Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Paula turned from the Alamo Avenger. ‘I have spent decades on the Johansson case, not Deputy Director Rees. And I really hope you’re not implying we should have provided you with some kind of advance warning.’

  ‘Paula—’ Mel Rees began.

  She shot him a look which silenced him immediately. ‘The reason Bradley Johansson and his associates have had the run of the Commonwealth for so long is twofold. The resources which are allocated to tracking him and his activities are wholly inadequate. That is a political decision, made by you and your predecessors, Mr Columbia. He also receives help from someone extremely well placed in the Commonwealth establishment.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Rafael Columbia snapped.

  ‘Even with inadequate funds, there is absolutely no way he could have eluded me for over a hundred and thirty years. It simply isn’t possible. If he kept a low profile and lived a thoroughly simple life I would have caught him. But as the leader of a criminal organization constantly involved in smuggling weapons to Far Away he leaves himself continually exposed to our sources and monitor programs. To avoid them requires a considerable degree of assistance. He is not acting alone.’

  ‘Do you realize what you’re saying? Do you know how many administrations there have been since he founded his ridiculous Guardians movement? There isn’t one which would give him any kind of support, covert or otherwise, let alone all of them.’

  ‘Administrations change, power groupings do not.’

  ‘I am not going to stand here and be told I’m part of some corrupt cover-up operation. I don’t care who you are, how dedicated you are, or what your case conviction record is. I am the Chief of this Directorate, and you will show me some respect.’

  ‘Respect is something which is earned, Mr Columbia.’

  ‘Okay!’ Mel Rees put his hands up and walked forwards to stand directly between them. ‘One thing Johansson would be doing right now is laughing his ass off at the pair of you. The only person you’re helping right now is him.’

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Columbia said. He gave Paula a glare which would normally ruin any of his staff. She didn’t even seem aware of it.

  ‘First question,’ Paula said. ‘Why do you think it’s him?’

  Columbia gave an irritated wave to the deputy director.

  ‘Method of operation,’ Rees told Paula. ‘This has Adam Elvin’s signature all over it. We think he put the operation together.’

  ‘That would be unusual,’ Paula said. ‘Elvin himself hasn’t been directly involved in violent acts since Abadan. He just puts shipments together for Johansson.’

  Rafael Columbia produced a small scornful laugh. ‘This is not an age where the measure of time depreciates anything. I thought you of all people should appreciate that, Chief Investigator.’

  ‘All the recent Guardians propaganda has been denouncing the Second Chance as a project organized by the Starflyer,’ Rees said. ‘They’re the only ones who have any kind of reason to do this.’

  ‘A reason?’ Paula said thoughtfully. ‘To launch an action like this inside the Commonwealth is a huge change of policy for Johansson.’

  ‘Who knows how his deranged mind works?’ Rafael Columbia said.

  ‘He’s not deranged,’ Paula said. ‘Deluded, certainly, but don’t make the mistake of believing he isn’t capable of rational thought.’

  Rafael Columbia pointed at the crumpled blackened body of the Alamo Avenger. ‘You call this rational?’

  ‘We’re only a couple of hundred metres from the gateway, and the other two got through. Then there was the kinetic assault on the assembly platform. They almost succeeded. I’d call that pretty smart. Whatever you think of him, and I think worse than most, he is not stupid. If he is behind this, then something new is happening. Is it possible the Marie Celeste came from the Dyson Pair?’

  ‘Unlikely in the extreme,’ Wilson said. He nodded respect-fully at Rafael Columbia as he walked across the wet floor of the assessment hall. ‘Paula Myo, a privilege. I’ve accessed a lot of your cases.’

  ‘Captain.’

  ‘We’ve discussed the possibility of a link between Dyson Alpha and the Marie Celeste with the Director of Far Away’s Research Institute,’ Wilson said. ‘He says it doesn’t exist. I’m inclined to believe him.’

  ‘An official denial is the certificate of endorsement for conspiracy theorists,’ Paula said. ‘Especially one issued by the Director of the Institute. We know Johansson believes there is a link.’

  ‘That’s his problem.’

  Paula gave him a grave smile. ‘He just made it yours, too.’

  ‘I want him stopped,’ Rafael Columbia said. ‘Deputy Director Rees has assured me you are the best, indeed only, person to take charge of this case. Do you agree with that assessment?’

  ‘I certainly have the experience,’ Paula said. ‘What I need to finally track him down is the Directorate’s full cooperation, and resources behind me.’

  ‘As of now, you’ve got them. Whatever it takes. You can build your own team, take whoever you want no matter what they’re working on. This has total priority.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll start with my usual colleagues, and expand from there as our lines of inquiry open up. The first thing I’ll need from you, Mr Columbia, is political coverage. CST security will want to make this their mission. Please talk to Mr Sheldon and have them stand back.’

  ‘I will point out the jurisdiction implications to CST,’ Rafael Columbia said. He ignored the quiet laughter coming from Wilson’s direction.

  ‘Thank you. Now how exactly do you smuggle three working Alamo Avengers to a planet?’

  ‘They weren’t smuggled in,’ Rees said. ‘According to the export files, they were neutralized relics on their way to a new museum here on Anshun. It was a lawful shipment.’

  ‘A new museum?’

  ‘You got it. The land exists, it was bought three months ago, and there’s a registered company to control it. But there’s no building yet, or even plans. The company has a few thousand Anshun dollars in its account, but that was transferred from a one-use account on Bidar. Untraceable, or at least very difficult.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Yes, that does sound like Elvin’s signature.’

  ‘Completely. The Alamo Avengers were bought legitimately from a dealer a week after the museum company was registered. Back then, they really were just wrecks. They’ve spent the intervening time being “refurbished” to display standard on the Democratic Republic of New Germany. The company which did the work has been sealed up, and the DRNG police are going over their facilities and records for us.’

  ‘What about the spaceplanes?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘Leased from a fully legitimate commercial operator here on Anshun. Again the company hiring them was a shell. Using them as kinetic missiles was a simple case of reprogramming their pilot arrays. It’s not difficult. We’re sending in some teams to the port they took off from. I’m not expecting much.’

  ‘Are these Guardians likely to try again?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘Johansson has been launching attacks against the Institute on Far Away for a century and a half,’ Paula said. ‘It would be reasonable to assume this was only the first attempt against the Second Chance.’

  12

  Over the High Desert the deep sapphire sky began to darken. Kazimir McFoster stood alone on one of the long wave-shaped dunes of grey sand and watched the stars emerge. It was a ritual for him now, staring up at those platinum sparks, waiting for the mighty constellation of Achilles to come shimmering out of the golden-velvet twilight. When he’d found the shape of the ancient warrior with his gleaming red eye, he traced along the Milky Way swirl of his cloak. There in the sparse lower hem was a twinkle he could never be sure was real or imagined. Earth’s star.

  She will be there, standing on cool, rich, green land, looking up into this same void. Six hundred years away. But I can see you still, my glorious angel. Grant me victory on this raid, even though you n
ever believed in our cause.

  In Kazimir’s mind, Justine’s beautiful face was shadowed by sadness as his task on this night became clear to her. ‘Choose your own path, my love,’ she whispered in the darkness and thick warmth of their secluded tent in the forest. Fingers lighter than mist stroked him this way then again like so. Her delighted laughter filled the tent as he twisted with helpless delirium beneath her sensual puppetry. ‘Be your own man, not the tool of others. Promise me that.’ The pleasure she bestowed made him weep openly, swearing on generations of McFosters as yet unborn he would be true to himself and his own thoughts.

  Yet for all her concern, Justine did not understand the reality of this planet. Like every offworlder before her, she regarded the Starflyer as a local myth, Far Away’s Loch Ness monster.

  ‘Forgive me?’ he asked of the stars. ‘I’m doing this for you, so you may enjoy your world and the wonderful life you have there.’

  A tiny rivulet of sand shifted behind him, causing the faintest of sounds. Kazimir smiled softly, and continued to stare into the heavens. The desert heat lacked any hint of humidity. Surrounded on all sides by the Dessault Mountains, the air here never moved, not even wisps of cirrus clouds sneaked past the rampart peaks. A static climate which sucked the moisture from exposed skin and every breath. Few plants grew here, some native cacti that resembled stones, and were often harder; not even the Barsoomians could bring verdant life to a place without water. But for all its harsh nature, it was home, the place in the universe where Kazimir felt most secure.

  ‘If I were the Starflyer, you would be mine now,’ a voice whispered contentedly in his ear.

  ‘If you were the Starflyer, Bruce, you would be dead now,’ Kazimir said. He pushed the knife blade back a little further so the tip touched the stomach of the other young man.

  Bruce McFoster laughed with relief, and threw his arm around his friend. ‘You had me worried, Kaz, I thought you were going soft.’

  ‘Worry for yourself.’ Kazimir withdrew the knife and slid it back into the sheath on the side of his sporran. ‘You sounded like a herd of T-rexes coming up the slope. The entire Institute will hear you coming.’

  ‘They’ll hear me from the afterlife. Tomorrow night we shall inflict a massive blow to them. Did you hear the attack on Anshun damaged the human starship?’

  ‘Scott told me.’

  ‘Scott! That old woman? Is he here? I can’t believe the elders will let him in on the raid.’ Bruce dropped a shoulder and limped around Kazimir. ‘Mark my words,’ he lisped. ‘This Starflyer will spill your blood and tear your body apart for its amusement. Never has there been a monster so evil in the universe. I know, I faced its slaves in single combat. Hundreds of them, killed, a thousand, yet still they came on.’

  ‘Don’t mock so,’ Kazimir exclaimed. He and Bruce had grown up together, shared so much they were closer than any brothers. Yet his friend could still be incredibly offensive, not to mention tactless. Sometimes he wondered if Bruce had ever been awake at any time under Harvey’s years of tutelage. ‘Scott has suffered for our cause, more than I’d wish.’

  Bruce straightened up. ‘I know, I know. But you have to admit, he’s too cautious.’

  ‘He’s alive. I’ll be happy if I’m alive after serving the cause for that long.’

  ‘Keep daydreaming about your offworld nympho, and your contribution to the cause is going to be over too quickly. You were thinking about her again, weren’t you? That’s what you’re up here for, presenting a fine skyline target for the enemy.’

  It was difficult for Kazimir not to smile. ‘I was enjoying the quiet, that’s all. Listening to you for the whole day before the raid would drive anyone nuts. And stop calling her a nympho.’

  ‘I knew it! You were thinking about her again.’

  ‘So what? At least I do care about others.’

  ‘Oh, hey, below the belt, or what. There have been a lot of girls I cared for in the last few years. More than you.’

  ‘More, yes. But none of them for very long, eh, Bruce?’

  ‘Doesn’t need to be long, just thorough. Now come on, Romeo, time we got ready.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kazimir took one last longing look at the thick swathe of stars, then followed Bruce as he skidded his way down the dune. Directly ahead of them was StOmer, the great mountain which marked the most north-easterly point of the Dessault range – not that it was anything like the height of the Grand Triad. On this side, rising up out of the desert it had no vegetation, blue-grey rock lifted straight into the meagre snow-line thousands of feet above.

  ‘Did it help?’ Bruce asked, serious for once. Or as serious as he could be. They’d reached the broad ridge of crumbling sandstone where there was a tunnel to the clan’s Rock Dee fort.

  ‘Did what help?’

  ‘Thinking about her?’

  ‘Some. Yes. I know that what we’re defending is worth-while.’ Kazimir ducked his head to step under what looked like a deep overhang. The tunnel was underneath, hidden from the sky, barely wide enough for one person. He tucked his shoulders in, and scraped his way forward, the once-gritty sandstone on either side now smooth as marble from the passage of so many bodies over the decades. The tunnel bent twice, following a sharp S-curve. Thirty metres from the entrance it opened out into the first of the wide chambers that formed Rock Dee fort. The guard, standing proud in her lavender and tangerine McMixon kilt, studied his face, then allowed him to pass. If the Institute soldiers did ever find the tunnel, any guard would be able to hold them off just about single-handed as they wriggled their way out of the narrow slit one by one.

  Polyphoto strips had been epoxied to the roof, with long strings of black electrical cable stretched out between them. Their relentless sol-spectrum light etched deep shadows across the rumpled sandstone as they led deeper into the fort.

  ‘She must have been phenomenal in bed,’ Bruce said with apparent sympathy. ‘I mean, the two of you only had, what, a couple of days together? And you’re still moping about her.’

  ‘Sometimes, I almost wish you’d met her.’

  ‘Almost?’

  ‘If you’d seen her, got to know her, you would understand this isn’t some easy infatuation like the ones you have. And I would have wanted my two closest friends to meet.’

  ‘Oh . . . well, thanks, Kaz.’

  ‘But I thank all the heavens you didn’t, because you’re such an embarrassment I’m sure she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with anyone who knew you.’

  Bruce made a lunge for him. A laughing Kazimir dodged ahead, and started running. The pair of them burst out into the fort’s main chamber, still taunting and insulting each other loudly. Heads swung round to check out what was happening. Some frowned at the flippancy of the youths at such a time. Others smiled tolerantly – those of a similar age. Most simply turned back to their serious work.

  Kazimir and Bruce put on their sober faces, slowed down, and nodded courteously at their fellow clansmen. The rocky cavern had been carved in the rough shape of a football amphitheatre by storm waters now long gone from this side of the mountains. Two fast channels had once merged here, swirling round and round as they clashed before rushing out towards the north-eastern lowlands. As well as the main chamber, the surging waters had eroded a host of smaller passages and caves, tributaries which had splintered and shifted as geology took over from hydropressure.

  Rock Dee was one of the largest Guardian communities, and a formidable safe refuge. There was still fresh water to be found in the lower caverns, filtering in from the mountains which guarded the desert above. Solid state heat exchange cables had been sunk deep into the mantle below, providing power for lighting and cooking, along with the more import-ant task of supplying the armoury with electricity. All that had to be brought in was food, and that was supplied by the McKratz clan’s farms and grazing lands scattered throughout the Dessault range.

  Kazimir felt a surge of pride at what he saw in the big chamber. If only he could have brough
t Justine to see this, then she would have believed in the Guardians’ purpose. Over eighty fighters were busy on the chamber floor, making up one of the largest raiding parties the Guardians of Selfhood had put together in years. But then, as everyone here knew, events were picking up with the construction of the human starship. The Starflyer’s long-laid plans were maturing rapidly, bringing disaster and death to the Commonwealth from the one direction no one in authority was looking. All the clans had contributed to the raid.

  The McFosters, of course, provided a dozen young fighters, who were checking over their packs and equipment. Their emerald and copper kilts had been packed away; this evening they wore their navy-blue and ebony hunter tartan, helping them pass unseen through the night.

  The McNowaks were also predominately fighters, in their grey and brown tartan. A group of them was engaged assessing the armour worn by one of their captains. The blue skeletal suit flooded the air around him with a nebulous orange haze, as if he was standing inside a ghostly amoeba. The radiance crackled and intensified each time a test penetrator cane was applied against him. With each application the force field emitter was gradually tuned until the emanation was nothing more than a faint aural outline, the kind any Old Testament saint might possess. Fine tuning inverted the radiance, cloaking him in a skin of absorptive shadow.

  The McOnnas were the third clan to focus on the soldier ethic, their nomadic boys and girls undergoing the same lessons, training, and tests that Kazimir himself had gone through. All of them he knew he could trust as much as Bruce. All were totally loyal to the cause, prepared to give their lives so humanity could be liberated. The squad they’d sent were wearing their nightguard blue and vermilion kilts, along with dark leather travel jackets; ion pistol holster and harmonic blade knife sheaths hanging from their belts rather than a sporran.

  McMixons, who were charged with the keeping of Rock Dee and other forts in the countryside surrounding the Institute, were tending to the Charlemagnes, the warhorses they would all ride to the raid. The gene-modified beasts were fully twenty-one hands, carried by legs like small tree trunks. They had no mane, or tail; their thick leather hide was tougher than rhino skin, and a similar dull slate-grey in colour. A short unicorn spike rose out of their heads, tipped with carbon-bonded titanium blades by the Rock Dee smithy. Any unprotected human caught by one would be ripped in half; and even force field armour had been known to give way from the inertia of a full charge. Fat iron bolts had been driven through the tough shield ridges of bone that protected the neck and underbelly. Straps of leather and silicon were threaded through hoops in the bolts to hold the saddle in place. The Charlemagnes had been designed by the Barsoomians in their lands away to the east of the Oak Sea. Not for money – an emblem of the culture to which the radical ecogeneticists were fiercely averse – but for the challenge of engendering an animal which in symbiosis with humans had only one purpose: carnage. The Barsoomians probably even delved into the forbidden field of psychoneural profiling, for no clan fighter had ever known a Charlemagne to shy away skittishly in the heat of battle like an ordinary horse would. With their tough skin, triple hearts, and multiple stress loading pathway skeleton, the great beasts were inordinately difficult to kill even with modern weapons.