Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Memories will always fade, that is their nature. You will know who you are.’

  ‘They fade for you. For me, I am not so sure. There is so much I wish to concentrate on and remember. I will not let go of her easily.’

  Paula leaned forward in her seat. ‘So you can access all of her life?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know her that well. So many colours, so many sounds; and feelings, what feelings she had. Tara cried at the sight of a dawn one day, it was so beautiful, out in the desert where light played across the rock and sky, and every second brought a new hue to the rumpled sandy ground. I feel her tears now, small delicate traces across my skin, blurring the image.’

  ‘Have you looked for what I asked? Did she have any enemies, anyone who hated her?’

  The Raiel’s head swung slowly from side to side in mournful denial, its tentacle-limbs following the motion discordantly. ‘No. To you, I think, she would be bland and insipid, for her life is not as fast and intense as yours. But Tara is a gentle person, she loves life and hates pain and suffering in others. The worst she ever thought of any person was irritation and disappointment. Her most serious crime was selfishness, for she cheated on several partners, she was unable to resist the pleasure and excitement which such liaisons brought her. That does not make her a bad person.’

  ‘How badly did those cheated partners react?’

  ‘Some wept. Some raged. Others didn’t care. She made her peace with all of them. Nobody she ever knew wanted to kill her. Of this I am certain.’

  ‘Damn!’ Paula’s lips compressed into an angry grimace. ‘There’s nobody?’

  ‘No. She is no saint, but to incite enough hatred in someone to kill her . . . I cannot see that, not through her eyes.’

  ‘Thank you, Qatux. I am sorry this has been so tough for you. I appreciate what you’ve done.’

  ‘It is not trouble. I love humans, all humans. I often think that perhaps I was born into the wrong species.’

  ‘You’re fine just the way you are.’

  ‘Will you bring me more memories, Paula? I purchase many from contacts in your unisphere, but none are from secure stores, none are as complete as those you bring for me, none have the richness of human existence, the trueness that I cherish.’

  ‘We’ll see. Maybe I’ll visit again.’

  ‘Thank you. And one day perhaps you will bring your own memory? I am sure you must be the greatest human I know.’

  ‘That’s very flattering, Qatux. I’ll bear it in mind.’ She waited until the image vanished before wrinkling up her nose at the grey screen.

  ‘Not a crime of passion, then,’ Hoshe said.

  Paula continued to stare at the blank screen. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘How reliable is Qatux?’

  ‘Very. If he couldn’t see anyone, then you and I certainly wouldn’t if we reviewed the recording. The only possibility from that angle is if Shaheef annoyed someone extremely dangerous, a psychotic who is capable of concealing their true emotional reaction. But I have to admit, that’s very remote.’

  ‘What about a serial killer? Oaktier hasn’t got one on record, but there could be one who spreads their victims around the Commonwealth.’

  ‘Again, it’s possible. If it is, they’re not working to any recognizable pattern. That’s the first thing my Directorate tends to look for in apparently motiveless killings. The array in Paris couldn’t find any connection to any of the known serials we have files on.’ She smiled without humour and looked up at him. ‘So how are we doing on the crime syndicate theory?’

  ‘Not good. I can’t find any important criminal event around that time, confirmed or rumoured. My best guess would be a random gangland slaying which they walked into, and the rest is just a cover up.’

  ‘Yes, that works. But it leaves us devoid of evidence.’

  ‘There’s still a load of files I haven’t reviewed yet.’

  ‘You’ve been running analysers through the primary files for a week; if there was anything helpful or relevant to us in them you should have found it by now. I’m sure you know I don’t like to give up on a case with so many suspicious circumstances, but we really are running out of plausible avenues of exploration.’ She pulled the clip out from the back of her black hair and tidied it up again before reclipping. ‘I’ll have to give this some thought.’

  It was the first time he’d heard the Chief Investigator speculate on defeat, and it was rather shocking. ‘Well how many motives can there be? It has to be a random killing. We know it wasn’t personal, or corporate, or political, or even financial, you said yourself she’s better off now. It’s not something we’re ever going to track down, because it doesn’t exist in any file or memory.’ He broke off. Paula was giving him a very intent stare. Slowly a smile spread across her face. Hoshe really wished it wasn’t directed at him. It was animal, predatory. ‘Damn,’ she murmured in admiration. ‘That is clever, isn’t it? But then he is smart, isn’t he, we’ve seen that ourselves. Smart and determined.’

  ‘Who is?’

  Her smile became a taunt. ‘I have never, ever, encountered that as a motive before. Damn!’

  ‘What? You know who it is?’

  ‘Don’t you, Detective?’

  ‘Oh, come on! Who?’

  ‘It’s all down to the timing. He didn’t kill her off to save himself money, that’s far too much the classic scenario. We would have spotted that right off. He did it so he’d be able to make money for both of them. She profits financially from her killing as much as him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Morton.’

  ‘He can’t have!’ Hoshe exclaimed. ‘He was the one who alerted us in the first place.’

  ‘That means nothing. This was meticulously thought out. He’s not going to have kept the memory. Memory is evidence. He’d get that wiped right away.’

  ‘Son of a bitch. Are you sure?’

  ‘I am now.’ Her eyes were closed as she hurriedly reviewed the scenario. ‘It fits. Hindsight is a wonderful trait.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘We need evidence. There will be two types: physical and financial. I’ll tackle company records.’

  ‘Okay. What’s the physical evidence?’

  ‘I want you to find the bodies.’

  *

  It had been a bad day at the office. When he arrived that morning, Morton had expected the preliminary central district road and water supply infrastructure contract for Puimro’s new capital to be ready for signature certificate. Gansu had underbid considerably at his insistence; a loss at this stage didn’t matter, this was the key, placing them ready for a whole sequence of follow-on contracts on that lovely, promising new world. With that foothold, Gansu could build up their local operation over the next two decades until it was as big as the Oaktier parent company. Their true expansion to Intersolar giant status would have begun.

  But the development company lawyers on Puimro were suspicious, believing that Gansu’s low-cost delivery would be achieved through cost cutting on materials and construction. They wanted quality guarantees written in, as well as proscriptions against ‘excessive profits’. All very reasonable, but why the hell didn’t they mention all this two months ago during the preliminary round of negotiations? Morton had found himself swearing at his own corporate lawyers and accountants as the bureaucratic tangle developed throughout the day. It hadn’t been resolved when he left the office late, stomping off to his car in a foul mood. A team of Gansu lawyers and contract experts had been left huddled in a conference room, ready to work through the night in an attempt to resolve the issues and questions raised by their counterpart team on Puimro. New meetings were scheduled for next week. The signature certificate wouldn’t come through for at least another ten days now.

  Fucking civil servants, always stand in the way of progress.

  The butler greeted him at the lift door opening in the vestibule, grappling with the suit jacket which was flung at him. Morton went into th
e lounge, squinting against the beautiful evening sunlight that was shining straight across the roof garden and pool. He saw Mellanie sitting on one of the sunloungers, head in her hands, shoulders slumped.

  Oh Christ, not this as well, not now. He was scowling at her as her head came up. She gave him a tentative smile and hurried into the lounge.

  ‘Sir.’ The butler had brought his sparkling gin.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took the glass off the silver tray.

  Mellanie, he saw now she was out of the sun’s rich glare, had been crying. ‘What’s the matter?’ It was almost rhetorical, he wasn’t interested.

  She pushed up against him, resting her head on his chest. ‘I went to practise this morning,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘The coach said I hadn’t been making enough effort, that my hours were too low. He said I didn’t have the right level of commitment any more.’

  ‘Ah.’ Morton felt like saying, Is that all? These days, the only sports anyone was interested in were team events. With Commonwealth geneticists able to build super athletes, individual competition was essentially pointless, a contest between laboratories and clinics. But teamwork, that was different, that was the temple of the last natural trait: skill. In games like football, baseball, hockey, and cricket the combined talent of the team was a synergy which fans could throw themselves behind with complete devotion. Although he’d always thought diving was the rather desperate end of the specialist interest spectrum, its importance artificially inflated by sportswear companies and media channels to drum up sales and pro-motions. So what he actually said was, ‘He’s an asshole. Don’t worry about it.’

  She started crying. ‘I’ve been dropped.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dropped from the squad. It was horrible, Morty, he said it in front of everyone else. He’s already brought in two new girls.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ He patted her absently and took a sip of his drink. ‘Never mind, something else will come along, it always does.’

  Mellanie pulled back slightly so she could study his face, her own expression was one of bewilderment. ‘What? Morty, didn’t you hear? It’s over for me.’

  ‘Yes. I heard. So move on to something new. It’s about time anyway. You’ve wasted years on that stupid diving team anyway. You can get a proper life now.’

  Her thick lips parted to form a distraught ‘O’ as she took a step back. Then she was running into the bedroom, sobbing filling the air behind her.

  Morton let out a tired sigh as the door slammed shut loudly. Well what did she expect? That’s the only trouble with the truly young, they have no perspective on life. ‘No, thank you, for asking,’ he snapped after her, ‘my day did not go well.’

  His e-butler told him there was a call from Chief Inspector Myo. He took a long drink from the glass. ‘Put it on the lounge screen,’ he told the e-butler.

  Even magnified to a couple of metres high, Paula Myo’s face was essentially flawless. As Morton sat back in one of the leather couches, he found himself admiring her once again. Now somebody like that would make a real partner, they’d be equals, which was rare enough, and complementary rather than competitive. It was just that weird heritage of hers . . .

  ‘This is unexpected, Chief Investigator, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I need access to some financial documents, the old AquaState accounts. As you’re the chairman of the parent company, it’s simpler if I just ask you to release them to me rather than go through the courts.’

  ‘Oh.’ It wasn’t quite what he’d expected. ‘Do you mind if I ask why? What are you looking for?’

  ‘I can’t discuss a case in progress. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Yes. I’m very familiar with government procedures, especially today.’

  ‘That sounds unfortunate.’

  He grinned in his winning way. ‘Commercial confidentiality, I can’t tell you about it.’

  ‘But can you release the files?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Would I be right in assuming you’re making progress, then?’

  ‘Let’s say, you’re on the right track with that assessment.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He told his e-butler to release the relevant files to her. ‘May I ask if you’re currently seeing anyone, Paula?’

  ‘I don’t believe that’s connected to the inquiry in any fashion.’

  ‘It’s not, but it was a very sincere question.’

  ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard it enough times. But I want to be honest with you from the beginning; if you’re not involved with anyone then I would very much enjoy taking you to dinner one evening as soon as possible.’

  The screen showed her head tilting ever so slightly to one side, mimicking an almost avian curiosity. ‘That’s most flattering, Morton, but right now I’m not able to say yes. I hope you’re not offended.’

  ‘Certainly not. After all, you didn’t say never. I believe I’ll ask you again once this case is over.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, Chief Investigator. And I hope the files are useful.’

  ‘They will be.’

  The call ended. Morton wriggled down into the couch, looking at the blank screen where he could still see her elegant composed face. Somehow, the day didn’t seem such a total loss after all.

  *

  It was the eighth day after he entered the forest that Ozzie had to delve into his pack for warmer clothes. The last deciduous tree had been left behind a couple of days ago. Now the path led through tall solemn alpine giants with dark trunks of stone-hard bark. Their waxy leaves were long and spindly, a fraction thicker than terrestrial pine needles, with colours shading from dark green to a maroon that was almost black. It was a thin tough layer of grass which grew underneath them, and that was patchy around the trunks themselves where the acidic leaves had fallen. Here the chilly air meant it took a long time for them to decay into the kind of rich loam to be found elsewhere in the forest, and the air was heavy with their citric scent.

  Sunlight seemed to have deserted Ozzie and Orion, the patches of sky they did glimpse were uniformly grey as low clouds bunched together in an unbroken veil. Thick banks of mist squatted across the path, reaching far above the treetops, some of them taking hours to trek through. Each one seemed progressively larger and colder than the last.

  It was after riding through one for over three hours with no respite that Ozzie decided enough was enough. His thin leather jacket was dripping with moisture that was cold enough to be ice, and it hadn’t shielded his check shirt at all. He dismounted and hurriedly stripped off the soaked shirt, changing into a dry one, shivering strongly as he did. Before the mist had time to sink into the fresh cotton he pulled out a slate-grey woollen fleece with an outer waterproof membrane. Much to Orion’s amusement he wore soft leather chaps on his legs to cover his cord trousers. Once he’d finally slicked down his rebellious hair, he crammed on a black bobble hat. Only then, when he’d dressed and remounted, did he put on his doeskin-palm gloves.

  Almost immediately, he was too hot. It made a nice change. That morning, his own shivering had woken him as the dawn frost settled over his sleeping bag. A veteran of many long treks on foot and horseback, he favoured modern semiorganic clothes which could heat, cool, and dry the wearer as required. They were out for any Silfen world, of course, but he was pleased enough by how the old simple fabrics were performing.

  Orion, who had brought little in the way of rough-weather gear, was loaned a baggy sweatshirt to wear under his thin waterproof cagoule, and a spare pair of oilskin trousers, which were perfect over trousers for the jeans on his skinny legs.

  The two of them urged the animals onward. Ozzie had no idea where they were any more. Now with the clouds hiding the sun and the stars there was no way he could check their direction. They’d taken so many forks, travelled around so many half-day curves that he’d completely lost track of their progress. For all he knew, Lyddington could easily just
be a couple of miles ahead, though he didn’t really think it was, not with this weather and the tall morose trees.

  ‘You ever been this far in before?’ Ozzie asked.

  ‘No.’ Orion wasn’t talking so much now. This wasn’t the airy summertime forest he was used to, and the gloom and cold were pulling his mood down. It had been three days since they’d last caught sight of any Silfen, a group heading away from them on a diverging path. Before that they’d encountered almost one group of the fey aliens every day. They’d stopped to greet them each time, and not once had Ozzie managed to get any real sense from them. He was beginning to resent how right the SI had been, there was some deep schism between their neural types which prohibited any truly meaningful communication. His admiration for the Commonwealth cultural experts was growing correspondingly. He simply didn’t have anything like the patience they possessed to painstakingly decipher the Silfen language.

  There was no discernible twilight. The greyness simply dropped into night. Ozzie had been relying on his antique clockwork Seiko watch to give him some warning, which it had done faithfully so far. But that night, either darkness fell early, or the unseen upper clouds had contrived to thicken into opacity.

  When Ozzie called a halt, they had to light the two kerosene lamps which Orion had thoughtfully brought along. They hissed and fizzed as they cast a flickering yellow glow. The nearby trees loomed large and oppressive above them, while those at the edge of the radiance seemed to cluster into a dense fence, hemming them in.

  ‘Tent tonight,’ Ozzie declared as cheerfully as he could manage. Orion looked as if he was about to burst into tears. ‘You sort some food out, I’ll cut us some wood for a bonfire.’

  Leaving the boy searching lethargically through the packs, he took out his diamond-blade machete, and started to work on the nearest tree. The harmonic-blade in his rucksack would have cut through the tough wood in seconds. Even though the diamond-blade came to an edge a couple of atoms wide, it still took him a good forty minutes of hard work to slice through the tree’s lower branches, cutting them into usable logs.