Empire of Dust

by Jacey Bedford

  They turned two sharp corners and came out into an open square of condos built right up to the blue-sky-roof. There was no shelter anywhere, but there were several alleys leading off.

  *Not far now.* Ben took the one on the left, close to the point they’d entered. They walked quickly, going rimward, parallel to the first alley, and came out into an area of houses surrounded by high walls with gardens. A willow drooped over mock brickwork and a brightly colored bird fluttered in its branches.

  Cara’s breath rasped in her throat. She was almost at the end of her strength.

  *There should be an opening somewhere ahead. Yes, there it is.* Ben didn’t waste time looking behind. If their pursuer had a good sight line, they’d probably be dead already. Two more turns and Cara felt a wave of satisfaction from him as he found what he was looking for, the entrance to a narrow passage and, partway down it, a solid, unmarked door.

  *Here.* He jerked Cara to a standstill.

  She sagged against the high wall, her knees trembling.

  The door had a metal grille at head height. Ben tapped on it and it slid open immediately.

  “Speak.” A voice came out of the grille.

  “Thornhill renaissance,” Ben said and glanced over his shoulder. *I hope that code’s still good.*

  Cara hoped so, too. She couldn’t go on much further. If he had to carry her, he couldn’t deal with whoever was following. She suddenly realized that she never for one minute thought he’d leave her behind to save himself. The thought warmed her.

  The door slid aside to reveal a tall man in a buddysuit, a professional enforcer.

  Ben nodded a silent greeting and motioned sideways with his head to indicate they were being followed. He pushed Cara through the gate and into the safety of an enclosed patio garden, lush with tropical ferns and palms.

  “One moment,” he said softly.

  Cara grabbed the arm of the stranger to steady herself, then bent over, hands on knees, concentrating on not passing out. She heard the soft click of the gate as Ben launched himself into the alleyway, but by the time she looked up, he’d gone.

  Had he been armed? She couldn’t remember. With heart pounding, she lurched forward and wrenched open the gate, but she was too late to help. It was all over.

  Chapter Six

  DISGUISE

  All packed. Victor Lorient waited for the transport to take them to the final press conference, Rena and Danny at his side, smart in clothes they would abandon after today.

  “All right?” he asked.

  In answer, Rena grasped his hand and squeezed. “This is the last hurdle.”

  The door screen announced the arrival of the VIP auto, complete with a uniformed steward. Jack Mario was already inside the copious rear of the luxury vehicle, his stocky figure occupying a back corner.

  Danny bounced in and flopped down next to Jack with a broad grin. “Hello, Mr. Mario. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, Danny.” Jack had a soft spot for the boy and went through Danny’s exaggerated handshaking routine as if it was normal. Shake, shake, fistbump, shake, shake.

  Victor and Rena stepped into the auto and settled themselves opposite Jack and Danny. The steward held the door politely, poured them champagne, and then retired to the front compartment.

  Danny sniffed his, jerked his head back in surprise at the bubbles up his nose, and looked to Rena for permission. She nodded and sipped her own glass slowly. Danny copied her movements, but screwed his face up at the taste.

  “Director Lorient.” Jack downed his own champagne in one gulp as though it was water, coughed, and started again. “I’ve been checking figures with Mr. Crowder on Chenon. The uplink they’ve provided has been excellent. He’ll be at the press conference via a holo-link and wanted to know if you needed to speak to him privately before it all kicked off.”

  Victor shook his head, wondering whether psi-techs could sense anything over a holo-link.

  “Mr. Crowder promised me I could go flying!” Danny shoved his still-full glass into Jack’s hand and bounced up and down in excitement, interrupting their low-voiced conversation. “On Olyanda.”

  “What? Oh, yes, flying,” Victor said. “I’d forgotten.”

  Jack smiled at Danny and continued, “Everything’s A-okay for departure tomorrow. I know how you feel about psi-techs, Director, but I’ve done all I can to minimize contact for you.”

  “Thank you, Jack. What would we do without you?”

  “Will there be psi-techs at the press conference?” Rena asked.

  “Gunther Paxton has flown in from Berlin to sign the Olyanda contract on behalf of the Five Power Alliance. I believe he has a receiving implant.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Victor, isn’t it?” Rena’s doe eyes were pleading with him. God, she was still beautiful, even with the pressure of caring for Danny these last eighteen years.

  “A receiver? You’re sure that’s all he is?” Victor couldn’t stand to see Rena upset, not when they were balancing on the threshold of the future. “Then I’ll be fine.” He turned back to Jack. “You take the first part of the conference; handle all the administrative details. Let Rena talk about her work with the families, and I’ll finish it off from the Ecolibrian angle.”

  “All right.” Jack sounded almost surprised.

  Victor laughed. “Sorry, I know we have to work with the psi-techs. I wanted this to be a hundred percent perfect and we’ve reached ninety-nine. Under the circumstances, we could have done a lot worse. You’re much more of an optimist than I am, Jack. You can present this in a much better way than I can, and you worked just as hard for it as I did.”

  They arrived at the Trust’s office on the north shore of the Thames and were ushered through the impressive double doors to the press suite with its crystal clear window overlooking the kilometer-wide river spanned by the hundred-year-old glass bridge, which looked like something from a child’s fairy tale.

  Victor did a double take because Gabrius Crowder was sitting on the podium already. Then he realized it was only a hologram. Even so, he could see every detail of Crowder’s bulky body, with its folds of ill-fitting skin showing above the neck of his formal suit.

  Danny bounced forward. “Hi, Mr. Crowder.”

  “Hello, Danny.” Crowder smiled.

  There was barely a hesitation despite the distance between Chenon and Earth. The holo-link must be being beamed via an open jump gate.

  “Gunther Paxton will present you with a parchment copy of the contract and the transfer of ownership for Olyanda so that the journalists can see you sign it publicly.” Crowder waved his own copy. “They like capturing real historic moments, so I don’t think there’s any need to tell them that the original was signed and ratified yesterday, do you?”

  “Not at all.” Victor already had his copy of the document filed safely in Geneva. Nothing could break that contract. He felt safe enough to smile back at Crowder while mentally counting, as he always did in the presence of psi-techs: two hundred and sixty-five; thirty-three; six hundred and seventy.

  “Thanks for letting me sit in,” Crowder said. “The press always gets technical details wrong, so I’m really only here to field those sort of questions, though feel free to throw anything over to me that you don’t want to handle.”

  “It’s time.” Jack checked the antique-style timepiece on his wrist that had replaced his handpad when they’d all had the little devices surgically removed.

  They took their place on one side of a long table facing down the length of the room. Victor was in the center with Danny on his right and Rena beyond Danny. On his left were Jack and Gunther Paxton with Crowder to the far left looking almost as real as the rest of them.

  “Ready,” Jack said, and the doors swung open to admit the world’s press.

  They rushed in, jostling for the front rows of chairs.

  The contract was signed and handed over with due ceremony and the journalists allowed their questions.

  “Director L
orient, tell us about the new colony. What will it be called?” one woman in the front row asked.

  “It’s called Olyanda,” Danny, sitting between his parents, shouted out before Victor had time to answer. Victor saw Rena’s hand twitch at Danny’s sleeve almost imperceptibly and Danny sat back, but not before there was a ripple of approval round the room. The reporters all liked Danny. His guileless personality seemed to bring out the best in people.

  “Danny’s right.” Victor smiled his Sunday-best smile. “Olyanda is the name of the planet. Jack Mario, our chief administrator, will tell you more about it.”

  Jack stood up and assembled his notes. “Olyanda was first designated as a potential colony planet three hundred years ago when the gate technology opened up that sector of the galaxy. It’s a little cooler than Earth, but temperate around the equatorial band. We’re not going to have much technology to start off with, so everything will be based on a sustainable agricultural lifestyle.”

  “How are your people going to cope with living agricultural lives in a pre-industrial civilization?”

  Jack answered again. “We’ve never made any pretense that life on Olyanda will be easy, but all our colonists know what they’re letting themselves in for and they’ve been training for the last year. Ecolibrians are pro-ecology, so our machines will be human muscles, spades, plows, and the wheel. In preparation, our people have already begun to wean themselves off their handpads.” He held up his own hand to show off his timepiece. “This is my tech now. It’s called a wristwatch and it’s a mechanical timepiece. All it does is tell the time of day. We’ve even got a couple of our colonists who have learned to be clockmakers. We have revived a lot of old skills set aside half a millennium ago. Even our medics have had to retrain in the use of old techniques. Many of our people are already living in our Readiness Communes located all around the world. I believe some of you have visited our camp on the Isle of Arran. All our colonists have undergone physical and mental fitness tests before being allowed to buy into the expedition. Of course, for the first year we’ll have the benefit of some technology because our psi-tech setup crew will help us to get established.”

  “Isn’t the use of psi-techs against your beliefs?” The question from the back hit home.

  Everyone in the room looked toward Victor for the answer. He pressed his lips together and tried not to give his feelings away. Empaths often made great reporters. They asked leading questions and then sucked your own emotions out of you until they dried you out from the inside.

  He cleared his throat. “We do, of course, look to a bright future with no psi-techs; however, futures have to be built, and we will build ours carefully. We’ve tried to balance creed against need. Right now, here on Earth, we live and work among psi-techs every day of the week. You might be psi-tech yourself. I could have a conversation with you and never know it. I don’t think we’re asking too much of our people to live and work with psi-techs. It’s only for one short year. After that they’ll leave and take their technology with them, and then we’ll have the rest of our lives to live and grow as our conscience demands. Next question.”

  “Why did you choose to go with the Trust’s tender, rather than Alphacorp?”

  “We believe the Trust offers excellent value for money and that they will do a good job on our behalf.”

  “Have you made any special provision for children?” one woman asked.

  Rena leaned forward. “We’re taking complete family groups. No one under six, of course, because of the age restrictions inherent in the cryogenic process. And though we fully recognize the value of our most senior citizens, the settler life is physically tough, so we capped the upper age limit at sixty. I’ve been working with families to prepare them for what’s to come.”

  “Are there any dangerous animals on Olyanda?”

  Thank goodness it wasn’t a question that Victor needed to worry about. Crowder stepped in to answer it.

  Victor felt sweat prickling on his brow. Balancing need against creed would be the biggest trial of his life. Rena leaned across and briefly touched the back of his hand in a much needed gesture of support.

  It was easy to preach against technology, but another thing altogether to abandon the safety of it. At what point did technology become unacceptable? Where, in the long history of mankind, had they stepped over the boundary of good technology: the invention of the wheel; the splitting of the atom; the blast-off into outer space; the unlocking of the genetic code; a cure for cancer; the use of antigravity technology; the discovery of foldspace?

  Crowder was still talking: “. . . So there are very few creatures on Olyanda that would threaten a human, though, of course, there can always be surprises. Our surveys have been broad sweeps so far. More detailed work will be done during the settlement year. We’re sending an experienced team of professionals, led by Commander Reska Benjamin.”

  “Would that be Ben Benjamin?” the woman in the front row called out. “The guy who lost the Hera-3 colony?”

  “And the one who got hauled up before a tribunal for running the Daystar blockade with some Burnish refugees?” the man behind her asked.

  Crowder leaned forward. “There were no grounds in law for the Daystar charges and Commander Benjamin was exonerated of all blame in the Hera-3 investigation. His record is exemplary. You’re trying to dredge up a sensation where there isn’t one.”

  “Yeah, that’s old news,” one of the pressmen shouted from the back.

  “Do you envisage any problems between the settlers and the psi-techs?” A young man with an earnest haircut took the opportunity to fire a question at the panel.

  “None.” Jack fielded the question.

  Crowder nodded in agreement. “The psi-techs are there in a professional capacity. There won’t be any social interaction between the settlers and their tech crews.”

  “You mean no half-breed psi-techs left behind at the end of the year to muck up the gene pool?” A sharp-featured man spelled it out.

  “Something like that.” Crowder smiled and his dewlaps rippled.

  Victor heard one or two uncouth comments and tried to fight a rising urge to scream.

  Jack stood and faced the crowd. “I think that’s all we have time for today on the Q and A. I’m going to hand it over to Director Lorient to say a few final words.”

  He held out one hand to indicate that the floor was Victor’s.

  Victor stood up and took a deep breath. He hadn’t prepared this speech. Things often went better if he didn’t.

  “Friends, the Ecolibrian philosophy is about respect. Respect for each other and respect for the world we live in. Centuries ago, when our founders first formalized the tide of feeling that we were damaging not only our environment, but our souls, with our carelessness of the world around us, we gathered together. The media laughed at us and called us tree huggers, but in spite of everything the Ecolibrians gained strength.

  “On Olyanda we will no longer be Ecolibrians, we will be Olyandans.”

  He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, please wish us well in our new life.”

  • • •

  Ben let the door slide almost closed. Their stalker had made a big mistake. He gave in to a surge of anger, let it bump up his adrenaline levels, then pushed it back. Anger was useful, but it could also make you stupid, and leaving a trail of bodies behind, even on Crossways, wasn’t a good idea. He reached into a concealed thigh pocket and drew out a slim parrimer blade, activated it, and felt the hilt mold to the natural shape of his hand. The razor-sharp blade glowed and the end of the hilt mushroomed out slightly into a dome which emerged from the outside edge of his curled fist like the end of a miniature dumbbell. It was a small weapon, but dangerous at both ends. He waited silently, content that Mother Ramona’s enforcer was letting him play it his own way. He concentrated, listening for the slightest disturbance outside. There! He heard a soft footfall, and a shadow flickered across the gap.

  Ben reached inside himself and
found the anger again.

  He opened the door quickly and stepped through into the alleyway. His opponent, a thickset man with mousy hair, had a bolt gun held ready, but pointing forward in his right hand. His mistake.

  Coming from the left, Ben delivered one blow just below Mousy Hair’s ear with the parrimer hilt and, with the other hand, twisted his arm until the gun fell from nerveless fingers. Then he backed him up against the alley wall, stamped down hard on the man’s left foot with his right, and kept all his weight on it. He thrust the parrimer blade to the man’s throat, the tip already glowing with enough energy to slice through his windpipe and cook his jugular into a blood sausage before the wound stained his suit.

  The gate opened, but Ben didn’t let it distract him.

  The enforcer picked up the fallen bolt gun and clicked on the safety. A bolt gun was powerful, but lacking in finesse at close quarters, so the man was probably a thief and not a professional assassin.

  “I don’t like being followed,” Ben said, holding the parrimer blade close enough so that Mousy Hair could feel the heat. “Who sent you?”

  “No one. I work solo.”

  “Then no one will miss you.” The blade edged closer.

  “Wait.” Mousy Hair burned his own chin as he spoke and his head jerked back, eyes wide. Ben eased the blade away slightly, but held it ready.

  “Conroy. I work for Conroy,” Mousy Hair said.

  Ben looked at Cara, who had grabbed hold of the gatepost to stay upright. “Conroy? Mean anything?”

  She shook her head.

  He looked at the enforcer. “Conroy?”

  “Small-time.”

  Ben nodded, adrenaline evaporating. “He’s just an opportunist, then. I’ll let you deal with him.”