The Curve of The Earth (27 page)

The vice premier made a non-committal noise in his throat like a grunt. “And you do not know what it was that fell?”

“Our best assumption was that it was one of your birds. Which you may or may not have fitted with a nuclear fail-safe.”

“Putting nuclear weapons in orbit would violate several treaties to which the People’s Republic is party.”

“Yeah. It would, wouldn’t it?” Petrovitch unclasped his hands from in front of his body, and reclasped them behind him. It was only an avatar: it would do what he told it to do, but he was desperate to start waving his arms around like a demented windmill.

[Face, Sasha. Do not make him lose face.]

“I don’t care about his face.”

[But you do care about Lucy.]

“It might be better to assume,” continued Zhao, “that we would therefore not walk that path.”

Petrovitch looked at the flag, the desk, the shaded window. “If we were to make such an assumption, it leaves the Freezone with an interesting problem.”

“How so, Doctor?”

“There are only a few countries or blocs with the required lifting capacity to get that sort of mass into orbit. We’ve done a lot of analysis in the past couple of days, and we’re pretty certain we can account for most, if not all, of the existing satellites. Yours, we’re not so sure about.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s a compliment. You’ve got the knowledge to put a hundred metric tonnes into space, and the means to do it reliably and regularly. You’ve got a Moon mission planned for next year. Even I’m excited about that.”

Zhao permitted himself a brief smile. “I am eagerly anticipating the event myself. But to return to the matter in hand: China is not in the habit of putting nuclear weapons on board peaceful space missions.”

“So does that mean you’ve broken the habit, or this wasn’t a peaceful mission? Because the Yanks were really keen to take out whatever it was.”

[Oh, Sasha.]

“What? What did I say?”

Michael’s own avatar shook his head sadly, and Petrovitch was left to make his apologies.

“Apparently I’ve spoken out of turn, Vice Premier. I regret that.”

Zhao was listening to the voice in his ear: Petrovitch recognised the gesture, the slight faraway look, the angle of the head. Whatever it said seemed to have an immediate effect. His face softened from an impassive mask and he leaned forward slightly: the height of informality.

“Dr Petrovitch, the satellite in question was not ours. We would very much like to learn whose it was.”

“That’s… interesting,” said Petrovitch. “Do you think it was American, and they used it for target practice?”

“It is possible. It is worrying enough that SkyShield has the capacity to target and then destroy satellites. It is more of a concern that they feel the need to demonstrate this now, in plain sight.”

“There’s an awful lot that scenario doesn’t explain, though. Like
why they’re trying to find my daughter without actually looking like they’re trying to find her. Why she ran in the first place. Why they’ve moved enough military hardware on to the North Slope to conquer a small nation. As an explanation, the US testing an anti-satellite weapon blue-on-blue just doesn’t cut it.”

“Do you have an alternative explanation?”

“No. There’s something big we’re all missing. Something big enough that they’re prepared to move heaven and earth to cover it up.”

“The People’s Republic would be suitably grateful for any information the Freezone might provide.”

Petrovitch unconsciously scratched at his chin. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel his stubble. “You wouldn’t be jerking my chain, would you?”

Zhao frowned briefly, and listened again to the voice in his ear.

“Dr Petrovitch, I appreciate that the People’s Republic natural desire to protect its national interests has been interpreted less than favourably by some in the past. However, in this matter, I am being completely candid. The satellite was not ours. We do not know who it belonged to, or who launched it. We do not know the significance of the attack. We are concerned, but our private enquiries have met a wall of obfuscation and denial from Washington.”

“Yeah, I know the EU has just had a meeting – nothing public, but the head honchos descended on Brussels a couple of hours ago. The Canadians? They know roughly what we know, but they’re not going to mobilise against the US now or ever. Brazil and India and South Africa are aware of the problem.” Petrovitch stopped, then started again. “This isn’t sounding good, is it?”

“The whole world has grown to rely on satellites, Doctor: for
communication, navigation, surveying, surveillance. Consequently, it is vital that the Americans do not gain a monopoly in space. It is regrettable, but we would be willing to insist on our rights using all and every means at our disposal.”

“You’re not going to invade California any more than I am, Vice Premier Zhao.”

Zhao’s lips disappeared as he drew them tight. “Yet that option remains. Since there are many more of us than there are of you, I believe our chances of success would be higher.”

“
Chyort
. Can I ask what sort of timescale you’re thinking of?”

“We require answers, Doctor. We are willing to wait for those answers – providing there are no further attacks.”

“And if there are?”

“Our response will be proportionate.”

“And immediate?”

“As you say,” said Zhao. “We have given this message to the American ambassador, who accepted it without a word of comment. In the circumstances, I felt that you should be told of this also.”

“That’s something you didn’t have to do. Part of me knows you’re only doing it because it suits your interests, but thanks all the same. It’s better to know stuff than not.”

“As ever, Dr Petrovitch, you are wise beyond your years.”

“Wise? I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my time, but not that. Normally, I do stupid things impulsively, then try and pretend that’s what I was going to do all along.”

“It has worked in the past. It may yet work again.”

“Yeah. You’ll be saying we live in interesting times next.”

“We are, Doctor. We are.” Zhao stood and bowed. “Perhaps we will speak again before long. Until then, I wish that your search is both short and successful. My regards to your wife.”

Petrovitch’s avatar bowed at the waist. “And to yours.”

The connection closed. He found himself back in the cockpit, staring out over the fields of ice and snow below him. Beside him, Newcomen saw him shift.

“What did they say?”

“Too much. Too little. Who knows?” Petrovitch scrubbed at his cheeks. “They’re swearing blind the satellite wasn’t theirs. But that if it happens again, they’re going to retaliate. They called your ambassador in to tell him as much.”

“We don’t like being threatened.”

“Again, the automatic reversion to ‘my country right or wrong’. It’s just a bit wearing and not a little strange, considering what your country has done to you.”

“Someone will make it right,” said Newcomen. “Someone has to.”

Petrovitch closed his eyes and shook his head. “This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t some rogue FBI cabal going off the reservation. This is meant. You’re holding your opinion despite the evidence, not because of it.”

“I know it looks bad…”

“
Yobany stos
, man. When this started off, I thought you couldn’t be bothered to look for Lucy because of her surname. Now I’m attempting to stop the first war to be fought in Low Earth Orbit. And believe me, it may start there, but it won’t end there.” He opened his eyes again. There were lights in the far distance, red signals high off the ground, white ones beneath them. Almost there. “We need to do this, and do it quickly. It’s not just about her any more.”

They flew in low over Deadhorse. It was a town there for one reason only, and that reason was becoming increasingly irrelevant. It was kept going because it was important that it wasn’t abandoned. That was all.

“Ten years ago I gave you the means to produce all the energy you wanted, simply and cheaply. The world’s awash with oil, and yet you’re still up here, doing it the hard way.” Petrovitch circled one of the drill rigs, hidden inside its insulating tower. There was another half a k away, and another beyond that. The whole landscape was punctuated with these strange monoliths, grey and glowing in their arc lights.

“It’s commerce,” said Newcomen. “Part of the strategic reserve, too.”

“It’s not commerce. Do you know how much of a subsidy ARCO get for simply being here?”

“No, I…”

“Ask your link. The guys down at Dawson have their own
fermenter that knocks out methanol at cost.” Petrovitch turned the nose of the plane back towards the airport. “It’s stupid to keep on doing the old thing when the new thing is so much better.”

“Don’t you think you lose something when you reject the past?”

“You mean like retrofitting DNA and growing babies in artificial wombs?”

Newcomen was silent, and Petrovitch snorted.

“Compared with you, I’m virtually normal.”

“Just… just land, will you? I’m not in the mood.” Newcomen turned his head away. “I assume there’s things like hot showers and hot food down there?”

“There’s a hotel. The Caribou. It even has cable.”

“And they’re expecting us?”

“We’ve had reservations for days.” The runway lights lined up in two lines, pointing to the horizon. “We’ve a show to put on, and I hate disappointing my public.”

Other airports of comparable size would have had a drift of light aircraft on the apron, but in the far north, the weather was hard on airframes. Instead, there was a row of hangars, each one big enough to hold a wide-bodied jet.

He contacted the tower for permission to land. It was a formality: they weren’t going to say no, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Everything was converging on this point: none of them had any room for manoeuvre. He almost felt sorry for the spooks, consigned to the near-perpetual darkness. He was guessing that most of them had no idea why they were up in the frozen north. The more of them that knew, the more likely there’d be a leak that’d get picked up by the Freezone’s data miners.

The required permission came, nevertheless, along with a hangar assignment. Petrovitch dropped the plane on to its wheels and steered it towards the opening doors. Inside the hangar, it was bright and full. There were only a couple of bays that were still vacant, all the others taken by functional light transports bearing the ARCO livery.

He applied the brakes when he was within the yellow lines, and cut the power. As the turbines wound down, the heavy gears that closed the external doors cranked into life.

Still Petrovitch sat there, staring at the blank wall in front of him.

Newcomen unbuckled his harness, but Petrovitch wanted to wait for a moment, to savour the tension in the air.

“Can you feel it?” he asked. “It’s here. Everything’s just fallen into place – us, them, Lucy. The game’s ready to begin.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is. Just because we’re all going to die doesn’t mean that we’re not playing. Your lot have the advantage: you hold all the cards bar one. But I’ve gambled more on less.”

“At least I’ll die clean and fed, then. But not warm.”

“Don’t be petulant. Perhaps it does suit you, but I don’t have to listen to it.” Petrovitch hit his own buckle and shrugged the straps away. “Believe it or not, it’s actually warmer outside than when we were in Canada. Snow’s due in the next twenty-four hours.”

He called for the door to open and the steps to lower. On the way, he scooped up his bag. He was half expecting a welcoming committee: cold-hearted killers, bright-eyed analysts, pipe-wielding heavies. Waiting to impress on him the importance of his mission, the urgency of it all. Find her, they’d say, you know you want to.

And he did.

But there was no one. They were alone in the hangar, with nothing but cold still air to greet them.

“Isn’t it about now someone says that it’s too quiet?” asked Newcomen. He was fastening his parka unbidden, and Petrovitch thought that there might be some hope for the man.

“Only if they’re in a bad detective movie.”

“And we’re not?”

“Different kind of movie altogether.” Petrovitch’s mouth twitched. “We have to check in, then we’ll do a tour of the sights.” He reached out and patted the fuselage. “Need some more fuel for the bird.”

He trotted to the bottom of the steps, and strode out across the hangar, looking back briefly. His borrowed plane was like a swan compared with the bulky ARCO service models. It was going to be a shame to lose it.

There was a human-sized door inset into the main motoroperated door. He opened it up and stepped outside. It might have been a few degrees warmer, but it was still double-digit cold.

Newcomen closed the door behind him, and they walked together towards the distant buildings. Somewhere under the ice were roads, and maybe they could have arranged a transfer to the hotel, but Petrovitch wanted the time to talk.

“This place will be wired, completely. Anything you say or do will be recorded in half a dozen different ways, right down to the volume, velocity and composition of your farts. Almost everyone you meet – who’s not an Inuit – will be a plant, and then some of them, too. There’s been a wholesale rerostering of ARCO employees: ringers with fake resumés straight out of central casting are in, regular Arctic workers out.”

“Won’t the company’s profits suffer for that?”

“The chairman of ARCO is so thoroughly Reconstructionist, I doubt he’d think twice about making the whole outfit a CIA front.”

“So, what? The whole town’s populated by secret agents?”

“I wouldn’t call it a town, but yeah. That gives us a surprising degree of latitude.”

“How so?”

“Ever seen
Westworld
?”

Newcomen frowned. “Don’t think so.”

“Made in the seventies. It’s about a special theme park, populated by robots, that rich people can visit to fulfil all their wanton, hedonistic desires. Fight, kill, have orgies, the lot. End of the day, the staff just clean the robots up and get them ready for the next bunch of tourists.”