Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

He swivelled round to look enquiringly at Walshaw.

“I have never told anybody that Philip Evans’s memories are intact, nor that Event Horizon has perfected a giga-conductor,” the security chief said formally. True.

“Aren’t you going to ask me, boy?”

Julia was suddenly very alert, giving Greg an intent stare, her mind coloured by a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation.

The hairs along the back of Greg’s neck pricked up. He concentrated. Right at the edge of perception was a faint nebulous glow. Details were non-existent. Half-life? Half-death? Not a mind as he knew minds. And yet, and yet.

“No,” he said eventually.

“Ah well, worth a try.” The disembodied voice was utterly devoid of emotional content.

The study window showed green grass and blue sky. Reality. Greg focused on that. A flock of dark birds flew by. Infinitely reassuring in their normality. “We’ve got four lines of investigation,” he summarized. “The hotrod pack which launched the blitz, the team which built the NN core, Ranasfari’s giga-conductor research team, and a possible executive-level mole; that’s a lot of ground for me to cover. I’m going to need money, not to mention help. There’s a colleague I’d like to bring in, spread the load a little.”

Walshaw produced a card from his pocket, embossed with the company’s triangle and flying V emblem. “This will give you unlimited access to any Event Horizon facility, it also provides you a credit line direct to the company’s central account. Please try not to spend more than half a million.”

The little oblong of active plastic sat in Greg’s palm, innocuous. Half a million. Eurofrancs or New Sterling? He didn’t ask. These people were serious.

“Who’s your colleague?” Julia asked, her face lifted with interest.

“Another psychic; a Mindstar veteran like myself.”

“What’s his speciality?”

“Her. Her speciality. She can see into the future.”

She didn’t call him a liar to his face, but his espersense told him it was a close-run thing.

Julia closed the study door behind her, looking round in sudden desperation. She couldn’t let Greg go without at least trying to explain. Damn Grandpa for blabbing like that. When he was alive in the flesh he would never have said anything to hurt her.

He was walking down the stairs, head just visible bobbing above the railing.

“Greg! Wait.”

He turned round, paused. She ran along the landing, ankle-length skirt flapping round her legs.

Standing in front of him, her resolution wavered. What did he actually think of her? There’d never been any thank-you card for the van of gear she’d sent to his home. But would someone like Greg even think about thank-you cards? Damn that bloody Swiss snob school. It’d distorted her perspective on real life. As if anyone else ever bothered about Debrett’s Etiquette in this day and age, let alone treated it as a bible.

He was watching her with quizzical respect. But was it bought respect? Oh hell. She searched his face for a hint of sympathy, any sign of that brilliant moment when they seemed to think as one. “They didn’t alter me, you know.” There, she’d gone and said it, betrayed her insecurities. Would he laugh?

“What didn’t?” Greg asked.

She blinked, that wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.

“The bioware nodes. People think they turn you into some kind of mental freak. But it’s just like having an encyclopedia on permanent call, that’s all. I’m a total whiz at general knowledge questions.” She flashed a bright entreating smile.

“Of all the people in the world, I’m the least likely to be prejudiced against you.”

“Oh…yah,” she knew her cheeks would be reddening. God, how stupid. She was making a complete fool of herself. Why couldn’t conversation flow from her lips? Kats never had the slightest trouble talking to men, no matter what she said they’d smile and agree. “What’s it like? I wanted a gland. But Grandpa said no.”

“I’m glad he did,” Greg said gently. “The price is far too high. Take my case. I have to steel myself against people, build a high wall to shut them out. Every mind is awash with fears and intolerance and fright, all the human failings. We school ourselves to hide them from showing in our voices and expressions, but to me it’s an open book. I’d drown in it if I let my guard down. And there’s the pain, too. Actual physical pain from the neurohormones, it can cripple me if I don’t keep a firm control over the secretion levels.”

Commit GregTime#Three. Nobody else was ever this honest with her about themselves. It must mean he felt something, even if it was only a variant of parental concern. “Why don’t you have it taken out, if it’s that bad?”

“I’m a psi-junkie, Julia. I couldn’t give up the gland any more than you could give up eyes. Once it’s in, you’re hooked. But if I was living my life again I’d run a million miles rather than have a gland.”

She nodded with earnest sympathy. “I didn’t realize. I thought one might help me run Event Horizon, show me who was disloyal. I took the assessment tests and came out esp positive. Grandpa was furious.”

“You’d be spreading yourself too thin. Run with what you’ve got, Julia. Event Horizon is going to demand every scrap of your attention. You can always hire specialists like me to combat specific problems.”

“But how do I know who to trust?” she whispered insistently.

His fingers found her chin, tilting her head up. “That’s everybody’s problem, Julia, not just yours. It’s an unending question. People change, someone who you could entrust with the crown jewels one day will sell out for a pound the next. You want my advice? Put your faith in Morgan Walshaw. Strange as it may sound, people like that need someone to work for. So long as you don’t evolve into some kind of irresponsible playgirl he’ll remain loyal.”

She pulled a face. “Morgan? God!”

“Just remember, loyalty doesn’t mean slavish obedience. If he disagrees with you on some issue he won’t be doing it simply to spite you. Ask him to explain his reasons, and listen to the answer.”

“You’re worse than Grandpa,” she moaned.

“Life’s a bitch, then you die. No messing.” He grinned, and started down the stairs again.

She walked in silence with him until they reached the hall. The air was cooler in the big vaulting chamber, its black and white marble tiles drawing away April’s dry heat.

“Greg…there’s something else.”

“Hey, what am I, your confessor?”

“No, this is about the blitz.” She knew he’d changed, hardening somehow. It was like she’d spoken a codeword, switching his mind from levity to total attention.

She started to tell him about Kendric, the buyout, her threat; speaking rationally, without rancour. And doing it that way made her mortified by how petty she sounded. What was it Kendric had said? Schoolgirl temper-tantrum.

“I couldn’t let him go unpunished,” she said. “He set out to destroy everything Grandpa spent fifty years of his life building, not to mention my future.”

Greg looked troubled, staring at one of the Turner landscapes without seeing it.

“Do you think I was right?” she asked nervously.

“Yeah, probably. I’d have done the same, I think.”

“So the blitz might have been Kendric’s vendetta against Grandpa and me? Nothing to do with the giga-conductor.”

“Could be. But I think it’s reasonable to assume Kendric is involved up to his neck; he’s certainly my first choice. This possible mole implicates him directly.”

“You keep calling him “possible”.”