Great North Road (42 page)

“These shops weren’t here before,” she said as the walked along the vitrified stone. “And those ones over there were still being built. All we had behind the beach back then was stalls, like a market. And I don’t think the promenade was this long, either.”

They stopped and leaned on the black metal railing, watching the stragglers making their way off the beach. “What was it like back then?” Paresh asked.

“Smaller town, obviously. But I didn’t spend much time in this district. I was mainly out at the mansion.” She knew that wasn’t what he was asking for, that he was fishing about her earlier life. The sweet puppy boy that he was, it had been all too easy to twist his hopes to an impossible high of anticipation over tonight. She almost felt guilty about that. And actually, it had been twenty years …

“How was that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She pushed some wisps of hair back from her forehead as she gazed out to sea. “Sorry, I’m not quite ready for that. And you don’t want me to have a fainting fit again. Not tonight.” The promise in the tone was indecent.

“Sure. I can wait.”

“Paresh, I have to ask, what is someone as nice as you doing in the HDA?”

“Hey, we’re the good guys. We defend the human race against the Zanth.”

No you don’t. Not really. Not defend us. Just organize us when the Zanth swarms.
Angela grinned. “My turn: sorry.” She stood up on tiptoes, pressed against him, and awarded a kiss to his lips. A casual kiss. A kiss for a friend. A kiss that went on longer than a friend intended. A kiss that meant more, and so surprised her. He could see that in her eyes when she finally parted. The look that said where this evening was going to end, and that she was rather pleased that it would.

T
HURSDAY,
F
EBRUARY 7, 2143

Dawn brought a thin mist creeping in across the sea to meander around the dunes at the back of Camilo Beach. Saul watched it materialize out of the semi-dark that was a St. Libran night, illuminated first by the pale ringlight, then the dawn’s horizon haze. He was sitting in a chair on the kitchen patio, dressed in a thick white cricket sweater he’d owned for eight years, a pair of long, baggy, cyan-green shorts with sagging side pockets, and ancient trainers. His eyes were red-rimmed and he was frightened someone would see them and ask why he’d been crying. It would be another couple of hours before his family roused themselves, and Emily would realize he hadn’t been to bed that night. Two hours to pull himself together, to get his rampaging emotions under control. To push down the bitterness and hatred at what fate had delivered to him.

The languid St. Libra waves made a constant swishing noise that rolled over the empty sands as the small tide started to turn, bringing the waters back. He thought about it as he stared out at the gray water with its white crests. How easy it would be to take his board out there, to settle down on the comforting warmth of the sea and start paddling. Paddle out and out, set course for Ambrose, or maybe the Dry Isle in the Fall Zone. To leave all this behind, because the strain and shock was going to kill him as sure as drowning in his beloved ocean. And the ocean would be cleaner.

His eyes closed to shut out as much as he could of the world, and breath came down in shudders. He couldn’t do it, of course. All he could see in the nothingness were the faces of his lovely family, frantic faces as the days stretched out and the lifeguard searches were called off. How lost the children would be without him, how Emily would be broken. How they would never know why, never understand. That sad bewilderment would hang over their lives forever, scaring them.

As a husband and father he had responsibilities. It wasn’t that they couldn’t survive what was happening, he just didn’t want it to happen. Not to them. Camilo Beach, Emily, the children, this whole leisurely agreeable life: they were his second chance. Beautiful proof that he’d finally moved on and left his terrible past behind.

But you could never leave the past behind. Not really. Not a past like his. So that was it, time to choose. To walk away from everything, or face up to what was happening and try to work out what the hell to do next. Not a choice really. The only thing he couldn’t work out was how Emily would react. She didn’t deserve this; he’d promised her a decent life away from the misery that had threatened to claw her down from happiness.

Maybe that was the real reason they’d been drawn together. There he’d been, adrift and alone, trying to recover from the horror of his life, the loss and the terrible uncertainty, not truly knowing what to do. A man on auto. And even then drawn to the ocean for whatever it represented, the missing segment of his soul.

Saul had found her on the old town harbor wall after midnight, a hunched figure sitting on the edge. He’d heard the sobbing before he actually saw her. There had been that long moment of indecision, to turn around and leave her, or to do the decent thing. And enough time had passed for him finally to be able to reach out to another human. What with this being Abellia, he basically guessed her story before he even sat down beside her, because when he was settling on the concrete he saw how young she was, how beautiful.

“He kicked you out then?”

Emily turned to face him, cheeks wet with tears. She gave him an uncomprehending look, and burst out crying again.

It was the oldest human story, but one refined by Abellia. Emily was a model at the start of her glamorous career, growing up on New Washington, and her lover was an older, richer man, unveiling the excitement and freshness of his world to her. He’d brought her out to Abellia for an exhilarating fun holiday in the family mansion. That was when she realized what the relationship really was: how she was property, this week’s amusement. They fought, and he didn’t need that kind of shit, not from the likes of her.

“I haven’t even got any clothes,” she sniffled. “He said that as he’d bought them all, they belonged to him. And he wouldn’t fly me back to Highcastle on his jet.”

“Because it costs money,” Saul filled in. “And money is all that sort care about. Cheaper just to leave you here than pay for a ticket. After all there’s no law against it. He’s not the first, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“What do I do?”

Saul could have been truthful, could have told her that someone as young and pretty and female would never lack for anything for long—not if she didn’t want to. That all she had to do was sit in the right bar and smile at men. But then she knew that now—that’s why she was sitting on the harbor wall in the middle of the night with enough tears to create her own high tide.

“I’ve got a spare room,” he said. “You need a bed for the night. And I know it looks like this is the end of the world right now, but trust me, it won’t be so bad in the morning. Nothing ever is. Especially not in a St. Libra dawn, when the sun rises between the sea and the rings.”

She gave him a suspicious, sulky look. “Why would you do that?”

“My own daughter: I’d like to think someone would give her a break if they found her in this kind of state.”

“Really? Where is she?”

“She died, very young. Long story, and full of sorrow. But it’s for the best, or so I keep telling myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” And with that, she allowed him to walk her to his flat in one of the converted harbor warehouses. The whole building was pulled down three months later as part of the developer’s plans to turn the harbor into a swanky leisure complex now that the newer, bigger cargo port had been built farther along the coast. Emily was still with him when they moved into a new apartment complex in Los Geranios valley; by then she wasn’t using the spare bedroom anymore.

Saul never did fully understand why it had happened. There were much better catches than him even among Abellia’s service contract staff, let alone the middle-management types—all of them younger, smarter, richer. But they had something together, and he could actually trust her, which wasn’t something he expected to do ever again. And in one tiny way age acted in his favor: He’d learned enough over the years to recognize a genuine chance at happiness. For the first time in his life, he didn’t blow a relationship.

Until now, he reflected bitterly. But once again, age was on his side, because if nothing else, he’d learned how to be a stubborn little motherfucker over the years. And what happened last night didn’t have to decimate his life and family, not if he just held his nerve.

Saul thought back across the last few hours, carefully reviewing what he’d done and said and heard. None of it was particularly incriminating. Not from a legal perspective. It was Emily he worried about.
If she knew, what would she think?
After all, this was his past life. For twenty years he’d never believed for one second that could ever be an issue.

So … maybe just not tell her. Though she’d know something was up—which he could always blame on Duren coming back into his life.

He nodded slowly, convincing himself it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The shock had dazed him, muddled his thoughts. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and stop acting like a neurotic wreck.
I can do that. I can.

A communication icon expanded in his grid. He studied it for a disbelieving second. “Confirm caller identity,” he told his e-i.

“Duren.”

“He’s got to be fucking joking,” Saul grunted. It was all he could do not to jump up and search around to see if the big man was out there among the dunes spying on him. He took a moment to calm himself—storming in all riled up was never going to be a good idea where Duren was involved.

His hand reached into the keyspace his iris smartcells were conjuring up, twisting the icon. “This is too damn early,” he said.
Attack first, keep your opponent on the defensive.

“I know, man,” Duren replied. “I wouldn’t call unless it was really important, you know that, right?”

“What the hell is important at this time of the morning?”

“We need to borrow your boat.”

“What?”

“Your boat, man.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I wish it was man, really I do, but we need it. Now.”

“What for?” But even as he asked, Saul knew he wouldn’t get an answer, leastways not the real one. His decision was let them use the boat, yes or no. Reason was irrelevant.

“We just want to get out to sea before everyone else. If you release it to us now, you’ll get back home without disturbing your family.”

Bastard! Motherfucking bastard.
But … Duren and Zebediah and Zulah were the perfect way to deflect Emily’s attention. He could get back from the marina and confess how Duren had crash-landed back into his life.

Rueda Marina was at the opposite end of Velasco Beach from the old harbor. With Sirius just starting to shine through the edge of the rings, the marina’s curving concrete seawalls glowed in a bright pink-wash light. This early in the morning, it’d taken Saul barely twenty minutes to drive to the entrance. There were only a handful of cars in the park outside the clubhouse, keen boat owners who’d been out at sea all night. Duren and Zulah were standing beside a big old Renault pickup truck when the Rohan pulled up beside it.

“Man, good to see you,” Duren said, smiling broadly as he gripped Saul’s hand.

Saul gave Zulah a nervous glance. She was wearing wraparound sunglasses, but seemed on edge.
What could put her on edge?
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s just get you in there, shall we.”

“My man.” Duren gestured casually at the fenced-off lawn in front of the clubhouse, with its broad locked gate that led to the wharfs. “Good security here, huh?”

“There are meshes everywhere,” Saul agreed. “The boats aren’t as fancy as most in Abellia, but they still cost.”

“Good. Hate for anyone to steal one.” And with that Duren reached over into the back of the pickup. He lifted out a surfboard bag.

Saul stared at it in growing dismay. The black bag was maybe two meters thirty long—the right length for a board that’d suit someone Duren’s size. But staring at the way it bulged along most of its length, Saul knew there was no way it was carrying a board. Then he saw how even Duren’s muscles were straining from the weight of the bag, veins standing proud from his leathery skin, and the nightmare was complete.
Holy shit, what the hell is in there?

“Let’s go,” Zulah said, carrying a small shoulder bag.

Without a word, Saul walked over to the gate. His e-i confirmed his code with the marina’s network, which checked his biometric pattern with the smartdust woven into the gate and fence. The gate lock clicked, and it slid back.

Duren and Zulah followed him wordlessly down jetty two to the berth where the
Merry Moons
was waiting. The yacht was ten meters long, with a telescoping mast and fully automated sails, which could also be crew-rigged. He’d wanted the children to know how to sail properly, and always regretted how few weekends they actually spent out on the sea.

Duren was sweating from effort as he dropped the surfboard bag onto the wood-ribbed decking. It made a dull
thud
. Not the noise a board would make.

“Thanks, man,” Duren said. “I personally appreciate you loaning the boat and all. I’ll make sure it’s back okay by tonight.”

“Right,” Saul said.

Duren gave the yacht a significant glance with his red-glowing eyes. “The network code?”

“Oh yeah.” He told his e-i to give Duren the network code for the
Merry Moons,
adding silently:
Sorry, girl
. Though right now he didn’t even care if he never saw the boat again. There was nothing linking him to any crime.
The surfboard bag!
Just a man lending some out-of-town friends a boat.
The surfboard bag!
No reason he should ask them where they were taking the yacht while standing where the jetty meshes could see him.
The surfboard bag!
“Take care of her.”

“We will,” Duren said. He opened the main cabin door and vanished inside.

“I’d like you to get me some things,” Zulah said.