“Then you tell him we quit with you,” John King said. The rest of them said, “Hell yes” and “Me, too.”
Vic put his hand on Alic’s shoulder. “Good luck. And thanks, Boss.”
When the door to Alic’s office shut, he had to sit down quickly and blow out a long breath. There was only so far impetuosity could carry you. The team was looking in at him through the glass. It actually felt very good indeed.
Oh, what the hell. That bastard Tarlo tried to kill me. That makes it personal.
His virtual finger touched the Admiral’s icon. No hesitation, he was pleased to see. The Admiral’s e-butler told Alic that his access level had been reduced to grade seven. “I’ll wait,” he told the program.
It took two and a half hours before Rafael Columbia responded. “I can give you five minutes,” he told Alic.
“We’ve located Tarlo.”
“Then arrest him.”
“He’s on Boongate.”
“Screw. It’ll have to wait, Hogan. We’ll grab him when he comes out wherever Sheldon sends him.”
“We need him now, sir. He’s a Starflyer agent.” Alic closed his eyes, half expecting a lightning bolt to slam down out of the sky and roast him behind his desk.
“Christ, not you, too? I thought you were reliable.”
“I am reliable, sir; that’s why I’m telling you this. Think about it. Tarlo’s a traitor, a double agent, that’s beyond question; I was one of the people he was shooting at on Illuminatus. Who is he working for, sir? If not the Starflyer, who is trying to destroy the Commonwealth? Tell me. Give me another name, and I’ll chase them for as long as it takes.”
There was a long pause. “You can’t get to Boongate,” the Admiral said. “This is classified, but the wormholes to the Second48 will not be reopened. The War Cabinet decided we cannot risk a stampede back into the Commonwealth. Those populations must go into the future.”
“You have the authority, sir. You can get CST to open the Boongate wormhole for us. My team and I will stay on Boongate afterward and go into the future with the rest of the population. But we must get there before the evacuation. We must establish the Starflyer’s intent. The navy needs to know. Surely you must see that?”
“You really believe it, don’t you?”
“We all do, sir.”
“Very well, Hogan, if this is to happen it doesn’t get put in the files until there’s a successful conclusion. Nonnegotiable.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. Put your arrest team together and get over to Wessex. I’ll see what I can do at this end.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And, Hogan, if you’re wrong, stay on Boongate. There will be no future for you, not anywhere at any time. Understand?”
“Understood, sir.”
***
Mellanie walked down the mansion’s broad corridor with her black lacy robe flowing out behind her. The sculpted swan wall lights were turned down to a rouge glimmer, deepening the shadows between the arches. It was two o’clock in the morning, and no one else was about.
Guilt at what she was doing only made it more exciting. Morton hadn’t stirred when she left their room. Randtown had left him more tired than he was willing to admit.
The door opened before she even tapped on it. Nigel was standing there, dressed in a loosely tied emerald bathrobe. The greedy smile on his face was one she’d seen on men countless times before—she’d thought it might be different with him. He took her hand, and hurriedly pulled her into the bedroom.
“What—” she began.
“I wouldn’t want my wives to get jealous,” he murmured as he gave the corridor a theatrical check before closing the door.
“They’re not, so don’t pretend they are.”
“Okay.” He was pressed up against her, hands removing her gown. His mouth moved to hers.
Mellanie planted a hand on his chest and pushed them apart. “Are you going to say hello, first?”
“Don’t play the Victorian bride. You came to me.” He grinned, and walked over to the huge bed. “Now come here.” He patted the furry mattress, which rippled sluggishly.
“What is this, your main orgy room?” she asked archly.
“It would be your room.”
She gave the classic white and purple décor an appreciative glance as she went over to sit beside him. “Nice, I guess.”
“Course, we’d have orgies in it. Seriously.”
She had to laugh, he was so outrageous, and honest. “Yes, I know. I met Aurelie earlier. Talk about making a girl feel inferior. And she didn’t even need reprofiling to look like that.”
“You see, you even like my other wives. What more of an incentive do you need?” His hand slipped off one of her negligée’s shoulder straps and moved down to the exposed breast.
“This is very flattering, Nigel.”
“I want it to be pleasurable, not flattering.”
Mellanie moaned hungrily. He’d got her other shoulder strap off; the negligée crumpled around her waist. His hands knew exactly how to move over her skin, the way she had to spend forever teaching other men. “It already is,” she confessed.
“So say yes.”
“No. Ahha.” She actually felt her body shake from the gentle pressure his fingers applied. It wasn’t a response she could control.
Nigel lowered her down on the mattress, then unfastened his toweling gown.
Mellanie giggled. “Nigel!”
“What did you expect?” he asked modestly. “I am the ruler of the galaxy, after all.”
“God, a man who altered his cock to match his ego.”
He grinned. “What makes you think I had it altered?”
Mellanie’s giggles returned big time. “I take it back, your ego is bigger.”
“Turn over.”
“Why?”
“Massage. To start with.”
“Oh.” She rolled onto her front. Oil that was body-warm was dripped onto her spine. He began to rub it in. “How did you know about the Cypress Island?” she asked.
“If I told you that you’ll just be cross with me. I want to have sex with you too much for that.”
“I won’t be cross.”
“You will. Why won’t you marry me?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone. I like this, this is fun. And I’d even enjoy joining in with your other wives. But as a permanent thing…That’s not me. Sorry.”
“Hey, I love it. Jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous.” Mellanie tried to twist around to protest, but his hands reached her buttocks. She had to clamp her teeth to stop squealing.
“What does the SI get out of your arrangement?” Nigel asked.
“God, is there anything you don’t know?”
“I don’t know that for a start.”
“It says it just wants to know what’s going on, that’s all. I can get into places where there’s no unisphere coverage.”
“Figures. So it knew about the nature of the Primes?”
“It found out at Randtown. It hacked into their communications through my inserts.”
“Goddamn thing never told us. Bastard.” Nigel moved down to her thighs.
“Do you think it’s hostile as well?”
“I think it’s a snob. I think it looks down on us as the lower-class neighbors bringing down the tone of the galaxy. It’s not actively belligerent, but like all snobs it has a fascination for what it’s not. Hence you, and others like you. It also has sentiment, which is why it helps us out on rare occasions. Yet it will always rationalize that as something else entirely: charity or consideration born of superiority. The trouble is, I don’t know if it would help us in the face of genocide. It probably doesn’t know either. I suspect it will play its waiting game until the end. And that’s going to be too late for us.”
“Is that why you decided to nova MorningLightMountain?”
“I
t’s among the reasons. Nobody else is going to help us out. Does it bother you, that decision?”
“I felt MorningLightMountain,” she said slowly. “I could hear its thoughts. My inserts were blocking its soldier motiles so I was physically safe, but I was still frightened. I don’t think we can share a universe with it. You know, it completely lacked emotion; I mean there was just no analogue in its mind to what we have. I was going to say that you can’t rationalize with it, but that’s the whole problem: it’s ultra-rational. There’s no way to connect. Even the SI couldn’t make it see logic and reason. It has to go, Nigel, that’s the only way we’ll be safe.”
“Turn over.”
She did as she was told. The heat had gone out of her now; remembering Randtown and the monstrous mentality of MorningLightMountain was a guaranteed passion killer. Then Nigel began working on her belly, and breasts, and thighs, and she forgot all that again amazingly quickly.
“So how did you know?” Mellanie asked.
“Huh?”
“About Cypress Island.”
“Ah.” Nigel rolled onto his belly to face her. “Michelangelo is my son, my fifteenth.”
“What? You’re kidding. He never told me.”
“It’s not something he’s proud of. Quite the opposite, actually. He stormed out when he was seventeen.”
“Wow. I bet that doesn’t happen often.”
“No,” he said dryly. “It was a classic teenage rebellion, he even said I’ll show you, when he left. Then he went and carved that career out for himself. I’m actually quite proud of him for that. Normally the black sheep come slinking back a century later with their tails between their legs, and get a nice safe middle management position in the Dynasty.”
“So he told you I was going to Illuminatus?”
“No. We didn’t understand what was going on, Mellanie. Which comes very hard for people like me and Nelson, especially at a time like this. I cut a deal with Michelangelo. He told me you were hunting the New York lawyers, so Nelson found them in the Saffron Clinic, and gave him the information. We wanted to know why they were important to you. After all, it had the appearance of just another Wall Street finance scam.”
“I’ll kill him.”
Nigel ran his hand through her wild hair. “I said you’d be cross.”
“With him! How can I trust him again after this?”
“You trusted a reporter?”
“Touché.”
“So I’m still favorite, am I?”
“You’re in my top hundred,” she replied airily.
“This is why I want you. You are so unlike any of the other girls I have.”
She traced his lips with her finger. “You need to get out more.”
“Say yes. Just try it for a couple of years. You can still have a career, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“It wouldn’t be my own career though would it, not really, not if I was your wife. I’d get all the openings and all the breaks, but not because of being me.”
“And the difference between that and having the SI as your agent is…?”
“Perhaps there is none,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I’m just tired of being a whore.”
“Nobody said you were a whore.”
“I said it.” Mellanie sighed, and crawled over the undulating mattress to reach her negligée. She grimaced at the snail-trail of oil she left behind on the fur.
“To reach here from where you were after Morton’s court case takes amazing determination,” he told her.
“I thought it was quite easy to get into your bed, actually.”
“I didn’t mean my bed, I meant here, this little cabal, or rebellion, whatever you want to call our motley crew. Don’t you see, what we’re going to decide in a few hours is going to determine the future of the human race. Not Doi. Not the navy. Not the Senate. Not the Dynasties. Us. You made it to the showdown. You’re going to be history, Mellanie; you’re going to be your generation’s Queen Elizabeth, or Marilyn Monroe, or Sue Baker. Don’t blink now.”
Mellanie looked down sheepishly at the negligée she was holding in her hands. She didn’t feel very historical. “I don’t know who any of them are.”
“Really? Oh. Well, the point is you went and earned yourself a place at the table. That’s why you’re so irresistible; you’re gorgeous and tough, every man’s fantasy. And mine in particular.”
“You’re very sweet.”
“Haven’t been called that in a long time.”
She yawned. “I’d better get back. I don’t want Morty to wake up without me.”
“All right,” Nigel said miserably. “Just remember, it’s an open offer.”
“Thanks. It is tempting. Does it come with a place on your lifeboat if we all make the wrong decision?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “You get a reserved cabin with a first-class view.”
“Let me guess. Your cabin is next door.”
He spread his arms wide. “Where else?”
“Is there a shower in here? I need to get this oil off.”
Nigel leered, and climbed off the bed. “I’ll show you.”
“That’s not—oh, all right.”
He guided her toward a misty glass door that was glowing turquoise. “Tell me something. What do you see in Bose?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with the question, which was stupid considering what they’d spent the last hour doing. “He was useful.”
“And now?”
“I’m not sure. Do you think the memory transfer will work?”
“My e-butler says it seems to be running smoothly. We’ll know for sure after breakfast.”
The bathroom was only slightly smaller than the bedroom. Mellanie looked around in delight at the Egyptian theme, then giggled at the scandalous murals. Nigel went over to the sunken spa pool in the middle; it was filled with scented water that foamed away furiously. “Showers are so boring,” he said. “Let me sponge you off in this.”
Mellanie and Morton joined Nigel’s family for breakfast out on the morning terrace. Justine and Campbell were already there, fitting in just perfectly as they chattered away.
Mellanie took her seat, not far from Nigel, who gave her a courteous welcome. She told the waiter she’d have scrambled eggs and orange juice, then helped Nuala with little Digby’s bottle. The baby already had some of Nigel’s features.
Wilson and Anna arrived, to be given a warm greeting from Nigel. Mellanie thought the ex-Admiral appeared drawn and exhausted. The genuinely warm reception from people around the table helped perk him up slightly.
Mellanie’s plate arrived, the food cooked to perfection. She tucked in, trying to listen to all the conversations at once. The amount of political and financial power gathered around the table was fascinating. She found the way everyone was so casual about the influence they wielded to be quite enticing.
The mansion’s grounds were beautiful, even though the scale was a bit intimidating when it came to living a family life. It didn’t seem to bother the harem. Her e-butler accessed files on Nigel’s wives going back a hundred years, summarizing for her; they all seemed to be from rich families, not like her. Perhaps that was why they were so comfortable with their surroundings. She could sense Morton’s keen interest in the people around him, even though he was working hard at disguising it. This was the kind of super-power status he’d thought to build for himself, until Tara Jennifer Shaheef became a potential problem.
All in all, Mellanie decided, it was going to be a lot more difficult to say no to this than she’d originally envisaged. Perhaps just a couple of years’ marriage…
Paula Myo arrived, dressed as always in a trim business suit, easily the most formal person on the terrace. She turned down breakfast, but accepted a cup of tea from a waiter. “Qatux is ready,” she told Nigel.
Morton had stopped eating when she arrived, becoming very still. Now he put down his knife and fork, and stood to face her. “Investigator,” he said wit
h forced politeness.
The terrace fell silent as everyone watched them.
“Don’t cause a scene,” a mortified Mellanie whispered through closed teeth. She didn’t think he heard.
“Morton,” Paula said.
“Pleased to see me?”
“I’m interested to see you.”
“Now, children,” Nigel said. “Play nice, please, you’re both guests.”
Mellanie had her hand around Morton’s wrist, pulling, trying to make him sit down.
“Interested, huh? Funny how life works out. You wrecked my life, now I’m essential to your future.”
“You might be involved in how we deal with the Starflyer. But you’re hardly essential.”
“What do you mean: involved?” Morton said. “Do you have any idea what risks we took to get the Bose motile to you? Do you?”
“I am very well aware of your propensity to take inappropriate risks, as well as the delusional self-justification which you indulge in subsequently.”
“Now listen—”
Mellanie was almost pulled out of her seat keeping hold of Morton as he tried to move toward Paula. “Stop it,” she barked. “You killed her, what did you expect?”
Morton gave Mellanie a shocked look. “Is that what you think?” he asked.
She wished her super-duper SI inserts had a function that could reverse time. Just a few seconds would do. “Well, did you?” she asked weakly.
Morton sat down, all his belligerence gone. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t remember.”
Mellanie’s arm went around his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, Morty. It’s all over now. It’s the past.”
Nigel gave a loud sigh, and crumpled up his napkin. “Well, as breakfast seems to be over, I suppose we’d better get started.”
***
Dudley Bose and the Bose motile were waiting for them in Nigel’s office. Mellanie could see Dudley obviously hadn’t slept last night. The skin under his eyes was dark, like it had been just after she met up with him. Stubble shaded his chin and cheeks, and he was still in the same clothes he wore yesterday, a rust-orange shirt and creased blue jeans. But it wasn’t the same haunted fatigue that used to be his permanent companion in those early days; Dudley actually looked contented. He was staring around the study with glazed eyes, almost as if he’d just emerged from a long sleep.