‘Yes, Saul,’ Zebediah North said. ‘We know that.’
‘So why are you here?’ It was almost a rhetorical question. Their arrival couldn’t be coincidence. For one frightening moment he thought the North might know the true reason for him coming to Abellia all those years ago. After all, Northumberland Interstellar’s security department was good. But if they did know, he wouldn’t still be walking round, let alone allowed the liberty he enjoyed.
‘The expedition, of course.’
‘Yeah, I figured that.’
‘It is another violation of St Libra’s sanctity.’
Saul couldn’t help glancing at Duren. But the big man didn’t show a hint of amusement. He was a true believer now, Saul realized. Zebediah had provided both cause and leadership, everything that had been missing from the heart of Duren’s life before.
‘Yeah,’ Saul said wearily. ‘But at worst they’ll spend six months running round the northern jungles then go home and have to try and justify how much they’ve spent to their governments. Unless there is a monster living out there?’ He deliberately left it open.
‘There are no monsters on St Libra,’ Zebediah North said. ‘Only the evil which humans have brought with them.’
It was a strange thing, but Saul could believe what he heard. The way Zebediah spoke the sentiment – without shouting, without a politician’s faux hand-clasp sincerity, but instead with utter from-the-soul conviction – simply made it a universal truth. No wonder poor Duren was such a devout disciple these days. It would be hard to resist such evangelicalism.
‘Right,’ Saul said, shaking off the mesmerizing delusion. ‘So what do you want to do about it?’
‘I must learn exactly what they are doing. I need to see for myself the level of the violation they commit. Only then can justice be levelled against the perpetrators.’
‘I see. And how do I fit in to all that?’
‘We need some information, man,’ Duren said. ‘That’s all.’
‘What kind of information?’
‘On the expedition.’
‘Yeah, I get that, but it’s all there on the public sector of the transnet. Why come to me?’
‘I need the full personnel list,’ Zulah said abruptly.
Saul did his best not to chortle at her. ‘I can’t get you that.’
‘Three years with Abellia TeleNet, working to establish the third-generation communication architecture for the city,’ Duren said.
‘Twenty years ago,’ Saul blurted.
‘The systems you helped design and instal are the backbone of today’s local net,’ Zebediah said. ‘There have been no technological revolutions since then, only expansion. The net has grown with the city, but that’s all.’
‘Okay, but that doesn’t make me some kind of bytehead super hacker.’
‘No, probably not, and yet . . .’
And Saul had never felt so judged before – Zebediah’s stare was relentless, allowing him to gaze upon Saul’s very thoughts. Exposing his guilt.
‘You’re a curious man, Saul Howard,’ Zebediah said. ‘Here you are in Abellia, with which your early involvement with the democracy movement illustrates your dissatisfaction. Now you’ve evolved into an ageing surf dude with a sweet family, demonstrating a streak of independence. Yet to be contracted by Abellia TeleNet, you needed to be a fully fledged corporate software nerd. I’ve had a lot of experience with them, decades, and you don’t strike me as the type. You’re not dedicated to code and systems and protocols, not you, not a free human soul who delights in the joy of riding the waves, feeling the spray of freedom in your face. Such dreary things can be learned by anyone with half a brain, of course, if there was a good enough reason for it. So why would you do that?’
‘I was young, I followed the money. And no one stays with the same job for life. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Touché. But you weren’t that young even twenty years ago. Why did you come here, Saul? And more to the point, why have you stayed?’
‘Wife. Three kids. Surf’s up every day.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Tough shit, pal.’
‘I can see I make you uncomfortable, Saul, and I’m genuinely sorry for that. I simply came here to ask a favour from someone I was led to believe shared some of my ideals. Do you really wish the expedition to go completely unchallenged? For if I don’t question it, who will?’
Saul looked from Zebediah to Duren. Neither of them was giving away a thing, just waiting patiently, pleasantly even. He didn’t bother making eye contact with Zulah, she scared him more than Duren ever could. ‘The personnel list?’ he asked finally.
‘If you could, I would be in your debt,’ Zebediah said.
‘Nothing else?’
‘No.’
‘This may take a while. I’m not exactly up to date on this kind of thing.’
‘Thank you Saul. St Libra is grateful for your help.’
‘Sure.’
*
Vance Elston walked over from his tent to the Remote Observation centre – a grand name for three Qwik-Kabins locked together, with air-con grilles thrumming and an elaborate antenna dome on top. A trailer with two high-output fuel cells was standing along one side, with thick power cables plugged into the Qwik-Kabin’s utility sockets; gentle plumes of steam drifted out of their vents as they hummed away. Just as he was going up the five metal steps to the entrance, he paused to watch a SuperRoc touch down on the runway. Even after three days at Abellia airport the sight of the big planes flying their airlift mission was impressive. They were still flying round the clock, mainly delivering equipment now. After he’d arrived in Abellia, engineers had converted both the SuperRocs back to full cargo configuration. AirBrogal 2757s were scheduled to bring in any remaining HDA personnel.
The Abellia compound was a muddy, temporary city of tents and Qwik-Kabins inside the airport perimeter, bordered along one side by the rows of pallets and ground vehicles due to be shipped out to the forward bases. Several types of helicopters were parked down an apron at the other end of the airport, waiting their turn to fly forward. So far, Vance had been very impressed by the skills of the pilots. The whole process of setting up Edzell had gone a lot more smoothly than he’d been expecting.
Vance glanced up at the sky as he went through the door to the Remote Observation centre. It was another cloudless morning, with the rings shimmering a pastel silver above the mountains of the Abellia peninsula. Humidity was strong, and the wind was starting to pick up from the south. Rain was coming in maybe three hours. Weather wisdom was a sense he’d quickly developed after arriving. There had already been five torrential downpours, two of them at night, which made sleep impossible in a tent.
He went through the ante-room, allowing his eyes to adapt to the subdued lighting inside the Remote Observation centre. The Qwik-Kabins had formed a large central space, with a row of zone consoles and some big panes along the front wall. Pilots on two zone consoles monitored the six e-Rays so far operational, making sure they maintained position in the relay chain over the jungle. The drones were beaming back a lot of information for the big displays. Most prominent was a weather radar image of the southern portion of Brogal. Vance was pleased to note a big cloud front massing out at sea, and due to landfall in three and a quarter hours. Other displays were showing camera images of Edzell. Front and centre was one with an over-the-pilot-shoulder view from a Daedalus cockpit as it approached Edzell.
The back of the room was crowded with senior expedition staff, headed by Charmonique Passam herself, closely attended by the official GE press corps: a small troupe of reporters with a sole camera crew, all carefully marshalled by Carole Furec, the expedition press officer. Brice North was also in attendance, one of Brinkelle’s daughters, and obviously a one-in-ten – she looked about seventeen even though the file in his iris smartcell grid said she was twenty-three. None of Brinkelle’s five children shared any characteristics, either with each other or their m
other; and she’d had only one herself, Beatrice, her first; the remainder were all surrogate born. Some North traditions just didn’t change, he thought.
Brice looked like she had a strong Japanese ethnicity in her make-up. Shorter than most people in the room, she held her wide shoulders perfectly square, while her long face appeared inexplicably sad. It was distracting to the men in the room; someone that young, beautiful, and apparently vulnerable was earning a lot of glances to the detriment of the full mission focus. All their wistful smiles would be for nothing, Vance knew; she wouldn’t be interested in some HDA trooper, whatever the rank. Wouldn’t lower herself. That intense way she regarded the big screens was the real giveaway of her age and North-heritage intelligence. It even seemed to be unsettling Passam. He wondered if he should try to arrange an encounter with Angela. Both of them had the same level of drive and intensity, it would be like looking in a mirror, with just skin colour distinguishing them.
Vance sidled over to Griffin Toyne, who was also making sure he kept below the VIPs’ radar.
‘You should stop looking at people like you want to fight them,’ Toyne said quietly. ‘Especially female people.’
‘I assess every situation for its potential. It’s what I’m trained for.’
‘She’s not going to fuck you, either. Not even for novelty value.’
‘Yeah, I already assessed that.’
Toyne grinned. ‘Have the xenobiology teams made any progress?’
‘Yes, but all negative,’ Vance said. ‘Antrinell and Marvin have been out into the hinterlands as far as the roads take them, which isn’t far, maybe a hundred klicks past the airport. Every sample they’ve taken shows a typical St Libra genetic composition. There’s nothing abnormal growing out there.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘Not for the taxpayer. It means we have to go ahead with the forward bases.’
Toyne gave him a curious glance. ‘You didn’t strike me as the Taxpayer Union type.’
‘I’m not – I’m the fast efficiency type. I want this confirmed, one way or the other.’
‘Then you should know we may have to slow our schedule; we’re slightly concerned about JB5 biav stocks.’
‘On St Libra? You’re kidding me.’
‘This isn’t Highcastle. The local refinery is only set up to produce biav for maybe ten commercial aircraft, and some executive jets.’
‘Then switch refinery production for more biav. They certainly have enough bioil for all their Rolls-Royces and Mercedes here.’
Toyne lowered his voice. ‘That would require Brinkelle’s cooperation, and she’s not happy about any of this. She didn’t quite appreciate the scale this expedition was going to be mounted at.’
‘Who did?’
One of the centre’s officers gave Passam a quick nod. Up on the main wallscreen the Daedalus was coming round to line up on Edzell’s runway.
‘That is one small streak of mud,’ Vance muttered. Even as he watched he could see ribbons of water shimmering on the newly created runway.
‘Big enough,’ Toyne said. ‘I’ve been on missions where they landed on a strip half that size. Besides, they’ve already shipped out an approach guidance system; they could land at night in a thunderstorm if necessary.’
Vance didn’t believe a word of it. But the pilot held the approach steady, clearly satisfied with what the camp team had cut out for him.
He held his breath, offering up a small prayer as the Daedalus touched down. The pilot made a perfect landing, though the big plane did come to a halt with only about thirty metres of runway left. Everyone in the centre applauded. Passam spoke a few words of congratulations to the pilot, then turned to her press acolytes.
‘It is with the greatest delight that I am now declaring the Edzell base formally open. I would like to take this moment to commend the efforts of the HDA personnel who have worked so hard to make this possible. As always I am impressed by their dedication and professionalism. It is precisely this kind of proficiency which will see us successfully push back the frontiers of knowledge amid the unexplored and unknown regions of this splendid world.’
Vance and Toyne looked at each other, sharing their private contempt for the politician.
‘Let’s go get lunch,’ Toyne said.
‘Amen to that.’
*
Saul was bizarrely pleased with himself when he did finally plug an unrestricted link into the expedition’s secure network. Unrestricted, that is, if you didn’t want to access any of the level-ten files. A quick scan of the register didn’t show any level-ten files, but why would the security protocols be included in the closed network if there weren’t any? Standard package? he wondered. Except that would be a little too neat. It was probably that someone of his inexperience simply couldn’t find them. And with his dire lack of current ability, merely trying to discover their coding tags would probably trigger all sorts of alarms. So he flicked through the files that he could access, basically the kind a one-month probationary HDA company clerk was allowed to retrieve, and downloaded a copy of the expedition personnel, through random routing pathways in Abellia’s net.
‘Why, thank you, Saul, this is excellent information,’ Zebediah North said.
Saul leaned back in his desk chair and watched the zone console screen curve away from him. The icons that’d been blazing along his optic nerves vanished, icons for programs he hadn’t used in a while. They’d been stored in a hidden cache on the back room’s console, the one usually employed for operating the printers. Old habits die hard, thankfully.
Zebediah and his two disciples – no other way of describing them – were busy studying the list flowing down their grids. Their lips fluttered as they talked via their linked bodymeshes, excluding him from the conversation. Fingers flicked idly through keyspace, twisting the invisible icons. Saul’s e-i reported the ringlink which connected them employed medium-grade encryption. They were quite serious about keeping their discussion private.
Saul was tempted to run through the personnel list himself, but that would mean second-guessing them, and he just didn’t want to get involved. He’d already had to call Emily, and tell her he was going to be late home. She’d been upset, but not angry. Now he just had to decide what to tell her; his past life was something he’d never gone into in real detail. She knew the same story he’d told Duren, that he’d been a contractor for Abellia TeleNet before striking out on his own in a variety of crappy jobs. He’d told her that he’d left Earth because of a failed marriage and a personal tragedy, which wasn’t quite a lie – but context was king, and he’d never corrected her interpretation of that. She’d never asked for details, not in seventeen years of marriage. It was probably shame at first – after all her reason for being in Abellia wasn’t particularly pleasant – and when topics get sealed off they tended to stay that way. Once their new life together had got under way he certainly didn’t have a reason to dredge up the past, there was too much that had to remain safeguarded. Admitting why he knew Duren, though, wasn’t catastrophic, his involvement with Abellia’s ridiculous political movements was believable justification. And his time with Abellia TeleNet made him a logical choice for Duren. So she’d probably wind up being concerned for him, and no deeper questions would be asked, which was vital.
‘We have someone of interest here,’ Zebediah said.
‘Really?’ Saul didn’t want to know.
‘Bastian 2North,’ Zulah said. ‘He’s perfect.’
Which didn’t make any sense to Saul, which really wasn’t good. His instincts were fired up now, thoughts racing to find a way out. He just couldn’t afford to get involved any deeper. This wasn’t going to end well, not for anybody, he knew that now. Zebediah was too wrapped up in his own importance, he didn’t see outside his own shallow obsession-derived interpretation of the world, didn’t see that you don’t fuck with the HDA, not when they were on a mission like this one.
‘Can you harvest a profile for us, please?�
�� Zebediah asked.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Saul blurted. ‘He’s your brother.’ Yet a stupid part of him was actually curious why a B North was being included on the expedition. It had to be politics.
‘It’s been a while,’ Zebediah said equitably. ‘I lost touch with my family. I know so little of them now.’
‘But . . .’
‘It would be a big help. And a search like this is hardly illegal.’
Then why don’t you run it, Saul thought bitterly. It was such an obvious question he didn’t bother: so there’s no connection, of course, you use a patsy. He didn’t dare look at Zulah or Duren. ‘Okay, fine,’ he said with a burst of indignation. ‘But this is it, after this I’m going home. I have a family, as you keep pointing out.’
‘I understand,’ Zebediah said.
That placid, reasonable tone was starting to get to Saul. He told his e-i to immerse him back in Abellia’s net. They might well be trying to set him up, but he still knew a thing or two about avoiding access traces. He started loading in one-off relays and fake net address routes, using some backdoors he’d established in Abellia TeleNet all those years ago. No way would anyone ever be able to tell he’d been compiling data on Bastian 2North, legitimately or otherwise.
*
The tents which made up Abellia airport’s new city were made from jet-black photovoltaic sheets. Another logistic corps screw-up given the quantity of intense sunlight beating down on them during the day. But the electricity they produced was more than enough to power all the ancillary systems included in the basic tent module, like the net cell, compactor toilet, internal lighting, kettle, and microwave oven. Too bad there wasn’t any air-con. Angela had just shaken her head in disbelief at the sight of their accommodation as they disembarked the SuperRoc. The logistics corps had laid out the expedition camp in a perfect square along the airport’s southern perimeter, with a cliff of containers and pallets down the northern side – closest to the runway. The arrangement, while logical, tended to channel all the foot traffic along the east–west tracks between the tents. With the rains coming at least once a day, the ground was getting badly chewed up by all the heavy HDA boots tramping along; the local grass had long since been mashed, now each day saw the mud getting deeper and wider.
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