Hardshellz Page 3

CHAPTER 2. SAVELIY YEMELYANOVICH FEDOSEYEV

  My senses on high alert, I slipped into the passenger seat of Norin's hover-car. It had that new-car aroma of leather, carpet and warm plastic. Not the stench of old blood, vomit and dead bodies that I half expected. To be honest, I thought an oligarch's henchman would have something incredible but it was merely a luxury Hercedez sedan. That said it lifted slower than I expected so I figured it was well armoured under its vanilla exterior. Norin took it up to cruising height and speed and then let the auto-pilot do the rest as the hover-car weaved its way through dense traffic in between the high-rise condos.

  You want a brief description of this paradise world? Not that it's important but here goes. If you want to really experience it, then look it up on the Galactoweb or, even better, save up your Hydrans and go experience it for yourself. The Hercedez glided over the glittering pink and white nu-coral high-rises that made up the port of Verrassa. Land is at a premium on Batavia VII so up is the only way to go.

  Beyond the ranks of high-rises, the endless seas stretched in an aquamarine expanse under equally azure skies marred only by contrails from shuttles or aeroplanes heading to or from the space-port. Looking down I saw many pleasure craft out on the water, their wakes glittering white behind them as they turned and spun. Pristine snowy-white beaches fringed the land edged with imported Earth palms together with purple fronders from New Freya and hair-ferns from wherever they come from. People strolled along, swam or merely paddled, enjoying the feel of the warm water. And above it all the yellow-white sun cast its warming rays. It was a place custom made – there had been some terraforming – for pleasure and relaxation. But I was here to work.

  The Hercedez glided down towards a marina which was filled with the kind of yachts most people only see in Sunday supplements. It levitated to the ground next to a black SUV the size of a tank. Okay, a small tank but it still looked like it could hold its own on the battlefield. Still without speaking a word, Norin opened the doors and stepped out onto the quayside.

  Now I was outside in the fresh air away from that new-car smell, I was even more impressed with this world. A gentle breeze blew in from the ocean, bringing a briny, ozone smell with it that made you want to jump into the nearest boat and sail away over the horizon. The yellow-white sun cast its strong light down and I adjusted my pupils to the tiniest pinpricks to cope with the light reflected from sparkling waves out beyond the marina.

  Between the marina and a small town built of pastel nu-coral low-rises, all garlanded with exotic tropical blooms was a row of expensive looking restaurants and bars. The architect had gone for an nu-Italianate theme and it worked. There the beautiful people sat, chatting or making deals. It was a place to see and be seen. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to do much seeing or being seen as Norin pointed towards a nearby super-yacht. Crossing a short walkway, I stepped on board the sun-deck.

  And then I was in a different world again. Everything was super-lux. Was that really Eurycerus hide on the seats? That distinctive brown stripe couldn't be anything else. Fine grained goldwood was laid on the floor – and I bet it was solid, not a veneer. On a marble tray stood a silver bucket filled with ice holding a genuine champagne bottle with a white cloth draped around its neck.

  Then, a woman stepped out from the shade of the lounge. At least, I hoped it was a woman because anyone that perfect just had to be an artificial gynoid android custom built for a rich man's pleasure. That clunking sound? That was my jaw hitting the deck until I hauled it back and closed my mouth before I started drooling.

  She was every red-blooded male's fantasy. Long blonde hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, hazel eyes set over a snub nose and full, red lips. A perfect hourglass figure with legs that seemingly went on for metres. She crossed over to the champagne bucket showing an all-over honey tan with no white lines anywhere. And all that was between her and my thoughts was a microscopic white bikini.

  "Glad you could come, Mr. Vargo. I'm Julianna. Did you have a good trip?" Even her voice was soft and musical that made you think of other things besides softness and music. She held out her hand and I shook it. It felt like a surge of electricity flowed between us.

  "Err, yes, thanks," I said at last.

  She smiled. "Did Mr. Norin look after you?"

  "Oh, yes. Mr. Chatterbox – couldn't get him to stop talking. Quite the tour guide," I said.

  Norin didn't say a word but slightly narrowed his eyes while Julianna uncorked the champagne with a gentle pop and expertly poured four glasses. Covertly I watched her movements, looking for that unnatural fluidity and grace that gynoids show. Although I'd seen reviews that the latest models were even more hi-man-like than before. I downloaded a couple of articles from the Galactoweb and rapidly scanned them before giving up. Either way, woman or gynoid, it didn't much matter.

  Then the owner of the fourth glass came out from the lounge. Saveliy Yemelyanovich Fedoseyev himself. Compared with the incredibly stunning Julianna, he looked like a pedestal for a beautiful statue to be placed on. But you could see where the power lay. Julianna cast down her eyes as she handed him the champagne flute and then stepped back to the rail.

  Sava lifted his glass. "To success tomorrow," he toasted in his heavy accent. We all clinked glasses and drank. The champagne was excellent with a sweet, yet nutty taste.

  Turning to me, Sava spoke. Seemed like he didn't waste much time on small talk. "You understand your instructions? You are to bid on my behalf. You can spend up to twenty-five million Hydrans..."

  "Which should be more than enough," I interrupted.

  Sava looked at me. I decided not to butt in again.

  "If that limit is reached, then call me and I will authorise an extra twenty-five."

  His accent was strong but I never make a mistake over money. Twenty-five or fifty million for a piece of art! How the rich live. I had been hired to go to an auction tomorrow on Sava's behalf and buy a sea-shell. Not just any shell, of course, but a really rare, valuable one. Anybody else would be content to collect some shells off the beach to take home as a holiday souvenir but that wouldn't satisfy an oligarch with money to incinerate.

  There's a scarce, mollusc-like animal on Batavia VII – well it's not a mollusc because its petal-form shell opens in seven ways unlike an Earthly mollusc's two, but it houses a slimy, filter-feeding blob of jelly so I guess it's a case of parallel evolution – whose shell is eagerly sought after by collectors. The Kississ lives only in the shallow tropical seas of this world. It can grow to an immense size – the largest shell ever recorded was almost three metres in diameter – and under the right conditions also displays beautiful colours that are like nothing else in the galaxy. Divers hunt for them. Now you can save time by not bothering to look it up on the Galactoweb.

  So that was the thing I would be bidding for. Saveliy Yemelyanovich Fedoseyev didn't want to attend himself, as that would flush out other oligarchs determined to outbid him just for the fun of it. And for that simple service, he was paying me one hundred thousand Hydrans. Chump change to him but big money for me. And then another two hundred thousand to escort his acquisition to his estate on the Russian-speaking world of Khabarovsk. There he would admire the shell until he got bored and then donate it to the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, Earth, itself.

  Ultimately, that's what it comes down to in the end for these multi-gazillionaires. Tax write-offs. They'll do anything for a tax write-off. They love to make money but they hate giving it to the government even more. So he'd rather give away a valuable item than pay a single Hydran in tax. Odd that. Not that I would know. I have to pay my tax like everyone else – although I'm luckier than most as my finances are based on Goldsmith's World. As far as I can see, the place was only colonised by accountants, bankers, fund managers and lawyers all eager to provide a low-tax base for interplanetary nomads like me.

  Anyway, Sava, as he asked me to call him, insisted I stay on his yacht overnight before heading over to the auction to
morrow. I didn't think that was a good idea as any spies out there – and oligarchs attract watchers like rare birds bring out twitchers – would immediately know I was working for Sava. I was about to say that but one look into his dark eyes made me keep my mouth shut. At the end of the day, it was his money I was spending, not mine. And what was millions to a man who thought in billions?

  So I sat there in one of the loungers with a second bottle of champagne chilling by my side. Water lapped against the side of the yacht, reflections rippling off the awning. There's harder ways of earning a living, I thought.

  Dinner that evening was something special. Probably nothing if you were a fellow industrialist but to a man like me it was one of the best meals I've ever eaten. We started off with some sort of pickled fish, then moved onto a meat platter with salad, crepes and caviare. Again, probably of local origin. More fish, wrapped in puff pastry, with pink flesh that tasted totally unlike salmon. Then a massive side of aetiocetus – some sort of whale-like animal, apparently – served with real, not synthi, potatoes and vegetables. A doughy cannoli comprised the dessert and finally real coffee with mints.

  And every course was washed down with fine wines and high-strength grain vodka, all imported at great expense from their home worlds. I'd have to take a system-cleanse tablet later to purge my body of all the alcohol.

  The only thing missing was good conversation. Sava himself spent much of the meal on his implanted phone. He'd turned off his translator and spoke in rapid-fire Russian. I guessed he was making a commercial deal – either acquiring another business or selling one of his subsidiaries. At first, I thought he was having a major argument but towards the end of the meal, he was laughing.

  Norin the bodyguard was his usual fun-loving, free-and-easy self. He sat there alternatively glowering at me or else scoping out the surroundings, alert for any changes, checking out any possible threats like snipers. I guessed he had telescopic enhancements implanted into his lenses. Couldn't blame him as more than one oligarch's life had been cut short by a sharpshooter's bullet.

  So that left me and Julianna. She'd changed out of that teensy bikini and wore a short yet elegant scarlet dress that clung to every delicious curve. She sat opposite me giving me plenty of opportunity to check her out. And by the end of the meal, I was still none the wiser as to whether she was hi-man or an artificial gynoid. And I didn't care.

  Her conversation was fluid, witty and yet knowledgeable. And she wasn't just looking up subjects from the Galactoweb. We talked about Dart-Racing and the prospects for the forthcoming Dathykolpian race and Bezel's chances of victory, the ongoing campaign against the Bellarmine rebels, Fedoseyev's latest business ventures (which made Norin scowl even more), and, of course, the best beaches to be seen on here and the latest trends in fashion. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed a conversation so much. I was sorry when Sava finally stood, said "good-night" and escorted her down to their luxury suite. Norin followed exactly one minute later.

  That night I lay in my stateroom listening to waves lapping against the sides. I couldn't sleep but lay awake tormenting myself with thoughts and images of Julianna. I wondered what she was doing with Sava now. I couldn't get thoughts of that caveman lying with such a beautiful woman out of my mind even as I rolled over and tried to concentrate on tomorrow's auction.