The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  “You really want to know?”

  “I do,” he replied, not certain he really did.

  Flood took a breath. “I believe that you are a manipulating businessman who wants to use his relationship with the First Consul for his own financial gain. Every trip to the bedroom could net you another government contract, like the one at Odessa. I don’t trust you, and I don’t want to see her Excellency get hurt when you decide she’s not the pushover you thought she was and walk out on her.”

  It had always amazed Karl Gideon how people who asked for honesty were then so offended when they received it. Of course, those were usually other people hearing his candor. Now that the tables were turned, he appreciated how badly the truth could sting.

  “You asked for it,” Flood added.

  Now, he was silent as he thought everything through. Ardith Flood was not just some bodyguard whose opinion he could dismiss. She was important to Renata, which meant she was important to him. As he pondered it more, a thought flashed into his mind—one that he hadn’t considered before.

  “Are you in love with her?” he blurted out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you in love with Renata Darracott?” Gideon repeated. “It’s actually a very logical possibility. You work closely with her, seeing her on a daily basis. It wouldn’t be hard to develop feelings for her—believe me, I know.” He gave a little grin. “My understanding is that you sought out your position as head of security. I mean, you even try to look like her—the close-cropped hair and all. Honestly, you look like sisters.” The die was cast. He was either going to come to an understanding with this woman or live in Ardith Flood Hell for the rest of his life.

  Surprisingly, the colonel did not rush across the compartment to punch him in the face. She sat calmly and looked as though she was actually thinking about his question—as if it was something which she herself had never considered.

  “I am not in love with the First Consul,” Flood said in a softer voice. “I do love her, but more as a sister I suppose, and I would like to believe she feels the same about me.”

  “I can tell you she does. You’re very important to her. That’s why I want you to understand how much I truly love her.”

  “Looking for my blessing, Mr. Gideon?” she asked in a sarcastic tone, but he chose to treat it as a serious question.

  “Yes—as a matter of fact, I am. You, Merritt, and Boyer seem to be the closest thing she has to family.” That notion seemed to please Flood, so he pressed on. “Let me ask you something else—do you trust Renata?”

  “Trust her?”

  “Her judgment, her decisions. Do you trust her to do the right thing?”

  Flood crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re trying to trap me here. I trust her implicitly, but where you are concerned she may be letting her emotions cloud her judgment.”

  “Why don’t you let her decide that? If you can’t give me the benefit of the doubt, why don’t you give it to her? Colonel, someday when the time is right, I intend to ask Renata Darracott to marry me.”

  His declaration seemed to surprise Flood. “It’s seems to me that when two people of your social status marry, one of them has to give up something. She won’t give up her political career for you or anyone else. It’s what makes her who she is.”

  “If someone has to sacrifice, why does it have to be her? I’d give up everything I have for Renata Darracott and wouldn’t think twice about it.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “In your case, everything is quite a lot. You’d do that for her?”

  “I would and I will, if that’s what it takes.”

  Colonel Flood sat studying the man as if she were meeting him for the first time. “I will consider your words, Mr. Gideon.”

  “Good,” he said, smiling at her. “And I really hope we can change that Mr. Gideon to Karl someday.”

  Just then, Charlie Knorr’s voice broke in over the intercom.

  “Mr. Gideon?”

  “Call me Karl,” he said, prompting a wisp of a smile from Flood. “What is it, Charlie?”

  “Bona Dea space control is calling us. They want to speak with our pilot.”

  Gideon rose and glanced at one of the reflective surfaces in the compartment—the door of a utility cabinet recessed into the bulkhead. He fussed with his shirt, pulling at the sleeves and brushing at the front until he was satisfied. “It’s showtime!” he declared as he turned toward the cockpit.

  * * * *

  Inside the Bona Dea docking bay, they were met by an irritated assistant manager who promptly slapped visitor badges on the trio and began complaining about how inopportune a visit by the Labor Ministry was right now. Gideon imagined Charlie Knorr heard that a lot, but he hoped his yard managers treated visitors with more courtesy than they were being shown at the moment.

  No matter how many times Karl Gideon stepped onto the deck of an orbital shipyard, a wave of nostalgia raced through him. As he was growing up, he learned from his father about repairing small vessels in their modest shop back on Sarissa. However, young Karl wanted to do more than just work on other people’s ships—he wanted to build his own. After his father’s death, with perseverance, study, and luck, Gideon parlayed his inheritance into a multiworld corporation. Everything he had achieved was built on the hard work of his father. Even now, nearly two decades into his entrepreneurial journey, stepping onto any shipyard prompted memories of his father’s shop—and the grand gentleman himself.

  And what would Papa think about me skulking around on one of my competitor’s stations? Unlike many surface-bound facilities, you couldn’t just wander about on an orbital yard. Most of the work was done outside in the vacuum of space. Even in the indoor zero-gee areas of Bona Dea, there was no chance for a civilian to meander around, so Gideon headed for the one place he wouldn’t seem out of place—the cafeteria.

  Of course, he didn’t go directly there. Keeping his eyes open and roaming about as best he could, he managed to have at least three different employees tell him he was in a restricted area. Each time he pleaded ignorance and asked for directions to the dining hall. When he finally arrived, he had hoped to enter a room full of gabby workers on their lunch hour. What he found was maybe a dozen people scattered about, and nobody was looking very sociable.

  Loading up his tray, he walked toward a table where four people sat. He was almost there when a man at another table called out to him. “Hey, friend—come on over and sit with us.” Gideon hesitated, but the guy calling out was waving him over, so he complied rather than causing a scene.

  “Always like to see new faces on board,” said the pleasant fellow as Gideon sat down. A co-worker sitting next to him wasn’t as congenial, but the large man appeared more tired than hostile. “My name’s Javon, and this here is Big Josh.” The huge man grunted what Gideon assumed was a greeting.

  “Hello,” replied Gideon. “My name is Khadeen.” Khadeen was actually the name of his son. “I’m—”

  “We know who you are,” Javon said.

  Gideon swallowed hard as he took his chicken sandwich out of its container. “You do?”

  Javon gave a brief laugh. “Sure, sure—you’re the pilot for those Ministry drones that have all the bosses in a fit. Man, oh man, the whole yard’s been in an uproar since you guys jumped into the system.”

  For a while, it seemed like Javon was going to be manna from heaven. Friendly, happy, talkative: everything that Gideon could have asked for. But after twenty minutes or so, Gideon realized that for all the words coming from Javon’s mouth, the man hadn’t actually said anything. He was talking about football and girls and the weather—everything but his work. Who talks about the weather on a space station? Gideon asked himself. Javon does, that’s who. It was time for a more direct approach.

  “So, what are you guys building here?” Gideon asked bluntly. “I guess with the war on, it must be military, right?”

  Javon looked left, then right, then leaned forward. “I can’t say
exactly, but everything’s clean-bond modular, which means a lot less work for us. The components are comin’ from all over the place: Yargo, Tyre, even some Pandosian stuff.” Javon might have said more, but Big Josh tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that it was time to return to work.

  As the two were rising from the table, Gideon tried to pluck one more grain of information from Javon. “Hey, what are the chances I could get on here? Piloting for the Ministry sucks. Who would I see about a job?”

  Javon snorted a laugh. “Fat chance of that.”

  “I have experience. I used to work at a yard back in my home system.”

  “Naw, it ain’t that,” Javon said. “Rumor is the place is being mothballed in six months—a year at the most.” Waving a hand, Javon and Big Josh headed back to the zero-gee floor.

  The yard shut down in six months? Clean-bond mods? A lot of what Javon said didn’t make any sense. Maybe he was just having a laugh at a stranger’s expense. For a while, Gideon pondered it all over a cup of La Paz before hearing a voice that snapped him out of his thoughts.

  “There he is! That’s the guy!” came Javon’s voice from near one of the cafeteria doors. As Javon pointed, a man in a security uniform made a straight line for Gideon. He tried to be nonchalant, smiling at the guard.

  “What’s up?” Gideon asked innocently.

  “I’m to escort you to Obs Deck Two. Looks like your passengers are ready to shove off.”

  * * * *

  On Observation Deck Two, Gideon got a grand view of the yard’s premier project. Staring through the thick silicate glass windows, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but it was huge—the largest spaceship he had ever seen. It was bigger than a battleship, bigger than a supertanker. He guessed it was maybe ninety percent finished as dozens of spacesuited workers busied themselves around the vessel.

  “It’s called the Daedalus,” said a voice from behind. He turned to see Colonel Flood approaching. “Knorr will be right along.”

  “Daedalus, huh? Got any idea what it is?”

  “That was your job, Mr. Gideon. Whatever it is, Knorr found out that there’s another one just like her being constructed at the Arcadius yard orbiting Narva.”

  The pair stood staring at the leviathan. “Is it a warship?” asked Flood.

  “No—I don’t think so. There are no visible weapon ports.”

  “You really don’t have a clue as to what this thing is, do you?” Flood said in exasperation. “Didn’t you find out anything?”

  Gideon continued to gaze at the massive vessel. “I learned some things, but so much of it makes no sense. They’re using clean-bond modular construction, which would be stupid on a regular ship, let alone something this big.”

  “Modular construction. Why doesn’t that make sense?” she asked. “Aren’t spaceships built in sections?”

  “Yes, but you can’t use clean-bonds. The problem is the stress of hyperspace travel. After light-years of wear, clean-bonds start to give way. It’s a recipe for disaster,” Gideon said, as much offended by the shoddy construction techniques as by his inability to perceive what was going on. “What did you say this ship was called?”

  “Daedalus.”

  Gideon shook his head in frustration. “Well, Daedalus sure is a big-assed ship. The only time I ever…”

  “What?” asked Flood as Gideon’s voice trailed off.

  It was a moment of satori as understanding swept across Gideon’s face. “I know exactly what this ship is,” he said turning to the First Consul’s chief bodyguard. “Colonel, we need to get back to Esterkeep as quickly as possible.”

  23: Motion

  Beresford

  Planet Gerrha

  Carr and Sanchez awoke in each other’s arms and remained that way for most of the morning. There wasn’t much to do except wait for nightfall and the meeting with Hanley Pascoe at Eden Southwell’s apartment. When they finally dressed, the two walked to a nearby cafe for lunch and then hit some of their favorite Beresford locations—places they’d probably never have the opportunity to visit again. Everything would be set in motion tonight. Their destination? Only the Many Gods and Hanley Pascoe knew.

  Late in the afternoon, they met up with Lucky Maldonado in a park near the river. Lucky was to be with them this evening, but Frank wanted to make one thing crystal clear.

  “No Julian this evening. If you really love him, you’ll leave him out of it from here on.”

  Lucky threw his hands into the air. “You’re right, Frankie, absolutely right. Besides, he would only slow us down. Still, you have to admit, he has been helpful to this point in our little adventure.” The man’s pleasant smile spread across his face, trying to coax Frank into agreement.

  “I don’t have to admit anything,” growled Carr. Sanchez shot him a reproachful look but stopped short of saying anything.

  Carr’s eyes darted from one colleague to the other. “All right, all right—I admit it, the boy has been helpful,” he relented. “So let’s all thank him by not getting him killed. From here on out, it’s professionals only.”

  Maldonado nodded. “By the way, Frankie, speaking of killing, I’m fixing you guys up a party pack for tonight’s festivities.”

  “A what?” asked Sanchez.

  “A nice little bag of goodies—you know: pistols, knives, a few mini-explosives,” said Lucky. The man loved munitions and subscribed to the notion that no one should ever go out in public unless they were carrying at least three concealed weapons.

  “We have our own pistols,” pointed out Sanchez.

  Lucky flashed a sinister smile. “Chica, you can never have too many.”

  * * * *

  The hot black dress Sanchez had worn to Mezzo the night before was among the first casualties of the evening. The dress, like almost everything else they had purchased, was left behind in the hotel suite. Sanchez had decided that a white shirt, khaki pants, and blue travel blazer was far more practical for this evening’s activities.

  “If we survive this night and get back to Sarissa, I’ll buy you a dozen black dresses,” said Carr as he helped Sanchez slip on her jacket, kissing the back of her neck.

  She turned to face him, leaning into his body and resting her head against his shoulder. “Surviving and getting home will be good enough for me.”

  They left the hotel with a small travel bag just after sundown, which came early in summer on Gerrha. Not trusting the waiting cabs in front of the hotel, they walked several blocks to grab a taxi. The driver dropped them off on a street behind Southwell’s apartment building. Eden had shown them a rear entrance that few tenants used. All seemed normal as they exited the stairwell, but about halfway down the hall, Carr’s hand shot up, palm flat—the signal for danger. Sanchez felt it too and had already reached to unholster her pistol. Eden’s door was slightly ajar, and the closer they got to it, the more they smelled a foul odor emanating from her apartment. Carr knew the smell—burnt flesh.

  He waited until Sanchez was in position, and then the two of them rushed into the apartment. Three people were in the living room. More accurately, it was one person and two bodies. Eden Southwell sat on the floor weeping over someone lying in a prone position, legs and arms splayed on the carpet. The body had been covered with a blanket, all except the legs and a shock of greasy hair sticking out at the top. The other body was lying face up—a large man in his mid-thirties. There appeared to be two plasma burns in his chest.

  “Gods,” murmured Carr as he moved toward Eden. Sanchez closed the hallway door and began to check the rest of the apartment.

  “Frank!” Eden blurted through a face full of tears, clutching at him as he knelt beside her. “He killed Billy, and… and then I killed him!” she sobbed.

  “Easy, easy…” Carr cradled her. “Shshsh…”

  By now, Sanchez was bent over the body of the big man. “The rest of the place is clear,” she said, holding up a small plasma pistol she had found near the bedroom door. “She must have used this—the
indicator says it’s been fired twice.”

  Sanchez pushed the body onto its side and found another plasma pistol beneath it. “This one’s been fired too. He must have fallen on it after he was shot.”

  Carr was rocking Eden slightly to comfort her. He turned the blonde toward him and held her shoulders. “Eden, look at me. Try to focus and tell us what happened.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “We had just come in from an appointment. That guy was probably already inside—hiding and waiting. I went into the bedroom to change clothes, and Billy was here in the living room—I don’t know, probably checking his mobile.” Carr saw the device on the floor. “I heard a voice, like Billy saying something. At first, I thought he was talking to someone on his mobile, but it didn’t sound right. We’ve been on edge so much this week, I don’t know—I guess I just instinctively grabbed the pistol from my purse. I walked out here and…” She halted for a moment, gasping as though the memory of what she had seen was suffocating her. “He killed him, Frank. That man shot him in the face with a plasma pistol, shot him like it was nothing—like Billy was nothing. He burned his face right off.” She halted to take a deep breath. “Billy dropped to the floor, and then the guy turned toward me. He was going to kill me too, Frank, so I shot him.”

  “Do you know him?” asked Carr.

  “I don’t think so,” said Eden, looking across the floor at the body of the assailant. “No—I’m sure I don’t.”

  “Carr,” interrupted Sanchez. “I went through his pockets. No ID, but he’s definitely military. Wearing civvies, but check out the boots. Also, this was in his pocket.” She held up a device that Carr recognized to be a Commonwealth military mobile.

  He turned back toward Eden and started to reach down to remove the blanket that covered Billy Van Fossen’s body.

  “Noooo!” cried Eden as she pushed Carr away and threw herself over the body. “Keep your hands off him! You hated him, and you didn’t even know him. I won’t let you touch my husband! I won’t let anyone touch my… husband…”