Julia already owns the Earth, don’t let her have the stars as well.
Company security guards in immaculate grey-blue uniforms saluted sharply as they passed through the first of the Astronautics Institute’s ten gates. The police escort peeled away, leaving the Rolls to drive on to Building One alone. The circular structure was made up from an outer ring of offices, laboratories, design bureaux, computer centres, cybernetic integration bays, and test facilities; five storeys high, eight hundred metres in diameter, presenting a polished cliff-face of green-silver glass to the outside world. A jet-black dome of solar collector panels roofed a central space hardware assembly hail. In the distance she could see Building two, a twin of One, as yet unoccupied; contractors were busy dismantling the scaffolding. A week late, they were going to pay a hefty penalty clause for that. Architectural data constructs of Building Three were already well advanced, big enough to put One and iWo inside then rattle them around. Julia always got a kick out of the Institute; its sheer size, sprawled over the old Imperial War Museum site and now beginning to creep out towards Thriplow, was a spectacular statement of intent. Event Horizon was staking out its claim on the future for everyone to see, rekindling the old High Frontier dream. There was something fundamentally exciting about commanding such a grandiose venture. Philip Evans, her grandfather, had started to build the 44 PETER F. HAMILTON Institute a month after the PSP fell. He believed passionately that space industry would be the catalyst in reinvigorating the country’s post-Warming economy. His aim was to develop a centre of excellence where every discipline of space industry could be cultivated and refined, ensuring the company had complete technological independence. Microgee material processing had already established itself as a hugely profitable enterprise. The number of low Earth orbit factory modules churning out ‘ware chips, crystals, exotic compounds, and super-strength monolattice filament had grown steadily even during the worst of the global recession which followed the Warming. But the raw materials the factories needed had to be lifted from Earth, battling against gravity throughout the whole ascent. Philip Evans’s vision had the giga-conductor revolution reducing launch costs to a fraction of the chemically powered boosters’, increasing profits by orders of magnitude. After that, he predicated, the exploitation of extraterrestrial resources would become economically feasible, and he was determined that as the solar system opened up England would be the trail-blazer, with Event Horizon at the forefront. Julia had inherited that faith along with the material reality~ She had continued to pour money and resources into the Institute and its ambitious programmes in the two years since he died, despite all the pressure and criticisms from the company’s financial backing consortium. Now the first phase of her plan was coming to fruition, after Heaven alone knew how many minor setbacks and delays. Today was the day she would shut those whining know-nothings up for good. She wanted to sing and shout for the sheer joy of it. If nothing else, Patrick was in for the night of his life tonight. Building One’s vast car park was full to capacity with company minibuses and rank after rank of scooters – private cars were still a rarity. The Rolls drove past it, and out on to the concrete desert on the other side of the building. Thro long temporary seating stands had been erected on the apron, covered from possible showers by red and white striped A QUANTUM MURDER 45 canvas awnings; they formed a broad avenue, leading away from Building One’s huge multi-segment sliding doors. There s~ere seven thousand invited guests waiting for her: Institute personnel and their families, premier-grade executives from most of the kombinates, channel celebrities, politicians, the Prime Minister, Prince Harry, even a few friends. A press stand bad been built at the far end of the avenue. Every place was taken, which gave her a final heart-flutter of nerves. She had secretly hoped the reporters would all still ~e up in Scotland after the momentous weekend. Over a hundred cameras swivelled round as the Rolls drew up beside the VIP podium at the side of Building One’s doors. Julia took a breath as the Institute’s general manager scuttled forwards to open the door, then climbed out with a professional smile in place.