Sid broke out in a sweat from the heat. He took his jacket off, struggling to recognize any of the plants – there was something slightly odd about the leaves with their dark vein lacework. ‘What are these plants?’
‘These?’ Aldred asked in an amused tone. ‘These are St Libra’s plants, of course, the famous zebra botany.’
‘But the leaves aren’t black and white,’ Sid said.
Aldred gave him an odd look. ‘Uh, you know there’s no animal life on St Libra, right?’
‘Aye, there’s not supposed to be. The monster—’
‘Forget the monster,’ Aldred said. ‘On Earth and the other settled trans-space worlds, plants absorb carbon dioxide and crack it into neat oxygen – that’s photosynthesis.’
‘I get that, man.’
‘But on St Libra there are no animals to breathe in the oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide, which is the other half of the equation. So evolution got smart. Roughly half of St Libra’s plants do what we’re used to, and generate oxygen, while the other half reverse the process. If it gets out of balance, say if the oxygen exhalers thrive, they make the atmosphere oxygen-rich, which in turn favours the other variety, who return to the ascendancy. It’s a constant cycle. “Zebra” has nothing to do with colour, it’s about direct opposites.’
‘Right,’ Sid said. ‘But if all the plants evolved that way because there aren’t any animals, where did the monster come from?’
Abner gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Trillion-Eurofranc question.’
‘Detective Hurst.’
Sid turned round to see a North walking towards him, assisted by a pair of Rex legs which were the sleekest exoskeleton he’d ever seen, looking more like a fashion accessory than a medical necessity. He looked young, this one, maybe in his thirties, although the curly brown hair was missing; the skull’s skin revealed by the absence appeared a little too pallid, and the arms were disturbingly thin. Legs, too, presumably, though they were hidden by trousers and the lean dark Rex segments.
He was flanked by two girls – one blonde, one redhead – both in their early twenties if not younger. They wore short summer dresses, showing off a lot of toned flesh.
‘Augustine North,’ Sid replied.
There was a tiny whine of servos as Augustine North walked over and put his hand out. ‘That obvious?’
Sid resisted the obvious comment about the girls; after all, who else would have such an attentive escort? They were both astonishingly attractive, but all he could feel was a form of pity that they’d wound up here, human cattle all placid and obedient when they should have been out having fun and living life for themselves. A father’s resentment firing up, he supposed; Zara would never wind up like this, he’d make damn sure of that. ‘Aldred mentioned rejuvenation takes time, sir.’
‘Great. My security chief is a gossip.’ Augustine walked over to a marble bench near the centre of the atrium and sat carefully. ‘Can I get you anything? I’ve heard you’re a coffee man.’
‘No thank you, sir.’ Sid wondered how that piece of information had filtered up to Augustine’s level. The girls moved away, standing patiently at a discreet distance.
‘I have two principal questions for you,’ Augustine said. ‘And forgive me but at my age I like to hear the answers to such things directly.’
‘Aye, I understand that.’
‘Realistically, are you going to catch the killer? And was it an alien?’
‘We’re making very reasonable progress tracking down the killer. Given that we have neither motive nor the victim’s identity yet, that is positive. As to the alien, all I can tell you is that to me it’s looking like a proficient underground hit. However, there are some things which don’t add up. The lack of identity bothers me a lot. If this is some clandestine corporate operation involving Brinkelle or your brother Constantine, then I will probably never be able to find the answers for you.’
‘Ah yes,’ Augustine North smiled grimly. ‘I actually agree with that religious nut.’
‘Sir?’
‘Vance Elston is an adherent of the Gospel Warrior church. There’s an uncomfortable number of them in the HDA, not that it’s actually illegal, but I suspect it colours their viewpoint somewhat.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Nonetheless, I admit the body could well be one of Constantine’s sons. Our split was never the most amicable, despite the official version. Bartram and I at least understood each other. But Constantine . . . now he was a dreamer, and slippery with it. I’ll get in touch with Jupiter again and press him for the truth.’
Sid studied Aldred to try and judge how much slack he was entitled to here. But the 2North was giving nothing away. To hell with it, Augustine himself was treating him like a grown-up, so . . . ‘Sir, I apologize for asking, but this would make the investigation a lot easier. Is there any chance you fathered a son without knowing?’ And he just couldn’t help glancing over at the two girls.
Augustine caught it, and chuckled. ‘I appreciate why you’re asking; my reputation isn’t exactly admired by the Pope. But sadly I have to say no. The corpse was in his late forties, yes? That would put me in my late seventies or eighties when he was born. It wasn’t a good decade for me physically, and I hadn’t begun Bartram’s therapies then. All the 2Norths conceived around that time were done so in the company’s clinic. There are no lost princes, not in my kingdom.’
‘Then can you guess why a C 2North would be here, what kind of clandestine mission your brother would send him on?’ He knew he’d never get an answer, that if there was a reason it would be some kind of high-level covert corporate crap, the type that never even made it to the unlicensed political blogs. Rumours and whispers would echo round the case, the bogeyman for every rookie cop for decades to come.
‘I simply can’t imagine why he would be bothered with us any more,’ Augustine said. ‘His techno-Marxist ideology looks down on my old-fashioned market commerce with great disdain. He simply wouldn’t bother himself with corporate or financial activities any more. I appreciate your candour, Detective. Aldred has told me about you, how you understand the way the world works. Whatever the outcome, you have my word this case will not screw up your record.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Having the same guarantee made twice in two days by two of the most powerful Norths in Europe was astonishingly reassuring. It almost elevated it to believable. ‘What will you do now?’
‘Me?’ Augustine seemed mildly surprised by the question. ‘Well, until the murder is solved one way or another, political expediency means I’ll be cooperating with the HDA, and allowing their ridiculous expedition through to St Libra to hunt for killer monsters in the wilderness. Brinkelle has also agreed to them using Abellia as their base – she has even less choice than I.’
Thursday 17th January 2143
Home capsules were slowly replacing the older, static residences in the newest and largest section of the Jupiter habitat amalgamation. Constantine had been the first to adopt one, leaving behind the elaborate truncated pyramid he’d built in the first torus habitat they’d constructed. Walking out on it had been quite symbolic, casting aside everything that had come before, physically, mentally. Now a single room was his whole house, moving slowly round the interior of the massive cylinder like the VW camper van of a bygone era. Physically, it was a melange of metamolecules, the most advanced material to come out of the constellation’s zerogee nuclear extruders. Its boundary was defined by soft glowing lines that twisted, expanding or contracting as he required. The walls they described could be varied from matt black to completely transparent. Furniture too was ephemeral, matt-black shapes outlined in slender threads of purple or orange luminescence.
He lay on the incredibly soft mattress waiting for Reisa to come out of the bathroom which had inflated out from the side of the main chamber. Women, like the items he’d brought from Earth and were kept in storage compartments beneath the home capsule, were something he hadn’t shaken off in his new life. Not that
he’d ever intended to. But the relationships were mature ones now, based on respect and admiration and possibly even love, rather than the exploitative conducts he and his brothers had pursued throughout his first eighty years. Reisa had been with him for eleven years now. A record he was rather proud of.
His e-i informed him Coby was calling. He let it come through, and his son’s head materialized at the foot of the bed, indistinguishable from a solid object.
‘You have a call from Earth,’ Coby said.
‘Another one. Whatever does Augustine want now?’
Coby’s smile was sly. ‘It’s not Augustine. This is General Khurram Shaikh himself, using the diplomatic circuit encryption . . .’
‘Ah yes, that was inevitable I suppose. Have you accessed the message?’
‘Yes, he’s very formal, and very polite, and yet very insistent.’
‘Of course he is. All right, let’s take a look.’
Khurram Shaikh’s head replaced Coby’s. It tilted in a slight bow of respect. ‘Constantine North. Thank you for taking the time to receive this message. I understand you’ve been informed that a North clone has been killed in Newcastle, with a method similar to the one employed against your brother Bartram and his household twenty years ago. Firstly, my condolences. We are of course expending considerable resources trying to find the perpetrator, alien or human. There are some factors which are unknown at the moment, and I respectfully request your assistance in enlightening me where you can. The investigation we are mounting is enormous, and I cannot afford it to be compromised. Everything you say will of course be classified as top secret. So I urgently need to know if the Norths discovered an alien species on St Libra, and if it is the one performing these murders. I am not concerned with any conflict you have with Augustine or Brinkelle’s side of the family, but the existence of another sentient species is profoundly important to the entire human race. I am charged with protecting all of us, and I take my position most seriously. If there is another potential threat out there, I must know. Constantine, we need your help with this; if the human race is to survive in this universe, we must do so collectively. Do not abandon us; we would never abandon you. I look forward to receiving your answer.’
‘And if I don’t get it I’ll come up there and rip it out of you,’ Reisa said scathingly. She’d emerged from the bathroom just after the message started playing. ‘They never change, do they?’
Constantine smiled and held his hands out to her. ‘They’re upset. I’m very upset; after all, one of my nephews has been murdered. This isn’t how I expected the endgame of the mystery to play out.’
‘But they suspect your involvement. After all, you’re different. You turned your back on their civilization, that makes you the unknown, which always scares them. Fright and envy are never a good combination for planet humans.’
‘Their suspicion was completely predictable. And please stop the “them and us” analysis. Ultimately our sojourn here at Jupiter will be temporary.’
‘Constantine, I love you dearly, but if you think their civilization will ever adopt our philosophies you are delusional. They’ll grab the weapons, say thank you, and career onwards in their own psychotic fashion.’
‘The Zanth has forced them to change their perception of the universe.’
‘It gave them an excuse to build HDA, the biggest military force we’ve ever known, and the greatest drain on resources. All it does – really does – is provide the masses with the most monumental false hope since religion reared its ugly head.’
He gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I can never give you a diplomatic posting, can I?’
‘Constantine . . . is there a sentient alien species on St Libra?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been searching for the answer to that question for twenty years now. In all that time I’ve accepted only two things: that it’s a very big planet and something killed Bartram. Something very odd. And now I’m ready for it.’
‘And you’ll tell the HDA?’
‘Ah, now that’s the big question. I can’t answer that until I know for sure what it is.’
‘So what are you going to tell General Shaikh?’
Constantine banished the image of the General’s head, and ordered the home to turn completely opaque. ‘Let me sleep on it.’
*
A North being murdered could never be kept quiet for ever. It didn’t matter how much you pleaded or threatened people involved with the case, it was simply too big. Besides, with the no-limits budget, a whole new level of agency personnel were involved. There must have been over a hundred in total, then there were those they shared offices and labs with, and of course pillow talk. Transnet reporters, too, had an extensive network of contacts among Newcastle’s government employees whom they bought drinks for and arranged favours in return for the occasional indiscreet word.
Sid had his suspicions about where this leak had originated. O’Rouke had really not appreciated having his hand forced over the zone theatre; he’d been out to bust Felltech Zone. Partially, Sid heard whispered, because they’d never come through with certain promises made just prior to the contract being awarded.
Wherever the leak came from, it began to surface on Thursday morning. Chloe Healy had spent an hour briefing and preparing him for the two o’clock official media conference. It wasn’t just local reporters he was up in front of, but the big national media groups from across the trans-stellar worlds. A dead North was Big News. So much so, that Sid even allowed himself to be coaxed into the station’s make-up suite before facing the cameras and battering-ram questions.
It was, he said with a straight, sombre face, Albert 3North who was the tragic victim of a carjacking that had gone wrong. The police were looking for the stolen VW Ropolis – he released a flood of data about the car to the station’s public site. And yes, the raid on the Fawdon GSW area on Tuesday night was connected, a taxi used in the carjacking was recovered.
A lot of colleagues had come up afterwards to tell him how well he handled it. He even got a short congratulatory call from O’Rouke. Despite how successful the media conference was, and he was pretty pleased with himself, he resented the time it consumed. Office3 on the third floor was buzzing today and he didn’t want to be away from it. Everyone was excited by the prospect of a full city virtual. And everyone apart from Lorelle and Ari was working on the project, pulling in Sunday’s surveillance memories on a district-by-district basis. They were also transferring the entire civic traffic management data into the dedicated AI they’d bought time with. Even Sid had helped, using his somewhat rusty programming ability to define geographical coordinates to the AI. Dedra and Reannha were supervising the dataflow from the city planning office, generating a graphic skeleton of Newcastle’s street and building layout onto which the AI would project mesh data and vehicle logs. Unless there was a major glitch, the virtual should be up and running by midday tomorrow.
Sid had let everyone go home at seven that evening apart from Reannha, who would supervise the AI as it compiled the results. Her relief would take over at midnight. After reviewing the last batch of forensics data to make sure there were no revelations, he’d said goodnight to Reannha and left. Even Ralph Stevens had gone back to whatever hotel he was staying in.
He turned into Falconar Street, and parked close to the bottom end. The whole of one side was a single terrace of two-storey houses, built from a dark-brown brick with painted stone window mullions. A market-man’s ideal of middle-class aspiration. Naturally, the row was well maintained, with tiny neat front gardens behind a low wall, all of them swamped by snow which had paths cleared to the front doors. Sid could never remember exactly which one Ian lived at; so he walked along the street content to let his e-i guide him. Purple and yellow graphics winked urgently in his grid: Ian rented the upper floor of a house close to the centre. The door lock flashed green as Sid’s e-i gave off a proximity quester.
There were three rooms: a decent-sized front lounge with built-in kitch
enette, a bedroom which was the same size, and a compact en suite bathroom where every shelf and cabinet was filled with male grooming products. Ian rented the place purely for its location, close enough to Market Street Station that he could walk to work in summer, and equally adjacent to the city’s main clubs and pubs. He’d lived in it for two years, and the only furniture he’d bought in that time was a bed. As he said, ‘I won’t be using anything else.’
Eva was already there when Sid arrived. She always refused to sit on the bed, disapproving as she did of the weekly parade of girls Ian brought back to the flat. Instead she’d snagged a pillow, and sat with her back to the wall in the lounge. Ian had claimed the marble-top surface of the kitchenette’s breakfast bar.
‘Beer?’ he asked as Sid walked in.
‘Sure.’
Ian took one from the small fridge. Sid could only see bottles in there, it certainly wasn’t chilling any food.
The flat didn’t have built-in wardrobes, so Ian hung his clothes on a long metal rack which he’d bought from a retail store. Sid sat on the floor beside it and took a sip from the bottle. ‘If we meet in the pub, the meshes have enough definition to run lip-reading software.’
‘Crap on it, boss,’ Eva muttered. ‘Who are we bumping off?’
‘We’re saving our careers.’
‘Away wi’ you, man,’ Ian said. ‘You think we can’t solve it? We’re building a city virtual for crap’s sake. A city! We’ve got an unlimited budget, a real one. Aye, there’s some pricks looking over our shoulder for sure, but they’re not interfering. This is the chance in a lifetime, man. We can solve this. It’s gonna be colossal.’
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