Further than I’d realised. The continued presence of the dredges when I’d arrived back here had made me assume the infrastructure was still unfinished. Now I saw that the work I had halted must have been almost finished even then. The dredges were gone. The piles of spoil on the far bank were already drying out, the black mud bleaching grey and beginning to crack. In the two months left before the scheduled opening I had no doubt a gardening team would make the muddy heaps flower. That the flowering would be entirely synthetic, the plants rooted in nothing and replaced overnight by automated attendants when they wilted, would cause no one to lose sleep.
The pontoons for the expected craft were already in place: pale and mostly empty. They’d used some sort of material which looked like wood but which would never splinter or provide any other sort of discomfort for the men and women who could afford the exotic delights of pleasure boats. The hookups for vids and VR and comsets were all ready. No one would need to lose contact with Family or business. They wouldn’t even need to leave the Port. Virtual sailing was safer and more comfortable and who could tell the difference? I compared the marina with my own dockside berth: the lock which meant they would never see the mud even when the tide dropped with the rusted ladder which led from the Pig’s pontoon at low water. Jack would have snorted and said he preferred reality but I understand the appeal of comfort, artificial or not.
“Keep out of there!”
I didn’t need to turn to recognise Gus warning me off.
“Fraid I’ll contaminate the water?”
“You’re not cleared for the marina. Security’s tight and it doesn’t cover deadbeats like you.”
He was proud of his foolproof and brand-new system.
“You mean I’ll get dumped in the river like poor Jon if I take a step over the line?”
His face went from red to purple. For a moment I thought he might have a fit and waited with some eagerness, but he drew a deep breath and the colour ebbed.
“Just get away!”
I shrugged. Though I was interested in the marina and had fantastic visions of the Pig wallowing in all that luxury it wasn’t what I’d come over here for. I thought I heard Gus shouting something more, when I strolled in the direction of the land-based section of the development, but I ignored him. He couldn’t keep me off something that was part of the Port for whose facilities I had actually paid. Though I had no illusions about what would happen the nanosecond my credit ran dry. All the more reason to make certain Daisy stayed in her job. And to do my exploring while I still could.
They had built on the site of a disused boatshed and some old stores. A pity: I had been in the habit of using the old shed when I’d had to work on the dinghy or on fittings from the Pig which needed more space than one rickety wooden jetty allowed.
Someone had decided that the new facilities would look more authentic if they pretended to be old ships. I’d have thought boatsheds would have been more appropriate but that didn’t offer the same scope for imaginative design – flaring shapes and curved walls simulating ships’ sides, a sharply pointed bow looming over an entrance way – did they know nothing about ships? They had even simulated the planking of a laid deck in the flooring. No doubt the ropes and a mast – complete with Company flag – would arrive soon. All the automated building work was complete, leaving some human agency to decide questions of taste. At a price.
Beneath the absurd architecture and the designer’s trappings, the concessions were about what I’d expected. There were the usual VR booths – both solo and group – though they were furnished with far more luxury than any I’d ever seen. There was a clothes shop: there’s something about searching through racks of clothes with real live assistants fawning around which apparently has a powerful appeal for the mega-rich.
I don’t like shopping. Families do. For people like me and most cits or streetpeople shops are alien – if they mean places to browse through a choice of goods, where attendants try to coax you into buying. If you have credit you do the respectable thing and stay at home and call up what you want from the Net.
I found my way to the open space where it looked like the food stalls would be. Eating in public was currently fashionable – as long as you were selective about your public – so there was room for a number of tables where people could watch and be watched. This side of things looked almost complete. I wondered if I was too late.
“Hey, you! Nothing’s open yet.”
I looked around the empty shelves and half-built kitchens where mechanical and human workers were doing noisy things with drills and saws. “You don’t say.”
The big man who had shouted grinned and wiped his hands on a cloth that looked substantial enough to cover one of the tables. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fixed in time for the opening.” He frowned. “Unless the Port jinx hits us.” So Daisy’s saboteur was no secret here, either. “You’re not one of the contractors.”
Half question, half statement. Meaning: what was I doing here and would he be within his rights to throw me out? I hoped he didn’t have the same mind-set as Gus.
“No. I live on one of the boats moored here and I thought I’d look round. Are all the concessions sold off yet?”
The frown didn’t quite lift. “Not all. You thinking of buying into one?”
I couldn’t blame him for the suspicion. Even at my best I don’t look like I have the sort of money that buys concessions in premium malls. And my manner probably doesn’t suggest someone aching to serve the public. I trusted in my open and honest smile instead. “Not on my credit balance. Just interested. Might know someone who could afford it, though.”
He seemed willing to suspend judgement and offered to show me round. Introduced himself as Steven and admitted to being superintendent of the concessions, so my luck was in.
“What’s that over there?” I pointed at something that looked like a primitive flame pit.
“Barbecue.” I’d been right. “Customers can pick their own raw food and watch it cooked.”
“The sophisticated version of roughing it?”
The wide grin was back. “You got it.”
He walked me round the rest of the space, which was apparently going to be called The Piazza. Then looked at me with shrewdness beneath the amiable surface. “So you don’t want to buy, you don’t want a job and you’re just curious? Doesn’t seem like your sort of place.”
“It isn’t,” I admitted. “But I told you, I know someone who could be interested in the food side. He’s good,” I added when the guy still looked sceptical.
“Would I know him?” Implying that he already knew anyone round here who was any good.
I decided to take the risk. “Tom Lee.”
He stared. “Tom Lee? You’ve got some weird friends.”
“He’s not exactly a friend.”
“Glad to hear it. Just what makes you think there’s room here for the biggest fence on the south coast?” At least he knew who Tom Lee was.
“He prefers to be called a Changer. More class.”
“I don’t care what he calls himself these days. How popular am I going to be if I invite organised crime on to Company property?”
I didn’t point out that it was probably already here. “You ever eaten at his place?”
The silence stretched, told me what I’d guessed. Thought the guy was remembering. At last he said, “You trust him?” as though it was an alien idea.
“If he’s made a deal, yes. Otherwise no.”
“And you think he wants to make a deal here?”
“Could be.”
He thought about it. Shrugged massive shoulders. “OK. He calls, I’ll talk to him.”
So. I had my trading token. If Tom Lee’s interest was genuine, I could give him a contact which didn’t rely on Daisy’s influence. It might be enough.
I took a few minutes more to look at the rest of the place: there were bars and a caf-house conveniently between the gym and the bath house. Someone had given the layout some thought after all. The bath house, I guessed, was meant to resemble ancient Rome: conspicuous decadence was the main design criterion.
It was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it my belly was bitter.
I had a sudden image of the shoreside flats and the contrast with this place was more than I could stomach. Gus wouldn’t need to find a way of banning me from the place once it opened: it would take something more urgent than I was willing to imagine to drag me back inside.
I needed to go back to the Pig or find a public terminal to put in a call to Tom Lee.