by Gary Jonas
Sai dove for the cover of the entrance. Energy bolts chipped the bricks. She threw open the door and rushed inside.
She sprinted along the carpeted hallway to a lift and pressed the down button. She paced the floor, waiting for the doors to open. She decided that once she got to the ground floor, unless there were more men waiting, she would head for the Warehouse District of the Starman’s Quarter. She needed to reach the port tonight and get off this rock before they could tighten the noose.
Finally the doors hissed open, and she stepped into the lift. “Ground floor,” she said. The doors closed, and she felt the lift descend.
Brock stared at the path of destruction and shook his head. What a bunch of bumbling idiots! They were here to stop one girl and what happens? They burn half a city block, killing dozens of innocent people, but not the girl they were looking for. Worse yet, the damned explosion took out his nanites so he had lost track of the girl, too.
Larson listened to a report on his comlink, then turned to the other security men. “Green Team has her cornered in a building three blocks away. Let’s get over there and end this thing,” Larson said. “We can’t let this woman get away. It’s personal now.”
Brock wondered if they were going to blow up that other building, too.
The haggard remains of Blue Team hesitated.
“What’s the problem?” Larson asked.
One of the men gestured at the sea of people between them and their car. “Are you kidding? We can’t get through that crowd.”
Larson sighed. “Why do I always get the incompetents?” He moved to the edge of the crowd. “Security! Make way, people! Coming through!”
Nobody moved.
He yelled again, but still no one moved.
“I don’t believe this.” He pressed a button on his comlink. “Green Leader, this is Red Leader. We’re having trouble reaching you. It’s going to take some time for us to get there. Do you have the situation handled yet?”
“Hell no, it isn’t handled. I lost three men when a roof collapsed, and the target got away. We’ve lost her.”
Brock couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Professionals—what a joke. This assignment was over. They had promised him that if he showed aptitude on this task, he would be moved up the ladder. Brock suspected that the fact that he was the only one who wasn’t an idiot on this backwater planet would be enough. He needed to get closer to determine the true power structure of Thorne’s organization. So far he had been shuffled through a series of flunkies and middlemen. He’d been given Grid contact addresses and drop boxes. But nothing had given him much insight.
He was due to report to his Confed handler soon. Obviously this event on Raken was more than a simple act of corporate theft. Thorne was either controlling or actively cooperating with Nebulaco Security. That connection was deep and obviously hadn’t died with Director Casey. What was the courier carrying? What was the connection with Thorne? When he returned to his vehicle he’d prepare a coded transmission. Maybe Confed Secret Service could sort it all out.
CHAPTER SIX
Nebulaco Security Director Maxwell sat at the head of a conference table surrounded by the holographic forms of Nebulaco’s Council of Lords. Their ghostly images interacted with each other in the shared virtual environment of the cathedral-like room and were now engaged in heated debate.
The council consisted of Lord Oke, a young man with a weak chin who seemed more interested in how his hair looked than the problem at hand; Lady Hemming, a big-boned middle-aged woman with steel-blue eyes and a stern countenance—as always, she was in outrageous costume, today appearing in a pith helmet and bush jacket, but because she was a corporate lord, Maxwell knew better than to tell her how foolish she looked—and finally, there was Lord Randol, who seemed the most focused and reasonable of the group.
Maxwell smiled calmly.
Randol looked at him. “What exactly have you been doing, Maxwell? Sitting in your new office all day counting your new salary? Why hasn’t progress been made in the hunt for this missing data that you insist proves Casey’s guilt?”
“Milord, I have confirmed that former Director Casey had an elaborate intelligence network within the corporation that was assisting him in his clandestine pursuits. I’ve just begun interrogations on one of his agents, who has already admitted that he stole the data per Casey’s standing order. I have every confidence that we shall retrieve the data as the investigation progresses.”
“What possible motive could Frederick Casey have for preserving data after his death?” Randol asked.
Maxwell shrugged. “Obviously it wouldn’t help him, but perhaps it was a mutual agreement he had established with his accomplices. There are almost certainly more conspirators involved in this plot. A quick removal of the evidence would facilitate their escape from justice.”
“And what of Thorne?” Randol asked.
“Thorne is not some sneak thief or pickpocket. He has excellent resources and, apparently, the ability to vanish without a trace. Even our reward money hasn’t enticed anyone to provide information concerning his whereabouts.”
“And why is that? How is it that a vicious pirate could win the hearts of the common people? You’d think they’d jump at a reward,” Randol said.
“Either through loyalty or fear, no one seems willing to provide credible leads.”
“Could it be that our security personnel are bullying the people too much and Thorne seems to offer an end to that harassment?”
“Lord Randol, in one breath you accuse me of being too lax in my duties and in the next you claim that I am too forceful. Could it be that I am neither?”
The other lords laughed. Oke stood and spoke, his voice feminine and detached. “Well, I for one am in favor of the methods used by our new security director. He has produced commendable results. If nothing else, his exposure of Casey is laudable.”
Randol scowled. “I still have concerns.”
Hemming adjusted her pith helmet and rolled her eyes. She was conferencing from a jungle on the planet Zaan, where she was on some sort of hunt. “Gentlemen, let us also remember that it was Maxwell who originally brought this Thorne to our attention and practically begged us to provide him with more resources to fight the problem at its onset. Now Thorne has grown from a minor annoyance to a major threat.”
“Milords, the situation also appears to be unique to our corporation. Since we are being specifically targeted, perhaps this is an indication that our competitors may be financing Thorne,” Maxwell said. “Galaxia Inc., Asta Enterprises, Three Star … none of our corporate rivals are suffering as we are.”
Oke spread his hands. “Let’s face it: Thorne has brought us to our knees. We are as diversified as possible. We manufacture everything from spaceships to lingerie, but unless we can get our product to market, this corporation does not make money. My financial advisers report to me that some divisions of the corporation will become insolvent soon if the situation doesn’t change. In order to stay in business we need to maintain safe shipping lanes.”
“The Confed is supposed to provide that protection. We certainly pay enough into the system,” Hemming said.
Maxwell shook his head. “The Confed has regular patrols, and they have expanded their escorts, but there are simply too many shipments to protect.”
“Strange that the ships under escort are never the ones attacked,” Randol said.
Maxwell turned to look directly at Randol’s avatar. “Milord, you wouldn’t think it strange if you factor in a corrupt security director who was obviously providing the details of which shipments would be guarded.”
Randol shook his head. “I still don’t believe it. And I won’t believe it until I see this so-called proof that you can’t seem to locate.”
Maxwell smiled. “I’m confident it will be obtained soon. With the traitor gone, we can continue to utilize the Confed, and we can also hire private mercenary ships as guards without fear that our plans will be exposed. However
, the larger issue remains, as Lord Oke pointed out, that we need an influx of capital. Heavily armed convoys are expensive.”
Oke stood to take the floor. “We really only have one option. In order to raise the necessary capital we must simply sell off some of our stock holdings. While it’s true that we shall hold less, a small sell-off won’t matter. No one has a block of stock that can compete with our holdings or we would have heard of it, and certainly no one person has enough to claim a lordship on the council.”
“But our dividends will diminish as well,” Hemming said. “We have a certain living standard to maintain.”
“You’re both being ridiculous,” Randol said.
“We won’t have any dividends at all if we keep losing money,” Oke said. “This gives us a chance to reinvest, and it buys some time to eliminate Thorne. Hopefully, when the company recovers we’ll be receiving larger dividends than we do now, even with fewer shares.”
“Interesting,” Hemming said. “How much are you proposing?”
“Perhaps a five percent block from each of us. Does that sound acceptable?” Oke said.
“You want us to give up fifteen percent of the corporation?” Randol said. “Are you insane? With the outstanding shares already out there, that would leave us owning less than fifty percent of the corporation. Utter stupidity.”
Oke turned red. “Lord Randol, there is no reason to be insulting. It’s a reasonable suggestion. Although the stock may be out there, it is dispersed among throngs of minor investors. There is no credible threat to our authority.”
“This sounds like an excellent opportunity,” Maxwell said. “A massive influx of capital would solve many of our problems.”
Randol glared at him. “Director Maxwell, please limit your comments to the subject of your expertise, which is simply security. You are not a lord and have no right to an opinion on this matter.”
“Please accept my abject apologies, Lord Randol. I meant no offense.” Maxwell lowered his eyes and bowed to him.
“Lord Oke, when you have more information, we’ll discuss this further,” Hemming said. “Until then, is there any other business to discuss? I have a hunt to attend.”
Helen Randol sat before the information terminal in her cabin aboard the Aurelius and examined her schedule yet again. It seemed that she was destined for the next two years to be saddled with a never-ending series of classes consisting primarily of useless material.
It was well understood that as the only daughter of a lord, and therefore a future lady herself, Helen did not need to bother with a formal education in order to live extravagantly. However, if she wanted to one day lead the corporation rather than simply be a leech who drained the coffers of her apportioned share, she knew she’d have to apply herself to her education.
Her father took such things seriously, and so did she, which made it doubly frustrating to see the litany of worthless courses such as Rigelian Comparative Anthropology. Could they actually be serious? How would that be of any use in running the affairs of a corporation?
She turned off the course schedule and chose some music. Soft blues tones filled the cabin. She lay down on her bunk and sighed. She stared through the viewport next to the bed into the darkness. She dimmed the lights in the room until the fainter stars became visible.
She would endure her time at the university. She would suffer the pompous nattering of her fellow students as they went about their daily nonsense, the vacant flattery of those trying to win her favor, and the machinations of those trying to rise on the social scale by bringing her down. She would endure it because of her father. She needed to be strong to take her place in the corporation so she could prevent it from falling under the influence of idiots like Oke and his ilk once her father was too old to continue.
Ever since Helen’s mother died, she had tried to take care of her father, and she had learned early on that the best way she could do so was by learning how to succeed him. The corporate world was brutal, and it had taken its toll on him over the years. He had survived buyout and takeover attempts, controversy and treachery. But the biggest threat so far had been the pirate Thorne and his raids on their shipping lines.
She knew her father and former Security Director Casey had suspected that there was a traitor in some prominent position within the company, and they organized an internal investigation to identify him. Somehow everything had turned upside down with the loss of Casey. Part of her wanted to delay attending the university, but her father had argued against it.
“So do you think there will ever be a time when there isn’t a crisis? What then? Will you ever go?” he’d said.
She had agreed, begrudgingly. But as she lay on the bunk in her dimly lit cabin and faced the prospect of the next two years, she had second thoughts.
The sound of music was suddenly replaced by the blare of a warning klaxon, and a red emergency light flashed in the room.
Helen looked out the viewport. She could see something flash, then flash again, and she realized that it was a rapidly approaching ship firing upon the Aurelius. A ball of plasma engulfed the ship, turning the viewport white. The ship shuddered and Helen was tossed across the room.
The lights went out and the normal sounds of cycling air and the hum of ambient engine noise ceased, leaving behind a cold, empty silence. Helen crawled back to the viewport and watched the ship close in. It was mottled and pieced together, armor plating sloppily welded here and there across the bow. Pulse cannons and plasma guns bristled from every available mountable surface. Someone had smeared black and white paint on the nose. It was a nod to an earlier time, a classic calling card—a skull and crossbones.
Pirates.
Helen had been trained from childhood how to deal with attacks. As the daughter of a lord she was always at risk. She kept a handgun and a jump bag in her cabin. She grabbed them immediately, racing along the passageways toward the life pods. Often pirates would ignore those who escaped in pods because there was no profit in retrieving them and no gain in destroying them. Occupants of the pods might rest in suspended animation for years before being found, but Helen was sure that her father would send a Confed search party for her. If she escaped in a pod before the pirates realized she was aboard, they would likely be happy with capturing the yacht.
No one challenged her as she rushed down the corridors. As she approached the engine rooms she heard someone in a side corridor ahead. She drew her pistol and cautiously went forward. There was a man in the coveralls of a crewman picking up the contents of a bag he had just spilled. It contained gold ornaments and silverware. She pointed the gun at his back. “So, helping yourself, eh?”
The man put his hands up and slowly turned around. She read the name tape on his coveralls. “Radje? Mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Sorry, Your Lordship, milady, but … well … I figured it was better than them pirates getting it.”
Helen sighed and shook her head. “Fool, let’s just get out of here before they find us. The gold won’t do you any good if you’re dead.” She waved him forward with the gun barrel.
Radje lifted the bag. “Can I keep it then?”
“I don’t care. Just hurry!”
The escape pods were just ahead at the next intersection. Six pods with open doors awaited. Helen headed toward the first open pod door.
“Hold it!” a voice commanded. Helen turned to look and saw a man armed with a pulse rifle taking aim. She moved to fire and would have made the shot, but Radje bumped against her as he dove into the open pod.
Her shot went wild as the pod door closed with Radje inside. The pod immediately launched.
The pirate with the pulse rifle didn’t miss. The shot took her in the chest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Why did you attack my men?”
“I told you,” Chandler said. “I walked toward the bar to get a refill and some guy pulled a blaster on me. What would you have done?”
Chandler sat restrained in an interrogation
chair being worked over by Nebulaco’s finest. After he was patched up from being blindsided in the bar, they brought him to the detention center for questioning. That was at least three hours ago. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and he thought he had a mild concussion.
The room was a gray box, and he sat in the middle of it under a lamp hot enough to bake cookies. The lead interrogator, a dark man with one eyebrow named Sergeant Cox, had the personality of a hemorrhoid.
“They were Nebulaco Security men on special assignment. You blew an important operation.”
“They didn’t identify themselves. I had no idea what was going on. Besides, I was in the free zone. Corporate Security isn’t even supposed to be there.”
Sergeant Cox sighed and massaged his temples. “Why did you help the girl?”
“What girl? You keep talking about a girl. I don’t know any girls on this stinking planet.”
Cox got up in his face. His breath smelled like old cheese. “Don’t play games with me, Chandler. I want answers or you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a deep, dark hole that smells like your own shit.”
There was a knock on the door. Cox walked over, opened the door, and spoke briefly with another man. He returned white.
“Mr. Chandler. I am very sorry for the misunderstanding,” Cox said. “There has been a mistake. I apologize, and I am to express my regrets and extend to you every courtesy of the Nebulaco Corporation.” His hands shook as he removed the restraints from Chandler and helped him up from the hot seat. “I hope you’ll have it in your heart to forgive us.”
Chandler shook his head. “What?”
“I had no idea who you were. Those field officers gave us misleading information. We’ll have you out of here immediately.”