The Abyss Beyond Dreams (29 page)

‘One egg. We both know that
never
happens.’

‘Nobody escapes from eggsumption,’ Rachelle said. ‘Another well-known fact. There are always exceptions.’

Slvasta gave her an irritated glance. ‘We swept that area thoroughly. There were another two impact zones, but there were no eggs in them. However, each zone had been visited; we found the
tracks. He took the eggs.’

‘So this Nigel is actually a Faller?’ Venize asked.

‘Sir. Not him personally, no. His blood was red.’

‘Then the people with him are?’ Rachelle pressed.

‘No,’ Slvasta said. ‘I checked them all. But one of the boats he used was downstream. We didn’t know at the time.’

The brigadier blinked. ‘I can accept that a nest could reach the eggs before our squads. You of all people are aware of that behaviour. But what kind of criminal gang takes Faller eggs?
They have no black market value. Not that I’m aware of. Do they, major?’

‘No, sir. They do not.’

‘Lieutenant, are you aware of their having any monetary value?’

‘No, sir,’ Slvasta admitted.

‘Then why would Nigel take them?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘The only humans who ever move an egg are the Marines, nobody else is qualified or authorized. And that’s a rare event; they only ever take one back to Varlan when the
Captain’s Faller Research Institute needs one to examine. Isn’t it more likely that a nest got to them and carried them away?’

‘It is possible, sir.’

‘And you’re using Nigel as an excuse for your failure to find them?’ Rachelle said.

‘No! There was no other activity in the whole area. Nigel took them.’

‘If you’re right, then we must assume he is such a piece of lowlife that he’s actually in the pay of a nest,’ Venize said. ‘How extraordinary. I never thought
I’d live to see such a thing.’

I . . . know that’s not true
, Slvasta thought.
Nigel is no one’s puppet.
‘That is an explanation, yes, sir.’

‘Very well,’ Venize said. ‘We will alert the Captain’s Marines that a nest has acquired a Fall. I hope you understand what such a notice will do to this regiment’s
reputation and status.’

‘Yes, sir. I do.’

‘Now, moving on. Tell me about the Bekenz farm, please, lieutenant.’

Slvasta did his best not to wince. ‘That was where we discovered one of the empty impact zones, sir, in the wild just outside the farm’s boundary.’

‘How did you confirm that?’ Rachelle asked. ‘You just said there were no eggs.’

‘I know what an impact zone looks like, thank you,’ Slvasta said.

‘It was quite a long way from the Bekenz farm’s boundary, actually, wasn’t it?’ Rachelle said.

‘The farm was the closest human habitation,’ Slvasta replied tightly. ‘I had a duty to ensure they were safe.’

‘And you checked everyone in your usual fashion, correct?’ Venize asked.

‘Yes, sir. They were all human.’

‘Yes, they are human, and Bekenz, it turns out, is the seventh son of Hamiud, the largest estate owner in Prerov county.’

‘So he claimed, yes, sir.’

‘In fact, he told you that when you ordered your troops to slaughter every neut and mod-animal on the farm, is that correct?’ Rachelle asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Yet you still went ahead with the slaughter?’

‘Sir, the Fallers can control the mods much better than we can. I know that for a fact. There’s no telling what kind of orders the egg might have given the mods. They could have
murdered every one of Bekenz’s family. There were children on that farm.’

‘Lieutenant, I have lost count of how many times I have had this conversation with you,’ Venize said. He patted the pile of folders on the desk. ‘Others, however, have
not.’

‘Sir, the way Fallers can control mods is on record—’

‘I know. But are you aware of how much compensation the county council has been obliged to pay out recently, thanks to your dogmatism?’

‘I’m saving lives, sir. I’m sorry if that’s not popular.’

‘Lieutenant, I have every sympathy for you, and everyone admits you are one of the best officers we’ve had in a generation. It’s just that some of your methods are too severe
for this part of the world. You have your critics, and they include some very important people. Even the mayor’s office has been in touch, expressing concern at your culls.’ Venize held
up a hand to stop the protest Slvasta was about to make. ‘Not me. I appreciate what you’ve done for the regiment, and we’ll be adopting your methods in future – the fitness,
the training, all that stuff. In addition, twenty terrestrial horses are to be purchased at the town beast market next week.’

‘That’s good news, sir,’ Slvasta said.

‘Absolutely. That’ll show those damn civilians I will not be pushed around. This is my command and it will remain so until they prise it from my cold dead hand, eh?’

‘Sir.’

‘And you, Slvasta, are to be promoted.’

‘Uh, sir?’

‘You heard.’ He picked up a scroll from the desk; the regiment’s waxed and ribboned seal was affixed to the bottom. ‘I’ve already signed the warrant.
Congratulations. Captain.’

‘I . . . Thank you, sir.’ He accepted the scroll, bewildered and happy.

‘My pleasure. After all, we can’t have a lowly lieutenant as our liaison officer, now can we?’

Slvasta’s delight vanished instantly. ‘Liaison?’

‘Yes,’ Rachelle said. ‘You will be our representative in the capital. You’ll sit on the Joint Regimental Council and contribute to policy. You can explain all about your
methods and have them applied across Bienvenido. When you arrive, you’ll also notify the Marine commandant about this Nigel fellow.’

‘Sir, no, please. I need to be out in the field. I can’t—’

Venize’s expression didn’t falter. ‘It is a considerable honour to be appointed to this important post. Don’t let the regiment down. You are dismissed,
captain.’

Slvasta just stared at the brigadier for a long moment. He’d lost and he knew it. The only question now was how badly he let them beat him. If he protested, refused the posting,
they’d have an excuse to bust him down to the rank of trooper for insubordination. All he could think of was Nigel’s words about unsettling his superiors; the man had practically
predicted this.

So he got to his feet, saluted, and said: ‘Thank you for the opportunity, sir. You won’t regret it.’

Venize’s urbane composure remained unblemished, while Rachelle’s shell couldn’t quite contain her suspicion at his easy submission.

Slvasta turned and marched out of the office.
When I come back
, he promised them silently,
it will be to fling you straight into the depths of Uracus itself
.

The study was as extravagant as only those in the Captain’s Palace could be. Bright and cool in even the worst of Varlan’s summer days, it was on the first floor in
the state wing, with huge arched windows providing a view along Walton Boulevard and the sprawl of the city’s roofscape beyond. Chandeliers like crystal moons hung the length of the study,
interspaced with huge eight-blade fans turned slowly by mods in a hidden cable room. Oil paintings depicting heroic scenes of earlier Captains leading regiments against Fallers covered the wall,
their gold frames glinting in the sunlight that was streaming in.

There was little by way of furniture. A marble and applewood desk five metres wide and three deep was situated a quarter of the way along the shining black and white tiled floor, its one ornate
gilt-edged chair with its back to the huge fireplace. Two chairs for visitors were placed in front of it, velvet cushions unused – nobody sat before the Captain, not for official
appointments; tradition had the chairs reserved for family only. Pedestals with busts of yet more esteemed ancestors filled the alcoves. At the far end of the room, ancient vases held impressive
arrays of fresh cut flowers.

Captain Philious sat behind the desk while two aides stood at one side, holding folders full of papers which required his signature. Both of them were young women in specialist versions of the
usual smart palace staff uniform, tight fitting with a deep-cut neckline that extended down to the navel. Philious might be approaching middle age, but at seventy-seven he still enjoyed all the
physical pleasure the flesh could provide. Thankfully his distinguished bloodline hadn’t let him down: the Captains remained blessed with a high resistance to illness, giving them a lifespan
that usually got to see them comfortably into a second century. Unless their heirs grew impatient. That particular misfortune had befallen several ancestors during the last three thousand years.
And Philious was under no illusions about his own son, Aothori.

‘Sir?’ his permanent secretary ’pathed from her office outside. ‘Trevene is here to see you.’

Philious looked up from the stack of papers he’d already signed. ‘That’s a wonderful excuse to stop. Ask him to come in, please.’ He put his ornate fountain pen back into
the gold holder. ‘We’ll finish these later, thank you.’

One of the aides picked up the signed papers. Both smiled at him, and walked the length of the room to the double doors at the far end. Philious watched them go contentedly.

Trevene came in just before they reached the doors. A man approaching a hundred and twenty, whose receding jet-black hair revealed a skull of olive skin that shone in the study’s thick
sunbeams. He wore a simple grey suit, as unobtrusive as men of his profession always were. It was as if he had a natural fuzz, obscuring him from notice. Thin features were becoming creased as age
dried his skin, while small silver-framed glasses perched on a long nose.

‘Do sit,’ Philious said, as he always did. Trevene was technically family, a second cousin – he had to be, only family could be trusted to run the Captain’s police.

‘Sir,’ Trevene bowed slightly as he reached the desk. As always, he stood.

‘So how are we doing with Jasmine Avenue?’ In three months it would be the centenary of the Jasmine Avenue rebellion, the last serious civil disturbance on Bienvenido – an
unfortunate year for his grandfather, where a disappointing crop coincided with a demographic surge. It had been put down swiftly, of course. Possibly too swiftly. There were a number of deaths,
and a lot more sentenced to the Pidrui mines. A year later, the martyrs’ names had been carved on the avenue’s walls. The borough council had swiftly removed them, repairing the wall,
and then a year later they’d reappeared. Removed. Replaced. Removed. And so it went on for decades, despite sheriffs guarding the avenue at anniversary time. The families of the dead were
quite tenacious. It had become a ritual, annoyingly keeping the cause alive.

‘There’s a lot of talk about commemorating the rebellion at the university, sir.’

‘Oh, there’s always talk there. Damn students.’

‘Yes, sir. Not students of good family, obviously. But provincials and middle classes may be a slight problem. They’re unusually persistent.’

Philious raised an eyebrow. ‘The radicals are organizing?’

A note of uncertainty coloured Trevene’s thoughts. ‘Not the radicals. This is something milder – an expanding seam of discontent, if you like. There is no defined leadership,
which is peculiar. Yet my assets in the halls of residence report that some kind of loose organization is forming. Nothing formal, nothing official, there’s no name for what they are, but
someone or something has stirred them up. They have developed a common purpose and support each other.’

‘By definition an organization has to be organized. Someone must be behind this.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But you can’t find them?’

‘If they exist, they are elusive.’

Philious leaned back in his chair, far more amused than worried. ‘They’re outsmarting
you
? A bunch of students?’

‘Inquiries are being made. If there is a leader, they will be exposed and neutralized.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. What about the rest of the city?’

‘The Shanties are full of talk, sir, of course. But it is just another grumble to the content chorus. No one else is remotely interested.’

‘The Shanties,’ Philious said in disapproval. It seemed as if every problem his Captaincy faced originated in the Shanties. That same demographic quirk which had seen the sharp
population rise hadn’t been matched by increased economic activity. Now every city and town on Bienvenido had Shanties on its outskirts – squalid shacks full of the jobless who
couldn’t afford the rent for a tenement, or to send their children to school. The only thing they were any good at doing, it seemed, was breeding.

Experts from the Treasury and banks constantly claimed that the economy would grow to accommodate them. Philious wasn’t so sure. It was a hundred years since they first appeared, and every
time he passed a Shanty on the way out of the city, it was larger than before.

‘A suggestion, sir: Jasmine Avenue is old; it’s my belief that the road surface needs repairing. If the cobbles were pulled up ready to be relaid, the whole avenue would have to be
closed off. And it’s a long, wide avenue. The work would likely take months.’

Philious smiled. He did so like Trevene. The man was constantly five steps ahead of anyone else, and brutality was always a last resort. ‘Excellent. Have a word with the borough’s
mayor. Let’s see; the Skylords will be here in two days, so shall we say work begins the day after, while everyone’s still too hungover to question anything?’

‘I’ll see to it, sir.’ Trevene adjusted his spectacles. ‘There is one other issue, sir.’

‘Yes?’ Philious asked wearily.

‘There’s been
another
girl, sir. It would appear the First Officer’s foibles got the better of him again.’

‘Oh great Giu, what happened?’

‘The hospital says she will live. But she wasn’t a working girl like his usuals. This one was from a middle-class family in Siegen, attending the university here. Her parents have
arrived, and naturally they’re somewhat distressed. They’ve retained Howells as their lawyer.’

‘Oh crudding Uracus.’

‘Quite, sir. It may be hard to get his suit dismissed in court without an executive order. And I understand the
Hilltop Eye
pamphlet has acquired the story. It won’t reflect
well on the Captaincy. Your reputation must remain unsullied.’