Starweb

by Warren James Palmer

  'Our more than generous donations to certain politicians and parties, are supposed to ensure our best interests are cared for, within the machinery of the United Nations. Are you telling us this is no longer the case? Have we been wasting our money?' Tony Callam, head of United Gas Supplies asked.

  'The combined voice of the multi-nationals has become one increasingly in the wilderness. President Gafton and his administration are very hard to dissuade once they have moved along a certain political path,' the Japanese industrialist answered knowledgeably. 'Unfortunately, their moral standards are such, that they truly believe themselves to be above persuasion.'

  'A president and administration which had the best interests of our corporations at heart, would certainly allow us to make the most of new markets and business opportunities.' DeShalte added. 'However, a continuation of a policy of assassination and disruption, will undoubtedly lead to an economic downturn. Can we afford to take such a risk?'

  'Can we afford not to make the most of such an opportunity?' Lord Steel interjected. 'The momentum of reconstruction on all three worlds is such, that any downturn will be very minor. However, now that we have set the ball rolling, so to speak; I truly believe we owe it our shareholders, customers, employees and ourselves, to make the most of this opportunity.'

  'Steel, you're a slimy, arrogant arse-hole who even sounds like a politician. I don't like you, but I can see the sense in this wild gunpowder plot. But, just let me warn you mate, double-cross us and I'll hunt you down and garrote you myself!'

  'Thank you so much Mr Cambell,' the British lord responded. 'I knew I could rely on your support. Anybody else?'

  One by one the other industrialists agreed to the scheme to overthrow Earth's president, and with a thrill, Steel realised he was on the path to the highest position of power on the planet. He looked at the flame-haired woman at the other end of the table and the expression on her face sent a shiver down his back.

  Agent Delaware watched the various industrialists leave one by one, in the same unmarked cars they'd arrived in. As each member of the dozen left, a Masorak agent gently eased out of the central London traffic and began tailing the chauffeur driven saloons to their destinations. Myrddin and Delaware weren’t optimistic of discovering anything new about the members of this most elite society, but there was always a chance something would be discovered.

  When Lord Steel; known to be the chairman of the maverick industrialists, left the club, Delaware was careful to scan the saloon as it passed by the doorway she was slumped in. She had hoped her advanced infrared scanner would pinpoint another occupant in the automobile. Unfortunately, except for the driver who had come and gone with the car, the British peer was alone in the vehicle. The one person they had hoped would emerge was nowhere to be seen. Delaware watched as a tailing agent latched on to Steel's car, then she returned her attention to the club.

  Myrddin was sure the agent provocateur he had seen in Moscow was an attendant at the secret meeting. There seemed to be no proof other than the link with the chief executive of N.A.P, but if the ancient had a hunch, she had sufficient confidence in his abilities to follow it up.

  She remained in the doorway, apparently asleep, until the early hours of the morning. Then, as the club's staff finally left for the night, she matched their height and facial features with the supplied identities. None of the barmen, waiters and cleaning staff matched the descriptions of the suspect, until as the first fingers of daylight lightened the sky over London, a small frail-looking woman left via the servants entrance.

  To the casual observer, the cleaner looked to be in her early sixties and of Latin origin, the opposite of the woman Masorak were looking for. But, there was something about the way she moved that alerted Delaware. The movements were too smooth, too confident. Then, when the agent attempted to gently scan the cleaner's mind, she was surprised to find her probes blocked by the tightest mental screens she had ever come across. Realising this was no ordinary member of staff, and probably the suspect in disguise, the agent telepathed her report. Then still acting the part of a junkie, she left her doorway and staggered up the side street. Delaware was determined to get a closer look at the woman before she called in all the other agents.

  Holding out her hand like a beggar, attempting to find enough cash for the next fix, she moved up behind the apparently harmless old lady and tapped her on the back.

  ''Ere, spare a few quid will you Mrs?' she drawled in her best London gutter accent.

  Before Delaware could say another word, the woman turned on her and for a brief moment, she stared into the cold and calculating eyes of the ‘agent provocateur’. There was a flash of glinting metal and a before she knew what was happening, a searing blast of mental energy lanced through her head; all but frying her bright young mind. The Masorak agent was, perhaps thankfully, barely aware of the blade slicing through her abdomen and her life-blood pouring into the gutter. With a final gasp, Delaware collapsed in a heap onto the cold paving slabs, blood spilling from her mouth and stomach, steaming in chilly night air. The agent-provocateur disappeared into the shadows and made good her getaway.

  Myrddin arrived on the scene minutes later. He'd been observing the movements of the industrialists from a helicopter high above the city. He was there before the paramedics, but as soon as he saw the mortally injured agent, lying in the street he knew there was nothing anyone could do to save her. He knelt down beside her, cradled her head in his lap and mentally soothed what was left of her mind. By the time the ambulance arrived, agent Delaware was gone.

  The ancient stood up and moved away as the paramedics certified the agent as dead. He suddenly felt every one of his many years. The young woman's death had been his fault. He should have warned her not to approach the suspect. He should have anticipated such an eventuality. Now a brilliant young Masorak agent had been brutally murdered, and the person who appeared to be the linchpin behind all the catastrophic events, had escaped once more. Myrddin cursed and swore at the gods for their injustice; vowing he would avenge her death.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Samarcia. Date-unconfirmed.

  'And this just in; there are reports of an unknown ship, some sort of freighter, entering the Samarcian home world system. So what, you may ask? Well, what appears to be causing such a fuss amongst the police and security forces, is that this particular ship is of an unknown configuration! It appears to come from no known world, and its occupants speak an unfamiliar language!

  'In the long history of the Commonwealth, there has never been contact with another sentient alien life form. It's true that artifacts of ancient civilisations have been found on several colonised worlds, but those that built the ruins have, until now; long since disappeared.

  'Is it possible that finally, today, Merida 234, in the rule of Deligisha, another species has come to visit the heart of civilisation? You can be sure, that as this momentous event unfolds, NLBK news will keep you updated!

  'Now a word from our sponsor!'

  The Shanoa eased down through the atmosphere, through the dark side of the world and into daylight. Her aerodynamic field created an artificial boundary layer, which helped sustain the weight of the bulky colonial cruiser. Flanked on each side by Samarcian interceptors, the Dyason starship headed toward the largest continent on the planet. Eventually, a spaceport sited on a peninsula came into view, and guided by the Samarcian computers, the colonial transporter headed toward it. Watched carefully by ground-forces and the escorting interceptors, the Shanoa touched down on a deserted corner of the vast port, well away from any other vessel.

  Security forces surrounded the strange and somewhat crudely designed vessel. The crew and passengers were led into awaiting vehicles, and then whisked away, lights flashing. Samarcian news crews recorded the whole episode with telephoto lenses from the edge of the spaceport and from drones hovering right at the edges of the militarized zone. The arrival of the bizarre ship was immediately headline news on a hundred worlds across the
commonwealth.

  Brother Dakol had done his very best to comfort and convince the fearful colonialists that there was nothing to be concerned about. After all, they knew that the Samarcian race were humanoids just like themselves and clearly a civilized race. Surely, they had nothing to fear from their own descendants? Their amazing voyage through time and space was clearly an act of God and their arrival here was for a specific purpose. That much was obvious.

  These were brave and sensible words at the time, but he had to admit to himself, they sounded hollow now. For, as soon as they were driven away from the grounded Shanoa, it was obvious that the hospitality of their hosts was to be less than welcoming.

  The entire crew and all the colonists were taken to a vast detention centre sited on a flat plain, well away from any areas of population. There, medics wearing protective environment suits individually examined them. The examinations were thorough and exceedingly unpleasant. Their clothes were taken away and they were given simple gowns to wear. Any thoughts of protest against such treatment were discouraged by the ever-present troops carrying advanced automatic weapons.

  Thereafter, they were separated and placed in small individual cells, bare except for a single, thin mattress. For Brother Dakol, this was no great hardship; he'd spent days, weeks even, in solitary contemplation in the past. However, he was desperately worried for the Shanoa's crew and colonists.

  The realisation that they had been lost in time and space was bad enough, but to be separated and treated like convicts at such a time was enough to stretch the sanity of any one of them, to the very limit. These people had already suffered and lost everything in the wars and under the shackles of the Dyason Imperial regime. Now, after gathering the last of their resources to start a new life on a new world, they find themselves lost and alienated. The events of the last few hours would undoubtedly break many of those he had advised and reconciled.

  Dakol lost track of how long he spent in the cell. He dozed fitfully, unable to sleep properly under the glare of the bright overhead lighting panel. But he did his best to conserve his energy for his own interrogation, which would inevitably happen at some stage; and it did.

  Two armed troopers came for him and wordlessly ushered the monk down several long corridors, into an all-white room, bereft of anything except for a single padded couch bolted to the centre of the floor. His escort pushed him into the couch and placed restraining straps around his limbs, immobilizing him completely.

  The troopers left the room and the padded door closed. Then the computerised voice began to ask him questions in standard Dyason. Brother Dakol did his best to give as many answers as possible, but some of the questions were simply beyond his understanding. The electric shocks then supplied to his genitalia were excruciating.

  'According to official statements released by the internal Commonwealth security forces, the strange vessel which landed on the home world earlier today, is in fact a colonist ship built by an obscure religious faction on the distant world of Regalis IV.

  According to these same sources, the colonists had made the trip to Samarcia to visit the relics of Gaeric in central Ceylak. Apparently, this strange religious faction considers these relics holy.

  The security forces strenuously deny that the ship comes from beyond the borders of the Commonwealth, and is most definitely not our first contact with another sentient race!

  NBLK will bring you more news on this rather strange occurrence as it happens! Now another word from our sponsor.'

  'That's the biggest load of crap I've heard in a long time!' De Felke spat with feeling. He looked at the words that flashed on his monitor via the computer Interlink, pausing in his editing of the latest images of the strange vessel, now being towed into a cavernous hangar by the secret service.

  De Felke was an experienced Interlink journalist for the web-wide news service and prided himself for being able to sniff out a good story. His instincts screamed at him that here was a major story being desperately suppressed by the secret service. The cover story just released was so thin it was completely translucent. Nobody with any common sense would believe such garbage, certainly none of his competitors. Which meant he simply had to get to the bottom of what was really happening out at that military spaceport, before the other Interlink hacks got a scoop on him; and that was simply not going to happen!

  'Qbec, who do we know within the secret service who can tell us what's really going down with that weird-looking crate?' De Felke yelled over his shoulder at his assistant who sat at her workstation behind him.

  'What's up Slimy? That nose of yours twitching again?' she asked in a bored voice. 'Is this another of your galactic scoops in the making?'

  'You don't believe that crap in the official release do you?' he retorted with a snarl.

  'No I don't, but I don't see a group of aliens from beyond the edge of the Commonwealth either!' she answered bluntly, not bothering to turn around to face her boss. 'What's the angle?'

  'I don't know what the angle is yet Qbec,' the hack told her, 'but I smell a major story and that's why I'm the News-web's best journalist and you're a snivelling lackey! Now, as I said, who do we have on our pay-roll within the secret service?'

  With a long suffering sigh the hack's assistant ran through the confidential list of the News-web's paid informants for a couple of minutes, then answered, 'This woman might be able to help. We've been supplying her with a steady supply of narcotics and pretty young boys. We've got a good hold on her; I'd say she's our best hope.'

  De Felke looked at the informant's personal profile and smiled grimly, his luck was in. He could vaguely remember the identity of the News-webs mole, although they'd never met before; not that it was important. What really mattered, was the fact that the source was perfectly placed to give him what he wanted. 'Excellent!' he exclaimed. 'Reel the bitch in and let's get the true story!'

  Inspector Jelde observed the interrogation of the latest member of the vessel's crew through the one-way panel. Her face expressionless, devoid of the slightest hint of emotion, she carefully judged the reaction of the crewman to the questions translated and delivered, by the central secret service computer. Eventually, once she had seen and heard enough, she turned away, examining the report on her tablet once more.

  It was puzzling, very puzzling... The picture that was emerging from the interrogations was almost too bizarre, too incredible, to believe. Yet, she could detect no flaws, no discrepancies in the answers given by everyone onboard the alien vessel. Years of experience, years of practicing her craft with clinical precision, told her that these people truly believed the fantastic story they were telling her. Unfortunately, that story was too fantastic to believe. Therefore, she had no choice, no recourse, but to repeat the interrogations all over again.

  Jelde was reluctant to do this, not because she felt any sort of remorse, or guilt at the pain she was inflicting on the hapless travelers. It was simply that a second set of interrogations risked damaging her most important commodity; the captives themselves. However, there was no alternative, so with a few words and a curt nod, she ordered the interrogations to begin once more.

  She returned to her office, which was situated on the floor above the interrogation rooms, and sat down at her terminal with a view to submitting her first report. As soon as she sat down, her screen flashed a priority message waiting for her. Thinking it was from central command, Jelde opened the message but cursed when she saw whom the it was from.

  The heavy-jowl, sunken eyed features of De Felke, the notorious News-web hack, appeared in holographic form on her desktop and with an ingratiating smirk said, 'Yeah—hi, inspector Jelde! This is De Felke at the News-web, news-desk here. I was kinda' hoping you could put us in the picture as to what's going down at that secret service place of yours! We've been hearing some strange things about that unregistered ship which landed a few hours back. We were hoping you could confirm a few details for us? Nothing important of course, but a few good deeds deserve a few fa
vours in return; if you take my meaning…'

  The inspector killed the holographic message with an angry tap on the screen and swore. She knew her exotic tastes would have to be paid for eventually. Until now, it had been an easy matter to supply useless snippets of information to the journalists who kept her supplied with pretty young boys. She was not an attractive woman. She knew the only way to satisfy her high sex drive was to pay for the lustful attention she craved. However, now her weakness had compromised her position, and that was something she could not; would not accept. Her only option was to turn a potential blackmail situation to her advantage. The question was how…

  After a couple of minute’s quiet contemplation, she had the answer. Like the majority of good Samarcian citizens, De Felke was a greedy, glory hunting, bastard. The Samarcian commonwealth was based upon commercialism, and commercialism was based upon money. Jelde didn't know much about the society from whence the strangers came from, at least not yet; but in this universe, money was power and power was everything.

  There were people who would pay a lot of money for the information she had weaned out of the occupants of that alien vessel. People who stood to gain vast amounts. Perhaps now was the time to consider a career outside the secret service. A career with a certain multi-world corporation. Jelde smiled as she followed that thought through to its logical conclusion. There was no doubt in her mind that she faced a wonderful opportunity, an opportunity that would be fulfilled by that piece of slime De Felke, and the hapless other-worlders. Of course, it was a shame that they would all have to die, but that was the price of success. And success was what she would have!