Pelquin's Comet

by Ian Whates

  “I thought you might appreciate these.”

  He was right. “Thanks.”

  He put glass and plate down and craned forward, leaning over her, ostensibly to stare at the screens but in the process getting close, his cheek almost touching hers. She didn’t pull away, enjoying the attention. Luke was one of her more personable colleagues. A year or two younger than her but not bad looking by any means, and he made no secret of fancying her. If she ever decided to embark on a second extra-marital dalliance, Luke would be a prime candidate.

  “Anything of interest?” he said, almost breathing the words into her ear.

  “Not really,” She still hadn’t turned away but nor did she move closer. They were alone, completely unobserved and unlikely to be interrupted. She was tempted to look round, to tilt her head, to accept the kiss she felt certain would come, but she didn’t; in part because she hadn’t yet committed in her own mind to an affair with Luke, but also because she was enjoying his pursuit and didn’t want that phase of the game to end just yet.

  “Just the usual schmoozing, networking and flirting.” Alexis felt proud of how calm her voice sounded.

  Despite her earlier resolve, Alexis was almost disappointed when she felt Luke stand up and step away. “Well, I’d best be getting back to the floor before I’m missed,” he said. “You can bring me up to speed on all the juicy gossip later.”

  “Will do.” She looked around. “And, Luke…”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.” On impulse, she blew him a kiss. He left, grinning.

  After he’d gone she sipped at the champagne, her gaze resting on the screens but her attention elsewhere, as she imagined Luke standing bare-chested before her.

  It took a conscious effort of will to dispel the image and focus on what she was supposed to be doing.

  Second guessing the nature of people’s private conversations had lost its appeal, so she moved onto her next standard mechanism for staving off boredom and activated the monitors’ facial recognition software – this particular distraction pretty much fell within the job description anyway.

  For the next half hour she took a visual tour of the room, focusing on one individual after another, allowing the software to examine the structure and specific features of each subject’s face using sophisticated isometrics, analysing minutiae that were supposedly impossible to mimic effectively. In this way she was able to confirm the identity of most of those present – no doubles in attendance tonight. The software even highlighted a couple of celebs who’d had a little surgery on the sly.

  Growing bored of checking over those she already knew, Alexis turned her attention to the waiting staff and the visiting dignitaries who were unfamiliar to her. One or two, usually the more handsome males, piqued her curiosity sufficiently for her to summon up their profiles.

  Then her camera focused on one face in particular and she froze. The software did its job, identifying the man as a visiting off worlder; Corbin Thadeus Drake, registered as an employee of First Solar Bank. The problem was that she knew him by a different name entirely.

  At least she thought she did… But it couldn’t be. Surely he was dead. She kept the camera trained on Drake’s face and dredged up memories she hadn’t revisited in years. He looked a little older, and the face might have benefited from some cursory restructuring – though perhaps that was no more than faulty memory; she’d been little more than a child then, after all. The eyes, though, they were the same: so dark, and with a quality that suggested they understood the nature of the universe and mocked it at the same time. It was him. It had to be him. And yet…

  Then she remembered her mother’s paintings. Emalia Chapel had withdrawn from society years ago, establishing a new and doubtless pampered life with a man Alexis loathed. Mother and daughter had never been close and Emalia had rarely been generous with the considerable wealth her paintings had generated, but that was okay; Alexis was content to make her own way in the world.

  The only real concession Alexis ever made to being Emalia’s daughter was stored on her perminal: a digitised library of her mother’s paintings. As far as Alexis knew, Emalia didn’t even know she had these.

  Taking the perminal out, she flicked the display to broadest setting, which brought a selection of icons floating in the air before her. She accessed the appropriate library and then riffled through the obliquely presented close-packed images, swiftly finding the one she was after.

  A deft stab of the finger and that image emerged to take centre stage. She found herself staring at a portrait of the man she’d known as ‘Uncle Frank’. The three years he and her mother had been together were by far the happiest of her childhood, if not her entire life to date. For that brief period Emalia Chapel had found the time to notice things beyond her work, had even, for a while, made Alexis feel wanted…

  The moment Uncle Frank left, though, everything changed, and her mother became colder than ever.

  This portrait, painted from memory after Uncle Frank had gone – he would never have posed for anything like that – was all that Alexis had left of him. There were no photographs – she’d searched, thoroughly and desperately in the weeks immediately following his disappearance – none at all.

  Alexis both loved and hated that painting. She’d known, even then, why he had to go, but that hadn’t made it any easier to forgive him, or to ever stop missing him.

  She froze the camera image, choosing a moment when ‘Drake’ was facing her, almost straight on. She then magnified her mother’s painting and compared the two. As she studied them, trying to convince herself that this was just some form of deeply hidden wishful thinking on her part, inspiration struck.

  Alexis uploaded the image from her perminal into the monitoring equipment and then used the face recognition software to run a comparison. She had no idea if this would work; after all, one of the subjects was only a painting, but it was her mother’s painting, and Emalia Chapel’s eye for detail and perspective was legendary.

  Even so, she half expected the comparison to draw a blank, for the system to report an error, an inability to complete the requested task… But it didn’t. Instead it highlighted correlations and concluded a 59% probability that both images were of the same person.

  Alexis drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Damn! There it was. The rest was up to her. 59% still left plenty of room for doubt, but under the circumstances it was more than she’d dared hope for.

  She stared at the four words displayed beneath her mother’s painting – the tag giving Uncle Frank’s full name – and wondered what the hell she was going to do next.

  Did she hate this man, or love him? By rights, she should immediately contact Luke or one of the more senior officers and report this. Career-wise, it would be the making of her. But this is Uncle Frank.

  Alexis had never been one for soul-searching but right now her thoughts were in turmoil. For some reason she kept coming back to all the promotions that had slipped past without coming within reach, of all those others whose careers were progressing along faster, slicker tracks than hers. It had never really bothered her, not until now, but her loyalty had never before faced a stiffer test than this.

  One thing was certain: the next few seconds would determine once and for all just how dedicated to this career she was.

  Alexis came to her senses abruptly. Whatever her personal feelings, not reporting this would be an inconceivable dereliction of duty. There was only one thing to do, no matter how unpalatable it might be. She took a deep breath, preparatory to issuing the call signal… And yet… and yet… Still she hesitated, staring at the image one final time, as if to imprint those features indelibly on her mind. Could this really be him?

  Pelquin and the stranger separated as soon as they re-entered the room, as if they couldn’t wait to get away from each other. The captain didn’t give the other man another glance but instead made a beeline for Drake. The banker tried to read his expression and body language as he approached,
seeing there excitement, perhaps even triumph, but also a degree of anxiety.

  “Everything go as planned?” he asked as Pelquin reached him.

  “More or less, but we have to leave.”

  “So soon? I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”

  “Be that as it may, my friend Olly has suggested we make ourselves scarce and I don’t want to push our luck.”

  Drake had kept half an eye on the other man – Olly – and noticed that he was now talking to a suit that just had to be security and looking in their direction. “Maybe you’ve got a point.”

  They began to make their way towards the door. It was then that Drake saw her: a woman whose eyes were focused on them, specifically on him, and there was no question she was headed in their direction. Yet something wasn’t right. The manner of her approach didn’t suggest determination to fulfil a mission; there was nothing resolute or assured in her body language, rather she appeared ill at ease, almost furtive.

  He realised they weren’t going to reach the door before she intercepted them. He stopped walking, wanting to see how she’d react. She adjusted course, coming directly towards him. That settled it.

  “What’s wrong?” Pelquin asked, pausing and looking back.

  “Nothing, I hope. But whatever it is seems to be about me and not you. You’d best keep walking. I’ll meet you outside.”

  Pelquin followed the line of his gaze, finally spotting the woman. After another quick glance in Drake’s direction, he nodded and then continued on towards the door, not looking back.

  Drake tensed as the woman came up, looking quickly around to see if there was anyone else trying to outflank him.

  “Mr Drake, relax, look natural,” she intoned by way of greeting. “Smile as if we’re old friends. I had to catch you here, close to the door. It’s the one area I could arrange not to be covered by security cameras.”

  So, she was part of the security set up, which was far from reassuring. She looked nervous and upset, though, conflicted even.

  “Mr Dra…” she paused. After a shaky breath she continued, and what she said stunned him. “Uncle Frank… Don’t you know me?”

  And he did; of course he did. “Alex, is it really you?” There was no chance at subterfuge, no possibility of pretending she’d made a mistake. His expression would have given him away even had he tried.

  “Look, I understand…” she said. “Why you had to leave. I don’t blame you.”

  Blame him? Didn’t she know what her mother had done, how she betrayed him? Probably not.

  “Take this,” and he found something thrust into his hand. “My card. Call me, when you can; please.”

  “I will,” he said, with no idea whether he meant it or not.

  She smiled, almost shyly. “I’ve got to get back. Don’t forget, call me.” With that she turned and was gone, hurrying off the way she had come. He swallowed on a suddenly dry throat and took a few seconds to compose himself before strolling across to the door and out to where Pelquin waited, clearly anxious.

  “Well, what was it?” the Comet’s captain wanted to know.

  “Nothing,” Drake assured him. “Nothing at all.”

  “Really? Who was she then?”

  “Just someone I used to know a long time ago. I hadn’t expected to meet her here, that’s all. Just goes to show how small a universe this is.” Too small, he added silently, too small by half.

  Alexis returned to her cubicle to find it still empty and with everything exactly as she’d left it. She breathed a sigh of relief, only then daring to admit to herself how big a risk she’d just taken. She seemed to have got away with it, though, which meant that no one would ever know about her abandoning her station or the reason why. The thrill of a risk taken and gamble won surged through her. Clearly this was a night for such things. She adjusted the cameras covering the wide entrance hall to a more normal configuration and then simply sat there for a moment, breathing deeply and battling to recover her composure.

  Would he call her? There was so much she wanted to say; so much she needed to know. She’d always felt that her mother blamed her for his leaving, as if whatever had gone wrong between them was somehow her fault. She would never forget the day, years later, when Emalia informed her – very formally, as if mentioning newly prepared travel arrangements – that her Uncle Frank was dead.

  Yet here he was.

  “Pull yourself together, Alex,” she muttered. There were still some things she needed to do: expunging her mother’s painting from the security systems for one. After that she’d have to cover her tracks by removing all record that it had ever been there.

  She hesitated for a split second, gazing at the magnified picture one more time; her mother really had managed to capture those eyes… Then she erased the image and, with it, the four identifying words printed beneath: Captain Francis Hilary Cornische.

  SEVENTEEN

  The highlight of Leesa’s morning was a leisurely wander around Victoria’s Westside shopping district, which proved far more extensive than anticipated. She went there on impulse. The Comet had been allocated a launch slot for later that afternoon, which meant that, having already checked and double checked the ship’s engines and systems, she had some time to kill. Bren had mentioned Westside in passing, saying that it was worth a visit; and the prospect of a little retail therapy sure as hell beat sitting around kicking her heels on the ship. The vague notion of picking up a souvenir or two soon evaporated. After all, she didn’t really need any herself and had no one else to buy them for.

  The Comet was quiet when she returned, with only Nate, Anna, and the doc on board. Presumably Pelquin, Bren and Drake were off making the most of what little time remained planetside, much as she had. Anna was all right, but the other two were hardly Leesa’s ideal choice of companions; not that she’d yet worked out who was.

  Nate Almont was in a tetchy mood, even by his usual standards, so she quickly decided to forego the galley and the pleasure of his company in favour of the bridge.

  She carried a drink up to Anna, who smiled in thanks.

  “What’s up with Nate?”

  “Oh, ignore him,” Anna advised. “He’s just sulking. He and Pel were going off somewhere when Drake intervened. Not sure what was said exactly, but it ended up with Nate staying behind and the banker going in his place. He’s been in a foul mood ever since.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “No idea. We’ll be the last to know, as usual.” Anna suddenly sat up, staring at her monitor. “Hello… What’s this?”

  Leesa leaned forward for a better view of the screen. It showed three uniformed figures, presumably approaching the ship.

  “Nate, you’d better get up here,” Anna said. “We’ve got company.”

  “Who is it?” Nate replied over the intercom.

  “Port authorities by the look of it, with cops…”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Pelquin drove a hired car. He had barely spoken to Drake since they left the ship. Clearly he was far from happy. Tough. The banker had worked out in a general sense where they were going but that was the point: he shouldn’t have needed to deduce that. As First Solar’s representative he ought to have been kept in the loop and was fast losing patience with the captain’s continued failure to do so.

  Pelquin had proved evasive the previous evening when Drake asked him about the stranger, and Drake had decided enough was enough. He wasn’t in the least surprised to catch Pelquin and Nate trying to slip off the ship unnoticed that morning. Pelquin had even looked surprised when he said, “I take it this has something to do with Senator Oliver Webster,” as if it hadn’t dawned on him that the banker might cross reference last night’s guest list to identify the stranger. “Based on his current responsibilities,” he continued, “I’m assuming you’re after a Sanction to legitimise a trip into Xter space. By all means correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Their reaction told him that he wasn’t.

  The argumen
t was won and everyone present knew it. Drake couldn’t pretend he was disappointed when Nate said, “We can’t go in mob-handed. If he’s going with you, I’ll stay here.”

  Pelquin was left with little choice but to agree; which didn’t mean he had to like the situation. On the plus side, Pelquin hadn’t once thought to complain about Mudball, who rode in his accustomed position at the banker’s shoulder.

  “Now that I’m here,” Drake said at length, “you might at least give me some idea of what I’ve talked myself into.”

  “A meeting, much as you guessed,” Pelquin said after slight hesitation. “When we get there, I want you to stick close to me at all times. If I move, make sure you follow, understood?”

  “Understood.” Why, though?

  “Knowing ‘Oily’ Olly Webster as I do, things won’t be straight forward,” Pelquin added.

  “You don’t think he’ll have the Sanction ready?”

  “Oh, he’ll have it. He could probably have signed off on one last night at the reception – he has the authority. No, Oily wouldn’t risk not having a Sanction prepared. It’s just that handing it over will be his Plan B. Plan A will be to try and bully me out of it first.

  “So this is likely to get physical?”

  “Why do you think I was taking Nate along?”

  They arrived at an extensive industrial site, though the lack of activity suggested it was currently disused – long buildings with shuttered doorways and empty forecourts providing a downbeat setting. Not quite deserted. A single black limo stood before one and, as they approached, three men got out. Drake recognised one as Senator Olly Webster – the stranger from the previous evening – while the other two gave every impression of being hired muscle.

  “Right, game on,” Pelquin said as he stopped the car. “And remember, follow my lead.” He was all smiles as he climbed out. “Olly, good to see you.”

  The senator scowled. “Who’s this?” and he gestured towards Drake.

  “My associate, Mr Drake.”