Great North Road (23 page)

“And how will that help?”

“First to see if anyone got in or out, and where it went. But more important, once we have its time and location fixed, we can read the license code off the city traffic register. Now, they probably kept changing it; that would be part of their fix program. But if they did we’re looking for a taxi whose electronic code entered the area around Elswick on Sunday evening and never left. It’s a target to us as sure as keeping the same license code. Once we have that, we’ll be able to visually backtrack it to wherever it picked the body up. And when we have that, we crack the case wide open.”

“Sounds like a big task. You can do that?”

“Aye, man; we just construct a virtual of the entire city for Sunday evening. Every smartdust mesh, every spectrum, every road macromesh; sling it all together in an AI and watch our own history play out in hi-rez detail.”

“In the station’s zone theater,” Elston said in a neutral tone. “Impressive.”

“Expensive.” Sid shrugged.

“Quite.”

“My team is already on it. I told them to start this morning.”

“And yet we still don’t know the identity of the murdered North,” Ralph said.

“I have to ask why not?” Elston said, looking directly at Aldred. “You keep promising full cooperation.”

“It’s one of us who was murdered, of course we’re cooperating.”

“Not an A,” Elston said. “And probably not a B. Apparently Brinkelle is as concerned about this as Augustine. That just leaves us with Constantine’s sons.”

“He says no.”

“You need to ask again. Ask hard.”

“I’ll tell my father to make the point.”

“Thank you. Sid, what about the cargo routes through the gateway?”

Sid did his best not to wince. He wondered if Elston already knew about him shouting at Ari that morning. Everything else in the office had gone so smoothly, he’d been thrown by Ari messing up and probably overreacted. “Seventy percent of the companies receiving freight in the designated period have responded to our inquiry. Their shipments were all intact, none were empty or had anything missing.”

“And the rest?”

“Ari is finishing the list. They’ll be called today.”

“So we don’t know yet how it got through?”

“Aye, not yet.”

“And I don’t think that’s where our main focus is being applied,” Ralph said.

Sid gave him a startled look. He was cross with himself for trusting the liaison officer. Politics at this level was deadly, and he’d allowed himself to be fooled by a pleasant attitude and apparent support.

“Go on,” Elston said.

“Sid is quite right. The taxi indicates a professional criminal gang familiar with the city. Not an alien.”

“The method is identical,” Elston insisted. “A five-bladed hand.”

“Yes, but it is the only connection. Nothing else. As evidence goes, that’s circumstantial at best.”

Now Sid understood why they were having this conversation in Elston’s office, and away from any official log. The expedition was becoming a juggernaut, with politicians and HDA officers adding their weight. Whoever slammed the brakes on now was going to get crushed into the bedrock never to be seen again—not by any employer.

“Something unknown is targeting the Norths,” Elston said. “HDA has to know what.”

“I understand. But you must be prepared for the taxi connection to lack an alien component.”

“Fair enough. I’ll inform my superiors.”

So in the end, that’s what it all boiled down to. Everyone covering themselves. Sid might have laughed if he weren’t so busy trying to estimate his own exposure. Finding a gang that had bumped off a North ought to be protection enough. Surely?

“I’ll take you back to the station,” Aldred said when they reached the base’s car park.

“But …” Sid gestured at his own car.

“One of my people will take care of it,” Aldred said. So Sid watched in bemusement as a suited aide got out of the black Mercedes and trotted over to the police car.

“What now?” Sid asked as the Merc’s passenger doors folded down and the auto took them out of the base. There was a lot of traffic coming in through the gate, Sid noticed, just as there had been yesterday. He’d been so sure a positive result on the case would protect him, but all those people and equipment arriving for the expedition made him feel vulnerable again.

“Don’t panic,” Aldred said. “He wants to see you, that’s all.”

“Who?”

“Augustine.”

“Oh, crap on it.”

The Merc took them to some big office tower in Westgate, one of a dozen owned by Northumberland Interstellar in the city. There was a helicopter waiting on the roof pad, contra-rotating blades already turning idly.

“I don’t even know where Augustine lives,” Sid said as he settled back into the cabin’s surprisingly comfortable seat.

“It’s not far,” Aldred promised.

The helicopter’s soundproofing was excellent, and Sid could barely hear the turbines as they powered up. Then they lifted smoothly, and immediately banked, curving around to head north. After that his sense of direction gave up. He tried looking through the window, but the fog was still cloaking the city. Flying through impenetrable mist was ten times worse than driving through it.

“I have a favor to ask,” Aldred said.

Sid was glad of the excuse to concentrate on the cabin again. “Aye, man, this is my season for handing them out.”

“Don’t worry, you’re coping remarkably well. I’m rather looking forward to a virtual of the entire city. Has it ever been done before?”

“No. They ran a virtual of the whole Byker district four years ago for the Eiricksson case—that’s the biggest we’ve ever done.”

“Anyway. I’d like you to ease off on Ari.”

“He ballsed up. He was supposed to compile a complete list of importers.”

“You switched him around from finding the body’s identity. That office is spinning so fast it’s confusing.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Sid, he’s a 3.”

“What!”

“He’s a 3.”

“But …”

“Everyone prejudges us at the best of times. You’re all very prejudiced toward the 3s.”

“I resent that.”

“You automatically assumed Ari was a 2. Why? Simple enough, you were sure a 3 wouldn’t be capable of any meaningful detective work. This whole city knows for sure that 3s aren’t the smartest, it’s a rock-solid urban myth. In reality, the replication errors are never the same. Ari is one of the good guys, Sid, he’s doing the best job he can, and trying to shield himself from additional prejudice at the same time.”

“Is he your son?”

“No.”

“Crap on it. Okay, I’ll try not to be such a bastard.”

“Don’t let him off completely. I don’t want positive discrimination, that’s the worst you could do. Just, understand, that’s all. He’ll get there in the end.”

By the time the helicopter flew out of the fog they were north of Newcastle. Sid saw what he thought was Alnwick—easy enough to recognize the huge old castle on the edge of town. They were descending by then.

The land was wilder here; a lot of farms had been sold on to land investment companies that were quick to milk money from GE naturalization schemes, allowing the hedges and meadows to revert. They flew over deep valleys and wooded slopes, the coastline just visible on one side while the hills rose up toward the west. Their destination was never in question: a mansion set in extensive grounds with a meandering stream and two lakes separated by a waterfall—all frozen. The whole expanse was surrounded by a thick barrier of trees, guaranteeing privacy from anyone on the ground. You could walk by without ever knowing it was there.

As to the pyramid-shaped mansion, its modernist façade was made up from huge rhomboid glass windows set into a gridwork of thick black steel beams. To Sid it looked like the top section of some New York skyscraper had been sliced off and dropped down in the middle of the countryside. It didn’t really belong in the rolling English landscape; but like every billionaire before him, Augustine wanted to make a statement.

The interior was equally lush. Massive glass doors opened into a broad arched hallway, which let directly to the central atrium. With solar lighting backing up the meager daylight seeping through the glass apex far above, it was like walking into a botanical greenhouse. Huge ferns and tropical trees rose out of long troughs, fat verdant leaves waving in the air currents spinning off from the humidor mist jets. The largest tree, right in the middle, had strange branches that were curled into tight-packed spirals, extending horizontally from the trunk.

Sid broke out in a sweat from the heat. He took his jacket off, struggling to recognize any of the plants—there was something slightly odd about the leaves with their dark vein lacework. “What are these plants?”

“These?” Aldred asked in an amused tone. “These are St. Libra’s plants, of course, the famous zebra botany.”

“But the leaves aren’t black and white,” Sid said.

Aldred gave him an odd look. “Uh, you know there’s no animal life on St. Libra, right?”

“Aye, there’s not supposed to be. The monster—”

“Forget the monster,” Aldred said. “On Earth and the other settled trans-space worlds, plants absorb carbon dioxide and crack it into neat oxygen—that’s photosynthesis.”

“I get that, man.”

“But on St. Libra there are no animals to breathe in the oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide, which is the other half of the equation. So evolution got smart. Roughly half St. Libra’s plants do what we’re used to, and generate oxygen, while the other half reverse the process. If it gets out of balance, say if the oxygen exhalers thrive, they make the atmosphere oxygen-rich, which in turn favors the other variety, which returns to the ascendancy. It’s a constant cycle.
Zebra
has nothing to do with color, it’s about direct opposites.”

“Right,” Sid said. “But if all the plants evolved that way because there aren’t any animals, where did the monster come from?”

Abner gave an elaborate shrug. “Trillion-eurofranc question.”

“Detective Hurst.”

Sid turned around to see a North walking toward him, assisted by a pair of Rex legs that comprised the sleekest exoskeleton he’d ever seen, looking more like a fashion accessory than a medical necessity. He looked young, this one, maybe in his thirties, although the curly brown hair was missing; the skull’s skin revealed by the absence appeared a little too pallid, and the arms were disturbingly thin. Legs, too, presumably, though they were hidden by trousers and the lean dark Rex segments.

He was flanked by two girls—one blonde, one redhead—both in their early twenties if not younger. They wore short summer dresses, showing off a lot of toned flesh.

“Augustine North,” Sid replied.

There was a tiny whine of servos as Augustine North walked over and put his hand out. “That obvious?”

Sid resisted the obvious comment about the girls—
after all, who else would have such an attentive escort.
They were both astonishingly attractive, but all he could feel was a form of pity that they’d wound up here, human cattle all placid and obedient, when they should have been out having fun and living life for themselves. A father’s resentment firing up, he supposed; Zara would never wind up like this, he’d make damn sure of that. “Aldred mentioned rejuvenation takes time, sir.”

“Great. My security chief is a gossip.” Augustine walked over to a marble bench near the center of the atrium and sat carefully. “Can I get you anything? I’ve heard you’re a coffee man.”

“No thank you, sir.” Sid wondered how that piece of information had filtered up to Augustine’s level. The girls moved away, standing patiently at a discreet distance.

“I have two principal questions for you,” Augustine said. “And forgive me but at my age I like to hear the answers to such things directly.”

“Aye, I understand that.”

“Realistically, are you going to catch the killer? And was it an alien?”

“We’re making very reasonable progress tracking down the killer. Given that we have neither motive nor the victim’s identity yet, that is positive. As to the alien, all I can tell you is that to me it’s looking like a proficient underground hit. However, there are some things that don’t add up. The lack of identity bothers me a lot. If this is some clandestine corporate operation involving Brinkelle or your brother Constantine, then I will probably never be able to find the answers for you.”

“Ah yes.” Augustine North smiled grimly. “I actually agree with that religious nut.”

“Sir?”

“Vance Elston is an adherent of the Gospel Warrior church. There’s an uncomfortable number of them in the HDA. Not that it’s actually illegal, but I suspect it colors their viewpoint somewhat.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Nonetheless, I admit the body could well be one of Constantine’s sons. Our split was never the most amicable, despite the official version. Bartram and I at least understood each other. But Constantine … now, he was a dreamer, and slippery with it. I’ll get in touch with Jupiter again and press him for the truth.”

Sid studied Aldred to try to judge how much slack he was entitled to here. But the 2North was giving nothing away. To hell with it, Augustine himself was treating him like a grown-up, so … “Sir, I apologize for asking, but this would make the investigation a lot easier. Is there any chance you fathered a son without knowing?” And he just couldn’t help glancing over at the two girls.

Augustine caught it and chuckled. “I appreciate why you’re asking; my reputation isn’t exactly admired by the pope. But sadly I have to say no. The corpse was in his late forties, yes? That would put me in my late seventies or eighties when he was born. It wasn’t a good decade for me physically, and I hadn’t begun Bartram’s therapies then. All the 2Norths conceived around that time were done so in the company’s clinic. There are no lost princes, not in my kingdom.”

“Then can you guess why a C 2North would be here, what kind of clandestine mission your brother would send him on?” He knew he’d never get an answer; that if there was a reason it would be some kind of high-level covert corporate crap, the type that never even made it to the unlicensed political blogs. Rumors and whispers would echo around the case, the bogeyman for every rookie cop for decades to come.