The Night's Dawn Trilogy (39 page)

After friends, relatives, and colleagues were brought up to speed, it took another fifteen seconds before anyone thought of
contacting the news company offices.

Ione and Parker Higgens walked on from the plant genetics laboratory to the Laymil Habitat Structure Analysis office. People
were lining the stone path, trampling on the shrubs. Applause and cheers followed her like a wave effect, wolf-whistles were
flung boisterously. The serjeants had to gently push aside the more enthusiastic spectators. Ione started to shake hands and
wave.

There were five major Confederationwide news companies who maintained offices in Tranquillity, and all of them had been told
about Ione’s arrival at the research project campus within ninety seconds of her tour beginning. The disbelieving assistant
editor at Collins immediately asked the habitat personality if it was true.

“Yes,” Tranquillity said simply.

The scheduled morning programmes were immediately interrupted to carry the news. Reporters sprinted for tube carriages. Editors
frantically opened channels to their contacts in the Laymil project staff, seeking immediate on-the-ground coverage. Datavises
became sensevises, relaying optical and auditory nerve inputs directly to the studio. After twelve minutes, eighty per cent
of Tranquillity’s residents were hooked in, either watching Ione’s impromptu walkabout on the AV broadcasts, or receiving
the sensevise direct through neural nanonics.

It’s a girl, the Lord of Ruin is a girl. God, the Royal Sal-danas will go mad over that, there’s not a chance of reconciliation
with the Kingdom now
.

There were two Kiint working in the physiology laboratory; one of them came into the glass-walled lobby to greet Ione. It
was an impressive and moving sight, the slight human girl standing in front of the huge xenoc.

The Kiint was an adult female, icy-white hide glimmering softly in the bright morning light, almost as if she was wearing
a halo. She had an oval cross-section body nine metres long, three wide, standing on eight fat elephantlike legs. Her head
was as long as Ione was tall, which was slightly intimidating as it reminded her of a primitive shield; a bony, slightly convex,
downward pointing triangle with a central vertical ridge which gave it two distinct planes. There were a pair of limpid eyes
halfway up, just above a series of six breathing vents, each of which had a furry fringe that undulated with every breath.
The pointed base of the head served as her beak, with two smaller hinged sections behind.

Two arm-appendages emerged from the base of her neck, curving round the lower half of her head. They looked almost like featureless
tentacles. Then tractamorphic muscles rippled below the skin, and the end of the right arm shaped itself into a human hand.

You are much welcome here, Ione Saldana,
the Kiint spoke into her mind.

Kiint could always use the human affinity band, but Edenists had found it almost impossible to sense any form of private Kiint
communication. Perhaps they had a true telepathic ability? It was one of the lesser mysteries about the enigmatic xenocs.

Your interest in this research venture does you credit,

the Kiint continued.

My thanks to you for assisting us,
Ione replied.
I’m told the analysis instruments you have made available here have been an immeasurable help.

How could we refuse your grandfather’s invitation? Foresight such as his is a rare quality among your race.

I would like to speak with you about that sometime.

Of course. But now you must complete your grand progress.
There was a note of lofty amusement behind the thought.

The Kiint extended her new-formed hand, and they touched palms briefly. She inclined her massive head in a bow. Murmurs of
surprise rippled round the others in the lobby.

Hell, look at that, even the Kiint’s bowled over by her
.

After the tour Ione stood alone in one of the orchards outside the campus, surrounded by trees rigorously pruned into mushroom
shapes, their branches congested with a fleece of blossom. Petals swirled slowly through the air about her, sprinkling the
ankle-length grass with a snowy mantle. She had her back to the habitat, so that the entire interior appeared to curve around
her like a pair of emerald waves, their peaks clashing in a long, straight flame of scintillating white light far overhead.

“I want to tell you of the faith I have in everybody who lives in Tranquillity,” she began. “Out of nothing a hundred and
seventy-five years ago we have built a society that is respected throughout the Confederation. We are independent, we are
virtually crime free, and we are wealthy, both collectively and individually. We can be justifiably proud in that achievement.
It was not given to us, it was bought with hard work and sacrifices. And it will continue only by encouraging the industry
and enterprise that has generated this wealth. My father and grandfather gave their wholehearted support to the business community,
in creating an environment where trade and industry enrich our lives, and allow us to aspire for our children. In Tranquillity,
dreams are given a greater than average chance to become real. That you will continue to pursue your dreams is the faith I
have in you. To this end I pledge that my reign will be devoted to maintaining the economic, legal, and political environs
which have brought us to the enviable position we find ourselves in today and enable us to look forward to the future with
courage.”

The image and voice faded from the news studios, along with the aromatic scent of blossom. But not the shy half-smile, that
lingered for a long time.

Christ: young, pretty, rich, and smart. How about that!

By the end of the day, Tranquillity had received eighty-four thousand invitations for Ione. She was wanted at parties and
dinners, she was asked to give speeches and present prizes, her name was wanted on the board of interstellar companies, designers
offered their entire portfolio for her to wear, charities begged her to become their patron. Old friends treated her as though
she was a reincarnated messiah. Everyone wanted to be her new friend. And Joshua—Joshua got very grumpy when she spent the
first evening reviewing Tranquillity’s summaries of the incredible public reaction rather than spending it in bed with him.

He was also none too happy that
Lady Macbeth
’s refit was still a fortnight short of completion. Over the next twenty hours, seventy-five charter flights were organized
to carry recordings of Ione around the Confederation. The news company offices were engaged in a ferocious ratings war; they
were desperate to break the scoop on as many worlds as possible, as soon as possible. Starship captains cursed their earlier
binding contracts to deliver mundane cargoes, and some even broke them. Those that didn’t have immediate contracts named wholly
unreasonable prices to the news companies, which were paid without question.

Right across the Confederation, the sensation-hungry devoured Ione, rekindling an avid interest in the black sheep branch
of the Saldana family; and even briefly pushing the old Laymil enigma into the limelight again.

Merchants became extremely wealthy on Ione fashions and Ione accessories. Bluesense directors remodelled their female meat
to look and feel like her. Mood Fantasy bands composed tracks about her. Even Jezzibella announced she looked cute, and said
she’d like to fuck her one day.

The news agencies on Kulu and its Principality worlds treated her appearance as a minor footnote. The royal family didn’t
believe in censoring the press, but the court certainly didn’t see her appearance as anything to celebrate. Black-market sensevise
recordings of her sold for an absolute fortune right across the Kingdom.

It was one of the abandoned cargo contracts which brought Joshua his first charter two days later.

Roland Frampton was a merchant friend of Barrington Grier, which was how he heard of the
Lady Macbeth
and how she would be ready to depart in fourteen days.

“When I get my hands on that bastard Captain McDonald I’ll have him broken up for transplant meat,” Roland said angrily. “The
Corum Sister
won’t get another cargo contract this side of Jupiter, that I do promise.” Joshua sipped his mineral water and nodded sympathetically.
Harkey’s Bar didn’t have the same appeal by day, although the term was ambiguous in a starscraper. But people’s biorhythms
were in tune with the habitat light-tube; his body knew this was mid-morning.

“I paid good rates, you know, not like I was ripping him off. It was a regular run. Now this bloody girl comes along, and
everyone goes berserk.”

“Hey, I’m glad we’ve got a Saldana back running things,” Barrington Grier protested. “If she’s half as good as the last two
Lords, this place is going to be swinging.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t got no quarrel with her,” Roland Frampton said hurriedly. “But the way people react.” He shook his
head in bemusement. “Did you hear what the news companies were offering captains for the Avon run?”

“Yeah. Meyer and the
Udat
got the Time Universe charter to Avon,” Joshua said with a grin.

“The point is, Joshua, I’m up shit creek,” Roland Framp-ton said. “I’ve got my clients screaming for those nanonic medical
supplements. There are a lot of wealthy old people in Tranquillity, the medical industry here is big business.”

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

“Cards on the table, Joshua, I’ll pay you three hundred and fifty thousand fuseodollars for the flight, with an extra seventy
thousand bonus if you can get them back here in five weeks from today. After that, I can offer you a regular contract, a flight
to Rosenheim every six months. Not to be sneered at, Joshua.”

Joshua glanced at Melvyn Ducharme, who was stirring his coffee idly. He had come to rely a lot on his fusion engineer during
Lady Mac
’s refit; he was forty-eight, with over twenty years’ solid starflight experience behind him. The dark-skinned little man
gave a small nod.

“OK,” Joshua said. “But you know the score, Roland, the
Lady Mac
doesn’t leave that bay until I’m happy she’s integrated properly. I’m not rushing it and botching it just for the sake of
a seventy-thousand-dollar bonus.”

Roland Frampton gave him an unhappy look. “Sure, Joshua, I appreciate that.”

They shook on it and started to work out details.

Kelly Tirrel arrived twenty minutes later, dropped her bag on the carpet, and sat down with an exaggerated sigh. She called
a waitress over and ordered a coffee, then gave Joshua a perfunctory kiss.

“Have you got your contract?” she asked.

“We’re working on it.” He gave the bar a quick scan. Helen Vanham wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Good for you. God what a day! My editor’s been having kittens.”

“Ione caught you all on the hop, did she?” Barrington Grier asked.

“And then some,” Kelly admitted. “I’ve been researching for the last fifteen hours without a break, going through the Saldana
family history. We’re putting together an hour-long documentary for tonight. Those royals are one bunch of weird people.”

“Are you going to present it?” Joshua asked.

“No chance. Kirstie McShane got it. Bitch. She’s sleeping with the current affairs editor, you know, that’s why. I’ll probably
wind up as fashion correspondent or something. If only we’d had some advance warning, I could have prepared, found an angle.”

“Ione wasn’t sure about the timing herself,” he said. “She’s only been thinking about public appearances for the last fortnight.”

There was a murderous silence as Kelly’s head slowly turned to focus on Joshua. “What?”

“Er…” He felt as though he’d suddenly been dumped into free fall.

“You know her? You’ve known who she is?”

“Well, sort of, in a way, I suppose, yes. She did mention it.”

Kelly stood up fast, the motion nearly toppling her chair. “Mention it! You SHIT, Joshua Calvert! Ione Saldana is the biggest
story to hit the whole Confederation for three years, and you KNEW about it, and you didn’t tell me! You selfish, egotistical,
mean-minded, xenoc-buggering bastard! I was sleeping with you, I cared…” She clamped her mouth shut and snatched her bag up.
“Didn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course. It was…” He accessed his neural nanonics’ thesaurus file. “Stupendous?”

“Bastard!” She took two paces towards the door then turned round. “And you’re shit-useless in bed, too,” she shouted.

Everyone in Harkey’s Bar was staring at him. He could see a lot of grins forming. He closed his eyes for a moment and let
out a resigned sigh. “Women.” He swivelled round in his chair to face Roland Frampton. “About the insurance rates…”

The cavern wasn’t like anything Joshua had seen in Tranquillity before. It was roughly hemispherical, about twenty metres
across, with the usual level white polyp floor. But the walls’ regularity was broken up by organic protuberances, great cauliflower
growths that quivered occasionally as he watched; there were also the tight doughnuts of sphincter muscles. Equipment cabinets,
with a medical look, were fused into the polyp; as though they were being extruded, or osmotically absorbed. He couldn’t tell
which.

The whole place was so
biological
. It made him want to squirm.

“What is it?” he asked Ione.

“A clone womb centre.” She pointed to one of the sphincters. “We gestate the servitor housechimps in these ones. All of the
habitat’s servitors are sexless, you see, they don’t mate. So Tranquillity has to grow them. We’ve got several varieties of
chimps, and the serjeants, of course, then there are some specialist constructs for things like tract repair and light-tube
maintenance. There are forty-three separate species in all.”

“Ah. Good.”

“The wombs are plumbed directly into the nutrient ducts, there’s very little hardware needed.”

“Right.”