Newcomen put his head between his knees and prayed so hard the tears squeezed out.

26

[Sasha?]

“Yeah. I’m paying attention.”

[No mountains?]

“Not at the moment. Not until the Urals at least, and they’re an ocean away.”

[Do you have the time to talk to the First Vice Premier of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China?]

Petrovitch sat bolt upright in his seat. “Yobany stos.”

[They asked specifically for you.]

“Me? Why me?”

[Most likely they are wedded to outmoded models of governmental organisation, and still have great difficulty believing that the Freezone does not have a vertical power structure where a single individual has ultimate authority.]

“So they pick the guy they’ve actually heard of and pretend?”

[Essentially, yes. They are waiting for you.]

“And are we happy with that? I’m not a good spokesman for anyone but myself, and even then I’m not so sure.” He resisted the urge to flatten his hair and scrub the soot from his cheeks. He swallowed hard. “Okay. We’re secure, right?”

[Secure from our end, yes. Everything you say will be as closely scrutinised by their analysts as it will be by ours.]

“Hang on.” He blinked. “Newcomen?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve got the Chinese on the line. Tell Michael if we lose an engine or the plane cracks in two. He’ll kick me out: otherwise, you won’t get a response from me for a bit.”

Newcomen stopped worrying at his nails. “Are they going to admit it’s one of theirs?”

“They’ll never say it straight. They’ll hint at it obliquely, and expect me to be just as oblique back.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. Like that’s going to happen.”

[First Vice Premier Zhao Zhenwang is still waiting, Sasha.]

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Petrovitch saw an office: it could have been anywhere, but the feed was geolocating to Beijing. The only splash of colour to the bland decor was the furled red flag attached to the wall behind the desk. Everything else was monochrome, even the skin of the man in the centre of the screen.

Zhao had short cropped black hair – maybe he dyed it to cover the grey – and wore a black suit. He had his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, and his outsized glasses framed his too-large eyes. Michael helpfully popped his short-form biography up beside the man.

Petrovitch scanned it: a scientist by trade, electronics degree followed by a successful business career and a swift rise through the party ranks. He was an interesting choice of representative for the Chinese to make.

“Dr Petrovitch.” Zhao bowed slightly.

Petrovitch’s image – the one he chose to project – was on a big screen facing the vice premier. He kept it simple: photorealistically him, set against a neutral background. In the labyrinthine government that ruled the People’s Republic, Zhao weighed in somewhere between the seventh and eighth most powerful official in the land, depending on whose analysis could be believed.

Plenty power enough, Petrovitch reckoned. “First Vice Premier Zhao, a pleasure to talk to you.”

“You are too kind, Dr Petrovitch. How are you today?”

“How… I’m surprisingly fine, considering the circumstances.”

[He will expect you to enquire about his health in return.]

Petrovitch gave a little nod. “And First Vice Premier, how are you?”

Zhao took a moment before responding. “I am very well, thank you for asking. My sincerest condolences on your missing daughter. I hope she will be returned to you soon.”

“I appreciate your concern, First Vice Premier. The Freezone collective is anxious to have her back.”

[Zhao Zhenwang is wearing an earpiece. I can attempt to access the datafeed if you wish.]

“Give it a miss for now,” Petrovitch said to Michael. “We don’t want to piss them off.”

Zhao stared at Petrovitch’s feet across the room, across the thousands of kilometres that separated them. Petrovitch stared back.

“You wish to discuss something with me?” he finally asked when his patience ran out. It had only taken a few seconds.

“There is a situation we might examine further.” Zhao indicated his willingness to continue with a tilt of his head. “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“And would that situation involve a certain American antiballistic missile system?” Having his teeth pulled without anaesthetic would be kinder.

“It might well do so, Doctor. There have been recent activities that have concerned the People’s Republic, and we are seeking reassurance that these activities are not detrimental to us.”

Petrovitch imagined Michael standing next to him, just off screen. “He’s a wordy bastard and no mistaking. His English is probably better than mine, but he doesn’t have to show it.”

[Expect these circumlocutions to continue for a while, Sasha.]

“Yeah, well. I hate it already. He’d be better off talking to Marcus: he loves this diplomatic kon govno.” Petrovitch forced his image to affect a concerned nod, and made sure his hands were well under control. “First Vice Premier, the Freezone also has much to lose if SkyShield has begun to malfunction.”

Zhao pursed his lips. “Your previous experience with the system would be useful in our deliberations.”

“You mean, when I hijacked it and forced Mackensie to quit over giving me the nuclear launch codes? In which case, yes: I’ve got experience of SkyShield.”

“Indeed, Doctor. In your opinion, is it likely that the government of the United States of America is fully in control of all the SkyShield assets?”

[Careful.]

“I’m there already.” He posed his best slightly hurt expression on his face and looked at the floor. “I can assure the President that neither myself nor anyone belonging to the Freezone collective has attempted to interfere with any part of SkyShield.” Then he gave up. “Look, bluntly put, it’s not us. You probably know as much as we do: a SkyShield platform opened fire on something in orbit, brought it down over Alaska, where it exploded about ten k from the ground. Beyond that, we’re pretty much in the dark.”

The vice premier made a non-committal noise in his throat like a grunt. “And you do not know what it was that fell?”

“Our best assumption was that it was one of your birds. Which you may or may not have fitted with a nuclear fail-safe.”

“Putting nuclear weapons in orbit would violate several treaties to which the People’s Republic is party.”

“Yeah. It would, wouldn’t it?” Petrovitch unclasped his hands from in front of his body, and reclasped them behind him. It was only an avatar: it would do what he told it to do, but he was desperate to start waving his arms around like a demented windmill.

[Face, Sasha. Do not make him lose face.]

“I don’t care about his face.”

[But you do care about Lucy.]

“It might be better to assume,” continued Zhao, “that we would therefore not walk that path.”

Petrovitch looked at the flag, the desk, the shaded window. “If we were to make such an assumption, it leaves the Freezone with an interesting problem.”

“How so, Doctor?”

“There are only a few countries or blocs with the required lifting capacity to get that sort of mass into orbit. We’ve done a lot of analysis in the past couple of days, and we’re pretty certain we can account for most, if not all, of the existing satellites. Yours, we’re not so sure about.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got the knowledge to put a hundred metric tonnes into space, and the means to do it reliably and regularly. You’ve got a Moon mission planned for next year. Even I’m excited about that.”

Zhao permitted himself a brief smile. “I am eagerly anticipating the event myself. But to return to the matter in hand: China is not in the habit of putting nuclear weapons on board peaceful space missions.”