The Revelation Space Collection by Alastair Reynolds Page A

figure of fascination to the populace.’
    ‘Even if most of them would be fascinated to see me hung.’
    ‘You’ve a point, but they’d probably insist on shaking your hand first - before helping you to the gibbet.’
    ‘And you think you can milk this appetite?’
    Girardieau had shrugged. ‘Obviously, the new regime determines who gains access to you - and we also own all your records and archival material. That gives us a headstart already. We have access to documents from the Yellowstone years which no one beyond your immediate family even knows exist. We’d exercise a certain discretion in using them, of course - but we’d be fools to ignore them.’
    ‘I understand,’ Sylveste said, because suddenly it was all very clear to him. ‘You’re actually going to use this to discredit me, aren’t you.’
    ‘If the facts discredit you . . .’ Girardieau left the remark hanging in the air.
    ‘When you deposed me . . . wasn’t that good enough for you?’
    ‘That was nine years ago.’
    ‘Meaning what?’
    ‘Meaning long enough for people to forget. Now they need a gentle reminder.’
    ‘Especially as there’s a new air of discontent abroad.’
    Girardieau winced, as if the remark was in spectacularly poor taste. ‘You can forget about True Path - especially if you think they might turn out to be your salvation. They wouldn’t have stopped at imprisoning you.’
    ‘All right,’ Sylveste said, boring rapidly. ‘What’s in it for me?’
    ‘You assume there has to be something?’
    ‘Generally, yes. Otherwise, why bother telling me about it?’
    ‘Your co-operation might be in your best interest. Obviously, we could work from the material we’ve seized - but your insights would be valuable. Especially in the more speculative episodes.’
    ‘Let me get this straight. You want me to authorise a hatchet job? And not just give it my blessing but actually help you assassinate my character?’
    ‘I could make it worth your while.’ Girardieau nodded around the confines of the room in which Sylveste was held. ‘Look at the freedom I’ve given Janequin, to continue his peacock hobby. I could be just as flexible in your case, Dan. Access to recent material on the Amarantin; the ability to communicate with your colleagues; share your opinions - perhaps even the occasional excursion beyond the building.’
    ‘Field work?’
    ‘I’d have to consider it. Something of that magnitude . . .’ Sylveste was suddenly, acutely aware that Girardieau was acting. ‘A period of grace might be advisable. The biography’s in development now, but it’ll be several months before we need your input. Maybe half a year. What I propose is that we wait until you’ve begun to give us what we need. You’ll be working with the biography’s author, of course, and if that relationship is successful - if she considers it successful - then perhaps we’ll be ready to enter into discussions about limited field work. Discussions, mind - no promises.’
    ‘I’ll try and contain my enthusiasm.’
    ‘Well, you’ll be hearing from me again. Is there anything you need to know before I leave?’
    ‘One thing. You mentioned that the biographer would be a woman. Might I ask who it’ll be?’
    ‘Someone with illusions waiting to be shattered, I suspect.’
     
    Volyova was working near the cache one day, thinking of weapons, when a janitor-rat dropped gently onto her shoulder and spoke into her ear.
    ‘Company,’ said the rat.
    The rats were a peculiar quirk of the Nostalgia for Infinity ; quite possibly unique aboard any lighthugger. They were only fractionally more intelligent than their feral ancestors, but what made them useful - what turned them from pest into utility - was that they were biochemically linked into the ship’s command matrix. Every rat had specialised pheromonal receptors and transmitters which allowed it to receive commands and transmit information back to the ship, encoded into complex secreted