the Noise Within (2010) (13 page)

The president's stare gained new intensity. "You're that close?"

"We are," Philip assured him, crossing metaphorical fingers.

The president absorbed that for a second. "You'll need ships."

"Already in production."

"Good... good. So, just to make sure we're both completely clear about this. You're assuring me that a month from now Kaufman Industries can deliver to the ULAW government battle-ready units capable of stopping
The Noise Within
."

Philip had to be careful not to get carried away here and promise the impossible. He chose his words with great deliberation. "I'm telling you that a month from now I expect to deliver you a squadron of at least a dozen ships and pilots which will be able to face up to
The Noise Within
and will stand every chance of beating her. They won't be battle-hardened, won't be experienced beyond simulator level, but they
will
be ready."

The president held his gaze. "Good enough. If you need anything to make this happen, anything at all, just ask. This gets top priority."

Yes
. Philip kept the elation from his face and voice as he said, "Thank you, Geoffrey."

"No, thank you, Philip. I owe you one; we all do."

"Any time, Geoffrey, any time."

Philip let out a long sigh after the call had ended. He'd just secured his team near limitless federal resources to supplement the not-inconsiderable ones Kaufman Industries already had at their disposal. In exchange, he had also given the project something it had never had before: a deadline, committing them to a schedule that was by no means certain. Yes, they were close, but after all these years, a
month
? But he had sensed Geoffrey would not have responded to anything longer.

Susan Tan was going to kill him.

Yet he saw this as a positive step. There was nothing like a deadline to focus the mind, to spur them on for that last big push, which was precisely how he intended to pitch this to Susan and the team.

She was still going to kill him.

Philip chose to delay contacting the media to tell them about the
Sun Seeker / Noise Within
link for another couple of hours. That would give Hamilton time to set wheels in motion and to prepare for the media onslaught that was about to come. He'd then make sure that the man
knew
the reason for the delay. It never hurt to have a president in your debt.

"Doctor Kaufman?"

Late afternoon and he was on his way home. At the sound of his name Philip glanced back over his shoulder, to see something which made the decision to come into the office seem worthwhile all by itself.

She was a vision of porcelain perfection; her pale skin managing to radiate vitality rather than anything wan or sickly, with a suggestion of icy strength underlying it, while the lustrous night-black hair, though worn comparatively short, was meticulously coiffured into full-bodied waves with two elegantly crafted strands curling in to kiss her high-boned cheeks. Yet by far the most striking features were her eyes, which were large and of a brown so dark that they seemed to mirror her hair. Onyx orbs set against virgin snow, they lent her gaze a directness guaranteed to skewer any man's heart.

Philip knew without doubt that here before him stood the most beautiful woman in this or any other world.

"Julia Cirese, Universal News." She held out her ID but he barely glanced at it, unwilling to tear his gaze away from that face.

"Sorry to pounce on you like this." If only, he fleetingly thought. Her voice matched her appearance: strong but with a musicality and a surprisingly high pitch that hinted of the girl she must have been not so very long ago. "But I've been trying to reach you for weeks. Your staff do a great job of protecting you."

He recovered enough equilibrium to smile and say, "It's always a relief to know that, Ms Cirese; after all, that's what I pay them for. But you've got my attention now." And how!

"I'm glad to hear that; and it's Julia, please." The smile she returned was dazzling. "I won't keep you long; I just wanted to schedule an interview with you, assuming you're willing. I'm doing a series on the most significant entrepreneurs of our time, and you're top of my list."

An interview? He hated interviews and usually left such things to Phil. Yet he said without hesitation, "Of course. Send the questions through to my secretary and I'll..."

The way she screwed up her face and dropped her gaze for a second showed exactly what she thought of that idea. "Sorry, it wasn't a pre-recorded answer session I was after. I know it's old fashioned of me, but I really do prefer the spontaneity of conducting my interviews face to face. That way I can get a better feel of who you are and can bring so much more texture and presence to the report. Of course, I can forward the main thrust of the questions in advance so you can prepare and you'll have power of veto on the piece before it goes out, but I was hoping to sit down and do this somewhere with just you, me and a mini-cam."

All of which suited him down to the ground, but why stop there? "That could prove to be a little tricky," he said with what he hoped was a suitable level of regret. "I'm well and truly snowed-under at present. Unless, perhaps," he added, as if it were sudden inspiration, "we could find some time outside of working hours...?" Did this come across as transparently as it felt?

"That sounds good to me."

If so, she clearly didn't mind. He took a deep breath and went for broke. "Perhaps over dinner?" He knew exactly where, as well: Piérre's - an intimate table in one of the bay windows overlooking the harbour; exquisite food complimented by an equally impressive wine, which he would carefully select from their famous list....

"That would be lovely, so long as you don't mind a fly cam hovering over the table throughout."

An intrusion like that might well be enough to get even
him
ejected from Piérre's, or any of the exclusive restaurants he preferred to frequent. "Ah yes..." Could he invite her to his place for dinner instead? No, not impressive enough and too much hassle. "Perhaps not, then. How about if we have dinner first and then do the interview afterwards?"

"Even better; when did you have in mind?"

He resisted the temptation to say 'how about right now?'

"I should mention that I'm due off-world on an assignment in a few days," she said into the silence of his pause. "We could always do this after I get back, if you'd prefer."

Off-world? That could take weeks. He
had
to see her before then. "Right... well, we might as well get it out the way sooner rather than later. Are you free tomorrow evening?"

"I am now. Do you want to wricme?"

Philip was caught off guard by this vaguely recognised expression, a reaction which made him feel suddenly old and out of touch as its meaning belatedly dawned. "Sure," he said, hoping she hadn't noticed his hesitation but certain that she had.

He touched the side of his wrist information centre or wric - the 'personalised companion no civilised man or woman can do without' or so the advertisers insisted. Programmed to respond to him alone, the screen pulsed once with luminous green light behind the digital time display, to show that it recognised his touch and was receptive.

"Actually, it's probably easier if I wricu..."

"All right, mine's receptive."

She touched her wric, which squirted her ID across to Philip's. The screen on his pulsed once, indicating it had just logged a new 'friend', which meant it would now accept messages from Julia. He activated his own ID, repeating the process but in reverse.

She touched her unit again and the face of Philip's wric pulsed a second time, to confirm that it had received a fresh parcel of information; doubtless Julia's standard contact package, which could include all manner of things, usually a brief bio, selected photo images, plus details of food preferences, musical taste, hobbies, preferred drinks etc., maybe even her favourite colour - all the information which most people would have no interest in until they got to know you better, if then, but which the manufacturers reckoned should be available in any case. Except that in this instance, Philip might just take the trouble to look; even at her favourite colour.

A small green envelope would now reside in the top left corner of the wric face until he opened the message. The wrics were independent units, isolated from other systems and loaded with security safeguards so that all information received could be vetted and 'cleaned' before being downloaded elsewhere. Now that they were established 'friends', he could reach her at the touch of a button or a word to his partial.

"See you tomorrow, and thanks." She gifted him another dazzling smile and then turned to leave.

He hadn't noticed her figure until she walked away, too captivated by that face, that smile, but now wondered how he could possibly have failed to do so. In theory, even the office's car park was a secure area, but Julia Cirese struck him as a very determined lady. Watching her now, it didn't surprise him in the least that she had managed to get in here. In fact, Philip suspected that she could gain access to just about anywhere she wanted.

Philip continued to his car - a black coffee bean of a vehicle, shining like some newly minted medal. At his approach, a seam appeared in the car's side, a split which gradually widened to become a door, the surface to either side seeming to ripple as the opening appeared. Philip sat into the car and the door immediately sealed itself.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Kaufman. Destination?"

"Home."

The two-seater car began to move as soon as he was comfortable. The pod-like vehicle provided perfect visibility on all sides, even though the exterior appeared to be a uniform glossy black. Philip could have had the view opaqued, but he preferred to watch the city slip past around him, particularly when the alternative was to be cocooned within a private cell, oblivious to the world outside.

"Music, sir?"

He thought for a second; "Tydell's
Solar Flare
." Raucous in parts, but it began soothingly enough with some wonderful moments, and he would be home before the louder sections arrived.

The first part of the journey took place underground - only a couple of minutes but it carried him nearly halfway home; a direct, straight route at an even pace, which ate up the miles far more effectively than would have been possible above ground, where buildings and other obstructions kept insisting on getting in the way.

Happy coincidence saw
Solar Flare
hit a section in which the music swelled to a minor crescendo at the exact moment the car emerged into daylight once more, so providing a fittingly dramatic accompaniment to one of Philip's favourite views of the metropolis. The towering buildings at the city's heart seemed to emerge from the ground like primordial giants, and from this lowly vantage point you were treated to their full sweeping grandeur as they exploded upward, stretching towards the heavens. A little ahead and to the right stood the Skyhall hotel with its twin glass spires, which at present sparkled with sunlight, as if in reaching for the stars they had somehow each snatched one and brought them back to the ground. Beside the Skyhall was the contrasting grey solidity of the Mirayla building with its crenellated crown and, beyond that, more imposing buildings still. Surely it was impossible not to marvel at such a sight?

Just as he was craning his neck, imagining he could see the multi-levelled crenellations which he knew to be high above him, the car's computer spoke, shattering his pleasure.

"There is an unauthorised vehicle behind us."

"Unauthorised in what sense?" Philip wondered, more than a little irritated at the interruption.

"A vehicle not regulated by the city's traffic control system."

"What?" That had him sitting up. "Where? Show me."

The dashboard screen dutifully displayed the traffic around them. His own car appeared as a blue stretched oblong with rounded corners, while other vehicles were depicted in beetle black; except for one, four cars back and in the same lane, which was singled out in red. The shape and colour reminded Philip of the Syntheaven ampoules and he felt a familiar stirring, but hot on the heels of that association came his recollection of the previous evening's unfortunate episode.

He gave an involuntary shiver and concentrated on the image before him. There was no reason to think this unregistered car had anything to do with him at all, but it never hurt to be cautious. "Take the higher lane. Let's see if it reacts."

He watched the screen intently, the Syntheaven craving having subsided to the merest whisper at the edge of thought, easily ignored. After a few seconds a gap duly appeared in the stream of vehicles outside them, as the request to change lanes was accepted, allowing his car to slip into the outermost and fastest moving lane of traffic.

Shippeys, who for so long had attempted to challenge Kaufman's in the race to perfect a human/AI interface, were responsible for the automated traffic systems which now governed the flow of vehicles in major cities across much of human space.

That suited Philip just fine. They were welcome to design all the traffic systems for every world they wanted to as far as he was concerned.

Homeworld had been among the first to embrace the system and Philip had even been a strong supporter. "Stick to what you know," he muttered.