Black Knight

by Andy Briggs

  Hugo put his hands behind his head and slowly spun on his chair as he thought aloud. “They could be anything. But if you want my guess…”

  Lee sighed. He hated working with supposed geniuses; they were always craving a pat on the head for their work.

  “Yes, that is exactly what I want. That’s what you’re being paid for,” said Lee as testily as he could manage without yawning.

  “I would say that it’s Black Knight’s security system.”

  Lee was surprised. “Security?”

  “Of course. Being inaccessible up there doesn’t make it secure. We have to get into Black Knight’s systems. Talk to it on its own terms, and you know that’s far from straightforward. Not only that” – he tapped the monitor – “this wave pattern suggests that this isn’t a password, like you and I would think a password should be. It’s an audio code.”

  Lee slurped his coffee. “Now you've lost me.”

  “Not a pass-word, more a pass-tone. This might sound like a regular rhythm to your ears, but it’s not. Each layer is slightly out of sync, and repeating every twelve cycles. Think of the ridges on a key – they’re specific for the lock. This is the sonic version. I think we need to send the correct tonal cycle back to open it up.”

  Lee thought about that for a moment. “You mean we’re supposed to play jazz to it, and then ‘open sesame’, we have control?”

  Hugo shrugged. “Maybe jazz, maybe U2 – but I’d bet Fletch’s whole salary that it has to be a precise sequence, or we’ll never get in.”

  “And how do we find out the sequence?” Hugo shrugged again. Lee was growing impatient. He slammed his cup on a desk and turned to the others. “Anyone? This is supposed to be your area of expertise, so start expertising.”

  Dougal scratched his head thoughtfully. “You sent us a lot of historical files on this thing.”

  “So?”

  “So I think the answer lies in there. Just how well do you know your history?”

  Lee’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly understood what Dougal was driving at. “The Antikythera Mechanism.” Dougal nodded. Lee closed his eyes and gently butted the bulkhead. That undoubtedly meant further setbacks, and that meant more trouble ahead…

  The moment Tyker had woken up he’d started to howl in terror at the top of his voice. It didn’t help that, due to space restrictions, his unconscious body had been unceremoniously wedged under the Avro’s control desk, so his limited view of the cabin made it resemble a futuristic coffin.

  He scrambled from under the desk and curled up in front of the panoramic viewing screen, with his arms wrapped around his legs.

  “No probes, no probes,” he whimpered over and over.

  Dev and the others exchanged uncertain glances. Being enclosed in a small space with a potentially violent man, while travelling at hypersonic speeds, was a recipe for disaster.

  It was Lot who eventually calmed him down in her own inimitable way, reminding him that they’d just rescued him from the clutches of Shadow Helix. Tyker stopped whimpering, but he didn’t move. Instead his eyes darted around the cabin, taking it all in.

  Dev’s earpiece suddenly chimed to life as his uncle’s voice came through.

  “There’s a change of plan. You will not be returning to the Inventory.” Dev glanced at his companions to check they could all hear the message. It was coming through on their private network, rather than over the ship’s system, which indicated that Charles didn’t want Tyker to overhear. “We cannot risk bringing a stranger inside. We don’t know who he is or what threats he represents. Eema is rerouting your ship to the Scrapyard. There you shall meet the Assessor. He will instruct you further.”

  Charles cut off before they could ask any questions.

  Aaron sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “A change of plan? Does this happen all the time? Doesn’t strike me as being a very organized outfit.”

  “I wish something would strike you,” said Dev under his breath. Aaron hadn’t heard; he was too busy showboating to the others.

  “Whenever I did my own little, let’s call them operations—”

  “Scams,” said Dev.

  “Operations. Then I would always have a backup plan. An escape route. I know we haven’t been with you guys for long, but so far all I can see is a bunch of amateurs and complete chaos. No wonder they need me to help you out.”

  Mason’s fist clenched. “Maybe it’s time to put your mouth on hold for a while?”

  “What’s the Scrapyard?” Riya asked.

  “I have never heard of it.”

  Riya noticed Wan-Soo was playing a game on his phone. She nudged him. “Hey, aren’t you in the least bit curious?”

  Wan-Soo shrugged. “It will all become apparent in time. You can’t rush fate.”

  Mason laughed. “Wow, that’s deep.”

  Dev had to agree. He was beginning to warm to Wan-Soo’s calm, methodical attitude. It was a welcome change from the usual screaming and terror.

  The Scrapyard turned out to be little more than some patch of land sitting in the middle of nowhere. Their increased flight time hinted it was far from Germany and, as the viewport revealed blue-green ocean set against cloudless skies, they guessed it was tropical.

  The Scrapyard itself was visible the moment they saw land. It was the land. The entire beach was filled with boats of all sizes. From small barges to colossal oil tankers and container ships three hundred or more metres long. What is more, most of them were run aground, so they stretched twenty metres into the air. Beyond the boats sat hillocks of scrap metal that stretched as far as they could see, intersected by a network of dirt tracks.

  “It looks like a post-apocalyptic wasteland,” murmured Aaron as the Avro’s autopilot sharply banked and landed in a clear space on the beach. The hatch opened up and humid air rolled in.

  Dev stood up and stretched, offering his hand to Tyker to help him stand. “Are you ready for this?”

  Tyker nodded and accepted his helping hand. The team debarked, blinking against the bright sunlight and sucking in lungfuls of warm, humid air. They hadn’t been excepting a tropical jaunt on this trip, so nobody had packed any sunglasses. Or sun cream.

  From the ground, the Scrapyard looked even more impressive. Some hills of junk were thirty metres high, while the massive ships on the beach made the visitors feel as if they were walking through a steel canyon. Dev, Lot and Mason had been in the Inventory’s own scrapyard, a huge space where potentially valuable technology was processed, but this was on a completely different scale.

  And yet a wave of déjà-vu swept over Dev as everything became eerily familiar. With a sense of panic, he began to wonder if what he was seeing was real or a memory.

  A voice from behind made him jump. “Welcome to my yard!”

  Dev spun around to see a huge Bangladeshi man with a beaming smile and wearing a shirt far too small to conceal his stomach. He sat astride a motorized scooter that buckled under his weight. Dev glanced at the others to confirm what he was seeing was real.

  “I am the Assessor.” He wagged a finger at Dev. “And you must be Devon!” For Dev, that at least confirmed the Assessor was some kind of friend of his uncle’s. The man’s eyes flicked between Lot and Mason. “Lottie, eh? I’ve heard so much about you. Braver than the boys.” He laughed and Lot smiled at the compliment. “Mason. You are exactly how I imagined.”

  Dev sniggered as Mason tried to work out if that was a compliment or not. Then the Assessor cast his gaze to the others.

  “And, of course, the fresh meat.” Then his gaze fell on to Tyker and his genial smile abruptly fell.

  Dev broke the uncomfortable silence. “This is Klaus Tyker. My uncle should have mentioned him?”

  “He did.” The warmth in his voice had gone. “Come, this way.”

  The Assessor’s motorized scooter suddenly hummed to life and rose from the floor on a cushion of light. Dev could see an anti-grav unit had been jury-rigged to it – which was essential, as the unev
en track they crossed would have proved impossible for a regular scooter. Even following the Assessor at walking speed, the heat was so intense that after just a minute they were all damp with sweat.

  “Excuse me,” said Aaron, matching pace with the Assessor. “But where exactly are we?”

  “Faujdarhat.” When it was clear that wasn’t enough, the Assessor added, “You’re in Bangladesh.”

  “And this is owned by the World Consortium?”

  “Yes. They need somewhere to check what is being thrown away. And it turns a healthy profit too. Somebody has to judge what is worthy or not. And that’s me.”

  Dev saw Tyker’s reaction when the World Consortium was mentioned. The German’s brow furrowed deeper. Dev knew Tyker was mentally filing away all these fragments of conversation.

  The Assessor led them to a building that had been mashed together from porta-cabins, motorhomes and caravans to form a mansion house that stood over three floors. They stopped in the shade of a bright red awning erected on the side of the building under which a large metal table and chairs had been constructed from scrap. They were all thankful to be out of the sun’s direct glare.

  Tyker stiffened as a pair of metallic spheres, some two metres in diameter, rolled towards them, halting at the last moment. Steel limbs unfolded and began to serve them cool drinks and tasty Mughlai Parata snacks.

  Dev realized the spheres were versions of Eema’s husk, except made from a mishmash of recycled scrap. Holographic heads flickered to life, displaying an emoji smiley face, but Dev noticed the hi-res graphics he was used to with Eema were replaced with a blocky eight-bit resolution.

  “These are incredible,” said Tyker, poking the nearest machine. It gave a little electric trill of annoyance, the smiley face turning to a frown. Tyker stopped poking.

  The Assessor’s eyes still hadn’t left the German. “I made them myself right here out of scraps. Just followed the blueprints. Easy.”

  Dev was feeling hungrier than ever. He took several snacks and spoke as he quickly ate them. “Why have we been sent here, rather than … back home?”

  “Because your new friend here has something of interest.”

  Lot emptied Tyker’s gadgets from her satchel. “This is everything he had. We couldn’t work out why Helix was so keen on getting their hands on them.”

  The Assessor’s eyes only flicked over them for a second, but then fell back on to Tyker. “It’s not them. It’s the mechanism.”

  Tyker shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sipped his drink to ease his parched throat. Lot pulled the wooden box from his bag and placed it on the table. Tyker flicked the clasps and opened the box, turning it around so the Assessor could see.

  The Assessor’s eyes widened as he slid the box closer. He carefully lifted the mechanism up and examined it from every angle.

  “It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

  “Are you really seeing what we’re seeing?” said Mason. “It is a piece of rusting junk. I don’t care how old it is. I risked my life for nothing!” He looked at Tyker. “Why didn’t you just steal some paintings instead? They’re probably worth more.”

  Tyker gestured to the device. “The Antikythera Mechanism is priceless!”

  “Exactly! At least you know the Mona Lisa is worth a few quid. Nobody even knows what that thing is.”

  “Oh, we do,” the Assessor said in an almost dreamy voice. “What you are looking at is probably the world’s first analogue computer.”

  The surprise around the table was so extreme that it was Wan-Soo who spoke first. “That’s a computer?”. His mouth hung open in astonishment.

  The Assessor nodded. “One capable of tracking astronomical data. My question is to you.” His bushy eyebrows folded over his eyes as he stared across the table at Tyker. “Why did you steal it, and how did Shadow Helix know you were doing it?”

  Tyker’s fingers drummed on the table as he thought about the answer. He hung his head, unable to meet any of the curious gazes.

  “My memory is like, how can I say? Scrambled eggs, yes? No? It is as if all the important thoughts up here” – his fingers clawed his forehead – “were stolen. I get hints every now and again. Shadows of thoughts, memories like mirages, flavours of ideas. And one of them was this.” He indicated to the mechanism in the Assessor’s hands. “Except with one difference. I recall it as a fully working model. I just do not know where I have seen it before.”

  “Historians have recreated the movements of this. That is no secret.”

  “Indeed.” Tyker turned his attention to the others. “The mechanism used to sit in a wooden box, some twenty centimetres high with dials on the front and back. There was a tiny handle on the side that would turn the hands, like those on a clock. Except one hand depicted the movement of the sun, the other, the moon. It could be operated to work out the placement of the heavenly bodies and the signs of the zodiac soaring across the sky. It remains a very clever device.”

  “So it’s an ancient horoscope?” quipped Mason. He turned to Riya and waggled his fingers like an amateur magician. “Your future says things will get even more crazy and somebody will shoot at you.”

  “It’s beginning to sound like a normal day,” she muttered back.

  Tyker continued. “It was more than that. On the reverse side, two more dials could predict when there would be an eclipse.”

  Dev wasn’t that impressed. “Wow. So? There’s one in a few days.” He glanced at Lot, thinking of his earlier invitation, but decided now was not the time to bring it up.

  “Those historical recreations were made using X-rays and scans from that very mechanism.” Tyker pointed to the device. “While it was shown in displays in museums around the globe. The issue is that all of those scans, all that analysis, have been altered.”

  The Assessor gently put the mechanism back in its box. “How do you know that?”

  For the first time Tyker smiled. “That I do not recall. However, you do know, yes? You asked how I know that, rather than why do I suspect that.” The Assessor scowled and leaned back in his chair.

  Lot drew the connections together. “So you think the World Consortium doctored the scans to hide something?”

  Tyker looked thoughtful. “The World Consortium … you have mentioned this before. It is the correct name… Yes, that is what I think. In fact, I know they removed four extra gears from the scans. It may not sound like much, but if we scanned this right now, you will see them. And those four extra gears add an entirely new element to this.”

  Silence fell. The Assessor clicked his tongue thoughtfully as Dev looked at him.

  “So what’s the Consortium hiding? And who wants it so badly that they’re hunting him down and pretending to be Shadow Helix? After all, if the mechanism has been on public display…” He trailed off, but Lot finished his sentence.

  “Then they could have got it any time. So what did you discover?”

  Tyker breathed noisily out and shrugged theatrically. “I have been asking myself that same question over and over. What do I know? And who erased my memory?”

  The Assessor activated his hover-scooter and backed from the table. “I need to make some calls.” He slid the wooden box off the table and took it with him into the house. “Help yourself to drinks.”

  Lot was the first to walk away from the table. She stood aside from the group, rapidly texting on her phone. Whatever she was talking about, she didn’t look happy about it. Dev was about to cross over and ask what was wrong, when Aaron blocked his view.

  “Hey, Dev,” he said, looking around and lowering his voice as he did. “I know you don’t like me, but can we drop that for now?”

  Dev peeked over Aaron’s shoulder and saw Lot’s mood had darkened. “Can we talk about this another time?”

  “You’re supposed to be our high and mighty leader … and this is quite important for the sake of all our lives. But if you want to wait…”

  There was an edge to his voice that made Dev pause. “What?�
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  Aaron gestured around. “This. We get diverted from going back to the Inventory, to meet a guy you have never heard of before, who talks about the importance of some old rusty artefact, then disappears with it. That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

  “But you heard my uncle…”

  “Can you be absolutely certain it was your uncle?”

  Despite the heat Dev felt goosebumps rise on his arm. Had they been tricked? If so, that didn’t explain why the Scrapyard had looked so familiar when he’d arrived. Aaron looked nervously around as he continued.

  “While you and Lot were in the motorhome, I saw that helicopter arrive. They jammed communications then threw that Dark-Bomb down so we couldn’t see anything. The thing is, I lost sight of Mason, Riya and Wan-Soo. When I doubled back, they weren’t where they were supposed to be, so I headed back to the Avrocar. Mason was already there, Riya and Wan-Soo were the last to join us. There was plenty of time for someone to help the enemy. Know what I’m saying?”

  Dev studied Aaron’s face carefully. He hated the way this conversation was headed.

  Aaron lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “It was a little too easy for you to track Tyker down, wasn’t it? If it was so easy, why didn’t Helix, or whoever they are, get to him first?”

  “But they didn’t. We did,” said Dev, his eyes darting between Riya, who was talking to Mason, and Wan-Soo who sat on his own. “You think they followed us so they could find him.”

  Aaron nodded. “We led them straight to Tyker. Scary thought, isn’t it? Either they knew where he was, but both times we got there first … or there is somebody on the inside who is telling them where we’re going.”

  “You’re talking about a mole in the team.”

  “How else are they finding our German pal?” They both glanced over at Tyker, who was hunched in his chair, his hands rubbing the side of his head, looking sorry for himself. Dev sprung to his feet and hurried over to Lot, and Aaron doggedly followed him.

  “Lot?”

  She didn’t look up from her phone. “Not now, Dev.”

  Dev pushed her phone down, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were big and watery; she hadn’t cried, but was on the verge of it. Her face twisted into anger as she shoved Dev hard in the chest.