Starweb

by Warren James Palmer

  'No…!' he cried in devastation, unable to believe what had just taken place. 'No…! This can't be happening! Tell me it isn't true!'

  Across the planet, Earth millions stared at their phones, tablets and holo monitors…. All were streaming the CNK news channel, and all were watching the dramatic events in South America unfold before their eyes. Even those who did not support the Triplanetary Church were shocked by the callous way in which the Masorak agents butchered the unarmed, unresisting cult members in the temple's inner sanctum.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' the familiar voice of anchorman Bruce Quaid said over the transmitted images, 'we are witnessing the horrific end to an era. The end of an age of innocence... Since the final Dyason war the security of the Triplanetary alliance has been entrusted to the all-powerful Masorak agency, but now that trust had been betrayed…

  'The president of the United Nations is critically ill; violence and terrorism has split the globe asunder. Now those who were supposed to be responsible for the protection of civilisation have proved themselves to be cold-blooded murderers! To quote a famous twentieth century leader; 'The world is on the brink of a dark abyss…’

  The CNK anchorman was suddenly silenced by the images of the Boeing G-187 Sentinel crashing into the ruins of the Aztec city in a horrific finale to the bloody show. It ripped through what was left of the once noble buildings, shredding engines and wings as it went, ploughing a deep furrow through the soft Amazonian soil and leaving a trail of wreckage. Once the remains of the giant aircraft had finally slid to a grinding halt, a deathly silence hung over the rainforest. The debacle had come to a dramatic end; an end to a battle witnessed by billions of viewers across three worlds.

  Some time later, as fresh UN troops finally secured what was left of the ruined temple, they searched everywhere for Bishop Dydnski and the enigmatic Miss Smith. Inevitably, there was no sign of the leader of Triplanetary Church, or the anonymous female agent provocateur. Myrddin was found in a catatonic state on the hard stone floor of the inner temple. Despite attempts to revive him, the ancient operant remained in a coma and was shipped to a military hospital along with the other casualties.

  'The response by people across the globe to the slaughter of the innocent young members of Triplanetary Church has been immediate and overwhelming,' Bruce Quaid told his viewers later that same day. 'You're looking at scenes from across the globe, as millions pour out onto the streets to protest at the actions of Masorak and the United Nations government. As we speak riots are taking place in at least fifteen major cities; all of them violent!'

  Images of mainly young men and women openly fighting against police forces were transmitted live across the three worlds. Molotov cocktails smashed against the sides of armoured vehicles and buildings were systematically torched. In response, the police fired numerous canisters of CS gas and round upon round, of wounding rubber bullets. The scenes were ugly and violent.

  'But who can blame them?' the CNK anchorman continued. 'If rioting on the streets is the only way we can make the UN world government sit up and take notice; if this is the only way we can force the Masorak secret service to stop being a law unto itself, then we at CNK can only support the actions of the protesters! Our world has become rotten at the core, and as Earth teeters on the verge of civil war, each and every one of us must stand up for what we believe in!

  'This is Bruce Quaid, CNK News at the end of a sad day for the Terran people! Goodnight…'

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Central Offices of the Samarcian Commonwealth Secret Service.

  Samarcia, date unconfirmed.

  Inspector Jelde angrily read the priority report on her tablet. It only confirmed what she already knew. Those damned news-web journalists had blurted the story across the galaxy before the official report had been released. Which meant of course, that the Secret Service had at least one top-level informant in its midst. Someone other than her, that is.

  She cursed and threw her digital pen at the office wall. This changed everything; just as she was preparing to tie up the loose ends and disappear with her ill-gotten proceeds, some bastard had changed the goal posts. Now it was not just the credits, but also her life, which was in jeopardy.

  The face of her AI secretary appeared on the desktop monitor and announced in its maddeningly ingratiating voice, 'You have a priority one call awaiting inspector.'

  Jelde cursed again, looked at the sickeningly attractive image of the digital secretary on the screen and said, 'Don't tell me, its vice-president De-Vank from the Starweb Corporation…'

  'That is correct inspector, you are most astute,' the machine replied, unable to sense the sarcasm in her voice. 'Would you like me to put his call through?'

  Jelde nodded reluctantly. Talking to that fat slimy bastard was the last thing she wanted to do, but there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. More than anything now, she needed to buy herself time—time to sort out what the hell was going on.

  The flaccid features of the Starweb vice-president appeared on the screen and without preamble or any sort of courtesies snapped, 'Switch your scrambler on Jelde.'

  With a sigh, she ordered the computer to scramble the call to protect it from eavesdroppers. She nodded to De-Vank once the line was secure.

  'What's on your mind?' she asked innocently.

  'You know damn well what's on my mind Jelde!' he retorted hotly. 'Don't try to tell me that you haven't read the reports or seen the newscast! There can't be any single person in the entire commonwealth who hasn't heard the news! You promised me that the situation was under control, but it plainly isn't. Now just what the frack is going on?'

  The inspector kept her plain features expressionless, being careful not to show any body language that could be interpreted as anxiety. If she were to keep the situation under control, she had to convince the Starweb Corporation of her confidence. If she didn't, her life would be terminated rapidly; there was no doubt in her mind about that.

  'If you're referring to the incident at the Tellaware military base, then yes, I have read the reports,' she told De-Vank in a level voice. 'Unfortunately, as yet, I don't know much more than you do. You have as many ‘contacts’ in the military as myself. Perhaps you can tell me!'

  The vice-president of the Starweb Corporation ignored the jibe and retorted hotly. 'You promised to keep the knowledge of that weird ship and it's crew buried where nobody could find it!'

  'Which is exactly what I've done,' Jelde answered smoothly. 'Security surrounding the alien vessel and passengers has been watertight. I've located the last surviving passenger and am about to bring him in, as promised. I've also sanctioned the termination of the News-web journalist De-Felke. I believe that was the arrangement?'

  'If you've been doing such a wonderful job, how come I'm being inundated by reporters demanding to know if there is a connection between the problems on Extremity Station and the explosions at Tellaware?' De-Vank almost shouted, his face flushed and angry. 'Tell me that Jelde! Tell me who the two intruders were who blew up that piece of junk, and then released a survivor from the detention centre! A survivor who was kept alive for the sadistic pleasure of one of those low-life you employed as guards! You tell me Jelde, why there are suddenly at least two, possibly more survivors from the Shanoa! Then you tell me what the frack I'm supposed to tell the media!'

  'The situation is getting rapidly out of control,' he continued mopping his brow with an embroidered but stained handkerchief. 'There's something weird going on; the faults on the computer at extremity station were exactly what the records on the Shanoa predicted. Which means either they really were from our future, or there is some plot against the Starweb corporation. I don't believe the former, which only leaves the latter…and it's your job to find out who's behind all this!'

  'I can appreciate your concern De-Vanke,' Jelde replied in her most ingratiating manner. She smiled thinly, an expression, which only made her face appear even sourer. 'At this stage I can't be sure as to whether ther
e is a connection between the various incidents. The news hounds could simply be sniffing around for a story where none exists…'

  'Bullshit!' the vice-president interrupted. 'You don't believe that anymore than I do! We both know there is some plot by person or person’s unknown, going on behind the scenes. Somebody is trying to kill off the Starweb Corporation and they're doing a pretty good job of it!'

  'Don't you think this all smacks of an imaginary conspiracy theory?' Jelde stared hard at the face on her desktop monitor. 'Why would anybody want to discredit the Starweb corporation? There are interstellar companies who do have problems; particularly from the 'Eco-terrorists', but I'm not aware of them ever showing much interest in you before.'

  The inspector stopped and looked at the vice-president with shrewd, narrow eyes and added, 'Or is there something you're not telling me De-Vank?'

  'Bah, how the frack should I know who's got it in for us?' he spat back at her. 'You're in the secret service, not me! All I know is, unless we put a lid on this whole affair within the next few hours, the whole contract to supply sentient AI computers to all the governments of the commonwealth, is in jeopardy. That amounts to billions in credits Jelde! Now what are you going to do about it?'

  'Me?' she pretended to look surprised at the question. 'You want me to do something about it? Why? I've held up my part of the bargain. I terminated the crew and I'm about to dispatch the rogue male to you. What more do you want me to do? These latest incidents are of no concern to me.'

  'Ah, but that's where you are badly mistaken,' was the retort. 'You know, I had a hard time convincing the other members of the board that you weren't behind our latest problems. After all, in their view, you've already black-mailed the Starweb corporation out of a vast sum of money. Why wouldn't you try the same trick again?'

  De-Vank leant forward so that he appeared to be about to leap out of the monitor and physically grapple with the inspector.

  'Do you know what I told them?'

  Jelde shook her head.

  'I told them that you weren't that stupid…I told them that you had already received your remuneration and there would be no point in jeopardizing your relationship with the Starweb corporation. Not if you wanted to enjoy your windfall that is!

  However, my colleagues were not entirely convinced by my arguments. Which is why they have requested, nay demanded, that you hand over both the survivors of the Shanoa, plus the intruders!'

  Jelde swallowed hard. In fact, the fat bastard's demands were no more than she had expected, the problem was fulfilling them. Getting hold of the priest who was now being looked after by that scum of a journalist, was one thing, but getting her hands on the teenage girl and her rescuers was another matter entirely. Even she hadn't considered that a few rogue guards at the detention centre might directly disobey her orders. The news that there was a second survivor from the Shanoa had come as an unpleasant surprise. She didn't want to admit the fact to De-Vank, but the truth was, nobody knew who the second survivor's rescuers were, or where they had gone.

  'I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises,' she answered levelly.

  'I'm sure you will come up with the goods Jelde,' was the cold response. 'After all, you do want to enjoy the benefits of your cosmetic surgery? It would be such a shame to have such a beautiful face created, only to have it lie unloved on a cold mortuary slab... You have thirty six hours!'

  De-Vank severed the connection abruptly leaving the inspector staring at a blank screen. She sat motionless for several minutes staring at nothing in particular before abruptly standing up and calling out to her digital secretary, 'Get my speeder ready and take all calls. I'm taking a couple of days leave.'

  'Where would you like me to say you have gone, inspector?' the female voice asked.

  'Tell everyone I've gone fishing,' Jelde called out over her shoulder, and then left her tiny office.

  De-Felke watched the incoming News-web reports on his holo-tablet with increasing alarm. It didn't take any great genius to figure something big was brewing and that something involved brother Dakol and his incredible story.

  The reports of problems with Starweb corporation's latest sentient AI computers, was similar to the incredible story told by Dakol and the Shanoa's crew. Despite his inherent cynicism, De-Felke was beginning to believe the mad-monk's strange tale. Which meant if he was beginning to believe it, then Jelde's goons and other interested parties would also be coming to the same conclusion.

  There was no doubt about it, De-Felke was sitting on the biggest story in decades, maybe even centuries; if only he could keep himself and his key witness alive long enough to tell it… The shit was about to hit the fan big time, he had no doubt about that!

  He got up off the over-stuffed couch and went into the next room. Dakol was lying on a thin mattress, curled up in a fetal position and mumbling in his sleep. The Dyason monk seemed to spend most of his time asleep; if you could call the fitful, nightmare infested state he lay in as sleep. De-Felke caught himself feeling slightly sorry for the poor bastard. He convinced himself his feelings were merely concern over his assets.

  'Wake up monk!' the journalist called out, shaking the shoulder of the sweating Dakol. 'Come on, it's time to move on! Wakey, wakey…'

  The fugitive grunted, then sat bolt upright, eyes wide and fearful.

  'What? What's happening? What's going on?' he muttered incoherently in his native Dyason tongue.

  'Stop jabbering in that gibberish priest,' De-Felke snapped, irritated at himself for feeling any emotion over his charge. 'We've got to make tracks. Things are going to be getting a little too warm around here soon.'

  Dakol rose wearily from the soiled mattress and stared at the journalist through swollen red eyes.

  'Why, what's going on? We've moved three times in as many days. Why do we need to move again?' he demanded fearfully.

  'There's no time to explain now,' the journalist replied, picking up their few possessions and stuffing them into a carryall. 'I'll explain on the way. Let's just say that events are beginning to move rapidly and we need to stay one step ahead of the game.'

  The door buzzer to the tiny apartment chimed in a code known only to De-Felke and his taciturn assistant. Qbec was his contact with the outside world and despite their apparent dislike for each other, this young woman was the only person in the entire Samarcian commonwealth whom he would trust with his life.

  Even so, he approached the front door cautiously. He scanned the corridor outside with the specially installed surveillance cameras, and once satisfied that Qbec was alone, opened the high security door.

  The journalist's assistant stepped into the small rooftop apartment and turned to face her boss. De-Felke instinctively knew something was wrong. Qbec was ill at ease, her lithe body tense, her expression strained.

  'What's wrong Qbec? What's going on?' he demanded, reaching for the small snub-automatic he always kept under his arm. He could see no immediate threat, but his assistant's posture set alarm bells ringing in his head.

  'We are…' a gruff male voice answered taking the diminutive weapon away from the journalist before he could point it.

  De-Felke blinked once, then blinked again. He couldn't believe his eyes, so he blinked a third time for good measure. There before him, filling the small main room of the apartment, were three men and an adolescent girl. Their features although not openly hostile, were purposeful.

  Where the hell had they come from? The corridor had been empty except for Qbec, he was sure of that. With the windows sealed, there was only one way into the apartment and that was through the main door.

  'Who the hell are you?' he demanded, then turning to his assistant, 'what the frack is going on Qbec? Who are these people? How did they get in here? Have you sold us out?'

  One of the strangers turned to face him. He was taller than De-Felke and well built, with intense eyes of a green shade the journalist had never seen before. Somewhere in his late-twenties with strong chiseled features
, the exotic looking man carried himself with confident ease.

  'Rest assured, your companion hasn't turned traitor,' the stranger told him, removing the power cartridge from his small weapon. 'Though from what Qbec has told us about you, I wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she did. We're here simply to collect one of our friends and take him home.'

  Dakol staggered into the room and De-Felke watched with bemusement as the monk cried out and ran to another of the strangers, calling out in Dyason, 'Jenson? Paul Jenson? My God, can it be true? Are you real?'

  The other stranger's hard features softened for a moment as he embraced the distraught Dyason monk. When he saw the girl and the other two men, the overwhelmed fugitive began to weep openly.

  'It's okay brother,' the other stranger said gently, embracing the sobbing monk. 'I'm for real, as is Sandpiper, Moss, and this young lady. I believe you know Canderal already?'

  'I can't believe it! How did you find me?' Dakol managed to utter between huge emotional gasps.

  'You can thank Moss's particular talents for that brother,' the man replied. 'We're just sorry we didn't get here earlier!'

  The pieces began to fit in the journalist's mind, he knew those names! Dakol had spoken about these people many times before. They also fitted the descriptions of the intruders who had destroyed the monk's ship and guttered half of the Tellaware military base!

  'You're the people who demolished the detention centre and blew up the ship, aren't you?' he exclaimed.

  'One and the same,' the one called Moss replied with a shrug.

  'You come from the same place as the monk here?' the journalist demanded, his mind already leaping toward the story, which he would file. 'Then the whole tale, Starweb and so forth, is true?'

  'Yep, I’m afraid so,' the younger man confirmed. 'The rest of your questions will have to wait I'm afraid my friend. We're the cavalry, but the Indians are just behind us!'