Violent shivers wracked my spine.
‘I have to see this all the way through,’ I heaved. ‘Especially now that …’
I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
He stepped back, shaking his long, pointed horns back and forth.
‘You think she deserved what happened to her,’ he said.
‘I didn’t say that!’ I whined.
‘I think she died for nothing,’ the Minotaur said.
‘That’s not true!’ I shouted back.
He pressed up against my face.
‘Show me why it isn’t.’
Furious rage ran with the toxins in my veins. But I was the Minotaur’s captive. And, goddamn him, he was right. I could never justify all the wrong I’ve done.
‘Once you’re in, you go all the way,’ I muttered. ‘That’s how it is.’
His eyes were crimson.
‘You broke your oath last night,’ the Minotaur growled, pushing his gun past my teeth. ‘You know what that means.’
I shut my eyes, ready for the end, when an ear-piercing ring silenced the snarl of the Minotaur’s breath.
A second ring, twice as loud, made him step back.
The room’s spin was starting to slow.
‘Too bad,’ the Minotaur snarled. ‘See you around, Jack.’
Familiar settings began taking shape. Of all places, I was in my own apartment.
‘Jack! I know you’re in there,’ I heard. ‘I’m breaking in.’
It was my friend Dusty, and I couldn’t answer him because I was holding a gun in my mouth. It fell between my legs as the door slid open.
His frail, ungainly silhouette appeared in the doorway.
‘Holy shit,’ he breathed. ‘What’s with the cannon?’
I decided against mentioning anything about the Minotaur. He’d be back soon enough.
‘What are you talking about?’ I croaked.
The shadowy figure lifted the weapon slowly, like a bomb technician, gently placing it beyond reach.
‘I brought stuff for a hangover,’ he said, ‘but not … this.’
Jack Tatum would never admit how good it was to hear Dusty’s voice.
‘… could use some water.’ My voice was a bare rasp.
‘You’ve never been this bad,’ he said. ‘Better get your mind right, real fast.’
‘Why?’
‘Jack,’ he said. His voice was more subdued than usual. ‘You are the toast of Ceti today. You’re practically a hero.’
I tried to focus on the clock resting on the night table. The number said 17:49.
‘When’s the last time you saw me?’ I asked, bracing for the answer.
‘Seven thirty,’ he said. I felt a cup pressed against my lips. I had no pride left at all. ‘Yesterday morning.’
I gulped the water. It went down like cold fire, refreshing and excruciating all at once.
‘Yesterday?’
‘Someone realised you were missing,’ he said. ‘They sent me to find you.’
I had a vague memory of being with some big-time Ceti officers, personnel way up in the organisation who reported directly to Vladric.
The closest I’ve ever been to the top.
‘Where were we?’ I stammered, taking a moment to spit out bile.
‘You really don’t remember, do you?’ Dusty asked. ‘Jack, you were at The Helodon.’
The most exclusive club this side of the Belt, run by Ceti, for Ceti personnel only. Just getting a glimpse of it was an achievement most operatives never reached in their careers. The kind of moment you’d remember, unless you came close to overdosing.
If I was that close to senior officers – and still alive – then I would be connected to their most crucial importers: Inner Belt agents embedded in government, the corporations, you name it. People with the power and means to bypass Navy dragnets and Customs stings. They were the key to the whole Ceti network, the most sought after prize of undercover police work.
And by all accounts I was about to screw it up.
‘We have a run to make?’ I blurted out.
‘Yeah,’ Dusty said, rummaging through his satchel. He never went anywhere without it. ‘They’re keeping us mobile. For our safety, they said.’
‘Safety?’
‘The bounty on you is worth as much as Vladric’s now,’ he said.
‘Oh.’
Dusty offered some pills. It looked like he was holding three hands in front of him.
‘I took care of everything,’ he said, pushing them into my mouth. ‘The Breakaway is ready to fly.’
What was once an abandoned freighter was now an armed speed rig that could outrun House Obyeran corvettes, all thanks to Dusty. He is the most talented engineer and skilled pilot I’ve ever met. He could easily pass the technical qualifiers for a Navy command – and then fail the part that required interaction with people. Dusty was a social introvert, and under no circumstances was he allowed near my clients. Physically, most people mistook him for a mutant: short, lanky build, with bony, hunched shoulders and a twisted face that was scarred from the way he was treated by Ceti before he became useful to them.
That was how we met. Like many other privateers working the Outer Belt, his family owed Ceti a lot of money, and I found him getting stomped by a few thugs sent to collect his debt. Since Jack Tatum was a newly minted associate in the organisation, I saw this as an opportunity to assert myself. After all, Ceti operatives will just as soon steal from each other as they do from everyone else. So I challenged them to a friendly bout of hand-to-hand combat – no weapons. If I won, his debt to Ceti became my problem. I didn’t offer terms if I lost. They accepted anyway.
Crippling them sent a clear enough message. The event bought enough time and space for us to start producing revenues. Between my way with people and Dusty’s ability to convert junk into high-performance machinery, we began climbing the ranks.
I’ve met all kinds, but Dusty is unique – not because of his skills, but because of his outlook. Those Ceti punks left him for dead. He’s permanently disfigured; children are literally frightened of him. But if you ask, he’d say that if he could go back in time, he wouldn’t change a thing. He says that beating was the wake-up call he needed to get the right attitude about life. If not for those three thugs, he’d be dead by now.
I’d walk through fire for him.
The room stopped spinning almost the instant the pills reached my stomach. Dusty got up, walked to the sink and poured another glass of water. I could feel a bit of my strength returning, and with it the clarity of recognising that I had been about three pounds of trigger pressure away from blowing my own brains out. Dusty had just saved my life, but for the moment I wasn’t convinced that was a good thing.
Slowly, I managed to stand up.
‘You said the ship is ready?’ I asked.
‘I did,’ he answered.
I walked over to my gun. He looked away as I wiped the blood and spit from it.
‘Thanks,’ I said, hoping he’d never mention this again. I felt better – still horrible overall, but at least functional. It was about a twenty-minute trip to the spaceport, and I needed to piece together exactly what had happened last night before we got there.
‘Change your clothes,’ Dusty said. ‘You’re not stepping onto the Breakaway smelling like that.’
4
VLADRIC
The most powerful crime syndicate in history was named after the destination star system of the Tau Genesis. While the fate of that mothership remains unknown, Vladric Mors used the tragedy of Eileithyia to make his cause immortal. Ceti was founded on his belief that the highborns who travelled to Tau Ceti today inhabit the pristine new world that the Tabit Genesis travellers were denied in Orionis. The name ‘Ceti’, once synonymous with hope and humanity, today embodies Vladric’s bitter hatred of highborn culture and the government that empowers it.
Eighty-five years since its founding, the strength of Ceti has grown to rival the House world
s. Its settlements are concentrated in the Great Belt, with the most strategically vital of these being Lethe, the largest moon of Zeus. Business at its main spaceport was always urgent, but now the scene was chaotic. Angry travellers queued in the shuttle boarding areas, quietly cursing the official reason for the departure lockdown. Sig Lareck, the Governing District Officer for the Lethe settlements, eyed the crowd. No one dared to meet his gaze as he paced behind the chair of a young, nervous spaceport technician.
‘How much longer?’ Sig demanded.
‘His gunship just left Brotherhood,’ the technician answered. ‘Flight time is eight minutes.’
On any approach from the Great Belt, Brotherhood Station emerged as a tiny, bright spool suspended between the banded hues of Zeus and the glittering canyon settlements of Lethe. Only one of the station’s four torus-shaped rings was rotating; the others were wrecked shells defiled by acts of war. Home to nearly two hundred thousand people, it was the largest station in the Outer Rim, and the epicentre of regional trade among the Zeus colonies.
Twice that number resided in the Lethe settlements themselves, the population composed mostly of miners, engineers, merchants, and geoscience professionals with their families. They lived comfortably, but worked hard for their earnings. Dropships hauling goods and personnel came and went every few minutes at the spaceport, serving the immense mega-industrial complex.
But the unplanned visit by the Ceti founder had thrown the clockwork operation into disarray. Anticipating flaring tempers, Sig had brought a formidable contingent of guards, with several mutants among them for maximum intimidation.
‘Tube traffic has been cleared,’ the technician said. ‘You’ll have a straight run to Delta Lab, no stops.’
With the transit system halted, the unexpected visit from Vladric Mors was now affecting the entire colony.
‘There’d better not be,’ Sig warned, straightening out his collar. ‘He’s in one of his moods.’
A coalition of corporations had spent nearly three decades building Brotherhood Station and the Lethe settlements. But it had taken less than five hours for it to fall under Ceti control. The Battle of Brotherhood transformed the drug cartel into a regional sovereignty, exposing the limits of Navy power beyond the Belt. It inspired a mass rejection of Orionis governance over the Outer Rim worlds by the Houses and privateer corporations, both of which renounced their citizenship. The lawless period that followed spawned skirmishes between Ceti, the Navy, corporations and privateers throughout the Belt. They called these the Independence Wars, the first armed conflict of the Orionis Age.
So began the legend of Vladric Mors. Sig Lareck had been by his side long before then.
‘Do you know what this is about, sir?’ the flustered technician asked. Sig could hear someone shouting through her earpiece. He empathised – a dropship pilot with a heavy load never wanted to be told he couldn’t land. But orders were orders.
‘That’s not your concern,’ Sig answered. ‘I don’t advise asking about it, either.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered.
Sig used his reflection in the armoured glass to straighten his uniform. The grey-black canyons beyond were hundreds of kilometres long, awash in the lights of settlements carved into the stone walls. By conquering Brotherhood, Vladric Mors had not only seized the richest known stock of metal ores in the Outer Rim, but he had preserved what was essentially unregulated, unrestricted colonialism in Orionis. The resulting explosion of privateer settlements turned Lethe into the crown port of call for the Belt. There were nineteen districts, each the size of a city and interconnected by a subterranean rail system that stretched across a third of the moon. The spaceport was District One, the capital, where Sig governed on behalf of Ceti.
Officially, the prestigious post was awarded in recognition of his decades of loyal service to the cartel. Sig wanted to stay at the helm of a corvette, but this was where Vladric needed him. The people who lived on Lethe and on Brotherhood owed their allegiance, willingly or not, to Ceti. In return, they lived in a free society where bloodlines offered no entitlements. There were no restrictions on breeding, nor any distinction between firstborns and ghosts. Vladric offered the people who lived here discounted food (plundered from corporation convoys), free radiation therapy (provided with equipment stolen from government clinics), and all the honest work they wanted (by threatening the corporations who bid for Ceti projects).
Sig noticed a bright blue light on the horizon.
‘Is that him?’ he asked, pointing.
‘Yes, sir,’ the technician said. ‘They’re cleared to land.’
‘Good,’ he said, facing the guards. ‘When he arrives, we’ll move directly to the tube entrance. Anyone gets in the way, disable them. No killing.’
As the gunship’s vectored thrusters settled the imposing craft onto the landing pad, Sig considered whether he was blessed or cursed to know Vladric Mors. On one hand, the relationship had made him a wealthy man. On the other, he always felt one misstep away from losing everything. There was a price for Vladric’s ‘friendship’. Whether that meant taking life or a bullet to keep it – Sig had done both – Vladric Mors expected nothing less of him.
The legend emerged from the airlock alone, wearing no protection other than the sheathed, crescent-shaped knives at his hips. He was a tall, dark man, with a shaved head and a long goatee that hung beneath a square jaw and sharp cheekbones. His black overcoat concealed broad, muscular shoulders, its upturned collars emblazoned with the insignia of Ceti. But for all his menacing appearance, his baby-blue eyes seemed absurdly out of place, more apt for a child than a king; perfect for concealing his intentions.
‘Brother,’ Sig said, crossing his chest with one arm.
‘Governor Lareck,’ Vladric growled, returning the salute. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting.’
‘Never,’ he answered. ‘Welcome to Lethe.’
Vladric grunted, ignoring the technician offering magnetic boots to aid navigation in the low-gravity environment. He had come wearing his own. ‘Let’s move.’
‘Right this way,’ Sig answered, as guards formed a spearhead in front of them. The halls connecting the buildings were lattices of transparent armour, providing a spectacular view of Zeus rising on the horizon. ‘The researchers have quite a show for you.’
‘So I heard,’ Vladric answered. People on the tram platform crowded closer for a glimpse, only to be shoved aside by the guards. ‘There’s been a change of plans.’
‘We’re ready for anything,’ Sig assured, as the group stepped into the waiting tram car.
Vladric withdrew into himself as the car accelerated. Sig knew he was troubled but didn’t press for an explanation.
After several minutes Vladric finally spoke.
‘Do you trust the men in your command?’ he asked.
‘With my life,’ Sig answered.
‘As did I,’ Vladric said.
‘“Did”?’
Vladric smiled weakly as the tram zipped underground.
‘We’ve been compromised,’ he said.
Sig’s heart sank.
‘Who?’ he asked. ‘How bad?’
‘Two fleet commanders, both with deep knowledge of the Plan.’
Sig nearly flinched as the tram rattled a bit.
‘Were they mine?’
‘No,’ Vladric assured. ‘I doubt you’ve ever met them.’
Sig could barely hide his relief.
‘Then who were they?’
‘It’s unimportant,’ Vladric muttered. ‘They’ve been dealt with.’
The Ceti leader demanded that everyone who signed onto the Plan had to be willing to die for it. As it was, the odds of surviving an attack on the most powerful ship ever built weren’t good to begin with.
‘What did they disclose?’
‘Our true numbers, and that we mean to attack the Archangel in port,’ Vladric said. ‘So much for surprise.’
‘Can we launch earlier?’
‘Tha
t depends on what your scientists have to show,’ Vladric said.
The Orionis government had approved funding for the Archangel project almost a century earlier. Its goal was to continue the Genesis mission by constructing a mothership capable of reaching Tau Ceti. At 21 light years away, the system held the only other known habitable world for humankind, and was the presumed settlement location of the original Tau Genesis colonists. The difference now was the real chance of encountering hostile alien civilisations, notably the Raothri. While people generally agreed on the importance of reuniting the last of Earth’s survivors, many believed it was beyond reach, and considered the Archangel a costly waste of valuable resources.
Building a ship that could withstand a Raothri attack was impossible. Yet the Navy argued that by the time the Archangel was ready to launch, human weapons and defence technology would have progressed enough to give the ship a fighting chance – at least against the capabilities the Raothri were known to possess when they took Earth.
Or so the rationale went. At first, the practical result of this theory was the biggest arms race since the Third World War, in which corporations used the Archangel as a test bed for new technologies that quadrupled construction costs. Many believed the money would have been better spent fortifying Inner Rim settlements and expanding central governance to the Belt. It was the most contentious political issue of a generation, almost as divisive as the One Child rule imposed by the Orionis government.
But the Battle of Brotherhood silenced the debate. The Navy’s inability to enforce Orionis law in the Outer Rim changed the Archangel’s mission. Instead of constructing a mothership to reunite humanity, Orionis was building a weapon that would cast a long shadow over the entire system.
‘You think they’ll attack us first?’ asked Sig.
Vladric’s eyes answered the question.
‘We will take that ship,’ he said, ‘or die trying.’
Slowing its breakneck speed, the tram approached the platform of Delta Lab. The sprawling facility was sixteen hundred metres beneath the surface, built inside an ancient magma chamber. This was the heart of Ceti’s research and development; it was also where most of the narcotics it sold were manufactured. Long assembly warehouses crewed by men and machines loomed beside the group as they exited the tram; many of the captains charged with hauling the product to distributors hovered nearby, supervising how the contraband was packaged before being stowed on their ships.
The Tabit Genesis Page 3