Page 50 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

His girl loves animals, always has.

Lachlan doesn’t understand, but he’s too tired to question it, so he hugs her closer and tells her how much he loves her, which is moon much. To love someone moon much is to love them completely. Everyone knows that.

The household rallies around him, and he dares to think it’s partly because he’s created such a strong system that it can bear his absence for a few days.

Even though he never misses a shift, he’s not himself.

Not at all.

Jolene is surprisingly open to Lachlan’s invitation to the Estate.

Her reply is swift and agreeable. Lachlan wishes she’d fought more, but ultimately, if it keeps Penhalyx happy and Mimi safe, then he can’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She comes four days after Penhalyx’s helicopter lands. Lachlan drinks black coffee and slaps his face to stir alertness for her visit, playing ambassador between his friend and the old man, his guts writhing with nerves the entire time.

It’s weird seeing Jolene here, away from where they usually meet. She comes dressed in atypically feminine clothes, her tone more saccharine than he’s ever heard it. Lachlan can’t quite grasp why, but he thinks somewhere in there is a kernel of keen intelligence. Penhalyx will always underestimate women, and it’s smart of Jolene to play into it, if indeed that’s what she’s doing, but he never told her that, so he can’t be sure. He can’t be sure of anything right now.

‘I’ve long waited to meet Lachlan’s friend,’ Penhalyx tells her, elegant and genial as he gives her a tour of the sub-levels of the Estate.

Lachlan accompanies them, hates it down here because only death brings him to the sub-levels. Penhalyx’s people, contractors whose backgrounds Lachlan thoroughly ran, have been busy at work, it seems. Lachlan witnesses the progress for the first time with Jolene. There are whole areas of this level he’s never seen. Rooms he never thought to enter because there’s no tunnel access, no reason to fear invasion. The sub-levels are essentially a dead end.

‘The foundations predate the current structure by a comfortable margin. The architecture is cumulative, as you see,’ the old man explains. Jolene studies the walls, floors and ceilings with clear interest.

Lachlan watches as she drags her fingers along a seam.

Penhalyx glances back. ‘Something of interest, Miss Mercer?’

‘Incredible construction. I have a fondness for enduring ingenuity.’

The old man seems charmed.

‘That makes you a rarity in this day and age, my dear.’

They walk further, passing the room he and Carrigan previously used for holding and extraction. He sees medical equipment in massive boxes, awaiting assembly. All kinds of technology in a dormant state. People are working around the clock. Lachlan doesn’t care about any of it beyond keeping Penhalyx happy.

The pair talk while they walk, and most of it is completely uninteresting to Lachlan until the old man mentions stasis.

That gets his full attention.

‘I’ve had many people come to me with prototypes,’ he explains. ‘Advancements in the technology, but nothing with an ironclad guarantee.’

‘That’s because it’s at least fifteen years from a stability profile that could support open trials, let alone public visibility.’

‘I have no interest in open trials.’

‘Few men of your calibre are brave enough to pursue the stars without a ladder, Mr Penhalyx,’ she says, green eyes sweeping the room in which they stand, Lachlan posted by the door, very much in pole mode.

‘It strikes me as the inevitable next phase of elite technological development. Once the current AI infatuation collapses into socialism, focused innovators will turn their attention to something more tangible. The pendulum always swings back.’

‘There is strong interest in certain fields, yes.’ Lachlan is silently pleading with her not to say what he thinks is coming next. ‘I’ve been experimenting with it myself.’

Fuck.

‘How impressive. If I may ask, which stabilisation paradigm are you working from, Miss Mercer, and what medium are you anchoring to?’

Jolene shows only the smallest flicker of surprise.

‘You’re well-versed in the constructs.’

‘I like to read,’ he says, his smile unbroken. He has that vaguely hungry look about him, reptilian. ‘Indulge me, if you will.’