Peter Hamilton - Pandora's Star

“Give the kid a break,” Marty complained. “He’s having a ball. And your pool’s only—what—a meter deep. That’s not going to tire him out.”

“One point five.” Mark gulped down some of the beer. It was an imported brand he didn’t recognize. He sighed and settled back into the sunlounger. That was when he noticed the girl sitting in the chair behind Marty. She was wearing a bikini top and some tight shorts, showing off a trim, tanned teenage body. “Hi, I’m Amanda.”

“Oh, hi.” Mark couldn’t help the glance he gave his father.

“My new girl,” Marty crowed loudly. His arm went around her, and she giggled.

“Great,” Mark said. “So how long have you two, er…”

“Ten days,” Marty said gleefully. “But mostly ten nights.”

Amanda giggled again.

Mark’s smile was fixed. He knew what was coming now.

“We met up in the Silent World down at New Frisco Bay. Turns out we had a lot of things in common, and… hey!”

One thing in common,Mark corrected silently and sullenly. He couldn’t believe his father had done this. Silent World was a Commonwealth-wide franchise. It was the club that all the newly rejuvenated visited. Frequently, in the first few months after leaving the clinic. They went for just one thing: sex. It didn’t matter with whom, just someone equally horny from their beautiful, youthful new body’s deluge of hormones. There was only one rule, whatever happened inside, stayed inside. You could fuck your worst enemy, or your ex, or your ex’s younger sibling or parent, or the most glamorous unisphere celeb—it didn’t matter, because it didn’t count back outside the doors, it didn’t get mentioned, it simply never happened. And Marty had gone and brought her to a family evening.

David turned up ten minutes later, Liz’s forty-five-year-old son, an accountant working in AEC’s export credit division. Then there was Kyle, Mark’s older brother (by a hundred fifteen years), and Antonio, his boyfriend; Joanne, one of Liz’s mother’s great-granddaughters. Finally, Carys Panther arrived, Marty’s older sister, driving up in a Merc coupe and wearing a thousand-dollar “casual” dress from Jacvins. Mark was glad she had found the time to come; Carys was the one multi-lifer apart from Liz who always made him feel comfortable. She was also the most glamorous person he knew. When she did work, Carys designed dramas that were occasionally made into TSIs by various media conglomerates. They tended to be pretty raunchy.

As Regulus fell toward the horizon, they ordered Barry out of the pool and fired up the barbecue grill. Carys accepted a glass of white wine from the maidbot and fussed over Barry, helping him dry himself. Barry responded with true puppy-love devotion, showing her his new collection of dead nipbugs; he really adored his aunt Carys.

Mark stood beside the barbecue, turning the burgers and sausages himself. The gardenbot had an attachment for it, but he never did trust an array’s judgment when it came to cooking.

“You should cut some of these damn eucalyptus trees back,” Marty told him, standing at his shoulder. “That solarbrick isn’t getting enough sun on it during the day, look. It should be a lot hotter than that.”

Mark looked down at the thick slab below the barbecue’s grill, which was glowing a weak cherry-pink. Little flames flared briefly as the meat dripped juices down through the grill. “Looks fine to me, and it’s hot enough.”

“It won’t last, I’ve got experience with these things.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Marty,” Kyle called out. “Sit down and leave the kid alone, for Christ’s sake.”

Every time his relatives came around the same thing happened. A lot of the time, Mark felt as if he were a child allowed to listen to adult conversation, laughing when the others did and not understanding why.

“Just trying to help,” Marty grumbled as he backed off.

“Next family evening is around at my place,” David announced. “I thought we could have it on the eighteenth, that’s when we play our next cup round.”

“I’m on for that,” Marty said. “You know I nearly had a trial once, when I was first-life eighteen. Newby City.”

“Wrong,” Carys said. “You are a trial, Marty, not you had a trial.”

Marty made a gesture, to which she laughingly covered Barry’s eyes.

“I can’t believe we’ve got this far,” Kyle said. “We only need, what? A win and a draw to go through to the second round.”

“We’ll get the win against Sterling, no problem,” David said. “But we’ll be struggling to get a draw against Teleba, they’re football mad.”

Antonio groaned theatrically, and put his hand to his head. “How long does this go on for?”

“Another seven and a half months,” Kyle told him cheerfully. “And I’m going to the stadium on Tampico to see our last group one game.”

“By yourself,” Antonio muttered.

“Twenty-five percent of us called in sick when the last game was on,” Joanne said. “The Cup has really taken off this time around; you couldn’t get into a bar anywhere in New Costa they were so crowded. I don’t remember everyone getting so excited last time.”

“Wonder if the new aliens will want to play,” Liz said.

“And what a goddamn waste of time and money that is,” Marty complained.

“Hardly,” David said. “We need to know what’s going on out there.”

“Wenton out there,” Marty said. “It all happened thousands of years ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t relevant now,” Carys said. “The envelopment barrier is still in place around both Dyson stars.”

“You’re sounding like that Guardian shotgun,” David said.

“Don’t tell me you watched it, Marty?” Carys taunted. “Didn’t you realize what it was?”

“Course I goddamn well realized,” Marty shot back. “Only an asshole wouldn’t recognize a shotgun. I saw the highlights on Alessandra Baron’s show, is all.”

Mark turned the sausages, keeping quiet. He hadn’t realized the message from April Halgarth was a shotgun propaganda blast until he opened it; and even then he’d let it play. The Guardians had made a great deal of sense. Why hadn’t there been a vote in the Senate?

“So if it comes from Alessandra, it’s acceptable is it?” Carys asked.

“Who cares who says it,” Marty said. “They’re both right. It doesn’t affect us, and it’s certainly something beyond us at the moment. We should take our time and reach the Dyson Pair as we expand naturally, not pull off this crazy Apollo stunt.”

Mark flipped the burgers again. Regulus had finally sunk below the horizon, allowing the stars to come out. Brightest among them were the Leo twins, a single glowing orange dot in the eastern sky. He could see them through the leaves of the eucalyptus trees as they swayed quietly. Some nights he’d sit out on the decking with a drink, just staring up at the canopy of stars twinkling above the megacity. They were the physical proof that people did live elsewhere, and live differently. Seeing that made life on Augusta that fraction more bearable. “They put my promotion off again,” he said.

“Oh, Mark, I’m sorry,” Carys said. “I know you wanted that.”

“Tough break, son,” Marty said. “But you’ve got to serve aces the whole time to get by on this planet. And don’t try and change the subject that quickly. The goddamn starship is a waste of money.”

“The point, Dad, is that I didn’t get promoted because the company’s market isn’t growing the way economists predicted. The new factory’s on hold, investment is minimal right now, and not just with us. Phase three space isn’t growing anything like phase two did at the start. We’re not expanding like we used to; the Commonwealth is too stable these days. Population growth is down even with womb tanks; it’s certainly not enough to provide a base population for a couple of new planets every year like we have been doing. We’re too civilized and measured. At this rate we’d never reach the Dyson Pair if all we do is wait around for CST to open wormholes in phase twenty space, or whatever.”