Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘You really hate it here, don’t you?’

  Mark let out a relieved breath. ‘Yeah.’ Then he was suddenly animated, jumping up to give her an intent stare. ‘This whole world is strictly for adults only. And I don’t mean me. I’m only twenty-eight for Christ’s sake, that’s not adult. They shouldn’t let anyone through the gateways at New Costa Junction until they’re at least a hundred years old. You’re the only kind of people who can take this kind of life.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I admit it doesn’t bother me as much as it obviously does you. That’s because it’s temporary, baby. One day we’ll leave.’

  ‘But not together! That’s part of you as well, that fatalism, or wisdom, whatever you want to call it. Nothing ever seems to bother you. You’ve had other marriages; they’re just sections of your life. You’re my whole life, Liz, you and the kids. I know I’ll get out of here one day, but it won’t be with you. And this world isn’t for children, there’s no society here. That’s what I hate most about all this; Barry and Sandy are going to grow up just like me. That’s . . . that’s so much the worst thing I could ever do to them.’

  ‘Okay.’ She put a finger on his cheek, turning his head so she could look straight at him. ‘Tomorrow you hand in your resignation, and we start looking through the unisphere for somewhere else to live, somewhere different. Maybe a phase three world.’

  ‘You can’t . . . you’re not serious.’

  ‘Perfectly serious. This is eating you up; you don’t have to be my age to see that. And, Mark, I meant everything I said at the altar. I do love you, and if we stay here we’re going to get torn apart. So, this is what we have to do.’

  ‘But what about your work? The stuff you do at Bitor-UU is real cutting edge.’

  ‘So? There are tens of thousands who can do the same thing, hundreds of thousands, actually. And I don’t really need to be in the labs the whole time, I can work most of the systems over the unisphere. Then again, maybe it’s time for me to get a new job if we are going to live somewhere different.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Mark looked shocked, then he began to smile. ‘My God, do you know what they’ll say if I tell them I’m quitting? Burcombe will go crazy.’

  ‘Let him. Who cares?’

  ‘But, what about money? We’ll never earn as much anywhere else, not doing what we do now.’

  ‘Pay is relative. Augusta costs a lot more than most places. We’ll find a world where our jobs support this kind of lifestyle, if not a better one.’

  He held her close. The expression on his face was the same kind of wonder as the first time they’d gone to bed together. ‘You’ll really emigrate with me?’

  ‘Yes, Mark. You’re not just some section of my life, baby, you are my life. Who knows, maybe we’ll be the one in a hundred billion couples who actually stay married for all eternity.’

  He grinned. ‘I like that idea.’

  ‘You got any thoughts where you’d like to go? You’ve obviously been thinking about this for a long time.’

  ‘Since I was about five.’ His hands moved down to the gown’s belt, and gently pulled the bow open. ‘But we can talk about that in the morning.’

  *

  An hour after the case broke, Tarlo and Renne accompanied the Directorate duty forensics team to the Paris CST station, where all of them climbed on board the express for Nzega. They routed via Orleans, the Big15 world for that sector of phase two space, and arrived at Fatu, Nzega’s capital, forty-one minutes later. The forensic team hired a van to carry their equipment, while Renne and Tarlo checked out a big BMW 4x4 Range Cruiser.

  Nzega wasn’t a backwater world, but it had managed to sidestep the excesses of full technoindustrial development. The majority culture was stable, civilized, and took a decently relaxed attitude to life and human foibles. Its main body of initial settlers were Polynesian and Latin Americans. They came because of the seas; half the planet’s surface was water. Nzega didn’t have any major continents, just hundreds of large islands, and thousands of smaller ones. That gave them an awful lot of coastline. Boats were a huge part of the local way of life. On the major inhabited islands, it was the interiors which were sparsely populated.

  The economic spin-off from that was the colossal number of resorts, hotels, and rental properties along the shores of the islands. Combined with the planet’s liberalism, it attracted a lot of middle-class kids looking for a break from the worlds with a faster pace of life.

  Renne loaded their destination, Port Launay, into the BMW’s drive array, and settled back to enjoy the view. It was a seventeen-hour drive from Fatu along the Great Mantu Road, taking them over innumerable causeway bridges, and five ferry rides between the islands into the sub-tropical zone. Sometimes the road was enzyme-bonded concrete, sometimes not. There were times when it ran along the top of sheer cliffs, and others when it meandered through what seemed like endless salt marshes, while the rest was just a standard route through the string of coastal towns. After a while, both investigators opaqued the windows and settled down to sleep while the vehicle rolled along.

  Port Launay was simply a four-kilometre section of the urban strip which ran along the whole shore of Kailindri island, though ‘urban’ was pushing the definition a bit. The single compacted stone road ran along two hundred metres inland from the sea through the continual forest of shaggy native trees, with small cul-de-sacs branching off where clusters of chalets and bungalows sheltered under the trees. Towns were distinguished by the way shops and commercial buildings clumped together to serve residential neighbourhoods.

  When the BMW’s drive array indicated they’d reached their cul-de-sac, Renne switched to manual to steer the car along the last few hundred metres. The road wasn’t even broken stone any more, just tyre tracks of dusty sand in the dense yellow-blue queengrass. Three local police cars were blocking the way. Several rented cars were parked on the verges in front of them, with reporters arguing with police officers.

  ‘How did they get here so goddamn fast?’ Tarlo asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Renne said. ‘They smell misery the way vultures smell carrion. You want to deal with the local police?’

  ‘Sure.’ Tarlo grinned, slipped his sports sunglasses on, and opened the door.

  She watched him saunter over to the sergeant in charge, and start talking. Tarlo was from Los Angeles, eighty-two years old, completing his first rejuvenation nine years previously. Not that he gave that impression in the flesh, he still looked as if he was barely out of his teens. A wealthy Californian family had provided extensive germline sequencing, one facet of which restricted his natural ageing process. They’d also gone for a traditional (or stereotyped – depending on your view-point) surfer kid appearance: slim body, but tall and naturally toned, with lush blond hair, and perfect teeth set on a firm square jaw. Tarlo clearly relished his heritage. Quite why he’d gone into law enforcement was something Renne never under-stood. ‘I like puzzles,’ was the only explanation he’d ever offered. Personally, she felt he got slightly too much of a buzz out of the Directorate’s covert operations. The little boy who wanted to be a super secret agent when he grew up.

  He ought to fit in just fine on Nzega. Which was why she was happy to let him talk to the police. Sometimes there was a lot of resentment within the local law enforcement agency when the Directorate turned up and took over.

  She saw the forensic team’s van pull in behind the BMW just as Tarlo and the sergeant laughed together. One of the police cars was driven off the track it had been blocking, and Tarlo waved her through.

  The beach cottage was another couple of hundred metres further on. Tall trees with grey-blue leaves lined the track, providing a degree of privacy for the other homes along the cul-de-sac. She caught glimpses of the single-storey buildings. They had been built mainly from wood or composite panels, but one had been grown from drycoral. A black Merc had drawn up outside the cottage she wanted. Renne had a good idea who that had brought. She parked the BMW behind it, and clim
bed out into strong humidity and the strong smell of saltwater. The trees provided a reasonable shade from the fierce morning sunlight, but she still put her own sunglasses on.

  ‘The Halgarths sent their own security team,’ Tarlo said as he walked up beside her, holding his linen jacket over his shoulder. He nodded at the Merc. ‘Police said they arrived about forty minutes ago.’

  ‘How do the police feel about us being here?’

  He grinned his broad grin. ‘Pleased to hand the whole problem over to us. They’ll handle crowd control until Ms Halgarth leaves.’

  ‘Good.’ She watched the forensic team van jolt its way along the track. ‘Do we know which house the Guardians operated out of ?’

  ‘Yep.’ He pointed along the shore. ‘Two down. They obviously had good intel. Police have put a guard on it. The reporters don’t know about that yet.’

  ‘Okay.’ Renne straightened her shoulders, adjusted her light jacket. ‘Let’s get this over with. Put your jacket back on.’

  ‘The boss isn’t here.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  With a great show of reluctance, Tarlo put his jacket back on, and pulled his tie up. ‘There’d better be air conditioning,’ he muttered as Renne told the forensic team to start with the other house.

  They walked down the narrow front path to the beach cottage. It was a modest little building, made of wood which had been freshly painted a matt lime green, with a solar cell roof and semiorganic precipitator leaves hanging from the eaves. A wide veranda faced the sea. There was fifty metres of queengrass lawn stretching out from the veranda, which ended where the sandy soil crumbled away onto the beach. Only the rear and sides of the property were fenced in with trees, giving the cottage a grand view out across the broad cove. A barbecue stood at the end of the veranda, with several chairs and a table on the grass beside it. Empty bottles of exotic cocktails, beer cans, and dirty crockery occupied the table, glistening in the fast-evaporating dew.

  One of the Halgarth security personnel was standing in front of the door, dressed in a simple navy-blue sweatshirt, and long beige shorts that came down over his knees. Renne tried not to smile when they walked up to him, his image was obviously something he felt strongly about. ‘Serious Crimes Directorate,’ she said solemnly. ‘We’d like to interview Ms Halgarth.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ he said, ‘Some identification, please?’

  Renne’s e-butler sent an SCD certificate to his e-butler.

  ‘Thank you,’ the security man said. He opened the door for them.

  The cottage wasn’t large. It had a narrow hall leading to three bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and a lounge which took up half of the total floorspace. The furniture was functional rather than ornate, a typical low-budget holiday rent.

  ‘She’s a Halgarth, and she comes here for a vacation?’ Tarlo said. ‘Even if she’s minor family she could stay someplace better.’

  ‘That’s not the point. Didn’t you access the file? This is her first year at college, her first vacation with a bunch of friends. She’s free of the family for the first time in her life. Anyway, what’s wrong with this place?’

  He winked. ‘No moon. No tides.’ His voice dropped to a deliberately hoarse whisper. ‘No surf!’

  Renne gave him a despairing look, and went into the lounge. April Gallar Halgarth was sitting on the settee, looking as woebegone as if she’d just been told her parents had undergone complete bodyloss. Even dressed in baggy green jeans and a rumpled old russet T-shirt, she was quite beautiful. A tall twenty-year-old with smooth light-ebony skin, thick wavy hair, and sweet features that belonged on an even younger face. Her hands cupped a mug of coffee which she wasn’t drinking. When she looked up at the two investigators, her eyes were red and puffy, desperate for understanding.

  Her three girl friends were standing guard protectively round her. Marianna, Anjelia, and Laura, all from Queen’s University Belfast where they studied together. Two more Halgarth security personnel were also in the lounge, looking slightly lost. Their orders were to protect April from the media, and escort her home. The girl clearly wasn’t up to that much activity yet.

  ‘Have you caught the bastards?’ Marianna demanded when Renne and Tarlo identified themselves. She had a thick Irish accent.

  ‘Not yet, no,’ Tarlo said. ‘We’re just establishing the investigation.’

  ‘Huh!’ Marianna snorted. She turned her back on the two investigators.

  ‘Ms Halgarth, we need to ask you some questions,’ Renne said.

  Marianna knelt down beside her friend. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  April peered up at Renne. ‘It’s all right. I want to do this.’

  Marianna nodded reluctantly, and led the other two girls out of the lounge. ‘If you don’t mind,’ Tarlo said politely to the remaining bodyguards. One went out into the hall, the second left through the sliding glass door, and stood on the veranda outside.

  ‘I guess you must be wondering why this happened to you?’ Renne said, as she sat beside the distraught girl.

  ‘Yes,’ April moaned.

  ‘Mostly because you’re a Halgarth. The Guardians of Self-hood regard you as their enemy.’

  ‘Why? I don’t know anything about them, I’ve never been to Far Away, or helped any aliens or anything. I’m just studying twenty-first-century history, that’s all.’

  ‘I know. But your dynasty is the main backer behind the Marie Celeste Research Institute. To their warped minds, that’s a big crime. I have to tell you, don’t look for reason in this. There is no true rational explanation. You are the result of a search program. They wanted a Halgarth, it’s always a member of your family; and one who is – I’m sorry – slightly naive, and isolated. It was your name which popped up out of the program.’

  April bent her head, dabbing at her eyes with a paper kitchen towel. ‘He was so nice. I can’t believe this.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Tarlo asked gently.

  ‘Alberto,’ the girl said. ‘Alberto Rasanto. He was with his friends Melissa and Frank in the cottage one down from here. They were doing the same thing as us, taking a spring break. They said. I suppose that was a lie.’

  ‘Yes,’ Renne said.

  April winced as she stared into the cold coffee.

  ‘So you met them,’ Renne prompted.

  ‘He was lovely. He had these big green eyes. I thought he was a first-life, just like me. They were on the beach the day we arrived. We all started talking. There was a little bit of competition for Alberto, you know? I mean, Melissa and Frank had each other. And there are four of us. We sort of gathered round Alberto. And Marianna’s really pretty; she always gets the best boys. But he liked me. He was always smiling when we spoke; and he was easy to talk to. He had a lovely smile – really lovely. So it was like me and him for the next few days. We went swimming, and he was teaching me how to windsurf; we all went out in a group to the bars in the evening, and had too much to drink. I even tried some TSInarc. Nothing hard, just some low programs. They were weird, but kind of fun. I suppose that was the start of it.’

  ‘They’d be establishing a pattern, yes,’ Tarlo said. ‘A TSInarc or even ordinary chemical drugs help blur your recollection. I’m sorry, April, but we have to ask this: did you sleep with him?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘When, please?’

  ‘I suppose the first time was four days ago.’

  ‘And you stayed over at their cottage when you did?’

  ‘Yes. He had a room of his own. I’m sharing with Laura. We all made a pact about boys before we came here, that we’d use the couch if a roomie scored. But . . . I just. This was easier.’

  ‘More private?’ Tarlo said with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’m still a bit conservative, I suppose. Not that I mind my friends knowing I’m with a boy; but the walls here are really thin. I grew up on Solidade, which is just family.’ Her head came up, giving them a dejected look.
‘You must think I’m a really dumb rich girl who knows nothing about the real world. Nobody else would be so gullible.’

  ‘No,’ Renne said. ‘You’re not gullible. It’s not that kind of con trick. They would have got the unisphere message author certificate out of you no matter what.’

  The tears filled her eyes again. ‘But I don’t remember. And now the whole Commonwealth thinks I sent them Guardian propaganda.’

  ‘By tomorrow the Commonwealth will have forgotten. Your family will make sure the news media never mentions you again. Normally I’d complain about undue influence, but in this case I have to agree it’s a blessing.’

  April nodded slowly in agreement. ‘What happened?’ she asked with a fierce whisper. ‘The family security people said they didn’t know, but I’m sure that’s what they were ordered to say. Tell me, please.’ She looked from Tarlo to Renne. ‘Please. I have to know. I can’t even work out when. That’s so awful. I don’t care how bad it is, I just want to know.’

  ‘It would have happened two nights before they left,’ Tarlo said. Renne flashed him an angry glance, but he just shrugged. ‘Part of the routine of getting you drunk and high each night is so that you’ll always wake up the next morning with a fuzzy head. So when something like this happens you won’t be suspicious.’

  April frowned, her eyes unfocused as she glazed out through the broad window wall, concentrating on something way beyond the sparkling sea. ‘I don’t remember. I really don’t. I’d like to say I was more sluggish than usual that morning. But I wasn’t.’ She looked up at Tarlo. ‘So what happened to me?’

  ‘They would probably have given you antronoine or some variant, slipped it in your drink. You wouldn’t know what was going on, it’s almost like being blind drunk except you’re completely open to suggestion. Then they’d have used an interface scanner in conjunction with a hack program on your inserts. It wouldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes. After that, you would have had a memory edit.’

  ‘Memory edit.’ April ran her hands back through her hair. ‘You make it sound so clinical. That’s a piece of my life they stole from me. I never knew it could be that easy.’