vulnerable: a single missile or smart rock could rupture the dome’s integrity and every living thing inside it not destroyed by the blast would be killed by exposure to freezing vacuum.
Arvam and his staff occupied the mansion at the centre of the habitat’s gardens, groves of trees, and ponds and meadows. A rambling structure that looked as if it had grown piecemeal, towers and wings and domes in a dozen clashing styles carelessly tacked together and linked by haphazard walkways and ziplines and dogtrots. The general’s office was a big, round, white room cluttered with gymnasium equipment, including a rack of fixed weights and a treadmill wheel, several memo spaces, a scarred table cluttered with all kinds of handguns and rifles, and a long low cage in which a dwarfed tiger paced back and forth on tiptoe, tail lashing, yellow eyes bright as lanterns, baring its teeth at any secretaries and aides who came too near. In the middle of this organised chaos, Arvam Peixoto lay prone on a bench, stripped to the waist, a masseur working oil into his shoulders. Because of Dione’s vestigial gravity, Arvam was strapped to the bench, and the masseur’s feet were stuffed into loops tacked to the floor.
The general was in a good mood, calling loudly to Sri when she entered, asking her if she needed any kind of refreshment after her journey. ‘We just turned up a cache of excellent white wine in an oasis a couple of hundred kilometres south of here. Try a glass.’
‘Where is she? Can I see her?’
Arvam smiled at up Sri, his chin resting on his folded forearms, his gaze cold and sharp. ‘Always business, always straight to the point. I don’t hear from you for months and months. It is impossible to make contact with you. And now here you are all of a sudden, making demands.’
‘I’ve come to help you.’
‘If you know something we don’t, you should write up a memo. I can assure you that it will receive serious attention from the people I’ve put in charge of the case.’
‘I know more about her mother than anyone else. I know that she may be much older than she seems. I know that she isn’t human. And I know your people will fail.’
The general closed his eyes as the masseur worked on the knots in his shoulders. At last he said, ‘This isn’t about your quixotic quest to find Avernus, Professor Doctor. This is an important matter of security.’
‘Which you made public knowledge.’
‘To prove to the tweaks that no one can hide from us.’
‘It won’t do you any good unless she talks. And she isn’t talking, is she?’
‘My people know exactly what they are doing. They can make the very stones sing.’ Arvam grunted as the masseur twisted an elbow into the flesh between his shoulder blades. ‘But there is something you can do for me, now you’re here. Talk to the crew analysing her hiding place, and also the crew working on her genome. Translate what they’ve found into plain speech and report back to me.’
‘And then?’
‘And then we’ll see if we need your help. But there’s something else you need to do before you get to work,’ Arvam said, raising his head and aiming his steady, slightly cross-eyed gaze at Sri. ‘Go visit your son.’
It was an awkward encounter. Sri hadn’t seen Berry for six months. She’d been too busy, unriddling the secrets of the phenotype jungle on Janus and the various gardens discovered on Titan. He had to be encouraged by his governess, a slim young soldier, to go to his mother, and he was stiff with shyness and resentment when Sri gathered him into her arms, answering her questions in monosyllables and shrugs. He’d put on three centimetres and was broader in the shoulders and chest. A boy-man with a shock of black hair and a pale face. Looking at Sri and glancing away. Sly and shy.
Sri dismissed the governess and took Berry for a walk in the belt of forest that girdled the rim of the garden habitat. Tether lines were strung everywhere, but Berry
Arvam and his staff occupied the mansion at the centre of the habitat’s gardens, groves of trees, and ponds and meadows. A rambling structure that looked as if it had grown piecemeal, towers and wings and domes in a dozen clashing styles carelessly tacked together and linked by haphazard walkways and ziplines and dogtrots. The general’s office was a big, round, white room cluttered with gymnasium equipment, including a rack of fixed weights and a treadmill wheel, several memo spaces, a scarred table cluttered with all kinds of handguns and rifles, and a long low cage in which a dwarfed tiger paced back and forth on tiptoe, tail lashing, yellow eyes bright as lanterns, baring its teeth at any secretaries and aides who came too near. In the middle of this organised chaos, Arvam Peixoto lay prone on a bench, stripped to the waist, a masseur working oil into his shoulders. Because of Dione’s vestigial gravity, Arvam was strapped to the bench, and the masseur’s feet were stuffed into loops tacked to the floor.
The general was in a good mood, calling loudly to Sri when she entered, asking her if she needed any kind of refreshment after her journey. ‘We just turned up a cache of excellent white wine in an oasis a couple of hundred kilometres south of here. Try a glass.’
‘Where is she? Can I see her?’
Arvam smiled at up Sri, his chin resting on his folded forearms, his gaze cold and sharp. ‘Always business, always straight to the point. I don’t hear from you for months and months. It is impossible to make contact with you. And now here you are all of a sudden, making demands.’
‘I’ve come to help you.’
‘If you know something we don’t, you should write up a memo. I can assure you that it will receive serious attention from the people I’ve put in charge of the case.’
‘I know more about her mother than anyone else. I know that she may be much older than she seems. I know that she isn’t human. And I know your people will fail.’
The general closed his eyes as the masseur worked on the knots in his shoulders. At last he said, ‘This isn’t about your quixotic quest to find Avernus, Professor Doctor. This is an important matter of security.’
‘Which you made public knowledge.’
‘To prove to the tweaks that no one can hide from us.’
‘It won’t do you any good unless she talks. And she isn’t talking, is she?’
‘My people know exactly what they are doing. They can make the very stones sing.’ Arvam grunted as the masseur twisted an elbow into the flesh between his shoulder blades. ‘But there is something you can do for me, now you’re here. Talk to the crew analysing her hiding place, and also the crew working on her genome. Translate what they’ve found into plain speech and report back to me.’
‘And then?’
‘And then we’ll see if we need your help. But there’s something else you need to do before you get to work,’ Arvam said, raising his head and aiming his steady, slightly cross-eyed gaze at Sri. ‘Go visit your son.’
It was an awkward encounter. Sri hadn’t seen Berry for six months. She’d been too busy, unriddling the secrets of the phenotype jungle on Janus and the various gardens discovered on Titan. He had to be encouraged by his governess, a slim young soldier, to go to his mother, and he was stiff with shyness and resentment when Sri gathered him into her arms, answering her questions in monosyllables and shrugs. He’d put on three centimetres and was broader in the shoulders and chest. A boy-man with a shock of black hair and a pale face. Looking at Sri and glancing away. Sly and shy.
Sri dismissed the governess and took Berry for a walk in the belt of forest that girdled the rim of the garden habitat. Tether lines were strung everywhere, but Berry
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