“But why do they want psychics?” Holly asked.
“That question is a mystery to me also,” Powell confessed.
“Okay,” Holly said. “I suppose we’ll learn more at our interview.” She sighed and gazed out at the undulating landscape of the Cotswold. This region of farmlands and limestone hills had been spared the worst attacks of the war and become an unsoiled reminder of earlier centuries.
The first hour passed quickly. As they approached the outskirts of New London, the buildings began to cluster more densely. Individual houses were replaced by blocks of flats and large industrial sites.
Big signs indicated the direction to the Spaceport and the car moved smoothly onto the ring road. Fifty minutes later, the car exited the motorway and continued at a sedate speed along the road bordering the fence around the New London Spaceport.
Holly gazed around, eager to spot a spacecraft. “Where are the space ferries?” she asked.
Sergeant Powell cupped his fingers over his lips to hide a smile. “They’re in orbit, Miss Holly. Passengers have to take a shuttle up to the International Space Station.”
“Oh.” Holly furrowed her forehead. “But where do they build the spaceships?”
“I believe the ferries are constructed in space. The workers live on the Space Station.”
“It would be super fun,” Rosie commented wistfully, “to visit another colonized planet like Mars.”
“I doubt we’ll have the chance any time soon,” Holly muttered. “Or the credits for a seat on the space ferry.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Powell said. “You’re here for an interview on a matter of importance to Taxyon Space. That enterprise essentially controls our access to the rest of the solar system.”
“Where’s this office?” Rosie asked. “Shouldn’t we arrive soon?”
The Sergeant leaned forward to adjust the controls on the dashboard of the car. “Very soon.” He beamed at her and pointed at a sign on the side of the road.
She read the sign, “Regional Offices of the Ministry for International Affairs.”
The building rose fifteen stories above ground level with a vaulted steel and glass atrium in front of the main block. The car slowed to make the turn into the driveway, swung into the parking area and halted by the entrance to the building.
Chapter 4
SOME HOURS AFTER BASWIN assumed the guise of Ben Brown, he descended the western slopes of the mountains and soared over a barren landscape of dry gulches interspersed with dense forests. Locating a small town, he parked the rover and purchased food for several meals. He did not eat in the town, Instead, he returned to the rover and flew to a shady spot on the edge of the forest. Solitude was best.
He munched a handful of nuts and a piece of jerky. After swallowing half a bottle of water, he sat and stared at the cloud-streaked horizon. His wrist prickled in a fresh alert from his com. A quick check showed that something had activated the sensors in his old apartment. A leaden weight thudded into his belly. Did the alarm signal the discovery he dreaded?
Flicking on the visuals, he steeled for the worst. Two people, dressed in black, had opened the door. They wore masks, just like the men who had searched his brother’s apartment. As he feared, they had lost no time in tracing the connection between Rick Kent and Basil Kent. Physically, they differed from the two trespassers he had detected in Alarik’s place. One was tall and heavyset, while the other was shorter and had a slender figure. He guessed the slimmer person might be a woman.
The smaller intruder swiveled to face the door and raised a hand to point above the lintel.
The man stepped closer and lifted his arm. The view cut off.
He must have blocked the lens.
Baswin clicked the override and switched to his secret system. He had hidden a miniature viewer in the frame of the picture on the wall opposite the entrance.
The intruders shot wary glances around his old space. Apparently deciding they had nothing to fear, the big man shut the door. They went through a smooth routine of examining every part of his compact apartment. Of course, he had left nothing to indicate his alien identity. Yet, they had quickly pursued the connection between Rick Kent and Basil Kent.
By the Great Mother’s blessing, he had already switched aliases.
Peering at the qtel display, he considered the searchers and their actions. Who had sent them? Were they working as agents of the government of the Americontinent or for some illicit entity? As before, their search was thorough and fast. They pried into every closet and drawer. Without his secret override, they would leave no evidence of their illegal entry except for a gap in the monitor’s record.
The shorter one, who was evidently in charge, signaled for a halt and angled a thumb to the apartment door.
They stripped off the masks. The big man opened the door and peered out warily.
His landlady’s voice sounded from the corridor outside, “Hey. What are you doing in that apartment? Mr. Kent is away on vacation.”
The female agent demanded, “Shut her up,” in a cold tone of authority.
The burly man lunged into the corridor and dragged Mrs. Chakrabarti into the room. Pinning her under one muscular arm, he covered her mouth with his hand to silence her.
Poor Mrs. Chakrabarti’s eyes bulged in terror. She struggled in the man’s grip in a desperate, yet futile, attempt to escape.
A chill ran down Baswin’s spine as he anticipated her fate in the hands of the ruthless intruders. He was powerless to help the defenseless woman.
The big goon released his hold on her mouth momentarily. Pulling a gun from a holster under his jacket, he slammed the butt below the landlady’s ear.
She slumped in his arms.
He shoved her unconscious body onto the floor and glanced at his fellow criminal.
The slim woman nodded and jerked her head to the door.
They walked out, closing the door quietly as they departed.
Baswin groaned. His landlady might be unconscious or dead. Poor Mrs. Chakrabarti had been bludgeoned while defending her property. She had a sharp tongue, yet she had always spoken politely to him, and what was more important, she had respected his privacy. Before his cross-country trip, he had told her he had planned a long vacation and paid two month’s rent in advance. She knew nothing else about his plans or his illicit presence on Earth. The Delmars, his business partners at Secure Communications, were also unaware of his alien identity and true destination. He wondered if he should call to warn them. No. Shara and Leo were good people and he had no wish to cause them any trouble. At present, if they were questioned by the authorities, they could honestly deny any knowledge of his whereabouts. If he called, his colleagues would be placed in more danger than if they never heard from him again.
Instead, he used his remote override to reactivate the regular monitors in his abandoned apartment. It was a simple task to send an alarm to the control center used by Secure Communications. They would send somebody to investigate his rooms. Standard practice was for a security officer to arrive within ten minutes.
He closed the connection, praying an officer would arrive in time to resuscitate Mrs. Chakrabarti. If she were still alive.
After further thought, he perceived one positive outflow from this unfortunate event. Authorized detectives would have showed their IDs to Mrs. Chakrabarti and she would have been obliged to let them into his apartment. Instead, they had silenced her with a blow to the head. He deduced the mysterious intruders were not working as official agents of the regional government. But if they were not official agents, who had sent the cold-blooded searchers? Another Earth government or some non-governmental entity?
For the present, the brutal treatment of his old landlady did not alter his plans. It served to confirm his fears. In fact, this vindication acted to calm his jittery nerves. He would continue as Ben Brown and travel to the west coast, veering farther north and away from the jobs on his original schedule.
The Warrish embas
sy in the Pacific Ocean was his best chance of finding safety on Earth. But how could he get to the isolated island in the middle of the ocean? Struck by a simple solution, he laughed aloud. Ben Brown had credentials as a com tech, which was a highly desirable expertise for many enterprises. He would find a job on a ship traveling across the Pacific Ocean. If he wasn’t hired for his com skills, he could offer to work as a deck hand on a ship with a suitable destination.
Satisfied with this scheme, Baswin resumed his journey to the Pacific coast. In the late afternoon, the rover soared over the crest of a hill and descended toward the gray-green ocean.
Reclaiming the controls, Baswin slowed the vehicle and gazed at the sea. At the first opportunity, he landed the rover on the top of a cliff. On the opposite arc of a wide bay, city buildings clustered next to a harbor. Separate docks held ships of all sizes from huge cargo vessels to tiny sailboats. Some of the larger ships must have destinations across the Pacific in the direction of the Warrish embassy.
Jumping out of the seat, he walked to the edge and inhaled the salty breeze.
He smiled. The white-capped rows of waves called to his deepest instincts. He yearned to plunge into the ocean, open his gills and swim underneath the waves.
Hoisting the backpack with his travel gear onto his shoulders, Baswin strode down the path leading to the harbor.
Chapter 5
HOLLY PEERED OUT OF the motorcar, gazing in admiration at the shiny glass entrance to the Regional Offices of the Ministry for International Affairs.
The motorcar’s artificial female voice announced, “We have arrived at your destination.”
Rosie said, “Thank you.”
Chuckling at her sister’s automatic response, Holly said, “It’s not a real person. You don’t have to thank it.”
“Ladies,” Powell said, “shall we go inside?” He hit the button to open the doors.
The Moon sisters slid out of the vehicle and followed their stalwart escort into the atrium. The airy space had a domed glass ceiling and marble tiles on the floor. Tasteful arrangements of plants lined the windowed walls. Only two other people were visible. A security guard stationed by the doors and watched them enter. A blonde woman in a tailored suit sat at a reception desk in front of the lifts.
Sergeant Powell strode to the desk. “Good morning, Madam. Minister Braithwaite invited us to come here for an interview.”
In a cold tone, the receptionist said, “Your credentials, please.”
Powell extracted the letter and his badge from his jacket pocket and offered it to the receptionist, “Detective Sergeant Powell. I’m assigned to the Mendip regional division of Law Enforcement.”
The woman inspected the letter and glanced at the sisters. “Holly Moon and Rosyline Moon?”
Handing over their ID cards, Holly said, “Yes. We’re the Moon sisters from Hampton on the Wold.”
The receptionist gave a curt nod. “Interviewees are asked to assemble in Suite 600, the offices of Taxyon Space.” She swung a manicured finger toward the lifts. “Go to the sixth floor.”
Rosie gripped Holly’s arm and tugged her toward the lift. “Come on. Let’s find out why they want to interview us.”
The Sergeant gestured for the sisters to enter the lift. He followed and tapped the number six on the side panel. They shot upward.
At the sixth floor, the doors slid open to expose the words, Taxyon Space Enterprises, inscribed in neon orange letters on the deep blue wall above a set of double doors in opaque, green glass. A black stripe ran at shoulder level along the wall with the blue-green spiral logo of the company embossed at regular intervals.
“Spacy décor,” Holly whispered to her sister.
Giving an encouraging smile, Powell held the door open for the sisters to enter.
Another receptionist directed them to an inner room, a small conference room with six chairs arranged around an oval table. A dark-complexioned man and a gray-haired woman in an elegant suit sat at one end of the table. Two tablets, two cups and a stack of papers lay in front of them.
The man at the front said, “Good morning, ladies and gentleman. Please help yourselves to a beverage and take a seat. We’ll start in a minute.” He pointed at another table set against the wall.
Thankful for the chance to have a late breakfast, Holly wandered over to the table. An assortment of drinks and pastries were arranged on a white cotton tablecloth. She poured tea into a cup, chose a chocolate-filled pastry and found a place opposite their hosts. Rosie followed, carrying another cup and different pastry. The Sergeant restricted himself to tea. Holly guessed his wife had made him eat breakfast before he left.
Once the sisters and Sergeant Powell had sat down, the man at the head of the table continued, “Let me introduce myself. I am Dr. John Reddy, Chief manager in the New London office of Taxyon Space Enterprises. I’d like to thank you for devoting time for the interview. You were invited here based on credible information on your paranormal abilities.” Turning to his companion, he said, “We have engaged Dr. Pendleton, chief parapsychologist at the Institute for Parapyschology, to formally assess your psychic skills.”
Sergeant Powell raised his hand and asked, “Dr. Reddy, why is Taxyon Space interested in people with paranormal abilities?”
“A good question,” Reddy said in a hearty tone. “Taxyon Space Enterprises is best known for its fleet of spaceships. Our company also operates the routine ferry flights between Earth and the inhabited planets and moons of the solar system. Our newer ventures are less familiar to the public. We are establishing new colonies on extrasolar planets with the cooperation of our Warrish allies in providing hyperspace transport in their starships. This effort led to another venture. We have begun to construct our own hyperspace ships using blueprints obtained through our connections with the Warrish.”
Holly said, “Do you mean the engineer who married a Warrish girl? We’ve seen the documentary about the aliens.”
“Indeed, you are correct, Miss Moon. Our connection is not a secret. We gained favor with the alien leaders when our engineer, Greggor Falconer, wed Rielle Wennith, a member of an influential Warrish family.”
Powell reiterated his query, “How is this relevant to psychic skills?”
“If you will bear with me, Sergeant, I am coming to that explanation.” Dr. Reddy’s reply held a mild rebuke. “Taxyon Space has the expertise and materials to construct a hyperspace ship. The problem is in navigation through hyperspace. This hazardous procedure requires the rare psychic skills of Warrish tripilots.”
Each new revelation sent Holly’s thoughts awhirl with speculations. Starships. Hyperspace. Warrish tripilots? She knew little about the alien mermen. Like the entire population of the solar system, she had watched Dora Banerjee’s documentary about her visit to Pucklerakt, the capital city in the Warrish home world of Rishalt. She knew they had starships and traveled between distant planets. The mechanics of hyperspace travel were beyond her. Most perplexing of all, she had never heard of the mysterious tripilots.
“At present, we are obliged to hire a triad of Warrish tripilots as navigators for each starship. Tripilots have a rare ability to perceive hyperspace threads and they undergo intensive training from a young age. Their hire is expensive. Overly expensive in terms of human lives. The Warrish demand payment of six thousand battle-trained soldiers for each triad of tripilots.”
His tone muted with regret, Sergeant Powell said, “Soldiers to fight in their wars.”
Holly suppressed a shiver. She knew about that extreme payment in lives. Owen Davies, the man who had almost become her fiancé, had been among the first to volunteer. He had voiced enthusiasm about visiting extrasolar planets and vowed to come home after his tour of duty. But he had not come home, nor had he sent her a message. Their prospective marriage, long debated but never consummated, had become one of many casualties of the Warrish war. In retrospect, Owen’s penchant for visiting extrasolar planets was a bad omen for any future partnership. Ironically
, she might now have her own chance to travel across the galaxy.
Always sensitive to her sister’s feelings, Rosie reached out to stroke her fingers.
Swallowing her old grievances, Holly returned her attention to the present.
Dr. Reddy said, “Yes, indeed. Sadly, many of our men do not return or are crippled in the engagements. We are working on alternative solutions. Your invitations relate to our most promising solution. If we can identify people with appropriate talents, the Warrish have agreed to attempt to train them to navigate in hyperspace. We are at the initial stages of identifying such people. The four regional governments have agreed to supply candidates with paranormal abilities for tripilot training. Taxyon Space is acting as an intermediary with our Warrish allies. The Warrish will evaluate our proposed candidates and may approve or reject any of them.”
“We’re at their mercy,” Powell stated.
Dr. Reddy responded in an even tone, “You have hit the crux of our problem. At present, we must rely on the services of their tripilots. If our new venture succeeds, however, we will be able to employ our own human navigators.” He spread his arms wide in a fervent plea. “I urge you to help us to achieve our goal of independence from the Warrish.”
The Sergeant leaned toward Holly to whisper, “A worthy goal, yet I suspect he has not covered the possible hitches in this scheme.”
“No,” she murmured. “First off, we’ve got to prove we have psychic abilities in their tests.”
Rosie asked, “What’s hyperspace anyway? Styx, how am I supposed to navigate in it?”
“Quiet,” Holly hissed. “He’s calling on the parapsychologist.”
After a terse introduction, Dr. Pendleton said, “My assistant and I will run a series of tests on each of you separately. We will also interview your sponsor about their observations of your psychic abilities.”
Powell asked, “How long will the tests take?”
Dr. Pendleton nodded. “The complete series of tests takes about two hours on average. The sponsor’s interview will be shorter and depends on the details in their original report.”
Baswin Page 3
