Long Mars (9780062297310)

by Pratchett, Terry; Baxter, Stephen

  ‘Davidson himself may be acting under orders from above.’

  ‘Why did you say you thought Nathan wanted to talk about weapons? – Oh. You’re thinking of Cutler as a weapon?’

  ‘Well, isn’t he? A man with unshakeable beliefs and a profound loyalty. At Valhalla, suppose Davidson had had to order you to open fire on the peaceful crowds that day . . .’

  ‘Umm.’ Sometimes, in wakeful nights, Maggie had pondered that, among other unpleasant might-have-beens of her life. ‘I guess we would have obeyed his command. But Cutler—’

  ‘Cutler would have been the first to fire. Without hesitation and the most enthusiastic. Wouldn’t such a man be a useful weapon? Captain, Cutler is here as a means of controlling you, in certain circumstances.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  Maggie had no way to check this out, not without turning the ship around. The only long-range communications system that spanned the inhabited Long Earth was the outernet, a kind of mixture of internet and drop-boxes mediated by the chance passage of travellers and twains – reliable, but slow and in no way secure, and it didn’t function too far out anyhow. And there was no ship faster than the Armstrong itself to serve as a courier. Maggie was going to have to continue with her mission without access to her command chain, for better or worse.

  She took out her frustration on the cat, not for the first time. ‘You’re damn suspicious, for a bunch of random sparks of electricity in a half-pound of Black Corporation gel.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’m right to be suspicious. You should be. There are all sorts of secrets being kept from you on this ship. And if you admitted that to yourself, you might have an evens chance of spotting some of them.’

  7

  WITH THE STEPPING RATE upped to two a second during operational hours, and with plenty of downtime for testing and system shakedown, the Armstrong and Cernan were able to cover the best part of a hundred thousand steps a day. So, ten days after Cowley’s speech in Madison West 5, the airships were already passing Earth West 1,000,000, and were entering the more exotic band of worlds known to the early explorers as the High Meggers.

  Cautiously Maggie allowed herself to relax. Her in-tray of problems both technical and human was dwindling. Despite Mac’s gloomy analysis that the true purpose of the mission was power projection by the federal government, she was collecting no issues from the ground either. And after five long years of labour in the Low Earths and the Datum, she was no longer locked into the huge, ongoing and utterly dispiriting relief effort that still spanned much of Yellowstone-blighted Datum America.

  She was thinking, in fact, of giving Harry Ryan his head and letting him open up the throttle to full, ahead of the test schedule, and see just what this baby could do.

  That was when Douglas Black knocked on the door of her sea cabin.

  After an embarrassed introduction by Nathan Boss, Black sat down opposite her, stiffly. The man who stood behind him, no more than thirty years old, close-shaven, glared at her like a recruiting-ground sergeant at a private.

  Nathan got out of there as fast as he could.

  Maggie hadn’t even known Black was aboard, and she resentfully remembered Shi-mi’s hints of secrets on this voyage. She had only ever seen this man, Douglas Black, the most powerful, indeed probably the richest industrialist in all the worlds of mankind, from a distance: on stage with the President like back in Madison, or on some media channel, plugging his latest technological initiative, or testifying to yet another senate committee investigating allegations of corporate malpractice. He was smaller than he looked on TV, she thought immediately. Slimmer, older. He wore a plain-looking black business suit and tie. He might have been handsome once, but now his bald pate was liver-spotted, his features, his nose, ears, were old-man prominent, and his eyes were rheumy behind the dark glasses he continued to wear indoors.

  Black caught her studying him, and laughed. ‘You needn’t pull your punches, Captain. I know I’m no oil painting, and a let-down compared with the way the TV people prettify me digitally. Still, check out my youthful smile.’ He grinned widely, showing her rows of perfect teeth. ‘Decent choppers – one thing money can buy, these days.’

  His accent was Bostonian, she thought, old school, like JFK in grainy black-and-white TV clips. Old school, but not particularly old money. Everybody knew Black’s story, how he had parlayed a grandfather’s oil-money bequest into fortune and power through dazzling technological innovations, and had acquired a comet-tail of enemies in the process.

  ‘Mr Black,’ she began.

  ‘Call me Douglas.’

  ‘I’d rather not. You can call me Captain Kauffman. I had no idea you were even on this vessel until you announced your presence to my wretched XO.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I’m afraid we rather caught that young man by surprise, didn’t we? Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. I was smuggled aboard before launch and locked into my private cabin, tucked away in a corner of the gondola – you must come visit. The issue is security, as you can imagine. You must know I am rather, well, vulnerable, and I have accreted rather a lot of opponents. So this unhappy subterfuge was cooked up – with the cooperation of your Admiral Davidson and my security people, all mediated by staff from the office of President Cowley. Everybody’s been very helpful.’ He smiled again, self-satisfied.

  Maggie was coldly furious. ‘Helpful? Mr Black, from my point of view you’re a stowaway.’

  He was quite unperturbed. ‘How exciting! And at my age. In that case I should say that I do come with some baggage.’

  ‘Baggage?’

  ‘There’s Philip here, and a small staff – my personal physician, a few scientific advisers, a planetologist, a climatologist. And some specialized equipment. In addition to the general fragility of age, I have endured a number of transplants, and my regime of anti-rejection drugs compromises my immune system. I need protection, you see. Luckily you have a roomy hold.’

  ‘Good grief. How many tons of deadweight does all that represent? And all smuggled aboard without my knowledge.’

  ‘True. Yet here we are. I don’t imagine you’re about to throw me overboard?’

  ‘No. But I may do that to this goon of yours, if he doesn’t stop staring me down.’

  ‘Philip, be polite.’ The man Philip dropped his eyes, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. ‘I’m afraid he must stay at my side. Another condition of my security people concerning your kind offer of a berth. Well, not your offer, rather the President’s . . .’ He smiled again after dropping that ultimate name, evidently content to wait while she absorbed all this.

  ‘Well, Mr Black, I can’t say I’m not surprised – astonished – to find you here, aboard my ship.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know me, yet. I’ve always been rather more adventurous than my public persona might suggest.’

  ‘I know you pumped a lot of money into these vessels.’

  ‘Yes. Actually I pretty much bankrolled their development – save for the Chinese stepper technology, of course. I’ve always been glad to support the industries that sustain our armed forces.’

  ‘I know that.’ She remembered being shocked at discovering to what extent Black Corporation fingerprints had been all over the fabric of the Benjamin Franklin, for instance. She had always suspected that Black must use his infiltration of the military, from the level of his contacts with the senior commanders who approved his enormous contracts, down to the implantation of his devices in every ship of the line, every tank and armoured car and plane – even in the bodies of some of the troops themselves – to garner information at the very least, or more likely to exert subtle control. ‘It must have cost you billions, but I guess you bought yourself a berth on this tub.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re taking it this way.’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  He ignored that. ‘You know, I’ve always followed your career with great interest.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt you have.’ You
and others, she thought, remembering the mysterious ‘Doctor George Abrahams’ who had shown up to offer her troll-call translation technology just when she had needed it, in the course of her mission aboard the Franklin – and then had bragged about the way he had manipulated various situations to advance her career. Oh, and he’d then given her a talking robot cat. She believed Black, like Abrahams, represented a node of a wider web of such control and communication. But this was her ship, and she felt the need to regain command of the situation. ‘Mr Black, what is it you actually want? Just a ride across the Long Earth?’

  ‘Would that be so surprising? Consider all that I’ve achieved in my life. As I reach my twilight years, can you not believe that I would want to buy myself such final adventures as this? Think, Captain. We have all become rather blasé about the Long Earth, the tremendous higher-dimensional landscape into which we are so boldly striding. And yet, are there not deeper mysteries of existence? Maybe it’s not so strange that a quarter-billion worlds exist for us to explore in this marvellous ship of yours. What’s strange is that even one world should exist . . . As to what we might find out there: who knows? How could I not go on such a mission, if I have the chance? And I must go now, before I depart the universe myself, all too soon.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mr Black, I don’t buy any of that. You’re no tourist; you have come aboard with some specific goal.’

  ‘Ha!’ He clapped his hands, seeming pleased. ‘I always knew you were a bright one. Very well, then. What do you think I hope to achieve?’

  ‘How should I know? I didn’t even know you were on this ship until an hour ago. Perhaps you’re seeking the fountain of youth.’

  He raised silver eyebrows. ‘You are surprisingly perceptive. I should say no more. There is something specific I’m looking for, and if we find it, I’ll know immediately. Now.’ He began to clamber out of his seat, cautiously; the bodyguard, Philip, lent a hand. ‘You mustn’t feel you have to make a fuss of me.’

  ‘Believe me, sir, I don’t. This is a military ship. You are cargo. And superfluous cargo at that.’

  ‘Well. That’s an upgrade from stowaway class, at least. But now that I’m out of the brig, so to speak, I wonder if I could see something of your fine ship. Perhaps I could borrow your charming Executive Officer for an hour or so.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll also put Mac, I mean my ship’s surgeon, Doctor Mackenzie, in touch with you, to ensure your physical condition is taken care of.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, I assure you. As I said, I have my own physician—’

  ‘That wasn’t optional, sir. This is my ship. I’m responsible for your safety, now I know you’re aboard. Mac will see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Then I shall look forward to it. Where, if I may ask, is our next stop to be?’

  She could answer that precisely. ‘Aside from a few test stops, Earth West 1,617,524. Be there in a few days. Where we’ll be picking up another crew member.’ And, she thought with dismay, another set of personnel problems for her. But at least it was her choice this time.

  ‘Perhaps I will have the chance to stretch my legs there.’

  ‘Mr Black, as far as I’m concerned you won’t be setting foot off this ship until she’s back in dry dock.’

  Black laughed. ‘I do admire your straightforward approach, Captain Kauffman. Farewell for now. Come, Philip . . .’

  8

  SISTER AGNES WAS RIGHT. Joshua was reluctant to jump when Lobsang called. He’d never really got over Lobsang’s failure to save Datum Madison from a terror attack, a nuclear weapon, back in 2030. And, deeper than that, he’d never felt comfortable at how Lobsang, beginning over fifteen years ago already, had ensnared Joshua, a natural loner, in his plans and schemes.

  But on the whole, he had to admit, Lobsang had been a force for good, in the Long Earth. Maybe now he was trying to be a force for good again.

  Also, according to Agnes, Lobsang was lonely.

  And then there was the headache. As he’d become aware of this warning sign inside his own cranium, for sure a sign of some kind of disturbance across the Long Earth, Joshua had been expecting some kind of contact from Lobsang. He was almost relieved when it came.

  What the hell. Back to the Datum he went.

  Joshua agreed to meet Lobsang in the town of Twin Falls, Idaho, Datum Earth, around a hundred and fifty miles from Yellowstone.

  For Joshua, just stepping into the town was problematic now. The ice and the ash on the Datum ground meant that the standing surface was far from the level of the neighbouring stepwise worlds, and unpredictable. So Joshua stepped back to the Datum a respectable distance from Twin Falls, hired an SUV, and drove in.

  The roads were open, just, especially the freeways and interstates. There was little traffic save for heavy trucks and a few buses, with bundled-up people sitting behind steamed-up windows: very few private vehicles on the road, few cars like his own SUV, and you could blame the worldwide shortage of gasoline for that.

  It went well at first. Then he got caught in a blizzard. He had to follow a heavy snow plough for miles.

  When he finally reached Twin Falls, he found it basically frozen. The roads were flanked by ice, old, dirty, layered ice, ice that had already endured for years, ice like you might find on the north pole of Mars, he imagined. And in with the ice was volcano ash, even out here, years after it had stopped falling from the sky, heaps of it swept into corners or consolidated by the ice into hard, gritty banks by the road. Right into the centre of town properties had collapsed from falls of ash or snow, some of them burned out. None of these had been reconstructed, or cleared. This was Idaho, in January. It was like Ice Age worlds he’d visited.

  He wondered why people were bothering to stay here at all – and he knew that in fact there were still a few inhabited communities even further north than this. Stubbornness, he supposed, sheer inertia. Or pride: humans, he had observed, had a way of rising to a challenge, refusing to be beaten no matter how overwhelming the odds, returning to their homes on the floodplain when the water receded, to the flanks of the volcano once the eruption was over. Twin Falls was still liveable, just, and so people still lived here, in their homes.

  He left his SUV in a motel’s parking lot, having agreed upfront a payment for the innkeeper to watch over the vehicle for him until he returned. The innkeeper advised him to siphon out his gasoline before leaving the car, and then tried to dicker over the price they’d fixed. The guy got short shrift from an ill-tempered Joshua, whose weeks-long High Meggers headache had only worsened as he’d come back in to the Datum.

  He was a little early for his appointment with Lobsang, so he walked into the centre of town and bought a coffee, paying an astounding price for what tasted like scrapings diluted with sawdust. But at least he got to sit in the muggy warm of the mom-and-pop coffee shop while he waited.

  And, after an hour, bang on time, a twain came swimming into the murky sky.

  They seemed to have remarkably little to say to each other, face to face, as Lobsang welcomed Joshua on board. Joshua focused on the twain itself.

  At two hundred feet long this airship was a small one, compared with Lobsang’s own Mark Twain, and the mighty commercial ships of the Long Mississippi. Its gondola was no larger than a travel trailer. But, Joshua realized as Lobsang showed him around, the gondola was comfortable enough for two. It had a roomy lounge with expansive windows, and airline-type couches, a galley, a small table, and wall-mounted tablets with animated map displays and readings of altitude, windspeed, temperature.

  As on all Lobsang’s airships there were private quarters behind closed doors – machine shops for maintaining Lobsang’s artificial infrastructure, tucked neatly out of sight, Joshua had always supposed. But through one half-open door Joshua glimpsed an upright cylinder, maybe three feet tall, intricately etched – a prayer wheel? And behind that a kind of shrine, a golden Buddha in an ornate setting of red and green and gold leaf. A whiff of incense. Another part of Lobs
ang, Joshua supposed, that was hidden from general view.

  There was an earthometer, though Lobsang had warned Joshua that his plan was not to travel stepwise today but to journey across the Datum Earth. They would follow the interstates, the 84, 86 and 15, more or less north and east, and go take a look at the new Yellowstone caldera.

  ‘It’s quite a sight, Joshua,’ Lobsang said now. ‘The caldera. Even for hardened High-Meggers travellers like us. And here it is on the Datum. Horrifying if you think about it.’

  He, or rather an ambulant unit, sat with Joshua, in orange robes and with shaven head, and with a rather immobile artificial face, Joshua thought. And his capacity for small talk hadn’t improved either. Still, here they were.

  Joshua cradled a coffee infinitely stronger and more flavourful than the one he’d been served in Twin Falls, and looked down at the cleared highway below, a band of black cutting across a grey-white landscape. A few trucks moved between the surviving townships, but he also saw horse-drawn buggies, like something out of an open-air museum. Bicycles, too, at least close to the towns. Even what looked like a dog sleigh, cutting across the snow banks. ‘Quite a sight,’ he said. ‘Ten years ago you would never have believed you’d see all this.’

  ‘Indeed. It is as if the climate bands have suddenly shifted a thousand miles closer to the equator, from north and south. So that Los Angeles, say, now has a climate similar to Seattle’s before the eruption.’

  ‘I know. I’ve been there. The Angelinos just hate all that rain and fog.’

  ‘While Seattle itself is more like Alaska. Much of the planet north or south of forty degrees, in fact, has been largely abandoned to the ice. Canada, north Europe, Russia, Siberia – empty, the nations collapsed, the people gone stepwise, ancient cities deserted save for hardy hold-outs. Nelson Azikiwe tells me that little moves in Britain now save for salvage parties from the Low Earths trying to rescue cultural treasures.’