“A Gaia singularity event,” Constantine said in awe.
“An appropriate if somewhat crude dictum. Yes, I believe we have defined me in your terms. Congratulations.”
Constantine grimaced, suddenly weary and despondent as the implications became clear. “And we’ve been busy poisoning your environment ever since the day we arrived. Polluting you.”
The Aldred-avatar walked over to the chamber wall and ran the tip of a blade finger gently down the surface. It was almost a caress. “You do it to every world you inhabit. Why single me out for your remorse?”
“Because you’re different, and you know that. You know how we would have reacted if we’d been aware of your existence. Why didn’t you tell us? Why send this avatar ninety years after we opened the gateway?”
“So fast you are, so quick in this tiny little animal body. Can you conceive of nothing outside your own viewpoint? I do not perceive as you do, I do not think at this speed anymore, I do not react in an instant. I did reach out when I sensed that the plants were being polluted and dying—that new cells had come to St. Libra that did not accommodate me. I gathered myself and found the strongest alien thoughts, which are yours: North. So many similar minds were interpreted by me as one. I looked in the mirror to find you, to make me you in your own shape. It is not something I have done often before. The first avatar I brought forth was not entirely successful. It was confused by its existence, not fully understanding what it was, my thoughts and its original human thoughts were in terrible conflict, so it lashed out in a very human way because that was the form it had.”
“The massacre at Bartram’s mansion,” Constantine whispered, aghast.
“Yes: the monster. Changing shape, changing state, is intuitive to me, an ancient ability I imbue the mirror construct with. It chose what to be. That is a part of you: North. What you see before you is a monster born of your own subconscious.”
“Zebediah! The avatar was Zebediah.”
“Yes. Who else is going to preach that humans are an abomination, that they should be banished from St. Libra? Those are my views given inarticulacy by your mind.”
“So what happened to Barclay?”
“Barclay was the first to be killed. After all, there can’t be two Barclays in one universe, now, can there.”
Constantine knew the answer, but he had to say it anyway. It was proof to himself that he was still human despite his myriad improvements and alterations. “The body in the Tyne, that was Aldred, wasn’t it?”
The Aldred-avatar stepped away from the chamber wall. “Of course. Once again, there could not be two. This time, this avatar, is considerably more adept at living a human life. I learned from my mistakes with the last one; our two conflicting thoughts are less antagonistic now. Once I’d considered the alterations, Aldred was mirrored while he was on St. Libra. Unfortunately, he’d gone back through the gateway before I had fully emerged. But Aldred has a lot of what is termed statecraft in matters of security. It was easy for me to follow him through the gateway and lure him to his old girlfriend’s apartment. And his underworld contacts were invaluable in disposing of the body.”
“Why? Why not simply contact us and talk, explain what was going on, what you are?”
“That was my original intent. I, the avatars, were created to understand you, to assess what was happening to the greater me. They would have gone out into your civilization, examined your nature, and allowed me to understand enough to come to a decision. I’d actually started doing that with Aldred, started to build the foundation of a bridge. Then everything changed.”
“What changed?” Constantine asked sharply.
“A weapon. You brought a weapon to St. Libra. I sensed it even though our temporal references are so dissimilar.” The avatar brought its thick arms up as if offering a human prayer. Its blades flexed. “Even here I feel it. It is inimical to me. If you used it I would be broken. Oh, I would still exist, but I would no longer be whole.”
“What weapon?” a shocked Constantine asked.
“A plague, a virus, a pestilence. It is there on St. Libra, an ember burning into my awareness. I have done what I can, as I did once before when another alien claimed my world for its own. I have wished the sun cold so the jungles are frozen, hibernating in safety through the new winter. I have made my world uninhabitable for you, driven so many of you away. This avatar was about to destroy your gateway so there could be no repetition of your violations. That way the weapon itself would remain and ultimately die in the cold.”
Constantine stood up. On his instruction the metamolecules of the reception chamber wall flowed apart, creating an archway.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Clayton demanded.
Constantine ignored him and walked across the soft floor to the unmoving monster. “There must be trust between us,” he told it.
The Aldred-avatar bent its neck forward, presenting its mask-face toward him. Constantine saw it didn’t have eyes anymore, just blank folds of the stony skin where they should have been.
“Constantine North. The dreaming visionary, so Aldred’s father called you.”
“Let me help. It has to be the HDA that developed the weapon, whatever it is. I will get them to withdraw it immediately.”
“They can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It is beyond them now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My other avatar, the first one. It is with the weapon now. The HDA sent the weapon to Camp Wukang with Colonel Elston. Now they are lost somewhere between Wukang and Sarvar. The first avatar has slowly been getting closer to the abomination. It is afraid, as it has always been afraid since the moment of its creation. There are many humans guarding it, and they have weapons. For all our strength and ability, these mirror constructs are not totally invulnerable. So it is eliminating the soldier humans one at a time until the time when none will be left to protect the abomination. Once that happens, the weapon will be gone. All that will remain after that is the gateway. Now I understand the situation, now I am clear on what must be done, that too will be destroyed.”
“How?”
“I will mirror another of you. A thousand of you. A million if that is what it takes.”
“Don’t do that,” Constantine said. “I will close the gateway for you as an act of contrition. I have that ability.”
“You forget, in every respect other than creation, I am Aldred North, and I know Augustine very well. He would not agree.”
“I didn’t say I’d
ask permission
. I said I had the ability to close it for you. A method that doesn’t involve D-bombs or armies of mirror entities. A method that doesn’t involve killing anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because enough people have died. Enough of your jungles and plants have been laid waste. Because we are both alive, and that is such a precious thing. We are different, which is even more important. And for me there is one thing above all that I need from you.”
“What is that?”
“You are not worried by the Zanth. You have the power to damp down a star’s fire. You must have some way to defend yourself from the Zanth, to deflect it from swarming at Sirius. I need to know how you do that.”
“I simply do. The Zanth is … odd, even to me. But it is not infinitely powerful. I wish it away, and it is so.”
“There must be a mechanism, some quantum field manipulation that you employ.”
“I don’t think in those terms.”
“But you used to, and this avatar is a bridge. The transfer of knowledge is simply a question of language, of mathematics. That is a universal constant. Your help would be invaluable. For all our faults, humankind doesn’t deserve to fall before the Zanth.”
“No. You don’t. No life does.”
“Then I will contact the HDA. General Shaikh will listen to me.”
“They made that weapon, they made it with the intent of destroying all native life on St. Libra. They made it
just in case
. Can you imagine that? Preparing for the obliteration of an entire planet’s evolution as a tactical exercise? Can you then imagine the suspicion they will regard me with, a smaller, less aggressive version of the Zanth, yet with the power to extinguish a star. There will always be fear, and because of that your politicians and military will always seek ways to destroy me. You’ll understand when I tell you I don’t trust them.”
“I told the general the very same thing myself a couple of hours ago.”
“Then I will continue to exterminate the convoy personnel myself, and finally the weapon.”
“Please don’t do that, please stop killing people and let me try to find a solution. Once the gateway is closed there will be no more threat to you from Earth or any human. You say you are connected to the other avatar, to Zebediah? Let me talk to it, let me communicate through it directly with my agent in the Wukang convoy.”
“That will not happen.”
“Why not? I can resolve this if you let me.”
“It won’t happen because the first avatar will not listen to me, even though it is me. It hears your words even as I hear them.”
“Then why?” Constantine asked.
“Its original creation process had too many flaws. It has become independent. Ironically, it now is more you than me.”
S
ATURDAY,
M
AY 4, 2143
The crude map harvested from the e-Rays’ reconnaissance data and ancient survey images, then reduced to feature outlines, filled half of MTJ-1’s windshield. The inertial guidance was placing them south of the River Dolce. In real life, Angela was still driving along the Lan, looking for the bigger river they were supposed to merge with. She’d come to hate their navigation system, stupid flawed thing that it was.
All that morning, tendrils of mist had been creeping out of the jungle on either side of the Lan, a lighter coral pink than the carmine snow over which it meandered with organic sinuousness. As the day progressed the jungle’s exhalation closed in on the convoy vehicles until by midafternoon it covered the whole frozen river. The plow blade in front sent up long swirls of the clammy stuff twining with the cataracts of snow it shaved off the surface to make a level track. She could see the vehicle’s wake eddying away on both sides, as if some ocean leviathan was cruising the river.
“Cloud building again,” Paresh said from the passenger seat next to her. He’d swapped with Elston the previous day after they abandoned truck 2, allowing the commander to go back to biolab-1.
Angela had been dismayed by Paresh’s macho tough-it-out antics. But Dr. Coniff had cleared the swap, saying his broken ribs were healing nicely—and he’d never eaten a composition gel meal. He’d spent his days in biolab-2 using his one good arm to help tend the sick rather than resting and recuperating.
She took a quick glance up at the top of the windshield, where the condensation smear never shifted. The cherry-tinted rings had vanished behind some high russet clouds gusting in from the south. Faint green and indigo aurora borealis fronds waved about just below the rumpled clouds. “Not dark enough to be snow,” she said. Her expert weather-lore verdict.
Paresh grinned. Which she had to struggle not to respond to. He was happier than he had any right to be, but she was glad to have him for company again. The only other person she missed having in the MTJ now was Madeleine.
They’d made good headway down the Lan since the last refueling stop. She’d taken a rest from point duty that morning, then swapped with MTJ-2 after lunch. Her only problem this afternoon was the rocks lurking beneath the snow and oily fog that the radar didn’t always expose in time. But then, according to Darwin, if it didn’t stick up above the fog, the rock wasn’t big enough to damage the MTJ. Not that she wanted to put that to the test.
As the fog had engulfed the smooth snow surface of the river, so the slopes on either side had started to build up. Now, in the middle of the afternoon, the convoy was traveling along the bottom of a wide, deep valley smothered with dense jungle. Without the Lan as their highway they would have been crunching forward meter by desperate meter as they had for the first few days. Best estimate put the turn onto the Dolce as the halfway point of their new route, and she knew they’d already used more than half of their fuel. Abandoning the remaining truck would be a good trade-off, reducing consumption in exchange for squeezing the drivers into the other vehicles—there was room now that they’d lost Luther and Mohammed. And there was also the ever-shrinking supply of food, reducing the weight the vehicles had to carry. She wanted to suggest to Elston they fire another comm rocket and alert Sarvar they would need help.
Up ahead the steepish U of the valley wall seemed to be framed by a dark maroon cliff, as if the river turned sharply. Angela frowned. If it curved, then why was that wall directly ahead? And the cliff was vertical rock with scatterings of snow, mainly in shadow from Sirius and the rings shining behind it, which was why it was so dark. Having a world that was all graduated shades of pink and red made visual interpretation difficult. And the flow of fog seemed to cut off abruptly, as if blocked by the distant cliff face—which made no sense. And the radar showed nothing.
Nothing.
Her perspective shifted, abruptly exposing the reality of what lay ahead. “Shiiit!” Angela slammed her foot down hard on the brake. Her hand twisted the wheel throttle sharply; red warning graphics zipped up the windshield as she shunted the axle hub motors into reverse. Her other hand slammed the plow blade lever forward, lowering the point of the V deeper into the snow. Then she was yelling: “Brake! Brake! Brake!” for the ringlink with the other drivers.
The MTJ juddered. A thick wave of snow from the blades curved spectacularly over the bonnet, smacking into the windshield before thudding down on the roof. Traction warnings flared bright amber as the spinning wheels slipped and skidded. The whole MTJ started to slew around, shuddering madly.
Paresh gripped frantically at the dashboard with his one working hand, swearing at the top of his voice. Behind her, Garrick and Omar were clinging to seats and door handles. Angela’s own harness tightened in preparation for a crash, pulling her back in the seat. It was all she could do to hang on to the steering wheel. Her hand hovered over the emergency tire pressure button—she could blow the valves and send the air rushing out to give them an even greater footprint—and most likely shred them from the torque.