The Curve of The Earth by Simon Morden Page A

thing.”
    “Yeah, well. She could have chosen Antarctica, but no.
Yebani
Alaska.”
    Newcomen came trailing back. “Bag’s been checked.”
    “Still don’t understand why you brought all that stuff with you.” Petrovitch noticed Newcomen staring at Tabletop, and where her hand was. It was nowhere inappropriate, except it was on him. “What now?”
    “I don’t think your wife would approve.”
    “All hail the nuclear family. Newcomen, I got married while you were still throwing pigskins around in college, but if I was going to run off with a mind-wiped CIA-trained assassin? You’re right: I’d choose her.” He stared the American down. “You don’t have any female friends because your warped social conventions don’t let you. The rest of the planet think you’re idiots.”
    “She’s a traitor to my country,” said Newcomen, baldly.
    “Yeah. Doesn’t stop you from trying to look down her top, though,” said Petrovitch. “I think it’s time we were going before the Reconstruction virus you’re carrying infects anyone else.”
    He pushed Newcomen around and aimed him at the security screen. Halfway there himself, he turned to see Tabletop adjusting the strap of her bag across her body, watching his receding back plaintively. He stopped, shooed Newcomen onwards, and went back to her.
    She hugged him to her, pressing the side of her head against his. He held her for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and whispered, “Good luck” in her ear.
    “And you.”
    He didn’t look back this time, just strode through the arch of the screen without pausing. It didn’t detect anything, although the operator’s console should have lit up like a Christmas tree. The real-time editing of data wasn’t difficult:all it needed was enough processing power and the bandwidth to pull it off.
    Newcomen was scandalised by Petrovitch’s behaviour with Tabletop. Petrovitch didn’t care.
    “I don’t expect you to understand, now or ever. Neither do I feel that I owe you an explanation. All you need to know is that she turned against you and everything you stand for when I accidentally showed her a different future. And she’s in love with that future – not me – even more than she despises her past. Come on,” said Petrovitch, heading off in a seemingly random direction, “we’re leaving from gate thirty-four.”
    Newcomen dug his heels in. “I know I don’t know much about international travel, but when I was at JFK, I had to wait two hours between checking in and departure.”
    “I’m sure you did. According to the airline’s computers, we’ve been at the airport for two and a half hours already, and if you’d noticed the displays, we’re already boarding.”
    “But what about my case? And I wanted to get Christine something from one of the concessions.”
    “Your case will be fine, and if some giant bear stitched in a sweatshop is your idea of a suitable present for the woman you’re going to marry, God help you. And her. Besides, getting back from the Metrozone in one piece should be enough of a gift.” Petrovitch shook his head and stood to one side to let a family of eight go by, the man in front, the bejewelled and shimmering woman behind, and six children of various sizes between. “I can delay the flight for as long as I like, but let’s not waste any more time, okay?”
    Newcomen tore his gaze away from the vast array of shiny baubles and reluctantly followed. Petrovitch didn’t wait, but Newcomen’s stride length meant he was finally caught. Theyfell in, side by side, walking down the connecting corridor: Petrovitch caught his reflection in one of the windows, hands in pockets, slouching gait and all. Not that different from the last time he went out to war. He looked past himself to the man next to him, tall, broad, filling his coat and tending to fat around his middle. Newcomen had the appearance of being sculpted, created – which he was.
    They looked like they were from