'Darling. Cressida waved and came over for a big hug; air-kissing had never been part of her style. 'Well have I got news for you, she said breathlessly. 'Your boss won't mind if I steal you for a second, will he? Without bothering to check she grabbed Araminta's hand and pulled over to a corner table.
Araminta winced as she imagined Matthew's stare drilling laser holes in her back. 'What's happened?
Cressida's grinned broadly, her liquid scarlet lip gloss flowing to accommodate the big stretch. 'Dear old Laril has skipped planet.
'What? Araminta couldn't quite believe that. Laril was her ex-husband. A marriage which had lasted eighteen utterly miserable months. Everyone in her immediate family had objected to Laril from the moment she met him. They had cause. She could admit that now; she'd been twenty-one while he was three hundred and seven. At the time she'd thought him suave, sophisticated, rich, and her ticket out of boring, small (minded), agricultural Lan-gham, a town over on the Suvorov continent, seven thousand miles away. They thought he was just another filthy Punk Skunk; there were enough of them kicking around the Commonwealth especially on the relatively unsophisticated planets that made up the outer fringes of the External Worlds. Jaded old folks who had the money to look flawlessly adolescent, but still envied the genuinely youthful for their spirit and exuberance. Every partner they snagged was centuries younger in a futile hope that their brio would magically transfer over. That wasn't quite the case with Laril. Close, though.
Her branch of the family on her father's side had a business supplying and maintaining agricultural cybernetics, an enterprise which was the largest in the county, and one in which Araminta was expected to work in for at least the first fifty years of her life. After that apprenticeship, family members were then considered adult and wealthy enough to take off for pastures new (a depressing number set up subsidiaries of the main business across Suvorov), leaving gaps for the latest batch of youngsters to fill, turning the cycle. It was a prospect which Araminta considered so soul-crushing she would have hired out as a love slave to a Prime motile in order to escape. By contrast, Laril, an independent businessman with an Andribot franchise among other successful commercial concerns, was like being discovered by Prince Charming. And given that these days an individual's age wasn't a physical quantity, her family objection to the three century difference was so bourgeois. It certainly guaranteed the outcome of the affair.
The fact that they'd been more or less right about him using her only made her post-separation life even worse. She could never go back to Langham now. Fortunately, Cressida wasn't judgemental, considering Araminta's colossal mistake as part of life's rich experience. 'If you don't screw up, she'd told a weeping Araminta at their first meeting, 'you haven't got a base to launch your improvement from. Now what does the separation clause in the marriage contract entitle you to?
Araminta, who had overcome a mountain of shame even to go to a family member (however distant) for legal help at the start of the divorce had to admit theirs had been an old-fashioned wedding, of the till-death-do-us-part variety. They'd even sworn that to the licensed priest in Langham chapel. It was all very romantic at the time.
'No contract? an amazed and horrified Cressida had asked. 'Gosh, darling, you are headed for a Mount Herculaneum of improvement aren't you?
It was a mountain which Laril's lawyers were doing their very best to prevent her ever setting foot on; their counter-suit had frozen Araminta's own assets, all seven hundred and thirty-two pounds she had in her savings account. Even Cressida with all her firm's resources was finding it hard to break through Laril's legal protection, and as for his commercial activities they had proved even more elusive to pin down. All his early talk of being the centre of a Dynasty-like network of profitable companies was either a lie or a cover-up for some astonishing financial irregularities. Intriguingly, Viota's National Revenue Service had no record of him paying tax at any time in the last hundred years, and were now showing a healthy interest in his activities.
'Skipped. Departed. Left this world. Gone vertical. Uprooted. Cressida grasped Araminta's hands and gave them a near-painful squeeze. 'He didn't even pay his lawyers. And her happiness at that eventuality was indecent. 'And now they're just another name on the list of fifty creditors after his arse.
Araminta's brief moment of delight suddenly darkened. 'So I get nothing?
'On the contrary. His remaining solid assets, that's his town-house, and the stadium food franchise, which we did manage to freeze right at the start are rightfully yours. Admittedly, they don't quite add up to the kind of assets that bragging about will sway a naive young girl's head.
Araminta blushed furiously.
'But not to be sneered at. Unfortunately, there is the question of back taxes. Which I'm afraid amounts to three hundred and thirty-seven thousand Viotia pounds. And if the NRS could ever prove half of Laril's ventures that you told me about, they'd claim the rest too. Bloodsucking fiends. However, they can't prove a damn thing thanks to the excellent encryption and strange lack of records your slippery ex has muddled his life with. Then there's my fee, which is ten per cent seeing as how you're family and I admire your late-found pride. So, the rest is yours, clear and free.
'How much?
'Eighty-three thousand.
Araminta couldn't speak. It was a fortune. Agreed, nothing like the corporate megastructure Laril had claimed he owned and controlled, but still more than she'd expected and asked for in the divorce petition. Ever since she walked into Cressida's office she'd allowed herself to dream she might, just might, come out of this with thirty or forty thousand, that Laril would pay just to be rid of her. 'Oh great Ozzie, you are kidding, she whispered.
'Not a bit of it. A judge friend of mine has allowed us to expedite matters, on account of the circumstances of truly tragic hardship I claimed you're suffering. Your savings are now unfrozen, and we'll transfer Laril's money into your account at four o'clock this afternoon. Congratulations. You're a free and single woman again.
Araminta was horrified that she was crying, her hands seemed to flap about in front of her face of their own violation.
'Wow! Cressida put her arm around Araminta's shoulder, rocking her playfully. 'How do you take bad news?
'It's over? Really over?
'Yep. Really. So what say you and I go celebrate. Tell your manager where to stick his menu, go pour soup over a customer's head, then we'll hit the coolest clubs in town and ruin half the male population. How about it?
'Oh. Araminta looked up, wiping tears with the back of her hand; the mention of Matthew made her realize she was supposed to be serving. 'I need to get back. Lunch is really busy. They rely on me.
'Hey, calm down, take a minute. Think of what's happened here.
Araminta nodded her head sheepishly, glancing round the restaurant. Her co-workers were all trying not to glance in her direction; Matthew was annoyed again. 'I know. I'm sorry. It's going to take a while to sink in. I can't believe it's all over. I've got to… Oh, Ozzie, there are so many things I want to do.
'Great! Let's get you out of here and bring on the serious partying. We'll start with a decent meal.
'No. Araminta could see Tandra staring anxiously, and gave her a weak thumbs up in return. 'I can't just walk out, that's not fair on everyone else here. They'll need to get a replacement. I'll hand in my notice properly, and work the rest of the week for them.
'Damnit, you are horrendously sweet. No wonder your filthy ex could take advantage so easily.
'It won't happen again.
'Too bloody true it won't. Cressida stood up, smiling proudly. 'From now on I'm vetting anyone you date. At least come out for a drink tonight.
'Um, I really do need to go home after this and work things out.
'Friday night, then. Come on! Everyone goes out Friday night.
Araminta couldn't help the grin on her face. 'All right. Friday night.
'Thank Ozzie for that. And get yourself some serious bad girl clothes first
. We're going to do this properly'
'Okay. Yeah, okay, I will. She could actually feel her mood changing, like some warm liquid invading her arteries. 'Uh, where do I go for clothes like that?
'Oh, I'll show you darling, don't you worry.
Araminta did work the lunch shift, then told Matthew she was quitting, but was happy to stay on as long as he needed her. He completely surprised her by giving her a kiss and congratulating her on finally breaking free of Laril. Tandra got all teary and affectionate while the others gathered round to hear the news and cheer.
By half past three in the afternoon she'd put on a light coat and walked out. The cool late spring air outside sobered her up, allowing her to think clearly again. Even so, she walked the route she so often walked in the afternoon. Along Ware Street, take a left at the major junction and head down the slope along Daryad Avenue. The buildings on either side were five or six storeys tall, a typical mix of commercial properties. Regrav capsules slid silently overhead, while the metro track running down the centre of the avenue hummed with public cabs. Right now the roads had few vehicles, yet Araminta still waited at the crossings for the traffic solidos to change shape and colour. She barely noticed her fellow pedestrians.
The Glayfield was a bar and restaurant at the bottom of the slope, occupying two storeys of an old wood and composite building, part of the original planet landing camp. She made her way through the dark deserted bar to the stairs at the back, and went up to the restaurant. That too was virtually empty. Up at the front it boasted a sheltered balcony where in her opinion the tables were too close; waitresses would have trouble squeezing between them when they were full. She sat at one next to the rail which gave her an excellent view along Daryad Avenue. This was where she came most afternoons to wind down after her shift at Nik's, sitting with a hot orange chocolate watching the people and the ships. Over to her right the Avenue curved upwards into the bulk of the city, producing a wall of tall buildings expressing the many construction phases and styles that had come and gone in Colwyn's hundred and seventy year history. While to her left the River Cairns cut through the land in a gentle northward curve as it flowed out to the Great Cloud Ocean twenty miles away. The river was half a mile wide in the city, the top of a deep estuary which made an excellent natural harbour. Several marinas had been built on both sides, providing anchorage to thousands of private yachts, ranging from little sailing dinghies up to regrav assisted pleasure cruisers. Two giant bridges spanned the water, one a single unsupported arch of nanotube carbon, the other a more traditional suspension bridge with pure white pillars a flamboyant three hundred metres tall. Capsules slid along beside them, but the ground traffic was almost nonexistent these days. They were mainly used by pedestrians. They led over to the exclusive districts on the south bank, where the city's wealthier residents flocked amid long green boulevards and extensive parks. On the northern shore, barely half a mile from the Glayfield, the docks were built into the bank and out into the mudflats; two square miles of cargo-handling machinery and warehouses and quays and landing pads and caravan platforms. It was the hub from which the Izyum continent had been developed, the second starport on the planet. There was no heavy industry on Viotia; major engineering systems and advanced technology were all imported. With Ellezelin only seventy-five lightyears away, Viotia was on the fringe of the Free Trade Zone. A market which the local population grumbled was free for Ellezelin companies all right, but disadvantaged everyone else caught in their commercial web. There wasn't a wormhole linking Viotia to Ellezelin. Yet. But talk was that in another hundred years when Viotia's internal market had grown sufficiently, one would be opened allowing the full range of cheap Ellezelin products to flood through, turning them into an economic colony. In the meantime, starships from External Worlds came and went. She watched them as she sipped her orange chocolate; a line of huge freighters, their metal hulls as dull as lead, heavy and ungainly, drifting down vertically out of the sky. Behind them, the departing ships rose away from the planet, brushing through Viota's legendary pink clouds, accelerating fast once they reached the stratosphere. Araminta gave them a mild grin, thinking of the anti-ingrav woman. If she was right what would the starships' field effect be doing to the geology beneath the city? Maybe a simple wormhole would be the answer; she rather liked the idea, a throwback to the First Commonwealth era of genteel and elegant train travel between star systems. It was a shame that the External Worlds rejected such links out of hand, but they valued their political freedom too much to risk a return to a monoculture, especially with the threat of Higher culture overwhelming their hard-won independence.
Araminta stayed at the table long after she usually packed up and went home. The sun began to fall, turning the clouds a genuine gold-pink as the planet's hazy mesosphere diffused the dying rays of the K-class star. Trans-ocean barges shone brightly out on the Cairns, regrav engines keeping their flat hulls just above the slow rippling water as they nosed out of the dock and headed for the open sea and the islands beyond. She was always soothed by the sight of the city like this, a huge edifice of human activity buzzing along efficiently; a reassurance that civilization did actually work, that nothing could kick the basics out from under her. And now, finally, she could begin to take an active part, to carve out a life for herself. The files from the property agencies floated gently through her exoimage display, allowing her to plan what she might do to them in more detail than she ever bothered before. Without money such reviews had been pointless daydreams, but this evening they took on a comfortable solidity. Part of her was scared by the notion. If she made a mistake now, she'd be back waitressing tables for the next few decades. She only had one shot. Eighty-three thousand was a tidy sum, but it had to be made to work for her. Despite the trepidation, she was looking forward to the challenge. It marked her life truly beginning.
The sun set amid a warm scarlet glow. It seemed to match Araminta's mood. By then, the first customers of the evening were starting to fill up the restaurant. She left a big tip, and went downstairs. Her usual routine had her walking back to Nik's, maybe do some shopping on the way, and taking the trike pod home. But there was nothing usual about today. There was music blasting through the bar. People were leaning on the counter, ordering drinks and aerosols. Araminta glanced down at her clothes. She was wearing a sensible skirt, navy blue, that came down below her knees, a white top with short sleeves was made from a fabric that was specifically wipe-clean so she could cope with spills. Around her, people had made an effort to smarten up for the evening and she felt slightly downmarket by comparison.
But then who are they to judge me?
It was a liberating thought, of the kind she hadn't entertained since leaving Langham. Back when the future was full of opportunity, at least in her imagination.
Araminta sidled her way up to the bar and studied the bottles and beer taps. 'Green Fog, please, she told the barman. It earned her a slightly bemused smile, but he mixed it perfectly anyway. She drank it slowly, trying not to let the smouldering mist get up her nose. Sneezing would really blow away any remaining credibility.
'Haven't seen anybody drink one of those for a while, a man's voice said.
She turned and looked at him. He was handsome in that precise way everyone was these days, with features aligned perfectly, which she guessed meant he'd been through at least a couple of rejuve treatments. Like the rest of the bar's clientele, he'd dressed up, a simple grey and purple toga jacket that cloaked him in a gentle shimmer.
And he's not Laril.
'Been a while since I was let out, she retorted. Then smirked at her own answer, the fact she was bold enough to say it.
'Can I get you another? I'm Jaful, by the way.
'Araminta. And no, not a Green Fog, that's a nostalgia thing for me. What's current?
'They say Adlier 88Vodka is going down in all the wrong places.
She finished her Green Fog in a single gulp. Tried not to grimace too hard. And pushed the empty glass across the b
ar. 'Best start there, then.
* * * * *
'Are you awake?
Araminta stirred when she heard the question. She wasn't awake exactly, more like dozing pleasantly, content in the afterglow of a night spent in busy lovemaking. Her mind was full of a strange vision, as if she was being chased through the dark sky by an angel. Her slight movement was enough for Jaful. His hands slid up her belly to cup her breasts. 'Uh, she murmured, still drowsy as the angel dwindled. Jaful rolled her on to her front, which was confusing. Then his cock was sliding up inside her again, hard and insistent. It wasn't a comfortable position. Each thrust pushed her face down into the soft mattress. She wriggled to try and get into a more acceptable stance, which he interpreted as full acceptance. Heated panting became shouts of joy. Araminta cooperated as best she could but the pleasure was minimal at best. Out of practice, she thought, and tried not to laugh. He wouldn't understand if she did. At least she was doing her best to make up for lost time, though. They'd coupled three or four times after they got back to his place.
Jaful climaxed with a happy yell. Araminta matched him. Yep, remember how to do that bit as well. Eighteen months with Laril had made faking orgasms automatic.
Jaful flopped on to his back, and let out a long breath. He grinned at her. 'Fantastic. I haven't had a night like that for a long time, if ever.
She dropped her voice a couple of octaves. 'You were good. It was so funny, like they were reading from a script.
Picked up in a bar. Back to his place for a one night stand. Compliment each other. Both of them playing their part of the ritual to perfection.
But it has been fun.
'I'm going to grab a shower, he said. 'Tell the culinary unit what you want. It's got some good synthesis routines.
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