They ducked between vines as they ran toward the drive, calling for Panda who was off chasing wobes, the local fieldmice-equivalents. Mark reached the end of the row, where he got a good look at the fancy car as it neared the house. Its sleek shape clued him in on who was visiting.
The MG came to a halt beside the Ables pickup; and the suspension lowered itself back down from the extended rough-ride position so that the wheels fitted back into the chassis again. A gull-wing door opened in the side, and Carys Panther got out. She was wearing a chic paneled suede skirt and expensive hand-tooled cowboy boots, with a simple white blouse. Her dove-gray Stetson was carried in one hand.
Barry gave a welcoming whoop and rushed forward. Sandy was smiling happily, it was always exciting when Aunty Carys visited.
“Nice metalware,” Mark said sardonically.
“Oh, that?” Carys gave a dismissive wave toward the MG. “It’s my boyfriend’s wife’s car.”
Mark made an exaggerated appeal to the heavens. She always had to make an entrance.
Neither of the two housemaids who brought breakfast to the room at eleven o’clock would meet Mellanie’s gaze. They put the big trays down on the table and walked out.
“Screw you,” Mellanie told them after the door had shut behind them. She started lifting the silver lids off the plates. Room service might be crap, but the kitchen was certainly four-star. “Tuck in,” she told Dudley.
He sat opposite her, as nervous as a school kid facing the principal. She could remember that sensation well enough.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“Your story.”
“Is that all I am, a story?”
“We are all stories, ultimately. I want to help you, Dudley, I really do. If you can come to terms with what’s happened, you’ll be so much happier. I think I can do that for you. I really do.”
“And us? What about us?”
She smiled cheekily, picking up a strawberry and licking it in a suitably wicked fashion. “You don’t think I give myself like that to anyone I don’t care about, do you?”
His answering smile was one of cautious relief. She pulled her chair around the table until she was pressed up beside him. With him watching in silent fascination she picked up another strawberry and held it delicately in her teeth. Very slowly she undid her bathrobe and pulled it open, then leaned in toward him, guiding the strawberry into his mouth. He bit into it, their lips touching.
“Oh, God.” He was trembling, his eyes damp.
“Now you feed me something.”
Dudley held up a slim slice of pancake dripping with maple syrup. She laughed as the drops fell on her breasts, then nibbled her way up the pancake slice. Dudley leaped at her, knocking the breakfast trays across the table. She was amazed he’d shown that much restraint, and laughed again as her chair went flying backward. They both tumbled onto the floor, with Dudley tugging frantically at his own bathrobe.
He fucked her there and then on the expensive moozaki rug with orange juice leaking down on top of them from the overturned glasses on the table. Then she was pulled over to the bed and fucked again.
“I’m going to need another bath,” she said after he’d finally spent himself. Even though he’d done his best to lick all the syrup and juicy lolabeans off her chest and thighs she was still awfully sticky.
“I’ll join you.”
She grinned, snuggling up against him. “So when did you meet Paula Myo?”
“Before the flight,” he said, sighing. “They took me out of rejuve for the interview.”
“They did what?”
“I was undergoing partial rejuvenation before the flight. There wasn’t time for a full one, but I was quite old, physiologically, so they were going to bring my age down as much as they could before they started my crew training. Paula Myo had me taken out. She questioned me and Wendy. I can’t remember much of what I said, it was very disorienting having the procedure interrupted. That’s why I wasn’t as young as I wanted to be when we left. Not as young as Oscar Monroe wanted, either.”
“Don’t start putting any value on what that old lush says. You said Myo was quizzing you about a break-in.”
“Yeah. My bitch ex talked to Bradley Johansson, who was masquerading as a reporter; he asked her about the organizations who funded my observation. The next thing we know our home was broken into and every file copied from the house array.”
“What did Myo think the connection was?”
“That moron Johansson believed one of the charities funding my observation was a front for the Starflyer. That’s the alien…”
“I know what the Starflyer is. When did this happen, exactly?”
“Right after the attack on the Second Chance. Myo had the authority to do pretty much anything she wanted when they gave her that case, including yanking me out of rejuve.”
“And she’d tracked down that connection. Why?”
“I’ve no idea. She just said she was looking for anomalies; anyone connected to the Second Chance project was reviewed. But the queer thing is that Johansson knew she’d find the connection, he told Wendy to give Myo a message.”
“Really, what was it?”
“Stop concentrating on the details, it’s the big picture that counts.”
“Weird. Do you remember which charity Johansson was suspicious about?”
“Yeah, the Cox Educational charity.”
“Never heard of them.” She patted his arm as she stood up. “You know what you’ve just been doing, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Talking about what happened to your previous body as if it was you. You’re starting to connect your body lives. Well done. I told you I was good for you.” She blew a kiss at his startled young face and went into the bathroom.
The big sunken tub was filled to its rim, with a burg of soapy bubbles floating on the surface. Mellanie stepped in, sighing gratefully as she sat down in the warm scented water. She turned the nozzles on, welcoming the gentle flow of air bubbles around her body as they eased away the aches. Dudley hadn’t been gentle the last time. His desperation and fierceness had made it a lot more interesting than his usual monotonous perfunctory act.
She turned up the music and rested her head back on the rim cushions. Her virtual hand touched the SI icon. “I need some financial information,” she said.
“You know we cannot provide confidential records, Mellanie.”
“I just need what’s on public record. It might be a little difficult to track it all down, that’s all, and I don’t want to go through the show’s researchers.” And I can’t use poor old Paul Cramley anymore.
“Very well.”
“The Cox Educational charity helped fund Dr. Bose’s observation. How much did they give him?”
“In total, one point three million Earth dollars, spread over eleven years.”
“Where does their money come from?”