Terminal World (63 page)

‘We have to try.’

‘How would you rate our odds?’

‘Of all three ships still being intact by midnight? About the same as your chances of growing a full set of wings by teatime.’

‘Give me time, and I might surprise you.’

Curtana reached out and squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’d best be getting back to the bridge. When we hit the boundary, it’s going to get interesting. Think I’ll feel happier with my hands on the controls.’

‘Ditto.’

Then she was gone, leaving Quillon to gather his things and walk to Kalis’s quarters. On his way he listened to the engines’ ululating drone, alert to the slightest shift in tone, anything that would herald the transition to the low-state zone. He heard nothing untoward, but the certainty that it was going to happen sooner or later kept him on edge. He would probably sense the transition before it affected any of
Painted Lady’s
mechanical systems, but where zones were concerned nothing could be guaranteed.

‘It’s going to happen soon,’ he told Kalis. ‘You’ll feel it, even if it doesn’t affect you as much as it will the rest of the crew. Hopefully it won’t last too long, and then we’ll be down on Spearpoint, safe and sound.’

‘Where all our troubles end,’ Kalis said. She and her daughter were both wrapped in layers of clothing, with fur-lined hoods drawn over their heads. They had been breathing oxygen, but placed the masks aside when he arrived.

‘One step at a time,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘At least we have allies in Spearpoint who want to make sure we’ll be all right.’

‘Is it us they care about, or what we carry?’

‘Both, in all likelihood. It doesn’t make them monsters. They’ve suffered a lot and they want the drugs very badly. We can’t blame them for that.’

‘They don’t know about me,’ Nimcha said. ‘Do they?’

‘It’s best that they don’t. That doesn’t mean you’re in any more danger than any other little girl in Swarm.’ It was a lie, and he knew she could hear it in his voice even as he spoke. If she was a normal little girl, she would be with all the other families, in the safe belly of
Purple Emperor
or one of the other capital ships.

‘I can feel it,’ Nimcha said quietly.

‘Spearpoint?’

‘The Mire,’ she corrected darkly, as if it was a mistake no sane adult should ever have made. ‘The Eye of God. Stronger than before.’

‘It’s calling to her,’ Kalis said. ‘Urging her on. Reaching out to her, as she reaches out to it. It knows that she is near now. It will not let her go.’

‘It’s what she was born to do,’ Quillon said soothingly. ‘We shouldn’t fight it. It’s stronger than any of us, and above all else it doesn’t mean her any harm. Far from it: she’s the one thing in this world it wants to protect above all else.’

‘It sings to me at night,’ Nimcha said. ‘It used to whisper. Now it sings. I can’t really hear the songs properly, it’s like they’re too far away. But I know what it’s trying to tell me. It’s broken, too broken to make itself better. It’s tried, and it’s not as broken as it used to be, but it still needs me to help it mend itself completely.’

‘That’s what you can do, that none of the rest of us can. One day people will see that that mark on your head is the most beautiful thing in the world.’

Nimcha took a gulp from her oxygen mask. ‘I’m still scared.’

‘It would be strange if you weren’t.’

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen.’

‘None of us does.’ He looked at Kalis, wishing he could find a way to reassure both mother and daughter that all was going to work out for the best. But he would have to reassure himself first, and he wasn’t sure that was possible. He swallowed to wet his mouth. ‘Things can’t get much worse, that’s all I know. If Ricasso’s right, then everything we’ve endured for five thousand years has come to pass because there’s something wrong with the Eye of God. This isn’t the way the world is meant to be, not the way it was before. Now, I’m not saying you can put all of that right. But if the Eye has started trying to make itself better, and if you can lend a helping hand - which seems to be what it wants of you - then perhaps things can be improved even by a tiny amount. A little would make a lot of difference right now. None of those people down in Spearpoint are waiting on a miracle. They just want their existence to be a little easier than it is now. They’ll take what they can get, Nimcha. Even if all you can do is move the zones around so that not so many people are going to die, that’ll still be something to be thankful for.’

‘But what if everything changes?’ she asked. ‘What if I change the world, and they don’t like it?’

‘You’re brave and strong and wise beyond your years. The Eye wants you for a reason. It needs the wisdom you have that it lacks. I think it can repair itself now, but it’s worried that it’ll do more harm than good when it does. That’s why you have to guide it. It wants you to help make the world better, not worse.’

‘You believe this,’ Kalis said.

‘I’m trying to,’ Quillon answered.

‘You have been kind to us. You have made my daughter well. But she is not yours to give away.’

‘I never imagined she was.’

‘When the moment comes, it will always be her decision. And mine.’

‘I understand.’

‘If she turns from the Eye, if she does not have the will to enter it, you must respect her choice.’

‘I shall.’

‘Because for all the kind things you have done, for all that I know you to be a good man, I will still kill you if you make my daughter act against her wishes.’

‘I’d expect nothing less,’ Quillon said. But the truth of her words had cut him to the marrow. She meant everything - about his kindness, and most especially about killing him.

He had no doubt that she’d find a way, too.

‘It’s—’ he began, feeling a cold claw of subepidermal tension close around his brain.

The captain’s voice came over the speaker. ‘Transition to boundary detected. Antizonal medicines to be ingested immediately.’ Her voice was shaky, as if she was trying to speak while someone dug a bullet out of her. ‘Battle condition now at indigo. All crew to failure-readiness stations. All long-range gun batteries to target Skullboy ground positions and balloon emplacements with HE shells, discretionary fire. Other gunners hold targeted fire until my order. Weapons will be cascaded in sequential order. Only senior officers may authorise the dropping of failed pieces.’

The tension was still there, the icy fist caressing delicate limbic structures, but as the moments passed he knew he could still function. There was no crippling disorientation, no stomach-voiding nausea. Yet.

‘We’ve crossed the boundary,’ he said. ‘It was always going to be a fast transition at airspeed. Hopefully, we’ll be out of it just as quickly. How do you feel?’

‘I’m all right,’ Nimcha said.

‘We will manage without your medicine,’ Kalis added, as if there had been any doubt in his mind.

‘Don’t suffer unnecessarily - we’ll need both of you fit and well when we reach Spearpoint. If you need me I’ll be on the bridge.’

‘We will come with you now,’ Kalis said.

‘It’s probably safer here. It’s likely that we’ll encounter some resistance as we approach for landing.’

‘Safer, but still not safe,’ Kalis said. ‘Besides, she wants to see it.’

He led them forward, reeling a little as he stood too quickly, the effects of the zone sickness hitting like a kind of mild intoxication. Under normal circumstances the effects would increase in severity over the ensuing hours, but he hoped that they would be out the other side before it had a chance to worsen dramatically.

They made their way to the bridge, Quillon aware that the engines were still droning and the guns still being fired occasionally to keep them from icing over. He heard rather than felt the machine guns, but when the long-range cannon were fired, once every few minutes - they were using practice shells, rather than the normal high-explosive rounds - the whole ship lurched with recoil. Beyond the relative sanctuary of the gondola, goggled and masked crewmen still attended to the engines and aerodynamic machines of the ship. They hardly moved, the frost painting their stiff overcoats so that they looked like statues under a light dusting of snow. Behind, flying at nearly the same altitude, came
Cinnabar
and
Iron Prominent
, the two other escort ships that had fallen into formation with
Painted Lady
. Though they were there to provide mutual cover, to Quillon’s eyes they looked pitifully distant and frail, like hanging ornaments made out of wire and rice paper. A thought formed with unsparing clarity:
if we count on them, we’re finished. If they count on us, they’re finished.
The best any of them could do was fight like devil-dogs.

He wondered if he was starting to think like Curtana.

She was on the bridge, standing at the main control pedestal, an oxygen mask dangling from her neck, both hands on the wheel, but ready to adjust any of the brass-handled power and elevation control levers at a moment’s notice. Her feet were spaced wide apart and her back held ramrod straight. She looked as if she was about to face down a rampaging animal, with only her wit and will to save her.

‘Number one engine: holding,’ reported Agraffe, reading off a series of gauges. ‘Number two: holding. Number three: holding. Number four: holding. All engines at three thousand r.p.m. and operating within normal temperature and fuel-consumption ranges.’

Targe, the heliograph operator, called out, ‘Incoming flashes from
Cinnabar
and
Iron Prominent.
Both ships report safe transition and continued functioning of all mechanical systems.’

‘We’re not going to be this lucky,’ Curtana said, dropping one hand to make a precise, expert adjustment to one of the levers. ‘That’s not the way it works. Down lookout: anything going on under us?’

The periscope operator answered her without taking his eyes from his instrument. ‘Continued movement of Skullboy forces, but no offensive reaction to our presence so far. Balloons are still tethered, and I’ve yet to see any cannon fire.’

‘It won’t be long. Agraffe: keep those engine updates coming.’ As Agraffe spoke - and without glancing around - she added, ‘Doctor - good of you to join us.’

She must have seen his reflection in the window, for he had not announced his arrival.

‘I trust everyone’s taken their medicine?’

‘Like good little children.’ She lifted the oxygen mask to her face and took a few nourishing breaths. ‘When can we expect the pills to kick in?’

‘This is as good as you’re going to feel, I’m afraid. On the plus side, you shouldn’t feel much worse than you do now.’

‘I feel like someone’s tightening a vice on my head, while spinning me round and round in a barrel.’

‘If you can’t function, I can administer a higher dose. But you’ll pay for it when we cross back over.’

‘Pass, in that case. I’m going to need to be sharp all the way into Spearpoint.’ For the first time she looked over her shoulder, only for an instant, before snapping her attention back to the controls and the view in front of her. ‘Kalis and Nimcha - I wasn’t expecting you on the bridge. Wouldn’t you rather be back in your quarters? It’s going to get a little ... tense in here.’

‘You mean that I should protect the child from things she might find upsetting?’ Kalis asked.

‘You want to put it like that, then yes.’

‘You have no idea of the things she has already lived through. This is nothing to her.’

‘Fine; stay if you want to, I won’t argue. But keep away from the instruments and windows.’

The big guns roared, the gondola jolting from the recoil.

‘Balloons are loose and rising,’ the periscope operator called at almost the same time. ‘Three, no four, ascending quickly. Skullboys are aboard ... I make it five or six per balloon. Fully armoured air-raiders, strapped to the outside of the basket.’

‘Belly turret, concentrate fire on those balloons,’ Curtana said.

‘Over-temperature condition on engine three,’ Agraffe said excitedly. ‘All other engines running normally.’

‘She’s beginning to cook,’ Curtana said. ‘Feather three to fine pitch. I’m cutting her down to two thousand revs, see if we can make her last a little longer. Deep breaths, everybody. This is where it gets interesting.’

Agraffe raised a speaking tube to his lips to give the order to alter the propeller pitch, a rarely made adjustment that could only be performed by someone stationed at the end of the outrigger. His voice would be relayed in chains out to the shivering airman.

‘Pitch adjusted,’ he reported, ten or twenty seconds later.

‘Adjusting trim vanes,’ Curtana said, tugging at stiff, wire-linked levers, the exertion showing in the tendons of her neck. ‘Damn things are so heavy ... here she comes. Nose straight again. Losing some airspeed, but I don’t want to start shedding height just yet.’ She reached for her own speaking tube. ‘Ballast drop, five bags, immediate.’

Quillon felt the floor lurch up as
Painted Lady
shed weight, regaining the equilibrium she had lost when her forward speed decreased. Curtana made another precise trim adjustment. For now the craft was flying straight and level again, but everyone on the bridge knew that this was only a temporary state of affairs.

Quillon sensed the tension as a quivering, gelid presence in the air.

At least it was daylight, he thought. Visibility was excellent, as good as it had ever been even on the clearest days in the Bane, and every detail of Spearpoint sparkled with hallucinatory clarity, the city breathing like a living thing in the corkscrewing mirage of spiralling thermals. Because it was day - rather than night, when the absence of lights would have been telling - there was very little to suggest that anything catastrophic had happened to Spearpoint. Even though they still had leagues to cross, he felt as if he could reach out and seize their destination, hauling them in across the gap with only his strength.