The Nano Flower Part 7

'You sure?'

72.'Yes. The lab pointed it out as soon as they saw it. One of the stamens had been cut off. And it was definitely a cut, not a break.'

'Would a stamen be enough for a genetic test?' Greg asked. 'I mean, this unknown who took it, are they likely to know the flower is extraterrestrial?'

'Yes. Theoretically, all you need is a single cell. A stamen is more than sufficient.'

Greg rubbed a hand across his temple. 'I doubt it would be the girl who took the sample.'

Why not?' Eleanor asked.

'Purely because she is just the courier, especially if Rachel is right about her being a wh.o.r.e.'

'Courtesan,' Julia corrected. 'Don't fall into the mistake of thinking she's a dumb go-between. Believe you me, at that level there's a difference. She'll be smart, well educated, and knowledgeable.'

'OK,' said Victor. 'But smart or not, courtesans don't own genetic labs.'

'I agree,' said Greg. 'Somebody else apart from us knows about the alien. But until we know more about the girl, I couldn't even begin to guess who.'

'Exactly,' said Julia. 'So will you take some extra hardliners?'

'Maybe a couple. But they stay in the background.'

'I'll brief them myself,' said Victor.

Eleanor rested her head well back on top of the settee's cus.h.i.+oning, eyes slitted as she stared at the ceiling. 'What did the government say about the alien?' she asked.

Greg watched Julia flinch at the question. He'd never seen her do that before, not in seventeen years.

'They don't know yet,' Julia mumbled reluctantly.

'When were you planning on telling them?'

'As soon as the situation requires it.'

'You don't think it does yet?' Eleanor asked.

'All we have is supposition, so far.'

'And the genes. They convinced you.'

'The point is, what could the government do that I can't? Order a strategic defence network alert? I really don't think THE NANO PLO WIR.

73.neutral particle beam weapons and pulsed X-ray lasers are going to be an awful lot of use against the kind of technology which moved a s.h.i.+p between stars, and did so undetected. Besides, think of the panic.'

'All tight,' Eleanor said uncertainly. 'But we have to make some preparations.'

'Event Horizon is preparing,' said Victor. 'We're a.s.seinbling a number of dark specialist teams, spreading them through our facilities, kitting them out with top-line equipment.'

'What use is that?' Eleanor demanded indignantly.

'Listen, I can't believe we're facing some kind of military action,' Julia said. 'But so far these aliens have been acting in a very clandestine fas.h.i.+on. If push comes to shove, then Earth is going to lose. No question about it. So we roll with the punch; if we can't fight interstellar technology, we acquire it for ourselves, and fire it right back at them.'

Greg turned to watch the sailors on the reservoir. There was something cheerfully rea.s.suring about the brightly coloured triangles of cloth slicing across the water. A nice homely counterbalance to this vein of raw insanity which had erupted into his life.

He didn't like the connotations interstellar technology was sparking off in his intuition. Though he had to admit Julia had the right idea. If they couldn't be beaten with hardware, use innate human treachery against them.

And what does that say about us as a species?

CHAPTER FIVE.

J.

ason Whitehurst was right, she should have paid more attention to his data profile. He did have a yacht, of sorts, the Colonel Maidand; it was an old pa.s.senger airs.h.i.+p he had bought and converted into an airborne gin palace.

After the Newflelds ball, Whitehurst's limousine had driven the three of them halfway around the Monaco dome's perimeter road before turning off. A covered bridge linked the dome to the city-state's airport, a circular concrete island fifteen hundred metres east of the Prince Albert marina. They'd driven past the terminal building and across the ap.r.o.n to a Gulfstream-XX executive hypersonic. The plane was a small white arrowhead shape, with a central bulge running its whole length, twin fins at the back. With its streamline profile, embodying power and speed, it would have been easy to believe it was some kind of organic construct.

Charlotte ducked under the wing's sharp leading edge and climbed the aluminium stairs through the belly hatch. The cabin was windowless, a door leading forwards into the c.o.c.kpit, another at the aft bulkhead for the toilet, there were ten seats. A smiling steward in a dark purple blazer showed her how to fasten the belt. Jason sat at the front; and Fabian sat opposite her, his greedy smile blinking on and off.

And that was it. There was no pa.s.sport and immigration control, no customs, no security search. Jason Whitehurst's money simply overrode the mundane protocols of everyday existence, an intangible bow wave force clearing all before his path. Even so, she thought there should've been some kind of formality. But at least she didn't see the creep with the cool eyes this time.

Charlotte had actually dozed on the short flight. She woke as the steward touched her shoulder. The back of Fabian's head was descending through the hatch.

She glanced about in confusion as she came down the 75.hypersonic plane's stairs. The Gulfstream had landed on a circular VTOL pad. A stiff chilly breeze plucked at her gown. They were definitely out at sea, she could taste the freshness of the air. But all she could see past the lights ringing the pad was a band of night sky, stars twinkling with unusual clarity, there was no sign of the sea, no sound of water. A bright orange strobe light was flas.h.i.+ng two hundred metres ahead of the Gulfstream's nose, seemingly suspended in s.p.a.ce. That was when she started to realize where they were.

'Welcome to my yacht, my dear,' Jason Whitehurst said with a touch of irony.

Charlotte lifted her mouth in a smile. 'Thank you, sir.'

He wagged a finger.

'Jason,' she corrected.

'Good girl.'- We must be right on top of the airs.h.i.+p, she thought. But it's so stable, even in the breeze, it must be ma.s.sive.

Fabian had disappeared through a door at the rear of the pad. Jason guided her courteously towards it.

Charlotte yawned widely~, covering her mouth quickly. 'Excuse me,' she apologized.

'Tired, my dear? You were out like a light on the plane.'

'I'm sorry, you must think me dreadfully rude. I've been on my feet for thirty-six hours. I've only just returned from my holiday. It's been planes and airport lounges all day, I'm afraid.'

They went through the door into a well-lit corridor. Fabian was waiting by a lift.

'That sounds most interesting,' Jason Whitehurst said. 'I shall enjoy hearing all about your travels tomorrow over lunch.'

Charlotte's heart sank.

The lift door hummed open. Everything was made out of composite, she noted - walls, floor, ceiling.

'Fabian, I think you had better see your lady guest to one of the spare cabins for tonight,' Jason Whitehurst said. 'Dear Charlotte is terribly tired. I think she needs a night's rest. She can move into your room tomorrow.'

And that cleared up any possible ambiguities about the 76.situation, Charlotte thought. Clever of him, rea.s.suring his son in front of her.

Fabian's face fell. 'Yes, Father.'

She shared the lift with Fabian. He kept giving her fast glances, suddenly nervous again. She thought she'd succeeded in putting him at ease while they were dancing. 'How old are you?' he asked quickly. 'I mean. . . you don't have to say. Not if you don't want to.'

'I'm twenty-one, Fabian.'

'Oh.' He stared at the stainless-steel control panel beside the door. 'I was fifteen a few months back, actually. Well more like nine months, really.'

According to the data profile Baronski had squirted over to her, Fabian had celebrated his fifteenth birthday barely a fortnight ago. 'That's nice.'

Fabian blushed. 'Why?'

'Because people will still treat you like a kid. But you're not. It means you can get away with murder.'

His jaw worked silently!for a moment. 'Ah, yes, right.'

The lift doors opened on the gondola's upper deck. He showed her down a long corridor to her cabin. She began to wonder again about the size of the Colonel Maidand.

'Thank you, Fabian,' she said when the cabin door slid open.

'Sleep as long as you want. There's nothing rigid about meals on board. The cooks will always get you something to eat whenever you ask them. That's what they're here for.' He flipped the hair from his eyes. 'Would you like to come swimming with me tomorrow?'

'Swimming? In an airs.h.i.+p? What do you do, jump into the sea?'

Just for a moment a genuine fifteen-year-old's grin flashed over his face. 'No, nothing like that. I'll show you.'

'Sounds fun. That's a date, then.'

She woke to the faintest of buzzing sounds, having to concentrate hard to be certain she wasn't imagining it. It seemed to rise and fall in some strange cycle of its own. There was no 77.accompanying vibration. She thought it might be the propellers.

Her cabin was stylish and luxuriant, vaguely reminiscent of a nineteenth-century steams.h.i.+p. Wooden dresser and chests, mossy sapphire carpet, biolum globes like giant opals, pictures of pre-Warming landscapes on the walls. Three sets of mulberry curtains along one wall emitted a dull glow. A remote unit was sitting on the bedside cabinet.

She found the b.u.t.ton for the curtains, and rolied off the bed as they drew apart, revealing long rectangular windows with bra.s.s frames.

Colonel Maidand was cruising three or four kilometres above the Mediterranean. The water below shone with a rich dear blue hue, while wave-tops s.h.i.+mmered brightly creating a silver glare. She had never flown over the Mediterranean like this before. Hypersonics flew so high and fast that details blurred to non-existence, seas were reduced to a formless blue plane. But this view was hypnotic. She could see s.h.i.+ps down there, trailing long V-shaped wakes; bulk cargo carriers, rusty splinters no bigger than her thumb nail.

There was a light tapping on the door. Charlotte looked round the cabin, and saw a towelling robe on the foot of the bed. She slipped into it.

'Come in.'

It was a maid, a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a plain black knee-length tunic, her mouse-brown hair wound into a neat bun. She curtsied. And she got it right, too, Charlotte noticed.

'Did madam have a pleasant rest?' The maid's English was slightly accented. Slavonic?

'There's no need for that nonsense in private,' Charlotte said.

'Madam?'

That hurt. Formality was the way a patron's household staff told her they thought she was on a social stratum way below them, about equal to the family pets. Dumb, pampered, and good at tricks. 'I had a very pleasant rest. Is the rest of the s.h.i.+p up and about?'

'It is nearly eleven o'clock, madam.'

78.Charlotte blinked in surprise. When she looked out of the windows again she saw the sun was well up in the sky.

She c.o.c.ked her head at it, finding something vaguely disconcerting about its appearance. Whatever the anomaly was, she couldn't quantify it.

'Mr Whitehurst is expecting me for lunch,' Charlotte said. "What time is that?'

'Twelve fifty, madam.'

Charlotte ran her hands through her hair. 'I'll take a shower first. Where are my clothes?' The gown she'd worn to the Newfields ball was draped over a chair. She'd been so tired last night she couldn't be bothered even to find a hanger for it. Now the material was probably creased beyond rescue.

The maid opened a drawer. Charlotte recognized some of her clothes folded neatly. When had that been done?

'Would madam like me to a.s.sist in the bathroom? I am a trained manicurist.'

'You know how to do hair as well?'

A slight bow.

'Good, in that case you can give me a hand.' And get that nice clean tunic all wet and soapy as well.

The maid slid open a varnished pine door to reveal a bathroom. It was all marbled surfaces and extravagant potted ferns.

The marble must be fake, Charlotte decided. They couldn't possibly afford the weight, not even in this airs.h.i.+p. Jason Whitehurst giving his guests fake marble. She grinned.

'Mr Jason said to be sure your choice of day attire was a suitable one for a companion of Master Fabian's,' the maid said. Her face was beautifully composed. 'I took the liberty of laying out one or two of the briefer items from madam's wardrobe. I hope they meet with your approval, there were so many to select from.'

'Why, thank you, I'm sure your knowledge in that area is unmatched.' Charlotte swept regally into the bathroom. One all. But it was shaping up like a long dirty war.

Lunch was difficult. They ate in the aft dining-room on the 79.gondola's upper deck; looking out at the stern of the airs.h.i.+p. Charlotte discovered she had been quite right about the Colonel Maitland, it was vast; seven hundred metres long, a hundred and twenty in diameter. Its fuselage was made up from sheets of solar cells, a glossy black envelope reflecting narrow ripples of sunlight in mimicry of the sea below.

Jason Whitehurst sat at the head of the table, with his back to the curving band of windows. Charlotte and Fabian sat on either side of him, facing each other. Fabian was doing his best not to stare. But once or twice she thought she caught that glint of antic.i.p.ation on his face again.

As she worked her spoon into the avocado starter Charlotte watched the translucent blur of the contra-rotating fans at the stern. The Colonel Maidand was making a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour. She hadn't known airs.h.i.+ps could travel so fast, her mind cla.s.sing them as lumbering dinosaurs.

'Oh no, not at all,' Jason Whitehurst said when she mentioned it. 'Even the previous generation of rigid airs.h.i.+ps in the nineteen-thirties were reaching speeds around a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour. Flat out, the Colonel Maidand can make a hundred and eighty. It used to cruise at about a hundred and fifty when it was on the trans-Pacific pa.s.senger run.'