Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

There was a long pause. “You can’t get to Boongate,” the Admiral said. “This is classified, but the wormholes to the Second48 will not be reopened. The War Cabinet decided we cannot risk a stampede back into the Commonwealth. Those populations must go into the future.”

“You have the authority, sir. You can get CST to open the Boongate wormhole for us. My team and I will stay on Boongate afterward and go into the future with the rest of the population. But we must get there before the evacuation. We must establish the Starflyer’s intent. The navy needs to know. Surely you must see that?”

“You really believe it, don’t you?”

“We all do, sir.”

“Very well, Hogan, if this is to happen it doesn’t get put in the files until there’s a successful conclusion. Nonnegotiable.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good. Put your arrest team together and get over to Wessex. I’ll see what I can do at this end.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, Hogan, if you’re wrong, stay on Boongate. There will be no future for you, not anywhere at any time. Understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

***

Mellanie walked down the mansion’s broad corridor with her black lacy robe flowing out behind her. The sculpted swan wall lights were turned down to a rouge glimmer, deepening the shadows between the arches. It was two o’clock in the morning, and no one else was about.

Guilt at what she was doing only made it more exciting. Morton hadn’t stirred when she left their room. Randtown had left him more tired than he was willing to admit.

The door opened before she even tapped on it. Nigel was standing there, dressed in a loosely tied emerald bathrobe. The greedy smile on his face was one she’d seen on men countless times before—she’d thought it might be different with him. He took her hand, and hurriedly pulled her into the bedroom.

“What—” she began.

“I wouldn’t want my wives to get jealous,” he murmured as he gave the corridor a theatrical check before closing the door.

“They’re not, so don’t pretend they are.”

“Okay.” He was pressed up against her, hands removing her gown. His mouth moved to hers.

Mellanie planted a hand on his chest and pushed them apart. “Are you going to say hello, first?”

“Don’t play the Victorian bride. You came to me.” He grinned, and walked over to the huge bed. “Now come here.” He patted the furry mattress, which rippled sluggishly.

“What is this, your main orgy room?” she asked archly.

“It would be your room.”

She gave the classic white and purple décor an appreciative glance as she went over to sit beside him. “Nice, I guess.”

“Course, we’d have orgies in it. Seriously.”

She had to laugh, he was so outrageous, and honest. “Yes, I know. I met Aurelie earlier. Talk about making a girl feel inferior. And she didn’t even need reprofiling to look like that.”

“You see, you even like my other wives. What more of an incentive do you need?” His hand slipped off one of her negligée’s shoulder straps and moved down to the exposed breast.

“This is very flattering, Nigel.”

“I want it to be pleasurable, not flattering.”

Mellanie moaned hungrily. He’d got her other shoulder strap off; the negligée crumpled around her waist. His hands knew exactly how to move over her skin, the way she had to spend forever teaching other men. “It already is,” she confessed.

“So say yes.”

“No. Ahha.” She actually felt her body shake from the gentle pressure his fingers applied. It wasn’t a response she could control.

Nigel lowered her down on the mattress, then unfastened his toweling gown.

Mellanie giggled. “Nigel!”

“What did you expect?” he asked modestly. “I am the ruler of the galaxy, after all.”

“God, a man who altered his cock to match his ego.”

He grinned. “What makes you think I had it altered?”

Mellanie’s giggles returned big time. “I take it back, your ego is bigger.”

“Turn over.”

“Why?”

“Massage. To start with.”

“Oh.” She rolled onto her front. Oil that was body-warm was dripped onto her spine. He began to rub it in. “How did you know about the Cypress Island?” she asked.

“If I told you that you’ll just be cross with me. I want to have sex with you too much for that.”

“I won’t be cross.”

“You will. Why won’t you marry me?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone. I like this, this is fun. And I’d even enjoy joining in with your other wives. But as a permanent thing…That’s not me. Sorry.”

“Hey, I love it. Jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous.” Mellanie tried to twist around to protest, but his hands reached her buttocks. She had to clamp her teeth to stop squealing.

“What does the SI get out of your arrangement?” Nigel asked.

“God, is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know that for a start.”

“It says it just wants to know what’s going on, that’s all. I can get into places where there’s no unisphere coverage.”

“Figures. So it knew about the nature of the Primes?”

“It found out at Randtown. It hacked into their communications through my inserts.”

“Goddamn thing never told us. Bastard.” Nigel moved down to her thighs.

“Do you think it’s hostile as well?”

“I think it’s a snob. I think it looks down on us as the lower-class neighbors bringing down the tone of the galaxy. It’s not actively belligerent, but like all snobs it has a fascination for what it’s not. Hence you, and others like you. It also has sentiment, which is why it helps us out on rare occasions. Yet it will always rationalize that as something else entirely: charity or consideration born of superiority. The trouble is, I don’t know if it would help us in the face of genocide. It probably doesn’t know either. I suspect it will play its waiting game until the end. And that’s going to be too late for us.”

“Is that why you decided to nova MorningLightMountain?”

“It’s among the reasons. Nobody else is going to help us out. Does it bother you, that decision?”

“I felt MorningLightMountain,” she said slowly. “I could hear its thoughts. My inserts were blocking its soldier motiles so I was physically safe, but I was still frightened. I don’t think we can share a universe with it. You know, it completely lacked emotion; I mean there was just no analogue in its mind to what we have. I was going to say that you can’t rationalize with it, but that’s the whole problem: it’s ultra-rational. There’s no way to connect. Even the SI couldn’t make it see logic and reason. It has to go, Nigel, that’s the only way we’ll be safe.”

“Turn over.”

She did as she was told. The heat had gone out of her now; remembering Randtown and the monstrous mentality of MorningLightMountain was a guaranteed passion killer. Then Nigel began working on her belly, and breasts, and thighs, and she forgot all that again amazingly quickly.

“So how did you know?” Mellanie asked.

“Huh?”

“About Cypress Island.”

“Ah.” Nigel rolled onto his belly to face her. “Michelangelo is my son, my fifteenth.”

“What? You’re kidding. He never told me.”

“It’s not something he’s proud of. Quite the opposite, actually. He stormed out when he was seventeen.”

“Wow. I bet that doesn’t happen often.”

“No,” he said dryly. “It was a classic teenage rebellion, he even said I’ll show you, when he left. Then he went and carved that career out for himself. I’m actually quite proud of him for that. Normally the black sheep come slinking back a century later with their tails between their legs, and get a nice safe middle management position in the Dynasty.”