Звезда Пандоры

“Pompous old farts need to have the piss taken out of them every now and then.” She put her hands together in Buddhist fashion, and crossed her eyes. “It puts them in touch with their Oneness.”

His arm went around her shoulder, hugging fondly. “Tell that to the midnight lynch mob.”

Beyond the big trucks at the head of the blockade, the road was empty for a couple of hundred meters. Several hundred Randtown residents were milling around on the empty enzyme-bonded concrete. Adults clustered together in little groups to talk, stamping their feet against the chill air blowing across from the higher peaks to the east where there was all-year-round snow. Children split up into their own groupings, chasing around in various games. Buzzbots zipped through the air above them, the latest craze: little flying saucer-shaped aircraft with contra-rotating fans at the center, controlled by v-gloves. It looked odd, children standing perfectly still to wiggle their fingers as if playing an invisible piano, each motion sending the tiny craft swooping and soaring above the road. Occasionally one would make a fast pass toward the line of bored police on the other side of the gap. A sharp call from a parent would soon force its return.

Behind the police on the southbound carriageway was a long convoy of twenty-six-wheel SAAB Vitan trucks. To begin with they were all diesel-powered, in direct contravention of the highway rules that only permitted electric-powered vehicles. That was almost irrelevant when compared to their contents. They were carrying all the equipment necessary to build a wormhole detector station for the navy’s planetary security division, which was due to be set up in the Dau’sings just above Randtown. That equipment included three fission micropiles to provide power for the detectors.

There had been a big argument at the toll gate at the northern end of the highway when the convoy arrived there. But the navy officer in charge called in the local police who overruled the operator and sent the convoy through. Simon Rand had been informed straightaway, and set out to stop them from the southern end, accompanied by his followers driving every piece of big civic equipment they could find. When they arrived at the high point on MtZuelea they stopped, disabled the vehicles, and waited. The standoff had now lasted two days.

Mark and Liz soon found the Conants, and the Dunbavands, David and Lydia, who owned the vine nursery where Liz worked; they’d brought their kids along for the afternoon, too.

“Is there anyone left back in Randtown?” Liz wondered.

They spent a couple of hours talking to the others, mostly about what this would do to the tourism industry. The buses that brought groups in to the hotels weren’t even waiting behind the stalled navy convoy anymore, and the tour operators were raising hell, and talking about suing. Flasks of warm drink were passed around. People went back to their vehicles to fetch warmer clothing. Kids had to be taken to the toilets on one of the buses. The whole protest was more like a giant picnic than a political statement.

After a couple of hours, Mark went back to the pickup to fetch the box containing their lunch. There was a flash of orange between the vehicles over on the other lanes as Simon Rand walked purposefully on some mission, his courtiers tagging along loyally. Mark was nearing the end of the parked vehicles, craning his neck to find the pickup, when he saw her.

He didn’t think she was a tourist; something about her made him doubt she’d ever be a part of a tour company’s herd, a spark of independence or self-confidence he was adept at recognizing. Exactly the kind of first-life girl who came to Randtown to join in the party scene and spend her spare time doing extreme sports all around the landscape. Although he’d not seen her around town before, waitressing or helping out in any of the stores.

She was gorgeous. Which made him nervous, because that kind of beauty made him think what kind of wife he’d have after Liz. Because they both knew it wouldn’t go on forever. Even though it was good right now. He was a realist, and so was Liz. Which meant it was okay to consider such things. Right?

The girl caught sight of him staring, and gave him a cheeky smile. “Hi,” she drawled. It was a husky come-on of a voice, perfectly suited to her long young face with its beguilingly flat nose. Her skin was a healthy tanned bronze, matching the tawny hair she wore long and wavy.

“Hello,” he replied. Already his voice was strained as his stomach muscles tightened, holding his abdomen taut, the way it used to be only a few years back. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Not really, I’m just looking around.”

“Ah, well, um, the main action is up there at the front. Not that there’s a lot of action. Apart from the kids’ football game. Ha!”