A third chimed in: “What influenced you to take a bribe? Is it true you had sex with 2 underage girls”?
How the fuck did they find out about that? At the time, the girls had told him they were both 18.The rest were drowned out in the general clamor.
“No comment," he replied. “Talk to my agent."
He pushed his way through the crowd and made his way to the changing rooms, ordering the door to close and hotly pursued by the floating cameras. Sharon hurried after him and narrowly missed being squashed by the closing door. A camera bounced off the door and was trampled by the melee developing outside.
Tarquin began clearing out his locker.
“What are you doing?," Sharon whined again.
“What does it look like? Going away," he replied.
Sharon looked like a kid deprived of her Christmas present.
“What about me?," she said on the verge of tears.
“Look," he said, turning and grabbing her by the shoulders. “I need a bit of time to myself at the moment. Gotta sort things out. I’ll be back in a couple of months." Sharon's bottom lip began to wobble.
The door to the changing rooms slid open, and Trev, fending off members of the press and the odd floating camera, squeezed himself through and then closed it again.
“Heard about the decision Tarq. Hard lines."
“Yeah thanks." He paused to look first at Trev and then Sharon. “Trev, have you met Sharon?."
Trev grinned broadly. “No. Hey Sharon."
Sharon, completely recovered from her distress, smiled back, flicked her hair and battered her eyelids. “Hi Trev. You’re the Rampant Exterminator aren’t you?”
“Sure am," Trev replied, grinning evenly more broadly.
Tarquin finished packing his gear, and with a quick look back at the oblivious couple, made his exit through the player’s rear door. Walking towards the underground parking facility, he received a call. Tarquin had a fair idea who it was. Most of his calls were screened and only two people had direct access to his AI comms centre.
His eyelid slid down and a face appeared. “Hi Tarq. Fancy a holiday?," said Logan.
“Where are you?”
“Coleridge”
“I’ll be there in 20 minutes."
Chapter Two
Logan took a cart the 5kms to the southern spaceport of Coleridge. The walls of the brightly lit 10 meter wide corridors varied between solid rock and a white polycarbonate as he flashed past them.
On route he mentally ticked off the items he would potentially need if Felix was in as much trouble as he thought. He’d purchased tickets for the Hedonist StarCruiser Dirty Little Minx - destination, Revel, the Hedonist’s homeworld, dropped in to his apartment to pick up a few essential items and accessed the news report on the massacre at Nebula Inc. It was all the talk on the asteroid.
Blamed variously on 4 terrorist factions currently known to operate in the Camus system, there was also a rumor circulating that it had something to do with the Areopagite’s known to have arrived on Coleridge. Logan thought the last theory was closer to the mark considering his run in with the Templars. Felix had mentioned that Nebula Inc was working on a revolutionary new drive system, and although pissed at the time and swearing Logan to secrecy, had delightedly raved on about how it was going to fuck up the Areopagite’s monopoly on Shiva controlled space routes.
Logan knew Felix wasn’t one to exaggerate and wouldn’t put it past the religious freaks to murder in order to maintain their dominance.
Despite only controlling 7 star systems, the Areopagite’s were a powerful force in galactic colonization since their establishment 600 years ago. Angel pilots were highly sort after for exploration due to their ability to take any route. In return, the Areopagite’s received a percentage of the revenue received for any colonized world. This was massive in the long term scale of things, and the Angels, with their 300 year plus life span were in no hurry for immediate profits. This huge amount of revenue enabled the Areopagite’s to develop a powerful military force and a great deal of economic and political clout.
A breakaway faction of the Areopagite’s – the Watchers – were the only ones to challenge the Angels dominance but so far were minor players in comparison. There were other religious, economic and political groupings amongst the colonized worlds, some bigger than the Areopagite’s. None could, however, match the revenue generating ability of the Angels and in fact some were allied to them largely due to their dependence on the Areopagite’s navigation and exploratory talents.
In the 800 hundred odd years since the development of the Slipdrive, humankind had colonized roughly 1,000 star systems (although many others had been earmarked). The Slipdrive enabled ships to travel 10 light years for every 12 hours spent in nospace. From Earth to the centre of the galaxy was 30,000 light years. Many long range scouts had been sent on the journey taking just over 8 years for the return trip. Surprisingly, and blamed largely on the Shiva, none had returned. Instead, humans focused their colonization efforts towards the local, Perseus and Sagittarius arms of the Milky Way Galaxy. No evidence of highly evolved life was yet to be found.
Not much has been found here either, thought Logan as he passed two boys enthusiastically hitting each other over the head with bits of plastic.
Arriving at the spaceport, Logan stood at the viewing window to watch for Tarquin’s arrival. The main part of the southern spaceport, carved out of solid rock, was over a kilometer in diameter. Manmade additions had expanded that sufficiently to allow for up to 20 ships at a time to dock. The area was filled with breathable air, its entrance covered by a field sealing off the docking bay from the outside vacuum. Five ships were currently present in the port, most surrounded by maintenance crews or passengers. One of them, a sleek knife like shape 300 meters in length was obviously a Areopagite Galley. The wings painted on its hull above the name Divine Retribution were a bit of a giveaway. Logan couldn’t see any of the Templar crew or its attendant Angel anywhere near the ship.
Logan’s scrutiny of the Areopagite’s ship was interrupted when his AI informed him of the arrival of Tarquin’s sports yacht. Already cleared for docking, Tarquin’s ship, the Debacherous Weekend, glided in on its AG and settled quietly into a spare dock. Looking remarkably like a fish, the illusion aided somewhat by the silver finish of the hull; it had a tapered snout, widening to a bulbous midsection, and tapering again to the tail. The ion thruster nozzles poked out of the aft section surrounding the singular tubular exhaust for the Slipdrive. Barrels of ship to ship and ship to ground Field disruptors and Plasma cannons jutted out from various parts of the yacht. Despite what Tarquin liked to call it, his yacht was more of a small assault cruiser than a pleasure craft.
Toting his carry bag, Logan made his way to the port entrance and walked over to the ship. As he walked, the ship lowered an access ramp. Tarquin poked his head out of the hatch, waved at the approaching Logan and ducked his head back in. Walking up the ramp and entering the hatch, Logan emerged in the ship’s well appointed lounge. The ramp retracting and hatch hissing shut behind him, Logan walked over towards a storage locker. A door to his left led to the bridge.
“I’m in here," yelled Tarquin from the bridge. “Stow your gear. We’re underway.”
“No worries," Logan shouted back. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Familiar with Tarquin’s yacht after the last couple of holiday’s together, Logan knew the lounge led to four large staterooms above which was a bar and kitchen. Lurking below was the hold which contained Tarquin’s extensive array of weapons and toys. When not playing Snareball, Tarquin spent much of his time aboard, using the ship as a mobile home.
Stashing his gear in a locker, Logan made his way to the bridge and seated himself next to Tarquin in front of the viewscreen. The ship was already moving towards the exit field.
“How's it going”?, he asked.
Tarquin’s left eye was closed. A sure sign that he was communicating with the ship via his AI.
“Yeah, good," a distracted Tarquin replied.
Logan smiled. Typical understatement from his friend.
“Heard about your suspension. Obviously some sort of conspiracy to remove you from the game.”
Tarquin laughed.
Logan grinned back. “You were far too good anyway. Made the other players look like arses."
“A bit like you in the investigation game, except I wasn’t shagging other players”
“Touché my friend. Touché."
Chuckling quietly to himself, Tarquin oversaw the ship’s AI as it guided the vessel through the exit field and into space. He bought the ion drive on-line. The Ion drive, used primarily for vacuum maneuvering, took them the 300 kms minimum distance required from a physical body. The brilliant blue and white sphere of Unamuno filled most of the right hand side of the view screen. At 14,000 km in diameter, Unamuno was slightly larger than Earth and as such had a slightly higher gravity. In all other respects, Unamuno was very much Earthlike. Its similarity was one of the foremost reasons for its popularity as a tourist and recreation destination.
The view of Unamuno slid away as Tarquin pointed his yacht away from the planet’s gravity field before engaging the slipdrive.
Both men experience a slight twinge as the ship moved between the dimensions. The viewscreen showed grey nothingness outside.
Tarquin grinned, sat back and opened his other eye. “Rendezvous with the Dirty Little Minx, one hour. Just enough time to fill me in on the real reason for this little holiday.”
◊
The Departure of the Debacherous Weekend was watched with interest by a group of figures standing in the viewing area previously occupied by Logan. Knight’s Captain Tynan stood with five of his fellow Templars, quietly waiting for instructions. To one side stood an impressive and rather beautiful individual. The Angel Simbiel was dressed simply in a blue robe emblazoned with a white sword. Long blond hair cascaded down his back. A face more classically beautiful than anything designed by nature was dominated by glowing blue eyes. The sense of power imposed by his 6’8 frame was enhanced by the large white wings jutting from his back. Simbiel’s hand rested casual on the hilt of a sword attached to his waist. Although well over 100 years of age, Simbiel looked no older than 25.
In the triadic hierarchy of the Areopagite’s, Simbiel was last in the second hierarchy of Angels. Known as Powers, they were empowered to act as the strong arm of the Areopagite’s. Simbiel was also an Angel of Destruction and as such was personally charged by the leader of the Areopagite’s – Metatron - to dish out punishments, or divine justice as they liked to call it, to transgressors of God’s laws. In practice, Angels like Simbiel were sent out to protect the interests of the Areopagites. Simbiel’s success in his previous missions and the zeal with which he applied himself were instrumental in his selection.
“Are you sure that they will lead us to this Felix person?”
Captain Tynan jumped at the sound of Simbiel’s rich timbre.
“Yes Lord," he said turning to face his master and keeping a wary eye on Simbiel’s sword hand. Simbiel was known to have a vicious temper when one of his Templars failed him.
“I tracked Captain Pope personally. He purchased two tickets on the Hedonist ship Dirty Little Minx bound for Revel.”
Simbiel’s face showed a cross between contempt and disgust. “Hedonists! Dirty heathens. What do we know of these two?”
“Pardon Lord? Do you mean the Hedonist’s or Felix’s friends?”
“The friends you idiot," roared Simbiel at his cringing henchman.
Recovering his composure, Tynan replied with alacrity. “Captain Alexander Pope, 27, was formerly with Unamuno’s Military Intelligence division before being dismissed for unbecoming behavior." Tynan visibly relaxed. He was on safe ground here.
“Unbecoming behavior?”
“He was having sex with his CO’s wife."
Simbiel smiled. Frightening in a beautiful kind of way thought Tynan. “That one should be easy to deal with. Continue."
“Ah…His current employer is Big Al, a former Major who now runs his own investigation company. Captain Logan has just been suspended for fornicating with the clientele."
“Good. And the other one?”
“That would be Tarquin Compton-Burnett, 28, also known as the Chocolate Avenger, a Snareball player for one of Unamuno’s teams. He’s just been found guilty of match fixing."
The smile returned to Simbiel’s face. This would be simpler than he imagined. These would be protectors of Felix could be easily turned from their mission. And they would lead him to the prize.
This was the sort of opportunity that could lead to promotion. Metatron, the Areopagite’s chief Angel and Demiurge, had emphasized in the briefing how important the Overdrive was to their cause. He’d even stated that success would pretty much assure Simbiel a place in the first hierarchy as a Throne. Failure was not to be contemplated. Angels that failed Metatron were rarely heard from again.
Tynan, encouraged by Simbiel’s mood, went on. “They will be heavily armed Lord. Both have combat experience and access to military grade weapons.”
“Of course. What of the Watchers and the Shepards?”
“A Watcher Trireme has been reported arriving in orbit above Unamuno. Even if they do manage to follow us, I believe our Galley will be more than a match for them. The Shepherds homeworld, Novelle New Zealand, is currently under surveillance. So far, no ship has been reported heading for this system ."
Simbiel was hardly bothering to listen. His attention was already focused on the chase ahead.
“Excellent. I congratulate you on your work. Baser human nature is very easy to corrupt and anticipate Captain Tynan. You will discover that upon your elevation to Angel status."
Tynan felt an electric thrill run through him at the thought of becoming an Angel. He bowed slightly.
“Yes Lord. Thank you Lord. Your insights are truly educational."
“Come," said Simbiel, gesturing royally. “Its time to capture this wondrous technology I think."
Simbiel, fingering his sword hilt in anticipation, headed towards the docking bay. Captain Tynan and the other Templars trailed in his wake.
“Oh, and Captain Tynan."
“Yes Lord?”
“Although sycophantic behavior is to be expected at your rank, when you are elevated that sort of behavior is not encouraged. It becomes tiresome. In other words, try not to kiss my arse too much huh”?
Knights Captain Tynan bowed his head in understanding. “Yes Lord."
◊
Archangel Gabriella, Ruling Princess of the Cherubim, Divine Herald, Princess of Justice, Archangel of the Holy Sefiroth, Angel of Vengeance, Angel of Death, ruler of the Areopagite’s sixth planet, Makon, and object of countless million male wet dreams, strode imperiously down the corridor of Arabot’s holy palace.
Templars and other angels stopped what they were doing to watch as the most beautiful woman in the known galaxy moved past them. Gabriella was used to it. It was like time stood still when she encountered others, especially men. All talking would cease, and those hurrying to complete errands would suddenly conclude that the errand wasn’t so urgent after all, pausing to watch the vision glide past.
Her simple robes of silver and white, emblazoned with a trumpet, struggled to contain their womanly curves. She was sheer perfection. Like all Angels, Gabriella possessed long blond hair, dazzling blue eyes, pure white wings, a stature well over 6’ and a face that required no cosmetic enhancement. She was one of the three most powerful Angels in the Areopagite hierarchy along with the Demiurge Metatron and Michael - one of the other seven Archangels and Prince of Arabot. Gabriella was also the only female Archangel.
The Demiurge had summoned her here to Arabot, Seventh Heaven and ruling planet of the Areopagite’s, for a conference that would only involve Metatron, Michael and herself. Ominous and intriguing thought Gabriella. No other Angel in the First hierarchy was
to be present.
Any major decisions made in Areopagite society had to be ratified by the Angelic Council consisting of the seven Archangels, one of which was Metatron (who had the power of veto) and the rulers of the seven planets, three of which were Archangels. This meeting would obviously be off the record.
Gabriella could guess as to the reason for the conference. She had been following the development of the Overdrive with great interest for the last few years and already had her fingers well and truly in that pie. Her sources revealed that Metatron and Michael shared her interest although what the old duffers had planned for it was anyone’s guess.
In her opinion it was about time Metatron stepped down from his position as Demiurge. At nearly 300 years of age, Gabriella thought he was looking a bit crusty around the edges. For that matter, Michael wasn’t that much further behind him. Both were becoming doddery old sods; stagnant and unable to make crucial snap decisions that would enlarge upon the Areopagite’s already significant power base. Gabriella chose to ignore the fact that she was well over 200 herself although looks were deceiving. Any red blooded male would have guessed her age at mid 20’s. No Angel in the ruling hierarchy looked their age thanks to extravagant genetic tinkering and enhancement.
Sword swinging at her curvaceous hip, Gabriella arrived before the throne room. Two Angelic guards stood before her barring entry through the heavy golden doors. Known as Hayyoth or Angels of fire, both were puffing energetically away on cigarettes. Blue smoke suppressant fields surrounded them containing the smoke and preventing it from moving into the rest of the corridor. Upon seeing Gabriella, they both dropped their cigarettes and stood to attention, eyes focused on the far wall of the corridor. The blue field’s surrounding them vanished. One of them, Gabriella noted, had dropped his cigarette onto his tunic where it continued to burn. She decided not to tell him.
Gabriella looked them up and down. Both studiously avoided making eye contact, preferring the less dangerous option of looking at the wall.
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