The Curve of The Earth sp-4

by Simon Morden

  “But what about Jason Fyfe? He’s a wild card. He’s not a US citizen, and he wasn’t going to take kindly to anyone telling him not to rescue Lucy, not when she clearly needed rescuing. So he was killed: quickly, cleanly, and with a minimum of fuss. Then the body displayed to us like a hunting trophy.”

  “But they haven’t killed you,” said Newcomen. “They haven’t even tried to kill you.”

  “No. Not yet. Why do you think that is?”

  “Because you’re too important?”

  “I’d like to think so, but that’d just be the ego talking. Come on, time to work that atrophied walnut you call a brain. Why haven’t they killed me?”

  “Because they need you alive?”

  “Yeah. They do.” Petrovitch looked Newcomen square in the face. “Why do they need me, Samuil Petrovitch, the Antichrist, the tyrant of the Freezone, the slaughterer of thousands, the humiliator of the holy United States of America, continual thorn in the flesh, alive?”

  “Because they want you to find Lucy,” said Newcomen, mounting horror in his voice. “Because only you can find her.”

  “That’s right. That’s absolutely right. They can’t find Lucy on their own, and not just because they’d draw attention both to the search and to whatever it is they’re trying to hide. They can’t find her because she’s deliberately and actively hiding from them. They don’t want the FBI looking for her, and they certainly didn’t want Fyfe blundering around up there. So they make it difficult enough for me to think they don’t want her found, but not so difficult that they’ll actually stop me from finding her.”

  “She knows you’re coming, surely?”

  “She knows it. She believes it in her soul. And don’t call me Shirley.”

  Newcomen growled his annoyance. “What do they do when you find her?”

  “I imagine that our first hello will be our last goodbye.”

  “That’s… awful. If that’s what’s going to happen, you can’t carry on.”

  “Of course I can. I’m going to find my daughter.”

  “But you’ll kill her!”

  “No. Your side will kill her. It’s not an insignificant difference.”

  “There’s no difference at all. She’ll still wind up dead.” Newcomen slapped the console in front of him. “And so will you. You’re going to have to turn around and find another way to do this.”

  “I can’t.” Petrovitch’s voice was calm, his mind clear. “If I stop now, Lucy’s going to die anyway: time’s their luxury, not ours. Every day that passes is a day closer to when she has to break cover. If I ever want to see her again, then I’m going to have to give away where she’s hiding.” He shrugged. “They understand me much better than you do. They know that even if I managed to unravel it this far, I’d still press on, though it means both our deaths.”

  “But she’s your daughter. You can’t do this to her.”

  “Your lot could have saved a lot of fucking around by explaining all this to me right at the start. I’d still be here, doing exactly what I’m doing now.”

  “You make it sound like it’s already been decided. It hasn’t. You have to fight. You have to think of something.” Newcomen grew agitated, desperate even. “You can’t die.”

  “I’m not going to sell myself cheap. I’ll make it as messy and uncomfortable as I can. But I know how much firepower you’ve got stacking up on the North Slope. It looks like there’s something out there worth starting a war for, and Lucy knows what it is.”

  “No. You have to listen, you, you selfish pig. You’re going to live. And so am I.”

  Petrovitch raised his eyebrows. “You make it sound like either of us has another option.”

  “I haven’t come this far to fail now. If you die, I die, and you’re not going to throw my life away in your grand gesture. I don’t care how much you hate America. I don’t care how much you love your Lucy. I want to live. I want to live, Dr Samuil bloody Petrovitch of the Freezone collective, and if that means hauling your metal ass across a freaking ice flow, I will do it. We will find your daughter and we will get her to safety and you will take out this bomb in my chest and I will live happily ever after and for God’s sake pull up!”

  The cloud that had enveloped them cleared for a moment. In that moment, the ground came rushing towards them. Either side of the cockpit were towering black splinters of rock. The saddle of land between reared upwards like the crest of a breaking wave, intent on smashing them to pieces.

  The turbines howled and the plane pitched nose up.

  Certain they were going to hit, were hitting, had already hit and had lost the rear half of the fuselage, Newcomen clutched at his head and pulled his feet clear of the floor.

  When he opened his eyes again, they were still flying. The ground was receding below the plane, and was losing its solidity in the mountain fog.

  “Oh, dear Lord, oh, my sweet Jesus. Oh thank you.”

  “The antigravity would have pushed us over,” said Petrovitch, less convincingly than he would have liked. “Perhaps you ought not to distract me, at least until we get on the ground again.”

  Newcomen put his head between his knees and prayed so hard the tears squeezed out.

  26

  [Sasha?]

  “Yeah. I’m paying attention.”

  [No mountains?]

  “Not at the moment. Not until the Urals at least, and they’re an ocean away.”

  [Do you have the time to talk to the First Vice Premier of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China?]

  Petrovitch sat bolt upright in his seat. “Yobany stos.”

  [They asked specifically for you.]

  “Me? Why me?”

  [Most likely they are wedded to outmoded models of governmental organisation, and still have great difficulty believing that the Freezone does not have a vertical power structure where a single individual has ultimate authority.]

  “So they pick the guy they’ve actually heard of and pretend?”

  [Essentially, yes. They are waiting for you.]

  “And are we happy with that? I’m not a good spokesman for anyone but myself, and even then I’m not so sure.” He resisted the urge to flatten his hair and scrub the soot from his cheeks. He swallowed hard. “Okay. We’re secure, right?”

  [Secure from our end, yes. Everything you say will be as closely scrutinised by their analysts as it will be by ours.]

  “Hang on.” He blinked. “Newcomen?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ve got the Chinese on the line. Tell Michael if we lose an engine or the plane cracks in two. He’ll kick me out: otherwise, you won’t get a response from me for a bit.”

  Newcomen stopped worrying at his nails. “Are they going to admit it’s one of theirs?”

  “They’ll never say it straight. They’ll hint at it obliquely, and expect me to be just as oblique back.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. Like that’s going to happen.”

  [First Vice Premier Zhao Zhenwang is still waiting, Sasha.]

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Petrovitch saw an office: it could have been anywhere, but the feed was geolocating to Beijing. The only splash of colour to the bland decor was the furled red flag attached to the wall behind the desk. Everything else was monochrome, even the skin of the man in the centre of the screen.

  Zhao had short cropped black hair — maybe he dyed it to cover the grey — and wore a black suit. He had his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, and his outsized glasses framed his too-large eyes. Michael helpfully popped his short-form biography up beside the man.

  Petrovitch scanned it: a scientist by trade, electronics degree followed by a successful business career and a swift rise through the party ranks. He was an interesting choice of representative for the Chinese to make.

  “Dr Petrovitch.” Zhao bowed slightly.

  Petrovitch’s image — the one he chose to project — was on a big screen facing the vice premier. He kept it simple: photorea
listically him, set against a neutral background. In the labyrinthine government that ruled the People’s Republic, Zhao weighed in somewhere between the seventh and eighth most powerful official in the land, depending on whose analysis could be believed.

  Plenty power enough, Petrovitch reckoned. “First Vice Premier Zhao, a pleasure to talk to you.”

  “You are too kind, Dr Petrovitch. How are you today?”

  “How… I’m surprisingly fine, considering the circumstances.”

  [He will expect you to enquire about his health in return.]

  Petrovitch gave a little nod. “And First Vice Premier, how are you?”

  Zhao took a moment before responding. “I am very well, thank you for asking. My sincerest condolences on your missing daughter. I hope she will be returned to you soon.”

  “I appreciate your concern, First Vice Premier. The Freezone collective is anxious to have her back.”

  [Zhao Zhenwang is wearing an earpiece. I can attempt to access the datafeed if you wish.]

  “Give it a miss for now,” Petrovitch said to Michael. “We don’t want to piss them off.”

  Zhao stared at Petrovitch’s feet across the room, across the thousands of kilometres that separated them. Petrovitch stared back.

  “You wish to discuss something with me?” he finally asked when his patience ran out. It had only taken a few seconds.

  “There is a situation we might examine further.” Zhao indicated his willingness to continue with a tilt of his head. “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

  “And would that situation involve a certain American antiballistic missile system?” Having his teeth pulled without anaesthetic would be kinder.

  “It might well do so, Doctor. There have been recent activities that have concerned the People’s Republic, and we are seeking reassurance that these activities are not detrimental to us.”

  Petrovitch imagined Michael standing next to him, just off screen. “He’s a wordy bastard and no mistaking. His English is probably better than mine, but he doesn’t have to show it.”

  [Expect these circumlocutions to continue for a while, Sasha.]

  “Yeah, well. I hate it already. He’d be better off talking to Marcus: he loves this diplomatic kon govno.” Petrovitch forced his image to affect a concerned nod, and made sure his hands were well under control. “First Vice Premier, the Freezone also has much to lose if SkyShield has begun to malfunction.”

  Zhao pursed his lips. “Your previous experience with the system would be useful in our deliberations.”

  “You mean, when I hijacked it and forced Mackensie to quit over giving me the nuclear launch codes? In which case, yes: I’ve got experience of SkyShield.”

  “Indeed, Doctor. In your opinion, is it likely that the government of the United States of America is fully in control of all the SkyShield assets?”

  [Careful.]

  “I’m there already.” He posed his best slightly hurt expression on his face and looked at the floor. “I can assure the President that neither myself nor anyone belonging to the Freezone collective has attempted to interfere with any part of SkyShield.” Then he gave up. “Look, bluntly put, it’s not us. You probably know as much as we do: a SkyShield platform opened fire on something in orbit, brought it down over Alaska, where it exploded about ten k from the ground. Beyond that, we’re pretty much in the dark.”

  The vice premier made a non-committal noise in his throat like a grunt. “And you do not know what it was that fell?”

  “Our best assumption was that it was one of your birds. Which you may or may not have fitted with a nuclear fail-safe.”

  “Putting nuclear weapons in orbit would violate several treaties to which the People’s Republic is party.”

  “Yeah. It would, wouldn’t it?” Petrovitch unclasped his hands from in front of his body, and reclasped them behind him. It was only an avatar: it would do what he told it to do, but he was desperate to start waving his arms around like a demented windmill.

  [Face, Sasha. Do not make him lose face.]

  “I don’t care about his face.”

  [But you do care about Lucy.]

  “It might be better to assume,” continued Zhao, “that we would therefore not walk that path.”

  Petrovitch looked at the flag, the desk, the shaded window. “If we were to make such an assumption, it leaves the Freezone with an interesting problem.”

  “How so, Doctor?”

  “There are only a few countries or blocs with the required lifting capacity to get that sort of mass into orbit. We’ve done a lot of analysis in the past couple of days, and we’re pretty certain we can account for most, if not all, of the existing satellites. Yours, we’re not so sure about.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got the knowledge to put a hundred metric tonnes into space, and the means to do it reliably and regularly. You’ve got a Moon mission planned for next year. Even I’m excited about that.”

  Zhao permitted himself a brief smile. “I am eagerly anticipating the event myself. But to return to the matter in hand: China is not in the habit of putting nuclear weapons on board peaceful space missions.”

  “So does that mean you’ve broken the habit, or this wasn’t a peaceful mission? Because the Yanks were really keen to take out whatever it was.”

  [Oh, Sasha.]

  “What? What did I say?”

  Michael’s own avatar shook his head sadly, and Petrovitch was left to make his apologies.

  “Apparently I’ve spoken out of turn, Vice Premier. I regret that.”

  Zhao was listening to the voice in his ear: Petrovitch recognised the gesture, the slight faraway look, the angle of the head. Whatever it said seemed to have an immediate effect. His face softened from an impassive mask and he leaned forward slightly: the height of informality.

  “Dr Petrovitch, the satellite in question was not ours. We would very much like to learn whose it was.”

  “That’s… interesting,” said Petrovitch. “Do you think it was American, and they used it for target practice?”

  “It is possible. It is worrying enough that SkyShield has the capacity to target and then destroy satellites. It is more of a concern that they feel the need to demonstrate this now, in plain sight.”

  “There’s an awful lot that scenario doesn’t explain, though. Like why they’re trying to find my daughter without actually looking like they’re trying to find her. Why she ran in the first place. Why they’ve moved enough military hardware on to the North Slope to conquer a small nation. As an explanation, the US testing an anti-satellite weapon blue-on-blue just doesn’t cut it.”

  “Do you have an alternative explanation?”

  “No. There’s something big we’re all missing. Something big enough that they’re prepared to move heaven and earth to cover it up.”

  “The People’s Republic would be suitably grateful for any information the Freezone might provide.”

  Petrovitch unconsciously scratched at his chin. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel his stubble. “You wouldn’t be jerking my chain, would you?”

  Zhao frowned briefly, and listened again to the voice in his ear.

  “Dr Petrovitch, I appreciate that the People’s Republic natural desire to protect its national interests has been interpreted less than favourably by some in the past. However, in this matter, I am being completely candid. The satellite was not ours. We do not know who it belonged to, or who launched it. We do not know the significance of the attack. We are concerned, but our private enquiries have met a wall of obfuscation and denial from Washington.”

  “Yeah, I know the EU has just had a meeting — nothing public, but the head honchos descended on Brussels a couple of hours ago. The Canadians? They know roughly what we know, but they’re not going to mobilise against the US now or ever. Brazil and India and South Africa are aware of the problem.” Petrovitch stopped, then started again. “This isn’t sounding good, is it?”

  “The
whole world has grown to rely on satellites, Doctor: for communication, navigation, surveying, surveillance. Consequently, it is vital that the Americans do not gain a monopoly in space. It is regrettable, but we would be willing to insist on our rights using all and every means at our disposal.”

  “You’re not going to invade California any more than I am, Vice Premier Zhao.”

  Zhao’s lips disappeared as he drew them tight. “Yet that option remains. Since there are many more of us than there are of you, I believe our chances of success would be higher.”

  “Chyort. Can I ask what sort of timescale you’re thinking of?”

  “We require answers, Doctor. We are willing to wait for those answers — providing there are no further attacks.”

  “And if there are?”

  “Our response will be proportionate.”

  “And immediate?”

  “As you say,” said Zhao. “We have given this message to the American ambassador, who accepted it without a word of comment. In the circumstances, I felt that you should be told of this also.”

  “That’s something you didn’t have to do. Part of me knows you’re only doing it because it suits your interests, but thanks all the same. It’s better to know stuff than not.”

  “As ever, Dr Petrovitch, you are wise beyond your years.”

  “Wise? I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my time, but not that. Normally, I do stupid things impulsively, then try and pretend that’s what I was going to do all along.”

  “It has worked in the past. It may yet work again.”

  “Yeah. You’ll be saying we live in interesting times next.”

  “We are, Doctor. We are.” Zhao stood and bowed. “Perhaps we will speak again before long. Until then, I wish that your search is both short and successful. My regards to your wife.”

  Petrovitch’s avatar bowed at the waist. “And to yours.”