Ken MacLeod - Newton's Wake

He was smaller than she had expected; in her heels, for a moment, she could see his scalp, pink beneath the hair. But then he sat down in his armchair and seemed to stretch and expand, as if the chair was a big black leather jacket in which he swaggered.

‘It’s good to see you back, Lucinda,’ he said.

‘It is an aw,’ said Duncan, sounding more heartfelt.

She smiled warmly at them all.

‘It’s good to be back,’ she said. ‘Sorry about the mess. How is the conflict going? I haven’t seen any news yet.’

Kevin leaned forward. Ian raised a hand. ‘Time enough later to catch up—not that there’s much to tell. Your news will be far more interesting, and is more eagerly awaited. And will, I’m sure, take much longer to relate.’

He sat back, tilted his head a little to one side, steepled his fingers. His glance flickered at the glass in Lucinda’s hand, then at the whisky bottle. Talisker, it was, the real stuff. ‘Take your time.’

She did. Ian listened alertly, asked questions, and was not visibly impatient when the others did. It was only when she offered her brilliant idea for buying new ships from DK that he showed any irritation. He leaned forward and snapped his fingers as she was about to slip the slate back in her bag. For a minute he studied it, stylus ticking, eyebrows twitching.

‘Lucinda, please ,’ he said, and handed it back.

‘What?’ she said, emboldened by the Talisker.

‘It’s too expensive, too risky,’ he said, in the voice of someone saying only once what he had not expected to have to say at all. ‘Forget it.’

She gave him a placatory ‘you’re the boss’ smile, which he took as no more than his due.

He leaned far back and rubbed his face with his hands; stood up. ‘Well, gentlemen. Ladies. This has been quite fascinating .’ He walked over to the fake fireplace and placed his hands on the mantelpiece for a moment, leaning forward on his toes, arching and stretching his spine; flexed his arms and whirled around.

‘ Lucinda! ’ he said, making her jump. ‘I’m very disappointed in you. The cost to the firm has been shocking, and to the family—well! Not to mention the families of our employees. Do you realise what deaths in action do to pay rates, premiums, grief to survivors? Resurrection, backups, yes, we’re always grateful for that. But they too cost , emotionally as well. There is worse than that. You were given a team to lead, and you let yourself be captured. You let your suit fall into enemy hands. You should have fought tooth and nail, you should have sooner died ! I’ve seen men, aye, and women, without the comfort—such as it is—of backups go down fighting for the family. In the old days, we would have had—’

He stopped himself, sighed, and returned to his chair.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘You are not leading any more teams until you have proved yourself as a follower. If anyone will have you on their team after this.’

‘I certainly won’t,’ said Amelia.

Lucinda tightened her lips and nodded.

‘Very well,’ said Ian. ‘Think on it. However, you have given us a most useful account. I thank you for that, at least.’

He turned away, overtly dismissing her from his concern, and addressed the others.

‘Eurydice doesn’t sound as if it presents much of a problem. The problem, as so often, is with the Knights. We sent two ships to the system—one was lost, as Lucinda has confirmed; the other fittled out and is lurking a few light-years away. We can’t let the Knights control a skein nexus. The only question, therefore, is whether we throw in some more ships, or prepare an attack through the skein.’ He smiled and brushed his palms quickly together. ‘Not a problem we can resolve, or need discuss, tonight.’

‘But—’ said Kevin and Duncan simultaneously.

‘Not a word,’ said Ian. ‘Call at my office tomorrow, gentlemen, midafternoon, and we’ll have a chat.’

And so they left; but at the door, just as he handed over shawls and jackets, he murmured: ‘Amelia, if you wouldn’t mind staying on for a few minutes—?’

It seemed she wouldn’t.

The door closed behind them. Lucinda slipped her hands behind the elbows of her brother and her cousin.

‘Am I in disgrace?’ She had to force the lightness into her tone.

‘Aye, you are that,’ said Duncan. ‘You’re a complete liability.’

‘Woudnae be seen deid wi ye, after that bollocking,’ Kevin added.

‘You’re down among the civilians now, that’s for sure,’ Duncan said, just to rub it in.

‘Stop it,’ she said, clutching at her last ragged fringe of self-control.

‘That’s what we’re here for,’ said Kevin. ‘Uncle Ian told us that was our job for the evening. To stop you feeling sorry for yourself and doing something daft.’

‘Subtlety is not your cousin’s middle name,’ said Duncan.

‘It is no,’ agreed Kevin. ‘And while we’re on the subject, we’re also tae keep an eye on ye and stop ye rushing off to plot among, let’s say, the younger scions against the old guard.’

They were standing at the gate by now, the lads scanning the street and sky for a cab. One or two of the New Glasgow local authority cop cars drifted past, giving the place a respectfully wide berth. By coincidence or otherwise, a taxi sank to the ground in front of them thirty seconds later.

The Joint was a civilian-owned club, with family muscle on the door and family money behind it. It wasn’t a protection racket or illegal den of iniquity—New Glasgow’s laws on consensual activities were too light for that to have any point—but a sort of heritage-themed version of such a place. For that reason it was disdained by the senior members of the family and the firm who knew what the originals had been like, and for the same reason was frequented by the younger members and followers in a spirit of fashionable irony. The style was of a bar converted from a bank hallway, back when banks were cathedrals of capital rather than its very heaven. The circular bar counter had tables in orbits and epicycles, levels and niches around it. The high domed ceiling of diamond done to look like stained glass was ostensibly supported by buckysheet pillars done up to look like black marble and gilt. Everything was hollow with a hard surface and pretended to be older and something else. Even the strippers were holograms, sliced into layers of more vivid colour by drifting strata of smoke.

‘Welcome back,’ Duncan said, after he’d gotten the beers. He leaned sideways, put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. ‘Properly, welcome back.’

‘Ah, thanks. Cheers.’

‘But seriously,’ Lucinda went on, giving them both a cold eye, ‘I’m not sure what you’re up to, guys. That was one heavy hint you dropped back there, Kev. I can just see you two agreeing to get me pissed and trying to inveigle me into some indiscretion you’d pass on to old Ian.’

‘You can?’ said Duncan, sounding more curious than shocked. ‘Oh well, no point in being sentimental I suppose. It’s all family. Trust disnae come into it.’

‘You said it.’

‘For aw that,’ Duncan said, ‘I’m glad you didn’t let yourself be killed out there. The boss was talking shite. He wanted you off the team because Auntie Amelia kicked up a stink, for which I cannae blame her—’

‘Me neither,’ said Lucinda.

‘—and he dredged up some kindae gangland moral rationale fae the bottom of the Clyde as usual.’

‘Well, this is all very kind of you, but what’s in it for you? You’re on the team, right? In the loop?’

‘Oh, sure,’ said Kevin. ‘A fair way down the kicking order, but still. Aye, we’re in on the action group that Ian and Amelia are putting together, unless we blot our copybooks by getting involved in the schemes of disloyal and ambitious family members.’