The Dying Light (14 page)

“Now we follow you out of here,” said Roche. She indicated the airlock. “After you.”

The four of them filed into the small enclosure and waited for the doors to cycle. The smell of spices was stronger closer to the two men, and Roche resisted the urge to ask what it was. Cinnamon, perhaps, with a hint of cloves, plus something more pungent, less familiar.

KESH, Haid said via his implants.

Roche glanced at Haid.

CAN’T YOU SMELL IT?

Roche tasted the air again. She had met Kesh agents while in the COE’s employ, but always under Pristine-controlled circumstances. Never had she been in an environment that was home to any of that particular Caste for any length of time. If Kesh was what Haid said he smelled, then she would have to take his word for it.

“Welcome to Galine Four,” Disisto said as the outer door opened. “No doubt you’ll be unfamiliar with the layout of the station,” he went on, ushering them along the umbilical. “But it won’t take long to get your bearings. Until then I’d be more than happy to act as your escort. Or I can make other arrangements. It’s up to you.”

“You’ll do fine,” Roche said, moving forward to stand next to him. The ribbed plastic swayed slightly beneath their feet as they walked. “But I’d like to meet your commanding officer as soon as possible.”

Disisto nodded amiably. “I’m taking you there now.”

“Good,” said Roche. “There are a lot of questions I’d like answered—such as what you’re doing here in this system.”

“I’m sure he’ll be asking you the same things,” said Disisto.

“And I’ll be happy to answer him,” said Roche. “Once I’m certain of his intentions.”

At the far end of the umbilical, they stepped onto a metal platform which led to a flight of steps. The door behind them was the second of three along one wall of the main docking bay’s disembarkation point. The scutter lay hidden behind the pressure-wall, which also possessed larger airlocks and umbilicals designed for the transfer of freight. None of the other doors was in use.

A dozen people occupied the disembarkation point, three of them dressed similarly to Disisto and his sidekick—obviously security officers like them. Above and on the far side of the chamber was a glassed-off observation floor which held still more gray uniforms. Even with so many people watching her, Roche felt alone; the disembarkation point was large enough to hold five of the
Ana Vereine’s
scutters.

The acoustic properties of the room lent a booming quality to their footsteps as they descended the stairs.

“Not much of a reception,” Haid joked.

“You’ll have to understand that we’re a little busy at the moment,” said Disisto earnestly. “If one of our scouts hadn’t been in your vicinity, we probably would’ve let you go on your way rather than risk our necks talking to you.”

“Speaking of which,” said Roche, remembering Mavalhin. “Will that singleship we spoke to be docking soon?”

“It’s just coming in now. Why?”

“I studied with the pilot some years ago. I was wondering whether I’d get the chance to catch up with him later.”

“Well, he has debriefing and decon before he’ll be allowed to mix with the rest of the crew, but I’ll make sure he knows you asked about him, if you like.”

Roche felt a mixture of relief and regret rush through her. “Thanks.”

Disisto led Haid and Roche toward the main exit, with Synnett bringing up the rear. Roche glanced behind them just as the seal around one of the other umbilicals flared green, indicating that someone—presumably Mavalhin—was about to disembark. The three other security guards in the disembarkation point moved up the steps—and it was only then that she realized that the guards hadn’t been there to greet her and Haid at all.

she commented to Haid.

FEELING PUT OUT, MORGAN? Haid shot back.

The corridors and open spaces they passed through were uniformly drab: gray walls and floors, with minimal lighting; clearly a work area and not intended to look pretty. The few people they encountered were busy performing errands and took no notice of Disisto and his entourage.

“So,” she said after a while. “What exactly is it you do here? The station, I mean.”

Disisto faced her with a smile. “Research,” he said. “But beyond that I’m not authorized to say. That will be up to the chief to explain.”

“And just who is this ‘chief’?”

“Professor Linegar Rufo,” said Disisto. “He’s in charge of Galine Four.”

“That’s the name of the station, I take it?” Disisto nodded without breaking his stride. “Is there a Galine One, Two or Three anywhere around?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “There may have been once, but I’ve never heard of them.”

“You’ve worked here long?”

“Five years.”

“A long time to be cooped up on a station like this,” said Haid.

“It beats a lot of the other jobs I’ve had.”

Roche sent via her implants,

replied the AI.

Haid picked up the conversation, grilling Disisto about his previous employment—which seemed, for the most part, to have been for the Traders’ Guild or independent merchants. Roche followed the exchange with half an ear while continuing her discussion with the Box.

the Box replied.

It wasn’t like the AI to be so easily thwarted. Still, Roche had no doubt that, in the end, the Box would obtain the information she needed.

There was that word again;
research.

was
an archaeological outpost in the system around Kukumat and Murukan.>

said Roche.

Roche absorbed the fact with interest.

Ana Vereine
powerful enough to slow-jump both itself and the station out of here?>

said the Box.

Roche smiled inwardly.

Roche returned her attention to Disisto. The security officer was describing how they had sent manned singleships to every occupied point in Palasian System, and how they had found only destruction everywhere. If he knew anything about the perpetrator of the attack, he was hiding it well.

“And you’ve seen no evidence of life at all?” Roche asked.

“Only outriggers, here and there,” Disisto said. “A spine or two must have moved in a few years ago without registering; they certainly don’t show in the system stats. Most of them are in the belts the prowlers haven’t already mined, although some have come in closer. We saw a couple attempt to intervene on Aro, but not very successfully. A piece of the Spaceport’s orbital tower was rigged as a trap; cut them clean out of the sky.”

“Our probe in that area found gas-guns in the derelicts—”

“Yeah, we ran into those when we put the tower out of action. It was about then we decided to cut our losses and get out of the way. Not that there’s anyone left to rescue on Aro, anyway.”

“Or anywhere else, it seems,” said Haid. “Except for this station,” put in Roche. “Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

“Not really,” said Disisto as they approached a transit tube. He pressed his hand onto the ID scanner, then turned to Roche. “We’ve been very careful, keeping emissions to an absolute minimum and staying put. We’re not a battleship, and we’re smart enough to know it. This warrior took out an entire Armada base, so we certainly wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

said the Box.

Roche chewed her lip thoughtfully, but she didn’t have time to dwell upon the matter for very long: the transit cab had arrived and Disisto was ushering them inside.

“We’re leaving the outer levels behind us,” he said, punching a destination into the cab’s control system. “If you experience any giddiness, it won’t last long; a few ambient g-fields overlap between here and the Hub. In the center you shouldn’t have a problem. You’ll get used to the transition if you’re here long enough.”

“Seems like you could use a competent engineer,” said Haid.

“Perhaps.” The door slid shut, and Disisto moved to place his back against the far wall. “But as I said, you get used to it.”

The cab descended with a sudden lurch that just as quickly reversed, leaving Roche feeling as though she was going upward. Haid lost his balance and scrabbled with his artificial hand for purchase on the wall. He missed the support rail, and fell to one knee.

Roche reached out to support him; he righted himself with a grunt.

“A little unsteady, there,” observed Disisto. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll’ be okay,” Haid muttered, embarrassed. He wrapped his good hand around a support. “You did warn us, I guess.”

“How much further?” Roche asked.

“Not far, once we arrive at the Hub.” Disisto cocked an eyebrow. “You in a hurry?”

“Just don’t want to keep our host waiting.” The floor beneath them shifted again, but this time Haid managed to remain steady. “So aren’t you interested in what we’re doing here?”

Disisto shook his head. “It’s none of my business. My concern is security only, and you’ve had the okay from the chief. I’m curious, naturally, which is why I volunteered to be your guide. But I won’t push the matter unless...” Something shifted behind Disisto’s calm façade, as though there was a question he wanted to ask. Just then the cab shuddered. “We’re almost there,” he said, changing the subject. “Our gradient should be nice “and smooth from here on in.”

The sensation of motion faded almost entirely. Within thirty seconds, they came to a halt and the doors slid smoothly open.

Disisto disembarked first. The first thing Roche noticed was the noise: voices, footsteps, whirring machinery—so different from the near-silence of the
Ana Vereine.
The second thing she noticed, once she had left the cab, was that the dull gray decor had been left behind; here, in the Hub of the station, the walls were white and the light dazzling. The corridor ceilings were laced with vines and other unobtrusive plants. The air was fresher too, although still thick with the smell Haid had identified as belonging to the Kesh Caste.

Several people walked past as Roche waited for Haid to leave the cab. Not all were Pristine: Roche spotted two Mbata talking animatedly in their native tongue, and one Surin walking alone. Some wore uniforms similar to Disisto’s, but different in color; a substantial proportion, however, were casually clothed. A couple eyed them with curiosity, but didn’t stop.

“Which way?” Roche asked, indicating the four corridors that branched from the tube’s exit.

“Down here.” Disisto pointed along the rightmost corridor. “Don’t touch anything or talk to anyone unless I say so. We’re all a little jumpy and I’d hate for there to be a scene.”

Roche nodded, noting that the inhabitants of Galine Four’s Hub did seem a little tense. No one met her eye, and Haid’s radical biomodification aroused ill-concealed suspicion in one or two.

Disisto led them along the corridor, then to an accessway that curved gracefully into the distance. One hundred meters farther on, they passed a window, and Roche stopped to stare through it. On the other side was an enormous chamber filled with plants growing in free-fall. Long tendrils rose from spongelike vats of nutrients; moss and vines covered every flat surface; occasionally among the ubiquitous green was a speck of color—probably a fruit or vegetable doing its best to remedy the imbalance.

“Commander Roche?” Disisto stood waiting for her while Haid and Synnett continued on their way.

“Huh?” She turned toward him. “Oh, sorry. I was just admiring your garden.”

Disisto smiled. “I try to spend as much time in it as I can. Rank, as they say, has its privileges.”

“Sometimes.”

“Yes, sometimes.” His smile slipped, and Roche found herself missing it immediately. “Let’s go,” he said.

They followed the other two along the sweep of the corridor and to a semicircular antechamber where two armed guards in black waited by a sealed double door.

“He’s expecting us,” said Disisto to the nearest guard.

The guard nodded and the doors sighed open. Disisto marched between the guards, waving for Haid and Roche to follow. Synnett brought up the rear, as implacable and silent as a cloud’s shadow.