Extinction Game

by Gary Gibson

  After Selwyn and Randall departed forever, Winifred and I had decided to make one final trip to the bee-brain alternate. The decision to do so, to say the least, had not been made lightly. We had transferred across to the basement from where Casey had vanished into an unknowable void, and collected the field-pillars. We carried them outside, carefully avoiding the tripwires, and loaded them into Casey’s jeep, once we figured out where he had abandoned it.

  Then came the question of what to do about Rozalia’s body, still lying prone in the basement. I had promised Yuichi I would bring her body back, but Winifred argued against this, pointing out that if we did, we would almost certainly have to bury her in secret – otherwise, the Authority would know we had come back to get her. And if they knew that, they might well get to wondering what else we might have brought back. There was greater dignity, she said, in leaving Rozalia where she was – in the same place that Nadia and also Oskar had met their ends.

  I couldn’t argue with that. At least this way Nadia and Rozalia were still together, after a fashion. So we took Rozalia’s body from where it still lay sprawled across the concrete and arranged it so it at least had a little more dignity. Winifred said a few words, but I’m damned if I can remember a single one of them. Then Winifred took previously collected samples of the spoor the night patrols used to indicate which areas of the city the bee-brains should next tear apart, and she smeared it all over the basement and most of the rest of the building. That way, if the Authority ever came looking for the stage Casey had hidden there, they’d find the building razed to the ground and assume the stage had been destroyed along with it.

  We drove the jeep with its cargo of field-pillars back across the city to the reservoir stage. There, we unloaded the field-pillars from the jeep and abandoned the vehicle, as it was too large to return through the stage hidden in the trawler back on the island.

  We used the control rig taken from the basement as a replacement for the one smashed by Casey’s drone, since the reservoir stage was otherwise unharmed. That way, when we arrived back at the trawler, it was with nearly everything we needed to have our own, secret transfer stage – without, we hoped, Bramnik or anyone else from the Authority ever figuring out the truth. Finally, we reopened the link back to the bee-brain alternate from the island, so we could fetch the functioning control rig to operate our own, secret stage.

  Bramnik closed his eyes for a moment, and rubbed at one temple with his hand. ‘I guess it’s plausible enough,’ he said, ‘that I can put it in a report.’

  I felt a cord of tension that had been with me all that morning slacken, just a little.

  He looked at me. ‘You should know,’ he said, ‘that depending on how my report is received, it’s possible the Authority might decide to bring in replacements for the Pathfinders who died – or some of them, at any rate.’

  ‘New people? Or . . .’

  ‘Alternate versions of the ones we lost,’ he replied, ‘with at least one exception. That’s not my decision, you understand. There may be others in the near future, as well. People from outside the Authority – possibly even from among the Soviets, if things pan out. There are still a lot of transfer coordinates we haven’t explored yet, and we’re going to need all the help we can get. We need either to find some way of programming our own destinations, if any of us are to have any hope at long-term survival, or hope to God we can at least find somewhere among all these dead worlds that isn’t completely inhospitable.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, and Bramnik turned his chair to stare out of the window towards the sea. After a moment I got up to leave.

  ‘So did he believe you?’

  Chloe and I had walked down to the old docks, near to where Nadia and Rozalia had restored the old lifeboat, where we could be reasonably certain of not being overheard.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said truthfully. ‘Even as I was telling him about Haden, Selwyn and Randall killing themselves, it sounded less than believable, even to my own ears. But maybe he did believe it. I just don’t know if I can ever be sure.’

  ‘Maybe we should have come up with a better story,’ she said, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ I replied. ‘Nothing that could explain the disappearance of all three of them.’ I reached towards her, and she lifted a hand out of one pocket, wrapping her fingers around mine. ‘Did you find somewhere safe to hide the field-pillars?’

  She nodded. ‘There’s a well,’ she said, ‘not far from the fishing hut where we . . . you know.’ I nodded, remembering that first time we had made love. ‘We wrapped them all up in tarpaulins and dropped them down inside the well on a rope. If we ever need to get out of here fast, we can just pull them back up and set it all up in minutes. Winifred’s talking about a more permanent solution, though, maybe digging a hole beneath the fishing hut where we could hide all the equipment.’

  She shivered as we walked along, the sea to one side and the almost deserted town on the other. ‘And you really mean what you said the other night? That Haden might be . . . one of them?’

  ‘A stage-builder?’ I said. ‘Why not? Nothing else makes sense. There’s no reason to imagine that the Authority are the only ones exploring the multiverse. I think that’s why we never got visitors from outer space, or flying saucers landing in front of the White House. Any sufficiently advanced race probably figures out how to build transfer stages first. And it’s a lot easier to go exploring parallel versions of your own reality than deep space.’

  We kept walking. A breeze caught my hair, and I felt rain on my skin. ‘And maybe some of those people exploring our little corner of the multiverse are friendly, like Haden, and maybe some of them aren’t. But all the evidence points to something scaring the hell out of whatever civilization built our stages, after all.’

  ‘I wonder if things can ever really go back to normal now,’ said Chloe. ‘Do you think they’ll really bring back alternate versions of the others?’

  ‘That’s what Bramnik told me. But, to be honest,’ I said, looking along the road back into town, thinking it was about time to go to the Mauna Loa for something to eat, ‘I’m not sure if things were ever remotely normal here in the first place.’

  Her hand held mine more tightly. ‘And if things ever start to go wrong again, we can escape.’

  ‘We can escape,’ I said, squeezing back. I felt more optimistic than I had in as long as I could remember, even if I still harboured some doubts about remaining on the island. The one thing I knew for certain was that the events of the past several days had changed the dynamic between the Pathfinders and the Authority forever.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A few days later those of us who were left held a memorial service for everyone we had lost. This took place in the little cemetery past the runway, not far from where my predecessor lay buried. There wasn’t a Pathfinder on the island who didn’t know the truth about Selwyn, Randall and Haden. But, with Bramnik and Mayer present, we had to act otherwise. Before long, Bramnik had new schedules posted, and we prepared to return to something like our old routines.

  This time, however, something was different. Some of our first missions were to retrieve people, instead of artefacts or information.

  Three months after Casey tried to murder a world, I drove up to the front of the base hospital and saw Nadia and Rozalia standing together outside, blinking in the sunshine. They looked younger than I remembered. But they were younger, I reminded myself, than the originals by a good few years.

  ‘There you are,’ I said, pulling up next to them and climbing out. ‘Name’s Jerry,’ I said, reaching out a hand to each in turn. ‘Jerry Beche.’

  ‘Jerry . . .’ wheels turned in the new Nadia’s head. ‘I’ve heard about you. You were a friend of . . . ?’

  Of the previous me, I knew she meant. ‘Of both of you,’ I said.

  The two women looked at each other, then they both grinned and laughed as if I’d said something hilarious. �
�I’m sorry,’ said new-Rozalia. ‘I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this.’

  I noticed that the long, dimpled scar I had seen on Rozalia’s cheek the first time I met her was missing. She must have acquired it some time after her retrieval, I realized.

  ‘It takes time,’ I agreed. ‘Are you ready to see your new home?’ I nodded towards the jeep, then held up the clipboard in my hand. ‘We’ll give you a couple of days to get settled in and undergo a few more debriefings, then you’ll be due for your first training mission.’

  ‘Yeah.’ New-Nadia nodded, looking uneasy. ‘Is it going to be dangerous?’

  ‘It’ll be a cakewalk,’ I assured her. I looked at Rozalia. ‘Or at least, any potential danger will be minimal. I can promise you that.’

  She nodded, absorbing this information. I could see how the two of them were still more than a little shell-shocked from their new circumstances, and I remembered all too well just how it felt to be in their shoes. Winifred had already taken charge of a number of their debriefings prior to their release from quarantine, clueing them in on their new reality and helping them to adjust to the learning curve involved. Even so, I knew they would adapt quickly. People who survive global extinction events tend to be good at that kind of thing.

  I got back in the driver’s seat and they both climbed in back. ‘Hey,’ said new-Nadia, and I turned to look at her. ‘You’re like us, right? You were . . . someone’s replacement. That’s what Winnie said.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘But there are others, right? Winnie said there are other new replacements, like us.’

  I mentally damned Winifred for leaving me to have to explain so much. ‘Like I say, it’s complicated. We’re bringing back a lot of the people we lost.’

  ‘Most, but not all?’ asked Nadia, perceptive as ever.

  I hesitated only briefly. ‘All but two,’ I said.

  Because, of course, even the Authority was not so foolish as to bring Casey back. We’d already retrieved a new Randall, and a new Selwyn, and what they and all the new recruits had in common was that they had not been given any lies about retirement. They knew that, apart from the island and those alternates that the Authority was able to access, there was no going home.

  Or at least, so they would know for some time. I knew the day might well come when we would take them into our confidence and share the list of coordinates Haden had given me. We could never be sure, after all, if Bramnik would always be in charge, or if one day we might want to run.

  As for retrieving Haden . . . well, we went looking, but we never found him. Don’t ask me how or why, but every coordinate we tried in his particular braid came up empty. I came to believe Haden had been a plant, left behind for the Authority to find, complete with a cover story to explain how he had managed to ‘survive’ all those years.

  I turned on the ignition and drove the two of them out of the base compound, past the runway and into town, turning into the street where the original Nadia and Rozalia had lived.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, a sudden thought occurring to me as I pulled up outside. ‘You like fishing?’

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ said Rozalia. ‘Got any boats around here?’

  I grinned. ‘Maybe before I show you your new home, I’ll show you a dandy little boat that’s just right for the job. Sound like a deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ they both said at once.

  There are risks in every walk of life. My predecessor knew that, and I’ve come to believe he knew there was at least the possibility that some other Jerry might one day read the pages he left behind. The more I read and reread those pages, once Mayer gave them back to me, the more I thought of it as a letter addressed to me as much as it had been to Chloe. I liked to imagine that in a way he was looking ahead, giving the newcomer some hints and tips to make his time as a Pathfinder easier.

  So I figured it made sense to do the same thing, and anticipate in turn. Because you just never know.

  It’s been a little while now since we brought Nadia and Rozalia back to the island. They’ve gone on some tentative first missions, as have the new Randall and Selwyn, and we’re even putting together a team to retrieve Wallace Deans. Much of what he did, after all, was under the influence of Casey Vishnevsky – and a finer case of Stockholm syndrome I’ve never encountered. With the right guidance, I felt sure – or hoped – his replacement might make a valuable contribution.

  This morning, before I walked into town, I finished writing all of this down. It is, by far, the longest thing I’ve written in one go in my whole damn life. I had delayed writing it too long, always with the thought in the back of my head that something could happen to me. And, if it does, then a third iteration of Jerry Beche – should he be retrieved – would lack the opportunity to read the words of his own direct predecessor.

  I hope that never proves necessary. But just in case it does, I want him to know everything I do. I’m going to give the letter – Christ, it’s practically a novel – to someone to look after. Maybe Yuichi, or Chloe, or maybe both. And if the day comes, and some other Jerry emerges blinking into the sunshine outside the medical facility, they’ll be waiting for him with these words in hand.

  Dear Jerry, the story begins, I’m you. I’m guessing whoever gave you this told you that already. But take it from one who knows, it’s a hard thing to get your head around. Like the first Jerry Beche, who came before me like I came before you, I originate from a parallel reality to yours. One so thinly separated from your own that they are, by any measurable standard, identical . . .

  Acknowledgements

  I am indebted to my wife, Emma Gibson, for her continued support and encouragement.

  Also in memory of Dorothy Lumley, my former and first agent, and with thanks to John Jarrold, my new agent. Both have long proven themselves adept at keeping authors out of the Sarlacc Pit.

  By Gary Gibson

  Angel Stations

  Against Gravity

  The Shoal Trilogy

  Stealing Light

  Nova War

  Empire of Light

  Final Days

  The Thousand Emperors

  Marauder

  Extinction Game

  First published 2014 by Tor

  This electronic edition published 2014 by Tor

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-0-230-77271-7

  Copyright © Gary Gibson 2014

  Cover Illustration by Steve Stone

  The right of Gary Gibson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The Macmillan Group has no responsibility for the information provided by any author websites whose address you obtain from this book (‘author websites’). The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content, products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

  Table of Contents

 
Title page

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Acknowledgements

  By Gary Gibson

  Copyright page