The Dreaming Void (36 page)

“Among other things.” She stepped through the door and into a corridor that had an old simple gray-blue layout that Troblum recognized. They had not changed everything.

“I've assigned you a suite in sector 7-B-5,” Neskia said. “You can have it modified to your own tastes; just tell the station smartcore what you want.”

“Thank you. And the reason I'm here?”

“We are building twelve ultradrive engines to power the Pilgrimage fleet. Your experience in the assembly techniques we are using is unmatched.”

Troblum stopped abruptly, his case almost banging into the back of his head. “Ultradrive?”

“Yes.”

“You mean it's real? I always assumed it was just a rumor.”

“It isn't. You'll be working with a small team; fifty or so experts have been recruited. The Neumann cybernetics that built the swarm will handle the actual fabrication.”

“Fascinating.” His bleak mood at being blackmailed and bullied actually began to lift. “I'll need to see the theory behind the drive.”

“Of course.” Her huge eyes blinked once. “We'll brief you as soon as you've settled in.”

“I'm settled right now.”

Araminta waited in the flat until Shelly arrived to take full legal possession. She did not have to do it; Cressida's firm was tackling the sale registration, which meant nothing had gone wrong. But supervising the handover in person added that little professional touch, and in business, reputation was a commodity that could not be bought.

She watched from the balcony as Shelly's capsule landed on the designated pad outside, followed by a larger cargo capsule that used the public pad. The flat seemed strangely unattractive now that Araminta had moved the dressing furniture out, all carefully chosen pieces that emphasized how spacious and contemporary the property was.

“Is everything all right?” Shelly asked as Araminta opened the door.

“Yes. I just wanted to check that you were happy.”

“Oh, yes. I can't wait to get in.” Shelly already was walking past her, smiling contentedly at the empty rooms. She was a tall pretty girl who had her own salon business in the district. Araminta was slightly jealous about that, mainly because Shelly was a year younger than she and obviously successful.
But then, she's never made the Laril mistake.

Shelly caught sight of the big bouquet of flowers resting on the kitchen worktop. “Oh, thank you; that's so sweet.”

“My pleasure.” Araminta's u-shadow transferred the flat's activation codes over to Shelly. “Now, if there are any problems, please call me.” She had to flatten herself against the wall as she made her way downstairs. A regrav lifter was hauling a big scarlet and black sofa up to the flat. It was not quite what Araminta would have chosen, but … She shrugged and left the house.

Her old carry capsule flew her across Colwyn City to the Bodant district, where it settled on a public parking pad. The morning was a dull one, with grubby ginger clouds darkening toward rain as the wind blew in from the sea. Araminta climbed out and smiled up at the six-story apartment block. It was a fairly standard layout, ribbed by white balconies that dripped with colorful vines and flowering creepers; the corners were black glass columns alive with purple and blue refraction stipples that swarmed up and down like rodent climbers. At night the effect was sharp and conspicuous, but under a dank daylight sky it lacked any kind of verve. There was a gold crystal dome on the roof, sheltering a communal pool and spa gym. A wide swath of elegantly maintained gardens along the front sat on top of the private underground garage.

Cressida's sleek purple capsule slipped down out of the low clouds to land beside Araminta. “Well, darling, what a coup.” The lawyer was wrapped in a furry black and white coat that snuggled cozily around her with every move. She glanced up at the front of the building, eyes narrowing as she saw three balconies piled high with junked fittings. “I have the access codes and the owner certificates. So let's go up, shall we?”

Araminta had bought the entire fourth floor, with all five apartments. The whole apartment block was undergoing redevelopment, presenting an opportunity she could not resist when Ikor, one of the original developers, had pulled out. Cressida walked into the first apartment and rolled her eyes. “I can't believe you've done this.”

“Why not? It's a perfect opportunity for me.” Araminta grinned at her cousin's dismay and walked over to the balcony doors. The glass curtained wide for her, and she stepped out. There was a faint sound of buzzing and drilling as the other developers prepared their floors for occupancy. “It's ninety years old; it needs a makeover. And look at the view.”

Cressida pushed her sapphire-glossed lips together as she looked out across the Bodant district's park to the Cairns beyond. There was a marina along the embankment directly opposite them, its curving Deco buildings radiant white, as if they had just been forged in some fusion furnace. “You got the wrong side of the park, darling; over there is where the action and the smart money is. Besides, here you're only a few streets from the Helie district. Really!”

“Stop being such a grump. I've proved I can do this, and you know it.”

“I also know how much you paid for these hovels. Honestly, darling, a hundred K each. Were you kidnapped and held ransom?”

“They have three bedrooms each. They need a lot less work than the flat. The two largest ones have this view. And I cleared a forty-K profit on the flat.”

“I still can't believe the bank gave you the money for this.”

“Standard commercial loan. They liked my business model,” Araminta said proudly.

“And Ozzie's coming back to save us all. Go on, you can tell me. You slept with the entire staff of the local office, didn't you?”

“It's very simple economics.”

“Ha! That just proves you don't know what you're talking about. Economics is never simple.”

“I renovate one of them—this one probably—as the show apartment and sell the rest off plan, based on people seeing the quality of the finish. The deposits will pay off the mortgage while I refurbish them.”

“This is the best one? Oh, help me.”

“Yes, this one. And Helie is an up-and-coming area. Don't be so negative. It's annoying.” Her tone was more prickly than she had intended.

Cressida was instantly apologetic. “I'm sorry, darling, but my life is without risk now. Honestly, I admire you for taking this gamble, but you have to admit, it is a gamble.”

“Of course it's a gamble. You never get anywhere in life without taking a gamble.”

“Well, well, whatever happened to the little farm girl from Langham?”

“She died. Nobody came to the funeral.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose in surprise. “What have I unleashed on the world?”

“I thought you'd be happy to see me move forward like this.”

“I am. Are you going to do all the work yourself again?”

“Most of it, yes. I've got some new bots, and I know where to go for all my supplies and fittings now. This is going to be a prestige development; you'll see. All the apartments will fetch a premium.”

“I'm sure they will. Did you know most of the hotels in town are fully booked?”

“Is that relevant?”

Cressida wiped the balcony rail with a hand and then leaned on it. “There's a lot of Living Dream devotees flooding in. Rumor in the gaiafield is that the Second Dreamer is on Viotia.”

“Really, I didn't know that, but then, I haven't accessed a news show in weeks. I'm a working gal these days.”

“Keep it quiet, but the government is worried about the pressure that's going to be put on housing, among other things, like public order.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Seriously. We've had over two million of the faithful arrive in the last seven weeks. Do you know how many have left again?”

“No.”

“None. And if they all apply for residency, that's going to shift the political demographic.”

“So we're receiving immigrants again; that's how planets develop. There's going to be a big demand for housing. I come out a winner.”

“All I'm saying is that in times of civil disturbance property values take a dive.”

“It's that serious?” Araminta asked in sudden alarm; after all, Cressida was very well connected.

“You know there's always been an undercurrent of resentment toward Ellezelin. If the Living Dream numbers keep rising at their current rate, then there could be trouble. Who wants to wind up living in a theocracy?”

“Yes, but there's the Pilgrimage. That'll call them back to Ellezelin, won't it? And it's not like they're going to find this stupid Second Dreamer, least of all here. The whole thing's a political stunt by the new Cleric Conservator. Isn't it?”

“Who knows? But I'd respectfully suggest, darling, that you find a sucker who you can offload these apartments on to at very short notice.”

Araminta recalled how keen Ikor had been to sell to her. And it had been a good deal, or so it had seemed at the time.
Am I the sucker?
“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look for one,” she said.

Mr. Bovey let loose a small chorus of swearing as four of hims tried to maneuver the old-fashioned stone bath along the hallway and through the bathroom door. It was an awkward angle, and the apartment's rear hallway was not particularly wide.

“Can I help?” Araminta sang out from the kitchen, where she and three bots were making last-minute changes to the new utility connections to get them ready for the units she had ordered.

“I'm quite capable, thank you,” quadraphonic voices grunted back.

His hurtful insistence made her giggle. “Okay.” It was another twenty minutes before one of him walked into the kitchen. He was the Bovey she'd first encountered in his macrostore's bathroom aisle, the one with ebony skin and an aging body. In his biological late middle age he may have been, but he did not shrink from hard work. His wrinkled forehead was smeared with sweat.

“I made some tea,” she said, gesturing at the kettle with its cluster of ancient cups. “You look like you need a break.”

“I do; my others are younger.” He smiled in admiration at the steaming cups and the packet of teacubes. “You really did make it, too, didn't you?”

“Waiting for my culinary unit to arrive,” she said with a martyred sigh.

“It's in the next load, I promise,” he told her, and picked up a cup. His eyes took in the packets of folded food and the hydrator oven.

“Are you actually living here?”

“Yeah. Not renting saves me a bucketload of money. I mean, what's the point? I've got five apartments, and they're not that bad—the roofs don't leak, and the rest is just aesthetics. I can stick it out for a few months.”

“You know, I really admire your attitude. There's not many your age who would take on a project like this.”

She batted her eyes. “And what's my age?”

“Honestly? I've no idea. But you come across as a first life.”

“I'll own up to that.”

“Can I offer you an alternative to hydrated food tonight? There's a nice restaurant I know.”

She grinned, her hand curling around her mug of tea. “That would be lovely. Oh, I don't like curry!”

“That's okay; some of mes don't, either.”

“Your tastes are different?”

“Sure. Taste is a matter of biochemistry, which is subtly different in every human body. And face it, I have quite a variety to choose from.”

“Okay,” she said, and dropped her gaze bashfully. “I have to ask. I've never been on a date with a multiple before. Do you all come and sit at the table with me?”

“Nah, I think that would be a little much for you, wouldn't it? Besides, I have the macrostore to run, deliveries to be made, installation, that kind of thing. My life goes on the whole time.”

“Oh. Yes.” It was a strange notion. Not an objectionable one, though.

“Now, if you were another multiple, it might be different.”

“How?”

“We'd book the whole restaurant of romantic tables for two and take over the lot. Yous and mes everywhere having fifty different conversations simultaneously and trying out the entire menu and wine list all at once. It's like speed dating in fast forward.”

She laughed. “Have you ever done that?”

“Tell you tonight.”

“Right. So which one of you do I get sitting at that romantic table for two?”

“You choose. How many of mes and which ones.”

“One, and you'll do just fine.”

Araminta took a great deal of thought and care over what to wear and which cosmetic scales to apply. She dressed exactly to plan two hours early, then took a look at herself in the mirror and chucked the whole image. Fifty minutes later all the cases in her bedroom were hanging open. Every outfit she had bought in the last two months was draped over floor and furniture, leaving little space to walk. She had experimented with four different styles of scale membrane. Her hair had been sparkled and then damped, oiled and then fluffed, bejeweled with red scintillators, blue scintillators, green, blue-white …