“My word, nothing much escapes you two, does it?”
Daniella gave an awkward shrug. “Christine said he was going to do a tracking job. He hasn’t done that for years.”
“Daddy and Uncle Greg fought together in the war, you see,” Matthew said eagerly. “People who do that will do anything for each other afterwards.”
Julia sighed. “It wasn’t exactly a war, dear.”
“What then?”
“A very sad time. Things got out of hand after the Warming, chaotic and unpleasant. It was just a very few people at the top who caused a lot of trouble for everybody else.”
“Daddy always said-”
“Can we drop the subject, please.”
“There, see,” Daniella said triumphantly.
Matthew slurped his lemon noisily.
“Uncle Greg will find him, won’t he?” Daniella asked, her self-confidence suddenly collapsing.
“Your Uncle Greg is the best,” Julia said. She wanted to say yes, of course; but then she would have to produce Royan. She wondered if she was really doing them any favours sheltering them like this. When news of the alien hit the channel newscasts-and it would-there’d be temper tantrums and sulks because she hadn’t told them about it. But in the mean time they could have a few more days running riot in Wilholm’s grounds, a few more days of the childhood she never had, plenty of friends and no cares.
Her cybofax bleeped, and she sagged back into the chair. Was half an hour with the children so much to ask?
“Go on, Mummy,” Daniella said. “Answer it. The only people who have your number are ultra-important. It’s probably the King.”
“I don’t think even William could help much with this one,” she mumbled half to herself as she took out the wafer. Open Channel to SelfCores. Who is this?
Michael Harcourt, NN core one answered. It’s an official call in his capacity as Minister for Industry, so we told Kirsten to let it through. The government has finally decided to contact you about atomic structuring. Apparently the inner cabinet has been in crisis session for most of the morning, ever since the Ministiy of Defence briefed the PM on atomic structuring.
Really. Stay on line, please, I may need some data interpretation.
Of course.
“Is it the King?” Matthew asked, trying to look serious.
Julia laughed. “No. How about you two finishing your tea in the summer-house while I take the call?”
Matthew lunged for the chocolate cake, lifting its plate with both hands. Daniella picked up the tray with the jug of juice and the glasses.
“We don’t mind, Mummy, not really,” she said.
Julia forced a smile through the guilt, disturbed by just how hard it was. “And don’t give any cake to Brutus,” she called after them.
Michael Harcourt was a New Conservative central office clone; all the party’s cabinet ministers seemed to have been bred in a vat somewhere, she thought. The same vat, bloody nearly the same chromosomes. He was fifty-something, old enough to inspire confidence but nowhere near past it, immaculately groomed, not too expensive suit, silver-grey hair, authoritative face, voice coached into classless inflection. Capped teeth smiled at her from the cybofax’s little screen. “Ms Evans, I’m very grateful to you for taking my call at such short notice.”
Smooth bastard, she thought; the channel current affairs casts had been hinting at a leadership contest recently: the New Conservative backbenchers were unhappy at Joshua Wheaton’s handling of the Welsh problem. Michael Harcourt was a major contender to replace him. Something else she should have kept up with; the NN cores would know.
“My office coded your call as a priority,” Julia said.
“We consider it so, absolutely. The thing is this, Julia; this morning the government was informed of a rather valuable new technology being hawked round the market.”
“Yes, atomic structuring.”
“Ah.” Michael Harcourt’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “You do know about it. Excellent. The Ministry of Defence was contacted by both the Greater European Defence Alliance and the Globecast company, to tell them this atomic structuring was being offered for development. According to our analysis, and these are absolutely top-rate people I’ve got working on it, Julia, it’s going to cause quite a bit of a stir. In fact, the word revolutionary has been bandied about, not altogether in jest.”
“My people say the same thing,” she replied.
“Good, I’m glad to hear an independent confirmation, always a relief. Can I take it then, Event Horizon will be putting in a strong bid for a partnership with Clifford Jepson?”
“Of course we’ll put in a bid.”
Michael Harcourt’s news bite smile dimmed slightly. “Ah, well, that’s a point of some contention in the Cabinet, Julia. You see, Event Horizon has such a prominent position in English industry, we really feel it’s essential that you put in the winning bid.”
“If you know of a way to guarantee mine is the winner, Minister, I’d be delighted to hear it.”
“Well, obviously, Julia, I’d do anything in my power to ensure that Event Horizon wins. We really can’t afford to have you fall behind on this one.”
“We?”
“The nation, Julia. As you know, the New Conservatives have always supported you. Event Horizon is an inspiration and example to industrialists everywhere. You epitomize our policies and the success to be gained by following them. We want to make sure that continues.”
“Mr Minister?”
“Yes, Julia?”
Would you mind leaving out the BQ and get to the point.”
Michael Harcourt frowned. “BQ?”
“Bullshit quota.”
That’s my girl; always keep politicians in their place. And that place is down.
Either contribute constructively, or be quiet, Grandpa.
“Ah, yes, well, to be perfectly blunt, then, Julia, I’d like to offer my services as a negotiator between Event Horizon and Clifford Jepson. I might not have much weight in corporate circles, but for what it’s worth, I’d like you to consider it at your disposal.”
It wasn’t what Julia had been expecting. She took a sip of tea to cover her lapse, and embarrassment. Betrayed by her own cynicism. Of course all politicians were self-advancing autocrats.
“That’s a very kind offer, Michael,” she said. “Have you spoken to Clifford Jepson about it?”
“Certainly, I wouldn’t wish to waste your time on impractical solutions.”
“How did you see the deal working?” she asked.
“I would act as a strictly unofficial conduit. Clifford Jepson has indicated he will allow me to see the other bids as they come in. I make a simple phone call, and you would be in a position to put in the highest bid. Their best offer plus whatever percentage you think would clinch it.”
“That sounds… workable,” she admitted. And if all else failed, she really did have to obtain that generator data from Clifford. Strange that Michael Harcourt hadn’t mentioned Mutizen, though.
“I’m delighted to hear it. It’s always gratifying to know one can be of service.”
“Quite.”
“And of course, the government will be keen to back you up once you establish a partnership with Globecast. My department has a long tradition of encouraging new technologies, and a strong relationship in that respect with Event Horizon. I would want that to continue.”
“Indeed? Exactly how did you foresee this happy union progressing?” This sounds like it’s turning into favour trading. Run an immediate check on him for me, find what his angle is.
Gotcha, Juliet. And I told you so. A smug ghost’s chuckle.
Michael Harcourt never showed the slightest awareness of her irony. “Obviously, we will offer a zero-tax start-up incentive for the new factories which will produce this technology.”
“You and every other national government.”
“I have it in my brief to extend the time defined as “start up” to a period we both find mutually satisfactory; it could even be measured in decades. There would also be considerable financial assistance in the form of R &D contracts for both civil and military projects.”