Samson’s second landing on Holmwood was fraught with far less worry than the first. The depot’s drones had brought the Bounty’s hull up to as near original spec as could be hoped for, and she was more than able to cope with atmosphere re-entry. But even had the ship been coming apart around him, he didn’t think he’d have paid it much attention. He couldn’t help but dwell on all that had happened. He still listened to the distress channels, in the hope that there would be something, but there was only silence and static. The thought that they had encountered a hostile alien species that could kill them with impunity was a terrifying thought—it was the worst nightmare humanity could conjure, and now it seemed as though it could be reality.
As much of a relief as it was to have his argument as to the aliens’ hostility confirmed, Samson knew the consequences of being right were far worse than being wrong. With such losses incurred, the Admiralty had to score some retribution to level the scales before they could even consider attempting negotiations again. That meant further conflict was guaranteed—not that peace seemed likely in any case.
The unsettling thoughts raced around in Samson’s head as he did his best to appear positive in front of the crew—the fleet was coming, and when they arrived, they would hunt and destroy the alien vessel. He forced himself to believe that was how it would play out. If more came, they would receive the same treatment until they were willing to communicate a peace, or retreated back to wherever they came from.
Despite all that had happened, the inhabitants of Holmwood Landing were oblivious to the seismic events that humanity had encountered. They’d know soon enough, and he suspected they’d look back and realise that sometimes ignorance truly is bliss. He did wonder where Arlen had been planning to sell his loot, and if he’d done so before. What kind of man would have the resources to move objects like that in secret, and connect them to the type of people with the money to buy them? A man like Kingston Smith, perhaps?
Once they touched down, Samson brought Price out onto the surface with him, both adopting their civilian guise once again. He wondered if they were wasting their time now that the Bounty looked like a miniature battleship rather than a rust-bucket hauler. Still, not many in the town were likely to pay much attention to the comings and goings at the spaceport, so civvies remained a smart choice in attire.
Samson didn’t bother calling into the spaceport’s administration office, their attitude on the last occasion having been so casual. The walk back to the chandler was uneventful, and Samson did his best to enjoy the sunlight and fresh air, things that were always a novelty for a naval officer.
Sirion Bates smiled broadly when he saw Samson approach, but it faded a little when his eyes fell on Price’s permanent scowl. Price always seemed to have an ‘I need a good reason not to kill you’ expression on his face when meeting strangers. It made Samson wonder how he ever made any friends, or met women.
‘I have to admit,’ Bates said when they came within earshot, ‘I really didn’t expect to ever see you again, Lieutenant.’
‘Lieutenant Commander now,’ Samson said. He suspected he wouldn’t have the rank all that much longer, so intended to make full use of it while he could. He handed over the power cell they’d agreed on as payment, which Bates took with an expression of raw greed on his face. The power cell was worth far more than the communications equipment they’d traded it for. Samson didn’t like being on the wrong end of a bargain to a whoremonger like Bates, but the circumstances had dictated that agreement. Once the Navy arrived in force, Samson suspected it wouldn’t take Bates long to find himself on the wrong side of justice, and awaiting his well-deserved fate.
‘I appreciate it, Lieutenant Commander,’ Bates said, smiling again, ‘and I hope we can do more business in the future. I’ve been considering broadening my offerings. Making my place a little more attractive to the discerning naval officer. Advance information like you gave me last time you were here can be the edge a businessman needs to get ahead of his rivals, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread word about town. I’ll always offer the Navy preferential rates—as a sign of my appreciation, you understand. Big changes ahead for this place, I tell you!’
Samson forced a smile. Standing in Bates’ presence felt like being smeared with rancid engine grease. It occurred to Samson that the best change that could be brought to this establishment would be on the receiving end of an orbital bombardment. It reminded him of the devastation on Dobson, and a chill ran over his skin.
‘I look forward to seeing it,’ Samson said, doing his best to smile.
‘Before you go, there’s one more thing,’ Bates said.
Samson raised an eyebrow, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He could feel Price energise beside him, ready to make anyone who meant them trouble regret the decision. Bates looked nervous, and Samson noticed that his clothes were of a higher quality than they had been on their previous visit. A faded shirt and trousers had been replaced with a business suit, albeit with a particularly unfashionable tie. He was trying to impress someone, and it certainly wasn’t Samson.
‘Expecting company?’ Samson said.
‘Indeed,’ Bates said, ‘although he’s here to see you.’
Price drew his pistol and his face darkened with murderous intent, but Samson held out his hand to steady him. How had they known he was coming? Word could have leaked out from the spaceport, but the staff had barely even acknowledged them when they’d made their landing request from orbit. He couldn’t see any of them rushing out to let the locals know a naval ship was about to set down.
‘Who?’ Samson said. ‘And how did they know we were coming?’
Bates shrugged. ‘I don’t ask questions I don’t need to know the answers to. He’s wanted to see you for a couple of days, and I told him you might be returning to settle up your tab.’
‘You still haven’t told me who, Bates,’ Samson said, allowing his hand to fall from holding Price back to his own holstered pistol.
‘It’s me, Captain. Your old pal Kingston Smith,’ said a voice that Samson instantly recognised, from the back of Bates’ shop. Smith emerged from the shadows a moment later, the benevolent smile on his face not quite managing to mask his natural air of malevolence. ‘You haven’t forgotten me already, have you?’
Samson raised an eyebrow. ‘Mister Smith. I’m afraid I don’t have your datapad with me, if that’s what you’re after.’
Smith smiled, and Samson instantly understood how Smith had known they were coming—the datapad had a tracker. What an idiot he’d been. He forced himself to remain impassive, and not give away the fact that he’d only now realised his mistake. With a little luck, Smith would think that his bringing it up meant he had known all along.
‘No, you’re welcome to hold onto that,’ Smith said. ‘There’s something else I want to talk to you about.’ He was still smiling, but there was no mirth in it.
‘You want to come clean about something we didn’t find?’ Samson was concerned. The balance of power had shifted substantially since their last meeting. Who knew how many of Smith’s henchmen lurked outside, waiting for their order to come in and knock the hell out of them.
Smith laughed. ‘No, that’s not it.’
‘Although I’m intrigued, I really don’t have the time right now,’ Samson said. Instinct told him to draw his pistol, but reason told him that if Smith had wanted to take them hostage or have them done over, he wouldn’t have made a personal appearance.
‘As fond as I am of Sirion here, he can’t hold his piss. Anything we talk about will be doing the rounds of town before nightfall. Come and talk to me in private. It won’t take long.’
Samson was beginning to regret having played the heavy Navy hand. He was tempted to look to Price to gauge his reaction, but knew the responsibility lay with him.
‘Fine. Where?’
‘Sirion’s been kind enough to let us use his office.’ Smith gestured with his hand.
Samson nodded and
both he and Price started off.
‘No, no, gentlemen. Just you, Captain.’
‘I’ll go and see what he has to say,’ Samson said to Price. ‘Keep your weapon handy.’
Smith led Samson toward the back of the chandler’s, thankfully, instead of toward the brothel in the other half of the building.
‘If I find any listening devices in here, Sirion,’ Smith said with a broad smile, ‘I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you.’
There was something cheerful about the way he delivered the threat which Samson found bizarre and difficult to reconcile, but he had no doubt Smith meant it.
The office was small and pokey—exactly what Samson would expect from someone like Bates. With luck, he wouldn’t be there for too long. At least there weren’t any goons waiting to beat the hell out of him for inconveniencing the mysterious Kingston Smith.
‘Well, you’ve got me here,’ Samson said. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’
‘I couldn’t help overhearing what happened with the other naval ships.’
Samson bit his lip and cursed. Tracker and audio. That datapad was a seriously sophisticated piece of technology to send audio data across such a big distance. It was a big slip-up on his part, and whatever trouble it got him into with his commanders was well deserved. What doubled Samson’s surprise, however, was how calm Smith was about it. He must have had ice-water for blood.
‘You don’t seem too surprised.’
Smith shrugged. ‘When you’ve seen as much as I have over the years, not much shocks you anymore. That, and I already had an inkling that there was something out here.’
‘An inkling?’
‘Well, perhaps “inkling” understates it a bit. I’ve found something I think you might like to see,’ he said.
Samson felt his frustration rise. ‘Knowing what you know, I’d expect you to realise I don’t have the time to be dealing with distractions,’ Samson said. ‘I have some pretty big problems to deal with so I’m afraid I’m going to need something a little more solid to catch my attention.’
‘First things first,’ Smith said. ‘This is far more than a distraction, and I don’t think you’re going to find it a waste of time. But I’m going to need something in return.’
Samson felt that control of the encounter lay entirely with Smith. There was something domineering about his presence, and Samson didn’t like it. Shady figures didn’t tell the Navy what to do, yet here was Smith acting like he was president of the Union, albeit in a less impressive office.
‘First things first,’ Samson said. ‘You tell me what this thing is, or I’ll have Sergeant Price drag you back to our brig and we’ll see how long it takes you to decide to be a bit more forthcoming.’
Smith laughed for far longer than Samson felt the threat justified. Just when he thought Smith had stopped, he let out another chortle.
‘Listen, mate, don’t think you’d be the first naval officer I’ve killed. Marine sergeant neither,’ he said. ‘If I wanted this little chat to be anything less than friendly, my boys’d already be digging holes in the ground for you. Believe me, you want to keep this friendly. I’m trying to do you a favour. You’re a young lad, so I’ll give you that one pass. Just the one, mind you. Now, if you’re done trying to prove you’ve got a bigger cock than me, I’ll continue.’
Samson had no idea how to respond, so he kept his mouth shut.
‘I’ve had a few issues with the law in the past, not entirely my fault, but the end result is that there’s a warrant out on me, and at least two official bounties. I want the bounties lifted, and a full pardon from the Union,’ Smith said. ‘And not just for the things your lot think I’ve done, but for anything up to now they might find out about later and try to pin on me. No pursuit of illegally-obtained enrichment, either. What’s mine is mine. I want to be free to take the fruits of my labours and go home. Back to New Portsmouth to see out my days, without interference from anyone.’
‘I’m not in a position to give that,’ Samson said.
‘No, but you can get on your radio and talk to someone who is. You go do that, and come back to me when you have.’ He tossed an encryption key to Samson, who only barely reacted in time to catch it.
‘You’ll find the details of who I really am on that. To cancel the warrant and bounties, y’see.’ He fixed Samson with a bowel-loosening stare. ‘Try to screw me on this, and I’ll be five systems away before your jackbooted stormtroopers get here to arrest me. They couldn’t catch me before, and they won’t catch me now. Of course, you’ll never find that out. You’ll be in that hole in the ground I was telling you about.’
‘I’ll need to have some idea of what you’re offering in return,’ Samson said.
‘How would you like your very own alien spaceship? Not something old from those ruins Arlen was pinching things from. Something new. Only crashed a few weeks ago. It’s no Excelsior Bay, but I promise you it’ll be worth the trade.’
32
‘Smith is Arthur Kingsley?’ Price said, and whistled through his teeth. ‘Black-Eye Kingsley?’
‘Yep. It would appear our Mister Smith is hiding from quite a reputation,’ Samson said, safe again in the command chair on the Bounty’s bridge. ‘I can see where he gets the name, though. When he’s angry they’re like two black marbles.’
‘I thought he was dead,’ Harper said.
‘Not according to this,’ Samson said, scanning over the final few lines of Smith’s entry in the naval database. It was flagged at regular intervals with flashing red warning labels containing the words ‘Extremely Dangerous.’ Samson congratulated himself for being able to spot that pretty quickly after meeting the man. Perhaps I’m a better judge of character than I’d thought.
‘It only says that his whereabouts are unknown,’ Samson continued. ‘I guess that’s not the case anymore. Says he dropped out of sight seven years ago, but the warrants on him have been outstanding for thirty years. Wonder what made him go into hiding? I think the fact that he knew Arlen, and knew what he was doing, is worthy of investigation. Smith—Kingsley could have been smuggling artefacts back to the Core for the last seven years. I don’t like the prospect of the aliens ploughing through the Core Systems looking to get them all back.’
‘Do you think they can trace them that far?’ Harper said.
‘I don’t know; it seems hard to see how they could. Maybe it’s a far-fetched fear, but it seems likely Kingsley’s known about the alien artefacts for a while. If he’s been smuggling them for a few years, it makes me wonder again why this alien ship has only appeared now. I suspect they’ve only recently arrived in this part of space; otherwise they’d have shut down Arlen’s activities long before the Sidewinder found him.’
‘That makes sense. I expect we’ll have an answer on that before this has all played out,’ Price said.
The statement suggested it would all play out in their favour, and Samson had to admire Price’s optimism. He supposed it was the mark of a good soldier, the inability to fathom defeat.
Samson returned his gaze to Kingsley’s file. He whistled through his teeth again when he saw the list of crimes he was accused of. It ran for several pages. ‘Piracy, extortion, bribery, murder—they’re just the highlights of a very extensive career.’
‘Can’t believe I was standing next to the most notorious pirate alive, and didn’t realise it,’ Price said. ‘Bringing him in is the type of thing that would make a man’s career.’
‘Might also make it a very short-lived one,’ Samson said. ‘For the time being, we’ve got bigger fish to fry—and after reading this rap sheet, that’s really saying something. If he’s got tech from the same race as the hostile alien ship, bringing that in will also make a man’s career, and without the threat of a shallow grave in the desert outside Holmwood Landing. And it’s a lot more useful to the Union than bringing in a retired pirate.’
‘Assuming the aliens don’t stop us from getting our hands on it, and doing the same
as Black-Eye Kingsley threatened to do.’
‘Fair point, but if Kingsley’s hiding out on the Frontier, he’s not doing that much harm to the Union—although I’m sure he’s keeping his finger in a few illegal ventures. Getting intel on the aliens is the most important thing we can do right now.’
‘You’re going to send his proposal to the Admiralty?’ Price said. Samson could tell bringing down enemies of the Union like Kingsley brought out a Pavlovian response in Price, but Samson had no doubt in the line of reasoning he’d put forward. The aliens were their priority now, not an ageing criminal—no matter how notorious. If Smith was making a genuine offer—and Samson had no reason to doubt it—this would be of similar import to the discovery of the ruins. More so, considering this was the tech of aliens who were shooting at them every chance they got. Without his help, it could take months of searching and a huge amount of resources to find anything like what he claimed to have discovered. If they ever found it. Getting their hands on a substantial amount of the hostile aliens’ technology so early in their contact could provide a monumental advantage.
‘I think this one is way above my pay grade to decide. I can’t authorise the pardon anyway. I think it’s time to call the Admiralty.’
‘He’s found an alien vessel?’ Commodore Iyabo said. ‘A modern one?’
‘That’s what he said, sir,’ Samson said as he lounged in the command chair of Capsilan Depot and stared down at Holmwood, feeling as though Kingsley was staring right back at him.
‘And he’s confirmed it belongs to the hostile species, not the one responsible for the ruins, assuming they are not one and the same?’
‘He has,’ Samson said, ‘as much as anyone can, I suppose.’ There had been no mention of what had happened to the Nautilus and the Peterson, although the Admiralty had observed the live data feed just as they had on the Bounty. Samson realised there was little to say. He hadn’t known any of the personnel well enough to warrant being offered condolences. They had been destroyed, and the fleet under Admiral Khaimov was on its way. Samson and Iyabo both knew that, and action would be decided upon when the fleet arrived. There was no need to belabour it.
The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 Page 22