Acarea. A Triumph or Disaster? (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 5): A Novel by Gerry A. Saunders (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy)

by Gerry A. Saunders

  Patrick’s uncle, Michael, had managed to organize the tickets for his cousins. Patrick knew that the usual charge would have been about a million dollars for each person. However, Michael had assured him that he had paid a lot less, still Patrick didn’t want to hazard a guess at what the vast reduction in price might have entailed for his Uncle.

  Even so, he was relieved that Anna and Harry had their retina images, fingerprints and DNA scans taken more than three weeks earlier. Moreover, with this payment, they were now fully booked for the flight. With all of their details, secure on the Acarea’s computer systems at the embarkation’s office and boarding control.

  His only concern now was in keeping them both alive until they were safely on board the Acarea, in just over two years’ time.

  Patrick left the Ticket allocations centre. Once outside, he stopped and looked around to see if anyone was watching him. But, all seemed clear. A young man had followed him out of the centre, but he just walked on by and crossed to the other side of the street. Thank goodness, that’s finished, he thought to himself.

  He started walking home with a spring in his step, knowing that the tickets were in his pocket. It had been better than winning the lottery for him.

  His cousin Anna, like so many other people signing up for the Acarea, had just married Harry Turner. They were quite a bit younger than he was, with Anna just twenty years old and Harry 21. They had been allocated two of the eighty-five stasis chambers that were located in cabins near the front of the ship.

  He knew there were six stasis chambers per cabin, and wasn’t sure that he would like the idea of waking up with five other people in his cabin. However, they seemed to be okay with that.

  As he continued homeward, he thought about what effect the difference in aging would have on his cousins, by being in stasis.

  By the time, they reached Procyon, Anna and Harry, being in stasis for the whole time would only be two years older. While Trisha and Joe, being in stasis for a large part of the time, would probably end up being just over twenty years older. He felt sorry for them. However, he could see why the maximum age for anyone to go on the mission, was thirty-two.

  Being deep in thought, Patrick failed to notice the two dark figures that had followed him from the ticket centre.

  “Hey you!” The taller of the two men called out. He was obviously the one in charge.

  “Hand over those tickets. We saw you collect them,” he demanded, an evil grin on his face.

  The other, shorter, man joined in. “Yea. They’re ours now, boy.”

  “No.” Patrick calmly and firmly replied. “Scum like you always want something that you haven’t bothered to work for. So, get lost.”

  “You’re quite a comedian aren’t you?” the first man sneered. Then pulled out a knife, and waved it threateningly, in front of Patrick's face.

  Patrick saw the blade glinting in the eerie light. “Here, have them,” he urged, taking the tickets from his pocket and holding them out.

  He knew they weren’t worth dying for. He could easily get them replaced anyway.

  The second man took the tickets from him. While the taller man continued to wave the knife threateningly at Patrick.

  “I reckon you think you’ll have the cops on us in minutes no doubt? Well, not if I can help it,” he added and thrust his knife hand forward, jabbing his knife at Patrick’s body.

  Patrick felt the steel enter his body. He didn’t scream, although the pain was excruciating. He wouldn’t give the killers the satisfaction.

  “Bastards,” he vented with his dying breath.

  And so the killing continued unchecked. With professional assassins, like the Butcher, and the opportunist thieves and murderers continuing unpunished.

  At least…, until someone else…?

  Chapter 3

  Michael

  The assassin, known as the Butcher, was standing under a concrete overhang in Cebro’s underground car park, which was located just outside their main gate. He was waiting for his next target, Trisha Calver Bernstein, to arrive.

  Cebro had built the car park several years ago. It was very busy then. Now, with Cebro’s nuclear delivery system already installed in the Acarea, the car park was little used. It was dimly lit as were most underground car parks, and this one was cold, to say the least.

  Butcher had his overcoat collar pulled up around his neck and couldn’t help wondering why he had chosen this unusually cold and damp place. He absentmindedly checked his gun, hidden underneath his coat. Letting his hand first caress the butt, then slide down and across the silver cartridge chamber. Butcher was pleased with his instrument of death. It felt solid and reassuring and made him feel complete.

  He had designed and built the weapon and its special cartridges, just for his use. The shots he had developed, or pellets, as some would call them, were very different from those typically used in other types of cartridges. His had twenty separate pieces of three by six mm steel shot in each round. Each shot having a deeply threaded screw blade that literally drilled its way into the victim, ripping away flesh and bone as it penetrated the target’s body.

  Nevertheless, even though it was a devastating weapon, it also had limitations. For instance, at one to two metres range, it gave him a one-hundred percent kill rate. The accuracy then fell off rapidly the further away he was from his target.

  This was partly due to the shape of the ‘shot’ that filled most of the cartridge’s internal area, and partly because he hadn’t included a gas ejector system to automatically remove the spent cartridge. Instead, he had to physically break the firing chamber open, remove the spent cartridge with his fingers and insert a new one.

  Of course, this would have been time-consuming if he had missed with the first shot. However, Butcher hadn’t worried about these design flaws. Because he never missed.

  Butcher enjoyed shocking his victims. It was something he had only recently started doing. Just allowing them to see his face, for an instant, immediately before blowing a hole in their chest. He loved it, the rush of adrenalin, and the thrill of the kill made his job feel, well almost orgasmic.

  He checked his pad; images of Trisha Bernstein stared out at him. He studied the pictures, five in all. She’s attractive. Why do they want to kill her? He wondered.

  Now, that’s a pity, he thought to himself. Even though her body’s stacked like a twenty-two-year-old. She’s only eighteen.

  The Butcher had a rule. He never had sex with females younger than twenty years old, who were what he considered just adolescent girls.

  Now, if you were twenty plus my dear. I would give you a taste of real sex first, he thought to himself as images of himself, with her, played through his mind. “You wouldn’t be able to close your legs for a week,” he muttered under his breath.

  The Butcher knew that he was a nasty piece of work. However, conditions were hard now, and society owed him plenty. If there were people out there who would pay him vast sums of money for his services, all well and good.

  When he started in this line of work, he’d built up a reputation for extreme brutality by killing his victims slowly and painfully. Since then, he’d learnt that a quick, but bloody kill, was more efficient and earned him more jobs, hence more money. He didn’t particularly like his current method of assassination. Even though it had become his trademark now, and this, added to the number of kills was why he was the most brutal and feared of all the assassins.

  While waiting for his target, Butcher had time to reminisce about his first contract. His first kill. It had been messy, and crude, amateurish even, as he remembered.

  His target had been a young woman. He didn’t know or care, why she was the target.

  He had let himself into his target’s apartment. He knew she was alone. So quietly searched through the apartment, until he found her. She was showering, and oblivious to his presence. He waited, and then watched her step out of the shower, naked. He remembered how excitement and nervousness had built up in h
im. It being his first time, and all that. He could still picture it in his mind as it had happened.

  She saw him, and that had made him panic, and he had knocked her unconscious, and then pulled her limp body up and onto the edge of her bed.

  Then he’d taken off his overcoat and laid it with his gun on the bed so that both were close at hand. He remembered standing back from her, and, looking at her pale and silky smooth body, and liking what he saw.

  She was blond. With an almost milky like complexion, and parted lips that had stirred him. He’d moved closer to her and touched her breasts. They had felt firm and pleasing to him. Then, he remembered his ego foolishly telling him that he was superior to anyone else, especially to this woman. Then, he’d felt her body calling to him.

  Thinking about it now, he knew that it was at that point that he had made a very dangerous and unfortunate error of judgment. Her body had aroused him, and he knew that he should have stopped, right there.

  He cursed himself for being so weak. Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t help himself. She was starting to come round as he entered her. By the time he’d come, she was trying desperately to push him off and had managed to grab his scrotum, with her long nails digging into it.

  “Ouch, Bitch,” he had shouted at her. Ignoring the pain, as he tried to pull away from her and stand up. “Let go Bitch,” he had yelled at her again.

  She managed to bring one leg up enough to push him violently away from her, sending him staggering backwards and onto the floor.

  He’d quickly got up, cursing and feeling dizzy from the shock, but trying to ignore the pain and the blood that was running down the inside of his legs. Then had screamed with horror as he saw his scrotum still held in her hand.

  Luckily, for him, she had been as stunned as he was. Then, by the time she realised what the soggy mess really was in her hands and dropped it, he was already going for his weapon, laying close to her on the bed.

  He had grabbed it as she tried to stop him, but she was too late. The gun had gone off with the shot ripping a path partway through her neck and scattering her blood across the bed. She had lain back, with blood pulsing out of her wound and onto the bed until, gradually; it had slowed, then stopped.

  He felt sick, he remembered, seeing her laying on the bed, with her eyes still open and staring at him. He remembered how he’d vomited for what seemed to be forever, but luckily only into her toilet.

  After a few minutes, he’d recovered sufficiently to flush the toilet. Then, having found a small plastic container, he had taken some ice from her freezer and placed it in the carton, together with his scrotum and its contents then sealed it. Then he’d cleaned himself up, and, tearing a sheet, had wrapped it awkwardly around his body, trying to protect his wound from bleeding out.

  Then, even though he was in agony, he had taken the time to clean up the scene, making sure there were no fingerprints or other clues. But was unable to remove the blood. Not that it had really mattered, as no one seemed to care what happened anymore. After giving the room a final look over, he’d quickly left the scene, carrying both his weapon and his manhood in his hands.

  He shuddered again at the thought that she had nearly cost him his manhood. As, even though he could function sexually after the operation. There was no chance of him ever having children. Not that he wanted any.

  Yes, he had been stupid, it had been very unprofessional, but a valuable lesson to learn.

  A sound to the left of Butcher brought him back to the present.

  He watched and listened intensely, then a cat ran across the open area and disappeared under a car. Satisfied that the cat was the source of the noise, he turned his attention on a flash looking car coming down the ramp.

  He didn’t recognize the car but saw the occupant. It was Trisha Calver Bernstein. A bit young to be driving a car like that, he thought as he watched her turn into her parking slot.

  Trisha Bernstein was on her way to a meeting at Cebro. She was in love and feeling particularly pleased today knowing that she would be marrying Joe before the Acarea left.

  She took her briefcase from the car and activated the alarm locking system. Then suddenly felt a presence behind her and turned, to face a well-dressed man wearing an overcoat. He had a disarming smile.

  “Miss Trisha Bernstein?” he politely asked.

  “Yes. Do I know you?”

  “No. Not me, personally. But I did see your brother, Patrick I believe, being stabbed by those stupid thugs.”

  She looked him over. He seemed very edgy to her.

  “Couldn’t you have stopped them?” she asked.

  “Afraid not Miss, I was too far away.”

  Trisha noticed his whole demeanour suddenly change, and that scared her.

  “What are you holding behind your back?”

  “A present for you Miss,” he replied grinning as he brought his weapon around and into view.

  She froze as fear flooded her mind. She tried to move but couldn’t.

  She screamed as his finger started to squeeze the trigger.

  Then, partway through his motion, he suddenly stopped, as blood started running from his open mouth, and he lost grip of the weapon, which dropped to the floor.

  He spluttered, and looked down at the shiny blade protruding from his chest. Then, it was suddenly withdrawn, and he slumped to the ground, gurgling and twitching for a few seconds. Until finally he was dead.

  Trisha was still trembling with shock. Then looked at the man facing her, and, seeing the blood stained knife still held in his hand, feared what he might do to her.

  “Hello, Trisha. You may not know me,” he said. “But I know you well,” he told her.

  She studied the man as he bent down to make sure that the Butcher was dead. Then wiped the blood off his long bladed knife on killer’s clothes, and put it back in the sheath sewn into his trouser leg.

  Then, a photo, a video, and an inkling of remembrance came slowly into her mind.

  The man, she noted, was tall and well built. Although the smart, almost black suit gave little away.

  Then, looking at his eyes, she saw that they were the very image of Micky Sanderson’s eyes. Blue-green, icy-looking, almost fluorescent.

  They had intrigued her every time she had looked at Micky’s photos. She knew her own eyes had that same look. Not as intense, but similar.

  Then, a different name came from her lips. It had come from nowhere, just leapt into her mind.

  “Michael?” She asked in astonishment. “Uncle Michael?”

  “In the flesh,” he replied smiling reassuringly at her.

  “Michael. I remember you from what Mum and Dad told me. They said you dropped out of sight and took one of your twins with you. Susie wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “However, we must leave here before my clean-up team arrive. We’ll talk later.”

  “Where are we going? My car’s here.”

  “Leave it Trisha. My men will get it back to you.”

  Before they left Michael took all the cartridges from Butcher’s pockets. Then picked up his weapon, and gave it the once over. “H’m this might come in handy,” he said as he put the gun in his own pocket.

  “Trisha. Follow me, please,” he ordered her.

  Michael’s car was located two rows across. It was black and looked heavily armoured.

  “Haven’t seen this make before?”

  “No one has, Trisha. It was customised, for SEID.

  “Oh. So, are you working for them?” she asked, sounding surprised

  “Of course, always have been.”

  “But you went missing?”

  “It was Cedrick Ervin’s wish. You probably know he was Micky Sanderson’s mentor. Yes?”

  Trisha nodded agreement, as they got into Michael’s car and strapped in.

  “Where are we going? You never actually said.”

  “To my safe house, then I’ll get you home later.”

  Michael’s car sped out of the Cebro ca
r park, up Stewart Avenue and onto the Chester Pike.

  “Are we in a rush?” Trisha asked. Stunned at the speed with which he was driving.

  “Yes, I need to get you well away from the car park, there’s too much chance of us being seen and overheard there.”

  A few minutes later, slowing slightly, he turned into Hinson Road. Then part way along the road turned into a short driveway that led to a house with an integral garage. The automated heavy-gauge garage door had already opened before they reached it.

  Once inside and with the garage door closed, Michael sighed with relief. “Come on Trisha, follow me,” he said as he got out of the car and went through a door that led off from one side of the garage.

  Once inside the newly renovated house, he led her into the lounge, where two armed guards were sitting.

  “Evening Michael, Miss,” they both said as they stood up.

  “Do you need anything, Michael? One of them asked.

  “Trisha?”

  “An Oka, if you have one? I know they’re like gold dust these days.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Michael told the guards as they both left the room. “Please sit down, Trisha,” he said, and then sat opposite her.

  One of the guards returned with their drinks, and Trisha thanked him as he left.

  Michael took a sip. “M’m, it still tastes good. Did you know that this cola drink hasn’t been changed since before Cedrick’s time? Except, of course, for its name. It’s amazing really,” he told her.

  “So, are you going to marry Joe before the Acarea departs?” He asked.

  “Yes. We don’t want to wait. Michael, please tell me more about what has happened to you.”

  Michael pondered for a while and then decided that Trisha needed to know what might happen.

  “Okay, Trisha. As you now know, SEID is still in operation. It has expanded and its government funding has tripled in the last seven years.”