The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Yes, I remember.” Bradley picked up a little bone-handled silver knife and spread some cream on a scone. “Bruce never came back from a raid a few years back. Damn it, I keep telling the clans to watch for what the Starflyer can do to anyone left behind.”

  “The same thing it did to you?”

  For a split second Bradley registered enormous pain. “Quite,” he said hoarsely.

  “You know, I don’t even question if the Starflyer is real anymore. I’ve watched young Kieran McSobel’s recording a dozen times since. Kazimir was delighted to see his friend again; and Bruce just shot him.”

  “I’m sorry, Adam.”

  “Sorry? I thought you’d be delighted at another convert.”

  “It isn’t a pleasant door to open. There is little hope behind it, mostly just darkness and pain. That’s why I founded the Guardians, to protect the human race from what lurks there. So they could carry on living their beautiful long lives in peace. In a way, you’re not my convert, you’re another of its victims.”

  “Hey, don’t worry yourself about my soul. I chose my path a long time ago. This is just another rocky patch.”

  “Oh, Adam, if only you knew how much I envy your optimism. Ah …” He smiled up again as the waitress brought a tray with Adam’s afternoon tea.

  “Do tuck in.”

  Adam picked up his knife and cut open one of the scones.

  “How good was the encryption?” Bradley asked.

  “The SI could probably break it, but apart from that it’s safe.”

  “That gives us some leeway, then. The navy ran long-range diagnostic tests on the Martian equipment, which will tell them precisely nothing. They’ll be desperate to find some subterfuge.”

  “We watched the body afterward, you know. Senator Burnelli had it taken to a New York clinic owned by her family. My little friend Paula accompanied her. From what we can gather, the navy and Senate Security don’t exactly see eye to eye over this.”

  “Humm.” Bradley held up his crystal champagne flute, studying the bubbles as they fizzed in the sunlight. “Do you think Paula has the memory crystal rather than the navy?”

  “That’s some heavy-duty speculation, but I’ll concede it is possible.”

  “I wonder if that works to our advantage?”

  “I don’t see how. You needed the data. They have it.”

  “It gives them a big bargaining chip, even though they don’t know it yet.”

  “Do we have anything they want?”

  “Yes.” Bradley took a sip of champagne. “You and I for a start.”

  “Not fucking funny.” Adam stuffed the scone into his mouth and started pouring his tea.

  “I suppose not. But I have to give some consideration to recovering the information. We need it, Adam, very badly. The whole of the planet’s revenge depends on it.”

  “I don’t see how we can get it back. I certainly don’t have any way of infiltrating navy intelligence or Senate Security. What about that old top-level source of yours?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t heard from him in a long time.”

  “So that’s it? Game over?” Somehow the idea was impossible.

  “It’s not over by any means,” Bradley said. “Just a damn sight more difficult. That Martian data would have helped us refine the control program to a point where we could use it with confidence. We can still go ahead, but now we have to depend on numerical modeling more that the project designers want to. The results will be very uncertain.”

  “Your guys will make it work, whatever it is. They all seem so dedicated.”

  “For which I give thanks to the dreaming heavens. Humans do seem to possess remarkable reserves in so many fields. No wonder Starflyer and the Primes are so unnerved by us.”

  “If the Starflyer found out about the planet’s revenge, could it prevent you from carrying it out?”

  Bradley looked out over the river, giving the tall plane trees on the opposite bank a thoughtful stare. “Stop it, no; but it would be easy to circumvent. Timing is critical. But very few of us know the entire strategy, and I remain in contact with all of them. So far we are secure.”

  “I hope you’re right. They knew Kazimir was making his courier run. Which implies they’ve penetrated the navy. So by now they must know about the observatory receiving the Martian data for twenty years. If the Starflyer knows that, can it work out what you’re planning to hit it with?”

  “Extremely unlikely. However, none of this will matter if we can’t get the remaining physical components through to Far Away. An entire shipment was intercepted by the new navy inspections on Boongate.”

  “Yeah, we’re really going to have to do something about that.” Adam dropped some rock sugar into his tea, and stirred absently. “We’ve got outlines of a blockade-busting run drawn up. I guess it’s about time to put some flesh on it. Not that it needs a lot of development. It’s an essentially crude notion to begin with.”

  “Good. That means there’s less which can go wrong.”

  “And you call me an optimist.”

  “I’m still curious how Bruce managed to get away afterward. Did you find out anything relevant about that train he jumped on?”

  “No. CST traffic control uses very high-order encryption.” He grinned. “For some reason, they’re worried about people like me hacking in. It was a freight train is all we know. We don’t know where it was going, only that it was in the right place at the right time. That kind of placement takes some doing. It impressed the hell out of me.”

  “Logically, then, it had to be organized by someone very senior in CST. I wonder who the Starflyer has corrupted in that organization?”

  “I don’t suppose we’ll find out until all this is long over and settled.”

  Bradley gave a reluctant moue. “Yes, unfortunately. But someone that highly placed can do a lot of damage. I’m assuming they’ll help the Starflyer in its arrangements to return to Far Away.”

  “You’re convinced that will happen?”

  “I am indeed. It can’t afford to be trapped in the Commonwealth, especially if the Primes do succeed in wreaking havoc. When the war is at its very worst, it will try and return to its own kind. That’s when we must strike.”

  “We’ll get the rest of your equipment through, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t, Adam, I have a lot of confidence in you and your team. I just wish I could convince the rest of the Commonwealth. Perhaps I went about this the wrong way right from the start. But nobody believed me back then. I felt as though my back was to the wall. What else could I do but lash out physically? It was such a ridiculously human reaction, one which betrays how insecure we all are, how short the distance we’ve traveled from the old animal. Forming the Guardians to attack the Institute was such an instinctive reaction. Maybe I should have tried the political route.”

  “Speaking of which, are you absolutely sure Elaine Doi is a Starflyer agent?”

  Bradley leaned forward over the table. “That wasn’t us.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A very well executed fake. I have to admit, the Starflyer is becoming quite sophisticated in its campaign against us. Physically, Bruce and his kind are causing a lot of expensive damage; while disinformation like that shotgun is damaging our credibility. Just when we were starting to attract a degree of media interest, not to mention political support. Still, I blame myself, I should have anticipated such a move.”

  Adam finally sipped some of the Gifford’s champagne to help wash down a scone. “You know, that might have been a dangerous move on their part.”

  “In what way?”

  “If anyone was to investigate that shotgun properly, they might pick up some leads. The Starflyer might have exposed some of its operation to official scrutiny.”

  “Worth considering. I certainly wasn’t going to issue a disclaimer. That would make us look really stupid in the public mind. In any case, I’m abandoning the propaganda shotguns anyway. We’re too close to the
end now for them to make any real difference to general opinion.”

  “Unless you can produce some absolute proof.”

  “True.” Bradley seemed very undecided. “I suppose the Doi shotgun could do with some further inquiries.”

  “I can’t spare anyone from my team, especially now you’ve recalled Stig.”

  “Sorry about that, but I needed him back on Far Away. He’s developed into a damn good leader, for which I place full credit on your training.”

  “So we have no one who can dig into the shotgun, see who put it together?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Wilson said practically nothing on the journey back to the High Angel. He was lost in his virtual vision, pulling files from the navy intelligence Paris office, and reviewing the tight green text as it scrolled through the air in front of him.

  “It went well,” Rafael said as the direct express slid out of Newark. “I expected us to take a much bigger beating than that. They are politicians, after all.”

  “Doi was surprising,” Wilson admitted, rousing himself from Hogan’s report on the killing at LA Galactic. “I didn’t expect her to be quite as forthright as that.”

  “She had to be. We need someone with balls at the top. Everybody there knew that. The Dynasties and Grand Families would have engineered a recall if she didn’t come up with positive noises. So, it looks like we’ll get the ships, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rafael shrugged at the lack of communication, and settled back to work through the files in his own virtual vision.

  Wilson thought the account of how the killer got away was frankly unbelievable. If that was an example of how the Paris office operated, no wonder Rafael had fired Myo.

  He looked through the spectral lines and columns and graphics to see Rafael sitting opposite him. The man was ambitious, yes, but no matter how ambitious and well connected you were, to reach his level you also had to be competent. Hogan was his placement, but Inspector Myo was renown across the Commonwealth. It didn’t seem like a move based purely on petty office politics. There was no prejudice or simple maneuvering. Myo hadn’t produced results. She had to go.

  Yet she’d immediately been recruited into Senate Security—a move engineered by the Burnellis. And Justine had clashed with Rafael.

  Wilson recalled the one previous time he’d met the Chief Investigator, amid the ruins of assessment hall seven on Anshun after the Guardians’ attack on Second Chance. She’d seemed quietly professional, easily living up to her reputation. And she certainly hadn’t acquired her seniority in the Directorate through family connections. She was frighteningly good at her job. Every case but one solved. Even now it seemed she was still working on that one, simply from a different angle, if he was reading the pattern right.

  His virtual hands pulled another file from the Paris office. Myo had accompanied McFoster’s body to the Burnelli biomedical facility for its autopsy. He found it hard to believe she would ever jeopardize any kind of investigation simply to score points off Rafael. Her brain simply wasn’t wired for it, thanks to the Human Structure Foundation.

  Which meant she thought there was something deeper behind the appearance of the assassin. He pulled her last few reports on the case from the navy files, interested to see how high the restricted access level was—there were only fifteen people in the Commonwealth government who could gain entry to those files.

  Paula Myo, it seemed, had come to believe that the Starflyer was real.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Rafael gave him an expectant look. Wilson shook his head in mild embarrassment, and sat back deeper into the train’s seat. His immediate political instinct was to stay right out of a clash between the Burnellis and the Halgarths, especially over something like this. But for Myo to even consider the possibility after a hundred thirty years trying to close down the Guardians was extraordinary. Everybody knew the Chief Investigator was incapable of lying. Every time he’d accessed one of her cases, the unisphere shows would replay her parents’ trial as evidence of just how incorruptible she was.

  Wilson began to wish he’d simply walked on by that morning when Justine asked him for a moment. But he knew it wasn’t something he could ignore; the red planet had a resonance he could never ignore. What the hell did the Guardians want with Mars?

  As he pulled out the most recent files from the investigation, it was clear that navy intelligence didn’t have a clue. And just as Myo had indicated, they were winding down that aspect of the case.

  “My e-butler’s flagged an interesting report,” he said casually. “What were the Guardians doing on Mars?”

  Rafael’s focus returned to the real world. “We don’t know. The Guardians’ courier was killed, and whatever data he was carrying has disappeared. Between you and me, I believe it wound up at Senate Security. Senator Burnelli’s interest in this case is less than professional.”

  “Really? I’ll see if I can have a word with Gore about that. He owes me a few favors from way back.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Sometimes, I’m not sure we’re all working for the same side. The damn Grand Families can’t stop looking for a financial angle on everything.”

  “No problem. But I’d like you to keep navy intelligence working on Mars. I have an understandable interest about the place.”

  Rafael gave a disinterested grin. “Sure.”

  Wilson and Anna’s apartment in Babuyan Atoll was in a building resembling a small pyramid of dove-gray bubbles. It was close to the edge of the vast crystal dome, which gave them a clear view out into space at night when the internal illumination dimmed. When the High Angel was in conjunction, the wan light from Icalanise’s gigantic cloudscape was enough to cast pale shadows across the walls and floors. That was frequently complemented by the waxing and waning moonlight from the gas giant’s major satellites.

  Wilson would often spend an evening on the oval terrace outside the living room, sitting in a recliner with a glass of wine in one hand, watching the stark alien planets gliding overhead. Even then he would immerse himself in files and priority office work that his e-butler and virtual vision provided. The night when he got back from the War Cabinet meeting was different. He simply couldn’t push Mars out of his thoughts.

  “I expected you to be happier,” Anna said as she came out onto the terrace. For once she’d taken the time to change out of her uniform after they got home. She’d put on a small yellow bikini and long semitransparent yellow robe. Her dark skin made the fabric appear bright in the infall of light from various moons. Silver and bronze OCtattoos all across her body came to life in long slow undulations, emphasizing the play of muscle below her skin.

  The effect was erotic enough to divert Wilson’s thoughts from Mars. He whistled admiringly as she perched on the edge of the recliner. “I haven’t seen you like that for quite a while.”

  “I know. We seem to be neglecting some fairly basic human requirements lately; it’s all Mr. and Ms. No-Fun Military Executive these days.”

  “Just how basic were those requirements you had in mind?”

  Her finger stroked the side of his face. “I had my staff draw up a list. They’ll get in touch with your people and start negotiations.”

  “Anytime soon?” He slipped his arm around her waist and told his e-butler to get her a glass of the wine.

  She settled back into the embrace and stared up through the roof of the dome. “Is that the new assembly platform?”

  Wilson followed where she was looking to see a silver fleck amid the stars. “Uh … yeah, I think so. You know, space is going to get pretty cluttered out there over the next few months.”

  “If we have months.”

  His hold around her tightened. “They’re not invincible. Don’t ever let yourself think that. We’ve seen their home star; we know they have finite resources to throw at us.”

  “They might be finite, Wilson, but they’ve got a damn sight more than we have.”

  A maidbot
rolled up carrying a glass of chilled wine. He took it from the electromuscle tentacle and handed it to Anna. “If they could have invaded every Commonwealth planet at once, they would have done it. They can’t. They have to try and digest us one chunk at a time. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be frightened of them, but if that first attack showed us anything, it’s that they have limits. The effort they made establishing themselves on the Lost23 gives us a breathing space. We’ll make those fancy new ships work; we’ll gather an army of people wetwired with the scariest weapons technology we can think of and kick the Lost23 out from under their quadruple feet. And after that, we’ll use the Seattle Project to put the fear of God into them. It’ll be us deciding if they get to live or not. Those sons of bitches will curse the day their barrier wall ever came down.”

  “Wow. You really believe we can do this, don’t you?”

  “I have to. I’m not going to let the human race become nothing more than an old legend in this part of the galaxy.”

  “You can depend on me.” She kissed him lightly.

  “I know.” He touched his glass to hers. “A toast. To a successful campaign, and politicians who didn’t actually spend the whole cabinet meeting trying to score points off each other.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Wilson savored the wine, then glanced up at the Base One hardware floating close to the High Angel. “I’ve seen the ideas the physicists and designers have. They’re goddamn impressive.”

  “Let’s hope the media shows stop criticizing everything we try and do.”

  “They will. Baron and the others are just in shock like everyone else. Once they sober up and see what the alternative is, they’ll throw their weight behind us. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  She rubbed his hair fondly. “So old. I guess that’s what makes me trust you so much. You have so much life experience. I don’t think there’s any situation you couldn’t handle.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’ve got surprising vulnerabilities. I can’t believe how much Mars is bugging me. Justine really pressed the right buttons there.”

  “What do you think the Guardians have been doing there all that time?”