Free The Prefect by Alastair Reynolds Page B

decided to become her agent, publicist, broker, whatever you want to call it. That’s why I was so reluctant to accept Dravidian’s offer.’
    â€˜I take it Anthony Theobald wasn’t exactly thrilled by either course of events: you severing ties with your rich family, and then souring the Dravidian deal.’
    â€˜I sensed some issues there, yes.’
    â€˜Do you think he was angry enough to want to kill his own daughter and family?’
    â€˜No. Anthony Theobald and I might not have seen eye to eye, but I knew he loved his daughter. He’d have played no part in this.’ Vernon Tregent looked intently at Dreyfus. ‘Why look for another angle, though, when you already have Dravidian?’
    â€˜I’m just making sure I don’t miss anything. If you think of something, you’ll be sure to tell me, won’t you?’
    â€˜Certainly.’ But then a shadow of suspicion crossed the young man’s face. ‘I’d have to know I could trust you, of course.’
    â€˜Why wouldn’t you trust me?’
    â€˜How do I know that you’re really a prefect, to begin with, or that Ruskin-Sartoriousreally has been destroyed? For all I know I could have been kidnapped by data-pirates. I don’t have any evidence that this is Panoply.’
    â€˜Nothing I can show you or tell you will make any difference to that.’
    Vernon pondered that for a long while before responding. ‘I know. And right now I’m not sure I’ve seen or heard enough to be able to make a sound judgement.’
    â€˜If you know anything that could assist in the investigation, you should tell me now.’
    â€˜I want to talk to Delphine.’
    â€˜Out of the question. You’re both material witnesses. I can’t have your individual testimonies invalidated by cross-contamination.’
    â€˜We’re in love, Prefect.’
    â€˜Your human counterparts were in love. There’s a difference.’
    â€˜You really don’t believe in us, do you?’
    â€˜Nor do you.’
    â€˜But Delphine does. She believes, Prefect. That’s all that matters to me.’ Vernon’s eyes seemed to shine right through him. ‘Crush me, by all means. But don’t crush Delphine.’
    â€˜Hold invocation,’ Dreyfus said.
    When the room was empty, Dreyfus retrieved the compad from between his knees and began to organise his thoughts about Vernon, using the ancient stylus entry mode that he favoured. Yet something stilled his hand, however: some tingle of disquiet that he could not ignore. He’d interviewed beta-level simulations on many previous occasions, and he considered himself well versed in their ways. He had never sensed a soul behind the clockwork, and he would not have said that he sensed one now. But something was different. He had never before felt that he had to earn the trust of a beta-level, nor had he ever considered what the earning of that trust might signify.
    One trusted machines. But one never expected machines to return the favour.
    â€˜Invoke Delphine Ruskin-Sartorious,’ Dreyfus said.
    The woman assumed solidity in the interview room. She was taller than Dreyfus, dressed in a simple white smock and trousers, her sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the trousers rolled to just below the knee, flat white slippers on her feet, arms crossed. She was leaning to one side, weight on one leg, as if waiting for something to happen. She had silver bracelets on her wrists, but no other ornamentation. Her heart-shaped face was plain without being ugly. She had simple, minimalist features, unadorned with cosmetics. Her eyes were a very pale sea-green. Her hair was scrunched back from her brow, tied with what looked like a dirty rag. A few coiled strands had escaped to frame the side of her face.
    â€˜Delphine?’ Dreyfus asked.
    â€˜Yes. Where am I?’
    â€˜You’re in Panoply. I’m afraid I have very bad news.