‘Fine.’ A sound made Paula look up, pushing back her wide hat. ‘Oh, hello.’
A small black helicopter was approaching the launch zone, flying low and fast.
‘That’s not one of ours,’ Aidan said in annoyance. ‘How did it get flight clearance? This is a designated restricted zone.’
Paula held back on her smile. The poor police captain sounded quite indignant. ‘A word of advice, Captain,’ she said as the new helicopter landed beside theirs. ‘This is where you get to play with the big boys. If you haven’t done this before, don’t try and claim jurisdiction on any aspect of this investigation. You really do have to work with them.’
‘Uh huh.’ Aidan spat onto the stones. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘Your career is over. It’s not blatant, but it is effective. If you really annoy them then you won’t have much of a life after your next few rejuvenations either.’
‘And you just let them walk all over your investigations, do you?’
‘No,’ Paula said. ‘There are boundaries, and with me they know where they stand. But I’ve spent decades building that political coverage. You haven’t.’
A man climbed down out of the helicopter as the blades slowed. He was dressed in a robe similar to the one Aidan wore, except he was like the captain’s younger, smarter, richer brother.
‘Nelson Sheldon,’ Christabel muttered. ‘Impressive. Third generation down from Nigel himself.’
Paula nodded appreciatively. Nelson was one of the five deputy managers of the Sheldon Dynasty security service, heading up the external threat division. She’d met him on three Directorate cases when their respective interests overlapped; each time he’d been the total professional, and very diplomatic. Rumour had it that he’d be chief within fifty years.
‘Captain,’ Nelson said politely, and offered his hand to Aidan. ‘I apologize for the interruption, but as you can imagine my family is deeply distressed by this appalling attack on our members. I’m here to offer whatever support you need, practical or political.’
There was a moment of hesitation. Then Aidan shook the proffered hand. ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘All of it.’
‘Ah,’ Nelson smiled. ‘The ladies have been telling tales about me. Christabel, nice to see you again. Paula, you look amazing. You’ll have to tell me which clinic you use to rejuve in.’
‘Sorry about your people,’ Paula said.
‘Thank you.’ Nelson’s expression hardened. ‘They’ll be re-lifed, of course. Everyone on the plane will be, no matter what their insurance status. We owe them that much.’
‘We’d appreciate a complete list of passengers,’ Aidan said. ‘I need to know the full make-up of the entourage to help recovery.’
‘You’ve got it. I’ll liaise with the other Dynasties for you.’
The four of them stood together, watching the methodical movements of the forensics duo and the pack of specialist bots.
‘So what’s the story with your three?’ Paula asked. ‘Anyone special?’
‘Hell no,’ Nelson said. ‘They’re fifth and sixth generation. Standard-issue brats who were busy pissing away their trust funds. Never done a day’s work in their life. Honestly, the new generations are a real disaster area. As far as I know it was the same for the Brandt boy and the Mandela. There was nothing important about them other than they’re Dynasty and goddamn easy targets.’
‘They were important in terms of propaganda for Free Merioneth,’ Christabel said.
‘Yeah. All this crap about their taxes paying for little tits like our useless descendants is hitting a nerve. You know how financially integrated the Commonwealth planets are. It costs a frigging fortune just to begin settlement these days, and as to building up a decent technoindustrial infrastructure, well… Any planet starting up today is looking to be paying off those costs for the next two and a half centuries — minimum.’
‘And the Dynasties control the finance houses,’ Paula observed.
‘Along with Earth’s Grand Families,’ Nelson said in a defensive tone. ‘They haven’t been targeted, please note. Not yet, anyway.’
‘So the start-up costs go back to you, along with interest payments.’
‘That’s the way the universe works, Investigator.’
‘I can see the emotive force behind targeting the young Dynasty members. We’ve all seen their antics, or accessed unisphere reports on it. There’s not a lot of sympathy out there for them.’
‘The rich never have any sympathy,’ Nelson said. ‘I can live with that. But it doesn’t mean you can go around slaughtering them — us! — to advance your political goal. In any case, there were only five Dynasty members on that plane, out of a hundred and thirty people.’
‘I wasn’t agreeing with them,’ Paula said. ‘I’m just trying to understand the motivation.’
‘I’d have said it was justification, not motivation,’ Aidan said. They all turned to look at him. He shrugged. ‘Everyone knows they’re not going to win, right? “Government does not negotiate with terrorists.” That’s been public policy number one since before people ever left Earth. It’s not going to change now. So this is just an excuse to give your psychosis full head. Serial killing taken to the next level.’
‘Could be,’ Paula said cautiously. Something about the case was bothering her. As Aidan said, the motivation wasn’t quite right. But as to the result of Free Merioneth’s actions, there was no mistake. Their criminality was her primary concern. Her motivation. Which was unbreakable. Her mindset was aligned through psychoneural profiling; a genetic science comprehensively banned throughout the Commonwealth. The resolution of justice was built into her genes, along with a few other little traits like obsessive compulsive behaviour, which people were extremely uncomfortable with. Paula wasn’t. She’d always been perfectly content with what she was. She also quite enjoyed the irony of being a senior Commonwealth law enforcement officer, whilst technically being illegal on every planet except one — her birthworld, Huxley’s Haven. Or as the rest of the Commonwealth called it: The Hive.
‘Found something,’ Nalcol called. He was kneeling beside a tough-looking wizened bush cactus, touching the ground with peripheral sensors on his array. Three of the bots were stationary next to the plant’s stem, probing its leathery skin. ‘Could be a urine patch,’ he said as they gathered round. ‘Someone from the missile team probably relieved themselves.’ He pushed a long transparent probe deeper, collecting samples in its spoon-shaped tip.
‘Are you certain?’ Paula couldn’t see any hint of moisture in the crumbly ochre soil.
‘This goddamned sun,’ Nalcol complained. ‘It’s evaporating the fluid rapidly, which is how we detected it. The effervescence cloud is distinct to our sensors. But it doesn’t leave much to work with.’ Various graphic displays danced across the array’s little screen. ‘Yep, here we go. Viable DNA. I can get you a positive fingerprint from this.’
‘Thanks,’ Christabel said. ‘What about the missile exhaust?’
‘Definite. It’s an oxidized carbon trace, with aluminium and several other accelerant compounds.’
‘What type?’
‘All I can tell you is: very crude. No one reported seeing a chemical exhaust, not at altitude, so I’m guessing it incorporated a basic hyper-ram. An intake nozzle that compresses air which is then heated with electron injection or high-frequency induction before squirting that hot air out the back like a rocket exhaust. But you need a booster to get it up to operational speed to start with. Solid chemicals are a primitive but effective method of initial acceleration. Nobody builds that kind of thing any more. At least, not the commercial armament companies.’
‘You mean it was homemade?’ Nelson asked.
‘Probably. Most of the components you’d need are widely available. It just needs a bit of skill to put them together.’
‘That would take some organization.’
‘Fanatics do that well,’ Paula said. ‘But surely a beam weapon would be more effective, and completely untraceable? Every planet in the Commonwealth produces them.’
Nalcol stared up into the hot sky. ‘Not for this range. That kind of power rating is more specialist. Easier to trace.’
‘What did the earlier attacks use?’ Aidan asked.
‘The first two were booby-trapped cars, with standard augmented explosives,’ Nelson said. ‘The third was arson in a block of flats in Leithpool, with the fire escapes sabotaged. That killed twenty-three — and only three were Dynasty.’
