Pandora's Star cs-2

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Despite the moist air blowing in off the ocean, Kazimir’s mouth was dry. “I know.”

  Bradley’s hand squeezed strongly. “I don’t feel guilty. What I went through, everything I endured as that monster’s slave, left me with too much determination to feel that weak. Once this is over, I expect I will grieve for everything we have done, for the lives we have sacrificed. But it will be worth it, for we will be truly free again.”

  “What was it like, sir? What did the Starflyer look like?”

  “I don’t remember.” Bradley shook his head, sorrow tainting his voice. “Not anymore. The Silfen took that away when they cured me. I suppose they had their reasons.” The regret faded from his face. “When this is over, you should try walking the paths they’ve built between worlds. It’s an extraordinary galaxy out there, Kazimir.”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  Bradley stuck his hand out. “Good-bye, Kazimir. Thank you again for the opportunity to meet you. I consider myself honored that you and your kin continue to sustain the cause.”

  Kazimir shook the hand enthusiastically, smiled a fraction nervously, and went back down the beach. Bradley watched him go for a few moments, then went up the set of broad concrete stairs at the side of the pier. He walked back along Ocean Avenue, through the narrow strip of lush greenery that was Palisades Park with its centuries-old eucalyptus trees and ornate flower beds. Gardenbots were patrolling the plants, snipping off dead flowers and trimming any errant shoots that threatened symmetry; water droplets glistened on the tough grass from the predawn irrigation sprinkling. On the other side of the broad street the bold geometrical skyline of condos presented their tiers of perfectly parallel balconies to the beach far below. Right in the middle of the gleaming new architecture their skyline took a sudden dip down, allowing the sunlight to shine on a small 1930s hotel, The Georgian, with its art deco facade painted eggshell-blue. Various brass plaques outside proclaimed the companies and civic authorities that had provided funds down the centuries to preserve the building, easily the oldest in the city. It had a raised concrete veranda along the front, with several tables underneath a yellow and pink striped awning. Adam Elvin was sitting at one, eating his breakfast as he looked out across the park and ocean beyond. Bradley went up the steps and joined him.

  “So what’s he like?” Adam asked.

  “Depressingly young, trustworthy and honest, and hugely loyal to the cause.”

  “Great, another fanatic robot. Just what I need.”

  “He’s smart. You’ll get along fine. By the way, I like your new face. Dignified, yet with a hint of street fighter in the past. Very you.”

  Adam grunted dismissively.

  A waiter arrived and asked what Bradley wanted.

  “Same as my friend, please.” Bradley indicated the plate of pancakes, bacon, and syrup that Adam was rapidly demolishing. “With a glass of fresh orange and passionfruit juice, and some English breakfast tea, thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.” The waiter smiled and went back inside.

  Bradley tried to place the accent—one of the Baltic worlds in phase two space? The waiter would be an offworlder on a service company contract, as were nearly all human staff on Earth nowadays. After all, Earth natives would need much better paying jobs so they could afford to live on their planet.

  “So, this must be quite the experience for you,” Bradley said. “The last socialist in the universe having his first power breakfast in LA.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “What the hell happened on Venice Coast?”

  Adam put his fork down, and dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin. “I have no idea. It’s only sheer luck that I’m not in some basement at the Security Agency right now, having my memories read. Christ, she was fifty meters away, Bradley. I could have whispered hello to her. It’s never been that close before. Never. Why couldn’t you warn me? Your cover has always been superb, it’s one of the reasons I keep doing this for you.”

  “I don’t know. My usual… source… hasn’t been in contact for some time. I find that rather disturbing; it’s not someone who could easily be eliminated from Commonwealth life.”

  “The Starflyer got rid of them?”

  “You say that with so much skepticism, even now. But no, if it was that powerful, I would be dead and the cause would be lost.”

  “Don’t be so quick to class me in there with the skeptical brigade. Remember what happened to poor old Rigin two days after I dodged Paula Myo? That was a goddamn superthermal charge which took out the Nystol Gallery. Now much as I despise and distrust our government, I don’t see them doing that. There were fifteen bodydeaths in the neighboring buildings when the gallery blew up. This was somebody else.”

  “It’s not like the Starflyer to be so public,” Bradley said. “What would be the point? The shipment was compromised the moment the Agency discovered it. We were never going to receive those components.”

  “You told me its plans were reaching the last stage. Maybe it wanted to make sure we weren’t going to get hold of those components. It can’t risk us screwing it now.”

  Bradley smiled at the waiter as he reappeared with the glass of juice and a pot of tea. “I’m glad it was you who suggested that, it adds credibility—from your point of view,” he told Adam. “I’ve been considering the possibility ever since it happened. You have a lot of contacts with the mercenary agents, do any of them know anything about the man who attacked the gallery?”

  “No, there isn’t even a rumor about him. Whoever he was, the armament systems he must have had wetwired in were very sophisticated. Even I would have trouble acquiring those kinds of systems for you; they’re all cutting-edge stuff, governments get very edgy about who they’re sold to. Someone put a lot of effort into the operation.”

  “If it really is the Starflyer becoming more overt, it’s a disturbing development. We have a lot of matériel to get to Far Away if I am to bring about the planet’s revenge. With her new expanded Agency, Paula Myo is becoming unpleasantly efficient at uncovering and halting our shipments. We can’t afford to get hit from two different directions at once. And I can see the time coming when every piece of cargo for Far Away will be stopped and examined on Boongate.” He paused to pour some tea out. “As I remember, we did discuss blockade running once before.”

  “As an emergency option.”

  “Given our current situation, I believe a small amount of forward planning in that direction might be appropriate at this time.”

  “Damnit. Okay, I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you. I have two other small requests for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The data we’re expecting from Mars, I don’t want it routed to Far Away via the unisphere. There are too many options for interception and corruption, especially if the Starflyer is monitoring us.”

  “All right, that’s easy enough. We’ll load it onto a memorycell and use a courier, take it through physically.”

  “Fine. Someone like Kazimir, for example.”

  “Let’s just see how he works out on an ordinary run first, shall we? What’s your second problem?”

  “I’ve been trying to talk to Wilson Kime. It’s not easy. He’s well guarded, physically and electronically.”

  “He’s on the Conway. They should be at Dyson Alpha by now.”

  “Nonetheless, when he returns, I would appreciate contacting him somehow.”

  “What exactly do you want to talk to him about? I assumed you consider him to be a Starflyer agent.”

  “No, I don’t believe he is; that’s why I want to try and convert him.”

  Adam had to swallow his coffee quickly before he choked on it. “Convert Commander Kime? The head of the Starflight Agency? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Fortune favors the brave.”

  “Yeah, the brave, not the insane.”

  “I’ve watched him in interviews. He knows something wasn’t right about losing Bose and Verbeke. That gives us
an opening.”

  “An opening for what?”

  “To expose the Starflyer. Kime should be able to find the evidence of its treachery on board the Second Chance .”

  “What treachery?”

  “The Second Chance switched the barrier off, obviously.”

  “It couldn’t have. We don’t even begin to understand the physics behind the barrier. God, man, didn’t you access the images of the Dark Fortress?”

  “Yes. But humans didn’t switch the barrier off, the Starflyer did.”

  “How the hell did it know how to do that?”

  “It is old. It has traveled a long way. I assume the Dyson Pair are a part of its history.”

  “You and your assumptions. Did its species put up the barrier?”

  “I don’t know, Adam. I wish I did. I wish I knew what it was doing to us. And why. But I don’t. All I can do is try and block its schemes, and warn people.”

  “People like Kime.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I mean of all the people you could try to convince, why Kime?”

  “Because of his position. He can order another review of the Second Chance data. I’ve gone over everything CST released a dozen times, but all they’ve ever given to the media are the visual recordings. I need the ship’s system logs.”

  “What do you think is there?”

  “Proof that Second Chance switched off the barrier. Proof that losing Bose and Verbeke was no accident. Kime knows something is not right. He’s ready to believe, he just needs a little nudge in the right direction.”

  “CST has been over every byte from the flight a dozen times, not to mention all the media companies and government departments. It’s been analyzed by the best experts in the Commonwealth. They found nothing. No irregularities. No anomalies. No stowaways.”

  “They don’t know what they are looking for. I can tell him where to search. With the kind of evidence I know is in there, we can make him realize the true threat to humanity. The whole truth about the Starflyer can finally be dragged out into the public domain. The Commonwealth leadership will be forced to acknowledge we were right all along. You and I won’t have to sneak around in the shadows anymore. Far Away can have its revenge without us having to—”

  “All right! All right.” Adam held his hands up. “Stop the preaching, I get the picture. But I doubt I’ll be able to get any closer to Kime than you can. And even if I did, I’m not the nutter with a cause who might at least raise a doubt in his mind, I’m just a wanted killer who’s taken up arms smuggling and incidentally organized an attack on Second Chance while he was up there in it. That’s not exactly the kind of credibility we need to grab his attention.”

  “I am aware of that. We need to come at him from an angle. Fortunately, there’s someone else in the Starflight Agency who will listen to you. Someone who has complete access to Kime.”

  The look Adam shot across the table was more outrage than shock. “No way! I am not speaking to him. I am not contacting him. I’m not sending him a message file. I’m not even going to visit the same planet he’s on. I will not do that. Not for you, not for money, not for your stupid cause, not if Karl Marx came back to ask me personally. Understand? That is the past. He made his choice, I made mine. End of story. Period. Finish. It is Over.”

  “Ah”—Bradley took a sip of his tea—“shame about that.”

  After a thoroughly decent evening meal in a bar that specialized in seafood, Kazimir walked the few blocks back to his small hotel. It was a balmy night, so he made a slight detour to take in Palisades Park. In darkness, the park had ribbons of illumination to highlight its plants and trees, bathing them in bubbles of colored light to contrast with their own shades. Out to sea, the funfair on the pier was a continual blaze of multicolored light, reflecting off the black water. Ocean Avenue was busy with people who wound their way between bars and restaurants and clubs, exploiting the city’s vibrant nightlife culture to kick back and relax after their working day. The clubs had immaculately dressed doormen outside, operating strict entrance policies. Little clumps of hopefuls clustered outside, while limos came and went, depositing those who’d made it onto the list. Kazimir lingered opposite a few of the clubs, casually interested to see if he could spot any celebrities. One thing Los Angeles had clung to resolutely down the centuries was its status as capital of the entertainment world. He didn’t see anyone he recognized from the short time he’d been exposed to the unisphere, but then it was very early in the evening.

  Hanging over the city, a three-quarters moon shone brightly enough to establish a small haze around it. He paused to stare up at it, fascinated by the wide jet-black equatorial band bisecting the globe, as if a loop of space itself had been wrapped around the swan-silver regolith. Established in 2190, the GlobalSolar power farm had grown from three patches of solar panels spaced equidistantly around the moon’s equator so that one of them was always in full sunlight, until it now ringed the entire circumference. It had become Earth’s main source of electricity. In an age when environmental laws reigned supreme and the pollution legacy of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries had almost been eradicated, it was inconceivable to build any kind of fuel-burning power station on Earth. Instead it was done cleanly and efficiently offplanet. The power that the ring generated was transferred to Earth via micro-wormholes where it was distributed over continental superconductor grids. Kazimir enjoyed the elegance of the idea; it was amusing to think that the electricity that lit the row of condos looming along the other side of the park, as well as the funfair, had all come from the moon. It was nice that nothing had to be burned, fused, or fissioned to keep a whole planet supplied. The expense was phenomenal, but that was just a question of priorities. Once the lunar factories had been established, they just kept on churning out more solar cells indefinitely, processing them out of moon rock.

  Adam Elvin had commented on the arrangement, admiring it while simultaneously deploring the fact no other planet had made a similar investment. Kazimir then had to sit and listen over a perfectly good lunch to the plethora of reasons why corporate economics, evil Grand Families, and the Intersolar stock market prevented the rest of the human race from sharing the benefits of civilization in a fair and just fashion. In fact, Adam Elvin had a great many complaints about the economic oppression practiced across the Commonwealth.

  Kazimir knew he was never going to like his new colleague. He could work with him—the old man had a lot to teach him about the smuggling and deception techniques that would assist the Guardians—but he could never envisage going out with him and hitting a few bars in the evening as friends would.

  As the lunch drew to its end, Adam had slipped him a memory crystal disk. “It contains a list of items Bradley needs for this revenge project of his. It’s all very high-tech stuff, the kind in plentiful supply on Earth. I’ve given you the names of possible suppliers, and the kinds of covers I want you to establish in order to make contact. The payment methods have also been set up.”

  “I understand.”

  “I want you to go back to your hotel. Study it, come up with proposals how you’d handle each one; what you’ll need, everything from clothes to a tourist TSI bought in the district you’re supposed to have come from. We’ll meet again in two days, and I’ll review what you’ve got.”

  “Okay. We meet in person?”

  “Yes. Care to tell me why?”

  “The cybersphere is susceptible to monitoring even if we encrypt—in fact, especially if we encrypt. Meetings can be spotted and observed, but it’s a question of balance. You obviously believe it’s the less risky option for the location and situation.”

  “Very good. It’s nice to know Stig was actually listening to me. We’ll turn you into a covert operative yet, Kazimir McFoster.”

  Kazimir had spent the afternoon reviewing the list, and making notes. He kept his proposals straightforward; complexity in this kind of operation could trip you up. He was sure that simplicity was the key. It
would be interesting to hear what Elvin said about his tradecraft.

  Most of the time he had spent researching through the unisphere. Hundreds of separate queries had returned dozens of answers. It was a question of sifting through them and deciding how they could be applied. Stig had always warned him the job would be boring for ninety-nine percent of the time.

  He started walking through the park again, alert for any signs of an observation team boxing him. Of course there was one query he had stoically resisted launching into the unisphere ever since he received his first insert. And he could never break cover to make contact with a civilian while he was on a mission as important as this one. He just couldn’t.

  He reached the end of Palisades Park, and crossed over to Colorado Avenue. Five minutes later he was back in his hotel room. Air-conditioning reduced the temperature to comfortable. The darkened glass of the window let in a few specks of light, hinting at the city grid outside. There were almost no sounds from the traffic. He kicked off his trainers and flopped back on the bed’s jellmattress. It was far too early to sleep. Any good, dependable Guardian member would carry on planning to acquire the items needed back on Far Away.

  Kazimir closed his eyes and saw the darkness of the tent after night had fallen on Mount Herculaneum. Starlight showed the dusky outline of the angel’s face as she rose above him. She smiled, proud of him, and excited by him, by the things she confessed in low whispers that she wanted him to do.

  Nothing in his life had ever come close to the wonder of that time. No girl had—could—ever match her, in any respect. He’d gone on with his life, accepted that nothing would ever be that good again, knowing he could put it all behind him because he would never see her again. She was on Earth, and he was on Far Away, a safe four hundred light-years distant. And so it would remain. Forever.

  “Goddamnit,” he shouted to the room. He lurched up, and came close to slapping himself. Instead, he took a breath, perched on the end of the bed, and told his e-butler to open a link to the planetary cybersphere.