Great North Road (123 page)

The MTJ came to a slam-halt, rear tires lifting from the snow before bouncing back down, snow blade wedged deep into the gauge it had carved from the river ice.

“What the fuck!” Paresh cried.

Angela just sat there, heart pumping furiously as she waited for any slipping sensation to manifest. The wipers slid back and forth monotonously, freeing the mass of snow from the windshield. When it was clear she pointed silently ahead with a shaking finger, still too shocked to speak.

Paresh peered forward. “I will be crapped on from heaven’s heights,” he moaned softly.

Everybody came out of the vehicles to look, edging cautiously past MTJ-1 like schoolkids daring one another on. They’d found the junction between the rivers. The Dolce with its vast tributary system extending all the way back to the Eclipse Mountains in the east, which was also joined far upstream by the more northerly Zell, was a truly stupendous flow of water. It had carved a massive canyon through the land, with raw rock walls nearly two kilometers high and an easy kilometer apart at the bottom. That was what Angela had seen and didn’t comprehend. The Lan valley emptied into the Dolce canyon in a waterfall that was three hundred meters wide, and fell for more than a kilometer to the much larger river below.

MTJ-1 had finally come to a stop an entire twelve meters from the edge. The convoy personnel stood there silently on the hard ice in front of the vehicle, watching the fog drift silently downward for several hundred meters before dissipating in the cliff’s tenacious updrafts. The Lan’s waters must have frozen slowly, continuing to run down the rock for weeks in smaller and smaller quantities until the river was finally stilled. The entire cascade was iced up; to the overawed group clustered on top it looked as if the waterfall had instantly succumbed to winter.

Vance exhaled a long breath and silently thanked the Good Lord for sparing them. He looked along the canyon to the east where Sarvar lay. He looked west. There was no variation. The canyon was a mighty scar riven across the land, granting no relief.

“And how—just
how
in your stupid God’s name—do we get down there?” Karizma asked.

Vance had to take a moment to compose himself; his temper was wearing thin under her constant attacks on his faith. “At the lowest point. We’ll send the MTJs scouting both ways along the canyon, see what they find.”

To his surprise, Karizma didn’t argue. He started issuing orders.

The convoy carefully backed up, parking a considered two hundred meters from the top of the waterfall. They refueled the MTJs first.

“I’d like to take my original team with me,” Leif said to Elston. “They’re all in reasonably good shape now. I know Karizma is a pain, but she is competent. If there’s a possible route down she’ll be able to evaluate the equipment we’ve got to see if its feasible.”

It made sense, even though Vance wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. The original team meant Karizma, Davinia, and Erius all in MTJ-2 together, the strongest opponents to the convoy. But even with a full tank, and a couple of reserve bladders on the back, the MTJ didn’t have enough fuel to get them back to Wukang. So he said: “Yes. Good idea.” That left MTJ-1, which he assigned Antrinell, Camm, Darwin, and Josh Justic.

Both vehicles were given a shortwave radio that Olrg had printed before they left Wukang. It was a primitive system, but it had at least a chance of allowing them to stay in touch through the electrically supercharged atmosphere, and hopefully call in a route down if they found one.

“Travel for one day,” Vance told them, “Then come back no matter what. Fuel is becoming critical now. If there is no way down within that distance, we’ll have to turn back.” He watched Karizma as he said it, but with her bundled up in all her layers there was no way of telling how she reacted to that. Just looking at the canyon, she probably thought she’d won. There was no point in triumphalism.

The MTJs left the waterfall camp at five o’clock, pushing through the fog that still slithered out of the snow-clad jungle. They’d have another hour of Sirius’s pink light to travel by. If the aurora borealis returned with its usual strength at night, they might even be able to carry on. No one thought they would, not traveling by aurora and ringlight along the top of a two-kilometer-high cliff.

Almost as soon as the MTJs drove away, thick flakes of snow started to drift down out of the clotted sky, contrary to Angela’s prediction. There was hardly any wind, so the flakes alighted gently on the vehicles and sledges, bringing silence with them and draining the remains of Sirius’s stunted light out of the sky. Headlight beams that were already submerged in the lazy fog couldn’t penetrate far through the flakes. Within minutes of it starting, the snow had obscured the jungle on either side of the convoy.

Ravi Hendrik hated the foul delicate stuff falling around him. He preferred his air clean and thin, up where you could see for kilometers and a planet’s horizon visibly curved, that place where light was bright and white, sending gold shimmers along oceans and clouds alike. It had been so long since he’d flown anything now, and he missed it, missed the freedom, missed the purpose flying brought to his life. He was also badly scared by their predicament, which he didn’t even mind admitting. It would be a foolish man who didn’t acknowledge their situation. If it hadn’t been for the years of training and service he’d put in, he would have been strongly tempted to tell Colonel Elston where to shove his convoy. In that respect he almost admired Karizma Wadhai for her outspoken rebellion as much as he despised her for it. When you were in military service, you followed orders; without that, without discipline, there was only chaos. It wasn’t as if Elston was deliberately trying screw up; nobody could fight the kind of crap St. Libra had been dumping on them ever since they turned up. But in Ravi’s private opinion, the convoy had been the mother of all bad decisions. And he really didn’t like the way they were extended; half their fuel gone, hopelessly inaccurate maps, and a terrain that could throw any obstacle at them without warning.

“I hope they don’t find a way down,” he said.

“What’s that?” Bastian North asked.

“If we can’t get down onto the Dolce, we’ll have to go back. Even Elston will have to admit that.”

“True.”

Ravi and Bastian had partnered up to refuel the vehicles. For all he was one of the weird North clones, Ravi considered Bastian an all-right kind of guy. Yes he was rich corporate management, but out here he got stuck in and helped out. So the two of them had hauled the thick dark hose from the truck sledge over to Tropic-2. As always, it never unwound smoothly, so together they had to go back to the big drum it was wound around and physically turn the thing, clearing frost from the bearings. Not easy when you were wearing as many layers as they were. The exertion made Ravi sweat. Then they’d have a long time standing around waiting for the tank to fill, and he’d chill down, and some of that sweat would start to freeze and chafe.

The fuel icon in Ravi’s grid flashed green, telling him the tank was full. He told his e-i to switch off the pump on the sledge. Bastian twisted the hose coupling, and they locked the Tropic’s cap.

“Just Tropic-3 now,” Bastian said. “Then we can get in and have something hot.”

“If there’s anything left,” Ravi grumbled.

They both took hold of the hose and dragged it across the snow to Tropic-3. Ravi could only just make out the headlights. Snow in fog was such a weird combination. Only on St. Libra, he thought. It would only be a matter of time before the lightning came, no doubt.

His grid showed him the location of the other refueling team—Forster Wardele and Leora Fawkes—over at biolab-2. Jay and Raddon were distributing food rations; and it really was rations now, they were cutting back to one main meal a day. Lieutenant Botin and Atyeo were on patrol, providing cover if the creature attacked. Not exactly a huge confidence booster, but better than nothing.

Ravi waved to Winn Melia and Omar Mihambo, who were sitting out the refueling in Tropic-3. They grinned out through the misty windows, and gave him a thumbs-up. A gloating Omar raised a mug straight out of the microwave. Ravi’s three layers of gloves prevented him from showing Omar a rigid finger.

Up on the Tropic’s roof, the remote machine gun swiveled smoothly back and forth as snow built up on the barrel. Ravi wondered just how much use its sensors would be in such a thick fall. The density was unnerving him. It was perfect cover for the creature. He checked one more time that his holster was open, and that the Folkling carbine wasn’t frosted in, as could happen all too easily in this climate.

Bastian popped the Tropic’s fuel tank cap, and they jammed the hose connector on. Ravi’s e-i linked to the Tropic’s net. The tank was barely a quarter full. His e-i instructed the sledge’s pump to switch on. The icon turned green—not that he could hear it whirring, the atmosphere was so clogged. Even his own streamers of breath were invisible in the mist winding around him.

“I don’t get this,” Bastian said.

“What’s up?” Ravi’s hand immediately went to the Folkling carbine.
Damn, I’m on edge
.

“It’s not filling.”

“Huh?”

“Look. The tank isn’t registering any bioil coming in.”

“The pump’s working,” Ravi responded dumbly. He gripped the hose as tight as he could: Even through the layers of fabric he should be able to feel the vibration of the fuel pumping along. “Nothing.”

“Hell, the hose must be blocked,” Bastian grumbled.

Ravi’s e-i switched the pump off. “It’ll be the valves on the sledge,” he said. “The bladders are all linked, but it was a rush job.”

“Isn’t everything?” Bastian said.

“Let’s check it out.” The two of them tramped back along the convoy vehicles. They were parked in a rough circle again, but not as close as he would have liked, and there were gaps with the MTJs missing. The sledge behind truck 2 certainly looked as if it had been assembled in a hurry. Its simple platform had a framework of thin composite beams fastened together to form simple cubes; two rows of three, and stacked three high. The beams were threaded with pipes, as if an octopus had snagged its tentacles around them. They all led around to the pump manifold where the two hose drums were attached to either side.

When Ravi got there, the whole kludged-up apparatus was dusted with several centimeters of snow. His e-i quested the sledge’s tiny net and pulled the schematic into his iris smartcell grid. A diagnostic produced a matrix of green icons: All the pumps and motors were working. Then he noticed that one of the bladders on the top was completely full, the level that was supposedly emptying into Tropic-3. That was wrong—the bladders were supposed to drain equally from the top down, maintaining the sledge’s balance.

“Hang on,” Ravi told Bastion. “I’ll check that.” He started to climb up the spindly framework, aware of how his weight could pull the whole thing over. The sledges had never looked particularly stable to him.

He got to the top and pulled a small torch off his belt’s Velcro. The bladder’s cap was tight, he had to throw his weight into the twist—then it suddenly turned, and he flipped it open. Ravi hunched over to top of the framework and shone the bright beam into the bladder. “Ho crap, Bastian, it’s empty.”

The net icons in his grid vanished.

Because he was military, because he was alert for danger, because he was nervous about the snow and fog, because he was frightened of the monster stalking them, Ravi reacted instinctively. He pushed his weight forward and pulled his legs up. The top of the sledge was a lot safer than the ground, and
something
was happening.

“Bastian?” he called. “Watch ou—”

But Bastian wasn’t there. Instead, peering cautiously over the top of the bladder framework, Ravi was looking down directly at the monster.

Intuition and training kicked in automatically. He rolled fast, taking himself away from the enemy’s view and range. The sight of those lethal blade fingers extending up toward him was terrifying. Then he felt the sledge framework starting to shake. The damn thing was clambering up the side after him. Instinct again: He rolled fast, which took him over the other side. Falling into the snow. It was harder than he’d been hoping, but the thick blanket was enough to soften his fall. Then he was up and running as fast as he could. He tugged the Folkling carbine out of its holster and fired a burst up into the sky. Somehow the monster had killed the convoy net, just like before back at the camp. Nobody knew where he was nor what was happening. The shots would warn them.

“Find a bodymesh,” he yelled at his e-i. “Link to it.”

“Three detected,” the e-i replied in its annoyingly unperturbed voice. Identity icons appeared in his grid. “Which one would you like?”

“Strongest signal,” Ravi told it. That way the contact would last the longest.

He raced on, knowing the convoy vehicles were behind him, that he was alone out on the river in the pitiful twilight and cloying mist and sound-numbing snow. And somewhere out there was a kilometer-high plummet to oblivion. Trying to work out his bearings -the sledge had been on the side of the vehicle circle nearest the west bank. Theoretically that should mean he was heading for the trees.

“What’s happened?” Raddon asked. “We heard shots.”

“Mine,” Ravi said. “The monster’s here. It got Bastian. I’m outside the vehicles. Don’t know where it is.”

“All right. Stay put. We’ll find you.”

Ravi looked around wildly. He didn’t want to stay put, he wanted to flee. But he knew that was stupid. So he stopped running and crouched down, facing the way he’d just come—or at least what he thought was the way he’d just come. There were no visual clues. Fog and snow had closed his freezing universe down to a few meters. He leveled the carbine along the route he thought he’d taken.

“I don’t know where I am,” he said, not caring how pitiful that sounded.

“Ravi, this is Colonel Elston; Raddon is relaying the link. You must stay calm. We can triangulate on you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ravi moved the nozzle from side to side, mimicking the remote guns on the vehicles. Then he slowly reached up and pulled his goggles down. Icy air stung his exposed skin, and he blinked away the water that came to his eyes. His iris smartcells switched to infrared. The miasma of snow turned green and blue. He strained, watching, waiting.