Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Community spirit is high today,’ Liz murmured slyly so the children couldn’t hear. They grinned at each other.

  Mark parked in the gap Colleen had left. They walked up to the head of the blockade, where big civic utility trucks, bulldozers, tractors, snowploughs, roadsweepers, and double-decker buses were parked end to end, as tight as any mosaic. Simon Rand himself came to greet them, a tall figure in an apricot Gandhi-style toga made from semi-organic fabric which swirled round his limbs as he moved, always covering the skin and keeping him warm in the fresh mountain air. His apparent age was approaching sixty, an ageing which had produced long distinguished creases in his ebony face. He fitted his role as nature’s guru perfectly, charismatic and passively stubborn, traits which provided universal reassurance to anyone engaged with his ideals.

  A flock of people trailed along in his wake. An entourage like the staff of any major politician, except these were more like acolytes. Some were intent and focused, while others moved through their own daydream. Over half were women, and all of them were attractive, either rejuvenated or first-lifers. Simon’s commitment to his own ideals drew him a lot of admirers from the people who came to live the Randtown life; and as he kept saying, he was only human.

  ‘Mark, how good of you to come,’ Simon said warmly. He grasped Mark’s hand in a strong grip.

  Very definitely a politician’s handshake, Mark thought.

  ‘And Liz as well. This is so kind. I know how difficult it is for people who work for a living to contribute their time to a cause, especially those who have just joined us and have mortgages to pay. For what such words are worth, I appreciate you being here today.’

  ‘We can spare a few afternoons,’ Liz said archly. She was one of those immune to his personal charm, though even she appreciated his resolution.

  ‘Let us hope this situation doesn’t require more than that,’ Simon said. ‘I have already heard – unofficially, of course – that they are willing to consider negotiating an alternative power source to that dreadful plutonium which they have brought with them.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Mark said. ‘Where do you want us?’

  ‘There’s a big no-man’s-land between us and them, many families are gathered there. The children will be able to play with their friends.’

  ‘Can I take Panda?’ Barry asked.

  ‘Your dog?’ Simon gave both the Vernon kids a wink. ‘Of course you can, we welcome everybody to the protest. I’m sure Panda will have fun. Try not to let him bite too many police officers. They’re only doing their job, and our quarrel is not with them.’

  ‘Her,’ Sandy said indignantly, patting Panda. ‘Panda’s a lady dog, you know.’

  ‘I do apologize. She is a fine-looking lady dog.’

  ‘Thank you. Panda says you’re nice, too.’

  ‘We’ll get over there, then,’ Mark said, zipping up his coat. He was beginning to wish he’d brought his gloves.

  ‘Stay only for as long as you are comfortable with,’ Simon said. ‘It is the act of coming here which is relevant. We do not measure commitment by the hours you put in.’

  ‘I gather you’re sleeping in one of the buses,’ Liz said.

  ‘Yes. We do not want to give the navy the chance to break the blockade, so my closest supporters and myself maintain the vigil at night. I cannot leave, Liz, this is my home now and for ever. My roots are here. My soul is at peace with what has been achieved. So you will understand that I must stand fast on this road and prevent any violation of the life so many have chosen for themselves.’

  ‘I understand.’

  He breathed deeply, a look of serenity on his face. ‘I had forgotten the taste of the mountain air. Its rawness and purity is refreshing. Up here we can all reaffirm our commitment to ourselves. This road I built is more than physical. From this point you can make many choices regarding your destination.’

  ‘I think we’ll just go home at the end of the shift, thank you,’ Liz told him.

  And Simon inclined his head, smiling graciously just like any mystic hit by a solid fact.

  ‘That was rude,’ Mark said as they carried on up to the head of the blockade. Simon and his close personal followers had gone off on some inscrutable business.

  ‘Pompous old farts need to have the piss taken every now and then.’ She put her hands together in Buddhist fashion, and crossed her eyes. ‘It puts them in touch with their Oneness.’

  His arm went round her shoulder, hugging fondly. ‘Tell that to the midnight lynch mob.’

  Beyond the big trucks at the head of the blockade, the road was empty for a couple of hundred yards. Several hundred Randtown residents were milling around on the empty enzyme-bonded concrete. Adults cluttered together in little groups to talk, stamping their feet against the chill air blowing across from the higher peaks to the east where there was all-year-round snow. Children split up into their own groupings, chasing round in various games. Buzzbots zipped through the air above them, the latest craze. Little flying-saucer-shaped aircraft with contra-rotating fans at the centre, controlled by v-gloves. It looked odd, children standing perfectly still to wiggle their fingers as if playing an invisible piano, each motion sending the tiny craft swooping and soaring above the road. Occasionally one would make a fast pass towards the line of bored police on the other side of the gap. A sharp call from a parent would soon force its return.

  Behind the police on the southbound carriageway was a long convoy of twenty-six-wheel SAAB Vitan trucks. To begin with they were all diesel-powered, in direct contravention of the highway rules which only permitted electric-powered vehicles. That was almost irrelevant when compared to their contents. They were carrying all the equipment necessary to build a wormhole detector station for the navy’s planetary security division, which was due to be set up in the Dau’sings just above Randtown. That equipment included three fission micropiles to provide power for the detectors.

  There had been a big argument at the toll gate at the northern end of the highway when the convoy arrived there. But the navy officer in charge called in the local police, who overruled the operator and sent the convoy through. Simon Rand had been informed straight away, and set out to stop them from the southern end, accompanied by his followers driving every piece of big civic equipment they could find. When they arrived at the high point on Mount Zuelea they stopped, disabled the vehicles, and waited. The standoff had now lasted two days.

  Mark and Liz soon found the Conants, and the Dunbavands, David and Lydia, who owned the vine nursery where Liz worked; they’d brought their kids along for the afternoon, too.

  ‘Is there anyone left back in Randtown?’ Liz wondered.

  They spent a couple of hours talking to the others, mostly about what this would do to the tourism industry. The buses which brought groups in to the hotels weren’t even waiting behind the stalled navy convoy any more, and the tour operators were raising hell, and talking about suing. Flasks of warm drink were passed round. People went back to their vehicles to fetch warmer clothing. Kids had to be taken to the toilets on one of the buses. The whole protest was more like a giant picnic than a political statement.

  After a couple of hours, Mark went back to the pick-up to fetch the box containing their lunch. There was a flash of orange between the vehicles over on the other carriageway as Simon Rand walked purposefully on some mission, his courtiers tagging along loyally. Mark was nearing the end of the parked vehicles, craning his neck to find the pick-up, when he saw her.

  He didn’t think she was a tourist, something about her made him doubt she’d ever be a part of a tour company’s herd, a spark of independence or self-confidence he was adept at recognizing. Exactly the kind of first-life girl who came to Randtown to join in the party scene and spend her spare time extreme-ing around the landscape. Although he’d not seen her around town before, waitressing or helping out in any of the stores.

  She was gorgeous. Which made him nervous, because that kind of beauty made him think what kind of wif
e he’d have after Liz. Because they both knew it wouldn’t go on for ever. Even though it was good right now. He was a realist, and so was Liz. Which meant it was okay to consider such things. Right?

  The girl caught sight of him staring, and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Hi,’ she drawled. It was a husky come-on of a voice, perfectly suited to her long young face with its beguilingly flat nose. Her skin was a healthy tanned bronze, matching the tawny hair she wore long and wavy.

  ‘Hello,’ he replied. Already his voice was strained as his stomach muscles tightened, holding his abdomen taut, the way it used to be only a few years back. ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  ‘Not really, I’m just looking around.’

  ‘Ah, well, um, the main action is up there at the front. Not that there’s a lot of action. Apart from the kids’ football game. Ha!’

  ‘Right.’ She came right up in front of him, still smiling. Everyone else up here was dressed for the cold, but she seemed comfortable in a white short-sleeve T-shirt and a suede skirt that stopped above her knees. There was a small silver M logo just above the skirt’s hem. The outfit showed off broad shoulders and a gym-junkie belly. Her cowboy boots had flat heels but even so her eyes were level with Mark’s. She put her hand out. ‘I’m Mel.’

  ‘Mark.’ He tried not to read too much into the physical contact. She was a lot more confident and sophisticated than most of the young first-lifers in Randtown.

  ‘So did you come all this way just to see the football?’ she asked.

  He blushed at the teasing tone, the way her intent stare never left his face, the proximity – he still hadn’t let go of her hand. ‘Oh God, no. I’m here to support Simon Rand. And the rest of the town.’

  ‘I see.’ She gently removed her hand from his. ‘Do most of the town support this blockade?’

  ‘Yeah absolutely. It’s an outrage what they’re trying to do to us. They’ve got to be stopped.’

  ‘Stopped from building a wormhole detector station?’

  ‘That’s right. And we’re going to do it. Our ideal will only be safe if we act together.’

  Her lovely face crinkled slightly with a frown. ‘I’ve not been here long, but I can see how the simple life attracts people. What exactly is that ideal, would you say?’

  ‘Just that: we’re devoted to living a simple, clean, green life.’

  ‘But surely the navy won’t destroy that? The station is due to be sited miles out of town, up in the mountains where it can’t affect anybody. And the Commonwealth really needs to know if the Primes open a wormhole inside our boundaries.’

  ‘It’s the principle of what they’re doing. The station has nuclear power systems, which is the absolute opposite of everything we believe in. And they didn’t ask us about this, they just barged onto the highway and set out to build their station without our permission.’

  ‘Did they need permission?’

  ‘Sure they did. The whole Dau’sings range is included in the foundation charter, and nuclear power is specifically excluded from it.’

  ‘I understand that, but the navy really needs a series of wormhole detector stations on the southern continent to give the whole network complete coverage. Surely if you oppose that then you’re taking an anti-human stance.’

  ‘If this is being anti-human, then bring it on and give me more,’ he said with bravado, which earned him an encouraging smile. ‘It’s not, of course. The decision to site the station in the Dau’sings was taken by a bunch of bureaucrats sticking a pin in a map. They didn’t care about the wishes and beliefs of the people who live here, they probably didn’t even bother to find out any of our customs. All we’re doing with this blockade is making them take our requirements into account. Apparently, they’re already starting negotiations about other power sources.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, that’s unofficial. But, yeah.’

  ‘Won’t that cost more?’

  ‘The navy budget is so big nobody will ever notice it. In any case, they’re supposed to be protecting our way of life. That’s worth paying a little bit extra for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess it is.’

  ‘So, er, how long have you been in town? I haven’t seen you around before.’

  ‘I only just got here.’

  ‘Well if you want to stick around and try some extremeing, I know a few places that have vacancies.’

  ‘That’s very sweet, Mark, but I can pay my own way, thank you.’

  ‘Right, uh, fine.’ He suddenly remembered he was supposed to be collecting lunch for his family. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.’

  Her lips pouted up. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  *

  That evening, they managed to leave Barry and Sandy sleeping over with the Baxter kids in Highmarsh so they could spend an evening in town. They started off at the Phoenix bar on Litton Street, which ran parallel to Main Mall. Like every building in Randtown it was newish, with a solar panel roof and insulated composite walls. But inside, the owners had built up stone walls to mask the carbon girder framework, and then gone on to lay heavy ash beams above to support a wooden ceiling, making the long rectangular room dark and cosy. The bar itself took up most of one wall, serving a few beers along with every type of wine produced in the valleys behind Randtown, including some from the Vernons’ own vineyard. A fireplace dominated the far end, wide enough to require two chimneys; the iron grate could hold enormous lengths of wood to burn in the winter months, giving off a tremendous heat. Now, in summer, it was filled with a long ceramic trough of fresh-cut flowers. Several settees were arranged in front of it, which Liz and Mark claimed along with Yuri and Olga Conant. Normally the settees were already occupied this early in the evening, but the blockade had thinned out the bar’s usual crowd.

  ‘It’s not just here,’ Yuri said as he settled in with a glass of vin noir from Chapples, a vineyard in Highmarsh. ‘Most of the cafés in town are suffering, even the Bab’s Kebabs franchise takings are down.’

  ‘They’d just started rotating the tourist groups when the blockade went up,’ Liz said. ‘A whole load left, and the next lot haven’t arrived. The hotels are three-quarters empty.’

  ‘And everyone left trapped in town is raising hell,’ Olga said. ‘I can’t blame them.’

  ‘There are worse places to be trapped,’ Yuri countered.

  ‘Simon should have worked out how to let them get through the blockade. His principles are starting to hurt people.’

  ‘There’s a difference between hurt and inconvenience,’ Mark said.

  ‘Not really, not in this case. Most of the tourists have come to the end of their holiday, they just want to get back to their homes and jobs. How would you like it if someone stopped you earning a living?’

  ‘It will only go on for another couple of days at the most.’

  ‘Yeah, but it was badly thought out.’

  ‘We didn’t have a lot of choice. You’ve got to wonder why the navy didn’t give us any advance warning about building a station here.’

  ‘It’s a crash project,’ Olga said. ‘They probably didn’t even know until a few days before the equipment arrived on Elan.’

  ‘Okay, so why didn’t the Ryceel Parliament’s first speaker say anything?’

  ‘Because he knew what Rand’s answer would be.’

  ‘Exactly, it was a conspiracy to dump this thing on us before we knew what was happening. They wanted a fait accompli.’

  Mark’s e-butler informed him that Carys Panther was calling. He blinked in surprise, and told the program to let it through. ‘Are you accessing Alessandra Baron?’ Carys asked.

  ‘Nice to talk to you, too,’ he replied. ‘It must have been six months.’

  ‘Don’t be an asshole, access it now. I’ll call you back when it’s over.’ She ended the call.

  ‘What?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Not sure.’ Mark turned round. ‘China,’ he called to the barman. ‘Can you access Alessandra
Baron’s show for us, please?’ He normally fought shy of accessing Alessandra and her haughty show, which always criticized and never did anything constructive. He felt it was like being lectured by snobs who specialized in satire.

  The ancient little man behind the bar obliged, putting the show on the big portal.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Mark whispered. It was his own face dominating the image, magnified three feet high. ‘We’re devoted to living a simple, clean, green life,’ he was saying.

  ‘She was a reporter,’ he told his wife. ‘I didn’t know, she never said.’

  ‘When was this?’ Liz asked.

  ‘This afternoon. She came up to me when I was getting the lunch. I though she was from town.’

  The image switched back to the studio where Alessandra Baron was sitting at the centre of a big couch, her classically beautiful face holding an amused expression, the way adults responded to a precocious child. Mellanie Rescorai sat beside her, looking even more sophisticated than she had up on Mount Zuelea, wearing a simple clinging scarlet dress and a black jacket with a little silver M on the lapel, her hair had been elaborately tousled.

  Liz gave Mark a long sideways look. Her eyebrow rose several millimetres. ‘That was the reporter?’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Mark waved her quiet.

  Yuri and Olga swapped a knowing look.

  ‘So what did he say next?’ Alessandra asked.

  ‘By this time I think he wanted to say: can we go to a motel for the rest of the day?’ Mellanie laughed. ‘But I managed to keep his hot little hands off me for a while by telling him the navy had no intention of wrecking his simpleton lifestyle. Can you guess what he said to that?’

  ‘He was grateful?’ Alessandra suggested archly.

  ‘Oh yes. Take a look.’ The image shifted back to Mark at the blockade.

  Sitting on the settee in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand, and hindsight showing him what to watch for, it was all rather easy to realize that the smile he put on that afternoon for the girl was somewhat forced. Anxious, even. The one a man used when trying to impress. Eager to impress, possibly.