This was unanimously voted as the most important technological breakthrough in the history of humankind. Henry Biggles promptly retired, built himself a starship and disappeared, never to be seen again and leaving humankind the attendant problems inherent in the device. And there were problems. Existing within nospace was another life form that had either discovered it before humankind or had evolved in it. Basically ovoid, these creatures, imaginatively coined “Shiva," after the Hindu goddess of destruction, had numerous appendages, were vast and seemingly very hungry. Some were over 5kms in length and after grasping a starship in its “tentacles” would proceed to drain all the energy, not only from the ship, but from all its human occupants. The few ships that had escaped had reported that the Shiva would not respond to any form of conventional communication and would seem to mindlessly home in on any form of energy source. Once a certain route was discovered to have a Shiva guardian, (unfortunately usually the quickest and most direct route between stars), no ship would risk exposing itself to that danger again. So, apart from being sucked to death, the benefits from this drive seemed to far outweigh the attendant dangers.
Before his disappearance, Henry Biggles was adamant that the drive he invented be named after him, which it was, but in practice no starship captain worth his or her salt relished speaking the command “initiate the Biggles drive." For all intents and purposes, and despite some legal proceedings, the Biggles drive became the Slipdrive. Human colonization of the stars had begun.
Two hundred years later, a religious group known as the Areopagite’s, harassed by various planetary government’s for their widespread and extensive genetic manipulation of their followers, established their own planet, Arabot, after the biblical name for Seventh Heaven. The Areopagite’s, named after Dionysius the Pseudo-Areopagite, a Syrian writer during the first century who wrote on the hierarchy of angels, were convinced that humans had to establish their own angels through genetic manipulation. And this they did. Widely successful in their efforts, they soon attracted followers numbered in the billions, many eager to be elevated to the status of Angel. Few were.
Angels were GE’d to be smarter, taller, stronger, faster, live longer, and of course, to have wings. They were reportedly pure of heart, body and mind, that is to say, they didn’t get horribly drunk and fornicate like the rest of humanity. All angels could create and manipulate energy fields to a certain degree. The Seraphim – the highest order of angels in heaven, or in this case Arabot, could generate fields capable of withstanding all but the most powerful energy weapons, and could fire blasts of pure energy created from this shield energy matrix. All angels of the second hierarchy or higher could also successfully navigate through no-space – for some reason, the Shiva avoided them. In addition, all Angels were able to survive in a vacuum which made them perfect spacefarers. All this gave the Areopagite’s an effective monopoly on the trade routes that were known to have Shiva guardians.
Nebula Inc had spent the last 10 years developing a drive that could compete with the Areopagite’s grip on dangerous trade routes, and with Felix’s input had made leaping strides in the last 5 years. The Overdrive was the resulting product. A drive that actually traveled above nospace, in a dimension that didn’t possess any large, hostile and hungry predators and in half the time of the Slipdrive. It would understandably revolutionize space travel.
Two weeks ago, the drive had been successfully tested, completing a voyage in 3 days what would have taken a Slipdrive powered ship up to a week. The Overdrive still had inherent design flaws however. After returning to normal space, the drive had overheated and fused, effectively destroying the only prototype possessed by Nebula Inc. The last 2 weeks had been spent nailing this problem – one that Felix and his team believed they had licked although it was yet to be tested.
This information had been relayed to Nebula’s executives (wherever and whoever they were) a few days ago. Felix had no idea who really owned the company. He’d never met any of the executives and all progress reports were coded and sent out directly from Nebula’s central AI. Someone had obviously intercepted this information. The only reason Felix suspected he was still alive was that he had left work early to go to the bar, ended up getting lucky with Simone and gone back to her apartment, as opposed to his own, which no doubt would be trashed by now. Most of Nebula’s employee’s were still completing the Beta testing on the Overdrive and hence were working late when they got ambushed and fried.
Now the frustrating thing for these would be technology thieves was that only the Senior Design Engineer, being Felix, possessed the full specs for the Overdrive. The progress reports to the executives contained basic technical briefs and more information on what the drive did rather than how it did it. The data stored in Felix’s AI could not be forcibly removed without corrupting it. The reason they tortured Marie, thought Felix, was due to a misapprehension on their behalf. They believed that by torturing one of them, another horrified employee would volunteer the information. Sadly for them and for Marie, no employee on site at the time possessed the information they required.
“Oh bollocks," he said aloud and then shut his eyes.
After pacing the office and searching in vain for options, Felix queried Nebula Inc’s AI, found that any recordings of last night’s murders had been wiped, and then queried it again to see if it had any suggestions or possible options for an employee in his situation. Nebula’s AI surprisingly responded by sending a code directly to Felix’s AI, releasing information which hitherto he did not know existed, and precisely for this eventuality. It provided sufficient funds, a new identity, and a location for a rendezvous with a Nebula Inc executive. All he had to do was get there.
Running low on options and not willing to involve any of his friends, Felix decided to turn to one person he knew was in a position to help him.
Using his AI, he placed a Vidcall and a holographic representation of a bleary eyed woman appeared under his left eyelid.
“Hi Simone. Remember me?”
◊
“You’re fucking my wife." It was a statement. That there was no question mark attached indicated to whoever heard it that there was no doubt left. That little sentence alone was enough to fill the average man with a sense of foreboding. The fact that the man saying it held a large plasma cannon added a bit more gravitas to the whole situation. The hand that held said plasma cannon was shaking. The rest of the man connected to the weapon was quivering with barely controlled rage and sweat was beading on his brow.
It was all very disturbing for Captain Logan Alexander Pope. He knew the situation couldn’t possibly get worse. It was hard to deny the man’s accusation when he was sitting naked on the man’s bed. The wife in question was huddled in a corner swaddled in bed sheets.
“Now, just calm down Mr. Trollope and drop the gun. Its not what it looks like." It was exactly what it looked like. He was, or had been up to a few moments ago, fucking this man’s wife.
“Fuck you," said Mr. Trollope. “And fuck you too," he said, swiveling the gun in the direction of his wife. His wife cowered some more and clutched the bed sheets closer to her in the mistaken belief that no-one in the room had seen her naked before. Logan used the distraction to load the firing code into the biodart embedded in his little finger.
Before he could aim it, Mr. Trollope turned the gun back on him. How this man had ended up with Mrs. Trollope – Lucy - was a mystery to Logan. He had most of the features that most people would call human except for a neck and a chin. His large nose, looking as obvious as a pyramid in the desert, took centre point in an otherwise unexceptional face. A medium sized beer belly completed the look, stretching the white shirt he wore taunt against his sweating skin.
“How could you, you fucking wanker?," he raged at Logan. “I hired you to check up on that cheating bitch."
Logan had to admit that bit was true. Kind of ironic really when you thought about it. Turned out Lucy wasn’t having an affair at all until she’d met Logan. Fo
llowing her around, Logan had sat at the same restaurant as her, a few tables removed. After exchanging looks, she’d invited him to sit at her table. Not very professional or ethical, but she was a babe, so he’d thought, what the hell.
“What are you talking about?," a confused Lucy stammered from the corner.
Mr. Trollope, turned himself and the gun again to face her.
“I hired this piece of shit," he spat, waggling the gun in the general direction of Logan, “to see if you were cheating on me.”
“Well I wasn’t cheating on you. Well, at least until I met him. And he seduced me," said Lucy, her voice rising an octave and nervously pointing an accusing finger in Logan’s direction.
“What!," a startled Logan exclaimed.
“You just shut your fucking mouths. Just shut them," said Mr. Trollope to the room in general.
Lucy, realizing that the scene was deteriorating and that someone was shortly going to have a large hole in them, attempted to defuse the situation.
“Baby," she said, looking at her husband, “I’m sorry. I love you.”
The large cannon pointing at her wavered. “Put the gun down baby. I love you so much."
Logan used the distraction to fire his biodart. It struck Mr. Trollope in the neck who staggered back, clutching his neck and roaring like a sea lion, simultaneously firing his plasma cannon. The bolt, largely unaimed, struck the floating AG light fixture which exploded, raining fragments down upon the occupants of the room. The remnants of the light fixture struck the bed with a crash. Logan rolled and narrowly avoided getting pummeled. He sat up and looked around. Mr. Trollope was slumped in one corner while Mrs. Trollope appeared to have fainted in the other. Gathering up his coverall, Logan bolted for the door.
“How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?," he muttered to himself.
Attracting a few curious glances as his ran down the corridor, Logan finally stopped and began pulling on his coverall, removing his naked butt from general view.
“Four years fucking military training, five years service, ten covert combat assignments and this is what I end up doing."
A woman walking past veered away from the strange, mostly naked man talking to himself.
Badly needing a drink, Logan ordered a cart. Arriving one minute later, he clambered in.
“The Listing Ship, Churchill plaza” he told it and sat back. Just in time too. A cart filled with security droids was making its way down from the opposite end of the corridor. The corridor, 20 meters wide, was host to a variety of people, some walking, and some like him, riding in carts. Weaving in and out of traffic, Logan’s cart took 5 minutes to reach the plaza. Churchill plaza was about 150 meters in diameter carved out of the solid rock of Coleridge Asteroid. Filled with people, mostly tourists by the look of them, the plaza was surrounded by buildings with facades based on 18th century English architecture.
The cart dropped him outside one of the buildings, a Pub displaying a sign showing an old English Galley in the process of sinking. Watched for long enough, the sign would go through a whole cycle of sailing and then sinking ship in about 30 seconds. Logan, having been bored by it many times before, went straight in. His military training kicked in and he gave the bar a quick scan before heading to his accustomed spot in the corner. A good looking brunette woman sitting at the bar by herself gave his lean six foot figure an appraising glance and flashed a smile at him as he sat down in a darkened corner and ordered Copifilian Whiskey from the serving droid. Gulping his drink, certain parts of his anatomy compelled him to return the woman’s smile even though his brain was telling him to avoid entanglements – at least for a little while.
He ordered a second whiskey and slowly sipping it, was informed by his AI that he had a call coming in. Logan recognized the icon. It was his boss. Ex-army Major Big Al Fletcher. Big Al had recruited him into his investigation practice 2 months ago after Logan had been told that “his services were no longer required," by Unamuno’s military intelligence division.
Closing one eye, Big Al’s holo representation filled half his vision. Big Al appeared as an imposing bull necked individual with a shaven skull. A prominent large black and bushy handlebar mustache completed the look.
“Captain," said Big Al by way of greeting.
“Major”
“I’ve had a very disgruntled customer on the line Logan."
“Oh?," replied Logan, feigning surprise.
“Spare me the shit, you know exactly who I’m talking about”
“Good news obviously spreads fast." Not surprising really. If someone he hired had fucked his wife and shot him with a biodart, he’d probably complain as well.
“What the fuck do you think you were doing?," the representation of Al’s face shouted at him.
Logan suppressed the urge to shrug or smile and failed abysmally. “Well, shagging his wife actually."
“Does that strike you as the sort of professional behavior that a client would expect from an Investigative agent hired from my agency?” Logan got the impression that Big Al was a bit miffed.
“I guess not. No," he replied.
“Yeah, well. Lucky for you, security has reported that he didn’t have a license for that big ass plasma cannon so he’s not going to press charges. No wonder you got kicked out of Military Intelligence. I hired you because, apart from that one little incident, you were regarded as a top Intelligence operative.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere."
“Whatever. I want you to take a holiday. As of now. And don’t come back until you’ve got your head sorted out."
“Paid?”
“What?”
“Do I get paid while I’m on this little holiday?”
“Don’t press your fucking luck. You’re lucky I don’t fire your arse." With that, Big Al cut the connection, leaving Logan with his all but empty glass of whiskey.
“Bollocks."
12.30pm. Logan decided it wasn’t that much fun drinking by himself. Contemplating and then discarding the idea to go sit with the brunette, Logan decided that it was much more entertaining to try and corrupt one of his friends. He placed a call to Felix. Instead of his friend’s icon appearing, a large blue C representing Coleridge’s central AI materialized.
“I’m sorry," it said, “the person you are trying to reach is no longer registered with me. Please check your eddress and try again.”
Odd. Logan queried his AI. He had got the eddress correct. Felix and Logan had been friends since school and had gone through University together. In all that time, Logan couldn’t remember receiving that message before. Coleridge’s AI was capable of tracking down any of its citizens and locating them providing you could access the correct codes. With his years spent in Intelligence, Logan still possessed most of the programs and tracking hardware that were required.
Firing the code to Coleridge, he waited for a few seconds while his clearance was approved and then made his request.
“Location of Felix Teppitt."
“That person is no longer resident on this Asteroid."
Most odd. Felix’s apartment wasn’t too far from Churchill plaza. Logan decided it might be prudent to go and have a look around. Using his AI to shunt over the credits to the bar for his drinks and with a final grin at the brunette who was looking decidedly lonely, walked out of the Listing Ship and hailed a cart.
Driving up to Felix’s apartment, Logan passed three men heading in the other direction. Sensing trouble his body immediately tensed up. Wearing the sword insignia of the Knights Templar on their sleeves, the trio spared Logan a quick look and then continued past. Curiouser and curiouser. The Knights Templar were the file and rank of the Areopagites. A fairly rare sight in the Camus system.
Getting out of the cart and walking up to the apartment door, Logan used his personal entrance code that Felix had provided. It was declined. He ordered his AI to bring his Burglar program on line. Highly illegal or highly essential – depending on what side of the law
you were on – the Burglar program was capable of getting past most low level security guardians. The door silently slid open.
About to step inside, Logan felt a tap on his shoulder. Whirling, his little finger extended, Logan found himself facing the three Templars. Normally his AI would announce proximity long before anyone could get close but Templars were renowned for possessing advanced electronic countermeasures.
The three men, similar in appearance to be brothers, were all blond, good-looking and six foot tall. All three were dressed in blue uniforms and carried sword and plasma guns. Templars were the Areopagite’s enforcers and had to go through a rigorous selection process. Known as the accepted route to becoming an angel, the Knight’s Templar must serve of at least 10 years. Even then, elevation to Angel status was not guaranteed.
The Templar who had tapped him on the shoulder and who was the target of Logan’s little finger, addressed him, seemingly undisturbed by the digit pointed in his direction. Three pips on his shoulder identified him as a Captain.
“Captain Logan Pope?”
Logan nodded, still holding his finger outstretched.
“Please remove your finger from my face," said the Templar nodding at Logan’s finger.
“ Sorry. Reflex." Logan dropped his arm.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Knight’s Captain Tynan. I believe you are an associate of Felix Teppitt?”
Logan nodded again. “What’s all this about”?
“We need to speak to Mr. Teppitt in regards to some information of ours that he possesses.”
“What sort of information?."
“That’s between Mr. Teppitt and ourselves. Do you know of his whereabouts”?
Guy had a bad attitude. Logan, feeling his body tense up even more, tried to consciously relax. “No. And even if I did, I doubt whether I’d tell you."
“That would be unwise Captain Pope. The Areopagite’s are not known for their understanding of interlopers in Church business."
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