Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  All of this was going to require some strict policing to make sure no one got lost between the gateway and their transport out of the city. Hundreds of police, along with over two thousand agency constables, were going to be deployed to secure the routes. GE Border troops would be held in reserve. And all the arrangements were going through Sid’s C&I office, to be examined and authorized. His e-i had been subjected to a deluge of calls from agency executives, friends who knew agency people, colleagues who were now becoming intermediaries. His diary was already full of dinners for the next two months (with the agency providing their own licensed babysitters each time) and he’d turned down five holidays – two of which were on trans-space worlds. Jacinta hadn’t been too happy about that; though interestingly three medical agencies had already been in touch offering her a chief of staff position and a big raise.

  The wealth and power he’d been shown was impressive, but he was quietly pleased at the way his office had handled the logistics. The city would be ready to cope with the deluge of freezing, hungry, and broke refugees when they came pouring through on Saturday morning.

  Sid had said goodnight to his new team, and took the lift down to the first sub-basement. Down here, in a concrete warren with steel doors and harsh blue-green lighting, were a dozen restricted rooms, the largest of which was the firing range, next to the armoury. Sid avoided those, and made his way to the secure equipment store. The area was divided into five sections, and Ian had looped the mesh log on each of them, so no one knew he was walking down the corridor to the mid-security vault containing the mobile surveillance equipment. His e-i sent Detective Brannagh’s identity and code into the lock; Brannagh was in the Police Standards Division, one of those in last year’s investigation into Sid’s conduct. He didn’t have a lot of allies in Market Street should anyone ever run an audit on the equipment store. The locks clicked back and the door swung open.

  The room inside was ribbed by concrete and split by five rows of metal grid shelving. Ancient air-con fans whirred into life, trying to deal with the fusty air. Sid walked along the second rack, examining the neatly stacked cases. There were a lot of gaps, he noticed in bemusement. Most detectives grade-two and above knew how to access mid-security facilities.

  He found the cases he wanted on the third shelf; black aluminium rectangles, thirty centimetres by twenty, and ten thick. Again his e-i gave the vault’s inventory management net Brannagh’s codes. He pulled three of the cases off the shelf and turned to go.

  ‘Evening, boss,’ Abner 2North said.

  Sid winced. He hadn’t heard Abner come in, and of course Ian had disabled the meshes so he couldn’t use them himself to check he was alone. Nothing for it, he’d have to bluff it out. He smiled at Abner. ‘Evening. Just collecting some micro-copters for a case. What are you looking for?’

  ‘Boss, that was awful; you’re chief of C&I now, you don’t do cases that need a micro-copter. So if you don’t mind I’ll cut the bollocks, seeing as how you’ve disabled the mesh logs. Ian left a whole load of covert surveillance monitors running using Vance Elson’s authority codes. Now you, he, and probably Eva are carrying out some kind of off-log operation. I’m not too bothered by that, we all do it. But this was my brother who was murdered. I think I have a right to know if you know who killed him.’

  ‘Aye, crap on it,’ Sid grunted. He supposed he should have realized that someone would notice eventually, especially a detective with Abner’s forensics training. ‘Who’ve you told?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘All right. But let’s not do this here, we need to leave.’

  ‘Sure. Let me give you a hand with one of those.’

  Sid hesitated as Abner held out a hand, his expression carefully neutral. That face . . . Sid remembered it white and passive on the mortuary slab; Augustine, angry and determined; Aldred, so calm and calculating. It really was true, the Norths were everywhere in Newcastle, one way or another. He sighed in acknowledgement of that simple reality, and passed a case over to Abner. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Brannagh, huh? Good choice.’

  Sid shrugged. ‘Aye, what can you do? Jenson San’s already left.’

  *

  For once Ian must have accessed the meshes on the staircase leading up to the door of his flat. He wasn’t surprised when Abner walked in with Sid, just edgy. It was left to Eva to give the North a worried look.

  ‘He found the observation routines,’ Sid said by way of explanation.

  ‘Crap on it,’ Ian muttered, pressing his lips together in anger. ‘Sorry boss, I should have been more careful.’

  ‘So now what?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I want to find who murdered my brother,’ Abner said.

  ‘You might not like the answer,’ Sid told him.

  ‘Is that why you’re doing this off-log?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, look, I’m not going to turn you in to Milligan or Aldred. But I need to be part of – what?’ He looked round at their expressions.

  ‘This isn’t going to be pleasant,’ Sid told him carefully.

  ‘Just . . . what is going on?’

  Sid knew he didn’t have a choice, he hadn’t since Abner caught him in the store. Probably a long time before that if he was honest with himself. ‘We found out why your brother was murdered in the St James apartment.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Tallulah Packer was having an affair with Aldred last year. He has her door lock codes.’ Sid waited for a response, but Abner said nothing, so he told him the worst of it. That Aldred knew Marcus Sherman, that this was all some corporate manoeuvre, that Norths were probably fighting Norths. How they’d bugged Sherman’s people – and Aldred.

  ‘What did you find out from the downloads?’ Abner asked quietly.

  Sid was impressed. He knew if he’d been told how his family was implicated in something this terrible he was sure he wouldn’t manage to stay so calm. But then, Abner knew exactly how his brothers behaved. ‘The downloads didn’t capture as much as we’d hoped. There’s a lot of conversations we only got one side of. But from what we’ve put together so far, Sherman’s team is planning a raid on Trigval Molecular Solutions. That’s a very high-tech company based in Jarrow. They specialize in molecular assembly chambers. We don’t know what they’re used for – that information isn’t in the transnet, which is interesting – but they’re a defence-listed company.’

  ‘I’ve heard of them,’ Abner said softly.

  ‘How come?’ Eva asked.

  ‘They’re important to Northumberland Interstellar. And I was up to speed on the family business before I shifted over to the police.’

  ‘How important?’ Sid asked.

  ‘Trigval’s molecular systems can produce active-state matter. That’s a kind of intermediate, or trigger state for effecting negative matter properties. Which is the basics of trans-spacial connection technology.’

  ‘So this raid could wind up affecting the gateway?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Not really, or at least not directly. It’s not like active-state matter is scarce, there’s a lot of companies produce it. And you can hardly have a blackmarket in the stuff. It takes some very specialist raw, for a start. I don’t quite understand this.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just a simple technology theft?’ Eva said. ‘Sherman has a buyer for the technology in the distant worlds.’

  ‘And why would Aldred be involved?’ Abner asked. ‘Northumberland Interstellar owns a gateway. We have the technology, we don’t have to steal it.’

  ‘Because of something else he’s involved in,’ Sid said. ‘That’s the whole problem here – we don’t know exactly what’s going on.’

  Abner looked at the small black case he was holding, as if he’d only just seen it for the first time. ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘They’re still putting the raid together. We’re going to use the micro-copters to provide us with full coverage. This time we’ll be able to see what they’re up to.’

  ‘This time?’
Abner asked sharply.

  ‘They’ve been involved in other, similar, activities,’ Sid said. ‘A handover. Talk of another acquisition. And we’re sure they were the ones who firebombed Reinert’s garage. If we can follow them afterwards, and see who they hand this stuff over to, we may get a better idea of what exactly is going down.’

  Abner nodded slowly. ‘And the micro-copters would be ideal for that. Okay, I was trained to fly one of these. I’ll help you with the observation.’

  ‘And after?’ Eva challenged. ‘If it turns out Aldred was involved in the murder. What then?’

  ‘I’ll help you arrest him myself,’ Abner said. ‘And I’ll make sure he’s held to account for what he’s done.’

  ‘You’re the same as him, as are all of your bothers,’ Sid said. ‘Do you think you’re capable of killing one of them?’

  ‘No. I personally couldn’t do that. But we are all slightly different – it’s only urban myth that has us as identical. He’ll have a reason for doing what he’s done. I’m looking forward to hearing what it is.’

  Sunday 21st April 2143

  Vance had to lean into the wind which drove the hard ice particles almost horizontally across the camp. He was glad the microfacture team had finally got round to printing some decent protective goggles. The particles which did strike the few slivers of skin unprotected by fabric stung badly before the cold numbed the graze.

  Beside him, Private Omar Mihambo was on escort duty, schlepping stoically through the raging snow and effervescent mutable light of the aurora. The Legionnaire’s weather-sheathed carbine was held ready, and he was scanning round as best he could. His cheek was now recovering underneath its layer of nuskin that was working its magic. The patch was protected from the elements by various membranes. On top of those he was wearing several thin layers of fabric, wound like a facial turban. A balaclava knitted for him by Angela went over that so he could wear his armour helmet without it rubbing against his cheek. Then he’d put on his specially sculpted snow goggles. Lieutenant Botin hadn’t thought he was ready to be put back out on patrol, but Omar had pleaded and Vance acquiesced.

  Nobody wanted to go outside any more. It wasn’t just the fear of the creature which stalked them, the cold was acting like a viral tox on their thoughts, their attitude; dragging their mood down. It was an effort simply to put on the correct clothes in preparation to venture out. Then more often than not the wind would be blowing, making even walking a difficulty. Vision was a few metres. Far better to stay inside, huddling round a heater, working to prepare the convoy, however menial the assigned task.

  If for some reason Omar was resistant to the same disposition as the rest of the camp, then Vance wasn’t about to ignore that. They needed armed protection now more than ever.

  Vance finally caught sight of the shack ahead, a soft wall of bright-orange fabric. It was the simplest covering the microfacture team could come up with, a fifteen-metre-diameter balloon of thick fabric kept under positive pressure by fans blowing in excess heat from a fuel cell. Horribly energy-expensive, but effective.

  Snow falling on it slithered off as it turned to sludge, making sure that there was never any excessive weight building up on top. The ring of crunchy ice that built up around the rim was slowly rising, but Vance hoped they’d be leaving by the end of the day, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

  They went through the short access tunnel, closing the outer awning of fabric before opening the inner so no pressure was lost. Inside, the warm air hit them, heavy with the melange of bioil, fresh polymer, and ripe human that swept straight down Vance’s nostrils as he unwrapped the printed scarf from around his face. Snow crusting his parka and waterproof trousers started to melt, dripping onto the floor. He took his goggles and helmet off, but not much else – it wasn’t that warm inside the shack, just above freezing.

  Two of the Tropics occupied the majority of the floor, sitting under bright floodlights. Four or five people were working on each one. Vance had to grin with enthusiasm as he saw the modified vehicles. The new tyres were amazing, as high as his chest and equally wide. It was the ultimate pimp-up machine to please his inner boy. An image that could only ever be amplified by the remote-control machine gun mounted on the roof.

  Every convoy vehicle had a similar weapon, which was why preparation was taking longer than originally scheduled. Vance had insisted. A morale booster following from Wukang’s latest loss.

  It had been a standing order for a long time that nobody was allowed out alone.

  Mackay from the AAV team, and Juan-Fernando, one of the helicopter pilots, had faithfully followed that order last Thursday as they went out into the blizzard to check on the emergency comm rocket launchers. They’d carried regulation sidearms, too, according to Davinia and Leif, who bunked down in the same accommodation dome.

  Neither of them had returned.

  Vance had to change the standing orders: now anyone going outside had to take an armed Legionnaire as escort. No exceptions were allowed. The machine guns on the vehicles were included at the same time. If they encountered the creature after the convoy set off, they could open fire immediately, without having to wait for the Legionnaire squad to climb out and give chase.

  Ravi Hendrik and Ophelia Troy were on the cab roof of one Tropic, finishing the machine-gun installation, connecting it to a small microwave radar mounted on the side of the barrel. As Vance watched, it swivelled from side to side then changed elevation, pointing down.

  Ravi grinned. ‘Hey boss, this’ll teach the bastards not to bring a knife to a fist fight, huh?’

  ‘Is it ready?’ Vance asked.

  ‘Got some work to do on the targeting software, and these servos are a bit rough and ready, but we’ll be finished when it’s time to bug out.’

  ‘Good man.’ Vance walked round the back of the first Tropic to where Darwin Sworowski was tightening up the wheel lock nuts on the offside axle motor. Jay was standing beside him, handing tools from a tall wheeled cabinet when Darwin asked for them, and looking every inch the fifth wheel.

  Jay looked up. ‘Sir.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ Vance asked.

  Jay glanced at Darwin, who shrugged inside several layers of overalls.

  ‘Vehicles will be ready in three hours,’ Jay said.

  ‘I thought they were finished,’ Vance said. He tried not to let annoyance show in his voice, but in his heart he’d expected this visit to the garage to be the one where he gave the order to drive out.

  ‘We’ve done as much refit work as we can,’ Darwin said. ‘But there are some adaptation issues.’ He patted the big tyre with its thick tread. ‘Once you alter the wheel size, especially to this degree, then you completely change the gearing. The axle hub motor torque will have to be recalibrated. It also means we’ll use a lot more power to turn the wheels.’

  ‘More power,’ Vance mused. ‘You mean more fuel?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Okay, have you revised the convoy estimates?’

  ‘Uh, we should make Sarvar with a twenty per cent reserve. That’s the worst-case scenario,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m hoping we’ll have around thirty per cent left.’

  ‘You’re just telling him what he wants to hear,’ Karizma said as she walked over from the second Tropic. ‘We’ll be lucky if Jesus lets us get halfway to Sarvar before we run out of bioil. What then, eh? What’s your contingency for that, camp commander?’

  ‘If my vehicle team chief says we’ll be there with thirty per cent fuel left, then that’s the information I base my decision on.’

  ‘It’s a guess! A wild, stupid guess. Christ himself doesn’t know how tough it’s going to be out there.’

  ‘Hey,’ Darwin snapped. ‘I’ve had two test drives in a Tropic and one in an MTJ. I know what they’ll be dealing with.’

  ‘You did a circle of the camp. That tells you nothing. Crap on it, we don’t even have a map!’

  ‘The AAV team have drawn up a good chart from the e-Ray data
.’ Jay said.

  ‘Bullshit! It’s barely got a five-metre resolution. And that’s just a gradient plot – we’ve no idea of what your God’s actually hidden under the tree canopy. There could be a million gorges between here and Sarvar. You cannot back up that twenty per cent wish with any real knowledge. We have to stay here.’

  ‘Nobody is coming for us,’ Vance said. ‘And the creature is taking us out one at a time.’ He found it interesting that Karizma had started to blaspheme a lot more when he was around. Presumably a crude attempt to highlight his belief in the hope others would question his judgement. It was easy enough for him to ignore: it wasn’t as if he didn’t have the practice.

  ‘Creatures,’ Ravi said.

  Vance looked up at the pilot in annoyance. ‘What?’

  ‘There has to be more than one. Come on, look at what it’s done to us. It took out Mackay and Juan-Fernando without a sweat. And I knew Juan – there’s no way he’d roll over without a fight. They’re out there, okay, gathering round the camp. One day soon there’s going to be enough that they’ll just walk in here no matter how many Legionnaires are on patrol, or remote weapons we’ve rigged up. You stay right here if you want to, but me, I am leaving.’

  ‘Nobody is staying,’ Vance said firmly. ‘I want these Tropics loaded and ready to leave in three hours. We are driving away with or without any final torque adjustments, understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Darwin said. ‘We’ll be ready.’

  ‘Good. Carry on. Jay, assemble the rocket-launch crew. I want Abellia to know what’s happening.’

  *

  The Aero-Roe corp HA-5060 emergency comm rocket launcher was an oblong box five metres long and two in diameter, sitting on a small trailer. They used MTJ-1 to tow it away from the camp, though drag was a more accurate description. The trailer’s small wheels kept getting stuck in the snow, it was only the MTJ’s power which kept yanking it along. Riding in the cab, Vance got an uncomfortable demonstration of what it was going to be like slogging through thousands of kilometres of the antagonistic frozen landscape. It was almost enough to make him hesitate. But Ravi had captured the essence of everyone’s thoughts. Rumour around the camp was that more than one creature was out there in the snow-clad jungle. Everyone just wanted to get the hell away. Discipline was going to collapse if they didn’t; already the capture mission was effectively over. Even Vance acknowledged just how bad their situation was now. His own strategy was to make it back to Sarvar and then – when the sunspots were over, and the climate returned to normal – another, better-equipped expedition could return to Wukang. For now, the creature had the upper hand. It was an admission Vance hated, but above all he was a realist.