Scat (Scat's Universe, Book 1)

by Jim Graham

  Thomas jumped out and led the way, placing a palm onto a heated security lock at the end of the railing. The door moved sideways with a soft rumble, exposing a room resembling an airlock, but decorated as a reception hall. On the other side of the hall was another door just like the first. The dog got to the second door first and sat beside it, looking back at Thomas who followed him in. As Thomas stamped his feet clear of snow and placed his palm against the inner door, Scat stepped inside and heard the outer-door rumble closed behind him. He could feel the hall rapidly warming up. Then the second door opened, and they were inside the Irwin household.

  Thomas took Scat’s coat and dumped it with his own on a long and ornate wooden table to the right of the door. The dog was shooed away to lumber down a corridor which ended in a brightly lit room, a recreation room perhaps.

  Scat had noticed the wood panelling in the envirolock and along the corridor walls. His eyes widened at the decadence of it all. He had not seen wood since leaving Earth.

  ‘Insulation, Scat.’ Thomas explained, having noticed Scat looking about him when passing through the envirolock. ‘Less need for it these days, but at least it keeps the hawkers out!’

  But Scat had already lost interest in the envirolock and its wooden interior. The Irwin residence was enormous. He had never seen such a private room as the one he was in now—and built into rock!

  He was standing on a mezzanine floor looking down a three-metre wide staircase into the main room that was around 50 metres long by around 35 metre wide. It was probably six metre high at this level, he thought, noticing that the mezzanine was actually a two-metre wide glass-railed balcony that wrapped itself fully around the main room and led off to other rooms. A row of chandeliers hung from the ceiling at just above his eye level, throwing sparkling light up onto the deep blue ceiling.

  Downstairs a crowd of men and their “women” were already drinking cocktails. Thomas offered Scat the stairs and followed on behind. Scat held the railing as he adjusted to the scale of everything.

  ‘Father, this is Sebastian Scatkiewicz. Scat, this is my father, Reginald.’

  Scat shook Reggie’s hand and immediately sensed his commanding presence, despite his advanced years. Almost immediately, Thomas faded into the background.

  ‘Good to see you young man. Welcome to our home. How was the journey?’

  ‘Which one, sir: the one to Trevon or the ride across the tundra?’

  Reginald laughed.

  ‘You’ll be telling me about the one to Trevon, no doubt. I heard you fell foul of Lynthax’s security. How’s the nose?’

  Scat was still wearing a bridge plaster to help keep his nostrils open.

  ‘It’s mending just fine, sir. I can breathe through it now.’

  ‘Good. You’ll need a decent nose to sample the wines we have on offer tonight. Jenny has selected some wines from Peru. None of that New World stuff.’

  ‘Don’t be a snob, Father. Scat’s a Bud drinker, like me,’ Thomas cut in, realising Scat may not have a solid grounding in the culinary arts. He had done some checking on his own.

  ‘Actually, I know I like a good South African Pinotage—when it’s available,’ Scat explained. ‘We looted loads of it when we took the Merensky Reef back off the Asian Bloc in 2200. Their seven-elevens were full of the stuff!’

  ‘You were involved in that were you?’ Reginald asked, ignoring Scat’s attempt to make light of what had been a bloody conflict.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Was it worth it?’

  ‘I can’t say, really: I’m not an economist, but I did hear it made them more open to commodity exchanges. Maybe they thought we’d go after more of their African assets.’

  ‘How long were you in the forces?’ Reginald probed, knowing the answer.

  ‘Three years, sir. South Africa, Northern India and Egypt. After that, I studied Mineral Engineering. It keeps me in work.’

  Reginald laughed again; he was in a good mood.

  ‘Of course it would, young man. May I call you Scat? I understand that’s what people call you.’

  ‘Yes, sir, it is. And just in case you're wondering, I got the name at school. It is short for Scatkiewicz.’

  ‘Ha! Then Scat it is. And you must call me Reggie. The only one who doesn’t is Thomas here, and if he thinks to do so, I still clip his ear. Oh, yes, and that fool who runs Lynthax: N’Bomal. I still make him call me Mr Irwin.’

  ‘I’ve yet to meet him, Reggie,’ Scat replied. He hadn’t heard of him before. ‘Though that’s a bit risky, isn’t it? Teasing him like that, I mean. Lynthax seems to own the place.’

  ‘They do, Scat, most things anyway. Fortunately they don’t own everyone,’ Reggie explained, just as a gong sounded across the far end of the room. ‘Ah! Dinner is ready. Please excuse me while I help Jenny round up the guests.’

  Scat nodded politely and, as Reggie walked away, he turned to Thomas.

  ‘So your old man doesn’t like the company, then?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Scat, he doesn’t,’ Thomas replied. ‘Not many of us Outlanders do. Between fleecing the population in Go Down, to keeping land prices artificially high, there’s not much to like.’

  ‘But prices are high for most things, aren’t they? They’re imported from Earth or the other New Worlds.’

  ‘It’s more than that, Scat. You’ll know this, of course, but Lynthax was the first to get here. They opened the place up, provided the basic infrastructure and earned the right to pick and chose who could operate here and under what conditions. Half of every dollar you spend goes back to Lynthax one way or another.’

  ‘Capitalism works like that, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does, and we’ve no objection to them making money. Heavens, mate, we make money! But if things were tendered more fairly, prices would be lower all round.’

  ‘Then why aren’t they?’ It seemed a sensible question.

  ‘Well it’s not for the want of trying. Last year, the Public Reps introduced a Competitive Services bill, but Lynthax killed if off before it got to the floor. They did a deal with the other Corporate Reps. They offered them more cargo space on their tankers in return for their votes, and the beggars went for it. It wasn’t supported so it was withdrawn.’

  ‘Typical of what goes on in the House?’

  ‘Yes. And more, which is why we’re seeking independence from Earth. It’s our way of getting Earth’s attention. They’re in the middle of the fifty-year review. The way we see it, we either get our independence or they tear up the corporate mandates. We’d prefer independence. Lynthax prefers neither.’

  ‘Will it work?’

  ‘We don’t know. We’re in the dark, mostly—what with the Trevon being offline and Lynthax feeding us crap. But rumour has it Earth is preparing a delegation—What?’

  A waiter stood at Thomas’s elbow, trying to catch his eye. Scat nodded towards him. Thomas turned.

  ‘Of course, Terry, dinner. Thanks.’

  Terry the waiter edged away.

  Thomas bit his lip. He was only just getting into his stride, and the interruption was a frustration for him. He did not get to have much of an opinion around his father, and he was cooped up on Prebos all of last year, which did not help. He was keen to talk politics, to spread the word about independence. To develop ideas of his own.

  But he was used to playing the middle son, so he buried his disappointment and flashed an easy smile.

  ‘Let’s eat!’

  Thomas led Scat through a double door at the far end of the room into a dining room fitted out with genuine 19th Century North American antiques. Scat’s eyes bulged. As Thomas led Scat to his seat, he explained that the family had brought some of its furniture across from Earth after building this bunker some 40 years ago.

  The Irwins had laid a table for 35 people, most of who were milling around not wanting to be the first to sit down. Reginald took his station at the head of the table and modestly waved for people to sit down. Scat then rea
lised he was sitting next to Marvin.

  ‘Hello, Marvin,’ Scat said, glad to meet someone else he knew other than Thomas. ‘Friend of the family?’

  ‘Good evening, young Turk. I saw you were on the invitation list, but I told April it must have been a mistake!’ he replied smiling.

  ‘Then you’re as surprised as I am,’ Scat said, flicking his napkin open.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, though. This is April, my wife.’ Marvin gestured across the table at a youthful-looking Asian-Caucasian woman who nodded back, unable to overcome the din of everyone talking at once.

  Scat was impressed. He leaned into Marvin.

  ‘So did you?’

  ‘Did I what?’ Marvin asked.

  ‘Rut like a ferret?’

  ‘Now that’s exactly the sort of thing I was thinking about when I said they’d made a mistake, Scat.’

  Scat laughed and pulled back as though he expected a clip around the ear. Marvin pretended he was insulted, and then beamed a smile.

  ‘Have you settled in yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Sort of. I’m in digs at the northern end of Second Avenue close by the dam wall. Only been there a few days, but I gotta say, it’s a no rats, no soul sort of place. And it costs an arm and a leg.’

  ‘It’s an expensive place, Scat, as I’m sure you’re finding out. But you’ll have to get used to it if you’re aiming to stay.’

  Thomas cut in:

  ‘That area of town isn’t so bad, Scat. You’ll get used to it. I dossed on Second Avenue for a year when I went to work at Lynthax Programming after uni. You’ll find it’s big on community: the Trevons that can still afford to live there have been there for generations.’

  ‘You dossed in Go Down when you could have commuted from here?’ Scat asked, looking around him.

  ‘If you’re born to it, Scat, you wonder what it’s like on the other side of the tracks. In any case, I was on call every other night. I couldn’t very well get to the office within 30 minutes from here—not when there was a blizzard blowing.’

  Scat recalled his boarding school days, imagining what it must have been like to be born to money. He was getting a sense of that now. He thought it ironic that the rich might think the same about living poor.

  ‘But what about the weekends?’

  ‘One blurry evening led to another, I’m afraid. I used to date a flirt from the Raddox Corporation. She did something in retail I think. Anyhow, she was a real party animal.’

  ‘How did that work out?’ Scat asked.

  ‘Badly. Prebos was a convenient excuse to end it.’

  Scat laughed. He recalled using the posting to North India to call off one relationship.

  ‘Pierce’s father?’ Scat asked, nodding towards an old man sitting at the end of the table, deep in conversation with Reggie.

  ‘Yes,’ Thomas replied

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘From what I can make of it, he’s taking it quite well,’ Thomas replied, adding, ‘but I wasn’t there when father told him about it.’ He leaned in closer. ‘One thing you should know about the Old Man, is he’s a brick. He’s made of solid stuff. They don’t just call him the Old Man because he’s old. He’s Old School. I doubt he’ll show any emotion in public, or even to his family. He’s already interred the body. Now he’ll just get even.’

  ‘You didn’t…?’ Scat asked in a lowered voice.

  ‘I did, but it was safe to do so. My father and the Old Man have kept bigger secrets. And besides, the Old Man deserved to know what I thought.’

  Scat then realised his name had been kept out of it, or Thomas was allowing him to believe it was.

  ‘Word has it that Earth is sending a delegation. A fact finding delegation, at least,’ Marvin said. ‘I heard it from a friend of mine at Raddox. That would be par for the course: engage the problem while spinning things out.’

  ‘We’ve heard the same thing, Marv,’ Thomas confirmed. ‘Nettles, over there has been nominated to head up our negotiating team, so he still has comms with Earth. He’s been briefing father all afternoon on the latest news. Oh, yes, and on Earth’s requests regarding the delegation’s safety!’

  Scat looked in Nettles direction. He saw a 30-something year old, with clear, almost polished, skin and short well-oiled black hair, a thick neck and extremely muscular shoulders. He sat a little higher than those guests who sat either side of him, so Scat guessed he was also quite tall. He was impeccably dressed.

  ‘Safety? From what? The cold?’ Reggie asked gruffly from down the table, breaking away from his own conversation with the Old Man to show his distain.

  Scat heard Nettles raise his voice.

  ‘From a tongue lashing, me thinks, Reggie,’ he said.

  Marvin thought that highly amusing, almost snorting food through his nose.

  ‘Nettles is joining us for the shoot tomorrow,’ Thomas added. ‘Perhaps we’ll get to know some more then.’

  Scat’s ears pricked up.

  ‘A what?’ he asked.

  ‘A hare shoot. We raise ‘em, shoot ‘em and eat ‘em, just as they do on Earth. Well, used to.’

  ‘Incredible!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Meat!’

  ‘Yes, meat.’

  ‘They survive outside?’ Scat asked.

  ‘Yes, they’re arctic hares; they’re used to the cold and they know how to grub around for food under the snow and ice. Father imports all sorts of species from Earth’s Tundra regions as part of Project Ark. The aim is to help preserve them while they try to rehabilitate their habitats. I hear the Russian tundra is all but bog now.’

  Scat had heard of Project Ark. It was a private initiative, as was most everything outside of Earth space.

  ‘Have you let them run wild yet?’ he asked.

  ‘We let a batch of them go now and then. We shoot some for real meat and monitor the rest. Eventually we’ll import thousands of them. The last batch lingered for quite some time—although they didn’t cope so well with the cold snaps. It can still dip below -85º c.’

  ‘And you’re shooting some tomorrow? Legally?’ Scat could not believe that something banned for decades on Earth, could happen here in the New Worlds.

  ‘Yes. We all are—except for Marvin, that is. April won’t let him! So are you, by the way.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ve never actually shot an animal before.’

  ‘Yes, well we’re sorry about that, Scat. Hares may not be as prestigious as a real live person, but it’s all we’re permitted here on Trevon!’ Thomas joked, knowing that Scat had hunted people before.

  ‘You know what I mean, Thomas. People can shoot back. Bunny rabbits just look at you, all furry like!’

  ‘It's OK, Scat. You’ll get used to it. In any case, you’ll be meeting some new friends.’

  ‘Some useful friends, Scat,’ Marvin added more quietly.

  38

  N’Bomal had cleared his desk and postponed all his appointments for the weekend so he could accompany Bradbury to Prebos. He had left Petroff behind to monitor the fallout from the House vote on the Emergency Measures, something Petroff was unhappy with. N’Bomal knew Petroff wanted to be fully associated with the discovery, maybe even get his name associated with it— Petroff’s Void, perhaps, or something similar—but N’Bomal was not worried about what the company’s Director of Security wanted. He had contacted Lynthax’s head office on Earth and, in reply, the board had told him to divert all his resources to cracking the capsule open—by any means. In addition, given the situation in the Grecos system, he was to assign the Venture Raider to watch over it until further notice.

  His Executive starflyer dropped into space just as the station was tumbling into darkness. It landed in Deep Mine 7 across the way from the field hospital-cum-research centre and taxied to the elevator shaft, where both N’Bomal and Bradbury exited the ship and walked down the temporary, and rather unsteady, corridor towards re
ception.

  Xin was waiting for them, as was Williams. Corporate had dispatched a buoy the night before with details of N’Bomal’s visit. The buoy then bounced back to Trevon, taking with it Xin’s status report, something that N’Bomal and Bradbury had read on their 10 hour flight.

  ‘Good evening, sir. Todd. How are things on Trevon?’ Xin enquired.

  ‘I’ve known better times, Xin,’ N’Bomal replied, wearily. ‘The Emergency Measures add a lid to the pan, but it could still boil over. We’ve left Petroff to coordinate things.’

  ‘Well, things are improving here, sir,’ Xin assured him. ‘The station move is going well.’

  ‘Good. So where is it?’

  ‘In there, sir.’

  Before N’Bomal had turned to follow Xin’s finger, Bradbury was stepping out ahead of them.

  ‘Then let’s take a look,’ he said over his shoulder. N’Bomal had never seen his Chief Science Officer so pumped up. Judging by his comments on the way over, he wanted to take control of the research before head office stuck its oar in. He was eager to push Makindra aside.

  It was very dark inside the room, the only light coming from the cracks between the screen and the hallway walls. There were no monitors or instruments in the ward. Aside from the craft, it was empty. They could only just make out the craft on its cradle.

  Bradbury got straight to it.

  ‘Why so dark, and why isn’t anyone working on this thing?’ he asked. ‘Petroff told me this thing would be monitored around the clock.’

  ‘It is monitored, sir,’ Xin replied, ‘but, given the circumstances we decided not to tamper with it—we didn’t want a second void—not here, anyway. Secondly, we’ve been experiencing power outages. We can’t work out why.’

  ‘Ah!’ Bradbury replied, appreciating there could be a link between the two. ‘Is Makindra of the same opinion?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he is, although it was me who decided to suspend work on it. We wanted to be sure that the company wouldn’t lose its most valuable resource—Prebos itself.’