Peter Hamilton - The Dreaming Void

'I do, yes; but it don't exercise it without good reason. What you've shown us is more than sufficient to start a serious appraisal. We will follow due process. Then if you're right—

'Of course I'm fucking right, Troblum snapped. He knew in a remote fashion he was acting inappropriately, but his goal was so close. He'd assumed the Admiral's unexpected appearance today meant the search could begin right away. 'I don't have the EMAs for that many starships myself, that's why the Navy has to be involved.

'There would never be an opportunity for an individual to perform a search, Kazimir replied lightly. 'Space around the Dyson Pair remains restricted. This is a Navy project.

'Yes Admiral, Troblum mumbled. 'I understand. Which he did. But that didn't quell the resentment at the bureaucracy involved.

'I notice you haven't included your results on this "one shot" wormhole drive idea, Mykala said. 'That's a big hole in the proposal.

'It's at an early stage, Troblum said, which wasn't quite true. He'd held back on his project precisely because he was so near to success. It was going to be the clinching argument if the presentation hadn't gone well. Which in a way it hadn't. But… 'I hope to be giving you some positive results soon.

'That I will be very interested in, Kazimir said, finally producing a smile that lifted centuries away from him. 'Thank you for bringing this to us. And I do genuinely appreciate the effort involved.

'It's what I do, Troblum said gruffly. He kept silent as the shielding switched off, and the others left the chamber. What he wanted to shout after the Admiral was: Your mother made her decisions without any committee to hold her hand, and as for what your grandfather would say about getting a consensus… Instead he let out a disgruntled breath as he sealed the files back into his storage lacuna. Meeting an idol was always such a risk, so few of them ever really matched up to their own legend.

The Delivery Man was woken by his youngest daughter just as a chilly dawn light was rising outside. Little Rosa had once again decided that five hours' sleep was quite sufficient for her, now she was sitting up in her cot wailing for attention. And milk. Beside him, Lizzie was just starting to stir out of a deep sleep. Before she could wake, he swung himself out of bed and hurried along the landing to the nursery. If he wasn't quick enough Tilly and Elsie would be woken up, then nobody would get any peace.

The paediatric housebot floated through the nursery door after him, a simple ovoid just over a metre high. It extruded Rosa's milk bulb through its neutral grey skin. Both he and his wife Lizzie hated the idea of a machine, even one as sophisticated as the housebot, caring for the child, so he settled her on his lap in the big chair at the side of the cot and started feeding her out of the bulb. Rosa smiled adoringly round the nozzle, and squirmed deeper into his embrace. The housebot extended a hose which attached to the outlet patch on her sleepsuit's nappy, and siphoned away the night's wee. Rosa waved contentedly at the housebot as it glided out of the nursery.

'Goobi, she cooed, and resumed drinking.

'Goodbye, The Delivery Man corrected. At seventeen months, Rosa's vocabulary was just starting to develop. The biononic organelles in her cells were effectively inactive other than reproducing themselves to supplement her new cells as she grew. Extensive research had shown it was best for a Higher-born human to follow nature's original development schedule up until about puberty. After that the biononics could be used as intended; one function of which was to modify the body however the host wanted. He still wasn't sure that was such a good idea, handing teenagers unrestrained power over their own physiology frequently led to some serious self-inflicted blunders. He always remembered the time when he was fourteen and had a terrible crush on a seventeen-year-old girl. He'd tried to improve his genitals. It had taken five hugely embarrassing trips to a biononic procedures doctor to sort out the painful abnormal growths.

When Rosa finished he carried her downstairs. He and Lizzie lived in a classic Georgian townhouse in London's Holland Park district. It had been restored three hundred years ago using modern techniques to preserve as much of the old fabric as possible without having to resort to stabilizer fields. Lizzie had overseen the interior when they moved in, blending a tasteful variety of furniture and utility systems that dated from the mid-twentieth century right up to up to the twenty-seventh, when ANA's replication facilities effectively halted human design on Earth. Two spacious sub-basements had been added, giving them an indoor swimming pool and a health spa, along with the tanks and ancillary systems that supplied the culinary cabinet and household replicator.

He took Rosa into the large iron-framed conservatory where her toys were stored in big wicker baskets. February had produced its usual icy morning outside, sending broad patterns of frost worming up the outside of the glass. For now, the only true splash of colour to enjoy in the garden came from the winter flowering cherries on the curving bank behind the frozen fish pond.

When Lizzie came downstairs an hour later she found him and Rosa playing with glow blocks on the conservatory's heated flagstone floor. Tilly who was seven, and Elsie their five-year-old, followed their mother in, and shouted happily at their younger sister who ran over to them with outstretched arms, babbling away in her own incomprehensible yet excited language. The three girls started to build a tower out of the blocks, the higher they stacked the faster the colours swirled.

He gave Lizzie a quick kiss and ordered the culinary cabinet to produce some breakfast. Lizzie sat at the circular wooden table in their kitchen. An antiquities and culture specialist, she enjoyed the old-fashioned notion of a room specifically for cooking. Even though there was no need for it, she'd had a hefty iron range cooker installed when they moved in ten years ago. During winter its cosy warmth turned the kitchen into the house's engine room, they always gathered in here as a family. Sometimes she even used the range to cook things which she and the girls made out of ingredients produced by the culinary cabinet. Tilly's birthday cake had been last.

'Swimming for Tilly this morning, Lizzie said as she sipped at a big china cup of tea which a housebot delivered to her.

'Again? he asked.

'She's getting a lot more confident. It's their new teacher. He's very good.

'Good. The Delivery Man picked up the croissant on his plate and started tearing it open. 'Girls, he shouted. 'Come and sit down please. Bring Rosa.

'She doesn't want to come, Elsie shouted back immediately.

'Don't make me come and get you. He avoided looking at Lizzie. 'I'm going to be away for a few days.

'Anything interesting?

'There've been allegations that some companies on Oronsay have got hold of level-three replicator tech, he said. 'I'll need to run tests on their products. His current vocation was to monitor the spread of Higher technology across the External Worlds. It was a process which the Externals got very sensitive about, with hardline Protectorate politicians citing it as the first act of cultural colonization, deserving retribution. However, industrialists on the External Worlds were constantly seeking to acquire evermore sophisticated manufacturing systems to reduce their costs. Radical Highers were equally keen to supply it to them, seeing it precisely as that first important stage for a planet converting to Higher culture. What he had to do, on ANA: Governance's behalf, was to decide the intent behind supplying replicator systems. If Radical Highers were supporting the companies, then he would subtly disable the systems and collapse the operation. His main problem was making an objective decision; Higher technology inevitably crept out from the Central Worlds, in the same way that the External Worlds were always settling new planets around the edge of their domain. The boundary between Central and External was ambiguous to say the least, with some External Worlds openly welcoming the shift to Higher status. Location was always a huge factor in his decision. Oronsay was over a hundred lightyears out from the Central Worlds, which effectively negated the chance that this was simple technology seepage. If there were replicators there, it was either Radicals pushing them, or a very greedy company.