Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  When it did arrive at Wukang just after daybreak, the snow walls around the domes were nearly four metres high, and windsculpted into impressive arching overhangs, as if nature was mimicking the curvature of the panels. The onset of warmer weather brought out work details. Armed with long poles, they started to break off slippery chunks around the apex of each wall. The snow was already turning to slush and dripping hard. They had to work quickly before the entire overhangs tumbled down. The weight of them would probably shatter the dome panels underneath, themselves trapped at sub-zero temperatures under a second, thinner layer of insulating snow that covered them.

  Outside the snow walls, the drifts were thawing under the stunted pink light that shone down through a clear sky. Trickles of water began to deepen, cutting through the snow to form crumbling gullies. It was as if the snow had started to rot. People walking about found their feet sinking up to the knee. The only vehicles able to move with any success were the tracked bulldozers. Vance Elston immediately set them to work, clearing the heavy dunes that had built up around the microfacture shack and the Qwik-Kabins.

  With the clear-up under way, he called a senior staff meeting in the microfacture shack. It was crowded in the long rectangular space. Ophelia’s team had been working constantly, printing a prototype sledge to be pulled by vehicles, a couple of thick V-shaped ploughs to fit on the front of the MTJs, and several broad tyres with deep treads.

  ‘The tyres we have are all too narrow for these conditions,’ explained Leif Davdia, the vehicle chief. ‘We can fit these to the MTJs and the Land Rovers without any trouble. But the tanker and trucks will need some work. If we can cut away some of the bodywork from around the wheel arches I think we can fit a decent size.’

  Vance stood beside one of the tyres intended for an MTJ – it came up to his elbows. ‘Is there enough raw for this?’

  Leif and Ophelia exchanged a look. ‘We think so,’ Ophelia said. ‘Given we won’t be coming back, we can use everything. The trick will be a blend that can withstand the cold and give us the flexibility we need.’

  ‘All right, which vehicles are we using?’

  ‘The three Tropics,’ Forster said.

  ‘Hopefully,’ Leif said quickly. ‘I’d like to make some systems modification before we set off.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Vance asked.

  ‘The clue’s in the name,’ Karizma said.

  Vance gave her a look, but let the rudeness slide. They’d all been working hard in unfavourable conditions, and nobody got much sleep. Even so, he told his e-i to remind him to speak to Jay about her. They needed to maintain discipline now more than ever.

  ‘Davdia?’ he invited.

  ‘Uh, yes, well the same applies to most of our equipment, but it’s most acute for the Tropics. They don’t even have heaters in the cab. Rigging something up to the air-con isn’t a problem, I can have something crude but working inside of a few days. But then there’s the bodywork. It’s the same problem we had with the domes – the composite wasn’t designed for this temperature. They’ll be brittle.’

  ‘What about the chassis?’

  ‘That’s not a problem, sir – they’re Land Rover standard. It’s everything else which is customized according to environment.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier not to take them?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Forster said. ‘We’ve got an accommodation shortage. We’ll be putting some people in sledges as it is.’

  ‘I see. Okay, carry on; what else?’

  ‘I want to use the MTJs to take point duty; the snowploughs can cut through the deeper drifts. They can alternate to give their crews some relief. Whichever one is off-point will tow a sledge, along with all three Tropics. Then the tanker, of course. And both trucks will be used to carry additional fuel-bladder tanks; they’re capable of towing more supplies on sledges too, if we have time to print them. We’re expecting to leave the trucks behind as we run down our bioil. The cabs only take two people, so it won’t be too much trouble.’

  Vance waited a moment. ‘What about the biolabs?’

  ‘We considered them,’ Leif said. ‘But frankly, they use up a lot of fuel. I think we’re better off putting people into sledges.’

  ‘No,’ Vance said flatly. ‘We’re taking the biolabs. I’m not having anyone travelling in a sledge, period. We’re adding complexity and putting people in harm’s way. The entire xenobiology team can travel in the biolabs, and some extra personnel too. If you’re worried about fuel, they can tow their own reserve tanks. Sorry, but that’s not up for discussion.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We might not have enough raw for their tyres,’ Karizma said. ‘In fact I know we don’t.’

  ‘The biolabs are configured for difficult terrain,’ Vance told her. ‘They can crawl over Zanth if they have to. In the convoy they can go in the middle – the snow will be compacted from the lead vehicles. They’ll be able to cope with that as they are.’

  ‘You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Enough,’ Jay cautioned her.

  ‘No. It’s not.’ Karizma faced Vance, completely unrepentant. ‘You got us into this. You could have insisted on an evac flight when this world started crapping on us, but you didn’t.’

  ‘We have a mission to complete,’ Vance said with what he hoped was quiet authority. ‘And you are a serving HDA member.’

  ‘Bullshit. This isn’t a mission, it’s a fucking disaster.’

  ‘Wadhai!’ Jay warned.

  ‘What? I’m going to be in trouble? Big fucking deal. This convoy, it’s a bunch of crap. You’re making it worse for us. Two thousand kilometres through a jungle that’s four metres deep in snow. That’s a complete fucking joke. Nobody can do that. You’re going to get us killed out there, and for what?’

  ‘I’m getting us out of here,’ Vance said. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, that creature is killing us here.’

  ‘We’ve got the comm rockets,’ Karizma said. ‘Jesus, just use them. Fire them up to a height where they can shout to Abellia, and get us a Daedalus.’

  ‘There’s four metres of snow on the runway,’ Jay said.

  ‘You said there’s a ski variant coming through the gateway. That can land here.’

  ‘HDA is considering dispatching one,’ Vance said. ‘If we capture the alien, they will probably send it through.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There isn’t one on St Libra. The situation is more complex than you think.’

  ‘You lied! Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking lied to us!’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Jay said. ‘Do not make the mistake of assuming you are beyond disciplinary action here.’

  ‘The convoy is plain wrong,’ Karizma said. ‘You’re asking us to risk our lives on a wild chance that we can travel two thousand kilometres in vehicles that are built for hot mud and tropical typhoons. We have supplies here to last us for months – fuels, food, raw, it’s enough. But not if we burn all the bioil in vehicles on this crazy risk. The sunspots will fade. For crap’s sake, the snow’s already melting. We just sit it out. Even a normal Daedalus can land on a wet runway, and we’ve still got the dozers, we can extend it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Vance said. ‘We have no idea how many months or years the sunspot outbreak will last. Our last instructions from HDA command were to reach Sarvar, which has more than sufficient supplies to last for the rest of the year. The decision has been made. Now please perform your duties as required, or I will have you removed and restrained. There are enough technical specialists in this camp to replace you.’

  Karizma glowered round at everyone, then got to her feet. ‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered furiously, and stormed off to the other end of the shack where the printers were thrumming away.

  ‘I’ll talk to her, sir,’ Ophelia said.

  ‘Please do.’

  *

  The thaw didn’t last long. By midday the winds had returned, bri
nging strands of high cloud to web the roseate sky. Temperature began to drop quickly. Water refroze, crusting the snow with a dangerous sheet of ice. Work parties hurried to complete their tasks as the cold phosphorescence of the aurora borealis wormed its way back into the upper atmosphere. As yet there was no sign of a blizzard, but the camp was becoming adept at their weather-lore; conditions were building. Everyone wanted to be finished as Red Sirius began to sink below the horizon.

  Captain Antrinell Viana chose to spend the time working in biolab-1. It was his way of mourning Marvin Trambi. The expedition had begun with ten members in the xenobiology team, now there were only seven. However you looked at it, odds or percentage, it wasn’t good. They all felt vulnerable now, cocooned away inside the pleasant normal environment of their armoured laboratories while the rest of the camp personnel hunkered down in fragile domes or the busy microfacture shack, fearful the monster would return. So far there hadn’t been any open hostility; though he’d heard about Karizma Wadhai’s disgruntled protest that afternoon. All of the camp had by now. Gossip continued to flow perfectly despite the faltering net.

  He had his own reservations about the convoy, but held his tongue. Elston was doing his best in impossible circumstances. As the executive officer, it was Antrinell’s duty to support the colonel no matter what. In truth, he was just glad he didn’t have to make the decision. And now that decision had been made, he would support it to the full.

  Roarke Kulwinder and Smara Jacka were working in the lab with him, preparing plant samples they’d taken before the temperature fell and encased the jungle in ice. Smara was playing some electric country music, the steel guitar reverberating through the lab.

  Antrinell let it ride. As music went it wasn’t his first choice, but it was harmless enough, and it let him ignore his current circumstances. His console was showing him the genetic data they’d collected so far. To begin with, they’d just been running fast and easy comparisons, looking for divergence. Antrinell wanted more now; he’d assigned his colleagues to mapping entire genomes rather than the more simplistic fingerprinting techniques they’d been doing to begin with. Genomes took a lot longer to sequence, of course, but Antrinell was looking for a pattern that wouldn’t be visible anywhere else.

  The evening wore on. Roarke and Smara took turns to go into the central cabin and grab a meal. Tamisha Smith came in to spell them. Antrinell stayed where he was, burning espresso and chocolate snacks to keep going. Eventually, he was on his own. Just like Marvin. The intricate holographic colour bands of St Libra’s genetic molecules swirled around him, more often than not slightly out of focus as his tired eyes took time to adjust to the new images shone onto his retinas by the console lasers.

  He missed Marvin. They’d known each other a long time. Now there was nothing left to mourn. As with Norman Sliwinska, the creature had left no body behind. All they had was the stuttering alarm of Marvin’s bodymesh, a signal consumed by the storm before a fix could be made. Blood in the snow. A lot of blood. Enough for Dr Coniff to run a DNA fingerprint, confirming it was Marvin’s. Enough to know he was dead.

  Panic and fear had penetrated the camp far more efficiently than the arctic cold. Nobody liked the lack of bodies, too much speculation could build around the loss. The blizzard’s howl and ball lightning detonations amplifying the grisly imagination all minds were capable of.

  The laboratory door whirred as it slid back. Vance Elston came in and sat at a spare stool next to Antrinell at the bench. He gazed at the coffee cups and crumpled food wrappers without comment. ‘It’s late,’ he said.

  ‘I know. What’s happening outside?’

  ‘The temperature is heading below thirty again. No blizzard, yet, though. For which I’m grateful.’

  ‘I don’t think there can be any more snow to dump on us, can there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it. Ken says this temperature switch is providing the perfect condition for oceanic transpiration. The oceans are still warm, so evaporation rates have accelerated. We may yet get more snow. A lot more.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

  ‘Everything is bigger on St Libra.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed. How are the convoy preparations going?’

  ‘Ophelia Troy and Leif Davdia are working a miracle. But they can only prepare one vehicle at a time. The printers can’t churn out components any faster. Then they have to be fitted and tested. It’ll take a week to ten days to get everything ready.’

  ‘If there’s any of us left by then,’ Antrinell said bitterly.

  ‘Are you planning on sleeping tonight?’

  ‘I guess so. I’m not accomplishing much here now. I can’t focus. I think the doc needs to test my eyes.’

  ‘What are you working on? Zhao said you’ve got everyone sequencing entire genomes.’

  ‘I’m trying to establish a way of comparing evolutionary scales to terrestrial plants. I want to see how complex these plants are.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It will tell us how old the origin world is, how long life has existed there. I thought that might give us an idea of what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘And has it?’

  ‘Possibly. Comparison is difficult, these plants are a lot more sophisticated than terrestrial plants. I thought it was odd because we haven’t found any equivalent of the viral and fungal predators that we have on Earth. Everything here is in balance. But now I’m thinking that’s because they’ve out-evolved those predators and microbial diseases. Their biological resistance to indigenous bacteria attack is absolute.’

  ‘So they’re old, then?’

  ‘Yes. But the odd thing is, they’ve stopped evolving.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘I compared the genomes on plant varieties we’ve encountered here in the middle of Brogal against the same species growing on Ambrose. They’re identical.’

  ‘Well isn’t that to be expected?’

  ‘Not at the most fundamental genetic level,’ Antrinell said. ‘I mean, they are really identical, which even if they were only brought here a hundred thousand years ago shouldn’t happen. That’s plenty of time for mutations to creep in. It hasn’t. Variance checking clued me in. There is no variety even within a species. Every bubblebush is identical with every other bubblebush, every noxreed is the same, every falrillary vine, every tobgrass blade, every honeyberry. All of them are the same. There’s no cross-fertilization, the spores simply reproduce the parent plant. Each species’ genetic composition is fixed. We knew they are all parthenogenetic, but this is like perfect clone reproduction. There is only one of everything. Do you understand what that means?’

  ‘There must be some variation, a degree of genetic drift. Look at the Norths, each generation is a little different than the last, a little worse.’

  ‘Forget our world. Comparisons are worthless. The plants here are a billion years ahead of us. St Libra’s plants don’t mutate or evolve because there’s no need to. They’re the pinnacle of their world’s evolution.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘This is what God intended to create, this is life without flaws. We’re walking among perfection, Vance. This is the life eternal. That’s why the planters brought it here, to a planet orbiting a young star, so it could continue living for a good part of eternity. We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be despoiling it. That is why He’s punishing us.’

  ‘Who brought the plants here, Antrinell? If they are the end-point of the origin planet, then where are the people, the entities which evolved with them?’

  ‘Well one of them is just outside. We know that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vance agreed slowly. ‘But it’s a human shape, not an alien. That’s been the problem all along.’

  ‘Vance, He made us in His image. This is it, this is the proof we’ve been searching for since the day Wan Hi Chan published his theory of trans-spacial connection. Christians have been living in fear of this time, we listened to the atheists mocking us and we doubted Him. We should
n’t have, it was our ultimate lack of faith. If we can meet St Libra’s guardian, we can show the trans-space worlds the truth in our gospels. The atheists will repent and join us at our altar, the false religions will wither and die.’

  ‘That’s . . . a big claim to make.’

  ‘You’re a believer, a true believer, just like me. We are the Gospel Warriors, Vance. We carry the Lord’s name outward into the darkness, it is our sacred duty to carry His light, His enlightenment. Don’t falter now.’

  ‘I do not falter,’ Vance said sternly. ‘I’m simply worried about your enthusiasm. I don’t want it to be misplaced.’

  ‘I know. Vance, we have to meet the guardian, to talk to it, to explain.’

  ‘We will. That’s the one thing all of us agree about. But in the meantime, we take every precaution. I don’t want you taking any risks, is that understood?’

  ‘I understand. Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of venturing out there alone.’

  Monday 15th April 2143

  The alarm clock buzzed sharply. Sid felt round for the snooze button on top. Too late, his bodymesh registered a change of status and activated his iris smartcells. The grid expanded across blurry vision, diary function reminding him of today’s events. He groaned in dismay.

  ‘Come on, pet,’ Jacinta said. ‘This is an important day for you.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sid mumbled. He told his e-i to banish the grid. The bedroom was comfortably dark, with slivers of pale sunlight sliding round the thick towels they’d hung across the windows. It was temporary, Jacinta said, until the curtains she’d ordered arrived. And when they did, they’d show up the rest of the room. It would need decorating. With a new carpet. Their old furniture didn’t fit right, either.

  ‘Have you got much work on this week?’ he asked as he climbed out of bed.

  ‘Not too much. Bypass tomorrow, so I’ll be late back home. And there’s a lung replacement scheduled for Friday – early start. Other than that it’ll be light A&E work.’