Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Sid was surprised at the level of passion in his deputy’s voice. Since when had Ian turned careerist? ‘Solve it? Really? The outcome we have to produce is an alien with knives for fingers. That’s what the politics requires. So hands up who thinks that’s what we’re going to parade in front of the press next time we have a conference like today’s?’

  ‘Crap on it, they know that’s not going to happen,’ Ian exclaimed. ‘Ralph understands; he’s a twat but he knows what’s real. He accessed the forensics reports on the taxi and Elswick Wharf, he knows this was some corporate shit that went bad.’

  ‘You’re not listening. This isn’t about what happened, this is about what’s expected from us. Governments are putting together an expedition to St Libra, the HDA is throwing everything into this. Let me show you something.’ He told his e-i to access the site.

  Ian’s wallscreen started playing the introduction to the Gospel Warriors. It was childish, ridiculous, simplistic. It was the devout belief that the Zanth was Lucifer’s agent, that the followers of the church were blessed by Jesus. Only HDA members were entitled to become Gospel Warriors. There were testimonials from the congregation, accounts of how they’d been spared during the New Florida Zanthswarm, sincere, earnestly spoken tales of tragedy and death narrowly averted as the Zanth missed them or their vehicle by centimetres, how the arms of Jesus had embraced them and moved them out of danger, how angels had pushed lethal Zanth masses onto a new trajectory so they fell clear.

  Sid cancelled the link. Ian was laughing openly, while Eva wore a more troubled expression.

  ‘That’s the kind of mentality we’re up against,’ Sid said.

  ‘Aye man, they’re a bunch of fucking religious nutters,’ Ian said. ‘So what?’

  ‘Elston: he’s one of them, isn’t he?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sid admitted. ‘And he’s not alone. I checked round some of the unlicensed political blogs. The Gospel Warriors are widespread in the HDA officer class. Secularists are concerned that they see the Zanth conflict as some kind of crusade.’

  ‘But it is,’ Ian said.

  ‘Not a spiritual one. Look, the point is these people are expecting one outcome. Everything – our case, the expedition – is geared around that outcome. If we screw it up for them, we’re going to get royally arse-fucked.’

  ‘We can’t produce an alien,’ Eva said.

  ‘I know that. The trouble is, we might not be able to produce the murderer, either. This was a well-organized hit. And the only reason anyone would dare take out a North is for some covert corporate deal that’s gone badly wrong. It’ll be something like the 2111 cartel. You remember that one, right? Northumberland Interstellar and the other eight bioil giants restabilized the bioil market, but wiped out the speculators doing so. Lot of people got burned, big people. Most likely, the 2 was eliminated so a 3 who’s been bribed or coerced can take his place to run whatever scam is going down this time around. And it won’t be small, which means the corporate boys are going to trigger every cutout they have. Whole office buildings of managers will get roasted on the altar of plausible deniability. We’ll never find out what was happening and who is involved.’

  ‘But they want an answer,’ Ian insisted. ‘Not even companies can stand up to the HDA. The Norths have already folded – they’re letting HDA send an expedition into St Libra. We can find the murderer.’

  ‘They want their answer,’ Sid insisted. ‘And this investigation can’t provide that for them. Even if we find who’s driving the taxi, there will be cut-offs, people who got their orders from unknown contacts. The gangs know how we work, they’re not going to give us anyone. This investigation will stall in a shitstorm of questions we can’t possibly answer.’

  ‘Which is also what the HDA wants,’ Eva said. ‘No answer from us also justifies sending the expedition.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sid agreed.

  ‘So we’re covered, then?’ Ian said.

  ‘From the HDA, yes.’

  Ian spread his arms wide. ‘Who else is there to worry about?’

  ‘I’m concerned about what happens to us, personally, afterwards; not right away, but in a year or two when the expedition’s history and the case is shunted to inactive status. Like I said, what’s that going to do to our real careers? Because there’s one person who does want to know who killed the North.’

  ‘And that is?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Augustine. I know, because he told me when I met him.’

  ‘Aye, no shit, man?’ Ian said. ‘When?’

  ‘Aldred took me out to the mansion on Wednesday.’

  ‘What was he like?’ Eva asked keenly.

  ‘Kind of weird, but he is very serious about this. And this is his city, he’ll be here long after Elston and the HDA have moved out and started chasing their next demon. Which leaves us with a problem. I have a family, and I had a promise of an agency job.’ He looked at Eva. ‘Ragnar works in the bioil industry.’

  ‘He’s in AI management development strategy. They wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘Yeah, they’ll leave your husband alone because they got where they are by being sympathetic and understanding. Look, the Norths are expecting us to solve this. Really solve it, not just spout HDA bullshit at media conferences.’

  ‘You just said it,’ Ian said. ‘This is some corporate deal that went tits up. We can’t find who is responsible, this investigation is focused on chasing an individual, and if the killer is a professional he won’t even be on Earth any more, let alone Newcastle. Nobody’s ever going to trial for this. Fuck it! We’re screwed.’

  ‘We might not be able to find the killer,’ Sid said. ‘But what I’d like to be able to tell Aldred is which company is behind it, or at the very least which gang was hired to do the hit.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ Ian asked. ‘He’s in Office3 most of the day. As soon as we know, he’ll know.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ Eva said, giving Sid a level stare. ‘Because even if we ever find the taxi driver, he’s not going to give up who he’s working for. That’s if the driver’s still alive. Contract this hot and dirty, that makes the street soldiers expendable. He’s probably already dead.’

  ‘Most likely,’ Sid said.

  ‘Ah, crap on it,’ Ian said. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Like you said, the gangs know our procedures. We need to come at them from a different angle.’

  ‘How different?’

  ‘We need to work backwards. Find out which gang was involved by ourselves and somehow turn the investigation on to them. Drop some evidence into our official investigation, but it will have to be something that can’t be traced back to us.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ Eva said.

  ‘Crap on the evidence, man,’ Ian said. ‘How do we find which gang is involved anyway?’

  ‘I have a contact who knows where to ask those kind of questions,’ Sid said. ‘But if we’re going to do this, I have to know you’re with me.’

  Ian grinned and took a slug of his beer. ‘Sure. But you need to make Aldred know where the real credit lies.’

  Sid turned to Eva.

  ‘We have to be careful,’ she said slowly. ‘There can’t be any sign we diverted the investigation.’

  ‘There won’t be,’ Sid promised.

  *

  Constantine North smiled out of the big screen which dominated one wall of Khurram Shaikh’s office deep below the red sands of the Australian desert. It was a politician’s smile, Major Vermekia thought, sincere and comforting. But it demonstrated an emotional maturity that shouldn’t belong on such a youthful face.

  ‘So he’s rejuvenated,’ General Shaikh murmured.

  ‘Yes, sir, if it is him,’ Vermekia said. ‘After all, there’s no way of telling them apart, and no one has seen Constantine North since 2088.’

  ‘We have enough to worry about without trying to confirm the precise identity of a North on the other side of the solar system, thank you.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.�
�

  The General’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the frozen image. ‘If it is him, he’s a hundred and thirty-one years old, and he doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. Which in itself is interesting, because I’ve heard rumours about how good the techniques actually are.’

  ‘Bartram North pioneered them.’

  ‘Now there’s an irony.’ The General settled back behind his desk. ‘All right, we accept that this man speaks for the Jupiter habitat. Let’s hear what he speaks.’ He ordered his e-i to apply the diplomatic key to the recording.

  Constantine’s smile came to life. ‘General, thank you for your message. I can certainly understand your concerns and I hope I can throw some light on the situation. Firstly, I can categorically confirm that my brothers and I never found any sign of a sentient alien species on St Libra. That doesn’t preclude its existence, obviously, in the light of the murders and Angela Tramelo’s testimony. Something is killing members of my family and I would not withhold any information I had that could explain what it is. For the record, I think your expedition is the correct way forward. If there is a hostile sentient on the Brogal continent, we need to know about it as a matter of urgency. I’ll also confirm to you personally that the unknown North murdered in Newcastle is not one of my sons. Outside of our supply trips to Earth, which these days are mainly to collect genetic material for safeguarding, I do not concern myself with your society and its commercial activities. So I’ll conclude by wishing your people every luck with the expedition. If you need any further information I’ll be happy to oblige.’

  General Shaikh was silent for a long moment, studying the now blank wallscreen. ‘Did you believe any of that?’

  ‘It was plausible,’ Vermekia ventured.

  ‘Yes, wasn’t it just? I’m inclined to believe him about St Libra. In which case the expedition should go ahead. How is the Newcastle police investigation progressing?’

  ‘They’re assembling a virtual of the entire city’s road traffic for that day so they can track the vehicle involved with the murder. Colonel Elston is hopeful it should produce results.’

  Friday 18th January 2143

  Newcastle at night oozed out its own thick miasma of light pollution. Streetlights and houselights burned merrily in defiance of energy prices; dazzle-stars of traffic lights switched endlessly through their sequence, entire office blocks were lit up from within, their efficient ceiling panels proudly displaying rank after rank of empty desks and cubicles. The centre of town was a thick foam of colour as the holograms and neons of adverts throttled entire streets in their quest for brand victory. Vehicles added to the glare, headlights and tail lights creating jumbled rivers of photons sluicing along above the snow-coated tarmac.

  There were dark spaces, too, necrotic skin blemishing the exotic creature of light. Parks, roofs of the older buildings outside the centre, the GSW districts; Sid was expecting those, but there were further, more unsettling shadow haunts, too. Streets that faded in and out of existence, with only his mind filling in the distance between the illuminations; a surprising number of road junctions had dropped out of vision in a celebration of darkness.

  Even so, the full city virtual was impressive. Sid and Ralph stood on the side of the zone theatre, aloof from the undulating sprawl of buildings like dinosaur monsters in some Asian disaster zone drama, ready to trash the unsuspecting metropolis. Before them, nine o’clock Sunday evening played out, with thousands of toy cars sliding about in defiance of the ice, and ant people scurried along the pavements.

  Sid couldn’t resist it, he waded out through the strata of light until the Fenham district encircled his knees. He half expected his legs to stir up current-like swirls amid the twinkling image, but the theatre projectors ignored his presence, continuing to implement the virtual all around him. Looking straight down he watched a bus crawl along Fenham Hall Drive. It dissolved out of existence as it approached the junction with the B1305, which was represented solely by the structural map outlines, grey geometrical outlines that the city planning department memory conjured up as a substitute for mesh-derived fact.

  The bus reappeared on the B1305, heading south towards the river. Sid glanced over to the long slit windows on the wall of the theatre zone that fronted the control and manipulation centre. Ari and Dedra were sitting behind the main desk, while Ian, Eva, and a couple of others were crammed into the dimly lit room behind them. ‘Magnify the junction, would you please,’ Sid said, pointing to the grey sketch.

  The city expanded dramatically around him in a way that induced a momentary bout of motion sickness. The zone theatre had been built so they could completely re-create whole rooms from first-on-scene visual logs, producing a pristine view of the entire crime scene that could be examined pixel by pixel for evidence which could get displaced or overlooked later when the harassed paramedics blustered in and agency constables were tramping about. Now, Sid studied the architect’s lines of the junction with some annoyance. ‘How much smartdust covers this area?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not the smartdust quantity, it’s down to how the motes mesh, and if the distance between them is too great they can’t interlink,’ Ari replied. ‘The city took a pounding from those twisters in early December which clawed whole swarms of them from their positions. Then there’s our piss-poor maintenance schedule, not to mention straight vandalism. Cover a mote in spraypaint or glowgloop and you kill its sensor ability and solar power input in one – it’s effectively dead.’

  ‘What about deliberate sabotage?’ Ralph asked, coming over to examine the junction.

  ‘That too,’ Dedra admitted. ‘We’re identifying a lot of rips this weekend.’

  ‘Okay, so we haven’t got full street-mesh coverage here,’ Sid said. ‘What about showing me a visualization of the bus from the traffic management AI. Rerun this a couple of minutes, I want to see the network representation of the bus go through the junction.’

  The entire virtual reversed, vehicles travelling backwards in fast motion. Green and purple symbols which the city’s management network employed to tag each vehicle materialized, packed with ever-changing digits. Sid watched the bus drive carefully down the last twenty metres of Fenham Hall Drive. It vanished, along with its purple traffic management symbol.

  ‘Drop out,’ Dedra confirmed. ‘Hang on, let me check.’ The bus and its symbol reappeared on the B1305. ‘Yeah, the road’s metamesh is down there.’

  ‘Bring the scale back down,’ Sid said. When the virtual shrunk back to its original size he looked at Elswick Wharf, then over to the black smear of the Fawdon GSW. The junction wasn’t directly between the two, but not far off. ‘When did that part of the metamesh fail?’

  Ari was studying his zone console display. ‘Late Saturday night.’

  Sid and Ralph exchanged a look.

  ‘Freeze the image,’ Sid said. ‘Now highlight all the sections of the road metamesh which are down.’

  A swarm of scarlet markers appeared. Sid whistled silently. There were hundreds city-wide, but the greatest density was a broad swathe between Elswick and Fawdon. ‘Okay, now overlay all the street meshes which are out, or we haven’t got a memory log for.’ Amber marker points sprang up. Again, the majority were sitting between Elswick and Fawdon. ‘Which ones are combined? Take out the remainder.’

  Over half of the markers from the rest of the city vanished. ‘A hundred and seventeen between Elswick and Fawdon, boss,’ Dedra announced.

  ‘There was a lot of planning went into this,’ Sid decided. ‘Not to mention the organization you’d need for implementation. All right, Ian, I want forensics teams out at two dozen junctions where we have failure overlaps. Sample the dead motes on the walls and in the tarmac. I want to find out what killed our sensor coverage, and get me exact times. If they were taken out by an electromagnetic pulse instead of a rip we can run a second virtual and see if we can spot the culprits.’

  ‘Aye man,’ Ian said. ‘I’ll get right on it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sid
said. ‘Dedra, we’re going to have to do this the real hard way. Shift the virtual to centre Fawdon’s GSW area around me.’ He waited, trying to remember the worst-case procedures he’d mapped out in his mind. ‘We know the body was dumped into the river from about ten o’clock onwards, so I need logs of every taxi that came within half a kilometre of the GSW between nine thirty Sunday night, and one o’clock – to start with.’

  They watched as the virtual rushed forward to ten o’clock with a blaze of streaking headlights. It slowed and stopped. ‘Okay,’ Sid said. ‘Highlight the taxis.’ He waited patiently while a solitary green tag appeared on Kingston Park Road bordering the northern boundary of the GSW; the feeling he got from orchestrating a virtual on this scale was almost indecent. If the police had this level of resources available for every crime, the buses to Minisa would be full indeed. ‘Let’s do the rounds,’ he told Ralph.

  ‘What else are we looking for?’ Ralph asked.

  ‘A taxi that isn’t licence-coded as a taxi. It’s a simple misdirection that’s screwed more than one case; the gangs use it a lot. So let’s not start with elementary mistakes, eh.’ He walked round the GSW area, examining every road. When the images collected by the meshes were projected onto the basic map they didn’t have the highest resolution, but a citycab taxi was an iconic profile. Anything remotely close and he could ask for magnification.

  After a moment’s reluctance, Ralph started to move in the opposite direction, circling the darkness of the GSW. ‘Nothing,’ he declared eventually.

  ‘Take us forward thirty seconds,’ Sid ordered. He began to scrutinize the new pattern of vehicles.

  ‘Really?’ Ralph said. ‘Thirty seconds?’

  ‘Yeah. Long enough to register a change, but it doesn’t give enough time to dash into the GSW without us seeing.’

  ‘But we have about four or five hours to cover.’

  ‘Aye man, you got somewhere else to be?’