Pandora's Star

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘We don’t know for certain. However, given the sequence of events, it is highly likely.’

  The lift doors opened. Mellanie peered out into the lobby. There didn’t seem to be anybody waiting for her. She hurried over to the main entrance, where there were some taxis waiting. ‘I’ve got to get back to Dudley,’ she said.

  ‘An excellent notion. Then what?’

  ‘Tell Paula Myo what I’ve discovered. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  *

  Kazimir stood close to the end of platform 34 in Rio’s planetary station, with people swarming round him as they waited for the next train. The trans-Earth loop trains had carried on running almost continually during the invasion crisis. Though even that service had stopped when Nigel Sheldon diverted the lunar power to Wessex. But they were up and running again within hours, unlike the CST passenger trains to other planets.

  Kazimir had been reassured by the way Earth’s infrastructure underwent only the minimum of disruption. What out-raged him was the population’s attitude. The residents of Santa Monica seemed more upset by the temporary power loss than they did that twenty-three planets had been lost to alien monsters. And the Mayor certainly hadn’t allocated any civic buildings to the refugees riding round the Intersolar train network looking for accommodation, unlike civic and regional leaders on the other worlds. Earthlings appeared to regard the invasion as just another news event of something a long way off that happened to someone else. He wasn’t sure if that was ignorance or arrogance. Whatever, it was certainly a chilling example of how different their shared mindset was to his own.

  The last few days had at least seen a degree of awareness creeping in. Kazimir had hung around the waterfront in Santa Monica, watching the news in bars, or accessing in his little hotel room while he waited for things to calm down so he could resume his mission. Local media shows reflected a lot of anxiety that a second wave of planets would suffer invasion, a progression that would one day lead to Earth itself being on the front line.

  So far there had been no sign of any alien activity anywhere other than the original invaded worlds. Now the evacuation of civilian populations was effectively complete, available data was in short supply as the Primes continued their inexorable advance. The navy was maintaining small fighting forces on Anshun, Balkash, and Martaban; aerobots and professional combat-wetwired troops conducting a guerrilla harassment campaign against the new installations the aliens were constructing. Everyone knew it was a token gesture. The build-up of Prime forces was increasing at a disturbing rate as they managed to open gateways on the planetary surfaces. Admiral Kime was expected to order a withdrawal soon, and the final wormholes would be shut down. Analysts on most of the news shows were predicting that the deserted capital cities would then be destroyed by fusion bombs.

  The navy’s remaining scoutships had returned, and were now performing regular flyby patrols of the invaded worlds, supplementing the degraded detector network. So far, the aliens hadn’t opened any new wormholes to replace those destroyed by the Desperado’s last flight. Some of the technical experts and tacticians on the news shows were hinting that the remaining starships might well be automated, and used in similar relativistic assaults on the remaining Prime wormholes. The navy had publicly refused to comment on the possibility. Commentators were saying that as the biospheres of the invaded worlds were so badly damaged, the Commonwealth had effectively written them off. It wasn’t worth sacrificing their last starships to destroy something humanity would never regain. They were being held in reserve in case of any new assault.

  Whatever the official reason, that one substantial human victory on the invasion day had already reached an almost legendary status, its crew subject to intense praise on every current affairs and news show. That contrasted sharply with the vitriol and vilification that the rest of the navy was receiving, along with President Doi’s administration.

  Kazimir thought it strange how little mention the worm-hole battle above Wessex was getting. It was surely more strategically important than a suicide flight. But then CST’s profile in the week that followed was remarkably low. Even under these circumstances, everyone seemed to take their efficiency for granted; the way they moved the refugees around, and repaired Narrabri station’s gateways, was standard stuff for that company.

  Amber lights flashed above platform 34, and the loop train slid into the station, twenty double-decker carriages pulled by a Bennor AC767 mag-grip engine. It had only been five minutes since the last one pulled out, but there were already over three hundred people waiting. The doors opened, and passengers poured out. Kazimir held back while everyone else on the platform surged forward impatiently. His eyes moved constantly, checking to see who else loitered. Visual interpretation programs reviewed everything he saw, identifying possibles, tagging them with probability percentages. When he rechecked them, they all turned out to be harmless.

  It was a wearying process. But he’d stuck with it the whole time on the way back from the ancient observatory in the Andes. The journey had involved eight vehicle changes, from his hired 4x4 which he’d driven up into the mountains, to taxis, various local trains, bus, the plane back over to Rio. Every time he’d followed procedure, no matter how foolish it felt, knowing what Stig would say if he lapsed even once. The courier job was vital, as Elvin had never stopped reminding him. The Martian data was essential to the whole Guardian movement. Moving it from South America to the safety of LA would probably have gone to Stig, if his reprofiling had been completed. As such, Kazimir was determined there would be no hitch or glitch, he was going to prove to all of them that he was capable of such an important assignment.

  He stepped onto the loop train just before the doors closed and watched to see who else got on after him. Procedure, once again. Except this once he was uncertain. Some itchy little feeling prodding up from his subconscious. Something made him uneasy.

  Nobody he could see was the cause of it. Had it been a pattern? If he was being boxed, then at least two of the team would have stayed on the platform. Turning casually he scanned through the window to see who was left outside. But there were just the new arrivals wearing expressions of disgust or resignation as they saw the doors closing in front of them.

  He sent his message to a one-time unisphere address. Back in the Lemule’s Max Transit office they would know he was on the last leg. They would be scanning the electronic activity in the train to see if any kind of covert operation was under way. If there was, he’d know about it at LA Galactic. Just like Stig coming back from Oaktier.

  Satisfied he’d done all he could, he walked down several carriages before taking a seat – close to an exit. The next stop was Mexico City, then he’d be back at LA Galactic. Elvin had emphasized again and again how important this data was to the whole Guardian movement, how he absolutely must not fail. The invasion added its own emphasis. He debated if that was making him paranoid in his desperation to make sure he delivered.

  As the train pulled away from the platform he wondered how Stig would look when he got back. The cellular reprofiling should be almost finished, giving him a whole new face, allowing him to resume front-line duties. Stig wasn’t good at sitting round doing nothing all day in the safe house.

  *

  Justine sat at the back of the security office in LA Galactic, quietly watching the navy intelligence team coordinate the box operation on the loop train. They had been running the observation operation from here as soon as they confirmed that Kazimir was staying at a hotel in Santa Monica. She’d checked in with them several times a day for a personal briefing, even at the height of the invasion. Each day was the same: Kazimir was killing time, acting like a tourist. Waiting.

  It was so strange, being able to see the observation team’s real-time images of him, while not being able to touch him or talk to him herself. She felt as if she’d been cast in the role of some obscure guardian angel, watching over her beloved from a lofty height, making sure his yout
hfulness and naivety didn’t bring him into harm. The guilt as she did it, of course, was excruciating, but she kept telling herself that afterwards he’d understand. When he finally realized how utterly wrong he’d been, how he’d been taken in and used by others, they could begin afresh. Justine hadn’t even thought what kind of life they’d have together afterwards. Which made her as dizzy-headed as Kazimir.

  Then yesterday the call had come through from Commander Alic Hogan. Kazimir had received instructions from a one-time address, and taken the loop train to Rio. What followed then had been strange. Kazimir had visited an ancient observatory in the Andes, then set off back almost immediately. Given how isolated the observatory was, the navy team couldn’t get inside to see what it was Kazimir had picked up. In fact, it was very difficult for them to remain unseen on the track through the Andes as they followed his 4x4.

  Low-level cybersphere investigation revealed the observatory was run by a consortium of universities, with funding coming from a great many sources, corporate, government and educational. It was now surrounded by a navy team, who were waiting for the order to go in. That would only come after Kazimir delivered whatever he was carrying to his controller.

  The scale and obvious importance of the whole operation was easy justification for her to travel to LA Galactic in person, along with two bodyguards from Senate Security. Commander Alic Hogan was running the operation himself, as well he might considering the pressure she’d been putting on him.

  ‘The loop train has left Rio, Senator,’ Hogan reported. ‘Shouldn’t be much longer now.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He called a one-time address once he egressed. The Guardian operative returning from Oaktier did the same thing. It would seem to be their standard operating procedure.’

  ‘Do you expect Kazimir McFoster to get off here?’

  ‘It’s highly probable. But I’ve got enough people to box him no matter where he goes. Don’t worry, Senator, this one won’t be getting away from us.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She gave him a slight nod, dismissing him. Hogan’s smile was forced as he went back to join his team. All of them were hunched over their desks, studying the screens and muttering to the field operatives.

  This time nothing was left to chance, as it had been when Paula Myo was in charge. Over a hundred naval intelligence officers were on duty in and around LA Galactic, ready to trail Kazimir to whatever destination the hand-over was scheduled to take place. They’d been quietly deployed over the last two days, avoiding any possibility of virtual observation. Tarlo was convinced their last failure was due to the Guardians infiltrating at least some of LA Galactic’s network. Consequentially, they were using dedicated communication systems, with ultra-modern obscured traffic software. If the Guardians had the technical capability to detect that, then they’d probably be running the whole Commonwealth before the end of the year. She used her interface to call up images from the CST internal network, and watched on a desk screen as the loop train slid through the gateway between Rio and Mexico City.

  *

  Kazimir got off the loop train at LA Galactic’s Carralvo terminal. It was midday. Undiluted sunlight poured through the huge crescent windows high overhead, making the angular support pillars gleam. He walked off the platform and down the curving ramp at the end, feeling the familiar tremble through the soles of his boots as trains rolled through the giant building. Traffic at the station was almost back up to its pre-invasion levels, though there were noticeably fewer passengers crowding the central concourse.

  As he stepped off the end of the ramp he glanced about casually, as if unsure which way he should be going. Nobody paid him any attention. There had been no warning from the Guardian team, either visually or through the cybersphere.

  Maybe I am paranoid.

  Kazimir started walking along the concourse, heading for exit eight where there was a taxi rank outside. Another quarter of an hour would see him return in triumph to the office of Lemule’s Max Transit, and hand over the memory crystal with its Martian data. He almost patted the little disk in its secure belt pocket, but that would have been pathetically amateurish. A confident smile tweaked his lips as he made his way through the thousands of travellers bustling along the central con-course. The Guardians would be another significant step towards bringing about Far Away’s revenge because of him. And once this mission was complete he would try and find time to visit Justine again. That venture out to the Tulip Mansion was the only thing he’d done since leaving Far Away that transgressed their operational doctrine. But he didn’t care. Bruce would understand that if none of the others did. Justine was a part of him. Without her, there was no point to existence. She was worth risking everything for. And when he’d seen her again that fateful night, it was as if no time had passed. That she felt the same way about him was the kind of miracle he wouldn’t even expect the dreaming heavens to grant.

  But she did. That was the true wonder he’d known. She felt for him as he did for her. Her delight alone made him more determined to rid the universe of the Starflyer. He wanted a universe where nothing could come between them ever again. What a world that would be. What an incredible, blissful future.

  He was two hundred metres away from exit eight when he saw the man standing at the bottom of the ramp which curved up to platform six. Something about him . . . Neatly cropped hair, tall, young, early twenties just like Kazimir, wearing a simple blue jacket over a cream shirt. The way he was standing, holding a small array in his hand, reading a document on the unrolled screen. His position and angle against the ramp’s railing – so relaxed and natural – allowed him to see everyone walking along the concourse whenever he happened to glance up from the screen. It could so easily have been an ordinary civilian. But his profile made Kazimir slow as he approached. That profile was oddly familiar. A profile which was searing connections deep into Kazimir’s brain. Old memories tumbled out, delivering a physical jolt to the body.

  Kazimir halted. Tears smudged his vision. ‘No,’ he said soundlessly. He wanted to move, but his knees were threatening to give way.

  The man glanced up from the array screen, looking straight at Kazimir.

  ‘Bruce,’ Kazimir gasped. ‘It’s you.’ He took a step forwards, heedless of the people flowing between them. It was him, really him. Bruce McFoster, standing on the concourse on LA Galactic as if it was the most normal thing in the universe. Bruce McFoster who had fallen in battle right in front of him. Every day Kazimir saw the giant warhorse rolling across Bruce’s defenceless body. Bruce McFoster: alive. ‘Bruce!’ Kazimir took another couple of steps. ‘Oh my God. Bruce, it’s me, it’s Kaz.’

  Bruce hadn’t stopped looking at him. He put the array in his pocket with a calm unhurried motion.

  Kazimir started running. ‘Bruce!’ He opened his arms wide in rapturous welcome. A path opened for him through the crowd as he rushed forward.

  Bruce McFoster brought his right arm up. There was something in his hand. It flashed—

  Kazimir felt no pain. He felt nothing. There had been a moment of blackness. Then he was looking straight up at the Carralvo terminal’s white concrete ceiling far overhead. His body wasn’t moving. Silence closed in on him. ‘Bruce?’

  Faces swam over him, but it was hard to see any of them. The light was dimming. Kazimir tried to smile. He finally realized he was dying. Not that it mattered, because his life had included—‘Justine.’ Ghostly fingers reached up to touch her icon. ‘Justine, I’m so sorry.’ But her smile was there comforting him, forgiving as the light slipped away.

  *

  Justine screamed as the security camera swung round on the man Kazimir was staring at in such wondrous disbelief. Her brother’s murderer was standing in the middle of LA Galactic. She watched as he coolly raised his arm and fired a pistol. The ion stream blew Kazimir’s chest open in a horrific plume of blood and charred gore. He was flung back five metres through the air to sprawl on the concourse. Justine’s scream choked off.
She almost dropped out of the chair as her body spasmed in shock.

  The navy team filled the office with frenzied shouting. A furious, scared Alic Hogan was almost sobbing as he ordered the officers on the concourse to give chase. His fists were clenched above the main screens, ready to punch straight through the images. Every picture turned to a confused, fast-moving blur. More shots were fired. A chorus of yelling and panicked shrieks burst out of the speakers.

  Justine breathed again. A long juddering breath that burned its way down her throat. One screen had remained centred on Kazimir’s broken body.

  ‘Take me down there,’ she whispered painfully.

  ‘Senator?’ one of the bodyguards asked.

  ‘We’re going down there.’

  ‘Yes, Senator.’

  Her e-butler told her a single message had arrived via a one-time address. Its author was verified as Kazimir McFoster. ‘Nobody’s to touch him,’ she yelled abruptly as she got to her feet.

  The navy personnel turned round from their desks, looking at her with startled expressions. ‘Keep everyone away from him,’ she told them. ‘I don’t want him touched.’

  As she left the office she ordered her e-butler to open the message. It contained a unisphere address code, and a line of text. My Darling Justine, you are the only person I have ever loved. I thank you for living. Kazimir.

  The bodyguard had to hold her as she started crying.

  *

  CST station security staff cleared a path for Justine through the tense, worried crowd on the concourse. They’d been kept well back from the body, leaving her with a long lonely walk at the end. The last few steps as the true damage that had been done to him became visible were almost impossible for her. Yet she forced herself forward, punishing herself because she knew she deserved far, far worse.