Investments (6 page)

“Yes.” Triumph had again entered Shon-dan’s voice. “That’s the beam of relativistic particles generated by the galaxy’s supermassive black hole. If you look closely, you’ll see it has fine structure— we didn’t expect that, and we’re working on theories of the phenomenon, but so far we don’t have an explanation.”

In his virtual display Martinez coasted closer to the great burning pillar of energy, and he saw the pillar pulse with light, saw strands of opalescent color weave and shift as they were caught in some vast incomprehensible flow of power, a hypnotic dance of colossal force.

For the next hour Shon-dan showed Martinez and Terza features within the galactic core, including the four giant stars now in a swift death spiral around the central black hole. “The black hole is feeding now,” he said. “Sometimes the supermassive black holes are actively involved in devouring neighboring stars and sometimes they aren’t. We don’t know why or how they shift from one state to another.”

“Nasty, as I said,” said Lord Pa, from somewhere outside the universe that occupied Martinez’ head. “I have to say that I prefer nature a good deal less chaotic and destructive. I like games with rules. I like comfortable chairs, compound interest, and a guaranteed annual profit. I prefer not to think of some cosmic accident readying itself to jump out of hiding and suck all my comforts right out of the universe.”

“We’re perfectly safe from the black hole, my lord,” Shon-dan said. “We’re nowhere near the danger zone.”

Martinez quietly turned off the virtual display to take a look at Lord Pa. He sat in a Lai-own chair that cradled his breastbone, and was bent over the room’s game board. The light from the display shone up on his face, on the short muzzle and deep red eyes.

Behind Pa the yellow chesz wood panels, inset with red enjo in abstract designs, glowed in the recessed lights of the lounge. A heavy crystal goblet sat near one hand, filled with Lai-own protein broth.

Comforts,
Martinez thought.
Guaranteed profit.
Right.

“Perhaps we should break for now,” Shon-dan said. He had noticed Martinez leaving the virtual display.

“Thank you,” Terza said. “That was breathtaking. I hope we can do it again.”

“I’d be delighted,” Shon-dan said, rising. She was a Lai-own, with golden eyes, and wore a formal academic uniform of dark brown with several medals of scholastic distinction. She was young for all her honors, and the feathery side-hairs on her head were still a youthful brown.

“We have another twenty-three days to Chee,” she said, “and the stars will be there the entire time.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Martinez said.

He rose from his couch and walked to the bar, where he poured himself a brandy. He idled toward Lord Pa, who was still bent over his game. Martinez scanned the board, spotted at once the move that Lord Pa should make, and began to point it out before he decided not to.

On the twentieth day of the voyage,
Kayenta’s
passengers were beginning to get on each other’s nerves a little.

The first part of the trip had been as pleasant and social as possible, given that Martinez suspected one of the party of stealing from his family. Marcella, Lord Pa, Martinez, Terza, and Shon-dan had dined together each day. Tingo and other games had been suggested, but interest in gambling waned after it became clear that Terza and Martinez weren’t attracted to high play, and that Shon-dan’s academic salary didn’t allow her to play even for what passed for small change amid Peers.

The conversation during and after meals had ranged far and wide, though Terza had cautioned Martinez about raising the kind of questions he burned to ask, detailed questions about the financial arrangements between the Cree and Meridian companies. “It will sound like an interrogation,” she said.

Martinez confined himself to a few mild queries per day, beginning with broad questions about the progress of the Chee settlements, then going into more detail as the conversation developed. Marcella and Pa seemed pleased enough to talk about their work, and Martinez found himself genuinely interested in the technical details; though Martinez made a point of breaking off when he saw a slight frown on Terza’s face, or felt the soft touch of her hand on his thigh.

Shon-dan talked about astronomical subjects. Martinez told his war stories. Terza avoided the subject of her work at the Ministry, but spoke of High City society, and brought out her harp and played a number of sonatas.

But now, by the twentieth day, the conversations had grown a little listless. Marcella spent much time in her cabin, working on Cree Company business, smoking endless cigarettes, and playing spiky, nerve-jabbing music that rattled her cabin door in its frame. Lord Pa received and sent detailed memoranda to his crews on Cree, and otherwise spent a lot of time puzzling over his game board.

Martinez sent frequent videos to his son— the three months aboard
Wi-hun
with a small and lively child had been challenging enough for all concerned, so Young Gareth had been left on Laredo with his nursemaid and his doting grandparents. The videos that Martinez received in return were full of excitement, for Lord Martinez had introduced his grandson to his collection of vintage automobiles, and had been roaring around on his private track with Young Gareth as a passenger.

“Gareth’s favorite is the Lodi Turbine Express,” Martinez told Terza. “At his age I liked that one myself, though I liked the Scarlet Messenger better.” And then, at her look, said, “My father hasn’t had an accident yet, you know.”

“I’ll try to be reassured,” Terza said. She had just come from her dressing room, where she’d prepared for bed: her black hair had been brushed till it glowed and then tied with ribbon, and her face was scrubbed of cosmetic and softly sheened with health. Over her nightgown she wore a bed jacket that crackled with gold brocade.

After Shon-dan’s astronomical exhibition they’d retired to their suite, glossy light behl wood paneling veined in blood-red, a video screen in a lacy Rakthan frame, a bathtub hacked out of a single block of chocolate-brown marble and which— to avoid gooseflesh on entering— was warmed by hidden heating elements of a vaguely sonic nature.

“My father could have worse hobbies,” Martinez pointed out. “Racing pai-car chariots, say.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, too.”

Twenty days on the small vessel had, perhaps, begun to unravel slightly the serenity that Terza carried with her, the unearthly tranquility that Martinez had come to admire as her greatest accomplishment. He rose from his chair and stood behind her, his big hands working through the crisp silk of her jacket to loosen her shoulder muscles. She sighed and relaxed against him.

“You miss Gareth, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“So do I.”

They had not spent so much time apart from the boy since he had been born.

“This has got to be dull for you,” Martinez said. “Maybe we should have left you on Laredo.”

“Dull?” Her tone was amused. “Reviewing contracts in hopes of discovering hidden felonies? Surely not.”

He smiled. “Won’t it be exciting if you actually find one?”

“But I won’t find one. Not in the contracts. Lawyers have been all over the contracts to make sure no hint of impropriety will be found. If there’s anything to be found, it will be in interpretation and practice.”

He hadn’t been able to obtain any of the contracts that the Cree Company had signed with their prime contractor— neither he nor Terza nor Roland were officers of the company. But in his capacity as Lord Inspector he’d acquired the entire file of the dealings the Meridian Company had with the Fleet, for building Fleet installations on Cree and in Cree orbit. But Martinez hadn’t enough experience to understand the contracts particularly well, and so Terza had been pressed into the job.

“Escalator clauses are always suspect, and the contracts have plenty of them,” Terza said. “On a big job there are always a thousand places to hide illegitimate expenses, and
this
job is literally as big as a planet. Meridian is allowed to revise the estimates if unexpected conditions cause their own costs to rise, and there are
always
unexpected conditions. A little to the right, please.”

Martinez obliged. “Surely they can’t jack up their expenses forever,” he said.

“No. In the case of the Fleet contracts, the local Fleet representative has to agree that the rises are justified.”

“According to the records she almost always did,” Martinez said. “And now she’s received her captaincy and has been posted to the Fourth Fleet, so I won’t be able to ask her any questions.”

Amusement returned to Terza’s voice. “I’m sure that if you saw her, she would of course immediately inform you of any unjustified cost overrides that she’d personally approved. I think you’re better off with the new commander. He won’t be obliged to defend his predecessor’s expenses.” She stretched, raising her arms over her head, torquing her spine left and right. Martinez could feel the muscles flex beneath his fingertips.

He left off his massage as she bent forward, flexing her spine again, pressing her palms to the deep pile carpet. She straightened, sighed, turned to face him.

“Thank you,” she said. She put her arms around him, pillowed her head on his chest. “This could still be a pleasant vacation, you know.”

I’ve been on vacation for three years,
he wanted to say. Digging around in old Fleet construction contracts was the most useful thing he’d done in ages.

But he knew what Terza meant. “I’ll try to remember to look at the stars now and again,” he said.

Her arms tightened around him. “I had thought we might make good use of the time.”

Martinez smiled. “I have no objection.”

Terza drew her head back, her dark eyes raised to his. “That’s not
entirely
what I meant,” she said. “I thought we might give Gareth a brother or sister.”

A rush of sensation took his breath away. Martinez’ marriage had been arranged, not an uncommon phenomenon among Peers— and in Martinez’ case, Roland had arranged the marriage with a crowbar. For all that Martinez had genuinely wanted a child, Young Gareth had been arranged as well. Martinez knew perfectly well that Terza had been lowering herself to marry him— Lord Chen required significant financial help from the Martinez clan at the time— and Martinez had always wondered just what Terza had thought of the long-armed provincial officer she’d been constrained, on only a few hours’ acquaintance, to marry.

Wondered, but never asked. He never asked questions when he knew the answers might draw him into sadness.

He had watched with increasing pleasure as Terza floated into his life, supported by that quality of serenity that was, perhaps, just a bit too eerily perfect. He had never been completely certain what might happen if Lord Chen, his finances recovered, ordered his daughter to divorce. It was always possible that she would leave her marriage with the same unearthly tranquility with which she’d entered it. He had never known precisely what was going on behind that composed, lovely face.

Until now. A second child was not part of the contract between their families.

He and Terza were writing their own codicil to the contract, right now.

“Of course,” Martinez said, when he got his breath back. “Absolutely. At once, if possible.”

She smiled. “At once isn’t quite an option,” she said. “I’ll have to get the implant removed first.
Kayenta’s
doctor can do it, or we can wait till we get to Chee.” She kissed his cheek. “Though I’d hate to waste the next twenty-three days.”

Kayenta’s
doctor was a sour, elderly Lai-own who had scarcely been seen since the beginning of the journey, when he gave the obligatory lecture about weightlessness, acceleration, and space-sickness. Whatever the quirks of his personality, however, he was presumably competent at basic procedures for interspecies medicine.

“I think you should see the old fellow first thing tomorrow,” Martinez said. “But that doesn’t mean we should waste tonight.”

Her look was direct. “I hadn’t intended to,” she said.

Hours later, before the forenoon watch, Martinez woke from sleep with a start, with a cry frozen on his lips. Terza, her perfect tranquility maintained, slept on, her head pillowed on his chest.

He hadn’t had one of these dreams in at least two months. For a moment, blinking in the darkness of
Kayenta’s
guest suite, he had seen not Terza’s black hair spread on his chest, but hair of white gold, framing a pale face with blazing emerald eyes.

His heart thundered in his chest. Martinez could hear his own breath rasping in his throat.

There were several reasons why he hadn’t asked what Terza thought of their marriage.

He had his own secrets. It seemed only fair that he allow Terza to keep hers.

*

The cable of the elevator descended from geostationary orbit, a line that disappeared into the deep green of the planet’s equator like a fishing line fading into the sea. On the approach, what Martinez could see of the elevator itself was a pale grey tower of shaped asteroid and lunar material, the massive counterweight to the cable. The tower terminated in a series of sculpted peaks that looked like battlements, but which were actually a kind of jigsaw mechanism to lock additional weights into place should they be needed.