‘What do you think? Can you do the business?’
Seyfarth took his time studying the picture. ‘I don’t like the look of it,’ he said. ‘All that gothic ornamentation… it looks like a chunk of the Lady Morwenna, flying through space.’
‘All the more appropriate, then.’
‘My objection stands.’
‘You’ll have to live with it. No two Ultra ships look alike, and we’ve seen stranger. Anyway, the holdfast can accommodate any hull profile, within reason. This won’t pose any problems. And it’s what’s inside that really matters.’
‘You’ve managed to put a spy aboard?’
‘No,’ Quaiche said. ‘Too little time. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve more or less agreed to accept a small party of Adventist observers. That’s all we need.’
‘And the condition of the engines?’
‘Nothing to cause alarm. We observed her approach: everything looked clean and stable.’