Peter Hamilton - Misspent Youth

It was a good strategy, he congratulated himself; with so many other people included, Annabelle wouldn’t feel pressured at all. This was nothing like asking her for a date. By midmorning, though, he still hadn’t decided how he should go about cooling things with Zai. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to. Normally girls finished with him, an inevitable conclusion to his relationships which he greeted with grudging acceptance. But he and Zai were actually getting on pretty well right now. At the end of Saturday’s party, loaded on beer and synth8, they’d got down to some serious seminaked making out. He just knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they had full sex.

Sunday morning had been spent avtxting long silly messages to each other before she caught the bus to Empingham and had lunch at the house with him and his mother. Afternoon had been a lazy time around the swimming pool, followed by watching some pre10 movies on the five-meter wallscreen in the lounge.

To be honest, he’d never had a girlfriend as good as Zai before. Everything was chugging along perfectly. His excitement over Annabelle actually agreeing to tag along that afternoon was subdued by the constant feeling of guilt. Zai didn’t deserve to be treated like this. To be given the elbow when things were on the upswing must be terrible. It was the deliberate infliction of pain. He could barely believe himself capable of such a thing. It was horrid, as if some part of Simon’s character were transfusing into him.

Tim sat with Martin and Colin at lunch. The three of them wrapped up discussing their Jet Ski project. It was an old machine that they were renovating ready for summer in the hope of having some serious fun with it on the lakes at Tallington.

“So did you forget?”

Zai’s voice made Tim wince instinctively. He risked looking up to see her standing at the side of his table holding her lunch tray; her friends Rachel and Sophie were beside her. Too late, Tim remembered he’d avtxted an invite to Sophie for this afternoon.

“Forget?” he asked.

“Your little swimming club.”

“Well, I just thought you’d be coming.”

“You asked Annabelle, didn’t you.”

Tim glanced around. People were looking at the scene; conversation in the dining hall was drying up. “What?”

“They haven’t split up twenty-four hours and you ask her out. You piece of shit.”

“I haven’t…”

“What did you think, having a whole load of people there doesn’t make it a date?”

Tim wouldn’t have thought it possible for his body to get any hotter, but it did. His skin must be neon red.

“You didn’t even have the courage to break up with me first. Were you going to avtxt me? Is that how you tell people it’s over?”

“I was… this… it’s not…”

Zai sneered at him. “I’d say go screw yourself. Except you can’t, can you, midget dick.” She turned around and walked away. Rachel and Sophie shot him derisory looks, and followed.

There was a lot of sniggering coming from the surrounding tables. Tim wished she’d just tipped her tray of food over him instead. It would have been less humiliating.

“Wow,” Martin exclaimed. “Two-timing Tim. I’m impressed.”

“I wasn’t…” Tim began limply.

Colin gave Tim a hearty slap on his shoulder. “You are full of surprises. Did you try and get the two of them into bed together? Is that why she’s so pissed off?”

“No! Look, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Honest.”

“You sly old sod,” Martin said. “You just need a better date organizer program, that’s all. Keep them separated better.”

Tim groaned and gave up.

SUE BAKER STOOD beside the bedroom’s tall veranda window, watching the Europol technical security team wandering across the lawn. A gloomy February sky was drizzling solidly. In their navy-blue rain jackets, the police team seemed almost immune to the conditions. They carried on positioning slender high-technology poles around the edge of the garden, heedless of the mud and water. Another team was doing the same thing in the sloping paddock beyond; wearing waders, two of them were walking along the flooded stream that made up one side of the field. She knew there was a third group out there somewhere, sweeping through the woods on the far slope.

They’d arrived earlier that morning in a small fleet of clean new-model BMW 25 series, which were now parked on the gravel drive at the front of the manor. That alone informed the locals that this was a Europol contingent. Rutland’s police had only about ten cars to cover the entire county, and most of them were over five years old.

“So what exactly are they doing out there?” she asked.

“Establishing a sensor perimeter,” Lieutenant Krober said politely. It was the third time he’d explained the team’s function today. Sue knew he must think her an idiot, but she’d never understood technical matters. A wonderful irony for the assured, courteous German officer to ponder: that the wife of Jeff Baker couldn’t change her own lightbulbs without puzzling over the instructions. She was eternally grateful that today’s computers were all voice active, you could just tell them what to do and they got on with it. Back in 2009, when she started at secondary school, all the operating programs still used keyboards and mouse pads; she’d never really got the hang of them. Not that it had mattered; she’d left school behind at fourteen when the modeling agency signed her up. You didn’t need to be a qualified nerd to look hot on the runway.

“We do have a security system,” she said. “A very good one.” From the outside, the manor certainly looked as if it might have been built in the eighteenth century, but the oldest thing in the house was probably Jeff. It had been designed after the turn of the millennium, and incorporated every modern domestic device, as well as being energy sufficient with its solar-panel roofing and underground heat pumps.

“Yes ma’am,” Krober said. “But we are concerned about more than just ordinary burglars. Your husband’s treatment will be likely to attract interest from a number of groups, not least the Separatists. Our system will allow us to spot any potential intruders before they get near the house. We can respond more effectively that way.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re very effective.” She supposed it was inevitable Jeff would gain the attention of the Separatists, whom everyone knew were linked to the English Independence Council paramilitaries. Nationalist movements were picking up huge support right across Europe as the federal government’s heavy-handed restrictions and unwelcome taxes continued to erode the independence of the old nations in the name of unification and the social progress it was supposed to bring. And Jeff was the product of a massive Brussels commitment to the biogenetic industries—a symbol of federal success, that government did know best. A threat against him would be equally symbolic, especially one that succeeded. One of the EIC’s loudest boasts was how they were far more ruthless than the IRA had ever been. The idea made her shiver.

“Three of our officers will remain on duty at the house at all times,” Krober said. “Our team has taken out rooms at the White Horse in the village. With that as our permanent base station, the majority of us are just two minutes away in an emergency. And a female officer will accompany you when you leave home.”

“No.” Sue turned from the veranda door to face Krober. He was a handsome man, with dark brown hair cut in a severe, almost military style. His age was probably late twenties, she thought, certainly no more than thirty. In any other circumstances she would have welcomed his presence at the manor; flirting with him would have been most enjoyable. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, not that it would have bothered her. “I don’t want that.”