‘On to business then,’ he smiled wide. ‘You may know me as Jerrus Armelius. These are my associates,’ he said turning to his right and nodding to the biggest of them, ‘Dwight Mortel,’ and to the left, ‘and John Ripley.’
Dwight and John nodded in unison. Caspian acknowledged with a returned nod.
Dwight was very still; his shoulders wide and without slack, seemingly always on guard. The bio-salon regenerated some facial hair around the sideburns but it looked far too neat a cut to have been by a hand razor. His large jaw and thick nose looked like it had been through a mallet workshop, the forgery of years of cage fighting. John was a little less intimidating, with quite a friendly smile and a spark of intelligence in his eyes. He had a crop, slap n’ go hair cut that was only usually sported by military types. Caspian knew by the way they were looking at him and Kelly they were using ocular relays to record and assess them.
‘So,’ said Jerrus, ‘you’re after drills, aren’t you?’
‘Yer s’roite,’ said Caspian, ‘maderafekt wi need sumthinke reel soleed, I’m tawkink sheet dat cuts through nanocarbon, yew deeg?’
‘Oh yes,’ Jerrus and his pals laughed, ‘oh yes...we dig for sure. Digging is one thing we do all too well.’
Estelle was smiling furtively behind a fall of smoke that swirled through the lurid light of the club. John Ripley’s attention seemed only mildly engaged, his eyes were off in the distance, analysing their surroundings, keeping watch.
‘Let’s talk about our offers.’ Said Jerrus.
John and Dwight set their whiskey tumblers aside and activated the holograms on the table. Several animated versions of Harbeck and Co’s drilling hardware catalogued before them.
‘Talk to me about what kind of equipment you’ll need. You’re going to love this,’ he added, side-tracking slightly as the catalogue animated systemic features of the drills. ‘I used to be an explosives expert. True story, a real explosives expert, when I was in service for the Syridan army. I was one of the front runners playing around with cavitation fusion. Have you ever heard about cavitation?’
Kelly and Caspian shook their heads.
‘If you ride in a speedboat the propeller eventually erodes in the water. The bubbles that are formed are actually hot enough to make the propeller fin look like Swiss-cheese, my favourite cheddar by the way. We figured one day that if the collapsing bubbles can get so hot, then are we talking about a kind of energy here? Pistol shrimps use the same technique, the power of a collapsing bubble. Cavitation bombs blow holes in the mantle on some locals moons, if it vibrates, we can shake it...ha ha, was our motto, I think.’
‘Wi dunt want anythinke like thet.’ Caspian explained.
‘Well what type of earth are you drilling through?’ Dwight asked.
Caspian turned to Kelly. ‘You’ve ghot the eenfo, roite?’
Kelly compliantly removed a data polymer from her pocket and unpacked the translucent pad from a plastic cartridge. From it, several data charts and diagrams bloomed into existence for them all to see, interpreted by the table’s projection screens. The data covered everything, earth minerals, acidity, aridity, coarse grain, sediment types, lithification materials, depth coordination charts and intended area in square metres. Jerrus Armelius analysed the data closely.
‘Where are you digging?’ John tried again.
‘I told you, its top secret.’
‘Is it for gold?’
‘Sut!’ said Caspian, ‘ind iznut fir diamonds either, men.’
‘Then, what is it for?’ Dwight pressed pensively.
‘What ees this, ai fukken interrogasen or sumthinke?’
‘A lot less painful,’ John Ripley smirked. ‘For you.’
‘Eets nut yer beesness where wi graft, ek-se! Jost sell us the goods!’
‘According to these charts you’re going really deep.’ Said Harbeck, ‘so you’ll need something strong that can build vertical support struts above it. You’ll also need sediment displacement fields. I’m assuming you’ll want to repeat this dig so…’
‘Sut oke, wi jost need de wun deeg, sha.’
‘Just the one dig?’ Jerrus inquired.
‘Yes,’ Caspian said clearly. ‘Wi ghot ah pletfum an awl de necessities wi jos ni de elemints.’
‘Which are what?’
‘Obsiduranium edge borers.’ Kelly divulged.
Harbeck’s visage drooped to a displeased frown. He sat back and closed down the holograms.
‘That technology is highly regulated by Oligarchy hands and the black alloy is very, very carefully monitored. Even if I could get you the equipment, I’d have spies all over my ass and I simply can’t afford to draw attention to myself in my line of work.’
‘Also, Obsiduranium is too dangerous on Earth,’ Dwight explained.
‘Ah thet’s dwass!’ Caspian furiously snapped, ‘c’mon now Ie know yew ken flog us thet material, it was leested on yore iteenary when wi ferst ghot in touch. Wi guot saifty margins men! It’s a smawl amount of blek alloy, okai?’
John leaned over to whisper in Jerrus’ ear. Low frequency infrasound thumping through the club revived the atmosphere from one of business to a euphoric plateau. Kelly waited anxiously.
‘Okay,’ said Jerrus, ‘I’ll get you the Obsiduranium edge drills and we can negotiate a deal. What is your budget?’
‘Wier contracted to five million Atomons.’
‘I’m afraid that your budget isn’t going to cover the whole price I’m offering.’
‘Weil how much, aah?’ Caspian pressed impatiently.
‘We can discuss that at a later date,’ Jerrus smiled deviously. ‘I will take the five million as a deposit and the Obsiduranium will be a rental, once you’re done with your dig operation you will be contractually obliged to return the drills to us.’
‘Wait,’ said Kelly, pulling Caspian aside from the table ‘no way, Caspian don’t even consider that offer. We’ve come here to buy not to do shady deals. We can’t go on jumping from pocket to pocket like this. Supposing he starts dropping interest rates in our lap?’
‘We’ll have an official contract,’ Dwight assured, overhearing her concerns. ‘You’ll sign it, after reading the details. There are no interest rates on this transaction.’
‘That’s right,’ Jerrus confirmed, ‘we want to keep our customers not cripple them. And if your investment is worth it, as you claim it is, then who knows what fortune you’ll dig up from the earth. We want you happy with our service and happy to return for other business agreements…ya dig?’
‘But the profit from our dig isn’t for us, it will only cover our past debts,’ said Kelly, ‘most of it is going to our financer. The rest is tied up.’
‘We’ll take care of your debts,’ Jerrus sanguinely offered.
‘Why?’ asked Kelly with an incredulous laugh.
‘What’s the name of your starnavis?’ He asked.
‘The Griffin’s Claw,’ she replied stiffly.
‘Nice name.’ Said Ripley.
‘It’s a nice starnavis shuttle,’ she responded.
‘I wunteed to kawl eet the Bulaweyo.’ Caspian added.
‘And that was never going to happen,’ said Kelly, ‘anyway, what’s this about, why are we talking about my ship?’
‘Well,’ said John Ripley, ‘your starnavis is of interest to us.’
‘You are not taking my ship!’ Said Kelly standing up. ‘That’s my ship! Mine! It’s not part of this deal so don’t even consider treating that as collateral!’
‘We don’t want to take it,’ said Jerrus with jolly mirth, ‘merely commandeer it.’
‘What’s the difference?’ she snapped.
‘Wait...yew wun tu commandeer eet?’ Caspian inquired. ‘Who thi fuk ah yew goys?’
‘For now, you know all you need to know,’ Estelle said. ‘Just be aware that you’re in a very fortunate position and you should both think carefully about what you’re being offered.’
‘Speaking of our offer,’ said
Jerrus, ‘using the drills you’re going to need positive mass calibrations for the Obsiduranium alloy, naturally the only fuel for that is positronic. Who is dealing with the antimatter to power these things?’
‘They already have positronic calibrators,’ said Kelly, ‘a few grams of the stuff. They have fuel, they have the over-seers. What they don’t have is black-allow edge drills. That’s all we’re here to acquire.’
‘We are not the law,’ said Jerrus, ‘we are not any form of Atominii mandate. Our methods are a bit more maverick so we promise you to best quality service. I’m just being careful, that’s all. Sounds like whoever is buying these drills has a powerful organisation.’ Jerrus simpered. ‘Let’s do the deal. A rental of drills for a commandeering of your starnavis. All your debts covered, wiped clear, all your past sins absolved.’
‘Your friend Scuttle destroyed a starnavis, didn’t he?’ asked John Ripley. ‘He purged the core into the environment and overheated the reactor, didn’t he? That’s a life service just to pay off. We’re prepared to pardon you of this debt if the trade goes well.’
Astounded, Kelly nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again.
‘Shit!’ She sighed. ‘Right…but commandeer my ship for what purpose?’
‘Research,’ said Jerrus. ‘Did you know The Griffin’s Claw has a very special shielding system? Apparently, it was designed as a secret project by Willow Kruger towards the end of her life.’
‘No,’ said Kelly. ‘I didn’t know that. Look, this ship is my inheritance, it had nothing to do with Willow Kruger. You’ve got the wrong boat.’
‘And I assure you,’ Ripley smiled, ‘that we didn’t.’
‘Ey, I wunna chik yer portfolio.’ Caspian suddenly demanded. ‘I wunna know thet yew reilee are who yew sai.’
‘We can provide you with our past contracts and you are free to look at them, check up on our more official HQ. Business is a matter of trust.’ Jerrus leaned forward, his face turning serious. ‘…I am willing to bet if you approach another company, they will sound the alarms on your illegal operation, make it conscious to the authorities and then swipe it from under your nose to get for their own profit, which makes us, literally, your last hope.’
‘Well played,’ said Kelly smoothly, understanding the threat. ‘Mr Jerrus, and what if we do approach another company?’
‘If you betray our trust then we betray yours.’
‘Bung!’ Caspian scoffed.
Jerrus hitched forward and took the neck of the champagne bottle and unwound the cork frame.
‘Not interested in your dig,’ He reiterated. ‘Just your ship. These are our terms.’
Kelly and Caspian’s eyes met for a brief moment. They weren’t being bought, this was unmitigated blackmail. They’d been snared from the start, and as it finally dawned on Caspian, he turned to Estelle to see the woman holding up a glass, awaiting a friendly cheers. All that suddenly existed on the table was the illusion of choice, and they knew it.
‘Wier nut signing anythinke until wi fully undastend de kuntrekt agreement.’ Caspian said.
‘Also,’ Kelly added, ‘the final decision doesn’t come from us, but our financer. We need to speak with them first.’
‘Of course,’ Jerrus nodded, ‘take your time. It’ll take a few hours to arrange to get the drills to the Omicron station anyway, maybe a little longer to get them aboard your starnavis. We have a lot of storage already on the Archimedes Two station.’ Jerrus said with a proud smile, then held the bottle steady in his hands and raised his brows expectantly. ‘Well, are we good to do business?’ Jerrus pressed.
Caspian read the concern in Kelly’s eyes, hiding behind her attempt at a composed demeanour.
‘Charteir da Greeffin’s Clow?’ Caspian repeated. ‘Et leist ail offeshalee be ai keptin again.’
Kelly nodded irresolutely, casting her compunctious eyes away. Caspian also nodded. Jerrus hollered jovially and popped the cork. The champagne foamed. The glasses chimed.
-42-
When the burger press dispensed the cooked worm-meat and melted cheese, two clamps snapped closed, wedging it between the toasted buns. The burger slid towards Scuttle on a magnetic plate and he pinched it between his fingers, like a crab with a jellyfish, and bit into it feverishly. Screw it if it’s a worm burger, he couldn’t give a damn, the disappointment of this journey had given him a hell of an appetite.
The atmosphere was jocose.
The general cacophony of murmurs and laughter, the meat sizzling as it passed through the automated cooking press, the clatter of cutlery sliding along magnetic rails to and from customers; the click and clatter of billiard balls. Scuttle glared around over the top of his burger, lower mandible masticating in wide circular motions; a rotary piston on cruise control. After some rubbernecking, he spotted a couple of women playing billiards under the soft light panel and thought about how he would introduce himself. If there was one thing he hated, it was embarrassing introductions like: how’s the game going or so are you here on business or pleasure? Too often had he been snubbed by the smart, independent types to keep trying the same shitty remarks again, only to be disappointed by the scorn, the mockery: and the cold shoulder of injustice. This time things would be different. He imagined this time he would smoothly mooch on over there, announce his potential millionaire business deal and maybe even talk them onto looking around his shuttle The Griffin’s Claw. Maybe they were Cymorgs. Oh, it would be so much easier to talk to them if they were Cymorgs. It was his culture, and it had been too long since he’d heard the bass vocals and digital articulations. If they were Cymorgs, he’d woo them into his room like he was Captain Mowser and…
‘Is this seat taken?’
Scuttle turned around.
A giant of a man, towering almost seven feet, according to ocular relays, glared down his nose at Scuttle. Passenger One Zero One fed back into his eyesight, Omicron’s minimum transparency regulation. Long black hair draped around his face, freshly reconstructed by the gene salons, drawing his features into darkness, hollowing out the cheeks as only his lips and chin caught the light like well grooved features in alabaster. A small seat was available to Scuttle’ immediate right. The burger bar was looking fairly busy everywhere else; they were squeezing in from the personnel chutes. Scuttle forced a smile and nodded.
Raven slowly set himself down, straining the seat’s resin mechanisms.
He looked at the option menu screen that appeared in streams of light before him, then ignorantly turned away from it and focussed his attention on Scuttle. He could feel the giant’s glare burning into his side and felt his anxieties begin to buoy. Scuttle cleared his throat and bit into his burger again, angling his attention to an uninteresting part of the bar and cursing his luck for having his original view of women playing billiards now obscured by the biggest man on Omicron.
The laconic giant sat immutably still, his glare ever piercing and prominent.
A moment passed before Scuttle reached out and activated the holographic panel screen, switching the options to news updates. An article opened on the screen about the latest furore concerning the Kyklos disaster in the Suntau system. The disaster had first unfolded over an Earth decade ago with the changing mass of a star in supernova. Hundreds of thousands died in the unmitigated disaster, many just days ago in relative space time, a disaster, the report claimed, that was still unfolding over twelve years later. The Suntau star’s nova blast was enough to destroy an Arc Station, one much larger than Omicron, called Kyklos. Solar Navy Bravo had been selected for the humanitarian effort to save its people, under the permitted commission of SkyLord Kent Gallows. A female reporter from The Randian was speaking about the refugees being transported from the Suntau system back to Earth.
‘Some of the refugees will be welcomed in light of Earth’s global problems,’ she announced, ‘the Kyklos was one of the first arc ships to exodus Earth’s orbit against the will of its government at the time, the Old Oligarchy, a spectacular event th
at caused the Solitaire wars. These cultures have developed in deep space and have valuable knowledge on alien worlds and exotic stars and, most importantly, a cooperation that enabled them to rely upon each other for generations. We here, at The Randian, are issuing corporations around the world to assist in housing these communities and welcome home the non-Olympian celestial drifters for neurophasing and Titan care. More on this story…’
‘I seek of Caspian Mowser,’ the giant finally spoke.
Scuttle stopped chewing and swallowed a large lump of compressed spiced worm meat.
‘What?’
‘I know of you as Lukas McGill,’ Raven said, ‘although your comrades more affectionately refer to thee as Scuttle, specialist in computing, electronics, magnonic and gravito tailoring and a cyber-phonetic composer.’
Scuttle was staring up, open pupils sucking in all the light.
‘Yeah…’ he said meekly, seemingly unaware of the depth of his own resume. ‘I’ve got a lot of qualifications.’
‘As do I,’ Raven said wolfishly. ‘Yet, my radical experience holds true to a qualified killer. Might I not be so vicariously encumbered in the affairs of belligerent men, my gifts may well have eschewed the harvesting of beating hearts for want of a more palatable career. Be at ease, however, your Captain is not one of my targets.’
‘Then why do you want to see him?’ Scuttle dared to ask uneasily.
‘For passport to the lands of Adam.’
Scuttle stared blankly as the mustard oozed from his burger.
Raven waited for the cogitating and fearful young man to realise his words, but the process was taking far too long.
Chaos Cipher Page 41
