Windjammer: The Tradership Saga Book 1

by M J Gauntlet

  Zax reached over and touched the screen. The image on the console expanded creating a holographic image above the terminal as words appeared in elegantly flowing script:

  To: Messer Zaxxion Alexander Grayson Currently residing at the Westland

  Hotel, West Centennial City, Zone 12, 72157

  From: The Law Offices of Alicia Wilkerson The Ketchner Building 2347 South

  Central Centennial City, Zone 5, 72201 Messer Grayson,

  This office was retained by your late father twelve years ago to handle his estate. I was instructed to contact you upon his death, as the sole heir, to be present at the reading of his will and the final dispensation of his effects.

  Please contact me at 017-8655-87 by fax, z-mail or com unit as soon as possible to arrange a suitable time for consultation.

  I am sorry for your loss, Cordially, Alicia Wilkerson, Esq.

  Zax reread the screen twice, then frowned. Attorney?... Will?... Dispensation of effects? What effects? Whatever ‘effects’ that his father might have had just went up in flames a few hours ago. Zax ran his hands through his mat of tight blond curls as he thought furiously. Was it possible that this might have been something his father had set up back when his mother was alive? If so, why hadn’t he ever mentioned a will or even hinted that there was one. Hell, even if he did hire an attorney years ago, he sure didn’t have the eunits to keep one on retainer for all this time. What little money his father could scrape up doing odd jobs here and there, was ultimately spent on his Blitzo habit. Since Zax had reached legal working age, he had become the only source of a steady income for them both. Zax would have surely known if any units had been paid monthly to an attorney.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Zax. Wait a minute!... Just how did this Alicia Wilkerson, Esq. find out that his father was dead? And how did she know where to find him to contact him in the first place?! The last words of Lieutenant Fuller said as he left the station echoed in his brain:

  “Be very careful who you talk to. When you do talk, say as little as you can to anyone about your father.”

  Zax leaned over the terminal and opened a line to the front desk.

  “Front desk, can I help you Messer Grayson?” asked the night clerk.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact you can. I have a question about my stay here,” Zax said.

  “Of course, sir, we are always happy to answer any of our hotel guests’ queries to the best of our ability,” she replied, with a wide smile.

  “If someone were to inquire if an individual were staying here, would the staff give out that information?”

  “Why yes,” she said nodding, “generally, that information is available to anyone who would ask, unless of course the guest tells us otherwise.”

  Zax felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Has anyone inquired about stay here since I checked in last night?”

  There was a momentary pause as the clerk typed a few strokes into her terminal, frowned and looked back into the video pickup.

  “Why no sir, no one has queried as to your presence, and if they had, we would be prohibited to answer.”

  It was Zax’s turn to frown, “But you just said…”

  “I apologize sir, I thought you knew,” she said, interrupting, “that your account has been red flagged, which means it is forbidden for anyone associated with the hotel to disclose any information concerning your presence here at the Westland Hotel.”

  “Red flagged? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “I’m sorry, I thought that the previous night clerk had informed you of your guest status and what it means,” she said contritely, “Simply put, your account was automatically red flagged because of the type of eunit chit you used to secure your suite. It was drawn upon a law enforcement account.” Zax’s face must have still shown confusion, because the clerk cleared her throat and continued. “These types of accounts are primarily used by the police and the district attorney’s office to sequester certain types of individuals…you know… material witnesses, key testimony specialists, subpoenaed individuals and the like.

  “Obviously, the identity and whereabouts of such individuals must remain undisclosed for both security reasons and the legal protection of our other guests. Any inquiry put to the hotel about such an account is always answered in the negative.”

  “Oh, I see…but wait a minute,” Zax said abruptly, “If that is true, how do you account for the com message I just received? How is it that I have, just now, received an z-fax from someone I have never met? A communique that was directed to me, by name?”

  The desk manager pouted her crimson shaded lips and frowned. “Humm… that should not have been possible, let me check…” there was a long pause then the clerk looked up. “Ah… I see. That particular message, was in the form of an encrypted communiqué that was sent with a law enforcement header. As you can imagine, red flagged accounts are not totally sequestered. There must be a way for such guests to send and receive messages to authorized persons. Whomever sent the message last night was an official member of the courts; a police official, someone from the district attorney’s office, or maybe a lawyer. The hotel has no way of knowing who sent the message because it was encrypted and tagged ‘for your eyes only’. Once you accepted the fax it was shown at your terminal only, then promptly erased from the hotel computer’s data files.”

  “Oh, I understand. Well thank you Miss…er…” “Jinn…Jinn McCallister.”

  “Yes, well thank you so much Jinn, you have been very helpful.”

  “No problem sir at all Messer Grayson. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” Jinn said modestly, and Zax thought there was just the smallest stress on the word ‘anything’ or maybe he just imagined it.

  “No, no… have a good night,” with that, Zax disconnected the screen and pursed his lips as he rose from the chair. Pacing across the suite, he was thinking furiously… just who was this Alicia Wilkerson, and what was her connection to him and his father? And HOW was she able to find him in such a short time? Was she in fact who she said she was, or was this some sort of elaborate ploy to get…what exactly? What possible reason would anyone have to try and trick or mislead him? For that matter why would anyone want his father killed? Right now, Zax’s mind was awhirl with questions and he had no clues as to their answers.

  Well, there was only one way for him to find out the answers to some of these questions, and maybe, create a chance to take control of what was happening to him. Zax decided to make an appointment and meet with this mysterious attorney as soon as possible, before he lost his nerve and changed his mind.

  Sitting back down at the desk terminal, Zax keyed up an outside hotel connection and pinged the number included in the attorney’s letter. There was a pause, then there was a ring that sounded all the world like an actual ancient telephone. After two rings, there was an audible click and a robotic sounding voice answered:

  “I am sorry, but the law offices of Alicia Wilkerson Esq. are currently closed. Please leave a message at the tone stating your name, the nature of your business, and a number where you can be reached. Thank you, we are always appreciative of your business. Good morrow to you.”

  At the tone, Zax gave his name and requested a 13:30 first sun set appointment. He thought about not using the hotel’s number for a call back, but he figured that since this Ms. Wilkerson seemed to already know his whereabouts, it served no purpose in trying to be coy. Deciding to use the suite’s number instead of that of his personal comlink, Zax left a callback message. Checking the clock at his bedside, he reckoned that he had just enough time to get another few hours of sleep, before he had to get up and purchase some new clothes.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A couple of hours after his conversation with the rather cute desk clerk Jinn McAlister, Zax woke to find that there was an e-fax displayed on his room’s comunit, confirming a 13:30 appointment at the mysterious law offices of Alicia Wilkerson. Checking the office’s location on his
wristcom’s GPS, he discovered that the office was located quite a distance from the Westland Hotel. Too far to use the floater so he had decided to leave it in the hotel parking stall (it wouldn’t have enough charge anyway) and take the contragrav monorail to the stop nearest the office and then walk the short distance the rest of the way. The gravtrain ride from West Centennial to South Central Centennial was about a one-hour trip giving him just enough time to stop at the clothier that the night clerk had previously recommended, to have a new suit made.

  As he left the hotel’s lobby, Zax took no notice of the man in the business suit sitting in the corner idly reading a fax flimsy. His demeanor was that of a weary businessman. He made a show of constantly checking his wrist chrono, as though he was expecting to meet with someone. His target emerged from the lift wearing worn, but clean work overalls, took a moment to get his bearings, then exited through the front ornate revolving doors. The ‘businessman’ waited a couple of minutes, then with a display of exasperation indicating that he had missed an appointment, he rose off the couch and left out through the same doors.

  When Zax arrived at the clothier, he looked at the display holo and blanched when he saw the price quoted for a standard suit. He could afford it, but the way things were now, he figured that it might be best if he tried to keep his spending at a minimum. He waved his hand over the display window and a series of images scrolled past his eyes; their angle was adjusted so that only he could see them. Instead of choosing a fashionable suit, he decided instead to go for a single durable synthetic polyblend jumpsuit.

  Zax entered the store to see an obviously bored clerk, sitting behind an embedded flash counter. Zax walked up to the counter and placed his eunit card on its flat surface. The counter let out a ‘ping’ then proceeded to display a series of clothing choices across its surface. He pushed the ‘stop’ icon when the suit of his choice flashed up, then pressed the ‘pay’ button. The clerk behind the counter reached down, gave Zax a pair of silver shaded goggles and directed him to enter one of the vacant booths along the sidewall. The movement revealed the clerk’s backhand tattoo.

  As Zax entered the booth, a panel slid shut behind him and a robotic voice instructed him to completely disrobe. Once he was finished and had placed his discarded clothes into a bin, he was instructed to place the goggles over his eyes. After donning the eyewear, he tapped the button labeled ‘proceed’. There was a pause, then a series of reddish scan laser grids covered his entire body back to front and side to side. After a few moments, the scans stopped, and he was instructed to remove the goggles and put his clothes back on. A few minutes later, the booth door slid open and he was told to exit. The clerk passed his hand over a lit panel in front of him, then pressed a series of icons. A slight humming emanated from the rear of the shop and presently a panel slid open revealing a plasticine wrapped jumpsuit. Pointing to one of the changing rooms in the back, the man advised Zax to try it on. Walking into the room, he removed his work suit and released the plastic seals on bagged suit then donned the garment. It fit perfectly, since it was made to order from the measurements obtained in the fitting room. Five minutes later, Zax exited the clothier wearing his new outfit. It was a bit plain, but it would draw less attention than him walking around in a worn set of work coveralls. The store clerk had anticipated that Zax was going to wear his new clothes out into the street and had vacuum sealed his old work suit into an easy to carry parcel. Satisfied, Zax headed for the train station and boarded the southbound gravtrain to his meeting with the mysterious lawyer.

  Several paces behind Zaxxion, a nondescript looking man in a neat but slightly worn business suit, hurried to catch the same train. Brushing up against the young man, the businessman murmured his apologies and entered the car looking for a seat at the end of the car. Upon finding an empty seat, the businessman unfolded a Z-fax flimsy and buried his head in the thin sheet, studiously ignoring its flashing advertisements.

  An hour later, Zax exited the train and took the moving walkway to ground level, where he checked his wristcom to get his bearings. A rudimentary map display floated above his wrist, with an arrow indicating the direction to the Ketchner building. The map showed that it was about a ten-minute walk.

  The further Zax walked away from the metro contragrav station, the more the surrounding neighborhood began to change. The streets were darker, as it seemed like every other glow bulb was busted. The amount of refuse on the street grew with every step he took towards his destination. The few pedestrians he passed gave him furtive glances as the scurried past and refused to meet his eyes. Most wore cheap, patched handmade clothes, while others donned grimy work overalls, like those he carried in his rucksack.

  There were a few small shops, scattered here and there along the street, but instead of interactive holographic windows displaying their wares, stained centimeters thick plexiglass distorted what lay in the windows. Several of the buildings had façades that had been patched with makeshift materials, in a vain effort to plug gaping holes in the crumbling masonry. Each step Zax took further towards his destination, robbed him of his earlier confidence that meeting with this attorney was a good idea. Looking around at the decaying locality, it seemed to him like the least likely neighborhood in which to find legitimate law offices. He began to wonder if he had been given the wrong address, when he spied off to his left, a portico with the words: ‘The Ketchner Building’ in faded flecked letters.

  Crossing the potholed street, he walked up to the vestibule, only to find a locked door at one end and a camera in an armored plasticine box covering the entrance. On the wall to his right, behind a cracked and faded three-centimeter-thick piece of plasticine, was the building directory. Beneath the directory, was what looked like an honest to god old-fashioned mechanical touch pad, with a series of buttons numbered zero to nine on its surface. Looking back up at the directory, Zax had to squint his eyes in order to decipher the lettering behind the streaked, grayed and blurred plasticine. Most names on the directory were faded out into unintelligibility, but one of them was legible despite missing a few letters:

  Alic a Wilke son, Esq. At orney at Law Suite 217, press 1217 on the interc m By Ap ointment Only

  After taking a moment to mentally fill in the missing lettering, Zax pressed 1217 on the antique keypad and waited. There was a moment of silence, then a voice crackled over the speaker.

  “Yes? Ma…ma…may I hel…hel…help you?” a stuttering, robotic voice inquired.

  “Are these the offices of Alicia Wilkerson the lawyer?” Zax tentatively asked.

  “Y…Y…Yes they are, do…do…do you have an a…a… appointment?”

  “I have an appointment set for today at 13:30 first sun set.”

  The speaker issued a series of squawks and groans, then a human voice could be heard murmuring in the background over the staccato robotic voice.

  “Goddamn machine…useless piece of crap…” a moment later a melodious, human voice issued from the speaker.

  “My apologies, Messer…Zaxxion Grayson, is it?” The camera overhead swiveled to point a Zax.

  “Er…yes ma’am it is,” he replied.

  “Just one moment and I will buzz you in… now where is that freaking button…”

  A few seconds later, a faint buzz issued from the door in front of him, followed by the loud click of a latch opening.

  “Come right in, Messer Grayson. I’ve been expecting you,” a soft voice said.

  Zaxxion walked through the door into a small anteroom, with a second more ornate door at its end. As he walked forward, the door behind him closed with a loud click. The door in front of him had no visible handle, but as he approached, it slid noiselessly aside. Stepping through the portal, Zax froze as his mouth unconsciously gaped open.

  After walking through the neighborhood and entering the somewhat dilapidated building, he had prepared himself to enter into an office that would reflect the surrounding environment. Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of what could
only be described as an opulent, fairytale, daydream.

  There were azure, turquoise and aquamarine filaments that seemed to gently float in the air above him. Marble columns rose to support a domed ceiling, resplendent with what appeared to be hand painted frescos. The far rear wall was festooned with what looked like masterpiece antique portraits, that Zax had only seen in broadcast documentaries of Old Earth artwork. In front of him, was a solid wood reception desk that looked to be made of legendary mahogany from Terra. The cost of this single item alone staggered the imagination. Incongruously, behind that magnificent desk sat, what had to be the oldest automaton Zax had ever seen. It looked as though it dated all the way back to humankind’s pre-space days. Whirring loudly, the robot turned its oversized head to face him as a mechanical mouth worked laboriously to produce words.

  “M…Mi…Mister Grayson, I…I…presume,” it said, in a tinny voice. Almost immediately, another voice interrupted the stammering machine. Off to his right, the most stunningly beautiful woman Zaxxion had ever seen, was walking towards him with a sinuous, hip swaying, stride. She wore a tight-fitting business suit, that accented her supple feminine form. The outfit looked as though it had been poured over her, for it clung to every curve of her body. The affect was more like that of a second skin rather than an article of clothing. Its colors matched the filaments that seemed to stream and float in the air above her. She glided to a halt about a meter in front of him and extended her creamy smooth manicured hand.

  “Please forgive my rattling robot secretary, Messer Grayson. I am Alicia Wilkerson, attorney at law.” Tilting her head towards the now quiescent machine, she smiled broadly. “As you might have guessed I have a penchant for antiques.” Zaxxion took her hand and shook it politely, then frowned inwardly. She had no tattoo on either side of her hand, and while her hand was warm it to the touch, it somehow felt lifeless. Zax’s eyes involuntarily widened, as he realized that this too was a machine, an android.