The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle (78 page)

“It’ll be Oxford,” Gore said. “You always cave in to your offspring.”

Cocktails were served in the music room. It was a large split-level room on the ground floor, with a central dais of teak for the ancient Steinway piano. The woman they’d hired to play the beautiful antique for the evening was from the San Francisco Civic Orchestra; she had an admirable repertoire and a mellow voice. After hearing her start with an Elton John classic Thompson was almost reluctant to take Ramon, Patricia, and Crispin down to the other end of the room where they stood in front of a Harkins water flow sculpture that took up most of the wall. Crispin wasn’t part of the deal to be made, but as he was now on Doi’s team he would be useful in providing assurances to Ramon. The more players were tied together, the harder it was for them to renege.

“You have to admit,” Thompson said to his ex-brother-in-law, “having Chairwoman Gall on your side would be a big help within the African caucus. A great many of your members respect her. It wouldn’t be just you trying to swing the proposition, you could share the load.”

“That woman is a total ballbreaker,” Ramon said dismissively. “I think you’re making a mistake including her in this without any prior consultation. And she’s only a very loose member of the Senate’s African caucus. When it suits her is the usual membership criteria.”

“She’s got to want the agency to be based at High Angel,” Crispin said. “I know she was most unhappy when the
Second Chance
was built at Anshun. I haven’t heard that kind of language in a committee room since the Kharkov Independency crisis.”

“All the more reason she’ll tell everyone to go to hell,” Ramon grumbled. He directed a wistful look at one of the waiters carrying around silver trays full of canapés, then checked around guiltily for Justine. “She’ll want her pound of flesh for that slight.”

“Chairwoman Gall is a fellow professional,” Thompson said. “The economic benefits to her fiefdom cannot be overlooked in these circumstances. She’ll sign on the dotted line.”

“She might,” Ramon said. “But in any case, don’t be so sure the High Angel will permit you to establish the agency there.”

“From what I understand, the High Angel is equally interested in the Dyson Pair,” Patricia said. “Besides, we don’t actually need its permission to site the new agency facilities there. It’s a convenient dormitory, nothing more.”

“Any lack of cooperation on its part would be a problem,” Ramon said.

“One we could surmount,” Thompson said. “The primary reason for siting the agency there is simply moving it away from Anshun.”

As one, they turned to look at Campbell Sheldon, who was talking with Isabella. The girl was dressed in little more than a white cotton cobweb, whose active semiorganic fibers shifted every time she moved so that her body’s true sexuality remained provocatively veiled. She was laughing with easy enthusiasm at whatever story Campbell was recounting, while he seemed equally enthusiastic at the attention she was shining on him.

“The Sheldons can be reasonable,” Crispin said. “When it’s in their interest.”

“This whole agency project is in their favor,” Thompson said. “Crispin, much as I hate to interrupt a fellow guest when he’s clearly having such a good time, but do you think you could broach the subject of the High Angel base to Campbell? It would sound better coming from someone with your authority.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Crispin grumbled. He downed his sparkling gin. “Why do I come to these weekends?”

Thompson, Patricia, and Ramon watched him walk across the room to the corner beyond the piano where Campbell and Isabella were having their very public tête-à-tête. He stopped a waiter and grabbed a glass of black velvet before breaking in. Isabel welcomed the Senator with a fast flutter of her eyelashes.

“A lovely girl,” Ramon said. “You’re very lucky.”

“I know,” Patricia said. “But I’m old and boring, so I don’t suppose I’ll have her for long. Once the novelty of being so close to the future President wears off, she’ll move on. I did when I was that age.”

“I don’t even remember being that age anymore,” Thompson said. “And not from erasing the memories, either. They just fade after so much time.”

“To forgotten youth,” Patricia said, and raised her glass. “May we always be reminded by envying those who have it.”

“Amen.” Ramon touched his glass to hers, then with Thompson. They all drank the toast.

“If you are right about Chairwoman Gall being reluctant,” Thompson said to Ramon, “may we presume upon you to broach the subject with her?”

“I’d sooner put my cock in a food processor and switch it to puree.”

“You were married to my sister. How difficult can this be?”

Ramon put his head back and laughed. “Ah, I’d forgotten what this family was like.” He clicked his fingers at a waiter, who hurried over with some canapés. “All right, I might stop by at High Angel after this weekend. But I’m still not convinced that this agency is in the full interests of the African caucus.”

Thompson’s good humor never faltered. “Then I’m sure we’ll manage to find something that will convince you before you leave.”

They went through to the main dining room for the evening meal. Justine had arranged the seating as best she could given the state of play so far. Not that she expected much maneuvering during the meal, but the options were open. This time she wound up next to Campbell, though she frowned when she saw Isabel seating herself beside Ramon, who appeared more than happy with the arrangement. Isabel had taken Gerhard’s seat, leaving the DRNG Senator to sit next to Patricia, who Justine had wanted to place with Rafael. The Halgarths had done remarkably little in the way of negotiations so far. She knew Larry had talked to her father that morning, offering provisional support for the agency, but that was all. No doubt their cards would be on the table by tomorrow.

Text rolled down her virtual vision. YOUR EX IS BEING A PAIN, Thompson sent.

DON’T MAKE IT SO PERSONAL, she shot back. WHAT DOES HE WANT?

I’VE NO IDEA. I THOUGHT WE’D GOT HIM WITH THE HIGH ANGEL ASSEMBLY PLATFORM CONTRACTS. NOW HE’S SEEN HOW EVERYONE IS LINING UP BEHIND THE AGENCY, HE’S ANGLING FOR MORE.

I ALWAYS KNEW HE’D MAKE A GOOD POLITICIAN ONE DAY, YOU AND GORE NEVER BELIEVED ME. WE’RE PLAYING OUR HAND TOO OPENLY. IT LEAVES US VULNERABLE TO THOSE WE NEED TO ALLY.

YOU’LL HAVE TO BRING HIM BACK IN.

I’LL DO WHAT I CAN, BUT I’M MORE CONCERNED ABOUT THE HALGARTHS.

THEY’RE SOLID.

CARE TO BET ON THAT?

When the meal was over and the party had broken up, Gore went back to the study. With his latest retrosequenced modifications he needed at most three hours out of every twenty-four to sleep, and often managed on a lot less. As he prowled along the ceiling-high bookshelves he smelled the others as they went back to the lodges in the garden. Isabella, with her residual scents of the many men who for one reason or another had brushed up close against her that evening, herself redolent with the delicate smell of lily and orchid from the daubs of perfume on her neck. Her aroma stretched thin as she hurried across the grass, avoiding the paths, moving away from Patricia’s metallic tang. Ramon DB’s mélange of cologne and alcohol-laced perspiration awaited her, the two merging together as his lodge door closed behind her. Their combined odor built up heavily within the tight confines of the master bedroom, saliva pheromones and the sugar acid whiff of champagne mingled with it.

Behind Gore’s impassive gold face there was a stirring of amusement as the hot stench of sex began to gush out from their bodies. While in Patricia’s bedroom there was only the overpowering smell of pine soap as she drew her bath. No alcohol, no bitter salts of disappointment prickling her skin. She was content.

So Isabella was the go-between, the one who would bind Ramon back into the deal, making him the promises her mistress had preauthorized to secure his vote. And of course, she had a passing resemblance to Justine. A seduction of both mind and body. Poor, lucky Ramon.

Gore found the book he was looking for, seeing the leather spine behind the continual stream of sparkling scarlet information that enveloped his world. He reached out a hand swathed in glowing bands of silver and platinum, sliding
The Art of Financial Warfare
by James Barclay off the shelf. Not that he needed to read it, all the wisdom it contained now flowed freely among his thoughts and management routines. But the physical touch was a strange comfort. This book had been his Bible during his first life, and was still regarded as a classic text for anyone going into finance. He could probably do a good job updating it himself.

For some reason he always found himself searching it out when he was performing difficult placements; and this was one of the most complex. The starflight agency had so many variables, many more than the usual political-economic ventures he was accustomed to. By rights, it ought not to work, or at best be another cash-starved government institution that limped along on poor performances and missed quotas. This was too
grand
for today’s drab careerist politicians to make work. And yet … the people who would normally be tearing each other apart were actually cooperating and accommodating each other to facilitate its inception.

What am I missing?

Every formidable instinct he possessed was singing through his brain that something was wrong. He would have loved to believe that the human race was worthy and mature enough to behave so splendidly. To see a problem and address it with logic and resolution. There had been progress along the social evolutionary scale, he was the first to admit. Thanks to rejuve, people did take the long-term view very seriously indeed nowadays. The starflight agency was a perfect example of that.

So maybe I am the anachronism.

Untrustworthy, suspicious, always looking for the worst in people. The barbarian who had no need to invade the city, for he had watched it grow up around him. He still wouldn’t believe the agency could be birthed so easily.

Unless the manipulators themselves are being manipulated.

That notion was even harder to accept. He had been on this right from the start, watching with his usual Olympian detachment as Justine caught the implications from her own contacts and convened this weekend. As the most cursory reading of Barclay showed, to manipulate this situation earlier than he had, you would have to know the outcome of the Dyson mission before it was launched. Nobody possessed that kind of knowledge.

With a dismissive sigh he replaced the book, and went to sit in front of the small pile of embers that the fire had reduced to. If Isabella’s sweet body and wicked promises didn’t do the trick, he would need to outflank Ramon DB by midmorning tomorrow. Names flared within his private data casement, contacts within the African caucus who would not take kindly to their leading Senator turning down the subcontracts that re-siting the agency at High Angel would bring to their worlds. He sniffed the air, infusing the bouquet of Justine and Campbell and clean cotton sheets in mellow combination. Now that would be an advantageous union given what was expected to unfold over the next few years. Virtual hands reached out, purchasing shares in companies around the peripheries of where the larger starflight agency contracts would fall amid the African caucus planets. Preparing the family. Strengthening the family.

“I have to tell you,” Campbell said, “Nigel isn’t happy about moving the starship assembly platforms to High Angel.”

Justine stroked his nose in reply, moving her finger down to his lips so he could kiss the tip. She was lying directly on top of him, with the duvet flung somewhere on the floor. The ancient logs of the cabin were thick enough to retain the bedroom’s warmth against the chilly night outside, she didn’t need covering just yet. Candles in bulbous glass bowls flickered in various alcoves, filling the air with a musky scent of lavender and sandalwood.

“Poor Nigel,” she said with a pout, then smiled happily as his arms tightened around her, one hand was sliding sensually down her spine toward her rump. “What’s his problem?”

“He gave clearance for everything that’s been agreed so far, but moving to High Angel will delay the project by several months, and that includes the new scout mission. He won’t shift on that.”

“What about the ground defense segments of the navy? Do you mind losing out on them?”

“We don’t envisage losing out, exactly. We’re doing what your family is doing, and positioning ourselves. The primary contracts will be handled by the DRNG, but we’ll still come out ahead. Augusta is the largest of the Big15, everything is proportional.”

She looked around to find the bottle of Dom Perignon vintage 2331 was empty and neck-down in the ice bucket at the side of the bed. A quick order to the house array sent a maidbot hurrying to bring another. “It’s going to be interesting to see the New York market board on Monday morning. This weekend is going to see so many stock acquisitions and movements the traders are going to know something’s up.”

“Yeah, we can’t hold off introducing the agency for much longer.” He looked up as the maidbot slid toward the bed. “Ah. More?”

“Yes please!”

He moved his head back to find her grinning devilishly at him. “My God, remind me never to be around the week after you leave rejuve. I doubt any man could survive that.”

The delicious memory of those few days spent in a glade on the side of Mount Herculaneum came back to provoke a warm tingle of satisfaction inside her. “One did,” she murmured contentedly.

Campbell lifted the cold bottle from the maidbot’s grip. “Shall I open it?”

“Afterward.”

“What about the High Angel problem?”

“We’ll find a fix in the morning.”

There was no specific time arranged for breakfast on Sunday morning. The guests arrived as they woke, drifting in across the lawns. For once the day had started without any clouds. Strong sunlight cast the estate’s exuberant vegetation in a pleasant aspect; there were even a couple of red squirrels bounding about over the lawn. Justine sat with Campbell, relishing the tired but happy feeling that was soaking her body. Thompson had said a polite good morning when he came in, although his tone told her he was quite aware of what she’d been up to during the night. Not quite disapproving, but close. She and Campbell shared a secretive grin as her brother walked away. The grins reinforced each other, threatening to become the kind of unstoppable giggles that afflicted school kids.