The Mandel Files

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Good, you can bring her round to dinner. We’d love to meet her.”

  “You never mentioned her to me,” Julia said.

  Victor Tyo sent a silent dismayed appeal to Greg.

  “Sit down,” Greg said. “And you two, behave; stop trying to embarrass Victor.” He snagged Eleanor round her waist and urged her over to the settee.

  “Oliver, Anita and Richy are out in the stables,” Eleanor said. “I sent Matthew and Daniella out to find them. One of the mares has just foaled.”

  Julia groaned. “They’ll only want to bring it back to Wilholm with them.”

  Greg put his arm around Eleanor, enjoying the feel of her as she leant in against him. “So what did you come for?” he asked.

  Julia had the grace to look mildly guilty. “Royan.”

  “You’ve heard from him?” Eleanor asked.

  “Sort of.”

  She handed Greg a slim white box, explaining about the unknown girl at the Newfields ball.

  The trumpet flower inside was drooping, its light fuzz of hairs curling up. Greg’s intuition strummed a quiet string of warning. Something about the flower was desperately wrong. He couldn’t begin to guess what.

  “And there was just the one card with it?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He gave the box to Eleanor.

  “I don’t recognize it,” Eleanor said. “What sort is it?”

  Julia shot Victor Tyo a nervous questioning glance. The security chief shrugged.

  “That’s where the real problem begins,” Julia said. “My NN cores ran a search through every botanical memory core they could access. Nothing. They drew a complete blank. No big deal about that, there are a lot of new gene-tailored varieties on the market; can’t keep track of everything. Still, I sent it down to the lab for genetic sampling, see if we could find what it was derived from, the parent species.” She drew a breath, pressing her palms together. “It’s extraterrestrial.”

  “Alien?” Greg felt a fast twist of cold fear. Gone. With his sensitivity, no wonder the flower had triggered a mild wave of xenophobia. He stared at the flower; intuition shouting loud and clear what Julia was going to ask him to do next.

  Eleanor’s weight pressed against him, she was giving Julia a doleful accusing look.

  “It can’t be,” Eleanor said. “It’s no different to any other flower.”

  Greg could sense a stiff form of revulsion growing in her mind; she wanted to reject the whole notion.

  “A flower is a very simple organism,” Julia said, the slightest quaver in her voice betraying the severe fright Greg was observing in her thoughts. “It attracts insects to assist in pollination, nothing more. Naturally an alien flower will look similar to our own.”

  “So this planet it came from has bees as well, does it?”

  “The individual species of plants and animals won’t resemble ours, but given a planet with anything remotely approaching Earth’s climate they will certainly be analogous. Evolutionary factors will remain pretty constant throughout the universe, the simplest solution always applies. Think how many plants have developed since life began on Earth, all of them variants on a central theme.”

  “What rubbish.”

  “Please, Eleanor,” Julia said painfully. “I wish you were right, I really do. I wanted the geneticists to be completly wrong. But the flower has nothing like our DNA. The chromosome-equivalents are toroidal, arranged in concentric shells. My geneticists say the sphere they form is unholy complex, and definitely not from this solar system.”

  “For complex, read ‘advanced’,” Victor Tyo said. “The geneticists estimate the source planet could be anything up to a couple of billion years further up the evolutionary ladder than Earth. The gene sphere is much larger than terrestrial DNA strands.”

  It didn’t really register with Greg, nonsense numbers. He ordered a gland secretion, concentrating inwards. There was no truth to be gained from intuition, only a sense of what might be, hints. He scrambled round for a sign of fear, that the flower was dangerous. But there was only the original tremendous unease, amplified to a cloying presence. He imagined this was what being haunted must be like.

  He rose from the near-trance state.

  “The flower,” Greg said. “It’s not lethal, but I get a sense of weight behind it, a pressure building up.”

  “The aliens?” Victor Tyo asked.

  “No,” Greg gave him a wry smile. “No spaceships, no Martian invasion fleet. But there’s something… biding time.”

  “There is a ship, something had to bring it here,” Victor said. “They’re close, watching us, hell they’re probably even down here among us. How would we know? We’ve no idea what they look like, what they’re capable of. God Almighty, entities from another planet.” Perhaps it was just the emphasis his boyish face gave to any deeply felt emotion, but Victor’s dismay seemed to be on the point of crushing him.

  “Aliens might have the technological advantage over us,”

  Greg said. “But I’d be very surprised if they could land on Earth without the strategic defence networks picking them up. Am I right, Julia?”

  She gave a subdued nod. “Yes. The sensor coverage is good, it has to be given the potential for kinetic assaults. You could orbit a ship two hundred thousand kilometres out without being spotted, fair enough, but the chances of detection increase with every kilometre you travel closer to Earth. Once you’re within fifteen thousand kilometres of the surface you’re visible. It doesn’t matter how good your stealth technology is, any physical body passing through the planetary magnetosphere generates a flux that the sensors will pick up. We’re tracking hundreds of thousands of objects up there, anything from discarded solar panels to composite bolts.”

  “So where did the flower come from?” Eleanor asked.

  Julia shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. And that’s what really worries me. I can’t believe even aliens have the ability to circumvent our technology to that extent.”

  “You said you could feel a pressure,” Victor said. What kind of pressure?”

  Greg shrugged, uncertain how to express it in words. “Something waiting.”

  “Look,” Julia said. We know there’s been some kind of first contact; that there is, or has been, a ship visit the Earth, or at least the solar system. That’s your presence; no big mystery there. What I want to know is, how is Royan tied in? That’s what I came for, Greg. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. But you were right about the flower being a message. It might even be a warning.”

  “Then why didn’t he say so?” she asked hotly.

  Greg realized how much worry and concern was bottled up behind her tawny eyes.

  “Wrong question,” he said. “We should be asking: what’s he warning us about? And why such a baroque warning? If he had enough liberty to send off flowers, why not just give you a call? At the very least he could squirt us a data package.”

  “Bugger your questions, Greg! I want to know what’s happened to Royan.”

  “Well, what did you expect? A seance?” He cursed as soon as he said it.

  Julia blushed.

  “No,” Eleanor said levelly, her eyes never leaving Julia. “You want the girl, don’t you? The one who gave Rachel the box.”

  The blush deepened, she nodded once. “She’s the link. The only one we’ve got.”

  Greg looked at Eleanor, then back to Julia. “I can’t,” he said, appalled at how much it cost to say. “Not me, not any more. Sorry.”

  “Bloody right you can’t,” Eleanor said coolly. She fixed Julia with a stare. “Look around you; four children, a fifth on the way, the farm, the picking season.”

  “I know,” Julia whispered. “But… aliens, Eleanor. It goes beyond me and Royan, though I wish to God it didn’t. Who else can I trust? Who would you trust? You want these aliens to contact the religious fundamentalist movements first? One of the South American dictatorships? We have to find him, quickly and quietly. Greg’s
a gland psychic, worth ten of these new sac users, and he’s had proper training. The best there is, and my friend, Royan’s friend. Who else can I ask?”

  Greg narrowed his eyes. Julia’s compulsion had always been stronger than any psychic power. And combine it with logic as well…

  “Give me a name, Greg, someone better; Lord, someone your equal would do.”

  “How the bloody hell would I know?” he snapped. “I left that game sixteen years ago. Victor? You must have whole memory cores full of psychics.”

  “I do,” Victor said quietly. “And we reviewed them, that’s why we’re here. I’m sorry. These modern sac users are good, but they don’t have your training, your strength. Mindstar hunted out people with the highest potential. Today, anyone who has a minor flash of talent can take a themed neurohormone and think he’s some kind of warlock. In a lot of respects themed neurohormones are a step backwards; and no one ever developed one to boost intuition.”

  “Jesus wept!”

  “Royan’s out there, Greg,” Julia said. “Negotiating with aliens, holding them off, leading them in. Lord, I don’t know which. But I have got to find out, Greg. Please?”

  He looked helplessly at Eleanor. She fumbled for his hand, and gave him a squeeze. He tightened his grip round her shoulder.

  “He is a friend,” Eleanor said in a tiny voice. She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself and failing miserably.

  “Yeah, he is that.”

  “You’re not hardlining, Gregory,” Eleanor said firmly. “Not at your age.”

  He twisted under the look in her eyes, wanting to object, or at least have it said in private. The trouble was she was quite right. At fifty-two he would be hopelessly outclassed by today’s youngsters. Logic and intuition were in concord over that, worst luck. And if there was one certainty about all of this, there was going to be trouble. Royan’s method of contact alone was evidence of that.

  Nothing ever simple, nothing ever straightforward. His bloody life story.

  “No problem in that direction, at all,” Victor said smoothly.

  “One of Event Horizon’s security crash teams will be on permanent alert to assist you. With hypersonic transport, they can be anywhere on the globe within forty minutes. And of course you’ll have as many of my hardliners accompanying you as you want. All you have to do is ask the questions.”

  “No,” Greg said. “If I’m doing this then I want someone I know watching my back. Someone who’s reliable, someone who’s good.”

  “Of course,” Victor said.

  “I’ll take Suzi.”

  “What?” Julia sat upright in her chair.

  Eleanor stiffened inside his encirding arm.

  Greg resisted the impulse to smile.

  “She is one of the more competent tekmercs,” Victor said grudgingly.

  “Yeah,” Greg said. “She ought to be. I trained her.”

  Victor raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ll find she’s grown a bit since those days. Reputation-wise, that is.”

  “I’m sure Event Horizon can afford her,” Greg said.

  “We certainly can,” Julia agreed. “There will be one of Event Horizon’s executive jets here for you first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve already cleared your entry into Monaco.”

  Eleanor’s features hardened, spiking Julia with a voodoo glare.

  “Fine,” Greg said phlegmatically. Had there ever been a time when Julia didn’t get her way? “We’d better visit Suzi this afternoon.”

  “You might find you need more backup than Suzi by herself,” Julia said.

  Greg gave her a hard look, he was rapidly tiring of revelations. Why?”

  “The girl at Newfields, or somebody else, they took a sample out of the flower as well.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. The lab pointed it out as soon as they saw it. One of the stamens had been cut off. And it was definitely a cut, not a break.”

  “Would a stamen be enough for a genetic test?” Greg asked. “I mean, this unknown who took it, are they likely to know the flower is extraterrestrial?”

  “Yes. Theoretically, all you need is a single cell. A stamen is more than sufficient.”

  Greg rubbed a hand across his temple. “I doubt it would be the girl who took the sample.”

  “Why not?” Eleanor asked.

  “Purely because she is just the courier, especially if Rachel is right about her being a whore.”

  “Courtesan,” Julia corrected. “Don’t fall into the mistake of thinking she’s a dumb go-between. Believe you me, at that level there’s a difference. She’ll be smart, well educated, and knowledgeable.”

  “OK,” said Victor. “But smart or not, courtesans don’t own genetic labs.”

  “I agree,” said Greg. “Somebody else apart from us knows about the alien. But until we know more about the girl, I couldn’t even begin to guess who.”

  “Exactly,” said Julia. “So will you take some extra hardliners?”

  “Maybe a couple. But they stay in the background.”

  “I’ll brief them myself,” said Victor.

  Eleanor rested her head well back on top of the settee’s cushioning, eyes slitted as she stared at the ceiling. “What did the government say about the alien?” she asked.

  Greg watched Julia flinch at the question. He’d never seen her do that before, not in seventeen years.

  “They don’t know yet,” Julia mumbled reluctantly.

  “When were you planning on telling them?”

  “As soon as the situation requires it.”

  “You don’t think it does yet?” Eleanor asked.

  “All we have is supposition, so far.”

  “And the genes. They convinced you.”

  “The point is, what could the government do that I can’t? Order a strategic defence network alert? I really don’t think neutral particle beam weapons and pulsed X-ray lasers are going to be an awful lot of use against the kind of technology which moved a ship between stars, and did so undetected. Besides, think of the panic.”

  “All right,” Eleanor said uncertainly. “But we have to make some preparations.”

  “Event Horizon is preparing,” said Victor. “We’re assembling a number of dark specialist teams, spreading them through our facilities, kitting them out with top-line equipment.”

  “What use is that?” Eleanor demanded indignantly.

  “Listen, I can’t believe we’re facing some kind of military action,” Julia said. “But so far these aliens have been acting in a very clandestine fashion. If push comes to shove, then Earth is going to lose. No question about it. So we roll with the punch; if we can’t fight interstellar technology, we acquire it for ourselves, and fire it right back at them.”

  Greg turned to watch the sailors on the reservoir. There was something cheerfully reassuring about the brightly coloured triangles of cloth slicing across the water. A nice homely counterbalance to this vein of raw insanity which had erupted into his life.

  He didn’t like the connotations interstellar technology was sparking off in his intuition. Though he had to admit Julia had the right idea. If they couldn’t be beaten with hardware, use innate human treachery against them.

  And what does that say about us as a species?

  CHAPTER 5

  Jason Whitehurst was right, she should have paid more attention to his data profile. He did have a yacht, of sorts, the Colonel Maitland; it was an old passenger airship he had bought and converted into an airborne gin palace.

  After the Newfields ball, Whitehurst’s limousine had driven the three of them halfway around the Monaco dome’s perimeter road before turning off. A covered bridge linked the dome to the city-state’s airport, a circular concrete island fifteen hundred metres east of the Prince Albert marina. They’d driven past the terminal building and across the apron to a Gulfstream-XX executive hypersonic. The plane was a small white arrowhead shape, with a central bulge running its whole length, twin fins at the back. With it
s streamline profile, embodying power and speed, it would have been easy to believe it was some kind of organic construct.

  Charlotte ducked under the wing’s sharp leading edge and climbed the aluminium stairs through the belly hatch. The cabin was windowless, a door leading forwards into the cockpit, another at the aft bulkhead for the toilet, there were ten seats. A smiling steward in a dark purple blazer showed her how to fasten the belt. Jason sat at the front; and Fabian sat opposite her, his greedy smile blinking on and off.

  And that was it. There was no passport and immigration control, no customs, no security search. Jason Whitehurst’s money simply overrode the mundane protocols of everyday existence, an intangible bow wave force clearing all before his path. Even so, she thought there should’ve been some kind of formality. But at least she didn’t see the creep with the cool eyes this time.

  Charlotte had actually dozed on the short flight. She woke as the steward touched her shoulder. The back of Fabian’s head was descending through the hatch.

  She glanced about in confusion as she came down the hypersonic plane’s stairs. The Gulfstream had landed on a circular VTOL pad. A stiff chilly breeze plucked at her gown. They were definitely out at sea, she could taste the freshness of the air. But all she could see past the lights ringing the pad was a band of night sky, stars twinkling with unusual clarity, there was no sign of the sea, no sound of water. A bright orange strobe light was flashing two hundred metres ahead of the Gulfstream’s nose, seemingly suspended in space. That was when she started to realize where they were.

  “Welcome to my yacht, my dear,” Jason Whitehurst said with a touch of irony.

  Charlotte lifted her mouth in a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  He wagged a finger.

  “Jason,” she corrected.

  “Good girl.”

  We must be right on top of the airship, she thought. But it’s so stable, even in the breeze, it must be massive.

  Fabian had disappeared through a door at the rear of the pad. Jason guided her courteously towards it.

  Charlotte yawned widely, covering her mouth quickly. “Excuse me,” she apologized.