Galactic North by Alastair Reynolds Read Free Book Online

automatically over to another channel. The face that Clavain was looking at was much like his own, except that the face on the screen was missing an eye. It was his brother. Warren was overlaid with the official insignia of the Coalition and a dozen system-wide media cartels.
    He was in the middle of a speech. “. . . express my shock,” Warren said. “Or, for that matter, my outrage. It’s not just that they’ve murdered a valued colleague and a deeply experienced member of my team. They’ve murdered my brother.”
    Clavain felt the deepest of chills. “What is this?”
    “A live transmission from Deimos,” Galiana breathed. “It’s going out to all the nets, right out to the trans-Pluto habitats.”
    “What they did was an act of unspeakable treachery,” Warren said. “Nothing less than the premeditated, cold-blooded murder of a peace envoy.” And then a video clip sprang up to replace Warren. The image must have been snapped from Deimos or one of the Interdiction satellites. It showed Clavain’s shuttle, lying in the dust close to the dyke. He watched the Ouroborus destroy the shuttle, then saw the image zoom in on himself and Voi, running for sanctuary. The Ouroborus took Voi. But this time there was no ladder lowered down for him. Instead, he saw weapon beams scythe out from the nest towards him, knocking him to the ground. Horribly wounded, he tried to get up, to crawl a few centimetres nearer to his tormentors, but the worm was already upon him.
    He watched himself get eaten.
    Warren was back again. “The worms around the nest were a Conjoiner trap. My brother’s death must have been planned days—maybe even weeks—in advance.” His face was a granite-like mask of military composure. “There can only be one outcome from such an act—something the Conjoiners must have well understood. For months they’ve been goading us towards hostile action.” He paused, then nodded at an unseen audience. “Well, now they’re going to get it. In fact, our response has already commenced.”
    “Dear God, no,” Clavain said, but the evidence was everywhere now: all around the table he could see the updating orbital spread of the Coalition’s dropships, knifing down towards Mars.
    “I think it’s war,” Galiana said.
    Conjoiners stormed onto the roof of the nest, taking up defensive positions around the domes and the dyke’s edge. Most of them carried the same guns they had used against the Ouroborus. Smaller numbers were setting up automatic cannon on tripods. One or two were manhandling large anti-assault weapons into position. Most of it was war surplus. Fifteen years ago the Conjoiners had avoided extinction by deploying weapons of awesome ferocity— but those ship-to-ship armaments were simply too destructive to use against a nearby foe. Now it would be more visceral, closer to the primal templates of combat, and none of what the Conjoiners were marshalling would be much use against the kind of assault Warren had prepared, Clavain knew. They could slow an attack, but not much more than that.
    Galiana had given him another breather mask, made him don lightweight chameleoflage armour and then forced him to carry one of the smaller guns. The gun felt alien in his hands; something he had never expected to carry again. The only possible justification for carrying it was to use it against his brother’s forces—against his own side.
    Could he do that?
    It was clear that Warren had betrayed him; he had surely been aware of the worms around the nest. So his brother was capable not just of contempt, but of treacherous murder. For the first time, Clavain felt genuine hatred for Warren. He must have hoped that the worms would destroy the shuttle completely and kill Clavain and Voi in the process. It must have pained him to see Clavain make it to the dyke . . . pained him even more when Clavain called to talk about the tragedy. But Warren’s larger plan had not been affected. The diplomatic link between the