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 bar. “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.”
“I’ll do that.” She watched him stroll across the room and into the en suite. Only then did she stare round in curiosity. It was chic city bachelor pad, that much was evident by the plain yet expensive furniture and contemporary art. The wall opposite the bed was a single window, covered with snow-white curtains.
Araminta started hunting round for her clothes as the spore shower came on. Underwear (practical rather than sexy, she acknowledged with a sigh) close to the bed. Skirt halfway between bed and door. Her white top in the lounge. She pulled it on, then looked back at the bedroom. The shower was still on. Did he always take so long, or was he sticking with the part of the script that gave her a polite opportunity to exit. She shrugged, and let herself out.
There wasn’t anything wrong with Jaful. She’d certainly enjoyed herself in his bed for most of the time. It was just that she couldn’t think what they could say to each other over breakfast. It would have been awkward. This way she kept the memory agreeable. “More practice,” she told herself, and smiled wickedly. And why not? This is real life again.
The building had a big lobby. When she walked out into the street she blinked against the bright pink light, it was twelve minutes until she was supposed to start the morning shift at Nik’s. Her u-shadow told her she was in the Spalding district, which was halfway across the city. So she called a taxi down. It took about thirty seconds until the yellow and purple capsule was resting a couple of centimetres above the concrete, three metres in front of her. She watched in bemusement as the door opened. In all her life she’d never called a taxi herself; it had always been Laril who ordered them. After the separation, of course, she couldn’t afford them. Another blow for freedom.
As soon as she arrived at Nik’s she rushed into the staff toilets.
Tandra gave her a leery look when she came out, tying her apron on. “You know, those look like the very same clothes you wore when you left yesterday.” She sniffed elaborately. “Yep, travel-clean again. Did something happen to your plumbing last night?”
“You know, I’m really going to miss you when I leave,” Araminta replied, trying not to laugh.
“What’s his name? How long have you been dating?”
“Nobody. I’m not dating, you know that.”
“Oh, come on!”
“I need coffee.”
“Not much sleep, huh?”
“I was reviewing property files, that’s all.”
Tandra gave her a malicious sneer. “Sweetie, I ain’t never heard it called that before.”
***
After the breakfast shift was over, Araminta ran her usual review. This time was different. This time her u-shadow contacted the agencies who gave her virtual tours of the five most promising properties using a full sense relay bot. On that basis, she made an appointment to visit one that afternoon.
As soon as she walked through the door, she knew it was right for her. The flat was the second floor of a converted three-storey house in the Philburgh district. A mile and a half north of the dock and three blocks back from the river, with two bedrooms it was perfect for someone working in the city centre on a modest salary. There was even a balcony which you could just see the Cairns from, if you really leaned out over the railing.
She went through the official survey scan with the modern analysis programs recommended by half a dozen professional property development companies. It needed redecorating, the current vendor had lived there for thirty years and hadn’t done much to it. The plumbing needed replacing, it would require new domestic units. But the structure was perfectly sound.
“I’ll take it,” she told the agent.
An hour negotiating with the vendor gave her a price of fifty-eight thousand. More than she would have liked, but it did leave her with enough of a budget to give the place a decent refurbishment. There wouldn’t be much left over to live on, but if she completed the work within three or four months she wouldn’t need a bank loan. It would be tough, just looking round the lou
nge with its broken dust capillary flooring and ageing lightfabric walling, she could see the amount of work involved. That was when she experienced a little moment of doubt. Come on, she told herself, you can do this. This is what you’ve waited for, this is what you’ve earned.
She took a breath, and left the flat. She needed to get back to her place and grab a shower. Travel-clean could only cope for so long. Then, she might just get changed and go out again. There were a lot of bars in Colwyn City she’d heard about and never visited.
***
Troblum double woke in two of the penthouse’s bedrooms. His actual self lay on a bed made from a special foam that supported his large body comfortably, providing him with a decent night’s sleep. It had been Catriona’s room, decorated in excessively pink fabrics and ornaments; a lot of the surfaces were fluffy, a very girly girl’s room which he was now quite used to. His parallel sensorium was coming from a twinning link to the solido of Howard Liang, a Starflyer agent who had been part of the disinformation mission. Howard was in the penthouse’s main bedroom, sharing a huge circular bed with the three girls. It was another aspect of the solidos which Troblum had spent years refining. Now, whenever he wanted sex the four characters would launch themselves eagerly into a mini-orgy. The permutations their supple young bodies could combine into were almost endless, and they could keep going for as long as Troblum wanted. He immersed himself for hours, his own body drinking down the pleasure which Howard’s carefully formatted neural pathways experienced, as much the puppet as the puppeteer. The four of them together wasn’t strictly speaking a historical reality. At least he’d never found any evidence for it. But it wasn’t impossible, which sort of legitimized the extrapolation.
The image and feeling of the beautiful naked bodies draped across him faded away as his actual body reasserted itself, cancelling the twinning with Howard. After the shower had squirted dermal fresher spores over him, he walked through into the vast lounge, bronze sunlight washing warmly across his tingling skin.
His u-shadow reported there was still no message from Admiral Kazimir, which he chose to interpret as good news. The delay at least meant it was still being considered. Knowing the Navy bureaucracy, he suspected that the review committee still hadn’t formally met. His theory was struggling against a lot of conventional beliefs. Briefly, he considered calling the Admiral direct in order to urge him along, but his personal protocol routines advised against.
He wrapped one of his cloaks round himself, then took the lift down to the lobby. It was only a short walk down to the Caspe River where his favourite café was situated on the edge of the quiet water. The building was made from white wood, and sculpted to resemble a Folgail, a bird even more sedate than a terrestrial swan. His usual table underneath a wing arch was free and he sat himself down. He gave his order to the café network, and waited while a servicebot brought him a freshly squeezed apple and gonberry juice. The chef, Rowury, spent several days every week in the café, cooking for his enthusiastic clientele of foodies. For a culture which prided itself on its egalitarian ethos, Highers could be real snobs about some traditions and crafts, and ‘proper’ food was well up on the list. There were several restaurants and cafes in Daroca set up as showcases for their gastronomic patrons.
The first dish to arrive was a shredded cereal with fruit and yogurt, all grown naturally (by agriculture enthusiasts), and brought in from five different planets. Troblum started spooning it up. Rowury had come up with a delicious combination, the taste was subtle yet distinctive. It was a shame he couldn’t have a second dish, but apart from the delbread toast the quantities here were fixed. If you wanted repeats, seconds or giant portions then you visited a fully automated eatery.
Troblum had finished the cereal and started on his tea when someone sat down in front of him. He looked up in annoyance. The café was full—inevitably, but that was no excuse for rudeness. The rebuke never made it out of his lips.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Marius said as he settled in the chair, his black toga suit trailing thin wisps of darkness behind him as if he was time-lapsed. “I’ve heard good reports about this place.”
“Help yourself,” Troblum said grouchily. He knew he shouldn’t show too much resentment at Marius’s appearance, after all the Faction representative had channelled the kind of EMA funds to Troblum’s private projects which were normally only available to huge public enterprises. It was the demands placed on him in return which he found annoying, not the challenges themselves, they were intriguing, but they always took so much time. “Oh you already have.”
The servicebot delivered a second china cup for Marius. “How are you keeping, Troblum?”
“Fine. As you know.” His field functions detected a subtle shielding unfurling round the table, originating from Marius. Not obvious, but enough to prevent anyone from hearing or scanning what they were saying. He’d never liked the representative, and it was unusual to meet in person. An unarranged meeting was unheard of, it made Troblum worry about the reason. Something they consider very important.
Marius sipped the tea. “Excellent. Assam?”
“Something like that.”
“Those left on Earth do take a lot of pride in maintaining their ancient heritages. I doubt they actually go out and pick the leaves themselves, though. What do you think?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck.”
“There are a lot of things that elude you, aren’t there my friend?”
“What do you want?”
Marius fixed his green eyes on Troblum, the faintest shiver of distaste manifesting in his expression. “Of course, bluntness to the fore. Very well. The briefing you gave to the Navy concerning the Dyson pair.”
“What about it?”
“It’s an interesting theory.”
“It’s not a theory,” Troblum said in irritation. “That has to be the explanation for the origin of the Dark Fortress.”
“The what?”
“Dark Fortress. It’s what the Dyson Alpha generator was originally called. I think it was Jean Douvoir who named it that first, he was on the original Second Chance exploration mission, you know. It was meant ironically, but after the War it fell out of fashion, especially with the Firewall campaign, people just didn’t—”
“Troblum.”
“Yeah?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck.”
“I’ve got the unabridged logs from the Second Chance stored in my personal secure kube if you’d like to check.”
“No. But I believe your theory.”
“Oh for Ozz—”
“Listen,” Marius snapped. “Seriously, I believe you. It was excellently argued. Admiral Kazimir thought well enough of your presentation to order a full review, and he is not easily won over. They are taking you seriously.”
“Well, that’s good then. Isn’t it?”
“In the greater scheme of things, I’m sure it is. However, you might like to consider where your comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Fortress came from.”
“Oh.” Now Troblum was really worried. “I never mentioned I was there.”
“I know that. The point is, that we really don’t want ANA:Governance to be aware of the detailed examination you and your team made of the Dark Fortress. Not right now. Understand?”
“Yes.” Troblum actually ducked his head, which was ridiculous, but he did feel contrite; maybe he should have realized his presentation would draw a little too much attention to him. “Do you think the Navy will review my background?”
“No. They have no reason to right now. You’re just a physicist petitioning for EMA funds. It happens all the time. And that’s the way we’d like it to remain.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Good. So if the review committee advises the Admiral that no further action should be taken, we’d prefer you not to kick up a fuss.”
“But what if they favour a proper search?”
“We’re confident they won’t.”
Troblum sat back,
trying to work out the politics. It was difficult for him to appreciate the motivation and psychology of other people. “But if you have that much influence on the Navy, why worry?”
“We can’t affect the Navy directly, not with Kazimir as the safeguard. But your advisory review committee is mostly external, some of them are sympathetic to us, as you are.”
“Right.” Troblum could feel despair starting to cloud his mind. “Will I be able to put it forward again after the Pilgrimage?”
“We’ll see. Probably, yes.”
It wasn’t exactly good news but it was better than a flat refusal. “And my drive project?”
“That can continue, providing you don’t publicize what you’re doing.” Marius smiled reassurance. It didn’t belong on his face. “We do appreciate your help, Troblum, and we want to keep our relationship mutually beneficial. It’s just that events are entering a critical stage right now.
“I know.”
“Thank you. I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your food now.”
With suspicious timing, the servicebot arrived as Marius departed. Troblum stared at the plate it deposited in front of him, a tower of thick buttered pancakes was layered with bacon, yokcheese, scrambled garfoul eggs, black pudding, and topped with strawberries. Maple syrup and afton sauce ran down the sides like a volcanic eruption. The edges of the plate were artistically garnished with miniature hash browns, baked vine salfuds and roasted golden tomatoes.
For the first time in years, Troblum didn’t feel remotely hungry.