The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  But then that’s always been the problem.

  The icon that represented the code Kazimir had sent her as he died was still a glowing azure point at the edge of her virtual vision. A constant temptation. Her virtual finger reached out and touched it. She blamed hormones.

  As befitted the leader of the African caucus, Ramon DB’s office was actually larger than Thompson’s. The walls were hung with ancient shields and skins; holographic portraits showed vast landscapes from every African world. Right in the middle, the largest picture showed a panoramic view of Kilimanjaro, taken a century ago, when the glaciers on the top had expanded again, returning the colossal mountain to its former glory. There was a smaller picture beside it, featuring Ramon at the top of the volcano, dressed in thick thermal walking clothes, standing beside the glacier’s edge, smiling proudly at the camera.

  Justine tilted her head to one side as she looked at it. “You know, I could have sworn I was standing next to you when that was taken. How strange, you must have walked up there again without me. And in the same clothes, too.”

  “I … er. This is a political office,” he said sheepishly. “Everything in here has to be symbolic of my constituency, those who I represent, who need my help.”

  “And what could be more symbolic than you taking a white wife? A union between two cultures and races. Building a bridge. A loving partnership. Showing that we are all above the conflicts of the past. Creating a Commonwealth of equality and fairness. A Commonwealth where skin color simply doesn’t—”

  “All right, all right! I take the point. Dear God, woman.”

  “So you’ll change it back? You’ll stop me from being an unperson.” Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. It was difficult, he looked so guilty, which brought out that vulnerable aspect she’d adored. She’d always had fun teasing Rammy.

  “I will take it under advisement, certainly,” he said with mock dignity.

  “Why, thank you, Senator. You can rely on my vote.”

  “Was there a reason you came here other than to taunt me?”

  The humor faded from her face. “Yes. I need some serious advice.”

  “And you came to me? I’m flattered. Is this serious advice political, or personal? I know it can’t be corporate; I remember Gore’s opinions on my ideology. What was it he used to call me?”

  “ ‘A whining pinko illiberal without a clue how the real world works,’ is probably the only one I can repeat in an office as symbolic as this.”

  Ramon laughed, and kissed her cheek. She was disturbed by how cold his skin was, the little layer of perspiration on his forehead.

  “So you needn’t worry, this is definitely political advice I’m after,” she said as they sat on a long teak bench carved with antelope figures. She felt her stomach churn again, and clenched her throat. There was nothing she could do to stop the shiver running down her body.

  “Are you all right?” Ramon asked, his face creased in genuine concern.

  “Better shape than you.” She gave him a weak smile. “A lot better.” Her hand went to her mouth as her stomach rebelled again.

  Ramon was studying her intently. He leaned in a little closer, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Dear God, you’re pregnant.”

  “Yes.”

  “I … That’s … Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Rammy.” She was worried she was going to start crying. Damn hormones.

  “You’re really pregnant. He must be quite something. You didn’t even do that for me. Our child was grown in a womb tank.”

  There was nothing she could do to stop it. The tears just came pouring out. “He’s dead,” she sobbed. “Really dead, Rammy. And it’s all my fault.”

  “Dead?” His arms had gone around her, slipping easily into the comfy old position, her head on his shoulder, cheek pressed to his neck. “Are you talking about that boy at LA Galactic?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re punishing yourself like this.”

  “No. It’s our baby, I want it to be safe. This way I can be sure.”

  “I know you,” he said soothingly. “This is the penance you’ve given yourself.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “He must have been very special.”

  “He was. And I was stupid to ever get involved.” She drew back, and sniffed, wiping her hands across her eyes. “It’s all so goddamn complicated.”

  “He was a young man with a cause he believed in. Everybody over a century old envies that. We might be able to buy youthful bodies with rejuvenation, but the integrity and intensity of youth, that is only ever a fading memory.”

  “You don’t understand. He really was killed by the Starflyer.”

  Ramon stiffened slightly, giving her a keen glance. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m here. Some of us are convinced that it does exist, that the Guardians are right.”

  “Oh, Justine, no. You mustn’t do this. It’s a reaction to the loss, just like the pregnancy. You want to believe in what he believed.”

  “It’s not just me, Rammy. A lot of us are of the same opinion; and we’re about to be joined by a very major player.”

  “You should talk this through with your father. He’ll soon cut through all the bullshit. It’s what he does.”

  “Gore believed before I did.”

  “Gore believes this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dear God. So this is what you wanted advice about?”

  “Of course. Exactly how do I go about introducing the notion to the Senate that some of its own members are traitors to the human species?”

  Ramon sat back, a slow amused smile spreading across his face. “Carefully. Very, very carefully. So this is the actual issue surrounding Paula Myo? The fight between you and the Halgarths.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Are you going to share any of the proof with me?”

  “A lot of it is circumstantial. You have to be on the receiving end to appreciate it properly.” As she said it, she realized how weak it sounded. “I should have absolute proof in a couple of days. That’s why I’m preparing the groundwork now.”

  “They accused Doi of being a Starflyer agent. The President herself.”

  “She’s not.” Justine recalled the conversation she’d just had with Bradley Johansson. “That was part of a disinformation campaign to discredit the Guardians.”

  He clicked his fingers. “Your interest in revisiting the Sorbonne Wood weekend. That’s a part of this as well.”

  “We were being manipulated.”

  “Preparing us for war. Yes, I see now. Just as the Guardians claim.”

  “You say it with such skepticism.”

  “And did you blindly follow your father’s belief?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Then kindly allow me to judge the facts for myself. And so far you have provided me with none.”

  “If I do, if I show you proof that cannot be argued with, will you help me in the Senate?”

  “Justine. Dearest of all my wives. I hate to see you suffer like this. First the shock of Thompson. Now the guilt of your lover being killed. You were there and think you are responsible.”

  “I am responsible.”

  “All this leaves you so emotionally vulnerable. In such times you cling to the wildest hope of redemption. People like the Guardians know how to exploit that. Cults have refined their recruitment operations down the centuries until they have become masters of extracting devotion and money from their damaged followers in exchange for their own vision of salvation.”

  “Well, thank you, my darling; I would never have worked that out for myself.” She gave him an exasperated glare. “Rammy, I was dodging fortune hunters and investment shysters before your great-grandparents ever met. There is no money to be made from this. It is not a scam. It is not a warped religion. It is the most dangerous threat the human species has ever faced, and the most elusiv
e.”

  “I could never resist when you were cross with me.”

  “Stop that!”

  He pouted.

  “Rammy, it doesn’t matter if you think I’ve gone right off the deep end with grief.” Her hand slipped down to her belly. “Given my state, that’s perfectly excusable. The least you could do is humor me. It’ll be good therapy. You do want me to recover, don’t you?”

  “You diabolical woman. I can never win with you, can I?”

  “Marriage was your victory. The greatest.”

  “Arrgh, how I hate you.”

  “Rammy, focus, please; if this proof does exist, will you help me?”

  “I would have to see it before I even consider answering that question. And, Justine, it would have to be absolute proof. I need to see this Starflyer knocking up the Pope’s illegitimate underage daughter; the full in flagrante TSI recording. Nothing else will do. Even then I’m not guaranteeing anything.”

  She grinned back at him. “Is she another tall blonde, then?”

  “Evil woman!” He held her gently again. “Now I want you to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “If this proof is not forthcoming, you will see someone who can help with the grief.”

  “You’re kidding. A shrink? Me?”

  His gaze remained steady. “An easy promise, surely? You know you are right, therefore you will never have to do it.”

  “I taught you well, didn’t I?”

  He gave a modest shrug. “Your word?”

  “My word.”

  “Thank you.” He bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. “And if you need someone there at the birth …”

  “Oh, Rammy.” The tears were threatening to return. “It couldn’t be anyone else.”

  Justine had just reached the elevators at the end of the Senate Hall’s long east wing when the alarm went off. She turned around to see doors opening all along the wide corridor, staffers looking around in puzzlement. A bright amber strobe was flashing above the door to Ramon DB’s suite of offices. “No,” she breathed. Shock turned her muscles to ice; she couldn’t move. It’s him! The assassin. He’s here.

  “Priority call from Senator Ramon DB,” her e-butler told her.

  “Authorized,” she gasped through tightened throat muscles.

  “Justine.”

  “Rammy! Rammy, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, shit, it hurts.”

  “What does? Has he shot you?”

  “Shot me? It’s my chest. Dear God. I hit my head when I fell. I can see blood.”

  “Your chest?”

  “Yes. Mitchan is trying to get me to drink water. Damn fool.”

  “Let him help.”

  “Not if he starts bringing out defibrillator paddles, I won’t.”

  Justine started to run, pushing past the interminable number of people flooding out into the corridor. She was halfway there when three paramedics emerged from the freight elevator and shouted at everyone to get out of the way. An automated crash cart sped after them, followed by two nursebots.

  “The emergency team is here, Rammy. They’re coming.”

  “Oh, good; finally, some decent drugs.”

  “How could you let it get this far? I told you, I warned you to watch your diet. Why don’t you ever listen?”

  “Nag nag nag. It’s not so bad. At least I remembered to back up my memorycell this morning.”

  The paramedics rushed through the door leading to Ramon’s office suite. Justine followed them in, hurrying through the anterooms where apprehensive junior aides and interns stood transfixed in their doorways, their faces locked in to frightened expressions.

  Ramon was on the floor in front of the teak bench they’d just been sitting on. He had caught his head on the arm as he fell. Blood from a bruised gash just below his eye was soaking into the carpet. Mitchan, his chief aide, was kneeling beside him, eyes damp with anxious tears. A glass had been knocked over, water diluting the patch of blood.

  One of the paramedics propelled the aide aside. Ramon’s robes were loosened. The paramedics began to apply plastic modules to his skin. Small arms unwound from the nursebots and began to press nozzles and needles into Ramon’s flesh.

  Justine stood behind the crash cart, trying her damnedest not to look apprehensive. She could see how difficult it was for him to breathe. Every time his chest rose in shallow judders he winced. Bubbly drool was running down his cheek. Their eyes met.

  “Toniea Gall will take over as head of the African caucus,” he wheezed painfully.

  “Don’t talk, Senator,” one of the paramedics said. She covered his face with an oxygen mask. He pushed it aside. “Watch out for her,” he said, staring intently at Justine.

  The oxygen mask was pressed back insistently. The paramedic held his hands down. “Senator, you’ve had another heart attack.”

  “Another!” Justine squawked. She was furious with him, and frightened.

  Ramon gave her a sorrowful look above the mask.

  “We’re going to sedate you, Senator,” the paramedic said. “You will have to undergo rejuvenation this time. Your heart cannot sustain you any longer. Your doctor told you that.”

  Text appeared in Justine’s virtual vision. GALL IS NOT AN ALLY. NOT FOR YOU. SHE WANTS THE PRESIDENCY. SHE WILL NOT INVOLVE HERSELF IN CONTROVERSY, NOT ON THIS SCALE.

  “I understand,” she said softly.

  I’M SORRY, JUSTINE. I WOULD HAVE HELPED, YOU KNOW THAT. GO TO CRISPIN, BUT BE CAREFUL, HE’S A WILY OLD SWINE.

  “Yes. I will, Rammy.”

  One of the nursebots slid a needle into his carotid artery. He blinked rapidly.

  COME AND VISIT ME WHEN I’M YOUNG AGAIN.

  “Every day, I promise.”

  Ramon gave his office a last confused glance, and closed his eyes. SEE YOU IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS.

  He spent a day and a half infiltrating the arrays of the huge Park Avenue apartment block. By himself he would never have managed it; he had to use several cohorts who were more adept at manipulating human electronic systems. Rich humans took their security very seriously indeed, using the most advanced and sophisticated arrays to guard themselves.

  With the false data in place, he arrived by taxi at the block. Two doormen stood outside the wide entrance with its gull-wing canopy, wearing traditional uniforms of long coats with brass buttons, and white gloves tucked into their epaulets. They saluted as he went through the revolving door into the vast marbled art deco lobby. The stern-faced concierge behind the curving reception desk was not so accepting. He had to tell the man his current identity and who he was supposed to be visiting, which was checked against today’s list. With his legitimacy confirmed, the concierge permitted a brief smile before escorting him to one of the elevators.

  Once the mirror-inlaid doors closed, he quickly placed his hand on the i-spot and changed the elevator’s instructions. It took him all the way up to the fortieth floor.

  The door to Senator Justine Burnelli’s apartment had been the most difficult for the cohorts to infiltrate. Her Grand Family had installed their own systems in the apartment, which were even more secure than those of the block. He stood in front of it, waiting patiently for the sensor to scan him. The door clicked, and swung open.

  He wandered through the vast rooms with their museum horde of furniture and art. While he was in the dark dining room with its five-hundred-year-old mahogany table the maidbots began their daily cleaning routine. Dozens of them emerged from their alcoves in the utility room just off the kitchen, and started to vacuum, polish, and sanitize. They ignored him, moving around his feet as he continued his inspection. There were no staff in residence to supervise them; the Senator always brought them in with her from their family’s Rye country mansion. Often she would stay overnight by herself.

  When she did return, there would be some bodyguards with her, either the family’s or Senate Security. They would be watching for an external threat. He simply had to wait until they had
all settled for the night.

  Eventually he decided on the Senator’s own bedroom as the best place to wait for her. He sat on the bed to begin his vigil.

  He’d been waiting for over twenty-four hours when the apartment management array received an encrypted order from the Senator to permit access to a technical support team from Senate Security. They arrived two hours later, three of them with a pair of cases each, which were full of additional security equipment. He watched them through the apartment block’s sensors as they parked in the underground garage, then took the service elevator.

  As they rose up to the fortieth floor he walked into the kitchen. The refrigerator was built into the wall, a metal cabinet two meters tall with double doors. He opened them and swiftly took all the food out, then removed the shelving, leaning it against one side. The food packets were piled together on the bottom. Even then, there was easily enough room to accommodate him. He activated his force field at its lowest level to maintain his body temperature, and sat on the pile of food, closing the doors behind him.

  He heard the team enter the apartment, their cases trundling along behind them.

  “Christ, will you look at this place,” one said. “It’s like something old royalty would have.”

  “Check out the view.”

  “Hell, man, I can’t even afford TSIs of anything like this place.”

  “Rich bastards, they’re all the same.”

  “Come on, guys, we’re here for a job, okay. Less moral superiority, more work.”

  “You sound like one of them.”

  “One of their aides, more like. The senators I’ve actually met aren’t too bad.”

  “They all make me sick. You know Piallani gets through four girls a week? Hookers with like these freaky reprofiled kinks, she ships them in from phase three space. They’re even down on her schedule as an entertainment expense. Taxpayer foots the bill.”