Great North Road (74 page)

For once Sid actually felt sorry for the chief constable. He wasn’t too certain where this latest development was going to leave him, either. “Ralph Stevens called me this morning, sir,” Sid said. “We should be getting Ernie Reinert back tomorrow.”

“The poor bastard’s still alive, huh?” O’Rouke asked.

“Apparently. Stevens said they had some helpful information for us to follow up.”

“The name of the murderer?”

“No sir, he was clear about that. But at the very least he should have the apartment that Reinert collected the body from. Once we have that, forensics should be able to move us forward. I’m going to get a team from Northern Forensics put on standby. I want their top people on it as soon as we know.”

“Aye, good call,” O’Rouke said. “You know, those HDA accounts bastards have been in touch. They’re ready to process our first batch of invoices.”

“That’s, er, good, sir.”

“Too bloody true. This almighty dogturd can’t get flushed out of my city fast enough.”

Sid and Ian exchanged a look. If they were going to raise their suspicion about Sherman’s involvement, this was the time.

“Our procedures actually worked, sir,” Sid said. And he couldn’t help noting the tiny flicker of relief on Ian’s face.

O’Rouke chortled. “First fucking time, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You boys have done well. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Lanagin, you should maybe think about your next grade exams. I know a couple of people on the board I can have a word with.”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll consider that.”

Sid assumed that Ian’s impending promotion was O’Rouke’s way of saying he’d keep his part of the bargain to bump Sid to grade five. That was the thing about the Chief Constable, Sid reflected: You never quite knew if he was shitting out metaphors or not.

Sid’s audio smartcells chimed loudly. At the same time his iris smartcells shone a bright blue icon into the center of his visual grid: a universal code blue. All government employees were to activate emergency civil control plans. Police leave was suspended. Officers were to report to their station commanders.

“Holy shit,” O’Rouke spat.

“You don’t know what it is?” Sid asked.

“Not a fucking clue. That fucking mayor, he loves keeping me out-stream. Bastard shit.”

They hurried out of the control room. Sid told his e-i to sweep the news sites, legitimate and unlicensed, to find the biggest GE-related story. Fragments of news immediately came worming out of icons in his visual grid.

GE Border Directorate announces temporary suspension of traffic through the Newcastle gateway.

Amateur astronomer Rozak Ueu, a Highcastle resident, releases pictures of Sirius two minutes after sunrise. Abnormal sunspot activity visible.

Northumberland Interstellar issues a confirmation that bioil flow from St. Libra will remain constant.

Highcastle city council declares that it will seek to officially confirm the sunspot reports.

HDA Brussels headquarters denies the sunspot activity is linked to a Zanthswarm.

Sid’s heart went
thud
at that one.

Jacinta called as he got through the door of Office3. “We just got a major situation notice,” she said. “We’ve just been put on high-casualty incident standby. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know for sure. Something to do with sunspots on St. Libra.”

“Sid, what are sunspots?”

“No idea. Look, pet, we’ve just gone to code blue ourselves. I’ll call as soon as we know anything real.”

“What about the kids? Should I get them home from school?”

Sid checked his time display: ten forty-seven. “Not yet. Look, I’ll know first if anything big breaks. Probably. I’ll call you.”

“What’s happening?” Ian demanded as soon as the blue seal came on around the door.

“Nobody knows,” Ari said. He pointed at the wallscreens. Reannha was using their network to skim news sites with an AI filter. Studios and reporters were flipping up at stroboscopic rates. One image froze.

“There,” Abner yelled.

Sid stared at the screen. It was TyneScan-5, a local news office that normally dealt with business and finance in northeast England. Their smartly dressed reporter was standing on Kingsway in Last Mile, with her back to the gateway. The road beside her was clogged with stationary traffic. People were climbing out of their vehicles to clump together and talk in low urgent tones. Immigrants on foot were hesitant, not walking forward eagerly as they usually did toward their private vision of utopia. It was as if they could all see some kind of storm ahead that remained invisible to TyneScan’s camera.

“Let’s have some volume,” Ian said.

“… the outbreak of sunspot activity remains unconfirmed because there are no real space-based instruments in the Sirius system,” the reporter said.

“Sunspots?” Eva asked incredulously. “This is all because of sunspots?”

Sid quietly told his e-i to access a summary of sunspots.

“Sunrise in Highcastle was twenty-three minutes ago,” the reporter said. “So we’re expecting some verification over the next couple of hours. The city authorities are appealing to all amateur astronomers to get in touch with them.”

“What the hell is going on over there?” Sid asked.

*

It was shaping up to be a beautiful morning. The hazy splendor of the rings, dominating the night sky with their ephemeral silver shimmer, faded into submission as the intense blue-white light from Sirius slipped over the rim of the giant planet. Sharp monochrome splinters prised their way through the muggy air in the valleys to surge across the jungle, sparking against the heads of the enormous metacoyas and bullwhips and vampspires that spiked up from the rumpled eau de nil landscape. Leaves on the smaller trees and vines glistened and sparkled as the remnants of the night’s raindrop effervesced, exhaling a tender mist that softened the light’s impact as it rushed across the flatlands and swamped Wukang in a warm gold hue. Mountainside streams shivered in platinum ripples as they cascaded their serpentine way down to the lakes and tributaries that drained the land.

Sitting at the edge of Wukang’s big mess tent—unshaven, eyes rimmed with flesh stained red from sleeplessness—Vance Elston glared right back at the majesty of an alien sunrise. The Folkling carbine was cradled on his lap, one hand resting with deceptive lightness on its stock. A pleasant warm breeze stirred his matted hair, and he took a deep breath. Grimacing straight away. The air was heavy with a salty citrus smell. Reluctant familiarity told him it was honeyberry spore, spewing up from the underside of the swollen, bronze leaf tips. At least that invader was one his senses could register.

He straightened his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness the night’s vigil had bequeathed as he squatted for hour after hour in the same place, staring ignominiously out into the hostile, gloaming-claimed territory of his own command. The Legionnaires who had ringed the mess tent with him to perform all-night sentry duty were also stirring as Wukang became visible again.

The birth of a new day made him take a fresh look at the camp. Vines were growing up tent guy ropes and twining around the pallet stacks. Even the compacted soil and stone of the short runway was starting to green over, with clumps of tough moss and tufts of grass sprouting up. St. Libra was already reclaiming the niche humans had arrogantly thought they’d secured for themselves.

“Dear Lord, forgive us our trespasses,” Vance muttered. “And grant me wisdom this day.” He crossed himself.

Behind him, the rest of Wukang’s surviving forty-eight personnel were starting to rise from the floor and chairs where they’d spent the night. Some had slept. Vance guessed most hadn’t.

Antrinell came over, looking worried and uncertain. “Morning, sir.”

Vance gave him a gruff nod. “I want Lieutenant Botin and every department head together for a briefing in ten minutes. We’ll hold it in the maintenance garage. Legionnaire squad to confirm it’s a clean area first.”

“I’m on it.”

“And get the cooks to start breakfast. We’re going to need it.”

“Can people go back to their tents?”

“No. The whole camp has to be searched and secured first. We need to be certain that thing has gone.” He gave the ablutions block a sympathetic glance. “The Legionnaires can verify the latrines are clear first.”

“Sure. So it’s real, then?”

“Did you check with the Legionnaires for me?”

“Yes.” Antrinell lowered his voice. “She was in the tent with half of Paresh’s squad at the time Coombes was attacked.”

“Thank the Lord for that.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ve been checking in with Griffin Toyne and Vermekia on an hourly basis. They agree with me, now that we’ve confirmed hostile activity in this area Wukang should be expanded and upgraded to a military operating base. The time for science is over. We’ll bring in more Legionnaires and start hunting properly. Until then we secure the runway. And stop getting killed.”

“The MTJ?”

Vance shrugged. “I have no proof. I suspect they did it, because right now I’m not giving anyone the benefit of doubt.”

“Okay, I’ll get things moving.”

Vance watched as his orders got kicked down the chain of command. Two teams of Legionnaires were dispatched, one to the latrines, the other to the garage. Cooks and ancillary staff fired up the ovens and microwaves. Food trays were heated, tea and coffee urns filled. A queue formed. It was almost normality.

Vance coughed. The scent of spores was a lot thicker this morning, agitating the back of his throat. He called Griffin Toyne again and confirmed they’d made it through the night.

“We’d like the body back in Abellia for examination,” the major said.

“It’s in our clinic. I’ll get the doc to prepare it for cold transport.”

“And nobody saw anything?”

“As soon as we restore full net function we’ll review the mesh logs. But don’t hold your breath.”

“You said the camp’s net failed after the attack?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So that means our alien got through the perimeter sensors without being detected?”

Vance was starting to appreciate what it was like being an interrogation subject who had plenty to hide and avoid. The irony wasn’t pleasant. “It must have, yes.”

“Any theories how it did that?”

“Not one, no.”

“On the other hand, Angela Tramelo was already inside the perimeter.”

“Her whereabouts were verified. First thing I did. She was with four Legionnaires at the time Coombes was killed.”

“Okay. But it’s been commented on that’s she’s always in the area. No other camps have been attacked.”

“Was she in the Newcastle area back in January?” He surprised himself by the amount of anger behind the question.

“I’m on your side, Vance. We’re just saying, that’s all. But consider this: If it was her who wiped out Bartram North and half his mansion, then she probably had help, an associate of some kind—who’s never been caught. That was a specialist-built weapon, after all, and it was never found. So as far as we’re concerned she is still very much on probation.”

An associate?
He could almost hear Vice Commissioner Passam saying it, her slick political questions aimed at the Right Places, casting doubt and undermining facts. She could almost rival him when it came to disinformation techniques. “I understand perfectly. We’ll watch Tramelo.”

“Thank you. I appreciate how difficult it is out there.”

“How long before we get our additional Legionnaires?”

“HDA has already issued a deployment order to the Paris barracks. Two hundred troops plus equipment. They’ll be through the gateway today. So we estimate we’ll be able to start airlifting them from Sarvar to Wukang by Friday latest.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get all the backup you need. I heard General Shaikh has already been briefed. He was the one who signed off the Paris troops for you. They’re taking this very seriously back home where it counts.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Stay alive, Vance.”

“Wasn’t planning anything different, sir.”

The secure call ended, and he let out a long breath. The relief that more Legionnaires were on their way was profound. He’d need to announce that fast. Morale could do with a boost. But Passam trying to corrupt the dataflow was trouble he didn’t need.

A tall cardboard cup of coffee was held in front of him.

“Thought you could do with this,” Angela said.

“Thank you.” He took it from her and drank the hot liquid down. Instant, with milk granules, and microwaved. For some reason it tasted great.

“And thank you,” Angela said.

“For what?”

She sat on the corner of a trestle table. “For trusting me. For not handcuffing me to the central tent post for the night.”

“Yeah, well …”

“I guess Leora and Atyeo were convincing when Antrinell asked where I was,” she said with a sly smile.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?”

“I keep my eyes open. So did you ask your bosses about Barclay?”

“He’s alive. He’s Zebediah now. That’s official.”

“Interesting. Why would the Norths concoct that fantasy?”

“I thought you’d be … not happy, but certainly relieved. The monster is real. You’re in the clear.”

“And you splashed that right into the news streams, did you?”

“We need to get things in order first.”

Angela laughed bitterly. “That’s the HDA I know and love.” She took a deep breath, then frowned, searching around.

“What?” he asked.

“That cinnamon smell, that’s rubystick; and there’s hayneleaf in there as well, some other scents I don’t recognize. No mint, though, thankfully.” She held up a pair of binoculars she carried on a strap around her neck. The lenses rotated automatically. “Holy crap it, that whole patch of ground is on the move. I’ve never seen that many milliseeds together before, there must be thousands of them. It’s like the whole jungle is sporing all at once. Why do you think it’s doing that?”

“I’ve no idea. Is it relevant?”

“This many coincidences bother me.”

“Go talk to Marvin. Seriously, I’m paranoid enough right now. I don’t need it making worse. Find an explanation.”