Uh-huh, I sez. Sumfin up thare keeps shootin them down, yeh?
No; but ther apeers 2 b an armurd conical base 2 thi towrs upir reetches @ about 20 kilometirs whitch nobody has bin abil 2 penitrate.
I luke roun @ ol thi missile rekidje. Thi offorities doan yoozhily let airplanes operate wifin thi cassil 4 feer ov a crash weekinin thi struktyir, let aloan missiles. U cant help wunderin whot sorta damidje has bin dun up thare by ol this rekd hardware.
So? I sez.
We ½ a final vacyoom baloon, thi lammergeier sez.
A whot?
A vacyoom baloon, it repeets. Teknikly, a very strong impermeebil membrane encloasin a hi vacyoom & fitid wif a harnis.
A harnis, I sed.
+, we ½ sum hi-altitood breevin eqwipmint.
U ½, ½ u? I sez. (& am finkin, 0-0…)
Yes, mastir Bascule. We r askin u 2 take thi baloon up as far as u can & then clime sum way beyond thi levil thi baloon attanes.
Iz that posibil? How far up we tokin?
It is sertinly posibil, tho not without risk. Thi altitood is aproximitly 20 kilometirs.
Haz enybudy els bin up that hi?
They ½
They get bak down agen?
Yes, thi lammergeier sez, stampin from side 2 side agen & flappin its wings out a bit. Sevril mishins ½ ataned sutch hites in thi past.
Whot am I suposed 2 do up thare?
U wil b givin a pakidje 2 tak wif u. Ol u ½ 2 do is diliver it.
Whare? Who 2?
U wil c when u get thare. I cant tel u eny moar.
If this is so urjint, how cum u gies cant do it? I ask, lukin roun @ thi othir birdz.
1 ov our numbir tryd, thi hed bird sez. We beleev he is ded. Anuthir woz about 2 mount a sekind atempt juss b4 u apperd but we wer not veri hoapful ov suxess. Thi problem is that we canot fly 2 a ½ ov thi altitood reqwired, & 1ce thi baloon wil rise no moar simply woking up steps apeers 2 b thi best meens ov gainin hite. We r not bilt for wokin. U r.
I fink about ol this.
It is a simpl task in a sens, thi hed lammergeier sez, but without it thi asooras mishin wil shurely fale. Howevir, this is a danejiris undertaikin. If u lak thi curidje 2 taik it on then b shure that moast hoomins wood feel thi saim way. Probly thi sensibil fing 2 do is 2 turn it doun. U r bairly an adolesint, aftir ol.
Thi hed bird lowirs his nek a litil & lukes roun @ his 2 neereist pals.
We ask 2 mutch, he sez, soundin sorofool. Cum – & he starts 2 opin his wings as if 2 fly away.
I swolo hard.
Il do it, I sez.
* * *
NINE
* * *
1
The cell was dark. She had been troubled by strange dreams and awoke, restless and disturbed in her narrow cot. She tried to get back to sleep but could not. She lay on her back, trying in vain to remember what she had been dreaming about. She opened her eyes to the darkness, and when she rolled over again noticed a tiny glow of pale light coming from the floor. She gazed down at it. It was like a pearl, lit from inside, and so faint she could only see it when she didn’t look straight at it. She put her hand out to touch it. It felt cold. It was stuck to the floor. She caught a hint of movement inside, and got out of the bed, kneeling on the floor and putting one eye up to the tiny glowing pearl.
Inside the pearl she saw ice and snow and cloud and somebody standing dressed in furs.
Without hesitating, she plucked the pearl from the floor. It was damp and cold in her fingers, like ice. The tiny hole in the floor glowed more brightly now; the scene below was clearer. She wished she could slip through into that other place, and found herself shrinking – or the hole and the cell around her expanding – until she was able to do just that.
She awoke on a frozen lake; a huge sheet of ice stretching smoothly away in every direction to a pale grey horizon. Above was a roof of white cloud.
It was very cold. She was dressed in a fur hat and a calf-length coat. Her boots were long and her hands were clasped together inside a fur muff. Her breath smoked in front of her.
In the distance she saw a black dot. It gradually enlarged until eventually it resolved into a man rowing a kind of spindly frame across the ice. He didn’t turn round to look at her, but stopped rowing some distance away and coasted to a halt level with her and about a stone’s throw distant. He wore a thin, tight-fitting one-piece suit and a thin cap. He sat, still not looking at her, breathing hard and leaning forwards to rest on the claw-oars he held.
She looked down at her boots, which became ice skates. She glided over and stopped neatly, facing him.
He was middle-aged but fit-looking in a stocky, compact sort of way. There was a sculpted leanness hinted at in his face and his hair was thick and black. He looked slightly surprised. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked.
‘Asura,’ she said, nodding. ‘And you?’
‘Hortis,’ he said. He turned and looked around and behind him. ‘I thought I was alone here. They don’t usually…’ his voice trailed off as he looked back at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘What do you want here?’ he asked her.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘They all want something,’ he said, sounding bitter. ‘You must, too. What is it?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I want,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to be here, and I’m here.’ She thought. ‘I can’t go anywhere else. They keep trying to make me answer questions. Apart from- ‘
‘And you’re not ill or sick or needing to be rescued?’ he asked, a sneer on his face.
‘No,’ she told him, puzzled. ‘Are you?’
‘Only from this nonsense,’ he said, not looking at her, but checking the angle of the claw-oars. He levered them back and flicked them down into the ice. ‘Tell them nice try; at least they’re getting more subtle.’ He pulled on the claw-oars and the A-shaped frame rumbled off across the ice, gaining speed with each sweep of the oars the man made.
She hesitated, then set off after him, skating smoothly in his wake. He looked annoyed. He lengthened his stroke, trying to outdistance her, but she kept up with him. She loved the feel of the ice under the blades on her feet and the cold air on her face. Warmth spread from her legs as she pushed after the man in his strange, spindly craft. He was pulling quite hard now and she was struggling to keep up, but he didn’t look comfortable with the pace he’d set either. His face grew more angry-looking.
She wanted to laugh, but did not.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asked him.
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, ‘Too damn long.’ He gave one explosive sigh and settled back to a more steady rowing rhythm, seemingly giving up his attempt to pull away from her.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,’ he said, smiling humourlessly, and shook his head as he watched his claw-oars flick and bite.
‘Where did you come from?’ she asked patiently.
Again, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. It looked like he was thinking hard. Finally he said – suddenly looking straight at her – ‘The tower.’
She ceased to push after him and glided on for some time, skates parallel, then felt herself brake gently. The man had stopped rowing, though his own momentum was still drawing him further away over the ice from her. He was frowning.
She came to a stop.
‘The tower,’ she whispered to herself.
The man who had called himself Hortis slowed and stopped the fragile-looking ice-boat, some distance off. He was looking at her strangely, his head tipped to one side. Then he angled one oar behind him and the other in front and pulled them together to turn the craft and come back to her.
The small craft rumbled a length past her and stopped. He shipped the claw-oars, leaning forward and looking intently at her. He gazed at her for a while, then appeared to come to a decision.
‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ve been in here too long, or maybe I just can’t resist a pretty face, but I suppose it can’t do any harm.’ He gave a small smile. ‘I was one of a small group of scientists and mathematicians who opposed the Consistory. We believed their desire to hold on to power had entirely superseded any duty to govern for the general good; our conspiracy – which had started at university and never really been more than a secret club – became more serious when the Encroachment was discovered and we began to suspect that the Consistory – with the King as its puppet – was doing less than it might to find a solution to the emergency.