Pandora's Star cs-2

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Hoshe knew he was blushing. Her apology was like some intimate confession. He tapped a knuckle on the portal to distract her. “Are you sure this will get a conviction? I’ll bet you a whole Earth dollar their memorycell inserts have been destroyed; there’ll be no memory of the killer we can ever access.”

  “Trust me, Hoshe. We can nail him now. All I need is a judge to issue a warrant.”

  It was a hell of a row that broke out in the living room. Loud enough for Morton to hear it from his bedroom, which made him stop what he was doing, which pissed him off no end. His e-butler told him who was invading his penthouse, so he was tying the belt on his dressing gown as he strode out.

  Chief Inspector Myo was arguing with his human butler, while Detective Hoshe Finn interjected with angry threats. It was a credit to the butler’s training and character that he didn’t appear in any way flustered by the unwelcome guests and their authority. His loyalty lay solely with his employer; nothing was going to shift that.

  “Let’s all take a breath and calm down,” Morton said. He combed his wild hair with his hand, trying to slick it back down. “What seems to be the problem here? Chief Investigator?”

  “No problem.” She held out a small memory crystal disk. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Two counts of bodykill and deliberate memory erasure.”

  Morton couldn’t quite hang on to his peaceable demeanor with that allegation fired at him. “You’ve gotta be fucking joking!”

  “No, sir, I am not joking,” Paula said. “As a registered Commonwealth citizen, you are hereby advised not to speak further in connection with the offense you have just been charged with until you are in consultation with your legal representative. Now, please get dressed, sir. You will be taken to the police precinct station for further questioning.”

  “This is bullshit.” Morton stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest. Even though he knew, he asked, “Whose murder?”

  “Tara Jennifer Shaheef, your wife at the time, and Wyobie Cotal.”

  “Shit! I fucking told you they’d been bumped off.”

  “You certainly did. Thank you for that, sir. Now please get dressed. If you don’t, we will take you as you are.”

  A naked Mellanie rushed into the lounge. She threw her arms around Morton. “What’s happening, Morty? What are they saying?”

  “Nothing, it’s a police fuckup, that’s all.” He almost shook her off, then thought better of it and returned her embrace. “Everything is fine.”

  From inside the circle of his arms, she glared at the two officers.

  Hoshe Finn was not looking at the naked teenager. Then he had to not look at the second girl who came to stand in the bedroom doorway, pulling on a white lace robe. Her long elegant face wore a bemused expression as she took in the tableaux, as if she was accessing some low-budget soap on the cybersphere. “What is happening out here?” she drawled in a husky voice. One hand patted languidly at her expensively styled hair. “Is this part of your kink, Morty, to be hauled off to a secret police dungeon where they manacle you to the wall?”

  “No,” Morton and Paula Myo said in unison.

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “Morty never killed anyone,” Mellanie asserted. She tossed her head, daring them to say different.

  Paula gave her a cool glance. “You weren’t even alive when he did this. Take my advice, don’t cause a scene. Morton?”

  “It’s all right.” Morton gave the clinging girl a tender squeeze. “My e-butler has already informed the legal department. I’ll be home for dinner tonight. We’ll be suing for wrongful arrest before the fish course arrives.”

  Mellanie pushed her face up toward his, entreating. “Don’t go with them, please, Morty. Don’t.”

  “This is not a multiple choice situation,” Paula told her.

  “I’ll get dressed,” Morton said. He swung around and walked back toward the bedroom. “It’s a shame,” he said to Paula. “You and I could have been quite something together.”

  Paula looked from Mellanie to the haughty girl in the lace robe, then to Morton. “I can’t think what.”

  …

  The daily storm that raced in from the Grand Triad had now passed, leaving the wide valley fresh and gleaming. There were few trees here on the northwestern edge of the Dessault Mountains. The valley was mainly grassland, with boggy meadows along the bottom where the fast river flowed out to the north. Sunlight grew steadily warmer as the last twisting clouds hurried away toward the Great Iril Steppes, and the ground steamed quietly.

  As soon as the rains stopped, Kazimir stepped outside. The McFoster village on the western slopes was where he had spent his earliest childhood, a huddle of stone houses with living grass roofs that provided watertight shelter during the rains. They all had broad open windows so the air could circulate. Not that many daylight hours were spent indoors in such a warm climate. It was a farming village, one of the many sheltered refuges where clan children could grow up untroubled by the Institute and the Starflyer. Cattle grazed easily on the floor of the valley, and a few Charlemagnes were trained by fighters no longer able to answer the Guardians’ call to arms.

  Scott and Harvey joined him as he walked out toward the memorial garden, more villagers joining in until there were over thirty marching silently along the little-worn path. It ended at a dark wooden gate set in a drystone wall that was overrun by colorful climbing nasturtiums. The wall circled a graveyard that followed the pattern adopted by most small human settlements across the Commonwealth. Saplings that had been planted around the perimeter were now large enough to offer some shade. Gravestones were carved on chunks of local rock. In the middle was an eight-sided memorial made of stone. The base plinth measured three meters across, holding a two-meter sphere of red marble polished to a gleam. Names had been etched into the lower half, forming neat lines that covered nearly a third of the surface.

  Everyone gathered around and bowed their heads.

  “We have come today to celebrate the life of Bruce McFoster,” Harvey said in a loud clear voice. “Although he has left our clan, he will not be forgotten by us and those who fight with us. When the time comes for this planet’s revenge upon its violator he will hear the song of joy that all peoples will sing, for it will be so loud as to rock the dreaming heavens themselves.”

  Harvey placed a small engraver tool against the marble at the end of an unfinished line of names. The little unit buzzed as its tiny blades began cutting the programmed pattern. Fine gray dust started to trickle down.

  “I remember your laughter, Bruce,” Harvey said.

  Kazimir stepped forward. “I remember your friendship, Bruce, you are my brother and always will be.” It was difficult to get the words out as his voice cracked. Tears were leaking down his cheeks.

  “I remember your stubbornness, Bruce,” Scott rasped. “Keep it with you always, lad.”

  A woman stepped forward. Kazimir didn’t hear what she said. The infant boy that Samantha was cradling began to wail loudly as if he understood what was happening, that he would never see or know his father.

  The tributes lasted for some time. Eventually, the last McFosters had their say and the infant found the comfort of his mother’s breast. The buzz of the engraver fell silent. Kazimir stared brokenly at the new name on the marble, then hung his head, unable to bear the sight any longer.

  People drifted away, leaving him and Samantha alone.

  “Thank you, Kaz,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I think you and I are the only people who really cared about him.”

  “Everybody cared,” he said automatically. Samantha was a few years older than he was, which had always made him kind of awkward around her. Now with Bruce gone, and the baby born, he was even more uncertain.

  She smiled, though it was clearly an effort. The infant was only three weeks old, and she looked very tired. “You’re so sweet. Everybody knew him, especially my sisters in
all the clans. There’s a difference. But at least he made his mark on this world, I think.”

  Kazimir put his arm around her shoulders and they walked out of the memorial garden together. “Have you decided on his name yet?”

  “Not Bruce, that would be too much. I’ve chosen Lennox, that was Bruce’s grandfather, and I have an uncle called that as well.”

  “Lennox. That’s good. I expect that’ll be shortened to Len.”

  “Yes.” She stroked the infant’s head. Lennox had lolled back into sleep again. “You should find someone, Kaz.”

  “Huh?”

  “Someone for yourself. It’s not right for anyone to be so alone.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I get plenty of offers, don’t worry.” It was the kind of thing he used to say to Bruce. His mind went back to Andria McNowak, and his broken promise to Bruce. He never did try to bed her after that terrible raid. In fact, he’d never bothered with any girl since then. As always, he had the memory of Justine to comfort him through the long hours of every sleepless night.

  Scott and Harvey were waiting on the path, along with another man Kazimir didn’t know. Harvey beckoned.

  “I’ll see you before you go, won’t I?” Samantha asked.

  “Of course you will. I want… If you need anything, help with the baby, or something, please tell me.”

  “You’re not obligated, you know.”

  “I want to see him, Samantha. I would have wanted that even if Bruce were still alive.”

  “All right then.” She stood on her toes and gave him a light kiss. “Thank you again, Kaz, you’ll make a wonderful uncle.”

  He watched her walk off back to the village, a whole range of emotions messing his head around.

  “Nice girl,” Harvey said. “I remember training her for a while.”

  “Yeah,” Kazimir said.

  “This is Stig McSobel,” Scott rasped in his damaged voice.

  Kazimir shook hands with the stranger, surprised by how strong the grip was. He could look the man level in the eye, so he was no taller, but his shoulders were wide enough to stretch the fabric of his simple lace-up shirt. The McSobel was in his early thirties, with skin lighter than Kazimir’s, and a broad face that regarded the world with considerable amusement.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Kaz,” Stig said. “You’ve earned quite a reputation for yourself on your last few raids.”

  Kazimir gave Scott and Harvey a sharp glance. “Is this another lecture?”

  “About recklessness and personal vengeance?” Harvey asked. “Why should it be? Did you not pay attention last time?”

  Kazimir started to push past. Stig put out a hand to stop him. Again, the man’s strength was very evident.

  “If you can keep that temper of yours under control, I can use you,” Stig said. “Harvey here says you can. The ceremony should have been cathartic, and now you’ll start to accept his death. Is that right?”

  “I saw Bruce’s death. I watched him die, and I could do nothing.”

  “I know what that’s like. We all do; there’s nothing unique about you and your grief, Kazimir. You’re a McFoster, a fighter. One day you’ll die, and some other friend will watch it. Do you want their life to be blighted by that? We all have a right to live our lives as well, you know. There is more to us than the struggle against the Starflyer. This village shows that. Bruce’s baby should show you more than anything.”

  “Well what the fuck else can I do?” Kazimir shouted. He was close to tears again, which would be an awful thing in front of the men he respected most. “I can fight, yes, and that’s how I help bring about this better time we’re all promised. If anger makes me fight harder, then good. Bruce would appreciate that.”

  Scott laid a hand on Kazimir’s arm. “Just listen to what Stig has to say, lad. Where’s the harm in that, hey? We came to you with this because we’re worried about you. We don’t want to stop you fighting, but the way you are right now, you’re going to get yourself killed on one of these raids, and for no good reason. This way you can still carry on the fight without deliberately putting yourself in so much danger. Now how about you just stay quiet for a minute while Stig says his piece, huh?”

  Kazimir gave a rough shrug, knowing he was being a hothead idiot. Not knowing how to stop. “Sure. Sorry. It’s just…” He waved at the memorial garden. “Today. You know.”

  “I do,” Stig said. “If you felt nothing for him, you would not be a true clansman, you would be nothing better than a Starflyer slave. I respect what you’re going through.”

  “What did you want?”

  “You know the human starship has flown?”

  “I heard, yeah.”

  “Bradley Johansson believes its launch is the start of the Starflyer’s endgame. It will bring ruin to the human Commonwealth.”

  “How?” Kazimir asked. He never had quite understood how the human starship could be involved in their fight against the Starflyer. It was just an exploratory flight.

  “The barrier around the Dyson star was put up to contain a great evil. Johansson is worried that the humans will let it out. Some of the crew will be the Starflyer’s slaves.”

  “What kind of evil?”

  “We don’t know. But if the Commonwealth has to fight a war it will be badly weakened, economically and socially. Such an action would leave humanity vulnerable to the Starflyer as it gnaws at us from within.”

  “But you said the starship has left. We can’t stop it now.”

  “No. But, Kazimir, if the Starflyer is preparing to crush us, the time for the planet’s revenge will soon be here, possibly within a few years. That means the Starflyer will return to Far Away, and we must be ready.”

  “I know that.”

  “Good. Now this is where I can use you. There are a number of items which must be brought to Far Away so that the planet may have its revenge. Unfortunately, our supporters out there in the Commonwealth are being hunted down by the authorities that the Starflyer has corrupted. That means we have to set up alternative routes for the items we need. I’ve traveled around the Commonwealth, I know how it works. Now I have to go back and help our allies, but I’m going to take a small team of dedicated Guardians with me to help achieve our final goal. I’d like you to be one of them.”

  “Me?” Kazimir asked in shock. Just the notion of leaving Far Away was awesome, let alone traveling around the planets whose names were closer to fable than fact. And she was out there… “Why me? I don’t know anything about the Commonwealth.”

  “You can learn easily enough. Harvey says you are quick, which is good. Life there is very different, at least superficially. You must learn how to blend in easily. And you’re young; physically you can still adapt. You’ll have to train hard to build your muscles up to a point where your body can cope with standard gravity. There are drugs which can help, of course, and cellular reprofiling, but those techniques can’t do it all, you’ll need to commit yourself fully.”

  “I can do that,” he said without even thinking.

  “Was that a yes?”

  “Yeah!”

  “You will also have to obey orders. My orders. I cannot have you running around loose out there. This is the one operation that cannot be compromised, not ever. It is what the Guardians are, why we exist.”

  “I understand that. I won’t let you down.”

  “I’m sure you won’t, Kaz. But it will be Johansson who makes the final decision.”

  Kazimir gave Scott and Harvey a confused glance. “What decision?”

  “If you can help bring back what we need,” Harvey said. “The physical training is only half of your preparation. You really are going to have to learn how to behave like a Commonwealth citizen. I promised Stig you could do that, please don’t make me a liar.”

  “Never, but… Johansson will decide?”

  “Yes,” Stig said. “You’ll meet him before we begin the operation.”

  Kazimir could barely believe what he was hearing. As f
ar as he was concerned, Bradley Johansson was some remote icon that everyone quoted and deferred to, a historical giant. He wasn’t someone you got to meet in the flesh. “Fine,” Kazimir said faintly. “Where is he?”

  “At the moment? I don’t know. But we’ll meet him on Earth.”

  …

  While she was being built, the Second Chance was the unisphere’s primary news story. Details of her design, stories about her construction, spun briefings on the politics behind the decision to build her, gossip on who would be picked for her crew, it all pumped up the ratings for any news media show. Then came the Alamo Avengers attack, and modest interest became outright fascination. It culminated with over seventeen billion people accessing her departure for Dyson Alpha in real-time. After that, as she traversed hyperspace for month after month, there was a distinct feeling of anticlimax, and even a little frustration. Commonwealth citizens simply weren’t used to anything that important being off-line; worse, it would be a year until they did hear what happened. Until then, everybody would just have to fall back on the old familiars of TSI soaps and dramas, squabbling politicians, badly behaved celebrities, and the Commonwealth Cup now moving into the quarter finals.

  Then news of Morton’s arrest was released, along with the names of the arresting officers, and every train to Oaktier was suddenly full of reporters hungry for more information. The case was a studio editor’s dream: a Paula Myo investigation of an ice murder, a wealthy suspect with big political and business connections, a strong hint of financial scandal. And sex. What had once been idle Oaktier gossip about Morton seducing the beautiful young Mellanie and ruining her chances on the national diving team was pushed high up the coverage agenda, featuring heavily on every report and info-profile. His earlier conquests were soon tracked down and coaxed into telling their stories for respectable sums of money. Bribes were offered to Darklake City forensics officers to reveal exclusive insights into the evidence that the prosecution would present—which led to five subsequent contempt-of-court proceedings. Tara Jennifer Shaheef and Wyobie Cotal were forced to apply for nonharassment court injunctions against the swarms of reporters laying siege to their homes.