by Ian Whates
“And these are my associates, Mr Terrivel and Mr Feliz.” The two men wore matching smart suits and might almost have been twins.
“Three of you? This Sanction must be heavier than I’d realised.”
As Pelquin spoke, he stepped away from the hire car. It was a casual movement but took him unnecessarily wide. Drake followed.
“Ah yes, about the Sanction… It turns out that both Mr Terrivel and Mr Feliz have strong reservations on that front, Pel. I spoke to them after our little chat last night. Well, of course I did. They have a vested interest, you see, having provided considerable support to my political career – money, influence… You know the sort of thing.”
“I can guess.”
Webster smiled. “So I’m sure you can understand why the prospect of someone from my past appearing out of nowhere and threatening to undermine that career is of concern to them.” He held his hands out, as if to display his helplessness. “They’d like a little chat, Pel, to explain their take on the situation and why it would be best for all concerned if you were to simply forget that you ever knew me.”
“That’s not going to happen, Olly.”
Drake had been watching the senator’s companions throughout, waiting for them to make their move. When it came, however, he was still caught off-guard by the sheer speed of attack. Instead of the forward movement he had anticipated, the one on the right – Feliz – simply raised his left arm, as if to scratch his ear, and there was a weapon in his hand. Without hesitation, he fired, straight at Drake, who whipped his cane up, barely in time. It was an instinctive reaction rather than a deliberate attempt at defence, but it proved at least partially successful. Much of the energy spent itself on the staff’s non-conductive surface. Unfortunately some of the blast still got through to strike his arm. Pain screamed from every fibre. He felt as if the skin were being flayed from his limb, despite what his eyes told him – that the arm had suffered no physical damage.
The cane tumbled from fingers that would no longer obey him, and the arm twitched as his muscles spasmed. A stun blast, and a nasty one. He was just grateful that he hadn’t taken the full blast.
Can’t you do something about the twitching? he asked silently.
I am. Why do you think you’re not a quivering wreck already?
Olly’s two associates were converging on Pelquin, and there was nothing Drake could do about it. He tried, crouching down to reach for the fallen cane with his left hand, but the twitching and his own haste turned the effort into a fumbling and clumsy one.
“I’m sorry, Pel, but what can I do?” he heard Olly say.
Then one of the twin-like pair – Drake had lost track of which was which – spun round and dropped to the ground, crying out. The other followed a split second later, and this time Drake could see the blossoming wound near the man’s shoulder.
A sniper. Drake had assumed Pelquin was being so particular about where they stood to allow clear line of sight for photographs or a recording, perhaps for the purpose of further insurance, but the captain was evidently playing hardball. It had to be Bren. She was the one on the crew with military training and had disappeared from the ship ahead of them that morning.
“What the fuck have you done?” a horrified senator asked. “They weren’t going to kill you.”
“And I haven’t killed them, though that can soon be rectified. If you like, we can make it three bodies as easily as two…”
“Now, come on, Pel, this was nothing personal, you know that.”
“I know, Olly, just business. As is this: the Sanction?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ve got it here, all ready. Given a choice, I would have preferred to just give it to you in the first place, but…” Olly reached into his jacket and produced his perminal. “Everything’s ready, all drawn up. Just needs your retinal scan to confirm acceptance.”
Pelquin gave the details no more than a cursory glance before staring directly into the screen for the scan.
Drake heard the captain’s wrist-worn perminal give a muted chime to indicate an incoming message. Pelquin opened up the document, studied it for a moment and then smiled.
“It’s exactly what you asked for,” the senator said, his attitude transformed into the epitome of obsequiousness.
“So it would seem. Thanks, Olly; it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, as ever.”
“You do realise this is a one use only Sanction? You go into Xter space and you come out again; there’s no going back.”
“One trip is all I’ll need.”
“And, sorry, but I have to say this… Please, don’t screw up. In effect, you’ll be an ambassador for humanity while the Sanction is evoked. If you mess up in any way the potential repercussions don’t bear thinking about.”
An odd time for the senator to get conscientious by Drake’s reckoning, but better late than never.
“Olly,” Pelquin said, “you know you can trust me.”
Following Pelquin’s lead, Drake climbed back into the car, the twitching steadily subsiding and the pain reduced to a widespread ache.
“What do you expect me to do about these two?” Webster called after them. Terrivel was sitting up, one hand clasped to his shoulder, but Feliz appeared to be badly hurt and had hardly moved.
“Not my problem, Olly,” Pelquin replied. “I wasn’t the one who brought them into this.” And with that they drove away.
“You might have warned me,” Drake said.
“Of what? I didn’t know for certain how things would play out. Bren was just there as back-up.”
Like hell said a silent voice in Drake’s head. He couldn’t have agreed more.
They stopped round the corner to let Bren in. She scampered across to the car, clutching a holdall, and Pelquin gunned the engine as soon as she was safely inside.
“Where’s Nate?” she asked.
“He decided to sit this one out.”
She raised an eyebrow but made no further comment.
They were halfway back to the ship when Pelquin received the call. “Shit!” he said in its aftermath.
“What’s happened?”
“Our launch slot has been cancelled. The port authorities have impounded the Comet.”
They parked in front of a large, oblong redbrick block of a building. The legend above the door declared its purpose candidly: Port Authority Police. Bren had already been dropped off, not wanting whatever she had in the bag to be inspected, so just the two of them marched into an over-bright, over-bland reception area, where Pelquin announced himself to the receptionist.
Their arrival brought an immediate response.
Five uniformed figures appeared – four men and a woman. Five seemed a little heavy-handed to Drake, bearing in mind there were only two of them and they had walked in here of their own volition. A deliberate display on the authorities’ part, to demonstrate they meant business. The officer in charge – slightly older than his fellows and, conversely, the only one who didn’t resemble a nightclub bouncer – said, “Captain Pelquin?”
“That’s me,” Pelquin confirmed. “And you would be…?”
“Sergeant Willis, of the Port Authority Police. Captain, I’d appreciate it if you would instruct your crew to open up your ship and make all records available for inspection. They are currently being… less than helpful.”
“With all due respect, sergeant, like hell I will.”
Willis smiled. “Don’t be an arse. We’re going to gain remote access to your systems eventually, with or without your permission. Things will go better for you if you co-operate.”
“What exactly do we stand accused of, Sergeant?”
“The way I hear it, you made an unauthorised departure from New Sparta, recklessly endangering lives and ignoring instructions to abort.”
“That’s bullshit,” Pelquin said, looking suitably outraged.
“Be that as it may, I’m duty bound to investigate the allegations.”
“Sergeant,” Drake spoke up for the first time.
“I’d advise a degree of care here. My employers have a considerable investment in Captain Pelquin’s current venture and will be concerned by any unnecessary delay.”
“Is that so? And you are?”
“Corbin Thaddeus Drake; senior representative of First Solar Bank.”
I like that ‘senior’ bit, Mudball said.
“First Solar, huh? Then I’ll interview you too, Mr Senior Representative, and you can explain to me what your employers’ part is in all this.”
Drake remained deadpan, though the previous evening’s encounter with Alexis had rattled him more than he cared to admit. He’d been circumspect when living on Brannan’s, as was his habit, but he hadn’t been a complete hermit, and last night had proved that the odds should never be taken for granted, no matter how much you thought them stacked in your favour. It only took one person at the wrong place at the wrong time…
Logically, he ought to be safe. He’d declared an officially sanctioned identity to this Sergeant Willis, one that could be confirmed readily enough. There was no need for anyone to look beyond that. And yet, what if they did? What if there was the ghost of an image somewhere on a forgotten system that might be dredged up? He’d been careful in that former life, but had he been careful enough?
The sergeant spoke to his men, indicating Pelquin. “Throw him in a cell, and put this one in the waiting room. Oh, and, Gav, don’t leave him alone in there; okay?”
Drake found himself ushered to a windowless oblong box of a room, totally in keeping with expectations. He settled onto one of a line of moulded, hard plastic chairs set against a wall; each indistinguishable from the next. The hapless officer, Gav, sat down opposite him.
Feeble lighting from a low-energy ceiling strip completed the picture. Drake would have been hard pressed to imagine a more cheerless room had he deliberately set out to design one. If the cells were a step down from this, then God help Pelquin.
Not that Drake minded the sparse surroundings. He was too busy to worry about comfort. He slipped his perminal from his pocket, linked into the local infonet and started to manipulate the touch screen.
He paused at the sound of a chair leg scraping and glanced up to find his guard looking far from comfortable, as if caught in two minds.
“Gavin, isn’t it?” he said quickly and smiled. “Look, Gavin, the sergeant told you to keep me here. He said nothing about my having to sit still and stare at these bare walls all the while, did he?”
“Well, I…”
“So I might as well get some work done while I’m waiting. That’s if you’ve no objection. You have my word that I won’t kick up a fuss or give you any trouble. I’ll just sit here quietly and work.”
“I suppose there’s no harm.”
“Exactly, none at all. Thank you.” With that, Drake bowed his head and went to work, not knowing how much time he had.
The First Solar name had kept him out of a cell for now, but he needed it to do a lot more than that; he needed Sergeant Willis to see both the bank and the representative of that bank standing before him as a significant threat.
“What’s that thing on your shoulder?” Gavin asked, before he could properly begin.
“That? That’s just my genpet, Mudball.”
“Your what?”
“Genpet: genetically engineered pet. They’re all the rage on New Sparta.”
“Oh, right.”
Drake smiled and then bowed over his perminal once more. Can you access this Willis’ personal files? he asked without speaking.
Already done. For a policeman, friend Willis could do with learning a thing or two about personal security.
Drake studied the sergeant’s details and an idea began to take shape. Working feverishly, he spawned search after search, questing for answers both on the web and in the sergeant’s own personal records. As information gathered and a picture began to emerge, Drake was able to refine his initial plan and set about constructing the means of Sergeant Willis’ downfall.
When he was eventually summoned, he strode from the waiting room confident and prepared.
He was taken to a prefab office with windows overlooking the central workspace. The room was slightly on the messy side of neat without quite teetering into the untidy; coffee stains on the desk edge, dust on screens and a generally lived-in feel.
“Drake,” the sergeant greeted with no inflection of either warmth or hostility. “Take a seat.”
After brief hesitation, the banker did so. A 3D picture stood on the man’s desk, double-sided so that the image was visible to the sergeant and his visitors. The picture changed every eight seconds, through a sequence of what were clearly family photos.
“I’m delighted to say that you check out,” though he sounded anything but delighted. “It seems you genuinely are an officer of First Solar Bank and, while they’re not so big around here, we of course wouldn’t want to piss off such an upstanding organisation. So, you won’t be joining your friend in the cells. You’re free to go.”
“Back to the ship?”
“No, not that,” and the sergeant chuckled. “The ship’s off limits. She’s staying right where she is, same as her captain; and if you can do anything to persuade those on board to open up and let us in, so much the better. These are serious charges, and the longer we’re denied lawful access the worse this is gonna be for everyone concerned. And we will get access, even if we have to burn our way through her hull to do so.”
“Ah, then I’m afraid you will be pissing off my employers, very much so. The ship in question and its captain are currently engaged in a business venture directly sponsored by First Solar Bank…”
“Yeah, I heard all about what you’re up to from your pal, Pelquin. Cache hunting, isn’t it? If you ask me, that’s no better than stealing – just grave robbing with a fancy name.”
Drake drew a deep breath. One of those. “I think you’re being a little harsh, sergeant,” he countered, flashing his most disarming smile. “I would say it’s more akin to respectful exploration and recovery, comparable to the uncovering of the Egyptian pyramids back on ancient Earth. At the time, that process greatly improved mankind’s understanding of a once mighty and highly advanced culture. How much more do we stand to gain from increased understanding of the Elders? By reclaiming and examining…”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Willis interrupted, “but it’s still grave robbing in my book, and I’m not sorry to be putting the kibosh on this little venture of yours, wherever you might be bound. First Solar evidently value you, and while that’s good enough to keep you out of a cell for now, it doesn’t mean I have to like the fact.”
Drake allowed himself a cold smile. The sergeant’s attitude made what was coming all the easier. “While I was waiting in your… charming waiting room, I was able to compose a message…”
“Well, I’m glad your time wasn’t completely wasted. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” and Willis waved a hand towards the door. Drake ignored him. He had been watching as the 3D images in the desk frame slipped one to another, waiting for the picture he felt sure must be there to come around, as it now had.
“Is that your home, sergeant?” he asked, indicating the picture.
“What?”
“It’s a lovely place, I must say. I can quite understand why you would be willing to take on such a hefty mortgage to buy it. That must be a worry though, I would have thought – all the money you owe.”
“What? What the fuck business is that of yours? How dare you…”
“The Bulman Welfare Bank; that’s who the mortgage is with, isn’t it? A fine institution, no question. Did you know, by the way, that they’re a wholly owned subsidiary of First Solar Bank? It’s been that way for the best part of, oh, half a century or so. That’s why the First Solar name isn’t especially prominent here on Brannan’s World. Second largest financial institution on the planet, the BWB; why go to all the trouble of establishing our own organisation on Brannan’s when all we had to do was take over an e
xisting one?”
“I don’t know what…”
“Fascinating things, mortgages – complex financial instruments. Did you read the small print when you signed up for yours? No? I’m not surprised; few people do; there’s so much of it, isn’t there? All that legal jargon and niggling details – not worth bothering with, are they? Or perhaps they are. A clause that perhaps you should have read is the one that allows the lender – BWB in this instance – to call in a loan at any time without justification. Not a clause that’s often activated, of course, but you know how banks like to cover all the bases.”
“Now just hang on a minute…” An indignant Willis was craning forward and looked set to stand up, but Drake hadn’t finished and the policeman froze as if pinned to the spot as the banker renewed his verbal assault.
“I gather your wife was working when you applied for the mortgage – very useful, having a double income like that. How many years is it now since she gave up work? Two, or is it closer to three? Of course, you could always try for a replacement mortgage with another bank, but you’d never be able to borrow anywhere near as much based on your salary alone, even with the pay rises. Still,” and Drake smiled, “you could always move to somewhere smaller. A lot smaller.”
“You bastard. How dare you threaten me!” Willis was on his feet now, pointing dramatically at the door. “Get out of my office now or I’ll have you thrown in the cells no matter who you work for.”
Pelquin, however, was just warming up. “I’m glad you raised the matter of offices,” he said, easing back into the chair and crossing his right leg nonchalantly over his left. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, that every single building around here, from the warehouses and distribution centres to the headquarters of all the various port authorities, even this impressive edifice we’re sitting in right now, is owned by the same company: the Victoria Port Property Management Company, to be precise. Very smart move that, keeping hold of all the land around the port when it was first established – worth a fortune now, of course. So, everyone, from commercial interests to civil departments, rents from the VPPMC; who, incidentally, are a subsidiary of the Corkhill Property Assets Association, who themselves are a subsidiary of the Brannan Property Company, which are owned by an outfit called Lassiter Holdings, which is part of the Hoffman Group, which, it might surprise you to learn, is owned by… First Solar Bank. Are you sensing a pattern here?
