Текст книги "The Abyss Beyond Dreams"

Автор книги: Peter F. Hamilton

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

‘So much,’ she exclaimed, her hands waving around like a flightless bird’s wings. ‘How do Commonwealth people live knowing so much all of the time?’

On the other side of the table Nigel was sitting back in his chair, watching her in amusement. Exovision icons were superimposed across him, yet they didn’t interfere with his image. It was very strange. A call icon flipped up, with a code identifying it as Nigel Sheldon. She allowed a connection – not really having to think how to make that happen, just willing it. Icons rearranged themselves as she thought of them.

‘It can be overwhelming,’ Nigel told her. ‘You just need to learn how to filter. The secondary routines will help you.’

She grinned in delight. His lips hadn’t moved, and he hadn’t ’pathed, either. This was new, a direct datalink. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she sent back. ‘I want to learn more now. I want to learn all about everything.’

‘I think we’d better begin with some primary grade educational packages, and move on from there.’

She laughed in delight. ‘Let’s get started.’

2

‘I can zoom,’ Kysandra declared loudly as she came running down the stairs. Her ex-sight showed her Nigel was in the library, trying to instruct the farm’s oldest mod-dwarf how to turn the pages of a book one at a time. The poor old thing didn’t have much dexterity left in its thin hands and kept turning several pages at a time. A simple memory module had been rigged above the table on a wooden frame, where its camera could scan in the text.

She and Nigel had taken a trip into Adeone yesterday to get a cartload of general supplies, food and other essentials. ‘We can’t use the ship’s semiorganic synthesizers for everything, even if they stay glitch free,’ Nigel said. ‘And I can’t afford Blair Farm to have a reputation for being the place where some odd rich bloke hides out. I don’t want to attract attention. We have to be accepted as just another farm.’

Maybe the ship couldn’t extrude absolutely everything from its neumanetic systems, but Nigel had certainly got it to counterfeit Bienvenido’s coins perfectly. Kysandra carried a huge heavy purse round the stores, choosing a dozen dresses and more practical clothes (no shoes, though; ship-produced footwear couldn’t be beaten). Then she showed him which merchant to order coal from, a decent timber yard, ironmonger, stables, the town’s livestock market . . . None of them had any connection to Ma Ulvon. Nigel had spent a small fortune on the kind of things they’d need to return the farm to productivity. People were pleased to hear it. So he was right; a rich newcomer settling in was interesting but not suspicious. They were happy for her, too. Old schoolfriends had stopped to congratulate her.

When they were done with spending, they went to the library; Nigel registered himself and borrowed a dozen books on history and law.

‘Why law?’ she’d asked. The farm library didn’t have any legal books; her father hadn’t been interested in that subject at all.

‘Building blocks of society. If you want to understand how a government works, the laws tell you.’

Now all he had to do was load all the text into the ship’s smartcore. The mod-dwarf was pleased at being given a job which involved sitting down all day, but frustrated with its inability to perform as instructed. Nigel was spending half his time soothing its thoughts. He looked up as she rushed into the room. ‘Zoom where?’ he asked.

Kysandra wrinkled her nose up at his odd sense of humour. ‘My eyes, stupid. Their zoom function is working.’

‘Excellent. The resequencing is progressing nicely. Nice to confirm the Void allows genetic modification to work. How about infra-red function?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed – though that image was just plain weird. Everything a different colour, with brightness depending on how hot an object was. Still it was better than light amplification for night use, which was even stranger than ex-sight perception. ‘Got it.’

‘Great.’

‘You’re good at calming mods,’ she said, indicating the dwarf, which was concentrating hard on the book.

‘I had a good teacher.’

‘I’m going out to take a proper look at the third barn,’ she told him. ‘I still think we’d be better off demolishing it and beginning again from scratch.’ Nigel had big plans for expanding the compound, starting with building a barn large enough to conceal the spaceship from casual sight. Developing a modest industrial base was all part of his mission to gather as much scientific data on the Void as he could. And Skylady was the key to it. The ship’s smartcore could control dozens of mods simultaneously, using them as remote manipulators. But the ’path its bioprocessor smartcore generated was range-limited. They needed the ship at the farm.

‘Sure thing,’ he said.

‘I had a carpentry memory implantation this morning,’ she assured him. ‘I should be able to tell which purlins and rafters are still solid, if any.’ Commonwealth memory implants were a complete revelation. She’d been accepting four a day – which was as many as Nigel would allow her. The first three days had been spent bringing her knowledge base up to the equivalent of teenagers in the Commonwealth. She understood so many concepts now, but details remained to be filled in. For the last couple of days she’d divided her allowance between practical skills like carpentry and general information.

‘Just go easy,’ he told her for the hundredth time. ‘You need time to assimilate all the new data. It has to settle in properly.’

‘I’m using my storage lacuna so I don’t get brainburn, like you said. I’ll be fine. Besides, I know all about native wood anyway; the carpentry knowledge just adds technique.’

‘Well, listen to the neural expert,’ he muttered sarcastically.

She grinned. An icon flipped up into her exovision. One of the sensors they’d placed round the valley was showing a big cart turning off the public road three miles away, turning down the track to the valley. With the Void distorting electromagnetic communications, bandwidth was poor over such a distance. She couldn’t get a clear picture of the people riding in the cart.

‘We weren’t expecting a delivery until next week,’ she said automatically. ‘The coal’s supposed to be first, and that isn’t old man Steron’s wagon anyway.’

‘That’s not a delivery,’ Nigel said.

Normally, Kysandra had some clue about a person’s emotions, even with a decent shell wrapping round their thoughts. But with Nigel’s impenetrable shell she was completely lost. Looking at him, sitting perfectly still as he sent out a stream of encrypted code to the smartcore, she was suddenly struck by how menacing this man from another universe could be.

A second sensor, further down the track, gave a better image of the cart and its three passengers as it trundled past. ‘Oh, no,’ she groaned. It was Akstan, Julias and Russell – another of the brothers.

‘My fault. I shouldn’t have left such a big loose end,’ Nigel said. ‘That was stupid of me. Maybe I have been a little cautious about exposing myself. Shock, I expect. Well, that ends now.’

‘Are you going to kill them?’ she asked quietly. The weapons available to the Commonwealth were truly astounding, even though half of them probably wouldn’t work in the Void. Ma’s boys with their pump-action shotguns and hunting knives wouldn’t stand a chance.

‘No. That would be a waste.’

‘Waste? So what are you going to do?’

‘Recruit them.’

‘Er, Nigel, they’re pretty loyal to Ma.’

‘Did I say I was going to offer them a choice?’

The cold intensity of his voice made Kysandra shudder. Her u-shadow accessed the feed from various sensors around the farmhouse, building their images to a single picture across her exovision.

*

The wagon came to a halt just outside the gate set in the compound’s ramshackle fence. Julias frowned at the farmhouse, taking in the repaired roof, freshly painted gable bargeboards, fixed windows, pruned climbing roses, the kitchen garden with rows of newly planted vegetables, the half-refurbished first barn.

‘It wasn’t like this a week ago,’ he said. ‘He might have brought in some help.’

‘So have we,’ Akstan said, and patted his shotgun.

The Skylady had a small flock of semiorganic ge-eagles stowed on board. Nigel activated one and downloaded a set of instructions which its small smartcore could follow easily enough. It loaded its ordinance and flapped up quickly into the sky.

Akstan primed his pump-action shotgun with a single powerful motion and climbed off the cart. His brothers followed him down, their own weapons held ready. They kept their shells strong, but neither made any attempt to fuzz themselves. None of the brothers noticed the big artificial bird swooping quickly and silently through the air towards them. To ex-sight, its semiorganic components were identical to living tissue. Only its controlling bioprocessor might have betrayed it, with routines that were fast and precise rather than a bird’s natural impulse-instinct thoughts. But the difference was so tiny that they probably wouldn’t have noticed even if they had examined the bird.

Akstan directed a strong ’path shout at the farmhouse. ‘Kysandra, hey, Kysandra, you want to come out here? Be easier that way.’

She didn’t even turn round.

Akstan looked at his brothers. Russell shrugged.

‘Come on now, girl, you belong to me. Everybody knows that. Your new man in there, we gonna see him off today. He ain’t gonna be around no more.’

A shadow flashed across the group of men as the ge-eagle passed five metres overhead. Julias frowned up at it, clearly puzzled by the strange powerful shape. He was completely unaware of the aerosol it released.

‘You come out here now, Kysandra,’ Akstan ’pathed, his thoughts colouring towards anger at the defiance. ‘If you don’t, we gonna come in and get you. Ain’t gonna be pretty.’

‘What—?’ Russell murmured, and fell unconscious.

‘Huh?’ Akstan grunted, then joined his brother in an inelegant heap on the ground.

‘Now what?’ Kysandra asked as the ANAdroids carried the three comatose men into the farmhouse and laid them out on the floor of the front room.

‘I used a mild domination on them last time, so they’d agree to giving me you and the farm,’ Nigel told her as he stared down impassively at the sleeping figures. ‘Too mild, apparently.’

‘Domination?’

‘It’s a kind of mind-control technique they developed on the other world. Someone called Tathal perfected it.’

‘Mind control? You mean you can order them round like mods?’

‘Not quite. You subvert their loyalty, which makes them want to do everything you ask.’

Kysandra hoped she was keeping her shell firm, because, if anything, that sounded even more unpleasant than simply ordering people around. ‘And you know how to do that?’

‘Oh, yes. I tried it out on Ma and her family when I followed you into town. I just wasn’t forceful enough, and I was in a hurry. This time I’ll get it right.’

An ANAdroid walked in carrying a large medical kit. Nigel selected an infuser and applied it to Akstan’s neck. ‘This will elevate his brainwave activity to borderline consciousness. We have a few techniques in the Commonwealth to subvert personality, dating all the way back to the Starflyer War, some more brutal than others. I think I’ll start with a modified narcomeme; that’s soft enough. It should help subdue any instinctive resistance. Then I’ll use Tathal’s procedure.’

Kysandra watched Akstan moan feebly. Thoughts grew out of his unshelled sleeping mind. She perceived her own face tumbling through the phantasms his semi-conscious brain was producing, the disturbing sexual obsessions she featured in, his anger at being thwarted mutating into perverted revenge fantasies.

All the lingering doubts she had about what Nigel was going to do dried up like field dew in high summer. Instead, she stood above the insensate Akstan, and used her ex-sight to perceive the complex stream of ’path that Nigel directed into his naked brain. It was interesting.

*

Heavy clouds swept in from the south-west to cover Adeone at eleven o’clock at night, obscuring the nebulas and bringing a cold persistent rain. By two o’clock in the morning, the town was asleep; pubs and clubs had closed, the docks were silent, the teams of civic mod-dwarfs had gone back to their stables. The miserable rain had even curtailed the activities of its more nefarious citizens.

Oil lamps along Lubal Street flickered and went out one by one, allowing the shadows to swell out and embrace its entire length.

Standing at the end of Lubal Street, with her shell deflecting the swirling raindrops, Kysandra looked at the Hevlin Hotel. In infra-red, the broad white façade was a dull luminous blue as the rain washed down the walls, cooling the structure.

Nigel stood directly to her left. Her ex-sight couldn’t perceive him at all. Naturally, Nigel had a far superior fuzz technique than anyone, which he’d gifted her, too. Concealment, he called it. It was only infra-red which showed her where he was, a green and blue profile where the rain dripped off his big brown coat. Infra-red also allowed her to see the others they’d brought with them: Akstan, his brothers and three ANAdroids, standing motionless behind her.

‘He’s good,’ Nigel admitted as the ex-sight swept along the street, as it did every couple of minutes. Their fuzz deflected it easily, but they were still forty metres away.

Someone was awake in the Hevlin’s lobby, faithfully watching out for trouble. Ma had too many enemies to leave the place unguarded, even on a night like this.

‘Akstan?’ Nigel queried.

‘It’s probably Snony,’ Akstan said. ‘He’s got good ex-sight. Reliable, too.’

‘We need to get inside without anyone raising the alarm.’

‘Leave it to me,’ Akstan said eagerly.

Kysandra had to press her teeth together and strengthen her shell so her feelings didn’t betray her. It had taken Nigel twenty minutes to turn the surly Akstan into an over-friendly eager-to-please disciple. She’d watched all of the sullen, sulky brothers start to behave with the kind of adoration that a puppy would exhibit.

Akstan and his brothers deserved no less; she wasn’t arguing that. But it was a sharp reminder than the man who treated her so kindly could also be completely ruthless. It made her glad she had been shown trust. But equally, she wondered if that appreciation was all her own. Had he used domination on her while she slept that day after their wedding? But . . . if he’d done that, would I ever question if he had? Unless that was part of it, making me doubt so I think I am free . . . Uracus.

‘Did you do that to me?’ she blurted as Akstan walked steadily towards the Hevlin.

Nigel turned and frowned. ‘What?’

‘Did you use Tathal’s domination procedure on me?’

‘No.’

Infra-red showed him grinning, his teeth glowed ruby red under the wide brim of his hat.

‘But I get that making you believe that is practically impossible,’ he said. ‘Ask yourself: why would I give you the Commonwealth memory implants?’

‘So I’m more useful.’

‘Ah, okay; good answer. So the second question is: why would I risk leaving you free?’

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘Because I have great-great-great-great-great-granddaughters your age or younger. Because I am many bad things, but enslaving teenage girls isn’t one of them. Because I won’t have many genuine friends here, but you could be one. And, face it, I am kind of overwhelming, which is a sort of domination.’

She nodded slowly. ‘Are you really that old to have great-great – whatever – granddaughters?’

‘Oh, yeah. They’re all out there, on the other side of the barrier. Judging me.’

‘Uracus. So what bad things?’

Nigel chuckled. ‘I used my power and money to build an empire. Opponents got pushed aside. Pushed hard.’

‘You ruled people, like the Captain does?’

‘It was a commercial empire. Which, given its size, translates into political power. So yes, I ruled people. Just like the Captain does here. I choose to believe I was a reasonably benign dictator. Hardass, fanatical dictators never accomplish anything, and for all my faults I’m proud of what I achieved. Along with my friend Ozzie, I helped open the stars for our whole species, Kysandra; I was one of the founders of the Commonwealth. Long time ago, though.’

‘If you’re really that important, why are you here? Why did you come into the Void?’

His glowing grin widened. ‘Who else you gonna call?’

Her own lips lifted in response. That was Nigel. Odd yet reassuring.

Akstan walked into the lobby. The man behind the reception desk looked up, jerked his head in recognition. Akstan pulled out the air pistol Nigel had given him and shot the man in the throat. The sedative in the pellet worked fast. Surprise and shock had just registered, he was starting to ’path out an alarm, when his eyes rolled up and he collapsed.

‘Good work,’ Nigel ’pathed.

Akstan looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

‘Gas masks on,’ Nigel said.

Kysandra took out the slippery triangle of fabric and pressed it to her face. It adhered to her skin, covering her mouth and nose. She took a cautious breath; the filtered air was very dry, but apart from that perfectly normal.

‘Let them go, Russell, please,’ Nigel said.

It had taken Skylady’s synthesizers most of the afternoon to produce components to graft onto the small semiorganic ge-cats it had in storage. But after a solid three hours work, eight of the slick little creatures were now rodent-like enough to pass as bussalores. They were in a box carried by Russell, who put it down on the wet cobbles.

Kysandra’s ex-sight followed them scampering over to the Hevlin. Three of them went in through the front door Akstan was holding open. The remaining five veered off down the alleys on either side of the hotel. They entered through air bricks set level with the pavement, through cellar windows, through drainpipes. Pre-loaded directions sent them racing along corridors and through rooms. As they went, gas sprayed out through their anus vent, permeating the entire building. Sleepers drifted into an even deeper sleep, unaware as their dreams faded to nothingness.

Nigel waited outside in the rain, observing the creatures’ progress with his ex-sight. Ten minutes after the last artificial bussalore entered, he said: ‘All right, let’s go.’

He started to walk towards the Hevlin Hotel and the unconscious bodies it contained. Kysandra and the others followed.

3

Kysandra was desperate to start the expedition to the Desert of Bone. She’d never even seen a train before, let alone travelled half the length of the continent on one. And then an adventure was waiting for her at the far end. Yet at the same time, it was so hard to leave Blair Farm. In the six months since Nigel had arrived, crashing into her life, turning her existence into something extraordinary, the farm looked as she’d always imagined it would be if Dad had come back and run it properly. Teams of perfectly coordinated mod-apes and mod-dwarfs had built a waterwheel-powered timber mill beside the river. Then with the planks and posts cut from trees they’d felled, new barns were constructed. Hedges had been hacked back into shape, and fields ploughed and drilled ready with the seed crops they’d bought from town. Sheep, pigs, cows, chickens, goats, llamas and ostriches had been delivered from the local livestock market, and thrived under Skylady’s excellent proxy husbandry. The stable of mods expanded constantly. Machine shops were being put up. Each day there was something to help with and accomplish.

There were some days when she looked round at what they’d achieved and wondered if it was all real. But, of course, it was all Nigel. He knew exactly what to do, how things were built, the components, the tools they’d need. He knew how to handle people. He wasn’t afraid of being forceful when he had to be. He was focused in a way she knew she’d never be, not even with all her bright bubbling Commonwealth knowledge. Which made her slightly envious.

She found herself watching him more and more. He was over a thousand years old – so he claimed – even though he didn’t look much over his mid-twenties. That youthful appearance was . . . nice. It helped conjure up certain daydreams. Not that they were anything but daydreams.

He teased her a lot, which was cool that he felt so comfortable with her. It meant she could tease him back, ask questions she’d never dare ask Mrs Brewster. She’d never known that kind of honesty before. It made her feel good, on a lot of levels.

It was a time she’d have been happy to stretch on and on, but Nigel was keen to find out what had caused the peculiar signal from the Desert of Bone. So with Blair Farm functioning smoothly, they set off as the dry season arrived, leaving Skylady and three ANAdroids in charge.

They had to take a boat to Erond first, which had the closest branch-line station. Nigel hired the whole longbarge to ferry them and their luggage along the Nubain tributary from Adeone. Before they started, he’d ordered five brand new trunks from the general store, which had taken three weeks to arrive from Varlan. Lovely brass-cornered boxes with heavy-duty Ysdom locks, so large Kysandra could practically fit into one if she curled up tight.

Russell and Madeline came with them, as valet and maid respectively, along with two of the ANAdroids who had now modified their faces, giving them real human characteristics. One had acquired Asian traits and had aged himself to about eighty, complete with a receding hairline – nice touch, she acknowledged. Who would ever suspect anything abnormal about that? The second had turned his skin as pale as the Algory mountains’ snowcaps and toned his hair to a matching light sandy shade. She’d spent a few days suggesting facial elements he might want to incorporate, watching in delight as they slowly manifested, until a week later they’d wound up with a wonderfully handsome twenty-year-old’s countenance. Sure enough, every time he visited Adeone, all the girls directed sight and ex-sight his way.

‘You’re projecting,’ Nigel had commented, in not-quite-disapproval.

She and the ANAdroid had laughed at that behind his back. All the ANAdroids had distinct personalities, and this one had a dry sense of humour she enjoyed. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked. Because now that he had a real face, it was impossible to think of him as a machine.

‘I am Three.’

‘That’s not a proper name, and I can’t call you a number in public. Nothing that draws undue attention, remember?’

‘I can’t forget anything, remember?’

Kysandra giggled. ‘Then I’m going to call you Coulan, after one of Mum’s nephews. I always liked him.’

‘I accept the name with gratitude.’ He gave her a short bow. ‘What are you going to call the rest of my batch?’

So it was Demitri, Marek, Valeri and Fergus.

‘Fergus?’ Nigel sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, Fergus.’ She linked arms companionably with the newly named Fergus, who generated a quick pulse of smug amusement from his bioconstruct brain.

‘All right. But when I start using them as embedded scouts, he might have to be called something else if that’s what it takes to blend in.’

‘Fine,’ she said airily.

But he was Fergus when he accompanied them on the expedition. With their luggage and servants and first-class tickets, they really did fit the ideal of an aristocratic couple taking a grand trip.

The first train took them all the way up the Southern City Line and into Varlan’s Willesden station, which stood on the Colbal’s southern bank. Kysandra had pleaded to spend a few days in the capital before setting off east. Surprisingly, Nigel had agreed easily enough. ‘I need to look around at some point,’ he said. ‘Can’t put it off forever.’

So they booked in to the palatial monolith that was the Rasheeda Hotel on Walton Boulevard, with its diamond-patterned bricks and stone oriel windows, where their fifth-floor suite had a balcony that overlooked Bromwell Park. Kysandra laughed in delight at the ornate rooms, which had wood panelling and lush gold and scarlet wallpaper, then gasped at the size of the four-poster bed in the master bedroom. She couldn’t resist running across the room and jumping onto the vast mattress, giggling as she bounced about. ‘This bed is the same size as my whole bedroom back home!’ She rolled over and ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth. ‘It’s a perfect bridal suite, don’t you think?’

Nigel gave her a faux-lofty glance. ‘I’m sure a lot of brides have had a happy time here.’

‘You say you’re a thousand years old,’ Kysandra retorted with her best coquettish pout, ‘so you must have had a lot of wives.’

‘Kysandra: you’re seventeen, I’m a thousand. That’s just wrong on every level. Just keep thinking of me as your big brother guardian and you and I will be fine. I’ve told you before, when you see a nice boy who’s close to your age, then take him to bed and have as much fun as you want.’

‘I don’t want a nice boy.’

‘That’s an old argument which isn’t actually true. Trust me: you do.’

‘Don’t,’ she insisted stubbornly.

‘And I recognize the way that jaw is firming up, so let me tell you now before you turn any more daydreams into plans: I get that this is all tremendously exciting for you, but I will not offer you any kind of false happy ending. I may have to leave, I may get imprisoned or lynched, I just don’t know. So understand this: you and I are not going to grow old together and watch our grandchildren take over the farm. I’m glad I met you, and I’m pleased that your life has improved because of that, but I have obligations to the Commonwealth and the Raiel that have to be met. Everything else is secondary.’

Her pout turned grouchy. ‘Fine. Okay.’

‘Damn, I’d forgotten what teenagers are like. I love that you know everything and don’t need any help in the world.’

‘Stop being such an arsehole.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave her that grin that admitted he was actually really fond of her. ‘You know, if they’d chosen Ozzie instead of me, it would have been very different. He would have taken you to bed without any hesitation.’

‘Is he likely to come? After all, you crashed on the wrong planet. Will he come and rescue you?’

Nigel burst out laughing. ‘Hell, no. Sorry. I’m all you’ve got.’

‘So who is Ozzie, anyway? You keep mentioning him.’

‘My oldest friend. I can’t even begin to tell you all the things we’ve done together. Not that you’d believe them anyway.’

‘Try me.’

‘Maybe on the train to Portlynn. It’s going to be a long trip.’

‘And he really won’t come to rescue you?’

‘No. He’ll likely laugh and say: I told you so. But he won’t come. I’m on my own.’

*

For two days Kysandra toured the centre of the capital, relishing every moment. The huge stately buildings, the wide tree-lined boulevards, public parks, galleries, theatres, the people, rich and poor – there were more walking along a single street than lived in the whole of Adeone. But as much time as she could wrangle out of Nigel was spent visiting the grand department stores and couture houses. She was dazzled by the furnishings and fittings the stores offered, and constantly asked Nigel if they could have pieces for the farmhouse. Nothing the county carpenters produced could ever come close to this elegance and comfort. He laughed and said perhaps they could order some on the way back.

And the clothes. Oh, the clothes! She could have emptied every trunk of their silly expedition equipment and filled them with fashionable gorgeous clothes to take home.

However, there was a price to pay. Nigel insisted they take a look at the government institutes and offices. ‘To get a feel of their abilities.’ It turned out that half of Varlan’s central district was a government building of some kind.

They started by strolling up Walton Boulevard to the granite statue of Captain Cornelius that stood outside the palace gates. There they joined the schoolkids and curious tourists lining up outside the four-metre high iron railings that surrounded the broad cobbled ground in front of the palace. Several Palace Guards patrolled the perimeter in fours, marching along like heavily ordered mods, humourless, perfectly shelled, the silver buttons on their yellow and blue tunics shining in the morning sunlight, rifles shouldered.

Nigel ignored them, staring at the six-storey façade on the other side of the open ground. This section of the palace was over three hundred metres long, built from a stone that had an odd blue hue. Tall Italianate arched windows surrounded a grand archway in the centre which led into the first of many courtyards. There were several ornate turrets and domes rising amid the steep roofs.

‘I wonder what it’s like living there?’ Kysandra mused wistfully.

‘Pretty awful. I’ve lived in mansions this size myself. Ninety-five per cent of it is given over to staff and offices. You spend so much time mediating their internal politics, you get distracted from the real job. And it’s no place for a family. I wound up with some pretty screwed-up kids at one point. Five of them still aren’t talking to me.’

‘You lived . . .’ Kysandra’s hand gave the palace a limp wave.

‘Oh, yeah. Won’t make that mistake again. This Sun King monstrosity tells me all I need to know about how wealth and power is consolidated on this planet. My guess is that the court here will exercise absolute power. And to do that you have to have a political system that doesn’t permit dissent. Give the people the illusion of democracy, with a few elected councils that’ve been given power over local trivia, while you control anything that really matters directly through the economy. He who pays the piper calls the tune; then, now, and forever. The Treasury will be the true seat of power on this world, trust me. And somewhere in the Captain’s multitude of honourable titles will be something like: Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Lord of the Treasury, or Governor of the National Bank or Chief Revenue Officer. That’s how it’s done.’

She looked from Nigel to the palace and back again. ‘You know all that by how big and gaudy the palace is?’

‘Yeah. Pretty much. I’ve seen it enough times to know what I’m facing.’

‘But we have elections.’