“However unpleasant it is to acknowledge, Senator,” Rafael said, “the Commonwealth has a large criminal fraternity. That is why the original Intersolar Serious Crimes Directorate was formed. If you don’t believe me, then feel free to ask Investigator Myo. Or you might like to consider why Senate Security exists. We have enough problems with genuine threats to the Commonwealth. We really don’t need to invent new ones.”
“Admiral, are you warning me off?”
“I’m advising you that your current actions are inappropriate at this difficult time. Right now we need to pull together and fight our very real enemy.”
“The navy has my full support, and will continue to receive it.”
“Thank you, Senator. One last thing. The McFoster terrorist was on some kind of courier mission. We didn’t find what he was carrying.”
She cocked her head to one side, and gave him a blank smile. “Isn’t that unusual?”
“Very, Senator. I was wondering if you saw anything while you accompanied him?”
“No.”
“Are you certain, Senator?”
“I never saw what he was carrying. If he was.”
“I see.” Columbia’s gaze never flickered. “We will find it eventually, you know.”
“You didn’t find the assassin afterward, did you?” It was a childish gibe, but Justine enjoyed it anyway, especially the way Columbia’s neck reddened slightly above his uniform collar.
Gore Burnelli and Paula Myo were talking on the worn leather sofa when Justine returned to her day room. Her father’s plain gold face reflected dapples of light that glinted on the pillars and floor, flowing around with any tiny movement he made. Justine activated the screening as she came in, cutting off the daylight.
“That McFoster boy made you soft and sentimental,” Gore said as soon as they were secure. “You should have kicked Columbia’s ass right into fucking orbit. In the old days you’d have eaten him for breakfast. I can’t believe any daughter of mine has turned into such a goddamned liberal wimp. ”
“These are the new days, Father,” Justine said calmly. “And I’m not the one out of place and time.” Inside she was seething that he’d say such a thing anywhere, let alone in front of the Investigator. Even Paula Myo, usually so composed, looked uncomfortable at Gore’s outburst.
“Just telling you the way it is, girl. If your dead boyfriend is fucking with your emotions you should get your memory of him wiped out of your brain. I can’t afford you to be weak, not now.”
“I’ll certainly consider eliminating anything I find distasteful from my life.” She sometimes wondered if Gore was still human enough to remember and understand a concept like love, there had been so many adaptations made to his body.
“That’s more like it,” he said, chuckling. “You know Columbia is going to come at you six ways from hell after the LA Galactic screwup? He wants Paula here out of the picture permanently, and while he’s at it he’d like the Senate to turn into a nice little Soviet parliament, voting for him unanimously every time.”
“It’s not Columbia you have to worry about,” Paula said.
Justine and Gore broke off their little contest of wills to look at the Investigator.
“I believe I know the real reason Thompson was killed.”
“And you haven’t fucking told me?” Gore snapped.
“For almost the entire time I was in the Directorate I lobbied for all the goods shipped to Far Away to be examined by police-style inspectors. It was blocked by the Executive every time, until Thompson rammed the proposal through for me.”
“And the Starflyer killed him for it,” Gore said. “We knew that.”
“Just before he was killed, Thompson called me. He said he’d found out who had been blocking my requests. Nigel Sheldon.”
“That can’t be right,” Justine said automatically. “Sheldon made the whole Commonwealth possible. He’s not going to try to undermine it.”
“Not voluntarily,” Gore said. Even with his golden skin making any normal expression impossible, it was obvious the notion troubled him. “But as I understand it, Bradley Johansson always claimed he was enslaved by the alien.”
“I’ve replayed the recording of Kazimir’s last minute in the Carralvo terminal several times now,” Paula said. “He appeared to know the assassin. In fact, he was delighted to see him. It was almost as if they were old friends.”
“No.” Justine shook her head, rejecting the whole idea. “I can’t believe anybody could get to Sheldon. The security our family has around us and at our rejuvenation facilities is phenomenal. Sheldon’s will be even stronger.”
“The Guardians claimed that President Doi was working for the Starflyer,” Paula said.
“And what a load of crap that was.” Gore grunted. “If this Starflyer bastard can cut through Senate Security and Sheldon’s protection, it wouldn’t need to skulk about in the shadows; it’d already be our Fuhrer.”
“Then why was your son killed?” Paula asked. “Just for implementing the cargo searches? Or because he uncovered the connection?”
“All right,” Gore said reluctantly. “Assume Thompson came across some information which made him believe it. Did he say who gave him Sheldon’s name?”
“No. He said the whole area was very unclear, it was politics at the highest level.”
“Politics doesn’t have a high level,” Gore muttered; he turned to Justine.
“This is down to you. We need to find out where Thompson got his information from.”
“Dad, I don’t have anything like his contacts in the Senate.”
“Jesus Christ, will you stop selling yourself short, girl? If I want to hear whining that pitiful I’ll visit a human rights lawyer on Orleans.”
She threw up her hands. “Fine, I’ll go blundering around shouting out questions in a loud voice, and see if anyone comes to take a shot at me.”
“More like it,” Gore said, his metallic lips lifting in an approximation of a smile.
“To what end?” Paula asked.
“What do you mean, what fucking end?”
“What will you do if the Senator confirms it was Sheldon who has been blocking my requests?”
“If it’s true, we’ll need to go to his senior family members and show them what’s happened. I expect they’ll have him re-lifed and updated from a secure memory store that predates his corruption—whenever that was.”
“Do you think the Sheldon family will support you?”
“They can’t all be Starflyer agents.”
“Indeed not. But how will we know which are?”
“We’re being very premature,” Justine said. “Let’s try and establish what we suspect first. After that, we should have a clearer picture of what to do.”
“We also need to create some reliable alliances,” Gore said. “A kind of political resistance network to counter the Starflyer’s influence. I’ll make a start on that.”
“Watch out for Columbia,” Paula said. “Now he’s aware you’re my sponsor, he’ll be gunning for your family as well. And his political influence is growing. Societies make a lot of shortcuts during wartime; as admiral in charge of domestic defense he’ll be able to issue orders that would never be countenanced in peacetime.”
“Don’t you worry yourself about that. Hell would have to freeze over for a long time before some Halgarth stooge outsmarts me.”
***
The little Boeing 44044 VTOL plane landed on the observatory pad amid a swirl of air from its electric jets, which stirred up quite a storm of sandy ocher soil and filthy ice granules. It fell away quickly as the fans slowed, and the flight attendant opened the hatch. Renne felt her ears pop as the pressure dropped abruptly. They were five thousand meters up in the western side of the Andes, just north of Sandia, with the rugged mountains forming a magnificent snowcapped vista all around her. Renne immediately felt short of breath, and sucked down a huge lungful of air. It made no difference at all. She got up out of the seat and scuttled forward, zipping up her coat over her thick sweater. The light outside was bright enough to make her pause at the top of the air stairs and put on her sunglasses. In the treacherously thin air, her breath formed little white streamers in front of her face.
Two officers from the Lima office of navy intelligence were waiting for her on the ground, wearing dark green jackets that looked more like space suits than severe weather gear. Getting down the five aluminum steps left her gasping for oxygen.
One of the men came forward and extended his arm. “Lieutenant Kampasa, welcome to Antina Station. I’m Phil Mandia. I was part of the team boxing McFoster on his way up here.”
“Great,” she wheezed. She could barely make out his face behind a protective amber-tinted goggle mask. Her heart was hammering away hard inside her chest. They had to walk very slowly over to the observatory buildings, a line of squat boxes made from dark plastic, with windows like portholes. Only one had any lights on inside. The three main radio telescope dishes were sitting on the big rocky field behind the buildings, huge white saucers balanced on improbably thin spires of metal. As she watched, one of them turned slightly, tracking along the northern skyline.
“How’s my prisoner behaving?” she asked.
“Cufflin? He claims he knows next to nothing, that he was on some security contract from an anonymous agent. For what it’s worth, I believe him.”
“We’ll know for sure once I take him back to Paris.”
“What are you going to do, read his memories?”
“Yes.”
Even with his face shielded by the mask, Phil Mandia’s grimace of disapproval was quite blatant.
Renne’s feet started crunching on the icy rime that bristled over the soil. There didn’t seem to be any plants anywhere, not even tufts of grass. She had to be careful where she trod; the ground was creased with deep tire ruts that had frozen solid. The aging yellow-painted vehicles that had made them were parked outside around the buildings, looking like a disreputable crossbreed between tractors and snowplows. A pair of new maroon Honda four-by-fours were drawn up beside them, sides splattered with thick brown mud.
“You came in those?” Renne asked.
“Yeah.” Phil Mandia nodded at the single bleak road winding away from the observatory. “It was a brute of a drive up here.”
“How the hell did you manage to avoid being seen by McFoster?”
“With difficulty.”
