Tempest: Book Two of the Terran Cycle

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  I really need to read that manual.

  The image relayed the immensity of the city they were entering. The central tower was two thousand miles wide at its thinnest in the middle, with a height of just over four thousand miles, wiping out the view of anything else. Millions of ships, of every description, came and went from the various ports and landing platforms, while others diverted towards the connecting towers that looked like structural beams for the cracked planet. There were construction zones scattered across the tower, still repairing the damage from the micro-nova five months ago. Roland also noticed a higher number of red patrol ships in the area.

  “You’re going to need these if you want to blend in.” Ch’len’s voice came from beyond the hologram as he walked straight through the image. He was carrying a small case that he placed on the kitchen table. Inside were six dark bands of a material Roland could never figure out. It was somewhere between metal and rubber as the bands wrapped around the neck and wrists. He put his on first to demonstrate to Esabelle. A grid of yellow lines tracked across his face and hands as the profiler calculated the necessary features. To the user there was no difference, except for the illusion surrounding their hands, but to Esabelle, Roland now appeared to be a Laronian.

  “It’s mostly used within the same species, not much use across the different races,” Ch’len explained. “You’re lucky your physiology is so close to the scaly ones.”

  Esabelle fitted her own bands and became a female Laronian - Roland decided she was still pretty hot. It always took him a while to get used to having one less finger, he could still feel it, just not see it.

  “Why are we descending?” Esabelle looked to the holographic display as the Rackham angled towards the lower half of the central tower. “The Protocorps Headquarters is located at the top of the tower.”

  Roland looked to Ch’len for help, but he simply shrugged.

  “We need to make a transfer and it has to be one of the Clave terminals.” He said it as nonchalantly as he could.

  “You mean you have to send the data we mined from Ral-vet’s array to your client so you can get paid?” Roland tried to avoid her gaze. “You realise that all communications between planets go through the A.I. hubs. The same A.I. we are here to investigate, Roland.”

  “Hey, this ship is great and all, but it doesn’t produce its own Intrinium cells. Those I have to actually buy. No transfer - no moolah - no moolah - no fly.” He made childish gestures imitating the ship taking off.

  Esabelle gave him an exasperated look. “Where is the Bounty Clave terminal, exactly?” she asked.

  “Well the Clave isn’t strictly legal,” Ch’len continued. “There are lots of trans-communication hubs all over the place, but the bounty clave only uses one in the lower levels, outside Clave Tower.”

  “It’s in a bar,” Roland added to the Ch’kara’s long winded explanation.

  Esabelle raised her scaly eye with a look of judgment over Roland. “Of course it is...”

  Kel-var Tionis made his way through the lobby and into the deeper and far more secretive parts of Protocorps HQ. The building itself was the central hanging spire from the very top of Clave Tower. The entrance was located at the bottom, only accessible via craft on the landing platform. The lower half was a legitimate business with all the trappings and personnel expected of such an enterprise. Everything past level one hundred and one of the two hundred and twenty-seven floors was a different matter, as Kel-var well knew. The only employees to be found past this level were those loyal to the cause. Kel-var’s predecessors had been very specific about keeping the secret within a selected few of the species.

  The Conclave offered its own security, which Protocorps happily accepted with such precious technology housed inside. But past level sixty-one, all guards and security measures were Kel-var’s private army. The core A.I. was situated at the top of the spire, secured halfway between the planet and the artificial structure. Ral-vet’s ancestors had been the ones to install the prophet here, thinking it to be the safest place on the capital. The Gomar had challenged that fact.

  “I take it all repairs have been made.” Kel-var stood in front of the white circular door that led to the prophet’s chamber. He was talking to Sav-del Tanek, a high ranking descendant of the Tanek dynasty. Ral-vet had placed him personally for the job of maintaining the prophet’s requirements and integration to the A.I. network.

  “The micro-nova created a lot of radiation that fried some of the internal systems. We lost contact with half of the lower city and the connection hub to Corvus was disrupted when the Valoran exploded.” Sav-del’s explanation of the damage was not what Kel-var wanted to know, he had read the reports from Ral-vet the same day the Gomar attacked. Sav-del was just looking for praise on having such severe repairs made so quickly. Kel-var didn’t hand out pats on the head; his look expressed such a notion.

  “Levels are optimal now, sir,” Tanek quickly went on to say. “All relays are connected and the generators are completely submersed in the tanks. The prophet itself sustained no damage.”

  “You will wait here,” Kel-var ordered his entourage of security and PAs. Sav-del placed his hand over the scanner while positioning his organic eye into the retinal socket. The scanner took his biometric readings taking his DNA, finger-print and cross referencing his Novattoo. The floor beneath his feet was also weighing him while a separate, hidden probe was measuring his height. He said his name out loud for the voice recognition before entering the new code that changed every two hours. The heavy door was three feet thick and designed by one of Protocorps’ many science divisions. They had taken the raw material of Callic-diamond and altered its structure on an atomic level. The door could be fired into the photosphere of an A-class star and still survive.

  Kel-var entered the expansive chamber, his dark blue robe flowing behind him as the door resealed, locking him in. The room was half a kilometre wide with a ceiling of rock and ancient stalactites. There was a single walkway that led from the door to the prophet in the centre of the chamber. Walking across, Kel-var looked down into the four great tanks of liquid nitrogen that kept the enormous generators cool. It was from here that all A.I. hubs were connected; stretching their influence across the galaxy required a certain amount of energy.

  The generators were connected to the prophet via a multitude of cables that inserted into its various ports. The cube sat on a platform that dropped down between the generator tanks, and into the CPU for Protocorps to assume a small measure of responsibility, allowing them to keep up appearances of running the A.I.

  The walkway only allowed Kel-var to access one side of the prophet’s cube shaped body. The centre of the square had opened up centuries ago for bio-connection reasons. It was for that reason that Kel-var pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing the six circular ports implanted into the skin between his wrist and elbow. The ports were at different angles all the way around the pale flesh. He rested his arm on the shelf that supported his hand and elbow, exposing his forearm.

  “I humbly beg an audience.” Black tendrils snaked out of the hole, slowly at first, like an animal assessing its surroundings. The cables danced around his arm, slithering over the skin between the ports. All at once they found a socket and inserted themselves with an audible click. Unlike the earlier generations, Kel-var felt no pain when the connection was made. It had been his grandfather that designed the bio-connections a few hundred cycles earlier.

  Speak...

  The voice came from all around but Kel-var knew it was inside his head. He tried not to flinch at the imposing power he felt under every syllable.

  “The Highclave has included the humans on the Trantax project. The Terran is on the planet already.”

  We are aware.

  “I have teams on standby. I can deploy them to retrieve the artefact immediately and have it transferred to a secure location.” Being as high up in their organisation as he was, Kel-var had the privilege of being privy to some of the pro
phet’s secrets. He was well aware that the second cube had been around just as long as the one in front of him - it was simply redundant. Should the primary prophet become too damaged to achieve its goals, the second would activate taking its place. He could only assume it was aware of events on Trantax because of the data intercepted through the A.I. hubs, coming out of the Highclave’s secure array.

  Send your teams. I have an agent of my own in play.

  An agent of its own? Kel-var was confused. The only agents of the prophet should be within Protocorps, and he had knowledge of them all.

  “Are they to work together?”

  Order your people to target and eliminate the Terran. My agent will retrieve the cube. Have the Helteron Cluster secured and ready for our arrival.

  Kel-var tried to hide his reaction. The Helteron cluster was located between the borders of Shay and Ch’kara territory, but its secrets were highly guarded by Protocorps. That particular project had remained dormant since the discovery of the prophet itself, but its importance was not lost on him. And what did it mean by arrival? The cube had never left this chamber. Kel-var reasoned that it was referring to the other cube as itself. Protocorps’ long range sensors would have alerted him if They were actually arriving.

  “What about the Terran vessel, the Gommarian? It would be an honour to assist in your great mission. I have resources available that could help to take the ship and wipe out its inhabitants.”

  No, you do not. You will proceed as planned. The humans and their ship will be dealt with by us. The timetable is being accelerated. I want you and your board members to personally oversee the Helteron project as soon as we arrive. You will go there immediately.

  “Has their timetable been accelerated?” he asked hesitantly. He knew what was coming; he just never thought he would be alive to see its magnificence. Kel-var would never admit it, but half of him was afraid of what was coming, while the other half couldn’t wait. It was no doubt due to the teachings and excitement of the generations before.

  We are inevitable. You must be ready.

  As always, the prophet only gave him enough to carry out his orders. He had so many questions, but he reasoned that he had been privileged enough to be told about the Terran and their past, a mystery the Conclave did not fully understand.

  The thick door sealed shut behind him, where he met a sea of expectant faces. Even his security detail appeared interested.

  “Ready my ship, we’re leaving for the Helteron Cluster immediately.” One of his PAs reacted to the order with a far-away stare as she used her virtual vision to inform the pilot.

  “But sir, you have the address regarding the death of Ral-vet Tanek,” another PA offered.

  “I’m sure Sal-dev here can handle it, just tweak the speech.” Sal-dev puffed out his chest with pride at being given such a high profile job, even if it was the death of his uncle. “I need to use a secure trans-terminal before I leave.”

  “You can use my office, sir.” Sal-dev gestured for them to follow him.

  Kel-var tried to focus on the immediate things he needed to do. He didn’t want to dwell on the ominous predictions of the prophet. If the timetable really had been accelerated then his existence as he knew it now would soon come to an end, and he wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for that. Then again, what choice did mortals have in a game of the gods?

  The view from outside Clave Tower was awe-inspiring. Roland remembered the first time he had looked out on the prepossessing vista, after escaping the Laronian warship. It was truly the most alien view he had ever seen, even throughout his travels across the Conclave. From the lower city they could see the never ending ocean of towers and beautiful structures stretching out to the crack in the planet. Beyond that, the distant sun shone like a beacon in the dark, surrounded by glittering stars. It was easy to feel small when you could see half a planet laid out in front of you.

  The expanse slipped from sight as the grav pillar dropped them below the nearest buildings. With a Novattoo imprinted on the side of the holo-bands they could easily navigate the many grav pillars used to traverse the vast city.

  They stepped off at sub level 131, where Roland guided them along the busy walkways of the lower city streets. Holographic neon signs illuminated the shops and bars with different beats flowing out of the various clubs. Every colour of the spectrum highlighted the available wares the sub-level denizens craved. Roland loved it down here; you could get drink, food, drugs and every kind of virtual stimulator. The one colour he was happy not to see was Conclave security red. He side-stepped the drunks and junkies stumbling through the streets looking for their next high. Even through the holo-band he could see Esabelle’s look of disgust.

  They were forced to stop as the crowd ahead dispersed to avoid the Ch’kara being thrown out of the adjacent bar window. The organic pane burst as the little alien flew into the crowd, knocking over a Shay and a couple of Nix.

  “Don’t show your gassy little face around here again!” The booming voice came from a Raalak on the other side of the broken widow. The organic pane began to reseal as the Ch’kara crawled away into the shadows of an alley-way.

  “A charming place you’ve found,” Esabelle remarked. “Why doesn’t Ch’len ever leave the ship?”

  “He suffers from agoraphobia; he hates open spaces and crowds.” He chuckled to himself, “Can you imagine that, in the biggest society in the galaxy?” They turned down another street where Roland pushed a Brenine out of the way, trying to sell them Glow. The bounty hunter had never touched the fluorescent drug but he had seen its effects on others and decided to stick with the poison he knew. The Brenine caught sight of his dual Tri-rollers and didn’t press the matter. Covering his pure white skin with a tattered hood, the Brenine slinked off into the night.

  “You don’t see many of their kind away from their own planets,” Esabelle commented.

  Roland raised a scaly eyebrow at the woman. “How the hell do you know that? You’ve been cooped up in that ship your entire life.”

  They continued to push on through the streets.

  “When I was integrated with the Gommarian, I scanned the Conclave archives for information on every species. It’s all locked in here.” She tapped her temple.

  “Well I’ve actually met a few. They tend to stick together. I don’t ask too many questions, especially around here.”

  “They’re light sensitive. On their home worlds, eighty percent of all the cities are located underground. I imagine that’s why they don’t travel a lot.”

  Roland had once met a female of the species and had been surprised at how attractive he found her. As humanoids their shape was identical, even their facial features were similar with two eyes and a mouth. Their ears were a small holes that ran down from the side of the head and along the jaw-line. Her eyes had been a beautiful blue, more brilliant than Esabelle’s. The sockets themselves were bigger than a human’s on a small slant that angled towards the smooth skin where a nose should have been. Their hair was closer to that of a porcupine, with small spikes sloping across the back of the head and down the neck.

  “Well I’m glad you find them so fascinating, because the guy who owns the bar is a Brenine. And you really don’t want to get on his bad side.” Roland walked out of the alley onto the next street, narrowly avoiding a cargo truck hovering down the road. “We’re here.”

  The truck rolled by revealing the neon green sign above a two-storey bar.

  “The Abyss?”

  “Kinda fitting ain’t it?” Roland marched across the street pushing a drunken Trillik out of his path. Inside, the bar was exactly as he remembered it. The back was fitted with a dance floor while the front was one long bar with booths and tables. The upstairs was for a different kind of leisure activity, and not one Roland had got round to using. He wasn’t a hundred percent certain that humans were biologically compatible like some of the others were with each other. It was dark and noisy with the music from the dance floor packed with the you
th of every species. It always took him days to get rid of the smell of sweat and ammonia, mixed with alcohol and drugs, out of his nose.

  “You must feel right at home,” Esabelle said as she took in the sight.

  “I like a drink or four, but even this isn’t my scene!” They had to shout over the music. “Speaking of, go get us a couple of drinks while I send the data. Make sure you ask for the blue one, not the yellow!”

  “We’re going to Protocorps after this, we can’t drink!” she argued.

  “I work better with a drink, trust me! Besides, if we don’t buy something we’ll look suspicious!” Roland walked away leaving Esabelle to deal with the Novaarian tending the bar. The trans-terminal was located in a room off the dance floor. He quickly uploaded the data and sent it to the address given by his anonymous client. The screen froze as a message appeared informing him the address no longer existed.

  “What?” he tried shaking the machine before resorting to hitting the monitor. “Give me a break!” he yelled in rage as he exited the room, shoving his way through the dancing throng to reach his drink. He found Esabelle sitting in a booth in the corner of the bar with low lighting over the table. He took a seat, being careful not to touch the disgusting table top.

  “What’s up with you?” Esabelle leaned in to ask over the music.

  “I just got screwed is what!” Roland removed a small sphere from his belt and placed it on the table. Four metallic legs detached from the body propping it above the surface when a red LED came to life on the apex of the ball. Turning in his seat he depressed the button behind the booth. The music instantly dulled beyond the table, while the view distorted as if fumes were rising from the floor.

  “Neat trick. What’s the ball for?” Esabelle half shouted the question before adjusting to the new environment.