Peter Hamilton - Judas Unchained

The moon was a stippled magenta globe, with a profusion of slender jet-black creases snaking across its surface. It was several times the size of Earth’s moon. Too big, Mark knew instinctively: anything that big that close would produce tidal forces that would rip continents apart and haul a permanent tsunami around the globe in its wake. This wasn’t even disturbing the few wispy high-altitude clouds. Then he began to understand its texture. The multitude of black creases were actually fissures, walled by the same magenta material that colored the surface. It was only in the deeps where the sunlight couldn’t reach that they actually turned black. The moon wasn’t big, just in a low orbit, neither was it solid; it was a gigantic spherical ruff, sheets of thin purple fabric crumpled up against each other.

“Oh, no,” Mark said. He looked from the purple moon down to the topaz groundplant gigalife, then back again. “No way.”

“Yes,” Giselle said. “The third variety of gigalife, the spaceflower. The Planters put fifteen asteroids into a two-thousand-kilometer orbit, and dropped a kernel on each one. They don’t mass more than about a hundred million tons each. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when the kernel runs out of raw material to convert. Some of us think that will be when the Planters come back.”

“They sculpted moons,” Mark said in astonishment.

“Grew them,” Giselle corrected. “Essentially we have a planet which has giant cabbages for moons. Who said aliens don’t have a sense of humor?”

***

As soon as the committee room doors opened, Justine rushed out. Surprised expressions followed her. It wasn’t quite seemly for a senator to run.

She just made it to the lady’s washroom, and threw up into the porcelain bowl. There was a discreet cough outside the cubical. “Are you all right, ma’am?” the attendant asked.

“Fine, thank you. Bad food this morning.” She heaved again. Her forehead was damp with sweat, and she felt inordinately hot. The tension that had racked up during the committee meeting hadn’t helped her delicate stomach.

Ramon was waiting for her outside when she finally emerged. “Something we said?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Something I ate,” she told him around yet another antacid tablet.

“I hope not. With all the paranoia around here, people will think assassins are trying to poison you.”

“Not a bad thing. It would get our fellow senators to cut down on the dining-room food.”

“Now that is pure wishful thinking.”

She glanced down at his chest. Ramon was wearing a very modern business suit, tailored to deemphasize his stomach. Normally when he was in the Senate Hall he was careful to wear tribal robes. But then the Security Oversight Committee was not one that permitted any media coverage. “I see you’re really sticking to your diet.”

Ramon let out a sigh. “Don’t start.”

“I’m sorry,” she said contritely.

“Now I know something’s wrong.”

“No there isn’t. I’ll survive. And thanks for supporting me in there this morning.”

“The African caucus does not automatically do as the Halgarths wish, nor any other Dynasty for that matter.”

“What about Grand Families?”

He smiled broadly. “It depends on the deal which is offered.”

“Rammy, I need to ask you something.”

“Personal or business?”

“Business,” she said with a sigh. “Always business these days.”

He reached out and gave her cheek an affectionate stroke. “Thompson will be back soon.”

“Not soon enough.” She finished the antacid tablet, and they walked down the broad deserted corridor toward the Senate Hall’s main lobby. “That weekend at Sorbonne Wood, who exactly came up with the idea for parallel development shared between Anshun and High Angel?”

Ramon stopped to stare at her. “Why do you need to know?”

“There are certain aspects about the navy formation that we have to clarify.”

“What aspects?”

“The groupings, Rammy, come on. You have to admit, for a venture that size it all came together remarkably smoothly.”

“Thanks to you. It was a Burnelli weekend if I remember rightly.”

“We’re worried we might have been outmaneuvered.”

“Ha! That would be a first. I know how Gore operates. Nothing is left to chance.”

“Someone else was manipulating that weekend. We’re sure of it.”

“What’s happened? Have you missed out on a big contract?”

“No. But High Angel was a massive beneficiary, and through that the African Caucus. You owe us for that.”

“I suppose I might. I believe the idea came from Kantil. She was very eager to gain support for Doi at the time.”

“Did Patricia tell you herself, or was it Isabella?”

“Justine”—he grinned down at her—“are you jealous?”

“Please! This is important. Did Isabella tell you it came direct from Kantil, that Doi would sanction the spending?”

“I honestly don’t recall exactly. Isabella made the suggestion, so naturally I assumed it came from Kantil. Lovely though Isabella is, she’s only a first-life girl. Why, who else do you think would make it?”

“Isabella’s a Halgarth,” Justine said.

“Oh, no.” He threw his hands into the air with exasperation. “We’re back to the motion for a vote on Myo again.”

“It’s not the vote.”

“It’s looking that way to me. You took it personally. Admit it.”

“I know Valetta caught me off guard in there; Thompson would never have let that sneak up on him. It’s beginning to look as though I just don’t have his aptitude for this job.”

“Nonsense. You’re more than capable. You outmaneuvered Valetta beautifully, and gave yourself time to build support for the vote. You’re a natural.”

“It doesn’t seem that way. Damn that Columbia for forcing my hand like this. It’ll be a real show of strength in the next committee. I’m not even sure I can win.”

“You have my vote.”

“Yeah, right, thanks.”

“This really bugs you; and it’s not the first time you’ve clashed with the Halgarths and their allies. Why don’t you just declare open warfare, and have the fleet attack Solidade.”

“Because it’s their fleet, Rammy.”

“So that’s it! Gore’s pissed that they hijacked his pet project.”

“The navy isn’t a project, it’s essential to our survival. We’re at war, fighting for our very existence as a species, and the Halgarths are taking over the Commonwealth’s entire defense policy. That’s not healthy.”

“Don’t let this Senate spat blind you. Sheldon remains in ultimate command. Thanks to CST his Dynasty will always have the final say. And Kime is still Admiral; he’s Sheldon’s man, in alliance with Los Vada. With Columbia, the Halgarths only have control of planetary defense. It’s a classic Dynasty carve-up. The power structures balance out.”

“All right.” She tried to put on a convinced expression for his benefit.

“That’s better. So how about lunch? Just you and me, and no business.”

“Old times,” she said mournfully. “Sorry, Rammy, I’ve got to get back to the office. I need to start making calls.”

His hopeful expression gave way to something more melancholic. “I understand. My advice: call Crispin. He was never a Halgarth man.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks. See you soon.”

It was Thompson’s office. The taste was his, all lush reds and gold-brown wood furniture. She hadn’t made a single change, she didn’t have the right. When he came back, he could sit down behind his vast desk and carry on as if nothing had happened.

If the world still exists then.