by Ian Whates
Drevers' arrival came as a Godsend. After several days of kicking his heels in growing frustration, Kyle was notified that the ship was about to embark on a second attack. He wasn't allowed to participate but was given a ringside seat, with full audio and visual feeds which enabled him to follow everything that went on.
As far as he could tell, this was more or less a repeat of the attack on The Lady J, with the target vessel standing about as much chance and offering a similar lack of resistance. From his perspective, the chief gain from this raid was a second new crewman: Drevers. Finally Kyle had some company.
If The Noise Within's original crew had proven to be something of a disappointment, Drevers proved to be anything but. His uniform might have been shiny white and spotless but his spirit looked to be as dark and twisted as anyone could have wished for.
As soon as Kyle saw the twinkle in the man's eyes and heard the newcomer's opening words: "So, what the hell does a man do for entertainment on this tin heap?" he knew that life aboard The Noise Within was about to get a great deal more interesting.
The mess hall was a functional, soulless place, the food served there only marginally less so, but, looking on the bright side, at least nobody was shooting at him. Leyton spotted someone he recognised and steered his feet that way. Carver was stocky but strong, not an eyegee but still a useful man to have by your side in a scrap. His face bore a scar running from ear to mouth across the left cheek - not an angry mark, simply a crease in the skin which shouldn't have been there but which the man had never bothered to get removed. Leyton could understand why. It broke up the symmetry, banished the 'cuteness'. In basic training, Carver had been nicknamed 'baby' due to his round face, clear complexion and innocent expression; not a comfortable label for someone who valued his cred.
Leyton recalled spending one semi-drunk evening long ago trying to persuade the younger Carver that this could work to his advantage, that by building up a reputation for toughness and cockiness he could turn the situation on its head and wear the cutesy nickname as a badge, an ironic antonym of who he truly was, but Carver never seemed to buy into the idea and remained determined to leave the belittling nickname behind. As far as the eyegee was aware, he'd succeeded.
Carver grunted a greeting as Leyton placed his plate on the table and dropped into the seat opposite him. The man looked up without raising his head, intent on shovelling the next forkful of slop into his mouth. One of the things that Leyton tended to miss out on, being an eyegee, was the 'barrack room' gossip. For the most part, this was something of a blessing, since the majority of it tended to be bullshit and outrageous hot air, but every now and then the grapevine brought along something worthwhile, and Carver had always possessed a knack for separating the wheat from the chaff. He also couldn't resist showing off if he did know anything of value, so Leyton didn't bother pushing him - not wanting to give Carver the satisfaction - but instead kept quiet, waiting for the other to speak first.
"How's life with the high-fly-gees, then?"
One thing Leyton had forgotten, or perhaps deliberately blanked out, was the man's puerile sense of humour. "Busy, as ever."
"Not likely to get much quieter anytime soon either, from what I hear."
"No surprise there, then." Leyton still refused to bite, but instead concentrated on his plate, trying to decide what the long, green, listless stems might have been before they were irradiated into anonymity. Vegetables of some sort, certainly, though their elusively faint flavour offered no clue.
"Big op coming up," Carver said. "There's going to be a mass briefing called tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. All hands freed up for this one, you eyegees included. Least, that's the word."
Leyton's turn to grunt. He shifted his attention to the meat, lumps of which stood proud from the gloppy brown gravy like islands in a swamp. The lumps were no easier to classify than the vegetables.
A mass briefing for a major op? To Leyton that had the promise of him riding shotgun on somebody else's mission written all over it. He also had a terrible suspicion that this would have something to do with that pirate ship again - a prospect which produced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach; an effect caused by something more than the muck masquerading as food before him. Having failed to glean any useful intelligence from the series of raids on freebooter friendly bases and planets, the authorities were bound to try something else at some point, though he hadn't reckoned on them organising anything this swiftly. Suddenly Leyton found he'd lost his appetite, and pushed his plate away into the centre of the table.
Carver looked up, his gaze switching between the eyegee and the rejected food. "If you don't want that..."
"Help yourself." The man always did have a cast=iron stomach.
Carver grabbed Leyton's plate, as if afraid someone else might claim the 'food' ahead of him, tipped it up and slid the contents onto his own.
Leyton shook his head, then pushed his chair back and stood up. "See you, Carver."
"Yeah, have fun."
The eyegee walked off towards his quarters, very much doubting that he would.
It was occasions such as this that reaffirmed Leyton's faith in human nature, or at least his faith in Carver's ability to tell the difference between nuggets of worthwhile information and bilge swill. The meeting was called for first thing the following day.
At the front of the room stood Commander Roberts, all neatly pressed uniform, gleaming buttons and razor-sharp creases. He had obviously drawn the short straw and been given the task of delivering the briefing. Behind the uniformed officer stood two men in civilian suits: Benson and another man, whom Leyton failed to recognise; a fact which surprised him. He made a note to find out who the mystery man was. He liked to have a handle on everyone in a position of command, particularly those whose pretensions of authority might affect him in some way.
Leyton barely heard the opening words of the address; he was too busy concentrating on the other two men. Typically, Benson stayed in the background, content to watch from the shadows. The newcomer stood beside him, the pair exchanging occasional whispered words which Leyton was unable to catch; cupped hands hiding mouths, or said mouths barely moving when uncovered, rendering his lip-reading skills useless.
The room was packed, with well over a hundred field operatives in attendance. There were a few faces he recognised, though not many. He exchanged nodded greetings with some of those he knew, including Carver, who gave him a smug 'told you so' grin in response. As he quickly scanned the crowd he counted a total of six other eyegees - a good half of the total unit - though neither Mya nor Boulton were among them. The thought did occur to him that if some dissident group knew enough to smuggle a bomb into this place, they could cripple the government's intelligence and black-ops capabilities for years.
Purely from a selfish perspective, he hoped that no one had.
"As you know, it was initially assumed that the reason these 'boarders' kept their faceplates opaqued was to hide their identity," Roberts was saying, "but analysis of readings taken from the first two raids confirms that, in actual fact, they don't have faces to hide. The suits are empty. They're nothing more than remotely controlled shells."
The Noise Within. Again. He was beginning to hate that wretched ship with a passion. Surely there were more important things he could be doing, such as bringing down crime lords and preventing rebellions; though judging by the size of the assembly for this briefing, others clearly didn't think so. Perhaps there was more going on here than met the eye.
The commander was still speaking. "At first we assumed that the suits were being operated by the real crew who were back on their own ship keeping their heads down, but recent intelligence suggests a different possibility: that there is no crew. It appears that The Noise Within may be an AI-controlled starship."
Murmurs rippled round the room.
"We're now confident that she is, in fact, an old Wartime experiment called The Sun Seeker, returned to haunt us." Roberts' next fi
ve words were spoken precisely and a little more loudly, effectively quieting the residual mutterings. "It Stands To Reason, Therefore... thank you..." he continued in his usual voice, "... that the same AI is operating the shells. Lack of a human crew would certainly go a long way to explaining the ship's manoeuvrability and the adroit way she handles such impressive acceleration and decel. All of which begs the question, why has The Noise Within set about recruiting a human crew?
"It might beg the question, but, to be frank, I couldn't give a damn. What I do care about is the fact that with a human crew on board the ship is going to be hampered. She'll have to take those humans into account in all sorts of ways; not being as fast or as agile is only the start of it. Will the crew be allowed downtime? It's all well and good that they're earning enough Standards from the raids and the ransom monies to buy a planet or two each, but where will they go to spend it? If they're not allowed to let off steam at all, how long before they start creating trouble for the ship? Let's face it, they're only human, and the sort who jump at the chance of joining a pirate vessel are unlikely to be the most disciplined of men. Clearly the AI wants them around, but how far is it willing to go to accommodate them?
"These are the questions which The Noise Within is going to have to find answers to, whoever or whatever's running the ship, and that gives us a real shot at her.
"We're mounting a determined campaign to either capture or destroy this pain-in-the-butt ship; make no mistake, this is the number one priority until further notice. That means decoy ships masquerading as cruise liners, security patrols in the systems we know she's hunting, and operatives among the crew of ships, all eager to join The Noise Within if invited. You lot here have the easy bit - the cherry among all those jobs. You're going to be haunting every leisure district, every watering hole, whorehouse, casino and dive within staggering distance of a spaceport that falls within these sectors.
"Congratulations, boys and girls, this is the assignment of your dreams. I'm ordering you to go and hang around bars and to drink!"
The announcement was greeted with predictable guffaws, muted cheers and mumblings of delighted disbelief from around the room.
"But," the commander spoke over the din, repeating himself once the chatter subsided, "but, woe betide any of you who are found to be drunk on duty without having first managed to gain a berth aboard The Noise Within!"
Philip found himself almost regretting the stimulants he had pumped into his system after the broken night which had started with such adventure and been followed by such bureaucratic tedium. At that particular moment he could have done with being a lot less alert. He hadn't been lectured to like this since childhood.
"I get the message, Catherine."
"Good; it's about time you listened to somebody..."
Philip held up a restraining hand. "You've made your point. You want rid of me."
"It's not a question of 'wanting rid'. It's more the desire to see you out of harm's way. Your father was a genius, Philip, and you take after him." That had to be the nicest thing Catherine had ever said to him, even if it did amount to a second-hand compliment. "Granted, you're not without fault, but you remain the closest thing to Malcolm we've got and you're far too important to be put at risk. All I'm proposing is that you go as far beyond the reach of this threat as possible until we're certain it's been well and truly dealt with.
"I can handle the business side of things until your return and from what I gather, the project itself is now moving very nicely under its own momentum again. Your research assistant, Susan Tan, seems to be more than competent..."
"She is," he said quickly, "a great deal more."
"Would she be able to take the reins from here on in?"
Philip had to admit that, with the new Syntheaven variant panning out so well, she almost certainly could. He found himself nodding, if reluctantly.
"So why do you insist on staying around on Homeworld waiting to be shot at?"
He had to give Catherine credit: she knew how to frame an argument. So did he, yet in this instance he was finding it difficult to contradict her; particularly as, for once, he was a step or two ahead of the old witch.
"Would it help if I mentioned at this point that my ticket off-world has already been booked?" he asked innocently.
She stared at him for long seconds. "It would; although perhaps you could have mentioned this a little earlier in the conversation."
"True." He smiled. "I suppose I could."
Catherine shook her head, as if exasperated by the behaviour of an irresponsible child, but there was no reprimand in her voice as she asked, "When do you leave?"
"This afternoon."
"That, I'm sure, is a relief to us all. Have a good trip, Philip. I'll make certain everything's in order for when you get back."
"I know you will," he said, but Catherine had already ended the call.
Philip took time to sip some chilled water. It might have been a little cruel to let Catherine sound off before telling her of plans already in place, but after the experiences of the previous night he felt he deserved a little indulgence. Next on the list was Susan Tan. He headed to the lab, reckoning she deserved to hear the news in person. For some reason he was looking forward to this even less than the conversation with Catherine, perhaps because he wasn't at all sure how Susan would react to his abandoning her at such a vital time.
Kaufman Industries could afford the best and Susan was up there, but she had been part of the project for a long time. Yes, she ran the team on a day to day basis, but she had always relied on Philip for direction and occasional flashes of inspiration when the need arose; perhaps a little too much. Philip was fully confident that she could oversee the project's final stages in his absence despite being lumbered with the new one month deadline, but would she be?
In the event, Susan took the news of his trip 'to visit some of the company's facilities on other worlds' in her stride, inevitably not believing a word of the official line.
"I've seen the news feeds, Philip. I might not know exactly what the situation is but I can deduce that you have good reason for wanting to make yourself scarce, and I know you wouldn't be leaving right now unless you had to." She then added, with obvious embarrassment, "If there's anything you ever want to talk about... well, you know where I am."
He smiled, genuinely touched by her concern, which was patently sincere. "Thank you, Susan; I appreciate it, really, but the situation you're referring to has been taken care of, hopefully."
"So your going away is..."
"A precaution, that's all. Me making myself scarce until the dust has settled. And besides, this gives me the opportunity to do a few things I've been hankering after for a while but have been too tied up with the project to pursue."
She smiled, clearly able to appreciate that sentiment. "Well, have fun then, but make sure you come back safely. I don't want to be fronting the research end of things on a permanent basis."
"Nor would anyone on the board want you to, I can promise that much."
"What?" She looked up sharply, as if taken aback by the implied slight.
"It would mean we'd have to pay you more, for starters," he explained, his face deadpan, though he was grinning broadly by the time she jabbed him on the arm with her balled fist.
There remained a series of necessary calls to make, including those required to ensure Catherine's authority would go unchallenged in his absence, yet in a surprisingly short time he was left with just the one outstanding. He left this until last because it was the call he begrudged making the most, almost as if he hoped something would delay his departure and render this unnecessary. There had been a distinct temptation to stay one more day, but he couldn't face another night like the last, and the assassin responsible for that was still out there somewhere, so...
He found himself talking to her partial, disappointed yet at the same time relieved when it informed him that Julia Cirese was indisposed. The partial promised to relay his message, soun
d and vision, as soon as she was free to take it.
"Hello, Julia; I really hate to do this, but unfortunately I'm going to have to postpone this evening. Something urgent has cropped up and I'm going off world, leaving today. So I'll get in touch on my return and, ehm, rearrange; if that's all right. Sorry again; can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this evening. Anyway, goodbye for now."
He cut the connection before the opportunity to babble further caused him to make a complete fool of himself.
Damn! He hoped fervently this didn't turn out to be one of those things that were destined to never quite happen.
Then he stopped and analysed that thought. Was he really so attracted to this Julia Cirese, a woman he'd barely met? Honest answer: yes. She was stunning and he was totally hooked, not by her depth of character or personality - which as yet he knew next to nothing about - but purely by her looks. Was he really that shallow?
All the short term relationships which he had flitted in and out of over the years, growing bored and moving on before anything serious could develop; he had always blamed the breakups on shortcomings in his lovers and perhaps, by inference, on women in general, telling himself that each was too limited, too shallow. Had he been wrong; did the fault lie with him rather than them? Was he guilty of projecting his own shortcomings onto any partner who threatened to get too close?
The thought was an unpalatable one and he dismissed it instantly, blaming it on the unsettling events of recent days. Julia Cirese was a beautiful woman. What man wouldn't be attracted to her? There was no need to analyse anything beyond that.