Tale of the Spinward March: The Great Khan (Tales of the Spinward March Book 1)

by David Winnie

  The image shifted again. Angkor recognized the short, bald doctor from Luna.

  “Doctor Jhon Weir, Luna.” Xaid looked up from his pedestal, “Age forty-five. Director and head researcher of human studies at the Luna Penitentiary. Doctor Weir is married but has no children. His line of research, as you saw today, is human cyborg integration. Indeed, he is the leading researcher in this field. Funding for his research come largely through Shurkorov Industries. Doctor Weir was introduced to Shurkorov through your brother.”

  “I am seeing a pattern here,” interrupted Angkor. “Tell me, how many richer industrialists, lawyers and scientists are on this list?”

  “My sources have identified fifteen in Shurkorov’s inner circle,” Xaid’s pedestal sunk into the floor and appeared before Salaam. He tapped it and a series of beings appeared within the holo circle. “Another forty who advises him directly. But these three are the most important.”

  “What is their plan?” Angkor pressed.

  “It must be understood; they are not yet ready to move against your father,” Dawlish explained. “Your brother still hasn’t consolidated enough power to confront your father directly. A year, perhaps two, then he will strike. I imagine he will assassinate your father and assume his position by the laws of the Khalkha tribe and the Terran Union Council. He is convinced you are not going to oppose him. When the time comes, he will have us rounded up and executed as a threat to his regime.”

  “And our plan?” queried Angkor.

  “Understand, friend Angkor, that you cannot be part of the execution of our plan,” Salaam stated. “I have the assets in place to chop the head off the serpent, as it were. When the time is right and you are ready, they will all die within hours of each other.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes,” replied the Egyptian man. “In my service to my government, I have acquired sufficient tools to make this happen. All I need is your order and the top traitors in your father’s regime will die.”

  “The others are mine,” resumed Xaid. “I have collected enough information on the forty. When the order is given, the worst of the traitors will be exposed. My assets will ensure most end up in prison, or worse. The rest will either join us or be ruined.”

  Angkor watched as figure after figure appeared on the holo. Eleven showed themselves to be more grist to the horror mill into which his life had been thrust. Product to be ground up and fed to the Empire his father had started and a crown he was be soon forced to wear.

  Very well.

  “You plan is approved,” Angkor stated. “Save one. My brother. He is mine. You are not to touch him; I will be the object of his demise. Understood?”

  They all nodded. “The order is given.” Dawlish announced. “The operation begins in ninety-six hours.”

  Chapter 11

  The Potemkin sat in a comfortable orbit. It was easily the largest yacht in the Earth Union as befit its owner, Alexis Shurkorov. Nearly as long as a destroyer, its design had its roots from a time when designers still thought of space vessels as flying things. Hence, it had wide, curved wings sprouting from a flattened hull. White and chromium paint decorated the graceful ship; priceless gold filigree lent an elegant opulence.

  Inside, the ship was spotless from stem to stern. Alexis was rumored to have once flogged a cabin girl to death because of an errant thumb print on a crystal glass at one of his parties, then to beat her supervisor half to death because the foolish girl had the bad manners to bleed, vomit and die on the carpet for which he had paid 2000 credits a square foot!

  The ship wasn’t perfect enough for Shurkorov. Faster than light sleds were too expensive, even for a man as wealthy as Alexis Shurkorov. But when he wanted to travel outside the home system, his wealth and power always assured his vessel a prime location on a sled at a very good price, especially since he wanted no other ship parked adjacent to his. His wealth ensured he would have an unobstructed view.

  Today’s journey wouldn’t be quite so exciting, though. Shurkorov was showing off to some of his business partners today. Just a quick jaunt to the Kuiper Belt and back, with lunch. Many of these partners had been his friends for years and had been on plenty of these trips. Most of these business partners were now part of the Shurkorov cabal.

  Pavel crawled on his hands and knees, scanning the bottom of hydrogen tank number seven with a rag and his bottle of cleaner. While it was doubtful Mister Shurkorov would tour down here today, there was the unspoken acknowledgement amongst the crew that it was better to assume he would than he wouldn’t. Woe be to a crewman who made the erroneous decision and then have Mister Shurkorov show up to find any discrepancy. At the very least, one would surely lose their job. At worst…

  Pavel was examining the myriad of pipes under the fuel cell when he spotted the small bulge. To be more precise, he spotted the thin thread hanging from the bulge on the pipe. He knitted his brow, certain he had never seen that before. The alarms weren’t going off, so it wasn’t an issue with the integrity of the pipe. The thread was securely attached to the bulge, that was certain. With the ever-present knife from his pocket, he probed the edge of the bulge carefully, looking for a way to pry it off. Mister Shurkorov would certainly notice this anomaly if he inspected this area. He thought of the cabin girl and probed with more intensity.

  His knife caught an edge. Pavel pried with a twist and pushed the knife in just a bit deeper for yet another twist.

  Salaam watched the sunrise from the deck of his home on the plains of Luxor, overlooking the ageless Nile. The hot winds off the desert were starting as Ra-Horakhty of ancient times ascended into the sky. The execution of the plan was set to begin shortly. He sipped his tea with a satisfied sigh.

  His father had enrolled him in the hashashin as a young boy. It was a family tradition going back more than a millennium. He had enjoyed the training and worked hard to please his masters. Today, the brotherhood had fallen on hard times. The rigid doctrine that the elders had written in the sixteenth century no longer had an effect on the young men it once had. So the elders had rewritten the laws. Less fire and damnation. More glorification of the rewards for success. The mullahs demanded obedience and were lavish with the gifts supplied by their benefactors. The training was harsh, the price for failure high. Wherever there was a training camp, a well-hidden graveyard was nearby.

  Today, the modern hashashin was poised execute its greatest strike ever. Salaam would achieve legendary status amongst all the brotherhood for all time.

  A flash, high in the sky, was brighter than the sun. Lovely to see, a blossom of silver-tinged light hung high above the clouds for several seconds until it faded into the morning sky.

  He checked his chronometer and frowned. The bombing was twenty-seven minutes early. While it wouldn’t affect the rest of the mission, it spoke to poor planning or sloppy execution.

  He checked his pad for the boarding manifest on the Potemkin. Ten names, including Alexis Shurkorov, were confirmed on the yacht. Their names could be crossed off now. There were still five left to die today. Along with Suishin.

  Salaam finished his tea and went to his bath to prepare for the day. It would certainly be busy.

  The prairie wind swept across the timeless ocean of grass. It had been hot this summer, so the rustling of the dried grass took on a crackle as it waved. Painted, gossamer clouds floated high in the sky, the gods’ water colors decorating the heavens as the sun went down.

  It was the poet in him. During his training, the masters had warned him about becoming distracted. The hashashin had to focus at the task on hand, for the task was all. Great dishonor and horrid death awaited the hashashin who failed, not to mention eternal damnation.

  Still, it was a pretty sky. He wondered if the target would notice this as she died. For her sake and the sake of her soul, he certainly hoped so.

  His ship was well hidden in a hollow five miles away. Doubtlessly as soon as she fell, her security forces would be here to see what happened. It would take
him hours to retreat, stealthy, to his ship.

  He would not be captured. His training would prevent that. And should Allah not favor him this evening, the explosives in his chest and equipment would protect the brotherhood. His ship would destroy itself as well.

  His auditory nerve tingled. “Execute your mission.” He acknowledged the order by touching his tongue to the nerve cluster inside his mouth. The microwatt transmitter was an innovation of the brotherhood, nerve impulses transmitted and received directly from his own body.

  Many of the modern hashashin held an affection for the ancient tools of their trade. Not Salaam; he used the latest and best weapons available. The weapon was a mag-sniper. Three thin rails attached to the power supply and computer site. The weapon was so precise, so accurate that anyone could hit a target from a thousand yards.

  His target would be riding an air-cycle at low altitude and high speed. It would be a difficult shot at best, so he challenged himself and made the distance three thousand yards. It would make the shot nearly impossible.

  It would also add two thousand yards to his escape.

  His auditory nerve tingled. “She has departed, Master.” He acknowledged and listened for her approach.

  Doctor Jhon Weir said “lights” as he entered his apartment. The illumination rose to a comfortable level. “View,” he called. The pressure door over his window raised, exposing it to the Fermi Highlands on the so-called dark side of the moon. His apartment, as befitting a director, overlooked the Tsiolkovskiy Crater, bathed in sunlight. He recalled the words of the American astronaut - “Magnificent desolation.” Doctor Weir couldn’t agree more.

  He fixed himself a drink and settled on his couch watching the moonscape. The rugged vista never failed to calm him. Certainly, given the events of the last few days, he needed to be calm. The destruction of his Delta unit was a major problem. His team had scarcely started to test the unit before that double-damned general had shot it. And in the processor! It was doubtful whether there would be any useful information now.

  He heard a sudden, unfamiliar tick sound. A small dot, immediately surrounded by frost had appeared in the center of his window. Doctor Weir sighed. A micrometeorite. While not uncommon, it was a tiny bit odd it would hit a window. He took a patch from the emergency repair kit and slapped a patch over the noisy leak. He would have to call maintenance to come tomorrow to perform a permanent repair.

  There was an odd crackling noise. He looked at the leak again. The hole had enlarged to the size of a stylus and a web of cracks was snaking out from it. Doctor Weir huffed. “Huh.” He thumbed the comm unit and called. “Maintenance.”

  A weathered face with long dark hair appeared. “Daniel Abdo, duty engineer,” came the reply. “How can I help you this evening?’

  “Mister Abdo, this is Director Weir,” Jhon called out. “I seem to have a micrometeorite strike on my main window.”

  “Have you applied a patch, sir?” Abdo asked.

  “I have,” Weir answered, “but the size of the hole is increasing and the window is starting to crack.”

  “Hmmm, well that’s odd,” the engineer was nonplussed. “The self-sealing feature, along with the patch, should have stopped the hole from growing and prevent any crack propagation. I’ll send a crew out immediately, Director. In the meantime, I suggest you close your pressure door, just in case the hole gets any larger. Worst case scenario, we’ll have to change the window. The repair crew will be there shortly.”

  “Thank you Engineer Abdo.” Weir closed the channel. He pressed the pad that would close the door over his window.

  It didn’t budge.

  There was another cracking noise. Doctor Weir examined the window again. The hole was nearly double its size again and more cracks were expanding. The patch bulged ominously into the hole. The hole expanded to half an inch in diameter. Doctor Weir now saw there was a yellow stain inside the hole. Acid! He realized. The patch began to disintegrate.

  He slapped the emergency switch next to the window. Instead of dropping the shutter, the window gave another loud crack. Holding down on his panic, he opened an emergency panel next to the window and pulled the handle down.

  The hatch still didn’t budge.

  The patch failed and a loud whistling scream came from the hole as the atmosphere in his apartment streamed out into the lunar landscape. An alarm went off, screaming, “Integrity breech! Evacuate immediately! Security has been alerted! Integrity breech! Evacuate immediately! Security has been notified!”

  Jhon Weir raced to his door. It didn’t open. He hit the latch, then the emergency release. The portal was frozen, unmoving as any edifice. He pounded on the door, screaming, and crying “HELP!”

  Another crack and the whistling became a whoosh. The retreating air tugged at his shirt now. He turned and saw a salvage team outside his window, working with grim desperation as the window was fracturing. The hole was enormous now, three times its original size, his original patch gone and the temporary patch the salvage crew had installed blowing up like a pallid moon.

  They suddenly turned and raced away. “Dear god, no,” whispered Doctor Jhon Weir as the window cracked a final time and launched everything in the room across the Tsiolkovskiy Crater.

  Her air cycle was fueled and ready to go. Ameranda Whitestone’s chief of staff was standing beside it to warn her as he did every time she took off on a midnight ride on just how foolish she was being. As always, she would brush him off and roar into the night.

  “Miss Vice President.” He handed her the helmet. “Will you at least wear this tonight? She laughed; this was a new part to the familiar routine.

  Come now, Rabbit,” she scolded. “You’ve tried riding with me before. If I wipe out, do you really think this is going to do me the slightest amount of good?”

  Clint “Rabbit” Nuiman shook his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said. “It’s just…I have a funny feeling about tonight. You’re sure I can’t talk you out of tonight’s ride?”

  “Oooooooo, spooky!” she wiggled a gloved hand at her aide. “Come on, Rabbit, you can do better than that! See you in a couple of hours.” She lowered her goggles and roared into the night.

  As soon as her taillights faded into the dark, Nuiman tonged the nerve cluster in his mouth. “She has departed, Master.”

  The prairie air flowed over her leather clad body like the grip of a lover in passion. Ameranda’s pony tail was a fluttering pendent behind her. A rictus grin preceded her, from the force of the two hundred mile an hour wind.

  Oh, it was the greatest feeling since…she pondered. She was going to tell herself the greatest thing since sex. But she had been disappointed as late. She had eschewed many of her playthings since Alexis had delivered Suishin to her. The foolish boy was no match for her charm and drugs. Oh, his body was as magnificent as always, maybe even better as he physically matured and thickened in just the right places.

  But he had become addicted to the dauderign. An expensive narcotic from a spiny fish native to Mer, she had used it to seduce him, then to make him her eager plaything. Once he was under her control, it was an easy thing to have Alexis manipulate the poor fool to follow their directions.

  They would kill him, of course, when he was of no more value to them. But that was a conversation for another day. In the meantime, there were still any number of tasks to accomplish.

  Especially Angkor. They would have to do something about him. Alexis scoffed at the second son of Tenzing, mocking him as a “worthless academic barely worth even the time to consider if we should consider.” Ameranda wasn’t so sure. True, her spies had found nothing yet. Still, perhaps she should have him eliminated, just in case.

  “She has departed, Master.”

  It wouldn’t be long. He breathed evenly, ear microphones straining to hear the sound of the cycle. It appeared precisely where he expected. He touched the targeting stud and placed the cursor on the intersection of her body and her shoulder. The red light went steady and he c
ould feel the targeting servos holding the rails in line with the target.

  He listened to his heartbeat, then pulled the trigger on the slight gap in his cardiac rhythm. The weapon was silent as the round accelerated through the magnetic rail, popping slightly as it passed through the sound barrier. Tiny guidance fins extended from the round as it left its rails. At 7000 feet per second, it had struck Ameranda at the top of her left collarbone before his heart made the next motion of its beat.

  The round was a malleable metal, designed to hold shape as it raced to its target, but expand as soon as it hit anything solid. As it struck the leather, it began to grow in its predesigned form, intent on doing as much damage as possible. The actual impact pulverized her collar bone and shoulder. A shock waved formed ahead of the round, exploding her ribs and vaporizing her heart and lungs. The soft mass of digestive tract absorbed much of the energy, so by the time the missile reached her spine, it merely shattered vertebrae before exiting and flying nearly a mile beyond.

  It buried itself in a long narrow trench and would be hidden for two hundred years until a treasure hunter from Cassini Four found it while looking for arrowheads from ancient savages said to have fought mighty battles here. It lay in the Museum of Terran History on that world for many centuries beyond that before becoming lost for all time.

  Ameranda tried to gasp as the sledgehammer blow knocked her from her air cycle, but she no longer had lungs. Her body hit the turf messily and tumbled for a hundred yards before she came to a stop. Her last conscious thought was, Silly girl, perhaps you should have worn that helmet…

  Chapter 12

  June 3044 A.D.

  Suishin stormed through the halls of the Keep toward his chambers. The fools, the damnable fools! He had returned from Zurich following the Council meeting and it had not gone well for the eldest son of Tenzing. He did not fathom how they couldn’t understand the simple logic of diverting funds from agriculture into military research.