Peter Hamilton - Great North Road

She sat on the low wall surrounding the patio while her e-i called their emergency address code.

“Who is this?” Saul asked thirty seconds later.

At least no light had come on in the house; he wasn’t in full freak-out mode. Yet. “It’s me, Saul. It’s Angela.”

“But, you’re… It can’t be.”

“They let me out to advise the expedition, darling. I’m officially on probation. Which I’ve just broken in a spectacular way to come here to see you.”

“Here? Here, where?”

“I’m outside standing on your patio. I didn’t want to wake your family up.”

“Ho crap—wait—”

She had to smile fondly, visualizing his panicked face as he tried to slip out of bed without waking Emily. Angela had harvested an image of Mrs. Howard number two—she was a real looker. Young, too. That sweet charm of Saul’s was still clearly fully charged.

The big glass door slid aside, and he came stumbling out into the night, trying to shove his arms into a baggy old cricket sweater. The sight of him shocked her, causing her smile to diminish. Her husband had aged so. Back in Holloway, when she saw Elston again, she’d been quietly smug at his chubby face and frosting of gray on a receding hairline, the heavier build. Now the same illness of entropy had infected her Saul, and there was no triumph in that, only sadness as she finally realized how she was destined to spend her life leaving others behind. Except Rebka .

“Oh God, it’s really you,” Saul croaked. “You haven’t aged. Not a day. You are a one-in-ten, aren’t you? It’s all true.”

Angela summoned up some degree of dignity, and gave him a warm smile as she held out her arms in welcome. “Hello, babe.”

He stepped into the embrace, but there was so much missing. It was a hug from a long-lost brother, not a lover, not the father of her child. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said in a muffled voice.

She could feel him quivering, and knew he’d be crying. “It’s all right,” she said soothingly. “And before you say anything: I know.”

“You do?” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Your Abellia Civic Administration files are open, I harvested them as soon as I arrived. Emily looks lovely, well done, you. And three children, isn’t it?”

His face crumpled in dismay; he was on the verge of tears again. “No. No… That’s not—Angela, it’s Rebka… she didn’t make it. My sister called me a year after they caught you. The doctors did their very best, but… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t even tell you; there’d been the trial, you were in prison. I followed it all on the transnet news. It was awful. I nearly… I didn’t know how I survived.”

“Saul, Rebka is very much alive. That’s why I broke probation to visit you. She’s here on the expedition. I don’t know how or why, but she’s here. Your daughter is alive and staying at Abellia airport HDA camp. I’ve seen her with my own eyes. I damn near had a heart attack. She’s beautiful, Saul; she’s got my crazy hair, poor thing, but she’s got your smile to make up for it.”

“Dearest Angela…”

“No!” She swatted away the tentative hand that was reaching out. That sympathy wasn’t something she was going to put up with. “Don’t even start down that route. I know what I saw.”

“All right, Angela.”

She gave him a look that was pure contemptuous hatred. He didn’t believe her. His life had moved on—no doubt with a great deal of guilt—away from his lost daughter and suspected serial killer wife. “Son-of-a-bitch!” She hadn’t expected a triumphant welcome-back party, but this kind of greeting was pretty shabby. “Don’t worry, I’m going to get out of your life, Saul, for good this time. I just need something first.”

“Of course. I’ve got some money. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to it.”

“I don’t need money,” she spat. “I’ve got to make sure Rebka stays safe. That monster is real, Saul, and it’s here on St. Libra. Do you even believe that?”

“I know you couldn’t have done what they said you did. Not you. I know you better than you think I do.”

“Thank fuck for that. You were smart not going back through the gateway. But then I remember my last message to you. I was being pretty forceful again, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Always the bitch. But I’m glad you were safe, that you found yourself a life again. You deserve that after everything we went through.”

“Angela,” he said gently. “If it’s not money, what do you want?”

“I came for the activants, Saul.”

“What?” He blurted it out so loud, his immediate reaction was to turn and give the bungalow a guilty glance.

“The activants. We had four batches made up in New Tokyo. And I know you. You’ll have kept everything from those days. I made you get rid of everything else, everything you were—so you kept whatever relics you had, no matter how small or painful.”

“You can’t bump them. Angela, they’re twenty years old. They’re probably poison now. And the weapons are the same…”

“The nuclei threads will still be there in my ulnae. No reason for them not to be. They just need a growth trigger again.”

“Angela, please, don’t do this.”

“Saul. You’re going to get them for me, and we both know that. So why don’t we just cut out the shouting and the threats and move straight to the endgame. Come on, go inside and get them from whatever little secret stash of the past you have. Then I’ll be gone.”

“Angela…”

“They haven’t announced it, of course, but the reason this expedition is being put together is because there was another North murdered by the monster. It’s real, Saul, and it took a trip to Earth back in January. The HDA is worried, enough that they busted me out of jail to help them.”

Saul let out a broken sigh. “Wait here.”

He was gone more than ten minutes. Wherever he’d hidden the memorabilia of his earlier life, it was in a deep and difficult-to-reach place, which was smart of him. But when he returned he was carrying a small plastic box.

“Thank you, Saul,” she said with genuine gratitude. The box had a cradle for four sacs. There were only three left. She picked one out and bumped it against her neck.

Saul winced.

“Still alive,” Angela said brightly.

“Please, Angela—”

“Yeah, I know. When I get back from the jungle I’ll go and get me some therapy. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I’m pleased you’re considering it. Angela, they locked you up for twenty years .”

“Does it show?” Which was a low blow, especially against him.

“Just be careful out there. Okay?”

“Promise.” She hugged him again. They even kissed—platonically. Then she was walking back up the sand-scattered road to the taxi. She didn’t look back. Just like the last time .

The blizzard punching down the Dolce canyon sent a compact wave of snow slapping against Angela as she tried to hurry toward the tanker’s sledge. It almost sent her sprawling on her front. The heavy layers of clothes were conspiring with the wind to make every step an effort. She’d left her goggles behind in the Tropic, forcing her to squint against the whirling ice flecks that filled the air.

Not twenty meters away, the monster swung its arm. Blades hacked into the bladder framework, cutting clean through composite struts and puncturing the rubbery containers themselves. Bioil gushed out, a viscous black liquid splattering down onto the rumpled crust of snow to form a rapidly expanding puddle. Rivulets trickled away across the frozen river.