Hamilton, Peter F – Quantum Murder, A

Eleanor kissed him lightly when they reached the EMC Ranger. There was no sign of the lynch mob. Nor the watching faces, Greg noted. The only sound was the bird-song, humidity gave the air an almost viscid quality. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. Her lips were pressed together in concern. His head had begun to ache with the neurohormone hangover which was the legacy of using the gland. He blinked against the sunlight glaring round the shredded clouds, combing his hand back through sweaty hair. ‘Yeah, I’ll live.’ ‘That bloody Collister woman.’ ‘Tell you, she’s probably right. Food Allocation was a little AQUANTUMMURDER 15

different from the Constables and the Public Order Ministry.’ ‘They took away enough of the kibbutz’s crops,’ Eleanor said sharply. ‘Fair and even distribution, like hell.’ ‘Hey, wildcat.’ He patted her rump. ‘Behave, Gregory.’ She skipped away and climbed up into the Ranger, but her smile had returned. Greg slumped into the passenger seat, and remembered to pull his safety belt across. ‘I suppose I ought to sniff around the rest of the village,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Make sure there aren’t any premier-grade apparatchiks lurking around in dark corners.’ ‘That is one of the things we came here to get away from.’ She swung the EMC Ranger round the triangular junction outside the church, and headed back the way they came. ‘You and I, we’ve done our bit for this country.’ ‘So now we leave it to the Inquisitors?’ Eleanor grunted in disgust. They met Corry Furness on the edge of the village. Eleanor stopped the Ranger and lowered her window to tell him it was all right to use his bike again. ‘Mr Collister wasn’t one of them, was he?’ Corry asked. ‘No,’ Greg said. Corry’s face lit with a smile. ‘I told you.’ He pedalled off down the avenue of dead trees with their lacework of vines and harlequin flowers. Greg watched him in the mud-splattered wing mirror, envying the lad’s world view. Everything black and white, truth or lie. So simple. Eleanor drove towards the farm at half the speed she’d used on the way in, suspension rocking them lightly as the wheels juddered over the skewed surface. The clouds on the southern horijon were starting to thicken. ‘You’ll have to give me a hand to get the lime saplings into the barn when we get back,’ Greg said. He was watching the way the loose vine tendrils at the top of the trees were Stirring. ‘I’ll never get them planted before the storm now.’ ‘Sure. I’ve nearly got the undercoat finished on all the firstfloor windows,’ ‘That’s something. It’s going to be Monday before I’m 16 PETER F. HAMILTON through with the saplings. After this downpour it’ll be too wet to get into the field for the next couple of days, and then we’ll have to spend Sunday clearing up, no doubt.’ ‘Better make that Tuesday. We’ve got Julia’s roll-out ceremony on Monday,’ Eleanor said. ‘That’ll cheer you up.’ ‘Oh, bugger. I’d forgotten.’ ‘Don’t be so grumpy. There aft thousands of people who would kill for an invitation.’ ‘Couldn’t we just sort of skip the ceremony?’ ‘Fine by me, if you want to explain our absence to Julia,’ she said slyly. Greg thought about it. Julia Evans didn’t have many genu-. inc friends. He was rather pleased to be counted amongst them, despite the disadvantages. Julia had inherited Event Horizon from her grandfather, Philip Evans, a company larger even than a kombinate, manufacturing everything from domestic music decks to orbital microgee-factory modules. Two years ago she had been a very lonely seventeen-year-old girl; wealth and a drug-addict father had left her terribly isolated. Greg had got to know her quite well during the security violation case. Well enough for her to be chief bridesmaid at his wedding. Julia, of course, had been thrilled at the notion of adding a little touch of normality to her lofty plutocrat existence. The mistake of asking her had only become apparent when he and Eleanor had left for their honeymoon. Every tabloid gossipcast in the world had broadcast the pictures. Greg Mandel: a man important enough to have the richest girl in the world as his bridesmaid. More millionaires than he knew existed wanted to be friends with the newly weds; buy them drinks, buy them meals, buy them houses, have them as non-executive directors. Julia had also developed a mild crush on him for a while. A hard-line ex-urban predator and gland psychic, the classic romantic mysterious stranger. Of course, he had done the decent thing and ignored it. Hell of a thing, decency. Greg• found he was grinning wanly. ‘I don’t want to try ~ explaining to Julia.’ CHAPTER TWO

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