Pandora's Star cs-2

by Peter F. Hamilton

  He and Orion pulled on the ropes, raising the rough square of woven fronds on the four-and-a-half yard mast, which had once been the tallest tree on the island. There was a lot of creaking as the ropes took the strain. The swell had grown considerably as they left the lee of the island.

  Orion was giving the beach a wistful look. “Are we moving?”

  Tochee’s manipulator flesh extended a tentacle, and it poked the tip into the water. “We move.”

  “Yay!” Orion clapped his hands happily. He immediately looked ahead, where there were several of the small dark smudges that were other islands in the archipelago. “Which one are we heading for?”

  “Good question,” Ozzie said. “Tochee, can you try steering us to the second from the left? I thought that was the closest.”

  “I will endeavor that,” Tochee said. It lowered the rudder into the water at the back of the raft, a broad wooden paddle on a crude pivot that they’d rigged up.

  Now they were farther from the shore, Ozzie was aware of a definite wind pushing them along. He sat on the side, with his feet dangling in the water, and watched the island slowly shrink away behind them.

  …

  Civilization was a blessing you never truly appreciated until it threatened to collapse around you. That long, long day on Elan had shown Mellanie how precariously close a collapse could be. Fear brought out a very strong survival trait in people, one that overwhelmed all the usual rules of behavior. She was never going to forget those last hours standing beside the small wormhole in the Turquino Valley. The way the crowd had started to panic, everyone pushing forward, their desperation and ferocity building. And that was with a strong character like Simon Rand holding things together.

  Yet now, barely a week later, it all seemed so remote. She was standing at the window wall in Alessandra’s penthouse on the skyscraper’s sixty-fifth floor, looking out over Salamanca. Cities at night always looked more vibrant, somehow, and New Iberia’s capital was no exception. This was a rich world, among the first of phase one space to be settled, with a population now closing on two billion. Salamanca alone was home to twelve million souls. Its lights sparkled all the way out to the horizon; here in the center, where the height of the metal and crystal skyscrapers was a real estate value prospectus, the streets were arranged in a standard grid, beyond that the patterns became more random until they merged into the general light pollution that hazed the outlying districts. Cutting through the precise lambent lines was the inevitable radial web of silver rails, threading straight through the grid blocks and bridging roads, always given preference so that the trains could shunt their valuable goods between districts and the CST planetary station. It might have been her imagination, but she didn’t think there were as many trains as usual rolling along the rails tonight. But then just about every activity in the Commonwealth had come to a halt during the invasion; things were only just starting to return to an approximation of the old normality.

  When she raised her gaze, she could just make out the ephemeral shimmer of the force field above and around the city. It seemed strange to see it there, fuzzing the stars above. Even though most major cities had them, they’d never been switched on except to ward off the most vigorous hurricanes and tornadoes. Now they were all on permanently.

  “It’s still the same, isn’t it,” Alessandra said, coming up to stand behind Mellanie. “Somehow I was expecting changes when I got back. But it’s wonderfully reassuring to see. I’ve stood here for hours myself just watching.”

  It had taken several days before CST resumed its standard passenger service between planets. Millions of refugees from the invaded worlds were given priority as they sought accommodation throughout the rest of the Commonwealth. Wessex still hadn’t returned to full operational capacity. CST was busy repairing the wormhole generators that had been damaged during Nigel Sheldon’s battle of exotic energy above the planet. Services to that whole section of phase two space remained patchy, though its worlds were still connected to the unisphere. But the express train between Augusta and New Iberia had resumed, allowing Alessandra to return home three days after the Desperado’s final flight.

  This was the first time Mellanie had come back to Alessandra’s penthouse. She and the last of the Randtown refugees had finally left Ozzie’s bizarre asteroid two days ago, walking through the wormhole that had been realigned on Augusta. The intervening time had been spent with Dudley, reassuring him and taking a break to compose herself. With all the SI’s inserts now quiscent, her newfound confidence had receded somewhat. She wasn’t sure what kind of shape her investigation into Myo and the Starflyer would take. Dudley probably had more information lurking amid his confused memories. It would take a while to be sure she’d gotten everything she needed from him. For now, he was safely stashed away in a cheap coastal holiday resort chalet on Oaktier, a place where she’d spent many early childhood vacations. Nobody would be able to trace him there, at least not straightaway.

  Alessandra’s hands slid over Mellanie’s shoulders. “We’ve been hearing some strange stories from the Randtown refugees. Some of them say they were in an alien starship.”

  “They’re lying. It was an old dormitory station for a deep-space industrial facility that CST is decommissioning. The wormhole was still working, luckily.”

  “Interesting.” Alessandra’s grip tightened, giving a small massage. “That’s the only part of the whole invasion that senior management prevented us from carrying. None of the other media companies carried it, either. Somebody’s been putting pressure on. And that’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”

  Mellanie turned to face her, looking intently at the statuesque woman’s perfect classic features. “Not guilty.”

  “Humm.” Alessandra stroked a finger lightly along Mellanie’s cheek. “You’ve changed.”

  “I was there on the ground when we got invaded by aliens. It kind of makes you focus, you know.”

  “I’m sure it does, darling.” She leaned forward for a kiss. Mellanie put a hand out. “Not yet.”

  “Oh, really?” One of Alessandra’s elegantly plucked and shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “Well, you’d better get yourself in the mood pretty quickly. I’ve got Robin Dalsol coming over later for dinner, he’s Goldreich’s senior aide. I need to know how much money the executive is planning on pumping into the navy for our retaliatory strike. The two of you should be good together; he’s only ten years out of rejuve.”

  “Fuck him yourself,” Mellanie growled.

  “Mellanie, darling, I don’t do that anymore. I don’t need to, I have you to do it for me; you and fifty others.”

  “Fine, call one of them.”

  “We’ve had this discussion before. It’s starting to get boring.”

  “I don’t care about the navy budget. It’s hardly going to be a secret, they’ll tell us as soon as it goes to the Senate.”

  “God help us! Darling, it’s not that we will know, it’s when we know. I’m the best because I can break news first.”

  “But what about my story?” Mellanie almost shouted. “That’s the only one that counts. For God’s sake, we’ve just been invaded, and we can track down the cause. There is nothing bigger than that. I came here to find out who my research team is, when we can start, not to suck some asswiper’s dick for you.”

  Alessandra frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Starflyer!” Mellanie hissed. “I’m going to track it down.”

  “Oh, that nonsense.” Alessandra put her hand on her brow theatrically. “You’re wrong. I had it checked out for you. Cox Educational is completely legit, and still going strong. I think Bunny actually talked to one of the trustees, Ms. Daltra. She assured us their funding is all aboveboard, the accounts are filed with the charity commissioners every eighteen months, as required. Take a look at them if you want.”

  “What!” Mellanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “You were wrong, darling. No big deal. We all make mistakes o
n the way up. If you want my advice, you should stop screwing Dudley Bose, he’s got a lot of psychological problems. Re-lifers generally do. They get over them eventually.”

  “No.” Mellanie shook her head. “No, that’s wrong. Dudley only…”

  She trailed off as the real shock hit her, strong enough to raise the goosebumps all along her arms. She gave Alessandra an incredulous stare. It was all she could do not to back away from the woman. “I don’t understand.”

  “You made a mistake,” Alessandra told her. Her smile became humorless. “Another one. And I’m not really into this ‘three strikes and you’re out’ crap that the judiciary practices. Frankly, the show’s only keeping you on now because of your report from Randtown. That showed promise. But face facts, darling, you’re not an investigator. God, you’re too dumb even to get to college; everybody goes to college and gets a degree these days. So let’s focus on what you are good at, shaking that shapely little ass of yours at the men I tell you to. Clear?”

  Mellanie bowed her head, and even managed a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” Alessandra put her hands on either side of Mellanie’s head, and kissed her crown, as if performing a blessing. “Now why don’t you go and put something nice on for Robin. You know, he asked for you specially. I think he was impressed by Randtown as well. You’re a celebrity now, darling.”

  “All right.” Mellanie left the living room, careful to close the door behind her as she went out into the penthouse’s main hallway. “Are their any special safeguards on the front door?” she asked the SI.

  “Just the standard security systems and alarms.”

  “Great.” She almost bolted to the tall double doors. They opened for her, and she looked wildly around the marbled vestibule outside. There were only three other doors to the remaining penthouses, two lifts, and the stairwell. Her e-butler interfaced with the skyscraper’s management array, and told her the lifts were on their way up. She was too worried that Alessandra would follow her out to wait for them, so she went straight to the stairwell and ran downward. “Get a lift to stop for me on the sixty-second floor,” she told the SI.

  It was waiting for her when she burst out of the stairwell. She hopped in, and the doors closed. “Lobby,” she told the SI. “There will be people there, I should be safe.”

  “What is the problem, Mellanie?”

  She pressed her head against the cool metal walls of the lift, waiting for her racing heart to slow. “I never told Alessandra the name of the charity.”

  “It would not be hard for her to discover it.”

  “Run a check on it for me again, please.”

  “The public records have been amended since last week.”

  “Goddamn!” She glanced up, as if expecting Alessandra to be ripping her way through the top of the lift like some psycho in a bad TSIdrama.

  “They now show the Cox Educational has been in continual operation since its formation, and is still making donations to various science departments,” the SI said.

  “But that’s all forgeries, you know that.”

  “We do, but the official records are complete.”

  “How did they do that?”

  “It is not impossible to subvert public records, especially in the finance sector. Although the effort involved is considerable.”

  “She tipped them off,” Mellanie said out loud. “Alessandra told them I was on to them. Onto it, the Starflyer. It had to be her. There’s no one else. It’s her. Oh, God.” Her legs were trembling the way they had when she was facing the soldier motiles in Randtown.

  “That is a strong accusation,” the SI said.

  “Are you testing me? If Alessandra had run a genuine check, she would have found what I told her. The Starflyer would never have had time to cover its alien ass; a fraud this elaborate would take time. It had to have been given a direct warning so that the cover-up would be in place in case I survived and started yelling allegations. The only person I told was Alessandra. It is her! She’s working for it, isn’t she? Alessandra is one of the people Johansson warns us about, like the President.”

  “We don’t know for certain. However, given the sequence of events, it is highly likely.”

  The lift doors opened. Mellanie peered out into the lobby. There didn’t seem to be anybody waiting for her. She hurried over to the main entrance, where there were some taxis waiting. “I’ve got to get back to Dudley,” she said.

  “An excellent notion. Then what?”

  “Tell Paula Myo what I’ve discovered. Do you know where she is?”

  “Yes.”

  …

  Kazimir stood close to the end of platform 34 in Rio’s planetary station, with people swarming around him as they waited for the next train. The trans-Earth loop trains had carried on running almost continually during the invasion crisis—though even that service had stopped when Nigel Sheldon diverted the lunar power to Wessex. But they were up and running again within hours, unlike CST passenger trains to other planets.

  Kazimir had been reassured by the way Earth’s infrastructure underwent only the minimum of disruption. What outraged him was the population’s attitude. The residents of Santa Monica seemed more upset by the temporary power loss than they did that twenty-three planets had been lost to alien monsters. And the Mayor certainly hadn’t allocated any civic buildings to the refugees riding around the Intersolar train network looking for accommodation, unlike civic and regional leaders on the other worlds. Earthlings appeared to regard the invasion as just another news event that happened to someone else a long way off. He wasn’t sure if that was ignorance or arrogance. Whatever, it was certainly a chilling example of how different their shared mindset was to his own.

  The last few days had seen at least a degree of awareness creeping in. Kazimir had hung around the waterfront in Santa Monica, watching the news in bars, or accessing in his little hotel room while he waited for things to calm down so he could resume his mission. Local media shows reflected a lot of anxiety that a second wave of planets would suffer invasion, a progression that would one day lead to Earth itself being on the front line.

  So far there had been no sign of any alien activity anywhere other than on the original invaded worlds. Now the evacuation of civilian populations was effectively complete, available data was in short supply as the Primes continued their inexorable advance. The navy was maintaining small fighting forces on Anshun, Balkash, and Martaban; aerobots and professional combat-wetwired troops conducted a guerrilla harassment campaign against the new installations the aliens were constructing. Everyone knew it was a token gesture. The buildup of Prime forces was increasing at a disturbing rate as they managed to open gateways on the planetary surfaces. Admiral Kime was expected to order a withdrawal soon, and the final wormholes would be shut down. Analysts on most of the news shows were predicting that the deserted capital cities would then be destroyed by fusion bombs.

  The navy’s remaining scoutships had returned, and were now performing regular flyby patrols of the invaded worlds, supplementing the degraded detector network. So far, the aliens hadn’t opened any new wormholes to replace those destroyed by the Desperado’s last flight. Some of the technical experts and tacticians on the news shows were hinting that the remaining starships might well be automated, for use in similar relativistic assaults on other Prime wormholes. The navy had publicly refused to comment on the possibility. Commentators were saying that as the biospheres of the invaded worlds were so badly damaged, the Commonwealth had effectively written them off. It wasn’t worth sacrificing their last starships to destroy something humanity would never regain. They were being held in reserve in case of any new assault.

  Whatever the official reason, that one substantial human victory on the invasion day had already reached an almost legendary status, its crew subject to intense praise on every current affairs and news show. That contrasted sharply with the vitriol and vilification that the rest of the navy was r
eceiving, along with President Doi’s administration.

  Kazimir thought it strange how little mention the wormhole battle above Wessex was getting. It was surely more strategically important than a suicide flight. But then CST’s profile in the week that followed was remarkably low. Even under these circumstances, everyone seemed to take their efficiency for granted; the way they moved the refugees around, and repaired Narrabri station’s gateways was standard stuff for that company.

  Amber lights flashed above platform 34, and the loop train slid into the station, twenty double-decker carriages pulled by a Bennor AC767 mag-grip engine. It had been only five minutes since the last one pulled out, but there were already over three hundred people waiting. The doors opened, and passengers poured out. Kazimir held back while everyone else on the platform surged forward impatiently. His eyes moved constantly, checking to see who else loitered. Visual interpretation programs reviewed everything he saw, identifying possibles, tagging them with probability percentages. When he rechecked them, they all turned out to be harmless.

  It was a wearying process. But he’d stuck with it the whole time on the way back from the ancient observatory in the Andes. The journey had involved eight vehicle changes, from his hired four-by-four that he’d driven up into the mountains, to taxis, various local trains, bus, the plane back over to Rio. Every time he’d followed procedure, no matter how foolish it felt, knowing what Stig would say if he lapsed even once. The courier job was vital, as Elvin had never stopped reminding him; the Martian data was essential to the whole Guardian movement. Moving it from South America to the safety of LA would probably have gone to Stig, if his reprofiling had been completed. As such, Kazimir was determined there would be no hitch or glitch, he was going to prove to all of them that he was capable of such an important assignment.