by Peter Kenson
***
Jonas Middleton was proud of his job as shuttle pilot. He was also good at his job and popular with the passengers because he had enough natural skill to make it seem to the novice traveller as though he was taking all sorts of daring risks in what were actually quite safe manoeuvres. He had been pilot now for 18 months and before that he had been the shuttle's engineer/ copilot on the Aldebaran's sister ship, the Betelgeuse.
He was aware that he owed his position, at least in part, to some highly placed political pressure but he was not quite bright enough to be entirely sure of the source of this pressure. He had a contact from whom he received instructions and a monthly retainer, and to whom he sent the reports he was occasionally asked to provide. Mostly these were to do with the on-ship activities of prominent passengers and their travelling companions and he had recruited one of the stewards from the first class deck to help him gather the information.
So he had not been particularly surprised to receive a coded message telling him to keep observation on two young ladies travelling together. What had caused him some mild surprise was that the two appeared to be perfectly normal in their sexual inclinations and were, furthermore, either quite respectable or so discreet that he had been unable to collect any of the usual evidence.
His standing orders were to send a report from each planet which the Aldebaran touched and to check each time for further instructions. Being the shuttle pilot, of course, obliged him to go planetside on a regular basis and provided an ideal cover for these activities.
So on reaching the terminal building on Floreat, he headed first for the small office of the forwarding agent his instructions told him to use. He felt a slight unease at handing over the package because, for the first time, he had not delivered the type of information his contact normally required. Then he crossed to the Information Desk to collect the message he knew would be waiting for him.
At the Information Desk, however, there were two messages awaiting him rather than just one. This caused him no little concern because his range of social contacts who might be inclined to send him a personal message and who also knew his schedule, was limited to approximately zero.
He went over to one of the public booths to listen to the messages. He unsealed the first disc, inserted it into the slot and tapped in his personal identification code. The screen sprang into life to show the face of his usual contact. The message was brief: maintain observation on the two girls until Andes, where he would receive further instructions.
He unsealed the second disc, inserted it and entered his personal code. This time the screen remained blank but he recognised instantly the voice that spoke to him, even though it had to be a good seven years since he had last heard it.
"Hello Jonas, remember me? I'm sure you do but in case you're having trouble with your memory, think of the Triads of Hokkim. They think you're dead. They would, I'm certain, be quite annoyed to find out that you're not. So annoyed that they might take steps to correct the situation.
"You owe me, Jonas. You owe me your life and now I'm calling in the marker, so listen carefully. When you land the shuttle at Andes, it will develop a mechanical problem. About six hours should be sufficient but you will stretch it out if necessary, until I get there. Your Captain will be as mad as hell but he will have no alternative but to orbit the planet and wait for you.
"Do this for me, Jonas, and I will wipe the slate clean. But if you fail me, you had better run hard and run fast because, whenever you stop, there will be a Triad hatchet man behind you."
He felt his face blanch and he stayed seated in the booth for several minutes after the message had finished before he felt sufficiently confident that his legs would support his weight.
Hokkim.... seven years ago. He had managed to push the memory of that place and time, deep into the furthest recesses of his mind, but now it all came flooding back. He acknowledged the debt: he was quite willing to do that. He knew that, without help, he would not have made it off Hokkim alive. And even then, it had cost him most of the profit he had made on that drugs deal. If only he had turned the money over to the Triad as arranged, then he would not be in this mess. But it was too late to think of that now.
Right now, he had a different problem to worry about. He could not even begin to think how he could contrive a serious mechanical failure, which would delay the shuttle by at least six hours, without leaving behind traces of his action, but he knew that he would have to do it somehow. The prospect of living the rest of his life, even if it was to be somewhat abbreviated, looking over his shoulder for one of the Triad's killers, was not something he could tolerate.
When he came out of the booth, his mind was still racing and he stared around blindly as though he was having difficulty in focusing on his surroundings. Eventually his vision cleared sufficiently for him to recognise that he was staring at a sign pointing to the Wayfarer's Bar and the idea clicked. He needed a drink before anything else, and certainly before flying that dammed shuttle again.
***
"The shuttle pilot looks as though he's had some bad news," Marienna observed. "He went into that booth looking puzzled but he's come out looking as though he's seen a ghost.”
"And now he's headed for the bar. Yes, I noticed him too. I do hope we're doing the right thing joining the Aldebaran here.... the risks of space travel look as though they've just increased.
"Still, it's too late now. They're calling us through into the departure lounge. Shall we go?"
As they stood up from their table, the watcher also rose and hurried, almost ran, across to the cashier. He left the restaurant ahead of them and spoke quickly to a second man who was standing outside. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, then both men turned and walked rapidly away.
"I wonder what that was all about."
"Maybe they're not interested in us any more, now that we're about to actually board the shuttle."
"Maybe."
They paid the cashier and left the restaurant. To get to the departure lounge, they had to go down the moving stairs and right across the main reception hall. The hall was crowded by this time with people meeting arriving passengers and others saying goodbye to the leavers, quite apart from the travellers themselves and the spaceport staff.
When it came, the feeling of danger struck suddenly, about a quarter of the way across the floor towards the departure lounge.
"Get down," he yelled at Marienna, shoving her off balance as he flung himself full length on the floor. A split second later there was that familiar sizzling sound as a high power laser pulse hissed through the space he had just been occupying. Then a number of things happened almost simultaneously. There was a scream of agony from the man who had been walking immediately in front of him as he took the full power of the laser blast in his ankle, neatly severing his foot as though by amputation.
Then, as he started to roll over, he felt a thump in his back as Marienna twisting, catlike in the air, landed on top of him in an attempt to protect his body with hers. The needle gun was already in her hand as she scanned the hall, searching for the hiding place of the sniper. The security guards were starting to react to the situation and there appeared to be some commotion on the mezzanine level that they had just left. She concentrated her attention on that area.
"Put that gun away," he ordered. "Put your belt screen on but take no offensive action. Not yet."
They both thumbed the micro switches on their belts and Marienna returned the needle gun to her sleeve. A crowd had started to gather round both them and the injured man. Cautiously they stood up, protected now both by their body screens and by the crowd of people pressing in.
"Yes yes, we're fine. It wasn't us he was firing at," he replied to a questioner.
The sound of more laser fire came from the mezzanine, followed by a yell as someone got burned. He steered Marienna through the press of people and decided to start spreading some disinformation.
"I hear it was a terrorist group," he c
onfidentially informed one elderly matron. "The security guards got most of the group before they could open fire but one got through."
They moved further on round the crowd.
"Where's the man they were shooting at? No, not the poor soul they hit: the young chap with the jet black hair and the earring. He was here a minute ago. He's lucky to be alive."
Then again. "I hear it was an underworld hit. They say that the victim used to run one of the big operations on Andes before he retired. Then he decided to make a comeback. Looks as though somebody didn't want him back. Funny though; you wouldn't think it to look at him."
Satisfied that he had started enough rumours to keep the investigating team busy for days, he edged Marienna towards the back of the crowd and then out of it.
"What happens now," she asked him.
"I don't know," he replied. "It all depends on whether they hold the shuttle here while they take statements or whether they put an investigative officer on board. One thing's for certain though. Our cover's been well and truly blown."
"Do we go on?"
"Oh yes, we go on. But our role will have to change slightly. If we're already blown we might as well come right out into the open and try to draw some fire from Zara, Corin and the others.
"Meanwhile, as there's bound to be a few minutes delay at least, we'd better organise a message for them at Andes, to warn them of what's happened here and tell them of the change of plan."
CHAPTER 9
Captain Justin F. Wainwright V was annoyed and it showed. The officers and crew on the bridge of the Aldebaran, knew their captain well enough to give a wide berth to the area in front of the command position where he was pacing to and fro, and instead concentrated intently on whatever duties they were currently engaged.
The shuttle had been slightly over an hour late in lifting off from Floreat and, because of that he had been forced to alter the transit orbit in order to allow the shuttle to catch up. This in turn meant that the jump co-ordinates which had been pre-calculated were now utterly useless, and the navigation computers were still working on the new co-ordinates.
He was two passengers short on the first class deck as one of them had been seriously wounded in some sort of terrorist attack at the spaceport and had been rushed to Floreat Military Hospital for emergency surgery. The wife of the injured man, as far as could be determined in between the bouts of hysteria, had elected to stay with her husband and their luggage had to be unloaded from the shuttle and left behind at Floreat, thereby adding to the delay.
As if all that was not enough, he had been obliged to take a security man on board for the next stage to Andes in order to finish taking statements from any of the new passengers who may have witnessed the attack. It was disrupting the routine of his ship, and he had an intense dislike of anything which disturbed the ship's routine.
Abruptly, he stopped pacing. "Navigator, what the devil are you doing over there? Where are those new co-ordinates?"
The Navigation Officer jumped as though stung. "They're just coming through now, sir. I was about to ask permission to launch the probe, sir, if that's all right."
"All right? Of course it's not all right. It should have been done half an hour ago.... Well don't just stand there like a dummy. Get on with it man."
As the Navigator hurried to give the necessary orders for launching the probe, Captain Wainwright turned on his Exec Officer.
"What have you done with that dammed detective fellow? I trust you've hidden him away somewhere. Can't have him disturbing the passengers with all those questions; the ship's routine has been upset enough as it is."
"The Security Investigator, sir. I thought it would be best not to use one of the public rooms, so I've actually put him in your day cabin. He's out of the way there and I left your steward and the purser to organise the people he wants to interview."
"Hmph. My day cabin, you say. Well I suppose you might consider that to be out of most people's way. However...."
Before he could continue, the Duty Officer came across. "Excuse me, sir. The Purser says that the Welcome Party for the new passengers is about to start in the Forward Observation Lounge. Shall I tell him that you're on your way?"
"Yes yes, very well. Must try to keep things as normal as possible I suppose."
It was part of the Captain's routine that he always greeted the new passengers at the Welcome Party and an almost audible sigh of relief ran round the bridge as he left to perform the duty this time.
The Forward Observation Lounge of the Aldebaran was situated right in the bows of the ship. It had its own gravity field generators to produce a field at right angles to that of the rest of the ship so that, to the passengers standing on the floor of the lounge, the direction of the ship's travel was straight above their heads.
In addition to the main field generators covering the lounge itself, each of the approach passageways had a contoured field generator to provide a smooth transition from the rest of the ship into the lounge. To anybody walking down one of these passageways from the main ship into the observation lounge, the gravitational pull which they would feel would always be directly beneath their feet and unless they had been warned of the peculiar gravity fields, would be completely unaware of their reorientation.
The Forward Observation Lounge was one of the features of the Aldebaran of which Captain Wainwright was justifiably proud. In his welcome address to the new passengers, he always took particular care to point out that they were, in fact, standing horizontally compared to the rest of the ship. The tyros on board always rewarded him with a set of reactions to this announcement, ranging from blank stares of incomprehension, through various stages of amazed disbelief, to anxious grabs at the nearest solid support to prevent themselves from falling flat on their faces.
So accustomed was he to receiving a reaction of some sort, that he always felt a faint surge of irritation against those passengers who had either travelled on a liner of the Aldebaran's class before or who had been warned what to expect, and so did not react markedly to his announcement. One such couple now stood slightly to one side of the main group and watched with apparent mild amusement, the reactions of their fellow embarkees. He was obviously a businessman of some description, judging by the cut of his clothes, and she could be either his wife or his mistress. Certainly they did not seem at all nonplussed by the concept of horizontal gravity and Captain Wainwright made a mental note to ask the purser about them.
David and Marienna were indeed watching the reactions of the other new passengers but the expression of mild amusement was somewhat contrived. They were, in fact, observing with a much more serious intent. On the reasonable hypothesis that the opposition had nobody of any significance already on board, then their team must also be joining at Floreat or Andes or both. But in this case, with the exception only of themselves, the reactions of the passengers indicated that either they were all novice space travellers or their man had some passing ability as an actor.
"We're one short," Marienna suddenly whispered to him. "There were 24 of us on the shuttle and there's only 23 here."
"You're right," he said, doing a quick count himself. "Go over there and see if you can charm the name of the missing passenger out of the purser."
Marienna was back within five minutes. "His name's Jorgensen. Morten M. Jorgensen. He's a commercial traveller en route to Quental. Purser says he's about 50, tall, blond hair, powerfully built. Staying in his cabin because of an upset stomach. Purser thinks it's an ulcer."
"You came back too soon," he laughed. "Another couple of minutes and the purser would have given you his social security number and the colour of his socks."
""He did: well the social security number anyway. The purser took it off Jorgensen's travel documents. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I forgot to ask about his socks."
He aimed a smack in the direction of her backside but Marienna dodged nimbly aside.
"What are we going to do about Jorgensen?" she asked him.
; "First off, let's look on Khan's list and see what details he's given us. Then we can send a message via Sam to run a double check on his ID."
***
Behind the Forward Observation Lounge the Aldebaran was organised in a more traditional style with 8 horizontal decks. Only the top 3 decks were occupied by passengers with the rest being used for the crew, the main drive, the galleys and other service facilities. The top two decks had viewing galleries running their entire length and on the top deck, the first class deck, the viewing gallery also had a transparent roof.
Each of the three main passenger decks had its own complex of shops, bars and restaurants, gymnasia and pools. Roughly amidships and linking all three decks, was the Astrodome. 200 metres across and with a transparent viewing roof, the Astrodome was maintained at a gravity of 0.05g, making it ideal for all forms of low gravity sport. Here it was possible to hire ultralite wings and glide up to the roof, where the most skilful could hang for several minutes, seeming to be floating in space with nothing between them and the stars. Space tennis was another favourite pastime with the floor and walls of the court formed by force fields and with the whole court floating free and able to be tipped to any angle by the movements of the players.
The Aldebaran carried a crew of 1520 and had accommodation for 1086 passengers, over 99% of which was currently occupied. To David and Marienna, sitting in the first class bar overlooking the Astrodome, it seemed as if most of those passengers were either in the Astrodome itself or in the surrounding bars. They watched as two young women glided down to the landing area outside the bar and touched down neatly, folding their wings away.
"Is that them, David? Which one is Princess Nerissa?"
"The one on the left, with the slightly lighter hair and the blue tunic."