Nelson’s expression turned bitter. He made a show of closing the door. ‘That’s unlikely to happen. Not now.’
‘What do you mean?’ Christabel asked.
‘Confidentially: my Dynasty along with several others has agreed Merioneth will become an Isolated world.’
Paula let out a hiss of exasperation. She’d suspected something like this would happen. The last few months while they’d assembled the case against Dimitros Fiech had seen the Free Merioneth campaign expand to alarming proportions. After the Nova Zealand plane, the movement had been steadily refining their operations, developing into more sophisticated assassins. The results were dramatic. Their targets were now dispatched with cool efficiency, and the number of collateral casualties was significantly reduced. In the last twelve attacks, thirty-nine Dynasty members had suffered complete bodyloss. The new generations were now running very scared, with few of them leaving their mansions on the private family worlds. ‘You gave in,’ she said in frustration.
‘We couldn’t afford it,’ Nelson said with equal chagrin. ‘The cost of providing upgraded security for every member of every Dynasty was completely unrealistic. Far beyond writing off the investment costs in Merioneth.’
‘There’s more at stake here than money,’ an annoyed Christabel snapped.
‘I know that,’ Nelson said. ‘Of course, it won’t appear to be any kind of climb down. We wouldn’t allow that. We negotiated the terms of Isolation with the new Nationalist Party that sprung up on Merioneth. The terrorists stop their attacks, and in a couple of years we close the wormhole. They’ll be on their own. Forever.’
‘It’ll come back to bite you,’ Paula said. ‘You’ve shown your opponents a weakness. It can be used every time someone wants a concession out of a Dynasty.’
‘That was one of the reasons we agreed,’ Nelson said.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘We don’t have other opponents, not in this category. The Intersolar Commonwealth is a relatively civilized place. Sure we can all disagree with each other; politicians on half of the planets we’ve got aren’t speaking to the other half; but there’s only a tiny minority who want to leave, and an even smaller number who resort to violence to obtain their ends. This whole succession notion is ridiculous. An Isolated planet will never benefit from the advances the rest of us make. Their social and economic development will be stunted. Hell, Merioneth will probably regress. When we announce the wormhole is to be closed we’re expecting a lot of its ordinary residents will rush back to the Commonwealth before Isolation begins. Our analysts have reviewed this; they’re not sure Merioneth will even be able to maintain basic rejuvenation technology levels, not in the short-to-medium term. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live there. Bodyloss will become death again.’
‘And the Dynasties consider that a big plus point,’ Christabel reasoned. ‘Anyone who doesn’t like the Dynasties and what they represent will be free to emigrate to Merioneth.’
‘Then we slam the door shut behind them,’ Nelson said. ‘It’s a bolt-hole for malcontents the Commonwealth over. Everyone is better off afterwards.’
‘An old-fashioned pressure valve for hotheads,’ Paula muttered.
‘So the Dynasty leaders decided,’ he admitted. ‘It still galls me that the real culprits behind the attacks won’t be brought to justice. But that’s a political price, and it gets set far above our heads.’
The club was underneath a twenty-second-century retro-Napoleonic building on the Left Bank. It was chic enough, though there were far more expensive places in Paris, but aside from Christabel herself no one from the Serious Crimes Directorate office could afford an evening partying with the truly wealthy Grand Family members who colonized such establishments — and Christabel never pushed her heritage on anyone. Until tonight.
It was dark inside the annular vault, a gloom punctured by holographic blobs oscillating with naughty subliminal vibrations. Paula flinched as she walked down the stairs to the floor. The sound system was like a derated sonic weapon. Glass galleries enlivened by violet light ran round the high stone walls at two levels, linked by curving glass stairs. People thronged along them, Paris’s eternal clique of bohemians, wearing clothes of semiorganic fabric embossed with elaborate patterns that merged seamlessly into the vivid OCtattoos on their skin. It was hard to tell what was fabric and what was flesh. Feathers were the current merging trend, curving fronds longer than ostrich quills that sprouted from the spine. Six months ago it had been membrane petals. Several men displayed their plumage as Paula walked by, having it fan out on either side of their shoulders like wings. One was pure angel white, with a divine body to match. She smiled modestly and walked on, immune to such raffish peacocks.
Christabel was close to the bar inside the central circle of pillars, knocking back a tall glass of Ritz Pimm’s. Her lips were microlayered gold. Whenever a hologram floated across her they sparkled dazzlingly.
‘You made it!’ she shouted at Paula.
Paula snagged a glass from a waitress. ‘Cheers!’
‘Is he here?’
Paula shrugged, pretending not to understand. But there was a specific reason she was wearing a traditional little black dress with a semiorganic hem that swirled about of its own volition. In her newly youthful body it made her look hot, and she knew it. Several junior Investigators were staring in a way they’d never dare back at the office. ‘Congratulations,’ Paula said. ‘Traitor.’
Christabel laughed. ‘I’ve served my time. And I made Chief Investigator on merit alone. That’s what I needed. For myself if not the Dynasty.’
‘You’ll be a loss to the Directorate.’
Christabel leaned in a fraction. ‘The Dynasty is going to need me. Our entire concept of security is going to have to be revised thanks to our idiot founders giving in to Merioneth. I heard that everyone is now pouring funds into researching personal-sized force fields generators. And they’re all beefing up the defences on our private worlds.’
‘Typical. So am I allowed to ask what department you’re joining?’
‘Deputy-manager EdenBurg protection.’
‘Wow. Big field.’
‘Yeah. Give me a couple of decades and I’ll make it to chief of the division. After that…’ she trailed off and drained her glass.
‘You’ll be locking horns with Nelson.’
‘Nhaaa. He’s too smart. We’ll get on, at that level you have to.’
‘Speaking of which—’
‘Of course. We’ll dataswap. Happy to. Unless dear old grandma Heather actually kills someone — then I’ll be helping to cover her arse.’
‘It’s not your Dynasty’s founder I’m interested in.’
‘Oh?’ Christabel plucked another glass from the bar.
Paula thought she looked defensive.
‘That kind of thing never gets put in a file, as you well know. What are you looking for? We got Fiech, for God’s sake. Two and a half millennia in oblivion! It doesn’t get better than that.’
‘Why did he do it?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t understand his motivation.’
‘To liberate Merioneth from Dynasty oppression,’ Christabel recited viciously. ‘And the bastards won.’
‘Yes, they did, but Fiech didn’t. He was utterly committed to his cause: so much so that he perpetrates one of the worst atrocities in modern history. One which almost killed his precious movement stone dead. People were repelled by what he did, even his old colleagues realized that was too much, which is why they quickly got professional. That’s how they won. Continuing to wipe out the Dynasty kids and keep bystander bodyloss to an absolute minimum was smart. It bought pressure to bear exactly where it was needed. Yet Fiech will never see the end result, he’ll never live on his free, liberated Merioneth. Motivated people simply don’t commit suicide, which is effectively what he’s done. By the time he comes out of suspension, the Commonwealth won’t be recognizable, even if it still exists. Damnit, we’ll probably all be post-physical by then. He’s sacrificed himself for something he’ll never know. That does not make any sense.’
‘Fanatics never make any real sense to anyone except themselves. Don’t look for logic here, you’ll only be
