For the next three hours, he learned everything there was to know about Alexander Brian Dalgleish from every record the British government had on him.
*****
Nuthros’ ship, Present Day
Jack Short flopped back in his seat. He looked across to where Mandy Somers sat, eyes glued to the display that floated in front of her. Another long stint, and the woman didn’t even look tired. “Hey,” he said, “you ready for a coffee?”
Mandy smiled at him. “Good idea; let’s go.”
He followed her out into the corridor. “I got a lead that might turn into something, you want to hear about it?”
“Oh yeah?” Mandy said. “Which girlfriend did this one come from?”
He laughed. “I don’t reckon this guy is my type, to be honest. Aside from the fact he’s a man, the greasy hair and missing teeth just ain’t doing it for me.”
She laughed, “Better luck next time, I guess. So, what’s the story?”
Jack took a seat next to Mandy. A fresh cup of steaming espresso appeared in front of him. “Well, this guy says he’s got a contact in the White house. He claims to be able to supply raw data from security videos which contain meetings between Kestil and the president, complete with sound.”
Mandy’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that’s what we want. The government will claim it’s a fake, of course.”
Jack shrugged. “Well, Truly says this stuff is important for the future, and I’ll take her word for it every time.”
“Won’t argue with you there.” Mandy fiddled with her cup. “I can’t say it’s easy to keep going, though.”
Jack took a sip of coffee and nodded. “I hear ya. I still feel like a fifth wheel around here. Hiram’s on the council, and has proved himself to be a real asset, from what Nuthros tells me. Ron has all these enhancements to turn him into some kind of super-agent, although I hear he’s still getting killed by Truly on an hourly basis.”
Mandy stifled a laugh. “Keep that to yourself, he’s very touchy about it.”
Jack shrugged. “He’ll get the hang of it. Anyway, those two are doing meaningful stuff. Chris is off to Kareetha when her ride gets here, and then there’s the wonder boy over there.” He nodded to where David Markham stood at the viewport, his eyes shut.
Mandy grimaced. “You shouldn’t call him that. He has a job ahead of him we can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, well, they seem like they all have their roles laid out for them. But, you and me? I just don’t see where we fit in.”
“Well,” Mandy replied, “we’re investigative journalists, so I guess we’re meant to do what we are doing; investigating.”
Jack spread his hands. “To what end, though? Anything we do find will get nailed to the wall as conspiracy theories, and you and I will just look like nut jobs.”
Mandy gave a snort of derision. “We already look like nut jobs, Jack. Remember the last show?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Well, I guess we just have to do what Asdrin said; trust Truly.”
Mandy set her cup down on the table with a sigh. “Well, I will if you will. Seriously, though, why do I find that so hard to do?”
Jack smiled. “She’s a machine, I guess. Then again, when I watch you work like you do, I sometimes think you’re a machine.”
Mandy arched an eyebrow at him. “You watch me work?”
Jack shifted in his chair. “Just a figure of speech.”
“Of course,” Mandy said. She didn’t miss the tinge of red in his cheeks, though.
*****
Christine Joyce watched David from the little table by the viewport. She waited for some sign of life to indicate he’d finished whatever the hell it was he was doing. He spent hours like this; sometimes eight to ten hours at a stretch. Eyes closed, perfectly still. He looked completely relaxed while he stood there, almost like he was asleep upright. David had told her he was either absorbed in events on Earth, of which he saw everything, or in conference; with the council, with individual councilors, or with the Entity/Truly, whatever you wanted to call it.
David had asked her to remain on the ship with him, but she couldn’t stand it. The loneliness, the isolation. She didn’t belong here, and she could feel it. She longed to lay in the sun, swim in a lake, or take a walk in the forest. That time at the cabin had been like a taste of paradise, and she yearned to feel it again with all her soul.
She turned her gaze to the Earth. She couldn’t go back there. When Kestil discovered the truth about David, and Truly said that was unavoidable, Christine would become a very viable target; a bargaining chip that Kestil wouldn’t hesitate to possess. That made her nothing but a liability on Earth, when the others went back down.
David told her that Truly would be cut off from the earth sometime soon, but they didn’t know how, yet. When she was, the only connection to Truly that couldn’t be severed was through David. So, he had to be on Earth. If Chris was with him, then everyone would have to protect her as well.
Nuthros had offered her the chance to stay on Kareetha, the capital planet of the Sixteen Galaxies. The idea of life on another world scared her out of her wits. But, the only other choice was to stay on this tin can, and she was determined that was not going to happen.
Another councilor, Brantok, was on his way to pick her up and take her to Kareetha, along with Hiram Sertan, who was to return to Kareetha for the foreseeable future. She was ambivalent about the prospect of leaving David. It would be hard; very hard. But, the thought of waiting on board this ship while he went through the trials ahead of him was far more repugnant.
A hand gently caressed her hair and snapped her out of her reverie. David stood beside her, a tender smile on his face. “Hey there, beautiful one.” He leaned forward and kissed her warmly.
Christine returned the kiss and put her arms round him. She shivered slightly as he pulled her close. She marveled at this new man who held her. David had changed so much, in so short a time. Where he had been distant, he was now attentive, affectionate and kind. Where he had been distracted, he was now fully focused on her. When he wasn’t in a trance, she thought to herself.
David stood back. “Are you okay, my love?”
She smiled at the words. She’d never heard them before he underwent his transformation. “I’m fine, I guess.” She met his gaze. “But then, you could tell me how I felt more accurately than I could tell you, and we both know it.”
He nodded. “True. I’d rather hear it from you, though.”
Dear God, he was perfect, Chris thought. She used to have to guard him jealously enough before he became this Starchild creation of Truly’s, but now? She gave a little laugh at the thought of him being chased down the street by a horde of screaming women.
He looked deep into her eyes. “I may know you better than you know yourself, but I can’t read your mind. What’s so funny?”
Chris told him, and he laughed, too. He took her to a nearby bench and she sat in his arms and stared at the Earth.
Okay, she thought, stop life right here. Freeze this moment in time and leave me here with him. Her contented smile turned bitter. Just two more days, and I may never see him again.
*****
East Farleigh, England, 2005
It was 2am and the streets of East Farleigh were silent and still. Justin Blake slid the glass door of the dining room open without a sound. No alarm systems, no security door; quick work with a set of lock-picks and that was it. Piece of cake. A very convenient laxity on Alexander’s part, Justin thought. A man who could own a house like this, and park a Jaguar in the garage, could easily afford some security. It would’ve made little difference tonight, though, he mused. It might have taken a little more time, but the end result would have been the same. Alexander Dalgleish was alone tonight, Justin knew. His wife and son were on holiday in a little coastal hamlet near Devon, as Justin had found out with a little digging. People were so ready to share their location these days, even when they had no idea who might be interested.
He hefted a small bottle of carbon monoxide onto his shoulder and picked up the canvas tote bag he’d brought with him. Justin made his way carefully through the house and up the stairs. He followed the sound of snoring to the main bedroom. An empty bottle of scotch lay on its side by the bed. Tut-tut Alexander, Justin thought, bet you don’t do that when the wife’s home. Alexander was flat on his back, which helped no end. He set the gas bottle down, and connected a facemask he took from the tote bag. He went over to the other side of the bed and tucked the sheet and blanket in tight. He returned to the gas bottle, and turned the tap on. He gently placed the mask over Alexander’s nose and mouth with his left hand. Alexander started to struggle as his lungs filled with carbon monoxide, and Justin pulled the covers down tight with his right hand. Trapped by the bedclothes, Alexander could do nothing as his lungs ran out of oxygen. The struggle was soon over, and Justin removed the mask from the lifeless body and turned off the gas.
He took the equipment to the garage, found the car keys on a hook in the hallway, and then returned to the bedroom. He brought the body of Alexander Dalgleish down and put it in the Jaguar. Once the body was placed in the driver’s seat of the car, Justin lowered all four windows. He went back up to the bedroom and carefully put the bed in order. He picked up the empty scotch bottle and took it with him. He placed Alexander’s left arm out towards the passenger side, and placed the left hand on the bottle’s neck. With everything set, he went down and started the car. The car had half a tank of fuel, so no problem there. He shut the garage access door and marveled at how quiet the car’s motor was. He was very grateful Alexander was into Jaguars; one of the quietest motors out there. He left via the sliding glass door he came in through, and made sure it locked behind him.
Justin stopped at a motorway service station on the drive home and bought a coffee. He went to the toilet and dumped a pair of thick surgical gloves in a rubbish bin on his way out.
*****
US Presidential aircraft, Present Day
President of the United States Michael Maitland sat in his office on the upper deck of the presidential aircraft, commonly known by its call sign; Air Force One. He smiled when Kestil appeared and waved him to a chair on the other side of the desk. Kestil always insisted that these meetings were just the two of them, even though it drove the secret service mad that their charge was alone with this mysterious alien. He suppressed a smirk when an agent knocked and entered. They did this all the time, in the hope of catching Kestil there, and to let the president know that they knew.
“Hello, Michael,” Maitland said to the agent. “You’ve met Kestil before, haven’t you?”
The agent gave Kestil a brusque nod, and Kestil gave a slight bow in return. “Just a reminder, Mr. President,” the frustrated agent said, “we’ll arrive at JFK in less than forty minutes, sir.”
“Thank you, Michael, I shall be ready. I would like to be undisturbed until then, if you don’t mind.”
Michael gave Kestil a hard look. “Yes, Mr. President.” He closed the door with just a little too much force as he left.
Kestil stretched his legs out with a sigh. “Progress with the UN is on track, Michael. The investigation results were widely accepted.”
Maitland reached for the box of cigars on his desk, but stopped himself short when he caught the look on Kestil’s face. He got up and made for the drinks cabinet instead. “Yes, indeed. Cromby did a fine job with the whole thing, and I told him as much. He’s a good man.” He held up a bottle of Kentucky’s finest. “Bourbon?”
Kestil inclined his head in assent. “Yes, Cromby is a good asset. You have some fine people on your team, Michael, and that bodes well for the future. Donald Vincent continues to make great strides, too.”
The president passed Kestil a glass. “Funny you should mention Donald. I hear that Vincent Technologies has come to the attention of some regulatory bodies of late. It seems that Carter Granfield, especially, is rather disturbed at the amount of trade awarded to Vincent by this administration. He’s made a lot of noise, and I’m under pressure from a few people to rein in on contracts being awarded so readily to Vincent.”
Kestil took an appreciative sip of bourbon and frowned. “Carter Granfield? You’ll have to remind me, I’m afraid.”
“Carter owns Granfield and Porter, a large engineering firm. They were Vincent’s main rival until you put Vincent stocks into the stratosphere with all the tech you gave him.”
“So?” Kestil replied. “Why does he have a problem? I don’t imagine his business is worth less, just because Vincent is now worth more.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how this country sees such matters, Kestil. One company gets too large, and it ends up with no competition. Competition is good for business; it stimulates the economy.”
“Rubbish,” Kestil retorted. “What is the point of two businesses in the same field? Two lots of administration, twice as much management, double of everything and most of it unprofitable. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
The president nodded. “It’s how things are done on this planet, though. Do you have no competition in the Independent Worlds?”
Kestil smiled. “Our society thrives on competition, Michael. However, it is all on a personal level. For every facet of our people’s needs, there is just one department that deals with it. Of course, we have never used monetary systems; such things are terribly primitive. As people rise through the ranks and show their abilities and drive, they are rewarded with greater responsibilities and the privileges that attend such positions. As I have told you before, effort yields rewards, in direct parallel to said effort’s worth.”
Maitland stared at the carpet in reflection. “So, no individual wealth, as such.”
Kestil gave a laugh. “To what end, hmm? If one has all the luxuries and provisions one needs, of what worth are numbers on a readout?”
Maitland fiddled with his glass. “Sounds awfully like communism to me.”
Kestil roared with laughter. He saw Maitland’s look and sobered. “I’m sorry, Michael. Your people’s ideas of government are quite amusing from my perspective. But, I must remember that all we have over you is the advantage of time. Communism, as you call it, bears witness to its value by its own demise.” He shook his head. “No, our form of government is not communism. Nobody in our society is supported by others, outside of those with genuine need. True, some are more privileged than others, but they have earned it, by proving their value.”
“Well, what about the families of those privileged ones?” Maitland countered. “What do they inherit when that person dies?”
Kestil arched an eyebrow at the befuddled statesman. “Our people aren’t in the habit of dying, Michael. However, if they do, any siblings under adult age are cared for by a willing couple. I believe your people call it fostering, do they not?”
Maitland nodded, and Kestil continued. “The idea of inheritance is something of an anathema to our culture. Everyone is rewarded according to their own effort, not their parents. The only thing parents pass to their children in our society is the quality of their upbringing; something closely monitored by our administration. Parents must provide a well-focused and suitable education for their children. Your habit of allowing people to instruct their children any way they choose is a direct cause of your populations overall decline in intellect. That and your deplorable mass-production approach to education.”
“Now hang on a minute there…”
Kestil spread his hands out to Maitland. “You wish to argue with your own government’s research, Michael?”
Maitland remained silent. A good point, he thought, but a sore one, especially with him. Education reform was one of his platforms for re-election, and his favorite hobby-horse.
Kestil waved a hand. “At any rate, I believe I have a suitable avenue I can utilize this Carter Granfield in. It is something I was going to pass to Vincent, of course, but it is just as easy to distribute the necessary technology through t
wo companies. It may throw the conspiracy theorists what you call a curve ball, while removing the Granfield problem without more…extreme measures.”
Both men savored their drinks in quiet meditation for a few minutes.
Maitland decided to change the subject. “Tell me, Kestil. Why are you so unconcerned that Nuthros and his ship AI are still here? I mean no disrespect, but you have said yourself that they have the advantage technologically, and by a long way. Surely that will give us some headaches.”
Kestil smiled. “I will spare you the details, of course, but suffice it to say that their influence is soon to be curtailed to such a degree that they will become no more than an occasional nuisance. They have an edge in technology, but their pacifist nature makes them naïve, and open to counterattacks of a nature they do not expect.”
Maitland nodded. “I thought you would have that covered. Pardon my asking, I just wanted to be sure, that’s all.”
Kestil waved a deprecating hand. “No matter at all.” He leaned forward. “Now, I wanted to let you know I have decided to put myself out into the public eye; as a representative of the Independent Worlds, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
“I am to meet tomorrow with the same television people who interviewed that Somers woman; her old employers, in fact. They will interview me, and I will start to outline the differences between the Sixteen Galaxies and the Independent Worlds. My connection to your good self shall remain covert, of course. Your people are not ready to accept such intimate guidance from me, yet. The other thing I wish to address is the role of the UN.”
Maitland nodded. “The UN needs to be readied to become the Earth’s only government. Yes, it’s a logical progression.”
The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) Page 2
