Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

“Yeah, most likely. Can you get into Bromley, Waterford, and Granku’s accounts, see what other payments they’ve been making?”

“I can. I would need an incentive.”

Mellanie sighed, and tipped her head to one side. “What do you want?”

“Information. Baron hasn’t occupied my time exclusively. There are a number of other interesting things occurring within the Commonwealth right now.”

“Such as?”

“Did you know several ‘lifeboat’ consortiums are being put together?”

“No. What lifeboats?”

“There are some Intersolar Dynasties, Grand Families, and mere ordinary billionaires who are uncertain that our shiny new Commonwealth navy can defeat the Prime aliens. They are quietly channeling funds into very large colonizer starships that have a trans-galactic range. Seventeen such vessels have already been put into production, and at least another twelve are being planned that I am aware of. Each of the Big15 is hosting at least one of the projects. The lifeboats can hold several tens of thousands of people in suspension, along with all the manufacturing cybernetics necessary to establish an advanced technological human society from scratch on a new world.”

“Those sons of bitches,” Mellanie exclaimed. Even after all the time she’d been exposed to the ultra-rich and their political flunkies, the idea that they’d turn tail and run caught her by surprise. “They’re going to leave us to do their dirty fighting for them?”

“Now then, Mellanie, don’t whine like some Bolshevik class warrior; it’s a perfectly sensible precaution. Exactly what I expect from that class. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t hop on board if you were presented with a berth?”

She scowled down at Paul’s coffin. “Michelangelo offered me a gig reporting on all the people emigrating to the High Angel. They all think it’ll fly them clear if the worst happens.”

“High Angel is a good bet, especially if you don’t have any real money, although they’ll hardly be in charge of their own destiny. Who knows where that machinecreature will take them, or what its ultimate purpose is.”

“So what’s all this got to do with me?”

“I want to know which lifeboat stands the highest chance of success.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Let’s just say I’ll be buying a ticket. I have a degree of confidence in our military ability, and I’ve certainly seen what kind of technological atrocities our species’ weapons scientists can produce when the need arises. But the Primes do have a phenomenal amount of resources available to use against us. Like I said: sensible precaution.”

Mellanie shook her head; she wasn’t sure if it was in dismay or disgust. “So where do I come in?”

“There is one rather glaring omission in the lifeboat projects. I can’t find any information that the Sheldons are building one. And I have looked, very hard.”

“Maybe they’re not cowards. Ever thought of that?”

“Cowardice is not part of this equation. Nigel Sheldon is not stupid. He will be taking every precaution to safeguard himself and his Dynasty. The amount of financial resources required for such a starship is negligible in macroeconomic terms, especially for him. He will be building one, presumably away from curious eyes and inconvenient monitor programs. That means there’s only one place it can be: his private world, Cressat. In fact, I expect there will be more than one ship; after all, he does have a very large Dynasty. A fleet would guarantee success whatever part of the galaxy they wind up in.”

“And you want me to find out? Expose the most secret project of the most powerful man in the Commonwealth?”

“You’re an investigative reporter, aren’t you? Besides, I imagine the SI will be eager to help in this case.”

Mellanie had to grin at the ironic sense of déjà vu. “Do I get a flying car?” she muttered.

“If the Commonwealth falls, I’d be prepared to take you with me.”

“What?” She’d thought she was immune to further surprise today.

“You’re smart, attractive, young, tough, and a survivor. I would get myself rejuvenated on the voyage. It would be an enjoyable marriage, I believe.”

“You’re proposing?”

“Yes. Has nobody ever proposed to you before, young Mellanie?”

She thought of the hundreds of proposals she was sent every day from her fans or simply people who’d recently accessed a copy of Murderous Seduction.

“You’re not the first,” she admitted.

“Was that a yes? It is difficult for me to get down on bended knee right now; even if I was out of the interface unit, my arthritis plays up something chronic.”

“Wow, that is so romantic.”

“Don’t let a four-century age difference prejudice you. I’ve had wives from every conceivable age group before. You’re not expecting Morton to come back from his heroic mission, are you? Think practically, Mellanie. The odds in his favor aren’t good.”

“I know what his odds are. And the answer is still no.” That young face is handsome, though, and he’s got a devilish grin. No!

“I understand. My offer remains open. And your answer doesn’t prejudice our deal. You should never mix business with pleasure.”

“That, I do know. But I don’t understand how you think you can get on the Sheldon lifeboat. You’re not a member of the Dynasty.” She paused. “Are you?”

The image chuckled. “Not by birth. But two of my wives were Sheldons, one of them fairly senior. I have five Sheldon children, two of whom are direct lineage sixth generation, and they certainly produced a goodly number of descendants. Funnily enough, that means I’ve got more chance with the Sheldon lifeboat than any of the others. I have leverage there. Once I determine what the score is, I’ll be able to make my play. So, will you try and get to Cressat for me, and see what’s going on there?”

“I can probably go back to Michelangelo with a pitch to investigate a Sheldon lifeboat. That way I won’t be completely exposed. How’s that?”

“Good enough. But you do realize that Baron will know it was you who put me onto her? Our Oaktier connection is inescapable. You can expect a visit from people like Simmonds and Deakins, if not a great deal worse.”

Mellanie pushed her shoulders back. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, young Mellanie. I’m curious. Do you actually have a weapon? A gun of some description?”

“No.”

“May I suggest you purchase one. I can give you the name of a reliable underground supplier.”

“I’m not a warrior, Paul. If I need physical protection, I’ll hire a security expert.”

“As you wish. But please be careful.”

“Sure.”

Mellanie swapped cabs three times before she got back to the motel they were staying at in the Rightbank district. She paid cash each time. The fact that Alessandra’s webheads could backtrack Paul was a worrying development. Even with her SI inserts she certainly didn’t have his skill; that left her feeling strangely vulnerable.

Their little chalet was on the end of the long row that curved around a grubby swimming pool. Only two others had cars parked outside. It wasn’t yet late enough for the motel’s main trade to start using the bleak, utilitarian rooms for their professional pay-by-the-hour encounters.

The chalet was made out of cheap composite panels that had bleached under Oaktier’s strong sun. Long cracks webbed the edges, exposing the reinforcing boron fibers, which were already fraying. The faded red door creaked loudly when she pushed it open.

All the blinds were shut, permitting only slim blades of late-afternoon sunlight to slide through the slits between them. The air-conditioning wasn’t working. It was stifling inside, with the old paneling groaning as the thermal loads shifted. Dudley was curled up on the bed, staring at the wall.