“No. You gave me a good hunt, so I’ll be merciful.” His weapon steadied. “Those who may be wavering will benefit from your example.” He fired into the writhing man and watched in detached interest as the victim contorted in the final rictus of death then lay still.
He touched his link. “Collect the corpse. Preserve it as usual, and have it placed in his office when it is ready. He gave me a good hunt. Surprisingly good. His fellow assets will understand the message.”
Chapter 3
Much Ado About Ships
Welcoming the visitors to his grand office in the Foundation for the Promotion of Interplanetary Commerce, Ari Khamenei turned on the charm. He was feeling unusually ebullient at the news that the assassination of a troublesome member of the Confederation Security Council had the desired effect on several other members. The Foundation served as a useful front, ostensibly funded by member corporations from all over the globe—and a few off it. Registered as a charity, the Foundation was in reality a lobbying organisation controlled by the IPC and Ari Khamenei himself, though the link was very carefully concealed—as was Ari’s position in IPC.
His guests that night were some of the most influential men and women in the North European Confederation. “I’m delighted you could accept my invitation. It is so important for business leaders and governors to understand one another.” Indicating the human waitstaff, he said, “Please, enjoy some refreshment before we attend the presentation.”
“Good of you to arrange this, Ari.” The large man projected an aura of wealth, his small eyes missing nothing. “As you say, we in government really need to hear what we can do to improve business opportunity.”
“I think you will find some of our members have some interesting proposals for you to consider, Mr Janissary.” Ari watched the man help himself generously from the hors d’ oeuvres presented by the waiter, and balanced them on a small plate in one hand with a drink in the other. “I think our researchers have found some exciting opportunities for the governing Council to explore. Huge opportunities to reduce government expenditures in all the member states!”
“Excellent! Excellent,” the man exclaimed, with his large body as well as his too-loud voice, and almost spilled his drink in his exuberance. “You know, Ari, you fellows know how to impress.” He winked. “Not even the Chairman of the Ministries has an office like this.”
“You’re probably right, but then she isn’t expected to host functions like this, or to give her members the opportunity to influence Members of the Parliament.”
He excused himself and signalled his Secretary unobtrusively. “See Mr Janissary meets Mr Roget after the presentation, Ashworth.”
Ari walked across the room smiling and acknowledging greetings as he progressed. Nothing in his expression betrayed the contempt he felt toward most of the people at this gathering. He owned most of them, though they didn’t know it, and those he didn’t would soon be in what he liked to think was his collection. If all went as he had spent years planning, removing obstacles where they could not be bought, circumventing others, and laying the foundations of his new world order, they would all soon be irrelevant. Tonight’s do was merely another step toward his goal, a world in which commerce and industry ruled absolutely.
Oozing charm, but deadlier than the most poisonous snake in the galaxy, Ari Khamenei ushered his guests into the carefully prepared theatre and sat back to watch them as they watched the presentation.
The investigating officer straightened. “You’re certain he was killed elsewhere, not here in his office?”
“Positive. There’s no trace of his having entered the building alive—no residual DNA anywhere between any entrance and this room. Even here, there is no trace of the indicators we all leave when we are breathing. Besides, there are clear indications that his body was preserved—as in embalmed—before he was propped in his desk chair. It’s all very grisly.” The medical pathologist paused. “And then there’s this.” He pointed to a tattoo on the victim’s chest. “This depicts the Ancient Egyptian god Seth.”
“God of chaos and death. Killed his brother Osiris if I recall.” The investigating officer, Commander Piet Brandeis of Fleet Security, touched his link and connected with Admiral Burton, head of Fleet Security. “Confirmed, sir. The Pantheon again. Secretary Krakowicz. It has Seth’s modus all over it. Poison injected by needle dart, then the body preserved and placed where it will be seen by the people the message is intended for—and he wasn’t killed here. The body was brought here and propped in his chair where the message would be most effective.”
Admiral Burton ordered, “Secure everything and run a full check on everyone who had access to the complex. I want to know what they were doing there and why. I’ll get a team to analyse cargo arrivals and deliveries. There has to be a trace of how that body was delivered.” A thought occurred to the Admiral. “How much time does the pathologist think has elapsed since death?”
Piet glanced at the pathologist.
“Probably a month or more. The poison degrades at a steady rate. I’ll analyse the traces and get you an estimate.” The pathologist paused. “As I mentioned before, the body has been embalmed, which means there’ll be no chance of using the usual methods to get to the bottom of this.”
“Bastards intend to frighten the waverers.” The Admiral sounded annoyed. “Piet, get all the details. See me ASAP. Krakowicz’s fellow councillors are frightened witless.” The link snapped off.
The pathologist studied the Commander. “Who was that? What the hell is this all about?”
Commander Brandeis exhaled a deep breath. “That was my boss, and this is all about frightening certain members of the Confederation Parliament by sending a very clear message. I think they succeeded. Somebody has hired the Pantheon to remove members they consider obstacles to their plans.”
“The Pantheon? I thought they were a hoax, a conspiracy theory.”
Commander Brandeis shook his head. “No, they’re not, and the bastard who calls himself Seth is a sadist. He kidnaps his targets, transports them somewhere remote, releases them with a bit of survival equipment but not enough to live on long-term, then stalks them. This poor bugger was probably selected just because he was young, fit, and likely to give Seth some sport in sending a message for the real target—a group of Members who have been against certain proposals in the Confederation Parliament and the World Treaty Council.”
“Good god.” The pathologist swallowed hard. “No one knows who they are?”
“Not yet.” Piet Brandeis stared at the corpse. “But we will. And then there will be a reckoning. Make no mistake.” He straightened up. “I’ll need you to run a full set of tests on the body. I need to know where he was killed. Considering what we know of how the Pantheon and Seth work, it was probably not on Earth, so, if, as you say, the poison degrades at a known rate, I need to know when he was killed.”
“I’ll do my best, Commander. Where can I send the information?”
Piet Brandeis smiled. “My team are waiting to take you and the corpse to our facility. I’ll see you there.”
Captain James Heron surveyed his newly emerged command from the observation deck of the building dock. With her hull covering completed and the most vital systems installed, she was now under atmosphere internally. She made an impressive sight even though she was dwarfed by the Dock. The most modern of the new breed of starships being built for the North European Confederate Fleet, Vanguard was vast.
The first of a planned group of four ships of the same class, she incorporated all the systems human ingenuity could devise. It would be another two years before she would be ready to take her place in the Fleet, by which time her sister ships would be nearing completion as well. Some politicians questioned the need for starships at all, though there was plenty of danger from human renegades already. One political argument suggested that the operation of protective patrols and the provision of security troops was better done through commercial channels, a point often re
inforced by the claim that the IPC was converting freightliners and other ships at ‘very little cost’ to provide protection for their holdings.
Yes, there were reports of pirate activity against mining platforms and freightliners, though, curiously, to Captain Heron’s thinking, the targets and victims always seemed to be independent operators. The Interplanetary Consortium’s ships and operations never seemed to have any trouble. Though the Fleet’s frigates and corvettes could deal with these pirate vessels, anything on the outer reaches of the galactic arm needed larger ships. In addition, as they explored further, it brought ever nearer the possibility of encountering other species that might not be friendly.
In appearance, the Vanguard was not unlike a twentieth century submarine, except she boasted four long and substantial fins at her cardinal points amidships and four smaller fins right aft each carrying the powerful projectors known as hyperpods, the hyperdrive propulsion units, which allowed the ship to slip through what was referred to as hyperspace, and what the Fleet and other spacefarers referred to as transit.
The Captain turned as he was joined at the observation screen by the Admiral Constructor.
“Good evening, sir.” He saluted. “Now all her hull plating is complete and the entire ship is under atmosphere, she’s coming alive.”
Returning the salute, the Admiral smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t she? Still a lot of work to do, but at least it will go faster now that she is able to maintain and refresh her own atmosphere.” He nodded. “Completion is fixed for January 2204. She will be in commission and ready for deployment by August, provided the WeapTech people don’t miss any deadlines.”
“There seem to be a lot of problems with WeapTech since it was privatised,” the Captain remarked.
“That’s putting it mildly. We were ordered to reduce our spares inventory and promised that orders would be filled as we needed them. At first it worked, but now there are more excuses than action. Projects that were doing well and nearing completion have suddenly been declared unworkable, components have become hard to obtain, and of those we can source, around thirty percent fail acceptance. If I were a suspicious man, I would say the new owners are playing a deep game of their own and trying to undermine us.” The Admiral frowned and then proffered a brief smile. “That’s why we have kept a few things in house and under our own people’s control, like this ship’s primary weapon system. As far as the Ministry of Supply and Procurement is aware, it’s a deep space scanning device for detecting black holes.”
“I wondered about that. As it is, the weapons fit seems impressive.”
“It is. In reality you will be in command of a ship equipped with a weapon that can destroy very large asteroids and possibly even small planets. But that is not for the public knowledge.” He stared at the new ship. “There is a war coming, James, an ugly one because the enemy is deeply embedded in our society. The Fleet has enemies inside our own governments and the bureaucracy, people working for the Consortium or IPC, as it’s also called, though we can’t yet prove they’re behind this. We don’t know all the people in key positions and ministries working for them, but we have an inkling of what they are after and how they plan to get it. IPC is definitely behind it, and that raises another problem. All these privatised operations, the Docks, WeapTech—they’re all owned by companies, which are owned by other companies, which are owned by yet more companies. The trail leads back to some very obscure groups and shadowy figures. It is going to be a bad time for everyone, but with ships like yours and loyal crews in our Fleet, we hope to challenge the threat when it comes.”
“Thank you for the confidence, sir,” replied Captain Heron. “I know a bit of the political goings-on, of course, through my brother-in-law. I hadn’t appreciated it ran as deep as this though.”
“There’s no reason anyone would. Fact is this has been developing for a long time now, and everyone ignored the signs.” The Admiral glanced at the Captain. “Your brother-in-law will need to be careful. It is not just the politicians involved. There are some very wealthy and very ruthless people standing a long way in the background, and they don’t want anyone shining any lights on them.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “So, your command team getting a grip now?”
“They are, sir. When Richard Grenville takes up his post as Executive Commander, I will have one of the most efficient Execs a Captain could want. I already have the best Communications and IT Commander and same for my Engineering and Weapons heads. When we’re ready to ship the strike and interceptor squadrons, I hope I can get the man I have asked for, Nick Gray, the best there is, and just the man I need to shake down a new ship like this and get its squadrons functioning.”
“You’ll have him.” The Admiral smiled broadly. “He’s driving the Drafting Office mad over it. They’ll give it to him just to shut him up and get him off their backs.”
Captain Heron laughed. “I can imagine. As it is, Mary Allison is riding the Engineering staff so hard I think she’ll drive them to nervous breakdowns. She won’t accept anything less than perfection as she sees it, and has rejected a complete reactor set. Made them take it out and replace it. They kicked up a fuss, but she was right, and I backed her all the way.”
“I heard about it.” The Admiral’s expression was stern. “The bureaucrats were threatening to complain to the Minister and the Dock reps about breach of contract. I told them to go ahead, and I would provide the Minister with the evidence of sub-standard equipment and defects they were accepting from their favoured suppliers at inflated prices.”
“Bet that got them worried.”
“Not immediately, but once I let it be known that I knew where the difference was going, and the Minister would know too, if anything happened to me or even appeared about to happen, that changed their tune.”
“Dirty bastards. Still, Fritz Dieffenbach is now onboard and installing and training the AI system.” The Captain nodded thoughtfully. “Still can’t quite get my head around the ship having a mind of its own. This is totally unlike the older AIs I’ve worked with. Fritz seems delighted with it and happily reports it is learning far more quickly than he anticipated. He takes a paternal pleasure in each new node as it is built.”
“I know what you mean. He’s probably the only person who does understand the thing. This ship will have the most advanced system going and will be almost self-aware as I understand it.” The Admiral shrugged. “A far cry from when we first ventured beyond our own solar system.” He grimaced. “Well, I’d better get back to my desk. Work to do and ships to repair. Get your Weapons Commander to call on me. My Writer will make space for her. I have some information on the Primary she’s overseeing built, but I can’t put it on the links or through the usual channels.”
“I’ll get her onto it straight away.” Captain Heron accepted the handshake then saluted as the Admiral turned to leave. As his next task, James would have to interrupt Valerie, and he smiled at the thought of her probable reaction. Valerie Petrocova didn’t trust civilian constructors and fitters, and firmly believed that if she or her team weren’t watching every component during the entire process of construction, something would be badly or incorrectly fitted.
She’s probably right, he mused.
He keyed his comlink as he strode into the Dock office allocated to him. “Valerie, could you come to my office immediately please. Couple of things I need to discuss.” His eye fell on the model of a 74-gun ship of the line from the British Royal Navy of the eighteenth century, one of several models of the long line of Vanguards, and his glance found the replica of a commemorative plaque in the old church near his family home in County Down, Ireland, a sprawling old house below Scrabo. The plaque commemorated the death in action aboard just such an old “wooden wall” of a distant relative, one Henry Nelson-Heron, serving as a Midshipman aboard the 74-gun HMS Spartan. He chuckled as he tried to imagine what Midshipman Henry Nelson-Heron would make of his descendant’s latest command. His link chirped and he answered it, all other t
houghts pushed from his mind.
The Security Master Warrant scrutinised the information on the identity chip then stiffened to attention in the presence of such a high-ranking officer. Instead of the usual information, a message displayed alongside an image of the man in front of him, as well as a rank and a code, but no name. “Sir…”
“Don’t salute, Master Warrant. Just give me back my chip and point me the way out. And my name is Mister Brown.” The stocky man smiled. “I don’t want my presence advertised. Oh, and there’s four of my staff in the queue behind me, but we don’t know each other, got it? Don’t salute them either.” Taking back his chip, Admiral Burton nodded. “Thanks, officer,” he said in a slightly louder tone. “Through the exit on the left?”
The Master Warrant caught the ruse. “Welcome to Build Dock Mars, Mr Brown. Through the door on the left. You’ll find transport there to your accommodation.”
“Thanks.” The older man grinned and added under his breath, “Well done, lad.” He made his way through the exit and waited for the rest of his party to join him, though they took care to appear as fellow travellers and nothing more.
“Piet, get that MW’s name and number for me. He handled that well.”
Piet Brandeis nodded. “Already done, sir.” He grinned. “He didn’t know whether to salute, faint, call for backup or shut the whole place down when he read your chip.”
“He did well. I’ll have a word with his Commander. Have we got our transport waiting?”
“The meet-and-greet droids are waiting, Boss. Looks like our reception over there.”
“Good. Read your report on the way here. Well done identifying where Secretary Krakowicz was killed. Seems the Pantheon are expanding their hunting activities. All the more reason to shut them down permanently.” Turning, Mr Brown smiled at the woman walking toward another greeter. “Seems you’re expected, Ms Rowanberg. I hope your posting here will be enjoyable.”
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 4
