A Second Chance at Eden

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Yes.

  Good.

  She swung a leg over my belly, and straddled me. Her corona of wild blonde hair caught the light, shimmering brightly. A splendidly erotic angel.

  I’m on duty, I protested.

  She laughed, then held herself perfectly still. Her mind released a surge of desire, revealing the places where she adored to be touched.

  My hands moved up to caress her, seemingly of their own accord.

  When it comes to guilt, who better to consult than a priest? Except for the fact that I would never ever dream of telling Father Cooke about me and Hoi Yin.

  Christ, Jocelyn and I have our first pleasant civilized evening together for I don’t know how long, and first thing next morning I’m making love to the most beautiful girl the world has ever known. And not just twice, either. Her youth and voracity proved a powerful aphrodisiac.

  We had parted without any promises of commitment. All very bohemian and fashionable. In one respect she was right about Eden, or at least affinity; we could see right into each other’s hearts. There and then our emotions had harmonized. She desperate and anguished; me appalled, wanting to comfort, and weighted down with a sense of isolation. There and then, what we did was right.

  Only in Eden.

  Where else would I make love in a field like some uncontrollably randy teenager? Where else would I make love to a girl who is physical perfection?

  Who also happens to be my principal suspect. Whose expertise the police had called upon to examine, in private, the chimp which pulled the trigger. Who reported back that there was no visual memory of the murderer, nor could ever be one.

  Oh, crap.

  *

  There was no one in the main section of the church, but Eden directed me to the small suite of rooms at the back where Father Cooke lived. I found the priest sitting in his lounge, watching the cloudscoop-lowering operation on a hologram screen.

  ‘It’s supposed to be my morning for Bible class at school,’ he said with a contrite grin. ‘But the kids are like everyone else today, watching the cloudscoop. It gives me an excuse to tune in like the rest of them.’ He indicated a chair, then frowned. ‘Did you fall over, Chief?’

  I brushed self-consciously at the smear of mud on the sleeve of my jacket. My trousers still had some broken blades of grass clinging to them. And the fabric was a mass of creases. The whole uniform had been cleanly pressed when I left the house that morning.

  ‘Yes. But nothing broken.’ I sat hurriedly and pointed at the large wall-mounted screen. ‘How’s it going?’

  The screen showed a picture of the anchor asteroid traversing Jupiter’s choppy cloudscape. A thin spear of stellar-bright fusion plasma was emerging from the centre of the radiator panels. It looked as though it could be braided, but the screen’s resolution wasn’t sharp enough for me to be sure. Cooke had turned the sound down, muting the newscable commentator’s voice to a monotonous insect buzz.

  ‘It’s going fine by all accounts,’ he said. ‘Look at that clustered fusion drive unit, ten thousand tonnes of thrust. Imagine that! Sometimes I think we’re challenging the Almighty Himself with these stunts. Rearranging the cosmos to suit ourselves. What boldness.’

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘On the contrary, my son, I love this aspect of being up here, right out where the cutting edge of engineering is happening. Spaceflight and high technology have always fascinated me. That’s one of the main reasons Eden was given to me as my parish. The bishop thought I was unhealthy on the subject, but my enthusiasm works to the Church’s advantage.’

  ‘But you don’t have neural symbionts.’

  ‘Of course not, but I talk to Eden through my PNC wafer. And the servitor chimps respond to verbal orders when I need any tasks performing round the house. The only thing I miss out on is this glorified mental telephone ability to converse with someone away down the other end of the habitat. But then, when people need to talk to me, I prefer it to be face to face. There are some traditions which should be maintained.’ He was smiling with soft expectancy, a thousand lines crinkling his humane face.

  ‘Jocelyn and I talked last night,’ I began lamely. ‘We haven’t done that for quite a while.’

  ‘That’s good, then. That’s encouraging.’

  ‘Possibly. You see, the twins told us in no uncertain terms how much they enjoy being in Eden. They want to stay.’

  ‘Well, I could have told you that was going to happen; I’ve seen it a hundred times. Do you know why the majority of the population supports Boston? It’s because if Eden becomes an independent nation, they will be its legal citizens. In other words, they won’t be sent back to Earth when their contract with the JSKP runs out.’

  I hadn’t considered that aspect of grassroots support. Trust a priest to see the true motivation factor behind all the fine words about destiny and liberty. ‘The thing is, the twins want neuron symbiont implants. They say they’ll be left out if they’re not affinity capable.’

  ‘Which they will, and you know that. Your children especially, I don’t suppose they had it easy back on Earth.’

  ‘Christ, you must be psychic.’

  ‘No, my son, I’m not. I wish I were, it would make my job a lot simpler, given the way people hedge and squirm in the confessional. What I have is a terrible weight of experience. I know the way police and company security men are regarded on Earth. It’s becoming clear to me that the price of an industrialized society is an almost total collapse of civil and moral behaviour. Urbanization blunts our responsibilities as citizens. Eden is a complete reversal of that, the pastoral ideal.’

  ‘Yeah, I expect you’re right. But what do we do, Jocelyn and me? She’s completely torn; more than anything she wants the twins to be happy, but she doesn’t want them to be happy here.’

  ‘And you do.’

  ‘I don’t mind where they are as long as they have that chance at happiness. But I can’t imagine them ever being happy back on Earth, not now they’ve seen Eden, seen how it doesn’t have to be like the arcology.’

  ‘That’s understandable. When urban kids are let loose to run around up here, they really do believe it’s paradise.’

  ‘You’re saying it again, how much you approve of Eden.’

  ‘Like every human society, there is much to admire, and much to regret. Physically, materialistically, Eden is far superior to Earth. I suspect your children really won’t be swayed by arguments of spiritual fulfilment. People under fifty rarely are.’

  ‘If it was just me, I’d stay,’ I told him earnestly. ‘I’d love to stay. You know that. But what about Jocelyn? Affinity is the biggest barrier between us, ironic as that sounds. I just can’t ever see her fitting in here. Not now. I had it all planned out so beautifully before we came. She was going to take a job in the Governor’s office; she used to work in the Delph arcology administration back in London. JSKP are quite good about that kind of thing, finding family partners employment. But she’s obviously not going to be able to do that now, because you need affinity for any job where you have to interface with other people. If I’ve learnt nothing else in the last couple of days, I’ve learnt that. And she won’t have the implant, which means she’ll have to sit around at home all day long. Imagine how demeaning that will be for her, not to mention depressing.’

  ‘Yes, I see your problem,’ he said. ‘Your children won’t leave, your wife can’t stay. And you love them both. It’s a pretty fix you’ve got yourself in, my son, and no mistake.’

  ‘So what do you think? Should I keep on trying to persuade Jocelyn to have an implant? Or could you do it, convince her that the symbionts are harmless, that they don’t violate the Pope’s declaration?’

  ‘Alas, I’m not sure about that, my son,’ he said regretfully. ‘Not at all. Perhaps the Pope was wrong to concentrate on the affinity gene itself rather than the whole concept. I came here with the first batch of people to live in the habitat five years ago. I’ve seen how they’ve changed thanks
to this communal affinity. It almost abrogates my role entirely. They don’t need to confide in me any more, they have each other, and they are totally honest about their feelings, affinity allows that.’

  ‘You don’t like it because it’s putting you out of a job?’ I asked, annoyed at him for what seemed almost like conceit. I wanted my problem solved, not his regrets about falling service attendance.

  ‘They are not turning from me, my son, rather what I represent. The Church. And not just Christians either; there is a small Muslim community in Eden as well, they too are turning from their teachings, and as a rule of thumb they tend to be even more devout than the old Catholics. No, affinity is taking people from God, from faith. Affinity is making them psychologically strong together.’

  ‘Surely that’s good?

  ‘I wish it were so, my son. But to have so much self-faith borders on hubris. The absolute denial of God. I cannot endorse what I see happening here. I urge you with all my heart to talk with your children again, try and convince them how ultimately shallow their lives would be if they were to spend them here.’

  I stared at him for a long minute, too shocked to speak. What the hell could he know about affinity? What gave him the right to pass judgement? All my misgivings about the Church and its blind dogma were beginning to surface again. ‘I’m not sure I can do that, Father,’ I said levelly.

  ‘I know, my son. I’ll pray that you are given guidance in this matter. But I genuinely feel that Eden is being emptied of divine spirit. In His wisdom our Lord gave man a multitude of weaknesses so we might know humility. Now these people are hardening their souls.’ For a second his face showed an immense burden of regret, then he mustered his usual placid smile. ‘Now, before you go, do you have anything to confess, my son?’

  I stood, putting on a front of steely politeness. Why is it that you can never manage to be rude to men of the cloth? ‘No, Father, I have nothing to confess.’

  *

  Did you hear all that? I asked Eden when I was back in the jeep.

  I did.

  The intimation of immense calmness behind the thought mollified me. Slightly. What do you think? Are we all using you and affinity like some kind of cephalic valium?

  What can I say, Chief Parfitt? I believe the priest is wrong, yet he is a decent man who means well.

  Yeah, and God preserve us from them.

  What do you intend to do about your family?

  Christ, I don’t know. I suppose you saw me and Hoi Yin?

  Yes. Your association registered with my sensitive cells.

  Association, I mused. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that before.

  Wing-Tsit Chong explained that there are some human subjects which should be approached with extreme caution. Sex is one of them.

  He’s certainly right about that. I turned the jeep onto the road leading to the police station. There was a locker room there, I could have a shower, wash the smell of her away. That was probably what clued Father Cooke in. Nothing I could do about the messed up uniform, though. Unless I sent a servitor chimp sneaking into my bedroom.

  Almost without conscious thought I could see the house. Jocelyn was in the lounge, watching the cloudscoop lowering on the newscable. Two servitor chimps were cleaning the street pavements a hundred metres away from the front garden. Sending one in unnoticed would be easy. My three spare uniforms were hanging up in a closet – memory of yesterday: Jocelyn hanging them up, taking care not to crease them.

  No.

  I wasn’t going to resort to that. But I wasn’t going to confess, either.

  That wasn’t the answer.

  Boss? Shannon called.

  Hello, and I think I conveyed just a bit too much boisterous relief in my response. There was a slight recoil.

  Er, I’ve cracked Maowkavitz’s remaining files, boss.

  Great, what’s in them?

  I think you ought to come out to the house and have a look for yourself.

  On my way. There was a suppressed excitement in her thought. I did a U-turn, and sent the jeep racing towards the plush residential sector on the edge of town.

  Davis Caldarola greeted me when I came in through the front door. He was wearing very dark sunglasses, every move measured and delicate. Classic hangover case.

  Sorry about yesterday, he said humbly. I’m not like that normally.

  Don’t worry about it. In my job I meet too many bereaved people. You were remarkably restrained, believe me.

  Thanks.

  Where’s Officer Kershaw?

  In the study.

  Shannon was lounging indolently in the big scarlet chair, a very smug expression in place. Three screens were illuminated on the top of the console, each displaying a vast amount of fine blue text.

  Have you been here all night? I asked.

  Almost. Someone was pretty insistent about wanting to know what was in her files, remember?

  OK, enjoy your moment of glory. What have you found?

  According to her access log record, the last fifty-two files she was working on contained Cybernetics Division records. They’re pretty comprehensive, too. She’s been downloading them from their computer for the last six weeks.

  I don’t get it. I gave Davis Caldarola a puzzled glance, meeting equal bafflement. Did she tell you she was working on this? I asked him.

  No. Never. Penny never showed the slightest interest in the Cybernetics Division, certainly not after Wallace Steinbauer took over a couple of years ago. It was one of her jokes that ultimately she could replace all the mechanical systems inside the habitat with biological equivalents, and put the whole division out of work. She said they were a temporarily necessary anachronism. She always resented using the jeeps and the funicular railways.

  I studied the screens again. The tabulated data was simply list after list of mechanical components and domestic items which the factories had manufactured, each one with an index cataloguing the date, time, material composition, energy consumption, quality control inspections, what it was used for, who requested it . . . ‘What did she want it all for?’ I mumbled. And more importantly, why didn’t Wallace Steinbauer tell me she had been downloading all his division’s files? He claimed there was very little contact between him and Maowkavitz.

  Because he didn’t know? Shannon suggested sagely.

  Good point. The Cybernetics Division computer system was poorly managed. Could Maowkavitz download these records without anyone in the Cybernetics Division knowing?

  Shannon pouted. I certainly could. And Maowkavitz probably knew the system management command codes; she was a JSKP director, after all. Hacking in would be very simple for her.

  OK. So tell me, Shannon, what is the point of acquiring this much data on anything? What can you actually do with it?

  Data? Two things, sell it or search it.

  Penny wouldn’t sell it, David Caldarola said emphatically.

  There’s nothing here to sell anyway, Shannon said. The actual assembly bay control programs use a form of flexible fuzzy logic which is quite sophisticated, they might be reasonably valuable to a rival manufacturing company, but they’re hardly exclusive. And in any case, she waved an arm at the console, they’re not here. These files are just manufacturing records.

  Which leaves us with a search, I said.

  You got it, boss.

  OK, genius, search it for what?

  She flashed a smile, and started typing rapidly on a keyboard. Her programs don’t have restricted access, only the files. So let’s see. The data on the screens began to change as she called up various system menus. Her head swivelled round like a vigilant owl as she checked the ever-changing display formats. ‘Gotcha!’ A sharply pointed fingernail tapped one of the screens. This is the one. According to the log record she was using it the day before she died. Long columns of purple and green numbers fell down the screen. Shannon blinked, and peered forwards eagerly. Holy shit. Boss, it’s a tracer program which looks for gold.

 
; Gold? I queried.

  David Caldarola gave a small start. I only just caught it out of the corner of my eye. And he covered fast, turning it into a perplexed scowl. Interesting.

  Yes, Shannon said. It’s a fairly basic routine; it just runs through the files and pulls any reference for gold.

  And Penny Maowkavitz was using it to search the Cybernetics Division files? Which file has the same log-on time as the search program?

  Way ahead of you, boss. The screens were running through menu displays again, too fast for the data to be anything other than a fluorescent smear.

  In my own mind I was starting to assemble a theory, segments of the puzzle manoeuvring round each other, slotting together. There was a strong sense of conviction rising, buoying up my flagging confidence. Progress was coming too fast for it to be mere coincidence. Eden.

  Yes, Chief Parfitt.

  Tell me about the asteroid rock you digest; does it contain gold?

  Yes.

  And other precious metals?

  Yes. Silver and platinum are also present in small quantities.

  ‘But everything is relative,’ I whispered. Eden digests over two hundred thousand tonnes of rock each year, that’s what Wallace Steinbauer told me. And has been doing so ever since it was germinated.

  Davis Caldarola had turned even paler. Do you separate these precious metals out and store them in the silos in the southern endcap? I asked.

  Yes.

  What is the current quantity stockpiled in the silos?

  I am holding one thousand seven hundred and eighty tonnes of silver; one thousand two hundred and thirty tonnes of gold, and eight hundred and ninety tonnes of platinum.

  ‘I never knew that,’ Shannon said. She had stopped typing to look at me in astonishment.

  Me neither, I said. It wasn’t in any briefing I received. In fact, I doubt the JKSP board even knows about it. I expect the information that Eden could extract precious metals as well as ordinary ones was hidden away in some technical appendix that nobody ever looked at, that’s if Maowkavitz ever bothered to mention it at all.

  Why? Shannon demanded.

  Well, Davis? I said heavily. Why don’t you tell us?