Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

“Yeah. It’s almost too easy to write everything off on to one masterspy. But the evidence is pretty strong. Who knows? And now I think about it, this whole giga-conductor thing adds a new dimension to the memox-spoiler operation. Kendric was more than likely after the patent the whole while, that was the asset he really wanted to strip.”

“That’s what I thought. But I couldn’t tell you at the time. Sorry.”

“No problem. I didn’t need to know. Tell me, exactly when did Dr Ranasfari crack the giga-conductor?”

“Tenth of November.” She didn’t have to query the nodes, the date was ingrained. The last time she’d seen Grandpa really happy.

He sat slowly on an old monk’s bench, thinking hard. She hovered, agitated. Wanting to know what he was mulling over, unwilling to interrupt. The hall’s silence amplified every sound as she fidgeted.

“Half-way through the memox spoiler,” Greg mused. “So it had already been working for a few months. The thing is, if the mole, or whoever, had already breached the security cordon around Ranasfari, then it’s odds on that it was Kendric, or Kendric got word of it. Pirate data traffic is his speciality, after all. Tell me, would he have known in advance that Ranasfari was going to crack the giga-conductor? What I mean is, was the breakthrough sudden?”

“Not really. Ranasfari has been working on the project for a decade, he was confident of a positive result for almost a year beforehand. Then he produced a cryogenic giga-conductor last May. A room-temperature version was only a matter of time after that; a lightware cruncher problem, solving the chemical make-up, rather than any revelation in fundamental physics.”

“Yeah, I figured something along those lines. You see, ten years is a hell of a long time to keep something hushed up. If the mole informed Kendric about the cryogenic prototype, then he would have had time to organize the memox crystal Spoiler. The dates certainly fit.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“Not sure.”

“Why?”

“If Kendric knew about the giga-conductor, why did he authorize your buyout of the di Girolamo house?”

“I told you, I blackmailed him.”

“A couple of billion Eurofrancs each year, that’s what your grandfather said the giga-conductor royalty licence bring in, is that right?”

“Yah, in fact it’s a conservative estimate.”

“So answer me this: with an eight per cent stake in Event Horizon, which you could never legally make him give up, why should Kendric worry about his family house being dragged through the mud? In fact, you would’ve looked pretty bloody silly if he hadn’t knuckled under; exposing one of your own financial backers as a shark, then still having to cut them in on a share of your giga-conductor profits.”

The nodes turned the problem into neat packages of equations for her. Greg and the hall slipped away as she pushed them through a logic matrix. They began to develop a life of their own, the channels unable to confine them, twisting out of alignment. The instability began to absorb more and more of the nodes’ processing power. She scrambled to maintain cohesion, loosening the parameters, adding additional channels. But her mind originated nothing ingenious enough to halt the imminent collapse. She observed helplessly as the channels wound in on themselves, constricting in ever-tighter curves, sealing the data packages in closed loops.

The bioware-generated edifice crumpled beyond salvation. Her imagination invested the scene with sound. From a vast distance she could hear a cathedral of glass slowly toppling over.

“Kendric couldn’t have known about the giga-conductor,” she said finally.

“You reckon?”

“Yah. No. Not really. It’s a paradox, you see, he must’ve known, yet he couldn’t have.”

“That’s the way I see it.” He seemed ridiculously cheerful. “Know what we’re going to do about it, Julia?”

“What?”

“Put Kendric at the top of the suspect list, then forget about him. Concentrate on tracking down the source of the leaks. When I’ve done that I’ll see where they lead. Then we might begin to understand the game he’s playing.”

She wasn’t certain any more. Problems should be logical, solutions readily available. The pride she’d possessed in her own ability was dented: the nodes had always been a bulwark in her defence against other people, elevating her soul. No matter appearances and social awkwardness, she knew she was superior. Now this. Unable to provide her with an answer for the first time. And it was an answer which was utterly critical.

But Greg didn’t seem unduly bothered, which gave her a certain degree of confidence. The guilt that this might have been all her fault was dissipating. What more had she been expecting from him?

He rose from the black-polished bench. “Couple of days, week at the most, and it’ll all be over, no messing. You can look back and laugh.”

“Thank you, Greg.”

“You haven’t seen the bill yet. Walk me to the car? I might get lost otherwise; normally when I’m in buildings this size there are hordes of other people queuing to catch their trains.”

She laughed. A joke. He was joking with her. Then her father came into the hall, and the sudden bud of joy was crushed as though it’d never been.

Dillan Evans was wearing jeans and a baggy brown sweater which was fraying at the end of the sleeves. He was walking with a drunkard’s hesitancy, taking care that his feet only trod on the black tiles.

“Hello, Daddy,” Julia said quietly.

He nodded absently at her, and looked Greg up and down with bleary eyes.

Julia felt like weeping. It was bad enough witnessing her father’s state in private, having it exposed like this only exacerbated the pain.

She watched in dismay as he straightened up ponderously. “Bit old for her, aren’t you?” he said to Greg.

“Daddy, don’t, please,” her voice had become high, Strained. She caught Greg’s eye, a tiny motion of her head telling him to say nothing. Please. He inclined his head discreetly, thank God.

Dillan grunted roughly. “Out of the way, don’t embarrass us, keep out of sight, keep your mouth shut, never know what might come out. Want me to shut up, Julie? Is that it? Want your father to keep his dirty mouth closed. Afraid of what the old fool will say? I’m only looking after your welfare. I’ve got a right to meet my little girl’s men friends.”

“Greg is not a boyfriend, Daddy. He’s someone who works for us.”

“Work, eh?” A crafty expression twisted’ his vacant face. “Been up to see the old bastard, have you?”

“What?” Julia blurted, alarmed.

“The old bastard. Up there in the study.”

“Grandpa’s dead, Daddy. You watched the funeral on the channel,” she enunciated with slow deliberation, as though she was explaining a particularly difficult fact to a small child.

“Oh, Julie, Julie. How you hate me, a disgrace, a failure as a father. Beneath contempt. Written off. Well I’m an Evans, too, don’t forget. A mighty Evans. I see things, I listen to what’s going on. I know,” He started up the stairs, clinging tightly to the banister rail. His foot slipped, nearly sending him tumbling. He looked round at her mute face staring up at him. “I could have done it. If he’d given me the chance, I could’ve run the company. Bastard never gave me the chance. He did this to me, his own son! Not you, though, Julie; everybody loves you. He does, I do. Everybody does.” The words spluttered into incoherence. He glanced round nervously, suddenly confused as to where he was, what he’d been saying. His hand pulled hard at the banister, starting himself off on the climb again. He began muttering fractured words as he went.