“You can’t do this.”
“It’s already done. It happened the moment you chose to help Hepburn.”
“What are you going to do to us? Just execute us in cold blood? We didn’t do anything wrong! You took his wife from him.”
“Nobody is being executed.”
“What then?”
“You will be joining Callum and Savi.” Yuri turned to the paramilitaries. “Take them away.”
* * *
—
Yuri had been awake so long he’d lost track of time zones. So he wasn’t surprised that dawn light was shining through the windows of Poi Li’s New York office. He didn’t even wait to be invited to sit, just slumped into a chair in front of her desk.
“It’s over then?” she said.
“Yeah. Your Arizona team took them out of Albania. The deaths have been announced. We included Callum.”
“Well done. That was a good catch, Yuri. Connexion appreciates it.”
“So will I get to shake hands with Ainsley?”
“Gunning for my job?” she asked archly.
“No.”
“Yes, you are. No need to be coy. We’re both realists. You’ll get here eventually. This operation showed me you have what it takes.”
“Okay. But I will need to know Arizona S and E isn’t Connexion’s secret death squad.”
“It’s not. I would never agree to run such a thing for Ainsley Zangari and his associates.”
“Associates? You mean it’s not just Connexion doing this?”
“There is a covenant between several of the globalPACs,” Poi said. “Ainsley is allied with some of them, naturally. They carry huge influence; some would say they are Earth’s true supra-government. And I am a realist. I looked around at the world we live in and agreed with their proposal.”
“Which is?”
“Society has been under siege from malicious elements for too long now. Law and order must be paramount for any civilization worthy of the name to flourish, especially now we are all neighbors, one step away from each other. Those who do not accept due process, who refuse to acknowledge the democratic mandate, are a cancer on society. And it is a terrible irony that our very liberalism allows such danger to flourish. There has to be a time when we say: no more. And thanks to Connexion, that time has now come. As Edmund Burke said—”
“ ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,’ ” Yuri quoted.
“Indeed,” Poi Li acknowledged. “The globalPACs knew they had to do something if our children were ever to live in a society free from the fear of maniacs blowing things up and killing people in the name of their cause. For there are so many causes. But we cannot descend to their level, where violence and death are the solution to anything that denies them their goal. We do not kill or maim, or even imprison; that is what sets us apart from them. This new transgalactic society we are about to embark on affords us the opportunity to deal with such unreasoning fanatics humanely. We will simply part company with their kind and allow them to live their lives by their own ideals.”
“So what happens to them?”
“Exile.”
* * *
—
Callum fell. He knew that was going to happen as soon as he lurched through the portal door. What he wasn’t expecting was to keep on falling.
Whatever gloomy mist he was falling through seemed to be sucking the air from his lungs. When he did manage to inhale, it was as if he was gulping down frigid Arctic vapor.
Is that it? A polar gulag?
He landed in water, creating a huge plume that closed over his head as he plummeted down. He was expecting it to be cold, but it was so hot it was almost scalding. The shock of its heat knifing into his flesh made him yell—big mistake. His mouth and nose filled with disgustingly briny water as his arms and legs flailed around. There was no light, so he couldn’t tell which way was up.
Don’t panic. Panic will kill you.
He felt around for the torch clipped to his belt. In seconds his lungs had gone from freezing to burning as his body demanded he draw a breath. Water was slowly creeping farther along his nostrils.
The torch came on. And he could see through the murky water, which was now stinging his eyes. Bubbles swirled around him, and finally he could see which way they were going. Up.
He kicked urgently. Arms scrabbled in a pathetic stroke. The bulk of his saturated clothes and everything he was carrying combined to weigh him down. Progress was achingly slow. The pain in his lungs was growing intolerable. Instinct was trying to prise his mouth open so he could suck down blessed air.
He kicked harder, arms pumping.
His head broke through a thin surface layer of yellow scum, and he sucked down a fraught breath. Immediately he was coughing and spluttering. The air was dangerously thin, yet heavy with brimstone. He concentrated on staying afloat, getting his breathing under control.
After a few breaths, he realized the heat was going to prove lethal in a very short time. Already his skin was on fire. Apollo was throwing up all sorts of medical warning symbols on his screen lenses. Movement was difficult.
He shone the torch around, trying to see anything solid he could swim toward.
“Hey there!” a call came.
“Here! Here!” Callum cried out.
“This way, man.”
A powerful beam of white light swept over the filthy layer of froth. Callum shone his own torch in the direction from which it originated. The beam found him, dazzling.
“We see you,” the voice yelled. “Make your way toward us. Fast as you can. This water’s gonna screw you up.”
Every movement was difficult now. The heat was stabbing through his flesh to grip his bones, slowly paralyzing him. He felt like he was being boiled alive, but he kept sweeping his arms around, wiggling his feet rather than kicking strongly. Long flecks of foam streaked across his face. The torch beam moved off to shine just in front of him, presenting a moving target.
“Come on, you can do it,” the voice urged. “Just a few meters more.”
He wondered why, if he was this close to the shore, his feet hadn’t touched anything solid yet.
“There you go. We got you.”
The beam wavered. In the shadows behind it, shapes were moving.
“Catch this.”
A rope dropped out of the dark air to land in the frothy surface. He stretched out a hand, unsure if his burning fingers could even manage to grip it.
“Wind it around your arm.”
He did his best, but even his arm had become sluggish. Suddenly he was moving fast as the rope pulled him along. Then hands were gripping him, hauling him over a rock shelf that sparkled with a dusting of hoarfrost. He was dragged out of the water, trailing ripples of rank sludge behind him. Strands of mist threaded through the still air all around.
“Congratulations. You made it. Welcome to hell.”
Callum swayed about on all fours, dripping steaming water and blobs of scum onto the rock. The intense heat permeating him made every movement painful, yet each breath of frigid air was a torment. He was desperate to get out of his broiling guard’s uniform. Torchlight fell on him and held steady.
“Hey, what the fuck?” his male savior exclaimed.
“What is it?” a second voice asked. Female.
“That’s a guard’s uniform. The bastard’s Connexion Security.”
“What?”
“No,” Callum said, or tried to. The glacial air just came out of his mouth as a loud wheeze.
A hand gripped the hair on the back of his head, forcing him to look up. “You a guard, dickhead? You fall through by mistake, huh?”
“No.”
“I’m going to make you wish this was hell!”
The kick caught Call
um in the side of his torso, shunting him across the rock. He flopped onto his back. The torch beam was still on him, blotting out the people behind. He could hear a footfall. Then another kick slammed into his ribs. Pain stars flashed across his vision. He wanted to scream in fury but didn’t have the strength or breath.
“Throw him back in,” the female voice demanded.
“Yeah—eventually.”
Callum reached down to his belt, hoping his memory was good, that his hand was in the right place. Fingers protested every nerve impulse but slowly closed around the device’s grip.
“Gonna make you bleed,” the man growled. “Gonna make you scream. You’ll beg me to kill you before I’m done slicing you. I know how to make that happen. Oh, man, do I ever.” There was a flash in the gloom as the torchlight shone off a blade.
It gave Callum a target. He fired the pistol.
There was a furious screech that twisted off into agonized grunting. The man dropped to the ground. Callum could hear limbs thrashing about as the dart pumped electricity into his erstwhile tormenter.
“Shit!” the woman shouted.
Callum shifted around on the ground. The torch was a huge clue where she was. It was a massive effort to make his fingers respond, but he managed to fire again. Missed. The torch beam swung around, which gave him an indication of which hand she was holding it in, where her body must be. Then it was wobbling from side to side as she started running.
He fired again. She wailed as the dart struck, then fell. The torch tumbled away and rolled across the rock, ending up pointing out across the simmering water.
Callum rolled onto his back and squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. “Holy fuck.”
The heat was abating—fractionally. He knew he had to get out of his sodden clothes. The armored jacket was easy to shrug out of. Vapor billowed off his shirt and trousers, fluorescing a vivid white in the torchlight. He stripped them off quickly but left the slim backpack in place. The sight of his skin, now a nasty shade of salmon-pink, made him grimace. But the cold was cutting into him now, almost as bad as the heat from a minute ago. He could feel himself starting to go numb.
“Where the fuck is this place?” he muttered as he bent over the man he’d darted. His victim was in his late thirties with a thick beard, wearing a heavy quilted coat and equally thick trousers, similar to the ones they’d put on Akkar and Dimon.
Callum claimed the coat for himself but let the man keep his sweater. Next prize were the boots and trousers.
Once he was dressed properly, he made himself sit for a few minutes, spending the time sorting through the equipment that was attached to Phil Murray’s stolen uniform. His abused skin was one giant itch, and he could feel his blood singing around his body as the adrenaline high gradually dissipated. As his heart calmed, he began to take in what had happened. The air was subzero and so thin he was clearly at considerable altitude, yet the lake he’d fallen into had to be a geothermal vent. Iceland? But his smartCuff couldn’t get a lock on any navigation satellites, which was troubling.
He stood up and walked over to retrieve the big torch. When he shone it on the woman, he saw an elderly lady with ebony skin and a mass of frizzy gray hair flaring out from under a dark wool hat. Her quilted coat was similar to the man’s, as were her trousers and boots.
He swung the torch beam back to the man. He’d left him his sweater, but his bare legs were turning blue, and frost was forming on them. “Ah, bollocks.”
Callum turned in a slow circle, scanning the beam about. If the reception party was on some kind of watch to help the people Connexion dropped into the water, then they’d be ready with dry clothes. Sure enough, three of the yellow plastic drums were standing ten meters from the shore. He went over to them and rummaged through the blankets and coats he found inside. There was also a flask of tea, which tasted bitter—as if he cared.
One of the pouches on the stolen uniform contained zip-lock strips. Callum spent a couple of minutes binding the man and woman together and wrapping blankets around the man’s bare legs so he didn’t get frostbite or hypothermia.
Then he pulled up the coat’s hood and settled down to wait.
The woman recovered consciousness first. She groaned a lot, and winced, and tried to move.
“Crap,” she grunted when she found how securely she was fastened to her companion.
“Hello,” Callum said.
She scowled at him. “You shot me, you piece of shit!”
“Just before you two started to cut chunks off me. Yeah, I’m mean that way. And the name’s Callum.”
“Start running, Connexion fascist. If you thought Donbul was pissed at you before, wait until he wakes up. The hunt will be fun.”
“I’m not Connexion…Well, I do work for them, but not in security.”
“Liar.”
He shrugged and sipped some more of the odd tea. Sure enough, the woman managed to stay silent for about a minute.
“What are you doing?” she asked, genuinely bewildered.
“Waiting for my friends. Connexion is going to go apeshit that they helped me, so they should be shipping them out here in a day or so. By the way, where is here? I thought Iceland at first, but I’m not so sure now. Antarctic?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“ ’Fraid not.”
She sniffed in contempt and turned her head away. When she looked back, he saw real anger in her expression. “We’ll kill you!”
He grinned, specifically to annoy her. “No, you won’t.”
“What friends?”
“Who am I talking to?”
“I’m not telling you my name.”
“But if you’re going to torture me to death anyway, what difference will it make?”
She stared at him for a moment. “Foluwakemi.”
“Where are you from, Foluwakemi? Nigeria, probably, right?”
“And you know this how, spy? I’m in your files, aren’t I?”
“Ah, a promotion: dumb guard to spy in five fast minutes. How flattering. No, I’m not a spy. My mInet suggested Nigeria.” He held up his arm so she could see the jet-black smartCuff.
“My God, you have working electronics?”
“Yep.”
“Then you are a spy.”
“Crap, but you’re paranoid.” He waved his hand at the surrounding darkness. “Mind, I suppose you have that right. Dumped here, wherever here is. Incidentally, my mInet can’t lock on to any satnav signals. So that makes this place extremely remote. I’m guessing the Antarctic’s Ellsworth Mountains. Quite high up them, too, with air this thin.”
Her grin made him uneasy; it betrayed the fact she thought she still had some advantage. “Wrong. Who are you?”
“I told you: Callum.”
Donbul groaned. His head came up, and his gaze fixed on Callum.
“Untie me,” he demanded.
“So you can start stabbing me?” Callum said archly. “I don’t think so.”
“You are going to hurt so bad.”
“Real tough guy, huh? You need to dial it down there, pal.”
“You think you can outrun us?”
“Do I look like I’m trying to run somewhere?”
That brought a puzzled frown. “What the fuck is this? Who are you?”
Callum sighed. “Callum. I’m a team chief in Connexion’s Emergency Detoxification division.”
“All I see is a dead man walking.”
“You need to be nicer to me,” Callum said. “Really.”
“Go fuck yourself, dead man.”
“Why? You know someone else who’s going to get you out of here?”
That made them both gawp. Callum grinned. “Oh, do I have your attention now?”
“Nobody can get us out of here,” Foluwakemi said.
“We’ll see.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to find my wife. I think Connexion renditioned her.”
“Why would they do that?”
“She was caught up in the protest against the Australian desert being seeded with ice. Did those people get sent here?”
“Yes.” Foluwakemi nodded. “Over a hundred of them.”
“Christ almighty! How many people are here?”
“There are thousands of us.”
“Thousands?”
“Yes.”
“But…Is this a camp?”
“No, there’s nobody here but us. Connexion dumped us here to fend for ourselves.”
Callum gave an involuntary shiver. “Pretty tough, huh?”
“Worse than you think. The crop seeds they provided aren’t much good. The biologists among us think there’s too much iron in the soil.”
“Crops? In Antarctica? There’s no such thing.”
Foluwakemi gave him a pitying smile. “Look up, detoxification man.”
Callum did as he was told. He hadn’t noticed dawn arriving above the glare of the torch. That was reasonable enough, as it hadn’t come to the horizon. Instead, directly overhead, a wide strip of the sky was tinged with an insipid gray light. He frowned at the anomaly, scanning around in a full circle. As the light grew, he realized he was in the bottom of a canyon, but the poor light was making it difficult to judge the scale of the rock walls on either side. That and his mind was refusing to accept what he saw. He was constantly trying to adjust the perspective.
His jaw slowly hinged open as reality soaked his brain in parallel to the weak sunlight. The sheer cliffs were at least seven kilometers high, probably more, with a floor maybe five kilometers across. He’d been to the Grand Canyon a few years ago, done the whole tourist routine—some rafting, climbed an easy face of rock. This was an order of magnitude larger, which was ridiculous.
“Where the hell are we?” he blurted.
“You just called it, asshole,” Donbul mocked. “Hell. Otherwise known as Zagreus.”
“No,” Callum said. “No, no. That’s not possible.” He didn’t have to consult Apollo’s files for that; Zagreus was an exoplanet slightly larger than Earth, but with an atmosphere as thin as Mars and no surface water. It orbited three AUs out from Alpha Centauri A. When the Orion starship decelerated into the Centauri system, there had been quite a clamor to begin terraforming it. But it was so much cheaper to build a second wave of starships and send them farther out to stars with more suitable exoplanets.
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