Ken MacLeod - Newton's Wake

She tapped the comms unit at her throat and pinged Kevin, in the leading sled. ‘Bandits on the slope at two o’clock,’ she said. ‘Time for a fast lift.’

‘Got ya.’

The sleds shot into vertical ascent, stopping seconds later at a couple of hundred metres above the hills that defined the glen. The vehicles didn’t have much in the way of instrumentation. Heads, Lucinda’s among them, peered cautiously over the sides. She wished she’d kept her suit. But the man was now much easier to see. He stood and waved his arms above his head.

Kevin sent out a cautious interrogatory and identifying ping. After a few moments he reported back.

‘He claims he’s alone, and he’s pleased to see us,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Says his name’s Ree, and he’s asking for you. Lucinda.’

It really was like a weight off her shoulders. A small weight compared to what remained, but a relief nonetheless. ‘Wow! He survived!’

‘Who is he?’

‘The wee commie biologist fae the statues. Can we pick him up?’

‘Is that safe?’ Kevin asked.

‘I think so.’

Lucinda elbowed her way to the front and asked the sled’s driver to take them down. Reluctantly, he complied. They drifted to the man’s level, and hung in the air ten metres away from him, keeping him covered. He was wearing his survival suit with the visor up, and he was grinning.

‘Hello again, Miss Carlyle Lucinda,’ he said.

‘I’m glad to see you,’ she said. ‘How did you get here?’

‘Through the gate, three days ago,’ he said.

‘Wasn’t it guarded?’

Ree put his fists on his hips. ‘ Juche martial arts superior to those of decadent effete Knights,’ he said proudly. He mimed knocking heads together. ‘Left guards unconscious and ran to hills. Since then have been living self-reliantly and awaiting your heroic production brigade’s arrival. Most impressive battle, observed from safe distance. Also observed your departure.’

‘How did you know we would be coming this way?’

‘Lucky guess of optimal route out of artifact region, and very fast running.’ He held out a hand. ‘May I come with you?’

‘Uh, sure,’ said Lucinda. She gestured to the driver; he edged the sled towards the slope. ‘But why did you come here?’

‘To see great playwright Ben-Ami,’ Ree said. He caught a rail and vaulted deftly aboard. ‘I have much to tell him.’

They lifted off to join the other sleds, which were returning to a more sustainable altitude.

‘I meant—I thought you were escaping,’ Lucinda said, ‘from whoever wrecked the statues and burned the jungle and destroyed your settlement.’

Ree looked grim and grieved. ‘That too,’ he said. ‘They are connected.’

The Carlyles had walked out. The reporters had buzzed off. There was a hiatus in the conference, filled with a low murmur as people came and went to fetch water, tea, beer, or coffee from the Knights’ commendably ecumenical catering machine. Lamont sat at the top table beside Armand and Yamata, sipped tea, and wondered if he and the two lightning-chasers, as they called themselves, formed a third party to the Eurydiceans and the Knights. Or if there were more parties here than that: the Eurydiceans all wore uniforms identical apart from their company logos, but he could tell the resurrected Returners from the rest at a glance: faces fresh out of the tank, and yet older and more experienced than the others, more primitive, more guarded.

As for the Knights, their expressions were calm but curious, their voices low, their gestures oblique. Higgins and Johnstone were looking around uneasily, but smiling.

Lamont hated this sort of thing: ambiguity, micropolitics, the presentation of self in everyday life. He decided he would have to get used to it. Morag Higgins caught his despairing glance, and returned him an encouraging smile. Now she was one straightforward person. Like the Hungry Dragon in that respect. He smiled back. He put down his empty cup with an unintended bang (still not used to gravity), shuffled his forearms on the table, turned to Armand and Yamata.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said. It came out too loud. The place hushed. ‘I detect a certain tension in the room.’

To his surprise, everybody laughed. Lamont took from it no sense of relief. One of the Returners jumped up.

‘Too right there’s tension,’ he said. ‘We were promised Return. I haven’t heard that mentioned. And I’m wondering if you haven’t sold us out again, General Jacques.’

Armand glanced sharply at Yamata, sighed, and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

‘Thank you, Lawrence,’ he said. ‘It is not a question of selling out. It is a question of doing my job.’

‘Now when have we heard that before?’ the Returner asked.

Armand cut across the chorus of concurrence.

‘Neither I, nor the Joint Chiefs, nor the Knights can prevent any of you from returning to Earth even if we wanted to. I must point out, however, that the Knights disapprove more strongly than ever of what the Carlyles call combat archeology.’ Armand glared at Lamont, Higgins, and Johnstone in turn. ‘Not to mention what the Carlyles call Rapture-fucking. I cannot imagine the Joint Chiefs taking any more sanguine view of them. What was awakened here is benign. What has been awakened elsewhere has often not been. As Eurydice moves to take full control of the wormhole skein, the opportunities for such activities will diminish. Despite our recent conflict, the Knights remain the most civilised of the powers, the one with whom we have most in common, and most to learn from, and most to give.’ He leaned back, and opened his hands. ‘Or does anyone think the American farmers or the Asian communists are more promising partners?’

‘You’re forgetting the Carlyles,’ said Higgins.

‘I am trying to,’ said Armand, to laughter.

The Returner who’d stood up now turned to face the others. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I have to say with the Carlyles that there’s nothing here for us. For myself, I’m going back to the city. Anyone want to join me?’

A few of his resurrected comrades shook their heads. The others, about sixty in all, along with a few native-born Eurydiceans, rose and followed him out. Higgins cast Lamont an anguished, angry look, and followed them.

Lamont jumped to his feet. ‘Morag! Come back!’

A shake of her head sent a ripple down her silver hair.

Lamont hesitated, then looked at Armand and Yamata, shrugged, and made his way around the corner of the table and ran after her. He slowed to walk beside her.

‘Glad to see you,’ she said. Her glass eyes glinted, her metal hand was warm. They had gone out of the door by the time Armand had sprinted up and caught their shoulders, then kept pace.

‘Coming with us?’ asked Higgins.

Armand ignored the sarcasm. ‘You know I can’t,’ he said. ‘But don’t be fools.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You and that hothead Lawrence Hammond should have listened to what I said. How long will it take for Eurydice—or even your newly wakened AI—to take control of the skein? Days, weeks, who knows? Likewise for the Knights to harden their fortifications on Earth.’

‘And what if the Knights don’t just let the Returners leave?’ Lamont asked. ‘Or if the Joint Chiefs don’t? How long have we got then?’

‘Maybe a few hours,’ said Armand grimly. ‘Just keep it quiet and move fast. Talk to Lucinda Carlyle or Amelia Orr, they’ll know what to do. Set up a meeting, but don’t discuss anything over the comms.’ He raised his voice. ‘All right then!’ he shouted, pushing them forward. ‘Go! Go if you want! Go now!’

He stalked back in to the conference, theatrically shaking his head, while Lamont and Higgins walked after the Returners to the hypersonic transports. A starship screamed across the sky and stopped above the horizon, drifting down to land somewhere beyond the encircling range of hills.