by Drew Wagar
The other man was facing him, standing with his back to the camera, dressed in a dark grey nondescript spacers’ outfit fitted with a hood. He was evidently having a conversation with Mahl. The video spluttered and died.
“Who is this guy?” the inspector demanded
“No DNA at the scene, and we swept the room. No scans, nothing, got to be a pro,” the investigator replied defensively. “No traces.”
“Damn! Is there any audio?”
“Give me a mo, there’s a bit more video here too,” Groove said, a bit irritated. These gov-types never appreciated the art involved in deciphering code.
I’d like to see you de-frag a forty percent corrupted data-stream, fix the bit-locks and hash out the checks! As if!
“Should have the source de-fragged and the streams uncrossed in a mo. Yep, got an offset carrier here… ”
“Play it back from the top,” the inspector snapped impatiently.
The video stopped and spun back, the two figures jiggling back and forth slightly.
“Here you go… ”
The audio was scratchy, but comprehensible. Mahl spoke first.
“… never get away with this!”
Then the stranger rejoined. “Darkness falls, and the wheel turns. It’s inevitable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The video moved on further than before. The newcomer held up what looked like a small transmitter, a faint tone was heard and the device emitted a brief flash of bright blue light.
“What? You gonna bleep me to death with a screwdriver? The police will be…”
On the screen Mahl twitched, began to writhe, and then emitted a terrifying shriek of pain.
The video spluttered and cut out.
“That’s all, folks,” Groove said jauntily.
“What does it mean?” the investigator said.
The inspector made a motion with his head and they both stepped aside, out of earshot of Groove.
“ It means trouble,” the inspector replied, sotto voce. “That’s a code, an agreed code.”
“An agreed code?” the investigator whispered back.
“It means we were supposed to find this, it is a signature of ownership. Illegal organisations send phrases to Galcop in advance of committing crimes, in order to claim responsibility with authenticity.”
“Whose code is this then?”
“Come on! Darkness falls and the wheel turns? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Dark Wheel.”
“Give me a beacon, you’re not serious.”
“Totally serious.”
“The Dark Wheel? They’re just a bunch of wacky mystics chasing mysteries, hokey religions and ancient weapons… ”
“They’re real enough, trust me. It’s just they’ve never murdered anyone before. Not their usual bag. Something real odd is going on here.”
“Screw you!” Janu Tinuviel shouted, glaring across the deeply polished Leestian mahogany conference table at her opponent. Her staff, a small troop of worried looking civil servants, sat around the table flinching every time she shouted, recognising the warning signs of a major loss of temper approaching.
Janu Tinuviel was a striking, tall and athletic looking blonde woman. Her eyes were a curious grey, like hard flint. Her manner was brusque and business like. She dressed appropriately to powerful effect. She was the object of many an unfulfilled fantasy; both for men and women.
Previously she had been the secretary to the now disgraced Galcop Military Chief of Staff, and she had wasted no time at all in taking up as many of his duties as she could manage to scramble together. This had culminated in her rapid rise to head of operations around the tactically important central star systems in Chart One, centred on Zadies. It was a problematic area, with a lot of unstable governments, but at the centre of virtually all the long distance trade routes in the region. As such, she ran the organisation that made sure the Zadies’ economy got its cut of all trade passing through the system.
Her new staff, and most Galcop employees that encountered her, were in complete shock and awe afterwards. She had that affect, cultivated it, and enjoyed it immensely. Only that morning she had fired two staff members allegedly for not producing an analysis on time. She was a product of one of the best female-only business schools on Zadies. They churned out fiercely aggressive, ambitious, power hungry, independent, competent and typically crushingly arrogant candidates. She was top of her class, one of the crème de la crème; the infamous Zadies’ Ladies.
“Listen, if Esusti can’t handle the privateer problem then we give the guild rights to Solageon. Let them figure out how to cope on their own, why should we waste any more time with them? The Esustians are a totally incompetent administration!”
Her opponent faced her steadily from the other end of the table. He was leaning on a chair, rather nonchalantly, both hands clasped on its backrest. He seemed quite relaxed and unfazed by Janu. She appeared infuriated with him.
Tenim Neseva had dealt with her a number of times before.
“It’s in your own interest,” he replied mildly. “Solageon is too far from… ”
“It’s inside the seven light year range, don’t give me any grub over that!”
“If I might be permitted to finish?” Tenim interrupted.
Tenim was a wily individual who had worked his way up the food chain from a common ship salesman and through the Galcop ranks by a combination of political expediency, clean shaven and chisel jawed good looks, and a talent for networking with the right people. During the process he’d acquired a lot of extremely powerful friends and a significant stockpile of cash.
“ Solageon is too far away for most traders to consider it a viable trade route,” he continued. “It leaves too little fuel for injector usage once they arrive in your space if they jump from that far away. You’re a multi-government too, you’d be naïve to ignore your own privateer problem. Traders simply won’t take the risk, too many pirates. Not until Galcop makes it legal to carry extra fuel.”
“And when is that going to be?”
“Well, the legal people are looking at it right now, might be soon in fact. A couple of years?” Tenim was grinning. Janu suspected it had been in Tenim’s interest to delay that particular piece of legislation for as long as he could.
“Total rubbish and you know it! Esusti is a communist planet, they just can’t keep a lid on their problems and are trying to blame me! Solageon is a better solution. Fact.”
“Nonsense. I can see why you think that, but the truth of the matter is that you aren’t able to negotiate an acceptable compromise with the Esustians. Perhaps another official might be… ”
“How dare you! I got us the damn guild deal in the first place, and on better terms than any of the last eight elects. Don’t lecture me on negotiating tactics! Screw you!”
“Then use those profits you claim so vociferously and allow me to sell you a better Galcop security package. I’ll even throw in the new ship types. The latest model of Viper… ”
“And give over more control to your stupid ineffective bureaucrats! The hell with that, salesdroid!”
“It’s your only choice.”
“That’s enough, I’ll reach my own decision. Staff dismissed.” Janu gestured to her staff, who gratefully filed out as quickly as possible.
“ As for you, I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped, scowling at Tenim. One of the staff members, a wizened old man, gave him a look of pure sympathy and then beat a hasty retreat.
Tenim shrugged and left the meeting room, heading towards the elevator. Janu caught sight of him walking away.
“Hey! Where the prak do you think you’re going?”
“I have another appointment. Time is money after all. Plenty more customers in these systems honey. I’ve got quota to hit.”
“You’re not getting away that easily,” she shouted, glaring at him at him down the corridor and walking swiftly back towards him, the soles of her expensive Sotiquan shoes e
choing sharply. “How dare you come in here and tell me what my job is? If you ever undermine me in front of my staff again I’ll make sure you never sell another prakkin’ thing within twenty light years!”
Tenim stepped into the lift and pressed a button to take him back to ground level. Janu reached the door and stuck her arm in the way, forcing the door back open and moving inside.
“Sticks and stone honey. Listen, if you can’t see good sense that’s not my problem,” Tenim replied easily, unfazed by her attitude.
“If you want a deal you’ll have to do better than that,” she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m open to suggestions.”
The lift door closed and the lift began its descent from the stratospheric levels toward the ground.
“You know what I want,” she whispered roughly.
It was a game they played effectively to mutual benefit. They had been having an affair on and off for over two years, their respective partners totally unaware of it. Implacable foes in public, they were lovers in private. Tenim got a favourable shot at any shipping contract that came out of the area, and Janu always got a good deal on price, keeping her under budget and out performing her colleagues, ensuring her rise to the top. Not exactly legal, but Janu kept a lid on things. The last pair to raise a query about Tenim’s success rate in gaining contracts were now jobless and packed off on a third class shuttle on a trumped up charge. Janu played to win and no one got in her way for long.
She grabbed him around the neck and kissed him fiercely, aggressively, forcing him back against the lift wall with a crash. A moment later she broke away.
“God I love it when you stand up to me. Fooled those dumb saps! Wastrels, the lot of them. I’d shoot them if I could!”
“Just doing my job,” Tenim replied, only mildly surprised.
“You want that deal of yours?”
“Of course I want the deal.”
“How much?”
“Much much.”
“Then earn it, my apartment, two o’clock.”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’m renting a room up on Coriolis eight. Take the afternoon off. I’ve got my new ship to show off.”
“Expensive?”
“ Positively filthy. The new Fer-De-Lance, a Spectrum ZX Model B. 25 year anniversary edition. It’s even got those new wide-angle progressive scan HD vids, DRM lockdown and aero glass controls. The whole forward hull can go transparent on demand. It’s like really being out in space, none of that old limited XP viewscreen rubbish, it’s a whole new vista. It’s got the latest and greatest computer control, totally secure and they say it’s impossible to crash. I’ve even managed to get one of those new quirium cascade mines. Docking port one twenty eight.”
“You had me at filthy. Half an hour, and stuff the station. Take me out into deep space. I need a break from this damn provincial planet. Don’t forget the wine!”
She pressed a floor button and the lift came to a stop. She stepped out, giving him a wink. Then her voice turned official again.
“… and don’t even think about trying to flog anything else to me! I want your best price! No! I want a third off your best price!”
The staff immediately outside ignored her outburst, and looked busy. Janu Tinuviel was something of a legend in the Zadies’ office of administrative affairs.
The lift doors closed and the lift resumed its descent. Tenim leant up against the wall and raised his arms behind his head, stretching with satisfaction. No problems with the quota this season then. Sometimes this job was a complete piece of grub dung, but it did have its occasional compensations.
The Fer-De-Lance never docked at Coriolis eight. Instead, riding a plume of fierce magenta fuel injected flux exhaust, it roared straight past and out of the system into deep space, running in the shadow of the planet, opposite to the Sun. There it paused, its exterior running lights fading into darkness, the hull reflecting only the distant light of the stars.
The bridge lights were showing dimly, a faint red glow spilling out from the windows. Inside, with a flagrant disregard for flight regulations, the helm was unmanned, and the auto-pilot was not engaged. The ship drifted slowly through the darkness, the two people aboard otherwise occupied.
With other things on their minds, neither had bothered too much with either the pre-flight or hull inspection checks that competent commanders performed as a matter of course. Even so, it was unlikely that either of them would have noticed that a section of the heat shield just forward of the secondary atmospheric engine intake had been removed, status terminals bypassed, and cunningly repainted to look as if it were intact.
It made a spectacular sight, a daylight visible meteorite streaking across the sky. People in four continents across Zadies saw the flaming fireball. Several hundred were temporarily deafened as it punched through the lower atmosphere high above populated areas at over ten times the speed of sound.
It impacted in the southern hemisphere, crashing into a coastal area and making a significant impact crater about two hundred metres across. Fortunately the area was sparsely populated and casualties were light.
Even so, Galcop received a number of new calls for landing capable ships to be more strictly regulated, and a few months later traders were cursing under the weight of more paperwork, more legislation and higher permit costs.
“ Investigations into the crash that tragically killed Tenim Neseva, Janu Tinuviel and three other civilians at ground zero continue, and today Galcop has exclus ively informed us that they are able to confirm the accident was indeed the result of sabotage.
“Apparently a section of heat shield had been tampered with and the ship, a brand new type of Fer-De-Lance, disintegrated during re-entry and crashed as a result.
“This came as a welcome relief to Zee-Pee-Gee (Zorgon Petterson Group), the manufacturers of the Fer-De-Lance, whose stock price had crashed recently. Initially they were trying to play down concerns that their new vista-aero glass forward view-screens might have been to blame. As we reported two weeks ago these had already been panned by experienced commanders as ‘an unnecessary, wasteful and potentially dangerous piece of frippery on a space capable vessel’.
“Both Janu and Tenim were deeply unpopular within the Zadies’ department for Administrative Affairs, and there are also allegations from staff at the administration that Janu and Tenim were conducting an illicit affair. It’s reported that neither of them had an entry in their calendars for the time period in question. They filed no flight plan and telemetry indicated their ship flew out in to deep space for two hours and then returned, crashing during atmospheric re-entry. Their partners have turned down requests for interviews from the press, but have been taken into custody for questioning.
“This is a further headache for Galcop, as the number of potential suspects has increased. They believed they had made progress on the investigation and have previously stated that an organisation calling itself ‘The Dark Wheel’ has claimed responsibility.
“ That’s right folks, you thought they were just a bunch of Raxxlian magicians chasing dreams, but now they’ve apparently gotten serious. Investigators have linked this incident with the earlier demise of Mahl Triboner, saying that ‘established codes’ were received just before each incident, although not with enough notice to avert the attacks.
“Quite why the Dark Wheel would start killing high ranking Galcop personnel is unclear, as no demands have been received as yet and no further attacks have been threatened. A Galcop spokesperson said that the public should report any suspicious activity to them immediately, but that individuals suspected of being members of the Dark Wheel should not be approached. Galcop is under mounting pressure to deal with these crazy mystics and bring them to heel. Are we safe? Who is next on their hit list? Why are they doing this? Truth is, we don’t know. This is Anna Merezo, on Zadies, for the Tionisla Chronicle, wideband channel three-eight-five-point-two.”
Jim McKenna idly flipped through the virtually infinit
e number of channels coming through his subscription to the quadrant’s premier Tru-Vid service, ‘Tionisla PrimePlus’. Nothing particularly caught his eye, but flipping the channels each evening had turned into something of a habit. He ended up, as he always did, listening to ancient instrumental music from old earth.
Music played with acoustic instruments just sounds better…
He had returned home from his current role as a lecturer on astronometric studies and most evenings were spent in the same way, sitting in his apartment on the unfashionable western arm of the Onrira Tori Station. He knew he ought to do something else and be more active. He ought to find something, anything, to prevent him idling the hours away before returning to the daily tedium of talking to uninterested students about grey and dusty subjects. It just felt like so much effort to do anything; he felt constantly tired.
Part of him knew it was a reaction. The events of just fewer than two years ago were still fresh in his memory.
He’d realized that, just maybe, those brief few days of terror, fear, and thrilling excitement might well have been the most significant events there would ever be in his life. Now it was all over and he wasn’t even forty.
Discovering a hitherto unknown technology; finding out it was a deadly weapon in the making; covertly trying to hide facts; stealing a ship; entering a pitched battle with an Imperial Courier armed to the teeth and piloted by an Elite assassin; witch-jumping into interstellar space; being in the front line of a major assault on a Thargoid battlecruiser. After that, anything else was likely to be pretty lacklustre by comparison.
Life since had certainly been woefully dull.
That was his rationalization for his current state of ennui, and like most rationalizations it omitted some key facts.
Simply cut mousy brown hair and matching eyes. An almost permanent frown and a habit for biting her lower lip. An arrogant, jaunty attitude and a fiery temper. A fleeting kiss and an unfulfilled promise.
Rebecca Weston.
He’d shared that adventure with her, though not out of choice for either of them. She’d been working on her family’s ship when it had been embroiled, purely by chance, in the events surrounding the Q-Bomb. Rebecca had lost what remained of her family at the assassins hand that day. Her father, brother and cousins shot down and destroyed. What about her mother? Jim couldn’t recall her ever talking about her. In truth, there was so much he didn’t know.
