The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle (113 page)

Once the door was closed, the three of them looked like they’d been superimposed inside a blank hologram projection. Curved chairs morphed up out of the floor, shaped like sculpted beanbags. Their internal glow changed from neutral to a faint copper, allowing them to be seen. After they’d all sat down, the tinge faded away.

“I’m appointing Paula to the Senate Security service,” Gore announced. “She’s to have department head status; you’ll have to clear it.”

“I see,” Justine said peacefully. “And why is that?”

“Your brother’s murder was committed by someone connected with the case I’ve been working on,” Paula said.

“Johansson, you mean? I don’t wish to be critical, particularly now, but you’ve been working on that case for quite a while now. That was the reason Rafael Columbia dismissed you, wasn’t it? Lack of results.”

“Columbia is a fucking asshole,” Gore said. “We’re going to have to watch him. That little shit won’t be satisfied until he’s crowned emperor.”

Justine gave Paula a level gaze. “He does have a point, though. You had nearly a hundred and forty years.”

“The case involved a lot more than the Great Wormhole Heist,” Paula said. “I always knew Johansson was being protected by someone inside the Senate or the executive. Your brother confirmed that for me. Then he was murdered.”

“Who murdered him?”

“I don’t know. The assassin is an unknown operative. Nor do I know who he works for, although I have my suspicions.”

“Who?” Justine growled.

“The Starflyer.”

After the anticipation, Justine fell back into the chair, disgusted. “For God’s sake!”

“I believe it,” Gore said.

“Dad! You cannot be serious?”

“We were played by an absolute expert. I knew there was something suspicious about putting the navy package together. It was too fucking easy. Someone else had been laying the political groundwork.”

“Garbage. Nobody knew we’d have a need for a navy until the
Second Chance
returned. I’m still not entirely convinced myself. We only got involved for the contracts.”

“Damn right. That’s our motivation: naked greed, the fear of being poor, unprotected, not in control. It knows us very well, doesn’t it?”

“No.” Justine shook her head. “What did my brother tell you?” she asked Paula.

“I have been asking for an inspection on all goods shipped to Far Away for decades. If I could nail down the arms shipments, it would help me solve the Johansson case permanently. Your brother found out that Nigel Sheldon has been preventing it.”

“That’s … that’s …” Justine turned to her father, appealing. “You can’t believe this?”

“Why can’t the Starflyer exist?” he asked her in return.

“The Institute on Far Away would have found it.”

“According to Johansson, they did,” Paula said. “He was the director, remember?”

“I know he was,” she said wryly. Her thoughts had slipped back to the sunny glade in the forest where her hyperglider had landed. Dear, sweet Kazimir’s utter conviction in his mad cause. “All right, just assume this alien does exist, and Nigel Sheldon is working for it, or has been taken over by it, or whatever. How does that get Thompson murdered?”

“Because he finally pushed through the inspection,” Paula said. “I only just realized the relevance myself last night; but keeping the Far Away route open and free of any official interference has been something of a devil’s alliance for the two factions. The Guardians want it so they can smuggle their weapons back there. The Starflyer wants it so that it can return.”

“Return? You mean to its ship?” Justine asked.

“Yes. That’s what the Guardians believe, that when it has ruined the Commonwealth it will go back.”

“Why? The ship’s a wreck, the planet is half dead. I know, I’ve been there.” She caught it: shift of the eyes, change of breathing pattern, a dozen other indiscreet indicators. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Justine had been a player for three and a half centuries, dealing with master-class politicians and corporate lords. To her, body language was a million-watt telepathic broadcast. And that last statement had just turned her into Paula Myo’s newest suspect.

“Nobody understands its motivation,” Paula said. “Except perhaps Johansson. And I wouldn’t consider him reliable even if he turns out to be right in the end. All we have to go on is the Guardians’ propaganda. They claim it intends to return.”

“And you think that’s what got my brother murdered?”

“He put an obstacle in its way.”

Justine gave her father a long look, seeing a curved image of herself in his smooth golden mirror face. His silence made it obvious whose side he was on here. “So how does appointing you to Senate Security help find the murderer?”

“It will give me access to all navy intelligence information on the case. I can see what they’re doing but they won’t know I’m looking over their shoulder. That way I can stay one step ahead of them.”

“Just wait on, here,” Justine protested. “Who are you trying to catch?”

“Ultimately the Starflyer. But to do that I will need Johansson. He is the only expert we have on it.” Paula glanced at Gore. “Unless I go to Far Away.”

“Out of the question,” Gore shot back. “I told you. You’re too valuable to go off chasing around an unknown countryside full of guerrillas. Besides, you’re not geared up for that kind of operation. Your public profile is too high, we need to keep you out of sight behind a desk. Now that I know what’s actually been going on around here we can send some covert agents from our family security teams to take a damn close look at both factions on Far Away. I want to know exactly what the fuck’s been happening out there.”

“Very well,” Justine said. “I’ll have Thompson’s office arrange your clearance. You should be able to start tomorrow.” It wasn’t that she agreed with her father; she simply couldn’t see any other way to proceed for now.

Morton would have liked the party, Mellanie knew. It was full of players that were in a league far above any he’d moved among on Oaktier. Even that airhead Murielle had more money in her trust fund than Morton’s beloved Gansu Construction was capitalized at. He would have been dealing from the moment they arrived until the cateringbots started clearing up in the wee small hours.

She was entranced by the Tulip Mansion. That much wealth and antiquity and style in one package was overwhelming to a girl from Darklake City. Growing up in such an environment would leave anyone with real confidence and poise. A childhood spent here must have been magnificent. She could see groups of children running about across the grounds, carefree and happy as they played simple timeless games of catch and chase. Her blank smile concealed her envy.

Looking around at the beautiful people as they chatted in groups on the lawn, she still felt she was living in someone else’s TSI biogdrama. She knew how to move with them, how to laugh at their inane jokes. When to smile knowingly as they gossiped. The names of wines and food, how to pronounce them correctly. Art was still difficult for her, the Grand Families and Intersolar Dynasties seemed to have an encyclopedic history of art available at a genetic level; but her e-butler kept the files on quick recall.

“Ah, there’s Campbell Sheldon,” Alessandra said. Her hand waved discreetly toward one of the marquees. “See him?”

Mellanie turned slowly, scanning the group standing around the marquee, framed by one of the giant flower arrangements. Her virtual vision displayed the file picture of Sheldon, and she matched it with the real man. “Got him.”

“Campbell is your fuck tonight. He was their family’s chief negotiator when the navy was put together; so he’ll have access to the stats. How are the construction schedules holding up, what’s the true budget overspend. You know what we need.”

Mellanie said nothing.

Alessandra gave her a disapproving look. “You’re not going soft on me, are you? There are about a billion other girls who would like to take your place.”

“I know. But he’s a Sheldon, he’s not going to give me figures on stuff like that. He’s not dumb.”

“Of course not. He knows who you are and why you’re sucking his dick. That’s the point, he won’t give you figures, but he’ll show us the direction to take. They’re all at war with each other, young Mellanie; all struggling for dominance, and information is their weapon. If one of his rivals is screwing up, you’ll be told.”

Mellanie gave the group a second look. It was half past six, she’d had too many cocktails and too many vacuous conversations where every sentence began and ended with “darling.” There were lights on inside the marquees, and paths across the lawns were glowing blue as if they were phosphorescent streams. “Why do they have marquees? This place must have force fields. They’ll turn them on if it starts raining.”

“I’m sure they will,” Alessandra said in an annoyed tone.

“So if we’re not going to get wet, why put up marquees?”

“Go ask Campbell. The Sheldons are all technology bores, I’m sure he’ll love explaining it all to you.”

“Do you like anybody?”

“I like you.” Alessandra leaned forward and gave her a firm kiss. Mellanie was slow to respond.

“Don’t be such a bitch,” Alessandra complained.

Mellanie glared at her through the alcohol buzz; then she blinked, peering across the darkling grounds. “That’s Myo.”

“Paula Myo?” Alessandra couldn’t keep the twang of interest out of her voice.

“Yes.”

“Curious.” She kept facing Mellanie. “Who’s she with?”

“A nobody. Security man.” Mellanie was quite pleased she could tell.

“So she’s dealing with the Burnellis.”

“Let me have it.”

“You’ve got to stop obsessing on the woman.”

“It’s a good story, and you know it. I’ll fuck whoever you want, but give it to me.”

“That’s my Mellanie. All right, I can spare you for a couple of days. If you can find out what she’s doing for the Burnellis I’ll be impressed. But if not, I want you back on Elan in forty-eight hours.”

“Thank you.” Mellanie kissed her, properly this time.

“All right,” Alessandra said eventually, chortling happily. “Campbell! Remember? Now go.”

Mellanie dropped her cocktail glass into the rosebushes, shook her tousled hair back, pushed her tits out, and started walking toward her target.

The engagement party was going well after all. Justine surveyed the guests as they drifted in for the evening buffet. A twenty-piece band had set up in front of the big fountain pool to play merry 1950s tunes. She could hear a lot of laughter amid the drone of conversation. Thick flower scents drifted on the fresh night air. Overhead, the constellations burned brightly. Down toward the beech wood, the Tolthorpe troupe was running through their final rehearsal with the stage techs.

Her mood had lifted considerably since her father and the Myo woman had left. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised at her father accepting conspiracy theories in his desperation to catch the murderer. It was just that he was always the ruthlessly logical one. Thompson’s murder must have shaken him up a lot more than he was admitting to.

In the morning, she would take the time and talk to him properly about the whole situation. In the meantime, however, there was still time to have a lot of fun. And there were several men on the guest list she’d be happy to spend the night with. When she started searching around she saw Campbell Sheldon. He had a blissful smile on his face as he chattered away to Mellanie Rescorai. The girl had obviously decided he was going to take her to bed. Justine rolled her eyes at the folly of the male psyche. Ah well, he was a big boy, he’d probably survive the experience.

Ramon DB was over by the marquee, giving the food a long guilty look. She smiled warmly. He’d been a tower of strength for her at Senate Hall, helping her through long difficult days. He was due for rejuvenation in another year. She’d miss him in the meantime; although when he was twenty he was
so
handsome.

She looked for Estella, who would be good uncomplicated company.

“You left this behind, ma’am.”

Justine turned to face the young waiter who was holding out a silver tray. There were no glasses on it, only a tatty, faded old sunhat.

“I don’t think I—” She stopped. Stared at the sunhat. Suddenly some strange force was squeezing her throat, making it difficult to breathe. That same force that was making incredulous tears sting her eyes as she looked up into the waiter’s face. “Oh. My. God.
Kazimir!
” Her legs almost gave out, but she still managed to fling her arms around him. He was bigger. Older. With much broader shoulders. A dark handsome face with jet-black hair flopping down over his forehead. And he was as ecstatic as she.

“Every night I have dreamed of you, my angel,” he whispered into her ear as his hands stroked her hair. She clutched his back, almost tearing the waiter jacket fabric.

“Every night.” He was trembling now.

Justine tightened her grip on him.

“Every night I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to love your beautiful life. Yet even wishing you all that, I wished I could see you for just one minute more.”

“Shush.” She slid a finger down over his lips, then kissed him. Tenderly at first, not believing this could be real. Then demanding, passionate, shaking in his embrace.

He pulled back, staring intently into her eyes. His smile of wonder was as bright as ever, brighter than her memory. “It is you,” she said exultantly. “Really you.”

“I had to come, my angel. Different worlds or different galaxies, I couldn’t be apart from you. I had to find a way. Forgive me.”

“Oh, Kazimir.” She knew she was going to cry and didn’t care. Her gorgeous, romantic, foolish lover had pursued her across the stars.

“Come with me,” she said softly, and pulled him imploringly, longingly toward the Tulip Mansion.

In the full dark of midnight, hologram projectors cloaked the open-air stage in broad strokes of primary color. Dry ice flooded spookily through the beech trees. Cleverly positioned force fields allowed Puck and the fairies to fly gracefully through the air. Soliloquies were declaimed with bravado and majesty, to be greeted with enthusiastic applause from the audience.