by Thorne Moore
Reception conveyed a concise message. The Ragnox logo was writ large and loud on every wall; this was Ragnox property. They were now Ragnox property. Nothing else was necessary.
They were the only new arrivals, outnumbered by heavily armed guards, efficient and indifferent clerics, and unsmiling lean-faced project administrators assessing useful recruits.
One didn’t wait for the formalities. As soon as they entered the processing hall he stepped forward, barking. ‘Anyone with medical training?’
Merrit hesitated. For all his preparations, he hadn’t expected to face his moment of truth so unceremoniously. His hesitation lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was long enough for three hands to give him a surreptitious push. He never discovered who they belonged to.
‘I have,’ he said firmly, stepping forward.
‘Okay, scan your card at the desk and come with me now. Emergency. We’re losing a project leader.’
With one deep breath, Merrit followed at a hurried march. Just once, he looked back, a brief glance of farewell, then he was gone.
The others looked at each other. It was so sudden. Snap, the company broken.
‘You. Forward,’ said the first clerk.
‘Ragnox 2458593,’ said Clytemnestra, slapping her card on the table. The cat suit had begun to unfasten, she’d applied her lurid makeup with care, and she hovered over the desk like an impatient cobra. The clerk sat back to look her over, before scrutinising her qualifications again. ‘Clerical?’
‘I am fully qualified in office management.’
‘So it says.’ The clerk studied her again, insolently. ‘Anything else?’
‘Massage,’ said Clytemnestra, icily, cracking her fingers.
He nodded, rubbing his chin, seemingly in no great hurry.
One of the waiting officers leaned forward. ‘I can place her, no trouble.’
The clerk sniffed. ‘Waste. Best offer her to the Tower first. K.V!’ he called over his shoulder, and a smartly uniformed administrator sauntered forward. ‘One for you.’
The administrator looked her over and nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. This way.’
Clytemnestra followed with a toss of her head. She glanced back once and returned Tod’s lazy salute.
‘Ragnox 2459184?’
‘That’s me,’ said Abigail. She waited haughtily, offering nothing, requesting nothing, as the clerk sifted through her documents, checking them again, ticking off sections of a long and detailed list.
‘Engineering,’ he said, looking up at last. ‘Unless you have other ideas.’
‘I’m fine with engineering,’ she said smoothly.
He shrugged. ‘Any preferences? Not that you’ll necessarily have the option.’
‘Whatever will earn me the biggest bonuses,’ replied Abigail. ‘I’ve had experience in various fields. Propulsion, cryo...’
‘Yes. I can see.’ He scrutinised her files again. ‘The cryo department would involve working outside. You prepared for that?’
‘I’ve had experience. It doesn’t bother me.’ Her indifference was sublime.
The clerk pointed to a burly administrator chatting in the background. ‘Marshall. Give him this pass. Next.’
Seldon stepped up, waiting for his record to be studied.
‘Your second term.’
‘Yes.’
Curious eyes were fixed on him. He was a rarity indeed.
The clerk checked. ‘Same fields as the last one. You with her?’
‘Not especially,’ said Selden, without expression. ‘I’ve worked with her. That might be useful. Up to you.’
The clerk considered. He exchanged a quick glance with Marshall, who was scanning Abigail’s data into a file. ‘Ready-made team, saves on training. Go with her.’
Selden joined Abigail without a word. They didn’t look at each other, though they did, separately, glance back and nod to Tod.
‘Ragnox 2459313. Signed on at the M1 office, I see.’
Smith didn’t bother to reply. His stance was easy but primed. His level, faintly contemptuous gaze dismissed the mere clerk, saving himself for the bigwigs who mattered. A calculated risk. Snubbed underlings could be bloody-minded.
The clerk flicked through Smith’s files quickly. Plenty of details, all of startling relevance. Smith was guaranteed not to sell himself short, even if he’d only prepared at the last minute. A spell with Seccor Intelligence, a lucrative move to electronic surveillance, corporate counter-espionage, and a hint of involvement with some unspecified mercenary forces. The clues were there; the gradual shift from underpaid responsibility to ever greedier risk-taking and finally crime. Perfect self-serving Triton material.
The clerk looked up. Smith hadn’t moved, his gaze hadn’t shifted. He could have been the one doing the interviewing.
‘Security?’ The intended statement came across as a tentative offer. The clerk turned to summon a ferret-faced section head in black. The officer strode over, wordlessly examined Smith’s files, then looked up at Smith.
Smith’s demeanour changed subtly, acknowledging that he was dealing now with the man that mattered. The section head brusquely nodded approval and Smith strolled forward to join him, without waiting for the clerk’s command.
Across the hall, Tod watched with amusement as he sauntered off into a new career. While his new section head explained the security remit, Smith was glancing round casually, taking in hidden cameras and security devices with a practiced eye. For a fraction of a second his gaze met Tod’s, as he casually pocketed the clerk’s security pass.
Yasmin had already taken his place.
‘Courier work?’ The clerk frowned.
‘Yeah, I’ve done some,’ said Yasmin casually. ‘I’ve done most things.’
‘So I see. P.R.’
‘And general admin. Lab work. Data. The usual boring stuff. I prefer something more active.’ She stopped before she began to sound too keen. Cynical indifference was required. ‘I’m adaptable.’
‘What was your previous job, before courier work with Isis? This is vague.’
‘That? Oh, public relations. I’ve done plenty of other things. I don’t imagine P.R. is that high on the agenda out here.’
‘You reckon?’ The clerk sat back thoughtfully, tapping on the desk with his pen. ‘Adaptable. Squeamish?’
‘I’m not a virgin in the killing stakes. I had a run-in with independents in my courier job and came out of it alive.’ Yasmin shrugged. ‘I’ve flown a fair bit in other fields too.’
‘Smuggling, you mean. You get caught?’
‘No.’
The clerk wasn’t impressed. He flicked past her fake courier records. ‘But you did well in P.R?’
‘It was easy money, that’s all.’
‘What did your P.R. work involve?’ The clerk persisted in dwelling on the one subject Yasmin wanted to drop. She had to direct him towards more active duties.
‘Crisis management. Swift remedies. Instant response.’
‘Hm.’
Across the hall she could see Smith dangerously distracted, waiting to hear if his beautifully crafted plan of escape were about to founder before it had even begun. It was a matter of some interest to Yasmin too. She strove to look disinterested, aware, through some sixth sense, of Tod behind her, forcefully willing her on.
‘I can handle myself in a crisis.’ She managed a cold laugh.
‘Is that so?’ The clerk doodled for a while, then decided. ‘Personnel.’
‘Personnel!’
‘Yes.’ He looked up, smirking at her expression. ‘Oh don’t worry, Personnel isn’t just concerned with processing incomers. We have a large and occasionally unwieldy workforce on Triton. It has to be organised. Brought into line very quickly and very efficiently. And sometimes very messily. Effective negotiators are always in demand. You know what negotiation means out here?’
‘I know,’ said Yasmin.
‘Good. Because that’s your job from now on. There’s an opening for you
at the Tower. Khan!’
Yasmin felt rather than heard Tod’s intake of breath. Neither of them had calculated on her being taken straight to the Tower. Argument, she knew, would be a mistake. She couldn’t afford to arouse any suspicions. Calmly she turned to face Tod and offered him her hand.
‘Commander. In case we don’t meet again.’
Smith, on the point of departure, shot them both a glare of ill-concealed fury.
Tod gave Yasmin an indifferent smile. ‘Oh, we might yet bump into each other. We’ll be in dock awhile, reloading before we head off again.’ He was squeezing her hand, feeling her pulse racing.
‘Khan’s waiting,’ said the clerk impatiently. ‘Move it.’ He turned to Tod. ‘Commander Foxe.’ He glanced down a list. ‘One volunteer unit missing.’
‘I lost a passenger in transit,’ replied Tod.
‘A red star unit, Commander. I presume you have an explanation.’
Tod held up a file. ‘This is a full report of the case.’
‘I’ll have it.’ The clerk held out a peremptory hand.
‘No, you won’t,’ said Tod. His curt tone of refusal produced an automatic response from guards, trained to react instantly to any hint of trouble. Tod however ignored the guns raised around him. ‘I deal directly with Pascal or Rao or Hurran. Not with the booking clerk.’
‘Going up,’ said an electronic voice.
136. The very top. In any other corporation headquarters, the top floor powerhouse would be ankle-deep in stylish luxury and comfort. In Triton Tower, it just reeked of power, pure, uncluttered and unsoftened.
Tod was stopped, scanned and interrogated three times by vigilant guards. People didn’t wander freely on the top floor of the Tower. He came to yet another concourse as two people entered from the opposite direction. A small flabby-featured man, and Yasmin.
She had her eyes down, concentrating on notes so that her face was barely visible. Her companion was directing her to a wall chart and she seized the opportunity to turn her back on the room and immerse herself in silent study, her tension palpable.
Tod stared at her for half a second, then hastily averted his gaze. She was near to breaking point, but he could do nothing. If he so much as spoke, she’d probably explode.
‘Foxe.’ An impatient assistant advanced on him. ‘You have an appointment with the director.’
‘Yes.’ Tod caught Yasmin’s reaction, straightening at the mention of his name. She cast a hasty glance over her shoulder. Her eyes were blank.
‘One moment,’ announced the assistant. ‘He’s on his way, so he’ll see you here.’ He indicated an office opening from the concourse. As he did so, Jordan Pascal marched in, surrounded by bodyguards.
A man impossible to describe. Neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, young nor old. A figure with the requisite limbs and features of a man, but none of them remarkable enough to impact on the memory. Colouring monochrome, expression non-existent. He was a man who, in any other setting, would be forgotten the moment he was out of sight, if he had even been noticed in the first place. But here, on Triton, the universe revolved around him. At his word, proposals were accepted or rejected, shares rose or fell, men lived or died.
‘Commander. You lost a valuable passenger.’ His voice was flat, utterly emotionless.
Tod, in contrast, was feeling highly emotional. The one thing he’d hoped to avoid was having Yasmin and her erstwhile patron in the same room. So far, Pascal hadn’t looked her way. He held out his hand for Tod’s report. Tod handed it over and Pascal stood motionless, reading it thoroughly, without comment.
Tod waited, counting his own heart beats. Beyond Pascal and his constantly alert henchmen, he could see Yasmin’s companion glancing eagerly in the director’s direction, shaking Yasmin’s arm to divert her from her obsessive study of the wall. He took a step forward, motioning to her to accompany him.
‘There are further observations, that I would prefer to make in private,’ said Tod.
Pascal held up a hand to silence him and continued reading.
Yasmin was arguing quietly, without success. Her companion forced her forward. ‘Director, my new recruit in the personnel department has come up with some interesting ideas.’
Pascal turned slowly, his bodyguards standing aside but alert, as he looked full at Yasmin.
Tod turned hot and cold in turn. Yasmin stood motionless, frozen.
‘Make use of them then,’ said Pascal, resuming his reading. For a second, Yasmin met Tod’s eyes, with the faintest shake of her head. Apology. Resignation. Farewell. Then Pascal stalked into the vacant office, waiting unmoved while his bodyguards frisked Tod. Satisfied that the commander was unarmed, one of the guards escorted him into the office, and the door was shut on them.
Tod breathed out. He must have been holding his breath for the last five minutes. Of course Pascal hadn’t recognised her. They’d only met in video conferences, her an arrogant, opinionated, well-groomed senior executive, very different from the gaunt, shaggy and, for that brief moment, paralysed contractee on Triton. Video screens lacked the essential dimension of life. Except in the case of Pascal. In his case, there was no divine spark to distinguish between the living, breathing man and a two-dimensional image.
Tod stood silent, eyes lowered from Pascal’s, settling instead on his neck, wondering how long it would take to throttle the life out of him – if only the guard weren’t watching Tod’s every twitch.
‘You are nervous, Commander,’ said Pascal.
‘I regret the loss of my passenger. I understand he was Michael Rabiotti’s son, so naturally I took extra care to attend to his needs. I made his medication my personal concern. It was disappointing to lose him.’
‘You have further observations.’
‘As I explained, I have no idea what exactly the boy’s ailments were.’ Tod could think of no further observations at all, but something would surely occur to him if he kept talking. ‘For the first half of the voyage he was totally amenable, obedient to my every word, responding instantly. It was only when I delegated the administration of his drugs, during a crisis on the ship, that any problems arose. I issued the boy with an order. The officer that had just seen to his medication gave a contradictory order. The boy was not merely confused, he seemed to snap.’
Pascal blinked, his way of expressing irritation. ‘This is all in your report.’
It came to Tod. ‘I didn’t mention, because it only occurred to me later, that the officer in question, the one who was then aggressively mutilated and butchered by the Rabiotti boy, had formerly been with Pan.’
A word guaranteed to needle its way under Pascal’s skin. He blinked again. ‘You hire Pan men?’
‘Not knowingly. They’re too undisciplined. This officer came to us from an Astromarina ship. It was only after his death, when I searched through his files, that I found he’d previously been with Pan.’
Pascal’s sludge-coloured eyes gave nothing away. ‘You think this has significance?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Tod, weighing up the possibility of incapacitating the silent guard with a sudden move, and having half a second to kill Pascal before the other bodyguards burst through the glass screen. ‘It may be totally irrelevant, but I thought you ought to know.’
‘I expect to be informed of any detail.’
‘The rest is all there in the report.’
Without a further word, Pascal handed the report to his sentry and strode out.
Tod followed him into the concourse. Yasmin and her companion had gone.
Chapter 30
‘What do you want to do?’ asked Addo.
‘What do I want?’ Tod put his hands over his face. ‘I want to go in there and drag her out. As that’s not an option...’
‘We could wait a while longer.’
‘No.’ Tod stood up decisively. ‘What’s the point? I told her five days. If by some miracle she pulls it off, she’s got to find us waiting. If she doesn’t make it, that’s that. We�
�re recommissioned, the cargo’s loaded; we can’t sit round here any longer without arousing suspicion. Let’s go.’
‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that,’ said Freddie, moving promptly to his position.
Tod touched the intercom. ‘Babs? Ready to bring her on-line? We’re going.’
‘Right you are, Commander.’ After a brief pause, the ship began to growl and grumble into life.
Addo studied his monitors. ‘All shipshape.’
Tod attended to the communications control. ‘Triton Port, this is ISF Heloise, requesting permission to depart.’
‘ISF Heloise, stand by.’
They waited, listening as the ship gathered its energies and subsided into throbbing expectancy.
‘ISF Heloise, you will leave on EAP channel 3 to Alpha 1 where your escort will await you. Obey all instructions.’
‘Understood. Out.’
Addo released the docking lock and automatic guidance propelled them slowly free of the port and gathered speed. No one said a word for another hour until they were approaching Triton’s innermost beacon.
‘Company,’ said Freddie. ‘Two of them.’
The monitors showed two fighters, miniscule cockpits buried in bristling, lethal weaponry. At this moment, their full firing capacity was trained on the Heloise.
‘Just keep smiling.’ Tod kept his eyes on the screen. ‘Major?’
Addo studied the controls. ‘EAP off. We’re free.’ He sat waiting for instructions.
‘ISF Heloise, follow us.’
The Heloise moved forward in the wake of the first fighter, the second slipping in neatly to her stern.
‘ISF Heloise, what is your preferred destination?’
‘Alpha 3.’
‘Alpha 3 confirmed.’
Communications went quiet.
Freddie watched the screens with a mixture of loathing and curiosity. ‘Just supposing there’s the slightest chance that Yasmin is at Alpha 3 waiting for us, how do you propose to get rid of them?’