Peter Hamilton - Great North Road

“What do you know of God, murderess?”

“I have never killed anyone. And I know what you believe, that life—all life—is a precious gift from God. You don’t really think, do you, that He wants you to kill all the life on this planet?”

“We picked up some of what you were saying out there,” Antrinell said. “We heard what it claimed. It’s part of the planet, the jungle?”

“Yes,” the Barclay-avatar said.

“Then you’re some kind of macro-life, just like the Zanth. You’re not part of God’s creation.”

“I am nothing like the Zanth. I don’t even understand where the Zanth came from. I evolved from true biological life, just as you are evolving.”

“So what do you want? Why have you killed so many of us?”

“Because you have destroyed so much of me. This avatar’s human nature bestowed me with hatred. I have not hated for a billion years.”

“We did it to ourselves,” Angela said. “Just like we always screw up. But you’ve got the chance to make it right, Antrinell. This is why God gave us the greatest gift of all: free will. This is why He brought us to this point, so that you would have to make the decision. We can ally ourselves with St. Libra, with life. Without that we will face the Zanth alone and afraid.”

“You can manipulate stars,” Antrinell said. “You can replicate humans. God alone knows what other abilities you have. And God knows you’ve shown you have no compunction about slaughtering us. How do we know you won’t side with the Zanth?”

“Only a human would ask that question,” the Barclay-avatar said.

“Yes, and I’m asking it.”

“We have to show trust to receive trust,” Angela said.

“Then show me some,” Antrinell said.

“I’m supposed to be a bridge,” the Barclay-avatar said. “You tell me why I should be. You who destroy anything you don’t comprehend, anything that gets in your way. You who abused this world for your own species and its profit, who replicate that crime across so many worlds. That is why I have no compunction, no remorse. So far all I have seen is vermin, breeding and breeding and desecrating the world, my world, with their own excrement. Yet I have stayed my hand for twenty years trying to reach out to you. I still do. That is my human side, and it grows weary of my failure.”

Angela flinched. She knew damn well that kind of argument wouldn’t work on anyone as stubborn as Antrinell. So she played dirty, played to win, just like Angela DeVoyal would do. Her e-i sent Elston’s visual log into the ringlink, the one where he lay dying, when he looked up at Angela and said: “You have to see the end of this. I trust you, Angela. The Lord has shown me your true self. You are worthy of His love. Finish this properly. For me.”

“He gave me his command codes,” she told them all. “Antrinell cannot launch the missiles without them. I cannot deactivate the warheads without Antrinell’s corresponding codes. Vance Elston made that first step, a man who believes as you do, Antrinell, who worshipped with you. A man who revered the sanctity of human life so much he sacrificed himself so I would live. Please, Antrinell, don’t betray that sacrament.”

There was a long pause before Antrinell asked: “What would happen if we destroy the warheads?”

“The arrangement I have with Constantine is that I will provide you with information to help deflect Zanthswarms from the star systems you inhabit,” the Barclay-avatar said. “In return he will assist with the human evacuation of St. Libra.”

“Evacuation?” Antrinell said. “There are millions of people here, most of them political refugees. They won’t want to go back. Not even the Norths will be able to make them.”

“If Sirius remains as it is, how many will live? You are running out of food. You can grow no more in this climate. And it will remain like this until I wish it otherwise.”

“Even if we destroy the weapon we’ve got here, the HDA will send more of it through the gateway as soon as they find out what you are,” Antrinell said.

“Constantine will close the gateway,” the Barclay-avatar said. “Any threat will end with that.”

“This is the first step,” Angela said. “We both know that the metavirus is ineffective in this climate anyway. You’re giving up so little, Antrinell. Doing this is a symbol only, such a small thing, but it will allow a friendship to begin that will endure for eons. All of us are on the cusp of something extraordinary. Antrinell, you are not betraying yourself or the HDA. You are being true to your real belief, the heart of your religion. All life is sacred. You know this.” She drew a breath, and found herself praying.

The decontam air lock hissed open.

“Thank you,” Angela said. Her legs were so shaky she thought she might fall. Paresh’s arm came around her, holding her tight. She glanced up at his tired, worried face with its frost-blackened skin and dirty stubble, and managed a small grateful grin for him. He winked back.

The Barclay-avatar walked across the cabin. Just before it reached the air lock it stopped and turned to face Angela. There were human eyes looking out at her from the deep recesses of the stony countenance. “Did I—did he ever mean anything to you?” it asked.

“I saw him as a means to an end,” she said. It was difficult now even recalling the time she and Barclay had spent together. Before the expedition, she hadn’t thought about Barclay for two decades, which in itself was a telling answer. “At first. But back then I was desperate; I would and did sacrifice anything in order to do what I had to. When you were him, you were not quite the same as your clone brothers. Under different circumstances, in different times, I genuinely don’t know what would have happened between us.”

“I thank you for that answer. I have thought about it more than I should for twenty years. That is perhaps why I remain conflicted. There are so many conflicts within a human mind. It is difficult for me to fully comprehend the universe through your eyes.”

Angela glanced at Rebka. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The new uniform was stiff; its collar scratched Sid’s neck. The cuffs did the same to his wrists. And the trousers weren’t cut quite right—

“Stop adjusting yourself,” Jacinta snapped. “The meshes will pick it up.”

Sid removed his hand from his crotch. At the other end of the big limousine’s passenger compartment Chloe Healy was diplomatically looking elsewhere. She’d been the one who delivered the uniform to the house that morning, along with the chauffeured limousine, all courtesy of NorthernMetroServices. He hadn’t wanted a new uniform, as there was nothing wrong with the old one. Except when the two of them were hung up side by side, even he had to admit his old one was shabby and worn. The fabric of the one Chloe had brought was a deep black with a luster that only money could produce in cloth. And actually, when you added all his service ribbons in a discreet band on the breast, it looked very smart indeed. The kind of uniform a competent, dynamic, trustworthy leader would wear.

At least the white shirt was his own.

The limousine crawled along Collingwood Street with its tall gray-brown stone buildings on either side. The stores and businesses all had a picture of Ian in their ground-floor windows, wreathed in black ribbons.

“Did you organize this?” he asked Chloe. It was as if a Catholic saint had died.

“No. It’s actually real.”

The second half of Collingwood Street, before the junction with Cathedral Square, had crowd barriers along the edge of the pavement. A lot of people were pressed up behind the waist-high metal meshes, waiting for the hearse.