A Dark Horizon (Final Dawn, Book 3)

by T W M Ashford

  “Just keep looking,” he shouted back. He knew she was right, though. This was ridiculous. Who knew how many apartments Celest Verte rented to visitors? And Keeto was a permanent resident – maybe she didn’t even receive these adverts anymore. The statistical likelihood of them coming across her address was…

  Jack tossed one of the bundles aside and then froze. He frantically dug through his makeshift pile for the slips he’d just rejected. It couldn’t have been… could it?

  Khol Jük. Nope.

  Vincea Erinn. Not her, either.

  A sense of unreality washed over him as he snatched up the next bundle. Llori Keeto. That was it. Now he had the number of her apartment.

  0314.

  “I’ve got it!” he shouted, standing up and once again bumping his head on the mess of overhead rails. “Ouch! I’ve got Minister Keeto’s address!”

  The fuzzy tide of unreality rushed back, revealing the depressing shore of reality beneath.

  “Great,” he added, lethargically. “Now we just need to work out where the hell door 0314 actually is.”

  Luckily for them, tracking down a listed door was much easier than finding one for an anonymous mailing depot. All they had to do was ask one of the many (as with the corridors, identical) reception desks they passed. And with each desk they asked, they came a little closer.

  “Three hundred and eleven…” said Jack, reading out the number of each door as he hurried past. “Three hundred and thirteen…”

  “Over here!” whispered Klik from the other side. She’d found door 0314. The apartment was at the junction between two corridors. A holographic potted plant hovered on the corner, which was a nice touch.

  “Right.” Jack froze. “Wait, how are we going to open it?”

  “Seriously?” Klik stared at him in disbelief. “Are you only just thinking of that tiny issue now? Your plans are the worst!”

  He glanced both ways down the deserted corridor. They’d passed a couple of patrolling security guards on their way over. The last thing he needed was to get arrested for trying to solve a crime.

  “Well, I kind of thought that, you know… maybe you’d do your dissolving thing?”

  “My…? No!”

  “Why not? She’s the one who paid to have me killed, remember!”

  “But it’s not her door – it’s the resort’s! And besides, it wouldn’t work. The lock back in Meratyk Tower was ancient. This is mag-lock technology. If I try to fry the electrics, the door’s more likely to stay shut forever than it is to pop open.”

  “Oh, come on.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Think what’s at stake…”

  He suddenly paused.

  “What is it?” asked Klik. “Why—”

  “Someone’s coming!” He dragged Klik behind the floating plant pot only to then remember it was half transparent.

  Oh well. It would have to do.

  The door to apartment 0314 opened. Jack stifled an angry grunt as Minister Keeto marched out. Her usual smile was nowhere to be seen. She double checked that her door was locked and then hurried down the corridor – back the way Jack and Klik came.

  “What do we do?” hissed Klik.

  “I didn’t think she’d actually be here,” said Jack. Fresh sweat ran down the back of his neck. “I just hoped we’d find something in her apartment that would incriminate her, like a… like an assassination receipt or something. She said she was off working on the Proxima Delta crisis.”

  “Well, she lied. Who’d have guessed? Should we go inside?”

  “Apparently that’s not an option without a key,” snapped Jack, sarcastically. “And no – I’ve got a better idea. Let’s follow her and get our answers direct from the source.”

  They tracked Minister Keeto down corridor after corridor, always maintaining a safe distance and flashing friendly smiles whenever they passed other guests visiting the resort. A few minutes after leaving her apartment she arrived at a door numbered somewhere in the low eight-hundreds. She rapped her knuckles on it and then stepped through when it was opened from inside.

  “Quickly!” Klik sprinted out from their hiding spot around the corner. “Before the door closes behind her!”

  Klik stuck out one of her arm blades. Its tip lodged itself in the tiny crack between the door and its frame, preventing it from mag-locking. Klik winced. They carefully but quickly pushed the weight of the door off her bony appendage.

  “Be careful!” Jack grimaced as they peered inside, expecting the door to be slammed shut in their faces. “We don’t know who she’s in there with!”

  But whoever let Keeto in had also left the door to lock shut on its own. Nobody waited for them in the short hallway on the other side. Jack could, however, hear multiple voices already in heated discussion deeper inside the apartment. Klik hurried through.

  “Wait!”

  Jack followed her in and reluctantly let the door mag-lock behind him. This was a bad idea. Breaking into a minister’s apartment was one thing. Interrogating somebody who paid to have you murdered? Sure. Why not? But whatever this was, Jack suddenly suspected he wanted no part in it.

  Long, threatening shadows crossed over one another in the living quarters ahead. Jack felt much too exposed standing in the hallway. There was a plain white door to his right – he took a quick peek behind it and then dragged Klik inside with him. It was a bathroom. More importantly, it was empty.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, reaching for the door handle.

  “Keeping us alive,” Jack replied, pulling her back. “Now shh!”

  “I’m sorry. What did you just say to me?”

  “I think I can hear them!” He gritted his teeth and pleaded with her. “But that means if we don’t shut up, they’ll hear us too!”

  Klik silently mouthed the word “oh” and looked up at the extractor unit embedded in the bathroom’s ceiling. It was connected to the ventilation system that cycled oxygen around all of the resort moon, not just the apartments.

  They both climbed up onto the wash basin for a better listen.

  20

  A Room With a View

  Three wraithlike figures dressed head to toe in black body armour stood in the living quarters of apartment 0857, each with an elite battle rifle in their hand. They weren’t used to waiting.

  “My apologies for the delay,” Jack and Klik heard Minister Keeto say through the air vent. “I was forced to attend to a… complicated matter of my own.”

  “Successful?” asked one of the mercenaries, tilting their androgynous, obsidian helmet to one side.

  “Not entirely. A hitman I hired failed to kill his target. Fortunately, the fallout from his failure might prove to be even more catastrophic for the council than if he’d succeeded. I hope my employer can trust you to deliver.”

  So she admits it! thought Jack, bunching his hands into fists and grinding his teeth together. Klik had removed her mask upon entering the bathroom; her face morphed into an outraged sneer.

  One of the other mercenaries gripped their gun so tight, Jack could hear the leather of their gloves squeak.

  “If the intel and security clearance you’ve provided us are good, your employer has nothing to worry about.” He spoke in a gravelly drawl. “It’s a simple job and we’re the best at doing it.”

  “Yes. Well, we’re certainly paying you enough.”

  Silence followed. Keeto was presumably wiring the mercenary trio the first half of their payment, or something. Jack and Klik crouched down so that their own voices wouldn’t carry through the vent.

  “What are they planning to do?” whispered Klik.

  “No idea, but it must be something big.” Jack nervously chewed the skin around the corner of his thumbnail. “If she sent one person to murder me, what could she possibly need a whole outfit of killers for?”

  Klik hushed him and pointed back up at the extractor. Keeto and the hired guns were talking again.

  “Received,” said the same mercenary as before. So the pause ha
d been about money. “Ready to move on your mark.”

  “The Grand Ministers will gather to discuss Proxima Delta in fifteen minutes.” This time it was Keeto who spoke; the delay in her reply made Jack suspect she was consulting some sort of schedule on her data pad. “A private schooner downstairs will get you to the Ministerium’s service entrance in twenty. You have everything you need to get inside. Make it quick… and don’t leave any witnesses.”

  “Oh, that won’t be a problem.”

  Jack heard the sound of guns and equipment being stuffed into duffel bags. Don’t leave any witnesses. Jesus Christ. It sounded like they were planning a bloodbath.

  He remained crouched beside Klik on top of the bathroom counter, not daring to breathe as the thudding of heavy boots stomped down the hallway. They both heard the familiar beep as the apartment’s front door was unlocked, and then the foreboding clunk as it shut itself behind them.

  They were alone.

  Alone with Minister Keeto.

  “The contractors are en route,” Jack heard her say from inside the hallway. She must have opened a comm channel to somebody new. Was it Everett? “Yes, I know. Everything is under control. I’ll report in when it’s done.”

  There was an audible click as she ended the call.

  “What are you waiting for?” hissed Klik, hopping down from the counter. “Let’s go get her!”

  “Oh, God.” Jack remained sat in the wash basin with his head buried in his hands. “This is so much bigger than I thought. Rogan was right. I should have left this whole sorry mess alone.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” Klik reached for the door handle. “And we’re still the only ones who have any chance of stopping this mess from getting any worse. You stay there and get a wet bottom if you want, but I’m getting us some answers.”

  Jack scrambled out of the sink.

  “Klik, wait—”

  She flung open the bathroom door and marched into the living room. It was full with the sort of plush albeit forgettable furniture native to all mid-range hotel rooms. A pristine wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window looked down upon the busy casino floor a few storeys below. Jack caught up with Klik just as Minister Keeto spun around and dropped her data pad in surprise.

  “Jack?” Her voice trembled. She tried and failed to summon her usual friendly smile. “And… Klak, wasn’t it? What in the galaxy are you doing here?”

  “What are you more surprised about, Minister?” Klik deployed her twin arm-blades. “That we’re here, or that we’re still alive?”

  “Still alive?” Minister Keeto backed away from Klik with her arms raised in self-defence. “Why wouldn’t you be alive? I assure you, I don’t have a clue what you’re—”

  “Oh cut the crap, Keeto.” Jack rolled his eyes. “We heard you talking just now. I’m glad my brush with death has been so convenient for you.”

  Keeto continued to stare at them in pleading fear for a moment… and then the facade shattered. Her attempt at a friendly smile dropped away, leaving in its wake a cold and wary expression that sent a shiver down Jack’s spine.

  “You don’t understand, Jack. You’ve no idea what’s coming.”

  “Then explain. In fact, you can start by explaining why you tried to have me killed. Was it Charon? Did he order you to do it?”

  Minister Keeto laughed. Still, Jack noticed a slight tremble in her voice. The question was, was she afraid of him… or something else?

  “No. Charon was never informed of the hit on you. I question whether he would have even agreed to it. But yes, we couldn’t afford for the Iris project to be halted – not by you, and certainly not by the Ministry. When I detected your ship arrive in Proxima Delta to assist with the rescue efforts, I knew you would be a problem. I had hoped to deal with you on board the Pelastar… but I could never get you alone.”

  She glanced over at Klik, whose bone-blades glistened under the neon glare of the casino hall outside the window.

  “But then I had a better idea,” she continued. “Yes, bringing you to the council to give testimony meant revealing Charon’s plans. But I knew they wouldn’t believe you. Even if they did, they’d never get around to doing anything in time. So much bureaucracy, so little action. And for the man who publicly blew the whistle on a stolen Solar Core to turn up dead so soon after…”

  “Everyone would think it was the Mansa who had me killed,” said Jack. It made sense – hadn’t that been his first thought? “Especially after I told the council about the threat Scara Li Ka made.”

  “And the Mansa would continue to deny all responsibility, which would only make the matter worse. It would have been a diplomatic nightmare. They’d be booted from the Ministerium. Perhaps there would have even been a war.”

  “But what does that have to do with Everett?” asked Jack. “Why would he even want…”

  His blood ran cold. He rushed forwards.

  “Wait. Those mercenaries you just sent to the Ministry – what are you paying them to do?”

  “Kill the Grand Ministers, of course.” Keeto looked at him with curious amusement, as if the answer had been obvious. “To disrupt the council, sever the ties between races and sow chaos across the galaxy.”

  “Oh my God. You’re insane.” Jack grabbed Keeto’s data pad off the floor and brandished it at her. “You have to call it off!”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” Jack scrambled to unlock it. “I’ll do it myself.”

  He was met with an incomprehensible password system.

  “Look, I know Everett!” he screamed, shoving the data pad in her face again. “I know what he wants, and it’s not this!”

  “You’re probably right,” Keeto replied, perfectly calm despite Jack’s best attempts at intimidation. “But it’s not his call to make.”

  “Not his…? Jesus Christ.” Jack ran his hands through his hair as he marched back and forth across the carpet. “Then whose call is it? And why do you even care about the Iris project, anyway? What difference does the fate of the human race make to you?”

  Minister Keeto shrugged and shook her head.

  “Whether Charon succeeds or fails is irrelevant. What matters is the inevitable consequence of the Iris project – a black hole that spreads and consumes like a forest fire.”

  “Is that really all this is about? You want chaos?”

  Keeto’s friendly smile returned.

  “We want a cleansing. We want rebirth.”

  “Oh, stop all this cult nonsense.” Klik threw her mask to the ground and advanced towards the minister. “Tell us where Charon is right now or I’ll start cutting things off.”

  “Forget Charon,” said Jack. “If those mercenaries wipe out the Grand Ministers, the whole galaxy will tear itself apart!”

  “Screw the Ministry.” Klik spat on the carpet and the fibres started to fizzle. “Where were they when the Krettelians needed help? I want the head of the man who killed my father. If she won’t give it to me, I’ll settle for hers instead.”

  “Klik. Stop.”

  Minister Keeto tumbled over an armchair in her attempt to back away from Klik. She raised her hands in front of her face.

  “You can hurt me all you like,” she said, “but I still won’t tell you anything.”

  “Funny,” said Klik, her mouth twisting into a snarl. “Because if you don’t start talking soon, I’m gonna want to hurt you plenty.”

  21

  Cut Off the Head

  The private schooner – sleek, silver and approximately thirty-five feet in length – dived through Kapamentis’ thick, black storm clouds like a falcon after a dormouse. It weaved through streams of slower traffic and came to a hovering stop directly behind the Ministerium of Cultured Planets’ pyramid-shaped headquarters.

  Nobody saw three black-clad mercenaries drop half a dozen metres into the deserted courtyard below. No sooner had their armoured boots touched the concrete than the schooner rose back up into the night sky, seamlessly integrating itself with the hund
reds of other speeders and cruisers.

  The mercenaries checked their perimeter with their rifles raised and then, cast in brief silhouette by the changing billboards above, sprinted to the base of the pyramid.

  A lone metal door stood in their way. There was no lock or handle, only a small keyless pad to one side. The leader of the three masked operatives – the one who had spoken to Minister Keeto in an arrogant, gravelly drawl only twenty minutes earlier – nodded to one of his associates. She took her left hand off the undercarriage of her battle rifle and deftly retrieved a keycard from her breast pocket. Her movement was so quick it almost looked like sleight-of-hand.

  She tapped the card against the security pad. For a second, nothing happened… and then the door silently slid open.

  The three mercenaries slipped inside without a word. The door shut behind them, banishing the roar of the storm.

  Only Brutalist architecture welcomed them – the blocky grey corridor was otherwise deserted. No guards. No automated weapon systems. Probably not even CCTV. The operatives had expected as much. Though there was no such thing as a regular shift routine at the Ministry, only the seven Grand Ministers and their personal staff were expected to be inside the Ministerium chamber. And the rear entrance was used primarily for deliveries, none of which were scheduled for another few hours at least.

  Still. If they happened to run into some pencil pusher wandering the brightly lit halls, it would hardly be the worst threat the mercenaries had ever faced. They had plenty of ammo to spare.

  The third member of their group tapped the data sleeve on his arm and brought up a holographic map of the building’s interior. As with the cloned keycard, Keeto had provided the blueprints. Without it they would have been utterly lost. With it, only marginally less so – the monolithic corridors seemed to shift and merge like an Escher painting.

  The mercenary consulted the map and then swiped it away. He made a complicated series of directional gestures to indicate a proposed path towards the chamber. The senior operative nodded his approval. They proceeded with their rifles raised, checking corners, gloved fingers hovering millimetres from their hair-triggers.