Escape from Olympus (The Falken Chronicles Book 2)

by Piers Platt

  Greban nodded. “We launched two years ago next month.”

  “What’s that? Six years?” Falken shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “And what did you do before coming to Olympus?” she asked.

  Falken and Greban shared a brief look. “Uh, well – I got my degree in xenobiology, and served on a handful of planetary exploration vessels as an ecologist. Before that I was a professional fighter, actually. Back when it was still a sanctioned sport.”

  “Ever try fighting a dragon?” Murrisen asked.

  Falken shook his head. “Not for very long.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly found your niche now,” the woman said. “Mr. Greban was very smart to poach you. This trip far exceeded my expectations thanks to your expertise and skill.”

  Several of the other guests nodded.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Falken said, blushing. He nodded toward Greban. “We make a good team.”

  “You certainly do.”

  “Well, with that …” Greban smiled and rose from the table, then gestured to the large, curved vidscreen at the front of the room. “I think it’s time for the formal ceremony. First off, Falken and I would like to thank all of you for joining us here at Ecolympus. We love our jobs, and hopefully that’s evident in what you’ve all experienced over the last few days.”

  “Hear, hear!” Murrisen’s father said, slapping the table with his palm.

  “Thank you. Please consider joining us again, or telling your friends about our tours,” Greban said. “Now, we like to end every tour by watching a little highlight reel of your trip – you’ll all be receiving a copy of this video before you leave. But we also like to have a little fun by giving out ‘Tour Awards.’ Think of them like high school yearbook categories, except applied to this trip. Everyone gets an award, and the prize is …” Greban crossed the room and took a small, wooden box off of a shelf under the vidscreen, “… this.”

  Greban held the lacquered box up to show a small engraved plaque on top, and then opened the lid to reveal a black satin interior, on which sat a jagged-edged dragon tooth. The tooth was bone-white, polished to a high shine, and nearly four inches long. A hush fell over the guests.

  “It’s real?” Murrisen asked.

  “The genuine article,” Greban confirmed. “The dragons grow new sets every few years, and the Conservation Department gave us a harvesting exemption to pick up the old, discarded ones. You won’t get into any trouble with Customs on your way out, don’t worry.” Greban handed the box to Falken, who stood up and cleared his throat.

  “The first award is our most prestigious. We call it ‘The Last Man Standing,’ given to that guest who consistently manages to outlive the rest.”

  “That would be you, Falken,” the older woman said.

  “Fal-ken! Fal-ken!” another guest chanted.

  “No, I’m not eligible,” Falken said, waving them away. “I’ve had too much practice. But this trip, I think the choice is clear. I nominate Murrisen.”

  “Seconded!” the boy’s father said, beaming and clapping his son across the back. Murrisen blushed.

  “Murr-i-sen! Murr-i-sen!” the first guest chanted, and the others joined him.

  Falken handed the young man the box. Murrisen shook his hand. “Thanks.”

  “Well deserved,” Greban said. “Okay. The next award … let’s see. What does this one say? Ah, yes – somewhat the opposite, in fact. The ‘Redshirt’ award goes to that guest who always seemed to get eaten the moment they stepped off the truck ….”

  Chapter 3

  “Mr. Cadellium, you promised a twenty-two percent rate of return on this fund,” the investor said, scowling at Cadellium through the vidscreen. “So far, returns have not lived up to that mark. Not by a long shot.”

  Cadellium smiled to hide his annoyance. “And I’ll deliver against that promise, over the long term,” he assured the man. Like the rest of the men on the conference call, Cadellium wore a tailored, three-piece suit – his was dark gray, with a red silk tie. His gray hair was slicked back over his head and pulled into a short pony tail at the back. “So far our early acquisitions have not panned out as we had hoped. But the fund still has a good deal of capital to deploy,” he said, lying through his smile.

  “Where do you intend to invest the remaining capital?” another man asked.

  Cadellium turned to face the man’s vidscreen. “We’ll be pursuing the same strategy. Gentlemen, you aren’t paying me to suddenly change course when the going gets tough. We’ll continue to invest in private pharmaceutical companies with strong research and development pipelines.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me,” the first investor said. “Doubling down on bad bets is not a sound strategy. I’ll be requesting the return of my capital, thank you.”

  Good luck with that, Cadellium thought. I’ve already spent every penny of it. “Of course,” he said instead. “My team will be happy to refund your capital, though it may take some time. As you know, these companies are highly illiquid.”

  “I expect to be refunded out of the capital you haven’t yet deployed,” the investor barked. “And quickly.”

  Cadellium nodded. “As you wish.”

  The investor signed off, and his vidscreen went dark. Damn it. Lost another one.

  “Have there been any losses of capital?” another investor asked.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘losses,’ ” Cadellium said. “But some bumps are to be expected along the road. This is a high-risk market. Small companies fail. But those that succeed more than make up for those that do not.”

  “So there have been losses?” the investor pressed.

  “Yes, some,” Cadellium confirmed, keeping his voice even. “But I’m very excited about our latest venture. This company has tremendous upside potential.”

  “What is their specialty?”

  “I’m afraid I have to keep that a secret for now,” Cadellium said. “But the drug in question would be a bona fide blockbuster, with trillions of dollars in sales. Every person on this call would request a prescription, and pay handsomely for the privilege.”

  “How long until the drug is on shelves?”

  “Six to eight months,” Cadellium lied. “They’re filing to begin clinical trials as we speak.”

  “We’re putting you on notice,” the investor said. “You have six months to deliver a win, and then we’ll be redeeming our funds as well.”

  “Understood,” Cadellium said. “I appreciate your patience. You won’t regret it.”

  The screens flickered off, one by one. When they were all dark, Cadellium waited a beat, and then swore. Fucking investors. “Doubling down on bad bets,” eh? We’ll see. In six weeks, when they see what we’ve acquired, they’ll be begging me to get back into the fund.

  Cadellium strode out of the conference room of the Starfarer and caught sight of the ship’s captain, standing at a set of interior windows overlooking the cargo bay. He walked over, and stood next to the young man, who wore a nondescript blue merchant mariner’s uniform. Through the window, Cadellium was surprised to see uniformed personnel searching the hold, under the watchful gaze of a female officer with short, curly red hair.

  “Who are they?” Cadellium asked, nervously.

  “Colonial Guard,” Captain Auresh replied.

  “Well, what are they doing here on the Starfarer?” Cadellium asked.

  “Routine contraband check.” Auresh checked his wristpad, flipping through several screens. “Word is Commander Jiyake sees herself as the sheriff of this station. Apparently she’s a stickler for protocol, and personally checks every new ship that docks here. That’s her down there, the redhead.”

  “Shouldn’t you be down there yourself, making sure …?” Cadellium asked.

  “‘Making sure’ what?” the captain replied, turning to face him. “We have nothing illegal on board.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Well,” Auresh hedged. “Nothing they’re gonna find in the cargo b
ay, at least. And their hull scanners aren’t good enough to pick up on our … upgrades.”

  “What about the cages?” Cadellium asked, indicating a pair of reinforced steel holding pens that dominated the cargo bay floor.

  “Unusual, but not illegal,” Auresh said. “Listen, it’s a standard customs inspection, and captains usually delegate that type of thing to the crew. If I go down there, Jiyake gets suspicious, guaranteed.”

  Cadellium frowned, but stayed silent. Auresh finished reviewing a fuel invoice on his wrist pad and shut it down.

  “When is the Liberty Belle due back here?” Cadellium asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Auresh replied.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Auresh said. “They publish their flight schedule, and rarely deviate from it. They’re at Olympus now.”

  “And then?” Cadellium asked.

  “Then they’re scheduled to remain here for the next three days,” Auresh said. “But their schedule will change.”

  “You’re sure you want to … make your move … out in space?”

  “Definitely,” Auresh said. “If we try to move on them before they leave the station, and something goes wrong, the entire station sees it.” He indicated Commander Jiyake with his chin. “She’ll see it. And you can bet she’ll interfere. Out in space, it’s just us and them.”

  “What if they get off a distress call?” Cadellium asked. “The Colonial Guard has a ship here, no?”

  “Mm,” Auresh grunted. “Jiyake commands the CGS Extremis. Cutter-class patrol vessel. Small ship, as Guard ships go, but fast and well-armed. More than a match for the Starfarer, if it came to it.” Auresh crossed his arms. “We’ll be jamming the Liberty Belle’s communications, but I’m a careful man. I’ve taken steps to ensure the Extremis stays on the sidelines throughout the operation. Remember that cash advance I requested?”

  “You bribed someone?” Cadellium guessed.

  “No,” Auresh said. “Bribes are a lousy incentive. Once you pay, how do you ensure they stay quiet?”

  “So what then?”

  “Blackmail,” Auresh said, grinning.

  Cadellium raised an eyebrow, then waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t know want to know the details.”

  “Okay,” Auresh said, shrugging. “But I guarantee the Extremis won’t be a problem for us.”

  “I’m still worried about the research center,” Cadellium said. “If they get wind of what we’re planning, it could be disastrous.”

  “They can’t keep us out forever,” Auresh said. “There are too many entrances to that facility. My men can get us past any barricades they manage to rig.”

  “They don’t need to keep us out indefinitely,” Cadellium said. “Just long enough to delete their files. Or worse, publish them.”

  “That’s why I’m positioning an asset inside the facility ahead of time,” Auresh said. “We’ll control it before we even touch down.”

  “Where’s that asset now?” Cadellium asked.

  “Right now?” Auresh checked his wristpad. “Somewhere over Olympus.”

  “Will the research center have specimens that we can take?”

  “I haven’t been able to confirm,” Auresh admitted. “But my guess is yes. Perhaps not a mating pair, but at least one we can take.”

  “The capture process seems risky,” Cadellium commented.

  “We’ve rehearsed it. That’s not a substitute for actual, hands-on experience, but the researchers do have that experience, and they’ll be helping out.”

  “You think the researchers will help?” Cadellium asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I know they’ll help. They won’t have a choice.” Auresh watched as the activity below began wrapping up, the Colonial Guard inspectors filing out and down the ship’s large boarding ramp. Commander Jiyake stood on the ramp for a moment, signing a datapad before slipping it into a holster on her belt. Then she gave the two large cages a final glance, before following her crew off the ship.

  “See?” Auresh said, when Jiyake had disappeared. “Trust me. This isn’t my first op.”

  “I make it a policy never to trust my partners, not with so much money on the line,” Cadellium warned the younger man. “Trust leads to dependence.”

  Auresh snorted. “Have you got a ship of your own, and a crew crazy enough to take on this level of risk? No. So I’d say you’re pretty damn dependent on us, like it or not.”

  “I’m still not going to trust you,” Cadellium said.

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual then,” Auresh said.

  Cadellium eyed the captain for a moment, and then turned and disappeared down the ship’s corridor toward his quarters.

  Chapter 4

  Through the portholes in the lounge, Falken saw the armored hull of the Liberty Belle sliding away, gaining speed as the ship’s maneuvering thrusters fired sporadically. The bulky resupply ship was always a welcome sight – in addition to bringing them fresh food, it also served as a shuttle for passengers visiting the Ecolympus, ferrying guests to and from the ship.

  And speaking of guests …

  Seated around the great stone table in the lounge were five fresh faces: four men, and one woman. Falken smiled at them again.

  “Just a second more,” he said.

  Greban breezed through the door from the galley a moment later, bearing a tray with coffee and hot donuts, sprinkled in cinnamon sugar.

  “Okay, now we can give you a proper welcome!” Greban announced, smiling. “Now that you’ve settled into your rooms and freshened up a bit. Welcome to Ecolympus.” He set the tray on the table and set about pouring coffee for the gathered guests. “How was the flight in?”

  “Fine,” the woman said. “Captain Muir was very nice. She gave us a tour of the ship during the flight.”

  “It’s an interesting ship,” Greban agreed. “Custom built to handle the environment on Olympus. Please, dig in, everyone. There is a direct correlation between how soon you eat a donut after it was made and how much you enjoy it.”

  It was the same line he always used, but Falken smiled despite himself as the new guests helped themselves. Greban stepped back from the table, and the vidscreen at the front of the lounge sprang to life.

  “While you eat a little breakfast, we’re going to kick things off with some introductions, and then Falken will tell you a little bit more about your safari and how it all works. So, I’m Eron Greban. Owner of Ecolympus Tours, chef, and your host. I’m from the Nordic Union originally, but I studied molecular gastronomy, learned to cook in Hong Kong, and eventually sold several of my restaurants to buy this wonderful ship, with the goal of becoming the most exclusive safari provider on Olympus.”

  Greban turned to Falken, indicating him with a hand. “And this hulking beast of a man is Sirio Falken, my partner and friend.”

  Falken smiled. “Hi, guys. Everyone calls me Falken. I’m a xenobiologist who studied the dragons for a couple years down on the surface, before jumping over to the adventure tourism side as a guide. In addition to supporting us and our business, you should know that your visitor fees help support ongoing research on the dragons, as well as the upkeep and conservation of Olympus’ ecosystem. So thanks for coming, thanks for picking us here at Ecolympus, and thanks for helping keep Olympus a protected Colonial Wildlife Refuge.”

  “Let’s just take a minute to go around the table,” Greban suggested. “We’re all going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few days, so let’s get to know one another.”

  Two of the men looked at each other, then shrugged. “I’ll start, I guess,” the first one said. “I’m Shep and this is my little brother, Kuda. Um … born and raised in the colonies, we’re in the import business now. Super stoked to be here.”

  “Kuda,” the younger man next to him said, waving to the other guests. “A couple of our friends went on a tour a year or two ago, I’m really looking forward to seeing a dragon up close. But don’t believe anything my brother
says about me; he’s a pathological liar, except when he’s drunk.”

  The other guests chuckled, as Shep punched his brother playfully in the arm. “I was just about to tell them what a great brother you are.”

  “See?” Kuda asked. “Lying already.”

  The tall black man to their left spoke next. “Hey, everyone. My name’s Raynard Barrington. Jamaican by heritage. I’m a freelance photojournalist, and I’m actually not here on vacation, I’m on assignment for an adventure sports blog.”

  “So your job is to go on vacation?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, smiling. “It’s a good job. Anyway, I’m doing a review article on Olympus and the different tour operators. So I’ll be taking a lot of photos and videos while we’re down there, but hopefully you guys won’t notice me. Does anyone have an issue with their picture appearing in the article?”

  The woman and the two brothers shook their heads readily, but the man at the end of the table frowned. “I’d prefer not to be in your photos.”

  “Oh,” Raynard said. “Uh, okay, fair enough. I can blur you out, so you’re not recognizable.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Falken cleared this throat. “Raynard, if there’s anything specific you want a shot of while we’re down there, just let me know and I’ll make sure we get it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure,” Falken said. He looked at the woman. Something kinda familiar about her, Falken thought. He nodded for her to continue the introductions.

  “I’m Vina,” she said, tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. She was young – in her early twenties, Falken guessed. “And this is not something I normally do, at all! I’m not really into adventure travel; I’m in software sales back on Earth. I actually won this trip at my job, as part of a sales competition. So I’m a little nervous.” She winced.

  “Everyone gets nervous,” Falken reassured her. “It’s totally normal. And we’re not going to make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing. Where did you say you were from?”