“I have to say it’s unlikely,” Aldred said. “All Bartram’s offspring, the 2s, are now quite old. None were born after Brinkelle herself, which makes the youngest of them fifty-one. That means there are no 2Norths on St. Libra that match the victim’s age of midforties.”
“That Bartram’s family has yet admitted to,” Vance interjected. “Vice Commissioner Passam is flying to Abellia today to talk to Brinkelle directly. We may yet have some evidence on that front. After all, Bartram was still sugar-daddying those girls right up until his death.”
“Until anything extra turns up, we run a more thorough check on the 2Norths we do know about,” Sid said. “Chase that imposter theory for me.”
“Yes, boss,” Ari said.
“Dedra and Reannha, I’m going to assign you to the cargo,” Sid told them. “There’s a lot of datawork correlation there, just your field. Start with a review of every piece in our size-bracket and above that came through the gateway in the two weeks prior to the murder, and prioritize those addressed locally. Once you have the item logged, call the company directly for verification that their delivery was intact. And when you do that, talk to a human—I don’t want a smartnet response.”
“Yes, boss.”
“That leaves the rest of us with the most important aspect: the riverside bodydump site. I’ll be leading this part of the investigation personally. We identified eleven possible sites yesterday, which will be examined on an individual basis by one of us. Last night I had each site cordoned off by agency constables. They don’t know why, and they never will. Remember that, please. Ian, Eva, Lorelle, and myself will each take out a forensic team this morning; we’re going to sweep through each and every site to find some evidence of a body being dumped. I cannot emphasize enough how vital this part of the process is. We have got to find this place. Once we do, the rest is standard datawork.”
With the team starting their assignments, Sid went into his office with Vance and Ralph. Through the glass he could see Ian shaking his head in dismay as he grumbled to Eva. Aldred was settling in with Reannha and Dedra, routing them into the Northumberland Interstellar security network.
“I can get Abner taken off if you like,” Vance began. “One call to O’Rouke.”
“Why would I want that?” Sid asked.
“The man can’t even open a file. He’s your chief forensic analyst? Come on!”
“Aye, man, he’s just had his brother murdered. Give him a moment.”
“I can’t afford screwups, Sid. Nobody can, not on this one.”
“There won’t be any. If he doesn’t step up, I’ll kick him out myself.”
“I will hold you to that.”
“We’ll have the bodydump site by this afternoon,” Sid promised recklessly. “After that it’s going to get easier.”
“Explain.”
“The gap itself might not provide any information, but we can still watch who went in and out of it. They can be identified and, better still, backtracked through the city’s meshes. But I’ve got to tell you, Ian has a point. If there was an alien on the loose, then it would have been sighted. This is the age of total digitalization; everything is online always.”
“Uh-huh, and that’s why our politicians are pure and clean, and the world works so well, is it? Because everybody knows everything and there’s no hiding place.”
“I didn’t—”
“There are things going on, Detective, of which you have no idea. Think yourself lucky about that. So now you just focus on your job, and find me some evidence; either that some nut-job has built himself a power suit in his basement and is targeting the Norths, or that we have ourselves one serious trans-stellar crisis.”
“Right.”
Vance studied him for a moment, making a judgment. “I’m heading out to the local HDA base. You won’t see me again, leastways not here. Ralph is your contact now. Clear?”
“Sure.”
“Make it good,” Vance said as he shook hands with Ralph.
Sid let out a long breath as Vance walked out through the office, not acknowledging any of the team as he passed them.
“Sorry about that,” Ralph said.
Sid was mildly surprised to see a sly smile on the man’s face. “Jesus, man.”
“He plays hardass because that’s his way,” Ralph said. “He thinks it shows his strength. He’s right in a way. That’s why he bitchslapped your guy out there. Just making everyone is aware who the top dog is.”
“It isn’t going to earn him any friends here.”
“He’s not looking for friends. And, Sid, neither am I. This has been booted all the way up to General Shaikh himself. You have heard of General Shaikh, haven’t you?”
“Aye. I know who he is.”
“Good. Then you truly understand how critical this situation is.”
“I think I’m getting there.”
*
The HDA maintained a large base close to every gateway on Earth in readiness for a Zanthswarm. Newcastle was no exception. The offices and barracks and primary staging area were situated in the Shipcote district, south of the river, exhibiting the kind of harsh brutalism that even Soviet architecture had eventually retreated from with an embarrassed shudder. Squatting atop the high ground, rigid concrete walls inset with narrow windows and topped by sophisticated sensors looked down on the unruly sprawl of Last Mile below like some stolid medieval castle dominating the hovels of the serfs.
Of course, as every Geordie knew from birth, it was just for show; if St. Libra did ever have a Zanthswarm, the HDA and Grande Europe would simply slam the gateway shut. Nobody was going to dispatch wave after wave of humanity’s finest to defend a world that housed nothing but corporate drones and bunches of malcontents.
Once he was installed in his new standard-military-issue office, Vance stared through the armored-glass window at the crawl of vehicles and even some pedestrians worming out of the end of Last Mile to the huge rectangular concrete burrow that housed the gateway machine. The end that faced Last Mile, the gateway itself, resembled a vertical pool of mist, writhing with silver phosphorescence. Only the upper third was actually visible to Vance, where a metal bridge-like ramp rose up from Last Mile to push its way into the trans-spatial connection, allowing free access to St. Libra. Hidden below the elevated road was the narrow return lane, delivering all arrivals directly to the Border Directorate terminal. But underneath that, and taking up a good half of the gateway, were the twelve massive bioil pipelines that quickly sloped down into the underground tunnels, which led away to storage depots along the east coast and the inter-Europe distribution grid. Billions of euros’ worth of harvested hydrocarbons were pumped through each day, helping to satisfy some of the voracious energy demand exerted by Grande Europe and its settled planets.
Only now, looking at the phenomenal enterprise, did Vance fully acknowledge the scale of responsibility that had settled on him. Protecting something of this magnitude and value from a vague yet persistent alien threat was something he could not, would not, shrink away from. He touched the small pin in his suit collar, rough skin rubbing the familiar outline. “I have looked upon Zanth, and saw the face of the devil,” he whispered. It was the Lord who had brought him and Angela together twenty years ago. He knew that now. That simple encounter hadn’t been fate, because today it had brought clarity to his life.
This
was why he had been born, this was the task his Lord had given him. “I will be worthy, Jesus.”
The aural smartcells embedded in his ears bleeped, communication icons appearing in his grid. He told his e-i to quest the link. The conference screen opposite his desk showed the HDA top-secret logo, which promptly dissolved into General Khurram Shaikh. At sixty-two his hair was a short silver-fox cut atop a round face weighted by stress lines. He was dressed immaculately as always, appearing completely unruffled by the strange event in Newcastle. Vance did his best not to try to work out what time it was at Alice Springs. Part of the mystique surrounding Shaikh was his apparent permanent availability. Rumor had it he never slept; wilder rumor said there were three North-like clones of him working shifts.
“Good morning, Colonel,” General Shaikh said.
“Sir.”
“An eventful night in your part of the world, apparently.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We were beefing up the quantum field sensor coverage around Newcastle anyway, because of the gateway. This adds a sense of urgency to it.”
“Sir, this really doesn’t look like a Zanth event.”
“No. But then we don’t understand the Zanth. And if it isn’t Zanth, then my strategists are assigning St. Libra as the most likely origin of the creature. That’s if it was a creature that did this.”
“It may be a human, a lone psychopath killing off Norths. At least this time we can launch a decent investigation.”
“Yes. There’s a lot depending on the Newcastle police doing a good job. You need to keep the pressure on.”
“It’s being done, sir.”
“Good. In the meantime, my strategists believe the most likely scenario is that the Norths have suppressed the fact that St. Libra does have sentients. That way Northumberland Interstellar was free to develop their algaepaddies. Without them, the company would’ve been bankrupt from building the gateway.”
“I can agree with that. St. Libra is a very big planet, and we are only really familiar with one continent, Ambrose; and nobody’s even explored the western side of that. Who knows what could be skulking around the rest of the world.”
“Exactly. Has the Newcastle murder told us anything?”
“Not a thing. However, the detective in charge is convinced something is out of kilter. The fact that they cannot identify the victim is extremely unusual. Other than that, and the method, I’m not sure …”
“We weren’t sure after the Bartram atrocity, either. And that’s despite what AIA did to that poor girl. Another coincidence to consider, perhaps.”
“That there is never proof is proof? I suppose it makes as much sense as the rest of this. I’d hate to rely on that supposition alone.”
“I know. But there are a lot of factors pushing me to suspect that there is something on St. Libra that has remained hidden until now. We have to know, Colonel; we cannot face two enemies across interstellar space. And this one is different, this one is smart and subtle. It eludes us. And I cannot allow that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unless the Newcastle police quickly provide some very strong evidence that this is a mundane, copycat human-on-human murder, the expedition will go ahead. I’ve always been uncomfortable about St. Libra; there’s too much we don’t know about that world.”
“I’d like to go, sir.”
“Of course. The composition of the expedition is already being negotiated by the major government blocs, everyone is keen to have their presence felt. As it’s St. Libra, that wretched Charmonique Passam will be the official head to keep Grande Europe happy. You on the other hand will be the AIA’s representative, and mine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I wouldn’t thank me if I were you. The responsibility will be enormous. If you discover a threat, you will have to determine right away if it can be tolerated. The Zanth we can do nothing about. Not yet. But this, this seems more physical, more animal. It is an intelligence we can perhaps comprehend. One that operates close to our level.”
“The noble savage.”
“This century’s equivalent, perhaps. And we can’t permit that. Precautions are in place against such a development. Detestable, yes; disgusting, morally bankrupt—all these things, but also essential.”
“I understand, sir. I won’t let you down.”
*
Now it is named Zanthworld 3. That wasn’t always its name. Humans lived on it once. Eighteen million of them. Back then they called it New Florida. A world that was eerily Earth-like, hosting broad continents of lush vegetation and rugged coastlines. Three small moons orbited, creating enchanting dapples of different-colored moonlight at night along with boisterous tides to pound the cliffs. Walking among its trees and skimming across the vast everglades, the first settlers could so easily believe it was Earth itself in that peaceful time after the last ice age and before the rise of mechanized humankind. A time where unspoiled tranquillity reigned.
To a degree that admirable vista remained even after the gateway ushered through the eager people in their hundreds of thousands. The new settlers were proud of their world’s majesty, and did their best not to repeat the hack-and-burn mistakes perpetrated against the old homeworld. Of course, there had to be development to bedrock an economy, something that would give them equal footing with the rest of the trans-stellar states of the United States of America, which even then incorporated three new planets in addition to the original continent back on Earth. But they kept it simple; it was always obvious that this planet’s wealth lay in its land. Farming was its future.
Captain Antrinell Viana still occasionally caught sight of the odd farm building through the tough triple-layer windshield of the excursion rover as it rumbled across Zanthworld 3’s thoroughly alien landscape. The rover he drove was large at ten meters long, with a cabin that served both as living quarters and a lab fitted out with the most advanced analysis equipment available. Right at the back was the decontamination chamber where the HDA research team could suit up before venturing out across the Zanth. Power was delivered from five separate fuel cells, driving individual electric hub motors on each of the triple wheel sets. Puncture-proof tires that stood as high as a man’s shoulder in combination with long gas suspension pistons provided a reasonably smooth ride on the weird surfaces it was designed to traverse. And there was enough redundancy in the drive system to get the rover home if up to 80 percent of the mechanics and electrics ever failed or went offline.
Knowing that, Antrinell could steer along the inclines and curving banks with a reasonable degree of confidence. He’d lost count now of how many missions he’d undertaken on various Zanthworlds in the twelve years since he’d qualified from the HDA academy. Well over a hundred, at any rate. A lot of staff on the deep research teams quit fieldwork after twenty or thirty missions. Depression was the most common reason cited. Coming face-to-face with something so off-scale massive, a genuine irresistible force made real and completely in-your-face, eventually got to people. But Antrinell had his faith to comfort him; like everyone who answered the calling of the Gospel Warriors he believed that Jesus would protect them, that God would ultimately show humans the way to salvation, and that the Zanth would eventually be broken. So he wasn’t intimidated or disheartened by the Zanth; instead he saw it for what it was: hopeless evil arrogance, a cancer upon the glorious universe that God had created for life to flourish. By being here, by testing and experimenting, by discovering the Zanth’s secrets, he was undertaking God’s true work.