Judas Unchained

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Alic winced. “You should clear anything like that with me first.”

  “I know, Chief, and I apologize. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Anyway, Christabel gave me permission to travel to Solidade.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be the first government official for some time.”

  “Whatever. I also wanted to talk to Catriona Saleeb; she’s still on Arevalo, in the same apartment, so that’s not a problem. But Isabella discontinued her unisphere address code a week after the shotgun. We don’t know where she is. I asked Christabel, and she didn’t know either. They’re looking into it for me.”

  “And you want to arrest her for that?”

  “A warrant is the best way to make planetary police forces pay attention. A simple alert for a missing girl isn’t going to get any attention, not right now.”

  “Renne, I’m really not sure I can issue a warrant on this basis.”

  “I checked on Isabella, not just the official files, but the unisphere gossip show records as well. You know they love reporting on Dynasty members. Before she moved to Arevalo and set up house with the other girls, Isabella used to be Patricia Kantil’s girlfriend.”

  Alic Hogan gave her a startled look. “Doi’s chief of staff?”

  Renne smiled waspishly and nodded. “She never told us. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “How can Kantil be involved in this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s not. But you have to admit, this is worth a warrant. I need to ask Isabella some serious questions.”

  Alic let out a long breath, clearly reluctant. “I can really do without complications like this.”

  “Trust me, Chief. I’ll be discreet. If she’s just shacked up with someone she shouldn’t be, some senator or a three-hundred-year-old Grand Family heir, whatever, I’m not going to cause a fuss. I don’t want to get the Dynasties or the Executive pissed with this office. I’ll just ask her the questions, and leave quietly.”

  “Damnit, all right. But if she’s found, I want to know immediately. We keep this as quiet as we can.”

  Renne got out of the chair. “You got it.”

  “Are you off to Solidade?”

  “Yeah. The express to EdenBurg leaves in forty minutes.”

  “Okay, good luck. And I want to know what the planet looks like when you get back.”

  There was a limousine waiting for Renne when she arrived at EdenBurg’s CST station in Rialto, the planet’s megacity. A young man dressed in a smart dark gray business suit introduced himself as Warren Yves Halgarth, a member of the Halgarth family security force, and her assigned escort. They drove out of the station and into the midday sunlight.

  Renne had visited all of the Big15 at one time or another. She was always hard-pressed to tell the megacities apart. Rialto was a slight exception in that it was sited in a temperate zone, while most of the others favored tropical locations. Apparently it was an accounting thing. A city that had summers and winters needed different types of civic services to cope with the individual seasons, and Rialto had an impressive snowfall in winter, averaging out at two meters each four-hundred-day year. Keeping the citywide grid of five-lane expressways open and the all-embracing network of rail tracks clear and functional for those three icy months of the year required thousands of snowplows and ancillary fleets of GPbots. The cost of all that bad weather machinery was considerable, and the city council had to charge the companies and residents to cover the expense.

  It was a factor that was countered by the cost of power on EdenBurg, which was among the lowest in the Commonwealth. One of the principal reasons Heather Antonia Halgarth had chosen EdenBurg as her family’s Big15 world was the planet’s massive oceans. None of the three continents had deserts—precipitation was too high for that; instead, they were covered in rivers, with vast coastal plains subject to continual flooding. Instead of the fission plants the other Big15 used, Heather went in for hydropower on a colossal scale, damming two-thirds of the watercourses on the Sybraska continent where Rialto was situated. Electricity was delivered to the megacity via superconductor, and Sybraska’s plains drained, then irrigated to provide nation-sized tracts of highly productive farmland.

  Because of the cold months, Rialto favored monolith apartment blocks rather than the vast sprawls of individual homes and strip malls found on worlds like StLincoln, Wessex, and Augusta. Each district had its core of Manhattan-like skyscrapers and bulky concrete tenements, which were encircled by huge swathes of factories and refineries.

  The CST station was on the edge of the Saratov district, which was the megacity’s financial and administrative heart, giving it the largest nest of skyscrapers, and also the tallest. The industrial estates radiating outward tended toward the smaller, more sophisticated manufacturing facilities. Accommodation blocks were gigantic, fifty to seventy stories of sturdy stone façades, with large apartments overlooking broad well-maintained public parks. There were fewer rail lines and more elevated roads, reflecting the population density and its relative wealth.

  Renne couldn’t help staring at Saratov’s central area as they swept toward it along the expressway. Some of the skyscrapers were so high she thought they must touch cloud level; they couldn’t be economical to build, even with today’s materials and robotics. It was all about corporate prestige.

  Right in the middle were five tapering towers housing the Halgarth Dynasty’s headquarters. They were all identical in size and architecture with crown spires producing a bristling apex. But the reflective glass windows on each one had a different color.

  Renne’s car drove down into the basement of the green tower, and into a secure parking zone. The Halgarth family security force occupied several floors halfway up the tower. Renne wasn’t told how many. The elevator they used didn’t have an indicator. She was ushered into Christabel Agatha Halgarth’s office. Curving walls of tinted glass looked out toward the ocean, thirty kilometers away. Three more skyscraper districts stood between Saratov and the coast, brief pinnacles of color and style with their moats of parkland. The terrain between them was a dark synthetic desert of rectangular factories and warehouse cubes with black solar collector roofs. Thousands of spindly metal chimneys squirted gray-blue vapors up into the iron sky, misting the whole scene with a thin dreary smog.

  Sitting at her plain steel desk, Christabel Halgarth was silhouetted by the remorseless industrial backdrop. Newly rejuvenated, she was a small brunette, with a face that indicated a strong Asian ancestry. Renne expected someone this senior in the Dynasty to be wearing a business suit, one costing a good ten or fifteen times more than her own. But Christabel was dressed in a worn blue sweatshirt and baggy track pants with muddy stains on their knees, as if she’d just come in from gardening. Appearance obviously didn’t matter to her.

  Or maybe it’s just me that doesn’t count.

  Christabel followed Renne’s glance at her legs and smiled. “I cut my morning jog short to meet you. Haven’t had time for a shower yet.”

  “I appreciate you taking the time,” Renne said as they shook hands. “It wasn’t quite that urgent.” She hadn’t told Alic Hogan that she’d requested an interview with Christabel. It wasn’t lying, exactly, but the Commander was antsy enough about her just getting permission to go to Solidade. Something like this request should probably have gone through the Admiral’s office, with any number of administrative staff reviewing it, and most of them unwilling to send it forward for fear of rocking the boat. Better, Renne thought, just to fire off the question and see if she could circumvent the bureaucracy and politics. Paula would have done the same.

  “We’re both here now,” Christabel said graciously. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m following up the last Guardians’ shotgun. Basically, what I need to know from you is if it was an entrapment operation mounted by your organization.”

  Christabel regarded her with a look of mild surprise. “Not that I’m aware of. One mome
nt.” Her eyes unfocused as she scanned her virtual vision. “No. We knew nothing about it until it happened.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  “Care to tell me why you asked that?”

  “There was something wrong about it.” Renne waved a hand dismissively.

  “Nothing solid I could put in a report at the time; and now Isabella has dropped out of sight.”

  “Hardly conclusive. She’s young. The Commonwealth is in a minor state of chaos, especially with people migrating away from the Lost23 neighbors. A lot of our rich brats involve themselves in unsavory activities which they try to keep quiet from me. Don’t you think you might be overreacting?”

  Renne was unsure if the woman was laughing at her, or irritated her time was being wasted. “She used to be good friends with Patricia Kantil.”

  “I see. You’re adding up the discrepancies. And I admire you for sticking to your instincts. I can understand that. Especially given your previous mentor.”

  “I don’t quite follow.”

  “You’re doing real detective work. You probably didn’t review my file, such as it is, but one of the nonclassified entries is that I graduated from the Serious Crimes Directorate’s Investigator training course one year after Paula Myo.”

  “Ah,” Renne began to relax.

  “I was furious with the Dynasty for supporting her dismissal. A little less politics in our lives would see a few more results, not that my dear Dynasty ever grasps that at a collective level. Even so, Columbia should never have done what he did, it was a complete abuse of power.”

  “I thought he would come under your jurisdiction.”

  “Ha.” Christabel smiled waspishly. “That shows how little you know about the internal politics of our Dynasty. Columbia now has the full support of our senior council. The Admiral’s position he’s maneuvered himself into is damn impressive; I only hope Kime’s astute enough to be watching his own back. There was nothing I could do for Paula—though she landed on her feet without my assistance. Hardly surprising, given the number of contacts she’s gathered inside the Commonwealth establishment down the centuries.”

  “She was an excellent boss.”

  “Which is more than that clod Hogan is, I suppose.”

  “Actually, Hogan’s not bad, just a little procedure-oriented. And of course, he belongs to Columbia.”

  Christabel inclined her head. “Okay, then. So what exactly made you ask if the shotgun was an entrapment?”

  “It had too many similarities with earlier cases, as if someone had read up on how to work the procedure. Your force would be the obvious candidate if you were trying to snare the Guardians.”

  “We have done something similar in the past. But no, not this time. Interesting that you thought that, though.”

  “And now there does turn out to be something out of kilter.”

  “Paula did teach you something, after all.”

  “Has Isabella been a problem before?”

  “Not at my level. Her relationship with Kantil wasn’t even referred to senior council—which probably says more about how we regard the Executive than anything else. Isabella is just a standard minor Dynasty brat. We keep tabs on hundreds of them. It always disappoints me how many wind up in rehab, or get hauled up before a judge for various misdemeanors within a year of leaving Solidade. A hell of a lot of our time is spent trying to protect the young ones from scams that drain their trust funds. If it was up to me, they’d have no access to Dynasty money until their hundredth birthday. But I’m just old-fashioned.”

  “I’m surprised her parents haven’t asked you to check on her.”

  Christabel looked over at Warren, who had taken up a discreet position at the back of the office. “You called them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Renne. “After your initial inquiry to us this morning, we did launch a review of Isabella’s situation. Victor and Bernadette ended their relationship eight years ago. Standard separation enactment in their contract. There was no hostility at the time, nor afterward. Isabella lived with Victor and his new wife until she was seventeen, at which time she started attending a boarding school prior to her level four exam year. It’s quite a common practice for children on Solidade. After school, she’s either lived with friends in various Dynasty-owned properties, or shared accommodation with her lovers. There haven’t been many jobs. So it’s really not unusual for her to be out of contact with her direct family for months at a time.”

  “But discontinuing her unisphere address code isn’t normal, surely?”

  “No,” he said. “We ran some follow-up checks on that. She stopped using her credit account the same day she discontinued her address code. It looks like a deliberate attempt to drop right out of sight.”

  “Did she tell anyone where she was going?”

  “Not that we know of. We haven’t started an official inquiry yet.”

  “I was waiting to see what you had, first,” Christabel said.

  “You’ve heard it all, sorry. One suspicion.”

  “It’s enough for me. If you have no objection, we’ll run our own investigation parallel to yours. We can focus more on direct leads, but that arrest warrant will produce a much wider coverage. Somebody should spot her.”

  “No objections at all.”

  “Good. Warren here will be your liaison with us. He will escort you to Solidade next. Trisha is expecting you, and she will cooperate fully.”

  Renne did her best not to show any surprise at the force in Christabel’s voice. Presumably Trisha hadn’t been too keen on another interview. “Thank you.”

  Traveling to Solidade was essentially the same as any other train journey within the Commonwealth. The only difference was to be found at Rialto station, where the Halgarths maintained a single dedicated platform several kilometers from the three main terminals. Despite being authorized by the head of the security force, and accompanied by Warren, Renne had to go through several thorough security checks before she was allowed on the little platform.

  The three-carriage train took barely five minutes to get through the gateway and arrive at Yarmuk, the small town that supplied the entire planet’s services.

  “Did you find anything in Isabella’s credit account?” Renne asked as they stepped down from the carriage.

  “Nothing unusual, no,” Warren said. “We were looking for train tickets, of course, accommodation rentals, and large cash withdrawals. There weren’t any.”

  “What about spending pattern analysis?”

  “We ran one. If she has been squirreling away money for the last few months, then we couldn’t spot it.”

  “Ah well, just a thought. I really need an angle on what Isabella’s thinking. All I have so far are a bunch of inconsistencies climaxing with her disappearance. I still don’t know if any of that is connected with the shotgun case, or if it’s all a really bad coincidence.”

  “If she’s vanished there can hardly be an innocent explanation.”

  “No, I concede that. But if she’s simply fallen in with the wrong people I can clean her off my case files. That doesn’t help you, I know; and I’m not sure I want that outcome, either.”

  Warren gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t get that.”

  “If she is tied in with this somehow, and don’t ask how, please, then she’s the first solid lead we’ve had on the whole Guardians’ shotgun problem.”

  “I see that, but…She’s a Halgarth; we’re nearly always the victims of the Guardians in the shotgun cases, so how can chasing her give you a lead to them?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps this is some new kind of follow-up operation by the Guardians. We need to know a lot more, and the only people who can fill in some gaps are the other two girls.”

  A Boeing 22022 supersonic VTOL plane was waiting for them at the town’s airfield. It was a short flight to the heavily wooded Kolda Valley where Trisha’s branch of the family maintained a holiday lodge. They landed on a meadow clearing bel
ow the elaborate raised wooden building. The lodge was built into the forest, using seven giant morangu trees as its principal pillars. It was as if some ancient sailing ship had somehow embedded itself in the trees, and had slowly been expanded over the decades with additional rooms and platforms grafted on. The roof was a shaggy thatch of long local reeds, which had dried to a dusty ocher. A small stream wound out of the deeper forest at the side of the supporting trunks, skirting the edge of the grassy meadow to fill various stony pools.

  Trisha was waiting for them beside a clump of lazthorn bushes growing above the largest pool. She wore a bikini top and a pair of white canvas shorts; a long towel was laid out beside the water where she’d been sun-bathing. The sophistication that was her heritage had left her, Renne decided as she walked over. It wasn’t just the cheap vacation slob-out clothes; the girl was more thoughtful and pensive now, where before she’d been chirpy and confident. Her green butterfly wing OCtattoos had been expanded down her cheeks, extensions lacking the artistry of the original sections.

  “Sorry to bother you again,” Renne said. “I’ve just got a few more questions.”

  “It’s more than that,” Trisha said tetchily. “I’ve had a whole load of calls today telling me I have to see you.” She glanced back toward the elevated lodge.

  Renne just caught a glimpse of a young man standing in a doorway to one of the verandas along the front. He quickly stepped back through an open door into the dimly lit interior. “Sorry about that,” Renne said. “But I do want to catch the people who did this to you.”

  “Isabella said you never would, that we’d just be another ongoing file your office would forget about after a month.”

  “That’s an interesting comment. Normally, I would have agreed with her—off the record, of course.”

  Trisha gave a listless shrug. “Has something happened?”

  “I’m not sure. First of all, I need to know if you’ve remembered anything about Howard Liang that might be relevant, something which you’d overlooked before.”