A Second Chance at Eden (4 page)

‘I’d say keep it,’ I told her. ‘Except I don’t think he’d approve.’ The studs said Sonnie’s Predators bold across the back.

Her lips ghosted a smile. ‘Yes. He buys my clothes. He doesn’t like me in anything which isn’t feminine.’

‘Thought of leaving him?’

‘Sometimes. All the time. But it would only be the face which changed. I am what I am. He’s not too bad. Except tonight, and he’ll be over that by morning.’

‘You could come with us.’ And I could just see me squaring that with the others.

She stopped walking and looked wistfully out over the black river. The M500 stood high above it, a curving ribbon of steel resting on a line of slender buttressed pedestals that sprouted from the centre of the muddy bed. Headlights and brakelights from the traffic formed a permanent pink corona across it, a slipstream of light that blew straight out of the city.

‘I’m not like you,’ Jennifer said. ‘I envy you, respect you. I’m even a little frightened of you. But I’ll never be like you.’ She smiled slowly. The first real one I’d seen on that face. ‘Tonight will be enough.’

I understood. It hadn’t been an accident her turning up at the pub. A single act of defiance. One he would never know about. But that didn’t make it any less valid.

I opened the small door at the rear of the twenty-wheeler, and led her inside. Khanivore’s life-support pod glowed a moonlight silver in the gloom, ancillary modules making soft gurgling sounds. All the cabinets and machinery clusters were monochrome as we threaded our way past. The tiny office on the other side was quieter. Standby LEDs on the computer terminals shone weakly, illuminating the fold-out sofa opposite the desks.

Jennifer stood in the middle of the aisle, and slipped the jacket off her shoulders. Her hands traced a gentle questing line up my ribcage, over my breasts, onto my neck, rising further. She had cool fingertips, long fuchsia nails. Her palms came to rest on my cheeks, fingers splayed between earlobes and forehead.

‘You made Dicko so very angry,’ she murmured huskily.

Her breath was warm and soft on my lips.

Pain exploded into my skull.

*

My military-grade retinas flicked to low-light mode, banishing shadows as we trooped past the beast’s life-support pod in the back of the lorry. The world became a sketch of blue and grey, outlines sharp. I was in a technophile’s chapel, floor laced with kilometres of wire and tubing, walls of machinery with little LEDs glowing. Sonnie’s breath was quickening when we reached the small compartment at the far end. Randy bitch. Probably where she brought all her one-nighters.

I chucked the jacket and reached for her. She looked like she was on the first night of her honeymoon.

Hands in place, tensed against her temples, and I said: ‘You made Dicko so very angry.’ Then I let her have it. Every fingertip sprouted a five-centimetre spike of titanium, punched out by a magpulse. They skewered straight through her skull to penetrate the brain inside.

Sonnie convulsed, tongue protruding, features briefly animated with horrified incomprehension. I jerked my hands away, the metal sliding out cleanly. She slumped to the floor, making a dull thud as she hit. Her whole body quaked for a few seconds then stilled. Dead.

Her head was left propped up at an odd angle against the base of the sofa she was going to screw me on. Eyes open. Eight puncture wounds dribbling a fair quantity of blood.

‘Now do you think it was worth it?’ I asked faintly. It needed asking. Her face retained a vestige of that last confused expression, all sad and innocent. ‘Stupid, dumb pride. And look where it got you. One dive, that’s all we wanted. Why don’t you people ever learn?’

I shook my hands, wincing, as the spikes slowly telescoped back into their sheaths. They stung like hell, the fingertip skin all torn and bleeding. It would take a week for the rips to heal over, it always did. Price of invisible implants.

‘Neat trick,’ Sonnie said. The syllables were mangled, but the words were quite distinct. ‘I’d never have guessed you as a
spetsnaz
. Too pretty by far.’

One eyeball swivelled to focus on me; the other lolled lifelessly, its white flecked with blood from burst capillaries.

I let out a muted scream. Threat-response training fired an electric charge along my nerves. And I was crouching, leaning forward to throw my weight down, fist forming. Aiming.

Punch.

My right arm pistoned out so fast it was a smear. I caught her perfectly, pulping the fat tissue of the tit, smashing the ribs beneath. Splintered bone fragments were driven inwards, crushing the heart. Her body arched up as if I’d pumped her with a defibrillator charge.

‘Not good enough, my cute little
spetsnaz
.’ A bead of blood seeped out of the corner of her mouth, rolling down her chin.

‘No.’ I rasped it out, not believing what I saw.

‘You should have realized,’ the corpse/zombie said. Its speech had decayed to a gurgling whisper, words formed by sucking down small gulps of air and expelling them gradually. ‘You of all people should know that hate isn’t enough to give me the edge. You should have worked it out.’

‘What the sweet shit are you?’

‘A beastie-baiter, the best there’s ever been.’

‘Tells me nothing.’

Sonnie laughed. It was fucking hideous.

‘It should do,’ she burbled. ‘Think on it. Hate is easy enough to acquire; if all it took was hate then we’d all be winners. Dicko believed that was my edge because he wanted to. Male mentality. Couldn’t you smell his hormones fizzing when I told him I’d been raped? That made sense to him. But you’ve gotta have more than blind hate,
spetsnaz
girl, much more. You’ve gotta have fear. Real fear. That’s what my team gave me: the ability to fear. I didn’t get snatched by no gang. I crashed our van. A dumb drifter kid who celebrated a bout win with too much booze. Crunched myself up pretty bad. Jacob and Karran had to shove me in our life-support pod while they patched me up. That’s when we figured it out. The edge.’ Her voice was going, fading out like a night-time radio station.

I bent down, studying her placid face. Her one working eye stared back at me. The blood had stopped dripping from her puncture wounds.

‘You’re not in there,’ I said wonderingly.

‘No. Not my brain. Just a couple of bioware processors spliced into the top of my spinal column. My brain is elsewhere. Where it can feel hundred-proof fear. Enough fear to make me fight like a berserk demon when I’m threatened. You want to know where my brain is,
spetsnaz
girl? Do you? Look behind you.’

A metallic clunk.

I’m twisting fast. Nerves still hyped. Locking into a karate stance, ready for anything. No use. No fucking use at all.

Khanivore is climbing out of its life-support pod.

2075
    JSKP germinates Eden, a bitek habitat in orbit around Jupiter, with UN Protectorate status.

2077
    New Kong asteroid begins FTL stardrive research project.

2085
    Eden opened for habitation.

2086
    Habitat Pallas germinated in Jupiter orbit.

The
Ithilien
decelerated into Jupiter orbit at a constant twentieth of a gee, giving us a spectacular view of the gas giant’s battling storm bands as we curved round towards the dark side. Even that’s a misnomer, there is no such thing as true darkness down there. Lightning forks whose size could put the Amazon tributary network to shame slashed between oceanic spirals of frozen ammonia. It was awesome, beautiful, and terrifyingly large.

I had to leave the twins by themselves in the observation blister once
Ithilien
circularized its orbit five hundred and fifty thousand kilometres out. It took us another five hours to rendezvous with Eden; not only did we have to match orbits, but we were approaching the habitat from a high inclination as well. Captain Saldana was competent, but it was still five hours of thruster nudges, low-frequency oscillations, and transient bursts of low-gee acceleration. I spent the time strapped into my bunk, popping nausea suppressors, and trying not to analogize between
Ithilien
’s jockeying and a choppy sea. It wouldn’t look good arriving at a new posting unable to retain my lunch. Security men are supposed to be unflappable, carved from granite, or some such nonsense anyway.

Our cabin’s screen flicked through camera inputs for me. As we were still in the penumbra I got a better view of the approach via electronically amplified images than eye-balling it from the blister.

Eden was a rust-brown cylinder with hemispherical endcaps, eight kilometres long, twenty-eight-hundred metres in diameter. But it had only been germinated in 2075, fifteen years ago. I talked to Pieter Zernov during the flight from Earth’s O’Neill Halo, he was one of the genetics team who designed the habitats for the Jovian Sky Power Corporation, and he said they expected Eden to grow out to a length of eleven kilometres eventually.

It was orientated with the endcaps pointing north– south, so it rolled along its orbit. The polyp shell was smooth, looking more like a manufactured product than anything organic. Biology could never be that neat in nature. The only break in Eden’s symmetry I could see were two rings of onion-shaped nodules spaced around the rim of each endcap. Specialist extrusion glands, which spun out organic conductor cables. There were hundreds of them, eighty kilometres long, radiating out from the habitat like the spokes of a bicycle wheel, rotation keeping them perfectly straight. It was an induction system; the cables sliced through Jupiter’s titanic magnetosphere to produce all the power Eden needed to run its organs, as well as providing light and heat for the interior.

‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ I said as the habitat expanded to fill the screen.

Jocelyn grunted noncommittally, and shifted round under her bunk’s webbing. We hadn’t exchanged a hundred words in the last twenty-four hours. Not good. I had hoped the actual sight of the habitat might have lightened the atmosphere a little, raised a spark of interest. Twenty years ago, when we got married, she would have treated this appointment with boundless excitement and enthusiasm. That was a big part of her attraction, a delighted curiosity with the world and all it offered. A lot can happen in twenty years, most of it so gradual you don’t notice until it’s too late.

I sometimes wonder what traits and foibles I’ve lost, what attitude I’ve woven into my own personality. I like to think I’m the same man, wiser but still good-humoured. Who doesn’t?

Eden had a long silver-white counter-rotating docking spindle protruding out from the hub of its northern endcap.
Ithilien
was too large to dock directly; the ship was basically a grid structure, resembling the Eiffel Tower, wrapped round the long cone of the fusion drive, with tanks and cargo-pods clinging to the structure as if they were silver barnacles. The life-support capsule was a sixty-metre globe at the prow, sprouting thermal radiator panels like the wings of some robotic dragonfly. In front of that, resting on a custom-built cradle, was the seed for another habitat, Ararat, Jupiter’s third; a solid teardrop of biotechnology one hundred metres long, swathed in thermal/ particle impact protection foam. Its mass was the reason
Ithilien
was manoeuvring so sluggishly.

Captain Saldana positioned us two kilometres out from the spindle tip, and locked the ship’s attitude. A squadron of commuter shuttles and cargo tug craft swarmed over the gulf towards the
Ithilien
. I began pulling our flight bags from the storage lockers; after a minute Jocelyn stirred herself and started helping me.

‘It won’t be so bad,’ I said. ‘These are good people.’ Her lips tightened grimly. ‘They’re ungodly people. We should never have come.’

‘Well, we’re here now, let’s try and make the most of it, OK? It’s only for five years. And you shouldn’t prejudge like that.’

‘The word of the Pope is good enough for me.’ Implying it was me at fault, as always. I opened my mouth to reply. But thankfully the twins swam into the cabin, chattering away about the approach phase. As always the façade clicked into place. Nothing wrong. No argument. Mum and Dad are quite happy. Christ, why do we bother?

*

The tubular corridor which ran down the centre of Eden’s docking spindle ended in a large chamber just past the rotating pressure seal. It was a large bubble inside the polyp with six mechanical airlock hatches spaced equidistantly around the equator. A screen above one was signalling for
Ithilien
arrivals; and we all glided through it obediently. The tunnel beyond sloped down at quite a steep angle. I floated along it for nearly thirty metres before centrifugal force began to take hold. About a fifteenth of a gee, just enough to allow me a kind of skating walk.

An immigration desk waited for us at the far end. Two Eden police officers in smart green uniforms stood behind it. And I do mean smart: spotless, pressed, fitting perfectly. I held in a smile as the first took my passport and scanned it with her palm-sized PNC wafer. She stiffened slightly, and summoned up a blankly courteous smile. ‘Chief Parfitt, welcome to Eden, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ I glanced at her name disk, ‘Officer Nyberg.’

Jocelyn glared at her, which caused a small frown. That would be all round the division in an hour. The new boss’s wife is a pain. Great start.

A funicular railway car was waiting for us once we’d passed the immigration desk. The twins rushed in impatiently. And, finally, I got to see Eden’s interior. We sank down below the platform and into a white glare. Nicolette’s face hosted a beautiful, incredulous smile as she pressed herself against the glass. For a moment I remembered how her mother had looked, back in the days when she used to smile— I must stop these comparisons.

‘Dad, it’s supreme,’ she said.

I put my arm around her and Nathaniel, savouring the moment. Believe me, sharing anything with your teenage children is a rare event. ‘Yes. Quite something.’ The twins were fifteen, and they hadn’t been too keen on coming to Eden either. Nathaniel didn’t want to leave his school back in the Delph Company’s London arcology. Nicolette had a boy she was under the impression she was destined to marry. But just for that instant the habitat overwhelmed them. Me too.