Meridian Days Read Online Free PDF Page A

luxurious living-dome on its highest point.
    It was nine when we arrived. Abe steered his flier into a marina packed with the expensive yachts and power-boats of the rich and famous. I began to feel uneasy at the thought of socialising with the Altered and Augmented artists. They were renowned for their snobbery, their elitist disdain of those who were neither Altered or Augmented. I wished that I had made some excuse after all and remained at home.
    One of a dozen uniformed attendants, supervising the mooring of the vessels, made the flier fast and we stepped onto the quayside.
    The day was still light. The sun burned just above the horizon with the same unremitting ferocity as it had at midday. Trevellion's dome, high on the hilltop, was illuminated with interior neons in preparation for the swift fall of night, due in one hour with the arrival of the orbital shield. It could be seen on the horizon to the north, a dark, edge-on meniscus moving slowly towards the archipelago.
    Other guests alighted from their boats and strolled along the marble quayside, men and women from all three social castes, dressed as if for some prestigious award ceremony. I noticed the number of guards stationed around the marina and standing sentry along the zig-zag path which led up to the dome. They wore black uniforms and carried laser rifles, and their presence at what was supposed to be an artistic event struck me as bizarre. I recalled the story that soon after her husband's death, a year ago, Tamara Trevellion had hired her own private army to police the island and protect the many works of art on open show.
    A tall maître d' , in a scarlet uniform with chunky epaulettes, took Abe's invitation card, scanned us and indicated the escalator.
    As we took our place on the moving stairway, Abe glanced across at me. He must have sensed my apprehension. "Hey, Bob. Don't worry. We have business here, after all. I couldn't get through to Steiner this afternoon, so I left a message. I did get through to Inspector Foulds, though. He said he'd talk to us tonight."
    We arrived at the entrance to the dome. A doorman ushered us through the foyer and across a luxuriously furnished lounge, to a cupola'd exit which gave onto a vast, landscaped lawn thronged with guests. As we stepped outside, our names and professions — I was introduced as an ex-starship pilot — issued from a concealed speaker. Heads turned briefly, but the hubbub of conversation continued without pause.
    The lawn was furnished with numerous works of art, striking laser sculptures and statues in bronze and platinum — the work of the late Maximilian Trevellion. Behind us, other guests were announced and made their entries — some evidently big names, if the lull in conversation was any indication. At one point a polite patter of applause greeted the arrival of an Augmented artist, who took a bow in acknowledgment. The guests were deployed across the lawn in groups according to their castes — at this early stage the consumption of alcohol or drugs had yet to dismantle the social barriers. Many cliques were gathered around burners on pedestals, inhaling the euphor-fumes. A live band pulsed out a selection of electro-classics from across the Expansion. In the saddle-shaped greensward adjacent to the lawn, I made out two large oval screens floating in the air; technicians on grav-sleds hovered beside them, hurriedly applying the finishing touches. I assumed that the illuminated meadow was the venue for tonight's event.
    We stood at the edge of the lawn, and I stared with wonder at the gathering. This was the first time I had been among so many Altered and Augmenteds, and I felt an extreme reluctance to mix. On Main Island, the only sizable town on the archipelago, the majority of citizens on the streets were normals — or primitives, as we were known. The A's were too busy creating their masterpieces to be seen during the day, and anyway they had servants to do their errands. They came