Federations

But I didn’t finish the sentence. As I was speaking the whole chamber shook violently, almost dashing us off our feet.

“What was that?”

Wendigo’s eyes glazed again, briefly.

“Your ship,” she said. “It just self-destructed.”

“What?”

A picture of what remained of Mouser formed in my head: a dulling nebula, embedding the splinter. “The order to self-destruct came from Tiger’s Eye,” Wendigo said. “It cut straight to the ship’s quackdrive subsystems, at a level the demons couldn’t rescind. I imagine they were rather hoping you’d have landed by the time the order arrived. The blast would have destroyed the splinter.”

“You’re saying home just tried to kill us?”

“Put it like this,” Wendigo said. “Now might not be a bad time to rethink your loyalties.”

• • •

Tiger’s Eye had failed this time—but they wouldn’t stop there. In three hours they’d learn of their mistake, and three or more hours after that we would learn of their countermove, whatever it happened to be.

“She’ll do something, won’t she? I mean, the wasps wouldn’t go to the trouble of building this place only to have Tiger’s Eye wipe it out.”

“Not much she can do,” Wendigo said, after communing with the Queen. “If home chooses to use kinetics against us—and they’re the only weapon which could hit us from so far—then there really is no possible defense. And remember there are a hundred other worlds like this, in or on their way to the halo. Losing one would make very little difference.”

Something in me snapped. “Do you have to sound so damned indifferent to it all? Here we are talking about how we’re likely to be dead in a few hours and you’re acting like it’s only a minor inconvenience.” I fought to keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice. “How do you know so much anyway? You’re mighty well informed for someone who’s only been here a day, Wendigo.”

She regarded me for a moment, almost blanching under the slap of insubordination. Then Wendigo nodded, without anger. “Yes, you’re right to ask how I know so much. You can’t have failed to notice how hard we crashed. My pilots took the worst.”

“They died?”

Hesitation. “One at least—Sorrel. But the other, Quillin, wasn’t in the ship when the wasps pulled me out of the wreckage. At the time I assumed they’d already retrieved her.”

“Doesn’t look that way.”

“No, it doesn’t, and . . . ” She paused, then shook her head. “Quillin was why we crashed. She tried to gain control, to stop us landing . . . ” Again Wendigo trailed off, as if unsure how far to commit herself. “I think Quillin was a plant, put aboard by those who disagreed with the peace initiative. She’d been primed—altered psychologically to reject any Royalist peace overtures.”

“She was born like that—with a stick up her ass.”

“She’s dead, I’m sure of it.”

Wendigo almost sounded glad.

“Still, you made it.”

“Just, Spirey. I’m the humpty who fell off the wall twice. This time they couldn’t find all the pieces. The Splinterqueen pumped me full of demons—gallons of them. They’re all that’s holding me together, but I don’t think they can keep it up forever. When I speak to you, at least some of what you hear is the Splinterqueen herself. I’m not really sure where you draw the line.”

I let that sink in, then said: “About your ship. Repair systems would have booted when you hit. Any idea when she’ll fly again?”

“Another day, day and a half.”

“Too damn long.”

“Just being realistic. If there’s a way to get off the splinter within the next six hours, ship isn’t it.”

I wasn’t giving up so easily. “What if wasps help? They could supply materials. Should speed things.”

Again that glazed look. “All right,” she said. “It’s done. But I’m afraid wasp assistance won’t make enough difference. We’re still looking at twelve hours.”

“So I won’t start any long disneys.” I shrugged. “And maybe we can hold out until then.” She looked unconvinced, so I said: “Tell me the rest. Everything you know about this place. Why, for starters.”

“Why?”

“Wendigo, I don’t have the faintest damn idea what any of us are doing here. All I do know is that in six hours I could be suffering from acute existence failure. When that happens, I’d be happier knowing what was so important I had to die for it.”

Wendigo looked toward Yarrow, still nursed by the detached elements of the Queen. “I don’t think our being here will help her,” she said. “In which case, maybe I should show you something.” A near-grin appeared on Wendigo’s face. “After all, it isn’t as if we don’t have time to kill.”

• • •

So we rode the train again, this time burrowing deeper into the splinter.

“This place,” Wendigo said, “and the hundred others already beyond the Swirl—and the hundreds, thousands more that will follow—are arks. They’re carrying life into the halo, the cloud of leftover material around the Swirl.”

“Colonization, right?”