Peter Hamilton - The Dreaming Void

'Can I help you? Araminta asked, keeping the tone sharp; this was a chance to earn more redemption points with Matthew. The woman was dressed in a charcoal-grey cashmere suit, old-fashioned but expensive with a long flowing skirt, the kind of thing Araminta might have worn before the separation, back in the days when she had money. 'We have several tables available.

'I'm collecting signature certificates, the woman said. She had a very determined look on her face. 'We're trying to get the council to stop ingrav capsule use above Colwyn City.

'Why? It came out before Araminta really thought about it.

The woman narrowed her eyes. 'Regrav is bad enough, but at least they're speed and altitude limited inside the city boundary. Have you ever thought what would happen if an ingrav drive failed? They fly semi-ballistic parabolas, that means they'd plummet down at half orbital velocity.

'Ah, yes, I see. She could also see Matthew giving them a wary look.

'Suppose one crashed on to a school at that speed? Or a hospital? There's just no need for them. It's blatant consumerism without any form of responsibility. People are only buying them to show off. And there are studies that suggest the ingrav effect puts a strain on deep geological faults. We could have an earthquake.

Araminta was proud she didn't laugh out loud. 'I see.

'The city traffic network wasn't designed with those sort of speeds in mind, either. The number of near-miss incidents logged is rising steadily. Will you add your certificate? Help us keep our lives safe.

A file was presented to Araminta's u-shadow. 'Yes, of course. But you'll have to order a tea or coffee, my boss is already cross with me this morning. She flicked her gaze towards Matthew as she added her signature certificate to the petition, confirming she was a Colwyn City resident.

'Typical, the woman grunted. 'They never think of anything but themselves and their profit. But she sat down and ordered a peppermint tea.

'What's her problem? Matthew asked as Araminta collected the tea.

'The universe is a bad place, she just needs to unwind a little. She gave him a sunny smile. 'Which is why we're here.

Before he could say anything else she skipped back to the terrace.

At half past eleven Araminta's u-shadow collated the morning's property search it had run through the city's estate agencies, and shunted the results into one of her storage lacunas. She was on her break in the little staff lounge beside the kitchen. It didn't take her long to review them all; she was looking for a suitable flat or even a small house somewhere in the city. There weren't many that fitted her criteria: cheap, in need of renovation, near the centre. She tagged three agency files as possibles, and checked on how yesterday's possibles were doing. Half of them had already been snapped up. You really had to be quick in today's market, she reflected wistfully. And have money, or at least some decent credit. A renovation was her dream project; buying a small property and refurbishing it in order to sell on at a profit. She knew she could be good at it. She'd taken five development and design courses in the last eight months since separating from Laril, as well as studying every interior decorating text her u-shadow could pull out of the Unisphere. Property development was a risky proposition, but every case she'd accessed showed her that the true key was dedication and hard work, as well as a lot of market research. And from her point of view she could do it by herself. She wouldn't depend on anyone. But first, she needed money…

Araminta was back in the restaurant at twelve, getting the table settings changed ready for lunch, learning the specials the chef was working on. The anti-ingrav crusader had gone, leaving a three-Viotia-pound tip; and Matthew was treating her humanely again. Cressida walked in at ten past twelve. She was Araminta's cousin on her mother's side of the family, partner in a mid-sized law firm, a hundred and twenty-three years old, and spectacularly beautiful with flaming red hair and skin maintained to silky perfection by expensive cosmetic scales. She was wearing a two-thousand-Vpound emerald and platinum toga suit. Just by walking in to Nik's she was raising the whole tone of the place. She was also Araminta's lawyer.

'Darling. Cressida waved and came over for a big hug; air-kissing had never been part of her style. 'Well have I got news for you, she said breathlessly. 'Your boss won't mind if I steal you for a second, will he? Without bothering to check she grabbed Araminta's hand and pulled over to a corner table.

Araminta winced as she imagined Matthew's stare drilling laser holes in her back. 'What's happened?

Cressida's grinned broadly, her liquid scarlet lip gloss flowing to accommodate the big stretch. 'Dear old Laril has skipped planet.

'What? Araminta couldn't quite believe that. Laril was her ex-husband. A marriage which had lasted eighteen utterly miserable months. Everyone in her immediate family had objected to Laril from the moment she met him. They had cause. She could admit that now; she'd been twenty-one while he was three hundred and seven. At the time she'd thought him suave, sophisticated, rich, and her ticket out of boring, small (minded), agricultural Lan-gham, a town over on the Suvorov continent, seven thousand miles away. They thought he was just another filthy Punk Skunk; there were enough of them kicking around the Commonwealth especially on the relatively unsophisticated planets that made up the outer fringes of the External Worlds. Jaded old folks who had the money to look flawlessly adolescent, but still envied the genuinely youthful for their spirit and exuberance. Every partner they snagged was centuries younger in a futile hope that their brio would magically transfer over. That wasn't quite the case with Laril. Close, though.

Her branch of the family on her father's side had a business supplying and maintaining agricultural cybernetics, an enterprise which was the largest in the county, and one in which Araminta was expected to work in for at least the first fifty years of her life. After that apprenticeship, family members were then considered adult and wealthy enough to take off for pastures new (a depressing number set up subsidiaries of the main business across Suvorov), leaving gaps for the latest batch of youngsters to fill, turning the cycle. It was a prospect which Araminta considered so soul-crushing she would have hired out as a love slave to a Prime motile in order to escape. By contrast, Laril, an independent businessman with an Andribot franchise among other successful commercial concerns, was like being discovered by Prince Charming. And given that these days an individual's age wasn't a physical quantity, her family objection to the three century difference was so bourgeois. It certainly guaranteed the outcome of the affair.

The fact that they'd been more or less right about him using her only made her post-separation life even worse. She could never go back to Langham now. Fortunately, Cressida wasn't judgemental, considering Araminta's colossal mistake as part of life's rich experience. 'If you don't screw up, she'd told a weeping Araminta at their first meeting, 'you haven't got a base to launch your improvement from. Now what does the separation clause in the marriage contract entitle you to?

Araminta, who had overcome a mountain of shame even to go to a family member (however distant) for legal help at the start of the divorce had to admit theirs had been an old-fashioned wedding, of the till-death-do-us-part variety. They'd even sworn that to the licensed priest in Langham chapel. It was all very romantic at the time.

'No contract? an amazed and horrified Cressida had asked. 'Gosh, darling, you are headed for a Mount Herculaneum of improvement aren't you?