He had been there at the beginning when spiralling dust clouds had imploded into a new sun, seen the family of planets accrete out of the debris. He had been there at the end, when the sun cooled and began to expand, its radiance corroding first into amber then crimson.
A white pinpoint ember flared at its centre, signalling the final contraction. The neutronium core, gathering matter with insatiable greed; its coalescence generating monstrous pulses of gamma radiation.
The end came swiftly, an hour-long implosion devouring every superheated ion. Afterwards, an event horizon rose to shield the ultimate cataclysm.
He hovered above the null-boundary for a long time, wondering what lay below. Gateway to another universe. The truth.
He drifted away.
*
Torreya has confessed that she’s never been out on a boat before; so Laurus is taking her out onto the glassy water of the harbour basin in his magnificent twin-masted yacht. They are sailing round the crashed cargo lander in the centre of the basin, a huge conical atmospheric entry body designed to ferry heavy equipment down to the very first pioneers before the spaceport runway was built nearly two centuries ago. The vehicle’s guidance failed, allowing it to drift away from the land. Its cargo was salvaged, but no one was interested in the fuselage. Now its dark titanium structure towers fifty metres above the water, open upper hatches providing a refuge for the gulls and other birds that humans have brought to this world. At night a bright light flashes from its nose cone, guiding ships back to the harbour.
Torreya leans over the gunwale, trailing her hand in the warm water, her face dreamy and utterly content. ‘This is lovely,’ she sighs. ‘And so was the zoo yesterday. Thank you, Laurus.’
‘My pleasure.’ But he is distracted, haunted by a sorrowful fading smile and long red hair.
Torreya frowns at the lack of response, then turns back to the sloops and their crews bustling about on their decks. Her eyes narrow.
Laurus orders the captain to go around again. At least Torreya will enjoy the trip.
*
As far as Torreya knew, the geneticist was a doctor who wanted to run some tests. She gave him a small sample of blood, and prowled around the study, bored within minutes at the lack of anything interesting in that most adult of rooms. Ryker clawed at his perch, caught up in the overspill of trepidation from Laurus’s turbulent mind.
His suspicions had been confirmed as soon as he’d accessed the major-domo’s house files. Nemesia had been in residence eleven years ago.
He sat in his high-backed leather chair behind the rosewood desk, unable to move from the agony of waiting. The geneticist seemed to be taking an age, running analysis programs on his sequencer module, peering owlishly at the multicoloured graphics dancing in the compact unit’s holoscreen.
Eventually the man looked up, surprise twisting his placid features. ‘You’re related,’ he said. ‘Primary correlation. You’re her father.’
Torreya turned from the window, her face numb with incomprehension. Then she ran into his arms, and Laurus had to cope with the totally unfamiliar sensation of a small bewildered girl hugging him desperately, her slight frame trembling. It was one upheaval too many. She cried for the very first time.
After all she had been through. Losing her mother, living in an animal slum, the never-ending task of looking after Jante. She had coped magnificently, never giving in.
He waited until her sobs had finished, then dried her eyes and kissed her brow. They studied each other for a long poignant moment. Then she finally offered a timid smile.
Her looks had come from her mother, but by God she had his spirit.
*
Torreya sits cross-legged on the bed and pours out Laurus’s breakfast tea herself. She glances up at him, anxious for approval.
So he sips the tea, and says: ‘Just right.’ And it really is.
Her pixie face lights with a smile, and she slurps some tea out of her own mug.
His son, Iberis, was never so open, so trusting. Always trying to impress. As a good son does, Laurus supposes. These are strange uncharted thoughts for him; he is actually free to recall Iberis without the usual icy snap of pain and shame. Forty-five years is a long time to mourn.
Now the only shame comes from his plan for Torreya’s seduction, an ignominious bundle of thoughts already being suppressed by his subconscious.
The one admirable aspect to emerge from his earlier manoeuvrings is her genuine affection for Abelia. He means for Abelia to stay on, a cross between a companion and a nanny.
And now he is going to have to see about curing Jante, though how that will affect the fantasyscapes still troubles him. The idea of losing such a supreme source of creativity is most unwelcome. Perhaps he can persuade them to compose a whole series before the doctors begin their work.
So many new things to do. How unusual that such fundamental changes should come at his time of life. But what a future Torreya will have. And that’s what really matters now.
She finishes her tea and crawls over the bed, cuddling up beside him. ‘What are we going to do today?’ she asks.
He strokes her glossy hair, marvelling at its fine texture. Everything about her comes as a revelation. She is the most perfect thing in the universe. ‘Anything,’ he says. ‘Anything you want.’
*
Laurus had tracked the lion for four days through the bush. At night he would lie awake in his tent, listening to its roar. In the morning he would pick up its spoor and begin the long trek again.
There was no more beautiful land in the galaxy than the African savanna, its brittle yellow grass, lonely alien trees. Dawn and dusk would see the sun hanging low above the horizon, streaked with thin gold clouds, casting a cold radiance. Tall mountains were visible in the distance, their peaks capped with snow.
The land he crossed teemed with life. He spent hours sitting on barren outcrops of rock, watching the animals go past. Timid gazelles, bad-tempered rhinos, graceful giraffes, nibbling at the lush leaves only they could reach. Monkeys screamed and chattered at him from their high perches, zebras clustered cautiously around muddy water holes, twitching nervously as he hiked past. There were pandas, too, a group of ten dozing on sun-baked rocks, chewing contentedly on the bamboo that grew nearby. Thinking back, their presence was very odd, but at the time he squatted down on his heels grinning at the affable creatures and their lazy antics.
Still the lion led him on; there were deep valleys, crumpled cliffs of rusty rock. Occasionally he would catch sight of his dusky prey in the distance, the silhouette spurring him on.
On the fifth day he entered a copse of spindly trees whose branches forked in perfect symmetry. The lion stood waiting for him. A fully grown adult male, powerful and majestic. It roared once as he walked right up to it, and shook its thick mane.
Laurus stared at it in total admiration for some indefinable length of time, long enough for every aspect of the jungle lord to be sketched irrevocable in his mind.
The lion shook his head again, and sauntered off into the copse. Laurus watched it go; feeling an acute sense of loss.
*
Laurus is throwing a party this evening, the ultimate rare event. All his senior managers and agents are in attendance, along with Kariwak’s grandees. He is hugely amused that every one of them has turned up despite the short – five hour – notice. His reputation is the one faculty which does not diminish with the passing years.
Torreya is dressed like a Victorian princess, a gown of flowering lace and chains of small flowers woven into her hair. He stands beside her under the white marble portico, immaculate in his white dinner jacket, scarlet rosebud in his buttonhole, receiving the guests as they alight from their limousines. Ryker has been watching the cars cluster at Belsize Square at the bottom of the hill, some of them were there for half an hour before beginning the journey up to the mansion, determined not to be late.
They sit around the oak table in the mansion’s long-disused formal dinin
g room. Vast chandeliers hang on gold chains above them, classical oil paintings of hunts and harvests alternate with huge garlands of flowers to decorate the walls. A string quartet plays quietly from a podium in one corner. Laurus has gone all-out. He wants to do this with style.
Torreya sits next to Jante, who is wearing a dinner jacket with an oversize velvet bow tie, a neat chrome sunshade band covering his eyes. She pauses from her own meal every so often to stare at her brother’s plate, and he uses his knife and fork with quick precision.
Conversations end instantly as Laurus taps his crystal goblet with a silver dessert spoon. He rises to speak. ‘This is a double celebration for me. For all of us. I have found my daughter.’ His hand rests proudly on Torreya’s shoulder.
She blushes furiously, smiling wide, staring at the tablecloth. Shocked glances fly around the table as agents and managers try to work out how they will be affected by the new order. Tentative smiles of congratulation are offered to Torreya. Laurus feels like laughing.
‘Torreya will be taking over from me when she’s older. And she is the best person qualified to do so, for she has brought me something which will secure all your futures. Tropicana is finally going to take its place among the Confederation’s economic superpowers.’ He nods permission at her.
Torreya rises to her feet, and takes a big silver serving tray from the sideboard. Candy buds are piled high upon it. She starts to walk around the table, offering them to the guests.
‘This is your future,’ Laurus tells them. ‘Quite literally the fruit of knowledge. And I have a monopoly on them. You will venture out into the Confederation and establish yourselves as suppliers. I have chosen you to become this era’s merchant princes; your personal wealth will increase a thousandfold. And you, like I, have Torreya to thank for bringing us this marvel.’
She finishes the circle, and hands the last candy bud to Erigeron with a chirpy smile. He grimaces and rolls his eyes for her alone; observing the niceties of the formal meal has stretched his patience to breaking.
The grand guests are holding their candy buds, various expressions of unease and concern registering on their faces. Laurus chuckles, and pops his own candy bud into his mouth. ‘Behold, your dreams made real.’
One by one, the guests follow suit.
*
Laurus holds Torreya’s hand as they ascend the mansion’s staircase some time after midnight. The guests have departed, some of them stumbling down the portico’s stairs, dazed by the chimerical past unfolding behind their eyes.
Torreya is tired and very sleepy, but still smiling. ‘So many people, and they all wanted to be friends with me. Thank you, Daddy,’ she says as she climbs into bed.
St Peter folds his arms round the girl, and Laurus tucks the duvet up to her chin. ‘You don’t have to thank me.’ The words kindle a secret delight; she has been calling him Daddy all day now, a subconscious acceptance. He has been terribly worried in case she rejected the whole notion.
‘But I do,’ she yawns. ‘For finding me. For bringing me here. For making me happy.’
‘All part of being a father,’ he says softly. But she is already asleep. Laurus gazes down at her for a long time before he goes to his own bed.
After lunch Laurus took Torreya down the hill to the zoo. It was a lovely afternoon as they all were on Tropicana, and they held hands as they walked down the leafy lanes between the compounds.
Torreya pressed herself to the railings, smiling and pointing at the exhibits. ‘I always love it when I come to the zoo,’ she said. ‘We’ve been so many times I think I must know most of the animals by name now.’
Together they looked down at the lions, who were lazing on flat shelves of rocks.
‘Aren’t they fearsome?’ she said. ‘Legend says they’re the king of all Earth’s beasts. That’s why the zoo has them. But they never show them when they’re old and toothless and lame, do they? You only ever see kings when they’re in their prime That way the legend stays alive. But it’s only ever a legend.’
*
Laurus blinks awake, finding himself alone on his bed, gazing up at a mirror on the ceiling, seeing himself: a sickly white stick insect figure with a bloated belly. The bed’s imperial-purple silk sheets have been soiled with urine and faeces. A half-eaten candy bud is wedged between his teeth, its mushy tissue smeared over his face, acidic brown juice dripping down his chin. He is starting to gag on this obscene violation.
A black ferret is poised on his chest, tiny eyes staring at him. Its wet nose twitches, and suddenly it scurries away with a sinuous wriggle.
Laurus hears a soft click from the door.
‘Erigeron?’
Erigeron’s boots make no sound on the thick navy-blue carpet. From Laurus’s prone position the enforcer’s lanky frame appears preternaturally tall as he walks towards the bed. He smiles, fangs parting wide. Laurus has never seen a smile on that face before. It frightens him. Fear, real fear for the first time in decades.
‘Why?’ Laurus cries. ‘Why? You have everything here. Girls, money, prestige. Why?’
‘Kochia promised me more, Mr Laurus. I’m going to be his partner when he starts selling candy buds.’
‘He can’t have promised you that. You killed him for me!’
‘I . . . I remember what he said.’
‘He said nothing! He couldn’t have!’
A flicker of confusion creases Erigeron’s face. It fades into determination. ‘He did. I remember it all very clearly. I agreed. I did, Mr Laurus. I really did.’
‘No!’
Erigeron lowers his head with its open mouth towards Laurus’s neck. ‘Yes,’ and his voice is full of confidence now. ‘I remember.’
Laurus whimpers as the fang tips break his skin. Poison shoots into his bloodstream, and blackness falls.
A tightly whorled flower opens in greeting. Each petal is a different colour, expanding, rising up towards him. Their tips begin to rotate, creating a rainbow swirl. Slowly but surely the blurred streaks begin to resolve.
Laurus and Torreya stand in the middle of the deserted zoo. The sky is grey, and the leaves on the trees are turning brown, falling to the ground in an autumn that can never be. Laurus shivers in the cold air.
‘You said you’d been here before,’ he says.
‘Yes. My daddy used to bring me all the time.’
‘Your daddy?’
‘Rubus.’
*
Ryker coasts above the estate in the cool early morning air. Far below, the eagle can see someone moving slowly along one of the meandering gravel paths. A young girl pushing a wheelchair.
He banks abruptly, dropping five metres before he can regain his stability. He lets out a squawk of outrage. His new mistress has yet to learn how to exploit his natural instincts to fly with grace; her commands are too jerky, mechanical.
A quieter wish flows through him, the need to spiral down for a closer examination of the people below. Ryker dips a wing lazily, and begins his fluid descent.
He alights in a substantial magnolia tree, watching intently as she stops beside a small lake. There are water lilies mottling its black-mirror surface, swans drift amongst the fluffy purple blooms, idle and arrogant.
Torreya is indulgent with Jante, halting every few minutes so he can look around with his new eyes. His legs have been wrapped in folds of translucent membrane, their integral plasma veins pulsing slowly. The medical team she has assembled have told her the muscle implants are going to take another week to stabilize; a month should see him walking.
‘It’s ever so pretty here,’ he says, and smiles up worship-fully at her.
Torreya walks over to the shore of the lake, a gentle breeze ruffing her hair. She turns to gaze down on the city. Its rooftops are lost in a nebulous heat shimmer. Behind it she can make out the first islands of the archipelago, green dots which skip along the wavering horizon.
‘Yes,’ she decides solemnly. ‘You get a marvellous view from the estate. Laurus was always
one for views.’
They leave the lake behind, and make their way down to the dew-splashed meadow to watch the butterflies emerge from their chrysalises.
Timeline
2395 Tyrathca colony world discovered.
2402 Tyrathca join Confederation.
Deathday
Jubarra 2405
Deathday
Today Miran would kill the xenoc. His confidence had soared to a dizzying height, driven by some subconscious premonition. He knew it was today.
Even though he was awake he could hear the ethereal wind-howl of the ghosts, spewing out their lament, their hatred of him. It seemed the whole world shared in the knowledge of impending death.
He had been hunting the xenoc for two months now. An intricate, deadly game of pursuit, flight, and camouflage, played out all over the valley. He had come to learn the xenoc’s movements, how it reacted to situations, the paths it would take, its various hiding places in rocky crevices, its aversion to the steep shingle falls. He was its soul-twin now. It belonged to him.
What Miran would have liked to do was get close enough so he might embrace its neck with his own hands; to feel the life slipping from his tormentor’s grotesque body. But above all he was a practical man, he told himself he wasn’t going to be asinine-sentimental about it, if he could pick it off with the laser rifle he would do so. No hesitation, no remorse.
He checked the laser rifle’s power charge and stepped out of the homestead. Home – the word mocked him. It wasn’t a home, not any more. A simple three-room prefab shipped in by the Jubarra Development Corporation, designed for two-person assembly. Candice and himself. Her laugh, her smile, the rooms had echoed with them; filling even the glummest day with life and joy. Now it was a convenient shelter, a dry place from which to plot his campaign and strategies.
Physically, the day was no different to any other on Jubarra. Gloomy leaden-grey clouds hung low in the sky, marching east to west. Cold mist swirled about his ankles, coating grass and rocks alike in glistening dewdrops. There would be rain later, there always was.