Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Ian said. ‘Then Adrian North came through the gateway again at 10:31 pm on Friday 11th, this time using a temporary visa chip issued by the Border Directorate office in Highcastle.’

  ‘And they didn’t fucking notice?’ Sid asked.

  ‘The original visa chip was reported missing at 11:50 am,’ Abner said. ‘And the Border Directorate automatically cancelled it so a temporary one could be issued. You can’t use a visa chip with any identity other than your own.’

  ‘But a North with the correct identity codes . . .’ Sid filled in.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So we do have an imposter North in Newcastle,’ Sid said. The satisfaction of knowing was like knocking back a triple vodka: a dose of pure joy. I was right, this is a corporate scam. There’s no stupid alien monster, there never was. He chuckled. ‘Oh crap on it, how much has that St Libra expedition cost the taxpayer?’

  Ian was grinning widely. ‘Hundreds of millions.’

  ‘More like billions,’ Reannha said.

  ‘Can I be the one that tells Elston?’ Sid asked Aldred.

  ‘It’s not that funny,’ Aldred said stiffly. ‘Because you’re implying this was a North against North corporate operation.’

  Sid’s smile fell away. He glanced at Ari and Abner, who shared their brother’s expression of heated disapproval. Three identical faces with matching intent directed at him was intimidating. ‘Aye, and what does it look like to you?’ he said belligerently.

  There was a long silence while Aldred marshalled his argument. ‘I don’t know,’ he conceded.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sid said.

  ‘It’s very hard to accept. I don’t understand what’s going on.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Sid said. ‘But to me it’s quite clear. An unknown North came through the gateway, using Adrian’s identity, and went to the St James singletown. We then have two possibilities. Either this fake Adrian killed one of you and assumed his identity, or he himself was killed.’

  ‘That would explain why we’ve never been able to identify the body,’ Abner said grudgingly. ‘Which has always been a real concern.’

  ‘So it’s a B North behind all this, then,’ Ian said.

  ‘Definitely a B North that came through,’ Sid said.

  ‘Then he was the murder victim,’ Aldred said. ‘Because there’s no way one of us would kill another.’

  ‘His socks,’ Ari said. ‘They were drensi wool, remember. Only available on St Libra. They killed a B.’

  ‘Who’s they?’ Ian asked cynically. ‘This is all you.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d be happier believing your brother was a victim of someone else,’ Sid said. ‘But what about an unstable North? Are any of you prone to psychosis?’

  The three clones exchanged a troubled look.

  ‘Some of the 4s are a bit flaky,’ Ari admitted. ‘But we know the victim was a 2.’

  ‘We’ve been through this,’ Ian said. ‘If there’s an imposter, then he’s also a 2. We checked all of you.’

  Abner cleared his throat. The whole office looked at him. ‘There is Zebediah,’ he said.

  Aldred let out a hiss of exasperation.

  ‘Who’s Zebediah?’ Sid asked.

  ‘That’s what he calls himself now,’ Aldred said reluctantly. ‘Zebediah was one of our bothers: Barclay, a 2. He was badly shaken up by Bartram’s murder, there was some kind of breakdown. He changed his name to Zebediah and started this weird crusade through the St Libra’s Independencies.’

  ‘What sort of crusade?’ Eva asked.

  ‘He wants to shut down the gateway,’ Abner said. ‘He claims the planet is being contaminated by human cultures, and that it must be isolated so the residents can live in harmony with the planet. Basically, he’s a super-green environmentalist who wants to put back the clock and get rid of the algaepaddies.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ Sid asked.

  ‘The age is completely wrong,’ Aldred said. ‘Zebediah is in his sixties. The fake Adrian was in his forties.’

  Sid wasn’t going to take that kind of diversion. ‘Do you keep track of him?’

  ‘Not really,’ Aldred said. ‘We don’t consider him a real threat. To the people living in the Independencies he has a degree of novelty value as a North rejecting his brethren, but his followers are more of a cult than a political movement. There’s not that many of them. Beatrice might get the odd report on his whereabouts if he does something completely stupid or outrageous.’

  ‘Beatrice?’ Sid asked in bewilderment.

  ‘Brinkelle’s daughter. She’s in charge of their general family security.’

  ‘Okay. I need to know where this Zebediah North is now, and I definitely need to know where he was on January 11th. Call up this Beatrice, and find out.’

  ‘Of course,’ Aldred said.

  ‘In the meantime, we have a job to do,’ Sid said to the office. ‘The imposter Adrian went into the St James, and a body came out. Either it was him, or he killed a 2North. We know the Red Shield gang is involved to some degree through Ernie Reinert, which makes this a lot easier. The alien monster theory is now dead. Eva?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘I need another zone simulation pulled together. Follow both of the Adrians from the moment they step through the gateway. I’m interested in everything the first one does on the way to the St James, but don’t skimp on the second, either.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘The rest of you: I want every North in the St James on Friday eleventh brought back here for detailed questioning.’ He stared directly at Aldred. ‘We’re going to make one last push to try and see if any of them is the imposter. Harvest as much background detail on them as possible, and go through every day of their life to see if they actually lived it. We’ll need full access to your family records.’

  ‘I’ll see you get them,’ Aldred said.

  ‘And I’ll start by interviewing you.’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  *

  It had rained most of the afternoon, thick heavy droplets sluicing down out of dark swirling clouds. The accompanying wind had driven the falling water almost horizontal, making life in Wukang just that little bit more depressing. All everyone wanted to do was skulk about in their tents avoiding work. Vance Elston wasn’t going to let that happen. With idle hands being the devil’s playground he firmly believed in work being the best way of keeping people focused properly. Nobody was going to have slack time to think about the MTJ accident. So the engineering teams were busy in their open-sided garage repairing the battered vehicle from components microfactured on site. More staff were preparing the second mobile biolab and testing the other vehicles for another sampling expedition starting tomorrow. AAV operatives were flying the Owls low, mapping out possible routes across the terrain to the north-east. Camm Montoto and Esther Coombes from the xenobiology team were overseeing the images, determining any potential sites of exceptional botanical interest amid the unending jungle.

  The first expedition rolled back into camp mid-afternoon, its personnel depressed and exhausted. Again, Vance’s work-ethic came to the fore, and he made them unpack and evaluate their vehicle status without pause.

  Fortunately, by late afternoon, the clouds swept off to the east, clearing the sky. Residual water immediately started to steam away, boosting the humidity still further. But at least everyone could walk about without their rain gear on.

  The evening meal was served as Sirius sank quickly towards the horizon and the rings began to shade down from icy silver to a more lambent glow across the southern sky. Vance was just about to leave the Qwik-Kabin to grab a bite to eat when the secure call came through from Ralph.

  ‘We’ve had some interesting developments,’ he began.

  ‘Ernie Reinert?’ Vance asked immediately.

  ‘No. And that’s not going so good. He doesn’t know much, certainly not who murdered the North. But we have extracted some useful names from him, which should br
ing us a step closer to whoever ordered the bodydump.’

  ‘Okay, so what have you got for me?’

  ‘Detective Hurst found an unknown North coming through the gateway on the day of the murder. He went directly to the St James singletown.’

  Vance was so surprised that for a moment he couldn’t find anything to say. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, which was not quite a professional reaction, but . . .

  ‘The unknown stole the identity of Adrian North to come through GE Border Directorate. He went to the singletown and vanished. So either he was murdered, or he committed the murder and impersonated his victim.’

  ‘Good Lord.’

  ‘Yeah. It really is starting to look like some kind of North family feud after all.’

  Vance clenched his fist and tapped it gently against the top of the desk, beating out an irritated rhythm. ‘We had a bad accident here on Saturday.’

  ‘Yes, it was on the news.’

  ‘I’m not convinced it was an accident.’ Even as he said it, he hated how desperate it sounded. This was an operation that was going down in flames, and he was the boss looking to throw blame around. But you had to be here to know something was wrong.

  ‘Vance. Hurst and his team are doing a good job. They’re re-interviewing some Norths who might be the imposter. And Ernie has already confirmed the apartment he picked the body up from; we’ll have to give them that in a day or so. Forensics will rip the place apart.’

  ‘You’re not sending in our people first?’

  ‘Vermekia has vetoed that. He wants the investigation to continue uncompromised.’

  Vance knew what that meant: HDA command was coming round to the corporate conflict theory. From a political perspective, the expedition was now left with its ass hanging in the wind. ‘Does anyone have any theory why the Norths might be fighting?’

  ‘That’s the odd thing, there’s no reason anyone can work out. They deny it completely, of course. Given the imposter who came through is probably a B North, the best anyone can suggest is Brinkelle trying to take over Northumberland Interstellar, but that’s pretty wild. Since this broke, the one person both the police and Brinkelle are interested in is Zebediah North.’

  ‘Isn’t he the family nut-job?’

  ‘Yeah, Barclay North, who went crazy after his father’s death. Unfortunately, he’s the wrong age – he doesn’t fit the imposter who came through.’

  ‘It could have been one of his children, a 3 we didn’t know about.’

  ‘Possibly, but it was definitely a 2 that Hurst pulled out of the Tyne. And all the A 2s are accounted for.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry, it’s been a stressful few days here.’

  ‘So has Antrinell found any genetic variance?’

  ‘No. He’s starting to think this is a waste of time, too.’

  ‘Neither of the other two forward camps have found anything either.’

  ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘Vermekia wasn’t going to commit himself. But unless something happens, you’ll probably be getting your withdrawal orders in a week or so.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Ralph.’

  ‘Sure. Take care out there.’

  Vance sighed and sank back in the cramped chair. It was vanity, of course, but back in January when the case was fresh and new he’d believed this expedition to be supremely important. Now he was beginning to acknowledge that the evidence to launch it had been flimsy at best. Images from a dazed, drugged girl’s brain. Her pathetic protestations of innocence.

  Angela was the key, he knew she was. If he could just find out what she was doing in Bartram’s mansion . . . ‘Call Tramelo,’ he told his e-i.

  *

  Angela didn’t bother knocking on Elston’s door. The Qwik-Kabin was small, he’d have heard her come in. She barged into his office and found him behind his tiny desk staring into a display pane. The purple and green data was unreadable from where she stood. She sat without being asked, enjoying the relative cool blown out by the struggling air-con.

  ‘I’d already gotten my tray,’ she complained. ‘I haven’t eaten anything reasonable for days.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a real tragedy,’ Elston snapped back.

  Angela blinked and gave him a closer look. He was usually so well mannered and polite, in that creepy way all religious obsessives were. At any other time she would have enjoyed seeing the doubt and worry on his stiff face. Not now though, not with the multiplying number of ‘accidents’. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘Guzman’s not going to be walking again.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said gloomily. ‘We heard. There are treatments. Nerve regeneration. The kind of thing the Norths are developing at their Institute in Abellia—’

  ‘That not even the HDA can afford for its wounded. Sort of like one-in-ten treatments.’

  ‘You asked me in here so you can spew your spite all over me?’

  ‘No, sorry. Angela, what were you doing at Bartram’s mansion? Telling the truth now can’t possibly cause any harm.’

  Once again she was pleased with the way she kept her emotions in check. Daddy would be proud. ‘I was a whore. Does that make you feel better?’

  ‘You’re many things, but whore isn’t one of them.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘I wish you’d trust me.’

  ‘I don’t suffer from Stockholm syndrome, thanks. Not with my torturer.’

  He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry about that. Okay?’

  ‘That just makes it a whole lot better.’

  ‘Angela . . . damnit.’

  She was genuinely curious now. This was an Elston she hadn’t seen before. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The police found out an unknown North came through the gateway just before the Newcastle murder. Everyone is starting to think the murder is corporate related, or at least some kind of family power struggle.’

  ‘Son-of-a-bitch! What about you? What do you think?’

  ‘We haven’t found any genetic variance. It’s starting to look like you might have been mistaken.’

  ‘Mistaken! Are you fucking kidding me? If there wasn’t a monster, then that implies I killed them. You motherfucking bastard. If you think I’m going back to jail, you’re wrong.’

  ‘Nobody’s saying that. We’re interested in Zebediah North.’

  Angela frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘You’d know him as Barclay North. He had a breakdown after his father was killed. Changed his name and started campaigning for St Libra to sever all ties with Earth, including closing the gateway. Did you ever meet him?’

  Angela sat perfectly still, the chill of the air-con banished by the blood heat pounding through her skin. Keeping hold of her anger was becoming very difficult. How could I have been so stupid? Letting him lull me into lowering my guard. I’d almost started thinking of him as human. ‘Fuck you!’ she screamed. ‘Piece of shit torturer. I hope you catch cancer and die rotting. If your God exists, I’ll have the satisfaction She’ll be sending you right down into your medieval hell. And even that’s too good for you.’

  ‘Whaaat th—’

  ‘Nice try. Get friendly. Earn your victim’s sympathy. Then mindfuck them. Well all that means is that we can add rape to your list of crimes now.’ She got to her feet, too angry to say anything else.

  ‘Wait! I don’t understand. Please, what, what . . .’ he spluttered.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she snarled back in savage mockery. ‘Read that straight out of the torturer’s manual, did you?’

  ‘Will you calm down and tell me what just happened.’

  Angela paused. Still uncertain and hating herself for giving him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Barclay North, yes? That’s who you’re talking about? Asking me oh-so-innocently if I knew him?’

  ‘Yes. It might be important.’

  ‘Just after you want to know what I was doing at the mansion—’ She stopped herself, alarmed she might be giving too much away.

&nbs
p; ‘Angela, I swear on the Bible itself I don’t know what you’re so upset about.’

  ‘Barclay North started calling himself Zebediah North and broke with the family? Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. They don’t know why. He disappeared a couple of days after the murders. They didn’t see him again for months until he reappeared in the Independencies.’

  ‘That was amazingly clever of him,’ she snapped.

  ‘How is it clever?’

  ‘You’re still pretending this isn’t some softening-up process?’

  ‘Goddamn it!’ He abruptly looked shocked at the blasphemy he’d uttered. ‘What happened with you and Barclay?’

  Angela took a calming breath. ‘We had a fling, is all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Contrary to popular belief, there is a difference between the Norths. He was,’ she chose her words carefully, ‘nicer than the others, especially his father.’

  ‘I didn’t know. How different?’

  ‘Not crazy different, if that’s what you’re implying – oh fuck, why am I even talking to you about this?’

  ‘Every little piece of information helps.’

  Angela gave him a hard, disapproving stare. ‘That information cannot possibly help you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Barclay 2North is dead. He was slaughtered that night along with all the others the monster massacred. I found . . . I saw his butchered body in that motherfucking mansion. Get it? I. Saw. His. Corpse. And I truly know it was him. Whoever Zebediah is, it’s not Barclay.’

  *

  It was ballsy sneaking into the seventh-floor study that night of all nights, but Angela considered it worth the risk. A double bluff, nobody would be attempting anything illicit with people around. Not that there were many people, just some of Bartram’s sons. Barclay had turned up that evening, along with Benson and Blake and Barrett. A family dinner to discuss business. She’d been in attendance in the dining room of course, along with Coi and Mariangela and Suski (Olivia-Jay’s replacement). Loanna and Marc-Anthony had styled the girlfriends in short, expensive cocktail dresses so they could sit flanking Bartram to form hot enticing adornments. It had been difficult for her not to pay undue attention to Barclay during the meal. But she’d refrained. He had been equally scrupulous, chatting with all the girlfriends, just as flirtatious with each one.