“Oh dear, oh dear. I suppose you know what you’re doing, but please be careful. I’d like to think my great-grandchild will sit here listening to your next quandary.”
She stood up and offered her hand. “Tell him to watch out for me.”
“You really are going to take my advice?”
“It helped me focus on what I have to do, yes.”
He looked out of the French doors at Matilda who was still stretched out on the towel. “Then I really should take your advice.”
A huge black Zil limousine was parked outside the entrance to Paula’s apartment building, almost completely blocking the street. She was surprised the police hadn’t towed it away; at the very least they should have fined the driver. As she drew up level, a gull-wing door in the side lifted up silently. A man whose skin was pure gold put his head out.
“We need to talk,” he told Paula.
TWENTY-THREE
Tulip Mansion was situated just outside of New York, in Rye County. The building itself sat on top of one of the small mountains that made up the majority of the rugged region, where it was surrounded by pine forests that swarmed over the adjacent hills. Mingling in among the tall trees were huge rhododendron bushes that enjoyed the stony soil, producing the most exquisite carpet of color when they were in flower. People who had homes there tended to stay for many lives and centuries. Rye’s proximity to the city made it an excellent area to live for those who could afford the land prices. It wasn’t as chic as the Hamptons—but it was very convenient.
Miles Foran had thought so when he began his estate at the start of the twenty-first century, an Internet billionaire whose share stock had achieved a near-ballistic trajectory upward. With the Tulip Mansion it was his goal to build “the first true American stately home of the new millennium.” Not for him the standard timber-frame mansion clad in brick and stone. Mock was not in the vocabulary when architects were summoned. His ornate stone walls had cores of concrete and steel that would last for centuries. Craftsmen were flown in from all over the world; master carpenters and stone masons chipped and chiseled away, crafting a work of art you could live in. Aristocratic designers were contracted to produce a modern classic interior that would make the palaces of oil potentates seem cheap and tacky by comparison. The grounds were shaped and landscaped into gardens that would rival those of Versailles.
The decade-long project was well under way when Jeff Baker released into the global market his new crystal memory: the pinnacle of electronic data storage, eliminating all other competing systems, obliterating copyright, and revolutionizing the Internet into the datasphere. Gravity suddenly took a very firm grip on Foran’s stock trajectory, which not even filing Chapter Eleven bankruptcy could protect him from.
Several years later the creditor banks were quietly grateful when Gore Burnelli made them a small offer for the estate and its half-completed folly. Work was resumed. The central stamen tower was completed, topped out with its gold anther crown. The four wings laid out around it were the flower’s petals, stretched-oval shapes that were given curving scarlet and black roofs whose design was stolen directly from the Sydney opera house. Inside were reception rooms, a ballroom, a grand banqueting hall, fifty guest bedrooms, a library, swimming pools, solariums, games rooms, and cavernous underground garages stocked with a range of vehicles that any motor history museum would kill to obtain.
All in all, it was excessive to the point of vulgar; but Justine spent more time at the Tulip Mansion than she did at any other family residence. If anywhere was home for her, it was here. And now she was having to host Murielle’s engagement party in the gardens at a time that was monstrously inappropriate.
But the party had been planned months in advance. The negotiations between lawyer teams representing the Burnellis and the Konstantins had been completed. Their union had to be examined for share block shifts between the two families—not that core blocks would change, this couple’s relatively junior status meant they’d only be awarded secondary shares, a few small companies spun off, a virtual finance house, real estate in phase three space. Though given this was a direct line merger the lawyers had also allowed for the possibility of closer fusion for the children in a couple of centuries. It was an interesting dynamic, which had taken a long time to be cleared.
A tearful Murielle had bravely volunteered to postpone the party; after all, Thompson was her ancestor. Justine had smiled at the bewildered first-life girl and said: Not at all, Thompson would want you to carry on.
So at midday she stood under a rose-covered gazebo receiving guests who rolled up in modern limousines or fabulous antique cars. She paid no attention to the vehicles; her interest in one-upmanship among Society had been exhausted centuries ago—although she had to own up to a certain awareness when it came to who was wearing what. Costumes were supposed to be themed from around the 1950s, and the pavilions set up across the garden’s high lawn reflected that. Waiters in period uniforms served cocktails from the era.
For herself, Justine had chosen a formal sea-green evening dress with a mermaid tail skirt. She drew the line at heels on the grass, though.
A ’56 Oldsmobile pulled up, and Estella slowly got out of the back.
“What on earth happened to you?” Justine asked as her friend limped over to the gazebo. Estella was wearing a scarlet dress with white polka dots, and pink winged sunglasses. Instead of shoes, she was wearing a pair of electromuscle support boots.
Estella gave her a brief kiss on both cheeks. “I’m so sorry to spoil the look of the thing, darling. But I went and sprained both ankles. It was hideously painful, I kid you not.”
“How did you do that?”
“So silly. I was dancing on the coffee table at a party. When I jumped off I landed badly. I don’t understand it, darling, I’ve danced on that table a hundred times, and nothing like this ever happened before.”
Justine didn’t scold, it would have been far too parental. “I never get asked to parties like that anymore.”
“I should think not, Senator, you have a reputation to consider now.”
“Oh, thanks. It’s people like you I need support from.”
“I know, darling.” Estella laid her hand on Justine’s arm. “How’s it going? Is it really awful?”
“Thompson had an excellent staff team. I just vote the way they tell me to. I haven’t started doing deals myself yet. It’s just a temporary appointment, after all, though the senators did give me a unanimous vote to carry on his representation. Even his opponents endorsed me, I think they were all shocked, or running scared. Nobody’s ever killed a senator before; this was supposed to send a message to the killer that you can’t stop politicians like this. So all I’m doing is basically holding the fort till he gets out of the clinic.”
“Be brave.”
“You know me.” She gave a brittle laugh.
“Do they know who did it yet?”
“No. Nor why. It’s all so stupid. Who kills people in this day and age? We’re not in the barbarian era anymore.”
Estella plucked at her dress. “We are this afternoon.”
“Yeah. Are you staying for the play tonight? It’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Tolthorpe actors are supposed to be very good, and the gardeners have built an open-air stage in front of the lower beech woods.”
“I’m not walking off anywhere, darling. A stiff drink and a decent-looking first-life waiter is what I need.”
“Good, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”
“Sure thing. Now, is this Murielle?”
“Of course.” Justine introduced her friend to the girl and her fiancé who were waiting on the other side of the gazebo. Murielle was wearing a copy of the white dress Marilyn Monroe had on in The Seven Year Itch. And carried it off well, Justine had to admit. She did have a fabulous figure; and with it such a wondrously sunny disposition that Justine had to acknowledge how old and jaded she truly was nowadays despite wearing a body of young flesh. Young Starral Konstantin
was so obviously smitten as he stood at her side, the two of them holding hands the entire time. Simply being around them was wearying to Justine. For ages she’d been swept along by Murielle’s ingenue enthusiasm for her fiancé, and the party, and the marriage, and their future life together, and the many children she wanted to produce (with natural pregnancies—for God’s sake) for her handsome beau. It had been a marvelous distraction helping the girl plan everything; Murielle had been living at the Tulip Mansion for the five months since she finished Yale. Even the Primes and the navy were just parallel subjects.
Then some lunatic had killed Thompson.
Why?
And now she had to be tough and resolute the way everyone expected a senior Burnelli to behave, when all she really wanted to do was put her arms around her little brother and cuddle him like she used to do when she was five years old and he was a baby.
“Are you all right, Grandee?” Murielle asked.
To her horror, Justine realized her eyes were moistening. Not now, goddamnit! “Coping,” she said staunchly. “I just remember him every now and then. That’s all.”
Murielle put her arms around Justine. It was such a childlike gesture, spontaneous and genuine, that Justine was in danger of sobbing out loud. “It’s all right, Grandee,” Murielle said softly. “He’ll be back soon.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Justine nodded appreciatively, wanting to escape from Murielle’s big concerned smile. “Sorry, I’m ruining this for you.”
“We’re family, Grandee. That means accepting the rough with the smooth, and standing together through all of it.”
Justine picked at the girl’s shoulder straps, adjusting them. “Better or worse, eh?”
“I’ve got the better part of it right now.” She glanced across at Starral, who gave an understanding smile. “You know he’s very good in bed,” Murielle said in a low confidential voice.
“Yes, dear, you told me.”
“I don’t mind if you want to spend a few nights with him, Grandee. Before we get married.”
Justine started giggling. She couldn’t help it; Murielle was absolutely serious. How wonderful to be that young. “That’s all right, dear. You enjoy him, he really is a great catch, anyone can see that. Take him upstairs every night and simply ruin him for any other girl.”
“I do my best to be bad,” Murielle said demurely.
“Good. Us Burnelli girls have reputations to maintain, you know. I’m depending on you to uphold the family honor. If they can still walk in the morning we’ve not been bad enough.”
Murielle was giggling now. Starral directed a faintly suspicious and worried look at the little female conspiracy meeting.
“Oh, lordy,” Justine murmured. She’d just seen a stretched Skoda pull up. “Look who’s here, and —joy—she’s brought her new whore with her.”
The two Burnellis straightened up and put on their false smiles as Alessandra Baron walked up to them.
“My dear Senator, I’m so sorry about your brother,” Alessandra said. “Thompson was always such a delight to have on my show. A decent politician I always called him. One of the last.”
Justine gave the celebrity a pretentious exaggerated air kiss. “Why thank you. He thought the same about you.”
“As soon as his new body is conscious, tell him I was asking after him. And I’d love to have him back on my show.”
“I’ll tell him. Thank you.”
“I want to introduce my newest and best affiliate reporter,” Alessandra gushed. “This is Mellanie Rescorai.”
Justine smiled as she shook hands with the young woman. She was a first-lifer, about the same age as Murielle, but that was about the only similarity. This one was a raw street fighter, Justine saw, dangerously ambitious. Strange that Alessandra hadn’t recognized that. But then perhaps she was off guard when looking into a mirror.
“An honor, Senator,” Mellanie said. “You have a lovely home here.”
“Thank you. I’ve accessed your reports several times. You seem to be making quite a name for yourself, especially on Elan.”
“Those people were awful, opposing the navy like that. The Commonwealth should know what they were doing.”
“I’m sure they should.”
“Now, Mellanie, this is a party,” Alessandra chided. “And this has to be the blushing bride.” She took both of Murielle’s hands. “Congratulations on your engagement, my dear. You look wonderful. You’re putting the rest of us to shame in that dress. Quite right, too.”
“Why thank you,” Murielle said sweetly.
“Yes, congratulations,” Mellanie said. “You’re very lucky.” It almost sounded as though she meant it.
Justine waited until the reporters had said hello to Starral and left the gazebo. “Remind me, why did we invite her?”
“It’s a Society wedding, Grandee. There are rules.”
“Oh, yes, I knew there was a good reason.”
“Do you think Gore will come? Starral’s family has all shown.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here. He knows what I’d do to him if he doesn’t show.”
Gore Burnelli did turn up in his huge Zil limousine, although it wasn’t until well after five o’clock. Justine broke off from the group of Halgarths she was talking to and went to greet her father. He was wearing a perfectly cut tuxedo, though not even that could help make his gold face and hands seem human. There was a woman with him that Justine didn’t recognize at first; very attractive, with a young face that had some Oriental features, black hair tied back neatly. She was in a modern business suit, which was annoying, the invitations had been most specific.
“Don’t scowl,” Gore said. “Paula is here as my guest.”
“Delighted,” Justine said. Then she recognized the woman without even having to reference her e-butler. “Investigator, I’ve followed a lot of your cases.”
“Ex-Investigator,” Paula said. “I was dismissed.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Gore said.
Justine didn’t know why, but she had hoped that just for once this party wouldn’t be cover for business and deals, that people might actually kick back and enjoy themselves. She sighed. “We’ll use your study.”
Like Justine, Gore treated the Tulip Mansion as his main base of operations. Not only was it perfectly physically secure, it had a cybersphere nexus larger than that of most corporate headquarters. The principal access was his study. Like Gore himself, it represented the pinnacle of interface technology; when linked together they were synergistic. Technicians from family-owned laboratories were always rebuilding it and then modifying systems, incorporating advances that wouldn’t appear on the commercial market for years.
Visually it was difficult to see its true size, there were no reference points. The surface was a hard pearl-white plastic that glowed from within. Little points of light sparkled away inside it, traveling slowly. Justine always had the impression of being inside some giant photonic processor.
Once the door was closed, the three of them looked like they’d been superimposed inside a blank hologram projection. Curved chairs morphed up out of the floor, shaped like sculpted beanbags. Their internal glow changed from neutral to a faint copper, allowing them to be seen. After they’d all sat down, the tinge faded away.
“I’m appointing Paula to the Senate Security service,” Gore announced. “She’s to have department head status; you’ll have to clear it.”
“I see,” Justine said peacefully. “And why is that?”
“Your brother’s murder was committed by someone connected with the case I’ve been working on,” Paula said.
“Johansson, you mean? I don’t wish to be critical, particularly now, but you’ve been working on that case for quite a while now. That was the reason Rafael Columbia dismissed you, wasn’t it? Lack of results.”
“Columbia is a fucking asshole,” Gore said. “We’re going to have to watch him. That little shit won’t be satisfied until he’s crowned emperor.”
“The case involved a lot more than the Great Wormhole Heist,” Paula said. “I always knew Johansson was being protected by someone inside the Senate or the executive. Your brother confirmed that for me. Then he was murdered.”
“Who murdered him?”
“I don’t know. The assassin is an unknown operative. Nor do I know who he works for, although I have my suspicions.”
“Who?” Justine growled.
“The Starflyer.”
After the anticipation, Justine fell back into the chair, disgusted. “For God’s sake!”
“I believe it,” Gore said.
“Dad! You cannot be serious?”
“We were played by an absolute expert. I knew there was something suspicious about putting the navy package together. It was too fucking easy. Someone else had been laying the political groundwork.”
“Garbage. Nobody knew we’d have a need for a navy until the Second Chance returned. I’m still not entirely convinced myself. We only got involved for the contracts.”
“Damn right. That’s our motivation: naked greed, the fear of being poor, unprotected, not in control. It knows us very well, doesn’t it?”
“No.” Justine shook her head. “What did my brother tell you?” she asked Paula.
“I have been asking for an inspection on all goods shipped to Far Away for decades. If I could nail down the arms shipments, it would help me solve the Johansson case permanently. Your brother found out that Nigel Sheldon has been preventing it.”
“That’s… that’s…” Justine turned to her father, appealing. “You can’t believe this?”
“Why can’t the Starflyer exist?” he asked her in return.
“The Institute on Far Away would have found it.”
“According to Johansson, they did,” Paula said. “He was the director, remember?”
“I know he was,” she said wryly. Her thoughts had slipped back to the sunny glade in the forest where her hyperglider had landed. Dear, sweet Kazimir’s utter conviction in his mad cause. “All right, just assume this alien does exist, and Nigel Sheldon is working for it, or has been taken over by it, or whatever. How does that get Thompson murdered?”
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