Simon Morden - The Curve of The Earth

“Give me a map and find me some transport.”

A wire-frame model of Deadhorse popped up in his vision. Buildings, teletroopers, roads, all marked out in the overlay, even if everything was lost in the whiteout. His path was shown by a thick yellow line on the ground. Eyes down, he started to follow it.

It led off to his left, towards the faint burning mass of Ben and Jerry’s ruined control centre. “We can’t make too many more mistakes.” Petrovitch turned into the wind, and was all but blind. “What are they going to drop?”

[Fuel-air explosives to destroy the solid structures. The second wave will use napalm and phosphorus. Conventional explosives will be more or less undetectable to the global seismology network, and there will be no telltale fission products on the wind.]

Petrovitch kept on walking, head down, following the line at his feet. Just ahead was a building on fire, the snow hissing as it touched the flames, and before it, a skidoo.

Petrovitch reached out and heaved the white-coated body off the seat and on to the ground. The single shot had punctured the man’s back, and he’d slumped over at the controls. He’d bled out over the left-hand side of the cowling, and it had mostly frozen already. Mostly.

[Does it disturb you?]

Petrovitch bungeed his bag to the carry-rack and sat astride the vehicle. “What? That he’s dead, or that the seat’s a little sticky?”

[Human disgust responses seem to be abnormally absent from your psyche.]

“Hardly news.” The magnetic key was missing, and he spent a few extra moments he didn’t have dismounting, rolling the body over, and patting down its pockets. “It’s meat. Nothing more.”

He came up with a key ring and a coded plastic card. He got back on, and pressed it to the ignition. The lights came on, and the fuel cell started pushing power to the turbines. The path changed direction, pointing towards where Michael hoped Avaiq would be.

[I can try and stop the planes. They will be more difficult to interfere with than missiles, but I can attempt to hack the GPS signals: they will be flying on instruments and I should be able to fool them into missing Deadhorse completely.]

“Maybe. But we don’t know where Lucy is. Tearing up a random piece of tundra might be exactly the wrong choice.”

[Then you have less than ten minutes to find Avaiq and Lucy and get to a safe distance.] Michael paused. [That is not long.]

Petrovitch glanced at the controls, worked out what they all did, and dragged on the accelerator. The tracks at the back bit into the soft surface and dug in until they reached the hard, compacted ice below. The machine lurched forward, and he had to hang on.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

The snow shovelled itself at his face at twice the speed now, so it became a freezing, stinging blizzard. He drove flat out until his route indicated a hard left; he throttled back in order to take the turn, then opened it up again. He was the only vehicle moving. Even the teletroopers, the ones that couldn’t make it to the edge of town, were still.

“Who’s left here?”

[Those who have not fled with the security forces will probably be hiding. The buildings are well insulated. The teletroopers’ infrared capabilities cannot see through the walls.]

Petrovitch turned right on to the road that would take him past the hotel. He glanced up to see it properly on fire, orange flames pulled ragged by the wind. “I think we should warn them to get out. Can we do that?”

[Door-to-door searches for survivors are time-consuming. I can announce the impending air strike like this:]

Every teletrooper blared out: “Warning. Warning. Warning. Residents and workers of Deadhorse. An air attack on your settlement is imminent. Evacuate immediately. The Freezone guarantees the teletroopers will not harm you. You have nine minutes.”

[The cellphone network has been disabled, although I am detecting several satellite phone signals. I will contact them personally and assure them of our good intentions.]

The glowing yellow road lurched abruptly right again, and terminated at the foot of a two-storey building that loomed out of the snow so fast Petrovitch thought he might not be able to stop in time.

He hung the back out, and slid around in an almost perfect circle, ending up nose on to the wall. “Yeah. I bet you I couldn’t do that twice.”

The teletrooper at the crossroads lumbered around. One leg was stiff, immovable. “Warning. Warning. Warning.”

Petrovitch pitched himself off the snowmobile, picked up the bag and his gun, and dragged his foot all the way to the door.

“You have eight minutes,” called the teletrooper.

“I know I’ve got yebani eight minutes.” He rattled the handle, found it locked, and kicked out at the wooden frame. It splintered. He went back for another go. The lock gave and the door slapped back on its hinges.

He was in a corridor which went left and right. There were stairs at either end, and in between door after door. If he had to check each one, he was going to be incinerated along with everyone else.

He filled his lungs with cold air. “Avaiq! Paul Avaiq! It’s Petrovitch.”

The sound of his voice trailed away, to no response.

“ Pizdets . Why is nothing ever simple? Which room is he supposed to be in?”

[First floor, two-one-two. Go left.]

He was halfway down the corridor when a figure appeared at the far end. “Dr Petrovitch?”

“Yeah. Paul Avaiq?”

Petrovitch stopped, because he was tired, and behind his tiredness, everything hurt.

Avaiq was dressed for the outside, parka already fastened, hood down to reveal his sallow face and short black hair. He hurried towards Petrovitch. “You took your time.”

“ Yobany stos , man, I think I was pretty smart considering how little I had to go on.” They were nose to nose. Avaiq was fractionally smaller.

“Those things out there are saying-”

“I know what they’re saying. I got them to say it. The Yanks are going to bomb the crap out of Deadhorse, then cremate what’s left. Where’s Lucy?”

“She’s not here.”

“Then where the huy is she? And how about the other… others?”

“What? No.” Avaiq was agitated, almost vibrating with tension. “It’s not-”

“Explain on the way.” With both gun and bag, Petrovitch had no free hand to grab hold of Avaiq’s collar and propel him to the door.

“Where are we going?”

Petrovitch growled. “Do you know where Lucy is?”

Avaiq steadied his nerve. “Yes.”

“Then what are we waiting for? In seven minutes’ time, this place will be matchwood.”

[It is now six.]

“Thanks for that.” Petrovitch heard a noise behind him, a door opening. The hinges squeaked, giving him a moment’s warning.

A man leapt out, already firing an automatic pistol. Maybe if he’d taken the trouble to sight it, rather than just pulling at the trigger while falling, he might have hit one or other of his intended targets rather than blowing holes in the plasterboard.

He managed three shots before he collided with the opposite wall, throwing his gun hand high.

Petrovitch aimed for his head and left a neat hole above the left eyebrow. “Yeah, and you can fuck right off.” He swept the corridor front and back for anyone else. Avaiq was crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around his head. “Michael? You didn’t get them all.”

[Inevitable. Can I suggest you leave the locale immediately?]

“Gladly. Avaiq? Up.” He kicked the man for want of anything else he could do. “You are the only person on the planet who can tell me where my daughter is, and you are coming with me.”

“He could have killed us,” Avaiq pointed out.