During the previous year, the Vohrns had dragged him into court and accused him of attempted genocide. At the price of his social position and his fortune, he had managed to conserve his freedom. Gnawed by hatred, an hour rarely passed during which bitterness didn’t twist his guts.
Fucking lizards, he repeated to himself over and over. It’ll take me my whole lifetime, but I’ll find a way to pay them back!
Getting up from the desk where he had been seated, he crossed the room to stand in front of a window. At a man’s height, the curved glass provided a splendid view.
On the black background of space shone a strange star flattened at both poles: Altair. Its luminosity, eleven times brighter than that of the Sun, supplied enough energy to ensure smooth operation of the cargo ship’s ecosystem. Hidden among rocky debris that followed a wide orbit, Morsak’s ship allowed him to remain out of the grasp of his most ardent adversaries.
He congratulated himself on his foresight: if he hadn’t taken a few precautions for hiding himself away in case of a mishap…
Years earlier, he had secretively supervised the refurbishment of a merchant ship. It was small but luxuriously appointed. Equipped with an automated garden and a medical microcenter, it provided everything he needed to live for centuries in complete autonomy.
Two sultry women kept Morsak company. It was true that they had died from a jokal overdose, but he had soon taken advantage of this situation.
He had used their still-warm bodies, replacing vital organs with artificial ones. Thereafter, the two beauties’ skulls housed AIs. Programmed for devotion and total obedience, they made ideal concubines.
Stroking his short beard, Morsak stepped away from the large window and left the room. He had just spent hours reinvesting his remaining funds and he was tired. He needed to relax: the Vohrns could wait.
He headed for the lower bridge. When the door closed behind him, a dark form briefly stood out between the star and the space habitat.
In the absolute silence of space, a small vessel descended toward Morsak’s refuge. Long and narrow, the newcomer consisted of a single-seat cockpit and a propulsion tube. Matte black, its fuselage was composed of an alloy that absorbed radar waves.
A silhouette emerged, crossing the hundred or so yards that separated the two ships. The shadow latched onto the cargo ship’s hull and moved in the direction of one of the airlocks.
Inside, Morsak was taking a bath. The lavatory was located in a former hold. Large enough for five people, the marble tub only filled part of the room. The rest was dedicated to a skillful mix of green plants and furniture with simple lines. An artificial stream cascaded down one wall. Once it reached the floor, it disappeared into a multitude of channels that led to the recycler.
With empty eyes and mechanical gestures, Morsak’s two women undressed and joined him. They snuggled against him. Their young firm bodies provided a striking contrast with his own, whose portliness and flabby muscles betrayed his age and lack of exercise.
He held out his arms to press them against him and asked, “I’m in the mood for some music—what do you think, girls?”
Without waiting for an answer, he spoke a command. Long translucent rods emerged from all around the basin. They formed a hedge and diffused a harmonious melody.
With a harrowing din, a burst of lead whipped through the row of crystals. They flew violently into pieces, lashing Morsak and his lobotomized slaves.
Stunned, he was getting control of himself when he heard footsteps on the glass-covered floor.
A man approached, wearing a spacesuit and carrying an assault rifle. He raised a hand to his visor and unlocked it. Slowly, he lifted it to show his entire face.
Recognizing Laorcq, Morsak turned white.
In a vain attempt, he tried to use the weapon hidden in his hand. If he managed to target his attacker’s heart, a jet of liquid would shoot out of his index finger and, instantly transforming into steel, would dispatch the intruder.
Morsak only succeeded in beginning the gesture. As soon as he perceived the initial movement, Laorcq shot him in the shoulder.
The injury ripped a cry of suffering from the potbellied, bearded man, and the water in the bath turned red. With the joint broken, he could no longer move his arm. At his sides, the two bimbos remained inert. Events had surpassed the companion AI’s abilities.
Laorcq knew perfectly well that vengeance would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but for the moment, that didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was the death of his wife and son.
Morsak sobbed, begged, screamed. No one heard him.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading this story. As an independent author, getting my name out is my top priority. If you enjoyed this novel please consider writing a quick review on Amazon, or whatever outlet you purchased it from.
Without positive reviews, no one is going to take a chance on an unknown author —especially a French one ☺.
Thanks again for your time.
Philippe Mercurio
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MALLORY SAJEAN 01 - THE KENVAL INCIDENT
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MALLORY SAJEAN 02 - ALDEBARAN DIVIDED
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THANKS
To my French beta readers, Marion, Alain and Étienne, for their accurate and constructive feedback.
A very special thanks to Michele Rosen, for her work, which was much more than a simple translation!
To my wife, for her patience, support and the great covers for the books.
The Kenval Incident Page 30