by Peter Kenson
“Excellent, Captain…?”
“Schmidt.”
“Right, now Captain Schmidt, Ensign Jonson here is going to go and inspect your cargo. Perhaps one of your men would show him the way.”
“I protest this invasion of my ship. You have no right to inspect my cargo.”
“Nevertheless I am going to, Captain. With or without your co-operation. Now which is it going to be?”
The captain made a furious gesture and one of the crewmen turned to lead the way aft, followed by Ensign Jonson and two of the bosun’s men.
“Now then Captain, the bosun and I are going to accompany you to the bridge to inspect your computer records.”
When they arrived at the bridge, the only other occupants were the helmsman and an unhappy looking technician fiddling disconsolately with the comms panel. The technician shook his head at the captain as they walked in.
Captain Schmidt immediately rounded on Mikael. “Why are you jamming our signals? This is not a routine inspection. This is highly illegal. I shall protest in the strongest terms to the Imperial Ambassador at our next port of call.”
“Forgive me Captain, but I don’t think the Emperor maintains an embassy in Vostov.”
“Vostov! No Captain, we’re not going to Vostov. We’re taking this ore to the foundries at Branden.”
“Then sir, I suggest you take your pilot out and shoot him because you are heading in totally the wrong direction.”
A crafty look appeared on Captain Schmidt’s face. “Ah yes, well we just have to make a slight detour on the way. To make a small delivery, you understand.”
“A delivery of something which might not appear on the official manifest?” Mikael asked.
“Quite so. You are a man of the world, Captain. You understand about these things.”
“I understand that smuggling is a crime that pervades large areas of the Empire. But leaving that to one side for a moment, what is the main cargo that you loaded at Ystradis?”
Captain Schmidt’s face brightened again. “From Ystradis sir, we loaded fifty kilotons of Selenium Nitrate ore. It’s all on the manifest.”
The captain tapped away at one of the auxiliary consoles and a screen full of data flashed up. “There! See for yourself.”
Mikael examined the screen. “Well that all appears to be in order, Captain. That’s a rich cargo; Selenium fetches a good price nowadays. As soon as Ensign Jonson returns, we’ll let you be on your way.”
Captain Schmidt exchanged a nervous glance with the armed crewman who started edging towards the bridge exit, only to find his way blocked by the formidable presence of the bosun and two of his finest.
“No, you just stay here with us, laddie,” the bosun said quietly.
The crewman muttered something under his breath and sulked over to the other side of the bridge just as the hatch opened as Ensign Jonson came in.
“Report Ensign,” Mikael said.
“We’ve examined the cargo, sir. It’s listed as Selenium Nitrate ore but it’s not Selenium, sir. It’s Biridium.”
Mikael whirled round to face Schmidt and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye as the crewman raised his rifle, stumbled and then slumped to the deck with a surprised look on his face and a third eye drilled through the centre of his forehead. The bosun swung his pistol to point at Schmidt as his men covered the technician and the helmsman.
“Where’s the other armed crewman, Jonson?” Mikael snapped.
“The bosun’s men have him, sir. He proved a little resistant but they have him secure.”
“How many other crew do you have, Captain,” Mikael asked.
Schmidt glared at him sullenly. Mikael drew his own pistol and pointed it at the captain’s head.
“Captain, Biridium is a controlled substance. You do not have the necessary permits to carry such a cargo. Furthermore, the course you were following when intercepted was taking you towards Vostovian space. All trade with Vostov is embargoed, let alone Biridium. I would be within my rights to shoot you for, let’s say ‘Resisting Arrest’, and unless I start getting some co-operation from you, I intend to exercise those rights. Now how many crew do you have and where are they?”
“Damn you Captain,” Schmidt spat. “The cook will be in the galley. The navigator and one other crewman are off duty; probably in their bunks.”
“Ensign Jonson, you have a side arm?”
“Yes sir.”
“You stay here with me. Bosun, take your men and round up the crew. Bring them forward for now. We’ll find somewhere to secure them later.”
“Aye, aye sir.”
Leaving Jonson to cover the captain, Mikael walked over and placed his laser pistol against the helmsman’s head.
“Now then,” he began. “Unless you co-operate, you are looking at an extended stay in one of His Imperial Majesty’s less salubrious establishments. That is, of course, assuming that you live long enough to get there. So how co-operative are you going to be?”
“If I co-operate, will that be taken into account?”
“It will,” Mikael promised.
“What do you want?” the helmsman sighed.
“Lay in a course for Star Base Runnymede. Maximum velocity.”
Chapter 18 - Belsia
“This really is the most god-forsaken, shit-hole of a planet,” Special Envoy Trast thought to himself. He was standing in the open airlock of the Destructor’s shuttle watching the rain coming down in sheets, driven by a howling wind that whipped past the open hatchway. The shuttle pilot had been wise enough to angle the craft so that the airlock was on the leeside but the damp and the chill still came rushing in through the open hatchway.
The terminal buildings on the far side of the spaceport were completely obscured by the driving rain. Trast waited impatiently as the ground car to take them there, edged closer to the bottom of the ramp. He knew that he would be soaked to the skin by the time he reached the car and so he was waiting until it actually touched the ramp and had its door invitingly open. Behind him, Professor Berkovis and his assistant Gloria were staring in horror at the weather outside and the thought of actually venturing out into it.
The car stopped and the driver swung the doors open. Trast took a deep breath and sprinted down the ramp to fling himself into the shelter of the car closely followed by the others. In just those few seconds, the rain managed to penetrate every layer of clothing down to their skin. As they shook the worst of it off the outside of their clothing, he noted with appreciation the effect of the rain on Gloria’s business suit and blouse. “Perhaps there might be some benefits to this appalling place after all.”
The ground car and its escorts sped off towards the terminal and he dragged his attention away from the charms of the professor’s assistant and back to the objectives of the mission. Bargas may be an idiot but he was the ruling president of the Belsi and unfortunately, had to be treated as almost an equal. The cars dived in under the canopy of the terminal building and his heart sank as he saw the honour guard and the military band, lined up waiting for them. He forced a smile on his face as the door swung open and he stepped out to be greeted by the president himself and his intelligence chief, Sitrona.
“Welcome to Belsia,” Bargas said enthusiastically. “I hope you were not inconvenienced by our little shower. It’s the season for them.”
“It’s always the bloody season for something,” Trast thought. “Blizzards in the winter, hail and thunder in the spring and ‘little showers’ in the summer.”
“Not at all,” he assured his host. “It was quite refreshing - in a way.”
The smile on Bargas’ face grew broader as the introductions were made.
“Welcome Professor. We have been looking forward to your visit, and to your charming assistant too.”
Bargas allowed his eyes to roam freely over Gloria’s figure, the curves emphasised by the wet clothing clinging to her body.
“Not a cha
nce, you little prick,” Trast said to himself, as he followed the president’s gaze. “If anybody’s exploring that territory, it’s going to be me.”
“I think you’ll find that everything is prepared for your little demonstration,” Bargas continued.
“We will need to examine the subjects before we begin,” Berkovis spoke for the first time.
“Of course, if you wish.” Bargas looked puzzled. “Is there any particular reason?”
“We need to check their general health,” the professor replied. “While we are confident that the virus will act as it has been designed to do, we would like to check that the subjects have no pre-existing medical conditions which may confuse the results.”
“You mean you want to be sure that it’s the virus that kills them?”
“Exactly. And with your own people, we want to ensure that they’re healthy and that there will be no unfortunate side-effects.”
“Side-effects! What sort of side-effects?” Bargas asked.
“Oh nothing to be worried about,” Trast broke in smoothly, glaring at the professor. “This particular virus was developed from the strain which causes the common cold. The worst that could happen is that your men might come down with a sniffle.”
“Yes, yes. Quite so. A slight head cold maybe,” Berkovis added.
“And so, my dear President,” Trast continued swiftly, without giving Bargas time to ask any further questions. “Why don’t we inspect this fine body of men you have here. Then we can let the professor and his assistant go to conduct their examinations while we proceed to the palace and discuss some of the other arrangements that we need to make.”
“Yes of course. I will arrange transport to take them to the prison where the subjects are being held. They can join us at the palace later.”
“Excellent,” Trast said, giving Berkovis another glare. “When you return, Professor, perhaps you could spend some time with the president and his staff going through the finer details of the trial tomorrow. Your assistant can brief me on the results of the clinical examinations.”
***
The room chosen for the trial was one of the larger interrogation rooms at the prison. One complete wall was specially reinforced glass from floor to ceiling allowing the audience in the adjacent room a clear view of everything going on. The viewing chamber was completely filled by senior advisors and military staff surrounding Trast and the president while Berkovis stood in a corner of the room with a datapad in his hand.
The trial chamber was sparsely furnished with a metal table and four metal chairs, two on either side of the table, all firmly attached to the floor. In front of each chair, there was also a ringbolt embedded in the concrete floor. There were no windows, vents or air ducts in the room and no cable ducts either, as all the recording equipment was the other side of the glass.
There was an audible hiss as the airtight door opened and the Ystradian prisoners were led in. Amkrit and Jamila, the village headman and his wife shuffled in and peered around the room in confusion. Their feet were shackled and their hands manacled as the guards pushed them down into the chairs on one side of the table. The guards then produced another chain and fastened both the manacles and the shackles to the ringbolts in the floor. When they had finished, the guards left the room only to return a few moments later with two Belsian prisoners.
“Where did you find the ‘volunteers’?” Trast asked Sitrona, who was standing next to him.
“Death row. It was their choice.”
The two Belsi, a man and a woman, sat calmly staring at Amkrit and Jamila as the guards finished securing the chains through the ringbolts. The guards left and the door slammed shut behind them. Berkovis looked to Trast and, on receiving a nod in return, tapped a key on the datapad. The door hissed open again and Gloria came in, wearing a full biohazard suit and carrying a small metallic container which she placed in the centre of the table.
“Why is she wearing the protective suit?” Bargas asked in a worried tone. “I thought you said the virus will only affect the Ystrad.”
“Oh it will, sir,” Berkovis replied. “The virus itself is airborne but the dispersal agent in the canister, which is there to push the virus out, can have an irritating effect if it comes into contact with the skin. It’s just a routine precaution.”
“I see. Well let’s get on with it then.”
“I’m just waiting for confirmation that the seal on the room is airtight, sir.”
The datapad in his hand beeped and Berkovis studied the screen for a moment before tapping another key. Inside the trial chamber, the lid popped off the top of the canister and a fine spray shot out.
“How long before it takes effect?” Bargas asked as the four prisoners sat there, seemingly unaffected.
“In a closed environment like that, we estimate two to three minutes. Outside in the open, it could take considerably longer but the end result will be the same.”
The room fell silent as the audience stared through the glass window. Suddenly Jamila coughed and turned pale as she started to choke. She tried to raise her hands to her throat but the chains were not long enough to reach. Amkrit called out for help and desperately tried to reach her, struggling against the chains that held him in place.
The two Belsi stared impassively across the table as Amkrit also began to cough and choke. He reached out to his wife who stretched her own arms towards him. At the maximum extent of the chains, they just managed to touch fingertips before Jamila gave a final shudder and her arms dropped away. Amkrit let out a cry of despair before a choking fit overtook him and he too slumped back in his chair.
“Two minutes thirty seconds,” Berkovis announced with satisfaction. “Just as predicted. And, as you can see, your own people are completely unaffected.”
“I assume from their lack of reaction, that they were forewarned of what was going to happen.”
“Ah yes, sir. We felt that was a sensible precaution to prevent them panicking and possibly injuring themselves.”
“Right then. Take them back to their cells for now,” Bargas ordered. “I will issue their pardons when I return to the palace.”
Berkovis and Trast exchanged a look before the latter stepped forward to place an arm around the president’s shoulders.
“An excellent idea, Mr President. We can talk in the car on the way back and leave Professor Berkovis to tidy up here.”
“One thing before we go, Professor,” Bargas said turning back into the room. “What is the life span of this virus?”
“As long as it has a biological host to infect, it will self-replicate and continue to spread. How long it will continue to survive when there is no more suitable host material is much harder to predict but normally only a few days.”
“So when all the Ystrad are dead, the virus will also die?”
Berkovis looked quickly at Trast before nodding. “Yes sir, that is so.”
***
They arrived back at the palace to find a posse of agitated military aides waiting for them. They immediately surrounded General Nassad, the armed forces commander, and dragged him off to one side. Trast and Bargas looked on curiously as a furious discussion erupted with much arm waving. Eventually Nassad broke free and strode across to where they were waiting.
“Well, what is it?” Bargas asked.
“It’s the freighter that left here yesterday, sir. The Sigma Aurelis. She failed to make a routine contact a few hours ago and we’ve been unable to reach her.”
“Comms failure?”
“It’s possible but I have a question to ask you, sir,” Nassad said, addressing Trast. “How long were you in Belsian space before you uncloaked in orbit?”
“Captain Retinsov would give you the exact time, General, but we came straight in so, I’d say less than an hour.”
“Damn, I mean, thank you sir.”
“Explain yourself, Nassad,” Bargas demanded.
“There was an unexplained
incident yesterday, about eight hours before Envoy Trast’s ship arrived. One of the possible explanations for the incident was that there was a ship inside our system that the scanners could not detect. Then Envoy Trast arrived and everybody assumed it was his ship that had caused the incident. Nobody thought to question the time discrepancy until the freighter disappeared.”
“You mean there was a second ship with stealth capabilities inside our system?” Bargas exploded. “What the hell is going on?”
Even Trast looked a little taken aback by this revelation. “The Destructor is the only ship with this new system,” he began. “Unless… the Dominator was captured during that abortive attack on the ship carrying the Ystrad queen. She had an earlier version of the stealth system which, it turned out, was not working properly. It may be that the Imperial Navy have repaired her and also fixed the stealth shielding.”
“But why would the Imperial Navy have a ship concealed in this system?” Bargas said.
“Why have we suddenly lost contact with a freighter carrying a cargo that the Empire seeks to control?” Trast countered.
“You think the two are related?”
“Don’t you? I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Envoy Trast, sir,” Nassad said. “The two things have got to be related.”
“Well get some ships after her. Find that freighter,” Bargas ordered.
“That may not be possible, Mr President,” Trast intervened. “General, how long is it since you last heard from the freighter?”
“Routine transmission when she left Belsi controlled space. She was due to check in every 24 hours but she never did. That was some 3 hours ago.”
“So, assuming that she was intercepted shortly after leaving Belsi space, they have a full day’s head start on us. Without knowing where they’re taking her, we’d never find them out there.”
“We can’t simply do nothing.” Bargas was hopping up and down in a fury. “I’ve got one disabled freighter rusting away on Ystradis and now a second one has disappeared. Not that this one was our fault,” he added quickly. “The freighter was intercepted outside of our system.”