Звезда Пандоры

“I’m not going to argue with you, Paula. I’m calling because I have news.”

“I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“Okay, first, there is no secret security department run by the executive. That’s a definite. I did consult my father. Whoever it was that made the hit at Venice Beach, they weren’t authorized by the President or Senate Security.”

“Thank you. What about Boongate and the Far Away cargo?”

“Ah.” Thompson shifted around uncomfortably. “This is where it gets interesting. I spoke to Patricia Kantil about that myself, pointed out that we really needed to inspect everything going to Far Away. She said she agreed, and she’d put it on Doi’s agenda. Since then all I’ve had is memos about how the proposal is under active consideration. Even before your suspicions I would have been curious about that. Something this trivial should be easy for me to arrange; normally I’d just tell an aide to sort it out. The fact that I can’t swing it is very suggestive.”

Paula felt a cold shiver run down her chest, despite the warmth of the chocolate she’d been sipping. The decades she’d spent filing requests for this very action with every new boss in the Directorate, to see them come to nothing every time. All of them must ultimately have been blocked by the executive office. “Who is opposing you? Surely not Doi herself?”

“No. This is Newton’s law of politics, for every action… Somebody will be lobbying the executive office to allow the cargo to go through unchecked.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. It’s the arena of whispers and spin we’re dealing with here. At this level of the game, your opponents don’t reveal themselves, that’s part of the game. But, Paula, I’ll find out. You’ve got me worried about this, and that’s not easy.”

…

Warm summer sunlight poured through the circular windows above Mark Vernon’s head, diffusing evenly across the hemispherical study. The illumination was brighter than he’d envisaged when he and Liz had sat down to plan their new home together. Not that he didn’t want his study properly lit, it was just that he’d always had an image of a slightly darker room, maybe a little cluttered with his personal stuff; the kind of room a man could happily use to retreat from his family on occasion. But with its airiness and pearl-white drycoral walls, he never felt happy allowing any mess to build up. So his desk was clear, and his stuff was all neatly organized in big alvawood cabinets. Given that Barry and Sandy had free run through the rest of the house, it made the study the tidiest place inside.

He stood just inside the frosted glass door, and looked around in confusion. The short coat he knew was in there wasn’t.

“Dad! Come on!” Sandy shouted in the main hall behind him.

“It’s not here,” he called, hoping Liz would take pity on him.

“It’s your coat,” Liz called back at him from the hall.

He gave the study another perplexed glare. Then Panda, the family’s young white Labrador, came in pulling his favorite woolen coat along with her. Her tail wagged happily as she stared up at him.

“Good girl.” He started to approach her. “Drop it. Drop it, girl.”

Panda’s tail wagged even faster in anticipation of the game; she started to turn.

“No!” Mark shouted. “Stay!”

Panda bounded out into the hall, pulling the coat with her. Mark ran after her. “Come back! Stay! Drop it!” He tried to think of the other commands they’d gone through together at obedience classes. “Heel!”

Over by the front door, Liz was pulling Sandy’s windbreaker on over her head. Both of them turned to watch.

“Stay! Stop that. Come here!” Mark had got halfway across the hall when Barry emerged from the kitchen and said, “Here, girl.” He patted his knees. Panda scampered over to him and dropped the coat at his feet. “Good girl.” Barry made a fuss of her, letting her lick his face and hands.

Mark picked up the coat with as much dignity as he could muster. There was a big soggy patch on its shoulder from the dog’s jaw. They’d got Panda nearly a year ago when they’d finally moved into the drycoral house. A family dog. She only ever did what Barry told her. “That’s because she’s still a puppy,” Mark had been claiming for the last three months. “She’ll grow out of it.” To which Liz simply replied, “Yes, dear.”

Although he’d never owned a dog before, Mark had always enjoyed the idea of them having one; envisaging long rambles along the Ulon Valley with their pet trotting beside them. Such an animal would be loyal, obedient, and loving, an excellent companion for the children. And anyway, most of the homes in the Ulon Valley had dogs. It was part of the whole Randtown ideal.

The owner of the pet shop on Main Mall had assured the Vernon family that white Labradors had all the breed’s natural friendliness, but with a higher intelligence sequenced into their DNA along with the snow-white coat. Mark thought that had sounded perfect. Then Sandy had spotted the fluffy white puppy with its black-circled eyes, and the choice had been made before Liz and Barry got a say.