“Let’s try another angle,” Aaron said. He told his u-shadow to find all files relating to a Commonwealth citizen called Tiger Pansy around the time of the Starflyer War.
The cabin’s portal projected a rather startling image.
“No way,” Corrie-Lyn said.
Aaron stared at the woman in equal disbelief. She was a complete mess: terrible hair; bad facial reprofiling ruining the symmetry of her eyes, nose, and lips, with appalling cosmetics making them appear worse; ridiculous breast enlargements; tight, short clothes that no girl over twenty could get away with wearing, let alone this one, who must have been close to rejuvenation time again.
“Signed to the Wayside Production Company on Oaktier,” Corrie-Lyn read off her exovision. “Appeared in a large number of their, aha, productions. Left them in the last year of the Starflyer War. No subsequent information. Nothing: no residency listing on any planetary cybersphere, no records of rejuvenation treatment, no bodyloss certificate. She simply dropped out of sight.”
Aaron shook himself and canceled the projection. “Easy enough at the time. There was a mass migration from the Lost23 worlds which the Primes had invaded. After that, it got even more chaotic.”
“Coincidence?”
“The Raiel are not known for their lies. Maybe Qatux did marry her. She certainly looks the emotional type.”
“That’s not quite how I’d describe her,” Corrie-Lyn muttered. “And how did she get to Far Away? The planet was virtually cut off for decades until the starlines started flying there.”
“She must have been with the Johansson team. I don’t think it’s relevant.”
“No, but it’s interesting. Why would a Raiel go there?”
“You want to ask?”
She shook her head. “Nah, too intimidated.”
“I’ll ask for you.”
“No. Let’s just drop it.”
“You’re right, though: It is interesting. I was obviously given the correct information. Qatux helps humans.”
“He said he used to. Until Tiger Pansy was killed.”
“By the Cat, no less. That’d be enough to shock anyone out of their dependency routine, no matter how delightful and ingrained.”
“Yes, well, thank Ozzie, Paula Myo finally caught her.”
“Yeah. And in about another four thousand years we can all share the joy of her coming out of suspension.”
“Urrgh. I won’t be around for that no matter what.”
“Qatux knew Paula Myo,” Aaron said. “I wonder if that’s relevant.”
“How could it be?”
He waited for a moment to see if his subconscious produced any clues. It didn’t. “No idea.”
The Artful Dodger’s smartcore told them the High Angel was calling. “Please prepare for teleport,” the alien starship told them.
“Oh, hell,” Corrie-Lyn said as she clambered to her feet. “I really don’t like this—”
The cabin vanished. Once again they were standing in the large circular chamber facing Qatux.
“—part.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Aaron bowed to the Raiel. “Thank you for obliging us.”
“You are welcome,” the big alien whispered.
“Were you successful?”
“I have lived through Inigo’s early life. It was not that distinguished.”
Aaron looked straight at Qatux, avoiding Corrie-Lyn. His gaiamotes revealed the pique that the last remark had triggered in her mind. “Nonetheless, it must have provided you with an understanding of his behavior patterns.”
“Guilt drives him.”
“Guilt?”
“He spent his whole life hiding what he was from everyone: his family, those he loved, and his enemies.”
“Are you talking about the Protectorate?”
“Yes. He was aware of their constant surveillance. Toward the end he took a perverse enjoyment in maintaining the illusion that he was an ordinary Advancer, but such a lie weighed heavily on him. It was one of the main reasons he volunteered for duty at Centurion Station.”
“All right, I can buy into that scenario. Given the circumstances of his later life, where do you think he might have gone?”
“Hanko.”
Which wasn’t the kind of answer Aaron was bracing himself for. Not even close. “The Second47 world?”
“Yes.”
“I know that was where Anagaska’s population originated from, but they were forced off because it became uninhabitable after the Prime attack. There’s nothing there, not anymore.”
“Inigo was always fascinated by what he considered his true ancestral home,” Qatux said. “Remember, he did not belong in Anagaska’s Advancer culture. Hanko gave him a psychological ground point, amplified by an ancestor obsession rooted in his psyche due to the loss of his father so soon after his birth. Such a trauma affects any child, Higher as much as Advancer, especially when the event is regarded with such bitterness by his mother.”
“A wound she kept open, unintentionally or otherwise.”
“Correct. Hanko provided the perfect solution to someone as displaced as Inigo. A real place, yet at the same time unattainable. The illusion which could not be broken. He often contributed to charities which supplemented the official government Restoration teams. A telling point; he was never a wealthy man on Anagaska.”
“And you think he’s gone back there?”
“If he abandoned Living Dream due to his own uncertainty on the direction it was taking, I would assign it a very high possibility. He is Higher; the radiation and climate will have little physical effect on him.”
“There are a lot of unknowns in this assumption.”
“If you had certainties, you would not be here.”
“I apologize. I was expecting you to say he had fled the Commonwealth or there was some secret cabal devoted to helping him. But Hanko would certainly explain why no one has found him.”
“Will you go there?”
Aaron looked over at Corrie-Lyn, who looked very puzzled.
“Yes,” he said.
“Ambition and good intentions are always an excellent starting point,” Likan said. “Then, before you know it, you come right smack up against reality. You either adapt, become realistic, and respond in kind, or you founder along until you sink under the weight of your own capitulations. Now, I know those of you in this auditorium aren’t quitters; hell, quitters couldn’t afford these ticket prices.” He grinned at the murmur of dutiful amusement. “In life, either you get pressured or you apply pressure. Same for business—”
Three rows back from the small podium, Araminta glanced at her fellow entrepreneurs. It was like the gathering of a clone army, all eager young businesspeople, smartly dressed and sharply styled, hanging on to every word the richest man on the planet had to say about acquiring that wealth. Each one of them was desperate for a tiny hint about which way the market would go, a quip about financial trends, what new law to watch out for, a state project that was worth trying to bandwagon.
If they thought the Sheldonite would give them that, they were in for a big disappointment. Basic research: Likan was a ruthless man. He was in Colwyn City to give another of his how-I-made-it lectures for publicity and prestige, not to help fledgling rivals. A high profile helped his business, and in addition he got a buzz out of being adulated. This whole evening exemplified his favorite catchphrase: “win-win.”
Bovey would hate all this, she knew, and smiled secretively at the knowledge. When one was sitting amid the faithful, such thoughts were near sacrilege. But then Bovey had a bit of a hang-up about the genuinely rich and powerful. All politicians were worthless incompetents, all billionaires corrupt criminals. It was one of those quirks she was fond of. It could be quite funny hearing his youngest self, the biological fourteen-year-old, raging about the cabinet secretary for social affairs. Mr. Bovey had the true hatred of every self-employed person for bureaucracy and the taxes it demanded to keep functioning and, worse, ex
panding. In her mind, fourteen-year-olds did not have adult concerns like that; it was all angst and impossible aspirations at that age. She recalled it well.
Araminta sighed warmheartedly, more loudly than she intended. She saw Likan’s gaze flick in her direction, though his speech never faltered. Her lips pressed together in self-censure.
The speech was exactly what she had been expecting: plenty of motivational talk, a few anecdotes, a load of financial services product placement, and an excess of toothy smiles during the pauses for applause and laughter. Araminta even clapped along with the rest of them. It was all standard stuff, but there were some nuggets among the debris. She was interested in his early years, how to make the jump from a small operation like hers up to a more corporate level. According to Likan, advancement was all a matter of risk and how much of it one was prepared to take. He mentioned self-confidence a lot, along with determination and hard work. Araminta wondered if he’d ever met Laril. Now, that would be an interesting conversation.
Likan finished and was provided with a standing ovation. Araminta got to her feet with the rest of them and applauded halfheartedly. She wished he had been more specific, maybe given some case-study examples. The chairman of the Colwyn Small Business Association thanked their distinguished guest and announced that refreshments were available in the function room outside.
By the time Araminta made it out of the auditorium, her fellow small business owners were forming tight little groups to chatter away to one another while they gulped down the free drinks and canapés. From the snippets she overheard on her way to the bar, the majority ran virtual companies; talk was about expansion curves and cross-promotional market penetration and share options and when to merge. Men glanced at her as she walked past. There were welcoming smiles, even a few pings to her u-shadow, offering compliments and invitations. Her u-shadow did not respond; pings were so adolescent. If you want to take me out to dinner, have the courage to ask me to my face. She had chosen a deep turquoise dress that complemented her hair color. Strictly speaking, the neckline was low and the hem high for a business occasion, but she now had the confidence to buck convention, at least on a small level. Independence and all that exposure to Cressida had given her that.
“Pear water,” she told the barman.
“Interesting choice.”
She turned to find Likan standing behind her. For someone so rich, his appearance was puzzling. The skin on his face was slightly puffy, with flushed cheeks, as if he were permanently out of breath. His biological age was higher than usual, fixed in his late thirties rather than the mid-twenties everyone else favored. The clothes he wore were always expensive but never quite gelled, as if he got his dress sense from advertizements. His jacket with a sharkskin shimmer was chic, but not with that purple shirt and green neck twister. And the brown shoes were best worn when gardening.
“I have to work later tonight,” she said. “Can’t afford lack of judgment from alcohol.”
“Good self-control. I like that.”
“Thank you,” she said levelly.
“I got the impression you weren’t impressed tonight.”
People nearby were looking their way discreetly. Likan’s voice was as forceful as it had been on the podium. That at least gave the impression of a strong personality.
Araminta sipped her pear water, wondering how to play this. “I was hoping for more detail,” she told him.
“What kind of detail? Come on. You paid for your ticket; you’re entitled.”
“Okay, small company, doing well. Needs to step up a level. Do you reinvest profits and ride a gradual expansion with each project slightly larger than the last, or do you take a bank loan and jump ten levels.”
“How small a company?”
“One-woman band, supported by some bots.”
“Company product?”
“Property development.”
“Good choice for a start-up. High profitability relative to scale. There is a ceiling, though, especially with one person. After the first three properties there should be enough profit to take on more staff. With that you move on from one property at a time and start multiple developments. Timing for that has never been better; property is the hot item here today thanks to Living Dream.”
“Everything is relative. With that demand, a developer has to buy high.”
“Then this developer should buy a whole street that’s in decline. It’s a profit multiplier; the individual unit prices rise because you’ve taken the entire street upmarket and made it desirable.”
“That’s a big step.”
“The level of risk you are prepared to undertake is proportional to your growth potential. If you don’t take it, you are declaring: This far and no further. That will define your life. I don’t think you want that.”
“Question: Would you advise the staff expansion be accomplished by becoming multiple?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Going multiple only seems like a solution to a solo act. Ultimately it’s a lifestyle choice rather than a business one. Ask yourself what you can accomplish by being multiple that you can’t by good aggressive management. You came to listen to me tonight, so I know you’re already thinking ahead, thinking big. Property is a foundation stone for a corporate empire, a good one. I still have a vast property portfolio, but to achieve real market dominance you must diversify and interlock your interests. That’s what Sheldon did. He used his interstellar transport monopoly as a cash source to fund industrial, commercial, and financial enterprises on a hundred worlds. At the time of the Starflyer War he was effectively emperor of the Commonwealth.”
“Do you want to be our emperor?”
“Yes.”
Araminta was slightly shaken by his bluntness. She thought he was somehow calling her bluff. “Why?”
“Because it’s a position where you can do whatever you want. The ultimate freedom. Isn’t that what we all strive for?”
“With power comes responsibility.”
“That’s what politicians tell you when they want your vote. There’s a difference between political power and financial power, especially out here in the External worlds. I’d like to demonstrate that to you.”
“How would you do that?”
“Come and stay with me at my home for a weekend. See firsthand what I’ve achieved. Decide if that’s what you want for yourself.”
“What about your wives?” It was common knowledge how staunchly committed he was to replicating his idol’s ideology and life, including, or perhaps especially, the harem.
“What about them?”
“Won’t they mind my visit?”
“No. They’ll be joining us in bed.”
That’ll teach me; you can’t be more direct to my face than that. She was pleased with the way she kept her reaction in check: no startled expression, no giveaway body language—squaring the shoulders, straightening the back. In effect she was telling him she could hold her own against him any day. “I accept,” she said as if it were some kind of request to review financial statements.
“I knew I was right about you,” he said.
“In what way?”
“You know yourself; you know what you want. That’s always dangerous.”
“To whom?”
“To everyone else. That’s what makes you so desirable.”
“Win-win, then,” she mocked.
The Alexis Denken slid comfortably into the big airlock at the base of the Raiel dome stalk. Behind it, the stars vanished as the wall materialized again. Paula stood up, pulled wrinkles out of her suit jacket self-consciously, and straightened her spine. The High Angel teleported her into Qatux’s private chamber. Raiel homes traditionally were split into three sections: public, residence, and private. One had to be a very good friend indeed to be invited beyond the public. The circular chamber had a pale blue floor, and in keeping with tradition, the ceiling was invisible somewhere overhead. Around her, silver and gray walls ripp
led as if water were flowing down them, yet there was no sound, no dampness in the air. Beyond the cavorting surface, images of planetscapes and strange galaxies writhed insubstantially. However, one image remained firm and clear: a human face that Paula knew only too well.
She inclined her head to the big alien who occupied the center of the chamber.
“Paula, I rejoice that you are here.”
“It’s been a long time, Qatux. How are you?”
“I am well. If I were a human, I would be fit.”
“I am glad.”
“I have risen to the High Angel’s fifth echelon.”
“How many are there?”
“Five.”
Paula laughed. She had forgotten Qatux’s sly humor. “So you’re the captain, then.”
“I have that honor.”
“Congratulations.”
“And you, Paula; do you continue to prosper?”
“I continue to be very busy. For me that’s about the same thing.”
“That is to be expected. There are few of your species who remain in their bodies for as long as you have.”
“It’s also why I’m here. I need information.”
“Just like the good old days. How intriguing.”
Paula cocked her head to one side as she regarded the big alien. That phrase was slightly out of kilter. Qatux’s eye clusters remained steady on her. Long ago it never would have been so bold as to tease her. But then long ago it had been something of a wreck, until the Far Away mission had come along. Of course, she had been very different then, too. “The starship Alini has just visited the Raiel dome. Can you tell me if these people were on board?” Her u-shadow retrieved image files for Aaron and Corrie-Lyn.
“They were,” Qatux whispered.
“What did they want?”
“I believe their mission was confidential.”
She gave her old friend a shrewd glance, not liking the conclusions she was drawing. “It was you who saw them, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” The bottom set of tentacle limbs shivered slightly, the Raiel equivalent of a blush.
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 50
