“How bad do you think it is, that I’m here to ask you?”
“Don’t care. I won’t help you.”
“It’s the Pilgrimage. Oscar, I’m worried about it. Really worried.”
He stared up at her, not sure if he could take many more shocks. “Look, I’ve followed the story closely enough, who hasn’t? The Navy will stop the Ocisen Empire dead in its tracks. ANA will halt the Pilgrimage ships. It’s not stupid. The Void will eat up half the galaxy if Inigo’s dumbass sheep ever get inside.”
“And you think that’s all there is to it? Oscar, you and I were there with Nigel before we travelled to Far Away. You know how complex that situation was, how many factors were at play. Well, this is worse, a lot worse. The Void is only a peripheral event, a convenient gadfly; this is the Factions finally marching out to fight. This is a battle for the destiny of humanity. Our soul will be decided by the outcome.”
“I can’t help,” he said, mortified by the way it was nearly a wail. “I’m a pilot for Christ’s sake.”
“Oh Oscar.” Her voice was rich with sympathy. She knelt down in front of him and grasped his hands. Her fingers were warm to the touch. “Enough humility. It’s your character I desperately need help from. I know that once you agree I don’t have to worry about the problem any more. You won’t quit on me, and that’s what’s important.”
“This is a nostalgia trip for you. I’m just a pilot.”
“You were just a Navy captain, but you saved us from the Starflyer. I’m going to tell you what I’m asking you to do. And then I’m going to tell you why you’ll do it. If you want to hate me for making you face reality then that’s fine by me, too.”
He shook his hands loose from her grip. “Say your piece, then go—”
“The Factions know me, they watch me as I watch their agents. So I can’t have them knowing that I am desperate to locate the Second Dreamer.”
Oscar just laughed. It trailed off into a near-whimper. “Find the Second Dreamer? Me?”
“Yes. And you know why that’ll work?”
“Because no one will be expecting it.” He made it sound like a schoolkid reciting a useless fact.
“Correct. And do you know why you’ll do it for me—and please don’t shoot the messenger.”
He braced himself. Surely there was nothing else in his life she could threaten him with? Did I erase a memory? My God, was there another Abadan? “What?”
“Because you’re bored shitless with this dreary monotonous life you sleepwalk through.”
Oscar opened his mouth to shout at her. Tell her she’d finally flipped. That she was so fantastically wrong. That his life was rich. That he had people who loved him. That every day was a joy. That he never wanted to go back to the crazy days of the Starflyer War. That he’d already endured all the terror and wild exhilaration one life could possibly contain. That such things were best left to the new generation. But for some reason his head had fallen into his hands, and he was sighing heavily. He couldn’t look at her. And he could certainly never look at his life partners. “I can’t tell them that,” he whispered painfully. “How can I? They’ll believe it’s their fault.”
Paula stood up. A hand rested on his shoulder with gentle sympathy. “You want me to do it?”
“No.” He shook his head. Wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to remove the annoying smears of moisture. “No. I’m not that much of a coward.”
“Whatever cover story you need, you’ve got it. I can arrange… anything, basically.”
“Uh huh.”
“There’s a starship waiting for you at the local spaceport.” She smiled mischievously. “An ultradrive.”
Oscar smiled faintly, feeling the joy stirring deep inside him. “Ultradrive? Well at least you don’t think I’m a cheap whore.”
***
This wasn’t how Araminta expected to be returning to the Suvorov continent, sitting in an ageing carry capsule as it flew across the Great Cloud Ocean, lower and slower than every other capsule on the planet. It didn’t exactly smack of style. She’d always promised herself she’d only ever return to her birth continent when she could step out of some swank luxury capsule and smile condescendingly around at Langham and the family’s business.
Not there just yet.
Unfortunately, Likan’s estate was on Suvorov. Understandably, as that was where Viota’s capital, Ludor, was situated. Likan wasn’t a provinces kind of person, he had to be near the action. So back across the ocean she went. With a baggage hold packed with her best clothes, and a deepening sense of anxiety.
She was genuinely interested in the Sheldonite’s abilities. To get to his level in under a hundred and fifty years illustrated a phenomenal achievement. There was a lot she could learn from him, providing she could get him talking.
Then there was the whole Sheldonite culture thing. Thousands of people on hundreds of External Worlds trying to emulate their ancient hyper-capitalist idol. An emulation dangerously close to blind worship, she thought. But she was willing to suspend judgement until she experienced it first hand. Maybe this was the route she should be taking. Even Bovey couldn’t deny Sheldonism was the pinnacle of business culture. Successful Sheldonism, that was. There were enough failed adherents littered across the External Worlds.
And finally the harem. Typical male fantasy; a rich man making his dreams come true. Yet a lot more common than in Sheldon’s day; group-life-partner relationships were growing in popularity among the External Worlds. And she was hardly in any position to criticize; what she’d enjoyed with Bovey was essentially the same arrangement. So here she was, technically free and single, and still interested in experimenting sexually to see what suited her. She didn’t think this was going to be her, but she’d surprised herself before with Bovey.
A last wild fling, then. So whatever I discover, this weekend will be win-win.
With that delinquent thought warming her, the capsule finally made land and began to fly over Likan’s estate. He owned an area of a hundred thousand square miles, taking in a long stretch of coastline—developed with resort complexes. Massive tracts of farmland with square-mile fields, growing every imaginable luxury crop, the kind nobody produced in a culinary unit, tended by over a million agribots; all processed in immaculately hygienic cybernated factories and sold under his own brands.
Then there was Albany, his industrial complex. Set on a flat plain, it was a square eight miles to a side; tall boxy buildings laid out in a perfect grid; every one a factory or processing plant. A spaceport spread out of one side, long rows of landing pads stretching across the green meadows to a nearby river. Ocean barges clotted the water, while fat cargo starships formed near-solid lines stretching up through the sky. No humans actually lived in Albany itself; the technicians who kept it running were all housed in dormitory towns twenty miles away. She flew over one of them, surprised by how nice it looked, with large houses and plenty of green space, ornate civic buildings providing every amenity.
He owns it all. And more: he created it. Now that is real vision.
Her capsule’s net was queried by local traffic control. She supplied her identity certificate and received a descent vector.
Likan’s home was actually three separate buildings. Two of them were on the shore of a lake ten miles long. One was a giant château made of stone which must have had five hundred rooms. Araminta had seen smaller villages. The second, almost opposite the first, was an ultramodern ovoid of shimmering opalescence that seemed to dip down into the water as it lay longside across the ground. The third was small by comparison, just a wooden lodge atop the cliffs of a rugged island.
The capsule landed outside the ovoid. Araminta was quietly grateful. She wanted to see what it was like inside, if there were any design concepts she could use.
Two of the harem were waiting to greet her when she stepped out. Clemance, a slim teenager, dressed in a simple white shirt and blue cotton shorts. She had a fresh face, freckled on her nose and brow,
an eager smile, and fair hair that was barely styled. Not quite what Araminta had expected. While the other, Marakata, was tall and classically beautiful, with ebony skin that gleamed in the sunlight. Her scarlet gown probably cost more than every item Araminta had brought put together. And that’s what she wears in the middle of the afternoon. Subtle cosmetic scales highlighted jade eyes and a wide mouth. She didn’t smile, her whole attitude was one of cool amusement.
Clemance bounded forward, her smile growing even wider. She threw her arms around Araminta. “Likan has told us all about you. It’s so great to finally get to meet you.”
A mildly startled Araminta gave the girl a tentative hug back. “What did he say?”
“To be careful,” Marakata said. She raised an elegant eyebrow, observing Araminta’s response.
“He says you’re really ambitious, and smart, and attractive, and your own boss—” Clemance seemed to run out of breath. “Just all-round fabulous.”
Araminta finally managed to disentangle herself from the girl. “I didn’t realize I’d made such an impression.”
“Likan makes very fast assessments,” Marakata said.
“Do you?” Araminta asked, as cool as she could.
It actually drew a small smile from the imposing woman. “I take my time and get it absolutely right.”
“Good to know.”
Clemance giggled. “Come on, we’ll show you your room.” She grabbed Araminta’s hand and pulled like a five-year-old hauling her parent to the Christmas tree.
“The staff will get your bags,” Marakata said airily.
Araminta frowned, then saw she wasn’t joking. A couple of women in identical smart grey toga suits were heading for her capsule, followed by a regrav sled. “You have human staff?”
“Of course.”
“So Nigel Sheldon must have had them.”
“Humm, you are quite quick, aren’t you?”
Clemance laughed, and pulled harder. “Come on! I chose this one for you.”
They were right up against the scintillating surface. Araminta hadn’t realized how big the ovoid was. Standing at the base it must have reached ten storeys above her, though the curvature made it hard to tell. There were no discernible features, certainly no door. The entire base was surrounded by a broad marble path, as if it were resting on a plinth. A couple of thin gold lines had materialized underfoot, which Clemance had followed. She slipped through the torrent of multicoloured light. Araminta followed. It was similar to walking through a pressure field, or a spore shower, a slight tingle on the skin, bright flash against the eye, and she was in a bubble-chamber with transparent furniture delineated by glowing emerald lines, like curving laser beams. Closets and drawers were all empty, chairs and couches contained a more diffuse glow inside their cushions, looking like faulty portal projections. The floor and cupola walls were a duller version of the external scintillations. Only the cream and gold sheets on the bed were what she thought of as tangible.
“The house smartnet is offering an operations program,” her u-shadow told her.
“Accept it.” Her exovision showed her the file opening into a storage lacuna.
Clemance was already sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down. “Like it?”
“The house’s main entrance opens into a guest bedroom?”
“Only when you need it to be,” the girl said sprightly. “Tell your control program you want to see out.”
Araminta did, and the walls on one side lost their lustre to show the gardens outside, and her capsule with the regrav sled loading up cases.
“Now, if you need the bathroom…” Clemance said. The whole room started to slide upwards, following the curvature of the external wall. There must have been excellent gravity compensators hidden somewhere below the floor because Araminta didn’t feel any movement. Then they were sliding horizontally into the centre of the ovoid. Other bubble rooms flowed past them.
Araminta imagined this was the perspective which corpuscles had as they raced through a vein. She smiled in delight. “How brilliant, the whole thing is protean.”
Her bedroom touched a bathroom, and the wall rolled apart to give her access. The design beyond the new door was more conventional, with a huge pool-bath, showers, dryer chambers. It was bigger than the living rooms back in the apartments she was developing.
“You want to see someone, or go to the dining room for dinner, or just change the view—tell the house,” Marakata said.
“I will,” Araminta said positively.
A door opened opposite the bathroom, and Marakata stepped through. Araminta caught a glimpse of an all-white chamber with a long desk, and several gym apparatus. “I’ll see you later,” Marakata said, and the door swept shut behind her.
“Was that a threat?” Araminta muttered.
“Oh ignore her,” Clemance said. “She’s always shy around new people. She’s a lot more fun in bed, honest.”
“I’m sure.” Araminta turned round, giving the room a more thorough inspection. The drawers began to fill up with her clothes. The process was like watching water bubble up into a glass. “Take me to Likan,” she told her u-shadow.
The room closed the door into the bathroom. Curving walls slipped past; horizontally then curving to vertical. “And opaque the walls.” Gravity might be perfectly stable, but the sight was strangely disorientating.
Likan’s room was huge. Araminta suspected it didn’t move often. Everything else in the house would be displaced. It was circular with a polished oak floor which appeared to be a single giant segment. Vat grown; she’d read a file on the process in one of her design courses. The walls were pale pink and blue, with a translucent eggshell texture. They slipped into transparency along a third of the length, providing a panorama out across the lake.
Likan was walking towards her, dressed in a simple mauve sweatshirt and long green shorts. Small coloured symbols were shrinking around him, then vanishing. The walls must be portals, she thought, which gave them a vast projection capacity. This was probably his office. He smiled warmly, paused in front of her and gave her a kiss. The kind of kiss that told her what he was expecting from her later.
“Great house,” she said.
“I knew you’d like it. The concept is an old one, but we’ve just got the manufacturing process down to an affordable level. Not easy without Higher replicators.”
“I’d like to have the Colwyn City franchise.”
He responded with a warm, admiring smile. “Now see, most developers would have made a crack about me putting them out of business. But you… you see how to adapt and move onward. That’s what makes you stand out.”
“Thank you.”
Clemance scampered over to a new door. “Catch you later.”
Likan waved dismissively as he led Araminta over to the transparent wall. “Drink? Food?” he asked.
“I’m good for a few hours.”
“Good. The Prime Minister and two cabinet ministers are coming for dinner.”
“Are you trying to impress me?”
“They were coming anyway. But hopefully it gives you an idea of the life I lead. To get this big you have to delve into politics.”
“Colwyn City Hall can be a beast issuing permits.”
“Take the development officer for dinner. Loan your local councillor a high-end capsule. They’re all in it for what they can get. Wouldn’t be feeding from the public trough otherwise.”
“Unless they’re in it to clean up the corruption.”
“Yeah. Those ones are a problem. Fortunately, they don’t tend to last long.”
“You’re a cynic.”
“Pragmatist, if you don’t mind. I’m also a lot more experienced than you in every field. So trust me when I say politicians all have their weakness.”
“What’s yours?” she teased.
“One, I’m an easy lay. But you already know that. Two, risk. Risk is my weakness. The sensation when a risk pays off is like nothing else. I always take t
he risk. I enjoy the reward too much not to.”
“So what risk are you taking right now?”
“You’re smart, you’ve researched me. The finance files, at least. Tell me.”
“I accessed some background on my way over. Opinion is you’re dangerously overextended.”
“And those loans have grown significantly in the last couple of years. So why do you think that is?”
“You’re going to wipe out property companies with houses like this one? Flood the market.”
He grinned. “Small scale. I think big. Besides, it’ll take a decade for something like this to first become fashionable then generally accepted. Think, what’s the most pressing problem Viotia has today?”
“Living Dream?”
“Kind of. Ellezelin is always looming over us. Rightly so. The Free Trade Zone is a massive market; it’s not going away and it’s always growing. Anyone already operating in it has a huge financial and production capacity advantage over some poor little Viotia company. The worry is that when they eventually open a wormhole here all our companies will lose out to cheap imports. Trade will be one way.”
Her mind went back to Albany, the sheer scale of the place. “You’re going to undercut them.”
“Albany is as automated as anyone can be without replicators. I’ve spent a decade investing in the most advanced cybernated systems we can have to drive production costs down. To do that, to push each unit cost as low as it can physically go, you have to have massive volume production. That’s what’s killing me at the moment. The factories are barely ticking over. But when that wormhole finally opens…”
“It’s not going to be the financial massacre they expect.”
“They import. I export. Only the quantity of those exports will be ten times greater than they assume.”
“You’d need a distribution network.”
His smile was triumphant as he turned out to face the lake. “Certainly would.”
“Wow,” she said. And meant it. Likan’s ambition was so great hers wouldn’t even register on the same scale. “Why tell me? You can’t be trying to impress me into bed. You’ve already got that.”