Galactic North

Table of Contents

GALACTIC NORTH

"Reveals [Reynolds’s] essential approach to the whole notion of future history.” —
Locus

"A grandiose, gothic flavor . . . Reynolds is clearly a lover of puzzles . . . Many of the stories collected [here] have a trick at their heart, a revelation that reshapes what has gone before.” —
Strange Horizons

“[
Galactic North
] will provide fans with food for thought.”

—
Edge

“While the settings are classic sci-fi, the stories are character driven and interesting. There is a bit of mystery, the macabre, and the fantastic in each . . . will take you back to the days when Pohl, Clarke, and Niven were new to your eyes.” —
Fresh Fiction

“For the reader unfamiliar with Reynolds’s novels, these stories are a good place to start . . . Those who do know the novels will find even greater enjoyment as they revisit familiar places and meet old friends.” —
SF
Crowsnest.com

“A long-overdue collection . . . written with real energy. This is gothic SF with gore aplenty as Reynolds ensures his taut narratives grip from the first sentence. In his afterword, Reynolds recalls reading Larry Niven’s Known Space stories, marveling at how they built into a detailed future history ‘mosaic.’ With this collection, the same might be said of Reynolds’s work.” —
Titan Books

“A must for anyone who has [read] the novels . . . epic vistas of the
Revelation Space
universe.” —
Best SF

“A very worthwhile collection.” —
Durrants

“Reynolds is the best writer so far discovered in the twenty-first century.” —
Concatenation

PUSHING ICE

“Welding hard SF scenarios to deft characterization to create a wholly convincing vision . . . Arthur C. Clarke in his prime couldn’t have done a better job.” —
SFX

CENTURY RAIN

“Reynolds possesses the true and awesome wide-screen SF imagination . . . an exciting, thought-provoking novel.”

ABSOLUTION GAP

One of the Best SF Novels of the Year,
Locus
One of the Top Ten Science Fiction Novels of the Year,
SF Site

“Cinematic imagery and strong characters ably carry this juggernaut of a story . . . a landmark in hard SF space opera.” —
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

REDEMPTION ARK

Best Science Fiction Novel of the Year,
Chronicle
One of the Best SF Novels of the Year,
Locus

“The best of the new breed of space opera. Wild action on a grand scale spans well-imagined and developed worlds.”

—
The Denver Post

CHASM CITY

Winner of the British Science Fiction Association’s Best Novel Award One of the Best SF Novels of the Year,
Locus
and
Chronicle

“A tightly written story that spirals inevitably inward toward its powerful conclusion.” —
Locus

REVELATION SPACE

One of the Best First Novels of the Year,
Locus

“A very fine novel, well worth reading.”

—
The New York Review of Science Fiction

REVELATION SPACE
CHASM CITY
REDEMPTION ARK
ABSOLUTION GAP
DIAMOND DOGS, TURQUOISE DAYS
CENTURY RAIN
PUSHING ICE
GALACTIC NORTH
THE PREFECT

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

GALACTIC NORTH

Originally published by Orion Publishing Group.

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with Orion Publishing Group

Copyright © 2006 by Alastair Reynolds.

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: Gollancz,
an imprint of Orion Publishing Group,
Orion House, 5 Upper St. Martin’s Lane,
London WC2H 9EA, England.

eISBN : 978-0-441-01600-6

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ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

“You realise you might die down there,” said Warren.

Nevil Clavain looked into his brother’s one good eye; the one the Conjoiners had left him with after the Battle of Tharsis Bulge. “Yes, I know,” he said. “But if there’s another war, we might all die. I’d rather take that risk, if there’s a chance for peace.”

Warren shook his head, slowly and patiently. “No matter how many times we’ve been over this, you just don’t seem to get it, do you? There can’t ever be any kind of peace while they’re still down there. That’s what you don’t understand, Nevil. The only long-term solution here is . . .” He trailed off.

“Go on,” Clavain goaded. “Say it. Genocide.”

Warren might have been about to answer when there was a bustle of activity along the docking tube, at the far end from the waiting spacecraft. Through the door Clavain saw a throng of media people, then someone gliding through them, fielding questions with only the curtest of answers. That was Sandra Voi, the Demarchist woman who would be accompanying him to Mars.

“It’s not genocide when they’re just a faction, not an ethnically distinct race,” Warren said, before Voi was within earshot.

“What is it, then?”

“I don’t know. Prudence?”

Voi approached. She carried herself stiffly, her face a mask of quiet resignation. Her ship had only just docked from Circum-Jove after a three-week transit at maximum burn. During that time the prospects for a peaceful resolution of the current crisis had steadily deteriorated.

“Welcome to Deimos,” Warren said.

“Marshals,” she said, addressing them both. “I wish the circumstances were better. Let’s get straight to business. Warren—how long do you think we have to find a solution?”

“Not long. If Galiana maintains the pattern she’s been following for the last six months, we’re due another escape attempt in . . .” Warren glanced at a read-out buried in his cuff. “About three days. If she does try to get another shuttle off Mars, we’ll really have no option but to escalate.”

They all knew what that would mean: a military strike against the Conjoiner nest.

“You’ve tolerated her attempts so far,” Voi said, “and each time you’ve successfully destroyed her ship with all the people in it. The net risk of a successful breakout hasn’t increased. So why retaliate now?”

“It’s very simple,” Warren said. “After each violation we issued Galiana a stronger warning than the one before. Our last was absolute and final.”

“You’ll be in violation of treaty if you attack.”

Warren’s smile was one of quiet triumph. “Not quite, Sandra. You may not be completely conversant with the treaty’s fine print, but we’ve discovered that it allows us to storm Galiana’s nest without breaking any terms. The technical phrase is a ‘police action,’ I believe.”

Clavain saw that Voi was momentarily lost for words. That was hardly surprising. The treaty between the Coalition and the Conjoiners—which Voi’s neutral Demarchists had helped draft—was the longest document in existence, apart from some obscure, computer-generated mathematical proofs. It was supposed to be watertight, though only machines had ever read it from beginning to end, and only machines had ever stood a chance of finding the kind of loophole Warren was now brandishing.

“No . . .” she said. “There’s some mistake.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Clavain said. “I’ve seen the natural-language summaries, and there’s no doubt about the legality of a police action. But it needn’t come to that. I’m sure I can persuade Galiana not to make another escape attempt.”

“But if we should fail?” Voi looked at Warren now. “Nevil and I could still be on Mars in three days.”

“Don’t be, is my advice.”

Disgusted, Voi turned and stepped into the green cool of the shuttle. Clavain was left alone with his brother for a moment. Warren fingered the leathery patch over his ruined eye with the chrome gauntlet of his prosthetic arm, as if to remind Clavain of what the war had cost him; how little love he had for the enemy, even now.

“We haven’t got a chance of succeeding, have we?” Clavain said. “We’re only going down there so you can say you explored all avenues of negotiation before sending in the troops. You actually want another damned war.”

“Don’t be so defeatist,” Warren said, shaking his head sadly, forever the older brother disappointed at his sibling’s failings. “It really doesn’t become you.”

“It’s not me who’s defeatist,” Clavain said.

“No, of course not. Just do your best, little brother.”

Warren extended his hand for his brother to shake. Hesitating, Clavain looked again into his brother’s good eye. What he saw there was an interrogator’s eye: as pale, colourless and cold as a midwinter sun. There was hatred in it. Warren despised Clavain’s pacifism; Clavain’s belief that any kind of peace, even a peace that consisted only of stumbling episodes of mistrust between crises, was always better than war. That schism had fractured any lingering fraternal feelings they might have retained. Now, when Warren reminded Clavain that they were brothers, he never entirely concealed the disgust in his voice.

“You misjudge me,” Clavain whispered, before quietly shaking Warren’s hand.

“No. I honestly don’t think I do.”

Clavain stepped through the airlock just before it sphinctered shut. Voi had already buckled herself in; she had a glazed look now, as if staring into infinity. Clavain guessed she was uploading a copy of the treaty through her implants, scrolling it across her visual field, trying to find the loophole; probably running a global search for any references to police actions.